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It may sound perverse to say so. Our profession is under attack, our students are reading less, jobs are scarce and the humanities are first on the chopping block. But precisely because the outlook is dire, this is also a moment of clarity and possibility. The campaign against higher education, the AI gold rush and the dismantling of our public schools have made the stakes of humanistic teaching unmistakable. For those of us with the privilege of relative job security, there has never been a more urgent—or more opportune—time to do what we were trained to do.
I am an English professor, so let me first address my own. Colleagues, this is the moment to make the affirmative case for our existence. This is our chance to demonstrate the worth of person-to-person pedagogy; to speak the language of knowledge formation and the pursuit of truth; to reinvigorate the canon while developing new methods for the study of ethnic, postcolonial, feminist, queer and minority literatures and cultural texts; to stand for the value of human intelligence. Now is when we seize the mantle and opportunity of “English” as a both a privileged signifier and a sign of humility as we fight alongside our colleagues in the non-Western languages and literatures who are even more endangered than we are— and for our students, without whom we have no future.
I’m not being Pollyannaish. Between Trump 1 and Trump 2 sit the tumultuous COVID years, which means U.S. universities have been reeling, under direct attacks and pressures, for a decade. I started my first job in 2016, so that is the entirety of the time that I have worked as an academic. I spent six years in public universities in purple-red states, where austerity was the name of the game—and then I moved to Texas.
There have been years of insults and incursions into the profession. We have been scapegoated as an out-of-touch elite and called enemies of the state. And no, we haven’t always responded well. In the face of austerity, we let our colleagues be sacrificed. Despite the bad-faith weaponization of “CRT,” “DEI” and “identity politics,” we disavowed identity. Against our better judgment, we assimilated wave after wave of new educational technologies, from MOOCs to course management platforms to Zoom.
Now, we face a new onslaught: the supposedly unstoppable and inevitable rise of generative AI—a deliberately misleading misnomer for the climate-destroying linguistic probability machines that can automate and simulate numerous high-level tasks, but stop short of demonstrating human levels of intelligence, consciousness and imagination. “The ultimate unaccountability machine,” as Audrey Watters puts it.
From Substack to The New York Times to new collaborative projects Against AI, humanities professors are sounding the alarm. At the start of this semester, philosopher Kate Manne reflected that her “job just got an awful lot harder.”
Actually, I think our jobs just got a whole lot easier, because our purpose is sharper than ever. Where others see AI as the end of our profession, I see a clarifying opportunity to recommit to who we are. No LLM can reproduce the deep reading, careful dialogue and shared meaning-making of the humanities classroom. We college professors stand alongside primary and secondary school teachers who have already faced decades of deprofessionalization, deskilling and disrespect.
There is a war on public education in this country. Statehouses in places like Texas are rapidly dismantling the infrastructure and independence of public institutions at all levels, from disbanding faculty senates to handing over curriculum development to technologists who have no understanding of the dialogical, improvisatory nature of teaching. These are folks who gleefully predict that robots with the capacity to press “play” on AI-generated slide decks can replace human teachers with years of experience. We need them out of our schools at every level.
Counter to what university administrators and mainstream pundits seem to believe, students are not clamoring to use AI tools. Tech companies are aggressively pushing them. All over the country, school districts and universities are partnering with companies like Microsoft and OpenAI for fear of being left behind. My own institution has partnered with Google. Earlier this semester, “Google product experts” came to campus to instruct our students on how to “supercharge [their] creativity” and “boost [their] productivity” using Gemini and NotebookLM tools. Faculty have been invited to join AI-focused learning communities and enroll in trainings and workshops (or even a whole online class) on integrating AI tools into our teaching; funds have been allotted for new grant programs in AI exploration and course development.
I didn’t spend seven years earning a doctorate to learn how to teach from Google product experts. And my students didn’t come to university to learn how to learn from Google product experts, either. Those folks have their work, motivations and areas of expertise. We have ours, and it is past time to defend them. We are keepers of canon and critique, of traditions and interventions, of discipline-specific discourses and a robust legacy of public engagement. The whole point of education is to hand over what we know to the next generation, not to chase fads alongside the students we are meant to equip with enduring skills. It is our job to strengthen minds, to resist what Rebecca Solnit calls the “technological invasion of consciousness, community, and culture.”
Many of us have been trying to do this for some time, but it’s hard to swim against the tides. In 2024, I finally banned all electronics from my English literature classes. I realized that sensitivity to accessibility need not prevent us from exercising simple common sense. We know that students learn more and better when they take notes by hand, annotate texts and read in hard copy. Because my students do not have access to free printing, and because a university librarian told me that “we only go from print to digital, not the other way around,” I printed copies of every reading for every student. With the words on paper before them, they retained more, they made eye contact, they took marginal notes, they really responded to each other’s interpretations of the texts.
That’s the easy part. As we college professors plan our return to blue books, in-class midterms and oral exams, the challenge is how to intervene before our students come to class. If AI is antithetical to the project of higher education, it’s even more insidious and damaging in the elementary, middle and high schools.
My children attend Texas public schools in the particularly embattled Houston Independent School District, so I have seen firsthand the app-ification of education. Log in to the middle school student platform—which some “innovator” had the audacity to name “Clever”—and you’ll get a page with more than three dozen apps. Not just the usual suspects like Khan Academy and Epic, but also ABC-CLIO, Accelerate Learning, Active Classroom, Amplify, Britannica, BrainPOP, Canva, Carnegie Learning, CK-12 Foundation, Digital Theatre Plus, Discover Magazine, Edgenuity, Edmentum, eSebco, everfi, Gale Databases, Gizmos, IPC, i-Ready, iScience, IXL, JASON Learning, Language! Live, Learning Ally Audiobook, MackinVIA, McGraw Hill, myPLTW, Newsela, Raise, Read to Achieve, Savvas EasyBridge, STEMscopes, Summit K12, TeachingBooks, Vocabulary.com, World Book Online, Zearn …
As both a professor and a parent, I have decided to intervene directly. Last year, I started leading a reading group for my 12-year-old daughter and a group of her classmates. They call it a book club. Really, it’s a seminar. Once a month, they convene around our dining table for 90 minutes, paperbacks in hand, to engage in close reading and analysis. They do all the stuff we English professors want our college students to do: They examine specific passages, which illuminate broader themes; they draw connections to other books we’ve read; they ask questions about the historical context; they make motivated references to current social, cultural and political issues; they plumb the space between their individual readings and the author’s intentions.
No phones, no computers, no apps. We have books (and snacks). And conversation. After each meeting, my daughter and I debrief. About four months in, she said, “You know, a lot of the previous meetings I felt like we were each just giving our own takes. But this time, I feel like we arrived at a new understanding of the book by talking about it together.” The club members had challenged and pushed each other’s interpretations, and together exposed facets of the text they wouldn’t have seen alone.
The literature classroom is a space of collaborative meaning-making—one of the last remaining potentially tech-free spaces out there. A precious space, that we need to renew and defend, not give up to the anti-intellectual mob and not transform at the behest of tech oligarchs. We have an opportunity here to stand up for who we are, for the mission of humanistic education, in affirmative, unapologetic terms—while finding ways to build new alliances and enact solidarity beyond the walls of our college classrooms.
This moment is clarifying, motivating, energizing. It’s time to remember what we already know.
In late 2023, Robin Baker made the career pivot from assistant professor at OHSU-PSU School of Public Health to learning designer at Dartmouth College. I asked if Robin would be willing to share some thoughts about her career path, and she graciously agreed.
Q: What motivated you to shift from a traditional faculty position into a learning designer role? What preparation and background did you bring to the work of a learning designer, and what advantages and challenges have been posed by coming from a faculty role?
A: I decided to transition from a traditional faculty role to a learning designer position after considerable reflection on what I wanted my work and life to look like. I was in a soft money–funded position, where success often felt tied to research output and securing grants. But in practice, most of my energy went into teaching and supporting students, the parts of the job that truly mattered to me. Over time, I began to realize that the pace and structure of that kind of academic role were not sustainable for me in the long run. As I thought more deeply about what aspects of my work I found most rewarding, I realized that, in addition to teaching and mentoring, I found immense satisfaction in designing learning experiences that were inclusive, authentic and relevant. I often spent significant time redesigning assignments and activities to make them more engaging and meaningful for my students. Learning design offered a way to stay connected to the core of what I value: teaching, learning and student success.
I brought to this role a strong foundation in pedagogy, assessment and curriculum design, developed through years of intentionally reflecting on my teaching. Whenever I noticed a strategy fell flat, I dug into the literature and experimented with new approaches, refining my practice based on evidence and observation. Another advantage that my previous life as a faculty member has provided me is that I have developed empathy and practical insight into the challenges that faculty face when trying to create robust learning experiences, provide meaningful feedback and maintain a work-life balance. I have found that acknowledging those realities and engaging in open, honest dialogue helps build trust and leads to more creative and effective solutions. Coming from a faculty background has allowed me to serve as a bridge between teaching practice and design strategy.
At the same time, that transition has come with some challenges. In my faculty role, I was accustomed to being the sole decision-maker for my courses, so adapting to a highly collaborative environment, where I needed to influence others without formal authority, was a major shift. In this context, I had to develop strong project-management skills, work within structured timelines and production workflows, and communicate clearly across teams. Learning to navigate these processes and contribute meaningfully without directing every decision was initially difficult, but it strengthened my ability to work strategically, build consensus and support high-quality learning experiences in partnership with others.
Q: Having now experienced life as both a full-time professor and full-time learning designer, how do the two roles compare and contrast? For someone trained for research and employed mostly in teaching (as most Ph.D.s are), what recommendations might you have for anyone else contemplating a similar career path?
A: Having experienced life as both a full-time professor and now as a full-time learning designer, I see both roles as connected by a shared commitment to improving student learning, though they differ in scope and kind of impact. As a faculty member, I had a very immediate connection with students: teaching, mentoring and witnessing their growth in real time. That direct engagement was deeply rewarding and energizing, but it also came with heavy workloads, administrative pressures and blurred boundaries. Over time, I found that level of intensity difficult to sustain, which prompted me to reflect on the kind of work-life balance and long-term impact I wanted.
As a learning designer, the work feels broader and more strategic. Instead of focusing on one group of students, I now collaborate with faculty across disciplines to design courses and learning environments that enhance teaching and learning for many more students. The impact is less direct but often greater in scale, as it shapes the systems and supports that enable effective teaching.
At the same time, I think it is important to acknowledge that the loss of direct connection with students can be a real adjustment. There is something uniquely special about witnessing students’ aha moments and seeing the immediate results of your teaching. As a learning designer, that feedback loop is more indirect. Faculty are often very appreciative of our collaboration, but it does not carry quite the same emotional resonance as seeing students thrive firsthand. For anyone considering this transition, it is worth reflecting on how central that kind of direct engagement is to their sense of purpose and whether there are other ways, such as mentoring colleagues, engaging in professional development or contributing to the broader learning community, to fill that gap.
Another concern I often hear from faculty considering this path is the fear of losing autonomy, particularly the flexibility to structure their own days or pursue creative ideas. In my experience, that depends heavily on the team and institutional culture. In my current role, which is largely remote and hybrid, there is a genuine appreciation for the whole person. We are trusted to manage our time and energy, and that autonomy is still very much present.
The difference is that I now have a healthier kind of control. I set realistic goals for what I can achieve in a given day, while being careful not to let work bleed into personal or family time. That structure allows me to work efficiently and intentionally and it has given me space to reconnect with family, friends, community and nature. For anyone thinking about making this transition, it’s worth having open conversations about team expectations, workflows and culture. Understanding these aspects up front can help you gauge whether the role is a good fit and set you up for long-term satisfaction.
Q: Recently, you took on an additional role as course co-director of the Capstone for the Dartmouth M.H.A. program. How does that work integrate with your learning design role, and how have you been able to balance both responsibilities?
A: In many ways, my role as course co-director is a meaningful complement to my work as a learning designer. In this role, I serve as one of the faculty for the capstone course, guiding students as they pull together what they’ve learned across the program and apply it to complex, real-world challenges. It’s been incredibly rewarding to reconnect directly with students, something I’d missed since stepping away from a full-time faculty role.
What makes this role even more meaningful is that I was one of the learning designers who helped faculty develop many of the courses in the M.H.A. program. Now, I get to see that work come full circle. It provides me with a unique perspective on how our strategies are implemented in practice and highlights opportunities to further refine the learning experience.
I also appreciate how this teaching role complements, rather than competes with, my work in learning design. My design experience informs how I approach the capstone, helping me think carefully about scaffolding, alignment and authentic assessment. At the same time, teaching keeps me connected to the student perspective, giving me a firsthand understanding of how learners experience our courses. That insight flows directly back into my design work and strengthens my collaborations with faculty.
Balancing both roles does require intentional structure and realistic expectations. I’ve learned to be clear about what I can reasonably accomplish each week and to protect time for rest, family and personal commitments. I rely on block scheduling to focus on design projects, faculty consultations and capstone mentoring, while making sure these blocks don’t spill into evenings or weekends. Maintaining these boundaries has been essential for sustaining both quality and balance.
I’m also fortunate to have supportive leadership in both the learning design team and the M.H.A. program, who recognize the value of these complementary roles. That culture of trust and flexibility makes it possible to do both well.
In many ways, this dual role gives me the best of both worlds: the broader, systemic perspective of learning design and the direct, human connection of teaching. Together, they keep me grounded in why this work matters and allow me to contribute to both faculty and student success in meaningful, sustainable ways.
Texas State Technical College is striving to fill the state’s workforce gaps, but college leaders say the institution has been hampered by out-of-date facilities and a lack of funding to expand.
The technical college has historically been entirely reliant on state funding, which can fluctuate. Unlike the state’s community colleges, it’s not allowed to levy taxes or issue bonds. And yet, the institution is bursting at the seams with 45 out of its 127 programs at capacity this semester across its 11 campuses. Enrollment at the institution has risen steadily over the last few years, jumping up to 13,682 students this year from 12,518 last year.
But this past election cycle, Texas voters gave the institution a rare gift for a technical college—an $850 million endowment.
In November, almost 70 percent of Texans backed a constitutional amendment to create an endowment for TSTC out of the state’s general revenue fund, which will include annual disbursements for capital improvements. College leaders expect up to $50 million from the endowment each year, said Joe Arnold, the college’s deputy vice chancellor of government relations.
He called the endowment “transformational for the institution and for the state of Texas.”
“Texas has grown and grown and grown in businesses and population over the last 20 years, and it’s going to continue to grow,” Arnold said. “You’re going to have to have the workforce to meet the demand, and this is going to help us do that.”
This is the second time TSTC has sought to get an endowment on the ballot. In 2023, an attempt to establish a $1 billion endowment for the college died in conference committee, The Texas Tribune reported.
Endowments at two-year institutions are rare compared to their four-year counterparts, but they aren’t unheard of. Southwest Wisconsin Technical College, for example, recently used its $700,000 Aspen Prize for a student success plan endowment run by its foundation. Ivy Tech Community College’s foundation also raises money for endowments to pay for student scholarships and other needs.
Some states have also provided such funds for their public higher ed institutions. Alabama, for example, has an education trust fund for its institutions, including two-year and four-year colleges. Tennessee also put lottery reserves in an endowment to sustain Tennessee Promise, its free community college program. Texas’s Permanent University Fund also allows the University of Texas and Texas A&M systems to generate money from land leased by oil and gas companies.
But still, “most public institutions don’t have state-provided endowments like that,” said Robert Kelchen, head of the Department of Educational Leadership and Policy Studies at the University of Tennessee at Knoxville. The advantage of an endowment is college leaders “know that the funds are going to be there and they have some level of control over how it gets drawn down.” But it’s a hard model for other states to replicate unless they have “a windfall [of] one-time funds” they’re willing to devote, without pulling back on state appropriations.
“Because of a lot of the politically conservative legislation coming out of Texas, I think the perception is that Texas doesn’t financially support higher ed, but they do, and they’ve done some pretty innovative things in finance,” Kelchen added.
Arnold said it makes a real difference knowing the institution has a set amount of money coming in each year.
“We can plan for growth” and “plan ahead,” Arnold said.
Plans for the endowment had the backing of a wide range of employer groups, including the Texas Association of Manufacturers, the Texas Association of Builders and the Texas Economic Development Council, among others.
It also drew opponents, including the Libertarian Party of Texas and a few other groups that support limited government. These organizations raised concerns that creating a separate tranche of long-term funding for TSTC could get in the way of its fiscal oversight.
For example, Texas Policy Research, a research organization that seeks “liberty-based solutions” to improve Texas governance, recommended Texans vote no—arguing that “locking funding mechanisms into the Constitution erodes transparency and limited government” and that “programs should be funded through the regular budget process, where lawmakers justify spending every two years.”
But Arnold stressed that the money can only be used for specific purposes, such as renovations, infrastructure improvements and buying new land, buildings and equipment for programs.
Those types of funds are sorely needed, Arnold said. TSTC was founded 60 years ago and its flagship campus is on an old U.S. Air Force base. The funding will allow the college to update its “rather old facilities” and move forward with plans to add new campuses in three additional counties.
Defenders of the proposition also argue TSTC’s funding model holds it accountable. The state tracks graduates’ wages five years after they leave TSTC, and state money is doled out to the college based on their wage gains. Select programs also refund students’ out-of-pocket tuition costs if they don’t get a job interview in their field of study within six months.
The college’s funding depends on “graduates securing good jobs,” Meagan McCoy Jones, president and CEO of McCoy’s Building Supply, wrote in an op-ed in The Austin American-Statesman defending the endowment proposal. “That ensures accountability to students, taxpayers and employers alike.” She told voters the endowment would “strengthen our economy, support families with life-changing education and keep our state on a path of growth and innovation.”
Since the funding formula was implemented in 2013, the college has discontinued programs that didn’t lead to well-paying or in-demand jobs.
“It made us really work hard with our employers to understand what the needs were,” Arnold said.
He believes the endowment is the next step in continuing to improve the institution.
“We’re excited to be able to increase our capacity and put more people to work in Texas,” he said. “That’s kind of our thing.”
More colleges and universities are seeking ways to embed work-based learning into the student experience, ensuring graduates are prepared to tackle their first job.
The University of Delaware’s Lerner College of Business and Economics received a grant in January from the Delaware Workforce Development Board to create yearlong employment opportunities for current students, connecting them with businesses across the state that are interested in hiring local talent. Program leaders say the goal is to provide deeper learning opportunities for students and create a talent pipeline for the region.
State of play: Delaware has the second-highest rate of brain drain in the U.S., just behind North Dakota, meaning the state educates more workers than it retains and attracts.
“We want to keep homegrown talent here in Delaware after they graduate,” said Scott Malfitano, chair of the Delaware Workforce Development Board, in a press release. “We also want to keep those students who come from out of state to Delaware here when they see the wonderful opportunities that are available.”
Part of the challenge is that companies in Delaware compete for talent with employers in nearby regions including Washington, D.C.; Philadelphia; and New York, Malfitano said. “We want [students] to see the opportunities that are here, and they’ll find out that businesses are hungry and they want to keep the talent here.”
How it works: The Lerner Co-Op program launched in January. The university’s career center solicited businesses in the region to host co-op participants and opened a form for students to apply. In the spring, companies provided job descriptions, and students submitted applications before being selected for interviews by the employers.
The co-op officially started in June, when students began their full-time summer internships, working 40 hours per week. Since classes started back up in the fall, students continue to work up to 20 hours per week, which they will do until next spring.
“A lot of our students tend to intern in the summer for eight to 10 weeks, which is great, but we wanted for them to have a much longer experience to build their résumé, build their networks and make money,” Jill Panté, director of Lerner career services, said in a January press release.
Grant funding was used to hire a program coordinator to oversee the co-op, including posting positions, scheduling interviews and assisting with the offer process, Panté said.
The impact: For the initial cohort, 25 students were placed with 21 employers, including WSFS Bank, JPMorgan Chase, 2L Race Services, the Siegfried Group and DuPont. Student roles include business operations, event coordination and data product solutions.
Feedback from participants, collected in surveys and blog posts, showed that continuing the work beyond the summer has been productive for both students and employers. Employers get more work done, and students expand their learning experiences and benefit from longer-term mentors who provide career advice and support during the program.
Looking ahead, the university hopes to grow the program to 50 companies in the next year, allowing additional students to participate.
Does your college or university provide paid work experiences for students during the academic year? Tell us more here.
With student-led campus protests on the rise and polarization intensifying on both sides of the political spectrum, the need to have students media ready is mounting. For example, in recent weeks students rallied across the U.S. because of the Trump administration’s assault on higher education; protests broke out at the University of California, Berkeley, during an event held by Turning Point USA; and students at the University of Florida protested the university’s deal with ICE. Since October 2023, U.S. colleges and universities have seen 3,700 protest days across 525 campuses, including more than 130 encampments. In fact, one in three college students have been involved in a protest.
As a PR professional, you can equip students on your campus with the skills and confidence to excel in interviews. Here are four reasons why you should invest the time and resources in media training your students.
While it will make your life easier in the long run, it does require you to put in the time up front. Meet students on their timelines. Most student group meetings are outside of class time, so it might mean you are attending a student government association meeting at 8 p.m. or doing a Zoom training with the College Democrats or Republicans on your lunch break.
It’s not just national and local media students need to respond to; student reporters are often the first to approach peers for quotes. All student newspapers are online, can be accessed by anyone and are an extension of your institution and its values. Engaging with student media isn’t just a learning opportunity—it shows how students will represent themselves, which in turn has a direct impact on the reputation of your institution.
Many students don’t know they can choose to not talk to the media or say no to interview requests. We’ve all seen the videos of reporters knocking on students’ doors and the students saying something unfavorable rather than just not opening the door in the first place, or of students having a microphone put in their face as they are walking to class to weigh in on a subject they don’t know about instead of saying, “I don’t know.” Media training can help students realize they have the option to respectfully decline interviews and interactions, which can help alleviate the pressure they might feel to respond in the moment.
We want our students to be able to weigh in on important issues, and media outlets are always looking for a student perspective. For example, my team was recently on campus for faculty and staff media and op-ed training when a professor asked if his students could sit in. Afterward, one student drafted an op-ed that she successfully placed. I’ve also provided op-ed writing training to seminar classes in which students learn the nuts and bolts of writing an op-ed and how to get published as an undergrad.
When a scandal occurs—a coach is fired, or student athletes are gambling or being hazed—you want students to know they can come to you for advice and guidance when reporters descend on campus.
Students are the most prominent ambassadors of your institution. Media training isn’t about making them a professional correspondent; it’s about making them feel prepared when they are in the spotlight. Whether they are engaging in a protest, talking with a peer reporter at the school newspaper or navigating a postgame interview, media training can serve them in the moment and long term. It’s worth your time to engage with your best spokespeople.
DHS said ICE arrested Sumith Gunasekera on Nov. 12.
Lawrey/iStock/Getty Images Plus
Immigration and Customs Enforcement has detained a Ferris State University professor, according to a Department of Homeland Security news release that calls him “a criminal illegal alien sex offender from Sri Lanka.”
ICE arrested Sumith Gunasekera in Detroit on Nov. 12, DHS announced in its Nov. 25 release. That’s the date Ferris State “became aware of accusations regarding” Gunasekera, university spokesperson David Murray said in an emailed statement. Murray didn’t answer further questions from Inside Higher Ed Monday, including whether the university performed a background check on Gunasekera before hiring him.
“He has been placed on administrative leave while the university gathers more information,” Murray wrote. “This is a personnel issue and it would be inappropriate for the university to further discuss the matter.”
The university’s website lists Gunasekera as director of its Data Analytics Consulting and Research Center. A Sumi Gunasekera is also listed as an assistant professor of marketing.
As of last week’s news release, DHS said Gunasekera “remains in ICE custody pending further immigration proceedings.” DHS spokespeople didn’t respond to Inside Higher Ed’s questions Monday about whether he’s still being held and where.
The DHS release says that, in 1998, “a criminal court in Brampton, Ontario convicted Gunasekera for utter threat to cause death or bodily harm and sexual interference and sentenced him to 1 month of incarceration and 1 year of probation.” Anita Sharma, group leader at the Ontario Court of Justice in Brampton, told Inside Higher Ed the case has been archived, so she couldn’t provide further details Monday.
DHS’s release says “the convictions in Canada” rendered Gunasekera “ineligible for legal status in the United States.” Tricia McLaughlin, a DHS spokesperson, said in the release that “it’s sickening that a sex offender was working as a professor on an American college campus and was given access to vulnerable students to potentially victimize them. Thanks to the brave ICE law enforcement officers, this sicko is behind bars and no longer able to prey on Americans.”
Inside Higher Ed was unable to reach Gunasekera for comment.
If you are a leader, chances are you will find yourself in a lame-duck position at some point. When I announced that, after 16 years as chancellor, I would be stepping down to decompress and explore new opportunities, I thought I would be prepared. I was not. Then the calls from colleagues across industries started coming in—not to congratulate me, but to talk about the struggle of being a lame-duck leader. Their stories, filled with familiar struggles and strategies, closely mirrored my own journey. This article aims to help you navigate that transition in ways that benefit both you and your campus or organization.
The first thing to remember is that you are a lame duck the minute you announce your departure. Most leaders believe they will have the same standing in the institution until they walk out the door for the last time. Nope. It doesn’t matter how long you have been at your institution, how important you are or how much you are loved on and off campus: The process of transition has begun. After a flurry of contacts expressing gratitude and inquiring about what is next, the phone will ring a little less each day, substantive email traffic will drop and the work calendar will free up unless you force it not to (not something I would advise). People who used to drop everything when you needed them will take a little longer to get back to you. You may find fewer consultations on day-to-day operations and even fewer on questions pertaining to the future. This trend will accelerate as new leadership becomes more defined. This is normal. Don’t take it personally.
The second thing to remember is that if you have been at your institution for any length of time, you are likely going through a grieving process. This is the end of an important era, one in which your time and thoughts were consumed by your campus. You are going to go through some version of the five stages of grief without realizing it. You may find yourself preparing future strategic plans (denial), overreacting to comments or actions focused on the future (anger), or rushing to implement last-minute initiatives that will solidify or advance your legacy (bargaining). You may start to feel like everything you have done is being overshadowed by a campus focusing in on the excitement of a new era while leaving you behind (depression). Realizing that these stages are affecting your thoughts, moods and actions is important. The faster you can get to the fifth stage, acceptance, the better able you will be to help your campus transition in positive ways and gain a healthier attitude for yourself. However, it is important to remember that the stages of grief are neither distinct nor linear and you can be experiencing more than one at the same time.
From my own experience and those relayed to me by others, the following tips can help you get to the acceptance stage and achieve some level of peace of mind more quickly.
One of my employees was retiring just as budget cuts threatened the successful initiative she had spent 10 years implementing. On her last day, I asked her how she was doing. Her response was “I can’t control what happens to the project. It might end tomorrow. I know that I’ve had a positive impact on tens of thousands of students and teachers over the past 10 years, and I feel good about that.” That is a healthy attitude that I have tried to adopt as my own. Feel good about what you’ve done because that is what you can control. What happens next is not going to be up to you.
As you get closer to the end date, particularly when the new leader is named and begins the process of transitioning into office, you may find yourself fading into the background. Some egos can’t take it and their owners begin strutting their feathers around demanding attention. Others head for the shadows and disappear completely. Neither helps your campus, nor your mental state. In the beginning of my transition, I struggled to cut down the time I spent working on campus business, but I soon realized that I was filling the time with projects that would likely be DOANL. Once I realized I was working for my ego and not for the future of the campus, I cut back, rediscovered weekends and evenings, spent some time enjoying the exploration of future opportunities, and felt my mood improve. Balance your involvement. Don’t abandon, but don’t overreach.
One of my odd moments came a few hours before my farewell dinner, which at my suggestion was a roast (fitting, given my personality). As I was getting ready, I felt sick, my pulse was racing and my blood pressure was alarmingly high. My concerned spouse commented that the event was a significant and emotional one and, by talking with her I realized that I was still in denial. Though I had been working on transitioning others, I still hadn’t come to terms with the fact that I was leaving my job forever. The farewell event was an undeniable sign that my identity and life as the chancellor were ending. Once I realized why I was stressed, my anxiety went down and we were able to enjoy an incredibly fun and heartwarming evening.
The tips mentioned above can help you maintain focus as a positive and productive leader during your lame-duck phase, allowing you to effectively navigate the complex emotions associated with leaving your campus role. It’s essential to recognize that the grieving process is not a linear sequence of emotions but rather a fluid experience in which feelings ebb and flow. By regularly checking in with yourself and acknowledging your emotions while striving to make a positive impact on the campus, you can end your tenure with the appreciation of a community that is well prepared for the future. And as you waddle out the door for the last time as a lame duck, you’ll find yourself striding confidently with enthusiasm and optimism into your next chapter in life.
Join HEPI for a webinar on Thursday 11 December 2025 from 10am to 11am to discuss how universities can strengthen the student voice in governance to mark the launch of our upcoming report, Rethinking the Student Voice. Sign up now to hear our speakers explore the key questions.
This blog was kindly authored by Dr Andrew Woon, Senior Lecturer in the Department of Management, Monash University Malaysia.
After teaching in the UK for nearly five years, I returned to Malaysia and joined Monash University. There I noticed a striking difference in the approach to teaching and learning methodologies.
Many universities have been grappling with low student attendance, a trend particularly acute since the onset of COVID-19. Additionally, the increasingly diverse student body (including a higher proportion of students from low socioeconomic backgrounds, mature-age learners and those studying with disabilities) requires greater flexibility in learning modes to accommodate their varied responsibilities and commitments. These pressures have significantly altered the traditional image of a bustling university campus filled with students, prompting institutions to rethink how education is delivered and experienced.
Some universities have taken dramatic steps to address these challenges, Adelaide University decided to discontinue face-to-face lectures, and many other major Australian universities have redefined their course delivery formats to incorporate digital content and self-paced modules.
Monash University has implemented both asynchronous and synchronous learning approaches as part of its transformative teaching and learning initiatives, aligned with the Impact 2030 strategic plan. At Monash, we view the Moodle learning platform not merely as a content repository, but as a dynamic “classroom” space. It serves as an interactive environment where educators can engage students through structured modules, collaborative activities, and timely feedback – going beyond simply sharing materials and resources.
At Monash, we have transitioned lectures to an asynchronous format, which we refer to as “own-time learning.” This allows students to engage with content at their convenience. Our tutorials, which represent the synchronous component of learning, are designed to be interactive and focused on higher-order thinking and practical application.
The goal is to redefine active learning across both asynchronous and synchronous learning spaces to empower students to take ownership of their educational journey. With the rapid advancement of AI fundamentally reshaping the educational landscape, it is high time for bold, intentional changes in how we design, support, deliver, and assess learning.
In an era where information and knowledge are readily accessible, we have reimagined passive lecturing by breaking it down into microlearning blocks. Traditional lectures are now delivered as short, topic-specific videos accompanied by thought-provoking questions and scaffolded learning activities. This structure prepares students for synchronous sessions by stimulating curiosity, promoting cognitive engagement, and cultivating practical skills.
Of course, this method is not without its challenges. Many educators rightly raise concerns about how many students actually complete the pre-session “own-time learning” and how effectively they engage with the material before attending tutorials. Yet, this very concern also applies to traditional live, large lecture sessions, where passive attendance does not necessarily equate to meaningful engagement or preparation. The shift to asynchronous formats simply makes this issue more visible and measurable, prompting us to rethink how we scaffold, motivate, and support student learning across modalities.
This transformation not only responds to the diverse needs of our student population (including those balancing work, caregiving, or accessibility challenges), but also enables more effective utilisation of physical classroom spaces. Traditional lecture theatres can be reimagined as interactive, collaborative learning environments that foster deeper engagement, peer dialogue, and practical application.
In addition, shifting classroom activities to online spaces enables students to better plan their timetables, reducing scheduling conflicts and long gaps between classes. This flexibility not only supports time management but also cultivates essential skills in online collaboration, digital communication, and self-directed learning — competencies that are increasingly vital in both academic and professional spheres.
The shift to asynchronous lectures represents a significant cultural change in learning, requiring adaptation from both students and educators. As educators, we must evolve from being mere content deliverers to becoming facilitators who thoughtfully design learning activities that promote engagement, critical thinking, and autonomy. This pedagogical shift challenges us to create meaningful learning experiences that guide students through inquiry, application, and reflection, rather than relying on the passive delivery of content typical of large lecture formats.
As a result, I do not see asynchronous lectures as a lesser form of teaching or an intellectual compromise, but rather as a strategic shift that empowers students to learn at their own pace, revisit complex concepts, and prepare more meaningfully for interactive sessions. When thoughtfully designed, asynchronous learning fosters autonomy, deepens engagement, and complements synchronous tutorials in cultivating higher-order thinking and practical skills.
I believe UK institutions should take a bold step forward, as the current format of delivery is unlikely to drive meaningful progress. The traditional reliance on large, live lectures and rigid timetabling no longer aligns with the evolving needs of students or the realities of a digitally transformed educational landscape. Embracing asynchronous and blended learning models that are paired with thoughtful curriculum design can foster deeper engagement, greater flexibility, and more inclusive learning experiences for all.
The financial health of UK universities has become a pressing concern, with widespread reports of deficits and shrinking operating surpluses. Yet until now, robust evidence on how these pressures shape institutional decisions – on investment, staffing, research, and student services – has been limited.
To address this evidence gap, interviews were conducted with chief financial officers and directors of finance in 74 of the 133 higher education institutions in England between March and May 2025, covering 56 per cent of institutions.
The study covered all TRAC peer groups, from research-intensive universities to specialist arts and music colleges. The findings reveal stark differences in financial resilience across the sector, but also common themes that underscore systemic vulnerabilities.
A striking 85 per cent of institutions reported either an operating deficit, break-even position, or reduced surplus in the current year. Only 11 institutions – just under 15 per cent – maintained or improved their operating surplus. Even among these, financial pressures were evident, with cost-cutting and efficiency drives mirroring those in deficit institutions.
Low research intensity institutions are most exposed, with 95 per cent in deficit or reduced surplus, while high research intensity universities fare slightly better at 79 per cent. Arts and music colleges also show significant vulnerability, with nearly nine in ten reporting financial strain.
The origins of financial weakness vary by institutional type. For research intensive universities, the decline in international tuition fee income is the dominant concern, compounded by visa restrictions and heightened global competition. Medium and low research intensity institutions cite rising staff and estate costs, alongside pension liabilities. For arts and music colleges, the freeze on UK tuition fees was a critical issue, although face additional challenges given the liability of smallness.
These challenges are not short-term blips. An overwhelming 97 per cent of respondents view the current situation as a structural, long-term problem. Many argue that the sector’s business model – heavily reliant on international student income and constrained by capped domestic fees – is fundamentally unsustainable. And more worryingly difficult to change in the short to medium term.
Faced with financial stringency, universities are deploying a mix of defensive and adaptive strategies. Borrowing has been rare – only five per cent of deficit institutions increased debt – but asset sales and diversification of income streams are common. Over three-quarters of institutions are actively seeking new revenue sources, from commercialisation and estate rental to online learning and transnational education partnerships.
Interestingly, financial pressure is not uniformly leading to retrenchment. While some institutions have closed departments or dropped programmes – particularly among medium and less research-intensive universities – many are introducing new courses, both undergraduate and postgraduate, to attract students and generate income.
Staffing, however, tells a more sobering story. Nearly half of deficit institutions have implemented voluntary redundancy schemes, and around one-fifth have resorted to compulsory redundancies. Recruitment freezes are widespread, affecting academic and professional staff alike. These measures, while necessary for financial stability, risk eroding institutional capacity and morale.
The ripple effects of financial constraint extend beyond staffing. Research support is under significant strain: over a third of institutions report cuts to research facilities and internal consortia. Yet there are pockets of investment – 18 per cent of institutions have increased funding for libraries and data services, and nearly one-fifth have boosted support for industrial collaborations, reflecting a strategic pivot toward partnerships and innovation.
Student experience has, so far, been relatively protected. Most institutions have maintained spending on mental health, wellbeing, and inclusion initiatives, though career development and academic support have seen reductions in about a quarter of cases. Investment in estates is more uneven: while many institutions are deferring maintenance and new builds, over half are increasing spending on digital transformation – a clear signal of shifting priorities.
Financial turbulence is also reshaping leadership dynamics. Nearly 90 per cent of respondents agree that leadership teams are under heightened pressure and scrutiny, with a growing emphasis on short-term decision-making. This environment is taking a toll on staff wellbeing: two-thirds of respondents report negative impacts on mental health, alongside rising workloads and job insecurity. Trust in leadership has declined in almost half of institutions, underscoring the human dimension of the financial crisis.
Perhaps the most sobering finding is the sector’s view of external support. Over 60 per cent of respondents rated government and regional assistance as ineffective. The message is clear: incremental adjustments will not suffice. Respondents called for a fundamental review of the funding model in higher education. Without decisive intervention, the risk is not just institutional hardship but systemic decline – jeopardising the UK’s global standing in higher education and research.