Title: When Your Practice Becomes Homeless
Author: Don Poirier, EdD
Introduction
The world seems bent on dramatic change to the point of breakage. Public institutions are caught in the middle of shifts in government policies on immigration and a reduction of international student numbers that threatens their solvency, as well as larger culture wars that emanate from and mirror a shift in public sentiment both here and abroad. Among such tectonic forces individual practitioners are left to wonder what is to happen to them as institutions consider where to cut budgets. This can lead to a sense of helplessness or even job loss. How can we begin to understand what is happening and our role in a new reality? I begin by sharing my own struggles with a practice under duress, reflecting on the various forces at play, and look to my own research to help make sense of a world seemingly gone awry. It is hoped that these insights give both perspective and advice to those dealing with a threat to their educational practice.
A story of practice under duress
It was at the end of a day at the office when most of the staff had left. As was typical, I wandered through the empty fields of cubicles thinking of old Dilbert cartoons that might capture thecomplexities of our institutional culture. It was a culture borne out of an uneasy merger of two separate public institutions: the one an aspiring ‘university college’ that offered a range on in-person academic and trades programs and courses to its region, the other an established public university that existed under a clear mandate to meet the ‘open education needs’ of the province based on open educational practices and technology enabled delivery. Both ‘sides’ of the institution represented established communities of practice that, in their own ways, could point to a history that prioritized learner success and innovative community engagement. Yet, both sides were also structurally separated by legislation that split governance decisions involving curriculum between two different bodies, the coexistence of historically and operationally unique sets of policies and practices that guided both academic decisions and student services, initially separate government funding based on regional versus provincial mandates, and two separate collective agreements guiding the rights and responsibilities of unique faculty bargaining units. These fault lines of separation lingered for years through successive changes in leadership punctuated by calls for understanding, cooperation, and ultimately for ‘integration.’ For many, this last call to fix the ‘problem’ represented the final solution in the culture war where one sidemust lose so the other could thrive. In short, it was a call for an acquisition rather than a merger.
My wanderings through the ‘cubicle farm’ led me to a familiar sight. Sitting in his office was a friend, colleague, and the latest incarnation of interim bosses (a.k.a. lead cubicle farmer) to leadthe division. Irwin came to the institution as head of curriculum development within the division. He was a well-respected voice in the fields of distance and open education both in Canada and abroad. We would often talk about the role that open education in general, and our division in particular, has and could play in addressing the struggles of marginalized groups in society and advancing institutional reach and influence to meet the evolving needs of learners and serve the ‘common good.’ We both understood the roller coaster history of our division and the struggles of acceptance open education has had within post-secondary systems that tended to operate on established norms of ‘academic excellence’ including the delivery of curriculum, as well as institutions competing for resources that sometimes made inter-institutional cooperation a point of celebration or consternation rather than the norm. This combination of promise and political turbulence was witnessed by the shifting responsibilities and names of the division from the Open Learning Institute in 1978, to the Open Learning Agency (1988), then to the BC Open University (1996), and finally in 2005 as a division of a special purpose university in BC’s interior (Abrioux, 2006; Johnson, 2023; Moran, 1991).
Irwin was eager to show me a picture he had taken while on a recent trek across campus. Piled outside the warehouse that heldamong other things hundreds of ‘pizza boxes’ that delivered distance course materials to thousands of students annually across the country and sometimes abroad, was a stack of pallets slated for disposal. Amongst the pile of rubbish was a pallet from the Open Learning Agency. Irwin put the foam backed picture in front of me and left me to interpret. We sat there insilence. Irwin finally spoke up and said, ‘It says it all, doesn’t it?’ What that image intuitively captured for both of us was a barrage of year over year microaggressions that spoke of distrustand feelings of alienation as well as moments of open dislike. These markers of philosophical, operational, and cultural strain were felt by all facets of the division through such daily interactions as operational meetings, collective agreement grievances, and the pursuit of a revisionist history focussed on undermining the identity of over forty years of open education practice in the province.
The strain Irwin felt navigating the challenging political terrain took its toll. He left the institution to pursue what he loved:curriculum development, music, and most of all his family. Irwin and I kept in touch as I took on his role as division head. He heartily recommended me as his replacement in part because I understood what to expect. I continued to have my conversations with Irwin as he was one of the few who understood the challenges and strains of leading a division that was not always welcome beyond the student tuition it generated. As the stories of conflict and anxiety among staff grew, Irwin always found time to be my mentor and friend. It was during one such session that he simply said, ‘I think it’s time for you tobecome selfish and focus on your health and your family.’ I finally left that institution with feelings of guilt for leaving those behind to face institutional grievances alone and for the time lost with my own family, exhaustion from sixteen years of struggle to fulfill the provincial mandate and support learners who had limited educational options, and fear of the unknown including financial insecurity.
Irwin was a survivor of cancer twice over. Within six months after my departure, he informed family and friends that his latest bout with cancer would be his last. He and a colleague from the world of open education planned a trip to his old haunts in the province’s interior. We arranged to have lunch at my home just before he returned to his family. It was just the two of us in the house. He sat at the table physically and emotionally exhausted from his trip of places, people, and memories. He could have easily cancelled our lunch without judgement but instead took the time to ask how I was doing and the details of my last days as his successor. At the end of lunch and the myriad stories he gazed at me and asked, ‘Did you go quietly?’ The inference was clear: did I take the opportunity to give voice to the perceived injustices to our division and purpose, or did I abandon my convictions as a proponent of a set of practices that prioritized learner circumstance before institutional convenience and my responsibilities as a leader to simply fade away? I confirmed that I thought I had made my feelings clear to the point of professional recklessness. Seemingly satisfied with my response, he said, ‘That’s all anyone can do.’ When he was about to leave,we promised to keep in touch. He gave me a hug before opening the door that brought in the fresh December air. We never spoke again.
Practices under duress: Values, attitudes, beliefs and behaviours
My story of practice under duress is thankfully unique. The set of historical circumstances and political dynamics as well as institutional personalities that came together to characterize my operating environment created a situation that few others can claim. However, it shares one important characteristic that isseemingly defining a variety of institutional practices today –practitioners caught in the maelstrom of economic, political, and cultural forces that leaves them questioning where they fit within an institution caught trying to navigate the winds of change. For me the defining inflection point came in the form of the COVID pandemic when campus-based faculty were faced with a choice – change their pedagogical practice or get left behind. For many, the demands of the situation put into relief that they were professionally vulnerable to external forces. This prompted a struggle between collective bargaining units for the right to work that was previously considered by many traditional faculty a lower form of educational practice that nevertheless attracted the greatest number of domestic students by headcount.
Today, the shifting forces at play make the influence of a virus seem like a more straightforward affair that produced a scientifically created vaccine as a tangible response. We currently find ourselves in a complex web of geopolitical and cultural clashes that have at their roots a set of values, attitudes, and beliefs at odds with others. One example is found in the contentious claim made by the American Catholic Vice-President, J.D. Vance, who early in his tenure cited the ethical doctrine of ordo amoris in support of Donald Trump’s immigration policies and decision to cut USAID funding to the world’s neediest (Liedel, 2025, February 3). The doctrine, which is often referred to as ‘order of love,’ espoused by such notable Christian theological thinkers as (Saint) Augustine and (Saint) Aquinas, was promoted to understand our ethical responsibilities to others. Crudely, the doctrine suggests that given our finite station in this world we must ‘order’ our attention of love beginning with God and emanating outwards. For Vance, this meant that our obligation to show our love was on a scale based on (physical and possibly cultural) proximity. That is, those who are closest to us, e.g., family and friends, are more deserving of our direct love over others who live further away, e.g., the poor of Africa. This move from a theological perspective towards a political ideology that prioritizes the rights of America and Americans before others distorts an attempt to understand our moral responsibilities towards others by limiting our responsibilities to the ‘other’ (See Pope, 2025, February 13).
Of course, the example of a religious viewpoint being harnessed to achieve a political objective is neither new nor happens in isolation. One of the interesting things about today’s world is that many of those values, attitudes, and beliefs that previously remained hidden in our thoughts, shared among like minded individuals on a social platform, or even promoted on the dark web is put on louder display for all to see in the form of government policy, e.g., trade and immigration, or the drop in civil discourse over the absolute need to be right that is often accompanied by revisionist history or simply gaslighting. Again, such instances and expressions are not new. The speed and uniformity of such sentiments and behaviours, however, is note worthy. The seemingly steady rise in distrust, anger, and yearning for a new world order is partially explained by the rise of strategic alliances between groups feeling alienated. A case in point is the co-development of the American evangelical movement with the interests of the Republican party. The popular works of Tim Alberta and Kristin Kobes Du Mez among others details the symbiotic relationship between a religious sensibility with political ambition that has resulted in a largely white American Christian nationalism. Du Mez pays particular attention to the role of an American mythos that understands gender roles as both a religious command as well as a hero’s journey based on the ‘old West’ motif where men as individuals asserted their authority and women supported them with deference and Christian humility. The result is a complex worldview that masks multiple forces of influence under the guise of mythic uniformity and a world made hopeful through certainty in values, attitudes, and beliefs. Canada is not immune or insulated from the dynamics of American politics. There are signs that similar attitudes about creating a more ‘traditional’ society complete with gender standards are at play in such knowledge-infused public spaces as community libraries (LaFleche, Ward, & Kelley, 2025, February 7).
So, what does this have to do with education as a sector in Canada? Well, despite what some within the academy might wish, post-secondary institutions sit at the nexus of different cultural and political riptides. A recent example of this would bethe renewed need to defend the tenants of DEI and charges of ‘wokeism’ within a society that is seeing pushback to the ideals of inclusion and academic freedom (see Barker, 2025, May 28; Scali, 2025, May 28; Usher, 2025, April 23). Of course, not every force of change is mired in such a complex web of deeply held