This never ends

Being faced with an accusation is strange. The other day I had what I thought to be a rather straightforward meeting with my graduate committee. The purpose of the meeting was to show them the final selections of paintings for my thesis exhibition, as well as to provide a draft of the paper I am working on, the final version of which to be turned in at the time of the exhibition, in four weeks.

But like anything in my graduate experience it was neither straightforward nor simple. Here is the thing. The paper was not formatted. There are strict guidelines from the office of the Graduate school about how the paper is to be formatted, but this is not what I am talking about. Sure it didn’t yet conform to those guidelines, but more importantly it lacked brackets, quotation marks, endnote notations, and really any kind of citation reference. Additionally I provided no works cited sheet. In retrospect, the whole thing is a huge oversight, a great blunder on my part that opened the door to scrutiny. I mean, if I have learned anything in graduate school it is “ALWAYS COVER YOUR ASS!” As I said, it was a huge blunder.

The meeting had hardly started when one of the professors asked me what my sources were. I was caught off guard. I didn’t know where he was going with this. I stammered something. His next comment hit me square in the chest. “Because it looks to me like the first four paragraphs were literally lifted from another source.”

Let’s pause right there. I don’t know how you write papers, but my style usually includes, brainstorming a few ideas and then pasting them alongside large swaths of cited material that form a kind of skeleton. As the revisions continue I edit and redact this cited material, adding in my own framework wherever possible, and where it isn’t I use citation. The end result is a paper that is entirely mine and that in no way takes credit for thoughts that are not my own.

Unfortunately the faculty didn’t see it that way. I was asked to leave the room at which point, from the hall I could hear a heated argument ensue. It lasted better than half an hour and when they were finished they called me back in. I knew the final verdict was bad even before anyone spoke because no one would look me in the eye. I was told that the committee was going to refer this problem on to the Dean of Students for possible academic sanction. I was stunned and horrified.

I don’t know how you are under pressure. But I am terrible. In moment like these I am usually so full of shame and frustration that it is impossible for me to form a coherent thought. I did the one thing I could think to do and said “Good! I want this thing brought to light so that I can have a chance to clear my name. I am not a plagiarist!”

On my way out of the building I called one of my best and oldest friends, who is incidentally an attorney. I told him what had happened and that I that I had been accused of plagiarism. “Well” he said, “did you?” I had to think about that for a minute. I mean the short answer here is probably “yes” in the sense that it was a huge mistake not to provide the references to my sources, but the long answer, the answer that I keep bringing myself back to is “It was a draft.”

It was a draft. Everyone in that room will acknowledge this fact. If I were to have taken the same paper to the writing center in the college library the first thing they would have said it “you need to note your citations and resubmit this.” There would have been no academic sanction. Why? Because it was a draft. The whole purpose of the meeting was to talk about the draft. I expected the faculty to cut it apart. That was the point. But not like this. Not like this.

So now I am left with this sense of indignation, humiliation, and fear. I drafted a letter (no pun intended) apologizing for this mistake, taking full responsibility for my actions, and asking the committee to reconsider, but judging from my track record with these people I am bracing myself, hunkering down and getting ready for what I assume will be a long drawn out fight.

“One week” I said, “one week left.” Now it seems I am back to that same old feeling, namely “This never ends.” Well that and wondering why pornographers keep trying to leave comments on the end of all my recent posts...