Zero for 40.
For a baseball player, that would be an awful slump. For a gambler it would be a costly run of bad luck.
For the presidents of the 40 public colleges and universities in Florida, it is at best an embarrassment and at worst a dereliction of duty.
Since the governor and Legislature in Florida began systemically to remake public higher education in the state into a branch of the most conservative faction within the Republican Party, the leaders of the affected institutions have refrained from uttering a public word in support or defense of their students, faculty, and staff. Worse, the 28 presidents of the community colleges signed a statement that attempted to placate the governor without appearing overtly sycophantic, promised to suppress the much-dreaded “critical race theory” while somehow “developing campus environments that … welcome all voices,” and managed in doing so only to appear foolish.
Inside Higher Ed recently contacted all 40 presidents and offered them the rare opportunity to comment anonymously on the state’s legislative and gubernatorial initiatives, including the widely publicized HB 999, which would, among other things, “ban” the teaching of “Critical Theory, including, but not limited to, Critical Race Theory, Critical Race Studies, Critical Ethnic Studies, Radical Feminist Theory, Radical Gender Theory, Queer Theory, Critical Social Justice, or Intersectionality.” “Including, but not limited to” is a nice touch, as the range of topics falling under the heading of “Critical Theory” — why are these things capitalized, anyway? — is almost limitless since it is safe to assume that no member of the Florida Legislature could actually define any of those fields.
Presidential responses, anonymous or otherwise: zero for 40.
The only president of a public institution in the state who has attempted in any form to defend the work at her institution is Patricia Okker, formerly the leader of New College. She was, of course, fired about 15 seconds after Christopher Rufo became the de facto leader of what until recently was an admirable liberal-arts college. She might have been mostly out the door, but at least she should be given credit for not going quietly.
When ostensibly reasonable people stay silent in the face of unreasonable or corrupt actions, it does not constrain those actions but lends them an air of respectability.
Contrast Okker with Ben Sasse, the former Republican senator and newly installed president of the state’s flagship university, who, in his first message to faculty members, encouraged them to “champion pluralism, curiosity, viewpoint diversity, open debate, and intellectual rigor” but who has been missing in action as all of those things have been threatened in his state and at his institution.
I can think of three arguments in defense of this presidential silence. The first and most obvious is that college leaders should avoid taking positions on controversial social and political issues. But even the University of Chicago’s Kalven Report, which has achieved Talmudic status among strong believers in institutional neutrality, includes the following exception: “From time to time instances will arise in which the society, or segments of it, threaten the very mission of the university and its values of free inquiry. In such a crisis, it becomes the obligation of the university as an institution to oppose such measures and actively to defend its interests and its values.” The situation in Florida seems to meet precisely the definition of a “crisis” included in the report, and thus to create an obligation for the university and its leaders to speak. This is not a debate about gun control, abortion, or Ukraine, but about, for colleges, what might be called the thing itself.
The second argument goes something like this: If I publicly oppose the governor and Legislature, I will, like Patricia Okker, be fired and replaced by someone much worse. Better that I remain silent and try to limit the damage. That might be described as the why I as a reasonable person worked in the Trump administration argument, and, as we should know by now, it is flawed and self-serving. When ostensibly reasonable people stay silent in the face of unreasonable or corrupt actions, it does not constrain those actions but lends them an air of respectability. If James Mattis, an esteemed retired four-star general, works for Donald Trump, how bad can Trump be? If college presidents are not openly appalled by attacks on diversity, gender studies, and academic freedom, perhaps, some might conclude, those attacks are not as awful as they appear.
The third argument is pecuniary: These people give us money, and if we anger them, we run the risk that they will give us less. Given the predilection of Ron DeSantis for reprisals, that assumption is very likely correct. It does, however, raise another question: Is it preferable to get less money for a college that remains faithful to its mission or more money for one that abandons it? Do you prefer the previous version of New College — cash-strapped but serving students well — or the emerging version, likely to be infused with more public funding in its race to become what the Florida education commissioner Manny Diaz Jr. called the “Hillsdale of the South,” that is, a largely white and openly Christian institution with direct ties to Republican politics?
The job of a college president is not to retain the job of being a college president.
Of course it is possible that some or all of these quiet presidents in fact believe that greater state control over what is taught, by whom it is taught, and to whom it is taught is a good idea. If that is true, the proper course of action is not silence but an open and honest attempt to persuade their campus communities and the broader public that this is the case. We are dealing with an essential area of public service within which they are ostensibly the experts. They should say something.
I get it: No one wants to be fired. No one holding a challenging leadership position wants to dive head-first into controversy. But the job of a college president is not to retain the job of being a college president. Rather, it is to ensure that the mission of the institution one is privileged to lead is carried out as faithfully as possible. With the benefits of leadership comes the responsibility to do hard things, even when those things carry personal risk.
The “Florida 40” make an easy target, but I have made no secret of my belief that higher-education leaders in every state and in every sector have been overly hesitant to speak to issues that are affecting or have the potential to affect their institutions. That caution would be more easily defensible if it were working — that is, if higher education were broadly respected, financially secure, and carrying out its stated commitment to inclusion and social mobility. Given that none of those things is true, it might be time to try a different approach and participate more actively and courageously in the public sphere, even if it runs the risk of riling up a governor or two with lingering presidential ambitions.
