Category: Frustrations

Research Development – supporting new academic disciplines

I’ve recently moved from a role supporting the Business School and the School of Economics to a central role at the University of Nottingham, looking after our engagement with research charities. I’m going from a role where I know a few corners of the university very well to a role where I’m going to have to get to know more about much more of it.

“Don’t panic!”

My academic background (such as it is) is in political philosophy and for most of my research development career I’ve been supporting (broadly) social sciences, with a few outliers. I’m now trying to develop my understanding of academic disciplines that I have little background or experience in – medical research, life sciences, physics, biochemistry etc. I suspect the answer is just time, practice, familiarity, confidence (and Wikipedia), but I found myself wondering if there are any short cuts or particularly good resources to speed things up.

Fortunately, if you’re a member of ARMA, you’re never on your own, and I sent an email around the Research Development Special Interest Group email list, with a promise (a) to write up contributions as a blog post and (b) to add some hints and tips of my own, especially for the social sciences.

So here goes… the collated and collected wisdom of the SIG… bookmark this post and revisit it if your remit changes…

Don’t panic… and focus on what you can do

In my original email, the first requirement I suggested was ‘time’, and that’s been echoed in a lot of the responses. “Time, practice, familiarity, confidence (and Wikipedia)” as Chris Hewson puts it. It’s easy to be overwhelmed by a sea of new faces and names and an alphabet soup of new acronyms- and to regard other people’s hard-won institutional/school/faculty knowledge as some kind of magical superpower.

Lorna Wilson suggests that disciplinary differences are overrated and “sometimes the narrative of ‘difference’ is what makes things harder. The skills and expertise we have as research development professionals are transferable across the board, and I think that the silos of disciplines led to a silo-ing of roles (especially in larger universities). With the changes in the external landscape and push with more challenge-led interdisciplinary projects, the silos of disciplines AND of roles I think is eroding.”

But there are differences in practices and norms – there are differences in terminology, outlook, career structures, internal politics, norms, and budget sizes – and I’m working hard trying not to carry social science assumptions with me. Though perhaps I’m equally likely to be too hesitant to generalise from social science experience where it would be entirely appropriate to do so.

Rommany Jenkins has “moved from Arts and Humanities to Life Sciences” and thinks that while “the perception might be that it’s the harder direction to go in because of the complexity of the subject matter […] it’s probably easier because the culture is quite straightforward […] although there are differences between translational / clinical and basic, the principles of the PI lab and team are basically the same”. She thinks that perhaps “it’s more of a culture shock moving into Arts and Humanities, because people are all so independently minded and come at things from so many different directions and don’t fit neatly into the funding boxes. […] I know a lot of people just find it totally bizarre that you can ask a Prof in Arts what they need in terms of costings and they genuinely don’t know.”

Charlotte Johnson moved in the opposite direction, from science to arts. “The shortcut was trying to find commonalities in how the different disciplines think and prepare their research.  Once you realise that an artist and a chemist would go about planning their research project very similarly, and they only start to diverge in the experimental/interpretation stage, it does actually make it all quite easy to understand“

Muriel Swijghuisen Reigersberg says that her contribution “tends to be not so much on the science front, but on the social and economic or policy and political implications of the work STEMM colleagues are doing and recommendations around impact and engagement or even interdisciplinary angles to enquiries for larger projects.”

My colleague Liz Humphreys makes a similar (and very reassuring) point about using the same “skills to assess any bid by not focusing on the technical things but focus on all the other usual things that a bid writer can strengthen”. A lay summary that doesn’t make any lay sense is an issue regardless of discipline, as is a summary that doesn’t summarise that’s more of an introduction. Getting good at reviewing research grants can transcend academic disciplines. “If someone can’t explain to me what they’re doing,” says Claire Edwards, “then it’s unlikely to convince reviewers or a panel.”

Kate Clift make a similar point: “When I am working in a discipline which is alien to me I tend to try and ground the proposed research in something which I do understand so I can appreciate the bigger picture, context etc. I will ask lots of ‘W’ questions – Why is it important? What do you want to do? Who is going to do it? Less illuminating to me in this situations is HOW they are going to do it”.

Roger Singleton Escofet makes the very sensible point that some subjects are very theoretical “where you will always struggle to understand what is being proposed”. I certainly found this with Economics – I could hope to try to understand what a proposed project did, but how it worked would always be beyond me. Reminds me a bit of this Armstrong and Miller sketch in which they demonstrate how not to do public engagement in theoretical physics.

Ann Onymous-Contributor says that “multidisciplinary projects are the best way to ease yourself into other disciplines and their own specific languages.  My background is in social sciences but because of the projects I have worked on I have experience of, and familiarity with a range of arts and hard science disciplines and the languages they use.  Broad, shallow knowledge accumulated on this basis can be very useful; sometimes specific disciplinary knowledge is less important than understanding connections between different disciplines, or the application of knowledge, which typically also tend to be the things which specialists miss.”  I think this is a really good point – if we allow ourselves it include the other disciplines that we’ve supported as part of interdisciplinary bids, we may find we’ve more experience that we thought.

Finding the Shallow End, Producing your Cheat Sheet

Lorna Wilson suggests “[h]aving a basic understanding” of methodologies in different disciplines, “helps to demonstrate how [research questions] are answered and hypotheses evidenced, and I think breaks through some of the ‘difference’. What makes things slightly more difficult is also accessibility, in terms of language of disciplines, we could almost do with a cheat sheet in terms of terms!”

Richard Smith suggests identifying academics in the field who are effective and willing communicators “who appreciate the benefits and know the means of conveying approaches and fields to non-experts… and do it with enthusiasm”. Harry Moriarty’s experience has been that often ECRs and PhD students are a particularly good source – many are more willing to engage, and perhaps have more to benefit from our advice and support.

Muriel Swijghuisen Reigersberg suggests attending public lectures (rather than expert seminars) which will be aimed at the generalist, and notes that expert-novice conversations will benefit the academic expert in terms of practising explanations of complex topics to a generalist audience. I think we can all recognise academics who enjoy talking about their work to non-specialists and with a gift for explanations, and those who don’t, haven’t or both.

Other non-academic colleagues can help too, Richard argues – especially impact and public or business engagement staff working in that area, but also admin staff and School managers. Sanja Vlaisavljevic wanted to “understand how our various departments operate, not just in terms of subject-matter but the internal politics”. This is surely right – I’m sure we’re all aware of historical disagreements or clashes between powerful individuals or whole research groups/Schools that stand in the way of certain kinds of collaboration or joint working. Whether we work to try to erode these obstructions or navigate deftly around them, we need to know that they’re there.

Caroline Moss-Gibbons adds librarians to the list, citing their resource guides and access/role with the university repository. Claire Edwards observes that many research development staff have particular academic backgrounds that might be useful.

Don’t try to fake it till you make it

“Be open that you’re new to the area, but if they’re looking for funding they need to be able to explain their research to a non-specialist” says Jeremy Barraud.

I’ve always found that a full, frank, and even cheerful confession of a lack of knowledge is very effective. I often include a blank slide in presentations to illustrate what I don’t know. My experience is that admitting what I don’t know earns me a better hearing on matters that I do know about (as long as I do both together), but I’m aware that as a straight, white, middle aged, middle class male perhaps that’s easier for me to do. I’ve suspected for some time now that being male (and therefore less likely to be mistaken for an “administrator”) means I’m probably playing research development on easy mode. There’s an interesting project around EDI and research development that I’m probably not best placed to do.

While no-one is arguing for outright deception, I’ve heard it argued that frank admissions of ignorance about a particular topic area may make it harder to engage academic colleagues and to find out more. If academic colleagues make certain assumptions about background, perhaps try to live up to those with a bit of background reading. It’s easy to be written off and written out, which then makes it harder to learn later.

I always think half the battle is convincing academic colleagues that we’re on their side and the side of their research (rather than, say, motivated by university income targets or an easier life), and perhaps it’s easy to underestimate the importance of showing an interest and a willingness to learn. Asking intelligent, informed, interested lay questions of an expert – alongside demonstrating our own expertise in grant writing etc – is one way to build relationships. My own experience with my MPhil is that research can be a lonely business, and so an outsider showing interest and enthusiasm – rather than their eyes glazing over and disengaging – can be really heartening.

Kate Clift makes an important point about combining any admissions of relative ignorance with a stress on what she can do/does know/can contribute. “I’m always very upfront with people and say I don’t have an understanding of their research but I do understand how to craft a submission – that way everyone plays to their strengths. I can focus on structure and language and the academic can focus on scientific content.”

Find a niche, get involved, be visible

For Jeremy Barraud, that was being secretary for an ethics committee. In my early days with Economics, it was supporting the production of the newsletter and writing research summaries – even though it wasn’t technically part of my remit, it was a great way to get my name known, get to know people, and have a go at summarising Economics working papers.

Suzannah Laver is a research development manager in a Medical School, but has a background in project management and strategy rather than medicine or science. For her it was “just time” and getting involved “[a]ttending the PI meetings, away days, seminars, and arranging pitching events or networking events.” Mary Caspillo-Brewer adds project inception meetings and dissemination events to the list, and also suggests attending academic seminars and technical meetings (as does Roger Singleton Escofet), even if they’re aimed at academics. This is great in terms of visibility and in terms of evidence of commitment – sending a message that we’re interested and committed, even if we don’t always entirely understand.

Mark Smith suggests visiting research labs or clinics, however terrifying they may first appear. So far I’ve only met academics in their offices – I’m not sure I trust myself anywhere near a lab. I’m still half-convinced I’ll knock over the wrong rack of test tubes and trigger a zombie epidemic. But lab visits are perhaps something I could do more of in the future when I know people better. And as Mark says, taking an interest is key.

Do your homework

I’ve blogged before about the problems with the uses and abuses of successful applications, but Nat Golden is definitely onto something when he suggests reading successful applications to look at good practice and what the particular requirements of a funder are. Oh, and reading the guidance notes.

Roger Singleton Escofet (and others) have mentioned that the Royal Society and Royal Academy of Engineering produce useful reports that “may be technical but offer good overviews on topical issues across disciplines. Funders such as research councils or Wellcome may also be useful sources since funders tend to follow (or set) the emerging areas.” Hilary Noone also suggests looking to the funders for guidance – trying to “understand the funders real meaning (crucial for new programmes and calls where they themselves are not clear on what they are trying to achieve)”.

There’s a series of short ‘Bluffer’s Guide’ books which are somewhat dated, but potentially very useful. Bluff your way in Philosophy was on my undergraduate reading list. Bluff your way in Economics gave me an excellent grounding when my role changed, and explained (among many other things) the difference between exogenous and endogenous factors. When supporting a Geography application, I learned the difference between pluvial and fluvial flooding. These little things make a difference, and it’s probably the absence of that kind of basic ground for many disciplines that I’m now supporting that’s making me feel uneasy. In a good way.

Harry Moriarty argues that it’s more complicated than just reading Wikipedia – the work he supported “was necessarily at the cutting edge and considerably beyond the level that I could get to in a sensible order – I had to take the work and climb back through the Wikipedia pages in layers, and then, once I had some underpinning knowledge, go back through the same pages in light of my new understanding”.

Specific things to do

“Become an NIHR Public Reviewer”, says Jeremy Barraud. “It’s easy to sign up and they’re keen to get more reviewers. Being on the other side of the funding fence gives a real insight into how decisions are reached (and bolsters your professional reputation when speaking with researchers). “

I absolutely second this – I’ve been reviewing for NIHR for some time and just finished a four year term as a patient/public representative on a RfPB panel. I’d recommend doing this not just to gain experience of new research areas, but as a valuable public service that you as a research development professional can perform. If you’ve got experience of a health condition, using NHS services (as a patient or carer), and you’re not a healthcare professional or researcher, I’m sure they’d love to hear from you.

Being a research participant, argues Jeremy Barraud, is “professionally insightful and personally fulfilling. The more experience you have on research in all its different angles, the better your professional standing”. This is also something I’ve done – in many ways it’s hard not to get involved in research if you’re hanging around a university. I’m part of a study looking at running and knee problems, and I’ve recently been invited to participate in another study.

Bonhi Bhattacharya registered for a MOOC (Massively Open Online Courses) – an “Introduction to Ecology” – Bonhi is a mathematician by training – “and it was immensely helpful in getting a grounding in the subject, as well as a useful primer in terminology.“ It can be a bit of a time commitment, but they’re also fascinating – and as above, really shows willing. I wrote about my experience with a MOOC on behavioural economics in a post a few years ago. Bonhi also suggests reading academics’ papers – even if only the introduction and conclusion.

Resources

Subscribe to The Conversation, says Claire Edwards, it’s “a great source of academic content aimed at a non-specialist audience”. In a similar vein, Helen Walker recommends the Wellcome-funded website Mosaic which is “great for stories that give the bigger picture ‘around’ science/research – sometimes research journeys, sometimes stories showing the broader context of science-related research.” Both Mosaic and The Conversation have podcast companions. Recent Conversation podcast series have looked at the Indian elections and moon exploration.

I’m a huge fan of podcasts, and there are loads that can help with gaining a basic understanding of new academic areas – in addition to being interesting (and sometimes amusing).

A quick search of the BBC has identified four science podcasts I should think about listening to – The Science Hour, Discovery, and BBC Inside Science. Very open to other suggestions – please tweet me or let me know in the comments/via email.

A huge thank you to all contributors:

I’m very grateful to everyone for their comments. I’ve not been able to include everything everyone said, in the interests of avoiding duplication/repetition and in the interests of keeping this post to a manageable length.

I don’t think there’s any great secret to success in supporting a new discipline or working in research development in a new institution – it’s really a case of remembering and repeating the steps that worked last time. And hopefully this blog post will serve as a reminder to others, as it is doing to me.

  • Jeremy Barraud is Deputy Director, Research Management and Administration, at the University of the Arts, London.
  • Bonhi Bhattacharya is Research Development Manager at the University of Reading
  • Mary Caspillo-Brewer is Research Coordinator at the Institute for Global Health, University College London
  • Kate Clift is Research Development Manager at Loughborough University
  • Anne Onymous-Contributor is something or other at the University of Redacted
  • Claire Edwards is Research Bid Development Manager at the University of Surrey.
  • Adam Forristal Golberg is Research Development Manager (Charities), at the University of Nottingham
  • Nathanial Golden is Research Development Manager (ADHSS) at Nottingham Trent University
  • Chris Hewson is Social Science Research Impact Manager at the University of York
  • Liz Humphreys is Research Development Manager for Life Sciences, University of Nottingham
  • Rommany Jenkins is Research Development Manager for Medical and Dental Sciences, University of Birmingham.
  • Charlotte Johnson is Senior Research Development Manager, University of Reading
  • Suzannah Laver is Research Development Manager at the University of Exeter Medical School
  • Harry Moriarty is Research Accelerator Project Manager at the University of Nottingham.
  • Caroline Moss-Gibbons is Parasol Librarian at the University of Gibraltar.
  • Hilary Noone is Project Officer (REF Environment and NUCoREs0, at the University of Newcastle
  • Roger Singleton Escofet is Research Strategy and Development Manager for the Faculty of Science,  University of Warwick.
  • Mark Smith is Programme Manager – The Bloomsbury SET, at the Royal Veterinary College
  • Richard Smith is Research and Innovation Funding Manager, Faculty of Arts, Humanities and Social sciences, Anglia Ruskin University.
  • Muriel Swijghuisen Reigersberg is Researcher Development Manager (Strategy) at the University of Sydney.
  • Sanja Vlaisavljevic is Enterprise Officer at Goldsmiths, University of London
  • Helen Walker is Research and Innovation Officer at the University of Portsmouth
  • Lorna Wilson is Head of Research Development, Durham University

Mistakes in grant writing – cut and paste text

A version of this article first appeared in Funding Insight in November 2018 and is reproduced with kind permission of Research Professional. For more articles like this, visit www.researchprofessional.com

Given the ever-expanding requirements of most research funding application forms, it’s inevitable that applicants are tempted to pay less attention to some sections and end up writing text so generic, so bland, that it could be cut and pasted – with minimal editing of names and topics – into almost any other proposal.

Resist that temptation. Using text that looks like it could be cut and pasted between proposals suggests that you haven’t thought through the specifics of your project or fellowship, and it will make it seem less plausible as a result. 

Content free

I often see responses that are so content free they make my heart sink. For example:

1)  “We will present the findings at major international conferences and publish in world class journals”

2)  “The findings will be of interest to researchers in A, B, and C.”

3)  “This is a methodologically innovative, timely, and original project which represents a step change in our understanding”

4)  “We will set up a project Twitter account and a blog, and with the support of our outstanding press office, write about our research for a general audience.”

5)  “Funding will enable me to lead my own project for the first time, and support me in making the transition to independent researcher”.

These claims might well be true and can read well in isolation. But they’re only superficially plausible, and while they contain buzzwords that applicants think that funders are after, they’re entirely content, evidence, and argument free.

Self harm

Why should you care? Because your proposal doesn’t just have to be good enough to meet a certain standard, it has to be better than its rivals. If there are sections of your application that could be transferred into any rival application, this might be a sign that that section is not as strong or distinctive as it could be and is not giving you any competitive edge.

Cut and paste sections may be actively harming your chances. They may read well in isolation but when compared directly to more thoughtful and more detailed sections in rival applications, they can look weak and lazy, especially if they don’t take full advantage of the word count.

Cut and pasteable text tends to occur in the trickier sections of the application form to write and those that get less attention: dissemination; impact pathway/plan; academic impact; personal development plan; data management plan; choice of host institution. Sometimes these generic statements emerge because the applicants don’t know what to write, and sometimes because it’s all they can be bothered to write for a section they wrongly regard of lesser importance.

Give evidence

Give these sections the time, attention and thought they deserve. Add details. Add specifics.  Add argument.  Add evidence. Find things to say that only apply to your application.  If you don’t know how to answer a question strongly, get advice from your research development colleagues.

The more editing it would take to put it into someone else’s bid, the better. Here are some thoughts on improving the earlier examples:

1)  “We will present the findings at major international conferences and publish in world class journals”. I find it hard to understand vagueness about plans for academic impact. Even allowing for the fact that the findings of the research will affect plans, it’s surely not too much to expect some target journals and conferences to be named. If applicants can’t demonstrate knowledge of realistic targets, it undermines their credibility.

2)  “The findings will be of interest to researchers in A, B, and C.” I’d ban the phrase “of interest to” when explaining potential academic impact. It tells the reader nothing about the likely academic impact – who will cite your work, and what difference do you anticipate it will make to the field?

3)  “This is a methodologically innovative, timely, and original project which represents a step change in our understanding” Who will use your methods? Who will use your frameworks? If all research is standing on the shoulders of giants, how much further can future researchers see perched atop your work? How exactly does your project go beyond the state of the art, and what might be the new state of the art after your project?

4)  “We will set up a project Twitter account and a blog, and with the support of our outstanding press office, write about our research for a general audience.” If you’re talking about engaging with social media, talk about how you are going to find readers and/or followers. What’s your plan for your presence in terms of the existing ecosystem of social media accounts that are active in this area? Who are the current key influencers?

5)  “Funding will enable me to lead my own project for the first time, and support me in making the transition to independent researcher”. How does funding take you to what’s next? What’s the path from the conclusions of this project to your future research agenda?

Looking for cut and paste text – and improving it where you find it – is an excellent review technique to polish your draft application, and particularly to improve those harder-to-write sections. Hammering out the detail is more difficult, but it could give you an advantage in the race for funding.

Applying for research funding – is it worth it? Part II – Costs and Benefits

A version of this article first appeared in Funding Insight on 9th March 2018 and is reproduced with kind permission of Research Professional. For more articles like this, visit www.researchprofessional.com

“Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in!”

My previous post posed a question about whether applying for research funding was worth it or not, and concluded with a list of questions to consider to work out the answer. This follow-up is a list of costs and benefits associated with applying for external research funding, whether successful or unsuccessful. Weirdly, my list appears to contain more costs than benefits for success and more benefits than costs for failure, but perhaps that’s just me being contrary…

If you’re successful:

Benefits….

  • You get to do the research you really want to do
  • In career terms, whether for moving institution or internal promotion, there’s a big tick in the box marked ‘external research funding’.
  • Your status in your institution and within your discipline is likely to rise. Bringing in funding via a competitive external process gives you greater external validation, and that changes perceptions – perhaps it marks you out as a leader in your field, perhaps it marks a shift from career young researcher to fulfilling your evident promise.
  • Success tends to begat success in terms of research funding. Deliver this project and any future application will look more credible for it.

Costs…

  • You’ve got to deliver on what you promised. That means all the areas of fudge or doubt or uncertainty about who-does-what need to be sorted out in practice. If you’ve under-costed any element of the project – your time, consumables, travel and subsistence – you’ll have to deal with it, and it might not be much fun.
  • Congratulations, you’ve just signed yourself up for a shedload of admin. Even with the best and most supportive post-award team, you’ll have project management to do. Financial monitoring; recruitment, selection, and line management of one or more research associates. And it doesn’t finish when the research finishes – thanks to the impact agenda, you’ll probably be reporting on your project via Researchfish for years to come.
  • Every time any comparable call comes round in the future, your colleagues will ask you give a presentation about your application/sit on the internal sifting panel/undertake peer review. Once a funding agency has given you money, you can bet they’ll be asking you to peer review other applications. Listed as a cost for workload purposes, but there are also a lot of benefits to getting involved in peer reviewing applications because it’ll improve your own too. Also, the chances are that you benefited from such support/advice from senior colleagues, so pay it forward. But be ready to pay.
  • You’ve just raised the bar for yourself. Don’t be surprised if certain people in research management start talking about your next project before this one is done as if it’s a given or an inevitability.
  • Unless you’re careful, you may not see as much recognition in your workload as you might have expected. Of course, your institution is obliged to make the time promised in the grant application available to you, but unless you’ve secured agreement in advance, you may find that much of this is taken out of your existing research allocation rather than out of teaching and admin. Especially as these days we no longer thing of teaching as a chore to buy ourselves out from. Think very carefully about what elements of your workload you would like to lose if your application is successful.
  • The potential envy and enmity of colleagues who are picking up bits of what was your work.

If you’re unsuccessful…

Benefits…

  • The chances are that there’s plenty to be salvaged even from an unsuccessful application. Once you’ve gone through the appropriate stages of grief, there’s a good chance that there’s at least one paper (even if ‘only’ a literature review) in the work that you’ve done. If you and your academic colleagues and your stakeholders are still keen, the chances are that there’s something you can do together, even if it’s not what you ideally wanted to do.
  • Writing an application will force you to develop your research ideas. This is particularly the case for career young researchers, where the pursuit of one of those long-short Fellowships can be worth it if only to get proper support in developing your research agenda.
  • If you’ve submitted a credible, competitive application, you’ve at least shown willing in terms of grant-getting. No-one can say that you haven’t tried. Depending on the pressures/expectations you’re under, having had a credible attempt at it buys you some license to concentrate on your papers for a bit.
  • If it’s your first application, you’ll have learnt a lot from the process, and you’ll be better prepared next time. Depending on your field, you could even add a credible unsuccessful application to a CV, or a job application question about grant-getting experience.
  • If your institution has an internal peer review panel or other selection process, you’ve put you and your research onto the radar of some senior people. You’ll be more visible, and this may well lead to further conversations with colleagues, especially outside your school. In the past I’ve recommended that people put forward internal expressions of interest even if they’re not sure they’re ready for precisely this reason.

Costs…

  • You’ve just wasted your time – and quite a lot of time at that. And not just work time… often evenings and weekends too.
  • It’ll come as a disappointment, which may take some time to get over
  • Even if you’ve kept it quiet, people in your institution will know that you’ve been unsuccessful.

I’ve written two longer pieces on what to do if your research grant application is unsuccessful, which can be found here and here.

USS Pensions Strike – Could deliberative democracy be a way out of the impasse?

“Freedom for the University of Tooting!”

My headline, unfortunately, is a classic QTWTAIN (‘question to which the answer is no’) because I can’t see any evidence that the employers want to negotiate or seek alternatives or engage in any meaningful way. You can find an admirably clear (and referenced) summary of the current situation at the time of writing here.

And if you want to read my previous wibblings from a previous dispute about why you should join the union, see the second half of this post.

All I’ll add is that we’ve been here before as regards pensions cuts… again and again and again… only previously it’s been salami slices, or at least compared to what’s being proposed now. These previous changes, we were told, would put the scheme back on the right track, and were necessary due to increased life expectancy etc and so on. So my question is… were those previous claims about past changes just straightforward lies, or have things got worse? And if they’ve got worse, is that wider economic conditions, or incompetence? And either way, why are the people responsible taking huge pay increases? Why is my pension scheme on the way to becoming a regular in the pages of Private Eye?

Anyway… I wanted to talk about deliberative democracy. I listened to a really interesting Reasons to be Cheerful podcast (presented by Ed Miliband and Geoff Lloyd) on deliberative democracy the other week. If we ask everyone what they think on a particular topic, the problem is that not everyone will be equally well informed, will have the necessary time to follow the arguments and find the evidence, or will come to the topic with an open mind. The idea of deliberative democracy is finding a small, representative group, giving them full access to the evidence and the arguments and expertise, and then, through deliberation, work towards a consensus decision if possible.

Trial by jury follows this model very closely, though we don’t typically think of a jury as an expression of democracy. These are twelve ordinary people, selected at random (with some exceptions and criteria), and trusted to follow the arguments in a criminal trial. But we regard this as fair, and as legitimate, and my perception is that there’s widespread faith in trial by jury as an institution.

Could we extend this to other issues? For example, the current strike action about cuts to the USS pension scheme. At the moment I’m reading a lot of criticism about the methods of calculation, the underpinning assumptions, and some very questionable motivations and methods of reaching and spinning decisions by Universities UK. But some of that criticism comes from people who aren’t experts in this area, but have relevant expertise in other related areas, or in areas that share a skill set. Such cognate-experts might well be right, but equally there might be good explanations for some of the peculiar-looking assumptions. In keeping with the Dunning-Kruger Effect, might such people be overestimating their own expertise and underestimating those of genuine experts? I don’t know.

Hence my interest in deliberative democracy… get a representative group of pension scheme members (academic and APM, a range of ages (including PhD students and retired staff), union and non-union members, a range of seniority and experience and subject area/specialism), give them access to experts and evidence, and let’s see what they come back with. A report from such a group that contends that, yes, the pension scheme is in trouble and an end to defined benefit is the only thing that will keep it sustainable, would have credibility and legitimacy. On the other hand, a report that came back with other options and which denied that case for the necessity for such a drastic step, would also be persuasive. This would be a decision by my peers who have taken more time and more trouble than I have, who have access to expertise and arguments and evidence, and who I would therefore trust.

“Down with this sort of thing!”

I strongly suspect that we have two very polarised actuarial valuations of the scheme – one, from the employers, which seems to me to be laughably flawed (but again, Dunning Kruger… what do I know?), and another, from UCU, which may turn out to be laughably optimistic. Point is, I don’t know, and I don’t want to make the mistake of assuming that the truth must lie somewhere in between.

One objection is that this might be little different to recent accusations about university Vice Chancellors sitting on the committees that set their salaries. However, a range of ages and career stages could mitigate against this – younger group members would surely resist any attempts to allow the scheme to limp on until older members are likely to be retired but which would leave them with little or nothing. We can also include information about affordability and HE finance in general to ensure that we don’t end up with recommendations that are completely unaffordable.I’d also like to think that those who chose careers in academia or in university management – in most cases ahead of more lucrative careers – have a commitment to the sector and its future.

And no-one’s saying that the report of such a group need be binding, but, a properly constituted group undertaking deliberative work with access to evidence and expertise would carry a great deal of authority and would be hard to be simply set aside. It’s an example of what John Rawls called ‘pure procedural justice‘. Its outcome is fair because it is set up and operates in a way that’s fair.

So I guess that’s my challenge to Universities UK and (to a lesser extent) the UCU too. If, UUK, your argument is that ‘There Is No Alternative’ (TINA) – which we’ve heard before, ad nausem – let’s see if that’s really the case. Their complete refusal to engage on the issue of the ending of defined benefit doesn’t bode well here, nor does the obvious disingenuous of offering “talks” while refusing to negotiate on the issue the strike is actually about. But let’s see if UCU’s claims bear scrutiny too. No-one is immune from wishful thinking, and some elements within UCU seem to enjoy being on strike a bit too much for my liking.

Because, frankly, I’d quite like (a) to get back to work; and (b) have some sort of security in retirement, and the same for generations of academics and APM staff to come.

My fictional heroes of research development (and perhaps university management more generally)

Consider this post a bit of an early Christmas indulgence, by which I mean largely ignore it..

As an undergraduate, I was very taken with Aristotelian ethics, and in particular ideas about character and about exemplars of moral excellences and other kinds of excellences (public speaking, bravery, charisma etc). Roughly, a good way to learn is to observe people who do certain things well and learn from their example. Conversely, one can also learn from people who are terrible at things, and avoid their mistakes. No-one’s so awful that they can’t at least serve as a bad example and as a warning to others. I remember later conversations about who the ultimate Aristotelian exemplar might be – in reality or in contemporary culture – with a lot of votes for Captains Kirk and Picard, leading to the merits of real life and therefore more complex figures taking second place to a who’s-your-favourite-Star-Trek-captain debate.

Years later, I fell to wondering who the exemplars are for research development, or perhaps university management/leadership/academic wrangling more generally. I could write about people who’ve influenced my thinking and my career, but instead, like the Star Trek fans, I’ve been distracted by fictional examples.

My first nomination comes via a 2012 Inside Higher Education blog post from ‘Dean Dad’ in the US, and is for Kermit the Frog. The nomination goes as follows:

[Kermit] keeps the show running, but it’s clear that he actually enjoys the Chaos Muppets and wants them to be able to do what they do.  His work makes it possible for Gonzo to jump through the flaming hoop with a chicken under his arm while reciting Shakespeare, even though Kermit would never do that himself.

Kermit endures snark from Statler and Waldorf in the balcony; let’s just say I get that.  And the few times that Kermit freaks out have much more impact than when, say, Animal does, because a freaked-out Kermit threatens the working of the show.  Freaking out is just what Animal does.

The nomination comes complete with a whole theory of academic management based on the Muppet Show. Muppets can be divided into ‘order’ and ‘chaos’ muppets, with ‘hard’ and ‘soft’ examples of each. Kermit is the epitome of a soft order muppet because he understands the importance of order and structure, but doesn’t enjoy it for its own sake and wants to help others to what they do best. I’d quite like to add “soft order muppet” to my email signature and even my office door sign, but I don’t think the world’s quite ready for that.

My second nomination is Sergeant Wilson of ‘Dad’s Army’, played by John Le Mesurier. Catchphrases include “would you mind awfully…” and the eventual title of a biography of JLeM: “Do you think that’s wise, sir?” He’s usually a model of subtle and understated influence, providing gentle but timely challenge to those set above him. Good humoured, unflappable, wise, and reassuring, he’s the ideal sergeant.

My third – more controversially – is Edmund Blackadder, and in particular Blackadder III. This exchange alone – when reviewing the Prince of Wales’ first draft of a love letter – makes him the patron fictional saint of research development staff.

“Would you mind if I changed  just one tiny aspect of it?”
“What’s that?”
“The words.”

Blackadder loses points for deviousness, more points for largely unsuccessful deviousness, consistent mistreatment of those he line manages, and general cynicism about and contempt for those in power. However, in the latter case, in his world, he’s got something of a point. But, as I said, exemplars can embody what not to do as well as what to do.

Next up, a trip to Fawlty Towers and Polly Sherman (Connie Booth, who also co-wrote the series), the voice of sanity (mostly) and a model of competence, dedication, and loyalty. She usually manages to keep her head while all around are losing theirs, and has a level of compassion, understanding, and tolerance for the eccentricities of those around her which the likes of Edmund Blackadder never reach.

Finally, one I’ve changed my mind over. Initially, it was Sir Humphrey Appleby (left), the Permanent Private Secretary in Yes (Prime) Minister, who was my nominee. While the Minister, Jim Hacker (centre), was all fresh ideas and act-without-thinking, Sir Humphrey was the voice of experience and the embodiment of institutional memory.

On reflection, though, the real hero is Bernard Woolley (right), the Principal Private Secretary. Sir Humphrey’s first priority is the civil service, and no academic management role model can put the cart before the horse in such a way. And more seriously, the ‘Sir Humphrey’ view of the civil service and of administration and management more generally is a reactionary, cynical, and highly damaging view. My Nottingham colleague Steven Fielding wrote an interesting piece about the effects of YM on perceptions of civil servants and cynicism about government. But he is an example of someone who has concluded that success/good governance isn’t possible without an effective and professional civil service, but then in seeking to defend the means, ends up forgetting the end. And that’s a kind of negative exemplar as well. Let’s none of us forget who we’re here for, or why. Kermit doesn’t think the Muppet Show is all about him.

Bernard Woolley, though, struggles to manage conflicted loyalties (multiple stakeholders and bottom lines), and is under pressure both from Jim Hacker, the government minister actually in charge of the Department, but only likely to have a very limited term of office – and Sir Humphrey, his rather more permanent boss with huge power of his career prospects. Anyone else ever felt like that – (temporary) Heads of School or Research Directors or other fixed-term academic leaders on one side, and more more permanent senior administrative, professional, and managerial colleagues on the other? People who won’t be stepping down inside eighteen months and returning, a good job well done, to their research and teaching?

Well, you may have felt like that, but I couldn’t possibly comment.

So… who have I missed? Who else deserves a mention? Kryten from Red Dwarf, perhaps? Smithers from the Simpsons? Bunk Moreland from The Wire?