Presidential Chainmail

The writer is a current president 

When I am in meetings with my presidential peers, I almost always walk away from these kinds of peer spaces (e.g., provost or president/chancellor-only meetings) with a sense that I am the only one in the room who has challenges and problems, or at least that mine are unique. 

Sometimes I bring these issues to the conversations; sometimes I am also that one who humble-brags about the latest achievement. But more often I am shamed into being quiet, thinking “wow, I wish that I had that great problem!” (think: enrollments exceeding projections; wealthy donors requiring too much attention; faculty with excess grant funding wanting bonuses; too many invitations to speak; too much attention from the media.)

I often feel like these peer group discussions are a waste of time, or worse. The premise is that we are meeting to support each other and improve our performance by allowing for the sharing of challenges and concerns, without having to worry about maintaining our presidential posture, betraying vulnerability, or scaring our constituents. Yet they often turn into opportunities to pretend and preen. 

That is a waste of my time. 

When it happens on Zoom, I start reading my email. But when it happens out of town at a meeting that was hard to schedule and costly to attend, I am wasting more than my time: I am harming my institution. Even worse, as a group we are wasting a rare opportunity to find ways to address our real problems as a society and transform higher education.

Why can’t we be real with each other? 

There are several possible explanations. First, it’s strategic: our institutions compete with each other for students, rankings, and external support, and we may fear that exposing any weakness will lower our institution’s reputation in the eyes of the others. We rightly see our jobs as championing our institutions to gain a variety of resources and it’s hard to set that strategic habit aside. 

There are also non-rational causes of our pretensions: presidents are not selected for their humility but for their ambition, confidence, and storytelling abilities. We are personally competitive. Furthermore, when resources are scarce or times are tough, we naturally adopt a protective mindset.

I believe in the value of competition in many situations. In athletic contests and in the marketplace, I truly believe that it makes us better, more productive. Yet competition without cooperation or regulation is destructive. It stultifies innovation and discourages mutual aid. That’s what I am seeing right now in higher education in these top roles. I believe that we need to cooperate more—starting with being honest and candid with each other when we have the chance.

Perhaps meetings—and even dinners with people who are not close friends—are not the place to expect that, but at least we should not pretend that we are truth-telling. To my more experienced colleagues: where do you find that space, if ever?