The rise and rise of the senior tutor

Occasionally the job ads give a glimpse of the future. Take, for instance, this one published last week by the University of Bristol, for a full-time ‘Senior Tutor’ in the School of bristol-2Modern Languages.

This is not a new initiative for Bristol (instead, I’m told, it’s a replacement position), but throws light on a serious and distinctive commitment. The appointee ‘will be responsible for the provision of high quality professional pastoral support and advice to undergraduate students and will play a pivotal role in supporting the student experience, student progression and well-being’. S/he ‘will act as the interface between the academic staff in the School and the central support services in the University, ensuring appropriate communication and actions’. The role does not require a higher degree and involves neither research nor conventional academic teaching.

At a time when wellbeing services at universities across the country are under strain and academics are struggling to adequately support their students, this might give those of us working with different structures reason to rethink.


Who’s the senior tutor?

To the best of my knowledge, the senior tutor story begins in Oxbridge colleges, where this is a long-established managerial role. Senior tutors there work across disciplines, managing teaching programmes as well as overseeing student welfare and discipline. They tend to occupy a hinterland between academic and professional services roles: some are conventional academics, others are more fully on a managerial career-path.

In other universities, the role is usually more strictly pastoral. At my own, where we have had senior tutors within departments for roughly ten years, they oversee the personal tutoring system and increasingly deal with acute and problematic cases of student welfare. They need to liaise with various relevant support services, including wellbeing services, counselling, disability-support, exams, and so on.

This role has become critical to just about any department, yet the pressures it brings are great. The very same day that Bristol posted its ad, our current senior tutor was in my office telling me that the job is becoming unmanageable, configured (as it is) as part of a standard ‘education and research’ post. It also takes a significant emotional toll on academics, who take it on with little or no training.


How do they pay for that?

All the same, four posts across a faculty, at salaries in the mid £40k range, would concentrate the minds of most managers. I can hear now the response to any such proposal where I work: ‘You mean you want to appoint four non-research acitve staff for the price of five junior lecturers? Really?’ Those research-active lecturers bring down staff-student ratios, are responsible for earning research income via the REF and grants, and refresh departmental cultures. We like appointing them – and traditionally, they can do it all.

The other challenge with full-time non-research academic posts is the long academic summers. What does a senior tutor do while their researcher colleagues are hard at work on publications and grant applications? The full Bristol job description (google it) includes work on employability (e.g. development of teaching materials, work on placements), as well as some general education-facing administration. But most of this sort of thing still tends to fall in term-time.

Nonetheless, there remain some powerful arguments in favour of the Bristol model. We’re already committing an awful lot of staff time to these functions. In my own department, it’s absorbing about 20% to 25% of a full-time academic workload, and this is supported by substantial further contributions from professional services colleagues. We could reduce that load – but only if we were prepared to diminish the quality of our monitoring and support structures, which we’re not.

There is also an argument for specialisation. Someone with the right skill-set, on hand any time in any academic year, is likely to be more effective than an academic juggling other duties, who may only have a couple of years in the post before passing it on to someone else. And a professionalized senior tutor is likely to build up the experience and institutional networks that can be so valuable in a role of this kind.


Changing world, changing models

Bristol has also been in the news for student suicides. The risk of such extreme events shadows all universities; one of my ever-present anxieties as head of department is that we lose a student and we’re not able to look the parents in the eye and say, ‘We knew your child, we’re devastated by what’s happened – and, by the way, we did all we could to support him/her’. In ethical terms, indeed in simple human terms, what would be the consequences of saying anything else?

So I admire the Bristol commitment. We can’t change the seemingly inexorable rise in wellbeing problems among students, but we can do something about it. The shifting context perhaps requires some imaginative thinking – maybe even some redirection of resources.

And finally, there’s a very short answer to the question: ‘how do they pay for that?’ Students pay us £9000 per year before putting their education and welfare in our hands.

Teaching after Trump: 8.30 a.m., 9 November 2016

I had a class at 8.30 this morning, roughly an hour after listening to Donald Trump make his acceptance speech. We had ten tired and subdued people in a room, ostensibly to talk about the first full-length, original play written by an English woman, Elizabeth Cary’s Tragedy of Mariam.

How does one focus on a seventeenth-century play in the immediate aftermath of this calamitous election? I’m as committed to anyone to the politics of studying this material; just yesterday I had read the same class two pages from last week’s High Court judgement, to demonstrate the pivotal status of the seventeenth century in British constitutional history. But today felt different. The event was too raw and our group of bright young people – including one American citizen – too powerless.

But we discussed it, and I said one thing I believe, more than ever, to be crucial. That is that if there’s a common denominator to the Brexit vote and this US election, it’s the astonishing success of post-truth politics. I wrote about this after Brexit, and it’s the same story now: we’ve heard lies about what can be done, lies about what can’t be done, and lies about what’s wrong. Along the way, we’ve had highly educated people recklessly trashing expert opinion. Moreover, arguably the single most striking demographic trend on the election results has been the influence (for Brexit, for Trump) of voters without university-level education.

Obviously those two things are related. One common factor across just about any discipline of study at university is a respect for evidence-based argument. If we’re doing one thing right, it’s sending graduates into the world capable of assessing evidence, and demanding it when it’s not offered. Different disciplines use different forms of evidence, but nobody gets past ‘go’ without appreciating how to make and assess a convincing argument.

My university, as it happens, produces an unusually high number of Conservative-leaning graduates. That’s not what I would prefer, personally, but it seems to me there’s a world of difference between someone who makes a reasoned decision to support a politics that is not mine, and someone who falls head-first for lies. As I told them today, I’ve been disappointed in the past by plenty of elections on plenty of continents, but these ones feel different. As Simon Schama argued in the immediate aftermath (listen to him on this morning’s ‘Today’ programme) yesterday’s was not just another election.

Hence the value of what we do in the classroom. And hence also the value of a moment – even under such challenging circumstances – to reflect on what we’re doing. But there’s also a greater need than ever to give more people the benefit of higher education, and to find ways of communicating more widely the values and achievements of universities. As it happened, I ended my day in a departmental discussion of widening participation. Let’s remember that the white working class boys who are so desperately under-represented in HE today are the disillusioned post-truth voters of tomorrow.

And Theresa May’s grammar school policies, by the way, surely only exacerbate the problem. They may (though I suspect, from all available expert evidence, that they won’t) help to shake up class divisions, but they will surely only entrench a divide between the educated and the under-educated. Elites of any kind are not, after all, faring well in these two Western democracies. Trump, meanwhile, will most likely take the cause of education backwards in a more brazen fashion, because (as he tells us) he likes the under-educated.

So I’ll be back at work tomorrow, teaching my seventeenth century literature, convinced – or just about – that it matters. And The Tragedy of Mariam, in case you’re wondering, is a stunning study in female identities under conditions of (patriarchal) tyranny. It might become more topical.

Prizes for the elite: gold medals and mission groups

The latest rumour from the May government’s efforts to square the circle on international students takes an unexpected turn. It is a proposal to deal with the long-running bickering over post-study employment rights of international students.

According to The Sunday Times, ‘the government is considering allowing overseas students who attend one of the 24 universities in the elite Russell Group to work in Britain after graduating. Those at other universities might be required to return home.’ This would allow the government to claim it is doing something to support universities and international relationships, while still maintaining control of immigration.

According to The Sunday Times, this was all foreshadowed by Amber Rudd’s Conservative party conference speech, in which she referred to possible preferential treatment for ‘our best universities’. At which point we all thought, ‘Ah yes, the Russell Group.’ Or maybe we thought nothing of the sort.

Actually, many of us probably thought this was code for the judgements we’re expecting from the TEF. A strong TEF result – ‘gold’, according to the current proposal – might quite logically lead to preferential treatments of this kind. The possibility that the Russell Group might be used instead as a proxy definition of the UK’s ‘best’ universities poses some interesting questions.


Do they know what they’re doing?

This is the year when the irrational has become the norm. But it’s also – to add a little perspective – been a year of lots of talk and not a lot of resolution. It’s a year when we’ve learned to be prepared for anything, but not really to believe it until we see it.

But one common thread in the Conservatives’ stance towards universities has been a determination to draw lines through the sector. The wisdom of this is an open question. It’s not hard to find countries that give preferential treatment, usually in terms of research funding, to selected groups of universities. Concentration of resources in this way can support elite groups to compete internationally in research, while a mass education system is sustained in parallel. The counter-argument would be that the UK’s strength has been built on the back of a broad and fiercely competitive structure, that has produced excellence, in different shapes and sizes, across the board.

If, however, we take the desire to draw lines of demarcation as a given, what would it mean to do so by accepting the Russell Group as the privileged elite? The Russell Group is a mission group that maintains control over its own membership. Traditionally entry was determined overwhelmingly by volume of grant income; however, the defining supremacy of that criterion was frayed somewhat by the last round of entry in 2012, which arguably signalled a commitment to a more rounded model of excellence. It’s possible to join the Russell Group, but almost impossible to be asked to leave.

In recent years the Russell Group has done one thing astonishingly well: branding itself as the ‘elite’ group of UK universities. This is understated in its public mission statement, but a huge part of its public relations and marketing operation. At government level, among busy people, often with only superficial knowledge of their briefs, the idea of an accepted elite group must feel comfortingly easy to grasp.

Russell Group universities have never (to my knowledge, anyway) been given special favours by government, simply by virtue of their membership of the mission group. Hence the elaborate mechanisms of the REF, TEF and QAA, which apply equally to all. The present suggestion therefore feels, potentially, like a pivotal moment.


What about the TEF?

One question I’ve been asking since the TEF was first proposed goes roughly along the lines: what happens when people at the highest levels of government realize that some of the universities most likely to lose from the exercise are some of the country’s biggest higher-education brands?

If we follow the proposed logic of the TEF, some universities currently low on the national league tables, though doing very well on teaching metrics, could end up with the right to charge higher fees than some that are very high in the international tables. Existing education metrics, such as the NSS, certainly point in this direction. At that point, it seems to me, the commitment of policy-makers to objective tests of teaching quality, with rewards to match, will be sorely tested.

I wonder whether this scenario is only just dawning on people at the top of government: people conditioned into thinking that there is an ‘elite’ group of universities, bound to rise to the top on any measure of performance. While a decision on work-study visas is only one issue – something, indeed, that may seem peripheral to many people in the sector – it would be hard not to see it as something of a test-case. If Russell Group universities were to get special treatment on this matter – sidelining, in the process, the objective measures of the TEF – what next?

Of course, some might argue that the TEF was never going to do what it claimed anyway. It will not be a reliable measure of teaching quality. Maybe, but that feels to me like a different argument. It’s one thing to debate whether teaching quality can be measured; it would be another thing altogether to abandon objective measures in favour of ‘distinction by mission group’.


This particular suggestion, about work-study visas, feels to me a bit like a political advisor flying a kite. It’s not been picked up by other media outlets, and I’m not betting on it happening. But it’s an interesting moment nonetheless: one that indicates the power and potential of elitism in a sector that has been built on more egalitarian foundations, but is creaking under the political and financial strains of the moment.

The geo-politics of plagiarism

Somewhere in Kenya there are bright and motivated university graduates making a living writing essays for students at universities in the English-speaking West. We know this thanks to a report last month in the Chronicle of High Education, and we know more about the mucky business of essay mills thanks to a report

Rather a sophisticated historic treadmill, if you believe google

over the summer by the Quality Assurance Agency.

Such investigations are uncovering the globalized nature of ‘essay mills’. Like other Western universities, the UK is producing graduates – not many, but some – whose grades have been achieved with the unacknowledged support of others – including, we now know, some of the best and brightest of the developing world.

Consider for a moment the geo-politics of this situation. The great – or once, as the case may be, kind of great – Western countries are lurching towards insular, anti-immigration policies. Trump wants to build a wall around the US; Brexit may achieve the same thing rather more effectively for the UK. And yet, as governments try harder than ever to keep immigrants out, there are ‘home’ students breezing through university on the back of their own capital and the intellectual labour of the youth of the developing world. Let’s imagine some of those who graduate on the back of such arrangements slide into politics – another field, it’s fair to say, where mendacity is rewarded – and as a result have the opportunity to argue afresh against immigration. Why would they do otherwise? The current prejudices work quite well for them.

Yep, something about this scenario screams ‘colonialism in the twenty-first century’. Think for a minute about how those essay-writers might more effectively be using their time, doing the much more important work of developing their own countries. But it’s more lucrative to be helping the rich Western kids cheat than to be transforming lives and nations at home.


What’s the QAA going to do about it?

The neo-colonial model is obviously just one of many; in truth essay-writers for hire can be found anywhere in the world. So what’s to be done? For those of us teaching in the great Western universities, how do we confront the reality that some – and it’s absolutely critical to remember that it’s just some, not many – of our students are buying their essays. What’s to be done about the essay mills?

The QAA pushes some predictable solutions from side to side. Given their longstanding commitment to the panacea that Turnitin pretends offer, the rise of the custom-written essay has perhaps taken them by surprise. Part of the purpose of their report is simply profile-raising; too many academics, arguably, are naive in the face of a growing problem. But they also offer some useful actions, including:

  • preventing essay-mills from advertising;
  • promoting changes in assessment models and curriculum design, to make life harder for the cheats;
  • working with UK universities and the NUS, and also with international agencies, to identify best-practice in deterring this particular form of plagiarism.

Which is as much as to say: we can see this is a problem, and our solution is to try our best to fix it. Fair enough: the QAA is by nature cautious, and this report is, for all its limitations, a step in the right direction


What’s trust got to do with it?

But I think there’s another approach. I call it ‘trust’.

If we take a step back and look at higher education in rational economic terms, it becomes quite reasonable for a student to say: ‘I’m spending many thousands of pounds/dollars/etc. to acquire a certificate than will have a material impact on my career prospects and earning potential. In this context, why not spend some more to ensure the best possible result?’ Is this not simply a rational response to a marketised and utilitarian model of higher education?

And now consider how most UK students are already subjected routinely to trial-by-Turnitin, to detect the forms of plagiarism that remain detectable. This practice positions every student as a potential plagiarist, and the student-teacher dynamic as a game. One rational response is to find ever more clever ways of cheating. Hence the essay mills.

But what if we work against such structures of reason? What about if we assert a different model of higher education, founded on honest and respectful exchange between the teachers and the taught? This is not especially radical; it’s a model of higher education that has been around for centuries, and continues to this day. It’s just that now we need to think about it a bit more explicitly, and maybe fight for it a bit more rigorously.

In my department we don’t routinely use Turnitin. We trust the students. We have a version of an honour code, which boils down to a commitment to values of integrity, civility and trust. And these values were selected very much because they do not focus purely on a utilitarian gain (i.e. reducing plagiarism), but set out rather to define a community. It seems to me that people who feel part of a community are less likely to break its codes.


Ok, I nicked this one from the Times Higher. Good, though.

I’m sure, as a marker of essays, that I’ve been duped over the years. That pisses me off as much as anyone. But I’m equally sure that the building of academic communities of staff and students, based on mutual trust and respect – not to mention the personal integrity that underpins most students’ drive to succeed – is just about the most effective means through which we can combat cheating.


That will sound like utopian thinking to many people. I can handle that. In the meantime their answers of ‘us and them’, and their new technologies of plagiarism policing are not exactly fixing the problem. They may even be making it worse.

What have they done to the NSS?

Here’s your cut-out-and-keep guide to what’s happening with the NSS for 2017. It’s getting quite an overhaul.

Since a picture tells a thousand words, and since I’ve made my views clear through the extended consultation phase, I’ll add no more here. Please have a look at the changes and complete the poll below.


The international student debate: we’re talking different languages

My impression of the debate over international students, which has risen to the boil in international-students-uukrecent months, has been of two sides speaking different languages. The universities repeatedly present the same arguments, and the government takes no notice whatsoever.

What’s at stake, roughly speaking, is government support for universities in their recruitment of international students. Numbers boomed for a while, and the fees became an important part of many institutional budgets; however, tougher visa regulations and a tightening of post-study work opportunities have led more recently to declines in numbers. While governments of other Western countries are doing all they can to attract international students, the UK government has spent several years sending out contrary signals.

The response of universities boils down to two arguments. The first is economic: pages and pages of facts and figues have been produced to demonstrate the importance of international students to regional and national economies. The second is one of definition: that students are not migrants, and therefore should be exempt from the government’s efforts to restrict immigration. Reclassify international students and they can, at a stroke, become good rather than bad.

So why aren’t these arguments working?


  1. This country’s had enough of experts

Michael Gove’s infamous trashing of expert opinion might arguably be set aside as part of the prevailing lunacy of the referendum campaign. But it might also be seen as a glimpse into a mind-set that is deeply sceptical of so much of what academics value so highly: evidence, research, reason. This, after all, is a government that tried to ban academics from ‘lobbying’ it on matters of public interest.

An IPPR report published last week has demonstrated how flawed evidence has been used to exaggerate the problems posed on the one hand by ‘bogus’ colleges, and on the other hand by students over-staying on student-visas. Indeed there are suggestions that senior figures, including the prime minister, may have been overly swayed by dated, impressionistic and anecdotal evidence. Nor has there been much acknowledgement that, to the extent that there was a problem, it may now have been addressed.

I note, in passing, that Mrs May’s press release on grammar schools (et al.) last week made just one reference to research: the banal statement, ‘Research shows that prior attainment is one of the biggest factors determining access to university’. Relying on a statement of the obvious as ‘research’ while ignoring the real stuff that stacks up against their policies speaks volumes about this government’s treatment of experts. It doesn’t matter how well we make the case, they’re just not that bothered.


  1. You don’t know how lucky you are

It’s deceptively easy to assume that the Tories – traditionally the party of big business – will obviously be swayed by economic logic. Yet, as we’ve learned this year, the Tories are also prepared to sacrifice economic stability and prosperity for the sake of various ill-defined ideals. This government is perfectly – staggeringly – capable of looking at irrefutable economic data, shrugging its collective shoulders and turning away.

What we’re told instead is that universities should ‘develop sustainable funding models that are not so dependent on international students’. While the income from international student fees has unquestionably become a major part of university budgets, this position is to apply the economic modelling of cod-fishing to the market for education. There is no effort to demonstrate unsustainability – let alone any acknowledgement that educating students might be kind of a valuable thing to do – just a vague hunch that it’s time to repurpose the fleet.

And I sense something more. There’s perhaps a feeling in government circles that universities have dodged austerity – in part because of international students – and that a dose of it would do us good. Hence the symbolic significance attached in many statements to the pay of vice-chancellors, positioned as fat cats riding high on the back of an unsustainable resources boom. Why not teach them a thing or two?


  1. Education, education, education

Finally – and most importantly of all – I detect a fundamental divergence of views on the role of universities. The argument in favour of recruiting international students positions universities as both key parts of the national economy, and participants within global systems.

But we’re dealing with a government that, in one of its first acts, shifted higher education from the Department of Business, Innovation and Skills, to the Department of Education. It’s also a government that – again, on the basis of flimsy evidence – seems determined to believe that universities care too little about the quality of education.

So a view that seems to me to have gained traction is that universities need to concentrate more on their roles within the domestic education system and less on their positions within global networks and markets. At the end of a summer in which Britain has turned decisively inwards, this is one almost inevitable manifestation of what the Tories are perceiving as the national mood. In this climate, will Mrs May really lose any sleep over the fact that UK universities are already starting to slide in global rankings? I wouldn’t bet on it.


We have to keep making the arguments. We also have to keep demonstrating how education in British universities – for home and international students alike – is changing lives and transforming the world. But, judged by the standards of evidence-based argument that any researcher would accept as essential, this is no ordinary argument.

Looking through the eyes of university applicants

There’s only so much an ‘elite’ university can do about widening participation if applicants won’t list us on their UCAS foUCAS-1rms. Even less if they’ve decided, even before leaving primary school, that university is not for them. Or so it might seem.

UCAS released an excellent report – albeit one rather lost in the madness of mid-summer – that helps us to understand what factors influence applicants from different social groups. Through the Lens of Students: how perceptions of higher education influence applicants’ choices uses ‘POLAR’ data to classify the applicants, then breaks down universities according to their level of tariff-on-entry. The division between ‘high-tariff’ and ‘low-tariff’ is a bit basic, but helps to make some powerful points.

For a university like mine, which struggles to make headway on widening participation, it offers some valuable intelligence that might help to redirect efforts. And for someone like me, who looks out at the faces when giving open-day talks and wonders what they’re making of it all, it’s especially helpful.


‘At what age were you when you felt sure that you would apply to university?’

Applicants from higher social groups more commonly decide to apply to university at a younger age. Indeed 25% of respondents in this survey had made the decision by the age of 10. Those from lower social groups more commonly decide later.

Maybe that won’t surprise us. People with no family history of university participation, and maybe no role models, are unlikely to be setting their sights on this goal from an early age. But there’s also a correlation between the age at which this decision is made and the kind of university the applicant eventually chooses. Those choosing later are less likely to end up at a high-tariff institution.

There’s a lesson here, it seems to me, about the role that universities can play with younger people, years away from facing a UCAS form. One of the children in my daughter’s year 6 class identified the single most memorable day from seven years of primary school as being the one, three years earlier, when s/he had visited my university. The campus is only half a mile away, but many peopole from the town never set foot on it.

But while such outreach efforts can manifestly change lives, they win little credit in terms of widening participation because the effects are difficult to measure and the children are unlikely ever to apply to our university. But if OFFA was looking for meaningful national change, rather than isolated actions and entry-targets for individual institutions, this might change. At present, by the age at which potential applicants are getting seriously targeted, with access programmes and the like, too many have already decided either not to apply, or not to apply to a higher-tariff university.


‘The right accommodation is as important as the right course.’

When asked about the expected challenges of higher education, applicants from different social groups give distinctly different answers. ‘The most disadvantaged groups,’ the report states, ‘focus more on the actual university experience – the practicalities like transport and accommodation’. The most advantaged groups, meanwhile, ‘tended to focus on the importance of growing a network’.

Maybe this is just telling us the blindingly obvious: those with greater financial security have the luxury of thinking beyond material necessities. That trend will only become more pronounced with the demise of maintenance grants. But these data also suggest the hidden challenges that such students will face. They may have been deterred by higher-tariff universities due to to a perception of higher costs. And even if they do make that leap, they may not necessarily grasp what their advantaged peers seized from the outset: the value of ‘growing a network’. Successful university experiences can be measured in terms of gains in social capital as well as knowledge and skills.

For higher-tariff univerisites, the lessons here are two-fold. On the one hand, if we’re aware of the concerns that applicants bring with them to oopen days, we can better tailor our advice. On the other hand, once applicants become students we must surely accept a degree of responsibility to ensure that all students are appropriately supported to gain in every way from their university experiences.


Employers of graduates are most interested in the subject you study – the

university isn’t as important’

Advantaged applicants are 48% ‘more likely to say that employers are more interested in the university you attended than the subject you studied’. By comparison, ‘disadvantaged applicants were 30% more likely to say that the subject you studied will be more relevant to employers than where you studied.’

For a subject like mine – English – this raises the stakes. The socially advantaged students enrol in our degree safe in the knowledge that it opens all sorts of doors. It’s like they’re in on the secret of UK graduate employment: the enduring value of a good traditional academic degree. The socially disadvantaged, meanwhile, might opt for a degree that sounds ‘vocational’ but that leads to a bit of a dead-end.

That presents a really interesting marketing challenge for many of us: we’ll definitely take it on board for our open-day presentations. I think it also presents a challenge for subject associations, especially at a time when applications for some humanities disciplines (including English) are trending downwards.


‘49 per cent of disadvantaged learners cited cost as the main reason for not attending more (open days)’

So how to change perceptions – of universities and subjects alike – if we can’t even get the disadvantaged applicants onto the campus? Until we can fix this, we battle against decades’ of reputational accretion. It’s the ‘University X is not the right place for a person like me’ syndrome. The UCAS report has some good ideas in response, including travel bursaries; although, as I’ve said before, questions of institutional identities and resulting cultural diversity (or lack thereof) are seriously sticky problems. Existing WP practice and discourse is not necessarily fit for purpose.


Fixing Stern

Now that we’ve had a few weeks to get used to the Stern recommendations for the next Research Excellence Framework, some of its underlying principles look immovable. I considered these in my last piece on Stern; it looks like we’re heading for an ‘everyone-in’ REF, and portability looks dead. I expect that too many powerful interests will be supporting those, and other, recommendations.

But I also think there are flaws that need fixing – and they can be fixed.


The Early-Career Researcher dilemma

I work at a university that makes temporary appointments every year. We make permanent appointments whenever we have recurrent income to support them, but temporary contracts remain a basic fact of life. Many ECRs will experience several years of temporary contracts – perhaps interspersed with unemployment – before achieving permanency. Stern’s recommendations, as Kirsty Rolfe has eloquently outlined, are hugely destabilizing to people currently in this position.

Indeed following Stern’s recommendation to the letter, a publication by an ECR will be returnable by the university s/he was at when it was contracted. As a result, I could be on the phone in 2019, tracking down all the bright young things we have employed over the years, asking them very politely for copies of their book contracts.

Will that be embarrassing? No, it will be way beyond that. How could we argue that our level of ‘investment’ in these careers warrants such a dividend? And of course this embarrassment multiplies in the case of teaching-only appointments. Stern’s report barely grasps the fact that these exist as a starting-level job for many ECRs.

And let’s not forget that some of these people may not have landed the permanent jobs they deserve in the interim – in part because they will have blown their best post-PhD shots on a temporary employer like mine. Yeh, those people will be happy to hear from me.

But surely there’s a simple answer; indeed it seems so obvious I can’t really believe it needs saying. Any publication contracted while the author is on a temporary contract should remain portable, while temporary people in post at the census date may be submitted as in the past. There are universities that might lose a little from that – notably those that fund a lot of junior research fellowships – but I can’t see how anyone could dispute the ethics of it.


‘The dog ate my book contract’: or a note on portability

The recommendation against portability of outputs changes the dynamics of the job-market; I’ve commented on this before. But even if we accept this principle, one practicality that still looks in need of a fix is the recommendation that a publication ‘belongs’ to the university at which the researcher was based when the contract was signed. The principle here is that the REF should recognize the investment made by universities; however, in practice we could get some silly and counter-productive results.

Let’s just say (and this is a common enough scenario in the humanities) that I get offered a publishing contract in the next few weeks for a monograph that may not be finished until 2020. And let’s also say I’m also looking for a new job. Who’s going to pay me to finish a project for my old employer?

As a result, I expect we might find rather a lot of contracts being eaten by dogs. ‘Please, Oxford University Press, can you send me a new one, maybe dated 2017?’ Or: ‘how about we change the terms a bit – even cut my royalties – and call it a freshly negotiated contract?’

There’s a solution. We could retain the principle of Stern, but use publication dates rather than dates of contracts. That’s still a profound change from the present system, but seems to me slightly more flexible and infinitely more feasible. I also rather suspect it will happen. Stern’s recommendation has the whiff of an ambit-claim: like, give the critics some ground on the method, while the principle glides through unscathed.


A comment on rent-seeking

rent-seeking   n. Econ. the fact or process of seeking to gain larger profits by manipulating public policy or economic conditions, esp. by means of securing beneficial subsidies or tariffs, making a product artificially scarce (OED)

There’s a streak of moralism running through the Stern report, directed against high-achieving academics who choose to move between institutions or seek pay-increases on the eve of a REF. This, Stern says, is ‘rent-seeking behaviour’.

All I can say is that some of these things are not as simple as they might look. I came from Australia to Leeds in 1999 (on the eve of RAE 2000) for a three-year job, then moved almost immediately for a better job at Exeter. Was that ‘rent-seeking behaviour’? What it felt like was being an ECR looking for a position that gave me job-security and a salary commensurate with my research record. I expect that a lot of cases of ‘rent-seeking’, ‘poaching, and what have you – all terms coined by disgruntled employers – might similarly be positioned as quite reasonable acts of career-advancement.

So Stern ditches meritocracy for austerity-speak labour-market constriction. Actually, I think Stern will win on this one, and we will have as a result a less open and flexible university system, which also in due course becomes less competitive internationally. (See Timothy Devinney’s excellent piece on this.) So on this point I don’t see an easy fix; however, I’d certainly suggest it would be worth thinking about ways of moderating the message. Across the country, and across the world, researchers are listening to this stuff.

Research, researchers and the job market: thoughts on Stern

Plenty of positive things have already been said about Nicholas Stern’s review of the REF. In a summer of uncertainty, Stern has provided continuity, notably in his commitment Sterntp3to peer review and the fundamental value of publications. If the report’s recommendations are accepted, the REF will remain an exercise broadly underpinned by academic perceptions of research quality.

But there are also recommendations that will alter relationships between research, individuals and departments. They could also have a significant impact on the job market, particularly in humanities subjects. The impact won’t necessarily be bad; indeed Stern clearly intends to fix some perceived problems. Yet it’s worth thinking through precisely how they would affect us.


We’re all in it together

Recommendation 1: All research active staff should be returned in the REF

The principle of universal inclusion is powerful; I like it. But Stern’s intention, here and elsewhere, is to privilege the department as a unit of research activity over the individual as a sole producer. Hence his further proposal that, while all research-active staff are submitted, some people may submit many items (maybe up to six) and others no items at all. The average (probably two items per researcher) is what will matter.

How would these proposals affect us? At some places there will be increased pressure to push people onto non-research contracts. That’s not necessarily the case, since we will still have one eye on the multiplier effect for QR funding calculations; however, for departments just seeking some respectability in league tables while focusing largely on teaching, it will probably happen.

Meanwhile, decisions about workloads and distribution of resources (including research leave) will be interesting. Ditto advice – and contractual requirements, for some of us – concerning the quality and quantity of outputs. For years I’ve argued that the only thing that really matters, when hiring or promoting, is a researcher’s capacity to produce four-star work. Maybe now I win that argument.

I also think there’s reason to think very carefully about the report’s proposal to abolish ‘special circumstances’. Stern suggests that these will come out in the wash once we shift the focus from individuals to departments; departments will adjust expectations across a group and muddle through. This is to think very clearly from the perspective of an administrative system, but not at all from the perspective of an individual researcher. For many people – and more women than men – the system of special circumstances has been perceived as clear and supportive. Sweeping special circumstances under the carpet cannot be equivalent to a credible equality and diversity policy.


You can’t take those outputs with you

Recommendation 3: Outputs should not be portable

A year ago, I lamented that we can’t take impact case-studies with us when we move jobs; now Stern is proposing that we won’t take publications either. In fact he’s taken a step further: the report proposes an output should belong, for REF purposes, to the university where the researcher was employed when s/he signed a contract for its publication.

The principle here is crucial. Thinking (as Stern consistently does) from the perspective of the institution, research outputs represent returns on investments. It is therefore unjust if these outputs occasionally get carried off to another university in the months before a REF deadline. Moreover, as we all know, such moves can distort both the job market and internal pay differentials.

Well, maybe, but this is to set aside the powerful connection that researchers feel with their publications. It is also to remove one of the key sources of power that academics currently have in negotiations over pay. Whether we like it or not, this recommendation would substantially alter that balance of power, and rewrite equations of ‘market-worth’. I’ll also be curious to see, if this proposal is accepted, whether this shift has an effect on motivation, and hence academics’ famed willingness to work unpaid overtime.

The details are equally important. The focus on the date a contract is signed looks to me like Stern’s committee didn’t talk much to researchers in the humanities. I think I’m right in saying that the period between the signing of a contract and the date of publication is much shorter in the sciences than the humanities. Even humanities journal articles can sit in queues for two or three years. And the report seems entirely unaware that some of the most REF-valuable humanities publications – monographs or (in my discipline) critical editions – may be contracted years before they are completed, let alone published.

So consider the effect on the job market. That old interview chestnut, ‘Is your monograph contracted?’, takes on radically new meaning. Somebody who is committed to a pipeline of publications, in a way that last week looked sensibly professional, may now look much less attractive. Can it really be right that I could spend my first three years at a new university being paid to finish work for my old employer? And do we really think this will end ‘game-playing’? Surely we’ll just end up with different kinds of games.

And then there are the blindingly obvious problems presented by early-career researchers. Who owns that first monograph, that might currently win someone a first permanent job? The current REF rules actually work fine for productive ECRs: it makes sense for universities to employ them. This aspect of the report looks very odd, and really should be fixable.


And big is better

These proposals are better news for bigger departments. For a big department that has always aimed for 100% submission anyway, these changes will be easy enough to manage. My immediate response to reading the report was to take an evening off. But if you’re in a smaller department, perhaps with a low submission rate in 2014, perhaps with a number of people who might reasonably claim ‘special circumstances’, the next REF will today look significantly more challenging.

International students: an apology

According to a report in The Daily Telegraph, the government is planning a ‘new immigration crackdown on student visas’. This is Telegraph imagebased on the premise – loopy as it is – that students are migrants. And the Tories remain as committed as ever to reducing migration – even while they merrily jettison many the other planks of their platform.

This, it’s worth stressing, is unrelated to Brexit. Indeed many people had hoped that, since Brexit is likely to cause pain in terms of EU students and the precarious state of the Erasmus student-exchange scheme, the government might see the light and finally decouple international students from immigration statistics. That would not only be logical – they’re coming to study, not to stay – it would help just about everybody.

Instead we’re told that ‘The Prime Minister has backed calls to restrict student visas so that only the brightest and best can come to study at reputable universities in Britain’. At a time when tens of thousands of international students are graduating, many of whom have worked desperately hard in an alien system just to pass, that’s a lovely little piece of elitism. Their younger siblings have options.


An apology: I was an international student

I was an international student in this country, spending just over three years in Cambridge, 1988-92. I came here because of the reputation of British universities, the quality of the research resources, and the critical mass of like-minded researchers. The experience wasn’t perfect, by any means, but on the whole it set me up for life.

According to The Telegraph, Nick Timothy, Theresa May’s Chief of Staff, ‘believes assessments of the economic impact of foreign students should not overlook the added strain they place on housing and public services.’ Well, Mr Timothy, all I can do is apologize. I went to the doctor three or four times, I cycled on the roads of Cambridge, I drank its limey water. I even – and I’m desperately sorry, but what could I do? – yes, I even shat in its toilets. But I went home again, honest; for my immigration seven years later, I can only apologize again.

But Cambridge was paid for the education and resources it provided, and I paid for the BSE-laden beef and ropey East Anglian beer I consumed. Even in my day, international students were clearly contributing a huge amount to the economy of Cambridge. And I contributed, to the best of my antipodean abilities, to the cultural and intellectual life of the university. The people with whom I lived and studied form, today, an impressive global network in terms of success and influence.


This is serious: the benefits of internationalised campuses

Today, the benefits of international students in the UK are huge. The UK stands as an academic superpower, with sixteen of our universities ranked in the global top 100. That’s not simply a product of international students, by any means, but it says a lot about the global outlook and ambition of British universities. And there’s nothing natural or preordained about that list, just as there’s nothing natural today about the UK’s status as the world’s fifth biggest economy. These things take an awful lot of figs

In economic terms, the value of international students was measured by a  Universities UK Report published last month. The benefits, in terms of revenues to universities and expenditure off-campus, are clear. In my own town, our taxi-drivers benefit, my hairdresser benefits; the whole economy of Exeter has been boosted by the growth of international students in recent years. Yes, international students use ‘housing and public services’, but it is absurd to present them as a drain on the country’s resources. Precisely the contrary is true.

And it’s not just about the economy, stupid. Universities have grown intellectually as a result of the contributions of international students. They bring expertise and endeavour to research labs, and fresh perspectives to seminar rooms. They stretch and challenge home students. In cultural terms, their influence is also positive, helping to make our campuses more outward-looking, globally-engaged environments.

After they graduate, the vast majority of international students return to their homelands, and flourish. They may not all be – with apologies to Mrs May – ‘the best and the brightest’, but they will benefit from their education, maintain the networks they established as students, and remember their formative experiences in the UK. And many will, in due course, move into positions of authority: in business, government, the arts, academia, and so forth.

This is ‘soft power’ at work. The UK is undeniably good at soft power; indeed it topped a recent global soft-power league-table, measuring indices across areas of government, culture, education, global engagement, enterprise, and ‘digital’. There’s nothing natural about this list, either, and our reputation will doubtless take a hit post-Brexit, regardless of how well those negotiations are managed. So it seems to me extraordinary that, at the end of a week in which the UK parliament committed to spending about £40 billion on the hardest of redundant hard-power accessories – the Trident nuclear defence capability – we should choose to shoot ourselves in the feet on soft power.


In the post-Brexit weeks, the non-British financial centres have been busy courting companies currently based in London. The mayor of Frankfurt described himself as ‘weeping and laughing’ simultaneously. And so it will be, now, in the field of higher education. University leaders in Australia and the Netherlands, among other ambitious globally-engaged countries, will regret the damage the UK threatens to do to itself. They respect us; many of them were educated here. But nor will they waste time attracting the students our government seems so desperate to make feel unwelcome in the UK.

So, from one head of department, an apology, for these unfortunate signals from above. In our universities and towns, international students: we value you.