John J. Kennedy | Institutional Failure: When Experience Gets Marginalised In University Campuses

There is a phrase that circulates, half in jest and half in judgment, across many university campuses: “deadwood”. It refers to senior academics who appear less visible in the race for grants, publications and institutional visibility. The term often surfaces in corridor conversations or in meetings, accompanied by knowing smiles. However, in truth, what the label reveals is what universities have come to value, and what they increasingly overlook, rather than the ageing professors. A fundamental shift has occurred in academic culture, both in India and across the world: as universities today reward energy, speed and visibility; meetings favour those who speak readily, frame ambitious proposals, and deploy the language of contemporary higher education, such as innovation, world-class excellence and disruption. Younger academics, understandably, learn this vocabulary quickly. They recognise that sounding enthusiastic, proposing expansive initiatives, and aligning with institutional priorities enhance visibility and career prospects.

Many senior academics operate differently, grounded in experience and sustained by deep concern and commitment to their institution. Having lived through multiple cycles of reform, restructuring and strategic reinvention, they know that not every bold initiative survives in the face of reality. They have seen centres launched with fanfare and later abandoned, curricula revised and then quietly restored, budgets promised and subsequently withdrawn. Their interventions, therefore, often take the form of practical questions: do we have the faculty strength? Is the funding secure? What is the long-term plan? In a culture that celebrates ambition, such realism can be misread as pessimism or obstruction.

The difference, therefore, is not one of commitment but of orientation. Early-career scholars are trained to imagine what might be possible; senior scholars remember what has already been attempted, and why it failed. Both dispositions are essential to institutional health. However, when universities reward only the language of aspiration, experience sadly begins to look like resistance.

The dominance of metrics has only deepened this divide. Contemporary universities run on quantifiable indicators: publication counts, citation indices, grant income, and rankings. These measures privilege speed and volume. Younger academics, shaped by publish-or-perish cultures, excel at rapid output and become “rising stars”, occasionally using questionable shortcuts. Senior scholars, especially in fields like history or literary studies where work matures slowly, follow different rhythms. They spend years on books, mentor generations and shape traditions. Much of this labour is invisible to metrics, so it appears low-output despite its profound influence.

Career incentives also change with age. Early-career academics need recognition, promotion, and influence. Speaking frequently, proposing initiatives, and aligning with leadership are indicators of engagement. Senior academics, especially in later career stages, often no longer require such validation. Their reputations are already formed. When they speak, they typically offer caution or perspective rather than seek approval. In fast-paced institutional cultures, this difference in motivation is frequently mistaken for withdrawal. The contrast is particularly evident in strategic planning exercises. Universities announce lofty, sometimes unrealistic goals in global rankings targets and research drives. Younger faculty often respond with enthusiasm. Then a senior professor asks quietly: “Do we possess the necessary resources and expertise?” Such questions do not oppose progress; they arise from memory. Yet in rooms oriented toward aspiration, realism can appear deflationary. This is ironic because institutions urgently need this grounding perspective.

Because ambition, untempered by experience, will only produce burnout and abandoned programmes. Senior academics recognise these patterns as they have lived through them. Their hesitation is not resistance but accumulated knowledge.

Unfortunately, many universities today adopt corporate managerial styles; deliberation itself has narrowed. Decision-making increasingly follows templates; metrics substitute for professional judgment. Senior faculty may be included in committees, but often ceremonially. Their presence shows continuity; their influence is limited. Respect becomes symbolic rather than substantive.

As a result, many experienced academics withdraw, not out of indifference but from recognition that their contributions no longer shape outcomes. The language of “deadwood” then rationalises a process already underway: the marginalisation of experience. Do universities lose anything in the process? Plenty. Do they care? Perhaps not. The biggest loss is forfeiting institutional memory; the lived memory from experience, not from books, enabling institutions to recall earlier experiments and avoid repeating mistakes. Besides, they lose intellectual ballast, the voice that slows decisions until assumptions are tested. They diminish mentorship, which is the long, patient cultivation of younger scholars that cannot be reduced to metrics. Finally, they weaken the balance between aspiration and prudence on which institutions depend.

University administrators must realise that healthy universities require both energies. Younger scholars bring imagination, urgency, and new directions. Senior scholars bring perspective, continuity, and hard-won wisdom. When either predominates excessively, institutions drift toward reckless expansion on one side or stagnation on the other. Worryingly, contemporary academic culture has tilted strongly toward speed and output, so much so that experience is increasingly mistaken for inertia.

Reframing this imbalance requires widening what universities value. Judgment, foresight, and stewardship should count alongside publications and grants. Leaders must see critical questions as expertise and institutional care. Evaluation systems should recognise long-form scholarship, mentorship, and disciplinary stewardship as core contributions, not peripheral.

The phrase “deadwood” is therefore not merely unkind; importantly, it obscures a complex reality. Senior academics often speak less because they have learned that words carry institutional consequences. Their measured interventions arise from years of observing how universities evolve and endure. If institutions cease to hear them, campuses may appear energetic but will become less reflective, less self-correcting, and ultimately less wise. That loss will reshape the university’s intellectual ecology. Yes, when memory is sidelined and only momentum rewarded, every generation that follows bears the cost.

The writer is retired professor and former dean of the School of Arts and Humanities at Christ University in Bengaluru