The marginalisation of Māori academics

Abstract

There is reason to be concerned about the future of the Māori (Indigenous people of New Zealand) academy in Aotearoa New Zealand. Qualitative research a decade ago pointed to issues of Māori being exploited and excluded by their universities. More recent quantitative research suggests some serious pay and role inequalities for Māori and particularly for Māori women. Between 2021 and 2024, we interviewed 33 Māori academics about how universities exclude and exploit them. In this article, we share one of five findings. The findings presented here suggests universities nudge Māori academics to the margins of their institutions. We offer future research directions. Specifically, we ask researchers to consider whether Māori academics are rendered active in the pursuit of university outcomes in the margins. We turn to the critical field of organisation studies to help us chart a path forward for scholarship. The value in this article lies in the empirical material produced in interviews with Māori academics.

Introduction and context

British and European colonisation was enabled through the strategic use of research and science; processes positioned coloniser-researchers as experts within scholarly circles which were, for the most part, uncritical of their authority and scholarship (Reid et al., 2019). That authority was often built on the strategic exploitation of Indigenous knowledge and peoples in their own territories and on their own lands (L. T. Smith, 2012). Indigenous people as research subjects were frequently relegated to marginal roles too; either cited only in footnotes or omitted entirely from recognition (Reid et al., 2019). In colonised states, the establishment of land-grant universities was made possible through state-sanctioned processes involving the appropriation—through sale, coercive or violent means—of Indigenous lands as endowments for universities and other institutions (Lee & Athone, 2020; Stein, 2017). In the context of Aotearoa New Zealand, universities were founded as part of a broader colonial project that disrupted and dispossessed Māori communities, severing their connections to lands, language, and knowledges (A. Smith et al., 2021). This included the redistribution of Māori land to the colonial university by the Crown (Harvey, 2021).

The first universities in New Zealand were established 150 years ago under a philosophy of liberalism and were grounded in the ideals of intellectual freedom and political, social, and economic autonomy. As a result, they sought independence from Māori (Indigenous people of New Zealand) institutions and organisations including customs, knowledges, languages and processes unique to Māori ways of living; there was little room for Māori intellectualism, culture or knowledges in the early academy (Walker, 2016). There is no doubt that universities also distinguished themselves from women, racial and ethnic minorities and others.

There has been some change under a more recent form of liberalism; neoliberalism, as a result of which universities have been increasingly driven by a corporate business logic enabled through market mechanisms (Hall & Sutherland, 2018; Roberts, 2014). Early neoliberalism in New Zealand in the 1980s sought to reduce the role of government in the management of public sector institutions but was later replaced by national government efforts to remodel the public sector on neo-liberal, free-market private-sector management principles (Kidman & Chu, 2017; Shore, 2010).

The 1990s marked a period of change in Aotearoa New Zealand and the nation’s tertiary education sector. The National Māori Congress was established in 1990 advancing a national Māori position on the country’s policy matters (Durie, 2024). During this time, the Treaty claims process along with the advocacy of leaders such as Rongo Herehere Wetere, the Te Tauihu o ngā Wānanga Association and others contributed to the strengthening of wānanga (Māori tertiary institutions) (Timms, 2007). That strength was recognised formally by the New Zealand parliament in the Education Amendment Act 1990, which made wānanga eligible for Crown funding. During this decade the number of Māori students graduating with tertiary qualifications increased and universities were required to demonstrate their commitment to the principles of Te Tiriti o Waitangi (The Treaty of Waitangi) in their charters (Durie, 2009).

While Māori have created academic careers in the era of the neoliberal university (Kidman & Chu, 2017), legislative and policy changes since the 1990s have meant that the inclusion of Māori academic staff in universities could be considered tokenistic and performative. Ethnic-based departments and positions have been created to incorporate Māori academics into the academy, but this incorporation may have worked to exclude Māori intellectualism from the mainstream (Hall, 2014; Kidman, 2020; Kidman & Chu, 2017) on the one hand and, equally troubling, to exploit cultural knowledges (Kidman, 2020; Staniland, 2017) on the other. Universities and the government’s funding of them may be caught up in the pursuit of employing Māori people as vehicles, put to work (L. T. Smith, 1999) to attract more Māori students, collect more government funding, create a better public relations profile, conform to diversity agendas, and avoid scrutiny and criticism from community leaders; a situation that may be symptomatic of contemporary academic colonialism (Jack & Westwood, 2009).

Recent research in New Zealand has been clear about the negative university environments Māori academics face (Haar & Martin, 2022; Hall, 2014; Hall & Sutherland, 2018; Kidman et al., 2015; Staniland, 2017; Walker, 2016). What we know from the powerful research done in this area is that the university environments which Māori academics face may be consequences of broad “structural dysfunction within the institutions of higher education in New Zealand” (Kidman et al., 2015, p. 13). Because of this, Māori researchers have called for the “decolonisation of careers research” through serious consideration of the historical and contextual impacts on Māori academics (Staniland, 2017, p. 7). As with other institutions, universities can place Māori people in a state of crisis which needs to be worked through (L. T. Smith, 2017). We understand that “settler-colonial and neoliberal forces cooperate within a grid of power relations that connect historical and modern forms of coloniality with market-driven ideologies” (Kidman, 2020, p. 250). Heke (2023) makes the point that, “in Aotearoa New Zealand, Māori women have experienced an additional measure of the power imbalance” and that this is an “ongoing consequence of colonisation, with its accompanying patriarchal influence” (Heke, 2023, p. 146). We have also seen how universities maintain power hierarchies (Haar & Martin, 2022), and further gendered-ethnic inequities (Kidman, 2020; McAllister et al., 2019, 2021; Sutherland et al., 2013).

In 2021, we launched a qualitative research programme (referred to hereafter as “the programme”) to examine the exclusion and exploitation of Māori faculty in New Zealand universities. As part of this programme, we conducted 40 interviews with 33 Māori academics.

In this article – hereafter “the paper” – we focus on findings related to the broader theme of power. Specifically, the paper draws on data from 23 interviews with 20 Māori academics. The paper’s empirical contribution rests on revealing how Māori university academics feel marginalised through power inequities and imbalances. The significance of this paper lies in the rich empirical insights derived from interviews with Māori academics. The paper’s primary research contribution is the illumination of power in the margins, offering an interesting base for future investigations.

Research methodology

We utilised writings on Kaupapa Māori (Durie, 2017; Hoskins & Jones, 2017; Pihama, 2010, 2020; L. T. Smith, 2017; G. H. Smith, 1997, 2017), critical Indigenous inquiry (Andrews, 2021; Henry & Foley, 2018), and critical university research (Dacin et al., 2010; Fleming, 2020, 2021). Critical Indigenous inquiry helped us to understand the inequalities and power structures that may be in place in institutions (Pihama, 1993). Kaupapa Māori helped us see how universities and other institutions can be sites of struggle where Māori and western ways of knowing and doing confront each other which needs some working through (L. T. Smith, 2012, 2017, 1999). For us, Kaupapa Māori has been a constant reminder to focus our processes in a way which promotes the “best outcomes for Māori” (Durie, 2017, p. 7). Our intention has been to share the insights of Māori academics, to draw attention to issues in the academy, and to propose further research of benefit to Māori in the academy.

In 2021, we extended invitations to Māori academics to participate in interviews for the programme. The accompanying information sheets provided to prospective participants outlined our experiences, motivations, and commitments, as well as personal whakapapa to uphold the relational processes of our study. Specifically, we disclosed the Māori and Pākehā whakapapa and affiliations of the lead author – to Te Ātiawa iwi, as well as England, Scotland, and Christchurch – alongside the Pākehā whakapapa and connections of the second author – to the Isle of Thanet and Yorkshire in the UK, and to Te Hāwera, Waitohi, and Tākaka. Participants were selected through our existing networks within universities. While a couple of people did not respond to the invitation, and one declined due to work commitments, the overall response was overwhelmingly positive.

We initially considered including Māori academics based within Wānanga (Māori tertiary institutions) but ultimately chose not to pursue this. The decision reflects a broader pattern in existing literature, where research highlighting institutional challenges within universities often does not include Wānanga. Kidman et al. (2015) is a notable exception, though their work did not exclusively examine institutional issues. As researchers, our lack of direct engagement with Wānanga raised important concerns around respecting tikanga (cultural protocols) and ensuring the integrity of our approach. We were also uncertain about the capacity of our own university ethics frameworks and committees to adequately support culturally grounded research methodologies and processes for use in Wānanga. Moreover, Wānanga and universities appear to operate with divergent intentions and foundational purposes, which would have further complicated inclusion in our study.

For the programme, we recruited a total of 33 participants, comprising 20 wāhine Māori (Māori women) and 13 tāne Māori (Māori men). While some participants’ university affiliations changed over the course of the programme, interviews were conducted with academics from all eight universities in Aotearoa New Zealand. Many senior scholars had held positions at multiple institutions. At the time of their interviews, just over one-third of participants were employed within schools of Māori or Indigenous studies. Academic ranks varied and evolved over time, primarily due to promotions, with participants distributed relatively evenly across lecturer, senior lecturer, associate professor, and professor levels. All but one held continuing academic appointments when interviewed.

Between June 2021 and June 2024, interviews were conducted across three distinct phases. In phase one, we interviewed 18 academics to explore how universities can perpetuate exclusion and exploitation, as well as how individuals resist and navigate these institutional dynamics (interviews 1–18). In phase two, we re-engaged seven of the initial participants to check our initial insights, to deepen the inquiry and gather additional insights (interviews 19–25). Phase three involved interviews with a further 15 academics, expanding the scope of the study (interviews 26–40). All 40 interviews were undertaken by the lead author, who recorded observations in handwritten diary notes throughout the process. Participants who wished to verify the research notes were sent copies for review and confirmation. These processes were implemented to preserve participant confidentiality and protect their identities to the greatest extent possible. In this paper, we draw on 23 interviews from 20 of the 33 participants in the wider programme (which comprised 40 interviews in total). In the findings section, interviews are numbered sequentially from 1 to 23, with three participants contributing a second interview. For each interview, we indicate whether it was the participant’s first or second.

We subsequently analysed the interview notes using qualitative coding methodologies informed by Dacin et al. (2010). This process involved scanning for recurring phrases, terms, and participant descriptions. Initially, data organisation was facilitated by software such as NVivo, followed by more manual search procedures conducted in Microsoft Word. Our analytical approach comprised several steps, beginning with the identification of “in vivo words. . . phrases, terms, or descriptions offered by participants” (Dacin et al., 2010, p. 1400). Through this process, we identified five aggregate dimensions that appeared to meaningfully reflect Māori academics’ experiences of exclusion and exploitation within university contexts: (a) covert and overt forms of power, (b) te Tiriti o Waitangi/the Treaty of Waitangi, (c) sexism and racism, (d) the Performance-Based Research Fund (PBRF) and research evaluation, and (e) cultural taxation and tokenism (Dacin et al., 2010; Kindsiko & Baruch, 2019). This paper focuses specifically on the dimension of covert and overt forms of power. To ground our analysis, we drew on data from 23 interviews involving 20 participants.

Ethical approval for the programme was maintained throughout the duration of the programme. Initial approval was granted by the University of Auckland Human Participants Ethics Committee on 9 June 2021 for a 3-year period (Reference Number: UAHPEC2580). Subsequently, the research ethics documentation was reviewed and approved by the Chair of the University of Canterbury Human Research Ethics Committee on 28 July 2022. The University of Canterbury Human Research Ethics Committee (UC HREC) agreed to assume oversight of this project. On 19 October 2022, we received formal confirmation (Reference Number: HREC 2022/04/EX) that the project was exempt from review by the UC HREC, as it had already been approved by another New Zealand institution, the University of Auckland.

Findings

Powerlessness

Our analysis led to five broad observations/findings. First and foremost, Māori academics experience powerlessness their universities. Academics were direct in their assertions about the imbalances of power which exist in universities; “there is a power imbalance” (Interview 1, first interview) (Interview 4, first interview), and “there is always an imbalance of power” (Interview 16, first interview). At times academics were clear about who the imbalance was in relation to; “there is also an imbalance between Māori academics and Māori general staff” (Interview 4, first interview) suggesting Māori general staff can have more power than Māori academics in certain situations. In one interview, we noted, “there is an imbalance between levels of academic appointment” (Interview 16, first interview) suggesting, perhaps, that professors are likely to have more power than early career academics. In line with this, we uncovered further insights to indicate, “the best researchers have the most power. The sources of power are un-evenly spread. Some people have more power” (Interview 1, first interview). We noted of one participant that, “there was an imbalance of power in a department where she was the only Māori” (Interview 13, first interview). For another academic, it seemed that “universities give more power to people in power, not Māori and junior staff” (Interview 15, first interview). As one participant explained, there is a failure on the part of university managers to recognise, “the need to give power over” (Interview 10, second interview). As we analysed interview material, we began to wonder just who or what had power in the university.

One of our participants noted that Māori academics, “are given lots of responsibility but no power” (Interview 10, second interview). For some, “the university denigrates Māori” (Interview 11, second interview), and for others, “the university continues to not be Māori. . .universities in Aotearoa are not for us. . .universities are exploiting us” (Interview 22, first interview). Reflecting on a conversation in the public domain an academic noted how there are, “assumptions about particular forms of knowledge, lesser forms of science” (Interview 23, first interview). It became clear to us that the academics we were talking with were not only talking about the issues confronting Māori academics but rather academics in general and other university actors. Our participants were certainly conscious of the broader impacts for a number of people and offered valuable perspectives on the nature of the system. We heard that, “people are treated as puppets” (Interview 17, first interview), and while it may seem that people occupying positions hold more power than others, at times it seems, “managers are the face but not the power” (Interview 17, first interview). We heard too that perhaps power is derived from the resources people possess:

The head of university’s HR was the architect and the money person frightened leadership with numbers. Money is a form of power. Power struggle—back end of the central system. There is an academic-administration power struggle (Interview 19, first interview).

As we noted in an interview with one participant, universities use “the power of language [because] it’s what the institution is good at” (Interview 2, first interview). Another participant described how, “strategic plans are great but how does it trickle down? Whose got power? The connection is unclear” (Interview 22, first interview). In another account we saw that, “there is an amorphous illusion of order and structure . . . it’s surprising at times” (Interview 21, first interview). In a brief moment this participant reflected further; “that’s surprising I thought the VC [vice-chancellor] was in charge” (Interview 21, first interview). One of our participants noted how “the university council is further removed. There is an accessibility issue when you can’t access people from the head of school to the top of the university” (Interview 18, first interview). One academic further noted how, “the university is incredibly hierarchical; there are very few Māori faces and less people representing Māori” (Interview 22, first interview).

Through our analysis, it was mostly clear to us that the sources of power were difficult to ascertain and that the consequences were felt quite broadly. But for one participant, power came in a thoroughly human form:

When joining a university they [participant] were told ‘don’t turn him down, watch out for this person and this person.’ The people they [participant] were warned of were all Māori. There was constant manoeuvring like a chess board. They [participant] didn’t know the rules. ‘The issues are worse when we are exploited by our own. The level of bullying, harassment, toxicity was worse when it was being done by Māori’. She had issues with two senior Māori. When she had an issue they would say, ‘that’s the job, do it or you’re gone.’ ‘People were harassing me, bullying me’ (Interview 14, first interview).

In our interviews, we heard about the personal nature that power can take. For another participant, power took on another form:

Mana whenua [people with territorial rights] may not want to promote the best for all Māori in the university. Power only extends to who the leader wants to support. There is an iwi [tribal group] power dynamic. Māori and non-Māori are used as reps for mana whenua. Some Māori may feel threatened because they don’t have the whakapapa [ancestry] (Interview 18, first interview).

In one interview, we heard that, “power is colonially derived” (Interview 22, first interview), in another we were told it was, “history, a type of mana there that gives a sense of power and authority to the institution” (Interview 21, first interview) and in another, “Western traditions hold . . .” (Interview 23, first interview). The university is also underpinned by privileges related to; “class, elitism, men, Latin, rituals, the chancellor, governments, hierarchical power, departments and structure, academics” (Interview 23, first interview). Māori academics further suggest how gender and race contribute to power inequities; “ideals of male and white; very much shapes the system and the underlying philosophy of the system” (Interview 22, first interview) and “power in the university is pale, stale, male” (Interview 17, first interview). Another participant commented directly on the influence of gender in the university; “men are leaders and they exert their power” (Interview 15, first interview). A participant constructed this meaning in relation to gender and power:

Universities are very large and complex organisations. During the post-covid financial crisis the university undertook processes to reduce academic staff numbers through redundancies. They cut deep, not just the minimum. There was an opportunity to get rid of older women and women academics. (Interview 19, first interview).

Gender and race emerged as such significant concerns in the programme that they warrant dedicated attention; we will present our analysis and findings on these issues in a future paper. As we continued to analyse for power, we came to see that Māori academics were concerned for the impacts of power on people. A participant indicated that the consequences of power imbalances can be that “Pākehā [non-Indigenous people of New Zealand] would win because they have more power” (Interview 1, first interview). But the negative consequences of power imbalances can also be unclear, “which places Māori in a vulnerable position. There is an equity ecosystem where equity is broken up—just how Māori and Pacific people feature they’re [the participant is] not sure” (Interview 16, first interview). The lack of clarity continued in another account which revolves around mana whenua; “There is a unique power in mana whenua and it’s not clear how much that influences university power. It can be tricky” (Interview 18, first interview).

Individualisation

Second, our findings suggest universities at times treat Māori academics as individuals. As we heard directly; “workers are individualised” (Interview 1, first interview) and from another participant, “we are totally individualised” (Interview 7, first interview). It can even begin prior to an academic appointment whereby the university might engage in, “individualization . . . buying individual CVs” (Interview 5, first interview). The university extracts value from Māori academics as it works not only to “treat Māori academics as individuals” (Interview 8, first interview), but also to “incentivise Māori individually” (Interview 13, first interview) and to “force Māori academics through individualistic performance exercises” (Interview 9, first interview). The university attempts to bolster its public reputation when it seeks to, “label and promote Māori individuals” (Interview 2, first interview) as well. But how does this individualisation of academic work play out? One answer is that Māori academics, “are individualised from above” (Interview 5, first interview). That is, managers individualise Māori academics. But another participant in our research had their doubts as to whether individualisation was a product of management or a product of the individual themselves; “how much is it the institution and how much is it the individual?” (Interview 3, first interview).

Isolation

Third, universities seem to isolate some Māori academics. This was illustrated by one participant who was clear that, “every institutional actor will exclude them” (Interview 3, first interview). Another of our respondents revealed in a general statement, and not limited to Māori academics, how, “people with less power feel marginalised” (Interview 1, first interview). Another person revealed how being the only Māori academic in her department “felt like people in that department were protecting their space” going on to claim, “there was an unwillingness to give over space” (Interview 13, first interview). As another interviewee revealed, “the university doesn’t recognise them” (Interview 4, first interview). When the university does recognise Māori workers and Māori academics, another participant explained, “the university tries to put Māori stuff in a box . . . compartmentalise” (Interview 6, first interview). Early-career academics can find themselves disconnected from the academy. One of our informants noted that, “universities are isolating. . .because universities are isolating, new staff have an adjustment period” (Interview 8, first interview). As noted in another interview, “early career academics come into the university and can’t figure the university out; how it works” (Interview 19, first interview). When one informant was considering doing a master’s degree, “she was told to consider another university because the school didn’t have the expertise to support her . . . that was isolating” (Interview 20, first interview). In this instance, a manager had alienated our informant from her academic discipline because they did not have the cultural (Māori) competency to supervise her research.

One of our participants noted, “workers are isolated. It’s a real issue if you have only one Māori staff member in a unit. It’s better to have them together” (Interview 10, second interview). Reflecting on her experiences of working in different university schools we heard that, “[Indigenous Studies] is a very different place . . . it’s a haven. There was a different feeling—a safety in numbers, in Māori staff numbers” (Interview 13, first interview). Perhaps universities do not care about the Māori academic, so long as there is a Māori manager to manage the issues. It might be that both manager and worker are sent to the periphery of the organisation to sort their differences but, as one of our participants suggested, “Māori shouldn’t have to retreat to [Indigenous Studies]—this concerns them” (Interview 13, first interview). Maybe, as we heard from this participant, the nature of university affairs is summed up by the notion that, “the nature of academic relationships at work do not constitute being a whanau [family]-type arrangement” (Interview 13, first interview).

Casualising employment

Fourth, universities can treat Māori academics as temporary and dispensable workers by casualising their employment. But we also heard from participants that this is not exclusive to Māori academic workers. As one academic pointed out there are “issues with casualisation, fixed-term, part-time, semester by semester work” (Interview 9, first interview). An impression we got in interviews was that “Māori academics are exploited through fixed-term appointments” (Interview 2, first interview). As another participant revealed, “precarious work is an issue. If a Māori has a PhD there is merit but if they do not have a PhD then they’re pretty buggered” (Interview 1, first interview). As another female academic noted, there are “a lot of women on fixed-term contracts” (Interview 7, first interview). We also made this observation in an interview with a Māori academic:

she [participant, Māori academic] feels for staff working on teaching only positions. There’s no time to do research. They carry the burden. Something very inequitable happening and there are a disproportionate number of women colleagues in that position (Interview 12, second interview).

One of our participants reflected on the casualisation of academic labour; “individual contractor—you do all the work with a lack of support” (Interview 12, second interview). As we noted of another academic, “they have experienced precarious kinds of work . . . there are pressures on tutors, it’s an uphill battle to get more pay but the university puts various barriers in place” (Interview 13, first interview). We heard in another conversation how a participant was responsible for a significant and important course in their university, but the university struggled to recognise them and the role until late in the piece which had dire consequences; “the programme was big but they were not on a permanent contract to begin with. It was difficult. There were a lack of resources, and they were eventually burnt-out” (Interview 16, first interview). The problem for one of our participants was that, “managers aren’t willing to acknowledge the size of the job” (Interview 3, first interview).

Resistance

Fifth and finally, addressing and resisting university issues are complex, and the consequences of resisting can be significant. Although some of the academics we interviewed were clear about the issues of power and just how devastating power can be, they knew how to re-act.

At one university, two deans left. There was a review on harassment. It was completely ineffective. The whole review was awash. We tried everything, it did nothing. We left. We went somewhere where we were valued. We felt unsafe responding to it. (Interview 14, first interview).

Processes of reviewing institutional wrongs may serve decision-makers more so than those affected by decisions as the above account suggests, and when this happens, just who is there to support the targets of harassment? In interviews, we heard that there are cultural allies (mostly non-Māori academics who are supportive of Māori academics and their careers), in the university to assist with addressing university problems. But when things go wrong there can be “a lack of speaking out. Academics are fake to each other. In some instances, staff are willing to email to support people speaking up on issues but there is no support publicly” (Interview 15, first interview). Other academics see opportunities to address issues by wielding their own power; “Power can come through advice for students. Academics can do that for students. So, there are two levels of power” (Interview 17, first interview).

Of course, there are consequences to resisting institutions. We heard just how, “there is an issue with pissing off the wrong people . . . they will stop career progression” (Interview 17, first interview). The consequences of speaking up can create resistance from others and they may be substantial. Another participant noted how, “there can be resistance to, and micro-aggressions towards, Māori . . . how will that affect promotions?” (Interview 16, first interview). Some of the consequences of resisting managers are highlighted in this research note:

She [participant] kept her distance and called a manager out. He [manager] didn’t address her after that. He blocked her promotion, so she went to a higher manager to get support. When she was promoted, her manager congratulated her on the promotion but then proceeded to say, ‘you only got through promotion because you went to such-and-such a person [the higher manager] who spoke up for you’. She [participant] continued, ‘it was really fucking humiliating’ (Interview 14, first interview).

Here we see multiple acts and responses around a typical university promotions process. In this account, not only did the manager ignore our participant and then stifle her career, but he also proceeded to point out she did not deserve the promotion once she had achieved it—in fact it was not her achievement at all. Resisting can bring about some benefits, but the psychological tolls can also be significant.

Discussion and conclusion

Future research

The value of this paper lies in the knowledge shared by our participants, partially revealed through the qualitative interview data presented above. Their insights shed light on the often difficult and painful realities of academic life. We have come to understand that university power can manifest in ways that undermine human dignity, often through the actions of individual managers—power, in this context, has a face, and it is both visible and deeply unsettling. More broadly, we found that universities tend to casualise, individualise, and isolate academic staff, though we do not claim that the interview data we present are “representative in any quantitative sense” (Pullen & Simpson, 2009, p. 570). Taken together, these dynamics play a central role in the marginalisation of Māori academics within the university system. While the university marginalisation of academics is not a new observation, we hope the qualitative data shared in this paper fuels more research into the darker side of academia. There are some opportunities for further inquiry too.

Scholars highlight how casual and temporary academic roles—often filled by students juggling multiple commitments—undermine research teams and contribute to job insecurity (Jaeger & Dinin, 2017). Postgraduate and postdoctoral researchers are frequently used as low-cost labour, reinforcing feelings of powerlessness and devaluation (Purcell, 2007). Globally, there is growing concern about the systematic casualisation of academic work (Gill, 2009), often linked to neoliberal, cost-cutting reforms in universities (Dowling, 2008). This trend disproportionately affects women, exacerbating gender inequality in academia (Childress, 2019; Gill, 2009). Contract work may be mistaken for flexibility and some suggest it represents a distinct form of academic temporality which is finite and constrained where employees seek to meet deadlines (Crang, 2007; Ylijoki & Mantyla, 2003). Recent calls urge universities to address employment inequities driven by casualisation (Simpson et al., 2022). While casual academic labour may benefit institutional outcomes, it often does so at the expense of academic staff, reinforcing precarity and disadvantage (Acker & Wagner, 2019; Solomon & Du Plessis, 2023). Responding to these observations, we propose a deeper understanding of the temporal nature of academic work—causal, fixed, contractual, flexible, precarious, finite—and who/what those temporalities benefit.

Our research supports international assessments that academic labour has become increasingly individualised (Fleming, 2020), with universities shaping economic selves (Acker & Wagner, 2019; Duncan, 2021; Flynn, 2023) and fostering a sense of involuntary disconnection among academics (Belkhir et al., 2019). While we do not claim widespread despair or depression among faculty (Fleming, 2020), some academics may occasionally struggle to cope (Fanghanel, 2012; Fleming, 2021). The culture of silence and secrecy in academia (Gill, 2009) may explain our cautious framing. However, university power disproportionately affects Māori women (Kidman, 2020; McAllister et al., 2019, 2021; Sutherland et al., 2013) and other women (Zarevich, 2021), and we have evidence to support these claims, which will be presented in a future paper. In addition to the individualisation of academics, we also found that Māori academics can feel isolated, and we presented the data. Research shows that some Māori academics may choose to live and work on the margins of their institutions (Kidman, 2020; Kidman & Chu, 2017; L. T. Smith, 2015), where research and writing become acts of academic self-determination (Hall, 2014). These margins are not only spaces of resistance (L. T. Smith, 2015) but also of alliance and solidarity (Kidman, 2020; Kidman & Chu, 2017), which can be seen as a deliberate response to institutional power. Māori academics may occupy the margins of the university, but they also shape and respond to it from those margins. In line with our assessments, we argue for the need to better understand the margins of universities and the power in play.

And does institutional power enable or constrain academic freedom and autonomy at the university’s margins? And for whose benefit? Biopower—a concept gaining traction in recent literature in organisational and university studies (Fleming, 2022)—offers a compelling lens for examining this question. Drawing on Foucault’s (1984/1997) later work on biopolitics, biopower describes a subtle form of control that renders people active not through overt managerialism, but through minimal, often invisible oversight (Fleming, 2014, 2022). Its danger lies in its elusiveness—difficult to detect and therefore difficult to resist. To date, there is no empirical research on biopower in New Zealand universities, particularly in relation to Māori or Indigenous academics. We argue that this represents a valuable and necessary area for future inquiry into the dynamics of institutional power.

Strengths and limitations

This research centres Māori academic voices, and we make no apology for exclusively interviewing Māori academics—indeed, we view this as a strength. More studies should foreground Māori and Indigenous perspectives on the institutions they engage with, as Kaupapa Māori research methodology demands (Durie, 2017; Hoskins & Jones, 2017; Pihama, 2010, 2020; G. H. Smith, 1997, 2017; L. T. Smith, 2017). Our empirical assessment of universities was deliberately critical. While some may view this as deficit-focused, recent scholarship has increasingly examined the darker realities of academic life, recognising them as lived experiences. Asking hard questions is challenging and answering them even more so. Despite our focus on negative institutional phenomena, our intent is progressive: to surface issues that require further inquiry. Research that is intentionally one-sided can be valuable—so long as it serves the best interests of those it engages (G. H. Smith, 1997).

We acknowledge two key limitations in our research. First, we reduced the complex identities of our participants to the label ‘Māori academic.’ Our recruitment process reinforced this casting or framing, and while it aligned with our expectations—highlighting individualisation, isolation, and casualisation—it also narrowed the scope of our participants’ insights to the negative experiences of power. Second, we relied on a binary view of the issues we were seeing in the literature: that Māori academics are exploited and excluded, and that universities are capable of such exploitation and exclusion. As Lukes (1974/2005) argues, binary power relations are overly reductive, and power analysis must be broadened. Westwood and Linstead (2001) suggest viewing the academic/university relationship as a “mutually constituting dualism” rather than a simple duality. We advocate dualism in future research.