The Topslice
The university is over, everyone agrees with that. The dream is over, the university is finished, everyone says the same thing. There are no universities; there are money making machines, that is true, but no universities. There are no universities, and there are no students, that's clear enough. There are units of resource, but no students. And there are no lecturers. True, there are still some old professors, still a few left, but there are no lecturers. No one teaches. There is no teaching, just as there is no reading. Students don't read, staff don't read, no one reads, the university is finished.
Some old professors, stunned by the changes, wander about, but in truth they are lost, they don't know what's happened. Where is the university?: that's what the look on their faces says. Only the most wily professors survive. Only those immured to change. The rest founder: where is the university?: that's the look on their faces. What happened? Where am I?: that's what their faces say.
Are there students? No doubt for themselves there are students. Students who say to themselves, we are students. But they are barely taught. The students are no students, but units of resource, and are barely taught. So too are subject areas units of resource, they barely exist. There is no Philosophy, not any more. There's no English Literature, not any more. True, there are professors of Philosophy and professors of English Literature, there are still a few people who remember how it was when there were universities, but they are coming up to retirement. There are a few professors around, but the university is keen to pension them off, to get rid of them, so the takeover can complete itself.
'The university'? I refer to what-was-a-university. What was a university and is a university no longer. They are leaving, the professors, stunned and bewildered. What happened? When did it occur? Get out, they tell themselves, and get out. Meanwhile, the new breed are taking over. I am one of them. Rat-like, desperate, looking to earn revenue, to bring money into what-was-a-university. Rat like, desperate, running along in the maze as quickly as possible and dreaming of ways to bring money into what-was-a-university.
For we have to earn money, we know that. We have to bid for money, we know that. What matters is to bid for money, to bring money in, and to swell what-was-the-university's coffers. What matters is money, is revenue, and what-was-the-university's topslice. Because the what-was-the-university has to make a little profit, there has to be a topslice. You teach to make a profit and your research must be tied to profit. Forget Philosophy, forget Literature, those are long dead. There is no Philosophy, no Literature. No Philosophy, no Literature, no Political Science, no Sociology, nothing.
Overteaching
It's over, the university's over and we live in the aftermath. It's a numbers game. It's a profit-making game. If it can't be quantified, it did not happen. If it does not bring in money, it has no occurred. Nothing happens unless it makes money. The auditors will tell you you're overteaching. You're overteaching. A hour and seminar a week for the students: that's overteaching. You should be concentrating on other things. Income generation, for example, or preparing paperwork.
Teaching is always overteaching. That's why there are no students, not anymore. No one is taught and nothing is happening. There is no teaching, only income generation. Countable bodies, each a unit of resource, in what used to be called a lecture hall, but no lectures and no students. There is no university. No Philosophy, no Literature, no Politics and no History: there is nothing. It's a smokescreen. Everywhere there is activity, but nothing is happening. The university is finished, and the takeover is nearly complete.
Do you remember teaching, do you remember that? Do you remember studying? Do you remember how it was, once upon a time? The older staff looked stunned. The wily ones survive, but the rest are stunned. It doesn't matter what they write, not anymore. They can't quite believe it. All their work for nothing. Everything they did, for nothing. For what matters now is only countable bodies. What matters is revenue, and the generation of revenue. What-used-to-be-called-courses have to be as popular as possible, that's the criteria. What-used-to-be-called-courses for what-used-to-be-called students in what-used-to-be-called-a-university.
Resentment
You'll be okay as long as you bring in student revenue, says W. That's true, but what about the other great force of what-used-to-be-called-the-university, that is, resentment?, I say. You're okay as long as you're making a profit, says W. But what about resentment? Anything interesting and difficult must be hunted down and closed down. If they scent something interesting and different, they'll close it straight down, there's no question of that. Interesting? Difficult? Then resentment builds up. Resentment sets out to find you.
You're enjoying yourself, they decide and in the wrong way. Your units-of-resource are enjoying themselves, and in the wrong way. One solution: to shut you down. The solution: get rid of them. Resentment spots you, and then sets out towards you, with one intention: to spoil your fun. You're having fun, your units-of-resource (students) are having fun, so you'll have to closed down. It happened to Cultural Studies in the UK. It happened to the CCRU. It was hunted down and closed down. They spotted it, the resenters, so it had to be hunted down, and then closed down.
Communist Russia
It's like communist Russia, says W. If you don't go over the top in your reports, someone will get shot. It's like communist Russia, says someone else who lived in communist Russia, it's exactly the same. I escaped to England from communist Russia and now it's exactly the same in England, the same as communist Russia. If you don't go over the top in your reports, says W., someone will get shot. This is no time for doubts and hesitations and constructive criticism, says W., it's like communist Russia, where unless everything is fantastic and peerless and exemplary practice, someone will be shot. Of course they won't be shot exactly, but there's always a way of getting rid of people, of freezing them out. Take that professor who complained and was moved to a tiny office. He had a nice office with a good view and he was moved, when he complained, to a tiny office with no windows and no view.
Never complain, that's the answer. Do everything you can to go unnoticed, that's the answer. From the first, attract no attention, let them busy themselves elsewhere. Attract no attention, do everything you're told, no matter how arduous it is, and maybe they won't notice you. Because the way they'll get you is through quality. That's the way they'll attack you, through academic quality. You may be the best department in the world, your units-of-resource might be happy, your staff might be happy, but if your paperwork is not up to scratch, they'll get you.
Yes, that's how they'll get you, that's how they'll hunt you down, through your paperwork. Through the minutes of your meetings. Through your reports and minutes, they'll go through them one after another. That's why, as in communist Russia, you have to go over the top in your reports. Everything is improving tenfold. Every year it's getting better, its all improving, your operation is becoming more and more streamlined. Every year, it's getting better. Every year you're learning and growing. Every year, quality is enhanced. Every year, quality improves. Every year! What a miracle! Quality is going up just as A-levels are going up and everything is going up! The world is improving, it gets better and better! We are already in paradise, and paradise is improving! It's getting better, everything is improving!
The Probehead
It's only a matter of time, says, W., and we're out. We've not long left, says W., and we'll be kicked out. It's all over, says W., and we'll be kicked out. Because they're hunting us down. Because they've caught the scent and we are the quarry. Because they've set out towards us, they know something's different, something's interesting, they've caught the scent and now we are the quarry. What chance do we have? We can lie low and hope they don't notice us. We can hope there's trouble at the top, a change of governments, confusion, and they'll have great concerns than us. But what chance do we have, really?
It's all over, the university is over, there are only money-making machines and resentment machines. The double whammy, money-making and resentment. If it was down to money-making, we'd be okay, but there's resentment as well. Resentment and quality. Quality is the probehead of resentment. Quality sends out its probehead like the Martian machines in War of the Worlds. Infinitely subtle, infinitely adaptable, the probehead is looking for us. Keep still. Hopefully the paperwork will be good enough. Hopefully we'll survive another round. The probehead is winding through the corridors. Hopefully they'll get someone else. Hopefully it'll be someone else's turn and not ours.
In the end, they'll see us. In the end, they'll know us. Capital is the all-seeing, all-knowing eye. Capital is looking out for us, as Sauron looked out over Middle Earth. Sauron and the Ring-Wraiths are looking for us. The auditors are Ring-Wraiths and in the service of Sauron. The auditors are made of resentment, they are nothing other than resentment. And they are great counters and scrutinisers. They'll riffle through your minutes in a second. They'll be through your paperwork all at once. They'll have scented you and come for your paperwork. If your paperwork is not in order, nothing can save you. Then resentment has its day. Then resentment laughs, for it has triumphed.
Rats
Meanwhile the rats are swarming. Rats like me are swarming through the corridors. Look how quickly we run! Look how much we do in a day! Everything, it's done, we do it, we can do more, there's always more to do! Rats in the service of quality. Rats crawling over one another, rats crawling over the dead bodies of other rats, in the service of quality. Rats who know they will be hunted down if they keep still. Rats active because they know they are the quarry.
The rats are frantic. I am one of them. I am another rat, a rat among rats, and I scamper over rats just as others scamper over me. I disgust myself, I am a rat, but what matters is to keep going and not to stop. How I disgust myself! Has it come to this! But no matter, I am a rat, and I must keep going. Is this what it was all for? Is this what it's come to? No matter. I am a rat, I have adapted myself, I am fast and I am frantic. Perhaps I won't be caught. Perhaps I'll run faster than the other rats, and I won't be caught. But we know, each of us, that we will all be caught. We know the end is coming and we'll all be caught.
