At an early meeting of the British Sociological Association's "Activism in Sociology Forum" members met to discuss how we might play a more campaigning role in the world outside the academy. Pragmatically, academics tend to work long hours. We are faced with multiple and competing demands: teaching, administration, publishing, marketing, research, grant-bidding, and so on. The REF has ramped up the requirement to demonstrate the efficacy of our research in "the real world" (our impact upon society, economy, and culture rather than upon knowledge per se, or upon the academic discipline). Maybe here I suggested, as my contribution to the meeting was a chance for those of us interested in progressing social justice to lever officially sanctioned space, in our busy day-to-day lives, to do more of this sort of work? Maybe we should welcome the REF impact agenda? I learned afterwards that eminent British sociologists, whom I respect enormously, regarded such a viewpoint as "naive" and "embarrassing". Indeed, critics interpret REF as just one mode of the heightened, neoliberal, managerial control that is degrading academic life and infesting universities. So, how should we think about the REF impact agenda? Because of its obvious connections with social improvement and reform through policy action, social policy is regarded as one disciplinary area that is well-placed to meet and benefit from the impact agenda. Yet there has been surprisingly little concerted discussion amongst scholars about REF and impact. This is despite the fact that many millions of pounds of public funding accrue to the proposed or claimed impact of research (with monies channelled through research councils to individual projects or via regular, six-yearly centralised assessments of the quality of research in university departments). In addition, there is substantial funding directed toward the "impact industry"; the consultants, think tanks, PR firms, funding schemes, new software programmes, impact managers, specialist impact case study... Question: The sociologist probably feel that === The answer to the above question is
OPTIONS:
- the narrator is extremely smart
- not enough information
- the narrator is not that knowledgeable
- they are superior
the narrator is not that knowledgeable
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April 1, 2006 Walter died today. Found out this morning over breakfast. Suicide. Walter. I'm still trying to wrap my mind around it. Suicide. Walter wasn't suicidal. I know that, know it for a fact. But he is dead. Why? I am not foolish enough to suspect "foul play" as they say in the mystery stories. No one cares enough about a community college art teacher to murder him. But suicide? Something is wrong here. Very wrong. April 2, 2006 I didn't realize until this morning that yesterday was April Fools day. Some kind of sick joke? But that's not like Walter either. He was a little crazy, but not that kind of crazy. Still I keep half expecting to pick up my voice and hear his voice yell, "Gotcha!" But it is no joke. I know he is dead. (Later) Got a package today. From Walter. Scary considering what I wrote about expecting him to call. I can't express the chill I got when I saw his name on the label. A message from the dead. Surely it's not a good Omen. It's a painting. Or at least I think it is. The package is the right shape, and knowing Walter it seems likely, but...I haven't yet worked up the courage to open it yet. I'm afraid of what I might find. April 3, 2006 Went to the funeral today. Walter's wife, Martha, was in hysterics. Can't say I blame her. It was awkward being there seeing someone in the most vulnerable possible condition. I didn't know her that well. Walter and I rarely interacted outside of work, so I have very little knowledge of his personal life. Sylvia went up to her and hugged her even though she'd never met her before in her life. It must be something with women to be able to make that kind of spontaneous connection. I just shook her hand, and told her I was sorry. I don't make a habit of crying in public, but seeing her so shaken up brought tears to the edges of my eyes, and I did nothing to wipe them away. After five years of friendship it's the least Walter deserves of me. One other thing. The package. It's still sitting there in my study. Mocking me. That's how it feels anyway. Should... Question: What is probably true about Martha? === The answer to the above question is
OPTIONS:
- not enough information
- she hates the author
- she hates art
- she likes art
she likes art
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The doctors told me I would be placed on a seventy-two hour hold for observation. Knowing this was the only way out, I obeyed and diligently signed all the papers. I hated my parents but still felt the inescapable drive to prove to them that I was worth something. I had to show them I wasn't crazy. As the hours passed, I was shown to a blank room with plastic sheets and plastic pillows, which caused me to wonder what kind of distant confused souls had been imprisoned in this sterile place. There were bars on the windows and the only door out of the unit was locked 24/7. I knew my only refuge for the time being would be through the hour a day art therapy class and the smoke breaks I could take at will. They had given me a legal pad after my parents had told them of my affinity for writing. With it I set to work on the flow of words and the river of thoughts, both dark and hopeful that careened through my tired mind. Instead of sleep, I would write. I expressed my vicious frustration for the place and thought constantly of the passing hours, counting them down as they went. Because of this I was thankful for the eight to ten I would use up easily in my escapes to the world behind my eyelids. There I was free and could experience a life unhindered by limitations of ethics or gravity. When I'd awake I'd write what I could remember of my escapes on the obtrusive legal pad. I had the suspicion that the attendants would come in and read my thoughts as I was eating meals or watching TV and I wondered if this was hindering my ability to get out. I wondered what kind of opinions and judgments they were forming about me. I had bared my soul on those pages explaining desperately how the thoughts would not leave even in this place, where it mattered most that they were gone. The fuckers would never leave. Maybe I was crazy. Question: When would the narrator be released from the hold? === The answer to the above question is
OPTIONS:
- Never
- not enough information
- Eight to ten hours
- After seventy-two hours
After seventy-two hours
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