As a young student, I was always fascinated by the ‘top’ universities and the erudite people who emerged from those August institutions. My first contact with Ivy league people was when I arrived at Mpala Research Centre in Laikipia in 1999 to commence my MSc research. I met students and faculty from Princeton University (which is a trustee of the research centre) and was reassured that they looked ‘normal’, with all the academic challenges and foibles that a Kenyatta University student like me had. After I finished my MSc, the administration were impressed enough with my work to offer me a job as resident scientist, which I took up with the alacrity of someone taking up a big break he got through hard work (I got a rude awakening later, but that’s a story for another day). As part of my job, I was assigned to supervise a group of Princeton undergraduates doing a senior field project, and sharpened my ecologist brain wanting to impress, especially because I thought I would be instructing some of the world’s sharpest young minds. I now laugh at my consternation when after mapping out clear and easy ecological transects for them, they strayed off into a neighbouring ranch and I got a call from the security personnel there that they were sunbathing topless on the research vehicle (they were ladies) and that the boss might be offended. Later on, I asked a postgraduate student from the same institution how these ladies could be so casual about their studies, and she couldn’t hide her amusement at my ignorance. “Grad school is competitive, undergrads get in because of money and name recognition”. I was stunned, but I remembered this when I saw the poor work they submitted at the end of their study. Being an aspiring lecturer (and a student of the late brilliant Prof. R. O. Okelo) I marked them without fear or favour, assuming that they would be used to such standards at Princeton. I was told that I couldn’t give them such low marks because they were supposed to qualify for Med school after their biology degrees. The next cohort included one serious student who I actually enjoyed instructing and she finished her course successfully. By that time though, I was getting restless and had started writing an academic and financial proposal for my PhD, and I finished it about 6 months after my student had gone back to the US to graduate. The then Director of Mpala, Dr. Georgiadis refused to let me do my PhD on the job, so I submitted my proposal to several conservation organizations, including the New York based Wildlife Conservation Society. I got a positive response from them (offering me a grant) which hit me with a strange mixture of feelings. First of all, I was elated at the prospect of starting my PhD, but I was completely baffled at the signature on the award letter. It was the undergraduate student I had supervised about 8 months earlier. An American undergraduate who had spent 2 months in Africa was somehow qualified to assess a PhD proposal on ecology of African wildlife written by an African MSc. holder. It was my first rude awakening to the racial prejudice that is de rigueur in African conservation practice. But I had to get my academic career moving and indulge my first taste of the ultimate luxury that my competence and work could afford me, which was the ability to say “NO”. It was with extreme pleasure that I wrote and signed my resignation letter from my job at Mpala, leaving it on the Directors desk.
Years later, after I finished my PhD and had a useful amount of conservation practice under my belt I attended the Society for Conservation Biology (SCB) conference in Sacramento, California where there was a side event featuring publishers from several Ivy league universities and I excitedly engaged them because at the time, Gatu Mbaria and I were in the middle of writing “The Big Conservation Lie”. I pointed out to all of them that there were no books about conservation in Africa written by indigenous Africans, but they were uniform in their refusal to even read the synopsis of what we had written. I later understood this when I learned that in US academia, African names as authors or references are generally seen as devaluations of any literature. From Sacramento, I made the short trip to Stanford University in Palo Alto, to give a seminar to an African Studies group. I felt honoured to be giving an academic contribution at an Ivy League university and I prepared well. My assertions about the inherent prejudices in African conservation practice were met with stunned silence by the faculty, many of whom are involved with conservation research in Africa. One bright spot in that dour experience was one brilliant Ph.D student in attendance who echoed my views and pointed out that these prejudices existed within academia as well. I later found out that he was Kenyan, His name is Ken Opalo and he now teaches at Georgetown University. Fast forward to today. The ‘Big Conservation Lie’ got published, and after the initial wailing, breaking of wind, gnashing of teeth and accusations of racism, Mbaria and I are actually being acknowledged as significant thinkers in the conservation policy field and our literary input is being solicited by different publications around the world. Now, the cultural differences between how European and American institutions treat African knowledge are becoming clear (certainly in my experience). I have been approached by several European institutions to give talks (lectures), contributed articles and op-eds (to journals and magazines) and one book foreword. Generally, the approach is like this;
“Dear Dr. Ogada, I am_______ and I am writing to you on behalf of________ . We are impressed with what you wrote in _____ and would appreciate it if you would consider writing for us an an article of (length) on (topic) in our publication. We will offer you a honorarium of (X Euros) for this work, and we would need to receive a draft from you by (date)….”. Looking forward to your positive response…”
When inviting me to speak, the letters are similarly respectful and appreciative of my time. The key thing is the focus on and respect for your intellectual contribution.
Publications from American Ivy league schools typically say;
“Dear Dr. Ogada, I am __________, the editor of __________. We find your thoughts on _______ very interesting and we are pleased to invite you to write an essay of________(length) in our publication. Previous authors we have invited include (dropping about 6-8 names of prominent American scholars).
The entire tone of the letter implies that you are being offered a singular privilege to ‘appear’ in the particular journal. It is even worse when being asked to give a lecture. No official communication, just casual message from a young student saying that they would like you to come and talk to their class on__________(time and date on the timetable). No official communication from faculty or the institution. After doing that a couple of times, I realized that the reason these kids are so keen to have an African scholar speak to them and answer all their questions is because they need his knowledge, but do not want to read his publications, or (God forbid) have an African name in the ‘references’ section of their work
European intellectuals seem to catching on to the fact that knowledge and intellect resides in people, not institutions. That is why they solicit intellectual contributions based on the source of an idea they find applicable in the space and time. Name recognition doesn’t matter to them, which is why they seek people like Ogada, who doesn’t even have that recognition in Kenya. The US elite schools still place this premium in institutions, which is why whenever an African displays intellectual aptitude, those who are impressed don’t ask about him and his ideas, but where he went to school. They want to know which institution bestowed this gift upon him.
For the record, I usually wait about a week before saying ‘no’ to the Ivy league schools. Hopefully, they read my blog, they will improve the manner in which they approach me, or stop it altogether.