In 2022, I did the somewhat unthinkable and walked away from my position as an academic dean. To be fair, I had the privilege of making this decision. A faculty line was waiting for me on the other side. That said, the move was an unusual one. Having been a department chair and then a dean, I was on a trajectory that was more likely to propel me into higher administration roles than it was to send me back into the ranks of the faculty. Every week I received an email from a search firm inviting me to apply to be a dean or a provost – and I even pursued a few of these opportunities.
If I’m being honest, though, I did so as much out of professional momentum as interest. And I quickly realised several things. First, while I was suited to some administrative roles, that did not mean I was suited to all of them. I didn’t actually want to be a provost. And even if I had aspired to a different dean position, it would probably have required leaving my current institution, which I didn’t want to do.
Ultimately, I decided I wasn’t suited for the administrative life in the long term, not least because there would be constant pressure to move into the next position and then the next and the next. In the 21st century, no one is expected to stay in the same upper-administrative position very long: a survey suggests that the average term for a dean is five years ().
Some of this movement and turnover may be beneficial, for both institutions and individuals. Talented people who aspire to new heights bring energy, skills and insight to their new roles. And as well as offering professional benefits, moving may reinvigorate them by allowing them to live in a more desirable location. But, viewed at a macro level and from other institutional perspectives, constant change is not always a good thing.
Invariably, new deans and provosts arrive with a vision or a plan. That is not always a bad thing; if you plan to stay long enough to enact and refine that plan, fine. If you’re in and out of the door in about four years, however, the pace of academic change (let’s call it slow) is not going to allow you to see that plan through in any meaningful way. You’ll spend the first year or two learning about the institution and your new colleagues. Just as you’re starting to realise your vision, you’ll be gone – leaving faculty and staff to pick up the pieces and prepare for the next dean or provost, the next vision.
External searches are also expensive. Most institutions use a search firm when they are looking for high-level administrators, and these firms typically charge a fee based on a percentage of the salary of the individual who is hired. Moreover, candidates have to be flown in, lodged, and wined and dined. Many colleges and universities must be investing a lot of money and effort to underwrite the level of churn cited above.
Fresh eyes and an outsider’s perspective can absolutely be beneficial, but we have to be more receptive to creative ideas that come from outside an institution than to those same ideas when they are voiced by people inside the institution. This can lull us into disregarding good people and ideas right under our noses.
Internal candidates already know the institution, complete with its quirks and challenges, and have networks and connections that will allow them to hit the ground running. By contrast, for faculty and staff, having to educate and explain themselves to an unending stream of new administrators is tiring and a poor use of their time. This is why that we need to actively encourage the faculty within our institutions to consider serving in administrative roles.
Without well-developed internal leadership pipelines, worthy internal candidates may fail to imagine themselves in these roles. Moreover, internal candidates who do end up filling these roles may regard the work more as a duty or punishment than as something they are excited to do. This, in turn, only fuels the appeal of the outside candidate, who may bring greater desire and enthusiasm to the work.
The vast majority of current deans and provosts were once faculty. What if instead of taking their talents elsewhere – or several elsewheres, as they churn through the system – they were encouraged to serve and stay at their home institutions? That would create opportunities for all of us to take the time to do the work at hand – without wondering how quickly we will be doing it all over again with someone new.
Elizabeth A. Lehfeldt is professor of history at Cleveland State University.
