The System Around Teaching

Few days back, we received an email from a lecturer — let’s call him Dr. X.

It was a long email. The kind that tries to explain everything. He wrote about deadlines, about regenerating hundreds of questions for several courses, about teaching responsibilities, about students who needed help before their exams. He explained calculations of how many hours it would take to produce the questions. He explained that he was a new lecturer, a fresh graduate, still learning the ropes. He explained that the task assigned to him felt enormous, and that the timeline seemed impossible.

In the middle of the email, he even attached a medical certificate.

The message was not rude. It was not rebellious. It was, if anything, deeply apologetic. But reading it, I felt something familiar — a quiet discomfort that had little to do with the lecturer himself.

The email was not really about the lecturer. It was about the system around him. And as I read through his explanations, calculations, and attempts to defend his situation, I realised something unexpected.

It reminded me of why I left teaching ten years ago.

The Day Teaching Became Something Else

When people hear that someone left teaching, they often assume it is because the person no longer wanted to teach. But that was never my reason.

Teaching itself was never the problem. Standing in front of a class, explaining an idea, watching students slowly understand a concept — those moments are some of the most rewarding experiences an educator can have. What slowly becomes exhausting is not teaching.

It is everything around teaching.

Over time, the role of a lecturer in many universities has expanded far beyond the classroom. The expectations are layered one on top of another — documentation, compliance requirements, reporting structures, digital learning systems, accreditation frameworks, committee work, and increasingly complex administrative processes.

None of these things are inherently bad. Many of them exist for good reasons.

Universities must ensure quality. Programmes must meet accreditation standards. Learning must be documented and evaluated. But somewhere along the way, the balance shifts.

Teaching becomes only one part of the job. And sometimes, it becomes the smallest part.

The Expanding Role of the Lecturer

Today, a lecturer is expected to do far more than teach (at least that’s the trend I see in a private institution setting). They must design course materials, create assessments, provide feedback to students, update learning platforms, maintain course documentation, and respond to institutional requirements related to quality assurance and accreditation. At the same time, they are often expected to publish research, supervise students, contribute to academic committees, and participate in institutional initiatives.

In many cases, the systems that support these activities are built gradually over time — learning management systems, documentation platforms, digital course structures, reporting dashboards. Each new system promises to improve teaching and learning. But each new system also introduces new tasks.

Uploading materials. Aligning content with templates. Generating question banks. Updating documentation. Completing checklists.

Individually, these tasks may seem small. But together, they slowly accumulate. And eventually, teaching begins to feel less like a craft and more like an administrative process.

The Quiet Impact on Students

What stayed with me from Dr. X’s email was not just his explanation of the workload. It was the moment he mentioned his students.

He wrote about students approaching him before their exam, worried about how they would perform. As a new lecturer, he felt responsible for helping them. He prepared additional exercises and spent time guiding them through the material.

That small detail revealed something important.

The tension he was experiencing was not simply about completing documentation or meeting deadlines. It was about choosing where to place his attention — on the administrative requirements of the system, or on the students sitting in front of him. Most lecturers, when faced with that choice, will naturally prioritise their students. But when systems become too demanding, that choice becomes harder. Time spent fulfilling institutional requirements is time taken away from designing better learning activities, giving thoughtful feedback, or engaging more deeply with students.

In the end, the real cost of poorly designed systems is not only carried by lecturers.

Students feel it too.

Reading Between the Lines

The way I see it, Dr. X’s email was not simply a complaint about workload.

It was an attempt to defend himself.

He explained that he needed to regenerate hundreds of questions for several courses. He calculated the hours required to complete the task. He described his teaching responsibilities and his concern for students who were preparing for exams. The tone of the email suggested someone who felt cornered.

Not unwilling to work, but unsure how to meet expectations that seemed to appear suddenly.

What struck me most was that the email contained more explanation than request. Instead of simply asking for an extension, the lecturer felt the need to justify every detail of his situation. That is often a sign of something deeper.

When individuals feel the need to explain themselves in such detail, it usually means the system they are operating within does not feel predictable. The expectations are unclear. The boundaries are blurred. The work keeps expanding.

And the person in the middle tries to hold everything together.

The Invisible System Behind Teaching

Over the past decade, my own career moved away from direct teaching and into areas such as curriculum development, quality assurance, learning operations, and digital learning governance. That shift changed how I see education.

When you stand in the classroom, you see teaching.

When you work in the system, you begin to see the infrastructure that shapes teaching.

You see the policies that define course structures. The platforms that store learning materials. The processes that govern assessment design. The workflows that determine who is responsible for updating documentation. You also begin to see how organisational structures shape the experience of lecturers.

Many universities organise their academic support functions into separate units. One unit may focus on pedagogy and academic development — often called something like a Centre for Teaching or Academic Excellence. Another unit may focus on learning technology and digital platforms, managing the learning management system and the technical infrastructure of online learning.

On paper, this separation makes sense. It prevents duplication of responsibilities and allows each unit to focus on its area of expertise.

But in practice, the separation sometimes creates a gap.

The Pedagogy–Technology Divide

Digital learning sits at the intersection of pedagogy and technology. Instructional design, for example, is not purely technical. It draws from learning theory, cognitive psychology, and educational design principles to create meaningful learning experiences.

Yet in many institutions, the teams managing digital learning platforms are positioned primarily as technical support units. They are responsible for maintaining the learning management system, ensuring courses follow standard templates, and helping lecturers upload materials.

Their role becomes operational rather than pedagogical.

Meanwhile, units responsible for academic development focus on teaching philosophy, workshops, and faculty training, often without direct involvement in the actual course structures inside the learning platform.

The result is a subtle but important disconnect.

The people who understand learning design are not always the ones working inside the digital learning environment. And the people managing the digital learning environment are sometimes prevented by organisational boundaries from engaging deeply with pedagogy.

When Systems Become Compliance

In this kind of structure, digital learning systems can gradually become associated with compliance.

Templates must be completed. Question banks must be uploaded. Documentation must be updated. Lecturers experience the system not as a tool for improving learning, but as a checklist to satisfy institutional requirements.

The focus shifts from the quality of learning to the completion of artefacts.

Instead of asking:

-How does this activity help students understand the concept?

The conversation becomes:

-Have you uploaded the required questions?

The structure of the system remains intact. But the original educational intent becomes harder to see.

What a Learning Design System Should Look Like

A well-designed learning system should do the opposite. It should reduce friction for lecturers and allow them to focus on teaching.

Instead of asking lecturers to build course structures from scratch or navigate complex documentation requirements, the system should provide a clear learning architecture — a consistent structure that supports the student learning journey. Within that structure, lecturers bring their expertise, creativity, and subject knowledge.

Learning designers work alongside them to ensure that activities align with learning outcomes and that digital tools are used meaningfully. Technology supports the process rather than complicating it.

The goal of the system is not to produce documentation.

The goal is to create conditions where good teaching becomes easier.

Seeing the System Clearly

Reading Dr. X’s email reminded me that many universities are still navigating this transition.

The systems exist. The platforms are in place. But the organisational structures, workflows, and narratives around these systems are still evolving.

Lecturers continue to carry a large portion of the operational burden. Support units sometimes struggle to fully utilise the expertise of their teams. And individuals within the system — like the lecturer who wrote that email — find themselves trying to meet expectations that feel larger than their role.

A Reflection on the Future of Teaching

Ten years ago, I stepped away from the classroom because the system around teaching had become difficult to navigate.

Today, I find myself thinking about that system again — not from the perspective of someone delivering lectures, but from the perspective of someone trying to understand how learning environments are designed.

Education is changing. Digital platforms, hybrid learning models, and new forms of engagement are reshaping how universities operate.

As these changes continue, one question becomes increasingly important:

-How do we design learning systems that support teaching instead of overwhelming it?

The answer does not lie in removing technology or eliminating structure. It lies in ensuring that the systems we build remain aligned with the reason universities exist in the first place.

To help people learn.

And to make the work of teaching — the heart of education — something that educators can actually do.