What's in a Name?

By David Kennedy

This is a unique insight into the working life of a senior manager in academia.

Centring on events in one Scottish educational institution, the stories expand to cover events affecting higher education across the whole of Britain.

This intimate history of one college serves to reveal some of the dark secrets of everyday life in higher education, including

• the demographic time-bomb that wasn't
• political chicanery
• North Sea safety and the Piper Alpha tragedy
• skulduggery and brilliance
• sabotage and intrigue
• media machinations
• quashing the quangos
• educational vandalism
• academia's bloodied carpets
• the denigration of public service
• Quality - the undemocratic essence at the heart of Britain's Establishment

It describes behaviour - good and bad - and its consequences, with understanding and compassion, and not without a little touch of irony.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Legend Press
• Release date: Dec 14, 2015
• ISBN: 9781785074370

Book preview

Epilogue

Preface

We are told that existence consists of matter and energy. The interaction of the two gives rise to events and, hence, our concept of time. Events and their timing give us at least one idea of history: the description of events and an attempt at their interpretation and explanation, that is, of cause and effect.

Truth, which is a description that accords with reality, can be complete as in a statement of fact, or when one describes the precise composition of a piece of matter, or the precise conversion of energy from one form into another. Events can present a rather more difficult problem in that as they take place over a period of time it may not always be clear when they should be regarded as having started or finished. And as they are usually viewed from a limited perspective, their descriptions are inevitably partial. Only by taking views from many aspects over an appropriate period of time can we assemble a more complete picture and come nearer to a full understanding of the truth. Thus, in writing this description of events as they were observed by me, I am only too conscious of the partial nature of what I write. No doubt others writing of the same events might paint a quite different picture. This should not be taken to imply that one is more accurate than the other, even though they may differ widely. They may all be true accounts of a single truth as observed from different viewpoints.

The presentation of events in this story is somewhat jumbled. This is deliberate. To have given an orderly account of all that happened would belie the reality of my experiences in a new job and my impression of higher education in the latter decades of the twentieth century.

Truth has a particular relevance for education. In any system of integrity, it might be assumed that education would be grounded in truth and no educator would knowingly impart false knowledge to the learner. Perhaps this is a naïve and idealistic view, but one that is consistent with the enduring qualities of scholarship, which are: honest enquiry, accurate expression, and freedom to express fully the findings of that honest enquiry. This may not be consistent with the politicisation and commercialisation of education, in which perception may be more important than reality and the inculcation of fixed beliefs of greater importance than developing a passion for honest enquiry.

According to scientific theory, all change leads to greater disorder. Higher education certainly seems to bear this out. Change after change has resulted in such confusion that a National Committee had to be set up to advise Government on the purpose of higher education. This came rather more than 900 years after the founding of the first of Europe’s universities, yet it still failed to advise on a definitive policy for higher education based on a clear exposition of its purpose.

Introduction

In adding to the vast quantity of books that already exist on every conceivable topic, I feel I should make some attempt at an explanation for this one. Firstly, I think it is important to have a first hand account of events that shaped an important development in the educational provision within one of Scotland’s leading cities. Secondly, the period of which I write (the latter third of the twentieth century) was a time of quite dramatic change in education, reflecting on policy and governmental issues that are still of significance and which may continue to be for some years to come, given its present unsatisfactory state. Thirdly, there are many aspects of human behaviour that are relevant to the management of institutions in the public sector and perhaps, given its generality, also to the private sector. Finally, this is a time when the media seems to delight in deriding and bringing down people in senior positions, without providing a balanced account that explains the difficulties encountered and which could evoke understanding if not sympathy for the individuals and their families. I believe it is necessary to have some corrective account on the record.

The purpose of education, the best means of fulfilling this purpose, its structure and content, and the safeguards required for its proper delivery all remain as topical issues despite the amount of attention they have received and the plethora of misguided change that has been introduced by successive governments.

Scotland has enjoyed a high reputation for the quality of education, at all levels, and not least for its commitment to providing opportunity for higher education across the full breadth of the community. It is not for me to comment on the justification or otherwise of this belief. The moulding of public opinion has become a major political preoccupation and its relationship with truth is a matter of such profound importance that it is far beyond the scope of this book to deal with. Sadly, it means that it is unwise to accept the truth of statements made, no matter how high or responsible the authority making them, in the absence of indisputable supporting evidence. However, I hope that some of the things I have to say will provide substance for the debate and evidence of the way that the selection and presentation of facts are distorted to suit the purposes of the presenters.

Chapter 1

Stresses, Strains and Magical Incantations

This is a very personal account of my experience as Principal of the institution now known as The Robert Gordon University, but which at the time of my appointment was known as Robert Gordon’s Institute of Technology, or RGIT as it was more commonly known in this age of acronyms.

During the period between the announcement of my appointment in December 1984 and my taking up post at the beginning of the following May, the then Vice-Principal tendered his resignation and his departure at the end of April 1985 coincided with that of the outgoing Principal.

His resignation had a special significance. Two years earlier, as I later learnt, an influential working party of the Governing Body decided that no replacement should be made if the Vice-Principal were to leave. I was simply told that his post was not to be filled. No reasons were given for this. Thus, one of my first contacts with the Governing Body was to argue the case for the appointment of a full-time Vice-Principal.

I met with a group of six governors to make my case, having previously provided each of them with a draft job description of the post as I saw it. Two supported me from the outset, one other came onto my side during the discussion and, by the narrowest of margins, a replacement was agreed.

So, when I started, I had only the advice of a recently appointed Institute Secretary, who was new to the sector, as a senior colleague to guide me through the first few days and weeks. The appointment of a Vice-Principal later that year brought me great help in the challenging times that followed. Without this help life would have been much more difficult.

Another puzzling event took place shortly before I started. I received a telephone call from a civil servant in the Scottish Office in Edinburgh telling me to attend a meeting at the Institute, despite the fact that I had not been invited. I had been long enough in the system to know this was not only unusual, but verged on the improper. It is customarily the Principal who invites visitors onto the premises. It was certainly not for someone .…anyone.... from the Scottish Office to take upon themselves the right to issue invitations in this way.

The meeting was scheduled for one morning in March, at 8 am in the Principal’s office. In November 1984, the Minister of State for Education at the Scottish Office, Allan Stewart, launched an initiative, Switch to Technology, to produce more technologists who were competent in electronics and computer skills. A sum of £14 million was made available to fund the initiative.

As one of the largest and most prestigious of Scotland’s technological institutions, RGIT was seen as having a major role to play in ensuring the success of this venture. The problem was where to house the anticipated numbers of new students. The outgoing Principal suggested that by decanting all of the administrative staff from the main campus at Schoolhill, room could be made for the anticipated influx of additional students in close proximity to the existing engineering schools. Were this to be done, as the new Principal my first task would have been to find somewhere to work!

This is what lay behind the odd instruction from Edinburgh. I duly attended the meeting and expressed my concern about the effects of scattering the administration all around the city.

The eventual result was that a new building was commissioned and built as part of the main campus, on the Schoolhill site, at a cost of about £6 million. The foundation stone was laid by the Secretary of State, George Younger, in July of that year. However, just before the building was about to be handed over to us in the following July, it was substantially damaged by fire. It was eventually available for occupancy in September 1987 and was formally opened by a new Secretary of State, Malcolm Rifkind, later that autumn.

Because of the Scottish Office’s policy of non-insurance, which I shall return to later, had the fire occurred a couple of weeks after it did, that is, after the building had been formally handed over to us, we might not have had a replacement at all.

In the intervening period I was to learn much about the institution of which I was the titular head, and about the attitudes of its staff towards people in positions such as mine. Neither respect for authority, nor the exercise of discipline, was among its obvious features. Consequently, I thought it befitting that the new building should be named after the outgoing Principal, thus demonstrating a very tangible recognition of his authority and the benefits this had brought to the Institute. The building would exist long after the detractors of authority were gone and forgotten.

At the time of my joining it, the Institute comprised fifteen schools spread over six main teaching sites. It offered a wide range of degree courses under the aegis of the Council for National Academic Awards (CNAA) and so was dependent on the support and approval of that body for its continued existence as a higher education college. It was funded directly by the Scottish Education Department (SED), as it had been since 1903, and so was accountable to the SED for all that it did and, through the SED, to Ministers of the Scottish Office and hence to Parliament. Thus there were two ever-present threats: the academic threat of failure to get re-approval to run courses and the financial threat of failing to get adequate funding to maintain viability.

It had recently come through an unusual inspection procedure of the CNAA that had extended over two years. This included visits in three successive years from groups of people organised by the CNAA, each looking at particular aspects of the functioning of the Institute. The Council, for good and compelling reasons, wished to improve its processes of course validation and institutional inspection. It also wanted to improve its relations with its associated institutions, especially the bigger and more powerful ones, the reasons for which will become clearer later in this book. The extended inspection of the Institute was one of a number of variations carried out around that time, ostensibly in an attempt to find more effective processes for monitoring academic health, but mainly to placate some of the more powerful institutions that were clamouring for independence.

Although public pronouncements by the CNAA about the inspection of RGIT seemed to indicate all was well, as the incoming Principal it was made abundantly clear to me there were many areas within the institution requiring close attention and early improvement if approval were to continue.

This was one of the less attractive features of the CNAA operation - leaving the Principal with the burden of confidentiality about shortcomings when everyone else has been given to understand that all is well. It took the CNAA out of the direct line of fire from disgruntled institutions, but it was all too easy for people to say that the problems lay only in the imagination of the Principal.

At the same time, the other controlling body, the SED, made it equally clear to me that the practice of over-staffing had to be brought to an end as soon as possible. The SED was responsible for determining the number and grades and, indirectly, the salaries and conditions of service of all staff, as well as the amounts spent on equipment and other capital items such as buildings. This was a very powerful financial control. Among other things, it effectively prevented the Institute from providing either additional residential accommodation or social and recreational facilities for students. Such things no longer appeared on the scale of Government priorities for its directly maintained sector of higher education. They were not regarded as important aspects in the quality of provision made for students.

At that time, a major debate was about demographic decline and its effect on the demand for higher education. Even as late as the mid-seventies new teacher training colleges were being opened in Scotland, but belatedly realising the link between birth rate and the subsequent demand for school places, Government advisers (wrongly as it turned out) all confidently predicted a slump in demand for higher education. The debate was about the extent of the fall and which of the predictions of the experts were most likely to materialise. All planning at that time was done on a premise of a slump in demand, a surplus of capacity, and of intense competition for available students. The Government green paper on The Future of Higher Education planned for a drop of 14% in full-time student places and suggested the closure or amalgamation of some institutions and the introduction of 2-year degree courses.

To help it in its functions, the Department had the support of Her Majesty’s Inspectorate. This comprised a group of experienced teachers employed by Government as Inspectors of Schools (HMIs), whose job was to visit schools and colleges funded through the Department, and to provide reports and advice on their functioning. They were particularly involved with the nature of the curriculum and the adequacy of provision in terms of staffing, space and equipment. They also commented on academic management and institutional performance, even although most of them (being primarily subject specialists) had little or no direct experience of this.

Over-staffing, due to changing views on what constituted adequate levels, had been a common occurrence throughout the SED-controlled sectors. In 1971, a government accountant called Delaney put forward the idea of teacher-student ratios. It was suggested that there should be no more than one teacher for every ten students, that is, a student-staff ratio of 10:1 was a reasonable target. At the time, most institutions found it difficult to achieve half of this figure. The term SSR, or student-staff ratio, was introduced and quickly became the yardstick for measuring efficiency. It was used for courses, for departments and for institutions. Institutions strove to reach the Delaney norms and were rewarded with slightly more generous funding for their success. As funding became less available and student numbers increased, resources of all kinds became scarcer and the pressure to achieve greater and greater efficiency increased. No one knew what was