Accountability: Who Is Watching the Watchers? Part 2: Corporate greed or corporate gravity? (#581)

It is tempting to tell this story as one of individuals.

A dean joins a corporate board.

A chancellor sits at a table where decisions are made that extend far beyond the university.

A senior administrator accepts compensation that quietly exceeds what most faculty will earn in years.

From a distance, it is easy - perhaps even satisfying - to frame this as a question of personal choice.

But what if that is the wrong lens?

What if there is another possibility?

What if what we are witnessing is not primarily corporate greed - at least not in the way we instinctively understand it - but something more structural, more pervasive, and ultimately more difficult to confront?

What if it is corporate gravity?

Gravity does not announce itself.

Gravity does not persuade.

Gravity does not argue.

Gravity simply pulls.

Slowly.

Consistently.

Almost invisibly - until resistance becomes difficult.

In this framing, the individuals are not the starting point.

They are the participants within a system that has already begun to move.

Consider the broader landscape.

Over the past two decades, veterinary medicine, like many professional fields, has undergone a profound transformation.

Corporate consolidation, private equity investment, and the scaling of clinical networks, have reshaped not only how care is delivered, but how value is defined.

Metrics have become central.

Efficiency has become language.

Growth has become expectation.

And universities - public institutions included - have not stood apart from this shift.

They exist within it.

Partnerships with industry are now routine.

Philanthropic relationships are increasingly strategic.

External funding is not merely supportive - it is, in many cases, essential.

Within this environment, the presence of corporate influence does not feel intrusive.

It feels… integrated.

Even necessary.

And so, the invitations begin.

A respected academic is asked to join a board - not as a representative of corporate interests, but as a voice of expertise.

Their knowledge is valued.

Their perspective is sought.

The role is framed as service.

As contribution.

As an opportunity to bridge worlds.

And perhaps it is all of those things.

But it is also something else.

It is alignment.

Because once seated at that table, the perspective changes - not abruptly, but gradually.

The language shifts.

The priorities become more legible.

The pressures - financial, strategic, competitive - are no longer abstract.

They are real.

And over time, even the most principled individual begins to understand the system from the inside.

Not necessarily to agree with it.

But to see it.

And seeing, in this context, is powerful.

This is where the distinction between greed and gravity becomes important.

Greed implies intent.

It suggests individuals acting in self-interest, knowingly prioritizing personal or financial gain over institutional responsibility.

Gravity is different.

Gravity suggests a system that exerts influence regardless of intent.

A system that draws people into its orbit, not because they are weak, but because the force is strong.

If this is true, then accountability becomes more complex.

Because we are no longer asking:

“Did this individual act improperly?”

We are asking:

“What happens to accountability when the system itself is pulling in a particular direction?”

This is not a comfortable question.

It challenges deeply held assumptions.

That oversight can be maintained simply by selecting the right people.

That integrity, at the individual level, is sufficient to safeguard institutional values.

But what if integrity is necessary… and still not enough?

Consider how normalization works.

One board position becomes two.

One exception becomes precedent.

One disclosure becomes routine.

And over time, what once required explanation no longer does.

The system recalibrates.

Not through policy change, but through cultural adaptation.

In this environment, resistance becomes subtle.

Rarely does anyone stand and object outright.

Instead, there is quiet accommodation.

A sense that this is simply how things are done now.

And yet, the question of accountability does not disappear.

If anything, it becomes more urgent.

Because when influence is structural rather than individual, it is harder to identify, harder to measure, and harder to challenge.

There is no single decision to point to.

No clear moment of divergence.

Only a gradual shift in orientation.

So where does that leave us?

If corporate gravity is real, and institutions and individuals are being drawn into alignment with broader economic forces, then accountability cannot rely solely on disclosure or good intention.

Accountability requires something more deliberate:

• Structures that recognize the pull, not just the presence, of influence

• Governance systems that do more than acknowledge conflict - they interrogate it

• Communities willing to ask not just what is allowed, but what is appropriate.

  
  

This is not an argument against partnership.

Nor is it a call to retreat from engagement with industry.

It is, instead, an invitation to see more clearly.

To recognize that systems shape behavior, often in ways that are difficult to perceive from within.

Because if we continue to frame this solely as a question of individual ethics, we risk missing the larger story.

And the larger story is this:

Accountability is not only about the decisions we make.

It is about the forces that shape the decisions we believe are reasonable to make.

In Part 3, we will turn to one of the most visible and least examined expressions of this dynamic:

Conditional philanthropy.

When a gift is given to a public institution, what is actually being exchanged?

Who decides the terms?

And at what point does generosity begin to shape identity?

The answers, as we will see, are not as simple as they appear.

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