Educators are the soul of any university. They build their intellectual capital, craft their reputation, and sustain its credibility through their teaching and research. They also contribute to its revenue stream through funded projects. Yet, paradoxically, they are often led by management staff who seldom engage in either. These officials, known as university management staff (UMS), evaluate educators not through the quality of their classrooms or research but through fluctuating admission graphs.
Across universities, faculty members are pressed into admission drives. They are asked to sell their degree programs like commodities in a marketplace. They are told to market degree programs and share admission posters on their social media accounts to attract students. One respondent to our recent faculty survey shared, “In meetings, whether the agenda is admissions or not, we are informed that the admission count is low, and eventually we must promote our programs on social media networking sites.”
The assumption that teachers are responsible for low admissions has become an institutional reflex.
The assumption that teachers are responsible for low admissions has become an institutional reflex. When numbers dip, the blame falls not on marketing departments or unrealistic targets but on the faculty, who were never hired or trained to recruit students. “We are now given additional admission duties,” another faculty member noted, “which means dealing with applicants, sharing information about programs, and following up with them.” The classroom, once a place of dialogue and discovery, is now shadowed by an anxiety shaped by performance metrics alien to education.
Educators are evaluated by standards unrelated to their craft. While those who master the art of pleasing superiors or “beating drums from both hands,” as one teacher wryly observed, are rewarded.
Our survey responses expose an even deeper cultural issue – the quiet spread of fear as an administrative tool. Faculty members spoke of “warnings” and “verbal threats” delivered in meetings. One respondent recalled being told that HR had “terminated staff members for low attendance or poor admissions, even when those issues were irrelevant to our department.” Such remarks, issued casually, ripple through entire faculties and breed insecurity. Fear has replaced trust as the governing emotion in many universities.
Even those who feel secure acknowledge the psychological toll. “For me, it’s manageable since I am a permanent employee,” one senior teacher said, “but I can see the stress among contract faculty.” Another admitted that the constant emphasis on admissions “sometimes affects my teaching because I am the convener of the admission committee and must call prospective students.” The language of learning has been displaced by the language of sales, and the scholar has been recast as a salesman of endless stock.
Teachers once measured their success through student engagement and scholarly work; now, they are worried about admissions, perhaps not learning. One respondent confessed that “research productivity is affected because admission campaigns demand attention.” The university, once imagined as a community of inquiry, becomes an assembly line where survival depends on meeting admission targets rather than cultivating minds.
Of course, not all institutions fit this description. A few respondents offered a more balanced picture. “Yes, there is some level of stress,” one faculty member admitted, “but it’s manageable. “The university ensures respect if we organise conferences, seminars and publish papers in Web of Sciences,” another highlighted.
In many private institutions, the rhetoric of market alignment now dominates every conversation. Micro-credentials, short courses, and skill-based certifications are promoted as the future of education. While these initiatives can be useful supplements, they are not substitutes for the holistic experience of a university degree. As one educator in our survey put it, “Skills without reflection create technicians, not thinkers.” The purpose of higher education is not merely to train hands but to awaken minds. Reducing universities to vocational centres may improve short-term employability, but it impoverishes the long-term intellectual landscape of a nation.
If higher education in Pakistan is to regain its integrity, the relationship between educators and UMS must be redefined. UMS need systematic training to understand how they can contribute to the institutional vision and recognise that educators are not subordinates. They require professional development on ways to contribute to the quality of teaching and research. Their communication with educators and students should be based on understanding and collaboration rather than directives and control.
Teachers must contribute to the institutional vision, but they should not be turned into marketers. Their energy belongs in classrooms, libraries, funded projects, and research labs, not in admission booths.
Universities must also invest in mental-health support and teaching/research incentives, while recognising that a respected teacher is the best advertisement any institution can have. The most persuasive brand is excellence, not a billboard.
When educators feel respected, they bring to their classrooms a sense of ownership that no incentive program can buy. When they feel humiliated, they quietly withdraw into cynicism. Management may continue to hold meetings and issue reminders, but the heart of the institution will have stopped beating. The choice before us is not between tradition and modernity; rather, it is between genuine academic reform and bureaucratic theatre.
As we mark another Teacher’s Day, our tributes on social media will mean little if the very teachers we celebrate feel overworked, undervalued, and unheard. They do not seek applause, but they want acknowledgement. They do not ask for miracles; they ask for meaningful work under humane conditions.
If universities truly wish to raise their standards, they must begin by trusting the educators who define them. The crisis of higher education in Pakistan lies not in the shortage of students but in the shortage of respect for those who teach them. Prioritising students should never mean sidelining educators.
The crossroads are clear. One path leads to a future where universities resemble corporate offices obsessed with numbers, the other leads to a renewed culture of scholarship grounded in curiosity, courage, and compassion. The decision will determine not just the future of our universities but the intellectual soul of our society.
The first author is a Professor of English at Riphah International University, Lahore. He is a lead guest editor at Emerald and Springer publishing.
The second author is an Assistant Professor of English at Govt. Graduate College for Women, Samanabad, Lahore