The Bloomsbury Handbook of Student Voice in Higher Education 9781350342453, 1350342459

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The Bloomsbury Handbook of Student Voice in Higher Education

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ALSO AVAILABLE FROM BLOOMSBURY The Bloomsbury Handbook of Gender and Educational Leadership and Management, edited by Victoria Showunmi, Pontso Moorosi, Charol Shakeshaft and Izhar Oplatka The Bloomsbury Handbook of Theory in Comparative and International Education, edited by Tavis D. Jules, Robin Shields and Matthew A. M. Thomas The Bloomsbury Handbook of Global Education and Learning, edited by Douglas Bourn The Bloomsbury Handbook of Culture and Identity from Early Childhood to Early Adulthood, edited by Ruth Wills, Marian de Souza, Jennifer Mata-McMahon, Mukhlis Abu Bakar and Cornelia Roux The Bloomsbury Handbook of the Internationalization of Higher Education in the Global South, edited by Juliet Thondhlana, Evelyn Chiyevo Garwe, Hans de Wit, Jocelyne Gacel-Ávila, Futao Huang and Wondwosen Tamrat The Bloomsbury Handbook of Sustainability in Higher Education, edited by Wendy M. Purcell and Janet Haddock-Fraser

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The Bloomsbury Handbook of Student Voice in Higher Education EDITED BY Jerusha Conner, Rille Raaper, Carolina Guzmán-Valenzuela and Launa Gauthier

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BLOOMSBURY ACADEMIC Bloomsbury Publishing Plc 50 Bedford Square, London, WC1B 3DP, UK 1385 Broadway, New York, NY 10018, USA 29 Earlsfort Terrace, Dublin 2, Ireland BLOOMSBURY, BLOOMSBURY ACADEMIC and the Diana logo are trademarks of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc First published in Great Britain 2024 Copyright © Jerusha Conner, Rille Raaper, Carolina Guzmán-Valenzuela and Launa Gauthier, 2024 Jerusha Conner, Rille Raaper, Carolina Guzmán-Valenzuela and Launa Gauthier have asserted their right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as Editors of this work. For legal purposes the Acknowledgements on p. xxii constitute an extension of this copyright page. Cover Image © Kubkoo / Getty Images All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publishers. Bloomsbury Publishing Plc does not have any control over, or responsibility for, any third-party websites referred to or in this book. All internet addresses given in this book were correct at the time of going to press. The author and publisher regret any inconvenience caused if addresses have changed or sites have ceased to exist, but can accept no responsibility for any such changes. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. A catalog record for this book is available from the Library of Congress. ISBN: HB: 978-1-3503-4245-3 ePDF: 978-1-3503-4246-0 eBook: 978-1-3503-4247-7 Typeset by Newgen KnowledgeWorks Pvt. Ltd., Chennai, India To find out more about our authors and books visit www.blo​omsb​ury.com and sign up for our newsletters.

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Contents

List of Figures 

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List of Tables 

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List of Contributors 

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Acknowledgements  Introduction  Jerusha Conner, Rille Raaper, Carolina Guzmán-Valenzuela and Launa Gauthier

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Part I  Theorizing Student Voice Introduction Carolina Guzmán-Valenzuela 1 Student Voice: An Overview and Orientation  Jerusha Conner

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2 Theorizing Students’ Voices: A Critical Literature Review  Carolina Guzmán-Valenzuela

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3 Contested and Contextual: Analysing the Foundations of Student Voice(s) in Contemporary Higher Education  Stephen Darwin 4 Spaces of Student Voice: Multiplicities, Antagonisms and Authenticity  Ronald Barnett 5 Neoliberal Reconstruction of University Student Subjectivity: Implications for Student Voice in Egyptian Higher Education  Israa Medhat Esmat 6 Pedagogical Praxis to Enthuse Student Voices in Higher Education Research  Patric Wallin, Kristi Larsen Mariussen, Håkon Mogstad and Maud Sønderaal

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Part II  Hearing the Voices of Diverse Student Populations Introduction Jerusha Conner 7 Reaching Beyond Compliance: Amplifying the Voices of Disabled Students  Christa S. Bialka

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8 Speaking Out about Gender-Based Violence and Harassment in Higher Education  Anna Bull

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9 Student Voice in College Athletics Spaces  Molly Harry

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10 One College’s Effort to Improve the Experiences of Black, Arab, Asian and MixedEthnicity Students by Listening to Their Voices  Rhianne Sterling-Morris

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11 Engaging First-Generation Indigenous Students’ Voices in Chilean Higher Education: The Aspiration of Equity and Inclusion  Andrea Flanagan-Bórquez, Silvana Del Valle-Bustos and Carolina Hidalgo-Standen

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12 Working towards the Inclusive Campus: A Partnership Project with Students of Colour in a University Reform Initiative  163 Claire Hamshire, Orlagh McCabe, Shuab Gamote, Paul Norman and Rachel Forsyth Part III Amplifying Student Voice through Activism, Community Service and Digital Civic Engagement Introduction Jerusha Conner 13 Framing Processes as Student Voice in the Movement to Resist University Expansion and Urban Renewal  Charles H. F. Davis III and Sy Stokes

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14 When They See and Hear Us: Black Students and the Fight for a Decolonial University in South Africa  Mlamuli Nkosingphile Hlatshwayo

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15 Between Protests and Policy: The Student Voice in the Higher Education Reforms of England and Chile  Hector Ríos-Jara

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16 Students’ Use of Digital Media to Critique and Change Higher Education Policy and Practice  Isabelle Huning

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17 Digital Civic Engagement: Case Studies in the Interplay between Civic Engagement, Student Voice and Digitalization in Higher Education  Sabine Freudhofmayer and Katharina Resch

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Part IV  Institutionalizing Student Voice through Governance Structures Introduction Rille Raaper 18 Student Agency and Student Impact through Representative Student Associations  Manja Klemenčič

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19 Student Participation in Shared Governance at American Research Universities  Ethan W. Ris, David R. Johnson and Sergey V. Mogilnyy

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20 Student Unions as Avenues for Inclusion and Participation of International Students: A Case from Finland  Sonja Trifuljesko and Anna Björnö

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21 The Joint Student-Teacher Commission in Italy: A Managerial Technology or a Catalyst for Change?  Marco Romito and Beatrice Colombo

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22 Enabling Students’ Voices in a Developing-Country Context: Challenges and Opportunities  Paul Ochieng, Vianney Sebayiga, Christine Njane and Alfred Kitawi

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23 Examining the Role of the Sabbatical Officer Manifestos and Campaigns in Achieving Change in UK Higher Education  Rebecca Turner and Jennie Winter

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24 Student Involvement in University Governance in Italy and Chile: A Comparative Document Analysis  Serafina Pastore and Paula Ascorra

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Part V  Elevating Student Voice through Pedagogical Partnerships Introduction Launa Gauthier 25 Pedagogical Partnership as Professional Development for Students  Alison Cook-Sather, Mary Cott, Khadijah Seay and Kayo Stewart

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26 With All Due Respect: Students’ Conceptions of Pedagogical Partnership in Higher Education in Pakistan  Launa Gauthier and Fatima Iftikhar

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27 Building a Space for Us: The Role of Graduate Students in Shaping Identity-/ Affinity-Centred Curricula  Tristen Hall, Sydney Feeney, Mecca Abdul-Aziz and Katherine S. Cho

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28 Listening to Students’ Voices through Pedagogical Partnerships in Higher Education: Insights from China  Amrita Kaur and Yusheng Tang 29 ‘It’s Quite a Responsibility. If It All Goes Haywire Just Because of Something You Said’: Student Voice in Curriculum Redesign across the University  Didi M. E. Griffioen, Linda van Ooijen-van der Linden, Lara Wouters and Femke Bergenhenegouwen

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30 Stretching the Boundaries of Pedagogical Partnerships in Higher Education through the Lens of Recognition  Glenys Oberg, Kelly E. Matthews, Jennifer Lincoln and Nathan McGrath

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31 Moving from Student Voice to Agency: Sustainable Pedagogical Partnerships for Higher Education  Kathryn A. Sutherland, Irina Elgort, Ozzman Symes-Hull and Claudia van Zijl

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Index 

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Figures

2.1 Publications by year on student voice, 1992–21 (WoS, Scopus and SciELO) 

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2.2 First-author affiliation by geographic zone 

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2.3 Authorship collaboration patterns (single-authored articles, domestic and international collaboration) 

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10.1 Diagram of the student experience, highlighting the three different levels: social, academic and city 

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12.1 Key objectives 

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24.1 Quality assurance governance in Italy 

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24.2 Quality assurance governance in Chile 

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29.1 Overview of the four project design cycles, based on McKenney et al. (2006). Number of students involved in the six teams in gray 

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Tables

1.1 Conceptual Framework of Student Voice 

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2.1 Top Twenty-Five Most Cited Articles about Students’ Voices (1992–21) 

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3.1 Forms of Engagement with Student Voice and Key Mediating Tools 

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7.1 Campus-Related Outcomes 

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10.1 Numbers of BAME Students in the College of Social Science Disaggregated by Ethnicity 

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10.2 Percentage of Students in the College of Social Science Who Received a 2:1 or above by Ethnicity 

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17.1 Case Study Overview 

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23.1 Top Five Priorities of Educational Sabbatical Officers (N = 77, Multiple Response Option) 

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23.2 Topic of Campaigns (N = 77, Multiple Response Option) 

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23.3 Factors Informing Sabbatical Officers’ Campaigns (N = 59, Multiple Response Option) 

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23.4 Communication Mechanism Used to Engage with the Student Body (N = 56, Multiple Response Option) 

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30.1 The Roles, Gender and Age Group of Participants 

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Contributors

Mecca Abdul-Aziz is College Advising Manager with the non-profit, I Know I Can, in Columbus, Ohio. Mecca’s research and underlying drive within the field of higher education and student affairs is centred on the retention of Black, Indigenous and people of colour who are at four-year postsecondary institutions. Mecca received an MA in Student Affairs in Higher Education from Miami University, where she was awarded the ‘Ray of Light Award’ for her efforts in supporting students of colour on campus, and a BA in Communication from Wittenberg University. Paula Ascorra is a Professor at the Pontificia Universidad Católica de Valparaíso, Chile, and a Principal Researcher at the Research Center for Inclusive Education (SCIA-ANID CIE 160009). She holds a PhD in psychology from the University of Chile. Her line of research is school climate management, where she has worked at public policy, district, school and classroom levels. She is currently researching the relationship between school climate and citizenship education (Fondecyt Project 1230581). She has won and executed several projects of the National Scientific and Technological Fund of Chile. Ronald Barnett is an Emeritus Professor of Higher Education at University College London, UK, Faculty of Education and Society, where he was a Pro-Director and Dean. He has spent a lifetime in advancing the philosophy of higher education as a field of study and is the inaugural President of the Philosophy and Theory of Higher Education Society. He was awarded the inaugural prize by the European Association for Educational Research for his ‘outstanding contribution to Higher Education Research, Policy and Practice’. Femke Bergenhenegouwen is a master’s student at the Pedagogical Sciences programme of Leiden University, Netherlands, with a focus on special needs in education. She contributed to this chapter as research assistant assigned by the Department of Higher Education, Research, and Innovation at Amsterdam University of Applied Sciences, the Netherlands. Christa S. Bialka is an Associate Professor of Special Education and Director of the Undergraduate Teacher Education Programme and the Disability and Deaf Studies Programme in the Department of Education and Counselling at Villanova University, USA. She is a former English and special education teacher who received her MEd in Moderate Special Needs Education from Boston College and her EdD in Teaching, Learning and Teacher Education from the University of Pennsylvania. Her research interests include raising disability awareness in K-12 schools and understanding how disability is situated within the frame of diversity, equity and inclusion. Anna Björnö has been researching internationalization of higher education in Finland for the past ten years. She graduated from the University of Helsinki, Finland, with a doctoral dissertation ‘Internationalization and International Master’s Programmes’. Her postdoctoral

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research at Tampere University ‘Languages in Academia: Negotiating Value, Power and Practices’ focuses on the language aspects of university politics and development of multilingualism. In addition, she is working on education policy development and the use of expertise, specialist knowledge in policy problem formulations. Anna Bull is a Senior Lecturer in Education and Social Justice in the Department of Education at the University of York, UK. She is also Co-Director of research and campaigning organization The 1752 Group. Her research interests include class and gender inequalities in classical music education and sexual misconduct in higher education. Anna is a regular commentator in the media on sexual misconduct in higher education and has authored various academic and publicfacing reports and articles in this area, including The 1752 Group and McAllister Olivarius’s Sector Guidance to Address Staff Sexual Misconduct in UK Higher Education. Katherine S. Cho is an Assistant Professor in Higher Education at Loyola University Chicago, USA. Her research spans across campus activism, organizational theory, institutionalized oppression, retention and academic socialization. She received a PhD and MA in Education from the University of California, Los Angeles; an MA in Sociology and Education from Columbia University, Teachers College; and a BA in Public Policy Studies from Duke University, Durham. Beatrice Colombo is an MSc student in Biology and student activist. From 2019 to 2021, she was students’ representative within the Board of Administration of University of Milano-Bicocca, Italy, and she is student union member since 2016 and local coordinator since 2020. She is also a Fridays for Future’s activist. During the past two years she worked with the student union on the disparity of access in higher education obtaining two main victories in terms of enlargement of the no-tax area and the improvement of the criteria of access to income-based studentships. Jerusha Conner is a Professor of Education at Villanova University, in Pennsylvania, USA. Her research focuses on youth activism and organizing, student engagement and student voice. She is the author of more than sixty journal articles and book chapters, three edited collections (Political Activism in Post-Secondary Contexts, 2022; Contemporary Youth Activism, 2016; and Student Voice in American Education Policy, 2015) and The New Student Activists (2020). Alison Cook-Sather is the Mary Katharine Woodworth Professor of Education at Bryn Mawr College, USA, Director of the Teaching and Learning Institute at Bryn Mawr and Haverford Colleges, and co-creator (with student, faculty and staff colleagues) of the Students as Learners and Teachers (SaLT programme. Her research and scholarship focus on pedagogical partnership, particularly for equity and justice. She has published over a hundred articles, chapters and other pieces, and nine books, and has spoken and consulted on pedagogical partnership work at over eighty institutions in thirteen countries or regions of the world. Read more about her work at https://www.aliso​ncoo​ksat​her.com/. Mary Cott is an Assistant Teacher at The Windward School, a school for students with language-based learning disabilities, in New York, NY, USA. Cott is a Haverford College Class of 2021 graduate. While completing a major in Comparative Literature and minors in French and Francophone Studies and Educational Studies, she worked as a student consultant in three

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one-on-one partnerships with faculty in the Comparative Literature, Computer Science, and Gender and Sexuality Studies Departments. Additionally, she completed an independent study on community building in online spaces and researched themes of reflective writing in Teaching and Learning Together in Higher Education. Stephen Darwin is an Associate Professor in the Facultad de Educación at Universidad Alberto Hurtado, Chile. His research interests focus on areas of higher education practice, with a specific focus on the expansive potential of student voices to improve the quality of university curriculum and teaching practices, as well as issues related to second-language teacher education. He holds a PhD from Australian National University. Charles H. F. Davis III is an Assistant Professor in the Center for the Study of Higher and Postsecondary Education at the University of Michigan, USA, and Director of the Campus Abolition Research Lab. His research focuses on organized resistance and the material consequences of higher education on US society, including the expansion of the police state and gentrification in urban cities. He is the Co-Editor of Student Activism, Politics, and Campus Climate in Higher Education (2019). Silvana Del Valle-Bustos is an Associate Professor and Researcher at Universidad Autonoma de Chile Law School, USA. Her research interests focus on feminist, gender and law studies, and violence against women and girls. She has published articles about the recent Chilean social outbreak and the process for a new constitution, and participated in femicide cases as an attorney. Irina Elgort is an Associate Professor in Higher Education in the Centre for Academic Development at Te Herenga Waka Victoria University of Wellington, New Zealand. She is a co-coordinator of the Ako in Action programme. She is a Senior Fellow of The Higher Education Academy. Irina’s professional and research interests include applied linguistics, bilingualism, computer-assisted learning, science of learning and learning analytics, with a focus on student writing analytics. Israa Medhat Esmat is a Lecturer Assistant at the Public Administration Department, Cairo University, Egypt. She is a PhD student in Education Studies at Marburg University, Germany. Her research interests include higher education policy and administration, governance structures of educational institutions, and values, purposes and discourses of education. She is particularly interested in the effect of neoliberal policies on higher education. Through conducting discourse analysis, her PhD project investigates the neoliberal reform discourse in Egyptian higher education policies where she conducts an ethnographic case study of spaces of governmentality and subjectivity. Sydney Feeney is a Program Specialist for the Office of Equity, Inclusion, and Diversity at Quinnipiac University School of Medicine, where her work centers both supporting under­ represented identities in medicine, and exposing the practices and principles of DEI to rising medical professionals. She is a graduate of the Student Affairs in Higher Education MS program at Miami University, Ohio, USA and obtained her BA in Political Science at the University of Connecticut in Storrs. Her research interests include the power of educational autonomy in the classroom, black feminism, and anti-racist practices in the broader and global society. xiii

Contributors

Andrea Flanagan-Bórquez is a Professor in the School of Psychology at Universidad de Valparaíso, Chile. Her research interests focus on exclusion and marginalization processes developed in higher education institutions, analysing how these institutions become spaces that systematically reproduce practices that challenge students’ inclusion and persistence. She holds a PhD degree in Educational Studies at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln, USA, and is a former Postdoctoral Researcher from OISE, University of Toronto, Canada. Rachel Forsyth is Project Manager at Lund University, Sweden. Her research focuses on assessment, institutional change and inclusion. As Editor-in-Chief of the Student Engagement in Higher Education Journal, she is an active member of the Researching, Advancing, Inspiring Student Engagement (RAISE) network. She is a Principal Fellow of the Higher Education Academy in the UK. Sabine Freudhofmayer is a PhD candidate in Educational Science at the Centre for Teacher Education at the University of Vienna, Austria. Her research interests focus on higher education research with a particular emphasis on students in higher education, school pedagogy and professionalization in teacher education. Shuab Gamote was, at the time of writing the chapter, a final year student in Accounting and Finance and the Project Manager for the Black, Asian and Minority ethnic (BAME) Ambassador Project at Manchester Metropolitan University Students’ Union, UK. He is now a Project Officer supporting change at the same university. His interests range from being a national ambassador for mentoring with several organizations as a trustee and volunteer to local community work with disadvantaged high schools and community-led organizations. Launa Gauthier is an Assistant Professor of Education and the Interim Director for the Learning Institute at Lahore University of Management Sciences (LUMS), Pakistan. She co-led the establishment of the LUMS pedagogical partnerships programme which was the first of its kind in Pakistan. She is a member of the editorial board for the International Journal for Students as Partners. Her current research interests and published scholarship focus on faculty teaching development and students as partners in international higher education contexts. Didi Griffioen is a Pan-University Professor and Head of Department of Higher Education, Research and Innovation at Amsterdam University of Applied Sciences (AUAS), Netherlands. Her research group studies and enhances the interaction between education, research and professionalism in higher education. Didi was the first Dutch Principal Fellow of the British Higher Education Academy. She was awarded with a Comenius Leadership Fellow by the Dutch Ministry of Education. Her most recent book is Creating the Desire for Change in Higher Education; The Amsterdam Path to the Research-Teaching Nexus (2022). Carolina Guzmán-Valenzuela is a Full Professor of Higher Education at the Universidad de Tarapacá, Chile. For the past twelve years, she has been conducting research on the role of the universities in the twenty-first century, with a focus on Latin America and Chile. She has published widely on issues related to higher education such as the public/private divide, the decolonization of Latin American universities, knowledge production in the social sciences and internationalization. xiv

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Tristen Hall is a PhD candidate in Student Affairs in Higher Education at Miami University, USA. Using a critical race lens, their research seeks to examine the complexities of racial dialogues on social media and the nuances of solidarity building. Tristen earned their BA in Psychology and Women, Gender and Sexuality Studies from the University of Cincinnati in 2017, and their MEd in Higher Education from Loyola University, Chicago in 2019. Claire Hamshire is a Professor of Higher Education and the Associate Pro Vice-Chancellor Education and Student Experience at the University of Salford, UK. She is also a UK AdvanceHE National Teaching Fellow and Principal Fellow as well as Vice-President for the European Region of the International Society for the Scholarship of Teaching and Learning (ISSOTL). Her research interests include first-generation students’ experiences, peer-assisted learning, student engagement and learning transitions. Molly Harry is a Professor of recreation and sport management at the University of Arkansas, USA. Her research interests centre the intersection of higher education and college athletics, focusing on ways to improve athletes’ experiences. She is particularly interested in enhancing athletes’ academic opportunities, promoting education through sport participation, Name, Image and Likeness (NIL), athlete activism and support, and Title IX. She has published various articles in the Journal of Issues in Intercollegiate Athletics, Journal of Intercollegiate Sport, and Innovative Higher Education. Carolina Hidalgo-Standen is Professor and Researcher at the College of Education, Social Sciences and Humanities at Universidad de La Frontera, Temuco, Chile. Her research focus on teachers’ professional development. Also, she is a member of the Cognition and Culture lab, and she studies the teaching-learning process of indigenous children from mapuche people in rural schools. Mlamuli Nkosingphile Hlatshwayo is an Associate Professor at Ali Mazrui’s Centre for Higher Education Studies at the University of Johannesburg, in South Africa. His research interests include theorizing higher education transformation and decolonization in the global South, student movements and replacing African epistemic traditions in curricula. His co-edited book, Decolonising Knowledge and Knowers: Struggles for University Transformation in South Africa, was published in 2022. Isabelle Huning is a PhD Researcher at the School for Business and Society at the University of York, UK, and funded by the UK Economic and Social Research Council via the White Rose Doctoral Training Partnership (WRDTP). Her research focuses on the influence of framing and narrative on institutional development as well as the evolution of skill formation systems. She is also interested in further and higher education policy in Europe and its institutionalization since early modern times and quantitative approaches using text as data. Fatima Iftikhar is an Educational Developer and Co-lead for Partnerships at Lahore University of Management Sciences, Pakistan. Her research interests focus on elevating student voice in teaching and learning through Students as Partners (SaP) initiatives and she plans to pursue a PhD in Curriculum and Pedagogy to explore the prospects of SaP initiatives in South Asian

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contexts. She has published on her experiences as student partner and on developing a pedagogical partnership programme at LUMS. David R. Johnson is Associate Professor of higher education in the Department of Educational Policy Studies at Georgia State University, USA. His research agenda examines how universities are shaped by changes in their institutional environments, especially as they relate to capitalism, religion and politics. He is the author of A Fractured Profession: Commercialism and Conflict in Academic Science (2017) and co-author of Varieties of Atheism in Science (2021). Amrita Kaur is an Assistant Professor of Psychology at the College of Liberal Arts, WenzhouKean University, China. She teaches both undergraduate and graduate courses in psychology. Her primary area of research concerns teaching, learning and assessment in higher education, students as partners, learning motivation and engagement, and cross-cultural studies for learning. In her twenty-two-year teaching career, she has taught in India, Thailand, Malaysia and China. She was also the recipient of the ISSOTL 2020 fellowship. She serves as the editorial member for the Malaysian Journal of Learning and Instruction and the International Journal of Students as Partners. Alfred Kitawi is the Director of Centre for Research in Education, Strathmore University, Kenya. His doctorate is in higher education management from the University of Bath, UK. He has undertaken several monitoring and evaluation projects in the areas of community capacity development, quality assurance and life-skills development in Kenya and Uganda. He has published articles in the areas of quality assurance in higher education, knowledge management, action research, integration of information communication technology in higher education and life-long learning. He is currently part of the TOTEMK-project team formulating modules to capacitate university lecturers on the delivery of the competency-based curriculum. Manja Klemenčič is an Associate Senior Lecturer in Sociology and General Education at Faculty of Arts and Sciences, Harvard University, USA, and Visiting Professor at Faculty of Education, University of Ljubljana. She researches, teaches, advises and acts as a consultant in sociology and politics of higher education with over 120 publications and over 80 keynotes on a broad array of higher education topics. Klemenčič serves as editor-in-chief of European Journal of Higher Education, co-editor of Understanding Student Experiences in Higher Education and co-editor of Higher Education Dynamics. She is editor of the Bloomsbury Handbook of Student Politics and Representation in Higher Education. Jennifer Lincoln is a bachelor of education (Primary) student at the University of Queensland in Australia, minoring in English. She contributed to this chapter through her enrolment in the co-designed course and subsequent participation in providing her reflections on her student voice and engagement. Jennifer presented at the annual Students as Partners Roundtable and co-designed the research presented as a chapter in this book. Kristi Larsen Mariussen is a clinical psychologist working at a children and adolescence psychiatric outpatient clinic. She was studying psychology in her fourth year at the Norwegian

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University of Science and Technology, Norway, during the project leading to this book chapter, and her main interests emerge around how people behave, think and feel. Kelly E. Matthews is currently Associate Professor, Higher Education, at the University of Queensland, Australia. She is an award-winning university teacher and well-known for her relational and community-building approach to change, including leadership for international collaborative writing groups and change institutes, such as the Students as Partners Network; co-founding the International Journal for Students as Partners; and mentoring countless scholars to write and publish about their teaching and learning. Kelly enjoys researching and writing about student voice and student partnership with over 120 publications and 25+ funded projects including a National Teaching Fellowship. Orlagh McCabe is Programme Leader and a Senior Lecturer in the University Teaching Academy at Manchester Metropolitan University, UK. As a sociologist, Orlagh has significant experience teaching and researching widening participation policy and youth transitions. Her research focuses on relational pedagogic processes and active learning to promote widening participation. Orlagh is a Principal Fellow of the Higher Education Academy and a Fellow of SEDA. Nathan McGrath is a bachelor of education (Primary) student at the University of Queensland in Australia. He participated in a student partnership project to co-design resources and provide consultation on a second-year subject as it shifted from an online subject (due to the Covid-19 pandemic) to a flexible subject enabling students to engage both online and on-campus. Nathan presented at the annual Students as Partners Roundtable and co-authored the research presented as a chapter in this book. Sergey V. Mogilnyy is a PhD student in the Department of Educational Studies at the College of Education and Human Development of the University of Nevada, Reno, USA. His scholarly interests focus on research-intensive universities and the strategies they utilize in order to enhance research capacity and outcomes. Before he began his PhD programme, he worked outside the United States in senior-administrator positions in higher education institutions and research organizations. Håkon Mogstad holds a master’s degree in physics and mathematics with a specialization in Medical Technology from the Norwegian University of Science and Technology, Norway, and is working as a natural science teacher in an upper secondary school. He was in his second year of the master’s programme while working on the project leading to this book chapter. He has always been fascinated by technology, but at the same time has a strong interest in teaching, learning and education. Christine Njane Christine Njane is a lawyer at Gikera and Vadgama Advocates, Kenya. She holds a bachelor of laws (LLB) degree from Strathmore University. She is an Associate Member of the Chartered Institute of Arbitrators and a Certified Mediator. She served in the steering committee of the Strathmore Law Clinic, a student-run institution that facilitates access to justice through providing legal information to all. She is passionate about education and is actively involved in mentoring high school students through the Strathmore Community Service Centre

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Paul Norman is the Head of Membership at the Manchester Metropolitan University Students’ Union, UK, an independent charity that works to represent the needs and views of Manchester Metropolitan University students. Glenys Oberg is a PhD student and Researcher in the School of Education at the University of Queensland, Australia. Before embarking on a career in tertiary education, she spent over twenty years as a classroom teacher and her current research is focused on the relationships between students and teachers and how these relationships contribute to well-being. Glenys holds postgraduate qualifications in both education and psychology and is particularly fascinated by how these areas intersect. Paul Ochieng is the Dean of Students at Strathmore University, Kenya. His research interests focus on student affairs, scholarship funding, sports economics and university governance. Over the past two decades, he has carried out studies on the impact of local and international education scholarships in Kenya, Tanzania and Uganda. He has published articles on student governance, university management and gender equity in sports. His recent book chapter contribution is in Arbeitsmarkt und Sport-eine ökonomische Betrachtung: Sport Labor Economics (2016). Serafina Pastore is Associate Professor in the Research and Humanities Innovation Department at the University of Bari (Italy). PhD in ‘Instructional Design and Educational Assessment’ and Fulbright Research Fellow, she currently serves as a member of the unit responsible for the internal quality assurance system at the University of Bari. Her research examines the complex intersections of assessment practice, teacher education and educational policy as operating within the context of school and university innovations. Her recent work focuses on teacher assessment literacy and formative assessment. Rille Raaper is Associate Professor in Sociology of Higher Education at Durham University, UK. Her research focuses on student identity, experience and political agency in marketized higher education settings. She has conducted numerous research projects and published widely in the areas of higher education policy and practice and its impact on students as learners, citizens and political agents. Her most recent projects explore the effects of the Covid-19 pandemic on disadvantaged students, the role and practices of student influencers in social media as well as student politics in the experiences of disabled students. Katharina Resch is an educational sociologist and Postdoctoral Researcher at the University of Vienna, Austria. She was previously an interim professor at the University of Koblenz-Landau, Germany. Her work focuses primarily on social and educational inequalities, diversity, servicelearning and higher education research. She has been involved in various European projects on (digital) student engagement and service-learning. Hector Ríos-Jara is a lecturer in social science at Universidad Alberto Hurtado from Chile and policy advisor for the Undersecretary of Higher Education of Chile. He holds a PhD in social science from University College of London. His research focuses on neoliberalism, social movements and social policy.

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Ethan W. Ris is an Associate Professor of higher education administration at the University of Nevada, Reno, USA. His research examines higher education policy, organization and governance, with a focus on the interactions between philanthropic foundations, government and colleges and universities in the twentieth-century United States. He is the recipient of fellowships from the Spencer Foundation/National Academy of Education and the National Endowment for the Humanities, and is the author of Other People’s Colleges: The Origins of American Higher Education Reform (2022). Marco Romito is an Assistant Professor in the Department of Sociology and Social Research at the University of Milano-Bicocca (Italy). His main research interests focus on educational transitions, guidance practices and inequalities in school and higher education. He has recently carried out a longitudinal qualitative research on first-generation students in Italy (FirstGeneration Students. Essere i primi in famiglia a frequentare l’università, 2021), and his most recent publication is How Working-Class Students Choose Higher Education: The Role of Family, Social Networks and the Institutional Habitus of Secondary Schools (2022). Khadijah Seay, Bryn Mawr College Class of 2016, is an Associate Director of Civic House at the University of Pennsylvania, USA. Khadijah served as a student consultant through SaLT in three one-on-one pedagogical partnerships. Following graduation and a year of AmeriCorps service, she became the Andrew W. Mellon Post-Baccalaureate Fellow for Student-Faculty Programmes at Berea College. Khadijah holds a master’s degree in education from Temple University in Higher Education. Her research interests and current work are focused broadly on diversity, equity, and inclusion and specifically on Black women students’ sense of belonging. Vianney Sebayiga is a Lawyer at Anjarwalla & Khanna LLP Kenya. He is an Associate member of the Chartered Institute of Arbitrators, UK. He holds a bachelor of laws (LLB) degree from Strathmore University. He served as the Academic Representative of the Strathmore University Student Council 2019/2020. After his undergraduate studies, he worked as a Teaching Assistant at Strathmore Law School. Vianney is strongly passionate about student mentorship and student engagement. Maud Sønderaal holds a master’s degree in sociology and is currently working as a Special Education teacher. During the project leading up to this book chapter, she was in the second year of her master’s at the Norwegian University of Science and Technology, Norway. She always wanted to learn and explore more about how society as an institution affects people’s actions and is very interested in universities as organizations. Rhianne Sterling-Morris is a Research Assistant in the Eleanor Glanville Institute at the University of Lincoln, UK. She has a background in psychology and research methods with experience in mixed methodology. Rhianne’s research interests are in Equality Diversity and Inclusion (EDI) with an interdisciplinary approach mainly focusing on race and intersectionality. Kayo Stewart, Bryn Mawr College Class of 2023, completed a major in Sociology and minors in Education and Africana Studies with the support of a full-tuition undergraduate Posse leadership

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scholarship. Through the SaLT Kayo worked in one-on-one pedagogical partnerships with faculty as well as co-facilitated pedagogy circles for faculty, staff and students to explore issues of diversity, equity and inclusion. Passionate about access to higher education and advocacy work for marginalized people and identities, she plans to pursue a career as an educator and advocacy attorney to teach the law and stand against social injustice. Sy Stokes is an Executive Research Fellow at the Campus Abolition Research Lab at the University of Michigan, USA. His research focuses on issues of campus racial climate and racial equity at the intersections of US politics, policy, and higher education. Kathryn A. Sutherland is an Associate Professor in the Centre for Academic Development at Te Herenga Waka-Victoria University of Wellington, New Zealand, and co-coordinator of the Ako in Action programme. She has three main areas of research and practice: the experiences of earlycareer academics, holistic academic development and working in partnership with students to improve teaching and learning. Kathryn is a Principal Fellow of the Higher Education Academy, chair of the editorial board for the Journal of Higher Education Policy and Management and was a co-editor of the International Journal for Academic Development for nearly a decade. Ozzman Symes-Hull was, at the time of writing, a student partner in Ako in Action for six trimesters, while completing a conjoint bachelor of arts (in history and education) and bachelor of science (in environmental studies) at Te Herenga Waka Victoria University of Wellington, New Zealand. In 2021, he was the student coordinator for Ako in Action. He has since gone on to graduate studies in secondary school teaching. Yusheng Tang is a senior year student majoring in psychology at the College of Liberal Arts, Wenzhou-Kean University, China. His current interest in research revolves around the perception, reaction time, and self-regulation of adolescents for independent learning. He has been a pedagogical partner for two different courses over two semesters. He also serves as a student reviewer for the International Journal of Students as Partners. Sonja Trifuljesko is a Social and Cultural Anthropologist and a Postdoctoral Researcher at the University of Helsinki, Finland. Her PhD dissertation ethnographically investigated the effects of the ‘global knowledge economy’ policies on daily university life in Finland. In her postdoctoral work, Trifuljesko has shifted her focus to the ‘data economy’, studying social and cultural implications of digitalization, datafication and algorithmization. Rebecca Turner is an Associate Professor in Educational Development at the University of Plymouth, UK, and a Principal Fellow of the HEA. Rebecca’s research focuses on using curriculum change to promote inclusive practice and student voice. Rebecca has also published widely on the professionalization of teaching within higher education, exploring how academics in different educational contexts and roles maintain pedagogic currency. Linda van Ooijen-van der Linden is Senior Researcher at the Department Of Higher Education, Research, and Innovation at Amsterdam University of Applied Sciences, The Netherlands. Her research interests focus on multi-role and transdisciplinary collaborations in learning and

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innovation in higher education. She has published on the application of signal detection theory in the prediction of student success and on the integration of research into vocational higher education. Claudia van Zijl was, at the time of writing, a student partner in Ako in Action for five trimesters while completing a conjoint bachelor of laws and bachelor of science (in ecology and biodiversity) at Te Herenga Waka Victoria University of Wellington, New Zealand. In 2021, she was a student leader on Ako in Action, and in 2022, she began her law career. Patric Wallin is a Professor in University Pedagogy at the Norwegian University of Science and Technology, Norway. In his research, he uses critical pedagogy as an entry point to explore how to create spaces in higher education that can challenge traditional student teacher positions by drawing on dialogic praxis and partnership. Through his work, he wants to re-imagine the university as a place for collaboration between students and academics with the common purpose to co-create knowledge and meaning. In his recent social science fiction essay, he argues ‘Universities are Dead Long Live Higher Education’ (2022; https://link.sprin​ger.com/arti​ cle/10.1007/s42​438-022-00376-3). Jennie Winter is a Professor of Academic Development at Plymouth Marjon University, UK, and is an HEA Principal Fellow and National Teaching Fellow. Jennie researches a broad range of academic development themes including education for sustainable development, decolonization of the curriculum and evaluating teaching development Lara Wouters is Project Leader for several social projects at the societal innovation agency Diversion, The Netherlands. She currently focuses on educational projects for adolescents about topics like mental health and debt prevention. She contributed to the research project underpinning this chapter in a coordinating role working for the Department of Higher Education, Research, and Innovation at Amsterdam University of Applied Sciences, The Netherlands. Lara has a background in human geography, international development and education.

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Acknowledgements

The editors acknowledge with gratitude the dedicated editorial support of Amanda Galczyk and Oladimeji Fatoki; the vision of Alison Baker, who championed this project from the onset; and the valuable guidance provided by Anna Ellis, who deftly shepherded the handbook through the publication process.

1

Introduction JERUSHA CONNER, RILLE RAAPER, CAROLINA GUZMÁNVALENZUELA AND LAUNA GAUTHIER

The term ‘student voice’ has become associated with different meanings in education. For rhetoric and composition professors, it may refer to adopting a strong persona and tone in written work. For other instructors, it may be synonymous with students’ participation in class activities and discussion. Among scholars, there are those who equate student voice with students’ perspectives on their experiences as students. When these scholars solicit students’ accounts, whether through surveys, focus groups or interviews, they will say they have captured student voice. Other scholars, however, use the term ‘student voice’ to signify students’ active involvement in or efforts to influence educational decision-making at the classroom, programme, institution or systems level. In this last formulation, student voice generally speaks to issues of pedagogy, curriculum or assessment; institutional policy or decision-making processes; or state or national education policy. Mindful of these varied understandings of student voice, we encouraged the authors in this handbook to engage with the student voice literature, but we did not prescribe one standard definition of the term for them to use. As a result, the authors in this collection put forward different conceptualizations of student voice, some of which position students as data sources and others of which position them as policy actors, actively shaping the educational environment for themselves and their peers. Indeed, one aim of this handbook is to illustrate various forms of student voice, including student activism, student representation and governance, and pedagogical partnership. While we do not mean to conflate activism, representation and partnership, we do argue that each can be understood as a distinct form of student voice. Each involves students sharing their perspectives on their experiences as students in order to inform or effect change. Recognizing this through line but respecting the critical conceptual differences among these constructs, this book makes an important intervention in an otherwise fragmented literature by gathering a variety of approaches under a common ‘student voice in higher education’ banner, with the intent of mapping the student voice landscape and clarifying the intersections among various literatures as they speak to the concept of student voice. A second aim of this handbook is to show how these and other forms of student voice are playing out within higher education today. While the literature on student voice in the secondary education context is well-established (albeit largely in Western countries, with predominantly white populations), the terminology of student voice has been slower to catch on within higher education. Nonetheless, student voice is happening in higher education, just not

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The Bloomsbury Handbook of Student Voice

always named as such. This handbook, therefore, helps to ensure that research is keeping pace with practice and appropriately reflecting developments on the ground. Several chapters in this handbook highlight new innovations in student voice practice or contribute new knowledge gained by listening to the voices of students who have not been as well represented in the existing literature. A final aim we embraced as editors was to create an international collection, which includes chapters from the global South as well as the global North, the East as well as the West. We were motivated not only by our awareness of the limitations of the existing student voice literature, which has mainly been based in Western nations, but also by our understanding that higher education institutions (HEIs) are highly contextually specific, shaped as much by national policies, traditions and trajectories as by their local histories and cultural practices and those of the people who animate them. We, therefore, acknowledge the heterogeneity not only of student voice but also of HEIs. Just as students do not all always speak in unison, and just as researchers use different concepts to describe student participation in and influence on educational decisionmaking, so too institutions vary enormously in their structures, aims and missions. We sought, therefore, to bring a contextually attuned, but geographically varied, perspective to the study of student voice in higher education.

Editors’ Positionality Our approach to curating the thirty-one chapters in this handbook was shaped by our own positionality and experiences with student voice. As editors, we are each based in different parts of the world (Chile, England, Pakistan and the United States), and we brought our knowledge of different higher education systems to bear. We also brought different types of expertise to the topic of student voice. Jerusha Conner has spent the past fifteen years studying student voice and student activism. She traces her passion for student voice to her own experience as a high school student, when she joined with two other classmates to petition their school’s principal to allow them to teach themselves, rather than having to repeat a class they had previously taken because the school could not justify hiring a teacher for the three of them. This positive experience cemented for her the importance of students having a say in their education, shaping a core value that has guided her professionally, first as a high school teacher and now as a teacher-scholar-activist. Rille Raaper is a scholar of higher education in the UK. She is above all interested in what it means to be a student in today’s market-driven HEIs and what opportunities students have to exercise their voice and political agency. She takes a sociological approach to student voice, and often critiques the institutional structures that restrict student engagement and voice. Rille’s background is in adult education, and she has always been interested in the politics of education and empowerment through education. Carolina Guzmán-Valenzuela has been working in the field of higher education studies for more than a decade. She has placed her work in a global context, drawing especially on social theory, critical sociologies and decolonial theories. She believes in social transformations, values of equity and social justice in higher education and beyond. Most of her research work reflects her interest in transforming the landscape of higher education through critical stances. Carolina’s work has included research on the role of students in transforming higher education, especially 2

Introduction

in Latin America. She believes that both higher education systems and institutions have much to learn from students’ voices. Launa Gauthier has worked in higher education for the past thirteen years and has dedicated her scholarship and teaching to the improvement of learning and teaching through faculty development and pedagogical partnerships. She found her passion for this work first in graduate school where, as a student, she always felt more like a colleague or collaborative partner to the faculty and peers with whom she worked. These relationships inspired her later on to lead and promote pedagogical partnerships – a deeply contextual, relational and experiential way for faculty, staff and students to collaborate and learn together. In addition to our mutual interest in and commitment to student voice, we editors also share several commonalities. While three of the editors identify as white women and one as a non-white woman, we highly value each other’s unique lived experiences, including Guzmán-Valenzuela’s experiences of working in Chilean higher education, Gauthier’s work in Pakistan and Raaper’s educational experiences from post-Soviet Estonia. We are aware that our intersectional identities may have predisposed us to curate the handbook in a certain way. However, we have made our best effort to include the greatest diversity of scholarship about students’ voices from a wide range of geographical contexts, institutions, settings and experiences. We also recognize that although the handbook has been conceived as a comprehensive enterprise, there are still gaps (e.g. LGBTQ students’ voices) and challenges that need to be addressed.

Book Structure and Chapter Overviews The handbook is organized into five interrelated parts, which can be read together or independently. The first part focuses on theorizing student voice. The second part addresses the voices of students with particular identities that uniquely shape their experiences in higher education. In Part III, we turn to student activism as a form of student voice. Additionally, Part III includes chapters focused on community engagement and digital media as different means of facilitating the expression of student voice. Part IV explores student representation and governance as a form of student voice, and Part V examines pedagogical partnership as yet another way for students to exercise their voice. In what follows, we offer a brief summary of each part. The six chapters contained in Part I, entitled ‘Theorizing Student Voice’, delve into many of the central scholarly debates and historical developments surrounding the concept of student voice. The chapters work across complementary approaches and disciplines of knowledge (mainly but not only education, philosophy and sociology). While the first four chapters offer a rich and comprehensive overview of the main theoretical dimensions, historical developments and challenges in addressing ‘student voice’, Chapter 5 offers a case study from Egypt, drawing on Foucault’s theories, and Chapter 6 gives an account of a course in which both the teacher and their students reflect on pedagogical partnerships. Part II is titled ‘Hearing the Voices of Diverse Student Populations’. The six chapters in this part lift up the voices of particular students, whose social identities shape their experiences in higher education in unique ways. These are students who, as Bialka puts it, ‘are so often positioned outside of the mainstream’, and who therefore ‘offer novel ways of viewing issues and highlight barriers that students from privileged groups neither encounter nor consider’. The first three chapters in this part centre the voices of specific groups of students: students with 3

The Bloomsbury Handbook of Student Voice

disabilities (Chapter 7), survivors of gender-based violence and harassment perpetrated by faculty and staff (Chapter 8) and student athletes (Chapter 9). The next three chapters present innovative approaches to eliciting and learning from the voices of students who are marginalized on campus, including racial and ethnic minority students and first-generation, indigenous students. In Part III, ‘Amplifying Student Voice through Activism, Community Service and Digital Civic Engagement’, we shift our examination from ‘whose student voice is expressed’ to ‘how it is voiced’ in higher education settings and systems. Here, we train our lens specifically on activism as a form of student voice and on digital technologies as a medium for student voice. While the first three chapters in Part II also discuss student activism, the authors of these chapters draw attention to the unique concerns of the students who are centred in their chapter: students with disabilities, survivors of gender-based violence and athletes respectively. The authors in Part III, by contrast, focus more on the mechanics of specific student-led campaigns to effect change than on the factors that motivate students to engage in these efforts. While some of the activist campaigns profiled in Part III exemplify identity-based activism, most are connected to broader student movements or to local community organizing efforts. The final two chapters in this part explore digital media as a means of expressing student voice and facilitating students’ civic engagement. Part IV, ‘Institutionalizing Student Voice through Governance Structures’, is centred around student voice as it relates to formal university governance structures. The part starts with a chapter that situates student voice within a wide range of governance structures and introduces an innovative conceptualization of student agency and impact (Chapter 18). The remaining chapters highlight opportunities that exist for students to develop and enact their voice through governing boards (Chapter 19), students’ unions (Chapter 20, Chapter 23), staff-student committees (Chapter 21) and quality assurance practices (Chapter 22, Chapter 24). Collectively, these chapters draw our attention to various factors and institutional structures that enable but also limit and restrict opportunities for students to develop and exercise their voice. Part V, ‘Elevating Student Voice through Pedagogical Partnerships’, starts with a focus on how partnership is a form of professional development for students (Chapter 25) and how the core partnership value of respect is understood and enacted in a South Asian university (Chapter 26). Next, authors discuss the experiences of students and faculty/lecturers who collaborated to co-design and co-teach a student-led course for racialized, minoritized students (Chapter 27) and to improve the design and instruction of an undergraduate course (Chapter 28). The chapters that follow shed new light on student involvement in the implementation of an institution-wide curriculum redesign initiative (Chapter 29) and how the concept of recognition can be used as a lens that guides pedagogical partnership work (Chapter 30). Finally, this part ends with some powerful insights about how local context, meaning and language matter when developing and launching a pedagogical partnership programme (Chapter 31). Together these chapters highlight the specific contextual challenges and supportive conditions that encourage student voice through pedagogical partnership to generate transformative change in learning and teaching in higher education.

Lingering Questions for the Field This book sets out to explore student voice in contemporary higher education. Together with the contributors, we were interested in exploring what we mean by student voice, what forms it 4

Introduction

takes and how it differs across diverse student populations and national settings. By engaging with examples that range from activism to governance and pedagogical practice and that cross a variety of national settings, the book offers food for thought to anyone interested in researching student voice as well as supporting students in making their voices heard. It has been a thoughtprovoking and inspiring journey for us as editors and for our contributors, and we believe we have managed to create something unique. However, there are still a few lingering questions that are important to highlight and reflect upon. We conclude this introductory chapter by outlining some of these reflection points that we hope act as invitations to discussion and further research. Student Voice as a Situational Concept The chapters in this book all highlight how conditions for and understandings of student voice differ depending on national and institutional settings as well as students’ social backgrounds and lived experiences. The examples we provided are limited and there are of course many more students and contexts to be explored, for example, raising questions about how student voice or particular student voice practices differ between the global North and the global South and across diverse student backgrounds and university hierarchies. When reflecting on student voice, it is important to question the extent to which enacting one’s voice is available to all students and who is more able to find and exercise their voice. Above all, this edited collection cautions us from homogenizing the concept of student voice but encourages us to treat it with respect, care and nuance. Geographies, Space and Place in Student Voice Work This book was centred around exploring different types and practices of student voice. While tracing and theorizing these practices, the book covered a variety of different geographical locations for student voice work as well as spaces and places within which both student voice is practised and related research conducted. While this book offers a glimpse of these diverse and stimulating settings, it is important to question and explore the extent to which student voice work is spatially and geographically diverse. There are different histories and traditions for students to exercise their voice in different countries, and there are different governance regimes that enable or restrict student voice. As editors, we believe it would be important to explore and deepen our engagement with the geographies of student voice work. Methodological Diversity in Student Voice Research This book has showcased and celebrated different ways to conduct research on student voice. These practices have ranged from desk-based literature reviews and policy analysis to using interactive methods and student-led research. They have also included in-depth case studies of particular institutional or national settings as well as cross-country comparisons. As we have shown with this book, all these methodological approaches are valid and serve a purpose in advancing scholarly understandings of student voice. This book is an invitation for scholars to be creative in their research on student voice, and it also raises an opportunity to be more reflective about how we do student voice research and the extent to which there are methods and approaches that suit best for working with certain student groups or exploring certain types of student voice practices. 5

The Bloomsbury Handbook of Student Voice

Students as Authors and Co-authors With this book, we aimed to involve as many different types of authors as possible, including a number of chapters that have been authored or co-authored by students. Student contributions in this book have been invaluable, enabling the book not only to centre student voice but also to enhance and empower the actual student engagement and voice. As many of the chapters in this book argue, it is essential to consider how students can be empowered to explore their own experiences and practices of student voice and what avenues there are for students to share and publish their work. This handbook is a product of many insightful conversations and new collaborations that have crossed national settings and higher education systems. As editors, we are grateful to all contributors in this book and hope that The Bloomsbury Handbook of Student Voice in Higher Education provides continuing inspiration to develop and advance student voice research and practice.

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PART I

Theorizing Student Voice Introduction CAROLINA GUZMÁN-VALENZUELA

Chapters in Part I examine scholarly debates and historical developments in the concept of student voice from across complementary approaches and disciplines of knowledge (mainly education, philosophy and sociology). Although theories and concepts about students’ voices are generated in specific geographic contexts and time frames, they may help the readers to understand students and their experiences across different contexts and countries. In this sense, it is expected that chapters in Part I will shed light into the specific cases and experiences presented across the different parts contained in this book. Four themes stand out in theorizing student voice: (1) the use of the singular or plural and the possessive idiom (‘student voice’, ‘student voices’, ‘students’ voice’ and ‘students’ voices’); (2) global trends shaping higher education systems and students’ voices; (3) the agency-structure axis; and (4) power relationships. In relation to the first theme, the singular form – ‘student voice’ – has come to be dominant. However, the singular form could unwittingly tend to homogenize a complex matter. Some scholarship in the area, therefore, is using the plural and possessive form – ‘students’ voices’ – to reflect the wide diversity of students. Chapters 1 (Conner), 2 (Guzmán-Valenzuela) and 3 (Darwin) explicitly develop this line of thought, pointing to tensions arising from these terms. The second theme concerns changes evident in higher education systems in shaping the students’ voices. Identifying such changes helps elucidate why student voice, as a concept, has recently gained traction. Massification of higher education across the world has produced a diverse body of students. Both in the global North and the global South, students have become key agents in higher education systems. Although, until recently, students were seen mainly as learners and future professionals in specific disciplines, what it means to be a student today has widened considerably. Not only are students drawn from wide backgrounds and enter at different ages but they are also seen contemporaneously as customers, citizens, social critics, activists, lifelong learners, family members, adults and members of minority groups. They exercise multiple and overlapping roles and take on identities that are broad and stratified. (This matter is elaborated in Chapter 4 by Barnett.) The third theme is that of the agency-structure axis. The concept of ‘voice’ denotes the exercise of some degree of agency on the part of the students regarding their learning, their needs, their expectations and hopes and their future professional careers. The concept can

The Bloomsbury Handbook of Student Voice

also refer to spaces in which students reflect on ways in which they are acquiring and building knowledge and professional skills, to identify unwelcome practices in institutions, to engage in the management and governance of higher education or to become involved in political processes and so form connections with the wider society. The agency dimension in students’ voices is addressed directly or indirectly by all the chapters in this part. Some students, including but not limited to those involved in student unions, may find it comparatively easy to express their agency and so have an evident voice. Others, however, find it difficult to exercise any agency because they feel their voices are powerless and may not even be heard, because they feel discriminated against (consciously or unconsciously), because they simply do not have an interest in publicly exercising their voices or because they want to forge some emotional distance from their institution and focus on obtaining their certification. The expression of students’ voices and its suppression can occur inside the classroom and within or outside the university. Chapters 4 (Barnett), 5 (Esmat) and 6 (Wallin et al.) address these matters. From a broader perspective, global trends in higher education, such as internationalization, quality processes, the marketization and privatization of higher education, the increasing role of digital technologies in acquiring and producing knowledge, global financial crises, competition for institutional prestige and a demanding and competitive labour market all affect the expression of students’ voices. However, this very complexity of worldly forces and structures can also open new spaces in which students can express their voices. For example, in neoliberal contexts where privatization and marketization processes have become significant, students as customers may find a new set of spaces – at once pedagogical, institutional and political – in which to express their voices. Chapters 1 and 2 refer to this issue, which is more specifically developed across Chapters 3 (Darwin), 4 (Barnett) and 5 (Esmat). The fourth theme is that of power relationships, referring to hierarchies in higher education across quite different spaces (e.g. in the classroom setting, in decision-making at all levels in institutions or in the evolution of global forces). The power issue is problematic, not least when higher education policies opt for giving more powers to students in making decisions about their learning, their curricula or other institutional aspects. The main difficulty here is the possible manipulation of students’ voices or the use of students’ voices in a tokenistic way. Such structures might also restrain students’ voices. The issue of power is present in all five chapters and prominent in Chapters 4 (Barnett), 5 (Esmat) and 6 (Wallin et al.).

Overview The first three chapters (those by Conner, Guzmán-Valenzuela and Darwin) provide overviews of the state of the art in the field. These chapters identify theoretical developments, although having different emphases. Conner offers a comprehensive overview of the historical and conceptual developments of the very concept of student voice. Her chapter complements GuzmánValenzuela’s chapter, which offers a state-of-the-art account of the concept through a systematic literature review. In turn, Darwin focuses on the pedagogical context and how students’ voices and evaluations are shaped by metrics. Chapter 4 (Barnett) offers a philosophical and socio-theoretical perspective on students’ voices, pointing to dimensions, spaces and planes that intersect and overlap, so producing a multiplicity of voices. Chapter 5 (Esmat) gives an account of ways in which repressive policies in Egypt 8

Theorizing Student Voice

hinder students’ voices and student subjectivities and forms of activism, while Chapter 6 (Wallin et al.) shows how teachers and students can collaborate and become partners in the pedagogical situation. Chapter 1, by Conner, offers an overview of ‘students’ voice’ from both conceptual and historical perspectives, confirming the slipperiness of the concept. Conner warns against defining ‘student voice’ in a way that essentializes views of students’ voices. Conner argues that ‘student voice’ is an umbrella concept under which self-report (including surveys and partnership), selfadvocacy, student governance or representation and student activism fit, and offers a conceptual framework to map the distinctions among these forms of student voice. Chapter 2, by Guzmán-Valenzuela, provides a systematic literature review of the concept over the past thirty years. Guzmán-Valenzuela identifies key conceptualizations of the term and indicates how the concept has been attached to specific dimensions of secondary school education, an aspect that is also highlighted by Conner in Chapter 1 and Darwin in Chapter 3. Chapter 2 also differentiates ‘student voices’ from two other concepts frequently to be found in the literature, those of student experience and student engagement; all three concepts have been used in countries in the global North and Asia mainly. The chapter also traces different dimensions in the most cited papers on the topic over the past three decades. It concludes that most of the knowledge production on students’ voices has revolved around teaching and learning processes. However, literatures about minoritized students have recently gained traction. In turn, other forms or corollaries of students’ voices have been less explored (such as activism, mental health issues, governance and internationalization). Chapter 3, by Darwin, examines the theoretical evolution of the idea of ‘student experience’ in the context of structural factors. The chapter complements Chapters 1 and 2 by summarizing the historical development of ‘student voices’ with a special focus on student evaluation. Darwin critically examines metrics shaping students’ evaluations. Darwin argues that these indicators are an expression of the power of the global North and associated metrics (e.g. international rankings). In his chapter, Darwin explores how evaluation drivers restrain the very concept of students’ voices through both institutional and national policies in higher education, especially in teaching and learning processes. Darwin concludes by proposing that more holistic and comprehensive forms of students’ voices be encouraged, which might, in turn, promote a more critical engagement by students with their learning. In Chapter 4, Barnett identifies interconnected domains in theorizing students’ voices and how students express their voices in pedagogical situations and activism. The first is internal (revolving around teaching and learning processes), while the second is external and connected to the broader community or wider world. However, the two sets of spaces of voice are interconnected. Barnett highlights the multiplicity of students’ voices, some of which are audible while others are silent, and with some having more power than others, so producing tensions. Amid these tensions, students’ voices might be promoted or suppressed. However, the complexities and supercomplexities of the world call for graduates in particular to possess and express their voices, albeit attuned to the settings in which they find themselves. Finally, Barnett discusses authenticity in students’ voices and the extent to which they can be enacted in totalitarian or marketized environments. In Chapter 5, Esmat discusses Foucaultian notions of subjectivity, power, governmentality and discourse in relation to higher education in Egypt. Esmat argues that, in Egypt, authoritarianism 9

The Bloomsbury Handbook of Student Voice

and neoliberalism have been acting concurrently and reinforce each other with a consequent repression of students’ activism. Esmat notes that the document ‘University Student Code of Ethics’ in Egypt was produced without student representation. By examining quotations from the document, she considers how it and other texts like it have framed students’ subjectivities and produced a technology of normalization and disciplining. At the same time, the document promotes a neoliberal image of agentic students (students as customers), but also one that follows the government rules as a largely submissive and obedient subject. In spite of the current restrictions on students in Egypt in expressing their voices, the author goes on to suggest ways in which new pedagogical spaces might be created so as to promote critical reflections on learning and being a student. In the last chapter in this part, Wallin, Mariussen, Mogstad and Sønderaal embark on the task of writing about students’ voices as a collaborative venture. Drawing on the literature on critical pedagogies, the authors reflect on student voice and issues of power and participation. While reflecting on theories of students’ active participation in learning processes, the chapter portrays participation through co-writing and co-reflection. Wallin et al. also critically reflect on traditional ways of teaching in which teachers share content and students are relatively passive subjects. The chapter reflects on power issues that shape how teachers and students together modulate their voices, while criss-crossed by ambiguity, uncertainty, risk and insecurity. While, traditionally, teachers are framed as experts and the role of student is confined within pedagogical rules and codes, ambiguity and tensions are bound to emerge in environments of active learning. These tensions, although challenging and sometimes uncomfortable, open spaces for reflection and partnerships. These six chapters constitute an overview of theoretical developments in relation to ‘students’ voices’ that will guide readers in distinguishing the main conceptual traditions in the field. They also offer examples that instantiate the theories in specific contexts where students are pictured as active learners and citizens.

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1

Student Voice: An Overview and Orientation JERUSHA CONNER

College and university students typically enjoy greater educational autonomy than their younger counterparts. They have the freedom to choose their courses, to set their schedules and to decide which co-curricular events, if any, to attend. Despite this greater degree of agency, they continue to have little say in how their classrooms, departments or institutions function. Student opinions may be sought on satisfaction surveys or in course evaluations, a token student or two may play an advisory role on a committee and student organizations may have authority over small programming budgets; however, rarely are students substantively engaged in establishing or revising policy or practice at the classroom, institutional or systems level. Nonetheless, at some higher education institutions (HEIs), students are challenging these norms, asserting their agency to shape the learning environment for themselves and their peers. They are leveraging existing structures, like student unions; participating in innovative programmes, like pedagogical partnerships; and turning to student activism to communicate their priorities and catalyse change. Through these actions, they are claiming a legitimate perspective, presence, and role in educational decision-making (Cook-Sather 2006). In other words, they are exercising student voice. In this chapter, I present an overview of the state of the field of student voice. I begin by tracing the emergence of the term ‘student voice’ in the literature and exploring the various meanings scholars ascribe to it, noting that it remains a contested and slippery concept. From there, I discuss three core debates in the field, review what is known about student voice and delineate key limitations in the existing research base that preclude a more holistic understanding of the varied means by which students are speaking up to share their perspectives and call for or create change in their HEIs. I then introduce a framework for theorizing student voice, which offers a conceptual berth for this handbook.

The Emergence of Student Voice in the Literature As one of the purest expressions of student voice, student activism has a long history, one which has been traced back to the advent of the medieval university in Europe in the early thirteenth century (Boren 2001).1 Despite this rich tradition of student expression, the terminology of ‘student voice’ did not emerge in educational research until 1978 in the United States, when a special issue of Educational Review was devoted to the topic. Scholars, however, have argued that the roots of student voice stretch back further in many Western countries to the progressive,

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constructivist and democratic schooling movements during the 1890s, 1920s and 1940s, each of which prioritized students’ interests and agency as learners (Rudduck and Fielding 2006). The term then surfaced again in the early-1990s, when scholars in the United States, Canada and UK began observing that students’ perspectives on their experiences as learners were notably lacking from the research base but could prove informative to school improvement efforts (e.g. Fullan 1991; Kozol 1991; Nieto 1994). Support for taking the perspectives and insights of students seriously also came from the 1989 United Nations Convention on the Rights of the Child (UNCRC). Cook-Sather has observed that Articles 12 and 13 of the UNCRC ‘gave legal and/or ethical weight to student voice’ (2018: 20), as they articulated the rights of the child not only to express freely their views on all matters affecting them but also to have these views given ‘due weight’ and consideration, in accordance with their age and maturity. Given the powerful international warrant of the UNCRC, it is not surprising that the early and mid-1990s witnessed the development and documentation of several innovative programmes designed to position students as partners or leaders in educational change initiatives in the UK (Fielding 2001a, 2001b; Rudduck, Chaplin and Wallace 1996), Canada (Bryant, Lee and Levin 1997; Earl et al. 2003), Australia (Holdsworth 2000) and even in the United States (Campbell, Edgar and Halsted 1994; Cook-Sather 2002; Mitra 2001; SooHoo 1993), which remains the only nation not to have ratified the UNCRC. Building from this early foundation, research on student voice has proliferated in ensuing decades. Most of this work has focused on the secondaryschool setting (Gonzalez, Hernandez-Saca and Artiles 2017). As Guzmán Valenzuela shows in Chapter 2, student voice research in the tertiary setting has trailed behind the pioneering work on student voice in secondary schools; however, research on student voice in higher education has started to take off in recent years.

The Meaning of Student Voice As the student voice research base has expanded, critiques of the field have steadily mounted, not the least of which is definitional. What counts as ‘student voice’? Some theorists, for example, have wondered whether student silences or non-verbal communication should be included in studies of student voice (e.g. Seale et al. 2015; Spyrou 2016) and whether by privileging voice as spoken utterances, researchers are neglecting other important forms of student communication and feedback. Other scholars have challenged the use of the singular term ‘voice’, drawing attention to the problematic underlying assumption that all students speak in unison (Lygo-Baker, Kinschin and Winstone 2019). Indeed, the potential essentialization of student voice has long been viewed as an issue in the field (Cook-Sather 2006; Fielding 2004; Silva 2001), and scholars continue to caution against viewing student voice as monolithic (Okupe and Medland 2019). This emphasis on plurality in student voice relates to wider attempts to challenge the homogenizing view of student experience as normative and singular (Pötschulat, Moran and James 2021). A random sampling of recent articles and book chapters shows that scholars continue to bound the term ‘student voice’ in different ways. For example, Brasof and Levitan argue that student voice ‘is the involvement of young people in school and community leadership to ensure that youth can inform, participate in, and/or lead the decisions that impact them on a daily basis’ (2022: 1). While this definition does allow different roles for students, ranging from informing to leading, it does not specify the nature or scope of the decisions they are seeking to influence, 12

Student Voice: An Overview

apart from their everyday effect on young people. Similarly, Chukwuere asserts, ‘The ability of the students to coordinate and organise their concerns, ideas, opinions, and voice into one can be regarded as student voice’ (2021: 150). Under these two conceptualizations, youth involved in climate justice organizing, trying to inform national policy decisions about transitioning to a green economy, might be seen as exemplifying student voice. Other definitions, by contrast, specify a narrower context for student voice and work to distinguish it from youth voice. Hosein and Rao, for example, define ‘student voice as avenues via which students’ opinions and needs are taken into consideration within universities’ (2019: 77). Here, students engaged in climate justice organizing would be seen as exercising student voice if they were speaking to their universities about sustainability policies on campus and if their universities were in some way showing ‘consideration’ of their perspectives. Matthews and Dollinger (2022) also foreground the educational nature of the decisions students are trying to influence through their expressions of voice, when they explain, ‘The argument that students have an authentic and valuable voice in the decisions that impact their learning and education has become a phenomenon known as “student voice” ’ (2022: 1). Under this definition, it could be argued that an HEI’s sustainability practices, policies and rhetoric do reflect decisions that impact students’ education and so campus climate organizing signifies student voice insofar as these links can be made. In short, the field has not yet arrived at a consensus regarding what counts as student voice or how to define it. Although academic concepts are always problematized and refined as a field grows, the array of definitions and conceptualizations of student voice can create confusion not only among scholars but also among practitioners and those who seek to educate or support them. Recently, Conner concluded that because the teachers in her study understood ‘the term “student voice” to mean different things, it is possible that when administrators or teacher educators encourage teachers to amplify and embrace student voice, their exhortations may be interpreted in a very different way than intended’ (2021: 22). When it does not cohere around a shared definition or set of guiding principles, the field allows student voice to become a fuzzy concept. Pearce and Wood contend, ‘Student voice has taken on many meanings and is used to fill a range of largely ideological purposes’ (2019: 114). Without commonly agreed upon core tenets and clear boundaries, student voice risks ‘becoming a “buzz term” that loses much of its original meaning’, as Hadfield and Haw forewarned nearly two decades ago, when student voice research was still in its infancy (2001: 485). Indeed, many scholars have noted the heavy conceptual overlap between student voice and other constructs, such as ‘student agency’, ‘youth-adult partnerships’ and ‘participation’. Alison Cook-Sather, a leading scholar of student voice and pedagogical partnership, has argued that ‘there can be no simple, fixed definition or explication of the term’ (2006: 363); however, in more recent work, she has clarified: ‘From the outset, the term “student voice” aimed to signal not only the literal sound of students’ words as they began to inform educational planning, research and reform but also the collective contribution of diverse students’ presence, participation and power in those processes’ (2018: 18). This reminder is helpful for several reasons. First, CookSather draws attention to students’ ‘words’, whether spoken or written, but communicated nonetheless. Second, she specifies that it is their words about educational matters that are of interest. This adjective offers vital boundary setting. Third, her use of the phrase ‘diverse students’ indicates the field’s interest in and commitment to hearing a heterogeneity of voices, including the contributions of students from marginalized or under-represented backgrounds. Finally, the 13

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reference to students’ power, whether they are informing or participating in educational decisionmaking, speaks to a fundamental aspect of this work, discussed further on.

Three Key Debates in the Field In addition to the definitional challenges reviewed earlier on, three related issues currently preoccupy the student voice field: power, participation in student voice research and purpose. The first and longest standing issue in the field is that of power. Power shapes all enactments of student voice. After all, educational institutions are built on strict power hierarchies that position administrators at the top, educators and staff in the middle and students at the bottom. While disrupting these power dynamics is a goal of student voice, the extent to which inherent power imbalances between youth and adults in educational settings can ever be truly overcome remains a matter of debate. Biddle and Hufnagel (2019), for example, find that even teachers who deeply support student voice and participate in joint decision-making with students can unwittingly resort to tone policing, persuading the group that certain student perspectives should be filtered out rather than shared with school community because they will be too upsetting or demoralizing to faculty and staff to hear. Even student voice programmes designed to put students on an equal footing as adults may suffer implementation deficits due to deeply entrenched cultural norms, including students’ valid fears of retribution for challenging or contradicting adults in authority positions. However, not all instantiations of power are harmful. ‘We must exercise caution and take care not to view power … as only problematic or repressive’ (Jones and Hall 2022: 575). Power can be used negatively to suppress or silence certain voices, but it can also be used positively to facilitate and amplify voices. One prominent scholar of student voice, Dana Mitra (2018) has long argued that the more empowered educators are, the more likely they will be to empower students through student voice practices. In addition to those between adult-student, student-student power dynamics can prove consequential to the full-throated expression of student voice. Here, power intersects with questions of access, representation, identity and inclusion. Who gets to speak for whom? Whose voices get heard? When students elect their peers to representative positions, they may replicate certain patterns of participation. For example, it is known that mature students, ethnic minority students and students with disabilities are less likely to stand for elections for representative roles (McStravock 2022). Furthermore, Matthews and Dollinger note that ‘highly engaged students participate in elected and selected systems of student representation’ (2022: 10). By contrast, these authors contend that student partnership programmes enable ‘a broader inclusion of students’, including those who ‘have been the least well-served in the educational systems’ because giving opportunity to such students is a priority of the programme designers. In a seminal piece on a student voice programme that purposefully brought together students of different social backgrounds and identities, Silva (2001) documented how power differentials among students led more privileged students to take charge and sideline their peers, who were Englishlanguage learners, on the grounds that they were less effective speakers and therefore less likely to persuade administrators. Power remains a ‘recurrent theme’ in the student voice literature, and ‘sometimes the best we can do is make explicit the power dynamics in any given situation’ (Cook-Sather 2018: 30). 14

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A second, albeit related, issue in the field has to do with research methods and authorship. Power plays a role here too, shaping the ways in which student voice research is conceived and conducted. Who formulates the research questions, chooses the research setting and methods, carries out data collection, interprets the data and reports on the findings? Lyons, MacCanell and Gold (2022) observe that both topically and methodologically, the vast majority of studies on student voice tend to position students as data sources who share their perspectives or perceptions of their experiences as learners, rather than as co-researchers and co-constructors of knowledge. Cognizant of the irony of this finding, they call for more research on student voice to include students as co-creators. Although Groundwater-Smith and Mockler (2015) identify a shift in this very direction in student voice research produced between 1990 and 2015, their review is limited to articles in a journal with a participatory action research bent, Educational Action Research. Reflecting on the evolution of the field of student voice, Cook-Sather (2018) similarly asserts that research with, rather than on, students is becoming more common; however, she and others (e.g. Brasof and Levin 2022; Mercer-Mapstone et al. 2017) make plain that such approaches have not yet become the default among student voice scholars. A third issue in the field concerns the purpose of student voice practices. Many scholars have expressed concern about the potential for student voice, particularly in a neoliberal or marketized education system, to be co-opted for purely instrumental, managerial or quality assurance purposes (Czerniawski and Kidd 2011; Jones and Hall 2022; Mockler and Groundwater-Smith 2015). Course evaluations, satisfaction surveys and other feedback mechanisms are seen as serving narrowly conceived, management-driven agendas. Such formulations position students as consumers, and in some cases as commodities, rather than as valued partners in educational decision-making, who can bring their full selves to the table (Raaper 2023). Furthermore, Pearce and Wood warn that the growth of student voice initiatives in the context of performativity and school reform agendas risks reinforcing inequality (2019: 117). Raaper (2023) explains how measures designed to capture student interest or satisfaction have a homogenization effect that obfuscates the needs and interests of a diverse student population. Although the marketization of higher education has helped accelerate interest in student voice, the voice being sought tends to be highly constrained and devoid of nuance (Hosein and Rao 2019; Okupe and Medland 2019; Tomlinson 2017). The instrumental rationale for student voice is often contrasted with a rights-based or democratic rationale. For example, Matthews and Dollinger note the tensions in student voice research ‘between managerialist approaches for quality assurance and sociopolitical commitments to democracy and citizenship’ (2022: 3). In their review of the literature, MüllerKuhn and colleagues (2021) found that student voice is most often discussed in the context of democratic education, and Kahne and colleagues assert, ‘Proponents of student voice often take as a starting point the premise that listening and responding to youth when they raise concerns is fundamentally important in a democratic society’ (2022: 393). Despite their widespread appeal, both the rights-based and the democratic warrants for student voice have been variously critiqued. Cook-Sather cautions that ‘if a rights framework is not combined with genuine respect for all parties involved and intentional structures to support collective action by adults and young people, which includes student empowerment, then the result can be empty rhetoric – claims not acted on in practice’ (2018: 21). In addition to the risk of weak follow-through, democratic and rights-based frames have been faulted by scholars for 15

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being overly romantic (Lundy 2007; Spyrou 2016), too redolent of consumer rights (Raaper 2023) and not compelling enough to galvanize widespread adoption. For example, Kahne and colleagues write, ‘Unfortunately, the democratic rationale for promoting youth voice has not provided sufficient impetus for educational institutions to implement significant student voice policy or reform’ (2022: 394). In many nations around the world, there seems to be a disconnect between their support for children and youth’s rights as enshrined in the UNCRC and their on-the-ground practices of engaging students substantively in educational decision-making. In addition to the instrumental school improvement or quality assurance purpose and the democratic or rights-based rationales, scholars have proffered a third warrant for engaging student voice: equity. The argument goes: hearing directly from those who are least well served about what they experience as the shortcomings in their classrooms and schools and engaging them as partners in educational reform work will catalyse more effective institutional change than would improvement efforts undertaken without their involvement. Rather than expecting students to acclimate to educational settings that were never built for them, the educational settings become responsive to these students and their needs, interests and aspirations. Much of the student voice research to date has been interested in amplifying the voices of marginalized students (Gonzalez, Hernandez-Saca and Artiles 2017). Furthermore, many student voice initiatives, specifically partnerships and activism, are undertaken with equity intentions at their core; however, whether the students involved should be compensated for their labour on behalf of their institutions remains a matter of some contention. Similarly, the risks that the voices of marginalized students may become tokenized or co-opted by the institutions demand consideration. Scholars continue to wrestle with not only how best to frame the purpose of student voice work but also how to actualize it.

What Is Known about Student Voice The rapid expansion of student voice research over the past thirty years has made it possible to conduct literature reviews that synthesize findings across studies and build the knowledge base of the field. In the past decade, at least eleven literature reviews of student voice (or closely related concepts, such as ‘student participation in decision making at school’ and ‘students as partners’) have been published. Though not all of these reviews are described by their authors as systematic, and only some authors reference the inclusion and exclusion criteria they used to select articles, collectively, these reviews highlight the growing breadth and complexity of the field. Some of these reviews are conducted with the intent of building models or defining certain characteristics of student voice (e.g. Conner 2015; Matthews and Dollinger, 2022; Müller-Kuhn et al. 2021; Pearce and Wood 2019). Others aim to describe the nature of the research base (Gonzalez, Hernandez-Saca and Artiles 2017; Lyons, MacCanell and Gold 2022). Still others review what is known about the implementation and outcomes of student voice initiatives (e.g. Groundwater-Smith and Mockler 2015; Laux 2018; Mager and Nowalk 2012; Mercer-Mapstone et al. 2017; Mitra, 2018). Further on, I draw on these reviews to identify trends in the extant literature. The literature reviews that strive to make advances in the conceptualization of student voice tend to propose new frameworks to explicate or map the concept. For example, Conner (2015) delineates the boundaries between student voice and five fields in which the language of student 16

Student Voice: An Overview

voice is common: student leadership, student activism and organizing, youth-led participatory action research, service-learning and student journalism and media expression. Similarly, MüllerKuhn and colleagues (2021) identify five contexts in which student voice is discussed: democratic education, children’s rights, well-being, learning and school practice. They then distil three core characteristics of student participation and student voice: considering others, power dynamics and change resulting from participation. Matthews and Dollinger (2022) elucidate key differences between two commonly discussed student voice practices: partnerships and representation, along the axes of access and responsibility. Pearce and Wood (2019), meanwhile, use their literature review to suggest that the core characteristics of transformative student voice are that it is dialogic, intergenerational, collective and inclusive, and transgressive. The two literature reviews that aim to describe the methods and foci of extant student voice research arrive at similar conclusions, even though one (Gonzalez, Hernandez-Saca and Artiles 2017) is limited to student voice in primary and secondary schooling while the other (Lyons, MacCanell and Gold 2022) includes studies from higher education. Both find that the research base is predominantly qualitative, with a heavy reliance on case studies in a single site.2 Gonzalez, Hernandez-Saca and Artiles (2017) additionally find that research in secondary schools vastly outpaces research in primary school settings. The forty-nine articles in their sample can be categorized by their focus on one of three main topics: student empowerment (63 percent), school change (59 percent) or teaching and learning the curriculum (20 percent). Unlike Gonzalez and colleagues (2017), Lyons, MacCanell and Gold (2022) do not limit their review to the U.S. context, but they find the research tends to be conducted in Western contexts, specifically in the United States, the UK, Australia and New Zealand. (These findings are echoed in Guzmán Valenzuela’s literature review in Chapter 2). While Gonzalez and colleagues find that the majority of studies centre the voices of low-income (75 percent) and racially minoritized students and conclude that ‘student voice research is rapidly opening up spaces and capacities for racial and ethnic historically marginalized youth to play key roles in school change’ (2017: 451), Lyons, MacCanell and Gold (2022) find that only one-third of the studies in their review mention the students’ socioeconomic status and only one-quarter mention their race. The literature reviews that synthesize findings across studies pay more attention to the outcomes of student voice than to the implementation factors or enabling conditions; however, four literature reviews separate out findings according to specific strategies and structures. Mager and Nowalk (2012) identify five mechanisms facilitating student participation in decision-making: student councils or unions, working groups, classroom decision-making structures, school-level decisionmaking structures and a combination of these. They find the strongest evidence for student councils and classroom decision-making. Although her review focuses on student voice in the science classroom, Laux (2018) similarly highlights the facilitative role of classroom decisionmaking, especially around collectively determining topics of study. Groundwater-Smith and Mockler (2015) discuss the use of reflective writing in the higher education classroom and the development of partnerships between students and teachers, including examples from primary and tertiary contexts. Mercer-Mapstone and colleagues’ (2017) entire review focuses on students as partners and identifies reciprocity as a core feature of effective partnerships. With regard to outcomes, there is a high degree of overlap across reviews. In general, the reviews suggest that benefits from student voice accrue to both students and faculty. For students, the positive outcomes associated with participating in student voice programmes include stronger 17

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agency, motivation and engagement (Laux 2018; Mercer-Mapstone et al. 2017; Mitra 2018), improved learning (Mercer-Mapstone et al. 2017; Mitra 2018), a stronger sense of (disciplinary) identity (Laux 2018; Mercer-Mapstone et al. 2017) and improved student-teacher relationships (Laux 2018; Mercer-Mapstone et al. 2017). Although Mager and Nowalk (2012) found insufficient evidence of effects on educators, within five years both Mitra (2018) and MercerMapstone and colleagues (2017) were able to identify benefits to faculty, including increased motivation for teaching and revised thinking about instruction, inquiry processes and students. In addition to the benefits, Mercer-Mapstone and colleagues identify a handful of studies that acknowledge the negative effects of engaging in partnership for both faculty and staff, and they call for more research to highlight the challenges and complexities that may give rise to such outcomes. Compared to students and faculty, there is less evidence pertaining to how student voice may benefit institutions; however, some positive outcomes noted in these reviews include improved school culture and ethos as well as greater equity and inclusion (Mager and Nowalk 2012; Mitra 2018). Importantly, only two of the eleven reviews discussed earlier on focus exclusively on the higher education context. This relative paucity in the research base may reflect the fact that the concept of student voice has been slower to gain traction in higher education than in secondaryschool settings (Cook-Sather 2018), or it may be a function of the fact that student voice in higher education tends to go by different names, such as partnership, representation, governance, politics and activism. Indeed, only one of the two higher education specific reviews discussed earlier on uses the language of student voice (e.g. Matthews and Dollinger 2022). The scarcity of higher education within the student voice research base signifies a notable gap, one which this handbook attempts to fill.

A Conceptual Framework for Student Voice While bearing in mind the essential hallmarks of student voice (e.g. that students’ perspectives on their experiences as students are conveyed to decision-makers with the goal of driving educational change), I identify two core dimensions of student voice: whether students are speaking for themselves or for their peers and whether their voice is invited and authorized by the institution or asserted in the absence of such invitations. Grouping instantiations of student voice along these two dimensions allows us to name four broad types of student voice: self-report, selfadvocacy, representation/governance and activism (see Table 1.1.). Certainly, there may be some bleeding across the lines drawn in Table 1.1; however, I believe that this framework provides a useful orientation to four of the most commonly heard forms of student voice, particularly in higher education. TABLE 1.1  Conceptual Framework of Student Voice

Voice Is Invited

Voice Is Asserted

Speak for self

Self-report   • Surveys/data sources   • Partnership

Self-advocacy

Speak for others

Representation

Activism

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In self-report, students speak about their own experiences and share their individual perspectives in forums that are institutionally sanctioned. Such forums could include student satisfaction surveys and course evaluations, or they could include pedagogical partnership programmes, in which a student works closely with a faculty member as a consultant to help strengthen their instructional practice. Clearly, the purpose and structure of these two student voice practices vary markedly, but both are grounded in an institutional interest in seeking students’ accounts of their own experiences. Scholars of partnership have stressed the importance of honouring individual students’ perspectives and not conflating student partnership with representation (Matthews and Dollinger 2022). As Cook-Sather and Graham (2023) observe, partnership requires ‘not assuming that any individual student perspective is representative of all but rather embracing differences as sources of insight’. Self-report is sometimes dismissed in the student voice literature as a ‘low-level’ form of student voice that positions students only as data sources (Lyons, MacCanell and Gold 2022; Mockler and Groundwater Smith 2015). However, the critical role self-report plays in partnership, where it supports the development of deep, reciprocal relationships that build the capacity for pedagogical or curricular change, demonstrates its transformative power and potential when embedded in a structure that values nuance, depth and understanding. When students take the initiative to speak up only for themselves and their individual needs, without institutional inducement, they engage in self-advocacy. Unlike self-report, their self-advocacy is not systematically sought by the institution, even though it may be wellreceived. For example, students may use the resources of Learning Support Offices to secure accommodations from professors (see Bialka [Chapter 7], this volume). Additionally, students may avail themselves of student complaints procedures, which universities have established to manage student concerns and dissatisfactions (Harris 2018). Both self-advocacy and activism arise from student agency and initiative, rather than institutional invitations to participate in decision-making structures. Student activism can but does not have to converge with representative organizations of students such as unions, associations and clubs (Della Porta, Cini and Guzmán-Concha 2020). Student organizations with an activist bent may be institutionally recognized, and even permitted to manage small programming budgets, but institutional officials do not generally encourage students in these groups to engage in protests against their universities. As Klemenčič (2020) argues, student activism is ‘unpopular and at best tolerated in many university contexts around the world’. Particularly when they challenge their modus operandi, student activists pose reputational risks to their HEIs and are viewed as problematic actors. Despite sharing a basis in student initiative and a willingness to make demands of their institutions, self-advocacy and activism differ with regard to their intended beneficiaries. Put differently, ‘the key difference between activism and advocacy … relates to the level of change on which they focus. Self-advocacy refers to a person advocating for change at the level of their individual self, while activism is focused on creating change at the broader community level for the collective benefit of a group or groups of people’ (Smith, Sheen and Christensen 2020: 3). Where the self-advocate acts out of self-interest and speaks only for themself, the activist sets out to benefit themself and others and therefore embodies a broader collective interest. Finally, representation involves students participating in institutionally recognized governance structures and speaking on behalf of their peers, representing the ‘interests of the entire student 19

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body to the leaders of high education institutions, its subunits, such as academic departments, national authorities and other higher education stakeholders’ (Klemenčič 2020: 4). According to Klemenčič, both student activists and students in representative leadership roles ‘enact civic agency, which refers to student capabilities to act in collective interest toward common good’ (2020: 1; emphasis in original); however, unlike student activists, who may be ignored or suppressed by institutional officials, representative student leaders typically have some degree of legitimacy, if not a seat at the table. Students in representative roles are not perceived as activists, but as stakeholders, partners or citizens/democratic agents (Boland 2005; Luescher-Mamashela 2013). ‘In some countries, students have the right to elect rectors (equivalent of university presidents) and hold a share of votes on key academic decision bodies (such as the senate or university board). Elsewhere, student representatives are merely consulted by the administrators or academic decision bodies and student views are considered at the discretion of these bodies’ (Klemenčič 2020: 4). The framework of student voice introduced in Table 1.1 can help clarify the intersections and distinctions among the four broad types of student voice heard in higher education today and discussed throughout this handbook: self-report, self-advocacy, activism and representation. These varied forms of student voice all hold potential to impact higher education practices, improve the quality of education and even challenge and inform educational policy systems. Each deserves and demands an attentive audience.

Acknowledgement I would like to thank my talented co-editors, Rille Rapper, Launa Gauthier and Carolina GuzmánValenzuela, for their thoughtful feedback on an earlier draft of this chapter.

Notes 1 For example, the 1960–5 newspaper of the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee (SNCC), the student arm of the Civil Rights Movement in the United States, was called ‘The Student Voice’. 2 Mercer-Mapstone and colleagues (2017) similarly find this to be the case in their review of the student partnership literature.

References Biddle, C., and E. Hufnagel (2019), ‘Navigating the “Danger Zone”: Tone Policing and the Boundaries of Civility in Student Voice’, American Journal of Education, 125 (4): 487–520. Boland, J. A. (2005), ‘Student Participation in Shared Governance: A Means of Advancing Democratic Values?’ Tertiary Education and Management, 11 (3): 199–217. Boren, M. (2001), Student Resistance: A History of the Unruly Subject, New York: Routledge. Brasof, M., and J. Levitan (eds) (2022), Student Voice Research: Theory, Methods and Innovations from the Field, New York: Teacher College. Bryant, C., L. E. Lee and B. Levin (1997), ‘Developing Student Voice: A Follow-Up Study with Students as Researchers’. Paper presented at the Annual Meeting of the American Educational Research Association, Chicago. Campbell, P., S. Edgar and A. Halsted (1994), ‘Students as Evaluators’, Phi Delta Kappan, 76 (2): 160–5.

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Chukwuere, J. E. (2021), ‘Student Voice in an Extended Curriculum Programme in the Era of Social Media: A Systematic Review of Academic Literature’, International Journal of Higher Education, 10 (1): 147–56. Conner, J. (2015), ‘Student Voice: A Field Coming of Age’. Youth Voice Journal, 5. http://youthv​oice​ jour​nal.com/2015/08/12/jeru​sha-o-con​ner-2015-stud​ent-voice-a-field-com​ing-of-age/ (accessed 23 October 2022). Conner, J. (2021), ‘ “Educators” Experiences with Student Voice: How Teachers Understand, Solicit, and Use Student Voice in Their Classrooms’, Teachers and Teaching, 28 (1): 12–25. doi: 10.1080/13540602.2021.2016689. Cook-Sather, A. (2002), ‘Teachers-to-Be Learning from Students-Who-Are: Reconfiguring Undergraduate Teacher Preparation’, in Sam M. Intrator (ed.), Stories of the Courage to Teach: Honoring the Teacher’s Heart, 230–41, San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass. Cook-Sather, A. (2006), ‘Sound, Presence, Power: Student Voice in Educational Research and Reform’, Curriculum Inquiry, 36 (4): 359–90. Cook-Sather, A. (2018), ‘Tracing the Evolution of Student Voice in Educational Research’, in R. Bourke and J. Loveridge (eds), Radical Collegiality through Student Voice, 17–38, Singapore: Springer. Cook-Sather, A., and E. Graham (2023), ‘Student Leadership: Working within, between, and beyond Institutional Structures’, in P. A. Woods, A. Roberts, M. Tian and H. Youngs (eds), Handbook of Leadership in Education, Cheltenham, UK: Elgar Publishing. Czerniawski, G., and W. Kidd (2011), The Student Voice Handbook: Bridging the Academic/Practitioner Divide, Bingley: Emerald. Della Porta, D., L. Cini and C. Guzmán-Concha (2020), Contesting Higher Education: Student Movements against Neoliberal Universities, Bristol: Policy Press. Earl, L., N. Torrance, S. Sutherland, M. Fullan and A. Ali (2003), Manitoba School Improvement Program: Final Evaluation Report, Toronto: The Ontario Institute for Studies in Education, University of Toronto. Fielding, M. (2001a), ‘Beyond the Rhetoric of Student Voice. New Departures or New Constraints in the Transformation of 21st Century Schooling’, Forum, 43 (2), 100–10. Fielding, M. (2001b), ‘Students as Radical Agents of Change’, Journal of Educational Change, 2: 123–41. Fielding, M. (2004). ‘Transformative Approaches to Student Voice: Theoretical Underpinnings, Recalcitrant Realities’, British Educational Research Journal, 30 (2): 295–311. Fullan, M. (1991), The New Meaning of Educational Change, New York: Teachers College Press. Gonzalez, T. E., D. I. Hernandez-Saca and A. J. Artiles (2017), ‘In Search of Voice: Theory and Methods in K-12 Student Voice Research in the US, 1990–2010’, Educational Review, 69 (4): 451–73. Groundwater-Smith, S., and N. Mockler (2015), ‘From Data Source to Co-researchers? Tracing the Shift from “Student Voice” To Student–Teacher Partnerships in Educational Action Research’, Educational Action Research, 24 (2): 159–76. Hadfield, M., and K. Haw (2001), ‘Voice, Young People, and Action Research’, Educational Action Research, 9: 485–99. Harris, N. (2018), ‘Resolution of Student Complaints in Higher Education Institutions’, Legal Studies, 27 (4): 566–603. Holdsworth, R. (2000), ‘Schools That Create Real Roles of Value for Young People’, Prospects, 30 (3): 349–62. Hosein, A., and N. Rao (2019), ‘International Student Voices: What and Where Are They?’ in S. LygoBaker, I. M. Kinchin and N. E. Winstone (eds), Engaging Student Voices in Higher Education: Diverse Perspectives and Expectations in Partnership (77–88), London: Palgrave Macmillan. Jones, M.-A., and V. Hall (2022), ‘Redefining Student Voice: Applying the Lens of Critical Pragmatism’, Oxford Review of Education, 48 (5): 570–86. Kahne, J., B. Boywer, J. Marshall, and E. Hodgin (2022), ‘Is Responsiveness to Student Voice Related to Academic Outcomes? Strengthening the Rationale for Student Voice in School Reform’, American Journal of Education, 128 (3): 389–415.

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Klemenčič, M. (2020), ‘Student Activism and Student Organizations’, in M. E. David and M. J. Amey (eds), The SAGE Encyclopedia of Higher Education, 1407–11, Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications. Kozol, J. (1991), Savage Inequalities: Children in America’s Schools, New York: Harper Perennial. Laux, K. (2018), ‘A Theoretical Understanding of the Literature on Student Voice in the Science Classroom’, Research in Science & Technological Education, 36 (1): 111–29. Luescher-Mamashela, T. M. (2013), ‘Student Representation in University Decision Making: Good Reasons, A New Lens?’, Studies in Higher Education, 38 (10): 1442–56. Lundy, L. (2007), ‘Voice is Not Enough: Conceptualizing Article 12 of the United Nations Convention on the Rights of the Child’, British Educational Research Journal, 33 (6): 927–42. Lygo-Baker, S., I. M. Kinchin and N. E. Winstone (eds), (2019), Engaging Student Voices in Higher Education: Diverse Perspectives and Expectations in Partnership, London: Palgrave Macmillan. Lyons, L., E. MacCannell and V. Gold (2022), ‘Student Voice: Assessing Research in the Field’, in M. Brasof and J. Levitan (eds), Student Voice Research: Theory, Methods and Innovations from the Field, Chapter 5, New York: Teacher College Press. Mager, U., and P. Nowak (2012), ‘Effects of Student Participation in Decision-making at School: A Systematic Review and Synthesis of Empirical Research’, Educational Research Review, 7 (1): 38–61. Matthews, K. E., and M. Dollinger (2022), ‘Student Voice in Higher Education: The Importance of Distinguishing Student Representation and Student Partnership’, Higher Education. https://doi. org/10.1007/s10​734-022-00851-7. McStravock, K. (2022), ‘We Cannot Be Who We Cannot See: Exploring the Extent to Which Students’ Union Officers Can Be Truly Representative of an Increasingly Diverse Student Body’, All Ireland Journal of Higher Education, 14 (1): 1–15. Mercer-Mapstone, L., S. L. Dvorakova, K. E. Matthews, S. Abbot, B. Cheng, B. and P. Felten (2017), ‘A Systematic Literature Review of Students as Partners in Higher Education,’ International Journal for Students as Partners, 1 (1). https://doi.org/10.15173/ijsap.v1i1.3119 (accessed 23 October 2023). Mitra, D. (2001), ‘Opening the Floodgates: Giving Students a Voice in School Reform’, Forum, 43 (2): 91–4. Mitra, D. (2018). ‘Student Voice in Secondary Schools: The Possibility for Deeper Change’, Journal of Educational Administration, 56 (5): 473–87. doi:10.1108/JEA-01-2018-0007. Mockler, N., and S. Groundwater-Smith (2015), Engaging with Student Voice in Research, Education and Community: Beyond Legitimation and Guardianship, Dordrecht, The Netherlands: Springer International. Müller-Kuhn, D., E. Zala-Mezö, J. Häbig, N. C. Strauss and P. Herzig (2021), ‘Five Contexts and Three Characteristics of Student Participation and Student Voice – A Literature Review’, International Journal of Student Voice, 9. Nieto, S. (1994), ‘Lessons from Students on Creating a Chance to Dream’, Harvard Educational Review, 64: 392–426. Okupe, A., and E. Medland (2019), ‘Pluralising Student Voices: Evaluating Teaching Practice’, in S. LygoBaker, I. M. Kinchin and N. E. Winstone (eds), Engaging Student Voices in Higher Education: Diverse Perspectives and Expectations in Partnership, 261–77. London: Palgrave Macmillan. Pearce, T. C., and B. E. Wood (2019), ‘Education for Transformation: An Evaluative Framework to Guide Student Voice Work in Schools’, Critical Studies in Education, 60 (1): 113–30, doi: 10.1080/17508487.2016.1219959. Pötschulat, M., M. Moran and P. Jones (2021), ‘ “The Student Experience” and the Remaking of Contemporary Studenthood: A Critical Intervention’, The Sociological Review, 69 (1): 3–20. Raaper, R. (2023), Student Identity and Political Agency: Activism, Representation and Consumer Rights. London: Routledge. Rudduck, J., and M. Fielding (2006), ‘Student Voice and the Perils of Popularity’, Educational Review, 58 (2): 219–31.

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Rudduck, J., R. Chaplin and G. Wallace (eds) (1996), School Improvement: What Can Pupils Tell Us? London: Fulton. Seale, J., S. Gibson, J. Haynes and A. Potter (2015), ‘Power and Resistance: Reflections on the Rhetoric and Reality of Using Participatory Methods to Promote Student Voice and Engagement in Higher Education’, Journal of Further and Higher Education, 39 (4), 534–52. Silva, E. (2001), ‘“Squeaky Wheels and Flat Tires”: A Case Study of Students as Reform Participants’, Forum, 43 (2): 95–9. Smith, B. K, J. C. Sheen and K. Christensen. (2020), ‘Activism among College Students with Disabilities and the Move Beyond Compliance to Full Inclusion’, Review of Disability Studies: An International Journal, 16 (2): 1–19. SooHoo, S. (1993), ‘Students as Partners in Research and Restructuring Schools’, The Educational Forum, 57 (Summer): 386–93. Spyrou, S. (2016), ‘Researching Children’s Silences: Exploring the Fullness of Voice in Childhood Research’, Childhood, 23 (1): 7–21. Tomlinson, M. (2017), ‘Student Perceptions of Themselves as “Consumers” of Higher Education’, British Journal of Sociology of Education, 38 (4): 450–67.

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2

Theorizing Students’ Voices: A Critical Literature Review CAROLINA GUZMÁN-VALENZUELA

Until the 1960s in industrialized countries and the 1980s in less developed countries, access to higher education was restricted to a limited group of students (usually from wealthy families) (Altbach, Reisberg and de Wit 2017). Since then, widening participation has become a distinctive trend in higher education in many countries around the world. Greater access to higher education has brought more attention and research on students and their diversity, experiences and needs. Many of these studies have tackled issues such as access, retention, non-completion, learning, inclusion, students’ experiences, mental health, transitions from secondary school to the labour market, social mobility and so on. As a result of both an increase in the number and diversity of students and a wider and higher number of institutions offering a degree in higher education, much research has been focused on the relatively new concepts of ‘the student experience’ (especially in the UK [Baird and Gordon 2009]) and ‘student engagement’ (especially in the United States [Kuh 2009]). Both concepts have been related to students’ academic experiences in higher education institutions. While in the UK the student experience has been especially linked to national policies on quality in higher education and provide information to students to choose higher education institutions, student engagement has been more focused on students and the ways in which higher education institutions facilitate their academic success (Kuh 2009). In this context, the concept of ‘student voice’ has emerged although it seems to be somehow less theoretically developed (Felten et al. 2013; McLeod 2011; Seale 2009). In conducting a literature review on the topic, Seale (2009) found that most of the work around the concept is reported in conference papers and institutional reports – rather than in peer-reviewed articles – and that tended to be more descriptive than evaluative. In her work, Seale (2009) highlighted that students’ voices has two main meanings. On the one hand, meanings associated to students’ learning experiences (including the experiences from minority groups such as international students or mature students, e.g.) and, on the other hand, students’ professional development. Seale (2009) pointed that much of the work around students’ voices seemed to make implicit connections between students’ feedback and reflective practices and the improvement of teaching practices and curriculum development, there being an assumption that students’ feedback would produce changes in curricular and teaching practices as a consequence of staff and lecturers’ reflections on this feedback and a disposition to promote

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The Bloomsbury Handbook of Student Voice

those changes. Consequently, Seale (2009) found that there is an implicit assumption that students would engage more with their learning experiences since they perceive that their feedback is considered and valued as an aid to making pedagogical changes. The aim of this chapter is to examine the current state of the art of the concept of student voice in higher education. Through a systematic literature review, this chapter aims to identify the main patterns of publication around this concept in the past three decades (1992–2021). In addition, it identifies the conceptualizations underpinning the concept, the main methodologies that have been used to investigate it, the contexts in which student voice has been explored and implications for policies. The chapter is organized as follows. First, an overview of the meanings associated with student voice is provided. Second, two interrelated concepts, those of the student experience and student engagement are discussed, followed by a comparison across these three concepts. The next section contains the procedures deployed in conducting this systematic literature review. Then, the main characteristics of the concept of student voice are identified including an overview of the top twenty-five cited articles. The chapter ends with a discussion of the main findings and implications for research and policy.

Student Voice The concept of ‘voice’ has several associated meanings. A quick look at a dictionary shows that ‘voice’ is typically defined as a sound produced mainly by human beings. Human voices usually involve a vocal sound but can also include thoughts. According to the dictionary of social sciences (Calhoun 2002), voice might be seen as an expression of marginalized or dissatisfied groups, implying that voices involve differential powers. From a political point of view, voices can be perceived either as the articulation of grievances and demands directed at leaders by members within a political organisation or as the expression of preferences through active participation in decision-making processes (Brown, McLean and McMillan 2018). In referring to higher education, McLeod (2011) provides an overview of the polysemic of the concept voice which can be associated to ‘identity or agency, or even power … it can be the site of authentic reflection and insight or a radical source for counter narratives … can be a code word for representing difference, or connote a democratic politics of participation and inclusion, or be the expression of an essentialized group identity’ (2011: 181). The concept of voice has been widely used in education, and, specifically, in relation to schools (Felten et al. 2013; Fielding 2001; Mc Leod 2011; Seale 2009). In primary and secondary levels of education, student voice points to listening to and valuing students’ perceptions about their learning processes which, in turn, are communicated to staff at school who can draw on those voices and have the power to make changes (Seale 2009). According to Seale (2009), this definition involves a conception of students as partners of lecturers, and who, by sharing their voices with the school staff, are empowered and have an active role in shaping their education. Fielding (2001), though, is critical about literatures on students’ voices at schools. He pointed that, too often, adults (including lecturers) are too avid to speak on behalf of and control students’ voices so that ‘student voice is sought primarily through insistent imperatives of accountability rather than enduring commitments to democratic agency’ (2001: 123). Based on feminist and radical approaches, Fielding (2001) rather advocated for an inclusive emancipatory 26

Theorizing Students’ Voices

school community in which students are conceived as transformative agents of their learning experiences. In higher education, according to Seale (2009), conceptualizations about student voice are rather undeveloped. According to the author, student voice is usually conceived as feedback provided by students which helps lecturers and academic planners to reflect on and improve teaching practices and curricula. In turn, McLeod (2011) identifies four different types of uses of student voices in education: ‘(i) voice – as strategy (to achieve empowerment, transformation, equality); (ii) voice as-participation (in learning, in democratic processes); (iii) voice-as-right (to be heard, to have a say); and (iv) voice-as-difference (to promote inclusion, respect diversity, indicate equity)’ (2011: 181). These distinctions are especially important in a context of diversity, inclusion, respect of differences and in promoting participatory and democratic processes among young learners (McLeod 2011). Finally, it is worth mentioning here five different types of roles that students’ voices can take on in higher education according to Seale (2009): (1) student as stakeholder; (2) student as consumer; (3) student as teacher facilitator; (4) student as evaluator or informant; and (5) student as storyteller. According to the author, these roles are not necessarily explicit in the literature, and they frequently involve uneasy relationships between students, lecturers and higher education institutions since the last two usually deploy more power. Also, according to Seale (2009), a view of student voice as promoting transformation, participation and empowerment on the part of students and their learning has not been sufficiently addressed in the literature. Here it seems fair to point out, though, that another interrelated concept, that of ‘pedagogical partnership’, addresses participation and transformation of students as learners (Cook-Sather et al. 2021). However, these conceptualizations around students’ roles in higher education seem to be especially focussed on teaching and learning processes, leaving aside other dimensions and roles that students may play in higher education (e.g. in governance, in activist initiatives or in producing knowledge, among others).

Conceptual Distinctions: The Student Experiences and Student Engagement There are two interrelated concepts close to the concept of student voices, those of the student experience and student engagement, that deserve attention so as to establish conceptual distinctions among them. Interestingly, in their article ‘Fitness for Purpose? National and Institutional Approaches to Publicising the Student Voice’ (2007), William and Cappuccini-Ansfield conflated the terms ‘the student experience’ and ‘student voice’. In this article, they referred to collecting feedback from students on their experiences of higher education through questionnaires to capture students’ academic experiences and satisfaction. They continue by saying ‘Students, so long taken for granted, have been recognized as the principal stakeholders in higher education and their own voice on their experiences is now being heard more clearly by institutions and governments’ (2007: 159). Similarly, Seale (2009) recognized that, when conducting research on student voice ‘there is a strong student engagement or involvement agenda’ (2009: 996). The literature on these three concepts respectively takes into consideration students’ perspectives about their experiences as students although with different nuances and emphases. 27

The Bloomsbury Handbook of Student Voice

Further, to some extent, all three concepts connect with quality assurance policies at either institutional or national levels. Student Experience The concept emerged in the UK in the 2000s (Sabri 2011) as a result of a drive – within heightened quality assurance systems – to measure and improve the quality across higher education institutions and to seek the view of students as customers. In addition, a drive to provide information to students about higher education institutions so as to inform their decisions and choices emerged at this time (Ramsden and Callender 2014). Originally, the concept of student experience was linked broadly to the ways in which students approach their learning processes (Biggs 1993; Marton and Säljö 1976). Over the years, though, the concept was attached to quality assurance and quality enhancement in higher education in the UK (Harvey and Green 1993). The importance of providing information to students about quality indicators and what constituted value for money (Ramsden and Callender 2014) gained traction in this country. In this context, not only the students’ learning experiences in the classroom were considered but also their experiences regarding the broader institutional context, including their sense of belonging, and their experiences of the student support services (including the library and information services), administrative services and infrastructure, the ways in which students engaged with their learning (Ramsden and Callender 2014). An important corollary of this literature consisted in the elaborate questionnaires that were focused on the students’ academic experiences and the factors that facilitated them (Klemenčič and Brennan 2013) (e.g. the National Student Survey (NSS) in the UK and the National Survey of Student Engagement (NSSE) in the United States, among others). However, these questionnaires have been criticized since they do not necessarily correlate with the students’ learning results (Porter 2011) and that they do not adapt to the characteristics of non-traditional students. Likewise, the NSSE is used to compare institutions and the results show little variance between institutions, which casts doubt on its comparative value (Porter and Umbach 2006). Student Engagement In the United States, the concept of student engagement has become relevant (Kahu 2013; Kuh 2009; McCormick, Gonyea and Kinzie 2013). Student engagement points to the degree of students’ motivation, interest and passion when learning and progressing in their studies. The more motivated students are, the better – so it was felt – their learning would be. Student engagement encompasses not only the student’s academic experience but also elements that go beyond the classroom within the higher education institution. Thus, the role of the higher education institution is also a key factor in engaging students. The concept, therefore, involves multiple dimensions related to those aspects (psychological, sociocultural, behavioural and holistic) that contribute to the academic success of students in a broad sense (Kahu 2013). According to Ramsden and Callender (2014), a focus on what students do rather than on students’ perceptions about academic tasks has prevailed in higher education institutions. The active engagement of students in their studies and in extracurricular or civic education activities are also important (McCormick, Gonyea and Kinzie 2013). 28

Theorizing Students’ Voices

Questionnaires measuring student’s engagement have been deployed in the United States (National Survey of Student Engagement, NSSE) and in Australia (Australasian Survey of Student Engagement, AUSSE) (applied until 2011), among others. However, the very concept of student engagement and its measurement has received criticisms. According to Zepke (2018), most of the literature on student engagement involves a neoliberal vision in which there is a predominance of a vision of higher education as a business and whose focus is centred on indicators of performativity and accountability and quality.

Similarities and Differences across Concepts: Voice, Experience and Engagement In comparing these three interrelated concepts – student voice, student experience and student engagement – some distinctions can be made: 1. As examined in the literature, the concepts of student experience and student voice are more related to learning processes as such than with student engagement. At least in its beginnings, the idea of student experience was linked to approaches to learning. Later, however, this focus was expanded so as to give importance to collecting students’ views on their academic experiences (and not only their learning experiences), which in turn connected with quality assurance processes (at both institutional and national levels). The concept of student voice, and as identified by Seale (2009), has been more connected with teaching and curricular practices and ways in which students’ perspectives and feedback are taken into consideration so as to assist in changing and improving such practices. Within the framework of students voice, the degree of students’ participation varies from students being simply informants about their experiences to being actively engaged and leading changes in their learning processes. 2. Both the student experience and student engagement have given way to well-known questionnaires in several countries (the United States, Europe and Australia) that collect students’ views on their academic experiences. Although the comparison of the results of these questionnaires across institutions was not initially intended, such comparisons have been gaining traction over time (Ramsden and Callender 2014). As for student voice, no comparable questionnaire has been developed. This issue deserves further investigation. 3. Questionnaires designed to collect and measure the student experience and student engagement provide information that can be used to improve institutional and national policies and the quality of academic and institutional processes. Although it has been suggested that projects focused on student voice aim to promote quality enhancement and assurance (see e.g. Williams and Capuccini-Ansfield 2007), the policy dimension of these initiatives seems more limited in scope (covering specific learning experiences, courses or programmes rather than involving decision-making processes at an institutional level). 4. Several authors have criticized the concepts of the student experience and student engagement for promoting a conception of students as consumers in highly marketized higher education systems in which indicators of performativity, accountability and quality prevail (Sabri 2011; Zepke 2018) and in which students are prepared to pay for and consume their education. In her literature review on student voice, Seale (2009 also observed that one of the perceived roles is that of students as customers. 29

The Bloomsbury Handbook of Student Voice

Methodology Academic articles that dealt with the concept of student voice were searched and filtered in three well-known databases: WoS core collection (WoScc), Scopus and SciELO between 1992 and 2021 (the research being conducted and updated between November 2021 and May 2022). Specifically, the search contained the following descriptors: ([student voices OR student voice] AND [‘higher education’ OR ‘college’ OR ‘university’]). The search was conducted in the title, abstract and keywords of the articles. A total of 509 articles were identified: 171 WoScc articles, 330 Scopus articles and 8 SciELO articles. In order to address the aims of this study, first, a descriptive analysis of the articles was conducted, including the number of articles published in the past thirty years; first authors’ affiliations; authorship patterns, namely single-authored articles and joint articles within a single country (domestic collaboration) and between two or more countries (international collaboration), organized by country and region and by first-author country affiliation; and language of publication. Second, the twenty-five highest cited articles published in the time span were further analysed to identify the main themes following Tight’s (2020) classification of research themes in higher education (namely, teaching and learning, course design, student experience, quality, system policy, institutional management, academic work and knowledge) and the type of article (conceptual or empirical). Also, the main topic addressed for each of these articles was identified.

Patterns of Publication No article on student voice was published in 1992, 1994, 1995 and 2002. A notable increase in paper publications can be seen from 2011 onwards and with a spike in 2017 and then a sustained growth in the past three years (2019–21) (see Figure 2.1).

Publicaons on Student Voice by year 90 80 70 60 50 40 30 20 10 0

69

38

0 1 0 0 2 1 1 1 1 1 0 2 2 2 3

10

6

15

10

18

52

47 37

25 25 24 27

FIGURE 2.1  Publications by year on student voice, 1992–21 (WoS, Scopus and SciELO). Source: Own elaboration from data obtained from WoS, Scopus and SciELO.

30

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Theorizing Students’ Voices

CIS NORTH

EUROPE

AMERICA

N: 179

N: 125

N: 1

ASIA N: 73

AFRICA LATIN

N: 34

AMERICA & the CARIBBEAN

OCEANIA

N: 18

N: 79

FIGURE 2.2  First-author affiliation by geographic zone. Source: Own elaboration from data obtained from WoS, Scopus and SciELO.

In considering the first-author affiliation, most articles were published in Europe1 (n = 179; 35.2 per cent), the UK (n = 128; 25.1 per cent), followed closely by North America (n = 125; 24.6 per cent) (with the United States publishing most of these articles (111 articles). Europe and North America account, therefore, for 59.8 per cent of publications on student voice. Next comes Oceania (n = 79; 15.5 per cent), Asia (n = 73; 14.3 per cent), Africa (n = 34; 6.7 per cent), Latin America and the Caribbean (n = 18; 3.5 per cent), and the Commonwealth of Independent States (n = 1; 0.2 per cent) (see Figure 2.2). Articles were predominantly written in English (96.07 per cent), followed by Spanish (2.36 per cent) and Portuguese (0.79 per cent); two articles were published in both Spanish and English simultaneously (0.39 per cent) and only one article was written each in Indonesian and Chinese. While 175 were single-authored papers (34.4 per cent), 334 were collaborative publications (65.6 per cent). In identifying the type of collaboration, 288 (56.6 per cent) articles were co-authored by authors within a single country (domestic collaboration) and 46 (9 per cent) articles were co-authored by authors affiliated to institutions in different countries (international collaboration). Figure 2.3 clearly shows that domestic collaboration is the most salient feature, with single-authored articles having a peak in 2013 and increasing since then and with international collaboration being rather scarce. In analysing first-authors’ affiliations in both single-authored and collaborative articles, the UK, the United States and Australia are the most frequent countries of affiliation. The UK is the most prolific country across all categories: 49 (28.8 per cent) of single-authored articles, 68 (23.6 per cent) of domestic collaboration and 11 (23.9 per cent) of international collaborations. Next comes the United States with 41 (23.4 per cent) single-authored articles and 63 (21.9 per 31

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The Bloomsbury Handbook of Student Voice

Authorship collaboraon paerns 60 50 40 30 20 10 0

92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 00 01 02 03 04 05 06 07 08 09 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21

Single author

0 1 0 0 1 1 0 0 1 0 0 2 1 1 2 5 3 6 7 9 14 8 9 11 11 16 10 13 19 19

Domesc collab.

0 0 0 0 1 0 1 1 0 1 0 0 1 1 1 5 3 7 3 7 10 16 15 15 21 24 26 29 47 48

Internaonal collab. 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 2 0 2 1 1 0 1 6 7 1 10 3 11 Single author

Domesc collab.

Internaonal collab.

FIGURE 2.3  Authorship collaboration patterns (single-authored articles, domestic and international collaboration). Source: Own elaboration from data obtained from WoS, Scopus and SciELO.

cent) articles co-authored by authors in the United States. Finally, Australia has 10 international collaborative articles (21.7 per cent). Across categories, the presence of Asian countries is rather modest (around 7 per cent for single-authored articles and 14 per cent for collaborative articles). The presence of other countries is negligible. Summary 1. Article publication about student voice in higher education has been increasing over the years, but especially from 2011 onwards. This growth is notable between 2019 and 2021. 2. Most of the publications are led by authors affiliated to institutions in English-speaking countries (the UK, the United States and Australia). Concordantly, most of them have been written in English (96.07 per cent). 3. Most of the articles (65.6 per cent) are collaborative papers, although, mostly, they were co-authored by scholars affiliated to institutions within the same country (usually, the UK, the United States and Australia).

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Self-determined blended learning: A case study of blended learning design

In their own words, a qualitative study of the reasons Australian university students plagiarize

Cultural capital and 2011 agency: Connecting critique and curriculum in higher education

Contextualized performance: Reframing the skills debate in research education

de GeorgeWalker, L. and Keeffe, M.

Devlin, M. and Gray, K.

Clegg, S.

Cumming, J.

2010

2007

2010

2011

Students as co-creators of teaching approaches, course design and curricula: Implications for academic developers

Bovill, C., Cook-Sather, A. and Felten, P.

Year

Title

Authors and Countries

Australia

UK

Australia

Australia

United States

First Authors’ Country Affiliation

47

48

122

131

272

Nª Cites

Scopus

WoS

Scopus

Scopus

Scopus

Database

TABLE 2.1  Top Twenty-Five Most Cited Articles about Students’ Voices (1992–21)

Conceptual

Conceptual

Qualitative (focus groups)

Mix method. Evaluation of learning experience (on line survey plus interviews)

Conceptual

Type of Article (Conceptual, Empirical)

Course design

Course design

Course design

Course design

Course design

Main Theme (Tight 2020

Continued 

Evaluating a course, a technique, a programme or a technology

Minorities, specific groups

Evaluating a course, a technique, a programme or a technology

Evaluating a course, a technique, a programme or a technology

Co-creation of curricula

Specific Topic

Theorizing Students’ Voices

33

34

Title

Student and staff perceptions of the importance of generic skills in science

The student voice in higher education curriculum design: Is there value in listening?

Improving higher education practice through student evaluation systems: Is the student voice being heard?

Authors and Countries

Leggett, M., Kinnear, A., Boyce, M. and Bennett, I.

Brooman, S., Darwent, S. and Pimor, A.

Blair, E. and Noel, K. V.

Table 2.1 Continued

2014

2015

2004

Year

Trinidad and Tobago

UK

Australia

First Authors’ Country Affiliation

45

46

46

Nª Cites

WoS

WoS

Scopus

Database

Qualitative. Students’ evaluations about courses

Qualitative. Focus groups

Quantitative. Questionnaire about perceptions

Type of Article (Conceptual, Empirical)

Course design

Course design

Course design

Main Theme (Tight 2020

Evaluating a course, a technique, a programme or a technology

Co-creation of curricula

Evaluating a course, a technique, a programme or a technology

Specific Topic

The Bloomsbury Handbook of Student Voice

An investigation of 2014 co-created curricula within higher education in the UK, Ireland and the United States

I ‘feel’ like I am at 2015 university even though I am online. Exploring how students narrate their engagement with higher education institutions in an online learning environment

Bovill, C.

O’ Shea, S., Stone, C. and Delahunty, J.

2008

Vibrant student voices: Exploring effects of the use of clickers in large college courses

Hoekstra, A.

2010

Get out of MySpace!

Jones, N., Blackey, H., Fitzgibbon, K. and Chew, E.

Australia

UK

United States

UK

70

71

79

101

WoS

WoS

WoS

WoS

Qualitative. Evaluation of learning experience (students’ narrative stories)

Qualitative. Evaluation of curriculum experience (interviews with staff)

Mix method. Evaluation of learning experience (participant observation, surveys plus interviews)

Qualitative. Evaluation of learning experience (interviews)

Course design

Course design

Course design

Course design

Continued 

Evaluating a course, a technique, a programme or a technology

Co-creation of curricula

Evaluating a course, a technique, a programme or a technology

Evaluating a course, a technique, a programme or a technology

Theorizing Students’ Voices

35

36

‘Playing safe’: Undergraduate essay writing and the presentation of the student voice

Want students to engage? Contextualize graduate learning outcomes and assess for employability

The Leicester Model of Interprofessional Education: Developing, delivering and learning from student voices for ten years

Read, B., Francis, B. and Robson, J.

de St Jorre, T. and Beverley, O.

Anderson, E. S. and Lennox, A.

2009

2016

2001

The use of the nominal 1999 group technique as an evaluative tool in medical undergraduate education

Lloyd-Jones, G., Fowell, S. and Bligh, J. G.

Year

Title

Authors and Countries

Table 2.1 Continued

UK

Australia

UK

UK

First Authors’ Country Affiliation

51

44

57

58

Nª Cites

WoS

WoS

Scopus

WoS

Database

Mix method. Evaluation of learning experience (focus groups, questionnaire)

Qualitative (interviews plus focus group)

Qualitative. Evaluation of learning experience (interviews with students)

Quantitative. Evaluation of learning experience (questionnaires)

Type of Article (Conceptual, Empirical)

Course design

Course design

Course design

Course design

Main Theme (Tight 2020

Evaluating a course, a technique, a programme or a technology

Evaluating a course, a technique, a programme or a technology

Empowering students

Evaluating a course, a technique, a programme or a technology

Specific Topic

The Bloomsbury Handbook of Student Voice

A call for expanding inclusive student engagement in the Scholarship of Teaching and Learning

Choosing between online and face-to-face courses: Community college student voices

Chinese students in a UK business school: Hearing the student voice in reflective teaching and learning practice

Power and resistance: Reflections on the rhetoric and reality of using participatory methods to promote student voice and engagement in higher education

Felten, P., Bagg, J., Bumbry, M., Hill, J., Hornsby, K., Pratt, M. and Weller, S.

Jaggars, S. S.

Turner, Y.

Seale, J., Gibson, S., Haynes, J. and Potter, A.

2015

2006

2014

2013

UK

UK

United States

United States, Canada and UK.

50

69

109

50

Scopus

Scopus

Scopus

Scopus

Qualitative. Narrative inquiry

Qualitative. Evaluation of learning experience. Interviews with Chinese master students

Qualitative. Evaluation of learning experience.

Conceptual

The student experience

Teaching and learning

Teaching and learning

Teaching and learning

Continued 

Empowering students

Minorities, specific groups

Evaluating a course, a technique, a programme or a technology

Co-creation of curricula

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Theorizing Students’ Voices

37

38

Doing student voice work 2010 in higher education: An exploration of the value of participatory methods

Student voice and the politics of listening in higher education

Fitness for purpose? National and institutional approaches to publicizing the student voice

Seale, J.

McLeod, J.

Williams, J. and CappucciniAnsfield, G.

Source: Own source

Asian students’ voices: An empirical study of Asian students’ learning experiences at a New Zealand University

Campbell, J. and Li, M.

2007

2011

2008

2007

‘Managing’ disability: Early experiences of university students with disabilities

Goode, J.

Year

Title

Authors and Countries

Table 2.1 Continued

UK

Australia

UK

New Zealand

UK

First Authors’ Country Affiliation

59

45

85

129

114

Nª Cites

Scopus

WoS

WoS

Scopus

Scopus

Database

Conceptual

Conceptual

Conceptual

Qualitative (interviews)

Qualitative (interviews and video data)

Type of Article (Conceptual, Empirical)

Quality (national and institutional surveys)

The student experience

The student experience

The student experience

The student experience

Main Theme (Tight 2020

Quality

Empowering students

Empowering students

Minorities, specific groups.

Minorities, specific groups.

Specific Topic

38

The Bloomsbury Handbook of Student Voice

Theorizing Students’ Voices

Analysis of the Most Cited Articles An analysis of the top twenty-five most cited articles on student voice was conducted to identify the main themes and topics addressed and whether they were conceptual or empirical in nature. Overall, Table 2.1 indicates that: 1. Following Tight’s classification (2020), most articles (sixteen) belong to the cluster ‘course design’, followed by five articles on the theme ‘the student experience’, three articles in the domain ‘teaching and learning’, and one on the theme ‘quality’. 2. Overwhelmingly, most articles were devoted to collecting students’ evaluations regarding a specific course, a learning technique (including, e.g. the use of technologies that facilitate learning or other learning techniques) or students’ learning experiences in a broader sense. 3. Most articles (eighteen) are empirical papers, while seven are conceptual articles. Regarding empirical articles, most of them (thirteen) deployed a qualitative method while conducting, mainly, interviews with students.

What Do We Know about Student Voice in Higher Education so Far and What Is Missing? The analysis of the articles included in this systematic literature review reveals several trends: 1. The concept of student voice is gaining traction in higher education especially in the past twelve years. This interest follows in the wake of research on the topic in primary and secondary schools and could therefore be said to be somewhat belated (Felten et al. 2013; Fielding 2001; Mc Leod 2011; Seale 2009). 2. Most of the knowledge produced about student voice comes from what has been called the global North and, specifically Anglo-Saxon countries such as the UK, the United States and Australia, three countries with highly marketized higher education systems. Given that most of the articles come from one specific country (either as single-authored articles or as collaborative articles by authors from the same country), there seem to be a lack of voices coming from other parts of the world. This trend might be explained by the sources used in this literature review, namely articles contained in three indexes with a predominance of publications in English. Although one of them – SciELO – is popular in Latin America and South Africa, only one SciELO article was identified. Another possible explanation is that in other regions and countries of the world, other terms (rather than ‘voices’) might be used to give an account of students’ perceptions of their learning or experiences of participation, emancipation or empowerment. This needs further exploration. Further, in examining the top twenty-five most cited articles: 1. An overfocus on students’ learning experiences and course design in higher education is identified. This is a rather limited focus that neglects other types of participation or engagement that students have in higher education and that go beyond their classroom learning experiences. For example, the topic of students’ involvement in governance – through students’ unions or other organizations – or politics in higher education, in activist movements or in engaging with the broader community are largely absent. There is plenty of literature in higher education in these areas (see, e.g. Brooks, 2016; Klemenčič, 2017; 39

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40

Neary and Winn, 2009). However, they seem not to use the concept student voice as such, preferring instead concepts such as students’ agency or students’ activism. 2. Following Fielding’s work (2001) on student voice at schools, much of the literature that revolves about student voice and their learning experiences in higher education conceived students as sources of data about their learning or, at the most, sought to engage students so that they contributed to improving their learning. Usually, lecturers and academic developers were interested in understanding students’ perceptions and gaining feedback about their learning regarding a pedagogical technique, a course or the curriculum. As Seale (2009) pointed out, the assumption here is that this feedback will be used by lecturers and developers to improve curricular and teaching practices. 3. A possible explanation for this trend in the literature on student voice (more focused on collecting students’ feedback on a course, a programme, a device or a pedagogical technique) might have to do with a narrative that highlights the roles of students as informants or evaluators or as stakeholders or customers (Seale 2009). Under this narrative, students play a role that consists of providing feedback about how satisfied they are or not with their learning and curricular experiences (‘student satisfaction’ being a trope in the policy background). This resonates with literatures that point to highly marketized higher education systems (especially in Anglo-Saxon countries) in which an evaluative culture prevails that provides indicators for quality assurance and so inform students in making their decisions about choosing higher education institutions (Sabri 2011; Zepke 2018). 4. A more active participation and engagement on the part of students is explored in articles about co-creating curricula (see, e.g. Bovill 2014; Bovill, Cook-Sather and Felten 2011; Brooman, Darwent and Pimor 2015) and the scholarship of teaching and learning (Felten et al. 2013), and that involve students as partners in co-designing curricula and pedagogies jointly with lecturers and/or academic planners. However, and following Fielding’s (2001) distinction, although these initiatives involved students in a more active way, the initiatives remain being led by lecturers and planners who are aiming to deepen their understanding about students learning and, at the same time, to know ‘what students might be able to contribute to deepen (such) understanding’ (Fielding 2001: 136). Accordingly, most of the top-cited articles identified in this systematic review turn out to be more ‘teacher or planner centric’. Further, lecturers and/ or planners lead learning and curricular initiatives and collect students’ feedback with students playing a less active role in understanding and/or leading a transformation of their learning. 5. This is also the case for articles that dealt with minority groups (international students or students with disabilities) which mainly addressed the difficulties experienced by these students in their learning and academic contexts. But again, these initiatives are led by planners or lecturers who detected certain difficulties in these students in adapting to their higher education environment. 6. There is, therefore, a large silence regarding student voice from a more radical or transformative perspective (Fielding 2001). Exceptions here are the articles by McLeod (2011), Read et al. (2001), Seale (2009) and Seale et al. (2015), in which empowering students is seen as a key dimension of student voice so that they become researchers about their learning experiences and can actively contribute to change them. 7. Finally, another notable gap has to do with the scarce number of articles dealing with more structural variables that affect students’ voices and their agency. With the exception of one

41

Theorizing Students’ Voices

article that considered class issues and curriculum (Clegg 2011), the problematization of racial and gender issues in analysing students’ voices is notable for its absence.

Conclusion Students have become important agents of change of higher education and an increase in the number of publications about student voice reflects the importance of conducting research on their roles and perceptions of their academic experiences. However, there are notable epistemic absences identified in this systematic literature review. First, and as found by Seale (2009 more than ten years ago, there is an under-theorization of the very concept of student voice. Across the majority of the top-cited articles examined in this chapter, students’ voices were implicitly understood as students’ opinions and feedback about teaching and curricular practices led by lecturers and academic developers, which, in turn, would allow the improvement of those pedagogical practices. Among them, there is a range of experiences from that of providing feedback to being actively involved in co-designing curricula and in changing their learning experiences, although the descriptions of the former situations tend to prevail. Second, analysis of the location of research into student voice reveals the absence of knowledge production on the topic other than in Anglo-Saxon countries (such as the UK, the United States and Australia), which display highly marketized higher education systems. Accordingly, a flourishing of the literature on students’ voices in recent decades might be a sign of research that conceives students as stakeholders or customers who are asked about their degree of satisfaction about their learning experiences. An obvious policy implication for this kind of conceptualization of student voice is an emphasis on quality assurance processes that might encourage institutions to offer a better learning experience so as to enhance the level of student satisfaction, not least with the labour market gaining importance. A third absence is that of critical perspectives on students’ voices – with some exceptions – that highlight issues of power, invisibilization and hierarchies within and across higher education institutions, not only regarding learning or curricula but also concerning participation, governance, activism and work with the community. In working explicitly to hear the voices of students from diverse and marginalized groups, higher education systems and institutions would ultimately be compelled to deal with issues of ethnicity, gender, social class and geopolitics, among other structural variables that (re)produce and reinforce inequities of all kinds (and not only in learning) so as to hear and listen to students’ voices (in plural). Further, in promoting students as researchers and agents of change jointly with other actors regarding pedagogies, curricula, research and their relationships with the community, and in the forms of participation, democracy and transformation, universities will be keeping up with their transformative role (Guzmán-Valenzuela 2016). Such a role has been somehow lost or forgotten amid a marketized approach to higher education. Funding This work was supported by ANID-Chile, Fondecyt Project 1200633.

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The Bloomsbury Handbook of Student Voice

Notes The author wants to thank Carolina Gómez for her help in identifying the articles examined in this review. This work was supported by Núcleo Milenio Experiencia Estudiantil en Educación Superior: Expectativas y Realidades (NMEDSUP). 1 For the purposes of geographically characterizing the sample, each article has been counted as part of a wider zone: Latin America and the Caribbean, North America (Canada and United States), Europe (which includes the EU, along with UK, Switzerland, Norway, Iceland and ex-Yugoslavian countries), Africa, Oceania, Asia and the Commonwealth of Independent States (formed once the USSR was dissolved; in this paper the only publishing country was the Russian Federation, though).

References Altbach, P. G., L. Reisberg and H. de Wit, eds (2017), Responding to Massification: Differentiation in Postsecondary Education Worldwide, Amsterdam: Springer. Baird, J., and G. Gordon (2009), ‘Beyond the Rhetoric: A Framework for Evaluating Improvements to the Student Experience’, Tertiary Education and Management, 15 (3): 193–207. Biggs, J. (1993), ‘What Do Inventories of Students’ Learning Processes Really Measure? A Theoretical Review and Clarification’, British Journal of Educational Psychology, 63 (1): 3–19. Bovill, C. (2014), ‘An Investigation of Co-created Curricula within Higher Education in the UK, Ireland and the USA’, Innovations in Education and Teaching International, 51 (1): 15–25. Bovill, C., A. Cook-Sather and P. Felten (2011), ‘Students as Co-creators of Teaching Approaches, Course Design, and Curricula: Implications for Academic Developers’, International Journal for Academic Development, 16 (2): 133–45. Brooks, R., ed. (2016), Student Politics and Protest: International Perspectives, Oxford: Taylor and Francis. Brooman, S., S. Darwent and A. Pimor (2015), ‘The Student Voice in Higher Education Curriculum Design: Is There Value in Listening?’, Innovations in Education and Teaching International, 52 (6): 663–74. Brown, G. W., I. McLean and A. McMillan (2018), The Concise Oxford Dictionary of Politics and International Relations, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Calhoun, C., ed. (2002), Dictionary of the Social Sciences, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Clegg, S. (2011), ‘Cultural Capital and Agency: Connecting Critique and Curriculum in Higher Education’, British Journal of Sociology of Education, 32 (1): 93–108. Cook-Sather, A., S. Allard, E. Marcovici and B. Reynolds (2021), ‘Fostering Agentic Engagement: Working toward Empowerment and Equity through Pedagogical Partnership’, International Journal for the Scholarship of Teaching and Learning, 15 (2), Article 3. https://doi. org/10.20429/ijs​otl.2021.150​203 (accessed 19 June 2023). Felten P., J. Bagg, M. Bumbry, J. Hill, K. Hornsby, M. Pratt and S. Weller (2013), ‘A Call for Expanding Inclusive Student Engagement in SoTL’, Teaching and Learning Inquiry, 1 (2): 63–74. Fielding, M. (2001), ‘Students as Radical Agents of Change’, Journal of Educational Change, 2 (2): 123–41. Guzmán-Valenzuela, C. (2016), ‘Unfolding the Meaning of Public(s) in Universities: Toward the Transformative University’, Higher Education, 71 (5): 667–79. Harvey, L., and D. Green (1993), ‘Defining Quality’, Assessment and Evaluation in Higher Education, 18 (1): 9–34. Kahu, E. R. (2013), ‘Framing Student Engagement in Higher Education’, Studies in Higher Education, 38 (5): 758–73.

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Klemenčič, M. (2017), ‘From Student Engagement to Student Agency: Conceptual Considerations of European Policies on Student-Centered Learning in Higher Education’, Higher Education Policy, 30 (1): 69–85. Klemenčič, M., and J. Brennan (2013), ‘Institutional Research in a European Context: A Forward Look’, European Journal of Higher Education, 3 (3): 265–79. Kuh, G. D. (2009), ‘What Student Affairs Professionals Need to Know about Student Engagement’, Journal of College Student Development, 50 (6): 683–706. Marton, F., and R. Säljö (1976), ‘On Qualitative Differences in Learning: I—Outcome and Process’, British Journal of Educational Psychology, 46 (1): 4–11. McCormick, A., J. Kinzie and R. Gonyea (2013), ‘Student Engagement: Bridging Research and Practice to Improve the Quality of Undergraduate Education’, in M. Paulsen (ed.), Higher Education: Handbook of Theory and Research, 47–92, Dordrecht: Springer. McLeod, J. (2011), ‘Student Voice and the Politics of Listening in Higher Education’, Critical Studies in Education, 52 (2): 179–89. Neary, M., and J. Winn (2009), ‘The Student as Producer: Reinventing the Student Experience in Higher Education’, in L. Bell, M. Neary and H. Stevenson (eds), The Future of Higher Education: Policy, Pedagogy and The Student Experience, 192–210, London: Continuing International Publishing. Porter, S. R. (2011), ‘Do College Student Surveys Have Any Validity?’ The Review of Higher Education, 35 (1): 45–76. Porter, S. R., and P. D. Umbach (2006), ‘College Major Choice: An Analysis of Person–Environment Fit’, Research in Higher Education, 47 (4): 429–49. Ramsden, P., and C. Callender (2014), Review of the National Student Survey: Appendix A: Literature Review. http://www.hefce.ac.uk/pubs/rereports/year/2014/nssreview/#alldownloads (accessed 15 December 2019). Read, B., B. Francis and J. Robson (2001). ‘“Playing Safe”: Undergraduate Essay Writing and the Presentation of the Student “Voice”’. British Journal of Cociology of Education, 22 (3), 387–99. Sabri, D. (2011), ‘What’s Wrong with “the Student Experience”?’, Discourse: Studies in the Cultural Politics of Education, 32 (5): 657–67. Seale, J. (2009), ‘Doing Student Voice Work in Higher Education: An Exploration of the Value of Participatory Methods’, British Educational Research Journal, 36 (6): 995–1015. Seale, J., S. Gibson, J. Haynes and A. Potter (2015). ‘Power and Resistance: Reflections on the Rhetoric and Reality of Using Participatory Methods to Promote Student Voice and Engagement in Higher Education’. Journal of Further and Higher Education, 39 (4), 534–52. Tight, M. (2020), Syntheses of Higher Education Research: What We Know, London: Bloomsbury Academic. Williams, J., and G. Cappuccini-Ansfield (2007), ‘Fitness for Purpose? National and Institutional Approaches to Publicising the Student Voice’, Quality in Higher Education, 13 (2): 159–72. Zepke, N. (2018), ‘Student Engagement in Neo-Liberal Times: What Is Missing?’, Higher Education Research and Development, 37 (2): 433–46.

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Contested and Contextual: Analysing the Foundations of Student Voice(s) in Contemporary Higher Education STEPHEN DARWIN

Student perspectives have been arguably sought since the medieval origins of universities, with seminal forms of student feedback based on students ‘voting with their feet’ – with teacher salaries linked to levels of student attendance (Knapper 2001). Although this approach would have undoubtedly had a certain persuasive power, it is only over recent decades that more sophisticated forms of student evaluation have evolved to occupy a legitimate and systematized presence in quality assurance discourses in higher education. A familiar range of contemporary approaches to student-led evaluation – primarily centred on the capturing of student experiences, engagement or satisfaction – now perform significant work across global higher education systems. A common characteristic of these forms of evaluation is the use of end-of-semester quantitative instruments that seek to measure, compare and remediate teaching effectiveness or other related aspects of the university experience. A critical underpinning assumption of this quantitative capture of student voice is the inherent valorization of its representation in an essentially singular form: one that offers an ‘averaged’ student response. As such, quantitative forms of student evaluation – that offer students the opportunity to rate their experiences or levels of satisfaction with their encounters with higher education teaching – powerfully mediate the nature of student voices. These approaches necessarily confine the articulation of student voice within strongly prescribed frames of meaning imposed by the instruments and ratings adopted. Moreover, such instruments are designed to necessarily reduce the diversity and complexity of student responses, towards the refining of a valid and reliable statistical construct that is of comparable value to another. Despite the growing dependence across higher education systems on these reductive forms of measuring student experiences, engagement or satisfaction, limited critical attention has been given to how (and why) these quantitative castings of the student voice became axiomatic. This absence has become more problematic as the nature of student voices has diversified. Internationally, over recent decades, higher education systems have dramatically expanded – both in terms of scale and student diversity – generating greater internal stratification and related differentiation of student learning demands (Altbach 2016; Marginson 2016). This expansion

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The Bloomsbury Handbook of Student Voice

has rendered the notion of a singular student voice not only less relevant but also a looming source of institutional hegemony where responsiveness is narrowly framed by anachronistic pedagogical or support assumptions. This hegemony is potentially even more consequential for universities of the global South, where evaluative instruments designed from the privileged institutional assumptions of the Anglosphere are increasingly imposed through the pressures of global rankings or other forms of socially enforced benchmarking (Hazelkorn 2016). This global reach, led by a series of high-profile instruments (such as the US-based National Survey of Student Engagement [NSSE] and the UK National Student Survey [NSS]), has increased the urgency for the adoption of a more critical posture on the conception of a singular student voice in diversifying higher education. This is because although conceptions of teaching quality are diffusely formed across global higher education systems – from being framed around strong state regulation to highly market-driven models – a broadly characteristic feature is the use of metrics to quantify (and compare) student opinion (Pineda and Seidenschnur 2022). Responding to this challenge, in this chapter using the analytical lens of sociocultural theory, I analyse how the relationships between student voice (and student voices), educators and higher education institutions have been mediated through the evolving manifestations of student evaluation, student collaboration and, most recently, the student as consumer. This analysis, which is framed by the work of Wertsch (1991, 2007) on mediation and voice, will explore how student voices have been variously deployed as a mediational tool to conceptually frame actions and how these actions have generally aligned with emergent drives in global higher education policy.

Student Voice and Ratings In contrast to school education – where the conceptualizing of the student voice is generally well developed – this is not the case in higher education contexts where it remains largely undertheorized, descriptive and essentially ambiguous (Kahn 2014; Seale 2010; Seale et al. 2015). As a result, much of the literature in this domain is primarily focused on practical strategies to either more effectively capture a generalized form of student voice – through such things as student evaluations or forms of student representation – or to enhance teacher-student collaboration. For instance, there have been decades of essentially methodological debates around the most valid forms of end-of-semester quantitative student rating instruments and their various applications in measuring student experiences, engagement or satisfaction (Darwin 2017). A common theme in much of this work is that student ratings represent a valid and reliable representation of the student voice and that their primary limitation is based on their misuse as a definitive source of insight into teaching quality (Benton and Ryalls 2016; Marsh 2007). Conversely, more recently, there have been escalating claims around the inherent limitations in rating instruments as a means of framing and measuring student voices, particularly in reflecting student biases around gender and ethnicity (Boring 2017; MacNell, Driscoll and Hunt 2015; Stark, Ottoboni and Boring 2016). Despite these evolving debates, the persistent focus on student rating instruments and their application – and how their outcomes are used – has meant that discussion around the student voice(s) in higher education has primarily revolved around material concerns about instruments and, by extension, the implications of rating outcomes to institutional quality assurance or reputation. 46

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However, the underlying assumptions about student voice(s) that rating instruments embody are of less frequent attention. This absence is somewhat puzzling given that student ratings are considered to be the predominant form of faculty engagement with student opinion (Benton and Cashin 2014), and are an increasingly potent form of internal institutional performance management (i.e. for measuring teacher quality) and as a prime indicator in external rankings (Darwin 2021). As a result, the credibility and value placed on rankings as representations of the student voice have never been higher. Yet, at the same time, it is broadly acknowledged that global higher education is also transforming from an elite system to a more open and accessible model, meaning that student populations are more diverse and their learning needs and expectations more multileveled than ever before (Altbach 2016; Tight 2019). This raises the obvious question: can student ratings still be considered capable of capturing a legitimate form of student voice given the changing character of contemporary higher education? It would seem this transformation demands a critical reassessment of the paradigms of student ratings as student voice, particularly in the more complex learning environments that are fostering increasingly diverse student voices and demands for new forms of pedagogical engagement.

Theoretical Underpinnings of the Use of Student Voice(s) To understand the contemporary predominance of quantitative ratings as a proxy for student voice – and explore potential alternative forms of engagement with student voices – it is essential to analyse the conceptual tools that have been historically used to mediate the relationship between students, teachers and institutions. Drawing on the seminal theoretical work of Fielding (2004) and Seale (2010) on the deployment of the student voice, it can be argued that three primary forms of engagement have historically mediated the relationship between student voice and institutional practices over the recent decades. These three forms of voice can be conceptualized as summative dialogue, controlled collaboration and as consumer response. In Table 3.1, these forms of engagement are further described, as are the mediating conceptual and physical tools that can be associated with each form. These categories are represented as a temporal trajectory and are not necessarily mutually exclusive – with later practices building on those which preceded it and different systems having different evolutions. However, they are abstracted as useful typologies through which to theorize the evolving mediating function of the student voice in higher education. Student Voice as a Summative Dialogue Although the origins of student voices as a mediating force around the quality of higher education arguably have medieval origins (where lecturers were paid by levels of student attendance), its modern history can be traced to the social protest movements of the late 1960s. In tandem with broader demands related to equality and peace, students (most notably in the Anglosphere) demanded more democratic institutions, one where their voices are heard about the mixed quality of university teaching and levels of support for students (Centra 1993). This democratic uprising was expressed in the form of protest demands and was supported by the development of ‘alternative’ handbooks that sought to give future students an insight into what they might encounter. This movement was to spark similar demands in systems globally over the coming 47

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TABLE 3.1  Forms of Engagement with Student Voice and Key Mediating Tools

Form

Origin

Conceptual Assumptions

Primary Tools

Summative dialogue (1960s-80s) Orientated to recognise legitimacy of student voice, academic self-regulation and improvement

Student civil protest movements, demands for greater campus democracy, issues of variable teaching quality and indifference to student expectations

Safety valve to limit dissent, designed to limit systematic impact (i.e., centred on localized responses) and attempt to channel dissent internally

Localized student opinion questionnaires (academic driven), new avenues for student complaint and limited student representation at a local level

Controlled collaboration (1980s–current) Centred on academic and institutional discipline towards the achievement of benchmarked standards

Quality assurance movement (heightened accountability, marketization, managerialism) and inter and intra-institutional benchmarking

External and internal comparative analysis as a catalyst to improve performance (institutional and academic) and student voice as means of identifying deficits

Centrally managed and standardized end-ofsemester student rating surveys (experience/ engagement) and limited student representation on governance forums

Consumer responsiveness (2000–current) Framed by students as consumers, critically rating the value of teaching experiences as a return on investment

Neoliberalist higher education markets (competition, market data, consumer choice paradigm) and regulators/global university rankings using student rating data

Student voice as valuable market discriminator (data for informing future student choice), means of determining value for money and needs for product improvement

High-stakes student-asconsumer ratings-based satisfaction surveys, public use of outcomes as market data (i.e., rankings) and link to internal performance management

Source: Own source

decades. In this manifestation, where students had been traditionally relegated to a passive and receptive role, student voices became an existential threat to traditional university hegemonies. In systems where anxiety was greatest (such as in North American universities) in this period, experimental psychological instruments from the 1920s (Remmers 1927) were repurposed for more widespread application – heralding the origins of the student rating survey in mainstream use as a mediator of student opinion. These surveys and other questionnaires, administered at the end of semesters, became an accepted (and eventually acceptable) means of mediating student discontent by providing a ‘safety valve’ that captured student perspectives (albeit in a largely homogenized, singular form of representation). In addition, to mitigate potential negative critiques in alternative student publications, other localized forms of formative and summative surveys were encouraged to give more depth to understanding student experiences. Simultaneously, universities also began to establish early avenues for forms of direct student advocacy about concerns, providing the foundations for what would follow in terms of representation in institutional governance.

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An important dimension of these earliest attempts to create tools to mediate the relationship between students, teachers and institutions was the emergence of a new shared objective: to improve the quality of the student learning experience by providing at least some form of voice to students. Students were – for the first time – given the means to articulate concerns, even though such mechanisms remained essentially summative and, in practical terms, largely peripheral in their impact. Nevertheless, these early attempts to harness a student perspective were primarily framed within improvement and developmental discourses, though having the distinct motive of assuaging and channelling student dissent. This development also provided the genesis for future forms of student ratings, with a preference for quantitative instruments that produced an abstracted, coalesced and singular form of student voice. Nevertheless, this new tool of mediation – in tandem with new forms of student advocacy – did disrupt prevailing wisdom that teaching academics (or their supervisors) were solely capable of assessing the quality and effectiveness of their pedagogical practices. This emergent student voice, articulated through student surveys and advocacy, was gradually socialized over time (albeit in significantly different forms across systems) as a recognized mediating tool between students, teachers and institutions. Progressively, the outcomes they generated needed to be considered as some form of valid data with which to inform pedagogical decision-making. Although these gestures were ultimately transitory, this early dialogic engagement with a ratings-based survey to capture student voice laid critical foundations for that which was to follow. Student Voice as Controlled Collaboration Throughout the 1980s, global higher education systems became subject to greater levels of external scrutiny as the quality assurance movement captured contemporary understandings of effective management (Martin and Parikh 2017). In tandem, governments and professional bodies were increasing demands for greater accountability from universities, reflected in expanded accreditation and assurance regimes. This move for heightened accountability coincided with generally declining levels of public investment in higher education and escalating student demand for enrolment, which also prompted greater social interest in educational quality. As Coates (2005) argued, this combination of drives meant that higher education systems increasingly needed to foreground the evaluation of quality, including through the development of (externally acceptable) performance indicators and engaging in intra and inter-institutional benchmarking of these outcomes. One commonly expected performance metric was student opinion about the quality of their experiences, be it at the subject, programme or institutional level. Unsurprisingly, universities tended to adopt and refine those existing quantitative student rating instruments that had been used in various forms globally over the preceding decades. This period saw a significant rise in research interest into the robustness of instruments, further refinements and the development of strategies to use the outcomes more effectively to improve teaching quality. However, as Kuh (2009) has observed, the clear imperative for administrating student ratings – at least initially – was firmly in the service of the growing demands for accountability and transparency. This application had two important consequences. Firstly, it enshrined the legitimacy of the notion of a singular, metric-based form of the student voice that had been the founding paradigm in its earlier form. However, secondly, it also fundamentally transformed the purpose of student voice, from being a pseudo-democratic expression of student

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sentiment into essentially a diagnostic benchmarking tool. Its driving motive was also redefined to be towards identifying performance deficits that could be quantified – through comparative assessment with past outcomes or similar contexts – to enact remedial actions. This new motive was to remediate the relationship between the student voice and teaching academics, aligning student ratings more directly to questions of academic and institutional performance assessment. In linking student voice to benchmarked performance (that is to an expected generic standard required across programmes or institutions), the originating improvement imperative of student ratings – however imperfect – was progressively supplanted by something more akin to a deficitorientated diagnostic tool. Over more recent decades, the conceptual focus of student ratings has broadened to encounter such things as student engagement, motivation and satisfaction (which are further discussed in the next section). For instance, there has been a broad uptake internationally of versions of the NSSE, which originated in the United States in the early 2000s. Although these types of surveys sought to further expand the range of insights that could be elicited from students, they retained the essential orientation of their predecessors: they were quantitative ratings-based instruments that were designed to facilitate benchmarking and were more deficit orientated. Similarly, in common with other ratings-based conceptions of voice, they preserved the orthodoxy of an essentially singular perspective offered by metrics as a mediating tool of teaching and institutional quality. It has also been suggested that a core assumption of student engagement instruments – levels of student investment – is pejorative and disregards the fundamentally different cultural and material conditions of diverse student populations (Dowd, Sawatzky and Korn 2011). Moreover, in common with other preceding rating instruments motivated to comparative benchmarking, these new-generation approaches were also framed around identified ‘best practices’, practices that are decontextualized from such critical realities as resourcing, learning conditions and institutional missions. As such, this ostensibly benign conception of ‘best practices’ imposes hegemonic pedagogical and cultural assumptions that minimize differing contexts of learning. In this quality assurance-driven application of the student voice, another inheritance from earlier student discontent was also repurposed to strengthen the identification of potential performance deficits. This involved the institutionalizing of a representative form of student voice in institutional governance forums. To supplement rating data, elected student representatives were gradually added to deliberation forums at both the local and institutional levels to provide a student voice. Conventionally, such positions were largely peripheral (with a small representation on much larger committees) and transitory (with an elected period being often only enough time to understand what was going on). Nevertheless, such forums offered the opportunity for a form of pseudo-democratic representation of a (singular and abstracted) student voice, as well as a means for universities to pinpoint areas of student concern to avoid potential later problems that may negatively influence student rating outcomes. This strategy also had the benefit of harnessing student discontent into controllable fora, thereby potentially undermining the more diverse voices represented by student unions or other advocacy groups. Student Voice as Consumer Response A seemingly irresistible drive across contemporary higher education – aside from receding public investment and expanding private resourcing – are the neoliberalist drives that universities 50

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become ever more responsive to market demands. This expectation has also been internalized, with institutions increasingly expected to operate in business-like ways to compete more effectively with each other. As Gibbs (2011) observes, this has encouraged universities to centre ever greater efforts on marketing, thus ‘encouraging the practices of consumerism and the identification of entities as commodities and consumers’ (57). Inevitably, this has led to a further metamorphosis in the mediating function of the student voice, particularly in systems that have more radically embraced neoliberal paradigms in shaping higher education policy. Under this imagery, students become discriminating consumers of educational commodities. The function of the student voice is redefined as a source of valuable market data, from which other potential students-as-consumers can assess the ‘value-for-money proposition’ (i.e. whether the investment made in the course is likely to produce an equivalent later return for the student) made by competing tertiary providers. Unsurprisingly, this framing of the student voice within a more consumerist discourse coincides with escalating demands for private investment in higher education and as public resourcing – and social responsibility assumed by government regulators for higher education quality – has retreated (or been entirely divested to the drives of the market). Several other significant factors have also further aggravated this effect. The increasing internationalization of higher education has led to a rapid increase over the past two decades in students studying outside their own countries, particularly at the postgraduate level (Sabzalieva, Mutize and Yerovi 2022). Most often, international students are required to pay considerably higher tuition fees than domestic students. Given most international students also tend to transit from lower income countries of the global South to higher cost economies of the global North (Altbach, Reisberg and Rumbley 2009), both the costs and stakes are high. This means that families, students and funding agencies offering scholarships have become acutely attuned to reputational data, particularly that related to quality and return on investment. Similarly, as international students also become a more important source of revenue for universities in the global North – especially in higher education systems where public funding has declined – so, too, has the incentive to develop ‘market-friendly data’ to foreground the attraction of institutions (e.g. data that allows students to compare simply and rapidly the ‘scores’ of different institutions or programmes). This imperative has become more important with the relentless rise in the significance of global university rankings, which have enshrined competition by creating relational hierarchies of perceived university quality (Marginson 2017). Most global rankings (and in some cases, local rankings) to a greater or lesser degree include indicators around teaching quality, relying either on student opinion data or teaching reputation. This combination of forces has created powerful incentives for universities to remediate the student voice towards providing more market-focused data. This effect has been seen to be most pronounced in systems in the Anglosphere, where there is an escalating importance of attracting international students as a lucrative source of funding (particularly with receding public or benefactor funds). This imperative has encouraged great efforts to measure and maintain student satisfaction – not only for this international cohort but for students more generally across a range of higher education systems (Winstone et al. 2021). A key means of achieving this objective has been the further repurposing of the enshrined student rating survey, with a greater emphasis on the experience of students as consumers. For instance, a leading example of this reorientation is the United Kingdom’s NSS, which asks students to rate their levels of satisfaction with various aspects of their university experience in the context of their expectations. The stakes for such forms of 51

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measurement are high, with outcomes not only directly linked to institutional quality assessment but also as a powerful proxy for institutional quality. As Winstone and Boud (2019) demonstrate, these forms of satisfaction-centred surveys tend to be weakly linked to actual educational quality and are more orientated towards accountability or marketing objectives than improvement. Therefore, their outcomes tend to be more voraciously consumed by institutional managers and government, rather than teaching academics. As a result, the outcomes of satisfaction-based student ratings may themselves become the focus of improvement efforts, rather than providing useful insights to enhance the quality of teaching and learning (Spence 2019). Moreover, it has been argued that satisfaction surveys also play an important function in shaping what students should expect, which is firmly centred on what they receive (compared to their marketing-fuelled expectations), rather than what they contribute to their learning (Winstone et al. 2021). This specific rendering of the student voice is to reduce it further beyond its singular metricbased form to one that is both deterministic and authoritative in form. The consequences of student dissatisfaction collectively expressed in ratings become not just a matter of remedial action but most often a crisis that needs an immediate response to ensure rating outcomes do not cause reputational and, therefore, economic harm. This is because satisfaction outcomes are in essence market-informing data. This reality is manifested with the release of outcomes, where universities publicly highlight positive student satisfaction outcomes (often cherry-picking the best comparable results) to aid efforts for future student recruitment both locally and globally. Moreover, what Muller (2018) has characterized as the ‘global rankings arms race’ has made levels of student satisfaction even more powerful as global rankings put disproportionate weight on institutional reputation as a lead indicator of quality. Yet such surveys offer little tangible results in pedagogical terms for teaching academics to understand and respond. A singular student voice is passively formed around fulfilled or unfulfilled expectations, leaving few insights into the relational interaction of the student with their learning experiences (Winstone et al. 2021). Therefore, the initiating improvement objective of student rating-based surveys – subsequently reformed into a quality assurance guise – has largely disappeared in the pursuit of satisfaction data. As such, the student voice performs less of a mediating role between students, teachers and institutions, instead ensuring that a positive consumer voice has become the objective itself. Put simply, satisfaction becomes more valuable than educational practices. The dangers in the further institutionalizing of such orthodoxy are clear: there becomes a perverse incentive to maintain student ease, lower levels of challenge and appeal to a majority sense of student need. Similarly, the relationship between teaching academics and students will potentially become more fraught as satisfaction ratings become more institutionally significant and powerful in such things as performance management, where student ratings become not only a demarcation of relative effort but a potential form of academic surveillance (Darwin 2017). This combination of factors is also unlikely to lead to educational improvement but instead greater levels of shared anxiety, academic mistrust in the student voice and student passivity in learning.

Alternative Conceptions: Encouraging Student Voices Several common themes emerge through the evolution of the student voice mapped in this chapter. The first is the persistent preference for a student voice that is rendered by the virtue of 52

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metric-based rating as inherently homogenized and (reductively) comparable to different teachers, programmes and teaching contexts. Both student rating surveys – in their various iterations – and (limited) student representation achieve the goal described by Lygo-Baker, Kinchin and Winstone (2019), as sustaining the fallacy of a single, consensual voice. This imposed consensus does the work of denying the multi-voiced and diversifying nature of classrooms, rendering the student voice both abstract and passive in its tone. Under this weight, conflicting understandings, complex explanations or desires for pedagogical change are also masked. This omission forces teaching academics to speculate about (and often defend) practices understood primarily through metrics and forms of decontextualized comparative analyses – the modern proxies for determining educational quality. This lack of multi-voiced student feedback defies an improvement motive, particularly as the relationship of rating metrics to academic surveillance and performance management is further consolidated. Unsurprisingly, the student voice is considered by many in the contemporary university as a hostile and combative presence or something to be assuaged, rather than one which could provide insights for further pedagogical development. So what then might alternative, more productive approaches look like? Firstly, the critical challenge in the ever more diverse contexts of higher education is to harness the developmental potential of distinct and distinctive student voices. Secondly, the complex challenges of contemporary higher education pedagogies demand less reductive, metric-based summative instruments and more formative evaluative strategies that can effectively mediate learning relationships between students, teachers and institutions. Finally, there is a need to reassert the seminal objective of harnessing student voices: to understand the range of student learning experiences to improve the quality of teaching pedagogies and learning responsiveness. One strategy that has been adopted as a potential means of achieving these objectives is the students-as-partners model (Cook-Sather, Bovill and Felten 2014; Healey, Flint and Harrington 2016). This approach advocates for teachers and institutions to directly engage with students as a means of building student engagement (and by inference, improvement) from the curriculum stage to the final assessment. Partnership and ongoing collaboration are foregrounded, though regard is equally given to areas where teachers or students need to exercise their specific responsibilities. The students-as-partners model asserts that it transcends consumerist notions of teacher-student relationships by building on the concept of reciprocity at its centre, offering students more subjective choices as to how to engage in, and benefit from, learning opportunities that are afforded. It is argued that working in partnership with students ensures more responsive pedagogy, encouraging students to exercise greater personal agency and thereby making the classroom more inclusive. Others propose further extending this model to encourage a more critical engagement of students with their learning (e.g. Zepke 2017) or more aggressively using technology to avail more direct student engagement in the design of their learning (e.g. Hämäläinen, Kiili and Smith Blaine 2016). However, this type of model is dependent on a difficult alignment of forces: high institutional commitment, suitable programme structures for negotiation and, of course, considerable time and levels of commitment from academic staff and students. Moreover, it is also likely to be difficult to enact in environments where students have been used to occupying a passive role or increasingly where metric-driven understandings of quality may be favoured over more collaborative gestures. Along similar lines, I have previously proposed an alternative means of harnessing student voices towards pedagogical improvement in higher education contexts (Darwin 2016, 2012). 53

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This approach, described as a learning evaluation model, proposes a progressive series of formative and summative student evaluations centred on qualitative insight into student learning experiences. This approach encourages teaching academics to act throughout programmes to understand differing student responses to pedagogical actions, in particular identifying opportunities for improvement to address different student needs more effectively. A critical element of this approach is the identification of tensions or contractions emerging between intended outcomes and those achieved across the class. It also recognizes that although diverse student opinions are critical to understanding pedagogical effectiveness, these understandings cannot be considered either definitive or diagnostic in form. For instance, using this approach students will offer contradictory impressions, or some will express frustrations that are not shared by other students. Instead, the model proposes using student voices as a productive catalyst for pedagogical reflection and as evidence for targeted improvement in practices. Evidence suggests that this approach has a potentially expansive potential for pedagogical decision-making, engaging students more directly in evaluative thinking and the reality of the diversity of classroom learning needs. However, as with the students-as-partners model, this type of approach is also resource intensive and requires considerable teacher and institutional support to be effective. Similarly, the strong headwinds of ratings and rankings also limit the potential of approaches that foreground pedagogical improvement at the potential expense of end-of-semester satisfaction outcomes.

Conclusion This chapter has focussed on how a singular, largely metric-driven form of student voice has been used over recent history to mediate understandings of teaching quality. As Wertsch (2007) explains after Vygotsky, the importance of mediating cultural artefacts rests in their power to shape actions as they carry socio-historical power. In the case of the instrument-centred student voice in higher education, conceptions of what constitutes quality have been embedded in their evolving designs that reflect distinct policy intentions. As Canning (2017) also reminds us, this voice has been consistently represented as a formal and observable voice that carries considerable significance for institutions, policymakers and, more recently, global rankers as a legitimate proxy for comparative teaching quality. Moreover, as the policymakers across global higher education systems have variously transformed their driving imperatives, the instruments used to mediate the student voice have to reflect its priorities. Rising levels of student dissent drove attempts to measure teaching effectiveness as a means of teaching improvement, progressively directing quality assurance discourses towards standards and accountability. This imperative was gradually assimilated by more recent neoliberalist market drives that have re-focussed this voice on consumer satisfaction. Throughout this evolution, the mediating effect of ratings (and to a lesser extent, student representation) was to create shared expectations among students and teachers as to what was important and what the institution understood as the parameters of quality. The progressive intertwining of outcomes with institutional performance management and burgeoning forms of university rankings was only to add emphasis to this intent. Consequently, the outcomes of ratings have increasingly become the objective – rather than necessarily improving teaching and learning outcomes – meaning more fraught decision-making for classroom educators who may always have one eye on these eventual outcomes. 54

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Considerable research attention has been given to perfecting the design, and broadening the adoption, of student ratings. However, there has been limited interest in analysing the theoretical assumptions about pedagogy and learning they necessarily embody. At the same time, the locus of control of analysing and responding to the student voice has gravitated ever further from teaching academics to the institutional level, with clear signs that this point is now moving beyond the university to the domains of the higher education ‘marketplace’ and global rankers. As this chapter has sought to demonstrate, far from being of benign intent, these evolving efforts to coalesce a student voice have engendered in it increasing regulatory power over the teaching function in universities. By effectively privileging a seductive, metric-based sentiment from students, the complex and often nuanced responses of different voices have been lost in the increasingly market-driven urgency for comparison, deficit identification and remediation. Therefore, ratings as a characterization of student voice have not only been an implicit means of collectively imposing policy objectives but they have also effectively ascribed the responsibility for comparative failures largely to teaching academics. As the economic and reputational stakes have escalated in contemporary higher education, this responsibility has been reinforced by more active forms of local surveillance on teaching performativity through performance management. However, regrettably, there is little in this trajectory that has been motivated towards the core objective of capturing student voices: making pedagogy more responsive and improving the quality of the student learning experience in higher education. This deficiency needs much greater attention as universities continue to stratify in their missions and diversify their student populations.

References Altbach, P. (2016), Global Perspectives on Higher Education, Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press. Altbach, P., L. Reisberg and L. Rumbley (2009), ‘Trends in Global Higher Education: Tracking an Academic Revolution’, Paris: UNESCO. Benton, S. L., and W. E. Cashin (2014), ‘Student Ratings of Instruction in College and University Courses’, in M. B. Paulsen (ed.), Higher Education: Handbook of Theory and Research, 29, 279–326, Dordrecht: Springer Netherlands. https://doi.org/10.1007/978-94-017-8005-6_7. Benton, S. L., and Kenneth R. Ryalls (2016), ‘Challenging Misconceptions about Student Ratings of Instruction’, IDEA Paper #58. https://www.idea​edu.org/Port​als/0/Uplo​ads/Docume​nts/Challenging_ Misconceptions_About_Stu​dent​_Rat​ings​_of_​Inst​ruct​ion.pdf (accessed 19 June 2023). Boring, A. (2017), ‘Gender Biases in Student Evaluations of Teaching’, Journal of Public Economics, 145: 27–41. https ://doi.org/10.1016/J.JPUBECO.2016.11.006. Canning, J. (2017), ‘Conceptualising Student Voice in UK Higher Education: Four Theoretical Lenses’, Teaching in Higher Education, 22 (5): 519–31. https://doi.org/10.1080/13562​517.2016.1273​207. Centra, J. A. (1993), Reflective Faculty Evaluation: Enhancing Teaching and Determining Faculty Effectiveness, San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass. Coates, H. (2005), ‘The Value of Student Engagement for Higher Education Quality Assurance’, Quality in Higher Education, 11 (1): 25–36. https://doi.org/10.1080/135383​2050​0074​915. Cook-Sather, A., C. Bovill and P. Felten (2014), Engaging Students as Partners in Learning and Teaching, San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass. Darwin, S. (2012), ‘Moving beyond Face Value: Re-envisioning Higher Education Evaluation as a Generator of Professional Knowledge’, Assessment and Evaluation in Higher Education, 37 (6): 733– 45. https://doi.org/10.1080/02602​938.2011.565​114. Darwin, S. (2016), Student Evaluation in Higher Education: Reconceptualising the Student Voice, Cham: Springer International Publishing.

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Darwin, S. (2017), ‘What Contemporary Work Are Student Ratings Actually Doing in Higher Education?’, Studies in Educational Evaluation, 54: 13–21. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.stue​ duc.2016.08.002. Darwin, S. (2021), ‘From the Local Fringe to Market Centre: Analysing the Transforming Social Function of Student Ratings in Higher Education’, Studies in Higher Education, 46 (9): 1978–90. https://doi. org/10.1080/03075​079.2020.1712​690. Dowd, A. C., M. Sawatzky and R. Korn (2011), ‘Theoretical Foundations and a Research Agenda to Validate Measures of Intercultural Effort’, The Review of Higher Education, 35 (1): 17–44. https://doi. org/10.1353/rhe.2011.0033. Fielding, M. (2004), ‘Transformative Approaches to Student Voice: Theoretical Underpinnings, Recalcitrant Realities’, British Educational Research Journal, 30 (2): 295–311. https://doi. org/10.1080/0141​1920​4200​0195​236. Gibbs, P. (2011), ‘Adopting Consumer Time and the Marketing of Higher Education’, in M. Molesworth, E. Nixon and R. Scullion (eds), The Marketisation of Higher Education and the Student as Consumer, 52–64, New York: Routledge. Hämäläinen, R., C. Kiili and E. Smith Blaine (2016), ‘Orchestrating 21st Century Learning in Higher Education: A Perspective on Student Voice’, British Journal of Educational Technology, 48 (5): 1106– 18. https://doi.org/10.1111/bjet.12533. Hazelkorn, E. (2016), ‘Globalization and the Continuing Influence of Rankings – Positive and Perverse – on Higher Education’, in M. Yudkevich, P. G. Altbach and L. E. Rumbley (eds), The Global Academic Rankings Game: Changing Institutional Policy, Practice and Academic Life, 269–94. New York: Routledge. Healey, M., A. Flint and K. Harrington (2016), ‘Students as Partners: Reflections on a Conceptual Model’, Teaching and Learning Inquiry, 4 (2): 8–20. https://doi.org/10.20343/tea​chle​arni​nqu.4.2.3. Kahn, P. E. (2014), ‘Theorising Student Engagement in Higher Education’, British Educational Research Journal, 40 (6): 1005–18. https://doi.org/10.1002/berj.3121. Knapper, C. (2001), ‘Broadening Our Approach to Teaching Evaluation’, New Directions for Teaching and Learning: Fresh Approaches to the Evaluation of Teaching, 88: 3–9. https://doi.org/10.1002/tl.32. Kuh, G. D. (2009), ‘The National Survey of Student Engagement: Conceptual and Empirical Foundations’, New Directions for Institutional Research, 2009 (141): 5–20. https://doi.org/10.1002/ir.283. Lygo-Baker, S., I. Kinchin and N. Winstone, eds (2019), ‘The Single Voice Fallacy’, in Engaging Student Voices in Higher Education: Diverse Perspectives and Expectations in Partnership, 1–19, Cham: Palgrave Macmillan. MacNell, L., A. Driscoll and A. N. Hunt (2015), ‘What’s in a Name: Exposing Gender Bias in Student Ratings of Teaching’, Innovative Higher Education, 40: 291–303. https://doi.org/10.1007/s10​ 755-014-9313-4. Marginson, S. (2016), ‘The Worldwide Trend to High Participation Higher Education: Dynamics of Social Stratification in Inclusive Systems’, Higher Education, 72 (4): 413–34. https://doi.org/10.1007/s10​ 734-016-0016-x. Marginson, S. (2017), ‘Do Rankings Drive Better Performance?’, International Higher Education, 89: 6–8. https://doi.org/10.6017/ihe.2017.89.9833. Marsh, H. W. (2007), ‘Students’ Evaluations of University Teaching: Dimensionality, Reliability, Validity, Potential Biases and Usefulness’, in R. P. Perry and J. C. Smart (eds), The Scholarship of Teaching and Learning in Higher Education: An Evidence-Based Perspective, 319–83, Dordrecht, The Netherlands: Springer. https://doi.org/10.1007/1-4020-5742-3_9. Martin, M., and S. Parikh (2017), Quality Management in Higher Education: Development and Drivers, Paris: International Institute for Educational Planning, UNESCO. Muller, J. (2018), The Tyranny of Metrics, Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Pineda, P., and T. Seidenschnur (2022), ‘Translating Student Evaluation of Teaching: How Discourse and Cultural Environments Pressure Rationalizing Procedures’, Studies in Higher Education, 47 (7): 1326– 42. https://doi.org/10.1080/03075​079.2021.1889​491.

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Remmers, H. H. (1927), ‘The Purdue Rating Scale for Instructors’, Educational Administration and Supervision, 6: 399–406. Sabzalieva, E., T. Mutize and C. Yerovi (2022), Moving Minds: Opportunities and Challenges for Virtual Student Mobility in a Post-Pandemic World, Paris: OECD-IESALC. https://unes​doc.une​sco.org/ ark:/48223/pf000​0380​988. Seale, J. (2010), ‘Doing Student Voice Work in Higher Education: An Exploration of the Value of Participatory Methods’, British Educational Research Journal, 36 (6): 995–1015. https://doi. org/10.1080/014119​2090​3342​038. Seale, J, S. Gibson, J. Haynes and A. Potter (2015), ‘Power and Resistance: Reflections on the Rhetoric and Reality of Using Participatory Methods to Promote Student Voice and Engagement in Higher Education’, Journal of Further and Higher Education, 39 (4): 534–52. https://doi.org/10.1080/03098​ 77X.2014.938​264. Spence, C. (2019), ‘“Judgement” versus “Metrics” in Higher Education Management’, Higher Education, 77 (5): 761–75. https://doi.org/10.1007/s10​734-018-0300-z. Stark, P., K. Ottoboni and A. Boring (2016), ‘Student Evaluations of Teaching (Mostly) Do Not Measure Teaching Effectiveness’, ScienceOpen Research. https://doi.org/10.14293/s2199-1006.1.sor-edu.aet​ bzc.v1. Tight, M. (2019), Higher Education Research: The Developing Field, London: Bloomsbury. Wertsch, J. V. (1991), Voices of the Mind: A Sociocultural Approach to Mediated Action, Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Wertsch, J. V. (2007), ‘Mediation’, in H. Daniels, M. Cole and J. V. Wertsch (eds), The Cambridge Companion to Vygotsky, 178–92, New York: Cambridge University Press. Winstone, N. E, and D. Boud (2019), ‘Developing Assessment Feedback: From Occasional Survey to Everyday Practice’, in S. Lygo-Baker, I. M. Kinchin and N. E. Winstone (eds), Engaging Student Voices in Higher Education: Diverse Perspectives and Expectations in Partnership, 109–23, Cham: Palgrave Macmillan. Winstone, N. E., Rola Ajjawi, Kim Dirkx and David Boud (2021), ‘Measuring What Matters: The Positioning of Students in Feedback Processes within National Student Satisfaction Surveys’, Studies in Higher Education, April, 1–13. https://doi.org/10.1080/03075​079.2021.1916​909. Zepke, N. (2017), Student Engagement in Neoliberal Times: Theories and Practices for Learning and Teaching in Higher Education, Singapore: Springer.

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Spaces of Student Voice: Multiplicities, Antagonisms and Authenticity RONALD BARNETT

Today’s student moves in ever-widening spheres of communication, messaging, modes of being and self-understandings, in, across and beyond the campus. These domains, full of motion and antagonism, pile on each other. Today’s student is also sensitive to world crises. She or he, accordingly, is perennially dis-placed, her voice stretched and pushed to its limits and sometimes subdued or even extinguished. The matter of student voice, therefore, warrants attention, as impositions on and opportunities for voice widen. This text may be understood as an essay in the philosophy of student voice, where philosophy is understood as a space for conceptual exploration and invention. Philosophy is also a matter of exploring the gaps and the possibilities between concept and reality, to see how far the Real of the world falls short of the potential in concepts. The concept of student voice may turn out to possess possibilities that are occluded or simply largely unrecognized. In the inquiry here, hypothetical examples drawn widely across student settings are offered so as to give the suggestions empirical warrant. Terms we shall encounter in this exploration – both of foreboding and of hope – include those of activist voice, pedagogical voice, authentic and inauthentic voice, loud voice, opinionated voice, voice-possible, will to voice, voice-power, silent voice, loss of voice, vocal dissonance, contending voices, premature voice, ideological voice, suppressed voice, legitimate voice, collective voice, vocal injustice, vocal balance, civic voice and the multi-vocal student. This welter of sightings of student voice is required if we are to do justice to the very idea of student voice. After all, the idea becomes contentious as the student moves nomadically in a world that is in total motion and is conflicted; and yet it is an idea that is redolent of possibilities as the student encounters opportunities for new kinds of voice. Four domains are sighted that aid navigation in criss-crossing this terminological terrain: (1) the immediate pedagogical situation; (2) the institutional environment; (3) inter-connections between a student’s study programme and the wider society; and (4) the student’s lifeworld, in the student’s own learning ecology in the community, the home and political activism. Given this classification, challenges heap upon students, their educators, curricula and their associated pedagogies and higher education institutions, so as to enable student voices authentically to develop.

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Too Much Voice? Just what is the central problem here? An assumption in much of the contemporary debate is that students have too little voice – their voice is now needed for societal innovation and creativity and even for their own wellbeing, we are told – but, in some settings, they have too much voice. We should be wary of setting up matters such that the terms of the debate are framed in advance and other framings are implicitly repudiated. How can it be that students sometimes are felt to have too much voice? Quite readily, although their having undue voice takes radically different forms. States may determine that students have far too much voice and explicitly suppress it. States may call out armed forces – in Hong Kong, in Myanmar and other places – and overtly quell that voice (Sharma 2018). Those voices, which – to the authorities – were troubling, will be heard no more. The banging of the drums and the firecrackers, and the students’ shoutings, are over. But surveillance techniques can suppress student voice without the use of overt force (Yut Yiu and Chung 2021). Elsewhere too, in ‘democratic’ society, moves may be taken to limit students’ rights to public protest. It is not just that students on the streets cause difficulties for traffic flows but that noise from protesters is deemed to be problematic, potentially having ‘significant impact’; and so steps are taken to limit noisy protest, however peaceful (UK Government 2022). Noise, itself, is declared disruptive. Noisiness, however, can take a rather different form. We may say of a student in the pedagogical situation that she or he is ‘opinionated’. Imbued with ideologies of the age (perhaps promoted by social media), such students not merely voice a view, a belief, an opinion, but do so irrespective of other views being voiced. They do not heed the messages, data and alternative frameworks available to them. Epistemically blinkered, they seek to impose their views on others, declining to give way to and to hear out possibly rival interpretations. Their voices are just too vocal. So two quite different situations of students whose voices are too loud: how might we distinguish them? Both forms of loud voice find their places on their own gradients and, in this, they are similar. As noted, students-as-radical-activists-on-the-streets are subject to a welter of responses on the part of the state, ranging from very forceful suppression to a more than grudging tolerance that may, on occasions (as in Chile [Grugel and Nem Singh 2015]), help to usher in a more democratic regime. Correspondingly, the opinionated student is also on a gradient of repudiation and acceptance. The rules of the pedagogical setting may be exercised rigidly, the student being overtly silenced, or the rules may be exercised pliably, the student’s opinions being opened to the full range of alternative representations present in a class. So the loudness of voice and its disturbance qualities are no discriminators, as between noise on the streets and in the classroom setting. Is there, then, a difference between our two examples of loud student voice? Are both to be discouraged and even repudiated or, indeed, to be welcomed and even encouraged? This matter is important here, since on it must turn our understanding of what it might mean to encourage student voice. This matter, therefore, of difference and/or similarity between the two settings (pedagogical and extramural), will form a frame for this essay.

Demarcations of Voice? We have before us two forms of student voice that present an awkwardness: on the one hand, those as felt by the state and, on the other hand, those as felt in the pedagogical situation. How might we adjudicate them? 60

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We may say that the student-voice-on-the-streets is external, while the pedagogical voice is internal. It is not simply that one is extramural while the other is within the walls. Indeed, the activist students may be preparing their campaigns within the university confines (and the state’s troops may storm the university on that account), and the geology student in the field may express an opinionated voice about the indigenous peoples encountered in the locale. There is, though, an internal-external aspect worth noticing concerning the pedagogical situation: our activist students (even as they prepare their banners and Molotov cocktails on campus) are manifestly outwith the pedagogical situation while those voicing their opinionated views even during fieldwork are manifestly inside it. A second distinction is that the voice on the streets is pitched against a polity or set of societal arrangements whereas the opinionated voice in the classroom is concerned with representations of the world. The one lives in the world as Real while the other lives in the world as Idea. This distinction – with its echoes of Schopenhauer (1997) – carries us some way but, as ever, the world as Real and as Idea intermingle (cf. Bhaskar 2008). The student not just on programmes in the humanities and the social sciences but on all programmes lives in the world as Real and as Idea. Correspondingly, the students-on-the-streets live not only in the world as Real – to which the bullets testify – but also in the world as Idea. Their protestations are fuelled by their own analyses of the social and political structures within which they find themselves. A third distinction may lie in the concept of authenticity. We may say, for example, that the students on the streets are exhibiting an inauthenticity not found in the student in the pedagogical setting. It could be that the students-on-the-streets have been bewitched by ideologies, whether of radicalism in society and/or self-imposed, by an undue attachment to ‘critical’ stances and frameworks. On the other hand, might it not be that our apparently opinionated student, far from being unreflectively in the grip of an ideology – say of human rights, or ecology, or coloniality, or empire, or freedom or libertarian economics or equality – is actually trying, if clumsily, to combat the taken-for-granted Weltanschuung in the classroom? Our opinionated student may be more authentic than the others who are present. (I return to this matter of authenticity below.) It is evident, then, that none of these three ways of distinguishing between our two forms of student voice – in the educational setting and in the wider world – offers a straightforward demarcation between the two situations. Another tack is needed.

Voice as Multiplicity In a world that is hugely complex, intermingled even as between the human and non-human domains, and with mass higher education systems interconnected with society in manifold ways, the role of the student is a multiplicity (Deleuze and Guattari 2007). The role splays out, across pedagogical settings, across higher education institutions and across society in many if not most of its aspects (in the family, in civic society, in the polity, in the economy and in culture). These lines are not so much lines of flight (Guattari 2016) or even lines of attack, but are lines of advance and retreat on broad fronts. (The military metaphors seem helpful here but are not binding.) Even to speak – aping Deleuze and Guattari (2007) – of a becoming-student is liable to mislead. First, there is no single path of becoming. Second, this becoming is happening in many directions simultaneously, and each movement takes on its own trajectory and velocity. 61

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It follows that the student has many voices and has possibilities of voice, and which are counter-posed to each other. It follows, too, that the student will have playing in her or his mind not only multiple inner and outer voices (Laclau 2006) but voices that are mutually antagonistic, and where no reconciliation is possible (Zizek 2009). The young woman student in a family that has its frames of belief and values in a traditional religious setting may find conflicting voices playing in her mind, as she wrestles in having her being both in that family setting – perhaps with its assumptions over gender roles and hierarchies – and in her university, with its more open regime. The student representative on a committee, whether at course, faculty or institutional level, may also find herself caught between alternative registers, as she hears about institutional finances and government expectations and pressures on academic work-patterns, and yet is acutely sensitive to the plight of her fellow students whose economic situations are imperilling their educational progress. The student’s lifeworld and her institutional setting provide vectors that impinge on student voice, which shows and delimits itself variously. Such vocal multiplicity moves on planes and with countervailing forces, forces that may lead to vocal silence on the part of the student. A music technology student may be disillusioned with the musical genres and music composition in his or her study programme and so resorts to forming extramurally a group of students to compose as they wish. They create a space for their own (metaphorical) voice denied in the classroom. But now consider a student in a traditional university, perhaps studying history, experiencing the weight of disciplinary dominated curricula. She may have arrived at the university, a prestigious university, imbued with much cultural capital but yet feels weighed down by the authority residing both on the platforms of the lecture halls and in the journals and books that she is starting to read, much of which has been written by her professors. Her voice becomes subdued, intimidated by the doleful presence of the voices in the academic ether around her. She is encouraged to form her own view but senses that it carries no weight, given the looming presence of those epistemic authorities. So there are two examples here of student voice being diminished in the pedagogical setting, but they harbour notable differences. The limitation felt by our first student is that of curricula exclusion: certain kinds of voice are off-limits in the student’s curriculum. The student’s vocal range is delimited: the compositions in which the student is interested can be pursued only extramurally. Call this an epistemic silence. In contrast, our second student is encouraged to come forth with her own ideas within the pedagogical situation but feels paralysed. The vocal limitation comes from within. Nothing stops her from voicing her own ideas; it is just that she accords them little or no value. In the first place, the vocal exclusion is imposed upon the student; in the second case, the vocal silence is self-imposed. In his interrogation of the idea of liberty, Isaiah Berlin (1979) distinguished between positive freedom and negative freedom. In the one, new paths open, and I am free to venture forth in my own way, unhindered. In the other, constraints are taken off, and I am free of my captors. Whether I choose to walk out of the prison is another matter entirely. Analogously here we can distinguish between a voice that is forbidden (our music technology student) and a voice that is mute (our history student). In both cases, voice is silent in the study programme but the two aetiologies differ. And so we may sense that student voice is a multiplicity, playing out along planes of curricula, pedagogy, imagination, authority, power, exclusion and time and space, and sheer personal 62

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resource and will. All these vectors and others open and close over time. The very ideas of life-wide learning and a student’s learning ecology (Barnett and Jackson 2020), after all, are testimony to student learning moving in a variety of spaces, on campus, in student life, in the family, in the evening or weekend job and in civic, national and even global fora. The student finds her voice on a global stage – say in matters of climate change and ecological challenge – in a way apparently denied to her in her programme of studies. Voice as a multiplicity gives rise to the multi-vocal student. A fourfold classification of the spaces of student voice begins to suggest itself, namely voice in relation to (1) the immediate pedagogical situation; (2) the institutional environment; (3) the wider society; and (4) the student’s own lifeworld, in the student’s own learning ecology in the community and the home. As we have noted, these four spaces overlap, intersect and often conflict. Still, even with those qualifications, this fourfold classification deserves further nuancing.

Power and Being Student voice is a function of power in the different spaces it is exercised – or thwarted. For Heidegger (1998), being was being insofar as it is being-possible, insofar as it has possibilities before it. Here, we may say that student being is voice-possible, that the student has voice where there are possibilities of voice. But, as with our humanities student, voice-possible does not entail voice-present. That the student has space and encouragement to exercise voice is no guarantee that voice will be exercised. Nietzsche (1968) is our guide here. In the end, students have to summon forth their own will to voice, and to declare themselves, in whatever genre, mode or medium that is appropriate. The problem is that the discursive playing field is always uneven. A student may be hesitant here and forthright there, fearful (of the examiners, of the authorities) there and yet shouting on the sports field here. But there may be carry-over across the spaces. The female student may gain such confidence and resource in the pedagogical situation that she is able to carry that new confidence into her oppressive family setting and find new ways of expressing her voice there. So vocal spaces are not fixed in their power. Talk of structure and agency should not tempt us, however, not even (plural) structures and (plural) agencies. As noted, the single student moves in multiple and overlapping spaces, on intersecting planes, subject to manifold vectors (of discipline, tradition, religion, ideology, force, power, nationhood and global discourses). In turn, student being becomes problematic. Is a student a ‘student’ in the ‘home’ with the parents, in demonstrating on the streets, in setting up a stall in an open space on campus to proclaim the injustices of a far-off peoples, in participating in an online campaign and in arguing with a university’s court of governors to desist from fossilfuel investments? Is every potential space in which a student has, or might have, voice to be regarded as a space of student voice? Is the idea of student voice not in prospect of losing its potency? This is a fundamental matter here. Are there settings outwith the university, in which the student, qua student, speaks (or even should speak)? Marcuse (1978), it will be recalled (and doubtless to Adorno’s displeasure [Wolters 2013]), saw in the students a potential for political and societal transformation – and even revolution – since, precisely as students, they possessed 63

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a space which they could exploit. It was a voice-power, and it would be a demonstrably student voice, available to students, qua students.

Inside and Outside, and Losing and Gaining Voice If the voice of the student can carry from the university into the world, so too can the voices of the world carry into student voice within the university. As members of society, students are carriers of ideologies, reflecting societal interest structures. The internet age has fuelled this merging of outer and inner voice, not least through most contemporary students being born among Generation-Z, that is, post the origins of the internet in the mid-1990s. Individually and collectively, students will carry into the university contradictory multiple voices of society (Katz et al., 2021). Being a student, accordingly, is a matter of the student’s capacity to orchestrate multiple inner and outer voices. This welter of voices is not just constructed in the mind of the student for it is also real. The discourses of the wider society proliferate, and bewilderingly so in their mutual antagonisms, and with severe consequences for students. This situation of multiplying and conflicting discourses is a feature of supercomplexity (Barnett 2022: 133–41), which structures the phenomenology of students, pulling students this way and that. And it is exacerbated as the narratives of the world – that the student carries with her into the university – collide with those in the university. To use an analogy, it is not only as if the student is being asked to sing voice parts in a choir simultaneously but it is also as if those voice parts are in different musical genres (in a Chinese opera and in an opera of the West). The student, therefore, can be forgiven if she or he experiences vocal dissonance: the vocal parts that the student is, in effect, being asked to sing exert such mutually antagonistic demands on the student’s vocal capacities that they destablize the student. It is not surprising that some students suffer stress in handling such a mélange of contending voices. (The international Society for Research into Higher Education was established – in the 1960s – by a group of student counsellors wishing to research their experiences in offering services to students suffering mental distress [Shattock 2015]). The clash of inner and outer voices may be explicit. Professors and lecturers may urge their students, newly before them, to ‘forget all that you have learnt hitherto’. That a student has studied subject x prior to joining a university and is wishing to study the ‘same’ subject may be felt to be an impediment to making the kind of progress expected of her or him. What has gone before may be considered – by the university teachers at least – to amount to detritus that has to be discarded so that the student can be open to the new experiences now being put her way. The student, in effect, has to lose her voice. And unwittingly, the use by academic institutions of learning analytics may have the effect of steering student voice, as the latter orchestrate their online interventions to show their digital presences. Behind the blank screen, the invisible student speaks and secures her ‘participation’ in the class webinar. Here is a performative voice, inauthentically contributing to a discussion to satisfy the logarithms of the surveillance university imbued by a will to power over the student. That the student vocalizes, then, is no indication of the possession of voice proper. As noted, a voice may be opinionated, saturated with ideology, held within unreflected frameworks or simply uninformed. Moreover, it may be the outcome of a supercomplex array of inner and 64

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antagonistic voices that have not been treated to careful disentanglement (the voice may be not yet formed or even, dare it be said, ill-formed). It is part of a higher education, properly designed, to assist the student in working through these entanglements and coming through to some kind of authoritative – albeit uncertain – voice. And, in the best of higher education across the world, this is what happens.

Being Required to be Vocal Talk of student voice in the abstract, therefore, is liable to be wholly misleading. The emission of sound, or even the production of words, is not a sufficient sign of student voice. Indeed, in some cultures, where the concept of teaching is still all-powerful, students may be quiet, but each engaged in her or his intense internal conversations. Such a situation has its parallel in a pedagogical setting in which the teacher, possessed of a ‘democratic’ will, places the chairs of a class in a circle so as not to impose the teacher’s voice on proceedings but to encourage the students’ voices in a pedagogical situation of near-equality. However, some students may find this to be a threatening situation, being obliged to expose themselves to the gaze of others. They may feel that they are being required to utter when they are struggling to make sense of the utterances around them and so remain outwardly quiet. From their point of view, they are being required to be vocal prematurely. We now come to an issue simmering here: why has the matter of student voice come to the fore of late? Is it that the student voice has been too loud or too quiet or the wrong kind of voice? One person’s quietness or suitable forcefulness, after all, may be another person’s inappropriateness (cf. Moore 1980). Pedagogically, student voice may be suppressed by epistemic power, embodied in a student’s professors. It may be ritualized in course feedback. More widely, students may be incarcerated for critiquing political situations and governmental policies. Elsewhere, the voices of students who conduct ecologically oriented campaigns may be marginalized by a conservative press. And students may find their voice diminished if not extinguished behind the net curtains in the home setting or, say, as a graduate in a work situation. However, both suppression and expansion of student voice are evident simultaneously. In a world that valorizes discourses of innovation, collaborative working, communication, growth in gross national product and even of critical thinking in the workplace, the voice of graduates is now required. For a higher rate of return – a salary that exceeds those without a higher education – graduates are expected to enunciate their ideas. Silence at work is not permitted. Graduates are being paid to express a voice. Voice is organizationally functional, especially in profit-oriented settings but just so long as there is not too much of it. Where that occurs, excommunication may result.

Antinomies of Student Voice and Legitimacy Facing student voice, then, are forces of suppression and of compulsion: voice is subjugated and it is required. But it exhibits other contrasting antinomies. It is singular and collective. It is open and closed. It communicates widely and narrowly. It is ideological and authentic. It is value-laden and (apparently) value-free. It is an assemblage of forces within and outwith 65

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higher education. It is dependent on arduous processes of learning and development and it is spontaneous. And, in an educational setting, it is to be encouraged and repudiated. Student voice, to reiterate, is a function of multiple vectors carrying force and intersecting with each other, on numerous planes of power (and so evinces both weak and strong voice). Marketized systems of education are often steered by the state and take the form of quasimarkets (being not true markets). Universities, accordingly, are subject both to the forces of economic markets but also to state regulation, the state being concerned to maximize both the efficiency of its public services and their quality. Learning analytics may be introduced as a management system ostensibly to aid student retention but it may serve as a form of student surveillance, privileging certain kinds of voice and behaviours. In this milieu, students become subject to logics of economic markets and of institutional management. In turn, students are required to exhibit contrasting and even antagonistic voices, of speaking out and of reticence. Students are, indeed, expected to voice their preferences – as to the institution that they will attend, their programme of study, the curriculum and its pedagogies, and their teachers. The space for the exercise of these preferences is growing but is contentious. To what extent might students exert and see heeded their claims for ‘safe spaces’ in the classroom? Or their hopes for leniency in instances of plagiarism? Or their resorting to the use of essay mills in the private sector? Or their requests for detailed handouts covering the ground of the syllabus? Or their desire to be not merely silent but invisible in online classes? Or their low evaluations of their teachers? (Many universities in the United Kingdom invite students to score their teachers on a 1–5 scale, and failure to pass a minimum threshold in these evaluations – say 3.8 – can lead to severe injunctions.) The higher education market encourages students to feel that their voice commands power. After all, this was an intent behind the marketization of higher education – as with the marketization of any public service – to afford more space for a heightened voice on the part of the ‘consumers’ and so circumvent ‘producer capture’ (Talbot 2010). The marketization of higher education and the strengthening of the student voice are pari passu. A key question is this: over what range of aspects of the total pedagogical situation is the student voice legitimate? It may be said that it is entirely legitimate for students to voice their dissatisfaction with the general character of curricula, say in history (where students have observed its narrowness in being too ‘white’) or, say, in economics (where students have voiced unease at a subject that, for them, is in effect an endorsement of laissez-faire economics). But where does such legitimacy end and illegitimacy begin? It is inadequate to reply that ‘it is all a matter of context’. Just as a medical doctor, a lawyer, an architect, an engineer or an accountant cannot readily accede only to the voice of their clients, so too there are limits to the extent to which higher education teachers can heed the voices of their students without prejudicing the character of the educational experience that they – as the professionals concerned – are wishing their students to gain.

Gaining an Authentic Voice There is, though, a further issue (which we touched upon earlier): what is to count as an authentic voice? To the extent that students subscribe to the part written for them in a policy frame of marketization, to that extent their voice can be said to be inauthentic. Much was made – in 66

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the 1970s and 1980s in work on student learning – of students ‘reproducing’ the material they encountered, rather than forming their own ‘deep learning’ responses to it. If that theory carried water (and despite its deserved critiques (Howie and Bagnall 2012), in an era of the hypermarketization of higher education, it now possesses new force. Today, student voice may be understood, in part, as an inauthentic expression of students-as-customers in a higher education market, ventriloquizing the parts prescribed for them. In an age of both complexity (multiple systems) and supercomplexity (multiple discourses), in an age – in other words – of mutually antagonistic vectors, does the idea of authenticity carry any weight? All that can be said – and it has already been intimated – is that student voice is a multiplicity, moving on separate and tilted planes, all intersecting, and each with its own weight and power, both inside the university (at its different pedagogical and institutional levels) and in the wider world (where students are increasingly playing varied parts, even on global stages). On some planes and at some moments, the student voice carries power, on others, not; but at all times, the student voice is subject to forces acting on it. Seemingly, authenticity has no purchase here. But note that if we cannot seriously entertain the idea of an authentic student voice, then we would have to abandon the idea of higher education. In the idea of higher education – as it has been bequeathed in the West from the Greeks onwards – the idea of an authentic student voice is central. Socrates’ corrupting of the youth of Athens was a pedagogical effort aimed at eliciting an authentic voice from each participant, with a clarity not just of thought but of critical thought, able to stand apart from the non-reflected dogmas of the age and to emerge with one’s own insights. Plato’s image of those in darkness in the cave, seeing only flickering shadows on the walls, but having the possibility of migrating into the light, carries the prospect of authentic being in both perception and enunciation. Now, however, in a digital and ideological age, where truth is suspect, authenticity becomes especially problematic. That higher education is under assault from both authoritarian regimes and corporate interests suggests that the idea of authentic student voice is in difficulty. Some even consider (Lysgaard, Bengtsson and Laugesen 2019) that today’s students are in darkness (though whether anew or perennially is not always clear). This analysis suggests that, while it is fundamental to the idea of higher education, student voice is not a good in itself. Habermas (1991) identified three validity claims of an ‘ideal speech situation’, those of truthfulness, sincerity and appropriateness. We may see these also as epistemic virtues of student voice, but we should add other epistemic virtues of courage, listening, reticence, perspicacity and so forth. It follows that authentic student voice is never won completely, but it is always susceptible to further refinement, authority, control, power, nuance, subtlety and graciousness. Even while it possesses the courage to speak to those in power, the authentic voice knows when to give way and to be silent. The will to speak has to be accompanied by the willingness – and the readiness – to be quiet. Otherwise, we are into a privileging of voice as such, into an ideology of the entrepreneurial university.

Vocal Imbalance Earlier, this essay discerned four spaces of student voice, namely in (1) the immediate pedagogical situation (including curricula, teaching arrangements, learning experiences and examination patterns); (2) the institutional environment (the operations, strategies, and conduct 67

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of the university as an institution); (3) ways in which a student’s study programme may lead her or him into the wider society, whether physically or virtually; and (4) the lifeworld broadly, not only in radical movements but also in the student’s own learning ecology in the community and in the home. These four spaces intermingle: a student’s being is now spatially distributed and so, therefore, is student voice. And the student may experience a vocal disjunction as her voice is heard in one domain but discounted in another. Fricker (2010) made well-known the term ‘epistemic injustice’ and although her two forms – hermeneutical and testimonial – were far from exhaustive (Kidd, Medina and Pohlhaus 2019), we may nevertheless substitute here the term ‘vocal injustice’, for those two forms of injustice were forms in which epistemic voice was downvalued and even disregarded. This is precisely the situation in which students find themselves: their voice may be granted saliency in some settings, even on a global scale, but disregarded elsewhere, even in the university. Caught in spaces of differential power, the student experiences vocal imbalance. However, the spaces in which students might have a voice cannot be equally salient. As noted, the student acts in pedagogical spaces qua student and extramurally as a citizen. Again, these situations overlap, but awkwardly. Legitimacy of student voice outwith the university may be secured through the student having gained knowledge, skills and insights within the university. The student as climate warrior has a voice that commands respect partly in respect of her bringing to bear powers of insight and understanding that her education has bestowed. Contrast this situation with another observed earlier, that of the student finding difficulty in expressing her voice in the home, perhaps with parents unable to adjust to their daughter maturing into adulthood. The matter of voice is still present but in these latter situations it is a civic voice that we hear – or fail to hear.

Conclusions The boundaries to student voice are indeterminate, contingent and will be disputed. They can be drawn narrowly or widely. We may say that the student who struggles to express their voice in the family domain, in the workplace or even on the streets in radical mode are not expressing their voice qua student but rather as a member of civil society. Nice issues then arise as to the relationships between the student voice in those extramural settings and in the institutional and pedagogical situations. Again, there will be no clear pattern: on occasions, the development of the student’s voice in the institutional or pedagogical situation may fortify the student for the expression of voice in those extramural settings. Serving on a university committee may afford the student a new sense as to their capacities and their identity. On other occasions, the student will find spaces for a voice in extramural settings in ways denied even within the pedagogical situation. Student voice is always in flux and it can always go on being refined. Secure and authentic voice knows how to present itself and when to be silent. Moreover, when honed, it has options: the expressed voice is simply one of a repertoire of possibilities that the student has formed. The expression of voice, therefore, is always a matter of judgement. Despite its elusiveness, student voice is fundamental to the idea of higher education. Unless a curriculum and its pedagogies, and the host institution, encourage student voice, we are not in the presence of a genuine higher education; but it has to be an authentic voice. However, a concern 68

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must be that the likelihood of student voice being brought on may be diminishing. Whether in totalitarian societies or in marketized societies, and whether in tightly managed higher education institutions or in study programmes designed to fulfil stated learning outcomes, authentic student voice may be surplus to requirements. Eliciting an authentic student voice presents burdens, and the will to elicit it may be submerged within both students and the pedagogical authorities. And, to the extent that that is the case, higher education will be falling short of its responsibilities.

References Barnett, R. (2022), The Philosophy of Higher Education: A Critical Introduction, London: Routledge. Barnett, R., and N. Jackson, eds (2020), Ecologies for Learning and Practice: Emerging Ideas, Sightings, and Possibilities, London: Routledge. Berlin, I. (1979), ‘Two Concepts of Liberty’, in Four Essays on Liberty, 118–72, Oxford: Oxford University. Bhaskar, R. (2008), A Realist Theory of Science, London: Verso. Deleuze, G., and F. Guattari (2007), A Thousand Plateaus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia, London: Continuum. Fricker, M. (2010), Epistemic Injustice: Power & the Ethics of Knowing, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Grugel, J., and J. Nem Singh (2015), ‘Protest, Citizenship and Democratic Renewal: The Student Movement in Chile’, Citizenship Studies, 19 (3–4): 353–66. doi: 10.1080/13621025.2015.1006172. Guattari, F. (2016), Lines of Flight: For Another World of Possibilities, London: Bloomsbury. Habermas, J. (1991), The Theory of Communicative Action. Vol. I: Reason and the Rationalization of Society, Cambridge: Polity. Heidegger, M. (1998), Being and Time, Oxford: Blackwell. Howie, P., and R. Bagnall (2012), ‘A Critique of the Deep and Surface Approaches to Learning Model’, Teaching in Higher Education, 18 (4): 389–400. doi: 10.1080/13562517.2012.73368.9 Katz, R., S. Ogilvie, J. Shaw and L. Woodhead (2021), Gen Z, Explained: The Art of Living in the Digital Age, Chicago: University of Chicago. Kidd, I., J. Medina and G. Pohlhaus, Jr., eds (2019), The Routledge Handbook of Epistemic Justice, London: Routledge. Laclau, E. (2006), ‘Glimpsing the Future’, in S. Critchley and O. Marchart (eds), Laclau: A Critical Reader, London: Routledge. Lysgaard, J. A., S. Bengtsson and M. H.-L. Laugesen (2019), Dark Pedagogy: Education, Horror and the Anthropocene, Cham: Palgrave. Marcuse, H. (1978), ‘Marcuse and the Frankfurt School’, in B. Magee (ed.), Men of Ideas, 60–73, London: British Broadcasting Company. Moore, G. (1980), Am I Too Loud? London: Penguin. Nietzsche, F. (1968), The Will to Power, ed. W. Kaufmann, New York: Vintage. Schopenhauer, A. (1997), The World as Will and Idea, London: Dent. Sharma, Y. (2018), ‘Universities Involved in Crackdown on Student Activism’, University World News, 13 November. https://www.univ​ersi​tywo​rldn​ews.com/post.php?story=201811​1314​5848​956&mode=print (accessed 13 April 2022). Shattock, M. (2015), The Society for Research into Higher Education and the Changing World of British Higher Education: A Study of SRHE Over Its First 25 Years. https://srhe-uat.openc​loud​crm.co.uk/ wp-cont​ent/uplo​ads/2020/03/Shatt​ockS​RHEf​irst​25ye​ars.pdf (accessed 13 April 2022). Talbot, C. (2010), ‘Whatever Happened to “Producer Capture”?’, Policy@Manchester Blogs: Whitehall Watch, 19 February. https://blog.pol​icy.man​ches​ter.ac.uk/whi​teha​llwa​tch/2010/02/whate​ver-happe​ ned-to-produ​cer-capt​ure/ (accessed 13 April 2022).

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UK Government (2022), ‘Police, Crime, Sentencing and Courts Bill 2021: Protest Powers Factsheet’, Policy Paper. https://www.gov.uk/gov​ernm​ent/publi​cati​ons/pol​ice-crime-sen​tenc​ing-and-cou​ rts-bill-2021-fac​tshe​ets/pol​ice-crime-sen​tenc​ing-and-cou​rts-bill-2021-prot​est-pow​ers-factsh​eet (accessed 13 April 2022). Wolters, E. (2013), ‘Letters between Adorno and Marcuse Debate 60s Student Activism’, Critical Theory, 26 July. http://www.criti​cal-the​ory.com/lett​ers-ado​rno-marc​use-disc​uss-60s-stud​ent-activ​ism/ (accessed 13 April 2022). Yut Yiu, C., and R. Chung (2021), ‘Hong Kong Universities Film Classes Amid Rollout of “National Security Education”’, 8 August, Radio Free Asia. https://www.rfa.org/engl​ish/news/china/clas​ses-110​ 8202​1144​325.html (accessed 13 April 2022). Zizek, S. (2009), The Parallax View, Cambridge, MA: MIT Press.

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Neoliberal Reconstruction of University Student Subjectivity: Implications for Student Voice in Egyptian Higher Education ISRAA MEDHAT ESMAT

Universities as sites for knowledge accumulation, inculcation of civic values and exercise of democratic rights have been undermined with the advent of the neoliberal university with its reductionist stress on the economic returns of education (Gburi 2016; Giroux 2002). For university students, the neoliberal discourse aims to re-construct their subjectivity into ‘consumers’ who make rational choices and invest in higher education (HE) and ‘future entrepreneurs’ who are solely responsible for their success in the competitive marketplace. As passive consumers, students are entitled to technical and apolitical rights such as the right to information on cost and quality of different university programmes and the right to evaluate courses and instructors. On the other hand, students as partners (SaP), active participants, co-creators and co-producers should ‘have an authentic and valuable voice in the decisions that impact their learning and education’ (Matthews and Dollinger 2023). In recent literature, different approaches to ‘student voice’ (such as SaP) were conceptualized as a counternarrative to the neoliberal subjectification of students as passive consumers (Healey, Flint and Harrington 2014; Matthews et al. 2018). The neoliberal impact on students’ subjectivity has been previously studied in developed countries (Cuthbert 2010; Molesworth, Nixon and Scullion 2009; Williams 2013), while there is a dearth of literature on such phenomenon in developing countries. As such, the current study aims to investigate the neoliberal reconstruction of university student subjectivity in the Egyptian illiberal context, its implications for student voice and possible paths to resistance and emergence of alternative subjectivities. The history of the Egyptian university shows a pivotal role for student activism in fostering institutional changes at the university level as well as calling for wider national social, political and economic changes. Previous literature on student activism in Egypt explored characteristics of student movements across different historical periods, delineated their various structures and investigated their relationships to wider social movements (Abdalla 2008; Zayed Sika and Elnur 2016). And while salient repressive measures had a major role to play in constraining student activism, this study delves into the government’s subtle engineering of student subjectivities and its impact on student activism and voice.

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The study adopts a Foucauldian discourse approach that is directed by his notions of subjectivity, power, governmentality and discourse in analysing construction of student subjectivities in governmental documents. The ‘University Student Code of Ethics’ (USCOE), which was issued in 2018, is the selected governmental document to be analysed. The USCOE was produced through the cooperation between the Administrative Control Authority (ACA)1 and the Faculty and Leadership Development Center (FLDC) in Cairo University2. The ACA declared that the USCOE was issued as part of the Egyptian national strategy to combat corruption. The Egyptian Ministry of HE and Scientific Research (MOHESR) distributed the USCOE to all governmental universities. While presenting the USCOE as one of the achievements of the Egyptian government, there was no mentioning of any role of student representative bodies in the production of the document. And since it includes the traits of the desirable ideal student, the rights students are entitled to and the duties they are expected to fulfil, the USCOE is considered a governmental tool of subjectification that urges students to take up subject positions. As such it is deemed suitable in addressing the following research questions: 1. What are the forms of student subjectivity promoted by the Egyptian government? And what forms are problematized? 2. What are the technologies and forms of power employed to construct such subjectivities? 3. In what way do previous discursive constructions impact student activism and student voice? 4. How could student voice be heard in such a context? What are the opportunities for resistance and emergence of alternative discourses and subjectivities?

Contextual Actors: Egyptian HE Reforms as Guided by Global Neoliberal Trends Egyptian HE reforms that began in the 1990s represented a change in the ‘rationality’ of governing HE institutions in line with global neoliberal trends. Farag (2010: 288) argued that ‘the (reform) package echoes a worldwide recipe: Egypt, or rather its ruling elite class, considers itself as one of the countries that must follow the universal trajectory of educational reforms, and that such a destination is best reached with the support of foreign agency funding and expertise’. In this context, Egypt embarked on a process of reforming public universities while increasing the number of private and international institutions. In 2000, public university reforms were initiated by the HEEP (Higher Education Enhancement Project), which was funded by the World Bank to tackle the inefficiencies, managerial problems and poor quality of university education. Parallel to quality assurance (QA) reforms in public universities, there has been an expansion in the private provision of educational services. Beginning with four private universities in 1996, the number of private and not-for-profit universities reached thirty-one universities in 2021 (MOHESR 2021). In addition, internationalization has been on the HE reforms agenda through increasing student mobility and initiating joint programmes with foreign universities. Establishing international branch campuses in Egypt is one of the recent developments where the issuance of the Law No. 162/2018 allowed foreign universities to establish their own branches in Egypt. 72

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Privatization, QA and internationalization reflected a neoliberal conceptualization of HE as investment in human capital. This is evident in the vision of HE as expressed in the ‘National Strategy to Develop HE in Egypt 2015–2030’: ‘Educated human competencies with innovative scientific capabilities that are consistent with the needs of the labor market locally, regionally, and internationally, thus pushing the economy towards sustainable development’ (MOHESR 2016).

Subjectivity, Governmentality and Power: A Foucauldian Approach The paper adopts Foucault’s discourse approach and utilizes his notions of power, subject and governmentality in analysing Egyptian government’s engineering of university student subjectivities. Foucault (1982) argues that while analysing power and governments he was not interested in power per se but in forms of power as they operate in the process of subjectivation, ‘the different modes by which human beings are made subjects’ (Foucault 1982: 777). Foucault’s earlier work on power and government was on those processes of control and domination that construct docile subjects. In defining government as ‘the conduct of conduct’ and concentrating on the ‘how of’ and practices of governing, processes of subjection and objectification of the subject are analysed. Foucault elucidates that governmentality analyses government power in terms of the techniques that act upon individuals to shape, guide and transform their ‘way of conducting themselves’ and hence such analysis ‘implies that the various and particular forms of government of individuals were determinant in the different modes of objectivation of the subject’ (Foucault 1998: 463). Subjectivation and governing in the Foucauldian sense are linked to discourses and regimes of truth. Foucault relates subject to discourse by understanding discourse as ‘a space of positions and of differentiated functioning for the subjects’ (Foucault 1972: 232). In this way, discourses do not signify existing subject positions but ‘constitute both subjectivity and power relations’ (Ball 1990: 17).

Neoliberalism and Authoritarianism: Overlapping Forms of Power Neoliberalism has become one of the hegemonic discourses that affects our mode of existence and how we understand ourselves and others (Harvey 2005). Neoliberalism, in this sense, is not confined to a set of economic policies but rather constitutes a moral system, an art and rationality of government, and a mode of governance. The neoliberal subject Homo Economicus is the ‘entrepreneur of [the] self’. Being an entrepreneur of oneself entails being one’s own ‘capital … producer … [and] source of earnings’ (Foucault 2010: 226). The entrepreneurial subject is a strategizing rational individual who makes calculated choices, invests in himself through a continuous process of self-development and bears responsibility for his successes and failures in a competitive environment. He is acquainted with the skills of creativity, critical thinking, risk taking, aspiration, self-responsibility and autonomy. In shaping the enterprising subject, neoliberal governmentality seeks to indirectly govern and guide the conduct of individuals, jrepresenting ‘governing at a distance’. Neoliberalism is more associated with Foucault’s third type of power ‘governmentality’. Foucault differentiates between sovereign, discipline and governmentality as particular forms of power. Sovereign power is exercised over individuals through coercive force. The second form of power ‘discipline’ 73

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emerged in a variety of military and educational practices where power is exercised over and through subjects (Dean 2010: 29). Governmentality, on the other hand, seeks to construct the conduct, desires and identities of subjects (Gordon 1991: 2) through the exercise of both government of others and self-government (Hamann 2009: 38). It is from such a conception of governmentality that Foucault addressed neoliberalism. Neoliberal governmentality entails the shaping of self-government so that individuals actively and willingly exercise power over themselves and develop their identities as enterprising subjects. While ‘governmentality’ represents the dominant form of power in neoliberal rule, this does not mean the absence of other forms of power. Foucault suggests that there is not a linear transformation from sovereign to discipline and from discipline to government and we would rather conceptualize the three forms of power as a ‘triangle: sovereignty, discipline, governmental management’ (Foucault 2007: 107). Such overlap of different forms of power in neoliberal rule can also exist in authoritarian regimes (Han 2021). So, while sovereign and coercive power represents the preeminent form of power used in authoritarian and illiberal contexts (Dean 2010), Han (2021) traced the employment of disciplinary and self-government techniques while exploring Chinese transnational HE policy enactment. By this, Han (2021) argued that while Foucault’s work on governmentality and power was related to the history of the modern Western nation, it can also be extended and applied in illiberal contexts. In line with such an argument, this study aims to go beyond the limited focus on repressive and sovereign power in illiberal contexts by scrutinizing how the Egyptian government utilizes different forms of power in producing student subjectivities. It shows how different forms of power are meant to construct attributes and qualities of both neoliberal and submissive subjects.

‘University Student Code of Ethics’ as a Technology of Normalization and Disciplining The USCOE states the qualities of the ideal student; the ethics and norms that students should follow; the rights they are entitled to; and the laws they are subject to. In doing so, it acts as a technology of normalization and disciplining where the desirable acts and subjectivities are articulated as the ‘norm’ that students must abide by. It clearly mentions that one of its goals is to ‘be taken as a criterion for balancing student actual work with what should be done, while clarifying the level of improvement in student performance, and a comprehensive review of his objectives’ (5). The USCOE is not a coercive tool as formal laws and regulations; it rather depends on discursive techniques of normalizing, homogenizing, differentiating, othering and excluding. The USCOE begins with explaining the rationale behind its creation: Today the university student faces challenges that affect his thoughts, feelings, and behavior, and may direct him to disassociate himself from the controls that are acceptable to the community and acceptable to the university; Then he commits behaviors that cause a bad relationship with society, or contribute to his low selfconfidence, or lead to weakness in his studies, or cause tensions in his relationship with his teachers and colleagues; so he becomes an annoying member in his university and society (1)

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The existence of the ‘other’ and ‘annoying’ student who deviates from the norms of university and society is the ‘problematic of government’. The aim of the USCOE is to normalize and discipline such behaviour to create a homogeneous aggregate of individuals inside the university. Such problematizing is essential to the act of government. Rose and Miller (1992) argue that government ‘is a problematizing activity … The ideals of government are intrinsically linked to the problems around which it circulates, the failings it seeks to rectify, the ills it seeks to cure’ (181).

The Ideal Student as a Neoliberal Subject The USCOE determines several attributes, skills and qualities for the ‘ideal student’ to whom students should aspire. The ‘ideal student’ characteristics are: ‘Commitment and discipline inside and outside campus; academic excellence based on the cumulative grade; emotional balance and self-confidence; positive behavior and personal skills, ability to perform assigned tasks, duties, and activities; following up the lectures and ensuring academic excellence; being presentable with good manners … utilizing time and dividing it correctly’ (3–4). The ideal student represents the qualities needed for the neoliberal enterprising subject. The ideal student is a hard worker and self-responsible individual who has the ‘ability to perform assigned tasks, duties, and activities’ and ‘follow up the lectures’ and thus will be able to reach his goals and ‘ensure academic excellence’. He is a self-disciplined, calculating and committed subject who has time-management skills. And thus, he is a ‘productive’ subject who does not waste his time in the neoliberal sense. The duties students must fulfil depict a rational, systematic and future-oriented student: ‘A good vision for his future; That the student has a clear goal commensurate with his personal capabilities which are gained from his university studies and the selection of his scientific specialization, and accordingly he makes the effort that he sees helpful for achieving his goal’ (23). ‘Patience and persistence while seeking knowledge’ are presented as crucial components of students’ ethics: Patience in seeking knowledge: It means that the university student should remember that seeking knowledge is not an easy matter, and he cannot obtain it without exerting all his energy and bearing the difficulties he encounters whether they are personal difficulties as physical, mental, or social effort, or difficulties related to family members. (9) Persistence in seeking knowledge: To set his sights on distinguished models of successful scientists and experts in various science disciplines who overcame their difficulties in obtaining the highest academic degrees. (10) Persistence, self-motivation, aspiration and facing challenges are fundamental skills for the neoliberal subject. Individuals should be persistent and self-motivated to reach their goals and hence they are responsible for their success and failure. Failure is framed as the result of the absence of enough individual persistence and hard work. The ‘distinguished models of successful scientists’ were able to succeed by overcoming and facing their difficulties. Such

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‘responsibilization’ of the individual has been criticized as ignoring structural differences and transferring responsibilities from the state to the individual. By encouraging young people to develop the capacities to cope with and overcome structural disadvantage, the locus and solution for structural problems are firmly anchored in the individual. The focus on mental attributes, such as self-esteem and resilience, is indicative of the demand to adopt technologies which are directed at controlling and changing their psychic state. (Spohrer, Stahl and Bowers-Brown 2017) By arguing that all individuals should face the difficulties they encounter, the USCOE assumes that difficulties are the same across different individuals regardless of social, physical or mental differences. If all students can achieve success and obtain the highest academic degree through patience and persistence, the effect of structural barriers as financial pressures and caring responsibilities is marginalized. Through urging students to bear social difficulties and those ‘related to family members’, ‘the act of addressing inequality becomes “responsibilised” as an individual’s moral meritocratic task instead of being a solvable policy problem that needs to be addressed by government’ (Littler 2013: 66). The discourse on the ‘ideal student’ who fulfils his duties and abides by good ethics guide students to self-regulate their behaviours and bodies. It is in this sense that the invitation to take up the neoliberal subject is not done by coercive sovereign power but rather by shaping self-governance. As previously discussed, neoliberal governmentality seeks to direct the conduct of subjects in subtle, invisible and strategic ways. The suggested traits of the ideal student in the USCOE does not depend on technologies of domination but on technologies of the self. Foucault defined technologies of the self as those ‘that permit individuals to effect, by their own means, a certain number of operations on their own bodies, their own souls, their own thoughts, their own conduct, and this in a manner so as to transform themselves, modify themselves, and to attain a certain state of perfection, happiness, purity, supernatural power’ (Foucault 1997: 177). Students are urged to embody the ideal student subjectivity by working on themselves, regulating their behaviour and acquiring specific attributes and dispositions. As such students are encouraged to exercise power upon themselves through applying the self-techniques and technologies suggested by the USCOE to transform themselves to the ideal student. The USCOE proposes self-confidence, commitment, discipline, persistence, patience and ambition as selftechniques through which students ‘can change themselves to become ethical subjects’ (Foucault et al. 1988: 18). The influence of the neoliberal discourse is also evident in the referral to the effect of applying the USCOE on the reputation and ranking of Egyptian universities: ‘Which contributes to raising the university’s reputation and placing it in the ranks of distinguished universities at the local, regional and international levels’ (6). And since enhancing the reputation and ranking of Egyptian universities is the desired outcome, praising the university is depicted as one of the duties students must fulfil: ‘Loyalty and praise to the university: Respecting the intellectual framework of the university such as: its vision, mission, goals, regulations, programmes, plans, instructions, and commitment to their implementation; pride in its student acceptance criteria; preserving its identity and defending its principles; participating in its renaissance, prestige, and distinction in the scientific community and society’ (24). 76

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Loyalty, submission and obedience are the main traits of the desirable subject in illiberal contexts. While those traits are more associated with authoritarian governmentality, the USCOE utilizes neoliberal technologies of university rankings in justifying student loyalty. The role of students in promoting university reputation and prestige is crucial for boosting university’s ranking especially for rankings that depend on student satisfaction and reputational surveys. The USCOE urges students to praise their universities so as not to damage their image and reputation captured by global university rankings. As such student criticism to their university policies, programmes and instructions is deemed unacceptable and constructed as ‘disloyal’ behaviour. Students should not only abide by the university regulations but also have ‘pride’ in its criteria, ‘defend’ its principles and participate in maintaining its ‘prestige’. The impact of neoliberal obsession with university prestige and brand has been criticized for suppressing student voice where ‘university administrations concerned about the negative impact of visible political dissent on the university brand seem to be policing freedom of expression more than ever’ (Smeltzer and Hearn 2015: 353).

The Ideal Student as a Submissive and Obedient Subject Producing a submissive and obedient subject that follows the orders of authority is a characteristic of authoritarian governmentality. Sovereign and coercive power is the dominant form of power exercised to shape politically obedient individuals in illiberal contexts. Sovereign power is exercised over individuals through laws and regulations. The USCOE refers to the laws to which students are subject. It quotes articles 123–129 from the Executive Regulations of the Law number 49 for the year 1972 on the Organization of Universities. The quoted articles tackle ‘disciplining measures for students’ who commit ‘disciplinary offenses’ that violate university regulations and traditions. Article 124 mentioned some of those disciplinary offenses: ‘Any organization of associations within the university or participation therein without prior authorization from the competent university authorities; distributing brochures, issuing wall newspapers in any form in colleges, and collecting signatures without a previous license from the competent university authorities; sit-ins inside university buildings or participation in demonstrations that violate public order or morals’ (33, 34). The prior authorization mandate is thus used by authorities to control and constrain student rights to organization, association, expression and assembly. Student demonstrations are attributed negative connotation and constituted as prohibited actions. While referring to the role of the university student in combating corruption, the USCOE urges students to say ‘no to damaging university facilities, devices, material and books, and demonstrating’. Demonstrating is thus attached to acts of violence and causing damage. In addition, ‘participation in demonstrations that violate public order or morals’ is quoted from the law as one of the prohibited disciplinary offenses. In this context, the ideal obedient subject who respects university laws, regulations and traditions is constructed in opposition to the ‘other’, ‘annoying’ student who challenges university administration and political authority through protesting, associating or distributing brochures. The construction of the ‘other’ and ‘unideal’ student is necessary in shaping the obedient subject since self-identities are constructed ‘through, not outside, difference’ (Hall 1996: 4). To ensure the production of docile and submissive students and repress potential opposition, several disciplinary punishments are quoted from article 126. This article specifies thirteen 77

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types of disciplinary punishments that range from notice and warning to the final dismissal from university.

Blind Spots, Apolitical Rights and Depoliticized Student Unions In analysing the construction of student subjectivity, it is essential not to examine what is said only but what is not said. In the USCOE, ‘what is left out’ disables certain student subjectivities, students as free and critical learners, political actors, active participants and partners in university decision-making. In constructing student rights, the USCOE includes twenty-five items that encompass various student rights. It is worth mentioning that most student rights are apolitical rights that are entitled to students as passive receivers of educational service. Examples of such rights are ‘providing the appropriate study environment and scientific climate for obtaining high-quality learning; to benefit from the university’s services and facilities such as: (university housing, central library; obtaining the course description at the beginning of the semester; the commitment of university faculty members to the dates and times of lectures and office hours’ (26–30). The aforementioned student rights are in line with the neoliberal discourse on HE where the focus is on QA, efficiency and educational standards. However, we have to differentiate here between student rights as ‘consumers’ versus ‘recipients of educational service’. On the one hand, we can observe the absence of the neoliberal ‘student-consumer’ subjectivity throughout the USCOE due to the fact that despite subsequent measures of privatization Egyptian HE is still a public good that is mostly financed by the state. On the other hand, the neoliberal influence is materialized in focusing on the minimum educational standards and conditions students are entitled to as recipients of a high-quality service while marginalizing their rights as free learners, active participants in the learning and educational practices and partners in university decisionmaking. As free learners, students have the right to express their views freely inside classroom, to criticize the data presented, to be judged based on academic criteria solely and to choose their research topics in a hostile-free environment. As active participants in academic community, students have the rights to freedoms of association, assembly, expression and participation in university governance. Out of the twenty-five mentioned student rights, only one right transcends the depoliticized status: ‘Freedom of expression and discussion in educational and pedagogical matters that pertain to him’ yet such right is controlled and constrained by being ‘within the limits of appropriate behavior and in accordance with the university’s regulations and bylaw’ (28). On the rhetorical level, the USCOE specifies that the student is an active member of the university community who shall ‘have a role in formulating, implementing and reviewing educational policies’ (41). However, with the absence of mechanisms for enacting dissident student voice, student role is used to legitimize and reaffirm rather than challenge university policies. The last part of the USCOE is dedicated to student rights in choosing their representatives in the student unions. It refers to chapter eight on ‘student unions’ in the executive regulations of Law 49. This chapter was amended according to ministerial decree number 2523 for the year 2017 in order to regain control of government over student unions, that is a control that was lost in the first years after the 25th of January revolution. Such control was achieved through depoliticizing student unions, undermining their autonomy and restricting their role to the 78

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professional function of providing services to students. A major amendment was the cancellation of the Egyptian student union as the student representative body at the national level. Klemenčič (2014) argued that governments are afraid of the political power of national student unions, and therefore in authoritarian regimes, they are either completely banned or co-opted by the government. Governmental control was also exercised through determining arbitrary, vague and broad criteria (such as non-affiliation to a terrorist group, good reputation and having a documented student activity) for candidacy in student union elections as specified by article 324. Such arbitrary criteria have been used by the government to exclude opposition students and hence ensure depoliticization of student engagement. Accordingly, since the 2017-18 elections large numbers of students have been excluded from the final lists of candidacy and many student union seats have been fulfilled through acclamation and appointment by university administration (AFTE 2021). The role of student unions as a mechanism for voicing is constrained considering absence of autonomy and lack of structures and mechanisms that allow student unions to share decision rights in educational policy making.

Alternative Subjectivities, Student Voicing and Opportunities for Resistance While governmental reconstruction of university students into submissive and neoliberal subjects impedes student voice on the institutional and education system levels, opportunities for resistance and emergence of alternative discourses and subjectivities that enable students to have their voices heard can be traced on micro levels inside classrooms. Expressing student voices through powerful student unions that genuinely represent student interests and/or student activism that directly opposes university policies and imposed subjectivities cannot be tolerated by the government. Alternatively, bottom-up transformational channels for student voicing and engagement can escape government repression and open up chances for post-neoliberal imaginaries in the future. In the following lines, I will present some of my preliminary PhD ethnographic remarks3 in an Egyptian governmental HE institution with the aim of exploring avenues for student voicing. The following observations are constructed through interactions, discussions, classroom observations and an interview with one lecturer ‘Sarah’4 who believes in student voicing and tries to open channels for student engagement in learning and pedagogical practices. The aim of presenting such an experience is neither to evaluate its effectiveness nor to generalize its results but rather to illuminate possible opportunities and potentials for student voicing in the Egyptian context. During our discussions, Sarah invited me to attend one of her lectures in a ‘public administration course’ that she teaches to undergraduate students. She explained to me that she is going to give a case study to students as a mechanism of ‘voicing’. Before the lecture, she sent an e-mail to the students informing them that she is going to enact the compulsory attendance policy specified by the institution’s rules. At the beginning of the lecture, she asked the students how they felt about her e-mail. Students put forth various arguments as to why they thought the compulsory attendance policy is ‘ineffective’ and violates their ‘freedom’ and ‘choice’. Sarah then divided the students into groups of four and distributed a case study to each group. The case study placed students as teachers who had to take decisions in managing their class. It referred to the teacher’s hesitance between ‘forcing students to attend the lectures by applying the faculty’s compulsory 79

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attendance policy or letting them freely decide to attend or not to attend’. Sarah introduced the case study to students by saying, ‘It’s one of the tools for you to express your voice in managing this class’. She proceeded, ‘I will give you five minutes to think about the tools you think are effective in motivating students to attend without violating their freedom, and for this I will not apply the 75% attendance rule’. Students suggested different tools and Sarah was writing down all of the suggestions. One group suggested that adding an empirical component to the course by applying to public organizations could be motivating for students. Sarah then explained to me that she would change the design of the classwork based on such a suggestion through adding fieldtrips to public institutions and reallocating the course grades. In my interview with Sarah she explained the difference between the tools of student voicing she is adopting in her class and student satisfaction surveys distributed by the faculty QA unit: We receive the QA survey at the end of semester. What I care about is that students express their opinions and demands during the semester. When I receive the results at the end, I will be able to amend the course for the coming students but the students themselves who expressed their opinions did not benefit from the experience and remarks they made. This is why I always say and demand from my students to give me feedback regularly and don’t wait until the end and fill the survey. I say to them I am ready to change and make customization based on the feedback I regularly receive from you Despite Sarah’s assertion that not in all cases she will be responsive to student demands, especially if they contradict academic integrity, what she is trying to exercise in class reflects a belief in student voice as ‘a legitimate perspective and opinion, being present and taking part, and/or having an active role’ in educational practices and policies (Holdsworth 2000: 357). And since student voice as a normative construct can be translated into practices at the classroom, institutional and educational policy/system levels (Matthews and Dollinger 2023), the presented experience sheds light on possible opportunities for student voicing at the classroom level. A relevant concept in this context is SaP, which construct student subjectivity as active participants, co-producers, co-researchers and co-creators in their own learning and education instead of being passive consumers (Healey, Flint and Harrington 2014; Matthews, Cook-Sather and Healey 2018; Matthews and Dollinger 2023). Through distinguishing between SaP and student representation as two distinct approaches to student voice, Matthews and Dollinger (2023) argued that while the context of student representation is the formal policy and governance level, SaP operates at the level of everyday informal educational experiences.

Conclusion Through utilizing Foucauldian notions of subjectivity, power, governmentality and discourse, the study showed how the USCOE acted as a ‘statement of subjectification’ for Egyptian students. Neoliberal enterprising as well as submissive and politically obedient subjects are the presupposed subject positions which students are invited to take up. Despite differences, both subjectivities reproduce each other and are simultaneously used by the Egyptian government. A student who embodies the neoliberal subjectivity shows persistence, patience and self-motivation; focuses on achieving academic excellence; bears responsibility for his success and failure; and contributes 80

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to enhancing his university’s prestige and reputation in a neoliberal competitive environment. In this sense, a neoliberal ideal student will avoid criticizing his university administration, refrain from blaming government for structural barriers to his success and focus on his individual success while showing apathy towards political conditions and hence become an obedient and submissive subject at the same time. In a similar manner, the obedient student reproduces the traits of the desirable neoliberal subject. The obedient student follows the orders of his university and political authority, abides by the laws and regulations, escapes the sovereign punishments exercised over dissidents and avoids engagement in contentious actions and hence he shall dedicate his time and energy to achieving academic excellence and investing in his self-development. From such understanding, it can be argued that authoritarian governments do not depend solely on sovereign and coercive power but also on neoliberal technologies of disciplining and shaping self-government. Despite governmental subjectivation of students as neoliberal and submissive subjects, the paper ended with a discussion of possible approaches to student voicing. With the potential of operating at the classroom level (see Enright et al. 2017; Godbold, Hung and Matthews 2022), SaP creates chances for student voicing in Egyptian HE where institutional and systemlevel approaches to voicing (such as representative student unions and student activism) are constrained. The expansion of transformational bottom-up strategies of SaP inside classrooms through instructors and students who genuinely believe in student voicing have the potential of producing incremental yet slow changes in mindsets and values governing student subjectivities, roles and voices.

Notes 1 Egypt’s general oversight body that exercises administrative, financial and criminal control over the public bodies. 2 The centre provides capacity-building services for human resources development of academic and administrative members in Cairo University 3 My PhD project investigates the neoliberal reform discourse in Egyptian HE policies where I conduct an ethnographic case study of spaces of governmentality and subjectivity inside an Egyptian HE institution. The constructed data in this chapter is part of the preliminary results of ethnographic work that was conducted during October and November 2022. 4 A pseudonym is used.

References Abdalla, A. (2008), The Student Movement and National Politics in Egypt 1923–1973, Cairo: The American University in Cairo Press. AFTE (2021), ‘Out of Coverage: The Student Unions’ Election in Egyptian Universities during a Decade 2011–2020’. https://afteeg​ypt.org/en/resea​rch-en/resea​rch-pap​ers-en/2021/04/26/21690-afteeg​ypt.html (accessed 25 May 2021). Ball, S. J., ed. (1990), Foucault and Education: Disciplines and Knowledge, London: Routledge. Cuthbert, R. (2010), ‘Students as Customers’, Higher Education Review, 42 (3): 3–25. Dean, M. (2010), Governmentality: Power and Rule in Modern Society, 2nd edn, London: Sage Publications.

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Egyptian Ministry of Higher Education and Scientific Research ‘MOHESR’ (2016), National Strategy for Higher Education Development (In Arabic). http://por​tal.moh​esr.gov.eg/ar-eg/Docume​nts/mohe_s​trat​ egy.pdf. (accessed 20 May 2022). Egyptian Ministry of Higher Education and Scientific Research ‘MOHESR’ (2021), Unprecedented Development in Higher Education and Scientific Research in Egypt through Seven years (an Info graph in Arabic). http://por​tal.moh​esr.gov.eg/ar-eg/Docume​nts/repo​rts/p6-6-2021.jpg. (accessed 30 October 2021). Enright, E., L. Coll, d Ní Chróinín and M. Fitzpatrick (2017), ‘Student Voice as Risky Praxis: Democratising Physical Education Teacher Education’, Physical Education and Sport Pedagogy, 22(5): 459–72. Farag, I. (2010), ‘Going International: The Politics of Educational Reform in Egypt’, in A. E. Mazawi and R. G. Sultana (eds), Education and the Arab ‘World’, 285–99, New York: Routledge. Foucault, M. (1972), The Archaeology of Knowledge, London: Routledge. Foucault, M. (1982), ‘The Subject and Power’, Critical Inquiry, 8 (4): 777–95. Foucault, M. (1997), Ethics: Subjectivity and Truth. Vol. 1 of the Essential Works of Michel Foucault 1954–1984, New York: New Press. Foucault, M. (1998), ‘Foucault’, in J. D. Faubion (ed.), Michel Foucault Essential Work (1954–1984), Volume Two: Aesthetics, Method, and Epistemology, 459–63, New York: The New Press. Foucault, M. (2007), Security, Territory, Population, Lectures at the Collège de France 1977–1978, ed. M. Senellart and trans. G. Burchell, Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Foucault, M. (2010), The Birth of Biopolitics: Lectures at the Collège de France 1978–1979, trans. G. Burchell, Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Foucault, M., L. H. Martin, H. Gutman and P. H. Hutton (1988), Technologies of the Self: A Seminar with Michel Foucault, Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press. Gburi, I. (2016), ‘Clash Inside the Academy: The Market and the Strife for the Democratic Values of the Western University’, International Education Studies, 9 (2): 32–41. Giroux, H. A. (2002), ‘Neoliberalism, Corporate Culture, and the Promise of Higher Education: The University as a Democratic Public Sphere’, Harvard Educational Review, 72 (4): 425–63. Godbold, N., T. Y. Hung and K. E. Matthews (2022), ‘Exploring the Role of Conflict in Co-creation of Curriculum through Engaging Students as Partners in the Classroom’, Higher Education Research & Development, 41 (4): 1104–18. Gordon, C. (1991), ‘Governmental Rationality: An Introduction’, in G. Burchell, C. Gordon and P. Miler (eds), The Foucault Effect: Studies in Governmentality, 1–51, Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Hall, S. (1996), ‘Introduction: Who Needs Identity?’ in S. Hall and P. du Gay (eds), Questions of Cultural Identity, 1–17, London: Sage. Hamann, T. H. (2009), ‘Neoliberalism, Governmentality, and Ethics’, Foucault Studies, 6: 37–59. Han, X. (2021), ‘Disciplinary Power Matters: Rethinking Governmentality and Policy Enactment Studies in China’, Journal of Education Policy, 38 (3), 408–31. Harvey, D. (2005), A Brief History of Neoliberalism, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Healey, M., A. Flint and K. Harrington (2014), ‘Engagement through Partnership: Students as Partners in Learning and Teaching in Higher Education’. York: HEA. https://www.heacad​emy.ac.uk/sites/defa​ult/ files/resour​ces/eng​agem​ent_​thro​ugh_​part​ners​hip.pdf (accessed on 20 October 2022). Holdsworth, R. (2000). ‘Schools That Create Real Roles of Value for Young People’. Prospects, 30 (3), 349–62. Klemenčič, M. (2014), ‘Student Power in a Global Perspective and Contemporary Trends in Student Organising’, Studies in Higher Education, 39 (3): 396–411. Littler, J. (2013), ‘Meritocracy as Plutocracy: The Marketising of “Equality” under Neoliberalism’, New Formations, 80–1: 52–72. Matthews, K. E., A. Cook-Sather and M. Healey (2018), ‘Connecting Learning, Teaching, and Research through Student–staff Partnerships: Toward Universities as Egalitarian Learning Communities’, in V.

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Tong, A. Standen, and M. Sotiriou (eds), Shaping Higher Education with Students: Ways to Connect Research and Teaching, 23–9, London: UCL Press. Matthews, K. E., A. Dwyer, L. Hine and J. Turner (2018), ‘Conceptions of Students as Partners’, High Education, 76: 957–71. Matthews, K. E., and M. Dollinger (2023), ‘Student Voice in Higher Education: The Importance of Distinguishing Student Representation and Student Partnership’, Higher Education, 85: 555–70. Molesworth, M., E. Nixon and R. Scullion (2009), ‘Having, Being and Higher Education: The Marketization of the University and the Transformation of the Student into Consumer’, Teaching in Higher Education, 14 (3): 277–87. Rose, N., and P. Miller (1992), ‘Political Power beyond the State: Problematics of Government’, British Journal of Sociology, 43 (2): 173–205. Smeltzer, S., and A. Hearn (2015), ‘Student Rights in an Age of Austerity? “Security”, Freedom of Expression and the Neoliberal University’, Social Movement Studies: Journal of Social, Cultural and Political Protest, 14 (3): 352–8. Spohrer, K., G. Stahl and T. Bowers-Brown (2017), ‘Constituting Neoliberal Subjects? “Aspiration” as Technology of Government in UK Policy Discourse’, Journal of Education Policy, 33 (3): 327–42. ‘University Student Code of Ethics’ (USCOE) (Al Mithaq al akhlaky lel talib al gamey), official website of the Supreme Council of Egyptian Universities. https://scu.eg//News/News_​img/15359​6619​6129​ 8821​989.pdf (accessed 25 May 2022). Williams, J. (2013), Consuming Higher Education: Why Learning Can’t Be Bought, London: Bloomsbury. Zayed, H., N. Sika and I. Elnur (2016), ‘The Student Movement in Egypt: A Microcosm of Contentious Politics’. Working Paper no. 19, Rome: Istituto Affari Internazionali.

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Pedagogical Praxis to Enthuse Student Voices in Higher Education Research PATRIC WALLIN, KRISTI LARSEN MARIUSSEN, HÅKON MOGSTAD AND MAUD SØNDERAAL

One of the peculiarities in higher education research both with respect to the published literature and conferences is the common absence of students as contributors. While students might be informants in academic development and empirical research projects in higher education, student voices easily get reduced to becoming data that is analysed rather than being part of the conversation. In other words, student voices oftentimes are thought of in terms of representation denying students full participation in central discourses and dialogues (Matthews and Dollinger 2022). The emphasis on representation aligns with a more general contemporary tendency to focus on empirical evidence in educational development and to understand education as a purely technocratic practice rather than a moral practice that is shaped, interpreted and negotiated by the people involved in it (Biesta 2007). This leads to three important questions: how is research on higher education conducted, who influences its direction and what questions are being raised? In this chapter, we will approach these questions with a focus on student voice. In contrast to student voices in terms of representation, this work celebrates and is the result of creating a space that allowed for participation, a space where the authors’ voices got entangled in dialogue. Captured in many hours of recorded dialogues and grounded in both our individual experiences from higher education and our shared experience in the interdisciplinary project course ‘Environments for Learning at the University’ (see Wallin 2020; Wallin and Aarsand 2019), we, collaboratively and in partnership, transformed the raw material into a coherent research narrative. Using parts of the transformed dialogues as starting points, we will explore pedagogical praxis to enthuse student voices in higher education research. By building upon ideas of dialogue and liberation in higher education (Shor 1996; Shor and Freire 1987), as well as student partnership (Cook-Sather et al. 2018) and student as producer (Neary and Winn 2009), we argue that these pedagogical praxes can contribute to new forms of higher education research and academic development that consider student voice in a much broader sense. We approach student voice here as participation in dialogue around pedagogy, education, research and development. Following the example of Ira Shor’s and Paulo Freire’s talking book A Pedagogy for Liberation: Dialogues on Transforming Education (1987), we argue that remaining partially in dialogue format will help to preserve the nature of this research and communicate the different voices more clearly.

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Roles and Relations The ways teachers and students understand their own roles highly influence and are influenced by the educational spaces, where they interact. Furthermore, these understandings are entangled with how and what types of relationships they build with each other. As Freire argues in Pedagogy of the Oppressed (1970: 72): ‘Education must begin with the solution of the teacher/student contradiction’. Both need to enter the educational space with the desire to learn with and from each other – both need to become teachers and students at the same time, such that all voices in the co-created space are valued and respected. This does, however, not mean that teachers should deny their competency or the fact that they are paid for their job. It rather means that teachers need to demonstrate their competency and help to create an educational opportunity space that values students’ ideas, experiences and voices (Shor and Freire 1987). Patric: I would be curious to hear how you experience that your other teachers interpret their roles? Håkon: It is difficult to say how teachers interprets their role. I think a lot of my teachers still think in terms of delivering. They think they should go in and teach students as much subject related material as possible in the stipulated time and then they are done with their part. For me this does not really work, if I have no connection to people, it does not matter how much expertise the teacher has. There is something essential that is missing in this banking approach to education. Maud: I think it’s a common misunderstanding that the university is only an arena for academic discussions detached from the world around us and more importantly dismissing the human and relational dimension of education and learning. There seems to be this idea that at the university you are not supposed to get help, people are not supposed to care for each other and see each other as first and foremost fellow humans. Under the disguise of professionalism, we forget how important social relations are. Patric: Yes, I can see that this is still how many teachers conceptualize their role. It makes me angry, but at the same time I am not surprised. I often see that people will emphasize that students at the university need be independent and that there is no space for talking about emotions and being human. I find that deeply problematic, but it appears to be widely spread. Kristi: Yes, I have similar experiences and that is what sets this work apart from everything else that I have done at the university. It really emphasis and acknowledges the importance of relations. I’ve become particularly interested in the question of who is responsible for building relations. If the students experience it as their responsibility to form relations to their teachers, the question is if teachers see the value of forming relations to their students. Could it be that teachers picture it as useful, but that they don’t have the time or resources to engage in it? In that case, the question becomes – how can the university provide the foundation that is needed so that both teachers and students take responsibility in forming relations in higher education? 86

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Håkon: This is a really good point, Kristi. I fully agree that we need to have a much broader discussion of how we can reclaim higher education spaces as relational spaces. I think this is crucial. As we see in this project, building relationships has shown to be a central part of learning. My question is therefore why no more attention is paid to this part in higher education and what practical consequences it has in our classrooms. Maud: Yes. Reclaiming that space is important and I think it starts with acknowledging that student voices are central in higher education rather than additional. Respecting and valuing student voices is a pre-condition to establish meaningful relationship between students and teachers. If I feel that my voice is perceived more as a disturbance than a valuable contribution, if teachers are preoccupied with hearing their own voices, it is difficult to build relations. As the aforementioned dialogue illustrates, there still remains an emphasis on coverage and the banking model in higher education (Freire 1970). Teachers understanding themselves as merely experts of the field with little interest in seeing students as fellow human beings greatly limits the possibility to build meaningful relations. We argue that at the heart of pedagogical praxis to enthuse student voices in higher education as we interpret it here lies the work of Paulo Freire and other critical pedagogues with an emphasis on being human and teaching as praxis embedded in the world around us (Freire 1970; Horton and Freire 1990; Shor and Freire 1987). Freire (1970) describes praxis as the process of reflecting and acting on the world with the aim to transform it as it unfolds continuously and simultaneously. This is a lifelong pursuit and we argue that it is a necessity in order to counteract dehumanization in education and to change oppressive structures, practices, policies, attitudes and social relations. Therefore, it is important that teaching is envisioned as a reciprocal relationship between students and teachers that unfolds in a co-created educational opportunity space, where both benefit and accept certain risks by engaging in something that is not fully predicable (Marquis et al. 2016; Peters and Mathias 2018). By creating space for liminal positions, it is possible to increase the potential for transforming relationships between teacher and student (Barrineau and Anderson 2018). This requires the acknowledgement of students’ and teachers’ hybrid positions and rejection of binaries such as student-teacher and student-researcher (Cook-Sather 2014; Healey, Flint and Harrington 2014). Moreover, Jensen and Bennett (2016: 42) argue that ‘the way that this occurs is through the use of dialogue to develop mutual understanding’. Dialogue should, however, not be understood as a mere technique but as part of the developmental process in becoming knowledgeable partners – as part of the historical progress in becoming human beings (Shor and Freire 1987). Dialogue describes structured and purposeful communication between human beings to explore a topic from diverse perspectives. In contrast to discussions, dialogues do not aim at convincing someone else but rather invite humans to understand a topic more fully. It is a moment to reflect on subjective realities in the making and remaking. At the same time, it is important to acknowledge that teachers and students have different prerequisites and starting positions and bring with them their own experiences, assumptions and dreams. It is crucial to recognize that we are all human beings in the making (Freire 1970). The aim is not to undermine differences but rather co-create an opportunity space where it is possible

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to acknowledge and talk about these differences. A space where student voices are welcomed, valued and respected. At the same time, it is important to acknowledge that everyone has the right to remain silent (Shor and Freire 1987). The aim is not to force anyone to raise their voice but provide an opportunity space where it is possible for everyone to do so and try to understand why some want to remain silent. Voice cannot and should not be given; it needs to emerge from finding ways out of this struggle. With this in mind, there is a clear need to ground pedagogical praxis to enthuse student voices within principles and values of authenticity, reciprocity, being more, hope and responsibility, as well as, in more general terms, use critical pedagogy as a foundation to counteract neoliberal, domesticating and technocratic threats to meaningful partnership (Peters and Mathias 2018). Simultaneously, the dynamic and fluctuating nature of everyone’s subjectivity and positioning within this space will create some confusion and frustration and it is crucial for teachers to be able to hold the space. One major threat is that the ambiguity associated with this repositioning becomes unbearable and the opportunity space collapses into a space with traditional roles and predictable paths of education (Bovill et al. 2016; Felder and Brent 1996). Furthermore, there is a risk that this opportunity space can get abused and transformed into a platform for individuals or subgroups that want to forefront their own interests and are not interested in dialogue. Resembling the tolerance paradox (Popper 1945), this leads to the following question: how tolerant to be towards threats that challenge the approach itself or how to remain open when individuals work against us? Therefore, it is important that teachers acknowledge their responsibility to hold the space open and use their authority where necessary. As mentioned before, teachers and students are not equal, but there is a strong difference between using authority to co-create and hold an opportunity space, on the one hand, and being an authoritarian and antagonistic teacher (Shor and Freire 1987). In the following, we will use this as a departure point to discuss how pedagogical praxes can create opportunities for students to question the status quo of how research on higher education is conducted, who influences its direction and what questions are being raised. Besides addressing the more general question of how to involve students as researchers, we will focus and discuss two important boundary conditions to consider in the institutional framing: curriculum integration and interdisciplinarity. Throughout the text, we draw on both our individual experiences from higher education and our shared experience in the interdisciplinary project course ‘Environments for Learning at the University’ at the Norwegian University of Science and Technology (NTNU) in Norway. The guiding idea for this course is that students, by defining, planning and running their own research projects, can raise questions about university learning environments that they deem important and remain in control as to how to conduct and frame their research. Students work in groups of five or six over a period of fifteen weeks and the course has in total twenty to thirty students each year. Examples of research projects include: How to create an inclusive university environment; Identity places: Balancing disciplinary belonging and interdisciplinarity collaborations; and Insights into active learning and physical learning environments in higher education.

Curriculum Integration: Risk, Power and Dialogue In contrast to a majority of efforts present in the students-as-partners literature (MercerMapstone et al. 2017), the approaches discussed here are grounded in an ordinary course. We 88

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argue that it is interesting to explore this type of setting, not least since courses remain the dominant organizational format of formal learning activities at the university. While a course provides potentially conflicting boundary conditions, it also provides unique opportunities for more inclusive and open forms of partnership by involving students who otherwise would not participate in activities linked to higher education research and educational development. In this way, it can counteract tendencies to only involve ‘the usual suspects’ (Mercer-Mapstone, Islam and Reid 2021) and broaden student partnerships. The approach described here has the potential to create a space for transgressive negotiations with a diverse group of students, who’s voices otherwise might not be heard, and mitigate the risk of a commodification of partnership, where students get involved to improve their CVs (Cates, Madigan and Reitenauer 2018; Potter and McDougall 2017). Kristi: I think it is very difficult to find a good balance here between providing opportunities for everyone to make their voice heard while at the same time not forcing anyone. One needs to have the opportunity to be silent. Patric: This is interesting to hear and reminds me of what I am most concerned about on the first day of the course – it is the risk that no one will open up and embrace the opportunities to build relations. I feel insecure because I might end up with getting no response. It makes me vulnerable and while I think that what you said Kristi is important, it is not always easy. My wish is to invite everyone to create something different with a focus on building a community, but at the same time, I can’t expect everyone to open up right from the start or at all. Maud: I think the ambiguity and insecurity that you talk about is something that many students experience as well. It is challenging, but maybe that is exactly the point – it has to be challenging in order to become meaningful. I think it is important to see this as a process rather than having a fixed approach in mind how to do deal with ambiguity, insecurity and uncertainty. In some way, this process needs to emerge and be negotiated by everyone in the classroom. It needs to be built around everyone’s experiences. But I see your point. It needs to start somewhere and if it does not start nothing can emerge. Do we need to accept that sometimes the time and setting is just not right for things to happen? Håkon: This is a really good question. Maybe, we need to accept that there is a certain risk in this idea – an openness that something extraordinary can happen or nothing at all. But if that is the case, it makes me wonder how compatible it is with integrating it in an ordinary course. I do not think it is as easy to accept this risk in a course that we need in order to get our degree. Patric: Yes, being a course does create certain boundary conditions to deal with and I agree it is not as easy to take risks as in extra-curricular activities. As a teacher, I feel that I am obliged to create an environment where there is at least some kind of safety net and also acknowledge how a course setting influences my role. I often think about how I use power in framing the dialogues. I want to invite everyone to participate in that process, but at the same time, I am also very conscious about how assumptions around 89

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teaching and ideas of what higher education is can limit what our learning environment can look like. Maud: I think one good example here is how we work with text and how you give feedback. Teachers have a great deal of power when reading through students’ text and commenting. However, here, it felt more like we co-created a dialogic space to engage in through giving you the opportunity to read our unfinished text. We made ourselves vulnerable by letting you see our unfinished work, but you provided a certain direction and support along the way which opened opportunities rather than dictating actions. You opened up for dialogue and acknowledged our experiences as relevant for our project. Our voices were central and you listened. I think all of that made us trust you. From that foundation, we were able to explore and raise our voices. Kristi: Yes, because in other courses where I am supposed to write a paper, I get very hung up on the specific criteria and requirements that teachers communicate. In my experience, most of my teachers do not want to engage in any dialogue, they do not want to provide any feedback and they definitely do not want students to interpret tasks in multiple ways. They want to have control and predictability for themselves and students. And while there is something comforting with this, it becomes very dull, and my voice is not valued. The partial lack of predictability in the ‘Environments for learning at the University’ course was compensated by getting feedback. It felt like a fantastic safety net. In other courses, we don’t get that feedback before we possibly fail. In order for us to fully take part in the process, we needed the security that we could get feedback and help. If not, we would not dare to take the power. Because it is one thing to have the opportunity, but it is quite another one to realize that you can actually do something with it. When it comes to curriculum integration, the aforementioned dialogue illustrates some of the advantages, limitations and tensions of integrating pedagogical praxis to enthuse student voices in higher education research in ordinary courses in contrast to extracurricula activities. One central notion here is risk and pedagogical praxes that help to create opportunity spaces where both students and teachers can take risks. Biesta describes in his book Beautiful Risk of Education (2013) the importance of opening up the possibility that students and teachers can walk away from a situation having gotten nothing out of it. However, contemporary higher education courses are often dominated by content coverage in scripted sessions and high-stake tests (Kohn and Blum 2020), implying high risks for students, whereas teachers remain in control without taking any direct risks. From our point of view, accepting risks is indispensable in pedagogical praxis that value student voices. The question is how to create opportunity spaces where it is possible for teachers and students to bear risks together. To approach this question, we argue that risk needs to be seen in close connection to the notions of ambiguity and unpredictability discussed before. For students and teachers to be able to co-create an opportunity space together where they can learn with and from each other, there needs to be some ambiguity and unpredictability (Neary 2010). Following this line of reasoning

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also demands challenging the dominant discourse of clarity, transparency and specificity underlying the omnipresence of learning outcomes, constructive alignment and assessment criteria in education and acknowledge, what Lampert (1985) termed ‘constructive ambiguity’. While learning outcomes and criteria can provide structure to courses, they can also become overly prescriptive and discourage students and teachers from engaging in meaningful dialogue (Hussey and Smith 2008). Furthermore, learning outcomes in courses are often defined one sided by teachers and do not emerge from dialogue with students. Therefore, we argue that rather than yearning for the comfort of predictability and structure, it is better to embrace the struggle and risk that is inherent to ambiguity and unpredictability. Struggles and risks need to become an invitation for dialogue with the aim for students and teachers to explore them together, where dialogue subsequently becomes a way to overcome the struggle. In turn, this requires a shift from conceptualizing learning as reaching prescribed learning outcomes to experiencing being part of the process. As illustrated in the excerpt, dialogue and dialogic feedback are paramount to be able to co-create and hold the opportunity space. It is through dialogue that it is possible to build the necessary trust to explore the unknown and accept certain risks. Furthermore, we argue that a focus on something concrete that students have ownership around, like text they have written or experiences that they bring with them, can be a good starting point for dialogue. Otherwise, students can easily be overwhelmed by abstract concepts and ideas, like partnership and voice, to which they cannot yet relate. Starting with the concrete reduces the potential distance in theoretical and conceptual understanding and means that students can fully engage in the dialogue. It is from this foundation that students and teacher can together move towards abstract and conceptual dialogues. With respect to framing and holding the opportunity space, power becomes central. Creating this space within the structural and organizational boundary conditions of a course carries with it the risk that the authority of the teacher and the epistemological hierarchy is maintained (Potter and McDougall 2017; Routledge 1996). It requires an initial reconsideration and acceptance of everyone that it is possible to organize and structure a course differently and to challenge expectations, traditions and cultures that are situated within higher education (Bovill et al. 2016). As bell hooks in Teaching to Transgress (1994: 12) pointed out: ‘The classroom remains the most radical space of possibility in the academy…Urging all of us to open our minds and hearts so that we can know beyond the boundaries of what is acceptable, so that we can think and rethink, so that we can create new visions.’

Interdisciplinary The educational space used as a backdrop here is created amongst students from different disciplines within a course setting. We argue that an interdisciplinary setting means that the work has the potential to go beyond specific course development actions within the contextual boundaries of a single discipline and rather focus on questions that go across disciplines. On a partnership level, the interdisciplinary nature provides the basis to challenge assumptions and reference frames about research and knowledge paradigms and enables thought-provoking dialogues between the students and between students and teachers about their ontological and epistemological positions. 91

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Kristi: One of the important differences in the ‘Environments for learning at the University’ course is that here the groups are put together across different disciplines. For me that meant that I felt very dependent on the others, because we all contributed with our own disciplinary perspectives. To carry out the project, we needed to acknowledge and integrate everyone and there was a strong mutual dependence. Patric: I think the dependence that you mention here is really important. To get there, we must invest first, we must make ourselves vulnerable and open up to discuss our perspectives. We must accept to depend on each other. Maud: I agree that we all contributed with our own disciplinary perspectives to the project. For me, this was a very interesting process. The contrast between our different perspectives really helped me to become more aware of what I could contribute to project. In other projects, when everyone has the same disciplinary background, it is much harder to see how my perspectives influence the work. To integrate all the different perspectives, we needed to look beyond the obvious and we really used that to our advantage to work on a more abstract level. Patric: I think that by combining your different disciplinary perspectives, including knowledge, methodologies, ways of thinking and so on, you saw contrasts and limitations much clearer, and you were forced to work in a way that made it possible to combine those perspectives. In my opinion, this is a strength of the course as it means that you ask questions about higher education and learning environments that go beyond a single concrete course. Håkon: Yes. And it also helps in developing full ownership of the project. Usually, you work in a group with your friends from the same study program, and you think you know each other well. If all of us came from the same discipline, I think there is a risk that we would be heavily influenced by our shared knowledge and practices. Like our mutual education from before would taint the questions that we would ask. It would be very easy to develop a project that would be a mere continuation from what we have learned before. Working across disciplines meant that we needed to discuss our assumptions and negotiate the direction of the project on a different level. Kristi: I agree, but I also think that it is important to point out that this work takes time and that the framing in the course becomes very important. If you do not have time for discussions this can end in a disaster that is not fruitful for anyone. We were supposed to be together a full day per week, over an entire semester. If we didn’t enter this with a wish for – or attempt at – finding good ways to collaborate, it hadn’t been especially pleasant. Most of my other group work has not been as comprehensive as this. Here, we knew how much time we were going to use in advance, and it allowed us time to discuss. Maud: I think that is an essential part of why our group was able to build such good relations and that I enjoyed the group work so much. We had to explore the 92

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way we worked and collaborated, and not only focus on just finishing the project and getting a grade. In my other courses, I often rely on that we all come from the same study program and have been socialized into certain ways of thinking, studying and working. I couldn’t do this here and I was aware that I needed to be much more open and do not just assume. So, the focus was not only on finishing the project but also on how we as a group worked together towards the project. The interdisciplinary nature of the course is an important condition for creating opportunities for students to make relevant a large variety of resources from their diverse study backgrounds and experiences that they bring with them. Their experiences and perspectives become central rather than auxiliary in co-creating an opportunity space, where students and teachers can participate in meaningful dialogue, as discussed before. On a more abstract and conceptual level this heightens the possibility for thought-provoking conversations between the students about their ontological and epistemological positions. Furthermore, working in interdisciplinary groups and with the aim to contribute with their unique perspectives, it is through dialogue within the groups that students can contrast, discuss, negotiate and (re)consider their frames of references (Mezirow 1997). A frame of reference, here, refers to the combination of assumptions through which one understands experiences and activities like working together and research, as well as being with the world as a whole. One potential risk here, which relates back to the overall risk of opportunity spaces collapsing as discussed before, is an unwillingness from students to engage in processes that potentially challenge their frames of reference or that the openness is filled by the domination of specific disciplines. Therefore, it is paramount to discuss participatory and dialogic praxis and the necessary preconditions and boundaries together with the students. Here, a focus on reflection and in particular critical reflection becomes central. Students and teachers not only need to become aware of implicit assumptions that are taken for granted and understand how these assumptions act as a frame of reference (Brookfield 2017) in relation to what they work with but extend these reflections to how they work with each other. Furthermore, reflection, here, should not be understood as a mere contemplative, individual, activity but as a process of integrating multiple perspectives (Veine et al. 2019). It is through the integration of perspectives and the internal and external negotiation and discussion of different points of view that reflections can illuminate areas that are not visible for individuals (Mezirow 1997). Furthermore, these reflections become critical if they consider and aim to understand the power relations (Brookfield 2017). Critical reflections and dialogues that challenge assumptions lie at the heart of transformative learning as a crucial part of adult learning that emphasizes the development of a ‘more critical worldview as we seek ways to better understand our world’ (Taylor 2008: 5). In this way, reflections and dialogue across perspectives are important to translate individual struggles into systemic and societal questions. With this in mind, we argue that interdisciplinary projects can help to create an opportunity space to challenge assumptions on a more fundamental level, as the contrasts between perspectives is amplified. The strong contrasts to previous experiences in education and perspectives dominant within their fields of study stimulate students and teachers to question and reconsider their own frame of reference (Illeris 2014; Moore 2005). However, for this to happen requires openness,

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tolerance and curiosity towards new perspectives from students and teachers. It means that everyone needs to accept that their perspectives will be challenged. By taking this risk, there is at the same time the chance to have transformative learning experiences that go beyond the acquisition of factual knowledge (Illeris 2014). Or in other words, learning that implies a change in one’s relationship to the world (Barnett 2004). Relating back to the notions of ambiguity and unpredictability and risk, it is, however, important to acknowledge that this type of transformative learning experience implies a transition state, where old frames of reference are rejected but the new ones are not yet fully in place (Meyer and Land 2005). This liminal state is defined by uncertainty, ambiguity, unpredictability and the individual struggle that comes from questioning one’s relationship with the world. Or as Turner (1974: 232) described it, ‘ambiguous, neither here nor there, betwixt and between all fixed points of classification’. While pedagogical praxis can help to co-create opportunity spaces together with students where it is possible to enter liminal states, it is inherent to the idea that there is a risk that either students or teachers withdraw from it. As discussed before, it is important to accept the underlying risk of not being ready and leaving without having gotten anything out of it. Transformative learning experiences cannot be demanded, but it is possible to create opportunities for them.

Summary Overall, we argue that pedagogical praxis to enthuse student voices in higher education research needs to be grounded in critical pedagogy around principles and values of authenticity, reciprocity, being more, hope and responsibility to counteract neoliberal, domesticating and technocratic threats to meaningful partnership. Students and teachers need to co-create opportunity spaces, where all voices are valued and respected. As we have discussed, this requires students and teachers to reflect on their own roles, how they influence and are influenced by the educational spaces and how both can become teachers and students at the same time to learn with and from each other. Students need to a much larger degree influence the direction and questions being raised and their voices need to be invited into the dialogue rather than appropriated in empirical studies. In this work, which in itself celebrates participation, we have discussed two important boundary conditions to consider in the institutional framing: curriculum integration and interdisciplinarity. While boundary conditions in ordinary courses do provide some challenges, they also open opportunities for more inclusive partnership practices. In addition, we argue that interdisciplinary groups provide important contrasts in perspectives and assumptions that help to challenge frames of reference. From our dialogues the notions of ambiguity, unpredictability and uncertainty emerged as central, and we have discussed the importance of embracing struggles and risks rather than avoiding them. Struggles and risks need to become an invitation for dialogue with the aim for students and teachers to explore them together, where dialogue subsequently becomes a way to overcome the struggle. Voice cannot and should not be given; it needs to emerge from finding ways out of this struggle. We argue that what is missing in many higher education spaces is precisely this type of dialogue where students and teacher get together and talk with the aim to explore and learn from and with each other.

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References Barnett, R. (2004), ‘Learning for an Unknown Future’, Higher Education Research & Development, 23 (3): 247–60. Barrineau, S., and L. Anderson (2018), ‘Learning “Betwixt and Between”: Opportunities and Challenges for Student-Driven Partnership’, International Journal for Students as Partners, 2 (1): 16–32. Biesta, G. (2007), ‘Why “What Works” Won’t Work: Evidence-Based Practice and the Democratic Deficit in Educational Research’, Educational Theory, 57 (1): 1–22. Biesta, G. (2013), Beautiful Risk of Education, New York: Routledge Taylor & Francis Group. Bovill, C., A. Cook-Sather, P. Felten, L. Millard and N. Moore-Cherry (2016), ‘Addressing Potential Challenges in Co-creating Learning and Teaching: Overcoming Resistance, Navigating Institutional Norms and Ensuring Inclusivity in Student–Staff Partnerships’, Higher Education, 71 (2): 195–208. Brookfield, S. (2017), Becoming a Critically Reflective Teacher, San Francisco: Jossey-Bass. Cates, R. M., M. R. Madigan and V. L. Reitenauer (2018), ‘“Locations of Possibility”: Critical Perspectives on Partnership’, International Journal for Students as Partners, 2 (1): 33–46. Cook-Sather, A. (2014), ‘Student-Faculty Partnership in Explorations of Pedagogical Practice: A Threshold Concept in Academic Development’, International Journal for Academic Development, 19 (3): 186–98. Cook-Sather, A., K. E. Matthews, A. Ntem and S. Leathwick (2018), ‘What We Talk about When We Talk about Students as Partners’, International Journal for Students as Partners, 2 (2): 1–9. Felder, R. M., and R. Brent (1996), ‘Navigating the Bumpy Road to Student-Centered Instruction’, College Teaching, 44 (2): 43–7. Freire, P. (1970), Pedagogy of the Oppressed, ed. M. B. Ramos, trans. M. B. Ramos, New York: Continuum. Healey, M., A. Flint and K. Harrington (2014), ‘Engagement through Partnership: Students as Partners in Learning and Teaching in Higher Education’, The Higher Education Academy Report, (July): 1–76. Hooks, b. (1994), Teaching to Transgress: Education as the Practice of Freedom, New York: Routledge Taylor & Francis Group. Horton, M., and P. Freire, (1990), We Make the Road by Walking: Conversations on Education and Social Change, Philadelphia: Temple University Press. Hussey, T., and P. Smith (2008), ‘Learning Outcomes: A Conceptual Analysis’, Teaching in Higher Education, 13 (1): 107–15. Illeris, K. (2014), ‘Transformative Learning and Identity’, Journal of Transformative Education, 12 (2): 148–63. Jensen, K., and L. Bennett (2016), ‘Enhancing Teaching and Learning through Dialogue: A Student and Staff Partnership Model’, International Journal for Academic Development, 21 (1): 41–53. Kohn, A., and S. D. Blum (2020), Ungrading: Why Rating Students Undermines Learning (and What to Do Instead), Morgantown: West Virginia University Press. Lampert, M. (1985), ‘How Do Teachers Manage to Teach? Perspectives on Problems in Practice’, Harvard Educational Review, 55 (2): 178–95. Marquis, E., V. Puri, S. Wan, A. Ahmad, L. Goff, L. Knorr, I. Vassileva and J. Woo (2016), ‘Navigating the Threshold of Student–Staff Partnerships: A Case Study from an Ontario Teaching and Learning Institute’, International Journal for Academic Development, 21 (1): 4–15. Matthews, K. E., and M. Dollinger, (2022), ‘Student Voice in Higher Education: The Importance of Distinguishing Student Representation and Student Partnership’, Higher Education, 85: 555–70. Mercer-Mapstone, L., S. L. Dvorakova, K. E. Matthews, S. Abbot, B. Cheng, P. Felten, K. Knorr, E. Marquis, R. Shammas and K. Swaim (2017), ‘A Systematic Literature Review of Students as Partners in Higher Education’, International Journal for Students as Partners, 1 (1): 1–23. Mercer-Mapstone, L., M. Islam and T. Reid (2021), ‘Are We Just Engaging “the Usual Suspects”? Challenges in and Practical Strategies for Supporting Equity and Diversity in Student–Staff Partnership Initiatives’, Teaching in Higher Education, 26 (2): 227–45.

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Meyer, J., and R. Land (2005), ‘Threshold Concepts and Troublesome Knowledge (2): Epistemological Considerations and a Conceptual Framework for Teaching and Learning’, Higher Education, 49 (3): 373–88. Mezirow, J. (1997), ‘Transformative Learning: Theory to Practice’, New Directions for Adult and Continuing Education, (74): 5–12. Moore, J. (2005), ‘Is Higher Education Ready for Transformative Learning?: A Question Explored in the Study of Sustainability’, Journal of Transformative Education, 3 (1): 76–91. Neary, M. (2010), ‘Student as Producer: Pedagogy for the Avant-Garde’, Learning Exchange, 1 (1): 1–17. Neary, M., and J. Winn (2009), ‘The Student as Producer: Reinventing the Student Experience in Higher Education’, in L. Bell, H. Stevenson and M. Neary (eds), The Future of Higher Education: Policy, Pedagogy and the Student Experience, 192–210. London: Continuum. Peters, J., and L. Mathias (2018), ‘Enacting Student Partnership as Though We Really Mean It: Some Freirean Principles for a Pedagogy of Partnership’, International Journal for Students as Partners, 2 (2): 53–70. Popper, K. R. (1945), The Open Society and Its Enemies, London: Routledge Taylor & Francis Group. Potter, J., and J. McDougall (2017), ‘Porous Expertise and Powerful Knowledge’, in Digital Media, Culture and Education, 83–106, London: Palgrave Macmillan. Routledge, P. (1996), ‘The Third Space as Critical Engagement’, Antipode, 28 (4): 399–419. Shor, I. (1996), When Students Have Power – Negotiating Authority in a Critical Pedagogy, Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Shor, I., and P. Freire (1987), A Pedagogy for Liberation: Dialogues on Transforming Education, Westport: Greenwood Publishing Group. Taylor, E. W. (2008), ‘Transformative Learning Theory’, New Directions for Adult and Continuing Education, (119): 5–15. Turner, V. (1974), Dramas, Fields, and Metaphors: Symbolic Action in Human Society, Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Veine, S., M. K. Anderson, N. H. Andersen, T. C. Espenes, T. B. Søyland, P. Wallin and J. Reams (2019), ‘Reflection as a Core Student Learning Activity in Higher Education – Insights from Nearly Two Decades of Academic Development’, International Journal for Academic Development, 25 (2): 147– 161. doi: 10.1080/1360144X.2019.1659797. Wallin, P. (2020), ‘Student Perspectives on Co-creating Timescapes in Interdisciplinary Projects’, Teaching in Higher Education, 25 (6): 766–81. Wallin, P., and L. Aarsand (2019), ‘Challenging Spaces: Liminal Positions and Knowledge Relations in Dynamic Research Partnerships’, International Journal for Students as Partners, 3 (1): 69–83.

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PART II

Hearing the Voices of Diverse Student Populations Introduction JERUSHA CONNER

A major concern among scholars of student voice is the exclusion and neglect of the voices of certain students, particularly those underrepresented within the mainstream student population. Formal student voice channels are not always set up to hear the voices of students least well served within the institution. Course evaluations and institutional climate surveys tend to be interpreted by defaulting to the mean, homogenizing student voice. Furthermore, surveys leave little room for students to raise issues that survey designers have considered important, further relegating the concerns of certain populations to the margins. Meanwhile, student governance structures tend to attract students who already hold social capital or some other form of institutionally recognized power. Reliance on these two common student voice practices (surveys and governance) often leaves marginalized or minoritized students to raise their voices on their own, through selfadvocacy or activism, or not at all. Bucking these trends, some higher education institutions (HEIs) have created innovative programmes to lift up and learn from the voices of students who are not always made to feel welcome or well supported on campus. These models are evidenced all around the world, from Chile (Chapter 11) to England (Chapters 10 and 12), and from China (Chapter 28) to Amsterdam (Chapter 29). Many of these programmes involve educational partnership, as described in Part V of this handbook; however, the chapters in this part proffer other models for soliciting the voices of students who have unique (and usually negative) experiences in university by virtue of one or more dimensions of their identity. The first three chapters in this part clarify why it is important to hear the voices of particular groups of students, and the second three describe innovative approaches to doing so. Christa S. Bialka, in Chapter 7, lifts up the voices of students with disabilities. She reviews the barriers to access and inclusion that disabled students report facing on campus and then demonstrates how students with disabilities have engaged with activism to effect change in their institutions. She makes a powerful case for soliciting the voices of students with disabilities on campus and offers resources and recommendations for doing so. Chapter 8 centres on the voices of student survivors of gender-based violence enacted by faculty or staff. Anna Bull begins this chapter by discussing how ‘pedagogic voice’ and the

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hierarchical power relations between students and faculty serve to discourage students from reporting experiences of faculty and staff misconduct in the first place. She then reviews research that demonstrates a pattern in HEIs of what she calls ‘listening while silencing’. Finally, she describes how the tendency of HEIs to put one or two student representatives on committees responsible for either responding to student reports or working to end gender-based violence further marginalizes survivors. In Chapter 9, Molly Harry focuses on the voices of student-athletes. She traces the recent rise of student-athlete activism in the United States, linking it to both the murder of George Floyd in 2020 and the efforts by states to change policy to allow athletes to profit from the use of their names, image or likenesses. After establishing college athletics as a ‘total institution’ that acts to repress athletes’ autonomy and rights, she presents two cases, one based at the University of Texas and the other a broader national movement to shift federal policy. She uses these cases to show ‘how college athletes used their voices to advocate for changes that could alter the total institutional nature of intercollegiate sports’. The next three chapters in Part II discuss attempts to use student voice to address institutional attainment gaps and make universities more responsive to the needs of students who are underrepresented among graduates. In Chapter 10, Rhianne Sterling-Morris describes a research effort at the University of Lincoln, in England, to survey all BAME (Black, Asian or Minority Ethnic) students, analyse their responses to an open-ended question about their experiences and use this analysis to drive change. The changes that resulted from the discussion of the ‘More Than a Number’ report included the institutionalization of student voice through an advisory board, the development of a toolkit for faculty and staff on engaging their minoritized students appropriately and the creation of a local cultural map, identifying places in the community where students could access services particular to their cultural background or racial identity. Moving from the global North to the global South, but continuing with the approach of using institutional research to better understand and uplift the voices of marginalized students, in Chapter 11, authors Andrea Flanagan-Bórquez, Silvana Del Valle-Bustos and Carolina HidalgoStanden describe their work with first-generation, indigenous students (FGIS). They discuss a research and intervention project, carried out in three Chilean universities, to elucidate the unique experiences of FGIS and support their retention and graduation. Notably, the project engaged FGIS researchers as part of the team. The data highlight themes of mistrust and resistance, cultural appreciation and intersectionality and speak to the importance of ‘learning from FGIS and other marginalized students’ voices and inviting them to participate in their academic communities’. The authors conclude their chapter with a call for HEIs to rely on the expertise of FGIS and indigenous faculty when designing and implementing programmes intended to benefit FGIS. Returning to England, Chapter 12 takes up the challenge issued by Andrea Flanagan-Bórquez and colleagues by centring the impacted students as the leaders of institutional change. Claire Hamshire, Orlagh McCabe, Shuab Gamote, Paul Norman and Rachel Forsyth detail a reform initiative, led by BAME students, to promote anti-racist, inclusive policies and practice at Manchester Metropolitan University in England. The chapter recounts how a group of BAME ambassadors, selected by the students’ union, created and led the Big Change Initiative. This innovative reform and accountability effort involved the BAME students holding hearings with academic departments and units on campus regarding their commitments to anti-racism and 98

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contributions to inclusion. This chapter offers a model of student voice ‘in university reform that allowed students to lead the process, without also having to take responsibility for proposing and enacting change. Their role was to act as the university’s conscience’. The novel structure, which endowed students of colour with both influence and authority, had a ‘transformative impact’ on faculty and staff attitudes and actions. In all six chapters in Part II, student voice is key to understanding what needs to change in higher education in order to promote the full inclusion and flourishing of students who hold an identity that positions them outside the dominant student population. Moreover, in several of the chapters, student voice, expressed either through activism or through novel institutional programmes, like the Big Change Initiative, helps to drive, and not just inform, change efforts. Applying Conner’s conceptual model of student voice (Chapter 1), we see examples of student voice as activism in Chapters 7 through 9, with Chapter 8 touching on the self-advocacy of students with disabilities as well; as self-report in Chapters 10 and 11; and as student representation through the Big Change Initiative in Chapter 12. Collectively, these chapters shed light on some of the enabling conditions that allow student voice to catalyse change in higher education. Chapter 12 highlights the importance of creating safe spaces of belonging and support that allow students to feel comfortable sharing their experiences. As Flanagan- Bórquez and colleagues make plain in Chapter 11, building trust with students is key, and one critical way to do this in the context of a research study is to ensure that students of the target demographic have a prominent role in leading the undertaking. In addition to recognizing and leveraging the expertise students possess, the authors of Chapters 7 and 11 call for those seeking to elicit or engage student voice to appreciate students’ cultural identities, such as disability culture and indigenous ethnic traditions and values, and recognize students as complex intersectional beings. These authors note that different dimensions of students’ identities combine to shape their experiences in higher education. To assume that all students with a certain identity have similar experiences and ideas about what needs to change and how would be a mistake. In Chapters 7, 8 and 9, the authors observe that in the absence of formal mechanisms to solicit the voices of particular groups of students and engage them meaningfully in institutional change efforts, students resort to activism to make their voices heard. Such activism becomes all the more powerful, the authors of Chapters 7 and 9 find, when student activists can enlist allies and connect their efforts to larger movements. Therefore, one precondition to effective student voice as activism may be larger networks of solidarity. Even with the necessary preconditions in place, student voice efforts may falter or run into significant challenges. Chapter 9 explains how when students do speak up, some encounter threats, backlash and intimidation efforts from those who disagree with them, and Chapter 8 shows how students may be further silenced by institutional practices that suppress their concerns and render them invisible. As Flanagan-Bórquez and colleagues observe in Chapter 11, sometimes ‘the recognition of [students’] voices … is not enough to promote greater equity in access’. On its own, student self-report may not be sufficient to generate institutional change, given the deeprooted power hierarchies in higher education. Despite these challenges, some student voice efforts, especially those that go beyond selfreport, do effect change and result in meaningful outcomes. The chapters in this part offer examples of how student voice has helped bring about institutional change to the physical 99

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campus (Chapters 7 and 9), to campus culture (Chapters 7, 10 and 11), to the resources and information available to students and staff (Chapters 7 and 10) and to the attitudes and actions of adults (Chapters 7, 10 and 12). In addition, students have been able to use their voices to achieve systems-level higher education policy change (Chapter 9). Student empowerment—student confidence in both the legitimacy of their voice and in their ability to effect change—is another outcome cited by Chapters 7 and 12. Part II makes contributions to the literature on student voice, highlighting the voices of students who have not been well represented in extant research (such as student athletes in the United States, student survivors of faculty misconduct in the UK and first-generation indigenous students in Chile) and offering up novel models for centring students in institutional change efforts (e.g. the Big Change.) Although some of the issues each chapter raises are specific to the institutional and national context in which the work is situated, the chapters collectively affirm what has been found in existing scholarship about the potential outcomes of student voice worldwide, adding further evidence of its impact, while identifying key enabling conditions that have not been as well documented in the research base, especially in higher education. Nonetheless, the voices of particular groups of students are missing: specifically, those of LGBTQ students and religious minority students. As higher education continues to become more accessible to a wide diversity of students, it is imperative that the field of student voice attend to the ways in which minoritized students either assert or are invited to share their voices and prompt institutions that were not built with them in mind to adapt to them, rather than the other way around.

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Reaching Beyond Compliance: Amplifying the Voices of Disabled Students CHRISTA S. BIALKA

I was taking a reading quiz with my class, and [my instructor] said, ‘Everyone’s done! Time’s up!’ I had a lot more to do, and he stood above me and said, ‘So are you done?’ and I was like, ‘Um, so I receive extra time on my exams.’ I said that in front of the entire class when I was a sophomore, and it was just so uncomfortable, and I hated that. And he was like, ‘Oh! Oh yeah you can finish out in the hallway, just come in whenever you’re done’ … There wasn’t a desk or a clock [in the hallway]. It was awful. I wrote a note on the back of the quiz saying I didn’t appreciate how you handled this, going forward can you please respond to my emails, or can you please talk to me beforehand about the exam? Being in the hallway was like an awful flashback to like third grade when I was pulled out of classes all the time. (Bialka, Davis and Kempf 2019) Students attending higher education institutions (HEIs) in the United States are required to selfidentify with an office of disability services to receive the academic or physical accommodations to which they are entitled (Gabel et al. 2015; Scheef, Caniglia and Barrio 2020). The prior quote, taken from an interview with a disabled1 college student, reveals that gaps between policy and practice still exist. The experiences of disabled college students are affected by more than just academics; social support and a sense of belonging are essential to their success and retention (Carrasco 2021; Fleming, Plotner and Oertle 2017; Lu 2022; Scott 2019). Within HEIs, disabled students routinely encounter barriers related to accessibility and inclusion. These terms, however, are not interchangeable. Accessibility ‘refers to a site, facility, work environment, service, or program that is easy to approach, enter, operate, participate in, and/or use safely and with dignity by a person with a disability’ (Americans with Disabilities Act of 1990 [ADA] 1990). While Section 504 of the Rehabilitation Act, the ADA and the Higher Education Opportunity Act provide guidelines to increase access within and outside of HEIs in the United States, accessibility is commonly associated with legal rights or compliance (Smith, Sheen and Christensen 2020).

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Inclusion, a term that has become synonymous with diversity- and equity-based work, requires that educational systems be restructured to provide all students with a quality education (Barkas, Armstrong and Bishop 2022). While many HEIs have made strides in addressing compliancebased discrimination, disability is rarely viewed as a minoritized identity: ‘Disability is not an issue associated with ideas such as discrimination or oppression, but a purely health-related concern … In race it is not the skin that matters, but the meanings ascribed to that skin by ideology, and the consequent jaundiced ways in which society responds to its “inhabitant.” So, too, in disability’ (Watermeyer and Görgens 2014: 253). Moreover, accessibility does not automatically engender acceptance. To be both accessible and inclusive, HEIs must create campuses where disabled students are provided equal opportunities and where disabled students’ varied identities are recognized and valued. But how might this be achieved? Research (Conner, Ebby-Rosin and Brown 2015; CookSather 2006; Fleming, Oertle and Plotner 2017; Kimball et al. 2016) has indicated that student voice can serve as a tool to address educational inequity. Although student voice has been defined in numerous ways, Conner (2022) offers a powerful yet succinct definition: ‘The term “student voice” has become shorthand for a strategy that engages youth in sharing their views on their experiences as students in order to promote meaningful change in educational practice or policy’ (12). Student voice efforts should address three primary goals: (1) to share students’ perspectives on their educational experiences with adults; (2) to call for reform that the students feel will better address the learning needs of themselves and their peers; and (3) to change the social construction of students in the school or in the school system (Conner, Ebby-Rosin and Brown 2015). By acting as enactors rather than recipients of change, students engaging their voices have the potential to transform education at local, state and national levels (Conner, Ebby-Rosin and Brown 2015: 4). In this chapter, I address why HEIs should solicit the voices of disabled students, as well as what they might learn from students about how to make campuses and learning environments more inclusive and accessible. I begin by noting the barriers that disabled students encounter in HEIs. Next, I highlight existing scholarship that engages disabled student voices in higher education and provide examples of disabled student activism. I conclude by offering recommendations for those who wish to undertake or support the activist efforts of disabled college students.

Barriers to Accessibility and Inclusion Prior to the passage of Section 404 of the Rehabilitation Act of 1973 (Section 504), HEIs in the United States routinely denied the admission of disabled college students. In a 1962 survey of ninety-two Midwestern colleges and universities, sixty-five reported that they would not accept students who used wheelchairs (Stanley 2000). Over sixty years later, disabled college students continue to encounter barriers within HEIs. One predominant, systemic barrier is the existence of ableism, or the discrimination against or mistreatment of disabled people and the elevation of non-disabled people into positions of power and privilege (Rauscher and McClintock 1996). From a societal perspective, being disabled makes a person ‘less deserving of respect, a good education, membership in the community, equal treatment, equality before the law, opportunities to prosper and live independently, and opportunities to have inclusive, self-fulfilling, and productive lives’ (Slesaransky-Poe and Garcia 102

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2014: 76). Like other ‘isms’, ableism operates on interpersonal, institutional and internalized levels. The effects of ableism range from delegitimization of one’s experience to outright denial of one’s civil rights (Smith, Sheen and Christensen 2020). To address the question of how students can use their voices to make HEIs more accessible and inclusive, it is necessary to understand the barriers that disabled students encounter. These include limited accessibility and resource visibility, faculty attitudes, disability invisibility and lack of intersectional awareness. Limited Accessibility and Resource Visibility Disabled college students have continually voiced concerns over the physical inaccessibility of HEIs. To gain access to academic and residential spaces on campus, some disabled students require ramps and/or automatic doors. Research (Agarwal et al. 2015) has highlighted barriers related to each, including the inconvenient location of or limited access to ramps as well as issues with the prevalence and functionality of automatic doors. Additional physical barriers include limited accessible transportation (Fleming, Oertle and Plotner 2017); technology, course materials, and software that are incompatible with screen readers and other assistive technology (Fleming, Oertle and Plotner 2017; Wynants and Dennis 2017); and building entrances and restrooms that do not comply with ADA standards (Agarwal et al. 2015; Fleming, Oertle and Plotner 2017). Information regarding campus resources, such as the office of disability services or other information on disability-related supports on campus, can also prove difficult to access (Fleming, Oertle and Plotner 2017). While the US Rehabilitation Act of 1973 ‘mandates that any institution receiving federal funding, such as grants from the National Institutes of Health (NIH), [must] ensure that people with disabilities do not face exclusion or discrimination from its programs and activities’, there is limited data available that identifies and tracks issues of campus accessibility (Campanile et al. 2022, 3). In response, Campanile and colleagues (2022) developed the University Disability Inclusion Score to analyse dimensions of inclusion and accessibility at the top fifty national NIH-funded undergraduate programmes in the United States. The tool assessed each HEI using four different dimensions: (1) accessibility of built and virtual environment, (2) public image of disability inclusion, (3) accommodations processes and procedures, and (4) grievance policy. The researchers determined a letter grade (A-F) based on the HEI’s total points (out of 100). Results indicated that most of their sample was neither inclusive nor accessible. While 6 per cent of the HEIs received an A rating, 60 per cent received D or F (Campanile et al. 2022). Underlying a lack of accessibility at any HEI is the message that disabled students are not valued as members of the campus community: ‘If access to physical and virtual spaces require cumbersome bureaucratic manoeuvres, are afterthoughts, remain inaccessible, or are in a state of disrepair and neglect, that sends a powerful message to the entire campus about disability’ (Harbour and Greenberg 2017: 8). Faculty Attitudes Faculty attitudes are considered one of the primary factors contributing to academic success and retention of disabled students (Bialka, Davis and Kempf 2019; Daly-Cano, Vaccaro and Newman 2015; Fleming, Plotner and Oertle 2017; Hong 2015; Sniatecki, Perry and Snell 2015). 103

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Faculty, however, may not always provide an environment that is conducive to student success. Hong’s (2015) qualitative investigation of the experiences of sixteen disabled college students found that faculty instructors’ negative perceptions of disabled students was the most frequently cited barrier to student success. Students spoke of being treated differently by instructors after disclosing their disability and need for accommodations; several described ‘being humiliated’ by their professor in front of classmates. Moreover, the way instructors respond to disabled students can vary by disability type. Faculty members are typically more receptive to meeting the needs of students with visible disabilities and are sceptical or dismissive of the accommodative requests of students with invisible disabilities (e.g. disabilities related to mental illness, migraines, autism). In their quantitative investigation of 127 faculty members’ attitudes and knowledge regarding disabled students, Sniatecki and colleagues (2015) found that faculty ‘reported the most positive attitudes for students with physical disabilities and the most negative attitudes for students with mental health disabilities’ (266). Additionally, some faculty members question the legitimacy of student accommodations, even if they are presented through proper legal channels. Those opposed to accommodations maintain the position that accommodations offer disabled students an unfair advantage over their nondisabled peers and reduce the academic rigor of their coursework (Fleming, Oertle and Plotner 2017; Sniatecki, Perry and Snell 2015). Research has also suggested that disabled college students’ negative experiences in requesting accommodations make these students hesitant to reach out to future instructors (Fleming, Plotner and Oertle 2017). As a result, some disabled students are hesitant to ask for what they need, as they fear that disclosing their disability will result in stigmatization (Harbour and Greenberg 2017). This creates a negative spiral for disabled students, as their reluctance to ask for accommodations leaves them at an academic disadvantage and creates an environment that is not conducive to learning (Fleming, Plotner and Oertle 2017). Disability Invisibility Disability is a complex social identity, as disabled people simultaneously maintain a rich culture and a shared history of oppression. For this reason, language used to describe the disabled experience is particularly impactful. The practice of using language that glosses over or ignores disability delegitimizes the disabled experience. Sapon-Shevin (2017) coined the term ‘disability invisibility’ to describe this phenomenon. In line with the concept of colour-blindness as it relates to race (e.g. saying, ‘I don’t notice skin colour’), disability invisibility occurs when someone says that they do not notice disability or avoid using the term ‘disabled’. This includes using euphemisms such as ‘mentally/physically challenged’ or ‘differently abled’ rather than saying ‘disabled’ or ‘disability’, as well as saying that someone ‘seems fine’ or ‘looks way too good to be disabled’. While many of these statements are intended as compliments, they diminish the disabled experience and perpetuate ableism: ‘Invisibility erases identity and experience; visibility affirms reality’ (Derman-Sparks and Edwards 2010: 13). Euphemistic terms for disability ignore systemic barriers that continue to exclude disabled children and adults. The act of ignoring or minimizing disability is especially harmful in academic settings. From using disability microaggressions to downgrading a student for misunderstanding their needs, delegitimization of a disabled student’s identity can deepen internalized ableism (Sapon-Shevin 2017).

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Theoretically, the concept of disability as deficit aligns with the medical model of disability, which constitutes disability as an individualized, fixed characteristic in need of remediation. According to the medical model, the disabled person should adapt to the social and structural environment. Conversely, the social model of disability considers how social, emotional, academic and physical barriers disable people. Social model theorists problematize the ways that the environment disables individuals and believe that society should proactively adapt to fit the person: ‘Beliefs that anyone can get ahead with enough hard work put the onus on disabled individuals to overcome their bodily limitations to achieve independence, which undermines the recognition of socially created barriers that limit access to participation in the existing environment’ (Nario-Redmond 2019: 108). Inherent in the social model of disability is the recognition of disability as a social identity, which refers to the way that people define themselves as related to their membership within (or outside of) social groups (Slesaransky-Poe and Garcia 2014). To address inequity, HEIs must identify and address barriers related to the inclusion of disability identity. Lack of Representation and Intersectional Awareness While diversity, equity and inclusion (DEI) is discussed in relation to race, ethnicity, religion, socioeconomic status, gender and sexuality, disability is often absent within the context of DEI (Sapon-Shevin 2017). The disconnect between disability and DEI is apparent in higher education, where disability is frequently underrepresented in DEI organizations and related materials. Given that website content is a form of institutional discourse, Gabel and colleagues (2015) investigated California State University (CSU) websites (n = 23) to understand what website content and navigation suggested about CSU’s institutional commitment to disability as diversity. The researchers found that while disability was referenced in 66 per cent of CSU websites, twenty-one of twenty-three websites placed disability-related content within student services, and only one website explicitly cited disability as a form of diversity. Additionally, the researchers were unable to locate any visual images of disability across any of the CSU websites. It is also noteworthy that CSU is one of the largest university systems in the United States (Gabel et al. 2015). Similarly, research conducted by Scheef and colleagues (2020) investigated how, if at all, disability was included in diversity statements across a sample of 300 four-year HEIs in the United States. They found that while 51 per cent of the HEIs included diversity as part of their mission statement, most did not include disability within these statements. Of the 4.6 per cent of HEIs that included disability within their mission, half discussed disability in line with nondiscrimination statements. When disability is recognized through a DEI lens, it is typically perceived to be a standalone identity; this ignores the ways that disabled students can be multiply marginalized (SlesaranskyPoe and Garcia 2014). Aims to distil disabled personhood into a ‘one-size-fits-all’ definition diminishes the richness of disability culture, erases broad swaths of disability history and prevents an understanding of disability as layered, intersectional identity (Bialka, Hansen and Wong 2023). As Kimball and colleagues (2016) have noted, the variety in disabled peoples both informs and complicates activist work: ‘Students with disabilities are not a homogenous group and their varied forms of activism reflect their heterogeneity and diversity. Vast differences in

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disability diagnoses, student needs, and identity development can be a hurdle for collective interests and activism’ (255). For this reason, it is important that activism involve the voices of disabled students from a diverse array of backgrounds and experiences.

Disabled Student Voices in Action To receive the disability-related services to which they are entitled, students must engage in self-advocacy. For disabled college students, self-advocacy takes the form of ‘seeking disability support services, forming relationships with faculty and instructors, developing a support system and continuing to develop self-awareness skills (Fleming, Plotner and Oertle 2017b: 218). Moreover, for disabled students, the ability to self-advocate denotes a positive association between disability identity and sense of self; this involves a rejection of internalized ableism and disability stigma (Kimball et al. 2016). Benefits of student self-advocacy include academic achievement, persistence and overall satisfaction with the collegiate experience (Daly-Cano, Vaccaro and Newman 2015; Fleming, Plotner and Oertle 2017). To effectively self-advocate, students must maintain an understanding of self – one’s preferences, goals, learning style, strengths, weaknesses, accommodation needs and characteristics of one’s disability – as well as knowledge of one’s personal, community and educational rights (Daly-Cano, Vaccaro and Newman 2015). While the terms ‘self-advocacy’ and ‘activism’ are often used interchangeably, Smith and colleagues (2020) highlighted the distinction between the two terms: ‘Self-advocacy refers to a person advocating for change at the level of their individual self, while activism is focused on creating change at the broader community level for the collective benefit of a group or groups of people’ (2). Strong self-advocacy skills can serve as the foundation for activism (Kimball et al. 2016). While activism can pertain to communicating one’s individual needs, it is in the service of social change for a marginalized group. In line with student voice, disabled student activists call for reforms that address the needs of a broader community. In doing so, they aim to change the construction of the systems that they operate within – as well as outside of it. The following examples highlight the ways that disabled students have used their voices individually or in concert to effect change within their respective HEIs. While most of the examples of student voice detailed in this chapter are situated within a US context, the aim is that they are transferrable to HEIs outside of the United States. Leveraging Student Voice in HEI Research In recent years, scholars have attended to the voices of disabled college students by using inclusive research methodologies. Two powerful examples include the work of Agarwal et al. (2015) and Kimball et al. (2016). Agarwal and colleagues’ (2015) participatory action research (PAR)-based study showed how disabled students increased accessibility and effected change as the result of their participation in a Photovoice project. In line with the aim to shift focus from research on to research with students (Conner et al. 2015; Cook-Sather 2018), PAR seeks to ‘gain a greater understanding of the issues that people or communities face by actively involving community members in all phases of research process, aiming at social change’ (Agarwal et al. 2015: 244). The researchers recruited six disabled students to gather images of barriers on 106

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TABLE 7.1  Campus-Related Outcomes

Problems

Actions

Service animal not allowed in university football stadium; seating reserved for persons with disabilities isolated from other seats.

Disability service office working with university special events department for improvement.

Stairway with underneath space not detectable to cane, presenting danger to individuals with visual impairment.

Photo was presented to facilities department by disability service director; alteration pending, awaiting funds.

Delivery vehicle to student union blocking ADA access point for persons with mobility devices.

Union staff was provided with ADA etiquette training by disability service director.

Source: Agarwal et al. (2015).

campus, develop narratives to describe said barriers and consider ways to address them. Students shared their findings via an online campus newsletter and at the university’s Ability Awareness Week (Table 7.1). Student-participants described the research process as both empowering and validating, and the project prompted multiple changes to the campus’ physical environment. Students reported that ‘[they] saw a difference in how professors treated persons with disabilities’, ‘the campus is much more disability friendly and person first language sensitive’ and ‘[peers] became more aware of how to help us that have mobility issues and how to help us manoeuvre in a more safe environment’ (Agarwal et al. 2015: 246). Kimball and colleagues’ (2016) constructivist-grounded-theory study demonstrated the connection between activism and purpose in the lives of fifty-nine disabled college students. Findings, gleaned from analysis of semi-structured interviews, revealed that participants engaged in multiple forms of activism. This included performing and teaching self-advocacy, using education to reduce disability stigma and engaging in collective action. Reyna, a disabled student activist, shared that she wanted to use her voice to dispel stigma: ‘I feel like society really likes to force [the idea] that disabled people do not go into science. They cannot do science because either a) They’re not able to physically or b) They’re not able to mentally. I’m here to prove that wrong’ (253). Additionally, the researchers found that participants were involved in activism related to issues outside of disability, such as supporting youth of colour or environmental activism. Like the students featured in Agarwal and colleagues’ (2015) study, these student-participants worked to address both accessibility and inclusion. Voice through Litigation In some cases, students have needed to litigate to have their voices heard. Riley Brooker, a student at The California Institute of Technology (CalTech), is one such example. Booker was unable to attend some class sessions because of frequent seizures; she asked that her attendance not affect her academic standing (Knott 2022). While CalTech offered Brooker the option to take a medical leave of absence, leave came with a cost: she was forced to vacate her on-campus residence and did not have access to housing. Brooker chose to raise the profile of her case and published an op-ed in the student newspaper. Her story made the front page. Brooker also sought legal recourse and filed a complaint with Caltech’s Equity and Title IX Office, citing 107

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disability-based discrimination (Knott 2022). Brooker shared: ‘I’m in a position where I’m not afraid to speak up. I will fight for what I need … At the end of the day, I shouldn’t have had to publish an article to the entire student body telling them, ‘Hey, I’m disabled.’ But if that’s what it takes, that’s what I’ll do’ (Knott 2022). In a 2017 case, Roy Payan and Portia Mason, two blind students attending Los Angeles Community College District (LACCD) in Southern California, sued the college system regarding lack of access (Jones 2022; Shalby 2022). Although Payan and Mason registered with the college’s office of disability services and received accommodations, many course materials, as well as college websites and databases, were inaccessible. As a result, Payan and Mason could not complete their coursework. In their suit against LACCD, Payan and Mason stated that they were being denied their civil rights under the Americans with Disabilities and as well as Section 504 of the Rehabilitation Act (Jones 2022). This case held significant importance for disability rights activists, who feared that a ruling in LACCD’s favour had the potential to significantly limit the rights of disabled students (Jones 2022). The case was finally settled in March 2022, when LACCD decided not to appeal to the US Supreme Court. As Payan reflected, ‘I truly am a believer that just because you have a disability doesn’t mean you shouldn’t continue to live a full life. Let us live … I challenge institutions about inequities’ (Shalby 2022). Cultivating Inclusion through Individual and Collective Voices Naomi Hess, a disabled student at Princeton University, began advocating for change on campus during her first year at Princeton (Altmann 2022). When Hess, who uses a wheelchair, noticed that the university eating clubs (e.g. dining halls and social centres) were inaccessible, she reached out to staff who maintain the university website and asked that they add information regarding accessible entrances, bathrooms and other accessibility-related information. This information (https://princ​eton​eati​ngcl​ubs.org/club-access​ibil​ity/) is now available to all Princeton students. Additionally, Hess created the Undergraduate Disability Task Force to advocate for disabled students, and she raised access issues with university administrators and facilities directors (Altmann 2022). As of 2022, Princeton had committed to numerous projects aimed to increase campus accessibility, such as the installation of new elevators and accessible entrances at a university gym and the renovation of older university dormitories (Altmann 2022). Hess’s activism received acclaim on campus, where she garnered numerous university awards and was elected to serve as a 2022 Young Alumni Trustee. Equally importantly, Hess’s individual advocacy has empowered other disabled students at Princeton. As a disabled classmate shared, ‘It’s been great to talk to other people in a way that gives me confidence to stand up for my accommodations and use [the Office of Disability Services]’ (Hess 2022). News outlets, such as the Chronicle of Higher Education (Lu 2022) and Inside Higher Ed (Carrasco 2021), have noted the increase in disabled student activism on college campuses in response to the Covid-19 pandemic. Changes in content delivery, such as offering recordings of lectures or additional notes, and course modality, like using hybrid or online formats instead of solely in-person course meetings, revealed what was possible (Lu 2022). Students at CalTech, Princeton University, American University and University of Southern California all voiced concerns regarding a lack of access after the pandemic.

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While the Americans with Disabilities Act ensures ‘reasonable accommodations’ to disabled students in the United States, Covid-19-era accommodations have caused disabled students to rethink the scope of what ‘reasonable’ could – and should – entail (Carrasco 2021). In response, disabled student activists united to vocalize their concerns and defend their rights, which resulted in the creation of new disability cultural centres – student or university-led organizations where disabled students and allies could collectively gather – at HEIs across the United States. Prior to 2020, few disability cultural centres existed. The first centre in the United States was founded in 1990 at the University of Minnesota-Twin Cities, directly after the passage of the ADA. Almost ten years later, centres were established at Syracuse University and the University of Washington (Lu 2022). Since 2020, the proliferation of new centres is notable: there are eleven disability cultural centres in the United States, and proposals for new centres at twelve other HEIs (Lu 2022). Students involved in these centres work to reframe the narrative associated with being disabled and promote inclusion through cross-disability and cross-identity support. Katie Sullivan, a student at the University of Wisconsin at Madison, explained, ‘Within this coalition of students, there’s this understanding of, yeah, we all have different disabilities and different experiences, but we have this common objective of dismantling ableism and, you know, making higher education something that’s safe for everyone’ (Lu 2022). By elevating the experiences and perspectives of disabled people, creating a community for disabled students and promoting disability justice and student activism, student centres serve as an incubator for social change and amplifier of student voice (Carrasco 2021; Lu 2022).

Recommendations for Leveraging Disabled Student Voices The aforementioned examples provide insight into the ways that disabled students have used their voices to increase accessibility and inclusion. Further on, I offer additional recommendations for students and other members of HEIs who are interested in leveraging student voice to effect change. Identify Other Disabled Activists and Allies In the absence of a disabled community centre, it can be difficult for disabled students to identify allies and other advocates. For students interested in beginning activist work, online organizations can address these gaps. One such group is ‘A Place for Us’, a national student-led organization that unites disability rights activists in colleges across the country (https://aplace​foru​sdis​abil​ity. org/about/). Founded by four disabled students, all with different institutional affiliations, the aim of ‘A Place for Us’ is to ‘create a space where [disabled college students] can share their experiences, knowledge, and support for disability justice with high school and college-aged, optimistic disability activists like themselves’. Through mentorship programming and awareness events, this organization addresses barriers across different disabilities and identities. Disability Rights, Education, Activism and Mentoring (DREAM) offers a robust set of resources for disabled college students and their allies (https://www.dre​amco​lleg​edis​abil​ity.org/). As a ‘national organization for and by college students with disabilities’, DREAM advocates for disability culture, pride and community, and functions as a virtual disability cultural centre

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for disabled students. In addition to outlining steps for starting disability associations at HEIs, DREAM offers scholarships, mentorship opportunities and up-to-date information on the state of disability in higher education. Focus on Disability Culture As previously stated, it is critical for HEIs to recognize and celebrate disability culture. In addition to creating a community on campus, ‘there is likelihood for making change and increasing social and cultural capital. While each person’s impairment can be different and unique, experiencing ableism, disability discrimination, and oppression can, in general, be experienced in some way by everyone’ (Elmore, Saia and Thomson 2018). Students can also consider ways to infuse preexisting programmes or events, such as student orientation, with disability-related content. While information regarding accommodations and services is necessary, there is also a need for messaging that addresses disability as an intersectional social identity. Indeed, ‘students of color and LGBTQ students with disabilities may especially need opportunities to connect their cultural and disability knowledge, while learning about all facets of their identities’ (Harbour and Greenberg 2017: 18). This can also be achieved by including disability in DEI initiatives on campus, as well as through integration of disability into various diversity-based centres, organizations and clubs. Additionally, housing these groups and events in a diversity-focused department or organization can help shift perception of disability from compliance to identity (Scheef, Caniglia and Barrio 2020). Student activists who want to raise awareness and build community on their respective campuses could consider implementing one or more of the following: disability, Deaf culture, or American Sign Language clubs or student organizations; disability cultural centres; disability honours societies; inclusive sports clubs or teams; peer mentoring; and disability studies reading groups (Harbour and Greenberg 2017: 10). Increase Accessibility and Inclusion As previously stated, negative faculty attitudes can present a barrier for disabled students. Research (Sniatecki, Perry and Snell 2015) has suggested that negative attitudes towards disability may be due, in part, to lack of training related to working with disabled students at the college level. Lombardi and colleagues’ (2013) quantitative investigation of faculty (n = 612) attitudes towards inclusion revealed a direct correlation between faculty attitudes and training. To this end, faculty are ‘likely to adopt inclusive teaching methods and materials if they are more knowledgeable about disability and understand that students with disabilities have limitations that arise from external barriers and not students’ inherent abilities’ (Shaewitz and Crandall 2020). Training on Universal Design (UD), a proactive approach aimed to consider and address barriers that could be encountered by a diverse set of users, can enhance faculty’s understanding of disability, increase their feelings of self-efficacy and enhance their pedagogical skill set. Several HEIs have applied UD strategies to address issues related to accessibility. For example, Gallaudet University, a HEI committed to the education and advancement of the deaf and hard of hearing, has increased campus accessibility through the implementation of DeafSpace (Shaewitz and Crandall 2020). DeafSpace Guidelines address five key areas that affect deaf people’s experiences within a given environment: space and proximity, sensory reach, mobility and proximity, light, colour, and acoustics (Shaewitz and Crandall 2020). Those using 110

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the DeafSpace Guidelines proactively address potential hazards in the environment, such as the removal of physical barriers that could impede one’s ability to sign while walking. At McGill University, the Office of Disability Services conducted a UD audit aimed to reduce barriers to access. Outcomes of this audit included the development of faculty resources and promotion of UD on campus (Harbour and Greenberg 2017). In cases where HEIs are resistant to accessibility and inclusion initiatives, especially those proposed by disabled student activists, Smith and colleagues (2020) offer the following action steps:

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

Seek outside support when HEI leadership was not open to change Set up a formal platform Consistently advocate for the platform Communicate expectations to HEI leadership in writing Utilize boycotting Include aspects of self-advocacy Collaborate (between students, faculty and school administration) Craft activism as civil rights issues and maintain a civil rights mindset (14).

Conclusion The voices of disabled students hold the potential to transform higher education. Because these students are so often positioned outside of the mainstream, they can offer novel ways of viewing issues and highlight barriers that students from privileged groups neither encounter nor consider (Cook-Sather 2018; Marquis et al. 2021; Mercer-Mapstone, Islam and Reid 2021). From UD to disability cultural centres, there are myriad options available to disabled students and their allies. Listening to the voices of disabled students will undoubtedly improve accessibility, increase inclusion and create equitable campus environments.

Note 1 I use identity-first and person-first language throughout this proposal to recognize disability as a complex social identity and to reflect the variety of ways that disabled people self-identify.

References Agarwal, N., E. M. Moya, N. Y. Yasui and C. Seymour (2015), ‘Participatory Action Research with College Students with Disabilities: Photovoice for an Inclusive Campus’, Journal of Postsecondary Education and Disability, 28 (2): 243–50. Altmann, J. (2022). ‘Opening Doors: Students with Disabilities Push for a More Accessible Campus’, Princeton Alumni Weekly, March: 18–22. Americans with Disabilities Act of 1990 (July 26 1990) 42 US Code 12101, Sec (2). https://www. ada.gov/. Barkas, L. A., P.-A. Armstrong and G. Bishop (2022), ‘Is Inclusion Still an Illusion in Higher Education? Exploring the Curriculum through the Student Voice’, International Journal of Inclusive Education, 26 (11): 1125–40. https://doi.org/10.1080/13603​116.2020.1776​777.

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Bialka, C. S., M. Davis and K. Kempf (2019), ‘Understanding the Experiences of College Students with Disabilities Persisting at a Four-Year University’, Paper presented at Association for Higher Education and Disability Annual Conference, Boston, MA. Bialka, C. S., N. Hansen and S. J. Wong (2023), ‘Erasure or Empowerment?: How Pre-service Teachers Address Disability When Using Children’s Literature’, International Journal of Qualitative Studies in Education, 36 (2): 102–20. https://doi.org/10.1080/09518​398.2021.1956​629 (accessed 22 October 2022). Campanile, J., C. Cerilli, V. Varadaraj, F. Sweeney, J. Smith, J. Zhu, G. Yenokyan and B. K. Swenor (2022), ‘Accessibility and Disability Inclusion Among Top-Funded U.S. Undergraduate Institutions’, Preprint. Health Policy. https://doi.org/10.1101/2022.02.17.22271​105. Carrasco, M. (2021), ‘Disabled Student Unions Fight for Better Accessibility’, Inside Higher Ed, 17 December, sec. News. Conner, J. O. (2022), ‘Educators’ Experiences with Student Voice: How Teachers Understand, Solicit, and Use Student Voice in Their Classrooms’, Teachers and Teaching, 28 (1): 12–25. https://doi. org/10.1080/13540​602.2021.2016​689. Conner, J. O., R. Ebby-Rosin and A. S. Brown (2015), ‘Introduction to Student Voice in American Education Policy’, Teachers College Record: The Voice of Scholarship in Education, 117 (13): 1–18. https://doi.org/10.1177/016​1468​1151​1701​308. Cook-Sather, A. (2006), ‘Sound, Presence, and Power: “Student Voice” in Educational Research and Reform’. Curriculum Inquiry, 36 (4): 359–90. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1467-873X.2006.00363.x. Cook-Sather, A. (2018), ‘Tracing the Evolution of Student Voice in Educational Research’, in R. Bourke and J. Loveridge (eds), Radical Collegiality through Student Voice: Educational Experience, Policy and Practice, 17–38, Singapore: Springer Singapore. https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-13-1858-0_2. Daly-Cano, M., A. Vaccaro and B. Newman. (2015), ‘College Student Narratives about Learning and Using Self-Advocacy Skills’, Journal of Postsecondary Education and Disability, 28 (2): 213–27. Derman-Sparks, L., and J. O. Edwards (2010), Anti-Bias Education for Young Children and Ourselves, Washington, DC: National Association for the Education of Young Children. Elmore, K., T. Saia and E. A. Thomson (2018), Special Feature: An Introduction to Disability Cultural Centers in U.S. Higher Education, Part I. Huntersville, NJ: Association of Higher Education and Disability. https://www.ahead.org/profe​ssio​nal-resour​ces/publi​cati​ons/hub/hub-nov-2018/ hub-nov-2018-spec​ial-feat​ure-dis​abil​ity-cultu​ral-cent​ers (accessed 10 September 2022). Fleming, A. R., K. M. Oertle and A. J. Plotner (2017), ‘Student Voices: Recommendations for Improving Postsecondary Experiences of Students with Disabilities’, Journal of Postsecondary Education and Disability, 30 (4): 309–26. Fleming, A. R., A. J. Plotner and K. M. Oertle (2017), ‘College Students with Disabilities: The Relationship between Student Characteristics, the Academic Environment, and Performance’, Journal of Postsecondary Education and Disability, 30 (3): 209–21. Gabel, S. L., D. Reid, H. Pearson, L. Ruiz and R. Hume-Dawson (2015), ‘Disability and Diversity on CSU Websites: A Critical Discourse Study’, Journal of Diversity in Higher Education, 9 (1): 64–80. Harbour, W. S., and D. Greenberg (2017), ‘NCCSD Research Brief: Campus Climate and Students with Disabilities’, National Center for College Students with Disabilities, (NCCSD), 1 (2): 1–34. Hess, N. (2022), ‘Disabled Students at Princeton and the Ongoing Fight for a More Inclusive Campus’, The Daily Princetonian, 7 June 2022, sec. Features. https://www.dailyp​rinc​eton​ian.com/ arti​cle/2022/06/disab​led-stude​nts-make-voi​ces-heard-prince​ton-cam​pus-advoc​acy (accessed 22 October 2022). Hong, B. (2015), ‘Qualitative Analysis of the Barriers College Students with Disabilities Experience in Higher Education’, Journal of College Student Development, 56 (3): 209–26. Jones, C. (2022), ‘LA College District Decides to Settle Case Involving Rights of Blind Students’, EdSource, 3 March. https://edsou​rce.org/upda​tes/la-coll​ege-distr​ict-deci​des-to-set​tle-case-involv​ing-rig​ hts-of-blind-stude​nts (accessed 22 October 2022). Kimball, E. W., A. Moore, A. Vaccaro, P. F. Troiano and B. M. Newman (2016), ‘College Students with Disabilities Redefine Activism: Self-Advocacy, Storytelling, and Collective Action’, Journal of Diversity in Higher Education, 9 (3): 245–60. https://doi.org/10.1037/dhe​0000​031. 112

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Knott, K. (2022), ‘A Public Feud over Access and Accommodation’, Inside Higher Ed, 9 August, sec. News. https://www.ins​ideh​ighe​red.com/news/2022/08/09/stud​ent-disab​ilit​ies-says-calt​ech-fai​led-supp​ ort-her (accessed 9 September 2022). Lombardi, A. R., C. Murray and B. Dallas (2013), ‘University Faculty Attitudes toward Disability and Inclusive Instruction: Comparing Two Institutions’, Journal of Postsecondary Education and Disability, 26 (3): 221–32. Lu, A. (2022), ‘In Fight against Ableism, Disabled Students Build Centers of Their Own’, The Chronicle of Higher Education, 15 July, sec. Campus Culture. https://www.chroni​cle.com/arti​cle/in-fight-agai​nstable​ism-disab​led-stude​nts-build-cent​ers-of-their-own (accessed 9 September 2022). Marquis, E., A. De Bie, A. Cook-Sather, S. K. Prasad, L. Luqueño and A. Ntem (2021), “‘I Saw a Change”: Enhancing Classroom Equity through Student-Faculty Pedagogical Partnership’, The Canadian Journal for the Scholarship of Teaching and Learning, 12 (1): 1–17. https://doi.org/10.5206/ cjsot​lrca​cea.2021.1.10814. Mercer-Mapstone, L., M. Islam and T. Reid (2021), ‘Are We Just Engaging “the Usual Suspects?” Challenges in and Practical Strategies for Supporting Equity and Diversity in Student–Staff Partnership Initiatives’, Teaching in Higher Education, 26 (2): 227–45. https://doi.org/10.1080/13562​ 517.2019.1655​396. Nario-Redmond, M. R. (2019), Ableism: The Causes and Consequences of Disability Prejudice, New Jersey: John Wiley & Sons. Rauscher, L., and J. McClintock (1996), ‘Ableism Curriculum Design’, in Teaching for Diversity and Social Justice, M. Adams, L. A. Bell and P. Griffen (eds), 198–231, New York: Routledge. Sapon-Shevin, M. (2017), ‘On the Impossibility of Learning “Not to See”: Colorblindness, Invisibility, and Anti-Bias Education’, International Critical Childhood Policy Studies Journal, 6 (1): 38–51. Scheef, A., C. Caniglia, and B. L. Barrio (2020), ‘Disability as Diversity: Perspectives of Institutions of Higher Education in the US’, Journal of Postsecondary Education and Disability, 33 (1): 49–61. Scott, S. (2019), ‘NCCSD Research Brief: Access and Participation in Higher Education: Perspectives of College Students with Disabilities’, National Center for College Students with Disabilities (NCCSD), 2 (2): 1–28. Shaewitz, D., and J. R. Crandall (2020), ‘Higher Education’s Challenge: Disability Inclusion on Campus’, Higher Education Today (blog), 19 October. https://www.higher​edto​day.org/2020/10/19/hig​her-edu​cati​ ons-challe​nge-dis​abil​ity-inclus​ion-cam​pus/ (accessed 9 September 2022). Shalby, C. (2022), ‘Protests Intensify as Disability Rights Case Nears Deadline for Supreme Court Petition’, Los Angeles Times, 2 March. https://www.lati​mes.com/cal​ifor​nia/story/2022-03-02/dis​abil​ ity-rig​hts-case-agai​nst-laccd-could-go-to-supr​eme-court (accessed 9 September 2022). Slesaransky-Poe, G., and A. M. Garcia (2014). ‘The Social Construction of Difference’, in Condition Critical: Key Principles for Equitable and Inclusive Education, D. Lawrence-Brown and M. SaponShevin (eds), 66–85, New York: Teachers College Press. Smith, B. K., J. C. Sheen and K. Christensen (2020), ‘Activism among College Students with Disabilities and the Move beyond Compliance to Full Inclusion’, Review of Disability Studies: An International Journal, 16 (2): 1–19. Sniatecki, J. L., H. B. Perry and L. H. Snell (2015), ‘Faculty Attitudes and Knowledge Regarding College Students with Disabilities’, Journal of Postsecondary Education and Disability, 28 (3): 259–75. Stanley. P. (2000), ‘Students with Disabilities in Higher Education: A Review of the Literature’, College Student Journal, 34 (2): 1–11. Watermeyer, B., and T. Görgens (2014), ‘Disability and Internalized Oppression’, in Internalized Oppression: The Psychology of Marginalized Groups, E. J. R .David (ed.), 253–80, New York: Springer. Wynants, S. A., and J. M. Dennis (2017), ‘Embracing Diversity and Accessibility: A Mixed Methods Study of the Impact of an Online Disability Awareness Program’, Journal of Postsecondary Education and Disability, 30 (1): 33–48.

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Speaking Out about Gender-Based Violence and Harassment in Higher Education ANNA BULL

One of the principles of trauma-informed, survivor-centred responses to gender-based violence (GBV) is that victim-survivors should have as much control and choice as possible over what happens following their experience of sexual violence or abuse (Bull, Bullough and Page 2019; Queensland Centre for Domestic and Family Violence Research 2020). Being subjected to GBV involves the victim-survivor having control and choice taken away from her (Bull, Bullough and Page 2019). Therefore in order to rebuild a sense of bodily autonomy and avoid re-traumatization, making space for the voices of victim-survivors to be listened to and acted on within institutions is crucial. While student voice does not, on its own, constitute a trauma-informed, survivorcentred approach, it can form part of wider systems for institutions to respond to GBV. Student voice can be understood as having a legitimate perspective, presence and role in decision-making at the classroom, institutional or educational systems level (Cook-Sather 2006). In relation to gender-based violence and harassment (GBVH) in higher education (HE), student voice can be examined on two levels: first, whether and how students’ voices are heard and acted on when they speak up to disclose that GBVH is occurring, and second, whether students’ voices are involved in decision-making around institutional policies and practices to address this issue. Often, the first leads to the second: students attempt to speak out about harmful experiences only to find that this is ineffective, and as a result they are obliged to get involved in decision-making processes to implement systems that will enable the institution to listen to them (Ahmed 2021; Bull and Rye 2018; Whitley and Page 2015). In order to explore how conceptualizations of student voice might inform HE policy and practice in this area, this chapter explores the example of sexual misconduct perpetrated by staff or faculty.1 This is an area that, hitherto, higher education institutions (HEIs) have struggled to ‘hear’ and as such serves as a challenge to current framings of student voice. Indeed, in the UK context, on which this chapter focuses, low rates of reporting staff/faculty sexual misconduct show that students are not using their voices through official channels in relation to this issue, even while activism and other forms of speaking out demonstrate that students are indeed using their voices in relation to this issue. Students have been speaking out on social media or in the mainstream media, organizing within their disciplines, taking legal action or carrying out direct action such as notating copies of university library books authored by abusive faculty members or even going on hunger strike (Anitha, Marine and Lewis 2020; Bull, Bullough and Page 2019;

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Greenberg 2020). The example of staff/faculty sexual misconduct also allows a focus on how gender norms and inequalities in HE shape student voice. Staff/faculty sexual misconduct is predominantly, although not exclusively, perpetrated by men towards women (National Union of Students 2018: 29–30). This gendered pattern of sexual victimization mirrors and compounds the institutional hierarchies between staff and students, and as such examining this issue can shed light on how gender inequalities and norms shape student and staff/faculty voices within HEIs. In order to do this, the chapter examines three aspects of student voice. First, drawing on Arnot and Reay’s (2007) theorization of ‘pedagogic voice’, it explores how power relations of gender and pedagogy shape the possibility for students to speak up about staff/faculty sexual misconduct. It then turns to the question of whether institutions are listening to these voices, describing a pattern of ‘institutional listening while silencing’ (Oman and Bull, 2022) that occurs when students attempt to speak up, and outlining how institutional structures enable or inhibit listening to students on this issue. Finally, it considers students’ roles in decision-making around prevention and response to GBVH in relation to formal reports as well as their role in wider work at the levels of institutions and educational systems. The chapter draws primarily on data from the UK to illustrate this discussion, although it is important to note that this issue is one that is present in HE internationally (see e.g. Coy et al. 2022; Jochelson et al. 2020; Morley 2011; Universities Australia et al. 2018). The arguments made further on will therefore resonate differently in other local and national contexts due to specific gendered cultures as well as HE policy and governance structures. However, there are also likely to be parallels across international HE spaces; as Adrija Dey and I have found in comparing the UK and India (Bull and Dey 2022), there are similarities in survivors’ experiences across different contexts due to shared cultures and norms across academia transnationally.

Gendered Power Relations in Higher Education Gendered, racialized, ableist and classed inequalities shape hierarchies within HE (Arday and Mirza 2018; Brown and Leigh 2020; Mott 2022; Reay, Crozier and Clayton 2010; Rollock 2019). Particularly between academic staff/faculty and students, these wider social inequalities affect how students experience the learning and teaching relationships, and compound what is already a deeply unequal relationship. These hierarchical pedagogic relationships can be theorized drawing on Arnot and Reay’s (2007) discussion of student voice in pedagogic relationships. Although Arnot and Reay are focusing on schools, their discussion is also relevant to pedagogic relationships within HE. They argue that ‘the concept of student voice is problematic’ and propose a ‘sociology of pedagogic voice’ that explores the power relations that shape voices (2007: 311). Such an approach moves beyond ‘the elicitation of … silenced voices’, which is ‘always problematic since it could so easily ignore the inequalities of power relations within not just between social categories’ (2007: 313). Instead, they suggest ‘engaging theoretically in the voices created by the pedagogies, rather than the voices needed to change pedagogy’ (2007: 312). This theorization is relevant here as pedagogic relationships shape the ways in which students are able to speak up about staff/faculty sexual misconduct, as Whitley and Page describe: The intensely hierarchical structure of relationships inside the university … enable[s]‌sexual harassment in important ways. Students are structurally positioned

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within the university to trust those who teach them and those they learn from. In fact, the pedagogical relationship relies upon students being open to accepting the feedback their teachers provide. This creates a possibility for institutionally-enabled manipulation of students by those upon whom they are intellectually dependent. (2015, 39) Whitley and Page’s discussion focuses on postgraduate teaching and learning, and indeed postgraduate students are much more likely to be subjected to sexual misconduct from staff/ faculty than undergraduates, in part due to these pedagogic structures (Cantor et al., 2019: xiii; Heywood et al., 2022: 28; National Union of Students, 2018: 30). Using Arnot and Reay’s ‘sociology of pedagogic voice’ to examine pedagogic relationships in HE raises the question of whether the teaching and learning relationship not only creates ‘a possibility for institutionally-enabled manipulation of students’, as Whitley and Page argue, but that it can contribute to creating a mode of voice through which students are required to be open to, or even welcoming of, sexualized approaches. This can be examined through accounts of the ways in which students have experienced blurred professional boundaries with staff/faculty. In a qualitative study of students who had attempted to report staff/faculty sexual misconduct to their institution, some interviewees used the term ‘grooming’ to describe the staff/faculty member’s use of the pedagogic relationship to open up an intimate or sexualized connection (Bull and Page, 2021). A master’s student, Andrea, described how such a ‘grooming’ process unfolded with her master’s dissertation supervisor. He would regularly invite her for coffee on campus and presented these meetings as an opportunity for her to gain academic advantage. When these interactions started to become personal rather than professional she was unsure how to respond: From an outsider[‘s perspective], I was saying ‘yes’ to doing certain things with him, which, for all intents and purposes, would have counted as consent, but what you don’t see is the internal conflict and the invisible power structure where he could make me say ‘yes’. … He knew the right thing to ask and how to ask it in the right way in which it was pretty much impossible … I felt it was impossible for me to say ‘no’. (Bull and Page, 2021: 1057) This was not an isolated example; across sixteen interviewees, eight described behaviours that matched our definition of ‘grooming’ (Bull and Rye 2018: 10). This experience was compounded by gender norms and inequalities. As the article outlines (Bull and Page, 2021), the power dynamics between Andrea and her supervisor mirrored heterosexualized gender relations ‘whereby the (male) lecturer is in a dominant position, the expert who is in control, and the (female) student is required as part of her role to respect his expertise’ (Bull and Page 2021: 1068; Whitley and Page 2015). In this way, Andrea’s voice – in her academic work, in her ability to consent to sexualized interactions and in the possibility of speaking up about abuses of power – was shaped within and through this gendered pedagogic relationship. This experience took place within a discipline and a department that was male dominated among both students and staff. Male-dominated disciplines and departments can create a context that enables sexual misconduct to occur. This is of course a long-standing issue within HE, where gender inequalities persist, particularly at more senior levels (AdvanceHE 2020; Mott 2022). However, sexual misconduct can also occur in gender-equal or women-dominated disciplines

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and departments, where other types of inequality and/or institutional hierarchies can contribute to a context that enables sexual misconduct. As well as gender norms and the power dynamics between faculty/staff and students shaping voices, the experience of being subjected to GBVH can also affect the possibility of speaking out. For example, some survivors describe a deep-seated fear of the staff/faculty member who has subjected them to sexual misconduct (Bull and Rye 2018: 14). Indeed, prior to this pedagogic relationship, many students – especially women students – will have already survived GBVH, and such experiences may affect the ways in which they approach other abusive or exploitative relationships (Kelly 1988), further shaping the conditions about which they are attempting to speak out. To sum up, this section has argued that pedagogic relationships in HE – particularly at the postgraduate level – contribute to shaping students’ voices. This means that any initiatives that ask students to speak up about abuses of this pedagogic relationship need to take into account the ways in which such abuses may already have shaped students’ voices. Viewed through this lens, it is no surprise that students rarely make named reports of sexual misconduct against academic staff. As Arnot and Reay go on to argue, ‘Voice cannot change power relations, but … shifts in power relations can change “voices” ’ (2007: 316–7). Indeed, voices are also affected by the mechanisms through which they are heard, so I now turn to the issue of whether and how institutions listen to students when they speak up about sexual misconduct.

Institutional Listening Policy and practice discussions of sexual misconduct in HE often foreground the issue of nonreporting, exploring the reasons why students do not report sexual misconduct (National Union of Students 2010: 21; National Union of Students and The 1752 Group 2018: 31). However, a persistent focus on barriers to reporting not only fails to take into account ways in which power relations shape voices, as outlined earlier on, but has also obscured the flipside of this question: institutional listening. Indeed, as Whitley and Page (2015: 38) have argued, HE ‘institutions as hearers refuse to listen to women as verifiable sources of knowledge’. To put it simply, if students are to be able to disclose or report, they need to be aware that institutions are listening. As Cook-Sather (2006: 379) notes, there are ‘various versions of listening: listening as a gesture, listening to change adult-driven practices, listening to be guided by students’ ideas of what needs to change’. This section therefore explores the ways in which HEIs are listening, or failing to listen, to students who speak up about sexual misconduct. One way in which institutional listening to students is inhibited is through gendered understandings of sexual misconduct, which mean that harassment is minimized or invisibilized (Jackson and Sundaram, 2020). For example, sexual harassment perpetrated by staff/faculty may occur in public, unchallenged, in the form of sexualized comments or jokes. These can occur amidst other forms of sexism and misogyny that are normalized within the institutional culture of a department; as Whitley and Page (2015: 40–41) describe, this is ‘a question of how harassment can occur so publicly and yet fail to appear as harassment’. In such an environment, students who are subjected to harassment or assault may assume that this is accepted behaviour within a sexualized culture. These gendered understandings also occur within institutional responses to reports of sexual misconduct, such as in the form of ‘himpathy’. Kate Manne describes ‘himpathy’ 118

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as a form of misogyny that involves ‘the excessive sympathy sometimes shown towards male perpetrators of sexual violence’ (Manne 2017: 197), which ‘contributes to insufficient concern for the harm, humiliation, and (more or less lasting) trauma they may bring to their victims’ (2017: 201). Himpathy makes men’s accounts more credible than women’s, and this can shape institutional listening in various ways: when a student is testing out whether to disclose her experience; whether her experience is taken seriously and acted on if she does disclose it; and/or during the decision-making process if she tries to take formal action. Of course, himpathy is not unique to HE, but if institutions are to be able to truly listen to students then these gendered lenses need to be challenged. For students who are subjected to sexual misconduct from a faculty/staff member of the same gender there can be different, but also powerful, gendered lenses at play that inhibit institutional listening. As I outlined in an earlier study (Bull and Rye, 2018: 16), for a student who was assaulted by a female lecturer, ‘experiencing sexual assault by a woman allowed the institution to minimise her experience by drawing on stereotypes of women as passive and not violent’. A second way that HEIs (fail to) listen to students about sexual misconduct is through what Susan Oman and I (2022) have described as ‘institutional listening while silencing’. Examining responses to disclosures within UK universities in relation to well-being and sexual misconduct concerns, we found that students who came forward to the institution to raise concerns were met with an initially sympathetic response where they were listened to and felt that they were being believed and taken seriously. However, such responses were later undermined by subsequent institutional actions (Oman and Bull 2022). A typical example comes from an interviewee for the study Silencing Students (Bull and Rye 2018). This student, Rachael, disclosed ongoing sexual harassment from a lecturer in her department to a senior member of staff. She was relieved to find that he was supportive, believed her and escalated her concerns to the appropriate channels within the institution. However, as her report progressed through the institutional complaints process, she was told not to speak to this staff member about the case, and he ignored her when he saw her on campus. She found this distressing and felt that the initial positive response she had received was negated by this silencing. Other interviewees recounted similar experiences. In this study as a whole, while most students felt that staff believed them when they disclosed (2018: 16), this individual listening was a very different matter from what could be called ‘institutional listening’, whereby listening happens in such a way that the institution hears. While this pattern appears to be especially pronounced in relation to staff/faculty sexual misconduct, it can also occur when students disclose other well-being-related issues (Oman and Bull 2022), including student-student sexual misconduct. These accounts reveal a lack of structures to enable institutions to hear students (and staff) when they speak up about sexual misconduct. As I have argued elsewhere (Bull 2022), motivations for reporting staff/faculty sexual misconduct can be understood on two levels: immediate catalysts that prompt a disclosure or report and the underlying rationales for reporting which constitute deeply thought-through forms of ethical reasoning. For example, I have found (Bull 2022) that the main rationale for reporting that students described was to protect themselves and others from the staff member(s) who had harmed them. Catalysts for reporting included finishing their degree and leaving the institution, needing an extension on an assignment, being asked explicitly if they had any concerns to raise or an escalation in the harassment/abuse. This framework suggests that effective institutional listening to student voice about sexual misconduct would 119

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involve mechanisms to hear students concerns across their immediate concerns as well as their underlying rationales. However, in this study, when students did report, they tended to find that effective action to protect themselves and others was not taken, for example, complaints were dealt with on an individualized basis without assessing risk to others, and/or no action was taken to ensure complainants’ protection against further victimization (Bull and Page 2022).

Students’ Role in Decision-making around Sexual Misconduct These practices of institutional listening need to be in place before addressing the question of how students can have a perspective, presence and role in decision-making around sexual misconduct (Cook-Sather 2006). Such a role in decision-making needs to occur on two levels: first, student voice as part of institutional responses to individual disclosures and reports, most notably formal complaints and disciplinary mechanisms, and second, student voice within institutional strategies for tackling GBV. The formal route in the UK for incorporating student voice into both these levels of decision-making is via students’ unions. Student union representatives – usually elected officers – sit alongside staff and faculty on disciplinary panels that decide whether to uphold reports of sexual misconduct. These elected officers also tend to sit on institutional committees setting strategic priorities for tackling GBVH. However, even with this approach in place, institutions struggle to meaningfully incorporate student voice into decision-making structures. This is because relying on one or two student representatives on advisory groups or committees is insufficient to enable students and GBV survivors to be heard on this issue. In particular, relying solely on students’ unions as the mechanism for student voice in this area may fail to channel the energy, passion and commitment for change that student survivors bring to this work. Such an approach also fails to recognize that a sole student representative having to argue for students in a context where the rest of a committee or panel is likely to be much older than them puts a huge burden on this representative. This is particularly challenging since complaints processes can reveal systemic inequalities within an institution. As Sara Ahmed has vividly described, in complaints processes within HEIs relating to discrimination, including sexual harassment, the culture that has enabled the discrimination or harassment can also shape the institutional response (Ahmed 2021). An institution where transphobia, sexual harassment or racial harassment occurs may also allow these forms of discrimination to occur in the complaints process. Students’ union representatives on a sexual misconduct panel or committee may therefore be required to challenge these wider structures while being the lone student voice in such a forum. This can be particularly challenging when not only institutional cultures but also formal structures for handling sexual misconduct reports may themselves be discriminatory. As Georgina Calvert-Lee, Tiffany Page and I have outlined, in the UK, the very structures of complaints processes embed indirect discrimination by giving the reporting party fewer rights in the process than the reported party (Bull, Calvert-Lee and Page 2020). When this process is applied to an issue that is patterned by gender such as sexual misconduct – in which the vast majority of reporting parties are women and the majority of reported parties are men – then it becomes discriminatory. Similar issues around procedural fairness have also been discussed at length in other jurisdictions such as India (University Grants Commission 2013), the United States (Brodsky 2021) and Canada (Busby and Birenbaum 2020). In such a situation, a students’ union 120

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representative is likely to find themselves in a difficult position, where in order to meaningfully represent student complainants they have to try to change the system itself. Not only at the institutional level, but also at the sector or educational systems level, students have only a minimal role in decision-making around the wider structures of prevention and response of staff sexual misconduct, and this is also the case for student-student sexual harassment and violence. For example, on an advisory group to devise new guidance on how HEIs in the UK should address staff-student sexual misconduct (Universities UK 2022), there was only one student representative voice, from the National Union of Students. While the research and campaign group that I co-direct, The 1752 Group, was involved, representing former student activists who are now academic activists, the advisory group was weighted towards those who worked in professional administrative roles in HE. A danger with this is a shift towards a ‘technocracy’ whereby the discussion takes on the tone of HE policy and governance, leaving those who do not speak this language less able to contribute to discussions. Students or survivors in such spaces may be told – as we have been – that they are too emotional, or that they are asking for things that are not possible. Indeed, student activists do sometimes make demands that legal frameworks or the principles of natural justice do not allow, but these challenging, radical voices are needed in these discussions to ensure that the urgency of the issue and high stakes for student survivors are considered. The difficulties in finding ways to incorporate the voices of student survivors into these formal decision-making processes have led many activists to lean towards the use of alternative processes. These can include restorative justice, which refers to ‘contexts in which admitted offenders meet with victims, whether directly or indirectly’ (Daly 2011: 10), or transformative justice, which ‘seek[s]‌to disrupt the underlying structural and cultural causes of violence and inequality’ (Fileborn and Vera-Gray 2017: 207). In the case of staff-student sexual misconduct, restorative justice is unlikely to be appropriate due to the power imbalances between staff and student that shape the possibilities for dialogue (Bull and Page 2022: 42). Transformative justice, by contrast, is a route that draws on the voices of those wanting to make change in order to drive that change. Student survivors of staff sexual misconduct in my research were, in many cases, desperate to be able to make change within their institutions and the wider HE sector, and had clear recommendations for change (Bull and Rye 2018: 27). However, it appeared to be rare that their voices were drawn on by their institutions in order to inform changes to policy or practice. Nevertheless, student (and staff) activists are finding ways to make their voices heard. One way is by using academic channels such as peer-reviewed journals or professional societies to break the silence and open up discussion (Cardwell and Hitchen 2022). Another is on social media, speaking out about their experiences of responses to sexual misconduct disclosures from their universities (Dey and Mendes 2021). And of course in recent years there has in the UK and internationally been a huge upsurge in activism on this issue, including our own work (Bovill et al. 2020; Lewis and Marine 2019; Marine and Lewis 2020; Page et al. 2019). Such activism highlights and problematizes the lack of meaningful engagement with student voice in HEIs on the issue of sexual misconduct. This does not have to be the case; Cornelius-Bell and Bell (2020) describe in Flinders University, Australia, how, ‘through traditional activism’ against a wideranging restructure programme at the university, ‘new representation structures were won’ and the university is now embedding student partnerships much more deeply within its governance structures. Similar work needs to be done in relation to sexual misconduct, embedding student 121

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voice and participation much more deeply. A first step towards this would be to set up formal channels for student (and staff) survivors to feed into institutional policy and strategy, both within individual HEIs and at a sector-wide level. As Tiffany Page, Emma Chapman and I have argued, Those who must navigate and use faulty procedures develop intricate knowledge of how these particular systems work or fail to work. For example, following a failed or ineffective complaints and investigation process, an institutional response might be salvaged by drawing on the lived experience of survivor-complainants in order to reform these policies and practices. (2019: 1319) Such a process of drawing on survivors’ lived experience would be likely to lead to challenging and difficult conversations. It would also require significant institutional commitment and senior leadership support to be effective; such resources are not often present in current marketized HEIs. Nevertheless, these routes hold great potential for institutional transformation, and for transformative justice for survivors.

Conclusion: The Transformative Power of Institutional Listening Overall, examining student voice in the context of speaking out about staff/faculty sexual misconduct provides a helpful critical lens through which to examine student voice in HE more generally, as this is an issue on which students have rarely been afforded a presence or role in decision-making. First, as this chapter has described, in speaking out about staff/faculty sexual misconduct, student voice is shaped by the pedagogic relationships within the institution. Rather than ‘voice’ being a phenomenon that is already present and simply needs to be ‘added’ to institutional decision-making and strategic planning, the pedagogic power relations of HE – which draw on and reproduce gender norms – shape voices (Arnot and Reay, 2007). This suggests that in order to address staff sexual misconduct, pedagogic relations need to be reviewed to shape voices in ways that enable students to speak up about abuses of power such as sexual misconduct. The chapter has also described how currently institutional structures for listening to students who speak up about staff sexual misconduct follow a pattern of ‘institutional listening while silencing’ whereby initially sympathetic responses are later undermined by subsequent institutional actions (Oman and Bull 2022). Instead, institutional structures for listening to students need to take a survivor-led approach. They also need to negate the ways in which gendered understandings of sexual misconduct minimize or invisibilize harassment. Finally, the chapter has explored how student voice is embedded in decision-making around reports of staff/faculty sexual misconduct as well as institutional and educational-systems-level structures for addressing this issue. In the UK context, student voice tends to be present in such decision-making structures in the form of a representative from the students’ union. I have argued that this is insufficient to enable students and survivors/complainants to engage with this process, something that they are often desperately keen to do. Instead, formal structures for learning from the experiences of survivors/ complainants need to be embedded into institutional and educational systems-level structures. The example of staff/faculty sexual misconduct in HE shows, therefore, some small efforts to involve students’ voices, but similarly to Lozano’s (2020) research on student trustees on governing bodies in the United States, these efforts are not necessarily connecting with marginalized groups in the wider student body. Part of the reason for this is the impacts of market reforms in HE in 122

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recent years (McCaig, 2018) whereby HEIs are aiming to fulfil a narrow set of metrics set by regulators and competition indicators such as league tables (national or international rankings of HEIs according to quantifiable metrics), but democratic reforms – including meaningful ways of listening to students’ voices – are not incentivized by these metrics. A further reason is perhaps the scale of this challenge. The demand for institutions to start to address GBV is not one that is limited to HE; schools, workplaces, unions, cultural organizations and other organizations are now being subjected to greater accountability on this issue, as part of a shift in social attitudes that has been accelerated by the #MeToo movement. This requires a paradigm shift on the part of institutional leaders towards re-imagining the social responsibility of institutions – including HEIs – in relation to tackling GBVH, as well as racism, transphobia and other forms of discrimination and harassment (Ahmed 2021). However, the profound shift that is required towards proactively and comprehensively addressing GBVH perhaps also illuminates the limited ways in which student voice is able to be heard within the current conditions of UK HE. When it comes to getting HEIs to listen to and act on something they don’t want to hear about – staff/faculty sexual misconduct – students’ voices can be ignored, belittled and ultimately discounted. To finish, therefore, it seems appropriate to give space to the voice of one interviewee from a study I carried out (Bull and Rye 2018). Instead of an experience of being silenced or disbelieved, this account shows how being listened to can be a transformative experience: I was contacted by a senior member of the department, who said that they’d heard a rumour, that this guy [her PhD supervisor] was not very good, and not very nice to his students, and did I have anything to say about that. I was with the [supervisor’s] other PhD student, another woman, and we both just found ourselves disclosing everything that happened. We’d stayed silent for the longest time and, finally, somebody had asked us, ‘Is everything okay?’ for the first time. It just came tumbling out … During the conversation, I was convinced that I was validated, basically. I had another person say, ‘This is appalling. We’ve got to do something.’ This experience convinced the interviewee to make a formal report to her university. While her experience of reporting was traumatic and prolonged, her initial experience of being listened to by someone in a senior position was revelatory, showing the transformative power that listening can have on victim-survivors of GBVH in HE. However, unfortunately such experiences of individual listening are not yet adequately embedded within institutional systems. The challenge for HEIs is therefore to ensure that survivors’ voices are amplified and supported by processes that enable institutional listening.

Note 1 In the UK, the term ‘staff’ refers to both academic and professional services staff, whereas in the United States, the term ‘faculty’ refers to academic personnel and ‘staff’ refers to non-academic personnel. In this chapter, to recognize this blurred terminology, the term ‘faculty/staff’ will be used throughout to indicate that both groups are included.   The phrase ‘gender-based violence’ is used to refer to a continuum of forms of gender-based violence, including sexual misconduct. Sexual misconduct refers to ‘a range of behaviours including sexual

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harassment, assault, grooming, sexual coercion, invitations, and promised resources in return for sexual access towards students’ (Page, Bull and Chapman 2019: 1311). This term is used rather than ‘sexual harassment’ as the latter refers to ‘unwanted conduct’. This does not encompass the full range of harmful sexualized behaviours that staff/faculty sexual misconduct can involve, such as initially consensual relationships that are harmful to a student when they break up. It also poses problems around defining when and how consent can be freely given within this relationship of unequal power. The term ‘sexual misconduct’ is therefore used to include conduct that may not be clearly ‘unwanted’.

References AdvanceHE (2020), Equality + Higher Education. Staff Statistical Report 2020. https://www.adva​nce-he. ac.uk/knowle​dge-hub/equal​ity-hig​her-educat​ion-stat​isti​cal-rep​ort-2020 (accessed 10 June 2021). Ahmed, S. (2021), Complaint! Durham: Duke University Press Books. Anitha, S., S. Marine and R. Lewis (2020), ‘Feminist Responses to Sexual Harassment in Academia: Voice, Solidarity and Resistance through Online Activism’, Journal of Gender-Based Violence, 4 (1): 9–23. doi: 10.1332/239868019X15764492460286. Arday, J., and H. S. Mirza (eds) (2018), Dismantling Race in Higher Education: Racism, Whiteness and Decolonising the Academy, New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Arnot, M., and D. Reay (2007), ‘A Sociology of Pedagogic Voice: Power, Inequality and Pupil Consultation’, Discourse: Studies in the Cultural Politics of Education, 28 (3): 311–25. doi: 10.1080/01596300701458814. Bovill, H., S. Mcmahon, J. Demers, V. Banyard, V. Carrasco and L. Keep (2020), ‘How Does Student Activism Drive Cultural Campus Change in the UK and US Regarding Sexual Violence on Campus?’ Critical Social Policy, 41 (2): 165–87. https://doi.org/10.1177/02610​1832​0913​967. Brodsky, A. (2021), Sexual Justice: Supporting Victims, Ensuring Due Process, and Resisting the Conservative Backlash, New York: Metropolitan Books. Brown, N., and J. Leigh (eds) (2020), Ableism in Academia, London: UCL Press. https://www.uclpr​ess. co.uk/produ​cts/123​203 (accessed 21 April 2022). Bull, A. (2022), ‘Catalysts and Rationales for Reporting Staff Sexual Misconduct to UK Higher Education Institutions’, Journal of Gender-Based Violence, 6 (1): 45–60. doi: 10.1332/239868021X1627057221 8631. Bull, A., and A. Dey (2022), ‘Power, Hierarchies, and Higher Education Rape on Campus in India and the UK’, in Miranda A. H. Horvath and Jennifer M. Brown (eds), Rape: Challenging Contemporary Thinking, 10 Years, 78–92, London: Routledge. Bull, A., G. Calvert-Lee and T. Page (2020), ‘Discrimination in the Complaints Process: Introducing the Sector Guidance to Address Staff Sexual Misconduct in UK Higher Education’, Perspectives: Policy and Practice in Higher Education, 25 (2):72–7. doi: 10.1080/13603108.2020.1823512. Bull, A., J. Bullough and T. Page (2019), ‘What Would a Survivor-Centred Higher Education Sector Look like?’ In S. Gamsu (ed.), A New Vision for Further and Higher Education, 73–82, London: Centre for Labour and Social Studies. http://clas​sonl​ine.org.uk/docs/A_New_Vision_For_Further_and_Higher_ Edu​cati​on_2​2051​9_16​47_f​orwe​bv1.pdf (accessed 29 May 2019). Bull, A., and R. Rye (2018), Silencing Students: Institutional Responses to Staff Sexual Misconduct in Higher Education. September. The 1752 Group/University of Portsmouth. https://1752gr​oup.files. wordpr​ess.com/2018/09/silenc​ing-stude​nts_​the-1752-group.pdf (accessed 1 November 2019). Bull, A., and T. Page (2021), ‘Students’ Accounts of Grooming and Boundary-Blurring Behaviours by Academic Staff in UK Higher Education’, Gender and Education, 33: 1057–72. https://doi. org/10.1080/09540​253.2021.1884​199. Bull, A., and T. Page (2022), ‘The Governance of Complaints in UK Higher Education: Critically Examining “Remedies” for Staff Sexual Misconduct’, Social & Legal Studies, 31, 27–49. https://doi. org/10.1177/096466​3921​1002​243.

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Busby, K., and J. Birenbaum (2020), Achieving Fairness: A Guide to Campus Sexual Violence Complaints, Canada: Thompson Reuters. Cantor, D., B. Fisher, S. Chibnall, S. Harps, R. Townsend, G. Thomas, H. Lee, V. Kranz, R. Herbison and K. Madden (2019), Report on the AAU Campus Climate Survey on Sexual Assault and Misconduct, Washington, DC: Association of American Universities. https://www.aau.edu/key-iss​ues/cam​pus-clim​ ate-and-saf​ety/aau-cam​pus-clim​ate-sur​vey-2019 (accessed 15 September 2021). Cardwell, E., and E. Hitchen (2022), ‘Intervention – “Precarity, Transactions, Insecure Attachments: Reflections on Participating in Degrees of Abuse” ’, Antipode Online. https://ant​ipod​eonl​ ine.org/2022/01/06/precar​ity-trans​acti​ons-insec​ure-atta​chme​nts/ (accessed 7 January 2022). Cook-Sather, A. (2006), ‘Sound, Presence, and Power: “Student Voice” in Educational Research and Reform’, Curriculum Inquiry, 36 (4): 359–90. doi: 10.1111/j.1467-873X.2006.00363.x. Cornelius-Bell, A., and P. A. Bell (2020), ‘Partnership as Student Power: Democracy and Governance in a Neoliberal University’, Radical Teacher, 118. doi: 10.5195/rt.2020.738. Coy, M., A. Bull, J. Libarkin and T. Page (2022), ‘Who Is the Practitioner in Faculty-Staff Sexual Misconduct Work? Views from the UK and US’, Journal of Interpersonal Violence, 37 (17–18, 14996– 15019). https://doi.org/10.1177/088626​0522​1106​189. Daly, K. (2011), Conventional and Innovative Justice Responses to Sexual Violence, Melbourne: Australian Centre for the Study of Sexual Assault. https://core.ac.uk/rea​der/143870​356 (accessed 8 July 2020). Dey, A., and K. Mendes (2021), ‘It Started with This One Post’: #MeToo, India and Higher Education’, Journal of Gender Studies, 31 (2): 204–15. doi: 10.1080/09589236.2021.1907552. Fileborn, B., and F. Vera-Gray, F. (2017). ‘“I Want to Be Able to Walk the Street without Fear”: Transforming Justice for Street Harassment’. Feminist Legal Studies, 25 (2), 203–27. https:// doi.org/10.1007/s10​691-017-9350-3. Greenberg, Z. (2020), ‘At Dartmouth, a Student’s Hunger Strike Over Sexual Harassment Grows Perilous’. The Boston Globe, 5 August. https://www.bost​ongl​obe.com/2020/08/05/metro/dartmo​uthstude​nts-hun​ger-str​ike-over-sex​ual-har​assm​ent-grows-peril​ous/ (accessed 20 June 2023). Heywood, W., P. Myers, A. Powell, G. Meikle and D. Nguyen (2022), Report on the Prevalence of Sexual Harassment and Sexual Assault Among University Students in 2021. Melbourne, Victoria: Social Research Centre. https://ass​ets.webs​ite-files.com/61c25​83e4​730c​0d5b​054b​8ab/623a86​e60a​6118​c69d​ a92d​37_2​021%20N​SSS%20N​atio​nal%20Rep​ort.pdf (accessed 12 June 2023). Jackson, C., and V. Sundaram (2020), Lad Culture in Higher Education: Sexism, Sexual Harassment and Violence, New York: Routledge. Jochelson, R., D. Ireland, L. Laidlaw and A. Tourtchaninova (2020), ‘Instructor-Student Sexual Misconduct: The Fraught Silences of Liminal Policy Spaces at Canadian Universities’, in D. Crocker, J. Minaker and A. Neland (eds), Violence Interrupted: Confronting Sexual Violence on University Campuses, 301–26, Montreal, Quebec: McGill-Queen’s Press. Kelly, L. (1988), Surviving Sexual Violence, Cambridge, UK: Polity Press. Lewis, R., and S. B. Marine (2019), ‘ “Guest Editors” Introduction’, Violence Against Women, 25(11): 1283–9. doi: 10.1177/1077801219844598. Lozano, J. (2020), ‘Bridging the Divide: Exploring the Connections Between Student Governments and Higher Education Governing Boards’, Studies in Higher Education, 45 (9): 1878–91. doi: 10.1080/03075079.2019.1593351. Manne, K. (2017), Down Girl: The Logic of Misogyny, New York: Oxford University Press. Marine, S., and R. Lewis (2020), Collaborating for Change: Transforming Cultures to End Gender-Based Violence in Higher Education, New York: Oxford University Press. McCaig, C. (2018), The Marketisation of English Higher Education, London: Emerald Publishing Limited. https://books.eme​rald​insi​ght.com/page/det​ail/The-Market​isat​ion-of-Engl​ish-Hig​her-Educat​ ion/?k=978178​7438​576 (accessed 11 June 2021). Morley, L. (2011), ‘Sex, Grades and Power in Higher Education in Ghana and Tanzania’, Cambridge Journal of Education, 41 (1): 101–15. doi: 10.1080/0305764X.2010.549453.

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Mott, H. (2022), Report: Gender Equality in Higher Education – Maximising Impacts, London: British Council. https://www.bri​tish​coun​cil.org/sites/defa​ult/files/gender_equality​_in_​high​er_e​duca​tion​_rep​ ort.pdf (accessed 20 April 2022). National Union of Students, (2010), Hidden Marks. A Study of Women Students’ Experiences of Harassment, Stalking, Violence and Sexual Assault. https://www.nus.org.uk/Glo​bal/NUS_hidden_m​ arks​_rep​ort_​2nd_​edit​ion_​web.pdf (accessed 18 January 2018). National Union of Students and The 1752 Group (2018), Power in the Academy: Staff Sexual Misconduct in UK Higher Education. https://1752gr​oup.files.wordpr​ess.com/2021/09/4f9f6-nus_st​aff-studen​t_mi​ scon​duct​_rep​ort.pdf (accessed 19 April 2018). Oman, S., and A. Bull (2022). ‘Joining up Well-Being and Sexual Misconduct Data and Policy in HE: “To Stand in the Gap” as a Feminist Approach’, The Sociological Review, 70 (1): 21–38. doi: 10.1177/00380261211049024. Page T., A. Bull and E. Chapman (2019), ‘Making Power Visible: “Slow Activism” to Address Staff Sexual Misconduct in Higher Education’, Violence against Women, 25 (11): 1309–30. doi: 10.1177/1077801219844606. Queensland Centre for Domestic and Family Violence Research (2020), Trauma-Informed Responses to Sexual Assault, Sydney: CQ University Australia. https://nov​iole​nce.org.au/wp-cont​ent/uplo​ ads/2020/05/Tra​uma-Pract​ice-Paper-FINAL-002.pdf (accessed 20 April 2022). Reay D., G. Crozier and J. Clayton (2010), ‘“Fitting in” or “Standing Out”, Working-Class Students in UK Higher Education’ British Educational Research Journal, 36 (1): 107–24. doi: 10.1080/01411920902878925. Rollock, N. (2019) Staying Power: The Career Experiences and Strategies of UK Black Female Professors, London: Universities and Colleges Union. https://www.ucu.org.uk/media/10075/Stay​ ing-Power/pdf/UCU_Ro​lloc​k_Fe​brua​ry_2​019.pdf (accessed 29 September 2020). Universities Australia, National Tertiary Education Union, Council of Australian Postgraduate Associations Incorporated, Australian Council of Graduate Research (2018), Principles for Respectful Supervisory Relationships. https://www.univer​siti​esau​stra​lia.edu.au/wp-cont​ent/uplo​ads/2018/10/Postg​ radu​ate-Pri​ncip​les.pdf (accessed 9 August 2019). Universities UK (2022), Changing the Culture: Tackling Staff-to-Student Sexual Misconduct. Strategic Guide for Universities. https://www.uni​vers​itie​suk.ac.uk/sites/defa​ult/files/field/downlo​ads/2022-02/ staff-to-stud​ent-mis​cond​uct-strate​gic-guide-28-02-22_1.pdf. University Grants Commission (2013), Saksham: Measures for Ensuring the Safety of Women and Programmes for Gender Sensitization on Campuses, New Delhi. https://www.ugc.ac.in/pdfn​ews/5873​ 997_​SAKS​HAM-BOOK.pdf (accessed 30 July 2020). Whitley, L., and T. Page (2015), ‘Sexism at the Centre: Locating the Problem of Sexual Harassment’, New Formations, 86: 34–53. https://muse.jhu.edu/arti​cle/604​488 (accessed 12 June 2023).

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Despite cries to have their voices heard, US college students tend to have minimal influence over how their institutions are governed and function (Grebennikov and Shah 2013). While this lack of autonomy may be experienced by all college students, one student group often encounters even more severe limitations in elevating their voices: college athletes (Comeaux 2018; Raphael and Abercrumbie 2017). College athletes may be hindered in their ability to speak up, particularly about racial and social injustices and other causes that would result in impactful shifts to the college athletics hierarchy, such as increased rights for athletes. This inability to use their voices, critics believe, is due to the hierarchical and authoritative nature of intercollegiate athletics where administrators and coaches maintain most of the control and power (Benedict and Keteyian 2014; Hawkins, Baker and Brakenbusch 2015). Athletics departments within the National Collegiate Athletic Association (NCAA), the leading college sport governing body in America, surveil athletes regarding their academic, athletic and social endeavours (Comeaux 2018; Hatteberg 2018). For example, athletes’ social media accounts may be monitored by coaches and other team staff members to ensure athletes are not posting content that violates team policy, such as promiscuous pictures or photos containing alcohol. Two extreme examples of athlete surveillance come from team handbooks from Clemson University and the University of California-Los Angeles (UCLA). Clemson’s 2019 football team rule book demanded that there be ‘NO communication with any media without approval. (Not your friend!)’ (Cyphers and Libit 2020: para. 63). Similarly, UCLA’s women’s basketball handbook stated: ‘Romantic relationships are your business and your choice. However, physical, intimate and/or dating relationships are NOT allowed within the team’ (Cyphers and Libit 2020: para. 65). Such rules restrict athletes’ voices and autonomy. While coaches and administrators believe surveillance is a key component to support structures for athletes, this excessive monitoring may hinder athlete development in their identity outside of sport and serve as a means to continue to control and oppress athletes (Harry 2022). Athletes may be fearful of speaking out against perspectives held by the institution, athletics administration or a coach, as countering traditions could negatively affect an athlete’s relationship with coaches, teammates and others. In some cases, it might even jeopardize scholarships or playing time (Nocera and Strauss 2016; Raphael and Abercrumbie 2017). In 2020, a football player for Washington State University opted out of the season due to health concerns associated with coronavirus. While his scholarship and ability to stay in school were maintained – per NCAA

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policies – he was still kicked off the team as his stance directly countered that of his head coach, athletics director and university president (Witz 2020). Despite these potential negative consequences, intercollegiate athletics is experiencing a rise in athlete mobilization as they have increasingly rallied to have their voices heard and valued as they challenge current inequitable norms in education and sport (Cooper, Macaulay and Rodriguez 2019; Ferguson and Davis 2019; Kluch 2020; Witz 2020). Notably, shifts in this culture arose from two key events: (1) the murder of George Floyd and subsequent athlete activism (Hill et al. 2020) and (2) states’ legislation to allow this group to profit from their name, image and likeness (NIL) (Hosick 2021). On 25 May 2020, a Black man named George Floyd was murdered (Hill et al. 2020). A white police officer put a knee to Floyd’s neck, restricting blood and oxygen flow to Floyd’s brain, killing him (Hill et al. 2020). This incident was one of many crimes committed against people of colour in America and was felt across the nation in various arenas, including intercollegiate athletics. While college athletes are usually discouraged from speaking on social and political topics (Raphael and Abercrumbie, 2017), this student group demanded reform for communities of colour in and outside of sport (Bunch and Cianfrone 2022). The topic of athletes’ rights to NIL also heated up around this same time. NIL encompasses one’s right of publicity (NCAA Board of Governors Federal and State Legislation Working Group Final Report and Recommendations 2020). Historically, the NCAA has owned athletes’ rights to their NIL as they were required to sign documents forgoing access to their NIL during their college careers (Davis 2015). However, in the summer of 2021, the association, due to state laws that would make NCAA ownership of NIL illegal, passed interim NIL policies allowing athletes to profit from their right of publicity (Hosick 2021). Importantly, the passage of new state laws allowing athletes to have NIL benefits and subsequent NCAA policies would likely not have come to fruition without athletes using their voices and platforms to advocate for these rights. Through the concept of athletics as a total institution (Goffman 1961; Hatteberg 2018), this chapter examines two prominent examples of how college athletes, since the murder of George Floyd and NIL implementation, have challenged athletics as a total institution and demonstrated their student voice to change current athletics cultures and environments. The next section provides a brief background on college athlete activism using Harry Edwards’s (2016) four-wave model, focusing on the current fourth wave.

College Athlete Activism: A Brief Outline To situate athlete activism within broader historical, cultural and societal contexts, scholaractivist Harry Edwards (2016) proposed a four-wave model of athlete activism. Edwards (2016) suggested that the recent rise in athlete activism helped spur the current and fourth wave, in which activism after George Floyd’s murder and NIL implementation has occurred. His model included activist actions by athletes participating at all levels of sport, but because the focus of this chapter is on college athlete voice, the discussion below highlights specific examples of college athlete activism in each of Edwards’s (2016) four waves. In Edwards’s (2016) first wave of activism (1900–45), athletes focused on gaining legitimacy to challenge white dominance, particularly within sport spaces (Cooper, Macaulay and Rodriguez 2019; Edwards 2016). For example, Ohio State University’s Jesse Owens won four gold medals 128

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in the 1936 Olympics and this accomplishment was seen as a legitimizing way to dispel the myth of the white race being superior to other races (Bryant 2018). The second wave (1946–60s) highlighted athletes of colour achieving access to more athletics opportunities and positional diversity (Edwards 2016). Part of this wave was the passage of Brown v. Board of Education in 1954. During this wave, Irwin Holmes, with his academic and athletics credentials, achieved access to North Carolina State University. He enrolled as one of the first Black athletes at the institution, was voted captain of the men’s tennis team and became the first Black undergraduate student to earn a degree (Peeler 2018). The third wave emerged during the peak of the Civil Rights Movement (mid-1960s) and continued into the 1970s. This was a crucial wave focusing on ‘demanding dignity and respect’ as activism and ‘racial consciousness’ soared to peak levels (Cooper, Macaulay and Rodriguez 2019: 158). Arguably one of the most prominent examples of college athlete activism comes from San Jose State University track athletes Tommie Smith and John Carlos, who, at the 1968 Olympics, raised their fists in a Black Power gesture while on the medal podium (Bryant 2018; Edwards 2017). Both athletes were also students of San Jose State professor and activist, Harry Edwards, and used conversations with him as inspiration for their actions at the Olympics (Edwards 2017). Between the third and fourth wave athlete activism was relatively stagnant as athletes became satisfied with small changes to sport policies that were covertly designed to appease and silence athlete activists of colour (Edwards 2016, 2017). The current fourth wave (2005-present), centres on acquiring and transferring economic and technological capital, with activists commonly engaging with the Black Lives Matter (BLM) movement (Cooper, Macaulay and Rodriguez 2019; Edwards 2016). One example of college athlete activism in this wave highlights the BLM movement and athletes’ use of economic power to challenge institutionalized racism and central authority (Edwards 2017; Hatteberg 2018). In 2015, University of Missouri football athletes worked with non-athletes to oust the president for failing to address multiple instances of racism on campus (Ferguson and Davis 2019; Kluch 2020). These racist incidents were also in the context of the murder of Michael Brown, a Black teenager in Missouri, by a white police officer. While a graduate student decided to go on a hunger strike, members of the football team banded together to boycott the football season until the president was out of office (Kluch 2020). These actions aligned with the rise of the BLM movement, which predominantly protests incidents of police brutality and other violence against Black people. Given the financial ramifications associated with the football boycott (i.e. loss of millions of dollars in game day revenue), the president resigned in less than a week (Ferguson and Davis 2019; Kluch 2020). Since the rise of BLM and the passage of NIL legislation, college athletes have also employed their technological and economic resources to promote causes they care about, such as racial and social justice and NIL rights (Bunch and Cianfrone 2022; Cooper, Macaulay and Rodriguez 2019; Kluch 2020).

Theoretical Framework: Athletics as a Total Institution Scholarship on college athletics has taken an increasingly critical perspective of the field (Southall and Weiler 2014). One of these critical lenses is viewing athletics as a total institution. Hatteberg 129

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(2018) noted that a total institution is a place of residence and work where like individuals (e.g. athletes) are situated away from the wider society for an extended period of time, leading an administered and regimented life. Scholars in this space note that organizations classified as total institutions have four key characteristics (Goffman 1961; Hatteberg 2018). First, aspects of individuals’ lives are conducted under the same authority, and in college athletics, this authority is usually the head coach and/or the athletics director. This structure contributes to the paternalistic nature of college athletics (Hawkins, Baker and Brakenbusch 2015). Paternalism in athletics spaces usually involves the father-child relationship that is cultivated between coaches (father figures) and athletes (children). In a total institution, this paternalistic relationship is one in which the ‘father’ authoritatively dictates all the behaviours and decisions of his ‘children’ who unquestionably accept the control of the authority figure (Hawkins, Baker and Brakenbusch 2015). Second, members of the total institution carry out their daily activities in the ‘immediate company of a large batch of others, all of whom are treated alike and required to do the same thing together’ (Goffman 1961: 6). College athletes are segregated from their campus communities and non-athlete peers for practices, competitions, meals and study time (Hatteberg 2018). Similarly, athletes are often far away from the familiarity of home. Thus, athletes spend the majority of their time in college with other athletes (Harry 2022; Hatteberg 2018; Rubin and Moses 2017). This component of a total institution and the resulting isolation may be particularly salient for certain groups of athletes, such as those in the revenue-generating and high-profile sports of football and men’s basketball (Comeaux 2018). Third, the schedules of those in a total institution are regimented and strict, with one activity leading directly into another without room for wavering. This schedule is often enforced by the aforementioned central authority. In college athletics, athletes’ schedules are tightly regulated. A common schedule of a college athlete involves strength and conditioning training, class, practice, rehabilitation/recovery, team meal and tutoring and mentoring (Brown 2022). This schedule repeats day in and day out with athletes often lacking autonomy to disrupt this regimented plan to engage in activities outside of sport (Harry 2022). Fourth, these activities are designed as part of a larger plan created to fulfil the objectives of the greater institution (Goffman 1961). Many scholars contend that the scheduled lives of athletes are designed to ensure they perform well athletically, preserving a revenue stream for the athletics department and the authority figures in charge (Comeaux 2018; Southall and Weiler 2014). This is particularly true for athletes of colour in football and men’s basketball (Comeaux 2018; Gayles et al. 2018). Additionally, this larger plan of the total institution perpetuates the miseducation of athletes, especially athletes of colour. Singer (2019) noted that the emphasis on eligibility means college athletes are more likely to be ‘schooled’ rather than educated. Schooling gives the façade of knowledge generation but is actually designed to uphold power relations and institutional structures that have historically privileged certain groups of people, such as white coaches and administrators. Education, on the other hand, is the transfer of knowledge from one generation to the next that enables learners, like athletes of colour, to engage with their heritage, history and culture and challenge dominant power systems. The schooling that occurs is the miseducation and is likely to occur in total institution spaces (Hatteberg 2018; Singer 2019). Miseducation may stunt athletes’ use of their voices to advocate for change (Singer 2019). 130

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Collectively, the four characteristics of a total institution maintain surveillance of the individuals in the institution. With college athletics operating as a total institution, college athletes experience physical, social and cultural isolation (Hatteberg 2018; Parker and Manley 2017; Southall and Weiler 2014). Additionally, Hatteberg (2018: 150) contended that athletics departments and leaders ‘exert control through more subtle processes of domination and identity transformation’. However, by raising their voices through their activism, athletes have challenged this domination and identity transformation, therefore working to dismantle this total institution.

Contemporary Cases This discussion provides two examples of how college athletes used their voices to advocate for changes that could alter the total institution nature of intercollegiate sports. The first section provides an example of an athlete-led racial justice movement after the murder of George Floyd: The Eyes of Texas protest at the University of Texas at Austin (UT). The second section examines athlete voices in the movement for NIL rights, particularly in their discussions with the US Senate. Athlete Voices after the Murder of George Floyd One example of athletes challenging the perpetuation of athletics as a total institution comes from athletes at UT. Catalysed by Floyd’s murder, the university’s football team marched to the Texas state capitol to protest police brutality against people of colour (Levin and Maisel 2021). Following this action, athletes from other sports and non-athlete students joined in on conversations about UT-specific racial inequities on campus. Thus, this movement was similar to the racial justice movement sparked by athletes and non-athletes students at Missouri years before (Ferguson and Davis 2019). By working with non-athletes, UT athletes challenged their isolation, and therefore, the total institution, and networked for increased support for their racial justice causes (Hatteberg 2018). As a result of these discussions, UT athletes published a letter to school and athletics leaders demanding multiple equity-based changes to enhance race relations on campus, and especially improve the experiences and opportunities of students and athletes of colour. This letter and the demands within offered another example of how this group disputed athletics as a total institution: challenging the institution and athletics leaders’ central authority (Goffman 1961). Additionally, these demands were spread across social media, showcasing the importance of technology in this fourth wave of athlete activism (Cooper, Macaulay and Rodriguez 2019; Edwards 2016). In this letter, athletes demanded shifts to academics and athletics spaces. Academically, athletes demanded more education and training on the history of racism at the university, erecting statues of former UT students and leaders who are people of colour and changing names of buildings with titles connected to racist histories (Athlete Recommendations Letter 2020). In this way, their demands also offered disruptions to the continued miseducation (Singer 2019). Athletically, UT athletes expressed a desire that the athletics department donate 0.5 per cent of its revenue to equity and Black-centric organizations and the BLM movement. Similarly, athletes demanded that part of the football stadium be named to honour the first Black football player and that the 131

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Hall of Fame induct more athletes of colour (Athlete Recommendations Letter 2020). These demands worked to dismantle power structures in higher education and intercollegiate athletics that perpetuate white dominance and keep control outside of the hands of athletes, particularly athletes of colour (Comeaux 2018; Nocera and Strauss 2016; Singer 2019). Challenging the status quo of power relations is part of taking down a total institution (Hatteberg 2018; Southall and Weiler 2014). In response to the letter, the school and athletics department acknowledged some of the calls to action. For example, multiple buildings’ names were changed to honour more diverse alumni and a statue of the first Black football player was placed outside the stadium. Additionally, the football field was renamed to honour two former Black Heisman Trophy-winning running backs. Despite these shifts, the most contentious request, to replace the alma mater, The Eyes of Texas, was met with much contempt and pushback across university and athletics leadership (Levin and Maisel 2021). The Eyes of Texas is played at the end of UT football games, with fans, alumni and students singing and swaying in unison. But the alma mater is connected to historically racist minstrel shows at the institution in which white students in the mid-twentieth century mimicked stereotypes of the Black community while wearing blackface paint (Pickman 2020; Vertuno 2020). One of the most controversial lines states the ‘eyes of Texas are upon you’, mirroring a confederate quote: ‘The eyes of the South are upon you’ (Pickman 2020). In the fall of 2020, members of the football team would leave the field before the playing of the Eyes of Texas, refusing to acknowledge the alma mater, and thus, resisting the institutionalized racism present in their community (Cooper, Macaulay and Rodriguez 2019; Yosso 2005). Stakeholders like fans and donors were upset by these actions (Vertuno 2020). In fact, some boosters were so appalled by the activism that they not only threatened to pull out financial support for the institution and/or the athletics programmes but also threatened athletes. For example, one football player used his voice and media platform to share his experience with donor threats: These are some high-power people that come to see you play and they can keep you from getting a job in the state of Texas. It was shocking that they said that. To this day I still think back to the moment. They really used that as a threat to get us to try to do what they wanted us to do. (McGee 2021: para. 8) Football players continued this form of activism throughout the season and athletes spoke with authority figures demanding the removal of the song (Kluch 2020; McGee 2021). As the situation gained more negative attention nationally, UT’s president assembled a commission to study the history of the alma mater (Levin and Maisel 2021). Over months of meetings, the commission failed to discover any ties to the confederacy or racist intentions in the lyrics of the Eyes of Texas (Levin and Maisel 2021). Thus, UT and the athletics department halted discussions with the athletes and other students about removing the alma mater. Instead, the school’s authority figures determined that singing the Eyes of Texas was an honourable tradition for the entire community (Buckner 2021; Vertuno 2020). In their letter, the athletes argued that they wanted to ‘push for change to benefit the entire UT community’ (Athlete Recommendations Letter 2020: para. 1). While athletes were not successful in removing the alma mater, athletes and non-athletes were successful in elevating their voices, 132

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shifting other social and cultural issues on UT’s campus and challenging the perpetuation of athletics as a total institution (Hatteberg 2018; McGee 2021). Athlete Voices in the Fight for Name, Image and Likeness In September 2019, California Governor Gavin Newsom signed Senate Bill (SB) 206, The Fair Pay to Play Act, making California the first state to pass legislation allowing athletes to profit from their NIL (Gov. Newsom Signs SB 205, The Fair Pay to Play Act 2019). Beginning in 2023, SB 206 would allow college athletes competing in NCAA sports in the state to strike endorsement deals, hire agents and not be penalized by California institutions (e.g. lose scholarships) for choosing to monetize their NIL. NIL rights would allow athletes to use their athlete status to make money, such as by signing autographs, holding skills camps and engaging in other entrepreneurial activities. In response to this challenge to the association’s total authority, the NCAA quickly released a statement condemning California’s bill, arguing SB 206 removed the demarcation between professional and college sports, provided California with an unfair recruiting advantage, signalled that athletes are employees of their institutions and would ultimately result in unequal treatment of athletes across the association (NCAA Responds to California Senate Bill 206 2019). Generally, this response did not sit well with college athletes looking to expand their creative and economic rights. SB 206 catalysed a flood of other states—twenty-eight as of 2022—into signing similar bills into law (Your Guide to Federal and State Name, Image and Likeness Rules for NCAA Athletes n.d.). Many of these states, after leadership conversations with college athletes and noting potential recruiting advantages, signed their bills to begin before California’s SB 206. For example, Florida’s bill began on 1 July 2021, two years before SB 206 was set to take effect. This is significant as the earlier start date for NIL access forced the NCAA to go back on its first statement condemning California and implement interim NIL policies, allowing the association’s almost 500,000 athletes the ability to profit off their NIL. If the association had not conceded to state and athlete pressure to enact interim policies, the organization would have been violating the law, which could result in expensive legal battles (Dellenger 2021). With this NIL context, it is important to understand the role college athlete voices played in challenging athletics’ total institution related to athletes’ rights to publicity. For example, in early June 2021, the US Senate Committee on Commerce, Science, and Transportation held a hearing to discuss potential federal involvement in establishing a nationwide bill for athletes’ rights to NIL. The NCAA argued that federal involvement would help create more equity across states, as different states established different NIL policies (Thompson 2021). This hearing included the president of the NCAA, a university president, a head men’s basketball coach and an ESPN analyst. Missing from this discussion were the voices of college athletes (Smith 2021; Thompson 2021). The athletics speakers in the Senate hearing were generally not in favour of NIL, but because NIL was going to come to fruition regardless due to state bills, the speakers wanted to keep change in check and maintain the larger design of college athletics, which keeps as much money as possible in the hands of the athletics departments and its leaders instead of the individual athletes (Comeaux 2018; Nocera and Strauss 2016). This is an example of athletics as a total institution 133

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(Goffman 1961; Hatteberg 2018). However, research showed that most athletes preferred NIL rights: In a study of over 1,200 athletes, over 71 per cent favoured profiting from their NIL (Grambeau, Osborne and Weight 2021). Thus, athletes, who saw the financial opportunities from NIL, used their voices to advocate for these changes. Athletes’ lack of a voice at the Senate hearing sparked concerns, particularly amongst the athletes themselves, the group most impacted by potential federal NIL legislation (Grambeau, Osborne and Weight 2021; Thompson 2021). As a result of athlete outcries, a few weeks later, the Senate committee held another hearing, centring current and former athletes’ narratives about the state of intercollegiate athletics and rights to NIL (NCAA Student Athletes and NIL Rights 2021). In this hearing, Christina Chenault, a former track and field athlete at UCLA stated that ‘as an athlete entrepreneur, I was not able to monetize my sport media platform’ (NCAA Student Athletes and NIL Rights 2021: 39:03). She noted that the NCAA rules stripped her of the opportunity to capitalize on her NIL at the peak time of her sports career since she was not moving on to compete professionally. On the other hand, the association and UCLA were directly able to profit off her NIL. The other athletes on the panel also used their voices to advocate for athlete rights to NIL, particularly noting that the NCAA’s historic control over NIL rights disproportionately harmed athletes from low-income backgrounds, athletes of colour and especially those in the revenuegenerating sports of football and men’s basketball (NCAA Student Athletes and NIL Rights 2021; Smith 2021). Athletes at the Senate hearing and others throughout college athletics elevated their voices to challenge athletics as a total institution in three key ways. First, the athletes directly countered the central authority of coaches, athletics administrators and the NCAA by providing testimony at the hearing, speaking with the media and using their social media platforms in their advocacy for enhanced rights (Hatteberg 2018; Southall and Weiler 2014). The use of technology to gain power and access is also in line with Edwards’s (2016) fourth wave of activism. Second, athletes consistently pointed out that no other student group was deprived of these rights. Thus, having similar rights as their non-athlete peers may make their college opportunities more aligned to the experiences of other students, a consistent critique of the NCAA (Comeaux 2018; Nocera and Strauss 2016). If the NCAA and member institutions want to call athletes student-athletes, then they need the same rights as students. Third, athletes’ narratives explicitly countered the status quo and larger financial plan of the NCAA and its members’ central authority (Edwards 2016; Hatteberg 2018; Southall and Weiler 2014). Athletes receiving access to monetize their NIL could mean less money flowing directly into athletics departments. For example, before the shift in NIL rules, an executive of a car dealership might have opted to directly donate and sponsor part of a basketball arena for an athletics programme. Thus, this money was going to the athletics department and being distributed how the leadership saw fit. However, with athletes’ ability to profit from NIL, the executive might opt to directly pay a star athlete to promote the dealership instead of donating to the athletics department. The athletics department would then lose money—and potentially authority—due to NIL. Ultimately, shifts in NIL are a significant change to the centuries-old enterprise of intercollegiate athletics (Hawkins, Baker and Brakenbusch 2015; Smith 2021). Athlete access to these rights would not have come to fruition if it were not for their voices challenging the field as a total institution. 134

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Implications and Recommendations With the aforementioned examples in mind, there are implications for practitioners and scholars working to promote student and athlete voices in college spaces. First, this chapter offers a new context, intercollegiate sports, to understand how college student voices operate. Historically, there has been a dearth of literature concerning how athletes employ their voices to enact change in college athletics (Raphael and Abercrumbie 2017). Scholars argue that this is largely by design: authority figures maintain power and control over athletes, including scholarships, playing time and educational access, which may overtly or covertly influence athletes’ desire to speak up about topics that matter to them (Comeaux 2018; Hatteberg 2018; Hawkins, Baker and Brakenbusch 2015). Similarly, the discussion of college athletics and the experiences of college athletes is not often included in higher education literature. This is another way in which athletes’ voices have been marginalized and another example of the system ‘miseducating’ its athletes (Edwards 2017; Foster, Springer and M. Harry 2021; Singer 2019). Second, given the recent rise in athletes’ voices, particularly after the murder of George Floyd and rights to NIL, it is likely that athletes will use their voices to bring about even more meaningful shifts in higher education and intercollegiate athletics (Jolly, Cooper and Kluch 2021; Kluch 2020). Outside of the two aforementioned shifts, for example, college athletes have used their voices to advocate for gender equity in sport, such as the University of Oregon’s Sedona Prince raising awareness about the discrepancies between the women’s and men’s NCAA basketball tournament in which the men received lavish amenities and resources while the women did not (Mickanen 2021). Arguably, as a result of Prince and other women’s basketball advocates using their voices to demand increased visibility and financial support for the sport, the women’s March Madness tournament experienced unprecedented growth in interest and one of its highest ratings the following year in 2022 (Mendoza 2022). Third, this chapter demonstrates how athletes have increased their power and voices in athletics spaces to implement policy changes at institutional and national levels that will shape the future of intercollegiate sports. For example, athletes and non-athletes at UT combined their voices to resist racism on campus, while athletes advocating for NIL rights predominantly took to the media and social media to demand reform. Knowing how athletes have mobilized to initiate this change will assist practitioners in better supporting this population as they manoeuver through college (Jolly Cooper and Kluch 2021). Practitioners and scholars can use this information to provide informational and emotional support for athletes who, by challenging athletics as a total institution, may be sacrificing their playing time, financial stability and potentially mental health (Hawkins, Baker and Brakenbusch 2015). Understanding the right ways to support athletes will also bolster their critical thinking skills and autonomous development (Harry 2022). Additionally, education and training for athletes on how to elevate their voices and do so safely may also prove beneficial. Finally, scholars and practitioners who are brave enough to also engage their own voices in challenging athletics as a total institution can serve as athlete-allies by providing more opportunities for athletes to take a stand and also by taking this path with athletes to demonstrate true support (Cooper, Macaulay and Rodriguez 2019; Jolly, Cooper and Kluch 2021). A fourth and final implication of this work is that it continues to expand the critical research conducted on intercollegiate athletics and athletes’ experience (Comeaux 2018; Gayles et al. 2018; Hatteberg 2018; Hawkins, Baker and Brakenbusch 2015; Southall and Weiler 2014).

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Athletics as a total institution as a theoretical framework to understand the structure of college sports and its influence on the lived experiences of athletes has grown in recent years (Hatteberg 2018; Parker and Manley 2017). Thus, this chapter supports the continued use of this lens, and other critical perspectives, to centre athlete voices in scholarship as a means to improve the intercollegiate sports system. This chapter not only assists in further connecting education and athletics scholarship and athletes’ voices, a current gap in the field, but also works to challenge athletics as a total institution by further confronting central authority and athlete segregation from the academic community, showcasing athlete engagement in causes outside of sports and disrupting the ‘larger plan’ that continues to oppress athletes and their voices.

References ‘Athlete Recommendations Letter’ (2020), Twitter, 12 June: 1. https://twit​ter.com/_Bre​nnan​Eagl​es_/sta​ tus/1271​5180​9824​8667​139 (accessed 4 April 2022). Benedict, J., and A. Keteyian (2014). The System: The Glory and Scandal of Big-Time College Football, New York: Anchor Books. Brown, M. (2022), ‘What Is a Typical College Athlete’s Day REALLY like? I Asked One’. Extra Points, 13 April. https://www.extrap​oint​smb.com/typi​cal-coll​ege-athl​ete-day-interv​iew-notre-dame-nil/ (accessed 13 April 2022). Bryant, H. (2018), The Heritage: Black Athletes, a Divided America, and Politics of Patriotism, Boston, MA: Beacon Press. Buckner, C. (2021), ‘“The Eyes of Texas” Is Here to Stay, UT Says. So Is the Fight Over Its Roots’, Washington Post, 9 March. https://www.was​hing​tonp​ost.com/spo​rts/2021/03/09/eyes-texas-ut-footb​ all-rep​ort/ (accessed 4 April 2022). Bunch, N., and B. A. Cianfrone (2022), ‘“Posting More Than Just a Black Square”: National Collegiate Athletic Association Student-Athletes’ Perceptions of the Athletic Department’s Role in Social Media, Racial Justice, and the Black Lives Matter Movement’, Communication & Sport, 10 (6): 1023–52. Comeaux, E. (2018), ‘Stereotypes, Control, Hyper-Surveillance, and Disposability of NCAA Division I Black Male Athletes’, New Directions for Student Services, 2018 (163): 33–42. Cooper, J. N., C. Macaulay and S. H. Rodriguez (2019), ‘Race and Resistance: A Typology of African American Sport Activism’, International Review for the Sociology of Sport, 54 (2): 151–81. Cyphers, L., and D. Libit (2020), ‘Must Let the Head Coach Know…’ The Intercollegiate, 2 September. https://the​inte​rcol​legi​ate.com/must-let-head-coach-know/ (accessed April 13, 2022). Davis, T. (2015), ‘The Athlete and University Contractual Relationship’, in E. Comeaux (ed.), Introduction to Intercollegiate Athletics, 338–52, Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press. Dellenger, R. (2021), ‘New Florida Bill Would Allow Schools to Facilitate NIL Deals’, Sports Illustrated, 15 December. https://www.si.com/coll​ege/2021/12/16/new-flor​ida-nil-bill-scho​ols-power (accessed 12 May 2022). Edwards, H. (2016, 3 November), The Fourth Wave: Black Athlete Protests in the Second Decade of the 21st Century, [Keynote address], North American Society for the Sociology of Sport Conference, Tampa, FL. Edwards, H. (2017), The Revolt of the Black Athlete, Champagne, IL: University of Illinois Press. Ferguson, T. L., and C. H. F. Davis (2019), ‘Labor, Resources, and Interest Convergence in the Organized Resistance of Black Male Student-Athletes’, in D. L. Morgan and C. H. Davis III (eds), Student Activism, Politics, and Campus Climate in Higher Education, 77–96, London: Routledge. Foster, S. J., D. Springer and M. Harry (2021). ‘ “Please Bear with Me a Moment as I Write about Sports”: Addressing the Dearth of Sport Scholarship in General, High-Impact Higher Education Journals’, Innovative Higher Education, 47 (2): 175–200.

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Gayles, J. G., E. Comeaux, E. Ofoegbu and S. Grummert (2018), ‘Neoliberal Capitalism and Racism in College Athletics: Critical Approaches For Supporting Student-Athletes’, New Directions for Student Services, 2018 (163): 11–21. Goffman, E. (1961), Asylums, Albany, NY: Anchor Books. ‘Gov. Newsom Signs SB 205, The Fair Pay to Play Act’ (2019), Nancy Skinner Representing Senate District 09, 29 September. https://sd09.sen​ate.ca.gov/news/20190​930-gov-new​som-signs-sb-206%E2%80%98f​air-pay-play-act%E2%80%99 (accessed 4 April 2022). Grambeau, K., B. Osborne and E. A. Weight (2021), Athlete Perceptions of Name, Image, and Likeness Compensation, Chapel Hill, NC: Center for Research in Intercollegiate Athletics. https://www.cria-unc. com/_fi​les/ugd/1ee3b7_45247​2720​5584​2c38​0897​0f1e​d21b​ca7.pdf (accessed 4 April 2022). Grebennikov, L., and M. Shah (2013), ‘Student Voice: Using Qualitative Feedback from Students to Enhance Their University Experience’, Teaching in Higher Education, 18 (6): 606–18. Harry, M. (2022, 23 March), Perceptions of Academic Support for and Surveillance of College Athletes [Conference Presentation], College Sport Research Institute Conference on College Sport, Columbia, SC. Hatteberg, S. J. (2018), ‘Under Surveillance: Collegiate Athletics as a Total Institution’, Sociology of Sport Journal, 35 (2): 149–58. Hawkins, B., A. R. Baker and V .B. Brakenbusch (2015), ‘Intercollegiate Athletics and Amateurism’, in E. Comeaux (ed.), Introduction to Intercollegiate Athletics, 312–25, Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press. Hill, E., A. Tiefenthaler, C. Triebert, D. Jordan, H. Willis and R. Stein (2020), ‘How George Floyd Was Killed in Police Custody’, The New York Times, 31 May. https://www.nyti​mes.com/2020/05/31/us/geo​ rge-floyd-invest​igat​ion.html (accessed 31 March 2022). Hosick, M. B. (2021), ‘DI Council Recommends DI Board Adopt Name, Image and Likeness Policy’, NCAA, 28 June. https://www.ncaa.org/about/resour​ces/media-cen​ter/news/di-coun​cil-rec​omme​nds-d i-board-adopt-name-image-and-liken​ess-pol​icy (accessed 30 June 2022). Jolly, S., J. N. Cooper and Y. Kluch (2021), ‘Allyship as Activism: Advancing Social Change in Global Sport through Transformational Allyship’, European Journal for Sport and Society, 18 (3): 229–45. Kluch, Y. (2020), ‘ “My Story Is My Activism!”: (Re-)Definitions of Social Justice Activism among Collegiate Athlete Activists’, Communication & Sport, 8 (4–5): 566–90. Levin, J., and I. Maisel (2021), ‘A University of Texas Report Will Find That “The Eyes of Texas” Has “No Racist Intent” ’, Texas Monthly, 7 March. https://www.texas​mont​hly.com/arts-entert​ainm​ent/uni​ vers​ity-texas-rep​ort-will-find-that-its-alma-mater-the-eyes-of-texas-no-rac​ist-int​ent/. McGee, K. (2021), ‘UT-Austin Football Players Say They Were Forced to Stay on Field For “the Eyes Of Texas” To Appease Angry Donors And Fans’, The Texas Tribune, 3 March. https://www.texas​trib​une. org/2021/03/03/ut-aus​tin-eyes-of-texas-don​ors/ (accessed 8 March 2022). Mendoza, D. (2022), ‘South Carolina Win at NCAA Championship Becomes Most-Watched Women’s Finale in Nearly 20 Years’, KcentTV, 5 April. https://www.kce​ntv.com/arti​cle/spo​rts/ncaa/ncaab/marchmadn​ess/south-carol​ina-win-beco​mes-most-watc​hed-wom​ens-fin​ale-in-nea​rly-20-years/507-a0926​ 161-b36b-45f0-a87b-fa1a2​c2e3​029#:~:text=ESPN%20sco​red%204.85%20mill​ion%20view​ ers,women’s%20ti​tle%20g​ame%20si​nce%202​004 (accessed 8 April 2022). Mickanen, D. (2021), ‘Sedona Prince’s Viral Tiktok Shows the NCAA Had Enough Space for an Equal Weight Room’, NBC Sports, 19 March. https://www.nbcspo​rts.com/northw​est/ore​gon-ducks/sed​onaprin​ces-viral-tik​tok-shows-ncaa-had-eno​ugh-space-equal-wei​ght-room (accessed 4 April 2022). ‘NCAA Board of Governors Federal and State Legislation Working Group Final Report and Recommendations’ (2020), NCAA, 17 April. https://ncaa​org.s3.amazon​aws.com/com​mitt​ees/ncaa/wrkg​ rps/fslwg/Apr2​020F​SLWG​_Rep​ort.pdf (accessed 1 May 2022). ‘NCAA Responds to California Senate Bill 206’ (2019), NCAA, 11 September. https://www.ncaa.org/ news/2019/9/11/ncaa-respo​nds-to-cal​ifor​nia-sen​ate-bill-206.aspx (accessed 4 April 2022). ‘NCAA Student Athletes and NIL Rights: Hearings before the U.S. Senate Committee on Commerce, Science, and Transportation, 117th Congress’. (2021), 17 June. https://www.comme​rce.sen​ate. gov/2021/6/ncaa-stud​ent-athle​tes-and-nil-rig​hts (accessed 1 May 2022). 137

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Nocera, J., and B. Strauss (2016), Indentured: The Inside Story of the Rebellion against the NCAA, Edmonton, Alberta, Canada: Portfolio. Parker, A., and A. Manley (2017), ‘Goffman, Identity and Organizational Control: Elite Sports Academies and Social Theory’, Sociology of Sport Journal, 34 (3): 211–22. Peeler, T. (2018), ‘Holmes Hall Honors Groundbreaking Graduate, Athlete’, NC State University News, 15 October. https://news.ncsu.edu/2018/10/honor​ing-irwin-hol​mes/. Pickman, B. (2020), ‘Texas Student Athletes Call on UT Administration to Replace “Eyes Of Texas”, Rename Buildings, among Other Changes’, Sports Illustrated, 12 June. https://www.si.com/coll​ ege/2020/06/12/texas-stud​ent-athle​tes-let​ter-adm​inis​trat​ion (accessed 8 March). Raphael, V. C., and J. P. Abercrumbie (2017), ‘The Muzzle and the Megaphone: Enlisting the College Athlete Voice for Meaningful Reform’, in E. Comeaux (ed.), College Athletes’ Rights and WellBeing: Critical Perspectives on Policy and Practice, 10–20, Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press. Rubin, L. M., and R. A. Moses (2017), ‘Athletic Subculture within Student-Athlete Academic Centers’, Sociology of Sport Journal, 34 (4): 317–28. Singer, J. N. (2019), ‘Race, Sports, and Education: Improving Opportunities and Outcomes for Black Male College Athletes. Cambridge, MA: Harvard Education Press. Smith, E. (2021), ‘Current and Former College Athletes Lend their Voices to NIL Debate in Senate Hearing’, USA Today, 17 June. https://www.usato​day.com/story/spo​rts/coll​ege/2021/06/17/coll​egeathle​tes-nil-deb​ate-sen​ate-hear​ing/772​7502​002/ (accessed 1 May 2022). Southall, R. M., and J. D. Weiler (2014), ‘NCAA Division-I Athletic Departments: 21st Century Athletic Company Towns’, Journal of Issues in Intercollegiate Athletics, 7: 161–86. Thompson, J. (2021), ‘College Athletes Weren’t Invited to Congressional Hearing on Their Own Endorsement Rights’. Insider, 10 June. https://www.insi​der.com/coll​ege-athle​tes-not-invi​ted-to-congre​ ssio​nal-hear​ing-endo​rsem​ent-rig​hts-2021-6 (accessed 1 May 2022). Vertuno, J. (2020), ‘Conflict Raging Over “the Eyes of Texas” School Song’, Associated Press, 23 October. https://apn​ews.com/arti​cle/eyes-of-texas-cont​rove​rsy-sch​ool-song-ced5a​2c90​f2f8​47fb​58be​ 5997​1d7a​494 (accessed 8 May 2022). Witz, B. (2020), ‘A College Athlete Calls His Coach to Opt Out. And Ends Up on the Outs’, The New York Times, 13 August. https://www.nyti​mes.com/2020/08/03/spo​rts/coro​navi​rus-coll​ege-athle​tes-opt-out. html (accessed 31 March 2022). Yosso, T. J. (2005), ‘Whose Culture Has Capital? A Critical Race Theory Discussion of Community Cultural Wealth’, Race Ethnicity and Education, 8 (1): 69–91. ‘Your Guide to Federal and State Name, Image, and Likeness Rules for NCAA Athletes’ (n.d.). Saul Ewing, Arnstein, & Leir, LLP. https://www.saul.com/nil-legi​slat​ion-trac​ker#2 (accessed 1 May 2022).

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One College’s Effort to Improve the Experiences of Black, Arab, Asian and Mixed-Ethnicity Students by Listening to Their Voices RHIANNE STERLING-MORRIS

In the higher education (HE) sector, there is a constant, albeit evolving, focus on how to improve the student experience; thus, the student voice should be prioritized especially when investigating the student experience and implementing interventions and activities that are supposed to benefit them. Student voice is a concept that pins students and education providers (both academic and professional service) together as critics and creators of practice (Cook-Sather 2020). Genuine student voice is important, as it enables conversations and feedback that enhance learning (Peart 2009). It is difficult to make decisions for students without their input, as they have a different perspective on the student experience and learning environment than staff (Kezar 2005). While staff may have recollections of what student life and the student experiences were like for them, as they are not currently experiencing that lifestyle, it is difficult for them to know exactly what today’s students want. This difficulty challenges them to make decisions for a demographic they are no longer part of. While universities tend to engage the student voice, practices may not always be effective, as the effort to elicit and heed student voice can sometimes appear as superficial and compensatory (McLeod 2011). A common way of gaining the student voice is simply through module feedback, which treats the student as a customer to provide feedback on their teaching service (Young and Jerome 2020). While receiving module feedback is important to teaching and curriculum design, there are other ways for students to provide their voice that can have a greater impact across the institution. In some institutions, students provide feedback on staff-led initiatives and activities. This is not truly using the student voice, as students’ unique perspectives are not embedded within the development. The students are being used as quality assurance as an afterthought, rather than being used for genuine transformative change from the beginning (Seale 2009). Sincere use of the student voice emboldens students to ‘identify and analyse issues related to their schools and their learning as they see as significant’ (Fielding and Bragg 2003: 4), which means that student input and voice should be embedded throughout development processes.

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When reaching out to students to gain the student voice, it is important to engage a diverse range of students and not marginalize some voices, whether intentionally or unintentionally, in favour of those who typically thrive within HE such as white students, able-bodied students and those from a higher social class (Bourke and Loveridge 2018). Students from minoritized backgrounds may find it difficult to engage for a variety of reasons, so many of the changes that institutions may make as a result of student voice tend to be from one perspective and benefit the same types of students (white, able bodies, middle class). There needs to be a conscious effort to engage these students, as their voices need to be heard too (Universities UK 2019). It is important to understand the experiences of students who are underrepresented and hear their voices about the student experiences, as it may vary and allude to aspects of the student experience that many staff and administrators from majority backgrounds themselves do not think about and therefore not make any changes or improvements to, as it is not seen as much as a priority or focus. It is also important to note that just because these students may be part of minority groups, developing initiatives with a focus on these students will not disadvantage other students and everyone can benefit. The student experience is important to understand, as it can impact student attainment and various other aspects of the student life cycle (Office for Students, 2019). Actively listening to the student voice can help with both the positive and negative elements that may arise within the student life cycle. Within the HE sector, there have been continuous conversations around attainment gaps, with the BAME (Black, Asian and Minority ethnic) awarding gap being the largest with a 17.4 per cent sector gap in the academic year 2020-21 (Office for Students 2022). In trying to understand why these gaps exist, various university regulators and campaigns have tried to shed light on the nuances of the student experience from the BAME student perspective by listening to their student voice. These efforts include the National Union of Students and Universities UK’s (NUS) Black Students Campaign: ‘Race for Equality’ (NUS 2011). This campaign’s report stated that 42 per cent of students felt that diversity, equality, and discrimination were not adequately reflected within the curriculum. In the Universities UK ‘Closing the Gap’ report (Universities UK 2019), institutions noted various factors that contributed to the awarding gap including lack of HE role models representing all ethnic groups, lack of diversity of senior staff and institutional culture and leadership. The contributing factors that were highlighted in the reports informed interventions and activities to reduce these gaps, as reported by 76 per cent of respondents. Despite these reports providing insight into the reasons why these gaps exist and persist, many have encountered barriers in trying to address these gaps, including internal ownership of the issues (64 per cent), understanding how to work effectively with students (64 per cent) and lack of data to support interventions (48 per cent). While this report serves the function of highlighting to institutions the contributing factors and the barriers that are faced in the work of reducing the awarding gaps, there is very little mention of how to use the student voice and engage students actively and productively.

Project Background and Rationale Since 2018, Office for Students set targets on how the sector should address specific gaps in access and participation and tasked UK HE institutions to develop an access and participation plan. Each institution undertook research that investigated where the biggest gaps were in terms of access, success and progression and for which student groups. The University of 140

Improving the Experiences of BAME Students

Lincoln identified four student target groups across the student life cycle: socioeconomic status, ethnicity, disability and care leavers. One way in which the institution tackled the success area of the student life cycle was through the institution wide initiative called the Lincoln Equality of Attainment Project (LEAP), which launched in the academic year of 2018–19. LEAP is an interdisciplinary approach that examines differential student outcomes using research-informed and evidence-based changes to teaching and learning practices (Zhu and Sterling-Morris 2018, 2020). In its first year, LEAP focused on using extensive quantitative data to inform future initiatives regarding attainment at the University of Lincoln. Concurrently, in my role as graduate intern for student engagement and experience at the time, I reviewed the access and participation data and noticed that some of the numbers were very small especially when looking at ethnicity which led some people to question the statistical significance of the data. While the numbers are important in helping us see patterns and trends over time, they do not give us an understanding of the nuances of the student experience that may contribute to these gaps. Although the numbers may not be statistically significant, each number represents a student, who is significant. These students are more than just a number, and they need to be treated as such as an overreliance on statistics can undermine and mask cultural and structural issues that need to be addressed, which led to the need of collecting qualitative data (Universities UK 2019). In 2019, the ‘More than a Number’ report was created, which presented the student experience from the perspective of the students to highlight to staff so that appropriate and effective changes and initiatives could be developed in response to the direct needs of the students. ‘More than a Number’ sought to aid LEAP and staff across the institution and provide further insight into the student experience and life cycle, in particular the success strand, by engaging directly with BAME students within one college to gain understanding of the root causes of the gaps and their overall student experience. The hope of this report was to act as a pilot and showcase to the rest of the institution the importance of utilizing the student voice to understand the student experience and to make effective change.

Methodology The purpose of this research was to gain an understanding of what students felt were the important factors within their University of Lincoln experience. While the existing data provided insight into the outcomes of different student groups, specifically when looking at attainment, it did not provide the contextual insight into why and it felt as if institutions just guessed the reasons without getting the student voice. As the University of Lincoln had 1,402 students who were identified as BAME within the academic year of 2019-20, it was decided that a pilot would be run within just one of the colleges within the institution before looking at the wider cohort. The numbers of BAME students at college, school and programme level were small, with some schools having less than ten BAME students in their cohorts. This made the quantitative data more difficult to analyse, thus creating the need to look beyond just the quantitative data and investigate the qualitative experience. The College of Social Science had 368 BAME students across six schools: School of Psychology, School of Health and Social Care, School of Social and Political Sciences, School of Sports and Exercise Science, School of Education and the Lincoln Law School (see Table 10.1). This college had one of the largest numbers of students within the university, and with an attainment gap of 141

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TABLE 10.1  Numbers of BAME Students in the College of Social Science Disaggregated by

Ethnicity

College of Social Science

368

Asian

104

Black

105

Mixed

129

Other

29

TABLE 10.2  Percentage of Students in the College of Social Science Who Received a 2:1 or above by Ethnicity

Ethnicity

% of Students Who Received a 2:1 (an Upper Second-Class Degree) or above

White

80.9

BAME

66.3

Asian Black

67.9 65.2

Mixed Other

78.3 33.3

14.6 between White and BAME students within the College of Social Science it felt imperative to understand the nuances that may have contributed to this (see Table 10.2). All students within the college were contacted by email and asked to respond to a questionnaire that collected demographic data looking at ethnicity, year of study and which college they were in. To gain insight into the student experience and to facilitate a way to listen to the student voice, the researchers asked the students only one question: ‘From your personal perspective, what has your experience at the University of Lincoln been like both academically and socially?’ While the question presented to the students appears broad and open-ended, it was intentionally so, as its framing allowed students to interpret the question in their own way and to truly provide their student voice on what they deem as important within their student experience. This question provided a wide range of responses from students from all BAME backgrounds. Some raw data responses that were not publicized within the report showed some white students had completely different views and perspectives from BAME students. These students did not mention any issues within their student experience; they all mentioned how they felt supported by staff and that university has been a great experience. While this is a very positive response, it represents a different perspective compared to BAME students, suggesting that race can play a role in the student university experience and those voices from underrepresented backgrounds need to be heard. There were a few responses from these BAME students that stated how happy they were that it appeared that the university was approaching them and trying to understand their voices in the hope of bettering their student experience. This finding suggests that underrepresented students rarely get their voices heard when it comes to matters of their student experience.

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Findings This report managed to gain insight into sixty-four BAME student experiences across the six schools within the college. Using axial coding, four main themes were found from the responses of the students within the College of Social Science: isolation, diversity and representation, sense of belonging and shared experiences, and racism. These themes and slight variations have also been found in other institutions across the sector, which has been noted in the NUS ‘Race for Equality’ report (2011). We found that these four themes can occur on three different levels: city, social and academic, all of which have an important impact on the student experience (see Figure 10.1). The use of the student voice here allows us to see a holistic view of the student experience from the student perspective. Using the student voice was integral to this project as not only did it aim to show the students that we care about their experience and that they are more than a number in quantitative data, but also it hoped to highlight to staff the true experiences of students from their own perspectives, which could lead to interventions and changes to enhance the student experience. While four separate themes were found, each has elements that can be interconnected through the three different levels of the student experience: social, academic and city. Experiences that are seen as racism also impact feelings of isolation and a sense of belonging suggesting that even though the report found different themes, it is more complex than students just

FIGURE 10.1  Diagram of the student experience, highlighting the three different levels: social, academic and city.

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experiencing one area at one time. These findings will explore the themes through the different levels as that provides a more contextual insight into the experiences that these student had. Within the city level, there were many issues around navigating the city of Lincoln. We must remember that when students come to university, they will not only be studying but also living in the area and all these elements contribute to the student experience. Most of the time, students move to a brand-new area. For many BAME students, these areas may not have provisions that they are used to, such as shops where students can get food from their culture, or products for their hair and skin. A student reported ‘Where am I supposed to get my things like food I like or even get my hair done?’(Black respondent). While this may appear like a mundane thing for students to worry about, having access to these provisions enables them to remain connected to their cultures. An institution such as the University of Lincoln is based in a county where the population is 93 per cent white: English/Welsh/Scottish/Northern Irish/British (Office for National Statistics 2012) as stated by the 2011 Census. This means that across the city, BAME students are not seeing people with the same racial and ethnic makeup as them, which can cause a sense of isolation and decrease a student’s sense of belonging. A student reported, ‘As I previously lived in a place with little ethnic diversity, the relative lack of diversity in Lincoln hasn’t bothered me too much, but I do sometimes wish I had a social group of people who could relate more to me.’(Indian/Punjabi respondent). As a small city where the university works in collaboration with the city of Lincoln through various forums, such as the Lincoln Business Improvement Group (2021), which is a local organization that aims to improve the experience of the city for businesses and for those who live and work here, there are opportunities for discussions to be had to help improve the student experience that will not only benefit the students at university but also the local citizens of Lincoln and the Lincolnshire county as a whole. Many students come to university to gain knowledge and get a degree that will help them in their future careers, but students also attend university for the social element. If students do not feel like they are included in social aspects of campus life, or if there are no social elements that cater to them, students can feel isolated, which in turn will have a negative impact on their experience and engagement. This goes for both home students and international students. These students feel that experiences of social exclusion reduce their sense of well-being and can have a negative impact on their motivation in their studies, which in turn will reduce attainment (NUS 2011). This suggests that HE institutions need to focus on ensuring the students feel a sense of inclusion, and one way this can be done is through listening to the student voice. Universities need to explore various ways for students to be able to engage in various social aspects of university life to ensure they feel included. We found that some of the most common ways that institutions try to promote social inclusion are not always accessible to all students for various reasons, including disability and religion. The student reported, ’Since I don’t drink, I felt quite left out socially and barely had friends in first year with people who obviously have never experienced a minority before constantly questioning why I don’t drink and referring to me as “boring” ’ (Pakistani respondent). Much of university culture that is presented tends to focus on alcohol and clubbing. Before coming to university, prospective students have the view that alcohol is the only way to gain ‘social capital’ and if you do not drink, you are going to struggle to make friends (Gambles et al., 2022). The university culture does not take into account students who may not enjoy that lifestyle or students who do not engage for religious reasons, which can leave the students isolated or the focus of mockery or derision. While there are social events that do not focus on these elements, 144

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the sector as a whole needs to do more to ensure that there are social opportunities in university that are accessible and appealing to people who may not embrace the drinking culture. ‘Socially I feel that there is a lack of opportunity to meet people who are also similar to me (Asian). I wish that there were more societies with diversity – and I wish it were more advertized. I was previously looking in the student union website of societies that I could join to mix with people similar to me. However there is not a wide range. Which was rather disappointing.’(Asian respondent). The academic element can be argued as the area where universities have the most power or a direct influence when trying to enhance the student experience. Programme leaders and module coordinators have a direct influence on what is being taught and how. Things such as accreditation bodies and university validation and revalidation policies need to be taken into account, but by listening to the student voice, staff can make changes even in small ways. For example, the following quote from a nursing student shows a serious and specific problem that staff can help to address. The student reported, ‘I’ve struggled in nursing because I’ve never cared for anyone Black and only one Asian person. When I go home, I’m going to find it hard to care for Black people as I don’t know the signs of them being ill. As with white people, you can tell as they go pale, so this is hard’ (mixed [white and Black] respondent). While in an area that is 95.6 per cent white, it may be difficult for students to care for patients from a different background, nonetheless, they should be taught about differences where there are any, especially in the ways certain illness may present for people of different racial and ethnic backgrounds. There has been a move within the healthcare sector to present medical images and diagrams using different skin tones, as the underrepresentation in medical education can impede racial equity within this sector (Massie et al. 2021). Listening to the students who reported concerns about this opened people’s eyes to what is being taught and how, especially within this sector as we are training students to go out into the real world of practising medicine. One student responded, ‘Sometimes I do feel isolated as I am one of the ethnic minorities in class. For example, I feel that no one really wants to speak to me during group discussion in a seminar’ (Asian respondent). There can be students who feel left out in class discussions, so it is important for professors to be aware of the kind of learning environment they are creating. These students may appear quiet, but when professors work to get to know their students, they may be able to help with issues the students are facing, such as isolation or exclusion. This is a more natural and informal way of listening to the student voice, and staff should not simply rely on formal methodologies to gain an insight into the student experience before taking action. These are just a few quotes about their experiences from students just within one college at the University of Lincoln. These quotations highlight the different areas that universities may be able to make a positive change in by simply listening to the student voice. If we look at these quotes from students on the three levels that encapsulate the student experience – the city, social and academic aspects – the relevance of using the student voice to make effective change and progress within the institution becomes clear. The voices of these students led to many recommendations for the institution that aims to tackle some of these issues at each of these levels. Here are some key recommendations from the ‘More than a Number’ report: 1. Increase education around equality, diversity and inclusion, not just for staff but for students so we can all be responsible and accountable 2. Ensure we are promoting a consistent message around equality, diversity and inclusion and be explicit and transparent in where we stand 145

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3. Diversify the curriculum and ensure students are well equipped to work anywhere after graduation 4. Diversify students’ union events and ensure all are celebrated and valued equally 5. Strengthen links in the community to try to provide resources for BAME students so they will not have to travel home or go to different cities to obtain the supplies and services they need

Next Steps The next steps from this report were to ensure that the recommendations were put into action. It is important that we not only listen to the student voice but also create action. These recommendations were presented to senior leaders within the institution and among many other members of staff, especially those that can make effective changes in the areas mentioned. ‘More than a Number’ has been discussed and utilized in the institution’s race equality charter. The recommendations alongside the ‘More than a Number’ report itself were shared with those students who contributed and to all BAME students within the college. It is important that we close the feedback loop especially when we are using the student voice, so they do not feel as if they were used and have no further input into their experiences. Since these recommendations were made, various activities have been implemented to help address institutional challenges and some of the issues that these students have raised. LEAP is just one route in which this work has been able to make an impact. This cross-institutional project continues to use the student voice in propelling the project forward in addressing the attainment gap through pedagogical practices. In collaboration with LEAP and the students’ wishes, a race equality student advisory group (RESA) was created, where students from BAME backgrounds were able to convene and discuss various racial equality strategies and initiatives within the institution to ensure that their voices were heard about strategies and policies that impact them and their student experience. Students were asked how they wanted to be recognized and rewarded for this work as we believe that the student voice should not just be used one way and that they should receive something from the experience too. These students were rewarded for this work in various ways, such as monetary vouchers and through personal references for their futures post-graduation. The students’ union developed a culture map, which used the student voice to help map for current and prospective students places in the city that are seen as ‘hot spots’. The map also included areas where students are able to collect cultural foods and access hair salons that are able to cater to different hair types. The University of Lincoln prides itself on using ‘students as producers’ and this project was created in collaboration with students, showcasing how we can use the student voice from inception to production of a project. During 2020–21, the LEAP team began to develop a toolkit called the Lincoln Education Toolkit for Student Success (LETSS), which used feedback from students through the ‘More than a Number’ toolkit, NSS data and module evaluations, alongside staff insights and data, to develop activities that help equip staff with the tools that they need to help students succeed. Activities in this toolkit include ways of getting to know your students, getting to understand the data, developing cultural competence and awareness and talking about race. These activities, while targeted at teaching staff, have been developed with the student voice to ensure that the 146

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work that is being done is what the students want and need. While initially LEAP and LETSS had a focus on BAME students, these activities can also be adapted and be used to help students from other underrepresented backgrounds related to the access and participation plans such as student with disabilities and those from low socioeconomic backgrounds.

Conclusion While this report is not the only element that made positive contributions to racial equality within the institution, since the release of the report there have both physical, tangible changes as well as changes to the attitudes of staff. ‘More than a Number’ was used in postgraduate education programmes to highlight various student cases they may encounter when navigating education. This report helped staff engage in conversations with students about their student experience and found various ways to use the student voice to improve their teaching and learning practices. Discussions around terminology were key conversations staff had with students; the term attainment gap was commonly used at the time of launching ‘More than a Number’; however, it has negative connotations and subscribes to the deficit model. From these conversations, the term that students preferred was ‘differential outcomes’. By listening to the student voice and working in collaboration with them, this became the term the institution adopted. Not only have these conversations with students helped with the terminology used around differential outcomes but also with the term BAME. Within the institution, we have a small number of BAME students (10 per cent), but that does not mean we should not take the time to understand their experiences. While we refer to these students as BAME, that term covers a range of ethnicities. The definition of BAME within this project focused on students who classified themselves as Black, Arab, Asian (Chinese, Indian, Pakistani, Bangladeshi) or mixed or multiple ethnicities. While this project used the term BAME to speak about all these students, it is important to note and reflect that when we use the term ‘BAME’, we are not just speaking about a homogeneous group. Within each ethnicity, identities can be disaggregated even further, each with different experiences within HE. It is important to reflect that even with the responses that were given, there are a vast number of experiences that we still may not understand. Going forward, students have disclosed that they prefer to be referred to as their individual ethnicity rather than under the classification of BAME. If an intervention is supposed to benefit Black students, then these interventions should promote it as such rather than using the overarching category of BAME. This report was just one way we tried to engage students and hear their voice, which enabled us to use their voices in various ways in different aspects of the institution. It’s important to listen to the student voice in a variety of ways; it can help uncover areas within institutions that staff may not have considered before but which can help improve the experiences for students. To fully utilize the student voice, it is important to ensure that their voice is pervasive throughout all the work that is done. The feedback that has been received since ‘More than a Number’ and other racial equality work seem to utilize the student voice more, and these practices have had positive implications that benefit both the student experience and the staff experience, such as the introduction of RESA and focus groups that have a direct impact on racial equality work across the institution. This suggests that the student voice is an imperative part of making successful changes. 147

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Despite all the work that the institution has done in engaging with students and helping to use their voice, there is still a way to go to ensure that it is used in the most effective way. Universities are diverse communities, and we need to ensure we are using multiple ways to gain the student voice and not just rely on formal methods such as module evaluations and NSS data. To ensure we gain the authentic student voice, we should engage with students in ways they wish to be engaged and understand the forums where students may raise their opinions about their university experience, including Facebook groups, discord servers and other social media platforms. There can be too much focus on attempting approaches that have always been done without looking at innovative ways of gaining and utilizing the student voice. This chapter has highlighted one way the University of Lincoln gained and utilized the student voice and has showcased many positive strategies such as the RESA group, student union BAME student focus groups and students as producers. However, we still have a long way to go to engage with the student voice more effectively to make changes across the institution that will help improve the student experience alongside teaching and learning practices. As an institution and as a sector, HE needs to do more to use the student voice to ensure students are having a positive student experience, which will impact all elements of the student life cycle. We cannot make a positive impact to the student experience without effectively using the student voice, and we need to do more to ensure we are hearing and uplifting the voices from marginalized groups.

References ‘Access and Participation Resources Findings from the Data: Sector Summary’ (2022), Office for Students, 7 May. https://www.office​fors​tude​nts.org.uk/media/978ff​e7f-633a-464c-8ce9-9b7ac​4a4d​734/ acc​ess-and-partic​ipat​ion-data-findi​ngs-from-the-dat​av2.pdf (accessed 13 November 2022). ‘Black, Asian and Minority Ethnic Student Attainment at UK Universities: #ClosingTheGap’ (2019), Universities UK, London, May. https://www.uni​vers​itie​suk.ac.uk/pol​icy-and-analy​sis/repo​rts/Docume​ nts/2019/bame-stud​ent-att​ainm​ent-uk-unive​rsit​ies-clos​ing-the-gap.pdf (accessed 3 May 2022). Bourke, R., and J. Loveridge (2018), ‘Using Student Voice to Challenge Understandings of Educational Research, Policy and Practice’, in Radical Collegiality through Student Voice, 1–16, Singapore: Springer. Cook-Sather, A. (2020), ‘Student Voice across Contexts: Fostering Student Agency in Today’s Schools’, Theory into Practice, 59 (2): 182–19. Fielding, M., and S. Bragg (2003), Students as Researchers: Making a Difference, Cambridge: Pearsons. Gambles, N., L. Porcellato, K. M. Fleming and Z. Quigg (2022), ‘“If You Don’t Drink at University, You’re Going to Struggle to Make Friends”: Prospective Students’ Perceptions around Alcohol Use at Universities in the United Kingdom’, Substance Use & Misuse, 57 (2): 249–55. Kezar, A. (2005), Promoting Student Success: The Importance of Shared Leadership and Collaboration. Occasional Paper No. 4, Bloomington, Indiana. ‘Lincoln Business Improvement Group’ (2021), Who We Are. https://www.lin​coln​big.co.uk/ (accessed 20 May 2022). Massie, J. P., D. Y. Cho, C. J. Kneib, J. D. Sousa, S. D. Morrison and J. B. Friedrich (2021), ‘A Picture of Modern Medicine: Race and Visual Representation in Medical Literature’, Journal of the National Medical Association, 113 (1): 88–94. McLeod, J. (2011), ‘Student Voice and the Politics of Listening in Higher Education’, Critical Studies in Education, 52 (2): 179–89. National Union of Students (2011), Race for Equality: A Report on the Experiences of Black Students in Further and Higher Education, London: National Union of Students. https://www.nus.org.uk/PageFi​ les/12350/NUS_Ra​ce_f​or_E​qual​ity_​web.pdf (accessed 3 May 2022).

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‘A New Approach to Fair Access Participation and Success’ (2019), Office for Students, December 19. https://www.office​fors​tude​nts.org.uk/ann​ual-rev​iew-2019/a-new-appro​ach-to-fair-acc​ess-partic​ipat​ ion-and-succ​ess/ (accessed 13 November 2022). Office for National Statistics (2012), 2011 Census: Key Statistics for local authorities in England and Wales, 11 December. https://www.ons.gov.uk/peopl​epop​ulat​iona​ndco​mmun​ity/pop​ulat​iona​ndmi​ grat​ion/popu​lati​ones​tima​tes/datas​ets/2011censuskeystatisticsforlocala​utho​riti​esin​engl​anda​ndwa​les (accessed 15 December 2022). Peart, J. (2009), ‘The Importance of Learner Voice in the 21st Century’, University of Portsmouth L&T Conference. https://www.joh​npe.art/2009/12/15/the-imp​orta​nce-of-lear​ner-voice-in-the-21st-cent​ury/ (accessed 3 May 2022). Seale, J. (2009), ‘Doing Student Voice Work in Higher Education: An Exploration of the Value of Participatory Methods’, British Educational Research Journal, 36 (6): 995–1015. Young, H., and L. Jerome (2020), ‘Student Voice in Higher Education: Opening the Loop’, British Educational Research Journal, 46 (3): 688–705. Zhu, X., and R. E. Sterling-Morris (2018), The Lincoln Equality of Attainment Project (LEAP), Lincoln, UK: University of Lincoln. https://lheri.linc​oln.ac.uk/leap (accessed 5 May 2022). Zhu, X., and R. E. Sterling-Morris (2020), Lincoln Education Toolkit for Student Success (LETSS) the Lincoln Equality of Attainment Project (LEAP), Lincoln, UK: University of Lincoln. https://lheri.linc​ oln.ac.uk/leap/letss/ (accessed 5 May 2022).

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Engaging First-Generation Indigenous Students’ Voices in Chilean Higher Education: The Aspiration of Equity and Inclusion ANDREA FLANAGAN-BÓRQUEZ, SILVANA DEL VALLE-BUSTOS AND CAROLINA HIDALGO-STANDEN

The sociopolitical context in which this research and intervention project is framed is the Chilean territory.1 As in other Latin American regions, in recent decades, the characteristics of students who have accessed tertiary education in Chile have undergone a transformation, challenging pedagogical practices and academic culture in general (Flanagan-Bórquez 2017; Segovia and Flanagan-Bórquez 2019). Currently, in Chile, first-generation students (FGS) represent at least 50 per cent of the student body in most of the country’s universities (Acuña et al. 2019; Herrero 2019). They are defined as those who are the first members of their families to access higher education and try to graduate (Ishitani 2003) and usually come from disadvantaged socioeconomic sectors. According to Servicio de Información de Educación Superior (SIES 2020), for the period 2015–19, around 26 per cent of freshmen students who enrolled in a university or technical training centre dropped out of their study programs. Although Chilean and mainland universities have made efforts to retain them in recent years, the empirical evidence described further on shows the need for institutions to consider their voices and particular characteristics in their policies and programmes. International evidence shows that FGS are more likely to drop out of college than traditional students, even when they perform well academically (Lehmann 2007). In Chile, some studies have shown how FGS’ particular needs, together with the institutions’ difficulties to integrate them, constitute one of the leading causes of the high dropout rates in these students (González and Uribe 2002). This panorama does not constitute an isolated event. Instead, it reveals a permanent disadvantage for students belonging to Indigenous groups concerning their access to educational opportunities. Particularly in Chile, the districts that present higher concentrations of children belonging to Indigenous groups show significantly lower learning outcomes than other districts, according to the National Educational Quality Measurement System Test or SIMCE (Agencia de la Calidad de la Educación 2016). These results also perpetuate a perspective of deficit

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about Indigenous children’s skills and capacities. Nevertheless, they do not account for the particularities in their traditional learning methods (Quilaqueo, Quintriqueo and Torres 2016). In this regard, some studies have revealed the need to review the universalist way of understanding development and learning. They tend to provide spaces for the emergence of alternative paradigms that effectively account for the cultural particularities that characterize Indigenous groups (Rogoff 2016, 2014; Rogoff, Mejía-Arauz and Correa-Chávez 2015). This chapter focuses on the voices of first-generation Indigenous students (FGIS) to critically analyse the results of a research and intervention project to promote their inclusion and persistence in Chilean higher education. There is a broad consensus that improving student engagement, learning and retention require that post-secondary institutions recognize and comprehend students’ perspectives since they have an authentic and valuable voice (Matthews and Dollinger 2022). In Latin America, and especially in central Chile, research on FGSs who identify themselves with Indigenous peoples is very limited (Flanagan-Borquez et al., 2023). From an institutional perspective, some studies highlight that universities usually foster FGIS assimilation (Segovia and Flanagan 2019). FGIS often struggle with understanding its academic culture, which oftentimes has very different visions, norms and values from those of their community of origin (Jenkins et al. 2013; Webb 2018). The studies in Chile that have investigated the topic have approached the phenomenon separately, studying, on the one hand, the subject of the FGSs (Guerrero-Valenzuela et al. 2022; Jarpa-Arriagada and Rodríguez-Garcés 2017; Soto-Hernández 2015), and on the other, the issue of university students belonging to an original ethnic group (e.g. Arancibia et al. 2014; Navarrete, Candia and Puchi 2013). However, empirical contributions about the students’ perspectives and voices with an emphasis on both identities remain scarce. The work described in this chapter was part of a research/intervention project developed for two and a half years across three Chilean regions (Valparaíso, Metropolitan and the Araucanía regions). The project was initially oriented to promote FGIS retention through direct work with these students, their families and their instructors. In this way, the research results allow us to know how higher education institutions perpetuate colonization and domination processes, affecting ethnic minority students’ trajectories and persistence in higher education. Likewise, this chapter contributes ideas and suggestions to improve the work and inclusion processes developed within tertiary education institutions in Latin America and beyond.

First-Generation Students and Intersectionality In Latin America and, specifically, in Chile, studies about FGSs are very recent (FlanaganBórquez et al., 2023). Based on previous international studies, specially developed in the United States, reports have shown that it is very likely that other identities also intersect in an FGS. These identities tend to be very different from a traditional student, who belongs to the dominant group (e.g. from a middle or upper-middle class, and with professional parents). Recent research has shown how the institutional structure, and the academic culture itself, pose more significant obstacles to students who diverge from the historical student profile. These factors directly impact students’ trajectories and expectations (Flanagan-Bórquez 2017; Linne 2018; López Cárdenas, Mella Luna and Cáceres Valenzuela 2018). Regarding the characteristics of these FGS, various authors have highlighted that they tend to be female (gender identity), to be a member of a minority racial/ethnic group (racial identity) 152

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and to have lower-than-average family income (social class) (Linne 2018; Lohfink and Paulsen 2005; Morosini and Felicetti 2019). Considering the multiple identities of FGS as an overlooked factor in higher education institutions, this project integrated research on the problems faced by FGIS, actions to relieve them and techniques that favour their persistence and graduation. Such retention, however, is not a separate goal devoid of content. On the contrary, retention presupposes a work that considers FGIS’ voices as a crucial piece to achieve that and those students as active agents of change in their university culture, and as the generators of knowledge from the university to the communities and vice versa. All of them were a foundational part of this project. Additionally, the paper uses as a reference Patricia Hill Collins’s (2000) theoretical framework, which postulates that intersectionality is understood as the multiple dimensions of oppression experienced by a person, generating effects on social inequality structures that run through them. In order to achieve real social integration, there must be a process of destructuring the oppression and domination of the hegemonic culture created by the oppressed voices themselves from the community (Young 1990, 1997). Across the Latin American context, intersectionality treatment concerning the experience in higher education is relatively recent. The large number of formulations and definitions used to describe the relationships among gender, race and class, and the very origin of their analysis from the margin –mainly focused on racialized feminist experiences (Busquier 2018), unveils its challenges. While some authors refer to gender, race and class as intersecting systems of oppression, others understand them as analogical categories or multiple sources of oppression, as different axes or concentric axes (Viveros Vigoya 2016). The present project initially worked systematically with FGIS, their families and instructors, to learn about their experiences of being an FGS, being part of a family and being an FGIS instructor, respectively. This work made it possible to reveal the intersection of diverse identities and the need to assess those FGIS characteristics that systemically have meant discrimination, disadvantage and oppression through integrating all the levels present in the educational systems (students, families/communities and instructors).

The Context: The Supporting First-Generation Students from Indigenous Peoples Project The project ‘Supporting First Generation Indigenous Students’ (hereinafter SFGIS Project) was developed in parallel in three universities (two public and one private) in the central and southern areas of Chile. The participating universities were the University of Valparaíso (UV), public and located in the region of the same name; the University Academia de Humanismo Cristiano (UAHC), private and located in the country’s capital – Santiago; and the University of La Frontera (UFRO), public and located in the Araucanía region. Geographically, the former two (UV and UAHC) are located in the central zone and the latter (UFRO) in the south of Chile. The UV and the UAHC are located in the two most populated and urbanized regions of Chile (Instituto Nacional de Estadística [INE] 2017). Prior to the introduction of this project, both institutions did not have any programme available aimed at these students (FGIS). UFRO is located within Mapuche2 territory and has had the Rupü programme since 2004, which seeks to give academic and cultural support to Mapuche students 153

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to strengthen their identities and promote their academic success (Navarrete, Candia and Puchi 2013). Participants were recruited through an email open to the student community (at each university). The email provided information on the objectives, methodology and ethical aspects associated with their participation in the project. Students who expressed interest in participating in the project were later invited to participate in project activities, including meetings with project teams and interviews. The project initially contemplated an intervening methodology. It was mainly centred on the development of a series of activities involving the development of:

1) workshops for each of the target groups (FGIS, families and instructors), 2) individual group counselling, 3) a university entrance manual for FGIS, 4) the realization of a seminar and 5) the development of an online platform oriented to socialize the project’s objectives, characteristics and activities.

After a few months of implementation and the appraisal of activities, some changes were introduced to adapt to the number of students recruited and their preferences. First, discussion groups formed by non-FGIS and FGIS students and instructors were included. Second, the elaboration of a manual was replaced by two fanzines/brochures: one for FGIS focused on their entry to higher education, and one for instructors. Both aimed at promoting inclusive intercultural practices in educational environments of tertiary education. At each university, the teams included an academic and at least one assistant who identified as an FGIS. The rationale for this team structure is based on the recognition and respect for Indigenous peoples’ knowledge and the importance of including them in the process of studying or working with Indigenous populations (Wilson 2008). Likewise, the project recognized that educational systems worldwide have been historically and systematically used as an instrument of deculturalization, cultural genocide and assimilation of languages and cultural practices of people belonging to Indigenous peoples (Spring 2022). These issues have led to recognizing their voices as important insights and the social and ethical responsibility that educators and instructors bear when working with these people, their families and communities, rather than perpetuating a system that speaks for them. Having an FGIS as part of the team was established as an essential condition of the work undertaken. They were considered active members and their perspectives were crucial in the preparation and development of activities and in making decisions about the project. In this framework, the project emphasized that people belonging to Indigenous peoples have a unique and different worldview from that of other communities, which can only be recognized and considered in an academic project only to the extent that Indigenous people participate actively in it (Wilson 2008). For the researchers, it was critical to develop the project not only by acknowledging FGIS’s voices as important but also by listening to their voices and implementing their suggestions and ideas.

Method This qualitative study used a socio-constructivist paradigm (Creswell and Poth 2018) to explore the experiences of the main participants of the SFGIS project. Qualitative studies recognize that 154

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experiences result from a construction process, which is permeable to historical, contextual and interaction conditions that are hardly separable from those conditions (Denzin and Lincoln 2018; Lincoln, Lynham and Guba 2011). This definition is pertinent for this research, given Indigenous peoples’ characteristics in Chile and Latin America. The analysis of these experiences sought to reveal the FGIS’ perspectives in the university and how these experiences can influence the development of educational programmes aimed at supporting these students academically. The information production was carried out through different tools. First, semi-structured interviews (Creswell and Creswell 2018; Creswell and Guetterman 2019) were conducted with fifteen FGIS who actively participated in the project or in its activities (seven from UV, four from UAHC and four from UFRO). The interviews were conducted in Spanish throughout 2018 and 2019, with each lasting between forty-five and sixty minutes. The interview protocol included questions about the meaning of being an FGIS at Chilean universities, the experiences of participating in an academic project for FGIS and institutional suggestions to support inclusion and persistence. All the interviews were recorded and transcribed verbatim. The quotations used in this paper were translated from Spanish into English by the authors of this chapter. Second, digital records were made (filming and photographs) of the workshops, seminars, talks and other project activities. In parallel, participants made observations, and annotations, in field notebooks throughout the development of the project. The data collected through these techniques were analysed according to Creswell and Poth’s procedures for content analysis (2018). It included thematic analysis across the interviewees, the records and the observations. The content analysis carried out was inductive in nature, and it involved a systematic work of knowing, comparing and triangulating (Guba and Lincoln 1985) the accounts of the interviewees with the digital records, observations and field notes. From the analysis of the information collected, three main themes were obtained. They are described in the following section. Finally, this study complied with all the ethical protections required for research with human beings (e.g. signing of informed consent and use of pseudonyms to preserve anonymity) (Approved Project Number SCI800-17-IN0038) (Creswell and Poth 2018).

Results The students’ voices have been grouped into three main themes: resistance, appreciation of the intercultural and recognition of its roots and institutionality and intersectionality. Resistance One of the main challenges throughout the project’s development was the FGIS students’ mistrust regarding the objectives of the project and its implementation, especially among those FGIS from the central zone. In its initial formulation, the project contemplated the participation of 150 FGIS. However, in the three zones, only a total of thirty FGIS participated. Although many of the FGIS invited to participate highly valued the existence of such initiatives within the university, many indicated they felt mistrust about this type of project, as described by an active FGIS participant: We understand that there are such deep and complex difficulties that [it is] very difficult to wipe them over; [it is] challenging to establish an intercultural education 155

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so easily and making others get used to the fact that we are not all the same. Moreover, the instances that have been generated to inform, to problematize and to discuss them have been really relevant for us in the sense that, first, we have a comfortable and open space where we can raise our challenges and be able to speak from the first person without a paternalistic sense and also because the more these issues are touched upon within the university space, the more awareness there will be, the taboo will be broken, and the stereotypes that we normally receive about us will be broken. My peers have often made comments implying that it does not fit in their heads that we can, for example, live in the city because of being part of an Indigenous people. Those things are generalizations. Making them understand that actually there are many ways of belonging to a people, there are many ways of living our culture … we are spread throughout the entire territory, and we are here. We persevere to continue living in this way and looking forward to neither being discriminated against nor putting us down by building these intercultural spaces instead of increasingly consolidated. This distrust is based, on the one hand, on the low credibility that the institution holds for some students, as mentioned by an FGIS when asked about inclusion initiatives at their university: ‘many times they create measures that are image, but they do not solve the root causes.’ On the other hand, this distrust is sustained by the negative experiences they have had with some activities carried out in isolation previously by some universities in which they have been stereotyped, discriminated against and stigmatized systemically. An FGIS pointed out how the head of an inclusion unit of a higher education institution had told them in a meeting that they could ‘wear their disguises’ in their future activities. Likewise, many FGIS claimed having suffered several episodes of discrimination from authorities, administrators, instructors and classmates, as indicated by another FGIS: ‘I entered a class with a mate,3 and the professor told me that in his class he did not allow me to drink mate. However, it was ok for my classmates, who were drinking coffee or tea … the instructor said nothing.’ Another FGIS observed: Discrimination, on the part of the professors in some instances, yes, mainly in the moments in which we decide to make it visible, in the moment in which I say ‘today I am going to arrive at the university dressed traditionally, which is something I do regularly, and which I try to naturalize among my classmates. They already know this … And of course, in those instances, some academics behave differently! The experiences described earlier on show how higher education institutions not only discriminate against those who have cultural practices other than the dominant ones but also continuously promote cultural assimilation (Spring 2022). Based on this evidence, post-secondary institutions should establish actions that allow FGIS to regain credibility and trust in people who, although working on diversity and inclusion areas, are considered outsiders and representatives of institutions that have historically oppressed, violated and colonized the members of Indigenous peoples.

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Intercultural Value and Heritage Acknowledgement The second issue that emerged was the growing appreciation for interculturality. On the one hand, this appreciation generated growing interest from people belonging to the dominant group (nontarget group of the project) in participating in all the SFGIS project activities. In all the activities carried out, the number of participants who did not identify as part of an Indigenous people was higher than those who did (around 80 per cent vs. 20 per cent), reflecting a great interest in the subject and making visible the need to have educational spaces within the institutions that allow non-FGIS to learn about and reflect on interculturality and Indigenous peoples together. In this regard, three non-FGIS students who participated in several of the project activities indicated through informal conversations during those events that the talks had contributed to ‘becoming informed and less ignorant’, ‘to break down stereotypes’ and ‘to rethinking the ways in which universities should support these classmates’. On the other hand, interculturality valuing promotes for many FGIS, a greater conscientization of their identities and the need for these to be acknowledged and fostered in the higher education system. Unlike their ancestors’ experiences, FGIS recognize that societies have undergone a transformation in terms of greater openness and acceptance of multiple human identities and differences, as described by one FGIS: When my grandfather arrived in Santiago [the capital of Chile], he did not speak Spanish, so he was discriminated against and had miserable jobs … They paid him very badly. People laughed at him everywhere and rejected his Mapuche culture. My dad has also gone through much discrimination for being Mapuche. Nowadays, I have not suffered repercussions or discrimination because the culture has opened; people are opening their minds and knowing more. This transformation has led many FGIS to initiate a process of deconstruction and/or reconstruction of their Indigenous identity, which is often complicated: The clash is cultural. As in my case, I believe that it also happens to many people with Mapuche heritage, who do not identify themselves as Mapuche4, or Indigenous, because they are third or fourth generation. The last name is lost. Likewise, some cases have the direct surname but do not identify as such. So that is where the reconstruction starts. I now position myself as a Chilean, as a winka, and to find my roots, I have to rebuild …, and I prefer to start from what I am until I reach the roots … I participate in events, networks, the support, which is being embedded in a community, yet epistemic violence is still shocking. Identifying yourself as Mapuche, speaking Mapudungun, even Indigenous practices are tedious and complicated. The current system limits you on certain identities. The valuation of interculturality has allowed some FGIS to feel more comfortable and recognized by their peers and instructors. The experience provided students with the opportunity to reflect on the benefits of cultural awareness for their academic life. In this regard, an FGIS noted: ‘Currently, I feel comfortable with my classmates … and I also have professors who knew [about my Mapuche identity] and who made me feel comfortable.’

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Institutionalism and Intersectionality Finally, the last theme that emerged from the students’ voices is the permanent intersectionality of FGIS’ identities, which run through their experience in higher education. Even when the project focused on ethnic identity, during its development, other identities constantly converged, such as gender, sexual orientation and social class. In particular, the intersectional experience strongly impacted the project during its implementation. Chilean universities experienced the eruption of the feminist movement, the awareness of various forms of discrimination and violence based on gender and the impact of the ‘multiplicity of identities’ that affect female students or those whose bodies are feminized (Reyes-Housholder and Roque, 2019). The ‘Chilean feminist May’, or the ‘Chilean feminist wave of 2018’, not only implied difficulties for the realization of activities within the university campuses but also allowed the codification of the FGIS’ experiences. The various discriminations and forms of violence that they had experienced throughout their lives and which shaped their approach to higher education were seen more clearly by the project participants. A female FGIS observed: ‘I remember comments like: “The problem with my career is that there are many women” or “when women have children, they should stay at home for at least 7 years.” … Also homophobia comments, sometimes in the classroom, sometimes [while] smoking a cigarette with my classmates.’ This intersectionality also defines other roles that FGIS must perform, such as working, which entails multiple difficulties. A male FGIS pointed out: ‘Since I was 17, I have always worked … It is difficult to work and study; only the people who have done it at some point are the ones who know and understand.’ Finally, it is important to highlight how the labour and institutional market characteristics of higher education impact the relationship between FGIS and their communities, jeopardizing their cultural identity and cultural practices. As a Mapuche lecturer described the impact of higher education on FGIS: I think that one can see it from two points of view. The first is that you have the satisfaction of reaching a higher level of education. This will allow you to better insert yourself in the labour market within urban areas, because here in rural areas, there are no more fields to work. Therefore, we, Mapuche people, are forced to emigrate and to study to access a better job and salary. On the other hand, there is also a conflict because the student separates from his community, from his family’s affection, she/he has to be away from the town where she lives all week and loses her connection with her family and community. It seems to become a being that neither lives in one context nor any other, which also affects one’s formation process.

Discussion Even though three different universities participated in the project and these have different institutional contexts, the study’s findings show how FGIS’ voices are usually invisible. Postsecondary institutions must make efforts to include FGIS’ voices to reform their universities and respond to FGIS’ characteristics and needs. This challenge is much more significant in institutions that are geographically far from the FGIS communities. Thus, higher education institutions must make efforts to bring the university closer to communities’ daily lives, breaking the traditional 158

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paradigm and the university’s collective representation as a space mainly oriented to traditional students. Additionally, the results of the study suggest the importance of creating institutional cultural change, which includes FGIS’ multiple voices. This new culture implies making intentional efforts to reform universities, for example, creating intentional offices or programmes of the study with qualified and trained personnel (e.g. Office of Equity and Diversity with staff with Indigenous identities) in order to identify meeting points between the policies of each institution to accommodate the needs of the entire student body and the FGIS’ specific needs. It is also needed to promote educational practices that allow a pluralistic curricular adjustment to incorporate FGIS’ cultural perspectives. Thus, curricular proposals should be promoted at the level of academic units, study programmes and course syllabus. This integration should enhance an individual’s development and foster spaces whereby FGIS can position themselves culturally in an exchange of knowledge, enriching, in the process, faculty’s professional development as well. Educational institutions have a critical social responsibility to promote intercultural spaces that reflect each of their students’ identities. Failure to do so implies that, in the case of Indigenous peoples, students, faculty members and administrators, to name but a few, learn implicitly that the perspectives and knowledge of these communities have less symbolic value, reproduce stereotypes and perpetuate the systematic injustices that these groups have historically experienced. Learning from FGIS and other marginalized students’ voices and inviting them to participate in their academic communities are critical to truly start this change in higher education – a change that, since it incorporates the voices of those whose identities have been historically marginalized, can be part of the inclusion processes of tertiary education institutions all across Latin America, and even worldwide, regarding other identity groups. Another important conclusion of the work carried out is that there is evidence that the recogni­ tion of FGIS’ voices and other identity groups in higher education is not enough to promote greater equity in access. However, such attention to FGIS’s perspectives may help generate opportunities for the university to transform itself. In this way, instead of being a place that converts the reality of the communities according to the dictates of the hegemonic groups, universities would become places of delivery of knowledge and services created by its newest members, who truly represent the diverse social realities of the peoples that the academic world seeks to serve. The critical analysis of the evidence collected so far allows us to verify some general characteristics of the processes of incorporation and student development of FGISs in universities, which reveal the multiple challenges that these students experience during their time at the university. An essential difficulty for their persistence is the intersectional oppression they face. Despite aspiring to provide equal opportunities, the university does not favour the inclusion of people who are and/or have been subjected to intersectional oppression. In many cases, double or multiple discrimination is experienced by peers and/or instructors, who are unaware and/or do not share their cultural worldview and reproduce practices that perpetuate gender and social class inequality. In this framework, there is a permanent identity invisibilization, by which universities in general make the whole educational experience homogeneous based on the characteristics of students from the socially dominant groups. Pedagogical expectations are based on the notion of ‘ “traditional” students’, that is, Chilean students who only study and do not work. Regarding the work with students belonging to ethnic minorities, it is essential to raise some reflections and suggestions that contribute to building trust through implementing 159

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programmes such as the SFGIS project. First, although the project had institutional support, the active participation of students from Indigenous peoples will be a permanent challenge if tertiary education institutions do not recognize their perspectives, legacy and responsibility for the promotion and perpetuation of historical processes of deculturalization, invisibility and discrimination. This requires institutional compromises, at least on work for the historical recognition of the issues, and, later, for faculty, staff and administrators’ training. Recognizing the aforementioned will allow us to lay the foundations for a critical reflection on current policies and practices that continue along the same lines. Additionally, the development of these initiatives should be grassroots collaborations with FGIS, as their voices are the basis of a real change in the subject. In this sense, these programmes should be developed and carried out in conjunction with experts in the field: the FGIS themselves and/or other faculty members belonging to Indigenous peoples. To achieve this, universities must create intentional policies that contribute to and ensure the hiring of more instructors and researchers from Indigenous nations or with an Indigenous background, the best way to assure FGIS’ voices are kept at the foundation of universities’ policies. Otherwise, higher education institutions will continue to be controlled by and for those who are part of the dominant group. Finally, we highlight the importance of exchange, reciprocal relationships and trust development as central elements in working with Indigenous peoples (Wilson 2008). The main limitation of this study was the small number of participants. It was difficult to recruit more FGIS and that impacts a richly textured understanding of their voices in higher education. It is a challenge for future studies to capture more expansive FGIS student voices. Additionally, since the participants were selected through non-probabilistic methods, the results of this study cannot be generalized to all FGIS students. Despite this, the study’s findings show a relevant description of their voices.

Notes This work was supported by the US Department of State’s Alumni Engagement Innovation Fund (AEIF) under Grant SCI800-17-IN-0038. 1 This chapter uses the concept of territory to highlight the geographic space where the study was undertaken. Accordingly, this work does not consider the adjective ‘Chilean’ to refer to the participants since many of them do not identify as such. 2 The predominant native people in Chile are the Mapuche. Of all the native peoples in this territory, the vast majority identify themselves as Mapuche (79.84 per cent) (INE, 2018). 3 The yerba mate infusion is a popular cultural practice across various Indigenous peoples in Chilean territory. 4 In Mapudungun, the Mapuche language, the ‘s’ is not used to indicate the plural of words as Spanish does.

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Working towards the Inclusive Campus: A Partnership Project with Students of Colour in a University Reform Initiative CLAIRE HAMSHIRE, ORLAGH MCCABE, SHUAB GAMOTE, PAUL NORMAN AND RACHEL FORSYTH

Much has been written about valuing the student voice in UK higher education. The discussion runs alongside an increasing focus from university leadership on improving students’ experiences and development of the ways in which the student voice is captured, considered and acted upon. These techniques are central to understanding and developing student engagement (Brooman, Darwent and Pimor 2014; Cook-Sather 2006; Smith, Coppin and Clifford 2021). Student participation in decision-making has become a key expectation for external regulatory bodies in the UK, such as the Quality Assurance Agency (QAA) and the Office for Students (OFS) for whom student input to university governance is non-negotiable. Student voice discourses are increasingly positioned by some commentators as integral to the neoliberal structures inherent in UK university policy and provision (Thiel 2019). This is evidenced through the use of these key quality measures which serve to reinforce individual accountability, often overshadowing collective good (Ball 2012), echoing discourses of consumer satisfaction and potentially impacting the core educational role of the university (Young and Jerome 2020). Of course, this raises the question of what is appropriate and how to ensure that students’ voices have a real impact. There has been a growing interest in a structured approach to the concept of partnership to improve education, and positive outcomes have been reported when students and staff come together to co-create learning and teaching (Flint and Goddard 2020; Healey and Healey 2019; Mercer-Mapstone and Abbot 2019; Neary and Winn 2009). This research indicates that the experience can be motivational and increase learning for both parties. Additionally, it can strengthen students’ awareness of institutional processes and promote a deeper sense of student identity (Felten, Cook-Sather and Bovill 2014). This leads naturally to the rejection of the notion of student voice aligned with consumer satisfaction and instead positions students as agents of change, capable of having genuine impact on institutional agendas. In this chapter, we report on an innovative student-led project that was designed to provoke genuine and actionable reflections on the roles that senior colleagues could play in creating learning communities across a large UK university. The project aimed to work in partnership

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with students of colour to amplify their voices and develop a meaningful way to change attitudes and actions, with the objective of moving past good intentions to the creation of truly inclusive communities.

Student Voice in Institutional Change Participation has been conceptualized in several different ways, most prominently through the work of Arnstein’s (1969) model of citizen participation, which shows different ways to work with stakeholders on a ladder from simple information giving about the activity to the stakeholders having full control over an aspect of the activity. This model is used as the basis of the participation matrix developed by Bovill and Bulley (2011) to highlight stakeholder participation and collaboration at various stages of a project. This adaptation describes activities which are arranged progressively up the ladder of participation: 4) Students control decision-making and have substantial influence 3) Students have some choice and influence 2) Tutors control decision-making informed by student feedback 1) Tutors control decision-making. (Bovill and Bulley 2011: 179) Bovill and Bulley (2011) acknowledge that full participation is not always possible for all individuals. However, the matrix offers the potential to determine how individuals can contribute to a particular scenario, resulting in increased agency and participation. As mentioned in the introduction, student representation in institutional change projects is considered essential in UK universities, but it can be difficult to move through the participation ladder to student control. One reason for this is the well-documented difficulty with power dynamics when students are working with staff who are going to make decisions about their performance in an academic context, which cannot be ignored, however well-meaning university employees may be (Flint and Goddard 2020; Healey and Healey 2019). There are additional challenges when students are asked to provide input to large, complex, institutional projects, which involve many staff contributing as part of their normal work, and which may take place over several years; student representatives may feel like guests invited occasionally to endorse progress (Flint and Goddard 2020). It is important to note that the factors affecting the inclusion of an authentic and meaningful student voice are complex. For example, projects that aim to provide a genuinely inclusive learning environment for all students can be contentious (Gamote et al. 2022) and representative input does not always influence outcomes. Best practice is that efficient consultation with young people should lead to demonstrable outcomes, but this is not necessarily always the case (Gallagher, Tisdall and Davis 2008). This intersection of race, partnership and institutional change is the complex context in which this chapter is set. We describe the development of an approach that enables our students’ voices to be central to discussions, with their voices heard as experts on the experiences of students of colour. In doing so, the project effectively pitched students as the conscience of the university in relation to inclusive learning, thus avoiding what some researchers in this area have described as ‘tokenism’ (Robinson and Taylor 2007: 6). 164

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What Led to the Project? Universities and other institutions of higher education can be contradictory as well as complex. On the one hand, their existence is predicated on being at the cutting edge of research across a wide range of selected disciplines, and on the other, teaching is organized in ways that would be recognisable to a time-travelling student from the seventeenth century. They are also large organizations often employing thousands of staff and making decisions which affect tens of thousands of students, which are managed with at least some effort to achieve consensus. Change can be very difficult. The increase in participation rates across UK higher education means that around half of eighteen to thirty-year-olds now experience higher education, but there are differences in how students with distinct characteristics experience and progress through their studies. These differences exist as award gaps. Black, Asian and Minority Ethnic (BAME1) students achieve significantly lower final grades compared to their white counterparts, and this disparity has been identified as a national issue across the UK (UUK/NUS 2018). The existence of these awarding gaps has led the independent regulator of higher education in the UK, the OFS, to require universities to address them and to ensure that all students can succeed in and proceed from higher education (Office for Students 2018). The award gaps show that universities may not be creating communities that are equally conducive to learning for all students. Students from diverse backgrounds have talked for many years about the challenges of navigating university life and their difficulties in developing a sense of entitlement and belonging in higher education (Gagnon 2018; Hindle et al. 2021; Reay 2001; Reay, Crozier and Clayton 2010; Simons et al. 2007; Thomas 2013; Yorke and Longden 2008). In response to these data, many universities have created additional support for students to help them to integrate into university life (Thomas 2012). The example of responding to award gap data illustrates very clearly the difficulties of lasting structural change. Adding layers of support for students from minoritized communities may require a set of quite simple and uncontentious managerial decisions. However well-intentioned, the onus is still on the student to engage with extra services rather than for changes to be made to the core educational provision. The services may be seen to be rectifying a deficit and are advertised to students in ways that identify their differences from a perceived normative view; students may fear that engagement with them may lead to negative stereotyping (Devos 2003; O’Shea et al. 2016). Moving forward with projects that aim to change attitudes is more difficult because to do this implies that structures and individuals do not currently treat people equitably. Our research on staff attitudes towards students who are the first in their families to attend university (also known as first-generation students) found that staff had strong commitments to inclusive practice but talked a great deal about the deficit and the difficulties students would have in succeeding in the university environment (Forsyth et al. 2021; Hamshire et al. 2021). This perspective is well-intended but could be considered to perpetuate the differentiation of people who do not fit a particular model of a traditional university student. There is a growing consensus that conversations about race and inequality are a useful starting point in identifying where discrimination and disadvantage may exist (Lee 2017). Historically, ‘discursive spaces’ have been identified as enabling discussions around inclusion and participation between adults and young people (Moss and Petrie 2005) and, more recently, activities that promote individual engagement

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at every level of a university have been seen as instrumental in promoting institutional change in relation to race (Botticello and Caffrey 2021). However, it is important to acknowledge that it can be difficult to talk about discrimination openly in the UK context because to do so implies that somewhere, during their education, structural racism may have impacted students’ experiences. Giving voice to such an implication is difficult for institutions that want to demonstrate their commitment to inclusion by showing how much has been achieved, rather than highlighting public discussions about race, which often lack critical analysis and nuance. Making an explicit commitment to anti-racist behaviour is at odds with a common perception among university staff that we are now in a post-racial society, one in which ethnic background does not matter. Bhopal (2015, 2018) in the UK, Mangcu (2017) in South Africa and Harlap and Riese in Norway (2021a, 2021b) show that from the perspective of historically minoritized staff and students, universities should certainly not consider themselves to be post-racial. However, the implication of racism raises the potential difficulty of starting discussions that are not focused on students’ experiences but instead are stymied in statements of good intent on the part of the majority community who may seek validation from the historically minoritized partners (DiAngelo 2019). A reluctance to discuss race gets in the way of open discussion about changing the university to become an inclusive community. We have described an earlier version of this project in which we found that an inability to have open conversations meant that we never achieved the levels of trust needed to make meaningful changes (Gamote et al. 2022). The project described in this chapter was designed by students and was intended to address these difficulties of communication and permit open and non-judgmental discussions about what it means to be a student of colour in a modern university and how this might lead to equity gaps, which need to be addressed. The intention was for university staff to reflect on their own capacity to make appropriate changes to support the development of inclusive communities.

Institutional Background Manchester Metropolitan University is a large university with a diverse student population of over 34,000 students in the northwest of England. The institution is committed to offering a consistent high-quality student experience, but there are differences in how students with distinct characteristics experience and progress through their studies, which are shown by the continued existence of award gaps. This project was part of a suite of initiatives, which aimed to tackle a persistent problem in UK universities: award gaps between students with different characteristics. Internal monitoring had shown gaps between different minoritized groups of students such as those who live on campus and those who commute, or students whose families fall into different income groups (Swain, Carter and Meyer 2018). The data showed that the biggest differences in outcomes across the university can be directly related to ethnic background, Building on previous work with an international group of colleagues exploring first-generation students’ experiences (Bell and Santamaría 2018), and a study to explore staff perceptions of first-generation students (Forsyth et al. 2021), the authors successfully applied for institutional funding to further determine how to enhance inclusion and belonging on campus. The Inclusive Learning project is a four-year cross-institution project designed to change the way BAME 166

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students’ experiences are considered and included within teaching practices, to reduce degree awarding gaps and to increase student satisfaction by enhancing students’ sense of inclusion and belonging.

How the Project Worked Fundamental to this project is a partnership between the students’ union (SU) and the university. The SU organizes a wide range of activities for students, including extracurricular societies and social events, and runs campaigns and projects to improve students’ experiences. For this project, the SU put together a project team which employs students from across the institution to provide an authentic and meaningful voice for students of colour via campaigns and listening events. These student positions are titled ‘BAME Ambassador’ to acknowledge their role as a diplomat speaking as a representative of the student body. The student positions are filled via an institution-wide call for applications, and an interview process, and interviews are carried out by SU staff, including the BAME Ambassador Project lead. Following comprehensive training, between eight and eleven ambassadors are prepared and empowered to liaise with both university staff and the SU to feedback students’ views and influence positive change towards an inclusive community. The ambassadors met weekly and worked with the SU team to develop four key project objectives: 1. Safe spaces: Creating both physical and metaphorical safe spaces for a dialogue on inclusive learning and teaching environments. 2. Belonging: Increasing students’ sense of belonging to the institution and creating networks to promote meaningful relationships among students, and between staff and students. 3. Empowerment: Empowering students to safely challenge discrimination and microaggressions and tackle the negative effects of stereotyping. 4. Change: Facilitating students to influence key decision makers in the university through campaigning and making their own change. Together these four objectives build on each other and combine in an upward cycle of enhancement, represented by the repeating spiral which demonstrates our commitment to ongoing work (Figure 12.1). This partnership work with students continued to explore how these four objectives could be developed, with data gathered via a series of four focus groups of BAME ambassadors facilitated by the project leader. Listening to the students talk about their perceptions and experiences was central to these focus groups; to capture their thoughts, we used a phenomenological design to explore the students’ lived experiences (Somekh and Lewin 2011). Each focus group was unstructured, apart from an initial narrative prompt that foregrounded students’ voices and encouraged the students to reflect on whatever was important to them. Voluntary participation in the focus groups was encouraged, and the ethical committee in the institution approved the research. These focus groups were conducted online using teams, with a total of six students from our BAME Ambassador scheme. The focus groups were digitally recorded and transcribed verbatim, with each transcript reviewed with the recording to ensure accuracy. A thematic analysis was undertaken by three 167

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FIGURE 12.1  Key objectives. Source: Manchester Metropolian University Students’ Union.

members of the research team, with the analysis leading to an agreed set of emergent themes (Spencer et al. 2013). Phases of familiarization and indexing led to the development of three themes discussed and agreed upon by the three researchers: sharing experiences, feeling included, and working in partnership. These themes mapped onto the objectives of safe spaces, belonging and empowerment. A key theme in these focus groups was the value the students perceived of sharing lived experiences to build understanding with other students, exemplified by the quotes further on: Sharing experience is always going to be beneficial … people want to listen and be involved in the conversation without too much pressure being put on them to know everything, or know that if they have questions that they can come to us and ask … so knowing that you don’t have to go out of your way to do that and that the uni’s creating spaces for you to do that, it makes you trust in the institution a lot more. I have had lots of great experiences and made lots of friends, especially the BAME Ambassadors. I feel like that really like grounded me in my position at the university 168

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and I’m really excited to make a difference. And even now speaking about my own experience, hopefully that impacts somebody else’s life and somebody else who has a similar experience to me ‘cos I’m sure lots of women in STEM subjects have a similar experience to me. A second prominent theme was the importance of students feeling included within the university community: I just saw like lots of BAME students sitting down and discussing the topic and everyone was getting involved and everyone looked really comfortable. And I realized that this is what the project is about, it is to provide a safe space to, you know, accommodate conversations that people don’t feel comfortable about speaking in everyday life and to network and to make friends. And for everyone there to feel that they are not alone. There was also a clear passion amongst the students to work in partnership with the university team to listen to the student body and make changes to processes and systems to be more inclusive to our BAME student population: I found myself in a team of very passionate people and very driven people. And the events of George Floyd’s murder and Black Lives Matter and how the university did want to change, there were lots of conversations happening within the university, kind of gave us an incredible amount of passion and determination to, kind of coat tail on … and that’s when we started the real partnership and the real work. It’s not just one big thing. It’s almost an attitude. It’s an attitude of people caring and wanting to do better and for some people the university experience is really excellent because their department really cares about student engagement, and they care about the student voice. And for others, they just don’t, and it’s not one of their priorities. But the departments that make it their priority clearly do better when it comes to student engagement … and listening to students as well, I think. Listening to students is incredibly important. I think there’s a lot of work done to make universities seem like a much nicer place than it is.

The Select Committee Approach In discussion with SU staff, a higher education consultant and critical friend of the SU, Alan Roberts (2020), shared a model he had conceived for participatory action research. The student ambassadors further developed and upscaled this idea into The Big Change initiative to create a unique form of consultative representation, which combines participative action research with a form of scrutiny in an open setting, like that used in the UK by parliamentary select committees. Select committees exist in various democratic parliamentary systems and generally have a role of oversight over the work of government and public services. They represent stakeholders and hold to account those responsible for policy and implementation in the area of interest: they might look at government departments such as health or education, or they could look at specific issues such as the impact of climate change on the economy. They request evidence and call witnesses from a range of contexts. 169

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The select committee in this project was formed of students who held hearings with heads of academic departments and of professional services across the university: the witnesses. The five departments that participated in the pilot phase were self-selected, with one academic and four support departments: accountancy and finance, student case management (dealing with student problems, complaints and appeals), the SU (a representative body, which is led by elected officers), the University Teaching Academy (educational development) and widening participation (working to increase the number of prospective students from minoritized communities). In relation to Bovill and Bulley’s model, students here were in full control of the Big Change process itself. However, responsibility for actions carried out because of the process remained with the relevant heads of departments. Both the committee and the witnesses participated, in separate groups, in three half-day sessions of anti-racist training delivered by an external organization, the SEA Change Consultancy, as preparation for the hearing. The select committee members then created a set of preparatory questions to explore commitment to anti-racist practices and contributions to the development of inclusive learning communities. These questions were focused on what commitments the witness could make to support the development of inclusive learning communities. They were shared with the witnesses in advance of the hearing so that witnesses could reflect on their current practices, discuss with colleagues and prepare for the hearings. Due to the pandemic, the hearings took place online. They were recorded using videoconferencing software, and each witness also provided a separate recording made on their personal device, to ensure that sound quality was adequate and to provide an additional camera angle for editing the video. Following the meetings, the videos were edited and shared publicly, and the commitments were shared in the relevant departments and services. The student members of the project team subsequently analysed the videos to identify the key commitments made by the staff participants and identify the main themes. Eleven months after the hearings, the witnesses were invited to attend one of two focus groups (one group of three, and one group of four participants), to reflect on their experiences and the commitments that they had made at the panels. The focus groups were facilitated by the project leader. As with the student focus groups, a phenomenological design was adopted to explore the lived experiences of staff who had participated in the initiative (Somekh and Lewin 2011). Each focus group remained unstructured, apart from an initial narrative prompt which encouraged staff to reflect. Involvement in these focus groups was voluntary. The discussion was digitally recorded and transcribed verbatim, and for consistency, a thematic analysis to identify themes was employed. Emergent themes were agreed upon across the research team (Spencer et al. 2013). Main Findings from Hearings and Participant Feedback The following themes were identified from the videos of the hearings and the twenty-one individual commitments made by departments. Here they are organized according to their increasing ambition, with the number of departments making such a commitment in brackets for each one: 1. More research to explore students’ learning experiences and identify best practices (4 of 21 commitments) 170

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2. Consider changing practices (5) / conversations in the team (1) to develop opportunities for networks for students. 3. Undertake further staff training (3) / produce further staff development material (1) to create safe spaces and enhance students’ sense of belonging 4. Change existing practices and embed identified elements of good practice to enhance student belonging and empowerment (7). Turning to the follow-up focus groups, we identified a key theme in both groups: increased commitment to change. This heightened commitment was prompted through participation in the open-panel sessions and the publishing of recordings which significantly increased individuals’ commitments to make changes, as well as having a transformative impact on staff personally: What’s made it feel different is the level of accountability; we never published what we’re going to do previously. You know, we never went out and said these are the changes we’ve made and we want to make them sustainable before … And so it has had a real impact … but it’s not to an individual, it’s an accountability to every BAME student that watches that video or hears about the project or knows that we’ve committed to doing something … what gets measured gets managed. We will actually be transparent out front, actually talk about stuff rather than kind of it just existing I suppose in a strategy or an action plan that only I could know where it is and I can remember what’s on it. I think it was transformative. For me personally, it was absolutely transformative and it was a massive wake up call. So yeah, I keep talking about it now. So yes, nothing but positive and also a bit scary. Staff noted that the public nature of the panel sessions made the process much more transparent and the commitments made enabled and empowered staff to have what they had previously considered ‘difficult conversations’ about race: There isn’t a reluctance to have these conversations. It takes some care and some thought and some planning to have them and I can certainly imagine there are pockets where, you know difficulties remain … but not as difficult as other departments … it does require bravery and honesty. It makes you think more that we need to have these conversations rather than just ignoring it and hoping it will go away to an extent. There’s a temptation with these kind of issues to just sort of stick your fingers in the air. It’s really difficult and we’re not going to deal with it and we need to have those conversations. So I think it’s made me think, you know, we need to talk more to students and be more proactive and be open to discuss these difficult issues. Several staff also noted how impressed they were with the skills and presence of the students who had led the panel sessions: I think we realised, well, just how much we owe them those conversations, you know, and … I thought the students were just remarkable, to be perfectly honest, I thought they were. It was just the best … one of the best things I’ve ever been involved in and the way that the students were brought to the centre of it was really fantastic. 171

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One of the other things I think is beautiful about the project is that it’s the first time I’ve seen something done where essentially the power is shifted, isn’t it? Is that our students on the project were basically there to scrutinize and do whatever, but were absolutely not responsible for solving anything. I think there were really good conversations and they really appreciated it and it gave them a bit of hope that maybe the university will be a different place with … you know, when they come back in five or ten years … even if you can’t see it now immediately. It was quite nerve racking, to begin with … but, it was great to speak to students in that space. And I really feel privileged to have that space to speak with students and colleagues. Teams also acknowledged that whilst the panels had been useful, they were a starting point for ongoing consultation and a process of constant quality improvement: I think recognizing that there is no endpoint is great, and it feels like there are no quick fixes. It’s great to be able to say yes, we’ve achieved that from our commitments, but no, we haven’t quite achieved everything. We’ve found that actually there is more to it and reflecting on that has been so useful and and helped us identify other ways forward. …. embedding racial awareness, racial literacy is not something that just happens overnight. Conversations about race and inequality are a useful starting point in identifying where discrimination and disadvantage may exist, but there are many concerns about how to carry these out: ‘It is very difficult to have a conversation without worrying that you’re gonna say the wrong thing’ (staff focus group). Despite this, not having these conversations was also identified as having implications further down the line. As one participant said, ‘There is a temptation that people will hear something or experience something and their instinct is, oh, let’s refer it down the complaints route so somebody can deal with it formally, whereas actually, maybe what’s needed is that person having that difficult conversation to go. “Do you understand why what you said wasn’t appropriate or acceptable?” ’ (Staff focus group). The importance of open dialogue and the need for a collaborative process is therefore facilitative (Lee 2017), as is the provision ‘of a physical and conceptual space where all can achieve recognition and belonging’ (Botticello and Caffrey 2021: 24). The Big Change participants who took part in the focus groups also acknowledged the importance of these conversations and that they ‘required bravery and honesty’ to be successful. Staff respondents viewed themselves as advocates and allies in this space and acknowledged an important aspect of their role as ‘normalising these conversations’. In this context, an ‘ally’ is seen as an individual (often part of the dominant group) who advocates and agitates on behalf of those who are in less of a position to do so for themselves; the role of an ally requires an individual to put themselves in the position of the person or people who are being marginalized and offer a representative voice in order to promote positive change, increase agency and ultimately reduce marginalization (Happell and Scholz 2018; LaMantia, Wagner and L. Bohecker 2015). Allyship is, therefore, a potential vehicle for working towards redressing the balance between those who embody privilege and agency and those individuals who identify as being marginalized and who experience intersectional disadvantage.

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This project aimed to establish an approach to student participation in university reform that allowed students to lead the process without also having to take responsibility for proposing and enacting change. Their role was to act as the university’s conscience and to prompt focused reflection and discussion in university teams, which would lead to actionable plans to improve students’ experiences using the relevant service. The findings showed that the students felt that their experiences were valued and that the process built their trust and confidence in the university’s response. Staff appreciated the openness of the exchange and felt that they had also been empowered to take steps to make changes. Recommendations The first year of the Big Change activity confirmed that white fragility (DiAngelo 2019) is a real barrier to open conversations around race inequity and that without structure, these conversations will often be avoided. We think this emphasises the role of such activity in developing meaningful channels for hearing and using students’ voices to make sustainable improvements to university teaching and services. It was surprising to the project team how many senior colleagues, well-versed in public speaking on complex topics, found the process challenging. One highly experienced senior academic described the interview as ‘terrifying’. It is, therefore, essential to refer to the process as a conversation and emphasise that following the structure will lead to positive discussions. The fear factor was anticipated by the project team, and from the outset, we appreciated the need to make sure the first groups understood the project on a deep level and believed the challenging conversations would lead to impact. We invited leaders of teams who were clearly allies; this built confidence in the process and ensured that the first interviews became examples to show other departments in the second year when twelve departments volunteered. We believed it would be potentially harmful to ask the participants to go into the interviews without preparation because it is rare for students of colour to have such challenging conversations with mainly white leaders. The training was therefore essential. Our reflections on the first year’s training are: 1. Choose a training provider who is willing to create materials to support the process endpoint. 2. The ambassadors did not need the race equity part of the training. Their challenges arose from their own nervousness about questioning senior white people in public. We, therefore, moved to training in coaching techniques for the ambassadors. On the training partner’s advice, we maintained a final session as a joint session with both the ambassadors and the senior staff who would be ‘witnesses’ at the ‘committees’. 3. Senior staff have very busy diaries and are subject to urgent meetings. The introduction to the project attempted to emphasise that without completing the training, staff would not be progressed to the interview. As a result, some participants had to defer some elements of training and complete the project in later years. 4. More than one senior leader used the process as a way for the team to approach the issue collectively. The preparatory questions were distributed to colleagues in the department, and the questions were discussed in team meetings. This approach was felt to be much more progressive and helpful for sustainable practice than leaving the leadership team isolated and solely responsible. 173

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5. It was important to the project team to ensure there is a balance of both academic departments and professional support services, to ensure joined-up thinking across all student-facing processes. The premise of the Big Change Project is to create a set of relatively small but significant changes across many disparate teams within the university. Teams such as case management, university teaching and learning centre and careers and employability services have significant roles to play in tackling race equity. 6. The commitments from each department need to be clear, aligned with SMART (specific, manageable, achievable, relevant and time-bound) principles and accessible to the student population; the ambassadors may need to work with the departments to ensure this in the published objectives. 7. At the focus groups, some staff expressed feelings of guilt at not having done more following the hearings. This could be addressed by including a structured debrief, which leads to more detailed work plans, with deadlines that could be reviewed by a critical friend, perhaps someone who has also participated in the process. 8. When there is a change of leadership following the hearings, departments need to be reminded to implement a clear handover plan to ensure that work continues, so this also needs to be monitored as part of the ongoing process. Phase two of the project has taken these improvements into account. There were more volunteers than places for this phase, so departments with significant award gaps have been prioritized. In addition, university senior leaders have joined the groups to create actions aimed at structural as well as operational change.

Acknowledgements Alan Roberts generated the original idea of select committees as a form of student voice.

Note 1 The term ‘BAME’ (Black, Asian and Minority Ethnic) has been in common use in the UK but is strongly contested. We use it here because we are using national data labelled in this way, and because the students leading this project chose the name ‘BAME ambassadors’ for themselves.

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Hindle, C., V. Boliver, A. Maclarnon, C. McEwan, B. Simpson and H. Brown (2021), ‘Experiences of First-Generation Scholars at a Highly Selective UK University’, Learning and Teaching, 14 (2): 1–31. https://doi.org/10.3167/lat​iss.2021.140​202. LaMantia, K., H. Wagner and L. Bohecker (2015), ‘Ally Development through Feminist Pedagogy: A Systemic Focus on Intersectionality’, Journal of LGBT Issues in Counseling, 9 (2): 136–53. Lee, C. D. (2017). ‘An Ecological Framework for Enacting Culturally Sustaining Pedagogy’, in D. Paris and H. S. Alim (eds), Culturally Sustaining Pedagogies: Teaching and Learning for Justice in a Changing World, 261–73, New York: Teachers College Press. Mangcu, X. (2017), ‘Shattering the Myth of a Post-Racial Consensus in South African Higher Education: “Rhodes Must Fall” and the Struggle for Transformation at the University of Cape Town’, Critical Philosophy of Race, 5 (2): 243–66. https://doi.org/10.5325/critp​hilr​ace.5.2.0243. Mercer-Mapstone, L., and S. Abbot (2019), The Power of Partnership: Students, Staff, and Faculty Revolutionizing Higher Education, Elon, NC: Elon University Center for Engaged Learning. Moss, P., and P. Petrie (2005), From Children’s Services to Children’s Spaces: Public Policy, Children and Childhood, London: Routledge. Neary, M., and J. Winn, (2009), ‘The Student as Producer: Reinventing the Student Experience in Higher Education’, in L. Bell, H. Stevenson and M. Neary (eds), The Future of Higher Education: Policy, Pedagogy and the Student Experience. London: Continuum Press. Office for Students. (2018). Equality Impact Assessment: Regulatory Framework for Higher Education, London: Office for Students. O’Shea, S., P. Lysaght, J. Roberts and V. Harwood (2016), ‘Shifting the Blame in Higher Education – Social Inclusion and Deficit Discourses’, Higher Education Research & Development, 35 (2): 322–36. https://doi.org/10.1080/07294​360.2015.1087​388. Reay, D. (2001), ‘Finding or Losing Yourself?: Working-Class Relationships to Education’, Journal of Education Policy, 16 (4): 333–46. https://doi.org/10.1080/026809​3011​0054​335. Reay, D., G. Crozier and J. Clayton (2010), ‘Fitting In’ or ‘Standing Out’: Working-Class Students in UK Higher Education’, British Educational Research Journal, 36 (1): 107–24. https://doi. org/10.1080/014119​2090​2878​925. Roberts, A. (2020), Participative Action Research Model for BAME Ambassador Scheme. Unpublished work. Robinson, C., and C. Taylor (2007), ‘Theorizing Student Voice: Values and perspectives’, Improving Schools, 10 (1): 5–17. Simons, L., S. Tee, J. Lathlean, A. Burgess, L. Herbert and C. Gibson (2007), ‘A Socially Inclusive Approach to User Participation in Higher Education’, Journal of Advanced Nursing, 58 (3): 246–55. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1365-2648.2007.04216.x. Smith, J., A. Coppin and C. Clifford (2021), ‘Incorporating Student Voice in Course Development’, Student Engagement in Higher Education Journal, 3 (2): 92–102. https://sehej.raise-netw​ork.com/ raise/arti​cle/view/1030 (accessed 3 July 2023). Somekh, B., and C. Lewin (2011), Theory and Methods in Social Research, Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Spencer, L., J. Ritchie, R. Ormston, W. O’Connor and M. Barnard (2013), ‘Analysis: Principles and Processes’, in J. Ritchie, J. Lewis, C. M. Nicholls and R. Ormston (eds), Qualitative Research Practice: A Guide for Social Science Students and Researchers (2nd ed.), Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Swain, D., B. Carter and C. Meyer (2018), Student Financial Report: Understanding How Financial, Demographic and Social Factors Influence Student Outcomes: Internal report, Manchester, UK: Manchester Metropolitan University. Thiel, J. (2019), ‘The UK National Student Survey: An Amalgam of Discipline and Neo-liberal Governmentality’, British Educational Research Journal, 45 (3): 538–53. https://doi.org/10.1002/ berj.3512. Thomas, L. (2012). Building Student Engagement and Belonging in Higher Education at a Time of Change. https://www.adva​nce-he.ac.uk/knowle​dge-hub/build​ing-stud​ent-eng​agem​ent-and-belong​inghig​her-educat​ion-time-cha​nge-final-rep​ort (accessed 12 December 2022).

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Thomas, L. (2013), ‘What Works? Facilitating an Effective Transition into Higher Education’, Widening Participation and Lifelong Learning, 14 (1): 4–24. https://doi.org/10.5456/WPLL.14.S.4. UUK/NUS. (2018). Black, Asian and Minority Ethnic Student Attainment at UK Universities: #closingthegap. https://www.uni​vers​itie​suk.ac.uk/pol​icy-and-analy​sis/repo​rts/Pages/ bame-stud​ent-att​ainm​ent-uk-unive​rsit​ies-clos​ing-the-gap.aspx (accessed 12 December 2022). Yorke, M., and B. Longden (2008), The First-Year Experience of Higher Education in the UK, York, UK: Higher Education Authority. http://www.heacad​emy.ac.uk/ass​ets/York/docume​nts/resour​ces/publi​ cati​ons/FYE​Fina​lRep​ort.pdf (accessed 3 July 2023). Young, H., and L. Jerome (2020), ‘Student Voice in Higher Education: Opening the loop’, British Educational Research Journal, 46 (3): 688–705. https://doi.org/10.1002/berj.3603.

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Amplifying Student Voice through Activism, Community Service and Digital Civic Engagement Introduction JERUSHA CONNER

There is a rich international literature on student activism in higher education (Boren 2019); however, rarely is this literature framed as student voice. Nonetheless, it is clear that when activists speak out about the causes they care about and the changes they want to see in either their institutions or systems of higher education, they are exercising student voice. Following Alison Cook-Sather’s (2006) framing of student voice, student activists are establishing a rightful presence, asserting their power and sharing their perspectives with the intent of effecting change in educational policy or practice. Therefore, student activism represents an important form of student voice. While the first three chapters in this part explore examples of student activism in different geopolitical settings, the last two chapters focus on other forms of civic engagement: community service and digital expression as vehicles for student voice. In line with Conner’s conceptual model of student voice (Chapter 1), these two chapters are representative of student voice as selfreport and student voice as partnership, respectively. The first two chapters in this part address the enmeshment of the university with settler colonialism and consider how students can work to challenge or undo harmful legacies of racism within and beyond the university. In Chapter 13, Charles H. F. Davis III and Sy Stokes offer a historical case study that traces how student activists worked in coalition with community organizers to contest university expansion and its attendant displacement of lowincome Black residents in West Philadelphia, USA. Davis and Stokes argue that because the university is answerable to students, student voice, expressed through building occupations, teach-ins and demands – all of which framed university land grabs as ‘Black removal’ – served to legitimize and amplify the voices of local community members. Ultimately, the campaign changed institutional priorities and decision-making processes about university

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expansion and development, offering valued lessons for contemporary efforts to resist similar incursions. Chapter 14, by Mlamuli Nkosingphile Hlatshwayo, examines the disjuncture between ambitious policy agendas to decolonize South African higher education and Black students’ lived experiences in their higher education institutions (HEIs) as stigmatized outsiders. Referencing the efforts of Black student activists in the #RhodesMustFall and #FeesMustFall movements and in contemporary struggles to decolonize the curriculum, Hlatshwayo affirms the need for Black students’ voices to drive efforts to transform the South African higher education sector for social justice. Next (in Chapter 15), comparing a case of student activism from the global North with a parallel case from the global South, Hector Ríos-Jara explores student movements in England and Chile in response to higher education policy proposals in 2015–16. He examines how student activists leveraged their access to political insiders, including former student activists who now held elected office, to effectuate change. Though of limited impact compared to their ambitions, their wins included establishing a student representative on the board of the new regulator of higher education in England and strengthening the regulatory system that governs policymaking processes in Chile. Isabelle Huning, in Chapter 16, examines a range of Instagram examples, some student-led and others institutionalized in university courses or public relations offices, to understand how digital media, undergirded by SciCom principles, facilitates the expression of student voice. She argues that while digital media opportunities can lower the participation threshold for students, making student voice more accessible, training students in SciCom techniques enables them to use these platforms with greater confidence and efficacy. The part concludes with Chapter 17, in which Sabine Freudhofmayer and Katharina Resch discuss ‘how digital civic engagement can succeed in giving students a voice, thus making HEIs stronger incubators of democratic values’. Just as the first chapter in this part considered student engagement with local communities outside the university, so too does this final chapter; however, rather than assuming a contentious relationship with their university, as did the student activists in Chapter 13 while they fought for local residents’ access to affordable housing, the students in this chapter participate in service and volunteer projects that are supported and, in some cases, facilitated by their universities. Based in Portugal, Austria, Ireland, Scotland and Estonia, these service projects, Freudhofmayer and Resch argue, help realize the democratic potential of universities to contribute to the public good, even when they occur online due to the constraints imposed by the Covid-19 pandemic. The authors conclude that as a means of channeling student voice, the student-led and initiated digital civic engagement projects were more successful in promoting students’ autonomy and sense of responsibility for the partnership than the projects run by the university personnel. The chapters in this part understand HEIs and the higher education sector, as well as students’ role within it, in markedly different ways. While Chapters 13 and 14 explicate the damage HEIs have caused to local residents and minoritized students, respectively, and Chapters 13 and 15 expose universities’ neoliberal, profit-driven logic, Chapter 17 takes a decidedly more positive view of HEIs as incubators for democratic values and contributors to the common good. All five chapters describe students as change agents; however, the strategies the students adopt to effect change differ dramatically across the chapters, from disruptive direct actions to partnerships 180

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with policymakers to online volunteer work. While some themes unite the chapters, such as those of collaboration and students’ efforts to participate in educational decision-making, as a whole, these chapters underscore key differences in the why and how of student voice in higher education. Ironically, the enabling conditions for student voice in the form of student activism include the shortcomings of formal student voice mechanisms and practices within universities. Students turn to activism when they feel their voices are not being heard through other established channels. As Ríos-Jara argues, ‘The commercialization of student unions, treating students as consumers, and the intensive use of surveys to collect indirect feedback’ are inadequate for incorporating student voice meaningfully into higher education policy. These inadequacies drive students to activism. Another enabler of student voice in this part, curricular change, appears as both a target and a means of strengthening student voice. In Chapter 14, Hlatshwayo discusses student activists’ critiques of the South African higher education curriculum, faulting it for further marginalizing Black students with its unrepresentativeness. In demanding curricular change, student activists demand recognition and a place for themselves within their institutions. Meanwhile, in Chapters 16, Huning suggests that incorporating SciCom training into the curriculum will empower more students to use their voices to communicate effectively within and beyond the university, and in Chapter 17, Freudhofmayer and Resch call for the integration of civic learning and volunteering into the curriculum, suggesting that university resources and support can help students participate in efforts designed to benefit local community residents. Whether through its shortcomings or through the opportunities it affords students, the curriculum, therefore, serves as a key catalyst for student voice in higher education. This idea is explored further in Part V. The challenges to student voice that surface in this part include the entrenched nature of higher education, which makes it slow to change and render it likely to either suppress those students’ voices that would do it reputational damage or to co-opt those that would serve to burnish its reputation. Additionally, the profit motive that drives so much decision-making in higher education is addressed in Chapters 13 and 15. Chapter 15 and 16 also highlight the complex bureaucratic structures and processes that can stymie student activists, even when they gain a seat at the table. Chapter 16 further alludes to the potential for universities, especially through public relations offices, to use student voice to serve institutional agendas, rather than finding ways to prove responsive to student voice, and to dismiss or marginalize student critiques as ‘misinformation’. Chapter 17 similarly suggests how universities might engage student voice in ways that advance institutional interests (e.g. promoting their charitable work in the community), rather than student interests. In Chapter 16, Huning explores a range of additional challenges that may constrain student participation in student voice practices. These include the time constraints students already encounter while trying to balance their studies, jobs and recreational activities, which may discourage them from seeking out opportunities for student voice. Moreover, when students do speak up, they run the risk of encountering backlash, harassment or retaliation. Finally, online platforms that are not connected to institutional decision-making structures may have limited impact, leaving students to feel that their concerns and critiques are not heard or acted upon. While these challenges are great, they are not insurmountable, and several of the chapters in this part do offer evidence of student voice leading to important outcomes, including systems change, institutional change and student empowerment. Chapters 13 and 15 highlight policy 181

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changes students were able to achieve – at the institutional level in Chapter 13 and the national level in both England and Chile in Chapter 15. Though the wins in the latter case were not as significant as the student activists had hoped for, the students were still successful in having their voices recognized as critical to decision-making processes. Chapters 16 and 17 nod to the benefits for students of engaging in student voice practices. These include stronger communication skills and confidence (Chapter 16) and stronger civic skills and civic learning (Chapter 17). The chapters also highlight key strategies that generate these outcomes. These include framing tactics (Chapter 16), coalition building (Chapter 16 and 18) and the use of digital media to express student voice (Chapters 17 and 18). Chapters 15, 16 and 17 all point to professionalization as an effective strategy, but they explain it in different ways. For Ríos-Jara in Chapter 15, professionalization of student activist campaigns meant shifting from expressing demands via direct actions and movement pamphlets to placing them in policy briefs and amendments and voicing them during formal legislative hearings or meetings. Huning in Chapter 16 describes SciCom as a way ‘to professionalise use of digital media for students’, and Freudhofmayer and Resch in Chapter 17 described the students ‘who organize the framework for their civic engagement themselves’ as ‘endeavoring to professionalize their activities’ more so than the students whose universities facilitated the digital civic engagement programmes for them. In these three cases, professionalization of student voice helped enhance the legitimacy and effectiveness of students’ efforts to effect change, but as Ríos-Jara cautions, it can come with costs. When students professionalize themselves in ways that accommodate, rather than challenge, existing power structures and neoliberal agendas, they may unintentionally dilute their voices and reinforce the status quo. Therefore, a critical perspective on higher education, well-attuned to inequities and power imbalances, such as that advanced by Hlatshwayo in Chapter 14, remains imperative to any student voice project that aims to be transformative rather than perfunctory or performative.

References Boren, M. (2019), Student Resistance: A History of the Unruly Subject (2nd ed.). New York: Routledge. Cook-Sather, A. (2006), ‘Sound, Presence, and Power: “Student Voice” in Educational Research and Reform’, Curriculum Inquiry, 36 (4): 359–90.

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Framing Processes as Student Voice in the Movement to Resist University Expansion and Urban Renewal CHARLES H. F. DAVIS III AND SY STOKES

Social movements are a critical component to addressing racial and other inequities across overlapping systems and structures of oppression. As Carter and Reardon (2014) have argued, various forms of inequity – and what is done in response to the presence of injustice – are often animating forces that help movements coalesce. Racially minoritized youth – and the inequitable conditions in which they are expected to live, work and learn – are often a galvanizing force for movement work that recognizes the dignity and humanity of young people rendered vulnerable to institutional harm (Ginwright 2016). More specifically, Black youth ‘reengage in civic life by addressing issues that are closely connected to struggles in their everyday life’ (Ginwright 2010: 144). Within the context of education, civic and political engagement takes many forms to include students’ participation in various dimensions of electoral politics, governance (i.e. local, state and federal) and policy arenas to improve access, opportunity and equitable educational outcomes. However, civic and political engagement are often too narrowly defined by these traditional domains and fail to account for student activism and social movements as legitimate forms of democratic participation (Morgan and Davis 2019). By democratic participation, we are broadly referring to ‘acts that are intended to influence the behavior of those empowered to make decisions’ (Verba 1967: 54), which include the influence of student voice and directaction undertaken by campus-community organizers to transform educational institutions and their social contexts. Yet, discussion of the organized resistance to university expansion and urban renewal and the resulting macro-level inequities is overwhelmingly absent in the higher education literature. While historians of higher education have documented the presence of antigentrification activism on campus (e.g. Baldwin 2021c; Puckett and Lloyd 2015; Wolf-Powers 2022), there are still considerable gaps in student voice research regarding these movements as important examples of how student organizers in collaboration with local communities can alter colleges’ and universities’ decisions in pursuit of their financial and property interests. We, therefore, aim to address these gaps by delineating the inequities resulting from university expansion and urban renewal and the agentic role of student and community organizers to reduce harm and reimagine higher education as a life-affirming institution (i.e. campus abolition).

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In doing so, we take a multidisciplinary approach to frame an understanding of urban higher education’s complex relationship to the communities within which it is situated. Specifically, we begin this chapter by conceptualizing US-based higher and post-secondary education’s long-standing existence as a racial-colonial project that exacerbates inequities within society, particularly in urban geographic contexts. Next, we discuss existing research evidence on the role of higher education in the current housing crisis and its racial equity implications to frame the macro-level inequities at the centre of our analysis. We continue with a review of the literature on social movements in college to understand the actors, contexts, tactics and strategies of campuscommunity activism and organizing as geographically dynamic. Lastly, we provide an abridged case analysis of contemporary efforts to resist university expansion and urban renewal in West Philadelphia.

Post-Secondary Institutions as Racial-Colonial Projects Colleges and universities in the United States have, since their inception, been intertwined with dual legacies of genocide and the enslavement of Indigenous and African peoples. As Wilder (2013) details, stolen land and stolen labour were necessary preconditions that gave rise to higher education in the United States. For instance, the early financing of colonial colleges was linked to broader imperial efforts by the United States to evangelize and indoctrinate Indigenous communities through religious (i.e. Christian) and cultural (i.e. language, behaviours, aesthetics and ideology) education in the establishment of Indian colleges and boarding schools (Wilder 2013). In addition, the American slave economy and the resulting wealth it created directly subsidized US higher education in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. This not only includes various individuals (e.g. college founders, presidents, trustees, instructors, students and alumni) who enslaved Black and Indigenous people for personal use, but also institutions who enslaved people through purchase or as a gift. Many colleges used slave labour to clear land and construct the grounds, maintain administrative residences and campus buildings, work in food and hospitality services, and to serve as entertainment – and subjects of abhorrent displays of racial violence – for white students (Rodriguez, Deane and Davis 2021). Institutions also sought out patronage from potential benefactors and tuition from prospective students whose families directly benefited from the wealth generated from slavery and dispossession of land (e.g. enslavers, slave traffickers and plantation owners). Consistent with what Mustaffa (2017) refers to as ‘education violence’, the aforementioned preface aims to broadly describe the colonial conditions that are foundational to the beginnings and ongoings of US higher education. As Stein (2017) has argued, broader federal efforts to accumulate Indigenous land through violence and fraudulent treaties provided the ‘conditions of possibility’ for public higher education in the nineteenth century, which relied upon a redistribution of stolen resources through land-grant legislation. Namely, the Morrill Acts of 1862 and 1890 established public land-grant universities and, subsequently, provided them with regular appropriations to states to finance institutions (Mustaffa 2017; Thelin 2004). The Morrill Act of 1862 specifically ‘granted’ states federally-held land to distribute to institutions, which they in turn sold for profit to ‘constitute a perpetual fund, the capital of which shall remain forever undiminished’ (Morrill Act 1862). Resulting in an estimated $500 million in current dollars and 10.7 million acres of land expropriated through violent land cessions, the Morrill 184

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Act of 1862 is considered one of the greatest wealth transfers into higher education (Lee et al. 2020). Still, decades later, many of the beneficiaries of the 1862 legislation continued to struggle financially and required additional federal subsidies. The Morrill Act of 1890 then provided conditional appropriations to states for previously established land-grant institutions1, a policy decision that ultimately entrenched unequal and inequitable funding structures between Whiteserving institutions and historically Black public colleges and universities (Rodriguez, Deane and Davis 2021). To be sure, settler-colonial conquest remains ever present in contemporary higher education, especially when considering neoliberal academic capitalism (Slaughter and Rhoades 2009). As Tuck and Yang (2012) have enumerated, internal colonialism – in which the management of people, land and other natural resources within the domestic borders of an imperial nation – is perpetually prevalent in the US. This includes and is evidenced by its institutions’ (i.e. colleges and universities) ongoing inability to fully reckon with their participation in and benefit from racial-colonial terror. Further, scholars have linked the historical investments in colonization by the US as a settler nation and higher education’s ongoing efforts to accumulate and privatize material resources (e.g. resources made into property that can be owned) (Stein 2017; Tuck and McKenzie 2014). Chief among privatized resources, both historically and contemporarily, is land. And, once land is made into property, access to land-based resources by local communities often becomes precarious (e.g. access to safe and affordable housing). For colleges and universities, this has meant an evolving function as community developers for purposes of institutional self-preservation, enrolment marketability and expanding facilities to support the education and research functions of their institutions (Calder and Greenstein 2001). This has been especially visible at urban colleges and universities in cities like Chicago, Los Angeles, New York, Pittsburgh and Philadelphia, all of which have long histories of university expansion and privatization that have irreparably altered local neighbourhoods of mostly low-income, racially minoritized residents (Baldwin 2021a, 2021b, 2021d).

Studentification, Housing Insecurity and Racial Inequity in West Philadelphia As previously conceptualized, a core function of neoliberal higher education within the settlercolonial paradigm is its acquisition, accumulation and privatization of resources. For urban cities and ethnic enclaves predominated by Black and other racially minoritized residents, many of whom are also low income, the growing housing crisis has been especially consequential. Research on housing markets in major US cities typically attributes housing affordability issues to either high-cost housing or low income. In Philadelphia, for example, which serves as the context for the current study, no other populous city has a higher proportion of cost-burden households (i.e. housing costs are equal to or more than 30 per cent of a household income) with low incomes (less than $30,000) according to a 2020 housing report by The Pew Charitable Trust. In 2018, more than two-thirds of Philadelphia households reported annual incomes of less than $30,000, which is the highest among the nation’s ten most populous cities and the sixth highest among the nation’s largest high-poverty cities (Caudell-Feagan et al. 2020). According to 2019 Census data, Black people comprise 40 per cent of the city’s population, the largest among 185

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all racial/ethnic groups, and also represent the greatest proportion (41 per cent) of those living below the poverty line at nearly twice the rate of White residents. These statistical realities stand in sharp contrast to the ever-expanding enterprises of private industry and the higher education industrial complex in Philadelphia. As Daniels’s (2020) assessment of the social impact of university expansion and private industry in West Philadelphia details, studentification2 (Ehlenz 2016, 2019a, 2019b; Gibbons, Barton and Reling 2020) has shifted the class and racial demographics and cultural integrity of historically Black, middle-class neighbourhoods. Further, the encroachment of local universities and corporations as developers into these neighbourhoods has severely reduced access to affordable housing for residents with modest and subsidized incomes. This also includes the increasing role of private equity groups in the housing market (e.g. Blackstone and Lone Star Funds) in acquiring and redeveloping disinvested properties to maximize profits, some of which serve the profitable student housing market (Vogell 2022). Not surprisingly, these circumstances and disparities, among others, have also contributed to rising reports of gun violence on and near urban university campuses (Davis 2022). And, as reports of violence against campus stakeholders have increased, so has the racialized policing of local residents, exacerbating existing racial disparities in police interactions, violations of civil rights and use of excessive force by campus police departments (Baldwin 2021e; Jones 2022). Altogether, affordable housing is a central component when considering the interrelation of inequities in education, labour and workforce development, and criminalization, all of which are disproportionately impacting racially minoritized youth. Whether through their own accumulation or the demands created through enrolments and research expansion, urban colleges and universities are more than culpable in contributing to the housing crisis. This culpability has necessarily resulted in organized direct-action by campus and community organizers who are working in coalition to resist university expansion and its myriad consequences for local communities. As discussed further on, such organization and movement activity are a longstanding dimension of political engagement among youth within and beyond campus contexts.

Student Activism, Student Voice and Social Movements in Higher Education Scholars from various fields and disciplines have given considerable attention to student activism and social movements in US colleges, including examinations of individual characteristics of movement participation (Anderson 2019; Hope, Durkee and Keels 2016; McAdam 1988a), organizational contexts as predictors of campus activism (Barnhardt 2012; Rhoads 1998a, 2016), inequitable experiences related to campus climate and sense of belonging (Logan, Lightfoot and Contreras 2017; Morgan and Davis 2019), engagement outcomes of activist participation (Davis, Stokes and Morgan 2020; Quaye 2007) and resources used to achieve student movements’ goals (Davis 2015; Davis 2019a, 2019b). Topically, research concerning the issues, grievances and demands of student activists has historically focused on a broad range of topics including, but not limited to, student quality of life (Moore 1997; Rudy 1996), conflict between various stakeholder groups (i.e. faculty, staff and students) (Braungart and Braungart 1990; Brax 1981), student autonomy and freedom of speech and expression (Altbach and Peterson 1971; Melear 2003; Wood 1974), mobilizing against participation and institutional support of foreign wars 186

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(Astin et al., 1975) and civil rights and affirmative action on campus (Rhoads 1998a, 1998b; Rogers 2012). More recent research on student activism has focused on student activism related to broader social and political issues, including immigration and deportation (Abrego 2008; Gonzales 2008; Muñoz 2015), anti-Black state and state-sanctioned violence (Davis 2015; Hope, Durkee and Keels 2016) and other social justice issues that permeate college and university campuses in various ways. While these areas of focus offer meaningful insight into a contextually specific understanding of organizing and movements in collegiate environments, there is considerably less empirical evidence on movements resisting higher education’s contribution to social, political and economic inequality within broader society. This includes historical and planning research that does not fully attend to the role of how student organizers, in collaboration with others, shape narrative frames (McCarthy 1996) directly related to the consequential decision-making of higher education leaders. A similar dearth in literature is evident in research focused on student voice. Student voice has traditionally been described as ‘the many ways in which youth might have the opportunity to participate in school decisions that will shape their lives and the lives of their peers’ (Mitra 2006: 7). The underlying objective of centring student voice is to allow students to collaborate with staff, faculty and administrators in decision-making processes and help identify ways to improve the institutional climate (Mitra and Gross 2009). In principle, student voice actualizes the liberal democratic vision of schools by fostering civic and political participation and promoting active citizenship – traits that will theoretically translate into the broader political context (Mayes 2020). Various scholars have critiqued the concept of student voice, highlighting how (1) its application often does not take into consideration the inequitable power dynamics of students’ gender, class and race in determining who is heard and who is dismissed (Mayes 2020; Stokes and Davis 2022); (2) students should never have to carry the full weight of societal reform (Arnot and Reay 2007); and (3) it can be utilized as a mechanism for political suppression by ‘defusing [the] potentially disruptive perspectives’ of student activists through an illusory demonstration of mutual collaboration (Fielding 2004: 298). Existing research also does not fully explicate the ways student voice traverses and expands the permeability of formal post-secondary boundaries within which activism is believed to primarily take place. As a result, there is an absence of meaningful explanations for the relationship between student and community organizers as movement actors working collaboratively to challenge the economic and political power of post-secondary institutions. This is consequential given what we are learning about the role of new and digital media technologies in student activism for facilitating organized direct action in lieu of physical presence (see Davis 2019b). Further, it has been an especially important aspect of movement repertoires during a persistent pandemic that has limited in-person collaboration outside of large-scale protests. What is more, Davis, Stokes and Morgan (2020) emphasize how ‘contemporary student activists continue to traverse the spatial boundaries of post-secondary life to engage with broader movements’, including those aimed at disrupting university expansion and urban renewal (149). In what we will demonstrate through our case analysis, student voice can serve as an amplification tool that legitimizes concerns of communities otherwise disenfranchised, dismissed or disregarded by post-secondary leaders. Altogether, the campus-centric focus that largely predominates student movement scholarship circumscribes the analytical gaze and thereby restricts what is known about movement activity off and away from campus. For this reason, our case analysis enumerates the ways contemporary 187

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student organizers (and other campus activists) undertake the work of social and political transformation beyond their institutions and in partnership with communities routinely displaced and destroyed by colleges and universities. And, because such work has a long history, we pay particular attention to the antecedents of the contemporary movement in the recurring battle for Black life-making (Mustaffa 2017) in American urban cities.

Campus-Community Organizing and the Long Movement to Stop ‘Black Removal’ As eviction moratoriums during the Covid-19 pandemic expired, rental assistance programmes faltered and federal Housing and Urban Development (HUD) contracts failed to be renewed, the concern around housing security for Black residents in Philadelphia proximal to university campuses has increased. And, as has been the case historically, communities have organized to fight for affordable housing in resistance to rent hikes, property sales and further industrial expansion into residential neighbourhoods. In West Philadelphia specifically, a group of campus and community organizers known as the Coalition to Save the UC Townhomes (#savetheuctownhomes) coalesced in the Fall of 2021 to collectively resist the sale of the reported last affordable housing complex for Black residents in an area historically known as the Black Bottom. The coalition is a resident-led organization working in conjunction with more than fifty allied organizations, which includes seven campus-based student groups from the University of Pennsylvania, Drexel University and Haverford University (see https://sav​ethe​ucto​wnho​mes. com/all​ies/). Formerly known as Greenville,3 the Black Bottom was a residential area for Black families in West Philadelphia that migrated north in the early twentieth century. However, following the displacement of residents due to urban renewal programmes during the late 1950s, the Black Bottom was all but destroyed and subsequently renamed as ‘University City’. As Puckett and Lloyd (2015) have documented, the development of University City was a strategic undertaking between the Philadelphia City Planning Commission and the West Philadelphia Corporation (WPC), a multilateral coalition of higher education and medical institutions to include the University of Pennsylvania (Penn) as majority shareholder and senior partner and Drexel University (then Drexel Institute of Technology), Presbyterian Hospital (now Penn Presbyterian Medical Center) and Philadelphia College of Osteopathic Medicine as junior partners. Together, the boundaries of University City were constructed, as well as the development of the University City Science Center (UCSC) to redevelop residential and commercial property. This ultimately led to the displacement of six hundred low-income and Black families and demolished local schools and small businesses throughout the 1960s (Baldwin 2021c). This particular period of urban renewal, which was deeply damaging to Penn’s community reputation (Puckett and Lloyd 2015), has long been referred to as ‘Black removal’ by residents and organizers, a powerful diagnostic frame4 (Bendford and Snow 2000; McCarthy 1996) aimed to draw attention to the racialized destruction, dislocation and displacement caused by urban redevelopment projects. The use of narrative framing by campus-community organizers was an important strategy undergirding the subsequent tactics employed to address ‘Penntrification’ during the late 1960s. This included organizing efforts by the well-known radical US movement organization Students for Democratic Society (SDS), whose members at universities in the greater Philadelphia area 188

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co-organized a protest with the Community Involvement Council (CIC), a Penn student group that worked with local communities (Fowler 1969). Beginning 18 February 1969, student protestors from Penn, Temple University and Swarthmore College marched against the UCSC’s displacement of Black Bottom residents as well as its Department of Defence contracts and classified research programme. A processionfrom campus marched to the vacant lot designated for UCSC construction where they hosted political theatre, speeches and pickets. According to reports from the student newspaper, the Daily Pennsylvanian (1969, as cited in Wolf-Powers 2022: 19), Reverend Edward Sims, a community activist, implored the students to be vocal advocates for community interests beyond the boundaries of the university. Steven Fraser, a member of SDS at Temple University responded to Sims call to action with a statement of solidarity: ‘The administrators of the University City Science Center think we students are a bunch of children. We will force them to use their wealth to help this community’. The following day, students returned to campus and proceeded to College Hall (i.e. Penn’s central administration building) where Penn SDS members re-presented their December 1968 demands to University president Gaylord P. Harnwell; Harnwell also served as president for the WPC. Following an all but complete dismissal of senior SDS member Joseph Mukiliak’s recitation, students debated possible next steps. This included Mukiliak raising the question: ‘Do we want a takeover or have we made our point’ (Fowler 1969: 9). Ira Harkavy, CIC co-chairman, suggested students request trustees of the University of Pennsylvania meet to consider the demands before vacating the building. To facilitate the decision-making process, a steering committee composed of CIC, SDS and SDS Labor Committee members was organized and operated within a ‘participatory democracy’ framework to allow for open participation in discussion. By the early evening, participating students voted to keep the protest open-ended and designated thirty-seven students to serve as marshals to manage the ensuing occupation of the building. According to an official account published in March 1969 by the Pennsylvania Gazette,5 more than 1,000 people, mostly students, but also supportive faculty and community members, participated in daily plenary sessions across the six-day sit-in of College Hall (Fowler 1969). These sessions functioned as teach-ins about specific socio-economic and political issues for which the coalition of student organizers believed Penn was institutionally responsible for addressing. Among them were the displacement of local Black and low-income residents in West Philadelphia and the lack of affordable alternative housing that directly resulted from the Pennled WPC’s redevelopment programme. Emerging from the caucus, and in conjunction with other declarations, was the formal demand from students that the university return the land to displaced Black Bottom residents and relinquish control to a Black community group (i.e. Renewal Housing, Inc.) (Fowler 1969; Puckett and Lloyd 2015). At the insistence of local Black community leaders – including Philadelphia members of the Black Panther Party6 – the aforementioned demand was augmented to ultimately include an expanded agenda to increase community participation in university governance and codify community approval for institutional expansions that may affect area residents. Following receipt, the board of trustees drafted a counter-proposal including their intention to ask the trustees of the executive board for authorization to negotiate with Renewal Housing, Inc. in determining ‘low-cost housing requirements for persons displaced by UCSC and [who] would like to return to the area’ (Fowler 1969: 11). If an agreement between the parties could be reached, the trustees committed the university to make every attempt to secure land for low-cost housing. 189

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With the support of the faculty senate and a delegation of West Philadelphia’s Black community leaders, the trustees and students released a statement with a six-point plan that included, among other commitments, establishing a quadripartite commission comprised of an equal representation of community members and university stakeholders (i.e. students, faculty and trustees) to align community and university development. Additionally, the trustees agreed to raise $10 million through ‘corporations, businesses, institutions and agencies to which they have access’ to support community renewal programmes and the establishment of a community redevelopment fund. On 24 February, the day following the conclusion of the sit-in, a formal resolution was adopted that supported the aforementioned agreement. In response to the agreement, a student involved in the negotiations was quoted by the student newspaper stating, ‘We changed the decision-making process and priorities of this institution.’ And, in many respects, the student was exactly right. The role of students in advocating for a radical redistribution of university resources as well as shared decision-making power between Black West Philadelphians and the university directly shaped the institution’s favourable response. In part, this was made possible by the ways in which students undertook a civil disruption of university operations that starkly contrasted with a particularly volatile period of college student activism. More importantly, however, the principle demands at the heart of students’ activism were rooted in the concerns previously voiced by Black community members years earlier. Not surprisingly, university leaders and the WPC had summarily dismissed and made great efforts to publicly undermine the legitimacy of community leaders and their claims prior to the 1969 sit-in (Wolf-Powers 2022). However, given the unique constituency (i.e. students) to which the university was compelled to answer, student voice and its structural location within the university became a powerful legitimation tool in the fight against unfettered university expansion.

Conclusion In consideration of how student voice is defined as a matter of ‘legitimate perspective’ (CookSather 2006), framing processes (Bendford and Snow 2000) in campus-community movements are an important phenomenon to understand the relationship between institutional rhetoric and the efficacy of institutional commitments to the public good. And, while student perspectives are often delegitimized with regard to campus-centric issues tied to students’ socio-academic experiences, student voice can provide legitimacy as an important resource for movements at the intersection of campuses and communities to mobilize efforts to achieve their goals. As evidenced in this historical case, upon which contemporary organizers resisting to university expansion continue to draw, student voice can frame issues that implicate post-secondary institutions in ways from which those deemed as outsiders are commonly prevented.

Notes 1 A condition of receiving federal aid was that the money would only be distributed to states whose institutions either enrolled or otherwise established separate institutions for non-White students, which provided an additional gateway for furthering segregationist practices in higher education. 2 The term ‘studentification’ broadly refers to the gentrification of neighbourhoods through the specific development and expansion of housing and amenities to service students enrolled in urban colleges and universities.

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3 In the late-1800s, Greenville was home to Philadelphia’s Black residents, many of whose families had been in Philadelphia since enslaver William Penn imported enslaved Africans in 1685. 4 A diagnostic frame refers to perspectives advanced by movements that identify social and political problems and attribute responsibility for their existence (and remediation) to individual and/or institutional sources. 5 The Pennsylvania Gazette is a bimonthly magazine published by the University of Pennsylvania and written about, for and often by alumni. 6 The Black Panther Party, originally named the Black Panther Party for Self-Defense, was a Black revolutionary socialist organization founded by Huey P. Newton and Bobby Seale at Merritt Junior College in Oakland, California, during the late-1960s. At its height, the Black Panther Party would operate in fortyeight US states with support groups internationally in Africa, Asia, Europe and South America.

References Abrego, L. (2008), ‘Legitimacy, Social Identity, and the Mobilization of Law: The Effectsof AB540 on Undocumented Students in California’, Law and Social Inquiry, 33 (3): 709–34. Altbach, P. G., and P. Peterson (1971), ‘Before Berkeley: Historical Perspectives on American Student Activism’, The Annals of the American Academy of Political and Social Science, 395 (1): 1–14. Anderson, R. K. (2019), ‘Toward Thick Responsiveness: Engaging Identity-based Student Protest Movements’, Journal of Higher Education, 90 (3): 402–26. Arnot, M., and D. Reay (2007), ‘A Sociology of Pedagogic Voice: Power, Inequality and Pupil Consultation’, Discourse: Studies in the Cultural Politics of Education, 28 (3): 311–25. Astin, A., H. Astin, A. Bayer and A. Bisconti (1975), The Power of Protest, San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass. Baldwin, D. (2021a), ‘Higher Education Has a Tax Problem and It’s Hurting Local Communities’, Time Magazine, 7 April. https://time.com/5952​901/unive​rsit​ies-tax-exempt​ion/ (accessed 12 July 2022). Baldwin, D. (2021b), ‘Higher Education’s Racial Reckoning Reaches Far Beyond Slavery’, The Washington Post, 1 April. https://www.was​hing​tonp​ost.com/outl​ook/2021/04/01/hig​her-edu​cati​ons-rac​ ial-reckon​ing-reac​hes-far-bey​ond-slav​ery/ (accessed 12 July 2022). Baldwin, D. (2021c), In the Shadows of the Ivory Tower: How Universities Are Plundering Our Cities, New York: Bold Type Books. Baldwin, D. (2021d, 30 March), What Universities’ Growing Power Means for Cities, Next City. https:// nextc​ity.org/urban​ist-news/what-unive​rsit​ies-grow​ing-power-means-for-cit​ies (accessed 12 July 2022). Baldwin, D. (2021e), ‘Why We Should Abolish the Campus Police’. The Chronicle of Higher Education, 19 May. https://www.chroni​cle.com/arti​cle/why-we-sho​uld-abol​ish-cam​pus-pol​ice (accessed 12 July 2022). Barnhardt, C. L. (2012), ‘Contemporary Student Activism: The Educational Contexts of SociallyResponsible Civic Engagement’, Doctoral diss. University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, MI. Benford, R. D., and D. A. Snow (2000), ‘Framing Processes and Social Movements: An Overview and Assessment’, Annual Review of Sociology, 26: 611–39. Braungart, M. M., and R. G. Braungart (1990), ‘The Life-Course Development of Left-and Right-Wing Youth Activist Leaders from the 1960s’, International Society of Political Psychology, 11 (2): 243–82. Brax, R. S. (1981), The First Student Movement: Student Activism in the United States During the 1930s, Port Washing, NY: Kennikat Press. Calder, A., and R. Greenstein (2001, July), Universities as Developers, Cambridge, MA: Lincoln Institute of Land Policy. https://www.linc​olni​nst.edu/sites/defa​ult/files/pubfi​les/unive​rsit​ies-as-dev​elop​ers-lla0​ 107.pdf (accessed 9 August 2022). Carter, P., and S. F. Reardon (2014), Inequality Matters, New York, NY: William T. Grant Foundation. Caudell-Feagan, M., F. Klasen and E. Haider (2020), The State of Housing Affordability in Philadelphia, New York: Pew Charitable Trust.

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Daniels, K. (2020), ‘We Are Here: The Social Impact of Drexel University’s Expansion on Mantua and Powelton Villiage’, Doctoral diss. Drexel University, Philadelphia, PA. Davis III, C. H. F. (2015), ‘Dream Defending, On-campus and Beyond: A Multi-sited Ethnography of Contemporary Student Organizing, the Social Movement Repertoire, and Social Movement Organization in College’, Doctoral diss. University of Arizona, Tucson, AZ. Davis III, C. H. F. (2019a), ‘Peer Pedagogies, Communities of Memory, and Occupying the Florida Capitol’, in A. Dache–Gerbino, S. J. Quaye, C. Linder and K. M. McGuire (eds), Rise Up! Activism as Education, 115–47, East Lansing: Michigan State University Press. Davis III, C. H. F. (2019b), ‘Student Activism, Resource Mobilization, and New Tactical Repertoires in the “Digital Age” ’, in D. L. Morgan and C. H. F. Davis III (eds), Student Activism, Politics, and Campus Climate in Higher Education, 112–25, New York: Routledge. Davis III, C. H. F. (2022), ‘More Police on Campus Won’t Prevent Gun Violence’, Inside Higher Ed, 22 February. https://www.ins​ideh​ighe​red.com/views/2022/02/22/inc​reas​ing-cam​pus-pol​ice-not-ans​weropin​ion. Davis III, C. H. F., S. Stokes and D. Morgan (2020), ‘Engaging Student Activists’, in S. J. Quaye, S. R. Harper and S. Pendakur (eds), Student Engagement in Higher Education (3rd ed.), 143–61, New York: Routledge. Ehlenz, M. M. (2016), ‘Neighborhood Revitalization and the Anchor Institution: Assessing the Impact of the University of Pennsylvania’s West Philadelphia Initiatives on University City’, Urban Affairs Review, 52 (5): 714–50. Ehlenz, M. M. (2019a), ‘Gown, Town, and Neighborhood Change: An Examination of Urban Neighborhoods with University Revitalization Efforts’, Journal of Planning Education and Research, 39 (3): 285–99. Ehlenz, M. M. (2019b), ‘The University and its Neighborhood: A Study of Place-making and Change’, Journal of Urban Affairs, 41 (6): 776–94. Fielding, M. (2004), ‘Transformative Approaches to Student Voice: Theoretical Underpinnings, Recalcitrant Realities’, British Educational Research Journal, 30 (2): 295–311. Fowler, J. A. (1969, March), ‘Six Days in College Hall’, Pennsylvania Gazette, 6–15. Gibbons, J., M. S. Barton and T. T. Reling (2020), ‘Do Gentrifying Neighborhoods Have Less Community? Evidence from Philadelphia’, Urban Studies, 57 (5): 1143–63. Ginwright, S. (2010), Black Youth Rising: Activism and Radical Healing in Urban America, New York: Teachers College Press. Ginwright, S. (2016), Hope and Healing in Urban Education: How Urban Activists and Teachers Are Reclaiming Matters of the Heart, New York: Routledge. Gonzales, R. (2008), ‘Left Out but Not Shut Down: Political Activism and the Undocumented Student Movement’, Northwestern Journal of Law and Social Policy, 3 (2): 1–21. Hope, E. C., M. I. Durkee and M. Keels (2016), ‘Participation in Black Lives Matter and Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals: Modern Activism among Black and Latino College Students’, Journal of Diversity in Higher Education, 9 (3): 203–15. Jones, B. (2022), ‘Police-Generated Killings: The Gap between Ethics and Law’. Political Research Quarterly, 75 (2), 366–78. https://doi.org/10.1177/106591​2921​1009​596 (accessed 3 July 2023). Lee, R., T. Ahtone, M. Pearce, K. Goodluck, G. McGhee, C. Leff, K. Lanpher, K. and T. Salinas (2020), ‘Land-Grab Universities: How the United States Funded Land-Grant Universities with Expropriated Indigenous Land’, High Country News, https://www.landgr​abu.org/ (accessed 19 August 2022). Logan, G., B. A. Lightfoot and A. Contreras (2017), ‘Black and Brown Millennial Activism on a PWI Campus in the Era of Trump’, The Journal of Negro Education, 86 (3): 252–68. Mayes, E. (2020), ‘Student Voice in an Age of “Security” ’, Critical Studies in Education, 61(3): 380–97. McCarthy, J. D. (1996), ‘Constraints and Opportunities in Adopting, Adapting, and Inventing’, in D. Mcadam, J. D. Mccarthy and M. N. Zald (eds), Comparative Perspectives on Social Movements, Political Opportunities, Mobilizing Structures, and Cultural Framings, 141–52, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

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Melear, K. (2003), ‘From in Loco Parentis to Consumerism: A Legal Analysis of Contractual Relationship between Institution and Student’, Journal of Student Affairs Research and Practice, 40 (4): 124–48. Mitra, D. (2006), ‘Increasing Student Voice and Moving Toward Youth Leadership’, The Prevention Researcher, 13 (1): 7–10. Mitra, D., and S. J. Gross (2009), ‘Increasing Student Voice in High School Reform: Building Partnerships, Improving Outcomes’, Educational Management Administration & Leadership, 37 (4): 522–43. Moore, K. M. (1997), ‘Freedom and Constraint in Eighteenth Century Harvard’, in L. F. Goodchild and H. Weschler (eds), The History of Higher Education, 2nd ed., 108–14, Needham Heights, MA: Simon and Schuster. Morgan, D. L., and C. H. F. Davis III (2019), Student Activism, Politics, and Campus Climate in Higher Education, New York: Routledge. Morrill Act, 7 U.S.C. § 301 et seq. (1862). https://mem​ory.loc.gov/cgi-bin/amp​age?coll​Id1⁄4llsl& fileName1⁄4012/llsl012.db&recNum1⁄4534 (accessed 19 August 2022). Muñoz, S. (2015), Identity, Social Activism, and the Pursuit of Higher Education: The Journey Stories of Undocumented and Unafraid Community Activists, New York: Peter Lang. Mustaffa, J. B. (2017), ‘Mapping Violence, Naming Life: A History of Anti-Black Oppression in the Higher Education System’, International Journal of Qualitative Studies in Education, 30 (8): 711–27. Puckett, J. L., and M. F. Lloyd (2015), Becoming Penn: The Pragmatic American University, 1950–2000, Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Quaye, S. J. (2007), ‘Hope and Learning: Outcomes of Contemporary Student Activism’, About Campus, 12 (2): 2–9. Rhoads, R. A. (1998a), Freedom’s Web: Student Activism in an Age of Cultural Diversity. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press. Rhoads, R. A. (1998b), ‘Student Protest and Multicultural Reform: Making Sense of Campus Unrest in the 1990s’, Journal of Higher Education, 69 (6): 621–46. Rhoads, R. A. (2016), ‘Student Activism, Diversity, and the Struggle for a Just Society’, Journal of Diversity in Higher Education, 9 (3), 189–202. Rodriguez A., K. C. Deane and C. H. F. Davis III (2021), ‘Towards a Framework of Racialized Policymaking in Higher Education’, in L. W. Perna (ed.), Higher Education: Handbook of Theory and Research, vol. 37, Switzerland, AG: Springer. Rogers, I. H. (2012), Black Campus Movement: Black Students and the Racial Reconstitution of Higher Education, 1965–1972, New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Rudy, W. (1996), The Campus and a Nation in Crisis: From the American Revolution to Vietnam, Cranbury, NJ: Associated University Presses. Slaughter, S., and G. Rhoades (2009), Academic Capitalism and the New Economy: Markets, State, and Higher Education, Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press. Stein, S. (2017), ‘A Colonial History of Higher Education Present: Rethinking Land-Grant Institutions through Processes of Accumulation and Relations of Conquest’, Critical Studies in Education, 61 (2): 212–28. Stokes, S., and C. H. F. Davis III (2022), ‘In Defense of Dignitary Safety: A Phenomenological Study of Student Resistance to Hate Speech on Campus’, Peabody Journal of Education, 97 (5): 600–22. doi: 10.1080/0161956X.2022.2125760. Thelin, J. R. (2004), A History of American Higher Education, Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press. Tuck, E., and K. W. Yang (2012), ‘Decolonization Is Not a Metaphor’, Decolonization: Indigeneity, Education & Society, 1 (1), 1–40. Tuck, E., and M. McKenzie (2015). Place in Research: Theory, Methodology, and Methods. New York: Routledge. Verba, S. (1967), ‘Democratic Participation’, The ANNALS of the American Academy of Political and Social Science, 373 (1): 53–78.

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When They See and Hear Us: Black Students and the Fight for a Decolonial University in South Africa MLAMULI NKOSINGPHILE HLATSHWAYO

In the now (in)famous Netflix series, When They See Us, producer and creator Ava DuVernay portrays the events of the 1989 Central Park case in which five Black and Latino boys were wrongfully arrested, prosecuted and convicted for the rape of a white woman in New York City, in the United States (DuVerney 2019). This shocking and mind-bending case shows the intersectional challenges of institutionalize/structural racism, incompetent policing, racialized poverty, corruption, unaccountability and an entrenched system that continues to see/perceive/ read young Black (and Latino) boys as inherently a threat/evil/menacing to white normative society. The late American sociologist and historian W. E. B. Du Bois’s argument that the central organizing challenge for us in the early twentieth century (and to some extent, even now) revolves around the problem of the colour line speaks directly to DuVerney’s focus on a racist and incompetent police department and its supportive state and media apparatus in seeing Black and Latino working-class boys as an existential ‘problem’, as opposed to people with real and material structural problems in society. For Malaika Wa Azania, historically white universities1 in South Africa are what she calls ‘abattoirs’ where Black students (and staff) are ‘slaughtered’ (Wa Azania 2020). Malaika, a Black student at two historically white universities in South Africa, Stellenbosch University and Rhodes University, had first-hand knowledge of the difficulties of navigating and negotiating alienating and exclusionary institutional cultures, underpinned by Black pain, Black suffering and Black epistemic and cognitive harm (Ndlovu-Gatsheni 2013a, 2013b, 2018b). In line with what Césaire (1955) had called the ‘thingi-fication’ of Black people, Boughey and McKenna (2021) argue that the ‘decontextualized learner’ approaches in education are gaining traction. Instead of grappling with and responding to the structural pain that Black students continue to face and experience in higher education, institutions of higher learning have resorted to ‘piece meal’ apolitical/non-ideological/neutral approaches in prescribing literacy, language, mentoring, support and other neoliberal/individualist solutions to structural challenges. Thus, taking stock of and responding to the painful and oppressive concerns raised by DuVerney, Du Bois and Malaika are necessary to address the well-established institutionalized violence that seems to see and read Black bodies as necessary for the operational functioning of white normative society and its

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academy. In this chapter, I am persuaded by Henry Giroux’s argument that ‘education is a crucial site where students gain a public voice and come to grips with their own power as individuals and social agents’ (2002: 182). In other words, democratic and decolonial education is about enabling students to have a public voice to engage with political and democratic questions around knowledge and power, culture and history. Thus, student voices talk to the intersectional role that higher education ought to play in enabling and facilitating students’ role in curriculum design, teaching and learning practices and re-imagining the role of the university in our society (see also Mayaba, Ralarala and Angu 2018). In this chapter, I argue that the 2015–16 Black student protests constituted what Michel Foucault called the significant epistemic break in the South African higher education sector, with students driving and leading important national conversations on transforming/ reforming/ decolonizing higher education institutions, curricula, funding, teaching and learning, institutional culture(s), and marginalized African and global South epistemic traditions (Flynn 1994). I first begin this chapter by outlining and mapping what I see as the contested and deeply fragmented South African higher education policy context, showing the mismatch between the ambitious and transformative policy articulations by the post-apartheid governments and the absence of real and material changes on the ground. Secondly, I then discuss my philosophical perspectives, that is, Antonio Gramsci’s organic crisis to formulate a critique at the South African higher education system as being in a structural crisis and that Black students’ voices, experiences and challenges need to be taken into consideration to resolve this crisis.

Higher Education in Context: Mismatch and Possibilities The policy framework in South African higher education could be characterized by three important policy documents that have fundamentally shaped and influenced the sector. These are the ‘Programme for the Transformation on Higher Education: Education White Paper 3’ (hereafter White Paper 3), the Higher Education Act 101 of 1997 (hereafter the Higher Education Act) and finally the Report of the Ministerial Committee on Transformation and Social Cohesion and the Elimination of Discrimination in Public Higher Education Institutions (hereafter the Soudien Report). The White Paper 3, arguably the most ambitious policy document in the post-apartheid era, was attempting to balance what I see as as a number of key challenges for the sector at that time. Firstly, the policy was attempting to respond to the structural legacy of apartheid and coloniality in the sector, in moving the system away from the logics of white/Afrikaner minority rule and moving it towards a democratic, inclusive tolerant system that is underpinned by social justice and human rights (Department of Education 1997). The second challenge that the policy was attempting to respond to focused on the need to create an alternative and potentially attractive vision for what a post-apartheid South African higher education could look like. For Kumalo (2021), the White Paper 3 offers a useful guide in thinking seriously about public accountability, achieving academic freedom and institutional autonomy, while for Boughey and McKenna (2021), the policy was mainly interested in balancing what could be seen as the ‘private good’ (i.e. self-achievement, upward social mobility, graduate employability) and the ‘public good’ (i.e. economic growth, skilled population). What is important is that although the word ‘transformation’ is mentioned at least fifty-two times in the White Paper 3, no material mechanism or systems of accountability are provided to monitor, prescribe or suggest what this transformation 196

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actually is, how this transformation could be enacted or what measures of progress could look like. For instance, while the White Paper 3 does suggest that the ‘transformation of the structures, values and culture of governance is … not an option, for South African higher education’, and that the sector is a ‘vital [participant] in the massive changes which our society is undergoing, and in the intellectual, economic and cultural challenges of the new world order’ (Department of Education 1997: 27), what this transformation or ‘massive change’ could empirically look like is assumed and left to the individual higher education institutions themselves to define and achieve their own created ‘transformation targets’. The second policy that was influential in shaping and influencing the South African higher education context is the Higher Education Act. The act promulgated and led to the emergence of the Council on Higher Education (CHE), the construction of a systemic framework of the creation of governance and funding of higher education, the process for the establishment of private higher education as well the needed quality assurance bodies for holding public higher education institutions accountable. The creation of the CHE as an independent body that advises the minister on all higher education matters is perhaps the most crucial aspect of the act, as it gives CHE the powers to develop and manage the Higher Education Qualifications Sub-Framework (HEQSF) and standards for higher education qualifications nationally. It is Boughey and McKenna (2021) who suggest that the social construction and coordination of the HEQSF was underpinned by the ‘commodification of knowledge’ discourse in responding to the demands for the ‘knowledge workers’ in our increasingly ‘globalised economy’ (Boughey and McKenna 2021: 41). This late-stage capitalist neoliberalism and what could be seen as a sharp turn towards market fundamentalism in higher education has resulted in students becoming fee paying ‘clients’, who are legitimately entitled to curricula primarily because they are paying for it, and it is their right. This not only goes against Morrow (1994) and Hlatshwayo’s (2021) suggestion on epistemological access being the responsibility of both the teacher and the student working jointly and collaboratively together to understand, critique, explicate and challenge the curricula, but it also goes against Freire’s (2018) demand that we re-think student-teacher relationships so that they can be built on mutual and dialectical learning, as well as democratic respect. Thus, part of rethinking and re-imagining the South African university demands that we confront the growing neoliberal corporatisation of universities as factory producers of graduates and qualifications that are involved in the selling of these academic commodities. The third policy document that was influential in shaping and influencing South African higher education is the Soudien Report (2008). The report was produced six years before the outbreak of the #RhodesMustFall and #FeesMustFall student protests. The report focused on responding to what was agreed to be widespread systemic racism, sexism, sexual harassment, discrimination and lack of transformation in South African higher education system (CHE 2008). The report detailed at great length and through qualitative measures the different experiences that Black students and to some extent Black academics and support staff described as they continued to be silenced and marginalized by the racism, harassment, alienating institutional cultures and outdated and hegemonic knowledge systems in the South African academy. The report detailed the complex and intersectional challenges that confront Black students, showing how discrimination for Black students was linked to race, class and, at times, disability. One student comments in the Soudien Report on the homophobia that he continues to experience and the difficulties of advocating for gay/queer lecturers. He comments that the 197

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‘views of gays are discounted by house committees. It is easier to ask for more black lecturers than it is to ask for more gay lecturers’ (CHE 2008: 69–70), showing the intersectional challenges of race and sexuality at university, with those who self-identify as queer shining a spotlight on the implicit sexism and homophobia amongst the so-called progressive transformation forums and spaces at university. Although the report did an extensive and detailed accounting of the state of transformation in South African higher education, and the needed changes that are required sector wide, no concrete solutions are provided on how these changes could be implemented or achieved. While the report was lauded for taking stock of the traumas in the sector – that is, the sexism, discrimination, racism, homophobia and marginality in the sector (see Dos Santos et al. 2019; Lewins 2010; Swartz et al. 2018) – little has been done sector-wide to change meaningful transformation and decolonization. It is this disconnection between the ambitions of the policy framework and what is experienced on the ground, with scholars such Heleta (2016), Mbembe (2015) and Kumalo (2018) conceding that little has been achieved since the 1994 democratic dispensation to open up the sector to different epistemic traditions with diverse knowledgemaking and legitimation methods, that could transform and decolonize the sector. While all three different legislative frameworks talk about the discourses of ‘transformation’, ‘change’, ‘inclusivity’, ‘reform’, and ‘social justice’, the South African higher education remains largely a ‘colonial outpost’ that continues to value, recognize and legitimate ‘hegemonic identities instead of eliminating hegemony’ (McKaiser 2016: 1). It is based on the aforementioned disjuncture between the progressive policies and the realities on the ground that the 2015–16 student protests erupted in South Africa in light of the evergrowing fee structures in the academy; the frustration with the snail’s pace of institutional reforms in the sector; an alienating, colonizing institutional culture(s); and the outdated curriculum offerings that leaned towards the West and disregarded global South epistemic traditions and our lives (Cini 2019; Langa 2017; Mbembe 2016). While the state has already conceded that all students who come from households who earn R350,000 and below their loans from the National Student Financial Aid Scheme (NSFAS) will be converted into a bursary, the structural/ existential/ideological struggles regarding the ethical calls for transformation and decolonization remain and have not yet been systemically resolved. I now turn to outlining the philosophical orientations of the chapter.

Philosophical Perspectives In the ‘Prison Notebooks’, the Italian philosopher and intellectual Antonio Gramsci is concerned about the hegemonic powers and influences that the political party continues to exercise over the political society (Adamson 1983). For Gramsci, the concept of ‘hegemony’ is used to describe and diagnose how political authority is constructed, maintained and reinforced in society, often depending not only on consent (democratic agreement) but also on coercion (authoritarianism). Carrol (2022) extends Gramsci’s hegemony to suggest that political legitimation in society also depends on capital accumulation in the maintenance of hegemonic order under market capitalism. Put differently, the monopoly of violence and ruling by consent in and of itself is not enough for the ruling classes to maintain their control and political order in society. Capital modes of accumulation, consumption and market capitalism are also required to ensure that patronage and access to capital flow freely to maintain their ruling class status in our current neoliberal 198

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order. Gramsci suggests that the organic crisis refers to the inherent, structural and contradictory disconnection that occurs in society when political actors and political authority loses their legitimacy and recognition (Adamson 1983). This is where we begin to see people become detached and disconnected from traditional political authorities and begin to form alternative sources of belonging and communities for themselves outside of such formalized, sanctioned spaces. Gramsci cautions us on the possibilities of the alternative beyond the hegemony and suggests that ‘the immediate situation becomes delicate and dangerous, because the field is open for violent solutions’ (Gramsci 1999: 450) in the absence of the hegemonic political authority. More recently, scholars have increasingly been using the organic crisis as an conceptual and analytical framework to think through and theorize the myriad of challenges that we are facing in the neoliberal era (Carroll 2022; Hlatshwayo 2019; Seedeen 2020). Babic (2020) uses the organic crisis to critique the liberal international order and its market fundamentalism. Carroll (2022) relies on the organic crisis to map the structural, institutional and policy changes that have caused Japan to experience economic stagnation since the early 1990s. Seedeen (2020) uses the organic crisis to map out and expose the often contradictory Obama administration’s policies that promoted ‘peace’ and ‘hope’, while simultaneously deploying military troops and reasserting the hegemonic role of the United States as the last remaining global superpower in the international community.

Being, Belonging and Becoming at University Writing in the article titled, ‘Space Invaders: Race, Gender and Bodies Out of Place’, Nirmal Puwar (2004) argues that women academics are often seen as ‘bodies out of place’ and ‘space invaders’ in the academy, often struggling to negotiate their being and belonging. This presents several challenges for women academics as they grapple with finding their feet, performing as well as being recognized as competent and legitimate in an untransformed/racist/alienating/ patriarchal institutional culture that perpetually ensures that they remain pushed to the margins of higher education. It is Malaika (2020) who painfully documents and narrates the challenges of Black students at a historically white university and the trauma, discrimination, racism, harassment and marginality that they confront. For Malaika (2020), the nervous conditions of being a Black student at university bring with it grinding structural racism and alienation while at the same time playing a significant role in personal growth and development of Black students in helping them navigate employment and opportunities precisely because they attended such prestigious institutions. She writes that ‘Rhodes University scarred me …but it also gave us an edge, because it certified us as Black people with proximity to whiteness, and therefore as palatable and civilised’ (Wa Azania 2020: 52). For Malaika, Ngcobozi (2015) and Matthews (2021), this seems to indicate the very methodology of racism (and whiteness), that is, abusing, humiliating and traumatizing, while at the same time seeing, recognizing and rewarding are central to its operational logics. For Black students in the South African academy, the alienating hegemonic institutional culture, shrouded in whiteness as a singular mode of being in the world, particularly in historically white universities, acts as an epistemic and ontological reminder that they are not meant to be at university, that they do not belong and that the university is not for them and cannot be for them. What Puwar calls ‘bodies out of place’ and what the Chicana intellectual Anzaldúa (1987) 199

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termed ‘thinking from the border’, this two-ness, double consciousness, stability/instability, comfort/discomfort, ability/dis-ability continues to persist and has a number of real and material implications for Black students, including challenging them, their being and self-esteem, by calling into question their capacity and ability to cope with the academic and social demands of higher education while at the same time rewarding them. In a study conducted by Cornell (2015), the painful narrative of a Black student who is increasingly seeing herself as a problem in the university is described: I think it would be a space where one feels comfortable and at ease and belongs. The current feelings I think represent a direct opposite: the feelings of discomfort, being invalidated, being excluded, being a problem. The emphasis is being a problem, not a person with a problem … I often feel powerless and hopeless as a black student here. I feel that the way we are treated has impacted negatively on our self-esteem, well on mine. Many times, I questioned my intellect and doubted my capability. (Cornell 2015: 1) Evoking Du Bois (2008), the student in the extract comments on the structural difficulties of feeling hopeless and powerless as a Black student working, studying, thinking and breathing in a historically white university in South Africa. For the student, the structural racism and alienating institutional culture(s) have begun to affect her self-esteem and have induced selfdoubts on her abilities to cope at higher education. This kind of institutional, structural racism is also echoed by Black students at Stellenbosch University who argue that the intersectional challenges of race and language have produced new forms of marginality for them, resulting in Black students being frequently asked, ‘Why do you come here if you can’t speak Afrikaans?’2 (Open Stellenbosch Collective 2015). Another student, commenting on the need to ‘die for you to live’ as a Black student at the University of the Witwatersrand, argues at the loss of personhood and their identity as Black students largely because of trying to assimilate into the hegemonic white institutional culture that disregards, de-personalizes and strips them of their human dignity. The student comments on the contradictions of being among the best performing learners at school and coming to an alienating culture that looks at and considers them as inferior, deficient and underprepared for higher education, commenting that ‘you have to die for you to live. You have to lose everything about yourself and learn to socialise yourself again into the culture here’ (Malabela 2016: 111). In the book, Breaking a Rainbow, Building a Nation, the author and student activist Rekgotsofetse Chikane (2018) writes more closely about this existential two-ness, border thinking and organic crisis of the colour line. Chikane, who calls himself a ‘coconut activist’,3 argues that it was largely the Black middle class who in Bourdieu’s terms had the social, cultural and economic capital to lodge a well-sustained critique at the state through the various student formations, such as the #RhodesMustFall, #FeesMustFall, #BlackStudentMovement, the #OpenStellenboschCollective and other student movements in the hope of pressuring the government and public universities to finally achieve transformative and decolonial aims in higher education. For Chikane and others, it was these students who rejected ‘what Mandela was selling’; that is, deconstructing the Mandelian and Tutu’s conception of the fallacies of the rainbow nation of God and calling for a radical re-imagining of the society, university, and curricula offerings (Alasow 2015; Hlatshwayo 2021; Valela 2015). Commenting on this challenge 200

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for Black students, Shose Kessi (2015) argues that the challenge lies primarily in the discursive manner in which Western epistemic traditions, or what Gordon (2011) and Maldonado-Torres (2016) call Euromerican modernity, are produced and legitimated, especially on what counts as valid (and recognized) knowledge and what does not: It is interesting how bodily and affective experiences are often weaved out of what is deemed ‘rational’ theorizing of current events and political talk. How can my mind operate separately from the rest of my being? Where does the separation occur? At the eyes? The nose? The mouth? The belly? The waist? Surely, that is irrational. Surely that is precisely what the work of so-called rational men concerned with scientific neutrality and objective benchmarks have brought to this world, by excluding particular bodies, experiences, and ways of being and thinking that would disrupt the logic of modern life. (Kessi 2015: 1) Kessi critiques the very foundation of Western knowledge systems that is premised on the Cartesian rationality largely based on the famous words, cogito ergo sum (‘I think therefore I am’) (see Descartes, Haldane and Ross 1951). The ‘I’, in this Cartesian duality, symbolizes the colonizing, imperial, white heterosexual European being who has access to reason and rationality primarily because of their ontological being; that is, because they are European, heterosexual, white men, therefore they are logical, can think and have recognized/valued culture(s) and spiritual beliefs. For those who occupy and possess Black ontological bodies, those who according to Fanon, when they enter the room, reason walks out (Fanon 1963), they are deemed non-beings. Put differently, and Kessi draws this out well, the separation between the mind (thinking, rationalizing, reasoning, critiquing) and the body (race, racism, feeling, experiencing) cannot be separated largely because the colonization of the Africans was a colonization in totality; thus, the owning, dominating and controlling of the ‘procedures of acquiring, distributing, and exploiting lands in colonies; the policies of domesticating natives; and the manner of managing ancient organizations and implementing new modes of production’ (Mudimbe 1988: 14–15). The obsession with removing/ separating/divorcing the body and its phenomenological experiences, from thinking, reasoning, rationalizing, is silly at best and ontologically/epistemically criminal at worse. Black students bring with them their own experiences, cultures, perspectives, beliefs and background into the curricula and into the institution; thus, they cannot self-amputate or separate themselves from themselves in the hope of succeeding at university (Kumalo 2018; Mkhize 2015; Naicker 2016). Another aspect that is important for Black students’ being, belonging and becoming at university has to do with the curricula and the kinds of knowledge(s) we create, produce, value and legitimate at university. There is widespread consensus in the South African higher education that something is fundamentally wrong with the curriculum and knowledge constructions, with Black students rightfully diagnosing curricula design and its (political) imaginations as valuing/ legitimating/recognizing Western epistemic traditions at the expense of African and global South knowledges (see Booi, Vincent and Liccardo 2017; Cornell and Kessi 2017; Gibson 2015). It was Morrow (2009) in his magnus opus, the Bounds of Democracy: Epistemological Access in Higher Education, who argued that epistemic access (i.e. access to knowledge/curricula) cannot be given or bequeathed at will to students. As previously discussed, it must be an intellectually collaborative project for both the teacher and student, struggling/grappling/engaging with the curricula. It should be noted that Morrow’s conception of epistemic access largely sees and 201

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reads curricula/knowledge/disciplines as largely apolitical, neutral and non-ideological; thus, inducting students into knowledge(s), for him at least, appears to be an innocent, non-ideological training into alternative epistemic traditions. This misleading, misreading and misrecognizing of the contested and political nature of curricula/knowledge/disciplines could potentially lead to students being invariably inducted, trained, mentored and groomed into coloniality; that is, being assimilated into disciplines that reinforce their ontological, existential and epistemic marginality. That said, Boughey (2022) does acknowledge that it may very well be true that for Black students to succeed and obtain their qualifications and degrees in higher education, they may need to actually ‘master’ and understand these archaic/colonial/alienating knowledges to successfully participate in the module/course/programme and to pass. This, too, deserves to be challenged as African and global South epistemic traditions offer us very rich and diverse intellectual traditions that continue to be Othered, silenced and marginalized in higher education curriculum imaginations (Mbembe 2015; Metz 2016; Musila 2019). It should be recognized that for Black students there appears to be at least ‘two camps’ in the calls for transforming and decolonizing knowledge/curricula in the South African higher education. The first cohort supports what could be read and understood as the re-centring/ replacing/re-prioritizing discourse. The proponents of this school of thought argue that we need to pursue what Santos (2007) calls the ‘ecologies of knowledge’ or what Mbembe (2016) would call the ‘pluriversity’; that is, bringing in different epistemic traditions together in a coherent, cumulative-knowledge-building manner in curricula that does not promote or enable any epistemic supremacy, cognitive harm or intellectual injustice (Fomunyam and Teferra 2017; Heleta 2016; Mngomezulu and Hadebe 2018; Ndlovu-Gatsheni 2018a). This means that for the proponents of this school of thought, we need to draw on the rich and diverse epistemic traditions from the global North, Latin American, Caribbean nations, the Middle East, Asia and other parts of the world in an attempt at re-constructing a diverse, inclusive and socially just curriculum offering. What Bernstein (1999) has called the field of re-contextualization, these scholars see the site of teaching and learning (including assessment) as fruitful and productive in bringing together different epistemic voices that talk to and that at times challenge one another’s legitimacy. Ramgotra (2019: 1), who teaches political theory, tried to ‘disrupt these patterns and have integrated more female and political theorists of colour in the syllabus … the course began by questioning the canon through reading Charles Mills’ Racial Contract. It then put bell hooks and Aristotle in conversation’ (Ramgotra 2019: 1). Matthews (2018) adopts the same approach in challenging the legacies of the colonial library in curricula through ensuring that hegemonic/seminal texts are prescribed alongside counter-hegemonic, decolonial texts that often present views/theories/philosophies/arguments that at times reject and contest each other. While it could be argued that merely prescribing African/global South texts along ‘seminal’ ones does not constitute a decolonial moment, and Matthews (2018) concedes on this point, it does nonetheless trouble the Ethnocentric dominance that seminal readings often enjoy in the South African academy. The second cohort in Black students’ call for decolonizing and transforming the curricula involves those who argue for the displacing, dismantling and reconstructing approach to curriculum/knowledge design. For these students, Western scholars have no role to play in African/global South ways of thinking and theorizing around curricula, and therefore we need to think much more locally/regionally/continentally in imagining and envisioning what 202

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a decolonized curricula could potentially look like. A Black student activist argues that ‘we cannot be decolonized by white people who colonised us’, and that because ‘our own thinking as Africans has been undermined, we must have our own education from our own continent’ (cited in Evans 2016: 1). Another Black student, challenging the Eurocentric ideology and its colonial history in our lives, demands that an alternative Afrocentric ideology be proposed in the pursuit of transforming and decolonizing the curricula. He argues that ‘we need a curriculum that’s Afrocentric … We’re sick of being taught Eurocentric ideology when there’s plenty of perfectly good Afrocentric scholarship on the continent’ (cited in Foster 2015: 1). Although I am deeply concerned about the inward-looking, non-cumulative knowledgebuilding and essentialist nature of the debates in the second camp’s call for decolonizing curricula, I do nonetheless support the attempt to adopt an anthropological and excavationist approach in reclaiming the Othered, silenced and marginalized knowledges that continue to be pushed to the periphery of the academy. In a paper titled, ‘Resurrecting the Black Archive through the Decolonisation of Philosophy in South Africa’, Kumalo (2020) picks up on this challenge and proposes what he refers to as the ‘Black archive’ to resurrect and draw on the marginalized works from S. E. K. Mqhayi and W. W. Gqoba to engage with indigeneity and Black intellectual traditions in curricula. Madlingozi (2018) and Nyoka (2020) also work in the Black archive intellectual tradition in using the works of Eskia Mphahlele and Archie Mafeje respectively, to rethink and re-imagine curricula and to bring these important yet isolated ideas to the mainstream of curriculum thinking in the South African higher education. In this chapter, I have argued that the South African higher education continues to experience what I call a fundamental mismatch between the ambitious policy and legislative framework, and Black students’ (and Black academics’) experiences on the ground. This mismatch indicates the growing organic crisis in the academy, with Black students continuing to call for real and material transformation and decolonization of the sector. Black students’ experiences on being, becoming and belonging in the university indicates the complex challenges of negotiating and navigating a sector that continues to see them as Others who are space invaders and who do not belong in the sector. Thus, I argue, any transformation or decolonial attempts targeted at higher education need to include Black students’ voices in order to achieve meaningful social justice aims.

Notes 1 The South African higher education sector consists of what is called the historically white universities (HWUs), historically Afrikaans universities (HWAUs), historically Black universities (HBUs), comprehensive universities, Universities of Technology (UoTs) and the Technical and Vocational Education and Training sector (TVET colleges). The imperial/colonial/apartheid effect on the sector is such that HWUs and HWAUs were well funded, had (and continue to have) the best infrastructure, best academics and attract the best performing students (Badat 1994, 2008; Bunting 2006). The HBUs were underfunded, tightly controlled by the apartheid government and continue to struggle to attract funding, grants, highperforming academics and students (Hlatshwayo and Fomunyam 2019a, 2019b; Naidoo 2004). As a result of these differences, this has created a differentiated, fragmented and unequal higher education sector in South Africa. 2 The Afrikaans language is the language that is spoken by about 12.2 per cent of the South African population (see Official Guide to South Africa 2018). Afrikaans, often seen as the ‘language of oppressor’ (Forsee

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2019: 35–6), was at the heart of the 1976 Soweto Uprising when the medium of instruction was changed from English to Afrikaans, provoking mass unrest and protests across the Soweto township. 3 The term ‘coconut’ is often used as a derogative term in South Africa. It refers to the growing Black middle class that attended private/independent schooling, often has what is called a ‘white/twang’ accent and is seen as largely more privileged than the millions of Black South Africans who are still trapped in structural/ racial poverty (see e.g. Nkoala 2021; Rudwick 2010; Spencer 2009).

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Langa, M. (2017), #Hashtag: An Analysis of the #FeesMustFall Movement at South African Universities, Johannesburg: Centre for the Study of Violence and Reconciliation. Lewins, K. (2010), ‘The Trauma of Transformation: A Closer Look at the Soudien Report’, South African Review of Sociology, 41 (1): 127–36. Madlingozi, T. (2018), ‘Decolonising “Decolonisation” with Mphahlele’, New Frame. https://www.newfr​ ame.com/decol​onis​ing-dec​olon​isat​ion-mphahl​ele/ (accessed 1 January 2021). Malabela, M. (2016), ‘We Are Not Violent but Just Demanding Free Decolonized Education: University of the Witwatersrand’, in Langa, M. (ed.), #Hashtag An analysis of the #FeesMustFall Movement at South African Universities, Johannesburg: CSVR. Maldonado-Torres, N. (2016), Outline of Ten Theses on Coloniality and Decoloniality, St Augustine, Trinidad and Tobago: Caribbean Studies Association. Matthews, S. (2018) ‘Confronting the Colonial Library: Teaching Political Studies Amidst Calls for a Decolonised Curriculum’, Politikon, 45 (1): 48–65. Matthews, S. (2021), ‘Decolonising While White: Confronting Race in a South African Classroom’, Teaching in Higher Education, 26 (7–8): 1113–21. Mayaba, N. N, M. K. Ralarala and P. Angu (2018), ‘Student Voice: Perspectives on Language and Critical Pedagogy in South African Higher Education’, Educational Research for Social Change, 7(1): 1–12. Mbembe, A. (2015), ‘Decolonizing Knowledge and the Question of the Archive’, Public lecture given at Wits Institute for Social and Economic Research (WISER), University of the Witwatersrand, Johannesburg. Mbembe, A. (2016), ‘Decolonizing the University: New Directions’, Arts and Humanities in Higher Education, 15 (1): 29–45. McKaiser, E. (2016), ‘Epistemic Injustices: The Dark Side of Academic Freedom’, 2016 DCS Oosthuizen Academic Freedom Memorial Lecture, Rhodes University, Grahamstown, 30 May. http://www. iol.co.za/news/ epistemic-injustices-the-dark-side-of-academic-freedom-2029747 (accessed 1 January 2021). Metz, T. (2016), ‘Teaching African philosophy Alongside Western Philosophy: Some Advice about Topics and Texts’, South African Journal of Philosophy, 35 (4): 490–500. Mkhize, N. (2015), ‘Black Graduate, Your Degree Alone Is Not Enough’, The Genius, 20 August. https:// www.geniu​slev​els.com/2015/08/black-gradu​ate-your-deg​ree-alone-is-not-eno​ugh/ (accessed 20 June 2023). Mngomezulu, B. R., and S. Hadebe (2018), ‘What Would the Decolonisation of a Political Science Curriculum Entail? Lessons to be Learnt from the East African Experience at the Federal University of East Africa’, Politikon, 45 (1): 1–15. Morrow, W. (1994), ‘Entitlement and Achievement in Education’, Studies in Philosophy and Education, 13 (1): 33–47. Morrow, W. (2009), Bounds of Democracy: Epistemological Access in Higher Education, Pretoria: HSRC Press. Mudimbe, V. Y. (1988), The Invention of Africa, Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Musila, G. A. (2019), ‘Thinking While Black’, in G. Khunou, E. Phaswana, K. Khoza-Shangase and H. Canham (eds), Black Academic Voices: The South African Experience, 65–80, Cape Town, South Africa: HSRC Press. Naicker, C. (2016), ‘From Marikana to #feesmustfall: The Praxis of Popular Politics in South Africa’, Urbanisation, 1 (1): 53–61. Naidoo, R. (2004), ‘Fields and Institutional Strategy: Bourdieu on the Relationship between Higher Education, Inequality and Society’, British Journal of Sociology of Education, 25 (4): 457–71. Ndlovu-Gatsheni, S. (2013a), Coloniality of Power in Postcolonial Africa: Myths of Decolonization, Dakar, Senegal: CODESRIA. Ndlovu-Gatsheni, S. (2013b), ‘Decolonising the University in Africa’, The Thinker, 51: 46–51. Ndlovu-Gatsheni, S. (2018a), ‘The Dynamics of Epistemological Decolonisation in the 21st Century: Towards Epistemic Freedom’, Strategic Review for Southern Africa, 40 (1): 16–45.

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Ndlovu-Gatsheni, S. (2018b), Epistemic Freedom in Africa: Deprovincialization and Decolonization, London: Routledge. Ngcobozi, L. (2015), ‘#RhodesSoWhite: An Insight’, Daily Maverick’ 27 March. http://www.thecon​mag. co.za/2015/03/27/rhodes​sowh​ite-an-insi​ght (accessed 1 January 2021). Nkoala, S. (2021), ‘The Curious Case of “Coconut Kelz”: Satire as a Critique of Race-Thinking in South Africa’, in S. Mpofu (ed.), The Politics of Laughter in the Social Media Age, 233–47. Cham: Springer. Nyoka, B. (2020), The Social and Political Thought of Archie Mafeje, Johannesburg: Wits University Press. Official Guide to South Africa (2018), People of South Africa, Tshwane: Government Communication and Information System. https://www.gcis.gov.za/sites/defa​ult/files/docs/res​ourc​ecen​tre/pock​etgu​ ide/2012/03-Peo​ple%20of%20So​uth%20Afr​ica-2018-19%28pr​int%29.pdf (accessed 1 January 2021). Open Stellenbosch Collective (2015), ‘Open Stellenbosch—Tackling Language and Exclusion at Stellenbosch University’, Daily Maverick, 28 April. https://www.dailym​aver​ick.co.za/arti​ cle/2015-04-28-op-ed-open-stell​enbo​sch-tackl​ing- language-and-exclusion-at-stellenbosch-university/ (accessed 2 February 2021). Puwar, N. (2004), Space Invaders: Race, Gender and Bodies Out of Place, New York: Berg Publishers. Ramgotra, M. (2019), On Teaching Political Theory to Undergraduates, London: SOAS. https://blogs. soas.ac.uk/decol​onis​ings​oas/2019/02/04/on-teach​ing-politi​cal-the​ory-to-und​ergr​adua​tes/ (accessed 1 January 2021). Rudwick, S. (2010), ‘Coconut Notes: Discursive Constructions of Race Identity in South Africa’, Oriental Archive, 78 (1): 55–73. Santos, B. S. (2007), ‘Beyond Abyssal Thinking: From Global Lines to Ecologies of Knowledges’, Binghamton University Review, 30 (1): 45–89. Seedeen, R. (2020), ‘Organic Crisis and Residual Hegemony: A Complex Gramscian Examination of United States’ Hegemony during the Obama Administration’, Unpublished Doctoral diss. Victoria, Australia: La Trobe University. Spencer, L. (2009), ‘Young, Black and Female in PostApartheid South Africa: Identity Politics in Kopano Matlwa’s Coconut’, Scrutiny2 Issues in English Studies in Southern Africa, 14 (1): 66–78. Swartz, S., A. Mahali, R. Moletsane, E. Arogundade, N. E. Khalema, A. Cooper and C. Groenewald. (2018), Studying while Black: Race, Education and Emancipation in South African Universities, South Africa: HSRC Press. Valela, N. (2015), ‘The Rhodes to Perdition: Why Rhodes Was Never Ready for the BSM’, Daily Maverick, 26 March. https://www.dailym​aver​ick.co.za/opin​ioni​sta/2015-03-26-the-rho​des-to-perdit​ ion-why-rho​des-was-never-ready-for-the-bsm/ (accessed 1 January 2021). Wa Azania, M. (2020), Corridors of Death: The Struggle to Exist in Historically White Institutions, Polokwane, Republic of South Africa: Blackbird Books.

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Between Protests and Policy: The Student Voice in the Higher Education Reforms of England and Chile HECTOR RÍOS-JARA

Although many different definitions of student voice exist (see Chapter 1, this volume), the concept has come to refer to the subjective perspective of students about educational processes and institutions (Robinson and Taylor 2007). Recent scholars have incorporated the concept into higher education (HE) studies, exploring the dilemmas of participation and representation of students in university teaching processes, curriculum, governance and HE policy (Canning 2017; Freeman 2016). In this section, I review the analysis of student voice from the perspective of social movements and their interactions with fees and loan policies.

Movements and Policy Authors such as Raaper (2021) remark on how recent marketization policies in HE have promoted a consumerist conceptualization of university students. The imperative discourse of treating ‘students as consumers’ adopted by government and university managers tends to interpret student voices from the viewpoint of consumers, giving room to a limited range of interactions with student demands and their preferences for university and HE policy (Tomlinson 2017). Consequently, students have been deprived of participation and representation in university affairs and have been positioned as feedback providers that only inform HE institutions without engaging in decision-making. The political exclusion of students from HE policy and university governance has been a source of opposition. During the past decade, several waves of student protests emerged across the world, demanding free education and the democratization of universities and HE policy (della Porta, Cini and Guzmán-Concha 2020). For example, the free education campaigns in England (2010), Chile (2011), Quebec (2012) and South Africa (2016) represent cases where the opposition against higher costs went hand in hand with the critique of the underrepresentation of the student voice in HE policy. Although the expressions and impact of each movement are different, these cases reveal how the lack of participation and representation of student interests in policy and university governance can lead to protests. The cases also show that the collective expression of student voice can impact the HE

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policy agenda. For example, student protests in Chile and South Africa successfully pushed the government and political parties to introduce free education and widening access policies (Cini 2019; Donoso and Somma 2019). To understand how the student voice affects HE policy, I use some of the theoretical tools developed by social movement studies and social policy. The impact of movements on policy has been a complex issue to theorize. Since movements are non-institutional actors, they have intermittent interactions with policy, not playing a regular role in policymaking processes (Ishkanian 2022). Despite the difficulties, authors such as Kolb (2007) have identified different mechanisms by which movements can affect policy: disruption, public preference, political access, judicial action and international politics. Here, I focus on the first three, which are most relevant to analyse the English and Chilean cases. Disruption describes the capacity of movements to interrupt institutional functioning through protests, or tactics such as mass demonstrations, rallies, strikes, occupations and roadblocks. Disruption relies preferentially on non-institutional strategies to push decision-makers to act over the matters of activists’ interests. For example, the mass demonstrations, occupations and strikes of English and Chilean students in 2010 and 2011 aimed to disrupt the government agenda and demand free education and scrapping fees and loans (Ríos-Jara 2019; Somma and Donoso 2021). Public preference describes cases when movements aim to persuade the population about their causes and demands. Movements can be successful if they persuade national majorities and transform movement demands into national priorities or salient issues on the national agenda. For example, in 2011, Chilean activists managed to place education as the country’s top national priority, persuading a significant fraction of the population about the benefits of free education (della Porta, Cini and Guzmán-Concha 2020). Finally, the political access mechanism describes strategies deployed by activists to intervene in policies developing closer ties with government, parliament and political parties. Here, a movement can use the regular or ‘insider’ mechanisms of policymaking to push for changes and defend their interests. In this case, movements operate as interest groups, trying to influence policy through third parties or officers with direct access to the policymaking process. As I discuss in the next sections, activists in England and Chile established closer relationships with political parties that opposed the government agenda and presented amendments to HE reforms between 2017 and 2018. Kolb’s works also provide useful concepts to distinguish different types of movement outcomes on policy. Kolb describes agenda impacts as changes introduced by movements on the political agenda and national priorities that guide government action. Alternative impacts describe cases when policymakers consider movements’ ideas or proposals in the enactment of reforms. Policy impacts describe cases where movement action intervenes in legislation, introducing, changing or withdrawing some law. Implementation impacts refer to movement influence on the implementation stage of policies. Finally, good impacts describe the impacts of movements in delivering collective goods and services.

Students and Policy Change in England and Chile In the 2010s, free education campaigns in England and Chile targeted fees and loans, demanding free education and the democratization of university and policymaking (Cini and Guzmán-Concha 210

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2017). In both contexts, the demands for free education entailed the elimination of fees and loans, the cancellation of student debt, the reintroduction of grants and stronger representation and participation of students in university governance and government policymaking processes. Cini and Guzmán-Concha (2017) compared England and Chile to explore how student campaigns changed policy. The authors describe England as a case of low impact on policy and politics. The wave of protests in 2010 represented the biggest student mobilization in the UK in decades. The wave started when the Conservative and Liberal Democrat (LibDems) coalition government announced an austerity agenda. The agenda included a reduction of 70 per cent in public grants for university teaching, the triplication of fees from £3,000 to £9,000 and the elimination of Education Maintenance Allowance (EMA). The policy triggered a wave of national protests between October 2010 and January 2011, which included national demonstrations, days of protests and the occupation of the Conservative headquarters and various university buildings. Activists in England mobilized a small fraction of students and had little impact on policy. The biggest demonstration gathered around 50,000 students in a system with more than two million students. Scholars conclude that the disruption strategy could not block the reform, and most of the universities raised fees up to £9,000 by 2012. However, the protests dissuaded the coalition government from implementing all the reforms initially planned. Students were a relevant constituency for the LibDems, who had won the 2010 election by appealing to the younger vote. The rise of protests and the breaking of some of their campaign pledges to students damaged the popularity of the LibDems and discouraged them from introducing more changes in HE. The coalition government dropped the proposals for the white paper on Higher Education, ‘Students at the Heart of the System’, which aimed to liberalize the institutional framework of the HE system. By contrast, the Chilean case has been described as a successful and strong movement with various impacts on policy (Somma and Donoso 2021). The 2011 protests represent the biggest student mobilization in Chilean history. It involved national demonstrations, strikes and occupations over ten months. The protests reached a significant level of support, gathering around 500,000 students across the country and a million supporters in the biggest rallies. The movement demanded a structural change in the market-orientated policy of HE, including universal free education, the elimination of for-profit activities, the improvement of university quality and access and a more dominant role of the state in regulating, funding and providing HE. The size and support of the protests forced the first government of Sebastian Piñera (2010–14) to increase government spending on scholarships and reduce the interest rate of one of the loan schemes from 6 per cent to 2 per cent. However, the protests were more impactful during the second government of Michelle Bachelet (2014–18), who had promised to pass a bill granting free education and develop a structural reform to de-marketize HE. The package of reforms included the opening of new state-owned universities and further education institutions, the introduction of a free education policy and a new legislation for the sector. Most of the literature about student activism in England and Chile has focused on the strategies and impact of the 2010 and 2011 waves of protests. Less attention has been placed on the process of reforms and contention after the waves, when the movements faced new waves of reforms and established different relationships with party politics. This raises the question of what happened to student campaigns and HE policy after the 2010 and 2011 waves of protests. 211

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In England, the fall of the 2011 white paper left various ‘unfinished business’, which were only addressed in 2015 with a new reform (Hillman 2014). In 2015, the Conservative government presented a new green paper proposing to define a new Higher Education and Research Law. The bill included changes in the regulatory system, new teaching and research quality measures, and a new fee cap, amongst other changes. Similarly, in Chile in 2016, Bachelet’s government presented to parliament a higher education bill, which included changes in the institutional framework of the sector, new regulators and the free education policy. How did activists in England and Chile react to these reforms, and what did they achieve by challenging them?

Methodology This is a comparative historical study of two cases where student movements are closely related to changes in HE policy. I selected the cases of England and Chile because they had significant waves of protests for free education, concomitant with changes in HE policy. Although the field of student protests and contentious action is quite diverse and includes different types of activism, this comparison focuses on the interaction between free education campaigns and government HE policy. The comparison helps understand why fees and loan policies can be contentious and how students dispute the politics and economics of government policy. I approached the cases from a qualitative perspective, which focuses on the meaning and agency that activists and policymakers developed. The analysis presented here is based on interviews with policymakers who were involved in the HE reforms of 2017 and 2018 in England and Chile, and with activists from the organizations that led the opposition to the reforms. I conducted seventy-eight interviews, thirty-two with English respondents and forty-six with Chilean ones and complemented their interviews with the analysis of documents and media reports on reforms and student protests. To compare student activism in both cases, I selected national organizations that played a leading role in the free education campaign in both countries. In the case of England, I chose the National Union of Students (NUS) and the National Campaign Against Fees and Cuts (NCAFC). Both organizations have been at the centre of student politics since 2010, being the only organization with a national scope of action (Ríos-Jara 2021). NCAFC was founded in 2010 as a horizontal federation of activists’ assemblies whose purpose was to oppose fees and cuts. The NUS was founded in 1922; it includes over 500 student unions across the country and is the oldest and most relevant student organization in the UK (Ríos-Jara 2019). In the case of Chile, I analysed the Confederation of Student Unions of Chile (CONFECH in Spanish). CONFECH was created in 1984, as a horizontal platform to organize university student unions in the country. During the past decade, CONFECH included over fifty student unions. It is the biggest student organization in the country and the leading force in student politics (Mella, Ríos-Jara and Rivera 2016).

Free Education Campaign and the 2017 Bill in England The Conservative majority obtained by David Cameron during the general election of 2015 gave the government confidence to move forward with a new HE bill and complete the ‘unfinished 212

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business’ left by the previous administration. The bill pursued a change in the institutional framework of HE and created a new regulator, the Office of Student (OFS), with a risk-based approach orientated to stimulate competition among institutions and guarantee student choice. The bill also incorporated the Teaching Excellence Framework (TEF), a new measure of teaching quality that would inform students about the quality of university teaching and help create differential tuition fees. The TEF would establish a three-tiered system of comparison between universities, where institutions could achieve gold, silver or brown results according to certain indicators measured by the TEF. In the original plan, the government expected to link an increment in tuition fees to the results in the TEF. Therefore, universities with better results could charge higher fees in line with inflation and beyond the maximum fee cap of £9,000. The literature describes the 2017 bill as a continuation of the marketization process starting in 1997 and as the consolidation of the funding regime created in 2010 (Marginson 2018). The bill created new legislation and a new institutional framework that consolidated the changes in the funding regime of universities introduced by the coalition government. Opposing the 2017’s Higher Education Reform The NUS and NCAFC opposed the new reform, criticizing the advancement of a new wave of marketization and a new effort to raise fees and reduce the role of government in funding and regulating HE (Ríos-Jara 2021). Since 2014, the NUS and NCAFC have advocated for a policy of universal free education, returning to the grant system reformed by New Labour in 1997. Following this position, student organizations opposed any further increment in tuition fees and any transference of costs from the government to the students through the transformation of grants and scholarships into loans. During the legislative process of the 2017 reform, students opposed the general aim of the reform, but they focused on challenging specific aspects of it. Students targeted the attempt to change the maximum fee cap of universities according to TEF results. In a pamphlet called ‘We Do Not Want TEF!’ the NCAFC (2015) stated, ‘The government have suggested that institutions will be rewarded for their teaching “excellence” with the opportunity to increase their fees. No student wants higher fees. We want free education, for everyone’ (NCAFC 2015: 2). Likewise, in the submission for a government consultation about the green paper, the NUS declared that ‘linking fees to the TEF as an incentive is completely flawed. There is absolutely no clear relationship between the tuition fee and the quality of a degree and attempting to produce one is highly misleading. We believe [TEF] will completely undermine any potential to create an objective and meaningful way of measuring teaching quality’ (NUS 2015: 2). In addition, students opposed their underrepresentation in the new institutional framework proposed by the government and demanded that the new regulator, the OFS, had at least two or more exclusive seats for student representatives guaranteeing that student voice was represented in the regulator. To oppose the reform, English activists called for a wave of national protests, including three national demonstrations in central London in November 2015, 2016 and 2017. The demonstrations mobilized between 10,000 and 15,000 students each, being the biggest demonstration since the 2010 protests (Vieru 2017). 213

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Similarly, the NCAFC and NUS promoted a boycott of the National Student Survey (NSS). The NSS is a standardized questionnaire that measures quality and student satisfaction of universities. The NSS asks students in their final year to provide feedback about the quality of teaching in their institutions, helping to compare university quality. The boycott aimed to intervene in the data collection process of the NSS and invalidate the representativeness and quality of data. The idea was to discredit the incorporation of the TEF and new fee rises proposed by intervening the NSS results and exposing the fragility of a survey as an objective measure of quality and, therefore, value. By altering the NSS results, the students wanted to reveal how risky it was to define fees based on standardized instruments. Activists ran the boycott for three years. The action was particularly successful in 2017 when 16,000 students took part, and twenty-six student unions endorsed it (Grove 2017). The boycott dropped the response rate from 72 per cent to 68 per cent and invalidated the results in twelve universities, including Cambridge, Manchester, Oxford, Sheffield and King’s College London, which failed to reach the response threshold to validate the survey. The boycott made evident how fragile the NSS was as a measure of quality, triggering a debate about the validity of the TEF as a proxy of quality. The debate was fundamental to persuade members of the House of Commons and the House of Lords to detach fees from the TEF results in the bill. For example, in the House of Lords, Baroness Wolf of Dulwich rejected linking the TEF to fee caps arguing that using ‘TEF in its current state as a mechanism for deciding what fees an institution can charge is premature and quite wrong’ (Wolf in the UK Parliament 2017: 69) and later added that ‘not a single representative body led by students has backed the proposal to link the TEF judgments to the level of fees. Twenty-six students unions … are boycotting the NSS this year’ (Wolf in the UK Parliament 2017: 69). In addition, students participated in the policymaking process, taking part in the audiences opened by parliament and presenting amendments to the bill with the support of the Labour Party and other members of parliament (MPs). NUS organized a campaign to lobby MPs, sending them letters and encouraging student unions to meet them. The most interesting interactions came from the link between NCAFC and NUS with the Labour Party under Jeremy Corbyn’s leadership (2015–20). In 2015, Jeremy Corbyn was elected leader of the Labour Party, triggering a political shift in Labour policies and politics. Under Corbyn the Labour Party defined education as a social right and as part of the welfare system, defending a policy of free education and opposing the advancement of a new market reform. Consequently, during the 2017 reform, Labour criticized the bill and supported the actions of NCAFC and NUS against the reform (Ríos-Jara 2022). One of the examples of the said support is a message of solidarity sent by Jeremy Corbyn to the 2016 and 2017 national protests for free education. In the message, he called students to continue fighting for free education, promising that under a Labour government education would be free (Ríos-Jara 2022). In parliament, the Labour Party sponsored some of the amendments presented by the NUS to the reform and pursued changes in the bill. The Labour Party had two main aims in the low chamber. First, it tried to stop a new increment in tuition fees by preventing the elimination of the maximum fee cap for universities with higher results in TEF. Secondly, it aimed to increase the representation of students in the OFS. Gordon Marsden, shadow minister of universities, synthesized the opposition of Labour towards the TEF: 214

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We do not trust the Government with the TEF as it is because they have demonstrated ever since they introduced this Bill that whenever they had an opportunity to do something to keep control of the process and try and get things through that would not require legislation in detail, they have turned to the TEF as an automatic link with raising tuition fees. (Marsden 2016) In addition, Labour MPs Wes Streeting and Roberta Blackman-Woods favoured, along with the NUS, the inclusion of student representatives on the OFS board. In an interview with Varsity, Roberta said it is ‘a little perverse that the [g]‌overnment would want to establish a framework that allowed a body to assess teaching quality when it did not have the confidence of the student body and would not even seek to assess whether the student body had any confidence in it’ (Curtis 2016: 1) Policy Impacts of the English Campaign Despite the support offered by Labour, the government held a majority in the lower chamber that prevented Labour amendments from going through, and most of the proposals were rejected or dropped. The main achievements for the students came from unexpected changes in the government’s position towards student representation in the OFS and the opposition that the bill faced in the House of Lords. The government introduced an amendment to include one exclusive seat for students on the board of the OFS. The determinant vote came from the House of Lords where Lord Kerslake, Lord Stevenson and Baroness Garden, representing Labour, the Liberal Democrats and other peers, proposed amendments that received most votes and changed the reform. The amendments delayed the introduction of the TEF for two years to improve the methodology and sustainability of the measure. The changes also eliminated the possibility that universities could raise fees according to changes in inflation if they achieved higher scores in the TEF. The government rejected the amendments, but 263 Lords voted in favour, and only 211 were against, forcing the government to introduce them. The amendments passed in the upper chamber did not prevent universities from rising fees, which advanced a new form of marketization of the system. The HE law was passed, replacing the Higher Education Funding Council for England and the Office for Fair Access with the OFS, as the new regulator (Lech 2017). The law also established that universities boasting a golden TEF could have a higher maximum fee cap of up to £9,250 pounds. In addition, the law replaced maintenance grants with loans, reducing the direct financial support offered by the government to students.

CONFECH and 2018 Bill in Chile In 2014, the elected president Michelle Bachelet (2015–18) attempted to incorporate student demands into the government agenda, implementing one of the most significant packages of HE reforms in decades (Guzmán-Concha 2017). The reforms sought to expand the role of the state in the sector, making education free, increasing the number of state-owned universities, creating new regulatory institutions to control illegal profits, redefining the quality assurance system and giving more power to students in university governance (Bachelet 2016). 215

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The reforms effectively shifted the orientation of the HE system from a student-dependent and unregulated model of funding to a more regulated and state-subsided system. Chile increased its public spending on tertiary education from 0.53 per cent of the GDP in 2010 to 0.98 per cent in 2018 (OECD 2021). However, the reforms were perceived by activists as insufficient and left many dimensions of the educational crisis unresolved. For example, scholars have remarked on how the reform did not revert the dominant role of fees and loans in the system and did not reduce university costs for students (Guzmán-Concha 2017). The limitations in the reform led students to criticize the government plan and demand a more radical reform. Opposing the 2018’s Higher Education Reform During the legislative process of the reform (2016–18), CONFECH called for a second national wave of protests, coordinating efforts to oppose the bill. Protests aimed to push for a more radical reform addressing historical student demands, which were to strengthen public education, deliver universal free education, improve the quality of institutions, guarantee the prohibition of forprofit activities in universities and cancelling student debt and student loans. Activists criticized the limitations of the free education policy and the absence of announcements related to loans and student debt, which remained an integral part of the system. On a Facebook post calling to take part in a national demonstration for free education, the CONFECH stated: We were promised free education which, in practice, is not different from a scholarship to a super reduced sector of students of higher education. Universal free education is possible, and it depends on the will of a government that has refused to advance the right to education, keeping it [education] as a consumer good ruled by a competitive logic. Tomorrow we go to the streets. (CONFECH 2017) As the fragment highlights, activists mistrusted the government’s intention and disagreed with some of the specific proposals of the policy. For example, students criticized the conditionalities of the free education policy, the limited number of students with access to the benefit and the absence of a solution to the problem of debtors. The call for protests did not manage to create a national wave of contention. Despite some massive national demonstrations and isolated occupations, the movement could not sustain a long process of disruption of the sector. Activists explained that the disruptive strategies were not as effective as they were in 2011. Although CONFECH managed to mobilize around 100,000 protestors in some actions, education did not become the top priority on the national agenda. In addition, CONFECH faced the dilemmas of institutionalization of the free education campaign. During the 2011 protests, activists broke off relationships with most of the political parties, placing them as part of the problem. By 2014, many former leaders had become politicians and policymakers with presence in government and parliament. In these circumstances, CONFECH developed closer ties with party politics and changed its repertoire of action, adopting more institutional tactics of policy influence that complemented disruptive mechanisms. For example, CONFECH deployed an insider repertoire of strategies, taking part in formal meetings, panels and audiences with the Department of Education and parliament. In 2015 CONFECH participated in the ‘National Plan for Citizenship Participation’, which was called by the Department of Education (MINEDUC in Spanish) to identify guidelines for the reforms.

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In addition, CONFECH had several meetings with the MINEDUC to present proposals and receive updates on the government progress with the reform. Activists explained that during the meetings, CONFECH presented their demands and proposals about the reform and officers acknowledged their proposals and answered how the reform was supposed to address them. Nevertheless, students perceived that government did not consider student proposals seriously. I saw that the Department of Education did not give too much attention to the CONFECH. It did not because they saw that the CONFECH was weak. And there were many debates that we did not win, things that we wanted to introduce [in the reform] and they were not considered. (Participant 1, student union president, North University, CONFECH spokesperson 2016) The CONFECH also established a closer relationship with the left-wing opposition to the government in parliament. In 2013, some student representatives became parliamentary members. For example, Giorgio Jackson and Gabriel Boric were presidents of Catholic University and Chile University Student Unions and CONFECH’s spokesperson in 2011 and 2012. They became MPs as part of independent left-wing organizations that were created after 2011. Likewise, Camilla Vallejo and Karol Cariola, also university union leaders and spokespersons of CONFECH during 2011, were elected MPs of the Communist Party, which was a member of the government coalition. The closest ties between CONFECH and party politics helped students to gain access to the legislation of the bill. In 2017, CONFECH presented a list of seventy-two amendments to the bill that represented student expectations of the reform. The amendments considered the five topics of the opposition, including proposals for debt cancellation, abolition of student loans, democratization of university governance, inclusion of universal free education and improvements to the direct funding mechanisms for public institutions. The amendments were discussed and sponsored by Vallejo, Jackson and Boric, who held the decisive votes in the education commission of parliament. During the first reading of the law, the CONFECH allied with the MPs who voted against the reform, forcing the government to negotiate with the left. Policy Impacts of the Chilean Campaign The combination of mechanisms of disruption and political access helped the CONFECH achieve a limited number of policy outcomes. In 2017, The Centre for Studies of the Chile University Student Union (CEFECH in Spanish) reported that from seventy-three amendments presented, sixty were declared unacceptable for not having the support of the government or for being considered against articles previously accepted. However, the most significant impacts were the incorporation of amendments to increase penalties for illegal for-profit activities, giving more power to the Department of Education regulators to guide the sector, and derogating the law of student loans when the government defined a suitable strategy. The incorporation of these amendments did not last the legislative process in the upper chamber. Whilst the government held a simple majority in the Senate, the conservative sectors of the coalition dominated it. Students and left-leaning parties did not have direct representation in the Senate. Consequently, the government was confronted with negotiations with its conservative

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forces and the right-wing opposition, which dismissed most of the amendments introduced by former students and demanded by CONFECH. The only agreements that remained were the government’s commitment to present a reform to the student loan system, which included a targeted policy of debt cancellation, and higher financial penalties over illegal profitability. Despite the policy outcomes, activists explained that they felt powerless and excluded from the policymaking process of the reform in Senate, and that they were disappointed with the reform. In interviews, activists explained that Bachelet’s government used the faces and slogans of the movement to win the election, but the reform did not deliver the students’ demands and did not represent their voice. For the activists, the reform still left most students subordinate to fees and loans and without central participation in the policymaking process. A former activist from the University of Chile involved in the parliamentary process reflected about the role of the CONFECH in the 2018 reform: ‘I think we made a choice, and the strategy was becoming incumbents in the reform and trying to achieve a more transformative content. [but] we read government proposals and I think our first reaction was of a bit of deception’ (Participant 2, former student union president and legal advisor, University of Chile 2016).

Discussion The analysis presented in this chapter reveals that the English and Chilean campaigns successfully triggered limited shifts in the policy agenda of their corresponding governments. In the case of England, the activists managed to delay the full introduction of a new university ranking that would allow universities to raise tuition fees according to their teaching performance. They also won a representative on the board of the new regulator of the HE system. In Chile, the students managed to strengthen the regulatory system that controls for-profit university activities and democratizes, to some degree, university governance and policymaking processes. However, the impacts of both campaigns were limited considering the long-term aims of the campaigns and their commitment to universal free education and the elimination of fees and loans. Two reflections seem relevant to understanding how student voice is represented in HE policy. First, the activists’ policy achievements were the results of the movement’s strength and the political mediation that they built by establishing closer ties with opposition parties and policy incumbents. Unlike the 2010 and 2011 protests, during the last waves of reforms, students relied more on mechanisms of political access rather than on disruption. The strategic change resulted from the difficulties activists face mobilizing students in big numbers and the limited access they had to intervene in policymaking. The strategic change also resulted from the direct engagement that activists had with party politics, which in Chile meant the creation of new political parties such as the Broad Front, and, in the UK, the involvement in Corbynism. The students’ reliance on political access meant a strategic innovation that changed the form in which the student voice was expressed and represented. The representation of students by third parties required students to become suitable actors to be represented in the parliamentary discussion. The transition involved moving student demands from pamphlets, chants and assemblies to policy briefs, amendments and formal meetings. The transition in the format of communication required that activists professionalized their campaigns, including legal and policy analysis, to make them more appealing to third parties. 218

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The transition was easier for organizations such as the NUS, with a high level of institutionalization and with a team specialized in policy. However, the diversification of the repertoire of action was more contentious for more horizontal and militant organizations such as NCAFC and CONFECH. Both organizations presented low levels of institutionalization, minimal resources to professionalize their activities and a strong culture of horizontal decision-making and direct action. The transition was also divisive among activists because it meant reorientating of the campaign from confrontation with party politics and government with direct engagement of activists towards collaboration with the establishment and a more distant relationship with the student constituency. This transition meant a clash between factions in the main organizations as what happened in the NUS and the CONFECH and even the final implosion of the organizations by factional division as in the case of the NCAFC in 2017. A second element to explore is the low representation of students in HE policy. Although students opposed the reform for economic concerns, in both cases, the demands for democratization of university governance and policymaking were central for campaigners. Most of the repertoire of action deployed by activists represented a critique and an effort to make their voices heard in the policymaking process by disrupting the system. The partial support that student campaigns received from third parties also reveals an opening from progressive forces in government and party politics. However, this opening seems to result from the fear to movement opposition and disruptive strategies that can damage the political capital of parties rather than a genuine commitment towards representing student voice. One question to explore further is why the university sector, political parties and governments are having problems representing and incorporating student voice in HE policy. The minimal role that students have in policy seems to reveal problems of legitimacy of certain policies as well as a problem of cohesion within the HE sector. The commercialization of student unions, treating students as consumers and the intensive use of survey to collect indirect student feedback seem to be insufficient to give legitimacy to market-orientated policies and to resolve conflict of interests over policy. This paper suggests that recognizing the student voice in HE policymaking can positively affect the cohesion of the sector and the legitimacy of policy. Eventually, protests can be prevented or solved if the policy-making process recognizes student voice as relevant stakeholders instead of simple consumers. The representation of student voice in the policymaking process does not guarantee the absence of conflict, but at least it offers alternative mechanisms to process it, reducing the tendency to develop disruptive mechanisms of opposition and giving opportunities to students to organize politically their voice.

References Bachelet, M. (2016), ‘Proyecto de Ley: Sobre Educación Superior’. Mensaje Nº 110–364. Cámara de diputados y diputadas. https://www.cam​ara.cl/legi​slac​ion/Pro​yect​osDe​Ley/tram​itac​ion. aspx?prmID=11224&prm​BOLE​TIN=10783-04 (accessed 13 May 2022). Canning, J. (2017), ‘Conceptualising Student Voice in UK Higher Education: Four Theoretical Lenses’, Teaching in Higher Education, 22 (5): 519–31. Cini, L. (2019), ‘The 2015 Student Mobilizations in South Africa. Contesting Post-Apartheid Higher Education’, Partecipazione e Conflitto, 1 (12): 43–70.

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Cini, L., and C. Guzmán-Concha (2017), ‘Student Movements in the Age of Austerity. The Cases of Chile and England’, Social Movement Studies, 16 (5): 623–8. CONFECH. (2017), ‘Gratuidad ¿Se Acuerdan de la Demanda por Educación Pública, Gratuita y de Calidad?’ CONFECH Facebook page, 20 June. https://www.faceb​ook.com/watch/?v=8401​3417​6124​ 678 (accessed 25 May 2022). Curtis, H. (2016), ‘Labour Push for Student Voices to Be Heard in Government’s Higher Education Shake-Up’, Varsity, 13 October. https://www.vars​ity.co.uk/news/10960 (accessed 30 May 2022). della Porta, D., L. Cini and C. Guzmán-Concha (2020), Contesting Higher Education: The Student Movements Against Neoliberal Universities, Bristol: Bristol University Press. Donoso, S., and N. Somma (2019), ‘ “You Taught Us to Give an Opinion, Now Learn How to Listen”: The Manifold Political Consequences of Chile’s Student Movement’, in M. Arce and R. Roberta (eds), Protest and Democracy, 145–72, Calgary: University Calgary Press. Freeman, R. (2016), ‘Is Student Voice Necessarily Empowering? Problematizing Student Voice as a Form of Higher Education Governance’, Higher Education Research & Development, 35 (4): 859–62. Grove, J. (2017), ‘National Student Survey 2017: Campuses Omitted after NUS Boycott’, Times Higher Education, 9 August. https://www.times​high​ered​ucat​ion.com/news/natio​nal-stud​ent-sur​vey-2017campu​ses-omit​ted-after-nus-boyc​ott (accessed 15 June 2022). Guzmán-Concha, C. (2017), ‘Undoing the Neoliberal Higher Education System? Student Protests and the Bachelet Reforms in Chile’, World Social and Economic Review of Contemporary Policy Issues, 8: 32–43. Hillman, N. (2014), Unfinished Business?: Higher Education Legislation, Oxford: Higher Education Policy Institute. https://www.hepi.ac.uk/wp-cont​ent/uplo​ads/2014/02/Unf​inis​hed-Busin​ess.pdf (accessed 14 May 2018). Ishkanian, A. (2022), ‘Social Movements and Social Policy: New Research Horizons’, Journal of Social Policy, 51 (3): 582–95. Kolb, F. (2007), Protest and Opportunities: The Political Outcomes of Social Movements, Frankfurt: Campus Verlag. Lech, M. (2017), Government Defeated in the Lords over TEF and Fees. WONKHE, 6 March. https://won​ khe.com/blogs/gov​ernm​ent-defea​ted-in-the-lords-over-tef-and-fees/ (accessed 27 May 2022). Marsden, G. (2016), Column 644 in The UK Parliament. Commons Chamber, volume 617: debated on Monday, 21 November 2016. https://hans​ard.par​liam​ent.uk/comm​ons/2016-11-21/deba​tes/5f315​ 2f0-4ffd-4a84-8d5d-7da15​34ff​869/Com​mons​Cham​ber (accessed 19 January 2022). Marginson, S. (2018), ‘Global Trends in Higher Education Financing: The United Kingdom’, International Journal of Educational Development, 58: 26–36. Mella, M., Ríos-Jara, H. and Rivera, R. (2016), ‘Condiciones Orgánicas y Correlaciones de Fuerza del Movimiento Estudiantil Chileno: Una Aproximación desde la Confech (2011–2015)’, Izquierdas, 27: 124–60. NCAFC. (2015), We Do not Want TEF! NUS. (2015), Quality Doesn’t Grow on Fees, NUS’ response to HE Green Paper, NUS connect, 6 November. https://www.nus​conn​ect.org.uk/artic​les/qual​ity-doesn-t-grow-on-fees (accessed 27 March 2019). OECD. (2021), Education at a Glance 2021: OECD Indicators, Paris: OECD Publishing. Raaper, R. (2021), ‘Students as “Animal Laborans”? Tracing Student Politics in a Marketised Higher Education Setting’, Sociological Research Online, 26 (1): 130–46. Ríos-Jara, H. (2019), ‘Cooperation and Competition in the Wave of British Student Protests 2009–2011’, Interface: A Journal on Social Movements, 11 (2): 63–90. Ríos-Jara, H. (2021), ‘From Revolt to Reform: Student Protests and the Higher Education Agenda in England 2009–2019’, in L. Cini, D. della Porta and C. Gúzman-Concha (eds), Student Movements in Late Neoliberalism, 213–39, Cham: Palgrave Macmillan. Ríos-Jara, H. (2022), ‘Between Movements and the Party: Corbynism and the Limits of Left-Wing Populism in the UK’, in A. Eder-Ramsauer, S. Kim, A. Knott and M. Prentoulis (eds), Populism, Protest, New Forms of Political Organisation, 130–49, Baden: Nomos. 220

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Robinson, C., and C. Taylor (2007), ‘Theorizing Student Voice: Values and Perspectives’, Improving Schools, 10 (1): 5–17. Somma, N., and S. Donoso (2021), ‘Chile’s Student Movement: Strong, Detached, Influential—and Declining?’ in L. Cini, D. della Porta and C. Gúzman-Concha (eds), Student Movements in Late Neoliberalism, 241–67, Cham: Palgrave Macmillan. Tomlinson, M. (2017), ‘Student Perceptions of Themselves as “Consumers” of Higher Education’, British Journal of Sociology of Education, 38 (4): 450–67. The UK Parliament. (2017), ‘Hansard. Higher Education and Research Bill. Volume 779’, debated on Monday, 6 March, House of Lords. https://hans​ard.par​liam​ent.uk/Lords/2017-03-06/deba​tes/14178​ 11C-0D3C-4193-AB3E-C1468​7EB6​D64/Hig​herE​duca​tion​AndR​esea​rchB​ill#contr​ibut​ion-0B891​ F25-95E6-4784-A460-4F9ED​0352​11D (accessed 27 July 2022). Vieru, S. (2017), ‘National Student Survey 2017: Student Activism Has Shown Its Power’, Times Higher Education, 10 August. https://www.times​high​ered​ucat​ion.com/blog/natio​nal-stud​ent-sur​vey-2017-stud​ ent-activ​ism-has-shown-its-power (accessed 23 November 2020).

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Students’ Use of Digital Media to Critique and Change Higher Education Policy and Practice ISABELLE HUNING

Research suggests that the use of digital media can amplify student voice in the classroom, but it is unclear whether digital media can function as an amplifier for student voice in wider democratic university structures. Science Communication (SciComm) using digital media promises to promote engagement in participatory processes in higher education (Blau and Shamir-Inbal 2018; CasaTodd, Kay and Hughes 2020). This chapter argues that it holds the potential to support students’ confidence in identifying topics of interest and expressing related opinions efficiently to different audiences. SciComm is understood as communicating research to the public, for example, via social media, podcasts or blogs (Mulder, Longnecker and Davis 2008). While the interaction with other researchers is a long-established part of academia, the engagement with the public only gained popularity in recent years, reflected in an increasing focus on training and research in SciComm at universities mainly targeting researchers (Yeoman, James and Bowater 2015). Besides highlighting benefits, this review reflects on challenges coming up with the use of digital media in democratic processes at the university. It derives institutional and pedagogical implications for the relationship between students and their institutions. It demonstrates the need to train students in SciComm to bridge the gap between student voices and decision-making structures at the university. The remainder of the chapter is structured as follows. First, I explore the meaning and relevance of SciComm to this work and the rationale for focusing on Germany as context. This includes an outline of student voice recognition in German Higher Education policy. This is followed by methodological considerations regarding the sample and a review of practical examples of SciComm and student voice projects. Due to a lack of dedicated literature, the following discussion refers to two theoretical strands. I begin with a review of benefits and challenges of using digital media for the amplification of student voice in democratic processes at German universities. Insights from this review are then compared to findings from SciComm research. Combining both strands and recognizing implied challenges, I derive implications for utilizing SciComm to support student voice in higher education.

SciComm, Digital Media and Student Voice To explore sustainable ways of student voice amplification, scholars emphasize the benefits of digital media (Blau and Shamir-Inbal 2018). Junco, Heiberger and Loken (2011) declare Twitter

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a useful tool to promote students’ and teachers’ engagement, as it facilitates a platform for vivid discussions contributing to the learning process. These considerations echo Casa-Todd, Kay and Hughes (2020), who find that collaboratively created YouTube channels can be helpful for students to voice their opinions. With increasing experience and continuous mentorship, students’ confidence to share perspectives on the discussed topics increases. The sense of impact and selfefficacy accelerated. These findings indicate that digital media can be used in the classroom to amplify student voice. Regular use motivates students to voice their opinions and grow in confidence (Casa-Todd, Kay and Hughes 2020). Online platforms and communication also allow students to decide how much they want to share or conceal (Stenalt 2021), which potentially bridges the obstacle of lack of confidence. A growing body of literature mainly originated in STEM subjects, such as microbiology (LopezGoni and Sanchez-Angulo 2018) or forensic science (Magni and Pitts 2020), also highlights the benefits of SciComm for developing students’ skills. It is widely accepted that implementing SciComm on different levels of higher education offers a way to professionalize use of digital media for students to support communication skills and confidence. Cameron et al. (2015) deem SciComm a necessity for students’ career progression in science and research. Lopez-Goni and Sanchez-Angulo (2018) emphasize that online networks are ‘optimal platforms for bridging the gap between research, education and science popularization’ (2018: 3). According to the authors, students not only improve their skills but also use these networks to increase their personal brand as researchers, enhance their visibility in their research field and increase their impact in nonacademic spheres. Magni and Pitts (2020) stress that early exposure of students to SciComm principles can help strengthen their confidence and emotional intelligence when speaking to a non-academic crowd. They can learn how to articulate clearly and illustrate research processes and findings to different audiences. Hence, SciComm holds various opportunities to amplify student voices in creative ways, within and across universities, offline and online. It caters to the development of relevant skills, such as confidence; presents a low threshold as most students are familiar with digital media, such as blogs or podcasts; and holds the potential to facilitate networks and discussions beyond university to engage with the public. These attributes promise to promote participatory processes at university, which potentially increases transparency and visibility. They can further make university, often perceived as a closed shop, more accessible and encourage student participation.

Higher Education Policies and Student Voice in the German Sphere The decision to explore this potential further within a country-specific context is motivated by the insight that scholarly debates concerned with SciComm are split between language groups. Exchange happens within but rarely across countries (Davies et al. 2021). The choice of Germany aims at encouraging cross-cultural exchange about SciComm and the potential of digital media to amplify student voice. The German context is further interesting for its specific historical institutionalization process that established various ways of interaction between students and other parts of the institutions. Opportunities for and challenges of student voice amplification can only be understood within the cultural context of the analysed institution, institutional development paths and the evolution of teaching and learning strategies. In the German context, this should include an appreciation 224

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for the long tradition of education theory and its implementation in curricula and university structures. Higher education in Germany is primarily organized at universities (Universitäten) and universities of applied sciences (Fachhochschulen and Hochschulen).1 Most of these institutions are publicly funded by each of the sixteen states (Länder), with some support from the federal government. There is rudimentary cooperation among states over degrees and curricula organized by the Standing Conference of the Ministries of Education and Cultural Affairs (Kultusministerkonferenz, KMK). Objectives are formalized in the German Qualification Framework (DQR) and become legally binding as educational standards (Bildungsstandards) (KMK 2010). Building upon these loose guidelines, all state ministries of education develop an independent framework, with their own learning goals, content and institutional structures. The consequence is a diverse and scattered landscape of educational guidelines. This collateral of German federalism makes it nearly impossible to consider all policies of all states; however, this chapter will rely on a few illustrative examples. The German debate about student involvement in university decision-making distinguishes between two kinds of student participation. Both follow distinct paths in their respective history: participation in teaching and learning processes and political participation. The first, more recent path of research finds that students can take part in co-designing teaching and learning environments, reshaping educational processes and engaging as co-researchers with researchers and teachers. This aligns with accounts of student voice from around the world (Blau and Shamir-Inbal 2018; Raffaele, Rediger and Schneider 2021; Seale et al. 2015). It relies on a distinct understanding of universities as democratic institutions. In this aspect, this branch of the literature is in line with the second branch: students are encouraged to engage and co-create higher education structures by contributing to the various democratic entities of any German university. A development that goes back to various movements of political engagement of students, notably in the 1960s, famously advertised by Habermas (1967), postulating the democratization of university and ascribing a political role to students. In alignment with the Bologna Process and its aim to democratize higher education, the recognition and incorporation of student voices into the development of higher education became a necessity, codified as a set of legal demands universities must adhere to in all member states. These rules were then picked up by universities and enshrined into groundlevel institutional arrangements (Ditzel and Bergt 2013). While these arrangements translate differently across various German states, the underlying legal framework called for the creation of and work in panels and committees that involve representatives of all university members. All hold decision-making authority. The work in panels and committees promotes structures that value students’ opinions and involve them as co-designers of university policy and structures, as well as teaching and learning. They are involved in the implementation of new study courses (Akkreditierungsverfahren) (Ditzel and Bergt 2013) and in study commissions (Studienkommissionen); students can actively contribute to the development of their studies and courses. The higher education law of North Rhine-Westphalia (Germany’s largest state), for example, requires universities to hear and respect perspectives of all stakeholder groups within the university, including students, for all key decisions (Pasternack 2020). In 2005, the KMK made inclusion of students’ opinions in the evaluation of teaching and learning mandatory and urged states and universities to incorporate this paradigm into their 225

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statutes (KMK 2005). This translated into different tools to capture students’ opinions on classes and assessments. This resonates with Blau and Shamir-Inbal (2018), who define student voice in higher education as ‘ “listening to and valuing students” views regarding their learning experiences’ (2018: 315). However, voices from students and teaching staff indicate that these evaluations are often perceived as burdens on both sides rather than opportunities to collaborate on the improvement of teaching and learning. It is often unclear how – or if at all – suggestions and feedback are incorporated into teaching. Evaluation is seen as non-transparent, with little impact on lecturers’ future practice (Blair and Valdez Noel 2014; Ditzel and Bergt 2013). Despite these issues, with the described procedures and paradigms on the institutional level in place, the German university is certainly a democratic institution. Consequently, the amplification of student voice in German higher education can be understood as a political and democratic act. The take-up rate of associated opportunities at German universities, such as joining a committee as an elected student representative, or co-creating curricula, remains low among students and is declining (Raffaele, Rediger and Schneider 2021). Ditzel and Bergt (2013) highlight the relationship of students to their university as a key variable in whether they will raise their voice and engage in co-creating activities. Particularly for the engagement with democratic processes at the university, they argue that a sense of belonging is essential. Besides general interest in participation, they emphasize knowledge and orientation related to university structures as crucial to make use of their voice and contribute to democratic processes at the university. The latter needs particular attention, as even the most willing and motivated students often face difficulties in having their voice heard, because they find the bureaucratic structures overwhelming or confusing to navigate. This challenge corresponds with time constraints, as student participation is viewed as a time-consuming competitor to a focus on studies, student jobs or recreational activities. Time constraints are hence a persistent theme in surveys on engagement in university politics. Students further criticize the high time investment to understand structures and procedures before they can begin with their `actual’ participatory contribution (Ditzel and Bergt 2013). As a further explanation for low engagement, Raffaele, Rediger and Schneider (2021) add that students are potentially more interested in short-term and spontaneous activities rather than dedicating their time long term to participatory and democratic processes. While these findings support the notion of time constraints and structures as obstacles, they also underpin the argument of Seale et al. (2015) that ownership is crucial for active engagement. They further illustrate the relevance of a relationship between students and universities that justifies more intense engagement. It is relevant how students perceive their university, what they expect from the institution and how they define their own role within it.

Method To explore the question how SciComm and digital media can overcome these obstacles and make democratic structures more accessible to students, the presented work relies on a literature review and the review of public accounts of projects dedicated to SciComm and/or the amplification of student voice. To identify relevant literature, various academic databases were searched, focusing on related pieces written in English or German. Applied search terms included ‘SciComm’, ‘Science Communication’, the German equivalents ‘Wissenschaftskommunikation’ and ‘WissKomm’, 226

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‘student voice’, ‘social media’, ‘digital media’ and ‘studentische Partizipation’ (student participation, equivalent to student voice). Relevant projects were identified in online searches, using similar terms. This search was accompanied by a review of social media accounts, turning to Instagram. Here, I combined related hashtags, including ‘#WissKomm’, ‘#Wissenschaftskommunikation’, ‘#StudentischePartizipation’, and ‘#StudPart’ (short for studentische Partizipation). In an extended review, I considered more general hashtags, such as ‘#studieren’ (to study/studying) and ‘#studium’ (studies). I decided against using English search terms, as this referred to an overwhelming amount of international accounts, not primarily relevant for this work. Instagram was used because more and more universities use it as their social media channel of choice to address students. Based on this search, twenty projects and accounts were sampled and categorized by aim, content, target group and SciComm tool/method. The sample includes three podcasts, two blogs, two SciComm university projects, two SciComm student initiatives, one university project utilizing SciComm tools to amplify student voice and twenty social media accounts run by universities. It further included the review of practical guidelines for SciComm, for example, provided by the Federal Ministry of Education and Research (BMBF 2022). The sample reflects the aim to capture a variety of channels used for communication. The decision to include universities’ Instagram accounts is based on the insight gained from the literature that SciComm at universities in Germany is foremost associated with public relations (PR). Increasing pressure to prove institutional legitimacy and a growing public interest in science influenced the professionalization of SciComm (Serong et al. 2017). This paints a picture of SciComm in Germany as a professionalized aspect of university PR. Looking at universities’ Instagram accounts may provide insights into whether this translates into their posting practice or if further nuances can be determined. Even though they promise valuable insights into the topic, students’ accounts remain excluded from this study due to ethical considerations. To overcome these limitations and gain detailed insights into students’ digital media activities, researchers might seek to explore personal takes of social media accounts holders and recognise accounts of students who did not explicitly dedicate their account to SciComm, or hold private accounts. This, however, requires further reflection of ethical consideration of social media research and data collection, as laid out by Samuel and Buchanan (2020). While it is easy to access respective data made publicly available by the account holder, it is not per se ethical to access and use it for research. Public availability does not necessarily mean that the shared content is intended to be used in a research study. This can be so for various reasons, including that the account user does not intend their posts to be included in academic research or they might not be aware of their account’s visibility. One should also consider questions about content that is only temporarily available, such as Instagram stories, which disappear after twenty-four hours, or posts that are deleted by the account holder after they are already included in one’s data set (Samuel and Buchanan 2020).

The Potential of Using SciComm and Digital Media to Amplify Student Voice While not all reviewed projects, digital media platforms and accounts specifically aim at the amplification of student voice, they imply the potential to do so in different ways, 227

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including empowerment through information sharing, empowerment through networking and amplification through sharing students’ accounts. The review indicates that several institutions have acknowledged the potential of digital media and SciComm, inviting students to universityrelevant debates. Student-led projects make use of digital media to raise their voices publicly and to advocate for the integration of SciComm into university curricula. Education and Listening All included university accounts used their social media to go beyond marketing purposes, by connecting students with each other or directing them to relevant information and institutions. They share student events, organizational and occasion-related information, such as specific descriptions of where, when and how to sign in on campus at the beginning of the term. Their online activity involved reference to panel and committee meetings and information about administrative processes and about relevant contacts at their university or other institutions, made accessible in summarizing infographics. These patterns are connected to the debate highlighted by Ditzel and Bergt (2013) and Casa-Todd, Kay and Hughes (2020) that a lack of knowledge and familiarity with university structures and their in-transparency are central obstacles to student engagement. By providing information and directing students to relevant sources and networks, the threshold to actively participate in democratic structures can be lowered. Other projects in and outside universities provide a platform for students to express their ideas and interact with other members of the academia. One example is the podcast Trafohaus//Lehre, produced by the Centre of University Pedagogy Saxony (Hochschuldidaktische Zentrum Sachsen [HDS 2022]). The HDS aims to support teachers in their training and professional development. Key themes of the podcast are online, offline and hybrid teaching and learning settings and exams. The podcast features predominantly teachers’ and researchers’ perspectives but integrates student voices in some episodes. This is reflected in both the topics that are covered, involving the question of how students can contribute as co-creators and designers of teaching, learning and exam settings. Students are explicitly invited to join teachers and researchers to share their experiences and discuss research and pedagogy. This podcast is open access (e.g. via Spotify). With the aim to address and spark conversation around digitization of higher education among involved stakeholders, the ‘Hochschulforum Digitalisierung’ invites students to contribute articles to their blog to participate in the conversation on digitization and have their voices heard. Their aim is to build a ‘network of digital change makers, including students, to shape higher education in the Digital Era’ (Hochschulforum Digitalisierung 2022). Other projects not only invite students to share their accounts but also integrate participatory structures into their projects. As part of a wider campaign at the University of Hamburg to support student participation, the project ‘Mein Studium und Ich’ (my studies and I) utilized digital media to encourage the dialogue between them and university/teaching staff (Universitätskolleg 2020a). Supported by staff, students created a podcast to discuss various aspects of student life with other students and staff. The results are available on the homepage of the University of Hamburg (Universitätskolleg 2020b). All three projects offer platforms for students to voice their position and share their thoughts about aspects of higher education beyond their university. That way, they are invited to contribute to a broader discussion across universities and states. Both the podcast Trafohaus//Lehre and

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the blog run by ‘Hochschulforum Digitalisierung’ illustrate how SciComm can be a tool to amplify student voice by integrating students’ accounts into digital media addressed by different stakeholders involved in teaching structures. In the project ‘Mein Studium und Ich’ students were directly involved in creating a podcast themselves. Students could not only use their voice in a podcast but gained insight into how a podcast is made. This engagement with digital media requires understanding how to communicate effectively, as they engaged with interview partners and other team members. Networking and Communication Skills As indicated, digital media channels, and especially social media accounts, often facilitate a community and emphasize networking among students, institutions and stakeholders involved in higher education structures. The need to facilitate such networks is reflected in the project StudSciCom (2022), a SciComm initiative run by students. Aiming at the connection of students with each other and with relevant resources to up their SciComm game, StudSciCom facilitates an online community and hosts workshops. Their call for more integration of SciComm at universities resonates with the claim made by FactoryWisskomm, stating that students should receive support in developing communication skills via SciComm training (BMBF 2022). SciComm training for students so far mainly exists in dedicated long-standing undergraduate and postgraduate courses in science journalism (Wissenschaftsjournalismus) and non-academic science writing (Wissenschaftsredaktion) (Davies et al. 2021). SciComm degrees are established in postgraduate studies and complemented by private training courses (Mulder, Longnecker and Davis 2008; Villa 2019). Beyond these dedicated career paths, SciComm and digital media training is difficult to access below postdoctoral level. While #FactoryWisskomm advocates for SciComm to improve students’ employability, StudSciCom offers a broader perspective. They hint at the benefits of SciComm not for future career purposes but for the very study experience in a community, for which it is beneficial to learn how to communicate with different stakeholders effectively and to engage with studies and research in creative ways. How this can look is exemplified by Project-Sci.Com (Projektlabor Wissenschaftskommunikation), a course open to students at all universities in Berlin. Students learn how to communicate their scientific content to different target groups, and work on their own project, which will be presented at the end of the term. Students work in teams supported by staff in workshops about different tools, methods, media and techniques to engage with their chosen topic. On various occasions, participating students provide feedback to each other (Berlin University Alliance 2022). Another example for such initiatives is the Student Network for Open Science, S.N.O.W. (2022). It, too, advocates for the integration of SciComm in university education, not only focusing on career but also the networking aspect of SciComm and digital media as a tool to communicate within and across academic and public groups. In cooperation with the Furtwangen University and other stakeholders, for example, a museum, they organize and facilitate projects in which students engage with SciComm working on their own project. Unlike Project-Sci.Com, S.N.O.W. is student led. Besides the established benefits of project work for participatory learning and active integration into the learning process, students engage with different communication and

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presentation techniques. This potentially enhances communication skills and encourages students to find creative ways not only to cater research findings to different audiences but also to express their own ideas and needs. It further resonates with Casa-Todd, Kay and Hughes (2020), indicating that respective skills encourage confidence boosts in respect to communication and participation. S.N.O.W. further illustrates how students can use these communication skills to actively participate in university structures and have a say in the curriculum. The organizing students implemented the project into the university’s curriculum as an elective module. This is an interesting case of student participation in German higher education, which deserves investigation in further research.

Challenges of Digital Media as an Amplifier for Student Voice Besides the discussed potential of digital media, challenges need to be considered. This includes challenges at the institutional level, namely the potentially dangerous impact of digital media on democratic institutions. It additionally responds to individual challenges for actively participating students because of the lack of protective and acknowledging structures. Impact on Democratic Institutions and Echo Chambers A growing branch of literature highlights the negative effects of digital media on democratic processes. It partially views it as a severe threat to the future of democracy itself. Given that universities in Germany are established as democratic institutions, these claims the need to be taken seriously. Digital, and in particular social, media facilitates the spread of misinformation and polarization (Acemoglu, Ozdaglar and ParandehGheibi 2010; Azzimonti and Fernandes 2018). This can have detrimental effects on democratic processes, for example, via electoral outcomes (Allcott and Gentzkow 2017). This makes digital media a potentially unreliable channel for student participation. At the same time young people seem to be more competent in using digital media and less prone to believing and sharing false news (Zhuravskaya, Petrova and Enikolopov 2020). Research suggests that the pace and form especially of social media are ‘best suited for shorter, simpler and more emotionally charged messages’ (Zhuravskaya Petrova and Enikolopov 2020). While this suggestion adds to the argument that digital media lowers the threshold to engage in participatory processes in higher education, it also implies the risk that such processes and debates are likely to become superficial and short sighted. Recent events in which German universities made negative headlines that were on social media before they spread to more traditional media underlines the point that universities are often not well equipped for the challenges imposed by the ability of these platforms to spread negative (or even ‘fake’) news aimed at the universities’ research, staff, teaching, values or the institution itself. These political challenges are complemented by organizational observations that impose further potential obstacles to digital media as an amplifier for student voice being a success story. Student participation in online platforms or projects, such as S.N.O.W, StudSciCom or Mein Studium und ich, is still rather rare, which potentially echoes the findings by Raffaele, Rediger and Schneider (2021) and Bargel (2000): Student voice–related activity is rather spontaneous and often related to a topic that is of personal interest to the student at that very moment. However, the review suggests that low engagement is connected to time intensity and lack of

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moderating frameworks, which leads to student voices often remaining unheard, getting lost in the internet’s void. The reviewed student-led projects are primarily run in the members’ leisure time, despite the university workload and extracurricular activity. This exemplifies a trend that also translates into other areas, including initiatives directly aiming at student voice amplification and participation. The threshold to engage in participatory processes online is much similar to offline activities, especially because of the time it consumes. Ditzel and Bergt (2013) underpin students’ perception that active engagement in student voice requires full commitment and personal interest in the process itself. A well-maintained social media account, a podcast, blog or project requires dedication, time (and sometimes even monetary) investment, planning and structure. While the maintenance of any kind of digital account surely requires different skills than working in a committee, it is the topic students’ accounts are dedicated to that keeps them motivated to continue their work. One can assume that most students running the reviewed projects are self-taught SciCommers. This phenomenon further translates into the actively engaging communities comprising other SciCommers. While these echo chambers can empower student groups, their impact on university and state policy and respective democratic procedures could not be estimated with the applied review methods. This impression is exacerbated by the review of the presented blogs and podcasts. While podcasts seem to connect student and teaching staff by channelling students’ voices to higher education teachers, there is no clear connection between student voice and democratic procedures at the university level. Even though the empowerment and facilitation of student networks can be understood as amplification of student voices, they appear rather isolated from offline participatory processes at universities. Power and Status An important discussion on student voice in the context of online media is of course the problems of harassment or backlash, which students have little institutional protection from. In face-to-face transactions, the given institutional structures in universities usually have transparent and clear codes of conduct and accepted social norms on behaviour and friendly interaction. Additionally, university committees are usually small, and since usually only a small share of their members is replaced each year, they are also very stable in their composition, lending a relatively safe space for the exchange of ideas. In contrast, sharing thoughts and ideas online means sharing with a wider audience beyond institutional and even national borders to an unknown audience and set of often anonymous discussants. This induces important questions regarding the responsibility of universities to protect students from potential backlash, because the benefits of worldwide visibility for the university may come with emotional stress for those students who are victims of online harassment. While respective measures may provide a safety net for students, they may also be regarded as paternalistic, and offend the incoming students who grew up as digital natives. While this certainly needs further discussion and reflection, such measures could include student-run support groups, open office hours with digital media experts and transparent codes of conduct for the universities’ own digital media channels and clear decisions about what needs to be shared with the world and what is only accessible from the university’s internal network. At the same time, the consideration of digital media as an amplifier for student voice makes considerations regarding power structures and status inevitable. This not only includes the

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question of what impact university structures and staff have on the design and scope of the projects due to their position of power. It further sparks questions about the role of institutions and academic staff and how competent universities consider students to be. Should students, as digital natives and experts in their own life and study experience, facilitate student networks online? Is this too much responsibility and exposes them to harm and risk? To what extent should staff be involved and what role should they play, either on a teaching or organizing level? With these questions in mind, it might be a benefit if accounts are organized outside universities, such as highlighted podcasts. However, while projects organized outside universities are less bound to university structure and policy, they still need to consider the target group they are aiming at. If a channel addresses teaching staff or other stakeholders, how does this impact the way in which students are allowed to express themselves on these platforms? Are they again constrained by respective policies in which case the aspect of student voice amplification on such platforms is questionable? This consideration underpins the need for SciComm training for students to amplify their own voice on these platforms. Knowing how to express ideas and claims towards different audiences can enable students to have agency in what they say and how to address whom most effectively.

Implications for Practice and Further Research SciComm offers tools and strategies to utilize digital media to bring an important aspect of student voice to life: sharing students’ own ideas in communication and interaction with peers and staff. It can make information more accessible by understanding the aim of respective accounts and judging their content. It further provides the chance to learn how to communicate clearly and effectively. The exemplified projects already adopted this insight. Especially studentled accounts and projects should be taken seriously by relevant institutions. Universities could make use of the existing expertise and tradition of SciComm, reflected in respective university pathways and PR departments. This resonates with the need to provide mentorship and practice for students to use digital media for study and student voice purposes, highlighted by Junco, Heiberger and Loken (2011). Offering SciComm training for students beyond dedicated undergraduate and postgraduate courses could add to students’ confidence and ability to verbalize their needs and opinions. This could invite more students to engage in online and offline debates, as it is likely that time constraints are also a preventative factor for students to raise their voices online more than once. Such training should go beyond the development of strategies to identify misinformation by creating media competence and confidence. It should further provide measures to deal with potential reactions to posts and engage in constructive online debates. However, research trends on social media and institutional conditions suggest that this potential should be taken with a grain of salt. The highlighted challenges make an institutional framework and training for students and staff inevitable. Such a framework should cater to various highlighted aspects. It should install institutional measures to deal with the digital world and potential backlash. While digital media accounts can provide insight into student opinions, the relevant decisions are still made in described committees. Therefore, the collaborative development of such a framework should further aim to bridge the gap between student voices and institutional decision processes. These should include considerations of how online student voices can be channelled and recognized in the democratic processes of universities. Such a 232

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framework should further consider measures to protect students and staff. Alongside all benefits for employability, confidence and communication skills, it is nevertheless necessary to protect students who want to engage in these online discussions from exposure and unfiltered reactions. How to deal with such a backlash can partly be covered in SciComm training. However, as a member of the democratic institution university, it should be discussed whether students should be left on their own and deal with it alone after the training is completed. These frameworks should also protect staff and the university itself. While many students are motivated to contribute productively to democratic processes, the anonymity of social media can be an invitation to unconstructive ranting. A collaboration of interested students and universities’ PR and Social Media Department could help to reduce harm created by spreaders of false or unfairly negative postings. This, positively implemented, could go in alignment with the amplification of student voice and in many ways the university’s reward for taking their students more onboard. In further research, it would be interesting to focus on students’ accounts on SciComm for student voice amplification. As seen on the reviewed blogs and podcasts, but also on various social media platforms, students already use digital media to state their own opinion. At the same time, digital media accounts run by German students entirely dedicated to student voice and participation are still rather rare. However, an increasing number of accounts use SciComm tools to amplify student voices by sharing and educating. These accounts often follow a respective purpose to empower others to participate in higher education by functioning as a role model with a particular background. While this kind of communication needs further research, dedicated accounts can enhance visibility and, thus, amplify voices of otherwise marginalized student groups. In the German sphere, it would be particularly interesting to include PhD students’ digital media accounts on that matter, as they often bridge the gap between faculty and students. On the one hand, they are considered students, hence, potentially function as role models to undergraduates and postgraduates. On the other hand, they are often employed by the university, with responsibility for organizing teaching, learning and assessments. As they often work as research associates for or with their supervisors, they exceed the student role and are constrained by the institution’s teaching policies. This kind of research certainly requires detailed reflection of ethical considerations and the question of which data is considered public and private.

Note 1 Here collectively referred to as universities.

References Acemoglu, D., A. Ozdaglar and A. ParandehGheibi (2010), ‘Spread of (Mis)Information in Social Networks’, Games and Economic Behavior, 70 (2): 194–227. Allcott, H., and M. Gentzkow. (2017), ‘Social Media and Fake News in the 2016 Election’, Journal of Economic Perspectives, 31 (2): 211–36. Azzimonti, M., and M. Fernandes (2018), ‘Social Media Networks, Fake News, and Polarization’, European Journal of Political Economy, 74 (2022): 1–25. Bargel, T. (2000), Studentische Mitwirkung: Impulsreferat-Fragen zur studentischen Mitwirkung. Konstanz: Universität Konstanz, Geisteswissenschaftliche Sektion, FB Geschichte und Soziologie, Arbeitsgruppe Hochschulforschung.

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Berlin University Alliance (2022), Projektlabor Wissenschaftskommunikation: Wir bringen Studierende, Forschung und Öffentlichkeit zusammen! [online]. https://www.ber​lin-uni​vers​ity-allia​nce.de/ comm​itme​nts/knowle​dge-excha​nge/labor​ator​ies/scie​nce-commun​icat​ion/index.html (accessed 15 November 2022). Blair, E., and K. Valdez Noel (2014), ‘Assessment & Evaluation in Higher Education Improving Higher Education Practice through Student Evaluation Systems: Is the Student Voice Being Heard?’, Assessment & Evaluation in Higher Education, 39 (7): 879–94. Blau, I., and T. Shamir-Inbal (2018), ‘Digital Technologies for Promoting “Student Voice” and Co-creating Learning Experience in an Academic Course’, Instructional Science, 46 (2): 315–36. BMBF (Federal Ministry of Education and Research) (2022), #FactoryWisskomm: Handlungsperspektiven für die Wissenschaftskommunikation, Berlin. Cameron, C., H. Young Lee, C. Anderson, A. Byars-Winston, C. D. Baldwin and S. Chang (2015), ‘The Role of Scientific Communication Skills in Trainees’ Intention to Pursue Biomedical Research Careers: A Social Cognitive Analysis’, CBE Life Sciences Education, 14 (4): 1–12. Casa-Todd, J., R. Kay and J. Hughes (2020), ‘Developing Digital Citizenship: Digital Literacy and Student Voice Using Social Media in K12’, EdMedia + Innovate Learning 2020 Online, 23–6 June: 550–55, Waynesville, NC: Association for the Advancement of Computing in Education. Davies, S. R., S. Franks, J. Roche, A. L. Schmidt, R. Wells and F. Zollo (2021), ‘The Landscape of European Science Communication’, Journal of Science Communication, 20 (03): 1–19. Ditzel, B., and T. Bergt (2013), ‘Studentische Partizipation als organisationale HerausforderungErgebnisse einer explorativen Studie’, in S. M. Weber, M. Göhlich, A. Schröer, C. Fahrenwald, and H. Macha (eds), Organisation und Partizipation. Beiträge der Kommission Organisationspädagogik, 177–86, Wiesbaden: Springer Fachmedien. Habermas, J. (1967), ‘Universität in der Demokratie: Demokratisierung der Universität’ [online]. Merkur Zeitschrift, Nr. 230. https://www.mer​kur-zeit​schr​ift.de/juer​gen-haber​mas-unive​rsit​aet-in-der-dem​okra​ tie-demok​rati​sier​ung-der-unive​rsit​aet/ (accessed 15 November 2022). Hochschuldidaktische Zentrum Sachsen (2022), Trafohaus//Lehre [online]. https://www.hd-sach​sen.de/ web/page.php?id=1326 (accessed 15 November 2022). Hochschulforum Digitalisierung (2022), Hochschulforum Digitalisierung: About us. We orchestrate the Discourse on Higher Education in the Digital Age [online]. https://hochsc​hulf​orum​digi​tali​sier​ung.de/ en (accessed 15 November 2022). Junco, R., G. Heiberger and E. Loken (2011), ‘The Effect of Twitter on College Student Engagement and Grades’, Journal of Computer Assisted Learning, 27 (2): 119–32. Kultusministerkonferenz (2005), Qualitätssicherung in der Lehre: Beschluss der Kultusministerkonferenz vom 22.09.2005, Berlin: Kultusministerkonferenz. Kultusministerkonferenz (2010), Konzeption der Kultusministerkonferenz zur Nutzung der Bildungsstandards für die Unterrichtsentwicklung [online]. https://www.kmk.org/filead​min/Date​ien/ vero​effe​ntli​chun​gen_​besc​hlue​sse/2010/201​0_00​_00-Kon​zept​ion-Bildun​gsst​anda​rds.pdf (accessed 15 November 2022). Lopez-Goni, I., and M. Sanchez-Angulo (2018), ‘Social Networks as a Tool for Science Communication and Public Engagement: Focus on Twitter’, FEMS Microbiology Letters, 365 (2018): 1–4. Magni, P. A., and K. Pitts (2020), ‘The Need for Forensic Scientists to Up-skill Their Sci-Comm’, Journal of Forensic and Legal Medicine, 73 (2020): 1–2. Mulder, H. A. J., N. Longnecker and L. S. Davis (2008), ‘The State of Science Communication Programs at Universities around the World’, Science Communication, 30 (2): 277–87. Pasternack, P. (2020), Partizipation an Hochschulen Zwischen Legitimität und Hochschulrecht, HoF-Handreichungen 12, Beiheft zu ‘die hochschule’, Halle-Wittenberg: Institut für Hochschulforschung, 1–101. Raffaele, C., P. Rediger and S. Schneider (2021), ‘Die Partizipation Studierender als Kriterium der Qualitätssicherung in Studium und Lehre’, Halle-Wittenberg: Institut für Hochschulforschung, 1–49.

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Samuel, G., and E. Buchanan (2020), ‘Guest Editorial: Ethical Issues in Social Medial Research’, Journal of Empirical Research on Human Research Ethics 15 (1–2): 3–11. Seale, J., S. Gibson, J. Haynes and A. Potter (2015), ‘Power and Resistance: Reflections on the Rhetoric and Reality of Using Participatory Methods to Promote Student Voice and Engagement in Higher Education’, Journal of Further and Higher Education, 39 (4): 534–52. Serong, J., L. Koppers, E. Luschmann, A. Molina Ramirez, K. Kersting, J. Rahnenführer and H. Wormer (2017), ‘Öffentlichkeitsorientierung von Wissenschaftsinstitutionen und Wissenschaftsdisziplinen’, Publizistik, 62 (2): 153–78. S.N.O.W. (2022), ‘Studentisches Netzwerk für offene Wissenschaft: Was ist S.N.O.W?’ [online]. https:// net​zwer​koff​enew​isse​nsch​aft.de/#:~:text=Was%20ist%20S.N.O.W.%3F,Wisse​nsch​aft%20und%20 der%20Wis​sens​chaf​tsko​mmun​ikat​ion%20eng​agie​ren [15 November 2022]. Stenalt, M. H. (2021), ‘Digital Student Agency: Approaching Agency in Digital Contexts from a Critical accessed Perspective’, Frontline Learning Research, 9 (3): 52–68. StudSciCom (2022), Student Science Communication: Initiative für Wisskomm von Studierenden [online]. https://www.stud-sci​com.de/ (accessed 15 November 2022). Universitätskolleg (2020a), Hochschullehre und Partizipation [online]. https://studp​art.blogs.uni-hamb​ urg.de/ (accessed 15 November 2022). Universitätskolleg. (2020b). Medilab des Universitätskollegs. Podcast: Mein Studium und IchNo Title [online]. https://uk-media​lab.blogs.uni-hamb​urg.de/podc​ast/ (accessed 15 November 2022). Villa, R. (2019), Where Are Science Communication Courses in Europe? [online]. https://quest​proj​ect.eu/ where-are-scie​nce-commun​icat​ion-cour​ses-in-eur​ope/ (accessed 15 November 2022). Yeoman, K. H., H. A. James and L. Bowater (2015), ‘Development and Evaluation of an Undergraduate Science Communication Module’, Bioscience Education, 17 (1): 1–16. Zhuravskaya, E., M. Petrova and R. Enikolopov (2020), ‘Political Effects of the Internet and Social Media’, Annual Review of Economics, 12 (2020): 415–38.

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Digital Civic Engagement: Case Studies in the Interplay between Civic Engagement, Student Voice and Digitalization in Higher Education SABINE FREUDHOFMAYER AND KATHARINA RESCH

The interplay between democracy, student voice and civic engagement has frequently been the subject of scientific debate and investigation. However, since the emergence of the Covid-19 pandemic, a new connection needs to be made to digital civic engagement (DCE). This is the starting point of this chapter, which promotes the pluralistic (digital) forms of engagement by students in the construction and development of democratic and participatory higher education institutions (HEI). Student civic engagement in higher education (HE) can take place either within study programmes (e.g. service-learning) or in extracurricular activities (e.g. volunteering in a student union) (McIlrath and Tansey 2013). It enhances the social and cultural capital of the participating students (Campbell 2000) and raises awareness for diverse community needs (Mooney and Edwards 2001). Moreover, it fosters students’ civic responsibility and equips them with the necessary competencies for facing societal challenges (Watkins, Hayes and Sarubbi 2015). The Covid-19 pandemic has demonstrated that active students are a vital part of a cohesive society. As the pandemic challenged solidarity by calling on everyone in society to consider the specific circumstances of the vulnerable, students demonstrated that they were willing to engage and address the different problems it caused. They offered free child or pet care, provided pick-up and drop-off services and ran errands for the elderly (Klasen, Meienberg and Bogie 2020). The effects of the pandemic have thus accorded student civic engagement a larger role, especially in a digital arena (Dubow et al. 2017). The creative use of digital technologies has the potential to broaden and enrich the field of student engagement. However, despite extensive research on student civic engagement, its connection to digital technologies is less explored. This chapter provides insight into DCE by students as a relatively new phenomenon and explores how such digital practices are shaped by student voice and can thus contribute to shaping democratic universities.

Student Voice: Towards Democratic Universities First and foremost, democratic universities can only function with actively engaged students. International research over the past decades has shown that student engagement within HE

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matters, particularly at the beginning of a student’s time at university. While the diversity of student civic engagement activities is difficult to capture, they do involve an obligatory element of participation: ‘Student engagement is characterized as participation in educationally effective practices, both inside and outside the classroom’ (Harper, Quaye and Pendakur 2015: 2). This definition establishes the connection between democracy and participation, which is vital for discussing civic engagement. McGinnis and Mitra (2022) interpret the concept of civic engagement as a form of agency: Students can take civic action, either individually or collectively. There are different understandings of democracy in HE, which are characterized by different logics of power delegation, power distribution and participation. While researchers in anglophone educational research have been looking at the concept of student voice since the 1990s (Cook-Sather 2006; Matthews and Dollinger 2022), their counterparts in the German-speaking countries have focused on active democracy in different forms such as ‘delegating powers away from the citizen’ (liberal or representative-delegative logic) or ‘to the citizen’ (participatory-inclusive logic) (Stadelmann-Steffen and Freitag 2011). Both logics greatly overlap and inform the theoretical framework of our study as they both share a commitment to democracy, student voice and increased participation. It can be argued that the representative-delegative logic, for example, the appointment of students to commissions or boards (representative democracy), is not sufficient to constitute a democratic university. In this approach, students delegate power to associations (such as student unions) or elected students for specific functions, who are then expected to represent the academic interests of the student body for a given period. This gives power to the elected students or delegates but moves it away from the student body itself. Saltmarsh (2007: 65) sees a risk of a shallow democracy in such approaches: ‘When students are active participants in education grounded in community-based public problem-solving, they learn to become knowledge producers instead of knowledge consumers; … students … are educated to become active participants in democratic life instead of being spectators to a shallow form of democracy.’ This representativedelegative logic is what Matthews and Dollinger (2022) refer to as student representation, a form of student voice which is typically associated with university governance. However, ‘the weight of responsibility of a student representative is not shared, nor are governance structures designed to be spaces of learning and partnership’ (Matthews and Dollinger 2022: 7). This demonstrates the critical appraisal of student representation in literature. Nevertheless, the concepts of student representation (Matthews and Dollinger 2022) and representative democracy (StadelmannSteffen and Freitag 2011) both share the notion that one student speaks on behalf of the others. The second approach, that is, participatory-inclusive logic (Stadelmann-Steffen and Freitag 2011), argues for direct citizen participation or citizen rule, which requires major decisions to be subject to a direct vote or other form of direct participation (direct democracy). Direct democracy displaces a broad range of collective actions as a means of addressing needs or conflicts and promotes direct civic engagement in return. Students gain opportunities for more in-depth engagement and communication based on specific options provided by the institution, the teachers or the students themselves (institution-based or self-led civic engagement). Matthews and Dollinger (2022) refer to this second approach as student partnership, which is usually a part of student voice related to the field of teaching and learning and not necessarily to university governance. Partnership here means active collaboration between students and staff or educators for common goals in teaching and learning. 238

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There is a consensus among scholars that HEIs need to increase their efforts to strengthen civic engagement, student voice (student representation and student partnership) and democracy for all students (Ostrander 2004). According to Cook-Sather (2006), student voice captures a range of activities that strive to reposition students in educational practice and reforms. She views student voice as a threefold experience for students to have presence, power and agency in decisionmaking in HE (Cook-Sather 2006). Consequently, there is a legitimate difference between voice as individual expression and voice as participation, highlighting the intersections of the personal and structural/political contexts. When HEIs start viewing their students as active students and citizens rather than mere consumers of education, this makes them think about how students can become active citizens and, as a consequence, enables them to contribute to transforming society. Student voice is also strongly related to change, especially in scenarios where educators and students partner to create such change (McGinnis and Mitra 2022). Matthews and Dollinger (2022) argue that student voice means that students have an authentic and valuable voice in the decisions that influence their education. This involves a change in mindset to include students who have the knowledge and the position to shape HE. The debate around student voice, which initially began in the 1990s in a school context, now also marks an era of change in HE. However, integrating student partnership into HEI teaching in the form of civic engagement is a challenging task both for students, for whom civic engagement may be a less relevant, marginal or episodic part of their undergraduate experience, and for teachers, who are expected to teach applied coursework and move away from a traditional, non-learner-centred style of teaching to an active pedagogy, which might be described as ‘education for democracy’ (Melville, Dedrick and Gish 2013). Dewey ([1916] 1966) had an early vision of transforming universities into institutions in which civic engagement in local communities can advance knowledge, learning and democracy for all. Universities can realize their civic responsibility by formulating and implementing democratic education and appointing student voice in these processes. This chapter looks at how student voice is implemented in DCE as demonstrated in five case studies collected across Europe during the Covid-19 pandemic. The study demonstrates how DCE can succeed in giving students a voice, thus making HEIs stronger incubators of democratic values. The case studies show that student voice is more than mere representation; it is an act of participation in civic engagement where students engage with the HEI, its structures and the communities that shape their education.

Student Civic Engagement in a Digital Arena Digital technologies have transformed the ways in which the young generation interacts with, accesses and organizes democratic processes (Bennett 2008). They provide more than just a means of connecting with others. Media tools such as blogs, petition platforms, e-voting and other online forums offer new means of shaping the political debate (Berg and Hofmann 2021). However, expanded opportunities to participate in the political process (including digital platforms) have not always been accompanied by increased participation in formal democratic processes, especially among the young generation (Graf 2014). Research into civic engagement and digitalization is still quite limited. The main discourse linking civic engagement and digitalization can currently be found in youth studies (sociology), as young people challenge the traditional notion of citizenship. Mandarano, Meenar and Steins 239

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(2010), following Bourdieu (1986), look at digital social capital that is built through the use of internet tools to enhance traditional participation. Adi, Gerodimos and Lilleker (2018) address social media and use the example of Instagram to show the potential of social media to connect engaged young people, even though the platform favours impulsive and affective impressions rather than rational or critical dialogue. Mihailidis, Fincham and Cohen (2014) report that students receive little to no formal training or education in social media and their role in daily civic life. Students acknowledge Facebook’s potential for engagement, yet rarely use it for anything more than social conversation and entertainment. Bennett (2008) identifies a generational shift in citizenship, noting that young citizens are far less willing to adhere to the notion of previous generations that citizenship is a matter of duty and obligation (dutiful citizen) and instead favour a loosely networked activism to address issues that reflect their personal values and identities (actualizing citizen). Websites that frame youth as taking up their role as emerging adult citizens offer communication environments that channel their experiences towards a preferred content (dutiful citizen). Websites that construct youth as capable of defining their own voice offer them more choices (actualizing citizen) (Bennett, Wells and Freelon 2011). It is therefore important when engaging young students in online civic projects to consider the different levels of user activity and interaction (e.g. blogs, forums) that such projects provide for learning civic skills. Digital tools have the potential to highlight the voices of young people in marginalized communities (Mirra and Garcia 2017) and encourage young people to express their voices by making social problems visible (e.g. through digital storytelling) (Greene, Burke and McKenna 2018). Collaborative digital mapping can foster students’ awareness of inequalities generated by social and spatial processes and how these inform their civic responses (Gordon, Elwood and Mitchell 2016). Nelson, Lewis and Lei (2017) show that students who take civic learning courses, where they are pushed to think about and discuss political issues, are more likely to participate in online civic engagement than those who do not. Teachers play a pivotal part in cultivating both online and offline civic engagement. Blaj-Ward and Winter (2019) see the interweaving of face-toface and digital learning spaces as good practice to facilitate the development of DCE. Formal courses on how to use digital spaces for civic engagement are also needed: a recent study by Catalina-García, García-Jiménez and Menor Sendra (2019) shows that the intensive use of social networks by students is not positively associated with a greater degree of political and civic engagement. Instead, students mostly consume and share participatory content rather than produce it. Thus, digital citizenship can be seen more as a continuing reflective practice than a one-time achievement (Panke and Stephens 2018). Dubow et al. (2017: 9) report on the potential of digital technologies for ‘citizen-powered democracy’ to lower the barriers for civic engagement, strengthen the voice of citizens in the public sphere and facilitate community support. Such technologies transform civic engagement processes by introducing new practices, for example, increasing participation in democratic decision-making. However, the use of digital tools for civic engagement also poses risks: differences in their use by different demographic groups may result in their over- or underrepresentation in public forums. The case study research presented further on seeks to address the aforementioned lack of prior work in this area. It aims to shed light on the practice of DCE by students as a relatively new 240

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phenomenon in HEIs that has established itself over the course of the Covid-19 pandemic and to explore how these new student voice practices can contribute to democratic universities.

Empirical Study: Student Digital Civic Engagement in Practice Our study is embedded in the ‘Students as Digital Civic Engagers’ project, which was co-funded by the Erasmus+ Programme (2020–22) and implemented in six universities in Austria, Belgium, Estonia, Ireland, Portugal and the UK. It addresses the following questions: which practices of student DCE were implemented in HEIs during the Covid-19 pandemic? How do these practices incorporate forms of student voice? Since the field of student DCE is relatively under-researched, a case study methodology provides advantages for refining concepts and initiating theorizing. According to Yin (2018: 15), a case study is defined as an ‘empirical method that investigates a contemporary phenomenon (the ‘case‘) in depth and within its real-world context, especially when the boundaries between phenomenon and context may not be clearly evident’. For our empirical research, we collected case studies that (1) targeted student civic engagement (in which students volunteer for an activity within or outside the curriculum), (2) were integrated into the institutional structure of HEIs (with an institutional anchor, e.g., a person, resources from the university or self-organized by student initiatives) and (3) involved the use of digital technologies for civic purposes. The case studies were selected through prior online research in publicly available information on HEI websites in the countries indicated earlier on. Five case studies were identified that met the inclusion criteria and in which students had initiated their own DCE projects.1 The project team members initially approached the programme coordinators, who then established contact with their students. To apply a multi-stakeholder approach, the project team members interviewed the programme coordinators or the lecturers who organized the activity as well as the participating students.2 A total of nine interviews were conducted from December 2020 to March 2021. The interviews had an average duration of thirty-nine minutes and were held online due to the prevailing Covid19 restrictions. They were transcribed verbatim and key quotes were selected and translated into English. Study participants signed an informed consent form, confirming that the data collected would be treated anonymously throughout the research and publication process and that they could withdraw from the study at any time without explanation. Five of the nine interviews were held with students, while the remaining four were conducted with the responsible organizers (lecturers, programme coordinators). Three participants were male, and six were female. While the number of male and female participants responsible for the projects was equal (two each), most of the students were female (five female, one male). The semi-structured interview guide contained questions on three main topics, namely (1) experiences with civic engagement and digitalization, (2) practical examples of the use of digital tools for civic engagement and (3) opinions on what is needed to promote DCE in HEIs. Data analysis was conducted using deductive coding according to the categories in the TEFCE (‘Towards a European Framework for Community Engagement in Higher Education’) framework, which was developed to monitor and assess community engagement on different levels in HE (Farnell et al. 2020). The TEFCE Toolbox encompasses the following categories: teaching and learning, research, service and knowledge exchange, students, management and supportive peers 241

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(i.e. academic and administrative staff). The five case studies and the respective interviews were coded (cross-case analysis) to the category students, which represents the TEFCE category closest to the conception of student voice. Each case study was coded using the multi-perspective interview data for the specific case (within-case analysis). Student Voice Resonating in Practice: Case Study Analysis The case studies refer to the extent to which students led their own projects and initiatives with external communities. While two were assigned to community-engagement activities that were conducted independently through student organizations or initiatives (Case Studies 1 and 2), three were facilitated by the university and involved students and external communities (Case Studies 3, 4 and 5) (see Table 17.1). The cross-case analysis identified four themes that proved to be relevant for student DCE practices and forms of student voice. Autonomy in Educational Decision-Making In the identified case studies, students had autonomy to shape the educational setting for their civic engagement activities. While they actively assumed this role in the student-led projects, autonomous decision-making in the institution-led projects was prescribed by the respective programme framework. In Case Study 1 (organized by the University of Minho student union) and Case Study 2 (organized by the University of Vienna in cooperation with the student alumni association), student volunteers meet with children with learning difficulties once or twice a week and provide one-to-one support to help them learn for school. The student volunteers thereby assume an active role in creating the educational setting of the activity, bring in their own values and convey topics that they consider important inside or outside school. As one student notes: ‘They [the children] have lots of information, and I don’t just want to teach her school topics but also other things that I think she has to learn’ (14). The situation was similar in Case Study 5, where students developed web-based seminars under the guidance of a member of the Tartu Welcome Centre (an NGO) and were free to choose the topics for the seminars themselves. They planned an event on Estonian cuisine to familiarize newly arrived immigrants with Estonian culture and organized an online ‘cook-along’ to show them how to cook a traditional Estonian dish. As the programme leader notes, the decision on and organization of these events was left entirely to the student volunteers: ‘A member of the team at the NGO gave them feedback and tips and commented on their ideas and solutions, but the students made the final decisions. It was their work and their activity’ (18). In the student-led projects, students supported pupils from socially disadvantaged backgrounds, which allowed them to see their own engagement as a form of active participation that evokes social change: ‘The aim of the project is for the children to comprehend that people with a migration background can study in Austria and be successful’ (16). The students are active agents in developing their programme and enabling the student volunteers to acquire certain skills with the support of the HEIs. As the Case Study 1 project coordinator explains: ‘To support the volunteers, we established a contact with the Institute of Education at our university, and the volunteers received initial training in pedagogical skills, motivation and child psychology. So we

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TABLE 17.1  Case Study Overview

Case Study Overview

Activity Description

Student Voice

TEFCE Category 1

Student N=9 representation or interviews student partnership

TEFCE Category 2

Empirical Base

Case Study 1 VOLUNTARIUM: Sumário, University of Minho, student union (Portugal)

Students support children in their learning for school based on a student initiative.

Student partnership between student union and individual students by providing volunteering opportunities through a digital platform

2 interviews (student and coordinator)

Case Study 2 Intercultural Mentoring for Schools, University of Vienna (Austria)

Students support migrant children in schools based on a student initiative.

Student partnership between teachers and students as migrant mentors for migrant mentees in schools

2 interviews (students)

Case Study 3 Free Legal Advice Centre Society, Athlone Institute of Technology, University College Cork (Ireland)

Students provide legal aid services as part of their study programme.

Student partnership between lecturers and students by giving free legal advice to citizens online

2 interviews (lecturer and student)

Case Study 4 Digital Ambassadors, University of Edinburgh (Scotland)

Students work with university staff to help older adults acquire digital skills.

Student partnership between university staff and students by improving digital skills of older citizens

1 interview (coordinator)

Case Study 5 Tartu Welcome Centre, University of Tartu (Estonia)

Students take part in a programme to help immigrants settle in Estonia.

Student 2 interviews partnership (lecturer and between university student) and students by providing online activities for newly arrived immigrants

1 TEFCE Category 1 ‘Students’: Students deliver community-engagement activities independently through student organizations or initiatives. 2 TEFCE Category 2 ‘Students’: The university facilitates and supports partnerships between students and external communities.

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also try to capacitate our volunteers. It’s a big project, and we are proud of it’ (13). This shows the relevance of institutional support in the form of training for student volunteers, which they would not otherwise be able to obtain. Student Partnership In the institutionally led projects, students collaborated with staff from HEIs or community partners, which conforms with the definition of a ‘student partnership’. In Case Study 4, students and staff from the University of Edinburgh worked together on designing a course to improve the digital skills of older people in the community. While the course was delivered by one of the staff members and facilitated by the students, the students worked in a partnership tandem one-on-one with the older learners to address their individual needs. The partnerships between students and university staff or community partners worked well in the identified cases, as the responsibilities were clearly defined from the start. However, the partnerships between students and teachers in the student-led projects were not felt to have been quite so successful. In Case Study 2, schoolteachers were overwhelmed by the outbreak of the Covid-19 pandemic and were not able to engage online with the student volunteers in an adequate form. In Case Study 1, students voiced critiques about working with HE teachers: ‘I don’t think that teachers are the best option when it comes to encouraging students. We don’t have the same kind of relationship with them. The best way, for example, is to use older students because they are more in touch with new students and can talk from experience. They are closer’ (14). From the students’ perspective, it is best if they are encouraged to participate in civic engagement by their peers as they share similar academic experiences. Institutional Positioning for Student Civic Engagement Respondents from both the student-led and the institutionally led projects recognize the importance of the HEI in promoting student civic engagement. The project coordinator of Case Study 4, for example, sees HEIs as being at the forefront of social responsibility by providing institutionally based platforms for community partners. In his opinion, the main objective of HEIs is ‘to become an anchor institution that has substantial weight and to represent these communities in spaces and places where they might not have been represented before’ (15). Students involved in student-led projects tend to see the HEI as a supporter of their activities. They make use of the resources at the HEIs to achieve their projects’ goals. HEIs can assume an active distributor function by attracting more students to become volunteers, as the programme coordinator of Case Study 1 points out: ‘So we need to invest more in the way we reach people and that could be great for improving and establishing a large community of volunteers. And a university is such an important institution and can have a great impact by trying to reach these students’ (13). Critical Potential of Digital Tools The study participants paint a critical picture of the potential of digital tools to promote student civic engagement through their contradictory statements about their ideological versus pragmatic potential and positive versus negative potential. Most of them regard HEIs as responsible for training teachers in the use of digital tools, offering courses for students on the digitalization and enforcing this as a central issue in education didactics and policy. As the following statement 244

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shows, students are aware of the broader ideological and societal impact of digitalization: ‘I just feel that topics like digitalization should become more central for policymakers … they have to understand that this is not just a tool’ (16). After the outbreak of Covid-19, digital technologies were integrated into Case Study 3. Law and business students took part in the programme and held online meetings with their clients to advise them on legal issues with the aid of a qualified solicitor or barrister. Although the lecturer on the programme does have specific ideas on how to improve opportunities for DCE, he does not feel that the effort required to implement new digital tools would merit the costs involved: ‘While it would be very beneficial to both our clients and our volunteers, it may prove to be too much of a task to adapt to this instant messaging service. The initial costs will probably outweigh the potential benefit especially considering that the FLAC Society is a completely voluntary free service’ (9). This demonstrates the fact that digital tools cannot be integrated into existing DCE initiatives without a certain amount of preparation and management. So, while respondents are aware of the potential of digital tools, they also have pragmatic and realistic expectations as to what they can offer. Students in Case Study 1 and Case Study 2 see limitations in the use of digital tools when communicating with others, especially children: ‘I think that in some cases the technologies can’t substitute for physical contact but in others, they can be helpful and very good. For example, in the case of UMSumário, if I were sitting at a table with my pupil and working with her face-toface, I think it would improve our sessions’ (14). The same applies to a student in Case Study 2, who also worked with children and points to the positive and negative aspects of working with digital tools, especially when it comes to socially disadvantaged families from lower socioeconomic backgrounds: ‘Altogether I think it is important to think about digitalization and to understand that it can be inclusive and helpful. But it can also quickly become exclusive because it’s not a real place’ (16). According to this interviewee, working with digital tools depends on the context and because this work does not take place in ‘a real place’, the participating children rely thereby on digital devices (e.g. computers) that may or may not be available to them at home.

Discussion This chapter demonstrates the interweaving of DCE, student voice and democracy in HE by exploring how DCE practices are shaped by student voice and thus contribute to shaping democratic universities. The study described therein focused on student civic engagement activities during the Covid-19 pandemic. While the pandemic demanded a new means of connection, which students were ready to make by using digital tools for their civic engagement activities, it was unclear how student voice was represented in these digital spaces. Five case studies from across Europe were used to show how student DCE is represented in practice. The case studies serve as examples of a ‘lived democratic university’, in which students do not delegate their activities to specific representatives (e.g. student unions) following the ideology of a representative democracy or a student representation approach (Matthews and Dollinger 2022; Stadelmann-Steffen and Freitag 2011). Instead, they raise their own voices and become actively engaged by initiating or participating in civic engagement projects supported by their respective HEIs. In all five case studies, students acted as agents of change (Healey, Flint and Harrington 2014) by providing community services to people from socially disadvantaged backgrounds or 245

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population groups different to their own (e.g. immigrants, older people), thus contributing to the values of a democratic society in which everyone has the right to participate. However, the extent to which students were aware of their impact on society differs between the two types of case studies. While students in the student-led projects were responsible for the whole project, and thus also for its goals (e.g. increasing social mobility), those in the institutionally led projects were more dependent on the framework provided by the respective programme at the HEI. Following Matthews and Dollinger (2022), student partnership takes place when students are part of the learning activity as change agents and participate as co-producers, co-designers or co-creators of activities. Our study shows that students who organize the framework for their civic engagement themselves assume more responsibility for both the educational setting and for the programme itself, for example, by endeavouring to professionalize their activities. In contrast, the co-creation of agendas, aims and activities in the institution-based projects was limited to the extent to which the programme offered students the opportunity to bring their own perspective into educational decision-making processes (e.g. by planning a single event for newly arrived immigrants). Our study indicates that it takes time to establish student partnerships in which students and teachers work together for change (McGinnis and Mitra 2022). When teachers were forced to cut off their ongoing communication with student volunteers due to the extraordinary circumstances of the Covid-19 outbreak, partnerships for civic engagement suffered. Students need to establish trust relationships with teachers as equal partners in educational decision-making, as this challenges the traditional notion of the student-teacher relationship in HE (Simon and Pleschová 2021). The digital environment provides students with a space to collaborate and communicate with peers, teachers and community partners. Students who take part in DCE activities consider themselves as culturally competent members of society in the information age (Ignatow and Robinson 2017) and see the digital environment as an opportunity to enforce democratic values, for example, to bridge the digital divide between different generations and population groups (Bringle and Clayton 2020). Following Hofmann (2019: 10), students identified in the case studies can experiment with new forms of ‘democratic agency’ since digital media enables the possibilities of political action. The study participants see wide scope for the further development of civic engagement activities on a digital level and for increasingly shifting community services into a digital arena. However, they are also aware of the resources that this would require. As our study shows, the use of digital tools for civic engagement has its limitations. A key aspect for the successful development of student DCE activities is the building and maintaining of personal relationships. The participating students concur that face-to-face contacts were essential for initiating DCE activities and that technology-mediated communication is no substitute. One of the most important aspects of the student learning experience is collaboration with others on real-world problems and this is not something that can always be achieved through digital means (Mebert et al. 2020). The participants in our study acknowledge both the role of HEIs in promoting student DCE and the resources they provide to students for doing so. Student unions play an important role in raising student awareness for DCE activities as students are more likely to participate in civic engagement if they feel that the student community at their university is already connected to 246

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civil society (Evans et al. 2021). More could, however, be done to include civic learning or volunteering in HE curricula, since these concepts have been shown to promote political and civic participation among students (Nelson, Lewis and Lei 2017). Our study also has some limitations: First, we did not collect socio-demographic data on the participating students, thus making it difficult to determine which students were engaged and which were not. Second, our case study sample is small and only includes cases that focus explicitly on student voice (i.e. where students lead their own DCE activities). Hence, a generalization of the findings based on the limited number of empirical cases is likewise difficult.

Conclusion In light of the Covid-19 pandemic, there are strong arguments for according DCE a more prominent role in HE. Digital technologies offer a wide and not yet fully explored space for different forms of DCE, thus contributing to new forms of student voice and leading to democratic universities. With our study, we hope to contribute to reenergizing student voice practices in HEIs during and after the pandemic by discerning the usefulness of digital tools in student civic engagement activities.

Acknowledgements The authors would like to thank all partners in the ‘Students as Digital Civic Engagers’ project who were involved in conducting the case studies for this study: Regina Alves, Vesna Boskovic, Ralph Chan, Manuel Joao Costa, Ana Dias, Sandra Fernandes, Carla Freire, Aine Hamill, Ülle Kesli, António Osório, Grace Roche, Ly Sõõrd and Francesca Uras.

Funding This project was supported by the European Commission (grant agreement number 2020-1-AT01-KA203-078125).

Notes 1 While a total of twelve case studies were identified in the study, the five presented in this chapter explicitly address the topic of student voice. 2 Due to student time constraints, only the programme coordinator was interviewed in Case Study 4.

References Adi, A., R. Gerodimos and D. G. Lilleker (2018), ‘“Yes We Vote”: Civic Mobilisation and Impulsive Engagement on Instagram’, Javnost: The Public, 25 (3): 315–32. Bennett, W. L. (2008), ‘Changing Citizenship in the Digital Age’, in W. L. Bennett (ed.), Civic Life Online: Learning How Digital Media Can Engage Youth, 1–24, Cambridge: The MIT Press. Bennett, W. L., C. Wells and D. Freelon (2011), ‘Communicating Civic Engagement: Contrasting Models of Citizenship in the Youth Web Sphere’, Journal of Communication, 61 (5): 835–56. Berg, S., and J. Hofmann (2021), ‘Digital Democracy’, Internet Policy Review, 10 (4): 2–23.

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Blaj-Ward, L., and K. Winter (2019), ‘Engaging Students as Digital Citizens’, Higher Education Research & Development, 38 (5): 879–92. Bourdieu, P. (1986), ‘The Forms of Social Capital’, in J. Richardson (ed.), Handbook of Theory and Research for the Sociology of Education, 241–58, New York: Greenwood Press. Bringle, R. G., and P. H. Clayton (2020), ‘Integrating Service Learning and Digital Technologies: Examining the Challenge and the Promise’, RIED. Revista Iberoamericana de Educación a Distancia, 23 (1): 43–65. Campbell, D. E. (2000), ‘Social Capital and Service Learning’, Political Science and Politics, 33 (3): 641–5. Catalina-García, B., A. García-Jiménez and J. Menor Sendra (2019), ‘Social and Political Engagement of University Students in the Digital Sphere: Social Network Uses for Citizen Participation’, Anàlisi: quaderns de comunicació i cultura, 60: 25–41. Cook-Sather, A. (2006), ‘Sound, Presence, and Power: “Student Voice” in Educational Research and Reform’, Curriculum Inquiry, 36 (4): 359–90. Dewey, J. ([1916] 1966), Democracy and Education, New York: The Free Press. Dubow, T., A. Devaux, C. Van Stolk and C. Manville (2017), Civic Engagement: How Can Digital Technologies Underpin Citizen-Powered Democracy?, Cambridge, UK: RAND Corporation. Evans, C., G. Rees, C. Taylor and S. Fox (2021), ‘A Liberal Higher Education for All? The Massification of Higher Education and Its Implications for Graduates’ Participation in Civil Society’, Higher Education, 81 (3): 521–35. Farnell, T., B. Ćulum Ilić, D. Dusi, E. O’Brien, N. Šćukanec Schmidt, A. Veidemane and D. Westerheijden (2020), Building and Piloting the TEFCE Toolbox for Community Engagement in Higher Education. Zagreb: Institute for the Development of Education. Gordon, E., S. Elwood and K. Mitchell (2016), ‘Critical Spatial Learning. Participatory Mapping, Spatial Histories, and Youth Civic Engagement’, Children’s Geographies, 14 (5): 558–72. Graf, M. (2014), ‘The European Democracy Paradox’, RAND Corporation, 21 May. http://www.rand.org/ blog/2014/05/the-europ​ean-democr​acy-para​dox.html (accessed 18 May 2022). Greene, S., K. J. Burke and M. K. McKenna (2018), ‘A Review of Research Connecting Digital Storytelling, Photovoice, and Civic Engagement’, Review of Educational Research, 88 (6): 844–78. Harper, S., S. Quaye and S. L. Pendakur (2015), Student Engagement in Higher Education: Theoretical Perspectives and Practical Approaches for Diverse Populations, New York: Routledge. Healey, M., A. Flint and K. Harrington (2014), Engagement through Partnership: Students as Partners in Learning and Teaching in Higher Education, York: Higher Education Academy. Hofmann, J. (2019), ‘Mediated Democracy: Linking Digital Technology to Political Agency’, Internet Policy Review, 8 (2): 1–18. Ignatow, G., and L. Robinson (2017), ‘Pierre Bourdieu: Theorizing the Digital’, Information, Communication & Society, 20 (7): 950–66. Klasen, J. M., A. Meienberg and B. J. M. Bogie (2020), ‘Medical Student Engagement During COVID19: Lessons Learned and Areas for Improvement’, Medical Education, 55: 115–118. Mandarano, L., M. Meenar and C. Steins (2010), ‘Building Social Capital in the Digital Age of Civic Engagement’, Journal of Planning Literature, 25 (2): 123–35. Matthews, K. E., and M. Dollinger (2022), ‘Student Voice in Higher Education: The Importance of Distinguishing Student Representation and Student Partnership’, Higher Education, 85: 555–70. https://doi.org/10.1007/s10​734-022-00851-7 (accessed 11 November 2022). McGinnis, E., and D. Mitra (2022), ‘Civic Action and Student Voice’, Education, Citizenship and Social Justice, 17 (3): 268–81. McIlrath, L., and L. Tansey (2013), ‘Student Engagement through Volunteering’, in E. Dunne and O. Derfel (eds), Student Engagement Handbook: Practice in Higher Education, 221–36, Bingley, UK: Emerald. Mebert, L., R. Barnes, J. Dalley, L. Gawarecki, F. Ghazi-Nezami, G. Shafer, J. Slater and E. Yezbick (2020), ‘Fostering Student Engagement through a Real-World, Collaborative Project across Disciplines and Institutions’, Higher Education Pedagogies, 5 (1): 30–51. 248

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Melville, K., J. R. Dedrick and E. Gish (2013), ‘Preparing Students for Democratic Life: The Rediscovery of Education’s Civic Purpose’, The Journal of General Education, 62 (4): 258–76. Mihailidis, P., K. Fincham and J. N. Cohen (2014), ‘Toward a Media Literate Model for Civic Engagement in Digital Culture: Exploring the Civic Habits and Dispositions of College Students on Facebook’, Atlantic Journal of Communication, 22 (5): 293–309. Mirra N., and A. Garcia (2017), ‘Civic Participation Reimagined: Youth Interrogation and Innovation in the Multimodal Public Sphere’, Review of Research in Education, 41 (1): 136–58. Mooney, L., and B. Edwards (2001), ‘Experiential Learning in Sociology: Service Learning and Other Community-Based Learning Initiatives’, Teaching Sociology, 29 (2): 181–94. Nelson, J. L., D. A. Lewis and R. Lei (2017), ‘Digital Democracy in America: A Look at Civic Engagement in an Internet Age’, Journalism & Mass Communication Quarterly, 94 (1): 318–34. Ostrander, S. A. (2004), ‘Democracy, Civic Participation, and the University: A Comparative Study of Civic Engagement on Five Campuses’, Nonprofit and Voluntary Sector Quarterly, 33 (1): 74–93. Panke, S., and J. Stephens (2018), ‘Beyond the Echo Chamber: Pedagogical Tools for Civic Engagement Discourse and Reflection’, Journal of Educational Technology & Society, 21 (1): 248–63. Saltmarsh, J. (2007), ‘Dewey’s Dream: Universities and Democracies in an Age of Education Reform: Civic Society, Public Schools, and Democratic Citizenship’, Michigan Journal of Community Service Learning, 14 (1): 65–70. Simon, E., and G. Pleschová (2021), ‘PhD Students, Significant Others, and Pedagogical Conversations. The Importance of Trusting Relationships for Academic Development’, International Journal for Academic Development, 26 (3): 279–91. Stadelmann-Steffen, I., and M. Freitag (2011), ‘Making Civil Society Work: Models of Democracy and Their Impact on Civic Engagement’, Nonprofit and Voluntary Sector Quarterly, 40 (3): 526–51. Watkins, M., C. Hayes and M. Sarubbi (2015), ‘The Six Requirements of Service-Learning: A Pathway to High Impact Practices’, in O. Delano-Oriaran, M. W. Penick-Parks and S. Fondrie (eds), The SAGE Sourcebook of Service-Learning and Civic Engagement, 115–22, California: Sage Publications. Yin, R. K. (2018), Case Study Research and Applications: Design and Methods, 6th edn, Los Angeles, CA: Sage Publications.

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PART IV

Institutionalizing Student Voice through Governance Structures Introduction RILLE RAAPER

This part is centred around student voice as it relates to formal university governance structures. While student voice can take many forms, as this book demonstrates, it has become increasingly important to emphasize the formal avenues for students to exercise their voice. Many (e.g. Klemenčič 2014; Luescher-Mamashela 2013; Raaper 2020) have argued that the opportunities for students to become involved in university governing boards, students’ unions, department and course-level committees have grown extensively in contemporary universities worldwide. This introduction aims to contextualize the strategic importance universities place on student voice. It will also introduce the chapters of this part and provide a synthesis of lessons learned from this part.

Contextualizing Student Voice in Governance Structures There is an extensive scholarly focus on student voice in higher education governance structures. Researchers have explored student voice within various institutional and national settings, providing nuanced understandings of how students influence governance in particular settings. This diverse work, however, has also demonstrated common threads in representative practices across international settings. For example, Manja Klemenčič, an esteemed scholar in the field of student governance, explains student representation as a process through which students’ work in the formal university governance structures influence the decisions made both on and off campus (Klemenčič 2020; Klemenčič and Park 2018). Students are generally elected to representative roles by other students; they have a mandate for a specific time period, and they are expected to attend certain board/committee meetings as set by the university’s academic calendar. It is known that the late 1960s global student protests were an important catalyst for introducing student representation into higher education governance (Klemenčič 2014; Luescher-Mamashela 2013). These protests responded to a variety of social and educational issues, ranging from a lack of civil rights to archaic university practices and student rights to be part of decision making. As a result of these widespread protests, it has become a common practice to involve students in university governance in many countries today (Klemenčič 2014; Luescher-Mamashela 2013).

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One could even argue that the representational practice has become the most welcomed approach for universities to gather a variety of student feedback. Students in these representative roles can be addressed in several constructive ways, for example, consumers, stakeholders, partners and citizens/democratic agents (Boland 2005; Luescher-Mamashela 2013; Menon 2005). While the existing scholarly work has drawn immense attention to student representation and its growing importance in university governance worldwide, it has also started to highlight various limitations related to the formalization of student voice. Scholars (e.g. Klemenčič 2014; Luescher-Mamashela 2013; Raaper 2020, 2022) argue that global market forces in higher education have encouraged universities to carefully manage student voice which has led to a greater regulation and standardization of student representation. In other words, while the opportunities for students to undertake representational roles may have increased, it has become difficult to assess the extent to which student voice is considered in the actual decision-making processes. Klemenčič (2014) explains that that the marketization of universities has an ultimate effect on student representation: it professionalizes and de-politicizes student representation for the purposes of institutional marketing and quality assurance. Research has also highlighted that inequalities exist regarding the social backgrounds of students involved in formal university governance. It is known that ethnic minority students, mature students and students with disabilities are less likely to put themselves forward for these roles, raising questions about the representativeness of student representatives (Bols 2017; Brooks, Byford and Sela 2015; Lozano and Hughes 2017; McStravock 2022). The background of student representatives is crucial, particularly when considering the extent to which these roles can advocate on behalf of the increasingly diverse student population in higher education.

Chapter Overview While the scale and importance of formalized student voice has most certainly increased in today’s universities worldwide, it is less clear how the representational student practices operate and what impact they have in particular national and institutional settings. This part aims to tackle this challenge and give voice to a number of scholars who have explored student voice in formal university structures in a variety of global settings, for example, Finland (Trifuljesko and Björnö), Italy (Romito and Colombo; Pastore and Ascorra), the UK (Turner and Winter), the United States (Ris, Johnson and Mogilnyy), Chile (Pastore and Ascorra) and Kenya (Ochieng, Sebayiga, Njane and Kitawi). These authors cover a range of examples related to student representative practices, including student involvement in the university governance structures such as senates and course committees, but also in quality assurance processes and institutional students’ unions. While these chapters provide a detailed overview of student voice from particular settings, they also offer guidance and inspiration to anyone interested in researching student voice as it operates through governance structures. Chapter 18, titled ‘Student Agency and Student Impact through Representative Student Associations’, provides a thought-provoking conceptual account of student representation in higher education. Klemenčič introduces key concepts – student organization, governance, agency and impact – that are essential for our understanding of how student voice is enacted through formal university governance. The chapter offers a thorough engagement with an innovative concept of student impact which helps us understand the opportunities that students have to 252

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influence their academic and social experiences through representation, activism, leadership and consumerism, to a name a few. Chapter 19, titled ‘Student Participation in Shared Governance at American Research Universities’, focuses on students’ participation in academic senates in the United States. Ris, Johnson and Mogilnyy demonstrate the incredible diversity of practice, even within the most elite universities in the world, raising questions about the impact students can have through their formal representative roles. Chapter 20, titled ‘Student Unions as Avenues for Inclusion and Participation of International Students? A Case from Finland’, provides a thought-provoking insight into the international students’ participation in the representative council of the student union at the University of Helsinki (HYY), one of the largest and wealthiest student organizations in the world. Trifuljesko and Björnö provide an illuminating account of fractures that exist in students’ unions and how international student representatives are often marginalized in student governance structures. Chapter 21, titled ‘The Joint Student-Teacher Commission in Italy: A Managerial Technology or a Catalyst for Change?’, problematizes the initiatives aimed at developing student involvement in university governance. Romito and Colombo introduce an example from Italy: The Joint Student-Teacher Commission. While this initiative aims to empower student voice, the authors demonstrate the complex policy networks that emerge from the commission’s work and the ways in which student voice is restricted within these networks of power. Chapter 22, titled ‘Enabling Students’ Voices in a Developing-Country Context: Challenges and Opportunities’, provides an example of how students informed educational practices during the Covid-19 pandemic in Strathmore University in Sub-Saharan Africa. Ochieng, Sebayiga, Njane and Kitawi provide a thorough engagement with the concept of student agency. They also offer optimism by highlighting and celebrating opportunities for student voice and the impact it can make in formal university governance. Chapter 23, titled ‘Examining the Role of the Sabbatical Officer Manifestos and Campaigns in Achieving Change in UK Higher Education’, focuses on the UK students’ unions by demonstrating how sabbatical officers – full- or part-time elected student officers – develop and deliver their campaign manifestos. Turner and Winter show the challenges that sabbatical officers face when developing and delivering their manifestos. They also argue that to increase the impact of student voice, the campaigns should be perceived as collective activity that unite sabbatical officers, union staff and student population more broadly. Chapter 24, titled ‘Student Involvement in University Governance in Italy and Chile: A Comparative Document Analysis’ offers a detailed analysis of how student representation in university governance has evolved in two countries with very different educational traditions: Italy and Chile. Pastore and Ascorra argue that the student role in quality assurance processes is heavily shaped by neoliberalism. However, the authors also demonstrate that while the neoliberal policies enforce a normative regulation of student participation in Italy, the Chilean case reflects in the explicit absence of student rights to participate in university governance processes. Collectively, these chapters represent an effort to understand, unwrap and critique contemporary student roles in university governance processes across various national and institutional settings. While good practices and opportunities exist for students to develop and enact their voice, as outlined by Klemenčič and Ochieng et al., most chapters in this part invite us to reflect on the limitations that exist when students attempt to exercise their voice 253

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through formal governance practices, including governing boards, students’ unions, staff-student committees or quality assurance practices. While there is no doubt that student opportunities to exercise their voice through formal governance practices have increased, it is more important than ever to consider how meaningful these practices are and whose voices get heard. This part demonstrates that student voice is increasingly institutionalized through governance structures, but these formalized representative roles and avenues for students to express their voice tend to be carefully managed and contained by university administrators. This also means that while there is a significant infrastructure for student voice to be exercised in higher education sectors worldwide, it is unclear the extent to which these formal avenues are the most efficient and meaningful ways for students to express their experiences, needs and interests.

References Boland, J. A. (2005), ‘Student Participation in Shared Governance: A Means of Advancing Democratic Values?’, Tertiary Education and Management, 11 (3): 199–217. https://doi.org/10.1080/13583​ 883.2005.9967​147. Bols, A. T. G. (2017), ‘Enhancing Student Representation’, The Journal of Educational Innovation, Partnership and Change, 3 (1): 81–9. Brooks, R., K. Byford and K. Sela (2015), ‘The Changing Role of Students’ Unions within Contemporary Higher Education’, Journal of Education Policy, 30 (2): 165–81. Klemenčič, M. (2014), ‘Student Power in a Global Perspective and Contemporary Trends in Student Organising’, Studies in Higher Education, 39 (3): 396–411. Klemenčič, M. (2020), ‘Student Politics’, in P. N. Teixeira and J.-C. Shin (eds), Encyclopedia of International Higher Education Systems and Institutions, 1–6, Dordrecht: Springer. Klemenčič, M., and B. Y. Park (2018), ‘Student Politics: Between Representation and Activism. Handbook on the Politics of Higher Education’, in B. Cantwell, H. Coates and R. King (eds), Handbook on the Politics of Higher Education, 468–86. Cheltenham: Edward Elgar. https://scho​lar. harv​ard.edu/files/manj​a_kl​emen​cic/files/studentpolitics_klemencic_and_park_final_ver​_aft​er_r​evis​ ions​_sub​mitt​ed_.pdf (accessed 10 December 2022). Lozano, J., and R. Hughes (2017), ‘Representation and Conflict of Interest among Students on Higher Education Governing Boards’, Journal of Higher Education Policy and Management, 39 (6): 607–24. Luescher-Mamashela, T. M. (2013), ‘Student Representation in University Decision Making: Good Reasons, a New Lens?’, Studies in Higher Education, 38 (10): 1442–56. McStravock, K. (2022), ‘We Cannot Be Who We Cannot See – Exploring the Extent to Which Students’ Union Officers Can Be Truly Representative of an Increasingly Diverse Student Body’, All Ireland Journal of Higher Education, 14 (1): 1–15. Menon, M. E. (2005), ‘Students’ Views Regarding Their Participation in University Governance: Implications for Distributed Leadership in Higher Education’, Tertiary Education and Management, 11 (2): 167–82. Raaper, R. (2020), ‘Students’ Unions and Consumerist Policy Discourses in English Higher Education’, Critical Studies in Education, 61 (2): 245–61. Raaper, R. (2022), ‘Freedom, Fragmentation and Student Politics: Tracing the Effects of Consumerism in English Students’ Unions’, in R. Watermeyer, R. Raaper and M. Olssen (eds), Handbook on Academic Freedom, 288–303. Edward Elgar.

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Student Agency and Student Impact through Representative Student Associations MANJA KLEMENČIČ

Student representative associations, also referred to as student governments (or student councils, unions, guilds, parliaments and similar) are a common feature in higher education (HE) institutions around the world. They are the prime example of institutionalizing student voice through governance structures. Student governments vary significantly in their organizational characteristics and in their influence in HE governance. This chapter addresses the effects that students have on HE institutions and possible effects beyond their institutions through student representation. The chapter introduces key concepts in the study of student representation as an institutionalized student voice in HE. First, it discusses the purpose and the organizational capabilities of representative student associations. Next, building on the theory of student agency (Klemenčič 2023b), the chapter introduces the student impact theory which submits that students in a variety of roles – through representation, activism, leadership and other voluntary service, paid campus employment, and consumerism – can directly and purposefully influence academic and social life and decisions of HE institutions. Finally, using the student impact theory as an analytical lens, the chapter analyses the potential effects of students on HE through student representation.

Key Concepts in Study of Student Representative Associations Student representative associations, also referred to as student governments (but also student councils, unions, guilds and similar others) are a distinct type of student organization.1 Student organizations refer to ‘enduring collectivities of students that are autonomously governed and managed by students, have different degrees of formalization and institutionalization of governing structures and processes, and are established with the primary purpose of serving students’ (Klemenčič 2020a: 2). Closest to student governments, and sometimes competing with them for representative voice, are other student groups with political agenda, such as sectorial (discipline-specific), party-political, affinity and religious, and other types of student interest or advocacy groups. Yet, the student governments are distinct in terms of their openness to represent all students. There are also many other primarily service-oriented student organizations which can at times also have political agenda, such as social (e.g. fraternities and sororities), athletic, cultural and art clubs; pre-professional, and community service groups, student newspapers and

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publishers; and student-run campus business organizations (Klemenčič 2020a). These other types of student organizations tend to have some formal relationship to the student governments. For example, the student government manages and distributes funding to other student organizations, or the student government owns student-run campus business organizations. A student government typically presents an overarching framework of student governance within an HE institution or an HE system. Student governance refers to the structures and processes of decision-making on the strategic agenda and the operational programming of the organized collective of students which shape student politics. Through a system of rules, norms and organized practices, student governments effectively provide a framework for student political and social activities (Klemenčič 2014). Student governance is integrated into the broader HE governance. In other words, within HE governance exists a social phenomenon of a student estate as a set of students’ rights, roles and authority, and forms of organization of student interests (Klemenčič 2023a). Student estate implies a distinct social status and political identities of students as a special social category and political actor (ibid.). This is an extended notion of student voice which has been defined by Cook-Sather (2006) as a legitimate perspective, presence and role of students in decision-making at the classroom, institutional or educational systems level. Student governments are a common feature in HE institutions around the world. While the purpose of student governments tends to be common around the world, the organizational capabilities of student governments vary significantly. The next three subsections will address the purposes, organizational capabilities and autonomy and legitimacy of student governments.

Purposes of Student Governments Student governments are a distinct type of political and social institutions specific to the context of HE governance with a purpose to ‘organize, aggregate, and intermediate interests of HE students, provide services for students, and organize student activities’ (Klemenčič 2012: 2). They operate as ‘quasi-governments’ as they present a system of rules and norms by which the student body is organized (Klemenčič 2014). Student governments organize students in different domains and on different levels of multi-level governance of HE: from student dormitories to study programmes, within departments, faculties and schools, or within university alliances, to national levels and supranational HE policymaking. Student governments within HE institutions can be organized either within the university governance structure, such as, for example, student chambers in the Czech Republic or the Central Delegation of Students (CSD) at the Complutense University of Madrid (Klemenčič 2024). Or student governments are organized as legally independent entities, as in the case of local student unions in the United Kingdom (Day 2012). In some countries, these two types of student representation co-exist, for example, in Slovenia, whereby the councils have a role in the governance of HE institutions and unions are responsible for student social welfare, including funding student groups and student activities. National student associations are formed by the collective action of institution-based student governments which chose to cooperate and coordinate their activities in national HE politics (Klemenčič 2012). Similarly, transnational student associations are formed by national student associations and target supranational HE policy processes and institutions (Klemenčič and Galan Palomares 2018). There exist several transnational representative student associations that are active in global regions (Klemenčič 2024).2 256

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Student governments aggregate students’ interests. They do so by way of descriptive representation vested in the elected student representatives. There exists an implicit expectation that student representatives reflect the social characteristics of the student body that elected them, understand students’ interests and are willing to act on behalf of students. How students are elected to the positions of student representatives matters for the alignment between political preferences of the student body and those of the elected representatives. Student elections create incentives for the candidates to fully understand the interests of the student body and commit to act on behalf of the student body. However, student elected representatives’ tenure tends to be relatively short, that is, for one or two years. This is due to the limited nature of studentship. Limited time as students is also the reason why student representatives often do not seek re-election. Student governments also aggregate student interests directly through polling or surveys, referenda or town halls. Student governments intermediate student interests to HE authority and into HE decision processes through formal channels of student representation or expert roles or activism. These roles will be elaborated on in the section on student political agency and impact in HE. Student governments also provide services to students (Cuyjet 1994). Student governments’ activities range from organizing social events to tutoring services, organizing student travel, offering printing and publishing services to managing and distributing funding for student groups, programmes and activities in cultural, educational, social, recreational and other domains. They also manage student facilities and operate student-run businesses.

Key Organizational Capabilities of Student Governments Student governments are essentially associations of individual students and/or of student groups and organizations. Membership in student governments is hence one of the essential features of student governments’ organizational capabilities. Within HE institutions, members of student governments are students enrolled at that institution. Membership in a student government can be universal (every student enrolled at the institution is automatically a member), mandatory (by default students are members but they can opt out) or voluntary membership (students opt in to become members). Tied to membership is payment of membership fees which is crucial revenue source for operations of the student governments. Revenue streams play an important role not only in organizational capabilities of these organizations but also in maintaining organizational autonomy. National and transnational student associations typically have voluntary membership and selection procedures with predefined criteria for candidates to be accepted as members. They are funded through membership fees and seek external funding through administrative grants or projects to fund their operations. The organizational characteristics of student governments and their organizational changes are shaped by the logic of membership and the logic of influence (Klemenčič 2012, cf. Schmitter and Streeck 1999). First, members define the governance arrangements of the student government. These members have made a collective choice to cooperate and coordinate their collective action through joint institutions. These institutions include the governing bodies (such as an assembly or board or parliament) consisting of elected student representatives or delegates from member student governments. This is the highest decision-making body in a student government, which decides on governing structures, political agenda and modes of action. These decisions 257

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are implemented by an executive body, which is formed from elected representatives, and, if resources enable this, by an executive office, which includes (non-elected, paid) staff members. Executive offices and permanent staff are important for maintaining institutional memory, which is relevant given the relatively high turnover among student representatives. Members supply funding and delegate political authority to elected representatives to represent them towards HE authorities and act on their behalf in decision processes in HE. As such, the organizational capabilities of the student governments are inevitably defined by and determined through the logic of membership (Klemenčič 2012). Second, student governments’ organizational capabilities are also defined by the conditions in the political context in which student governments seek to exert political influence: within HE institutions or HE systems. This is how logic of influence shapes organizational structures of student governments. Student governments adapt their structures and processes to better perform their representative function. For example, they create working groups or committees to address a particular policy issue. Student representatives act simultaneously in ‘two-level’ games between members whom they seek to represent and with HE authorities they seek to influence (Klemenčič 2012). In HE contexts where student governments have direct links to political parties or youth organizations (e.g. are members of national youth councils), or other political actors (such as trade unions), negotiations on their policy positions happen also in those contexts. These affiliations or close relationships add a ‘third-level game’ to policy processes of student governments. Intense socialization between student representatives and the HE authorities they seek to influence or other organizations (e.g. political parties) raises challenges to autonomous student representation. In the first existing typology of national student association, Klemenčič (2012) distinguishes between two ideal types of student associations on a spectrum. Interest-group-like student organizations are characterized by hierarchically ordered organizational structures with strong centralized coordination, secure funding, political agenda focused on HE issues and lobbying and political advocacy as the main mode of political action. Student-movement-like student organizations tend to be organizationally more network-like, loosely integrated, with less secure administrative funding, transversal political agenda and non-institutionalized forms of claimmaking, such as protests. Jungblut and Weber (2015) added a hybrid organizational type to capture student governments which transition from student-movement-like to a more professionalized form of an interest-group-like student organization. Vespa, Squazzini and Pratissoli (2024) have since developed a more comprehensive depiction of the ‘student politics system’ which reflects six axes of student collective actors’ orientations:

1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6.

relationship with political parties (affiliation vs. independence), relationship with non-youth stakeholders (integration vs. isolation), organizational structure (movement vs. organization), conception of representation at the national level (unitary vs. plural), mode of action (institutional representation vs. activism) and nature of the set of claims (corporatist vs. political).

This typology can be applied both to (neo)corporatist systems with only one representative student association as well as pluralist systems with many representative student associations. 258

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These organizational characteristics, especially funding, legal status and relationship to third parties are relevant for the autonomy and legitimacy of student governments.

Autonomy and Legitimacy of Student Governments Autonomy of student government refers to student representatives within the student government having full decision-making competences and being exempt from external interference and constraints on the actual use of such competences (Klemenčič 2014). Autonomy of student governments pertains to policy autonomy (ability to decide on its own political and professional agenda), governance autonomy (ability to decide on internal structures and processes) and managerial autonomy (discretion over financial matters, human and other resources). The last includes financial autonomy (conditions imposed through funding), legal autonomy (legal status) and ‘symbolic’ autonomy (in particular, relations to political parties). In the case of student governments, external interference typically stems from the state, political parties and or HE institutions in which they are located (Klemenčič 2014). The state can (and often does) regulate through legislation the terms of the relationship between student governments and their home institutions. The sticking points in such formulations are several: whether membership in student governments is automatic (or mandatory) or voluntary, how student governments are funded (through mandatory student fees or through voluntary contributions of students) and what the legal status of student governments is (are student governments legally independent or integrated into governing structure of the university they belong to) (Klemenčič 2014). The expectation here is that the less dependent student governments are on their home institutions, the freer they will be from possible intervention and control from the institutional leadership (ibid.). Furthermore, the state can create its own representative student associations and or exerts direct control over such associations. This is a common practice in corporatist systems, such as, for example, in the past totalitarian regimes in Eastern Europe and Soviet Union. At present, in China, two parallel systems of student representation exist within HE institutions: the student union and the student organizations affiliated with the University Communist Party Committee (CPC), with the latter being much more influential (Huang, Yao and Li 2021). Furthermore, external interference can come from political parties through funding of political candidates, as it is the case in many African countries (Luescher-Mamashela and Klemenčič 2016; Luescher-Mamashela and Mugume 2014). In some countries, student groups have overt party-political designations and thus direct links to political parties. In Italy, for example, this is reflected in a pluralist system of student representation with many competing partypolitical student groups both within the institutions and at national level (Vespa, Squazzini and Pratissoli 2024). The autonomy of student governments relates also to the student rights to organize, assemble and peacefully demonstrate, and to voice student grievances and interests through advocacy and research, representation, and lobby, and through non-violent activism. Violations of student rights can also occur through more covert actions by HE institutions or governments, such as implicit threats, intimidation or coercion, or other ways of discrimination or through retaliation, including withholding opportunities to student leaders. However, student governments too can take measures to prevent student representatives from acting in representative roles when 259

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there exists a possibility for conflict of interest. For example, student representatives should not seek letters of recommendations, internships or other personal benefits or opportunities from the institutional leaders or government officials with whom they interact in an official capacity as representatives of students. This is to prevent these representatives from entering situations where they could be co-opted by others to derive personal benefit from actions or decisions made in their official capacity as student representatives. The perceived autonomy of student governments affects student governments’ internal and external legitimacy. Internal legitimacy refers to how the student body perceives the student government’s ability to represent student interests effectively and truthfully (Klemenčič 2014). A student government cannot be perceived as a legitimate representative of students (1) if it is perceived by the students as corrupt or co-opted by the state or by the leadership of HE institution, (2) if it does not practice democratic governance, (3) if it is financially mismanaged, (4) if it is nepotistic in terms of who can get elected to student representative roles or (5) if it is simply inept in addressing student grievances. Consequently, low turnout in student elections can be interpreted as potentially (but not necessarily) caused by low internal legitimacy of the student government. Lack of internal legitimacy affects the external legitimacy of the student government. External legitimacy of student governments reflects whether student governments are perceived as representative, democratic and effective by the other actors in the HE system, including and especially the HE authorities they seek to influence (Klemenčič 2014). As in the case of internal legitimacy, student governments are judged by the external actors for good governance, including structural and procedural democracy, and sound management, including and especially financial management. External actors also judge student governments in terms of expertise, constructiveness, reliability and trustworthiness of its representatives in contributions they make to decision processes. These are different features of ‘student capital’ (cf. Klemenčič 2015) that supports student agency and student impact on HE which will be discussed in the next section.

Student Agency and Student Impact on HE through Representation Student agency refers to students’ capabilities to navigate and influence their learning and education pathways and environments (Klemenčič 2023b). These capabilities are conditioned by agentic opportunities that emerge for students from the external environment, from the HE ‘structures and processes’ and agentic orientations that are internal responses of the student to the HE environments. In interactions with and engagements in the HE environment and resources they develop through these engagements, students enact their agency towards specific goals. Depending on these goals, we differentiate between student self-formation agency and student political agency. Students’ self-formation agency is enacted for purposes of individual self-formation, such as choosing specific topics for their thesis work because of their academic goals or engaging in pre-professional extracurricular activities given their career plans. Students enact political agency – individually, collectively or through proxies – towards changes in HE environments (i.e. institutional changes) or towards changes in society (i.e. societal changes), which serve a collective good (not merely an individual interest).

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A Theory of Student Impact in HE A theory of student impact on HE seeks to explain the overarching mechanisms of students’ effects on HE through student political agency.3 This theory challenges the one-directional scholarship on the ‘college effects on students’ which is one of the most prolific and influential domains of inquiry within sociology of HE and HE studies more broadly. The entire field of inquiry on ‘college effects on students’ is devoted to the question how HE processes and structures impact student outcomes, such as student graduation rates or student employability. Yet, this scholarship tends to ignore that students also have agency which they enact towards their own learning and educational goals, their own ‘self-formation’ or to bring about changes in HE environments or beyond (Klemenčič 2023b ). In the case of instigating institutional changes, students’ objective is to transform situational constraints and opportunities for agency achievement (ibid.). They are enacting agency to create new opportunities or overcome barriers or to strengthen their own capabilities that will enable them to achieve the desired self-formation goals. In the case of societal changes, students’ goals are in agency achievement for general (societal) well-being as a precondition for agency achievement in other areas of functioning, such as for self-formation in HE. Student impact model explains student political agency as enacted towards HE authorities in the context of HE institutions. It includes four propositions: Proposition 1: HE institutions do not only have an impact on students but students directly and purposefully co-shape social structures, social life and institutional decisions of HE institutions. The ‘high student impact roles’, that is, roles with high potential for students to have direct effects on HE institutions exist in student representation, voluntary service and leadership roles in student groups, on-campus jobs and through student activism. Students join representative student associations, run for leadership positions in student groups or join student movements with an expectation that these roles will afford them political agency to serve in the interest of others. In contrast, students that seek campus employment do not necessarily do so with motivations of public service; however, campus jobs can also present opportunities for the enactment of political agency. In these roles, through enacting their political agency, students may also have indirect effects on political developments beyond HE institutions. Proposition 2: Students influence social structures and institutional changes also indirectly through expressions of individual and collective (consumer) preferences and patterns of individual and collective behaviour. Students have an impact on institutional decisions and practices by signalling enrolment preferences and enrolment choices. For example, HE institutions invest in luxury housing or recreational facilities if they have reasons to believe that students have preferences for such amenities and having such facilities will attract (fee-paying) students. Market research is performed to understand prospective student (consumer) preferences and institutional research to understand preferences and satisfaction of enrolled students. Proposition 3: Student impact occurs along a continuum. Different roles afford different (potential) degrees of impact, and the same student role affords different (potential) degrees of impact at different times. Student groups and organizations may have more service or

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more political (advocacy) agenda. Depending on the agenda of these groups, students have the motivation and potential to effect institutional decisions and practices. Campus jobs can grant students a voice in decisions. Consumerism as such is not a role that students choose purposefully but it is students’ social status which comes with consumer rights in the institutions that harbour the conception of students as consumers. Proposition 4: Degree of student impact depends on student agency – agentic opportunities and agentic orientations. Institutional structures (including rules, processes and culture) can enable (empower) or limit student impact opportunities. HE institutions where student voice in decision processes is appreciated and affirmed as an important aspect of that institution’s mission tend to offer more opportunities for students to contribute to decision processes across the different operations. The opportunities for student voice and thus students’ effects on HE tend to be limited in authoritarian-paternalistic settings (Klemenčič 2018). Sense of citizenship, belonging, efficacy and public service dispositions shape student agentic orientations to having an impact on learning and educational pathways and environments (Klemenčič 2015). Representation offers, arguably, one of the most high-impact roles for students to have impact on HE institutions or HE systems. Using the student impact theory as an analytical lens, the next section analyses the potential effects of students on HE through student representation.

Student Impact through Student Representation Ad Proposition 1. Student representation, per definition, exists for students to co-shape social structures, social life and institutional decisions of HE institutions (or HE policies in (trans)national polities in the case of (trans)national representative student associations. Student representation is formalized, and institutionalized form of student voice is enabled by two conditions: first, that there exists a representative, democratic and autonomous student government (as described in the previous section), and second, that formal channels of representation and interest intermediation are instituted within the HE governance (Klemenčič and Park 2018). Representation rests on the notions of participatory democracy. In the context of universities, participatory democracy is manifested through shared governance arrangements that enable key stakeholders, including students, to have a say in university decision processes (Klemenčič and Park 2018). In other words, there exist some formal structures or processes through which student representatives voice student interests into decision processes, be that at the level of HE institutions or in-state public policy processes (ibid.). These structures can either be defined in HE legislation or decided within the context of individual HE institutions (Klemenčič 2012, 2015). The practices of student representation in the governance of HE institutions vary significantly across countries, and across private and public HE institutions (Klemenčič 2024). For example, there can be a prescribed share of student members in internal academic decision bodies, and students have full or limited voting rights in such bodies or students are only observers without voting rights. In contrast to student representation, student activists engage in claim-making outside of formal decision structures, although at times student representatives also can resort to activism (Conner 2020). By comparison to student representation, student effects through campus jobs are confined to the unit where students work, and effects through student leadership are limited to issues and members of the student group. 262

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Ad Proposition 2. In HE contexts where students are conceived as consumers and there is a presumption of a symbolic contractual relationship formed between the individual student enrolling and the institution providing education services, student political agency tends to rest stronger in (individual) student consumer rights than within (collective) student representation. Typical for such context is the adoption of New Public Management principles to HE governance. In such governance, decision authority shifts from democratic internal governing bodies (such as academic senates) to external boards of overseers where students are either not represented at all or are represented in small shares along with many other external stakeholders. Furthermore, authority, as the legitimate right to decide, tends to be concentrated in the hands of HE administrators (managers) who can delegate it to academic staff, and possibly students, but retain the final say. As in the case of many private HE institutions following this model, students might be consulted but do not hold any decision authority in governing bodies. The neoliberal policies that reinforce student-consumer conceptions thus have significant implications on student political agency within HE (Raaper 2020, 2021). In such contexts, students engage student representatives as their proxy in areas in which they cannot exert direct influence, typically because they feel they do not have direct control over institutional conditions, or they do not wish to invest time and resources in activism. When experiencing grievances, students may prefer to exercise their consumer rights, such as using complaint procedures, then turn to their student governments which lack formal authority in decision processes. If students worry about the possible risks associated with filing a complaint against a particular professor or administrator, they might prefer to file a complaint via student representatives. Students also engage student representatives when they do not wish to invest time and resources, or when they believe student representatives can tackle the problem more effectively (Klemenčič 2015). Ad Proposition 3. Student governments as predominant forms of institutionalized student voice in most parts of the world claim monopoly over student capital, which includes (1) students’ expert knowledge and information about HE students (i.e. professional expertise); (2) political resources to legitimize adopted decision and policies, exercise social control over member students and perform accountability checks; and (3) provision of various services to students (instead of or on behalf of HE institutions) (Klemenčič 2014, 2015). In turn, student governments expect access to decision-making, funding and other material or symbolic resources (Klemenčič and Galan Palomares 2018). Student governments’ political potency, especially if validated through high election turnout or activist mobilization, gives these representative bodies strength in claim-making on behalf of students. However, as discussed earlier, student governments also face numerous challenges to their internal and external legitimacy, which limits their ability to perform the representative function. The organizational resources of student governments as well as their bureaucratic structures vary significantly across, and within, countries (Klemenčič 2014 2024). As discussed in the previous proposition, changes in the institutional governance arrangements can alter both the formal and symbolic authority of student representatives to partake in institutional decision processes. Ad Proposition 4. The degree of student impact through representation depends on student agency – agentic opportunities and agentic orientations of student representatives individually and student governments as organizations of collective student interest incorporating student rights and rules for the student body. The student representatives’ agentic opportunities are positive freedoms and opportunities within HE institutions to do and to be what they have 263

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reason to value as student representatives (cf. Klemenčič 2023b). Their agentic opportunities are inextricably linked to the autonomy of student governments and rights for student representation in HE governance stipulated in legal and statutory documents. Thus, these agentic opportunities are exogenously given – they originate outside the individual student representatives and student governments in the context of formal and informal HE governance arrangements. However, the key premise of the theory of student impact in HE is that students can enact political agency to change HE institutions, for example, demand more rights for student representation. Hence, the relations between students (or student governments) and HE institutions is one of alternation between the conditioning of student representation by structures of HE and the elaboration of structures of HE by student representation (Klemenčič 2023a). The relations between student representatives and student governments are also one of alternation between the conditioning of student representatives’ actions by structures of student government and the elaboration of structures of student government by student representatives. Student governments house resources that enable elected student representatives to act on behalf of students and distribute resources (typically funding) to student organizations and various student initiatives and activities. Their purpose and mission, structures, processes and rules are stipulated in statutory documents and their political agenda is recorded in policy papers. As political institutions, student governments develop their own cultural frames, that is their own interpretative lenses about the social world around them and their own narratives. Furthermore, they encompass distinct repertoires of action as toolkits of habits, skills and styles which shape the strategies of those students who wish to run for positions in student government (cf. Swidler 1986). For example, in many countries, it is common for political parties to be involved in student politics, especially through funding candidates in student elections. Those students who aspire to serve in student representation thus need to understand how to engage with political parties as an essential ‘toolkit for action’ to get elected. In contrast, if a student body is against party-political involvement, or if party-political involvement is prohibited in student politics, this context presents a different cultural repertoire for aspiring student leaders to navigate. Like any social institution, student governments incorporate symbolic boundaries, that is, visible barriers between those who can serve as student representatives and those who cannot. The inclusion of students from minority groups among the elected student representatives is one relevant issue here (Goodman 2022). Another issue pertains to gender balance among elected representatives and, in some contexts, the underrepresentation of women in student politics (Miller and Kraus 2004). Yet another issue is whether students from lower socio-economic backgrounds have access to public service roles in student representation. This issue is related to the question of whether student government roles are remunerated (or not) or whether students can obtain course credit for such public service roles. Serving in student government has several benefits for personal and professional development (Deng et al. 2020; Downey, Bosco and Silver 1984; Kuh and Lund 1994; Rosch and Collins 2017). However, voluntary public service roles in student government inevitably present significant opportunity costs to paid student jobs. Consequently, these roles can be less accessible to students who need earnings to support themselves or their families while they are studying, which is a vast majority of students across the world. Cultural capital and social capital can present barriers to access to student governments and how well the elected representatives reflect the diversity of the student population (Brooks, Byford and Sela 264

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2015). If calls for candidates are not open and transparent, and if it depends on whom you know to get into the student representation, these practices present barriers to access. Student representatives can be co-opted to support the agendas of others by socializing into the values, norms and interests of the communities of practice they have joined or simply out of self-interest expecting personal benefits for cooperative behaviour (Klemenčič 2018). Rules on preventing a conflict of interest in student representation are important in addressing these challenges. The positions advanced by student representatives need to be checked against the mandate they obtained from their constituency to ensure that student interests are represented truthfully and competently (Klemenčič 2018). Finally, students with public service dispositions are drawn to student leadership roles. Their sense of citizenship and belonging to the university offers further motivation for enactment of political agency (Klemenčič 2015). Students’ sense of efficacy, that is, sense that they can effect change through their action can also add to motivation to act against feelings of powerlessness and futility.

Conclusion This chapter builds on the argument that students are constructing new roles and new types of authority in HE and are strengthening their political agency especially compared to the academic staff (Klemenčič 2023a). While representative roles of students in HE governance might be unchanged or diminishing due to New Public Management reforms of HE governance and neoliberal HE policies, student voice is sought in student-centred learning and teaching practices (Klemenčič 2020b), quality assurance and accreditation (Klemenčič 2018), and promulgated through imperative to understanding preferences of students as consumers. Inevitably, new HE policies will continue to shape HE politics and student politics which is part of it. While it is unlikely that student representation will disappear from HE governance and politics, it might be increasingly contested as holding a monopoly over student voice in HE. The main challenges to student representatives’ voice in HE governance are student experts (not from the ranks of student representatives) taking on consultancy roles in HE management, especially in quality assurance and accreditation, and student administrators taking on jobs at HE institutions as HE professionals. The future of student governments and student representation more generally will depend on its ability to adapt to fast-changing and increasingly complex HE environments and the demands from institutional leaders, policymakers and academic staff for student voice bringing helpful insights into curricular and pedagogic, and strategic decisions.

Notes The author would like to thank Rille Raaper for most helpful feedback, and especially in guidance for developing the second part of this chapter. 1 For stylistic reasons, I will refer here to all kinds of representative student associations as student governments. 2 In 2020, five regional student associations have together formed the Global Student Forum: All-Africa Students Union (AASU), European Students Union (ESU), Commonwealth Students Association (CSA),

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Organizing Bureau of School Students Unions (OBESSU) and Organización Continental Latinoamericana y Caribeña de Estudiantes (OCLAE). 3 Student enactment of political agency can also result in students’ self-formation, possibly even at an accelerated rate, but self-formation is not the purpose only a possible consequence of enactment of political agency.

References Brooks, R., K. Byford and K. Sela (2015), ‘“Inequalities in Students” Union Leadership: The Role of Social Networks’, Journal of Youth Studies, 18 (9): 1204–18. Conner, J. O. (2020), The New Student Activists: The Rise of Neoactivism on College Campuses, Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press. Cook-Sather, A. (2006), ‘Sound, Presence, and Power: “Student Voice” in Educational Research and Reform’, Curriculum Inquiry, 36 (4), 359–90. doi: 10.1111/j.1467-873X.2006.00363.x. Cuyjet, M. J. (1994), ‘Student Government as a Provider of Student Services’, New Directions for Student Services, (66): 73–89. Day, M. (2012), ‘Dubious Causes of No Interest to Students? The Development of National Union of Students in the United Kingdom’, European Journal of Higher Education, 2 (1): 32–46. doi: 10.1080/21568235.2012.683699. Deng, Weiguang, Xue Li, Huayun Wu and Guozheng Xu (2020), ‘Student Leadership and Academic Performance’, China Economic Review, 60 (C). doi: 10.1016/j.chieco.2019.101389. Downey, R. G., P. J. Bosco and E. M. Silver (1984), ‘Long-Term Outcomes of Participation in Student Government’, Journal of College Student Personnel, 25 (3): 245–50. Goodman, M. A. (2022), ‘Openly Gay Undergraduate Men in Student Government: Out, Visible, and Elected’, The Journal of Diversity in Higher Education, 15 (6): 766–77. Huang, W., P. Yao and F. Li (2021), ‘Student Governments in Chinese HE: Reflection on College Students’ and Student Cadres’ Political Trust’, Higher Education, (82): 387–409. Jungblut, J., and R. Weber (2015), ‘We Are One, But We’re Not the Same: Explaining the Emergence of Hybrid National Student Unions’, in M. Klemenčič, S. Bergan and R. Primožič (eds), Student Engagement in Europe: Society, Higher Education and Student governance, 269–81, Strasbourg: Council of Europe. Klemenčič, M. (2012), ‘Student Representation in Western Europe: Introduction to the Special Issue’, European Journal of Higher Education, 2 (1): 2–19. Klemenčič, M. (2014), ‘Student Power in a Global Perspective and Contemporary Trends in Student Organising’, Studies in Higher Education, 39 (3): 396–411. Klemenčič, M. (2015), ‘Student Involvement in Quality Enhancement’, in J. Huisman, H. de Boer, D. Dill and M. Souto-Otero (eds), The Handbook of Higher Education Policy and Governance, 526–43, London: Palgrave Macmillan. Klemenčič, M. (2018), ‘The Student Voice in Quality Assessment and Improvement’, in E. Hazelkorn, H. Coates and A. McCormick (eds), Research Handbook on Quality, Performance and Accountability in Higher Education, 332–43, Cheltenham: Edward Elgar Publishing. Klemenčič, M. (2020a), ‘Student Activism and Student Organizations’, in M. E. David and M. J. Amey (eds), The SAGE Encyclopedia of Higher Education, Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publishers. Klemenčič, M. (2020b), ‘Students as Actors and Agents in Student-Centered Higher Education’, in S. Hoidn and M. KlemenKlemenčičič (eds), Routledge International Handbook on Student-Centered Learning and Teaching in Higher Education, 92–108, New York: Routledge. Klemenčič, M. (2023a), ‘The Rise of the Student Estate’, in A. Amaral and A. Magalhães (eds), Handbook on Autonomy and Governance of Higher Education Institutions, Chapter 29, Cheltenham: Edward Elgar Publishing.

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Klemenčič, M. (2023b), ‘A Theory of Student Agency in Higher Education’, in C. Baik and E. R. Kahu (eds), Research Handbook on the Student Experience in Higher Education, Chapter 3, Cheltenham: Edward Elgar Publishing. Klemenčič, M., ed. (2024), The Bloomsbury Handbook of Student Politics and Representation in Higher Education, New York: Bloomsbury Publishers. Klemenčič, M., and B. Y. Park (2018), ‘Student Politics: Between Representation and Activism’, in B. Cantwell, H. Coates and R. King (eds), Handbook on the Politics of Higher Education, 468–86, Cheltenham: Edward Elgar Publishing. Klemenčič, M., and F. M. Galán Palomares (2018), ‘Transnational Student Associations in the European Multi-Level Governance of HE Policies’, European Educational Research Journal, 17 (3): 365–84. Kuh, G. D., and J. P. Lund (1994), ‘What Students Gain from Participating in Student Government’, New Directions for Student Services, 1994 (66): 5–17. Luescher-Mamashela, T. M., and M. Klemenčič (2016), ‘Student Power in Twenty-First Century Africa: The Character and Role of Student Organising’, in R. Brooks (ed.), Student Politics and Protests, International Perspectives, 113–128, Abingdon: Routledge. Luescher-Mamashela, T. M., and T. Mugume (2014), ‘Student Representation and Multiparty Politics in African HE’, Studies in Higher Education, 39 (3): 500–15. Miller, C., and M. Kraus (2004), ‘Participating but Not Leading: Women’s Under Representation in Student Government Leadership Positions’, College Student Journal, 38 (3): 423–7. Raaper, R. (2020), ‘Students’ Unions and Consumerist Policy Discourses in English HE’, Critical Studies in Education, 61 (2): 245–61. Raaper, R. (2021), ‘Students as “Animal Laborans”? Tracing Student Politics in a Marketised Higher Education Setting’, Sociological Research Online, 26 (1): 130–46. Rosch, D. M., and J. D. Collins (2017), ‘The Significance of Student Organizations to Leadership Development’, New Directions for Student Leadership, 2017 (155): 9–19. https://doi.org/10.1002/ yd.20246. Schmitter, P. C., and W. Streeck (1999), ‘The Organization of Business Interests: Studying the Associative Action of Business in Advanced Industrial Societies’, MPlfG Discussion Paper, 99/1, Cologne, Germany: Max Planck Institute for the Study of Societies. Swidler, A. (1986), ‘Culture in Action: Symbols and Strategies’, American Sociological Review, 51 (2): 273–86. Vespa, M., M. Squazzini and R. Pratissoli (2024), ‘Inspired by Student Politics in Italy: A Proposal for a New Typology to Classify Student Collective Actors’, in M. Klemenčič (ed.), The Bloomsbury Handbook of Student Politics and Representation, Chapter 30, New York: Bloomsbury Publishers.

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Student Participation in Shared Governance at American Research Universities ETHAN W. RIS, DAVID R. JOHNSON AND SERGEY V. MOGILNYY

Students make up the largest and most important constituency of universities, and yet they are also its most transient. Trustees and tenured faculty often have lifetime appointments; presidents and provosts can serve long terms and then retreat to professorships; administrative professionals often act as civil servants with career-long tenures. Students, by contrast, are term-limited to the amount of time it takes them to fulfil their graduation requirements. As the chapters in this book indicate, however, that transiency does not mean that students lack voice. Both historically and in the present day, undergraduate and graduate students have many avenues with which to advocate for causes and programmes, express discontent and demand reform. These avenues range from course evaluations to unsanctioned ‘takeovers’ of administrative buildings. This chapter is concerned with one formal mechanism by which students can exercise voice. That mechanism’s sanctioned, ongoing nature affords students a permanent form of voice, by allowing literal seats at the table of governance. Klemenčič and Park (2018) differentiate between ‘activism’ and ‘representation’ in student politics. The former refers to collective action that originates in support of or opposition to a specific cause. Its mobilization can occur on or off campus, in reference to issues of higher education policy or broader social contexts. It is almost always ad hoc, and it exists outside of ‘the system’. Representation, by contrast, is ongoing and rooted in engagement with formal structures of participatory democracy including student-led representative organizations and sanctioned participation in shared governance. Student participation in academic senates, the subject of this chapter, fits squarely in the second category. And yet, studies of student representation typically consider student voice in the context of stand-alone groups such as student government (often focusing on effects for student representatives themselves, rather than for their institutions) (Kuh and Luh 1994; Laosebikan-Buggs 2006; Miles 2011) and graduate student labour unions (Cain 2017; Julius and Gumport 2003; Rhoads and Rhoades 2005). These groups are often described as participants in shared governance, a misleading description since these groups rarely have prerogatives that cover actual governance and can only achieve results through contestation. Our focus here is on shared governance within representative organizations, rather than between them. Specifically, we are interested in the deliberative bodies known variously as ‘academic senates’, ‘faculty senates’ or ‘university councils’. To better understand the student role in college

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and university governance, we conducted a systematic review of the governing documents and membership rosters of deliberative bodies at 131 research universities in the United States. We found that despite their primary association with faculty voice, many of these bodies offered seats or other formal roles to students. While bodies with student representation exist at a minority of institutions surveyed, their numbers are large enough to merit close attention. Our study adds to scholarship that emphasizes the variations in academic governance in US research universities. This literature demonstrates that while typologies exist in the composition, operations and effectiveness of deliberative governing bodies, no generalizations can be made that accurately sum up national norms (Anderson 2007; Apkarian, et al., 2014; Jones 2011; Minor 2004). As we have previously argued, academic senates exist in almost every baccalaureate-granting college or university in the United States, but ‘their ubiquity is only matched by their complexity, with dramatically different models from campus to campus’ (Ris 2018). Understanding how students factor into this highly heterogeneous landscape will shed light on both the bodies themselves and student voice in higher education. In this chapter, we first review the literature on formal student roles in shared governance and then present an historical overview of the evolution of these roles since the late 1950s. We next explain our data collection procedures and report the results of our survey. We end with a discussion on the significance of the study and potential lines of future research.

Existing Literature on Student Participation in Academic Governance Our focus on formal participation in deliberative bodies stands in contrast to research on social movements and student activism through which students seek organizational change in postsecondary institutions via disruptive (e.g. sit-ins, riots and vandalism) and non-disruptive (mass demonstrations and hunger strikes) tactics (Rojas 2006; Ince et al. 2018). Although there is a rich and long-standing tradition of student activism in the United States and abroad (Altbach 1997), it was only during the social movements of the 1960s that scholars turned their attention to the phenomenon as an object of study. This period, not coincidentally, also inspired scholars to explore the question of formal student involvement in matters of academic governance (Robinson and Shoenfeld 1971). And, in fact, Klemenčič (2014) argues that the protests of the late 1960s and early 1970s led directly to ‘the consolidation of student representation within university decisionmaking’, first in continental Europe and then in the English-speaking world and East Asia. Early scholarship on students in governance positions entailed surveys of current practices and policies (Davis 1969), assessment of attitudes towards student involvement in campus affairs (Hodgkinson 1969) and arguments about the purposes and appropriateness of student involvement (Brunson 1969). The analytic focus of such studies varied in the nature of student involvement— spanning activism, committee membership and roles in governing bodies. However, despite this early attention, the initial studies did not lead to an institutionalized sub-field of inquiry in research on students or governance in the United States. We find scarce broad, empirical work on the subject since the early 1970s. Outside the United States, by contrast, there is far more scholarly interest in the governance roles of students in higher education. Tierney (2004) argued that ‘one ought not to overlook how Ameri-centric the research has been on academic governance. If one looks abroad either to Latin America or to Europe, there is a long tradition of the inclusion of students in the governance 270

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processes of the institution. One of the key contributions to literature in this area is a 2011 special issue of Tertiary Education and Management primarily organized around a case-based approach to student governance in the Czech Republic (Pabian and Hündlová 2011), Italy (Foroni 2011), Norway (Michelsen and Stensaker 2011), Portugal (Cardoso and Machado dos Santos 2011) and the UK (Rodgers et al. 2011). Other scholars have examined the robust role of students in academic senates in Canadian universities (Jones, Shanahan and Goyan 2004; Pennock et al. 2015; Zuo and Ratsoy 1999). How and to what extent students participate in governance varies widely across these contexts, with varying degrees of democratic governance and academic oligarchy exhibited in the nation-level cases. Within and beyond the work reviewed here, one apparent conclusion remains: there are significant gaps in what we know about and how we conceptualize formal student involvement in academic governance. These gaps are surprising, especially given the relative abundance of research on academic governance on the one hand and the student experience on the other. We hope that the present study will deepen the field’s descriptive and conceptual understanding of formal student voice and student power in US higher education.

The Historical Context of Student Participation in Academic Senates in the United States Representative deliberative bodies at US universities date at least to 1893, when the University of Chicago inaugurated its university senate (Anderson 2007: 137–9). This body was an example of what Anderson calls a ‘mixed senate’, in that it included administrators as well as professors. Other colleges and universities soon imitated Chicago with both mixed senates and ‘pure senates’ that comprised only faculty (Anderson 2007). But early senates, even mixed ones, did not include students. In fact, such a thing remained extremely rare until the 1960s. A 1957 report sponsored by the American Council on Education (ACE), the umbrella organization for US higher education, found only one instance of full student participation in a deliberative body with broad purview. This was at Antioch College, which was at that time perhaps the most progressive and experimental institution in the United States. Much more common was a phenomenon in which senates and similar bodies would consult with students on specific issues, especially those related to teaching and learning, frequently using the student government (present at 90 per cent of institutions surveyed) as an inter-mediator. This phenomenon was akin to what Matthews and Dollinger (2023) call ‘student partnership’, which stands in contrast to the formal governance roles they call ‘student representation’. However, the 1957 report did find extensive participation of students on committees of the college or university senate. The author emphasized the University of Minnesota in this regard, where the university senate directed its committees to include student voice in ways that ranged from mere consultation to full voting privileges. Minnesota represented ‘an evolutionary approach to increasing the degree of [student] participation’ (Lunn 1957: 2–24). Indeed, that university continued to evolve and today out of the 131 institutions we surveyed for this study, Minnesota has the most robust role for students on its senate. The situation changed dramatically in the next decade. As early as 1961, some scholars were calling on faculty senates to create formal governance roles for students (Bloland 1961). Then, following the Free Speech Movement protests at Berkeley (1964–5; a political extension of a 271

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broad resistance against the in loco parentis model of student supervision), college and university leaders suddenly started to pay attention to student voice. The topic of the 1965 annual meeting of the ACE was ‘The Student’. ACE members debated the possibilities of including students in governance and formed a committee that ultimately lambasted the administrative status quo: The organizational structure of many modern higher educational institutions is not terribly different from that of penal institutions, with the single important exception that a student is relatively free to leave the college or university. The students’ lives, however, are governed by regulations which they have had no share in forming and generally no participation in enforcing. The premise behind this exclusion of students from the real governance of their lives is that they are not mature enough to be trusted with the responsibility. (Committee on the Student in Higher Education 1968: 39) The institution that went the furthest in answering the call to include students in governance was Columbia University, which endured tumultuous 1968 protests that ended in the violent treatment of student activists by New York City police. The following year, the university’s trustees initiated a new deliberative body called the university senate. This was a mixed senate, including not just administrators but also twenty students, who made up a significant voting bloc, with more seats than the administration and more than one-third the number of faculty seats. The students were fully empowered to vote on any issue that came before the senate, including policies related to tenure and promotion (Ris 2018: 126–7). Columbia’s efforts at sharing governance power with students were extraordinary, but they were not alone. Davis (1969) found that by the end of the decade, 76 per cent of a representative sample of US colleges and universities had academic committees on which students sat with full voting rights, and 22 per cent of the institutions had students serving on their faculty senates. Tellingly, across institutions, 55 per cent indicated that they had only begun offering formal representative roles for students after 1965. McGrath (1970) corroborated Davis’s results in a survey of 865 four-year institutions, 23 per cent of which had students serving on their senates, with 18 per cent offering the students full voting rights. A study of private liberal arts colleges conducted the next year found that 24 per cent had student seats on their highest shared governance bodies, with all but one of those affording full voting rights to the students. This study also found a direct relationship between faculty size and student representation: 74 per cent of colleges with more than 200 faculty members had student seats, while none of those with fewer than 100 faculty members did (Hearn and Thompson 1970). In 1973, however, the highly influential Carnegie Commission on Higher Education alerted the sector: ‘We wish to caution’, the commissioners wrote in a report on institutional governance, ‘against hasty consideration of “community councils” or “university-wide senates’ ”. Student representation, they argued, should be limited to ‘areas of governance where they have substantial interest and adequate competence, and where they will assume responsibility’. Chief among these suggested areas was student discipline. The commission’s surveys of constituencies found an impasse: ‘Little common cause exists between faculty members and students in academic governance (except in the area of discipline). Students generally want more authority than faculty are prepared to concede’. The commissioners held up the University of New Hampshire as an example of an institution that went too far, by actually affording more voting seats in its 272

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university senate (created in 1969) to students (thirty undergraduates and five graduate students) than to faculty (thirty seats) (Carnegie Commission 1973: 66–72, 190–2). Perhaps due in no small part to the commission’s influential report, 1973 was a high water mark of formal student participation in college and university senates. In 1977, the University of New Hampshire’s president dissolved the university senate and directed the faculty and the students to form separate deliberative bodies, which still exist today. The student senate’s chief responsibilities, not surprisingly, were overseeing student organizations and participating in the student conduct system (University of New Hampshire 2022). In a 1982 report called ‘Control of the Campus’, the Carnegie Foundation for the Advancement of Teaching made almost no reference to student roles in governance, other than a suggestion that ‘special consultative bodies of faculty, administrators, and students should monitor campus performance in response to the new public accountability mandates – fiscal integrity, social justice and consumer protection’ (Carnegie Foundation 1982: 79). That same year, Baldridge (1982) declared that ‘student influence has declined significantly in the past few years. Student apathy and the ineffectiveness of student representation have virtually shut students out of the governance process’. Boyer (1987) wrote that ‘student involvement in campus governance is almost nonexistent’. But formal student roles in academic senates did not die out in the 1980s, as our data in the next section will show. Many universities have since taken a more measured approach to the idea that the full participatory plans of the late 1960s, reserving a small – perhaps symbolic – percentage of senate seats for students. Even community colleges, sometimes responding to state mandates, created formal roles for students on academic senates in the 1990s (Nussbaum 1995; Rollin 1997. We must consider that the shift towards a neoliberal model from the 1980s onward, in which student tuition became the dominant funding stream for many institutions, may have played a role in it. Under what Luescher-Mamashela (2013) calls a ‘consumerist’ model of student engagement, universities may see student voice as valuable not for democratic purposes but rather for market positioning. In contrast to neoliberal logic, some scholars have argued for the educational value of governance roles for students: ‘Student participation in university governance should be seen as an extension of the educational mission, not of the political structure. In governance activities, as in the classroom, students should, first and foremost, learn from the experience’ (Moore 1995: 201). An American Association of University Professors (2001) statement called for student participation in governance for both ‘educational experience’ and ‘involvement in the affairs of their college or university’. However, the authors continued: ‘The obstacles to such participation are large and should not be minimized: inexperience, untested capacity, a transitory status which means that present action does not carry with it subsequent responsibility, and the inescapable fact that the other components of the institution are in a position of judgment over the students’. The data we present in this chapter do not indicate the validity of such warnings. They also do not address the purposes of student participation in academic senates (i.e. educational vs. political) or the efficacy of student voice in those bodies. Our data do, however, show that the historical trends of this phenomenon have restored the place of students in higher education governance, following an initial spike of inclusion in the late 1960s and a trough in the late 1970s and 1980s. In fact, the levels of student senate participation that we found are higher than even the numbers reported at the phenomenon’s purported heyday. 273

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Data Collection To understand the contemporary trends in student participation in academic governance, we collected data from 131 research universities in the United States. These universities constitute the entirety of the Carnegie Classification of Institutions of Higher Education’s ‘Very High Research’ category (commonly called ‘R1’) in its 2018 triennial rankings. R1 universities are by no means representative of American higher education, but we chose them for our sample due to their prominence and size; twenty-nine out of the thirty largest American universities (excluding primarily online institutions) are in our sample. This set of institutions is conceptually significant because other institutions often seek to emulate the organizational practices at these large, prominent universities. This group also has clearly defined organizational boundaries, making it easier to study relative to other subsets such as community colleges or regional comprehensive universities. To collect our data, we applied a two-step method relying on information presented on institutional websites. Most of our sample featured dedicated pages for their academic senates (alternately called ‘faculty senates’ or ‘university councils’, with no obvious distinction between the terms) including lists of representatives and official by-laws. First, we utilized a document analysis method to collect information on the general pattern of student representation in the senate of each university (Bowen 2009). Specifically, we analysed the senate constitutions and by-laws to identify details about the senate organization, membership composition and voting rights. As a secondary step, we next reviewed the current list of university senators (typically for the academic year 2021–2) for each institution to find the actual presence of the student representatives in the senates, their number and their proportion to the total number of senators. As a result, for each institution, we collected data for the total number of university senators, the actual number of student representatives and their status in senates (i.e. elected, ex officio, voting, non-voting). We also noted specific designations for the sourcing of student representatives, for example, when a seat is reserved for an officer of an elected student government body. We analysed our data to generate descriptive statistics that show the incidence, type and quantity of student participation in shared governance at the 131 institutions. In the next section, we report these statistics in terms of averages and outliers, where appropriate, as well as patterns observed regarding the institutional type, location, prestige and size. We also report the results of one-way ANOVA testing to examine potential correlations between type/level of student participation in shared governance and hypothesized dependent variables including retention rates, graduation rates, acceptance rates, racial diversity, socio-economic diversity and cost of attendance.

Results Our quantitative analysis yields both descriptive and inferential statistics that elucidate the current status of formal student participation in academic senates. Descriptive Statistics Of the 131 universities with a 2018 R1 designation, 129 have an institution-wide deliberative body that shared in governance. Out of these 129, 50 (39 per cent) officially include student 274

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representatives per their by-laws, but only 47 (36.5 per cent) actually list specific students as senate members. The existence of formal seats for students in an academic senate does not guarantee that students have a full voice in the governance system. The types and influence of student representation vary widely among the forty-seven universities with current student senators. Three institutions only include ex-officio student representatives with no voting rights (Arizona State University, Auburn University and Iowa State University) and thirteen include real student representatives but do not allow them to vote on whole-body questions (in most cases they may vote on committees). Thirty-two universities allow full participation by student representatives. Therefore, while a majority of our sample of elite research universities do not have seats for students in academic senates, among those that do, two-thirds afford the students full voting power as opposed to nominal positions. The number of students who are granted seats in faculty senates varies widely among our sample, with a minimum of 2 (observed at five institutions in the sample) and a maximum of 65 (observed at the University of Minnesota, where there are 277 total members in the University Senate). We presume that the wide range in numbers is due to historical and administrative circumstances unique to each institution, rather than any observable pattern. On average, the typical chamber in our sample includes thirteen student representatives. Viewed differently, students typically represent about 10 per cent of the members in each governing body in our sample. In some institutions, student presence is relatively high. For example, the three universities with the largest presence of students in their senates are Ohio State University (32 per cent), New York University (26 per cent) and the University of Minnesota (22 per cent). The categories of students who are allowed to serve in these bodies are also worth noting. The modal practice within the sample is that students are drawn from both undergraduate and graduate populations, selected from undergraduate student government and graduate student associations. Some chambers specify roles from which students must be selected, such as the ‘Speaker of the Student Senate’, while others simply require a member from the student organization. Although postdoctoral researchers occupy a liminal position as they are ‘no longer graduate students’ but ‘not yet faculty’, there may be an emerging practice of giving voice to these scholars in academic senates. Cornell University and the University of Pittsburgh, for example, include postdoctoral researchers in their deliberative bodies. In terms of external organizational properties, there are four descriptive patterns worth noting, related to institutional type, location, organizational prestige and size. First, universities with student representation are significantly more likely to be public than private; thirty-seven of the universities with current student representation are public, while just ten of the institutions are private. The private institutions include Brown, Case Western, Columbia, Cornell, Emory, New York University, Notre Dame, Princeton, Syracuse and Tulane. Among the public universities with student representatives, twenty-two of thirty-seven represent the flagship institution in their state; this statistic is of course skewed by our sampling choice of R1 universities. Second, universities with student representatives in the governing body are distributed relatively equally across regions, but not states. While R1 universities are located in fortythree different states, those with student representation in governing bodies are situated in just twenty-nine states. The distribution is slightly more equal by region, with nine universities in the West, ten in the Midwest, sixteen in the South and thirteen in the Northeast. If one takes 275

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state concentration of universities with student representation as an indication of student power, students have the most say in New York, where six universities of this type are situated (Columbia, Cornell, New York University, Syracuse, SUNY Binghamton and SUNY Albany). Third, the universities that include students in their senate include many of the most prestigious universities in the United States. While all R1 universities have achieved high levels of visibility, there is nevertheless a wide range of organizational prestige among these 131 universities. Of those with student representation, however, nearly two-thirds are members of the Association of American Universities (AAU), a group that includes less than half of the ‘R1’ category. The sixty-three AAU institutions are widely considered to be the nation’s leading edge of scholarship and innovation. It is noteworthy that nearly half of AAU members allow student participation in their academic senates, especially since the organization’s mission statement emphasizes that in addition to research excellence its members ‘promote best practices in undergraduate and graduate education’ (Association of American Universities, 2022). In terms of size, we found it notable that the total number of enrolled students does not appear to correlate with the number of student seats in academic senates. The institutions in our sample that allow senate seats for students tend to be large universities, but that is purely an effect of that over tilt of the sample towards large universities. The Carnegie R1 category comprises universities with ‘large’ (more than 10,000 students; 122 institutions), ‘medium’ (between 3,000 and 9,999 students; 8 institutions), and ‘small’ (fewer than 3,000 students; 1 institution) enrolments. Among the medium and small institutions that we observed, three (33 per cent) afford students seats with voting rights on their academic senates, similar to the incidence (37 per cent) across the entire sample Inferential Statistics In addition to these descriptive patterns, we conducted a series of exploratory inferential statistical tests to assess whether involving students in deliberative governing bodies may be related to characteristics or student outcomes such as retention and completion. These analyses are based on randomized samples of the full set of ‘R1’ institutions. To compare the variables of student outcomes between three categories, we applied an ANOVA test with a simple Bonferroni correction. Specifically, we performed a one-way ANOVA test on a sample of institutions (n = 45) to assess the variance of institutional characteristics among three categories indicating high, low and zero levels of student participation in academic senates (i.e. institutions with >10 student representatives, institutions with 1 to 10 student representatives and institutions with zero student representatives; fifteen institutions in each category). First, we found a significant difference in the mean graduation rate between universities with high levels of student participation and those with low or zero levels (p = 0.014, α = 0.017). The mean graduation rate of the universities with high levels was, on average, higher than the mean rate of the other institutions (by 11 per cent, or 0.11). However, when we grouped the ‘low’ category with the ‘high’ category, we found no statistically significant difference between universities with one or more student representatives and those with zero student representatives in their senates. This suggests that the number of student representatives on an academic senate, rather than the mere existence of representatives irrespective of numbers, is correlated with positive outcomes like graduate rate. 276

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Second, without Bonferroni correction, we also found a significant difference between the mean retention rate among the same categories (p = 0.024). The retention rate of universities with high levels of student participation (ten or more students in their senates) was higher (by 5 per cent) than of the universities with low or zero levels. None of the other institutional variables that we tested (acceptance rate, racial diversity, socio-economic diversity or cost of attendance) proved to demonstrate statistically significant differences. While we find the positive correlations between student representation and retention and graduation rates interesting, we do not propose that there is any causality at hand.

Discussion The paucity of research on student participation in academic governance represents an important opportunity to better understand the relationship between student participation in academic governance and at least two other phenomena: institutional policymaking and student outcomes. Through analysis of 131 research-intensive universities in the United States, this chapter represents a renewal of important work that began in the late 1960s on student participation in academic governance but has since regrettably waned. One of the most striking conclusions from our work is our demonstration that empowering student voice through formal representation and voting power in academic senates is a common (though not majority) practice at an important subset of the most elite post-secondary institutions in the world. A substantial minority (37.2 per cent) of all R1 institutions in the United States involve students in academic governance; onehalf of AAU universities – the most elite in the country – do so. This is significant in part because the organizational processes of these institutions are often emulated by aspirant universities. The number of seats allocated to students is another noteworthy pattern in our findings. Given the historic distrust of student involvement in governance from entities like the Carnegie Commission on Higher Education, it is remarkable that both undergraduate and graduate students today often have meaningful, non-tokenized representation in academic senates. Faculty will always wield the most influence within university senates, but the presence of student voice at the table of shared governance is an important phenomenon. However, whether and how this substantive representation translates into student influence is not covered in our study and remains an important area for future research. One of the major unanswered questions raised by this study is why the incidence and type of student participation in senates vary so widely, even with a group of elite research universities. While Hearn and Thompson (1970) found that institutional size was correlated with participation, our analysis here does support that conclusion. A much more important factor appears to be the lower incidence of student participation at private universities. It is possible that public universities, due to their size and heterogeneous student populations, are characterized by more distance between faculty and students, and student involvement in academic senates is viewed as a mechanism for more direct lines of communication about student concern. The small faculty to student ratios at private universities perhaps give faculty greater cognizance of student voice without the need for students to directly participate in governance bodies. We should also consider that the neoliberal turn in higher education has disproportionately affected public institutions, relative to private universities with substantial endowments (Tight 2019). The need to cater to students as consumers may inspire public institutions to actively seek their participation in governance, 277

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both to assess consumer needs and to offer the impression of concern. Organizational theory also suggests explanations for the variation in student involvement. While many aspects of university structures and processes are subject to mimetic tendencies, these typically take the form of highly visible objects and practices. By contrast, student involvement in academic governance is not a highly visible practice and can therefore operate ‘under the radar’ of institutional isomorphism. It is also the case that academic senates themselves vary significantly. It may be that varied forms and cultures of some senates are more amenable to student involvement than others; in a different manner, the broader institutional norms and structures that shape the faculty role in governance may also shape the governance opportunities afforded to students.

Conclusion Given the exploratory nature of our analysis and the limited recent work in this area, a subfield of research focused on student participation in academic governance is warranted. We see three promising lines of inquiry. First, while R1 status is highly visible and often the target of institutional striving, these elite universities nevertheless represent a small segment of the organizational field of higher education in the United States. Studies that document student involvement in academic senates or other governance structures at different institutional types would represent an important step forward in understanding the nature and degree of formal student representation across the landscape of US higher education. Even community colleges are potential institutions of interest, especially since the California Community Colleges system (the nation’s largest) prioritizes student participation in governance (Nussbaum 1995). Given that governing bodies typically list their members online, this area of inquiry lends itself nicely to survey-based research, which among other possibilities could document the scope of involvement that students actually have, student pathways to service on senates and the attitudes of senate leaders towards student participation. Second, apart from simply measuring student involvement, studies are needed that examine the culture of student governance in deliberative bodies, especially as it relates to power. We found that in the universities that involve students in governance, students represent a small but significant portion of membership – typically, around 10 percent. Yet, we know little about the internal processes that affect how students wield influence in senates. In the same way that faculty senates can play functional, ceremonial or subverted roles in academic governance more broadly (Minor 2004), we hypothesize that the culture of student involvement varies widely. Case studies and interview-based research that document and compare student and faculty perceptions of student involvement would be especially valuable. Finally, and most importantly, what are the outcomes of student participation in academic governance? The correlations we observed between student involvement and outcomes like retention and graduation reflect characteristics of the institutions that embrace this practice, but this linkage does not necessarily show that student involvement leads to those outcomes. Nevertheless, as the chapters in this volume show, students represent an essential set of interests and bring a particular voice to academic affairs. Like all political entities, their goal is to promote their best interests in negotiation and conflict with others. Case studies of how organizational conflicts and compromises unfold within academic spaces and the agendas that students bring to the table of governance offer important lines of inquiry for future research. 278

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References Altbach, P. (1997), Student Politics in America: A Historical Analysis, New York: Routledge. American Association of University Professors (2001), ‘Statement on Government of Colleges and Universities’, in AAUP Policy Documents and Reports (9th edn), Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press. Anderson, C. K. (2007), ‘The Creation of Faculty Senates in American Research Universities’, PhD diss., Pennsylvania State University. Apkarian, J., K. Mulligan, M. B. Rotondi and S. Brint (2014), ‘Who Governs? Academic DecisionMaking in US Four-Year Colleges and Universities, 2000–2012’, Tertiary Education and Management, 20 (1): 151–64. Association of American Universities (2022), ‘Who We Are’. https://www.aau.edu/who-we-are (accessed 24 June 2022). Baldridge, J. V. (1982), ‘Shared Governance: A Fable about the Lost Magic Kingdom’, Academe, 68 (1): 12–15. Bloland, P. A. (1961), ‘A New Concept in Student Government’, Journal of Higher Education, 32 (2): 94–7. Bowen, G. (2009), ‘Document Analysis as a Qualitative Research Method’, Qualitative Research Journal, 9 (2): 27–40. Boyer, E. L. (1987), College: The Undergraduate Experience in America, New York: Harper and Row. Brunson, M. A. (1969), ‘Student Involvement in University Governance: Sense or Nonsense?’ Journal of the National Association of Women Deans, Administrators, and Counselors, 32 (2): 169–75. Cain, T. R. (2017), ‘Campus Unions: Organized Faculty and Graduate Students in US Higher Education’, ASHE Higher Education Report, 43 (3): 7–163. Cardoso, S., and S. Machado dos Santos (2011), ‘Students in Higher Education Governance: The Portuguese Case’. Tertiary Education and Management, 17 (3): 233–46. Carnegie Commission on Higher Education (1973), Governance of Higher Education: Six Priority Problems, New York: McGraw-Hill. Carnegie Foundation for the Advancement of Teaching (1982), The Control of the Campus. A Report on the Governance of Higher Education, Princeton University Press. Committee on the Student in Higher Education (1968), The Student in Higher Education, New Haven, CT: Hazen Foundation. Davis, J. B. (1969), A Survey of Practices Related to Student Membership on Academic Committees, Greenville, NC: East Carolina University Office of Institutional Research. https://eric. ed.gov/?id=ED032​855. Foroni, M. (2011), ‘Student Representation in Italy’. Tertiary Education and Management, 17(3): 205–18. Hearn, J. J., and H. L. Thompson (1970), ‘Who Governs – in Academia?’, The Journal of General Education, 22 (2): 123–37. Hodgkinson, H. (1969), ‘Student Participation in Campus Governance’. Paper presentation, American Educational Research Association Annual Meeting, Los Angeles, CA, 8 February 1969. https://eric. ed.gov/?id=ED034​478>. Ince, J., B. M. Finlay and F. Rojas (2018), ‘College Campus Activism: Distinguishing between Liberal Reformers and Conservative Crusaders’. Sociology Compass, 12 (9): e12603. Jones, W. A. (2011), ‘Faculty Involvement in Institutional Governance: A Literature Review’, Journal of the Professoriate, 6 (1): 118–35. Jones, G. A., T. Shanahan and P. Goyan (2004), ‘The Academic Senate and University Governance in Canada’, The Canadian Journal of Higher Education/La revue Canadienne d’enseignement supérieur, 34 (2): 35–68. Julius, D. J., and P. J. Gumport (2003), ‘Graduate Student Unionization: Catalysts and Consequences’, The Review of Higher Education, 26 (2): 187–216.

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Klemenčič, M. (2014), ‘Student Power in a Global Perspective and Contemporary Trends in Student Organizing’, Studies in Higher Education, 39 (3): 396–411. Klemenčič, M., and B. Y. Park (2018), ‘Student Politics: Between Representation and Activism’, in B. Cantwell, H. Coates and R. King (eds), Handbook on the Politics of Higher Education, 468–86. Elgar. Kuh, G. D., and J. P. Lund (1994), ‘What Students Gain from Participating in Student Government’, New Directions for Student Services, 66: 5–17. Laosebikan-Buggs, M. O. (2006), ‘The Role of Student Government’, in M. Miller and D. P. Nadler (eds), Student Governance and Institutional Policy: Formation and Implementation, 1–8, Greenwich, CT: Information Age Publishing. Luescher-Mamashela, T. M. (2013), ‘Student Representation in University Decision Making: Good Reasons, a New Lens?’ Studies in Higher Education, 38 (10): 1442–56. Lunn, H. H. (1957), The Student’s Role in College Policy-Making, Washington, DC: American Council on Education. Matthews, K. E. and M. Dollinger (2023), ‘Student Voice in Higher Education: The Importance of Distinguishing Student Representation and Student Partnership’. Higher Education, 85 (3): 555–70. McGrath, E. J. (1970), Should Students Share the Power? A Study of Their Role in College and University Governance, Philadelphia: Temple University Press. Michelsen, S., and B. Stensaker (2011), ‘Students and the Governance of Higher Education in Norway’, Tertiary Education and Management, 17 (3): 219–31. Miles, J. M. (2011), ‘Reflections of Student Government Association Leaders: Implications for Advisors’, College Student Journal, 45 (2): 324–33. Minor, J. T. (2004), ‘Understanding Faculty Senates: Moving from Mystery to Models’, The Review of Higher Education, 27 (3): 343–63. Moore, P. L. (1995), ‘Perspectives on Student Participation in University Governance: An Update’, NASPA Journal, 32 (3): 198–207. Nussbaum, T. J. (1995), ‘Evolving Community College Shared Governance to Better Serve the Public Interest’. California Community Colleges. ED 397 922. https://eric.ed.gov/?id=ED397​922. Pabian, P., and L. Hündlová (2011), ‘The Czech Republic between Studentocracy, Academic Oligarchy and Managerialism: Are Students Powerful or Powerless?’ Tertiary Education and Management, 17(3): 191–203. Pennock, L., G. A. Jones, J. M. Leclerc and S. X. Li (2015), ‘Assessing the Role and Structure of Academic Senates in Canadian Universities, 2000–2012’, Higher Education, 70: 503–18. Rhoads, R. A., and G. Rhoades (2005), ‘Graduate Employee Unionization as Symbol of and Challenge to the Corporatization of US Research Universities’, The Journal of Higher Education, 76 (3): 243–75. Ris, E. W. (2018), ‘Academic Senates in Comparative Perspective: Models of Faculty Governance in American Higher Education’, in H. N. Weiler (ed.), The Stanford Senate of the Academic Council: Reflections on Fifty Years of Faculty Governance, 1968-2018, 103–44, Stanford: Stanford University Office of the Academic Secretary. Robinson, L. H., and J. D. Shoenfeld (1971), Student Participation in Academic Governance (Putting Research into Educational Practice Series, No. 15), Washington, DC: US Department of Health, Education, and Welfare, Office of Education, National Center for Educational Communication. Rodgers, T., R. Freeman, J. Williams and D. Kane (2011). ‘Students and the Governance of Higher Education: A UK Perspective’. Tertiary Education and Management, 17 (3): 247–60. Rojas, F. (2006), ‘Social Movement Tactics, Organizational Change and the Spread of African-American Studies’, Social Forces, 84 (4): 2147–66. Rollin, D. A. (1997), Student Participation in Shared Governance in California's Community Colleges. EdD Diss., University of La Verne. Tierney, W. G. (2004), ‘A Cultural Analysis of Shared Governance: The Challenges Ahead’, in J. C. Smart (ed.), Higher Education Handbook of Theory and Research, 19, 85–132, Springer: Kluwer Academic Publishers.

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Tight, M. (2019), ‘The Neoliberal Turn in Higher Education’, Higher Education Quarterly 73 (3): 273–84. University of New Hampshire (2022), ‘Student Senate, Est. 1979’. https://www.unh.edu/stud​ent-sen​ate/ (accessed 20 June 2022). Zuo, B., and E. W. Ratsoy (1999), ‘Student Participation in University Governance’, Canadian Journal of Higher Education, 29 (1): 1–26.

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Student Unions as Avenues for Inclusion and Participation of International Students: A Case from Finland SONJA TRIFULJESKO AND ANNA BJÖRNÖ

Universities are built around the notion of participation. The Latin word universitas literally means ‘whole’ or ‘total’. To participate, Gritt Nielsen (2015: 12) explains, ‘means to take part in, be a part of and/or have a share or interest in something’. Scholars have argued that student participation is beneficial both on the individual and collective level. Through participation, students activate their agency and claim their rights in the educational system (Klemenčič 2014). Moreover, by participating in university governance, students can gain additional educational experience and acquire new skills (Lizzio and Wilson 2009), which can also increase their sense of civic participation and empowerment (Thornton and Jaeger 2007). This also means that the benefits of student involvement in university governance could even spread to the larger society (cf. Matikainen 2005). All this makes the current exclusion of international students from student politics highly problematic. By student politics we mean here participation in the formal representational structures, as well as attempts to gain formal representation (Klemenčič and Park 2018). In this chapter we investigate the possibilities for international student voices to be heard within the existing university governance structures, known as student unions. Our empirical data is tied to the Finnish context, but it responds to the challenges to participation of international students in the university community that could also be observed in many other national settings and higher education systems. Academic discussion about international students often focuses on the challenges pertaining to language and culture (Harrison and Peacock 2010; Osmond and Roed 2010). At the same time, international students often experience isolation and a lack of confidence in their knowledge (Robertson et al. 2000). Margaret Kettle (2017) talks about the tensions between agency of students and disempowering discourses. While academic literature discusses the issues around the recruitment of international students, much less attention is devoted to the analysis of problematic practices within host institutions (Lee 2006: 3–4). John Straker (2016: 300) talks about a gap in the understanding of the actual obstacles ‘on site’, which impede participation, and a deficiency discourse built around international students. John Biggs (1999) expresses a similar idea and equates the challenges of the international students to the problems of local

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students’ early experiences of adjustment to the university, implying that certain difficulties could stem from the place being unknown. He is critical towards the idea of essentializing cultural differences in understanding international students’ experiences. Aryn Baxter (2019) suggests that a sensible approach to this problem would be to treat students as partners in understanding their lived experiences and creating support systems and opportunities. Participation in student politics could be one of the ways of developing this approach. International students’ participation in university governance has been discussed from the perspective of rights (Hénard, Diamondand and Roseveare 2012: 34). A change of the paradigm in a discussion about international students is in treating them as active citizens with rights, rather than being positioned as passive subjects (Robertson 2011; Ryan and Hellmundt 2005). Kettle (2017) posits engagement as a productive way to understand the ways in which international students mediate institutional expectations through their own actions, interactions with others, which also includes professional and personal motivations. In this paper, we draw on empirical data relating to the international students’ participation in the Representative Council of the Student Union at the University of Helsinki (HYY1), one of the richest student organizations in the world and an influential societal actor in Finland. Student unions have been one of the avenues for ensuring participatory decision-making in higher education. HYY is a key governance structure channelling student voice at the oldest and largest Finnish university. HYY’s power is partially tied to its financial independence: besides direct support from students through their membership fees, HYY also owns, among other things, an expensive art collection and multiple real estate assets in downtown Helsinki. This is an organization formally independent from the university yet tightly engaged in its operations. HYY also participates in university politics at the national level, through its involvement in the National Union of University Students in Finland. Moreover, throughout its history, HYY has been intertwined with Finnish state politics. Founded in 1868, HYY was central to the nationalist movements of the nineteenth century and key to the political struggles since Finland gained its independence in 1917 (Kortti 2011: 462). National elites often start their careers within this student organization and maintain ties with it during their political careers. HYY is an organization with a long history in Finnish society. At the same time, it has been adapting to new social conditions, like massification of education and diversification of the student population. Finnish universities have undergone significant democratization in their governance structures during the 1960s and 1970s. This was a transition from the system dominated by professors to the system that also included students and administrative staff (Poutanen et al 2022). Democratic processes presuppose institutional decision-making that is more representative of internal constituencies, such as students (Habermas 1971). Internationalization and the attempts of the international students to get involved in HYY are new and creating challenges to the established democratic procedures. The academic literature on the participation of international students in the already existing governance structures is, however, still scarce, and it is this research gap we aim to address with our exploratory study. We look into organizational structures that channel student participation and analyse how international students navigate them in order to make their voice heard. The main argument we are making is that existing governance structures, such as student unions, could provide avenues for including international student voice. However, for that to happen, they need to recognize and accommodate characteristic

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features of international students’ groups as ephemeral collectives. But first, let us briefly present our case study.

The Story of Tsemppi Tsemppi was founded in 2004 by a few foreigners studying at the University of Helsinki. Just like any other student association in Finland, Tsemppi was governed by its board. In addition, as is the custom for Finnish associations, Tsemppi was holding one annual meeting, where all members had a vote. It was at the annual meeting that the organization’s members would elect the board for the following year. Soon after it was established, Tsemppi was accepted to be an organization under HYY. This entitled Tsemppi to a modest budget and granted access to the student union’s premises as well as its participation in the official activities organized for the newcomers to the university, which was of quintessential importance for acquiring new members. Tsemppi’s ties to the student union were commemorated in the association’s by-laws, according to which all capital means and assets of the organization were to be donated to the student union in the case of Tsemppi’s dismantling. Again, such a clause could be found in the by-laws of many other student organizations in Finland. In its first couple of years, Tsemppi was very active. The initial board activities were dedicated to making Tsemppi up and running, establishing information channels and promoting the association. In addition, board members organized numerous get-togethers, including sauna evenings, pub crawls, football practices, museum visits, international dinners and similar others. Over the years, Tsemppi’s activities got sparser but they did not disappear. While Tsemppi is in its by-laws defined as a non-political group, its board members were, nonetheless, involved in advocacy activities from early on, attempting to promote international students’ interests in the discussions with the representatives of university administration. However, such discussions were sporadic and limited to topical issues, such as the lack of academic activities in English and the prospect of tuition fees for international students. The Representative Council of the Student Union, in turn, offered a much wider participation platform for international students in the university governance and there was a discussion among Tsemppi board members to try to join it already during the first election cycle after Tsemppi was established, that is, in 2005. Eventually, Tsemppi’s co-founder ended up being the only international student who ran in these elections, and it was through him that Tsemppi got its very first seat in the Representative Council of the Student Union. In 2007, Tsemppi participated in the elections with the whole candidate list of its own. In total, Tsemppi had twenty-five candidates but earned only one seat. Similar situation occurred in 2009. Tsemppi ran independently with fourteen candidates but again got a single seat in the Representative Council of the Student Union. Attempting to win more seats, in 2011, Tsemppi decided to form an election coalition with another non-political group in the student union known through an acronym of HELP, including associations of Finnish- and Swedish-speaking students of law as well as medicine, veterinary medicine, dentistry and pharmacy. The result was, however, not any different compared to all previous elections. Tsemppi again won one seat in the Representative Council of the Student Union. In fact, when the student elections were

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exceptionally organized the following year, Tsemppi ran with the same election partner but did not manage to gain any seats. In 2014, Tsemppi decided to switch its coalition partner. Namely, as a representative of wealthy student organizations that were financially self-sustainable, HELP was primarily advocating for increasing universal services within the student union and decreasing the support to the student union organizations. It was precisely upon this support, however, that Tsemppi relied. Moreover, there was general uncertainty of whether HELP had been supporting the interests of international students at all, especially during the previous term in the representative council, when Tsemppi did not have any seats. Another, broader alliance of subject associations gathering over 250 groups, known by its acronym as HYAL, turned out to be a much better fit as Tsemppi’s coalition partner in this sense. In the joint statement of HYAL and Tsemppi announcing this decision it was explained that both organizations agreed quickly on the importance of reaching the student union members through the activities of the student organizations and on the fact that the international students should play a bigger role in HYY. Besides negotiating election coalitions, Tsemppi board members worked very hard first to recruit twelve candidates who ended up being on its election list and then to promote them, with the help of HYAL. The outcome was extraordinary. For the first time in its history, Tsemppi won two out of sixty seats in the representative council and four deputy seats. Moreover, one of the Tsemppi’s candidates received a third of all votes. The victorious feelings within Tsemppi, nonetheless, almost immediately faded away, as their representatives were put to work. Two years in the HYY’s representative council presented significant challenges for the international student group and its members put a huge amount of effort in overcoming them. As a result, Tsemppi’s resources became depleted and in the next election cycle no candidates got their seats. Moreover, as no resources were left for maintaining Tsemppi as an organization outside its activity in the representative council, by the end of 2016 Tsemppi association too de facto concluded its operation. In this chapter, we take such a paradoxical outcome – of Tsemppi’s political activity endangering its future as a social group – as our departure point. We argue that this happened because features characterizing international student associations are currently not considered in the workings of the established governance structures, which we demonstrate using the example of the Representative Council of HYY. But before proceeding with the case, we will first provide a theoretical background for our argument.

Theoretical Underpinnings To understand what characterizes international students as a social group and why that is currently in clash with the established student governance structures such as the Representative Council of HYY, we draw on anthropological studies of sociality and conceptual frameworks developed there. We are particularly interested in the concept of a social group that could be found in theories about community developed by Vered Amit (2002, 2012, 2015). Amit focuses on community building as an effort to mobilize social relations. As such, it arises from an interplay between the idea and actualization of sociation. This effort is fraught with various uncertainties, which, nonetheless, provide analytic openings. These pertain to joint commitment, sense of belonging and form of association. It is by paying to these three strategic points of uncertainties that we gain a useful lens for understanding specificities of international students as a social group. 286

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Foregrounding joint commitment refocuses our attention from the sameness to interdependence as a basis for community construction. This allows researchers to acknowledge connections between a wide range of diverse possible commitments. Similarly, paying attention to the sense of community makes us interrogate what kind of affect is in its basis, how it is distributed and how it is expressed. Finally, the form of association invites us to attend to the questions of scale, duration, mediation, comprehensiveness, degree of formalization and such (Amit 2012: 6–13). Gabriela Vargas-Cetina (2015) coined the term of ephemeral associations to designate collectives that are ‘non-corporate, in that they are not based on an ample platform of agreement among their members, do not result in self-perpetuating collective subjects and do not seek to acquire and maintain collective resources’ (Vargas-Cetina 2015:143). Members of such associations do not expect them to last indefinitely; their participation is entirely voluntary; structure, membership, aims and purposes of such associations change continuously; their internal governance structure is weak; and they are highly dependent on information and communications technologies. Building up on this work, we propose the notion of ephemeral social group. This allows us to acknowledge those collectives that are not only ephemeral in terms of their associational forms but also in terms of their joint commitments and sense of belonging. And that is the case with international student collectives. In our analysis we first demonstrate how this manifest in the practice of Tsemppi and then show the repercussions that reflected in Tsemppi’s participation in the representative council. Prior to this, however, we elaborate on our empirical basis.

Research Approach and Methods Our research can roughly be divided into three key areas. The first set of research data was gathered specifically in relation to the participation of international students in the Representative Council of HYY. The data in this area is highly heterogeneous, consisting of written and audio recordings of conversations with the representatives and their deputies in the student council for 2014–16, notes from group meetings, audio recordings of election panels, electronic recordings of candidates’ Facebook pages and the page of the representative group. We further supplemented this extensive data with the student union’s records of the election results. The second set covers the activity of Tsemppi association within the same time framework (2014–16). This data is part of a broader ethnographic study on the process of internationalization at the University of Helsinki, which both authors have conducted independently for their doctoral theses (Björnö 2018; Trifuljesko 2021). Data in this group mostly consists of our field notes. The third set includes archival material and comprises the data generated as a part of Tsemppi’s regular workings from 2004 until the beginning of our studies in 2014. It mostly consists of documents in electronic form, which has been stored in Tsemppi’s dropbox folder (minutes from board meetings, plans, reports etc.), to which we have gained access while being board members. This leads us to another important note pertaining to our research process we need to reflect on, and it concerns our positionality as researchers. At the beginning of 2014, both authors joined the Tsemppi’s board, while Sonja Trifuljesko also became a candidate for the representative council in the 2014 elections and later the deputy of the Tsemppi representative group. Both of us, however, always first and foremost acted as researchers and we made that clear to everyone we interacted with. The different roles we took during our research process related to the method of participant observation. Still, we are 287

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aware that such an intimate involvement both with Tsemppi and the Tsemppi’s representative group might make us appear more biased in the conclusions we make, so in the analysis we remain reflective. We followed Alvesson (2003: 186) in systematically applying reflexivity, changing the levels of interpretation and looking at various standpoints, which was possible to advance through the discussion between two researchers. This shift of focus allowed us to avoid taken-for-granted assumptions, the ‘prestructuring’ of interpretation as explained by Alvesson (2003: 183–4). As in a typical ethnography, we had to deal with a large amount of research data, which could not be summarized in a manner that is simply mirroring reality, presenting the process as it is (Alvesson 2003: 173). There are many more threads that could be picked up and explored in detail based on our data. We chose to focus on the central story of the 2014 representative council elections as a turning point that led to the dismantling of the Tsemppi. Alvesson (2003: 182–3) suggests that ‘micro-anchoring’ research in specific events is a good way to balance between abstractions and an exhaustive account of all the processes within a certain period that has no wider theoretical value. Using the conceptual lens of the ephemeral social group and relying on thorough thematic coding, our analysis is split between the pathway of the international students towards the 2014 elections and their actions in its aftermath. This exemplifies the way international students are able to navigate current governance structures channelling student voice, which includes both the specificities of international students’ collectives and potential of the student unions to accommodate diverse social groups.

Tsemppi as an Ephemeral Social Group There are three ways in which Tsemppi being an ephemeral social group manifested in practice. The first one is the lack of a stable social body, which is reflected in its troubles of socially reproducing itself. This could already be observed from the by-laws. Namely when Tsemppi was founded in 2004, it was defined as an organization for international degree students at the University of Helsinki. However, seven years later, at one of the board meetings, it was proposed to change the definition of Tsemppi into an organization for internationally minded students and researchers at the University of Helsinki, as we could read from the meeting minutes. This change was then codified in the revised Tsemppi by-laws. The involvement of researchers in the Tsemppi operation was to acknowledge the establishment of Tsemppi PhD in 2009, as a side branch of the organization, addressing the specific concerns of international doctoral candidates and postdoctoral researcher. The change from ‘international degree’ to ‘internationally minded’, in turn, reflects the fact that also domestic students now found home in Tsemppi. Enlarging Tsemppi in this way was partially due to the difficulties of having enough active members to sustain the organization. This could be deducted from the board’s continuous preoccupation with finding good ways to recruit new students, which is observed from the minutes of the board meetings. But it could also be noticed from the reports of Tsemppi’s activities, which often mention low participation. However, the strongest evidence of it could be found from the board’s instability. Tsemppi struggled with having enough active board members, which is attested by five-euro no-show fines that were at one point established. But even more challenging was the fact that numerous board members would resign their post in the middle of the year because they moved abroad. Since the existence of any social group depends on having 288

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people willing and able to operate in the roles on which the group’s reproduction relies upon (Amit 2002: 22–4), including in Tsemppi domestic students, who are generally less mobile than international ones, could at least more vouch to ensure that. The second reason in which Tsemppi’s ephemerality manifested was the lack of established ways of working. We could observe from the onset that there was a tendency to emulate the workings of the Finnish student associations, but also that there were difficulties in doing that. We could find remarks in the minutes of early board meetings that these were led in a somewhat disorganized manner, with people speaking on top of each other and having prolonged discussions over issues that should have been scrutinized in the separate subcommittees rather than in the board. In 2011, the meeting protocol becomes much more fixed, following an agenda template deposited in Tsemppi’s dropbox folder, with an explicit aim to make Tsemppi’s board meetings much more in accordance with the workings of Finnish student associations under HYY. The fact that this is also a year when Tsemppi becomes open for domestic students is no coincidence. As it was mentioned in the Tsemppi’s annual report of 2011, since all the information and the training about the workings of the associations were in Finnish, before it was impossible for Tsemppi board members to know what kind of structure they should follow. Still, this did not completely resolve the challenges pertaining to the Tsemppi’s functioning, as there were always new uncertainties, which did not only pertain to acquiring the knowledge of the workings of the Finnish student associations but also to cherishing the social group memory, which – with all the discontinuities Tsemppi repeatedly faced – proved very challenging. The final way Tsemppi’s being as an ephemeral social group manifested pertains to difficulties of creating and keeping a stable agenda, which would be the basis for Tsemppi’s mobilization. While the ideals behind Tsemppi’s establishment were making international students feel like home in Finland, in practice the board would predominantly focus on making the University of Helsinki and its student union more open to foreigners. And this would mostly be done by dealing with everyday issues, such as the lack of sufficient academic content in languages other than Finnish or Swedish for one to be able to complete the degree programme to which they were admitted or by having information about student activities in English.

Friction in Representative Council The second part of our argument pertains to the fact that international student group’s features as an ephemeral collective are not currently acknowledged and supported in existing governance structures through which collective student representation is achieved. To demonstrate this, in this section we draw primarily on the experiences of the Tsemppi’s activists in the representative council in the student union. Again, we make three points. First, due to the lack of a durable social body, it took a lot of time to consolidate 2014 international student representatives and their deputies into a functioning collective. Some of them knew each other previously but still felt like outsiders. All of them, however, needed to find ways of working with each other, as well as working with other groups. Correspondingly, the lack of continuity in the representative council of the student union also created challenges in terms of how others perceived Tsemppi. While some groups in the council had memories of Tsemppi’s political activity prior to the 2014 election cycle, at the beginning most thought of Tsemppi’s new representatives as some sort of 289

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HYAL puppets due to their ties in the election coalition. Such a stance was partially fed by HYAL itself, with HYAL acting like a ‘big brother’, as one of the Tsemppi representatives told us. Nonetheless, since the coalition with HYAL was de jure and de facto broken after the elections, Tsemppi representatives started carving their own path, which also helped others slowly to recognize them as independent actors. The second point of contention was related to the absence of the established ways of working, which resulted in the lack of knowledge about the functioning of the representative council. While the assistance from HYAL mitigated this issue during the campaigning period, once the election coalition dissolved, Tsemppi’s representatives had a lot of trouble understanding the workings of the student union in general and its governance structure. This was often initially perceived as a language problem, but in fact it was a part of a bigger issue of not having organizational memory. This became clear in the first days after the election results were out and negotiations for the HYY board started, as one of the Tsemppi’s representative in the council told us in an interview: It was a slap in the face, wake up, because in two days everyone already had a meeting schedule. We were struggling to find time to meet with the other groups. We didn’t know what these negotiations meant, what we had to say. In fact, Tsemppi representatives were almost completely unfamiliar with the functioning of the HYY board as well as with different representative council bodies in general. Therefore, a lot of energy went into figuring out how the system operates. What became clear already during the first board negotiations was that lots of things were happening behind the closed doors. Commenting on the outcome of the first board negotiation process, the Tsemppi representative who also acted as negotiator said to us during the interview that ‘it seemed like a gentlemen’s club’. As such, for a brand-new group, the feeling of being left out was prevalent. Finally, participating in the representative council as an ephemeral social group created difficulties for Tsemppi representatives pursuing any agenda of its own, as they were continuously pulled by interests of other, more established groups. While participating in the council, many stories from the earlier times had to be uncovered: There was always a feeling that we were just barely catching up with the information. I actually never felt that it was enough for us to think proactively. Maybe, in some cases. But most of the time things were happening and we were trying to understand why they were happening. (one of the Tsemppi’s representatives in the HYY Council) In addition, there was again a continuous problem with the lack of content in English and neither of the two Tsemppi’s elected representatives had sufficient knowledge of Finnish to be able to participate unhindered. While the Tsemppi representatives eventually managed to win the fight for having the council meeting interpreted and the main documents translated, there were often problems and international students had to often rely on Google Translate. Since there was awareness among Tsemppi representatives of problems associated with anglophone hegemony, there was no simple solution to be lobbied for. What this resulted in was that international students ended up concentrating on the basic conditions for participation instead of creating and pursuing their own agenda, as was the case with other groups.

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Discussion Our analysis shows that recognition of the international student voice in the work of student union is at the early stages. Many aspects of their inclusion become evident as they get elected and test/ try the system for inclusion. Indeed, the factor of the place being unknown (e.g. Biggs 1999) is the most decisive one in participation according to our analysis. Culture and language have been much criticized in the academic literature for offering a limiting perspective on international students’ challenges. However, we could also discuss that international students rely on a range of diverse prior experiences when acting as a social group. As a collective constituted by people coming from different parts of the world, they might not necessarily rely upon the standardized organizational practises and participation strategies. This explains the fact that it was only by widening Tsemppi’s membership, that is, including domestic students into the functioning of Tsemppi, that a national model of organizational work became a reference point. The ‘logic of membership’ in this case dictates who is enabled to represent the interests of the student body (Klemenčič 2014), and engagement with domestic students was very fruitful for international students in this sense. While all students are equal in their access to the governance structure, the legacy of group’s earlier participation, its’ memory, is enabling new home/domestic students to act and continue influence on the university politics. Major obstacles for international students in forming ties with the other parts of the university community are the lack of information and organizational memory as well as language flexibility. As a result, there is a lack of continuity in their participation and diminished ability to negotiate it. The type of collective that channels students’ voices in this case could be looked at as an ephemeral social group, which means that forms of effective participation should be searched for and negotiated with other participants in the field. This supports the idea that deficiency discourse, pointing out the lack of cultural understanding or coping skills, does not offer a sufficient insight to the position of international students (Lee 2006: 3–4). It does not point out what successful participation might look like. Contrastingly, our finding shows that participation could be sufficiently improved with an access to the right information and support. Tsemppi intended to make international students’ voices heard. Their agenda was inspired by their experiences and wishes, but their interests were not limited to the sphere of international students’ rights or problems that they typically encounter. Their demand for more content in English should not be understood as a voice of international students. Rather, it is a zero ground of their participation. Nonetheless, Tsemppi’s aims were misaligned with institutional circumstances. This created tensions between efforts to maintain Tsemppi as a community and to engage politically with the workings of student union. While we could recognize a relative success in international representatives getting elected, the international student participation in the representative council ended up being more about the individual voices and histories, rather than group representation, social roles and reproduction of international student collectivity. It did not create a permanent space in student politics. We could observe that essential networks develop quite slowly, which suits more permanent collectives. Organizationally, there was no way for international students of the future cohorts to get acquainted with the HYY policies and keep up to date with the debate.

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Whereas students were developing their political position along with their participation, it still reflected the problems that they personally encountered and was mediated by the newly acquired understanding of what is possible to achieve. We could claim that the value of their involvement should not be limited to their own rights and interests and could increase along with the opportunities. Janette Ryan and Jude Carroll (2005) equated international students to ‘canaries in the coalmine’, suggesting that their problems might be indicative of the overall challenges of the education system, not just international students, and that solutions might benefit domestic students as well. This kind of recognition from the HYY as an institution could become a game changer in the possibilities of international students’ participation in the work of student unions and understanding of their role in the general student body.

Conclusion Participation of the international students in the university politics is contingent on their recognition as a special kind of social group. While the ‘transient nature of studentship’ makes political participation of all students dependent on the individual input and susceptible to change (Klemenčič 2014), this is a salient feature for the international students’ representation in university politics. As an ephemeral collective, international students are able to achieve relative success in getting elected, but they end up fighting for everyday issues, rather than participating in politics, which is the case for other student groups. Domestic students could rely on the history of the group’s earlier participation, which ensures their informational, organizational and financial resources. In comparison, international students lack such an opportunity, which results in their poor collective participation. At the same time, participation in existing governance structure could provide key means for international student inclusion (cf. Bain 2010; Morita 2004). This is why it is important to highlight that it is not the lack of interest from the international students, but rather their lack of multifaceted resources and institutional failings to recognize and accommodate that, which is key to passive attitudes and low achievements, as we have shown with our case study. However, further research into this matter is needed.

Note 1 The most commonly used abbreviation, HYY, is derived from the organization’s official name in Finnish, that is, Helsingin yliopiston ylioppilaskunta, but the University of Helsinki’s student union is also sometimes referred to as HUS, derived from its official name in Swedish, that is, Studentkåren vid Helsingfors Universitet).

References Alvesson, M. (2003), ‘Methodology for Close-Up Studies – Struggling with Closeness and Closure’, Higher Education, 46: 167–93. Amit, V. (2002), ‘An Anthropology without Community?’, in V. Amit and N. Rapport, The Trouble with Community: Anthropological Reflections on Movement, Identity and Collectivity, 13–70, London: Pluto Press.

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Amit, V. (2012), ‘Part I Community and Disjuncture: The Creativity and Uncertainty of Everyday Engagement’, in V. Amit and N. Rapport, Community, Cosmopolitanism and the Problem of Human Commonality, 1–73. London: Pluto Press. Amit, V. (2015), ‘Disjuncture: The Creativity of, and Breaks in, Everyday Associations and Routines’, in V. Amit (ed.), Thinking through Sociality: An Anthropological Interrogation of Key Concepts, 21–46, New York: Berghahn. Bain, J. (2010), ‘Integrating Student Voice: Assessment for Empowerment’, Practitioner Research in Higher Education, 4 (1): 14–29. Baxter, A. (2019), ‘Engaging Underrepresented International Students as Partners: Agency and Constraints Among Rwandan Students in the United States’, Journal of Studies in International Education, 23 (1): 106–22. Biggs J. (1999), Teaching for Quality Learning at University: What the Student Does, Buckingham: Society for Research into Higher Education and Open University Press. Björnö, A. (2018), University Internationalisation and International Master’s Programs, Helsingin Yliopisto, Kasvatustieteellinen Tiedekunta. http://urn.fi/URN:ISBN:978-951-51-4322-8 (accessed 15 December 2022). Habermas, J. (1971), ‘The University in a Democracy: Democratisation of the University’, in J. Habermas and J. Shapiro (eds), Toward a Rational Society: Student Protest, Science, and Politics, 1–12, Boston: Beacon Press. Harrison N., and N. Peacock (2010), ‘Interactions in the International Classroom: The UK Perspective’, in E. Jones (ed.), Internationalisation and the Student Voice, 125–42, New York: Routledge. Hénard, F., L. L. Diamondand and D. Roseveare (2012), Approaches to Internationalisation and Their Implications for Strategic Management and Institutional Practice: A Guide for Higher Education Institutions, OECD. Kettle, M. (2017), International Student Engagement in Higher Education: Transforming Practices, Pedagogies and Participation, Bristol and Blue Ridge Summit: Multilingual Matters. Klemenčič, M. (2014), ‘Student Power in a Global Perspective and Contemporary Trends in Student Organising’, Studies in Higher Education, 39 (3): 396–411. https://doi.org/10.1080/03075​ 079.2014.896​177. Klemenčič, M., and B. Yun Park (2018), ‘Student Politics: Between Representation and Activism’, in B. Cantwell, H. Coates and R. King (eds), Handbook on the Politics of Higher Education, 468–86, Cheltenham: Edward Elgar Publishing. Kortti, J. (2011), ‘Building the New Cultural Finland: The Student Magazine Ylioppilaslehti, the Public Sphere and the Creation of the Finnish Cultural Elite in the Post-War Era’, Scandinavian Journal of History, 36 (4): 462–78. https://doi.org/10.1080/03468​755.2011.609​313. Lee, J. (2006), ‘International Student Experiences: Neo-Racism and Discrimination’, International Higher Education, 44: 3–5. https://doi.org/10.6017/ihe.2006.44.7916. Lizzio, A., and K. Wilson (2009), ‘Student Participation in University Governance: The Role Conceptions and Sense of Efficacy of Student Representatives on Departmental Committees’, Studies in Higher Education, 34 (1): 69–84. https://doi.org/10.1080/030750​7080​2602​000. Matikainen, O. (2005), ‘“Academic Citizen” and Transition of Society in Finland 1945–1970: Student Corporation Karjalainen Osakunta as a Case Study’, Ennen ja nyt 2. https://jour​nal.fi/enn​enja​nyt/arti​ cle/view/108​282/63304 (accessed 15 December 2022). Morita, N. (2004), ‘Negotiating Participation and Identity in Second Language Academic Communities’, TESOL Quarterly, 38 (4): 573–603. Nielsen, G. (2015), Figuration Work: Student Participation, Democracy and University Reform in a Global Knowledge Economy, New York: Berghahn Books. Osmond, J., and J. Roed (2010), ‘Sometimes It Means More Work: Student Perceptions of Group Work in a Mixed Cultural Setting’, in E. Jones (ed.), Internationalisation and the Student Voice, 113–24, London: Routledge.

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Poutanen, M., T. Tomperi, H. Kuusela, V. Kaleva and T. Tervasmäki (2022), ‘From Democracy to Managerialism: Foundation Universities as the Embodiment of Finnish University Policies’, Journal of Education Policy, 37 (3): 419–42. https://doi.org/10.1080/02680​939.2020.1846​080. Robertson, M., M. Line, S. Jones and S. Thomas (2000), ‘International Students, Learning Environments and Perceptions: A Case Study Using the Delphi Technique’, Higher Education Research & Development, 19 (1): 89–102. https://doi.org/10.1080/072943​6005​0020​499. Robertson, S. (2011), ‘Cash Cows, Backdoor Migrants, or Activist Citizens?’ International Students, Citizenship, and Rights in Australia, Ethnic and Racial Studies, 34 (12): 2192–211. https://doi. org/10.1080/01419​870.2011.558​590. Ryan, J., and J. Carroll (2005), ‘Canaries in the Coalmine: International Students in Western Universities’, in J. Carroll and J. Ryan (eds), Teaching International Students: Improving Learning For All, 3–10, London: Routledge. Ryan, J., and S. Hellmundt (2005), ‘Maximising International Students’ Cultural Capital’, in J. Carroll and J. Ryan (eds), Teaching International Students: Improving Learning for All, 13–16, London: Routledge. Straker, J. (2016), ‘International Student Participation in Higher Education: Changing the Focus from “International Students” to “Participation”’, Journal of Studies in International Education, 20 (4): 299–318. https://doi.org/10.1177/10283​1531​6628​992. Thornton, C. H., and A. J. Jaeger (2007), ‘A New Context for Understanding Civic Responsibility: Relating Culture to Action at a Research University’, Research in Higher Education, 48 (8): 993–1019. Trifuljesko, S. (2021), Weeds of Sociality: Reforms and Dynamics of Social Relations at the University of Helsinki. Helsingin yliopisto, Valtiotieteellinen tiedekunta. http://urn.fi/URN:ISBN:978-951-51-7658-5 (accessed 15 November 2022). Vargas-Cetina, G. (2015), ‘Organizations: From Corporations to Ephemeral Associations’, in V. Amit (ed.), Thinking through Sociality: An Anthropological Interrogation of Key Concepts, 128–55, New York: Berghahn.

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The Joint Student-Teacher Commission in Italy: A Managerial Technology or a Catalyst for Change? MARCO ROMITO AND BEATRICE COLOMBO

The discourses of student voice have become an important force in Italian higher education (HE) institutions since the 2000s. This development has, in particular, accompanied (with the law 240 in 2010) the institution of a national system of evaluation with its own autonomy and independent bodies: the ANVUR (Agenzia Nazionale di Valutazione dell’Università e della Ricerca) operating at the national level, and the Evaluation Units, operating at the level of each HE institution. Whilst boosting the academic system to increase research productivity, and within a profound reshaping of HE under the New Public Management (NPM) agenda (Gunter et al. 2016), recent policies are also asking universities to be accountable towards their students (Neave 2012). A new field of policy activity has emerged, creating new networks and relationships that are reconfiguring academic practices to become more attentive to student experience, degree completion, dropout and ‘study success’ (Romito 2020). In this context, and as in other countries, Italian HE institutions provide platforms and instruments for students to have their voices heard. Student representation is required in governing bodies such as the academic senate (at least one student or more, depending on the size of the student population), the administration council (two students), the evaluation unit (at least one student), the quality assurance council (at least one students) and the Joint Teacher-Student Commission (TSC) for each degree course (three or more students depending on department regulations). Students are also asked to provide feedback, mostly through standardized questionnaires, at the end of each course. There is likewise a growing (though still limited) trend for individual academics to offer spaces for students’ voice(s) in their everyday teaching practices to improve the learning process (Fedeli, Grion and Frison 2016). This institutionalization of student voice work has been consubstantial with the re-crafting of Italian HE under the NPM agenda. As such, questions arise whether, and how, student voice has been co-opted into a neoliberal discourse. Research in other countries has shown how, instead of promoting broad, participatory and inclusive instruments that aim at transformational outcomes (Seale 2010), student voice might function as a governmental technology that subjectifies students as consumers (Mendes and Hammet 2020; Thiel 2019). Moreover, imbricated within a managerial discourse, student voices – often constrained to operate within ‘feedback loops’

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(Young and Jerome 2020) – become instruments that enforce a logic of competition among HE institutions, departments, degrees and teachers themselves (Ball 2003, 2012). This chapter is based on our ongoing research on TSCs in Italy, carried out through in-depth interviews with student representatives (reps) and teachers. Following the law 240 in 2010, each university department in Italy must institute a TSC that, together with other governing bodies, is aimed at improving the quality of teaching and of students’ experience. It is the only body in which teachers and students are represented in equal numbers. And, as the findings demonstrate, students perceive it as an important setting where – within the existing governance structure – student voice is recognized. By showing the complex (power) relationships amongst the tools, institutions, regulations and social actors that make the TSC operational, our aim is to illustrate how agency is distributed in this policy assemblage and the ways subjectivities are constituted in its unfolding.

Student Voice and the Neoliberal Imaginary Within the existing literature, student voice is defined as the act of listening to students and valuing the views that students express regarding their learning experiences, with the aim of empowering them to take an active role in transforming their education (Seale 2010). In this respect, student voice should not be considered as a technique devoid of political aims, but as a radical way to democratize education and, simultaneously, to pursue a larger and more inclusive idea of democracy that rests upon participatory rather than representative traditions of democracy (Fielding 2011). Voice, argues Pat Thompson, ‘is inherently concerned with questions of power and knowledge, with how decisions are made, who is included and excluded and who is advantaged and disadvantaged as a result. … “Voice” is a concept that cannot be disconnected from concerns for a more just and equal society’ (Thomson 2011: 21). However, the ways in which student voice is conceptualized and enacted by teachers, institutions and policy documents are highly heterogeneous. Empirical research has often shown that most student voice appears as something very different from a radical gesture that would challenge educational hierarchies, as it is often portrayed in the academic debate and in the rhetoric of certain institutional documents. Indeed, reviewing a number of initiatives and reflecting on the fact that student voice seems to be fully compatible with management objectives, Fielding asks if ‘we are presiding over the further entrenchment of existing assumption and intentions using students or pupil voice as an additional mechanism of control’ (Fielding 2001: 100). Looking at research in the HE sector in particular, studies have largely made use of Foucault’s concepts of power and governmentality to make sense of how student voice is enacted in various countries (Anderson 2014; Bragg 2007; Thiel 2019; Young and Jerome 2020). This research allows us to reflect on the effects of student voice on the identities and positionings of teaching staff and students, the technologies through which ‘voice’ is constructed and the ways through which certain voices are excluded. This perspective has demonstrated how most student voice is framed within a managerialist discourse enacting a neoliberal imaginary (Ball 2012), where university is no longer seen as a public good, but as a service that can be bought (Naidoo, Shankar and Veer 2011), and where technologies of accountability exacerbate competitiveness among teachers and departments to please students who are increasingly seen as consumers (Seale 2010). In this respect, research shows that university students are increasingly caught 296

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within ‘feedback loop’ systems of quality improvement, where they are asked to give feedback on their teachers, or on their degree course. The institutions take this on board and then inform the students how they have responded to their feedback (Watson 2003). This feedback loop constitutes a key technology operating within HE governance structures inspired by the NPM approach (Musselin and Teixeira 2014) and acts as a device that shapes subjectivities that rely on the market as a regulative force for their conduct (Ball 2003). For example, Thiel’s study of the National Student Survey (NSS) in the United Kingdom shows how, on the one hand, student voice is instrumentalized as a disciplinary technology that utilizes student feedback to produce compliant teacher subjectivities, and, on the other hand, ‘the NSS governs the academic population by creating perpetual competition at various levels of scale, as lecturers, departments and universities are pitched against one another in artificially created markets’ (Thiel 2019: 549). Young and Jerome (2020) describe how the feedback loop has come to be seen as an obvious, common sense way for student voice to operate in HE and have interpreted it as a form of self-government (Foucault 1988), soliciting students to perceive themselves primarily as individuals within a market system (Young and Jerome 2020). Mendes and Hammet (2020) point out that asking students to give feedback on their HE experience has become a new orthodoxy within the contemporary management of HE institutions. This results, on the one hand, in student reps suffering from fatigue in the face of multiple participation requests; on the other hand, it leads to the de-politicization of student voice. Students are solicited to position themselves as instrumental members of the university, but have limited interest in the organization’s future, and are expected to make decisions and proposals that prioritize their own degree outcomes. Drawing on these insights, in the following pages we will examine a specific device through which student voice is enacted within the Italian HE system: the TSC. We will approach it as a complex assemblage of tools, objects, institutions, regulations and social actors that interact with each other whilst reciprocally constituting their agencies (Deleuze 1989). On the one hand, we will show how various entities and subjectivities are mobilized, enrolled and governed in ways that align their behaviours to a neoliberal imaginary. On the other hand, our aim is to enrich theoretical reflection on how student voice functions as a neoliberal governmental technology by showing its processual dimension and the always unstable, contingent and never-conclusive nature of its enactment.

The Research The empirical material discussed in this chapter is part of an ongoing research project carried out in one university located in Milan, Italy. This is a large university, enrolling about 8,000 new students every year and employing over 900 lecturers and researchers distributed amongst sixteen departments. Our project aims to provide an in-depth analysis of how TSCs function in these departments and to identify axes of similarity and difference in the ways in which student voice is enacted in different contexts and according to different disciplinary and departmental cultures (Bartlett and Vavrus 2017). As the empirical project is still ongoing, in this paper, we will use interviews that we have completed with student representatives and teachers to inform our discussion about some general processes at stake in how student voice is constructed. We will focus on how students and teachers make sense of their position, and their margins of action, within the 297

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TSC device. We draw on fourteen qualitative interviews, each lasting an hour on average, that we have thus far carried out: ten with student reps and four with teachers, all of whom are members of their department’s TSC. The first part of the interviews, both with students and teachers, was aimed at reconstructing their experiences within the TSC, their motivation, roles, purpose and general reflection about these organs. The second part was aimed at reconstructing, in as much detail as possible, how the TSC functions: how it is managed, how the agenda is defined, how reports are written, by whom and based on what kind of discussion and data and so on. The third part of the interview was aimed at investigating the emergence of any controversies, contestations or interruptions during their participation in the TSC. An additional part of the interview with students aimed at capturing issues related to their role as student representatives: if and how they attempt to make the student voice inclusive and capable of acknowledging the heterogeneity of students’ positions, background and point of view over their university experience. The coding process was inductive while being also informed by a working hypothesis based on previous literature and by our research questions (Corbin and Strauss 2008). Open coding was used to grasp themes and processes that were not previously discussed in the literature (Atkinson and Hammersley 2007). Standard good ethical practice was employed, and to protect confidentiality, this paper does not use participants’ real names. As one of the authors (Beatrice Colombo) is a student representative, and as she informed research design from the beginning, we believe this helped to mediate power asymmetries with the interviewed students.

The Joint Teacher-Student Commission Assemblage in Italy In this section we provide a synthesis of the main characteristics and functions of the TSC within the Italian HE system and contextualize it within the network of policy instruments and organizational structures constituting the Italian Evaluation System (IES) of HE institutions1. In order to understand how students and teachers interact within the TSC, we trace the lines connecting them to a complex concatenation of objects, institutions and power relationships that constitute their subjectivities and margins of actions. TSC was constituted for the first time in the Italian HE system in 2010, with the passage of Law 240. This law stated that each university department should institute a commission, comprising students and teachers in equal numbers, to monitor the teaching quality and the services provided to students by the teaching staff and to make proposals for improvement. The same law stated that the TSC should produce each year an official document (the Annual Report) which would be evaluated by the university evaluation units (NdV, Nuclei di Valutazione) to assess the progress of degree courses in improving the quality and efficacy of their teaching. The NdV is an ‘independent’ body within each university institution, operating in a strict relationship with ANVUR, the agency responsible for setting the standards and methods for the continuous evaluation of the Italian HE system. Since its establishment, ANVUR has issued various guidelines detailing the tasks and objectives of TSCs. Particularly relevant are those providing quantitative indicators that determine how TSC should produce their annual report. According to the most recent guidelines, these reports should cover six pre-defined dimensions: 1. Analysis and proposals on the use of student satisfaction questionnaires (SSQ), which are developed centrally by ANVUR. 298

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2. Analysis and proposals on teaching materials, classes, laboratories and equipment. 3. Analysis and proposals on methods and practices around student examinations. 4. Analysis and proposals on enacting annual monitoring and cyclic re-examinations of degree courses (these examinations are defined by a commission of teachers nominated by the president of each degree course). 5. Analysis and proposals on the availability and accuracy of information provided to the public on the programme of study (SUA-CdS, Scheda Unica Annuale-Corso di Laurea) by the president of the degree course. 6. Further proposals on improvements, based on the analysis of quality indicators provided by ANVUR. Two aspects are worth noting. First, most of the work of the TSC is based on continuous work with documents, evaluative reports, indicators and data elaborated by other bodies, where student representation is not granted. For example, SSQ is centrally defined by ANVUR, standardized for each degree course and administered to students at the end of each teaching and after graduation. The TSC has a similar task to monitor and evaluate the appropriateness of the SUA-CdS. The SUA-CdS form (enacted since 2012) is a complex protocol where teachers are asked to report on pre-defined (by the NdV) questions concerning various aspects of each degree course and where data about ‘learning outcomes’ are displayed using pre-defined quantitative indicators (dropout rates, average number of university credits obtained during the first year etc.). In this respect, the role of the TSC is to monitor if the ‘feedback loop’ has been ‘closed’: if students’ opinions have been taken into consideration and the extent to which their feedback has mobilized the department to take action. In this way, students and teachers must negotiate what they mean by teaching quality while lacking power to make any meaningful change; this reduces university experience to what is measurable and comparable (Mennicken and Espeland 2019). Second, existing regulation and guidelines recognize, at least on paper, margins of autonomy for the TSC. After all, the TSC is designed as a space of discussion where – beside a number of mandatory tasks to be completed each year – meetings can have agendas that reflect aspirations that do not fit the pre-defined ‘boxes’. By leaving relatively unspecified the data, indicators, methods and goals on which proposals pertaining to teaching and examinations practices should be based on, the TSC is the only space where HE institutions acknowledge the possibility for student voice to be gathered without the mediation of instruments defined by teaching staff or management. We will explore in the following sections the different ways in which this dialogic space is interpreted and the constraints and conditions that shape this.

Enacting the Teacher-Student Commission ‘Voice’ is Heard if Translated into Numbers As mentioned earlier, most of the tasks of the TSC are based on a pre-defined, standardized and quantified construction of student voice, on the data gathered through the SSQ designed by the ANVUR and administered among all Italian students at the end of each of their teachings. Based on the SSQ, each academic year, each course receives a rating that is used by the TSC to fill out the annual report and make proposals for improvement. The following interview extract shows 299

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how important the SSQ is to organizing discussions during TSC meetings and how it is seen as the most relevant tool to enact the ‘feedback loop’. Andrea: Interviewer: A:

I: A:

The most important meetings are those when the TSC has to work on the Annual Report. and how does it work? It is simple. We go through the SSQ data, and we simply look for low marks. The principle is very simple: we ignore the teaching that are rated higher than 4 out of 10. Then, if a teaching gets lower than 4, we report it. And what does this mean? That we try to understand what happened to that teaching, if the issues have been reported on other documents, or if we had any other remarks by the students during the year. Then, normally, the president of the TSC [that is, a teacher] call those responsible for that teaching and they try to understand the problem and the solution. It is like an institutionalised scolding, let’s say. … The next academic year the TSC will check if the rating of that teaching has improved.

This quotation shows that the data gathered through the SSQ can be seen as a key element through which students and teachers are caught into the TSC assemblage. Numbers and parameters, whatever the logics and assumptions through which they are interpreted, activate an intervention. Teachers are enrolled (Callon 1984) in the assemblage and are asked to mobilize to improve their ratings. Students acknowledge that the SSQ cannot accurately grasp learning experiences and teaching quality, nonetheless they recognize that the SSQ data constitute an important instrument the teachers use to interpret their feedback and requests. In this context, student reps strategically use SSQ data to support their arguments and make their voice heard. Fabio:

if I say something during the TSC meetings about a problem that was raised about a teaching, my point of view is nothing if it is not supported by numbers. The president of the commission will say ‘OK, you are telling us this, but how many students raised this issue? Is this really an issue shared among the students?’ Questionnaires, with all their limitations, allow me to go and search for numbers that can support my statement.

Another reason why SSQ data constitute a key element in the TSC assemblage is that they are used by the NdV as an instrument to evaluate study courses. The governance system designed by Law 240 in 2010 asks the TSC to demonstrate that SSQ data have been effectively used to take action of improvement. As the following interview extracts highlight, the evaluation activities of the NdV are flattened through formal procedures of assessment that are based on the standardized parameters and indicators defined centrally by ANVUR. Prof. Antonio: on top of the TSC there is the NdV, because the NdV monitors the quality assurance flow for each study course. And, to them, what is

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important is that you report on the indicator they ask you to report: that if some parameters are problematic, you show how the TSC has tried to address the problem, and the solution for the issue. From the formal point of view, they are happy with this. Interviewer: but some of these parameters might be not relevant to the specificity of a certain study course. Can you have a discussion with the NdV about it? Prof. Antonio: I will give you an example. We have a problem here with Mathematics, which scores very low. We might also agree that this is not a problem. We can agree that there are maybe other more relevant issues to address. But the NdV will point it out and ask you: ‘what have you done with Mathematics?’. And of course, you can explain to them that we have decided to focus on something else and why … but they will simply say: ‘ok, but we have certain procedures decided at ministerial level to stick to certain parameters.’ In this context, it is easy to understand why the teacher component of the TSC promotes a narrow construction of student voices, based on what can be translated into measurable entities. Numbers and indicators create indeed specific areas of visibility in teaching and learning and orient attention and action in particular ways (Espeland and Sauder 2007; Dahler-Larsen 2014). In this respect, once the ‘rules of the game’ have been understood, student reps play strategically with tools that quantify student voice, to address issues that are otherwise neglected. Daniela:

Last year we had Covid, the lockdown, the shift to remote teaching. And the SSQ did not address anything about these experiences. We knew that there was a lot of suffering, that university life could not continue like nothing had happened. We also knew that remote teaching was a help for many underprivileged students, especially those working full-time and that these students wanted remote teaching to stay after the emergency ended. So we did a questionnaire that was shared through WhatsApp, Facebook, Instagram. And we get many more answers than the SSQ normally gets!. The president of the TSC was so impressed that we decided to put our report as an attachment to the Annual Report. In this way our report and our data entered the quality assurance flow and had to be at least taken into consideration.

By participating in a process where student voice is constructed as a quantifiable entity and educational/learning experiences are translated into numbers, reps still manage to counterbalance the selective power held by academic staff and to introduce issues that were previously ignored. A Space of Dialogue and Mutual Recognition As shown in the previous section, teachers and student reps often feel that their attentions, energies and time are often absorbed in routine activities carried out to ‘please’ evaluative agencies and to fit with their ‘formal’ expectations. However, interviews also reveal that the TSC is perceived 301

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as the ‘less bureaucratic’ organ they are involved in. It is a place where they find it possible to engage in informal dialogue and where students’ point of views can be recognized and discussed. Barbara:

Prof. Luca:

Among the various organs where student representation is required, the TSC is the best one. Because there, the dialogue works. We can speak more informally with the teachers. We can point out the problems, real and felt, that we have, and there is a listening by the institution. It is on the people in the TSC to give meaning to the work we do. I fill out all the forms, all the bureaucracy they want me to fill, but then at the moment we meet, we have to gain an understanding of students’ requests.

The TSC might constitute an institutional space – the only one in the Italian context – where, through informal conversation and face-to-face interaction, students and teachers have the possibility to recognize each other’s experiences and create shared meanings about the teaching/ learning processes they are involved in. Through informal chat, the complexity of students’ educational experiences can be grasped by teachers, and student-teacher partnerships can be established to make changes that are meaningful to students (Seale 2010). For example, one of the teachers interviewed pointed out that ‘the TSC has been useful to tackle horrific distortions due to an abusive use of power by some of the teachers’ but also that issues related to teaching content and, to a certain extent, teaching methods have been addressed. Prof. Antonio: We had cases where students in the TSC told us they wanted to study more updated texts, new techniques … we went to see the syllabus of some of their teachings and we realised that they were not entirely wrong … so we created a platform to discuss the issue with some of their teachers and we found a solution. Interviews show that students can also use an interpretation of the TSC role that goes beyond the one defined by the institution. As Iulia points out, ‘Within the TSC we feel more courageous to speak out and we have the possibility to make our point of view understood. This goes beyond the TSC, because in this way we can have teachers supporting our instances at the department board’. In this respect, the TSC can also be used strategically as an instrument to find allies to support students’ claims within bodies endowed with decision-making power and where students are often an unlistened minority. According to students, this is a window of opportunity that has been opened thanks to the ways in which the TSC is configured. ‘Tell Us Problems, We Fix Them’ We have first outlined the role played by a calculative device, the SSQ, in constructing the ‘voice’ of the students. We then pointed out that the structure of the TSC and the informality of its meetings can favour the emergence of moments that participants interpret as of mutual recognition and reciprocal understanding. In this section, we focus on the types of issues, requests and problems that are discussed during the TSC meeting, how they are framed and the role that power asymmetries play in it.

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As the following extracts exemplify, within the TSC, students’ voices are articulated and framed as ‘problems’ to solve. Interviewer: Can you tell me what are the main issues that you as student reps brought to the discussion in the TSC? Iulia: We have talked a lot, for example, about the distribution of the teachings during the second year, because the second semester had a study load impossible. Other problems we signal are teachers lacking communication, for example if he/she doesn’t use the platform, or the syllabus is not clear … lack of clarity about exams, and so forth. Andrea: During each meeting the TSC is always an open moment where teachers say ‘tell us the problems’. And we take the floor, and I say for example ‘in the first year there is a problem with the Mathematics teachers’ or ‘Prof. X does not use the e-learning platform’, or ‘in teaching Y, the programme is too heavy for the number of credits assigned’, etc. The majority of issues we ask the TSC to discuss are about exams … students’ priority is their career, to pass exams. So if you ask them for feedback they will talk about things that will make their study career easier. The most common framing of student ‘voice’ is that of a process of reporting on specific ‘problems’, which are then filtered by the teacher component of the TSC that is also responsible for fixing them (see also Seale et al. 2015). Sometimes these problems are fixed through informal means such as a phone call or meeting over a coffee. Sometimes solutions are achieved through departmental boards, where, although student representation is foreseen, its role in shaping the decision-making process is generally irrelevant. These problem-solving modalities emerge from a student voice assemblage where existing organizational features, hierarchies and power relationships characterizing departmental relationships are not questioned. The TSC is a space where students feel they can legitimately share their point of view, but their role is, at best, that of articulating feedback and proposals that cannot be drawn from standardized instruments of opinion gathering. In the TSC assemblage, students are positioned as informants and customers, and the teaching staff as responsible to intervene. It is then unsurprising that when teachers recognize students’ points of view, this seems to coalesce into a discourse that mobilizes the market as a governmental principle to manage learning/teaching in HE. Prof. Luca: my impression is that here the TSC works really well. We have bet on the TSC because we are a small department, because we want to grow, because we want our degrees to be attractive … Because you know, in today’s university one more student is one more student, it means more funds, more teachers. As this quotation reveals, the practices, procedures and meanings participants attribute to the TSC have to be framed within a larger ecosystem in which competition (among universities, among departments and among teachers) has been introduced by deploying a vast array of technologies of evaluation and assessment and where funds and human resources are increasingly 303

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distributed based on research and teaching performance.2 Rates of enrolment, dropout and timeto-degree indicators (other frequently cited ‘objects’ of discussion in TSC meetings) are key ‘agents’ within the TSC ensemble. They define how student voice is framed, and they mobilize the teaching staff to make decisions. By monitoring these indicators as well as the functioning of TSCs, other bodies participating in the governance of HE institutions, such as the NdV, make sure that the way in which student voice is enacted at the departmental level aligns with a neomanagerial definition of quality assurance based on efficiency indicators. As the following interview extracts show, students participate in the same construction of student voice that are centred around problems that need fixing. They appear to frame their university experience as a customer service relationship and reps recognize difficulties in deconstructing this framework to elaborate alternative conceptualizations of student voice. Andrea: We have to be conscious of the enormous difficulties in making a synthesis of collective interests, in an environment so individualistic, in an era where students’ political participation is almost non-existent. Student unions still promote assemblies to discuss big issues … on average there are maybe 2–3 people participating. The only instrument that seems to work, sometime, are WhatsApp messages when we ask, ‘tell us the problem’, or surveys that we spam through our Instagram channel. It works like this. Is it democratic? I don’t know. Emma: I see lots of anxiety, the urgency to do the path as fast as possible, exploiting all the goals that can enrich your curriculum so that you can find a job as soon as possible. That’s the objective. It is very difficult to experience the university deconstructing this idea. But this is coming from above, from a system that pushes you to be in a hurry, because this relates to the parameters that are used in the evaluation of a degree … so if time-todegree indicators are going up: ‘oh my god!’. The pervasiveness of consumer culture within HE has been widely debated in the contemporary sociological literature (Brook, 2018; Naidoo, Shankar and Veer 2011; Tomlinson 2017), and the aforementioned extracts point to the complexities and limits of the work student reps do within the TSC (Lizzio and Wilson 2009). On the one hand, reps try to interpret their roles ‘politically’ and to imagine the TSC as a space where a synthesis of collective interests can be put on the table and discussed. They aim in this way to destabilize the neo-managerial logic through which the TSC device has been designed, although this rarely goes beyond the discursive level (see also Raaper 2018). On the other hand, they participate, as students and as reps, in an ensemble of organizational practices, discourses and devices that (‘from above’) contributes to enforcing an instrumental view of the university system (Klemenčič 2014).

Conclusions This chapter has explored the enactment of a specific policy device aimed at including student voice in the process of quality assurance and improvement of HE institutions. The TSC, introduced in 2010, is characterized by the fact that teachers and students are represented in equal numbers. By inquiring into the direct experiences of teachers and student reps, the chapter points out 304

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how, even when students feel their voices are heard, the TSC functions as a device contributing to depoliticizing issues of quality in HE and to constructing student voice and involvement as ‘feedback’ within a customer-satisfaction model and HE as a ‘service’. We have also shown that teachers and students are not the only ‘agents’ whose behaviour and choices have to be considered. The TSC is indeed a complex assemblage, where agency is distributed among students, teachers and material objects such as regulations, dashboards, forms, indicators, parameters and so on. The way through which student voice is constructed, and the issue of quality framed, emerges from a system of (power) relations that involve other governing bodies at national and local levels. These organs set guidelines, parameters and templates to shape TSC outputs and organize the binaries through which the dialogue between students and teachers unfolds. The TSC assemblage defines regimes of visibility (what counts as relevant problems to be discussed) and enunciation (how issues must be framed and outlined), that make sure that student voice is constructed in ways that align with a neo-managerial problematization of teaching quality. Thus, by creating an area of commensuration (among teachers, departments, degrees, universities) the use of quantitative indicators pushes teachers and students to legitimize a marketized imaginary of HE, where listening to student voice is instrumental to being more competitive. Yet moments of dialogue and mutual recognition between students and teachers can emerge during face-to-face meetings. In these moments, fractures might emerge within the assemblage, and social actors can follow lines of interpretation and action that can create instability in power asymmetries. We have seen how students may use these moments to establish alliances with teachers to influence decisions taken by departmental boards, where they are otherwise generally powerless. However, the lack of institutionalized arrangements capable of making students truly involved in decision-making processes pertaining to their educational/learning experience conveys a conceptualization of student voice as nothing more than feedback gathering. It reiterates a relational dynamic where teachers are the ones with the power to filter, accommodate and reinterpret students’ proposal.

Notes 1 The Italian Evaluation System is seen here as a complex assemblage of knowledge, technical means and collective and individual subjects through which the evaluation of Italian HE unfolds since the promulgation of the law 240 in 2010 (Lumino, Gambardella and Grimaldi 2017). 2 The share of funding based on research productivity is considerably higher than that based on teaching quality indicators. However, since the HE reform of 2010 (Law 240/2010), the share of public funding assigned on the basis of how universities perform on indicators of teaching effectiveness has increased. In a context of spending cuts, this was a meaningful lever to orient universities and departments’ attention towards ‘improving’ these indicators.

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Enabling Students’ Voices in a Developing-Country Context: Challenges and Opportunities PAUL OCHIENG, VIANNEY SEBAYIGA, CHRISTINE NJANE AND ALFRED KITAWI

Universities are complex and dynamic institutions with multiple agencies and purposes. Students’ agency and voices are critical to university’s work and functioning. Students’ voices express varied students’ experiences and identities. In the context of this chapter, we shall examine how students within a specific university in sub-Saharan Africa exercised student agency during the Covid-19 pandemic. The chapter begins with the examination of student agency and student voice, the context of Strathmore University and thereafter examines how these two concepts were expressed during the Covid-19 pandemic.

Students’ Agency Agency is an ability to initiate and direct actions for social justice (France et al. 2021). The topic of agency has been approached in different ways, as human agency (Bandura 2001) or a sociocultural perspective (Ahearn 2001). Agency is embedded in the process of social engagement, informed in the past but oriented towards the future and towards the present (Emirbayer and Mische 1998). It can be taken to be habitual and repetitive, embedded in purpose and goal seeking or deliberation and judgment. Action emanating from agency can therefore arise from interpretation and strategization (Alexander 1988). Agency can be dispositional, positional or motivational. Dispositional relates to understanding oneself; it is active and intentional. Positionality refers to one’s situatedness within social contexts with consequent interactions and negotiations. Motivational is students’ ability to regulate their actions, ideas, complete tasks and act on opportunities when obstacles are presented (Vaughn 2020). This book chapter does not examine agency as a normative concept but is centred on how agency plays out in student experience. Student agency is expressed through a process in which students position themselves in relation to people and communities with which they interact (Edwards 2011). This implies that students are in a continuous process of positioning and repositioning themselves taking cognizance of the other in either a deliberate way or through forced self-positioning by social forces (Tran and Thao 2018). Forced self-positioning may lead to times of struggle and resistance in which

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the agent has to confront problematic situations. Student agency is linked to self-efficacy and personal integrity. Self-efficacy is a central mechanism in personal agency as it helps determine one’s activity (Bandura 1989). Students have efficacy when empowered to take strategic steps to accomplish their goals. Personal integrity is an appreciation for the unique attributes of the individual, which implicitly requires an appreciation of diversity in individuality (Williams 2017). Students need to feel their opinions are valued and they can take steps to influence the kind of future they would want. Student agency needs to be imbued in each aspect of student experience. Student agency recognizes the influence of social structure on students’ actions and perceived identities (Arnold and Clarke 2014). A study conducted by Stenalt and Lassesen (2022) revealed that the concept of student agency within the context of higher education in past literature has been applied to assessment and feedback, globalization and internationalization, knowledge production, learning analytics, learning connections and transfers, real-life situations, and student-focused teaching and learning. This chapter focuses on the application of student agency in student-focused teaching and learning. This implies a learning design that is student-centred. Student agency is conceived as the capability of students to make choices and act on these choices in a way that makes a difference in their lives and a focus on students’ views and experiences beyond the classroom (Lindgren and McDaniel 2012; Seppälä 2018). We do not examine the concept of student agency from the view of sustainability of self-efficacy (Merritt, Hale and Archambault 2018). This is because in their study, Lindgren and McDaniel (2012) explicitly focused on online experience, a similar situation to what we experienced during the Covid-19 pandemic. The authors showed that agentic learning practices had a positive effect on critical thinking, problem solving, creative thinking, improved skills in the target domain and increased ratings of design and development skills. It is also important to explain how relational agency, which is a mutual relationship of reciprocal support and sharing by the actors working on a problem, happened between students, teachers and administrators. In this bid, it will be important to highlight how students took initiative in relational positions and the change of course activities to attain transformative agency (Lipponen and Kumpulainen 2011). Explanations will include how student agency was promoted through agency-supportive practices and learning environments. This will be contextualized within the Covid-19 pandemic when Strathmore University moved first to remote teaching, then later to hybrid teaching (Jääskelä et al. 2020). This latter shift was in a bid not only to continue lecturerstudent engagement but also to promote student experience, integrate their expectations during the different shifts in mode of teaching and enable them to have control over their own learning experiences. This will be explained using the Digital Student Agency (DISA) framework which has five domains: agentic possibility, digital self-representation, data uses, digital sociality and digital temporalities (Stenalt 2021). Agentic possibility is expressed through identification of sources and resources of agency, analysing the ways sources emerge to students during interactions, identifying student possibility to influence the object of engagement and the interaction required and evaluating the level of access that students have to influence the object of engagement. Digital self-representation is the identification of the ‘how’ and the ‘where’ of managing student profiles, analysing how student profiles are visible to others and exploring the implications of these. Data uses concerns how and where student contributions are generated and circulated, how they manage their data, who has access to student data, how student data can be used to promote their intent and implications 310

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of its use. Digital sociality focuses on how students construct and manage their sociality and it includes highlighting the means available for communication and cultivating a sense of sociality. It connects to relational agency. It enables students to determine how they manage whom they interact with, how they interact and the purpose of interaction during the learning process. It includes analysing how socialization affects the outcome of the interaction. Digital temporalities focus on social construction within time constraints. It examines if socially constructed actions are structured by individual students, groups of students or staff and the implications of time from students’ perspectives.

Students’ Voice The term ‘voice’ refers to an agent’s ability to express a view or opinion. It can mean the ability of an agent to take an active role in the implementation of policies and practices. This implies that a university’s governance structure can either enable or disable student voices. There are varying degrees of participation, from participation to non-participation (contextualized within higher education). Participation can be student-initiated shared decisions, student-initiated and directed decisions, lecturer-initiated shared decisions, consulted and informed decisions and assigned but informed decisions (genuinely informed consent and have a meaningful role). Nonparticipation can be tokenism (students asked to lend their voice but without choice regarding the subject), decoration (students used to bolster lecturers’ choice) and manipulation (coercion of students to participate and consultation is done without feedback) (Hart 1992; Mockler and Groundwater-Smith 2015). The success of student voice initiatives and the extent to which they are democratic processes is largely dependent upon strategic leadership and the school environment that this generates (Barber, Whelan and Clark 2010). How voice is defined depends in part on the relationship that exists in a particular context between ‘voice’ and ‘agency’ or ‘action’ (Holdsworth 2000). Hence it connects with the aspect of digital sociality and digital temporality expressed in the previous sections. Voice requires an acknowledgement of the other and their participation as individuals or within collectives. Student voice in higher education describes the range of activities from narrow concerns inherent in gathering evaluations and feedback from students in order to improve courses to broader participatory and inclusive research designed to affect transformational outcomes (Young and Jerome 2020). Student voice requires connecting the sound of students speaking not only with those students experiencing meaningful, acknowledged presence but also with their having the power to influence analyses of, decisions about and practices in schools (Cook-Sather 2006). Hence, it facilitates their agentic possibility and self-representation. It is the ability of students to speak what is in their mind, that is, expressing their intentions as individual subjectivities, and participating in decisions that affect them. For students to be able to express their voices, there is a need to have a relational power structure. Enabling, encouraging and supporting student voice is a way for students to express their own agency. It requires a regard for students’ rights. Listening to students’ voices is both worthwhile and empowering. Academics need to hear and honour voices; they need to know how to elicit student voices (Lincoln 1995). Student voice is the enactment of programmes and practices that seek to engage students in classroom and institutional decision-making processes and structures to improve student educational outcomes. It is dialogic, intergenerational, collective, inclusive and transgressive 311

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(Black and Mayes 2020; Pearce and Wood 2019). The notion of student voice that will be adopted is the ability of students to be authors of their own learning experiences, openly communicate with faculty, administrators and assess their own learning experiences (as knowers and actors). It requires active listening of individual and collective voices, not only on the part of lecturers but also on the part of students. Listening in this case is not in relation to sources of feedback (quality control) or to serve institutional ends (compliance and control) but as a source of improvement (students as a source of information) and as active participants (dialogue) (Lodge 2005). At times, it may examine aspects of silence, not as an expression of inaction (Lorde 1984), but of knowledge arising out of one’s inability in a particular situation or as an informed choice after attempting to speak and not being heard. Student voice is essential in the development of a university’s pedagogy and the development of teaching and learning practices. In the case where students are engaged as partners, they can act as a critical data source about students’ progress and well-being, deepen learning and professional decisions as active respondents, act as knowledge co-creators, participate as joint authors in action and form a basis for a shared commitment to responsibility for the common good. This requires authentic trust derived from professional democratic partnerships (Fielding 2011; Czerniawski 2012). This ultimately leads to better academic performance for students and facilitates the professional development of teachers (Cho and Auger 2013).

Student Agency and Student Voice within the Context of Strathmore University Sub-Saharan Africa’s labour force is projected to increase by 2.1 billion between 2010 and 2100. This will account for more than 100 per cent of the increase in the world’s labour force (Kanbur, Noman and Stiglitz 2019: 4). Tertiary enrolment in Africa is 6 per cent vis-à-vis the world’s tertiary enrolment which is at 27 per cent. The African university student is required to have skills for the present and future. These skills include futuristic thinking, communication, critical thinking, collaboration, creative thinking, analytical skills, aesthetic engagement and a global perspective. In aligning education to the future of work, faculty and administrators strive to help students to develop computational skills to be able to work in physical and virtual worlds, to deal with people across cultures and boundaries and to make sense of changes happening and taking full advantage of these changes. According to the UniRank database of African universities (2020), there are a total of 13,837 institutions of higher learning, a representation of 9.2% per cent of the total number of similar institutions in the world. In 2018, the World Bank ranked Kenya as the top African country for education outcomes (Patillo 2020). It was ranked among top ten countries in Africa in relation to nominal GDP in the Africa 2018 wealth report. Currently, there are a total of seventy-four fully accredited universities (Ntarangwi 2022). Out of this number, thirty-seven are public and thirty-seven are private. Strathmore University (SU hereinafter) is one of the private universities in the country, located in the country’s capital city, Nairobi. SU started in 1961 as Strathmore College, and it was the first multiracial, multi-religious college in Kenya offering Sscience and Aarts subjects (SU 2014: 3). Before independence, education was racially segregated, and African students could not study together with Europeans or Asians. It offers courses in engineering, law, information technology, education management, commerce, business management, hospitality and tourism. SU envisions becoming a top outcome-driven 312

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entrepreneurial research university by translating excellence into major contributions to culture, economic well-being and quality of life. SU’s governance is aligned to the Kenya Universities Act, 2016. The act stipulates that universities are to have a governing council, management board, a board of trustees where it sees fit, a management board and other committees that may assist the governing organs. At the apex of a university is the chancellor and a vice-chancellor. In addition to the aforementioned organs, the same act envisions a student association which comprises all students at the university. It sets out the term limits, functions and governance processes of such an association. The students’ council (SC) is in charge of directing the activities of the students’ association. Its functions according to the act are oversee and plan, in consultation with the senate, students’ activities for the promotion of academic, spiritual, moral, harmonious communal life and social well-being of all students; draw to the attention of the appropriate authority, where necessary, special needs from particular students; offer suggestions to the senate or its equivalent on matters affecting the well-being of students; and undertake such other functions as provided in its governance instrument as approved by the council. This implies that the SC acts as a critical organ through which students can exercise their agency and express students’ voices. The SC has a duty of fostering a sense of community by promoting the cultural, religious, social and sporting welfare of students through clubs and societies. The SC plays a significant role in promoting student agency. This is exemplified in Article 3.5 (X) of the SC Constitution which outlines the functions of the council, one of which is to provide opportunities to develop student leadership qualities. Article 3.2 of the SC Constitution provides for the composition of the SC. The SC is assisted by four standing committees and ad hoc committees that may be formed on a need basis. The standing committees are clubs and societies committee (tasked with the effective running of clubs and societies (Article 4.1, SC Constitution); the academic committee (addresses issues directly arising from the academic interests of all students and is tasked with coming up with academic policies (Article 4.2, SC Constitution); the finance committee (tasked with resource mobilization of projects in the various clubs [Article 4.3, SC Constitution]); and the sports committee (tasked with developing the sports policy as well as organizing and ensuring that sports activities run smoothly (Article 4.5, SC Constitution). The ad hoc committees are formed on a need basis and usually deal with issues concerning student health or security. This allows students to raise their voices in terms of which activities are beneficial to them in relation to their mental, physical, spiritual, moral and affective development. Through the different committees, they can influence both academic and administrative decisions. They can therefore take charge of their present and future actions. A unit that further promotes students’ voices is the student mentorship office. SU Mentoring Services provides a mentor to each student to enhance the overall student experience (SU 2011: 21). It provides a path for individualized attention and ensures that each student’s voice and concerns are attended to as they progress through campus life. The Office of the Dean of Students is particularly important in this study because of its special role in advancing the interests of students at the university. The dean of students is responsible for the coordination of all the activities and welfare of students including the SU, sports, choir, entertainment, student organizations, student advisory services, career and personal development services (Statute 17, SU Statutes 2018). The dean of students is functionally under the deputy vice-chancellor, Academics and Students Affairs. This office communicates students’ voices to the management board, academic council and university council. The students, therefore, have different ways to 313

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express their agency. At classroom level, they have the module leader who voices any concerns or issues they have, and then they also have representation at governance level through the students’ council and through various associations.

Student Voice During the Covid-19 Pandemic through the Lens of the Digital Student Agency Framework Agentic Possibility Agentic possibility is a critical element of student agency. It refers to the perceived power of students to achieve intended outcomes in a particular context of action and interaction (Klemenčič 2005). Agentic possibility, just like self-efficacy, has three dimensions: affective, behavioural and cognitive (Klemenčič 2005). In the SU context, there were various sources of agentic possibility for students. During the Covid-19 pandemic, students formed various virtual groups to ensure learning and other students’ activities and express their voices. These groups were organized through different social media platforms. In one such case, through a WhatsApp group, a freshman class representative remarked, ‘We must represent the views of our fellow students, especially during this time. Covid-19 is tough on all of us.’ Another sophomore representative replied, ‘True, we need to be each other’s keeper.’ This implied that these students not only thought they had the power to influence students’ outcomes (cognitive) but realized their critical role in actualizing these outcomes (behavioural). The interactions in the different social media platforms led to the emergence of different initiatives to support students who could not pay fees due to the financial strains brought by the pandemic. The student council representative in the same Whatsapp group commented, ‘We are planning to start the Elimisha (Swahili word for educate) Campaign to help raise funds for fellow students during the pandemic.’ The dean of students within the same conversation thread reiterated, ‘Your idea of Elimisha is good, we are also trying to raise funds through the staff-giving programme to support underprivileged students. These two initiatives can complement each other.’ The Elimisha Campaign raised a total of $642 (SU 2020: 74). These funds enabled students to continue accessing learning services. Some students organized virtual student activities to reduce the mental health strains imposed by the Covid-19 lockdown. An example is when a class representative commented to the SU WhatsApp group, ‘Can we come up with activities that students can enjoy even when they are virtual?’ They were varied responses, which indicated a need to engage both cognitive and affective aspects. For instance, one student responded, ‘Yes, we can come up with something like online games where many students can participate. I can assist the Student Council in coming up with Kahoot.’ This later suggestion led to the emergence of other students’ activities like Battle Royale and Pubg mobile during virtual game night sessions. The Game Night was attended by over 400 students. During these game nights, various gifts were won such as shopping vouchers, mobile phone airtime and SU branded bags. Related to student virtual engagement, there was a need to enable students to access remote teaching-learning sessions organized via the Zoom Platform. The students and university management had to take cognizance of enabling student access through providing not only affordable data bundles but also consistent, sufficient and reliable connectivity. Some of the students’ concerns raised in relation to connectivity by class representatives include ‘ “How do we get access to the data bundles?”; “The 10GB is not enough

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given the heavy software we must download”.’ The varied responses given by administration were, ‘We had not thought of the heavy software. However, we will plan to increase the data package for the specific courses such as information technology’ and to SU students domiciled in other countries, ‘Send a screenshot of costs incurred in buying data in your home country and you will be refunded.’ Such coordination influenced students’ active engagement. Digital Self-Representation A guideline was developed by the Strathmore Centre for Teaching Excellence and Education Innovation that highlighted the different ways for students, lecturers and other university staff to manage their profiles. For instance, it was compulsory that students log-in with their student number followed by the serial number as they appear in the students’ register (including university staff), and as much as possible, depending on internet stability, activate their videos to authenticate the users who have logged in. At the beginning of the pandemic, we experienced a few Zoom Bombings as Zoom was trying to improve its security features, but this was rectified after two months. Various administrators were tasked with organizing meetings to show students how to use Zoom and set up their avatars and accounts. In one of the Zoom tutorial sessions organized by Strathmore Law School in July 2020, a student complained about the requirements of setting up Zoom profiles and avatars. He stated, ‘Why do we have to put our official names, student number, and photo on our zoom profile?’ In response, the academic director said, ‘We want you to have your official student names and numbers for purposes of taking attendance and faster admission into the class.’ The academic director also stated, ‘Having your photos as avatars can make engagement better. We don’t want to appear like we are just talking to ourselves.’ In a virtual meeting organized by the School of Tourism and Hospitality (STH) with students, one student commented, ‘We just had our first class. 40 out of 55 of us were present. The lecturer sent the Zoom details for the class yesterday. This gave us enough time to prepare, and we were admitted into class efficiently.’ Another student from STH commented, ‘We had two classes today. It was a learning process for both the students and the lecturer. The attendance was above 90%. Our admission numbers were taken for purposes of attendance. However, sometimes the lecturer would freeze because of poor connectivity.’ Also, another student shared their experience stating, ‘Waking up early and dressing for the classes makes me feel like I am going for physical classes. This keeps me alert and more productive compared to when we are not required to have our videos on. In those classes, I can easily sleep.’ The issue of formal dress code, a critical component of SU that differentiates it from other Kenyan universities, came up. Students were required to dress formally during classes and activate their videos. This was received with mixed reactions among students. To demonstrate, in one Zoom tutorial session organized by the Strathmore University Business School (SBS), one student asked, ‘Since we are home, why do we have to adhere to the Strathmore dress code.’ In response, ‘the Administrator stated, ‘Adhering to the dress code will help you to prepare for the classes and make you punctual. This will help you in the long run in attending the classes actively. If you were not required to dress decently and have your videos on, you would attend classes in bed.’ Another student contributed, ‘But what if I don’t have enough data to put on the video. This is because putting on the video consumes a lot of data.’ In responding to this query, the administrator stated, ‘We are aware that some of you are having classes from areas with poor connectivity. You can tell the lecturer in

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advance, and we excuse you from putting on the video.’ ‘I also have a question’, another student asked, ‘some of us are attending classes in the same room with our siblings. Plus, some of us come from very humble backgrounds. It makes it difficult to have our videos on. We don’t want to embarrass ourselves.’ In addressing that question, the academic director responded, ‘This is understandable, we can make an exception to turning on your videos on a case-by-case basis.’ Data Uses The third domain of the DISA framework is data use. It concerns itself with how student data are circulated or recirculated. The domain interrogates how students can be used to promote student agency (Stenalt 2021). Students’ data uses were linked to remote online sessions that were through the video recordings of lessons, online surveys or accessing the university learning management system (LMS) platform. Regarding access to lessons’ recordings, a university protocol was developed which lecturers used to ensure that the method and form of uploading the online video links onto the Moodle LMS were consistent for all lessons in the university. This was aimed at ensuring a consistent student experience. The users who could access the system were only SU faculty, students and administrators. In situations where lecturers experienced some challenges because they were not so tech-savvy to upload their online lesson links, administrators were available to assist. The login credentials for different lessons were circulated through the WhatsApp group and the LMS was formed for specific student years. Student course feedback forms, which are normally filled in three weeks before the end of a course, took into consideration the remote teaching-learning aspects including the content and pedagogical issues. The first online surveys, shortly after lockdown in March, focused on fees issues and class attendance. The surveys were important to obtain sufficient data about how many students were unable to raise fees. The SU management relied on feedback provided to put in place measures to assist students and parents with tuition-related concerns. Given that the April 2020 intake classes were done virtually, the SC sought to get student feedback about remote classes. In a Zoom meeting between the SC and students, students from different faculties shared their experiences about the online classes and exams. One student said, ‘The exams were procured well, and the school assisted where needed. However, we hope that the pandemic will end soon so that we can resume physical classes.’ A second student remarked, ‘Some lecturers were too fast, and we could lose them.’ Consequently, the lecture notes, slide presentations (when available) and online recordings were made available promptly to enable students to access sessions which had clear protocols for data access. Students who were experiencing specific LMS challenges were sent data that they could not access through social media channels accessible to university students only. Instagram (IG) was also another means of obtaining student data. The SC used IG to get students’ concerns and challenges. In a WhatsApp conversation with the dean of students, a member of the SC stated, ‘We conducted a survey on IG and received feedback from over 500 students regarding the challenges they are facing. These were mental health, online learning challenges, fees-related issues and international student wellbeing’. This led to a meeting with the academic council. In this case, the SC had agency to decide who participated in the survey and data access and use. Besides the meetings with the university administration, the SC documented the issues raised by students and recommended the university come up with measures to improve the online studentlearning experience. The university used the recommendations and data to space out virtual 316

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classes and minimize Zoom fatigue for the students. This was achieved by requiring that two classes (three hours each) are taught per day as opposed to three classes. This was also part of the remote teaching guidelines. Digital Socialization The fourth domain of the DISA framework is digital socialization. This entails the available means of communication and promoting sociality through such means (Stenalt 2021: 60). Lecturers facilitated the use of the special features of Zoom, called break-out rooms, which allowed students to get into smaller groups within the classroom and discuss certain matters related to the topic for the day. This allowed students to exchange ideas and listen to each other. In an online forum, the first group of engineering students held an information meeting with the dean of the faculty during their second week of virtual learning. They expressed concerns regarding the delivery of some foundational concepts. One student mentioned, ‘Physics is not hard, but the concepts need to be introduced well. We just heard Python and Jupiter in class, but it would help if these tools are explained to us.’ Another student said, ‘For me, the challenge is to adapt using laptops, and computers for programming. This is the first time I’m using a computer since I was born, so I am having a challenge understanding those terms, but I’m optimistic that over time I will be able to use them.’ This information was crucial in helping the administration to accommodate and allow the gradual socialization of engineering students. In one of the other meetings between the SC and the class pepresentatives, a newly appointed class representative wondered, ‘How will we channel the issues being raised by the students to the Student Council conveniently?’ The SC representatives responded, ‘There is a WhatsApp group for all the Class Representatives. We shall add you to the group after the meeting.’ This meant that there was student agency in deciding who should communicate and promote socialization. Besides the game nights to promote students’ socialization, the SC also organized Karaoke nights and Cultural Week activities which were spread out over a week. These activities entailed an art exhibition, virtual international students’ day, virtual cooking competitions, a fashion Show and a cultural concert. The Cultural Week was a unique experience because it allowed students to showcase their cultures. It was also an avenue for students to appreciate the rich cultural heritage of different nationalities represented at the university and create bonding capital. Digital Temporalities Digital temporalities refer to the ability to create, record and publicize individual digital production as they occur in real time, to form part of history. These digital productions occur in various formats, including photographs, videos, text-based media and film among others. The structure of digital temporality makes the productions legible, irreversible and timeless (Cheng 2011: 13). Online class recordings allowed continuous and easy access. In fact, students proactively sought out the recordings. In one meeting, a student said, ‘For Mathematics units, it would be good for lecturers to share recordings promptly to enable us to revise.’ The recordings further provided an opportunity to asynchronously ‘re-live’ the classes, an additional opportunity to learn for students who were in weak internet connection areas, and allowed students to take charge of their learning, as they could decide when and whether or not to watch the classes. Unlike physical classes, which required the presence of the lecturers, virtual learning allowed 317

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students to enjoy pre-recorded lectures from guest lecturers who could not attend the lectures in real time. This not only enabled students to access learning materials beyond official classroom hours but also evolved the learning approaches since more virtual guest lectures were integrated into the learning experience. Hence, the physical time-space barrier was broken. These benefits were used post-Covid-19 to develop a new hyflex mode of learning. In responding to one of the main challenges facing the students during the pandemic, the SC partnered with the Mental Health Club to provide insightful sessions on mental wellness. These sessions were on Zoom and YouTube to reach as many students as possible. These sessions were recorded and made available to the registered participants after the sessions, to re-watch whenever they needed. These resources helped in their mental wellness as they continued learning. In relation to providing access to learning materials, one student asked through a social media platform, ‘How can I access the e-library?’ The school responded to this by making more e-resources available. Further, a chat function was incorporated into the e-library portal through which students who could not access resources could reach out and get the help they needed. Different technologies produced different constructions of time and content delivery for students (Stenalt 2021: 62). This element was dependent on the educational structures developed. These constructions were through the e-learning platform, online exams and Zoom classes that influenced students’ perceptions of learning. The aspect of digital temporalities faced some challenges, for instance, authentication difficulties when accessing online exams. This provided difficulties to some students, which may have affected their performance. In a feedback session about the virtual learning experience, a student said, ‘I enjoyed the virtual classes, but I had challenges during the exams because my laptop stopped working.’ Another student while airing her views on virtual exams said, I had issues submitting my Math exam because the laptop kept hanging. I could not submit it using my phone, so I had to use a laptop. But I ended up submitting one page twice and left out the second page. When I reached out to the lecturer the next day, she said it was too late to make any changes. In this way, digital temporalities could potentially inhibit student agency because of the inadequacies of technology. Further, the temporary nature of digital interactions may negatively impact students’ approach to learning. This is because the limited time for engagement makes the instructor monopolize the learning process, which negatively impacts students’ autonomy (Reeve and Jang, 2006). Further, Lash (2001) argues that the limited time experiences, or moving too fast, makes the content to be devalued within hours or days. For instance, a student lamented, ‘Some lecturers were too fast towards the end of the semester so as to complete the syllabus. Lecturers should plan effectively to ensure that we cover a lot, instead of telling us to cover some things by ourselves.’ Another student said, ‘Lecturers should teach Math units slowly since the classes are online.’ The effect of the limited and fast-paced interactions was exacerbated by the long periods of time some students spent in the ‘waiting room’ of the Zoom calls, while waiting to be admitted to the virtual classroom. A student voiced thus, ‘It reached a point during the classes where we would wait for so long in the waiting room. In response to this concern, the administrator said, ‘We will better coordinate the waiting room so that students do not wait for so long.’ This kind of feedback enables students to trust that their concerns are taken seriously. In summary, digital temporalities 318

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influenced how students perceived their learning experiences. These temporalities promoted their learning, while also posing some challenges.

Conclusion Student agency is a critical feature of higher education. The Covid-19 pandemic has amplified its role, especially in agentic possibility, digital self-representation, data uses, digital socialization and digital temporality. SU operationalized previously unexplored constructs of student agency on its campus, resulting in success in teaching and learning albeit with some challenges. With this, an improved learning environment has developed that will spur co-construction and equity in education that continues beyond the pandemic.

References Ahearn, L. (2001), ‘Language and Agency’, Annual Review of Anthropology, 30 (1): 109–37. Alexander, J. (1988), Action and Its Environments, New York: Columbia University Press. Arnold, J., and D. Clarke (2014), ‘What Is “Agency”? Perspectives in Science Education Research’, International Journal of Science Education, 36 (5): 735–54. Bandura, A. (1989), ‘Human Agency in Social Cognitive Theory’, American Psychologist, 44 (9): 1175–84. Bandura, A. (2001), ‘Social Cognitive Theory: An Agentic Perspective’, Annual Review Psychology, 52 (1): 1–26. Barber, M., F. Whelan and M. Clark (2010), ‘Capturing the Leadership Premium: How the World’s Top School Systems Are Building Leadership Capacity for the Future’, London: McKinsey. Black, R., and E. Mayes (2020), ‘Feeling Voice: The Emotional Politics of “Student Voice” for Teachers’, British Educational Research Journal, 46 (5): 1064–80. Cheng, C. (2011), ‘Digital Temporalities: Temporal Plasticity in the Age of Internet’, MA diss., Master of Arts Michigan State University, USA. Cho, M., and G. Auger (2013), ‘Exploring Determinants of Relationship Quality between Students and Their Academic Department Perceived Relationship Investment, Student Empowerment, and Student– Faculty Interaction’, Journalism & Mass Communication Educator, 68 (3): 255–68. Cook-Sather, A. (2006), ‘Sound, Presence, and Power: “Student Voice” in Educational Research and Reform’, Curriculum Inquiry, 36 (4): 359–90. Commission for University Education (2019), ‘University Statistics (2017/2018)’. https://www.cue.or.ke/ index.php?opt​ion=com_ph​ocad​ownl​oad&view=categ​ory&downl​oad=205:2017-2018-uni​vers​ity-sta​tist​ ics-rep​ort-appro​ved-doc&id=18:unive​rsit​ies-data-0-3&Ite​mid=496 (accessed 2 March 2022). Czerniawski, G. (2012), ‘Repositioning Trust: A Challenge to Inauthentic Neoliberal Uses of Pupil Voice’, Management in Education, 26 (3): 130–9. Edwards, A. (2011), ‘Building Common Knowledge at the Boundaries between Professional Practices: Relational Agency and Relational Expertise in Systems of Distributed Expertise’, International Journal of Educational Research, 50 (1): 33–9. Emirbayer, M., and A. Mische (1998), ‘What Is Agency?’, American Journal of Sociology, 103 (4): 962–1023. Fielding, M. (2011), ‘Student Voice and the Possibility of Radical Democratic Education’, in G. Czerniawski, and W. Kidd (eds), The Student Voice Handbook: Bridging the Academic/Practitioner Divide, 3–17, Bingley: Emerald. France, J., J. Milovanovic, T. Shealy and A. Godwin (2021), ‘“Engineering Students” Agency Beliefs and Career Goals to Engage in Sustainable Development: Differences Between First-Year Students and Seniors’, International Journal of Sustainability in Higher Education, 23 (7): 1580–603.

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Hart, R. (1992), Children’s Participation: From Tokenism to Citizenship, Florence: UNICEF Innocenti Research Centre. Holdsworth, R. (2000), ‘Schools That Create Real Roles of Value for Young People’, UNESCO International Prospect, 30 (3): 349–62. Jääskelä, P., A. Poikkeus, P. Häkkinen, K. Vasalampi, H. Rasku-Puttonen and A. Tolvanen (2020), ‘“Students” Agency Profiles in Relation to Student-Perceived Teaching Practices in University Courses’, International Journal of Educational Research, 103 (1): 101604. Kanbur, R., A. Noman and J. Stiklitz (2019), The Quality of Growth in Africa, New York: Columbia University Press. Klemenčič, M. (2005), ‘What Is Student Agency? An Ontological Exploration in the Context of Research on Student Engagement’, in M. Klemenčičič and R. Primozic (eds), Student Engagement in Europe: Society, Higher Education and Student Governance, 11–29, Strasbourg: Council of Europe Publishing. Lash, S. (2001), ‘Technological Forms of Life’, Theory, Culture & Society, 18 (1): 105–15. Lincoln, Y. (1995), ‘In Search of Students’ Voices’, Theory into Practice, 34 (2): 88–93. Lindgren, R., and R. McDaniel (2012), ‘Transforming Online Learning through Narrative and Student Agency’, Educational Technology & Society, 15 (4): 344–55. Lipponen, L., and K. Kumpulainen (2011), ‘Acting as Accountable Authors: Creating Interactional Spaces for Agency Work in Teacher Education’, Teacher and Teacher Education, 27 (5): 812–19. Lodge, C. (2005), ‘From Hearing Voices to Engaging in Dialogue: Problematising Student Participation in School Improvement’, Journal of Educational Change, 6 (2): 125–46. Lorde, A. (1984), The Transformation of Silence into Action. Sister Outsider: Essays and Speeches, Trumansburg, NY: Crossing Press. Merritt, E., A. Hale and L. Archambault (2018), ‘Changes in Pre-Service Teachers’ Values, Sense of Agency, Motivation and Consumption Practices: A Case Study of an Education for Sustainability Course’, Sustainability, 11 (1): 155. Mockler, N., and S. Groundwater-Smith (2015), Engaging with Student Voice in Research, Education and Community: Beyond Legitimation and Guardianship, Cham, Switzerland: Springer. Ntarangwi, M. (2022), ‘Universities Authorised to Operate in Kenya’, Commission for University Education. Patillo, K. (2020), ‘How Kenya Became the Strongest Education System in Africa’, EdWell, 7 August 2020. https://med​ium.com/edw​ell/how-kenya-bec​ame-the-strong​est-educat​ion-sys​tem-in-afr​ica-70cdc​ 7202​4c4 (accessed 30 October 2022). Pearce, C., and B. Wood (2009), ‘Education for Transformation: An Evaluative Framework to Guide Student Voice Work in Schools’, Critical Studies in Education, 60 (1): 113–30. Reeve, J., and H. Jang (2006), ‘What Teachers Say and Do to Support Students’ Autonomy during a Learning Activity’, Journal of Educational Psychology, 98 (1): 209–18. Seppälä, R. (2018), ‘Beyond the “Student” Position: Pursuing Agency by Drawing on Learners’, LifeWorlds on an EAP Course’, Language Learning in Higher Education, 8 (1): 115–31. Stenalt, H. (2021), ‘Digital Student Agency: Approaching Agency in Digital Contexts from a Critical Perspective’, Frontline Learning Research, 9 (3): 52–68. Stenalt, H., and B. Lassesen (2022), ‘Does Student Agency Benefit Student Learning? A Systematic Review of Higher Education Research’, Assessment and Evaluation in Higher Education Research, 47 (5): 653–69. Strathmore University (2011), ‘Annual Report and Financial Statements’. https://str​athm​ore.edu/wp-cont​ ent/uplo​ads/2016/10/ann​ual2​011.pdf (accessed 2 February 2022). Strathmore University. (2014), ‘Strathmore University Strategic Plan 2015/2025’. https://sag​ana.str​athm​ ore.edu/intra​net/docume​nts/strate​gic-plan-2015-202​5_1.pdf (accessed on 2 February 2022). Strathmore University (2018), ‘University Statutes’. https://str​athm​ore.edu/wp-cont​ent/uplo​ads/2019/11/ Str​athm​ore_​Univ​ersi​ty_S​tatu​tes-2018.pdf (accessed 4 February 2022).

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Strathmore University (2020), ‘Annual Report and Financial Statements’. https://str​athm​ore.edu/wp-cont​ ent/uplo​ads/2021/12/AR-2020.pdf (accessed 5 February 2022). Tran, L., and P. Thao (2018), ‘ “Agency in Mobility”: Towards a Conceptualisation of International Student Agency in Transnational’, Educational Review, 70 (2): 167–87. UniRank (2020), ‘Universities in Africa: Higher Education in Africa database of African Universities for 2020’. https://www.4icu.org/Afr​ica/#:~:text=Snaps​hot%20of%20Hig​her%20Ed​ucat​ion%20in%20 Afr​ica%20(2020%20d​ata)&text=How%20m​any%20U​nive​rsit​ies%20are%20th​ere,hig​her%2Ded​ucat​ ion%20i​nsti​tuti​ons%20in%20Afr​ica (accessed 3 February 2022). The Universities Act (2016). http://kenya​law.org/kl/filead​min/pdfdo​wnlo​ads/Acts/2016/No._48_​of_2​016. pdf (accessed 5 February 2022). Vaughn, M. (2020), ‘What Is Student Agency and Why Is it Needed Now More Than Ever?’ Theory into Practice, 59 (2): 109–18. Williams, P. (2017), ‘Student Agency for Powerful Learning’, Knowledge Quest, 45 (4): 9–15. Young, H., and L. Jerome (2020), ‘Student Voice in Higher Education: Opening the Loop’, British Educational Research Journal, 46 (3): 688–705.

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Examining the Role of the Sabbatical Officer Manifestos and Campaigns in Achieving Change in UK Higher Education REBECCA TURNER AND JENNIE WINTER

Students’ unions (SUs) are a longstanding feature of the United Kingdom’s (UK) higher education (HE), with a history of activism, advocacy, representation and supporting student welfare (Brooks, Byford and Sela 2015a). Activism is at the heart of SU activity, operationalized nationally via the National Union for Students (NUS) and locally within SU governance structures. Students elect sabbatical officers based on manifestos and once in post they are supported by permanent SU staff (Brooks, Byford and Sela 2015b). Sabbatical officers work either full or part time and are elected to an officer role descriptor (e.g. welfare, sport, education) and can serve a maximum of two years (Education Act 1994). Primarily sabbatical officers represent and advocate on behalf of the student body (Brooks, Byford and Sela 2015a; Guan, Cole and Worthington 2015). Depending on their portfolio (i.e. welfare, sports and societies), sabbatical officers are likely to serve on multiple SU and university committees (Rodgers et al. 2011). They are trustees for their SU, placing additional accountabilities on sabbatical officers, making their role complex and challenging (Brooks, Byford and Sela 2016b). A sabbatical officers role needs to be positioned alongside the manifesto they were elected on, as campaigning to achieve their manifesto is likely to compete with the other requirements of their role. How this aspect of student activism with a small ‘a’, plays out, against these wider responsibilities, is poorly understood. The authors, as academic developers, became interested in sabbatical officers whose portfolio role focused on education. The education sabbatical officer is explicitly aligned with activities associated with student voice (Carey 2018). They often have responsibilities for student academic representation systems (Carey 2013) and are commonly invited to provide the student voice on issues relating to teaching, learning and the student experience. They are in a role that can have significant influence. As academic developers, we were acutely aware of the power dynamics associated with student voice work (McLeod 2011). We were also aware how the positioning of students, and their representatives, impacts on their engagement in quality assurance work and the extent to which they can make a meaningful contribution to such activities (Carey 2018; McLeaod 2011), leading us to question how sabbatical officers were prepared for their role to ensure that they enact their work from an informed position (Turner, Winter and Russell 2019).

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In our consideration of this, the manifesto became a focal point, as its success depended on any pre-existing foundations as well as who supported the development of the manifesto. We, therefore, felt it could be a source of power and influence or create conflict and tension. This led to this study which explored sabbatical officers’ motivations for seeking election, roles and responsibilities and activism work. Drawing on data relating to activism, we examined sabbatical officers work as small ‘a’ activists, focusing specifically on the development and delivery of their election manifestos. Large-scale student unrest of the 1960s cemented the role of students in the political and cultural histories of many countries and resulted in SUs having a growing influence on society and university life (Klemenčič 2014). Successive UK governments attempted to curtail student activism, through the use of legislation and fiscal management, resulting in the business of SUs being channelled towards the representation of student voice (Day and Dickinson 2018). Guan et al. (2015: 2103) acknowledged this when they referred to SU as the ‘lobbying organization for the students’ where they communicate issues that are of immediate concern to students. In parallel, SUs are increasingly working in partnership with HE providers (Brooks, Byford and Sela 2015a, 2016a; Luescher-Mamashela 2013). Sabbatical officers sit on senior institutional committees, meaning SUs have become stakeholders in university governance (Brooks, Byford and Sela 2015a, 2015b; Guan et al. 2015). Such a presence is important. In 2017, SUs were included in the UK National Student Survey (NSS), in which graduating students evaluate how the local SU has represented them. This has made SUs increasingly accountable to the student body (Afterline 2017). Successive government policies (e.g. the introduction of the Teaching Excellence Framework to judge the ‘quality’ of teaching and learning provided by HE institutions), as well as developments in quality assurance practices, have resulted in student voice being taken increasingly seriously (Young and Jerome 2020). Brooks, Byford and Sela (2015a) reported a ‘new willingness’ for both parties to work together, attributing this to both the policy environment and student expectations. However, they also questioned the power distribution within these partnerships as decision-making capacity remains skewed in favour of the university (Brooks, Byford and Sela 2015a). In addition to this regulatory and policy background, there are clear NUS guidelines framing campaigning activities (NUS 2014). Campaigns are limited to issues that do not contravene the NUS charitable status and directly affect students now or in the future. Manifestos are normally self-determined and developed to represent a desire for change in local policy, process or provision. In this, manifestos are a critical endeavour in student voice and a golden opportunity for this to be included in university governance. Yet given the complexity of the sabbatical officer role, and power imbalances they may be negotiating, we question the extent to which potential change associated with campaign work is realized. There is little research considering manifestos, their subsequent campaigns and outcomes. Extant scholarship centres on leadership (Brooks, Byford and Sela 2015a, 2015b) and representation (Guan, Cole and Worthington 2015; Luescher-Mamashela 2013). Given the emphasis on student voice and the pace of change within HE, it is important to address this gap to provide an evidence base on which to develop current understanding and build future practice. It is from this perspective that the current work was undertaken. Reporting on data collected from two national surveys, and follow-up interviews, we examine who informs the campaigns led by sabbatical officers with a portfolio for education. We focus on key moments within the lifespan of a campaign to trace their development, refinement and implementation to explore the impacts of campaign work. We conclude by considering 324

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their legacy for students they represent, the unions and the institution, and the implications for campaigns as a mechanism through which student voice is articulated.

Research Design The data presented here were collected between Spring 2017 and Autumn 2018 in a project that explored the lived experience of education sabbatical officers. This role has been identified by the NUS (2009) as representing students on issues of teaching, learning and education. We collected data from education sabbatical officers and permanent, non-elected SU staff supporting them. Permanent staff play an increasingly important role in the SU (Brooks, Byford and Sela 2015a). They are recognized as providing strategic continuity and valuable support for sabbatical officers (Brooks, Byford and Sela 2015a). Given this, they were identified as an important group to include in this study. Data were captured through two online surveys. Online surveys are recognized as providing rapid access to geographically dispersed populations (Braun, Clarke and Gray 2017). They are reported as providing a so-called wide-angled lens on topics of interest, capturing a range of perspectives and experiences. As we were focusing on an under-researched group, dispersed across the UK, online surveys provided an effective means to access the sample population. Each survey captured data, including institution type, prior experiences, development of the manifesto, campaigning activities and other responsibilities in the office. The sabbatical officers survey captured data on prior experiences and motivations to run for office; the permanent officer survey included questions about the support they provided. Each survey invited participants to volunteer to participate in follow-up interviews. The surveys were disseminated nationwide for four weeks in May 2017. Contacts in the NUS disseminated the surveys via official mailing lists. Data were analysed in Qualtrics with descriptive analysis undertaken on the quantitative data, and thematic analysis on the open responses. Ethical approval was gained from the Plymouth Institute for Education Ethics Committee, at the University of Plymouth. A sample of education sabbatical officers (n = 4) and permanent staff members (n = 6) was purposefully selected to participate in interviews. They were selected from the sample of sabbatical officers and permanent staff who volunteered and were based at the same SUs. We selected sabbatical officers who had served two consecutive terms following a provisional analysis of survey data (initial analysis indicated this impacted campaigning practice). Telephone interviews took place in the Autumn of 2018; they were recorded in full and transcribed verbatim. Separate interview schedules were developed which aligned with the themes explored in the survey and acknowledged the distinct context of the two roles. Themes included pre-election and re-election, induction, the first and second term of office and preparing to hand over. An alphanumeric coding system is used to present interview data: SO denotes sabbatical officers, PS permanent officers, CS refers to the case study SUs and a number is used to indicate which of the four case studies are been referred to. The lead author was on maternity leave when data were collected and works part time, alongside this there were the impacts of the Covid-19 pandemic, meaning time has passed since the data were collected. However, we feel SU practices have changed little and these data were relevant to furthering scholarship and knowledge in this under-researched area of university life. 325

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Respondent Profiles The sabbatical officer survey achieved seventy-eight usable responses equating to a 59 per cent response rate and the permanent officer secured seventy-seven responses equating to a 54 per cent response rate. Although SUs feature across HE providers sabbatical officers were primarily university based (87 per cent) and 92 per cent reported their SU as affiliated with the NUS. These sample characteristics should be noted when considering the findings, in that these are not necessarily applicable to all HE-provider types.

Findings and Discussion We now examine the campaigning from the development of the sabbatical officers’ first manifesto, the refinement of this manifesto into the campaign they undertook whilst in office and how this changed between the first and second terms. Finally, we consider the perceived success of their campaigning activities and the legacy of their work. We use survey responses to provide a general overview, drawing on the interview data to probe, critically, the role of campaigning. Formulating the Manifesto Respondents reported different motivations for pursuing office, including wanting to ‘empower students and enact positive change’ (78 per cent), being ‘passionate about teaching and learning’ (53 per cent), and ‘enhancing employability skills’ (27 per cent) – echoing motivations reported for students becoming involved in academic representation work (Carey 2013; Flint, Goddard and Russell 2017). Student academic representation systems provided a fertile ground for cultivating education sabbatical officers; 70 per cent of survey respondents previously held a representative role (20 per cent at school level). The motivation to enact change, and previous experience of representation, informed manifestos both in terms of the methods used to canvass opinion and topics chosen (Carey 2013; Lizzo and Wilson 2009). Respondents consulted existing peer networks to develop their manifestos as well as promote themselves: I met several students to figure out what the key issues were, and make connections with students, so that once the election starts, I can reach out to the people. That had two purposes; gathering student opinion and then being more visible. CS1SO Manifestos covered a range of education, welfare and inclusion topics, some of which were modest and specific, for example, free access to printing, others were more ambitious but often aligned with university agendas such as addressing the ethnicity awarding gap. This resulted in synergies between concerns of the student body, or the institution, and focus of sabbatical officers’ campaigns. This alignment may reflect increased partnership working between SUs and universities (Brooks, Byford and Sela 2015a; Raaper 2020b) and the growing emphasis SUs place on addressing local issues (Guan, Cole and Worthington 2015). It also demonstrates how the practice of sabbatical officers is following the legal remit of SUs in that they are ‘ “promoting the general interests of its members” specifically “representing the generality of students at an establishment … in academic, disciplinary or other matters relating to the government of the establishment” ’ (Education Act 1994: sec.20(1)). 326

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However, not all respondents chose topics they were well versed in, especially where they believed the topic was likely to get them elected. One part was [names agenda] and then the other thing was boycott NSS. At that point of time [university name] SU was already boycotting the NSS and it was popular among politically active students. So, I put that in my manifesto, even though I didn’t completely understand what that means in the broader picture. (CS1SO) Collectively these data indicate that although manifestos were rooted in local issues, candidates tended to draw on small samples of student opinion, or popularist themes, to develop manifesto topics. This is a common concern voiced by critics of student voice work, where questions can be raised of the representativeness of the issues brought forward (Lizzo and Wilson 2009; Seale et al. 2015). Concerns over the validity of the evidence base was reported by permanent SU staff, who were keen for candidates to develop manifestos based on consensus: We try to explain the context, this is a research-intensive university, therefore there’s an emphasis on whatever you bring forward to be researched, or there needs to be evidence behind it. (CS2PO) Permanent officers talked of identifying resources to support candidates to develop evidencebased manifestos. They provided examples of local SU guidance, workshops and providing feedback on manifesto drafts, which tempered initial ideas – indicating the active role permanent staff take in shaping sabbatical officer work, even at this early stage. Refinement and Refocusing Despite the efforts of SU staff, manifestos were often complex, ambitious and popularist, resulting in sabbatical officers working with SU staff to refine, refocus and operationalize their manifesto following the election. This provides clear evidence of the early influence permanent staff had on officers’ work (Brooks, Byford and Sela 2015a). Over 60 per cent of respondents cited this support as underpinning achievement of their manifesto promises. This support may have involved the toning down or management of campaigning activities, making them less transformative or radical, more palatable to the university and likely to demonstrate how sabbatical officers were serving the local student body (Guan, Cole and Worthington 2015; Squire 2020): They [SU staff] helped me to make it more exact. I’d said, ‘Stop late lectures,’ and they were like, ‘Okay, but what do you mean by that?’ They said, ‘Well, late lectures are going to happen because they can’t not put late lectures in.’ They prompted me to look at what I can do to make late lectures more bearable and now we’ve created shuttle bus systems. (CS4SO) SU staff advocated for manifestos to be realistic and provided education sabbatical officers with roadmaps of university governance to enable their manifesto campaign: We’d revisit manifestos, and go, ‘Okay – how are we going to achieve this? Step by step, what do we need to do?’ Those plans get refined from a general idea to, ‘Well, ultimately, if you want to make this happen, then there are committees and working groups that you will need to go to, to get it approved.’ (CS2PO) 327

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TABLE 23.1  Top Five Priorities of Educational Sabbatical Officers (N = 77, Multiple Response Option)

Area of Work

%

Advocacy

90.90

Working with school/course representatives

67.53

Attending institutional committees

66.23

Liaising with institutional senior managers

59.74

Campaigning

55.84

Student union business

44.15

Liaising with academic staff

36.36

Supporting student led awards

32.46

Support students in complaints/grievances

33.76

Other

7.79

This refocusing was also essential due to the demanding nature of their roles (Rodgers et al. 2011). The progressive shift in rhetoric towards consumerism and accountability has impacted the work of SUs and sabbatical officers (Luescher-Mamashela 2013). This was evident in our data; when asked to identify their ‘top five priorities’, respondents indicated their role was dominated by representation, advocacy, and partnership, working, echoing Brooks, Byford and Sela (2015a, 2016b) and Guan, Cole and Worthington (2015). Campaigning was identified as within this top five for only 55.85 per cent of respondents (Table 23.1). Permanent staff described this time as challenging, noting the risk of sabbatical officers becoming overwhelmed by their duties and despondent about manifesto progress. I was in a meeting with our sabbatical officers and the timetabling team recently; it’s the meeting they are most likely to come out of and go, ‘You know what? We are getting absolutely nowhere with this,’ and that’s quite difficult, because there’s a risk that they begin to say, ‘If I can’t deliver on the things, I said I would do, that I thought were really easy, how on earth am I going to deliver on the complex things?’ (CS3PO2) However, following support from the permanent officers, specifically in terms of balancing their manifesto promises with the broader expectations of the role, sabbatical officers emerged from this period of refinement and refocusing to continue their term, evidencing the vital role permanent officers play in supporting sabbatical officers transition into their role, echoing the findings of Brooks, Byford and Sela (2015a). Campaigning Whilst in Office Alongside the manifesto campaign, sabbatical officers took on other campaigns during their term, providing an opportunity to study campaign strategies and their development over time. Table 23.2 presents the topic of campaigning activities which reflect longitudinal student satisfaction data, as reported in the NSS (Bell and Brooks 2018) and align with NUS campaigns at the time of the research (e.g. Pells 2017). Campaign topics align with both the remit of their 328

Sabbatical Officer Campaigns in the UK

TABLE 23.2  Topic of Campaigns (N = 77, Multiple Response Option)

Topic of Campaigns

%

Assessment and feedback

69.49

Teaching quality

69.49

Student evaluation of teaching

66.10

Academic support

64.40

Institutional learning infrastructure

62.71

Widening participation

61.01

Student learning

54.23

Extracurricula activities

52.54

Employability

50.84

Personal tutoring

49.15

Course organization

47.45

Student retention

45.76

Co-curricular activities

40.77

Student finance

22.03

Other

01.69

TABLE 23.3  Factors Informing Sabbatical Officers’ Campaigns (N = 59, Multiple Response

Option)

Influences

%

Local student body

83.05

Outcomes of SU surveys

45.76

Outcomes of university surveys (e.g. module evaluations)

44.06

Outcomes of external surveys (e.g. NSS)

40.67

NUS

33.89

Local SU governance

27.11

Local academics

23.72

Outcomes of HE Reviews

22.03

Outcomes of TEF

20.33

Permanent SU staff

20.33

Local senior managers

15.25

role (Table 23.2) and were shaped by issues raised by the local student body (Table 23.3), rather than national student issues (Guan, Cole and Worthington 2015; Raaper 2020a). The contribution the local student body makes to determine the focus of campaigns may need to be treated with caution. Disengagement from student voice mechanisms is widely discussed (e.g. Mendes and Hammett 2020; Seale et al. 2015). Time-pressed students are reported as strategically engaging with student voice activities – they have questioned their value when they will not 329

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personally benefit from any resulting changes or only using these when significant issues arise (Little and Williams 2010; Seale et al. 2015). Therefore, we may have to question whether the issues students bring to sabbatical officers are reflective of the concerns of the wider student body. We also must be mindful of the composition of this local study body and, therefore, the voices SU are representing. SUs are reported to be struggling with the underrepresentation of certain student groups; an area they aim to resolve (Brooks, Byford and Sela 2015b). Leading us to question the value of this consultation process, particularly as Table 23.3 demonstrates, the local student body was reported as having a greater impact on campaigning than institutional data such as module evaluations. Similarly, academic staff/senior managers appeared to have limited influence (Table 23.3). Academic staff and senior managers more commonly base pedagogic enhancement on the outcomes of student voice captured through module evaluations, the NSS and formal quality assurance mechanisms (Mendes and Hammet 2020; Young and Jerome 2020). This could lead to a misalignment between priority areas focused on by a university and the campaigns led by local SUs. Likewise, the limited extent to which academic staff and senior leaders were consulted on the campaign topic merits consideration. Brooks, Byford and Sela (2015a) reported that despite increasing levels of engagement with senior managers, SUs still felt they had limited influence on aspects of institutional practice. Brooks, Byford and Sela (2015a) also highlighted that even when institutional buy-in of senior leaders was secured, middle managers within academic departments could limit the extent to which change is realized – eroding the impact of SU work. Our data build on these findings, suggesting that academic staff and senior leaders are not highly engaged with sabbatical officer campaigning activities. Indeed, their current lack of engagement may signal an implicit silencing of their campaigning voices by universities (Lizzo and Wilson 2008). Limited staff or senior management buy-in will impede the extent to which individual sabbatical officers’ priorities are taken forward, especially if they do not align with priorities of local departments or the institution more widely. To counter this, early engagement with these groups may promote dialogue and buy-in to the work led by sabbatical officers and increase the extent to which the vision for their campaigns is realized. Considering the primacy of local student opinion in influencing officers’ campaign portfolio, the communication strategies employed by sabbatical officers are of interest, as Table 23.4 indicates a range of mechanisms that were used to communicate with students. Sabbatical officers acknowledged hard-to-reach groups who typically did not respond to communications, including mature, commuting, postgraduate and students with caring responsibilities. These groups as most likely to be disadvantaged within contemporary HE (Thomas 2012), yet they are least likely to respond to communications and therefore influence campaign work: Don’t get me wrong, social media is great in terms of engaging with our stereotypical undergraduates, but I think there are other ways that we can interact with students then just putting up a Facebook post. I think lot of our international students might not have Facebook because they come from different countries where Facebook isn’t available. So, that’s something that we should consider. (CS4SO) This aligned with concerns of sabbatical officers regarding the ‘perceived relevance’ of their SU and its work to the wider student body; 77 per cent reported this as a barrier. Directly engaging with only a small minority of the student body, and/or the same groups of students (Brooks, 330

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TABLE 23.4  Communication Mechanism Used to Engage with the Student Body (N = 56, Multiple Response Option)

Communication Mechanism

% Reported as Frequently or Very Frequently Using This Method

Social media

94.63

Email

92.85

Institutional quality structures

74.99

SU structures/committees

73.21

Couse representatives

69.49

School representatives

67.84

Advice and guidance services

67.84

Go out and talk

60.70

Pop-up events

55.35

Student-led awards

39.28

Byford and Sela 2015b; Squire 2020), can limit the wider applicability of campaigns. Sabbatical officers were aware of the limitations of their practices in terms of ensuring they were representing the diversity of the student body, and where possible took steps to address this, for example, Within this role you have to suck it up and try your best in the worst circumstances. It’s something that I have particularly struggled with; it’s that constant communication and conversation with students about what the roles are as Sabbatical Officers and how to develop that further I guess. (CS2SO) However, this commonly resulted in them working with students who themselves engaged with the SU (Table 23.3) through roles these students held or contacted the SU to take forward issues or concerns. Limited engagement with certain student groups, on campaigning or other areas of sabbatical officer work, is an issue that SUs cannot easily ignore (McLeod 2011) and is an area SUs actively work on to address (Squire 2020). The inclusion of SUs within the NSS, through which graduating students can rate the extent to which they feel their union has effectively represented their academic interests, has made SUs increasingly accountable to the student body (Afterline 2017; Guan, Cole and Worthington 2015). Campaigning may be considered part of the ‘visible work’ sabbatical officers engage with, as much of their work is associated with attending various committees and meetings (see Table 23.1; Brooks, Byford and Sela 2015a). Given the number of student groups sabbatical officers report struggling to engage with, the extent to which underrepresented students feel their SU represents their interests is potentially a concerns for SU, particularly given SU accountability resulting from the NSS. Success and Legacy of Campaigning Activities To achieve what was needed for the sustainability of the Union. I had to protect the relationship with university management; this affected my campaign activities. (Sabbatical officer survey open comment) 331

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This quotation typified the positioning of campaigning evidenced by the sabbatical officers and shaped perceptions of success and legacy. Respondents identified a range of success measures, for example, reporting the number of meetings attended, providing metrics of student engagement, citing examples of where they had informed policy and practice and discussing how they influenced institutional data sets or kept on top of their voluminous administrative workloads. These represent individual measures of success that align with performativity measures that pervade universities (Rodgers et al. 2011; Tomlinson 2017), but given the apparently ambivalent relationships SUs are reported as having with discourses of consumerism, their use by sabbatical officers is perhaps surprising (Brooks, Byford and Sela 2016b). Notably, few references were made directly to campaigning work. Despite this, they conveyed a strong sense of success: 89 per cent reported they had successfully achieved their election manifesto goals, 95 per cent reported they had achieved other campaigning goals, 100 per cent agreed with the statement ‘I changed or shaped institutional policy through my work’ and 97 per cent agreed they had ‘changed or shaped institutional processes’. Permanent staff challenged this optimism: 94 per cent reporting their previous officer as only ‘partly’ achieving their manifesto, attributing this to time constraints, administrative duties and ambitious manifestos: The manifesto aim was broad and deeply culturally rooted, so they wouldn’t see it solved in one year. (Permanent staff survey open comment) Focusing on individual achievements is not unanticipated given the time-limited nature of the role. Capturing success and impact needs forward planning with evidence captured systematically over the long term (Gibbs 2010). This raises questions about how manifestos, and indeed other SU campaigning work, are evaluated: Officers tend to go for that outcomes-based, ‘My campaign was effective. I gave out 2,000 leaflets.’ Well, what did they do with those leaflets? They could have just chucked them in the bin. There was no impact on handing out 2,000 leaflets at all. (CS2PO) Sabbatical officers were aware of the limitations of a one-year term, especially as they became cognisant of the bureaucratic process and observing the unfinished work of previous officers: The work of a predecessors was largely forgotten, so staff have said you need to be doing more to make sure your work is continually revisited. (CS4SO) They responded to short termism by building legacy through university structures using committees and policy work to sustain their work, and in the case of the interviewees, choosing to run for a second term. The survey found that 52 per cent of respondents had or were serving a second term, with interviewees reporting the second term as when they achieved change. I did my first year, I had loads of big ideas for things that I could do, I realised that if I wanted to make an impact, I’d just have to keep going just to make sure that the University didn’t back off from it was doing. (CS4SO) Standing for re-election provided an opportunity to reflect on lessons learnt. They reported less populist, more realistic second-term manifestos, tempered by a better understanding of the 332

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institution and what could be achieved. Campaigns were aligned more explicitly with university and SU priorities: I guess I had been banging my head on the doors that would never open, now I am more pragmatic, and I’m also now less emotionally invested. In my first few months I was like, ‘No, I want to see this change happen’ but then I realised that for the University, their finances are more important than anything else and they will never listen to anything that can put off students from coming here, even if it is the right thing to do. So those kinds of expectations I don’t have anymore. (CS1SO)

Conclusions In this chapter, we have drawn on data collected from two national surveys and follow-up interviews, with education sabbatical officers and permanent SU staff that support them. We have explored the self-determined campaigning activities of the sabbatical officer from formulating a campaign manifesto, to engaging in a period of refinement prior to implementation and then finally to reflecting on impact and success. This highlighted the importance of permanent officers in supporting campaigning activities, reflecting Raaper’s (2020a) observation of permanent staff as ‘influential actors’ within SUs. Specifically, permanent officers encouraged sabbatical officers to employ a narrow set of behaviours (e.g. attending committees, influencing policy and providing student voice) that aligned with more accepted practices of university managers rather than engaging in activities that set themselves apart or conflicted with the notion of partnership working (Raaper 2020a; Squire 2020). Our work leads us to question the role of the self-determined campaign, particularly in terms of achieving meaningful change. Traditionally, campaigning has played a role in demonstrating that SUs are successful in provoking and securing change within HE, both as a sector but also at the institutional level (NUS 2009). But given that SUs are often ‘positioned as the key actors in advancing student experience in higher education’ (Raaper 2020a: 245), we felt it warranted greater attention. Campaigning needed to be examined against the rhetoric of partnership working, which has been positioned as an ‘attempt to develop an alternative political agenda’ (Brooks, Byford and Sela 2016b: 1222) where sabbatical officers work alongside management to shape institutional agendas (NUS 2009; Raaper 2020b). This has strengthened sabbatical officers’ roles as representatives, and some believe, this has resulted in the use of campaigning to give students voice becoming somewhat redundant (e.g. Luescher-Mamashela 2013). Recent SU activism and campaigning have tended to focus on national rather (e.g. 2010 tuition fees protests) than local issues, originating from the work of politically active SUs, rather than individuals within the student body (Day and Dickinson 2018; Hensby 2017). This could also reflect the combined impacts of student disengagement from voice mechanisms and increasing focus in individual rather than collective issues (Guan, Cole and Worthington 2015; Mendes and Hammet 2022; Raaper 2020b). The dependence SUs have on universities for funding may also temper the role of campaigning (Brooks, Byford and Sela 2016b; Squire 2020). Student voice work is also beset with complex power dynamics (Carey 2018; Seale et al. 2015) which are likely to permeate relationships with senior managers (Brooks, Byford and Sela 2015a), creating a complicated relationship for sabbatical officers to negotiate and challenging climate in which to engage in campaigning. 333

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Our data demonstrated that campaigning activities are overshadowed by wider responsibilities, meaning change is more likely to be achieved by work connected to their representation or advocacy work, echoing Luescher-Mamashela (2013) and Guan, Cole and Worthington (2015). It was unclear the extent to which the change promised in the manifestos developed to gain election was realized. Furthermore, given the focus on evidence and impact that now pervades the rhetoric of HE (Gibbs 2010), our data indicate that there is an absence of this within selfdetermined campaigning activities. Therefore, we questioned the foundations on which change achieved through campaigning is based. We are concerned that the ongoing practice of sabbatical officers developing and implementing campaigns is in conflict with the expectations of SUs, universities and the students they represent. Increasingly, researchers have reported students as driven more by personal drivers and consumer forces than social good (Klemenčič 2014; Raaper 2020a), which has undermined attempts to stir collective action. Students, it seems, may not have the appetite for campaign activities. Given the drive for partnership working from the NUS (e.g. NUS 2009) and universities (Luescher-Mamashela 2013; Raaper 2020a), and the level of institutional support required for change to be achieved (Brooks, Byford and Sela 2015a, 2016a; Squire 2020), integrating partnership working into campaigning activities should be considered. Partnership working has been identified as a mechanism through which SU can counter narratives of consumerism, neoliberalism and marketization that pervade the sector (Brooks, Byford and Sela 2016b; NUS 2009). Equally, partnership working may serve to mitigate the limitations reported here regarding current campaigning practices. Partnership working could borrow from practices of co-creation (see Bovill et al. [2016] for further discussion) that have gained traction in promoting curriculum innovation and change (McLeod 2011). Co-creation aligns with the spirit of partnership working advocated by the NUS (2009) as it seeks to challenge power hierarchies to promote meaningful change, inclusivity and transparency (Bovill et al. 2016; McLeod 2011). Co-creating campaigns could promote engagement of different members of the university community with the work of sabbatical officers – leading to more sustained and impactful change. This does not mean that we do not feel there is a role for campaigning, rather campaigning should become a collective or shared activity. Given the contribution permanent staff make to the strategic operation of SU, which is directly impacting campaigning activities (Raaper 2020a), it feels that the sector has reached a point where the role of the self-determined sabbatical officer campaign needs to be reconceptualized into an activity that serves the multiple masters SU are negotiating and the demanding role sabbatical officers are attempting to perform.

Acknowledegement A Staff and Educational Development Associate (SEDA) grant funded this study. Ellie Russell and Hannah Goddard (formally of the NUS) and Nadine Schafer and Sam Childs are thanked for their contributions to this study.

References Afterline (2017), Union Futures: The Impact of NSS Q26, Manchester: Afterline.

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Bell, A. R., and C, Brooks (2018), ‘What Makes Students Satisfied? A Discussion and Analysis of the UK’s National Student Survey’, Journal of Further and Higher Education, 42 (8): 1118–42. Bovill, C., A. Cook-Sather, P. Felton, L. Millard and N. Moore-Cherry (2016), ‘Addressing Potential Challenges in Co-creating Learning and Teaching: Overcoming Resistance, Navigating Institutional Norms and Ensuring Inclusivity in Student-Staff Partnerships’, Higher Education, 71 (1): 195–208. Braun, V., V. Clarke and D. Gray (2017), ‘Innovations in Qualitative Methods’, in B. Gough (ed), The Palgrave Handbook of Critical Social Psychology, 243–66, London: Palgrave Macmillan. Brooks, R., K. Byford and K. Sela. (2015a), ‘The Changing Role of Students’ Unions within Contemporary Higher Education’, Journal of Education Policy, 30 (2): 165–81. Brooks, R., K. Byford and K. Sela (2015b), ‘Inequalities in Students’ Union Leadership: The Role of Social Networks’, Journal of Youth Studies, 18 (9): 1204–18. Brooks, R., K. Byford and K. Sela (2016a), ‘The Spaces of UK Students’ Unions: Extending the Critical Geographies of the University Campus’, Social & Cultural Geography, 17 (14): 471–90. Brooks, R., K. Byford and K. Sela (2016b), ‘Students’ Unions, Consumerism and the Neoliberal University’, British Journal of Sociology of Education, 37 (8): 1211–28. Carey, P. (2013), ‘Representation and Student Engagement in Higher Education: A Reflection on the Views and Experiences of Course Representatives’, Journal of Further and Higher Education, 37 (1): 71–81. Carey, P. (2018), ‘The Impact of Institutional Culture, Policy and Process on Student Engagement in University Decision Making’, Perspectives: Policy and Practice in Higher Education, 22(1): 11–18. Day, M., and J. Dickinson (2018), David versus Goliath: The Past, Present and Future of Students’ Unions in the UK, HEPI Report 111. https://www.goo​gle.com/sea​rch?q=Day%2C+M.%2C+and+J.+Dickin​ son+(2018)%2C+David+Vver​sus+Goli​ath%3A+The+Past%2C+Pres​ent+and+Fut​ure+of+Stude​ nts%E2%80%99+Uni​ons+in+the+UK&rlz=1C1GC​EA_e​nGB9​81GB​981&oq=Day%2C+M.%2C +and+J.+Dickin​son+(2018)%2C+David+Vver​sus+Goli​ath%3A+The+Past%2C+Pres​ent+and+Fut​ ure+of+Stude​nts%E2%80%99+Uni​ons+in+the+UK&aqs=chr​ome..69i57.815j​0j4&sourc​eid=chr​ ome&ie=UTF-8 (accessed 11 June 2023). Education Act. (1994), Education Act 1994: Part II Students’ Unions’ UK Public General Acts, 21 July 1994. https://www.legi​slat​ion.gov.uk/ukpga/1994/30/part/II (accessed 10 June 2022). Flint, A., H. Goddard and E. Russell (2017), Architects of Their Experience: The Role, Value and Impact of Student Academic Representation Systems in Higher Education in England, London: TSEP. Gibbs, G. (2010), Dimensions of Quality, York: HEA. Guan, L., M. Cole and F. Worthington (2015), ‘University Students’ Unions: Changing Functions, a UK and Comparative Perspective’, Studies in Higher Education, 41 (12): 2095–109. Hensby, A. (2017), ‘Campaigning for a Movement: Collective Identity and Student Solidarity in the 2010/11 UK Protests against Fees and Cuts’, in R. Brooks (ed.), Student Politics and Protest. International Perspectives, 13–29, Oxon: Routledge. Klemenčič, M. (2014), ‘Student Power in a Global Perspective and Contemporary Trends in Student Organising’, Studies in Higher Education, 39 (3): 396–411. Little, B., and R. Williams (2010), ‘Students’ Roles in Maintaining Quality and in Enhancing Learning: Is there a Tension?’, Quality in Higher Education, 16 (2): 115–27. Lizzio, A, and K. Wilson (2009), ‘Student Participation in University Governance: The Role Conceptions and Sense of Efficacy of Student Representatives on Departmental Committees’, Studies in Higher Education, 34(1): 69–84. Luescher-Mamashela, T. (2013), ‘Student Representation in University Decision Making: Good Reasons, a New Lens?’, Studies in Higher Education, 38 (10): 1442–56. McLeod, J. (2011), ‘Student Voice and the Politics of Listening in Higher Education’, Critical Studies in Education, 52(2): 179–89. Mendes, A. B., and D. Hammett, (2020), ‘The New Tyranny of Student Participation? Student Voice and the Paradox of Strategic-Active Student-Citizens’, Teaching in Higher Education. doi: 10.1080/13562517.2020.1783227.

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NUS. (2009), Surfing the Wave: A Strategic Response to a Wave of Change: The Future Landscape of the Student Movement, London: National Union of Students. NUS. (2014), Guidance on Political Activity in Relation to Students’ Unions. London: NUS. Pells, R. (2017) ‘Student’s “boycotting” NUS National Student Survey Boycott’, The Independent, 24 February 2017. https://www.inde​pend​ent.co.uk/stud​ent/news/stude​nts-boy​cott​ing-nus-natio​nal-stud​entsur​vey-oxf​ord-uni​vers​ity-warwi​ckca​mbri​dge-tef-tuit​ion-fees-a7598​216.html (accessed 6 June 2022). Raaper, R. (2020a), ‘Constructing Political Subjectivity: The Perspectives of Sabbatical Officers from English Students’ Unions’, Higher Education, 79 (1): 141–57. Raaper, R. (2020b), ‘Students’ Unions and Consumerist Policy Discourse in English Higher Education’, Critical Studies in Education, 61 (2): 245–61. Rodgers, T., R. Freeman, J. Williams and D. Kane (2011), ‘Students and the Government of Higher Education: A UK Perspective’, Tertiary Education and Management, 17 (3): 247–60. Seale, J., S. Gibson, J. Haynes and A. Potter (2015), ‘Power and Resistance: Reflections on the Rhetoric and Reality of Using Participatory Methods to Promote Student Voice and Engagement in Higher Education’, Journal of Further and Higher Education, 39 (4): 534–52. Squire, R. (2020), ‘Class Acts? Working Class Student Officers in Students’ Unions’, British Journal of Sociology of Education, 41 (3): 377–92. Thomas, L. (2012), What Works: Building Student Engagement and Belonging in Higher Education at a Time of Change, London: Paul Hamlyn Foundation. https://www.Phf.Org.Uk/Wp-Cont​ent/Uplo​ ads/2014/10/What-Works-Summar​yRep​ort.Pdf (accessed 15 June 2022). Tomlinson, M. (2017), ‘Student Perceptions of Themselves as “Consumers of Higher Education”’, British Journal of Sociology of Education, 38 (4): 450–67. Turner, R., J. Winter and E. Russell (2019), ‘Identifying the Educational Development Needs of Elected Sabbatical Officers with a Remit for Supporting Teaching and Learning’, Educational Developments, 20 (3): 7–10. Young, H., and L. Jerome (2020), ‘Student Voice in Higher Education: Opening the Loop’, British Education Research Journal, 46 (3): 688–705.

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Student Involvement in University Governance in Italy and Chile: A Comparative Document Analysis SERAFINA PASTORE AND PAULA ASCORRA

Change, in policy and practice, seems to be the buzzword in the higher education discourses of the past twenty years. The supermarket model (Capano and Jarvis 2020; Jungblut and Vukasovic 2018) alongside the neoliberal perspective (Broucker, Wit and Verhoeven 2018; Gornitzka and Maassen 2014) can be identified as steering approaches in higher education systems around the world: they have acted as drivers of deep transformations (e.g. widespread global-knowledge economy, competitive free market relations, etc.), which have brought about substantial heterogeneity in higher education governance (Hsieh 2022; Shah et al. 2021). There have also been remarkable efforts to recognize and guarantee the active participation of students in governance as full members of the academic community (Jungblut, Vukasovic and Stensaker 2015). Furthermore, student voice has been progressively identified as a valued and relevant aspect of the higher education quality assurance process (Cook-Sather, Bovill and Felten 2014; Klemenčič and Chirikov 2015; Lygo-Baker, Kinchin and Winstone 2019; Shah et al. 2021), and students have been acknowledged as partners in driving institutional changes and educational improvement. In other words, there is an interesting tension in positioning student voice in higher education governance. On the one hand, the neoliberal perspective promotes the idea of students as consumers (Ball 2012; Chou et al. 2017); on the other hand, there is a growing body of literature that explains how students’ involvement in higher education governance helps to create more responsive and engaging pedagogies (Guzmán-Valenzuela 2016; Trowler 2010). However, there is currently limited evidence that students are involved in the quality assurance process. The overlap, and in some cases the conflation of different concepts (i.e. student voice, student engagement or student involvement and student experience), has led to little change in the university governance (Shah et al. 2021). While student inclusion in the mainstream quality assurance is subsumed in the discourses about the improvement of university practices (Naylor et al. 2021; Planas et al. 2013), little is known about student involvement in the governance of quality assurance. Given the extensive research on student voice, this chapter focuses on student involvement in university governance at an institutional level. More specifically, we explore the role of student involvement as an aspect of the university governance which relates to quality assurance (Ashwin

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and McVitty 2015). In order to highlight and understand the roles and needs of institutions in shaping the dynamics of student involvement, we compare two different higher education systems (and therefore, their quality assurance governance): Italy, where universities are mainly regulated by the state, and Chile, where neoliberal policies have been widely applied. Assuming that different national higher education systems have different histories, traditions, cultures and practices of student involvement, these two countries have been chosen in order to highlight main differences and similarities among the European and the Latin American perspectives on quality assurance. In what follows we first review the literature on student voice and student involvement in relation to the backdrop of university quality assurance governance. A description of the Italian and Chilean higher education systems and quality assurance processes is also provided. Then, we present the main results of a comparative document analysis performed on relevant policy documents (e.g. laws, guidelines, recommendations). Finally, we provide critical insights and reflections on student role in higher education governance.

Student Involvement, University Governance and Quality Assurance Broadly speaking, student voice refers to student contribution to the higher education system (in terms of academic studies and involvement in university governance). While the concept of student voice has an extensive history in the compulsory education sector (Seale 2010), it is worth noting how its definitions and conceptualizations appear underdeveloped in the field of higher education. Based on the seminal work of Cook-Sather (2006), current attempts to specify student voice consider it as a signal that students have a legitimate right to inform their experience and take part in the university community. Over the years, the concept has expanded, including different aspects such as: 1. The democratic student involvement in the university governance (Lygo-Baker, Kinchin and Winstone 2019; Seale 2016) 2. The student partnership in the learning process (Bovill 2019; Cook-Sather, Bovill and Felten 2014; Klemenčič and Chirikov 2015; Lizzio and Wilson 2009) 3. The student agency. Students actively co-participate in university governance (CookSather 2006; Kay, Dunne and Hutchinson 2010) 4. The role of students as quality enhancers (Healey 2019; Planas et al. 2013) The call for a more active role of students in shaping or changing their education (Seale 2010: 995) led to a rapid spread of the student voice notion in the higher education field (especially in countries like Australia and the UK). However, the evident overlapping with the notions of student engagement, student involvement and student experience affected the original value and meaning of student voice and led, in some cases, to dogmatically accepting it (Gourlay 2015). In this vein, student voice tends to be reduced only to end-users’ voice (generally, gathered through student surveys) and risks losing its original and innovative power. The attempts to increase the power of student voice through a formal involvement of students (and student representatives) have become a common and frequent practice across higher education systems. However, a few empirical studies have examined the policies and practices of student voice in university governance. Mendes and Hammett (2020) pointed that student voice 338

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refers to the area of student participation in governance, quality assurance and improvement practices. Moving from passive forms of participation, student involvement has been enlarged to a proactive partnership in university governance (Healey, Flint and Harrington 2014). In this vein, Naylor and colleagues (2021) argued that the current attempts to re-conceptualizing student involvement are deeply influenced by the widespread diffusion of more engaged public policy models in democratic governance: therefore, ‘increasing the role, scope and impact of student involvement in institutional governance and quality assurance systems represents a maturation of student engagement – or perhaps a re-conceptualization of the complex roles and relationships assumed by students towards universities’ (2021: 1034). The changes undergone by university governance have affected the evolution of the student voice concept. Kay and colleagues (2010), for example, suggested four different roles through which students can engage and be engaged with their university: 1. Students as evaluators. Student voice is identified with the feedback mechanism. 2. Students as participants. The involvement of students, generally through policy representation, is functional to decision-making. 3. Students as partners. Students, as co-creators and experts, have an active role in the university governance. 4. Students as change agents. Students have a leadership position: they manage and define the governance of their university. Kay and colleagues (2010) emphasize the interaction between consumerist and partnership perspectives to student involvement in university governance and argue that these four approaches are not discrete and tend to overlap in practice. Considering this complexity, we analyse how student involvement is conceived and practiced in the quality assurance governance of the Italian and Chilean higher education systems. To this aim, a brief description of both quality assurance systems is reported.

University Governance and Quality Assurance in Italy The first attempts to introduce quality assurance in the Italian higher education system can be witnessed in the early 1980s. However, it was in the 2000s that a radical revision of the Italian higher education system took place. The launch of the University Reform Law no. 240 in 2010 (and its subsequent updates in 2012 and 2016) introduced, in fact, a new idea of university organization and governance. It became suddenly evident how the change imposed by the law was relevant due to the re-introduction of a centralized and top-down control, which was partially removed by the 1990s’ reforms. Alongside the consistent institutional change (i.e. power and responsibilities revision of governing bodies, such as rector, senate and finance council), extensive variations have been made to align this higher education system with the European educational policies (i.e. Bologna Process 1999). These pivotal efforts led, in 2013, to the implementation of the national quality assurance system by the National Agency for the Assessment of Higher Education and Research (ANVUR). The ANVUR, as foreseen by the European Higher Education Area (EHEA), is a public body subject to the Minister of University and Research. Following the Standards and Guidelines for Quality Assurance in the European Higher Education Area, the Italian higher education quality assurance system comprises the initial and 339

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recurrent accreditation of courses and settings by ANVUR; the internal quality assurance focused on universities teaching and research activities; the internal evaluation by joint university committees and evaluation units; and, finally, the external evaluation by ANVUR. The internal quality assurance system is a requirement for the accreditation of courses and settings: therefore, this system has to involve, in a transparent and effective way, all the key-actors identified in the model and regulated by the law. In each university, the quality assurance key-actors are the following (Figure 24.1).

Minister of University and Research (MUR) National Agency for the Assessment of Higher Education and Research (ANVUR)

University Rector Academic Council and Finance Committee

Independent Evaluation Unit

Unit responsible for the internal QA system

Department / School Dean

Joint Student-Staff Committee

Department Council

Teaching FIGURE 24.1  Quality assurance governance in Italy. Source: Adapted from ANVUR (2017).

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1. The Independent Evaluation Unit (Nucleo di Valutazione). It verifies education quality (programmes, courses, syllabi) and monitors the right implementation of the quality assurance system within the higher education institution. Internal and external experts made up the Independent Evaluation Unit, joined, generally, by one or two student representatives. 2. The Joint Student-Staff Committee (Commissione paritetica docenti-studenti). This committee represents the arena where teachers and students (i.e. their representatives) can design improvement plans for teaching and learning quality; control the alignment of expected learning outcomes, instructional practices and assessment; identify main problems and criticalities; and analyse data gathered through student surveys. 3. The Unit responsible for the internal quality assurance system (Presidio della qualità). Alongside the Joint Student-Staff Committee, this unit represents one of the most relevant innovations in Italian university governance. More specifically, in each university, this unit bridges the quality policies designed by the university governance (rector, senate, finance council) and the quality assurance practices realized at the meso level and micro level (departments/schools). Unlike other ‘Independent Evaluation Unit’, this subject organizes and coordinates the monitoring and data-collecting phases of the quality assurance process. This unit, responsible to the quality assurance culture dissemination, can be formed in different ways across the board: universities have the autonomy to shape the unit; however, also, in this case, the presence of student representatives must be guaranteed (see Figure 24.1). Following the educational policies of the EHEA, the student role has been widely recognized as a fundamental aspect within the Italian higher education governance. Indeed, aligned with the Bologna Process rationale, the growing attention paid to students has led to progressively involve them in the quality assurance governance. More specifically, universities have to ensure the presence of student representatives in all governance bodies and foster their participation and involvement in quality assurance. Within this system, the presence at least of one student representative in each key-actor governance is, in fact, mandatory. Students, in conclusion, gained a recognized formal involvement in the governance of the Italian university.

University Governance and Quality Assurance in Chile The spread of neoliberalism in Chilean higher education is related to the launch of the Constitutional Organic Law of Education, known as LOCE (n. 18.962), and enacted in 1990 by the civil-military dictatorship (1973–90). This law allowed the foundation of new universities, an increased student enrolment as well as an increased offer of undergraduate and graduate education programmes. At the same time, it prohibited student participation in university government. Between 1990 and the present day, fifty-four new universities have been created, most of them private. In the same period, fifteen private universities have been closed, with the consequent difficulties for students and their families. The high deregulation of the educational market, the lack of student confidence and the absence of information to evaluate the quality of higher education institutions and programmes exerted great pressure on the implementation of an accreditation system whose main focus has been the quality of undergraduate education. 341

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In 2006, the Law 20.129 on quality assurance in Chilean higher education was enacted. This law created the National Accreditation Commission (CNA), which was designed as an autonomous body to verify and promote the quality of universities, professional institutes and autonomous technical training centres. Institutional accreditation is defined as a voluntary process that must give special consideration to the autonomy of the institutions. This last aspect is of major relevance in a neoliberal context, since it guarantees the entry of private educational projects into the higher education market. Over the years, it became evident that this system was not capable of balancing the demands of educational quality with access to higher education for a large number of disadvantaged students. This crisis led, in 2018, to the passage of a new law (n. 21.091) for the implementation of the higher education quality assurance system (SINACE). This system is made by the Undersecretary of Higher Education, subjected to the Ministry of Education; the National Council of Education; the Superintendence of Higher Education; and the CNA (Figure 24.2). In this new system, the CNA has to ‘elaborate the criteria and standards of quality, and revise them every five years’.

FIGURE 24.2  Quality assurance governance in Chile. Source: Adapted from CNA (2010).

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As a consequence of the Covid-19 pandemic, this law has not been effectively applied. It is estimated that during 2023, higher education institutions will have to be accredited under this new institutional framework. Moreover, the accreditation will be mandatory for all higher education institutions whose undergraduate and graduate academic programmes, randomly selected, will be evaluated. In Chile, self-evaluation, evaluation by external peers and accreditation exerted by the CNA represent the main phases of the accreditation procedures. The self-evaluation process must follow the criteria and standards determined by law and consult with key stakeholders (see Figure 24.2). The peer evaluation consists of the visit of experts who, having analysed the self-evaluation report, gather information interviewing the main actors of the university community. The interview phase contemplates the mandatory participation of students, who must be randomly selected. The accreditation judgments are reported in a public document that summarizes the main strengths and weaknesses of the evaluated higher education institution and informs about the decision of accrediting it (or not) for a period of up to seven years. Regarding the participation of students in the university accreditation system, it is necessary to point out that the quality assurance law was created to improve the ‘market failures’ (Falabella 2015). That is, it comes to make up for a series of deregulations in order to maintain the education market. This is absolutely contrary to the international university scenario where the quality assurance introduced market dynamics into higher education systems (Verger and Romuald 2015).

The Present Study We present and discuss the results of document analysis aimed to review relevant policy documents (e.g. laws, guidelines, recommendations) and sought to better understand how student involvement in the higher education governance in Italy and Chile has been conceived and practiced, addressing the following research questions: 1. How is student voice reported in the national policy documents? 2. How is student voice conceptualized in these documents and then enacted (i.e. in terms of student involvement in the university governance)? 3. What are the main changes addressed in the educational policy documents for the student involvement and quality assurance governance in these two university systems? The document analysis of student involvement relates to three main university governance categories (Chou et al. 2017; Hsieh 2022): dynamics, structures and strategies. For dynamics, we consider the principles that underpin the quality assurance governance at the macro level of national system; for structures, we mention the quality assurance governance bodies (their responsibilities or the way they are filled) at the meso level (university/higher education institution). Strategies, finally, refer to the practices and to the relationships between the different governance subjects at the micro level (course/programme). Through these categories we have detected the student involvement in governing the quality assurance system in Italy and Chile. For the Italian higher education system, the following policy documents have been selected: 1. The Law n. 240 in 2010, and its updates, D. Lgs. 19/2012 and D.M. 987/2016; 2. The Standards and Guidelines for Quality Assurance in the European Higher Education Area 2015 (ESG 2015); and

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3. The 2017 ANVUR guidelines on the recurrent accreditation of courses and settings. Since Law 21.091/2018 has not yet entered into force in Chile, the guidelines for the selfevaluation and external peer review process are not yet available. For this reason, this chapter analyses the guidelines currently in force, corresponding to Law 20.129/2006. We have considered these policy documents:

1. 2. 3. 4.

Law 18.961/1990 (LOCE); Law 20.370/2006 (LGE); The Law 21.091/2018; The Exempt Resolution n. DJ 253–4 (Official Gazette of the Republic of Chile, September 30, 2021); 5. The Guide for External Evaluation, Universities (CNA 2010); 6. The guide for the internal self-evaluation and the institutional accreditation of universities (CNA 2010). This study adopts a qualitative research design. Specifically, we performed a comparative document analysis. The selected policy documents, although related to different higher education systems, have allowed for a comparison of the university governance and quality assurance process (Corbin and Strauss 2008; Louis and Van Velzen 2012). To reduce the potential presence of biases, we first evaluated the quality of gathered policy documents. Then, we thoroughly investigated the subjectivity of documents and our understanding of data in order to preserve the credibility of our research study. The information was analysed using thematic categorical analysis (Quintana 2006) according to predetermined theoretical categories (dynamics, structures and strategies). Each researcher independently analysed the documentary corpus corresponding to her country, which was then reviewed by the other researcher. Once the intra-country analyses were completed, we proceeded to a comparative analysis following the double theoretical category proposed in this chapter; that is, comparing according to dynamics, structures and strategies and linking the type of student participation to the model of Kay, Dunne and Hutchinson (2010). The main criterion of scientific rigour was confirmability, a form of data triangulation (Corbin and Strauss 2008) under which the different researchers followed parallel and recursive procedures.

Findings and Discussion In the following, using the three main governance categories, we first report findings for the Italian and the Chilean higher education context; then, we critically compare gathered data. Governance Dynamics In the Italian higher education system, the student involvement in the university governance can be traced back to the 1970s. Despite the recognition of universities’ autonomy, generally, the entire system tends to conform to the law rationale: therefore, in this case, the student involvement dynamics within the quality assurance governance are uniform and each institution aligns with the national law principles. The reform Law 240/2010 stated that universities have to ensure the presence of student representatives in all governance bodies, including the new 344

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ones, in the quality assurance governance (e.g. the Independent Evaluation Unit, the Joint Student-Staff Committees, and the Unit responsible for the internal quality assurance system). More specifically, Article 2 states that it must be guaranteed ‘the presence of elective student representatives in all the university governance bodies, for a period of two years, renewable only one’. Further, Article 5 specifies that the Italian quality assurance system is ‘coherently aligned’ with the guidelines defined by the University Ministers within the EHEA. The updates of the Law 240/2010, the D. Lgs. 19/2012 and the D.M. 987/2016 have better defined some practical aspects in the implementation of the quality assurance system: however, there are no new references to the quality assurance principles or rationale. Only the Article 12 of the D. Lgs. 19/2012 states that the Joint Student-Staff Committees can use ‘aside from student surveys, other instruments, like questionnaires or interviews, to gather data on student university experience’. Nevertheless, these activities have to be framed within the scope of the dissemination practices on the institution quality assurance policies so that they inform students and make them aware about the quality assurance system. The involvement of student representatives in the quality assurance governance, as well as the need to make students aware of the quality assurance culture, can be identified in The Standards and Guidelines for Quality Assurance in the European Higher Education Area 2015 (ESG 2015). This document, originally adopted by the European Ministers responsible for higher education in 2005, has been revised and updated to improve standards of ‘clarity, applicability and usefulness, including their scope’ (ESG 2015: 2). Based on the principle that ‘quality assurance takes into account the needs and expectations of students, all other stakeholders and society’ (ESG 2015: 6), this document aims to contribute to the common understanding of quality assurance for learning and teaching across the European area and among all stakeholders. Consequently, great attention is devoted to the role of student in the design, implementation and evaluation of teaching and learning activities. However, only one standard, out of twenty-four, specifically focuses on the quality assurance governance. The Standard 2.4 peer-review experts, indeed, point out that ‘external quality assurance should be carried out by groups of external experts that include (a) student member(s)’. The European rationale of student involvement and student-centred approach (Bovill, CookSather, and Felten 2011), as well as the Italian principle of ensuring the presence of student representatives in the university governance, are reported in the 2017 ANVUR Guidelines on the Recurrent Accreditation of Courses and Settings. More specifically, within the requisites for quality assurance, the ANVUR guidelines introduce this one point: ‘Each institution has, defines, and implements its vision of educational quality and research quality. This vision has a strategic plan, concrete and feasible, in which students have an active and participative role, at each level’. This vision, furthermore, is supported by an organization responsible for its implementation and on-going monitoring procedures, which is the Unit responsible for the internal quality assurance system. In Chile, the LOCE/1990 Law prohibits all forms of participation and the right to association of both staff and students: ‘The form of government of the new entity shall exclude the participation with voting rights of students and administrative officials, both in the bodies responsible for the management and direction of it, as in the election of unipersonal or collegiate authorities’ (art. 57). Undoubtedly, this law was a step backwards in the rights of Chilean students, who since 1967, as a result of the University Reform, enjoyed the right to participate in university governance. 345

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In 2009, and due to the strong pressure from student movements demanding higher quality education and greater democratization, the LOCE/1990 Law was repealed by the General Education Law (LGE/2009), which stated for students only the right to ‘express their opinion’ (art.10/a). Student movements had a new boom since 2011, but it was not until 2015 that the Law 20.840/15 cancelled the prohibition of student and staff participation in the university governance: ‘That no internal regulations or any act or contract between the professional institute and its students or academic and non-academic staff contain provisions that prohibit, limit or hinder the free organization of the latter’ (art. 67). However, the text is constructed in negative terms, ‘prohibiting, limiting, or hindering the organization and participation’. Thus, there is no direct promotion which is at the discretion of each institution. In practice, there has not been progress in student participation in student governance over the past seven years. Therefore, the participation of Chilean students in quality assurance processes is not enshrined. Regarding the specific regulation of student participation, it should be noted that participation in the highest bodies, such as the SINAE committee (Law 21.091), is not stipulated. The law does decree the participation in the CNA committee of ‘two student representatives … who will serve for two years’ (Law 21.091, 37). The commission’s function is to (1) resolve accreditation processes; (2) elaborate and establish quality criteria and standards for accreditation; (3) execute and promote actions for the continuous improvement of quality; and (4) maintain public information systems. For the creation of standards, the ‘Commission must consult the technical opinion of the institutions of higher education, as well as that of advisory committees composed of Chilean or foreign experts and representatives of the productive sector’ (Law 21.021, 47), without considering the voice of the students. In October 2019, Chile experienced the so-called Social Outburst, a phenomenon that highlighted in the national debate a series of popular demands within which education was a crucial issue. In response to the revolt, representatives of most political parties in the National Congress reached the ‘Agreement for Social Peace and the New Constitution’. A constituent process was generated that proposed a draft of a new constitution, whose Article 18 established ‘the right of the members of each educational community to participate in the definitions of the educational project and in the decisions of each establishment, as well as in the design, implementation and evaluation of local and national educational policies for the exercise of the right to education’. On 4 September 2022, a national plebiscite rejected the draft of the new constitution and with it the possibilities of broadening the participation of university students. The formal involvement of Italian and Chilean students in the university governance dates back to the 1970s. Both countries followed different historical and political trajectories. While in Italy, student involvement was guaranteed in a transversal and uninterrupted manner over time, in Chile it was prohibited between 1973 and 2015. Italy clearly ratifies student participation in its reform of Law 240/2010, while Chile will timidly advance to voluntary involvement that does not ensure the student rights (Law 20840/2015). A substantial difference exists in the quality assurance rationale. While in Chile the accreditation system was introduced in 2006 to stem the education market policy spread, in Italy the alignment with the European policy orientations has been crucial in the launch of the quality assurance system. The Standards and Guidelines for Quality Assurance in the European Higher Education Area 2015 (ESG 2015) not

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only regulate the right to participation but also raise awareness among students about a culture of educational quality assurance for the entire European space. Therefore, the differences in the quality assurance governance dynamics are relevant. Chile does not guarantee processes of participation and democratization in the university space, restricting the voice of students and considering them only as evaluators of services that participate in an education market. In Italy, instead, mandatory student involvement does not necessarily correspond to greater and more active participation of students. Governance Structures Although the Law 240/2010 defined the main governance structures in the Italian quality assurance system, the ANVUR guidelines, aligned with the European quality assurance rationale, provide a better explanation of these structures as well as of their aims and strategies. While each university is free to organize these structures, the presence of student representation is mandatory. Surprisingly, no further details are available in these policy documents. As happened in other quality assurance systems (Lygo-Baker, Kinchin and Winstone 2019), the risk of flattening student voice to the formal presence of student representatives is very high (Klemenčič and Chiricov 2015). At the same time, it has to be noted that these structures risk excluding students who are already disengaged or simply not interested in quality assurance governance. Within the Chilean system of university quality assurance, the main structures are identified by Law 20.129/2006 and reformulated in Law 21.091/2018. Even though the law could allow the involvement of the student body both in the definition of the methodological frameworks and in the accreditation process, the law does not make explicit any type of mandatory participation in any of the phases of the accreditation process. University authorities decide if students can or not participate. Law 20.129/2006 points that the accreditation processes will be ‘conducted from the main decision-making instances, consulting, of course, the other instances of the institution’ (art. 18). At a consultative level (considering the voice of students as evaluators), the law only states that ‘it is advisable to convene members of student organizations’. Thus, the rights of student participation are not guaranteed or promoted. The role of students appears weakened in comparison with other actors in the university governance. Moreover, students’ opinions are in principle discreditable, either by the force of other information considered more relevant or of the priorities of the accreditation process: ‘Students are always a good source of information, but this must be put into perspective in the context of the information obtained and the priorities of this process’ (CNA 2010: 30). Thus, the law is very ambiguous. It configures the students as a good source of information at the evaluation level but does not explicitly guarantee their participation (Cook-Sather 2006). From the comparative analysis emerges a substantive similarity of governance structures; however, what is evident is the very opposite role of students in the quality assurance process. While in Italy student representatives must be involved in all governing bodies (including those dedicated to the quality assurance), in Chile student participation is discretionary. This evidence raises some concerns in terms of effective student involvement in the university governance both in Italy and Chile. Student involvement, in the first case, risks being affected by compliance; in the second case, instead, the risks remain evanescent.

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Governance Strategies The policy analysis indicates that the ways in which students are involved in the quality assurance governance and the impact they have appear less important in Italy; what is most relevant is to ensure their presence in the system. Not surprisingly, while the practices and relationships between different governance subjects are clearly explained, especially in the ANVUR guidelines, the role of student representatives remains vague; the few references, therefore, are generically made to the presence of students as ‘fundamental stakeholders’ or to ‘their active involvement, their participation’. The policy documents give to each university the choice to freely organize the strategies required for the quality assurance governance. The ANVUR guidelines, moreover, try to explain how to use student surveys for the quality assurance. However, also in this case, despite the endorsement of the role and aims of student surveys, little clear, practical information is provided. Each institution, over the years, has developed local surveys (modelling the ANVUR national student survey); therefore, these surveys have a variable structure across higher education institutions and generate data useful only for the internal evaluation. As a result, the lack of an empirical basis for assessing the impact of quality changes in higher education institutions impedes a reasonable comparison across the country and over times (Shah et al. 2021). Regarding the practices and the type of linkage of the different university actors in the accreditation processes in Chile, student participation is at the discretion of the university authorities, and students are the least recognized group. The normative documents do not make explicit the practical implementation of the policy requirements. Students are only considered good informants, but their participation is not mandatory (Verger and Romuald 2015). Despite the similar structures in quality assurance governance in Italy and Chile, differences in the strategies clearly arise. In both Italy and Chile, universities are responsible for organizing accreditation processes, with the presence of student representatives being mandatory only in the former country. However, this participation is perceived as de facto, without advancing to greater involvement of students as agents of change (Kay, Dunne and Hutchinson 2010). In Chile, on the other hand, students have neither legal nor procedural rights to participate. Moreover, Italy presents normative student participation (especially at the macro level) that fails to translate into concrete practices that impact the transformation of institutions. What is most relevant is the ‘checklist’ type of presence of students and not their institutional involvement. In general, student participation in surveys is very vague, and there are no clear guidelines to advance towards greater spaces for student representation. In Chile, student participation is at the discretion of each university and is not mandatory. The lack of formalized practises of student involvement renders mute student voice (Cook-Sather 2006; Shah et al. 2021).

Conclusion Within the analysed documents, there is no evidence of explicit responsibilities or role specification requests to student representatives involved in the quality assurance governance (RQ1). Therefore, it is not clear how students in Italy and Chile can really contribute to quality assurance, manage its process or lead on practices and initiatives aimed to translate policy orientations into beneficial activities or positive changes in terms of educational quality in the wider community beyond their university. The weak participation of students – both in Italian and

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Chilean higher education governance – is related to the introduction of the neoliberal system. As Brown (2017) argues, this system emphasizes the market, tensing the democratization processes of societies. The neoliberal policies adopt a form of ‘low intensity’ in Europe, which explains this normative regulation of student participation in Italy. In the case of Chile, on the other hand, the neoliberal system is related to the dictatorship and therefore to the explicit absence of student rights to participation. It is worth noting that in both countries participation linked to democratization is still pending (RQ3). Following Kay, Dunne and Hutchinson (2010), students are formally (or theoretically) considered as essential stakeholders in the quality assurance governance: therefore they (should) have a key role as evaluators and participants. However, they are not considered as equal partners or as change agents in the co-creation or co-designing of educational quality improvement actions. In these higher education systems, therefore, it is important to give students a wider chance to state their voice (RQ2). Within the Italian and Chilean higher education system, the original political nature of student involvement gave way to a formal fulfilment of quality assurance requirements. Never before has it been more important for these systems to develop student involvement in a meaningful and effective way.

Acknowledgement Financial support for this study was provided to Paula Ascorra by the SCIA ANID CIE 160009 e FONDECYT 1230581.

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CNA-Chile (2010), Guía para la Evaluación Externa, Santiago, Chile: Comisión Nacional de Acreditación, 1–38. https://www.cnach​ile.cl/Doc​umen​tos%20de%20Pagi​nas/Guía%20p​ara%20la%20 Eva​luac​ión%20Exte​rna.pdf (accessed 16 May 2022). Cook-Sather, A. (2006), ‘Sound, Presence, and Power: “Student Voice” in Educational Research and Reform’, Curriculum Inquiry, 36 (4), 359–90. Cook-Sather, A., C. Bovill and P. Felten (2014), Engaging Students as Partners in Learning and Teaching. A Guide for Faculty, San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass. Corbin, J., and A. Strauss (2008), Basics of Qualitative Research: Techniques and Procedures for Developing Grounded Theory, Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. ESG (2015), Standards and Guidelines for Quality Assurance in the European Higher Education Area (ESG). ESG: Brussels, Belgium. Falabella, A. (2015), ‘El Mercado Escolar en Chile y el Surgimiento de la Nueva Gestió Púlica: El Tejido de la Políica Entre Dictadura Neoliberal y los Gobiernos de la Centroizquierda (1979 a 2009)’, Education Social, 36 (132): 699–722. Gornitzka, Å., and P. Maassen (2014), ‘Dynamics of Convergence and Divergence. Exploring Accounts of Higher Education Policy Change’, in P. Mattei (ed.), University Adaptation at Difficult Economic Times, 13–30, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Gourlay, L. (2015), ‘ “Student Engagement” and the Tyranny of Participation’, Teaching in Higher Education, 20 (4), 402–11. Guzmán-Valenzuela, C. (2016), ‘Unfolding the Meaning of Public(s) in Universities: Toward the Transformative University’, Higher Education, 71 (5): 667–79. Healey, M. (2019), ‘Students as Partners: Towards a Framework for the University of Queensland’, Workshop presented at University of Queensland. Healey, M., A. Flint and K. Harrington (2014), Engagement through Partnership: Students as Partners in Learning and Teaching in Higher Education, York, UK: Higher Education Academy. Hsieh, C. C. (2022), ‘Governance in Transition: An Analytical Framework for Hybridity and Dynamics in Higher Education’, Higher Education, 85 (2), 1–19. doi: https://doi.org/10.1007/s10​734-022-00839-3. Jungblut, J., and M. Vukasovic (2018), ‘Not All Markets Are Created Equal: Re-conceptualizing Market Elements in Higher Education’, Higher Education, 75 (5): 855–70. Jungblut, J., M. Vukasovic and B. Stensaker (2015), ‘Student Perspective on Quality in Higher Education’, European Journal of Higher Education, 5 (2): 157–80. Kay, J., E. Dunne and J. Hutchinson (2010), Rethinking the Values of Higher Education. Students as Change Agents? London: Quality Assurance Agency for Higher Education. Klemenčič, M., and I. Chiricov (2015), ‘On the Use of Student Surveys’, in R. Pricopie, P. Scott, J. Salmi and A. Curaj (eds), Future of Higher Education in Europe, Cham: Springer. Lizzio, A., and K. Wilson (2009), ‘Student Participation in University Governance: The Role Conceptions and Sense of Efficacy of Student Representatives on Departmental Comités’, Studies in Higher Education, 34 (1): 69–84. Louis, K. S., and B. Van Velzen (2012), ‘Political Cultures in England and the Netherlands: Similar Discourse, Different Results’, in K. S. Louis and B. van Velzen (eds), Educational Policy in an International Context, 139–53, New York, NY: Palgrave/Macmillan. Lygo-Baker, S., I. M. Kinchin and N. E. Winstone, eds (2019), Engaging Student Voices in Higher Education, London: Palgrave McMillan. Mendes, B. A., and D. Hammett (2020), ‘The New Tyranny of Student Participation? Student Voice and the Paradox of Strategic-Active Student-Citizens’, EdArXiv. doi:10.35542/osf.io/pfmr3. Naylor, R. M., M. Dollinger, M. Mahat and M. Khawaja (2021), ‘Students as Customers versus as Active Agents: Conceptualising the Student Role in Governance and Quality Assurance’, Higher Education Research & Development, 40 (5): 1026–39. Planas, A., P. Soler, J. Fullana, M. Pallisera and M. Montserrat (2013), ‘Student Participation in University Governance: The Opinions of Professors and Students’, Studies in Higher Education, 38 (4): 571–83. Quintana, A. (2006), ‘Metodología de Investigación Científica Cualitativa’, in A. Quintana and W. Montgomery (eds), Psicología: Tópicos de Actualidad, 47 (84), Lima, Perú: UNMSM. 350

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Seale, J. (2010), ‘Doing Student Voice Work in Higher Education: An Exploration of the Value of Participatory Methods’, British Educational Research Journal, 36 (6): 995–1015. Seale, J. (2016), ‘How Can We Confidently Judge the Extent to Which Student Voice in Higher Education Has Been Genuinely Amplified? A Proposal for a New Evaluation Framework’, Research Papers in Education, 31 (2): 212–33. Shah, M., J. T. E. Richardson, A. Pabel and B. Oliver, eds (2021), Assessing and Enhancing Student Experience in Higher Education, London: Palgrave McMillan. Trowler, V. (2010), ‘Student Engagement Literature Review’, The Higher Education Academy, 11 (1): 1–15. Verger, A., and N. Romuald (2015), ‘Nueva Gestión Pública y Educación: Elementos Teóricosy Conceptuales Para El Estudio De Un Modelo De Reforma Educativa Global’, Educação & Sociedade, 36 (132): 599–622.

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PART V

Elevating Student Voice through Pedagogical Partnerships Introduction LAUNA GAUTHIER

This part explores pedagogical partnerships as a form of student voice work in higher education (HE) institutions around the world. The contributing authors examine pedagogical partnerships from several vantage points including experiences of students, faculty and staff who have participated as partners in various collaborative initiatives to improve learning and teaching. This part demonstrates how pedagogical partnership is understood and enacted in HE across several geographical and institutional contexts. Moreover, the authors encourage us to consider future possibilities for partnership work to both include and elevate student voice in our institutions and beyond. Pedagogical partnerships (known as students as partners or student-faculty/staff partnerships in some contexts) typically involve students collaborating with each other and/or faculty/staff to improve learning and teaching in HE. A widely cited definition of pedagogical partnership by Cook-Sather, Bovill and Felten (2014) unifies the chapters of this part. They define partnership as ‘a collaborative, reciprocal process of engagement through which all participants have the opportunity to contribute equally, although not necessarily in the same ways, to curricular or pedagogical conceptualisation, decision making, implementation, investigation, or analysis’ (6–7). Moreover, partnerships have also been deemed a relational process (Luo, Matthews and Chunduri 2019) centred on core values such as respect, reciprocity, shared responsibility (CookSather, Bovill and Felten, 2014) amongst others. Healey, Flint and Harrington (2014) name several partnership activities that have evolved across institutions worldwide including course and curriculum design, feedback on instruction, discipline-based research, and scholarship of teaching and learning. Many of these activities are exemplified throughout the various chapters that follow. A unique feature of pedagogical partnership is how it encourages student and faculty/staff voices to be brought into dialogue with each other (Cook-Sather 2020). Essentially, partners are positioned as collaborative, interdependent decision makers on joint educational pursuits that matter to everyone involved. This positioning differs from some forms of student representation or engagement where students may participate independently, or as larger groups, in institutional decision-making processes (Matthews and Dollinger 2022).

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Scholarship also highlights the intersection of pedagogical partnerships with common hierarchies that position students as passive recipients of teachers’ expert knowledge and thus reliant on authority figures (Cook-Sather 2010). Traditionally, students have been treated as needing to be ‘acted upon’ (Cook-Sather 2010: 3) and have key decisions about their education made for them. Instead, Cook-Sather (2018: 17) articulated the capacity for pedagogical partnerships to disrupt such hierarchies and position students to ‘speak and act alongside credentialed educators as critics and creators of educational practice’. Other scholars have concluded that pedagogical partnerships increase students’ sense of empowerment as they build competence through contributing their unique expertise as learners to partnership work (Bovill et al. 2016; Kaur et al. 2019). Pedagogical partnerships have also encouraged greater equity and inclusion in HE (Mercer-Mapstone et al. 2017), more thoughtful and engaged relationships between faculty/staff and students (Cook-Sather, Bovill and Felten 2014), increased learning for both faculty/staff and students and improvements in curriculum and pedagogy across institutions (Bovill 2014; Cook-Sather, Gauthier and Foster 2020). While the existing literature has drawn attention to the significance of pedagogical partnerships in improving learning and teaching in HE, it also highlights various challenges. In a systematic review of the partnership literature Mercer-Mapstone et al. (2017) discuss Bovill et al.’s (2016) work on describing these challenges in three themes. Challenges include the difficulty students and faculty/staff face with enacting new roles and perspectives as partners; institutional barriers to collaboration and the sharing of power; and inclusivity in partnerships. It also seems clear that mitigating these challenges is not a one-size fits all solution; rather, institutional and broader context contributes to how partnership is understood, enacted and supported (Cook-Sather 2013; Healey and Healey 2018). Authors in Asian contexts, for example, have argued for the need to develop conceptions and practices of partnership taking into consideration local, contextual meanings and values associated with partnership work (Kaur et al. 2019; Tamim et al. 2023).

Chapter Overviews This part comprises seven unique chapters authored by faculty, staff and student scholars from various institutions across six countries: United States, Pakistan, China, The Netherlands, Australia and New Zealand. Each chapter offers rich theoretical grounding in both the pedagogical partnership and student voice literatures and provides timely insights into the potentials of partnership and as a participatory form of student voice work for improving learning and teaching in HE. Chapter 25 makes an important contribution to the literature by framing partnership as a form of student professional development and learning. Writing about their experiences in the United States, Alison Cook-Sather and student partners, Mary Cott, Khadijah Seay and Kayo Stewart, discuss how pedagogical partnership develops students’ competencies needed for participation in the workforce. They expand our conceptions of how partnerships are key for developing students’ critical thinking, communication, teamwork, professionalism, leadership, career and self-development, and equity and inclusion. In Chapter 26, Fatima Iftikhar and I share our research on the core partnership value of respect. Our study explored how pedagogical partnership challenges how faculty and students typically enact and interpret respect in traditional Pakistani classrooms. Key lessons from students suggest 354

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that we must ensure partnership initiatives are framed through local conceptions of values such as respect, which are embedded in customs shaped by religion and authority. Chapter 27 presents a case study by Tristen Hall, Sydney Feeney, Mecca Abdul-Aziz, and Katherine S. Cho of a student-led, co-created and co-taught course called Racialized Realities in Higher Education at Miami University. This chapter provides a powerful example of how pedagogical partnerships have amplified the positive experiences of racialized, minoritized students in HE. The authors suggest that by taking a partnership approach in courses, we create opportunities for all students to contribute to the design and execution of meaningful curricula, thus placing their voices at the centre of their education. In Chapter 28, Amrita Kaur and Yusheng Tang share a narrative account of their collaboration to improve an undergraduate course in a university in China. They argue that culturally appropriate conditions are needed to initiate and sustain pedagogical partnerships in Asian contexts where educational spaces are highly controlled and structured. Their own collaboration demonstrates how nurturing and communicating trust, open-mindedness and intention to connect are essential to meaningful partnership work that aims to dismantle traditional hierarchies in HE in Asia. Chapter 29 unites the voices of Didi M. E. Griffioen, Linda van Ooijen-van der Linden, Lara Wouters and Femke Bergenhenegouwen from The Netherlands. They contribute a unique account of a five-year, institution-wide curriculum change initiative involving student partners, faculty, staff and administrators. Their work highlights key factors including how students’ roles are framed and how time both enables and limits partnership work. These factors provide insights for universities worldwide who wish to make systematic choices about how to include student voice in institutional decision-making. In Chapter 30, Glenys Oberg, Kelly E. Matthews, Jennifer Lincoln and Nathan McGrath reflect on their partnership experiences with co-designing a course and co-facilitating a course in an Australian university. They focused on the concept of recognition to explore how it manifests through reciprocity, is fostered by praxis and often involves risk-taking. The authors argue for recognition as a lens that guides and measures partnership work as it helps in both humanizing our work in HE and prioritizing other people in our learning processes. Finally, Chapter 31 shares a journey of establishing the Ako in Action pedagogical partnership programme in New Zealand. Kathryn A. Sutherland, Irina Elgort, Ozzman Symes-Hull and Claudia van Zijl argue that partnership, a form of student agency, requires students to be both actors and change makers in their learning environments and institutions to provide the structures and supports to encourage them to do so. Their chapter explores how co-designed, values-based pedagogical partnership programmes can offer structure for universities to create space for student agency and transformation. Together these chapters highlight various contextual challenges and supportive conditions that encourage student voice and generate transformative change in learning and teaching in HE. They are examples of the experiential nature of partnership, much like other forms of student voice work. The authors’ accounts remind us that partnership requires regular engagement, collaboration and interdependency between individuals who are committed to growing and learning together. Hall and co-authors capture this well in Chapter 27 when they say, ‘Pedagogical partnership does not just enhance the learning taking place in higher education, but it is a critical necessity for us to grow and evolve’ (p. 396).

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The experiences of the student, faculty and staff authors in this part are a testament to their important work as they are active participants and beneficiaries of pedagogical partnerships across multiple institutional and geographical contexts around the Globe. Their voices as partners add texture and nuance to this growing area of student voice work in HE worldwide that hopefully will continue to expand as a vehicle to elevate all voices.

References Bovill, C. (2014), ‘An Investigation of Co-created Curricula within Higher Education in the UK, Ireland and the USA’, Innovations in Education and Teaching International, 51 (1): 15–25. Bovill, C., A. Cook-Sather, P. Felten, L. Millard and N. Moore-Cherry (2016), ‘Addressing Potential Challenges in Co-creating Learning and Teaching: Overcoming Resistance, Navigating Institutional Norms and Ensuring Inclusivity in Student-Staff Partnerships’, Higher Education, 71: 195–208. Cook-Sather, A. (2010), ‘Students as Learners and Teachers: Taking Responsibility, Transforming Education, and Redefining Accountability’, Curriculum Inquiry, 40 (4): 555–75. Cook-Sather, A. (2013), ‘Introduction: Respect, Reciprocity, and Responsibility in Developing Participatory Cultures and Practices’, Teaching and Learning Together in Higher Education, 10 (2013): 1–4. Cook-Sather, A. (2018), ‘Tracing the Evolution of Student Voice in Educational Research’, in R. Bourke and J. Loveridge (eds), Radical Collegiality through Student Voice: Educational Experience, Policy and Practice, 17–38, Singapore: Springer. Cook-Sather, A. (2020), ‘Respecting Voices: How the Co-creation of Teaching and Learning Can Support Academic Staff, Underrepresented Students, and Equitable Practices’, Higher Education, 79 (5): 885–901. Cook-Sather, A., C. Bovill and P. Felten (2014), Engaging Students as Partners in Learning and Teaching: A Guide for Faculty, San Francisco: Jossey-Bass. Cook-Sather, A., L. Gauthier and M. Foster (2020), ‘The Role of Growth Mindsets in Developing Pedagogical Partnership Programs: Findings from a Cross-Institutional Study’. Journal of Educational Innovation, Partnership and Change, 6 (1): 1–12. Healey, M., A. Flint and K. Harrington (2014), Students as Partners in Learning and Teaching in Higher Education, York: Higher Education Academy. Healey, M., and R. Healey (2018), ‘“It Depends”: Exploring the Context-Dependent Nature of Students as Partners Practices and Policies’, International Journal for Students as Partners, 2 (1), 1–10. Kaur, A, R. Awang-Hashim and M. Kaur (2019), ‘ “Students” Experiences of Co-creating Classroom Instruction with Faculty - A Case Study in Eastern Context’, Teaching in Higher Education, 24 (4):461–77. Luo, B., K. Matthews and P. Chunduri (2019), ‘Commitment to Collaboration: What Students Have to Say about the Values Underpinning Partnership Practices’, International Journal for Students as Partners, 3 (1): 123–39. Matthews, K., and M. Dollinger (2022), ‘Student Voice in Higher Education: The Importance of Distinguishing Student Representation and Student Partnership’, High Education, 2022 (85): 555–70. Mercer-Mapstone, L., S. Dvorakova, K. Matthews, S. Abbot, B. Cheng, P. Felten, K. Knorr, E. Marquis, R. Shammas and K. Swaim (2017), ‘A Systematic Literature Review of Students as Partners in Higher Education’, International Journal for Students as Partners, 1 (1): 1–23. Tamim, T., L. Gauthier, H. Ansari and F. Iftikhar (2023), ‘Working in Partnership in Pakistan: Lessons from Launching a Pedagogical Partnership Program’, International Journal for Students as Partners, 7 (1): 172–82.

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Pedagogical Partnership as Professional Development for Students ALISON COOK-SATHER, MARY COTT, KHADIJAH SEAY AND KAYO STEWART

Voice. Empowerment. Confidence. Agency. Professional development. These are among the benefits undergraduate students name in reflecting on their experiences of participating in pedagogical partnerships in higher education (HE): I feel so empowered to not only have chances to voice my insights but also to make a difference for students around me. (Umar 2021: 3) When students are given the opportunity and ability to recognize their voice and the power they have to create actionable change within the classroom, this instills a sense of confidence and agency with a far-reaching impact. (Allard 2021: 2) ‘[partnership work] has helped in my professional development … [:]‌I have been able to translate [the skill of sharing ideas and suggestions] … with those more senior to me … [and] … I’ve gained confidence to simply share my thoughts, when I might otherwise have decided not to. (Verma 2021: 4) These statements echo what students across contexts express regarding their experiences of pedagogical partnership. They reiterate the well-documented potential of this work to affirm student voice (Giron 2021; Luqueño 2021). They also highlight the less-well-documented potential of pedagogical partnership as a form of professional development for undergraduate students (Cook-Sather and Hayward 2020; Lewis 2017). This chapter is co-authored by three experienced student partners who have participated in the Students as Learners and Teachers (SaLT) programme based at Bryn Mawr and Haverford Colleges in the mid-Atlantic region of the United States and a faculty member who directs SaLT and has worked with hundreds of student partners. It explores how pedagogical partnership is a form of student voice work that fosters the development in undergraduates of what the National Association of Colleges and Employers (NACE 2021) identifies as competencies for a career-ready workforce. Established in 1956, the NACE is an American non-profit professional association that identifies and offers recommendations for supporting the development of core competencies. These competencies broadly prepare the college educated for success in the workplace and lifelong career regardless of a student’s field of study. Applicable globally (see CBI and Pearson 2016), the competencies identified by NACE are critical thinking, communication, 357

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teamwork, professionalism, leadership, career and self-development, equity and inclusion, and technology. We open this chapter with a definition of pedagogical partnership as a form of student voice work and brief descriptions of several forms of pedagogical partnership. The majority of the chapter focuses on illustrating how this work supports undergraduate student partners in developing many of the NACE professional competencies listed earlier on.

Pedagogical Partnership as Student Voice Work I feel like being a Student Consultant literally gave me a voice. I started being more vocal in and outside of class. (student quoted in Cook-Sather 2015) A widely cited definition of pedagogical partnership is ‘a collaborative, reciprocal process’ through which ‘all participants have the opportunity to contribute equally, although not necessarily in the same ways, to curricular or pedagogical conceptualization, decision making, implementation, investigation, or analysis’ (Cook-Sather, Bovill and Felten 2014: 6–7). Partnership is premised on three underlying principles: respect, reciprocity and shared responsibility (Cook-Sather, Bovill and Felten 2014). It requires and enacts the understanding that diverse individuals – ‘individuals from literally different places but also more metaphorically from different “places” or positions’ (Cook-Sather and Felten 2017: 182) – form relationships; negotiate across differences of power, position and perspective; and strive together for deeper understanding, empathy and informed action. Challenging ‘traditional assumptions about the identities of, and relationships between, learners and teachers’, pedagogical partnership asserts ‘the role students can assume alongside others with educational expertise’ (Matthews 2017: 1). It supports students, faculty and staff working together to shape educational environments, practices and outcomes (Bryson et al. 2016). Pedagogical partnership affirms students as knowers and agents and creates structures and spaces within and through which they can have a voice and an impact. Having a voice means experiencing ‘audibility, credibility, and consequence’ – being heard, being believed and mattering (Solnit 2020). Pedagogical partnership specifically positions students to have an impact on teaching and learning. Rather than casting students as passive recipients of what Paulo Freire (1970) termed ‘banking education’, this positioning of students recognizes them as ‘social actors and experts on their own lives’ (Cowie and Khoo 2017: 234). Through structuring student voices into HE (Cook-Sather, 2022), pedagogical partnership provides what one student partner called ‘the belonging of a voice’ (Cook-Sather and Seay 2021: 9). Specifically, partnership supports and fosters ‘respecting voices’ (Cook-Sather 2020) – voices with which students extend and find respect.

Forms of Pedagogical Partnership That Contribute to Professional Development It is rare to find a professional space that truly values student experiences and insight as a credible source of knowledge, and empowers students to speak authoritatively to faculty members … [T]‌o this day I am incredibly grateful for how this [partnership] program enabled me to realize that there is value and insight in my voice as a student,

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and exposed me to the world of consulting. (Former student partner, Personal Communication, April 2022) There are many forms of pedagogical partnership that contribute to students’ professional development. We focus on examples of semester-long partnerships at the micro, meso and macro levels (Takayama, Kaplan and Cook-Sather 2017; Cook-Sather, Addy, et al. 2021) through which undergraduate students: 1. participate in one-on-one, curriculum- or pedagogy-focused partnerships with individual faculty members (micro); 2. work with intra-departmental and cross-institutional teams to develop courses and programmes (meso); and 3. create cross-constituency, intra- and inter-institutional conversations about educational practice (macro). One-on-One, Curriculum or Pedagogy-Focused Partnerships with Individual Faculty At the micro level, individual faculty members and student partner can work together for a semester prior to a course being taught or while a course is unfolding. For example, Alison spent a full semester in 2015 with former student partner Crystal Des-Ogugua designing goals, assignments and assessments for a new course to be taught the subsequent semester (CookSather, 2022; Cook-Sather, Des-Ogugua and Bahti 2017). In one-on-one, student-faculty partnerships that unfold while courses are being taught, student partners are not enrolled in the course their faculty partner is working on for the partnership. Instead, the student partner visits the faculty member’s course once a week and takes detailed observation notes; meets weekly with the faculty partner to discuss the observation notes and related curricular and pedagogical questions; and meets weekly with the partnership programme facilitator for support in developing the language, confidence and specific skills necessary for this work (Cook-Sather, Bahti and Ntem 2019). Such one-on-one partnership work can also take the form of student-faculty co-facilitation of courses as they are unfolding. These partnerships might include co-planning weekly lessons, co-facilitating portions or all of class sessions, reflecting critically on what went well and what could be revised in each class session and in the course overall, and/or sharing responsibilities for supporting student engagement and learning outside of class time (Cook-Sather and Loh, 2023; Wilson and Cook-Sather, 2022; Wilson and Davis 2020). Intra-Departmental and Cross-Institutional Teams Developing Courses and Programmes At the meso level, undergraduate student partners work with faculty and staff from across departments and institutions to develop courses and programmes. The following are some examples. Students have collaborated with faculty members and with staff of the institution’s teaching and learning centre to reinvent an education course with which enrolled students had struggled for many years (Delpish et al. 2010; Mihans, Long and Felten 2008). Students have also worked with faculty, educational developers and other upper-level students to co-create learning modules that became key components of a foundational science course offered to firstyear students (Goff and Knorr 2018). And students have worked with a faculty member and 359

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other students who had previously taken an organic chemistry course to revise course content, assignments and methods of assessment for greater inclusivity (Charkoudian et al. 2015). At the programme level, undergraduates have collaborated with groups of faculty and staff to conceptualize and launch small-scale pedagogical partnership programmes at their own college or university (Ansari 2021; Bala 2021; Iftikhar 2021; Impastato 2021; Topper 2021). They have also supported the launch of a pedagogical partnership programme at another college while still an undergraduate (Bala 2022). These efforts often strive to realize departmental, programmatic or institutional commitments, such as to equity and inclusion (Hossain 2021; Leota and Sutherland 2020; Seshan 2022). Creating Cross-Constituency, Intra- and Inter-Institutional Conversations At the macro level, student partners can bring together faculty, students and staff in interinstitutional conversations (Ameyaa et al. 2021) and intra-institutional conversations sponsored by multi-college consortia (Cook-Sather and Bala 2022). At our own and other institutions, one version of these conversations is called ‘Pedagogy Circles’ (Rolfes and Suresh, forthcoming), including Pedagogy Circles for BIPOC (Black, Indigenous, People of Color) Faculty (CookSather et al. 2023). In this forum, pairs of undergraduate student co-facilitators use a basic lesson plan to support participant engagement and modify the plan based on how participants engage, what topics participants want to address and so on. These conversations aim to support students, faculty and staff in open discussion of topics related to diversity, equity and inclusion and in brainstorming solutions to pedagogical challenges. Because participants are affiliated with different departments and campuses, they have the opportunity to talk with colleagues they might not otherwise engage with, thereby learning from new individual, departmental and institutional perspectives.

Professional Competencies Fostered by Pedagogical Partnership I have found that partnership has given me the space to reflect on and realize my development in skills of collaboration, analyzing group dynamics, and presenting feedback. (Jonsson 2020: 152) Although they have likely never seen the NACE competencies for a career-ready workforce, student partners name clearly how pedagogical partnership work supports them in building and transferring these competencies. The experiences students have in partnership develop more than one of these skills. Drawing on examples most strongly represented in our data, we distribute illustrative examples across the following competencies: critical thinking, communication and teamwork, professionalism and leadership, career and self-development, and equity and inclusion. Critical Thinking Partnership work fosters critical thinking by positioning students as observers of, dialogue partners in, co-creators of and analysts of teaching and learning practices. This position is unusual for undergraduates, who are typically ensconced in and focused on learning course content. However, as one student partner puts it: 360

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You really don’t understand the way you learn and how others learn until you can step back from it and are not in the class with the main aim to learn the material of the class but more to understand what is going on in the class and what is going through people’s minds as they relate with that material. (quoted in Cook-Sather 2014: 37) One-on-one partnerships that include classroom observations teach students a key critical thinking skill: to separate observation from analysis. Khadijah asserts that she became a better note taker for her own classes through this work: being a student consultant allowed her to think about what it means to take notes objectively (stating facts) versus/and taking notes to synthesize information and draw conclusions. The ability to think critically about and evaluate your own learning, she suggests, makes you able to better articulate your learning goals and what you hope to gain from a course. This ability is essential in any context in which one needs to engage in critical assessment (see also Cook-Sather 2011). Developing pedagogical partnership programmes at colleges and universities fosters the capacity defined by NACE (2021) as critical thinking: ‘To identify and respond to needs based upon an understanding of situational context and logical analysis of relevant information’. And working with intra-departmental and cross-institutional teams to develop courses and programmes fosters critical thinking as students consider how to ‘name and work against the long discriminatory histories and persisting structural inequities in higher education’ (Cook-Sather, Des-Ogugua and Bahti 2017: 384). Students apply and transfer this competency to contexts within and beyond their pedagogical partnership work. For instance, as an undergraduate student partner Mary was a Comparative Literature major working in a one-on-one partnership with a faculty member in a computer science class. This experience taught her how to think critically about, navigate and advocate in unfamiliar circumstances. Based on her experience of one-on-one partnership work co-facilitating a course, former student partner Mercedes Davis wrote about creating ‘a space of listening’ where she and her faculty partner could ‘openly and honestly talk about the structural problems of our educational institution’ (Wilson and Davis 2020: 160). About co-creating a pedagogical partnership programme at her university, former student partner Jillian Impastato (2021) highlighted the critical thinking involved in ‘opening this dialogue for student partners’, which set ‘the precedent that [our partnership program] is not only a professional development program, but also a student empowerment one’ (5). Student partners who have created crossconstituency, intra- and inter-institutional conversations are able to enact another definition of critical thinking: to ‘effectively communicate actions and rationale, recognizing the diverse perspectives and lived experiences of stakeholders’ (NACE 2021). Communication and Teamwork Since pedagogical partnership requires student partners to collaborate with others who have different roles and responsibilities and might have similar or different identities, experiences and goals, the work builds skills in communication and teamwork. One-on-one partnerships across differences of identities and roles require, as former student partner Amaka Eze puts it, a ‘leaning in to the discomfort of our relationship, and of our very different positionalities’. This ‘leaning in’, though challenging, ultimately meant that Eze and her faculty partner ‘were able to better identify systemic issues within the [faculty member’s] department and propose new channels for authentic collaboration’ (in Koltun-Fromm and Eze 2019: 2). 361

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Working both in one-on-one partnerships and with intra-departmental and cross-institutional teams to develop courses and programmes, undergraduates participate in weekly meetings of cohorts of student partners in which they support and get support from others in developing competency in communication and teamwork. In this context they ‘all are learners trying to figure out the best possible way forward. No one person has all the answers, we all have good ideas as a collective and … use that to our advantage’ (anonymous student partner feedback). Developing pedagogical partnership programmes at colleges and universities catalyses insights such as former student partner Nandeeta Bala’s (2021) that ‘genuinely engaging and exchanging points of view with others through open-ended questions encourages growth and learning and builds cherished relationships in academia’ (5). And creating cross-constituency, intra- and inter-institutional conversations builds skills in communication and teamwork. As former student partner Amelia Stieglitz puts it, such skill building happens through developing capacity to ‘learn to effectively think, debate, and empathize with others’ (Personal Communication, 11 November 2021). Student partners’ skills in communication are further developed through practice in articulating their experiences, insights and capacities. Most partnership programmes include some sort of application process for which students need to communicate why they want to do this work, what they aspire to contribute to it and what they hope to get out of it. Moreover, student partners need to enact those commitments in collaboration with others. In the SaLT programme, most weekly meetings of student partners begin with a prompt that invites silent, written reflection, including ‘How do you describe this work on a resume or for a prospective employer?’ More formal authoring or co-authoring experiences afford students opportunities to communicate – to ‘clearly and effectively exchange information, ideas, facts, and perspectives with persons inside and outside of an organization’ (NACE 2021) – through joining scholarly and practical debates, as all student co-authors of this chapter have done. Mary has published an essay on co-creating, witnessing and analysing pedagogical practices that ‘fostered and nourished community-building in online teaching and learning’ (Cott 2021: 148). Khadijah has explored Black, female student partners’ experiences of belonging (Cook-Sather and Seay 2021). And Kayo has contributed to the revival of the construct of ‘mattering’ (Cook-Sather et al. in press). Many of these communication projects also involve teamwork: the capacity to ‘build and maintain collaborative relationships to work effectively toward common goals, while appreciating diverse viewpoints and shared responsibilities’ (NACE 2021). Former student partners note numerous ways in which they transfer and apply NACE competencies. A former student partner who graduated in 2011 explains that, as an educational developer, she uses the observation template and approach to post-observation dialogue she used as an undergraduate student partner as ‘a chance for collaboration between my own perspective and that of my collaborator’ (Personal Communication, 12 April 2022). A former student partner who graduated in 2017 wrote that the partnership work helped her build skills ‘in fostering a space for amiable feedback and criticism, which is a deeply useful skill during professional collaborations’ (Personal Communication, 13 April 2022). Professionalism and Leadership Through participating in micro, meso and macro levels of partnership, undergraduates develop professional competency. This is defined by NACE (2021) as ‘knowing work environments

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differ greatly, understand[ing] and demonstrate[ing] effective work habits, and act[ing] in the interest of the larger community and workplace’. These undergraduates also develop leadership competency: they ‘recognize and capitalize on personal and team strengths to achieve organizational goals’ (NACE 2021). In one-on-one partnerships, student partners must be organized, responsible, reliable and dependable – all context-dependent and effective work habits. And especially when faculty resist engagement in one-on-one partnerships, student partners must ‘jump back to building a community and trust’ by focusing on checking in as people and affirming what has already been achieved through the partnership work (student quoted in Ntem and Cook-Sather 2018: 289), thereby acting in the interest of the partnership programme as well as the individuals involved. Working with intra-departmental and cross-institutional teams to develop courses and programmes fosters professionalism and leadership as participants recognize ‘the role students can assume alongside others with educational expertise’ (Matthews 2017: 1). They come to see all students, as former student partner Langley Topper (2021) asserts, as ‘capable of leading the development of student-faculty partnership programs’ (6). In the Pedagogy Circles she co-facilitated, Kayo supported many power exchanges amongst faculty, students and staff, and learned how to set a standard of equity and respect for all community members through her facilitator role. Former student partners describe how the professionalism and leadership capacity they developed as undergraduate student partners transfer to professional contexts. A former student partner who became a secondary math teacher explains: ‘My principal and I have a great relationship. I think it’s because of the [partnership] work I did … I learned how to communicate my thoughts regarding pedagogy in accessible but profound ways’ (quoted in Cook-Sather 2011: 52). Another former student partner, Sophia Abbot, describes how she learned to offer ‘constructive and kind feedback to another person’ and developed ‘the ability to frame observations and suggestions with warmth and compassion, with an asset-based or affirmative lens’ (Personal Communication, 14 April 2022). The written communication skills student partners develop – through taking and translating observation notes, reflecting in weekly student partner meetings and/or in writing for publication – contribute to their capacities to use language well; make persuasive, professional arguments; communicate across differences of position, power and perspective; and lead. Career and Self-Development Student partners assert that their work builds capacity for their careers, including in graduate school, in post-baccalaureate positions and as professionals. Former student partner Leslie Patricia Luqueño (2021) reflects that ‘graduate school faculty and student relationships are built on treating each other as colleagues instead of as teacher-student’. She continues that her ‘already having practice with a similar dynamic through student-faculty partnerships as an undergraduate student’ eased her ‘transition into this space and this new kind of educational relationship’. Because of their experience as undergraduate student partners, some recent graduates have taken on post-baccalaureate fellow positions to develop pedagogical partnership programmes (Cook-Sather, Bahti and Ntem 2019; Ortquist-Ahrens 2021). This role takes the power dynamics and working within the liminal spaces as student partners to the institutional level as recent

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graduates in that role have to navigate between student and faculty partners. This role also requires embodiment of partnership principles: what Khadijah discussed in her undergraduate partnerships became the very ways of being that she needed to embody as a facilitator of partnerships. Mary also reflects that pedagogical partnerships prepared her well for professional life by changing how she viewed herself as a teacher-learner and learner-teacher. She notes that the phrase ‘gate opener’ used by another student partner (Wilson and Davis 2020: 161) encapsulates the importance of connection: one must create a connection with their ‘gate opener’, or mentor, and be prepared to later stand on their own. Mary brings her pedagogical partnership experiences with her each day in her current job, whether she is working with a student, a teacher or going through training. Student partners often describe an arc of self-development through pedagogical partnership. For instance, former student partner Amaka Eze (2019) explains: ‘From my first partnerships, which focused primarily on intentional listening and responding, to my later partnerships, through which I have honed my facilitation and leadership skills, my experience with [pedagogical partnership work] has tracked tremendous professional and personal development’ (4). Former student partner Crystal Des-Ogugua (2022), who co-created a course with Alison as well as worked in other one-on-one partnerships, describes her ‘journey’ from student consultant to educator. She explains how she strives to create ‘learning spaces that encourage co-creation’ that supports the development of ‘strategies for addressing challenges we face in our communities’. The most consistently voiced aspects of self-development are building confidence and sense of empowerment. Student partner Ebony Graham asserts that, because of her various partnership experiences, she has been able ‘to approach other conversations surrounding institutional change with confidence’ (Cook-Sather and Graham, 2023). Two former student partners, Anna DeVault and Nicole Litvitskiy, felt personally empowered through their partnership work to ‘share their opinions and perspectives about a topic on which students don’t often get to have as much of a voice’ (Cook-Sather, Addy, et al. 2021: 122). Equity and Inclusion NACE (2021) defines the equity and inclusion competency as demonstrating ‘the awareness, attitude, knowledge, and skills required to equitably engage and include people from different local and global cultures’ and engaging in ‘anti-racist practices that actively challenge the systems, structures, and policies of racism’. The professional skills students develop outside of partnership work rely on those students being positioned, as Khadijah experienced as a Black woman fighting for equity, as someone trying to overcome a deficit mindset. This positioning can lead, as it did in her case, to burnout. Partnership work, in contrast, allowed Khadijah to gain those same skills through an asset-based framework where her positionality added to what she could contribute and learn. This positionality allowed her to learn and teach in a space with significantly less harm. Partnership can be, in Kayo’s words, ethical advocacy. It can be a form of professional development for students of colour and other equity-denied groups that fosters a sense of mattering that contrasts sharply with what many students, but particularly equity-denied students, experience in HE (Cook-Sather et al. in press). Participating in pedagogical partnership can make students feel as though they are, as one Black student explained, ‘an equal member of

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the community’ (Cook-Sather and Seay 2021: 742). Partnerships achieve this through affirming students’ experiences and knowledge and positioning them to mobilize their cultural identities to contribute to more equitable and inclusive practice (Cook-Sather et al. 2019). The professional opportunities pedagogical partnership offers equity-denied students, who are ‘not typically afforded access’ to such opportunities (student partner quoted in Cook-Sather 2018a: 929), have the potential to redress epistemic, affective and ontological harms perpetuated by HE, thereby contributing to equity and justice for students (de Bie et al. 2021). They have this potential only when carefully conceptualized and practiced and revised as needed, however. Former student partner Alexis Giron (2021) argues that pedagogical partnership work provided an ‘opportunity to heal from all the harm that higher education and educators have caused’ (xiii). It achieved this through positioning her ‘to advocate for myself and for other students of multiple underrepresented identities who were not taught to speak up for themselves and who were not given the privilege of being informed that we are allowed to take up space’ (xiii–xiv). Equity and inclusion are also often the focus of partnership work. For instance, the SaLT programme was launched at Bryn Mawr and Haverford Colleges in 2007 with the goal of creating more culturally responsive classrooms (Cook-Sather 2018b). FIRST (Fostering Inclusivity and Respect in Science Together) was a five-year initiative funded by the Howard Hughes Medical Institute to promote equity and inclusivity within science, technology, engineering and mathematics (STEM) disciplines at Davidson College. It supported a group of students from different STEM disciplines and of various marginalized backgrounds in ‘identifying structural barriers within Davidson College’s STEM departments that hindered the educational advancement of people of marginalized backgrounds’ (Hossain 2021: 3). Student partners who do not identify as equity-denied but who commit themselves to equity work also develop critical professional skills. Former undergraduate student partner and former post-baccalaureate fellow for partnership programmes at Trinity University, Sophia Abbot (Personal Communication, 14 April 2022), captures many of the points we have argued throughout this chapter: Observing classrooms and talking with peers about participation, equity, inclusion, and learning have all contributed to me honing a vision for justice. I see injustice and exclusion more readily and I am more confident pointing out those instances and offering solutions. I feel empowered to make a difference in the places I work (universities), even as I recognize the way they are mired in systemic inequality. Partnership has given me a sense of hope I might not otherwise have, and that I frequently see missing among peers and colleagues who similarly look for injustice. I’ve recognized my capacity to advocate strategically and I am much less hesitant to enter spaces in which I might be the youngest and most inexperienced person in the room – such as leadership positions in academic societies, hiring committees for academic staff positions, and consultations with leaders at other universities. From affirmation in our partnership meetings … I am more aware of my agency and power.

Conclusion Previous research has documented how, through working in pedagogical partnership, students can develop confidence in navigating complex power dynamics, insight into and empathy with others

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in different positions and with different identities, and skill in communicating and collaborating respectfully and effectively across those dynamics and differences (Cook-Sather 2011; CookSather et al. 2019; Mercer-Mapstone et al. 2017; Mihans, Long and Felten 2008). In partnership work, students are told that their voices are critically important and that no one else can bring the same positionality, experiences and information that they can. The self-confidence gained from this experience allows former student partners to enter the workplace, often in an entry-level position where it would be easy to dismiss themselves as less important, and see themselves as critically important to the institution/company as well as acknowledge the vitality of their voice. The development of a ‘partnership mindset’ (Peseta et al. 2020) and the particular capacities and skills discussed in this chapter catalyse agentic engagement. This is a form of engagement through which students take initiative for learning and for advocacy that carries beyond the partnership work (Cook-Sather and Reynolds 2021; Cook-Sather, Allard, et al. 2021). A partnership mindset, agentic engagement and the specific NACE competencies we discuss here are integral to the development of a career-ready workforce. As knowers and collaborators, students take on roles as undergraduates through pedagogical partnership that prepare them to be constructive participants, leaders and change agents in the world beyond college. As one former student partner puts it: The lessons that I learned in those four semesters [of working as a student consultant] are still with me, and I went into my first day with great confidence in everything that I know and everything that I am. I know that wherever I go and whatever I do, I have a responsibility to express my thoughts, my experiences, and my voice. (quoted in Cook-Sather 2011:50)

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Charkoudian, L. K., A. C. Bitners, N. B. Bloch and S. Nawal (2015), ‘Dynamic Discussion and Informed Improvements: Student-Led Revision of First-Semester Organic Chemistry’, Teaching and Learning Together in Higher Education, 15: 1–9. https://rep​osit​ory.brynm​awr.edu/tlthe/vol1/iss15/5 (accessed 22 May 2015). Cook-Sather, A. (2011), ‘Layered Learning: Student Consultants Deepening Classroom and Life Lessons’, Educational Action Research, 19 (1): 41–57. Cook-Sather, A. (2015), ‘Dialogue across Differences of Position, Perspective, and Identity: Reflective Practice in/on a Student-Faculty Pedagogical Partnership Program’, Teachers College Record, 117 (2). Cook-Sather, A. (2018a), ‘Listening to Equity-Seeking Perspectives: How Students’ Experiences of Pedagogical Partnership Can Inform Wider Discussions of Student Success’, Higher Education Research and Development, 37 (5): 923–36. Cook-Sather, A. (2018b), ‘Developing “Students as Learners and Teachers”: Lessons from Ten Years of Pedagogical Partnership That Strives to Foster Inclusive and Responsive Practice’, Journal of Educational Innovation, Partnership and Change, 4 (1). https://journ​als.studen​teng​agem​ent.org.uk/ index.php/stud​entc​hang​eage​nts/arti​cle/view/746/pdf (accessed 3 July 2018). Cook-Sather, A. (2020), ‘Respecting Voices: How the Co-creation of Teaching and Learning Can Support Academic Staff, Underrepresented Students, and Equitable Practices’, Higher Education, 79 (5): 885–901. Cook-Sather, A. (2022), Co-creating Equitable Teaching and Learning: Structuring Student Voice into Higher Education, Cambridge: Harvard Education Press. Cook-Sather, A., C. Bovill and P. Felten (2014), Engaging Students as Partners in Learning and Teaching: A Guide for Faculty, San Francisco: Jossey-Bass. Cook-Sather, A., C. Des-Ogugua and M. Bahti (2017), ‘Articulating Identities and Analyzing Belonging: A Multistep Intervention That Affirms and Informs a Diversity of Students’, Teaching in Higher Education, 23 (3): 374–89. https://www.tand​fonl​ine.com/doi/abs/10.1080/13562​517.2017.1391​ 201?jour​nalC​ode=cth​e20 (accessed 7 December 2017). Cook-Sather, A., and P. Felten (2017), ‘Ethics of Academic Leadership: Guiding Learning and Teaching’, in F. Wu and M. Wood (eds), Cosmopolitan Perspectives on Academic Leadership in Higher Education, 175–91, London: Bloomsbury Academic. Cook-Sather, A., M. Bahti and N. Ntem (2019), Pedagogical Partnerships: A How-to Guide for Faculty, Students, and Academic Developers in Higher Education, Elon University Center for Engaged Teaching Open Access Series, North Carolina: Elon. https://www.cente​rfor​enga​gedl​earn​ing.org/books/ peda​gogi​cal-partn​ersh​ips/ (accessed 10 January 2020). Cook-Sather, A., S. Krishna Prasad, E. Marquis and A. Ntem (2019), ‘Mobilizing a Culture Shift on Campus: Underrepresented Students as Educational Developers’, New Directions for Teaching and Learning, 159: 21–30. Cook-Sather, A., and L. Hayward (2020), ‘A Matter of Perspective: The Benefits to Students, Faculty, and Future Employers of Positioning Students as Consultants on Learning and Teaching’, College Teaching, 69 (1): 12–19. Cook-Sather, A., T. Addy, A. DeVault and N. Litvitskiy (2021), ‘Where Are the Students in Efforts for Inclusive Excellence?: Two Approaches to Positioning Students as Critical Partners for Inclusive Pedagogical Practices’, To Improve the Academy, 40 (1). https://journ​als.pub​lish​ing.umich.edu/tia/arti​ cle/id/961/ (accessed 12 October 2021). Cook-Sather, A., S. Allard, E. Marcovici and B. Reynolds (2021), ‘Fostering Agentic Engagement: Working toward Empowerment and Equity through Pedagogical Partnership’, International Journal for the Scholarship of Teaching and Learning, 15 (2): 1–9. https://dig​ital​comm​ons.geor​gias​outh​ern. edu/cgi/view​cont​ent.cgi?arti​cle=2119&cont​ext=ij-sotl (accessed 8 December 2021). Cook-Sather, A. and B. Reynolds (2021), ‘Developing Agentic Engagement through and across Pedagogical Partnership Programs’, Teaching and Learning Together in Higher Education, 34: 1–7. https://rep​osit​ory.brynm​awr.edu/tlthe/vol1/iss34/1 (accessed 16 September 2021).

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Cook-Sather, A., and K. Seay (2021), ‘“I Was Involved as an Equal Member of the Community”: How Pedagogical Partnership Can Foster a Sense of Belonging in Black, Female Students’, Cambridge Journal of Education, 51 (6) 733–50. Cook-Sather, A., and N. Bala (2022), ‘When Distance Deepens Connections: How Intercollegiate Partnership Programs Support Empathetic, Engaged, and Equitable Teaching Approaches’, Student Engagement in Higher Education Journal, 4 (2), 128–45. https://sehej.raise-netw​ork.com/raise/arti​cle/ view/1066 (accessed 16 October 2022). Cook-Sather, A., and E. Graham (2023), ‘Student Leadership: Working within, between, and against Institutional Structures’, in P. A. Woods, A. Roberts, M. Tian and H. Youngs (eds), Handbook of Leadership in Education, Cheltenham, UK: Elgar Publishing. Cook-Sather, A., and J. Loh (2023), ‘Embracing Student Agentic Engagement and Enacting Equity in Higher Education through Co-creating Learning and Teaching’, in T. Lowe (ed.), Advancing Student Engagement in Higher Education: Reflection, Critique and Challenge, London: Routledge. Cook-Sather, A., K. Stewart, R. A. Ameyaa and L. A. Jones (2023), ‘Co-creating Spaces for Full Selves: Student-Facilitated Pedagogy Circles for BIPOC Faculty’, The Journal of Faculty Development, 37 (1): 69–71. Cook-Sather, A., P. Felten, K. Stewart and H. Weston (in press), ‘Reviving the Construct of “Mattering” in Pursuit of Equity and Justice in Higher Education: The Potential of a College-wide Commitment to Partnership through Mutual Mentoring’, in E. Rueda and C. Lowe-Swift (eds), Academic Belonging in Higher Education: Fostering Student Connection, Competence, and Confidence, New York, New York: Routledge. Cott, M. (2021), ‘Tracing the Arc of My Pedagogical Partnerships: Guided by a Commitment to Community’, International Journal for Students as Partners, 5 (2): 147–52. https://doi.org/10.15173/ ijsap.v5i2.4600 (accessed 11 November 2021). Cowie, B., and E. Khoo (2017), ‘Accountability through Access, Authenticity and Advocacy When Researching with Young Children’, International Journal of Inclusive Education, 21 (3): 234–47. de Bie, A., E. Marquis, A. Cook-Sather and L. P. Luqueño (2021), Promoting Equity and Justice through Pedagogical Partnership, Sterling, VA: Stylus Publishers. Delpish, A., A. Holmes, M. Knight-McKenna, R. Mihans, A. Darby, K. King and P. Felten (2010), ‘Equalizing Voices: Student-Faculty Partnership in Course Design’, in C. Werder and M. M. Otis (eds), Engaging Student Voices in the Study of Teaching and Learning, 96–114, Sterling, VA: Stylus. Des-Ogugua, C. (2022), Afterword, in A. Cook-Sather (ed.), Co-creating Equitable Teaching and Learning: Structuring Student Voice into Higher Education, Cambridge: Harvard Education Press. Eze, A. (2019), ‘From Listening to Responding to Leading: Building Capacity through Four Pedagogical Partnerships’, Teaching and Learning Together in Higher Education, 26: 1–4. https://rep​osit​ory.brynm​ awr.edu/tlthe/vol1/iss26/2 (accessed 14 February 2020). Giron, A. (2021), ‘Foreword’, in de Bie, A., E. Marquis, A. Cook-Sather and L. P. Luqueño (eds), Promoting Equity and Justice through Pedagogical Partnership, xi–xiv, Sterling, VA: Stylus Publishers. Goff, L., and K. Knorr (2018), ‘Three Heads Are Better than One: Students, Faculty, and Educational Developers as Co-Developers of Science Curriculum’, International Journal for Students as Partners, 2 (1): 112–20. Hossain, S. (2021), ‘Embracing the Risk and Responsibility of Starting a Pedagogical Partnership Program Focused on Fostering Inclusivity and Respect in Science’, Teaching and Learning Together in Higher Education, 33: 1–8. https://rep​osit​ory.brynm​awr.edu/tlthe/vol1/iss33/2/ (accessed 25 June 2021). Iftikhar, F. (2021), ‘The Importance of Trust in Student-Faculty Partnerships: My Journey from a Student Partner to a Co-Lead Pedagogical Partnerships Program’, Teaching and Learning Together in Higher Education, 33: 1–6. https://rep​osit​ory.brynm​awr.edu/tlthe/vol1/iss33/9 (accessed 30 June 2021).

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Impastato, J. (2021), ‘ “Very Nervous and Very Excited”: My Experience Developing a Pedagogical Partnership Program at Tufts University’, Teaching and Learning Together in Higher Education, 33: 1–10. https://rep​osit​ory.brynm​awr.edu/tlthe/vol1/iss33/5 (accessed 16 July 2021). Jonsson, M. (2020), ‘Five Reasons Why Working as a Student Partner Is Energizing’, International Journal for Students as Partners, 4 (2): 150–4. https://doi.org/10.15173/ijsap.v4i2.4336 (accessed 10 August 2020). Koltun-Fromm, K., and A. Eze (2019), ‘Dwelling in Discomfort’, Teaching and Learning Together in Higher Education, 28: 1–2. https://rep​osit​ory.brynm​awr.edu/tlthe/vol1/iss28/5 (accessed 3 January 2020). Leota, A., and K. Sutherland (2020), ‘“With Your Basket of Knowledge and My Basket of Knowledge, the People Will Prosper”: Learning and Leading in a Student-Staff Partnership Program’, in A. CookSather and C. Wilson (eds), Building Courage, Confidence, and Capacity in Learning and Teaching through Student-Faculty Partnership: Stories from across Contexts and Arenas of Practice, 93–102, Lanham, MD: Lexington Books. Lewis, D. I. (2017), ‘Extracurricular Partnerships as a Tool for Enhancing Graduate Employability’, International Journal for Students as Partners, 1 (1). Luqueño, L. P. (2021, 14 June), ‘Learning to Honor My Own Epistemology: The Long-Term Effects of Student-Faculty Partnerships’. https://www.cente​rfor​enga​gedl​earn​ing.org/learn​ing-to-honor-my-ownepist​emol​ogy-the-long-term-effe​cts-of-stud​ent-facu​lty-partn​ersh​ips (accessed 20 June 2021). Matthews, K. (2017), ‘Five Propositions for Genuine Students as Partners Practice’, International Journal for Students as Partners, 1 (2): 1–9. doi.org/10.15173/ijsap.v1i2.3315 (accessed 2 February 2018). Mercer-Mapstone, L., S. L. Dvorakova, K. E. Matthews, S. Abbot, B. Cheng, P. Felten, K. Knorr, E. Marquis, R. Shammas and K. Swaim. (2017), ‘A Systematic Literature Review of Students as Partners in Higher Education’, International Journal of Students as Partners, 1(1):1–23. doi:10.15173/ijsap. v1i1.3119 (accessed 6 March 2018). Mihans, R., D. Long and P. Felten (2008), ‘Power and Expertise: Student-Faculty Collaboration in Course Design and the Scholarship of Teaching and Learning’, International Journal for the Scholarship of Teaching & Learning, 2 (2): 1–9. https://dig​ital​comm​ons.geor​gias​outh​ern.edu/cgi/view​cont​ent.cgi?arti​ cle=1110&cont​ext=ij-sotl (accessed 6 September 2020). National Association of Colleges and Employers (2021), ‘Competencies for a Career-Ready Workforce’. https://www.nace​web.org/car​eer-readin​ess/compe​tenc​ies/car​eer-readin​ess-defi​ned/ (accessed 5 March 2022). Ntem, A., and A. Cook-Sather (2018), ‘Resistances and Resiliencies in Pedagogical Partnership: Student Partners’ Perspectives’, International Journal for Students as Partners, 2 (1): 82–96. https://mulpr​ess. mcmas​ter.ca/ijsap/arti​cle/view/3372 (accessed 4 May 2019). Ortquist-Ahrens, L. (2021), ‘Building Partnership through Partnership: Reflections on the Role of PostBaccalaureate Fellows in Program Development’, International Journal for Students as Partners, 5 (2): 191–7. https://mulpr​ess.mcmas​ter.ca/ijsap/arti​cle/view/4618 (accessed 10 April 2022). Peseta, T., J. Pizzica, A. Beathe, R. Lynch, M. Manthos, K. Nguyen and H. Raza (2020), ‘A Partnership Mindset’, in L. Mercer-Mapstone and S. Abbot (eds), The Power of Student-Staff Partnership: Revolutionizing Higher Education, Elon University Center for Engaged Learning Open Access Series, Elon: North Carolina. https://www.cente​rfor​enga​gedl​earn​ing.org/books/power-of-part​ ners​hip/sect​ion-two/chap​ter-6/ (accessed 5 February 2021). Rolfes, P., and A. Suresh (forthcoming), ‘Co-facilitating Pedagogy Circles for Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion: Two Student Partner Experiences’, International Journal for Students as Partners. Seshan, A. (2022), ‘Launching the Community Learning and Inclusivity Partnership (CLIP) Program at Emmanuel College’, Teaching and Learning Together in Higher Education, 35: 1–4. https://rep​osit​ory. brynm​awr.edu/tlthe/vol1/iss35/2 (accessed 15 March 2022). Solnit, R. (2020), Reflections of My Nonexistence, New York: Viking Press. Takayama, K., Kaplan, M and Cook-Sather, A. (2017), ‘Advancing Diversity and Inclusion through Strategic Multilevel Leadership’, Liberal Education, 103 (3/4).

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Topper, L. (2021), ‘Building Partnership through Partnership’, Teaching and Learning Together in Higher Education, 33: 1–8. https://rep​osit​ory.brynm​awr.edu/tlthe/vol1/iss33/6 (accessed 18 August 2021). Umar, F. (2021), ‘From Tabula Rasa to Empowered Student Partner: A Journey of Collaboration’, Teaching and Learning Together in Higher Education, 34: 1–3. https://rep​osit​ory.brynm​awr.edu/tlthe/ vol1/iss34/12 (accessed 6 November 2021). Verma, K. (2021), ‘Finding Agency through Student Partnership’, Teaching and Learning Together in Higher Education, 34: 1–4. https://rep​osit​ory.brynm​awr.edu/tlthe/vol1/iss34/10 (accessed 1 November 2021). Wilson, C., and A. Cook-Sather (2022), ‘Rippling the Patterns of Power: Enacting Anti-Racist Pedagogy with Students as Co-Teachers’, in J. Neuhaus (ed.), Picture a Professor: Intersectional Teaching Strategies for Interrupting Bias about Faculty and Increasing Student Learning, 201–18, Morgantown, West Virginia: West Virginia University Press. Wilson, C. E., and M. Davis (2020), ‘Transforming the Student-Professor Relationship: A Multiphase Research Partnership’, International Journal for Students as Partners, 4 (1): 155–61. https://mulpr​ess. mcmas​ter.ca/ijsap/arti​cle/view/3913 (accessed 15 June 2020).

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With All Due Respect: Students’ Conceptions of Pedagogical Partnership in Higher Education in Pakistan LAUNA GAUTHIER AND FATIMA IFTIKHAR

Discussions about improving teaching and learning quality in higher education (HE) have been ongoing in Pakistan, but layers of complexities propelled by unstable politics and mismanaged change agendas have stifled progress for decades (Ahmad and Mahmood 2010; Hoodbhoy 2009). Recently, there have been calls to define quality in HE by considering the ground realities such as the low quality of teaching in many universities (Hoodbhoy 2021; Tahir 2022). However, there is often a propensity to measure teacher quality in ways that reduce it to a checklist (e.g. Pakistan’s Higher Education Commissions’ Best University Teacher Award criteria, Higher Education Commission 2022) or measures of teachers’ knowledge through standardized tests (Hoodbhoy 2009). Key decision makers often fail to consider evidence-based practices that demonstrate good teaching, such as how faculty engage students, give feedback on learning, respect diverse ways of learning and set high and achievable expectations for learning (Chickering and Gameson 1987). In particular, teacher quality is rarely considered from the perspective of those stakeholders who matter the most in HE: students. Instead, we have noticed a tendency for authority figures to speak on students’ behalf (Fielding 2004) and make decisions about their learning for them. A recently published article in a top national Pakistani newspaper captured this reality well as the author wrote, ‘The main issue appears to be the antiquated, top-down educational administration and bureaucratic structure. It forces a blind following without leaving room for critique’ (Jogezai 2022). To date, the scholarship on students’ perspectives on their learning in HE in Pakistan has been limited (e.g. Mastoi, Xin Hai and Saengkrod 2019; Rakhshanda et al. 2020). Some local scholars have focused on exploring the quality of teaching from the perspective of moving from traditional teacher-centred to more student-centred approaches (e.g. Ahmad and Mahmood 2010; Anwar and Ali 2020). However, this scholarship commonly focuses on student satisfaction and lacks practical ideas for how to engage more students in discussion about the quality of their learning experiences. One plausible explanation for the absence of student voice in educational decision-making is that Pakistan is a collectivist culture that, like many other Islamic countries and Asian cultures, continues to reproduce stringent hierarchies that shape how people behave and view change

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(Hofstede 2001). For instance, respect is a guiding societal value that permeates education and it is understood that younger people must respect elders and defer to their experience and authority. Given that students have lower status than teachers, administrators and other decision makers, they are commonly treated as receivers of education (Kaur, Awang-Hashim and Kaur 2019). Similar to other Asian contexts, teaching and learning across Pakistan is highly transactional and follows what Freire (1970) calls a banking model of education where teachers transmit knowledge to students. Pakistani students are not typically invited to contribute their perspectives on their learning beyond completing course evaluations or a few students sitting on institutional committees. Student committee members are typically framed as agents of quality assurance and represent all students’ voices on issues related to their education (O’Hara and Flint 2013). Some scholars warn that these initiatives can fall short of elevating students’ voices when students are seen as token representatives of all students in their institutions (Liang and Matthews 2021; Matthews and Dollinger 2022). Fielding (2004) highlights the difference between some students being heard and the more profound possibilities to initiate genuine dialogues between educators and students. In some rare cases students contribute to shaping their learning experiences through collecting feedback from their peers to improve courses or engage in research with faculty (Tamim et al. 2023). However, despite these examples that show students gaining a greater degree of agency, these are the exceptions and not the rule – many students still have little say over how their classrooms, departments or schools operate. In Pakistan, we see a strong need to shift power dynamics between students and faculty/staff/administrators to improve the quality of learning and teaching. We see possibilities in HE to ‘count students among those who have the knowledge and the position to shape what counts as education, to reconfigure power dynamics and discourse practices’ (Cook-Sather 2002: 3) and where they can speak for themselves about what constitutes quality in their education. As mentioned in the first section of this book, when we join together with students to elevate their voices, we encourage them to claim legitimate perspectives, presence and roles in decision-making. Student voices can have an impact on improving the quality of our practices, our policies and overall student experiences in HE as many chapters in this book demonstrate.

Purpose For the past decade, students as partners (SaP) initiatives such as pedagogical partnerships (PPs) have encouraged student collaboration with faculty, staff, administrators or other students as co-creators, co-researchers and co-learners on educational initiatives (Bovill, Cook-Sather and Felten 2011; Healey, Flint and Harrington 2016). Recently, the growing interest in elevating student voice through SaP work in Asia has become noticeable (e.g. Kaur 2020; Liang, Dai and Mathews 2020; Liang and Matthews 2021). A large reason for this is due to the promise SaP holds for increasing student participation in educational decision-making and disrupting traditional norms and power hierarchies in HE (Felten et al. 2013). In South Asia we have contributed to this discussion by implementing SaP initiatives at our own institution which are the first of its kind in Pakistan (Gauthier 2020; Tamim et al. 2023). We have seen the potential for SaP to challenge educational norms that typically dichotomize faculty and student roles in classrooms; we have also seen the challenges these norms bring to partnership work (Tamim et al. 2023). 372

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In this chapter we aim to contribute to broadening the scope of SaP as a vehicle for student voice work in South Asian contexts by exploring how cultural values such as respect – a pillar of Pakistani culture and society – shape partnership experiences. We draw on students’ voices from an undergraduate course-based Scholarship of Teaching and Learning (SoTL) project that highlights their partnership experiences with faculty and their conceptions of how respect is understood and enacted in these partnerships. Secondly, we help to elevate students’ ideas about the potential of partnerships in HE as a way to amplify student voice in ongoing discussions of teaching and learning quality in Pakistan and beyond.

Defining Pedagogical Partnership Several terms exist to define student-faculty collaboration in HE, including ‘students as partners’ and ‘pedagogical partnership’. A widely cited definition that we subscribe to is Bovill, Cook-Sather and Felten’s (2014: 6–7) definition that states that pedagogical partnership (PP) is ‘a collaborative, reciprocal process of engagement through which all participants have the opportunity to contribute equally, although not necessarily in the same ways, to curricular or pedagogical conceptualisation, decision making, implementation, investigation, or analysis’. Partnership is also a relational practice based on values enacted between partners including respect, reciprocity, shared responsibility (Bovill, Cook-Sather and Felten 2014; Cook-Sather et al. 2018) and communication, understanding and commitment (Luo, Matthews and Chunduri 2019). Understanding that partners bring different but equally valued perspectives and knowledge to dialogue is also essential to thriving partnership work (Bovill, Cook-Sather and Felten 2011). However, enacting these values can be difficult in any context because people understand them differently (Cook-Sather 2013). Pedagogical Partnership in Asia Interest in SaP initiatives in Asian contexts has grown only recently. For instance, scholars have contributed several case studies, literature reviews and reflections exploring the nuances of SaP in Asian contexts (e.g. Chng 2019; Ho 2017; Kaur 2020; Kaur and Yong Bing 2020; Liang and Mathews 2021; Sim 2019). Moreover, student and faculty voices have emerged from South Asia about the implementation of a PP programme (Tamim et al. 2023), leading partnership work (Cook-Sather et al. forthcoming; Gauthier 2020) and experiences of working in partnership in Pakistan (Ansari 2021; Iftikhar 2021; Najib 2021; Umar 2021). Many commonalities this literature shares include the discussions of the assumptions about teachers and students’ roles in Asian societies that can make partnership challenging. Chng (2019: 2) warns, ‘We should not be surprised that such deep-seated assumptions about who does what in a class will take more than just an introduction of new concepts to change.’ These assumptions are embedded in cultural hierarchies that shape how education is structured and enacted. For instance, Kaur, Awang-Hashim and Kaur (2019) published a case study on the translation of partnership values in Chinese HE which is primarily influenced by Confucianism. According to Liang and Matthews (2020: 562), ‘Confucianism intensifies questions of power, which work against the nature of SaP in Asian contexts or raise different questions about SaP in the Asian context.’ SaP can be perceived as disruptive to established roles that position faculty as authority figures and students as passive conformists (Kaur and Yong Bin 2020; Sim 2019). 373

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Other scholars have shared how these power structures pose challenges to enacting partnership values such as trust (Iftikhar 2021; Seow 2019), respect for partners’ ideas and equally sharing partnership responsibilities (Kaur 2020). Some authors ask how might we adapt language and assumptions of partnership (Kaur 2020) and ‘discover special values that can be reflected in Asian classrooms’ (Liang and Matthews 2021: 563) to situate partnerships in local Asian cultures? Matthews (2016: 4) suggests that ‘finding the words and stories that resonate with local institutions is an essential first step in developing a shared understanding of the culture of partnerships’. Ho (2017: 6) argued that ‘creating a climate of openness’ through partnership may help to address such hierarchies that make partnership a challenge in Asian contexts. Many of these actions can help students safely cross the ‘invisible boundary’ between them and their teachers, without coming across as disobedient or disrespectful – a prevalent concern for students in Asian cultures (Kaur and Yong Bin 2020: 70).

Respect in a Collectivist Culture To frame our discussion about respect in partnerships in Pakistan, we refer to Geert Hofstede’s (2001) dimensions of national cultures. Hofstede examined ninety-three countries and confirmed five dimensions that characterize how cultures shape the values, beliefs and behaviours of its members. The five dimensions included individualism-collectivism, uncertainty avoidance, power distance, masculinity-femininity and short-term versus long-term orientation (Hofstede and Minkov 2010). Pakistani culture is also shaped by certain collectivist values and norms. For instance, people are typically loyal to groups (such as families or communities) over individual pursuits (Hofstede and Minkov 2010). They tend to value interdependence, conformity to roles, maintaining norms and social harmony. Coupled with this, is the prevalence for uncertainty avoidance that can be a barrier to changing mindsets and behaviours regarding traditional ways of knowing, doing and being in society. Furthermore, power distance and hierarchies are based on factors such as age, class, gender and job which tend to dominate social interactions and how individuals relate to one another (Hofstede 2001). At the foundation of these hierarchies is the notion of respect. According to the American Heritage Dictionary (n.d.), respect means ‘a feeling of appreciative, often deferential regard; esteem’. Particularly, respect for elders – those who are older, more experienced, wise or knowledgeable – is instilled in Pakistani children and reinforced by social and cultural narratives, which include religion, throughout their lives. In this context, we draw parallels between the values of Islam in Pakistan and Confucianism in other parts of Asia. In educational settings, how respect is bestowed upon teachers, how it is enacted and the power it affords them over students is strongly influential in how teaching and learning happen. As highlighted by Kaur, Awang-Hashim and Kaur (2019), the values of Confucianism are anchored in respect for hierarchy, being humble and polite, and tolerance. The expectations for students to show respect, and the propensity to want to ‘save face’ and not challenge authority, often prevent them from questioning teachers (Liang and Matthews 2021). Similarly, Islam ascribes significant respect to individuals, such as teachers, who are considered knowledgeable and experienced. For instance, Muslim teachers typically take pride in their profession because the Quran states ‘Allah elevates to high positions those from amongst you who are faithful and those who have acquired knowledge’ (Quran 58: 11). These examples

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suggest that teachers are given special status and respect in a collectivist society also because of the religious value associated with the profession. These expectations add another layer of complexity for partnerships as a vehicle for elevating student voice because, by design, their voices are not meant to be included.

Methods In this section, we share some institutional context and students’ conceptions of how respect is defined, understood and enacted in partnership with faculty. Data were gathered from undergraduate students’ reflections on a final written assignment in a course at the Lahore University of Management Sciences (LUMS) School of Education. Our Institution LUMS is a not-for-profit private university with 5,000 students across five schools, including business, education, law, science and engineering, and social sciences and humanities. In 2019 we started a Pedagogical Partnership Programme (PPP) as a signature SaP initiative of the LUMS Learning Institute (LLI), our teaching and learning centre. Since then, 125 faculty and students have collaborated on fifty-one different pedagogical projects in course design, delivery or pedagogical research (Tamim et al. 2023). The Course Building on the PPP and our desire to include more students and faculty in PP, we piloted an undergraduate education course in 2021 called ‘EDU3212: Transforming Learning and Teaching through Student-Faculty Partnerships’. Eighteen students enrolled in the course and they were partnered with eighteen faculty from across LUMS for the semester. The course combined online classes and experiential learning through partnerships. Each week, students observed their faculty partner’s classes and gave feedback focused on improving teaching practices and student engagement. In class, students discussed SoTL and partnership literature and reflected on their roles and identities as student partners. Our conversations typically focused on unpacking the challenges they encountered in their partnerships and sharing key learnings about how their work with faculty was evolving. We also explored various observation tools, approaches for giving feedback and communicating they could use in their faculty partners’ classes. Participants The participants for this study included seventeen of eighteen students enrolled in EDU3212 who consented to us using their final reflection assignments as data. One student declined to participate. Twelve participants identified as females and five as males. At the start of the course, no one had participated in SaP initiatives at LUMS or elsewhere. Data Collection We planned EDU3212 and our study with the aim of exploring students’ conceptions of what the most important values for PP were at LUMS. At the start of the semester students completed 375

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a pre-assessment questionnaire designed to gain insight into their initial conceptions of respect, reciprocity and shared responsibility – core values from the partnership literature. In their final assignment, they reflected on their pre-partnership answers and commented on any changes to their conceptions of the core values. Additionally, in the final question they reflected on one of the following values: respect, reciprocity, shared responsibility, partnership and mutual trust. Specifically, they were asked about how this value translates in Pakistani HE and what the implications could be for partnerships. Analysis The data were first de-identified and students’ names were replaced with pseudonyms. We completed an initial reading of the data, noting some patterns and broad themes that emerged across students’ reflections. At this stage we noticed that 71 per cent of students chose to write about respect in the final question. Luo, Matthews and Chunduri (2019) had similar results when students in their study chose respect as the top value needed for collaboration to flourish in partnerships. We also included data from students’ reflections about their pre-partnership understandings of respect in our analysis. Given our data and the significance of respect as a value in Pakistan, we decided to focus our analysis, and this chapter, on students’ understandings and descriptions of respect in their partnership experiences. We continued to analyse the data using a thematic approach (Braun and Clarke 2006). The purpose was to identify patterns of meaning in the data and create themes from the students’ comments that would reflect their voices directly in our work rather than fitting data into pre-existing theory (Braun and Clarke 2006). After two rounds of reorganizing and refining themes, both co-authors distilled the data into the four main themes and three sub-themes discussed in the section that follows.

Findings Student data revealed the following main themes: respect, disrespect, challenges – including the sub-themes of student-teacher roles, making equal contributions, naming each other as partners and possibilities. Within each of these themes, we identified details about how respect is understood, named and enacted in partnership at LUMS. Respect Pakistani society has distinct hierarchies amongst individuals and between individuals and institutions at all levels (Hofstede 2001). It is not surprising that students’ conceptions of respect were inextricably linked to these deeply rooted, ‘socially forced hierarchies’ (Adnan). As one student commented, ‘Whether it’s in our day-to-day conversations or proverbial sayings, respecting someone or “Izzat dena” is a foundational pillar of our culture’ (Sherin). And for students, like all individuals, respect is learned through socialization as it is ‘taught to every child during childhood’ (Sarah) and ‘embedded until it becomes instinctual’ (Talha). One student explained further, ‘Respect in most cases, means to obey without questioning. Given the difference in age and experience, it is assumed that whatever someone older or has more experience does is automatically correct and indisputable’ (Mashail). The nuances of students’ initial explanations about respect are explored further in the following sections. 376

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Disrespect Interestingly, eight students in our study referred to the power dynamics between teachers and students from the perspective of what it means to be disrespectful. In Pakistan, as in many Asian contexts, students are discouraged from contradicting or challenging their teachers as it would ‘be odd and disrespectful’ (Kaur 2020: 145). One student suggested that sometimes teachers enhance this dynamic through actions that show they ‘regard their student’s opinion as inferior and not valid enough to be implemented’ (Minha). Thus, it is understandable that students might not fully express their ideas and opinions in activities such as class discussions to avoid appearing as disruptive (Sim 2019). The fear of being disrespectful adds a complex layer to the student-teacher dynamic in partnerships as well. One student shared that ‘this [fear] prevents students from candidly explaining any observations of the class at the cost of being disrespectful … and makes students doubtful of their contributions’ (Waqas). Another student disclosed this as a fear of showing ‘disagreement or critiquing a teacher’ and that they had some anxiety around ‘the social penalty of coming off as disrespectful’ (Sumaiya). There is a sense of pending implicit and explicit social consequences that have to do with self-preservation and avoiding being seen as someone who challenges a teacher’s superiority (Sim 2019). Thus, even if a teacher welcomes critical discussion or questioning, the social understanding about disrespecting elders that permeates classrooms limits some students in voicing their thoughts and opinions. Challenges The literature on collectivist cultures and values helped us to contextualize students’ reasons for why partnership could be a challenge to implement in other HE contexts in Pakistan. For instance, while all societies deal with future challenges and uncertainties differently, collectivist cultures have strong uncertainty avoidance. This means uncertainty is deemed a threat to be avoided and people focus on negative perspectives when faced with changes that contradict their ways of knowing, being and doing (Hofstede 2001). As one student explained: [Because of] the identity crisis and the turbulent history (our colonial past, martial laws, switching to an Islamic state), there is a propensity to hold on to norms that add predictability and security to the way we live our lives – what Giddens called ‘ontological security’ for individuals. This is also deeply rooted in our educational institutions which reproduce the same knowledge, hierarchies and status quo between students and teachers. This may be why change isn’t viewed positively, and partnerships can seem threatening. (Arslan) Another student commented, ‘Even within partnership, because there is a passive resistance in Pakistan to not let things change, the hierarchical nature of the student-teacher relationship remains. Dedication, flexibility and effort are expected to be the student’s responsibility while the final say and the upper hand, remains with the faculty’ (Talha). Another student commented that ‘challenging the notion that the teacher knows best may be considered disrespectful … the notion of disrespect, that is associated with an ‘inexperienced’ student advising an “experienced” teacher, takes away from the pedagogical potential of such collaborative relationships’ (Zahra). 377

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Interestingly, these students described partnership as not only interpersonally difficult to adjust to but actively threatening to existing power structures – be they institutional and/or cultural. Mercer-Mapstone and Abbot (2020) argue that partnership is a political phenomenon that disrupts the status quo. Although PP may have limited potential in South Asian contexts to bring about a fundamental change, they can cause essential, purposeful disruption against the hierarchical systems and structures within our educational institutions – small steps that can have a lasting ripple effect. They have the potential to create spaces that allow us to move us from ‘blind following’ (Jogezai 2022) to healthy, productive discussion and critique that includes students’ voices. Student-Teacher Roles Building on how respect is understood and enacted in Pakistan, it was not surprising that students saw respect ‘as something owed to the faculty due to their age and experience’ (Waqas). They explained that the hierarchy implies that teachers are entitled to unconditional respect but not obliged to give students the same. One student said, ‘Instructors tend to internalize the binaries of junior and senior positions, which entails that they [often] fail to reciprocate the same respect to students that they expect to receive’ (Arslan). Another student commented, ‘Since it is part of our culture, it is not possible to eliminate a teacher’s superiority’ (Minha). From the students’ standpoint, the deference to their teachers’ authority can manifest in feeling that they must be quiet in front of teachers. Also, there is an assumption that teachers are neither receptive to feedback nor criticism ‘as it can be deemed as insulting to their teaching style’ (Arslan). Another student admitted to holding ‘preconceived biases’ (Sherin) about how she should act and respond to her faculty partner and felt ‘uncomfortable’ in the beginning when she was asked to share her opinions with her partner. Conversely, some students had reason to question their biases when their faculty partners reciprocated respect to them. One student said, ‘When [my faculty partner] was unable to attend our meetings he would immediately email me to apologize and ask to reschedule the meeting as per my schedule. This really helped in restructuring the deeply ingrained ideas I had about respect’ (Farid). Another student shared, ‘I was extremely anxious about talking to my faculty partner and was very cautious when describing my observations. However, things changed when my partner reciprocated respect and placed me as an equal stakeholder in the partnership. Only then was I able to fully open up and have a meaningful discourse about the observations’ (Waqas). Contributing Equally According to students, how respect is both understood and enacted in Pakistan influences the notion of shared responsibility. For instance, student partners may always consider the faculty partner to be ‘more important and worthy and holding all authority’ (Amna) and that ‘students can never contribute equally in the decision-making process and always need the approval of their teachers’ (Zahra). One of the ways this manifested in partnerships was described by a student as ‘performing most of the duties and just getting them approved by my faculty partner’ (Minha). Students also highlighted that both partners have the tendency to slip into traditional roles. For example, faculty partners asked student partners to perform tasks of a teaching assistant (TA) or research assistant (RA) and students felt obligated to comply. One student explained that this can be a precarious situation in the partnership because ‘the student will not voice their concerns or 378

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criticize the faculty’s approach … moreover, they might end up performing tasks even when they fall outside of the responsibility of a student partner’ (Tayyab). Most students’ contributions to partnerships seemed to be both explicitly and implicitly guided by expectations for respecting teachers’ positions as authority figures in classrooms. Drawing from her own positive partnership experience, another student named Sarah critiqued the hierarchy that plays out in traditional roles between student and teachers by saying, ‘It becomes more like subordination where the student “partner” carries out different activities assigned by the faculty partner. The lack of the representation of students’ perspectives and experiences means that whatever change is being brought is entirely faculty oriented, and hence, the partnership loses all meaning.’ Students’ responses shared above indicate that, in this hierarchical context, faculty members may need to take proactive action if traditional dynamics are to be disrupted and barriers to connection are to be dismantled. Naming Each Other as ‘Partners’ Kaur (2020: 147) noted that the word ‘partner’ itself can come across as ‘intimidating’ to faculty and student partners. Students in our study also indicated that crossing boundaries of traditional roles simply by calling each other partner can be challenging. For example, one student assumed that for teachers, being referred to as a partner could be a ‘source of discomfort and insult’ (Minha). Another student said, ‘To introduce the concept [partnership]’ to faculty partners who are older in age, is novel because ‘elders are valued for their experience and insight and entitled to respect based on the wisdom they have to offer and the contributions they’ve made in their lives’ (Sumaiya). Given that instructors and students are conditioned to internalize the studentteacher power dynamic that requires a particular way of showing respect, it can be difficult to ‘unlearn these hierarchies when working in a partnership’ (Arslan). Possibilities Students’ partnership experiences sparked ideas about the possibilities of partnerships in Pakistan to change student-teacher dynamics and elevate student voices in decisions about their learning. Given respect is a fundamental value in Pakistani culture, it was foreseeable that students elaborated on this value as the foundation of possibilities for partnership. Students shared that it was critical to address prevalent hierarchical mindsets to develop ‘healthier understandings of respect … in environments of teaching and learning where students can focus on developing genuine relations with teachers without being intimidated by their authority’ (Mashail). The necessity of growth mindsets (Cook-Sather, Gauthier and Foster 2020) and partnership mindsets (Mercer-Mapstone and Abbot 2020) have been seen as essential to helping partnerships flourish in HE. Some students indicated that respect needs to be unpacked to uncover where faculty and student partners’ understanding lies. A student said, ‘Unless respect is understood in different ways and stakeholders can consider ways to affirm students’ identities, partnerships would lose out on valuable perspectives that students carry and can communicate’ (Mashail). Another student, Adnan, raised the point that partnerships may have a greater chance of working in Pakistan if introduced ‘ideally from Urdu language which can capture the true essence of partnership’. This confirms what others have reported on how essential it is to have local definitions of partnership to generate buy-in and ensure partnerships can be embedded in institutional cultures (Cook-Sather 2018; Kaur 2020). 379

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Overall, many students also felt positively about the possibilities of partnership in giving more representation to students’ voices in Pakistani HE. One student commented: Students will feel a sense of ownership in what’s being taught which will improve learning outcomes. It will also ensure that the curriculum isn’t outdated, teachers can be held accountable through constructive feedback, and the students are viewed as more than just empty vessels. [Partnership] can provide an avenue to channel critical thinking capacities and reform institutions. (Sarah) Finally, one student sums up the hope and possibility that we also see for partnership in Pakistan to create room for student voice in HE. She said: Through partnership teachers might realize that students have something valuable to add to the discussion of pedagogy. Partnerships have the power to revolutionize teaching and learning in Pakistan and change how we view teacher-student relationships based solely on power dynamics and help students understand the rationale behind some practices and allow them to become a part of the process of improving educational practices. The major implication is that if we really want to reform the education sector, partnerships are one doable and practical way of making that change. (Amna)

Discussion We suspect that many students prioritized respect as a predominant partnership value because it is foundational to living and learning in Pakistan. Students’ data added significant contextual detail to how respect gets enacted in partnerships within traditional student-teacher hierarchies at LUMS. Like scholars before us, we also confirmed that when values such as respect are interpreted through local, cultural frameworks – such as Islam in Pakistan – they do not always get translated the same way as they may in Western contexts. Thus, our study accentuates the need for us to redefine core partnership values with consideration for local conceptions and enactments of them at LUMS to inform any new and existing partnership initiatives. Students also articulated a sense of fear associated with partnership that is connected to the hierarchies that shape their ways of knowing, being and acting in HE. For example, they wanted to avoid disrespecting their faculty partners’ authority and also the social repercussions that can result from disrupting traditional teacher-student roles in classrooms. Thus, student partners often waited for permission from faculty partners to contribute ideas, feedback and creative solutions to pedagogical challenges – as if the decision to participate had to be made by the faculty partner. Cook-Sather (2010: 556) translates this structure of reliance on authority as an ‘ideal of education’ where students are not the ‘protagonists/actors’ and they need to be ‘acted upon’. There was a sense that the onus was on faculty, who hold more positional power, to offer students equal status in the partnership by reciprocating respect. When faculty partners demonstrated respect, it contributed to elevating student voice through students’ feedback, ideas and creative solutions to classroom challenges. Placing more expectations on faculty for establishing partnerships may be a reality in Pakistan and other South Asian contexts where student voice is limited in educational decision-making. 380

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Realistically, it is challenging for students to have a voice as equal stakeholders when respect, duty and responsibility are bestowed upon people based on normative hierarchies infused through all facets of the culture. A potential way forward is to build on students’ suggestions in our study and others (e.g. Cook-Sather 2018; Kaur 2020) for working within institutions to find ways to make partnership relevant. In Pakistan this requires looking at pre-existing relationships such as TA and RA work where people may already be demonstrating mutual respect, shared responsibility and reciprocity with each other.

Conclusion Set against a backdrop of collectivisim and widely accepted conceptions of respect and hierarchy, it might seem that our aims to elevate and legitimize student voice through PPs had no chance of succeeding. Yet, we have seen that partnerships at LUMS have begun to help us to bridge the gaps between students’ and teachers’ roles and conceptions of each other in learning and teaching. This shift is mainly happening in our efforts to incorporate student voices in improving courses and pedagogical research. Faculty and students who participate in PPs at LUMS generally believe in elevating student voice in pedagogical decisions. Yet, despite good intentions we see the challenges they face with putting values such as respect, reciprocity and shared responsibility into action. This study helped to highlight the need to build SaP initiatives from within local conceptions of core partnership values and practices. Therefore, we acknowledge the need to include faculty and staff perspectives on how values such as respect are interpreted and enacted in partnerships at LUMS. Also, finding novel ways to involve more stakeholders’ perspectives throughout SaP initiatives to unpack hierarchies and existing structures is key to refining and reimagining partnerships so that they flourish in this context. Students’ contributions to this study elevated our conceptions of respect and the nuances of understanding, naming and enacting partnerships in Pakistani culture. They have inspired us to consider just how experiential partnership really is, as is any form of student voice work. Student voice work through pedagogical partnership is not simply an idea for people to buy into; rather, it is something we must learn to do together with students – and it will be ongoing learning for most of us.

References Ahmad, Z., and N. Mahmood (2010), ‘Effects of Cooperative Learning vs. Traditional Instruction on Prospective Teachers’ Learning Experience and Achievement’, Journal of Faculty of Educational Sciences, 43 (1): 151–64. American Heritage Dictionary (n.d.), ‘The American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language’. https://www.ahdic​tion​ary.com/ (accessed 14 September 2022). Ansari, H. (2021), ‘Building Bridges: Conceptualising a Student-Teacher Partnership Program to Improve Pedagogical Practices’, Teaching and Learning Together in Higher Education, 1 (33): 1–6. Anwar, N., and M. Ali (2020), ‘The Effect of Socio-Scientific Issue (SSI) Based Discussion: A StudentCentered Approach to the Teaching of Argumentation’, SoTL in the South, 4 (2): 35–62. Bovill, C., A. Cook-Sather and P. Felten (2011), ‘Students as Co-creators of Teaching Approaches, Course Design, and Curricula: Implications for Academic Developers’, International Journal for Academic Development, 16: 133–45. 381

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Bovill, C., P. Felten and A. Cook-Sather (2014), ‘Engaging Students as Partners in Learning and Teaching (2): Practical Guidance for Academic Staff and Academic Developers’, Paper Presentation, International Consortium on Educational Development Conference, Stockholm, Sweden, 16–18 June. Braun, V., and V. Clarke (2006), ‘Using Thematic Analysis in Psychology’, Qualitative Research in Psychology, 3 (2): 77–101. Chickering, A., and Z. Gamson (1987), ‘Seven Principles for Good Practice in Undergraduate Education’, AAHE Bulletin: 3–7. Chng, H. (2019), ‘The Possibilities of Students as Partners – A Perspective from Singapore’, Teaching and Learning Together in Higher Education, 1 (27): 1–5. Cook-Sather, A. (2002), ‘Authorizing Students’ Perspectives: Toward Trust, Dialogue, and Change in Education’, Educational Researcher, 31 (4): 3–14. Cook-Sather, A. (2010), ‘Students as Learners and Teachers: Taking Responsibility, Transforming Education, and Redefining Accountability’, Curriculum Inquiry, 4 (40): 555–75. Cook-Sather, A. (2013), ‘Introduction: Respect, Reciprocity, and Responsibility in Developing Participatory Cultures and Practices’, Teaching and Learning Together in Higher Education, 10 (2013): 1–4. Cook-Sather, A. (2018), ‘Perpetual Translation: Conveying the Languages and Practices of Student Voice and Pedagogical Partnership across Differences of Identity, Culture, Position, and Power’, Transformative Dialogues: Teaching and Learning Journal, 11 (3): 1–6. Cook-Sather, A., E. L. Ho, A. Kaur and T. Tamim (Forthcoming), ‘Translating Pedagogical Partnership in/to Academic Staff Development in the Global South’, in N. Chitanand and S. Rathilal (eds), Academic Staff Development: Disruptions, Complexities, Change (Envisioning new Futures). South Africa: Sun Media. Cook-Sather, A., K. E. Matthews, A. Ntem, and S. Leathwick (2018), ‘What We Talk about When We Talk about Students as Partners’, International Journal for Students as Partners, 2 (2): 1–9. Cook-Sather, A., L. Gauthier and M. Foster (2020), ‘The Role of Growth Mindsets in Developing Pedagogical Partnership Programs: Findings from a Cross-Institutional Study’, Journal of Educational Innovation, Partnership and Change, 6 (1): 1–12. Felten, P., J. Bagg, M. Bumbry, J. Hill, K. Hornsby, M. Pratt and S. Weller. (2013), ‘A Call for Expanding Student Engagement in SoTL’, Teaching and Learning Inquiry, 1 (2), 63–74. Fielding, M. (2004), ‘Transformative Approaches to Student Voice: Theoretical Underpinnings, Recalcitrant Realities’, British Educational Research Journal, 30 (2): 295–311. Flint, A., and M. O’Hara (2013), ‘Communities of Practice and “Student Voice”: Engaging with Student Representatives at the Faculty Level’, Student Engagement and Experience Journal, 2 (1): 1–19. Freire, P. (1970), Pedagogy of the Oppressed, trans. M. B. Ramos, New York: Continuum. Gauthier, L. (2020), ‘An Evolution of Learning to Support Partnership Readiness’, Teaching and Learning Together in Higher Education, 1 (29): 1–8. Healey, M., A. Flint and K. Harrington (2016), ‘Students as Partners: Reflections on a Conceptual Model’, Teaching & Learning Inquiry, 4 (2): 8–19. Higher Education Commission. HEC Best University Teacher Award. https://www.hec.gov.pk/engl​ish/ servi​ces/facu​lty/BUTA/Pages/defa​ult.aspx (accessed 14 September 2022). Ho, E. (2017), ‘Small Steps Toward an Ethos of Partnership in a Hong Kong University: Lessons from a Focus Group on “Homework”’, International Journal for Students as Partners, 1 (2): 1–7. Hofstede, G. (2001), Culture’s Consequences: Comparing Values, Behaviors, Institutions and Organizations Across Nations, Thousand Oaks: Sage. Hofstede, G., and Minkov, M. (2010), ‘Long-Term versus Short-Term Orientation: New Perspectives’, Asia Pacific Business Review, 16 (4): 493–504. Hoodbhoy, P. (2009), ‘Pakistan’s Higher Education System: What Went Wrong and How to Fix It’, The Pakistan Development Review, 48 (4): 581–94. Hoodbhoy, P. (2021), ‘Pakistan’s Higher Education System’, in P. Sarangapani and R. Pappu (eds), Handbook of Education Systems in South Asia. Global Education Systems, 997–1008, Singapore: Springer. 382

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Iftikhar, F. (2021), ‘The Importance of Trust in Student-Faculty Partnerships: My Journey from a Student Partner to a Co-lead Pedagogical Partnerships Program’, Teaching and Learning Together in Higher Education, 33 (2021): 1–6. Jogezai, N. (2022), ‘Education & Behaviour’, Dawn News, 9 November. https://www.dawn.com/ news/1719​852 (accessed 14 September 2022). Kaur, A. (2020). ‘Students as Partners: Challenges and Opportunities in the Asian Context’, International Journal for Students as Partners, 4 (2): 145–49. Kaur, A, R. Awang-Hashim and M. Kaur (2019), ‘Students’ Experiences of Co-creating Classroom Instruction with Faculty – A Case Study in Eastern Context’, Teaching in Higher Education, 24 (4): 461–77. Kaur, A., and T. Yong Bing (2020), ‘Untangling the Power Dynamics in Forging Student-Faculty Collaboration’, in A. Cook-Sather and C. Wilson (eds), Building Courage, Confidence, and Capacity: Learning and Teaching through Student-Faculty Partnership: Stories from across Contexts and Arenas of Practice, 61–70, Lanham: Lexington. Liang, Y., K. Dai and K. Matthews (2020), ‘Students as Partners: A New Ethos for the Transformation of Teacher and Student Identities in Chinese Higher Education’, International Journal of Chinese Education, 9 (2): 131–150. Liang, Y., and K. Matthews (2021), ‘Students as Partners Practices and Theorisations in Asia: A Scoping Review’, Higher Education Research & Development, 40 (3): 552–66. Luo, B., K. Matthews and P. Chunduri (2019), ‘Commitment to Collaboration: What Students Have to Say about the Values Underpinning Partnership Practices’, International Journal for Students as Partners, 3 (1): 123–39. Mastoi, A., L. Xin Hai and W. Saengkrod (2019), ‘Higher Education Service Quality Based on Students’ Satisfaction in Pakistan’, European Scientific Journal, 15 (11): 32–62. Matthews, K. (2016), ‘Students as Partners as the Future of Student Engagement’, Student Engagement in Higher Education Journal, 1 (1): 1–5. Matthews, K., and M. Dollinger (2022), ‘Student Voice in Higher Education: The Importance of Distinguishing Student Representation and Student Partnership’, High Education, 2023 (85): 555–70. Mercer-Mapstone, L., and S. Abbot (2020), The Power of Partnership: Students, Staff, and Faculty Revolutionizing Higher Education, Elon: Elon University Center for Engaged Learning Open Access Book Series. Najib, M. (2021), ‘Capturing My Voice and Agency through Partnership’, Teaching and Learning Together in Higher Education, 1 (34): 1–5. Rakhshanda, N., K. Shahid, M. Shabana and U. Quraishi. (2020), ‘Institutional Facilitation for Learning Improvement with Consideration of Students’ Voices’, World Journal on Educational Technology: Current Issues, 4 (2020): 389–400. Seow, Y. (2019), ‘Taking a Small Step Towards Partnership’, Teaching and Learning Together in Higher Education, 1 (27): 1–5. Sim, J. (2019), ‘The “Face” Barriers to Partnership’, Teaching and Learning Together in Higher Education, 1 (27): 1–4. Tahir, N. (2022), ‘Professing Quality, Practising None’, Dawn News, 11 March. https://www.dawn.com/ news/1679​399 (accessed 14 September 2022). Tamim, T., L. Gauthier, H. Ansari and F. Iftikhar (2023), ‘Working in Partnership in Pakistan: Lessons from Launching a Pedagogical Partnership Program’, International Journal for Students as Partners, 7 (1): 172–82. Umar, F. (2021), ‘From Tabula Rasa to Empowered Student Partner: A Journey of Collaboration’, Teaching and Learning Together in Higher Education 34 (2021): 1–3.

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Building a Space for Us: The Role of Graduate Students in Shaping Identity-/Affinity-Centred Curricula TRISTEN HALL, SYDNEY FEENEY, MECCA ABDUL-AZIZ AND KATHERINE S. CHO

Schooling within the United States has historically served as a function of gatekeeping (Espinoza and Vossoughi 2014). Scholars of colour and fields like ethnic studies have long critiqued schooling in the United States, citing its embedded Whiteness and settler colonial logics (Zuberi and BonillaSilva 2008). Colleges and universities, built on the land of Indigenous people, through enslaved labourers, developed curricula like eugenics to further enact violence and harm towards racially minoritized communities (Wilder 2013). These implications of schooling apply not only for social reproduction related to class and classism (Bowles and Gintis 1976) but also for how whiteness is the normative standard for schooling – including testing, curricula and even performance and professionalism (Zuberi and Bonilla-Silva 2008). This is especially prevalent in historically white institutions, where students of colour (SOC) are not only racially marginalized but the institution upholds traditions and norms that privilege whiteness. SOC have shared experiences of dismissal and not being represented in curricula; even when able to discuss their racialized experiences in the classroom, minoritized students describe racial fatigue and the burden of having to educate their peers and instructors about racism (Gildersleeve, Croom and Vasquez 2011; Ludlow 2004; Pour-Khorshid 2018). Despite how spaces that centre SOC voices, also known as affinity spaces, have been fought for and expanded on within higher education and student affairs (Keels 2019), these types of spaces are less commonly developed within the classroom. Curricula within the US higher education context has largely been driven by faculty; they develop programme requirements, design courses and determine objectives where the opportunities for students to exercise their voice is often limited, or at most within the confines of assignments, discussions, projects or course evaluations (Brown and Atkins 2002). Within this larger context of schooling is the reckoning of what is higher education curricula within the United States and more specifically who is and is not centred. Scholars have emphasized the need for co-creation and partnership within the classroom, especially in efforts to centre the experiences and navigation of marginalized students (Cook-Sather et al. 2019; Cook-Sather and Seay 2021). In this, students are not merely represented through assignments but also active contributors to the design and execution of curricula.

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This chapter highlights one such example. In response to the need to create an affinity space that decentres whiteness in the classroom and thereby afford students the opportunity to explore their own identities and experiences, graduate students at Miami University, a historically white institution, developed a for-credit course, Racialized Realities in Higher Education. Established in 2020, the course utilizes participatory-action and community-fostered facilitation to flip the power dynamics within the classroom. Driven by student instructors, the course content, assignments, readings and goals are developed, assessed and re-evaluated by the students themselves. Through an intentional design with multiple check points and community circle spaces, students engaged in Racialized Realities are able to share their perspectives and experiences in what they deem to be a safe (see Leonardo 2010) environment. Beyond sharing themselves, students played the primary and active role in decision-making at the classroom-level. By establishing this as a forcredit course for the programme, the course serves as a case study on how to institutionalize transformative change through students partnering with other students to co-create courses.

Creating This Chapter Our perspectives, driven from our positions and experiences, include the creators of the course, students who experienced it and co-instructors: Sydney Feeney, Tristen Hall, Mecca Abdul-Aziz and Katherine S. Cho. More specifically, Sydney and Tristen developed the course and co-taught it in the first year with Denise Taliaferro Baszile. In the second year, Tristen and Mecca (who was a student in the course in the first year) then co-instructed the course with Cho who served as the faculty instructor. While both student and faculty instructors determined the objectives and overall course design, the former determined the course readings, created the assignments and facilitated the class; the latter offered feedback, helped co-facilitate classes when needed and provided administrative, logistical and pedagogical support. The motivations and positions of everyone have shaped not only the construction of the course but also how this narrative has been written. Who We Are For Tristen, a PhD candidate in the Student Affairs in Higher Education (SAHE) programme at Miami University, their larger research agenda focuses on race and racism, and relationality, and, through a critical race and transformative justice lens, seeks to examine the complexities of multiple marginalized identities and solidarity building. Tristen’s involvement with the Racialized Realities course was guided by the desire to put theory to practice. Leaning on their past experiences of being a facilitator for Intergroup Dialogue and having served on the Graduate Students of Color Association’s executive board between 2020 and 2022, they wanted to provide an intentional curriculum and a racial affinity classroom space for graduate SOC. Similarly, Sydney Feeney who graduated from the SAHE programme in 2021, was inspired by past work in advocating and supporting minoritized students through the implementation of identity centred programming and curricula. In understanding and writing about her experience co-instructing the Racialized Realities course, she drew on her past experiences of working with various identity-based organizations to foster inclusive environments for the marginalized, which has been further informed in her role as an Assistant Director of Engagement and Belonging in the Center for Diversity and Social Justice Programs at Wentworth Institute of Technology. 386

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Having experienced the course during her first year of SAHE (2020–1) and then becoming a co-instructor during 2021–2, Mecca Abdul-Aziz’s underlying drive within the field of higher education and student affairs is centred on the retention of Black, Indigenous and People of Colour who are at four-year postsecondary institutions. Moreover, she is focused on ensuring that SOC not only survives but thrives, finding ways to make predominantly white institutions more accessible for students with intersectional identities. She foregrounded this especially in the evolution of the course in its second year. Joining Mecca during the second year of the Racialized Realities course, Cho served as the faculty instructor from 2021–2. Grounded in her experiences as a scholar, educator, administrator and her identity as an Asian American, Korean American woman, her contribution focused on supporting the student instructors. This included but was not limited to supplementing literature on colourism, racial projects and complicated course conversations to consider the role, culpability and response of colleges in racialized harm. Crafting a Narrative The process of constructing this chapter included multiple conversations, reflections and feedback, not only amongst the founders and instructors (both students and faculty) but also with current and former students, as well as two conference presentations. In doing so, we aimed for this chapter to reflect what the literature illuminates regarding pedagogical partnership (see CookSather and Seay 2021). We view this chapter as both collaborative praxis amongst ourselves and as a community call-in for the ways higher education spaces can and must do better in including and involving students in their academic learning, socialization and experiences – moving away from student input to student partners (Cook-Sather et al. 2019).

The Origins of Racialized Realities The contexts and conditions of SOC are ever-present across and within higher education institutions. While this chapter and this section specifically addresses Miami University, we emphasize the non-uniqueness of our case study context as a necessary reminder and call that we must centre the voices of students, especially marginalized students, across all higher education institutions. Established in 1809, Miami University stands on the homelands of the Myaamia people, in what is historically described as the Ohio River Valley. Branding itself as ‘the public ivy’, the university’s main campus in Oxford, Ohio, serves a little under 19,000 students, of which 2,300 are graduate students (NCES IPEDS 2021–2). Over 70 per cent of Miami University’s students identify as white – its graduate student 84 per cent white. Included in the university’s graduate programmes is the MS in the SAHE programme It is designed as a two-year full-time programme, with graduate assistantships supporting the different functional areas at the university, such as residential life, orientation and academic support services. Parallel Precursors Prior and concurrent to the development of Racialized Realities, Miami University graduate students created the course ‘Critical whiteness’ in 2020. With the growing commitment within the field of student affairs (and education more broadly) to grapple with whiteness and racism, the 387

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course was intended to critically examine how whiteness has been and continues to be normalized in education spaces (see whiteness as property, Harris 1993). Yet, even in the construction of the course, SOC pointed to the centring of whiteness, expressing concerns of how the experiences of racially minoritized students were overlooked or minimized in the blanket critique of whiteness. Aligned in this concern, was a lack of awareness regarding the nuanced experiences of SOC. Sydney observed how SOC peers found themselves having to navigate additional stressors that many of their white peers did not realize, let alone experience, with the graduate transition. The larger Oxford area surrounding Miami University is 79.3 per cent white, which translates into a lower demand for culturally ethnic products. As a result, SOC faced geographic barriers accessing everyday items like multicultural hair care products, ingredients used to prepare their foods or even hairstylists, and found themselves having to travel to larger nearby cities to obtain said necessities. Given the demographics of the university and surrounding community, there were little to no collaborative spaces for SOC to reflect, learn and grow from their shared and unique experiences, absent of white consumption, where SOC experiences primarily serve as opportunities of learning for white students. Much aligned to existing scholarship about the experiences of graduate students in the classroom (Gildersleeve, Croom and Vasquez 2011), SOC at Miami felt that they were educating their white colleagues, peers and even faculty, both in and outside of the class, often at the cost of their own personal experience. This was even more starkly apparent following the murder of George Floyd and the racial reckoning during summer of 2020, antiAsian responses to Covid-19 and the ways SOC were expected to share their experiences with micro-aggressions and explain how to be anti-racist. The lack of collaborative spaces also meant little to no affirmative spaces where students could celebrate the contributions of scholars of colour that were not rooted in trauma (see Tichavakunda 2020). Course materials and trainings that centred learning about SOC identity would rely on tokenism and a hyper surveillance to engage in classroom experiences to ‘share their experiences’ for the class. In one instance from the class, a student shared with the class how their identity as an African American person was used as an example in residence life training, which made them feel greatly uncomfortable and alone as the only African-American person in the room. They described how everyone was looking to them to be the authority on Blackness. Initiating Racialized Realities It is within these conversations and spaces that sets the stage for what would become the Racialized Realities in Higher Education course, a student-created, student-driven course, focused on centring students’ voices. Racialized Realities was designed to explore, understand and support the navigation of SOC. In doing so, students and their voices remained at the forefront in designing course objectives, determining assignments, offering feedback and determining the facilitation and instructional involvement.

Student Designed, Student Driven In year one of the construction of the course, Sydney and Tristen (with Baszile) explored how they could pivot the themes that emerged from the concerns of SOC into productive course materials

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that facilitated everyone’s learning and development. However, they also grappled with the idea of how oneself could be a co-contributor of their own learning and development. These initial conversations, dreaming and planning began a year prior (in Fall 2019); yet, with Covid-19 and the (continued) violence against Black Americans and harassment against Asian Americans, the entire course trajectory changed. The course moved away from teaching about the ‘status quo’ or current conditions to consider how to give students autonomy over their learning environment and course materials. In year two, these objectives were further concretized through Tristen and Mecca (with Cho), with added emphasis on structural oppression and complicating the interracial dynamics of allyship and solidarity. Yet even with the evolutions, what remained constant was the focus of community along with the critical content. Centring Relationships and Care The intentional design for community as a theme to foreground the course objectives pivotally influenced how students and their perspectives, voices and opinions shaped the co-constructed learning. During the first week of class, students co-constructed the meaning of community, to further amplify student voices in the space; significant consideration was given to what students wanted to learn and their expectations for the course. Fostering this foundation became crucial in how students engaged with one another and the course materials and began to build a level of rapport that allowed them to emotionally share how they made connections. Course facilitators not only offered office hours for students, but they also offered check-ins with students who seemed to be struggling with certain concepts or aspects of the course or life in general. This form of check-ins centre what Cook-Sather et al. (2019) describes as opportunities for student consultation to lend their voice. What is significant in our construction is the multifaceted levels of consultancy; students were consultants to the student co-instructors, who were consulting to the faculty. This value of pedagogical partnership extended beyond the classroom, harkening back to the context by which SOC do not feel seen in predominantly white spaces or schools. In the second year of the course, the optional ending activity included a visit to one of the largest international grocery markets for students and addressed the food-related needs of students while sharing the forty-minute transportation cost. These types of intentional constructions reinforced the centrality of care – care that is often minimized and rejected in the face of neoliberal constructions of higher education (See Na et al., forthcoming). Interconnected Curricula Alongside the theme of community, the course structure involved three interconnected segments that would build off each other each week: history, contemporary contexts and practical applications. In the first segment of the course, students examined not only key historical events in higher education but also the contexts specific to the campus and their experiences leading to being a student at Miami. Through students’ reflection of their own personal history, interwoven with larger narratives regarding immigration, settler colonialism and racism, the course held both tensions of the uniqueness within each individual student and the shared experiences of being an SOC in higher education.

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Connecting the historical content of the course materials was focused on what was happening in the now, inviting students to become partners in the ongoing class design process and having a voice in determining what topics they wanted to address – that is, valuing their input and knowledge as central to course construction (see de Bie et al. 2019). Students were tasked to determine two to three course materials (e.g. articles, podcasts, videos) to share with their peers about issues that they considered critical in considering the racialized realities of being an SOC in higher education. In doing so, the weeks’ readings and discussions began deeper, richer, more meaningful conversations. Moreover, we carefully considered and reflected on how we might be more inclusively intersectional regarding the experiences of trans folx, undocumented students, those who are formerly incarcerated and countercultural community via social media. These reflections offered robust dialogues in parsing the differences between allyship and advocacy, digging into the impact of colourism, and how we might engage in knowledge construction ourselves. The concluding segment of the course was for application: how SOC could navigate the historic and present contexts. Sydney, Tristen and Mecca, in the different years of the course, utilized their connections and invited student affairs practitioners, at all stages (including entrylevel, mid-level, and senior-level) to share about their agency and advice in navigating their careers. As part of the applicability of the course, students completed an ‘advocacy’ assignment where they wrote an email to advocate for a promotion or express a racialized concern. Feedback and subsequent conversations focused on phrasing, how to craft talking points for what felt like difficult conversations and the balance on how to push back against institutional or structural racism. Students were provided with a multifaceted approach on how we make sense of trauma and oppression, ways to navigate it and how to deter from further perpetuating our own biases.

Maintaining Student Voice through Intention, Structure and Course Materials Centring student voice for a formal class setting requires intentionality in instruction. Countless scholars, especially those steeped in ethnic studies and teacher education, have pushed for greater engagement with students and seeing them not as individuals to be worked on (see ‘banking model of education’ from Freire 2000) but instead partners to learn with and from (see de Bie et al. 2019). This framing meant that students were not only co-instructors of the course but also the curricular leaders to determine the course objectives, assignments, materials and even class activities and facilitators. While faculty (or the instructor on record) offered input and guidance, the intentional framing of ‘student-led’ and ‘student-driven’ translated to the students setting the tone, pace and culture of the class. Logistically, the instruction team consisted of one faculty member (or instructor on record) and two teaching assistants – specifically, a doctoral-level student and a masters-level student. (Institutional policies constrained title designations for students.) As a graduate-level course, elective based, the course composition was driven by individuals who wanted to take the class. Word of mouth helped with recruitment and cohort-based masters programmes also helped with course enrolment numbers. In being both a for-credit yet non-required class, students came into the class ready to engage with the course content and arguably even more so when they realized it was determined by themselves and their peers. Thus, over the span of weekly 2.5-hour classes 390

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over ten weeks, the course served as an embodiment of how the invitation of student voice in the curricula would and does beget more voice, involvement and engagement by students through its intentional, multi-layered course materials and assignments. Co-facilitators used non-traditional teaching methods via course materials like public scholarship, podcasts, video clips, Spotify playlists and various reflective activities that helped students further connect to the course materials – all of which, based on student feedback, helped reinforce the themes of the class. Student assignments included weekly reflections, group work as well as presented peer facilitations on a topic that related to the course objectives. This practice helped flip who was considered the ‘expert’ in the classroom and reinforced the shared learning and teaching of the course objective, aligning to what research has suggested about the importance of confidence and empowerment (see Cook-Sathers et al. 2019; de Bie 2019). Rather than having a final exam to demonstrate one’s ability to repeat information, students engaged in a final conversation with the instructional team. This was the best platform for students to demonstrate what they had learned in the course and about themselves that could be articulated in a safe space (free of peer pressure, performance and the fear of bad grades). In the course evaluations, many of the students wrote about how much they valued this format and freedom. Simply put, it was a class for us, by us.

Building a (Counter)Space: Perspectives from the Students In alignment to the course objectives, Racialized Realities was embedded with various avenues of feedback. Some of these perspectives were drawn from class assignments and discussions, while others were presented through opportunities at national conferences. At the 2022 annual meeting of NASPA: Student Affairs Professional conference, Tristen and Mecca crafted a panel with former and current students in Racialized Realities. As part of the panel, students discussed how having Racialized Realities served as a counter-space to help them navigate issues they may face when they enter the field when advocating for their students or themselves. Throughout the course, especially in its second year, students critically considered what it meant to thrive or survive in the spaces they occupied, having marinated on Love’s quote, ‘It is the work of pursuing freedom. It is the work of our survival, and how we will one day thrive together’ (Love 2019: 9). Collaboratively, they constructed a group spoken word that outlined their healing process and the overall impact of the course, which was shared at the panel as an artistic piece that tied the presentation together and allowed the students to express their voices during the space. We share a portion of it here, with permission from the co-panelists (and their self-identified descriptors) – each of which starts with the prompt ‘In this space, I have…’ for students to complete: In this space I have been seen, heard, and respected. My experiences have been validated and I have discovered a community I never thought I would need. Alyssa Westberry (Black, queer woman, Fall 2020 student) In this space I have gained a community who implicitly understands. I have gained the privilege of being understood, of not having to explain, of not having to expend my energy on getting on the same page. I have gained the privilege of being able to trust and of being trusted. I will often think back fondly on this precious and 391

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much-missed space. Gabby Spencer (Cisgender queer woman and American Latina, Fall 2021 student) In this space I have found a community, where I cannot find in other areas. In this space I have been able to keep my racial fatigue guard down. In this space, I can breathe, think and find black joy. Mecca Abdul-Aziz (Black woman, Fall 2020 student; Fall 2021 instructor) What is profound with each of these statements is the use of community and that elevating student voices translates into growing in relationship with one another. Even further, this community results in what Alyssa describes as validation, even for experiences that Gabby describes as not needing to be explained. As a result, centring student voice creates a platform in which they can embrace their authenticity with their multifaceted identities – not worrying about racial barriers or performing in ways that historically have been oppressive to communities of colour (see Cho 2021; de Bie et al. 2019; Museus 2020). In this space, students could just be as is emphasized here: Each week, I look forward to the racialized identities class because in this space it is the only time I get to be my authentic self. I appreciate that I was kept in the same class with people with similar experiences, interests, and backgrounds. One major thing I feel connects us all together is the idea of racism and how we are oppressed, and I like how we found strength in that and encouraged each other. This class was particularly helpful in dealing with my imposter syndrome as it was a place of encouragement for me and a constant charge to me that I belong here and I can do this. Ruth Oluwafemi (African Nigerian woman, Fall 2021) For Ruth and other members who shared, the incorporation of student voice was not merely a passive expression but an encouragement, even challenge, to show up and reaffirm their place in the classroom and move towards epistemic justice (see de Bie et al. 2019). The feelings and expressions shared here align well with what we know about the extracurricular spaces of student development, particularly amongst racially minoritized students (see Keels 2019), and the critical necessity for cultivating such spaces. What is additionally emphasized from creating a course like Racialized Realities is how these spaces can and must be integrated within the classroom, in this space.

Lessons Learned and Future Directions Throughout the process of creating and evolving this course we faced several challenges that provided insight into potential recommendations for other students or faculty who may be interested in developing a similar platform to elevate the expertise of students, especially SOC, within a curricular context. While the course was intentionally designed as an academic space for SOC, this type of classification mirrors the limitations in similar identity-based programmes or curricula in higher education. Racialized categories and naming are significant considerations in all aspects of programming that centre racial identity, but in doing so, they can result in polarizing or limiting experiences for multiracial or international students. In response, the students determined course readings to complicate the use of language and acronyms, recognizing the ways ‘student of colour’, as a term, is not a global or all-encompassing descriptor nor does it address the complexities of anti-Blackness. There is power in naming, culture and belonging, 392

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and likewise, there is a need to have language for coalescence and community allyship. Within Racialized Realities, this dynamic required us to grapple with significant constructs such as colourism, passing (as white), differences in international and geographic contexts and living with multiple, intersectional, marginalized identities. What this also resulted in was a highly fluid course for each year, given class composition. The course development and curriculum were broad enough to include the myriad of historical and social contexts and the lived experiences of many different racially marginalized groups, but also specific enough to be relevant to the makeup of students within the class as well as current issues in the field and in larger society – which is well aligned with the ongoing literature surrounding affinity spaces in higher education and the unique challenge of meeting the needs of a diverse array of students and the many different social identities they carry with them (Almandrez and Lee 2011; Miller 2018). These types of courses, ones that challenge ourselves and our learning, require multifaceted layers of labour, both from the students as well as the instructors. For the latter, this work translated to facilitating dialogues; mitigating and clarifying disagreements; offering reflection, on top of the instructional roles of creating objectives; designing lesson plans ;and making slides. While this labour was acknowledged for the student instructors through independent studies and/ or practicum hours (to support credit-bearing processes), there needs to be concretized ways to minimize the in/visible labour students often do, in order to make the classroom their space. While the instructional team met weekly, student instructors and faculty instructors also met to hold space and decompress from the course, brainstorming creative solutions to problems and also debriefing about the ongoings of the world. These meetings happened over meals, following class, over phone calls, but centred on the ways we needed to radically check-in with one another. This is especially critical when considering the ways students, and instructors, are navigating present realities and tragedies within and outside of the institution as they are facilitating a space for students in the course to cope with the same occurrences. Above all, courses that centre student voices, as co-constructors of knowledge and learners, require both faculty and institutional support. With the former that required for faculty to ‘let go’, embrace the humility needed to be a constant learner and value students as pedagogical partners (see Cook-Sather et al. 2019; Cook-Sather and Seay 2021). It also required then for the instruction team to be fluid in issues and critically aware of what was happening in the world. From a programmatic level, shared teaching spurred important conversations about the impact of course evaluations and the differential ways this would impact the faculty member, who served as the instructor on record, compared to the student instructors. On an institutional level, Racialized Realities, as a course, had a concurrent sibling sequence entitled ‘Critical Whiteness’. The politics to create a course like this depends not only on institutional support but also a praxis and investment in recognizing the pedagogical consequences of how these spaces, when badly designed, re-create racial trauma and harm. The politics of teaching a course on race and racism is even more precarious given the present context of legislation built on attacking critical race theory (CRT). Yet, what is clear in the organization, construction and delivery of this course is how critically necessary it is for students’ development, sense of belonging and ultimately academic achievement both through and post graduate school. Future iterations of the course will need to creatively consider how to deliver a course of this nature against the continuing anti-CRT movement. Other programmes looking to replicate the course will also need to be diligent about how this course aligns with the policies slated by 393

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their departments and institutions (as well as a commitment to support students as pedagogical partners in this fight towards epistemic justice; see Cook-Sather, Gauthier and Foster 2020). One notable issue was class enrolment size. Graduate SOC are still underrepresented (Okahana and Zhou 2019) and therefore it may be difficult to reach required enrolment numbers for a full course. Challenges, such as these institutional barriers regarding course enrolment, necessitate institutional support if future iterations of classes like these can and must continue.

The Importance of Voice: A Collective Reflection We shared about the catalyst, process and evolution of exercising student voice to create a curriculum that reflects themselves and the racialized experiences within higher education – navigating their identities in white spaces on campuses and utilizing intersectional perspectives; crafting outcomes to support students’ professional development; and interrogating the impact of colorism and current events that continue shaping US higher education. These things are embedded in the richness that acknowledges students, particularly SOC, as experts in their own right, regarding the curricula they can and do bring into the classroom and for themselves. In closing, we offer a reflection from each of the student instructors and then faculty instructor, in their critical role of designing and evolving this course:

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Sydney Feeney:

Moving to Oxford was one of the more difficult experiences in my life that I did not foresee. Growing up in predominantly Black and Hispanic neighborhoods, schools, and even the extracurricular activities I participated in, I was always in the majority. It wasn’t until I moved to Oxford where I became hyper-aware that I was a minority and the apparent demographics of those pursuing a bachelor’s degree, vs. those pursuing a masters/doctoral degree was abundantly different. I am grateful that when I approached my faculty member at the time [about the struggles my peers and I were facing], I was met from a place of empathy and understanding, and most importantly, action. From imagination to an academic and personal endeavor, I hope this class can continue to evolve and benefit students for years to come. In co-creating this course, sometimes, we’re our best teachers both absent of and influenced by outside perspectives. Furthermore, being able to co-create this course was even more fulfilling along with a partner. I had the opportunity to build a new foundation and connect with Tristen Hall and Dr. Denise Taliaferro-Baszile, who challenged me and helped me to evolve as a rising scholar-practitioner. The process of creating and facilitating the course was liberating, endearing, and has forever changed the way I approach teaching and learning.

Tristen A. Hall:

From the moment I was asked to join the course development team in the first year of my PhD program, I felt that my voice

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had value and could be used in ways I did not expect until maybe in my last year or even until pursuing a career in faculty. While I had teaching experience, I never built a syllabus and had only created a few assignments. There was a lot of trust in our growing expertise as students as we crafted our vision for a space for graduate SOC to a full syllabus and class experience. This was really important because we could truly take ownership of the project and feel confident that our abilities and lived experiences would guide us to create a meaningful space for the students who would enroll in the course. As an instructor for two years – moving into three, what I am most grateful for is the joy that this course has created for SOC and for myself. The PhD process can be extremely isolating past coursework. Remote learning and the global pandemic have exacerbated this feeling, but within the Racialized Realities classroom whether online or in person, I feel that I have a stronger network. I am able to occupy a really significant space of being an educator and mentor to students who often share similar experiences in a PWI, but also a spectator and a mentee to our instructors on record and the wealth of knowledge that is teased out through the course. Mecca Abdul-Aziz I had the chance to be a student in the first racialized realities course when I entered the Student Affairs program. As I embarked on my journey of taking the course, I easily felt a sense of belonging and felt like I could let more of my guard down. As a student, I felt like I could show up and be while learning about my cohort’s experiences—this feeling of comfort continued as I moved to co-teaching the course. I still wrestle with the idea of thriving or surviving, but I don’t want to feel confined to pick just one, I want to accomplish both in my lifetime – something I emphasized while co-creating the course. I somehow want both of them as I navigate White America and I wanted students to want both too. Katherine S. Cho: I dreamt of a class like this when I was an undergraduate, masters, and doctoral student. In transitioning from being a student who critiqued classes for being too Eurocentric to becoming a faculty member making the difficult decisions of what to include in a syllabus (and grappling with internalized constructions of ‘canon’), being part of an instructional team concretized why student feedback and course design involvement should not be limited to mid-semester or endof-semester evaluations. And even in this, it shouldn’t be student feedback, as a response to curricula, but an intentional 395

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integration of their knowledge and experiences. Even seeing myself represented in the readings and activities, felt like what in many ways this course is: a form of collective healing with the scars we inevitably carry as marginalized individuals. (emphasis added) We recognize that our narrative and case study in student voice and pedagogical partnership can and does exist in hundreds of other pockets in higher education. Even further, we recognize that courses like these do not exist without action. Brown discusses how meaningful or micro-scale interactions are and believes that ‘what we practice at a small scale can reverberate to the largest scale’ (brown 2017: 52). While caucused spaces are expected across higher education, often through the form of student organizations, we share our reflections of how student voice can and must improve the curricular experiences of students, especially those at the margins (see de Bie 2019). The implications of a course like this, even on the small scale, illuminates not only the value of students’ voice but also the necessity that they are able to direct the conversation: that this pedagogical partnership does not just enhance the learning taking place in higher education but is a critical necessity for us to grow and evolve. It offers a level of criticality, encouragement, validation and joy that improves education and educational spaces so that in this space, we can be ourselves.

References Almandrez, M. A., and F. J. Lee (2011), ‘Bridging Integrated Identities to Integrated Services’, in D. L. Stewart (ed.), Multicultural Student Services on Campus: Building Bridges, Re-Visioning Community, 107–21, Sterling: Stylus. Bowles, S., and H. Gintis (1976), Schooling in Capitalist America: Educational Reform and the Contradictions of Economics Life, New York: Basic Books. Brown, A. M. (2017). Emergent Strategy: Shaping Change, Changing worlds. Chico, CA: AK Press Brown, G., and M. Atkins (2002), Effective Teaching in Higher Education, London: Routledge. Cho, K. S. (2021), ‘In Praxis: Creating a (Web)Site of Resistant and Disrupting the Hidden Curricula of Academic Socialization’, Journal Committed to Social Change on Race and Ethnicity, 7 (2): 208–17. Cook-Sather, A., and K. Seay (2021), ‘“I Was Involved as an Equal Member of the Community”: How Pedagogical Partnership Can Foster a Sense of Belonging in Black, Female Students’, Cambridge Journal of Education, 51 (6): 733–50. https://www.tand​fonl​ine.com/epr​int/QXRZD​MGSM​3YQP​ ZFNG​DPQ/full?tar​get=10.1080/03057​64X.2021.1926​926 (accessed 21 June 2023). Cook-Sather, A., L. Gauthier and M. Foster (2020), ‘The Role of Growth Mindsets in Developing Pedagogical Partnership Programs: Findings from a Cross-Institutional Study’, Journal of Educational Innovation, Partnership and Change, 6 (1). Cook-Sather, A., S. Krishna Prasad, E. Marquis and A. Ntem (2019), ‘Mobilizing a Culture Shift on Campus: Underrepresented Students as Educational Developers’, New Directions for Teaching and Learning, 159: 21–30. https://online​libr​ary.wiley.com/toc/15360​768/2019/2019/159. de Bie, A., E. Marquis, A. Cook-Sather and L. P. Luqueño (2019), ‘Valuing Knowledge(s) and Cultivating Confidence: Contributions of Student–Faculty Pedagogical Partnerships to Epistemic Justice’, in J. Hoffman, P. Blessinger and M. Makhanya (eds), Strategies for Fostering Inclusive Classrooms in Higher Education: International Perspectives on Equity and Inclusion (Vol. 16), 35–48, Bingley, UK: Emerald Publishing Limited. https://doi.org/10.1108/S2055-364​1201​9000​0016​004. Espinoza, M. L., and S. Vossoughi (2014), ‘Perceiving Learning Anew: Social Interaction, Dignity, and Educational Rights’, Harvard Educational Review, 84 (3): 285–313.

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Freire, P. (2000), Pedagogy of the Oppressed, trans. M. B. Ramos, 30th edn, New York: Continuum. Gildersleeve, R. E., N. N. Croom and P. L. Vasquez (2011), ‘ “Am I Going Crazy?!”: A Critical Race Analysis of Doctoral Education’, Equity & Excellence in Education, 44 (1): 93–114. Harris, C. I. (1993), ‘Whiteness as Property’, Harvard Law Review, 106 (8): 1707–91. Keels, M. (2019), Campus Counterspaces: Black and Latinx Students’ Search for Community at Historically White Universities, Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Leonardo, Z. (2010), ‘Pedagogy of Fear: Toward a Fanonian Theory of “Safety” in Face Dialogue’, Race Ethnicity and Education, 13 (2): 139–57. Love, B. (2019), We Want to Do More Than Survive: Abolitionist Teaching and the Pursuit of Educational Freedom, Boston: Beacon Press. Ludlow, J. (2004), ‘From Safe Space to Contested Space in the Feminist Classroom’, Transformations: The Journal Of Inclusive Scholarship And Pedagogy, 15 (1): 40–56. Miller, R. A. (2018), ‘Toward Intersectional Identity Perspectives on Disability and LGBTQ Identities in Higher Education’, Journal of College Student Development, 59 (3): 327–46. Museus, S. D. (2020), ‘Humanizing Scholarly Resistance: Toward Greater Solidarity in Social Justice Advocacy within the Neoliberal Academy’, International Journal of Qualitative Studies in Education, 33 (2): 140–50. Na, V. S., H. Hyun White, E. P-K. Hui and K. S. Cho (Forthcoming), ‘Embodying a Praxis of Care: The Urgency of Carework in Supporting Student Activists’, New Directions for Student Services, 2022: 83–96 National Center for Education Statistics (2021–2), Integrated Postsecondary Education Data System ‘Miami University Oxford’ Institution Profile, Washington, DC: NCES. Okahana, H., and E. Zhou (2019), Graduate Enrollment and Degrees: 2008 to 2018, Oakland, CA: Council Of Graduate Schools. Pour-Khorshid, F. (2018), ‘Cultivating Sacred Spaces: A Racial Affinity Approach to Support Critical Educators of Color’, Teaching Education, 29 (4): 318–29. Tichavakunda, A. A. (2020), ‘Studying Black Student Life on Campus: Toward a Theory of Black Placemaking in Higher Education’, Urban Education: 1–28. US Department of Education, National Center for Education Statistics, Integrated Postsecondary Education Data System (IPEDS) (Winter 2020–21), ‘Admissions Component’, Oxford: Miami University. Wilder, C. S. (2013), Ebony and Ivy: Race, Slavery, and the Troubled History of America’s Universities, London: Bloomsbury Publishing. Zuberi, T., and E. Bonilla-Silva (2008), White Logic, White Methods: Racism and Methodology, Lanham: Rowman and Littlefield Publishers.

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Listening to Students’ Voices through Pedagogical Partnerships in Higher Education: Insights from China AMRITA KAUR AND YUSHENG TANG

The discourse on student voice has been around for some time and has eventually become synonymous with active student engagement. The idea of student voice is embedded in the moral and ethical imperative to democratize students’ education processes by allowing them to become change agents (Taylor and Robinson 2009). Scholars and practitioners at all educational levels have tried to improve institutional structures and associated practices to nurture students’ ownership, creativity and accountability for transformative learning experiences (Cook-Sather 2019; Healey, Flint and Harrington 2014). The central objective has been to change students’ roles from passive receivers of knowledge to active creators of their educational experiences. The literature in higher education demonstrates that student voice initiatives have transitioned from formal and ceremonial to participatory and experiential in the past decades. There are instances of students’ involvement in institutional issues such as quality assurance projects (Williams and Cappuccino-Ansfield 2007), professional development of staff (Campbell 2007) to curriculum development activities in classrooms (Brooman, Darwent and Pimor 2015) across various disciplines in higher education. These activities allowed students to dialogue with people in power positions at their educational institutions and participate in the decision-making process concerned with their learning. Nevertheless, scholars seeking to minimize the gap between theory and practice of student voice raised concerns that ‘student voice might be co-opted to produce surface compliance rather than deeper modes of reflection and engagement’ (Taylor and Robinson 2009: 163). They identified traditional power relations between student and teacher, authenticity and inclusion (Rudduck and Fielding 2006) as three major roadblocks to conceiving student voice as truly participatory, democratic and transformative. An authentic model for student voice in higher education would include enabling conditions for students’ direct involvement and demonstrating ‘listening to action’ in response to their voices. Seale (2010) identified five main roles for participatory student voice: student as a storyteller, student as teacher or facilitator, student as evaluator or informant, student as stakeholder or representative and student as consumer or customer. According to the author, these roles illustrate participatory methods for student voice activities and facilitate direct involvement of students

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to break the traditional power relations between student and teacher. Another radical suggestion for direct involvement and active participation of students came from The Welsh Assembly (2009: 15), which mentioned, ‘Students are partners in the higher education experience, with imagination, innovation and creativity … Students are more than passive consumers of learning, they are active contributors to improving the learning environment and, collectively, to being a force for influence and change’. To this, Healey, Flint and Harrington (2014) offered a conceptual model with four broad areas where students can partner with faculty, staff and other members of an institution to become active contributors to learning and teaching. The areas are learning, teaching and assessment; subject-based research and inquiry; scholarship of teaching and learning; and curriculum design and pedagogical consultancy. Since then, students as partners (SaP) has emerged as a powerful practice to incorporate students’ voices in a participatory and experiential manner. The assumptions of SaP resonate with the statement made by The Welsh Assembly (2009) that students possess different forms of expertise emanating from their standpoint of being a learner and their insights can be unique and valuable to learning and teaching. SaP, a threshold concept, challenges traditionally defined roles for faculty and students (Cook-Sather 2014). It is enacted using values like trust, challenge, authenticity, inclusivity, empowerment, respect, reciprocity and shared responsibility (Cook-Sather, Bovill and Felten 2014; Healey, Flint and Harrington 2014). While student-faculty partnership models offer a fitting landscape for incorporating student voice in higher education, cultural values and traditions in non-Western countries may pose barriers to its application (Iftikhar 2021; Kaur 2020).

Culture and Student Voice Students’ agency, active engagement, decision making and power sharing are the key ingredients of student voice work in higher education (Cook-Sather 2019). However, traditional teacherstudent hierarchy, power distance and perceiving students as inefficient and less competent to contribute sufficiently to learning and teaching has often been an obstacle to realizing the true impact of student voice (Cook-Sather 2019). The marginalization of students in learning spaces and recognition of their expertise is even more pronounced in Asian cultures marked by collectivist values (Kaur 2020). For example, the teacher-student dichotomy in the East highlights the knowledge and expertise gap between teachers and students on two extreme sides of a continuum. It suggests that knowledge and expertise reside with the teacher while students are devoid of it. ‘The teacher is always right’ (Kaur 2020: 146) proclamation reinforces the traditional hierarchy and power distance between student and teacher by indicating that it may be inappropriate for a student to question or contradict the teacher, thus discouraging honest conversations and questioning about teaching learning between students and teachers. Student’s beliefs, for example, the ‘face issue’, which refers to students’ fear of damaging their reputation by doing or saying something inappropriate in the classroom, can limit their participation and engagement in participatory projects (Jonathan 2019). Eventually, these cultural norms become barriers to upholding the value of authenticity, inclusion, empowerment and community central to participatory methods in higher education-based student voice work (Seale 2010). Nevertheless, evidence of student-faculty collaborations in the Asian context (Huang 2019; Kaur, Awang-Hashim and Kaur 2019; Kaur, Noman and Nordin 2017; Kaur and Yong Bing, 400

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2020; Pounder et al. 2016) shine a light on culturally appropriate ways, language and intentions that can facilitate student voice through student-faculty partnerships in Asian contexts. This case study, co-authored by a student partner and a faculty member, shows how pedagogical consultancy in higher education can be a way to incorporate participatory student voices in Asian contexts. The chapter uses reflective accounts and critical incidents experienced during a collaboration by a faculty partner and student partners to demonstrate how such collaborations can be initiated and sustained using context-specific and culturally appropriate ways. The narratives by the faculty member and students show what comprised the enabling conditions to invite student voices. The accounts also illustrate examples of listening to action: how student voice was given a place in teaching and learning through meaningful dialogues. Finally, the reflections share how two term-long partnerships transformed faculty and students.

The Study Context and Participants This project is inspired by the signature programme ‘Students as Learners and Teachers’ (SaLT) of the Teaching and Learning Institute at Bryn Mawr and Haverford Colleges (Cook-Sather 2014). Student consultants in this programme are paired with a faculty member and these students visit their faculty partners’ classes once each week. During the visits, they take observation notes to later discuss with their faculty partner to co-create teaching and learning. While the fundamental SaP values such as trust, respect, reciprocity and shared responsibility that these collaborations are built upon are universal, they can be inspired by the subjective experiences, needs and desires of the individuals involved. For example, the faculty author of this chapter who has previously engaged in a similar initiative with a student partner in the Malaysian context (Kaur and Yong-Bing 2020) is inspired by a desire to create culturally appropriate pedagogy. The student partner in this study was an undergraduate student in his junior year who had a strong desire to collaborate with the faculty member to master the course content and contribute to designing effective instruction. In both contexts, the faculty member is a foreign international academic, largely unfamiliar with cultural nuisances that play a key role in teaching and learning. Thus, engagement in pedagogical consultancy with student partners who are native to the culture becomes even more meaningful as they can draw faculty’s attention to things that faculty as an outsider might have ignored otherwise (Kaur and Yong-Bing 2020). The current partnership was formed at a Sino-American higher education institution in Zhejiang, China. The student population is mainly Chinese, while a large percentage of the faculty members are international. The university offers twenty undergraduate and six graduate programmes, including a doctorate. The office of Research and Sponsored Programme at the university established the Students Partnering with Faculty/Staff research programme in 2016 for science and social sciences disciplines. This institutional policy sponsors a significant number of research grants each year to promote research partnerships between faculty and students; therefore, students are familiar with the idea of collaborating with faculty. However, pedagogical consultancy is still a novelty in this context. The student author is a psychology major from mainland China. He identifies himself as a student who was born with cerebral palsy. This condition affects his speech and movement; however, it does not deter him from active participation in academics. The faculty author is an Indian-born academic who has previously taught in India, Thailand and Malaysia. She has 401

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previously undertaken several student-faculty collaborations and is always open to engaging in new partnerships with students. In his junior year, the student partner voluntarily approached the faculty author with a request to audit a class. During that discussion, he was introduced to the concept of pedagogical partnership. The student partner agreed to read literature on SaP before agreeing to take the position. The student expressed initial reservations and doubts about his abilities and skills in serving as a pedagogical consultant, which we discussed later in the reflections. Eventually, after understanding that his insights would be valuable, he enthusiastically agreed to become a pedagogical consultant. Like past collaborations in Asian contexts (Kaur, Awang-Hashim and Kaur 2019; Kaur, Noman and Nordin 2017), the student partner chose to keep his role anonymous to other students in class. He agreed to attend the faculty partner’s class twice a week and take qualitative observation notes on the faculty’s instruction and student engagement around what is working and what may need revision while participating in in-class activities and discussions with other students. The student partner’s positive experiences of this collaboration inspired him to continue this pedagogical consultancy for another course with the same faculty member the following semester. The reflective accounts and critical incidents shared in this case study are based on two semester-long pedagogical partnership projects.

Methodology We adopted a self-study approach of narrative studies to share our experiences with pedagogical partnerships (Loughran et al. 2004) and demonstrate how pedagogical consultancy in higher education can be a way to incorporate student voices in Asian contexts. Narrative approaches allow the participants to present their subjective experiences in the form of storytelling with thick descriptions of events and/or subjective experiences, whereby the narrative researchers adopt the role of a narrator and also a co-constructor and presenter of the story (Connelly and Clandinin 1990). Additionally, self-study through narrative inquiry in teaching and learning allows socially and contextually situated reflection to facilitate interrogation of teaching and learning through storytelling (Lyons and LaBoskey 2002). Data Collection Continuous dialogue, discussion based on class observation and reflections on experiences are the hallmarks of effective pedagogical partnerships. For systematic record-keeping, the faculty and student partner agreed on keeping notes of observation discussion, personal reflection and critical incidents that impacted personal experiences and discussing face-to-face or remote meetings, agreed on by the pair. These records served as the primary data sources for this case study. The data were recorded throughout the partnership using open-ended prompts such as ‘what were my experiences like in today’s class’, ‘how did I feel about the discussion’ and so on. The data that provided thick visuals and emotional experiences of this partnership were chosen for the analysis. We acknowledge that there are limitations to adopting narrative, specifically the self-study approach. The process can be laborious and time-consuming (Adler et al. 2017) and may present subjective 402

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bias. Nevertheless, the application of robust analytical methods and a thick description of data can lend trustworthiness to narrative inquiry. Data Analysis While there is no fixed set of procedures to analyse the stories (Horowitz 2001), we utilized thematic analysis (Braun and Clarke 2013). It included individually reading and coding the entire data set, collaboratively creating categories, searching and finalizing the themes. We categorized our data into three primary themes: inviting voices – (1) creating enabling conditions, listening to voices to change, (2) pedagogical transformation for teaching and learning and (3) impact of voices: faculty and student partner gains. The themes and their order coherently narrate the events and experiences of this pedagogical partnership in the form of a story. The reflections and critical incidents of faculty and student (verbatim) are reported in the first person, whereby the student is identified as Isar and faculty member as Nikki.

Findings Inviting students’ voices for pedagogical partnerships entails creating appropriate and safe spaces for honest conversations intended to introduce change (Kirk et al. 2015). In the current collaboration, those conditions included nurturing and communicating trust, adopting open-mindedness and having the intention to connect (Cook-Sather and Kaur, forthcoming) with each other. Trust is one of the fundamental values for creating meaningful student-faculty partnerships. Ali et al. (2021) define trust in student-faculty partnerships as the ‘process of unsettling preexisting power relations and allowing for a more open reciprocal dynamic: a transformative space’ (18). The narrative further on demonstrates that to dismantle the power structure, the faculty consistently and positively affirmed student partners’ participation in the collaboration and opened communication channels to interact informally. Amrita – My priority was to create a rapport with my student partner to feel comfortable about the entire process and to remove any hesitation or confusion that might come our way. I was aware that such a rapport requires a long time to build, but I also knew that it needed to begin somewhere. I decided to hold frequent conversations with Isar at whatever time I could even while walking together in the hallway. I reminded Isar in the beginning and throughout the collaboration how important his presence was in my classroom by acknowledging his recommendations. I ensured that our meetings were informal and warm. Yusheng – Whenever we had discussions, I was always given a chance to speak first. Nikki will listen first and then provide her opinions and views. I also felt confident when Nikki showed her affirmation and respect for my ideas. To me, it was like she trusted my ideas and suggestions. I was especially thrilled she allowed me to connect through wechat. Faculty normally don’t give access to their personal messaging account, but I was fortunate that Nikki trusted me and allowed me to add her to my wechat. The connection through instant messaging was swift and easy, but it also connected me with Nikki’s informal and casual ways. Especially the use of emoji to communicate helps me express my emotions well. 403

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The partnership process and outcomes are known to be uncertain. The risk of the unknown and feelings of discomfort can be overcome by staying open-minded (Cook-Sather and Kaur, forthcoming). The feeling of uncertainty can stem from several sources, such as disagreements arising from student-faculty interactions (Abbot and Cook-Sather 2020), students’ competency beliefs, cultural compatibility and traditional role definitions (Kaur 2020). The narrative further on demonstrates how faculty and student partners embraced risk and open-mindedness to work through collaboration. Nikki – I encouraged Isar to be honest and straightforward in his feedback. The reminder that he is not enrolled in my class, that he doesn’t have to be diplomatic in giving feedback always worked. Throughout the collaboration, I reminded him that his opinions, especially about what was not working well in class, are of great importance to me. They are neither hurtful or disrespectful to me. I remember when he candidly said, ‘presenting too much content in one session wasn’t working’ to this, I had to explain my side to justify my choices. We went back and forth where I listened to his stance from a student’s standpoint, and he listened to my stance from a faculty’s standpoint. I feel it happened because we embraced open-mindedness and welcomed honest opinions. On another occasion, Isar advised me against providing pre-readings, citing that students didn’t attend to such assignments and told me to include information in the PowerPoint slides instead. I could not come to an agreement with this suggestion; therefore, by using personal anecdotes and research-based information, I was able to argue that even though only a handful of students benefit from good practice, faculty must not discontinue. I constantly reminded myself not to take these suggestions personally. Isar – This role was also a challenge for me as it was not in line with my personality. I am a quiet boy with cerebral palsy conditions who usually don’t have personalized interactions with professors. Honestly, I didn’t have difficulty making suggestions on class observation, but learning to communicate with Nikki verbally or in writing was very challenging. I wanted to make sure I was honest at the same time, not disrespectful. Given my passion for this, I worked hard on finding ways to tell what did not work in class. For example, I tried to use ‘they think’ instead of ‘I think’ while making the suggestions. When my recommendations were rejected, instead of feeling upset or ignored, I tried to understand the reasons behind her approach. Commitment and intention to connect are essential to nurturing effective partnerships between students and faculty (Cook-Sather and Kaur, forthcoming). Faculty members often find themselves balancing a variety of academic responsibilities, and likewise, graduate students have enormous pressure to perform in academic and co-curricular activities. This situation leaves both faculty and student engagement in a partnership programme struggling for time to work together. Nevertheless, an intention both from faculty and student to establish connectedness despite all barriers can help create suitable conditions for co-creation (Cook-Sather and Agu 2013). Nikki – Despite the busy schedules, we both decided to stay connected. We would stay back after our classes or meet briefly before the class began. We registered on

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the instant messaging app called ‘we chat’ to connect informally and share our dayto-day experiences. We also created a shared google document on which we recorded our thoughts and reflection almost after each class. We clearly felt the need for face-to-face discussion, so we decided on a fixed day and time slot, which we both booked exclusively for our discussions. I was very impressed with the dedication and enthusiasm Isar displayed for this collaboration. I especially remember one extremely cold and wet day when enrolled students excused themselves from class for a variety of reasons, but Isar showed up. Isar - Fixed time to meet and discuss was very important for me. Because of our busy schedules, it was difficult for us to choose a time that was right for both of us to discuss the class observation. The meeting before and after classes left me a bit unsatisfied. So I decided to record all the details in word document. Likewise, we met at least once a week to discuss observations. Nikki also used the 15 min gap time she had between the two classes. Listening Voices to Change – Pedagogical Transformation for Teaching and Learning The act of listening to students’ voices goes beyond the physiological response of receiving information through senses, interpreting and responding to it. The essence of participatory collaborations between staff and faculty for student voice involves highlighting the transformation resulting from the continuous dialogue. As Campbell (2007: 4) states, ‘Student’s voice work as about hearing what students say and using what they say to make improvements’. Doing so is even more important in the Asian context to affirm student partners’ competency beliefs (Kaur and Yong-Bing 2020). The narrative further on shows a few examples of how student voice was heard and translated into action in our partnership. Nikki – Two specific examples that come to mind show how Isar’s contribution brought meaningful changes to my classroom pedagogy. The first one is from the Psychology of Adolescence course, where students were asked to share a short description of their identity while learning about adolescent identity development. This activity failed to stimulate any discussion, and students’ outputs were not satisfactory. Isar’s insights into Chinese cultural values helped me gain critical insights into my student’s thinking. Isar told me, ‘Identity exploration is limited in Chinese society and students’ identity is mainly attached with their significant others, so this may be why students were reluctant to share their identity development experiences.’ These insights from the student partner triggered me to integrate culture and its impact on identity development, which in turn led to enriching the module of identity development. Another incident refers to my group formation criteria for class activities, whereby I randomly assign students to small groups, based on diverse disciplines. However, Isar informed me that ‘putting students from different majors and different year of study wasn’t working well’, he explained ‘some students are shy and may be reluctant to speak freely They are concerned with being judged by other students who do not know them well’. As an outsider to Chinese culture, I may have overlooked

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students’ individual differences and preferences which my student partner brought to my attention. As the collaboration went on, the student partner witnessed how his recommendations were translated into action, reinforcing the competency beliefs (Kaur, Kumar and Noman 2021). He also noticed that his traditional roles were transforming and he was a part of non-hierarchical relationships (Cornwall and Jewkes 1995). Finally, he was not a client receiving an education but an agent collaboratively designing his own learning (Huang 2019). Isar – Some of my feedback did indeed help Nikki’s teaching. For example, she improved her time management. Nikki is passionate about sharing lots of information and for this reason, she sometimes slightly exceeds her teaching hours. However, my advice to flip some activities helped her manage time. The culture at WKU is mixed, both Western and Chinese. My teaching feedback has provided Nikki with a lot of information and explanation about Chinese culture, students learning styles, preferences, and thoughts. This has enabled Nikki to teach better by adjusting the contents and activities according to the Chinese context. I think Nikki also implemented the Chinese cultural knowledge about students learning preferences in other classes. I was happy to see that my suggestions were working well most of the time to help her improve her teaching. I also believe that by bringing multiple types of feedback for classroom instruction and curriculum, I was able to bring positive changes through my consultancy. I became the voice of my classmates. At the end of each class, I engaged informal conversations with my peers enrolled in the same class to ask for their feedback on the class. In this way, the feedback from different students was also incorporated in my feedback and conveyed to Nikki through me. Impact of Voices: Faculty and Student Partner Gains Student engagement in participatory approaches is primarily geared towards student empowerment (Seale 2010) which entails intra-personal gains through experiencing the impact of their voice, acquisition of self-efficacy beliefs and sense of self-determination (Zimmerman 1995). While pedagogical collaborations directly impact teaching and learning practices (Abbot and Cook-Sather 2020), it also has the potential to empower both student partner and faculty through academic and personal gains (Kaur and Yong-Bing 2020). In the narrative, the faculty and student partner illustrate their gains. Nikki – Listening to Isar’s voices through pedagogical consultancy has empowered my pedagogical practices in several ways. I have a better understanding of Chinese culture and my student’s preferences and learning styles. This has increased the impact of my instruction on students’ learning and empowered me as a confident faculty in a foreign country who otherwise would have struggled to understand the students and their culture. I have learned ways to engage with students both formally and informally. The most important insights came from students’ motivational processes. I have realized that when they understand the rationale behind the

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faculty’s decision on class instruction or management, they are open and willing to persist. Isar – Whenever Nikki considered my teaching feedback, I felt important and realized I knew more than I thought I did. I began to feel confident, and my image of myself began to change. At the same time, whenever I received a positive response, I felt motivated and became more willing to engage. When I saw the impact of my recommendation my thought about myself and capability completely changed. I also learned to become more responsible, manage my time and overcome some of my challenges as a student. The feeling that I am given an important responsibility gave me purpose. Our conversations and negotiation about the delivery of contents has helped me understand the psychological principles. I have gained insights into teaching principles and choices professors make. For example, I began to understand why the word count requirement for an assignment is reasonable, and why the difficulty level of the exam ranged from moderately easy to very difficult. It helped me grow empathetic about teachers’ position, their struggles, and their perspectives. This was a surprise learning which I didn’t expect to learn at the university.

Discussion The case study demonstrates that pedagogical partnerships have the potential to act as a participatory method for student voice in the Asian higher education context. It illustrates empowerment and transformation, both for the student partner and the faculty, through active participation in teaching and learning. Specifically, student participation reflected in the critical incidents highlights how a distinction between ‘listening and hearing’ (Seale 2010: 998) can be made through dialogues, agreements and disagreements. Nevertheless, what preceded this rich and meaningful process and outcomes are the enabling conditions. The learning spaces in traditional Asian classrooms can sometimes be controlling and/or highly structured (Kaur and Noman 2015), which are incompatible with the ecosystem required for participatory student voice work. In this collaboration, the creation of spaces and working relationships that were warm, welcoming and non-threatening was essential. The faculty and student partner accomplished that by nurturing and communicating trust to each other, adopting open-mindedness and the intention to connect. Trust is fundamental to dismantling the power distance (Ali et al. 2021), especially in Asian learning spaces marked by student-teacher dichotomy. Students often perceive themselves as less competent and lack the confidence to contribute to areas where decision-making power traditionally lies with the teacher (Kaur, Noman and Nordin 2017). In this case, the student partner came to trust the faculty when she opened informal, non-traditional and personal ways to communicate. She consistently affirmed her student partner’s contribution, which made him feel welcomed, removed hesitation to participate and instilled self-belief (Cook-Sather, Bovill and Felten 2014) Keeping an open mind that embraces uncertainty and discomfort as a conceivable outcome or experience of partnership is a crucial component of initiating partnerships. Cook-Sather (in Healey and Healey 2018) states that ‘to do partnership work, one must be willing to be uncertain,

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open, receptive, responsive as well as tentative, humble, courageous, and daring through the give-and-take of developing and sustaining partnership work’ (3). Enacting these adjectives in Asian teaching and learning contexts may come with trepidations for faculty and students. We both needed to learn to grow out of our traditional roles and challenge the assumption that students cannot disagree or question teachers’ decisions (Kaur 2020). In this case study, the faculty and student partner accepted that disagreements are part of such collaborations. The faculty partner’s prior experience with student-faculty collaborations in similar contexts assured that taking backstage or sharing vulnerabilities as a teacher with a student partner is fine. The faculty encouraged the student partner to provide critical and honest feedback by assuring him that those conversations were not hurtful or disrespectful. Also, because the student partner was not an enrolled student in the same class, power struggles were mitigated. The student partner also demonstrated courage to accept a new role while overcoming his personal competency beliefs, challenging physical conditions and finding appropriate ways and language to put forward his disagreements. For example, the student partner conveyed disagreement on behalf of the class using the pronouns ‘they’ instead of ‘I’. Thereby, communicating collective opinion instead of taking individual opportunities saved his face. Issues related to saving face and avoiding embarrassment are considered major impediments to effective student-faculty collaborations in Asian contexts (Jonathan 2019). Commitment to this collaboration is evident in the student’s and faculty member’s accounts of adopting multiple ways to continue this partnership despite time- and resource-related challenges. Their accounts illustrate ways to allocate specific time and use technology to establish consistent communication to overcome the time issue. The commitment to this collaboration was driven by each partner’s reciprocal benefit (Cook-Sather, Bovill and Felten 2014). While the faculty partner was receiving unique cultural insights for improving her pedagogical practices, the student partner had the opportunity to work closely with a faculty partner, have quality one-on-one interactions with them and gain course content knowledge (Awang-Hashim et al. 2022) and finally both were able to establish relatedness. Besides academic and professional benefits, the experiences of connectedness and a sense of belonging, which are central to Asian values, reinforced the commitment to connect (Vansteenkiste et al. 2005). The literature suggests that students and faculty’s commitment to connect in a partnership not only inspires them to overcome the challenges but also establishes a sense of belonging and co-ownership of the initiative (Cook-Sather et al forthcoming). For authentic student voice work, there have been constant calls for listening to action and making a distinction between listening and hearing (Seale 2010). To this, Lundy (2007: 936) argues that giving ‘due weight’ to students’ voices means acknowledging what they said was important and acting upon their suggestions. It doesn’t mean feeling coerced into doing everything students suggested but putting forward their recommendations for due deliberation and translating them into action. The case study reveals that students as pedagogical partners is an effective framework for listening to action practice. The methodology of students as pedagogical consultants requires an iterative engagement similar to classroom action research that allows students to observe their suggestions being incorporated into subsequent classes and their impact. The student partner in this collaboration had not revealed his role to his peers who were enrolled in the classes he observed. He attributed his disguise as an advantage to gathering honest feedback from the students on instruction in class. Partnership work in the Asian cultures reveals student partners’ reluctance to publicly announce their role due to the fear of being judged for 408

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showing off (Jonathan 2019) and/or appearing rude for observing faculty’s teaching (Kaur and Yong-Bing 2020) and/or being misconstrued as ‘native informers’ (Pounder et al. 2016: 1200). Therefore, to enable students to serve as pedagogical consultants by allowing them choices or autonomy to exercise their own judgment and discretion can have positive outcomes in the Asian context. Finally, the changes adopted in the instructional plan and practices based on the student partner’s recommendations reaffirmed the competency beliefs of the student partner (Kaur, Awang-Hashim and Kaur 2019). Also, it challenged the proposition that the faculty member is the only expert in class (Kaur 2020). The powerful potential for positive transformation and empowerment of students as pedagogical consultants is evident throughout the literature (Cook-Sather 2014; Kaur, AwangHashim and Kaur 2019) and also echoes the key ideas of student voice work. Nevertheless, the empowerment in SaP practices is not limited to student empowerment only but includes faculty professional and personal gains. In the current study, student empowerment is evident in the student partner’s expression of feeling confident, realizing his own potential as a competent and critical thinker and revising his self-image. The student partner, motivated by the intention of this collaboration, displayed the courage to overcome his physical, emotional and cognitive abilities and felt elated over his achievements. He also indicated that he acquired skills like thinking clearly and articulating his thoughts coherently. Along with the student partner, the faculty also expressed feeling empowered as an international academic mindful of students’ differences, capable of designing and implementing culturally appropriate pedagogy and establishing a relational and emotional connection with students.

Conclusion The case study used a narrative self-study approach to recount the experiences of faculty and student partners who collaborated in two term-long pedagogical partnerships. The narration was presented under three primary themes: inviting voices: (1) creating enabling conditions, listening to voices to change, (2) pedagogical transformation for teaching and learning and (3) impact of voices: faculty and student partner gains. The themes sequentially illustrated that pedagogical collaboration in higher education can effectively incorporate students’ voices in a participatory and experiential manner in higher education. The findings showed that such participatory methods have a great potential for active student engagement, student and faculty interpersonal gains and introducing positive change in teaching and learning. The case study demonstrates how such collaborations can be sustained using contextspecific and culturally appropriate ways. It highlighted culturally appropriate practices such as (1) consistently affirming student partners for their contributions to building competency beliefs, (2) establishing a connection using personal and informal ways, (3) allowing students to choose whether or not to disclose their roles in public and (4) not putting students in the spotlight to help with face issues. Faculty partners seeking to engage in similar collaboration should adopt openmindedness, be willing to share authority and revise traditional roles. These collaborations have limitations, such as they do not allow the opportunity for many students to engage at once and require time and commitment. Each partnership is context-specific and may look different from the others in terms of its objectives, applications, scale and so on. Nevertheless, the outcomes remain fairly consistent as long as its principles and values are incorporated and enacted. 409

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References Abbot, S., and A. Cook-Sather (2020), ‘The Productive Potential of Pedagogical Disagreements in Classroom-Focused Student-Staff Partnerships’, Higher Education Research & Development, 39 (7): 1–14. Adler, J., W. Dunlop, R. Fivush, J. Lilgendahl, J. Lodi-Smith, D. P. McAdams, K. C. McLean, M. Pasupathi and M. Syed (2017), ‘Research Methods for Studying Narrative Identity’, Social Psychological And Personality Science, 8 (5): 519–27. Ali, X., J. Tatam, K. Gravett and I. M. Kinchin (2021), ‘Partnership Values: An Evaluation of StudentStaff Research Projects at a UK Higher Education Institution’, International Journal for Students as Partners, 5 (1): 12–25. Awang-Hashim, R., A. Kaur, N. Yusof, S. Shanmugam, N. A. A. Manaf, A. M. Zubairi, A. Y. S. Voon and M. A. Malek (2022), ‘Reflective and Integrative Learning and the Role of Instructors and Institutions—Evidence from Malaysia’, Higher Education, 83 (3): 635–54. Braun, V., and V. Clarke (2013), Successful Qualitative Research: A Practical Guide for Beginners, 1–400, London: Sage. Brooman, S., S. Darwent and A. Pimor (2015), ‘The Student Voice in Higher Education Curriculum Design: Is There Value in Listening?’, Innovations in Education and Teaching International, 52 (6): 663–74. Campbell, F. (2007), ‘Hearing the Student Voice: Enhancing Academic Professional Development Through the Involvement of Students’, Educational Developments, 8 (1): 4–8. Connelly, F. M., and D. J. Clandinin (1990), ‘Stories of Experience and Narrative Inquiry’, Educational Researcher, 19 (5): 2–14. Cook-Sather, A. (2014), ‘Student-Faculty Partnership in Explorations of Pedagogical Practice: A Threshold Concept in Academic Development’, International Journal for Academic Development, 19 (3): 186–98. Cook-Sather, A. (2019), ‘Respecting Voices: How the Co-creation of Teaching and Learning Can Support Academic Staff, Underrepresented Students, and Equitable Practices’, Higher Education, 79 (5): 885–901. Cook-Sather, A., C. Bovill and P. Felten (2014), Engaging Students as Partners in Learning and Teaching: A Guide for Faculty, San Francisco: Jossey-Bass. Cook-Sather, A., and P. Agu (2013), ‘Students of Color and Faculty Members Working Together Toward Culturally Sustaining Pedagogy’, in J. E. Groccia and L. Cruz (eds), To Improve the Academy: Resources for Faculty, Instructional, and Organizational Development, 32, 271–85. San Francisco: Jossey-Bass. Cook-Sather, A., and A. Kaur (Forthcoming), ‘Attitudes and Intentions: Constructs from Psychology That Inform the Development of Successful Student-Staff Partnership’, The Journal of Educational Innovation, Partnership and Change, 8 (2). Cook-Sather, A., E. L. Ho, A. Kaur and T. Tamim (Forthcoming), ‘Translating Pedagogical Partnership in/ to Academic Staff Development in the Global South’, in N. Chitanand and S. Rathilal (eds), Academic Staff Development: Disruptions, Complexities, Change (Envisioning new Futures). Cornwall, A., and R. Jewkes (1995), ‘What Is Participatory Research?’ Social Science and Medicine, 41 (2): 1667–76. Healey, M., A. Flint and K. Harrington (2014), ‘Engagement Through Partnership: Students as Partners in Learning and Teaching in Higher Education’, York: Higher Education Academy. Healey, M., and R. Healey (2018), ‘“It Depends”: Exploring the Context-Dependent Nature of Students as Partners Practices and Policies’, International Journal for Students as Partners, 2 (1): 1–10. Horowitz, E. (2001), ‘The Experience of Mothers in Stepfather Families’, Thirdspace: A Journal of Feminist Theory & Culture, 1 (1): 51–72. Huang H. C. (2019), ‘The Possibilities of Students as Partners – A Perspective from Singapore’, Teaching and Learning Together in Higher Education, 27 (1).

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Iftikhar, F. (2021), ‘The Importance of Trust in Student-Faculty Partnerships: My Journey from a Student Partner to a Co-lead of a Pedagogical Partnership Program’, Teaching and Learning Together in Higher Education, 33 (1): 9. Jonathan, Y. H. S. (2019), ‘The “Face” Barriers to Partnership’, Teaching and Learning Together in Higher Education, 27 (4). Kaur, A. (2020), ‘Students as Partners: Challenges and Opportunities in Asia’, International Journal of Students as Partners, 4 (2): 145–9. Kaur, A., and M. Noman (2015), ‘Exploring Classroom Practices in Collectivist Cultures through the Lens of Hofstede’s Model’, The Qualitative Report, 20 (11): 1794–811. Kaur, A., M. Noman and H. Nordin (2017), ‘Inclusive Assessment for Linguistically Diverse Learners in Higher Education’, Assessment & Evaluation in Higher Education, 42 (5): 756–71. Kaur, A., R. Awang-Hashim and M. Kaur (2019), ‘Students’ Experiences of Co-creating Classroom Instruction with Faculty: A Case Study in Eastern Context’, Teaching in Higher Education, 24 (4): 461–77. Kaur, A., and T. Yong Bing (2020), ‘Untangling the Power Dynamics in Forging Student-Faculty Collaboration’, in A. Cook-Sather and C. Wilson (eds), Building Courage, Confidence, and Capacity in Learning and Teaching through Student-Faculty Partnership, 64–72, Lexington Books. Kaur, A., V. Kumar and M. Noman (2021), ‘Partnering with Doctoral Students in Research Supervision: Opportunities and Challenges’, Higher Education Research and Development, 1 (15). Kirk, C. M., R. K. Lewis, K. Brown, B. Karibo, A. Scott and E. Park (2015), ‘The Empowering Schools Project’, Youth and Society, 49 (6): 827–47. Loughran, J. J., M. L. Hamilton, V. K. LaBoskey and T. Russell, eds (2004), International Handbook of Self-Study of Teaching and Teacher Education Practices’ The Netherlands: Kluwer. Lundy, L. (2007), ‘“Voice” is Not Enough: Conceptualising Article 12 of the United Nations Convention on the Rights of the Child’, British Educational Research Journal, 33 (6): 927–42. Lyons, N., and V. K. LaBoskey (2002), ‘Why Narrative Inquiry or Exemplars for a Scholarship of Teaching?’ in N. Lyons and V. K. LaBoskey (eds), Narrative Inquiry in Practice: Advancing the Knowledge of Teaching, 11–27, New York: Teachers College Press. Pounder, J. S., E. Ho Hung-Lam and J. M. Groves (2016), ‘Faculty-Student Engagement in Teaching Observation and Assessment: A Hong Kong Initiative’, Assessment & Evaluation in Higher Education, 41 (8): 1193–205. Rudduck, J., and M. Fielding (2006), ‘Student Voice and the Perils of Popularity’, Educational Review, 58 (2): 219–31. Seale, J. (2010), ‘Doing Student Voice Work in Higher Education: An Exploration of the Value of Participatory Methods’, British Educational Research Journal, 36 (6): 995–1015. Taylor, C., and C. Robinson (2009), ‘Student Voice: Theorizing Power and Participation’, Pedagogy, Culture & Society, 17 (2): 161–75. Vansteenkiste, M., M. Zhou, W. Lens and B. Soenens (2005), ‘Experiences of Autonomy and Control among Chinese Learners: Vitalizing or Immobilizing?’, Journal of Educational Psychology, 96 (3): 755–64. Welsh Assembly Government (2009), For Our Future: The 21st Century Higher Education Strategy and Plan for Wales. http://wales.gov.uk/docs/dce​lls/publi​cati​ons/091​214h​estr​ateg​yen.pdf (accessed 5 July 2022). Williams, J., and G. Capuccino-Ansfield (2007), ‘Fitness for Purpose? National and Institutional Approaches to Publicising the Student Voice’, Quality in Higher Education, 13 (2): 159–72. Zimmerman, M. A. (1995), ‘Psychological Empowerment: Issues and Illustrations’, American Journal of Community Psychology, 23 (1): 581–99.

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‘It’s Quite a Responsibility. If It All Goes Haywire Just Because of Something You Said’: Student Voice in Curriculum Redesign across the University DIDI M. E. GRIFFIOEN, LINDA VAN OOIJEN-VAN DER LINDEN, LARA WOUTERS AND FEMKE BERGENHENEGOUWEN

An increase can be seen in the enthusiasm for partnering with students in all aspects of higher education (Matthews and Dollinger 2022), extending its interest from mainly Anglo-Saxon institutions to universities in European countries (Deca 2010; Klemenčič et al. 2017) and on to other continents (Jjuuko et al. 2019; Liang and Matthews 2021). Whilst there is this increase in enthusiasm, many projects and programmes are not systematically researched, which results in a potentially large local influence but reduces the systematic knowledge of student-partnerships, not disregarding systematic and public efforts to walk the talk (e.g. the International Journal for Students-As-Partners, see Cook-Sather et al. 2021). This chapter presents the results of a five-year strategic project in which students were positioned as partners at all levels of a large university-wide curriculum change project. This project was funded by the Dutch Ministry of Education as a Comenius Leadership Fellowship from 2019 to 2023 (similar to the UK National Teaching Fellowships). Given the aim of the project was to alter bachelor curricula, students were purposefully included as part of the curriculum design teams, as one of two coaches for each design team. Students were also members of the overall project team and as researchers. This chapter will report the data on the involvement of students as co-curriculum designers, which is a subset of the larger project. Students can have different roles as partners in a university. Bovill et al. (2016), following the work of Healey and colleagues (2016), described four common roles for students in partnering: students often are representatives, consultants, co-researchers or pedagogical co-designers. In a more linear approach of discerning ways or degrees to include students as partners, Bovill (2017) provides a participation matrix of collaboration in which she distinguishes the roles of informant, consultant, participant, partner and being in control. To include students as partners in curriculum design projects is a particular subset of student partnerships in universities, mostly labelled as students as pedagogical partners. Including student voice in curriculum design can prevent design mistakes due to not considering all relevant perspectives (Bovill et al. 2016).

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Cook-Sather, Bahti and Ntem (2019) provided a guide on pedagogical partnerships in higher education, working backwards from the purpose of the partnership. Reflexivity and a structured partnership methodology are considered key enablers of student-staff partnerships (Kligyte et al. 2021), as the potential benefits of student-staff partnerships require careful planning, matching of means and processes and dealing with challenges (Matthews et al. 2019). Reflexivity is defined as ‘on-going scrutiny of the choices that are made when identifying and integrating diverse values, priorities, worldviews, expertise and knowledge’ (Polk 2015: 114). This reflective process ‘requires the participants to respect, understand and integrate different types of knowledges and epistemologies, recognising the power dynamics and status differentials between university staff members and students’ (Kligyte et al. 2021: 5). This type of collaboration is known for being time-consuming, as students, lecturers and researchers are not by design on the same page in institutions where partnering is not yet business as usual (Coombe et al. 2018). In the study, students were included as partners in nine different curriculum redesign teams. This combination of multiple student perspectives in different disciplinary contexts within one university can shed new light on the roles, experiences, enablers and barriers of including students as full partners in the complexity of curriculum (re)design in applied universities. Ideally, insights like these will result in systematic choices for universities to structurally – and beyond separate projects – include students in the proceedings of daily university life. In the following sections we introduce the project and the purpose of including students as partners in this initiative. Then we will shortly describe the methods used in the monitoring of the full project, to finally zoom-in onto the experiences of the full participation of students, both by students themselves and by the non-students that were part of this large-scale curriculum design project.

An Amsterdam University-Wide Curriculum Redesign Project The university-wide curriculum redesign project was constructed along three different purposes: research integration, collaboration across roles and students-as-partners. The content of the curriculum changes intended was to increase the integration of research in all programmes. The integration of research in bachelor curricula still is a challenge in most university programmes but especially for educational programmes of an applied orientation, where research and professional practice need to become integrated (Griffioen 2019). When the proper interrelation is created in an educational programme, lecturers find it difficult to construct suitable didactical instruments for its education (Bruinsma and Griffioen 2022). The second purpose was to consider curriculum design as a collaborative effort, because the primary process in Dutch applied universities is less based on an integration of research and teaching responsibilities in the same persons. Lecturers are presumed to bring pedagogical expertise, researchers bring research expertise, still only a few work in both academic strands. So, every design team consisted of at least two lecturers and two researchers. Additionally, two students were included in every design team. Their importance as co-designers follows from their direct and recent experience as learners (Bovill et al. 2016), which made student partnership and therefore the inclusion of the student voice the third purpose in this project. This chapter in particular focuses on the role of students in the curriculum design partnerships. Whilst important, previous research shows that student partnerships in curriculum co-design is not always easy. Both students and staff have shown to need to overcome resistance to step 414

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out of their custom thought patterns, practices and familiar roles (Cook-Sather 2014)). Possibly due to these differences, students are underutilized as critical partners in educational innovation, while previous research has shown the students’ ability to inform educators about the hidden constraints in educational processes (Yonezawa and Jones 2009). The modification of curriculum structures by balancing institutional requirements with combined efforts by students, lecturers and researchers have shown to provide more integrated opportunities for learning (Bovill et al. 2016). By including students systematically in multiple curriculum design teams, this project intended to provide a deeper and more extensive insight in both the benefits and downsides of including students as partners in curriculum design.

Methods for Monitoring Collaborative Curriculum Design Nine different curriculum design teams from diverse disciplines, such as aviation, practice therapy and sports and business, were included in this study. As the project is still in progress at the time of writing this chapter, we here present interview data of six teams. Each team came in with their own curriculum (re)design assignment of their educational programme (module, semester or year) in which they intended to increase research integration and the willingness to include at least two lecturers, two researchers and two students in each curriculum design team. Additionally, the project provided each design team with an employee-coach and a studentcoach, who served as critical friends. As from the design teams in the second iteration of the project (see Figure 29.1), where possible, these coaches were selected among the designers in previous iterations, also following the call from Huizinga (2014) to build on previous design experience among lecturers. All coaches received a salary and were collectively guided by their own coach-of-coaches through feedback sessions. The students in the design teams received financial compensation.

FIGURE 29.1  Overview of the four project design cycles, based on McKenney et al. (2006). Number of students involved in the six teams in gray. 415

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Types of Cases Included Data Gathering All six design teams were engaged in four design phases of curriculum design: design, development, implementation and evaluation (Huizinga 2014). In the design phase, the primary focus was on formulating a shared rationale on the future curriculum. The project team introduced the Curriculum Design Spider Web of Van den Akker (2013) to the coaches as a potential helpful instrument for clarifying why taking time to specify the rationale for integrating professional practice and research in the curriculum is needed as input for all curriculum design elements, such as learning aims and objectives, learning activities or lecturer roles. In the development phase, the team operationalized or reified the design of all curriculum aspects into concrete teaching and learning arrangements. During the implementation phase, all learning arrangements were executed as part of the renewed or new curriculum. The data gathering in this project was multi-fold. Three interviews – before the start, after the design phase and after implementation and evaluation – were conducted with the designers. For this chapter only the verbatim interview excerpts referring to students-as-partners were included. All curriculum designers were invited to participate. All six curriculum design teams were represented. This resulted in the inclusion of fifty-three employees and students who participated in design teams, of which thirty-nine were employees and fourteen were students. Of the students, eleven participated as co-designers, three as student-coaches of a design team. One of the student-coaches was a critical friend in three teams. Of the employees, twenty-six were lecturers, nine (also) had appointments as researchers, one was also involved in the formal advisory board of their educational programme and three were heads of departments. They were all involved as co-designers. In this sample seven employee-coaches were involved. Two employee-coaches and two lecturers did not make comments about students-as-partners, two employee-coaches were not interviewed. Data Analysis A thematic analysis (Braun and Clarke 2006) of the verbatim transcribed interviews was conducted by the authors, which included an inductive selection of themes; then, subthemes were distinguished, after which a qualitative analysis of both resulted in the findings section.

Findings This section presents lecturers’, researchers’ and students’ perspectives to the student partnership, around the start of their collaborative design, after the end of the design phase and the development phase, and after the implementation of the newly designed curricula. Perceptions on Student-Partnership Before the Start of Curriculum Co-Design The intention was that most pre-interviews would occur before the start of the collaborative teamwork, but some were interviewed just after.

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First Round of Interviews: Mostly Excitement at the Start of the Partnership Most respondents – both employees and students – were looking forward to the upcoming collaboration; some were even very excited about it. A lecturer after a first meeting said: ‘I really like it. I really enjoy presenting that to them. Also when we formulate learning goals, which is what we’re doing now, learning objectives and learning outcomes and our didactic ideas. Yes, how do they see that and understand and interpret those learning outcomes.’ A student commented: ‘I think it’s a really good step, to involve students in particular, it really gives a completely different perspective than the one lecturers actually have about the subject they teach. … And that, if input is requested, it can really deliver a whole lot of new and better results’ (student). Most prominent reasons for being positive about getting students involved were that students were the main stakeholders, consumers or target group for the education to be developed. This yielded the suggestions to get students on board sooner rather than later, as explained in the following quotes: ‘Look, they are the people who it is all about ’ (lecturer), and ‘I think that is all right, in the end we are the ones who will need to do it’ (student). A few academics and one student formulated a bit more generic opinion that it is important to include multiple perspectives in a curriculum design process, ‘the quality becomes higher in my opinion if you look at it from different sides’ (student). Two students argued that students should be included because they have the most experience and they would be able to remove errors in the design early on. One lecturer stated that in their field, some students even know more than the lecturer does: I think it’s good to have their opinion, their honesty. They are the ones that know more about how things work nowadays. Digitally for instance or the students know about the trends. Sometimes, maybe, not saying that the group that we are is too old or something, but we need some fresh ideas from students because they see sometimes more than we see. Across the different perceptions, there were three prominent roles that were addressed with the students: First, students were expected to provide feedback or critique on a curriculum or course design. Second, they were presumed to be able to weigh the probability of a particular design in terms of whether students can deliver the expected work in the proposed time frame, as well as whether students would be willing to do so, as framed by this student: So, I think that such cooperation, as it is now, is good. There are indeed lecturers who have a very good idea, but then again it is really an idea from a lecturer. Like the fact that students should already have a poster before the first lesson. Then I think, yes sorry but I really don’t have the subject in mind before the first lesson. (student) These first two roles can be defined as more reactive in nature. The third role was more neutral, in which students were expected to use their experiences and insights on how students work and perceive information to enhance the quality of the design. Several less mentioned roles for students were more content driven, such as being able to voice student preference in assessment design as well as preferences and readability of study guide content, of which the following two quotes are examples.

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I would very much like to check with the student whether they see a challenge in this professional product, whether they can identify any difficulties in the process: have you thought about this and that? And whether they also think along in the assessment of the professional product. Should it be an advisory product, with a defense, without a defense, individual assessment, no individual assessment. … I really want the student to think about not only the assessment, but also the content and whether the level is feasible, yes or no? (lecturer) Especially with the more concrete questions, or how to interpret them practically. For example, are we going to use a study guide or not, because we have the idea that we put a lot of time into those guides but they are not actually used by students. So in practical matters like that, it’s very nice if students can contribute ideas about how it is for them or how it would work for them. (lecturer) More general expectations were that students would be able to signal missing elements in a curriculum outline and that students would bring new, ‘fresh’ ideas to the design. One lecturer hoped to learn from students ‘what instructions are of use for them for carrying it out, without it … yeah, stopping their creativity’. A recurring theme was that the contribution of students would depend on their year of study, with higher expectations of more advanced students. As a response to the question at what point in the process should students be expected to be involved, three academics and one student expected students to become fully involved in the full process, to really cooperate and to collaboratively create a new curriculum. A few employees expected the roles of the different participants to be different so also between lecturers and researchers, but that all involved would have a similar and collective approach. One lecturer stated in this regard that students would simply be present, two suggested that students would ‘think along’ with the others and one expected student involvement to be more reactive. Two lecturers stated that there were no students as part of the team yet. One lecturer, one educationalist and one student explained that students did not need to be involved all the time. Only one lecturer was rather negative about involving students and suggested that this could only work if students were given very focused assignments during the collaboration. When asked about involving students the answer was: Uhm, no not a good idea … Because they are a beginner. … The student doesn’t know what he is trained for, he hasn’t got a clue. … He does not know where he is, and he definitely doesn’t know where he is going. … The interviewer responds: ‘So if I might paraphrase you, in your view, students do not have the knowledge or experience to contribute in a valuable way to such a design process?’ Yes I think so. Perhaps for third- or fourth-year students that is a little different. (lecturer; emphasis added) Several others did see practical barriers. Several academics, one educationalist and one student stated that students lack the knowledge of either curriculum design, the content of the programme or both. This caused two academics to consider deliberations that included students to be less effective, and two others did consider the time that they needed to invest in explaining outlines to students but considered that time well spent. A lot of things that we talk about very quickly, programmatic testing and such, we have to explain to them at length. But still, I think it is worth the investment, because 418

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even with programmatic testing, we think this is what we want to do, but we also hear from these students that there are also students who very much like to make separate tests. That may give us a better idea of how to avoid losing these students. (lecturer) More in general it was presumed that a larger collaborative group would result in more difficult deliberations, no matter who the persons were. One lecturer expected that students would not (be able to) reason about the curriculum in a constructive manner: I think it is super relevant [to include students], but I guess that in real life, they will not always have time, be able to come. They will be willing to take a look at something and give their opinion, but will not be willing to constructively, or not be willing to take the time to constructively think about improvements. That is sort of like what I expect at the moment. And I do hope it will be different. (lecturer) Both students and academics reported in this phase how students lack the time to contribute to curriculum design in a sensible manner, which one academic did not consider an issue as it was not the role of the student to construct ideas into curricula: ‘As a student, you can expect the school to have the idea of how they are going to educate you’ (lecturer).

Second Round of Interviews: Experience in Collaboration Increases the Diversity in Partnerships After the experience of collaborating in the design phase and the development phase, participants talk more about the types of contributions of students and less about why they think this contribution is important. Students still mention that it is important that students partner in curriculum design because they are the ones closely involved in the execution of curricula. The lecturers who do mention reasons why it is important to have students involved are generally positive about the idea and show a bit more detailed perspective, such as that it is very useful to know what students miss in a design or what they want to gain, that students have shown to provide less idealistic and more pragmatic-realistic points of view to curriculum design, that students can bring a more ‘fresh’ view in comparison to some lecturers and that is really nice to interact with students also when they do not expect to receive a grade for it. On the more negative side, lecturers mention that they see how students are willing to participate but do not have sufficient time to do so and that the feedback given by students was less substantive than they hoped for. In return, one student explained how he could have contributed more but that not so much seemed to be expected of his contribution. One lecturer still mentioned that students did not know the important regulations to be able to collaborate on curriculum design. The actual types of involvement differed greatly. Most students and lecturers reported in one way or another that they collaborated as one team, by stating just that, by explaining how everyone received similar assignments to work on something or by stating that the team discussed everything together. This worried one lecturer somewhat because they were not used to sharing that much information with students. When asked what to think about students being involved, the reply was: Very nice. Yes, I sometimes think: ‘It’s very much our hopes and dreams’, just to let them express themselves, it’s a very open … It’s not because they are present that we 419

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are careful or anything. It is normal, we just discuss everything. I think it’s great that they have the nerve to do that. They have the courage to share their ideas and we can say: ‘Gosh, if we were to do it this way, wouldn’t the students all run home and say … I’m leaving this study!’ (lecturer) At the other end were reports in which the student contribution was not so large, such as segmented to a particular moment and not after: ‘At the beginning of March, there were also a few students present and that was very enlightening. Because they are really going to react to it from their own experience. That can be very basic, but it can also provide insight’ (researcher). Or students were present and involved but still were left out of the design work, such as in one team where the design work had already been done before the participation had even started. In another case it was actively decided by the lecturers and researchers to leave the students out of the actual design activities: ‘It was a bit chaotic that first time, so then we [the employees] decided: Let’s first draw up something clear where we then ask them [the students] for feedback’ (lecturer). The students in this team would have preferred to be able to provide feedback earlier in the process and to be given more time and information in guiding their contribution. They felt the opportunity to make a difference was small and they did not experience ownership: ‘I think if I were involved more often, that I would have felt, maybe not having control, but that the project was mine also a little bit. More than it was mine now.’ The employee-coach confirmed that the team struggled in including the students as they expected delays from doing so and most team members were doubtful of possible benefits. The presented types of student contributions were somewhat more diverse than was expected by the participants before the start of the collaborative process. Still, most participants – both students and employees – reported that the student influence was often reactive, as in giving feedback in general on content or set up or reading texts and then providing suggestions for clarity of formulation, or the logic or feasibility of the proposed plan. One lecturer mentioned that students would then adjust the proposed texts themselves. The second largest type of input was for students to share their perceptions, experiences or insights about following lessons or being a student, as reported by five lecturers and four students. Three lecturers added that students worked hard, in that to not provide their singular views but to provide insight into the different ideas or practices they were familiar with of students that would be somewhat different from themselves: ‘I am not like all the other students but I do have experience with my classmates and I do know where they stand and the frustrations they are dealing with. So, I do try to include that’ (student). Several participants reported a more active role for students: ‘We just discuss everything as if they were colleagues and we sometimes additionally ask their perception or how they interpret things’ (lecturer-researcher). Others report that students were asked to provide ideas for the initial design, that students initiated some investigations, co-designed some, came up with ideas without asking, joined in the panning out of the design or took the lead in giving debates a clear direction. This resulted in a fully collaboratively designed curriculum, sometimes with elements they added, which also raised pride in the students, as explained hereafter: I really had one of those books taken out because I just really said, okay but … Because we went down the list of books that were there, and then we just had to say very honestly that I don’t have any of the books in my bookcase at the moment. … 420

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[B]‌ecause it just doesn’t add any value and in the end we chose a book that I think I would buy if I were in the teaching program. (student) Those students that were more influential in the collaborative design clearly felt a combination of pride and responsibility about its result, where the last one had some weight to it, as explained by this student: Well, I do not know. It also brings responsibility. When something just goes wrong because of something you said. I do not know. Then you are responsible for that. … It felt nice that we were able to provide so much input and that they really listened to us. But sometimes I also felt that they expected a lot from us. And at some moments I simply do not have any good ideas. (student) Overall, the perceptions of getting students involved in the curriculum design process remained relatively positive after the design phase and development phase. The notion that students were less able to contribute due to a lack of expertise was less dominant, as were the notions of lack of time and the debate on involving more junior or more senior students. The types of actual involvement of students diversified, mostly because of the realism of the actual collaboration. Third Round of Interviews: No Collaboration during Implementation The interviews show how the collaboration with students, whether intense or limited, mostly ended when the implementation phase started. Both students and academics state this to be the case. The reasons differ somewhat between design teams, with in some cases students lacking the time because of the studies they need to undertake themselves, while the academics tried to keep them involved. Students explained how they contributed all they could to the design in the phases before and wanted to leave the implementation to ‘the real professionals’. One student explained that she remained indirectly involved when she was asked to gather some feedback from her fellow students. But the general picture was that students were not involved and were not considered needed in this phase. Discussion of Two Dominant Themes In addition to the overall picture of student involvement in the three phases of curriculum co-design, two themes have shown to be influential for how students were positioned as part of the collaborative teams: the framing or perceptions of student roles and the available time for all involved. The framing of student roles: The degree to which students were full team members and how the collaboration worked seemed to vary in relation to how lecturers, researchers and students framed the potential students’ role in the team and between the phases of design, development and implementation. In some teams, the students’ contribution depended on the interventions of the coaches and the assertiveness of the students themselves. An employee-coach writes: ‘The students are involved only partially, mainly answering when being asked something’. A further analysis of these teams illustrates how the teams as a whole were given a less clear curriculum design assignment. Additionally, they more often needed to deal with increased uncertainty or unrest about the expected frameworks or proposed content for the new curriculum, which correlated with less attention for student involvement. In contrast, in teams in which collaboration 421

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with students was the team’s wish or plan from the start and in which there was more clarity about the design assignment and frameworks, students had more substantive contributions. The data show that students who are actively welcomed and are treated as more equal team members also more often behave as such: they bring in more ideas of their own and truly contribute to texts, materials and design. Students in teams where they are experienced as a delaying factor or where the balance tilts too much towards doubt about what role students can play in co-design sometimes only provide input when asked to do so. Co-designers and coaches in these teams name fewer concrete contributions of students. Yet, in a team that started out with a less clear assignment and collaboration plan, very assertive students still made a substantive and valued contribution and impressed their co-designers: Because I can still remember that at a certain point, we had rented a few work rooms … and we were all there with the aim of further underpinning the program we wanted, so it was really outlined, and then you noticed that the student understood that too. … She almost acted as a lecturer. She had, no, but she, what I mean with that is, she actually talked along in the same way as all the other lecturers and she also was given the space to bring her ideas. (researcher) The data suggest that effective co-design requires thinking and acting with a mindset that creates space for all team members to contribute what they have to offer, without holding back relevant ideas, thoughts and feedback. This also shows to be true for student-partnerships. A student-coach reflects on the students’ role in the implementation phase, as the students were no longer involved despite positive experiences in the design and development phases: ‘Just lack of time, but also loss of experienced urgency to keep the students involved.’ Time as limitation and enabler: Time showed to be a challenging element in the logistics underpinning the work of the included teams and was a very frequently mentioned limiting factor. The teams reported that it was difficult to have all team members attend all meetings, not only students. Sending documents in a timely manner and allowing proper preparation of the meetings sometimes did hinder students in contributing. However, also the perception of time to spend showed to influence the actions of those involved. Managing expectations about available and needed time occurred throughout the design process: ‘Also because they asked about the compensation because of the time it takes, I hesitate to ask them [students] to develop things’ (lecturer). During sessions it was a challenge to spend the time as planned, or to do (discuss, decide, design, develop) everything that was considered necessary or important. Topics, decisions and work were regularly postponed and development work was still on the way alongside actual implementation, with even higher time pressure as a result. ‘If we want to accomplish something …, then we really have to start doing as we say’, stated one researcher about the design team meetings. Within teams there were both constructive, well-structured meetings reported as well as messy meetings. It might be an open door, but having a clear agenda, explicit meeting goals, concrete actions assigned to persons and a good chair help to make good use of the time during and outside meetings. A student commented: ‘Maybe what could be done better in a future design team, is to have stricter agreements’. Taking time to bring the students to the same page, especially if they were not present in collaborative efforts of lecturers in between meetings, was often correlated to the report of richer contributions. At the curriculum (re)design assignment level, clarity and team members’ awareness and understanding of relevant frameworks and 422

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requirements in terms of institutional regulations enhance constructive collaboration, for students, lecturers and researchers. Paradoxically, taking time to develop and agree on the rationale of the new curriculum and to develop a shared understanding of it in the design team was experienced as a barrier at the beginning of the process but afterward was appreciated as a prerequisite for smooth progress in the development phase.

To Conclude: Actual Collaborations Create Proper Insights This study aimed to provide more insight in the inclusion of students as partners in the collaborative design of curricula. The findings have shown two important notions. First, both students and lecturers only get realistic perceptions about this type of collaboration through participation and experience. The described notions of student involvement before the collaborations often lacked detail. Most lecturers based their expectations of student-partnership on the lecturer-student relationship they were used to in the classroom, not extending this to a potential difference in students when they are positioned as colleagues. Actual collaboration was needed to achieve that insight. This principle showed to be potentially limiting for the roles students were able to fulfil in the design process. Those teams that were able to perceive and provide an open floor and equal partnership benefited more from the student partnership than those that were not able to. Those teams that were positively surprised about the potential of students as partners often were not able to embrace its full potential. Hopefully their experience can yield a more open start in future collaborations. The actual provision of time, as well as the perception of time well spent, clearly was a mediating factor in this possibility. Similarly, it has become clear that students do need a safe space to get involved and some guidance to deal with the responsibility that comes with partnering and making collective choices. And this again takes time and energy. It has become clear that collaborative co-design requires serious time and effort, not only in the perception of the sceptic but that it will most likely pay off in careful curriculum design, better tailored to the needs of specific professional practices and what students need to become professionals, as reported by many. The experience of partnering results, for all, in a better insight into what one can expect in a collaborative curriculum design trajectory with lecturers, researchers and students-as-partners involved. Or so did the rich process of the design teams in this chapter suggest. Future research needs to consider if such partnerships also lead to altered or even improved curricula. Most participants reported so, in the perspective of better understandable course descriptions and more appropriate assessments, but a more objective view is needed to result in a firmer conclusion. This study was able to show that a systematic monitoring of student partnerships in curriculum design results in a more detailed insight into its difficulties as well as benefits.

References Bovill, C. (2017), ‘A Framework to Explore Roles Within Student-Staff Partnerships in Higher Education: Which Students Are Partners, When, and in What Ways?’ International Journal for Students as Partners, 1 (1). doi: 10.15173/ijsap.v1i1.3062 Bovill, C., A. Cook-Sather, P. Felten, L. Millard and N. Moore-Cherry (2016), ‘Addressing Potential Challenges in Co-creating Learning and Teaching: Overcoming Resistance, Navigating Institutional Norms and Ensuring Inclusivity in Student-Staff Partnerships’, Higher Education, 71: 195–208.

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Braun, V., and V. Clarke (2006), ‘Using Thematic Analysis in Psychology’, Qualitative Research in Psychology, 3 (2): 77–101. Bruinsma, M., and D. M. E. Griffioen (2022), ‘Changes in Perceptions of Research Integration’, in D. M. E. Griffioen (ed.), Creating the Desire for Change in Higher Education: The Amsterdam Path to the Research–Teaching Nexus, 64–95, London: Bloomsbury Academic. Cook-Sather, A. (2014), ‘Student-Faculty Partnership in Explorations of Pedagogical Practice: A Threshold Concept’, International Journal for Academic Development, 19 (3): 186–98. Cook-Sather, A. M. Bahti and A. Ntem (2019), Pedagogical Partnerships: A How-to Guide for Faculty, Students and Academic Developers in Higher Education, Elon, NC: Elon University Center for Engaged Learning. Cook-Sather, A., S. Slates, A. Acai, J. Baxter, R. Bond, T. Lowe, H. Zurcher, J. O'Brien, V. Tavares, M.-T. Lewe, A. Khan, H. Poole, A. C Smith, M. Z. Iqbal, K. Arm, J. E. Escobar Lema, J. Groening, K. Garg, N. L. Bello Rinaudo, N. Crisp, M. Mukherji, T. Addy, L. M. Lewis, P. Vayada, M. Zhang, Y. (Scott) Liang, H. B. Rodgers, M.-M. Judd, B. Szucs, D. Thompson, S. Schmidt, I. Semos, N. Watchman Smith, R. Pfeifer-Luckett, N. Bala, M.-D. Chia, G. Kochhar-Lindgren, L. Leung, I. Lys, K. Matthews, T. Zou and R. Lewis (2021), ‘Diversifying Students-as-Partners Participants and Practices’, International Journal for Students As Partners, 5 (1): 146–59. https://doi.org/10.15173/ ijsap.v5i1.4627. Coombe, L., J. Huang, S. Russell, K. Sheppard and H. Khosravi (2018), ‘Students as Partners in Action: Evaluating a University-Wide Initiative’, International Journal for Students as Partners, 2 (2): 85–95. Deca, L. (2010), ‘Making Students Active Partners in the Internationalisation Efforts of Higher Education Institutions’, Internationalisation of Higher Education, 7. Griffioen, D. M. E. (2019), Higher Education’s Responsibility for Balanced Professionalism: Methodology Beyond Research, [Inaugural lecture], Amsterdam University of Applied Sciences, Amsterdam. https:// resea​rch.hva.nl/en/publi​cati​ons/hig​her-edu​cati​ons-res​pons​ibil​ity-for-balan​ced-prof​essi​onal​ism-met (accessed June 22 20023). Healey, M., A. Flint and K. Harrington (2016), ‘Students as Partners: Reflections on a Conceptual Model’, Teaching and Learning Inquiry, 4 (2): 8–20. Huizinga, T. (2014), ‘Designing Curriculum Design Expertise through Teacher Design Teams’, PhD Thesis, Universiteit Twente, Enschede. Jjuuko, R., C. Tukundane and J. Zeelen (2019), ‘Exploring Agricultural Vocational Pedagogy in Uganda: Students’ Experiences’, International Journal of Training Research, 17 (3): 238–51. Klemenčič, M., M. Žnidaršič, A. Vavpetič and M. Martinc (2017), ‘Erasmus Students’ Involvement in Quality Enhancement of Erasmus+ Mobility through Digital Ethnography and ErasmusShouts’, Studies in Higher Education, 42 (5): 925–32. Kligyte, G., M. van der Bijl-Brouwer, J. Leslie, T. Key, B. Hooper and E. Salazar (2021), ‘A Partnership Outcome Spaces Framework for Purposeful Student–Staff Partnerships’, Teaching in Higher Education: doi: 10.1080/13562517.2021.1940924. Liang, Y., and K. E. Matthews (2021), ‘Students as Partners Practices and Theorisations in Asia: A Scoping Review’, Higher Education Research & Development, 40 (3): 552–66. Matthews, K. E., L. Mercer-Mapstone, S. L. Dvorakova, A. Acai, A. Cook-Sather, P. Felten, M. Healey and E. Marquis (2019), ‘Enhancing Outcomes and Reducing Inhibitors to the Engagement of Students and Staff in Learning and Teaching Partnerships: Implications for Academic Development’, International Journal for Academic Development, 24 (3): 246–59. doi:10.1080/13601 44X.2018.1545233. Matthews, K. E., and M. Dollinger (2022), ‘Student Voice in Higher Education: The Importance of Distinguishing Student Representation and Student Partnership’. Higher Education, 85: 555–70. doi: 10.1007/s10734-022-00851-7. McKenney, S., Nieveen, N. and Van den Akker, J. (2006). ‘Design Research from a Curriculum Perspective’, in J. Van den Akker, K. Gravemeijer, S. McKenney and N. Nieveen (eds), Educational Design Research, 67–90. London: Routledge. 424

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Polk, M. (2015), ‘Transdisciplinary Co-production: Designing and Testing a Transdisciplinary Research Framework for Societal Problem Solving’, Futures, 65 (1): 110–122. Van den Akker, J. (2013), ‘Curricular Development Research as a Specimen of Educational Design Research’, in T. Plomp and N. Nieveen (eds), Educational Design Research – Part A: An Introduction, 52–71, Enschede, The Netherlands: SLO. Yonezawa, S., and M. Jones (2009), ‘Student Voices: Generating Reform from the Inside Out’, Theory into Practice, 48 (3): 205–12.

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Stretching the Boundaries of Pedagogical Partnerships in Higher Education through the Lens of Recognition GLENYS OBERG, KELLY E. MATTHEWS, JENNIFER LINCOLN AND NATHAN MCGRATH

Student voice brings a relational, participatory and critical lens to the role, position and place of students in education. The relational and human-centred ethos of student voice is captured and communicated by bell hooks, ‘as a classroom community, our capacity to generate excitement is deeply affected by our interest in each other, in hearing one another’s voices, in recognising one another’s presence’ (1994: 8). The relational and emancipatory possibility of taking students seriously, as more than ‘empty vessels’ to be filled, evoked by Paulo Freire (1973), has inspired decades of scholars to think differently about learner-teacher relationships. The concept of student voice took on new life with the United Nations (UN) Convention on the Rights of the Child (1989). The education-related tenet of that broader convention that asserted the rights of children to contribute and have a voice in educational systems shifted discourse of young learners as more than objects in classrooms. Alison Cook-Sather (2002: 3) connected the political commitments with pedagogical practice when she framed student voice as a change in mindset to ‘count students among those who have the knowledge and the position to shape what counts as education, to reconfigure power dynamics and discourse practices within existing realms of conversation about education, and to create new forums’ by bringing students, who speak for and as themselves, into dialogue with educators. Over the decades, there has been a significant and complex body of scholarship from educational researchers, practitioners and students advancing conceptual, theoretical and practical understanding of student voice globally. The commitments of student voice have translated into the higher education sector from the school sector although the terms have shifted with an orientation towards a partnership discourse (Cook-Sather 2018; Matthews and Dollinger 2022). The language of partnership – engaging students as partners (SaP) in learning and teaching, co-creation of curriculum, learner-teacher partnership1, student-staff2 and student partnership – has taken hold amongst a community of scholars, practitioners and students. In this chapter we will use the term ‘pedagogical partnership’ to indicate a shared commitment to student voice and reassert a relationality inherent in educational environments.

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The commonly cited definition for pedagogical partnership is ‘a collaborative, reciprocal process through which all participants have the opportunity to contribute equally, although not necessarily in the same ways, to curricular or pedagogical conceptualisation, decision-making, implementation, investigation, or analysis’ (Cook-Sather, Bovill and Felten 2014: 6–7). Viewed through a critical lens, there is a challenge to the legitimacy of who can contribute to educational processes where the metaphor of SaP ‘offers hope for students and staff seeking relational approaches to learning – built on and through dialogue – that enable shared responsibility and joint ownership for teaching, learning, and assessment’ (Matthews 2017: 1). Student voice and student partnership scholars commonly evoke values that guide and shape practice: respect, reciprocity, accountability, transparency, courage and democracy, to name a few. The values are a means of prioritizing human relationships – the nurturing of learning communities in classrooms (hooks 2010). In this chapter, we draw on the lens of recognition as recently described and discussed by Freya Aquarone and co-authors (2020) in their analysis of a social sciences degree programme in the United Kingdom. Pedagogical Partnership as a Means of Recognition Drawing on recognition as a theoretical concept concerned with social justice, Aquarone and co-authors (2020: 24) signalled the relational or inter-subjective depth of the concept as a beacon for learner-teacher interactions in higher education, ‘it’s about recognising others as human, as equals, as esteemed and appreciated’. Citing Honneth and Margalit (2001: 120), they discussed recognition as ‘an expressive gesture of affirmation’ which says not just ‘I see you’, but ‘I value you’ that speaks to acceptance instead of acculturation (Aquarone et al. 2020). The importance of stories of human relationships, meaningful relationships – what they are, and what they could be – defined how they engaged in a process of partnership as co-inquirers and then co-authors. By tracing a philosophical concept through an analysis of a degree programme, Aquarone and co-authors (2020) were honouring critical educational scholars while seeking to name the essence of relationality that emerged from their research. In this chapter, we extend the lens of recognition to understand our partnership practices conducted in an Australian university. Recognition is inter-subjective, both a process and product of relationality (we are recognized by others). This aligns to scholars and practitioners who engage in forms of pedagogical partnership as a socially just pedagogy – ‘a practice where critical thinking is developed and fostered to enable learners to exercise critical agency to transform contemporary orders on the basis of social justice’ (Munevar-Pelton et al. 2022: 3). Two Partnership Practices: Co-Creating Curricula and Co-Creation in the Class The University of Queensland (UQ), Australia, has established formalized programmes to advance the ethos of student partnership. Like many Australian universities, the intent is to signal a particular quality of relationship between students and staff (includes academics and administrative staff members). A large (50,000 + students), comprehensive research-oriented institution, UQ seeks to excel in both teaching and research. The Student-Staff Partnership project programme funds students for fifty hours of participation in semester-long projects that they apply to work in. This project-based partnership model is typical of many institutions, such as the University College of London (UCL 2022), that seek to translate the ethos of student voice 428

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into practice. In addition, teaching staff are encouraged to foster partnered learning communities in their classes, although there is no formalized programme or support infrastructure in place for classroom-based models. This chapter discusses both approaches, demonstrating how projectbased pedagogical partnership interacts with class-based practices. The first partnership we discuss in this chapter utilized UQ’s Student-Staff Partnership project programme. The model falls into what is classically discussed as pedagogical partnership. Specifically, what Healey, Flint and Harrington (2014) categorized as curriculum consultancy, and what Cook-Sather, Bahti and Ntem (2019) frame as partnership that happens before a course and involves students and teachers collaborating on aspects of the course curriculum, pedagogy or assessment. These models of pedagogical partnership tend to be intensive and dialogic partnerships that result in changes to courses. Project-Based Partnership The first example of partnership involved three students and one course coordinator working together before the course started. There were conversations about the course (the students completed it in the prior year). These conversations led to a decision to co-designing weekly videos from students to introduce the weekly reading topics in the course. As seen within the second partnership, the values and ethos of student voice can be translated into classroom practices that involve more students. Bovill (2020) refers to this form of partnership as whole-class co-creation with Godbold, Hung and Matthews (2021) discussing it as a partnership classroom. However, this form of partnership is less likely to be researched compared to project-based approaches due to the relative scarcity of examples available (Bovill 2020; Mercer-Mapstone et al. 2017). We chose to focus on this form of whole-class partnership in order to shine a light on the ways that partnership can truly permeate the higher education classroom and exist as something larger than the commonly seen extracurricular project model. Classroom-Based Partnership Throughout the semester, learners and teachers shared responsibility for learning in the series of workshops which comprised this course. The three student co-design partners co-facilitated the first workshop and introduced the content each week through online videos. The intent was to signal the role of students as both learners and teachers from day one of the class. The secondyear course enrolled fifty students and was a required course for a primary education degree programme. During the semester, the class involved: 1. Weekly self-guided learning activities starting with student-led videos 2. Weekly workshops where students applied theory to practice 3. Weekly polls allowing students to reflect on learning, ask questions and vote on topics arising that involved the whole class (e.g. introduce weekly reading groups) 4. Students forming ‘professional learning communities’ (3–4 students) to: a. Co-create and share understanding of theory applied to practice in weekly workshops b. Co-author a semester-long portfolio of learning using a collaborative online platform c. Review each other’s assessment tasks and provide feedback before submission of major tasks

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5. 6. 7. 8.

Peer feedback on assessment tasks prior to submission Student self-assessment of assignments Strengths-based feedback from markers that incorporated student self-assessment Students guiding marker comments by indicating what they wanted feedback on

The language of partnership was not evoked in the course, although the ethos and language of student voice and learning communities were discussed. Classroom-based partnership pedagogies were employed, including co-creating course values, voting for class decision-making, peer feedback and learning conversations, self-assessment, and acknowledging of importance for differing points of view. These were discussed in terms of ‘professional learning communities’ that align to national accreditation. As a result, the use of an additional term (partnership) was viewed as overwhelming and confusing for students.

Collaborative Autoethnographic Approach We employed a qualitative research methodology to examine our experiences through written reflections and adopting a collaborative autoethnographic approach (CAE). CAE seeks to collaboratively explain and analyse the researchers’ personal experiences to gain a deeper understanding of wider cultural experiences (Ellis, Adams and Bochner 2011; Roy and Uekusa 2020). In this way we as co-researchers utilized aspects of autobiography as well as ethnography when writing our reflections as well as when we shared, discussed and analysed them. Thus, CAE was both the methodology and the result of this shared process. The participants are a group of students and teaching staff involved in a second-year course. Table 30.1 presents participants involved in the partnership practices who contributed reflections for this CAE study. We engaged in a two-stage process. Following an invitation from co-author Matthews, we first came together to discuss our practices and reflections for a conference presentation on engaging SaP. The next stage involved a subset of us co-authoring this chapter. While there are calls for more students to be authors in the academic literature on partnership (Cook-Sather, Healey and Matthews 2021), not all participants had the desire or interest in authorship. Thus, the ratio of teachers and students involved in this chapter was unplanned. To ensure that the reflections of all participants were relevant to the concept of recognition, co-authors Matthews and Lincoln crafted questions inspired by Aquarone and co-authors (2020) to guide all participants in reflecting on their partnership experiences. Each participant then responded individually in writing to two prompts: TABLE 30.1  The Roles, Gender and Age Group of Participants

Role

Gender and Age Group

Teaching team, coordinator and teacher

Female, over 40 years

Teaching Team, co-facilitator

Female, over 40 years

Teaching Team, marking and feedback

Female, over 50 years

Student, enrolled in the course

Female, early 20s

Student, completed the course and co-design partner

Female, early 20s

Student, completed the course and co-design partner

Male, late 20s

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1. In my role in course, I felt seen, heard and valued when… 2. In that situation, I felt… Matthews and Lincoln suggested that all participants reflect individually first. This allowed everyone to formulate their thoughts without responding directly or indirectly to responses they already read from others. Only after everyone had completed their own reflection were responses shared between participants. The participants agreed with this approach. Interpreting the Reflections We adopted the Braun and Clarke (2006, 2019) approach to reflexive thematic analysis. The participants decided two co-authors (Oberg and Matthews) would focus on making sense of the reflections and share back with all participants. The process involved first reading across the reflections individually, making notes and discussing initial reading of the reflections. An iterative cycle followed (e.g. discussing, planning for codes and themes, and then refining). The lens of recognition was at the front of our thinking and guiding the analysis. We read across all the reflections, allowed for overlapping codes and ensured all text was included in the coding process. Moving from fragments and codes to themes involved reflecting together on underlying ideas, including examining our individual assumptions and beliefs about partnership, and the lens of recognition. Particularly attention was paid to the abstract concept of recognition and the reflections of recognition in practice. Developing and collaborating on a table (showing the themes, description, codes and quotes) assisted us in formulating themes and reporting them. This was then shared with the authorship team and resulted in the finalized themes. We decided to utilize selected quotes to illuminate forms of recognition and to honour the rich reflections. In doing so, we made the decision to not identify the author of specific quotes. The rationale was to maintain focus on how recognition surfaced throughout the forms of partnership for all involved. In addition, there were varying degrees of (dis-)comfort in being identified given the vulnerability expressed in the reflections.

Three Themes Illuminating Recognition The lens of recognition brought to bear on making sense of our two forms of pedagogical partnership was inspired by Freya Aquarone and co-authors (2020). They embraced the everyday definitions of recognize (e.g. acknowledge, accept, realize, see, understand) and extended it into the abstract realm of inter-subjective recognition as a relational process that fosters a learning community ethos. There are threads of student voice – relational and critical pedagogy working through dialogic interactions that position students as knowers able to contribute and (re)shape the classroom that resonate with recognition as a concept of social justice. In our analysis, we identified three overlapping themes of recognition reflected in our reflections on two forms of partnership: recognition manifested through reciprocity, recognition fostered by praxis and recognition as risk-taking. While looking across the reflections of all participants, two quotes from student partners crystallized our focus on the inter-subjective nature of recognition. Both quotes began with the student expressing a desire to ensure that their own communication was respectful and received 431

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in the way it was intended, which speak to the dialogic process of partnership. They express individual self-awareness and commitment to shared goals. Thus, we start by presenting these two reflections together because they demonstrate the entangled themes of recognition that emerged. I felt unsure at first with online communication. This is where sometimes messages can be read out of context and may not accurately express the idea in my mind. This is perhaps due to past experiences where online communication was not the most effective and face-to-face interactions were highly preferred. However, I felt that through our dedication to enhancing the course and aligned goals, we were able to effectively communicate through WhatsApp in a meaningful and authentic manner. This is seen where we were able to achieve and meet goals, express our ideas in a safe environment and stay updated with what needs to be done. Therefore, in the end, this was an effective mode of communication. (Student partner 2) Whilst creating videos, I initially feared I was providing students with inaccurate or useless information. However, with the support of Kelly and my peers, I was able to clearly understand the information and feel confident in creating quality videos that positively reflected not only the textbook but also the course. I also initially felt uncomfortable with being in front of the camera, as typically I prefer behind the scenes. However, through stepping outside my comfort zone, I was able to expand my skill set in public speaking as well as assist students of the course to have a deeper appreciation and understanding of textbook as well as for the course. (Student partner 3) More than mode of communication (e.g. online, in-person), the reflection is naming a vulnerability and uncomfortable risk-taking. Instead of continuing a ‘behind of the scenes’ preference, the process of partnership encouraged everyone to have a voice and the safety of all involved working towards that goal pushed this student out of their ‘comfort zone’. And this differs from other partners who were far more comfortable speaking out or being in front of camera (to continue the metaphor evoked by the student). During the process of implementing changes with the teacher and my student co-partners I did at times have feeling of unease. This was due to myself not wanting to overstep or talk over the opinions and thoughts of the women I was working with. I did not want to ‘mansplain’ or make them feel undervalued, so in the beginning I was trying to check myself to ensure I wasn’t overstepping boundaries. As we became comfortable with one another and began to work more with each other, it soon became easier to calibrate the ‘flow’ of conversations and opinion sharing, which I believe contributed heavily to my success on (work study) placement. This experience allowed me to develop in collaboration and compromising with others, to ensure we could achieve a common goal, by building on each other’s ideas, opinions, and values. (Student partner 2) Reflecting on their own ‘unease’ while staying aware of the rhythm of ‘opinion-sharing’ enabled compromising, collaboration and attention to boundaries. The role of gender and age was alive in the partnership conversations given the cohort (young, female dominated in a me-too 432

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cultural moment in time). These two reflections indicated that there were confronting or messy topics that stayed with the students as they reflected at the end of the course/partnership project. How these two students shared their own feelings of discomfort about being in an unfamiliar partnership space, as well as their acknowledgements that their actions and behaviours could affect others within that space, illuminates the centrality of recognition as a process and product of pedagogical partnership. And the reflective quotes signal the fragility of partnership as one can easily imagine how the process could have played out differently, without attention to intersubjective recognition and shared sense of learning together. These quotes show the interconnectedness of the emerging three themes of recognition in pedagogical partnership: reciprocity, praxis and risk-taking. Reciprocity is the exchange of things or ideas for the mutual benefit of all involved (Molm 2010) and is shown in both quotes above as the students reflect on the sharing of ideas and opinions that led to them not only achieving their partnership goals but also gaining valuable experiences and skills. The concept of praxis according to Freire (1973) is the action and reflection of people who are acting upon a situation with the aim to transform it. This version of praxis is most clearly shown above in the language of shared goals and collaboration. Both quotes discussed the dedication of the partnership team and the way that they shared and built on each other’s ideas to achieve multiple common goals (e.g. product aim to co-create curricular materials and process attuned to dialogue). Both students also referred to their own feelings of unease at the beginning of the partnership as they were taking risks to communicate in a way that was unfamiliar or uncomfortable for them. This risk-taking combined with the ideas of praxis and reciprocity in the above quotes in a way that demonstrated the entanglement and interrelatedness of our themes. All three themes of recognition coexist, interact and evolve over time through the process of partnership. Although we recognize the interconnection between our themes, to fully examine the experiences of all participants including ourselves we chose to zoom in on each theme. Recognition Manifests Through Reciprocity For many of our participants there was a feeling of shared ownership and responsibility that at times was uncomfortable to those used to a more traditional teacher-student dynamic. Being asked to trust in the process while also experiencing trust being given to you, for many, was a powerful indication that this course would be different. The course was designed very differently from others that I have been involved with as a tertiary student … I was very used to the traditional idea of a tertiary setting where there is an ‘expert’ who shares their wisdom with students who are passive receptors. In this course though, it was quickly made obvious that for us, the wisdom would go both ways and the students were active participants in this building of knowledge. (Staff partner 2) The ongoing dialogic interaction between teachers and learners enabled a sense of being heard and responded to that developed a sense of trust, autonomy and ownership. The teacher took the time to ask us what would best prepare us for the assessment, to which many of us answered that having a checklist would be very beneficial. In our professional learning community groups we used this checklist and the rubric to 433

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guide our feedback to each other. I felt heard when the teacher took our suggestions and made a checklist for us and felt that she valued our knowledge. The teacher trusted us enough to show us that we are responsible for our own learning and do not need to solely rely on the teacher. (Student partner 1) The creation of a safe environment fostered a sense of agency and involvement in learning. Participants shared feelings of motivation, acknowledgement and recognition as they felt that they were being trusted as members of a learning community who could be responsible, not only for their own learning but also to contribute to the learning of others. Recognition Fostered by Praxis Recognition is more than simply a dialogue; it is a constantly evolving, active process of action and reflection and includes all participants demonstrating, rather than simply discussing, student voice and partnership. Many participants identified an important aspect that demonstrated that, for them, true partnership was being able to see their feedback and suggestions put into action immediately. Myself and my fellow student co-teachers were encouraged by the teacher to draw on our previous experiences in the course, to give feedback on topics such as assessment, courses content and the transition of delivering the course online to an in person, ‘hybrid’ approach, involving information communication technologies. If agreed upon as a group, we were able to implement these changes in real time, as opposed to a ‘we’ll see’ response, that is usually done to humour others. (Student partner 3) As the semester progressed, participants noticed that the process of active partnership had benefits for them beyond improving the depth of teaching and learning within the specific content area being taught. The partnership process itself brings with it the need to utilize skills involved in cooperation and collaboration which participants identified as skills that benefitted them in other areas of their life and led to the extension of their professional capabilities. In this process, I was able to take on a teacher like role. This was extremely valuable to as a pre-service teacher. I will continue to reflect upon this process in enhancing my own skills of becoming a quality teacher. (Student partner 3) This constant cycle of feedback and active evolution of the course is evidenced by the participants who identified continued opportunities for partnership to add value to the content being taught. The active nature of partnership and recognition means that the process is constant and ongoing. It is more than a tokenistic, one-off survey or questionnaire and shared ownership and responsibility means that participants continue to look for ways to contribute even when they are no longer expected to do so. By being in the class weekly, I believe myself and my fellow student partners, could have offered additional insight into being a placement pre-service teacher, addressed any concerns or opinions students may have in this experience, and our experience delivering content on placement, after our experience in the course. I believe this

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would’ve contributed to addressing a disconnect between university and placement pre-service teachers in my current cohort have felt. Conversely, working closely with the teacher and my fellow co-teachers after completion of the course, to view feedback from students participating in the course this year, would’ve allowed us to reflect on our changes, analyse and provide a platform for future student co-teachers. (Student partner 2) Through the process of praxis (action and reflection) participants not only worked to continually improve the content being delivered but also the manner of the partnership itself. When reflecting on the actions taken by the partnership teams, all participants identified feelings of discomfort or unease when they were confronted with processes and environments with which they were unfamiliar. Being asked to participate in a process which was new was at times uncomfortable and felt risky. Recognition as Risk-Taking Emotions and uncomfortable feelings were a common component of reflections from all participants. Feelings of unease were expressed by students and teachers alike as all adjusted to their traditional roles being questioned and ‘shaken up’. When stepping out of their expected role as ‘experts’ and ‘givers of knowledge’, teachers can feel at times that they are shirking their responsibility or not providing enough value. Listening as a teacher, when the role of teacher equals teller/controller of knowledge/ classroom, is hard because listening (and allowing students to be listened too) feels like you are not doing your job. The power of being listened to is seductive and energising for teachers. (Staff partner 1) Likewise, students indicated that being asked to contribute to content creation (as indicated in quotes at the start of this section) and give feedback to other students prior to assessments being submitted evoked strong emotions as they wondered if they were up to the task. I was slightly nervous about what feedback I would receive and whether I would agree with it or be able to act upon it in time. I was also worried that I wouldn’t be able to provide enough valuable feedback to my peers. (Student partner 1) However, by allowing themselves to take the risk of stepping out of their comfort zones participants found that their sense of involvement in the process became deeper and their feelings of unease morphed into building excitement as they began to experience the results of their risk-taking. But both of these concerns proved to be groundless as I had an overall positive experience. The feedback I received was respectful and specific and I was able to provide sufficient feedback with the help of the checklist and rubric. (Student partner 1) Had I stuck with my original idea of just showing them how I had used the example piece of work, we would have missed out on the wide variety of valuable alternative options devised by the students. In that moment I felt that by sharing my knowledge

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and experience in this type of setting, I was making a difference and contributing to a new generation of teachers developing their own teacher identity instead of simply creating a group of cookie cutter teachers who were only exposed to one way (my way) of thinking about a course. (Staff partner 2) By taking risks and allowing themselves to trust in the trust placed in them, participants who were new to the process of student partnership found themselves experiencing a different type of teaching and learning practice that felt more collaborative and allowed them to be successful within the course as well as gain skills that would benefit them outside the classroom.

Discussion and Conclusion Reciprocity is well-acknowledged in the partnership literature. Cook-Sather and Felten (2017: 182) discussed an ‘ethic of reciprocity’ as a process of balanced give-and-take not of commodities but rather of contributions: perspectives, insights, forms of participation. There is equity in what is exchanged and how it is exchanged; however, those who are involved in the exchange do not get and give exactly the same things. Their intent was to assert a social justice stance. In doing so, partnership approaches resist neoliberal tendencies that have created the more traditional student/teacher dynamic and positioned students as customers rather than partners or active participants in their own learning (Matthews et al. 2018). By drawing in the lens of recognition, the role of reciprocity becomes clearer – recognition is manifested through such an ethic. Recognition affirms the intersubjective process of being in partnership, regardless of partnership form or mode (or type). Where partnership or reciprocity can fall short and feel like an exchange or transaction (e.g. you do this, I do that), the lens of recognition illuminates that space between people – how one person feels seen, heard and valued because of a relationship with another person, and this in turn motivates action and reflection (praxis). When teachers and students are asked to prioritize other people in their learning process, risks arise for those involved and tensions surface between everyday pedagogical relationships and the broader structures of educational systems. By moving towards a process of partnership that is reliant on student voice, the co-authors indicated risks of altering familiar educational structures and processes. Yet, as Cook-Sather (2016) observed, risk and some levels of discomfort are part and parcel of learning and growth. Arao and Clemens (2013) approach risk from another perspective, arguing that in removing risk from challenging issues, institutions can ‘encourage entrenchment in privilege’ and ‘contribute to the entrenchment of dominance and subordination’ (140). Recognition asks us to know ourselves in relation to the people around us. Philosophers offer three distinct ‘senses’ of recognition: ‘sense of identification: being able to (re-)identify objects and events’; ‘sense of recognizing, or detecting mistakes–especially admitting one’s own mistakes’; and ‘sense of acknowledging and honouring the status of others’ (Honneth and Margalit 2001: 128–129). In our pedagogical partnership approaches, we found recognition illuminated the messy intersection of self in relation to others involving vulnerability to be okay with learning through mistakes and seeing ourselves differently. We put forward that, regardless

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of form of partnership – in partnership classrooms or smaller group co-creation projects – forms of recognition should emerge as a guide for, and measure of, partnership processes that nourish humanizing learning communities. We encourage students and educators in higher education institutions to expand the boundaries and borders of partnership as everyday classroom practices that honour and recognize student voice in teaching and learning.

Acknowledgements We are grateful to the students and staff who participated in our session at the 2021 Students as Partners Roundtable, and to Tiahna Addicott and Preeti Vayada for participating in the presentation that we expanded on in this chapter.

Notes 1 Student-faculty/student-academic depending on country or context. 2 Outside of United States to signal inclusion of specialist administrative staff involvement in education.

References Aquarone, F., L. Nehéz-Posony, P. R. Anwar, S. Salam, E. Koutsouri, M. Kim, S. Suh, T. Mayomi, J. Pilarska, E. Houghton and Y. Boodai (2020), ‘We’re Trying to Do Things Differently’: The Challenges of Relationships and Recognition in Higher Education, King’s College London: Centre for Public Policy Research. Arao, B., and K. Clemens (2013), ‘From Safe Spaces to Brave Spaces: A New Way to Frame Dialogue around Diversity and Social Justice’, in L. M. Landreman (ed.), The Art of Effective Facilitation: Reflections from Social Justice Educators, 135–50, Sterling, VA: Stylus Publishing. Bovill, C. (2020), ‘Co-creation in Learning and Teaching: The Case for a Whole-Class Approach in Higher Education’, Higher Education, 79 (6): 1023–37. https://doi.org/10.1007/s10​734-019-00453-w. Braun, V., and V. Clarke (2006), ‘Using Thematic Analysis in Psychology’, Qualitative Research in Psychology, 3 (2): 77–101. https://doi.org/10.1191/147808​8706​qp06​3oa. Braun, V., and V. Clarke (2019), ‘Reflecting on Reflexive Thematic Analysis’, Qualitative Research in Sport, Exercise and Health, 11 (4): 589–97. https://doi-org.ezpr​oxy.libr​ary.uq.edu.au/10.1080/21596​ 76X.2019.1628​806. Cook-Sather, A. (2002), ‘Authorizing Students’ Perspectives: Toward Trust, Dialogue, and Change in Education’, Educational Researcher, 31 (4): 3–14. https://doi.org/10.3102/001318​9X03​1004​003. Cook-Sather, A. (2016), ‘Creating Brave Spaces within and through Student-Faculty Pedagogical Partnerships’, Teaching and Learning Together in Higher Education, 1 (18): 1. http://rep​osit​ory.brynm​ awr.edu/tlthe/vol1/iss18/1 (accessed 13 July 2022.). Cook-Sather, A. (2018), ‘Tracing the Evolution of Student Voice in Educational Research’, in R. Bourke and J. Loveridge (eds), Radical Collegiality through Student Voice, Singapore: Springer. https://doi. org/10.1007/978-981-13-1858-0_2. Cook-Sather, A., C. Bovill and P. Felten (2014), Engaging Students as Partners in Learning and Teaching: A Guide for Faculty, San Fransisco: Jossey-Bass. Cook-Sather, A., M. Bahti and A. Ntem (2019), Pedagogical Partnerships: A How-to Guide for Faculty, Students, and Academic Developers in Higher Education, Elon, NC: Elon University Center for Engaged Teaching Open Access Series. Cook-Sather, A., M. Healey and K. E. Matthews (2021), ‘Recognizing Students’ Expertise and Insights in Expanding Forms of Academic Writing and Publishing about Learning and Teaching’, International Journal for Students as Partners, 5 (1): 1–7. https://doi.org/10.15173/ijsap.v5i1.4626.

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Cook-Sather, A., and P. Felten (2017), ‘Ethics of Academic Leadership: Guiding Learning and Teaching’, in F. Su and M. Wood (eds), Cosmopolitan Perspectives on Academic Leadership in Higher Education, 175–91, London: Bloomsbury Academic. Ellis, C., T. E. Adams and A. P. Bochner (2011), ‘Autoethnography: An Overview’, Historical Social Research/Historische sozialforschung, 36 (4): 273–90. https://www.jstor.org/sta​ble/23032​294. Freire, P. (1973), Pedagogy of the Oppressed. New York: Penguin. Godbold, N., T. Y. Hung and K. E. Matthews (2021), ‘Exploring the Role of Conflict in Co-creation of Curriculum through Engaging Students as Partners in the Classroom’, Higher Education Research & Development, 41 (4), 1104–18. https://doi.org/10.1080/07294​360.2021.1887​095. Healey, M., A. Flint and K. Harrington (2014), Engagement through Partnership: Students as Partners in Learning and Teaching in Higher Education, York: HEA. https://www.heacad​emy.ac.uk/sys​tem/files/ resour​ces/eng​agem​ent_​thro​ugh_​part​ners​hip.pdf (accessed 14 May 2022). Honneth, A., and A. Margalit (2001), ‘Recognition’, Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society, Supplementary Volumes, 75: 111–39. hooks, b. (1994), Teaching to Transgress: Education as the Practice of Freedom, New York: Routledge. hooks, b. (2010), Teaching Critical Thinking: Practical Wisdom, Routledge. New York. Matthews, K. E. (2017), ‘Five Propositions for Genuine Students as Partners Practice’, International Journal for Students as Partners, 1 (2): 1–9. https://doi.org/10.15173/ijsap.v1i2.3315. Matthews, K. E., A. Dwyer, L. Hine and J. Turner (2018), ‘Conceptions of Students as Partners’, Higher Education, 76 (6): 957–71. https://doi.org/10.1007/s10​734-018-0257-y. Matthews, K. E., and M. Dollinger (2022), ‘Student Voice in Higher Education: The Importance of Distinguishing Student Representation and Student Partnership’, Higher Education, 85 (3), 555–70. https://doi.org/10.1007/s10​734-022-00851-7. Mercer-Mapstone, L., S. L. Dvorakova, K. E. Matthews, S. Abbot, B. Cheng, P. Felten, K. Knorr, E. Marquis, R. Shammas and K. Swaim (2017), ‘A Systematic Literature Review of Students as Partners in Higher Education’, International Journal for Students as Partners, 1 (1): 1–23. https://doi. org/10.15173/ijsap.v1i1.3119. Molm, L. D. (2010), ‘The Structure of Reciprocity’, Social Psychology Quarterly, 73 (2): 119–31. Munevar-Pelton, I., A. Olsen-Neill, Yahlnaaw, N. De Wet-Billings, K. Hellemans, D. Hornsby, S. Laher, M. Mullally, R. Osman and H. Smith (2022), ‘Editorial, Partnership in Fostering Socially Just Pedagogies’, International Journal for Students As Partners, 6 (1): 1–9. https://doi.org/10.15173/ijsap. v6i1.5129. Roy, R., and S. Uekusa (2020), ‘Collaborative Autoethnography: “Self-reflection” as a Timely Alternative Research Approach during the Global Pandemic’, Qualitative Research Journal, 20 (4): 383–92. https://www.emer​ald.com/insi​ght/cont​ent/doi/10.1108/QRJ-06-2020-0054/full/html. UCL (2022), A Guide to Student-Staff Partnerships. https://www.ucl.ac.uk/chang​emak​ers/chang​emak​ersresou​rce-bank/apply​ing-your-proj​ect/guide-stud​ent-staff-part​ners​hip (accessed 14 July 2022). United Nations (1989), ‘Convention on the Rights of the Child’, United Nations Treaty Series 1577, 3–178. https://treat​ies.un.org/doc/Treat​ies/1990/09/19900​902%2003-14%20AM/Ch_IV_​11p.pdf (accessed 26 May 2022).

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Moving from Student Voice to Agency: Sustainable Pedagogical Partnerships for Higher Education KATHRYN A. SUTHERLAND, IRINA ELGORT, OZZMAN SYMES-HULL AND CLAUDIA VAN ZIJL

It is important that higher education institutions around the world continue the good work of creating and widening spaces for student voices to be heard, as the chapters in this book testify. Student voices matter and can inform the way learning, teaching and research happen. But, as this book also makes clear, mere listening is insufficient. Hearing student voices is not the same as empowering students to act upon and change the institutions, environments, processes and policies about and in which they are learning. Student voice does not guarantee student agency. Agency requires students to be willing actors with the dispositions and motivations to transform their environments, but it also requires structures and people that invite and do not constrain such action. So how can higher education institutions become learning environments in which student agency is encouraged? In this chapter, we describe a co-designed studentstaff partnership programme in which we encourage the voices of all participants (students, staff and academic developers) and in which student agency is becoming a powerful tool for the transformation of our university’s learning environment. Our programme is called Ako in Action, and it involves two students partnering with a teaching staff member or team to observe, consult upon and reflect about teaching and learning with a goal to improving the learning experience for all involved. Ako is a Māori word that means both ‘to teach’ and ‘to learn’ so the programme name captures not just the reciprocity inherent within any successful student-staff partnership initiative but also the active intent: participating in this programme requires action, and action requires agency. In this chapter, we first provide an overview of the Aotearoa New Zealand higher education context, mapping the shifts in attention to student voice in universities in the past decade or so. We then show that although agency is desired by both students and staff, the conditions for supporting agency are not always present. So, how do we create environments in our universities that encourage agentic orientations and agentic possibilities (Klemenčič 2020)? One possibility is a values-based pedagogical partnership programme, such as Ako in Action, and we describe its genesis and development. We conclude the chapter with some thoughts on what contributes to the sustainability of programmes in which student agency is encouraged and transformative.

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A Note on Voice in This Chapter This chapter is co-written by two academic developers (Irina and Kathryn) and two students (Claudia and Ozzman). As academic developers in the Centre for Academic Development at Te Herenga Waka–Victoria University of Wellington, Irina and Kathryn were tasked with creating and coordinating the student-staff partnership programme we describe in this chapter. We made an early decision to design, implement and evaluate the programme in full partnership with students every step of the way, including whenever we might have occasion to talk or write about the programme. To this end, the chapter has been conceived and co-written by all four of us and we use the pronoun ‘we’ to reflect this co-authorship. In the second half of the chapter, there are a few instances where we highlight distinct voices. Rather than ‘quoting’ ourselves, we instead use the pronoun ‘I’ or ‘we’ followed by our name/s to make clear who is writing at that point.

New Zealand Higher Education Context In a previous publication (Sutherland et al. 2019), we surveyed some of the literature that has informed practices in Aotearoa New Zealand around listening to students, ensuring they are well-represented in decisions that affect their learning and well-being and engaging them in university governance and quality assurance processes. We made a distinction in that chapter between two strands of research and literature that only sometimes talk to each other: student voice research (Canning 2017; Freeman 2016; Lygo-Baker et al. 2019; Varnham et al. 2018) and student engagement research (Ashwin and McVitty 2015; Baron and Corbin 2012; Buckley 2018; Kahu 2013; Wimpenny and Savin-Baden 2013; Zepke 2017). We argued that the students as partners literature was a third strand that needed more serious attention in an Aotearoa New Zealand context (Sutherland et al. 2019). Encouragingly, in recent years, considerable work has occurred within the tertiary education sector in Aotearoa New Zealand to enhance ‘student voice’ (Alkema et al. 2013; Varnham 2021). Our earlier chapter traced the slow but steady movement of government and tertiary education institutions in Aotearoa New Zealand towards welcoming students’ involvement in decision-making committees at national and institutional levels. Students are now well-represented within universities at all levels of the hierarchy (from class reps to governance bodies and quality committees). At a national level, New Zealand’s Academic Quality Agency (AQA), which audits the teaching quality of all New Zealand universities in seven-year cycles, includes students on all audit panels that visit universities. Students are also represented on the Board of Ako Aotearoa: the National Centre for Tertiary Teaching Excellence. More recently, AQA commissioned a university graduate (Sam Smith) to serve as a ‘student voice advisor’ and report on the role of students in AQA’s processes. In the ensuing report, Smith (2021) makes a very deliberate distinction between student voice, which is described as students ‘contributing their views and perspectives … to improve their university experience’ and student partnership, which he describes much more expansively as, ‘students [and] students’ associations and university staff working together, from problem identification to solution implementation, to enhance the teaching and learning experiences of students and staff, student outcomes and student support’ (5). Smith optimistically identified recent government legislation as moving positively towards such a partnership approach, pointing out that an amendment to the Education Act has seen the introduction of codes of practice in 440

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relation to the pastoral care and well-being of students. The Interim Code (Ministry of Education 2019) stated that tertiary education organizations must have practices for ‘assisting students to be key partners in developing practices that influence their study, their learning environment, and pastoral care’ (Clause 17a, emphasis added). Smith saw this as ‘a significant step forward for student partnership in Aotearoa New Zealand’ noting that, ‘it will be interesting to see what student voice and partnership expectations are placed on institutions when the permanent code of practice is adopted in 2022’ (Smith 2021: 20). In the final version of the code, however, which came into effect in January 2022, the words ‘partner’ or ‘partnership with students’ are gone. Instead, Outcome 2: Learner Voice states that providers are expected to ‘understand and respond to diverse learner voices and wellbeing and safety needs in a way that upholds their mana1 and autonomy’ (10). While the respect for learner mana and autonomy is encouraging, the removal of reference to partnership and the emphasis instead on ensuring that students are ‘able to have their say’ (New Zealand Qualifications Authority 2021) is perhaps not the step forward that Smith had hoped for. Indeed, student organizations have been working very hard over the last couple of years to ensure that they are given more than merely ‘a say’. For example, a 2020 survey of Māori students found that ‘more than half of the responses from students indicated they did not feel valued as a student by their university’ (Akuhata-Huntington 2020: 51). While this survey was directly about the impact of Covid-19 in the first few months of the pandemic, the recommendations at the end of the report ring true for universities beyond pandemic or crisis situations. Te Mana Ākonga (National Māori Tertiary Students’ Association) calls for ‘evaluation of tertiary plans and policy … in meaningful and lasting partnership with Māori students [and] evaluation of all university support services … undertaken with clear Māori student involvement at all levels and that produces measurable goals and outcomes’ (AkuhataHuntington 2020: 55). One means of ensuring Māori (and other) students are involved at all levels of university decision-making and planning is to develop a partnership framework such as is common in other countries (e.g. SPARQS 2011, NStEP 2020). Promisingly, 2021 saw a wide group of partners from across the tertiary sector in Aotearoa New Zealand come together for this purpose. Whiria Ngā Rau is a New Zealand student partnership framework developed through a collaboration between the Ministry of Education (MoE), Te Mana Ākonga, New Zealand Union of Students’ Associations, Tauira Pasifika (National Pacific Tertiary Students’ Association) and the National Disabled Students’ Association in 2021. It outlines a framework for tertiary education institutions and students to work in partnership with each other, based on four principles (referred to as rau or leaves) woven together2: 1. whakapakari: strengthening students’ voices; 2. whakawhanaungatanga: building connections with each other; 3. akoranga: learning from and with each other; and 4. mahitahi: working together. These principles resonate with the values identified in much of the students as partners literature, especially empowerment, relationships, reciprocity and shared responsibility (Cook-Sather, Bovill and Felten 2014). The Whiria Ngā Rau framework positions students very clearly ‘at the centre of the learner journey in tertiary education, strengthened with academic, mental, physical and community support’ and notes that a ‘paradigm shift is crucial to breathing life into this’ 441

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(MoE et al. 2021: 1). Such a paradigm shift requires universities to recognize that students desire more than an openness to hearing ‘the “student voice,” with the solo, disembodied, oneway contribution that implies’ (10). Whiria Ngā Rau captures this frustration beautifully in the following extended passage, which provides a rich and poetic picture of the wide diversity of student voices and experiences that we risk ignoring or alienating without a partnership ethos: A common question student representatives get asked is ‘what do students think?’, as if there’s such a thing as a single student voice. Although there are things that bring us together, we are an incredibly diverse community. We are parents and grandparents, school leavers and career changers. Some of us were born in Aotearoa, others have recently arrived. We’re domestic and international students, learning at home and abroad. We are neurodiverse and live with disabilities. We are workers, studying full-time, part-time or from time to time. We learn kanohi ki te kanohi, on our own, on campus, at work, at home, remotely, over quite varied blocks of time. We have similar and different values. We are whole people, with full lives. Our identities – as tangata whenua, Pacific peoples, disabled people, city or provincial dwellers – and our whānau, hapu, iwi, ‘aiga, and communities are integral to our experiences as tauira. We are so much more than a disembodied ‘voice’, or a one-dimensional stereotype. (MoE et al. 2021: 8)3 To move beyond an environment in which students feel at best stereotyped and at worst ignored, tertiary institutions will need to engage much more deliberately with students to not only hear them but also welcome their partnership. As Sally Varnham (‘student voice’ researcher and a valued consultant on the development of Whiria Ngā Rau) has expressed, Aotearoa New Zealand tertiary institutions must ‘encourage more diverse student representation, greater authenticity of inclusion and more effectiveness for the expert voices of learners’ if Whiria Ngā Rau is to fulfil its potential (Varnham 2021: 10). In short, students want more agency in and over their learning environments, and many staff want to help create the conditions in which student agency thrives. The next section of the chapter outlines what we mean by student agency and how it relates to student-staff partnership.

Student Agency Student agency refers to the ways that learners shape and construct their worlds, beliefs, motivations and identities, and the ways they experience ownership and control over their own learning (Holland et al. 2001; Klemenčič 2020; Vaughn 2020). Students have agency when they are subjects not objects of teaching and learning processes and environments (Felten et al. 2019; Klemenčič 2020; Storey, Eckell-Sparrow and Ransdell 2021) and when they can be self-directed and self-regulated learners (Klemenčič 2020) who are motivated to change. Agentic dispositions or motivations, however, are not sufficient for transformation to occur (either within the student themselves or upon the environment in which they are learning). As motivated as a student might be to exert their agency in a given learning situation, the structures and conditions must exist in which that agency is given room for action. Klemenčič (2020: 94) distinguishes between students’ agentic orientations – their ‘internal responses to external states of affairs’ including 442

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their ‘predispositions, efficacy beliefs and will or motivations to enactments of agency’ – and agentic possibilities, which are ‘exogenously given (they originate outside the individual)’ (94). Both agentic orientations and agentic possibilities are required for change to happen. One such way that agentic possibilities are created is through pedagogical partnership programmes, which pair students with teaching staff to effect change in teaching and learning. Students as Partners In the right circumstances, students can act as powerful change agents (Dunne and Zandstra 2011) for the transformation of university learning environments, especially if working in partnership with each other, with staff (both academic and professional staff) and with academic developers (Felten et al. 2019). Such partnership programmes are often referred to as ‘students as partners’ (Mercer-Mapstone et al. 2017) and the increasing readership of the International Journal for Students as Partners (IJSaP) and the popularity of the annual Students as Partners Roundtable event in Australia are testaments to the broad-sweeping appeal of such programmes internationally. Other names for such programmes are ‘pedagogical partnerships’ (Cook-Sather, Bahti and Ntem 2019) or, in our case, ‘student-staff partnership’ (Leota and Sutherland 2020). All of these programmes focus on empowering students and staff to work together in partnership to improve the teaching and learning experience for all involved (Mercer-Mapstone and Abbott 2020). Many draw from Bovill and Bulley’s (2011) well-regarded ‘ladder of student participation’ to emphasize a shift from dictating to students what will happen in terms of curriculum and pedagogy towards more choice, then towards negotiation and eventually towards an environment where students might have control over decisions and actions that affect their learning. In their ‘theoretical model for students as change agents’, Dunne and Zandstra (2011: 17) provide a matrix in which educational change activities are driven or led by the university at one end and by students at the other, and where the emphasis travels from passive student voice or representation towards full student engagement. Dunne, who developed a students as change agents programme at the University of Exeter, argues that the ‘concept of “listening to the student voice” – implicitly if not deliberately – supports the perspective of student as “consumer”, whereas “students as change agents” explicitly supports a view of the student as “active collaborator” and “co-producer”, with the potential for transformation’ (4). In the bottom right quadrant of Dunne and Zandstra’s (2011) matrix, where students are the drivers and the emphasis is on student engagement, students are viewed as ‘agents for change’. Such characterization requires students to both feel and enact a sense of agency, which calls for an environment and structures that support agentic orientations and provide agentic possibilities (Klemenčič 2020). Students as partners programmes offer such possibilities (Storey, Eckell-Sparrow and Ransdell 2021). Various structures and relationships between individuals and the partnerships in which they participate may both enable and constrain agency; for action and change to ensue, all partners need to be agentive. However, not all pedagogical partnerships necessarily recognize this. Much of the agency in student-staff partnerships can often rest with the educators, who end up making most of the important decisions, not the students. This is also picked up on in Chapter 18 in this book. Basing our student-staff partnership programme firmly in the concept of ako – which means both to teach and to learn – we have, from inception, recognized the agency of the staff and students involved and have designed and developed the entire programme in full partnership. 443

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The Ako in Action partnership includes academic developers, lecturers and students. In the next sections, we briefly describe the programme itself, then go on to outline the aspects of Ako in Action that emphasize agency and contribute to the sustainability of the programme.

Ako in Action A team comprising two students, one professor and one academic developer attended a Change Institute at McMaster University, Canada in 2017, after which we conceived of and developed Ako in Action in full partnership (Lenihan-Ikin et al. 2020). We began with a co-designed pilot involving six students, six staff and two academic developers, before launching fully in 2019. The programme itself, and the values underpinning its design and subsequent implementation, are described in detail in a chapter co-written by one of the student coordinators and one of the academic developers (Leota and Sutherland 2020). Ako in Action was further informed not just by lessons learned at the Change Institute but also by various guides on pedagogical partnership (Cook-Sather, Bahti and Ntem 2019; Cook-Sather, Bovill and Felten 2014; Mercer-Mapstone and Abbot 2020). Including the pilot, we have now conducted nine iterations of Ako in Action, involving more than 110 student participants and nearly 90 staff. The original partnerships involved two students from different disciplines working with an individual teacher or teaching team from another discipline to observe and reflect upon teaching and/or course and learning design. Students observed lectures and classroom sessions and/or reviewed teaching materials, recordings and resources and then engaged in reflective conversations with the teachers to consider how to enhance the learning experience. Partnerships have since expanded to involve students partnering with professional staff who work on supporting learning, as well as with academic developers to design new academic development programmes, and to redesign resources for Ako in Action itself, and with associate deans to participate in faculty-wide learning and teaching projects. Ako in Action runs twice a year for ten weeks each time. Student partners are trained at a series of weekly group meetings over a month before beginning their partnerships with teaching staff. The weekly group meetings then carry on through the rest of the twelve-week trimester and are based around the six values underpinning the programme (described in detail in Leota and Sutherland 2020). Some partnerships cover the bulk of the trimester, while others may be one-off teaching observations or teaching design consultations. Students have one or two partnerships over a seven-week period. The weekly group meetings are led by an academic developer and/or a student coordinator. (Student coordinators are returning student partners who take responsibility for mentoring new student partners and liaising with the Centre for Academic Development who sponsors the programme and runs the training.) Students are compensated for their time with a combination of either a scholarship or points towards extracurricular leadership programmes or grocery/book/gift vouchers (depending on grades and financial needs). All partners receive a resource booklet and guidelines, and student partners are supported through an online community space, where they and the academic developers each upload a weekly reflective log. In the following sections, we describe how two key aspects underpinning the programme – akoranga and reflective practice – contribute to the development of student agency and to the sustainability of Ako in Action. 444

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Akoranga Akoranga is the noun form of ako (to teach and to learn) and embodies the principles of reciprocity and shared responsibility at the heart of Ako in Action. In taking shared responsibility – with each other and with a succession of amazing students – for the development of the programme, we (Kathryn and Irina) have learned a huge amount as academic developers about the power of involving students in our endeavours to improve teaching and learning at our university. Felten and colleagues (2019) contend that students are usually positioned as objects and/or consumers, rather than as ‘legitimate actors in and agents of’ academic development (195). Ako in Action has brought students actively into our learning and teaching centre (the Centre for Academic Development) whānau (extended family) in active and tangible ways. We have learned more about technologies we may never have otherwise encountered or mastered quite so readily (how to do our own graphic design, the power of short and sweet videos etc.) as well as how to better design training sessions and resources to appeal to a wider array of participants, students and staff alike. Taking Ako in Action online during the first throes of the Covid-19 pandemic in 2020 helped us viscerally appreciate what academic staff would soon experience themselves in having to flip in to online and blended teaching so unexpectedly and quickly. It also opened our previously rather naïve eyes to the very real challenges of twenty-first-century student life in a neoliberal, underfunded higher education system that requires students to work many hours in order to afford to attend university, as Ozzman writes below. I (Ozzman) found Ako in Action very valuable in subverting the unspoken, punishing expectations that exist in contemporary New Zealand society and inevitably affect learning. Housing costs are high in Wellington, and discrimination against students is rife. A severe shortage of housing threatens the safety, health and well-being of students and lecturers. Many of the latter also very likely experience precarity in employment. Given endemic racism, ableism and sexism it is no surprise that many people are in ‘survival mode’ and become fearful of others and the unbidden consequences of not following the line. What I love about Ako in Action is that it pushes back on the isolating, homogenizing and damaging forces facing students and teachers. It unashamedly promotes whanaungatanga. Ako in Action creates space for these open-minded, learning focussed and reciprocal relationships between and among students and academic staff. It creates moments for levity, joy, and impassioned discussion. We are reminded of why we went into tertiary education, either as a student or a lecturer. Ako in Action, in connecting people with different life experiences and disciplinary backgrounds, creates new spaces for conversations and self-confidence. The concept of whanaungatanga, which Ozzman refers to above, is a collective sense of belonging, like that experienced by members of an extended family or whānau. It is one of our university’s core values (THW-VUW 2020) and deeply underpins the Ako in Action programme (Leota and Sutherland 2020). During the first couple of group meetings, Ako in Action students learn about the meaning of this value, reflect on how they have (or have not) experienced whanaungatanga themselves throughout their university experience and decide how they might encourage lecturers to create and/or enhance learning environments in which a collective sense of belonging is palpable for all. They then share this concept, and others, with the teachers with whom they are paired, many of whom have not yet delved deeply into this and other values at the heart of the university’s Learning and Teaching Strategy, first introduced in 2017. In this

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process of exposing their academic partners to unexpected new learning, Ozzman identified that the student partners are like younger siblings (teina) gently challenging their older siblings (tuakana). Within whānau (extended families), tuakana are the older siblings who guide and support the younger siblings (teina), and also learn from them, as in the ancient stories of Māui and his older brothers: ‘As the youngest brother, Māui had a tempestuous relationship with his older brothers, but he managed to negotiate and mediate certain positions so that they achieved wondrous tasks’ (Winitana 2012). Tuakana are expected to bring teina along with them: ‘Those who are ahead, leading or who know more, actively and regularly look behind to those who follow and help bring them up to the same place’ but tuakana also ‘know these roles can be reversed at any time, and they value this aspect of the relationship’ (MoE et al. 2021: 18). Having experienced this role reversal myself, I (Ozzman) have seen my agency having effect. I also witnessed this tuakana-teina model in action in the way that the programme built in deliberate succession planning to ensure that experienced student partners would guide and lead new student partners. I took over the student coordinator role in 2021 from Ali Leota, who had held the position since the pilot programme, and who served as an amazing role model for me when I was a student partner. Ali helped organize weekly meetings, taught some of them and mentored many new student partners, including me. He embodied an appreciative rather than critical approach that really resonated with me and his leadership was vital in inspiring me to take on the coordinator role myself, during which I developed skills that have prepared me well for my current role in 2022 as a Kaiako Pitomata (student teacher in postgraduate training to teach in secondary schools). This legacy approach, where student coordinators mentor student partners into leadership roles, may not be unique to our partnership programme. But the extent to which student coordinators have been involved in every aspect of the design, planning, redesign and ongoing development of Ako in Action seems unusual from what we have read in the students as partners literature: in Ako in Action, every meeting is co-planned, every new initiative is co-designed, every new resource is co-written, every presentation about the programme to other universities is co-presented and every publication is co-authored with students. As Ali, former student coordinator, often used to say: ‘Nothing about us, without us’! Reflective Practice From the outset we agreed to engage in critical reflection (Brookfield 2017) both on-action and in-action (Schön 1995) and we have built various reflective practices into the programme for all participating partners: students, lecturers and academic developers. Reflection in-action includes reflective writing and discussion activities during workshop sessions and during partnership conversations, while reflection on-action includes reflective logs posted online at the end of each week. We brought in these reflective logs after having lots of reflection in the pilot phase of Ako in Action in 2018 (cf Leota and Sutherland 2020) and much less, unintentionally, in the first two iterations of the programme. At the students’ request, we incorporated reflective logs into each week, recognizing that reflection needed to be at the heart of every iteration. Students were encouraged to choose their own way of expression and what they want to write about. They could articulate their own understanding of their Ako in Action partnerships, unique in many ways. 446

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The logs were also used to reflect on the points raised by other students in regular meetings, contributing to the self-realization of Ako in Action as a community of practice. This reflection has transferred from the programme itself into student participants’ other learning contexts, as Claudia describes. Before being involved in Ako in Action, I (Claudia) always felt quite disconnected from lecturers. There was content delivered to me in lectures that I had to learn and I didn’t have much say in how the course was taught or the content we covered. I had also only really spoken to my lecturers when I had the occasional question after class or if they were running a lab. Ako in Action completely changed this. The programme enabled me to meet with lecturers and my experiences and opinions on their course were highly valued. Building a partnership and having meaningful conversations with academics was something I had never experienced before. I found this empowering, as it completely changed my perspective on the hierarchies I had built up in my head that students and academics couldn’t relate to each other. After participating in the programme, I began to reflect that lecturers actually want students to engage and I started to feel more confident in approaching my lecturers and participating in class. I used to worry that asking questions would ‘annoy’ my lecturers, creating extra work for them or wasting their time. However, Ako in Action provoked me to be more engaged in class and if I’m able to to challenge my lecturers with questions. Ako in Action thus not only opened doors to meeting lecturers, but it also helped me to be a more reflective student. I started to notice tools that lecturers were using to try to engage students (asking open-ended questions to the class, using classroom response systems, online blogs etc.) and appreciating the effort they were putting in and this inspired me to engage more. I also learned a lot about myself during the programme, through being exposed to different opinions and perspectives from other students and doing reflections at the end of sessions.

Ako in Action as Agentic Possibility We started off with an argument that student agency goes beyond the presence of ‘student voice’; it involves active student engagement in shaping university teaching, learning, and educational practices. Our Ako in Action programme enacts student agency at multiple levels. Firstly, students are active co-constructors of the programme itself, as it changes and takes new shape with each student intake. At the course level, students actively co-construct the goals, content and format of their academic partnerships. Students’ sense of agency is strengthened as they see real time changes in teaching implemented as a direct result of their reflective conversations with their academic partners. On their part, academic partners comment on the depth of student thinking and the joy of engaging in a meaningful dialogue with their student partners; this encourages them to create better conditions and develop resources that, in turn, promote sustained agentic possibilities in their courses. Importantly, at the level the organizational culture, establishing a sustained practice of reflective academic dialogue between students and staff across faculties normalizes the view of students as co-creators and change agents assuming an agentive role in their own university education. It is important to acknowledge that, with student and staff voluntary decision to engage in Ako in Action, our partnership programme is but one component in the organizational change that could result in a university that promotes and values student agency. 447

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Conclusion In this chapter, we have described the co-design of a pedagogical partnership programme intended to imbue the university’s values more deeply in day-to-day learning and teaching practice. Recognizing the reciprocity inherent in ako (the Māori word for teaching and learning), students, teachers and academic developers were included from the design phase through to implementation, reflection, evaluation and re-development of Ako in Action. This partnership approach encouraged and enhanced student agency in ways much more powerful than their merely being permitted to occasionally ‘have a say’. We have shown that Ako in Action encourages actorhood (Klemenčič 2020) because it works on helping participants (students and staff alike) to change their dispositions, efficacy beliefs and will or motivation. Ako in Action provides agentic possibility through creating formal partnerships and enabling students to work with lecturers on their teaching. In doing so, students become more aware of their own learning processes and are motivated to act differently as learners beyond the formal partnerships in Ako in Action, thus shifting their agentic orientation and becoming actors for change or change agents within the university and their own lives. We contend that the enactment of agency in our programme is a model of the relationality and reciprocity that students and educators in higher education deserve and should aspire to see implemented more widely.

Notes 1 Mana = ‘prestige, authority, control, power, influence, status, spiritual power, charisma – mana is a supernatural force in a person, place or object’. https://maor​idic​tion​ary.co.nz/word/3424 (accessed 14 June 2023). 2 Whiria = weave, ngā rau = the leaves 3 Aotearoa = New Zealand; kanohi ki te kanohi = face-to-face; tangata whenua = indigenous; whānau = extended family; hapū = sub-tribe; iwi = tribe; ‘aiga = family (Samoan); tauira = students, youth.

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Buckley, A. (2018), ‘The Ideology of Student Engagement Research’. Teaching in Higher Education, 23 (6), 718–32. Canning, J. (2017), ‘Conceptualising Student Voice in UK Higher Education: Four Theoretical Lenses’, Teaching in Higher Education, 22 (5): 519–31. Cook-Sather, A., C. Bovill and P. Felten (2014), Engaging Students as Partners in Learning and Teaching: A Guide for Faculty, San Francisco: Jossey-Bass. Cook-Sather, A., M. Bahti and A. Ntem (2019), Pedagogical Partnerships: A How-to Guide, Elon, NC: Elon University Centre for Engaged Learning. Dunne, E., and R. Zandstra (2011), Students as Change Agents – New Ways of Engaging with Learning and Teaching in Higher Education, Bristol: A Joint University of Exeter/ESCalate/Higher Education Academy Publication. https://dera.ioe.ac.uk/id/epr​int/14767/7/8242_R​edac​ted.pdf (accessed 14 June 2023). Felten, P., S. Abbot, J. Kirkwood, A. Long, T. Lubicz-Nawrocka, L. Mercer-Mapstone and R. Verwoord (2019), ‘Reimagining the Place of Students in Academic Development’, International Journal for Academic Development, 24 (2): 192–203. doi:10.1080/1360144X.2019.1594235. Freeman, R. (2016), ‘Is Student Voice Necessarily Empowering? Problematising Student Voice as a Form of Higher Education Governance’. Higher Education Research & Development, 35 (4), 859–62. Holland, D. C.,W. Lachicotte, D. Skinner and C. Cain (2001), Identity and Agency in Cultural Worlds, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Kahu, E. (2013), ‘Framing Student Engagement in Higher Education’, Studies in Higher Education, 38 (5): 758–73. Klemenčič, M. (2020), ‘Students as Actors and Agents in Student-Centered Higher Education’, in S. Hoidn and M. Klemen Klemenčičič (eds), The Routledge International Handbook of Student-Centered Learning and Teaching in Higher Education, 92–108, New York: Taylor and Francis. Lenihan-Ikin, I., B. Olsen, K. A. Sutherland, E. Tennent and M. Wilson (2020), ‘Partnership as a Civic Process’, in L. Mercer-Mapstone and S. Abbot (eds), The Power of Partnership: Students, Staff, and Faculty Revolutionizing Higher Education, 87–98, Elon, NC: Center for Engaged Learning Open Access Series. https://doi.org/10.36284/cele​lon.oa2. Leota, A., and K. A. Sutherland (2020), ‘“With Your Basket of Knowledge and My Basket of Knowledge, the People Will Prosper”: Learning and Leading in a Student-Staff Partnership Program’, in A. CookSather and C. Wilson (eds), Building Courage, Confidence, and Capacity in Learning and Teaching through Student-Faculty Partnership, 93–102, Lexington Books. Lygo-Baker, S., I. Kinchin and N. Winstone (2019). Engaging Student Voices in Higher Education, 37–54. Cham: Palgrave Macmillan. Mercer-Mapstone, L., and S. Abbott (2020), The Power of Partnership: Revolutionizing Higher Education, Elon, NC: Elon University Centre for Engaged Learning. Mercer-Mapstone, L., S. L. Dvorakova, K. Matthews, S. Abbot, B. Cheng, P. Felten, K. Knorr, E. Marquis, R. Shammas and K. Swaim (2017), ‘A Systematic Literature Review of Students as Partners in Higher Education’, International Journal of Students as Partners, 1 (1): 1–23. https://mulpr​ess. mcmas​ter.ca/ijsap/arti​cle/view/3119 (accessed 14 June 2023). Ministry of Education (2019), Education (Pastoral Care of Domestic Tertiary Students) Interim Code of Practice 2019. https://www.nzqa.govt.nz/ass​ets/Provid​ers-and-partn​ers/Domes​tic-Code-of-Pract​ice/ Inte​rim-Code-of-Pract​ice-with-minor-and-techni​cal-ame​ndme​nts-as-at-29-March-2021.pdf (accessed 14 June 2023). Ministry of Education, Te Mana Akonga, New Zealand Union of Students’ Associations, Tauira Pasifika, and the National Disabled Students’ Association (2021), Whiria Ngā Rau: Progressing from Student Voice to Partnerships, Wellington: Ministry of Education. https://www.stude​nts.org.nz/whi​ria-nga-rau (accessed 14 June 2023). New Zealand Qualifications Authority (2021), ‘Know the Code: Tertiary Learners’, NZQA. https://www. nzqa.govt.nz/provid​ers-partn​ers/terti​ary-and-intern​atio​nal-learn​ers-code/know-the-code/ (accessed 14 June 2023).

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NStEP (2020, November), The Path to a New National Approach to Student Engagement in DecisionMaking Discussion Paper for Students and Staff across Irish Higher Education. https://studen​teng​ agem​ent.ie/wp-cont​ent/uplo​ads/2021/05/NStEP-Framew​ork-Dis​cuss​ion-FINAL-WEB.pdf (accessed 14 June 2023). Schön, D. (1995), The Reflective Practitioner: How Professionals Think in Action, Ashgate. Smith, S. (2021), Students In Quality: A Working Paper To Guide AQA’s Response To Its 2020 External Review Recommendations, Wellington: Academic Quality Agency. https://www.aqa.ac.nz/node/383 (accessed 14 June 2023). SPARQS (2011), A Student Engagement Framework for Scotland. https://www.spa​rqs.ac.uk/upfi​les/SEFS​ cotl​and.pdf (accessed 14 June 2023). Storey, A. D., H. Eckel-Sparrow and H. K. Ransdell (2021), ‘Cultivating Student Agency and Responsibility through Peer-to-Peer Teaching’, International Journal for Students as Partners, 5 (1): 97–106. https://doi.org/10.15173/ijsap.v5i1.4478. Sutherland, K. A., I. Lenihan-Ikin, and C. Rushforth (2019). ‘Valuing Students as Partners’, in S. LygoBaker, I. Kinchin and N. Winstone (eds). Engaging Student Voices in Higher Education, 37–54, Cham: Palgrave Macmillan. https://link.sprin​ger.com/chap​ter/10.1007/978-3-030-20824-0_3 (accessed 14 June 2023) THW-VUW (Te Herenga Waka-Victoria University of Wellington) (2020), ‘Values and Commitments’. https://www.wgtn.ac.nz/about/gov​erna​nce/strate​gic-plan/vis​ion-herit​age-val​ues-purp​ose (accessed 14 June 2023). Varnham, S. (2021), ‘Student Voice in Aotearoa New Zealand: Whiria ngā rau and Onwards’, in P. Bell (ed.), Building Better Partnerships: Representation, Engagement and Sustainability. Student Voice Australia 2021 National Symposium Book, 8–10. https://stud​entv​oice​aust​rala​sia.com/repo​rts-publi​cati​ ons (accessed 14 June 2023). Varnham, S., B. Olliffe, K. Waite and A. Cahill (2018), Student Engagement in University DecisionMaking And Governance: Towards a More Systemically Inclusive Student Voice, 2015–2016, Final Report for the Australian Government Department of Education and Training. https://catalo​gue.nla. gov.au/Rec​ord/7755​420 (accessed 14 June 2023). Vaughn, M. (2020), ‘What Is Student Agency and Why Is It Needed Now More than Ever?’, Theory Into Practice, 59 (2): 109–18. Wimpenny, K., and M. Savin-Baden (2013), ‘Alienation, Agency and Authenticity: A Synthesis of the Literature on Student Engagement’, Teaching in Higher Education, 18 (3): 311–26. Winitana, M. (2012), ‘Remembering the Deeds of Māui: What Messages Are in the Tuakana –Teina Pedagogy for Tertiary Educators?’, MAI Journal, 1 (1): 29–37. http://www.jour​nal.mai.ac.nz/sites/defa​ ult/files/MAI​_Jou​rnal​_v1%2C1_W​init​ana.pdf (accessed 14 June 2023). Zepke, N. (2017). Student Engagement in Neoliberal Times. Singapore: Springer.

450

451

Index

ableism 102–4, 106, 109–10 accessibility 101–3, 106–11 activism 1–5, 9–11, 16–20, 39, 41, 59, 105–9, 111, 115, 121, 128–9, 131–2, 134, 179–81, 183–4, 186–7, 190, 211–12, 240 agency 4, 7–8, 11, 13, 19, 26, 40, 53, 63, 164, 172, 232, 238–9, 252–3, 255–7, 260–1, 263–5, 283, 296, 298, 309–11, 313–14, 317–18, 338, 357, 365, 372, 390, 400, 434, 439, 442–5, 447–8 Ako in action 355, 439, 444–8 Alison-Cook Sather 13, 179, 354, 427 alternative conceptions 52 allyship 172 ambiguity 10, 88–91, 94 American Association of University Professors 273 American Council on Education 271 antagonism(s) 59, 64 Antioch College 271 ANVUR - Agenzia Nazionale di Valutazione dell’Università e della Ricerca (University and Research National Evaluation Agency) 295, 298–300, 339–40, 344–5, 347–8 Arizona State University 275 association of American Universities 276 athletes 127–36 attainment 98, 140–1, 144, 146–7 authenticity 9, 59, 61–3 authorship 15, 30, 32 BAME (Black, Asian and Minority Ethnic) 98, 140–4, 146–8, 165–9, 171, 174 barriers 105–7, 109–11 belonging, sense of 28, 101, 143–4, 167, 171, 186, 226, 286–7, 393, 395, 408, 445 Black Lives Matter (BLM) 129, 131 Black students 140, 147, 180–1, 195–7, 199, 200–3 Bryn Mawr and Haverford Colleges 365, 401 California Community Colleges System 278 campaigning 167, 290, 323, 325–8, 330–4 Carnegie Classification of Institutions of Higher Education 274 Carnegie Commission on Higher Education 272, 277

Carnegie Foundation for the Advancement of Teaching 273 Chenault, Christina 134 China 259, 355, 399, 401 Chile 2–3, 60, 97–8, 100, 151–3, 155, 157–60, 180, 209–12, 215–18, 252–3, 337–9, 341–9 citizenship 15 civic engagement 4, 179–80, 182, 237–47 civic responsibility 237, 239 Clemson University 127 Code of Ethics 10, 72, 74 co-design 40, 41, 225, 246, 349, 413–14, 416, 420–3 collaboration 30, 31–2, 46–9, 53, 146–7, 164, 180, 187, 219, 233, 238, 246, 312, 354–5, 360–2, 372–3, 376, 401–9, 413–14, 418–19, 421–3, 432–4, 441 collectivist culture 371, 374, 377 Columbia University 272 community service 4, 179, 255 competencies for work 73, 237, 354, 357–8, 360, 362 confidence 63, 74, 76, 100, 108, 173, 180, 215, 223, 224, 232–3, 241, 357, 359, 364–6, 391, 407, 445 consumer response 47, 50 controlled collaboration 47–9 Cook-Sather, Alison 13, 179, 354, 427 Cornell University 275 course design 30, 32–6, 39, 375, 386, 395, 417 Covid-19 108–9, 180, 389 critical literature review 25 critical pedagogy (ies) 10, 88, 94 culture 104–5, 109–10 curricula 27, 33–6, 40, 41, 59, 62, 66, 196, 197, 200–3, 225–6, 247, 385–6, 389, 391, 394, 413–14, 416, 419, 423 curriculum design 34, 139, 196, 353, 400, 413–19, 421 curriculum integration 88, 90, 94 decolonization 198, 203 democracy 15, 41, 48, 189, 230, 237–40, 245, 260, 262, 269, 296, 428 democratic rationale 15, 16 democratic representation 50 democratic universities 237, 241, 245, 247 dialogue(s) 47, 48, 85, 87–91, 93, 94

452

Index

digital media 3–4, 180, 182, 187, 223–33, 246 digital practices 237 digital socialization 317, 319 digital Student Agency Framework 314 digital technologies 4, 8, 237, 239, 240, 241, 245, 247 disability 101–13 discrimination 110, 120, 123, 140, 153, 156–60, 165–7, 172, 196–9 diversity 102, 105, 110 diversity and representation 143 document analysis 253, 274, 338, 343–4

Indigenous people 61, 152–7, 159–60, 184, 360, 385 institutional listening 116, 118–20, 122–3 intercollegiate athletics 98, 127–8, 132, 134–6 interdisciplinarity 88, 94 internationalization 8, 51, 72–3, 284, 287, 310 international students 25, 40, 51, 144, 283–6, 288–9, 291–2, 317, 330, 392, 442 intersectionality 98, 152–3, 155, 158 Iowa State University 275 isolation 130–1, 143–5, 156, 258, 283 Italy 252–3, 259, 271, 296–7, 338, 340, 343, 346–9

Egyptian Higher Education 71 empowerment 2, 15, 17, 27, 39, 100, 167–8, 181, 228, 231, 283, 354, 357, 361, 364, 391, 400, 407, 409, 441 England 2, 97–8, 149, 166, 180–1, 209–12, 215, 218 ethnography 288, 430 Eyes of Texas 131–2

LEAP 141, 146–7 legitimacy 29, 48, 49, 65, 66, 68

The Fair Pay to Play Act 133 Finland 284–5 First-generation Indigenous students (FGIS) 4, 98, 100, 151–60 first-generation students 151–3, 165–6 Foucaultian Approach 73 free education 209–14, 216–18 Free Speech Movement 271 Freire, Paulo 85, 87 gender-based violence 115, 123 gender norms 116–18, 122 German higher education 223, 226, 230 Germany 223–5, 227, 230 George Floyd 98, 128, 131, 135, 169, 388 Global North 2, 5, 7, 9, 39, 51 global rankings 46, 51, 52 Global South 2, 5, 7, 46, 51, 98, 180, 196, 198, 201–2 governance 1, 3–5, 8, 9, 18, 19, 27, 39, 41, 48, 50, 73, 78, 80 Gramsci 196, 198–9 guilds 255 higher education governance 252, 273, 337–8, 341, 343 higher education policy 46, 51, 100, 180–1, 196, 223, 269 ideal student 74–7, 81 ideology 61, 63, 64, 67 inclusion 101–3, 105, 107–11

452

managerialism 48 Manchester Metropolitan University 98, 166, 168 manifesto 323–8, 332–3 mapuche 153, 157–8, 160 Mapudungún 157, 160 marketization 8, 15, 48, 66–7, 209, 213, 215, 252, 334 market forces 252 Miami University 355, 386–8 miseducation 130–1 multiplicity 8, 9, 61–3, 67 National Association of Colleges and Employers (NACE) 357–8, 360–4 Name, image, and likeness (NIL) 128–9, 131, 133–5 National Collegiate Athletic Association (NCAA) 127, 128, 133–5 National Student Survey (NSS) 28, 46, 51 National Survey of Student Engagement (NSSE) 28, 29, 46, 50 neoliberalism 73–74, 197, 253, 334, 341 neoliberal governmentality 73, 74, 76 neoliberal subject 73, 75, 76, 79–81 New Public Management 263, 265, 295 Newsom, Gavin 133 New York University 275–6 New Zealand 17, 38, 354–5, 439–42, 445 Office for Students 140, 163 Ohio State University 275 outcomes 16–18, 36, 46, 48–50, 52, 54, 69, 91 Pakistan 3, 144, 147, 371–81 participation rates 165 partnership 1, 3, 4, 9–11, 13, 14, 16–18, 19, 27, 53, 85, 88, 89, 91, 94, 97, 121, 163–4, 167–9, 179–80, 188, 238–9, 243–4, 246, 271, 302, 312, 324, 326,

Index

328, 333–4, 338–9, 353–66, 371–81, 385, 387, 389, 386, 399–405, 407–9, 413–14, 416–17, 419, 422–3, 427–37, 439–44, 446–8 paternalism 130 patterns of publication 26, 30 pedagogy 1, 53, 55, 62, 85, 86, 88, 94 pedagogical partnership 1, 3, 4, 11, 13, 19, 27, 353–5, 357–66, 371–3, 375, 381, 387, 389, 396, 399, 402– 3, 407, 409, 427–9, 431, 433, 436, 439, 443–4, 448 performance management 47, 48, 52–4, 55 Philadelphia, 179, 184–6, 188–91 policy impacts 210, 215, 217 power 7–10, 13–15, 17, 19, 26, 27, 37, 41, 45, 54, 55, 59, 62–8, 72–4, 76, 77, 79–81, 88–91, 93 power relations 116, 118, 122, 130, 132 praxis 85, 87, 88, 90, 93, 94 Prince, Sedona 135 Princeton University 108 professional development 4, 25, 159, 228, 264, 312, 357–9, 361, 364, 394 progression 140, 224 protest 47–8, 60, 131, 189 quality assurance 15–16, 28–9, 45–6, 48–50, 52, 54, 72, 139, 197, 215, 252–3, 265, 295, 304, 323–4, 330, 337–49, 372, 399 Quality Assurance Agency 163 race 17, 102, 105, 129, 142, 146, 153, 164–6, 171–4, 187, 197–9, 201, 386, 393 racism 123, 129, 131–2, 135, 143, 166, 179, 195, 197–201, 364, 385–7, 389–90, 392–3, 445 rating instruments 46, 47, 49, 50 reciprocity 17, 53, 88, 94, 353, 355, 358, 373, 376, 381, 400, 401, 428, 431, 433, 436, 439, 441, 445, 448 recognition 4, 99, 105, 154–5, 172, 199, 225, 292, 301–2, 305, 355, 400, 427–8, 430–7 reflective practice 25, 240, 444, 446 representation 1, 3, 9, 10, 14, 17–20, 45, 46, 48, 53, 54, 80, 85, 105 representative student associations 255–6, 258–9, 261–2 research integration 414–15 research university 313 respect 5, 15, 27, 68, 102, 129, 154, 197, 225, 353–4, 358, 363, 371–4, 376, 378–81, 400, 401, 403, 414, 428, 441 risk(s) 10, 13, 15, 16, 19, 73, 87–94 SaP in Asia 373 Scholarship of Teaching and Learning (SoTL) 373, 375

SciComm 223–4, 226–9, 231–3 Science Communication 223, 226 self-advocacy 18–20 self-report 9, 18–20 select committee 169–70, 174 Senate 20, 131, 133–4, 190, 217–18, 271–6, 278, 295, 313, 339, 341 Senate Bill 206 133 Shor, Ira 85 socialization 258, 311, 317, 319, 376, 387 social media 60, 115, 131, 134–5, 148, 223, 227–33, 240, 314, 316, 318, 330–1, 390 social movements 71, 183–4, 186, 209–10, 270 South Asia 372–3 stakeholders 20, 27, 40–1, 132, 164, 169, 186, 190, 219, 225, 228–9, 232, 241, 252, 258, 262–3, 324, 343, 345, 348–9, 361, 371, 378–9, 381, 399, 417 staff/faculty 115–23 Strathmore University 309–10, 312, 315 student activism 1–4, 9, 11, 17, 19, 71–2, 79, 81, 102, 108–9, 179–81, 183, 186–7, 190, 211–12, 261, 270, 323–4 student affairs 313, 385–7, 390–1, 395 student agency 13, 19, 253, 255, 260, 262–3, 309–10, 312–14, 316–19, 338, 355, 439, 442, 444, 447–8 Students as Learners and Teachers (SaLT) 357, 362, 365, 401 Students as Partners (SaP) 12, 16, 17, 26, 40, 53–4, 71, 88, 284, 339, 353, 372–3, 400, 413–16, 423, 427, 440–1, 443, 44 student civic engagement 237–9, 241, 244–5, 247 student councils 17, 255 student engagement 2, 6, 9, 25–9, 37, 46, 50, 53, 79 student experience 139–48, 166 students’ experiences 25 student governance 97, 251, 253, 256, 271, 278, 286, 346 student governments 255–60, 263–5 student impact 255, 260–4 student movements 4, 71, 180, 186–7, 200, 212, 258, 261, 346 students of colour 99, 163, 164, 167, 173, 364, 385 student participation 16–17, 163, 173, 181, 224–8, 230, 269, 271, 273–4, 276–8, 283, 291, 339, 341, 344, 346–9, 372, 407, 443 student partnership 238–9, 243–4, 246 Studentische Partizipation 227 student political agency 257, 260–1, 263 student rating(s) 46–53, 55

453

454

Index

student representation 1, 14, 46, 48, 53–4, 80, 164, 215, 238–9, 243, 245, 251–3, 255–9, 261–5, 269–277, 289, 295, 299, 302–3, 347–8, 353, 442 student representatives 20, 50, 98, 120, 164, 213, 215, 217, 252, 262–4, 257–60, 262–5, 269, 274–6, 289, 296–8, 338, 341, 344–5, 346–8, 442 student-staff partnership 414, 428–9, 439, 440, 443 student unions 8, 11, 50, 78–9, 81, 181, 212, 214, 217, 219, 238, 245–6, 253, 256, 283–4, 288, 292, 304 students’ union 120, 122, 146, 167 submissive subject 74, 81 SUNY Albany 276 SUNY Binghamton 276 supercomplexity 64, 67 survivor 116, 118, 120–2 Syracuse University 109, 275–6 teaching and learning 9, 17, 27, 30, 32, 37, 40, 52, 54 total Institution 98, 128–36 transformative learning 93, 94 undergraduates 117, 233, 273, 330, 357, 360, 362– 3, 366 underrepresentation 145, 209, 213, 240, 264, 330 United Nations Convention on the Rights of the Child (UNCRC) 12

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United States Senate Committee on Commerce, Science, and Transportation 133 University Academia de Humanismo Cristiano 153 university governance 78, 163, 189, 209, 211, 215, 217–19, 238, 251–3, 256, 270, 273, 283–5, 324, 327, 337–9, 341, 343–7, 440 University of California-Los Angeles (UCLA) 127, 134 University of Chicago 271 University of La Frontera 153 University of Lincoln 98, 141–2, 144–6, 148 University of Minnesota 109, 271, 275 University of Missouri 129, 131 University of New Hampshire 272–3 University of Oregon 135 University of Pittsburgh 275 University of Texas (UT) 98, 131–3 University of Valparaíso 153 University Student Subjectivity 71 values 62, 71, 88, 94, 180, 230, 239, 240, 242, 246, 265, 353–54, 373–4, 376, 380–1 Victoria University of Wellington 440 Washington State University 127 WissKomm 227, 229 Wissenschaftskommunikation 226–7, 229

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