In the 1997 mafia classic “Donnie Brasco,” the phrase “fuhgeddaboudit” serves as a linguistic chameleon. Depending on the inflection, it can mean anything from “that’s amazing” to “forget about it because it’s over.” As an undercover FBI agent, Joe Pistone learned that in the underworld, trust is a fleeting commodity. We like to believe the “real world” of academia is different — a meritocracy where administrative departments like the Office of Graduate Education under Dean Juan González advocate for the “intellectual and professional development” of every student.
University administrators are supposed to be more than just gatekeepers; they are the stewards of academic quality and the exemplars of ethical discernment. They are charged with upholding policies in a way that considers nuance over one-size-fits-all dogma. Yet, my recent experience suggests that for some students at the finish line, the administration’s message is a cold, Brasco-style “fuhgeddaboudit.”
My Ph.D. journey began in 2011, after completing a B.S. in computer science, a B.A. in English and an M.A. in literary studies. I am a student of literature and poetics who, like many of the university’s students, funded years of coursework through student loans. By the end of 2016, I had completed every requirement except the dissertation, amassing $200,000 in debt. When I reached my federal loan and scholarship limit, I was forced into a hiatus to survive and support my family.
From 2017 to 2020, I stepped into the private sector, working at a sports management startup to make ends meet. By the end of 2020, I was poised to return and self-fund my defense, and I was briefly readmitted for the 2021 academic year, but then the COVID-19 pandemic hit and forced my company into bankruptcy and me into a four-year struggle for financial solvency; it was an untenable position, and I could not register and pay for dissertation hours. Throughout these “lost years,” I remained an educator, teaching as an adjunct while working on my dissertation chapters.
When I finally secured full-time employment in fall 2025, I reached out to Dean Juan González. I wasn’t asking for a handout; I was asking to return now that I finally had the financial stability the university requires. Initially, the system worked. Dean González met with me, heard the nuances of my financial hardship and that I needed an exception beyond the normal 10-year period, and he agreed to a one-semester extension only for spring 2026, provided that my committee members were agreeable based on the progress of my completed manuscript. My committee chair and department chair enthusiastically agreed to the timeline. I was at the finish line.
This is where the train went off the rails. At 5 p.m. on the Friday before the Monday admission deadline, Shilyh Warren, associate dean of graduate studies, emailed to state that in her opinion I “did not qualify for an exception.” She further stated that none of my previous Ph.D. work would count toward any degree at the university. She suggested I start over as a new student, effectively erasing over a decade of work. There is a fundamental difference between a student who lingers for a decade without finishing coursework or exams — someone who might be seen as a “slacker” — and a student who has reached the finish line despite overwhelming external odds. Distinguishing between the two requires a case-by-case evaluation; it requires the “care and concern” that should define an academic community. Yet, the university treated a student who is one semester away from the end as if they were a slacker. Warren determined I was unworthy of an exception without any clear, communicated bases. Without a single conversation or a moment of outreach, she rendered a life-altering decision in a vacuum, ignoring the nuance that her role is designated and entrusted to protect. Shortly after her email, Dean González emailed me retracting his support, citing the need to avoid “establishing precedent.”
The University Handbook allows for an exception of the 10-year rule if a student shows a clear completion date and has faculty support; I have both. I have checked every box: four years of coursework, completed language exams, three written and oral exam defenses, an accepted dissertation proposal and the majority of the dissertation completed.
My situation is not an isolated incident; it is a symptom of a trend in our society toward cold expediency over human development. If a student who has completed every milestone — from coursework to doctoral exams — can be summarily dismissed without a single conversation, what does that say to the rest of the student body? There are likely many others in this proverbial academic city who have faced similar walls of silence — students whose life-altering circumstances like financial hardship or health crises are treated as mere paperwork errors rather than human realities.
While Warren argues that denying my extension preserves academic integrity, her decision ignores the holistic value of a student’s contribution as a member of the community. The “integrity” of a program should be measured by the caliber of its scholars and their dedication to the field. Throughout my time at UTD, I have done more than just take classes; I co-founded the Poetry Club with the late Fred Turner, taught without compensation, and contributed to our literary journal. My professional work has been published by Oxford University Press and shared at global conferences. When the administration chooses a rigid timeline over a proven scholar, they aren’t just rejecting an extension — they are rejecting the “common good” that the university is supposed to serve.
The role of a gatekeeper and community is not just to keep people out; it is to know when to let them in. I am asking the Administration to look beyond the “one-size-fits-all” dogma and honor the original spirit of the law, the reason exceptions exist. Let us prove that UTD is a community of caring and intellectual advancement, not a place where a student’s life work is dismissed with a Friday afternoon email. Allow me to defend my dissertation, and in doing so, allow this university to defend its values of equity and discernment that it claims to uphold; let us prove that our academic community is defined by its people — the community of human endeavors that we cherish — and not by dogmatic rules that ignore subtlety and nuance, and these pursuits are what strengthen a community’s ethos and fulfill what Aristotle called “the common good.” The cherished values to defend those who do not “turn the levers of power” is a sacred duty on our part as a community; else, we lose something very precious, and I guess we can all just “fuhgeddaboudit.”
One Comment
This is truly a disturbing situation that is all too common within Academia whose aims continue to align more with the state apparatus then true academic integrity. Is there any action readers can take to pressure OGE to reconsider it’s handling of this situation — hopefully setting a precedent of academic integrity and benefit over burdensome accreditation-board enforced hurdles.