I wasn’t meant to be here.
My mum never had the chance to go to school. My dad was a college dropout. Academia wasn’t in my blood, and it certainly wasn’t in my plans. But life has a way of pulling you in unexpected directions, and after six countries and countless moments of professional generosity, here I am: a Dean of Research. Universities have become more than workplaces to me—they’re home. They’ve given me a purpose bigger than myself, a community, and the privilege of helping others find their path.
But when there’s a crack in your home, you don’t just stand around blaming the wind. You don’t point fingers at who didn’t fix the roof. You roll up your sleeves and do the work. Because this isn’t just any home. It’s a place where generations come to dream, discover, and make the world better. Right now, the foundation of that home is shifting, and we have a choice: adapt or watch it crumble.
Some people are saying the university is dead. I don’t buy that.
But the university as we know it? That’s gone. And maybe that’s not such a bad thing.
The Blame Game Won’t Save Us
It’s tempting to blame the usual suspects—governments slashing funding, the changing geopolitics of education, or society’s shifting attitudes toward “elitist” institutions. Yes, all of those things are real. But if we sit around waiting for a miracle budget to save us, we’ll wait ourselves into irrelevance. Instead of mourning what’s lost, we should be asking: What kind of university does the world need now?
For decades, we’ve measured our success through research rankings, publications, and citations. But I’ll let you in on a secret—most Australians don’t care. Their lives aren’t changed by where we sit on a global ranking list. Their concerns are more immediate: Can we cure the diseases affecting their families? Can we help their industries innovate and grow? Can we educate their children for jobs that don’t even exist yet?
The rankings may be slipping, but that doesn’t mean we’ve failed. It means we’ve been using the wrong scoreboard.
Rethinking Research: Who Pays and Who Benefits?
Here’s the uncomfortable truth: the way we’ve funded research for years is broken. The old model went something like this: researchers decide what they want to explore, write a grant application, and hope someone will foot the bill. But that’s no longer good enough. Funders want to be part of the journey—they want a say in what we study and why. And let’s be honest, the communities we serve deserve that too.
This doesn’t mean we become contract researchers without independence. It means we build partnerships, co-create solutions, and let others share in the decision-making. We can’t cling to the idea that we alone should decide what knowledge matters. The balance of control needs recalibrating—not just for the sake of funding but for the sake of relevance.
A Social Contract, Not a Transaction
Universities were never meant to be ivory towers. They were built to be engines of progress, deeply embedded in the communities around them. But somewhere along the way, that connection frayed. We produce tens of thousands of research papers each year, but too many of them are never read, not even by other researchers. And the public? They’re not just disconnected from our research—they’re often unaware it even exists.
We can’t keep trotting out the same handful of success stories—Wi-Fi, the cochlear implant—as proof that our research matters. Those are incredible achievements, but they’re exceptions. If we want sustained public trust and support, we need to make knowledge transfer a priority in every project. That means writing dissemination into the budget, ensuring that research findings don’t get buried in journals but reach the industries, policymakers, and communities who need them.
Because what good is knowledge if it never leaves the walls of the university?
Measuring What Really Matters
The last time Australia conducted a national research assessment was in 2018. Think about that. In a world that’s evolving by the day, we haven’t updated our metrics of success in nearly a decade. We need new ways to measure impact—not just in academic circles but in the real world. What are we doing that improves health outcomes, addresses climate change, or strengthens the economy? And how do we communicate that value to the people outside our institutions?
Right now, the metrics we rely on are like measuring a family’s well-being based solely on the size of their house. They miss the heart of the matter.
Small Conversations Can Lead to Big Changes
This transformation won’t come from government policy alone or some grand strategic plan handed down from above. Real change will come from small, inclusive conversations—researchers sitting down with community leaders, industry partners, and everyday citizens to ask: What do you need from us? How can we help?
When those voices shape our research priorities, the impact will be felt far beyond the campus gates. This is how we rebuild trust. This is how we create a university system that isn’t just surviving but thriving.
Hope in the Midst of Disruption
I know it’s easy to feel overwhelmed by the challenges ahead. Declining funding, public mistrust, and shifting regulations can feel like an existential threat. But I believe disruption can be a gift. It forces us to confront our weaknesses, question our assumptions, and imagine new possibilities.
The university of tomorrow won’t look like the one that shaped my career. But maybe that’s a good thing. I’m here today because of unexpected opportunities, the generosity of mentors, and a belief that education can change lives. That hasn’t changed.
Our job isn’t to preserve the past—it’s to create a future where universities are once again at the heart of progress, innovation, and community. And to do that, we need courage, creativity, and a willingness to leave behind what no longer serves us.
So, no—I don’t think the university is dead. I think it’s being reborn. And I, for one, am ready to help build its next chapter. Are you?
Professor Raj Shekhawat is Dean of Research at Flinders University’s College of Education, Psychology and Social Work. The views expressed in the article are his own.
