I haven't written a blog for a long time. I was briefly affiliated to and writing for a group who are now doing quite well but I abandoned that project when they embraced a rather prominent character whose online activity has often excused racism and even caused Twitter pile-ons of the victims.
Preface
As I often do, I'm starting this piece with a heavy caveat: throughout the experience I'm going to be writing about, I've constantly reminded myself that there are people in far worse situations. There are definitely a lot of people who would swap circumstances with me in a heartbeat. For what it's worth, I will always vote - and campaign, should there be someone worth campaigning for - for a party who will first look after the most vulnerable before looking after more fortunate people like myself.
This piece is something of an update to this one I wrote in the midst of what I'll mostly be referring back to. Reading that back, I think I did a good job: I'm not sure this one will read quite as well! And I'm sorry but it's very very long.
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Panic and precarity
I work for one of the top Universities in the country. Higher Education administration has been my career since 2010, after my previous career in Graphic Design was effectively ended by the financial crash. There are positives to working in HE although only when compared to other types of organisation and when you realise that, you realise that we're all caught in a race to the bottom.
Due to the way HE is funded, there are very few permanent contracts. Even roles which are not tied directly to research grants are effectively tied to income from fees or central government (and of course the latter is reviewed regularly and is significantly reduced these days). This being the case, a very large number of staff have uncertain futures and that can't be good for morale.
For a number of years, the University has seemed fearful that, someday soon, fee income will take a severe dip. This is probably true: an extraordinary amount of fees come from Chinese students and, unlike our own, the Chinese government is actually investing heavily in higher education. So to allay these concerns, the University has been running a healthy budget surplus.
When, in spring 2020, it became clear that COVID was a big problem and *might* affect fee income, the University could have used that budget surplus to keep the University functioning while things became clear. Instead, the University rolled out a large voluntary severance scheme and froze all recruitment and contract extensions: you know, just in case. At that time, my contract extension was being processed. As a member of the department's management team, I had seen my role accounted for in the department budget for a number of years into the future: so understandably, I had thought that the extension was pretty much a formality.
A couple of years earlier, a review being initiated by a new Faculty Vice-Dean (it's worth mentioning that this particular Vice Dean is a Professor of Strategic Management) was raising questions about a number of roles. People in and around those roles were concerned that the Faculty wanted to reduce staff numbers in that area, despite senior Professors insisting that the roles were crucial and on top of that, were making up for lack of resources in other teams. That review was keeping everyone guessing - adding to anxieties of the staff working in those roles - however when news of the HR freeze reached me, I knew that my role was finished.
When the University launched 'Operation: Pandemic Panic' (I've just made that up), the Vice-Dean must have thought all of their capitalist Christmases had come at once. I suppose it makes sense that a Professor of Late Capitalist Strategic Management (I've added the Late Capitalist bit) would be disinclined to confirm their victims' fate. I had six months left on my previous contract when it occurred to me that I needed to find another job and it took a further five months before anyone had the guts to confirm that my contract wasn't going to be renewed - and only then because that person couldn't put it off any longer.
In policy; in practice
Losing your job through no fault of your own - in fact, having sometimes put personal wellbeing second to the job - really knocks your confidence. This was potentially the third time I would be made redundant and this time, I had a family to think about (my wife earns a bit more than I do but not enough to manage without my income). Regardless of being in the worst possible frame of mind to find a job, that was what I had to do.
Softening this blow slightly was the knowledge that the University has a redeployment policy to help staff whose jobs are at risk:
- Staff at risk of losing their job will be on a redeployment register and will be contacted when a suitable position comes up
- Redeployees will have first option to apply for new positions before it is advertised widely
- Redeployees will not have to sit a formal interview, instead the recruiting manager will have an informal discussion to ascertain whether a redeployee is suitable
- Redeployees do not have to meet all essential criteria if the criteria they don't meet could be learned on the job within a reasonable amount of time.
It turned out that the University's published policy was no longer being followed and none of the above was true. There was no register and no one contacted me. I did have to have a formal interview (I only realised this whilst in an interview). External applicants had already submitted their applications and indeed, the recruiting manager/s had the opportunity to look at those candidates' applications (although they weren't meant to, there was nothing to stop them) at the same time as looking at mine. The final point about redeployees not having to meet all of the essential criteria is possibly the most crucial factor in what happened next.
I applied for a role which, on paper, suited me quite well. My application was honest and there was one of the essential criteria which I couldn't claim to meet. Just one. I met all of the other criteria including most (if not all) of the desirable criteria. I was offered an interview (it was only during this interview that I realised the informal interview thing was no longer being followed: fortunately I had chosen to dress smart for it anyway) and I answered all of the points well. I was informed shortly afterwards that I was "unappointable" because I didn't meet one particularly specific criteria that, knowing quite a lot about research grants in HE, I think only a couple of dozen people in the UK could possibly have met - and how many of those would be looking for work at this specific time? Understandably, I still wonder about the external applicant who got the role and whether the recruiters had looked over their application before rejecting mine...
The ridiculous part came next. Shortly after this rejection, I applied for another role as a redeployee and after a formal interview, I was offered it. When I started the job, I was told that I also needed to cover for an additional post which was in need of a project manager. You see, one way that the University saves money is by not appointing people when they're needed but some time later. It turned out that the role I was now covering was almost exactly the same as the one I'd been deemed "unappointable" for: the same job title, the same funding body, the same rules and regulations to understand and follow; the same 14-page report to write almost immediately. Very quickly, I learned a huge amount of information about the funding and my efforts to complete the report on time brought praise from the academics involved. So much for being unappointable.
Performance and perturbation
The relief of getting the new job - as much as I would have much preferred not to lose my old role - glossed over the tumultuous six months I'd just experienced. The mortgage and other bills would be ok; I no longer (for the time being, at least), needed to consider starting a new career in my 40s the way I'd had to in my 30s. At first, it was ok although there had been a lengthy delay in replacing my predecessor, due to the aforementioned pandemic panic (by this time it was clear that the knee-jerk redundancies and recruitment freeze had been unnecessary) and the pressure was on me and those I was reporting to to make up for lost time.
I was still in the early stages of settling into the role (in fact, it is kind of two roles - but I won't bore you with the details) when the government belatedly announced that schools would close again and so on top of work, I had to spend about half of every working day in January and February teaching and looking after my son. I enjoyed spending more time with him and love seeing him learn but the pressure of work, with a number of important events on the horizon, was starting to show. My line manager was openly critical of me a number of times: I think I'd mistakenly thought our informal weekly team meetings could be used to raise concerns and find solutions when actually they're just for pretending everything was perfect and practising our false smiles. Apparently, as a more senior staff member, I needed to show the younger staff that everything is cool when you're part of the team.
This was the first time it had ever been suggested that I wasn't behaving correctly around colleagues and it made me more anxious (quite an achievement). I was trying to absorb the pressure by working late and when my line manager realised this, they were concerned and started to micro-manage me and for some reason expected me to have work done earlier than was necessary. Gradually my brain began to turn to mush. I couldn't concentrate; I doubted every small decision I needed to make; I wasn't able to get myself out of the house to take much-needed exercise because when I wasn't working, I was worrying about it even more.
One evening, following another complaint from my line manager about something trivial, my brain broke. I had to take some time off, even though it made me incredibly worried about what would happen: would I be able to return or would the University find a way to justify removing me? In total, the GP signed me off for six weeks. The University's Occupational Health Advisor had suggested people going through similar experiences often need much longer than that - possibly as much as a year. It was suggested to me that the University's support ended after six weeks and that gave me an ultimatum: would I drag my ill brain back to it and hope that I could manage, or would I face the reality of a very long time off work and what that might mean for my career? I had to try returning. At first, I went back to work on slightly reduced hours. Then my line manager and the main academic I report to had weekly meetings with me to keep a check on workload and my priorities. The University expected that a total of three months including the phased return and that extra support would be enough and, there, the support ended.
For me this was far from the end of it. I managed to get a few sessions with a University counsellor and in those discussions, we came to realise that the cause was not the pressure in this role (I've managed it before: even while coping with the death of a parent and worrying about the one left behind) but the strain I was bearing from previous 6-9 months. I was still struggling to focus and my line manager was picking holes in everything I did: even when it was out of my control or, actually, something I'd done well, just not exactly the way they wanted it done. This culminated in a horrific hour-long meeting which was supposed to be my performance development review. Instead it was an hour's takedown of me by my line manager. Every explanation of anything deemed to be unsatisfactory (I was on holiday; I can't force academics to do their jobs etc) was seen as an excuse and "I don't want excuses, I want solutions." Once I realised that everything I said just made the situation worse, I sat quietly, looking down, occasionally nodding remorsefully. The meeting ended when my manager suddenly smiled and said: "Well, I've got to go now, have a good day!"
Prescribing to preserve the profession
I've never been made to feel this way in all of my life. I was made to feel so small: it was a humiliation. Every fibre of my being wanted to quit there and then but feeling that way was not conducive to getting a new job and the bills won't pay themselves. So instead, I spoke to my GP and suggested increasing my medication - he agreed and changed my prescription. I tried to look for other support, via my union (I never did find any); I enrolled in some training that probably wouldn't make any difference but just might help me to manage despite the awful way I was feeling. I set about changing some of my methods to make sure that I didn't do anything a better way if I could do it my line manager's way. I would no longer be honest about how I feel: I would fake everything and never ask them for help. I would work longer hours, work faster and harder; skip breaks and put work ahead of my mental and physical health.
To an extent, this approach has worked. The increased medication helps me to focus. I'm no longer getting complaints from my line manager: in fact there's been a huge switch: rather than being micro-managed, I'm being asked to help with more of their work. That's not really a good thing: if I say that I'm too busy, I risk going back to where I was before with everything being scrutinised and criticised. So I say that I can help and work even harder to make sure I get that done without jeopardising anything else. The only time I've gently challenged my line manager was when my performance development review did come around: they wanted to add in long, detailed lists of things I would be doing over the next year. This is contrary to the guidance - which I know well, having done them before and having trained as a line manager myself - but my efforts to keep it constructive and geared towards my career were effortlessly batted back and instead my PDR became even longer and more detailed.
The fact that these changes (PDR aside) have been effective only serves to highlight the issues that many working people often face: at the mercy of their employers' whims or financial desires, they end up making decisions that are bad for their health. And it feels so temporary: it's just not possible to keep up this level for a sustained period.
While my medication helps me to focus, it also makes me tired and this has been increasingly obvious since increasing my dose. When I don't have to do something, I feel like I don't have the energy to do anything. If I sit back in my chair while I'm thinking about something, the tiredness feels powerful and I sit forward again and carry on working. This is an even bigger problem because I'm also skipping breaks and working later: that means I'm barely getting any exercise and that is awful for my physical and mental health. And anyway: why should I have to medicate myself in order to keep me working the way my employer wants me to work? I've proven over many years that I'm capable of doing a good job despite my mental health difficulties but I need to be able to do it in a way that works for me.
In theory, I have to choose between my health and my work. In practice, working in the 21st century with the cost of living so high, we don't get to choose.
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