The Scholar‐Entrepreneurial Organization: Lessons in Building an Academic Startup

At the intersection of business and academia lies an opportunity for scholar‐entrepreneurship. Unlike full‐time scholars and private sector entrepreneurs, “scholar‐entrepreneurs” operate within the academy to further research and teaching as well as innovative, revenue‐generating projects. The goals and focuses of scholar‐entrepreneurs range in scope, but on the whole, these individuals work to grow their programs and attain sufficient autonomy with consideration for the constraints of the university setting.

We begin with a review of the literature on principled negotiation and then move into the scholar‐entrepreneurship literature to develop three “friction points” that a scholar‐entrepreneurial organization (SEO) is likely to face. Next, we explain the case of the Negotiation Task Force (NTF), an SEO hosted at the Davis Center for Russian and Eurasian Studies at Harvard University. Because most scholars are not entrepreneurs, the success of the NTF as a pioneering SEO presents an interesting case from which relevant lessons can be drawn. Through a case study, we cover the progression of the NTF from the initial SEO negotiations and agreement through its development toward self‐sustainability. We then identify how well the friction points describe the core challenges encountered during the NTF’s growth.

Reflecting on all aspects of the experience, we conclude with a set of recommendations for others seeking to launch and grow scholarly startups within established academic institutions.¹ Altogether, we aim to advance an understanding of scholar‐entrepreneurship and demonstrate that SEOs can thrive in spite of their inherent constraints.

What is an SEO? In the world of business, a successful startup is one that proves a business model (i.e., by meeting customers’ needs), operates at scale, and is self‐sustaining (i.e., with adequate revenue and workforce). A scholarly startup, however, is entrepreneurial by nature, yet by design is constrained by the rules, regulations, and goals of the university in which it operates. It cannot achieve all the same outcomes as a for‐profit entrepreneurial venture.

The three key elements of an SEO are as follows:

1. An SEO is an entrepreneurial venture within an academic institution, such as a research center or a university department. The host organization serves as the SEO’s incubator and provides crucial institutional support in the form of human capital, operational space, and seed funding for the duration of the incubation period. With this support also come certain constraints.

2. An SEO makes a unique selling proposition. By creating knowledge products that set it apart from established nonprofit and for‐private entities that work in the same field or address similar problems, it creates value for the host institution.

3. An SEO seeks to achieve self‐sustainability. By design, an SEO becomes an offshoot of its academic institutional host yet retains sufficient autonomy to pursue its mission and develop a distinct identity. An SEO must tailor a significant portion of its activities toward revenue‐generating projects as at the end of its incubation period, it must be able to operate self‐sufficiently.

In pursuit of these aims, SEOs are led by a scholar‐entrepreneur or a team of scholar‐entrepreneurs. Unlike “staff‐entrepreneurs” or “scholar‐administrators,” scholar‐entrepreneurs are leaders, teachers, researchers, and institution‐builders. They come from research and teaching backgrounds, but also possess a penchant for innovation and a willingness to undertake the fundraising efforts, network‐building, and management tasks necessary to build, grow, and run a successful organization.

To set up our case study, we reviewed two fields of literature—principled negotiation literature and scholar‐entrepreneurship literature—from which we identified three key friction points for SEOs. To be successful, an SEO must rely on negotiations with its host institution and other stakeholders to overcome these friction points.

Principled negotiation is a process through which individuals or groups can resolve differences while minimizing conflicts (Shapiro 2011). First put forward by Roger Fisher and William Ury in their book Getting to Yes, principled negotiation provides an approach to conflict resolution that sits between the classic hard approach, which emphasizes the maximization of outcomes, and the soft approach, which focuses on preserving relationships (Fisher and Ury 1981). The four principles in principled negotiation are (1) separate the people from the problem, (2) focus on interests rather than positions, (3) invent options for mutual gain, and (4) insist on using objective criteria. Additionally, the authors encourage negotiators to devise and revisit their “best alternative to a negotiated agreement” or BATNA (Fisher and Ury 1981). The goal of principled negotiation is to bring the negotiating parties together as partners and design an agreement that is mutually beneficial.

Although principled negotiation was conceptualized as universally applicable, researchers have pointed out the limitations of this method. For example, in the context of labor negotiations, which include zero‐sum aspects as well as opportunities for creative solutions, the efficacy of principled negotiation is limited when dealing with highly distributive issues such as wages (Kelleher 2000). Additionally, the value of the BATNA, which is formed before hearing the interests of the other party, has been challenged for its inherent limitations (Sebenius 2017). Finally, negotiators in long‐term institutional relationships may become vulnerable or susceptible to exploitation if they consistently choose to follow the principled negotiation strategy, pursuing value creation over value claiming (Tenbergen 2001).

In the institutional context, Hak and Sanders suggest that the process of principled negotiation is vulnerable to cognitive biases and cultural values (2018). Characterized by emotional and suboptimal decision making (Kahneman, Lovallo, and Sibony 2011), cognitive biases influence the application of principled negotiations within organizations (Hak and Sanders 2018). The two biases that are most relevant to the university setting are the confirmation bias, which explains why “people tend to ignore evidence that contradicts preconceived notions” (Hak and Sanders 2018: 70) and the loss aversion bias, which inclines managers and other leaders toward risk aversion (Kahneman, Lovallo, and Sibony 2011). Hak and Sanders found that principled negotiation techniques can help negotiators overcome cognitive biases in the institutional environment and lead to more collaborative decisions both in business and academia (2018). When working in these hierarchical, multistakeholder organizations, Hak and Sanders found that decision‐making biases can be mitigated when a negotiator is “[k]nowledgeable about all areas of the company” and “well prepared and understands the area of discussion” (Hak and Sanders 2018: 72). When the negotiator fails on either count, then opportunities for mutual gain are limited due to a misunderstanding of the parties’ interests (Hak and Sanders 2018). Additionally, coalition building in an institutional setting can aid negotiators who may otherwise compete for resources. When negotiators identify areas of common interest with groups that might typically be considered rivals, parties can “join forces to negotiate in a collective, organized manner with one or more stronger parties” (PON 2020).

The special relationship between SEOs and their host institutions makes principled negotiation’s core focus on cooperation essential. Nonetheless, we have found that principled negotiation alone is insufficient to guide SEOs through complex challenges in the institutional environment. For this reason, we draw on principled negotiation lessons as foundational knowledge to support a deeper understanding of how SEO negotiations can support organizational growth.

As there is no body of research dedicated to the SEO phenomenon, we consulted adjacent literature—primarily in internal entrepreneurship—for barriers that a scholar‐entrepreneurial endeavor is likely to face. We identify such “friction points” below and revisit them in our case study of the NTF.

Because we cannot present the NTF as a scientifically rigorous experiment, we see the friction points not as hypotheses, but as a set of assumptions set forth in the literature that we consulted for comparison with our experience. For purposes of organizing this article, we develop guiding principles in the concluding sections, where we address the insights from both the literature and the case study.

As large companies sought to keep up with the dot‐com technology boom in the 1990s, many attempted to create “internal startups,” or corporate ventures within their own organizations (Birkinshaw, Batenburg, and Murray 2002). These internal corporate ventures are distinct as they are formed within, and governed by, well‐established institutions (Sharma and Chrisman 1999, Covin and Miles 2007). Such efforts were frequently unsuccessful, partly due to the difficulty of creating a true startup culture within the confines of rigid corporate structures that tend to be more risk‐averse, inflexible, and formal than startups (Block and MacMillan 1993). In an article on the challenges of innovation promotion, Fosfuri and Rønde (2016) discuss the “skunk works” model, which has been used by the American defense industrial sector to develop advanced and secret technology since the Second World War. By empowering a small research and development team within a big organization to work independently on a difficult problem, this smaller unit is shielded from institutional backlash and bureaucracy. The success of internal startups depends on several factors, including top management support, sufficient organizational autonomy, and resource availability, which are often in misalignment (Kuratko, Hornsby, and Covin 2014). Fostering corporate entrepreneurship ultimately requires large corporations to balance the need for institutional support with the requirements of new venture autonomy.

Although entrepreneurship in academia can benefit from university support, structural and cultural issues can similarly impede growth. Universities are resource‐rich environments that can provide a plethora of support to young programs. This includes financial support in the form of grants, advice from top scholars across diverse fields, and access to a pool of well‐qualified employees. Nonetheless, due to their organizational structure and operational procedures, universities can pose challenges to fledgling SEOs. Some universities have become bureaucratic behemoths that increasingly require scholars to divert attention from their research to administrative issues (Martin 2016). More often, these researchers are expected to procure their own funding, execute their team’s hiring processes, and act as administrative liaisons for various aspects of their research projects (Martin 2016). In addition, over the past few decades, universities have developed more “hierarchical and centralized” structures that are defined by “top down planning and reduced local autonomy” for departments and project leaders (Martin 2016: 7). As a result, university‐based researchers who endeavor to undertake new and creative projects often struggle to gain the support of senior scholars or administrative officials.

There are, however, examples of successful startup incubators within university settings. Some university‐based incubators are given significant funding and granted a high degree of autonomy to invest in and pursue projects. An example of such an arrangement is the Harvard i‐lab, a “community dedicated to furthering innovative ideas by undergraduate and graduate students from all thirteen Harvard schools” (Harvard i‐lab 2021). But such programs tend to be geared toward giving seed funding to projects that ultimately work independently from the university as for‐profit ventures. In contrast, SEOs typically remain rooted within the university environment despite organizational growth.

Other examples of noncommercial institutional innovations that share certain characteristics with SEOs are multistakeholder consortia such as the BioMarkers Consortium and Internet2. BioMarkers is a partnership between the FDA, the NIH, and close to 60 corporations and nonprofits. This diverse group found common cause in “the discovery, development, and seeking of regulatory approval for biological markers that support new drug development” and already has had significant success, including the development of the first‐ever FDA‐approved clinical safety biomarker (FNIH 2021). Internet2 is a collaboration that supports research and education by providing a “high‐speed network, cloud solutions, research support and services” to its member organizations and affiliates. It has more than 2,000 members, including more than 200 higher education institutions (Internet2 2021).

BioMarkers and Internet2 share certain elements with startup and entrepreneurial culture, but they are not SEOs; they are primarily collaborative efforts between large, independent organizations (FNIH 2021; Internet2 2021). In contrast, SEOs are tied to academic host institutions and depend on them for financial and administrative support, as well as approval of their projects.

From the established literature, we conclude that the primary host‐related friction point for an SEO may be the following: An SEO will be expected to struggle to defend its autonomy in the regulated, bureaucratic, and hierarchical academic system. The host organization is unlikely to embrace a startup’s “bottom‐up” innovation and more likely to expect a conventional “top‐down” management style that is smoothly integrated with established organizational hierarchies and decision‐making systems.

Unlike established businesses that may have large and diverse portfolios of revenue‐generating products, startups are typically built around one “big idea” that has the attention and focus of the entire startup team (Kidder 2012). They often articulate a “value framework oriented toward societal impact” that serves as the company’s mission statement, beyond the narrow goal of financial success (Taneja and Chenault 2019). In this way they are similar to government and nonprofit organizations that engage in public sector entrepreneurship (Audretsch, Siegel, and Terjesen 2020; Weiss 2021). In contrast to for‐profit organizations, where revenue is a key metric, nonprofit organizations aim to effect social or political change (Boris and Steuerle 2006; Martin and Osberg 2007; Pearce, Fritz, and Davis 2010; Weiss 2021). Social entrepreneurs are at the vanguard of a wide range of businesses and organizations that pursue “mission‐related impact” (Martin and Osberg 2007; Strecker 2014); they seek to create ways to meet societal needs in complex, changing environments (Morris, Webb, and Franklin 2011; Strecker 2014; Weiss 2021).

As government and nonprofit organizations strive to increase their impact, they can be slow to deploy out‐of‐the‐box thinking (Weiss 2021). Established organizations often find it challenging to change, fearing the financial consequences, ethical dilemmas, and alterations to their original mission that new pivots may bring (Foster and Bradach 2005). SEOs share some similarities with public sector projects. Like SEOs, public sector projects require “extensive documentation, monitoring, and evaluation” throughout the duration of their existence (Vestola, Eriksson, and Larsson 2021).

Internal entrepreneurship is practiced within established organizational structures (Demircioglu and Chowdhury 2021). For organizations, internal entrepreneurship is an engine of self‐renewal and an impetus for setting and meeting new efficiency goals. Internal entrepreneurship in the public sector differs from that in the private sector in terms of the environment, objectives, obligations, and financing (Demircioglu and Chowdhury 2021). There is scant research on how to transform innovative projects into permanent operations in public sector and nonprofit environments (Demircioglu and Chowdhury 2021).

Universities have made efforts to increase “organizational agility” by lowering the threshold for faculty to organize new initiatives and reducing bureaucratic and administrative hurdles that hamper innovation (Mukerjee 2014). One way that they have done so is through the development of “interaction arenas,” such as research centers that facilitate interdisciplinary collaboration among faculty (Kaloudis et al. 2019).

From the established literature, we conclude that the primary goals‐related friction point for an SEO may be the following: An SEO will be expected to struggle to define “success” in a way that satisfies all stakeholders. While a return‐on‐investment‐based definition of success is not possible in the nonprofit context of academia, the mandate to be financially self‐sufficient by the end of the incubation period creates pressure to test, expand, and scale rapidly, exacerbating tensions with the host.

One of the major challenges for entrepreneurs is the speed with which they are expected to respond to both opportunities and problems (Jones and Baumgartner 2012; Baumgartner, Jones, and Mortensen 2014). Bringing a new product or service to market—before better‐funded corporate competitors catch on—requires speed (Brikman 2016). As Brikman wrote, the most successful startups learn how to shorten the feedback loop to speed up learning and evolution (Brikman 2016). This “need for speed” is exacting and can be sustained only by a work culture that is highly motivated, comfortable with iteration, and understanding of the necessary pace.

Morris and Jones discuss public sector entrepreneurship with a focus on the unique constraints imposed upon their organizational structure (1999). They specifically highlight the following obstacles: fewer incentives for reducing costs and efficiently allocating resources, difficulty identifying the organization’s primary customers, and greater accountability and public scrutiny in dealing with the consequences of their actions (Morris and Jones 1999).

The punctuated equilibrium theory (PET), originating in public policy literature, focuses on two main friction points: stability of human behavior in a complex and dynamic world and institutional rules that constrain policy action (Jones and Baumgartner 2012). Change occurs only when the informational signals from the external world are either extraordinarily strong or accumulate over time to overcome resistance (Jones and Baumgartner 2012). Understanding the PET can help draw relevant lessons for scholarly startups, which confront similar barriers in their growth within a university environment.

Maxwell noted that in the growth of startups, entrepreneurs embrace the “fail forward” tactic, whereby they learn from mistakes and improve to build toward success (2000). Startups can become “learning organizations,” characterized by leadership with a “willingness to entertain alternative points of view” so that “employees feel emboldened to offer new ideas” (Garvin, Edmondson, and Gino 2008). In this way, startups are risk‐mitigating insofar as they not only pursue innovative paths but also take rational precautions (Linton 2019). The most successful startups are “fearless organizations,” in that they foster an “environment [that] is safe for interpersonal risk taking” (Edmondson 2018).

According to Kuratko, Hornsby, and Covin, “five specific dimensions… are important determinants of an environment conducive to entrepreneurial behavior: (1) top management support, (2) work discretion/autonomy, (3) rewards/reinforcement, (4) time availability, and (5) organizational boundaries” (Kuratko, Hornsby, and Covin 2014: 37). Despite the importance of public sector entrepreneurship, studies have found that entrepreneurial activities tend to occur less frequently in the public sector due to the risk‐averse nature of public organizations and complex bureaucratic structures, which discourage the entrepreneurial spirit (Hirsch and Shotts 2018; Demircioglu and Chowdhury 2021).

From the literature, we conclude that the primary risk‐culture‐related friction point for an SEO may be the following: An SEO will be expected to struggle to reconcile its culture of rapid testing of products with the host’s culture of risk aversion and predictability. The SEO’s risk culture and operating speed are likely to be perceived as erratic, overwhelming, or even dangerous for the host’s reputation.

The NTF’s vision is to apply a negotiation lens to international security problems and push the boundaries of immersive conflict management training.² The NTF finds its purpose in designing vigorously researched, interactive exercises to train practitioners and future leaders in advanced negotiation, leadership, and decision‐making techniques in the backdrop of real‐world conflict in the Euro‐Atlantic and Eurasian spheres. Even though the NTF’s focus is on scenario design and training, its research, analysis, and track II projects create value in their own right.

The distinctiveness of scholar‐entrepreneurship warrants an explanation into the origins of how the NTF came into being. After having decided to host the NTF “prototype” (a relatively small pilot project explained below), Harvard’s Davis Center for Russian and Eurasian Studies³ decided to create a unique holding environment for growing academic startups. Recognizing the value proposition of the NTF and the scholar startup model, the center’s leadership proposed a program model whereby exceptional scholars would pursue innovative research and lead mission‐driven organizations on campus. Based at the Davis Center and sheltered under the larger Harvard University umbrella, the “Scholar‐Entrepreneur Initiative” (SEI) was born, designed to “foster innovative scholarship and learning while bringing regional studies closer to practice. […] Through this flagship initiative, we are creating an ecosystem in which outstanding scholars pursue their research agendas while mentoring students and creating programming for the community. Our scholar‐entrepreneurs work in different disciplines and pursue their goals in different ways, but they share a passion for working together and challenging the status quo” (Davis Center 2020).

Through the course of negotiations, stakeholder consultations, and fundraising, the SEI ultimately took its final form. “Universities tend to be risk‐averse places, creating programs and then hiring people to staff them,” explained Davis Center Director Rawi Abdelal, a professor at Harvard Business School, who—in collaboration with Davis Center Executive Director Alexandra Vacroux—coined and pioneered the concept of “scholar‐entrepreneurship.” According to Abdelal, “This is the other way around: building from the ground up. As we build these programs, we are investing in these scholars” (Failla 2019).

Launched in 2019, the SEI’s original cohort included three distinct organizations.⁴ All inaugural SEOs were led by early or mid‐career PhD holders with track records of both scholarly work and institution‐building or organizational development in academia or the private sector. In addition to their new program director responsibilities, the three scholar‐entrepreneurs hold academic appointments as nontenure track lecturers in Harvard University’s departments of government or history. Each scholar‐entrepreneur was granted university resources and seed funding to aid them on their mission to direct research‐driven programs and build self‐sufficient ventures.

In addition to pledging seed funding to all SEI programs, the Davis Center launched an ambitious strategic realignment process to put the scholarly startups front and center in both internal workflows and external communications: “The SEI is the Center’s strategic priority” (Abdelal 2019).

The following provides an overview of the NTF case study to highlight key points in the organization’s development and focus on friction points along the way to draw lessons learned from this SEO experience.⁵

The NTF “prototype” team was led by a lead designer, a scholar‐entrepreneur with expertise in both negotiation and post‐Soviet conflict, and a project manager. They recruited four master’s students as research assistants and undertook the task of creating three complex multistakeholder negotiation exercises revolving around post‐Soviet conflicts.⁶ After three months, the team had produced, tested, and published four stand‐alone exercise products and a report. These outputs attracted attention and set the stage for the small organization to grow and tackle larger projects.

The success of the prototype proved to the Davis Center that the NTF could add value for the host. Six months after the conclusion of the prototype and through more negotiations between the SEO and the host parties, the NTF was officially institutionalized as a research initiative at the Davis Center. With this agreement, the inaugural scholar‐entrepreneur became its official program leader, and a part‐time program coordinator as well as several research assistants were hired.

Over the next two years, the NTF experimented with new project ideas that became the “minimum viable products” (MVPs), grew its networks, and worked to build its core negotiation exercises. Ultimately, the NTF established three flagship programs:

1. The “Negotiation Exercise Incubator” (NEI) serves as the research and design hub through which the NTF, relying on a systems mapping methodology created by its program leader, develops new negotiation exercises on political, economic, or social problems with a focus on Eurasia, and makes them available to other instructors and organizations.

2. The “Arms Control Negotiation Academy” (ACONA) is a cooperative undertaking between eight organizations⁷ that offers a yearlong, highly selective training program for sixteen emerging security experts from the U.S., Russia, China, Europe, and other countries to build negotiation capacities, grow networks, and tackle pressing arms control challenges.

3. The “Red Horizon: Force and Diplomacy in Eurasia” executive education program for seventy senior leaders from government, military, and industry features a large‐scale, immersive crisis exercise on international security, negotiation, and decision making. This program is offered annually on the Harvard University campus.

Before the NEI, ACONA, and Red Horizon were established as flagship programs, they began as MVPs during the NTF’s early phase of rapid development.

The NEI is an expansion of the semester‐long “NTF prototype.” As explained above, the prototype aimed to build several negotiation exercises on Eurasian conflicts for immediate classroom use. In addition to producing high‐quality experiential learning materials, this first NTF team tested the ability to work within the confines of the academic calendar—that is, rapid development over a fall semester for use in a spring semester.

ACONA is a reimagining of the stand‐alone “European Negotiation Boot Camp” that the NTF organized in cooperation with the University of Iceland. The goal was to probe a model whereby students and young professionals from the United States, Russia, and Europe would participate in a week‐long workshop on the topic of international security issues. From the success of this project, the NTF and its collaborators conceived of ACONA, a more advanced training geared toward more experienced participants with a thematic focus on issues in global nuclear security.

The Red Horizon executive education program stems from a three‐day workshop designed to test a program model in which senior leaders from government, military, and industry engaged in a three‐day advanced negotiation training featuring an immersive, highly realistic multiparty negotiation exercise. The original iteration proved both the success of the complex simulation concept and the NTF’s capacity to pull off all the event, IT, and program management logistics involved in such a project.

The most ambitious project was also the hardest to tackle at the outset. The scenario of the “Red Horizon” crisis exercise was designed through a year‐long process during which “a team of seventeen simulation designers, case writers, and other research affiliates analyzed the political decision‐making structures of the United States, China, Russia, and other relevant actors and converted these assessments into simulation models” (Bell and Bollfrass 2021: 12).

One three‐day Red Horizon workshop requires months‐long preparation and is run by 30 team members to the benefit of 70 participants. This near 1:2 staff to participant ratio underscores the dynamic intricacies of Red Horizon and the need for careful monitoring of moving parts, which when left unattended, could potentially derail the whole exercise. In addition to staff, Red Horizon relies heavily on both technological hardware as well as computer software to simulate issues ranging from intelligence capabilities to military combat. Furthermore, all the regular moving pieces of a large‐scale, in‐person event must be coordinated, including transformation of the event spaces into political and military “headquarters,” event catering, and communication to all involved parties. A disruption of the exercise due to a misstep of one of the moving parts could ruin the experience for all participants.

With its large‐scale simulation‐based format, the workshop deviated significantly from traditional executive education programming. If Red Horizon did not live up to expectations of program participants, then a demand for ticket refunds would surely follow. Not only would this event be a financial hit for the NTF but also a blow to the organization’s reputation. Furthermore, by extension, the institutional host would similarly be besmirched and held accountable for the NTF’s actions.

With improvements, Red Horizon turned into a successful annual program. But in the lead‐up to Red Horizon, tension arose between the NTF and its institutional home. Without a guidebook to draw upon, understanding the limits of institutional support became a constant negotiation that was exacerbated by time pressure and uncertainty.

In addition to Red Horizon, the NTF carried out a number of smaller projects including track II work, research, conferences, workshops, and made‐to‐order negotiation exercise packets. Although the stakes for these projects were lower, the memory and impact of Red Horizon loomed in the background and the institution remained on the defensive in many interactions.

To avoid further missteps after conflicts with the host, the NTF erred on the side of caution and opted to frequently check in rather than forge ahead. However, although well‐intentioned, this new approach had unintended consequences. With more NTF requests now funneled through the host, an additional burden fell on the host’s staff members, who already had their own workloads to balance. Consequently, NTF projects faced delays on all fronts—much to the frustration of the budding scholarly startup.

In the end, it was clear that boundaries and protocol—words synonymous with bureaucratic constraint—were necessary to improve the working relationship between the NTF and the university, as were a few broad guidelines to determine when the NTF could operate autonomously and when it should seek institutional support. Similarly, empowering NTF administrative staff to undertake some of the work that the institution formerly handled allowed the NTF to overcome some roadblocks, while lightening the institutional load.

Eventually, this renegotiation of responsibilities with the host created value for both sides. Scholarly startups can help empower those actors in the academic system that often feel overwhelmed and undervalued, such as nonacademic staff members in mid‐level positions. Administrative staff play a key role in supporting and advancing scholar‐entrepreneurial projects. For example, team evaluation surveys from the NTF’s Red Horizon project demonstrate that it was popular among the project’s team of around thirty student assistants, temporary employees, NTF staff, and long‐term university staff. In the most recent anonymous evaluations, 89 percent of all Red Horizon team members responded that they would be interested in working on Red Horizon again in the future, 11 percent answered maybe, and none said they would not. Altogether, we see that there are opportunities for mutual gain when it comes to SEO partnerships. In the NTF case, the host was able to provide support for the SEO, which in turn allowed it to add value for the host by creating exciting opportunities for student and staff engagement.

In this section, we revisit the expected friction points that we identified from the literature on host structure, goals, and risk culture to evaluate the NTF experience and showcase the opportunities and challenges of SEOs.

The growth of a scholarly startup depends greatly on the working relationship with its institutional host. Like a simulated negotiation with multiple rounds, a working relationship builds upon past collaborations and is informed by previous outcomes. How much support can a scholarly startup reasonably expect from its institutional host?

In the case of the NTF, this unresolved question inadvertently contributed to underlying tensions. In the NTF calculus, it was reasonable to expect some institutional support for every project, especially since the startup was under pressure to become financially independent. In the eyes of the institution, the amount of assistance given for the NTF’s Red Horizon project alone could already have exceeded the expected support quota for the year. Without a clear understanding of the limits of institutional support, missteps and tense moments can easily abound.

One source of friction underlying this tension revolves around the question of scholarly startup autonomy in the institutional environment. When must the scholarly startup ask for permission and when can it proceed without consultation? With too much autonomy granted, a scholarly startup may miss synergies between its projects and the host’s agenda. With too little autonomy granted, a scholarly startup may inadvertently burden its host with requests and demands. In the case of the NTF, in the beginning the limits of its autonomy were unclear. Another friction point resulted from the SEO’s and host’s different perceptions of each party’s responsibilities. In startup environments, members often wear more than one “hat,” performing work that they were not necessarily hired to do and transitioning quickly between different projects and workflows. In regulated institutional environments, however, this practice of piling on responsibilities unrelated to the job title can trigger a review from human resources. In short, without a clear understanding of “who should do what” or even “how much can feasibly be done” at times, the NTF’s requests for support caused undue strain on a system inexperienced with the methods and workings of an entrepreneurial program.

To resolve these tensions, NTF leadership joined forces with the two other scholarly startup leaders at the Davis Center. Within this coalition, the three scholar‐entrepreneurs identified points of friction relatable across the three programs. With similar interests and goals, the three scholar‐entrepreneurs approached the host as a single unit. Through questions and discussions concerning strategic visions, administration/finance, and communications, the NTF’s concerns were amplified by the support that the other SEOs lent to the issues. In this way, the coalitional approach legitimized the NTF’s concerns to the host institution and led to more productive discussions for resolving misunderstandings and disagreements, as well as opportunities for value creation. For example, the time pressure that the NTF and its two fellow SEOs faced was alleviated when the host institution agreed to extend the original twelve‐month incubation period to a more feasible thirty‐six‐month commitment. However, this breakthrough was achieved only after a lengthy negotiation process between the host institution, its three scholarly startups, and other stakeholders, such as the startups’ business strategy advisors. And as is typical in coalition‐building negotiations, not all issues were resolved to the complete satisfaction of all involved parties—in part because the two other SEOs did not share all of the NTF’s concerns, notwithstanding their many shared interests.

In sum, scholar‐entrepreneurs and their hosts must recognize that there is no “natural fit” for scholarly startups in academia. There will be an adjustment period. Building a mutually agreeable operational framework will be a process of trial, error, and reiterative negotiations.

As the NTF began to settle into its institutional environment, there was an increasing need to evaluate its performance and ensure that it was meeting expectations. However, measures of success are hardly objective. For example, when a large institution operates in the red from time to time, it is business as usual. However, for a startup, financial and other failures can mean that the organization’s days are numbered. Similarly, measures of success for the institutional host and the SEO may also look different. For example, an academic host may validate an SEO’s success by its publication record, number of workshops hosted, and other metrics familiar to a scholastic environment. However, for a scholarly startup, success may be judged on the basis of business criteria including degree of self‐sufficiency, brand recognition, and, naturally, the bottom line. When there are no agreed‐upon measures of success, it is difficult to agree on how well an SEO has performed.

Although not everything ran exactly according to plan, the NTF’s inaugural Red Horizon program generated enthusiasm within the broader SEO/host environment, which led to expansion and a proposal to offer the exercise as an annual executive education program. With buy‐in from senior faculty and interest from important potential customers, the NTF was validated for its risky endeavor. But while the host welcomed the NTF’s achievement on Red Horizon, it was clear that its expectations could not be fully satisfied with this single initiative. The measures of success for the institution naturally fell more in line with those of academia. As a scholarly startup, the NTF—much like an entrepreneurial venture beholden to shareholders—had to find ways to meet its obligations to the institution in addition to carrying out its own core programming. In the end, this meant making certain concessions, but it also opened up opportunities to fill gaps in the institution’s programming. The key to identifying these opportunities was a negotiation process between the SEO and host. Both sides recognized that a scholarly startup’s success is informed by (at least) two parts—the expectations of the host and the goals of the scholarly startup. In the case of the NTF and the Davis Center, synergies were unleashed.

For example, the SEI provided the Center with a compelling strategic priority around “reimagining regional studies,” strengthening the Center’s profile as a leader in innovation in regional studies and reinvigorating scholarship and practice in this area. Additionally, to the institution’s benefit, the scholar‐entrepreneurs—drawing upon their expertise in various specialties—were able to offer new classes that otherwise could not be taught. And the Davis Center was able to leverage the potential of the NTF and other SEOs in its marketing and fundraising strategy, attracting the attention of donors who were a source of supplemental revenue for the Center as well as the lifeblood of the NTF.

Another program that emerged was “Innovation Fellowships.” Created by the Davis Center in service to the university’s students, these awards gave promising applicants the opportunity to pursue meaningful projects with their selected SEO. The partnership between the SEOs and the host also helped sow the seeds for greater engagement by the Davis Center with other experts, advisers, and communities within and outside of the university’s walls. Thus, the startups helped connect their host with new communities, offer new courses and programs, and open up new income streams.

As an SEO, the NTF had learned the necessity of engaging in “assumptions wrangling” by looking beyond the “stated policies and procedures” of the Davis Center to understand its deep, underlying assumptions (Cutcher‐Gershenfeld 2018). The Davis Center operates on the principle that all of its programs will deliver value to the Center as a whole, while supporting Harvard’s mission of providing exceptional educational opportunities to its students. By understanding these expectations, and working to address them, the NTF was able to build more positive relationships with its host and the broader university community.

SEOs and hosts conceive of risk differently. In its infancy, the NTF undertook challenges with vigor and with little regard for long‐term feasibility or sustainability. For example, at the start of the Red Horizon project, friction emerged when the NTF felt constrained and the host felt pushed to its institutional capacity. Although unintentionally, the NTF’s approach stretched the budget, overtaxed manpower, and strained valuable institutional relationships. It also exposed the differences in risk tolerance between the host institution and the SEO. Although the outcomes, such as the Red Horizon exercise itself, were novel and ultimately mutually beneficial, the method of operation was not. The host liked the SEO’s results, but it did not like the way the SEO got there. In short, understanding the interests and concerns of both the SEO and the host can help navigate a better working relationship and mitigate future tensions.

In the SEO’s pursuit of self‐sustainability, financial hazards are inevitable. For a startup, a “things may get worse before they get better” mentality can bolster it during periods of uncertainty. However, to the host, this mantra—meant to buoy the SEO’s spirits—may translate as “we don’t have a plan!” For the NTF, periodic check‐ins with the host to discuss budgets and strategies for growth helped alleviate the host’s financial concerns and made for a more transparent and more frequent exchange of information. Other risks that the SEO must consider to successfully manage itself within an established institution, in addition to financial, are intangible risks, including those to relationships and reputations. Although an SEO might look at risk primarily from a financial perspective, the host might be more concerned about risks to its reputation and relationships.

To risk or to heed caution? In the SEO–host relationship, a tolerance of both will help smooth out the edges of the partnership. For the NTF, greater understanding of the host’s concerns and consideration for not only the immediate risks, but also the second‐ and third‐order consequences, helped it take chances without giving cause for alarm. In short, responsible risk navigation can help satiate a startup’s appetite for risk while assuaging an institution’s aversion to it.

There is no guarantee of success and no clear “exit strategy” after a startup’s incubation period has elapsed. However, the NTF case study illustrates both the advantages and potential limitations of committing to an SEO partnership.

We find that to be successful, an SEO must meet the following requirements:

1. It must understand the opportunities and constraints of engagement with its host institution while maintaining a strong internal entrepreneurial culture. This involves acknowledging the misfit of disruptive startups in academia and working through a period of adjustment to build a mutually agreeable operational framework. Although university stakeholders embrace learning and constant improvements when it comes to scholarly research, they are less likely to look favorably at the rapid launching, testing, and failing of projects that are perceived to disrupt their proven methods and workflows.

2. It must clearly define its mission and goals and develop concrete ways of measuring and demonstrating its success to the host institution. The SEO and its host institution may have different measures for evaluating success, and scholar‐entrepreneurs must be prepared to negotiate an assessment system that satisfies both sides. With regard to long‐term SEO sustainability, impact is the key metric of success. The SEO thus needs to work closely with its host organization to define success, to demonstrate that its model works and creates value for important constituencies, and to attract donations, grants, and other funding that lead it toward self‐sustainability.

3. It must carefully manage its natural inclination toward risk‐taking with the host institution’s risk aversion to create a program that is both innovative and self‐sustaining. An SEO must attain self‐sustainability before the seed funding dries up. By working to produce concrete deliverables early on and by demonstrating consistent progress, the SEO can build trust with its host institution. Furthermore, scholar‐entrepreneurs can reassure their host institution by showcasing their accomplishments and highlighting tangible benefits for students, staff, and faculty in spite of (or sometimes because of) uncommon workflows and methods.

While the academy offers unique resources and opportunities to scholar‐entrepreneurs, their success in building a self‐sustaining, innovative SEO depends on their ability to navigate and overcome these key friction points. Therefore, scholar‐entrepreneurs must be prepared to exercise principled negotiation skills in working with the host institution on various levels. SEOs go through a gradual building process that involves myriad interactions with different decision makers in their academic environment.

For the NTF, accepting academic institutional boundaries initially felt like a roadblock. Ultimately, learning how to work within the system and wield organizational resources for its benefit was a rewarding lesson that allowed the NTF to overcome friction points and pave its way forward. An SEO is disruptive by nature and therefore must not only anticipate potential friction points, but master techniques to advocate for its mission while fulfilling its duties to the host institution. When the goals of the institution and its scholarly startup are misaligned, their working relationship can become frustrated from the outset. An SEO must assess the alignment between its goals and those of a potential host to ensure compatibility before undertaking this intimate, complicated partnership.

If an SEO and its host are able to negotiate these friction points successfully, their partnership can be beneficial for both the startup, the incubator, and the incubator’s key stakeholders. A vibrant SEO can provide its host with opportunities for student fellowships, employment, and engagement with research materials and methods not currently used in the classrooms or research labs. Scholar‐entrepreneurs can teach crucial courses that a department would otherwise not be able to offer and provide programming such as workshops and conferences, easing the burden on faculty, staff, and researchers. In addition, scholar‐entrepreneurs and their teams disseminate their work through research outputs, such as traditional peer‐reviewed work and other publications.⁸ Altogether, when a scholarly startup and its host have a reciprocal understanding of their respective methods and objectives, their relationship is not only value‐creating but also symbiotic.

Further research is needed to analyze the SEO through the perspectives of behavioral science and management studies. While this article has focused largely on the SEO, the role of the scholar‐entrepreneur as an individual deserves further scrutiny. Ideally, such research will also assess how the roles of other traditional university stakeholders are impacted by the emergence of a new type of innovator whose identity blurs the boundaries between research and leadership.

For example, the SEO model might offer universities a powerful tool for addressing the “adjunctification” conundrum. The exploitation of nontenured university instructors through short‐term, underpaid contracts is a destructive trend in academia (Churchill 2019). However, even university leaders who seek to address this problem struggle to find a solution that satisfies their curricular needs, provides job security and a fair income to nontenured faculty, and keeps costs manageable. Investing in scholar‐entrepreneurs is significantly more expensive than hiring adjunct lecturers but much less costly than creating a new tenured position and can be implemented much more quickly. By providing emerging scholars with the opportunity to launch SEOs to which they bring passion and commitment, universities unleash the creative potential of junior, nontenured scholars and provide them a platform to launch innovative ideas, a path to career advancement, and a way to give back to their community. Scholar‐entrepreneurs have an advantage unavailable to both tenured faculty and adjuncts: they build institutions. For scholar‐entrepreneurs, incubating their venture at a dedicated academic host is a promising adventure, as well. Even if they leave the host after the end of the incubation period, they will have gained valuable skills, as well as developed an invaluable network of connections within and around the host institution. They emerge as better teachers, leaders, and institution‐builders.

If scholar‐entrepreneurs are prepared to predict and navigate key friction points around host structure, goals, and risk culture, an academic institution can be fertile ground to build a successful, self‐sustaining, and value‐creating venture that successfully combines the strengths of both the “scholarly” and the “entrepreneurial” worlds.

For helpful comments and feedback that improved this article, the authors thank Rawi Abdelal, Sarah Failla, Nargis Kassenova, Catherine Mannick, Kelly O’Neill, Alexandra Vacroux, the participants of the 2021 PON‐Babson Working Conference on Entrepreneurship and Negotiation, and the two anonymous reviewers.