The Kind Academic

Last week, I went to the UNSW Higher Education Summit and the QILT Symposium. Much of the conversation there centred around student belonging in Australian universities. The day was filled with data. Belonging statistics, comparison charts, and longitudinal patterns provided a deep dive into how students across the sector feel, or don’t feel, that they belong.

I went because, instinctively, I care about student belonging. I always have. Not just as a metric or a student outcome, but as a feeling – a lived, personal connection to place. I believe (perhaps you do too) that real learning requires more than cognitive engagement. It requires a sense of home. A belief that “I’m allowed to be here,” and “I matter here.” For students to grow intellectually, emotionally, and socially, they need to feel held, seen and connected.

But as the day wore on, a question settled in the back of my mind and wouldn’t budge:

Student belonging: for what? And for whom?

There are obvious answers, of course. Research shows a strong link between student belonging and academic success: higher grades, better retention, improved wellbeing. It makes sense that universities would want students to feel connected. Belonging is good for learning.

But it’s also good for business.

And that’s where things get murky.

The business of belonging

Because when we speak about “belonging” without questioning our motivations, we risk instrumentalising it. Turning it into a tool. A means to an end: better performance metrics, higher QILT scores, improved institutional reputation. Belonging as brand strategy.

That might sound cynical, but the question is worth asking.

Are we nurturing belonging because we genuinely care about students’ experiences, identities, and futures? Or are we encouraging students to feel they belong so they’ll perform in ways that serve our institutional goals?

And can it be both?

Of course, not every initiative is cynical. I’ve worked alongside brilliant colleagues (educators, professional staff, student advocates) who care deeply about connection, inclusion, and care. Their work comes from a place of genuine commitment, often in spite of institutional pressures, not because of them.

Still, I wonder.

Who does the work?

Have we taken time to ask: who do we expect to do the work of belonging? Are students expected to find their place, or are we reshaping the institution so that their place is already made? Are we honouring the diverse ways that belonging can look and feel, or subtly insisting on a kind of sameness that feels safe to us?

Beyond metrics

There’s a book I’ve just started reading: The Caring University (McClure, 2024). While it focuses on how institutional culture impacts university employees, the sentiment holds for students too. It reminds us that institutional care must be more than sentiment: it must be built into policies, practices, and cultures. As someone passionate about kindness in higher education, I resonate with this. Kindness isn’t just about interpersonal niceness. It’s about asking deeper questions. Creating structures that honour our humanity, even when it’s inconvenient.

So yes, the data matters. It’s powerful to see patterns emerge, even for someone like me who doesn’t speak fluent statistics. But alongside the “what,” we must keep asking “why.”

Why are we so focused on student belonging?

And what would it mean to build universities where belonging isn’t something students have to earn, but something they’re assured, from the moment they arrive?

Maybe once we articulate our motivations honestly (clearly, truly, and explicitly), we’ll be able to shape institutions where belonging is not a tool or a tactic, but a truth.