Through MOOCs I created links with other doctoral students. We discussed challenges of the research, of institutional research policy, of ethics, various research methods and many other things. These online platforms away from the gaze of supervisors were spaces where questions could be asked, and frustrations vented in a safe way during the challenging phases of the doctoral process. After the MOOC completion, I kept in touch with many of the MOOC participants via a private Facebook group 'PhD Owls – Older, Wise Learners'. In this Facebook group we have since cheerleaded and celebrated one another's doctoral submissions and achievements. To this end, I became a twenty-first-century doctoral student, no longer singularly reliant on support from a supervisor, but reaching out and connecting with others online for advice and encouragement during my research journey.

As mentioned, blogging was an integral activity during my doctoral journey. I regularly wrote blog posts about my research. To help my writing I also read other blogs such as Patthomson.net, Thesiswhisperer.com, and Researchwhisperer.org. These blogs helped the process of writing and gaining clarity on my doctoral narrative. The initial stages of writing up felt messy and incoherent, but encouraging advice from blogs like Pat Thomson's (www.patthomson.net) helped me understand that writing and rewriting were crucial to the process of analysis, interpretation and generating findings. I began to trust the ambiguous process of qualitative and interpretive research. As one of my peers emphasised, 'research is not plug and play'. Instead, I found that the research process was about moving continuously forward with a question, to which there was no perfect answer. Persistent engagement made sense of the findings. For me, writing and blogging were key practices reifying my critical thinking. Writing online revealed my intimately created, newly born knowledge, triggering conversations and feedback from a community of online scholars. I invested my energy in an activity of '100 Days of Writing' where I blogged for one hundred days. I wrote reflections and musings on my research. These posts fuelled online discussions which supported critical insights into my emerging findings and eventually the production of my thesis. Looking back on these blog posts I notice the development of my voice as a scholar.

On my blog, I was honest about the struggles I encountered during the research with various theoretical frameworks. My blog posts offered what Wenger (1998) describes as small gifts of undeserved trust into a community of scholars. Blogging about emotional-relational experiences supported the development of trusting relationships with others and the building of a community around my topic. Blogging became an integral part of my personal, professional and scholarly biography and provided me with a public and socially networked platform where I became recognised as a researcher in the field.

Twitter played a big part in connecting with other scholars in my research field. Much like Frost (2018), Twitter helped me make contact with researcher peers I had never met. I used Twitter to share my research experiences, and participated in a dynamic research community. Within this informal network, I tweeted stories of my research highs and lows. I told anecdotes of the trials and tribulations of research and shared my research findings. Through the process of tweeting and blogging, I established a digital identity as a scholar in this field, establishing relationships with similar scholars online (Stewart, 2015). Informal and friendly tweets generated a sense of affinity with others contributing to participation in online communities. From my experience and emerging research in the area, I suggest that online communities can contribute positively to the ongoing development and support of emerging scholars.

To declare that it was easy to present my research musings, emerging findings and knowledge online would be misleading. I felt vulnerable in placing my embryonic ideas in the online public space. How would people respond? Would I experience trolling? Nonetheless, I risked placing my emerging research and new knowledge online on blogs and Twitter. I found that the benefits outweighed the risks. I was warmly welcomed into a generous and obliging online community. The courage to voice my academic activities, scholarly questions and needs online was met positively by others. Stewart (2015) notes that academic scholars increasingly provide emotional support for others online, echoing Veletsianos's (2014: para 5) remark that 'social media and online social networks function as places where (some) academics express and experience care'. Similar to my experience, Budge et al. (2016) write that Twitter can be an enjoyable and social space offsetting potential risks and negative implications of online social spaces.

For sure, I found an empathetic community of fellow researchers online. Nonetheless, there are stories of academics who have negative experiences of posting about research online (Academics Anonymous, 2018). This inspires me to think of my own experience and to continue to engage with others I meet online with care and due respect. Indeed, my research (O'Keeffe, 2016) into how higher education staff used Twitter for professional learning found that feelings of vulnerability and cautiousness and capacity to participate in online social networks inhibited participation in online spaces. Even so, participants in my study valued learning from peers who shared online, although they were reluctant to post online as they did not want to risk placing themselves in vulnerable positions on public social networking sites. Educators found the prospect of criticism from the educational community a terrifying and demanding prospect. An outcome of my doctoral research is that I am motivated to inspire and teach others to 'care for' and support others in positive and constructive ways on social media platforms.

Like most doctoral students, the student–supervisor relationship was critical during my doctoral research (Barnes and Austin, 2009), but here my focus is on the other kinds of social supports that played a key role in my doctoral journey. Commonly, in higher education, numbers of doctoral students are increasing whereas supervisory resources are thinning, with limited scope to answer and support the holistic questions, ideas and fears of students. As a result of the expansion of doctoral schools, students are at risk of feeling isolated and not wholly supported. The role of social support for researcher identity development and sense of belonging and community is critical and expands beyond the immediate institutional environment (Mantai, 2019). In the digital age, doctoral research need not be a solo run. Increasingly, support for doctoral students could include participation in online communities of researchers and scholars so that budding scholars can find essential support, encouragement and inspiration.

#### From margin to centre: developing my voice online

Some good advice by a former colleague was that doctoral students are apprentice researchers, learning to undertake and accomplish research. I didn't know how to perform research, so I asked questions. Lots of questions. As a novice researcher, I was inducted into a community of scholars where I progressed from the periphery of research communities to a more central position, sharing insights, asking questions and finding solutions. Initially, I felt cautious about expressing my opinions and research online, but I noticed other emerging scholars placing their research findings and interpretations online. I witnessed the care and hospitality given to other emerging scholars and this gave me the confidence and legitimacy to express and voice my research. Through participation in online communities I developed and grew as a researcher.

Looking back to when I commenced my doctoral studies, I remember that I participated on the peripheries of networks by observing rather than participating – learning from online discussions, seminars and events online. As a newcomer, I was gradually recognised by others in the same field. As months and years progressed, and as I started to voice my research online, I felt I became more embedded in communities. In turn, this engagement supported me emotionally and socially. Time passed by and I shared insights about my research with others in the community. In this way, I became more confident voicing my comments and research findings to others on blogs and on Twitter.

Thus, I believe online social networks such as on Twitter or blogging can be a gateway for doctoral students into academic communities (Bell, 2016; Cronin, 2016). In these online spaces, novices can legitimately participate in safe, supported communities while building scholarly and digital identities and relationships with scholarly peers. I was welcomed into spaces of discourse and learning where a network of scholars stimulated my reflections on debates emerging in this field of inquiry, consequently having an effect on my interpretations and findings. As my own professional confidence grew, I continued to participate in these online academic communities more readily.

Presenting my research both online (via Twitter and my blog) and at conferences provided opportunities 'to share, reflect upon, critique, improve, validate and otherwise develop' (Veletsianos and Kimmons, 2012: 768) my scholarship in a participatory networked approach. I contributed to conferences in my research field. Indeed, many of the scholars I made links with in online communities encouraged my contribution to conferences. I presented at conferences such as the Society for Research in Higher Education conference, EdTech Ireland, the Digital Research in the Humanities and Arts conference and the Educational Studies Association of Ireland conference. Shortly after my graduation, I was invited to contribute to the final panel at the Open Education Resources conference in London. This opportunity was offered to me as a result of my doctoral research and the online profile built around my research.

#### From the doctorate to academic life

In retrospect I recognise that the doctoral journey experience was transformative. The EdD programme took a structured approach to research where I investigated the building blocks of social science research (Grix, 2002) and I began to establish and foster my critical thinking. Participation in online scholarly communities emancipated my voice as a scholar as I shared my research findings, interpretations and opinions. I now perceive and live my professional, scholarly life and educational practices with an established, informed and critical perspective on education.

As mentioned previously, I commenced my doctorate during a global economic recession which triggered a budget and employment constrained environment in higher education. Within these circumstances I had not established a permanent role or sense of professional identity and belonging to any particular area. I experienced firsthand my professional identity being affected by social, economic and institutional factors. However, through the doctoral process and online social interactions with scholarly peers, I established a sense of belonging to a community of scholars. I felt more empowered, that I had enabled my voice and that I had increased agency within the higher education setting. I believe that my doctoral studies combined with the support attained from online social networks helped to foster the development of my professional and digital identity.

Opportunely, after completing my studies, I was offered permanent employment as an academic developer, a professional role providing academic development to enhance the practices of teaching and learning in universities. As a consequence of my online presence and digital identity built up during the doctoral period, I was already connected to other networked scholars across the world in turn helping me fulfil my role in the best way possible. Thus, the process of acquiring my doctorate and participating in online academic communities shifted me out of precarious work circumstances into permanent employment in higher education.

#### It's not what you achieve ...

... it's what you overcome that defines a career. My doctoral journey began with a vague idea of what I might perform research on. Professional employment challenges coupled with economic recession were hindrances at that point in time. But opportunities presented themselves to me when I developed a digital online presence as a budding scholar, and in time, I built my own online research community. In a digital, socially networked era, doctoral research need not be a gruelling solo run; I discovered opportunities to develop far-reaching research networks across the globe. I found my tribe of research scholars online. Similarly, many of these scholars questioned and debated the direction and nature of contemporary higher education. In turn, this process helped me to understand the context of higher education and the field of academic development in which I now am employed.

Involvement in the doctorate programme and in online academic communities continues to influence and develop my capacity as an academic developer. Indeed, some assert that the longer you stay a student, the better a teacher you will be. Originally, when given opportunities to teach, I taught in the best way that I knew how, but my doctoral research got me to question my practices as an educator and widened my awareness of the 'I who teaches' (Ferguson, 2015: 49). That is, I am dedicated to critical reflection on my role as an educator and on the choices I implement in practice. My critical thinking extends to concerns, practices and cultures within online social networking sites and their use within higher education. I now give critical thought to the implications of participation on social networks while supporting higher education staff to navigate online social networks with care and safety. In my current role, I feel well prepared to facilitate discussions and workshops among higher education colleagues on social networks for learning, teaching and research purposes.

At this point in time, I recognise I enjoy my work as an academic developer so that I can support the practice and scholarship of teaching and learning in higher education. My interest in what it means to provide education in a digital age (Beetham, 2015) has been expanded, and my research into online social networks and their potentials for research and learning in higher education is increasing in significance. Critical inquiry into online social networks is only dawning, with many challenges and potentials arising. Through the doctoral process I found my voice enabling me to contribute to critical and strategic thinking on these topics. Learning and inquiry into these issues will continue as finding perfect solutions is unattainable (Ferguson, 2015). As an academic developer, I continue to support professionals in higher education by involving them in discussions about the online social networks and the digital age in the context of global and local higher education.

At the time of writing, I am keen to develop the capacity of higher education professionals to participate constructively in online social networks to build their networked scholarly activities. As a result of my research, knowledge and role as an academic developer, I now have the agency to influence pathways for professional development on these topics in higher education. I appreciate that a key factor to the successful participation in online networks is the development of professional and digital identity (Beetham, 2015; Gee, 2005; Ito et al., 2013). My research has highlighted that the development of professional confidence coupled with the growth of digital capabilities is paramount to budding academic identities and ability to participate in online social networks.

Indeed, others have noted that scholarly engagement online requires the development of new styles of informal and rapid communication – cultural practices that are counter to formal academia (Lupton et al., 2018). In light of this, I continue to investigate how best to support scholars and higher education staff to develop capacity as digital academics. Enduring questions include: How are professionals in higher education prepared to work and participate in online social networks? Are academic developers ready to support the development of digital identity and digital capacity among higher education staff? Also, are doctoral researchers and future scholars equipped to operate in the ever more complicated digital age of higher education? Furthermore, I acknowledge that online networks can be perilous places and like Stewart (2015) I think that academic developers have a duty of care to support and keep safe the development of the digital academic. Consequently, my interest in how we foster positive habits and safe relationships among higher education professionals in online spaces continues to develop. These are issues that doctoral research has posed for me and that I will continue to find answers for in my future professional and scholarly life.

#### Conclusion

I began this chapter highlighting the career insecurity that pervades global higher education. Indeed, Standing (2011) writes that a higher education system that promotes competitiveness contributes to feelings of alienation, anxiety and anger among faculty. Relatedly, Lees (2016) argues that staff should be invested in to improve motivation, performance and well-being while reducing staff turnover. For me, not having a permanent, ongoing position in higher education was disheartening at times, and social support – and a sense of humour – were important coping mechanisms.

However, this unstable employment experience was a source of social and economic insight which strengthened my self-awareness and built my resilience. As Nelson Mandela said, 'Do not judge me by my success, judge me by how many times I fell down and got back up again' (Mandela cited in Oppong, 2017). In turn, that store of resilience supported my doctoral journey; I felt compelled to concentrate and succeed in my doctoral studies. Immersion in an online community was crucial for my ability to succeed in my doctoral studies and finish my degree. Increasingly, scholars and academics are required to invent their academic selves online. The digital age offers increased flexibility for academic and scholarly life. Emerging scholars can socially network and build relationships with academic peers across the world, enabling new modes of academic practice, collaboration and knowledge creation.

For me, diving into the digital world made all the difference. Finding my online tribe, gaining meaningful practical and emotional support in what was a vulnerable and precarious time as an academic and a doctoral student helped me build resilience. If there is one thing I learned from this doctoral journey, it is that by embracing uncertainty and seeking out support through social networking sites I was offered opportunities and possibilities to reinvigorate and reinvent my professional self in a precarious but flexible digital age. Through this experience, rather than dying, I bounced back from adversity and now enjoy a renewed academic life.

#### References

Academics Anonymous. 2018. 'Trolling on social media is never a good look – that applies to academics too'. *The Guardian*, 12 January. https://www.theguardian.com/higher-education-network/2018/jan/12/trolling-on-social-media-is-never-a-good-look-that-applies-toacademics-too (accessed 29 December 2019).

Biesta, G. 2013. *The Beautiful Risk of Education*. Boulder, CO: Paradigm.

Cronin, C. 2016. 'About'. http://catherinecronin.net (accessed 24 March 2016).

Cutterham, T. 2016. 'Ending casualisation will not only benefit early career academics'. *Times Higher Education*, 24 March. http://www.timeshighereducation.com/comment/endingcasualisation-will-not-only-benefit-early-career-academics (accessed 24 March 2016).

Ferguson, P.B. 2015. 'Who am I who teaches?'. *Educational Journal of Living Theories*, 8 (1), 49–66. Freire, P. 1968. *Pedagogy of the Oppressed*. New York: Seabury Press.

## 4 A view of the Western university through the eyes of a non-Western student

Mohammad Abdrabboh (Al-Batran)

The experiences of international students in Western universities often include navigating cultural misconceptions (Casanave, 2002; Durkin, 2008) and unfamiliar power relations (Hofstede, 1986, 1991; Shaw, 2009; Slethaug, 2007). Where student research involves gathering data outside Western contexts, the rigid implementation of ethical guidelines can be particularly problematic (Barsky, 2019; Naveed et al., 2017; Robinson-Pant and Singal, 2013). In this chapter, I draw on my experience as a non-Western doctoral student and reflect on what it was like for me to enter the world of a Western university. I use the term 'Western university' generically as a reference to universities typically found in liberal democratic countries, such as those in the United Kingdom. I discuss what it was like coming from a conservative Middle Eastern national and organisational culture, which emphasises the importance of the collective, to a more progressive and individualistic culture. I also discuss how I struggled to apply Western ethical guidelines, such as informed consent and the audiotaping of interviews, in a cultural context that viewed such requirements as ethically questionable. By sharing my own experiences and situating them within the existing literature, I hope to provide valuable insights and strategies for students coming from similar cultural backgrounds and for the faculty who work with them.

To contextualise, my doctoral journey began after 35 years of professional experience in the gas, oil and mining industries. At the time, my employer in Saudi Arabia had contracted with an international consulting firm to develop and execute a capability-building programme aimed at realising the company's vision of becoming a world-class mining enterprise. One of the capabilities involved establishing the Learning and Development Academy, which came to include a Train-the-Trainer Program (TTTP). A key aim of this effort was to create internal experts that could eventually provide internal training to employees across various specialities, thereby eliminating a chronic reliance on external consultants. As head of the Learning and Development Academy, I was fully immersed in the design and execution of the programme. My doctoral research aimed to explore the perceptions and changes in attitudes among participants in the TTTP. During my four-year tenure in the doctoral programme, however, I came across some unforeseen challenges. My own expectations upon entering university were that faculty would have knowledge of, or at least an interest in, understanding the cultural backgrounds of their non-Western students. However, a number of culture-related challenges surfaced that indicated otherwise. It is these challenges that this chapter seeks to disseminate and better understand.

#### Cultural misconceptions and biases

I begin my story in the first year of the doctoral programme, when a group of supervisors stepped into one of our classroom sessions to observe students in the new international cohort. I heard later that the purpose of the visit was to get to know the participants better so that they could split us among college faculty to supervise the first research assignment, which at the time involved writing a short essay related to the themes of professionalism. Initially, I assumed that there would be some competition among faculty in supervising students from non-Western cultures, because I honestly believed that each cross-cultural student had the potential to provide faculty with an exceptional learning opportunity to develop cultural knowledge and competence.

By the end of the day, however, I discovered that I had been left in a pool of unassigned students. I also couldn't help but notice that all five of us in the unassigned pool were of non-Western backgrounds. It appeared that the group of supervisors had, for some reason, shied away from mentoring us. Eventually, one daring faculty member rolled up her sleeves and decided to take on the challenge with all of us. This is how it came to be that all five non-Western students in the group were assigned to work with the same supervisor at the onset of the programme. Feelings of isolation were further reinforced when the same supervisor continued to work with me for the second and the third research assignments during my first year.

Difficulties associated with supervising international students are not a new phenomenon. Several scholars, including Casanave (2002) and Durkin (2008), caution that international students joining UK universities are likely to face various difficulties acclimating to the new academic environment, systems and standards. Shaheen (2016) identified a growing concern that international students are at risk in their lack of expression of critical reflection in an increasingly demanding higher education system in the United Kingdom. Todd (1997) suggests that international students might be viewed as problematic due to the intensive coaching that supervisors often have to provide. However, he also argues that international students provide opportunities for supervisors to gain a better understanding of learning and education, as they have to find the means to address the unique educational and cultural needs of their students.

Although I felt that it was reasonable to expect that faculty members should have some basic knowledge of other cultures, I was disappointed to discover just how little they knew about my part of the world – the Middle East. Many did not know anything about Saudi Arabia beyond oil. Some did not even know that Saudi Arabia and Jordan are two neighbouring Arab countries, or that millions of people from all over the world go to Saudi Arabia and other Gulf countries for work. This was particularly relevant to me because I was a Jordanian national working in neighbouring Saudi Arabia as an expatriate employee.

I wondered how I could have a meaningful dialogue with faculty who did not know such basic information about my cultural and organisational contexts. For example, I had to answer the same question 'Why are your participants all males?' several times. Faculty were unable to digest the fact that females in our region do not hold jobs in the mining sector, despite my providing a written explanation of my study's context as part of my methodology section.

What made the situation even more challenging was that, on numerous occasions, I felt that they had internalised stereotypical images of Arab culture – namely, images of great wealth, a disregard for time or money, and a condescending view of women. There were numerous instances, for example, where faculty expressed surprise when I followed up with them if they were late in responding to my inquiries or my most recent submissions. Their surprise at my seriousness as a student, in combination with their repeated comments about shopping, gave me the impression that some believed I was in London for shopping and to have a good time, not for a highly regarded academic degree. At times, I also felt that some female faculty were aggressive and dismissive of my comments during class discussions, perhaps because they perceived my questions as undermining their authority and academic standing.

It took some time and hard work on my part to eventually convince the various faculty and supervisors (through close follow up, timely delivery and persistence) that I was a serious and capable student who was keen on making reasonable and timely progress. The notion that international students inevitably require a lot of coaching and chasing to make academic progress is not uncommon. In a survey of faculty supervising international students, findings revealed that faculty were not empathetic, and were often critical of students for not assuming responsibility for their own academic work (Robertson et al., 2000). Another study reported that staff also tended to doubt the capabilities of international students to complete assignments (Beoku-Betters, 2004). Ironically, this feeling was a key driver for my determination to graduate as early as the university system allowed and, indeed, I was the first to graduate in my cohort.

As a mature student with many years of experience in my sector, I was hoping to bring to the programme valuable knowledge about workplace training that was potentially useful to both national and international contexts. I hoped that faculty would be interested to learn more about me, my context and my national culture. Three years into the programme, however, I found that faculty knowledge about my part of the world remained minimal. Such cultural misconceptions and insinuations continued to haunt me throughout my degree.

#### Unfamiliarity with relevant power relations

Driven by ideals of individualism, learners in the West are encouraged to think critically and challenge their instructors (Calloway-Thomas et al., 1999), while the more collective cultures view instructors as the infallible, all-knowing, source of knowledge. As a result, non-Western students expect more guidance and engagement from their supervisors (Slethaug, 2007; Shaw, 2009). It is for this reason also that international students coming from such cultural backgrounds tend to be agreeable and less argumentative or challenging to their supervisors (Wisker, 2005). This practice has been described as one belonging to high power distance cultures (Hofstede, 1986, 1991). In my case, I often hesitated to ask questions or request clarifications in order to present myself as a more competent and able researcher. Unfortunately, this deprived me from getting some of the help I needed during the process.

I recall one instance where my two supervisors, who I was fortunate enough to work with, unknowingly made two contradictory formatting edits. One supervisor made an edit relating to the proper formatting of quotes in the body of the discussion section of my thesis, and I accepted that edit and used it consistently throughout the chapter. A few days later, I passed that chapter to my second supervisor who – seemingly unaware that I was following the advice of the first supervisor – suggested I revert to the previous formatting style. I did not dare to bring this matter up for discussion, as I wished to avoid embarrassment and confrontation. Instead, I chose to reverse my edits following the guidance of the second supervisor. Those edits, fortunately, went unnoticed by the first.

Such conflicting incidents may be handled immediately and with little thought by Western students coming from more liberal and democratic countries, but are considered to be very much off-limits for students coming from more conservative countries like my own. Although the relationship between the international student and the supervisor may appear as a normal two-way relationship, the supervisor plays a far greater role in building a successful mutually positive relationship (Mustafa, 2004). Increased awareness of such cultural differences and their effect on faculty–student relationships is, therefore, an important skill that needs to be cultivated and attained among faculty working with students from non-Western backgrounds.

Knowledge about whether mentees come from a low or high power distance culture – and what that means in the student–supervisor relationship – would be particularly beneficial because it would allow faculty to anticipate the specific challenges that such students are likely to have. These challenges may include adjusting to a new way of living and coping with a new set of values and interpersonal behaviours. As argued by Pedersen (1994: 157):

International students are expected to learn a new language, new rules for interpersonal behaviour, and a new set of rules that all the other students on campus have spent their whole life learning ... they [international students] are expected to 'adjust' to a relatively narrowly defined set of behaviours in order for them to succeed.

Indeed, I grew up in an education system where teachers provided straightforward corrections and directions to students. As a result, I was expecting the same type of directives at the university level in England. Instead, I found that my supervisors' communication styles were more inquisitive and thought-provoking. Questions such as 'really?', 'are you sure?' or 'what do you mean?' pressed me to better explain and provide further evidence for my rationale. Likewise, comments such as 'compare this point with what you said at the beginning of the chapter', 'apparently you need to research this point further' or 'suggest you read *xyz* for more insights on this topic' served as further indicators that my work was not yet done. Such feedback, although new to me, held me to high academic standards and always placed the ownership of my own work back on me. Nevertheless, it was something that required some adjustment on my part, as it was not an approach I was accustomed to.

Beyond faculty–student relationships, knowledge of high power distance relations also became crucially important in my research work. In my part of the world, authority plays a central role, and it is not unusual for it to be delegated to a teacher, father or employer. It is typically not acceptable in an organisation to contact employees individually without first notifying someone in an authority position, such as a department head. Such an act would be considered not simply rude, but also hostile on my part, and could ultimately jeopardise both my research and the participants who decided to unilaterally partake in the study.

Besides going against protocols of authority, contacting potential participants individually would also be awkward because many organisations in the Middle East consider employees' participation in organisational studies to be an integral component of their actual job roles. In this sense, it is taken for granted that employees will support initiatives which aim at improving the quality of programmes and services, especially if such services are provided by external consultants. These cultural values contradict Western assumptions which are likely to: (1) view supervisor encouragement as a form of coercion; and (2) treat employee participation in research as an individual choice that is distinctly separate from other work responsibilities. Given the cultural context of my research, I had little choice but to follow the protocols of the region within which I was conducting my research. To do otherwise would have placed my entire research study and its individual participants in jeopardy. However, as I explain below, this placed me in a difficult situation with respect to how research ethics are conceptualised in Western universities.

#### The informed consent dilemma

A key element of research ethics in the Western context is informed consent, which meant that when I was preparing to conduct interviews, I was not only expected to contact each participant individually, but I was also expected to ask each participant to provide their signature on an informedconsent document. According to university guidelines, informed consent is necessary to ensure that participants are aware of the kind of research they are partaking in and to ensure that their participation is not coerced. This supposedly ensures the validity of the results and protects the safety of the participants. It can also be assumed that another purpose behind the informed consent is to ensure that the university remains protected from any legal issues that may come up during research.

The difficulty with obtaining informed consent from individuals in Middle Eastern cultures is that they are not usually agreeable to signing documents. As confirmed by Barsky (2019), providing a signature is considered a very serious matter, which might have grave legal implications. As a result, many prefer to exercise caution when asked to sign anything and often view such requests with doubt and cynicism. This was especially true in the case of my own research, which had an added level of complexity in that it involved the participants giving potentially negative feedback that might contradict the reported success of the programme. These respondents were likely to worry that their feedback might upset management and that signing a document could lead to punitive consequences. In this case, their safety was better ensured by *not* signing an informed consent form.

This type of predicament is also highlighted in the work of Naveed et al. (2017), who caution that insisting upon adherence to the ethical guidelines of Western colleges may serve to discourage people's participation in cross-cultural research and even harm them. Cultures can be so different that something which appears to be highly ethical in one context can be unethical in another, particularly with respect to informed consent. For this reason, caution should be exercised when applying Western research approaches in non-Western countries (Dawson and Kass, 2005; Upvall and Hashwanni, 2001).

A danger of rule-oriented teaching is that ethics are presented as a rigid checklist that the student quickly discovers is difficult to work with in real life, for a variety of reasons (Robinson-Pant and Singal, 2013; Clark, 2012; Tikly and Bond, 2013). The real learning happens when the student questions the apparent rigidity of the guidelines and learns to weigh various concerns against one another. Thinking through a range of possibilities is difficult for all students, but particularly for non-Western students who may feel that no discussion is possible. Faculty working with non-Western students will have to be particularly aware of these dilemmas (Myers, 1993). One way to do this is to approach ethics from a broader perspective. Lavery et al. (2007) argue that 'informed consent' is mainly a Western ritual that is interpreted differently in different cultures, while 'trust' is a universal theme which can be easily embraced by people from different cultures. Cross-cultural researchers need to be given flexibility to adjust their research plan based on their own situations, including the ability to achieve informed consent in different ways and in such a way that trust is maintained.

In my case, for example, I was conducting research in a context where requiring a written consent form may be viewed by others as a lack of trust in participants' words, which would have made it difficult for me to even recruit participants. It became increasingly harder for me to ignore the unique cultural and organisational context of my research. To do so would have been detrimental to the very credibility of the research I was looking to conduct, as participants (those I would be able to recruit) would be too fearful of the potential negative consequences or reprisals from their supervisors to give forthright and honest responses. The challenge I faced was to find a way to negotiate a balance between the expectations of the university, on the one hand, and the cultural norms of the region in which I would be conducting my research, on the other. The outcome of this negotiation eventually involved a compromise, whereby I approached participants and provided to them *verbally* all the information they needed to gain their consent.

Once consent was given, I invited them to participate in the organisational study. I did not, at this point, present any formal documentation for signatures due to the negative cultural ramifications this would have for actual participation. After the interviews, I shared the findings of the study, including how the findings would benefit our organisation. It was at that time that I finally asked participants to physically sign the informed-consent form in order to help me satisfy a standard Western university requirement. Participants were pleased to sign these consent forms, which I filed in my study and kept ready for presentation. It is important to highlight here that all participants provided informed consent prior to the study, but that this consent was not initially provided in a *written* format.

#### The audio-taped interview

Yet another dilemma had to do with guidelines for the audio-taping of participant interviews. Though I agreed that the recording of interviews would provide a more accurate record of what was said, I was concerned that audio-taping might restrict the candour of my participants and undermine the overall credibility of the study. This is because in Arab culture, individuals are likely to feel apprehensive and even fearful about the idea of being audio- or video-recorded. This is especially true when the informants might be saying something critical of their employment situation and they do not want a permanent record of it. The situation gets even more stressful when the interview is conducted in a foreign language and participants are more concerned about the accurate and proper use of the language than the content of the message.

I expected that my participants would speak more freely, provide greater detail and be more comfortable about switching to their native language to express certain thoughts if I did not record the interviews. This concern has been validated by a study conducted in Qatar by Killawi et al. (2014), where it was reported that participants generally hesitated to participate when they discovered that interviews would be recorded. This supports the notion that Arab participants, in particular, are very concerned about recording their interview responses. Once again, I was faced with the dilemma of negotiating between standard university practice and gathering credible data from my participants given the unique cultural context. I decided that I would do both. I would follow protocol and begin each interview with the recording turned on. Around half-way through each interview, however, I would stop the recording and continue with the interview while taking notes. As expected, the discussion after stopping the recording rendered a lot of very relevant data for the study. It was very interesting to also note that during the interviews, participants would repeatedly ask me to pause the recording so that they could say some negative comments that they were not comfortable sharing while the tape was on, which of course provided me with very valuable data.

#### Institutional implications

While it might not be feasible to standardise ethical standards to fit every culture and context, I believe it is incumbent upon research institutes and their faculty to gain cultural competence and be more appreciative of the unique contexts in which cross-cultural researchers operate. It is my position that as researchers we are obligated to preserve and show due respect to local norms and ethical standards. Guidelines, therefore, should remain flexible and adaptable in cross-cultural contexts. In my experience, however, the reality is that systems and faculty practices in Western universities are very much an outcome of individually oriented Western cultures. This may work reasonably well when research is being conducted in a similar individually oriented culture. Difficulties arise, however, when faculty who may be unfamiliar with non-Western students' cultures attempt to implement requirements and practices dogmatically, often ignoring the dissimilarities between Western cultures and educational systems and those of their non-Western international students.

This is problematic because in order to generate high-quality research projects, a high degree of congruence between research guidelines and the specific contexts in which cross-cultural researchers operate needs to exist. Developing such congruence should, ideally, be part of broader university efforts aimed at ensuring positive academic and social experiences that acknowledge and accommodate cultural differences, while still maintaining programme integrity. When we consider the steadily growing number of international students who enter Western universities and the institutional competition to attract them, the seriousness of this matter becomes even more evident. Green and Powell (2005) highlight the importance of international students to the host communities and universities, including their role in producing research and income for universities. Although universities operate in academia, it is important to remember that they still need to be viable in the sense that they need to generate cash and be competitive. For this reason, it is my belief that soliciting feedback from the growing client base of international students and using this feedback to make substantive changes should become a more pressing priority.

In my view, faculty who are earmarked or choose to supervise international students would benefit from some form of cross-cultural training. This training can include learning the difference between low and high power distance cultures and what that means with regard to faculty–student relationships. This type of training can shed light on cultural differences early in the training process, giving faculty the opportunity to speak up and disagree, but also have their assumptions challenged. Most importantly, such training would play a critical role in helping faculty to begin a meaningful dialogue and provide relevant coaching to students coming from other backgrounds. The acquired cultural competence can also be applied to inform codes of ethics and avoid stereotyping that may arise from lack of cultural awareness (Seibert et al., 2002).

Guidance on faculty–student relationships may further include beginning the supervision process by explicitly addressing cultural and educational differences and similarities. After all, knowledge of and a discussion about each other's cultural and educational backgrounds has been deemed as a necessary condition for intercultural supervision (Hu et al., 2016). Ideally, universities might even consider sponsoring visits for faculty to tour regions that have high representation in the student body, thereby increasing faculty awareness of differences. Such an investment would likely have the highest impact on the quality of services provided to non-Western students.

#### Conclusion

In this chapter, I've reflected on some of the challenges I faced as a non-Western student attending a Western university in the United Kingdom. I have focused on faculty awareness, increased sensitivity across supervisory relationships of a cross-cultural nature and a more flexible approach to Western-style research ethics regulations when applied to non-Western contexts. I have presented these areas of struggle with an eye to how other non-Western students might negotiate any cultural dissonance they might experience in their own research and also to how changes on an institutional level can ensure faculty are adequately prepared to take on the challenges that are unique to both non-Western students and their cross-cultural research projects.

There are those who may feel that the burden of adjustment should lie unequivocally on the international students who choose to attend Western universities. I would argue, however, that in the case of crosscultural research, the burden must necessarily shift in order to ensure successful research outcomes. For me, it would have been far more helpful to work with a more flexible set of guidelines that provided alternative approaches to fulfilling ethical requirements precisely because of the cultural context. Placing the entire burden of adaptation on the student also raises the question of whether universities are sufficiently customer oriented (Akanwa, 2015).

If the retention of international students is relevant to the overall viability of global higher education settings, then faculty must be given the tools necessary to interact meaningfully with such students. The availability and accessibility of cultural training, whether in the form of professional development incentives, colloquiums or seminars, can help faculty to acquire an increased sense of cultural sensitivity and diversity. As primary representatives of universities, faculty partaking in cultural training are likely to be better equipped to address both styles of supervision and types of accommodation based on the differences in the cultural and academic backgrounds of their students. Similarly, such awareness also ensures that international students receive the optimal support needed to maximise their learning.

Finally, I do not want to conclude this chapter by giving any false impressions about my experiences. My engagement in the doctoral journey has brought about an important transformation. My struggle to function in a different cultural setting has made me more appreciative of cultural diversity and more receptive to different world views. This has proven especially valuable to me because the organisational studies I administer require a constant interface with a wide range of international partners and their employees. Consequently, it is through my struggles as an outsider entering the world of the Western university that my own intercultural abilities have expanded and transformed.

#### References

Myers, D. 1993. *Social Psychology*. 4th ed. New York: McGraw Hill.

## 5 Navigating the pass: distance, dislocation and the viva

David Channon, with Maria Savva and Lynn P. Nygaard

#### Editors' introduction

*Doctoral students face multiple threats to their sense of ownership and agency – particularly when carrying out their doctoral work far away from the traditional bricks-and-mortar university. Although distance programmes and online learning have been promoted as a viable solution for making doctoral education more accessible, distance studies have also augmented many of the challenges faced by doctoral students. These include communication and supervision difficulties (Erichsen et al., 2014; Roberts and Bandlow, 2018), learning to navigate faculty feedback and agendas (Olalere et al., 2014), as well as maintaining mental health and a work-life balance (Sverdlik and Hall, 2019; Wisker et al., 2007; Wellington and Sikes, 2007). This chapter looks at how distance learning, dislocation through multiple job changes and conflicting faculty feedback can present unexpected obstacles leading up to the viva. The author shares both the emotional and logistical difficulties he faced navigating such obstacles, including the implications of ignoring his own intuition amid inconsistent feedback from both supervisory and non-supervisory faculty. After an unexpected viva outcome that required major revisions, the author takes us through his emotional journey while at the same time drawing attention to potential gaps in the evaluation of Doctor in Education (EdD) criteria. The author's own voice is supplemented by input from the editors (represented by italicised text). This interactive approach aims to highlight the complexity of the various events, experiences and emotions for the individual author, as well as how they connect to the larger body of academic literature.*

#### The context and author

My doctoral journey began in Myanmar in Southeast Asia in 2012 as an employee of the British Council. I had lived and worked in Myanmar for 10 years prior to beginning the Doctorate in Education (EdD), initially as an English language tutor. During this period, I completed an MA in citizenship education and successfully concluded the first two years of doctoral study. The decision to undertake academic study, as a very mature student, was a response to the professional demands of my job, which were constantly changing, challenging my abilities as a teacher and teacher-trainer. Over a span of five years, my position within the British Council would change many times.

Some very significant political developments took place during my time in Myanmar that would impact the British Council's strategy in the country and by extension my own professional role. The first elections to be held in 20 years took place in 2010, 2012 and 2015, and these marked important transition points in the country's slow progress from a fullfledged military dictatorship to a quasi-civilian democracy, in which onethird of the seats in parliament were still reserved for unelected members of the military junta. Early in my sojourn in Myanmar, I was invited to participate in capacity-building courses for key potential influencers in the process of political reform such as members of the, then, political opposition – the National League for Democracy – and later for newly released political prisoners. These political education courses were designed to raise awareness of current global developments in areas such as environment, law and international relations and were being carried out under the radar of the authorities. It was a privilege to teach such individuals who had suffered so much for their beliefs and whose education had been so curtailed. At the same time, I felt some trepidation each year when my visa needed to be renewed, anxious that the authorities may have gotten wind of these courses. Involvement in their development and implementation represented a significant departure from my initial professional position as English language tutor.

The British Council, as it had done since colonial independence in Myanmar in 1948, ostensibly continued to function as a cultural relations organisation and English language provider. However, it is fair to say that the opportunity to extend my professional expertise had arisen because the British Council had gone beyond its traditional role and adopted a more explicitly political stance. These organisational decisions had a significant impact on my early research interests, which became focused on the role of the British Council in the political socialisation of young activists.

Along with a small group of other colleagues, I set about creating curricula capable of raising the awareness of activist students regarding current developments in global politics, law and the environment. We also developed courses in citizenship education for teachers and interfaith dialogue. Finally, through the Chevening Scholarship programme, we were able to partner with the UK's Open University to jointly deliver courses in governance and politics and environmental policy. We were able to arrange an exposure trip to the UK for a group of 14 activists, which would entail meetings with MPs and with civil society organisations. The latter became the topic of the Institution Focused Study (IFS) phase of the doctorate.

*Over several years, the author invests an enormous amount of time and energy in these activities and they are seminal in shaping his research interests. The author's initial choice to gather data from his work site reflects both an intrinsic interest that he had developed over time and an external circumstance that lends itself to relatively easy data collection. Indeed, most choices made by doctoral students involve a combination of intrinsic and external factors when it comes to selecting a research focus (Brailsford, 2010; Wellington and Sikes, 2007), with accessibility to networks having a particularly marked influence on research direction (Olalere et al., 2014). The author's initial research choice is firmly rooted in such networks, providing him with ample resources to draw from.*

#### Positions, orientations, trajectories

A critical turning point in this academic trajectory took place following the election of the 2010 government, which expressed its commitment to opening up Myanmar's education system to international scrutiny and assistance. At the same time, the installation of a new management structure within the British Council offices led to a realignment of its strategic priorities away from engagement in political education, in which I had invested considerable energy, and toward the wider goal of providing teacher training. This culminated in 2014 in a nationwide teacher-training project partially funded by the UK's Department for International Development and in partnership with Voluntary Service Overseas (Ulla, 2017).

These changing priorities had a considerable influence on my professional role and on the research trajectory I had been pursuing. In 2013, I was seconded for a year to the English Department of Yangon University to conduct teacher training to newly qualified teachers of English. These changes coincided with the thesis stage of the doctorate and meant that, were I to continue, I would need to reorient and refocus my research interests to reflect the reality of this new position.

*The author's relocation limits his ability to access data from the original research site and, as a result, he must consider changes to his research topic. This represents a genuine restriction in the author's agency: he simply no longer has access to his original source of data, and the power to regain this access is outside his scope of control. As a result, changes in his research design are shaped by concerns about access to networks of data collection (Olalere et al., 2014). While changes in research direction and methodology are common in doctoral work more generally (Hunter and Devine, 2016), it is one thing to voluntarily adjust research direction based on data analysis or changing interests and quite another to have to change research direction because of a sudden inability to access a research site. For the author, redirection of his research means starting all over again and it is natural to try to salvage whatever he can moving forward.*

This was, and has proved to be, one of the greatest challenges of my doctoral journey. At the same time, an opportunity arose within the English department to become involved in curriculum development for newly reopened undergraduate courses in English Literature. This related strongly to my previous involvement and interest in syllabus design and materials writing for political education courses, albeit in a different discipline, and immediately struck me as a fascinating research topic.

During that first year of the thesis, I also encountered a number of books and articles addressing an apparent drift in higher education curricula away from humanities and towards greater investment in science, technology, engineering and mathematics (STEM) along with technical and vocational education. There appeared to be a lack of research on the design of higher education curricula, in particular, the role of learning aims, graduate attributes, transferable skills and the balance of knowledge, skills and dispositions. This gap informed the rationale that lay behind the research questions for my thesis. The questions, 'What influence is internationalisation having on the process and direction of higher education curricular policy in Myanmar?' and 'What rationales are in evidence?', aimed to explore how higher education curriculum policy in Myanmar was being formulated and put into practice. This included the rationales for educational reform that underpinned it and the role played by international partnerships. It also aimed to address the wider conceptual debate on the purpose of higher education and whether it was aimed too narrowly at employability (Barnett and Coate, 2005).

However, I was experiencing difficulty in getting my thesis proposal approved at my upgrade interview. The upgrade interview served as an important milestone in the EdD programme because it acknowledged the quality of work I had completed thus far, while also allowing me to move ahead to the final stage of my doctoral thesis. One reader of the proposal, who was an internal subject matter expert in a non-supervisory role, was unclear about the focus of my research. He also took issue with the emphasis I was placing on the so-called STEM–humanities divide, which he felt was under-theorised – particularly the claims I was making for the role of neoliberalism in the squeezing of humanities subjects from the higher education curriculum. I corresponded with this reader for some time before taking the decision to move discussion of this divide to the margins of the literature review chapter. The thesis proposal was finally approved, and I was ready to embark on the next stage. While this sharpened the focus of the thesis on the main research question regarding internationalisation of the higher education curriculum, it also served to eclipse a key interest and motivation for writing for me.

A second reader from within the department also provided feedback on the research proposal which was significantly more positive, stating that the research questions were well articulated, that the research itself was timely and that the thesis had 'identified key theoretical debates'. My supervisor's attention at that time was focused more on the organisation of the thesis, which he felt needed to be redesigned (see below), and left it up to me to respond to the first reader's comments. Triangulating between these various arbiters of the thesis was a confusing experience and challenged my ability to hold on to a sense of ownership over the direction of the project.

*The author attempts to negotiate and navigate feedback from a challenging reader who is serving as a gatekeeper. He finds himself in a predicament whereby moving on to the next stage involves either following the reader's feedback or convincing the reader that his feedback is faulty. While much has been written about the importance of quality supervision in doctoral studies (Lee, 2019; Wisker et al., 2007; González-Ocampo and Castelló, 2019), including discussion around communities of practice for supervisors working with international students at a distance (Wisker et al., 2007), there is relatively little that speaks to the influences of nonsupervisory faculty (such as readers and tutors) in the research choices of doctoral students.*

*In discussing the practice of educational consulting firms, Steiner-Khamsi (2019) notes that the advice and services that are provided often have less to do with what the client needs and more to do with what the firm can give. This observation may very well hold true for feedback provided to doctoral students. If we consider that faculty members come with their own specialisation, feedback to students is likely influenced in part by their own interests and expertise rather than the intentions of the researcher alone. As such, doctoral students may (unwittingly) find themselves trying to navigate their research within the confines of faculty or departmental interests or agendas (Olalere et al., 2014). As the author's narrative continues, we see multiple players providing feedback that the author does not always agree with. Acquiescing to these suggestions leads to an erosion in his sense of ownership.*

I decided to approach the research question through an examination of the literature on internationalisation in global higher education and an analysis of international policy in relation to Myanmar in a policy analysis chapter. Initially, this became an analysis of policy documentation related to an international conference organised by the British Council in Myanmar that I attended in 2013. It met with my supervisor's approval. The four words he wrote were 'This seems very strong', and, indeed, it later proved able to withstand the examiners' assaults. I planned to extend this analysis to a wider set of internationally recognised reform processes and documents, which were aimed at reshaping higher education inside Myanmar, thus directly addressing the research question.

#### Authorship and authenticity

The design of the thesis became unexpectedly more complex when my supervisor convinced me that this being a professional doctorate, my own involvement in curriculum development in Myanmar should take central stage in the thesis. Indeed, the reflection on professional experience is a central feature of a professional doctorate as opposed to the more theoretical, and lengthier, process of the PhD (Zambo et al., 2014). Together, we developed the idea that I could re-envision my own involvement in the redesign of the English Literature curriculum as the case study of a piece of action research. This would evaluate the practical and professional dimensions of the implementation of a cross-national partnership in curriculum design at a grassroots departmental level. The case study chapter eventually expanded to 13,000 words exploring my role in this project and an attempt at a phenomenological treatment of the intercultural dimension of the relationships involved in its implementation. This initial reorientation marked the start of what became a prolonged process of professional reflection on the meaning and definition of authenticity in the research process.

There were two important implications of the shift from an analysis of policy documentation to the elaboration of a case study. First, although I could accept that professional reflection was a requirement of an EdD, the retrospective reinterpretation of my previous professional role as action research felt concocted and inauthentic. Second, I would need to add action research and professional reflection to my existing methodology of critical discourse and policy analysis. These considerations slowed the process of research and writing.

I struggled to genuinely integrate the different methodological approaches I was using, such as phenomenology and critical realism. They appeared to be rooted in quite contrasting theoretical traditions. I probably spent far too long attempting some kind of lofty philosophical synthesis of these traditions when I could have been collecting valuable data. On the other hand, the route through a doctoral thesis is situated in a rich and varied landscape of educational ideas, beliefs and practices, and I was keen to use the opportunity to explore this wider territory. The lesson I failed to learn was how to balance a purely intellectual desire to explore theory with the practical business of actually writing and carrying out a research project.

I recall my supervisor being optimistic at the early stages of the thesis, even referring to a possibility of a published book. This was in contrast to doubts I was having about the focus of the thesis and the methodological approach I should take. Yet I was keen to believe in what he was saying and could believe that it was believable. This was partly in deference to his experience and personal affability, but also because he was simply stating the requirements of the professional doctorate written into the handbook itself. Reflecting critically on this, I could have and should have been more proactive in opening up my own doubts and hesitations concerning the focus of the thesis during supervisory meetings.

The decision to make the main chapter a case study produced the dilemma of how to situate a very idiosyncratic piece of action research within an analysis of the international higher education policy context in Myanmar. It was the beginning of an endeavour, as I now look back, to paper over some significant cracks in the research design. I constructed an argument for the document analysis as an extended context for the case study and nothing more.

*Despite his misgivings and on the basis of his understanding of the requirements of a professional doctorate, the author decides to accept his supervisor's suggestions. This represents both a breakdown in communication in supervision, as well as a continued threat to ownership. A breakdown in communication between student and supervisor is one of several negative experiences reported among doctoral students, along with lack of response, being too critical, and territoriality and an unwillingness to stand up for students (Hunter and Devine, 2016). Communication, however, is a two-way street and requires students to express their own concerns. Some may remain silent out of respect for their supervisor; others may fear repercussions. The author's story suggests, however, that whatever the reason for remaining silent, acquiescence on the part of the student may lead to greater problems down the line because the responsibility for the thesis ultimately rests on the student. A student's ability and willingness to act independently from supervisors is an important characteristic of success identified among doctoral students (McAlpine et al., 2009; Roberts and Bandlow, 2018). While the role of the supervisor is to provide guidance and feedback, it is the individual student who is ultimately responsible for the contents and design of the thesis. Blended programmes have typically been better at communicating this (as measured by student satisfaction) than programmes delivered completely at a distance (Erichsen et al., 2014).*

#### Dislocation and distance

I had seriously underestimated how long the thesis stage would last. Changes in organisational strategic trajectories, mirroring the opening up of new opportunities for international educational partnerships occurring at a national level, had profound repercussions on my professional position. As a result, within a year, I was being interviewed for a new post as manager on a nationwide teacher-training project in Myanmar that would take me away from the English department and the university, which represented a valuable source of easily obtainable, first-hand data. Indeed, before I left, I carried out face-to-face interviews with several heads of department, although these were never included in the final thesis.

At that juncture, the infrastructure guaranteeing internet and mobile services in Myanmar was still in its infancy and under strict government control. This meant that I could not be sure of being able to gather good quality data at a distance. In addition, research in Myanmar has traditionally been viewed with suspicion by the authorities, and the diplomatic etiquette involved in negotiating interviews with members of staff was more conveniently carried out on the ground.

*The cultural norms surrounding freedom of expression in regions of Southeast Asia are similar to some countries in the Arab Gulf Region in that embedded within the culture is a wariness surrounding any participation in research that involves a permanent record (Jones and Smith, 2002; Killawi et al., 2014). In Southeast Asia, for example, there are a number of surveillance states that have pervasive internal security measures implemented to monitor citizens (Jones and Smith, 2002). It is for this reason that digital recording, signatures and the like are viewed suspiciously by locals. Given this reality, it is possible that the informants may not have spoken freely in the interviews that were gathered at a distance – a key concern of the author.*

A further dislocation occurred a year later when my position as project manager became, for a variety of reasons, untenable, and I made the difficult decision to leave Myanmar and return to the UK. I searched for and found a position as a teaching fellow at a leafy university in the south-east of England. Completing a doctorate while working full-time was a challenge I had become used to. Combining study with relocation and settling into a very new position at a UK university added another layer of complexity and of further distance, physical and psychological, from the research site. The final iteration of the thesis was produced far from the steamy flux of Myanmar in the quiet woodlands of Surrey.

The unlocking of the internet and of mobile technology from government control in 2014 meant that I could carry out online interviews with staff and students at Yangon University and these formed the backbone of the evidence I used to argue for the case study as a successful example of a cross-national partnership. However, these interviews carried out using social media could not entirely substitute for the faceto-face interviews I would have carried out if this had been a genuine piece of *in situ* insider action research as the thesis purported it to be.

The issue of distance also became problematic when I attempted to reflect on and tried to evaluate my own professional role in the case study. There were two issues. First, the interpretation of this role as action researcher was an invention that suited the requirements of the thesis, but which distorted my actual role as a teacher-trainer. Second, the focus of the case study on the nature of my professional relationships with local staff in the development of a new curriculum demanded a psychological, phenomenological proximity that was very difficult to achieve at a distance – and yet had found its way into my methodological menagerie.

The relationship between the policy analysis chapter and the case study remained problematic in my mind, and yet my supervisor and internal reader, prior to the viva, concurred that the thesis was 'very strong' and 'almost over the line'. At the same time, the internal reader commented that the topics in the thesis as a whole ranged very widely and recommended that I focus more specifically on mutuality in pedagogy and partnership, a concept that I had begun to explore in the final chapter. He suggested I highlight this concept in chapter headings and subheadings and even in the title itself. The apparent ambiguity in the feedback I received prior to the viva was unsettling. It hinted at a lack of focus or cohesion at the heart of the thesis which remained a source of anxiety for me but which I was unwilling to share.

Despite my continuing doubts concerning the connection between the case study chapter and the policy analysis chapter, I accepted the comments and suggestions of the internal reader, a renowned expert in the field of curriculum, whose works had inspired my early interest in the subject. I determined that the weight of the feedback was positive, even effusive. The possibility of a successful outcome was being dangled tantalisingly before me, and I was inclined to accept the suggestions being made and to plough forward. Nevertheless, as was later proven, I should have been truer to my own doubts and articulated them more proactively.

I made the suggested changes, although my supervisor advised against changing the title itself. A mock viva was arranged. I prepared a PowerPoint presentation and made sure to highlight mutuality. No suggestion that there was anything fundamentally wrong with the thesis was made. By this time, the case study had become something of a caricature, concocted from the fragments of an experience I felt increasingly alienated from. It masqueraded as action research, but the curriculum initiative had existed, in the manner of a Russian doll, as a project within a project, and represented nothing other than a small-scale experiment in collaborative curriculum making. The inflation of the concept of mutuality, suggested by the internal reader, was also making me uneasy, as it seemed exaggerated. The niche nature of the case study was exposed, rather aggressively I would suggest, during the viva. The examiners questioned the relevance of the case study to the research question and contrasted this with the policy analysis chapter, which they felt was more pertinent and should have been expanded.

#### The viva defence

*The viva is a process that takes place behind closed doors and, as a result, issues of fairness and transparency have come under increasing scrutiny*  *(Park, 2003; Tinkler and Jackson, 2002). Trafford and Leshem (2002) describe the logistics of the viva in a British setting: Two examiners (one internal and one external to the institution) read the thesis and provide independent written reports to the university. The university then provides copies of the reports to each examiner, a chair and the student's supervisor. Guidelines for the viva are also provided to examiners at this time. At an EdD viva, the doctoral candidate is allowed to give a short presentation highlighting the key aspects of the thesis and is then expected to defend their work by fielding questions from the two examiners. The chair is there to coordinate the viva in an administrative role, and the supervisor is permitted to attend but only in an observing role. It is the two examiners who ultimately determine whether a student will be awarded the title of doctor.*

Facing the internal examiner, arguably the foremost expert on Burmese education, felt suddenly rather terrifying. The presentation felt over-rehearsed and awkward, and I could sense impatience from my audience. When the questions came, I was taken by surprise by their inquisitorial nature: 'Why did you think you could ...?' comes to mind, and the negative judgement it implied made me feel extremely unsettled. It was not only the questions, but also the manner in which they were asked that seemed to push me further and further into a corner. The haranguing, 'Tell me what your contribution is', still haunts the edges of my dreams. The external examiner was altogether more diffident and seemed to defer, in the main, to his colleague. However, he, too, was dismissive of some of the claims I had voiced regarding the growing dominance of STEM and the squeezing of humanities in higher education. Possibly the most confusing question was why I had not drawn on the wider Myanmar policy literature for the analysis. I was tempted to say 'but that's precisely what I was intending to do, until ...', but by then it was too late.

The judgement when it came was that the two main chapters were not aligned, and that one of them needed to go. The indication was that the one to go should be the main chapter – the case study. In other words, major changes to be made over the course of a year. I have always felt that this was an accurate assessment of the work I presented. Indeed, it clarified my own doubts concerning the thesis and provided a clear set of guidelines for restructuring it. The examiners launched themselves upon the tray of sandwiches while I felt a weight drop, not of relief but of shock and betrayal. I somehow managed to thank them for their time and wriggled free of the room. Immediately following the viva, my supervisor's only response seemed to be humorous surprise at how subjective and idiosyncratic opinions could be, although he did admit that the examiner had been particularly challenging in this case. It is disappointing, but you can rise to it and resubmit in a few months – or words to that effect – were what I walked away with. I would have to rewrite, as I then appraised it, as much as half the thesis. Not something that could be done in months given my current workload. An avalanche is how I would later refer to the emotion.

*Wallace (2003) notes that it is not unusual for doctoral candidates to have negative feelings about the viva even when successful. Her research found that successful candidates who reported feeling a sense of achievement tended to employ metaphors or similes of sporting competitions or debate. In contrast, successful candidates who reported negative feelings after a viva often deployed imagery relating to interrogation or imprisonment (Wallace, 2003). In this regard, the avalanche metaphor used by the author is of special interest. Whether the metaphor is reflective of the viva or the doctoral journey more broadly is unclear. The viva defence, more generally, remains an extremely draining and anxiety inducing experience. Trafford and Leshem (2002) identify three variables in a successful defence: (1) explicit scholarship appropriate to the subject area; (2) personal resilience; and (3) interpersonal awareness. In the case of personal resilience, confidence in responding to questions, engaging the examiners at any level of questioning and the ability to deflect or reject inappropriate questions are key components (Trafford and Leshem, 2002).*

*Contrasting with successful vivas, Mullins and Kiley (2002) conducted interviews with 30 experienced examiners and found that the most common characteristics of a 'poor' thesis were lack of coherence, lack of understanding of the theory, lack of confidence, researching the wrong problem, mixed or confused methodological perspectives, or work that is not original. Applying these characteristics to the author's plight, we see a chronic struggle with the coherence of the thesis, including challenges associated with conflicting theoretical/methodological positions. These difficulties all came together to affect the author's confidence on the day of the viva.*

#### Climbing out of the avalanche: coping with major revisions

I fell into something of a depression following the viva and found it hard to concentrate, going over and over in my mind the things that had been said, the guidance I had been given, my own understanding of the differences between a professional doctorate and what I was now being asked to write, which was much more like a mini-PhD. When I happened to meet the internal reader at a conference some weeks after the viva, he was surprised to hear that I had not passed and alluded to the possibility that examiners may not always fully appreciate the differences between professional doctorates and PhDs. This simply added to the feeling of confusion I was experiencing. The emotional impact of such an experience has been variously described as demoralising or even traumatic.

*Feelings of depression are especially common among doctoral students (Ali et al., 2007). Reasons for this include thesis difficulties, adviser issues, isolation and/or financial stress (Ali et al., 2007; Delamont, et al., 1997; Wisker et al., 2007). For the author, the viva outcome was a disturbing event for two reasons. Firstly, he was required to make major revisions at a time when his professional responsibilities were demanding. Secondly, and perhaps more disturbing, he realised that the requested revisions were in line with what he felt to be true all along but hesitated to act on.*

The instructions I was given for rewriting the thesis would entail deleting any references to the relational, intercultural dimensions of the project. The recently highlighted concept of mutuality was consistently ignored throughout the viva. The interview data I had rather painstakingly gathered over weeks of online conversations with former staff and students at the university was deemed irrelevant. Any mention of phenomenology was to be avoided, and the key requirement of the EdD for professional reflection was downplayed or marginalised.

Although I had written quite extensively on issues of inequality and intercultural understanding, the examiner seemed to find the case study too simplistic and lacking sufficient critical reflection on my own role in the process. More than that, it was of no general significance and had no relevance to the wider processes and rationales for internationalisation that were, supposedly, the main focus of the thesis. The removal of these voices in the rewritten thesis and their replacement by an extended critical analysis of policy documents represents for me a diminution of ownership and thus of authenticity.

The humanities–STEM debate received very little response from the internal examiner who asked that I concentrate instead on analysing national and international higher education policy in Myanmar and on unearthing the priorities of international partners as I had begun to do in the policy analysis chapter. These excisions invoked a further sense of losing ownership of the thesis and I decided, provisionally, to give up on it. I took a holiday in South America and for a few months submerged myself in life and in work. I then came across 3,000 words I had written, prior to my supervisor's instruction to focus on the case study, analysing one of the key policy documents the examiner had specifically criticised me for ignoring! It was something to hold on to and try to develop. I immersed myself gradually in the rewriting.

Having spent up to a year writing the case study, I was unwilling to remove the case study chapter in its entirety. Reflecting more deeply on the curriculum project, its representation as a case study changed for me. Interviews with teachers showed how effectively the project had been able to engage them in the process of curriculum design. The interview data also gave expression to the voices of students who had direct experience with the new curriculum. These voices I thought, perhaps naively, provided evidence for the success of the changes we had made. As I reviewed the literature on mutuality, I determined that it had been a genuine feature of the project. What had initially felt concocted and inauthentic gradually became more real. I resolved to keep the chapter and approached my supervisor with this in mind. He concurred that it was integral to the EdD and needed to remain, albeit in an attenuated form. The key challenge was to link the case study more closely to the extended policy analysis chapter.

*Unlike the process leading up to the viva, the author made a significant shift in his approach. He has now taken full ownership of his work. His decision to reject certain changes to the thesis, such as the removal of the case study, is notable because it runs parallel to what Trafford and Leshem (2002) refer to as the ability to deflect or reject inappropriate questions in their description of personal persistence (one of the variables identified as central to a successful viva). These actions are also indicative of an ability to take initiative, an important characteristic for doctoral students (McAlpine et al., 2009).*

I was finally able to establish a more substantive link between these chapters through understanding that the curriculum project had allowed teachers to become directly involved in the then dominant discourses of autonomy and quality I had extracted from the Myanmar higher education policy literature. Involvement in curriculum making had been empowering, giving teachers an opportunity to decide on a new set of learning aims and on new pedagogical approaches to teaching and assessment.

To return to the earlier metaphor, it felt like climbing out of the avalanche and clawing my way up and out metre-by-metre, word-byword. A daily dissection of key documents and Skype interviews with international partners in Myanmar higher education gave me a renewed focus on the case study and its links to the wider policy context. During the rewriting, I continued to trace more substantial links between the abstraction of the document analyses and this reflective account. Whether this would constitute a worthy contribution to knowledge had yet to be proved. The metaphor moved to the courtroom, and all I could do was wait for the jury's decision. Regardless of the result, it felt good to have re-engaged and to have exercised my best efforts to create a worthwhile project.

#### Post-operative

One year later and the thesis was rewritten and resubmitted. My supervisor continued to provide feedback at points throughout the year; however, I had to take a more proactive role in steering the process of revision. This process of re-visioning worked as an antidote to the ambiguity of supervision and examination I had experienced. I was able to reclaim a modicum of authenticity as I reflected more deeply on the implications of the small case study for the wider process of international higher educational reform in Myanmar. I carried out more interviews, this time with heads of international organisations in Myanmar, and these did find their way into the thesis, although in the final feedback they were criticised as being largely irrelevant.

The days shortened and lengthened. The submission deadline came into view. Alongside the resubmitted thesis with its new sections highlighted in blue, I had to submit a final cover letter addressed to the examiners – a form of written defence, describing in detail how I had responded to their comments. My supervisor showed me an example. The polite etiquette was at odds with my anxiety and anger at the manner with which the viva had been conducted. Yet, being so close to the end I chose to jump the final hoop. Hoop jumping is a commonly used metaphor to describe a developmental process that has somehow become mechanical. The key requisite was to satisfy the examiners' comments. At the same time, I still had doubts that they clearly understood the requirements of a professional doctorate as compared to a PhD. Thus, I inserted a short extract from the EdD handbook into the final cover letter, detailing the necessity for professional reflection. Not an easy decision to make, as it was potentially embarrassing for the examiners. However, my supervisor agreed, adamant that to satisfy the requirements of an EdD, the case study as an example of professional reflection, albeit in an attenuated form, should remain. Submission complete.

A few weeks later an email arrived from my supervisor headed 'congratulations'. Yet, despite my initial disbelief, sense of relief, excitement, it appeared that the examiners, while agreeing that the thesis was able to pass and that the case study now met with their approval, would still like a further clarification of its contribution to knowledge; a 'coda' was how my supervisor described this 1,500 word extension to the conclusion. In other words, I had to contend with both major and minor – I would like to say heart surgery because, at times, it felt like that – corrections. Nevertheless, a weight had been lifted; I could enjoy the process of writing once more and was able to unearth fresh connections between the chapters.

#### Being there counts

The viva examination remains a source of anxiety and humiliation for me. I am glad to have survived and continued my studies, but it has opened a wound. Looking back over the thesis and the landscape of ideas I have encountered, the views were expansive and detailed, and the path scored with tiny trails leading into the surrounding academic landscape – places where I became lost or entangled. In the literature review chapter, my fascination with the STEM–humanities divide was difficult to reconcile with the evolving focus on internationalisation. In the methodology chapter I became ensnared in a complex philosophical debate on the respective merits of critical realism and phenomenology. The originally submitted case study had expanded to include a wide assortment of topics. It incorporated pedagogical methods that included techniques for creating a more interactive classroom. It explored the role of graduate attributes in curriculum design, mutuality in international educational partnerships and an analysis of a professional cross-national partnership. It also touched upon mentoring, as well as citizenship and its relation to literature teaching. These assorted topics were hard to reconcile but nevertheless allowed me to discover more of the surrounding academic territory. I have not given up the belief that one can undertake a course of study in order to learn.

Looking back now as a supervisor of graduate students myself, I am well aware of the need to frame a clear and focused research question from the outset. I was unable to follow my own advice and the thesis surveyed a plethora of theories and methods of research. As a learning experience this was ultimately enriching, but it also served to obscure the purpose of the research and complicated the process of writing. I also felt that my supervisor had lost interest in the thesis; while continuing to provide guidance, often purely stylistic, there was no sense of curiosity or excitement, no questions beyond the generic. The internal reader was ambiguous in his comments – seeming to enjoy the range of subjects I had covered but recommending that I focus on the idea of mutuality.

I could have taken a different approach. I could have been more proactive in searching out sources of feedback other than my supervisor and latterly the internal reader and examiners. I would have appreciated more input at the early formative phase. Indeed, the writing of the thesis was, in general, an isolating experience, one that entailed a shifting sense of ownership. I took seriously the advice of the readers of the thesis at the various stages, positioning myself in the role of a student rather than a fully fledged researcher. I deferred too easily perhaps to their professional status and experience. A more fitting analogy for me, however, is a card game in which the players are playing by different rules. That the examiners explicitly asked for the removal of the case study chapter, with its attendant reflection on professional experience, and its replacement by pure policy analysis, proves to me that they had failed to understand a fundamental difference between the demands of a professional doctorate and a PhD. To be fair, only at a later stage did I myself become acutely aware of this difference and otherwise would have continued on the path of policy analysis so beloved of the examiners.

On the other hand, I could not easily have prevented or circumvented the transitions between professional positions and the spatial distance and dislocation from the research site that resulted. I am able to construct these transitions as critical incidents (Cunningham, 2008; Halquist and Musanti, 2010; Wellington and Sikes, 2007) by describing their effect in disorienting/orienting my research interests and trajectory. Dislocation from the research site influenced the access to and the quality of the data I was able to obtain but more importantly it removed a personal and professional sense of involvement and participation in the research. Being there counts.

#### References

## 6 Understanding the personal significance of our academic choices

Maria Savva

*'Can you tell me which way I ought to go from here?' asked Alice. 'That depends a good deal on where you want to go' said the cat. 'I don't much care where' said Alice. 'Then it doesn't matter which way you go' said the cat*. (Lewis Carroll, 1865: 36)

The doctoral journey can feel like an enigma – one that is filled with a vast field of choices that only we can make. These choices are not inconsequential, as each will take us on a different path, providing us with different experiences and different outcomes. The choice of research topic, in particular, is likely to have repercussions long after our doctoral studies are complete. Throughout the journey we are faced with various 'gatekeepers' (supervisors, upgrade committees, readers, examiners) who assess the quality of our choices. While an important part of the doctoral journey involves the ability to convince others that our research has value, taking the time to explore the value of our work on a more personal level has its own intrinsic worth. By exploring the personal significance of our research choices, we are able to understand not only *what* is important to us but *why* it is important. In doing so, we are also able to better harness the qualities of agency and resilience that are so critical to the completion of doctoral studies (Luse et al., 2012). The same can be argued for our choice to pursue doctoral studies, which is an endeavour that requires a significant time commitment.

In this chapter, I map the intrapersonal journey that paralleled my academic journey as an international doctoral student based in the country of Cyprus. I model how I used my academic studies, including my research topic selection, as a mirror to reflect and gain a deeper understanding about who I am, where I come from and where I want to go. I differentiate between the extrinsic and intrinsic factors that contributed towards my academic choices and how I came to reconcile the two. I also demonstrate how I used the solitude that is often associated with the doctoral journey (Ali and Kohun, 2006; Ali et al., 2007; Wellington and Sikes, 2007) to create a space whereby I looked inwards to better understand my academic choices and my relationship to those choices. Finally, engaging in this reflective process served as important preparation for the world after the doctorate, when critical choices had to be made about life and career trajectories. It is my hope that readers will use the journey described in this chapter as a flexible model whereby they can begin to explore their own purpose and aspirations.

#### Selecting a research topic

Given the vast free range of choice, the process of identifying and selecting a research topic can feel like an overwhelming one. To help guide students, it is not unusual for university libraries or writing centres to offer guidelines on the topic selection process (MIT, n.d.; UCL, n.d.; University of Michigan–Flint, n.d.). Strategies identified in research-based studies include brainstorming, identifying things that the researcher is interested in, thinking and talking with a partner outside one's discipline and visualisation techniques (Luse et al., 2012). While such strategies offer important logistical support at the onset, there is relatively little research that delves deeper into the relationship between research question development and the researcher. Engaging in this deeper process, however, did much more than simply give me a research direction. I became interested in exploring why and how particular topics found their way into my thesis: Why did I choose one research topic over another? And what personal significance did the research I chose have to me?

Like many doctoral students, the research idea I entered with was not the same one I finished with. My initial research idea was rooted in concepts of national identity and social cohesion. I hoped to explore education systems in multilingual countries like Belgium and Luxembourg. The (seemingly obvious) realisation that I had no knowledge of the languages spoken in either of the two countries, nor any direct access to people in the field, prompted me to reassess my grandiose aspirations. At the time, I was teaching in an overseas international school, and at my supervisor's prudent urging I decided that the international school context would provide a more logical route for my research. Besides, I already had access to people across numerous international schools and could plan both my research design and methods around this access. The availability of networks, therefore, was a decisive factor in changes to my research topic (Olalere et al., 2014). It was along this storyline that my research eventually shifted, focusing instead on the individual identity and intercultural development of educators, with my official thesis title becoming *An Investigation into the Intercultural Development of Anglophone Educators Working in International Schools* (Savva, 2015).

While network availability (or lack thereof) was central to changes in my own research topic, other external factors that have been identified as affecting research topic selection include criteria imposed by funding sources (Mosyjowski et al., 2017), faculty member research agendas and departmental core courses (Olalere et al., 2014). Although external factors can and do influence choices in research topic selection, there is usually some flexibility for individuals to pursue areas that are also intrinsically interesting (Mosyjowski et al., 2017). Choosing a topic that is intrinsically motivating is an especially important way of guarding against losing interest in a topic much later into the research process (Luse et al., 2012).

Beyond the external factors that prompted a change in my research topic, however, there were deeper layers behind my choices that I sought to better understand. Why, for example, did certain words find their way into the title of my thesis rather than others? Why were educators the focal point of my study instead of students, standards or curricula? And what precisely was the place and role of the term 'intercultural'? Why not literacy or language instruction? Why not curriculum reform or student assessment? These are all topics that could have easily been studied within the international school context. Why then, did I choose 'intercultural development'? And why should this topic be of any significance to *me*? These were important questions because answering them allowed me to tap into my intrinsic interests, which also provided me with the agency and resilience needed to complete my doctoral journey.

To get to the heart of these questions, I found myself going back in time to identify people, places and events that helped kindle my interest in this topic. What follows is a short autobiographical exploration of why 'intercultural development' became important to me both as a person and as a researcher. The reasons for this were not initially self-evident; I had to actively search for them in my effort to understand the intrinsic motivation behind my research. It involved digging deep into my life experiences and understanding the role particular events played in shaping my identity and the choices I would later make in my research.

In the sections that follow I utilise critical incidents as a way of highlighting events or situations that marked a significant turning point in my life story (Tripp, 1994). Critical incidents are different from crises in that they do not necessarily have the immediate concentrated impact often found in large-scale crisis situations. Instead, the impact often occurs slowly over an extended period (Cunningham, 2008). Moreover, critical incidents take place within the context of otherwise ordinary, often unnoticeable, parts of an individual's life (Angelides, 2001; Cunningham, 2008; Tripp, 1994). They can be one-time events or recur on a regular basis – perhaps they are something that is seen or heard. What defines a critical incident, however, is that its occurrence becomes increasingly problematic over time and is often accompanied by a noticeable and recurring feeling of discomfort. The cumulative impact of critical incidents in my own life has been profound. As I will illustrate, they have often served as fundamental precursors to struggle and change.

#### A dialectical past

My story begins in New York City where I grew up in a family culture that was quite different from the mainstream American culture. Both parents were immigrants who spoke little English; both were raised in Greek villages during the Second World War and, as a result, had only acquired a primary school education. As adults, they came to the United States where they attempted to build a better life with limited language proficiency and an equally limited education. Like all children, my identity was inevitably tied to theirs through processes of primary socialisation (Berger and Luckmann, 1966). That is, the world I came to understand was mediated to me by my family and their circumstances.

Upon entering school, this influence was often challenged by forms of secondary socialisation, a process that extends to institutions and practices beyond the immediate family structure (Berger and Luckmann, 1966). Aspects of secondary socialisation in my own life came to include daily exposure to American mass media, school curricula, teachers and friends – all of whom dominated much of my time while growing up. Yet the 'other' world at home also remained a significant force through my immediate family, relatives and the local church. As a young adult these contrasting worlds eventually resulted in some confusing identity issues, despite my being ignorant of them at the time.

On the surface, my European heritage allowed me to assimilate quickly into mainstream American society. Yet despite my external assimilation, my internal assimilation lagged substantially. I spent much of my life moving in and out of two spheres, enjoying both but never feeling that I belonged completely to either one. The duality of feeling both privileged and disadvantaged at the same time aligned with what Martin and Nakayama (2015) describe as a dialectical approach. According to this approach, individuals often experience privilege and disadvantage simultaneously, thereby highlighting the multi-dimensional and sometimes contradictory nature of intercultural development (Martin and Nakayama, 1999, 2015). Importantly, such an approach rejects the dualistic 'either/or' view of privilege that is so prevalent today.  Yet I was also a female, growing up in an uneducated, working class and non-English speaking household. In retrospect, these early experiences certainly contributed to my later interests in identity formation, citizenship and intercultural development. It is no surprise then, that all three of these topics somehow materialised both in my initial and final research idea – revealing themselves as deeply important topics in my autobiography.

Beyond this broad backdrop, I recall a specific incident in my early adulthood that played a key role in my developing interest in intercultural and international education. The summer after my high school graduation I travelled to Greece where I came across a cousin of mine who had been born and raised there. We were the same age, and shared the same first name and surname (the result of a Greek tradition of naming children after paternal grandparents). I recall my cousin's disappointment that summer in the outcome of some highly competitive national university entrance exams. She had done poorly and, as a result, did not gain entry into any of the universities in the country. At that time, this essentially meant her permanent exclusion from higher education. As a relatively mediocre high school student myself, I was somewhat taken aback. Blocked access to higher education had never passed through my mind, despite my own unexceptional grades back in the United States.

Most unsettling was the realisation that I could have just as easily been standing in my dear cousin's shoes – the same age, the same name, probably even the same grades. In many ways it was as if I was looking in a mirror, *yet by the sheer stroke of good fortune I had been born elsewhere*. As a result, the opportunities which would be made available to me were markedly different from those that would be made available to her. Although the exchange between my cousin and me was part of an otherwise casual conversation, I found myself returning to our conversation and feeling increasingly unsettled over time – a common indication of a critical incident (Cunningham, 2008; Tripp, 1994). It was at that moment that citizenship and education also became privileges*.* And to this day, it is difficult for me to think of either as being anything less than that.

Citizenship was a privilege that I had given little thought to prior to my encounter. As an American I had open access to higher education, and it was this open access that eventually enabled me to reshape my identity despite any disadvantages associated with my parents' linguistic, socio-economic and educational backgrounds. That summer remains a defining moment because of my new awareness and the accompanying curiosity that came with it. I remember wondering about how systems of education might operate in other countries. I should mention that, back then, the internet and cell phones were not prevalent, so I had no readily available way of accessing that kind of information. The seeds, however, had been planted.

#### Transitioning into education

Life rolled along uneventfully in the years that followed. I moved in and out of various jobs and eventually became more serious about my studies. I completed my undergraduate degree while working full-time and was awarded the title of valedictorian. Shortly thereafter I began working as a classroom teacher in New York City schools. At that time, teachers were required to earn a graduate degree in order to obtain permanent certification (a certification that New York State has since done away with). The requirement was quite broad, giving me the freedom to select any area of study as long as it was in the field of education. Since I had already secured employment, I had the luxury of choosing a specialisation that was based solely on my intrinsic interests. I applied to the Comparative and International Education programme at Columbia University and was delighted when I was accepted. I would spend the next two years completing an MA degree, while continuing to teach fulltime in New York City schools.

International education was an intriguing area of study. Although I hadn't yet figured out how my interest could translate into actual employment, I did recognise that this was a field that had captured my interest and enthusiasm. I fleetingly entertained the possibility of taking my studies beyond the graduate level, but by then I was married and expecting my first child. I handed in my final thesis a few weeks before my due date and fittingly put aside any lavish academic ambitions for a later time. Twelve years would come and go before I would be in a position to revisit my studies.

Around this time, a second defining moment took place. After 37 years of living in the United States I moved to Cyprus with my Cypriot husband and, by then, three children. Moving from New York City to a small island-nation was an especially challenging experience. I struggled with the slower pace, more conservative values and a comparatively homogeneous society that I felt was not always welcoming of outsiders. I went through a very typical experience of culture shock: I experienced strain engendered by attempts to adjust, a sense of loss, confusion surrounding self-identity and the feeling of being rejected by members of the host culture (Ward et al., 2005). Despite these challenges, a few years into my relocation I had the opportunity to pursue my doctoral studies. Interestingly, elements of culture shock and dissonance emerged yet again, but this time through the Anglophone educators I interviewed as part of my field research in China and the Netherlands.

I discovered that many of the stories the educators shared with me resonated with my own relocation experience. On the one hand, overseas educators enjoyed positions of privilege within the private school settings they worked in, yet once outside the school campus they were quickly relegated to the status of foreigner (Savva, 2013, 2017). Once again, these experiences reaffirmed a dialectical approach whereby individuals simultaneously experienced both privileged and disadvantaged positions (Martin and Nakayama, 2015). Notably, it was through my relocation and my research together that I was able to face some of my own identity issues. I realised, for example, that although I had a good understanding of the Greek language and culture, it was not a language or culture that I had fully internalised despite my ancestral heritage. As a result, and to my surprise, I came to appreciate the fact that although my parents were Greeks, my identity was very much a product of American culture. Ironically, it had taken living in a Greek-speaking country to realise just how American I was.

A fitting analogy to the relocation experience that comes to mind involves the interactive properties of oil and water. When placing a drop of water in oil, the water will naturally separate itself from the oil. The same holds true when a drop of oil is placed in water. It will rise to the top, making itself distinct from the surrounding water. In both instances the focal point depends less on 'the drop' and more on what surrounds it. That is, the context in which we find ourselves exerts substantial influence on how we see ourselves as individuals and our relationship to others. It was through placing myself in a context that was different from what I knew that I came to recognise which cultural identity, in fact, resonated most with me.

Indeed, a sense of belonging is fundamental to the concept of citizenship. Osler and Starkey (2005) describe the three dimensions of status, feeling and practice as central to one's sense of citizenship (Osler and Starkey, 2005). These three dimensions, of course, are not static and can change over time and place. Today I travel with one of two passports: a US passport or a Greek (EU) passport. My decision about which one to use is always based on what is most convenient and expedient. Sometimes I have asked myself which passport I would choose if convenience and expedience were not an issue – simply as an exercise to test my own loyalties. I am always comfortable in answering that I would choose my American identity. There are many reasons for this choice. I was born and raised in the United States. I command native fluency in the English language and my earliest memories of 'home' will always be in New York. Most importantly, it is through my American citizenship – and the many opportunities it has afforded me – that I have been able to flourish most. Yet I also value my European identity. It has developed partly as a result of my bicultural upbringing, but probably more so as a result of living on the fringes of Europe, bordering the Middle East for a decade. My studies in the United Kingdom and my travels throughout Europe during that time, including my visits to Greece, have all affected the internal landscape of who I am, creating a type of composite identity. Such a description is probably not so out of the ordinary given globalisation trends. Although coming to terms with my identity occurred relatively late in my life, I consider myself fortunate to have been able to discover these various dimensions of myself – with the doctoral journey playing a key role in what I would describe as a highly introspective process.

#### Motivation in doctoral pursuit: EdD or PhD?

Whereas this explains my interest in my research topic and why it is important to me, it does not explain why I felt the need to pursue a doctorate to begin with. Like research topic selection, reasons for choosing to pursue a doctorate can be categorised as being extrinsic or intrinsic in nature (Sverdlik et al., 2018). Whereas extrinsic motivation involves external control and refers to engaging in an activity to attain a specific outcome, intrinsic motivation is internally regulated and involves engaging in an activity for the inherent satisfaction of the activity itself (Ryan and Deci, 2000). Extrinsic factors include things like employability prospects, whereas intrinsic factors can more simply include a deeper level of interest (Sverdlik et al., 2018). Brailsford (2010) notes, however, that quite often individuals are motivated by a *combination* of both extrinsic and intrinsic factors.

This was true in my own experience. Reasons why I chose to pursue a doctorate aligned with those commonly found in research studies: obtaining a doctorate was a form of self-actualisation, a personal achievement, a status symbol, as well as something that was likely to open up more varied employment opportunities (Brailsford, 2010; Elsey, 2007). Acquiring a doctorate had the capacity to fundamentally change how others viewed me and, subsequently, how I viewed myself. This outlook was rooted in research pointing to our sense of identity as one which is influenced, to a significant degree, by the social order around us and our relationship to that social order (Berger and Luckmann, 1966; Hornsey, 2008; Tajfel, 1981; Turner, 1982). In my own mind, obtaining a doctorate was an individual achievement that came with social recognition and status.

Yet personal achievement and status can be realised in many ways. People can show status by the size of their homes, the cars they drive and the clothes they wear. And more varied employment opportunities can materialise through increased attention to networking or perhaps expanding the geographic limits in which one is willing to work. The point being that both status and increased opportunities can be expressed or found in forms that do not necessarily have to do with obtaining a doctorate. The initial response provided, therefore, was a surface level response that did not delve into the deeper layers behind my choices.

My own belief is that it becomes increasingly difficult to complete a doctorate if there is not enough intrinsic interest present. This is largely due to the extended, comparatively less structured, yet highly intricate nature of the doctoral journey. Whereas undergraduate and graduate degrees are supported by highly prescribed coursework, syllabi and frameworks, a doctorate requires students to engage in original thought and take on greater control in negotiating their ideas, their research and their relationships with faculty and supervisors (at least in the social sciences and humanities). While external institutional controls (such as ethical guidelines) serve to guide students, the planning, gathering, sorting and analysing of relevant data are structured by the individual student, not the institution. Likewise, it is the student who must ultimately construct and defend their research argument. Without the presence of intrinsic motivation these tasks become increasingly difficult to accomplish.

In exploring the intrinsic aspects of my own motivation, I came to recognise that beyond the material benefits I hoped to get out of the intellectual endeavour, there were also things that I hoped to contribute. It is the desire to contribute meaningfully that, I believe, guided me to choose the doctoral path. I had something to contribute not because my life had been perfect and stellar, but for the very opposite reasons. My life's path was a long and winding one, and as a result of my own shortcomings and struggles I wanted to believe that I had developed some useful insights. It is these insights that I believed served to enrich my perspective and allowed me to stay reasonably grounded.

After almost 20 years of working as a classroom teacher in both primary and secondary schools, I was ready for a change. Teaching was a rewarding but also daunting experience – the latter evidenced by high attrition levels among teachers on a global scale (Craig, 2017; Newberry and Allsop, 2017; Kelchtermans, 2017). Most notably, its applied nature failed to provide a space for the conceptual and analytical thinking I craved. In contrast, research provided me with a flexible and autonomous platform whereby I could reflect and think critically about areas that were both personally and professionally interesting to me. Publication gave me the further capacity to leave behind an artefact of myself that would continue to exist long after I was gone.

I was initially drawn to the Doctor in Education (EdD) because of my teaching background. Having spent a good part of my life as a classroom teacher, obtaining an EdD seemed a logical extension given my skills and experience. As I progressed in the programme, however, I began to question whether an EdD was, in fact, the best match for my particular career aspirations – which included moving into a faculty position at a higher education institution. I observed that, unlike me, quite a few of my classmates intended to remain in their respective non-academic professions. I also noticed that two classmates had made a switch to a PhD early in the programme. I recall that one of them did so because the university he worked for, in a North African country, refused to recognise the EdD as a doctoral degree. I decided to explore this matter more deeply and found that perceptions about professional and traditional doctorates were wide ranging. Park (2005) notes that professional doctorates are a response to a demand in the community that traditional doctorates have not adequately fulfilled. As comparatively newer degrees, however, professional doctorates are also viewed by some academics, whether openly or privately, as less rigorous (Poole, 2012). Given the competitive job market in academia, this latter perception was of special concern because I did not want to compromise my ability to apply for faculty jobs at universities across multiple countries and continents.

At the time I had already completed all of the required assignments in the EdD programme, with only the final thesis remaining. Whereas both the EdD and PhD required about 80,000 words of writing, the EdD compartmentalised half of those words through incremental module assignments and an Institution Focused Study, with the thesis being the final 'assignment' of approximately 45,000 words. In contrast, the PhD concentrated all 80,000 words into a final culminating thesis. Since I had already completed all of the required module assignments and the Institution Focused Study in the EdD, making the switch to a PhD meant that I would end up writing approximately 120,000 words – which was more than was required for either degree! It would have been much easier for me to stay the EdD track. Given the ambiguity and uncertainty of my future career path, however, I decided to make what felt like a safer choice at the time. And so, I contacted my supervisor about making the change.

It is worth noting that my concern ultimately proved to be a moot point as I eventually took a faculty job in New York where I would work alongside many outstanding EdD colleagues. In other words, having an EdD or a PhD would have made no difference at all with regard to hiring decisions at the institution I eventually came to work for. Interestingly, despite being awarded a PhD, the most memorable aspects of my doctoral journey remain rooted in the friendships I formed through my participation in the EdD programme.

#### Academic choices, agency and resilience

Whether enrolled in the EdD or PhD, taking the time to understand the deeper reasons behind my choice to pursue a doctorate, as well as my choice of research topic, was central to harnessing the qualities of agency and resilience. Whereas agency was central to the creative endeavour of generating work and ideas, resilience provided the long-term stamina necessary to see the various work and ideas to completion. But how do we begin to develop these characteristics?

It is difficult to separate agency and resilience from factors associated with intrinsic motivation discussed earlier. Studies support intrinsic motivation as a factor that enhances student ability to complete graduate and doctoral level work (Ivankova and Stick, 2007; Zhou, 2015). When combined with intrinsic motivation, extrinsic motivation can also serve to produce desired outcomes (Ivankova and Stick, 2007). However, extrinsic motivation alone can serve to undermine agency and resilience due to its relationship with external controls (Ryan and Deci, 2000). Given the extended nature and intricate work associated with doctoral study – as well as the prevalence of mental health issues among doctoral students, such as feelings of isolation (Ali and Kohun, 2006) and difficulties establishing a work-life balance (Brown and Watson, 2010; Levecque et al., 2017) – it can be argued that intrinsic motivation is a particularly valuable component in both the psychological well-being of students and increased completion rates.

It was this intrinsic motivation that fuelled my own sense of agency during my studies. I found myself stepping out of my comfort zone on numerous occasions to take on new roles and participate in various events where I was viewed by others as an emerging 'expert'. The liminal space between being a doctoral student and becoming a scholar was an ambiguous one (Turner, 1987) where I engaged in what was essentially a gradual form of identity reconstruction. Taking on a leadership role was certainly not something I had been groomed to do in the years leading up to my doctoral studies, and yet learning to promote and advocate for myself was necessary in order to be seen. The importance of self-initiative in the doctoral process has been highlighted as a key factor of success both as it relates to student ability and student willingness to act independently from supervisors (McAlpine et al., 2009). It is for this reason that I pushed myself to submit manuscripts to peer-reviewed journals and to present my ideas to colleagues, and later to professionals and academics in high-profile conferences.

Although I could not appreciate it at the time, each new role and activity served as a type of scaffold, moving me closer to identifying as a scholar. Together this scaffolding facilitated important shifts whereby I was able to transition out of my role as a passive student, to one of an active intellectual. While not always a formalised part of the programme's curriculum, these activities served an important pedagogical purpose. McAlpine et al. (2009) underscore the educational importance of less formal aspects of doctoral study, such as engaging in conversations and establishing relationships with peers, independently reviewing literature, participating in conferences and writing proposals, as well as the process of writing the dissertation. Ultimately, it is through participation in both formal and informal activities that students engage in a process of identity reconstruction (Beech, 2011).

Developing an identity as a publishing academic, in particular, was not without its challenges or setbacks. For every manuscript that was accepted, there were many more that were rejected. Even the manuscripts that were accepted were not immune to the scathing comments of the omnipotent anonymous reviewer (sometimes referred to in academia as 'reviewer # 2'). These challenges highlighted the importance of resilience, which served as an important defence for feedback that was not always complimentary. Most significantly, resilience and its relationship to work production involved accepting rejection and failure as a natural part of the academic process (Nygaard, 2017). In fact, rejection seemed to increase according to the level of risk I took. The more risks I took, the more critically I was judged. The potency and importance of resilience in academia is probably best illustrated in J. Haushofer's (2016) published 'CV of failures'. A successful professor at Princeton University, Haushofer (2016) courageously published a very unconventional CV for the world to see – one that highlights all of his failures. Besides illustrating the importance of agency and resilience, this particular piece of work also debunks the utopian portrayal of a linear and steady career progression. In my own journey, because I had taken the time to tap into my intrinsic interests and was engaged in research that was meaningful to me for its own sake, it was easier to keep going in the face of rejection.

#### Life after the doctorate