Can Systemness and Tech Help Save Higher Ed?

The writer is a current president.

Even before I accepted my current role, I received a fair number of job inquiries. None resonated with me the way this institution did. Its mission aligned with my own life story. Serving a diverse student body—many of whom face similar economic and social barriers—is not just professional work for me; it is personal.

This is my fifth year at a university in a statewide system. We are also the least funded campus in that system. We serve a deeply diverse community, often with limited economic means, while state funds are distributed largely by legacy rather than by any formula tied to student head count, mission, or performance.

By nearly any objective measure, our institution is poor.

No one on my team likes that word. They gently prefer “underresourced.” I understand the instinct. Diplomacy, however, is not my strongest suit; clarity matters to me. What matters even more is that I have trained my team to speak up, whenever and however necessary. We grow stronger together not by avoiding hard truths but by confronting them honestly.

Last year, every campus in our system announced structural deficits. The causes were familiar: uncertainty around federal research dollars, declining state support, stagnant enrollments, and rising costs. Publicly, these deficits were framed as systemic. In reality, many were campus-specific. To be candid, the system itself has been extracting funds from individual campuses since I started this job.

Strategically, we chose to go with the pack and released our own structural deficit update. Ours was modest, especially considering that we receive the least subsidy in the system. The first announcement barely registered. The numbers from other campuses were unimaginably large. When donors and alumni began asking follow-up questions, we issued a second update. Almost immediately, rumors spread that our institution had received an increase in state support.

That was not true.

What was true is this: We closed a structural deficit without laying off a single employee.

This did not happen by accident, and it certainly was not luck.

When I arrived on campus, I encountered a pervasive inferiority complex. Too many people were living in the shadow of the flagship campus. I saw something very different. I believed I had joined one of the best institutions in the country—not despite its challenges, but because of them. The first order of business was to end the victimhood mentality. We talked openly about who we are. We celebrated our people relentlessly. Think like a winner and act like a winner became rule No. 1.

Decades of underfunding had made the institution resource-anemic. Survival required discipline. Every dollar mattered, and that reality had to be normalized rather than resented. We established clear financial controls: Every new hire and every replacement position required my approval, and this policy was communicated transparently across campus. Yes, some processes slowed. Occasionally, there were complaints. More often, there was understanding and cooperation. Respect for financial policy and disciplined spending became rule No. 2.

Finance is a language many people actively avoid. Budget conversations can feel abstract, intimidating, or exclusionary. Yet no financial strategy succeeds unless people understand the numbers and trust the decisions behind them. We made simplification a priority. For a public university’s operating budget—setting aside earmarked research dollars that are rarely operational—there are only three revenue sources: federal, state, and tuition. If any one of them declines, the budget shrinks. We focused on big numbers, repeated simple examples, and replaced jargon with plain language. Make finance understandable became rule No. 3.

Early in my tenure, I shared a one-page framework with the senior executive team and deans on how to approach budget reductions. It centered on mindset as much as mechanics. Never do across-the-board cuts; they are cowardly. Cut with intention. There are only three ways to balance a budget: Cut expenses, increase revenues, or combine both. No institution cuts its way to excellence. At the same time, in a state with limited population growth, revenue expansion alone is not a reliable solution. The answer is a deliberate, values-driven combination—a jigsaw puzzle, not a blunt instrument. Approach deficits with courage and conviction became rule No. 4.

At social events, people would often say to me, “You’re so lucky—you don’t have a big deficit.” I always replied politely: Luck had nothing to do with it. Our people make sacrifices every day so that we can survive together as a whole.

We share that vision unapologetically with donors, alumni, and employers. We are focused. We honor our core. We tell our story without embarrassment. We are no longer the metropolitan underdog propped up by excuses. We have built a strong people-centered culture, and we no longer shy away from saying who we are and what we stand for.