Distinctiveness, truth-telling, and small schools

Colleges and universities small and large are told or claim to be distinctive. Distinctiveness seems to be a pathway to flourishing, and so to become distinctive is to fine a way to flourish in the future.

 The advice makes sense--one way to flourish is to stand out--even as it is almost impossible to follow. Think of the problem as a question: Which colleges are most distinctive?  There is almost no way to answer.  One is tempted to say "Harvard" or "Yale" but those schools aren't particularly distinctive.  Their programs overlap significantly, the demographics of their students are similar, they occupy a similar spot in the higher education universe.  They are not distinctive, they are prestigious.

Or think about the nation's best-known schools.  This time of year more people know about Florida State, Alabama, Auburn, and the University of Oregon than know about who is running for the Senate from their state.  But FSU, Alabama, Auburn, and Oregon aren't distinctive, they are famous.

Or think about schools that really are unusual--Marlboro College, Deep Springs, College of the Atlantic--are three that can really make that claim.  But all three of these schools are tiny, and survive on a razor's edge, where a drop of 10-15 students makes a massive difference in the well-being of the institution.  These schools are distinctive, but their distinctiveness hasn't guaranteed their flourishing.

Or think of the claims of distinctiveness that most non-prestigious, non-famous schools make.  We talk about small class sizes, relationships, the opportunity to make a difference, the chance for students to grow.  But these aren't distinctive traits--they are local traits, made different only inasmuch as our school is the only one in the region (remember, most students attend college within 100 miles of their homes) that offers such things.

We would perhaps be wise, then, to wonder if we can or ought to be distinctive.  No college where I have ever worked can claim to be distinctive--as measured by prestige, or fame, or the rarity of our programs, we fall short in spite of our claims (one school where I worked called itself a "unique environment for learning" true only in that no school is exactly the same as any other).

What we can do is try to describe ourselves truthfully, and make it possible for students, faculty, and staff to tell their stories truthfully, publicly, and regularly. Doing so allows us to do two things: first, to make sure that the truths of our institution cohere, or put another way, to listen closely enough to know if there is commonality among us, a commitment to the same goals and a common measurement of their outcomes.  Second, to allow people who hear about us to connect with us as people who work at an institution, not as an institution that happens to employ people.

Let me say a bit more about this last statement.  It is true that with the exception of schools that are famous or prestigious, few students choose colleges by choosing institutions.  Instead they choose pieces of the institution ("I want to play on the soccer team, I want to major in microbiology.") or they choose the people of the institution.  The pieces of small institutions are only attractive inasmuch as they are connected with authentic people who tell the truth about them.  Or put in practical terms, if you major in biology at Barton College it is because of your connection to the real people who teach and study biology at Barton, not because of the abstract distinctiveness of the program.