Dear Professor
Quigley,
History and
English, specifically history and English at the University of Waikato, made
me.
In the 14 or so
years since my graduation with an MA (Hons), I have used the skills,
approaches, networks, methods, and models of human interaction I gained from my
immersion in the departments of History and English at the University of
Waikato every day.
When I teach
students or workshop with colleagues, the impact of subjective difference and
world views on the ways in which we engage with and understand ideas is
foremost in my mind, as I was shown by Jeanine Graham, as I wrestled with my
classmates’ perspectives on the Springbok Tour.
When I write –
from tweets and blogposts, to academic articles – the guidance and wisdom of
two of my Waikato lecturers are my keystone. Peter Gibbons, who gently, kindly,
wisely demonstrated and edited and marked for excellent historiography, for the
careful and balanced incorporation of primary sources in historical writing.
Norman Simms, my honours supervisor, who taught me how write an argument
without getting drowned in jargon, whose lesson – to read one’s writing aloud –
is still the best mode of editing I have ever used, still the advice I give to
every student, every colleague who seeks to find their voice.
When I work with
archival material, I remember the immersion in Māori archives in my third year
Researching Iwi History, and the practical lessons in engaging with the wairua
of the materials I worked with – lessons from Buddy Mikaere that remain with me
now, each time I sit, gloves on, pencil in hand, to look at letters or
photographs or other archives of our past. I centre myself, close my eyes, say
thank you to the tīpuna whose lives I am privileged to access via these
physical objects that connect us to our histories.
When I interview –
from research interviews, to job interviews, to meetings with new colleagues
and collaborators – I draw upon the experience of working as a research
assistant, interviewing former mental health patients and former mental health
workers in Catharine Coleborne’s oral history of Tokanui Hospital. The skills
of listening, of patience, of comfort with silence, of respect that such an
apprenticeship provided sit with me now, in my everyday work.
When I read, I am
engaged with my own subject position, the subject positions of the authors I
read – a result of the careful supervision of Jan Pilditch, my masters
supervisor. She guided me in the art of the literature review, the careful
examination of sources, the breadth of reading required to draw together theory
and primary sources into a cogent argument that creates new knowledge. I am a
cultural historian because of the immersion in 19th Century American
culture a literature thesis supervised by Jan entailed.
When I write
historiography, it is the black ink, handwritten foolscap notes that Philip
Hart lectured from, used annually to expose another class to the history of the
ways in which Nazi Germany has been written about and understood.
When I use
theoretical approaches to understand the world, it is my graduate class in
theory, taught across the faculty, in which we explored the critical
theoretical advances of the twentieth and early twenty-first century; where I first
really understood Marxism, feminism, postcolonial theory. These are tools I use
everyday in my work, and in the construction of my identity.
When I work with
students and colleagues, mentoring, supporting, sponsoring, and advocating for
them, I am buoyed by the example of my lecturers and supervisors, who believed
in me, supported me, and provided me with huge opportunities. I worked as
Michael King’s research assistant because Jeanine Graham recommended me. Buddy
Mikaere gave me a number of employment opportunities over many years as a
historical contractor. Cathy Coleborne employed me as a research assistant and
has encouraged me to continue to collaborate with her. Jan Pilditch and Norman
Simms promoted my academic writing, and encouraged me to submit to conferences
and journals. Peter Gibbons held my 4-week old baby so I could give a
departmental seminar. Ken Arvidson, who sent me a beautiful poem when my mother
died.
It is that
kindness that is at the heart of what Waikato, particular the Faculty of Arts
and Social Sciences, means to me. My mantra - everyone here is smart, so
distinguish yourself by being kind – is a product of my alma mater, where I was
taught so much. That those who taught and mentored me have moved on, passed on,
is immaterial. The arts and social sciences at Waikato are inhabited by their
successors, whose contributions matter, whose research tells us who we are, and
why, and how.
I know that
Waikato has struggled with its identity since its establishment – is it a
University for, of, or from the Waikato? I understand that universities around
the world are grappling with commercial imperatives and the value or worth of
the humanities and social sciences. I work now at the interface between
computational sciences, the humanities, and the social sciences – and it is
clear that the answers to the utterly critical issues of our time will only be
found at that interface. It is also clear, in a “post-truth” world, that
critical thinking and the imagination are more important than ever. I learnt to
wrestle with ideas in the IJK building; I wrote my thesis in a small interior
office in the English department. I am an intellectual descendent of that
place, those people.
I sincerely hope
that you will reconsider your approach to understanding the worth of the
Faculty of Arts and Social Sciences,
Yours truly
Kate Hannah
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