SRHE Blog

The Society for Research into Higher Education

Tag Archives: Management


by 1 Comment

Telling by hand: why academics need a different kind of reflection

by Elizabet Kaitell

On slowing down, noticing, and visual reflective journaling in the accelerated university

There are mornings when I arrive at my workstation, and my mind is foggy, my shoulders tight, before I have even opened a single email. Sometimes this is the residue of a difficult week. Sometimes it is something from outside work entirely, something happening in my life, in my body, in the people I love, that has followed me here, because, of course, it has. We do not leave ourselves at the door.

This is something we rarely say plainly in academic life: that we are not separate from our private selves, our families, our losses, our fears. We are embodied and embedded, porous, complex, open organisms, shaped by and shaping the environment we inhabit. What happens at home registers in the body that shows up to teach. What happens in a difficult seminar is carried home. The influence runs in every direction at once, and no amount of professional resolve, resilience training, or determined compartmentalisation changes this. The body does not take instructions. It registers, carries, and tells what our environment imprinted on us, often in ways we only notice when we finally slow down. This matters more than it might first appear: our sense of self is anchored in our capacity to feel and interpret these physical sensations — we do not fully know ourselves without access to them (Van der Kolk, 2015). And yet the conditions in which we increasingly work make exactly this kind of noticing harder.

We work increasingly in what Vostal (2016) calls the ‘accelerated academia’, a culture that prizes productivity, accountability, and efficiency at the expense of human sustainability (Mountz et al, 2015). These conditions require scholars to ‘excel at work rather than be well’ (Nørgård et al, 2024, p 133), with university staff showing significantly lower well-being than the general population (Kinman & Wray, 2021). In this environment, something quietly gets lost: our capacity to notice what is actually happening in our bodies, our encounters with students and colleagues, and in the texture of our everyday working lives.

I have been learning, slowly, imperfectly, to work with this rather than against it. Not to lock things away before I enter the classroom, but to notice what I am carrying, to let it surface with some gentleness, and then, with practice, to let it move through rather than accumulate. That is what this piece is about.

A different kind of reflection

Over the past few years, emerging from my doctoral research, I have been dwelling on a practice I refer to as Visual Reflective Journaling (VRJ). It began as a method of generating data about my own academic experience, but became something more: a way of staying with experience rather than rushing past it. Knowing is not confined to cognition but emerges through ongoing interactions between bodies, materials, and environments, and VRJ became a way of engaging these entanglements in practice.

The practice is deliberately simple. A notebook. A pen. Words, images, marks, fragments, brought together not to produce something polished or insightful, but to let the hand move in response to what the body already knows. Drawing on Ingold’s (2013) notion of ‘telling by hand’, where drawing is understood as a way of telling that keeps us closer to sentient engagement with the world, mark-making becomes a way of remaining closer to experience as it unfolds rather than processing it from a distance. A stick figure cycling uphill can carry more truth about a difficult week than three paragraphs of structured reflection.

VRJ starts not with a framework but with the body. Before writing or drawing anything: what is here right now? Is there tightness somewhere? Heaviness? A sense of bracing? These are not trivial questions. Our bodies carry the emotional labour of teaching, the tension before a difficult seminar, the weight of anonymous feedback that research suggests disproportionately targets women and marginalised colleagues (Heffernan, 2023), the physical and emotional effects that accumulate from student incivility (Lampman et al, 2009). By translating these somatic cues into marks, images, and fragments, we begin to see patterns that no single incident review would reveal. In doing so, we hold together words, images, and bodily experience in ways that can generate forms of knowing that exceed what any one mode might evoke alone (Ellingson, 2017).

Not a tool. Not a solution.

I want to be clear about what VRJ is not. It is not a coping strategy, not a resilience intervention, and not an institutional remedy for structural problems. Proposing an individual practice within a sector under systemic pressure risks reproducing exactly the narratives of self-management that make academic life harder. VRJ does not fix workloads, or eroded professional trust, or the conditions that produce burnout.

What it offers, more modestly, is a practice of attunement, a way of remaining present to one’s own experience within conditions that actively discourage it. Arts-based reflective practices have been shown to deepen reflection and heighten awareness of personal and contextual influences on practice (McKay & Barton, 2018), while visual journaling specifically can support mood repair and emotional sense-making in ways that purely verbal reflection cannot (Drake et al, 2011). Viewed through the lens of slow scholarship as a counter-narrative to accelerated, productivity-driven academic cultures (Nørgård et al, 2024), VRJ is a small enactment of deliberate slowness: pausing, noticing, staying with what is there rather than managing it away.

An invitation

You do not need artistic skill. You do not need special materials. What I would invite is this: find a notebook you like the feel of, keep it somewhere close, and occasionally, after a teaching session, at the start or end of a working day, when something is sitting with you, open it and spend five or ten minutes with whatever is there. Draw. Write fragments. Make marks that don’t mean anything yet.

A journal entry at the end of a working day, pausing before leaving, noticing what the day had left in my body before asking it to carry anything else. The dense, tangled marks at the head capture the weight of an overcrowded mind, and the beginnings of a migraine that comes when too much has accumulated, from work, from life, from everything at once. The orange lines tracing the neck and shoulders map tension and the persistent discomfort of an injury still healing. The circled warmth in the stomach is anxiety, not dramatic, just present, as it often is. This is not an analysis. It is simply noticing. [Figure 1].

Figure 1: End of Day

Over time, the practice generates its own knowledge. The journal becomes less a static record and more a space where past encounters, present sensations, and imagined futures intermingle (Phelps, 2005) The body’s quiet registrations, the things we have been moving too fast to notice, begin to become visible. And something in how we move through academic work starts, gently, to shift.

The body that shows up

This shift is not only personal. It touches something more fundamental about how we understand the academic body itself. Building on Dania and Ovens’ (2026) conceptualisation of academic bodies as lively material presences, continually producing and absorbing meaning through their encounters, I suggest that accelerated academic cultures privilege edited, high-functioning scholarly personas, rendering the lived body comparatively invisible. The body that walks into a seminar room is not a neutral delivery mechanism. It carries the morning’s difficult email, the tension from a conversation that didn’t go well, the particular exhaustion of a week that has asked too much. Students sense this, not consciously, perhaps, but in the quality of the encounter, just as we sense what they are carrying into the room with them. Within such conditions, VRJ creates a space in which the academic body can appear not as a polished performance but as a sensing and responsive presence.

Telling by hand is a way of letting that body back into view. Not to resolve the structural pressures shaping higher education – those remain, and individual practices cannot undo them. But within those pressures, VRJ may open small moments of freedom: spaces where experience can be explored rather than managed, where embodied forms of knowing can quietly reassert their place, and where the academic body can appear not as a performance to be sustained but as a presence to be inhabited.

Elizabet Kaitell is a Senior Lecturer in Learning and Teaching at Kingston University’s Learning and Teaching Enhancement Centre. She completed her doctorate at the University of Roehampton, where Visual Reflective Journaling emerged as part of her a/r/tographic methodology and sparked a curiosity that has continued to evolve since. She has a longstanding interest in embodied ways of knowing and ‘whole body selves’ in higher education.


by Leave a comment

“Network Rail”: postmodern irony defined

by Paul Temple

We left the pub in good time to walk to Waverley station to catch the 18.52 Avanti West Coast train to Euston. The departure board told of signalling problems on the East Coast mainline, but as we weren’t heading for King’s Cross that didn’t bother us. We even remained relaxed when the display didn’t give a platform for our train, as it was still shown as being on time. Until it wasn’t. Damage to the overhead wires just south of Carstairs Junction meant that no trains from either Edinburgh or Glasgow could travel south on the West Coast mainline. A broken-down train in the Scottish borders added to the fun. The apocryphal London newspaper headline, “Fog in the Channel, Continent isolated”, came to mind, but black humour about England being cut off took us only so far. Railway staff advice varied between “Wait to see if trains start running” and “There may be a rail-replacement bus to Manchester” – I thought, wouldn’t a hot-air balloon be a more realistic option?

There was certainly no shortage of railway staff on the Waverley concourse that evening: the crews of non-running trains gossiping among themselves; station staff in high-vis jackets with not much to do; bored-looking coppers … what there wasn’t was anyone who looked as if they might be doing a spot of managing, perhaps even providing up-to-date news to a generally good-humoured crowd of would-be travellers. It wasn’t hard to understand why this element was missing: the situation involved four train companies, Network Rail fixing (we hoped) the overhead wires and the signalling, and another part of Network Rail running the station. Take a look at the Network Rail organisation chart and tell me whose job it would be to take action over the effective closure of the main station of Scotland’s capital.

Not that long ago, there was a notion that higher education might work better if universities were ”unbundled”, to use the then-fashionable term. After all, went the argument, university finance or HR departments aren’t specialists in medieval history or particle physics, so they could provide professional services to random academic departments from what are currently different universities, so gaining economies of scale. Potential history students would be unlikely to be interested in a physics course, so why make them apply to an institution teaching a range of subjects? Let academic faculties do their own things in teaching and research, paying for the support services they need from the fees they receive, from whichever providers of services and infrastructure can offer the best deal. The academic units that prove to be good at operating in this new environment will grow, others will fail, but overall students, and some staff members, will benefit. The comprehensive, unitary university, went the argument, was a carry-over from the days of small, elite institutions, outdated in today’s mass higher education environment, and missed important efficiency gains. Modern corporations generally outsource non-core functions such as logistics and property services; academic units could do likewise. (Older readers may recall that the late Charles Handy described the unbundled corporation, employing a minimal group of core staff, on these lines.)

The case for the break-up of British Rail in the mid-1990s was, as I recall, less sophisticated than this, relying largely on lazy thinking about the supposed bureaucratic inflexibilities of state-owned businesses. There was certainly no suggestion then of state rail companies from other European countries becoming shareholders in the new UK train companies, in most cases receiving substantial subsidies from British taxpayers. The results of unbundling in the rail industry were on display during my recent prolonged stay at Waverley station: what privatisation had apparently overlooked is that railways are network organisations, where each element interacts with many others, and the failure of one ripples out across the network. Burton Clark in his 1983 classic, The Higher Education System, argued that the idea of integration was central to understanding how universities worked; they “symbolically tie together their many specialists” (p136): they are, in other words, network organisations, not simply collections of different disciplinary groups. We shall have to see if the promised Great British Rail can recapture the benefits of an integrated organisation, with managers having the responsibility for the functioning of the whole network, not just one part of it. Perhaps some university managers could offer advice.

SRHE Fellow Dr Paul Temple is Honorary Associate Professor in the Centre for Higher Education Studies, UCL Institute of Education.


by Leave a comment

Surviving and thriving in HE professional services

by GR Evans

This blog was first published in the Oxford Magazine No 475 (Eighth Week, Hilary term, 2025) and is reproduced here with permission of the author and the editor.

Rachel Reeds’ short but comprehensive book, Surviving and Thriving in Higher Education Professional Services: a guide to success (Routledge, 2025), is both an instruction manual for the ‘professionals’ it was written for and an illuminating account of what they do for the academics and students who benefit. However, Reeds is frank about what is sometimes described as ‘trench warfare’, a ‘tension’ between academics and ‘everyone else’, including differences of ‘perceived status’ among the staff of  ‘higher education providers’.

Her chapters begin with a survey of the organisation of ‘UK higher education today’. Then comes a description of  ‘job or career’ in ‘professional services’ followed by a chapter on how to get such a post. Chapter 4 advises the new recruit about ‘making a visible impact’ and Chapter 5 considers ‘managing people and teams’. The widespread enthusiasm of providers for ‘change’ and ‘innovation’ prompts the discussion in Chapter 6.

Reeds defines ‘Professional Services’ as replacing and embracing ‘terms such as administrators, non-academic staff or support staff’. In some providers there are not two but three categories, with ‘professional services’ sometimes described as ‘academic-related’ and other non-academics as ‘assistant’ staff. Some academics are responsible for both teaching and research but there may also be research-only staff, usually on fixed-term externally-funded contracts, which may be classified on the sameside of the ‘trench’ as academics. The ‘umbrella carriers’ of ‘middle management’ and ‘dealing with difficult things’ provide matter for Chapter 7. In Chapter 8 and the conclusion there is encouragement to see the task in broader terms and to share ‘knowledge’ gained. Each chapter ends with suggestions for further reading under the heading ‘digging deeper’.

The scope of the needs to be met is now very wide. Government-defined ‘Levels’ of higher education include Levels 4 and 5, placing degrees at Level 6, with postgraduate Masters at 7 and doctorates at 8. The Higher Education and Research Act of 2017 therefore includes what is now a considerable range of ‘higher education providers’ in England, traditional Universities among them, but also hundreds of ‘alternative providers’. Some of these deliver higher education in partnership with other providers which have their own degree-awarding powers, relying on them to provide their students with degrees. These all need ‘professional services’ to support them in their primary tasks of teaching and, in many cases, also research.

Providers of higher education need two kinds of staff: to deliver education and research and others to provide support for them. That was noticed in the original drafting of the Further and Higher Education Act of 1992 s.65, 2 (b) which approved the use of (the then significant) ‘block grant’ public funding for:

the provision of any facilities, and the carrying on of any other activities, by higher education institutions in their area which the governing bodies of those institutions consider it necessary or desirable to provide or carry on for the purpose of or in connection with education or research.

In what sense do those offering such ‘services’ constitute a Profession? The Professional Qualifications Act of 2022, awaiting consideration of amendments and royal approval, is primarily concerned with licence to practise and the arrangements for the acceptance of international qualifications. It is designed to set out a framework ‘whereby professional statutory regulatory bodies (PSRBs) can determine the necessary knowledge and experience requirements to work in a regulated profession (for example nursing or architecture)’. It will permit ’different approaches to undertaking’ any ‘regulatory activity’ so as ‘to ensure professional standards’This is not stated to include any body recognising members of the Professional Services of higher education.  Nor does the Government’s own approved list of regulated professions.

The modern Professional Services came into existence in a recognisable form only in the last few decades.The need for support for the work of the ‘scholars’ got limited recognition in the early universities. When Oxford and Cambridge formed themselves as corporations at the beginning of the thirteenth century they provided themselves with Chancellors, who had a judicial function, and Proctors (Procuratores) to ensure that the corporation stayed on the right side of the law. The office of Registrar (Oxford) and Registrary (Cambridge) was added from the fifteenth sixteenth century to keep the records of the University such as its lists and accounts.

The needs to be met expanded towards the end of the nineteenth century. Oxford’s Registrar had a staff of five in 1914. The Oxford and Cambridge Universities Commission which framed the Act of 1923 recommended that the Registrar’s role be developed. The staff of Oxford’s Registrar numbered eight in 1930 and forty in 1958. By 2016 the Registrar was manager to half the University’s staff.

The multiplication of universities from the 1890s continued with a new cluster in the 1960s,  each with its own body of staff supporting the academics. A body of University Academic Administrative Staff created in 1961 became the Conference of University Administrators in 1993. The  resulting Association of University Administrators (AUA) became the  Association of Higher Education Professionals (AHEP) in 2023. CUA traced its history back to the Meeting of University Academic Administrative Staff, founded in 1961. Its golden jubilees was celebrated in 2011 in response to the changing UK higher education sector. It adopted the current name in 2023.

This reflects the development of categories of such support staff not all of whom are classified as ‘Professional’.  A distinction is now common between ‘assistant staff’ and the ‘professionals’, often described as ’academic-related’ and enjoying a comparable status with the ‘academic’.

The question of status was sharpened by the creation of a Leadership Foundation in Higher Education (LFHE) in 2004, merged with AdvanceHE in 2018.  This promises those in  Professional Services ‘a vital career trajectory equal to research, teaching and supporting learning’ and, notably, to ‘empower leaders at all levels: from early-career professionals to senior executives’ That implies that executive leadership in a provider will not necessarily lie with its academics. It may also be described as managerial.

Reading University identifies ‘role profiles’ of four kinds: ‘academic and research’; ‘professional and managerial’; support roles which are ‘clerical and technical; ‘ancillary and operational support’. The ‘professional and managerial’ roles are at Grades 6-8. It invites potential recruits into its ‘Professional Services’ as offering career progression at the University. The routes are listed under Leadership and Management Development; ‘coaching and mentoring’ and ‘apprenticeships’. This may open a ‘visible career pathway for professional services staff’ and ‘also form part of succession planning within a team, department or Directorate or School where team members showing potential can be nurtured and developed’.

Traditional universities tend to adopt the terminology of ‘Professional Services’. Durham University, one of the oldest, details its ‘Professional Services’ in information for its students, telling them that they will ‘have access to an extensive, helpful support network’. It lists eleven categories, with ‘health and safety’ specifically stated to provide ‘professional’ advice. York University, one of the group of universities founded during the 1960s, also lists Professional Services. These are ‘overseen by the Chief Financial and Operating Officer’ and variously serving Technology; Estates and Facilities; Human Resources; Research and Enterprise; Planning and Risk; External Relations; student needs etc. The post-1992 Oxford Brookes University also has its Professional Services divided into a number of sections of the University’s work such as ‘academic, research and estates’. Of the alternative providers which have gained ‘university title’ Edge Hill (2006) lists seven ‘administrative staff’, two ‘part-time’, one described as administration ‘co-ordinator’, one as a ‘manager’ and one as a ‘leader’.

Reeds’ study draws on the experience of those working in a wide range of providers, but it does not include an account of the provision developed by  Oxford or Cambridge. Yet the two ancient English Universities have their own centuries-long histories of creating and multiplying administrative roles. The Colleges of Oxford and Cambridge similarly distinguish their ‘academic’ from their other staff. For example St John’s College, Oxford and Sidney Sussex College, Cambridge list more than a dozen ‘departments’, each with its own  body of non-academic staff.

In Oxford the distinction between academics and ‘professional’ administrators is somewhat blurred by grading administrators alongside academics at the same levels. Oxford’s Registrar now acts ‘as principal adviser on strategic policy to the Vice-Chancellor and to Council’, and to ‘ensure effective co-ordination of advice from other officers to the Vice-Chancellor, Council, and other university bodies’ (Statute IX, 30-32). Cambridge’s Registrary is ‘to act as the principal administrative officer of the University, and as the head of the University’s administrative staff’ and ‘keep a record of the proceedings of the University, and to attend for that purpose’ all ‘public proceedings of the University’, acting ‘as Secretary to the Council.’

The record-keeping responsibility continues, including ‘maintaining a register of members of the University’, and ‘keeping records of matriculations and class-lists, and of degrees, diplomas, and other qualifications’. The Registrary must also edit the Statutes and Ordinances and the Cambridge University Reporter (Statute C, VI). The multiplication of the Registrary’s tasks now requires a body offering ‘professional’ services. ‘There shall be under the direction of the Council administrative officers in categories determined by Special Ordinance’ (Statute c, VI).

Oxford and Cambridge each created a ‘UAS’ in the 1990s. Both are now engaged in ‘Reimagining Professional Services’. Oxford’s UAS (‘University Administration and Services’, also known as ‘Professional Services and University Administration’) is divided into sections, most of them headed by the Registrar. These are variously called ‘departments’, ‘directorates’, ‘divisions’, ‘services’ and ‘offices’ and may have sub-sections of their own. For example ‘People’  includes Childcare; Equality and Diversity; Occupational Health; Safety; ‘Organisational Development’; ‘Wellbeing’ and ‘international Development’, each with its own group of postholders. This means that between the academic and ‘the traditional student support-based professional services’ now fall a variety of other tasks some leading to other professional qualifications, for example from the Chartered Institute of Personnel and Development, the Chartered Management Institute or in librarianship and technology.

Cambridge’s UAS (Unified Administrative Service), headed by its Registrary and now similarly extensive and wide-ranging, had a controversial beginning. Its UAS was set up in 1996 bringing together the Financial Board, the General Board, and the Registry. Its intended status and that of its proposed members proved controversial. Although it was described as ‘professional’, the remarks made when it was proposed in a Report included the expression of concerns that this threatened the certainty that the University was ‘academic led’. This prompted a stock-taking Notice published on 20 June 2001 to provide assurance that ‘the management of the University’s activities, which is already largely in the hands of academic staff, must also continue to be academic-led’ and that the ‘role of the administration is to support, not to manage, the delivery of high-quality teaching and research’.  But it was urged that the UAS needed ‘further development both in terms of resourcing and of organization’. The opportunity was taken to emphasise the ‘professionalism’ of the service.

With the expansion of Professional Services has gone a shift from an assumption that this forms a ‘Civil Service’ role to its definition as ‘administrative’ or ‘managerial’. ‘Serving’ of the academic community may now allow a degree of control. Reeds suggests that ‘management’ is a ‘role’ while ‘leadership’ is a ‘concept’, leaving for further consideration whether those in Professional Services should exercise the institutional leadership which is now offered for approval.

In Cambridge the Council has been discussing ways in which, and with whom, this might be taken forward. On 3 June 2024 its Minutes show that it ‘discussed the idea of an academic leaders’ programme to help with succession planning by building a strong pool of candidates for leadership positions within the University’. It continued the discussion at its July meeting and agreed a plan which was published in a Notice in the Reporter on 31 July:

to create up to six new paid part-time fellowships each year for emerging academic leaders at the University, sponsored by the Vice-Chancellor. Each fellow would be supported by a PVC or Head of School (as appropriate) and would be responsible for delivering agreed objectives, which could be in the form of project(s).

‘In addition to financial remuneration’, the Fellows would each receive professional coaching, including attendance on the Senior Leadership Programme Level 3. Unresolved challenge has delayed the implementation of this plan so far.

The well-documented evolution and current review of Professional Services in Oxford and Cambridge is not included, but the story of Professional Services told in this well-written and useful book is illustrated with quotations from individuals working in professional services.

SRHE member GR Evans is Emeritus Professor of Medieval Theology and Intellectual History in the University of Cambridge.