Below is a snapshot into the life of an untenured and insecure academic at a large institution. It might be tempting to imagine that academics sit around in libraries, surrounded by leather-bound books, and smoke pipes as they ponder Wittgenstein. If only it were so. In an age of political and institutional dysfunction, academic life is becoming more anxious and unstable. I hope this window into life in a university will be enlightening.
Monday
I wake up at 6.00 am, the final work day before my teaching begins. The sun is bright, and the inbox is wonderfully empty. Two of my four weeks away from the university have been consumed by panicked student emails, but that has still left two glorious weeks of research to be had. Yet, I remain nervous as the cycle is about to begin again, as my temporary respite will be yanked away from me.
I am not complaining, nor am I special. Every job has its pitfalls — a boss that sucks, tedious work, poor pay, or annoying colleagues. Too often, a combination of the above exists, and academia is no different. Far from the oak-panelled halls and drink-sodden lunches depicted in TV shows, we must earn our pay the same as everyone else.
Fortunately, I live close to my office and can easily walk from my house to where I work. Today, we receive a three-course lunch and a discussion with the Vice Chancellor. Tables are set for 65 guests, but only 30 of us turn up. After all, it is out of term, and people wanted that extra day’s break rather than to witness yet another bureaucrat exaggerate our importance and impact. To no one’s surprise, we receive laudatory praise, which we do not deserve, about how we are shaping the world and the next generation. I am not sure ass kissing counts if we both know how untrue it is?
The Q&A involves both essential and irrelevant questions. The VC is strong on the irrelevancies but much more timid on the things that do matter. Yes, we will begin yet another exercise in Equity enhancement, and no, we don’t know if there will be job cuts. Yes, we are moving towards net zero as an institution, and no, I don’t know how we should catch AI-riddled assessments.
I finish the day mopping up a dozen emails from flustered students, none of whom attended the seminar where the question they asked was answered. Of course, I cannot say this; to do so would be tantamount to professional suicide. Instead, I merely point them to the two-year-old materials cut out from the marking criteria for advice. Finishing at 4:30 pm, I head off to the pub for a final pint in peace before the students arrive once again, and I have to drink in hiding.
Tuesday
Today is the first teaching day of the new semester, and I feel ready to conquer again. This will be the semester when I get record attendance, well-informed students, and vigorous debate in my seminars. That feeling lasts an hour between 12 and 1 p.m. Within five minutes, popular opinion already centered on the length and complexity of the reading — 45 pages is too much, and this Hobbes fellow is far too complex. The seminar does not recover, and I guess most did not do the reading. The customer is always correct, so in the case of the students, I give them what they want — an utterly irrelevant discussion on Hobbes and the modern day, without relying too much on the great man.
My optimism is already flagging. So, what do we need as a pick-me-up? Ah, yes, a staff meeting with the entire faculty. These meetings occur twice or three times per term, bringing us together to discuss serious issues. But that is not the sole reason why people don’t miss them — they are a great way to eat a lot of biscuits and finish work an hour earlier than we otherwise would.
First on the agenda is marking. Apparently, we do not give enough feedback, and essays are not delivered quickly enough to students. Arguing against this logic is a Sisyphean task, so I do not raise my hand. Instead, I nod and roll my eyes.
Next comes budget cuts. We do tell everyone that research-led teaching is important. So, the first thing to be hit is our research budgets. They are a luxury we can no longer afford. Instead, we are to distribute that money somewhere else, perhaps to yet another Vice Chancellor or a big shiny building that we don’t need. There are some murmurs, but again, we have learned that arguing gets us nowhere.
Third and finally, there is the discussion of “excellence” and “student recruitment”. Student recruitment needs to be stepped up, we are told. We must all attend open days and convince 17-year-olds to hand us 3 years of tuition fee money, which we can use to keep our jobs. Perhaps we should just beg? At least it would be more honest.
Wednesday
Marking day! Well, it is marking fortnight, but this is the great beginning. Only 155 papers to mark in a fortnight across three competing modules. Fresh in my mind are management’s demands for increased speed and quantity in our feedback, but unfortunately, my fully functioning brain reminds me of the impossibility of such a request.
The first five essays are a mixture of 2:1s, 2:2s, and a solitary 3rd. What they all have in common, alas, is a lack of originality and interrogation. So much for our focus on “critical analysis”. Instead, I am treated to “informed analysis” explaining why early feminist writers were “white, privileged, and not particularly feminist”. A searing account from people cuddled in the bosom of 21st-century university education.
Increasingly, I see the marks of my fellow lecturers reach the sky. Looking back at my own batch of essays, I ponder if I should be more generous. Eventually, I decide against it, knowing I will be called “stingy” but recognising that a 1st should still mean something besides explaining and taking a party line.
In between marking, I receive emails from students with extensions. Extensions now cover over a 1/3rd of my students. The emails are from students who were absent during the semester; I do not even recognise the name half the time. They range from asking questions I must have answered a dozen times in seminars to asking questions that are answered in the module handbook.
Thursday
Today is a busy day, starting off with a meeting with management, packing in two seminars, a lecture and some essay feedback meetings from the previous semester.
Management meetings are always difficult because the labyrinthine bureaucracy means I have no idea who I am talking to, as was the case today. Management is hidden under snazzy yet incomprehensible titles.
The meeting was because my temporary contract is at risk of expiring again. Well, it’s less at risk of expiring; rather it will expire, and I shall be on the hunt for a job. This is not a process of which I am unfamiliar. It is typical of the academic job market. You move often and quickly, unless a job falls into your lap after someone has had an untimely death or been forced to leave for sexual malpractices. It doesn’t break your heart or make you terrified. Eventually, you learn to take it in stride, even if the prospect of the next contract being your last goes up every time you engage with this process
Perhaps a good mark was their human right?
The lecture experience remains fruitful. Standing in front of students, looking at their laptops, remains interesting for the lecturer. Despite the intrusion of technology, debating ideas with even a single interested student remains fulfilling. This occurred today and showed me why I love this job. It left me thinking the entire day and a little distracted for my student meetings.
Feedback sessions are rarely pleasant unless the student has done remarkably well. This one had not. Receiving a grade of 45 meant I had to deliver some home truths — truths which the student was incensed by. Perhaps a good mark was their human right?
Friday
No lectures or seminars ensured I could work from home. Seeing down the week, I got to finally work on my own research — a journal article and book edits as well as the never ending job hunt. Of course, this ensured I was busy working until late in the evening, when I finally settled down for a pizza. The pizza was my reward for a typical yet frantic week. Such is the life of an academic in peril.
