Precarious Employment in Higher Education
Arwen Joyce
From 2022 to 2025 I served as the Precarity Representative to the Board of Trustees of the Socio-Legal Studies Association (SLSA), and I am also the Anti-Casualisation Representative for my local Universities and College Union (UCU) branch. On top of that, my primary research interest outside of legal education relates to the protection of precariously employed migrant workers’ labour rights. So, it’s safe to say I spend a lot of my time thinking about the impact of higher education institutions’ use of precarious and unfavourable contracts to deliver teaching.
I was precariously employed in the higher education sector (first in Singapore and then the UK) for almost 10 years. As an American, I have always worked outside my home country, which adds immigration-related precarity to the mix. My first job in higher education was as an adjunct lecturer – before each semester began, my employer would let me know if they needed my services and how many classes they wanted me to teach. In 2017, I enrolled in a PhD programme at the University of Leicester and was employed as a Graduate Teaching Assistant on a 0.2 FTE contract for three years. During my writing up year, I was employed as an hourly paid tutor and marker through Unitemps, an agency used by some UK universities to fill part-time or temporary roles. Finally, I secured a two-year, fixed-term lectureship, and luckily, after one year, was selected for a permanent teaching and research post. While I am grateful for the experience and income these various ad hoc, fractional and fixed-term opportunities provided over the years, I am no stranger to the uncertainty, visa-related stress, and financial insecurity endemic to precarious employment.
My experience is by no means unique. According to the Higher Education Statistics Agency, 7% of teaching and research and 37% of teaching-dominant staff across the UK’s higher education sector are on fixed term contracts, and another 4% of teaching-dominant staff are on zero hours contracts. Blackham’s (2020) comparative study confirms that this is an international trend by no means unique to the UK. Even though we have seen a slight decrease in some precarity metrics in the UK’s higher education sector in recent years, financial pressures are mounting on universities, which may increase the use of precarious contracts over time as institutions seek to cover teaching needs while retaining workforce flexibility and not increasing staff costs more than necessary.
Mason and Megoran (2021) articulate beautifully how dehumanising casualisation is. They argue it renders staff invisible to colleagues and institutions, it leaves them vulnerable to exploitative and demeaning practices, it denies them agency and curtails their academic freedom, and it prevents them from visualising a longer-term career trajectory that can bring meaning to their lives.
There is no doubt that casualisation has a significant impact on academic staff. In addition to offering little to no job security, precarious contracts tend to pay less, provide fewer benefits and provide more limited opportunities for professional development compared to permanent contracts. It can be difficult to get a mortgage or plan a life if you’re not on a secure contract and don’t know where your next teaching gig is going to be. The pressure of short-term contracts and the constant job hunt take their toll on academics’ mental health and morale.
In many law schools, healthy student numbers mean that, for the moment, our jobs are unlikely to be at risk. But if job cuts are made, staff on insecure contracts are usually the first to be let go. In law schools like mine where student numbers are growing, staff have less time for research and scholarship and, for someone on a precarious contract who is trying to build a research and scholarship profile in order to secure a more permanent job, this can mean working evenings and weekends and, eventually, burnout. While those employed on precarious contracts do their best to provide their students with the highest quality education possible, students may notice if precariously employed staff seem overstretched and stressed or, on a very practical level, if they don’t have an office to take meetings.
Given these challenges, what is a precariously employed academic to do? For starters, get to know the admin staff in your school or department – they can advise on how to book meeting rooms for confidential student meetings, how to navigate convoluted timetables, and what all the acronyms mean that universities throw at you. I would also recommend seeking out supportive colleagues for both moral and practical support. When I was a GTA, I was lucky to share an office with four other GTAs and we would eat lunch together most days. If you don’t have a built-in support system like that you can create one, but this can be challenging if most people at your institution work from home when they’re not teaching or commute long distances. Societies like the ALT and the online Connecting Legal Ed community are great networks to tap into for support from friendly academics outside of your institution.
Finally, it’s important for all of us to know our rights as workers. For example, if you have been employed on successive or renewed fixed term contracts at the same institution for four years or more, the Fixed-Term Employees (Prevention of Less Favourable Treatment) Regulations 2002 mean that the employer has to acknowledge your position as permanent if the use of a fixed-term contract cannot be justified on objective grounds. The Employment Rights Bill (2024-25) may offer additional protections. Nevertheless, concerns persist about the prevalence of precarious contracts, especially for women and minoritised individuals, and their negative effects on staff well-being, diversification of the profession, and the quality of teaching and research.
The UCU has been campaigning against the use of casualised contracts for decades and have compiled resources and advice for anyone working in higher education on a casualised basis. On an individual basis, union members can look to their local branch for advice, support and solidarity, but just as important is our ability to take collective action to make a positive impact on the sector and our employment conditions.
Where Next?
While managing the difficulties of precarious employment, you may find it to be A Juggling Act to balance different commitments.
Or
One of the more daunting tasks you might take on whilst on an insecure contract is Module Leadership, where the challenge of planning, developing and assessing a subject may be compounded by the pressures of precarity.
Where After?
Join a union! In the UK, the main union representing academics is the Universities and College Union (UCU). PhD students can join for free. For others, membership fees are based on earnings. https://www.ucu.org.uk/
Sources:
Alysia Blackham, ‘Unpacking precarious academic work in legal education’ (2020) 54(3) The Law Teacher 426
Olivia Mason and Nick Megoran, ‘Precarity and dehumanisation in higher education’ (2021) 14(1) Learning and Teaching 35
Further Reading:
Socio-Legal Studies Association, ‘SLSA Precarity Employment Survey Report’ (2023) <https://www.slsa.ac.uk/_files/ugd/ef0f7c_c6d6f7f1c14f4a1f824db95631ca3e21.pdf>
UCU, ‘Survival guide for hourly-paid staff: Help and advice for hourly-paid employees in adult, further and higher education’ (2020) <https://www.ucu.org.uk/media/4647/UCU-hourly-paid-survival-guide/pdf/ucu_hourlypaidsurvivalguide_jan20.pdf>
UCU, ‘Precarious Work in Higher Education’ (n.d.) <https://www.ucu.org.uk/heprecarity>
