My fourth year of full-time university lecturing has just come to an end. Both departments I work for offered me continued employment next year. I turned them down, taking a leap of faith that my search for an applied sociology position would come to fruition this summer.
It is a scary leap to take, and not my usual strategy in life. I come from the "don't burn your bridges" school of thought. I like to have income for things like rent and food.
But the cosmic forces seemed to be pushing me into this decision. Well, perhaps not cosmic so much as practical. I had just moved 90 minutes away from my campus for personal reasons, and was then offered a nightmarish teaching schedule. Coupled with depressed lecturer's wages and a car that wouldn't survive the commute, the writing was on the wall.
Still, as I packed my office for the last time, I struggled with my decision. I wondered: Am I going to be able to find another work setting where the knowledge and experience represented in these packing boxes applies?
At that moment one of my students arrived to ask her own question about job prospects for someone with a degree in sociology. "If I declare sociology as a major, what kind of careers would I be looking at later?" She paused, then added, "My mom is upset I'm declaring sociology as a major. She doesn't think any of this stuff applies to the real world."
Normally, I am quick to challenge such comments. But this time, the "real world" image struck a nerve.
On one hand, I'm convinced that the "stuff" I've learned as a sociologist is applicable to the so-called real world. If it weren't, the job title "applied sociologist" would not even exist.
On the other hand, my recent job-search experiences have brought me to an unnerving realization -- this student's mom isn't alone in her skepticism (and naiveté) about sociology. Many employers have no idea what sociology is, or how an applied sociologist could contribute to their organization.
That realization was on my mind as I stared at this student and her wide-eyed, "the world is my oyster" expression. Should I point out that I had a Ph.D. in sociology but was still packing my boxes, searching for more stable ground? Should I mention the career counselor who advised me to "not mention the sociology angle" during interviews?
Or perhaps I should describe the confused look on the face of the last potential employer who interviewed me, the one who asked, "Now what is sociology, exactly? People's behaviors or something like that? Oh, well, that's neither here nor there."
I ended up telling this student what I felt: "Sociology is a wonderful discipline and, yes, it applies to the real world. But I'm afraid you've got a major selling job ahead of you if you want to market yourself as a sociologist. Because I truly think half the world out there has no clue what we do."
Her face fell. I felt guilty and quickly offered her a departmental handout that itemized dozens of job titles held by people with bachelor's degrees in sociology. While she questioned some of those titles (as did I -- police officer? real-estate agent? banker?), at least she left looking inspired. I, meanwhile, was now cranky, fixated on a single thought. My discipline has not exactly done a bang-up job of promoting itself to the non-academic world. Why not?
Perhaps part of the problem lies in the hierarchical distinctions fostered in academe between applied and academic sociologists. When I first heard the term "applied sociology" at my graduate-student orientation, things seemed neutral enough. Faculty members explained that some of us would become academic sociologists, conducting research and teaching future generations of students. Others would become applied sociologists, offering our methodological and theoretical expertise in a variety of non-academic environments.
But it didn't take long to see that things were not so neutral. The majority of students in my program were seeking academic careers, and received considerable support toward their goals. The few students interested in applied sociology were unhappy in the program. Faculty members paid lip service to graduate students who sought careers in, say, social services, public administration, or environmental policy, but true mentoring was aimed at students seeking the tenure-track life.
My own dissertation advisers bent over backwards to network on my behalf when I was applying for tenure-track positions. Since I have shifted my focus to positions in applied sociology, they seem to have given up on the idea that they have anything to offer me.
This valuing of academic over applied-sociology careers was most evident to me one evening during our annual disciplinary conference. I was a third-year graduate student, taking a coffee break with a professor. When I mentioned my interest in a presentation on "careers in applied sociology," the professor literally snorted. "Why are you bothering with that? Stay with the serious stuff, the scholarly sessions. That's what is relevant to your career."
When I repeated the professor's comments to another faculty member, he shrugged and said, "Well, fair or not, some faculty look at applied sociologists as those who couldn't cut it in the academy."
I used to just complain that such attitudes were elitist. Now I also see the ways that these institutional attitudes and practices exacerbate the public confusion over what sociology is all about. None of this bodes well for those of us seeking to promote ourselves as applied sociologists.
It just took me a week to pen a cover letter for a position that, I believe, would allow me to apply my sociological training. I tried to convince them that it would be relevant to the work they do. Time will tell if I succeeded. I just wish it didn't feel like I was selling them on a product they know so little about.
Sociology, like many other disciplines, has been taking a hard look at the job-market challenges facing those seeking tenure-track appointments. But they also need to take a look at the challenges for applied sociologists who face what marketers might call a "product positioning problem." It is time to get the word out to the rest of the world about the kind of "stuff" we do so well.
Christine Martinelli is a pseudonym.
