by Doctoral Writing: https://doctoralwriting.wordpress.com/2015/10/28/how-rescuetime-rescued-me/ This post comes from the wonderful Fritz Siregar, a PhD
student from Indonesia who has been studying at the University of New
South Wales (UNSW) in Sydney. Besides being a regular at ‘Shut up and
Write’ meet ups, Fritz can boast that he is nearly finished his PhD in
Law on the Indonesian Constitutional Court. Of course we wish him a
speedy completion - but we will miss him when he’s done and gone home!
Read here how Fritz got to be so productive …One of our challenges as Ph.D. students is to determine whether or
not our days are productive. In my case there are many occasions when,
at the end of the day, I wonder where all my time has gone.From
participating in two “avoiding procrastination” workshops I know it’s
not just me: many people have this problem! These workshops told me that
we must chunk our daily list into reading, writing, editing,
researching and I learned that productivity shall decline if we do one
activity for more than 2 hours continuously.I also attended a writing
skills workshop where I learned that writing in “snacking style” is more
productive. It is much better to allocate a specific 2 hours per day to
writing rather than scheduling 5 hours per day.Upon considering those two insights, I tried to quantify my day to
maximize my productivity. I decided to make a target of “250 words” per
day. So, if I successfully wrote 250 words, I would stop writing and do
something else (read, edit, social media, reading news). However, if you
are a research student, you might understand that writing 250 solid
words into your Ph.D. dissertation is not easy to do: it requires
combining referencing, checking your research and resisting the
temptation to read other articles. Many days I failed to achieve this
target so I changed my plan to write “whatever 500 words”. At the
writing skills workshop, I learned that we must set a specific time to
write, allowing the mind to flow and letting the brain write as much as
possible. I can then use that “500 words” for a blog, dissertation, or
another report that I need to prepare. The idea to quantify my writing
output is the foundation for using the application RescueTime.I installed the app RescueTime after reading a review on the net (I
was probably procrastinating!). I used the free version for almost a
year and kept using it until today. RescueTime is an app that you need
to install to your computer. It has free PC and Mac versions. I used
MacAir, so I did not have to bother with the university’s strict
security regarding installation of new apps. If you use a PC-based or
campus computer, you may need IT Security approval to install it. RescueTime provides a report about how you use your computer. In the
background, the app calculates how much time you are working with
certain applications. Then it reports this through a dashboard in which
you can see your Score and Reports. RescueTime also allows you to set your Writing Goals for the day. In
my case, I try to write 2 hours per day. I can assure you that it is not
easy to do (the counting starts when you start to type; when you stop
typing, the system also stops counting). In RescueTime you can set the
level of information that you want RescueTime to collect, for example,
whether the monitor will collect all data from all websites or only
domains that you specify. I let RescueTime collect all data without
restriction. This means that RescueTime will let me know how much time I
spent in shopping websites (eBay, Amazon) or social media. RescueTime also offers a paid version for approximately $72AUS per
year. With the paid version you can access more features, such as
blocking programs that you do not want to access, recording break time
or receiving more detailed feedback on your activity. But I am already
satisfied with the free version.Here is a screen shot of the kind of report that I get. On one of my
great days RescueTime will make high score compared to my daily writing
target:
RescueTime will let me know which apps that I used often.
However, in my not-so-productive days, when I spend much time
procrastinating or on other distractions, RescueTime gives me a low
score.
It seems that I used more time on distracting activities!
And I did not meet my writing goal, even though I spent more time on my computer!
After using RescueTime for almost a year, I have made some
modifications in my writing behaviour. First, RescueTime confirmed what I
already knew; that is, from 12-3pm is not my productive period. I
waste most of that time on distractions such as social media or reading
the news. I now schedule other activities for that time period. Second,
the app let me know not only how much time I have wasted, but also what
I’ve been doing while distracted - and this ‘soft punishment’ feedback
helps me force myself to go back to work later in the day.
RescueTime stresses their information collecting activities, stating:
Rescuetime will record information about the currently active
application or website on your computer. We record the following
information: application name, web site URL, window title, start time of
use, end time of use, OS username, and computer machine name. We do not
(and never will) collect keystrokes, form input, screenshots, or
anything nefarious.
However, if you feel insecure in this regard, perhaps you might be
better not to install it on your computer. Luckily this isn’t an issue
for me - I’ve found RescueTime enormously beneficial for writing my Ph.D.
On a productive day with a higher score, I can go home with head high
knowing that I have had a busy day writing. RescueTime will not tell me
whether I’ve been working on my dissertation, but for sure it helps me
make each day more productive than the last. If you want to consider
using this application, you can download it from this link: https://www.rescuetime.com/ref/946936.
Recently, I sat down with Dawn Opel, a postdoc at Arizona State
University, to ask her about postdocs, the job market, and what the
future in general looks like for someone pursuing a PhD in the
humanities, especially in English.
Before earning her PhD in rhetoric and composition, Dawn received a JD
from the University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill, and was a federal
law clerk and a lawyer for a not-for-profit organization.
She doesn’t
feel that it was a stretch to go from United States Bankruptcy Court to
studying new media and technical communication; in fact, the more time
she spent in the humanities, the more Dawn saw her past professional and
current scholarly interests merging.
This is one of the ways that she
believes graduate students in the humanities must learn to consider
their scholarship and career paths, as “overlapping layers of interest”
that seem to “naturally borrow from one another.”
Dawn insists that instead of the either-or mentality that
traditionally exists in the academy, we need to adapt a both-and
mind-set where we can move fluidly between professional and academic
trajectories.
Although this approach will not catch on overnight and may be a hard
sell for some, this is one of the better futures for those pursing a PhD
in English. Dawn explained that she did not set out to explore the
alt-ac path and still does not necessarily consider herself to be doing
so but that she did set out to gain a useful skill set that would
transition into a job that she envisions for herself. This at once
open-minded and deliberate approach is what allowed her to finish her
degree in less than five years and secure a postdoc immediately upon
completion.
Dawn encourages PhDs to consider a variety of postdocs outside their
comfort zones. She suggested that if you’re well versed in teaching, you
should look for something more research or administrative based and
vice versa.
She recommends that you find something that aligns with your
interests as well as with your previous experiences but also challenges
you to move in alternative directions. “One thing to keep in mind,”
stated Dawn, “is how any position will look on your CV to a potential
search committee. You want to ask yourself, What does the postdoc add in
my favor?”
When discussing what she found attractive about pursuing a postdoc,
Dawn explained that it affords her more “exclusivity in applying for
only desired positions” within the academy. “Let’s be honest,” she said,
“time is not on your side” when finishing the dissertation and
simultaneously going on the job market.
She wishes we were more honest
about this in the humanities but expressed a satisfaction that the MLA
and the Connected Academics project encourage critical conversations
about time to degree and the job market. Dawn and other English and
foreign language PhDs will present at the 2016 MLA convention, at the session “Connected Academics: Redefining the Humanist Entrepreneur,”
where they will discuss how they’ve crafted scholarly identities beyond
the traditional academic setting by reimagining their skill sets,
boundaries, and potential career paths.
Dawn believes that as humanists, we must be willing to be more
transdisciplinary and consider the most effective way to maximize our
career options. She stressed that ultimately the completion of a degree
is about “career preparedness,” not just for the expectations of the
field, but also for what it means to actively function within that
field.
At ASU there is a growing emphasis on entrepreneurship, and I
wondered if Dawn saw herself as an entrepreneur. She laughed when asked,
sharing that she once looked up the definition of entrepreneur. The
definition reads something like this: an entrepreneur is someone who
organizes and operates a business at greater-than-normal financial
risks. As she recited the definition, we both nodded our heads in
understanding about its application to the PhD.
“But there’s more,” said Dawn, borrowing from language
outside the academy, not typically used within the humanities, “you must
think about how you want to ‘brand’ yourself.” In other words, you
should constantly consider “how you can uniquely identify yourself and
your project to benefit your career as a scholar-practitioner.” Ask
yourself questions like, “What can I take from this to make something
that is mine?”
Ultimately, what I learned from our conversation is that you drive
your own career and invent your own opportunities, so make the risk
worth the investment. For example, Dawn recently presented at Phoenix
Comicon about digital media, leisure reading practices, and literary
fandom.
She believes that it may have been one of the best presentations
of her academic career because it allowed her to talk about the
intersection of subjects she loves and opened unexpected doors for
“future public intellectual conversations.” Through this experience Dawn
was able to brand or uniquely identify her work in ways that have
“transformed” her scholarship.
Dawn’s best advice? “Treat the PhD as a professional project”: adhere
to strict deadlines, “implement procedural and productive managerial
skills,” find a way to make your scholarship unique and about something
you love, and adapt a fluid mind-set.
Standing with students protesting isn’t a matter of solidarity: it is an act of recognition of one’s self.
Standing with students during the shutdown of my university was about bearing witness to my life as inextricably connected to the lives of students and families around South Africa. This week has been an education, learning and unlearning my reality as a black, female citizen and a scholar.
As a recent graduate, my aspirational middle class family has made innumerable sacrifices to ensure I can stand today with a PhD. Like the thousands of students marching around the country, each year I cried with my mother, wondering whether or not this would be year I would have to drop out because of inadequate funds. It had happened to my brother. It could happen to me.
Our struggles are not identical, but as I marched with students from the university and nearby Midlands College in Grahamstown, I understood that what I once felt were my personal experiences were intimately connected with those of other students across the country.
There were attempts by university managers, the government and some ordinary South Africans to pretend not to see the crisis. They tried to belittle our experiences of systemic oppression; to harass and shame students into silence. But the class of 2015 has given the country an unforgettable lesson.
I march with students because the cry to rethink our education system can no longer be relegated as a struggle for later. Whether we’re fighting for access or reshaping the way teaching happens in our universities, the time is now.
A new project is required
State institutions, including the higher education sector, have not been adequately re-imagined to deal with the demands of a burgeoning youth population. The burden of the economic crises we face cannot be borne by students and their families alone. A new project is required: one which adequately recognises that the 21st century will be a young one for Africa.
Young people, myself included, need to be part of the conversation. Through these protests we have made it clear that our voices and experiences matter.
As we ran from stun grenades on Monday, my heart shattered. Our black lives, our black minds, our black bodies are still, still made disposable. As we walked back towards the police threatening us, we raised our hands, singing “senzeni na” (“What have we done?”), a struggle song from the apartheid era.
Housekeeping and maintenance staff joined us. We sang “mama we ma, iyeza isocialism” (“Mom, socialism is coming!”). We are a generation that didn’t experience the 1976 student uprisings, but our parents did. We were the generation who were told that everything was under control: that if we integrated, obeyed the rules and didn’t ask questions about who gets to eat and be free in this country, our futures would be brighter. But we realise we will have to make the future we desire.
As my friend and colleague Julie Nxadi says:
It is inhumane to claim that education is the key to success, and keep hiding the keys.
The time for ‘big men’ is past
This is not the time for moral panic. The moral panic ought to be directed to the commodification of education, to the growing inequality of all sectors of the system. I stand with students because many of us recognise that our liberation cannot happen if it is not intersectional and guided by those most affected. This is not the time for big men. It the time for students to be heard, not dictated to.
Lecturers in academic gowns come out in support of protesting students.
Students have shown unwavering resilience in the face of astounding state repression. While facing harassment, belittlement, and attempts at co-option of this movement, they have continued to organise under intense circumstances. It’s disingenuous to expect a perfect blueprint of a revolution in higher education; a strategic ploy to keep students distracted and fearful that the task is too big.
As a student and academic I cannot stand on the sidelines and expect the solutions to come down like manna from heaven. Students have brought into practice new ways of learning about compassion, decolonisation and intersectionality. The demands and many statements students have put out have been clear. It is now time to put our collective wisdom together and make access to education a reality for all in this lifetime.
These young leaders have brought the movement to this point. Their voices matter. Their experiences matter. Standing with them over the course of the week is to stand with myself as a South African committed to a transformed context.
As researchers who study dyslexia, we often read articles or overhear conversations that completely misunderstand what dyslexia is - or how it can be treated.
Dyslexia is the term used to describe someone with reading difficulties - and it affects up to 10% of Australians.
A reader with dyslexia may have difficulty in reading unusual words like yacht; have difficulty with nonsense words like frop; misread slime as smile; struggle to understand passages; or struggle in a number of other ways when reading.
To coincide with Dyslexia Empowerment Week - aimed at raising awareness and understanding of the disorder - we highlight the seven most common misconceptions about dyslexia.
Myth 1: I’m a bad speller because I’m dyslexic
Some researchers and organisations include spelling problems in their definition of dyslexia. This can be a problem because spelling and reading are different skills even if they are both based on written language. There are some processes involved in both spelling and reading, so some people will have problems with both skills. But research has clearly shown that many people are good readers, but poor spellers; or good spellers, yet poor readers. To avoid grouping different kinds of problems together, it is less confusing to use the distinct terms dysgraphia (or spelling impairment) for problems in spelling, and dyslexia (or reading impairment) for reading problems.
Myth 2: I have trouble with (insert problem here), because I’m dyslexic
Reading problems are about problems with reading. That may seem obvious, but sometimes problems in other areas become so strongly associated with reading difficulties that they start to be talked about as if they were the same as having a reading difficulty. For example, some people with reading problems also have problems with some aspects of memory. This can lead people to say things like, “David forgets his lunch box a lot because he’s dyslexic”, but this assumes a connection between the two problems. If dyslexia leads to poor memory, then everyone who has a reading problem should also have memory problems, but this is not at all the case. In the extreme, one website claims that Leonardo da Vinci had dyslexia not because of any evidence that he had trouble reading, but because he could write backwards and reversed (as in a mirror image). This is clearly using the term far too broadly.
Myth 3: Dyslexia is the same for everyone
Though it may not feel like it to many of us, reading is a very complex task which involves many sub-skills and processes. It requires identifying and ordering letters, mapping letter patterns to sounds, and accessing knowledge stored in memory (among other things). This means that the process can fail in a variety of ways, so as researchers we will almost never say “dyslexia” or “reading impairment” without first discussing what kind of problem we mean. Does the reader have trouble with new words they have never seen before? Do they mistake broad for board more often than others their age? Do they read have as though it rhymes with save? Do they have trouble understanding what they have read? These are different problems, which don’t necessarily go together.
Myth 4: There is one way to treat dyslexia
Since dyslexia is not one problem, there also isn’t a single solution. The particular nature of the reading problem a person has determines the treatment they need. Based on current evidence, effective treatment of a struggling reader requires first identifying the specific reading problems the reader has, then designing a reading-based program to develop the skills that have fallen behind.
Myth 5: Gymnastics can cure dyslexia
Treatments like physical exercise, coloured lenses or coloured paper are not helpful for two reasons. First, they assume that all dyslexias are the same. Second, they have nothing to do with reading. There are many more “snake oil” treatments out there, and many of them have been adopted by school boards and education administrators with no reliable evidence to support them. Currently, the evidence favours treatments that are based on developing reading skills that target the specific reading problem.
Myth 6: Phonics is a waste of time
This one is a particular challenge in Australia, where many teaching programs do not emphasise phonics in early reading education. As a result, some children who appear to have a form of dyslexia are struggling because of classroom teaching methods. Phonics helps children learn to read by teaching them how to convert letters into sounds and then blend those sounds into words. Effective teaching methods for reading should always include systematic teaching of phonics, particularly in the early years.
Myth 7: Dyslexia runs in my family, so I just have to live with it
Research has found that genetics can play a role in reading difficulties. Sometimes the phrase “genetic cause” is mistaken for “there’s nothing anyone can do”. This isn’t true for reading difficulties. No matter the source of the dyslexia, there are treatments that can help - provided the problems are clearly identified, and the treatment is targeted.
Researchers in The Reading Program of the ARC Centre of Excellence in Cognition and its Disorders (CCD) at Macquarie University also contributed to this article - see here for a list of signatories.
Twenty
years ago he and his colleague David White created Cecil, the world’s
first learning management system and he continues to publish widely in
the field.
Here Don tells us how Grammarly can be used as an aspect of
supervisory practice with doctoral students. We hope you enjoy it.
Regards, Claire.
Many supervisors and advisors who support doctoral writing may not
know about one software product that is a useful addition to our
armamentarium: Grammarly, http://www.grammarly.com.
At the University of Auckland, our first impression was it was
immediately helpful to ESL students, particularly those from Asia as it
appears to identify ‘subject-verb agreement’ issues that some of these
students struggle to master. We now suggest that it is useful for all
students because it reveals blind spots: errors and typos that authors
can no longer see because they have read through their own manuscripts
so often.
Grammarly is not perfect but it’s better than many similar solutions, such as the grammar checker in Word™. It is possible for students to embed Grammarly within the Google Chrome browser at
no charge. Access to a licensed version provides an upload service and
access within MS Office and MS Outlook (personally, I find the Chrome
browser solution a nuisance but students may disagree).
The institutional licensing fees for Grammarly are thought reasonable. It’s also possible to hire the
product on a month-by-month basis which makes it attractive to those
writing dissertations or theses. It’s certainly attractive to supervisors who can specify its use
before committing time to a second-rate effort!
One quick ‘win’ is to
ask doctoral students to use Grammarly to first vet their writing and
then make changes to improve grammar, syntax, punctuation and avoid
plagiarism. Setting this whole process somewhere in the first year of
the doctorate will give supervisors an indication of their student’s
commitment to deadlines, writing skills in general, and the scope of
remediation required.
This process also provides the student with an
opportunity for self-awareness - it won’t just be the supervisor muttering
about literacy levels. There will be objective evidence provided by a
non-biased software review.
A more complicated deployment is as follows. It’s been my experience
that students not only benefit from using Grammarly, but improve even
more so when required to demonstrate how it was used to improve their
writing.
The Teaching Professor is always worth a squiz and in this case several articles related to feedback provide some insight on how to get more value from Grammarly.
If doctoral students are in cohorts who regularly work together, they
could discuss what they learn on Grammarly to anchor those points and
establish that it is normal to have grammar errors somewhere in a
lengthy document and usual to need to take time to fix them up.
Grammarly is helpful when preparing to submit dissertations and
thesis. The Grammarly report is sufficient to cover the usual list of
typos and other mistakes that some examiners object to. Keeping
examiners happy with grammar, spelling, syntax and punctuation makes
them more favourably disposed towards the work when they evaluate its
deeper levels.
If you’ve got any other stories about the use of Grammarly, as a supervisor or a student, we’d love to hear from you.
You may remember that we featured Wireless Philosophy, an open access philosophy project created by Yale and MIT, back in 2013 when it first got started. Wi-Phi,
for short, has kept on keeping in with its mission of producing free,
informative and entertaining animated videos meant to introduce a host
of philosophical issues.
Our own Josh Jones called it “a necessary
service to those just beginning to wade out into the sea of The Big
Questions” in 2013, and now, in 2015, you can wade in from a wider
expanse of the Big Question coastline than ever before. There are
currently 105 Wiphi videos in total.
At the top of the post, you can watch a whole playlist of Wi-Phi’s videos on cognitive biases, which add up to a surprisingly thorough half-hour primer on the forces that knock our thinking askew, from the “alief” (an automatic or habitual mental attitude, as opposed to a deliberate belief) to reference dependence and loss aversion to what we might perhaps describe as a meta-bias amusingly called the GI Joe fallacy (the tendency for our biases to stick around even when we should know better).
Both of those playlists do come with a certain practicality, at least
by philosophical standards: who, after all doesn’t want to think more
correctly (or at least less incorrectly), and who doesn’t want to live
the good life (or at least a better life than they live now)? But the
harder core of casual philosophy enthusiasts - always a demanding group -
should rest assured that Wiphi also offers video series on more
abstract or historical philosophical topics, such as the seven-part playlist on classical theism above.
This post is by Sue Watling,
Senior Lecturer in Educational Development in the Educational
Development Enhancement Unit at the University of Lincoln, UK.
Supporting teaching, learning and the student experience, Sue also
promotes the development of digitally inclusive practice. You can read
more about Sue’s work and Phd journey here.
I’ve always had problems with
boundaries. Control is achieved through strict routines around food,
booze and exercise. A bit OCD but it worked well until I began my PhD.
A
late starter, my first degree was after the children, after the
divorce; I was full of life-experience but not of the academic kind.
In
spite of two MA’s, doctoral research was a mystery. I was an educator
not a researcher and it showed. There were also confidence issues. As a
widening participation student and older female this goes with the
territory. The PhD cracked my insecurity walls wide open.
In
a new research study group, I tried to explain my fledging research
plan. This was to raise awareness of digital exclusion as a new 21st
century discrimination, further disabling those already marginalised and
disempowered.
A mature male student looked (literally) down at me
saying loudly ‘…and your point is?’ I withered. It was a struggle to put
across my ideas and he didn’t seem to get it yet I’d experienced vision
impairment and knew how inaccessible the internet could be. The theory
of accessibility was so far removed from practice I wanted to make
legitimate claims to knowledge in this area. Instead, my inadequate
public explanations seemed to reinforce what I suspected. I wasn’t good
enough for doctoral study. The reality was I simply didn’t have the
language to express myself and he was a dork. I left the group and never
went back.
My new supervisor was an educationalist
with a lot to offer but left within my first year. The next supervisor
had strong political persuasions. I’d decided to research VLEsbut
it was suggested I critique their adoption instead. Everything came
back to Marx. Another year passed. The pile of books and papers
increased. It was suggested I use action research, rather than all that
positivist stuff and I dived in head first with Freire’s critical
pedagogy and the principles of PAR. It was a useful and valuable
experience. Then my supervision changed again.
The next supervisor seemed concerned at my lack
of progress so I took a photo of the piles of books and papers on my
floor to prove I was getting on. The Japanese have a word for it.
Tsundoku. It means the books you never get round to reading. The paper
piles were to play a part in my progress but I didn’t know this at the
time.
I’d read so much about research paradigms and ontologies I tied
myself in epistemological knots. I’d written a thesis in note books
twice over but was still bobbing in a sea of information with no
boundaries. It couldn’t carry on but didn’t know how to stop. I had to
read everything. All references were followed in case they provided the
resonance I was looking for. I blew my photocopying budget and ordered
so many journal articles through inter-library loans when I accompanied
new colleagues on a library tour I discovered staff in the back office
all knew my name.
In spite of the literary chaos, I’d managed to collect data. Masses
of it. Did I say I had problems with boundaries? Using action research
I’d tracked the development of an online course I’d written from
inception to a PG Cert in Digital Education. Every word was hoarded from
forums, journals, emails and I interviewed all the participants too.
As
I drifted off into discussing my masters in gender studies in
supervisions (boundaries again!), I realised I was still fluent in
critical discourse analysis and slowly some of the pieces began to come
together. I wrote a paper on e-teaching which was accepted for
ASCILITE. Kindle and suitcase ready, 48 hours before the flight I
stepped on a pile of papers on my living room floor. It slid out from
under me and my ankle snapped as I hit the ground.
During the weeks of enforced inaction
which followed I read even more and discovered the Action Research
Dissertation by Kathryn Herr and Gary Anderson*. I was struck by the
simplicity of their description of the action researcher’s aim i.e. to
study themselves ‘… in relationship to the program [they’ve]
developed or to fold the action research immediately back into the
program in terms of professional or organisation development …’
(2015:42).
This described my research perfectly. The book was full of
references to texts I already had and guidance I’d already followed. For
the first time I recognised what I was doing as legitimate academic
endeavour. In that moment of resonance the boundaries I’d needed to
confirm and validate my research fell into place.
With hindsight I can see my PhD suffered through lack of personal
confidence alongside more experienced supervisors and researchers. This
was reinforced by the isolation of the part-time doctoral candidate. I
had enthusiasm in buckets but no way of containing it so headed off into
irrelevant directions.
Had I come across the Herr and Anderson book at
the start I might have found my research position sooner. Had my floor
not been covered with so much paper, I might have presented at ASCILITE. Learning curves hide in unexpected places. The lesson was it’s quality
not quantity which counts and while still a massive project, a PhD might
ultimately be smaller than you think.
*Herr, K. and Anderson, G. L. (2015) The Action Research Dissertation; a guide for students and faculty. Thousand Oaks: Sage.
The Conversation’s international teams are collaborating on a series of articles about the Globalisation of Higher Education, examining how universities are changing in an increasingly globalised world. This is the second article in the series. Read more here.
Last spring, a New York University professor was prevented from traveling to the United Arab Emirates to conduct research. The UAE government did not like his criticisms of the use of migrant labor in the Emirates.
The fact that this academic scholarship was politically unacceptable to the Emirati leadership may not be surprising. But what is important here is that NYU has a branch campus in Abu Dhabi. The university promises that academic freedom will be protected there in exactly the same way that it is in New York City.
It turns out, though, that protection has its limits. As an NYU spokesperson later said, “it is the government that controls visa and immigration policy, and not the university.”
As a faculty member in the United States, I am free to write and speak about any topic. But outside of the US, local laws and cultural prohibitions create a different situation. Plus, governments can use the visa process to keep out people with disruptive ideas. Under these circumstances, academic freedom simply cannot provide the same protections to faculty.
History of academic freedom
Academic freedom has its origins in the 19th-century German universities, where the freedom to teach (Lehrfreiheit) and study (Lernfreiheit) were considered fundamental to the research ambitions of the faculty.
The concept was initially codified in the United States in the early 20th century as a formal rejection of wealthy industrialist control of university activities. In 1900, a faculty member at Stanford University was fired for criticizing railroad labor practices. Several faculty members resigned in protest and began organizing the American Association of University Professors to investigate similar firings of other faculty.
In 1940, the Statement of Principles on Academic Freedom and Tenure of the American Association of University Professors and the Association of American Colleges and Universities provided the modern framework for academic freedom that universities - including NYU - still use today.
By these standards academic freedom is considered “fundamental to the advancement of truth.” Therefore, faculty should not be constrained in their ability to examine and explain their subjects.
Freedom within borders
As universities become more and more engaged in international activities, the blanket protections of academic freedom are increasingly difficult for institutions to guarantee.
This is particularly the case for institutions that have opened branch campuses and other foreign higher education outposts. These locations are often established at the invitation and encouragement of local leaders, and many are financially supported with subsidies from the foreign government.
Sometimes this support comes with restrictions as to what subjects can be taught at the outpost or specifications on the students it can enroll. In essence, foreign higher education outposts have less autonomy compared to the home location as a consequence of these partnerships.
The Chinese government has banned discussions of some sensitive subjects.Rasmus Lerdorf, CC BY
The potential threat to academic freedom for international higher education is clear in countries with authoritarian governments.
According to data compiled by my research group at Albany, the Cross Border Education Research Team, the top countries to host foreign branch campus are United Arab Emirates (with 32 campuses), China (28), Singapore (13), Qatar (11) and Malaysia (9). All of these countries have governments that control dissent and have policies restricting freedom of speech and freedom of the press.
Restrictions in many countries
We’ve already seen what the UAE’s response has been to a critical academic voice. But what about the others?
Most branch campuses in China have a senior administrator who represents the Communist Party, and preferences are given to party members in some hiring decisions.
Singapore has been criticized by academics for its laws against homosexuality and restrictions on public demonstrations. Similar charges apply to Malaysia and Qatar. Malaysia sedition law has just been strengthened to counter growing protests over government corruption.
Nevertheless, international campuses usually have broad assurances from the host governments that academic freedom will be respected. The reality of academic freedom in international education is actually somewhere in between the extremes of government control and the full ability of universities to protect their institutional autonomy.
My research team has visited over 50 branch campuses in countries around the world, including UAE, China, Singapore, Malaysia and Qatar. We found little evidence for restrictions on academic freedom on the campuses themselves. Rather, we typically find an academic community that is allowed to debate topics that might be off-limits elsewhere in the country.
This academic freedom, however, ends at the campus gate. A free-wheeling discussion in the classroom cannot continue in a coffee shop. A publication meant for students’ eyes is not meant to be seen by the broader public.
Scholarship should not be controversial
Additionally, certain subjects are not even part of the curriculum, which is problematic. We know of no scholar of queer studies, for example, teaching in Malaysia or Singapore. The most common subject in international education is business, which doesn’t usually pose a challenge to the existing social and political order.
And faculty we interview usually say the subject of academic freedom simply never comes up - they never run up against a problem, because like most faculty, their scholarship and teaching is simply not that controversial.
Moreover, people working and studying overseas recognize that there are different cultural mores that should be respected. Most, like taking off your shoes before entering a home, are accommodated with little affront to deeply held academic values.
Even ones that would be considered out of place at home, like gender-segregated learning environments, can be addressed without needing to reject the tradition it comes from. But others truly are a bridge too far.
As campuses expand and establish a global presence, I believe, explicit restrictions on academic freedom should be vociferously challenged. And home campus administrators should not get complacent in the assurances from their hosts about the academic freedom they will enjoy.
It is clear that there are limits to academic freedom in international higher education. But that doesn’t mean that all engagement has to stop.
Alyssa Sbisa is a neuroscience PhD Candidate at
The Florey Institute of Neuroscience and Mental Health, researching the
role of sex hormones in schizophrenia. Alyssa can be found in the Twitterverse at @LyssLyssLyss.
Sally Grace is a neuroscience PhD Candidate at
Swinburne University of Technology. Her research interests involve brain
imaging and mental illness. Sally tweets from @sallyagrace. Sally and Alyssa are the Media and Communications Managers for the 2015 Students of Brain Research (SOBR) committee. You can find more about SOBR by visiting our website, Facebook page, and tweeting us at @SOBRNetwork. The Research Whisperers invited Alyssa and Sally to write for us
because we’ve been really impressed by the engaging and bright presence
of the SOBR Network on social media. Those with good networks deserve praise, and those who work so
hard to create the conditions for others to build networks deserve even
more.
As a graduate student, you’ve probably come across more than one article stressing the importance of networking. And, if you’re anything like we initially were, you probably find the
idea of organising networking events daunting and wouldn’t know where
to start.
This year, when we signed up for a student-run committee, we didn’t
realise it would be such an incredible experience. Albeit rewarding,
there has also been some hard work. In light of this experience, we want
to share some useful tips in the hope that if others were to take the
same journey they have an idea of where to begin.
What is SOBR?
Students
of Brain Research (SOBR) is a student-run initiative aimed at
facilitating the networking of students in the area of neuroscience and
brain research, from cellular and molecular science to clinical
psychology.
SOBR was formed in 2011 in an effort to connect not only graduate
students from institutes across Victoria, but also early career
researchers, prominent scientists, and industry professionals.
Each year SOBR hosts two events: the Professional Development Dinner
and the Student Symposium. The committee itself has grown over the
years, and so too has the interest in our events. 2015 is the first year
we have had a waiting list for the dinner, and we expect our upcoming
Symposium to be even more successful than the last!
Engagement with our online social networks has also increased; in 2015 alone our Facebook ‘likes’ have increased by 35% and Twitter
followers by 360%. The success of SOBR is grounded not only on the
fantastic work of the previous committees over the years, but also some
key strategies.
Creating, growing, and managing a network is definitely not a
one-person job. The SOBR committee has eight members this year and each
one is integral to our success.
If you were considering a similar initiative in your own research area, we recommend considering the following:
Setting up your committee
First off, do your research and identifywhether there is a gap.
That is, is there the need for a committee or student network in your
field, or is there already a similar committee with relevant networking
events? Further, try not to be too narrow in your
definition. For example, SOBR is a ‘broad’ network in that it welcomes
all students of brain research rather than just molecular neuroscience
or psychology. This promotes networking across the subdomains of the
field, which is something that we want to support in science in the hope
that it builds collaboration and facilitates mutual understanding.
Diversify your committee. A committee with members
from several different institutes boosts the number of potential
outlets for advertising and sponsorship, and participants to attend events. Diversifying might be difficult in the beginning, but is a
good goal to keep in mind.
Keep the committee fresh! The SOBR committee
members are entirely different each year. This provides diverse
perspectives including different knowledge and connections, which can
benefit sponsorship and event planning. This also helps to foster the
career development of new students every year.
Have regular, structured committee meetings. The
SOBR committee have fortnightly meetings to discuss event planning,
budget, advertising, and everything else that goes with running our
events. We have designated roles for our committee members, such as
media and event managers, a treasurer, and president.
As SOBR is a student-run not-for-profit organisation, our awesome
events could not be held without funding. Let’s face it: it’s difficult
asking for money!
If it’s for a good cause, however, it doesn’t feel as uncomfortable.
One of the aims of SOBR is to facilitate networking among brain
research students and provide the opportunity to showcase work.
Fortunately, this aligns with the mission of many institutes,
facilities, departments, and schools that are home to brain research
students, and this aids the decision to sponsor our events.
Seeking sponsorship
Prior to reaching out to anyone for sponsorship, it is important to create a formal sponsorship proposal.
This should include an explanation as to why the funding is necessary,
followed by details of the proposed event including the date, speakers,
venue, schedule of events, etc. If the committee has sought funding and
organised an event previously, it is fantastic to include details of the
outcome to help paint a better picture.
Get to know who the ‘big wigs’ are in your field: Lab/ department/ institute heads - these are the people who sign off on the funding. Finding potential sponsors that are relevant
to your cause is key. Fortunately, 99% of the time the details of these
big wigs are online, making it easy to ‘cold-email’ with your proposal.
Following on from the last point: you must use the Internet
to your advantage. Research potential sponsors, order items for events,
find keynote speakers, and - importantly - advertise, network, and
spread the word!
Creating and maintaining an online presence
Be sure to create social media accounts for your committee. Both
Facebook and Twitter are simple to use, easy to register for, and
highly effective for not only advertising but also committee networking.
For example, this year two of SOBR’s keynote speakers were discovered
via Twitter.
Unfortunately, it isn’t good enough to have a social media account just sitting there, it needs to be maintained to keep up your online presence.
SOBR aims to post daily on Twitter and weekly on Facebook as this
reminds our followers we’re still around. It helps to start
conversations and build networks. Social media management websites like Hootsuite and Buffer are also great automators to help lend a hand and save time.
Use data and analytics to your advantage. Without
getting too deep into the analytical jargon, social media websites
provide ‘insights’ so you can determine how your posts are performing
and what you can do better. Improving your posts and increasing your
online presence will only benefit your cause. For example, via our
Facebook insights, we’ve found that our posts reach more people (thus
our advertising is more successful) after 8pm.
Network, network, network! SOBR’s goal of assisting
students to network couldn’t be effectively achieved if the committee
itself wasn’t also forging important connections. It’s important to make
a name for yourself. When next year’s committee is seeking sponsorship
or are in need of assistance in promoting an event, these online
connections come in handy.
Finally, utilise feedback to your advantage. Every year SOBR asks for
feedback and thoughts from event attendees, sponsors, keynote speakers,
and the previous year’s committee. This ensures that we’re most
efficiently fulfilling our committee goals, and that our initiative can
continue to grow each year.
Nelson Mandela’s life and writings reveal his fascination with education. The late statesman’s autobiography, Long Walk to Freedom, often profiles characters by their education and what he learnt from them.
Mandela pursued his own learning actively, curiously and indefatigably in many different settings.
He is also an exemplar of a lifelong learning that is profoundly dialogic in nature. This entails a kind of learning that involves continuing, interlinked dialogues with others, oneself and the world around one. It is central to developing as a person.
In Mandela’s case this learning was based on the values of openness, humility, critical reflection and commitment to justice.
So, what lessons can others who wish never to stop learning draw from Mandela’s example?
Traditional learning and lessons in leadership
Mandela’s education can be understood as a layered cake but with interfusing ingredients. The first layer was a traditional Thembu upbringing in South Africa’s rural Eastern Cape province. This steeped him in oral tradition and history. His civic education came from watching Chief Jongintaba Dalindyebo, the acting regent of the Thembu people, hold court at his Great Place.
These were tribal meetings to discuss matters of importance to the Thembu. All Thembu were free to attend and anyone who wanted to speak did so.
In this way, Mandela learnt a style of leadership which emphasised listening to everyone’s views - including criticism of the leader himself - as well as discerning, summarising and “endeavouring to find a consensus”, as he recalls in his autobiography. Democracy, he learnt, meant hearing everyone and taking a decision together as a people.
Formal schooling
The second layer was a formal primary and secondary schooling at Wesleyan mission institutions. Although he rebelled against colonial attitudes and authorities, he retained an abiding legacy of mission education: he admired parliamentary democracy, a Christian value system of service, decorum and good conduct, and the English language as a unifying force against ethnic divisions.
Mandela’s higher education was perhaps not as significant for its formal instruction as for relationships and informal learning. At what was then the University College of Fort Hare he was exposed to African role models like academic, author and African National Congress (ANC) stalwart ZK Matthews.
At the University of the Witwatersrand in Johannesburg, the man who would one day become South Africa’s first democratically elected and first black president met progressive law students of different races and backgrounds. His professional education included his law degree - but more profoundly, his practical law experience.
As a legal clerk at the only white law firm that would take on black employees, he learnt from his mentor Lazar Sidelsky “to serve our country” and that law could be used “to change society”.
Nelson Mandela embraces a graduating university student.Jim Bourg/Reuters
Later, as a partner in Mandela and Tambo, he was conscientised by the myriad sufferings of black people at the hands of the apartheid machinery. In Long Walk to Freedom he writes:
We heard and saw the thousands of humiliations that ordinary Africans confronted every day of their lives.
A political education
Mandela’s political education was strongly influenced by popular struggles. He participated in the Defiance Campaign of the 1950s, a massive and non-violent response to the apartheid government’s racist laws. During the 1960s, after organisations like the ANC had been banned, he remained involved in the movement underground.
The “prison education” of Robben Island, where Mandela spent more than two decades after being convicted of sabotage, was the final layer of learning.
Here, Mandela learned about how to survive in extreme conditions. Prison was another site in the greater struggle to liberate South Africa. While learning the practical value of collective strength and solidarity, Mandela also learnt to cultivate relationships, especially with prison warders, seeing even hostile enemies as human beings and potential allies.
Dialogic lifelong learning
Through all these layers of education, Mandela exemplified dialogic lifelong learning. It was life-wide, lifelong and life-deep. First, he learnt through dialogue with others. These included friends and mentors like Walter Sisulu and Anton Lembede in the ANC Youth League - but also Communists, who were both rivals and comrades.
He gleaned lessons and insights even from enemies like prison warders and National Party ministers. He was able to transcend the dehumanising view of “the other” inculcated by colonialism and apartheid with a humanising view of “another”: a human being with his or her own particular personality, history and formation. Secure in himself, this transcendence did not involve surrendering his standpoint or denying differences.
Second, he learnt through dialogue with himself. At crucial moments, he was able to reflect critically on what had happened and what it meant. Sometimes an uncomfortable encounter prompted this. In the 1940s he met the Basotho queen regent and she reproached him for not being able to speak Sesotho.
“What kind of lawyer and leader will you be who can’t speak the language of your own people?” she demanded. This prompted Mandela’s shift in attitude from Thembu tribalist to a South African nationalist who embraced all of its peoples and languages.
Third, Mandela showed a continuing learning dialogue with the collective of the ANC. Its history, ethos and policies were a constant reference point for him, even though at times he contested policy, disobeyed it and even took secret initiatives leading into uncharted territory. Nevertheless, the collective of the ANC was the frame for his learning through nearly seven decades.
Perhaps the most striking of Mandela’s learning dialogues was with his changing context. He could read and respond to the signs of the times in very different settings - such as when re-entering public life as a septuagenarian in the 1990s in an extremely volatile national and global context.
These four moments of Mandela’s dialogic lifelong learning - dialogue with others, with self, with the collective and with context - are not discrete. They constantly interact.
At his trial in 1961, Mandela declared:
The struggle is my life.
From his life and his struggle, his own dialogic lifelong learning stands out as a key attribute and legacy.
Corrie Williams is a doctoral candidate in Criminology and Criminal Justice at Griffith University, Gold Coast (Qld). Prior to this, she worked in the justice system as a frontline case manager.
Her research interests include the developmental antecedents of
offending and individual and community level social support in the
prevention of offending.
Corrie completed an undergraduate degree in psychology in 2006, and a Masters in Criminology and Criminal Justice in 2014.
My attention has been recently drawn to academic quit lit. I was not aware that it was such a prolific practice that it carries its own moniker.
Since making the decision many years ago to commence postgraduate
studies, I have been very fortunate to have some wonderful mentors who
have encouraged me to use my writing and research skills to pursue a
career in academia.
As I approached the end of my coursework and honours journey in 2014,
I also had to make a decision of whether or not to undertake my PhD.
This was a huge decision, not because it is something I did not dream,
strangely enough ever since I was a little girl I was obsessed with
universities. The decision was huge because it meant that I had to
deprioritise my public service career.
Looking for some kind of validation that this was the right thing to
do, I searched the Internet to see if I could find like-minded people. Unfortunately, the rhetoric regarding academic careers is largely
negative. Not only in the quit lit via blog posts but across social
media in general.
As a particularly skilled procrastinator, I have a thriving Pinterest
account full of not only craft I will never attempt let alone
successfully complete, but also all kinds of funny academia-related
memes and Buzz Feed lists. It was a combination of these lighthearted
tools of procrastination and the comments (like this one) that almost made me want to quit before I started.
Ultimately, I decided to pursue my dream and apply for the PhD.
The overwhelming negativity about career prospects and the PhD
journey, however, still played on my mind and I found it hard to make a
decision regarding my public service career.
I completely overwhelmed myself. I had been doing my frontline job
for eight years and, although I achieved some incredible outcomes, I
felt stagnant and frustrated. I cut back my work hours and realised that
the one day a week I spent writing and learning was the only time that I
was truly happy outside my family life.
Leaving a career and stable salary behind is a massive risk for anyone, but having a young family complicates the decision. As my crazy schedule continued, I knew that something had to give. I
decided for my sake, and my family’s sake, that happiness trumped money
any day. I took the plunge and walked away from the public service.
I waited with bated breath for the negative fall-out and financial struggle. I expected it. It didn’t happen.
Within the first month, I received some work as a research assistant,
which gave us a little money for a short break away and a few things we
had needed. I was able to pick the kids up from school because I could
work from home. This type of work has continued without much of a gap.
More importantly, I finally had some time to figure out exactly what I
wanted to research and I no longer had the desire to distance myself
from the work I had done every day for eight years. I changed my topic
to align with the valuable on- the-job knowledge I had gained, and am
now refocused on researching childhood antisocial behaviour. I could do
this because I wasn’t living it, professionally.
I have been more available, more connected academically, and I now
feel a real part of my cohort. My PhD journey is no longer lonely.
Leaving a career, any career is a very personal decision. Not
everyone can or will take the risk I did, and not every one is fortunate
enough to have a partner in life who will support them emotionally and
financially.
I think this is the thing that annoys me most about quit lit. I’m
very aware that there are systemic problems in the way that academia
employs and retains its talent. The competitive nature of academia can
also be very challenging and tiring.
However, climbing the academic ladder can be incredibly rewarding. I
don’t know of many careers where travel and socialising are key aspects
to success, but I have so far had at my fingertips the opportunities to
do these things and I haven’t even reached the first major milestone of
my PhD journey.
The cynic in me has wondered if the negativity serves the purpose of
discouraging people and reducing competition. I don’t think this is the
main intent of quit lit, but so many of pieces I have read have an
underlying message of “It’s not fair” that is so off-putting to those
pursuing an academic career.
All I know is that I quit my public service job for personal reasons,
but I don’t for a second regret my time in that job. It was hard and
ultimately didn’t fulfil me in the way I wanted to be fulfilled by a
career, but every experience is valuable and those who are truly
committed to life-long learning will embrace and learn from every
experience.
I see my PhD as the starting rung of my academic career ladder. The
benefit of having had a career I gave up is that I now understand that,
in every career, it takes a while to decide what you want out of it, and
whether it is for you.
If, after I have submitted my thesis, I decide that academia is not
for me, then I know I’ll have no regrets and will not hesitate to tell
others of the wonderful things I did and learned during my journey.
Over the past couple of years I’ve been getting more and
more invites to do work that extends beyond my usual day-to-day work. This last week has bought it home to me that I really need to try and
put a strategy in place to manage how I deal with these requests. Excluding spam, I was asked to: edit a handbook; write an op ed; review
two papers, one grant application, and a set of documents for a
municipality; present five invited talks; attend six other events; and
give six media interviews. That’s over twenty additional jobs, which
collectively would take up more than a working week in time, only one of
which provides any recompense. My inclination is to try and be helpful
and do as many as I can, but for the sake of sanity I need to start
saying no a lot more. And since I said yes to 14 of these requests,
though not the one that pays, I need to say no a lot, lot more. I guess
I just need to say it, but any strategies for handling this kind of
avalanche of requests will be gratefully received.
Well Rob certainly gets more such requests than I do - see his discussion of talks here,
for instance - but I can certainly relate to this.
When I was recently
away, I came back to a lot of requests and I needed to say ‘no’ to most
of them. Now I’m on sabbatical and trying to focus on writing, I’m being
as focused as I can be (see my self-imposed rules, here).
It is a never-ending task to consider all such requests, to work out
which I can do and which I can’t, and then to say ‘no’ to some in as
nice a way as possible. For me at least, a non-reply is not an option.
As an editor I know how hard it is to get referees; as an author I
want my work refereed; and I enjoy speaking and writing. When people are
putting together a conference panel or seminar series they are not
picking random names from which any will do, they are frequently
considering different audiences, balance of speakers, etc.
One person
saying ‘no’ can upset a whole programme. Somebody has to review work,
otherwise the system breaks down. So I want to say ‘yes’, but I realise I
need to say ‘no’. I simply cannot do everything I’m asked.
In the past, if I complained about how busy I am, people seemed to
think this means that I must be bad at saying ‘no’. But I’m not sure
that this is actually true. I say ‘no’ a lot more now than I ever used
to do, I just am asked to do a lot more, and so the question is of
balancing how many times to say ‘no’ with saying ‘yes’. This features in
a lot of registers, but four would be referee requests; requests to
comment on other work; requests to write; requests to speak.
Referee requests: I keep lists of referee reports done on a yearly
basis - articles, grants, tenure or promotion cases, books or proposals.
I keep a tally of things I declined. The count is always higher for the
ones I’ve done - I seem to do roughly two of every three I’m asked.
Since 2008 it’s been between 30-50 review tasks completed a year. These
are on top of the Society and Space editorialwork I did from 2006-15, and I don’t count journals of which I am a board member.
Requests to read other stuff: I read work by colleagues, friends,
ex-PhD students etc. - these are people I’ve chosen to act as an
informal reader for. This means my capacity to read and comment on other
stuff is severely curtailed. If I read everything else that was sent to
me for comments then I would never get anything else done. So, if
you’re a student somewhere else, who maybe vaguely knows my name (less
often my work) then this doesn’t mean you have a right to expect
comments on your essay, dissertation etc. I now frequently get ‘Dear
Professor’ messages that have clearly been sent indiscriminately to many
other people. Nor do I have time to offer comments on papers by third
parties so that people can then use these comments as their own
critique. Unlike many other people, I do actually reply to emails to say
‘no’, rather than not reply and leave the sender to work out the ‘no’
from lack of response. But if I reply, politely declining to comment,
don’t come back to me to try to persuade me … by the way, there are two
very good discussions of how to write emails that get read and answered,
and what not to do, here and here (the first led to me to the second).
Requests to write: These come increasingly regularly. And it’s
extremely flattering, but often the kinds of things that I’m asked to
write are ones I would not be writing for other reasons, would force me
to go back to a research topic I’ve long left behind or where I have
exhausted what I have to say on the topic. I’ve been trying to decrease
the number of book chapters I write in recent years - it can be a lot of
work for something that frequently ends up buried in an expensive
hardback, and rarely seen. But there are always exceptions. Sometimes
invitations force me to engage with something I know I need to,
sometimes they fit conveniently with what I’m doing, sometimes they
spark an idea I’d never have had otherwise. And since it is impossible
to predict, I value each and every invitation, and try to weigh them up
against each other, and other demands.
Requests to speak: I really like to accept these, but it increasingly
the decision has to be based on whether it moves forward a project I am
currently working on or would like to work on. Speaking about old
projects is inherently less appealing - I want feedback on things that
are useful to me, hopefully delivered in a way that is interesting to
others, rather than talk about something that is already out or
forthcoming. I can think of only a handful of the talks I’ve given where
I’ve not gained something from the discussion, either the formal bit or
later (those are often ones where the paper is a repeat of one given
too many times, where the genuinely original, challenging questions are
harder to get given previous audiences. This doesn’t mean the paper is
immune to criticism, of course, just that I’ve probably already heard
those criticisms). Talks are often an opportunity to visit interesting
places, meet interesting people, try out ideas, give a definite date to
produce something by, etc. They often lead to publishing opportunities,
research collaborations, etc. But logistical issues also come up - am I
able to be there? Can I reduce the number of trips I take? Do I have the
time before the event to prepare something worthwhile? Will I be able
to see something of the place I’m visiting, rather than
airport-hotel-conference venue/university-hotel-airport?
I know other academics have different strategies for
deciding/responding: “What’s the honorarium?” “I only travel business
class” - both will lead to several requests disappearing. Or they don’t
reply. Or, the bane of editors’ lives, they agree to deliver a report or
chapter or something, and then don’t. While some people say, or imply,
‘no’ as a default, others find it hard, even exhausting to do so, but
know the alternative is worse. Perhaps we should keep more of a
record, that is the list of all the things we could have done, but said
‘no’ to, for various reasons. Maybe this would be our ‘inverse cv’.
