The Value of Rude Questions

The writer was a president until 2019

The university presidency has changed dramatically over the past few decades, on all dimensions. Until the 1990s, most colleges and universities were run by men and the position was generally deemed to be a distinguished, scholarly role, worthy of respect by folks inside and outside of the university.  

It was an easier time to run universities: states were more supportive of publics, presidents were not expected to be politicians, athletics had yet to be professionalized, and federal research money was not so tight.  

For many men who want to be successful presidents, they try activities that will make them seem wacky, likeable, approachable—getting pies in the face at student events, dressing up in costumes, taking selfies with giddy over-served students, making university videos with themselves as comic star, etc. Some of the presidents who attempt these things pull it off—they are popular, for whatever that is worth. Some don’t quite succeed, but they get points for trying.

But for the rest of us, this model just doesn’t work; it makes us look desperate and undignified. Female and minority presidents are still constantly forced to prove to the world that they deserve the job of being president, even years into the job, so the last thing they need is to be a comedian.  

Among the rhetorical annoyances women presidents often get are the extremely lengthy introductions reciting their CV from faculty or staff inside the university at a campus event.  Couldn’t they just say: “Here’s our president, to speak about X.” I felt like I was still campaigning to be president, hence my credentials needed yet another public airing. Relatedly, women and minority leaders are often called “rising stars” years into the job. I’m the president, for chrissakes: Can I stop climbing now?

Women and minority presidents need to tread carefully. When strong male presidents ask that things get done, forcefully, well, he’s the boss. The rest of us, by contrast, live in the “double-bind”:  when you are strong, you are a bitch or worse. When you are gentle, well, you aren’t really strong enough to be the president. Like Hillary, likely the most battered woman in American history, we try to navigate how to act; no matter how tough we are, we don’t want to be called a bitch (oh, it gets back to us) when we are just trying to do the job. I was once mortified, as a dean, when my own provost—introducing me to a trustee—said he was very proud of my work and leadership, and so he likes to call me “The Dragon Lady of [university].”

Men don’t have to worry about being a bitch, skirt length, or makeup. Women presidents carry this worry all the time, with constant assessments of their appearance. It usually takes the form of “I love your necklace!” but my jewelry was nothing to look at. The truth is that they are giving you the constant, close “once over,” and noting everything. Nearly all professional women have these issues, and—like her and her politics or not—Senator Kyrsten Sinema is some sort of breakthrough. She wears what she wants and still gets to be a U.S. senator.

I know plenty of women presidents who get criticized for acting like a man (too strong) but also for missteps in traditionally female areas. Why can’t she cook sometimes, instead of so many catered events? (This was actually chatter from someone in my university's dining department). Why can’t she spend more time hanging out with students? We do! But we just can’t do it with abandon, and so we seem more reserved, even less friendly, than male leaders. 

I once saw a male president dive into the student section at a ballgame, so I tried it myself, only to have drunken, enthusiastic students yell my (first) name, attempt to spill beer on my head, and have the university police shuffle me away. Maybe I’ve lost my sense of humor, but a grown woman navigating loud, sloppy, intoxicated young men gives me the creeps. There was no danger, but really, what kind of job is this?

And then there are the names. Most all presidents get called cruel names because students, faculty or staff are genuinely angry now and then. But often the name-calling happens because it’s funny, in a still-new Trump-shaped America where people apparently find insults/mocking just hilariously “whatever.” Presidents are human, so of course, we don’t like this, but women definitely get it worse. We are called by our first names, often the diminutive, often yelled across campus or an athletic venue lobby.

In the mid-20^th century, the great Russian linguist Roman Jakobson introduced the concept of “markedness”—normal concepts and items are “un-marked” and anomalous or unusual ones are “marked.” A “doctor” is unmarked, while “woman doctor” or “Black doctor” are marked, underscoring who is expected to be a professional in our culture and who is an (often pleasant) “surprise.” Like a woman president or an African American one. People often call me “Madame President” with a flourish, which is mildly amusing the first time, but after the thousandth time, seems to communicate the semi-ridiculous notion of having a woman president. Hard to get angry about it—often the speaker is glad to see a female leader. But nonetheless, it reinforces the odd nature of women in charge.  

There is no way to solve the problems of gender/leadership oneself, but it’s good to understand, know what you are in for, know that it’s not just you, know that it will for sure change as the world changes and more presidents who are not mosh-pit jumping white men.