Following period of governance turmoil, new of U of Texas System chancellor -- after a decorated military career -- discusses the transition to higher ed, the roles of the system and chancellor, and "chain of command."
I remember well the meeting with a senior faculty leader. It was early in my Wesleyan University presidency, and I was excited about the many things I hoped to see accomplished. We were talking about the objectives for the year that the administration would be presenting to the board of trustees, and I asked what her goals were. Clearly surprised by my invitation to help set the agenda for the university, this faculty veteran -- well respected by her colleagues and a devoted mentor for her students -- explained to me that she would do what she could to ensure that not much would change. When I seemed incredulous, she emphasized that “preventing disaster is not the same as doing nothing.”
What to make of this exchange? Emblematic of the university’s disdain for innovation? Of higher education’s notorious inertia in the face of change? Certainly the conservative dimension of academic culture is real and important, protecting the university from merely echoing microtrends that may be irrelevant, even antithetical, to quality education. But in this age of increasingly rapid change fueled by technological innovation, we might find, to paraphrase Oscar Hammerstein, that we have been protected out of all we own.
In their Locus of Authority: The Evolution of Faculty Roles in Higher Education, William Bowen and Gene Tobin defend a contemporary model of shared governance, one that emphasizes robust consultation. In the end, however, they stress that if colleges and universities are to thrive in the current environment, the power to initiate changes and make them stick must be centralized. Although recognizing that new academic programs need faculty support, they underscore that the allocation of resources and even pedagogical initiatives are going to be most successful with leadership unbeholden to any existing constituency.
Successful change will emerge, Bowen and Tobin underscore, when leaders work for the good of the university as a whole and over time. Given that both authors were themselves presidents, it is unsurprising that when they look for people thinking of the good of the whole, they find them in the central administration.
Colleges and universities have been under enormous pressure to change, and change they have. Faculty authors of the Yale Report of 1828 defended their work against critics who claimed that colleges “are not adapted to the spirit and wants of the age; that they will soon be deserted, unless they are better accommodated to the business character of the nation.” Sound familiar? The 19th-century Yale faculty pointed out that they also had to deal with alumni who complained that the college was no longer teaching the way it had decades before, just as today college-educated parents often express surprise that their children aren’t learning the same things they were taught. The notion that professors have been teaching the same things in the same way for centuries is just false.
But modifications of the curriculum, even alterations in teaching style, may not be what the “disrupters” are looking for when they talk about the importance of transforming higher education. They want universities to be more nimble, capable of responding to the needs of students and to “just-in-time” research opportunities as these emerge. Critics rightly charge that the structures of universities insulate faculty, administrators and students from many stimuli (and incentives) for change. Sure, new kinds of colleges, like Minerva, and new platforms for taking classes, like Coursera, are putting pressure on some colleges to adjust, but according to higher education’s critics, most institutions just go along their merry way.
I served as president at the California College of the Arts before coming to Wesleyan, and I’ve seen some pretty big changes at those institutions. Some of these changes came from enterprising faculty, others from students, and some from administrators who saw real advantages to altering the traditional models we were using. A few came from my own initiatives. All of them eventually required the kind of consultation Bowen and Tobin describe, though none of them would have had consensus right off the bat. In higher education, the promise of consensus usually devolves into the threat of veto. Consensus kills innovation.
At California College of the Arts (CCA), I had a key role in the momentous decision to change the name of the institution, long known as the California College of Arts and Crafts. Although I was personally committed to many of the values of the arts and crafts movement out of which the college emerged, I came to see that the name was no longer helpful in designating a vibrant place where digital design, architecture, film, fine arts and writing often intermingled in powerfully creative ways. We could have embraced the name and made it work, I thought, but the leadership of the college hadn’t been doing that.
For at least 20 years much energy had been spent complaining about or defending the name. As president, I was able to guide a process involving faculty, students and board members that eventually led to the name being changed. My major contribution was just setting parameters for the discussion and saying that we would finish our decision-making process within a year. Either we would change the name or we would not talk about the issue for the duration of my presidency. In 2003, the board unanimously approved the name California College of the Arts, with the understanding that craft, design, architecture and writing were all part of our approach to learning through the arts.
After about three years or so at CCA, I introduced the idea of an M.B.A. with a focus on design. Lots of people laughed at the idea of a business degree at an art school. Having no business background myself, I hired a faculty member, designer Nathan Shedroff, to help plan a distinctive business program that would work in our creative context. The provost (now president), Steve Beal, and the CFO, David Kirshman, were enormously helpful in launching the program, which has now received international recognition from the design and business communities.
We brought the program for detailed discussion with more faculty members only after we had done quite a lot of planning -- and knew that we would not spend very much money in advance. Before launching the program, nobody else at the institution would have been invested in its success. If we had asked for a vote, we would have lost. Now, with allied programs, a larger faculty and successful alumni, the graduate Design Business program is an important part of the wonderfully eclectic CCA mix.
If these examples from CCA depict presidential initiative, two examples from Wesleyan shine a light on how individual faculty members can create broad institutional change. Over the past 30 years, Jeanine Basinger has taken film studies from the small interest area of a few colleagues to a fragile interdisciplinary program and on to a department with its own lines and facilities. As she has told me more than once, “They tried to kill it many times.” But through her indefatigable efforts together with her example as a teacher and scholar, she turned film studies into one of the university’s most widely recognized areas of excellence. And she’s still going. Two years ago, I asked her and her colleagues to make the interdisciplinary department, including an important historical archive, into the College of Film and the Moving Image. We are now building an endowment for C-Film as a permanent part of our academic offerings.
Biologist and environmental scientist Barry Chernoff was one of several faculty who responded to my call for new academic proposals when I began my tenure at Wesleyan. A radically interdisciplinary scientist, Barry wanted to bring more collaborative research and teaching under the environmental studies tent. In 2009 we created the College of the Environment, a program in which all students have both a major in environmental science and a linked major -- be it economics or biology, anthropology or dance. In addition, there is a think tank attached to the college in which faculty and undergraduates from very different departments work together on collaborative projects. A number of important publications have already emerged, and we have built a significant endowment for the program.
In both these cases, individual faculty were not only the instigators of new programs, they were also the builders. As president, I knew when to get out of the way and also when I could help them raise additional resources to make their enterprises sustainable. This last part is often important in gaining buy-in from the faculty more generally. Raising additional resources “expands the pie” so that older departments don’t block change out of fear that they themselves will receive less.
But the notion of expanding the pie also fosters illusions because it masks the trade-offs that should be visible with innovation. If new programs become more successful, according to transparent criteria, then resources should be reallocated. That often painful process of reallocation, as Bowen and Tobin argue, is the responsibility of the administration, and, ultimately of the board. It’s up to the president and provost to explain publicly the criteria for the distribution of resources.
The faculty rightly controls the kinds of courses offered for credit, and it has clear rules for approving promotions, new classes and different modes of teaching. At Wesleyan, though, students have often played an important role, instigating changes in the curriculum by bringing their intellectual interests to the fore (we want environmental design! we want more art classes! more labs!). Recently students, along with a group of faculty who wanted to experiment with intensive teaching, were instrumental in opening up the academic calendar. They made a strong pitch to faculty leadership to offer classes in the summer, and then in the winter break. The intensive courses award full academic credit and are offered at sharply discounted tuition, incentivizing breaking away from the conventional undergraduate calendar.
These proposals had strong administrative support, and it was crucial that there were faculty leaders who were willing to try the new modes of teaching. Our summer and winter terms are small, but they are growing. They offer all students more pathways to complete their degrees, often with substantial cost savings and evidence of deep learning.
My final example of change at Wesleyan is my decision to partner with Coursera in the summer of 2012. This was an unusual moment, a time when I was convinced that we at Wesleyan needed more experimentation with online learning, a time of both MOOC mania and backlash against MOOCs. I was very impressed with Coursera cofounder Daphne Koller’s approach to building a group of strong classes through an iterative process of running them and improving them.
Since these classes were not being offered for credit, I knew I did not need authorization from the faculty as a whole. We were going to produce the classes very economically, so money wasn’t the issue. I decided to join the first group of Wesleyan teachers online, inviting some of the most respected and celebrated faculty members to join me in the experiment. We were very fortunate to enlist five colleagues from very different departments. None of us knew precisely what we were getting into, but we all were curious about pedagogical innovation and eager to share our classes for free with students from around the world.
When I announced this partnership at the first faculty meeting of the year, there was real consternation. Did I actually have the authority to do this, I was asked by one of my senior colleagues. Yes, I did, at least according to the board chair and the general counsel. I knew that the ice on which we’d started skating was thin, but in the end the success of our efforts would be judged by the individual teachers involved and then on a strategy and policy level by the relevant faculty and board committees.
If I had asked a general faculty meeting for authorization, I doubt we would have ever gotten started. Instead, I asked the faculty committees to respond to our reports on the classes we taught, to refine the process of selecting teachers and subjects, and to help determine which lessons from our online classes were relevant to our work on campus.
Wesleyan is a small place. We have around 3,000 students, mostly undergraduates. In our work with Coursera over the last few years, we have worked with more than 1,000,000 students from over 120 countries. All of us who have taught in the program find it exciting and frustrating by turns -- and tremendously invigorating. We are taking lessons into flipped classrooms as well as into more traditional seminars. The partnership with Coursera continues. We are learning together. If in the end the faculty deems the experiment a failure, then will move onto other experiments.
Changes are happening at America’s colleges and universities as faculty, students and administrators grapple with making the education they offer more empowering beyond the university. Although the faculty as a whole may sometimes function as a guardian of mission and tradition, individual professors are often catalysts for innovations that can be put in the service of broad, strategic goals. As Bowen and Tobin emphasize, strong leadership recognizes the need for faculty as genuine participants rather than as adversaries.
And it’s not just faculty who can launch sustainable change. Sometimes initiatives come from students eager to try to modes of learning, or to delve more deeply into subjects not yet well represented in the curriculum. Deans, provosts and presidents learn to get out of the way when tailwinds can carry worthwhile initiatives to fruition, but they also can themselves initiate curricular experimentation in areas where there is of yet no campus constituency for new programs.
Bowen and Tobin’s main point is as simple as it is important: effective shared governance is not divided governance. Coordinated consultation and transparent decision making can ensure that universities aren’t just protecting themselves out of all they own, but are learning how to promote inquiry, learning and creative practice in ways that remain most empowering today.
Michael S. Roth is president of Wesleyan University. His most recent books are Beyond the University: Why Liberal Education Matters and Memory, Trauma and History: Essays on Living With the Past.
Few people appear happy with the state of shared governance at American colleges and universities. Faculty members complain that they are being disempowered by administrators and trustees who are creating an increasingly "corporatized" academic environment and who are more concerned with budgets than with quality. Administrators lament the extent to which faculties seem oblivious to the fiscal realities threatening the status quo and to the need for significant or even radical change. Trustees struggle to find the appropriate balance between too much and too little involvement in the activities of both faculty members and administrators. And legislators seem baffled by the whole system -- though in my experience bafflement is actually one of the less dangerous states in which legislators might find themselves. It is when they think they understand things that I get worried.
I am inclined to believe that many of these concerns are overblown. Bad actors and bad decisions are unavoidable in any large and diverse system, but these still seem to me the exception and not the rule. Most faculty members and most administrators appear to me to want what they have always wanted: to create vibrant and supportive environments within which the work of teaching and learning can be carried out at a high level. Achieving this goal has become increasingly difficult as the economic model of higher education has come under more intense stress, and this has cast the long-present messiness of the shared governance model into sharper relief. It has never been easy to maintain equilibrium within such a complex system of institutional decision-making, but today the stakes seem higher and the cost of missteps or inaction much greater.
The interesting question is not whether the shared governance model is irrevocably broken, but whether it can be improved. I believe that it can and that improvement must begin with a better understanding of where the fault lines in the current system lie.
Imagine that two people are charged with the completion of two tasks. They can choose to "share" this responsibility in a couple of different ways: each can be assigned to the completion of one task, or both can work on both tasks together. Depending on the nature of the tasks — and the people — one or another of these approaches may be the more effective.
Shared governance at most colleges has evolved into a model that more closely resembles the first than the second of these approaches. It is common to find the faculty charged with the design, oversight, and teaching of the curriculum, with some minimal level of input from administrators. Virtually all other matters — co-curricular programming, student life, and, above all else, decisions about the spending of institutional dollars — are chiefly the purview of administrators, with some minimal level of input from faculty. We have, that is, a system of sharing through division more than a system of sharing through deep collaboration.
There is no denying that in some respects this division makes a good deal of sense: faculty members are the ones best-situated by training and position to make decisions about academic matters, and administrators in areas like student life and finance have both training and relevant experience that most faculty members lack. But there is also no denying that the absence of extensive collaboration between those charged with designing a complex and expensive service and those charged with creating a sustainable economic model for that service, especially when there are serious questions about its sustainability, is far from optimal. At the risk of appearing to trivialize our important enterprise — and we do take ourselves pretty seriously — I would liken many colleges to restaurants at which the chefs decide upon the menu items to be offered, the managers work on the business model, and neither group does much consulting with the other. Such an establishment is not likely to survive for very long.
While this particular system of what I would call divided governance has long been in place on college campuses, there is reason to believe that the division has in recent years gotten sharper and more absolute. Faculty members at selective institutions, both large and small, have over time been expected to become more fully and continuously engaged in scholarly activities and therefore have become less likely to carve out time to learn the ins and outs of college governance. Disciplinary training has become increasingly specialized, leaving faculty members less able or less inclined to think in institutional rather than departmental terms. Many more college leaders, especially at the presidential level, are now career administrators or are even being drawn from outside academe, and while this may or may not prepare them to be highly effective presidents, it certainly leaves the faculty concerned, with good reason, about their preparedness to speak to matters of the curriculum.
There is more. Academic administration has itself become both more professionalized and more specialized, as evidenced by the proliferation of graduate programs in the field and of "how to" seminars, conferences, and books for current or aspiring deans and presidents. Though some faculty members do persist in perceiving administrators as failed professors or, in the words of Professor Rob Jenkins, as "managers who just might be more concerned with the bottom line than with educational quality," the simple truth is that running a college has become an increasingly complex job that, like most such jobs, requires preparation, experience, and ongoing study, and that it is hard to do well in one's spare time.
As a faculty member I spent my time studying Dickens and honing my skills in the classroom. As a college president I spend my time learning about everything from admissions yield models to bond ratings to Title IX requirements and honing my skills in leadership. I have found both kinds of work to be demanding and rewarding, but would be incapable of doing the two simultaneously, at least at the level of excellence to which one should aspire.
In short, the days of faculty participating as a matter of course in admissions decisions or of presidents being drawn regularly from the ranks of the faculty at their own institutions are over.
Shared governance is not going away, nor is it clear, given the nature of college communities, that there is a preferable alternative. There are, however, a number of steps that can be taken to optimize the beneficial and minimize the deleterious effects of the system. The most important of these might be an attitudinal shift, on the part of both faculty members and administrators, away from a Manichean view of the academic world and toward a view more nuanced and accurate. So long as faculty members see administrators chiefly as "managers ... more concerned with the bottom line than with educational quality" — or worse — and so long as administrators see most faculty members as utterly indifferent to something as important as "the bottom line," the sharing of governance between the two groups will be fraught with conflict and distrust. I say this knowing that such changes in attitude are much easier to describe than to bring about but also out of a deep conviction that no change would do more to improve the quality of decision-making. I also believe that in this conversation, as in so many others, the loudest and most influential voices come from the extremes and that the majority of faculty members and administrators are not so far apart in priorities as the academic press would suggest.
My other recommendations are more concrete.
1. Rely more heavily for important decisions on representative rather than direct democracy.
All-faculty meetings are simply the wrong place to make decisions that have a serious strategic or financial impact on an institution. There is neither the time nor the base of information nor, at most colleges, the appropriate atmosphere necessary for careful and informed deliberation. Better outcomes are likely to come from elected faculty committees whose members have the time and willingness to study complex issues. These committees should be more fully empowered to make decisions and not just to offer recommendations to the full faculty. At most colleges, the one piece of deeply consequential business that is carried out wholly by an elected committee is the tenure and promotion process. Not surprisingly, it is also the piece of business that typically gets done most carefully and effectively.
2. Be sure that there is at least one body on campus whose members include both administrative leaders and elected faculty representatives and whose charge is to consider, in confidence, matters of strategic importance that cut across all areas of operations.
The remedy for the current weaknesses in shared governance lies not simply in taking authority away from the "full faculty." It also lies in providing more information to, and consulting more extensively with, the faculty in the form of their elected representatives — not only about curricular matters, but about all matters that affect their ability to carry out their work. This will not happen consistently unless it is built into the regular governance structure of the institution.
3. Include an elected faculty representative on the president's senior staff.
It is time that we stopped pretending that the faculty view the provost or the academic dean as "one of them" and therefore as their voice at the table during discussions among administrative leaders. The moment the provost becomes provost, she or he is viewed chiefly as an administrator, even if that individual is broadly respected and, indeed, even if that individual was drawn directly from the faculty ranks (a move that is becoming less common). The substantive and symbolic benefits of having an elected faculty voice in the room far outweigh the risks and drawbacks. This would not be a full-time position but rather the equivalent of chairing an important committee, since it is essential that this representative continue to be seen chiefly as a member of the faculty.
4. Provide as many opportunities as possible for faculty members who are interested in college governance to learn about all aspects of the college.
It has been my experience that those faculty members who are the finest teachers and most active scholars are only infrequently interested in administrative careers but are often interested in leadership more broadly understood. Such faculty members can best contribute to shared governance if they are as informed as possible about the operations, challenges, and strategic priorities of the institution. Administrators should be prepared to share with interested faculty members, honestly and fully, all pieces of information other that those that are, for one reason or another, necessarily confidential. They should offer seminars on areas such as financial operations, admissions, and fund-raising. Transparency and training do not eliminate disagreement, but over time they establish trust.
The most difficult of these changes to make is clearly the first. Almost never does a group with power relinquish it voluntarily, yet that is precisely what I am calling for in this instance: that is, for the full faculty to vote to relinquish some of its decision-making authority (any form of forced disempowerment would in my view be disastrous). The only chance for such a change to be approved would be, at the same time, to empower the faculty with more say, through elected representatives, in the decisions about which they presently have almost no say at all. Such a step might begin to move us at least minimally away from divided governance and toward a system in which tasks of great importance are more genuinely and regularly shared.
Brian Rosenberg is president of Macalester College.