Not all college presidents are straight-up white men

IIn 2019, Mitch Daniels, president of Purdue University, told a group of students that he was trying to hire a “leading African-American scholar,” a man he inappropriately described as “one of America’s rarest creatures.” For all the talk about diversity and inclusion, lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer, intersex, asexual, and other sexually identified college presidents still remain largely unrecognized by national organizations. And so, many LGBTQIA+ presidents like myself feel as though we too are viewed as rare creatures—highly visible and yet invisible beings on campus.

America’s higher education system was designed to educate privileged white males. And since higher education is so slow to change, we shouldn’t be surprised that many of our systems continue to privilege heterosexual white males. The college presidency is similarly not immune from pure white male privilege. In fact, as a gay president, I find that sometimes it can be the most visible job in which one can be simultaneously, personally, invisible. And we must recognize from the outset that the position is still fundamentally structured for ordinary married people. Let me relate an experience I had while interviewing for a president in western New York.

When an institution uses a search firm, I am always upfront with the search consultant about my sexuality. I don’t want to be surprised, and I certainly don’t want a prospective employer to be surprised during a very public interview process. When this particular consultant called to say I was invited to an on-campus interview, I asked if my partner was welcome to attend. He said, of course, visits are planned for couples, with some events being together and others being separate. What struck me about this experience was that while we had planned well, the blatant assumption of heterosexuality kept surprising and embarrassing us throughout our visit.

For example, the consultant asked for my partner’s resume so they could explore job opportunities for him. My partner works in secondary education and a meeting was arranged with the head of the local school. This was my partner’s first meeting of the two-day interview process. When he walked in, he was greeted with, “Wait a minute, I thought the person interviewing for the presidency was a man?” My partner replied, “He is.” “Oh” was the answer. Fortunately, my partner is unfazed. Obviously, the presidency is seen from the outside as an office for a pure professional couple who fit into the general social mores.

We were also careful to check if my partner had to make public comments or presentations. We were told no, that I would do all the public speaking and his role was to get to know the campus through social settings and by exploring the surrounding community. The search committee scheduled a joint dinner with the college’s advisory board, which is similar to the board of trustees, the foundation board and the alumni group. Dinner was preceded by the obligatory cocktail hour to see how we work in the hall. We split up and went in opposite directions so we could each have some private time with the two of us before dinner.

Just before dinner, the chairman of the search committee suddenly told us that the group would like to hear opening remarks from both of us. Since we had been told that my partner would not be asked to make public remarks, I asked if I should speak for both of us. “No,” replied the chairman, “we want to get a feel for how you both present yourself in public.” As we sat down, my partner asked me, “What should I say?” My response, “I have no idea, but I’ll go second,” thinking that will allow for any necessary reformulation.

My partner gave it a thumbs up, saying how much he enjoyed what he saw on the day and how much he was looking forward to the opportunity to serve as an ambassador for the institution. It was a great, unexpected response, but structuring the evening to see how we presented ourselves publicly speaks to the assumption of a “couple” taking the mantle of leadership, and that the couple they mean is heterosexual. It’s sad that assumptions about gender roles still have to be defined this way.

Our final event of the two-day interview process was an opportunity for community members to meet me and ask questions. Since we had to leave for the airport right after the meeting, my partner accompanied me. I asked if he should sit in the front with me. I was told that he had to sit on the sidelines, but that he would be introduced to the group.

After the presentation, we had a lively conversation about the relationship between city and dress. Towards the end of the hearing, a man who introduced himself as a judge looked straight at me, pointed and said, “I know what you’re going to do, but what is he going to do?” pointing at my partner. My partner looked at me as if to say should I answer? I nodded. He reiterated his previous comments about being an ambassador for the institution and reiterated that he is a professional in the K–12 education field and will be seeking employment opportunities in the area. If we were a heterosexual couple, our roles would be easily understood by someone I perceived as a heterosexual white male. I am grateful to be partnered with one of the nicest people I know, who is extremely smart, strong on his feet, and can easily rise above the ignorance of others.

Wellforward to my current presidency. I was named president and within minutes I was doing phone interviews with the local press in northern New Jersey. My first interview went well, lasted about 15 minutes. About 10 minutes later, the reporter called back. Common wisdom tells you never to take a second call from a reporter, but I was brand new and wanted to establish a good relationship with the press.

I picked up the phone and the reporter said, “I’ve looked at the boards you’ve served on, and a lot of them are LGBTQIA+ organizations.” “Yeah,” I replied and paused. I had learned to make them question my sexual identity. There was a long pause. “Are you gay?” he asked. “Yes,” I said. “Is it okay if I put it in the article?” asked the reporter awkwardly. “If you think it’s important,” I replied.

The headline blares: “William Paterson University Hires Openly Gay President.” Many of my William Patterson board members were outraged and wanted to write a comment to the local paper in response. I talked him out of it, thinking it wouldn’t help and that since my sexual identity was already out there, no one should be surprised. But then again, if I were a heterosexual white male, none of these descriptors would matter, much less make headlines.

Higher education must own some of this. Some of them we don’t. We need to recognize that our communities – while committed to diversity and inclusion – do not always demonstrate behaviors or practices that are consistent when dealing with non-“ordinary white male privilege”. We are socialized to believe that leaders are pure white men with submissive wives who work for the institution for free because “it’s their job.” It is sad that our gender norms allow such violence.

In the past, professional organizations such as the American Council on Education and the American Association of State Colleges and Universities did not collect data and counted LGTQIA+ leaders as part of the diversity mix. Fortunately, some progress has been made. ACE’s latest survey of college presidents finally includes demographic information about sexual identity. AASCU has three openly gay presidents on its board. I hope that the next benchmarks will include LGBTQIA+ presidents in higher education among designated ACE associations on the board, and perhaps an openly gay president will serve as AASCU board chair.

Ted Mitchell and Mildred Garcia, the presidents of ACE and AASCU, respectively, deserve recognition for their intentional work in these areas. But if we fail to continue to make progress, we will continue to portray the LGBTQIA+ president as a rare creature—one who is highly visible and yet invisible within the larger systems within higher ed.

This essay was adapted from LGBTQ leadership in higher educationedited by Raymond E. Crossman (Johns Hopkins University Press).