AUR 56 02

Australian Universities’ Review

vol. 56, no. 2, 2014Published by NTEU ISSN 0818–8068

AUR

AUR EditorDr Ian R. Dobson, Federation University Australia

AUR Editorial BoardJeannie Rea, NTEU National President

Professor Timo Aarrevaara, University of Helsinki

Professor Walter Bloom, Murdoch University

Dr Jamie Doughney, Victoria University

Professor Leo Goedegebuure, University of Melbourne

Professor Jeff Goldsworthy, Monash University

Professor Ralph Hall, University of New South Wales

Meghan Hopper, CAPA National President

Professor Dr Simon Marginson, University of London

Mr Grahame McCulloch, NTEU General Secretary

Dr Alex Millmow, Federation University Australia

Dr Neil Mudford, UNSW@ADFA

Professor Paul Rodan, Swinburne University of Technology

Dr Leesa Wheelahan, University of Toronto

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Cover photograph: John Curtin School of Medical Research, ANU, Canberra, by Dirk HR Spennemann ©2012. Reproduced with permission.

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Australian Universities’ Review

vol. 56, no. 2, 2014Published by NTEU ISSN 0818–8068

3 Letter from the editorIan R. Dobson

ARTICLES

4 Democracy and international higher education in ChinaAndrys Onsman & Jackie CameronThere is substantial evidence that supports the theory that higher education and democracy are highly correlated. This study investigates why a Western-style education in China has done little to inculcate revolutionary movements.

14 Indigenous employment and enterprise agreements in Australian universities Cath BrownConsidering the benefits that enterprise agreements can bring to Indigenous employees, this paper considers the question of whether respectful cultural policies that are aligned with reconciliation and included in agreements can reduce Indigenous disadvantage.

20 Students’ early departure intention and the mitigating role of supportHamish Coates In many higher education systems around the world increasing retention is vital if institutions are to produce the number of graduates identified through government projections to meet industry needs.

30 Is there a correlation between US university presidential pay and performance?Laura Risler & Laura M. HarrisonThis paper scrutinises the escalating salaries of US college and university presidents, discusses them in the broader socioeconomic context and suggests ways institutions might strengthen the link between pay and performance.

36 Universities and the public good: A review of knowledge exchange policy and related university practice in AustraliaMichael Cuthill, Éidín O’Shea, Bruce Wilson & Pierre ViljoenAustralia needs a clearly articulated national knowledge exchange policy, along with enhanced university capacity to implement knowledge exchange initiatives.

47 Towards postcolonial management of transnational education Peter Ling, Margaret Mazzolini & Beena GiridharanResponsibilities and opportunities to exercise management and leadership in the provision of transnational education depend on the organisational model adopted and whether the academics involved are on home or international campuses.

OPINION

56 Love, fear and learning in the market universityRaewyn Connell In a recent lecture at the University of Sydney, Raewyn Connell explained the issues that are leading to overworked and demoralised staff in contemporary Australian higher education.

64 Confronting academic snobberyBrian Martin & Majken Jul SørensenSnobbery in academia can involve academics, general staff, students and members of the public, and can be based on degrees, disciplines, cliques and other categories. Though snobbery is seldom treated as a significant issue, it can have damaging effects on morale, research and public image.

69 A poem and two senryuArthur O’Neill

REVIEWS

70 You say you want a revolution. The Dawkins Revolution 25 Years On by Gwilym Croucher, Simon Marginson, Andrew Norton & Julie Wells (Eds.).

Reviewed by Paul Rodan

72 At last count …The Rise Of Data in Education Systems: Collection, visualization and use by Martin Lawn (Ed.).

Reviewed by Neil Mudford.

75 What’s up, Doc?Developing Generic Support for Doctoral Students: Practice and pedagogy by Susan Carter and Deborah Laurs (Eds.).

Reviewed by Pam Herman.

77 Be mobileInternationalisation of Higher Education and Global Mobility by Bernhard Streitwieser (Ed.).

Reviewed by Andrys Onsman.

80 Another season, another reason, for makin’ policy Making Policy in Turbulent Times: Challenges and prospects for higher education (Queen’s Policy Studies) by Paul Axelrod, Roopa Desai Trilokekar, Theresa Shanahan and Richard Wellen (Eds.).


85 The Gender Gap: Still a schism?Generation and Gender in Academia by Barbara Bagilhole and Kate White (Eds.).

Reviewed by Carroll Graham.

¯

87 Diversity 101Managing and Supporting Student Diversity in Higher Education. A case book by Robyn Benson, Margaret Hegney, Lesley Hewitt, Glenda Crosling & Anita Devos.

Reviewed by Georgina Tsolidis.

88 More diversityDiversity and Inclusion in Higher Education: Emerging perspectives on institutional transformation by Daryl G. Smith (Ed.).

Reviewed by Dennis Bryant.

90 Hearing voices?Student Voices On Inequalities in European Higher Education: Challenges for theory, policy and practice in a time of change by Fergal Finnegan, Barbara Merrill & Camilla Thunborg (Eds.).

Reviewed by Dennis Bryant.

92 Beware all ye who enter here!Academic Life and Labour in the New University by Ruth Barcan.

Reviewed by Janin Bredehoeft.

94 Rhizomatic learning rules, OK?Educating the Postmodern Child: The struggle for learning in a world of virtual realities by Fiachra Long.

Reviewed by Andee Jones.

96 A capital idea?Seventeen Contradictions and the End of Capitalism by David Harvey.

Reviewed by Thomas Klikauer.

98 Help! I need somebody / Help! Not just anybody…Helping Doctoral Students Write: Pedagogies for supervision by Barbara Kamler and Pat Thomson

Reviewed by Franklin Obeng-Odoom.

100 The knowledge profession?Knowledge, Expertise and the Professions by Michael Young and Johan Muller (Eds.).


A U S T R A L I A N U N I V E R S I T I E S ’ R E V I E W

vol. 56, no. 2, 20142

Welcome to Round 2 for 2014. In this issue we present a

wide range of papers on China, Indigenous employment,

early departing students, universities and the public good,

transnational education and an interesting article on how

much US university presidents (aka vice-chancellors) are

paid. We have opinion pieces that cover the market uni-

versity and academic snobbery, and we also have a poem

or two.

Andrys Onsman’s presence in this issue of Australian

Universities’ Review is considerable; he collaborated in

writing a paper on Chinese higher education students

and democracy, and prepared no fewer than three book

reviews. He is a well-read man, one might say. In the paper

with Jackie Cameron Hadland from Scotland’s University of

Stirling, the authors note that although there is ‘substantial

evidence that supports the theory that higher education

and democracy are highly correlated’, they find that despite

the increased availability of Western-style education within

and without its borders, China has bucked the trend. Their

study investigates why a Western-style education in China

has done little to inculcate revolutionary movements.

Cath Brown’s paper runs the microscope over the enter-

prise agreements at several universities and considers the

question of whether respectful cultural policies that are

aligned with reconciliation and included in these agree-

ments can be a path towards reducing Indigenous disad-

vantage. See what you think.

Hamish Coates, who has written about student retention,

finds that there are major disjunctions between the sup-

port used by students and the support they need. Evidence-

based practice can do much to resolve these disjunctions,

he says, and in the paper makes research-driven suggestions

about how institutions can increase student support and

thus, retention.

Looking at presidents’ salary packages, would it surprise

anyone to learn that ‘pay rates of top executives are largely

explained by factors that have little or nothing to do with

performance’? Lauras Risler and Harrison take us through

the literature, performance indicators and other data to tell

us how it really is in the US. Could someone write an equiv-

alent paper that describes the Australian scene?

Michael Cuthill and his colleagues have prepared a paper

on knowledge exchange policy, primarily focusing on the

knowledge exchange policy–practice nexus in Australia.

They observe that, ‘taken together, poor policy and inad-

equate practice constrain the effective use of knowledge

in socioeconomic development and national innovation’.

The solution will come with ‘a clearly articulated national

knowledge exchange policy, along with enhanced univer-

sity capacity to implement knowledge exchange initiatives’.

Peter Ling, Margaret Mazzolini and Beena Giridharan

have written a paper on transnational education, particu-

larly the impact of Australian universities’ offshore cam-

puses. Reporting on a funded major study, they examine

‘good practice in allocation and exercise of management

and leadership responsibilities’, and how a balance might

be struck between quality assurance obligations and the

degree of local control that should be provided to the local

academics involved.

Raewyn Connell clearly explains the issues that are lead-

ing to staff in contemporary Australian higher education

feeling overworked and demoralised. Brian Martin and

Majken Jul Sørensen walk us through academic snobbery,

which, they note, ‘is seldom treated as a significant issue,

[but] can have damaging effects on morale, research and

public image’. They introduce us to ways snobbery can best

be tackled. In our opinion section, Arthur O’Neill tells how

it is, waxing lyrical in forms poetic: ‘There once was a man

called Arthur, etc.’

One of the briefs handed to me as the new editor (not

so new any more) was to beef up the book reviews section.

On that basis, this issue is a triumph, because it includes

reviews of 14 books by 11 reviewers. An editor is depend-

ent on material coming in, and for this issue, all the books

provided to potential reviewers have resulted in completed

reviews. Well done to all concerned. There is, however, no

truth in the rumour that AUR will henceforth be known as

the NTEU Review of Books. I expect we’ll see a decline in

our contributors’ literary critiques by the next issue.

My thanks go to the members of the editorial board, the

NTEU production team and Sandra Goldbloom Zurbo for

enabling this issue to hit the streets.

Ian Dobson is an Honorary Senior Research Fellow at the

Federation University Australia, an Adjunct Professional Staff

Member at Monash University and editor of AUR.

Letter from the editor


vol. 56, no. 2, 2014 Letter from the editor 3

Democracy is usually understood to be a human rights-

oriented system of government based on universal suf-

frage. Democracy is generally assumed to refer to rule

by the people through direct and secret representation

and is historically defined as being opposite to any form

of authoritarianism and totalitarianism (Popper, 1971).

Hence, mainland China fits the definition of a non-

democratic state because National Party Congress dele-

gates are not elected by secret popular vote (Miles, 2011)

but are, for all intents and purposes, decided by Commu-

nist Party allocation.

Moreover, China could also be construed as being a

totalitarian state because its leaders conduct themselves

under the ideological banner of communism, and while

not everyone in the National Party Congress is a member

of the Communist Party of China (CCP), no other party

membership is allowed into the decision-making pro-

cess and contestation of either the Congress or its

membership is officially discouraged. Public criticism is

not allowed; when it does occur, it can result in severe

punishment. In December 2011, for instance, Chen Xi

was jailed for 10 years for writing a series of essays,

published on websites outside China, criticising the Chi-

nese government. At the same time another democracy

campaigner, Chen Wei, was sentenced to nine years in a

similar but unrelated case (Hennock, 2011). But while

China cannot be said to be a democracy by any accepted

definition, Chinese officials occasionally use such terms

as ‘socialist democracy’ (China Daily, 2012), an oxymo-

ron that ex-Premier Wen Jiabao used to describe a form

of ersatz democratic government that does not guaran-

tee basic human rights, doesn’t require the separation

Democracy and international higher education in ChinaAndrys OnsmanUniversity of Melbourne

Jackie CameronUniversity of Stirling

There is substantial evidence that supports the theory that higher education and democracy are highly correlated. Throughout modern history, students have been at the forefront of democratic movements, including the 1989 pro-democracy uprising in China. Since then, and despite the increased availability of Western-style education within and without its borders, China has bucked the trend. Using system justification theory as its theoretical framework, this study investigates why a Western-style education in China has done little to inculcate revolutionary movements. Findings indicate that a Western-style education does not facilitate student desire for democratisation in China because of the control imposed on student behaviour by Chinese authorities, including student subscription to Chinese Communist Party-endorsed notions of national pride and student ambition for postgraduate socioeconomic reward. Culturally grounded notions of social harmony were less evident than might have been expected.


vol. 56, no. 2, 20144 Democracy and international higher education in China Tim Battin, Dan Riley & Alan Avery

of powers, doesn’t ensure freedom of speech and is not

based on universal suffrage.

There exists a growing body of scholarly work to sup-

port the proposition that more universally available and

more internationally focused higher education within a

non-democratic state may lead to increased student-led

agitation for democratisation (Glaeser et al., 2006; Lipset,

1959, 1960). More specifically, in their meta-analysis of

survey data on the effectiveness factors of civic education,

Gainous and Martens (2012) considered education to be

the most important in creating attitudes and values vital

for a participant governance. Earlier, and somewhat pro-

phetically, Zehra Arat (1988, p. 22) posited the idea that

education with urbanisation and media growth are the

essential factors for the creation of a desire for democracy

in the Middle East:

Using survey data from Middle Eastern countries, Lerner identified urbanisation, education, and media growth (or communication) as the essential factors for the process of democratic development. He consid-ered urbanisation to be a factor stimulating education, which in turn accelerates media growth and eventually democratic development.

Not all media commentators agree that youth use social

media to create a self-directed political force (Bratich,

2011) and the outcomes of the various uprisings in the

region continue to be mixed in terms of democratisa-

tion (Dalacoura, 2011). Nonetheless, there is a general

acknowledgement that disempowered young people are

increasingly using social media to demand social justice

(Vadrevu & Lim, 2012).

Contemporary China has so far bucked this trend.

Since the 1989 Tiananmen Square uprising was quashed,

there have not been any significant attempts by students

to push society towards a democracy that values human

rights such as freedom of speech, freedom of associa-

tion and the right to vote for political leaders, despite

Chinese students having a reputation for being socio-

politically active and at the forefront of Chinese politics in

the 20th century (Zhao, 2002). It is noticeable that there

does not appear to be any visible or significant appetite

for democracy among the contemporary student popula-

tion in China, even among those students who have had

significant exposure to Western ideas through tertiary

education abroad or at home. Although those numbers

are relatively small compared to the total Chinese popula-

tion, they are growing. China’s Ministry of Education sta-

tistics indicate that a total of 339,700 Chinese students

went abroad for graduate and undergraduate studies in

2011, an increase of 19.32 per cent over that of 2010 (Yu,

2012). The number of students who return after studying

abroad has also been exponentially growing. According

to the Chinese Ministry of Education, in 2011 a total of

186,200 Chinese students, or about 55 per cent of the

total, returned to work in China – an increase of 38 per

cent compared to 2010 (Zhu, 2012). There are no studies

that report these students show a greater inclination to

agitate for political reform.

One subset of foreign educated Chinese students is

comprised of those who complete their course in a Sino–

foreign joint-venture university. Whereas at first glance it

may be presumed that these providers engender a more

actively pursued notion of social justice and democracy

among its cohorts, it is in fact just as possible that they

are complicit in preventing Chinese students’ access to

democratic principles. It may be that their very presence

in China indicates compliance with the CCP’s require-

ment of tight control of student behaviour while maxi-

mum educational and economic benefits are extracted

(Gow, 2012).

It is undoubtedly true that the primary purpose of in-

country transnational universities is educating the best

and brightest Chinese and international students to high

undergraduate and postgraduate standards; not to incul-

cate revolutionary fervent, particularly as the overseas

partners in these ventures acknowledge potential and

actual financial gain, albeit usually couched in terms of

mutual benefit (Greenaway & Rudd, 2012; Gilbertson

2011). Nonetheless, this does not comfortably explain the

lack of revolutionary movement among Chinese students.

The intentions, per se, of the executives and managers at

the helm of Western universities in China do not necessar-

ily preclude students’ political activity: in fact, historically

speaking, Chinese students have been remarkably resil-

ient in the face of state intervention.

The current lack of student enthusiasm for political

revolt may be attributed to the state having too close a

control over them to allow dissent and/or ambition to

foment. The fact that China is allowing Western-style edu-

cation to be delivered within its borders suggests that

the state is confident in its control mechanisms. These

mechanisms operate on the micro level as ubiquitous

surveillance within the campus and on the macro level

by referring to Confucian notions of social cohesion and

national identity (Onsman, 2012), a strategy that works as

an underlying psychosocial mechanism acting as a coun-

terforce to the desire for democratisation sweeping the

world (Huntington, 1991).

In the recent past, Chinese students have shown that

they are not averse to protest when the cause is mean-


vol. 56, no. 2, 2014 Democracy and international higher education in China Andrys Onsman & Jackie Cameron Hadland 5

ingful to them, which suggests that students may be less

predisposed towards overt political action in this instance

because the idea of democracy is less appealing to them

than the West assumes. In simple terms then, students may

show little interest in pushing for democracy because

they are constrained by strictures within the university

or they do not see democracy as an intrinsically worth-

while goal. This study explores the relationship between

the two factors.

The study

The study was conducted between 1 February and 31

May 2012 in the University of Nottingham Ningbo China

(hereafter UNNC), the first officially sanctioned Sino–for-

eign university in China (Onsman, 2011). UNNC offers a

wholly British education and encourages international

student mobility; about one-fifth of Chinese students

spend part of their degree programs in Western countries.

The study was comprised of three parts: a qualitative

examination of the organisational structure of UNNC,

semi-structured interviews with six individuals, con-

ducted with the assurance of complete anonymity, and a

questionnaire, translated into Chinese and distributed to

200 students: 100 at UNNC and, for comparison purposes,

100 university-age Chinese students not affiliated to the

university. Ethics clearance was provided by UNNC.

Analysis of UNNC’s student support structure

Much of student activity in UNNC is controlled and

monitored by the Student Affairs Office. To gain an ini-

tial impression of how far-reaching its influence is, the

main features and functions of its work were classified

and rated on a Likert scale of 1 to 5 (1 = not a factor in

ensuring that students justify the social system and 5 =

major factor in ensuring that students justify the social

system). Of the 25 identified features, seven were rated as

not being a factor in maintaining the sociopolitical status

quo, which suggests that most of the work of the Student

Affairs Office is entirely devoted to ensuring political con-

trol of the students. In addition, this is specifically CCP

control, as opposed to general control by the authorities.

The analysis of function and purpose indicated that

student support is peripheral to the primary duties for-

malised in the student affairs manual. The work of the

20 or so employees is, specifically, to build and entrench

the power and control of the Party among the student

body. The unit’s work calendar indicates that at least 40

per cent of all projects are directly related to the Party.

The remainder are indirectly related to the Party and all

are related to facilitating information gathering, record-

ing and monitoring of students for political purposes. The

social structure of the university and the work carried out

by the Student Affairs Office are specifically designed to

ensure that students do not develop revolutionary move-

ments. Rather, the structures are specifically designed to

cajole or coerce the student population into supporting

or justifying the rule of a political elite.

Table 1. Student Affairs Office functions identified as factors ensuring student compliance

ID Description Compliance impact rating

1 Reporting lines 5

2 Diary of activities 4

3 Psychological counselling 5

4 Student Union management 5

5 Career guidance 1

6 Disability support 1

7 Student enrolment 5

8 Student card 3

9 Student transport concession 1

10 Student insurance 1

11 Student record 5

12 ‘Party Work Handbook of UNNC implementation’

5

13 Party membership management 5

14 Lost property 1

15 Student ‘emergencies’ plan (including demonstrations)

5

16 Assigned roles in emergencies 5

17 Incident reporting systems 5

18 Response plans for all emergencies, led by Party secretary

4

19 Graduation ceremony 1

20 Monitoring of student organisations 4

21 Sports events: selection of participants. 4

22 Assigned roles in cultural activities 1

23 Party recruitment 5

24 Preliminary calendar of events (mostly CCP-related activities)

5

Key: 1 = not factor in ensuring student compliance; 5 = major factor in ensuring student compliance


vol. 56, no. 2, 20146 Democracy and international higher education in China Andrys Onsman & Jackie Cameron Hadland

In compliance with China’s Archives Law, the Student

Affairs Office gathers information and keeps detailed files

on every student, including contact information for friends

and relatives, as well as ideological issues in connection

with students’ families and social groups. These files arrive

at the university from schools and are passed on to future

employers and other government departments when stu-

dents graduate or drop out. Student Affairs Office officers

are required to include information about each student’s

health, grades, rewards and punishments, and details

related to Party affiliation and interest. The presence of

these files – and the knowledge that whatever one says

or does that is non-routine will be immediately reported

to an authority and stay on your record for life – serves

as a mechanism to keep stu-

dents very cautious about

airing their views on politi-

cal issues or, indeed, acting to

make any change. The fear of

being punished later, by, for

example, not being awarded

employment on the basis of

a student misdemeanour, is a

major factor in ensuring that

people err on the side of cau-

tion in giving their opinions

and acting in a way that may seem as if they are opposed

to the Party or not be supportive of it.

Shortly after the start of the academic year in Septem-

ber, students are actively encouraged to join the Party or

be promoted within its ranks. They are first introduced

to the class leadership structures, and then class Party

leadership structures. There is little that is subtle about

the encouragement. Party loyalists are rewarded with

accolades and positive notes on their records; only ath-

letes who are Party members are chosen for competitive

sporting events. Peer pressure is utilised as a social con-

trol tool, with students acting as agents to help Student

Affairs Office officers gather detailed information about

each student. The Student Affairs Office keeps a tight

rein on student organisations by establishing leadership

groups of trusted students and effectively controlling all

student activities. It is evident that the pressure to join the

Party comes from a formalised structure implemented by

UNNC together with the Party.

Although UNNC has a career development office in its

administration, much of the career-oriented student sup-

port is managed by the Student Affairs Office. At least 15

per cent of its time is allocated to student employment

issues, such as arranging internship opportunities. The

same people coordinate Party meetings and make recom-

mendations for the recognition of outstanding Party mem-

bers as well as for outstanding academic achievement. The

intertwining of the three functions – educational, political

and career development – reinforces the impression for

students that membership of the Party and employment

opportunities are directly related.

Further supporting the argument that Student Affairs

Office officers primarily serve a political function for

the Party are the details of how emergencies at the uni-

versity are prioritised. Along with major health epidem-

ics, such as SARS (a highly contagious and potentially

deadly virus), pulmonary anthrax and radiation damage,

‘student group incidents’ is cited as an ‘extremely major

incident’, scoring the highest

grade of emergency. Student

group incidents are defined

as ‘[u]ncontrollable gather-

ing incidents of students,

unapproved large-scale dem-

onstrations, rallies, hunger

strikes, sit-ins, petitions, and

other incidents that seriously

affect social stability; on-cam-

pus student group incidents

which interrupt the normal

teaching and administrative work’. Protest action, even

for minor causes, is not permitted at UNNC. Were they to

occur, they would be stopped and offenders reported to

Party authorities.

Also worth noting is that the leader in times of emer-

gency is not the Provost and Chief Executive Officer of

UNNC, a secondment from University of Nottingham

(UK). According to the manual, responsibility for han-

dling emergencies falls under the Student Affairs Office,

with the Party Secretary ultimately accountable for all

issues, ranging from food poisoning on campus to major

catastrophes. Heads of the Student Affairs Office, logis-

tics and student apartment security are on the ‘leading

team’. The controversial point arises when the emer-

gency would not be deemed an emergency in another

country – for example, a student sit-in or protest activ-

ity. Democratic freedom of speech activities are not per-

mitted, the ban being enforced by the Party through its

agents at the university.

Student Affairs Office officials, as agents of the Party,

are very powerful in influencing the future lives of stu-

dents; as a result, students treat them with healthy respect

and obedience, referring to them as their ‘leaders’ and

‘bosses’. The contents of the operational manual indicate

Shortly after the start of the academic year in September, students are actively

encouraged to join the Party or be promoted within its ranks. They are

first introduced to the class leadership structures and then class party leadership

structures. There is little that is subtle about the encouragement.



that although the university is labelled a UK university

in China, it is only the academic provision that is Brit-

ish. The university experience and all other facets of the

university are Chinese and are under the control of the

Party – effectively, a ruling elite in a totalitarian state. This

works as an effective counterweight to the development

of a revolutionary movement and, in addition, serves to

counteract academic experiences that might lead to a

change in social attitude or behaviour. However, as has

been evident in social upheavals elsewhere, institutional

and administrative constraints are unlikely to be effective

at suppressing revolt if the desire for change gains enough

traction among the student population. In light of this, the

paper turns to the question of whether such a desire for

change to democracy is evident among Chinese students

in a transnational university. Where there is no will, the

way becomes irrelevant.

Interviews

Ten individuals were invited to participate in semi-struc-

tured interviews; six agreed. Given the sensitivity of dis-

cussing political issues in China and that indicating a lack

of support for the governing CCP can lead to censure

and even harsh penalties in extreme cases, the interviews

were conducted on the basis of strict anonymity and all

candidates were informed that they could end the inter-

view at any stage. The aim of the interviews was to assess

the extent to which the list of factors identified by Jost

and Hunyady (2002, 2005) might be directly applicable to

Chinese individuals. In order to prevent any interviewee

discomfort with overtly political terminology or judge-

ment-laden terms such ‘conservative’ and ‘protest’, the

descriptors of the categories were removed.

Each interview began with respondents being asked to

identify the category they most identified with by circling

the letter next to the description that best fits their world-

view. A series of questions followed, phrased according

to context, about the perceived likelihood of student atti-

tude moving in favour of Western democracy in the long

run, as well as whether there was any likelihood in the

near future of political activism that had the introduction

of democracy as an objective. The focus was on resistance

to change (‘I would be reluctant to make any large-scale

changes to the social order’ and ‘I have a preference for

maintaining stability in society, even if there seem to be

problems with the current system’). Specific questions

included:

1. Why do you think students at UNNC don’t engage in

political behaviour?

2. Why don’t students here show any desire to change

the way things work at the university or in China?

3. Do you think that students in China are interested in

democracy?

4. Do you think that students think about the social

system in China?

5. How important is Confucianism, in terms of its prin-

ciples, in China today?

If the interviewee indicated discomfort with being

recorded, answers were recorded in writing, either in situ

or post hoc.

Interview responses

A common thread among all the recorded responses was

that Party-constructed situational factors at UNNC out-

weigh individual dispositional factors likely to motivate

Chinese students towards seeking political change and

developing social movements. For example, one inter-

viewee noted that the computer and internet systems

accessed by students are specifically set up to prevent the

development of protest action. She said: ‘In our university

we have to log in via software; it was produced by secu-

rity services … if students want to organise protest, the

internet can be disrupted immediately. It’s not difficult.’

Another highlighted the Party spectre over the lives of

students by noting: ‘Every Chinese university head of Stu-

dent Affairs must know everything; they are very power-

ful. They can meet parents. They can access information.

Even those from the education bureau say to them: “You

could control this”, like who moves to a single room, for

priorities and other privileges.’ These responses illustrate

a perception that control is ultimately located in the Party

and other state organs.

Most interviewees believed a system involving ‘moni-

tors’ is effective in diffusing any political tension at the

university. Interviewees who expressed support for the

Party suggested that the Student Affairs Office monitors

encourage individuals to air grievances and, in so doing,

act as a political pressure valve.

All interviewees made comments alluding to the

Party machinery becoming more rather than less perva-

sive and constrictive as UNNC had evolved since it was

established in 2003. The pervasiveness of the Party was

cited as a factor in students failing to show any interest

in student political activities, or any criticism of the state

or authorities. Said one interviewee: ‘Many, not all, student

activities are organised by the Party. You are brainwashed,

you are living surrounded by the Communist Party, the

Youth League. The question then is: Why are you protest-



ing against it? Those are your friends.’ This attitude sug-

gests that the notion that Western education leads to a

change in social attitudes is not applicable in the context

of this study because, in this instance, a Western education

has not succeeded in breaking down the attitude towards

the Party.

Fear of the state and punishment for not being openly

supportive of the Party were cited as major reasons for

students failing to exhibit any overtly political behaviour.

One said students were worried about anything con-

strued as ‘misbehaviour’ being ‘put into files that go along

with you your entire life’, a reference to record keeping

by the Student Affairs Office. One interviewee summed

up the approach of Chinese

people thus: ‘In China there’s

an old saying that “A bird who

stands out from other birds

will be shot by the hunters”.

So, if you are really outstand-

ing someone will attack you

or hurt you. You aren’t sup-

posed to be rebellious. You

are better to keep a low key,

a low profile [sic].’

Another theme recurring in most interviews is that

students do not believe UNNC is a safe environment in

which to openly share intellectual views that are not

compatible with the latest views of the Party leadership.

Despite institutional rhetoric to the contrary, not all stu-

dents and staff regard UNNC as a proper UK educational

institution – linking this to the Chinese structural aspects,

or characteristics, as well as the quality of the academic

delivery. Opined one interviewee: ‘Maybe the system

limits the university’s ambition to help. It is not a fully

Western university. The university is helping students to

think in various ways, but it is not doing its best.’

Significantly, all respondents picked up on the theme

of individuals feeling overwhelmed at the enormity of

the task of making any changes. This response resonates

with Jost and Hunyadi (2005), who recorded that, for

many individuals justifying the status quo in the US, it was

a case of it being easier to do nothing than to resist or

change a situation and it is easier to make a mental adjust-

ment in favour of the status quo than in opposition to it.

System-justifying ideologies ‘serve a palliative function in

that they make people feel better about their own situa-

tion’ (Jost & Hunyady, 2002 p. 37). This thought process is

illustrated by comments such as: ‘Many people are telling

me: You can’t change the world. You must recognise the

big situation, the big trend of society. This is the world; get

used to it’, and ‘The people have to just learn how to sur-

vive within the system, even though the system is harm-

ful to the people. The system is too harsh ... but Chinese

people have got used to living within a harsh system …

unlike Western society they aren’t trying to build a better

society but survive.’

When asked why students don’t even protest about

minor issues or non-political issues such as poor food

quality in the face of a lack of action by the university,

which is a common social and social media complaint, one

interviewee said: ‘The Students’ Union doesn’t support

this idea to protest in front of the administration building,

because it isn’t within their culture. They think if a protest

is organised it will become

a big issue for the Ningbo

government. The Ningbo

government will intervene.

They [students] don’t have

the courage. Protest in China

is seldom. You will be put in

prison. Even if you apply for

a protest you may be har-

assed by police officers.’ The

fear of retribution for what would be regarded elsewhere

in the world as a minor political protest was echoed by

other interviewees. Whether the recent social protest con-

cerning environmental issue in Ningbo impacts on this

attitude remains to be seen.

The main patterns that emerged from the interview

data included that there are distinct encouragements and

rewards place students who unflinchingly toe the Party

line, and many financial and social disadvantages for those

who don’t. There is the overwhelming belief that the Party

is ultimately in charge at UNNC. Said one interviewee:

‘This university is not totally Western; the administrative

staff are all controlled by Chinese people. British leaders

can’t influence Chinese staff’, indicating that administra-

tive employees are controlled by the Party. Evidently, the

design of the system has been effective in ensuring that

a Western-style education provider operating in China

does not actually provide a Western education beyond its

academic curriculum. If Jost’s theory holds, it could be

expected that Chinese people exhibit a similar psycho-

logical pattern as American people do in supporting a

non-beneficial political elite.

Finally, and counter to expectation, there was overall

agreement that, despite Party rhetoric, an additional cat-

egory that focused on Confucian principles would be

inappropriate: ‘Confucianism is not embedded. This is the

traditional past.’

The main patterns that emerged from the interview data included that there are

distinct encouragements and rewards in place for students who unflinchingly toe the Party line, and many financial and

social disadvantages for those who don’t.



Student surveys

The conclusions reached from the theoretical and quali-

tative research focused the student survey on disposi-

tional aspects. On the assumption that justification of the

social order is implicit or subconscious, the questionnaire

aimed to test attitudes towards democracy and demo-

cratic principles without specifically referring to the core

political concepts. Despite the interview data indicating

a reluctance to ascribe significant agency to it, questions

about Confucianism and the extent to which individuals

believed the principles still apply in modern China were

included because nationalism and Confucianism are seen

by some as forces counter to democracy (Hu, 1997; Chen,

2013; Mitter, 2013).

The questionnaire was adapted from Pillay et al. (2006),

who used a rating scale structure designed to gauge social

attitudes among a group of respondents whose primary

language is not English. The structure minimises time

spent and increases completion rates. Response time

was less than two minutes. Preceding the main section of

the survey were five demographic questions: gender, age,

nationality, level of education and university affiliation.

A bank of questions that surveyed attitudes and opinion

followed.

While all questions polled feelings of patriotism, ques-

tions 8, 13 and 16 sought to elicit specific attitudes rel-

evant to the current study. Question 8 sought to establish

whether students were concerned about social justice

issues in China. A concern is acknowledged here regard-

ing the variation between Chinese and English students

in perceived meanings of the term ‘ashamed’ (Liu, 2012;

Wong & Tsai, 2007; Li et al., 2004), but for the purposes

of the current study an indication of general concern

was sought. Question 13 attempted to establish whether

Chinese students have formulated a social framework for

acceptance. The final question aimed to elicit whether

students were optimistic about their future. A commonly

purported view is that Chinese citizens will not revolt

against the current government if living standards keep

improving. As Zhu (2012) notes on the state-controlled

Global Times website: ‘Economic development is the

fundamental factor for social stability … A social stabil-

ity risk assessment mechanism requires the government

serve its people by making use of its economic achieve-

ments.’ If students believe living standards will continue

to improve, they will be less likely to engage in demands

for social reform.

Student survey findings

Table 3 shows that the sample size of UNNC students

was (n = 100). Demographic data indicated that 83 per

cent were female, 99 per cent were older than 18 and

40 per cent were postgraduate students. The sample size

for non-UNNC students was (n = 108). Demographic data

indicated that 65 per cent were female, all were older

than 18 and 52 per cent were postgraduate students. All

respondents were Chinese. In general, the survey results

(Tables 3 and 4) indicate that Chinese students at UNNC

are overwhelmingly proud of China and of being Chinese

citizens and that their Western-style education has not

dampened their loyalty towards the state. The items that

drew the most positive responses were, in order: pride in

China’s international sporting success (93 per cent), pride

in China’s history (86 per cent strongly agree/agree) and

pride in its economic achievement (63 per cent). It is

notable that pride in sport and history are fairly neutral

and uncontroversial social indicators.

It is also noteworthy that although students generally

supported the notion that Chinese people should support

their government no matter what, they also recognised

that their government was far from equitable and fair

when it came to dealing with its citizenry.

The pattern of responses was similar for UNNC and

non-UNNC respondents. The only significant difference

between the two sets of students was whether they felt

Table 2: Survey Items

1 I am proud of China’s economic achievement

2 I am proud of China’s political achievement

3 I am proud of China’s social achievement

4 I am proud of China’s scientific achievement

5 I am proud of China’s artistic achievement

6 I am proud of China’s military achievement

7 I am proud of China’s history

8 China treats all its people fairly and equitably

9 I would rather be Chinese than anything else

10 China makes the world a better place

11 I am ashamed about some things in China

12 China is a better country than most others

13 Chinese people should support China even if it does something wrong

14 I am proud when China has international sporting success

15 I am often less proud of China than I would like to be

16 China will continue to improve over the next five years



ashamed of some things in China (Item 11). The signifi-

cantly higher level of strong agreement with the statement

among UNNC students may be due to their exposure to

a broader range of information on such topics. In both

cases, less than 15 per cent of the 200 students surveyed

expect living conditions to decline over the next five

years (Item 16), with a vast majority (> 70 per cent) indi-

cating that they expect things to improve. Such expec-

tations may well mitigate the desire for any major shift

in social attitudes. As one respondent in the interviews

said: ‘Many students come from rich families; they are very

happy with their lives.’

The most significant difference between UNNC stu-

dents and students at a mainstream Chinese university

was in their responses to Item 11. Whereas more than

83 per cent of UNNC respondents indicated that they

Table 3: Questionnaire Responses

Item number and descriptor SA A N D SD Mean σ 1. Proud of economic UNNC 18 45 31 5 0 3.54 18.53

State 10 42 44 5 2 3.76 20.65

2. Proud of political UNNC 6 29 47 15 3 3.23 18.16

State 7 28 58 10 2 2.73 22.48

3. Proud of social UNNC 7 23 39 23 6 2.99 13.63

State 5 18 52 25 2 3.05 20.00

4. Proud of scientific UNNC 6 32 45 15 3 3.28 17.53

State 6 33 51 12 2 3.23 20.68

5. Proud of artistic UNNC 21 26 35 14 5 3.77 11.11

State 34 28 31 7 3 3.44 14.46

6. Proud of military UNNC 16 34 44 5 1 3.02 17.89

State 6 31 42 17 4 3.61 16.32

7. Proud of history UNNC 51 35 10 3 1 4.11 22.00

State 45 35 14 4 1 4.32 19.38

8. All of its people fairly UNNC 3 6 42 28 20 1.81 15.72

State 5 16 43 33 4 2.43 17.28

9. I would rather be Chinese UNNC 15 37 26 16 3 3.61 19.17

State 11 44 34 5 0 3.73 19.17

10. Makes the world better UNNC 5 18 40 34 2 3.29 16.03

State 7 21 43 23 2 3.08 16.03

11. Ashamed some things UNNC 14 60 18 6 2 3.22 13.06

State 10 42 19 12 14 3.23 13.06

12. China better country UNNC 5 29 37 21 6 3.06 15.91

State 8 24 42 23 1 3.15 15.91

13. Support China, even if wrong UNNC 4 17 24 38 17 3.92 18.33

State 38 41 13 7 1 4.08 18.33

14. Proud of sporting UNNC 36 35 20 9 3 3.92 23.50

State 44 47 8 1 0 4.34 23.50

15. Often less proud UNNC 3 19 40 28 6 2.57 12.75

State 6 11 39 22 22 2.38 12.70

16. China improve in next 5 years UNNC 11 60 16 8 3 3.51 23.07

State 14 70 12 4 1 3.89 25.08

SA = Strongly agree; A=Agree; N + Neutral; D = Disagree; SD = Strongly disagree



were ashamed or very ashamed of some things in China,

the proportion in the case of the non-UNNC students

dropped to just over 53 per cent. It may be that UNNC stu-

dents are exposed to more unpalatable events in Chinese

current affairs than are their non-UNNC counterparts,

that they are simply more aware. This difference becomes

even more significant for Item 13. Non-UNNC students are

four times as likely to believe that people should support

their country right or wrong than are UNNC students.

Yet this difference is insignificant in comparison with

their response to Item 9, in which more than half of all

respondents indicated that they would rather be Chinese

than anything else. Overall, it suggests that, while they

are aware of their country’s failings, they nonetheless are

proud to be Chinese, a similar psychological pattern to

that found in democratic countries.

In general, initial findings of the surveys confirmed that,

regardless of the style of higher education, State-sponsored

patriotism and national pride form significant factors in

acting against the motivation to develop a pro-democ-

racy movement. The pattern of responses was similar for

UNNC and non-UNNC students, a predictable result, given

that the monitoring of students is, in effect, similar in local

and transnational institutions. This may indicate that the

restrictive structure of the institution and the increasingly

better personal circumstances are factors consolidating

the belief that China’s government warrants their support,

which is essentially system justification.

Conclusions

This study investigated potential factors influencing

why a Western-style education in China appears to have

done little to inculcate socially constructed demands for

democracy among Chinese students. Two possible inhibi-

tory factors were deduced from a literature scan. First, it

may be that the administrative structure of the institution

actively precludes the freedom to protest. Second, it may

be that the sociopolitical constructs of the circumjacent

society focuses on social harmony, with a corollary that

the focus is fuelled by reference to Confucianism as a tra-

ditional characteristic of Chinese society. It is apparent

that the factors are intertwined, with a distinct likelihood

that the second, as a more pervasive trend, will be made

manifest in the first.

Findings indicate that the administration of Western-

style higher education providers is structured so that the

Chinese Communist Party maintains overt and covert

control over student behaviour. Even in transnational

universities that deliver curricula from the overseas insti-

tution, the Party maintains a visible physical presence.

This is hardly surprising, as the Party at the national level

controls the recognition of foreign degrees, while at pro-

vincial level it controls operational accreditation of the

institution. The notion that a foreign university operating

as a joint venture within China can deliver Western-style

education without acceding to Party demands is unrealis-

tic. Still, there is little evidence to indicate that Confucian

thought is central to the preference for social harmony

among Chinese students. Rather, there seems to be a com-

plex interplay between increasingly self-centred ambition

and social justification, as proposed by Jost and Hunyday

(2002, 2005).

The notion that the emphasis on social harmony over

democracy is national policy rather than a matter of indi-

vidual choice is far more elusive to confirm. While it seems

that, in practical terms, Confucianism may be less influen-

tial as a framework for social cohesion than suggested by

Party rhetoric and theoretical analyses, a great deal more

work needs to be done in this area before any worthwhile

understanding can be reached. For the purposes of this

study, the focus was to ascertain whether a general social

ethos contributed to the lack of demand for democracy

among the students. Results from the survey indicate that,

regardless of whether any particular social or political

theory influences the apparent disinclination for democ-

racy, Chinese students are less inclined to overthrow

what is essentially an oppressive regime because they are

essentially happy with their personal circumstance. This

may of course be due to the fact that as students in an

international university they are among the nation’s most

privileged. While they acknowledge that there are aspects

of the Chinese regime that are undesirable, they expect

their own lives to keep improving in terms of material

wealth. This lack of empathy with less fortunate compa-

triots, at odds with the notion of social responsibility that

lies at heart of Confucianism, may be explained by the

suggestion that the desire for democracy is only loosely

tied to social justice and far more strongly to the desire for

personal opportunity for social advancement. However,

that notion is beyond the scope of this paper.

Andrys Onsman is a lecturer and researchers at the Centre for

Studies of Higher Education, University of Melbourne.

Jackie Cameron is a postgraduate research student in Com-

munications, Media and Culture, University of Stirling, UK.



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Introduction

Enterprise bargaining agreements, the colloquial name

given to enterprise agreements (EAs), were regulated

again under the Fair Work Act 2009 to create improve-

ments in workplace employment (Commonwealth of

Australia, 2011). Enterprise bargaining agreements were

first introduced in 1991 under the Prices and Income

Accord Mark VII by the Hawke Labor Government (ACTU,

1993). The National Tertiary Education Union (NTEU)

National Indigenous Claim was first introduced in Round

3 bargaining in 2000 (NTEU National Council 99, 1999).

Because the EAs can make allowances for differences in

cultural needs, improvements offered potential employ-

ment opportunities for Indigenous people. In addition,

they can contribute to each institution’s commitment to

Indigenous Australian people’s cultural obligations (Taylor,

Gray, Boyd, Yap & Lahn, 2012). EAs document the terms

and conditions of employment for an organisation’s staff,

including pay rates, penalties, allowances, standard hours,

leave, deductions and issues concerning the relationship

between the employer and the staff (Commonwealth of

Australia, 2011).

Since 2010, the Fair Work Commission has approved

EAs once it is satisfied they passed the ‘better off overall’

test. This test ensures that each staff member or prospec-

tive staff member would be better off under an EA than

under the generic provisions of a modern award (Com-

monwealth of Australia, 2011).

A document analysis of eight Australian Round 5 EAs in

Australian tertiary institutions was conducted to concep-

tualise and compare information (Starks & Brown Trinidad,

2007) regarding Indigenous staff needs and remuneration.

The aim of this study was to consider the benefits that

EAs bring to Indigenous employees. The research exam-

ined any reference to Indigenous rights and benefits

Indigenous employment and enterprise agreements in Australian universitiesCath BrownJames Cook University

Considering the benefits that enterprise agreements (EAs) can bring to Indigenous employees, this paper considers the question of whether respectful cultural policies that are aligned with reconciliation and included in EAs can be achieved to Close the Gap on reducing Indigenous disadvantage. A document analysis of EAs at eight Australian universities was conducted to conceptualise and compare information about Indigenous staff needs and remuneration. A number of specific sections relating to Indigenous employment and leave arrangements were identified.


vol. 56, no. 2, 201414 Indigenous employment and enterprise agreements in Australian universities Cath Brown

within EAs. It also explored any discourse reflected in the

selected EAs and how they support or hinder the cultural

values and obligations of Indigenous people.

The Council of Australian Governments (COAG) mem-

bership comprises the prime minister, state premiers, ter-

ritory chief ministers and the president of the Australian

Local Government Association; it is the highest Australian

intergovernmental body (Commonwealth of Australia,

2012). COAG agreed in March 2008 to the establishment

of targets for Indigenous reform through the Closing the

Gap reform agenda (Council of Australian Governments,

2009). Halving the gap in employment outcomes between

Indigenous and non-Indigenous Australians within a

decade is one of the six targets of Closing the Gap and

it requires attention if Indigenous people are to attain a

prosperous life.

Method

Using discourse analysis to study and examine the use of

language as a qualitative tool (Robson, 2011) uncovered

valuable and beneficial research from publicly accessible

documents, such as EAs. Convenience sampling as a quali-

tative approach was chosen for this study as a technique

that provides good accessibility to the sample (Marshall,

1996). The data generation and collection strategies have

been opportunistic. The driving factor for convenience

sampling was using easily and readily available EAs from

the internet. Eight EAs, one from each state and territory,

were selected from the NTEU website. Publicly accessible,

the NTEU webpage is structured with EAs listed under

each state and territory. While this selection process did

not guarantee that all issues within all EAs would be

explored, the convenience sampling approach provided

an indication of some key issues addressed by EAs across

Australia impacting on Indigenous staff (Berg, 2004).

Several terms relevant to this paper are defined here.

‘Cultural leave’, or leave taken for cultural purposes, is

defined differently in each of the EAs studied. It is avail-

able for cultural and ceremonial obligations (sometimes

defined for use with activities at the National Aboriginal

and Islander Day of Observance Committee (NAIDOC)

or other significant cultural events to comply with tra-

ditional customs, laws or official celebrations and activi-

ties. ‘Indigenous or Aboriginal Employment Strategy’ is

defined as a strategy to increase workplace participa-

tion the Indigenous people. ‘Language allowance’ is paid

to an Indigenous employee if they are required by their

employer to use an Indigenous language in the course of

their employment. NAIDOC is usually celebrated in the

first week of July,;however, some NAIDOC activities co-

incide with other organisations’ calendars. Reconciliation

within EAs is a commitment to recognition, healing and

helping all Australians move forward with a better under-

standing of the past and how the past affects the lives

of Indigenous people today. A Reconciliation Action Plan

(RAP) can assist businesses and companies to formulate

plans to action what they will do within their capabilities

to bring Indigenous and non-Indigenous people together

in the spirit of reconciliation in Australia.

Coding procedures adopted for this study were based

on content analysis. These were used to scrutinise infor-

mation, content and material from the selected sample

(Neuman, 2000). Using summative content analysis, key

words from each of the eight documents were counted

and compared. The primary context was then understood

(Hsieh & Shannon, 2005). After scanning and examining

the eight EAs, searches were conducted within each docu-

ment to identify the areas of the EA that would separate

specific information for Indigenous staff. A brief scanning

of the documents revealed sections allocated to Indigenous

employment. Key words were noted from these areas and

used to quickly find relevant information. The key words

searched included ‘Aboriginal’, ‘Indigenous’, ‘culture’, ’cul-

tural’, ‘reconciliation’ and ‘language’. After searching the

key words, sections were identified and similar patterns

found. All the EAs searched included sections dedicated to

Indigenous employment strategies and leave arrangements.

Leave arrangements for cultural purposes were included

under areas such as personal, additional, ceremonial and

special leave. The collection of key words, themes and areas

obtained from the EA documents was a valuable aid in for-

mulating a research question (Yegidis & Weinbach, 2006).

Results

A key finding that emerged from the EAs examined was a

lack of consistency and clarity within the Round 5 docu-

ments to include Indigenous people’s representation. It

is understandable that consistency varied in each EA as,

under the Act (Fair Work Act 2009), pattern bargaining is

prohibited by bargaining representatives from modelling

or using templates from other EAs. However, clear goals,

such as employment targets, were not clearly defined in

the EAs. Cultural leave, Indigenous employment strategies

and RAPs emerged as the significant key themes in this

study. Although the Indigenous language allowance was

not supported by the majority, it presented as a theme

to be explored. The similarities and differences of eight

Australian university Round 5 EAs are depicted in Table 1.


vol. 56, no. 2, 2014 Indigenous employment and enterprise agreements in Australian universities Cath Brown 15

Cultural leave

In the eight EAs cultural leave requirements were named

and described in different ways. The University of Tasma-

nia EA states that ‘an employee shall be entitled to use

accrued annual leave or long service leave to follow and

practice [sic] the requirements of cultural, spiritual or

religious beliefs to which they adhere’ (2010). Austral-

ian National University stipulates that ‘personal leave is

provided for cultural circumstances’. Australian National

University’s Indigenous staff are allowed between ten and

25 days on full pay for cultural leave. Taking cultural leave

was prescriptive with long advance notice requirements

for Australian National University Indigenous staff (2010).

The aforementioned requires four weeks’ notice to be

given for cultural leave. However giving notice to meet

traditional law, custom, cultural and family obligations, or

to participate in ceremonial, cultural and religious activi-

ties cannot always be planned, especially if, for example,

the need for it arises out of a family tragedy.

Most EAs examined for this study state that every effort

should be made to advise as soon as practicable where

personal leave is taken for cultural or ceremonial pur-

poses. Cultural leave was not always named or stated as

such. In three cases it was specified as personal leave, per-

sonal and carer’s leave, and non-accruing personal leave

(Australian National University, 2010; Curtin University

of Technology, 2010; James Cook University, 2010). Cul-

tural leave was specifically named as such by three EAs

(Charles Darwin University, 2011; University of South Aus-

tralia, 2011; University of Tasmania, 2010). In the remain-

ing two cases it was described as carer’s leave and special

leave (University of Ballarat, 2010; Charles Sturt University,

2010).

Indigenous Employment Strategy

All EAs in this study included dedicated information

detailing an Indigenous Employment Strategy, Aboriginal

Employment Strategy or Indigenous Employment Attrac-

tion and Retention Strategy (Australian National Univer-

sity, 2010; Charles Darwin University, 2011; Charles Sturt

University, 2010; Curtin University of Technology, 2010;

James Cook University, 2010; University of Ballarat, 2010;

University of South Australia, 2011; University of Tasmania,

2010). Charles Darwin University’s Indigenous employ-

ment target indicated a percentage of equivalent full time

staff (2011); other universities’ targets were indicated by

a finite number and recorded, such as 15 in University of

Ballarat (2010).

Charles Darwin University’s Indigenous Employment

Strategy target indicated ‘the proportion of Indigenous

staff shall equal or exceed the proportion of Indig-

enous Higher Education students’ (Charles Darwin

University, 2011). Charles Sturt University’s equity sec-

tion described one of the university’s aims as being

Table 1: Similarities and differences of eight Australian university Round 5 Enterprise Agreements [EAs]

Cultural Leave Indigenous Employment Strategy (IES) Staffing Targets

Language Allowance

Reconciliation Action Plan (RAP)

James Cook University (Qld) 2010–2012 5 days paid + exceptions Yes, 7. 4% No No

University of Ballarat (Vic) 2010–2012 5 days paid, 10 days unpaid Yes, n = 15 No Yes

University of Tasmania (Tas) 2010–2012 2 days paid, 1 day paid NAIDOC + exceptions

Yes, n = 20 by 2010 (IES) No No RAP, but reconciliation mentioned

University of South Australia (SA) 2011–2013

2 days paid, 10 hours paid NAIDOC

Yes, 2% Yes, max $3489 p/a

No RAP, but reconciliation mentioned

Charles Sturt University (NSW) 2010–2012

10 days paid NAIDOC + excep-tions

Yes 3% by 2011 (IES) No No

Charles Darwin University (NT) 2011–2013

5 days paid, 10 days unpaid Yes* No No

Australian National University (ACT) 2010–2012

10-25 days paid Yes, 2. 2% No No

Curtin University (WA) 2009–2012 5 days paid, 2 days unpaid Yes, 50 full-time employ-ees by 2012 (IES)

No No

* The proportion of Indigenous staff at the university shall equal or exceed the proportion of Indigenous higher education students; the proportion of Indigenous staff should not reduce (Charles Darwin University, 2011).



to ‘increase the overall representation of Indigenous

employees as a proportion of equivalent full time staff,

with the aim of achieving the employment targets of the

Indigenous Employment Strategy’.

Charles Sturt University (CSU) did not prescribe a target

for Indigenous staffing levels in its EA. Although not speci-

fied in the collective agreement, its target was detailed in

the CSU Indigenous Employment Strategy (2010, 2012).

Two per cent Indigenous staff was University of South

Australia’s target (University of South Australia, 2011).

James Cook University’s (JCU) Indigenous staff target

was 7.4 per cent (James Cook University, 2010). How-

ever, 4983 staff were employed by JCU in 2011 (James

Cook University, 2012). For JCU to reach its Indigenous

employment target they would have needed to employ

368 Indigenous staff. According to the Commonwealth

Department of Industry data,

in 2011 JCU had 45 Indig-

enous staff (2011a).

The Indigenous staffing

targets varied from as low as

2 per cent to a high of 7.4 per

cent, with an indefinite pro-

portion at Charles Darwin

University, whose target is to have equal percentages of

Indigenous staff and students (Charles Darwin Univer-

sity, 2011; James Cook University, 2010; University of Bal-

larat, 2010; University of South Australia, 2011). Three EAs

did not indicate a designated target, but the same three

indicated that their targets were contained within other

strategic documents (Charles Sturt University, 2010, 2012;

Curtin University of Technology, 2007, 2010; University of

Tasmania, 2008, 2010). The University of Ballarat’s vice-

chancellor biennially determines an overall target for the

university’s Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Employ-

ment Procedure (Federation University Australia, 2011).

Language allowance

An Indigenous language allowance was supported by only

one of the universities explored in this study. University

of South Australia’s allowance to Indigenous staff who are

required to use an Indigenous language as part of their

employment are renumerated between $2091 and $3489

per annum (2011). If increasing Indigenous scholarship in

tertiary institutions is to be achieved, tangible recognition

for Indigenous proficiencies needs to be acknowledged.

Reconciliation Action Plan

Indigenous reconciliation was commonly added as an

addendum. Reconciliation was not acknowledged in five

EAs, and only three mentioned reconciliation in their

agreement. University of Ballarat (UB) indicated that their

RAP is its key Indigenous policy document and includes

reconciliation as part of its operational aims of the agree-

ment and linked it to its Indigenous Employment Strat-

egy. University of Ballarat stated in its EA that it ‘share[s]

the vision of Reconciliation Australia for recognising the

special place and culture of Aboriginal and Torres Strait

Islander peoples as the First Australians’ (University of

Ballarat, 2010).

Universities of South Australia and Tasmania made a

commitment in their EAs to reconcile and partner with

Indigenous people (University of South Australia, 2011;

University of Tasmania, 2010). The EAs of the remaining

five institutions made no mention of reconciliation or

RAPs with Indigenous people (Australian National Uni-

versity, 2010; Charles Darwin

University, 2011; Charles

Sturt University, 2010; Curtin

University of Technology,

2010; James Cook Univer-

sity, 2010); however, RAPs

may exist independently of

EAs. RAPs can be useful in

setting tangible goals that work towards reconciliation

across the institution. While the NTEU encourages the

development and implementation of RAPs, they are not

enforceable outside EAs. The NTEU branch at University

of Ballarat specified that when RAPs are being developed,

broad community engagement and consultation that

use meaningful, respectful and inclusive processes must

occur (2008).

Discussion

Inclusive and respectful cultural policies that are aligned

with reconciliation and included in EAs will reduce Indig-

enous disadvantage. A flexible work arrangement that will

enable Indigenous employees to meet their cultural obli-

gations is imperative to overcoming Indigenous disadvan-

tage (Gray, Hunter & Lohoar, 2012). Having the freedom

to express cultural identity and practices is an important

social determinant for Indigenous people’s health and

wellbeing (Henderson et al., 2007). The effects on health

of culture, income, education and employment are inter-

dependent (Mowbray, 2007). Having access to cultural

leave is a benefit; applying for it four weeks in advance

to access it for family, sickness, funerals or unexpected

cultural business is not always possible for Indigenous

employees. Once respect for and support of Indigenous

Inclusive and respectful cultural policies that are aligned with reconciliation and included in EAs will reduce Indigenous

disadvantage.



Australians’ cultural obligations is acknowledged, a pro-

cess of justice, recognition and healing can begin.

Mention of an Indigenous Employment Strategy was

included in each of the eight EAs examined, but on close

scrutiny, each revealed very different targets and measures.

An Indigenous Employment Strategy can be a dynamic

tool that stimulates better prospects and jobs for Indig-

enous people and sustains their commitment (Australian

Chamber of Industry and Commerce, 2005). It might be

more feasible to use a percentage target than numeric tar-

gets as percentage targets can be aligned with Indigenous

populations or, to a lesser degree, to Indigenous enrol-

ments. A problem might then be created if enrolments are

not sustained, leading to Indigenous staffing requirements

not being sustained. The myriad measures used to identify

Indigenous Employment Strategy targets could indicate of

a lack of common understanding and agreement, and any

university EA without an Indigenous Employment Strat-

egy target makes it difficult to make comparisons. Indig-

enous Employment Strategies are a sound foundation to

creating organisational changes towards the successful

achievement and maintenance of employment opportuni-

ties among Indigenous Australians (Parish, 2002).

Reconciliation Australia introduced RAPs in 2006 to

help employers advance reconciliation between Indig-

enous and non-Indigenous Australians. Since then, more

than 358 RAPs have been incorporated in businesses’

organisational plans across Australia (Reconciliation Aus-

tralia, 2012). Linking key Indigenous policy documents

with EAs should provide transparency and assurance

if institutions are serious and committed to reconciling

with Indigenous Australians.

Conclusion

EAs can enhance employment opportunities for Indig-

enous people by recognising culture as an important

determinant. Culture, income, education and employment

are reliant on each other for people’s lives to prosper. In

order to be more inclusive of Indigenous people’s cultural

needs, Australian universities need to implement improve-

ments to Close the Gap on Indigenous employment, and

to commit to reconciliation. Indigenous employment strat-

egies do exist and are embedded in all the EAs within this

study, but what is not known is whether the targets that

are being proposed are being met and, more importantly,

being sustained. If they are not being sustained, will the

unions take action by declaring disputes? Reconciliation

action plans have the ability to advocate institutional and

organisational action for change. Reconciliation action

plans should go beyond action plans to be embedded

into policy documents and EAs. Nuances and differences

between cultures that are included in EAs can add to the

vision for a more reconciled country. They can also help

to bring important institutional and organisational change

to universities.

Acknowledgements

I would like to acknowledge the support, mentoring and

advice from colleagues at James Cook University and the

Empowerment Research Program. For their many valued

comments on drafts I would like to thank Ms Lisa Crouch,

Dr Brian McCoy, Ms Melody Muscat, Ms Julie Parison and

Dr Janice Wegner.

Cath Brown is a research assistant at The Cairns Institute,

James Cook University, Cairns, Australia, and is currently

completing a research master’s degree in Aboriginal advocacy

at Queensland University of Technology, Brisbane, Australia.

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Supporting student retention

A focus on attrition

Over the last few decades Australia has explicitly sought

to expand higher education participation and outcomes

so as to get more students into the system and keep them

engaged in effective learning through to graduation.

Mirroring developments in Europe (European Commis-

sion, 2013) and the US (Lumina Foundation, 2013), for

several years the Australian government set attainment

targets (40 per cent of 25 to 34 year olds having a bach-

elor degree or above by 2025) that were coupled with

explicit policies to diversify the student mix, in particu-

lar by balancing the inclusion of people from disadvan-

taged backgrounds (raising participation to 20 per cent

by 2020) (Commonwealth of Australia, 2009). A recent

national review (Kemp & Norton, 2014) affirmed the war-

rant and implications of this expansion agenda; Australia’s

most recent Budget (Commonwealth of Australia, 2014a)

foreshadowed a suite of economic reforms intended to

cement growth even further.

With such expansion ambitions and a broadening stu-

dent cohort comes increasing focus on student retention

and the reduction of attrition. Student retention is vital to

any increase in the quality, size or productivity of higher

education. While various arguments can be mounted in

favour of attrition, or at least to cast it as neutral – as do

basic funding arrangements in Australia that fail to encour-

age retention or penalise dropout – in general attrition

can be considered a ‘bad thing’ (Tinto, 1993). A range of

adverse consequences flows for individuals, institutions

and the broader economy from students leaving higher

education before graduation (Norton, 2012; Adams, Banks,

Davis & Dickson, 2010).

Compared with other countries, Australian higher edu-

cation has relatively low attrition, though this should not

be considered either success or grounds for complacency.

Attrition rates for domestic first-year students in Australian

Students’ early departure intentions and the mitigating role of supportHamish Coates University of Melbourne

In many higher education systems around the world, increasing retention is vital if institutions are to produce the number of graduates identified through government projections to meet industry needs. Taking Australia as an example, the analysis uses results from a large-scale survey of undergraduate students to review rates and rationales for students giving serious consideration to departing before graduation. Demographic, educational and contextual concomitants of departure intention are explored. From there, the analysis looks at the role played by student support in mitigating departure intentions, showing that effective provision and use of support is strongly correlated with retention. Yet there are major disjunctions between the support used by students and the support they need, disjunctions that evidence-based practice can do much to resolve. In closing, the paper makes research-driven suggestions about how institutions can increase student support and retention.


vol. 56, no. 2, 201420 Students’ early departure intentions and the mitigating role of support Hamish Coates

universities sit at around 13.5 per cent (Commonwealth

of Australia, 2014b). While a portion of these students may

return to complete their study at a later time, a sizable

number still fail to complete their degree. Internationally,

around 30 per cent of undergraduate university students

leave higher education and fail to complete their study

(OECD, 2013). Though Australian rates compare favour-

ably with other systems, the costs of attrition remain real

and serious for all concerned.

Of course, attrition is a complex and multifaceted phe-

nomenon that incorporates a range of different move-

ments, change rationales and destinations. Example

transitions include cross-institutional mobility, dropout

from higher education, course transfer, temporary defer-

ral and academic failure. The current analysis focuses

on intentions for early departure, defined as departure

from an institution before the completion of a qualifica-

tion. Analysis of such intentions is important, for it offers

insights on the space prior to any actual departure into

which institutions might intervene.

A preventative focus on support

Much research has been conducted on why students drop

out from higher education. Lobo (2012), for instance, sug-

gests that the main factors research has uncovered include

a mismatch of student expectations and experience,

course unsuitability, teaching, learning and assessment

styles, academic difficulties and student preparedness,

personal factors such as student age, sex, employment,

finances, health and familial responsibilities, and social and

academic support from the university community. Such

factors have been well charted in the research and policy

literature, including by, among others, Astin (1975), Tinto

(1975), Pascarella and Chapman (1983), Dobson, Sharma

and Haydon (1996), Yorke (2000a; 2000b), Powdthavee

and Vignoles (2007), Harvey and Luckman (2014) and Bur-

gess and Sharma (1999). Clearly, the reasons are many and

varied, and ultimately, individual in nature.

Comparatively less research has focused on strategies

that could be developed to mitigate attrition. It is known

that a lack of support from fellow students and staff, and

the amount of contact students have with academic staff,

influence students’ decisions to withdraw from study

(Yorke, 2000; Yorke & Longden, 2008). Research also

shows that personal adjustment and social integration

seem to be as important to retention as academic integra-

tion (Gerdes & Mallinckrodt, 1994). Recent research sug-

gests that an institution’s expenditure on student services

is significantly related to retention and attrition, and that

institutions placing a higher priority on provision of stu-

dent support services have lower levels of attrition (Chen,

2011). In Australia, recent analyses have revealed that stu-

dent support would appear to be one of the more impor-

tant correlates of early departure, and hence is likely to

play an important role in its prevention (see, for exam-

ple, Coates, 2008; Coates & Radloff, 2010; James, Krause &

Jennings, 2010; Coates & Ransom, 2011).

This paper contributes to our understanding of this

complex field by focusing on the mitigating role of stu-

dent support. Of course, terms such as ‘attrition’, ‘student

support’ and ‘student services’ are broad concepts that

mean different things in different contexts. The definition

of services and support used in this paper is thus broad

and focuses on individuals’ perceptions of formal and

informal support provided by academic and support ser-

vices staff, as well as by fellow students. Many interactions

and activities support student learning, thereby enhanc-

ing students’ engagement and motivation to study. Student

support can, therefore, be the difference between an aver-

age experience and an excellent one, between dropping

out or staying in.

Specifically, this paper uses results from a large multi-

institution survey to explore links between perceptions

of support and current students’ departure intentions.

Groups of students who may be at greater risk of drop-

ping out are identified. The impact of their perceptions of

support on their intentions to depart is investigated. The

survey results reveal a strong link between students’ per-

ception of support and their departure intentions, with

students reporting that high levels of support provided

by their institution make it less likely that they will have

seriously considered leaving before finishing their study.

Research approach

The Australasian Survey of Student Engagement (AUSSE)

This paper uses data from the Australasian Survey of Stu-

dent Engagement (AUSSE) to analyse students’ percep-

tions of institutional support and whether they have

seriously considered leaving their institution before com-

pleting their studies. First deployed in 2007, the AUSSE

was administered in 2010 to students in 55 Australian and

New Zealand tertiary education institutions, making it the

largest survey of its kind conducted (until recently) in

these countries (Coates & Radloff, 2010).

The AUSSE is derived from the US National Survey of

Student Engagement (NSSE, 2013), a collection that has

been replicated in a dozen or so countries, including

Canada, China, Ireland, Japan, New Zealand and South


vol. 56, no. 2, 2014 Students’ early departure intentions and the mitigating role of support Hamish Coates 21

Africa (Coates & McCormick, 2014). The AUSSE’s ques-

tionnaire measures around 100 different aspects of stu-

dent engagement; it also includes several context and

demographic questions. Many of these questions group

together to form a number of different scales related to

student engagement and outcomes. The AUSSE has been

well validated as a tool to measure student engagement

and education quality (Coates, 2010). This paper focuses

on the AUSSE’s Supportive Learning Environment and

Departure Intentions scales. The items that make up each

of these scales and form the basis for analysis are detailed

in Table 1.

Production of the evidence

Students studying at higher education institutions in Aus-

tralia are the population of interest in this paper. In their

first or later year of undergraduate study, 125,013 students

were invited to participate in the AUSSE between late July

and early September 2010. These students were sampled

from 226,283 students enrolled in one of 34 Australian

higher education institutions who opted to participate in

the survey. Institutions could choose to run a census of

all students in the target population or draw a sample of

students to survey. A census was conducted at 14 of the 34

participant institutions.

Students sampled to participate in the 2010 AUSSE were

emailed a unique, individualised internet link by their

institution. They were to complete one of three rotated

item versions of the online questionnaire. A further two

email reminders were sent to students. A subset of 39,400

students at 20 Australian institutions was also sent a paper

survey form. Of the 26,582 respondents, 3395 students

(13 per cent) responded using the paper survey and the

remaining 23,187 (87 per cent) responded online, giving

an overall response rate of 21 per cent.

Paper questionnaires were scanned after the close of

fieldwork, data were cleaned and coded, and a data file

was built and verified. To compensate for potential bias in

responses, sampling weights were calculated and applied

to the data. As in all large-scale survey research, such

sampling weights help to ensure that the response yield

matches the population in terms of key characteristics,

thereby enhancing the representative of results. These

sampling weights took account of institution, students’

year of study, students’ mode of study (internal or mixed

and external) and student sex. All results presented in this

paper have been weighted.

As noted, the questionnaire was completed by cur-

rent undergraduate students, not by students who had

already withdrawn from their studies. This means that

respondents who indicate that they have seriously con-

sidered leaving or plan to leave their institution before

completing their qualification may not actually drop out

of study. Because of this, the results provide an indication

Table 1: Items included in analyses

Scale Question text Item text Response scale

Supportive Learning Environment

Which of these boxes best represent the quality of your relationships with people at your institution?

Relationships with other students / Relationships with teaching staff / Relationships with administrative personnel and services

1 Poor / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 Excellent

To what extent does your institution emphasise each of the following?

Providing support to succeed academically / Helping cope with non-academic responsibilities / Providing support to socialise

1 Very little / 2 Some / 3 Quite a bit / 4 Very much

Departure Intentions

In this academic year have you seriously considered leaving your current institution?

Not considered change (reverse coded) / Graduating (reverse coded) / Academic exchange / Academic support / Administrative support / Boredom/lack of interest / Career prospects / Change of direction / Commuting difficulties / Difficulty paying fees / Difficulty with workload / Family responsibilities / Financial difficulties / Gap year/deferral / Government assistance / Health or stress / Institution reputation / Moving residence / Need a break / Need to do paid work / Other opportunities / Paid work responsibilities / Personal reasons / Quality concerns / Received other offer / Social reasons / Standards too high / Study/life balance / Travel or tourism / Other: Please specify

0 Not selected / 1 Selected

What are your plans for next year? Continue with current study (reverse coded) / Move to vocational education and training / Leave university before finishing qualification



of whether students are at risk of dropping out and their

reasons for having departure intentions. As the survey was

conducted at the start of the second semester, it is impor-

tant to note that students might have already withdrawn

from study in first semester.

What students say – findings and insights

The incidence of departure intentions

The following analysis focuses on the rates and reasons

for students’ departure intentions and explores the poten-

tial role of student support in preventing early departure.

The results further emphasise the need for higher edu-

cation institutions to focus on providing tailored group

and, if possible, individual support. Note that, given the

large number of responses, all results that are noted in this

paper as significant are statistically significant to a level of

p<0.05 unless otherwise stated.

Overall, 26 per cent of first year students and 32 per

cent of later year students indicated that they had seri-

ously considered leaving their current institution prior

to completing their studies. Levels of departure inten-

tion ranged from lows of 21 and 25 per cent of students

in around one-quarter of participating institutions to a

higher level of between 34 and 52 per cent in around one-

quarter of institutions.

In terms of explanatory power, demographic and con-

text factors explained a relatively small amount of vari-

ation in early departure intentions for reasons that are

clarified in the analysis of causal factors below. Focusing

on first year students, the institution, narrow field of study

and average overall grade are the strongest correlates,

respectively explaining around 2.1 per cent, 1.4 per cent

and 1.0 per cent of the variance in departure intentions.

For later year students, the strongest correlates are narrow

field of study (5.8 per cent), institution (2.9 per cent),

working for pay off campus (1.1 per cent) and average

grade (1.0 per cent). Interestingly, there is little covaria-

tion between rates for first year and later year students.

While demographic characteristics explained rela-

tively little overall variation in departure intention, there

was certainly variation across subgroups and statistically

significant differences were evident between different

subgroups of students. Departure intentions were higher

among students studying externally, or by distance or via

mixed mode (35 per cent of students had seriously con-

sidered leaving) rather than fully oncampus (30 per cent),

and higher among part-time students (33 per cent) than

full-time students (30 per cent). Mature-aged students also

had significantly higher levels of departure intention, with

34 per cent of students aged 25 or older seriously consid-

ering leaving. Students with a self-reported disability had

much higher rates of departure intention than other stu-

dents, with 44 per cent indicating that they had seriously

considered leaving or planned to leave before finishing

study compared with only 30 per cent of students who

did not report a disability. These large-scale results affirm

the outcomes of research in Australian and international

contexts (see sources cited above).

Very few differences appeared for students in different

socioeconomic groups, although students from provincial

areas had slightly higher levels of departure intention than

students from remote and metropolitan areas. Aboriginal

or Torres Strait Islander (Indigenous) students reported

significantly higher levels of departure intentions than

non-Indigenous students, with 40 per cent indicating

that they had seriously considered leaving or planned to

leave before completing their undergraduate studies. Not

surprisingly, students with high demands on their time

through caring responsibilities and paid work were more

likely to have seriously considered leaving. Students with

a self-reported overall average grade of less than 60 per

cent were much more likely to have departure intentions

(39 per cent) than students with an average grade of 60

per cent or higher (29 per cent).

Attitudes do not translate directly into behaviour. There

is a difference between seriously considering or planning

to discontinue study and actually doing so, but these rates

still highlight the high number of students who could be

considered at risk of leaving. The diversity in rates among

different student groups also suggests that there are spe-

cific groups of students who are at greater risk of with-

drawing from study.

Rates and reasons for departure intention

Students who indicated that they had seriously con-

sidered departing early were asked to indicate reasons.

Students were presented with a large array of possible rea-

sons (synthesised from literature reviews and open-ended

responses given in prior AUSSE administrations) and could

select as many of these options as were applicable, as well

as being given the option of providing an open-ended

response to explain their departure intentions. Open-

ended responses given were coded into these categories

of reasons or into the category Other. The capacity for

each student to select multiple reasons and the coding

of open-ended comments to Other accounts for the large

portion of responses in this category and, indeed, affirms

the need for sustained empirical work in this area.



Three-quarters of students with departure intentions

gave up to four reasons for seriously considering leaving

their study, indicating that departure is a complex rather

than simple phenomenon. As Table 2 shows, the most

cited reason (leaving aside Other reasons) was ‘boredom/

lack of interest’; 22 per cent of students cited this as a

reason they had seriously considered leaving their current

institution. Reasons given by more than 10 per cent of stu-

dents included issues with their study–life balance, per-

sonal reasons, health or stress, difficulty with workload,

needing a break, having a change of direction, needing

paid work, financial difficulties, quality concerns, going on

an academic exchange, concerns about career prospects,

academic support and family responsibilities.

Table 3 reports departure reasons by field of education.

The above list of around 30 discrete factors have been

grouped by five composite measures: quality factors, psy-

chosocial factors, financial factors, practical factors and

academic factors. A score for each of these composite mea-

sures (or factors) has been produced by taking the simple

average of the percentage score for each of the constituent

factors. The average score for each field has then been com-

puted. Hence, a higher score corresponds to this reason for

departure being selected by more students. The fields of

study were sorted in terms of the average total across all

composites. Of all fields of education, physics and astron-

omy had the highest aggregate score for departure, com-

puter science the lowest. For each field, looking across the

factors helped highlight patterns that underpinned student

departure. Replicating this kind of analysis within institu-

tions would provide enormous insight into the factors

linked to student departure.

Focusing on first year students, Table 4 reveals the vari-

ation that exists between different groups. Students study-

ing externally or at a distance, and students studying part

time, have very different experiences and often different

demands on their time than those of full-time students

studying on campus. External students’ top reason for seri-

ously considering leaving is due to difficulties balancing

study and offcampus life (22 per cent), difficulty with the

workload (20 per cent), health or stress (18 per cent) and

needing paid work (17 per cent). Other frequently cited

reasons include family responsibilities, paid work respon-

sibilities and academic support. While boredom was the

most commonly cited reason overall, this was only the

eleventh most common among external students.

Part-time students are also far less likely to cite bore-

dom (15 per cent) than are full-time students (23 per

cent). The most frequently given reasons by part-time

students include issues with balancing study and offcam-

pus life (22 per cent), health or stress (23 per cent), diffi-

culty managing the workload (19 per cent), needing paid

work (17 per cent), family responsibilities (18 per cent)

and financial difficulties (16 per cent). Boredom also was

mentioned far less by students from non-metropolitan

areas and from low or middle socioeconomic status back-

grounds. Among students with a self-reported disability,

the most commonly given reason for seriously consider-

ing leaving was health or stress (37 per cent).

Table 2: Reasons given for considering leaving before completion, by student year

Reasons First year (%)

Later year (%)

All students

(%)

Boredom 23 21 22

Study–life balance 18 17 18

Personal reasons 18 16 17

Health or stress 16 19 17

Difficulty with workload 17 16 17

Needing a break 14 17 16

Change of direction 19 11 15

Needing paid work 15 15 15

Financial difficulties 13 13 13

Quality concerns 9 17 13

Academic exchange 14 11 12

Career prospects 12 11 12

Academic support 7 15 11

Family responsibilities 10 12 11

Commuting difficulties 12 7 9

Social reasons 11 7 9

Institution reputation 7 9 8

Gap year or deferral 10 5 8

Paid work responsibilities 5 9 7

Travel 7 6 7

Other opportunities 7 6 6

Administrative support 3 8 6

High standards 5 5 5

Difficulty paying fees 5 3 4

Moving residence 5 4 4

Graduating 1 5 3

Receiving other offer 3 3 3

Government assistance 3 3 3

Other reasons (or elaboration)

27 26 26



Departure intentions are very

high among Indigenous students,

whose reasons for considering leav-

ing are quite different from non-

Indigenous peers. The top reasons

given for having departure inten-

tions are shown in Table 4. Further

analysis of the engagement of Indig-

enous students is given by Asmar,

Page and Radloff (in press).

Students with caring responsibili-

ties were much more likely to indi-

cate that family responsibilities were

a reason for considering departure

(25 per cent) than students caring

for dependents for five hours or less

(5 per cent). Similarly, students work-

ing more than 20 hours per week are

much more likely to cite paid work

responsibilities (22 per cent) as a

reason for considering withdraw-

ing than are students working fewer

than 20 hours per week (4 per cent).

A large proportion of students with

low grades indicate that boredom is

a reason for seriously considering

leaving (27 per cent). Other reasons

given by students with low grades

include difficulty with workload (26

per cent), personal reasons (25 per

cent), health or stress (25 per cent)

and issues balancing study and life

(23 per cent).

The role of support

To explore the relationship between

students’ perceptions of support

and departure intentions more

explicitly students were divided into

two groups by using a median split

for Supportive Learning Environ-

ment scale scores. Among students

with scores for Supportive Learning

Environment less than the median,

39 per cent, reported seriously con-

sidering departing before complet-

ing their study, compared with only

21 per cent of those students who

had higher than the median level of

support.

Table 3: First-year student departure reasons by field of education

Field of education Quality factors

Psycho-social factors

Financial factors

Practical factors

Academic factors

Physics & astronomy 35 68 9 17 22

Geomatic engineering 50 13 0 0 20

Biological sciences 8 21 17 16 18

Optical science 0 26 0 13 34

Earth sciences 5 19 19 15 10

Political science & policy studies 8 15 14 15 10

Public health 0 21 19 10 12

Architecture & building 10 15 8 11 14

Mechanical & industrial eng. 20 20 0 5 14

Law 13 14 8 10 12

Engineering & related technologies 10 14 10 9 12

Nursing 9 17 11 6 10

Health 7 16 10 8 12

Business & management 10 16 11 8 8

Medical studies 2 19 9 8 13

Mathematical sciences 12 9 5 10 16

Natural & physical sciences 6 13 8 10 14

Creative arts 7 13 7 10 14

Society & culture 6 14 9 9 11

Teacher education 5 15 10 8 11

Behavioural science 4 16 9 9 11

Studies in human society 1 13 12 10 11

Management & commerce 8 14 9 8 9

Philosophy & religious studies 6 7 6 8 18

Agriculture & environmental studies 0 14 12 9 9

Pharmacy 4 14 5 10 10

Sales & marketing 4 14 6 7 13

Information technology 3 12 7 9 12

Language & literature 3 11 10 7 10

Human welfare studies & services 3 11 11 6 9

Accounting 4 12 9 6 8

Economics & econometrics 5 9 6 12 6

Chemical sciences 0 2 9 10 16

Dental studies 0 12 7 3 15

Veterinary studies 4 7 2 7 15

Civil engineering 0 8 6 13 5

Electrical & electronic engineering 12 1 9 6 2

Computer science 4 5 2 5 14



Table 4: First-year student departure reasons for selected subgroups

Mode of study Home location Socioeconomic status Family background

Indigenous

Departure reasons

Part time or external

Full time and on campus

Metro-politan

Provin-cial

Remote Low Middle High Not 1st in family

1st in family

No Yes

Government assistance

2 3 2 3 7 2 2 2 2 3 2 6

Receiving other offer

3 3 3 1 2 1 3 3 3 3 3 5

Administrative support

4 3 3 4 3 3 3 3 3 4 3 5

High standards 6 4 4 5 11 5 5 3 3 6 5 5

Moving residence 6 5 4 7 5 5 5 5 5 4 5 9

Paid work responsibilities

14 3 4 9 16 7 6 3 4 8 5 21

Difficulty paying fees

7 5 4 8 13 6 5 4 4 6 5 9

Other opportunities

6 7 7 6 7 6 6 8 7 5 7 7

Institution reputation

4 8 8 4 0 9 6 7 7 8 7 4

Travel 6 8 8 7 10 7 7 9 7 8 7 10

Academic support 8 8 7 8 4 7 7 7 6 9 8 8

Quality concerns 9 9 9 8 1 9 9 9 9 11 9 4

Family responsibilities

17 8 8 15 30 16 10 5 7 13 9 26

Gap year or deferral

7 11 10 10 4 11 8 13 11 9 10 13

Social reasons 9 12 10 11 2 9 11 11 11 11 11 7

Commuting difficulties

6 13 13 8 7 12 12 12 12 12 12 17

Career prospects 8 13 13 11 0 13 13 12 13 12 13 8

Financial difficulties

16 13 10 21 22 16 13 11 10 17 13 17

Needing a break 10 15 13 14 33 17 14 12 15 13 14 15

Academic exchange

10 15 14 11 0 11 12 17 15 12 15 9

Needing paid work 18 15 14 20 15 17 16 12 13 19 15 27

Health or stress 17 15 14 20 16 17 17 13 14 18 15 26

Difficulty with workload

20 16 15 21 40 20 18 13 13 22 16 26

Personal reasons 15 19 16 22 29 23 17 17 18 18 18 26

Study–life balance 23 18 16 22 22 23 18 14 16 22 18 32

Change of direction

14 20 20 20 9 20 18 21 23 16 20 12

Boredom 16 25 23 20 20 19 23 23 24 21 23 20



Correlations between students’ scores on the Sup-

portive Learning Environment scale and their Departure

Intentions score also suggest a moderate and statistically

significant relationship between these two phenomena

(r = –0.28, n = 163,315, p<0.01). In addition, students’ per-

ceptions of support are linked closely with overall satis-

faction with the educational experience.

Figure 1 emphasises the importance of relationships,

showing the percentage of students signalling departure

intentions in terms of the quality of relationships with

members of the institutional community. The same broad

trends were notable for all four types of relationships.

Students who rated the quality of their relationships with

other students, teaching staff, administrative staff and stu-

dent support services as poor were much more likely to

signal serious early departure intentions than students

who rated their relationships highly. The impact of poor

relationships with other students and teaching staff is

particularly notable.

Students’ perception of the support that their institution

provides them is closely linked with departure intentions.

Close to two-thirds of students who feel that their institu-

tion provides little support for them to succeed academic-

ally have intentions to withdraw. Students who feel little

support from their institution to cope with non-academic

responsibilities also report higher departure intentions (39

per cent), as do students with little support to socialise

(42 per cent). Students who report that they receive very

much support to succeed academically, to cope with non-

academic responsibilities or to socialise have much lower

levels of departure intention.

Challenges for enhancement

Summary observations

To recap, attrition is a major issue and a challenge to

individuals, institutions and national policy. Results from

a large-scale cross-institutional survey of undergraduate

students showed that a significant number of students

have seriously considered discontinuing bachelor degree

study before graduation. This is concerning, not least

given expansionary policies seeking to boost graduate

numbers. This paper has also showed that intentions to

depart vary among different groups of students. Depar-

ture intentions were higher among students with a dis-

ability, students with lower grades, Indigenous Australians,

mature-aged students and students studying part time or

at a distance. With reference to results from a large-scale

survey, this highlights certain groups of students who, due

to contexts or demographics, are at a greater risk of drop-

ping out than others.

This paper has also explored the reasons given by stu-

dents for seriously considering leaving. Students seem

influenced to withdraw from study for numerous reasons,

many of which are psychosocial and not related clearly

to tangible practical or financial reasons. This makes solv-

ing the attrition puzzle much more difficult, for it appears

that a large part of the solution resides in providing more

nuanced and directed forms of support. The most com-

monly cited reason was boredom or lack of interest, but

again reasons given varied among different groups of

students. Difficulty balancing study and life was the most

common reason given by students studying externally

Figure 1: Departure intentions by the supportiveness of relationships

0

10

20

30

40

50

60

70

80

Unfriendly,unsupportive, sense of

alienation

2 3 4 5 6 Friendly, supportive,sense of belonging

Dep

artu

re In

tent

ion

(per

cen

t)

Quality of relationshiops

Other students

Teaching staff

Administrative personnel and services

Student support services



or part time and by Indigenous students. Students from

remote areas were most likely to cite difficulties with the

workload.

In addition, this paper has explored the relationship

between student perceptions of institutional support

and their departure intentions. The results show a very

clear relationship between students’ perceptions of sup-

port and their intentions to depart. Student ratings of

their relationships with fellow students, teachers, admin-

istrative staff and support services are all linked with stu-

dent intentions to depart, as are student perceptions of

the level of support provided by their institution. This is

a clear indication that support and departure intentions

are interrelated, and that students who perceive a lack

of support are much more likely to have also seriously

considered leaving.

Read together, these findings suggest that support

is very likely an important factor in mitigating attrition.

The different rates of departure intention and differ-

ent reasons for seriously considering leaving suggest

that addressing attrition will require nuanced and often

individually directed forms of support. A one size fits all

solution is unlikely to be effective.

In reporting this empirical evidence regarding the

importance of support to student success, it is essential to

note caveats and directions for further research. The defi-

nition of support used in this paper is expansive as the

questionnaire items are necessarily broad. The analyses

focus on self-reported perceptions of support. These per-

ceptions are reported at a high level of analysis and with-

out reference to particular or actual support practices. It

is hoped that these scholarly findings impel further insti-

tutional research into specific support interventions and

the role that these might play in retaining students.

Prospects for improvement

What can be done to boost support, stem attrition and

improve learner and graduate outcomes? The above dis-

cussion carries diverse insights for improving practice. An

obvious way to improve student support is to increase

resourcing in this area, particularly in line with the criti-

cal nature of retention and national objectives for expand-

ing participation. If institutions are mandated to increase

enrolment to students who may be unprepared for

tertiary study, it is common sense to increase funding to

student support initiatives.

Services can be vulnerable because they are often not

well understood. The results demonstrated in this paper

affirm the core value of support services to one of the

academy’s core missions – graduating people – but the

value proposition of support services is often not clear,

or well promoted. The range of support offered is also not

always obvious. Most learning skills services, for example,

offer programs that further students’ academic skills, but

many academics still perceive learning skills only as a

remedial service or are unaware that they can request a

workshop tailored to their subject. Clearly, support ser-

vices need to consider how to more effectively promote

themselves. Similarly, academics need to take greater

responsibility for understanding and using these services.

The narrow definition of teaching activities that many

institutions employ – something that happens only by

academics in a classroom – can also blur the integral role

of support services and activities. Counselling services,

for example, offer workshops for managing study-related

stress, arguably an important service for students strug-

gling to keep on top of their studies. Yet this would not be

considered as a teaching and learning activity. For these

perceptions to change, the connection between support

and retention needs to be better understood and taken

more seriously. Data such as those presented in this paper

are also influential, which suggests that more research

into the benefits of student support should be a priority.

Conclusion

Integration is a key concept here. Read from a students’

perspective the results show that academic and student

services need to work together to support students, not

in isolation. This can be difficult in the hierarchical uni-

versity culture, where boundary issues and competing

responsibilities do not necessarily facilitate collaboration,

and where research can take precedence over teaching.

Increasing workloads have the potential to prevent even

the most well-intentioned academics from prioritising stu-

dent support.

Developing a more collaborative and holistic approach

to student support requires leadership at all levels of the

institution, from senior executives to course coordinators.

Where there is vision and leadership, increased coop-

eration follows. Examples of effective faculty–service

relationships are the inclusion of support service person-

nel on faculty teaching and learning committees, faculty–

service collaborations in the development of subjects, and

co-teaching and referral practices between services and

faculties.

Finally, it is a basic but necessary point to make that

effective student support is about the student, so we need

to focus support in terms of students’ situations and their

needs. This calls for greater flexibility and innovation.



Support comes in many guises, and we need to consider

alternative methods to deliver it so that students located

at remote campuses, part-time students studying in even-

ing courses or students with tight timetables can access

relevant and timely support – even it if is out of normal

business hours. Getting support should not be difficult.

Equally important, we need to educate students about

the value of enrichment activities: to seek out assistance,

take advantage of the range of services provided and get

involved in campus life.

Acknowledgements

The author is deeply grateful to Ali Radloff, Laurie Ransom

and several reviewers for feedback on earlier versions of

this paper.

Hamish Coates holds a chair in higher education at the Centre

for the Study of Higher Education, University of Melbourne.

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Introduction

Within US higher education, the escalating salary pack-

ages of college and university presidents (the US equiv-

alent of vice-chancellors) claim a not trivial proportion

of their institutions’ resources in comparison with most

other staff, and most of that money ultimately comes from

the pockets of students and taxpayers.

Unfortunately, the preliminary findings from research

on US college and university presidents – and their cor-

porate counterparts – suggest that, at the very least, pay

rates of top executives are largely explained by factors

that have little or nothing to do with performance.

This fact may not be surprising when considering that,

at the upper levels of an organisation, causal relation-

ships between actions and outcomes often become

less clear and more ambiguous (Cohen & March, 1974;

March, 1984). Other research suggests that lavish salary

packages for top executives can actually have a detri-

mental impact, damaging institutional morale and public

relations, and tempting senior executives to fabricate

outcomes or otherwise prioritise perception over per-

formance (Core, Holthausen & Larcker, 1999; Harris,

2009; March, 1984; Yermack, 2006).

The rapidly escalating pay of college and university

presidents, therefore, appears likely to overstate the ben-

efit that presidents bring to their institutions, while giving

too little consideration to the costs. If for no other reason,

then, presidential pay merits closer scrutiny.

Socioeconomic context

Across the US, college and university presidents are facing

mounting criticism over the rapid growth in their salary

packages. In 2009, the Chronicle of Higher Education

reported that 36 presidents of private (i.e., independent)

Is there a correlation between US university presidential pay and performance?Laura Risler & Laura M. HarrisonOhio University

This paper scrutinises the escalating salaries of US college and university presidents (vice-chancellors, or rectors, as they might be known in other parts of the world). Some research suggests that presidential pay is largely correlated with factors that have little or nothing to do with performance and may, therefore, overstate the benefit that presidents bring to their institutions while giving too little consideration to the costs. The paper also discusses presidential pay in the broader socioeconomic context, summarises available research findings and suggests ways institutions might strengthen the link between pay and performance in order to broaden the talent pool of capable institutional leaders.


vol. 56, no. 2, 201430 Is there a correlation between US university presidential pay and performance? Laura Risler & Laura M. Harrison

institutions earned more than US $1 million (Stripling &

Fuller, 2011a). By the 2011–12 academic year, four presi-

dents of public (i.e. state-assisted) institutions also met

that threshold (Stripling & Newman, 2013).

This growth in pay at the top has far outstripped salary

gains by academic staff. Between 1997 and 2007, presi-

dential pay grew by an inflation-adjusted 35 per cent,

compared with a mere 5 per cent increase (also inflation-

adjusted) for academics (Stripling & Fuller, 2011a). Worse,

in 2010–11 the average salary of full-time academic staff

members actually lost ground, increasing only 1.4 per cent

versus an inflation rate of 1.5 per cent (June, 2011). Uni-

versity of Central Florida, for example, paid its president

$741,500 in 2010–11 (Stripling & Fuller, 2012), while its

full, associate and assistant professors were paid on aver-

age $116,100, $78,700 and $66,000, respectively (Ameri-

can Association of University Professors, 2011). These

comparisons do not even take into consideration the pay

of part-time academic staff, a fast-growing segment of the

higher education instructional workforce. These workers

are paid an average of $2987 per three-credit hour course

in the US (June & Newman, 2013). While this article

focuses primarily on the issues resulting from the grow-

ing pay disparity between presidents and academic staff

in the US, this trend may have implications more broadly.

Fenton’s (2014) article describes the recent resignation

of three UK university vice-chancellors amid growing

criticism about their pay packages. One vice-chancellor is

reported to have earned twice the prime minister’s salary,

having received large pay increases between 2011 and

2014, while other university workers have seen a 13 per

cent pay decrease in real terms since 2008 (Fenton, 2014).

Disparities such as this fomented unrest across Europe, a

trend that mirrors sentiments of growing disillusionment

with the US.

The widening gap between top administrators and

everyone else on US campuses mirrors the broader socio-

economic divide that galvanised Occupy Wall Street and

other protests against levels of income inequality not seen

in the US since the Gilded Age (Eichler & McAuliff, 2011).

In most recessions, income inequality decreased, but in

the aftermath of the financial crisis (the so-called Great

Recession) of 2007–08, the nation’s wealth inequality

has increased (Peck, 2011), earning the US the dubious

distinction in 2010 of having the highest income inequal-

ity of any advanced economy (Noss, 2010; OECD, 2013).

The richest Americans typically have more of their wealth

invested in stocks (Alvareredo, Atkinson, Piketty & Saez,

n.d.), which have rebounded strongly since 2008 and

helped the so-called 1 per cent pull well away from the

rest of Americans, who had more of their wealth invested

in the still-faltering housing market (Peck, 2011). These

factors, combined with job losses and wage pressures

exacerbated by globalisation, have contributed to a ‘hol-

lowing-out of the middle class’ (Jurek, 2012; Peck, 2011;

Weissmann, 2012).

The growth in college and university presidents’ pay

somewhat parallels that of their private sector counter-

parts. Some corporate chief executive officers (CEOs) in

the financial industry, in particular, drew public ire during

the downturn for taking huge bonuses, even as their

companies were being bailed out by taxpayers. College

and university presidents have invited similar outrage by

approaching legislatures for public financial support to

stave off institutional ruin while simultaneously defend-

ing their own raises (Stripling & Fuller, 2011b).

Yet not everyone believes that escalating presidential

pay is a cause for concern. Defenders note that college

and university presidents still make considerably less

than CEOs of comparably sized companies (Cotton, 2012;

Huang & Chen, 2013). Some even argue that presidents

should earn more due to the complexity of their jobs, the

pressures of high expectations, and the intense market

competition from other institutions and the private sector

for scarce talent (Cotton, 2012; Stripling & Fuller, 2011b).

Research findings

So, are salary levels for college and university presidents

too high, too low, or just right? Pfeffer and Ross (1988)

analysed data on more than 600 presidents to examine

what determinants (including personal characteristics

and context) have impact on presidential pay. They found

that institutional size, resources and Carnegie classifica-

tion, as well as gender and length of tenure in position,

were among the strongest predictors of presidents’ pay

(Pfeffer & Ross, 1988). (Carnegie classifications in US

higher education refer to the extent to which an insti-

tution is ranked as high research vs. high teaching in its

orientation. The higher the research ranking, the higher

the pay tends to be.) Furthermore, tenure in office and

the size of institutional budgets were directly correlated

with presidential pay. Similarly, Langbert’s (2006) analysis

of presidential pay at more than 450 institutions found a

strong positive correlation with expenditure per student

as well as total spending, which suggests that pay struc-

tures may actually reward presidents for increasing total

spending and, ultimately, student tuition fees (p. 74).

Tang, Tang & Tang (2000) analysed the salary packages

of 190 university presidents in relation to additional


vol. 56, no. 2, 2014 Is there a correlation between US university presidential pay and performance? Laura Risler & Laura M. Harrison 31

variables, including geographic region, Scholastic Assess-

ment Test (SAT) scores and institutional reputation. Their

study found the strongest predictors of presidential pay

to be size of the institutional budget, institutional type

(particularly research or doctoral institution), tuition

fee levels and institutional reputation. Huang & Chen

(2013) similarly found that the size of college and uni-

versity presidents’ salary packages is mainly associated

with institutional prestige, quality of the students, overall

revenue, the number of degree programs and enrolment.

They found some variation between types of institu-

tions; private institutions showed a strong correlation

with size and reputation, while public research institu-

tions showed the strongest correlation with enrolment

(Huang & Chen, 2013, p. 3043). The size and enrolment

variables could be considered to be a general proxy for

job complexity, though the strength of this relationship

is uncertain and, unless the president has been in office

for a meaningful length of time, unlikely to be a perfor-

mance indicator.

Langbert (2006) argues that none of the factors identi-

fied by Pfeffer and Ross (1988) or Tang et al. (2000) shows

a meaningful relationship between pay and performance.

While factors such as size of the budget and reputation

might appear to be proxies for performance, they are at

best imperfect measures and at worst can create nega-

tive incentives or even be manipulated. As March (1984)

observes:

A system of rewards linked to precise measures is not so much an incentive to perform well as it is an incen-tive to obtain a good score, and it is often easier to manage the accounts of managerial or organisational performance than it is to manage the organisation (p. 57).

Unintended behavioural effects of incentives

In the corporate world, large stock options and other

incentives tied to share prices can tempt CEOs to take

actions that lead to short-term gains at the expense of

the organisation’s long-term interests (Harris & Bromi-

ley, 2007; Harris, 2009; March, 1984). Harris and Bromiley

(2007) have researched this behaviour by examining how

often companies must make accounting restatements to

correct irregularities ranging from the unethical to the

illegal, including ‘aggressive’ accounting practices, the

misleading use of facts, oversight or misinterpretation of

accounting rules and outright fraud. They found that ‘the

probability of [financial] misrepresentation … rises rap-

idly as options comprise more than 76 per cent of [CEO

pay]’ (p. 361).

While not-for-profit higher-education institutions lack

triggers such as stock prices, they are not immune to

the temptation to shade the truth in the pursuit of good

scores. Claremont McKenna College, Emory University,

Villanova University’s law school, Bucknell University

and George Washington University have all recently been

caught reporting false data such as student GPAs, accept-

ance rates and test scores in order to boost their institu-

tional rankings in U.S. News & World Report (Associated

Press, 2012; Diamond, 2012; Hoover, 2012; Jaschik, 2013;

Mangan, 2011). Whether or not these actions originated

from the president’s office, they provide evidence that

such manipulation takes place, even in higher education.

Presidents can engage in other efforts to present their

performance in the most favourable light – what March

(1984) calls ‘reputation management’. A typical strat-

egy is to emphasise process or input metrics instead of

outcomes. As March (1984) notes, ‘If one can claim to

have done the things a good manager should do, bad

outcomes can be seen as irrelevant to evaluation’ (p.

58). Presidents might, for example, tout the number of

programs launched, students served, grants won, patents

secured or donors courted. While the actual relationship

between a president’s actions and any of these outcomes

may be ambiguous or virtually nil, process metrics has

the advantage of being readily quantifiable and can be

cherry picked to present the most positive impression

of effectiveness.

Presidents may also engage in more subtle efforts to

create the perception of success through personal brand

building. As with a private corporation, branding involves

creating positive, widespread name recognition and the

perception of superior quality. Personal brand building

efforts, such as interpersonal networking and media out-

reach, do not in themselves represent impropriety; how-

ever, particularly quirky or expensive efforts can raise

eyebrows. A former president of Ohio State University

earned notoriety for spending millions of dollars on lavish

parties, and luxury travel and accommodation; he also

spent tens of thousands of dollars of university money on

bow ties and bow tie-shaped biscuits and pins, items that

directly reference his signature neckwear (Bischoff, 2012),

while a past president of University of Connecticut drew

criticism for, among other things, purchasing life-size

cutouts of himself to be displayed around the campus

(Kiley, 2013).

Langbert (2006) argues that, in general, institutions

appear to make their salary decisions based not on per-



formance but on mimicry, approximating the pay rates of

institutions similar to their own in type, size and region.

In fact, some institutions overtly adopt this strategy. The

University System of Maryland, for example, has a formal

policy of setting pay for its senior administrators at the

75th percentile of peer institutions (Stripling & Fuller,

2011b). This approach yokes its pay levels to those of

other institutions in a perpetually escalating bidding war.

As March (1984) observes in relation to private sector

enterprises, the practice is not limited to peers; institu-

tions may also follow the lead of their aspirational peers

in an effort to raise their own institutional status. Such

external signals can appear to be a logical proxy for qual-

ity, given the difficulty in evaluating candidates’ job per-

formance based on the ambiguous causal relationship

between their performance and organisational outcomes

(Langbert, 2006; March, 1984).

The hidden costs of high presidential pay

Beyond the consideration of whether market forces ration-

ally price college and university presidents according to

their performance or create positive incentives, presiden-

tial pay may have other less

quantifiable impacts worth

consideration. In the lan-

guage of economics, these

impacts are referred to as

‘externalities’, secondary or

unintended consequences

of an action that affect third

parties and are not consid-

ered when determining the

action’s cost.

Publicity over high presidential salary packages, for

example, can have a negative impact on an institution’s

reputation, especially in the current economic climate.

When high payouts go to presidents widely regarded as

poor performers (former Penn State President Graham

Spanier, for example, who was fired in connection to

the Jerry Sandusky child-abuse scandal), the outrage is

particularly intense (Stripling & Newman, 2013). But

pay for even well-respected presidents can invite criti-

cism when those same presidents plead for taxpayer

support for their institutions (Stripling & Fuller, 2011b).

This outrage has led some state legislators, particu-

larly in California, Florida and Texas, to introduce bills

to limit presidential pay (News-Press Staff and Wire,

2013; Stripling & Fuller, 2011b; Stripling & Fuller, 2012;

Webley, 2013).

Even the corporate world occasionally bends in the

face of such negative public attention. Due to shareholder

backlash, the practice of grossing up, in which employers

provide executives with additional money to cover the

taxes incurred on bonuses and other benefits, has lost

popularity among boards of many publicly traded com-

panies. Yet in 2010, half of the 50 highest-paid presidents

of private institutions still received this kind of benefit

(Stripling, 2012). Supporters may argue that it is only fair

to offset taxes on benefits that presidents are compelled

to accept (such as housing and cars); however, the prac-

tice risks perpetuating the image that presidents, abetted

by their boards of trustees, are enriching themselves at

the expense of the institutions they run. This negative

image provides further fuel to growing public discontent

with the spiralling overall cost of higher education and

student debt burdens (Stripling & Fuller, 2011b; Stripling

& Fuller, 2012; Webley, 2013).

Within the institutional community, the growing pay

disparities can also erode morale among staff. At private

universities in 2009 the average president made 3.7

times as much as the average full professor, and at six

institutions that ratio reached 10:1. Meanwhile, most

academic staff nationwide

are seeing their own sal-

aries lag behind inflation

(June, 2011). To add insult to

injury, many are also seeing

the gap between their pay

and that of new academic

staff hires shrink (termed

‘salary compression’), even

to fall behind that of new

hires (‘salary inversion’) (June, 2011). The consequences

of morale erosion can include lower performance and

loss of talented individuals to other institutions.

No universally accepted standard exists for the optimal

ratio between presidents’ and academic or other staff sala-

ries, and indeed, the corresponding multiples in the pri-

vate sector far exceed these when stock options are part

of the salary package. While presidents may view them-

selves as analogous to corporate CEOs, the traditional

academic staff culture views the corporatisation of higher

education with hostility and resents being relegated to the

role of underling. As John Curtis, director of research and

public policy at the American Association of University

Professors, stated: ‘The problem – in terms of the priority

message being sent – [is] if there’s such a large investment

in a single individual, it negates the idea that you have

shared governance, which is a basic principle in colleges

When high pay-outs go to presidents widely regarded as poor performers ... outrage is

particularly intense. Pay for even well-respected presidents, however, can invite

criticism when those same presidents plead for taxpayer support for their institutions



and universities’ (quoted in Burnsed, 2011). Morale can

also suffer when presidential pay increases and bonuses

coincide with furloughs and layoffs among instructional

and non-instructional staff.

Students are also protesting against what they see as

the shifting of the burden for generous presidential salary

packages onto them in the form of increasing tuition fees

and student debt (Stripling & Fuller, 2011b). As Trotter

(2013) notes in coverage of the outrage over New York

University’s (NYU) provision of ultra-low interest mort-

gages to top administrators for vacation homes:

Stories of NYUers graduating with crushing student debt are legion … The idea that even a small por-tion of their loan payments is directly funding the Fire Island getaways of the School’s well-paid faculty and administrators is the kind of picture that NYU probably wants to avoid (para 4).

Clearly, these campus constituencies are sensing a dis-

connection between their fortunes and those of the lead-

ership. That loss of community good will has consequences

that may be difficult to quantify but nevertheless have real

negative impacts on higher education institutions. By failing

to factor such costs into their salary deliberations, boards

risk basing their decisions on inflated perceptions of the

benefits a president may bring to their institution.

Recommendations and cautions

The topic of presidential pay can evoke strong emotions,

particularly in the current economic climate. No one size

fits all formula exists, and no approach is likely to win uni-

versal approval, yet most disinterested observers would

probably conclude that there is room for improvement

in the way that presidential pay packages are developed.

Accordingly, the following are some very broad recom-

mendations for future research and practice.

Langbert (2006) suggests that trustees should recon-

sider their strategies for setting presidential pay in order

to strengthen the link between pay and performance. In

light of the strong correlation he found between current

presidential pay and institutional and per student spend-

ing levels, he particularly recommends creating incentives

for presidents to hold down spending instead of increas-

ing it. Langbert also recommends developing systematic

measures for other vital but elusive institutional quality

measures such as student achievement, academic research

productivity, student engagement and talent development.

If institutions across the board were to adopt these mea-

sures and disclose their metrics, it would facilitate a more

rational assessment of performance.

To address the acute shortage of capable candidates

that is often cited as the reason institutions feel com-

pelled to engage in presidential bidding wars, trustees

need to consider the key competencies they require in

their top executive and invest more resources in develop-

ing talent from within. A deeper understanding of the job

requirements could also help boards of trustees design

salary packages with incentives strategically tailored to

realistic and desirable outcomes. Boards must also interro-

gate their own preconceptions about what makes a good

presidential candidate. At most institutions, board mem-

bers are predominantly white males with backgrounds in

business, law or finance (Minor, 2008). These individuals

are likely to have been socialised to similar norms of what

good leaders look like. To the extent that other boards

share similar norms and perceptions, they may find them-

selves engaged in a bidding war over an unnecessarily

small pool of candidates. Such bidding pressure may also

foster an unjustified perception that this narrow field of

candidates is demonstrably superior to others and a sense

of urgency that leads them to bid more than they other-

wise might.

Conclusion

Getting boards to think critically about presidential pay

may be a difficult proposition. To raise the issue is, after

all, to criticise the way the board has been handling it.

When faced with criticism of any kind, perhaps the most

common human response is to resist it. If board members

perceive that they are being attacked, they may react by

siding with the president against their critics. The chal-

lenge in such a situation is to frame the issue in a way that

does not imply blame or provoke an adversarial response.

This approach holds the most potential to foster a recep-

tive frame of mind in which board members can objec-

tively consider the criticisms of current presidential pay

practices and explore alternative approaches.

College and university presidents’ burgeoning pay may

possibly be justified by an as yet unproven combination of

factors, including the demands of the position, job perfor-

mance and market forces. The limited evidence currently

available, however, suggests otherwise. Further research

will ultimately be needed in order to make a more confi-

dent distinction between fact and fiction.

Laura Risler is doctoral student and Laura M. Harrison is

an assistant professor at the Department of Counseling and

Higher Education, Ohio University, Athens, Ohio.



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Introduction

The idea that universities have an obligation to the public

good dates back to at least 1200 AD with the advent of

the earliest European universities, such as Bologna, Paris

and Oxford (Cuthill, 2012; Brown & Muirhead, 2001). As

such, universities have long promoted themselves and

justified public funding on the grounds that they serve

this public good (Collini, 2012). This is currently subject

to debate in forums across the world at a time when uni-

versities are under increasing pressure to clearly demon-

strate their societal benefits while producing high-quality,

high-impact scholarship, and operating as astute business

managers.

The increasing demands on universities have prompted

calls for new kinds of university, those that are responsive

to the needs of society and are prepared to adopt col-

laborative approaches to their scholarship (Barber et al.,

2013). These universities have been variously described

using terms such as ‘open university’ (Miller & Sabapathy,

Universities and the public goodA review of knowledge exchange policy and related university practice in Australia

Michael Cuthill & Éidín O’SheaUniversity of Southern Queensland

Bruce WilsonRMIT University

Pierre ViljoenCentral Queensland University

Australian policy relating to knowledge exchange has never been well articulated, notwithstanding that the nexus between knowledge, engagement and higher education in Australia has been on the national agenda for several decades (Grattan Institute, 2013). In universities, this policy deficit is reflected in a lack of project management and collaboration skills, and the limited motivation of researchers to engage in collaborative knowledge exchange processes. Taken together, poor policy and inadequate practice constrain the effective use of knowledge in socioeconomic development and national innovation. This paper primarily focuses on the knowledge exchange policy–practice nexus in Australia. We adopt the term ‘knowledge exchange’ while acknowledging many other related concepts, such as knowledge transfer, university community engagement, integrative applied research and engaged scholarship. We draw attention to international contexts in which universities, governments, industry and funding agencies are now explicitly supporting and facilitating collaborative knowledge exchange activities. Our review suggests that Australia needs a clearly articulated national knowledge exchange policy, along with enhanced university capacity to implement knowledge exchange initiatives.


vol. 56, no. 2, 201436 Universities and the public good Michael Cuthill et al.

2011), ‘innovative university’ (Christensen & Eyring, 2011),

‘engaged university’ (Petter, 2013), the new ‘public univer-

sity’ (Burawoy, 2011) and Goddard’s (2009) concept of a

‘civic university’. The core concept here is that all publicly

funded higher education institutions have a civic duty to

engage with the wider society – at local, national and

international levels – on issues of public relevance.

The focus of public good universities is presented in

different ways:

• addressing the so-called grand challenges of the 21st

century (Barber et al., 2013)

• increased public policy focus (European Commission,

2012)

• scholarly interaction with industry, focusing on the val-

orisation of intellectual property (Breznitz & Feldman,

2012)

• scholarly engagement involving public, private and

community sector stakeholders that contributes to

social justice and development (Kajner, 2013; Cuthill,

2012).

Each of these centres in one way or another on the

sharing – the exchange of knowledge – between univer-

sity researchers and public actors who wish to contrib-

ute to new knowledge and to use it. This paper presents

a review of knowledge exchange policy and practice in

Australia. Four underlying components are commonly

seen to define the broad concept of knowledge exchange

(for example, Davis, 2013; Dwan & McInnes, 2013; Cuthill,

2012; Australian Universities Community Engagement Alli-

ance [AUCEA], 2006; Carnegie Foundation, n.d.; Boyer,

1996). These include:

• a focus on high quality scholarship

• stakeholder collaboration

• mutually beneficial outcomes

• public good intent.

In combining these four components, knowledge

exchange moves the application of scholarship past

the narrowly conceived historical notion that scientific

knowledge originates in the university and is passed

downstream to various communities who absorb it and

put it to a practical use (Varga, 2009). Rather, as Austral-

ian Primary Health Care Research Institute (APHCRI)

(APHCRI, 2011, p. 5) states, ‘Knowledge exchange is a pro-

cess that aims to get research knowledge into action; it

has an “applied” focus into either decision-making or prac-

tice settings.’ International knowledge exchange policy

initiatives provide some direction as to how Australian

national policy might respond.

While we have adopted the term knowledge exchange,

we also acknowledge many other related concepts

(Cuthill 2011, p. 22, for example, identifies 48 interrelated

terms). These include, for example:

• knowledge transfer (Varga, 2009)

• integrative applied research (Bammer, 2013)

• university community engagement (Holland, 2005)

• engaged scholarship (Cuthill & Brown, 2010;)

• third mission (Watson et al., 2013).

As Bammer (2013, p. 5) argues in responding to ‘com-

plex real world problems … [we need to address the

existing] … combination of fragmentation, unorganised

diversity and dogma’ evident within this proliferation of

related terminology and approaches.

The international literature on knowledge exchange and

related concepts has blossomed, all with an explicit focus

on partnership, collaboration and engagement with exter-

nal partners, (Kajner, 2013; Jones, 2012; Breznitz & Feldman,

2012; Schuetze, 2010). This signals a shift from a sole focus

on the academic as an ‘expert producer of knowledge’,

to a much stronger focus on ‘collaborative knowledge

processes’ (Cuthill & Brown, 2010, p.129). Gibbons et al.

(1994) describe this shift as a move from the more tradi-

tional model of segregated knowledge production, which

they call Mode 1, to a new broader approach – Mode 2 – in

which universities are identified as one stakeholder among

many knowledge producers in a new, more fluid and inter-

dependent approach to scholarship (Table 1).

The collaborative approach to knowledge exchange

is supported through recent methodological initiatives

(Cuthill, 2012; McIlrath & Lyons, 2012). Holland (2005, p.

11), for example, describes how an ‘engaged’ approach to

scholarship is being increasingly embraced by universi-

ties around the world, ‘as an expression of contemporary

research methods and as a reinterpretation of the role of

higher education in creating public good’. Hence, collabo-

ration and exchange should be seen as supporting new,

more flexible approaches to intellectual enquiry – meth-

odology based on the development of strong and genuine

Table 1: Characteristics of Mode 1 and Mode 2 scholarship

Mode 1 Mode 2

Disciplinary Transdisciplinary

Hierarchical Participatory

Pure or applied Applied

Linear Reflexive

Quality is academically defined

Quality is academically defined and socially account-able

(Cuthill, 2010; Gibbons et al., 1994)


vol. 56, no. 2, 2014 Universities and the public good Michael Cuthill et al. 37

knowledge partnerships. As the Association of Common-

wealth Universities stated (2001, p. i):

Increasingly, academics will accept that they share their territory with other knowledge professionals. The search for formal understanding itself, long cen-tral to the academic life, is moving rapidly beyond the borders of disciplines and their locations inside uni-versities. Knowledge is being keenly pursued in the context of its application and in a dialogue of practice and theory through a network of policy advisers, com-panies, consultants, think-tanks and brokers as well as academics and indeed the wider society.

This points to a policy challenge in which, in today’s

competitive marketplace, the viability and sustainability of

much Australian business, and the subsequent regional and

national flow-on benefits, heavily rely on a diverse range

of collaborative knowledge exchange partnerships (Ernst

& Young, 2012). As previously noted, these partnerships

extend beyond a sole industry focus, and include ongoing

calls for publicly funded research to contribute more to

public policy, social development and economic prosper-

ity. Yet the policy framework to support such allocation of

public resources is fragmented and contradictory. Australia

is not alone in this context. Moore, Hughes and Ulrich-

sen (2010, p. 22) argue that in the US, there is ‘evidence

of coordination failure of the knowledge exchange system

as a whole, although component parts may be functioning

well’. Other international examples provide further con-

text to inform Australian developments.

Exploring international perspectives on knowledge exchange policy and practice

Recent reports (Brewer, 2013; McKelvey & Holmen, 2009)

have mapped the changing role of universities and their

contribution to economic prosperity, social develop-

ment and national innovation systems. This role has been

discussed in the aftermath of the global financial crisis

where governments have directed attention to universi-

ties and their potential to support recovery (Hughes &

Mina, 2012). However, Deiaco et al., (2012) note that

while a collaborative knowledge exchange role for uni-

versities has been increasingly emphasised, so too have

other pressures been raised.

Clearly, the competitive business of higher education

and the demands for more collaboration and relevance is

proving challenging for senior managers. As Deiaco et al.

(2012, p. 523) describe:

Universities are thus increasingly being pressed to act strategically in relation to external pressures and fund-ing streams. In addition to the strategic imperatives of

responding to national policy and global social chal-lenges, new competitive regimes for national universi-ties are also now related to the increasing globalisation of student flows, funding resources and faculty.

Higher education institutions have developed strategies

relating to engagement, industry and community partner-

ships, research commercialisation and international devel-

opment in response to these challenges. Goddard (2009,

p.4) stresses the importance of such strategies within

institutions arguing that there

has to be an institution-wide commitment, not con-fined to individual academics or projects. It has to embrace teaching as well as research, students as well as academics, and the full range of support services. All universities need to develop strategies to guide their engagement with wider society, to manage them-selves accordingly and to work with external partners to gauge their success …

The move beyond piecemeal or disparate activity to

a more coordinated approach to knowledge exchange

is a recurring theme within the literature. Both explicit

national policy and structured institutional capability are

necessary for effective coordination to be achieved. To

support these developments, a variety of local, national

and international networks have sprung up to support

the various emerging knowledge exchange processes

(Community–Campus Partnership for Health, 2012;

Global University Network for Innovation, 2011; Hall,

2009; Australian Universities Community Engagement Alli-

ance, 2006; Talloires Network, 2005).

Internationally, there are examples of strong policy

support for and direction to collaborative knowledge

exchange processes. The European Commission, for

example, promotes a modernisation agenda for univer-

sity reform, defining the role of universities as being to

exploit the so-called ‘knowledge triangle of research,

education and innovation’ (Lund Declaration, 2009;

European Commission, 2007). Funding streams to sup-

port this agenda are emerging and the European Com-

mission will soon launch Horizon 2020, organised to

address societal challenges rather than disciplinary

fields. This funding instrument (2014–20), with a budget

of more than €70 billion, aims to deepen the relationship

between science and society by favouring an ‘informed

engagement of citizens and civil society on research

and innovation matters’ (European Commission, 2012, p.

4). Horizon 2020 will support good practice in public

engagement by focusing on the need for new tools and

methods to foster public engagement at the work pro-

gram and individual level across all areas of Horizon

2020, and appropriate monitoring activities that can



differentiate between the simple transmission of results

approaches and those involving full engagement with

the public at all stages of the program cycle (European

Commission, 2012, p. 15–16).

The United Kingdom has also established funding

streams supporting knowledge exchange in higher

education. This funding was facilitated by the Beacons

for Public Engagement, who were charged with pro-

moting, facilitating and embedding public engagement

across universities (Watermeyer, 2011; PACE, 2010). A

review study, with input from 22,000 UK academics,

found scholars from all disciplines were engaged in

knowledge exchange pro-

cesses with a diverse range

of partners (Abreu et al.,

2009). In supporting a

broad knowledge exchange

agenda, the National Co-

ordinating Centre for Public

Engagement, the Beacons for

Public Engagement and the

Research Councils UK devel-

oped the Vitae Researcher

Development Framework (see Vitae, 2011) in support of

capacity development in the sector. This is an overarch-

ing framework that identifies the wide range of knowl-

edge, behaviours and attributes of excellent engaged

scholars.

Institutions have followed this policy lead. University

College London (UCL) provides one such example. Pro-

fessor David Price, UCL’s Vice-Provost for Research, in an

interview to the Times Higher Education, argued that

research-intensive universities can justify their high levels

of funding only if they address major challenges and by

applying knowledge ‘for the good of humanity’ (Jump,

2012). Accordingly, UCL has identified four multidisci-

plinary institutional-wide ‘grand challenges’ to facilitate

public issues research. These are global health, sustainable

cities, intercultural interaction and human wellbeing. Pro-

fessor Price stressed that, by addressing societal problems

in this way, UCL emphasises the development of ‘useful

knowledge’ (Jump, 2012).

In Malaysia, a recent national policy initiative allocated

significant funding to four major universities to develop

stronger industry and community partnerships. Profes-

sor Kaur-Gill, Deputy Vice-Chancellor for Industry and

Community Partnerships at the National University of

Malaysia (UKM), in outlining the UKM process of insti-

tutionalising such partnerships within the university,

identifies critical initiatives implemented by UKM in

responding to the national government agenda (Kuar-

Gill, 2012, p. 31). These are:

• leadership at senior and middle management level

• clarity of conceptualisation

• institutionalisation

• quality assurance

• capacity building programs

• incorporating reward and recognition systems

• funding streams.

In Canada, recent collaborative knowledge exchange

programs such as the Community–University Research

Alliances (Social Science and Humanities Research Coun-

cil, 2013a), Imagining Cana-

da’s Future (Social Science

and Humanities Research

Council, 2013b), Knowledge

Mobilization Strategy (Social

Science and Humanities

Research Council, 2013c)

and Engagement as a Key

Priority (Social Science and

Humanities Research Coun-

cil, 2013d) have been initi-

ated through the Social Science and Humanities Research

Council (SSHRC). All these programs look to promote

‘fruitful engagement with SSHRC partners in the aca-

demic, public, private and not for profit sectors’ (SSHRC,

2013a). Canadian universities have responded to this

agenda. For example, Petter (2013, pp. 1–2), President

of Simon Fraser University, argues that the SFU focus on

public good outcomes can be conceived

as an approach that can inform every aspect of how a university operates, educates and serves its students and its communities … not as an exercise in altruism, but in the belief that this engagement also pays enor-mous dividends for students, faculty and staff – and for the university itself.

He argues, in the face of perhaps our most daunting

global and local challenges, that universities have a critical

role to play in helping build just and sustainable commu-

nities, and that the ‘ “engaged university” might in future

be seen less as an anomaly to be noted and observed,

[than] more as a prototype to be adapted and improved

upon’ (Petter, 2013, p. 5).

The Organisation for Economic Co-operation and

Development (OECD) (2013), through the Institute for

Management of Higher Education, has also promoted

greater engagement between universities and regional

and city authorities. It has also sponsored three waves

of reviews that have analysed how the higher education

Both explicit national policy and structured institutional capability are necessary for effective coordination to be achieved. To support these developments, a variety of

local, national and international networks have sprung up to support the various

emerging knowledge exchange processes



system impacts upon regional and local development,

and facilitated stronger collaborative work and capacity

building. These reviews are:

• 2005–07 Higher Education and Regions:

Globally Competitive, Locally Engaged

• 2008–11 Higher Education in Cities and Regions –

for Stronger, Cleaner and Fairer Regions

• 2010–12 Higher Education in Regional City

Development

Historically, the US has had a strong focus on policy

and practice in knowledge exchange. Moore, Hughes

and Ulrichsen (2010, p. 7) report that the ‘US knowledge

exchange (KE) system has experienced significant cultural

changes over the past decade, with positive changes in cul-

ture towards KE, and increased acceptance of KE related

activities as a valued part of an academic’s role’. This brief

international review has merely skimmed the surface with

regards to the many countries currently in the process of

strengthening their knowledge exchange arrangements.

Exploring Australian perspectives on knowledge exchange policy and practice

The notion that higher education can contribute broadly

to the public good is compatible with historical national

policy directions in Australia (Grattan Institute, 2013;

Group of Eight, 2013; Commonwealth of Australia, 2012,

2009; Bradley et al., 2008; Department of Education

Science and Training, 2006). Public good and the role of

higher education institutions was, for example, central in

2002 in the Crossroads discussion papers, with recogni-

tion that universities need to be socially responsive and

foster a more active engagement with their various com-

munities:

Higher education institutions are expected to be responsive to the diverse needs of students and the demands of other stakeholders, including staff, employers of graduates, clients of consulting services, industry, venture partners and regional communities. They need to meet the expectations of the Australian community and government and the changing needs of the economy. Higher education institutions need to develop an outward looking perspective, not an insu-lar one (Department of Education, Science and Train-ing, 2002, p. 32).

There have been other initiatives, including a stream

of inquiries into innovation, and new initiatives such as

Commercialisation Australia, the Innovation Precincts and

Cooperative Research Centres. The Commonwealth of

Australia (2009) argued that

Innovation is not an abstraction. Nor is it an end in itself. It is how we make a better Australia, and con-tribute to making a better world – a prosperous, fair and decent world, in which everyone has the chance of a fulfilling life (Foreword by Kim Carr, Minister for Innovation, Industry, Science and Research).

The department’s conception of a ‘scientifically engaged

Australia … comprising the natural and physical sciences,

the humanities, arts and social sciences’ (Commonwealth

of Australia, 2009 p. xiii) is directed by a national strategy

for a result of which, the Australian knowledge exchange

policy response still remains thinly spread.

In Australia the breadth and quality of knowledge

exchange activity is still largely unknown (Grattan Insti-

tute, 2013; Bammer, 2013; Charles & Wilson, 2012; Brad-

ley et al., 2008), with little understanding of research

impact from collaborative knowledge exchange. This

continues to be an issue, despite useful current ini-

tiatives to assess research impact (Addis et al., 2013;

Brewer, 2013; Regional Universities Network, 2013; Kelly

& McNicoll, 2011). A recent Group of Eight report on

measuring innovation, for example, concludes that there

are compelling stories to be told of impact arising from

knowledge exchange activities at Australian universities

(Group of Eight, 2012).

In another attempt to understand research impact, the

Regional Universities Network (2013, p. 4) developed a

conceptual framework (Figure 1) that illustrates

the process of leveraging university assets (students, staff and facilities) through operational activities (teach-ing and learning, research and service) centred on an engagement paradigm to produce economic, social, cultural, environmental, and individual ‘value’ out-comes to the specific region and more broadly for Australia. These value outcomes, in a self-reinforcing, reciprocal and mutually beneficial process, provide feedback to support the university core mission.

This conceptual framework is yet to be empirically

tested and overall there is a critical lack of understanding

of collaborative knowledge approaches to dealing with

society’s complex challenges.

Other efforts to promote the benefits of collabora-

tive approaches are emerging in Australia. Engagement

Australia (EA) is committed to leading, developing and

promoting an integrated and collaborative approach to

university–community engagement in Australia. They have

argued that engagement built on trust and reciprocity is

a multifaceted and multidimensional process and critical

enabler of all university endeavours, including research,

and that it has the potential to provide mutually benefi-

cial outcomes and value for universities and participating

partners. More recently, EA responded to the draft paper



Assessing the wider benefits arising from university-based

research: Discussion Paper (Commonwealth of Australia,

2013). In its comments, the EA board broadly supported

the paper’s focus on the impact of research on society. It

was also proposed that the scope could be expanded to

include

a broader definition of research engagement: a defi-nition that more strongly shows the role of science and society in responding to the critical social, eco-nomic, technological and environmental challenges communities are confronted with today (Engagement Australia, 2013).

Encouragingly, ambitious expectations have been set

out by the Commonwealth government on the role of

Australian universities, with an explicit focus on increased

collaborations between the public and private sectors

(Coaldrake & Stedman, 2013; Australian Government

Advisory Council on Intellectual Property [ACIP], 2012).

However, Australia currently ranks 22nd out of 28 OECD

countries for public expenditure on tertiary education,

spending only 1 per cent of gross domestic product (Aus-

tralian Innovation System Report, 2011). In April 2013

the Australian government announced the biggest funding

reductions to the university system and student support

since 1996, with an additional $2.3 billion to be stripped

from the university system over the next four years (Uni-

versities Australia, 2013).

More significant have been the policy contradictions

that still encourage universities to adopt segmented, com-

petitive and internally focused approaches to learning and

teaching, and to research, with no explicit encouragement

for engagement. Australian universities’ academic recogni-

tion and rewards tend to emphasise and support the more

traditional focus on competitive research funds and publi-

cations rather than practical outcomes for industry or

community.

Academics on the edge: challenges confronting Australian knowledge exchange policy and practice

Despite the increasing emphasis on collaborative knowl-

edge exchange, recent Australian policy debate has been

disjointed, drawn thinly across at least five interrelated

but distinct policy areas. These are:

• research commercialisation (ACIP, 2012)

• university community engagement (AUCEA, 2006)

• third stream funding (Australian Council of Learned

Academies, 2012)

• knowledge transfer (PhillipsKPA, 2006)

• widening participation and access (Bradley et al., 2008;

Department of Education, Science and Training, 1990).

This approach encourages fragmented and incoher-

ent effort at collaborative knowledge exchange. As Intz-

esiloglou et al. (2011, p. 1) argue, while ‘the benefits of

knowledge exchange between universities and enter-

prises have been documented in various cases, there is

still a long way to go considering the identification of

the best-suited policy framework for the enhancement of

this process, on national and regional levels’. Rather, it has

been left to higher education institutions themselves to

support effective transmission and application of higher

education research to public, private and community

needs, even where there are several universities work-

ing in the same space. As a result, Australia has fallen well

behind overseas examples (Grattan Institute, 2013).

This leaves a practice environment within universities

that is characterised by a lack of engagement, project man-

agement and collaboration skills, and the limited motiva-

Figure 1: The value of regional universities.Source: Regional Universities Network, 2013, p. 4



tion of researchers to engage in collaborative knowledge

exchange processes (Universities Australia, 2013; ACIP,

2012). An ACIP report (2012) on the role of intellectual

property in collaborations between public and private

sectors supports this assertion of a capacity deficit. It

argues that, despite the potential benefits to be had, many

publicly funded research organisations’ (PFRO) current

performance metrics did not sufficiently encourage the

formation of collaborations with industry. In turn, PFRO

researchers were concerned that they lacked capacity

to effectively collaborate, and that the reward structure

did not encourage such collaborations in the first place.

Indeed, in many institutions, there are direct contradic-

tions between the institutional requirements associated

with teaching and research, and the requirements of part-

nership development and effective knowledge exchange.

As a result, knowledge exchange remains on the periph-

ery of mainstream Australian academia, despite the ongo-

ing rhetoric that positions it as integral to a university

mission (Bradley et al., 2008).

This situation is further exacerbated by the continuing

chorus of dissatisfaction, frustration and capacity short-

falls expressed by knowledge workers within universities

(Coaldrake & Stedman, 2013; Metcalfe, 2013; Hil, 2012;

Petersen, 2011; Chubb, 2013; Lynch et al., 2012; Australian

Council of Learned Academies, 2012; Collini, 2012; Fred-

man & Doughney, 2012; Matthews et al., 2012; Professor

X, 2011). Bexley et al. (2011) describe an academic work-

force in transition. Their recent report, which analyses

responses from 5525 participants across 20 Australian uni-

versities, finds the sector grappling with an ageing work-

force in which many workers are struggling to manage

workloads. Respondents argue that there is little oppor-

tunity or incentive to undertake knowledge exchange

activity, which incorporates time-intensive relationship

development and collaboration.

Furthermore, Australian academics are often portrayed

in a negative way. Notably, Peter Shergold, Australian aca-

demic and former Secretary of the Department of the

Prime Minister and Cabinet, published an article titled

‘Seen but not Heard’ in The Australian (4 May 2011), in

which he was critical of what he perceived was a distinct

lack of any sustained, constructive contributions by Aus-

tralian academics to ‘real world’ development of public

policy. In another example, Hil (2012, p. 14) suggests that

‘academics have become, at least in policy discourse,

shadow figures in the public eye’. The recent ACIP report

generally confirms this negative perception, identifying

researchers’ lack of motivation to engage in collaborative

knowledge exchange processes (ACIP, 2012). Yet as ACIP

explain, this situation can be largely attributed to a lack

of capacity and support for university staff who focus on

collaborative knowledge exchange processes.

In itself, assumptions about the collaborative capacity

of researchers and research users require critical review

(O’Shea, 2014). When exploring international research

collaborations, Billot, Goddard & Cranston (2006, p. 43),

for example, found that ‘there is limited research that

provides guidance on how to undertake research col-

laboratively’. So, is it reasonable to assume that academ-

ics and external research stakeholders, all with diverse

timeframes, skill sets and deliverables, can just come

together and effectively collaborate? Such an assumption

would suggest a smooth ride with high expectations of

successful collaboration between academic researchers

and their industry partners. But experience shows that

when forming research collaborations, challenges arise

between researchers and external stakeholders if compet-

ing agendas are not recognised and negotiated (Cuthill et

al., 2011). Dwan and McInnes (2013, p. 195, expanding on

Wiseman, 2010) provide examples of potential points of

difference that might challenge successful collaborations

(Table 2).

Even when collaborative knowledge exchange pro-

cesses are clearly visible and can be easily tracked, such

as research commercialisation and patents, ACIP (2012)

argues that enhancing practice capacity is still required.

Opportunities for greater emphasis on knowledge

Table 2. Priorities and constraints under which research users and producers work

Priorities and constraints Research producers Research users

Knowledge Depth Breadth

Documents Long, prose Short, multiple headings, dot points

Timeframes Medium–long Short–medium

Outputs Few and far between Regular

Responsibility Individuals and freedom External parties and processes

Rigor versus pragmatism Rigor Pragmatism

Authorship Personal Usually anonymous



exchange processes and capacity building in less visible

areas, such as regional development, public policy, urban

design, community health and social justice, are evident,

yet underutilised.

Career advancement is another challenge confront-

ing Australian academics, especially when collaborative

knowledge exchange processes generally are more time

intensive than other forms of research. Much focus has

been given to the Australian Council of Learned Academies

(ACOLA, 2012) report on career support for researchers.

The aim of this study was to identify the pressure points in

research career pathways and identify possible solutions.

Of the 1203 participants, 80 per cent reported that they

found a career in research as ‘very’ or ‘reasonably’ attrac-

tive, but not the research system in which they had to

work. They cited the lack of certainty of employment, the

overly competitive race for grants, fellowships and jobs,

and the onerous burden of administration. Respondents

reported that interaction with partners was often looked

down on or largely disregarded; the need for support and

recognition when developing collaboration and partner-

ships was continually stressed. Academics across all levels,

from early career to professor, indicated that Australian

universities do not encourage research mobility between

university, government, industry and community sectors.

ACOLA suggested the need to look at the interactive

nature of the US system (ACOLA, 2012). Research training

pathways have come in for similar criticism.

Formal research training, especially doctoral candi-

dature, is a key area of investment for knowledge crea-

tion and a valuable opportunity to develop knowledge

exchange partnerships. Australia’s chief scientist Profes-

sor Ian Chubb’s recent speech (Chubb, 2013) to the Aus-

tralian Mathematical Sciences Institute argued that more

reflection was required in relation to the ‘work-readiness’

of PhD students. Stressing the importance of industry

engagement and national productivity as being critically

important in Australia, Chubb stated that ‘unfortunately,

there is a large divide between our most academically

qualified citizens (our PhD graduates) and the industries

that fuel our economy’. More attention is needed to sup-

port a more structured PhD program that offers a defined

path, including generic training in communications skills

and entrepreneurship, as well as a focus on transferable

skills and greater flexibility (Council of Australian Post-

graduate Associations, 2012; Commonwealth of Australia,

2011a, 2011b).

Overall, Australian higher education institutions are on

the cusp of profound change, with warnings that some

universities will not survive the next 10 to 15 years

unless they radically overhaul their current operating

models (Ernst & Young, 2012). Urgent discussion around

responses to this changing environment are required.

Conclusions

The contemporary Australian university is now one stake-

holder among many knowledge producers in a new, more

fluid and interdependent approach to scholarship. Schol-

arship is being redefined, with a move from ivory tower

conceptions of the academic as an expert producer of

knowledge, to a much stronger focus on collaborative

knowledge processes. This will support Australian univer-

sities to successfully adapt to their increasingly competi-

tive market environment through development of strong

and genuine knowledge partnerships with diverse stake-

holders.

International experience suggests that national

knowledge exchange policy, and institutional strategy,

operational management and reporting are all challeng-

ing tasks, but achievable. Policy development in coun-

tries reviewed for this paper has had a positive impact

on directing and supporting collaborative knowledge

exchange processes within those countries’ universities.

In consequence, many universities are reinvigorating

their focus on the public good through a new schol-

arly approach that is collaborative, socially account-

able, applied and transdisciplinary. The investments

being made in various countries and/or regions, and the

potential socioeconomic and innovation benefits aris-

ing (described in our international case studies review),

present a strong argument for strengthening Australian

knowledge exchange policy and practice.

Without national policy direction and appropriate sup-

port, the current university business model, already under

pressure from government cutbacks, is unlikely to be able

to respond constructively and consistently to the col-

laborative knowledge exchange agenda. There is now a

pressing need to address national policy arrangements to

support collaborative knowledge exchange in Australian

universities.

Acknowledgements

The authors are grateful to anonymous referees for their

helpful comments.

Michael Cuthill is chair of the Regional Community Develop-

ment at the University of Southern Queensland.



Éidín O’Shea is a postdoctoral research fellow at the Univer-

sity of Southern Queensland.

Bruce Wilson is director of the European Union Centre at RMIT

and co-director of the PASCAL International Observatory.

Pierre Viljoen is PVC Community and Engagement at CQU and

President of Engagement Australia.

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Introduction

More and more universities in developed countries are

engaging in international partnerships (Warwick, 2014),

including transnational education (McBurnie & Ziguras,

2007). Transnational education here refers to an arrange-

ment in which a student studies for an award granted by

a university based in a country other than the country the

student is studying in (Global Alliance for Transnational

Education, 1997). Numerous organisational arrangements

for transnational education are possible, from branch cam-

puses to partnerships, franchises and mutual recognition

of awards.

The study on which this paper is based was a part of a

project entitled Learning Without Borders, which focused

on branch campuses. The Observatory on Borderless

Higher Education has defined a branch campus as

A higher education institution that is located in another country from the institution which either originated it or operates it, with some physical presence in the host country, and which awards at least one degree in the host country that is accredited in the country of the originating institution (Lawton & Katsomitros, 2012, p.7)

The branch campuses in this study were substantial

physical entities, employing hundreds of academics to

Towards postcolonial management of transnational education

Peter Ling Victoria University & Swinburne University

Margaret MazzoliniVictoria University

Beena GiridharanCurtin University, Sarawak

Increasingly, universities in developed countries are engaging in transnational education. Responsibilities and opportunities to exercise management and leadership in the provision of transnational education depend on the organisational model adopted and whether the academics involved are on home or international campuses. Models range from neocolonial control to transnational partnerships. In the Australian Office for Learning and Teaching study that informs this paper, good practice in allocation and exercise of management and leadership responsibilities was identified and recommendations developed. A balance was struck between the home institution’s quality assurance obligations, which imply a high level of home-based control, and the value of a degree of local control to the commitment of local academics involved, to their career opportunities, and to the educational experiences of their students.

Peter Ling et al.A U S T R A L I A N U N I V E R S I T I E S ’ R E V I E W

vol. 56, no. 2, 2014 Towards postcolonial management of transnational education Peter Ling et al. 47

offer multiple undergraduate and postgraduate pro-

grams of the home institution to thousands of students.

The campuses offer programs in business, engineering,

science, information technology and design. The pro-

ject was funded by the Australian Learning and Teaching

Council in the category of leadership and reported to

the Australian national Office for Learning and Teaching.

The Australian Learning and Teaching Council and the

Office for Learning and Teaching are Australian govern-

ment agencies established to advance learning and teach-

ing in the higher education sector. This paper provides

a review based on one element of the project – good

practice in recognition, reward, development and sup-

port of people with management and leadership roles in

transnational education, both those based at home cam-

puses and those in international locations. In the case of

the branch campuses investigated here the bulk of aca-

demics employed are employed by the branch campus

at local rates of pay and under local conditions, which

are inferior to those that apply to academics on Austral-

ian campuses.

It was found that responsibilities and opportunities to

exercise leadership in the provision of transnational edu-

cation depends on the model adopted and whether the

academic managers and leaders involved are on home or

international campuses.

Questions addressed

This paper is, then, concerned with academic management

and leadership in transnational education. Consequences

for students are tangential to the central question here,

which is: Are some models of transnational education

preferable to others from the point of view of recogni-

tion, reward and support of academic managers and lead-

ers involved at home and abroad? The answer may vary by

the criteria employed, so there are a number of second-

ary questions that need to be addressed. These include:

What are the organisational features of the various models

transnational education encountered? Do some involve a

set of unequal relationships between local academics and

home campus academics? What are the consequences of

adopting a particular model for the home-based and local

academics involved? Can best practice be identified?

Key concepts and related literature

The term ‘postcolonial’ has been used in the title of this

paper because the management of transnational educa-

tion involves balances in decision making between the

foreign institution making an academic award and the

local agent. This can have shades of colonialism about it

in the sense that colonialism involves a set of unequal

relationships between a foreign power and the local pop-

ulation. As Osterhammel (2005) demonstrates, colonial-

ism does not imply total imposition of foreign ways but

involves a blend between the societies of the colonised

and the colonialists. The authors explore here whether

some arrangements for transnational education might

meet the requirements for an academic award of the

home institution but operate with a more equal balance

of decision making, whether some arrangements for trans-

national education are not only postcolonial in a temporal

sense (Gilbert & Tompkins, 2002) but also come closer

to being postcolonial in terms of balance of power and

decision making.

The concern in this paper is with management and

leadership of transnational education. Management here

is taken to refer to managing people and other resources

to get results, where managers ‘are accountable for attain-

ing goals, having been given authority over those work-

ing in their unit or department’ (Armstrong, 2012, p. 24).

‘Leadership can be described as the ability to persuade

other people willingly to behave differently. It is the pro-

cess of influencing people – getting them to do their best

to achieve a desired result’ (Armstrong, 2012, p. 4). Both

are pertinent to this study as there are university goals,

strategies and resources applied to transnational educa-

tion that must be managed and people who need to be led

in the endeavour to attain desired ends.

This raises the question of underlying assumptions

about the nature of management and leadership within

an organisation – in this case, a university. The under-

standing of organisations employed here is informed by

the writings of Thomas Greenfield and Anthony Giddens.

Greenfield rejects the dualism that separates people and

organisations (Lane, 2007). Giddens’ writing is consistent

with Greenfield’s in the sense that organisations for Gid-

dens are constituted by people, that is, they are framed by

the perceptions of people who see themselves as interact-

ing with organisations. Giddens accommodates a duality

of structure to the extent that people have an understand-

ing of organisations as structures comprising rules and

resources (Craib, 1992). These theories remind us that

goals, policies, procedures and organisational roles are not

impersonally determined by an institution but are deter-

mined by those who constitute the organisation and can

be ‘instruments of power which some people can control

and use to attain ends which seem good to them’ (Lane,

2007, p. 6). These concepts lead to probing participants’


vol. 56, no. 2, 201448 Towards postcolonial management of transnational education Peter Ling et al.

understandings of the rules and resources that relate to

activities in the organisation and their sense of enable-

ment and constraint in pursuit of activities.

In this paper, being concerned with transnational

operations, the authors confront a further dimension –

organisational relationships – or, more precisely, the

relationships between people in organisations. Gid-

dens observes that in the modern era there are complex

relationships between local involvement and interac-

tion across distance where relations become stretched

(Giddens, 1991). In these circumstances ‘we see the

strengthening pressure for local autonomy and regional

cultural identity’ (Giddens, 1991, p. 65). The transnational

education setting raises questions about the appropri-

ateness of management – the exercise of power – by

people based at a home campus in the endeavour to

achieve the purposes of the

enterprise at a transnational

campus, which operates in

a foreign context, an exer-

cise of power that can be

styled colonial. In review-

ing the data obtained in the

present study, attention is

paid to the understandings

of respondents at the home

campus and at transnational

locations about the organisations in which they are

employed, their roles, and their agency and authority in

decision making about curriculum, learning and teach-

ing activities, design of learning resources and assess-

ment of student work.

The project on which this paper is based was funded

as a study of distributed leadership. Pertinent literature

includes that relating to management and leadership of

academic programs and literature relating to provision of

programs through transnational education. The first cate-

gory included the role of unit coordinators within univer-

sities (Cohen & Bunker, 2007), developing and valuing the

role of unit coordinators as informal leaders of learning

in higher education (Roberts, Butcher & Brooker, 2010)

and distributed leadership in higher education (Jones,

Applebee, Harvey & Lefoe, 2010). In the latter category,

most writing focused on arrangements for teaching off-

shore rather than on management and leadership issues.

This literature includes articles related to the challenge

of sustaining academics teaching offshore (Debowski,

2003), predeparture training for lecturers in transnational

programs (Gribble & Ziguras, 2003), reconstructing the

offshore teaching team to enhance internationalisation

(Leask, 2004) and the preparedness and experiences of

Australian academics engaged in transnational teaching

(Dunn & Wallace, 2006).

There are also articles that address cultural issues in

transnational education operations with consequences

for management and leadership. Lane observes that the

current growth of transnational activity by educational

institutions ‘appears more akin to international busi-

ness than traditional academic expansion’ (Lane, 2007, p.

119). While this development can be seen as a response

of educational institutions to doing business in the con-

temporary globalised environment, arrangements for the

local management of the enterprise may share features

of a colonial past. One element addressed in the present

paper, concerned as it is with the balance of educational

decision making between home institutions and local

providers, is whether the

arrangements are perceived

as neocolonialism by those

engaged at the local level.

This is an issue implicit

in Leask’s (2004) critique

of fly in/fly out provision

of transnational education.

Leask discusses a model in

which Australian staff pro-

vide intensive face-to-face

blocks of teaching time and local staff act as tutors, a

‘ground force’ who ‘finish off and clean up’ (Leask, 2004,

p. 3). Leask notes that under this arrangement power rela-

tionships do not allow for local tutors to take on more

equal roles. Leask argues for the integration of local aca-

demics as ‘full members of the teaching team, fully and

equally engaged in curriculum planning and delivery’

(Leask, 2004, p. 5). Eldridge and Cranston (2009) exam-

ined the effect of national culture upon the management

of Australia’s provision of transnational higher education

in Thailand. Their findings suggest that, in the case of

transnational education partnerships between Australian

and Thai universities, both Thai and Australian managers

believe ‘national culture affects both the academic and

operational management of their transnational higher

education programmes’ (Eldridge & Cranston, 2009, p.

67). They point to differences between Thai and Australian

approaches to hierarchy, spiritual concerns, competition,

procedures and regulations, and face and feelings in com-

munication (Eldridge & Cranston, 2009).

A further study, which related to British transnational

education in China, also concluded that ‘managers of a

Sino–UK transnational education partnership on both

[M]any Australian universities have entered transnational education

arrangements with Chinese universities paying too little attention to cultural differences ... ‘to administer these

programmes better academics need to understand the differences’.



sides need to be open about the language and culture

induced challenges facing the sector and be committed

to addressing them in the long term if they are to con-

tinue their operation’ (Zhuang & Xueying Tang, 2012, p.

218). Likewise, Heffernan, Morrison, Basu & Sweeney

(2010) have pointed out that many Australian universi-

ties that have entered transnational education arrange-

ments with Chinese universities pay too little attention

to cultural differences and suggest that ‘to administer

these programmes better, academics need to understand

the differences’ (p. 27). The recommendations arising

from these studies help inform the conclusion to the

present paper.

Methodology

This study involved two Australian universities that

have branch campuses in Malaysia: Swinburne Univer-

sity of Technology and Curtin University. Addressing the

research questions as they related to home campus and

transnational campus staff required data on the organi-

sational arrangements for transnational education and

staff perceptions of the way they played out on the home

and transnational campuses. The methods employed

in exploring the research questions included review of

policies and procedures, surveys, individual interviews

and focus groups. For the sake of consistency academics

with leadership responsibility at whole of program level

are referred to as program coordinators in the reporting

below; those responsible for individual units of study are

referred to as unit convenors.

Transnational education policies and procedures of

the institutions were designed to ensure that programs

met with Australian and local accreditation requirements.

A variety of models was adopted within each institution,

ranging from specification of all curriculum content and

learning activities, provision of all learning resources,

design and grading of all assessment by home campus

academics, to simply requiring comparable learning expe-

riences and learning outcomes on home and transnational

campuses.

An online survey addressed operational aspects of trans-

national education. The survey was designed for academ-

ics who were program coordinators and unit convenors

for programs offered at a transnational education location,

including but not confined to the Malaysian branch cam-

puses. The questionnaire investigated experience in work-

ing in or working with offshore locations and views on

what worked well and what did not. Sixty-four responses

were received.

Individual and focus group interviews were conducted

to further explore staff experiences of working in a trans-

national education context. In particular they addressed

staff views on how transnational education and interna-

tionalisation policies and procedures can best support

academics undertaking program coordination or unit

convening roles.

Findings

The models of transnational education encountered

Each of the institutions adopted more than one arrange-

ment for the management of transnational education pro-

grams offered. For the purposes of the Learning Without

Borders project the management arrangements were cat-

egorised (Table 1) as

• home campus curriculum control

• limited transnational campus curriculum control

• distributed curriculum control

• transnational campus curriculum control.

The authors have styled the differing arrangements for

the management of transnational education as models.

The possible arrangements could be seen as a contin-

Table 1: Models for control of transnational education decisions

1. Home campus control 2. Limited transnational campus control

3. Distributed control 4. Transnational campus control

Curriculum design and assessment determined by home campus only. Maybe fly in/fly out delivery.

Opportunities for contextualisa-tion of learning activities and/or assessment items. Assessment or sample moderated by home campus.

Transnational campus decisions constrained only by attaining the same learning outcomes. May include sample assessment mod-eration by the home campus.

Units of study or programmes offer only on transnational campus but with the qualifica-tion awarded by the home campus institution.

The unit, learning activities and assessment are the same, whoever delivers the unit.

The unit and assessment are the same, whoever delivers the unit. Learning and teaching activities may be contextualised.

Unit learning outcomes are the same. Learning and teaching activities and assessment are contextualised.

The program/unit is subject to quality assurance processes consistent with home campus national protocols.



uum from home campus control to local control, par-

ticularly as arrangements adopted were not universally

applied by an institution and were dynamic. The arrange-

ments sometimes varied not only between programs but

also between units of study within programs; they also

varied over time with changes in staff. In some cases

local responsibility increased where local academics

had more experience in teaching a unit of study. Never-

theless, there are distinct conceptual categories that are

clear at either end. In the middle categories, the authors

claim that there is a conceptual distinction between

allowing some contextualisation of learning and teach-

ing activities and requiring only that learning outcomes

be the same.

The way the models played out in practice and the con-

sequences for academics involved are described below

and summarised in Table 2. Particular attention is given to

the first model as it is a common approach for Australian

universities.

Home campus curriculum control

In the first case, for offerings on the transnational

campus, curriculum design and content, teaching and

learning resources and activities, and assessment instru-

ments were the responsibility of home campus program

coordinators and unit convenors. Assessment of student

work was either conducted by academics on the home

campus or moderated by home campus academics. This

arrangement, designed to ensure consistency between

sites at which programs are offered, was typically

adopted where programs were offered on multiple sites,

or were offered at the transnational campus for the first

time or by new staff. Sometimes this model was adopted

on the grounds that programs taught by Australian aca-

demics who teach it in Australia are attractive to students

at the transnational campus. For this reason one deputy

dean reported of a transnational education partnership

arrangement:

The partners wanted Australian lecturers up there delivering it. They didn’t want a franchised approach (interview).

This category includes the fly in/fly out format as

described by a home campus program coordinator:

We fly our staff up there to do all of the lectures and we’ve run one of the small groups and the partners will provide some tutors to run the other small groups. We developed and managed all of the assessment. We did all of the marking (interview).

Whether or not home campus academics teach offshore,

the model involves tight control. The home campus con-

venor of a unit with large enrolments as an example stated:

I am prescriptive. Not just sample marking. I provide a teaching guide and revision notes. I make sure that teachers are on the same page. I provide a marking grid down to half a mark (interview).

At a branch campus a local unit convenor stated:

The package comes with all the outcomes, assess-ment, PowerPoint slides and other documents … I went over the whole thing and modified it just a little bit (interview).

One issue for home campus program and unit man-

agers was recompense for their transnational educa-

tion responsibilities. Arrangements varied widely, even

within faculties. At one end of the scale, coordinators

were granted a workload allowance for this responsibil-

ity, which one deputy dean reported ‘equates to about a

day a week’ (interview). At the other end of the spectrum

a programme coordinator reported that ‘Time taken in

meeting, unusual problems, coordination and teaching

was done as overload outside term time’ (Interview). For

academics with unit convenor responsibilities who were

employed on a casual basis there was sometimes little rec-

ompense. As one commented:

As a sessional [staff member], it is difficult to establish, or negotiate clear working guidelines, procedures, and payment for this work (survey)

For some managers, part of the compensation for their

transnational education responsibilities was a potential

contribution to a case for career advancement. A home

campus academic asked whether it does your career any

good to have been involved in transnational education.

Management responded:

Most certainly … because it’s been about managing key relationships. It’s about student management. It’s been about facilitating and managing academics who go to deliver that program (interview).

On the other hand, a home campus deputy dean,

questioned on involvement in transnational education

management, said: ‘I don’t think it’s a negative thing for

your curriculum vitae, but I don’t think it’s a promotion’

(interview). The educational administration demands of

transnational education could in fact be seen as a career

disadvantage. As one home campus unit coordinator

observed:

Involvement in transnational education does not do an academic career any good. If you want to get on, it is research here. I don’t agree, but that’s it (interview).

Convenors at transnational campuses also had respon-

sibilities that they could cite but under this model they

were of an administrative rather than academic nature,



including, as a deputy dean reported, activities such as

room bookings, assessment arrangements and organis-

ing meetings with visiting academics. As one program

coordinator at a branch campus put it: ‘It’s not very clear

what my role as the coordinator is, to be honest’ (inter-

view). A transnational campus unit convenor did see

association with teaching an Australia qualification as a

career benefit.

I have on my resume, the name from, say, Australia, which is known for quality education; that does have a value’ (interview).

On the other hand, he continued:

The fact that we don’t have much involvement in cur-riculum, I would try to cover it up. I can’t present a very strong case for my future career (interview).

One teacher on a transnational education campus

viewed the provision of all learning resources and assess-

ment items by the home campus as making his life

easier, but from academic managers on branch campuses

responses were typically negative.

The host country’s institutions engaged in this kind of transnational education are recruiting low-skilled staff to merely deliver content decided in Australia. This appears to breed a whole class of ‘academic coolies’ … It has revealed the dangers of academic colonialism (survey).

Another stated:

This whole business about being equals and being culturally sensitive and all this kind of stuff, they’re just using the words and it’s really not there (interview).

Several home campus managers were uncomfortable

with this arrangement. A home campus unit convenor

conceded:

I found it quite awkward because I’ve had appli-cations from [transnational campus] staff members who are really more senior than me, for me to write them a reference based on my visit to Malaysia (interview).

A home campus program coordinator saw the manage-

ment arrangement as ‘the real master–servant relationship

and it was just awful’ (interview).

Limited transnational campus curriculum control

Limited transnational campus curriculum control arrange-

ments permitted adaptation of some learning and teach-

ing activities to take account of the context in which the

students operated. Transnational campuses academics

might also be allowed to suggest some assessment items,

though assessment outcomes would be moderated by

home campus academics. This arrangement was adopted

where the number of sites was limited and the academ-

ics at the transnational campus had some experience in

teaching the program.

As an example, a home campus associate dean reported:

We moderate student work if a unit’s been taught for the first time. We have independent cross mark-ing of exams, assignments and research projects. But now these units are in a steady state. We look at their assessment sheets but we don’t actually do any cross marking (interview).

For a marketing education program the home campus

convenor reported:

Because of equivalency, we control the curriculum part, the assessment … and when I say we control this, it’s within reason that we allow them to actually change a certain percentage … They follow the same sort of textbook for the theory, but for the practical aspect we actually encourage their convenors to give local examples (interview).

For a business law unit a home campus convenor stated:

My role was to make it consistent but to allow for a localisation of content. Instead of making overseas students learn Australian consumer law, they can do international law in this area or they can do their own jurisdiction (interview).

In this model local input may be modest. In the experi-

ence of a branch campus unit convenor:

Staff may introduce their way of presenting but by and large the content of the teaching material comes from [the home campus]. Staff are free to present it in their own way … but must conform with material and content (interview).

For academic managers based on the home campus

their experiences were much as reported for Model 1. For

transnational academic managers the additional respon-

sibilities could make a difference. Some transnational

academic managers saw operating in a transnational edu-

cation context as positive for their careers. One program

coordinator stated:

My involvement has enhanced my career greatly. Working for a few years with counterparts at the main campus has strengthened my understanding and improved my professionalism (survey).

Academics with program management responsibilities

on branch campuses saw career advancement opportuni-

ties, even where the extent of their educational decision

making was limited. One stated:

I think there is limited power from our side to do



something. It is positive in that I learn a lot of things (interview).

Distributed curriculum control

Where the number of sites through which the program

was provided was limited and the academics at the trans-

national campus had considerable experience in teach-

ing the program, distributed control might be adopted.

This might involve transnational campus determination

of some elements of curriculum, contextualisation of

learning and teaching resources, and activities and con-

tributions to assessment. In its most liberal form all that

was prescribed by the home campus was the learning

outcomes that were to be attained by students. Home

campus moderation of assessment of student work still

applied.

Interviews with home campus deputy deans provide a

picture of the way this plays out.

Before the start of semester we each swap our unit outlines across to ensure, for example, that our assess-ment is compatible, our learning objectives are com-patible. They will provide us with what their major assignment is, or what their exam is and we’ll just QA [quality assure] that and say ‘Yep, that’s OK’ (interview).

For engineering, a deputy dean on the home campus

stated:

We’re really striving to say that the two programs are equivalent but you don’t have to be identical. So, for example, in engineering, codes of practices are quite important and the Malaysians will use their codes of

practice there, but [they will] also cross reference with our ones as well. They’ll use some of the design exam-ples that are more about the Malaysian context than an Australian context (interview).

A local campus unit convenor described the operation

this way:

I get some material from Australia, like unit out-line, slides, etc. I generally just take it as guideline, and then I get it approved, get suggestions from my counterpart. Teaching method also; I adopt my own (interview).

For home campus academic managers, where Model

3 was adopted, some of the positives of models involv-

ing tighter home campus control still applied. In addition

some home campus academic managers see the arrange-

ment as having mutual benefit:

It is seen as a two-way learning opportunity for the academics – not someone looking over another’s shoulder (interview).

Sharing responsibility was often seen to be appropriate.

As a home campus program coordinator stated:

I have a lot of professional respect for them. We’re working on this together. They know their students, I know my students, they know what the end point is and if we get there differently, it doesn’t really matter (interview).

From an educational point of view, local academic man-

gers also see this model as desirable. As one unit convenor

put it:

Basically, I like to take the responsibility on my own … because here in Sarawak, it is me who is teach-ing the course … [I have] direct interaction with

Table 2: Models and the consequences for managers on home and transnational education campuses

1. Home campus control 2. Limited transnational campus control

3. Distributed control 4. Transnational campus control

For home campus managers

Managers can demonstrate leadership in curriculum design and implementation in a transnational education context and cross-cultural experience.The management load may limit opportunities for career advancement through research and publication.

Managers can demonstrate leadership in curriculum design and implementation in a transnational education context.Managers may be relieved of some of the assessment load of Model 1 but still the load may limit opportunities for career advancement through research and publication.

Managers can demonstrate some understanding of curriculum design and implementation in a transnational education context.Managers are relieved of some of the responsibility for design of learning student assessment, providing more opportunities for other career development.

Managers may have a modest opportunity for demonstrating some understanding of curriculum design and implementation in a transnational education context. They have more opportunities for other career development activities.

For transnational education campus managers

Enables demonstration of teaching ability but not management.

May be able to cite contribution to curriculum design, learning and teaching activities, and in assessment.

May be able to cite management and leadership in curriculum design, and in assessment.

Can cite management and leadership in curriculum design, and in assessment.



students; my counterpart sitting in Australia cannot actually have direct interaction with my students (interview)

For transnational campus academic managers this

model enabled them to claim experience in design of

curriculum, learning resources, learning and teaching

activities, and assessment. Nevertheless, a focus group

conducted at a branch campus pointed to a desire for

recognition and reward. High teaching loads along with

management responsibilities meant little time was avail-

able for research in a context in which research is highly

valued in applications for promotion. One branch campus

program coordinator observed:

It is negative for my research career, definitely, because I’ve got no time whatsoever to research. I think [that is why] I’m not an established professor yet (interview).

Transnational campus curriculum control

In a few cases, academics at the transnational campus

took full responsibility for curriculum, teaching and learn-

ing activities, as well as for assessment of student work.

This applied where the program or units of study counted

towards a home university award but were offered only

on the transnational campus. A major entitled ‘Borneo

Studies’ and an environmental engineering degree devel-

oped on the Curtin University Sarawak campus provide

examples (see http://archive.handbook.curtin.edu.au/

october2012/courses/31/312657.html). One branch

campus unit convenor reported:

We do have specific electives units that we have devel-oped ourselves so we are not entirely free of curricu-lum development responsibilities (interview).

In this case, academic managers on the transnational

campus can claim experience in all aspects of program

management and at a level recognised for Australian qual-

ity assurance purposes.

Conclusions

To hark back to Giddens’ concept of organisations being

constituted by people, the authors have cited here some

of our participants’ understandings of the rules and

resources that apply to their roles in the organisation and

their sense of enablement and constraint in undertaking

these roles. We have classified these responses to identify

consequences of the balance between home campus and

transnational campus decision making for academic man-

agers involved. No differences by academic disciplines

offered were observed.

In our key questions we asked what the organisational

features of the various models of transnational education

encountered are. The opportunities for the locus of deci-

sion making in transnational education ranged from all

program and unit of study decisions being made at the

home campus of the institution, through the possibil-

ity of some local contextualisation of teaching to local

decision making constrained only by the need to assure

the same student outcomes at transnational locations

as those attained at the home campus. Additionally, in

a few cases, units of study were developed and offered

only on a transnational campus. The model adopted has

consequences for academic managers at home and in

transnational locations.

The authors asked whether some arrangements for the

management of transnational education produced a set

of unequal relationships between local academics and

home campus academics and what the consequences

were of adopting a particular model for the home-based

and local academics involved. A high degree of home

campus control enables home campus academics to exer-

cise and demonstrate a range of educational management

functions but places a workload burden on them. A high

degree of home campus decision making limits manag-

ers on transnational campuses to administrative decisions

rather than substantial academic decisions; it also limits

their ability to demonstrate academic leadership, thus lim-

iting their career opportunities. This is sometimes seen as

neocolonialism by those engaged at the local level. While

it is not the focus of this study, which is concerned with

arrangements for management, it might be noted that a

high degree of home campus control may also result in

learning and teaching activities and assessment tasks for-

eign to the context and experiences of students in trans-

national settings.

Finally, the authors asked if best practice can be identi-

fied. As the definition of transnational education adopted

here involves an academic award granted by a home insti-

tution, a major consideration is assurance that the learn-

ing outcomes of transnational students are commensurate

with the learning outcomes for students studying on the

home campus. Many Australian awards will also qualify

students for recognition by professional associations in

Australia, so the standard of students graduating from

transnational education campuses needs to satisfy their

requirements as well. This can suggest that a high level

of home campus control is required and imply a subsidi-

ary role for local academics. On the other hand, there are

local governmental and professional quality assurance

requirements to be satisfied. The branch campuses that

were the focus of this study had to satisfy the require-



ments of the Malaysian Qualifications Agency along with

requirements of Malaysian professional associations such

as Engineers Malaysia and professional bodies in account-

ing. It becomes a matter of satisfying home and local

requirements. This means that some local campus have

to input to program content and program management.

In the event, the authors found that addressing quality

requirements and meeting with multiple agencies occupy

a considerable portion of program managers’ workloads

on transnational campuses.

An approach based on students attaining equivalent

outcomes from their study at home and on local campuses

may constitute the most satisfactory relationship. Within

an obligation to achieve the equivalent learning outcomes

it enables learning activities to be locally designed and for

assessment to be tailored to suit. This approach acknow-

ledges the differing environments of home campus and

transnational education students. It gives the possibility of

‘globalisation, a meaningful integration of local and global

forces, [which] can help educational leaders inform

and enhance their pedagogy and practice’ (McBurnie &

Ziguras, 2007). It is closer to a postcolonial arrangement

operating with a more equal balance of decision making

between local academics and home campus academics.

It provides opportunities for transnational education aca-

demics to take some management responsibilities and

to exercise some leadership. It may also enable them to

attract immediate reward for their effort and to further

their careers. It can relieve management demands on

home-campus academics.

Acknowledgements

The support of the Australian Office for Learning and

Teaching for the Learning Without Borders project along

with the contributions to the project of Shelley Yeo, Veron-

ica Goerke and Gillian Lueckenhausen are acknowledged.

Peter Ling is engaged in academic development at Victoria

University and Swinburne University Australia and was project

officer for Learning Without Borders.

Margaret Mazzolini is pro vice-chancellor Learning and

Teaching at Victoria University Australia and was project

leader for Learning Without Borders.

Beena Giridharan is the dean, Teaching and Learning at

Curtin University, Sarawak, Malaysia, and was a member of

the Learning Without Borders project team.

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Introduction

I will start by thanking the Union for defending staff in the

current industrial struggle, and for hosting this and other

discussions of the state of Australian universities and the

future of universities. I wish I could thank our university

management for the same. Perhaps I will be able to, a little

further down the track.

I’d also like to thank the colleagues who were involved

in making the Dear Michael video, both those who

appeared in it and those behind the camera. It wasn’t my

idea, I hasten to say. It was the product of intense work by

a small group, with a really wonderful result. There have

now been over 8300 viewings of that video on YouTube

(see www.youtube.com/watch?v=_A9219QQ20A) , and I

think it has got around in other ways too

I’d also like to thank the colleagues who contributed

open letters to the discussion at this university. (There are

now 11 open letters available on the NTEU Sydney Uni-

versity Branch website.) I admire the people who have

done this. I’m towards the end of my academic career, but

that’s not the case for everyone, and I admire their cour-

age, strength and engagement. I hope this is a genre of

debate that will develop around the country in future.

The problem

There has been a remarkable set of responses to these

initiatives, showing the relevance of the arguments

that were raised. Sometimes these responses have criti-

cised my formulations, which I’m also glad to have, and

sometimes they have extended them in new directions.

I’d like to read you passages from three of the letters

I’ve received. The first is from a now retired academic

colleague, who says:

I can’t remember university morale being so low in the last 60 years, and your letter tells us why it’s so low, and what might help us to lift it significantly … a very sad set of circumstances. It is painful to watch a fine institution declining in this way, victim of a man-agement ideology with little relevance to educational objectives and standards.

The second letter is from a current full-time academic.

Thank you for putting into words what many of us feel, Raewyn. I feel incredibly disappointed by the University’s lack of faith in me, and that dis-incentiv-ises me to give anything back in the future. Where once I was happy to volunteer for all kinds of service activities, now I won’t do it unless it’s workloaded or will help me get published. This is a direct result of management’s treatment of the staff.

OPINION

Love, fear and learning in the market universityRaewyn Connell University of Sydney

This is a lightly edited and updated transcript of the NTEU Occasional Lecture given on 24 April 2013 at the University of Sydney. My thanks to the NTEU University of Sydney Branch for the invitation to give this lecture, and to Leslie Marsden for making this text possible.


vol. 56, no. 2, 201456 Love, fear and learning in the market university Raewyn Connell

And the third is from a casually employed member of

staff.

I have recently been so disheartened by working at the university that I’m searching desperately for other options. I feel like there is no way for me to sustain a job at the university and sustain a life with my family that is as meaningful as my work. I can see that this could be possible if I was able to focus on the work at hand, but instead I find that I’m constantly talking to accountants about [tiny discrepancies] ... I also feel this would be possible if I wasn’t negotiating relation-ships with my colleagues that are hostile, competitive and combative. Even as an outsider, someone who is not yet fully immersed in this world, I feel emotion-ally exhausted witnessing fights about publications, requirements and places to put our energy so that we’re better placed for the next grant.

Well, this is anecdotal evidence, of course. I’ve had only

108 letters on this subject. When I was trying to get my

ideas together for this talk, I read through all these let-

ters and tried to identify the key themes, and that’s really

where the title of my talk comes from. Because the three

themes that leaped out at me from these communications

– not only from this university, but also from other Sydney

campuses, from other parts of Australia, indeed, from five

or six other countries – were these.

First of all, love: for the calling, for the task about know

ledge and teaching, and love for the institution of the

university.

Second, fear: fear for livelihood, fear for health, fear of

bullying and fear for the future of the institution.

And third, concern for learning: an emphasis on the

university as a knowledge institution, as an educational

centre at its core and concern that that is now deeply

at risk in the circumstances that my correspondents are

living in.

From that and other sources of evidence, I come to the

conclusion that the institution is in some kind of trouble.

In this session I invite you to think with me about how

we got to this state, what the problems are, the situations

of the different groups involved and where we might

go next.

A golden age?

There is now a critical literature about the neoliberal uni-

versity, both international and Australian, I’m sure that you

will be familiar with. This literature often has a nostalgic

tinge, a longing for a golden age of the university that we

are no longer in. I don’t exactly agree with this. I do think

it’s right to look back to the history of universities, but I

have a different take on that history.

Here I want to broaden the discussion beyond our own

beloved institution, to think about Australian universities

in general and more widely. Over time, universities have

changed. They have always been contested institutions;

there has never been a complete consensus about what

they should be or how they should work. There have

been different historical possibilities for what universities

might become, how we might do knowledge work and

advanced teaching.

It is something of a miracle that we got universities in

Australia when we did, back in the 1850s. The first two

were set up at the time settler Australia was a raw and

violent frontier colony – from the British point of view,

an outpost at the end of the world. There were, of course,

already existing Aboriginal civilisations in Australia. These

civilisations had organised bodies of knowledge, which

we now sometimes encounter in other forms. A Central

Desert painting, for instance, is now experienced by the

settler population as a fine artwork, but in the traditional

designs, it in fact embeds social knowledge, environmen-

tal knowledge and economic knowledge.

When universities were set up in the 1850s by the colo-

nists, they involved the obliteration of Indigenous know

ledge. A choice was made to disregard Indigenous culture

and Indigenous science, and to make the curriculum of

Australian universities completely dependent on classical

European culture. That was an early fork in the path that

defined the kind of institution we now have. It led Austral-

ian universities to a dependency that is still an issue today.

This was actually thematised by the founders of the

University of Sydney when they adopted the university’s

coat of arms and the university’s motto: Sidere Mens

Eadem Mutato. Those of you old enough to have studied

Latin at school will immediately grasp this, but for those

who didn’t, I’ll translate. It means – as near as I can get

it – ‘Under Changed Skies, The Same Mind’. Or, as I mod-

ernise it for my first year students, ‘We Aren’t Going To

Learn Anything New Here’.

So we got a Eurocentric curriculum from the start. The

universities, quite small institutions at the start, set out on

a double task. First, to bring classical European culture

to the otherwise drunken louts who were the sons of

the colonial bourgeoisie, the propertied classes in these

remote colonies, to uplift the life here. Second, to develop

professions: to provide training for professions such as

law, teaching and medicine.

The uplift and teaching were done by folk such as

Anderson Stewart, the first professor of medicine here,

and a notable example of the social character that came

to be called the God–Professor. In Stewart’s time, the


vol. 56, no. 2, 2014 Love, fear and learning in the market university Raewyn Connell 57

university had a small workforce of permanently estab-

lished staff. Provided they didn’t do anything socially

unacceptable, they had jobs pretty much for life. It is

surprising that such a conservative institution became

involved in a kind of social revolution, but it did. Australia

had, in the late 19th century, a relatively strong feminist

movement and we were among the pioneers of higher

education for women, I’m pleased to say. My great-aunt

Maude was one of the beneficiaries, one of the first of

her generation of women to go to university in Australia,

indeed, in the world.

In the mid 20th century Australian universities also

began to get a significant number of working-class

students. This came in the context of war and postwar

reconstruction, and an important shift in state policy. Gov-

ernments began to see the university as one of the tools

of economic and social development, that is, modernisa-

tion. At the time, the Australian economy was on a path

of industrialisation, government was supporting it, and

secondary and higher education were vehicles of mod-

ernisation. So in the 1950s and 1960 we began a dramatic

expansion of the number of students, with increasing

recruitment of working class youth.

At the same time, and for very much the same develop-

mentalist logic, Australian universities shifted from being

essentially undergraduate teaching institutions to being

also research institutions. That was the specific mission

of the ANU when it was set up in the 1940s to provide

a kind of research top to the Australian university scene.

Soon, other universities very rapidly the got in on the act.

We thus began to essentially get a new kind of institution,

very different from the colonial finishing schools. We might

call it a mass research university, a research-driven univer-

sity operating on a very much larger scale. The system was

increasingly funded by the Commonwealth government, a

development sponsored by no less a politician than Bob

Menzies. With that funding came an expansion of staff and

a differentiation of groups of staff. University employment

was not exactly a mass occupation, but it did involve a sig-

nificantly larger professional workforce.

That was the context of struggles to democratise the

universities. Student protest actually began in the 1940s,

as far as I know, but developed on a larger scale in the

1960s. There followed attempts to democratise access and

the internal workings of the university. In the 1970s there

was a shift towards participation in the running of the

institution, even experiments in democratically controlled

departments. The God–Professor was going into eclipse.

Under Gough Whitlam’s Labor government the federal

government took over full funding of Australian universi-

ties and made university education free, from the point of

view of the students.

These were moves that might have set the university

on a seriously democratic course. Then, in the late 1980s,

under another Labor government, there was another shift

that had the same potential. It was the policy change that

amalgamated the mass research university with the other

higher education institutions that were not research insti-

tutions, mainly, colleges of advanced education (CAE) and

technological institutes.

There was again a dramatic increase in the number of

students in the university system, which had a very con-

siderable potential for democratising higher education.

This was certainly the intention and the rhetoric of John

Dawkins, the minister who was principally responsible

for this change under the Hawke government.

However, this occurred at a time when a radical shift in

Australian public policy in general was taking place, the

shift that, in Australia, was first called economic ration-

alism. In Latin America it was called neoliberalism; now,

that’s probably globally the most commonly used term.

[Economic rationalism] involved a change in the relation-

ship between governments, capitalists and intellectuals.

It involved increasing levels of inequality, shifts in social

power towards business and away from labour, increas-

ing accumulation of wealth in the hands of the privileged

groups, and it produced the stunning concentrations of

wealth that we see at the top of the Australian distribution

scale right now.

That’s a global change, of course. We are familiar with

the names of Ronald Reagan and Margaret Thatcher, and

their ideologues such as Milton Friedman. But the first

neoliberal head of government was General Augusto

Pinochet, military dictator of Chile. The global story of

neoliberalism includes many other figures from the world

periphery, from Roger Douglas to Thabo Mbeki, Fernando

Henrique Cardoso and Carlos Menem. In our own local

history, it includes Paul Keating, John Howard and Julia

Gillard.

In the wake of all of this, we came into a new phase in

the history of Australian universities, the phase we are now

in. This is the era of the market, or neoliberal, university.

The world of the market university

I want to talk about the nature of the market university by

looking at the situation of the major players in the tussles

around what will happen to Australian universities: gov-

ernments, university managements, university staff, and

students and their families. I will take these in turn.



Governments as principal funders

First of all, governments, the principal funders of univer-

sities. In Australia the federal government sets policy for

the whole system, although anachronistically, universities

actually exist under state law.

Since the 1980s, Australian federal governments have

essentially followed neoliberal policy regimes. With a

restructured global economy and changed power rela-

tions internationally, they have had to contend with global

shifts towards neoliberalism. They’ve had some room for

manoeuvre in this, they’ve had policy choices. But the

policy choices Australian governments have actually made

have persistently led in neoliberal directions.

So, increasingly, higher education has been conceived

of as a market or, strictly speaking, a set of markets. Uni-

versities have increasingly been perceived of by govern-

ments on the model of competitive firms operating in that

market and contesting with each other for the benefits to

be gained from it.

This has led inevitably

to a concern on the part of

governments with ways of

measuring the competitive

success and failure of these

firms. In the realm of school

education, this has led to My

School and NAPLAN, and all the apparatus of competi-

tive testing that teachers in schools loathe and policy

makers love.

In the university world, where it is rather more dif-

ficult to give everybody tests of arithmetic and English,

the policy regime has led to an increasing preoccupation

with league tables. It is not long since Julia Gillard, our

then PM, announced as a national policy objective – as if it

were a meaningful goal – getting 10 Australian universities

into the top 100. She was careful not to specify which of

the rival lists we had to win gold on. The inevitable conse-

quence of the league table game is not market differentia-

tion and diversity, but a convergence on the market leader.

That means, for Australian universities, a reinforcement of

the old pattern of academic dependence. That’s because

we only do well in this kind of competition if we are look-

ing more like Harvard, Yale and the other market leaders,

and thus become attractive in terms of the kind of compe-

tition those universities dominate.

A second feature of government involvement in the

university world is a core theme of neoliberal policy gen-

erally – shifting from public provision of public services

to a user pays principle. Increasingly, public services are

commodified. The people to whom services are supplied

are expected to pay. The principal form that has taken in

the university sector is student fees, brought in through

the ingenious HECS system. As the user pays principle has

gained a grip, there has been a dramatic shift in the fund-

ing of Australian universities. Over 30 years, the direct con-

tribution from central government to university budgets

fell from about 90 per cent to about 45 per cent. It’s a

colossal shift in the nature of university funding. You soon

begin to understand why university managements have

become paranoid about things that will affect, or seem to

affect, market position.

The third important change in the governmental

approach to universities is a specific feature of neoliberal-

ism in the global south, which is not the same as neoliber-

alism in the global north. In the south, neoliberalism has,

more than anything else, meant a shift in development

strategy from industrialisation in the search for economic

autonomy to a search for comparative advantage in global

markets through export

industries. In Australia, the

search for comparative

advantage led straight to the

coal and iron ore deposits.

We have de-industrialised;

our economy is now heav-

ily dependent on mining for

export. Increasingly, that has been the approach govern-

ments have taken to universities too: higher education is

defined as an export industry, the moral equivalent of iron

ore. It’s a distinguished position in the world.

So Australian universities were pushed to sell their ser-

vices overseas, and some became heavily dependent on

this income. From another point of view, this means that

Australian governments are expecting to make Asia pay

for the expansion of the Australian university system. That

is a dramatic shift, moral as well as cultural, from the rela-

tionship that existed a generation and a half ago, when

we gave free education to a certain number of students,

especially from southeast Asia, as a form of development

aid from a rich country to poorer countries.

Management

Turning now to management. University managers have

had to cope with these shifts in government policy, to

contend with a new set of pressures. But university man-

agement has also been advantaged by some of these

shifts in policy. The Dawkins moment of expansion and

amalgamation with CAEs was a moment when manage-

rial authority and power in Australian universities dramati-

cally increased. That was when the capacity of managers

Universities have increasingly been perceived by governments on the model of competitive firms operating in that market,

and contesting with each other for the benefits to be gained from it.



to determine the future of universities reached its con-

temporary level. And as managers have become more the

source of authority, the key determinants of events, other

forms of decision making in universities have declined.

We haven’t returned to the God–Professor, thank heaven,

but there has been a decline in academic democracy, local

decision making within universities.

At the same time, the top level of management in uni-

versities increasingly resembles the top level of manage-

ment in the corporate world in terms of pay levels – the

actual form of pay, the award of bonuses to top managers

in universities, is a striking feature of this – in terms of the

language they use and in terms of their way of running an

organisation, including their approach to industrial rela-

tions, as we have been seeing over the last year. From a

sociological viewpoint, the elite levels of power in univer-

sities have come to be assimilated with those in the cor-

porate economy. This happens in the context of a wider

convergence of public-sector institutions on private-sec-

tor models, which we also see in the CSIRO, indeed, in a

whole range of formerly public-sector institutions.

It involves an important shift in the relationship

between university management and university staff. In

broad terms, this relationship used to be grounded on a

mutual understanding of the professional character of uni-

versity staff – a professionalism that meant that staff could

be trusted to do their jobs, to know what they were about

and to get on with it. University staff were understood to

be self-directing to a large extent, not just as individuals

but also through professional and occupational cultures

and mutual learning.

That assumption has been very much in decline. Man-

agement now proceeds on the assumption that the prac-

tices, behaviour and performance of the staff need to be

managed, meaning monitored, documented, recorded and

directed. We now have in Australian universities, as in the

corporate economy, a very significant shift to audit cul-

ture in place of professional culture. The mistrust of staff

on which audit culture is built is now pervasive in univer-

sity life. Everyone in this room will be familiar with the

kind of thing I mean, in the tremendous expansion of per-

formance management and documentation and reporting

requirements.

Here’s an extract from an email I got a week or two ago

from an anonymous computer, telling me I was overdue

with a required piece of reporting on behalf of a graduate

student. You will recognise the style, I’m sure.

Please log into IRMA to submit an annual report form to record the progress of your study; ongoing or com-pleted by following the instructions below:

1. Log into IRMA.

2. Click on ‘Researcher Profile’ at the top right.

3. Navigate to the ‘Human Ethics’ tab.

4. Click on the ‘Create’ button.

5. Select the form titled ‘Annual & Completion Report’.

6. Link to your project.

7. Fill in the questionnaire in the ‘Questionnaire’ Tab.

8. Return to the ‘Coversheet’ tab to submit.

Any researcher listed on the protocol is able to com-plete and submit this report, followed by approval from the Chief Investigator. Failure to do so may result in your project no longer having ethical approval. The Chief Investigator will be sent a separate email with instructions on how to approve the submission.

And then what will happen? Actually, nothing. This is a

completely pointless exercise. It is fake accountability. It

won’t affect anything at all except to waste my time. And,

of course, to reinforce some system’s internal logic.

But let me call your attention to one sentence: ‘Fail-

ure to do so may result in your project no longer having

ethical approval.’ Implied here is a cancellation of official

approval, perhaps voiding insurance, at worst implying

that my student won’t get the degree. There’s usually a

some threat involved in these surveillance mechanisms:

sometimes quite a serious threat, sometimes a minor or

silly one.

That’s the kind of thing that leads me to say there is an

institutionalised mistrust now in relations between man-

agement and staff, partly mediated through these anony-

mous systems. I’d like to read an extract from the open

letter written by Robert van Krieken:

There’s no ceiling to how much we can – and there-fore in a sense are required to – say about our past, present and future performance. One of my fields of interest is the sociology of organisations, and it’s very clear that the design of systems for performance man-agement and organisational auditing has become an industry in itself, with no signs of university managers having any sense of where to place the boundaries around that industry’s constant expansion and prolif-eration.

I think everyone in this room will know what he means.

Staff have to contend with these changes in manage-

ment practices as well as the background changes in state

policy. And things have been happening in the lives of

staff too.

Staff dispersement and casualisation

One thing I’m very much concerned about is the way

that restructurings of universities under neoliberal policy



pressures have tended to separate staff from each other.

There has been a tendency to separate academic staff

from general staff. Sometimes this has meant relocating

general staff in rooms away from academic staff, and away

from students. Sometimes it has meant concentrating non-

academic staff around the senior managers themselves, in

units that are increasingly remote from the chalkface of

the university’s operations.

Sometimes it is more radical than that, in the case of

when general staff functions that used to be performed

by university permanent staff have been outsourced. It

is a typical neoliberal move, to turn such tasks into com-

modities and decide that it’s cheaper to outsource them,

whether it be printing, security, ICT or whatever. Thus the

university management gives up its responsibility for the

workers involved, for their welfare and conditions; they’re

now employed by another company, which is just con-

tracting to provide the service. But this manoeuvre also

deeply separates the different groups of staff who actually

do the work of the university. It makes it more difficult

for staff to learn from each other, to exchange knowledge

and cooperate in the deeper ways that actually make a

knowledge institution work well.

Under pressure for performance, general and aca-

demic staff are to have greater output for the given set

of resources. I’d like now to quote another of the open

letters, this one from Mark Johnson, speaking of the expe-

rience of general staff in one of the faculties.

We are among the most productive university workers in the whole country. This doesn’t happen by accident. It happens because we work hard, we cooperate and we apply our imaginations as well as elbow grease to advance the mission of the university. Throughout the university, there are general staff members who routinely work beyond their paid hours and duty state-ments. We all know that the university would not func-tion without that extra effort.

He is absolutely right in that.

In the lives of academic and non-academic univer-

sity staff, the level of stress is undoubtedly increasing,

nowhere more than among the group who now do half

of the teaching in Australian universities, not only without

having permanency, but also without much prospect of

having secure jobs.

Casualisation is one of the main consequences of the

neoliberal policy regime and managerial decision making.

I’m not going to labour this, because it is something

people are very familiar with, but I want to read from an

open letter about this point, from Nour Dados, who her-

self is on a fixed-term contract:

I can tell you that our lives offer us no such flexibility – rent still has to be paid, bills still have to be paid, and food has to be put on the table. No one I know has a casual life, nor do they have a casual attitude to their work. Giving those of my generation no choice other than to accept precarious work conditions in order to have work at all, marginalises and devalues our contribution to the collective knowledge that all of us benefit from.

And that’s a message I wish our management, the man-

agement of other Australian universities, and our policy

makers, would hear.

The students

Now the students. Students, of course, have to contend

with the changes in the lives of the staff and the chang-

ing circumstances in which the staff are doing their

work. The key change here is that students in the neo-

liberal regime are increasingly redefined as customers,

as people who are buying a service on the market. That

has been the logic of the reorganisation of the whole

system, since 1987.

Not long ago I was at a conference on teaching and

learning, organised by the NTEU in Melbourne. It included

a session organised by students, who aren’t often heard

in the policy discussions. I remember vividly one of the

speakers started by saying:

I’m not a client. I’m not a customer. I’m actually a student.

That is a message we need to hear. The redefinition of

students as customers, and the demand on students and

their families to provide increasing amounts of the funding

of the higher education system, places stress on the fami-

lies. It has driven large numbers of students to compromise

and limit their learning because they have to get jobs. A

large proportion of our undergraduate students now, even

when they are enrolled full time, are actually supporting

themselves with part-time jobs, which impacts not only on

their learning in courses, but also on the richer social and

cultural learning that is part of being a student at a univer-

sity, an important part of university life.

Even when it’s not being directly attacked, as it was

by the Howard government not too long ago, student

culture has been thinned out by these processes. Here I

give Brownie points to Sydney University management,

who responded to the Howard government’s attempt to

destroy student unions by providing some university sup-

port for student organisations. They got that one right, but

across the board, student life too is under pressure, and

some of its richness is at severe risk of being lost.



I want to end this section with some remarks about the

organisational culture of the market university.

We see within universities the things we see more

widely in societies that have taken a neoliberal turn. There

is a growth of concern with competition, something very

clear in the letters I have read from. There is also a growth

in hierarchy, that is, greater distance between the more

privileged and the less privileged. In universities, that

is partly a matter of growing inequality in the national

system epitomised by the GO8, partly a matter of the divi-

sion between management and staff within universities

and partly a matter of the division between permanent

and casual staff; it takes other forms too.

At the same time as we see greater hierarchy and ine-

quality in the sector, we have less and less of the language

through which we can talk about that, through which we

can formulate questions of justice and purpose and direc-

tion. The public language of the universities is becoming

increasingly slippery, increasingly concerned to produce

favourable market effects.

We see this on the websites, in the glossy misrepre-

sentation of what universities are actually like and in the

exclusion of contradictory voices. It’s quite impressive

that the online face of University of Sydney managed to

ignore – almost completely – the fact that it was in the

middle of the biggest industrial upheaval in the history

of the institution. The rebranding of Sydney University,

which was actually officially called ‘re-branding’ (did they

forget the literal meaning of the word?), also fascinates me.

One reason is that in going from the university’s coat of

arms to its current corporate logo, it dropped the motto,

thereby abandoning one of the best jokes in the Australian

university system. Damn it.

More seriously, Australian universities are now some-

times operating in real double speak. I will quote

another of the open letters on this, this one from Laleen

Jayamanne.

Recently, we were told by senior research and manage-ment staff that what was needed NOW was ‘quality’ not ‘quantity’. This comes within months of all academic members of staff being threatened with redundancy if they did not meet an arbitrary and retrospective quantity of research, with little or no consideration of quality. This kind of double talk, unaccountable capri-cious rhetoric to which we are ceaselessly subjected, makes me feel that I am a minor player in a very badly scripted absurdist play, perhaps Ionesco.

This suggests that a deep cultural problem is develop-

ing in institutions that, in principle, are dedicated to truth,

clear thinking and open debate.

Some Utopian thoughts for Australian universities

What are we going to do about this? Twenty-five years of

neoliberal policy settings, and managerialism within the

universities have quite strikingly failed to produce a con-

cept of the university, an identity for universities that com-

mands respect and enthusiasm in society and even within

the universities themselves.

That is one reason for the current policy debacle, the

so-called efficiency dividend that is to be extracted from

Australian universities in the 2013 Budget with Labor and

Liberal support. Now there’s slippery language for you –

calling funding cuts an efficiency dividend. But we don’t

have a good answer. We don’t have a convincing narrative

of what a university is, what it should be and what it is

doing for society, that will enable us to resist that kind of

policy reversal.

We cannot wait for the current ruling groups in Austral-

ian society to solve that one for us. If we wait for Gina,

Clive, Rupert, Julia or Tony to produce a new model of the

university, we will be waiting a long time. University staff

and students have to generate our own narrative of what

a university should be, and what it could be, in the future.

The starting point for that is exactly stated in another of

the open letters, by Rowanne Couch, who argues for

responding directly in outlook to our public value proposition rather than simply to our potential for profit generation and capacity to compete on merit. A purely corporate approach is not the only available response to the challenges we face.

In that spirit, I want to end this talk with a little Utopian

thinking. I’ll be brief. This is my attempt to characterise the

kind of university I would like to be in and would want

to pass on to the next generation. It’s a kind of graduate

outcomes statement for university managers: any moves

you make in these directions will make a better university.

First, I want a university that is educationally confident.

By that I mean a university that owns its own curriculum,

that doesn’t depend on Harvard, or league tables, to vali-

date what we’re doing. A university that is able to respond

to that statement: ‘I’m not a client. I’m not a customer.

I’m actually a student.’ We should have the confidence

to build on that identity. We should participate in global

knowledge systems with strength, not dependency.

Second, I want a university that’s socially plural and

socially engaged. By socially plural I mean seriously inclu-

sive; it should have within it the full range of social groups

and social experiences, it should draw on the whole

society. An individual university may not always be in a



position to manage that, which means we have to fun-

damentally think at the level of a cooperative university

system, not at the level of a competitive individual firm.

We need to think about the new populations that should

be present in the university, and about inclusive curricula.

We have a monocultural curriculum in Australian univer-

sities, practically speaking, but we live in a multicultural

world.

Third, I want a university that’s a good place to work

in. We are not going to solve the cultural and intellectual

problems of universities unless we have a decent place

for their workforce. I don’t think it’s all that hard to do. We

can have a workplace that is cooperative, that’s respectful

and provides security for its workforce. That’s a conceiv-

able thing to do in the society we now have. It’s a task fit

for management to work towards.

Fourth, I want a democratic institution. I want a univer-

sity that doesn’t split groups of staff from each other, but

rather, builds connections between them. A university that

is concerned with participatory decision making on the

serious issues, not elite decision making that’s validated

afterwards by a little bit of consultation, and one where

the Gini index, the measure of inequality, within the insti-

tution falls rather than increases.

Fifth, I want an institution that is epistemologically mul-

tiple. Universities are multidisciplinary places, in a deep

sense; there are different institutional cultures in different

parts of the university and they should be valued. I want

an institution that recognises Australia as a continent with

two civilisations, Indigenous and settler–colonial, and that

recognises the many ancestors of our cultural and intel-

lectual world. I want a university that is capable of deal-

ing with the postcolonial revolution in knowledge that is

happening world-wide, though it is slow to get a grip in

Australia.

My sixth point is about the cultural presence of the uni-

versity. This will sound old fashioned, but I’ll stick to it:

I want a university with a modest demeanour. We don’t

need to be boasting in the way universities now habitually

do, even if they call it marketing. We don’t need to build

glitzy palaces to teach and think well in. We don’t need

managerial salaries in the stratosphere. We don’t need to

be running around with the rich and famous. We are a

knowledge institution, a service, a service to the society,

and we can do that well, without claiming privilege and

without wasting public resources.

Finally, although I argue for a modest demeanour, I also

think we should be ambitious – intellectually. Indeed, Aus-

tralian universities are not ambitious enough in this way.

We tend too easily to accept definitions of the situation, to

accept curricula, texts and research agendas, from other

sources. I want an institution that’s concerned not with

PIs – performance indicators – but with DIs – depth in

ideas. This means being concerned with the cultivation

of imagination, because research involves imagination as

well as patient work with data.

Above all, this means a concern for truth. That should

be the core of our presence in the culture and in the soci-

ety – an institution that is centrally concerned with the

promotion and development of truth. That’s why I’m hor-

rified by the shift into advertising and boasting, the glossy

misrepresentations of reality that the market university

has now got into.

Combining a concern for ideas, multiple knowledges,

cultivation of imagination and a discipline of truth, that

is not easy to do. That’s hard, as anyone who’s had hands-

on experience of serious research, or anyone who’s done

much university teaching, will know. It’s why the staff of

an institution such as this do need the support of their

managers – support, not the endless creation of difficul-

ties – for dealing with that complex and difficult work.

The idea of meeting challenges has become a neoliberal

cliché, so one hesitates to use this phrase, but there are

worthwhile challenges for managers here.

To return to the themes I started with, drawn from the

letters I received. If we can move in the directions just

outlined, and get enough support for that difficult intel-

lectual ambition that should be the heart of university life,

then it will be possible for the element of love – love for

knowledge, for the institution and for our fellow work-

ers – to rise. It will be possible for the widespread expe-

rience of fear and anxiety in contemporary universities

to decline. It will be possible for learning to flourish, not

only within the institution, but also more widely in the

society, with the university as a node and support for a

wider cultural process. That, I think, would be a university

not only worth working for, but also worth living for.

Raewyn Connell is university professor at the University of

Sydney.



Introduction

Story 1

Academic speaking to a member of the public: ‘What would you know about it?’

Story 2

A prominent researcher visited a university to give a public lecture. When a local teacher dared to ask a question, the visitor responded, ‘That was the wrong question, from the wrong person, at the wrong time. Better luck next time.’

It is not unusual to hear people who have encountered

academics and the university environment telling about

the scorn coming down on them from above. Non-

academics may feel what they say is considered of little

value just because they don’t know the right jargon or

have a degree. When their questions are dismissed with-

out serious consideration, they may think: Are my ques-

tions stupid? or, Why won’t the academics answer?

Many undergraduates find that their opinions are not

respected by their teachers. Research students feel over-

looked when their supervisors cannot remember their

names or don’t greet them when they meet in the corri-

dor. Going to international conferences in their discipline

to present a paper for the first time, doctoral students

might encounter an inner circle of highly regarded pro-

fessors who do not look in their direction, and hardly ever

bother to introduce themselves if they happen to end up

next to them in the lunch queue. Academics in the social

sciences or humanities who work together with natural

scientists soon realise that what they are doing is not con-

sidered real science, just as sociologists using qualitative

methods are treated as less scientific than those who use

statistics. Scholars on short-term appointments are poten-

tial targets of academic snobbery from those with perma-

nent jobs (DeSantis, 2011).

In this article, the authors introduce the topic of aca-

demic snobbery, using stories to illustrate its different

forms. The authors’ special interest is in the seldom-inves-

tigated challenge of how to expose and oppose academic

snobbery.

Varieties of academic snobbery

Story 3

A junior academic, who could find only short-term work, felt she was invisible. Her head of school did not respond to her emails. When others entered a room, they were greeted, but she was ignored. Then, one day, she brought a friend, a famous local figure, to give a seminar. For a change, everyone said hello to her, and her head replied to her latest email. However, within a couple of weeks she was invisible again.

Story 4

At a university, academics met to discuss a planned relo-cation of their organisational units within a common

Confronting academic snobberyBrian Martin & Majken Jul SørensenUniversity of Wollongong

Snobbery in academia can involve academics, general staff, students and members of the public, and can be based on degrees, disciplines, cliques and other categories. Though snobbery is seldom treated as a significant issue, it can have damaging effects on morale, research and public image. Strategies against snobbery include avoidance, private feedback, formal complaints and public challenges.


vol. 56, no. 2, 201464 Confronting academic snobbery Brian Martin & Majken Jul Sørensen

building, which had a pompous main entrance. The representative of one of the social sciences, who obvi-ously considered his discipline superior to the others’, said: ‘We can’t accept any proposal where we will be located away from the main entrance. That entrance is part of our brand.’

Story 5:

A group of junior academics developed a new research area. Those in mainstream disciplines ignored the junior academics and their research – until the group managed to secure a very large research grant. Sud-denly, everyone was eager to cooperate with them and went to great lengths to make their own research projects include a perspective on the area.

Story 6:

At a seminar, the head of a research institute was presenting his latest research. A PhD student asked a question about the professor’s data collection method, and received this reply: ‘I have written my PhD thesis and had it approved. I now have my driving licence for doing research.’

Story 7

In a unit where nearly all the academics had PhDs, people called each other by their given names. How-ever, one of the academics, doing a PhD, was regularly addressed by a particular colleague as ‘Ms Jones’.

Story 8

A highly productive scholar was leaving the men’s toilet and encountered a scientist who (believing his own discipline was superior) said: ‘Leaving your office, are you?’

These stories here are samples of those told to us

during informal conversations in Australia and Sweden.

It seems as if everyone who has spent just a little time

within academia has a snobbery story to share. Details

that would identify a particular university or individual

have been removed or altered to keep the identity of the

sources of the stories confidential.

As illustrated above, snobbery can be directed towards a

number of targets: non-academics, students and colleagues

with lower status, including those working in disciplines

or on topics considered inferior, those on temporary con-

tracts and those with degrees from ‘inferior’ universities.

Sometimes snobbery is revealed by a scornful remark or

glance; in other instances, it is manifested through behav-

iour, as with the junior academics developing a research

area. Sometimes snobbery is revealed by the absence of

attention or politeness; the insult is in being treated less

well than others.

Academic snobbery can be directed towards particular

individuals; it can also involve condescending attitudes

towards entire disciplines. Academic snobbery resembles

other types of discriminatory or unpleasant behaviour

involving status and hierarchies. What appears to one

person to be snobbery might be better interpreted as

gender stereotyping, racism, ageism, bullying or ignorance.

Similarly, what some see as gender discrimination might

be better interpreted as snobbery. Although remarks

might be hurtful, academic snobbery is seldom as harmful

as bullying that systematically targets an individual.

There is a bigger picture too. The competition between

universities to improve their reputations and to rise

within national and international rankings is a breeding

ground for snobbery. The increasing attention given to

celebrity intellectuals encourages striving for fame rather

than the satisfactions of service to scholarship and the

community. At elite universities and within disciplines

whose members feel superior to others, cultures of con-

tempt for lesser orders can develop and fester.

Does academic snobbery matter?

Some people might think: So what? Snobbery is every-

where, but if you think academic snobbery is especially

annoying, find another job. This type of snobbery has con-

sequences beyond the effects on people’s emotions. It

might mean that relevant questions and concerns are not

addressed because they don’t come from the right kind of

people. Innovation can be stymied when leading figures

treat ideas from newcomers with contempt.

Individuals who might have become passionate and

innovative teachers and researchers may turn their back

on academia if they don’t feel respected and valued, and

instead put their energy and initiative into other endeav-

ours. Research findings might be ignored because they

came from the wrong discipline.

The scholarly system of peer review of publications is

designed to promote quality independent of the status of

the authors. Status considerations, which are hard to avoid,

even in peer review (Epstein, 1990; Wenneras & Wold,

1997), play a major role in other facets of academic life.

Senior figures, for example, can use their influence over

appointments, tenure and promotions to give priority to

people who support their line of academic thinking. Within

small academic environments, people curry favour with

their superiors to maximise their chances of promotion

and funding.

In a Danish study on emotions within academia, Char-

lotte Bloch (2012) interviewed 54 people in academic

positions, ranging in status from PhD students to profes-

sors. Although her book is first and foremost concerned


vol. 56, no. 2, 2014 Confronting academic snobbery Brian Martin & Majken Jul Sørensen 65

with emotions and how staff within academia deal with

them, it provides plenty of examples that can be inter-

preted as academic snobbery. For Bloch’s informants,

doing good science for the benefit of society does not

come across as a high priority. Instead, researchers spend

much energy positioning themselves to have their work

recognised by the right people and to secure a job in a

competitive working environment.

When success in academia depends more on navigating

the system than developing and communicating useful

knowledge, society can lose out. So it is in the general

interest to combat academic snobbery. Few people like to

think of themselves as being snobs – after all, they think

they really are superior and are deserving of more atten-

tion and respect than others.

Dealing with snobbery

There is considerable research on the social and psycho-

logical dynamics relevant to snobbery, such as on hierar-

chies in animal and human groups (Chase, 1980), scorn

and envy (envy being the obverse of scorn) (Fiske, 2011),

class analysis and social stratification (Scott, 1996), narcis-

sism (Twenge & Campbell, 2009) and the corruption of

power (Kipnis, 1976; Robertson, 2012). This research can

provide insight into what is going on when a person is

snobbish. Here, though, our interest is in a more practical

matter: what you can do when confronted by academic

snobbery. This is a matter of strategy and tactics.

Research into strategy and tactics occurs in some fields,

such as business and warfare, but interpersonal interac-

tions are rarely studied from a strategic point of view. To

do this, it is possible to draw inspiration from the classic

work by Erving Goffman (1970) on strategic interaction,

and on more recent analysis of the dilemmas of strategic

encounters by James Jasper (2006). Studying men’s domi-

nation of women in political parties and organisations,

Berit Ås (1979) identified five ‘master suppression tech-

niques’, ranging from ‘making invisible’ and ‘ridiculing’ to

‘withholding information’; however, little of such work

looks specifically at snobbery.

The authors drew up a list of possible responses to

snobbery inspired by tactics used to oppose other sorts

of injustice, such as unfair dismissal and police beatings

(Martin, 2007). Another source of ideas was a set of coun-

ter strategies and validation strategies proposed to deal

with each of Ås’s master suppression techniques (Amnéus

et al., 2004). We circulated the resulting list to others to

obtain feedback, including examples and other types of

responses (see Table 1). In all this, our aim is to discover

effective ways to challenge snobbery rather than to justify,

continue or increase it.

Broadly, strategies can be classified into ‘exit’ and ‘voice’

(Hirschman, 1970): either avoid snobbish behaviours or

speak out about them. ‘Exit’ in this context means avoid-

ing people or situations where snobbery is likely to occur.

This is possible at, for example, a large conference where

there are many people to talk with, but avoidance is more

difficult when faced with snobbery in your research team

or by your department head. Snobbery is not usually seri-

ous enough to warrant changing supervisors or jobs; how-

ever, even if you are not personally bothered by snobbery,

it may be causing damage to learning and research in your

area.

‘Voice’ means expressing criticism or complaint.

There are many ways to do this, and it can be done by

individuals, a concerned group of colleagues or through

an already established organisation, such as a union. The

Table 1. Possible responses to academic snobbery, with advantages and disadvantages

Method Advantages Disadvantages

Avoidance Reduced exposure to snobbery Not easy with colleagues and superiors, snobbery not challenged

Private feedback to individuals Behaviour change possible while saving face Some individuals will not respond or will be offended, risk of an increase in snobbish behaviour

Direct challenge in public: serious/rational Behaviours confronted, witnesses potentially empowered

Increased antagonism

Direct challenge in public: humorous Behaviours confronted, witnesses potentially empowered, antagonism limited, difficult to respond to

Problem perceived to be treated as not serious

Formal complaints Behaviours confronted Complaints not addressed, complainant seen as over-reacting

Reverse snobbery Snobbery countered Snobbery entrenched as mode of interaction



most discreet approach is to speak to individuals in pri-

vate, encouraging them to reflect on their behaviour. This

can be effective in some cases, but those most likely to be

responsive are probably least likely to be offenders.

Another method of speaking out is to make a formal

complaint using, for example, a grievance procedure.

While there might be rules against sexual harassment

and bullying, there are no rules against snobbery, so

making a formal complaint is unlikely to be effective.

Complaining to a boss is possible, but what can a boss

do except have a private conversation with the alleged

offender?

The most promising form of voice is some sort of public

challenge to snobbish acts. ‘Public’ here means in front of

the person concerned and/or others who are potentially

aware of the behaviour. Most strategies are verbal, and for

this it is possible to draw on responses to verbal abuse

(Elgin, 2009; Horn, 1996; Thompson & Jenkins 1993).

Story 9:

Smith, a junior researcher, has just given a seminar and not done especially well. A senior figure in the audi-ence comments to a colleague, loud enough for you and several others to hear: ‘That was pathetic. Smith ought to go back to the caves.’ This is accompanied by a facial expression of disgust.

What can you say? What can you do?

Option 1

‘Smith is new to the game. I’m going to suggest how the presentation could be improved.’ Even though the speaker is demonstrating a supportive approach, it is an implicit reproach.

Option 2

‘I hope you’ll give Smith some helpful feedback.’ This is more explicit.

Option 3

‘When did you start thinking that sneering is a schol-arly sort of response?’ This is stronger.

Option 4

‘Why are you being such a snob?’ This explicitly con-fronts the snobbery head on.

Because snobbery is seldom seen as a major issue, one

risk in challenging it is being perceived as over-reacting,

though it is a probably a risk less for witnesses than for

direct targets. In addition to having a moral responsibil-

ity to react, more options might also be available to the

witnesses than to the target of the scorn.

One way for targets and witnesses to minimise the risk

is to use humour. This leads to more options, given that

humour can be diversionary, subtle and/or aggressive. The

following comments need to be accompanied by appro-

priate facial expressions and gestures, and delivered with

just the right timing.

Option 5

‘Back to the caves? Does that mean joining you?’

Option 6

‘Back to the caves? Isn’t that where Plato obtained inspiration?’

Critique expressed in an ironic frame is likely to be

taken as less severe than open criticism; the non-serious

framing takes the edge off the criticism (Dews et al.,

1995). In addition, since having a sense of humour is so

highly valued in most societies, anyone considered unable

to take a joke is considered to be over-reacting. Many fem-

inists and targets of bullying have heard remarks about

their lack of humour; those who are snobbish are just

as vulnerable to this criticism. Because humour is often

situation specific, preparation and practice are needed to

develop the capacity for effective responses. People who

anticipate encountering snobbery might benefit from

practising with a friend or trusted colleague.

Story 10

After a centre of excellence was set up in a depart-ment, which involved just a few academics, one of those left out put a sign on his door: ‘Peripheral medi-ocrity.’

When exposing snobbery, there are two main audi-

ences: the person exhibiting snobbish behaviour and

the witnesses. Taking action in front of witnesses is usu-

ally more powerful. Suppose an academic, Xavier Uppity,

when walking by, says hello only to those he thinks are

worthy of consideration. If you are one of those he snubs,

you can draw attention to his behaviour by pointedly by

saying hello to Xavier, given that it is normally consid-

ered impolite not to respond to a greeting. If someone is

accompanying you, or standing nearby, Xavier’s snub will

be witnessed. This will be effective only if Xavier doesn’t

want to be too obvious about being snobbish.

For completeness, another type of response should be

mentioned: reverse snobbery, namely, being snobbish your-

self. If academics in a clique let everyone know they think

they are superior, you can form your own counterclique.

This strategy might be satisfying, but it has the serious dis-

advantage of perpetuating snobbery. Indeed, you are likely

to end up scorning others who are innocent of snobbery.


vol. 56, no. 2, 2014 Confronting academic snobbery Brian Martin & Majken Jul Sørensen 67

Conclusion

Higher education, formulated as an ideal, is about learn-

ing in which ideas are of prime importance. If engage-

ment with ideas is central, then it should not matter who

is expressing the ideas; they should be examined on their

own merits. This accords with a traditional view in sci-

ence that what matters is the evidence, not who presents

it. The practice of anonymous peer review is testimony to

this orientation.

These high-minded ideals are often violated in prac-

tice. In science, a person’s status does make a difference

to how their ideas are treated, with Nobel Prize winners

being accorded more credibility than non-Nobelist scien-

tists and non-scientists, even when Nobelists speak out-

side their areas of expertise.

Snobbery, scorn, condescension and contempt are devi-

ations from the ideal of the primacy of ideas; they are neg-

ative attitudes about people. Snobbery is an attitude that

targets people rather than (or as well as) their ideas. In

this sense, challenging snobbery is important in the strug-

gle for an egalitarian ideal, namely, the primacy of ideas in

higher education.

Strategies to deal with snobbery include avoiding

people who are snobbish, making private comments to

them, confronting behaviours in public and using humour

to expose and deflate snobbery. Countering snobbery can

be seen as a strategic interaction, although few people

have studied strategies against snobbery. There is much to

be learnt from everyday encounters.

Because much snobbery is low key and not widely seen

as all that important, there is a risk in making a big deal

about it. It’s possible to misinterpret an innocent com-

ment as scorn and, as a result, be seen as overly sensitive.

In the face of obviously scornful behaviours, there is a risk

of being seen to over-react. When cultural differences are

involved, the risk of being incorrectly seen as snobbish

and the possibility of over-reacting are greater. The more

common problem is that people are either unconcerned

or afraid to do anything about academic snobbery. The first

major step is to make any sort of a response, the second is

to choose a method and the third is to learn from the inter-

action and become more effective in the future.

Acknowledgements

For valuable comments on drafts, we thank Charlotte

Bloch, Don Eldridge, Jørgen Johansen, Stellan Vinthagen,

Wendy Varney and Gordon Waitt. We also thank the many

individuals who have shared their stories with us.

Brian Martin and Majken Jul Sørensen are colleagues in the

School of Humanities and Social Inquiry, University of

Wollongong.

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A Vice-Chancellor’s Announcement

‘The time has come

To tell the headline structure.

The reasons, first:

Cut duplication and overlap;

Let scholars get on with the job

By removing administrative responsibilities.

‘I’ve come today

To report the taskforce’s reckoning.

Proper consultation, first:

Forums and extensive discussion;

A collective will

To build on past achievements.

‘The chance is here

To make the leap to glory.

Lay foundations, first:

On resilience and sustainability;

Encouraging interdisciplinarity

To strengthen our distinctiveness.

‘Our task is now

To re-shape the architecture.

Respond to challenges, first:

By pursuing rigorous review;

With brave and bold decisions

To promote efficiency and cost-effectiveness.

‘So join me in the vision

To re-organize our structure.

Establishing a framework, first:

For innovation and responsiveness;

Enhancing and sharpening services

To improve operations and functioning.’

_________________________

In times to come

A plaque in bronze records

The fruits of labour, last:

Vertical integration for

Value-adding; a customer focus

For ongoing win-win outcomes.

Two senryu

Nature and season are described in seventeen syllable

Japanese haiku. Most of them are products of contem-

plation, owing much to Zen Buddhist appreciations. They

may seem light but are serious, unlike senryū, the same

hinged form (represented here by //), that seem – and are

– light. In translation, two examples of their down-to-earth

and usually anonymous appreciations are:

horse farting//

four or five suffer

on ferry boat

only dreaming//

cold the empty side

of old man’s mattress

So here are my contributions:

dream large says the sign//

digging deep in the purse

inspires nightmares

speeches at graduation

the prelude to unemployment//

philosophers’ cares

A poem and two senryuArthur O’Neill

¯

¯

¯


vol. 56, no. 2, 2014 A poem and two senryu Arthur O’Neill 69

It used to be said that if you could remember the 1960s,

you probably weren’t there. It is possible that a similar

psychological condition may attend some memories of

the reforms or revolution effected by federal Education

Minister John Dawkins in the late 1980s. The value of this

volume goes beyond its treatment of the past 25; it is also

extremely useful in detailing the condition of the sector

pre-Dawkins: what it was that was being reformed.

This is of no minor importance because misinforma-

tion still abounds, a problem easily evidenced by a glance

at any web-based discussion in which the name Dawkins

appears. An earlier review of this book prompted com-

ments (from supposedly informed people within the

sector) that confused colleges of advanced education

(CAEs) with technical and further education (TAFE) col-

leges and demonstrated ignorance of the fact that while

CAEs were not specifically funded by government for

research, some research was still done in those institu-

tions, a factor (among many) that had led to the blurring

of the binary divide. Similarly, the flawed assumption that

almost no one in the CAEs had any qualification above a

bachelor’s degree overlooked the emerging glut of PhDs,

usually snapped up (especially in the social sciences) by

those colleges making new appointments.

While one might normally rely on the grim reaper

to remedy this problem, it appears that some of these

self-serving myths are being handed down to new gen-

erations. The tenacity with which golden age academics

cling to such misperceptions persuades this reviewer that

Dawkins’ assessment of the uneven quality of the acad-

emy at the time may have been more accurate than I had

given him credit for.

The first chapter, by Stuart McIntyre et al., effectively

paints a picture of a system that had run its race, being no

longer able to deliver the education and training necessary

for the nation’s economic growth. Dawkins proposed and

secured a unified national system with increased access

and expanded provision, underpinned by a (deferred) par-

tial user pays system. Vice-chancellors mostly misread the

political situation, aligned themselves with the moribund

higher education bureaucracy and copped a beating. A

few, such as Don Watts (Curtin) and Mal Logan (Monash),

had read the signs more astutely and came out ahead. This

theme of political ineptitude and division is also taken up

by Greg Craven (in his customary entertaining style) in

the book’s final chapter, a recurring theme for the Austral-

ian Catholic University vice-chancellor, who presumably

excludes himself from the ranks of the politically naïve.

Other areas covered include structures/systems, partici-

pation, funding, student experience, regulation, research,

quality and international education. Chapters on the oft-

neglected areas of the regions and industrial relations

are especially welcome. While arguments about the fair-

ness or otherwise of the Higher Education Contribution

Scheme (HECS, and its subsequent nomenclature), are

probably headed the way of the VCR, one of the system’s

least equitable feature – the advantage secured by the

affluent through the up-front payment option – is only

REVIEWS

You say you want a revolution /Well, you know we all want to change the world / You tell me that it’s [higher] education … (Lennon, McCartney – and Dawkins)

The Dawkins Revolution 25 Years On by Gwilym Croucher, Simon Marginson, Andrew Norton & Julie Wells (Eds.).ISBN 9780522864151, Melbourne University Press, 339 pp., 2013.

Reviewed by Paul Rodan


vol. 56, no. 2, 201470 You say you want a revolution / Reviewed by Paul Rodan

mentioned in passing. The playing field may be more

level, but the starting lines (postgraduation) can still be

some distance apart. In a case where the Australian Labor

Party government did act in accordance with its ‘princi-

ples’ – the Rudd government’s discontinuation of domes-

tic undergraduate student full fee places – the reversal is

noted without comment or explanation (p. 99), yet this

was a clear example of the role of Labor values in eliminat-

ing what the Party saw as unwarranted privilege for the

more affluent.

Andrew Norton’s chapter deals with the Liberal–

National coalition’s attitude to this policy area over the

period in question. As a right wing ideologue and activist,

Norton is well placed to plot the conservative reaction to

Dawkins and the extent to which the Liberals were able

to progress a debate about a market-based system. Ulti-

mately, missed opportunities, lost elections and a lack of

political resolve effectively rendered the coalition spec-

tators as much as players, certainly when in opposition.

Norton concedes that the short lifespan of shadow minis-

ters (seven from 1987 to 1996) betrayed a lack of genuine

political interest.

In his comments on overseas students, Norton is sur-

prisingly silent on the unintended consequences of the

nexus between international education and immigra-

tion, which followed from changes under John Howard.

The coalition government’s liberalisation enabled several

universities (and, subsequently, other providers in the

vocational education and training [VET] sector) to offer

a migration outcome disguised as education, to the detri-

ment of educational quality and Australia’s reputation. This

feature of a less regulated market might have merited a

mention.

Norton’s chapter is distinctive in its lack of any end-

notes or references, an anomaly in a scholarly publication

of this nature, for which no explanation is offered, a point

made more curious by Norton’s status as one of the edi-

tors. This leads to some contentious assertions for which

no authority is cited. For example, John Hewson is said

to have offered ‘the most comprehensive policy mani-

festo ever put to the Australian electorate’ (pp. 289–290),

but some might see a superior claim for Gough Whitlam

in 1972. How do we know? Has Norton counted the

sentences?

Institutional mergers, amalgamations and/or take-

overs probably constituted the most dramatic symbol of

the Dawkins era, certainly for those who experienced a

change of employer. This area is well covered by Simon

Marginson and Ian Marshman, who observe that some

amalgamations took more than a decade to bed down,

but Monash University’s recent retreat from regional

Gippsland pushes the dust-settling from the mergers out

to a quarter century. In his chapter, Ross Williams makes

the important point that while mergers led to some

economies of scale, ‘diseconomies of scope were under-

estimated, especially where large universities amalga-

mated with colleges’ (p. 94). In reality, not all mergers

were rational and sometimes seemed more about overall

student numbers and the pre-empting of territorial claims

by rivals. The inspiration may have been more Metternich

than Newman.

Importantly, Marginson and Marshman also outline the

manner in which the regulatory aspect of Dawkins’ poli-

cies effectively narrowed the scope for ‘autonomous insti-

tutional initiative’, with the result that ‘[T]he UNS [Unified

National System] has become one of the most homoge-

nous systems in the world’ (pp. 62–63).

The editors are on firm ground in asserting that the

‘structures, cultural norms and practices of the UNS of

higher education remain defining features of the system

in 2013’ (p. 3). Subsequent changes have been incremen-

tal, student contributions have been broadly stable, as has

the make-up of public institutions, the research-funding

environment has become more competitive and vice-

chancellors have become more powerful. For better or

worse, John Dawkins and his ‘revolution’ continue to

define the Australian higher education environment.

Paul Rodan is an adjunct professor in the Swinburne Institute

for Social Research at Swinburne University of Technology,

Melbourne, and a member of the Australian Universities’

Review editorial board.


vol. 56, no. 2, 2014 You say you want a revolution / Reviewed by Paul Rodan 71

We live in an age in which numerical data and the results

obtained from the analysis thereof are everywhere col-

lected, pored over, boasted about or covered up and used

or abused in a multitude of ways. The making of life and

business decisions, great and small, seems to require as

much of the stuff as can be collected.

The field of education, at all stages, is a prime example

of this practice. In the course of their work, university and

school staff and students must provide copious amounts

of data on their activities to others and have statistical

measures of it scrutinised by a wide audience, including

one’s supervisor/employer.

Woe betide anyone who follows their instincts or quali-

tative experience and forges ahead against the advice of

The Figures.

So, how did this state come about in the field of educa-

tion? Was the nature of its development inevitable? Who

guided the development, and why were choices made the

way they were? This collection of essays concerns the his-

tory and sociology of the rise of education data collec-

tion, analysis and use. The essays provide some fascinating

and insightful thoughts on these questions. The authors

emphasise that the nature of these activities, then and

now, is strongly influenced by culture and politics and

the twists and turns of historical development, as are all

human endeavours. Although the book is confined to the

primary and secondary education sectors, almost all the

ideas, themes and issues are relevant to higher education.

Of course, teaching is only one of the roles of universities.

I hope to see, at some time, a complementary book pub-

lished on the rise of data in research evaluation.

This book is well structured and the writing style

is clear and concise. There is a well-balanced range of

content that is thoughtfully composed and thought pro-

voking, and a remarkable range of issues is covered in

considerable depth in its modest 160 pages. The editor

provides us with an excellent introduction that has a clear

summary of the contents that sets the scene for the ensu-

ing chapters. Among these are case studies from Sweden,

Argentina, Bavaria and the City of Birmingham, each of

which is an engrossing tale of human endeavour and inno-

vation. Enough is revealed of the character and beliefs of

the champions of data development to make them real

and human to the reader, thus enlivening the tale being

told. Hence it is a pleasure to read.

I was fascinated by many revelations in the book, such

as that the development of educational data gathering,

visualisation and analysis was significantly spurred by the

need to create education exhibits at national and world

exhibitions, fairs and expositions. Being heavily linked

with national pride and displays of quality, innovation

and achievement, much effort was expended in making

the exhibits impressive, partly to astound the public and

partly to outdo international competitors in the form of

other countries’ educational bureaucracies. Of course, in

the early days, the competition was not for students, as

it is today among universities, but for prestige and inter-

national reputation. In these conditions of intense com-

petition, the material presented and the display methods

shifted from one exhibition to the next. Plenty of inter-

esting accounts are presented of the arguments advanced

from various quarters concerning the best approach for

capturing the essential nature of a school system and the

journey from one style to another over time.

Early on, much store was set by predominantly visual

evidence, such as photographs of classroom scenes, archi-

tectural scale models of the school buildings and displays

of the instructional means of various kinds. These are

some of the inputs to the school instructional process.

Later, attention turned from educational inputs to

educational outputs, but the displays continued to con-

tain real objects and images, with examples of students’

schoolwork put on display – artwork, writing, needlework,

and so on. Sometimes these artefacts were produced espe-

At last count …The Rise of Data in Education Systems: Collection, visualization and use by Martin Lawn (Ed.), Comparative Histories of Education series, Martin Lawn & Antonio Nóvoa (series Eds.).ISBN 978-1-873927-32-8, Symposium Books, 160 pp., 2013.

Reviewed by Neil Mudford


vol. 56, no. 2, 201472 At last count … Reviewed by Neil Mudford

cially for the exhibition and sometimes they were mate-

rials produced as part of ordinary classroom activities.

However produced, the best work was chosen so as to

induce the most glowing impression in the public mind.

Eventually, the standard settled on what we would now

consider to be ‘the most important’ information, namely,

educational outputs in the form of statistical information

with this graphically displayed.

The establishment of national bureaux of statistics and

national and international statistical associations in the

20th century also heavily influenced the development

of numerical data collection and analysis. These bodies

helped resolve the arguments, tensions and battles over

data collection and treatment, to create a firm mathemati-

cal foundation for the practice and to set standards that

would allow international comparisons.

With this background information in mind, it is interest-

ing to reflect that the Australian government’s My School

website of ‘detailed profiles of Australian schools’ contains

no photographs of school grounds, classrooms or pupils

receiving instruction. Nor are there examples of students’

work on the site. We would be a little surprised if there

were, given the attitudes of our times. Were websites in

existence 100 years or more ago, this is probably what we

would be offered, with none of the NAPLAN-style results

and little of the other mountain of statistical informa-

tion on today’s site. (Reviewer’s note: My School [www.

myschool.edu.au/] is a publicly available internet data-

base of statistical information on all Australian schools.

NAPLAN is the Australian government’s National Assess-

ment Program – Literacy and Numeracy project, under

which all Australian school students sit for standard tests

of literacy and numeracy.)

As the book’s authors point out, in the current cultural

climate, statistical information is, for most people, imbued

with an aura of objectivity and stark reality. This is rein-

forced when accompanying statements claim that the

results have been calibrated and moderated for external

factors. With all this in front of them, untrained observers

are likely to conclude that the information is unquestion-

ably correct and, in the case of My School, say, that these

data capture everything of relevance about the schools.

Those with training in survey, testing and analysis tech-

niques would be far more suspicious about the meaning

and trustworthiness of the results. Calibration and mod-

eration are necessary for ensuring the validity and repeat-

ability of results, but one has to wonder how calibration

can be achieved and what external checks have been

made of the alterations produced by the moderation. Also,

too many corrections to the original results can lead to a

growth in uncertainties in the final product. Hence the

results are powerful but somewhat dangerous tools in

public debate.

The various league tables for universities world-wide

are the equivalent offering in higher education. Apart

from any other consideration, the fact that universities’

positions in these tables markedly jump around from

year to year indicates either that there is very little dif-

ference in quality across the world or that the indices

used in the measurement algorithm are highly sensitive

to fluctuations in the input data. Nevertheless, the mar-

keting units of the better-ranked universities seem not to

blush in using the results to crow about their rankings, as

if it really is a valid measure of their university’s overall

performance.

For the world exhibitions, the aim was to impress the

public and the education industries of other countries

about how innovative, enlightened, progressive and suc-

cessful one’s own country’s educational system was. The

public is still an important target audience for information

on educational matters. There has, however, been a shift

from a showcase approach focusing on system-wide per-

formance to providing information on individual schools

and universities, designed to inform consumer choice in

the education marketplace. Also, being displayed on the

internet, as it now is, the information no doubt reaches a

wider audience than would otherwise take the trouble to

buy the equivalent in book form.

One of the many issues raised in the book, with echoes

in our own time, is that, as the statistical information grew

to become the measure of all things, much of the role of

assessing educational progress and results passed from

teachers in the classroom to statisticians and administra-

tors remote from the classroom. Then and now, this raises

at least two intertwined issues. First, whether people

who have the numerical data – course material covered,

test results and the like – but have no knowledge of the

students as people can really achieve a holistic sense of

student achievement and potential. Second, whether

all relevant matters can be accurately captured, or even

approximately, by empirical measurement.

The same can be said of universities and academics. In

past times, the academic staff of a (university) school or

department decided course content, delivery methods

and assessment. If an academic issued a particular grade,

then the assurance that that grade was appropriate rested

on the academic’s knowledge, experience and profes-

sional standing. Increasingly, formulaic methods that are

‘defensible’ and extensive written explanations of assess-

ment requirements are required by university administra-


vol. 56, no. 2, 2014 At last count … Reviewed by Neil Mudford 73

tions for quality assurance purposes and to be provided to

student customers.

A multitude of other insights, which have not been

touched on here, are presented in the book. For ex-ample,

the ‘visualization’ in the title refers to the early world exhi-

bition presentation of photographic data on schools and

schooling, as well as to the graphical presentation of sta-

tistical information later on. As a physicist/engineer, graph-

ical representation seems second nature to me, but this is

probably because I simply do not know the story of the

hard work and creativity of my forebears in the discipline

who figured out how best to convey numerical informa-

tion to others and to see it clearly one’s self.

The historical and sociological works in this book are

well worth reading for the lively and informative views of

the past contained in them and for the perspective they

provide of the events and attitudes of our own times.

Neil Mudford is a visiting fellow with the University of New

South Wales, a research associate with the University of

Queensland and a member of the Australian Universities’

Review editorial board.


vol. 56, no. 2, 201474 At last count … Reviewed by Neil Mudford

This book is not a manual on how to teach generic sessions or develop a programme … [H]ere we bring together a group of engaged reflective practitioners sharing their experience … on generic doctoral sup-port (Introduction: Mapping this book).

Throughout the book Susan Carter and Deborah Laurs

show how practice and pedagogical theory inform each

other. While it does not purport to be a teaching manual,

nevertheless some of the more interesting parts of the

book are those where the reader is given glimpses of how

others have structured programs to support particular

cohorts of research candidates. In these instances enough

information on the format and content of the sessions is

offered to enable others to adapt and modify the frame-

work to suit the particular needs of their own students.

One such an example is the account by Gina Wisker and

Gillian Robinson of a PhD program for Israeli students at

the Anglia Ruskin University in the UK.

As the editors note, by its very nature the book is a

pastiche of observations from nearly 40 contributors,

mostly from the UK, New Zealand and Australia, writing

from a range of perspectives and from a diversity of back-

grounds. This could have led to a discordant patchwork of

discrete ideas, only loosely connected through the under-

lying theme. However, this is seldom evident. The editing

of the book is generally excellent. True, the occasional

lapse into academic jargon or unnecessarily complex text

may be distracting, and in a few instances, contributions

should perhaps have been edited more tightly to make

them more succinct. Inevitably in such a work, significant

voices may be missing.

The pioneering work of Janet Metcalfe in the UK may

be a case in point, although Tony Bromley acknowledges

her later contribution to the debate on the methodology

of assessing generic programs.

The effective blending of multiple voices is always

going to be a challenge to an editor; however, in this book

it is achieved in several ways. The overall layout is clear;

indeed, in many ways it mirrors the structure of a thesis.

The research question is identified in the Introduction:

Mapping this book and Part 1 Generic support’s incep-

tion may be likened to a literature review, while Parts II

and III, Developing generic support’s potential and Ensur-

ing generic support’s sustainability respectively form the

core of the book. A concluding summary chapter is pre-

ceded by a chapter that attempts to answer the question

whether it is possible to evaluate the success or other-

wise of a generic doctoral workshop program. The brief

participant biographies are very helpful in understanding

the experiences each contributor brings to the debate on

generic programs for research candidates, and are com-

plemented by the very extensive bibliography, which pro-

vides guidance for further reading on this relatively new

discipline.

The editing prowess of Carter and Laurs is further evi-

dent in the structure of each chapter, which combines

teaching vignettes and supporting discussion on the

emerging pedagogical theory that underpins such pro-

grams. Key themes and contributions are identified at the

commencement of each chapter, while within each sec-

tion the editors ensure that the experiences and findings

of one contributor link to those of the next via a carefully

crafted paragraph or two. Judicious headings support this

structure, while the closing section of each chapter antici-

pates what is to be discussed in the next. In these ways a

sustained argument is maintained through the nearly 200

pages of the book.

Parts II and III are the heart of the debate and discus-

sion, with contributions from a number of practitioners

who have each developed programs to support particular

cohorts of students within their own institutions, such as

those enrolled through distance education or part-time

candidature, international and Indigenous students. The

discussion continues with examples of programs that seek

to enhance writing and research skills, and to prepare stu-

dents for their subsequent careers through recognition

that skills acquired during candidature are transferrable. It

is thus through such practice that the pedagogical theory

What’s up, Doc?Developing Generic Support for Doctoral Students: Practice and pedagogy by Susan Carter & Deborah Laurs (Eds.). ISBN-13: 978-0415662338 ISBN-10: 0415662338, Routledge, 208 pp., 2014.

Reviewed by Pam Herman


vol. 56, no. 2, 2014 What’s up, Doc? Reviewed by Pam Herman 75

underpinning generic training for research students has

begun to evolve and be recognised within higher educa-

tion institutions.

The most challenging question for doctoral training

advisors is how their contribution to the research train-

ing process can be validly and reliably measured. The edi-

tors themselves have canvassed the opinion of others and

have drawn up a list of assessment benchmarks or good

practice criteria. A program may be judged on whether,

for example, it

• merits positive student evaluation

• exemplifies strong teaching practice

• uses its clear overview of the doctorate

• has benefits for the students’ future

• fosters academic citizenship.

Much work on the question of assessment has been

undertaken in the UK in the last decade. But how does

one tease out the particular contribution a workshop

series or programs may have played in, say, better quality

theses, shorter completion times, better rates of comple-

tion, subsequent increase in successful grant applications,

higher publication rates, effective career transition, and

so on? Despite all manner of sophisticated research, the

answer in the end is that, given the multiplicity of factors,

including generic research training, that may have contrib-

uted to the achievement or otherwise of these outcomes,

it can’t be done. In the end, the measurement framework

model developed in the UK by the Rugby Team and the

Impact and Evaluation Group must be assessed via a

legal beyond reasonable doubt approach. Qualitative and

quantitative assessment must therefore operate within

these boundaries. Thus, perhaps only by using formal

and informal participant feedback, including unsolicited

comments, may some measure of the success of such pro-

grams be generally determined.

All in all, the book identifies the key issues related to

the development of doctoral training programs in the UK

and Australasia over the last two decades, including initial

development, objectives and challenges. The complemen-

tary nature of the work undertaken by research super-

visor and generic doctoral training learning adviser is

considered. From its position in the borderlands between

disciplines, a generic training program’s contributions to

equity and access, language acquisition, critical thinking,

pastoral care and career preparation are all discussed and

debated. Ultimately, however, reliable measurement of the

contribution of such programs to the doctoral experience

still remains elusive.

Pam Herman is a former research graduate school manager

at an Australian university.


vol. 56, no. 2, 201476 What’s up, Doc? Reviewed by Pam Herman

Edited by Bernhard Streitwieser, Internationalisation

of Higher Education and Global Mobility is yet one

more collection of essays in the plethora of books on

internationalisation that is threatening to engulf anyone

with even a passing interest in the topic. This collection

includes a number of chapters by well-known commen-

tators – experts in the field such as Marginson, Knight,

Welch, Choudaha, De Wit and Streitwieser himself –

which at least makes the collection worth scanning. But

as it turns out, it is some of the lesser-known names who

present some of the more interesting chapters.

The Foreword is by Simon Marginson, one of the most

authoritative voices in the field. His summary of the cur-

rent state of play identifies four key issues, the headline

developments: the OECD’s growing impact on policy

and practice in secondary schooling, university rank-

ings, MOOCs and the international rise of Southeast Asia.

Marginson’s capacity for analysis is without peer and even

though each issue gets a single paragraph, there is nothing

to indicate that he is wide of the mark. My only quibble is

that few of the following chapters actually address any of

the identified issues in a meaningful way.

In his Introduction Streitwieser states that his aim

in these chapters was to discuss the notion of mobil-

ity within the phenomenon of the internationalisation

of higher education. Most of the papers included in the

volume fall within those parameters, but in general, few of

them add anything that is significantly new. The other side

of the coin is that there are some really engaging chapters

by newish voices. That may be the best way to approach

the book – not as a sustained argument but as a collection

of different voices. In any case, the fact that there isn’t an

index stops it being a reference book per se. In that spirit,

this review will preclude a list of contents and instead

pick out bits that seem to me to be particularly worthy

of comment.

Justin J. W. Powell’s chapter, ‘International National

Universities: Migration and mobility in Luxembourg and

Qatar’, was always going to catch the eye. I confess that

I had never before considered higher education in Lux-

embourg – I mean, who has? – and its juxtaposition to

Qatar seems at first glance to be surprising, if not spu-

rious. But if a nation is that small, internationalisation

isn’t an option; it’s an inevitability. Powell points out a

convincing number of similarities: small hub-centres in

their respective regions, rich, significant foreign popu-

lations, internationally influential media (Al Jazeera and

Radio Télévision Luxembourg [RTL]), one significant

national university apiece, and heavy investments in the

STEM disciplines of science, technology, engineering and

mathematics, and, politically speaking, a grand duke isn’t

so different from an emir. It leaves the reader wondering

whether the grand duchy is thinking about buying the

rights to host a World Cup. Powell argues that both are

investing a lot of resources and human power in creat-

ing a globally significant research university. Seeing Lux-

embourg has about 300,000 nationals and Qatar about

250,000, both can make education cheap for their citi-

zens. But Qatar has about 1.5 million foreigners living

within its borders, while Luxembourg has fewer than

quarter of a million foreigners, which creates a frisson

in the former that the latter more or less avoids, partially

because it is a member state of the EU and part of Eras-

mus and PISA and all that. Powell makes no predictions

about how things will turn out but notes that both uni-

versities carry their respective nation’s hopes for the

future – not like there’s any pressure.

While we are in Europe, so to speak, it is striking that

there are three chapters on Erasmus in which none of the

authors cite anything the other two have written, which,

perversely, makes them all worth reading. Thomas Nor-

gaard, in ‘Liberal Education in the Erasmus Programme’,

argues that the European higher education mobility pro-

gram shouldn’t bear the name ‘Erasmus’ but rather that of

the person he argues started the whole idea, Sofia Corradi,

or that of Johann Gottfried von Herder (1744–1803), who

championed internationalisation, or at least being toler-

ant of foreigners. Erasmus, according to Norgaard, wasn’t

Be mobileInternationalisation of Higher Education and Global Mobility by Bernhard Streitwieser (Ed.).ISBN-978-1-873927-42-7,Symposium Books, 320 pp., 2014.

Reviewed by Andrys Onsman


vol. 56, no. 2, 2014 Be mobile Reviewed by Andrys Onsman 77

nearly liberal enough, that he was too much of a scholar

who travelled to anywhere a university paid him. Whereas

Norgaard sees that as a negative, to my mind Erasmus was

a prototypical modern mobile academic, so naming a pro-

gram that supports and encourages academic mobility

after him seems very appropriate.

Norgaard’s ruminating essay argues that the Erasmus

scheme as it is now is at risk of dissolving into ‘facile

cosmopolitanism’ because it doesn’t encourage students

to be deeply emerged in the culture and zeitgeist of the

host culture. It’s an argument that loses a lot of its power

when the author acknowledges that the scheme was good

for him personally, and that he (presumably) managed to

benefit from ‘apodemica, literally the “art of going away

from one’s people” ’ (p. 115). Overall, it seems somewhat

condescending to suggest that, while he was able to avoid

the pitfalls, others may not have been.

Bernd Wächter doesn’t cite anyone but himself in his

chapter, ‘Recent Trends in Student Mobility in Europe’,

which could ring alarm bells, but seeing it’s mostly an

explication of the data published in Mapping Mobil-

ity in European Higher Education, of which he was a

co-author, it could turn out all right. He reports that, in

2008, there were more than 1. 5 million international stu-

dents enrolled in courses in Europe, more than half of

the world’s total number of international students. About

500,000 of these were in the UK, and another 500,000 in

Germany and France, which leaves fewer than 500,000

scattered among the other 29 European states. In Spain,

Finland, Malta, Poland, Portugal and Slovakia, Erasmus stu-

dents outnumbered other international students, which is

pretty amazing seeing that only 1 per cent of European

students – which isn’t a great deal – become mobile with

Erasmus each year.

To get some rationalisation of the different pictures

of Erasmus presented by Norgaard and Wächter, Bernard

Streitwieser and Zachary van Winkle contribute a chapter

entitled ‘The Erasmus Citizen: Students’ Conceptions of

Citizenship Identity in the Erasmus Mobility Programme

in Germany’. In what seems an apparent afterthought to

the study, these authors acknowledge Norgaard’s chapter

in a footnote; Wächter doesn’t rate a mention.

Their study looks at whether, by doing a subject, a

semester or a whole year of study anywhere abroad in

Europe (which, by virtue of the European Credit Transfer

Scheme [ECTS], counts towards your degree), students

develop a sense of Europeanness. It’s quite an interesting

survey of opinion, but as the authors admit, it is difficult

to analyse in terms of finding discernible trends. The most

interesting datum for me was that after all the time, effort

and money spent on Erasmus as a mechanism for inculcat-

ing a shared European identity, when Erasmus students

were quizzed about how they saw themselves, they over-

whelmingly responded with their nationality rather than

as Europeans or world citizens. And it wasn’t even a World

Cup year. The authors pin the blame on how the question

was phrased, and there may be some legitimacy in that,

given that it seems to have been an either/or question.

Moreover, there is a plethora of social mobility studies that

argue for increased regional identification. A Walloon stud-

ying in Flanders, for example, is technically not a foreign

student. The concluding argument that suggests there is

evidence of an Erasmus citizen is unconvincing beyond

the acknowledgement that people who have spent sig-

nificant amounts of time studying, working and living in a

foreign country tend to see the world differently to those

who haven’t. That’s hardly a consequence of Erasmus.

The obligatory chapter on China was written by Jürgen

Henze. It is a fairly standard, efficient summary of what is

going on – massive development, state control, increasing

intake, and so on – that presents a clear picture but adds

little new for anyone with even a cursory interest in the

internationalisation of higher education. Perhaps the large

quantity of high quality scholarly publications on China

coming from Australia has lulled us into a belief that the

rest of the world is on the same page. Henze recites, for

example, Jane Knight’s ‘five myths of internationalisation’,

augmented by Hans de Wit’s nine misconceptions. Few of

those myths or misconceptions are evident in the output

of Australian commentators, Marginson and Vidovich

among many others. Nonetheless (and to my mind uncon-

vincingly), Henze argues that the combined list of myths

and misconceptions forms ‘more or less exactly’ the Chi-

nese policy on internationalisation of higher education.

Fundamentally, that strikes me as an antiquated view; the

2010–20 plan is far more adventurous and strategic than

that. Bear in mind that China is becoming an exporter of

higher education as well as an importer: the number of

high quality, joint venture higher education institutions in

China is increasing and Chinese universities are beginning

to establish branch campuses abroad. It will still send its

students to the best overseas universities, but the country

is no longer reticent to demand more from them in return

for the fees that they collect. China is tickling Atlas with

a feather and a big sneeze isn’t far away. And what does

‘more or less exactly’ mean (exactly)?

I am always keen to read what Anthony Welch writes

because he usually targets important issues. His chap-

ter, ‘Seek Knowledge Throughout the World? Mobility

in Islamic Higher Education’, is no exception. He traces


vol. 56, no. 2, 201478 Be mobile Reviewed by Andrys Onsman

Islamic ideas on education in broad strokes and turns

his analytical eye towards Southeast Asia, which is what

he is more widely known for. Specifically, he juxtaposes

Malaysia and Indonesia, pointing out that the former is not

only significantly richer but also generally more fluent in

English and Arabic, which enables it to more effectively

prepare Islamic students for study abroad. There are now

nearly 100,000 international students studying in Malay-

sia and, as Welch points out, the country is fast becom-

ing a key player in the Islamic higher education area. This

rapid rise is probably contingent on the country being

able to offer programs in English and Arabic. Malaysia is

also becoming the holiday/honeymoon destination of

choice for Muslim tourists, as well as a hub for Islamic

finance and investment. Its strategy is a carefully blended

and targeted mix of soft diplomacy, higher education and

international trade.

It’s also interesting that Australia has had a lot more

to do with Malaysia – probably because of the common

colonial experience – and that there is a greater degree

of trust between the two, regardless of former prime min-

isters Keating and Mahatir clashing over recalcitrance.

Even though Indonesia is much closer geographically, and

disregarding Bali, it is still thought of as somewhat more

alien and more threatening than Malaysia. Welch’s chapter

makes an interesting counterpoint to such perceptions

and, as always, it is clearly conceived and articulated.

Two other chapters also made for fascinating read-

ing, primarily, I suspect, because I knew little about the

countries in question. The contribution by Rose Amazan,

entitled ‘When the Diaspora Returns: Analysis of Ethiopian

returnees and the need for highly skilled labour in Ethio-

pia’, was eye opening. Amazan, a Haiti-born academic cur-

rently at the University of Sydney, is known for her work

on gender equality. In this piece she analyses the effects

of the trained and educated who leave the Federal Demo-

cratic Republic of Ethiopia and the government’s strate-

gies for bringing them back. Few people nowadays are

unaware that Ethiopia is one of the poorest countries in

the world. It’s little wonder then that it ranks first in Africa

for loss of human capital, ahead of Nigeria and Ghana.

In the 1980s, for example, a staggering 75 per cent of its

human capital emigrated, mostly to the US and the UK.

Addis Ababa’s response was to hugely expand its post-

secondary education by a factor of 30. Unsurprisingly, not

having the skilled people to implement the massification,

quality was sacrificed and the standards were impossibly

low. According to Amazan, the government’s current strat-

egy is to offer incentives for skilled people to return and

for exiles with money to invest in Ethiopia under special

conditions. It’s far too early to gauge whether either strat-

egy is having a discernible effect, but Amazan’s tenor sug-

gests she is not convinced.

Arne Hickling-Hudson and Robert F. Arnove contribute

a chapter entitled ‘Higher Education and International

Student Mobility: The Extraordinary Case of Cuba’, in

which they argue that Cuba can be seen as a regional

hub. In 2009, 31,528 international students, mostly from

Latin America and the Caribbean, studied in Cuba. Seeing

Cuba has a population of about 12 million, that doesn’t

seem all that impressive. What is impressive is that 12,000

or so come from Africa, mostly from sub-Saharan Africa,

including Ethiopia. The main reason, it seems, is that Cuba

offers good quality higher education at affordable prices

– socialist internationalisation. As an added bonus, the

students are able to learn to speak Spanish.

Overall, the chapters that serve as case studies were the

ones that I found most interesting, and I would have liked

more of them. Disappointingly, there is precious little new

or insightful about the rise of Brazil, Russia, India, China

and South Africa, the so-called BRICS countries, the omis-

sion of which is pretty glaring these days. There is very

little about the rise of Singapore as a regional hub. There

is nothing specifically about Australia. There’s nothing sub-

stantial about the broader Middle East and North Africa.

The conceptual and theoretical contributions were

all fine, but even Jane Knight, who is usually so lively

and enlightening, has little new to say here, despite

Streitwieser pumping her chapter up as talking about

something ‘controversial’ (which it doesn’t).

Overall, Internationalisation of Higher Education

and Global Mobility is a fine collection, but it doesn’t

reach any great heights or generate any great debate.

While many lost opportunities are evident, none of the

chapters are awful and some are genuinely interesting.

Andrys Onsman is an academic in the Centre for Studies of

Higher Education, University of Melbourne.


vol. 56, no. 2, 2014 Be mobile Reviewed by Andrys Onsman 79

Making Policy in Turbulent Times is a collection of 18

essays on how various countries have at various times

approached higher education. Because the editorial team

is Canadian, there is an emphasis on Canada, but the US,

Australia, the UK, China and the EU all get a turn as well,

which gives the book an international flavour. As is usu-

ally the case with edited volumes, some chapters are more

fluid than others. This isn’t a book you would want to read

in one sitting: at over 400 pages it’s more of a reference

book to dip into than a page turner.

The aim of the book is to consider whether the tur-

bulent times in which we find ourselves have had or

are having a significant and identifiable impact on how

higher education policy is made and implemented, par-

ticularly in Canada. The topic was discussed at a work-

shop conducted at York University in Toronto in 2012; the

book is the result of that. The structure of the book is five

segments:

• Public policy and higher education: International per-

spectives

• The policy-making context: Global dimensions

• Policy issues: Access, quality, and affordability

• Agenda-setting: The role of policy actors

• Policy-making: The nature of the process.

Each segment has two or three chapters. By way of justi-

fication for this structure, Paul Axelrod, in his introduction

runs through what each chapter is about and promises

the reader that, put together, the collection identifies and

compares the challenges facing universities everywhere.

He also and presents ‘historically informed’ analyses of the

dynamics at play in policy makers’ attempts to steer their

respective institutional ships out of troubled waters.

First cab off the rank in the first segment – the nature of

the process of policy making – is Michael Shattock, who

presents an acronym-laden history of higher education

policy making in the UK. After a while I couldn’t be both-

ered rechecking which acronym referred to what organi-

sation, but I gather that the UK is, in higher education

terms, a unitary state with no regional governance but a

number of intermediary bodies acting as buffers between

institutions and the funders.

These bodies consist of experts and refer to them-

selves as brokers. Ultimately, it seems that Treasury

makes all the decisions and that higher education com-

petes with everything else in the budget. In short, it

seems that it is a case of funding depending on what you

achieve in the research assessment exercise (RAE): each

of the top four universities receives an average of just

over 6 per cent of the prize pool; the rest receive an aver-

age of 3 per cent. Interesting enough, but the RAE has

now been replaced by the research excellence frame-

work (the REF), which, according to its website, has as

its primary purpose the collating to inform the selective

allocation of their research funding to higher education

institutions, with effect from 2016. REF assessment will

provide accountability for public investment in research

and produce evidence of the benefits of this investment.

It will also provide benchmarking information and estab-

lish reputational yardsticks.

Undoubtedly, Oxford, Cambridge, LSE and Imperial Col-

lege will still get the lion’s share, but the shift in strategy

highlights that in the time between writing a conference

paper that later becomes a chapter in a book that is on

the shelves, the whole scenario can change. Shattock is

well known for his insistence that academics should have

a greater say in the running of universities because, he

argues, there is no evidence that corporate-style executive

rule governance has improved the sector’s performance.

Another season, another reason, for makin’ policy (with apologies to Khan & Donaldson)

Making Policy in Turbulent Times: Challenges and prospects for higher education (Queen’s Policy Studies) by Paul Axelrod, Roopa Desai Trilokekar, Theresa Shanahan & Richard Wellen (Eds.).ISBN-10: 1553393325; ISBN-13: 978-1553393320, McGill-Queens University Press, 446 pp., 2013.



vol. 56, no. 2, 201480 Another season, another reason, for makin’ policy Reviewed by Andrys Onsman

This chapter reads like the dry evidence underpinning

his calls for more inclusive governance, a report that is

stripped of the passion that drives the argument.

The next chapter picks up the pace a little but still

threatens to dull the reader’s senses with a plethora of

acronyms. As an aside, I used to chuckle behind my hand

at the esteemed editor of this august journal’s pathologi-

cal abhorrence of acronyms (PAA), but I may well have

changed my mind because it does get a bit tedious at times

in this essay by Trilokekar, Shanahan, Axelrod and Wellen.

As an example ‘research and development’ is followed by

(R&D), which is never again used anywhere in the chapter.

I mean, what is the point? The authors consider the con-

ceptual framework for post-secondary education (PSE) in

Canada, drawing on information from the Social Sciences

and Humanities Research Council of Canada (SSHRC –

what happened to the second C?) and interviews with

key players in Ontario. It considers direct policy determi-

nants (mainly people with influence, the state of affairs at

the time and the media) and indirect policy determinants

(philosophies, research, evidence, political structures and

advocacy). It is a fairly pragmatic framework for analy-

sis but it doesn’t seem to go anywhere in the context of

the chapter. Between the lines, the implication of politi-

cal expediency, with its drivers of spin and timing, being

essential and defining characteristics of higher education

policy making success rings disturbingly familiar to Aus-

tralian ears, even if the systems aren’t.

Some of the chapters in the second section were hard

going, probably because they were Canada-centred, and,

according to Axelrod, because the original workshop

(to which the contributors were individually invited

to contribute a paper) would ‘permit an exploration of

Canadian challenges in a global context’. And that’s pretty

much what the book is. As a result, chapters in this sec-

tion tend to focus on the Canadian experiences, which

may not float everyone’s boats but there are nonetheless

parts that will entertain anyone who has an interest in

Canadian politics and education as part of the global sce-

nario. Canadian career bureaucrat Harvey Weingarten’s

chapter, ‘How to Influence Government Higher Educa-

tion Policy: A Manual’, for example, is quite fascinating to

Australian readers, if only because the whole system is so

alien to ours. Weingarten is a past president and CEO of

the Higher Education Quality Council of Ontario, so I am

happy to take what he says at face value. Overall, the sec-

tion is very readable and sets up the rest of the essays

quite nicely.

The third section, ‘Policy Issues: Access, quality, and

affordability, concerns actual research’, which brings a bit

more intellectual interest to some of the chapters. Moreo-

ver, there is also more of a feeling of analysis in order to

move things forward rather than reportage of what has

happened. Claire Callender’s chapter, ‘Higher Education

and Student Financial Support in England: All Change

or No Change’, for example, is a cracker of a read, even

if there is a feeling that some of her edgier contentions

have been muted. Apart from arguing that valuing higher

education is not the same as pricing it, she scuppers the

notion that if you make students pay more, they will learn

to appreciate what they are getting and presumably study

harder because of that, by pointing out that there is no

evidence whatsoever for that assumption.

Callender points out that, regardless of the lack of evi-

dence, the government maintained that student loans

would make the students realise how much it was cost-

ing to educate them, as a result of which they would all

become much more fiscally responsible. The policy is all

about ensuring that students become more responsible;

it has nothing to do with cutting funding, honest. And

of course it won’t reduce access by people from lower

SES groups. As usual, Callender’s engaging style of writ-

ing matches her clear analysis. The chapter is a joy to

read – even if you don’t entirely agree with everything

she asserts.

The next entry in this section, Lesley Vidovic’s chapter

on the Australian context entitled ‘Balancing Quality and

Equity in Higher Education Policy Agendas: Global and

Local Tensions’, proposes a framework that promises to

be utilitarian and contextualising. Given the fact that I

haven’t actually trailed it, it looks convincing because it

pulls the analysis of agendas into a strategic context.

Vidovic is more nuanced in her line of argument but

basically the question she raises is what is an institution’s

purpose in adopting the policies it does, and how does

that affect its implementation? It’s good question because,

as Vidovic argues, the official line between quality and

equity often gets drawn according to what the institution

decides is the most valuable to it, a decision as transient as

it is pragmatic. Nonetheless, it is in the first place a policy

decision and often one that requires manoeuvring to

get accepted. As a basis for analysis Vidovic’s conceptual

framework is also well worth considering as a framework

for situation institutional management within the higher

education leadership processes.

Unfortunately, the chapter suffers from having the dia-

grammatic representation of her argument injudiciously

edited. The text discusses three points of a triangular

framework, but the diagram shows only two. The apex

should be labelled ‘Context (including Globalisation and


vol. 56, no. 2, 2014 Another season, another reason, for makin’ policy Reviewed by Andrys Onsman 81

Internationalisation)’, which would make more sense of

the base points. If you read the chapter you’ll get the gist,

but it’s an unnecessary speed bump in an otherwise very

good and straight ahead chapter.

Ian Clark and Ken Norrie’s chapter, ‘Research and Reluc-

tance in Improving Canadian Higher Education’, argues

that the higher education sector values research but does

little research on how to improve the performance of the

sector itself, particularly in Canada, which apparently lags

behind the US, the UK and Australia. The chapter lists the

institutes and centres in those countries that are doing

high quality research (including, as a disclaimer, Centre for

the Study of Higher Education in Melbourne, with which I

am affiliated). Australia in particular gets a big thumbs up

to show why Canada gets the thumbs down.

A perusal of recent publications by some of Australia’s higher education scholars reveals how dynamic the scholarship of higher education is in that country. A cursory comparison of institutional and personal web-sites suggests that Australia does several times more applied higher education research than Canada to serve many fewer students. This is also reflected in the publication record of government agencies. For exam-ple, Ontario has recently created HEQCO, an agency that has conducted an impressive research program for the last five years. But Australia has the Austral-ian Council for Educational Research, which has been operating since 1930 and has 41 current higher edu-cation research projects. The Australian Universities Quality Agency has frequent workshops and an active occasional paper series. The higher education section of the Department of Education, Employment and Workplace Relations produces a wealth of statistics in its annual reports on staff, students, and finances, and it has a substantial list of publications on higher educa-tion, much longer than can be found on any Canadian federal or provincial government site.

The chapter ends with the claim that doing research

on higher education is both necessary and cheap: neces-

sary for analysis of what is going on and creating useful

input into where it goes, cheap because, while you have

to pay the wages of the researchers, you don’t need

expensive labs and equipment. The issue is essentially

one of academic research priorities. It’s not a particularly

convincing argument because there are more universities

in Australia that are doing good research on all kinds of

higher education issues, and it isn’t all that cheap when

you think that those engaged in it could be doing real

research. Yes, that’s a joke. The real point is that money is

getting tighter and the likelihood of a return on this kind

of research is quite low – even if the data gathered and

analysed are very much worthwhile. So maybe it wasn’t

that much of a joke after all.

The section is rounded off with David Dill’s ‘Design-

ing Higher Education Policy in the Age of Globalization:

Imperfect Information and the Pursuit of the Public

Good’, which, as a thumbnail summary, suggests that in

order to hold on to what a university is (or ought to

be), we need to get our data gathering in line. Good call.

His line of argument is that the best-known universities

are considered to be generators of national advantage,

especially among the so-called developed nations. Gov-

ernments and policy makers see these top flighters as

potential sources of national wealth and are increasingly

keen to control their outputs, and in the process try to

massage knowledge into things that they can understand

and commodify. But how do you turn ideas such as ‘the

public good’ into a commodity? What does ‘knowledge’

mean in terms of the practical concerns of universities,

such as student choice, the assurance of academic qual-

ity, the assessment of academic research, and how does it

shape a university’s effect on economic development? It

is a very good essay, packed with good ideas, clear writ-

ing and soundly-based research.

The fourth section concerns the international dimen-

sions of the contexts in which policies are made. There

is no doubt that the various international environments

in which policy shaping is happening have turbulence in

common: there is a lot of chop out there. The relentless

if brutally uneven progress of the globalisation of higher

education, spurred on by its eminence grise of the neo-

liberalist free trade fantasy, has created a big, worldwide

whirlpool. The decrease in public funding pulls the whole

sector, like Charybdis, on one side, while the demand for

tighter control of policy and output tugs like Scylla on

the other. How do you make decisions about equity and

access in these contexts? Is there any place for imagina-

tive visionaries who can lead without sacrifice? Does

anyone have a clue?

Nelly Stromquist usually reminds us not to ignore the

feminist perspective because without it any meaningful

analysis of the higher education context is incomplete.

She writes clearly, engagingly and usually convincingly,

especially about Latin and South America. Her chapter,

‘Globalization and “Policyscapes”: Ruptures and Conti-

nuities in Higher Education’, ploughs a different furrow

in that it considers how national policies that have

impact beyond the borders of the state in which they

are formulated and imposed can de-territorialise the

context. Simon Marginson and various of his colleagues

have articulated clearly the nature of transglobal policy

making in higher education, and Stephen Carney first

coined the term ‘policyscape’ as a descriptor of the poli-



cies that can no longer be understood only in the context

of national decision making. If memory serves, Carney

examined the impact of behemoth players such as the

World Bank, and he had grave concerns. Stromquist’s

social consciousness pushes hard at the limitations of

political borders and her take on regional effects is well

worth considering because in the concluding discus-

sion, she draws all the elements together into a satisfying

argument that alerts the reader to the fact that policy

making is an unpredictable rhizomic activity and not all

offshoots will find equally fertile soil.

Stromquist’s chapter aligns well with Jean Hsieh and

Jeroen Huisman’s ‘Cross-national Education Policy Change

in Quality Assurance: Convergence or Divergence?’, one

of the few chapters that seems prepared to argue for the

importance of maintaining a level of integrity vis-à-vis

quality, that holding on to the idea of a university is really

important, even if it is different in individual countries.

It’s not an easy issue, especially for those of us who main-

tain a belief in universities being agents of social justice.

But that makes it more important to discuss. Underneath

Hsieh and Huisman’s gentle, reasonable tone, there lurk

some pretty contentious problems, but they manage the

tensions very well.

The fifth section describes some international per-

spectives of higher education’s public policies. I

confess not to have known what a path dependence

analysis was before I read ‘Oscillations and Persistence

in Chinese Higher Education Policy: A Path Depend-

ence Analysis’, but having worked in China and having

a nodding acquaintance with Feng Qiao Yan’s work if

not Qiang Zha, I was keen to read their chapter. Wiki-

pedia, bless its cotton socks, told me that ‘path depend-

ence’ is either when your past comes back to haunt

you or that when a butterfly dies on a Tibetan moun-

tainside someone in the CPC gets annoyed enough to

annex the whole country. I paraphrase, of course, but

basically, that’s it and it is an analytical strategy that is

mostly used in economics. Without doing it any kind

of justice, their argument is that China’s current and

predicted path in higher education policy terms was

set decades ago and unless something wrenches it from

its inevitable trajectory, it is unlikely it will achieve

its stated objectives of world ranking and significant

global influence. The argument seems both obvious and

inconsequential until you add the fact that Feng has

been championing the private higher education sector

in China for a long time, and then it assumes a kind of

free market in knowledge economy undertone, which

brings its own set of unanswered questions.

The next chapter, ‘The Europe of Knowledge: An Analy-

sis of the EU’s Innovation Strategy’, comes from Harry de

Boer and Frans van Vught, and is restrained to the point

of being almost timorous. There isn’t a great deal of analy-

sis, nothing about Horizons 2020, for example, and while

that may well be a personal preference, I would have

preferred to see what the University of Twente’s CHEPS

team thought about how and where things were actually

going in Europe, even if there is a wide diversity in the

how and why of transnational policy developments. De

Boer and van Vught are generally upbeat; as a result, the

chapter reads more like a summary than an analysis of

the current situation, which may not be surprising as van

Vught is currently president of the European Centre for

Strategic Management of Universities. There’s bread and

there’s butter.

The last chapter was a surprise because I know of

Sheila Embleton’s work as a linguist, especially her Finn-

ish connection, but not as a champion of international

higher education policy strategy, so her chapter, ‘Canada–

India Collaborations in Postsecondary Education’, was

new territory for me. According to her bio, Embleton is

a distinguished research professor in the Department of

Language, Literatures and Linguistics at York University.

Currently, she is also president of the Shastri Institute,

which is one of only two organisations in Canada that

claim to have direct bilateral relationships with a foreign

government, in this case, India. In a nutshell, the chapter

argues that York University has had a long and varied

interaction with Indian higher education providers and

that more can and ought to be done.

The book’s Conclusion is disappointing. Axelrod, in

his Introduction, stated that he believed the book to be

a cogently argued summary of the challenges and pres-

sures that face every university around the world. As it

turns out, it actually demonstrates that within specific

contexts some individuals have had some success, and

most of those have been lobbyists who have had access

to networks that are beyond the reach (and purpose) of

those who are interested in providing better education

rather than making a quid. It’s not much of a conclu-

sion, really.

Basically, the book paints a picture that suggests that

much of current higher education policy, while it pur-

ports to be intended to steer the ship out of troubled

waters, is actually more like ‘hold tight, steady as she goes,

let’s hope for the best’. To belabour the caught between

a rock and hard place analogy to within an inch of its life

(don’t blame me, I didn’t start it), in these fiscally chal-

lenged times, when economic responsibility is trumping


vol. 56, no. 2, 2014 Another season, another reason, for makin’ policy Reviewed by Andrys Onsman 83

innovation and creativity in every nook and cranny of

the higher education sector, if we see the university as a

ship sailing in troubled international waters we ought not

forget that Odysseus was quite prepared to sacrifice his

men by clutching on to a root of some kind as his vessel

was sucked from under him into the vortex. He hung on

for dear life and waited until the next wave brought the

ship up again and he could step back on board. But there

was no further mention of the crew. The Greeks knew a

thing or two about redundancies. They still do.

Andrys Onsman is an academic in the Centre for Studies of

Higher Education, University of Melbourne.



Generation and Gender in Academia is the second book

edited by Bagilhole and White that considers issues facing

women academics; it contains contributions by members

of the Women in Higher Education Management (WHEM)

Network, an international feminist research consortium.

Bagilhole and White’s first book, Gender, Power and Man-

agement: A cross culture analysis of higher education,

provided an analysis of the impact and potential impact

of women academics on organisational growth and cul-

ture, and the issues facing these women in university

senior management (Bagilhole & White, 2011). Genera-

tion and Gender in Academia takes those themes further

by exploring intergenerational differences in the experi-

ences of and careers for a group of women academics.

Focusing on a select group of women academics, all of

whom belong to the WHEM Network, Generation and

Gender in Academia provides a case study of gender and

generation in universities. In a book of four parts, autobi-

ographies of nine women academics from eight countries

illustrate four key themes: national context, organisational

context, personal context and individual agency. The

Introduction (Part I) sets the scene, providing context for

the countries of the women featured, for women making

their careers as academics and for higher education more

generally. Part II comprises individual stories of five more

mature women, reflecting on their careers in academia,

whereas Part III is one chapter, written by four early to

mid-career academics, which discusses contemporary

experiences of gender issues in academia. Part IV con-

cludes by exploring generational change in the context of

the gendered academy.

The six autobiographical chapters are well written,

engaging accounts of the lives of these nine women

that provide a rich tapestry that illustrates the issues

for women academics. Similarities in the stories abound

and cross the generation gap: for example, the relatively

long time taken to establish a career, and the overt and

covert gender discrimination, were similar experiences

for the younger and the more mature women. The key dif-

ference between these two groups of women was their

career expectations, shaped by the differences in national

context of equal opportunity frameworks, which have

changed considerably over the last four decades in all

countries represented in this book except Turkey.

The issues associated with organisational context

crossed generations: each woman in this study experi-

enced a gendered organisational context that impeded

their career progress, and ‘the organisational culture for

the younger women in this study, on the whole, does not

appear to have changed markedly from that experienced

by the more senior group of women’ (White & Bagilhole,

2013, p. 173). The personal context of family, class and

geographical location has had similar impacts for the

women in this study. The class of each woman, her family

and her geographical mobility all impacted on her ability

to progress her academic career. Class and family prioriti-

sation of education shaped the notion of entitlement to

tertiary education, while ‘strong mothers provided daugh-

ters with a sense of entitlement’ (White & Bagilhole, 2013,

p. 176). Geographic mobility – or lack of it – features in

many of the narratives. Most of the more senior women

were constrained in their careers due to restricted geo-

graphical mobility, whereas for at least two of the younger

women mobility has led to career advancement.

The final theme identified in these autobiographies is

that of agency, which is considered in terms of an indi-

vidual’s choices, sponsors, cultural capital and becoming

their gender aware. The younger women demonstrate

greater agency, particularly through acquiring sufficient

cultural capital to believe that they are entitled to a career

on the same terms as male academics. This is supported

by growing use of sponsors and by becoming gender

aware at an earlier age than the more senior women.

Another strand that runs through the autobiographies

in this book, and is positioned as a subtheme in the per-

sonal context (White & Bagilhole 2013, pp. 178–180), is

that of being an outsider. This outsiderness – or difference

– is discussed by the authors in terms of gender, age, class

The Gender Gap: Still a schism?Generation and Gender in Academia, by Barbara Bagilhole & Kate White (Eds.).ISBN: 978-1-137-26916-4, Palgrave Macmillan, 216 pp., 2013.

Reviewed by Carroll Graham


vol. 56, no. 2, 2014 The Gender Gap: Still a schism? Reviewed by Carroll Graham 85

and education in their experiences as children and/or

adults. The experience of being an outsider transcends the

generations for these women. Pat O’Connor, for example,

one of the senior women, says: ‘An “outsider” to university

in terms of class, gender and age, I had survived and was

on my way, with high hopes and naïve optimism’ (2013,

p. 27). In a later chapter, Heidi Prozesky reflects that she

‘felt trapped and powerless, and became an outsider to

the academic establishment’ (Carvalho et al., 2013, p. 133),

while Teresa Carvalho acknowledged her outsiderness in

wanting a tertiary education: ‘Swimming against the tide,

I decided to keep my dream [to get a university educa-

tion]’ (Carvalho et al., 2013, p. 154). As someone who was

the first in her family to attend university, who started her

career in a non-traditional profession (engineering) in

the early 1980s, and who then moved into non-academic

appointments in the higher education sector, I found

much in the women’s stories that resonated with my self-

conception of being an outsider. The outsider concept

underscores the experiences of female professional staff

who, when trying to move into more senior roles, face

what I call the ‘double-glazed glass ceiling’ of being not

academic and not male.

Gender inequality and gender discrimination in aca-

demia are changing from overt to covert (Husu, cited in

Carvalho, et al., 2013, p. 144). Thus, this book is a timely

reminder of the systemic nature of gender inequality in

higher education (White & Bagilhole, 2013, pp. 172–175),

which crosses generations. As noted by White and Bagil-

hole in the concluding chapter, the key challenge remains

the need to confront ‘the assertion that the younger gen-

eration of women live in an era when the battles have

been won’ (2013, p. 188). The continuing activities of the

National Tertiary Education Union (NTEU) in addressing

gender inequity and discrimination, such as the Blue-

stocking Week events (National Tertiary Education Union,

2014), remain essential and need to be inclusive of both

academic and professional staff. Since gender inequity is

systemic within our institutions of higher education, it is

important that men and women address these matters.

Hence, I commend this book to all readers of Australian

Universities’ Review.

Carroll Graham is a third space professional who, until

recently, worked at the Institute for Sustainable Futures at

the University of Technology Sydney (UTS). Carroll now has

an honorary appointment in the Faculty of Arts and Social

Sciences at UTS to explore further issues in higher education,

particularly those relating to staff matters.

References

Bagilhole, B. & White, K. (Eds.). (2011). Gender, Power and Management: A cross-cultural analysis of higher education. New York: Palgrave Macmillan.

Carvalho, T., Özkanli, Ö., Prozesky, H. & Peterson, H. (2013). Careers of Early- and Mid-career Academics. In B. Bagilhole & K. White. (Eds.), Gender and Generation in Academia. London: Palgrave Macmillan.

National Tertiary Education Union. (2014). Bluestocking Week. Retrieved from www.nteu.org.au/women/bluestockingweek.

O’Connor, P. (2013). A Standard Academic Career?. In B. Bagilhole & K. White. (Eds.). Generation and Gender in Academia. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan.

White, K. & Bagilhole, B. (2013). Continuity and Change in Academic Careers. In B. Bagilhole & K. White. (Eds.) Generation and Gender in Academia. London: Palgrave Macmillan.


vol. 56, no. 2, 201486 The Gender Gap: Still a schism? Reviewed by Carroll Graham

Managing and Supporting Student Diversity in Higher

Education is well structured and easy to read. It pro-

ceeds on the basis of a number of assumptions that are

explained clearly right at the beginning, so that there are

few questions left begging as you proceed through the

rest of the book. The book is about teaching to increas-

ingly diverse student cohorts within universities. Diver-

sity is related to equity factors, with an argument made

that socioeconomic status is critical because those who

fall into other equity categories are likely to be affected

by socioeconomic status as well.

The authors speak to those who teach in higher edu-

cation. Their aim is to make us aware of the life experi-

ences, needs of and capacity for success of students who

may not have had the traditional pathway into univer-

sity. Building on notions of participatory research, the

authors present a range of case studies of students study-

ing social work at Monash University, who self-identified

as having non-traditional pathways into university. Each

of these students is different from the other but they

share interrupted educational pathways. The group

includes those who are first in their family to attend

university, low socioeconomic background students,

those with a medical condition and those from ethnic

minorities. These students were interviewed through the

course of their studies. During this process, the original

determination of success, which was linked to comple-

tion, was shifted to include the potential of university

study to change their lives.

The case studies include these students’ voices through

the many quotations included, but are presented in the

third person as the authors’ narrative of their experiences.

This format enables predictable themes to emerge. The

case studies are distilled to illustrate a particular aspect of

inclusive teaching, which is explained at the beginning of

the book. Each case study finishes with a set of questions

for further discussion.

In the final chapters, the authors link the various stu-

dent experiences to strategies for academic success.

These are illustrated in relation to the students and their

personal attributes, for example, perseverance, pedago-

gies such as group work and peer review, and institutional

factors such as financial support and flexible delivery.

There is a list of key implications that offer a range of

how to’s for inclusive teaching. The authors include good

teaching strategies that are likely to benefit all students:

‘offer feedback and encouragement’, ‘facilitate peer inter-

action’ or ‘facilitate student-centred access to information

services’. These seem pretty straightforward.

Called ‘A case book’, this is a teacherly work that includes

discussion topics and questions for reflection. One can

imagine it being recommended for courses or professional

development for teaching in higher education.

The overwhelming majority of students who shared

their experiences are women. This, and the fact that

they were all doing social work, needed further explora-

tion. While this absence didn’t necessarily detract from

the overall argument, more needed to be said about

these issues as I suspect others would not be so readily

convinced.

Given the new funding regimes planned for higher edu-

cation, teaching to diversity may not be an issue into the

future. This book is a timely reminder of what we may be

losing. These students are a testimony not only to how

university can change students’ lives, but also the lives

of those who will benefit from a social worker, teacher,

doctor or lawyer who has different experiences from

those of the traditional university student.

Georgina Tsolidis is a professor of education at Federation

University of Australia, Ballarat.

Diversity 101Managing and Supporting Student Diversity in Higher Education: A case book by Robyn Benson, Margaret Hegney, Lesley Hewitt, Glenda Crosling & Anita Devos.ISBN: 978-1-84334-719-4, Chandos Publishing, 254 pp., 2013.

Reviewed by Georgina Tsolidis


vol. 56, no. 2, 2014 Diversity 101 Reviewed by Georgina Tsolidis 87

Reading the title caused me some trepidation. I remem-

ber asking myself several questions. Would I find an

overpowering collection of perspectives? Didn’t diver-

sity imply inclusion? If so, was the title a tease? Could

I believe that diversity and inclusion were newly emer-

gent issues, because these issues have been reported

on for some time by authors including Brennan (2008),

Brennan et al. (2008) and Brennan and Teichler (2008).

Hadn’t Tinto (1975, 1987, 2006) and Kember (1989,

1995), in earlier times, in their theories on student depar-

ture, established that institutional variables could cause

student departure and thus it was a given that institu-

tions needed to transform themselves in at least one

way? So, I scanned through the table of contents to see

what inspiration awaited me.

In my scan, I noticed that there were two introduc-

tions. One was written by the series editor, another by

the editor of this book. I wondered why two introduc-

tions were necessary, why they weren’t integrated into a

single piece. Continuing my scan, I noticed further that

the book editor had written the first chapter, entitled

‘Identity and Diversity’, but did not mention inclusion.

Although I had no right to be suspicious, I was starting

to feel not inspired. Inspiration returned when I noticed

that three-quarters of the book’s 175 pages were allocated

to five separate case studies undertaken across Europe,

Africa, the Americas and New Zealand. The fact that there

were five fresh authors was attractive. I started to hope

that their studies might, to use Plutarch’s terms, fire my

inspiration. I decided to persist.

Although I might have wished it to be otherwise, I

found no inspiration in the first introduction. I could not

give credit to the writer’s message that mass education

is a new phenomenon. While the claim was meant to

highlight the book’s importance, it detracted rather than

enhanced its appeal. Again seeking for the warmth of

inspiration, I broached the second introduction, which

I noted was well referenced. What I found was that con-

trol of the communication in at least one place (page 5,

line 5) was clumsy when identities were used in a cir-

cular fashion, as in ‘institutions … have deeply embed-

ded identities associated with [a list of identities]’. Listed

on the next page were six research questions, which I

initially greeted since I like to understand the book’s

research focus, but eventually I came to realise that each

question could be researched for a lifetime. I fought off

an urge to put down the book, opting instead for a read

of the first case study.

What a sterling decision. The case study is called ‘Skin

apart: On the complexities of institutional transforma-

tion in South Africa’, by Jonathan D. Jansen. The narrative

was impressively written, with passion, by a former out-

sider who was now an embedded insider functioning in

a senior management role. There was inspiration aplenty

in this article, not the least of which were the ‘seven fun-

damentals of deep transformation’ that formed an action

plan. The action plan was grounded in the sense that it

dealt with securing ‘opportunities’(to quote from Jensen)

to ensure the success of students as well as with staff,

even if there was an early element that some participants

saw as apartheid-like coercion. In summary, it would be

exceedingly difficult not be inspired by the plan and its

rollout.

The second case study, written by Heather Eggins, is

entitled ‘Institutional transformation in the UK: Diversity

and equity in a constantly shifting environment’. This is

an attractive study, not just for its dispassionate approach,

but also for the section on theoretical approaches where

today’s diversity is shown to be explicable in terms of

conceptual frameworks and cyclical theories, which read-

ers will enjoy. It gives structure to what might seem to

be erratic at times, and this delivers hope. Essentially, it

explains higher education changes (for staff, students, soci-

ety, funding bodies) as movement from unitary to binary

More diversityDiversity and Inclusion in Higher Education: Emerging perspectives on institutional transformation by Daryl G. Smith (Ed.). ISBN: 978-0-415-52918-1 (hbk); ISBN: 978-1-315-79788-5 (ebk), Routledge, xvi + 175 pp., 2014.

Reviewed by Dennis Bryant


vol. 56, no. 2, 201488 More diversity Reviewed by Dennis Bryant

systems, and, in some cases, back again. It provides figures

on success, and otherwise, of changes to higher education

endeavours. It broaches the topics of forced redundancy

and funding crises. Even though it canvasses many topics,

this case study is an inspiration to understand the meta

forces that are having an impact on us, society-wide.

In all probability, I was not expecting the next case

study to rise to the heights of the first two, but I was mis-

taken. I must acknowledge the editor’s acumen. If any-

thing, it exceeded the first studies. It was well written,

referenced and entirely grounded in educational reality. It

deals, for example, with frameworks (which, in my experi-

ence, are a laudable type of commitment to benchmark-

ing), acknowledges rather than denies that the academy

is at a crossroads and inspires the reader because it treats

topics such as educational excellence, students and (did

you anticipate it?) student learning outcomes. Too fre-

quently, this collection of concepts is subjugated, giving

rise to a criticism of Narcissus staring into the pool, at a

time when ‘core activities’ (I take this term from Eggins’

article) need to be at the forefront of our concerns – in

my opinion. While there is scope to disagree with some

points, it would be difficult to ignore the comprehen-

sive thrust of the paper. I recommend the scholarship in

Yolanda T. Moses’ article entitled ‘Diversity, excellence, and

inclusion: Leadership for change in the twenty-first cen-

tury United States‘.

There are two further case studies. The ‘Diversity in

higher education in Brazil: Practices and challenges’ paper

by Clarissa E. B. Neves makes some interesting points,

such as the ratio of private to government higher educa-

tion institutions in Brazil, affirmative action policies and

racial access quotas. The final case study, ‘Indigenous insti-

tutions: Transforming higher education’, by Sharon Parker

& Patricia M. G. Johnston, is appealing for its discussion of

the merits of establishing, as viable higher education insti-

tutions, tribal college and university models with unique

mission statements in New Zealand. There are references

to tribal colleges and universities in other countries such

as Canada and the US.

Dennis Bryant has a first degree in (mainly Aboriginal)

linguistics and foreign languages, graduate diplomas in

teaching and computing studies, a masters in TESOL and

a PhD that was premised on unearthing unintended, but

nevertheless real, non-beneficial institutional impacts on

student learning outcomes.

References

Brennan, J. (2008). Higher education and social change. Higher Education, 56(3), 381–393.

Brennan, J., Enders, J., Musselin, C., Teichler, U.& Valimaa, J. (2008). Higher Education Looking Forward: An agenda for future research. Synthesis report of the European Science Foundation’s Forward Look on higher education in Europe beyond 2010: resolving conflicting social and economic expectations. Strasbourg: European Science Foundation.

Brennan, J.& Teichler, U. (2008). The future of higher education and of higher education research. Higher Education, 56(3), 259–264.

Kember, D. (1989). A longitudinal-process model of drop-out from distance education. Journal of Higher Education, 60(3), 278–301.

Kember, D. (1995). Open Learning Courses for Adults: A model of student progress. Englewood Cliffs: Educational Technology Publications.

Tinto, V. (1975). Dropout from higher education: A theoretical synthesis of recent research. Review of Educational Research, 45(1), 89–125.

Tinto, V. (1987). Leaving College: Rethinking the causes and cures of student attrition. Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press.

Tinto, V. (2006). Research and practice of student retention: What next?, Journal of College Student Retention, 8(1), 1–19.


vol. 56, no. 2, 2014 More diversity Reviewed by Dennis Bryant 89

The word ‘voices’ in the title of this print book was one of

several words that caught my attention. It promised – and

delivered – views of student voices on striving, struggling

and achieving success in higher education. The second

word in the title to attract my eye was ‘inequalities’. I

took this to mean that the voices were from students who

had overcome societal inequalities in order to arrive at

university, and this attracted me because of the implied

aspiration that drove them and because of the inspiration

that they could receive through success in higher educa-

tion. These students were non-traditional students in some

manner, whether it was class, ethnicity or gender, to men-

tion a few. I read on.

Opening the book, I saw nine interview case study

chapters preceded and succeeded by, respectively, two

introductory chapters and two chapters of comparative

conclusions. That the chapters were balanced, at about 12

pages each, which is reminiscent of research articles I fre-

quently encounter, was another reason to like the book.

Impressed, I felt that the editors would also have paid

attention to relating their articles to theory. I was inspired

to read on, if only to renew my acquaintance with a range

of theoretical definitions. I was not disappointed.

Each chapter usually limited itself to two or three inter-

view analyses that had been selected from a corpus of up

to 100 voice interviews, which had been conducted at

two to three higher education institutions in their coun-

try of research. The interview chapters consisted of stud-

ies of non-traditional students in six European countries.

A good spectrum.

Here is a brief overview, perhaps a little terse because

of the number of voice chapters that the editors decided

were needed to be covered. They are in presentation

order, not just because this is convenient, but also because

it was difficult to pick a best or second best study. I learnt

something from all the chapters.

The first substantive chapter was ‘Capital Matters: Inter-

rogating the Sociology of Reproduction and the Psychol-

ogy of Transition and Potential Transformation in the UK’

by Linden West. The editor erred in not enforcing a limit

on the length of the subtitle. Nevertheless, I was particu-

larly drawn to the theorists, especially Honneth (1995)

and the discussion about the social (meaning everybody

in the wider society and universities) struggle against

exclusion.

This was followed by ‘Critical Theory and Non-

traditional Students’ experience in Irish Higher Educa-

tion’ by Ted Fleming and Fergal Finnegan. One of the non-

traditional student interviewees said: ‘No one recognised

any potential in me’, which is sad because it falls outside

Plutarch’s exhortation to fire student minds. As old as his

advice is, it can’t be faulted.

‘Ethnicity and Class Matters: Experiences in Swedish

Higher Education’ by Agnieszka Bron, Camilla Thunborg

and Eva Edström was built around three interviewees. It

was enjoyable to distinguish between the oft-used words

of ‘habitus’ and ‘cultural capital’, which seem to overlap

and blend sometimes.

The chapter ‘Gender and Age: Negotiating and Experi-

encing Higher Education in England’ is by Barbara Merrill.

Apart from encountering for the first time the description

‘symbolic interactionism’, I liked the interplay between

older, and generally childrened, women and as yet unchil-

drened, generally younger, women, who concurred on

one topic: university learning as a liberating space for self-

growth.

Non-traditional students and barriers to participa-

tion in German universities, by Frank Schömer. There

was a relentless structure here that allowed for summa-

ries, both of which I very much enjoyed; however, the

Reference section was in German and therefore not

accessible to all.

Hearing voices?Student Voices on Inequalities in European Higher Education: Challenges for theory, policy and practice in a time of change by Fergal Finnegan, Barbara Merrill & Camilla Thunborg (Eds.). ISBN: 978-0-415-82689-1 (hbk); ISBN: 978-0-203-52608-8 (ebk), Routledge, xi + 174, pp., 2014.

Reviewed by Dennis Bryant


vol. 56, no. 2, 201490 Hearing voices? Reviewed by Dennis Bryant

In John Field and Natalie Morgan-Klein’s chapter, ‘Dis-

ability and Learner Identities in Scotland’, the authors

noted that disability was an under-researched topic. They

also highlighted some known but often not associated

conditions, as well as broadening their study by provid-

ing some accompanying staff interviews along with the

disabled student interviews.

‘Equality and Improving Retention Practices for Non-

traditional Students in Poland, by Ewa Kurantowicz and

Adrianna Nizinska, was thoroughly enjoyable, not just

because it related retention to non-traditional students,

but also because it was well written and began by asking

why, despite little institutional support, some students in

Poland continue their studies.

I liked the interviews in ‘Social ineqUalities and

Family Support for Non-traditional Students in Andalucia,

Spain’ by José González-Monteaguda and Miguel-Angel

Ballesteros-Moscosio, but three pages of conclusion made

me think that repetition trumped analysis in this paper.

‘The Unwanted Students: Closure Tendencies in the

German University System’ by Peter Alheit, although intel-

lectual in style and including six figures that portray the

relative but fluctuating positions of broad discipline areas,

spends most of its time away from students discussing

instead gatekeepers who control student access to the

disciplines.

Dennis Bryant has a first degree in (mainly Aboriginal)

linguistics and foreign languages, graduate diplomas in

teaching and computing studies, a masters in TESOL and

a PhD that was premised on unearthing unintended, but

nevertheless real, non-beneficial institutional impacts on

student learning outcomes.

References

Honneth, A. (1995). The Struggle for Recognition: The Moral Grammar of Social Conflicts. Cambridge: Polity Press.


vol. 56, no. 2, 2014 Hearing voices? Reviewed by Dennis Bryant 91

Academic Life and Labour in the New University is

an honest, deep and critical enquiry into the realities of

academic work in Australia that provides the reader with

hope and choices for a brighter working future in the new

university. It is a collection of essays about the transfor-

mation of the university during the last decade and also

provides an analysis of the experiences of academics and

students from a pedagogical perspective.

Reading this book while on fieldwork for my PhD about

insecure academic work in Germany felt a little odd for

two reasons. First, this book reveals unpleasant realities of

an industry I intend to move into, and second was, reading

this in Germany, where academics seem to complain less

about the changes to the profession than more about the

fact that the employment of 75 per cent of the academic

workforce is in insecure positions. In contrast with Aus-

tralia, it seems the German academic labour market has

been quite resistant to changes even in times of the three

big shifts stressed by Barcan (p. 6) of massification, mar-

ketisation and internationalisation. Nevertheless, changes,

to the nature of academic work itself and to the questions

of ‘Who is employed?’ and ‘How are they employed?’ are

relevant (Farnham, 1999; Schimank, 2005; Enders & De

Weert, 2009; Musselin, 2010). For the German junior aca-

demics the Australian academic career system, with its

high salaries and relative job security for those in employ-

ment, is quite attractive. Hence, a prevailing question is if

and how academic work in Australia has changed since

Weber’s account of ‘science as a vocation’ (Weber, 1958).

Barcan does provide the answer with her report about

the life and labour of an academic in Australia today, by

demonstrating that the intensification of academic work

embedded in the mantra of managerialism is profound

and seems to have serious effects on the wellbeing of indi-

viduals and thus ultimately on the future capacity of the

education system itself.

As an insider, Ruth Barcan brings an excellent account

of the transformation and challenges of academic work

in Australia at the beginning of the 21st century and

calls for a serious engagement with the impact of these

changes on the personal lives of academics by bringing

together ‘private feelings and public contexts’. While the

author acknowledges that some of the changes to work-

ing life were progressive and really needed, she questions

‘how much more work can be compressed into a week’

(p. 6), critically questions the casualisation of the profes-

sion and provides evidence of an emerging insecurity

about the profession. Rather than dismissing the numer-

ous accounts of complaints as subjective whinging by a

privileged workforce, as is often done in public opinion,

Barcan stresses the importance of normalising these expe-

riences, engaging with failures, problems and limitations

of academic work in order to combat the ‘threat to the

university as an institution’ (p. 15). By arguing that the

transformation of the university sector and its working

life has produced the attitude of not being good enough

in students and academics, she advocates to regain the

agency of the profession (p. 12 ff.). One of the strengths

of this analysis is the holistic approach by which she pro-

vides a critical account of the contemporary transforma-

tion of the university system, through its impact on the

institution in general as well as on the individuals working

and learning in it.

The book is subdivided into seven chapters, including an

Introduction and Conclusion. The first chapter provides the

background for the changes to the working lives of academ-

ics by dealing with the ‘Big Shifts: Massification, Marketisa-

tion and Their Consequences’ to the university sectors in

Australia and the UK. Both cases show that similar develop-

ments towards massification and marketisation have led to

the dilemma of an expanding system and declining public

funding. These cases demonstrate that the original idea of

the university as a provider of social and public good has

been brought out of balance in the name of individual and

national economic benefits. The expansion of university

education might have brought diversity and equality, but

it has gone hand in hand with the marketisation supported

by a free market mantra and claimed inability of govern-

Beware all ye who enter here!Academic Life and Labour in the New University. Hope and other choices by Ruth Barcan.ISBN 9781409436218 (hbk), Ashgate, 258 pp., 2013.

Reviewed by Janin Bredehoeft


vol. 56, no. 2, 201492 Beware all ye who enter here! Reviewed by Janin Bredehoeft

ments to finance this politically volitional and ideologically

driven expanding system. Ultimately, these developments

are the causes of some of the changes to working lives of

academics outlined in the following chapters.

Chapter 2, which engages with ‘The Wellbeing of Aca-

demics in the Palimpsestic University’, gives a detailed

account of what it is like to work in an institution that is,

according to Barcan, three types in one: a scholarly com-

munity, a bureaucracy and a corporation (p. 69). More-

over, this chapter looks at the impact of the demands of

this new all-encompassing organisation on personal lives.

To work in academia today resembles many other white

collar professions: gone are the times of privilege and lost

seems professional morale. Driven by an outcome audit

culture, productivity increase and efficiency measures,

academics today face the harsh realities of an alienated

labour force in modern capitalism (p. 138). This chapter

is excellent in the way it links the present academic work

reality to some of the changes in university management,

such as outcome measurements and bureaucratisation.

Barcan also engages with the consequences of marketi-

sation on work security by pointing to the new realities

of academic work: the casualisation and diversification

of the profession. However, as the title suggests, she does

provide some hopeful avenues for the future through

some survival tips, such as a plea to the profession itself

to become allies (p. 138) in the fight against the negative

impacts of corporatisation and politicisation.

The next two chapters deal with examples from cul-

tural studies relating to teaching and pedagogy as well as

student experiences. She uses an empirical study to dem-

onstrate that students find ‘utility’ in cultural studies and

hence concludes that, despite some mainstream criticism,

academics in the humanities are doing valuable work.

Chapter 5 tackles one of the most common experiences

in today’s working environment, ‘Feeling Like a Fraud: Or,

the Upside of Knowing You Can Never Be Good Enough’.

In this chapter, Barcan describes the feelings and experi-

ences of academics as well as some structural problems

leading to the feeling of ‘not good enough’ and argues for

normalising the discussions of this experiences. Moreover,

she provides ideas to develop pedagogical strategies, such

as ideas to normalise the possibility of failure and limita-

tions in scholarly work, and the courage to be intellectu-

ally honest and interesting by being true to one’s research.

In this chapter Barcan refers especially to the future work-

force, and in particular, to early career academics as they

face a transformed academic environment.

Barcan’s account of the academic profession in Aus-

tralia is remarkably comprehensive. She does have the

courage not only to reflect critically on the changes of

academic work through marketisation and massification,

but also to remind us of the serious impact these changes

have on the wellbeing of the scholar and the whole uni-

versity education. In addition, the book gives hope by

offering various new choices and concepts to deal with

the current employment condition while it also encour-

ages academics to unite in order to protect the profession

and the university education.

There are a few issues that Barcan could have addressed

better. I would, for instance, still argue that the academic

profession has always been diverse, to a large extent inse-

cure, and has been seen as a passion more than a job. Some

historical engagement with the specifics of the academic

profession, such as the career advancement system, would

have added further to the context of the various changes

to academic life. Barcan engages with the institutional

changes in the UK but does not engage with academic

life and wellbeing. A short comparison of academic life

between the UK and Australia would have provided the

reader, unfamiliar with the institutional practices, with a

deeper understanding of the transformation of academic

life. I wonder if academics in the UK are equally affected

by changes to their working life or if they might have dif-

ferent strategies to deal with the consequences of institu-

tional shifts.

Needless to say, my personal wellbeing has already been

affected by some of the problems Barcan is investigating,

such as casualisation, but one of the greatest achieve-

ments of this book is that Barcan manages to provide a

PhD student with hope.

Janin Bredehoeft is a PhD candidate at the University of

Sydney. Her research is on the transformation of the higher

education sector and its impact on the academic profession in

Germany and Australia.

References

Enders, J. & Teichler, U. (1997). A victim of their own success? Employment and working conditions of academic staff in comparative perspective. Higher Education, 34(3), 347–372.

Farnham, D. (2009). Employment Relations in Europe: A Comparative and Critical Review, in J. Enders & E. De Weert. (Eds.), The Changing Face of Academic Life. Analytical and Comparative Perspectives. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 195–217.

Musselin, C. (2010). The Market for Academics. New York: Routledge.

Schimank, U. (2005). New public management and the academic profession: Reflections on the German situation. Minerva, 43: 361–376.

Weber, M. (1958). Science as a vocation, Daedalus, 87(1): 111–134


vol. 56, no. 2, 2014 Beware all ye who enter here! Reviewed by Janin Bredehoeft 93

Fiachra Long is senior lecturer in Education at Uni-

versity College Cork, Ireland. He is also a philosopher.

Educating the Postmodern Child, Long’s mostly philo-

sophical treatise on education in an age of virtual reali-

ties, is rich in scholarship, particularly in the form of

a dialectic among ancient, modern and postmodern

philosophies of education.

As a philosopher, Long is circumspect about embracing

certain aspects of the postmodern project, particularly in

relation to the education of children. I have no quibbles

with circumspection and I applaud Long’s scholarship and

his informed and passionate commitment to education. Yet

while I was initially drawn to the book’s title, soon enough

it began to trouble me. What is ‘the postmodern child’?

Long provides no working definition of his subject, appear-

ing rather to assume as unproblematic his own reading of

postmodern culture and the children who inhabit it. The

more I read, the more I feared that Long is mistaken about

the relative incontestability of his version and that read-

ers will go along with it. I tried to bracket my concerns by

temporarily setting aside the problematics of ‘the postmod-

ern child’ and by imagining the subject, more approach-

ably, as ‘educating the child in a world of virtual realities’.

Having partly succeeded in bracketing the most immediate

obstacle, I next found myself responding to several of

Long’s claims with, ‘Well yes … and no’, or ‘It’s an interest-

ing claim, but where is your evidence? What about this as a

plausible competing hypothesis?’

Long’s misplaced confidence in his reader’s acqui-

escence means that one must join the dots to read his

thesis, but on the following position he is clear: the

ubiquity and nature of contemporary computer-based

knowledge acquisition and social media is detrimental to

children’s psychosocial development and education. This

may or may not be the case, but that case cannot be made

without sustained argument. For my liking, Long is far too

inclined to substitute anecdote and intuitive interpreta-

tion for evidence.

Expanding on his doubts about knowledge delivery

via virtual realities, Long contrasts the acquisition of

knowledge in its conventional disciplinary sense – as

‘tree-like’ – with rhizomatic learning. As Deleuze and

Guattari (1987) emphasise, ‘Unlike trees or their roots, the

rhizome connects any point to any other point’ (p. 21).

Rhizomatic learning, says Long, reflects ‘what my clicking

and clunking friends are doing … opening pages willy-

nilly, following hunches, attacking information which is

not pre-arranged according to some preconceived linear-

ity’ (pp. 82–83). Much as Long appears to take as given a

certain divide between arboreal and rhizomatic learning,

he does flag the possibility of ‘a delicate interweave’ of

rhizomatic elements within ‘the more traditionally struc-

tured curriculum’ (p. 87). But why ‘delicate’? After all,

isn’t the massive cognitive growth fired by the infant’s

unstructured interactions with the environment a prod-

uct of rhizomatic processes? I do not mean to imply that

all learning ought to be rhizomatic, but rather that some

of Long’s concerns may be misplaced. Moreover, I wonder

to what extent Long is charging postmodern culture with

harms wrought by mass schooling itself, particularly given

its original governmental brief to produce docile subjects.

On the question of why children often prefer to avoid

thinking for themselves, for example, Long appears to

point the finger more at postmodern culture than at the

long tradition of schooling for obedience.

Postmodern culture, Long claims, assumes the child

has ‘achieved sufficient autonomy and indeed agency to

shape the world around it’. This arrangement, he says,

is ‘only softly influenced by parents and carers, who

themselves fall under scrutiny and could apparently be

replaced should their standards not be high enough’ (p.

17). What Long means by this is not entirely clear and he

again fails to support his remarks with evidence. In a simi-

lar vein, Long contrasts televised images of 21st century

rioters ‘rampaging through London high streets, looting

shops’ with the diametrically opposed motivations, so he

Rhizomatic learning rules, OK?Educating the Postmodern Child: The struggle for learning in a world of virtual realities by Fiachra Long.ISBN-13: 978-1441103871 ISBN-10: 1441103872, Bloomsbury Academic, 203 pp., 2013.

Reviewed by Andee Jones


vol. 56, no. 2, 201494 Rhizomatic learning rules, OK? Reviewed by Andee Jones

assumes, ‘of the impoverished children of the early 1900s’

who stole food and fuel for their families. While his mourn-

ing of the breakdown and loss of the social contract is

understandable, Long appears to be targeting postmodern

culture itself rather than the impact of, for example, neo-

liberal policies on the already marginalised. Postmodern

culture and neoliberalism are not coterminous and, argu-

ably, much of what Long criticises about contemporary

practices of commodification (p. 17) is directly associated

with Thatcher–Reaganite-type policies since the 1980s.

Educating the Postmodern Child is a timely and valu-

able contribution to the field of philosophy of education.

The book contains many intriguing and sometimes con-

tentious ideas, but these are insufficiently marshalled to

constitute a convincing case.

Andee Jones is a retired academic and psychologist whose

published work includes four non-fiction books, one of

which has been adapted for the stage, and numerous articles

in scholarly, literary and mainstream journals. Jones’ latest

book is The Gender Vendors: Sex and lies from Abraham to

Freud, published by Lexington Books.

ReferenceDeleuze, G. & Guattari, F. (1987). A Thousand Plateaus, trans. Brian Massumi. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press.


vol. 56, no. 2, 2014 Rhizomatic learning rules, OK? Reviewed by Andee Jones 95

Ever since German philosopher Hegel popularised the

idea that our world is best understood in terms of con-

tradictions, social science has used positives and nega-

tives to see how both shape education. Using Hegel’s

idea of dialectical thinking – commonly known as thesis–

antithesis–synthesis’ – one of Hegel’s pupils, a certain Karl

Marx, applied it to understand capitalism. David Harvey

employs this Hegelian–Marxian method to highlight no

fewer than 17 contradictions that scourge current capital-

ism. This is underscored by a wealth of data and a delight-

fully accessible writing style. Initially, one can see two

versions of contradictions. In Aristotelian philosophy, logi-

cal contradictions are ‘two statements held to be so totally

at odds that both cannot be true’ (p. 1), while Hegelian–

Marxian dialectical contradictions reach beyond that by

offering a synthesis (p. 4). The Hegelian–Marxian version

is slightly complicated by the fact that there are contradic-

tions between the world as it ‘appears’ [Anschein] and as

it ‘really is’ (Kant’s thing-in-itself). Armed with that, Harvey

starts his investigation of education under capitalism.

Since education in our time occurs under conditions

of capitalism, both are inextricably linked to one another.

Hence, there is university education as it appears to many,

but there is also the reality of higher education lurking

behind the well-manicured lawns and impressive build-

ings sending ‘misleading surface signals’ (p. 5) about edu-

cation to the bypassing consumer (formerly known as

student). To get beyond these managerially induced but

misleading signals, Harvey highlights three main contra-

dictions, namely, ‘foundational, moving and dangerous

contradictions’. Each has grave implications for higher

education. The classical use value versus exchange value

contradiction, for example, makes one aware why and

how managerialism has shifted the use value of education

towards exchange value. ‘The aim [of education] is to pro-

cure exchange-values, not use-values. The creation of use-

value for others is a means to an end’ (p. 17).

This also means that ‘money is the supreme God of

the [educational] world and that we must all bow down

before it, submit to its dictates and worship before the

altar of its power’ (p. 25). Perhaps the sooner one realises

this, the sooner one gets a clear picture of what today’s

higher education is really about. This sort of contradic-

tion also marks the opposition between money versus

education, as well as the third contradiction, capitalism

versus the state, when the state (and politicians, for that

matter) pretends to favour higher education while at the

same time handing it over to capitalist market forces. This

also offloads the burden on to consumer/students to get

an education not for their needs, but for capital’s needs.

Hence, education is no longer life-fulfilling but has been

converted into property.

As a consequence, students need to ‘property them-

selves’ so that capital can function. This, of course,

leads to the contradiction of ‘private-appropriation vs.

common-wealth’ (p. 53), where state interests once

favoured common wealth while capital seeks private

appropriation with educational consumers forced to live

out these contradictions. This marks the height of the

labour versus capital contradiction, with labour being

forced to sell the only thing it possesses when seeking

to avoid Newstart starvation levels. This structural asym-

metry is carried out daily in the labour market, in which

no goods change hands (unlike at the commodity market),

while labour is sold under capital’s conditions flanked by

neoliberal deregulation. Imagine running a shop in which

each customer is forced to buy the goods on offer – a capi-

talist paradise. But this defines the so-called labour market.

Once labour is sold, contradictions do not end,

because now something called ‘the labour process’ (p.

62) starts with its own internal contradictions when

people, even those with university degrees, face at least

three contractions:

1. between higher wages and management’s drive

towards lower wages that contradicts capitalism’s

need to sell (to make us buy things we don’t need

with money we don’t have to impress people we

don’t like)

A capital idea?Seventeen Contradictions and the End of Capitalism by David Harvey.ISBN 978 1 78125 160 7 (hbk), Profile Books, xiv + 338 pp., 2014.

Reviewed by Thomas Klikauer


vol. 56, no. 2, 201496 A capital idea? Reviewed by Thomas Klikauer

2. between shorter working hours and management’s

interest in extending exploitation

3. between better working conditions and the manage-

rial drive towards cost cutting inside and outside the

workplace.

Inside universities, the contradictions between technol-

ogy, work and human disposability (p. 91) continue when

university management seeks to replace academic labour

through technical means ranging from blackboards and

internet-guided prepackaged tutorials sold by textbook

corporations, to virtual lectures that reduce lecturers to

‘trained gorillas’ (p. 105) and mere instructors. But tech-

nology also ‘shortens the turnover time’ (p. 99) so that

more educational consumers can be put through; hence

the pressure by university management to reduce study-

ing time towards a ‘5-minute-MBA’ (amazon.com) and

the one year masters degree. This results in a ‘technical

and social division of labour’ (p. 113), with its associated

‘deskilling’ (p. 119) and McDonaldisation of academic

labour.

But unlike most industries in which there is a contra-

diction between ‘monopoly and competition’ (p. 131),

higher education favours a handful of oligopolies that

have divided up markets. Higher education is ‘still’ defined

by competition in which the choice between Porter’s

cost leader (same degrees; just cheaper) and differentia-

tor (offering unusual degrees) works relentlessly. Flanked

by this is also a drive towards ‘name branding so that

monopoly prices can be charged’ (p. 139), as at Harvard,

MIT, Oxford and Cambridge, for example. This has not yet

happened in Australia, but it could be argued that there

have been serious attempts by a few universities to do so.

This, of course, leads to yet another contradiction, namely,

‘uneven geographical development’ (p. 146) and ‘dispari-

ties of income and wealth’ (p. 164) when ‘the top 100

billionaires added $240 billion to their wealth in 2012 –

enough to end world poverty four times over’ (p. 170).

To produce wealth, not only production is needed but

also ‘social reproduction’ (p. 182), that is, ‘free’ labour sup-

plied mostly by women, without which, capitalism would

most likely cease to exist. Corporate mass media usu-

ally frame this as a woman’s free choice and as freedom.

Hence, there is yet another contradiction between free

social reproductive labour and being forced to sell one’s

labour on the labour market, sitting at an office desk five

days a week for 40 years writing something on a piece of

paper to give to someone at a bigger desk. The emptiness

of an office existence is further perverted by capitalism’s

contradiction of ‘freedom and domination’ (p. 199). Given

this, there can be no freedom under capitalism. Capital-

ism’s freedom can only be an ideology as it serves to

sustain relations of domination while camouflaging con-

tradictions.

All of this leads to Harvey’s ‘dangerous contradictions’

(p. 217), such as the ideology of ‘endless growth’ on which

Harvey surprisingly argues that capitalism will not run

into a wall when having exploited all natural resources

(peak oil, peak soil, etc.), but instead will continue to

exist through its impressive ability to adapt. This is where

environmentalism and Marxism clash. Many believe that

‘capital’s relation to nature’ (p. 246) will bring capitalism

down when it collapses under its own weight. Harvey

rejects this sort of automatism, arguing in ‘Prospects for a

Happy but Contested Future: The promise of revolution-

ising humanism’ (p. 282) that we cannot afford to lean

back and watch capitalism destroying itself. It simply will

not happen. Instead, he offers clear and workable ‘ideas

for political praxis’ (p. 294). Perhaps one of the best ways

of achieving Harvey’s political praxis is to use his work

when teaching in higher education.

Thomas Klikauer is a senior lecturer at the University of

Western Sydney. His latest book, Managerialism: A Critique

of an Ideology, is published by Palgrave.


vol. 56, no. 2, 2014 A capital idea? Reviewed by Thomas Klikauer 97

The deliberate study of the best ways to mint PhDs has

been a recurrent theme in this journal (see, for example,

volume 54, no. 1), and rightly so because it is a topic that

strikes to the very heart of the future of research and the

academy. Helping Doctoral Students Write: Pedagogies

for Supervision joins this conversation. The book is in its

second edition, an indication that it was well received in

its first life. The version under review has been revised and

updated, and responds to the growing need for a book on

the complexities of supervising doctoral students, so it is

deserving of a second round of review. The authors are

well qualified to write the book: they have huge expe-

rience in running workshops and seminars on the topic

and have published widely on the subject. While this is

not the first book on supervision – indeed, Moira Peelo

(2011) has recently published Understanding Supervi-

sion and the PhD – it is unique for its main thesis.

The book makes and defends the argument that doctoral

supervisors should see their main role as encouraging stu-

dents to write throughout the process of supervision. This

implies that writing is regarded as a social practice, not as

a technique, not as a series of tricks and not as the result

of tips, but as a way of life. It is a thesis that agitates the

established view in much social science supervision that

leads students to create different stages in the disserta-

tion-producing process, usually starting from reading, data

collection, interpretation and analysis, before writing. This

book, then, departs from others that encourage them to

write up after all the work is done.

To emphasise this key proposition, the book is divided

into nine chapters. Of these, ‘Putting the Doctoral Writ-

ing Centre Stage’ appropriately comes first. It is followed

by ‘Writing the Doctorate, Writing the Scholar’ (chapter

2), in which the case for considering the writing process

as a way of developing an academic identity is forcefully

put and illustrated by a number of examples. Chapters

3 and 4 (respectively, ‘Persuading an Octopus Into a Jar’

and ‘Getting on Top of the Research Literatures’), address

what can be called the literature review imbroglio. They

probe several pressing issues about the literature review:

whether it is needed, how to do it, at what stage in the

thesis to do it and what to call it. Chapter 5, ‘Reconsider-

ing the Personal’, is a positive and normative assessment

of the use of the personal pronoun ‘I’, the use of which

generates a dilemma for many doctoral students and

supervisors. Chapters 6 is ‘A Linguistic Toolkit for Super-

visors’; it provides grammatical and syntactical advice

for supervisors as well as students. Chapter 7, ‘Structur-

ing the Dissertation Argument’, is the chapter in which

the book strongly puts the case for an argument-based

model of the doctorate, that is, the view that the disserta-

tion should be framed around an argument from begin-

ning to end. Chapter 8, ‘Publishing Out of the Thesis’,

responds to the current pressure to have doctoral stu-

dents publish during their candidature, and the growing

phenomenon of dissertation by research, while Chapter

9 closes the book by looking into ways of ‘Institutionalis-

ing Doctoral Writing Practices’ and giving examples of

what has worked for others.

Engagingly written, the book is very readable. The

use of quotations from doctoral students and supervi-

sors makes the book lively, and the inclusion of figures

and highlighted text effectively prevents presentation

from being monotonous. Supported by 10 pages of rich

and state of the art studies on the topic, this book is not

only a firm platform but is also a reliable springboard for

supervision.

Nevertheless, the book trips on a few occasions in its

otherwise impressive sprint. While we are served by the

recent research of Fiona Timmins and her colleagues, pub-

lished in Nurse Education Today, with the increasing call

for interdisciplinary and even transdisciplinary research,

it is surprising that the book under review is silent on

the topic, preferring instead to be a book for most social

science disciplines only in their silo forms. Also, while

the topics covered in the book are comprehensive, how

Help! I need somebody / Help! Not just anybody …Helping Doctoral Students Write: Pedagogies for supervision by Barbara Kamler & Pat Thomson.ISBN 978-0-415-82349-4 (pbk), Routledge , 189 pp., 2014.

Reviewed by Franklin Obeng-Odoom


vol. 56, no. 2, 201498 Help! I need somebody / Help! Not just anybody … Reviewed by Franklin Obeng-Odoom

they support the central thesis is not always evident. The

argument to form writing groups, for instance, does not

appear to be consistent with writing as an everyday prac-

tice, which the book advocates, while the omission of

book reviewing from the various writing exercises recom-

mended is unfortunate but consistent with current trends

in supervision, as I pointed out in an earlier contribution

to AUR (2014).

More fundamentally, the book assumes that all doc-

toral students are empty and they should be ‘helped’ and

hence the subtitle: ‘Helping doctoral students to write’.

This is an alienating educational philosophy in which the

know it all supervisor preaches to know little or nothing

students on what is right and wrong. Assuming a bank-

ing model, to borrow from Paulo Freire’s Pedagogy of

the Oppressed (1970), the doctoral student is assumed

to be an empty bank account into which the supervisor

must make deposits. In fairness to the book’s authors,

they do acknowledge that doctoral students eventually

become more knowledgeable as they advance in their

candidature; however, it is questionable to suppose that

all students are empty at the start of the process. Many

universities in the UK and Australia insist on a developed

proposal that identifies relevant literatures and clear gaps,

even before admission. While this proposal can change, its

institution challenges the view that students are empty

from the start. Besides, there are PhD students who were

research-active academics or are academics at the time of

enrolment. Indeed, most PhD students who win the lim-

ited scholarships in the present limited funding climate

are fairly well published. For all these students, then, the

assumption of empty vessels to be filled and weaklings to

be helped does not necessarily apply.

On the other hand, there are many doctoral supervi-

sors who are first-time supervisors, such as this reviewer,

others who are supervisors but do not have PhDs, or PhD-

holding supervisors who may be knowledgeable but who

are not advanced in their own research careers. For these

categories of supervisor, the assumption of an all-knowing

supervisor does not apply.

Overall, the book’s thesis of writing as a social practice

and argument for highlighting questions of identity for

the doctoral candidate, its advocacy for the institution of

support mechanisms for doctoral scholars, recommenda-

tions and advice on how to take an argumentative stance

in the dissertation are not only highly crystallised but also

crystal clear, persuasive and irresistible. There may be dis-

ciplinary differences about at what stage thesis writing

can begin, but the case of this book is that an integra-

tive and integrated approach to dissertation production

should be adopted and this is meticulously and convinc-

ingly demonstrated. Helping Doctoring Students Write:

Pedagogies for Supervision, then, is a fine addition to the

state of knowledge on dissertation supervision.

Franklin Obeng-Odoom, an early career supervisor, is the

chancellor’s postdoctoral research fellow at School of the

Built Environment, University of Technology, Sydney.

References

Freire, P. (1970). Pedagogy of the Oppressed. New York: Herder and Herder.

Obeng-Odoom, F. (2014). Why write book reviews? Australian Universities’ Review, 56(1): 78–82.

Peelo, M. (2011). Understanding Supervision and the PhD. London and New York: Continuum.

Timmins, F., Timmins, B., O’Rourke, P., Long, S., Ekins, R. & Coyle, E. (2014). Interdisciplinary doctorial supervision – Lessons for nurse education and prac-tice. Nurse Education Today. doi: 10.1016/j.nedt.2014.05.018.


vol. 56, no. 2, 2014 Help! I need somebody /Help! Not just anybody … Reviewed by Franklin Obeng-Odoom 99

Knowledge, Expertise and the Professions, edited by

Michael Young and Johan Muller, is an excellent collection

of linked essays that collectively build on Basil Bernstein’s

theoretical perspectives of professional knowledge and

expertise (Bernstein, 2000, 2013). Young and Muller are

educational sociologists with substantial international

reputations, so the reader is entitled to expect some well-

considered contemporary thought and commentary. For-

tunately, the reader ill not be disappointed.

The structure of the book reflects Bernstein’s proposi-

tion that professionals have access to a body of theoretical

and practical disciplinary knowledge, and that induction

into a profession involves the acquisition of access to that

pool of knowledge through exposure to a designed and

delivered curriculum that incorporates elements from it

and from the body of pedagogic knowledge. The decision

as to what is to be included, how it is to be included and

how it is to be taught is seen by Bernstein in terms of

knowledge reconceptualisation. Hence, the book starts

with the abstracted theory, argues the case in some detail,

and then moves to specific examples.

Part 1: Framing the issues

Young and Muller’s opening chapter could serve as a

blueprint for how to go about explaining exactly what an

edited volume intends to do. It presents a clearly articu-

lated and coherently argued framework for investigating

what constitutes professional knowledge and expertise in

the current environment, although adherents of Donald

Schoen may be dismayed to read that his oft-cited propo-

sitions on what constitutes knowledge are discounted as

inadequate when it comes to investigating future-focused

professional knowledge and expertise. Young and Muller

prefer Bernstein’s framework and present a sound argu-

ment as to why. Fundamentally, they argue that nowadays,

professions draw their knowledge elements from a vast

array of sources and fields of enquiry. Profession-based

knowledge, they argue, is more about accessing, manipu-

lating, creating and applying knowledge than simply gate

keeping it, and to be professional means having accesses

a pool of extant theoretical knowledge and a commingled

pool of practical knowledge.

The next chapter, ‘Professions Sacred and Profane:

Reflections Upon the Changing Nature of Professionalism’,

by Gerald Grace, which considers the changing nature,

purpose and definition of professions, sails perilously

close to sounding like a plaintive cry for an antiquated

and irrelevant bygone era when morality and ethics were

defined by the fear of an omniscient, omnipotent and

omnipresent deity. Rather than celebrating the progress

of humanity in discarding its affective entrapment by a

fabrication, Grace argues for the re-instatement of religion

(any religion, but preferably Catholicism) as the arbiter of

truth and goodness in the professions, but acknowledges

that it may be a lost cause. Equating godlessness with a

lack of ethics and morality in the professions, and conse-

quently a diminution of professionalism to nothing more

than functional, technical expertise exempt from moral

and ethical considerations, seems to me to diminish post-

Enlightenment humanism itself. In footnote number 15,

Grace concedes as much when he quotes Manuel Castells

at some length and claims that Castells’ appeal for social

responsibility and human justice ‘is clearly a Humanist

credo that seeks to replace earlier religious credos’. Pos-

sibly, but on the other hand maybe it’s just a wise man’s

wish list for how we should all behave in the real world.

Grace’s most salient point is that professional knowledge

comes (or at least ought to come) with a responsibility to

use it appropriately and with a regard for its consequence,

and that argument is relevant to the argument presented

in the following chapters.

These two chapters form the broad conceptual skel-

eton of the book, namely, the acceptance of Bernstein’s

framework of singulars (elements of disciplinary knowl-

edge) that are combined in regions of specific purpose

that combine into fields of practice (professional knowl-

edge). As an example, we might consider understanding

The knowledge profession?Knowledge, Expertise and the Professions by Michael Young & Johan Muller (Eds.).ISBN-978-0-414-71391-7 (pbk), Routledge, 189 pp., 2014.



vol. 56, no. 2, 2014100 The knowledge profession? Reviewed by Andrys Onsman

chemical reaction as a singular necessary for developing

drugs (region), which is an aspect of pharmacy (field).

That particular singular is also functional in other regions

as well. Grace adds the idea of morality and ethics into

that mix. From here on in, it’s about explicating and exem-

plifying the points made, fleshing out the theory and, in

the third section, analysing some practical examples.

Part 2: Developing the theory

Jan Derry contributes a chapter called ‘Abstract Rational-

ity In Education’, in which she steadily dismisses James

Wertsch’s (Wertsch, 1985) critique of Vygotsky as lacking

in rationality, or at least lacking in functional rationality. By

drawing a link between Vygotsky and Hegel, she sets up

Robert Brandom (1998) as the carrier of the constructiv-

ist torch. Wertsch, as seen by Derry, was wary of Vygot-

sky’s notion of social constructivism because it relies on

things existing regardless of their articulation or even

their conceptualisation as things. Wertsch certainly sees

an ambivalence in Vygotsky: on the one hand, meaning

is constructed within a particular environment, on the

other, he acknowledges a hierarchical scientific realism

– hard science, if you will. Derry provides a measured,

thoughtful analysis of Wertsch, and in doing so makes

clear much of what about Vygotsky’s philosophy contin-

ues to be misinterpreted in some quarters. There is a lot

in this chapter but one essential point is that Derry con-

tends that while Vygotsky remained unclear about how

human development accommodated (or was contingent

upon) new scientific concepts he steadfastly believed

that the development of human thought is unavoidably

intertwined with epistemology because it is primarily a

socially constructed rather than an individual function.

Derry suggests that to critique Vygotsky from an episte-

mological perspective therefore misses the point.

Derry goes on to argue that Hegel not only influenced

Vygotsky but Robert Brandom as well, especially the

notion that grasping a concept requires ‘committing to

the inferences implicit in its use in a social practice of

giving and asking for reasons. Effective teaching involves

providing the opportunities for students to operate with

a concept in the space of reasons within which it falls

and by which its meaning is constituted’ (pp. 41–42).

As an educator, I would emphasise the notion that such

grasping does not need to be instantaneous and total, that

learning is both incrementally and temporally variable.

Brandom prioritises inference over reference in that he

sees people as responding to reason rather than cause.

Causal responsiveness is mechanical automation rather

than learning, which is basically turning data and informa-

tion into knowledge, which in turn transcends situational

capacity. Derry’s chapter is essential reading for anyone

who is seeking clarity of constructivist thinking, espe-

cially about the importance to learning of a purposefully

designed and constructed environment because, as she

emphasises, leaning depends on the system of judgements

within which it occurs.

In his chapter entitled ‘Know-how and Knowledge

in the Professional Curriculum’, Christopher Winch

addresses the issue of what he terms ‘epistemic ascent’,

which is basically the notion that learning is a building

up process, that is, that expertise develops over time and

events. By way of disclaimer, I am one of those who cannot

see how knowledge (as opposed to information or data)

can be anything but systematic. I am willing to accept that

others may recognise delivered knowledge (most often

manifest in faith-based understanding), and that my inabil-

ity to do so is a personal failing of some magnitude, but

that’s the way I roll. Winch is far further down the hill,

maintaining that ‘growing expertise and confidence in

a subject requires that a more objective justification be

available for belief’ (p. 48).

Winch points out that ‘Some knowledge transmission

by testimony is unavoidable and it is in many or even

most cases rational to believe propositions on the basis

of authoritative pronouncement, if the student has a good

reason to believe that the authority is a reliable one’ (p.

49). This statement on its own is enough to warrant an

entire essay. Why, for instance, should testimony (or didac-

tically presented knowledge) be avoided? How can a stu-

dent decide on the reliability of the lecturer? How is a

reason good in this sense? Winch skips around such issues

to make the important point that one aspect of exper-

tise is a decreasing reliance on testimony and a growing

reliance on experience and procedural knowledge. Winch

has no hesitation is pointing out the danger of esoteric

isolation in completely abandoning ‘the assumptions,

reactions, habits and propositions that constitute the basis

of our commerce with the world’ (p. 50). What he is cham-

pioning is that professionalism ought to include the grow-

ing capacity to evaluate existing and new knowledge.

For Winch, a profession-based curriculum ought to

move the student from novice to expert, a development

that adheres to itself Winch’s label of epistemic ascent,

with expertise being primarily the capacity to make

occupational judgements. For that, the professional needs

much more than simply a base level of knowledge, a base

level of skill and an ability to use both purposefully in

situ. That knowledge, those skills and that capacity need to


vol. 56, no. 2, 2014 The knowledge profession? Reviewed by Andrys Onsman 101

be employed with a consideration of their effect beyond

the task and occupation. This, Winch argues, is essential

in a curriculum that seeks to inculcate profession-based

expertise.

Winch is a seductive writer: articulate, broadly referen-

tial and steadfast in his argument. But he creates a sense

of being corralled into agreement, so it is worth occasion-

ally stopping to draw breath and consider whether you

actually agree with him. What Winch sees as a devaluation

of professional, for example, may simply be a restructur-

ing apropos the changing nature of the parameters of

knowledge and the parameters of professions. Professional

judgement is increasingly less reliant of individual exper-

tise and more on collaborative, inter-regional decision-

making. Knowledge is less and less individually constructed

and more frequently a matter of purposefully processing

instantly accessible information and data into workable

solutions. As always, Winch provides a thought-provoking

contribution that is well worth engaging with.

‘Differentiating Forms of Professional Expertise’, the

next chapter, is written by Ben Kotzee, an emerging aca-

demic who has a couple of papers out on the nature of

expertise in professional knowledge. Kotzee describes

Schoen’s reflective practice model and Dreyfus’ stage

model as what Winch terms fluency accounts of exper-

tise because they are both defined according to ability.

In terms of the Rylean dichotomy between knowing that

and knowing how, they are more about the latter than

that the former (Ryle, 1945). Along the same lines as

Winch, Kotzee argues that social realist thinking demands

a reconsideration of theoretical knowledge, which is an

interesting and logical overspill from the previous chap-

ter. But then Kotzee heads for the work of Harry Collins,

and particularly Collins’ work on the sociology of scien-

tific knowledge. Kotzee posits the notion that it could be

good for education as well, which may seem reasonable as

a starting point but becomes messy later on.

For most readers, Harry Collins, with Trevor Pinch, is

best known for his two books that liken science and tech-

nology to a mythical Jewish giant. Anyone who hasn’t read

The Golem: What You Should Know About Science or The

Golem at Large: What You Should Know About Technol-

ogy should immediately do so if they are after a consid-

ered discussion about how to measure success in science

and technology – and how to whip up a bit of controversy

to sell your books. What consistently runs through Collins’

many and varied publications is his insistence on people

taking responsibility for things that they do, create, think,

promote and use. The other key proposition he cham-

pions is interactional expertise as distinct from contrib-

utory expertise, that is, the difference between talking

the talk and walking the walk. Expertise is no longer a(n

exclusivist) status but a (specialist) capacity.

The most interesting aspect of this chapter is the appar-

ent disagreement between Collins and Kotzee, as evident

in the fine print of the footnotes at the end of the chapter,

where Kotzee quietly concedes that Collins doesn’t actu-

ally agree with his interpretation of interactional exper-

tise. Collins doesn’t see, for example, paradigm-based

linguistic knowledge as theoretical knowledge per se,

doesn’t agree that ‘esotericity’ is a movable feast and does

not agree that you need to be socially recognised as being

an expert; you just have to be in the club. I thought I had

a reasonable grasp of Collins, but after reading Kotzee and

trying to follow his box diagrams, I had to consult Wiki-

pedia to get my confidence back. As far as I read it, inter-

actional expertise is the interplay of the theoretical and

practical and both are necessary.

According to David Guile, they are (or ought to be)

subject to continuous recontextualisation. In his chap-

ter ‘Professional Knowledge and Professional Practice as

Continuous Recontextualisation: A Social Practice’, Guile

takes Jean Lave as his starting point and argues that learn-

ing as transfer should be replaced by learning as participa-

tion. Few of us in education are not aware of Jean Lave’s

Situated Learning (1991), which advocated the notion

of context in application of information in the forma-

tion of knowledge and, consequently, expertise. Etienne

Wenger, her student, took the up baton and powered it

home with Communities of Practice, a seminal text that

retains a great deal of traction even today. Arsene Wenger

was never Lave’s student and, consequent to having no

understanding of the principles of situated learning and

collaborative practice, went on to coach Arsenal, chang-

ing them from being a trophy winning football team to

perennial bridesmaids in the English Premier League. It’s

all about context.

David Guile’s work on interprofessional working and

learning is generally outstanding and widely cited. His

chapter in Reconceptualising Professional Learning

(Fenwick & Nerland, 2014) argues convincingly that the

notion of commingling of theoretical knowledge with

practical knowledge has direct implications for pro-

fessional education. In this volume, Guile again draws

(unsurprisingly in this collection) on Vygotsky’s cultural

historical activity theory to argue that the danger of

attaining professional knowledge or expertise is that once

achieved, one may be tempted to breathe a sigh of relief,

undo the belt and relax, and this is the last thing experts

ought to. Once in the club, one should assume one isn’t,



and continue to strive to get in. I’m not sure Guile would

agree with my analogy but the point is that the formation

of professionalism is an ongoing process.

In a dense summary of his own interpretation of

recontextualisation (he acknowledges the variation

from Bernstein at the end of the chapter), Guile argues a

number of interesting and relevant points. First in terms

of pedagogy is that knowing what and knowing how do

not have a practical boundary but instead commingle.

It’s a fundamental thesis in his proposal that concep-

tual/theoretical/disciplinary knowledge intermingles

with practical/professional knowledge, and manifests in

context-relevant decision making and inferring conse-

quences. Guile argues that the purpose of a curriculum

is to support professional formation rather than immer-

sion in a discipline, an argument increasingly relevant

as more professions assume a multidisciplinary nature.

Students, he argues, need to learn ‘to appreciate the

norms that underpin their learning in both the contexts

of education and work’ (p. 83) so that they can reason

theoretically and practically. This line of argument sets

up recontextualisation as three pillared: content, peda-

gogy and workplace, or what you learn, how you learn it

and what you do with what you’ve learnt.

Because Guile crams in a lot of ideas, his chapter, ‘Pro-

fessional Knowledge and Professional Practice as Contin-

uous Recontextualisation: A Social Practice Perspective’,

demands close reading and a deal of background knowl-

edge but it is worth persisting with because it illuminates

a number of extremely important issues for anyone con-

cerned with knowledge formation and curricula that

embrace future potential rather than cling to the past.

It carries on from Winch in the notion that theoretical

knowledge is intimately related to practical knowledge

rather than a precursor to it, which, in turn, ought to lead

to a reconceptualisation of what a 21st century curricu-

lum should look like.

I read the last sentence on page 82 a few times because

it didn’t seem to make sense, but because there are quite

a few complex ideas in the chapter, I assumed that it was

me being as dense as the sentences. After the fourth read-

ing, I realised that there is an extraneous ‘is’ and every-

thing falls into place with its excision. It just goes to show

the damage that a simple typo can do.

The last chapter in the second section is by Yael Shalem

takes the line of enquiry further by asking ‘What Binds

Professional Judgment?’. It assumes that you, the reader,

have been convinced that ‘there is an agreement that

professional judgment in teaching derives from theoreti-

cal knowledge (educational theories) and subject matter

knowledge’ (p. 93). It checklists Winch, Bernstein, Vygot-

sky, Muller and Young, just in case you have forgotten

what the spine of the argument is, and provides a sense of

coherence and cohesion by dismantling any opposition to

the book’s position, in this instance, the work of Michael

Luntley (Luntley, 2009), a highly respected (but Wittgen-

steinian) voice on judgement and morals in professions. In

a thumbnail, Luntley’s argument is that there is no essen-

tial difference between expert and non-expert judgement

(that is, context-bound decision making). Shalem argues

that Luntley’s argument falls short because it does not

acknowledge a distinct conceptual or disciplinary body

of knowledge. Well, he would say that, wouldn’t he? There

being such a body is the heart of this book. Shalem reluc-

tantly acknowledges that Luntley actually does acknowl-

edge that the quality of a judgement is highly dependent

on reasoning, abstracted laws and specific context, but he

baulks at the notion that all judgement is fundamentally

the same process, because that would mean that there

is no difference between the professional and the plebe-

ian, in which case professionals would be no different

to simple craftspeople. But that’s not exactly how I read

Luntley. I interpret Luntley as proposing that judgement

is an activity that has great capacity for refinement. It also

brings the question of what a professional actually is back

into the spotlight.

Shalem turns to Winch to confirm that professionals not

only have access to a body of normative theory, but they

also have a body of empirical theory to use as the basis

for judgement. From here he turns to Andrew Abbott’s

work on inferential thinking in professional work. Abbott

argues that the professions have access to two sets of

knowledge: academic and diagnostic. There are overt links

here to Vygotsky’s notion of conceptual knowledge being

ordered into classifications and Bersnstein’s vertical dis-

course. Shalem states that ‘the process of building a case

from different information relies on having access to a res-

ervoir of deductive propositions or theoretical concepts

that directs the experts’ attention to specific features of

the particular’ (p. 97). Diagnosis, then, is in terms of an

existing framework, a logically arranged compilation of

agreed upon professionally relevant or exclusive concepts,

dependent on epistemic rules and professional legitimisa-

tion. That framework excludes the professionally irrelevant

and provides a guide to what is reliable. Knowledge classi-

fication is, therefore, a necessary condition for professional

practice. This is pretty well what Luntley argued, without

that framework being exclusively the domain of one or

other of the professions. According to Luntley, anyone can

reason like that in any context.



My greatest concern with Shalem’s line of argument

is that it ends up either with professional knowledge

being so constrained by its classificatory framework that

it becomes staid, intractable and eventually irrelevant, or

that it becomes so broad as to be impractical, undefined

and ultimately inconsequential. Shalem acknowledges

that teaching – if indeed it is a profession – does not (yet)

have such academic or diagnostic classification but argues

that it should. It’s a difficult argument to sustain, especially

in the tertiary sector, where teachers are most often mem-

bers of a different profession and are teaching students to

become members of whichever profession they are aspir-

ing to join. Shalem struggles with this dichotomy, throw-

ing up a few examples but never really convincing that

the development of theoretical knowledge will provide ‘a

clearer ordering for teacher educators’ (p. 102). It seems

that Shalem is more concerned that the suggestion that

there is nothing epistemically different about professional

and non-professional judgement will encourage anti-intel-

lectualism. This may not be a bad thing in any profession,

occupation or vocation that draws equally upon diverse

domains for its knowledge base. The idea that a profession

is a gated community is increasingly outdated – profes-

sional knowledge in education derives its authority from

its authenticity beyond its disciplinary confines as much

as from within it.

Part 3: Education and the professions – case studies

The third section presents five case studies, none of

which are entirely convincing as examples of Bernstein

in practice in that they conclusively prove the notion of

recontextualisation to be panacean, but all are interesting

and serve as examples of how the general argument might

be seen to be made manifest in the real world.

Hu Hanrahan has been around in engineering and engi-

neering education for a good while, and has an authorita-

tive voice, not only in South Africa but also internationally.

His style is precise, unambiguous and at times relentless,

the kind of writer who steadily increases the complexity

of his argument with every sentence. Hanrahan clearly

articulates the mix of professional competencies: knowl-

edge, skills and attitudes. The key skill, he claims, is the

analysis of problems and the synthesis of solutions based

on a pool of theoretical engineering knowledge. I would

add a ‘primarily’ between the ‘based’ and the ‘on’ – to allow

for some creative wriggle room, but I happily acknowl-

edge that such is my own bent. There’s a warm and wel-

coming introduction to the chapter, which then goes on

to present a detailed analysis of the history of engineering

as a profession, describing how the fundamental know-

ledge of engineering emerged, which ends up with a set of

mind-bogglingly complex matrices that would have Neo

spinning in his grave (if he were dead, which maybe he is,

or isn’t). It’s a wholly satisfying – but sneaky – argument

for contextual knowledge being an essential ingredient of

professional status of engineering. Hanrahan reminds the

reader that the solving of engineering problems is a real

world activity and that the solutions have consequences,

and the constraints, some of which at least are rooted in

the professional knowledge base, are there as safeguards.

The whole chapter presents a strong argument for Bern-

stein’s notion of recontextualisation and makes for good

reading, even if you are not an engineer.

Closer to my (current) disciplinary home, the title of

Francis Carter’s chapter, ‘On the Cultivation of Decorum.

Development of the Pedagogic Discourse of Architecture

in France, 1671–1968’, harks back to a time when essays

were all on something and had common nouns sporting

capital letters. But if you were expecting a florid, roco-

co-esque, opinion piece, you will be either disappointed

or relieved because it is an engaging and mostly satisfying

explication of how we can retrospectively explicate the

development of architecture schools using ‘the analytical

framework of Bernstein’s pedagogic device’ (p. 139). Of all

the contributors in this section, Carter is least prepared to

hedge his bets, preferring to state his propositions boldly:

The recontextualising field of design theory … is con-stituted first by means of the publication of summa-tive texts. These follow the official recontextualising filed of institutional arrangement and distribution of awards for professional membership, and the peda-gogic recontextualising field of transmission. Teachers who combine expert practice with expert design tutor-ing are essential to sustain this pedagogic structure (p. 139).

Having sorted that, Carter goes on to acknowledge (and

quietly celebrate) that because the deep structures are

in place as the backbone of the pedagogy, the inevitably

dynamic nature of knowledge creation, access, transfer

is a good thing, particularly in Bernsteinian/Vygotskyan

terms. Carter argues that the tension between theory and

practice fuels the design discourse. This is an important

concept because he also argues that the ‘recontextualis-

ing field of compositional theory survives as long as the

regulative discourse of the design studio considers it to

be correct’ (p. 141), which echoes socially constructed

learning but could justify a Star Chamber judiciary of ped-

agogic gatekeepers. And in that tension resides the fuel for

expertise and creativity in architecture.



As is the case with much in this volume, Carter’s ideas

are both illuminating – especially in the first section, the

part on the history of French design schools – and chal-

lenging – especially the section where he develops his

interpretations. Even though his timeline stops in 1968,

there is much that retains relevance today. If nothing else

it provides us with a way to see why we are now where

we are.

Chapter 10, ‘Problematising Curriculum. Contempo-

rary Debates in Engineering Education’ by Jennifer Case,

is the second case study concerning engineering. It is a

revised and updated version of an earlier paper published

in the Journal of Education. There are those who believe

that engineering’s reach has exceeded its grasp and are

quietly waiting for the profession to resume its status as

a trade. As Dr Sheldon Cooper puts it: ‘Engineering, where

the semi-skilled laborers execute the vision of those who

think and dream.’ Of course, citing a fictional scientist

from a US television show who has obsessive compul-

sive disorder (OCD) and Asperger’s syndrome is hardly

respectable critique, but you’ll get the gist.

Case begins her interrogation of curriculum by refer-

ring to Basil Bernstein as ‘crucial’, claiming that his work

has occasioned ‘important insights into key aspects of

curriculum that are essential for fostering the academic

success of traditionally marginalised groups’ (p. 143)

and that a ‘striking finding has been that “progressive”

curricular arrangements, intended to deliver greater

social justice and equality, in practice can actually serve

to disadvantage precisely those groups of students that

they seek to empower’. She cites a 1998 paper by Johan

Muller as evidence. I can’t find that ‘striking finding’ any-

where in the paper, an essay that seems to be principally

concerned with questioning the appropriateness of the

outcomes-based curriculum imposed in South Africa, inter-

spersed with an interesting discussion about the nature

and purpose of competence as an educational achieve-

ment. On the other hand, in the wake of Freire, there have

been quite a few ‘progressive’ curriculum arrangements

that have done much to empower the disenfranchised

groups of students. A scholar with the breadth of under-

standing such as that of Muller is unlikely to suggest that

the fact that some have not achieved what they set out to

achieve as a striking finding. In fact, Muller even acknowl-

edges (albeit in a footnote) that by using the Chomskian

conception of competence (Chomsky, 2003), the whole

Bernsteinian edifice could come tumbling down, which

would essentially make him, well, non-crucial.

There are a number of similarly dramatic hyperboles

that make reasonable propositions sound questionable:

How is the Mills and Treagust quote on page 144 ‘stri-

dent’? What does ‘a “whole” university, where 75 per cent

of the courses’ mean? How can ‘most commentators’ be

in agreement without reference to any study? How is

Kota’s study a ‘stark demonstration’? Why is the current

stage of engineering education in a state of ‘heightened

urgency’? And so on. Perhaps the language is irritating

because the chapter follows the elegant and precise writ-

ing of Francis Carter. Case throws in an oblique reference

to the ‘heteronomous pole’ without explaining in detail

how Bourdieu’s conceptualisation of the (political) field

distinguishes between the autonomous pole (that part of

the field is removed from society as a whole) and the het-

eronomous pole (that part of the field that is very closely

intermingled with society), nor explaining how that dis-

tinction is relevant to the discursive gap between theo-

retical and practical professional knowledge. Certainly,

Bourdieu’s concern that the economic forces of the het-

eronomous pole are increasingly dominating the knowl-

edge for its own sake, especially in the social spheres, may

be relevant to the discourse here, but it requires a case to

be made.

Another example is where Case unambiguously states

that ‘engineering curricula in most parts of the world are

directly controlled by professional engineering bodies’ (p.

144). I have direct experience of only two engineering

schools, both at Australian universities, but I did send off a

few emails to places in the UK, China and the Netherlands,

so I have a grand total of six institutions in my straw poll.

All of them were equally unambiguous in declaring that,

although they worked closely with the relevant profes-

sional bodies, especially in terms of professional accred-

itation, they all maintained complete control over their

curricula. A representative example of the commentary I

received is:

The answer to your query is a case of negotiation between the Faculty and the Engineering Australia towards a curriculum that allowed professional accred-itation than the suggestion that Engineers Australia tightly controls the curriculum. In its accreditation doc-umentation it lays out guidelines for the proportion of science vs professional vs design/project etc. but it is based on an Outcomes Based Evaluation approach and leaves it up to each institution how it meets the criteria (for each of the awards).

Moreover, at my university, there is no longer an under-

graduate degree in engineering: to become an engineer

you would take a Bachelor of Biomedicine, a Bachelor of

Commerce, a Bachelor of Environments or a Bachelor of

Science, and then progress to a Master of Engineering.

Even though Engineering Australia doesn’t have much



direct influence in the casting of the curricula of any of

the relevant undergraduate programs, they have happily

accredited the masters program.

Putting those concerns to one side, Case uses a

Bernsteinian framework to analyse and discuss the evolu-

tionary progress of engineering curricula and concludes

with a warning that ‘radical [problem-based learning]

curriculum reform in engineering’ is likely to ‘dissolve

the boundaries that exist in traditional curricula’, which

may disadvantage students ‘not from middle-class class

backgrounds that can predispose one to pick up [the] …

subtle demands’ required to be able to generalise their

newly-acquired knowledge beyond the context of the

specific problem. ‘Furthermore, there is a serious likeli-

hood that in the current situational logic in the academy,

academics will lack the collaborative practices to prop-

erly ‘pull off such a curriculum move’ (p. 154). Instead of

that impending tragedy (Good Lord, I’m doing it now),

Case recommends the ‘more cautious project-based or

project-centred models’.

It is way beyond the scope of a book review to engage

in a detailed discourse about the difference between

problem-based learning and project-based learning, but

just so that we are all on the same page, the key features of

both are student-centred, self-directed and collaborative

learning that focuses on real-world issues, and may involve

stakeholders’ engagement; it also has intended outcomes

that are competency-based. In contrast to service learning,

both aim to engage students in enquiry-based research

for complex problem solving. Some researchers, such as

Armin Wiek and his colleagues (2014), conflate the two,

arguing that they are essentially the same. I’m not sug-

gesting that they are the same but that enough respected

researchers into pedagogy do, and that it is worthy of

more in-depth analysis and discussion if you are going to

champion one over the other to such a large degree.

In summary, I found this chapter the least convincing,

in terms of argument and in terms of dialogic flow. None-

theless, like the other chapters, it provides a great deal of

food for thought.

The penultimate chapter, by Martin McNamara and

Gerard Fealy, concerns the development of nursing as a

profession. In this chapter we see how Bernsteinian struc-

turing is extremely valuable in conceptualising the pro-

fessionalisation of an occupation. The distinction between

theoretical and practical knowledge facilitates how edu-

cation institutes and professional institutes can interact

complementarily as well as in an integrated manner. Fur-

ther, the nature of the commingling provides direction for

curriculum setting, in terms of both learning outcomes

and knowledge creation. So far, so good – but what hap-

pens when an emergent profession lays claims to the

singulars that have previously been part of the collection

for a different profession? The majority of singulars that

nursing draws on in its differentiation as a profession is

already in use in the differentiation of medicine, paramed-

ics (if that is indeed a profession), physiotherapy and so

on. Bernstein was well aware of the likelihood that extant

professions would be reluctant to give up disciplinary

ownership. McNamara and Fealy, examine the process and

the strategy that nursing has taken to argue that rather

than ‘nursing science’, ‘scientific nursing’ is a legitimate

– albeit weak – theoretical knowledge field. I found this

chapter interesting, particularly as the central argument

may be of benefit to the development of other emergent

professions, such as paramedics, financial planning and

cyber security, among others.

The last chapter, ‘Knowledge Matters’ by Nick Taylor,

looks at mathematics teaching – especially in South Africa,

where many of the case studies and contexts are set – as

indicative of how teaching is faring in its quest to be rec-

ognised as a profession. Taylor sets the groundwork for

his analysis by carefully articulating the Bernsteinian dis-

ciplinary knowledge/curriculum knowledge/pedagogy

knowledge structure, but refers to curriculum knowledge

as pedagogical content knowledge, primarily because he

(after Shulman) sees it as the place where disciplinary

knowledge, that is, the research and propositional know-

ledge generated by mathematicians, is recontextualised

as that which will be taught in the curriculum merged

with the disciplinary and pedagogic knowledge that the

teacher has access to. Taylor argues that becoming a pro-

fessional requires not only a mastery of what is in the

disciplinary knowledge field but also ‘intensive socialisa-

tion into the values of the professional community and

its standards of professional integrity, judgement and loy-

alty’ (p. 179) and a knowledge of and capacity in ‘language

and system of thought, an approach to the application of

knowledge to the field of practice’ (p. 179). These descrip-

tors presumably apply to mathematicians and to teachers.

The spine of Taylor’s chapter is a consideration of

how the teaching as a craft conceptualisation (that is, no

recognised distinct and regulating body of disciplinary

knowledge) produces different curriculum structures

to the conceptualisation of teaching as a profession. His

interpretation, based on two very small studies, echoes

the (ongoing) discourse surrounding the development

of other professions such as engineering, nursing, archi-

tecture and paramedics. Teaching has peculiar concerns,

including, as Taylor acknowledges, the dichotomy that



only a few teachers teach students to become teachers;

most teach students to become something other than

where their expertise lies. I suspect that his gloss over

‘content knowledge for teaching mathematics’ on page

178 was brief for word limit reasons: I’ll keep an eye out

for any more detailed analysis and discussion Taylor may

offer in the future because it seems central, if not crucial,

to the discourse.

Taylor’s argument is that one of the key elements of

being recognised as an authentic profession affords prac-

titioners a degree of autonomy, given that it is continually

subject to confirmation by the profession and the public.

This too is a key point. It’s all very well saying that pro-

fessionals have a recognised and distinct body of disci-

plinary-based knowledge on which to draw conclusions,

but eventually, a professional cannot justify the decisions

made (autonomously) by reference to that body of know-

ledge. Ultimately, professional authority is validated by

public response to the consequences of the decisions

made. Taylor argues that the more robust the body of

knowledge and the more ethical the practice, the more

the public will accept the authority of the professional.

There are a few points made by Taylor that require

substantiation, but that is to be expected in a summary

chapter. The two studies are very well handled – no

claim for universality but indicative of likelihood – and

he draws together a number of threads left loose by pre-

vious chapters, particularly the notion of the sacred and

profane in terms of consequence and responsibility in

decision making. It is a good chapter to finish the collec-

tion because the reader is left with the understanding

that there is much more to be considered and discussed,

which is a good thing, because the editors haven’t

provided a conclusion.

Knowledge, Expertise and the Professions is a short

volume but it packs a solid wallop. It pushes the social

realist barrow, certainly, but it does so with solid argu-

ments, a clearly articulated and defended conceptual

framework and some exemplary explicatory analyses. The

case studies section is the least convincing part, almost

entirely due to its brevity and obvious selectivity, not

because the essays therein are in themselves weak. If you

don’t agree with the theories of Bernstein or Brandom

you will be frustrated at times by the singularity of intent,

but that is what the book is unapologetically about. It isn’t

a sequel to The Cambridge Handbook of Expertise and

Expert Thinking, but then again it doesn’t set out to be.

It is a social constructivist take on how we might best go

about ensuring that tomorrow’s professionals are capable

of acquiring and using expertise. It is a really good edited

volume: demanding, challenging and deliberate, and one

that deserves a wide readership.

Andrys Onsman is at the Centre for Studies of Higher

Education, University of Melbourne.

References

Bernstein, B. B. (2000). Pedagogy, Symbolic Control and Identity: Theory, Research, Critique. (No. 4). Lanham: Rowman & Littlefield.

Bernstein, B. B. (2003). Class, Codes and Control: Applied Studies Towards a Sociology of Language (Vol. 2). Florence, KY: Psychology Press.

Brandom, R. (1998). Making It Explicit: Reasoning, Representing, and Discursive Commitment. Boston: Harvard University Press.

Chomsky, N. (2003). Problems of Knowledge and Freedom. New York: W. W. Norton.

Collins, H. M.& Pinch, T. (1998). The Golem: What You Should Know About Science. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Collins, H. & Pinch, T. (2014). The Golem at Large: What You Should Know About Technology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

De Waal, H., Malik, A. & Bhugra, D. (2010). The psychiatric profession: an expertise under siege? International Journal of Social Psychiatry, 56(6), 647–656.

Guile, D. (2014). Interprofessional Working and Learning: A Conceptualisation of Their Relationship and its Implication for Education, in T. Fenwick & M. Nerland, (Eds.), Reconceptualising Professional Learning: Sociomaterial Knowledges, Practices and Responsibilities, Oxon: Routledge.

Lave, J..& E. Wenger. (1991). Situated Learning: Legitimate Peripheral Participation. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Luntley M. (2009). On education and initiation. Journal of Philosophy of Education, 43(1), 41–56.

Ryle, G. (1945). Knowing How and Knowing That: The Presidential Address, in Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society, London: Harrison & Sons, pp. 1–16.

Wenger, E. (1998). Communities of Practice: Learning, Meaning, and Identity. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Wertsch, J. V. (1985). Vygotsky and the Social Formation of Mind. Boston: Harvard University Press.

Wiek, A., Xiong, A., Brundiers, K.& van der Leeuw, S. (2014). Integrating problem- and project-based learning into sustainability programs – a case study on the School of Sustainability at Arizona State University. International Journal of Sustainability in Higher Education, 15(4), 6–6.




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