Dr Diana Beech writes in a personal capacity about what it’s like to work in the ‘grey area’ between universities and government.
Over the course of the past decade, you could say I’ve shifted sides a few times.
Having started out as a fresh-faced PhD, then a serial post-doc, I quickly made my way into the world of policy: first by lobbying for improved conditions for researchers at the European level, and then by building up a portfolio of experience in all aspects of the domestic higher education and research agenda – from collecting evidence for a small research consultancy on open access monographs, through to focusing on labour market and skills policy for a major UK trade body.
My career path hasn’t always been simple and in fact, at times, the route I’ve taken has been far from logical. But the skills I acquired on the way ended up taking me to a place where few others get to go – and that’s right into the heart of national policymaking when I worked as Policy Adviser to the last three Ministers of State for Universities and Science.
In many ways, being brought in by a minister to advise on policy and help them in their complex ministerial brief is a real privilege. But it also comes with caveats. While you get to sit at the same table as career civil servants and the Downing Street team of the day, there are constant reminders that you are in fact the ‘outsider’, having been brought in for your expertise or lived experienced in the sector.
Of course, when it comes to higher education policy in particular, having someone in the room who can provide insight into how academics or university leaders are likely to react to decisions ought to prevent calamitous policy from being made, and broker better relations between policymakers and institutions. Yet, raise too many objections in front of politicos and you’re quickly dubbed as being part of the so-called “Blob” or even as having been “captured” by the sector.
What people don’t realise, however, is that after doing a job like that, many in the so-called “Blob” no longer consider you as one of their own either.
By having worked with a Government whose recent actions, like Brexit, many in the academic community oppose, you somehow become tainted. And if moving into a government-facing role afterwards, your continued willingness to work with policymakers and see things in the round can even be assumed partisan.
It’s true, working with or in Government changes you. You learn very quickly to be constructive, rather than combative. You realise that showing a willingness to collaborate to achieve a suitable policy solution is more effective than simply criticising policy or, worse still, refusing to engage.
Working with ministers day-in and day-out, you come to see them as humans in a way that the rest of the world does not. So, you naturally become less inclined to demonise and more disposed to empathise.
In many ways, crossing the academic and policy divide is like learning to speak another language. You don’t really become proficient until you spend time in another country and learn how to communicate with the locals and appreciate the different accents. You may always be conscious you’re the foreigner, and you might not like everything about your new environment, but you pick up an understanding for the culture and traditions, and you learn how best to live and work with your new neighbours.
But when you eventually go back to your homeland, you’ve found things have changed for you there too: you have a newfound appreciation for how another part of the world works, knowledge of new systems and fresh connections, and you can even see some of the things you could be doing better. Yet, while most people will appreciate your new insights, not everyone around you will ‘get it’, and the fact you’ve experienced life on the other side may even be interpreted by others as you not necessarily being ‘one of them’ anymore – so you end up becoming an outsider on the inside yet again.
For those of us who have chosen to make a career in this middle ground, brokering good relations between universities and government or influencing policy, the unique nature of the work can often be isolating (even without the recent lockdown to factor in), so having the support of senior management is key. Otherwise, it would be all too easy for those working in a policy advisory capacity or in government relations roles to fall through the cracks and be left to cope with the emotional pressures of the job alone.
Sector networks like this one – the Lighthouse Group – can provide another vital lifeline, as they give you a way to meet people in similar roles, with whom you can share experiences not necessarily understood by anyone else around you. Building these informal networks is essential to maintaining good mental health and wellbeing, not just for sharing good practice on the job.
One day, I hope the permeability between careers in academia and government and policy will become more commonplace and, with it, the pressures of the work more easily understood by those in more conventional academic or policy-delivery roles. But until then, it’s time we work together to put in place the necessary support structures on both sides of the institutional divide, so that insiders doing valuable work at the interface of policy are no longer left to feel outsiders in environments which can clearly benefit from their insights and expertise.