Category: HE research

  • A university system reliant on international students has an obligation to understand them

    A university system reliant on international students has an obligation to understand them

    It is becoming difficult to ignore potential tension between the internationalisation of higher education and plans to cut net migration. Recent UK government policies, such as the reduction of the graduate visa from two years to 18 months, could have severe consequences for universities in Scotland.

    Scottish government funding per home student has not kept pace with inflation. To compensate for the subsequent gap in resources, universities have become more dependent on international enrolments.

    In addition, Scotland faces specific demographic challenges. By 2075, the number of working aged Scots is predicted to fall by 14.7 per cent and, without migration, the population would be in decline. Encouraging young people to remain after graduation could help to balance the ageing population. However, although the Scottish government favours a more generous post-study visa route, this is not supported by Westminster.

    Ability to adjust

    Rhetoric around internationalisation tends to emphasise positive factors such as increased diversity and cross-cultural exchange. Yet, as an English for Academic Purposes (EAP) practitioner, I have long been concerned that learners from diverse linguistic backgrounds are often viewed through a lens of deficiency. There is also a risk that their own needs will be overlooked in the midst of political and economic debate.

    To better understand how students’ sense of identity is affected by moving into new educational and social settings, I carried out interview-based research at a Scottish university. Like other “prestigious” institutions, it attracts a large number of applicants from abroad. In particular, some taught master’s degrees (such as those in the field of language education) are dominated by Chinese nationals. Indeed, when recruiting postgraduate interviewees, I was not surprised when only two (out of 11) came from other countries (Thailand and Japan).

    My analysis of data revealed typical reasons for choosing the university: ranking, reputation and the shorter duration of master’s courses. Participants described being met with unfamiliar expectations on arrival, especially as regards writing essays and contributing to discussion. For some, this challenged their previous identities as competent individuals with advanced English skills. These issues were exacerbated in “all-white” classes, where being in the minority heightened linguistic anxiety and the fear of being judged. They had varied experiences of group work: several reported – not necessarily intentional but nonetheless problematic – segregation of students by nationality, undermining the notion that a multi-national population results in close mixing on campus.

    In a survey administered to a wider cohort of respondents on a pre-sessional EAP programme, the majority agreed or strongly agreed when asked if they would befriend British people while at university.

    However, making such connections is far from straightforward. International students are sometimes criticised for socialising in monocultural groups and failing to fully “fit in”. However, the fatigue of living one’s life in another language and simultaneously coping with academic demands means that getting to know locals is not a priority. At the same time, research participants expressed regret at the lack of opportunity to interact with other nationalities, with one remarking, “if everyone around me is Chinese, why did I choose to study abroad?” Some encountered prejudice or marginalisation, reporting that they felt ignored by “fluent” speakers of English. Understandably, this had a detrimental effect on their ability to adjust.

    Different ways to belong

    To gain different perspectives, I also spoke with teachers who work with international students. EAP tutors believed that their classes offer a safe space for them to gain confidence and become used to a new way of working. However, they wondered whether there would be a similarly supportive atmosphere in mainstream university settings. Subject lecturers did not invoke phrases such as “dumbing down”, but several had altered their teaching methods to better suit learners from non-Anglophone backgrounds.

    In addition, they questioned whether internationalisation always equated to diversity. One commented on the advantages of having a “multicultural quality”, but added that it “has to be a mix” – something which is not possible if, like on her course, there are no Scottish students. Another mentioned that the propensity to “stick with your own people” is not a uniquely Chinese phenomenon, but common behaviour regardless of background.

    A few academics had noticed that most Chinese students take an attitude of, “I’m doing my (one-year) master’s and maybe then I have to move back to China.” Chinese students are less likely than some other nationalities to apply for a graduate visa, suggesting that their investment in a degree abroad is of a transactional nature.

    The majority of survey respondents indicated that they would adapt to a new way of life while living abroad. However, during my last conversation with focal interviewees, I uncovered different levels of belonging, ranging from, “I feel like I’m from Scotland”, to “my heart was always in China”, to “I don’t have any home.” Participants generally viewed their stay as temporary: in fact, all but the Japanese student (who accepted a job in the US) returned to their home country after graduation. Although they described their time in Scotland in mostly positive terms, some were disappointed that it had not provided a truly intercultural experience.

    Meltdown

    It is clear that universities in Scotland have become overly reliant on international tuition for their financial sustainability. At the same time, there is conflict between the devolved administration’s depiction of Scotland as outward looking and welcoming, and the reality of stricter migration policies over which it has no control.

    Discourses which position international students as outsiders who add to high immigration numbers could deter some from coming. If they are seen only as economic assets, their own cultural capital and agency might be neglected. It is also important to problematise the notion of “integration”: even my small study suggests that there are different ways of belonging. No group of learners is homogeneous: even if they come from the same country, individual experiences will differ.

    To navigate the current financial crisis, Scottish universities need to do everything possible to maintain their appeal. With elections being held next year, higher education policy will continue to be a key area of discussion. At present, there are no plans to introduce fees for home students, making revenue from international tuition all the more essential.

    However, at a time of global uncertainty, taking overseas students for granted feels enormously unwise. Instead, it is crucial to ask how they can be made to feel like valued members of the academic community. The answer to this question might be different for everyone, but engaging with students themselves, rather than relying on unhelpful assumptions, would be a start.

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  • The paradox of parents’ involvement in their children’s time at university

    The paradox of parents’ involvement in their children’s time at university

    Over the past few decades, there has been – as many an academic will attest – a significant shift in the extent to which parents are involved in their children’s higher education.

    Parents now often attend university open days with their children, with some institutions laying on separate talks and events for them. Moreover, despite the introduction of tuition fees and maintenance loans, many parents end up making some financial contribution to their child’s higher education.

    To date, however, we know relatively little about parents’ perspectives on their involvement, nor about the extent to which they support their children in non-financial ways once they have embarked on their higher education journey. Research that I have recently completed (with Julia Cook and Dan Woodman) on parents of Australian higher education students may be transferable to the UK, given the similarities between the two higher education systems and social structures more generally.

    Drawing on data from the longitudinal Life Patterns project, which has been following the lives of young Australians since the 1990s, we asked parents with children in higher education – or shortly to enrol – a series of questions about the support, if any, they were offering their children, as well as whether they felt parents should be supporting their children in any particular ways. Their responses were fascinating.

    Independence and intervention

    Nearly all of those we spoke to believed that higher education was a space in which young people learned how to be independent – and it was this that helped to distinguish it from school. University was typically positioned as a space where their children would “fend for themselves”, engage in “adult learning”, and be accountable for their own actions.

    However, while there was a strong rhetorical commitment to higher education as a time of achieving independence, when describing the detail of their parenting practices our participants outlined a wide range of ways in which they had been closely involved in the lives of their student children (or thought a parent should be), providing high levels of practical and emotional support.

    All of those we interviewed were either already providing financial support to their offspring at university, or they had clear plans to do so when their children enrolled. In addition, they either had already spent, or thought it was desirable to spend, considerable time with their children supporting them through any problems they encountered during their studies. This differed between participants but often included “coaching” approaches, to help the child identify the root cause of problems; strong encouragement to take advantage of the various services available on campus – sometimes with detailed advice about how best to access these; and, in a significant number of cases, direct involvement in academic matters, including paying for private tutors.

    The following excerpts from our interviews are illustrative:

    Yeah, we would help [daughter] through that and … make a timetable for her for the week on how she could help with the study. …. So she’s not thinking it’s all got to be done in a short amount of time.

    The other thing we could do is investigate some tutoring if that’s required.

    None of our interviewees remarked on the apparent paradox between the rhetorical foregrounding of “independence”, on the one hand, and the numerous examples of parental intervention, on the other. This is perhaps unsurprising. It does, however, raise the interesting question of why these parents continued to see university as a space of independence given the various forms of support they were giving their child (or thought should be given).

    Defining distances

    In answering this question, we can first point to the dominance of discourses about independence. Despite the well-documented changes to young people’s lives over recent decades and the associated later age at which the traditional markers of adulthood are on average now reached, independence as an achievement of early adulthood retains considerable discursive power. Admitting that one’s child is “semi-dependent”, or similar, while at university may thus be viewed as admitting or that an adult child is struggling and even that one has “failed” as a parent.

    Relatedly, it appears that there continues to be some social opprobrium associated with acknowledging that one intervenes in the life of one’s son or daughter once they reach the age for higher education. This is alluded to in the following comment from one of our interviewees:

    Kids get older, they’re more mature than you think. You don’t want to be seen as mothering your children, I don’t want to be that umbrella parent that’s hanging over them all the time saying ‘do go do this’ or ‘you should do that’.

    Both structural factors (such as having to pay tuition fees, and the high cost of university housing) and cultural influences (such as the expectation that parents take responsibility for monitoring their child’s educational progress) likely encourage parents to continue to intervene quite significantly in the lives of their student-children. Yet it appears that these participants were nevertheless keen to discursively distance themselves from such behaviours.

    These findings provide new insights into how parenting practices are shifting over time. They may also have broader political and policy implications. Our sample was broadly middle class and we would speculate that the interventions outlined above may not be available to all students – particularly those from families with no prior experience of higher education. Universities thus need to be aware that some students may be being supported in their academic endeavours by parents, and this may serve to exacerbate social inequalities. Can more support be offered within universities to those without such familial resources?

    With respect to more general policy debates, for those who believe that the student loan should be increased (or grants restored) to cover costs currently often picked up by parents, arguments may be harder to make if the actual degree of parental contribution is masked by the discourse of “independence”. There may therefore be some advantage to being more open about the degree of parental support, with respect to finances at least.

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