We deserve better.
I hear myself saying these words too often, speaking on behalf of my institution, in sundry situations. And not just in my head, but aloud, in very public and vulnerable moments. I can always tell from the reactions, the body language, the slight discomfort, that either people don’t understand my meaning, or perhaps my comments expose a shared knowledge that is steeped in embarrassment.
I don’t like settling for ‘less-than’, which I feel we do too often in universities. Why? Because it’s easier? Because it avoids change? Because it reduces conflict? Because we don’t know any better? Because we’re afraid? Because we don’t value ourselves enough? Or, perhaps, we settle for mediocrity because we haven’t experienced anything better. We lack the perspective, the experience, the ability or willingness to interpret.
There’s a magnetic pull towards the status quo that inhibits change. ‘Tradition’ is a catch-all for keeping things exactly as they are. And while it might serve the medieval origins of the university well, its impact on 21st-century education and society is far less convincing.
I think the main draw to mediocrity is fear-based and fear-oriented. If, as an organization, you’re operating from a place of fear, you’ve already created a deficit mentality. A big hole to climb out of. The obstacles or limitations are self-imposed. And, I would argue, you’re making the wrong decisions as a consequence of the assumed starting point. Decisions steeped in fear reflect an institutional culture, one which shouldn’t serve any institution in higher education because it runs so counter to the many values we espouse. It erodes creativity and innovation, which are the esteemed cornerstones of any reputable higher-education institution.
With insight and problem-solving at its core, universities should be responsive, not reactive. They should rally against fear, interrogating its presence and purpose. Rather than give in, which is the easier path to take, we need to recognize its looming condition and devote our energies to its elimination.
The absence of aspiration is stifling. It’s a dangerous weakness. And it’s the easy way out. Without some North Star, there is no true vision. And without a vision, there’s no plan for implementation. As a consequence, the building starts to erode, leadership is rightly questioned and undermined, and the day-to-day operations risk losing all focus, direction, and meaning.
In a word, we become ‘mediocre’ – in thinking, in behaviour, in customs, in culture, and in practice. And it quickly becomes the norm, the operational basis that grounds our approach, our guiding philosophy, and our approach to decision-making.
I would level precisely this criticism against my current institution. Self-conscious people don’t help an organization strive and thrive; they paralyze it by perpetuating a deficit culture. Narrow, shallow experiences and perspectives impose views that – while intellectual on some levels – serve only to reflect and reinforce the status quo. As such, they don’t contribute to success and excellence but arguably hinder it.
Let me speak plainly here: I have come to despise the status quo. I see it only as a failure to move forward. A denial against evolution and change, which I believe are constants in life and vocation, and which should be omnipresent in university culture. And we must fight to keep it active and fertile.
I can hear colleagues stating that our goal should be ‘transformation’, the sworn enemy to ‘business-as-usual’. And I would endorse this view: transformation should be the only goal. A recognition of our personal and collective evolution, the need to become more responsive to social and community pressures, to respond – with the greatest impact – to the needs and challenges facing our worlds.
We can’t meet or achieve this goal through mediocrity. Excellence is the only option. Not perfection, but a specific, measurable, and achievable product that contributes to and helps advance our overall academic mission and vision. Mediocrity is something that settles in, dangerously silent, like a fog that envelops the moor.
No one should willingly accept the mediocre. That’s the simple point I’m trying to make. Why would universities ever accept anything less than excellent? And why would academics, as paragons of intellectualism, open-mindedness, and innovation within higher-education institutions, support or defend a principle that inhibits their abilities and/or capacities?