Journal of Planning Education and Research
http://jpe.sagepub.com
Fantasies and Realities in University-Community Partnerships
Howell S. Baum
Journal of Planning Education and Research 2000; 20; 234
DOI: 10.1177/0739456X0002000208
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University-Community Partnerships
Baum
Fantasies and Realities in UniversityCommunity Partnerships
Howell S. Baum
P
artnerships that link universities with communities to address community problems can be mutually beneficial. Universities can conduct research and practice in
communities. Communities get help understanding and improving their conditions.
One or both parties may benefit financially (Checkoway 1998; Feld 1998; Harkavy 1998;
Nyden et al. 1997; U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development 1995, 1996,
1999; Benson and Harkavy 1994).
Such accomplishments buoy a growing, sometimes uncritical, enthusiasm for partnerships as a solution for many wide-ranging problems. Advocates may exaggerate partnerships’ potential, minimize their requirements, and ignore evidence that development is often disjointed and tenuous. They may imagine that simply creating a
partnership magically produces resources that will solve problems, without realistically
analyzing the problems, strategizing to address them, and organizing necessary
resources.
Planning partnerships realistically depends on balancing two principles in tension.
Partnerships should begin with clear purposes, including specific targets of action,
goals with respect to the targets, and means to support the goals. At the same time, partnerships should accommodate ambiguities and changes in the partners’ identities,
their relationships, and their separate and common purposes. The first principle
encourages tight structure and explicitness, whereas the second counsels looseness
and indeterminacy.
This article illustrates these principles, the tensions between them, and fantasies
that can take the place of realistic efforts to confront the principles and the tensions.
Case material comes from an education project conducted by the University of Maryland with support from the U.S. Department of Education (USDE) Urban Community
Service Program. Accounts of efforts elsewhere (e.g., LeGates and Robinson 1998;
Rubin 1998; Wiewel and Lieber 1998) suggest that at least some of the incidents here
reflect common conditions.
The first section examines typical fantasies about partnerships. The second introduces university-community partnerships. The third examines what it means for the
university to act, and the fourth looks at how universities find and create the community. The fifth section analyzes the ambiguous relationships constituting university-community partnerships. The sixth looks at the role of interests in partnerships.
The final section presents lessons for realistic partnerships.
Journal of Planning Education and Research 20:234-246
© 2000 Association of Collegiate Schools of Planning
234
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Abstract
University-community partnerships can
be a realistic means of increasing resources for addressing community problems. However, expectations of partnerships are often so grand, and available resources so limited, that those who create
partnerships may substitute fantasy about
how partnerships will magically create
abundant problem-solving resources for
realistic analysis, organizing, planning,
and funding. This article examines contrasts between the rhetoric and realities of
the university, the community, and partnership with case material from the University of Maryland’s Urban Community
Service Program partnership with a Southeast Baltimore education organization.
The case highlights the importance of
starting partnerships with definiteness
about outcomes and resources but maintaining adaptability in process.
Howell S. Baum is a professor of urban studies and planning at the University of Maryland, College Park, and directs a university
project conducted in partnership with a
community group; [email protected].
235
University-Community Partnerships
! Partnerships and Fantasies
The partnership is the basic human relationship. It is the
first experience of life, in infantile attachment to the mother,
followed by her connection with the father. For infants, fantasy
and barely distinguishable reality endow parental partners
with virtually infinite power to create and produce what is necessary for life. The experiences that give rise to such postulates
about partners recede from memory, but the assumptions continue to influence beliefs about and involvement in partnerships later on.
Organizational partnerships are a world away from the relations of early life. These partnerships are institutional rather
than personal, formal, and often the result of considerable
deliberation. At their best, they are carefully planned. They
have a common rationale: an entity can better serve its interests by pooling resources with another that has compatible
interests. Economies of scale make it possible to serve old interests more efficiently and develop new ones. By combining
resources, groups and organizations not only can draw on a
larger pool but also may cross-pollinate in ways that create new
resources.
Yet studies of institutional relationships—including business partnerships, joint ventures, corporate mergers, managerial teams, and interdepartmental initiatives—reveal an interplay of realism and fantasy that echoes the early moments of
life. Organizations often form partnerships with exaggerated
expectations of what they can accomplish and then, if the
going gets rough, imagine that what they are doing (despite
1
contrary appearances) will somehow succeed. Partnerships
are especially likely to grow on and nurture fantasy when reality resists strongly held intentions (Diamond 1993; Gould,
Ebers, and Clinchy n.d.; Hirschhorn 1988, 1991; Kets de Vries
and Associates 1991; Kets de Vries and Miller 1984; Schwartz
1990; Stein 1994).
Talk of cross-pollination offers a clue to unrealistic expectations. The language is metaphorical, not literal. Yet its common usage expresses a widely shared belief or wish reminiscent
of early life fantasies: if only two bodies came together in just
the right way, they could give birth to abundant new resources.
This is a satisfying metaphor, but differences between flowers
and bees and universities, community organizations, and business firms are signals of possible confusion between fantasy
and reality.
In fact, the desire for cross-pollination resembles a fantasy
groups may resort to when they conclude that rational planning cannot solve a problem. Bion (1961) found that groups
may unconsciously redefine their purpose and the means of
success to feel effective. One stratagem is to assume that the
task of the group, rather than to solve a problem instru-
mentally, is to allow two individuals or units from among the
members to pair up and watch them, as if by immaculate conception, give birth to a leader or program of action that will
miraculously bring a solution. Without effort and only with
hopeful expectation, the group will succeed magnificently.
For example, members of a committee may imagine that if
only the chair and co-chair meet often enough, regardless of
what they know or do, somehow their being together will lead
to success. Groups often convene meetings without realistic
preparation because of a fantasy that the mere presence of a
couple of central members will automatically accomplish the
work. Similarly, people may imagine that just “getting the key
players together” will solve complex problems. These efforts
are found in many groups, organizations, communities, and
networks (Baum 1987, 1997; Colman and Bexton 1975;
Colman and Geller 1985; Diamond 1993; Hirschhorn 1988,
1991; Janis 1982; Kets de Vries and Associates 1991; Kets de
Vries and Miller 1984; Stein 1994).
Thus, the conditions that can realistically justify forming
institutional partnerships—when problems exceed the capacity of one party alone—can also encourage fantasies about the
partnership—when problems outrun the assembled collective
capacity. Imaginary ideas about partnerships that survive from
the earliest relationships of life add to the possibility that partners idealize one another’s abilities in place of strategizing to
2
increase them.
! University-Community Partnerships
University-community partnerships have multiplied. Some
are initiated by universities, others by community groups.
Funding comes from various sources, including government,
foundations, corporations, universities, nonprofit organizations, and community associations. Activities range from organizing to planning to service delivery. They involve single,
time-limited projects and long-term relationships and multifaceted programs. The work covers many fields. University
planning programs have been active participants (Arizona
Department of Juvenile Corrections–Arizona State University
Partnership 1997; Cohen 1995, 1997; Dewar and Isaac 1998;
Feld 1998; Harkavy and Pickett 1991; McCall, Green, Groark,
et al. n.d.; McCall, Green, Strauss, et al. n.d.; LeGates and Robinson 1998; Mayfield, Hellwig, and Banks 1998; McCall et al.
1998; Nyden et al. 1997; Reardon 1994, 1995, 1996, 1998;
Rubin 1998; USDE 1997; U.S. Department of Housing and
Urban Development 1995, 1996, 1999; Benson and Harkavy
1994; Wiewel and Lieber 1998; Willson 1998).
Partnerships are built on overlapping interests that converge on the aim of improving community conditions. Their
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Baum
success depends on setting purposes that are clear, specific,
and realistic. The target of partnership activity may be a more
or less discrete problem or a broad institutional structure. The
boundary between the two is fuzzy—a small problem may be a
symptom of large institutional functions, and institutional
change may be necessary to reduce the recurrence of the problem. In any case, the target must be explicit. A partnership’s
goals may be to alleviate the distress associated with a problem
or to change an institution or system that contributes to it.
Whatever the goal, it should fit the target and be realistic.
A partnership may bring different means to these goals.
One is to implement a more or less free-standing and time-limited project or program. In this case, a partnership can dissolve
after the project has been set up. Alternatively, a partnership
may establish an enduring relationship that may create various
programs but also builds connections, or social capital
(Putnam 1993, 1995, 2000). What matters is that means realistically fit goals. Finally, partnerships must have resources to
implement the means.
Partnerships may begin with clear, specific purposes but
risk failure if purposes are unrealistic. Most obviously, proposed means may be unlikely to accomplish intended goals, or
available resources may not support the means. For example, a
homeownership counseling program will not change a local
housing market, and meager funding will not pay for an effective counseling program. In addition, rigid adherence to initial purposes may fail to accommodate ambiguities or changes
in partners’ identities or relationships. For example, once partners look at housing issues, they may want to redefine problems. As they work together, perhaps as partner groups’ members change, they may want to focus instead on workforce
development, and in so doing drop and add partners. Binding
the original partners to initial purposes would hinder learning
and change.
Two interests can lead to clarity and specificity that are
unrealistic. One is a strong desire to make major social change.
Parties may conclude that they cannot commit themselves to
anything less. The other is a blunt insistence on accountability.
Parties may interpret accountability in terms of predefined
results and benchmarks, rather than reciprocity in a partially
defined but developing and trusting relationship. Both interests easily converge in simplistic and unrealistic agreements
about who the partners are, how they will relate, and what they
will accomplish. In such innocent beginnings, fantasy may displace realistic analysis and strategizing. Later on, obdurate
reality may force further fantasizing to continue the partnerships (Sarason 1972).
Funders, expecting significant social change from their
investment, often encourage unrealistic aims. Two federal
agencies that have supported many planning programs offer
examples. The USDE’s Urban Community Service Program,
which has funded thirty-two university-community partnerships,
provides grants to urban academic institutions to work with
private and civic organizations to devise and implement solutions to pressing and severe problems [italics added] in their
urban communities. (Department of Education 1994,
15810)
The U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development
describes its Community Outreach Partnership Centers Program, which has funded ninety-five universities, as a “demonstration to determine the feasibility of facilitating partnerships
between institutions of higher education and communities.”
Yet the aim of such partnerships is “to solve urban problems [italics added] through research, outreach, and the exchange of
information.” “Applications must be multifaceted and address
three or more urban problems [italics added].” Research “must
have a clear near-term potential for solving specific, significant urban
problems [italics added]” (Department of Housing and Urban
Development 1997, 13507). Evaluation of proposals gives
points for helping “solve or address an urgent need or problem,” with
“measurable objectives to be accomplished during the period
of performance” (U.S. Department of Housing and Urban
Development 1997, A30).
These typical funders’ statements can be questioned in two
regards. One concerns the realism of anticipated outcomes.
Funders encourage the belief that universities can provide
near-term solutions for significant, pressing, severe, and
urgent urban problems. Such expectations urge disingenuousness, fantasy, or both. They motivate university applicants to
assert that they can solve major urban problems in short order
with limited resources, and they encourage faculty and community members to believe such claims.
Realistically, university-community partnerships are a demonstration, or experiment, to determine what can be expected
from collaborations among faculty, community activists, and
others. These partnerships can contribute to two types of
learning. One involves the potential for addressing urban
problems—whether there are ways to solve them or whether
the best near-term hopes are to mitigate or just transform
them. The second concerns the dynamics of partnerships—
the relationships they offer, the predicaments they present,
and their possibilities for action. Findings with regard to the
latter issues set the conditions for addressing the former.
These partnership dynamics point to the second weakness
in common funder statements: they are unambiguous. They
assume that it is clear what and who institutions of higher
learning and communities are and how they act, once and for
all time.
Those who work with communities recognize the questions
that they present. Who is the community, and who represents
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University-Community Partnerships
it, such that a university might join it in partnership? Official
leaders may speak for only a few. Some people who are the center of extensive networks, and might speak for many, may be
suspicious of formal planning or organizing or may just consider it unimportant. Some groups, typically the neediest, have
little knowledge about or ability to participate in developing
programs. Competing organizations, each with credible
claims to represent community opinion, may oppose one
another on what to plan, how to plan, or whether to plan.
Moreover, when community or organizational members or
leaders change, newcomers may redefine their group or set
new directions. A university that aims to form a partnership
with a community must not only decide whom it means by the
community but also find concurrence on that view by community members.
Universities present similar questions. Who is the university? A university is a notoriously individualistic institution. Can
anyone represent it? Faculty and administrators variously represent it intellectually, socially, fiscally, and politically to students, research subjects, elected officials, and members of the
public. Those who would form a partnership between the university and a community must persuade community members
that they represent the university and must get others in the
university to authorize them to act, acquiesce in their acting, or
at least ignore them.
These questions frame a third set. What kinds of arrangements might a university-community partnership include,
allow, or require? Who can be parties to such a partnership?
Can one or a few individuals in each entity agree to a partnership, or must it be authorized by specific leaders or a majority
of each entity’s members? How much must the entities agree
on, and what conditions must they agree to, to constitute a
partnership? In what ways is a third-party funder a partner in a
university-community partnership, and how should the funder
participate? Who else should be a partner?
There are no single correct answers to these questions, and
existing partnerships show many variations. The University of
Maryland’s Urban Community Service (UCS) Program partnership with a Southeast Baltimore community to improve
schools illustrates ambiguities and predicaments associated
with university, community, and partnership.
! The University Acts
Actually, it is misleading to speak of the University of Maryland’s partnership. In summer 1994, five faculty members in
the Urban Studies and Planning Program (URSP) at the university’s College Park campus submitted a five-year $1 million
UCS proposal to the Department of Education. Each proposed
a project, one in Palmer Park, Maryland and four in Southeast
Baltimore. The Palmer Park project was concerned with housing, and the Baltimore projects involved housing, education,
economic development, and parks and recreation. The proposal described the efforts as consistent with the university’s
urban mission, and campus administrators signed their
support.
The campus administration does value research about and
service to cities, but the university has many missions. The
administration rewards the publication and funding of any
research. The administration appreciates, though it does not
necessarily reward, service to community groups, especially
when it brings public recognition or state budget appropriations. The UCS proposal had the potential to bring in money.
It would include research that could lead to publications. It
would involve community service that might bring favorable
publicity. Beyond this, the administration gave it no special
priority.
When the USDE funded the proposal in October 1994, the
university was five faculty members and ten graduate assistants
3
working on five projects. One faculty member directed the
education project, aided at different times by one or two grad4
uate students, eventually eight in five years. Beginning in
1996, an education professor and graduate student contributed considerable time, and another education professor and
two other students also took part. Realistically, a couple of professors and a few graduate students could not reform the city’s
schools, but, as the next section shows, the community partner’s expectations were more modest, and university and community members recruited other collaborators. Still, false
assumptions occasionally inflated hopes.
! Creating the Community
The Community
Southeast Baltimore was the area of first settlement for the
city’s European immigrants, and it was the center of the industrial development. At mid-century, it was the home of vital
working-class white ethnic communities. Since then, industries and jobs have left the area, and ethnicity has lost force.
Many families have moved to the suburbs for employment,
schools, safety, an American Dream house, or, as the area has
changed racially, a securely white neighborhood. Southeast is
still 70 percent white. Most who live there have limited economic and social resources. In 1991, the Southeast Community Organization (SECO) created the Southeast Planning
Council to develop strategies toward a better future. In 1993,
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Baum
250 participants under the leadership of a 50-member
Planning Council produced the Southeast Community Plan
(Baum 1997; Southeast Planning Council 1993).
I was a participant-observer in planning and stayed for
implementation efforts (Baum 1999). When the USDE advertised Urban Community Service Program (UCSP) funding in
1994, I asked the Planning Council’s Coordinating Committee
if they were interested in a university partnership to help
implement their plan. They were glad to have aid, and we identified recommendations on which no one was working and faculty could assist. Coordinating Committee and faculty members jointly prepared a proposal.
The Southeast Community Plan included a vague recommendation on education—to assemble a group to figure out how to
make schools better. With two Coordinating Committee members, I drafted a proposal to convene community members to
assess local education, prepare a plan to improve it, and initiate projects consistent with the plan. Success would be measured in terms of whether many people participated and produced a plan that knowledgeably reflected community
concerns, as well as whether projects were implemented.
The education project, like the other three Southeast Baltimore projects, grew from the community plan. Still, unlike in
Palmer Park, the partnership with the university did not arise
from a community request for help. Faculty offered aid to
those who could benefit from it, but community members
were not well organized to use it. In 1994, the ten-member
Coordinating Committee was all that was left of the Planning
Council. Its members were involved in many projects. Moreover, because the proposal focused on recommendations no
one was yet working on, there were not ready partners for university faculty. The Planning Council saw a partnership as a
resource, but they put off making definite arrangements until
a grant came through. When the proposal was funded, Coordinating Committee members hesitantly discussed who would
lead on education, until finally one person (who had helped
draft the education proposal) agreed. A longtime activist, she
directed the Julie Community Center (a small multipurpose
community center focused on youth) and was concerned
about education. The Coordinating Committee designated
her the chair of an Education Task Force that would implement the Plan recommendation.
She and I proceeded on the basis of some erroneous
assumptions. I thought that Southeast had many education
activists, represented by names I had collected, and that the
work would be to convene them, resolve disagreements, and
help prepare a plan. I assumed that the activists would want to
develop a plan for the whole community of Southeast Baltimore. In fact, few parents, and virtually no others, were active
in education. Furthermore, most parents were interested in
only the school that their child attended or would attend.
Their community was a school zone.
We assembled a core group, most from the Planning Council, and launched the Task Force in January 1995. It would
claim responsibility for the Planning Council’s territory, whose
77,000 residents included 11,000 students in eleven elementary schools, four middle schools, and a high school. A series of
efforts to create the community ensued.
Creating and Re-Creating the Community
During the summer of 1995, Task Force members interviewed the principals and three teachers, three parents, and
three students at each school. They identified four concerns:
(1) improving academic and other programs, (2) increasing
safety in and around schools, (3) building school-family-community relations, and (4) getting resources. The Task Force’s
coordinating committee convened a meeting to kick off the
education project in October. About one hundred community
members and educators heard a summary of the interviews
and an analysis of student data. They endorsed an agenda
focused on the four issues, and many volunteered for work
groups. A community was born at the end of the first year of
work.
The Task Force began 1996 by convening four work groups
to set agendas, develop priorities, study issues, and make recommendations. Then, a blizzard forced cancellation of all four
meetings. When they were rescheduled, turnout was modest.
Four coordinating committee members had agreed to chair
the groups, but some took the role to help on an interim basis
and not out of an interest in education, some had limited
knowledge about education, and, in any case, none had much
time beyond occasional meetings.
When the groups met, after people talked about concerns,
they had trouble thinking about action. The school system
seemed chaotic and uncontrollable, with education issues
overwhelmingly complex. Most participants were not professional educators. They felt that they could understand little
about education and, at any rate, had uncertain standing to say
much. By gradually dropping out of work groups, many withdrew from the community.
Three work groups met for half a year, and one continued
into the fifth year. Early on, coordinating committee members
noted that few parents were involved. They decided to convene
Parent-Teacher Association (PTA) and Parent-Teacher Organization (PTO) officers and set a meeting for late May. After
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University-Community Partnerships
mail and phone invitations, not one parent showed up. One
explanation is that some PTA and PTO presidencies are just titular positions. More generally, PTA and PTO officers, as most
parents, have little time for meetings, particularly when they
will not lead quickly to tangible benefits. In addition, many
parents, especially those who were poor students themselves,
feel intimidated by schools, ignorant about education issues,
and unable to say what should be done. The remedy, Task
Force members concluded, was parent organizing to create
the community. Fortuitously, a Task Force member who was on
the staff of Citizens Planning and Housing Association (a citywide civic group) was seeking funding for parent organizing,
and fall 1996 was the start of Baltimore’s first parent organizing, now in six Southeast schools.
By the beginning of 1997, the Task Force had coalesced as a
group of twenty meeting as a whole without a separate coordinating committee, with additional people conducting projects
in ad hoc work groups. In late 2000, the core group are mainly
middle-class, college-educated professionals with interests in
schools. They do not resemble the predominantly working-class Southeast Baltimore residents. The group includes
African Americans but is whiter than the general population.
Few are parents of current students, though the organizers are
bringing more parents to the Task Force. A school parent liaison, who works with low-income parents, attends.
Overall, about one thousand people have participated in
Task Force activities, such as interviews, work groups, symposia, community meetings, and workshops. These include people who live, work, send children to school, teach, or attend
school in Southeast, as well as others who care about the area
or education. They represent Southeast demographically
better than the core group, and they include principals, teachers, and other school staff. Because the core group want to
speak for broad interests, they listen to these participants. Furthermore, many members encounter educators, parents, or
children as part of their jobs or civic activity. Still, because of
the ad hoc and informal character of much of this contact,
there are limits to what the core group can know and say
authoritatively about the community.
Though not ideal, these conditions are within the range of
normal community activity. The quick demise of three work
groups illustrates problems in creating an active community
without continual organizing. Universities have little ability to
do this, and, in any case, funders either do not consider it an
important part of a university-community partnership or
expect community groups to do it. Hence, a partnership
depends on the ability of a community group to organize and
sustain participants. The result here is that the community
changed several times.
! Forming a Partnership
The Federal Government, the
University, and the Community
The USDE paid for a faculty member and a graduate assistant to work with the Southeast Education Task Force. Arguably, this constituted a partnership, but the identities of the
partners and the nature of their relationships were ambiguous.
Somehow the USDE, the Planning Program, and the Education Task Force were linked, but the relationship was asymmetrical. The only formal contract involved the federal funder
and the university program. Two Southeast Planning Council
members, one of whom became the Education Task Force
chair, worked on the proposal to the USDE. The USDE sent
the URSP money in return for its commitment to implement
the proposal. No community member was party to the agreement with the federal government. The university got the
5
money and was solely accountable for progress and results.
In fact, once the USDE gave funding and I began meeting
with the group who became the Task Force coordinating committee, everyone, including the two who had helped draft the
work plan, considered a great deal up for grabs. Those who
had not worked on the proposal did not feel bound by it, and
those who had wanted to reconsider what would be realistic.
Appeals to the federal contract carried no weight. In this situation, the university had money, but no power beyond what a
faculty member could negotiate with the community members
he encountered. In performance reports to the USDE, I
explained that community members had new ideas about what
to do and when to do it. The response to the first report asked
why the project was not aiming at systemic educational reform.
The community and the university’s partnership with it
have been protean. Formally, the Education Task Force was the
creation of a partnership between the Planning Program and
the Southeast Planning Council, represented by its Coordinating Committee. The Coordinating Committee effectively
dissolved in mid-1997, leaving the Planning Council alive only
in name.
Although the Task Force represents the community in education, its structure, roles, interests, and membership have
changed a number of times. Some changes came from collective decisions, for example, to start a new project or change
meeting procedures. Others represented the cumulative
effects of individual choices, where people gained or lost interest in something. I have negotiated with participants over organization and actions. Sometimes I brought issues before the
full Task Force. Sometimes I consulted with the chair and two
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Baum
or three activists, bringing these discussions to the whole
group. Much was loose but open, in ways that seemed generally
acceptable.
The Task Force has accommodated opportunities and
changing conditions. When some work groups ended, the
coordinating committee was superseded by meetings of the
entire membership. When the Task Force sent two foundations grant proposals for parent organizers, the foundations
wanted to fund a more formal entity than the Task Force; one
proposal was turned over to SECO (whose director was a Task
Force member), and the other was resubmitted with agreements to work closely with SECO.
Often, though not always, I have agreed with the changes. I
could try to persuade, and as time went on, I gained influence
from growing tenure, expertise, and relationships. Still, in this
partnership, a majority of community members carry the day
over the university. They appreciate help, but they act
independently.
In this triangular partnership, the university is dependent
on community members for activities for which the university
is solely accountable to the funder. Moreover, the institutional
relations between university and community are essentially
personal. Finally, the fact that a community organization formally represents the community does not mean that a broad
spectrum of community members participate in the
partnership.
Schools
The Task Force, in turn, has an ambiguous relationship
with schools. Education activists advised the Task Force not to
work with the school system administration because it had
weak leadership, was disorganized, and discouraged innovation. Instead, the Task Force should work with schools whose
staffs wanted reform. In fact, the Task Force met early on with
the school superintendent, but, despite rhetorical support, he
did not follow through. For example, he promised student
data, but the Task Force obtained some data only after eighteen months’ persistence through bureaucratic intrigue (an
assistant superintendent surreptitiously arranged for a staff
member to produce the data on a weekend and then left the
tapes in a desk drawer in an unattended office).
The Task Force claims interest in sixteen schools, but only
some have worked with it. School staffs generally have little
time for meetings. Some principals have little interest in the
Task Force. A few self-sufficiently have many programs. Some
lack time to explore collaborative possibilities. Some do not
have the managerial ability to take advantage of new resources.
When the Task Force has something to offer, it solicits interest
from all principals and chooses among those responding. This
was the practice in selecting sites for parent organizing, a university consultation on student discipline, and aid in developing a full-service school. In addition, the Task Force has moved
opportunistically. For example, parent organizing expanded
to a new school when the discipline consultation there identified overcrowding as a problem; an organizer helped parents
get the school system to build an addition.
Individual Task Force members have taken initiatives. One
helped a fifth-grade teacher recruit adults to tell students
about their jobs and arranged for high school students to tutor
the elementary school children. The Task Force chair, who is a
Sister of Notre Dame, arranged to have Notre Dame Americorps volunteers placed at a school where she is a member of
the school improvement team and another where a Task Force
member is a parent liaison.
These partnerships between the Task Force and schools are
relations between one or a few Task Force members and one or
a few school staff, usually, but not necessarily, including the
principal. Commonly, though not always, someone on the Task
Force initiated the contact. Individuals acted because they had
an opportunity to do so, sometimes because of the Task Force,
sometimes because of another role they held. They informed
the Task Force and acted in its name, and the Task Force
claimed credit. On the school side, Task Force members have
worked with those who have authority to represent the school
or part of it in the project at hand. Sometimes the latter consult or inform others at the school. Some projects require
broad involvement of faculty or the school improvement team.
Still, often the school partner is a few people acting on their
own.
Other Relationships
The Task Force has worked with many actors, including federal, state, and local education officials; universities; local and
national education groups and activists; the school board and
its Parent and Community Advisory Board; City Council members; the Empowerment Zone; foundations and community
associations; development corporations; and nonprofit organizations. Although convention often labels such relationships
as partnerships, most, while useful, have been ad hoc, informal
arrangements. Not atypically, the collaborative activity has
often been peripheral to the other actors’ missions. These relationships have produced a number of projects besides those
6
mentioned here. At least as important, the Task Force has
developed a network that can offer information, political support, and funding. These activities have created a climate in
the Southeast where education is on the community agenda,
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University-Community Partnerships
and individuals, groups, and organizations take unprecedented initiatives in education.
! The Terms of Partnerships
Church-School Partnerships
At the end of 1996, the Task Force’s School-Family-Community Relations Work Group decided to encourage churches to
assist schools and became the Church Outreach Work Group.
Guided by a member who ran a church after-school study center, the group began meeting with pastors. Two events about a
year later focused attention on the terms under which partnerships could be built. The specific institutions were churches
and schools, but the issues are general.
In the spring of 1998, two parent organizers at an elementary school invited pastors from nearby churches to meet with
school staff and parents. When discussion of partnership possibilities began, talk was one-sided. The principal, teachers, and
parents elaborated a long list of what they needed that the
churches might get them: recreation space, a library, an auditorium, a cafeteria, and books. Eventually, a minister said that
his church had limited resources and received many requests
for help. What would the church get from the school? No one
offered an answer.
A few weeks later, a pastor who was not part of the Church
Outreach Work Group followed up on material the group sent
him by proposing an after-school program to the principal of
an elementary school. He met with her and a group member
and explained that his program would have a spiritual element. The principal was unsure that this was appropriate and
wanted the group’s counsel. The next group meeting took up
the question of religious content in church partnerships with
schools. After a consensus that activities in school buildings
should be secular, two pastors argued that in programs at
churches religious material was not only appropriate but also
in the churches’ interests—congregations wanted to recruit
students and their families. The group recommended that
principals and pastors discuss what church programs would
involve, decide whether schools would publicize or endorse
them, and draw conclusions from resulting participation.
Interests and Development in Partnerships
The ministers made clear that churches wanted partnerships to be reciprocal: they wanted to receive as well as give. In
distinguishing terms for partnerships, they delineated stages
in partnership development. A first stage was often altruistic,
in which one party gave to another for moral reasons and took
recompense from doing good. A church might contribute
books, van rides, or use of an auditorium to a school in return
for the satisfaction of serving the Gospel. To continue, the
altruistic party often wanted to move to a second stage,
exchange, in which each party would give the other something
serving its interests. A church might help a school educate students by offering tutoring, and the school might let the church
advertise its youth group. As parties continued together, with
some combination of altruism and exchange, they might move
to a third stage, mutualism, where they developed and served
common interests. For example, church and school, thinking
of themselves as strengthening a shared community, might
convert a vacant lot into park and play space for school children, congregants, and other local residents.
The pastors made three points about partnerships. First,
when partners can satisfy significant interests, they are more
likely to continue in stable, long-term relationships. Second,
partnerships may evolve through stages, representing different definitions of interests and bases for relating. Third, the
evolution of partnerships into more complex, firmer relationships takes time. Parties must get to know one another, assess
interests and resources, design and evaluate the results of joint
efforts, and draw conclusions about whether collaboration is
worthwhile.
These observations apply to partnerships generally, including those between university and community. The partnership
described here began as an exchange made possible by a
third-party funder. What the university experienced as changes
in the community reflected, in part, residents’ entering and
leaving the partnership as they assessed the returns on their
time and effort. At the least, the partnership’s future depends
on growing community involvement motivated by an acceptable return on that investment, continuing or increasing faculty satisfaction with community participation, and sustaining
funding from a source.
! Conclusions: Making Partnerships Work
Some university-community partnerships have produced
impressive results, and many have brought universities unprecedented funding. Still, even these resources often have little
realistic relationship to the espoused aims of partnerships.
Some of the language of requests for proposals (RFPs) and
grant proposals is expediently disingenuous: funders want to
persuade their constituents that they are investing in major
reforms, grant writers promise to accomplish everything
funders want, and all agree to believe one another. Some of
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Baum
this is just wishful thinking—wouldn’t it be wonderful if universities and communities got together for three or four years
and solved major problems? Fantasy brings the risks that partners agree on purposes that cannot be accomplished under
any conditions and that, even if the purposes can be realized,
they are pursued without appropriate and sufficient resources.
The case study points to the following conclusions for realistic
planning.
Clarify and Specify Realistic
Partnership Purposes
Funders and grant writers talk ambitiously of institutional
change, such as reviving a community’s economy, reforming a
city’s schools, or turning a neighborhood of renters into one of
homeowners. In contrast, partnership practice commonly—
and most realistically—produces programs that may improve
living conditions but leave institutions largely unaffected. In
Southeast Baltimore, all or partly as a result of Task Force
efforts, African American adults mentor low-income children
in an elementary school, an overcrowded school has a new
addition, and the school system and the Empowerment Zone
funded extended school day programs in EZ schools. These
programs will improve children’s lives, but the school system
and social conditions that make it hard for children to learn
are unchanged. Such projects and their likely results are
worthwhile products of a brief university-community partnership, and they might be first steps in a long effort that changes
institutions, but they are not institutional change.
Funders, academics, and community members must be
ambitious—otherwise, there is no reason for partnerships. But
unless they are honest about what they can accomplish, they
will easily make inflated claims, ignore difficulties, and lose the
ability to plan or evaluate. Dishonesty, cynicism, and blame will
inevitably follow.
Match Resources to Purposes
Resources should match partnerships’ original purposes
but also allow for repetition, false starts, new directions, inconsistencies, and other inefficiencies that accompany learning
and inevitable changes in partners and their purposes. Three
resources matter greatly.
The first is knowledge. If the purpose of a partnership is to
design and implement a short-term program to address a discrete problem, universities and communities may have the requisite expertise. However, no one knows enough about big
problems, institutional change, and long-term relationships to
move directly to create partnerships with these purposes.
Funders, universities, and community groups should treat
such ambitions with intellectual respect. They need to work
together to develop sophisticated frameworks for acting.
Partners should treat partnerships as experiments, or
action research. They need to act to learn—not just about substantive matters such as housing or education but about how
communities and organizations act in these fields and strategies for influencing them. For example, university and community members who started the Education Task Force were
uncertain what issues it should address, what knowledge and
standing noneducators had to talk about schools, what a community group could do to improve schools, what it would mean
for such a group to prepare an education plan, and who should
be partners in the effort. These were not failures of planning
but matters that participants could clarify only by acting. What
they learned led them to change directions. For example, the
original design proposed to begin by developing a plan and
then implement it in projects. Task Force members found that
they could prepare a plan only after engaging in or observing a
number of projects and drawing conclusions from results.
Acknowledging uncertainty and risk is risky. Community
groups do not want to be research guinea pigs, and they do not
want to wait for action. Funders want to buy a sure thing and
are wary of paying academics to conduct studies. The U.S.
Department of Housing and Urban Development and the
USDE explicitly limit funding for research in favor of outreach. However, acting without understanding not only leaves
problems untouched but also casts doubt on the value of
knowledge, research, universities, and university-community
partnerships.
Thus, the second crucial resource is time. Time is needed
for learning how a partnership can be formed, what it should
do, how it should be reformed to do that, and what else it might
do. The pastors’ lesson is that partnerships have a developmental logic. Considerable time is necessary to create a relationship where partners can jointly design and implement a project. More is needed to build a relationship with a general
capacity to act productively. Still more is required to establish a
relationship that can move from its original field into other
endeavors (Dewar and Isaac 1998; LeGates and Robinson
1998; Reardon 1998; Rubin 1998; Wiewel and Lieber 1998).
University and community partners who established the Education Task Force had agreed to work together, but it took time
to develop sufficient understanding of and trust in one
another, as well as confidence in shared knowledge, to act.
Any attempt to address a big problem, much less change an
institution, will be difficult, tenuous, and possibly unsuccessful.
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University-Community Partnerships
Faculty and community members must have enough
time—not only to form an appropriate partnership and figure
out what to do but to see through a course of action and assess
the results. This is a matter of many years. And yet, even a
decade is beyond most calculations that matter, such as elections, budget decisions, personal careers, and children’s
school years. Faculty members will move away or move on.
Community organizations will change leaders. Strategic allies
will go. A partnership that might continue on paper will alter
identity several times. If it is to persist in reality, its changing
members will need to keep re-creating it. And they will rethink
their purposes—not just because they have seen the results of
efforts set in motion before they arrived but because they see
the world differently.
Such familiar observations do not argue against long-term
partnership efforts but rather weigh in favor of them. If partnerships have worthwhile purposes, they require considerable
time and sophisticated effort. Otherwise, funded partnerships
may be welfare programs, largely for universities, but they are
not change efforts.
It is because knowledge and time are so important that
money is a third crucial resource. Rarely do university administrations commit funds to community work, though they will
satisfy grant matching requirements. Sometimes community
groups pay universities for services, but few have the resources to do so, especially for any extended period. For these
reasons, third-party funding, from the federal government or
foundations, for example, is often necessary to begin and
essential to sustain universities and communities in long-term
7
partnerships.
a community and encourage them to join the university and
community in improving it. These partners might contribute
material resources; they would also bring expertise and
authority. For example, the Education Task Force has developed relationships with the local, state, and federal education
departments, as well as with school reform groups. It would be
particularly appropriate for the USDE to help the Task Force
secure more collaborative agreements with top administrators
and staff in each of the education departments, as well as with
local corporate leaders.
Even if initial funders cannot make long-term financial
commitments to a partnership, they can organize a consortia
of funders, including public agencies, foundations, and corporations. For example, federal funders ask universities to provide fiscal matches and to leverage other funds. The request is
reasonable, but the reality that many universities are only a few
faculty members limits what the university can contribute,
unless funders directly ask top administrators for financial
commitments to partnerships. They can similarly approach
others.
In addition, foundations, federal agencies, and their networks can assist in planning and evaluating projects by providing experience, research, examples of model programs, and a
broad perspective. Funders will learn about and from what
they are paying for better at firsthand than through written
reports. They will develop a stronger investment in their projects and a sense of responsibility for them, and they will have
more constructive influence over their development.
Make Partners Accountable to One Another
Make Funders Partners
Few federal agencies or foundations make large, multiyear
financial commitments. Even if they have the funds, most prefer to seed several efforts rather than make a long-term investment in one. Moreover, many funders regard multiyear
requests skeptically. They encourage proposals that promise
vast returns on their money but are impatient with developmental processes that do not quickly yield conspicuous products. Some grantors, more sophisticated or trusting, are willing
to make at least small grants for several years. Still, whatever the
funders’ financial and intellectual positions, rarely do they
actively help grantees accomplish what both seemingly have
stakes in.
Foundations and federal agencies are a part of vast networks. They can help universities and community groups organize partnerships. Funders can identify institutions that affect
Often, few partners are accountable to anyone for anything. A university must show a funder that expenditures are
reasonable and accomplishments noteworthy, but the funder
is rarely expected to help the grantee succeed. Community
activists, who rarely get money, are not accountable to the
funder and usually not to the university. The funder usually has
no formal relationship with the community and hence no obligation to it. None of these actors is necessarily accountable to
members of the community that the partnership is supposed
to serve.
In this context, the relationship between university faculty
and students and their community partners can break down, as
the Task Force case suggests. University members for whom
the partnership is a central responsibility and interest can find
community members for whom it is peripheral or the occasional focus of scarce attention. The university may be set to
work but, despite collaboration with community members in
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Baum
In Sum: Fantasy and Reality
producing an initial proposal, lack agreement on immediate
directions. Moreover, the language of partnership often
obscures a consultant-client relationship in which a university
gives a community free help. Clients always have the choice of
disregarding consultants’ work, particularly when they pay
nothing for it.
Parties must commit themselves to do what they can to
establish a durable partnership, to figure out what its goals
should be and what partners must do to reach them, and to
secure resources needed to accomplish their purposes. They
must be willing to contribute time, knowledge, relationships,
authority, and appropriate material resources. They must
respond to one another’s requests. Articulating these obligations—for example, the relationship between a federal funder
and a neighborhood resident, an elected official and a university professor, or, crucially, university faculty and community
representatives—will often be difficult but is central.
Partnerships that work take sophisticated knowledge and
skills, years of time, and a lot of money. In the face of these
requirements, it is tempting to indulge in wishful thinking. If
only partners would come together with a little money for a little while, somehow they will create vast resources and solve significant urgent problems. This fantastic premise seems to
shape many university-community partnerships.
The case here points to two principles for realism. The first
is for would-be partners to think and agree explicitly, clearly,
and specifically about what their shared purposes are and what
they must do to accomplish them. The second is for partners to
provide the flexibility, time, and resources necessary for them
to learn, change their minds, change their identities, and
change their directions. Definite outcomes and adaptable processes are in tension, but they are good partners.
Organize, Continually
Author’s Note: James Cohen and Richard Cook contributed thoughtful observations to this article.
Partnerships require continual organizing. In many communities, particularly the poorest, there is little formal organization. People may have interests in issues but lack time, skills,
or confidence to take part in meetings. Commonly, as the case
here shows, a small group of activists, often middle-class professionals (perhaps many involved in community organizations as
their job), act on behalf of a community. They bring interest,
skills, and time. Yet despite their best intentions, they are unfamiliar with some community groups and, in any case, lack
authority to speak for them (see Cnaan 1991). In addition, frequently they are overextended, involved in numerous projects
and running from meeting to meeting.
Community members need information about issues and
activities, encouragement and assistance to attend meetings,
training and coaching, and help analyzing problems and
developing responsive strategies if they are to participate in
community life. Yet for community leaders, funders, some academics, and most others, partnerships take second place to
other responsibilities and interests. Ongoing effort is necessary to nurture partners, get their attention, develop work
groups, arrange productive meetings, plan and implement
projects, and recruit new partners to succeed those who leave.
Organizing is a distinct full-time role, for which few academics
have skill and time. Unless there is funding for organizing, it
will be difficult to establish durable community partners,
much less institutionalize partnerships (see LeGates and Robinson 1998; Reardon 1998; Rubin 1998; Sarason and Lorentz
1998; Wiewel and Lieber 1998).
! Notes
1. Alternatively, when partnerships falter, partners may unrealistically vilify one another. In either case, what is significant is that
realism is easily displaced by imagination.
2. Alternatively, one or all partners may imagine that action is
doomed to be fruitless.
3. Some funders regard university-community partnerships as a
means to changing universities, orienting them more toward community problem solving. Under conditions like those here, where
little of the university is engaged in a partnership, such aims are
unrealistic.
4. This staffing was unrealistic in terms of community education problems. One factor was a wish to include five faculty members in the grant.
5. The funding allocation was a Planning Program decision,
not a U.S. Department of Education requirement. Wiewel and
Lieber (1998) describe a program in which federal funds went to
community members.
6. For example, the Task Force has helped a church develop a
broad partnership with an elementary school and is working with
others to create a consortium of tutors. It helped an elementary
school set up a mentoring program. It was a cofounder of a group
that has influenced Empowerment Zone education initiatives.
7. Nevertheless, creativity can extend the potential of limited
resources, including little money (see Sarason et al. 1977; Sarason
and Lorentz 1979, 1998).
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