The Ivory Tower's Silent Crisis: Why Malaysian Universities Must Learn to Learn

 

Something is quietly unravelling in Malaysia's public universities. Behind the polished facades and impressive ranking climbs, a deeper malaise festers—one rarely discussed openly yet widely known. Our ivory towers, once symbols of enlightenment, now risk becoming monuments to mediocrity and institutional silence.

The evidence is troubling. Academic dishonesty among lecturers—not just students—has become disturbingly normalised. Citation stacking, paper mills, and the coercion of junior academics to add senior names to publications they never touched: these are not isolated incidents but systemic practices driven by relentless KPI pressures. When a system rewards quantity over quality, it inadvertently cultivates a culture of cutting corners. The pursuit of truth, which should be a university's sacred mission, gets sacrificed at the altar of metrics.

Then there is the ranking obsession. Malaysian universities have poured enormous resources into chasing global rankings—those European and American inventions that, as many Western institutions now recognise, measure prestige more than genuine educational quality. We game the system, sometimes paying for positions, while the real work of developing critical minds and advancing knowledge takes a backseat. The irony is painful: we climb ladders that may lead nowhere meaningful.

Perhaps most damaging is the pervasive culture of fear and silence. Academics who dare speak up risk being sidelined, passed over for promotion, or placed in 'cold storage.' This chilling effect is not merely anecdotal; research consistently shows that hierarchical rigidity and fear of retribution stifle innovation and learning. A recent study on Malaysian public higher education institutions found that psychological safety—the belief that one can speak candidly without punishment—remains critically underdeveloped, particularly among administrative and planning staff who shape institutional direction (Edmondson, 1999; Edmondson & Lei, 2014). Without psychological safety, organisations cannot learn, adapt, or honestly confront their failures.

Becoming a Learning Organisation: A Framework for Reform

The path forward requires a fundamental shift in how our universities conceive of themselves. Rather than institutions that merely deliver education and chase rankings, they must become learning organisations—entities that continuously acquire, create, and transfer knowledge while adapting their behaviour to reflect new insights (Marsick & Watkins, 2003). Watkins and Marsick's influential framework identifies seven dimensions essential for this transformation, each with specific implications for Malaysian higher education.

 

Creating continuous learning opportunities means moving beyond annual workshops and token professional development. Malaysian universities should establish structured learning circles where administrative staff and academicians regularly discuss challenges and solutions. Sabbatical programmes, traditionally reserved for academics, could be extended to senior administrators to explore best practices at other institutions. Cross-functional rotations would allow to understand different departmental perspectives, breaking down the silos that plague our bureaucracies.

Promoting inquiry and dialogue requires dismantling the deeply ingrained culture of sungkan (reluctance to speak up) and deference to hierarchy. Universities could institutionalise regular forums—perhaps monthly 'town halls'—where  all levels can question policies without fear. Book clubs discussing higher education challenges, as some advocacy groups have pioneered, create informal spaces for critical conversation. The key is normalising questions as signs of engagement, not insubordination.

Encouraging team learning challenges our individualistic performance systems. Instead of pitting departments against each other for resources, universities should reward collaborative projects that span faculties. Joint problem-solving teams addressing institutional challenges—student retention, graduate employability, research impact—would cultivate collective intelligence. When teams learn together, solutions emerge that no individual could devise alone.

Establishing systems to capture and share knowledge addresses the institutional amnesia plaguing our universities. When experienced staff retire or transfer, their knowledge often vanishes. Malaysian institutions need robust knowledge management systems—not just databases, but living repositories where lessons learned from failed initiatives are documented alongside successes. Exit interviews should become genuine knowledge-harvesting exercises, not administrative formalities.

Empowering staff toward a collective vision means genuine participatory planning, not token consultations where decisions are already made. Strategic planning exercises should actively seek input from frontline staff—those who interact daily with students and understand operational realities. When people help shape the vision, they own it. Currently, too many strategic plans are drafted in isolation by senior management, leaving staff to implement goals they neither understand nor believe in.

Connecting the institution to its external environment demands that universities shed their insularity. This means more than industry partnerships for funding; it requires systematic environmental scanning—understanding shifts in graduate employment markets, technological disruptions, and evolving societal expectations. Advisory boards with external stakeholders should have genuine influence, not merely ceremonial roles. Universities must become learning nodes within larger ecosystems, not fortresses guarding outdated knowledge.

Providing strategic leadership for learning is perhaps the most critical dimension. Vice-Chancellors and senior administrators must model learning behaviour themselves—publicly acknowledging mistakes, asking questions in meetings, and visibly engaging in their own professional development. Leadership development programmes should prioritise learning facilitation skills over administrative competencies. When leaders demonstrate that learning is valued, the entire institution follows.

Building Psychological Safety: The Foundation for Change

None of these dimensions can flourish without psychological safety—the shared belief that one will not be punished or humiliated for speaking up with ideas, questions, concerns, or mistakes (Edmondson, 2018). In Malaysian higher education, where hierarchical traditions run deep and face-saving dominates organisational culture, building psychological safety requires deliberate, sustained effort.

First, leaders must frame work as learning problems rather than execution problems. When a new initiative is introduced, the message should be: 'We are experimenting; we will learn and adjust.' This reframes setbacks as data rather than failures. Malaysian university leaders often present plans as definitive, making any questioning seem like disloyalty. A learning frame invites input and acknowledges uncertainty.

Second, leaders must acknowledge their own fallibility. In cultures that venerate seniority, admitting 'I don't know' or 'I was wrong' feels deeply uncomfortable. Yet research shows that when leaders model vulnerability, it gives permission for others to do the same (Frazier et al., 2017). A Deputy Vice-Chancellor who openly discusses a strategic mistake and what was learned creates more safety than one who maintains an illusion of infallibility.

Third, institutions must actively invite input and respond constructively. It is not enough to have an 'open door policy'—staff must see that speaking up leads to genuine engagement, not retaliation. When someone raises a concern, the response should be gratitude and inquiry, not defensiveness. Universities could implement 'psychological safety audits' where staff anonymously report whether they feel safe to speak, with results driving leadership accountability.

Fourth, collective voice mechanisms should be strengthened. Rather than leaving individuals to challenge unreasonable KPIs alone—a risky proposition in hierarchical environments—entire departments should be empowered to collectively reject targets that undermine academic integrity. Academic unions and advocacy groups play vital roles here, providing solidarity that individual whistle-blowers cannot achieve. There is safety in numbers; collective dissent is harder to punish than individual complaint.

Fifth, training programmes on psychological safety should be mandatory for all leadership positions. Many universities leaders genuinely do not realise how their behaviours—interrupting, dismissing ideas, reacting defensively—undermine safety. Practical training using scenarios relevant to Malaysian academic contexts can develop awareness and alternative responses. This is not about importing Western management fads; it is about creating conditions where our own people can think, speak, and contribute fully.

 The Way Forward

Malaysian universities stand at a crossroads. We can continue down the path of performative excellence, chasing numbers while our intellectual culture atrophies. Or we can embrace the harder, more rewarding work of becoming genuine learning organisations—places where truth is pursued, mistakes are learning opportunities, and everyone can speak without fear.

The reforms outlined here are not utopian fantasies; they are evidence-based practices validated across diverse organisational contexts. What they require is leadership courage—the willingness to prioritise long-term institutional health over short-term metrics, and to trust that when people feel safe to learn, extraordinary things become possible.

The choice is ours. But the clock is ticking, and the cost of silence grows steeper by the day.

Major (Retired) Dr. Shamyl Shalyzad Shamsuddin is a freelance social science researcher and writer based in Seremban, Negeri Sembilan. He specialises in organisational learning and Human resource development.