When collegiality breeds contempt

Psychological harassment and mental health are growing concerns across universities, and rightly so. Faculty unions see this first-hand as they contend with more complaints and a growing need to support both the members who file complaints and those who face them. Since employers are now legally required to prevent psychosocial risks, understanding the circumstances that either fuel or prevent harmful behaviour has become all the more urgent. 

No one should have to work in an environment pervaded by humiliation, bullying or harassment. But how we respond to these problems depends on how we interpret them; and questions of interpretation arise in several recent analyses of conflicts in the university environment. In effect, various external arbitrators, investigators and labour-relations specialists, unfamiliar with university culture, have highlighted the unusual nature of academia’s decision-making bodies — such as departmental assemblies and other committees of peers — seeing these collegial structures as an “administrative straitjacket” that may perpetuate instances of harassment. 

But this framing raises a fundamental question: how should we interpret the tensions that arise within institutions that are, by their very nature, built upon debate among peers, the clash of ideas, and collective decision-making? If we blame collegial governance mechanisms for the existence of conflicts, we may be tempted to dismantle these mechanisms altogether. Unlike most workplaces, universities blur the line between management and staff. Professors aren’t managers in the conventional sense, yet they wield real influence over hiring, peer evaluation, and the direction of teaching and research. What may look like an administrative quirk is, in fact, fundamental to the institution’s mission. 

This model of governance ensures that the university remains committed to the common good and able to resist political, economic and ideological pressures. That’s why decisions about teaching and research aren’t made by a small number of senior managers; they emerge from collective deliberation among those closest to the work. This form of governance guarantees that decisions are based on deliberations that incorporate a range of theoretical, disciplinary, and epistemological viewpoints, while also ensuring that power is not concentrated among a few individuals who could impose their own agenda or bow to the ideological, political or economic pressures they inevitably face.  

By its very nature, a university can only succeed if it embraces distinct disciplines, competing approaches, sometimes incompatible methods, and conflicting world views, and ensures that all have a voice in shaping its future direction. This pluralism is an asset: it fuels innovation and guards against dogma. But it also comes at a cost. Professors are constantly called upon to debate, criticize their colleagues’ work, and make decisions that have serious consequences for both programs and careers. These exchanges can be difficult and sometimes leave lasting tensions in their wake. In this context, it would be naïve to think that an institution founded on the collision of ideas could become a perfectly harmonious space.  

It therefore follows that the tensions arising in universities are not merely the result of difficult personalities or inappropriate conduct. Rather, they arise from the nature of the university itself. Acknowledging this doesn’t excuse bullying or harassment, but it means we must draw a line between the type behaviour that amounts to abuse, and that which simply emerges from the institutional mechanisms that are necessary for university life. 

If we regard conflict as a direct consequence of deliberation, there is a real danger of coming to see debate as a liability, and of dismantling collegial bodies in favour of a hierarchical system that can more easily contain conflict. But concentrating power in a managerial elite doesn’t eliminate conflict; it merely silences it, weakening the very conditions that protect academic freedom and institutional autonomy. 

The real challenge isn’t to eliminate necessary and desirable tensions, but rather to keep them from becoming destructive. How do we sustain vigorous debate without letting it turn into psychological harm? How do we intervene when conduct moves beyond legitimate disagreement, into harassment or contempt? How do we protect individuals without dismantling the systems that support independent thinking? These questions should be at the heart of our discussions. 

Finally, we must consider to what extent these tensions are aggravated by current circumstances. Universities face increasing financial constraints, heavier administrative burdens and mounting performance pressure. In this context, debates are no longer just about ideas — they’re about access to ever dwindling resources. Conflicts not only multiply but grow more bitter, personal and difficult to resolve. A well funded university system wouldn’t be devoid of tensions, but it would create the conditions of a healthier workplace.

It shouldn’t be a matter of choosing between psychological health and collegial governance, but rather of protecting the former without sacrificing the latter. We must act urgently to prevent harassment and to support individuals, while, at the same time, questioning the material conditions of employment in our universities — for a chronically underfunded institution places its members in a situation of competition with each other, thus fuelling the very tensions that it then seeks to dispel. Treating collegiality as a flaw to fix would mean renouncing an essential principle. A university without open debate, critical exchange and shared decision-making, but instead governed by a handful of management professionals would quite simply cease to be a university.