Login‘The Zombie University: A British Warning’
At one point, we had a departmental meeting to see if there were any students in our bachelor/undergraduate programs who, with a slight grade adjustment from a fail to a pass, could progress to the next academic year. Even low fails were reconsidered. This ensured higher student retention, met the budgeted tuition revenue for the following year, and satisfied university boards. Did these students deserve it? I didn’t think so. But there I stood, watching it happen.
You might think, “What a perverse incentive! Where does this guy work?!” This really happened, during a rainy summer in the United Kingdom (UK), where I completed my PhD and worked as a senior lecturer for four years.
British conditions
I will provide more examples from my time in the UK—they matter. For instance, I was required to attend a semi-mandatory seminar on ‘Tort and Contract Law’ as part of communication training for open days. There, I learned (or rather, was subtly pushed) to refer to “subjects” rather than specific “courses” when talking to students and their parents. This kept us as teaching staff “safe.” Why? If we verbally stated that a particular course, like “Introduction to Policing Studies and Criminology,” would be offered next year, but the name changed to “Introduction to Policing,” our verbal contract would be breached.
Such verbal agreements at open days had to be avoided at all costs. Otherwise, British students, who took out hefty loans of about £10,000 per year in tuition, would have grounds for complaints or even to leave. Whether such consequences actually followed was unclear. But the fear was there.
British ‘Customer is King’
A total debt of £30,000 for a bachelor’s/undergraduate’s degree, plus expensive living costs, makes British students acutely aware of their consumer rights. Failure of a student was often blamed on the lecturer, the program, or the university, but never the student. The student is the customer, and the customer is king, which I actually understood.
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If a program could not demonstrate that it did everything possible to serve this king, such as preventing student dropouts, it was in trouble. Evidence, like emails to students, was crucial. Without such proof, student loan companies might stop lending to students enrolling in your program, seeing it as a bad investment due to your high dropout rates.
What followed? To combat poor retention rates, grades were adjusted (as mentioned above), and excessive follow-ups with students via email were conducted to have “evidence.” Did this make a difference? No idea, but the fear persisted.
Manipulation
If your program scored poorly on the National Student Survey (NSS), particularly on providing feedback, it indicated you were not producing timely graduates. We were instructed not to mention “lectures” or “seminars,” but to call them “feedback sessions.” This way, British students could at least report receiving feedback on the NSS (manipulation at its finest). Would they actually rate the program differently in the NSS? Who knows. But the fear was there.
In short, due to perverse incentives and fear, we were mainly concerned with teaching accountability rather than actual teaching.
Forced redundancies
Can you imagine my relief when in 2018 I left the “sinking island,” as I often jokingly called the UK? Finally, before Brexit became reality, I returned to what I thought was a healthy Dutch academic environment. No standard of 80 percent teaching and 20 percent research, but 70/30. No exorbitant tuition fees. No university-consumers, but critical and proactive students. No perverse incentives, but genuine academic motivation. No embittered colleagues, but generally happier academics. At least happier than in the UK.
I am still in touch with former colleagues in the UK. The academic implosion there has been ongoing longer, and is far more intense and widespread, than in the Netherlands. Since Brexit, and just after my departure, it has worsened, with more perverse incentives, declining quality that even prestigious institutions like Cambridge and Oxford cannot correct. And recently, nationwide “forced redundancies.”
The British academic life has become hollow. It still exists but is no longer vibrant. It is in a zombie state, as Sinead Murphy describes in her book Zombie University.
Dutch zombie status emerging
That zombie state is what Dutch universities are racing towards at 130 km/h (because soon that will be allowed again). The extended study fine, the de-internationalization (a sort of academic Nexit), and of course, the one billion euro cuts: together, they spell a death knell for higher education. Even if only half of these measures are implemented, the mere anticipation of them will cause damage, as I saw happening in everyday academic life in the UK. No idea if we can do anything about it, but the fear is there.
It remains to be seen whether our university boards (can) fundamentally and persistently resist the proposed measures if their attitude seems to be one of compliance if “the government forces or advises them” (Trouw, 2024a).
I still hope they can.
Resistance
Resistance is sorely needed in a country where not only is higher education being hollowed out, but student protests against crimes against humanity are also being harshly suppressed. It is equally necessary in a country where the Great Replacement theory is in politicians’ minds, but called “very concerning demographic developments” (Trouw, 2024b). Such “theory” and political rhetoric, soaked in racist ideas, must be met with critical academic opposition—especially in a time when politicians lie and deceive with impunity.
There will soon be no time or spirit left to provide quality education that trains students to be critical and independent, if academics are only focused on pushing students through, occupied with ‘Tort and Contract Law’ seminars, fearing to say the wrong thing on open days, having to prevent high dropout rates, must manipulate through NSS language use in syllabi, and more of such nonsense. There will also be no time or spirit left to resist, or even to express oneself critically. Moreover, criticism could cost you your career. That is frightening.
Bystander effect
The most frightening thing, however, is that unlike our academic colleagues in the UK (who have a strong tradition of university strikes), we hardly take to the streets—except for the small group of academics who supported students during a demonstration against the extended study fine last Saturday at Utrecht Central Station. But beyond that? We stand by and watch it happen. A very problematic bystander effect.
Are students the only ones at the university who dare to speak out? How is that possible? Why don’t we demonstrate en masse, daily? Side by side, from university boards to junior lecturers, with the students, on the Malieveld, on campus? Who dares to mention the word ‘strike’? Are we already too afraid? Are we already zombie universities?
I fear the worst.
Yarin Eski is associate professor Public Administration at the VU Amsterdam.
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