By Catherine Hess

WHEN ONE THINKS about systematized discrimination against women, it is usually places like Wal-Mart that come to mind – not UC Berkeley or Stanford. Universities tend to lean very strongly to the left; it's no secret that most university faculty members in the United States describe themselves as liberals and progressives. Sexism in academia lies not in any established program designed to push women out, but in a myriad of subtle factors that discourage women from entering academia in the first place. This type of sexism can be quite difficult to spot.

Take, for example, the tactless words of Harvard University president Lawrence Summers about the rarity of women in the sciences. The once male-only fortress of old boy networking announced last fall that it had accepted more women than men into the class of 2008 – three more women, to be exact. Clearly the academy is at a critical juncture to remind the public that the status of women has improved in recent decades. Tragically, women scholars still haven't managed to scale academia's ivy-covered walls.

According to a study published in 2002 by the National Center for Education Statistics, women made up 56 percent of undergraduates nationwide. More important, the study concluded that female undergraduates have, on average, higher grades than their male counterparts. Taken at face value, these statistics make for a rosy outlook for educated, hardworking women in this country. However, when one probes further into their status once they depart from the university, the scenario becomes bleaker.

College-educated women earn less than college-educated men, regardless of field or industry. But nowhere is this disparity more pronounced than for women who remain at the university and pursue scholarly careers.

Mary Ann Mason, dean of graduate studies at UC Berkeley, has examined this phenomenon in detail. She and her colleague Marc Goulden (a graduate-division research analyst) recently published a paper titled "Do Babies Matter?" in the journal Academe that questions whether family obligations prevent women from seeking and obtaining tenured positions.

Attainment of tenure is generally based on frequency of scholarly publication, extensive research, and teaching load in a given time frame (usually seven years). Informally, tenure decisions are often based on candidates' ability to promote themselves and their total workload, which can exceed 50 hours a week for a tenure-track professor.

Statistics compiled from a system-wide survey of University of California faculty revealed that babies do matter – at least for women. Women who have babies early in their career (the critical years following completion of a doctoral program, and also the period in which they are attempting to get tenure) are substantially less likely to obtain tenure or a tenure-line position than those who are childless. Men who have children during this period, however, are more likely to achieve tenure. This inequality happens in spite of the fact that at many universities – UC Berkeley included – women make up half or slightly more than half of graduate students.

"I wasn't surprised," said Mason, a professor with two grown children. "We know that since the 1980s there has been a rapid rise in the number of women in graduate education, but there is a 'leak in the pipeline' leading to tenure."

This pipeline refers to the flow of women from graduate programs to tenured faculty positions. At some point along the way, women tend to trickle off the career track, resulting in fewer women, of equal training and of equal education to their male counterparts, on a university's permanent staff.

There has been much speculation about what causes the leak, and Mason's research highlights some very real possibilities. "At Cal, we've noticed that men are far more likely to apply for these positions," she said, pointing out the hours such positions require them to be away from home.

Another possibility is that women who find themselves married to other academics tend to defer to their husbands' careers. And, unfortunately, the pipeline only goes one way. "Once women are out of academia, it is very difficult to get back in," Mason added.

Maggie Franzen, a UC Davis anthropologist who was recently awarded her Ph.D., is also unsurprised at Mason and Goulden's findings. She stated that the balance between work and family has recently been on her mind. "I'm 31 – I should be having a family, and I should also start looking for a tenure-track job," she said. Like many women, she is wary of taking time off to start raising children. "It sounds like it is very challenging to get your foot back in the door," she said. At this point, Franzen doesn't think she'd turn down a tenure-track position, but she has reservations about stretching herself too thin between family and work obligations.

And Franzen's partner is a physician, further complicating the need to coordinate career choices with a spouse, especially when academic jobs are few and far between and often require moving. "We both value where we live," she added. "I don't know how we feel about letting my career decide where we go."

Although the traditions of academia are difficult to break, change may be on the horizon. UC has recently received a Sloan Foundation Grant for the UC Family Friendly Edge Initiative, which aims to study the schools' gender imbalances and provide policy recommendations that would make the university more friendly to all professors, particularly women. Some of the program's initial recommendations include part-time options for tenure-track faculty, and university-sponsored infant and child care. Another recommendation is that the university discount gaps in applicants' résumés if they're related to family responsibilities. This means that women who take time off after getting a doctorate would not be penalized in the hiring process.

Young Ph.D.s like Franzen are aware these solutions exist. "I've heard of different tenure clocks for men and women," she said. "I would take that option. I'd be very happy to go to a university that had that plan."

Some women, however, feel pressure not to take advantage of such programs. Last September, the journal Science reported on a study that described what the authors (Lisa Wolfwendel of the University of Kansas and Kelly Ward of Washington State University) call a "culture of fear" among tenure-track women. Essentially, many women are afraid (with good reason) that slowing or stopping the tenure clock will have a negative career impact.

In 2000 the U.S. Department of Education's Office of Education and Research Improvement published a study on the status of women in U.S. colleges and universities. It revealed that women tend to publish less than their male counterparts and are generally assigned to teach fewer graduate courses than them. Further, women on average have greater undergraduate teaching loads than men. Possibly because of the factors mentioned above, they are also less likely to engage in funded research, and they receive lower base teaching salaries than men.

It wasn't so much gender as it was a general work-life balance that led one young graduate student to rethink a career in academia. A Ph.D. student at UC Berkeley, she asked that her name not be used, as she has yet to go public with her decision to leave the university. This student began questioning whether the eventual workload required of young professors, and its subsequent effects on her personal life, would make a career as a professor worthwhile. "Gender was just one factor," she said. "I'm not thinking of children yet, but in the abstract sense, I think about how hard I will be working when I am in my early 30s and thinking about family."

There are many tenured women on university faculties across the country. As with any career path, women in academia who are motivated to make things work, and who have the appropriate support structure in place, can become balanced and successful professors. But as if battling the subtle persuasions away from tenure weren't enough, some women report out-and-out discrimination. According to a 2004 report by Stanford's Provost's Advisory Committee on the Status of Women Faculty, women at Stanford report greater stress than men in regard to work-family balance. The report goes on to state that 37 percent of women faculty at Stanford felt they had been discriminated against because of their gender, and that some departments are still characterized by an "old boy's network."

Dr. Rebecca Bird, a tenure-track Stanford professor, pointed to the daily flexibility of an academic schedule as one of the benefits of the profession. "Being an academic offers a kind of freedom and kind of lifestyle that is unmatched," she said. "You can bring your kids to work, you can run off to pick them up in the middle of the day – there are fewer trade-offs with this type of job."

Bird, who has a seven-year-old daughter and is expecting her second child soon, states that a supportive spouse is the primary factor involved in her success. "Having a partner who shares responsibilities equally is key," she said. "I would attribute that to my success in this field."

Bird has timed her children's births to coincide with her fieldwork in Australia, where she and her husband, also a Stanford professor, collaborate. They also enjoy an equal partnership when it comes to family responsibilities and child rearing. Bird and her husband have been able to coordinate their teaching schedules to ensure that they teach at different times – something many women cannot do.

Mason is quick to point out that the situation for women in academia need not seem dire. If more universities follow UC's example and hop on the family-friendly bandwagon, a whole new generation of bright women may find academia a more attainable path. "I am very encouraging of my young Ph.D.s," Mason said, pointing out that while difficult, a career in academia can be extremely rewarding. With any luck, Mason and Goulden's grim findings will soon be the exception rather than the rule.