"Historians value integrity, David; you should too if you truly are one of us." So wrote a senior professor, a named chair at a regional public university on the West Coast, chiding me in an email. My sin: calling myself a "senior academic adviser to the history department at the University of Minnesota" in an opinion essay I wrote recently for CNN.
This professor decided I was falsely claiming to be some kind of senior adviser to the faculty, rather than merely an academic adviser, senior in rank, assigned to work with undergraduates in the history department. By suggesting that history departments need senior advisers, he wrote, "you make us look like incompetent fools." He added: "Good for you that you have this public profile. But please don’t advance it by trivializing what tenured and tenure-track history faculty, including those at your own university, do." As for my job title, he insisted that "no such positions formally exist at universities, those that still have
standards, at least."
Terry Wareham of Lancaster University once suggested that an article on ‘change’ in higher education be entitled ‘Quiet Flows the Don?’ While this may raise a wry smile, it is a little unfair. Try changing health or agriculture. Attempts to change higher education are likely to be protracted and uncertain, as these books illustrate.
Most developed countries are struggling with the structure of their higher education systems. England and Wales (but not Scotland), some countries of continental Europe, and Australia have yet to settle the relations between its sectors or tiers, or if they are to have a unified system, how to arrange it. Meanwhile, most of continental Europe and, until recently, England have been struggling to finance their greatly expanded systems. These enduring issues, associated with the transition from elite to mass higher education, have been made more urgent by the ‘intellectual arms race’, in which universities are competing for a place in the ‘knowledge economy’.
Abstract
Many post-secondary institutions are developing policies and programs aimed at improving responses to sexual assault
experienced by students. In some areas, such as Ontario, Canada, the government has mandated post-secondary institutions
to do so. However significant these initiatives, they are predicated on the assumption that students trust, and want to
engage with, the university following sexual violence. This study explores students’ perceptions of sexual assault policies and
services on one mid-size university campus focusing specifically on how trust factors into reporting sexual victimization and
using services. Findings show that students believe that sexual assault policies and programs exist, but this does not mean
students are willing to use such resources or that they even trust that their university has students’ needs and interests at the
fore. This paper discusses policy and programmatic considerations for building student trust in their post-secondary institutions
to encourage student use of campus support.
Keywords: sexual assault policies, student trust, institutional betrayal, sexual violence, university policy, violence prevention
She sat in the front row of my classroom, quiet but engaged. She didn’t raise her hand, but when I invited her into the conversation or asked students to speak to one another, she showed she had done the reading and had thought about it. I learned from an informal writing exercise that she was a first-generation college student, paving the way to higher education for her family.
Canada has a highly educated population, and our overall rates of participation in post-secondary education are among the highest in the world. The problem of accessibility in Canadian higher education lies not in the overall rate of participation, but in the disparities and inequities in participation among elements of the Canadian population. Canadians from lower economic groups are less likely to obtain a postsecondary
education than individuals from wealthier backgrounds. Canada’s Aboriginal populations have extremely low levels of participation compared with
the population as a whole. Once admitted, there may also be important differences in whether students from different groups succeed in completing a postsecondary credential, or whether they are able to continue into professional or graduate programs.
I’ll get right to the point because I know you don’t have much time. A new semester is looming, and you are overwhelmed. It could be because you’re early in your teaching career and still feeling your way. Or it could be related to the impossible amount of work you are facing, as teaching loads grow ever heavier. But some of it arises from a common problem that you can help to alleviate yourself: You are overpreparing for class.
When I write CIHR grant applications, it’s easy for me to argue that my project is important: it’s because of the impact my work will have on the health of Canadians. But when I write SSHRC grant applications, I can’t make that same argument, because the reviewers would think I’ve applied to the wrong funding agency. How do I argue to SSHRC review committees that my work is worth funding?
Dr. Editor’s response:
The Social Science and Humanities Research Council of Canada – while specifying different criteria for different competitions – is generally looking to fund projects that are significant, important, and valuable.
In SSHRC’s Insight Grant competition, for instance, their evaluation criteria are “challenge,” “feasibility,” and “capability”. As part of the “challenge” criterion, they’re considering the “originality, significance, and expected contribution to knowledge” of the project; under the “capability” criterion, they’re considering the “quality, quantity and significance of past experience and published and/or creative outputs” (see SSHRC Insight Grants). Other SSHRC competitions want to know about your top five “most significant career research contributions” (see SSHRC Partnership Grants).
Now that we are into the realities of teaching in a COVID-world, I keep hearing similar sentiments from my colleagues, something to the effect of, “It’s going fine, but I don’t feel like a good teacher anymore.” What I hear in these statements is not a bad teacher but one who has lost confidence in their teaching. Whether teaching fully online, a hybrid model, or in-person with social distancing requirements, everyone has had to make changes to the way they teach. The pedagogical style and practices that we previously relied on are either no longer an option or are not as effective given the current constraints. So, we have
adapted, learned the technology, and made necessary adjustments. We’re doing it, but we don’t feel like we’re doing it well. We’ve lost our confidence, and thus feel like we’re not good teachers anymore. The good news is that we don’t have to wait for teaching to return to “normal” to feel like good teachers again. We can start to feel confident again by building self-efficacy in our own online or hybrid teaching.
Teaching in a hybrid in-person/remote model requires significantly more planning than teaching in the traditional classroom model. Tasks that were once quick, such as monitoring students’ progress during class and following up on late and missing
assignments, have become laborious, and everyday activities like making sure that students have access to material from the school library and determining the best technology tools to meet students’ needs take a tremendous amount of planning. More than ever, it’s important that I use my time efficiently and allow myself time to recharge.
While online learning environments are increasingly common, relatively little is known about issues of equity in these settings. We test for the presence of race and gender biases among postsecondary students and instructors in online classes by measuring student and instructor responses to discussion comments we posted in the discussion forums of 124 different online courses. Each comment was randomly assigned a student name connoting a specific race and gender. We find that instructors are 94% more likely to respond to forum posts by White male students. In contrast, we do not find general evidence of biases in student responses. However, we do find that comments placed by White females are more likely to receive a response from White female peers. We discuss the implications of our findings for our understanding of social identity dynamics in classrooms and the design of equitable online
learning environments.
Faculty are crucial for students. They serve as instructors and mentors. They connect students with a network that will help them succeed and get good jobs in the future.
But they can also get in the way.
As the student population shifts away from the traditional 18-year-old heading off to live in a dorm to students who are older and lower income, institutions and their faculty members are struggling to find mutually agreeable ways to support nontraditional students.
The numbers are striking: Within just three years, the College of Arts and Sciences at Emory University has more than tripled the proportion of faculty hires from underrepresented minority groups. How? We took many steps, but a key one was the increasingly popular, yet controversial, strategy of "cluster hiring."
As a new hiring season gets underway across academe, we all are determined to diversify our faculties — both to meet student needs and to better reflect the full spectrum of American society. Most important, we know that diversity is a critical element in
undergraduate education, research, scientific discovery, and artistic expression.
It’s October and the requests are starting to pile up. They’re multiplying so fast they feel like an anvil-weight of duty perpetually hanging over your head. They refuse to dissipate as the semester progresses, no matter how well you schedule your time or keep track of deadlines. And the worst part is: The sheer amount of work required to meet these demands goes hidden, uncredited, and unsupported.
We are referring to the mountain of requests that some faculty members receive to write letters of reference for students.
Colleges are wrestling with the financial havoc and technological logistics of a hellish year. But 2020’s Covid-19 pandemic and increased racial strife are also prompting revisions in college curricula. The nation is traumatized, and the content of academic programs, not just how they are delivered, must reflect that reality, said college leaders, students, faculty
members, and higher-education experts who spoke with The Chronicle.
“We need not just mourn with our students but empower them to understand the context of the moment, the history of their community, and ways they can be active agents in improving society,” said Melanye Price, a professor of political science at Prairie View A&M University, a historically Black institution in Texas.
If you’re teaching in the hybrid model, as I am, you’re likely facing an array of challenges as you try to keep students who are in the physical classroom and those who are remote on track.
I see it every day: Students receive an overwhelming amount of emails and other digital communication throughout the day that need to be organized, and students who work remotely don’t have the benefit of reminders posted around the classroom, in-person reminders from their teacher and peers, or the bells ringing to tell them it is time to transition from one class to the next. Further confusion can be introduced when some are at school one day and at home the next, and among students who shuttle among parents, babysitters, and other caregivers throughout the week.
We know that the pandemic has led to an increase in depression and anxiety. But which groups are most at risk and why? What are the policy and service delivery adaptations that can reduce the burdens of social isolation, financial stress and fear of the unknown? What are the coping measures that are helping families and communities to be resilient? Across Canada, university researchers are working to understand the particular psychosocial effects of the pandemic, discovering concerning ripple effects – and also reasons for hope.
Because of pandemic-induced distance learning, planning lessons and remaining connected with students involves an increasingly sophisticated understanding of the benefits and potential problems with edtech resources. As a veteran teacher and instructional coach with years of experience in edtech, I’ve seen it over and over again: Teachers’ inboxes and social media news feeds are inundated with advertised tech products, and it’s hard to know what will enhance the learning experience for our students, whether they use the tool in class or remotely.
There are a host of factors that educators need to consider when choosing edtech tools and resources that will support their students and instruction.
So your strategic plan reached the end of its life span. The question is: Did anyone notice — aside from the folks who filed final reports about it for accreditors and trustees?
Too often, the answer is no. An institution or a department begins a strategic plan with great fanfare but the end is usually anticlimactic. Most of the people supposedly affected by the plan are unaware of its actual outcomes — and may not even remember the original goals.
That kind of lackluster finale represents a lost opportunity. The fact that most of us fail to conclude our strategic plans with as much energy as we start them undermines future planning. It also masks the reality that strategic planning is continuous and reciprocal: We are supposed to learn from the process, not just check some boxes and forget about it.
As an academic and a college president, I wish I could say I was first introduced to the idea of women doing their own thing, making their way in the big wide world, through some worthwhile book or artsy film.
But I can’t. In my parochial, supportive (in a tough-love kind of way) blue-collar community, it was cigarette ads that most helped me envision a world for women that was different from the one my beloved mother inhabited so adeptly, and mostly comfortably.
I was a young girl leafing through my mom’s pile of Better Homes and Gardens when I first saw the 1970s ads for Virginia Slims. I loved those ads. The women were beautiful and cool, and — as a preteen — I bought hook, line, and sinker into the notion that women of the day had "come a long way, baby." To me those ads said that, as a woman, you could be yourself and still thrive in your personal and professional lives.
Sexual violence continues to be a serious problem on university campuses. While the negative psychological and health
effects are well known, it is only recently that attention has focused on how sexual violence is related to educational outcomes,
particularly women’s education. This study contributes to this area and examined the relationship between types of sexual
violence and behavioural and attitudinal indicators of academic performance and persistence among students reporting
sexual violence. Undergraduate women attending universities in Ontario, Canada (N = 934) responded to survey measures of
academic performance, attitudes towards education and sexual violence experiences. The results indicate that sexual violence
is associated with women’s deteriorating academic performance including and beyond grades. Female students who experienced
sexual violence reported more delays and failures on assignments, courses and exams and were more likely to endorse
attendance problems and thoughts of dropping out or quitting than students not reporting sexual violence. Type of sexual
violence experienced was also related to academic performance with completed sexual assaults associated with more delays,
failures and non-attendance behaviours than other forms of unwanted sexual behaviours. The results are discussed in terms
of the need to understand new and additional aspects of academic performance and persistence as well as factors that may
contribute to outcomes for students. Findings have implications for intervention and policy development.
Keywords: academic performance, sexual violence, undergraduate students