Jealousy, Bullying, Harassment and Other Bad Behaviour

Posted on May 10, 2026 by Athene Donald

Recently I sat down to dinner with two old friends, one male,one female. Our conversation turned to harassment and what emerged was pretty grim. The man referred to an incident when an older and powerful woman had groped him during an important conversation (presumably under the table), which I guess was not a story I was expecting. The woman, like me, could share many incidences of petty indignities and inappropriate behaviour occurring at different career stages. We had all survived, but were no doubt coloured by our experiences.

But harassment, and its close relation bullying, comes in many flavours. It doesn’t have to be sexual in nature, but it almost invariably involves some sort of power imbalance, real or perceived. That is why it is so particularly common directed against early career researchers, but power can take many shapes. Who controls budgets, teaching loads or signing off of grants, for instance, each of which will give a measure of power regardless of seniority. Does it count as bullying when a senior professor, I’ll call them Professor Z, refuses to teach, because it’s more important to get grants, and so leaves the work to junior faculty (Dr Y) – who of course can’t then find the time to apply for grants themselves? This is such a common problem in my experience (although not, I’m glad to say, in my own department where such behaviour was not tolerated). If that does count as bullying, who is the perpetrator? The junior faculty member is put in an impossible position since who do they complain to? Should it be the head of the teaching committee (or equivalent), the head of department or Professor Z? Each will pass the buck undoubtedly, and the complainant will gain a black mark against their name simply for complaining. Yet the reality is that the power imbalance is being used in ways that hinder the career progression of Dr Y.

That is a clear case of egotism/selfishness driving bad behaviour. There are many other motivators ranging from anxiety to jealousy, causing bullying across the faculty chain, and so often no one does anything. On one occasion, when I was on a panel appointing a new lecturer, one professor (Professor A) essentially accused me of not knowing what I was talking about, although I was the most expert member in the room on the particular sub-discipline in question, and certainly more knowledgeable than Professor A was in the area. I was so taken aback I said nothing. Nor did anyone else. At my subsequent appraisal I raised the matter, surprised both that no one had defended me nor had any follow-up apology been made. I was told the professor in question was waiting for me to apologise. For what? Again, I was too startled to defend myself. It left me feeling isolated and uncertain. The cause of the outburst was undoubtedly because I wasn’t being supportive of Professor A’s preferred candidate, and so he chose this particular weapon to neutralise my position. It’s easy to deconstruct the remark with hindsight. I’d like to think in later years I’d have been better able to defend myself.

Jealousy can play out in lots of ways, such as an attempt to knock an opponent out of the action, and can be implemented at a structural level, even – as I’m observing from afar – directed against senior and successful folk by other senior but less successful academics. A head of department can facilitate such action, by blocking funding or space to go to the successful professor (let’s call them Professor L) to allow their work to flourish. Why would they want to do this? Jealousy again, or possibly an unwise decision to back the wrong horse.   Professor L can sit there puzzled why their loyal behaviour – perhaps fulfilled by dutifully and brilliantly delivering their teaching load – and excellent grant successes are being penalised. Again, just as for a younger colleague, making a complaint can only cause the behaviour to worsen.

What head of department wants to be reminded of their misjudgements? They can feel guilty and lash out as a result. I was once greeted by one head of department, who undoubtedly had just caved in to a more senior professor to my detriment, with the completely gob-smacking but effective remark of ‘how long do you want to rant at me this time, Athene?’. Yet again, I had no response; he had successfully neutralised my would-be complaint, while making it clear I could let off steam and it wouldn’t make the slightest difference. Do they teach senior management useful phrases like this to derail complainants? Was that harassment or bullying? It was certainly using a power imbalance to put me in my place and, the source in this case, was undoubtedly and rather visibly that the head of department had felt his own weakness in the face of another senior professor’s no doubt tantrum.

That was but a passing annoyance, with fairly limited damage to me. But a long-running campaign against Professor L can be much more damaging, and yet can occur slowly but steadily over years. When PhD students are distributed, does Professor L get their fair share over the years? When a university sift for a big grant call is carried out, does Professor L’s undoubtedly strong case make the cut? When they are elected to their national academy, does the department celebrate or does it say – as happened to a friend of mine – that it ‘wasn’t their turn’ and therefore they wouldn’t celebrate the success? To take an extreme example, when Christiane Nűsslein-Volhard was awarded the Nobel Prize, the Director of her institute told her ‘Can you please organise the champagne yourself. I’ve no time to take that.’ As she put it ‘some colleagues couldn’t bear I got the prize.’

Our universities are as full of insecure people as anywhere else, indeed it’s probably a worse environment because competition sits at the heart of what we do, the drive to be first, to get that grant, to receive that accolade and so on. So, being flawed human beings, people will use whatever weapons they have to hand, driven by jealousy and anxiety.

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The Desolation of Success

Posted on May 3, 2026 by Athene Donald

Does this phrase strike a chord with you? Apparently, it first appeared in Peter Matthiessen’s book, The Snow Leopard, but I came across it quoted in Lindy Elkins-Tanton’s moving memoir Portrait of the Scientist as a Young Woman. As she puts it, and here she is discussing the feelings of those who get elected to the National Academy of Sciences:

Success and its presumed partner, happiness, are ever-receding.

In other words, however much those who aspire to election feel unhappy each year that passes them by without the desired recognition, yet when it arrives it merely confirms that success doesn’t bring unlimited happiness.  She also recognizes it as a feeling associated with, for instance, the award of tenure (in the US system), that feeling of a loss of meaning when the outcome is actually achieved.

Why struggle onward with new scientific discoveries, when only a few people in the world really care? What do I have to work toward now?

I wonder how common that reaction to tenure – or any other measure of success – really is. I know, when I was promoted to Reader (that obscure and now defunct title in the University of Cambridge that, in my day, was the stepping stone between what was still the career grade of Lecturer and full Professor), my reaction was ‘is that it?’ A reflection of the fact that, having worked flat out to establish myself and try to convince myself that I did indeed deserve to be on the Physics faculty, I suddenly wondered if that level of commitment had really been worth it. In time I adjusted, and did not have the same reaction when, a few years later, I got further promoted to Professor. I was simply overjoyed. Nevertheless, that phrase, the desolation of success, did resonate with me when I read it in the Elkins-Tanton book.

It is just another way of referring to the old idea, that it is better to travel hopefully than to arrive. A long-wished-for destination may turn out to be, if not dust and ashes, at the very least less than had been hoped for when it finally turns up. It is as true in academia as anywhere else in life. And, academia being the competitive world that it is, it is also so much easier to remember the things that didn’t work out, compared with those that did. To smart from that rejection letter from the editor of Nature twenty years after the event, or to recall a position that had briefly seemed like your dream opportunity, but which went – naturally unfairly in your opinion – to your lab mate. Schadenfreude points out that in fact the project you didn’t get a chance to take on went nowhere and you were well out of it, but it’s the rejection that stings, however long ago this all took place.

Nevertheless, in terms of the opposite of the desolation of success, maybe one should also consider that there are upsides to failure. After all, would one paper in Nature from 20 years ago really transform a lifetime of research, however wounding the rejection felt at the time. Much of the impact, at least internally, will be how one copes with it. Does it spur one on to better things, to work harder or perhaps change field – or even career to somewhere better suiting your strengths? Or does it prompt an extended period of self-loathing and depression? We are all different in how we cope with such setbacks, and context really matters, so that how we cope with one rejection may bear no relation to our reaction to a different one.

As I indicated above, I certainly felt an element of the ‘desolation of success’ when I’d achieved more than I’d ever dreamt of by mid-career. But earlier, I had responded very positively to a kick in the teeth when failing to get the position I thought was in the bag. I’d been somewhat coasting while waiting (for months) for a formal decision and was stunned by my failure. However, I was so annoyed I thought ‘I’d show them’ and reapplied myself with great vigour, transforming myself from being somewhat idle in the lab to an absolutely determined researcher. Those around me must have been startled since I was too embarrassed to explain my reinvention, the cause of which would have been invisible to them. The upshot of all this was that, far from heading back to the USA as a faculty member, I stayed in the UK, working my way up through the system, starting with a Royal Society University Research Fellowship awarded from its first cohort. Staying in the UK is definitely not something I regret, but it’s curious to think what a key turning point that moment was. Rejection can be good for you – but only sometimes.

I guess the ‘moral’ of this post is to say, success – in whatever field – may not necessarily bring joy, nor failure mean disaster. If failure turns you aside into a more healthy direction (perhaps instead of following the dreams of others for you, but finally pursuing your own) it may be the best thing that ever happened. Or it may not. But do not assume anyone who is a ‘success’ is necessarily happy. They may instead be constantly chasing the next trophy and never feeling satisfied, as there is always another target to aim at.

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Women in Tech: A Call for Action

Posted on April 27, 2026 by Athene Donald

283 years! That was the figure the DSIT Secretary of State stated would be the length of time it would take, at current rates of progress, for women to make up 50% of the Tech workforce at a reception at Number 10 last week, to celebrate the work of the Women in Tech taskforce. She spoke with great passion about the need to ensure full involvement of women in this sector. As she said, it’s not just the moral case, but the imperative of making sure women’s concerns are addressed, be it in healthcare, femtech or any of the other spheres in which AI and its like are blossoming yet women are not.

Beside her stood Anne-Marie Imafidon, the taskforce’s co-chair, whose work with young girls through Stemettes has been so influential, for both the individual girls and the community. Her work is part of the effort to make sure the pipeline of female talent is healthy, that young girls are not deterred because of societal attitudes (including of their peers) but flourish in those subjects that feed into the tech arena in later years. Children are very susceptible to the views of the adults around them, or that they see on a screen. There is plenty of evidence to this effect, such as the long-running ASPIRES project, led by Louise Archer, one of the task force members. The Institute of Physics has likewise investigated the wider problems for girls in the classroom over many years, and suggested initiatives to reduce the obvious gender biases. Yet, little seems to be changing. I’m not sure where the precise figure of 283 years that Liz Kendall mentioned came from, but a glacial speed of change seems about right.

At the moment, the taskforce is focussing on women already in the workforce, making sure they thrive there and that they move into leadership roles without bias and outdated attitudes thwarting their progression. Work on the talent pipeline will come later this summer.  One hopes that work coming out of the Curriculum and Assessment Review will feed into that, making Computing GCSE, for instance, more appealing. That is one of the subjects set for a major refresh, so there should be lots of scope to make the content both relevant to the world of today (and not the world of ten plus years ago) and not just designed for the type of kid who sees building kit as the be all and end all of computing, or have Steve Jobs or Bill Gates as their heroes. The world of tech has changed and the sorts of people moving into it need to change too. Diversity of thought and approach will only become increasingly important; they are also badly needed, if we are to create AI systems, for instance, which are representative of all of society.

Liz KendallSecretary of State, Liz Kendall, at the reception

But it isn’t just the content of the curriculum that needs a refresh, but also the way the gender stereotypes are handled, both in course materials and in the language (and actions) in the classroom. If teachers, or peers, imply girls don’t belong in the world of tech, in maths, physics of engineering, many girls will take that to heart. To give a couple of recent examples that have come my way, a female primary class teacher who admits she struggles with maths may lead the girls to assume they are likely to struggle too, and the boys to internalise the idea that girls/women are just useless at the subject. Both may carry those ideas forward into later life, neither of which will be healthy views to hold.

And in a different, but parallel example, showing how early on girls internalise messages I could cite a 6 year old family member who wanted to play football. The first club she joined was allegedly mixed, but she was the only girl and consequently miserable. A girls only club was located; a definite improvement until a girl in her class stated baldly that ‘girls don’t play football’, after which she gave up. Replace football with computing or coding and it is all too easy to see why the current pipeline of girls is so poor. Even when surrounded by other girls at the club, a single negative view can be enough to act as a deterrent. One would hope in a classroom that a teacher might quash such statements, but that requires both that a teacher heard the remark and that they felt it was inappropriate. It is that latter requirement that I fear may not always be fulfilled, and why I would like to see more attention paid to the topic of gender stereotyping across every school, as well as in teacher training.

outside no 10 for women in tech reception Outside the famous door of No 10.

In the room at No 10 last week, there was a palpable buzz. Many like-minded women (and almost entirely women, perhaps not surprisingly although that does trouble me a little), all of us committed to the ‘cause’ and active in one way or another. It was a stimulating day – quite apart from the interest that I, for one, felt in stepping through that famous black door – and much food for thought, as well as a metaphorical call for further action from everyone in the room.

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Persistence, Obstinacy and Red Lines

Posted on April 18, 2026 by Athene Donald

Persistence: such a positive word, nicely aligned with others such as resilience and self-confidence. All positives. But what do you think when you hear the word obstinacy? It conveys an edgy, tiresome quality. Perhaps someone who stops others doing what they want or ignoring what is good for them. Yet, in reality, they are two sides of the same coin.

As my last post indicated, my most recent talk has been on the subject of my ‘leadership journey’. It’s not the first time I’ve talked about how my career panned out, although the audiences vary. I well recall being asked – in Sydney to, somewhat bizarrely, a group of women lawyers – what had got me through the tough times. And, without thinking very hard about my choice of word, I described myself as obstinate. I felt that, at a time when good friends as well as those less supportive, were questioning either (or both) of my choice of research topic and university, it was obstinacy that got me through. I was determined not to let others choose what or where I did my rather unconventional research. (I was researching food physics and the interface with biology at a time when that was regarded as beyond the pale by my more conventional colleagues in Physics, who were inclined to stick with less messy materials that they thought were appropriate for a physicist). I stuck to my guns and am amused to see that these days, for instance, the Institute of Physics has a Food Physics group – so it must be respectable now. I flatter myself by thinking that I was just ahead of the game.

However, to call that persistence feels not quite right, although I clearly was persistent. I think obstinate is the more appropriate word, because I was ignoring all those wise heads around me who could either not see the point of what I was doing (the more hostile ones) or felt that I was hurting myself – and possibly my PhD students – by sticking with something that was causing me grief (my friends who knew I was finding the going tough).

Nevertheless, persistence is a virtue, whether or not you consider obstinacy is. The challenge is knowing when just a little bit more persistence will pay off, and when you should cut your losses if an experiment is not working or you can’t get the accuracy you need or…any of the hundred other things that can go wrong in the lab. There is no simple answer to that.

What about red lines? When should you feel this is a point beyond which you will not go, versus when should you persist (and we needn’t consider Theresa May’s red lines in this context)? You can set red lines in advance: perhaps to say I won’t spend more than six more months doing experiments before I write up my PhD or I won’t spend more than an additional sum of £X on reagents before I give up this approach. But the time I most remember setting red lines in advance was before a meeting with the head of department and a professor who was trying to lay claim to space (essentially both mental and literal) that impacted on what I was doing. I was no junior researcher by this point, but already an FRS, but the other professor was the new ‘kid’ on the block (also an FRS) and people were falling over themselves to accommodate him. I knew this would be a hard battle to win and being obstinate in this situation would not lead to a good outcome. So, I worked out very clearly in advance what I would concede, so that I could hold on to what was most precious to me. I also made sure I took a bottle of water with me so that, when my mouth turned dry as sawdust, as I knew it would, I was prepared.

Those red lines were very useful to me, and probably allowed me to come out of the meeting with the best outcome I could have hoped for under the trying circumstances. It taught me the importance of not going in feet first. This latter is a phrase I have used to describe an earlier style of ‘leadership’ of mine, which I learned to shed: when someone or some system is awry, just going in all guns blazing will likely get you enemies and not the desired change. It pays to think about framing of your arguments, and – as in my example above – what you imagine to be other people’s red lines or viable concessions, as well as your own. Playing the long game of persuasion is generally much more successful than a short, sharp blaze of righteous indignation.

I am reminded of this, not just because of the ‘leadership journey’ talk, but because of ongoing situations I’m involved with beyond academia, where it is clear to me how much taking your time to bring people around is more likely to be fruitful than just getting cross with any protagonist. I may not rigidly be setting red lines, but I am definitely consciously thinking where I am not prepared to go/lose ground/ or give up on. This looks much more like persistence than obstinacy to me, and I hope to the protagonists with whom I am engaging. Mentally I know the difference, and it probably behoves others to do so too.

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Taking the Chair (for the first time)

Posted on April 12, 2026 by Athene Donald

Sometimes things bring you up short in ways you weren’t expecting, and that happened this past week as I was trying to prepare for a talk. I’ve been asked to discuss my ‘leadership journey’ with a group of mid-career academics who may be facing up to the challenges of moving beyond research to, for instance, chairing committees for the first time. Now, over the years I’ve written a lot on this blog about the ups and downs of committee work and the characters one encounters.  You might have thought I’d find it easy to do such a talk. Instead, I found myself reacting badly to the whole concept initially: I’ve never been a leader was my initial thought, stoked by the fact I failed both to become a head of department or a PVC, for all I tried. (What went wrong on both occasions is perhaps a story for another day.)  But, not only was I Master of Churchill College for ten years – undoubtedly a leadership role – but I have chaired more committees over the years than I could possibly count. My first reaction was simply imposter syndrome getting loose again. For younger readers (probably just about everyone, given I’ve been retired for some time) suffice it to say imposter syndrome – at least in my case – doesn’t go away, one just gets better at managing it.

As I say I’ve written a lot about chairing committees but over the years I’ve also learned that every committee is different and one has to flex tactics to suit. When asked, by the facilitator for the upcoming talk, what my style was I can come up with some overarching themes regardless of the nature of the group, but beyond a handful of phrases one has to adapt one’s style according to what the nature of the desired outcomes is (sometimes much clearer than other times as for instance when a ranked list of grant applications is required) and whether the committee is made up of well-known colleagues or a bunch of strangers meeting for the first time. The dynamics will vary, particularly if everyone knows everyone else and has strong views about their colleagues. More on that below.

The first, and I think most important word I used to describe my style of chairing in this preliminary chat with the facilitator was ‘inclusive’. This is a word currently much bandied about; some years ago, I would have used a less definitive statement, such as ‘make sure everyone’s voice is heard’, caveated with ‘and don’t let anyone dominate’. The latter is easier said than done. Some people like to take over any discussion, regardless of their depth of knowledge or what anyone else might want to say. Practicing phrases for how to shut such people up without being downright rude can be helpful. Things like ‘that’s very interesting, now can we hear from other people round the table’ tending to the more blunt ‘I think we’ve heard your thoughts, but not everyone agrees’ if needed. At meetings where hands are raised (electronically or otherwise) it is possible simply to ignore the dominant voice for as long as possible. Sadly, on hybrid calls I have had people say ‘since I’m online I’m just going to jump in here…’ which is a tough one to control. Hybrid meetings are, in my view, the hardest to keep in good order.

But to be inclusive, it is important not just to shut the vociferous people up, but to make sure the quieter voices are heard. In Churchill, the governance arrangements at the time (since modified) meant that both students and staff were equal Trustees on the College Council. Both groups were often, I suspect, daunted by the louder voices and I tried to make sure I always brought them into the debate, particularly on matters specifically relevant to them. In general, turning formally to them meant they were happy to express their views but might have been reluctant to jump in without that invitation.

A College Council is an example of a meeting where many of the individuals know each other and may have done so for twenty or more years. That can bring its own challenges as old rivalries or tensions get played out for the nth time. As an example of how not to handle this situation, I am reminded of a search committee I sat on (not as chair) in my department many years ago. One of the other members was someone who I had a fractious relationship with, and I went into the meeting apprehensive about this. When push came to shove the two of us, in discussing one particular candidate, ended up in the unhelpful situation of claiming that ‘yes he would’ versus ‘oh no he wouldn’t’ about someone well known to both of us. As the external on the committee said to me afterwards, that was not a very constructive discussion but was definitely fuelled by past antagonism and present anxiety (at least on my part).

All that is about inclusivity, which I believe has to sit at the heart of good committee work. There are lots of other tactics I use to make sure that people remain engaged: a bit of light humour, coffee breaks in long meetings and keeping to time, for instance. I can remember one committee – again not one I was chairing, but one where the chair seemed to have no regard for time – which turned into farce as one after another of the members left for other meetings as the meeting dragged on about an hour past its scheduled end point. It is a trick to manage to keep to the allotted time without making anyone feel a decision was rushed or that they didn’t get a chance to speak. For sure, no one objects to a meeting finishing a few minutes early, but everyone can get peeved with an overrunning meeting. Once more, an example of how not to do this comes to mind, again not when I was chairing. The chair of this committee allowed the group to go round and round in circles about a particular candidate until the then Vice Chancellor stepped in and essentially said ‘enough’ and broke the loop. The chair should have done that at least half an hour earlier.

As will be apparent, I have learned a lot from watching other chairs make what, to my eyes at least, are a mess of things. That is certainly a key piece of advice I will be passing on to the mid-career academics later this week. Know what works and what does not from watching others succeed or fail. Chairing is a skill that improves with practice (and confidence). I copy below a list I made in a previous post on this subject that includes what I think are some crucial essentials (to be read in conjunction with how to be a better committee member):

  • Do your homework, read the paperwork and think about where the sticking points are likely to arise;
  •  If necessary and appropriate (and it often may not be) talk to people in advance if you know that they hold strong but opposing views;
  • Know who everyone is and what their backgrounds are; remember names;
  •  Concentrate so that you know when to wind up a particular discussion point;
  • Take the time necessary to reach a consensus, or at least let those whose views are being over-ridden feel that they have been heard;
  • Try to ensure anyone who wants to speak gets their chance – in particular do not let a couple of vociferous and possibly arrogant people dominate. It is the chair’s job to see this does not happen and that the timid get their moment;
  • Do not let tempers flare and use humour if you can to keep the meeting light (self-deprecating humour is fine and is often described as typically British);
  • Use breaks as time-outs if necessary, but also to allow legs to stretch, comfort to be restored and caffeine and sugar levels to be banked up as desired.

Finally, it is probably good to be aware of what not to do. I had fun many years ago describing all those chairs you do not want to be or meet. Sadly, I have met all of them, but I sincerely hope I cannot be pigeonholed into any of the categories myself.

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