The Party Line

The Politics of Knives

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By Peter Onear

Recently, a dean at my university stabbed me in the back. "Et tu, dean?" I muttered as I crumbled to the marble floor.

I knew full well it might come to that. In fact, I warned my university president that the dean was setting me up. I explained that if a certain piece of legislation didn't turn out the way the dean wanted, she would blame me, as the government-relations officer. He was sympathetic, but had other things to worry about.

The president walked by while I was lying on the hallway floor. He nudged me with his foot. "I guess you were right," he said, shaking his head and continuing on to his next meeting.

Here's the problem. The dean had a proposal in the legislative hopper that promoted her discipline statewide and recognized her, and our campus, as leaders of the effort. It was a proposal over which I had no control. Oh, I could check on the legislation, which I did. I monitored its progress and sent her numerous e-mail messages. But I couldn't assure the outcome.

Well, of course, you can guess what happened. Because we are a state university, our sister institutions were pleased enough to have the discipline promoted, but they'd be damned if my university and the dean would be identified as the leaders. That piece of the legislation was DOA.

Now understand, the dean essentially got what she wanted. She just didn't get everything she wanted.

This wasn't a financial issue. The university didn't lose any money or degree programs or faculty members. There wasn't any bad publicity. In fact, few people even cared about the recognition issue -- except the dean.

Early on, she realized that we -- and she -- might not get credit for the effort. She hounded and threatened me to make sure that the legislation didn't get amended and that we -- and she -- didn't get cut out. But short of asking that the bill be withdrawn, there wasn't much I could do. The legislative leadership quietly dropped our recognition language and the bill sailed through without debate.

Here's what I'd like to say to the dean: Come on, what's the big deal? Why couldn't you be satisfied that you got a pretty good piece of legislation passed? Why did you have to e-mail the president denouncing my effort as ineffective? Why did you have to write letters to legislators thanking them for their support, but ending with a slam at me? Why did you have to bad-mouth me to faculty members?

Frankly, I thought she overreacted. But she did so for a number of reasons:

• The dean's attack on me demonstrated a triumph of the academic over the administrative. Sure, deans are members of the administration. But almost every dean rises up through faculty ranks. More and more, senior administrators don't. For example, a recent report in The Chronicle's Almanac of Higher Education noted that 31 percent of current presidents never taught in a college classroom for even a year. Most government-relations officers never taught, either (although, I'm proud to say, I did). So, putting us administrators in our place (meaning me prone on the floor) somehow was psychologically good for the dean. She got to be a faculty member once again complaining about the powers that be.

• The dean made a promise she didn't (actually couldn't) keep. Deans like to make promises. Promises make faculty members go away -- at least for a while. The dean touted this project in its entirety as a done deal, especially to her faculty whom she told would gain great recognition. Oops. The dean needed to save face with her colleagues by going after moi.

• The dean thought that not getting all of the pie was a failure. She got 95 percent of what she wanted (all the important stuff); she just didn't get the icing on the cake. In politics, 95 percent is a huge victory, and icing be damned.

• The dean was angry with the state legislators and education bureaucrats who were, in reality, the ones who thwarted her at the last second. She knew I wasn't really to blame. But she also knew that she would probably go back to those same lawmakers and bureaucrats for future favors. They would remember being stabbed in the back, but she knew I wouldn't.

Eventually, I reached around and pulled the knife out of my back. I got up off the floor and brushed off my suit. I was none the worse for wear, although my ego was a bit bruised. In politics and at the university, the blame game goes on all the time. One just has to move ahead.

I know that next semester or maybe in the fall, the dean will summon me. I am usually summoned; very few people visit me in my office even though it is a very nice office and has lots of political resources conveniently arranged. I will dutifully show up in her office and we will shake hands. We won't mention the stabbing incident. I also will not mention the fact that on the wall behind her desk is the framed first page of the legislation that I helped pass. The dean will have a new idea and I will offer my opinion on its viability. I will leave promising to test the waters and see what happens.

I will say a silent prayer on the way back to my office that we won't have a repeat of what happened before.

However, the fact of the matter is that public higher education is always subject to the vagaries of politicians and government bureaucrats. Few universities or colleges can afford to hire phalanxes of lobbyists to monitor proposed legislation and rule changes hour by hour.

Where would we even start? At the federal level? In the state capitol? City hall? At any moment at any one of those levels something can pop up to negatively affect your campus. Maybe you'll get lucky and a few friendly legislators will help you out. Maybe the problem, or piece of legislation, will go away all by itself. Maybe no one will notice that something went amiss.

But, occasionally, maybe a dean will really be ticked off and start sharpening her knives.

Peter Onear is the pseudonym of a vice president for government relations at a university in the Midwest.