A strong research environment was what I
thought defined Massey University. Besides the attractive, interdisciplinary
culture of the School of People, Environment and Planning, the CV my primary
supervisor there sent to me was top notch: three degrees and a long list of
co-authored articles covering about two pages. Even though her background did
not include urban planning, my core field, I believed she offered to be my
supervisor because she had an interest in my research topic. I had submitted a
tentative research proposal along with my doctorate studies application in late
2011. I was understandably impressed by her career achievements, having become
the head of the Environment and Resource Conservation Planning Department. This
accomplishment was truly impressive as urban planning, even today, has remained
a man’s world. But, she – this former supervisor – rose in the ranks, complete
with scars from trying to deflect (I assumed) daggers to stop her advancement.
On
the day of our first meeting, one I remember as having been October 2nd
2012, I began to detect suspicious behavior, which I had first noticed in the
initial e-mails we had exchanged prior to my departing the US for New Zealand,
in which she kept badgering me about picking me up at the airport. Then, she
had even offered to pay for my airplane ticket to Palmerston North from
Auckland. I declined at the time because I knew it would be a long flight from
the US, and I knew I would be irritable when I landed from lack of sleep. I
have difficulty sleeping in airplanes. The stop-over in Los Angeles added to
the length of the flight, and I knew that all I would want to do soon after
disembarking was to process myself out of the airport, check in the Nomad youth
hostel, run my brief business errand, and then sleep. The next morning, I had
planned to leave for Palmerston North on the 6 a.m. Naked Bus run. Therefore, I
did not want to make small talk with strangers, especially when I knew I would
have only half my brain.
In
these quick-response e-mails, there was something controlling about this former
supervisor’s insistence. She would not accept my answer of “no, but thank you,”
and the only way I could end these frequent offers was to ignore the one’s
thereafter. Her persistence made me somewhat uncomfortable, but dismissed it as
Kiwi exuberance and generosity.
My
intuition has often signaled red flags about people and situations, but I have
not learned to trust it even as I aged and grew more experienced. When the
flags pop up, I dampen the warning signs with my commonsense to soothe what
most people would categorize as paranoia. This time, those red flags turned out
to be legitimate warnings.
The
problems with this former supervisor began almost immediately after I arrived
on campus. Her controlling nature, which I later came to understand as
reflected in the e-mails she had sent me, manifested in her behavior within the
first week of my enrollment at Massey. The control ranged from minor details to
the more extreme. The former was exemplified in not coordinating schedules that
fit mine as well as hers and her co-supervisors, forcing me to gravitate around
her time so that throughout my first year I had to cancel scheduled talks and
workshops of interest. The more extreme controlling habits involved asking me
to falsely name her as a co-author on my book manuscript, which I had sent off
to the publisher in September 2012. When she offered to be the co-author, I
declined as she played no part in writing it or supervising me on it. I could
see no justifiable reason for crediting her as a co-author. As I had explicitly
explained, the two Goddard College readers were duly acknowledged in the book.
Controlling
persons often couple their skillful manipulation of conversation with
aggressive behavior. On this warm October day in 2012, five days after my
arrival at Massey University, at the instance I refused to name her as
co-author, she reached over and swatted me on the side of my temple. It was not
a hard slap (that came later), but the message was clear: she did not like to
be turned down. Inside, my anxiety was quickly rising. I had anticipated a very
positive experience with my doctorate studies, but this terse exchange told me
that something ominous might be looming for me. I felt my stomach drop, my
enthusiasm wane, and I wondered, “What have I just walked into?”
This
woman’s peculiar behavior did not stop at the head swatting. On this same
meeting day, she showed me a row of connected photos that opened up when she
pressed a tab on her laptop of an older, white-haired woman wearing revealing
teddies. I grimaced inwardly at the poor show of professionalism by this
supervisor. “Who is that?” I asked, and she in that chirpy voice I have come to
recognize as the tiresome months at Massey trudged on, announced to me that it
was the Head of School. I wondered what this meant in the long-term for me. Was
she sending me a silent message that she would take unsolicited photos of me,
possibly in my sleep, and show it to strangers if I did not do as I was told?
Then, I also wondered whether she had a secret about this Head of School, which
she held out as a carrot to get what she wants.
During
the seven months I was at Massey, the true self of this former supervisor took
different forms. On the surface, she appeared very knowledgeable, but
throughout her tutelage I noticed a lack of understanding of the standards of
the doctorate thesis. Her suggestion that I include other relevant theories in
the literature review chapter did not make sense, as this chapter was supposed
to demonstrate the doctorate student’s understanding of the central theory,
which in this case is resilience, namely the driving concepts and its relevancy
to the context of the research, which again in this case is food systems. This
former supervisor wanted me to include food systems theory and planning theory
in the literature review. The latter two served as the context and the
perspective, respectively, and its comprising theories need not be elaborated
in this study. The theory I was to explore as my contribution to resilience
theory is resilient food systems, an easy enough correlation for the average
academic to understand, but not this woman. This lack of understanding
represented disaster for me, as it meant that I could fail my doctorate program
if I was forced to comply with her suggestions. Other resources I consulted
comforted me, as they also pointed out that the literature review chapter focus
on a discussion of only the central theory. However, this woman could not move
on until I included food systems and planning theories. In the end, I did as
she asked, but only to later remove this inclusion from the literature review
chapter. However, I felt drained by this woman’s stonewalling. After moving to
Auckland, I confided in someone who declared this former supervisors’ conduct
as abusive. This is exactly how it felt to me.
I
wish I could say that her abusive behavior was limited to the supervising. It
was not. Her swats on the head became more frequent and hard, and she would
invade my personal space by tampering with my thesis chapters, steal my notes
so that I would have to re-read articles and re-take notes on them, and take
business documents that did not concern her from my work desk in the doctorate
students’ office. This constant need to look over my shoulder, remind myself to
log out of my computer, and place my notes in hiding places around my desk
eventually began to wear on my mind. As a result, I did not have the mental
space to focus as much as I wanted and it showed in my initial drafts. This
caused me to re-write and re-draft numerous times, which likewise wore on my
mind. I was mentally exhausted all the time.
There
were even hints that she was trying to steal my writing projects. In the first
quarter of my enrollment at Massey, I received an e-mail from my acquisitions
editor at the small publishing house that published my master’s thesis. This
editor asked if I had a co-author to which I answered no and reiterated the
names of the two readers at Goddard College who supervised me and were
acknowledge in my book. Furthermore, I was solely responsible for not only
writing and researching this thesis, but also for converting it into a book
manuscript. She was satisfied with my response, but I was furious that this
former supervisor had the ghastly audacity to falsely claim credit for a writing
project with which she had played no part in producing. She did not entertain
the possibility that my over-protectiveness and possessiveness over the
ownership of my book might be driven by my low-income status. Because of this
poverty, I had to save up for my plane ticket to New Zealand and the first USD
$1,000 living allowance until my financial aid was processed. I was able to
earn both expenses after working a full-time job and doing small on-line
contracts through my small business during the months of March through
September 2012. From this small income, I also paid interest on one school loan
and made monthly payments on two others.
In
light of her cheating behavior, I began to doubt her credentials. So, I
verified her doctorate qualification at the thesis repository in the Geography
building and then again in the library. I was told that it was not accessible,
a strange comment considering she claimed to have earned her PhD in 1997. Her
doctorate thesis would not be in high demand. I, subsequently, verified her
claimed publications on-line by typing in the title of one publication and then
the full name of her co-author. The hard copy was found, but this former
supervisor’s name was not on the article. I did the same for two more
publications, only to discover that her name was not on those, either.
In
January and February 2013, I voiced my concerns to the Head of School about
this former supervisor’s lack of expertise and conduct. Obviously, if this
former supervisor would not or could not exercise self-discipline and human
decency, the Head of School would be the best person to help me. I felt the
best way to resolve this problem would be to change supervisors. To my chagrin,
the Head of School ignored my request by avoiding the problem, all together,
but she offered the usual soothing comments by agreeing to speak with her. By
ignoring this problem, she also failed to enforce university policies about
academic standards, specifically those requiring the primary supervisor to have
(1) earned a doctorate degree and (2) have knowledge of the student’s research
field. This primary supervisor does not have academic training in urban
planning.
As
the months passed, this former supervisor continued to harass me. She stalked
me to Pak N’ Save, often slapping my head as she surreptitiously passed me in
the food aisles. I recognized her slightly hunched-over, manly gait as she
strode past and walked away from me. She has also pulled my debit card out of
the slot at the self-checkout machines, preventing me from paying for my food,
and causing stress because I did not know if she could make purchases with it.
She also began
stalking me to my living quarters. I found her watching me from the window of
the Resident Assistant’s room in Walter Dyer Hall one day at dusk as I walked
towards my room in Tararua Hall. When she saw me notice her, she pulled the
curtain shut. She was also allowed into my room one later afternoon. Because I
did not want to deal with her on this day, exhausted, I walked into my bedroom
and locked the door, but I could hear her trying to get through the password on
my laptop. The fact that she was gaining access into the residential halls told
me that someone was facilitating these intrusions.
In February 2013, just
before the new term began, I became aware that other people knew about her
abusive nature because of yet another run in with this former supervisor in
their presence. It happened in the lounge of the Geography building, where many
staff and students congregate. There were no words exchanged between us, but
when the slap came hard on the right side of my head, emitting a sound loud
enough for one observer to exclaim, “ooohh, I heard that,” I chose to ignore the attack. This former supervisor was unmanageable and uncontrollable, and reacting to
her was emotionally draining. The snickering from her group of friends sitting
on the far side of the lounge informed me that this predominantly white clique
supported her actions.
This latest round
of attacks was the deciding factor for me. I knew that if the Head of School
still failed to assign me a new supervisor, I would need to transfer to another
school so that I could finish my doctorate thesis. The discussion with a
barrister in town (Palmerson North) solidified my decision. I popped into his
office once day on a whim and asked him how I could file a restraining order
against this woman. Upon learning that she had conducted herself in a criminal
way (assault and stalking), he advised me to think about my priorities and my
reason for being in New Zealand. Knowing I was a student, he said it could be
costly, presumably because he would have to file the papers with the court
system. I also considered the possibility that she might know people in the
legal community, who could target me. Since I came to study, not to get caught
up in peoples’ petty dramas, I felt the best course of action would be to begin
enquiring from the University of Auckland about transfer procedures.
One thing was
clear, though. Massey had no interest in holding this former supervisor
accountable for her actions. How, after all, does one remain employed after
fabricating her publications and claiming credit for doctorate work she had not
in fact done? One would think that after my reports of and others’ witnessing
her behavior, the university leadership would at the very least honor my
request to be supervised by someone more normal and with the appropriate
credentials.
When she learned of
my intention to transfer, her attacks escalated even more. She had also begun
to make more frequent visits to the doctorate office, where I liked to work
after everyone had gone home for the day. One evening, while engrossed in
another re-write of my literature review chapter, I heard someone enter the
office. Within seconds, in what seemed like swift motions, this person cut a
lock of my hair and then, using something cold and metal against my head, the
stubs of this lock were pulled out. I could hear the ripping sound from my
scalp. I screamed as I felt the raw pain of hair separating from scalp. I
turned around and there was this former supervisor standing there, silver
pliers resting in her right hand, staring at me. The door across the hallway
opened slowly and tentatively, and at that moment she pivoted around and walked
briskly out the door and towards the staircase. My blond neighbor emerged. I do
not remember what he said. I wanted to call campus security, but did not think
it was worth the trouble anymore because there were no witnesses to this
attack. My fellow student merely heard my scream, which was possibly muffled. I
focused on preparing to transfer.
When I eventually
left Massey for the University of Auckland, I thought I was finally free of her
and the problems she had created for me. I thought that once I was out of
sight, her obsessive, dysfunctional interest in me would subside. I turned out
to be wrong. Two days after moving into my new room in South Auckland, this
former supervisor and a male companion, turned up at the front door. I knew it
was her because I peered out through the blinds and saw her. When she sighted
me, she briskly walked over to the window and called out, “Camille,” as if she
was innocently visiting me. I stepped back and allowed the blinds to fold
closed. I could not believe it; how could she know where I lived? On that day,
Monday the 24th of June 2013, even I did not know the house number
or the street name. Only on June 26th, when I got lost on the street
and could not give the correct house number to the person who had offered to
drive me home from Manukau City Centre did I make it a point to learn my new
address. I knew then that this former supervisor was working in tandem with my
then-landlord/housemate, but unbeknownst to her was this history of abuse.
I was also pretty
certain that this former supervisor had recruited one of my current
supervisors, perhaps both, to what I now deduced as her campaign to derail my
doctorate program. Whatever her reasons were for abusing me in the beginning, I
now believed she was out to prevent me from graduating. In May 2013, this
former supervisor had disclosed to me that she knew who my other supervisor
was, and then the following month (June), she disclosed his first name. At both
times, when pressed if I knew, I informed her that I did not think I had yet
been assigned a second one. If I was not told by the University of Auckland,
how could she have possibly known? The fact that she did meant that
universities here share notes and apparently plot together.
Naively, I believed
that this move to the University of Auckland would put me in a more mature and
research-oriented environment, where I would have peace of mind, the mental
space to think, and would be working with two people who would support my academic
goals. Naively, I believed this.
