Confessions of a new lecturer, Volume 2: Reflecting on the first year.

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This year’s casualties – all the things I’ve not read!

I’ve been a lecturer for just under a year now, and it’s been mostly fun and interesting, and sometimes challenging. As I wrote last time, a few things early on surprised me, such as how intellectually dependent first year students can be and how much admin there is. The former has meant that I’ve adapted my teaching over the year to slowly take the training wheels off their thinking and assignment writing. The latter is simply part of working in a bureaucracy – some of it is necessary and some of it certainly isn’t, but you just have to do it.

A professor I know quite well told me before I started this job not to expect to achieve anything in the first year beyond getting through it. In hindsight, this was pretty accurate – the combination of teaching a lot of new classes, unfamiliar roles and responsibilities, and completing a postgrad certificate – is probably more than enough for a year. I’ve managed to go a little a bit beyond that: reviewed a few papers and a pile of conference submissions, published one major paper and had another rejected (both were mostly complete before I got here), wrote and published one minor paper, delivered a conference poster and a seminar talk, had two conference proposals accepted, and won some internal funding for a research project which is now under way. I’ve managed to attend a few seminars here and there, too – getting off campus and mixing with colleagues from elsewhere stops you going stir-crazy. Maybe all of this has meant other things have suffered…

What has really fallen by the wayside this year is my capacity to read (and write). Oh, how I yearn to return to the first year of my PhD (if not not financially)! The pile of must-read articles and books relating to papers I’m writing or projects I’m working on is growing and growing. I’ve read the bare minimum this year – pre-reading for sessions I’ve designed and/or taught, some key articles for funding/conference applications, and literature for assignments on the PGCert. The only time I’ve managed to go beyond that is on the occasional long distance train journey. This has to be better next year – I feel like I’m falling further and further behind, and you can’t rely on work published up to 2014 for publications!! The knock-on effect is that I have several papers in various stages of development that I’m struggling to get anywhere near.

I whinged a bit last time about the lack of space I had to dedicate to the postgrad certificate in teaching in HE. Completing it leads to fellowship of the Higher Education Academy (HEA), a sector-wide requirement for all new academic (teaching) staff in UK HE. The proportion of staff with HEA Fellowships is going to be made publicly available quite soon, and you also have to factor in that the National Student Survey is supposed to reflect teaching quality. In other words, this is a big deal. Some universities (particularly those which are heavily research-oriented) may have let this slide over time, and everyone is now hell-bent on getting new (and old) teaching staff onto the HEA’s books. There’s an argument that says asking universities to be top-notch in their teaching and research on current resourcing is too much. That’s the brief, though. It’s a research/discussion topic in its own right, but the upshot is that I have to get my fellowship. There is an alternative route for those with teaching experience and I probably could/should have taken this. I opted to take the course in the best interests of my teaching (and students!), but you need at least five to six weeks to attend the taught sessions, read around the topic, and then write sensible assignments. That time simply isn’t there. My assignments are rushed, the grades reflect that, and I’ve had relatively little time to really think about my teaching. It’s irksome to say the least.

My biggest surprises at the end of the year related to marking. First off, you have a month where you do pretty much nothing else but read and grade exams, essays, and research projects. It is, of course, part of the system that we grade work and do so fairly, and for the students who incorporate their feedback into future work, it’s an essential part of studying. There is, though, mountains of it, and in truth it sends you a bit mad for a time. You emerge at the end of it (the ‘Grading Zone’) like a bear from hibernation – a bit bleary-eyed and discombobulated! Secondly, quite a lot of students (in general, not just mine!) complain formally or informally about their grades. I heard things like ‘I did well on my previous pieces so this must be a mistake’, or ‘if this grade was better, it would lift my overall mark’. I often had to explain that, although grading assignments was not an exact science, we moderated each other’s marking to make sure that standards were evenly applied. Furthermore, past performance is not an automatic indication of future ones, and the unpalatable truth is almost certainly that the work simply wasn’t as good. It may not be what you wanted, but it’s what you did. (In other words, ‘It was a bit shit. Sorry. Please read your feedback and take it on board’.)

Looking ahead, I’m in a nice position where I can have quite a bit of say in what I’m doing next year. I’ll be taking on much of the same teaching again, as well as some new responsibilities like running the final year dissertation and looking at our publicity and recruitment. Wanting to do the same teaching again is partly because I won’t have to spend as much time preparing myself/the materials, but also because I want to be better at it than I was this year. It’s not that I think I did anything particularly badly, but I do want re-run the year in some ways and improve in a few areas. I’ve also managed to offload a couple of things, which is nice!

All in, I’m still loving it. There have been times in the last year when I was struggling to cope, but I suppose those are part and parcel of any job. You tend to get through them and on the odd occasion that things do go pear-shaped, hopefully you have an understanding boss and the situation is fixable. I find that getting along with people and being helpful creates a reciprocity and you bail each other out when needed. I also need to work on my time management skills. I’m my own worst enemy at times, trying to clear my desk to give myself a ‘free’ day or two to dedicate to research, reading and writing. Note to self – you’ll never clear your desk! I have to learn to just drop things for a time and only attend to the urgent enquiries; in practice, virtually nothing is urgent. My brief for this year is to teach better, be smarter with my time, and read and write more. My career depends on publications above all else, so I’d better crack on.

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Posted in Early Career Academia, Employability | 2 Comments

Social Inequality is the bane of our education system. Am I right to be ashamed of myself?

 

Hiding

Dare I show my face…?

I’m a sociologist of education, and anyone familiar with this area knows that the notion that we live in a meritocratic society is a myth. Rather than education being a golden ticket to social mobility, the most disadvantaged in our society are systematically held back in education, and in work. This has nothing to do with a lack of ability, but is a complex cultural/financial conundrum, slicing up in different ways across demographic dimensions, from class to gender, ethnicity to geography.

OfSted admits that the issue of class and educational outcomes ‘continues to be the most troubling weakness in our education system’. One striking outcome is that the poorest students are the least likely to go to university. If they do, they’re largely excluded from those universities that provide better or even exclusive routes into postgrad courses and the best jobs, and are also less aware of/able to access opportunities that improve their employability. Universities (out of social duty/under threat) are working on this by providing outreach, scholarships, favourable entrance requirements, and better student support. They could be doing more, particularly some of them, but they (and education more generally) can’t solve social inequality by themselves.

Undermining all of this is a policy landscape – largely under the smokescreen of austerity – that further marginalises the most vulnerable. The Conservatives, of course, still place the blame firmly on education – and families. In other words, they’re defending their success/affluence (attributing it to nothing but their own merit) by pointing the finger firmly away from where their responsibilities should lie. At times the futility of it all makes me want to scream or weep, but the more we know about it, the more we can find ways of improving the situation. It’s an uphill struggle as there’s the weight of a system to shift. I’ve been working in this area for a while, researching various aspects of it and I also teach it with passion. I have to admit, though, that at times I feel like the enemy within. I have a dirty secret, you see – I’m posh. There, I’ve said it. Admitting to your problem opens the path to the solution, some say. We’ll see.

In my ‘defence’, it wasn’t my choice, and I doubt if there was a conscious decision to send me to a private school, as that’s just ‘what one does’. I’m an army brat: my dad was an officer in the army (‘a Rupert’!), so it was expected/assumed that I’d be packed off to a private school, and it was mostly paid for by the state. I didn’t – as many do – go straight from school to a fancy university and stay in the system, and I haven’t always had professional level jobs. I’ve worked nights, washed pots, worked in retail and catering, on building sites, and did all sorts of assorted temping work. I’ve worked in outreach through social services, too. I’m certainly not denigrating these jobs, and doing them has taught me a home truth or two. It took me a few years to get a well-paid job; I did that for a while before quitting to travel and then go back to university. At times I’ve been hard up (but nothing near this), and my family helped out (not infrequently) when it was needed. Without them, far less of what I’ve done would have been feasible, or at least getting here would have been far, far harder than it already was. In other words, I’ve had every chance to get to wherever I wanted to go. A lot of – most – people don’t have that.

My poshness is the result of my own unfair advantage and in some ways works against me. First off, I should probably check my privilege. However, you don’t have to be disabled to work in disability studies; you don’t have to be a woman to be a feminist, either. In terms of the latter, I’m not, and I am. But in what way am I qualified – other than on paper – to pass comment? Would I be better, and more eligible to work in this field, if I’d been discriminated against, rather than for? I’d be less likely to be where I am, and I’d certainly be even angrier about inequality. What is central here, though, is that I don’t project my experience or expectations onto what is researched and published/publicised. It is up to me to listen to others, to not marginalise anyone else’s perspectives. After all, I ‘know’ nothing of this except what I’ve seen, heard and read – I’ve not lived it. In a sense the job at hand is to find out as much as we can, shout it from the rooftops, and try to redress the imbalance. I’m trying to, in as many ways as I can find.

A second, less important, dimension to all of this is that it sharpens my sense of imposter syndrome, the fear I’m a dullard masquerading as an intelligent academic. Not only am I posh, but I’m from the most privileged educational group of all: white, male, able, and for eleven years an inmate of our proud tradition of British boarding schools. Boarding at an ‘independent’ (let’s admit it, it’s a polite term for private and exclusive) schools nowadays costs about the same or more than the national average salary. People at these schools make up about 7% of the school population but are twenty to fifty times more likely to go to elite universities than the poorest pupils. They also dominate the professions. This is the sharpest end of our British unmeritocracy. ‘We’ have better chances in life because of who we are, who we know, how we talk, what we wear, how we act – it’s not that we’re any brighter. This implies (or proves?!) that my success is less down to hard work and overcoming hurdles than it is for many of my colleagues, and this means that I’m often loath to admit my educational background to them. Maybe I’m fooling myself, it’s probably obvious as soon as I open my mouth.

Within the literature on this topic there’s also a sense (or maybe it’s my sense) that vilifies the most affluent pupils: some of us are shamelessly entitled. In all honesty I probably was when I was younger – I had no idea how fortunate I was. In a sense I couldn’t have – I was cloistered (literally), and my social sphere was by and large removed from wider reality. Ten years ago I’d have despised the eighteen year-old me for being cluelessly stuck up and full of myself, but now I’d be more likely to try and enlighten the person I was. I’ve no right to feel sorry for myself, and I don’t. I can count my lucky stars in so many ways, but my lucky stars also make me feel uncomfortable. Perhaps that’s how it should be.

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A luke warm date with the White Paper – condensing 83 pages into 2

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My afternoon’s ‘entertainment’.

The much-anticipated Higher Education White Paper was released on Monday, sending the Twittersphere and other social media outlets into overload. It had been preceded by a Green (consultation) Paper in November last year, but the White Paper sets out what the government will actually be doing with/to HE over the next four years or so. The title ‘Success as a Knowledge Economy: Teaching Excellence, Social Mobility and Student Choice’ gives some of it away. There is a strong economic focus, more detail on the impending Teaching Excellence Framework (TEF), and a range of measures aimed at improving the information and options available to students. There is also a regulatory shake-up, which isn’t evident in the title; perhaps adding ‘Mergers and Acquisitions in Governance and Funding Structures’ to the end would have made it less catchy.

One of the major features of the White Paper is the facilitation of new entrants to the sector, subject to certain quality controls. There will be three levels of provider: ‘Approved (fee cap)’, ‘Approved’, and ‘Registered’. The former is essentially what a university is now – entitled to design and award its own degrees, undergraduate fees not significantly over £9,000, enrolling domestic students who can access government loans, and allowed to recruit non-EU students (who need Tier 4 visas). Registered providers can set fees wherever they like, but can only offer courses up to UK Level 4 (HNC/Degree Level C). They also can’t call themselves universities, meet tuition costs through state loans, or recruit anyone who needs a Tier 4 visa. Approved, as you might imagine, sits somewhere in the middle in terms of fees, loans and so on but they do have a University Title. Proponents of this opening up of the market say that competition keeps everyone on their toes and doing a good job, and while there will be casualties but this is healthy. Opponents would say that it devalues the status of the term university, undercuts the least prestigious universities, and offers opportunities for profit-oriented education providers to access state funding and cherry-pick lucrative and cost-effective degree subjects that are easier to market.

In terms of students themselves, there are four main developments.

  • The biggest noise within academia has been about the Teaching Excellence Framework (TEF), the new pedagogical sibling of the REF. This will be phased in over several years, becoming more comprehensive/complex (and, probably, expensive) in future iterations. Crucially, providers who achieve excellent or outstanding rating will be able to raise their fees in line with inflation. This has been an ongoing issue for universities under capped fee regimes as many fixed costs such as utilities have been creeping up. TEF is supposed to improve the pedagogical experience, but as with all metric-based systems, it also comes with its application of proxies and opportunities for being gamed by universities.
  • A second significant aspect for students is a greater availability of information on courses. This will include current Key Information Set (KIS) such as NSS scores and employability, but also long-term earnings data drawn from HMRC, degree outcomes (i.e.grades), the complaint levels, retention/drop-out rates, and more. Informed decision-making is a good thing, but as always the data made available shapes what students come to expect, and student happiness, or high employment – the latter often being dependent on a healthy economy – do not necessarily equate to a quality teaching experience.
  • Flexible pathways are being pushed more vigorously, to allow for changes between full- and part-time during degrees, and for more credit transfer to facilitate moves between universities. This was the aim of modularisation over 20 years ago, but inter-university mobility has never really taken off in the UK. There is an implication that you will be able to transfer between universities of different statuses, a sort of ‘trading up’ (or down, too), but it remains to be seen how warmly elite institutions welcome this in practice.
  • Finally, student loans will be made available for Master’s (from this year) and Doctoral and part-time students (both from 2018). This has been promised for some time and is long overdue as support for part-timers and scholarships for postgrads have been in short supply, but the total debt of someone who borrowed at the ‘full set’ over 7-9 years will be in excess of £70K.

As indicated earlier, there has been a significant reshuffle in who/what administers the system. The Higher Education Funding Council for England (HEFCE, established in 1992) and the Office for Fair Access (OFFA, since 2004) are being merged to create an Office for Students (OfS). OfS will be a champion of ‘competition, choice and the student interest’, allocating funding, providing degree awarding powers and university titles to new entrants, monitoring and publicising developments in student access, managing the Prevent (anti-terrorism) Strategy, and any additional functions the state deems appropriate. That is quite a portfolio. Intended to operate ‘at arm’s length’ form the government, its Chair, Chief Executive and non-executive board members will nonetheless be appointed by the government. The seven Research Councils, Innovate UK, and Research England are also being merged into UK Research and Innovation (UKRI). There will no doubt be some reshuffling and a flurry of new letterheads and logos, but given that eight of the nine of these organisations are already all based in the same building in Swindon, it’s not an altogether tectonic shift. The number of acronyms is shortening, but it might be difficult for those studying UK HE over time to remember them all.

While the White Paper does give a nod to the social value of degrees and graduates and promotes widening access, it does lean far more heavily on the combination of competition and metrics as a panacea for all of higher education’s supposed ills. It also continues to: apply the (oversimplified) metaphor of ‘consumers’ to students, frames degrees primarily as personal investments, and charges higher education overall with producing commercially exploitable knowledge in the interests of global economic competition. So it’s business as usual – pun intended – but takes us a number of steps further than we have been before.

Posted in Access to Uni, Employability, Globalisation, International Students, PhDs/Doctorates, Student Loans, Tuition Fees | 1 Comment

Are universities ‘dumbing down’?

Dumbing Down

Are university standards heading underground?

One of the things that has happened over the past 15 years or so is that the number of people going to university has risen very quickly. This is not just in the UK, but worldwide. As I’ve written elsewhere, this is part of a longer trend that combines two chief factors: more and more people finishing school and wanting to go to university, and the recent encouragement by governments buying into the idea that having higher numbers of graduates makes you internationally competitive. I’ve blogged about some of the downsides to this growth, such as how a larger student body is often funded (through tuition fees and loans) and the labour market becoming overcrowded. There are some serious pluses, too, such as having a greater proportion of society with critical thinking skills, and people who might previously have been excluded from higher education having more opportunities to go. Whether they actually go – and if so, where – is another matter.

There is also a sense in some of the literature, media, and discussions over the water cooler, that this widening access has given rise to another problem – that higher education is ‘dumbing down’. The accusation is that we’re expanding entry to degrees beyond the number of people who are ‘university material’. In order to make sure these people graduate, we’re bringing the water to the horse, not the horse to the water, by making degrees easier for these ‘less suitable’ students. (We do, after all, want their fee money and success/drop-out rates are calculated into some rankings.) This in turn means that degrees, particularly in some subjects and/or at less selective universities, aren’t as good, as academically rigorous, and overall this makes the sector look weaker as a whole. How well does this claim stand up?

First of all, it’s been very well documented that people from poorer backgrounds tend to do less well at school, so saying that these people simply aren’t of the right calibre is inaccurate. What we’re actually seeing here strikes me as a class issue – the dumbing down accusation is just outright snobbery. Higher education is no longer the exclusive preserve of the middle classes, and this means that their dominance of the professions is threatened. What happens when you have a greater number of graduates is known as ‘credential inflation’: degrees are not as rare as they used to be and as such their relative prestige falls. However, we can still see that the most academically selective universities are historically/by default also socially selective as they recruit largely from the middle classes. Rankings ‘prove’ that some universities are better than others, but as I’ve explored before, rankings are not necessarily valid measures of quality. Even so, employers rely on them and/or have long-standing connections with particular universities. This means that the more affluent students, attending higher status institutions (and with the money/connections to get internships) are more likely to do well on the job market. Working class kids coming through Oxbridge just don’t don’t have the same opportunities as their middle class Oxbridge peers, and so it continues, ‘down’ through the system. The middle class advantage is still there, but it is less clear than before and in some ways it’s under threat.

The second issue relates to the school system itself. In addition to the fact that disadvantaged kids have greater barriers to educational success, the way that teaching is changing may make the transition to university more difficult for the majority of students. There is perhaps always a sense of how school leavers were better in the ‘good old days’, but there might be an element of truth in this. Not brighter, of course, but perhaps more independent as learners. Because the school system has become heavily monitored, with schools being judged and compared (through league tables) on the basis of their results, teachers are driven to coach their students very carefully to do well in exams. This might not be good pedagogical practice, but it does get good results on paper – and is vital to schools’ continued survival. We see this in the literature on school policy, and I have a number of friends who are teachers – they have confirmed how this feeds into the classroom. What this means for universities is that first year students can be very dependent at the outset and find the relative lack of guidance and support in the university system quite unsettling. I’ve seen this first hand, and wondered if it was linked to the fact that some of my students don’t have great grades and so lack confidence, while others came though vocational rather than academic routes and might have been exposed to a more hands-on/applied learning and teaching culture. Even if we suspend our sociological hats for a minute and assume that grades accurately reflect ability, are students with better grades more independent? Having spoken to others who teach at universities that only really recruit the highest performing students, they report the same kinds of things. Their students are coming in very well equipped at memorisation and regurgitation, but not at finding and analysing information for themselves or managing their own timetables.

So, what do we do about this? Students may, through no fault of their own, be coming into university with less well-developed self-study skills than before. They are products of an education system which is being forced to school them in a way that looks effective from one perspective but might be counterproductive from another. I see my job with the first year students, almost more importantly than teaching the content, as slowly taking the stabilisers off their educational bikes so they can ride without them – and, increasingly, without me. This is not about dumbing down, but acknowledging where they’ve come from, signposting where we expect them to go, and supporting them in their intellectual development. Anyone can learn to find and assess information by themselves, synthesise it into well-structured essays or reports, and then start to conduct their own data gathering and analysis. Students nowadays may just be a little further from that in some ways than they used to be. Maybe.

Posted in Access to Uni, Employability, Rankings, Student Loans, Tuition Fees | 1 Comment

Isn’t asking for alumni donations, well, just weird?

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A few months ago I had a phone call from a young medical student at the Oxbridge college I was affiliated to when I did my Master’s degree. We started having a nice chat, she asked me what I was up to now, and what kinds of things I’d been involved in through the college during my time there. Social events and casual football, in the main, I said, because I was mostly working myself ragged on my studies. And then came the shift, as she said, ‘well, I was wondering if you’d be in a position to make a donation, however small, to help the college support things like the sports teams and so on.’ That wasn’t verbatim, but you get the gist. She was clearly trained to look for a way in – it was very smooth. The short answer was no, I wasn’t in a position to donate, but the longer question was, well, why should I?

I’ll try and reason this through. If we pay for our degrees, the money we hand over is to cover the teaching, buildings, library facilities, and so on. If I study hard and then have a successful career, it may be partly due to what I learnt, but more due to further effort and experience gained beyond that degree. Why is the university due any additional payment? If I joined a gym, got ripped, and then found a partner on the basis of that (let’s ignore the shallowness in this instance, analogies are never perfect) would I go back to the gym and present them with a monetary token of my appreciation? I doubt it. So why are alumni donations somehow okay? Or are they not? One of the few places I’ve read about this is in a canonical book on higher education by the late American academic, Bill Readings. He argued that these donations are a mental sleight of hand, where you convince yourself that you’re donating to an entity that serves society, even though you’ve also had to pay for your degree.

I didn’t pay to do my undergrad degree, paid for my Master’s, and was then on a scholarship for my PhD. Am I duty-bound, in some way, to pay again? Who do I pay – is one level more deserving than the others? Where I was subsidised, it was taxpayer’s cash. I pay my taxes, and hopefully my degrees have made me a better teacher, a better researcher, a better citizen. Why should I pay more? I didn’t pay a bonus to the National Health Service when they wired my elbow back together last year, because it’s (still, just) a taxpayer supported system. We all pay, and the people who need help get it. Higher Education here used to be the same.

I’ve studied at three different universities – the first one wasn’t even a university yet. I wasn’t aware of any alumni donations in the mid 90s when I did that degree, and they’ve never contacted me to ask for anything. They never contact me at all, as it happens – perhaps because I was there before email really took off. I’ve just been browsing their website, though, and I can’t find anywhere to donate money. I then started my postgrad journey ten years later at somewhere that’s been a university for 800 years, and finished off at one that’s just over a century old. The ancient one is by far the worst offender in calling for cash. It started at graduation. Half of it was in Latin, surrounded by pomp and circumstance in ancient magnificence, with a plea at the end of the eminent speaker’s stirring words: ‘don’t forget us when you’re successful, remember to give back in return for what we’ve done for you’. It’s been relentless since them, particularly by email. ‘We just want to keep in touch, here’s what’s going on, network with other Oxbridgians in your area…and donate here.’ I’m sure they don’t really care how I am. I wish they’d leave out the warm, fuzzy subterfuge and cut to the chase.

There’s a (UK) history lesson in all of this. If we go back to universities before the Enlightenment, they were essentially training theologians, medics, and lawyers. They were extensions of the church, by and large, and churches have a long tradition of collecting funds to support their charitable work. (I’m not going to crack that topic open, it’s neither the time nor the place.) Back in the day, people would bequeath cash, trust funds, and land, to their alma mater. Some Oxbridge colleges are wealthier than others, largely depending on how old they are. I don’t know if this is an urban myth, but the story goes that you can walk from Oxford to Cambridge – about 90 miles – without stepping off land owned by the colleges of the two universities. Whether those alumni were buying absolution, avoiding inheritance tax, or if it was genuine philanthropy, I don’t know, but it was somehow in keeping with the spirit of the thing. Excuse the pun.

If we fast forward to the 20th Century, then there were no tuition fees and the state supported the whole kit and caboodle. UK universities had – and still have, bar two – charitable, non-profit status. The idea was that academics can research/study important things, while graduates prop up society/The Empire, run the law courts, heal people, turn the wheels of commerce, and so on. Post WW2, the numbers of people studying rose because more people were completing secondary education and there was a rising demand for degree holders. The state paid because education was seen as a public good, a social benefit, and that made sense (it still does). This argument held until the late 90s when fees began to be introduced. Student numbers around then skyrocketed – encouraged by governments who saw the mass production of graduates as a (false, as it happens) way of creating economic growth, and those governments are now less willing to pay for it. It’s an investment in your future, they say. But why should we pay something back, or is it their investment in us, that we paid for? I’m confused.

Is it perhaps a tradition that’s lasted from medieval times, or is it something else? Some of this is certainly about competition. Top universities nowadays are scrabbling to maintain their national and international status, and funding is hard to come by. Every penny counts, and the ones with the fattest wallets have the best facilities, do the most research, attract the best academics/students, create the most spin-off companies and patents, and thus stay ahead of the competition. Tapping up the alumni is a lucrative way of fuelling that engine. The oldest universities are already the wealthiest anyway, and they’re the ones whose graduates have a better chance of being successful – and are therefore more able to donate back. Some universities in the US allocate a portion of their annual intake to the children of alumni and/or donors, which is about as unmeritocratic as it gets, but it makes good business sense. There’s a distinction in here somewhere between philanthropy in donating to good causes like important research and asking alumni to dip into their pockets periodically.  Getting the new business school or a professorship named after you is a vanity project – something else entirely. The state should, I think, support universities to the point where they don’t need to look elsewhere. I just can’t get my head around the moral logic of the thing, whichever way you slice it – let’s face it, alumni donations are just weird.

Posted in Employability, Tuition Fees | 1 Comment

Are we guilty of confirmation bias in the ‘Student as Customer’ debate?

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This topic has been hotly debated for some time here and elsewhere as tuition fees have been introduced and/or raised. Beyond the well-established point that high fees are both socially unjust and often economically unjustifiable on the level of individual returns, the chief concern seems to be that students are becoming ‘consumerist’ – increasingly instrumental and excessively demanding.

We should firstly acknowledge that students themselves are not really ‘to blame’ here but they are to some extent pawns in a wider political project. The current climate does frame students as customers and we are partly complicit in this. Fee regimes are imposed by the state, but universities now market themselves to students heavily. Once they have enrolled we ask them for constant feedback to improve provision (and try to maximise our student satisfaction scores). We also pay a great deal of attention to employability, to some extent in a self-serving way under duress from KIS data and rankings. As Stephen Jones has recently pointed out on WonkHE, such features in the sector are going to have some kind of effect on students. The problem is that there’s very little research on this topic so it’s difficult to chart what changes are actually taking place. Anecdotal evidence as featured in much of the discussions (including this recent Guardian story) is not necessarily a good marker of the real state of affairs as there is a real temptation to succumb to confirmation bias. ‘Everyone’s saying that students are like this, and here are some fruity examples where this is the case, so it must be true.’ We probably all have stories like this.

The academic literature has at times been guilty of the same problem. Some research has gone out to prove that students are lazy and instrumental, but even their results were mixed. Of course they were: students are not just self-serving and passive. Other studies have shown that students are somewhat instrumental but not entirely so. They can also be irrational, driven by the intrinsic value of studying, as well as altruistic. Firstly, some degree of instrumentalism is not necessarily a problem. People can’t be expected to go to university simply for the sheer intellectual beauty of it whether they are paying fees or not. Secondly, students do expect something from their university, but they also want to be challenged and they accept that they have to work hard to do well. The relationship between the university and the student is a complex one, and is perhaps unlike any other except perhaps the gym and gym member. Joining alone doesn’t get you fit, in the same way as paying your fees doesn’t get you a good degree. Students know this, and this can be seen in the research.

Perhaps because I’m aware of this issue through my research, I instigate discussions with my students about what they think a ‘good student’ looks like, and diligence and effort come high on the list of the characteristics they cite. They admit that they’d often like to do as little work as possible and for things to be easy, but by and large they want to develop and accept that the burden of effort is mostly on their shoulders. They also have expectations of me: that the material we teach is accessible in the first instance, that the way we teach is engaging where possible, that course delivery is varied and based on models of good pedagogy, and that our feedback makes sense so they can see where to improve. These are entirely reasonable, and I don’t imagine they wouldn’t have been considered as such ten or twenty years ago.

Maybe we should accept that students have always been customers – of a sort – whether they are paying directly for their studies or not, and that universities have always had a responsibility to support them. So what’s changed? There is certainly a greater urgency around employability, and this is in driven by the rhetoric that justifies fees, the economic climate, and the fact that there are more graduates than before and so competition for jobs is probably more intense. Fees are, of course, a game changer, but they won’t create the purely rational, demanding actor that only politicians and economists imagine exist. It is far more complex than this. What fees certainly do is make us more directly responsible to students and more culpable if we’re not fulfilling our side of the bargain.

What can make this issue easier to navigate is an early articulation to (or better, with) students of what is expected of them, and what they can realistically expect from us. In other words, a clarification of where the balance of responsibility lies. This balance will vary across subjects, departments and universities, as well as countries, ‘we’ and ‘they’ have an active role to play in the relationship. But it is a balance that can be identified early on and this can help students and staff understand what is expected of each other.

Posted in Tuition Fees | Leave a comment

The (longer than expected) road to publication

 

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I got an email on Christmas Eve last year which started out as follows:

Dear Dr Budd

We are pleased to inform you that your manuscript has been accepted for publication in Higher Education.

My first publication! Boom! This was followed by a note from the editor hoping that I would enjoy this Christmas present, and brief comments from the two reviewers who thanked me for addressing their comments and approving it for publication. It had taken me about a year to get to this point, and all, in, getting here has been an interesting experience. I thought a walk through the story might prove enlightening.

So, the paper I was writing was one of the main findings from my PhD, and I’ve done a blog on the topic here. In short, the paper addresses an issue on which there isn’t much research but a lot of discussion. My article refutes some of the assumptions in the preceding literature and adds a new dimension. This, of course, is what papers should do, as you don’t need to write stuff repeating exactly what someone else has said!

I already knew what the point of the paper was, but there was an enormous slimming down and focusing process in the writing of it. I first presented it as a ‘work in progress’ to my old research group. They told me that I’d fallen into a classic post-PhD trap of trying to replicate my thesis in one paper. Much of the background material was connected to the main points of the paper but not essential. I had to lose most of that ballast and highlight the two ‘new things’ that I’d found out. I was also advised to take out the theoretical side of things as it got in the way of the argument.

Armed with this advice, I sliced and diced, nipped and tucked, honed and distilled, and submitted a sleeker version of the paper to pretty much the biggest journal in my field. It has published a few things on the topic in question – which I was referencing – and I hear this is important. I wasn’t 100% happy with the submission, but you get to a stage where you have to submit something and the reviewers will hopefully have some advice on ways to improve the paper if they like it enough. It’s not just about the end result, but the dialogue with people who read and offer advice on your work.

So, off it went, and then it was a question of sitting back and waiting. I got feedback about four months later: revise and resubmit. This was good news – it meant that they liked it – but I still had to do some serious work in on it. The reviewers both said very similar things, and the editor therefore advised me to do as they’d asked and send it back in. In short, the advice was:

  • Be clearer in your methodology about who the participants were and how you conducted the data analysis;
  • To provide details of the theoretical framework. I’d been advised earlier to take this out, but never mind;
  • Include an area of literature which I’d brushed over but, it was felt, was essential to my argument;
  • Separate the findings and discussion into separate sections – I’d included them as one;
  • Focus more on what my original contributions were.

One of the reviewers also provided me with a way of explaining a distinction in the data that I’d been struggling with. Brilliant! By the time I was done, it amounted to a 60% re-write of the paper, partly because I needed to reword much of the already good stuff. It took me ages to get round to because we had a new baby, moved house, and I’d started a new job; you know, life. But I got my feedback in May and managed to find the time to work on it in and send it back in November. I didn’t feel it was quite there yet, but it was much closer.

I was pretty surprised, then, to get the acceptance email six weeks later. I was at least expecting some minor tweaks. Still, I wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. The acceptance was not quite the end. I first had to sign (online) a copyright agreement, which brings you to the realisation that you’re signing the ownership of your words away in exchange. I had make some decisions on open access and hard copies (basically not wanting either because they cost money). I then got a proof to read online, with a number of questions (mostly about a few marginally incomplete references). This was another few hours or so of work, although knowing that these were the final yards gave me heaps of motivation. And then it was done. Well, it wasn’t done until three weeks later. From acceptance to officially online and citable was just over a month,

All in all, it took a year, pretty much to the day. The paper itself was probably a month of full time work, maybe a month and a half (and this is on top of the years that it took to plan, gather, and analyse my data). Of course the time lag between submissions and responses slows things down hugely. I’ll hopefully be quicker next time round as I get more practised at this. But still, it’s weeks and weeks of effort and it often has to be squeezed in between other jobs.

If you want to read the paper, by the way, it’s here.

 

Posted in Early Career Academia, PhDs/Doctorates | 6 Comments

Being the conference poster-boy/girl isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

I submitted – admittedly, a bit last minute – what I thought was a pretty tasty conference submission earlier this year. It was 1000 words of international comparisons in higher education, heavy on social theory, and on a hot topic on which there really is no research. It should have been a winner, right? Wrong…I was mortified, for the first time in my career, to be given the opportunity to present it as a poster. Boo.

Why the long face? A conference poster is ranked below a conference presentation, and basically implies that you squeaked in by the skin of your teeth. Still, it’s better than an absolute rejection. I’ve never had one of those… I did a number of reviews for the same conference, and the range of quality, coherence and originality of the submissions I reviewed was varied, but I didn’t reject anything outright. Somehow, I’d come in below the main cut – but not amputated from the proceedings completely.

My initial indignation (yes, bruised ego) nudged me in the direction of turning the whole thing down. That would have been a simple case of throwing the toys out of the pram. Unofficial enquiries about submissions for the conference revealed that they had been massively oversubscribed this year, and the chances of acceptance were potentially linked to the popularity of the theme, or strand, you submitted to. Some were simply more competitive than others. At least it was better than an outright objection. I spoke to a few colleagues, and decided that this presented (excuse the pun) an opportunity for a learning experience – I’d never done a poster before – and I really wanted to attend the conference. It’s the first year I’ve had the budget to be able to go, and it is probably in the top two or three conferences in my area.

So, a poster. Surely this would be easier than delivering a paper as a presentation. Those only last about 15 minutes but somehow it still takes a day to put the wretched thing together. I already had 1,000 words. Distilling that down into a single page would be easy peasy. I had some ideas in my head about how to shape it, and I thought an afternoon would take care of it. Wrong…

There are some nice resources out there on how to do posters, and the two principles that stood out for me were that it had to be:

  1. Simple enough to scan in about a minute from a metre away, and;
  2. Not like most of the other examples online.

I think I hit the first one pretty well, the second perhaps less so…it was actually quite hard to put together. Take a Powerpoint slide, don’t let your fonts get anything below 24 points in size, and put together a logical argument that has both depth and simplicity. All in, I spent about three days on it.

Lying awake one night, long before sitting down to do it in earnest, I’d imagined what I’ll call the centrepiece – a way of presenting the findings in a way I thought was accessible and attractive. With this in my head, everything else had to fit in with/around it. Perhaps there was a better way, but this was the one that I got attached to and I then had to align the rest of it somehow. I agonised over a draft and posted it on Facebook, asking for academic and non-academic friends alike to tell me what they thought of it. I thought this was important as the non-academics might look at it from a more presentational, rather than content, perspective. I got loads of feedback, which, in short, went like this:

  • Reduce the text;
  • Simplify the argument;
  • Change the colours;
  • Make the flow between sections more logical;
  • Sort out your typos;

I took all of this on board, and the result is below. I think I could have done something more creative/picturesque, given more time, but I didn’t have any. I learnt a great deal in the process, as I’d hoped, and the conference was fantastic, very much worth attending. The poster sessions, though, were squeezed onto the end of the lunch breaks, and so I’m not sure if anyone looked at it. Doh!!

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Posted in Early Career Academia | 1 Comment

Confessions of a new lecturer, Volume 1

Email

Deadline day yesterday, working at home on research today – and 39 emails clamouring for attention.

There is both a strong correlation and causal relationship between the reduced frequency of my blogging and having become a new lecturer. The first month or so was a bit like any new job, trying to work out what’s what, who’s who, and how all of the online stuff works. Now I’m nearly three months in and finally starting to feel like I have my feet under the table. It’s still all a bit manic, but I no longer feeling like I’m swimming against the tide. Well, not all the time, anyway.

I have a bit less teaching than the other new staff but it’s not like I’ve had the ‘soft landing’ that you get with some lecturing jobs; I also have a ‘good range’ of other responsibilities. On the teaching side of things I have three hours of small group tutorials every Monday morning and so far I’m delivering about nine lectures or other teaching sessions over the year. I’m also supervising about 30 undergrad and two Master’s dissertations. I think that’s where most of my ‘teaching’ hours come in – when deadlines come around, my inbox floods its banks overnight. I have ‘office hours’ twice a week, two-hour blocks where my supervisees/tutees can book slots to come and see me, and these are nearly always full. I’m loving being able to develop a relationship with my students, rather than being parachuted in for a few one-off appearances, which is what most of my previous university teaching was like.

Something that’s surprised me, and which presents an interesting challenge, is the new students’ dependence on heavily structured lessons. I’ve discussed this with them, and we’re working towards me doing less – and them doing more. I don’t want to talk at them for 50 minutes in tutorials, it’s boring for all concerned. It seems to be largely what they’ve come from, though, a mixture of that and doing exercises where every step is laid out for them. You can really see that the move from school into higher education is, for many of them, a huge cultural shift in terms of teaching and learning practice. It was very different with postgrads where you can give out a more loosely defined task and watch them think it through, develop, and run with it. That doesn’t work for the first year students, they need to be coached towards it.

Doing large lectures is a mixture of petrification, performance, exhilaration and exhaustion. I’ve done a couple now, and I wonder if my students can tell that my heart’s pounding as soon as I walk into the room and start setting up. I enjoy overcoming that fear and trying to keep the students engaged. Who’d have thought lecturing would be an adrenalin sport?! I find myself virtually catatonic for about half an hour afterwards, though, I don’t know why. Maybe that’ll fade away with time. A friend of mine taught me a fantastic tip getting the attention of a full lecture theatre: when you’re ready to start, just stand at the front, quietly looking round the room. A hundred people or more, brought to silence without lifting a finger – it works a treat!

I was warned about this before starting, but one of the hardest things is knowing when to say no to stuff. So far I haven’t turned anything down, and it’s not as bad as this (yet?). Being new means that you want to help people out and you probably feel more obliged to do stuff. So far I’ve been co-opted onto a committee for doctoral training and a group on research methods for Master’s students. I’m an departmental ethics lead, there’s some Master’s and doctoral teaching in the pipeline after Christmas, and then I’m half of a team responsible for revamping and coordinating our departmental research centre. Oh, and I’m the Departmental Twit (-terer). A one-off session on education in the UK to international students? Okey-doke. Can you help us to try and raise the number of students who spend time at universities overseas? Sure, that’s right up my alley. Then there was that journal review last month, the ongoing meetings and spreadsheets to fill in on student attainment and an endless range of other things that need tracking, along with chasing up those students who can’t be bothered to come to many (or any) of the taught classes.

There is a bit of space for research. I’ve just resubmitted a paper to a journal, having spent six months not being able to get anywhere near it. A new baby, leaving two jobs, moving house and starting a new job does that. I’m half way through finishing a poster for a big conference in just over two weeks, too. Then some colleagues and I have also just drafted an internal grant application. As early career researchers it’s very difficult to get external funding – most of it goes in the form of large grants to experienced names, and my current university doesn’t have them and just isn’t in that kind of league for the time being. But they do have internal funding to get project ideas (and careers) off the ground. This is a bit of a strategic move. I’ve still got enough material from previous research to submit to journals over the next two years or so, and also a book chapter and a practitioner-focused article on widening participation that are due in the coming months. Once that runs out, though, I’ll need to have something else in the pipeline. It’s a medium-term investment.

The elephant in the room at the moment is the postgrad certificate in teaching and learning. I need to do it as part of my first year probation, and passing it will get me the all-important fellowship of the Higher Education Academy. I want to do it, too, as it’ll help me develop my teaching. At the moment, though, I have no idea how I’ll fit it in – and there’s an essay due in January. It’s funny how you get cross with students for doing things last minute, not reading around the subject area, working out what the minimum is that they can get away with. As soon as I was enrolled on the course I found myself slipping straight back into that mode again, it’s frightening.

I think the best bit about the job is that everything I do is now part of one role. Before I got here I was working part-time on a research project and had occasional bits of teaching and supervision thrown in. That was alongside a non-academic role running a few staff development projects. Working on my own publications was what the evenings were for – when I wasn’t applying for jobs. It’s not that I have less work now or less variety in what I’m doing – far from it – but it all sits under one roof rather than three. I’m a bit punch drunk, but mostly happily so.

Posted in Early Career Academia | 4 Comments

How not to fail your viva: a few tips on sidestepping a resubmission.

Thought you were close to getting one of these? Think again...

Thought you were close to getting one of these? Think again…

Failing your viva is every doctoral student’s worst nightmare, and for a small minority it’s a reality: major revisions, a resubmission, another viva, and a year to do it all. The finish line was right in front of you, you’re at the end of your reserves of energy, and the light at the end of the tunnel has suddenly gone very dark again. Bloody hell. Major revisions are pretty rare, but how can it come to this? My most visited blog is about passing the viva, and I thought the flipside would be an interesting and salutary thing to write about. I’ve done a bit of research around doctorates, supervision, and the viva, and also (obviously) know quite a few people who’ve done a doctorate, and have heard a range of interesting, funny – and extremely unfunny – stories.

One of the reasons why falling flat on your face at the viva is rare is because of the supporting supervision system. You have at least one experienced academic who guides you through the process, and they should have a good sense when you’ve gone far enough. At least you’d hope so. Even seasoned veterans who’ve supervised scores of students can still get it wrong. Your supervisor can’t definitively know what other academics will want to discuss or pick on. There are the more or less expected questions, but your supervisor is very close to your project and may not have seen certain things that a fresh pair of eyes might. This happened to me at two (non-critical, thankfully) points in my doctorate. The issues weren’t catastrophes by any stretch of the imagination, either, but they were things that we hadn’t thought of. You also get some students who think they know better; you’re entitled to disagree with your supervisors and this isn’t a bad thing in itself if you can justify your perspective. Sometimes, though, a student reaches the end of their time allowance and they’re not engaging with the advice they’ve been given. The only remaining option can be to let them attend and fail their their viva, and then they have to incorporate those things as part of their corrections. This assumes that the examiners flag the things that the supervisor was worried about: the student could still pass with flying colours – you never know!

At many universities you have two supervisors. This gives an extra perspective on your project and they hopefully each bring something different and complementary to the table. Mine, for example, worked well together, being similar in some ways – and liking each other – but one leant more towards methodological concerns and the other had a heavier theoretical interest. But what happens if your supervisors don’t fit together academically and/or personally? It could turn into a battle between them – through you – and this can be particularly damaging early in your doctorate, at what is often a period of real intellectual vulnerability. Such a ‘supervisor-off’ should never happen, and your department should try to pair people up appropriately. It may not be easy, though, if there aren’t enough people who know about your topic, or if potentially suitable people simply don’t have the capacity. You can change supervisors, but this isn’t always simple, for capacity or less palatable reasons. University departments are political spaces and dropping one senior academic for another can ruffle feathers. But if you leave a bad situation for too long, you might be the one who loses out the most; it could have set your PhD back at least a couple of months – or perhaps even killed it altogether.

Let’s say, and this is probably the most common occurrence, that your supervision has been positive and functioned well, and you’ve wrestled and shaped  your good thesis through to submission. You hand the thing in and rope in two academics to grill you on it, usually one internal member of staff and one external. Picking suitable ones is crucial, both for your viva and potentially post-viva. You want someone who you know is going to give you a bit of a hard time but be simultaneously constructive – it would be an anti-climax if it was too easy, right?! You don’t want to be pulverised, but at least reasonably roughed up! You have to remember that academic fields are diverse places, and you need to find people who work and apply concepts in similar enough ways to you. If you disagree on something major, unless you can argue your point well and they’re ‘adult enough’ to agree to disagree, you’re in trouble. So don’t go for someone whose work you might be panning, or pick a fight with one of your examiners, for heaven’s sake! Who examines you can go on your CV, and if they’re big names, this can reflect well on you – but don’t just pick them because they’re famous, they have to fit. Also, very few people will ever read and consider your thesis in its entirety (sorry to disappoint you), and it can be a bit of a strategic move to try and get examiners who might be useful contacts in the future. Ah-ha…that familiar and slightly unpleasant whiff of instrumentalism.

Underlying your doctorate is a sense of shared responsibility, but at the end of it all, it is your project and what’s in it is 99% down to you. This is not to say that the university and its staff don’t have a duty to support you, they certainly do. It’s a supervised independent project, after all. Your supervisors are there to help, advise, cajole and push you, and stick you back together when you lose the threads or sometimes even the whole plot. Having good supervision can be the difference between hard-but-fun and painful-and-ultimately-impossible. But they’re not the ones sitting in the hot seat when the Academic Inquisition comes calling at viva time. So pick your supervisors well, listen to them, and take care when looking for examiners.

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It’s probably worth mentioning that the doctoral completion process is very different around the world. In Australia, for example, you hand in your thesis and it gets marked by a handful of academics who then pass it and/or suggest changes. In the Netherlands you have to publish papers from your doctorate before it can be awarded, and in many countries the defence is open to the public. You’ll already have passed, there’s no such thing as corrections (it goes through an academic panel first) and the public show is more a celebration of your work than a trial by ordeal. It’s a pretty varied landscape out there.

Posted in PhDs/Doctorates | 4 Comments