Seattle is a beautiful, vibrant, and intimidating like only cities can be, full of people who seem to have already figured it out. People there are creative, inventive, and, more than anything else, absolutely invested in education. Everybody I met there seemed to be learning something - taking some class, practicing some art at club or school, or just experimenting in dedicated spaces with like-minded fellows. Within just weeks of landing there I, too, was up to my ears in learning.
I spent my time in Seattle taking drawing and writing classes, practicing the art of self-defense, and experimenting with like-minded fellows at a community darkroom. It was heady, formative, and absolutely empowering. But, for all that, collectively, these experiences are hard to talk about because of a lack of cohesive vocabulary. There’s no one word to describe my participation in these educational exchanges. I’m not a graduate of anything, not an alumnus of the Capitol Hill Community Darkroom, right?
Before moving to Seattle, I had been familiar with the term lifelong education but I didn’t really know what it meant for me. What I had seen of it to that point was tired adults taking tedious night school classes mandated by their jobs or Saturday morning seminars to make up for the lack of a diploma somewhere. But these experiences, for whatever level of heartening or dis- for their participants, still fell within the broader university experience. The adults in the room could say they were alumni of their after-hours university experience and everyone would know what they were talking about. Not quite as true of the ASUW Experimental College1.
I felt like I could get the education I wanted, not the one prescribed by curricula and degree requirements
The Experimental College, despite holding classes at U-dub, was not actually a college. Instead, classes were created and taught by someone who could do something. People who wanted to learn that something paid a nominal fee and then class was in session. I signed up for Cartooning 101 and Writing Your Novel, paid my fees and then started paying my dues. Suddenly, I was learning just because I wanted to; I felt like I could get the education I wanted, not the one prescribed by curricula and degree requirements. Like I said, heady and empowering.
Fast forward a couple of decades and the internet has taken this idea and blown it wide open. Search for “online classes” and you’ll run head on into an ocean of sites like Udemy or Coursera or MasterClass, not to mention all the smaller, more focused sites like FutureLearn or Domestika, or just the fact that universities like Harvard and MIT place entire courses online for free every semester. More than anything else, the modern internet has made individual, DIY education a more realized possibility for a greater number of people than anything since Brother Johannes2 invented his printing press.
And yet, none of these incredibly valuable experiences come with the title of Alumnus. There's no set-word loaded with pragmatics indicating that you have received the stamp of approval from a recognized institution. And I kind of wish there was. Which is weird, because I'm a genuine alumnus of four different universities and colleges and could not give less of a crap if you paid me. So, what gives?
Let’s talk about it. First, here’s the definition, like always, from Merriam-Webster:
1: a person who has attended or has graduated from a particular school, college, or university
2: a person who is a former member, employee, contributor, or inmate
So, technically, actually, I could call myself an alumnus of both Lancaster University and Wollongong University even though I have never actually applied to, much less been to, either. Yet, because I did online classes issued by those universities (administered by FutureLearn) I meet the definitional requirements stated above. I attended, at least in a weird, online way, both institutions.
For that matter, I’ve been contributing to Substack for several years now through the creation and growth of this newsletter. Yet, calling myself an alumnus of either would feel transparently false.
Alumnus is an old word. It’s Latin so you know it comes to English in the early days, first in service of the church and from there to academia; a literal translation from the original Latin would be something like “foster child,” reflecting the church’s stewardship of a young person in their ranks and then the universities possessiveness of those same young people as they grew in status.
Between the 16th to 20th centuries, as the university system grew, being an alumnus of a given institution carried enormous social weight. Being an alumnus of the same university alone could get you an audience with the movers and shakers of the day, whether that was for a job, an introduction, or simply a favor.
However, as time has gone on and the university system has become the default rather than a place to discard scholarly children too weak or too far down the hierarchy to inherit the estates, the importance of being an alumnus has decreased dramatically. And while being an alum3 of Harvard or Oxford might still carry social weight, my personally being an alumnus of Northern Arizona University has meant absolute bupkis. And let’s not even talk about my master’s degree, which was done entirely online via the very real institution of University of Leicester, located in a country I have been to exactly one time in my life. And even then I didn’t visit the campus. So, for me, being an alumnus of somewhere just doesn’t mean much. I get letters begging for money, but that’s about the extent of it.
I understand that for some people, mainly the ivy league students, it may be different. Same goes for people in other countries. Here in Japan, for example, where the average university has under 10K students, and many don’t even top 5K, being part of a uni network of senpai and kohai carries real weight when it comes to getting jobs and launching careers.
Which brings me back to online classes. As I said, they’re good. They’re a markedly good thing in a world full of marvels. I still take several; I take one per semester, usually through the Knight Center for Journalism. Those classes help me keep up with new data tools and research techniques, which, in turn, help me to keep the mis- and the dis- from the info that comes flowing down the tubes. But I don’t know what to call myself.
I’m not a graduate, I suppose. I mean, I’ve passed the classes and I have certificates of completion, but a graduate? Feels strange. And so does customer and student and participant and, well, alumnus. We need a better word here. Something that encompasses the feeling of shared experience, something that identifies us as being members of the same cohort and therefore, somehow, indebted to each other, only without being so obnoxious and old boy-ish. A word that tells everyone just how much the experience meant to us and why we feel an immediate connection to those who have done the same. A word that looks something like…alumnus. Suggestions?
Finally, just a bit of housekeeping to close out the issue: Learned is going on summer break for the month of August. But I don’t want to leave you with nothing to read, so, instead, I’ll be bringing back Also for the month. If you’re not familiar, Also is a side-project where I write a bit less about language and a bit more about everything else. You can see some previous issues here, here, and here. Thanks!
Stay curious,
Joel
Unfortunately, the Experimental College isn’t there anymore. But, for the curious, here’s a write-up circa 2001 that explains it in a bit more depth: Experimental College marks 33 years of pushing boundaries.
That’s Master Gutenberg to the unlettered masses.
This ain’t good Latin. Instead, this is a back formation meant to work around the gendered proper Latin forms.