Between December 2016 and December 2019, I was a postdoctoral fellow at a university that will remain unnamed. I was hired to work on a research project on the “institutional culture” of the university itself, commissioned by the vice-rectorate: academic (DVC).
I was placed in the institutional research unit of the university. I understood that the project referred broadly to the university transformation. Because I had done a PhD in social psychology, tackling xenophobia and racism, I thought this project would be right up my alley.
He had a middle boss, let’s call him Pierre. He was deputy head of the research unit and took primary responsibility for implementing the project in accordance with the DVC brief.
However, as the project got underway, I became uncomfortable with the ethics of what we were doing. The DVC set out to investigate the views of university employees over whom it had direct managerial power. Wasn’t this a conflict of interest? When I suggested this to her, she insisted there was no conflict of interest.
I also suggested that he should not have access to the recordings or transcripts of the interviews until they were anonymized. His response was, “You could do that, but I’ll know who they are anyway.”
Some colleagues, who had been at the university longer, thought the project was simply a disguise for the DVC’s efforts to identify academics whose policies it did not like.
Then suddenly, three months later, Pierre quit. His position was not filled; instead, the DVC tried to delegate responsibility for the “key deliverables” of the project to me. I staggered; I was out of my depth and my heart was not in it. Also, the DVC was unable to explain precisely what it wanted. He would leave meetings with her more, rather than less, confused.
After a few weeks of stagnation, the DVC had the idea to find a replacement boss for me. She asked another higher education studies professor at the university if she would be interested in joining the project. This professor initially expressed interest, but then took a chance and offered me a postdoctoral fellowship at her own center.
I was relieved to be “out” because my relationship with the DVC was hitting a dead end. Then the new professor suggested that perhaps we could also bring the institutional culture project to her center.
I said that I was interested in his offer but made sure to clarify the conditions. He assured me that even if we couldn’t continue the project, I could still move into his center and work on new research.
However, instead of negotiating this transition with the DVC itself, the professor left me alone. So I met with the DVC and told them that I had been offered a new fellowship at the other professor’s center. I explained the suggestion of the new professor to continue the project there. Unsurprisingly, the DVC refused. I was prepared for this, so I said I’d quit anyway.
But when I informed the teacher, she was inexplicably upset and concerned that I(!) had offended the DVC. Then (almost) the worst happened: the new teacher backed out of her offer by pretending she had never made one of her own.
I spent several days tormented by this, but then it reset it and I ended up moving into its center, essentially jumping from the frying pan onto the fire.
He later told me that the reason he backed out of his offer was that the DVC had told him that I had not done my job on the institutional culture project, so I should not be rewarded with another scholarship at the university. . So the DVC, my postdoc host, actively tried to burn my professional bridges.
That was phase one of my time in college. For phase two, we can fast forward to early 2018, when I had been a postdoc at the new center for about six months. The professor of higher education studies hosted several PhD students, and when a new cohort arrived, we postdocs were informed that we would be co-supervising them. They didn’t give us any option about it. The teacher did not run her center democratically.
Privately, I thought this was reckless. I was assigned a PhD student whose research subject I knew next to nothing about. Also, postdocs are temporary, which means we may not be around to see students through to the end of their doctorates.
Still, I dutifully did the job, consoling myself that, in the end, I would have my first full PhD supervision under my belt. This is a career milestone and a requirement when applying for some academic jobs.
Fast forward another 18 months to the end of 2019, when my student was approaching the third and final year of her PhD. By then, he had spent around 70 hours giving feedback on his dissertation and seminar drafts.
At this time, some other things happened. I heard that an application I had made for independent postdoctoral research had been successful and I was offered a six-month teaching job at a university in Norway. I told the teacher this and asked her to let me go for a semester and come back. She replied that she could, as long as she continued to supervise my student while she was away.
Then a few weeks later I received an email from the professor saying that my services as a co-supervisor were no longer needed. The reason he gave was (surprise, surprise) that the PhD student’s other post-doc supervisor was also moving for a job and the student needed at least one supervisor in South Africa.
was being replaced. This made me furious. I had spent my time doing the teacher’s job, supervising her student, for two years, and now I would have nothing to show for it. So, I responded, asking to be reinstated as supervisor or reimbursed financially. She turned him down.
I wrote a complaint to the director of research development and the DVC: research (who have responsibility for postdocs). I explained how the professor wasted my time and again asked to be reinstated or paid for the work.
Asking for a reward in this way resulted in my dismissal.
The director of research development said that he found no reason for my complaint and that the professor was willing to let me take my new research funds elsewhere.
That’s how I found out I’d been fired. The teacher never told me herself. Obviously, she and the director had discussed me backstage.
A few days later, when I wrote to some of my postdoc colleagues to say that I had been fired, I received an email from DVC:research telling me that since I was not allowed to return to the center, I was also not to communicate with anyone there about it. what had happened. Management also conspired to gag me.
I went to Norway and found another university that would take me and my research back when I came back. But about 10 months after leaving the university where I had been treated so badly, a wave of grief washed over me.
I became extremely angry at how I had gotten there in good faith, expecting to be treated like an academic professional, only to become entangled in the dubious agendas of colluding academics and managers and ultimately treated like dog shit.
I contacted the vice chancellor and asked for a meeting. He wanted to tell her what had happened, hoping for some kind of justice. Initially, his PA promised me a meeting, but then he deceived me and I never saw him.
This account of what I learned about the “institutional culture” of this university serves as a warning to future postdocs about the dangers of these positions. Many postdocs became entangled in this university. Postdocs are vulnerable and no one in leadership helped me. Instead, it was those same leaders who were the most dangerous to my career and mental health.
Ironically, both the DVC academic and the higher education professor had built their reputations on an alleged concern for transformation and social justice. This hypocrisy played a large role in my loss of faith in the academic profession.
And as long as academics don’t have meaningful job security, speaking truth to power won’t work.
Philippa Kerr is a freelance writer and artist. She has previously been a postdoctoral fellow at two universities.
Opinions expressed are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect official policy or the position of the mail and guardian.
