Dear US Academic Veterinary Medicine: Back When You Were Awesome (#627)

There was a time when a young veterinarian from Sydney looked across the Pacific Ocean and saw not merely a continent, but an ideal.

He saw North American veterinary medicine.

And it was extraordinary.

Not perfect. Nothing ever is. But to a young Australian veterinary student in the early 1970s, it represented something larger than itself.

North American veterinary medicine represented:

Excellence, Aspiration, Integrity, Scholarship, and Leadership.

A profession that believed deeply in:

Service, Teaching, Discovery, and Community.

I know this because I was that young veterinary student.

I graduated from the University of Sydney in 1974, worked hard in my first job in practice, saved every dollar I could, and eventually bought a one-way plane ticket to North America.

I came because I wanted to learn from the best.

I came because North American academic veterinary medicine had become the gold standard for the world.

And when I arrived, it exceeded every expectation.

The giants of the profession walked the clinic and lecture halls.

The speakers at conferences were extraordinary.

Not simply because of their intellect, though many were brilliant, but because of their generosity.

Young veterinarians mattered to them.

Students mattered.

Residents mattered.

Ideas mattered.

There was a spirit to North American academic veterinary medicine then that is difficult to explain to those who did not experience it first hand.

The institutions felt mission driven.

Faculty debated ideas vigorously, but there remained a shared understanding that universities existed for something greater than branding campaigns or institutional image management.

Shared governance was not viewed as an obstacle to leadership.

It was part of leadership itself.

Faculty voices mattered.

Departments mattered.

Stakeholders mattered.

The profession felt deeply connected to principles.

There was humility in leadership.

The deans I encountered were scholars first. Teachers first. Veterinarians first.

The deans I encountered spoke about education, research, mentorship, and service.

The deans I encountered seemed to understand that academic institutions belonged not simply to administrators, but to broader communities of scholars, students, staff, alumni, and the public who supported them.

The phrase Principles of Community was not treated as a branding exercise.

It was simply how good institutions tried to behave.

And perhaps most importantly, there was trust.

Young veterinarians from around the world came to North America because they believed North American veterinary academia stood for something noble.

We wanted to be part of it.

North America trained generations of international veterinarians who carried those lessons around the globe.

The influence of North American academic veterinary medicine became international not through marketing campaigns, but through admiration earned over decades.

It inspired people like me.

But somewhere along the way, something changed.

Gradually at first.

Then unmistakably.

Administrative culture began to shift.

Universities increasingly adopted corporate language and managerial behaviors.

Leadership in some institutions appeared to become less collegial and more centralized.

Decisions that once might have involved broad consultation increasingly seemed to emerge from closed administrative processes accompanied by highly curated institutional messaging.

The language changed.

Stakeholders became constituencies.

Students became customers.

Faculty became human capital.

Universities began speaking less about stewardship and more about brand positioning, rankings, and market visibility.

And then came the era of conditional philanthropy.

Large gifts tied to naming rights.

Buildings named not for beloved teachers, pioneering scholars, or historic institutional figures, but increasingly for donors and financial contributions.

Entire institutions renamed.

Teaching hospitals renamed.

Longstanding traditions reconsidered or replaced, sometimes leaving stakeholders feeling they had little meaningful opportunity for input.

Permissible sometimes began to feel synonymous with appropriate.

Procedural compliance increasingly appeared to substitute for the slower and more difficult work of building broad institutional consensus.

“We followed procedure” sometimes seemed to replace “we listened carefully.”

And with that shift came something even more concerning to many within academia:

A growing perception that shared governance was becoming more symbolic than substantive.

Consultation, in the view of some faculty and stakeholders, too often felt informational rather than collaborative.

Faculty senates and executive committees occasionally appeared more focused on facilitating institutional process than independently challenging administrative direction.

At many universities, leaders appeared increasingly insulated from the communities they were meant to serve.

Ironically, this transformation occurred while veterinary medicine itself was facing profound challenges:

Corporate consolidation.

Rising student debt.

Faculty shortages.

Burnout.Loss of professional autonomy.

And increasing public mistrust of institutions generally.

This was precisely the moment academic veterinary medicine needed courageous, transparent, principle-driven leadership.

Yet many institutions seemed to embrace managerialism instead.

And now we arrive at an important moment in higher education.

Because administrators come and go.

Deans come and go.

Chancellors come and go.

But institutional culture can linger for generations.

The reappointment of leaders at public universities should never be treated as a routine administrative exercise.

It should be a moment of reflection.

A moment when stakeholders ask difficult but necessary questions:

Has this leadership strengthened trust?

Has it strengthened transparency?

Has it strengthened shared governance?

Has it strengthened faculty morale?

Has it strengthened the institution’s connection to its own stated values?

Or have important elements of academic culture been weakened along the way?

These questions matter because leadership culture cascades downward.

When consultation appears limited, others may conclude consultation is optional.

When transparency diminishes, cynicism can grow.

When donor relations appear more visible than stakeholder engagement, public trust can erode.

And once trust is lost, rebuilding it can take decades.

I still believe deeply in academic veterinary medicine.

I still believe North American veterinary medicine can lead the world again not merely through rankings or fundraising totals, but through integrity, scholarship, openness, humility, and courage.

But doing so may require remembering what once made it exceptional.

Not glossy branding.

Not strategic messaging.

Not billion-dollar campaigns.

Values.

The young Australian veterinarian who arrived in North America in 1976 came because North American veterinary academia represented the very best of what universities could be.

A place where ideas mattered more than image.

Where leadership meant stewardship.

Where faculty governance was respected.

Where students and trainees were inspired.

Where institutions understood that public trust was sacred.

That version of academic veterinary medicine inspired the world.

It inspired me.

And I believe it can inspire again.

But only if stakeholders insist upon it.

Only if faculty rediscover their voice.

Only if transparency again becomes a virtue rather than merely a communications strategy.

Only if leaders remember that universities are not simply organizations to be managed.

They are communities.

And communities require trust.

Dear American academic veterinary medicine:

When you were extraordinary, the world noticed.

Many of us still remember.

And many of us are still hoping you find your way back.

A Call To Action

This is why the reappointment of administrators matters so profoundly.

The renewal of a dean or chancellor should never be treated as a ceremonial exercise or quiet administrative formality.

Reappointment should be one of the moments when an institution pauses and asks itself difficult questions about leadership, trust, culture, and direction.

Has this leader strengthened the institution’s values?

Has this leader protected the spirit of shared governance and the Principles of Community?

Has this leader listened carefully to stakeholders?

Has this leader strengthened faculty morale, transparency, and accountability?

Or have members of the institution increasingly felt unheard or disconnected from important decisions?

These questions matter because universities rarely lose their identity suddenly.

The process is gradual.

One centralized decision at a time.

One missed opportunity for consultation at a time.

One communication strategy that substitutes for genuine dialogue at a time.

Leadership culture cascades downward through an institution.

When administrators appear dismissive of consultation, others may conclude consultation no longer matters.

When transparency diminishes, cynicism spreads.

When branding becomes more visible than trust, institutions can slowly stop behaving like communities of scholars and begin behaving more like corporations protecting market position.

And once that culture becomes normalized, it can become extraordinarily difficult to reverse.

That is why stakeholders must speak during moments of reappointment.

Faculty. Staff. Students. Alumni. Emeritus faculty.

The broader profession.

The public.

Silence is not always neutrality.

Sometimes silence becomes acquiescence.

Public universities do not belong solely to administrators.

Public universities do not belong solely to donors.

Public universities do not belong solely to communications offices or branding consultants.

Public universities belong to the communities that built them, sustained them, taught within them, graduated from them, and believed in them.

The great leaders led with humility.

The great leaders welcomed scrutiny.

The great leaders respected dissent.

The great leaders understood that shared governance was not an inconvenience to work around, but one of the defining strengths of academic life itself.

And perhaps that is the central question facing academic veterinary medicine today:

Do we want administrators who primarily manage institutions?

Or do we want leaders who genuinely inspire communities?

Because those are not always the same thing.

#bunyipsbooksbeyond