We're All in This Together
How the frigid economic climate is creating a certain human warmth on our campuses
By ROBERT A. WEISBUCH
Man, it's cold in here. Salary freeze, hiring freeze. But then there's that hot little secret: Some presidents are not so sad about the recession.
If we are at all humane, we certainly regret its effects on our lowest-earning staff and faculty members; and we should do all we can not to add to the nation's rocketing number of unemployed workers. Much as we try to write thoughtfully and sensitively about what is happening at our institutions, the reality is that our well-intentioned letters to the campus end up sounding something like this:
"Dear Colleagues (for the moment):
"The good news is the university is stable. The bad news is you are not.
"The economic downturn has quite suddenly transformed our Superman endowment into Mr. Peepers. Thus the University is required to freeze all salaries beginning July 1 for the rest of the fiscal century. We also must downsize the staff by 200 percent in the next 10 minutes. This means dismissing a number of people who have never worked here. We hope this measure will serve to boost the morale of those of you who were fortunate enough to work for the University. Certain auxiliary services will be cut as well in order to protect the academic mission. In addition to the closure of the library last week, all staff and faculty members should arrange to pick up their children at the University day care by noon, after which they will be sold to the highest bidders.
"Have a great day, and Go Warthogs!"
That is, some presidents can get so carried away with slogans ("A Good Crisis Is a Shame to Waste") that a certain perverse nastiness masquerades as a form of tough necessity. Further, those of us at institutions with endowments in the mere millions may take a low, resentful joy in seeing the wealthy sweat. Not only do the Ivies and their like depend on endowment money for a far higher percentage of annual operations, but, let's face it, they are in virgin territory when it comes to a financial crisis, whiles the rest of us can say, "Been here, done that." Or as the jazz blues goes, Been down so long don't know what up is.
Almost. I really never have been in quite such a frigid climate. Oddly, though, it is creating a certain human warmth on our campuses, and here is where the nonperverse pleasures of this painful situation begin. At Drew, I joke with real gratitude that we have been Drewn together. In a recent faculty meeting, a very bright, skeptical faculty member, objecting to aspects of a new program, actually asked whether passing a part of it would be sufficient to boost admissions. Heretofore, our admissions office at Drew could be a scapegoat of faculty resentment — Why don't you bring us more and better students? — whereas this year, there is a sense that dots are being connected between curricular improvement and garnering a good enrollment. Quadruple the number of faculty members have volunteered to meet with prospective students.
The sense that we are all in this together can make for a stronger community, and it is up to presidents to be especially open in their thinking, and perhaps in their emotional lives, too. For instance, to make a difficult choice at least appear thoughtful, it seems a good idea when sending out the bad news to regret it explicitly and to explain which alternatives were rejected.
Several staff and faculty colleagues have even given me budget suggestions, often more stringent than we actually require, but all with that same sense of being Drewn together.
In fact, this period of financial stress is a great opportunity for a president to offer something of a course in Admin 101. Just as it is helpful for a president to get into the classroom frequently, as a reminder, say, of how debilitating an overheated room or a lack of chalk may be, it's equally valuable for faculty and staff members to experience such administrative niceties as keeping the institution out of bankruptcy court. This is a new kind of interdisciplinarity, and it can go a long way toward closing the we/they opposition.
But there is also an element of tough love among faculty members in such a time as this. Panic is trumping tact for the first time in the modern history of the academy. Colleagues who once cheerfully adopted the attitude toward programs of dubious worth, "I'll allow your inanity if you will permit my anachronism," are now more ready to make the difficult calls that were once left to the suits.
And even the dullest presidents (and that is to set a very high standard) are spending a few minutes off autopilot, thinking about dumb expenses. Perhaps, for instance, the job candidate does not have to be taken to dinner by the entire 40-member department. And perhaps I really can live with my current desk, the Kmart special, for a few more years. What millions of tuition-paying parents failed to encourage us to do with their cries of pain has been accomplished by those Wall Street pundits who didn't have a clue.
There is a final pleasure available in this cold climate, and it will be instructive to see how many dare it. It's named courage. In most downturns at most universities, the first cut is to idealism. Civic engagement is neglected. K-12 partnerships languish. Sustainability comes to mean something with little reference to the environment. The vision thing becomes invisible. In this storm upon integrity, the one port is an innovative budget — which is also to say, maintaining it against all pressures.
Keep the joint jumping. You can't get frozen if you keep moving.
