Maastricht Mediation Clinic ➡️ Maastricht Negotiation and Conflict Resolution Clinic

Four years ago, Catalina Goanta and I passed on the duties of managing the Maastricht Mediation Clinic to Nikki van Dijk and Kristien Festjens, who graciously took over the clinic's reigns. As various other engagements have taken up their time more recently, I've agreed to take back the management of the clinic.

With this transition, I've also decided to broaden the scope of the clinic from just focusing on mediation to something a bit broader: The result is the formation of the Maastricht Negotiation & Conflict Resolution Clinic. For our first event as the MNCRC (organized jointly with our International Business Law Course), we are honored to host Eva Chan, who was recently elected as the Co-Chair of the Young International Council for Commercial Arbitration. We are very grateful to have Eva share her experiences, not only as an Associate at Skadden Arps, but as someone who is now leading the immense knowledge network that is the Young ICCA.

The Young ICCA is an organization that is opening doors for early-career-practitioners and students to the world of international commercial arbitration through skills training workshops, mentoring programs, and assortment of other admirable efforts, which we hope many of our students at the Maastricht University Faculty of Law will sign up for (especially after Eva's talk).

The Young ICCA is an organization that is opening doors for early-career-practitioners and students to the world of international commercial arbitration through skills training workshops, mentoring programs, and assortment of other admirable efforts, which we hope many of our students at the Maastricht University Faculty of Law will sign up for (especially after Eva's talk).

Lastly, I would also like to extend my gratitude to Catalina, Nikki, Kristien, Mardoeka Christensen and Monique Benning (formerly with Stichting Trajekt), who made the MMC possible. I am also very thankful to all of the people who have participated in our events and clinical trainings over the last ten years. You know who you are. I hope that as we attempt to grow our MNCRC community, you will continue to be interested in our ongoings. Mahalo nui loa!

Being a Foreigner in The Netherlands Now

“The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.”

— Martin Luther King Jr.

I remember this doom and gloom feeling from back in 2016, right after Donald Trump won the US Presidency. Having voted for Hilary Clinton that year, I was not only disappointed, but horrified by what Trump’s victory would mean for people like me (i.e., a minority). Reading the news and the dreadful speculations of what Trump would do in office became an agony-inducing, traumatic experience (so much so that I stopped reading the news for about 3 years). I remember asking my PhD supervisor very soon after that election whether I could stick around in Maastricht when I was done with my PhD. Even as a foreigner, I felt more safe and more accepted in The Netherlands than I did back home, or at least I did back then.

Last night’s election in The Netherlands - and PVV’s commanding victory - brought back remnants of this foreboding feeling. So much so that it immediately made me feel less comfortable being a foreigner in The Netherlands. However, having experienced this feeling once before, my despair has been - so far - less apocalyptic. I find some comfort in knowing that politics, more often than not, is a process of perpetual oscillation. At least in most democracies, parties and politicians will rise and fall at the whim of its citizens. While for the time being, many Dutch citizens have opted to support Geert Wilders (it’s either that or they could no longer tolerate what the VVD-led coalitions were peddling), this phase too shall pass. As they say about the weather in New England, if you don’t like it, just wait a few minutes.

Behind this cognitive bravado though, I am actually quite shaken up by the thought of Wilders becoming Prime Minister (even though it would be his democratic right to be one), as I am a foreigner living on foreign soil with a government that is increasingly hostile towards outsiders (Timmermans’ post-election speech, while nice, was not very reassuring). Nevertheless, given that I teach courses that advocate for empathy-building and communicating (even) with people that we disagree with, I am actively trying to do my utmost to rationalize this current situation: For example, I try to see (most) PVV voters’ decision, not as a personal attack on foreigners, but as a manifestation of their frustration for having had their voices slighted for too long by the majority. After years of Mark Rutte and the VVD holding the reigns, a large percentage of the Dutch population wanted something different. Add to that, a relentless increase in their costs of living, a terrible housing crisis, and the perception that their government was putting their interests behind that of others, these voters just wanted the status quo to change. Even if that meant voting for an extreme-right, nationalist party with a leader that wants The Netherlands to ban the Koran and to leave the EU. This was a vote - however myopic - intended for self-preservation, using foreigners and migrants as scapegoats for their woes. As they say in relationship psychology, “hurt people, hurt people” and this, I think, is what we are witnessing.

I also think this situation is a perfect manifestation of what Paul Bloom describes in his book, Against Empathy, as the circle of empathy and the limits thereof: We, as individuals, often exhaust a lot of energy taking care of ourselves and those close to us, but less on those that are outside of our immediate circles of empathy. Wilders’ promise for the Dutch to “get their country back” and to stop the “asylum tsunami” is not only a dog whistle to galvanize an anti-immigration movement, but a misguided move towards making the Dutch circle of empathy smaller. While some may not see the immediate problem with the idea of only looking after their own, Martin Niemöller’s poem, First They Came, serves as a haunting reminder of why this isolationist approach never really works out in the long run.

So this is where I find myself: my rational mind at odds with how I feel. Today, while dropping off my son at school and going to the library with my daughter (both Dutch citizens), I couldn’t help but to wonder which of the people I came across in the city voted for PVV (which in Maastricht is one in every four eligible voter). My rational mind would say that these are not bad people. They are hurt too. They just want self-preservation and protect their loved ones. But my timid heart wanders and whispers into my ears, “they probably don’t like you” - or worse - “they might bully your kids because they look like outsiders” and I find myself scared and worried. So I am hurting. But somehow, I have to make sure that I don’t feed into the cycle of hurt. The problem is, I’m not sure if I can. I don’t know if the weather will change quickly enough. But while I wait for my rational mind and how I feel to be more in alignment, I’ll continue to take my Dutch classes and try to pretend that I am not-so-foreign by humming Sinterklaas songs while I cycle around the city on my bakfiets. Just in case.

Our Career, not as a Ladder, but as a River

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Last week, I got to host Prof. dr. Christine Neuhold (the Dean of Maastricht University Faculty of Arts and Social Sciences) for the Maastricht Young Academy’s Growing Up in Science event. She shared with us her story of resilience, finding joy in what she does, and much more. While there were many aspects to her story that I found inspiring (i.e. "color the cow green"), I was particularly moved by her idea, not to see our career in terms of a ladder for us to climb up or down, but as a river. Our career is not something linear. Instead, like a river, it weaves and flows, branching out at times and merging together at other points. Thank you again Christine for all your hard work as a Dean and for sharing your motivational words with us!

Re-defining Masculinity (Again and Again)

““When women are depressed, they eat or go shopping. Men invade another country. It’s a whole different way of thinking.” ”

— Elayne Boosler

According to the American Psychological Association’s 2018 report, perpetuation of “traditional masculinity” - or toxic masculinity - is harmful, not only to those who are on the receiving end of its manifestations, but to those that display it. No big surprises there. Suppressing one’s emotions, having to be “hard” at all times, and displaying a “tough-guy” behavior (e.g. aggression and violence) when confronted, not only sound antisocial and unpleasant, but quite unhealthy, if not dangerous.

While I would never label myself as being “hard” or a “tough guy”, I never really learned how to express or talk about my feelings very comfortably growing up in Japan. As a kid, I always had to put up a facade of conformity, especially when in public, which meant be quiet, be respectful, and don’t bother anyone with your problems (it’s very cliche, but true nevertheless). It took me until I was in my mid 30s to first see a therapist, who had to (and still is) teach(ing) me, what feelings feel like and how to honestly answer that annoying question of “how are you feeling?” (apparently, “I’m ok” is not a feeling). All of this is to say that I am not an expert on masculinity, but am quite curious about what being masculine means today. 

While it is quite easy to villainize toxic masculinity and call out idiots like Luis Rubiales (unfortunately, his name can easily be replaced by numerous other candidates so feel free to insert your own man here), I am not entirely sure where bad masculinity ends and good masculinity begins. For example, the Bible - in 1 Corinthians 16:13-14 - advises men to “[b]e watchful, stand firm in the faith, act like men, be strong. Let all that you do be done in love”, which feels, perhaps rather obviously, patriarchal and overly religious (not really my cup of tea). For those of us less pious, there are more secular attempts to define masculinity through mnemonics like the “3Ps of masculinity”, which guides males to be providing, protecting, and preparing. Perhaps less antiquated, but still feels slightly awkward due to the lingering sense of paternalism.

Whichever definition one subscribes to, perhaps the discomfort that comes with speaking about masculinity today is due to the unavoidable reality that masculinity has - at least recently - garnered a lot of negative attention (and hardly any good ones): #MeToo or #SeAcabó are obvious movements that shed light on and attempted to thwart the horrific behaviors by men perpetuated against women. Even away from the more salient news articles, masculinity has been attributed as one of the major causes of high crime rates (as men are are more likely to commit violent crimes than women) evidenced by how “men are overrepresented in prisons” or why sustainability initiatives fail (because “men resist green behavior as unmanly”).

Some may feel that as a result of the aforementioned #MeToo movement and various perpetrators being caught and excommunicated from civil society, things have gotten better (although the Rubiales incident would suggest otherwise). Thanks in part to the popularity of authors like Brene Brown and Esther Perel, even men are now talking about being more open and being vulnerable. In other words, it has become more acceptable for men to not be so masculine (at least in the traditional sense) relative to some decades ago. However, this new, more vulnerable and emotional version of masculinity is not without its own problems as well. This can be evidenced by the emergence of “petulant vulnerability”, which is when one “uses the language of vulnerability as a cudgel… feign[ing] emotional fragility as a means of retaining power.” So perhaps in some ways, things are getting better, but in other ways, not. 

This brings us back to the central question of where bad masculinity ends and good masculinity begins. In sum, toxic masculinity is bad. Petulant vulnerability is bad. Patriarchy is bad. Men trying to cling on to power and dominance is bad. All of which begs the question of what is good masculinity then?! And here, I am still not entirely sure and am slightly reluctant to offer a thought of my own for the fear of being entirely wrong. Nevertheless (hello vulnerability), I think masculinity is kindness. It is being able to create a sense of belonging for others without being (overly) paternalistic about it. It’s about trying to help those in need when asked for an assist. It’s about trying to talk to my kids about their feelings and sharing mine with them (even when it is very unflattering). It’s about doing household chores without feeling like I’m entitled to compliments and praise. It’s about knowing that I don’t really know and being open to listening and learning, knowing that things will change tomorrow. Maybe, and just maybe, being masculine could even mean that when we are feeling down, we don’t go invade another country, but we go eat instead? 

Curious what masculinity means to you.

Is There Room for “Unreasonable Hospitality” in Education?

Over the summer, I managed to take small breaks from work, traveling to Belgrade and Rome with friends and going camping with my family in Rheeze (a place up north in The Netherlands, where it rained for most of the time while we were there). I’m slowly getting ready for the upcoming school year by “micro-working” to psych myself up for the bump and grind of another season in academia; and as I do so, one of the books I read over the summer is giving me a lot of food for thought: Will Guidara’s Unreasonable Hospitality.

Full disclosure, I am a huge sucker for food-related books and TV shows. The first book that fish-hooked me into this genre was Anthony Bourdain’s acclaimed autobiography, Kitchen Confidential (may he rest in peace). I remember simply falling in love with how restaurants – especially the high-end ones – operated. The chaos and madness behind the pristine elegance. The fiery passion of the chefs to perfect their craft and their relentless dedication bordering on torment and psychosis. These days, anytime I need a jolt of inspiration or crave examples of explosive creativity, I go through Massimo Bottura’s Never Trust a Skinny Italian Chef. I love watching shows like The Chef’s Table or The Bear and find myself getting immersed in their world and I just can’t get enough of it.

Will Guidara is not a chef, but one of the most renowned restauranteurs in the world, who owned and operated Eleven Madison Park together with the James Beard Award winning chef, Daniel Humm. As such, Guidara’s book is not about cooking, but is about the business of running restaurants, what hospitality is, and how to create a culture and the team to become the best in the world at something. As such, the book is more about management philosophy than it is a cookbook or a chef’s tell-all. Nevertheless, I found his book to be absolutely captivating and thought-provoking.

The book also hit me on a personal level, because I’ve always loved to host and entertain people, to prep meals for hungover friends, or make Christmas dinners for students that couldn’t make it home to their families. I took pleasure in catering to their needs by paying attention to their subtle gestures and listening to what they were saying. I attribute this tendency to me growing up in Japan and being inculcated with practice of omotenashi, a kind of hospitality where the host pays attention to every detail and anticipate the needs of their guests (although admittedly, my sense of omotenashi has become rather dull since moving to the Netherlands as I’ve been told that this kind of hospitality is “too much” for the Dutch, but that is another post all together).

Without mentioning the word, Guidara essentially talks about omotenashi in his book. About how going above and beyond and “caring is cool” and the importance of making people seen and welcomed. As he notes, there is “nobility in service” and in everything that they do, there is intentionality and purpose (i.e. to amaze their customers and to make them feel valued). To create the world’s best restaurant, Guidara had to cultivate a strong and cohesive team and a culture to promote excellence, curiosity, and a sense of purpose and the book details this laborious process.

While restaurants and universities may not have much in common at first glance, I see a lot of overlapping similarities: For example, award-winning restaurants not only offer dishes prepared using quality products and impeccable cooking techniques that fuse together to create mastery of flavors, but call for attentive service and a level of hospitality that makes their customers feel unconditionally welcomed and heard. Similarly, it is not enough for universities to just teach up-to-date materials and impart relevant knowledge that prepares students for employment and society at large (the meal), but how we teach and how we connect with our students (the service) is just as important.

When I see new teachers, I sometimes see them fall into the trap of focusing too much on the meal (i.e. just trying to learn the materials that they have to teach) without paying enough attention on the service-end (i.e. listening to the students, paying attention to their needs, and connecting with them at a more human-to-human level).  

Of course there are stark differences too between a restaurant and a university. The biggest difference being that we – as teachers – are not here to host the students as if they are customers at Michelin-starred restaurant, serving their every wish and whim. At times, we have the duty to impart difficult lessons and give them challenges that help them grow. From time to time, we even have to let them fail. Nevertheless, what I take away from Unreasonable Hospitality is the thought that there must be a way – without over-pampering or coddling the students – to make them feel heard and be offered a learning environment where they feel a sense of belonging. In other words, how can we incorporate various aspects of unreasonable hospitality into our education? In finding a way to do so, I truly believe that we can transform an ordinary classroom experience into an extraordinary one.

Finding Inspiration (in the Usual Places)

I had the great fortune of joining the Sustainable Global Economic (SGEL) Law Summer School this week, where I got to ride on the wonderful Ivana Isailovic's (UvA) generous coattails to present and discuss the Achbita case with a group of inspiring PhDs and early career researchers. The entire event, which included (but definitely not limited to) the likes of Corinne Blalock (Yale) talking about Law & Political Economy or Phillip Paiement (Tilburg) discussing climate litigation, was an incredible learning experience to say the least. What inspired me the most though was witnessing these early career researchers (and soon-to-be-if-not-already star scholars) share their thoughts and insights with one another with such enthusiasm and vigor.

The wonderful participants of the SEGL Summer School. Me in the back standing on two chairs.

For some time now, I’ve been making my research somewhat secondary, prioritizing instead an increasing assortment of “other” tasks (from parenting to teaching and taking on various admin and organizational tasks). While I’ve managed to churn out the bare minimum amount of publications to keep me in the game, I was not attending conferences and interacting with the research community enough (at least not in a very meaningful way). Almost to the point that I felt quite behind on some of the developments that have transpired in the legal/academic world during my hiatus and I felt somewhat insecure about getting back into it.

The kind invitation by Ivana to teach in this summer school, where I got to experience joy and enthusiasm about conducting research and disseminating/hearing theories and legal narratives once again was an utter delight that helped me shed my insecurities. The participants were discussing ideas and exploring sometimes provocative thoughts with the intent to understand and to learn from one another. I am particularly grateful of Debadatta Bose (UvA) and Barbora Hnatova (Charles) for entrusting me with their draft papers for commenting and to Andrea Leiter (UvA) for allowing me to crash her workshop, where I got to hear ideas from João Telésforo (São Paulo) and Nevena Jevremovic (Aberdeen).

As I reluctantly enter the “middle age” stage of my career with all the baggage and pressures that come with it, I felt rejuvenated by the vitality of this wonderful group that joined us from all corners of the world. While I am still not sure whether I will make research the primary part of my job (as I am much better with the other facets of this job), with this renewed sense of purpose and excitement for research and making new discoveries, I hope to spend some time over the summer catching up and reengaging with my research, which I had decided to put on hold some time ago. Thank you Ivana and to all the participants of this wonderful event for your camaraderie and for your inspiration! I am humbled and motivated.

The Dutch Internationalisation Debate, Generative AI Models & English as a Competitive Advantage?

For those in Dutch academia, a divisive topic that has been dragging on for sometime has been the attempts by various Dutch politicians to curb the influx of international students flocking to Dutch universities and to require Dutch to be the main language of education.

The likes of Independent MP, Pieter Omzigt, have staunchly argued that it is the legal obligation of the universities to teach in Dutch and any deviation from that (e.g. to teach in English) is something that is permitted only in “exceptional cases.” As things stand, he resented that there are too many international students and to many programs being taught in English, much to the detriment of Dutch students and taxpayers. Those in support of the curb and those against have been vociferously making their arguments: Minister of Education, Culture and Science, Robbert Dijkgraaf, for example, cited to preventing over crowding the classrooms, reducing the already high workload for the teaching staff, and resolving the congested housing issue as some of the arguments in favor of the curb, while those in opposition like the Dean of University of Amsterdam’s Faculty of Social and Behavioral Sciences, Agneta Fischer, argued that contact with foreign students greatly benefit their research and education.

“We are convinced that curbing internationalisation would harm not only the development of universities, but also the social environment in the regions in which they are based. It would also have an impact on the future of Dutch students, many of whom consciously choose an English-medium study programme and an international study experience with a view to their future professional field. To us, all this seems clear and logical.”

— Rianne Letschert, President of Maastricht University

On a personal level, I think it makes sense for those that live and work in the Netherlands to learn Dutch and for the Dutch universities to adopt some sort of an admissions framework that limit the student intake and to do some quality control (which is a rather unpopular idea around these parts of the world) to alleviate the problems raised by Minister Dijkgraaf. What I want to introduce into this discussion though is a concern that popped into my head as I’ve been trying to ask ChatGPT the “right prompts” on assortment of tasks (and there are indeed right and wrong ways to do this): How does this issue of curbing internationalization intertwine with the growth of generative AI in education?

Image produced by Dall-E with the prompt “students using laptops in van gogh style”

While ChatGPT (currently) supports more than 85 languages from Awadhi to Vietnamese, the OpenAI website is only available in English and they admit that their “models (e.g., GPT-3, 3.5, and 4) are optimized for use in English.” Many of the models are “robust enough to generate good results for a variety of languages,” but it appears that those using generative AI in English has a (slight?) competitive advantage (at least for the time being). We are still at the nascent stage of all this, where even when promoting ChatGPT in English, there are various limitations: While it is more than capable of drafting a decent - albeit generic - recommendation letter, it still can’t write columns for me even in English (at least at a level that I find convincing or satisfactory). However, I suspect that this will soon improve, and as our use and reliance on generative AI continue to grow, a slight competitive advantage earlier on could grow into giant leaps down the line. So in this context, I respectfully disagree with MP Omziegt, who believes that adhering to Dutch as the operating language of universities (and thus following the law) comes with benefits, sans much costs.

People like saying that generative AI is already changing the way we work and to deny this reality, is to risk being left behind. Given the competitive advantage of knowing how to prompt these models correctly in English (as that is the language these models are optimized for), I worry that for the Dutch politicians to disincentivize Dutch universities from operating in English at this very juncture could be detrimental and short-sighted. This move, which carries similar nationalistic sentiments to Brexit, could potentially bootstrap us in the race to remain academically competitive (both in research and education) relative to institutions that enable programs in English to thrive unhindered. Of course, the debate of curbing internationalisation is a very complicated one and this is just a singular issue. Nevertheless, I believe it to be an important one, worthy of more consideration: perhaps as it always has been, English is our lingua franca, but in a world proliferating with generative AI models, English is potentially more than that, as it could be the key to potentially ensuring our future success as well. To disregard this possibility, may come with heavy costs.

On (Blindly) Following Silly Rules of Writing

Like many writers, The Elements of Style by Strunk and White is my Bible. While I try to religiously follow the gospel that is the EoS (e.g. Rule #2: use the Oxford comma, Rule #17: omit needless words, etc.), I have a very difficult time abiding by Rule #1: form the possessive singular of nouns by adding ‘s. While this rule in and of itself is not the problem, what I find annoying is the fact that Strunk and White add that we should “Follow this rule whatever the final consonant. Thus write, Charles’s friend” instead of Charles’ friend.

There are many other sinners and heathens that do not conform to this rule and drop the s after the apostrophe when the final consonant is an s. The New Yorker’s Mary Norris - aka the Comma Queen - wrote about this debate a few years back when the Associated Press Stylebook - the go-to guide for US journalists and publications - changed their stance that used to be in conformity with the EoS Rule #1. The APS declared their new stance via a controversial tweet in 2019: “For possessives of plural nouns ending in s, add only an apostrophe: the churches’ needs, the girls’ toys, the horses’ food, the ships’ wake, states’ rights, the VIPs’ entrance.”

Personally, the -s’s just feels clunky and ugly. Trying to pronounce this out loud feels almost as comical as pronouncing Worcestershire sauce. Nevertheless, I feel conflicted, because I am betraying my faith in the EOS. While this may feel trivial, once I start normalizing this singular deviation, I can no longer consider myself as a devout member of the Church of EoS. In the words of Clay Christensen, “it’s easier to hold to your principles 100% of the time than it is to hold them 98% of the time.” By choosing to ignore Rule #1, I’ve just climbed atop a giant slippery slope and pushed myself down.

The truth, probably, is that we all cater to whatever the publisher’s style guide tells us to do (e.g. “use UK spelling,” which is another source of dissonance for me), but these seemingly trivial compromises create a lot of stress whenever I have to edit my publications. I’m just wondering out loud whether I am alone in my unnecessary piety and self-induced stress. Maybe just blindly following whatever the style guides tell me to do is the path of least resistance, but I find the plurality of these deities and their artificially manufactured arbitrariness extremely frustrating, if not pharisaic. Well there we go. Further down the slippery slope. I've now violated EoS Reminder #14: avoid using fancy words.

* Pharisaic: a word to describe a religious person who is smug and judgmental, especially if their actions prove that they are much less holy than they pretend to be.

Reflections from Another Demanding Teaching Season: Everything, Everywhere, All at Once

I’m fortunate enough to have my university teaching all scheduled between January and June, which allows me to - at least in theory - dedicate the period between July and December on my research and my other non-teaching obligations (e.g., attempting to unsuccessfully meet publishing deadlines, organizing conferences, and sitting on assortment of advisory boards/councils for the university). Truth be told, I'm actually doing everything, everywhere, all at once; but having my teaching blocks all contained in a compact, six month period has its benefits and pitfalls.

For instance, as convenient as this schedule is for me, I end up coordinating four courses between January and June across four different faculties (Faculty of Law, School of Business and Economics, and Faculty of Arts and Social Sciences in Maastricht and the Faculty of Law at Hasselt University in Belgium) at the same time. Throw in supervising theses, drafting recommendation letters, grading and managing resits, providing unqualified career guidance/mentoring to lost souls, and having to constantly update the legal materials taught in the course all into the mix and by the time I make it to the end of June, I am a piñata at an out of control quinceañera (i.e., beaten down and lying on the ground with my insides pouring out for the rowdy children to feast upon).

IBL students from SBE during a post lecture drink

Global Studies students learning about creativity

LLM students taking IBL at Hasselt

The saving grace in this chaotic madness - and what arguably preserves my sanity - is that I teach International Business Law at three of the faculties, meaning that there is a sizable overlap in terms of the content from one faculty to another. I do teach and coordinate something else entirely - Global Citizenship Skills - for the interfaculty Global Studies Bachelor’s Program, but that is a course that I got to design myself with a lot of freedom (e.g., we learn about creative problem solving and empathetic listening skills), so it is more fun than anything else (at least for me).

I would also be remiss if I did not admit that this juggling is made only possible because as a coordinator, I have been blessed with the most incredible group of tutors, who are not only highly intelligent and extremely dedicated, but perhaps most importantly, they have the patience to tolerate my unorthodox teaching methods and do the majority of heavy lifting in terms of the teaching load, for which I am eternally grateful for. Thanks in most part to them, our courses receive very solid reviews from students, which is something we always cherish.

The wonderful IBL tutors (Eleni, Emma, Carolina & Meggie)

Unconventional teaching methods?

I have to stand on chairs because I usually can't reach the top of the board

While the overlap in content and being surrounded with a great teaching team does make my life infinitely easier, I nevertheless have to tweak how I teach the content and how I engage with the students differently at each of the faculties as there are noticeable contrasts in the cultures and the preferences of the students: Majority of the students in one faculty wants assignments that force them to think more critically, while in another faculty, they just want something that is more connected to practice and “the real life” (although this is a false dichotomy as we try to meet both objectives simultaneously). Some really hate group work, while others feel lost without it. Some groups tend to have particular sensitivities to societal issues, while others seem totally unaffected or even oblivious to it. If I am teaching at two different faculties on the same day, I have to make sure to reset and adjust between classes or I risk losing the students’ engagement (or worse, I end up unintentionally saying something insensitive that triggers a negative emotion for the students).

In short, juggling courses at multiple faculties at the same time has made me a more adaptive teacher that pays careful attention to the subtle differences between the faculties and the students’ preferences therein. Thanks in part to being outsourced to other faculties, I now have a better understanding of the different faculties and their cultures, which gives me a better overview of the different ecosystems that make up our university. Moreover, the chance to work in so many different environments with colleagues specializing in diverse disciplines and developing a sense of rapport with them has made me a better academic citizen.

LAW & SBE students participating in the HARBORCO negotiation simulation

The very interfaculty Digital Futures of UM Premium Team

This opportunity has helped me in many other areas of my work aside from teaching: For example: 1) I feel that I was a better coach for the interfaculty Premium team working on the Digital Future of UM because I had a better understanding of what the students from the other faculties were experiencing; 2) having taught a diverse cohort of students, I have an easier time organizing and recruiting interfaculty groups to join my assortment of pet projects (e.g., running the Harvard Negotiation Project simulations); 3) being embedded in other faculties has also helped me be a better steward for the university in fulfilling my obligations as I serve on the Diversity & Inclusivity Advisory Council, Global Studies Advisory Board, Maastricht Young Academy, and the Editorial Board of the UMagazine; and 4) the diverse teaching experiences even helped me with my research, as I was able to churn out articles on academic citizenship based on some of the insights I collected during this teaching period (e.g., importance of effective communication, creating a safe psychological space, etc.). Like I said, everything, everywhere, all at once.

To conclude my rant (seeking to solicit some level of sympathy, whether deserved on not), teaching at different faculties simultaneously is an arduous task (especially the part about having to deal with the different set of rules and procedures at each institution), but a worthwhile one at that, as it gave me the possibility to work together with a wonderfully diverse group of students and colleagues, all with a unique set of skills and insights different from one another. Not only that but it has broadened my network and it has made me a better teacher, academic citizen, and researcher. I am grateful to the students and colleagues that I had the opportunity to work together with in the last six months (especially my wonderful tutors Carolina, Eleni, Emma, Meggie, Albert, Marc, and Obaa), so much so that I now feel bad for having complained so much about the teaching load going into it and feeling (unjustifiably?) so sorry for myself. I’m sorry about that everyone.

Saying No in Academia

“No is the single most powerful word in the English language, [but…] it's a very tough weapon to deploy. Everyone knows how difficult it is to say no. It's one of the reasons why people seem to be comfortable asking you for favors they have no business asking you for. They know how hard it is to say no.”

Shonda Rhimes in “The Year of Yes”

Tomorrow, I’m running a workshop on “Saying No in Academia'' for the Dutch Sectorplan on Transformative Effects of Globalisation in Law at its annual networking event. The irony of it all is that I’m not very good at saying no (hello imposter syndrome). I actually failed at saying no to doing this event. Part of the reason why I suck at this is because I (used to?) equate being a good person with being a person who did not say no to people asking for help. I’ve always been a people-pleaser and an external-validation addict, which I (very recently) learned are serious character flaws. 

Rousseau once compared being polite to being inauthentic (and thus deceitful). He elaborated that being polite - for example, by saying yes to something you don’t actually want to do - is to compromise on what you really want and to sell your true self short. While I’m not advocating for impoliteness, I do believe that being true to your authentic self and being able to say no are important skills that are seldom taught in classrooms (especially in the Japanese classrooms that I had to sit through).

The wonderful Brazilian novelist, Paulo Coelho, elegantly summarized this point as follows: “When you say yes to others, make sure you are not saying no to yourself.” For the longest time, I was not following Coelho’s advice. I had been mindlessly saying yes to others for so long that at the ripe old age of 40, I still cannot clearly define what it is that I want for myself. There is no shortage of self-help books and “literature” claiming that they can help one become better at saying no, but I find that most of them often tend to be rather superficial. For what it’s worth, I combed over a bunch of them just so that you don’t have to (hello people-pleaser) and the collective summary of the literature goes something like this: 

• Form a “NO committee” with a group of friends or colleagues that encourage you to say no. Check in with them regularly to share stories of how you turned down something or how they said no to an undesirable task. Bonus points if you can find a group member or an ally more senior than you (or who have more experiences), as they may serve as your saying-no-role-models.

• Keep track of what you say yes and no to and reflect on it from time to time.  

• Rethink your priorities. Saying yes to something inevitably means you are saying no to something else. Make sure what you are saying yes to is in alignment, not only with your priorities, but your values. Also, stop comparing yourself to others as they may have different priorities, values, and goals. As the “wisdom” of Instagram suggests, a flower does not compare itself to other flowers, it simply blooms. So go on and just bloom!

• Don’t answer a request right away (unless you can give an immediate no). If you must, deflect with a “let me think about it and get back to you,” and really think about whether it is something you want to do. If they don’t get back to you, you don’t even have to bother saying no.

• Saying no may stir feelings of guilt or shame within, and some of us may try to avoid these negative feelings by reluctantly saying yes to something they ought to have declined. What can alleviate these negative feelings is to explain to the favor-seeker, why it’s a no for you (e.g. “I’m sorry but I am super busy with another task” or “I would love to, but I’m in Mars on that day and won’t be on Earth.”). It will help them understand why you cannot. This may diminish some feelings of guilt and shame (as it solicits their empathetic understanding), and in doing so, it may also preserve your relationship with the requestor as you have a good reason for rejecting them. 

• Offering a “strategic no” may help create an “illusion of scarcity” around you (e.g. “This person is so busy and in such high demand, they must be really good!”).

• Remind yourself that saying yes can actually be physically and psychologically harmful: “A propensity to say yes to everything can lead to burnout, mental and physical health problems…” 

• Learn to appreciate the joy of missing out (JOMO). 

All of these tips may help us in some situations, but it may not help - for example - a young academic trying to assess which engagements they can say no to (and get away with) and which tasks they must say yes to (or risk career-suicide). It’s tough out there for young academics just starting up because bosses, supervisors, colleagues, and students will all want something from them (e.g. “Can you teach this course?”, “Can you peer-review this?”, “Can you write me a recommendation letter?”, “Can you be on this taskforce/committee?”, “Can you be my thesis advisor?”, “Do you want to write an article and apply for this grant with me?”, etc.). And as the Shonda Rhimes quote at the top suggests, some people will ask for all sorts of things (that they know they shouldn't be asking), because they know how hard saying no is (especially to a boss). They know that we all want to be a good person and a team player and some people will try to exploit that to your detriment. 

As a side note, the Maastricht Young Academy recently hosted a Growing Up in Science event with the Rector of our University - Pamela Habibović - who noted that for young researchers just starting up, it may be particularly difficult for them to say no (and perhaps they should not), because saying yes will indeed expand their networks and stimulate new trails of thought that may contribute to their research. So we shouldn’t always be saying no, but we just have to get better at saying no to certain things, which brings us to the next point.

For most academics, young or old, we want to strive towards becoming the go-to person in that field or some niche therein. To combine one of the popular tips suggested in the bullet point and the wisdom of our Rector, we should develop a better sense of who we are (i.e. our authentic self), what we want to accomplish, and what makes us happy and use these criteria to determine more thoughtfully what we say yes and no to. We can ask questions such as: “Is this part of my research line?”, “Will saying yes de-stabilize my personal life?”, “Who am I doing this for?”, and so forth. Whether you actually do this everytime you are confronted with a task or a favor, ultimately comes down to your personal incentives and what drives you to want to say no. 

For me, two factors motivate me to want to say no more: 1) Having kids realigned my priorities, and 2) the disappointing realization that having said yes to too many things, the quality of everything I was doing - from research to teaching and being a good father/partner - all suffered a noticeable decline. It still hurts me to admit this, but it is true. So by saying yes, not only did I lose my authentic self in the process, but I was becoming mediocre at everything I was doing. One of my colleagues who I shared this thought with recently responded that he knew exactly what I was going through as he felt the same way: everything he was doing could have been better if only he had more time. How we make time, and to shed this very negative, nagging feeling that we are not good enough, starts with one word: no.

In the end, saying no is a mechanism of protection and an act of self-compassion. I do not want to feel like I am mediocre at everything anymore. Instead, I want to be good at the things I selectively choose to care about. This will inevitably mean that I will miss out on certain things (bye promotion?), but it won’t bother me as much because I made deliberate choices in the interest of my authentic self. Brian Little and Adam Grant’s work note that one’s well-being is intricately tied to the sustainable pursuit of core projects, which are passionate commiments that align with our values. Saying no buys us time for these pursuits. Now say it all with me. NO!