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Liberal Education, Fall 2002
Presidential Leadership: Moral
Leadership in the New Millennium
Robert A. Corrigan |
I do believe that those of us leading colleges and universities
today are a unique generation of university presidents --
academic administrators with a social conscience. And I would
like to think that some decades from now, our successors will
look back to this period as a turning point -- more accurately,
a returning point -- for college and university presidents,
that they will see in us women and men committed to using
our position for the fullest good -- women and men who helped
to strengthen hearts as well as minds, and communities as
well as curricula.
As I think back on it, it seems obvious why many of us, who
as faculty or students were active in civil rights and the
anti-war movement, made the natural progression from political
action to university curricular reform. Rejecting the view
that higher education should serve a predominantly elite population,
we proceeded to overhaul what we perceived as an outmoded
university curriculum as we struggled to open up the university
to new ideas, new teaching strategies, and most of all, to
new populations. In my generation of young faculty, at least
in the humanities and social sciences, there was a heightened
commitment to the values of equity, justice, and diversity
and a tremendous concern for reforming the very institution
that had given those of us who were not from wealthy families
our edge -- the university.
Failure in reform
As successful as our generation may have been in challenging
established institutional values and educational orthodoxy
across the spectrum of American higher education, it seems
clear in retrospect that we were quite unsuccessful in articulating
a new value system to support the curricula reforms we helped
to initiate. Not until very recently has higher education
taken on the daunting task of identifying and institutionalizing
a new set of civic and moral values to replace those that
my generation helped to discard. Indeed, in the 1970s and
80s there had been, instead, a faculty-led counter effort
to make the individual classroom, and the university as a
whole, value-free communities. The result was several generations
of students educated without a well-developed sense of moral
integrity, institutional identification, or a positive set
of social, political, and community goals. Thirty years ago,
about 50 percent of eighteen to twenty-nine year-olds voted
in presidential elections; today, less than one-third do,
and only 20 percent vote in Congressional elections. Shame
on us!
As a result of the failure of our reform generation, by the
1980s public higher education found itself subjected to as
much public criticism as we have received in our entire history.
Certainly, we would be hard pressed to find a period when
presidential leadership was held in such low esteem or subject
to such public ridicule. The high moral ground that presidents
once held had been lost, and unless we take it upon ourselves
to restore the lost American faith in our collective enterprise,
we might never regain that high ground. There once was a time
when American college presidents enjoyed the confidence of
61 percent of the public. We fell to 21 percent in the polls
and probably hover now at about 25 percent. This lack of trust
and respect, from within and outside the academy, was a key
reason why many presidents found it so difficult to provide
the leadership our institutions needed.
Actually, I doubt that even the most radical of us would
argue that universities, on their own, can solve the myriad
problems that beset our nation. But to deny that we have an
obligation to assist our fellow citizens in their efforts
to make the country a better place is not only to risk the
further alienation of an already deeply troubled public, but
to sell short the enormous capacity for public service that
is vested in our nation's great universities.
At a time when this country desperately needs inspired and
committed university leaders, ones who can bring to bear the
extraordinary resources of their institutions, far too many
of us, myself included, often respond like bureaucrats. The
situation is compounded when presidents also hesitate to speak
out on the great moral and social issues of our day, leaving
the public with the impression that not only do we not wish
to lead, but that we cannot lead, that we are, in fact, not
leaders, but merely managers.
As a case in point -- many of us, I suspect, received a letter
not so long ago from a former university president announcing
the formation of a new consulting firm. Attached was a résumé
listing the number of new buildings erected and private dollars
raised while president. No mention of curricula reform, community
outreach, student success stories, faculty achievements --
just the number of new buildings and private dollars. How
sad, I thought at the time. In judging the quality of presidential
leadership, we have moved from victory on the football field
to success in capital campaigns. Please do not misunderstand
-- I know we need to build facilities and raise money. I have
certainly done my share. This is not sour grapes on my part.
But I certainly don't want my obituary to cite as my greatest
achievements in office the increase in the campus endowment
and the number of new buildings for which I was responsible.
To be even more blunt, I did not give up the joys of the
classroom and the comfort of the research library to take
responsibility for seeing that the campus buses run on time.
Of course it is important that I maintain a well-managed campus,
that it have a good budget, that the grounds be well kept,
that the students get their courses when they need them, that
financial aid works well, that the info-tech beast be fed.
I have benefited enormously from the work of those who preceded
me and built the campus, and I intend to leave an even better
institution for my successors. But I came into education first
as a teacher and moved to administration only because I saw
in it a broader platform for achieving the goals I had set
for myself as an educator. It is in keeping with the broader
mandate that as the head of a large public institution, I
should take responsibility for dealing with the issues that
face our community and should bring university resources to
bear on them.
Capacity for public service
Consider our strengths: extraordinary faculty, great students,
an enormous research capability, support personnel with skills
that can be put to community use. Academic administration
for me is simply the extension of my role as educator and
both are extensions of my role as citizen. How can I be concerned
about the kind of citizens I graduate and not be concerned
about my own role as citizen or the civic role of the institution
over which I preside? Should not the university be a model
citizen that builds, rather than destroys, nurtures rather
than alienates, comforts rather than harasses, working always
to fulfill the needs of our complex society, and in so doing
presenting a positive model for our students to emulate?
In the past, I have speculated that part of the presidential
leadership problem may have to do with length of service.
Compared to some of the legendary giants who preceded us,
far too often today's presidents are relatively transient,
moving every five years or less, bringing along all of the
baggage accumulated in former positions and leaving too soon
with too many unfulfilled promises. Not surprisingly, the
footprints they leave behind are often faint and easily blown
away -- not like the deeply embedded tracks of those earlier,
long-serving leaders after whom scholarships, buildings, and
even the occasional baby are named. It is difficult enough
in five years to have a significant impact on the institution
itself, let alone the larger community. If we cut and run,
seeking higher salaries, more prestige, or an easier life
-- say one without faculty unions -- we may find it exceedingly
difficult to assert our moral authority, to provide a model
for our students and faculty, and to speak out in knowledgeable
and persuasive terms on the significant issues of our time.
Most of us can speak knowledgeably about budgets or fundraising
or athletics; we are adept at massaging legislators and are
familiar with the ins and outs of congressional bill-making;
we take faculty politics and student life issues in stride.
But meeting routine demands on the modern presidency may tempt
us to lose sight of the greater leadership role that is properly
ours.
The charge made by some of our critics is that we are not
risk takers. Hardly anyone in San Francisco can recall the
names of the San Francisco State presidents who preceded me
in office, save one -- S.I. Hayakawa. And he is remembered
not simply because he was a U.S. Senator; he captured the
public imagination because he was perceived as a risk taker.
I sometimes wonder if an unintended and unwelcome by-product
of the modern search process (Hayakawa was essentially appointed
by Governor Ronald Reagan) has been to weed out risk takers
and individuals with strong beliefs in favor of consensus-driven,
"don't rock the boat" candidates. I am of a mixed mind about
this. Many of the men and women I will mention in a few moments
would probably not have made it to the presidency when the
white old boy network ruled. (I doubt I would have been Governor
Reagan's choice.) There is no doubt that higher education
has benefited extraordinarily from opening up the process,
but we have closed out some very exciting people as well.
Assuming there may be some merit to my charge, we as sitting
presidents can do a great deal about this as we select new
department chairs, deans, and provosts. We can seek out, appoint,
and support the risk takers, the men and women of great integrity,
moral character, and vision. We can have the most dramatic
impact on the leadership of higher education in the decades
to come by virtue of whom we begin to choose now -- beginning
with department chairs.
Renewed sense of mission
Despite my earlier pessimism about our progress in the 1970s
and 1980s, I am delighted to see that after a long hiatus,
we are once again discussing the university mission in terms
of values, especially those of active citizenship. We presidents
have come to recognize that our students need a sense of community
and social values, and that our democracy depends on the readiness
of each new generation to take personal responsibility for
the governance of society. As educators, we have accepted
our obligation to turn things around again, to demonstrate
that there are life-enriching alternatives to cynicism, categorical
distrust of authority, and a sense of civic powerlessness.
As a broad movement, this revival of what my friend and colleague,
Tom Ehrlich, has called "civic and moral learning" can be
said to have started more than fifteen years ago when a small
band of college and university presidents committed themselves
and their institutions to community service by creating Campus
Compact. Now numbering more than 900 member institutions,
Compact has grown into what many consider to be the most exciting
movement in higher education today. As the concept of community
service has evolved into service learning and now beyond that
to the even broader goal of civic engagement, we even have
a Republican President using the bully pulpit of the White
House to assert the importance of civic engagement in a time
of social, political, and international stress.
Models of civic engagement
Continuing in this optimistic tone, I must say that as I view
the national scene, and as I look closely at my own state,
California, I have come to believe that we have reached a
very exciting stage - perhaps even a turning point - as we
pursue our commitment to civic and moral learning. Remarkably,
for higher education, we now talk openly, and with great enthusiasm,
about values, particularly those of active citizenship. As
this wave sweeps across the nation, we are presented with
an historic obligation and unprecedented opportunity. Civic
engagement promotes everything we most value in the academy,
and if we embrace this movement together we can truly transform
our students, our communities, and ourselves.
Belying my earlier criticism that the presidential role has
been educationally diminished, shrunken into a "businessman
president" model that affords little scope for personal moral
leadership, we can see abundant evidence that a new generation
is taking up the charge expressed so eloquently by University
of Hawaii President Evan Dobelle: "to awaken the conscience
and assert the moral authority of academic institutions…to
look beyond our gates…to exercise our responsibility to society
in our own sphere of influence -- our neighborhoods, our community,
our city." At Trinity College, Dobelle had forged a partnership
with the city of Hartford to rebuild the poor and dangerous
neighborhood surrounding the campus, starting with $600,000
to buy and demolish five crack houses in the neighborhood.
Since then, $175 million has gone into the project from many
partners, and new community schools, arts centers, and businesses
have come to life. Home ownership is up; crime is down.
There are many presidents amongst us who care - about nurturing
students' idealism and honing it through community action.
About practicing the values we espouse - social justice, equality,
empowering the disenfranchised. About refusing to be an island
of relative privilege in a sea of need. Happily, there are
too many of these presidents with too many inspiring case
studies, to allow for a full catalogue. But even a brief recital
proves the transformative power of presidential moral leadership.
Among the most vivid examples are those of universities that
have become deeply involved in the overall improvement of
a distressed community. At Fresno State University, my colleague
John Welty saw in an adjacent neighborhood, with one of the
lowest per capita incomes in California, an opportunity for
a partnership providing educational and social services from
dental care, to the arts, to technology training. Welty's
leadership has been critical to the program's creation - and
its continuance. When some faculty complained about his spending
money and time to address social issues, John responded in
that laconic style we have all learned to appreciate: "If
we expect our students to be meaningfully engaged in civic
life, we must expect the university to demonstrate leadership
as well."
As president of Portland State University, Judith Ramaley
rebuilt morale and gave a new sense of self to an institution
that badly needed both, transforming Portland State into what
many consider a model urban university. At the heart of her
success is an innovative undergraduate curriculum called University
Studies that engages faculty and students in community-based
research and service projects throughout the Portland area.
Another major Ramaley initiative, the University District
reclamation project, built a partnership between city government,
business leaders and Portland State to reclaim and renew a
decaying area with housing, retail centers, a new elementary
school, and university buildings. All this earned the university
and its dynamic president a national leadership award from
the Pew Charitable Trusts.
When he took up the presidency of Southwest Missouri State
University eight years ago, John Keiser, asserted his goal
of developing "citizens of enhanced character, more sensitive
to the needs of the community, more competent and committed
in their ability to contribute to society….While we understand
that students' careers and jobs will likely change," Keiser
says, "there is one lasting responsibility all students will
have for their entire lives: the role of citizen." And Keiser
personally took on the challenge of general education reform
to make this possible.
It was President Steve Sample's vision that put the University
of Southern California on the path to a neighborhood partnership
of such scope and effectiveness that it is remaking lives,
schools, businesses, and futures in South Central, the neighborhood
made famous by the Rodney King riots. Shortly after taking
up the presidency, Sample decided "that rather than try to
save L.A. or save Southern California, we would concentrate
on our immediate neighborhood." Judith Rodin has made the
University of Pennsylvania the leader in a comprehensive effort
to revitalize West Philadelphia, after concluding that "if
Penn could make discoveries that saved lives and drove the
global economy, then surely we had the capacity to help revitalize
our distressed neighborhood."
Presidential moral leadership has many forms, and many voices:
Duke University's Nan Keohane, writing her campus to explain
why she would not sign a "statement of concern" circulated
after Sept. 11 by faculty and students opposed to the use
of military force against terrorism. Graham Spanier making
Penn State a national leader in efforts to curb student alcohol
abuse. John Di Biaggio, guaranteeing before he accepted the
Tufts presidency that the Board of Trustees shared his commitment
to extending outreach and service activities by students,
and teaching a course every year - a course that he created
- entitled "Leadership for Active Citizenship." Robert Carruthers
at the University of Rhode Island living by his belief that
the leader's challenge is "to make it more acceptable and
safe for people to bring their moral force and vision to the
fore" - a view that transformed the energy of a group of black
students, who took over the administration building, from
protest to problem-solving.
What all of these presidents, and hundreds of others, have
in common is a vision that goes beyond the more traditional
mission of an educational institution, one that reflects a
keen sense of values, of what is right and wrong. Such presidents
are firm in their beliefs, but not unbending. They recognize
clearly the need to accommodate other values or other sensibilities.
Time and again it seems to me, such presidents demonstrate
a sense of who they are and what their institution is, not
always bowing to the latest fad or the latest set of pressures.
There are things such presidents will not do. They have developed
a guiding ethical basis -- some social imperative, sense of
institutional goals, and personal values -- that will make
them willing to say, if necessary, "I can't do that, I will
not do that, I will step down from the presidency because
what I'm being asked to do now is not compatible with my own
particular value system." Or conversely, they will push in
the strongest way for what they believe is right, even if
it costs them their jobs.
Moral leadership
To this point, I have focused on what we can, and should,
ask of ourselves as holders of a bully pulpit. Let me close
by offering some recent, and to me very heartening, observations
about what our campuses are seeking from us as presidents.
Since September 11, I have come to believe that faculty, staff,
and students are really hungry for -- and responsive to --
presidential moral leadership and support, particularly at
a time of crisis.
All of us have faced special leadership challenges since
the terrorist attacks - comforting our communities, working
to ensure that free speech did not become hate speech, addressing
fears, providing factual information, and maintaining a supportive
campus environment for all. On my large, decentralized, commuter
campus, no single line of communication was going to reach
everyone, so we employed every means: the weekly campus newsletter,
e-mails to all faculty, staff, and students, a special web
site, gatherings with residence hall students, international
students, the campus as a whole. In these various communications,
I sent the same messages you no doubt sent:
- We are one community, diverse yet united.
- Let us keep a balance between free speech and civility
- Above all, let us maintain the small world that is our
university as a model of what we would like the greater
world to be.
I confess that the response to these messages surprised me.
Within hours of the first all-campus e-mail, return messages
started coming in from students, faculty, and staff. Overwhelmingly,
they expressed gratitude for the outreach to them and appreciation
of the ideals we were seeking to reinforce.
As the Middle East heated up, and world tensions -- not surprisingly
- began to play out on our exceedingly diverse campus, I again
communicated with the campus community, seeking to maintain
the spirit of unity that had marked our September 11 response
and urging that even in the most passionate disagreements,
we speak and act in a way that respects and recognizes the
humanity of all members of our community. Again, the responses
- this time, from off-campus as well - showed that a broad
community not only welcomes, but perhaps expects such statements
from a university leader.
I mention this not as a personal point of pride, but as a
vivid reminder of the power to inspire, encourage, comfort
- in short, to lead - that is ours, if we but seize it. For
me, one of the insights emerging from September 11 and continuing
in this current period of intense Middle East violence and
tension, is a recognition that, our past lapses notwithstanding,
the position of university president retains a greater ethical
and emotional power than many of us may realize. This suggests
to me that a larger public forum is available to presidents
than they commonly use. The end message, however, is not one
of reproach but renewed belief in ourselves and our institutions.
We have the values, we have the podium, we have the resources,
and we have in our ranks splendid models of presidential civic
and moral leadership. Now, more than ever, such leadership
is needed.
Robert A. Corrigan is president of San Francisco
State University. This article is adapted from the Presidents-to-Presidents
speech at the Annual Meeting of the American Association of
State Colleges and Universities, November 2001
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