A woman survivor

of the genocide:

Killers went to find them and killed an uncountable number of Tutsi. I only used to hear shouts from machetes. It was like people cutting banana trees. The killers used to cut Tutsi for a long time, people screamed.

A man who participated in the killing of the survivor’s brother:

In fact, the genocide happened, and we have been involved in its execution. … The genocide has been prepared for a long time, and it has been executed by us, the Rwandese. It was not because we hated each other, but bad governance. But now, we have a good country of good governance which encourages us to love each other, and work. That is why I am thankful to our government of unity of Rwandese. I think you cannot find another government that can reunite people again like this one.

The woman survivor: He [the perpetrator] got involved in the death of my brother as he said. But due to the good government we have which encouraged people to ask for the forgiveness, we now live in peace. It is really nice to step forward and ask forgiveness to people whom you committed crimes, like the genocide. (Excerpts from speeches during a commemoration event in April 2019)

As our journey continues through the dense forests of academic exploration, we arrive at our third break – a clearing that provides respite and where we can catch our breath. Given the emotional and, at times, complex topics covered in the preceding chapters, we may be feeling a bit weary by now, but this pause is essential for us to reflect on the ground we have covered so far. Picture this clearing not just as a place to rest but as a crucial overlook where we can see how the terrain we have crossed has shaped our path. Each twist and turn in our recent chapters has forged new trails of understanding, much like a river carving its way through a rugged landscape. Here, we’ll take the time to reflect on the intricate patterns and intersections that have emerged in these chapters, concerned with a host of potential dilemmas and challenges that, on first inspection, may be hidden from view.

In Chapter 10, Lisa Edge critically examines PhD students’ challenges with complex trauma within the neoliberal university system. Despite the promotion of mental health awareness in higher education, Lisa argues that the structural and cultural barriers in academia can exacerbate the difficulties for students dealing with trauma. We are invited to consider how the competitive, individualistic culture of academia often mirrors the traumatic experiences of these students, making their academic journey particularly precarious. Lisa also critiques the commercialisation of ‘trauma-informed’ approaches, highlighting the importance of genuine safety and trust in supervisory relationships. Suppose you are a supervisor or considering supervising for the first time.

For over a decade, a series of contributions have made clear how research agendas centred on the critical study of logistics provide a useful lens to interpret transformations in our contemporary world. Logistics, broadly conceived as the art and science of managing the mobility of people and things to achieve particular objectives, has become central to the orchestration of contemporary capitalism (Neilson 2012). This is because expanding trade and production networks, and the radical reorganization of supply chains across the globe associated with them, has propelled logistics from a discrete and specialized military art to a ubiquitous science of circulation (Cowen 2014). Logistics, in this sense, can be more specifically understood as a calculative rationality and a suite of spatial practices aimed at the production of circulatory regimes and at their securitization (Chua et al 2018). A critical gaze on logistics exposes the violent worlds of circulation and their association with war making (Cowen 2014), colonization (Chua et al 2018) and the slave trade (Harney and Moten 2013), with labour regimes and their lived realities and routines (Khalili 2020). Although originally centred on the analysis of the operative dimension of supply-chain capitalism, the strength and validity of this critical gaze has been validated by a variety of research projects concerned with processes as diverse as humanitarianism (Ziadah 2019), food regimes (Henderson and Ziadah 2022), advanced automation systems (Lin 2022), consumption (Shapiro 2023) and gendered circuits of violence (True and Hozić 2020).

Rio's PhD research explores the impact and psychological harms of Imprisonment for Public Protection (IPP) sentencing on both prisoners and their family members.

Introduction

Grief doesn't know the concept of time and is a weird process. Some days, you act like it doesn't exist, and then there are days where you feel everything, like a tonne of bricks lying over your chest. Losing a loved one is an experience for which nothing in life truly prepares you and is sadly a reality that eventually touches everyone. The most difficult truth about grief is that it never truly disappears. Whether triggered by a special milestone, birthday, anniversary, or a song that evokes memories, something will always remind you of them and intensify feelings of grief. Anyone who has lost a loved one knows that grief is not a linear process, and there can be many different stages. For me, it has been an emotional rollercoaster characterised by its unpredictability; however, it is becoming easier to navigate with time and self-care. In this chapter, I will share some of my personal experiences and discuss what I have found helpful for coping with bereavement. I will begin by recounting key moments from my life journey and then delve into how I have managed the complexities of grief while pursuing a PhD. This chapter touches on some very sensitive topics and experiences.

From GCSE failure to PhD pursuit

If someone had told me 20 years ago that I would end up attending university and doing a PhD, I would have laughed in their face and thought they were off their head.

Nick's PhD research explored the use and supply of image and performance-enhancing drugs. Nick developed this thesis into a solo-authored monograph, The Muscle Trade, published by Bristol University Press in November 2023.

Introduction: The start of a new journey

The PhD process can sometimes seem interminable. Many post-graduate researchers perform a precarious juggling act throughout their studies, maintaining regular teaching commitments, taking on hourly paid marking, and perhaps orchestrating childcare responsibilities. This means that most full-time post-graduate researchers take around four years to complete, while those in part-time study tend to take approximately five to seven years (depending on funding and interruptions). Research indicates that a whole range of factors can act as roadblocks to completing a PhD, including relationship breakdown, having dependants, practical or bureaucratic issues with data collection, poor supervision, and personal extenuating circumstances (van de Schoot et al, 2013).

However, this chapter will, I hope, serve to leave the reader with some faith that there is light at the end of the tunnel. By good grace, I was one of the few who finished the process in three years, thanks in good measure to a fully funded studentship, consistently excellent supervision, and a good helping of privilege. This is something to bear in mind over the following paragraphs, which will first paint a notably optimistic picture of the much-maligned Viva Voce.

‘We have 16 nationalities here’, enthused Mamadou after I introduced myself and told him that I was conducting field research for a project on asylum seekers’ accommodation. This was my first visit to the Hotel House, a 17-storey residential building in Porto Recanati, a small but seasonally bustling coastal municipality in the Macerata province. ‘We have Nigerians, Pakistanis, Afghans, Ghana, Romania, Togo …’, he said, naming 11 or so nationalities/countries, and then stumbling and starting again from Nigerians. My research is specifically concerned with asylum seekers, I interrupted. Do any of them live here? ‘Oh, we have them all’, he said, adamant:

I declined, wondering if he was offering me a discount or if it was a case of bad maths.

Mamadou seemed to know each person entering and exiting the building and was able to modulate his exchanges with them accordingly. In the brief time I spent with him, he received a small bundle of 50-euro notes from a West African man who started shouting at him in a language I could not identify, and to whom he responded calmly. He raised instead his voice and gesticulated while giving stern instructions in French to a group of three Senegalese nationals crossing the lobby on the way out of the building.

To bring this book to a close, we would like to take a minute to address you, the reader. If we were able to speak to you now, we would want to ask you how you are feeling now you have absorbed the stories of the authors? Have any chapters spoken to you personally? Have any experiences surprised you? Have you found solace in reading these stories? And finally, do you feel a sense of catharsis now you have reached the end of this collection of diverse narratives of PhD life?

While we are unable to ask you these questions directly, we do hope that we have been able to offer some reassurance and, if possible, some support, regardless of where you are within your PhD journey. Whether you are still debating to undertake a PhD or not, struggling to connect with your project, finding it difficult to navigate a fraught supervisor/supervisee relationship, grappling with your work-life balance, facing the daunting task of moving country to pursue your academic dreams, dealing with an unexpected life event, or wresting with your inner saboteur, our intention was to provide you, whatever your situation may be, with some words of reassurance from those who have walked or are currently walking a similar path.

If we were to take stock of some of the central themes that have appeared throughout this collection, words such as self-doubt, lack of ability, fear of external criticism, isolation and loneliness, stress, mental health struggles, financial difficulties, academic pressures, hyper-competition, and career uncertainty may well be conjured. This is, indeed, a sobering and, if we are honest, a rather depressing picture of PhD life. However, within this sea of negativity, there is a light in the distance beckoning us to safer shores.

Adam's PhD topic was centred on the occupational choices of British serial murderers, with a particular focus on those who held predominantly driving-focused professions.

Introduction: Where to start?

In attempting to plan and ultimately write this chapter centred on the theme of imposter syndrome post-PhD, my thoughts repeatedly return to my recent attendance at the 2023 European Society of Criminology conference that took place in Florence, Italy. Yes, Florence is as beautiful and vibrant as we are told it is, full of culture, history and, most importantly, mouth-wateringly exquisite food. Looking back as I sit to write this chapter, I cherish the conversations and friendships I was fortunate to have and to build, and the memories that will not quickly fade, including me and a fellow colleagues asking locals if they could help us work out how the cigarette vending machines worked; visiting the local community swimming pool; eating gelato as we admired the beautiful architecture of the Baptistery of St. John and, of course, attending a variety of interesting panels.

On the face of it, this all sounds fantastic, and, indeed, I recognise the extremely lucky situation to be in when my employer funds me to attend such events. However, the lingering, sickening anticipation and dread of my panel talk are splintered deep within such memories – stuck between these moments of joy. I had arrived in Florence on a Tuesday, and unlike some of my more fortunate peers, my panel was not until Friday afternoon.

As a cultural sociologist and social historian, Charlotte's PhD research is centred around policewomen's experiences throughout the 1970s, the 1980s and 1990s.

Introduction

As the earlier chapters of this book have captured so far, all PhD experiences are unique. In my case, the recent cost-of-living crisis meant that I needed to secure full-time employment earlier than initially planned. In this chapter, I will reflect upon my experiences as a first-generation student navigating the barriers of Higher Education while working full time. I draw upon time management, creating a sustainable work-life balance, the importance of a strong support network and navigating imposter syndrome. I also offer insight into lessons learned for anybody who may find themselves in a similar situation.

At the time of writing this chapter, I have been working as a full-time lecturer for just over 12 months. After finishing my master's degree in Sociology and Social Justice at Staffordshire University in August 2020, I was awarded a partial scholarship. This meant that, in exchange for teaching and marking support, my tuition fees were paid for by the University.

Where my story begins

When I was offered a partial scholarship, I jumped at the opportunity. Although I had fallen in love with academia early on, I was uncertain about whether I would be able to pursue a career within it because of my ‘untraditional’ background. For the entirety of my schooling, I received Free School Meals (henceforth referred to as FSM).

Manikandan's PhD research topic is closely connected with international issues, specifically exploring the lived experiences of undocumented migrants in the West Midlands region.

Introduction

This chapter is all about my reflections and personal experiences while pursuing postgraduate study or a PhD in the UK. Currently, I am pursuing my PhD in criminology at Staffordshire University, a full-funded course offered by the University. My decision to embark on this academic path is driven by a quest for a more enriching research environment, one that transcends the limitations I have faced in my home country. There is a lot of debate on the Indian education system from both positive and negative sides. However, in my experience, criminology and criminal justice often lack emphasis on critical thinking and practical research skills, which compelled me to seek opportunities abroad. I was drawn towards the UK and its higher education system because of its research environment, innovation, critical thinking, and its long history of excellent education. It was not just about getting a degree but about joining a worldwide community of research scholars. In this chapter, I will reflect on my motivation, the challenges encountered, and the insights gained throughout the process of applying for postgraduate study in the UK from an Indian perspective.

Indian education and my experience

During my time in school, I never considered pursuing a PhD, and at that time, I did not even know what a PhD was. My experience with the Indian education system has been consistently challenging because I do not fit the ‘ideal’ student profile they arguably want.

The Centri d’Accoglienza Straordinaria (Extraordinary Reception Centres for asylum seekers, CAS) managed by the provincial chapter of the Italian Red Cross, the protagonists of this chapter, were the most difficult ones for me to locate due to their remoteness and isolation. Although over time this proved to be extremely convenient for repeated informal visits, they were the only CAS that I first visited through a gatekeeper. This was Cristina, a sinologist by training, who worked as a mediatore culturale (cultural mediator) for the Red Cross, teaching Italian classes and performing administrative tasks across this subcontractor's facilities. In July 2017, she accompanied me to their San Lorenzo CAS (mentioned in Chapter 1), a place she knew well as she used to go there as a youngster to participate in the summer camps organized by her local church. She was proud to have returned there in a humanitarian capacity.

‘We have 27 people here’, Cristina told me during our visit there, ‘but there will be 33 soon, as we won the new Bando [Public Tender organized by the Prefettura]. Thirty-three is too many. Ideally, we should have 25. This is a good number to manage’. When I asked how decreasing San Lorenzo's occupancy by eight asylum seekers would improve their management, or indeed ameliorate the experiences of those residing there, she couldn't offer clear explanations. She did explain, however, how all new arrivals were sent there, before being transferred to the other CAS managed by her organization, depending on availability of places and good behaviour. She also recounted how, when the facility first opened, residents of this hamlet organized a meeting with the bishop, pleading for him not to authorize the opening of a CAS in the diocese-owned building.

On 30 August 2017 I woke up to discover that five identical videos had reached my WhatsApp number. They were sent by asylum seekers I had met over the previous two months of field research. The video depicted a man, a Nigerian national I later learnt, standing on the edge of the roof of Hotel Le Grazie, the largest Centro d’Accoglienza Straordinaria (Extraordinary Reception Centre for asylum seekers; CAS) in the Macerata province. The man was staring at the horizon. After a few moments, he turned his back to the man-made three-storey chasm, opened his arms wide, and let himself go, his body producing a loud THUMP as it hit the ground after a half-somersault.

Border deaths have become an unacceptable component of our everyday life. Whether these are the result of violent and militarized policing, of self-harm practices engendered by experiences of confinement and deportability, or of processes of organized abandonment, it is intolerably clear that contemporary border regimes create the conditions for deaths to occur.1 I should not have been so stunned, enraged or indeed surprised, then, that in a place like Hotel Le Grazie an attempted suicide could take place. As a building of (forced) refuge for migrants, the hotel is an integral component of the European Union (EU) border interactive machine, the manifestation of the humanitarian hand that cares, to use Agier's (2011) famous expression, that is inextricably interwoven with the securitized hand that strikes, that is, the sovereign fist that reacts to and lands on EU-bound migrants during the violent patrolling of their routes across the Sahel or the Balkans, during Search and Rescue military operations across the Mediterranean, or through the various agreements that attempt to contain migrants at the outer periphery of Europe.

Suzanne's PhD research focuses on women and the impact of online gambling. The theoretical framework adopted is that of the emerging Deviant Leisure perspective. Suzanne also looks at the marketing techniques used by the gambling industry, particularly TV advertising, and how they are directed specifically towards women.

Introduction

When I was in my mid-30s, and my twin boys were five years old, I started studying for a master's in criminology with a vague intention to move on to a PhD afterwards. I was new to the social sciences (my previous qualifications were in Philosophy and Law), but I found the sheer breadth of the discipline fascinating, with my optional modules including policing, white-collar crime, and leisure, consumerism and harm. This last module introduced me to the idea of gambling as a criminological topic, as two of my lecturers had recently written an article on the harms of lifestyle gambling as a male leisure activity. The article was excellent, but I felt that it wasn't reflective of my own personal experience as an occasional female gambler. On further investigation, it seemed that women's gambling was generally under-researched, and that was an opportunity that aligned with my own interests; so, the following year I started my PhD in criminology, focusing on the gambling industry and its impact on female gamblers. I studied part time, and for the duration of my studies (over six years), I was a lone parent, having divorced a few years previously.

Daniel's PhD in Sociology made use of ethnographic methods with crack cocaine users in South London over a period of 12 months. The PhD was undertaken part time over a period of five years as Daniel worked as a contract researcher in the London area.

Introduction: The status quo of academic life for the foreseeable future

So, you got your PhD well done. No small feat. You beat the odds; you defeated the isolation and inevitable lack of support on top of other personal stuff you may have had going on for you at the time. You probably took on exploitative teaching and admin responsibilities and buttered up senior academics in the process to get yourself into some temporary academic position. Well done. You bided your time, took on the extra favours like doing the seniors’ jobs at times, flattered them, and cited their publications. You came across as ‘the future’, someone ‘breaking through’ who had immense potential to … just continue this ridiculous cycle just to get noticed in academia.

In these early exploitative roles in which you could not stop saying ‘yes’ to more work, you were encouraged to do the leg work for aimless and almost inevitably flawed research proposals which were either destined to be rejected or change almost nothing in society. The research seemed to have a good moral and social purpose, but the funder rarely seemed to shortlist your team. You reasoned you were unlucky and spent months rejigging your proposal only to receive bad news once again.

How to chronicle the border crisis? From my privileged vantage point, that of a white male mobile academic securely employed in a global university, the most striking feature of this crisis is its worldly nature. What is immediately evident to my eyes is that exploitation, coloniality, death and violence are constitutive elements of a transcontinental migration containment machine which, in its current conjuncture, is heterogeneously but simultaneously realized in Macerata, the English Channel, the Darién Gap, Cox Bazaar, the central Mediterranean, Beitbridge and elsewhere. In fact, from the privileged vantage point of development studies, the transdisciplinary field that informs my academic gaze, these are constitutive elements of an always already global historical project of differentiation and hierarchization of territories and populations that marginalizes, dispossesses and subordinates the (im/mobile) majority world. From my privileged vantage point, exploitation, coloniality, death and violence constitute an analytical starting point rather than something in need of confirmation. This is precisely where the problem of chronicling the crisis begins.

If a chronicle is understood to be a report, and specifically a report that is given in a chronological order,1 what sort of chronological order should I use to talk about the European Union (EU) border and its crisis in Macerata? One that privileges the historical and conjunctural resonances and synchronicity that subsume this province within global space-times?