Stupid Faculty Tricks

The writer is a current president

It seems some faculty simply do not respect the expertise of others. Somehow their Ph.D. in one subject has made them the master of all subjects. And, from their vantage point, the solutions to institutional issues are simple.  

I’ve seen this in discussions of financial aid (“just offer students less aid”), admissions (“we need to find more bright students”), fund-raising (“we should find richer people”), athletics (“students don’t come here for sports anyway”), budgets (“we have too many staff”), marketing (“we need more billboards”), and IT (“those required security training modules are a waste of time”). This hubris was on fully display during the pandemic, when faculty (and to be fair some staff) wanted their opinions to control campus policy. Never mind their lack of expertise in public health; surely they knew more than the local health department.

Of course, this does not work in reverse. If an administrator dares to have an opinion about their program or curriculum, the reaction is a swift and furious “How dare they?” Or, God forbid, there is a suggestion that teaching just two days per week is not what’s best for their students. Or, make an appeal that faculty visibility and accessibility on campus is perhaps the most important factor in student success. Such suggestions are apparently patronizing and insulting. But their publicly calling out what they think other offices should do is not.

These assertions of false expertise have some truly negative impacts. It seems these faculty members (not the majority) believe the only thing holding the institution back is the incompetence of administrators and staff. And that’s just plain hurtful. It is based on an “us vs. them” mindset that puts their own interests above the institution. And, perhaps worst, it causes staff (and even alumni and trustees) to unfairly label all faculty as uncooperative, unreasonable, and generally condescending. 

So, what is the solution?  

Something I attempted that did not work was trying to persuade the naysayers. In my first presidency, I would hear about how a few faculty members were upset about something. It was always the same few. There is a natural human desire to be liked, so it bothered me that they were unhappy with something I was doing. So, I would go to their offices to hash it out individually. These conversations were always respectful, and I thought this is good management—handling things directly. It took me a while to figure out I was actually doing harm by highlighting and rewarding the few who just opposed everything. They got a personal visit from the president and got to tell the tale (their version, of course) to everyone else. I was empowering them.

It takes some fortitude, but I’ve adopted an “ignore the 10 percent” strategy. That’s a little harsh—I still value the folks who seem to always have a complaint, but I don’t seek them out any more than their more amenable colleagues. And I’ve had to get comfortable with the fact that not everyone will like me or what I’m doing. So be it.

Another strategy has been to defeat people with detail. Our provost is an artist at this. It is easy to throw stones—unless the person on the other side is equipped with more advanced weaponry. Discussions about the allocation of faculty lines (for example) used to be a popularity contest of sorts in the faculty personnel committee. Now it is data-driven—enrollment, net revenue, credit hour production, advising load, etc.  The naysayers tried to poke holes in the data: “well, that doesn’t apply to us because….” The provost always had an answer. More data to prove them wrong. And now those data are generally accepted and can actually drive decisions.

I also had to learn not to be shy about making the right personnel decisions. If it is not an academic-related offense, the peer personnel committee does not have jurisdiction. Student relationships, failure to meet basic administrative requirements, threats against peers—these are not academic issues. When a peer committee failed to hold a faculty member accountable, I had to overrule it. I’m convinced that most faculty members know who their negative colleagues are, but just don’t want to be the ones to do anything about it.

Finally, tenure is not a job for life. We all know that. It is a guarantee of due process, that’s all. Notice and a hearing, rather than the at-will status most staff have. So, why do we fear taking on a tenured faculty member directly?  

Faculty hearing bodies may act more like union committees—they can think it is their job to defend their peers and “faculty rights” rather than the institution or its students. I learned to overrule nonsensical decisions. And I encouraged reasonable professors to populate these groups. Because they meet so infrequently, I’ve found the “personnel appeals committee” and other such groups tend to attract faculty volunteers who want to avoid committee service. Thus, you end up with a hearing body full of some of your most disengaged folks.

There are surely many faculty members who would appreciate seeing accountably for peers who do not pull their weight. And it is important to remember there is political capital to be gained by taking on difficult personnel decisions directly. The board will love it, as will staff who see a few entitled faculty getting away with murder.

I’ve seen so many instances where bad behavior has never been confronted or documented. Then, when you consider taking action, there is no paper trail. Most people don't like conflict, so they avoid the direct discussion and documentation of a problem. This is doubly true when confronting a bully. But we owe it to our students and colleagues to do the tough thing and take the bully by the horns.

And, of course, I have to remember this is not about me. People dislike change … not me. People dislike accountability … not me. People are just generally unhappy grumps … that’s not about me either. 

Doing the right thing and fighting the right fights is not about me either. It is about our students, who deserve the best possible instructors, mentors, and campus culture.  And if not for that, why are we all here?