The last time I posted a blog post on my personal blog, it was announcing that I was running in the officer elections for the role of Students’ Union President. From the two year absence since, one might infer that I won the election and spent 2 years being too busy to blog. And one would be right.
So here I am after 2 crazy life-changing years, in my family home in Reading, taking stock of both where I am in my life and who I’ve become. My role as SU President at the University of Bath saw me deal with terrible bus provision, tense town/gown relations, industrial action, big capital projects, accommodation problems, governance breakdown and reform, the recruitment of a new Vice-Chancellor, the recruitment of a new Chair of Council and even a global pandemic. There’s a thousand things I could talk about, a thousand stories to tell, and a thousand lessons learned. But I’ve tried to condense it down into 5 succinct lessons that capture the good the bad and the ugly of this once in a lifetime role. So here goes:
Lesson #1: You are way more powerful than the people in power would have you believe
The role of President is one that decides to place themselves in close-proximity to power, but instead of choosing to yield to its direction, chooses to push against it. I came into the role conditioned to be concerned about ‘harming the relationship with the University’ if I pushed too hard. And whilst there’s always a merit to considering your moves and tactics carefully, those in power benefit from the underdog’s concern about ‘maintaining relationship’. The recruitment of a new Vice-Chancellor gave us an opportunity to recalibrate our relationship with senior management, particularly as it didn’t take long for me to notice that our so-called “partnership” with them benefitted them, sure, but it wasn’t benefitting students.
Choosing to stand in the way of power and its natural flow is mentally, emotionally and physically exhausting. My auto-immune condition can attest to that. But once you are able to notice power in your day to day interactions and meetings, it becomes pretty obvious just how much power you actually have. And that is a truth that those with power don’t want you to realise.
When you start yielding power that could change things, those with power will explain away the problem, defer back to previous work to suggest the issue is already being worked on, or cut you out altogether. All of which happened during my presidency. Hell, I even got told I’d inherited a nickname of “evil Eve” in a department whom I’d raised legitimate concerns about in countless meetings. The pushback I would feel confirmed to me I was barking up the right trees and pushing on the right doors. Which leads me to the second lesson:
Lesson #2: Sometimes, the most significant change is the most invisible
In an elected role, it’s important to communicate back to your electorate what you’ve achieved. And for the most part in the President role, it’s possible to do that. It’s easy to tell them you’ve secured more water fountains, or created an effective way of dealing with exam errors, or changed a bus route back to one that works for them.
But what’s not so easy to communicate, is all the times you prevented bad things from happening. It’s like you’re the fire blanket that sees a small flame, and puts it out before a house fire visible from the rest of the street warrants calling the fire brigade. And using the fire blanket doesn’t have quite the same impact as being the fire man. The confidentiality bound with particular meetings and aspects of your role also make this difficult.
Achieving significant scrutiny over a confidential nominations agreement that had a controversial planning agreement and significant flood risk can’t be shared with students, and yet your challenge resulted in better information flow between the Finance Committee and Governing Body, and raised questions over staff integrity.
Raising concerns about a contractor with links to Grenfell in a Finance Committee meeting can’t be shared with students, and yet your challenge improved the due diligence process and paper writing of capital projects, and prepared the comms department in advance of it becoming public knowledge.
Securing a quarter of a million pounds for accommodation bursaries for ‘just-about-managing’ students can’t be announced until it’s confirmed in the Covid19 planning rounds. The securing and writing of an accommodation strategy that will protect students from over-subscribed rooms and extortionate expense can’t be announced until it’s published. And the work you did to prevent the dropping of a crucial bus route to campus can’t be posted in a social media status.
I spent my first year achieving much more surface level quick wins that looked good as a news story on the SU’s website. But my second year was like running into brick walls over and over again to change the culture from which the issues stemmed. A culture that didn’t understand equality and diversity issues, a culture that didn’t seek out and value the views of students and a culture that struggles to be held to account. Challenging those things don’t make it into the end of year highlights video.
Lesson #3: Leading can be lonely
They always say it’s lonely at the top, and I can safely say this is true. Whilst we have a ‘flat structure’ in the Sabb team, there’s a lot of things that fall to the President that aren’t written down into a remit or contract. You’re the compass of the team, the sail of the boat. This means people, consciously or subconsciously, look to you to find their own bearings. With this need to present as ‘having it altogether’, comes a reluctance to be vulnerable, show you’re struggling or ask for help. You’re the President, a mediator, a cheerleader, a manager, a coordinator, a facilitator and a leader. You play so many different roles that complicates where you sit in your team, how you’re viewed by the University and how you’re treated by stakeholders. You are everyone’s everything at once. And that’s a lonely place to be.
The thing that I’ve noticed, since leaving, is that during my time as President I forgot how to be ‘playful’. I am a spontaneous person, I don’t take myself too seriously and I love frivolity. But as President, I didn’t feel there was room for playfulness. Room for humanity. Room to be silly and carefree. I had valuable moments sat in colleagues’ offices laughing and joking, and spending time with non-SU friends, but it never occurred to me I could incorporate that same playfulness into my external-facing visible leadership style.
When Covid19 hit and lockdown began, I realised I was really struggling without those moments to act ‘silly’ with colleagues. To feel like somebody else was more right than me, above me, in control. To feel looked after and sheltered from stress. I’d gone from having those moments to break up my days, to filling my time with 100% necessary and intentional meetings where I had to ‘perform’ as a leader all the time. And that was exhausting, and lonely.
Lesson #4: Students deserve more credit
Locally and nationally, students are portrayed as these lazy, boozy, anti-social teenagers. They’re branded as nuisances and snowflakes simultaneously. But the students I represented, worked with and was friends with were always always intelligent, passionate, forward-thinking and kind.
One thing that will always astound me, is the lengths some higher education professionals and senior managers will go to to avoid engaging with students in their plans and decision making. I’m not sure what happens, but it’s like we get to a certain point in our careers and believe that we know better than the very individuals experiencing the provision we plan for on a daily basis. A fundamental lack of respect and trust is at play that leads senior staff to presume that students views and thoughts are at best invaluable and at worst inconvenient to them. I’ve seen senior managers throw students under the bus to win favour with local residents or stakeholders with power and influence.
And yet our students are our future. They are already creating innovations for sustainable futures, working on the frontline against Covid19, engineering solutions for progressive tech, showing us what inclusivity should look like and campaigning for the change they want to see.
They’re not snowflakes, they’re a bloody avalanche, and deserve more credit. And finally:
Lesson #5: The higher education sector is a maddening and wonderful place to be
The overwhelming majority of people I’ve met in the sector are just wonderfully kind and passionate people. Lots of them have become really close friends. They believe in the fundamental good of Universities, and want higher education’s impact to be felt far and wide.
But the marketisation of the sector has also pushed some of the good beneath the surface somewhat. Driven by competition, we’ve forgotten the benefits of collaboration. University leadership is characteristically cautious, choosing not to ‘be the first’, refraining from bold decisions that students and staff are increasingly expecting on issues like climate change and equality and diversity.
And yet, it’s also the sector that took a chance on me by inviting me to speak at countless conferences. It’s where I established my views on policy issues and experimented with writing articles on my experiences. I’ve met people who’ve asked me to collaborate on projects, be participants in their research, proof-read their briefing documents and feature in their guidance. It’s a sector that invested in me and helped me become who I am today.
There is reams and reams of opportunity as we move through the pandemic to collaborate, recalibrate and prioritise our values as a sector. And though Covid19 poses serious threats to many Universities, their innate value as training grounds for life’s twists and challenges remain unchanged. And for that, I love it.
So there we are, 5 brief lessons I learned as SU President. I’m sure this won’t be the end of my reflections in the role, and if there’s a particular topic you’d be interested in hearing from me about, then do just drop me a message. But for now, I’d better get back to job hunting to find my next great adventure.