Prioritisation and purpose

A prevalent theme emerging from our collected data was students’ feeling that they need constantly to prioritise between competing demands, within which their history degree was only one consideration among many. Many of the students we spoke to framed their choice of subject in terms of personal interest and enjoyment, often alongside an explicit discussion of uncertainty about future goals. As one student noted, when asked about why they chose a history degree and what they would like to achieve, ‘I was motivated just by the fact that I enjoy it and I think it’s important. I’m hoping the degree will help me get a job that allows me to use my skills and interests – but primarily my motivation has been enjoyment rather than any concrete future plans.’ Unlike more clearly vocational programmes, history was rarely spoken about as leading towards a clearly defined set of outcomes. Instead, it was valued as a degree option that could offer breadth, flexibility and a capacity to keep future options open – a pathway one student praised for being ‘adaptable … as im not sure what i want to do after i leave uni [sic]’. Another student reflected that ‘History leaves the door open for a range of careers, so I’m also not limited’. In other words, our data suggests that many history students pursue a history degree due to their enjoyment of the subject, often combined with a belief that opportunities available within the wider ‘university experience’ will help develop their career plans.

Even when students spoke of their aims for studying history in more concrete terms (for example, those who highlighted learning objectives like improving their critical thinking, analysis and writing), these goals were described as general and transferable, rather than outcomes that might need particular forms of sustained, discipline-specific engagement. While this dynamism was widely discussed as a positive feature of the degree, it also appears to shape how students allocate their time and energy. In practice, the actual work of doing a history degree frequently emerged as somewhat peripheral in student narratives – one demand among many, rather than as the central organising focus of students’ lives (however passionate about and invested in the subject they might be). It was therefore particularly susceptible to being deprioritised when other pressures felt more pressing or consequential, and respondents described needing to make ongoing (and sometimes quite ruthless) strategic decisions about how, when and whether to engage with particular aspects of their studies.

Juliet Millican has argued that many students develop a transactional understanding of higher education, where success is judged by the achievement of a ‘2:1 degree, a social life and a job’.Footnote ⁵ Our data strongly supports this characterisation. Despite the majority of students stating they chose history because of a passion for the subject itself, they rarely spoke about their degree as a singular or overarching priority; instead, it was positioned as one component within a broader collection of responsibilities, ambitions and obligations to navigate during their time at university. The balance between these elements varied from student to student, but in nearly all cases, engagement with the degree was clearly shaped by ongoing acts of prioritisation and attempts to tick a number of often competing or contradictory boxes.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, given that students regularly spoke of competing and often contradictory priorities, a key message coming out of our data was that students experience many difficulties with managing their time. They emphasised that these challenges extended well beyond the academic workload of their degree. Rather, they described constantly navigating a complex mix of demands, many of which they stated felt just as urgent or time-consuming as their studies, that they felt required continuous prioritisation. Term-time employment featured prominently in these discussions. For many students, financial pressures necessitated paid work to cover essential living costs, making employment feel non-negotiable. A survey conducted by Advance HE and the Higher Education Policy Institute found that in 2025, 68% of fulltime UK undergraduates undertook paid work during term time, up from 56% in 2024 and 42% in 2020.Footnote ⁶ Students with disabilities similarly highlighted the need to prioritise medical appointments, energy management and health-related responsibilities, which further shaped how much time they could realistically devote to study.

Anxiety about future careers also played an important role in shaping students’ choices about what to prioritise. In focus groups, students frequently described a strong sense that internships, work experience, and employability-focused activities were essential to securing a viable post-university future – particularly for students doing degrees like history, which have less clearly defined graduate outcomes. As one student put it, ‘I was motivated [to choose this degree] by a lifelong love of history […] However, had I been at the degree selection stage again I would likely have kept history as a hobby rather than a degree and would’ve chosen a degree more highly in demand in the job market.’ There was a sense that certain aspects of their studies which staff may believe to be essential (for instance, attending all teaching sessions in a module, academic skills workshops, etc.) were not rated as highly by students as things perceived to more obviously increase the ‘value’ of their time at university in the long run. In this vein, one student depicted history as a ‘degree [that] wouldn’t be as labour intensive as others’, which they believed would give them space for other activities that would provide ‘some clarity in where I was heading’ and prevent their university experience being one that ‘would not have prepared me with what I wanted to do in the future’.

For other students, prioritisation pressures emerged around social expectations. University was frequently framed as a unique and fleeting life stage crucial to personal development, accompanied by anxieties about ‘making the most of it’, particularly in a wider social context often characterised by uncertainty and precarity. Students spoke of their desires to obtain the ‘full uni-experience’ and to ‘develop my skills as a historian and a person’ – or, as one respondent put it, ‘I hope to achieve the skills needed to get a job after uni but also to develop life skills at the same time.’ Maintaining friendships, family relationships and social commitments was described as demanding and time-consuming, and these pressures were frequently prioritised over academic engagement. As one student noted, ‘maintaining personal relationships and social commitments can be demanding, especially when friends and family are not fully aware of the intensity and workload of a final-year History student’.

Perhaps most importantly, this feeling around the need to strategise and juggle numerous priorities had a clear impact on perceptions of workload – indeed, the idea that the degree needs to be negotiated to manage an otherwise ‘impossible’ workload appears to have profound implications for how students choose to work, when they attend, and their opinion of the learning activities in which they are asked to participate. It was common for students in our sample to talk about their tutors’ ‘unrealistic expectations’ in terms of reading and seminar preparation, with many favouring shorter, more engaging readings, alongside alternative resources such as audio recordings of conference papers or videos of roundtable discussions. It was noted that these provide a ‘nice break from excessive reading’ and could even be combined with other activities to help with time management. Many respondents appealed for staff understanding that, at times of heightened stress linked with assessment deadlines, students may have less capacity to engage as fully with seminar preparation. There were also obvious signs of frustration about teaching that students felt served no particular purpose, most notably in terms of whether or not activities were clearly and specifically linked with assessment. As one respondent commented: ‘there is little space for “irrelevant history”, which feels harsh but is true’.

This dissatisfaction sometimes extended to more general criticism of what students perceived to be an overemphasis on independent reading and research. Several respondents questioned the value of being asked to carry out large volumes of self-directed work, particularly where this was not overtly integrated into classroom activities. As one student put it, ‘I didn’t take a student loan to read books that I could find at a local library.’ Such comments point to a clear disconnect between staff and student understandings of the purpose of independent work that is particularly characteristic of a history degree. While staff commonly view extensive independent reading and research as central to disciplinary training – encouraging students to engage in the actual work of being a historian – students often interpreted the same activities quite differently. Long or inaccessible readings were frequently criticised, especially if they were not explicitly discussed or mobilised in seminars, and were widely described as a ‘waste of time’. Such attitudes led to suggestions that tutors should rank core readings in terms of importance for seminar discussions. This appears to be less about a lack of interest or an unwillingness to learn, and more about students struggling to prioritise without clear indicators of ‘value’ to guide them. This resonates with Andreas Kornelakis and Dimitra Petrakaki’s analysis of the marketisation of the ‘neoliberal university’, in which students, recast as being primarily consumers rather than learners, may be less inclined to invest in challenging or time-consuming learning activities whose ‘benefits’ are more implicit or poorly articulated.Footnote ⁷

In a similar vein, our respondents were also very critical of material that they felt they were revisiting or the duplication of work. While reiteration of certain topics or areas of scholarship might be included by design by staff to help scaffold a programme (e.g. deepening insights from core units on optional units or going deeper into a particular theme at different levels of study), many students expressed the keen sense that repeated material offered no ‘added value’. At the same time, students’ strategic, efficiency-focused approach was reflected in how they described undertaking research and their approach to assessment. Students reported, for example, a real reluctance to ‘lose time’ by physically visiting the library, prioritising instead use of online resources (and we suspect some AI tools). One finalist even reported having never set foot in the actual library during their degree, relying exclusively on eBooks and online archives because they found this quicker and easier than the time-consuming process of going to the library in person.

Overall, our findings suggest that many students do not see their degree in terms of a learning journey or as a unique and significant opportunity for sustained intellectual development. Instead, history was frequently described as something to be managed alongside a range of other commitments, approached as a set of tasks to be navigated in the quickest, most strategic and efficient way possible in order to achieve a number of often competing end goals. Crucially, this did not reflect a lack of interest in, or affection for, the subject itself. As one respondent put it: ‘I always loved the subject, and I still do at university, it’s more the admin, structure, and logistics of studying history that have let it down.’

While concerns about workload were evident across the data, these appear to emerge less from the actual volume of academic work and more from the effects of decisions students felt compelled to make about what to prioritise. In the absence of a clear end point or obvious measurable markers of what counts as ‘value’ within a history degree, students described juggling a range of competing academic, social and employability related demands in an attempt to extract everything they felt they should from the university experience. In this context, even a subject they often spoke about with genuine enthusiasm could begin to slip down the list of priorities. In this way, comments about workload are best understood not as the core issue, but as a product of the strategic calculations students make about where to allocate limited time and energy, within lives that they describe as busy and difficult to manage. This is, of course, mirrored by the experience of staff working at universities. The multiple pressures and demands on our own time and workloads, particularly in recent times, demonstrate how such challenges are faced throughout institutions and undoubtedly influence the experience of learning and teaching for both students and staff.

Connections and relationships

Alongside these findings, our data also underscored the significance of connections and relationships. Many respondents identified isolation and a lack of community as major contributors to student disengagement, describing a deep sense of disconnection from both staff and peers. For some, this manifested as a lack of a sense of belonging at university. This feeling appeared to be particularly pronounced for students from more diverse or first-generation backgrounds, who may feel excluded from academic spaces when they are less familiar with the cultural norms, expectations and forms of knowledge that some of their peers might already have.

Students noted that when relationships with staff broke down, their willingness to attend – let alone participate fully in discussions and learning activities – was significantly reduced. As one student noted, ‘I find when some seminar teachers don’t connect well with students or don’t actually have real conversations with students, it can be harder for students to feel comfortable enough to give their own thoughts.’ The most critical comments we collected often focused on tutors who appeared disengaged, or as though they were simply ‘going through the motions’, with suggestions that ‘If a lecturer clearly does not care or has put no effort into something, I am less likely to put effort in back.’Footnote ⁸ By contrast, the most positive feedback came when tutors were themselves clearly well prepared, enthusiastic and motivated. Students consistently recognised that when tutors themselves are engaged, it makes a significant difference to their own learning experience.

Beyond lectures and small teaching activities, numerous comments from respondents at different institutions also highlighted the perceived perils of attending office hours. Students reported that some staff were rude or confrontational during meetings, while others made arranging meetings unnecessarily difficult and the process in general was often criticised as unnecessarily intimidating, ‘awkward’, or even ‘scary’. There were several stories of students waiting an hour for a staff member who refused to book individual appointments, only to be told that there was no time remaining to meet: ‘If you want us to respect your time, respect our time.’ Similarly, complaints were raised about tutors who advertised office hours but rarely made appointments available in reality. Students often interpreted these behaviours as dismissive or as a sign that they were not welcome, which shaped their broader engagement and feelings of ‘belonging’ – ‘even though I know I can attend, it feels like I shouldn’t’. One finalist described how a particularly uncomfortable office-hour experience in their very first term at university meant that they had never attended another across the rest of their degree.

On the other hand, staff who made office hours easy to access and cultivated a friendly environment – what our student researchers called an academic’s ability to be a ‘normal human’ (!) – were seen as hugely positive sources of support and advice. The ability to build effective working relationships and connections with staff, therefore, appears to have far-reaching consequences for many students, affecting not only their day-to-day engagement with teaching and learning, but also their willingness to access the wider support available to them.

Disconnection and a lack of supportive relationships were not only related to staff. Many students reported feeling isolated within their own cohorts, pointing out that, far from being the tight-knit groups that some staff imagined, it was common to not know the people they studied alongside. Some respondents described being in classes with the same peers for three years without ever learning their names, and a few even stated that they avoided certain modules because it felt like walking into a room full of strangers. This feeling of being separate from the wider cohort, or as alone in a full room, emerged quite prominently in student narratives. For example, when asked about what factors might negatively impact their engagement with their degree, one student asserted that a key reason was ‘Not having a community or friends within the course. If I know I don’t know anybody at my seminar or my lecture that I can chat to it makes me less likely to go.’ It is worth considering the significance of this comment in relation to one of the main defences of lectures, in particular, as beneficial teaching activities: the argument that they provide a social space and foster a sense of community with peers.Footnote ⁹ Students also noted that timetabling issues meant it was rare for whole cohorts to be on campus at the same time. Therefore, many students promoted the value of extracurricular events being organised by departments, with one student reflecting that ‘meeting/ knowing more people on my course makes it easier to engage with others in seminars/study groups/other forms of collaborative learning’. However, as anyone who has faced the issues of low turnout with such activities will recognise, contradictions exist between such suggestions and the various challenges of students actually attending these events – which are often likely to be prioritised even lower by students, due to their extracurricular nature. There were, unsurprisingly, numerous other comments about the logistics of travelling to and from campus; for instance, one commuter student acknowledged that ‘the commute for a single lecture or seminar does not seem worth it and makes me, personally, less likely to show up’.

Overall, students commonly described a culture of disconnection, both from staff and from their peers, which resulted in feelings of isolation. For many, it was this detachment that left them less willing and able to engage with learning opportunities with confidence and enthusiasm.

Learning cultures and environments

Finally, students frequently spoke about the impact of cultures and environments of learning. For some, it was the actual physical environment of teaching spaces that was an impediment to their engagement. For example, students commented on seminar rooms that were either uncomfortably hot or cold, too small for group activities their tutor had planned, or too large to create the right atmosphere. They were critical of being taught in spaces not well suited to activities undertaken; for instance, experiencing seminars in lecture halls or computer suites. Access to study space was another repeated concern. Respondents expressed frustration at study spaces closing before teaching had even finished for the day or were unavailable at weekends, and they often faced a lack of access to facilities for (re)heating their own food, forcing them to purchase more expensive options rather than saving money by bringing their own.

Even more broadly, decisions about coming onto campus also appear to be shaped by the environment. While it may be anticipated that, for example, poor weather might deter attendance, several students reported the exact opposite. They chose to come in, not due to motivation to engage with their course/peers, but because their accommodation was cold, damp and not suitable for study. Indeed, one student described spending every day on campus, not out of preference, but due to fears about the health risks of black mould in her student house. In this sense, students experience university buildings not just as places of learning, but as warmer – and indeed often safer – spaces than their own.

For many students, though, it was not so much the physical environment but how it feels to be in a room that makes the difference. Our respondents generally did not report skipping sessions because they were boring or difficult; instead, what appeared to be more influential was whether or not the learning environment felt comfortable and welcoming. If the atmosphere was in any way uncomfortable – if they encountered the amorphous-sounding phenomenon of ‘bad vibes’ – students reported that they were much more inclined to simply stay away.

To some extent, the ‘vibes’ are shaped by interactions between students, what one respondent described as ‘some kind of group effect’. For example, we heard from numerous (particularly first-generation) students who reported that, even though they were well prepared and had ideas to contribute to a discussion, they choose to stay quiet due to uncertainty or a lack of confidence in how to express themselves. More broadly, respondents also stated that when a member of the group dominates a conversation, and perhaps even make statements they feel are incorrect or problematic, they are disinclined to challenge them. In general, students reported being very reluctant to engage in any kind of debate or what they felt was confrontation with each other, and were put off, rather than encouraged, by students who were. In this context, a ‘good’ seminar tutor was often discussed in terms of their ability to manage a room, to create a friendly atmosphere, and to play referee in such a way that conversations are more constructive and less confrontational.

Perhaps due to this notion of the tutor as referee, many students reported being particularly troubled when the relationship between staff and students turned somewhat adversarial. In particular, students spoke about how much they dislike being ‘picked on’ in seminars or lectures. Students conveyed experiences of this as being hugely intimidating, regardless of the tutor’s intention – something especially true for students with different needs and challenges, including things like struggling with anxiety. For instance, one student praised tutors who explicitly raised the option of informing them if students faced challenges with speaking in seminars, such as social anxiety: ‘it makes me feel a bit more comfortable telling them about it if they verbally open the door for that conversation – telling them then means I’m not as worried about seminars’. Several students portrayed a seminar atmosphere turning negative as a kind of ‘death spiral’. If the initial ‘vibe’ feels off, tutors can become frustrated and begin pushing students to contribute or even ‘pick on’ individuals in attempts to stimulate discussions. This, in turn, makes the atmosphere worse, leading to lower attendance and participation, which only reinforces the downward cycle. Once this pattern sets in, it can be very difficult to recover, and students are quick to disengage altogether.Footnote ¹⁰

One element repeatedly praised for encouraging engagement in small group teaching was assessment design that recognised seminar contribution. While Bristol operates a system based purely on seminar attendance, Warwick has implemented a departmental-wide approach that embeds consideration of seminar contribution within the assessment model for most UG modules. Staff have flexibility in how this is organised in each module (such as presentations, student reflections on their engagement, etc.), with the expectation that staff clearly outline to students what is expected of them.

Numerous students reflected on the positive impact of knowing that their ongoing work and efforts were being recognised through a higher mark for the seminar contribution assessment, particularly in comparison with peers who might selectively target attending teaching activities deemed more ‘valuable’ for other assessments. Interestingly, joint-honours students particularly highlighted how this assessment approach appeared to encourage wider participation in history seminars, compared with the other parts of their degrees. While it was acknowledged that some confusion about expectations could be raised through differing staff approaches to this assessment, this did not seem to be seen as inherently negative (although single-week presentations were viewed as not having the same wide-ranging impact on general engagement as assessing participation across the entire module). It was rather that, as with all assessments, students called for transparent guidance that made clear what was being assessed and that marking criteria was applied consistently. Various difficulties related to this form of assessment were also raised, for both students and staff markers, particularly regarding experiences of students with challenges such as anxiety or reasonable adjustments. Nonetheless, assessing seminar contribution was generally perceived as a uniquely valuable assessment method, not least that it ‘forced staff to know who you are’! As one respondent concluded, ‘in modules where it feels like the module tutor doesn’t even know who you are, you feel less engaged’.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, given all these factors, the most common response to our survey question about what positively affects engagement was the role of the tutor. Students recognised and appreciated that tutors have different approaches to teaching, but they consistently judged their experience by whether tutors could effectively support them in navigating what often felt like a potentially awkward or intimidating space. Students were hugely enthusiastic about the impact of approachable and engaged tutors who clearly worked to create accessible and indeed friendly learning environments. Our survey data is replete with glowing references to inspiring, motivated, friendly, passionate, fun, inclusive, and positive tutors who have encouraged students to participate and achieve. Viewed alongside the multitude of responses we received about students choosing to pursue history degrees largely due to their passion for the subject, it is notable that staff who are seen to support them to enjoy developing their learning journeys were viewed extremely positively. Importantly, the ability of a tutor to set the tone has a direct effect not only on seminar participation, but also on whether students feel comfortable attending office hours and seeking out support when needed. For many, one-to-one meetings are another potentially intimidating environment; a friendly tutor often appears to determine whether students feel willing or able to enter that space. Some students praised staff efforts to reduce the intimidation often caused by individual meetings, highlighting initiatives such as initial small group meetings with personal tutors to build familiarity before follow-up one-to-one meetings are offered.

How do you solve a problem like engagement?

All these themes identified from our collected data – prioritisation and purpose, connections and relationships, and learning cultures and environments – may well be recognisable in the experiences of all students, within and outside history departments. However, as we have alluded to above, some elements appear to be more specific to students studying history and related degrees. Part of this may be influenced by the nature of a history degree itself. The breadth and range offered by such programmes, as well as the central significance of self-directed study, marks them out as different from more clearly vocational or STEM-based degrees that involve a higher amount of compulsory, full-cohort teaching. As noted, many students told us that they pursued a history degree due to their passion for the subject and that they wanted to continue their intellectual journey rather than undertaking a more obviously vocational course purely as a means to an end. However, this appears to place such degrees in conflict with increased societal expectations around so-called ‘value’ – highlighted by those students who shared their frustrations with us about a perceived lack of direct contact hours. In other words, while staff are more likely to exalt the value of independent learning for developing the skills required to excel as ‘a historian’, some students perceived the time spent in teaching spaces to be a more clearly identifiable measure of the ‘value’ of a history degree.

In many ways, we see these tensions as a consequence of differing but competing conceptions of what ‘the university’ is. Such pressures have been part of broader societal debate for some time, with all citizens of universities – students and staff – caught within such contested narratives and placed under a huge amount of strain in this difficult moment for HE.Footnote ¹¹ Our data suggests that students experience at least three conceptions of ‘the university’ – a formative and unique life experience, a rational transaction to obtain graduate level employment through payment of fees, and/or a learning journey that builds on a love for the subject and provides ‘transferable skills’. Again, such conflict may well be felt across students in many degree programmes, but we would argue that the factors identified above make such pressures even more pronounced for arts and humanities subjects without an ‘obvious’ vocational pathway or endpoint. Repeatedly, students suggested that the study of history was the gateway through which they could obtain or develop the skills and experiences that would actually shape their future careers. Given that such tensions appear to be inherent within non-vocational degree programmes, and particularly combined with additional pressures on their time and energies, it is understandable that students would feel forced into making difficult choices about how and what to prioritise – and that these choices sometimes run counter to staff’s own belief of what is important within the academic study of history.

So, how do you solve a problem like engagement? In some ways, this is an unanswerable question – what Rittel and Webber might call a ‘wicked problem’, in that it is shaped by multiple complex, intersecting and constantly shifting causes and has no single, clear solution.Footnote ¹² There are so many moving parts to the engagement issue, so many differences between staff and students, so much variability between institutions, and so much going on outside universities that there is simply no silver bullet we can offer to fix this across the board. There are, of course, also numerous obstacles that might hinder efforts to improve some of the issues discussed above. We are certainly aware that there is no ‘one size fits all’ for engagement, and what might improve the situation for some might well worsen it for others. We also acknowledge and have experience of the difficulties of working with existing university systems, including timetabling, policies around assessments, and workload pressures – particularly for precariously employed colleagues.

Instead of a single answer, then, we want to propose some general principles that we recognise will resonate differently with different colleagues in different institutions. While we might not be able to solve the issues with engagement, we hope these will serve to support and encourage conversations about student engagement within individual departments, and indeed across the sector. It is important to emphasise that both the research findings and the principles we propose emerged from a collaborative analysis of the data. Our analysis was undertaken in partnership with students, enabling us to understand better what meaningful action might look like from their perspective.

• • Reflection: all staff engaged in teaching and learning should regularly and critically reflect on their own pedagogical practice, and departments should encourage and make space for practical, supportive discussions about teaching and learning. Our research demonstrates that students certainly notice, appreciate and respond positively when we are engaged in enthusiastic, critically informed practice. Simply put, students recognise when we care about and think deeply about our teaching.Footnote ¹³

• • However, reflective practice cannot rely solely on individual effort. Departments also need to consider the wider processes and structures that support high-quality teaching. This includes ensuring that staff have access to (and the workload capacity to engage with) sustained, relevant professional development opportunities and that training in pedagogy is normalised and valued rather than treated as optional or peripheral. Investing in these structures (from formal training to mentoring schemes, peer observation and platforms for sharing effective practice) may help cultivate a culture in which both staff and students are motivated and supported to engage.

• • Communication and connection: Work focused on improving communication between students and staff is hugely important, but it should sit alongside a recognition of our role in supporting students to connect with one another. We should seek out opportunities for meaningful connection between tutors and students and, as part of this, be willing to meet students where they are and make space for their particular insights and experiences. At the same time, teaching staff can play a hugely important role in creating the conditions for students to more comfortably connect with each other (acting as important facilitators of ‘good vibes’), especially for those who may not otherwise find it easy to form relationships within the cohort. Some of this work can be very light touch, and even small interventions can have a significant impact on students’ sense of belonging. Our student researchers suggested that treating icebreaking as an ongoing process, for example, rather than something that is checked off in Week 1, helps to develop relationships between staff and students, but also allows students to build more meaningful, supportive connections with each other.Footnote ¹⁴ This is something that our data suggests could have a significant impact on how much, and in what ways, students choose to engage with both teaching activities and university life more broadly.

• • Adaptation: We should acknowledge that universities, and the history departments within them, are very different places from what they were even a few years ago. Our students are coming to university with different expectations about what higher education is for – whether we like it or not, many now understand their degree not as a moment of intellectual development, but as one element within a broader collection of often competing priorities: employment, financial survival, personal development and developing a plan for the future.

• • In this context, just because we have taught in a particular way before does not mean it is necessarily the most effective, humane or engaging way of teaching our students now. Adapting does not mean abandoning what matters about historical study, nor reducing the intellectual demands of the discipline. Instead, we need to think carefully as a discipline about how and why we value particular practices, and how we can make these more legible to students whose relationship to university life may differ significantly from our own. As a discipline, this also calls for more explicit, collective conversations about history’s place within contemporary higher education; how we articulate the purposes of historical study, how we balance intellectual rigour with pressures and expectations around ‘value’ and employability, and how we sustain humane, engaging forms of teaching that speak to students’ shifting needs while keeping hold of what we think history should be.

We started this comment by noting that many of the challenges related to student engagement are beyond our individual – or, in many ways, collective – control as educators, because they are shaped by wider social, economic and political pressures. However, by recognising the diverse needs and aspirations of our students, by creating opportunities for active participation both inside and outside teaching spaces, and committing to sustained critical reflection on how and why we teach history in higher education, we argue that we can help nurture a sense of belonging and intellectual curiosity to ensure that we are doing what we can to make history an engaging and accessible discipline for all.