We have moved away from paper, thanks to COVID. However, just like before, I often wonder, what does my signature mean on this and that paper? Sometimes it means an actual approval – those are fine. Sometimes my signature only means that in theory, once in a hundred year, I have an authority to stop something from happening. In many cases, the signature means that I am expected to conduct some quality control. The assumption is that if several people will look at a document, someone is more likely to catch an error or impropriety. In fact, I notice that many signatures actually dilute responsibility, for ever person thinks someone else did the checking.
In other cases, my only job is to see if it is kosher, and no one is abusing the system. Almost always a signature means accepting responsibility – if something goes wrong later on, I will be held accountable. And there is a whole class of stuff where someone believes I should be aware of something, so why not ask for another signature. The reality is that at the very end of a paper trail, there is a staff person – very often WITHOUT their own signature line, and without much official authority – who verifies the numbers, checks compliance with policies, and makes whatever the paper is intended to enact to actually happen.
Signatures take time, even in the new world of digital documentation flow. Sometimes they are purely ritualistic – a certain decision “feels” like a dean has to agree to it. For example, I sign hundreds of lecturer contracts. The hiring decisions are fully delegated to chairs, and their support staff. There are too many of them for me to do a meaningful quality control. I also know that payroll office will check after me. So, the workflow goes like this: our departments have their own databases that keep track who has been offered a contract, who is eligible for what, and who has been offered to teach. Then we go into a completely different cycle of contracts and signatures, and after that, someone will punch some keys again, and enter the information into a third database that will eventually result in a paycheck. A completely different flow will trigger access to class rosters, and the ability to give grades, etc. All of this creates a lot of work at every stage, for chairs, at least 3-4 staff persons, and some for me. In theory, one email from Chair to the lecturer and reply to it contain everything we need; “Hey, would you be interested in teaching the Tuesday-Thursday class in the Spring? – Sure, will do.” The name is put in the schedule, and in theory, it should trigger an automatic process, where the lecturer gets paid, and can access Canvas, assign grades. But no, nothing is ever that simple. We make a whole big deal out of it. Every. Semester.
The problem with any university is that we don’t have anyone whose job is to question – why do deans must sign on this? Do we need this whole workflow at all? It is nobody’s job, so it is not done. Business affairs people do not understand academics well enough to question our chains of authority. Informational Technology people understand neither the business, nor student or academic affairs well enough to suggest improvements. No one on campus has a broad enough vision for radical improvements. The president is busy with strategic things, and definitely has no time for questioning every workflow. Vice Presidents are reluctant to intrude on each other’s turf. Moreover, streamlining requires initial investments, and universities are stripped of reserves. A consultant that would understand all these parts of the university in their complex interactions would cost a fortune, because you’d have to hire someone who has been a VP or a similar experience. In other industries, businesses are routinely re-created from scratch, so they often have an opportunity to reinvent their processes. However, the immortal giants like Boeing or GE have all the same problems we have in the academia. The taxpayers and consumers bear the cost. I actually cannot see a good solution right now.
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