It started, as so many great conversations do, over coffee.

On a chilly January day as we swapped tales of small children and shared cultural touchstones, we found ourselves riffing on the Trolls movie (which it turns out we have both seen a painful number of times). In particular, we found ourselves in Borgentown: a drab, grey world of monotony and drudgery, where fleeting joy depends on eating the vibrant, music-loving Trolls.

There’s an uncomfortable resonance with the current temperature of higher education where we can see the joy and possibility at the heart of education being overshadowed by a grinding sense of the need for survival. The drip-feed of news of more institutions in financial trouble, the dissipation of expectation that the Westminster government would pursue bold action early in its term of office, the existential dread of global geopolitics.

The sense that the sector desperately needs a fresh vision and plan for the future, combined with unease about whether that vision will ever materialise and where it will materialise from. It’s hardly surprising that even relentless chirpy people like us can sometimes feel a bit…Borgeny.

Ode to joy

Mark is an educator and Debbie a policy wonk, but we share the conviction that education should be a joyful act. It is the engineering of possibility, the building of capability, the empowerment of individuals to deliver positive impact in the world. It is an act of creation (and creation by proxy), and any such act is joyous. Done well, policymaking can also be creative and empowering, in the ways it seeks to adjust the conditions for good and desirable outcomes to flourish.

But the mood in higher education often feels very different. It feels negative and ground down, paralysed, even fatalistic. Educators, long asked to do more with less, feel denied, their good ideas drowned out by demands for managerial efficiency. Meanwhile, leaders are navigating hostile, contradictory, resource-constrained times. The result is a collective energy that’s fraught and disempowered. This is dangerous, because fatalism is a trap.

Paolo Freire wrote of the ways that fatalism denies people the ability to imagine change. It leaves us believing that what is, is all that ever can be. Education is the opposite of fatalism – it equips us with the power to critically appraise the way things are and to imagine alternatives. Freire said that the primary goal of educators should be to punctuate fatalism with critical hope. And so there is a double tragedy if even educators are deprived of their potential to imagine and enable better futures. Similarly, policymakers at all levels need to take seriously their responsibility to convene, lead, and enable change, lest fatalism set in and undermine the social fabric.

When we talk to sector colleagues, we see a creeping fatalism that comes with dealing with a proliferation of things that are difficult, not in a stretching or challenging or inspiring way, but in a way that chips away at mental and emotional bandwidth. But we also see lots to get excited about – an underlying energy and continued appetite to engage in imaginative discussion, an empathy for the challenges individuals and teams are facing that is breaking down some of the traditional silos, and a curiosity and openness to finding new ways to solve old problems.

The higher education sector is going through some tough times. It may not look exactly the same as it does now a decade hence, but it retains an extraordinary capacity to shape its own future. And this is where we think there is scope for some “interdisciplinary” thinking to happen.

Coming to a website near you

As Wonkhe’s newest contributing editor, in the months ahead Mark will intentionally explore ideas that seem unachievable on the surface, not to frustrate, but to provoke and to encourage us to see what those ideas tell us about what is possible. We will poke at old orthodoxies – and unsettle some new ones before they sediment fully.

Are our narratives on how research environments benefit students really compelling (really?)? Is our defensiveness around grade inflation obscuring that classifications are just a really stupid way of signalling talent? And while we’re at that, can assessment be freed from the stranglehold of compliance? Is “belonging” already becoming a hollow buzzword? And what happens if we fully lean into AI rather than mitigating it? We’ll play with the notion of “co-creation” as only currently skimming at the surface of possibility – and explore pedagogy as a device to more authentically deliver civic aspirations.

In that spirit, we will also have one eye on policy, and the changes that would be needed to policy to help bring new ideas and thinking into being. Imagining different possibilities has to include tackling questions of what concepts like “quality” and “access” mean in the changing higher education landscape, and what they can or ought to mean in the future, what accountabilities and enabling relationships educators, professionals, and institutions should have and how/the extent to which these can be mediated through policy.

This is not an exercise in naive utopianism, nor is it an attempt to attack the sector. Rather it is an affirmation of the sector’s talent, creativity, and intellectual energy. We want to rally the dreamers, the thinkers, and the doers in education – those who are already innovating, those waiting for permission to dream, and those who believe another world is possible – to prise open the Overton window of what is politically acceptable, and push at the boundaries that various sector sacred cows make appear as if they are set in stone.

If you share our optimism that there is still plenty of creative energy out there that has yet to be tapped, please bring us your own ideas and imagined futures to contribute to the conversation. As the Borgens learn at the end of Trolls, their potential for joy was inside them all along.