We need an independent register from which bullies can be struck off. So argued Nicholas Rowe in a recent article in Times Higher Education (“If abusive lawyers can be banned from practising, why not academics?”, 14 March).
His suggestion stems from his observation that universities are not doing enough to police abusive academic behaviour. But while I tend to agree with that diagnosis, my experience as a professor, academic leader and registered professional engineer makes me wary of this cure.
Regulating academics as professionals, such as is also done worldwide for physicians and lawyers, certainly has potential benefits. These could include increased accountability, enforced ethical conduct, quality assurance and control, protection of clients’ interests, safeguarding public security and health, enforcement of professional development requirements, and facilitating international recognition and mobility.
However, we must also weigh very carefully the possible negative consequences of charging an external body – whether at local state/provincial, national or international levels – with the authority to decide who can be licensed as a professional academic, who retains the right to practise over time, and who and under what circumstances is to be excluded.
Quite apart from the administrative burden of regulation on both individuals and institutions, regulating scholars too tightly could stifle both their academic freedom and the advancement of knowledge if they feel pressured to avoid contentious topics or unconventional ideas. Academic disciplines benefit from a diversity of perspectives and methodologies, but overregulation risks homogenisation. It might also hinder the evolution and progression of fields as circumstances change or even stifle the creation of new fields that would not be readily recognised by a regulator.
Another peril is systemic uncompetitiveness. In an increasingly interconnected world, universities unavoidably compete globally for talent, funding and recognition. Those in an overregulated environment could be at a relative disadvantage, while academics qualified to practise in one jurisdiction might not be readily certified in another, inhibiting exchange and relocation.
Just as importantly, we must ask whether an external regulatory body would be better able to address the range of bad behaviours that Rowe so aptly summarises. In my experience, most bad professorial behaviour – sexual harassment, bullying or toxic supervision of postgraduates – happens in the context of power imbalances. In such contexts, is it more likely that victims will report bad behaviour to an external regulator than to their own institutions?
Moreover, is a rapid and fair conclusion more likely to be reached by an external organisation? Rowe asserts that universities are more interested in protecting their own reputations than victims’ welfare – but, once established, such bodies take on lives of their own, becoming self-interested and bureaucratic. An academic version might seek to minimise its liability by dealing only with egregious instances of bad behaviour, for instance. That would lead to only a limited number of academics being excluded from the profession and make little contribution to reducing bad behaviour more generally.
The best way to police the questionable behaviour of a small fraction of our colleagues, in my view, is to focus our collective efforts on better managing those exceptions internally. Many, if not most, universities already have the necessary policies, practices and mechanisms in place: the problem is that, because academic institutions tend to be collegial and highly decentralised, many academic leaders and administrators still don’t feel empowered to deal with bad actors. They are concerned about the repercussions of dealing with colleagues to whose ranks they might someday return, and they shun the administrative and emotional burden of handling complex situations.
So rather than expending the considerable resources required to establish regulatory bodies with internationally recognised standards, I would invest instead in creating an institutional culture of responsibility and accountability. I would focus on valuing managerial courage and training administrators to deal with complex issues. I would select institutional leaders who are motivated to support those on the front lines dealing with bad actors. And I would ensure that the hiring process at all levels – as well as in promotion and tenure processes – evaluates every aspect of candidates’ contributions: not only their research output and impact, but also the quality of their teaching/graduate supervision and their service to the institution and the scholarly and external communities.
I would also focus on training academics to not be passive bystanders when they witness questionable behaviour. All too often, we know who the bad actors are but refrain from actively taking steps to correct the situations ourselves. Collegiality requires an environment of mutual respect, where we all share the responsibility for fulfilling our collective academic missions.
As for Rowe’s suggestion of a registry of offenders, I think that would be fraught with legal complications and do irreversible damage to those identified, destroying any likelihood of rehabilitation and closing down alternative career paths. Better to ask job applicants, at the last stage of the hiring process, to grant permission for their potential new employer to enquire of their current or former employers about any formally established record of toxic practices. Candidates who refuse, as well as those with a record of offences, would be disqualified.
While many might regard what I propose as too idealistic and naive, I think that culture change, if it is to happen at all, must come from within. It is hard, but the long-term return on that investment is likely to be much greater than one in another third-party regulatory body.
Jim A. Nicell is a professor in the department of civil engineering at McGill University.
