Advocacy In HigherEd

Today after a few weeks of reading (I have been busy with community events lately so haven't had time to dedicate to reading) I finally finished Sara Ahmed's No! The Art and Activism of Complaining. This was a timely read for me because I have spent the last few weeks thinking about that article in The Chronicle about centres of teaching and learning, but also thinking about the continual violence of administrative silence (the only cool thing about that framing is that it rhymes and would make a good demonstration sign). 

When The Chronicle article came out there were two very strong reactions to it, one was we need some sort of written collective response, but the other reaction was let's ignore the petulant child. And neither of those reactions felt right to me because I think both of them ignore important parts of that piece for whatever it was attempting to do (besides be successful click bait). Because there were many actual important things raised in that article that we need to talk about, but also some of these important things are hard truths that no one wants to talk about, and infantilizing is a thing that happens a lot in academe around hard truths (see what happens to disability community). And since I seem to specialize in talking about the things that no one wants to talk about, here goes...

Part of the article is actually about egos and humility and research, and all those things are connected together.  We cannot in the 2026 continue to position the work we do in HigherEd or the way that we communicate that work as infallible. Since the pandemic started there's been an increase of star-making in HigherEd and a lot of that actually is connected to (mostly American) CTLs. You know the kinds of names and people we know by name who do all the keynotes at all the conferences. These names came to be more well known because a book was written, articles were produced, talks were given and so we came to know that human as a subject matter expert if you will. And this is all great, but it does not mean that every single thing they produce will continue to be great, or well researched, or at the same level of importance as their other work. And that is okay, because guess what, we are not robots, and as I was mentioning in my podcast last week, the cult of expertise tends to position folk as never having to learn anything new ever again.

So what I would have loved to see in that discussion about that article was a bit of humility about how maybe we need to get better at researching and advocating for why we do the programming we do. Like actual articles and research, and this will include grey literature as well. We can't just continue on "because I said so" vibes based on name only. And this is where I will be the first to admit that I am also one of those humans caught in that loop actually. I have friends who text or message me and say things like "I was in this webinar/session and someone shared such and such a thing you wrote, or your podcast episode on [insert topic here]" and whenever I receive a message like that I am genuinely always shocked because why? And some of them will say things like "I feel like I know a superstar" and that also makes me feel icky, even though I know they don't mean it in an icky way (I love you friends, but I need to talk about this sorry) and they are doing it because they want me to know my work matters and gets out there somehow. 

It feels weird to me because I don't do this work because of a want for celebrity, I do this work because I see a gap in advocacy and I feel that I should use the privilege I have in the ways that I do to do that advocacy work. And it is both heartwarming and sad when folk say that something they read or heard of my work resonated. Because that means there is still so much work to do, and that means that so many others are still not using their privilege to say the things that need to be said. Again I know this is going to maybe be uncomfortable to hear. 

Also this week I was talking to a friend about how I have been mentioning her name in meetings because more people need to know the great work she does. And so I also do this work so that I can mention names in meetings that those people are not a part of, because the systems have let them down, the systems have erased and forgotten them. I do this work to connect others. Have you mentioned names in meetings lately (people that others would not know)?

So this takes me back to the second reaction to that article which was sshh let's ignore the complaint. And this is exactly the kinds of things that Ahmed talks about in her book. Because the institutional communications handbook is very much the weaponizing of civil discourse to silence those who would advocate. It is in that continual silence that harm continues to be perpetuated. It is the lack of advocacy that happens, names erased or forgotten, skills erased or forgotten, that has gotten us to where we are in HigherEd right now. 

There is a fine line between humility and erasure. By not saying something it is often in the hope that one's work will speak for itself, but by not reinforcing the experiences, knowledge, context, and awareness that one has or a CTL has you are also doing a kind of silencing work. Not responding to critique is the same vibes as Mark Carney telling a Grassy Narrows protester that he would outlast her. That's what the silence hopes to accomplish, more silence. As Ahmed says "what makes it difficult to speak is why we need to do so" (p. 236). What we need is more, not less words, especially in a time of systemic erasure. What we need is more advocacy, not silence.

I was so glad to see Ahmed devote a lot of the book to disability and the failure of systems to support accessibility. I know we are living in times where it is difficult to pay attention to all of the things because there are too many things, but doing nuggets of advocacy when you can (keeping in mind privilege and power) is infinitely achievable, such as mentioning a name in a meeting, writing an email to someone who has more institutional power than you, advocating for more collective advocacy from groups both within HigherEd institutions and in the communities that you are in. As Ahmed says, "[w]riting matters because it is how we leave something of ourselves behind" (p. 230) and I have had this conversation with Indigenous academics who also frame this as, if you write, what is that you would feel proud to leave behind; what trace of you will exists many generations later? So I ask you that question: what traces of advocacy will you leave behind, even in the most micro of ways, or will it be just silence.