My shift from state policy to campus administration unearthed another marvel last week, which is the power of the written record. Our ability to share our thoughts and decisions over time and distance with people we’ll never meet is really kind of amazing. The tiniest actions are perpetual, and cumulative.
And if you want to see it as vividly as I do, then go somewhere with gaps in the record. For every such gap in my new home, relationships and learning start from scratch. This is especially true because I’m part of a small team of newcomers, temps, and transients. For us documentation is everything, because our combined personal history is roughly nil.
But our predecessors behaved rationally for their own contexts rather than ours, and resorted comfortably to handshake deals and tacit horse trading. And so here I am, looking at a stack of unapproved travel claims and hardware purchases, and asking one of the most valued professors on campus if he has proof of prior permission. It’s not a good spot to find myself in.
On the one hand I need to remember that my perspective has been seriously warped by years under the magnifying glass in a giant public bureaucracy, where the memos are numbered and the emails subpoenaed. That’s a world that cherishes the written record as proof it is impersonal, and thus free of cronyism or corruption. It keeps us out of jail.
On a single campus such fussiness may be misdirected. Too much of it makes you less effective, not more, as people wonder why you’re always so suspicious.
I also have to remember that interpersonal commitments are often invisible, even to the participants. My predecessors on campus probably thought their paper trail was perfectly complete, and somewhere in my old office building, my successors may marvel that I kept such scanty records.
I’m not sure where that leaves me, but for now my new boss and I have agreed to err on the side of more record keeping. The campus is getting bigger, the world is getting smaller, and really, in the long run we’re all temps.
Image credits: Bates College, officemuseum.com