Overcelebration: When recognition turns into spectacle (#526)
- Rick LeCouteur
- 3 hours ago
- 3 min read
Updated: 13 minutes ago
Universities should celebrate generosity. They should say “thank you.”
They should acknowledge the people who make progress possible.
But there is a line, somewhere between appreciation and amplification, where gratitude turns into something else.
Something louder. Something performative.
Something that begins to feel less like stewardship and more like spectacle.
And lately, I’ve been wondering whether we’ve crossed that line.
In the most recent issue of Activities and Impacts, the weekly electronic newsletter for the UC Davis School of Veterinary Medicine (now branded the UC Davis Weill School of Veterinary Medicine), there is an article about a large donation. This article is proudly linked to not one, not two, but ten separate newspaper, TV, and magazine articles announcing the gift.
Ten.
A small media blitz.
Some behind paywalls.
All essentially repeating the same headline.
It felt less like information and more like applause.
When Celebration Becomes Chest-Beating
I understand the instinct.
A transformative gift arrives. Leadership wants visibility. Communications teams do what communications teams do.
“Look,” they say. “Look how important this is. Look who noticed. Look who wrote about us.”
But ten links?
At some point it begins to resemble the end-zone dance.
And if you’ve ever watched football, you know what happens next.
A flag. Fifteen yards. Excessive celebration.
Not because scoring is wrong, but because prolonged self-congratulation violates the spirit of the game.
Act with dignity. Hand the ball to the referee. Get ready for the next play.
There’s wisdom in that.
The Quiet Donors Watching
Here’s what worries me most. It isn’t the optics. It isn’t the tone.
It’s the collateral damage.
Because while we celebrate one very large gift - loudly, repeatedly, publicly - there are hundreds of smaller donors watching quietly from the sidelines.
The retired practitioner who sends $250 every December.
The alum who includes the school in her estate.
The couple who fund a student scholarship in memory of a beloved dog.
They don’t get ten headlines. They don’t get naming rights. They don’t get press releases.
They simply give. Year after year. Faithfully. Without fanfare.
When an institution spotlights one donor with megaphones and searchlights, what message do the others hear?
Not intentionally, perhaps — but unmistakably:
Some gifts matter more than yours.
That’s a dangerous message in an academic community built on collective goodwill.
Medicine Is Not a Stadium
Veterinary medicine has never felt like a place for victory laps.
At its best, it has always been quieter than that.
A farmer shaking your hand after you save a calf. A student learning to place their first catheter. A clinician staying late with a worried family and their dog.
None of those moments need headlines.
They need integrity and humility.
When schools begin to market philanthropy like a product launch, something subtle shifts.
We move from service to spectacle.
From gratitude to promotion.
From community to branding.
And once branding enters the room, volume tends to increase.
The Paradox of Gratitude
True gratitude is usually simple.
A letter. A call. A plaque on a wall.
Sometimes even just a quiet, heartfelt thank you.
It doesn’t need ten echoes.
In fact, the louder the thank you becomes, the less authentic it can feel.
Like clapping for ourselves.
A Better Way
Celebrate, yes. Acknowledge, absolutely.
But perhaps with proportion.
A single story that explains what the gift will do for students and patients.
A clear accounting of how it serves the mission.
And then - back to work.
Because the real celebration in a veterinary school should not be how much money arrives.
It should be:
How many animals helped. How many students trained. How many communities served.
Those are victories worth mentioning.
And they rarely require ten links.
Hand the Ball Back
There’s a small ritual in sport I’ve always liked.
After a touchdown, the player simply hands the ball to the official and jogs back to the sideline.
No dance. No pointing to the crowd. Just quiet competence.
“Job done. What’s next?”
That feels closer to the culture veterinary medicine once embodied.
And, perhaps, the culture it still ought to protect.
Gratitude doesn’t have to shout.
Sometimes the most powerful thank you is the one spoken softly, and then followed by delivering on the promises.
Comments