Weak Managers in Academia: Gatekeepers of Opaque Excellence

Ah, academia—a noble sanctuary where knowledge reigns supreme, ethics are revered, and everyone pretends the coffee in the faculty lounge is drinkable. Universities are supposed to be the shining beacons of critical thinking and intellectual rigour, paragons of ethical behaviour and fairness. At least, that’s what the glossy brochures would have you believe. In reality? Enter the weak manager: a curious species of administrator who sees leadership as less of a calling and more of a reason to show up late to meetings with a clipboard.

Weak managers are the unsung antiheroes of academic governance. Holding a title, they’ll tell you, is the same as being a leader. It’s not. True leadership requires vision, courage, and a willingness to have uncomfortable conversations. Weak managers, by contrast, survive on a diet of positional authority, vague platitudes, and just enough inertia to ensure nothing meaningful ever changes. If they were a literary genre, they’d be magical realism—except without the magic.

One of their most cherished tools is the infamous “tap on the shoulder.” For the uninitiated, this isn’t a friendly pat or a gesture of camaraderie. No, it’s how roles in academia often get filled without the pesky inconvenience of public advertising or competitive selection. Someone is quietly approached and handed a position, no questions asked. Sure, some call it efficient, but let’s be honest—it’s as “efficient” as microwaving leftover fish in the office breakroom. It might save time, but it stinks, and no one’s happy about it.

Weak managers love this approach. It eliminates the risk of having to deal with, you know,?qualified?candidates. Who needs an open call when you’ve already decided Steve from HR is perfect for the job? Forget fairness or transparency; expediency reigns supreme. After all, why open up the process to scrutiny when you can just tap someone on the shoulder and call it a day? The fallout? Well, that’s tomorrow’s problem.

The ripple effects of this practice are as predictable as a poorly attended 4 p.m. seminar. First, you exclude countless qualified candidates—people who might bring fresh perspectives, innovative ideas, or, heaven forbid, competence. Next, you erode collegial trust. Nothing builds camaraderie quite like finding out a colleague got a promotion via secret handshake while you were actually reading the job posting board. And finally, you tarnish the institution’s reputation. Universities are supposed to model ethical behaviour, not play-act as feudal systems. If academia were a student, it would be called into office hours for failing its own ethics exam.

When pressed about their decisions, weak managers excel at delivering lines that are essentially verbal wallpaper. “This is how we’ve always done it,” they’ll say, as if tradition were an unassailable argument. Or they’ll insist the candidate was “the best fit,” a statement so vague it’s practically academic performance art. What they won’t do is provide a clear, rational explanation, because that would require something weak managers fear above all else: accountability.

This fear of accountability isn’t just an annoying quirk; it’s a core survival strategy. Weak managers thrive in environments where accountability is more of a suggestion than a requirement. Confrontation is not their strong suit, and challenging entrenched systems? Forget about it. They’d rather sidestep the problem, mumble something about “streamlining processes,” and hope nobody notices the glaring inconsistencies in their approach.

What they fail to realise—or perhaps deliberately ignore—is the long-term damage this does to the institution. By prioritising expediency over fairness, weak managers set a dangerous precedent. They create a culture where opaque decision-making becomes the norm, where favouritism and inequality thrive, and where trust between colleagues withers faster than the leftover cake at a department meeting. Sure, things might run smoothly in the short term, but the cracks in the foundation are growing wider with every poorly managed decision.

So, what’s the alternative? Good governance. It’s not flashy, but it’s exactly what universities need if they’re serious about living up to their lofty ideals. Good governance is built on transparency, fairness, and accountability—all things weak managers avoid like students avoid office hours during finals week. But what does good governance actually look like?

For starters, it means having clear, written policies that everyone knows and follows. No more secret handshakes, no more “tap on the shoulder.” If a role needs filling, it should be publicly advertised, with clear criteria for selection. Imagine that—a world where decisions are based on qualifications and institutional needs rather than convenience. It’s almost revolutionary.

Next, institutions need regular reviews of their governance practices. Processes should evolve to reflect best practices and changing standards of fairness and transparency. If we can manage to revise syllabi every semester, surely governance policies deserve the same attention. And here’s a radical thought: decisions should be open to scrutiny. Yes, it might make meetings longer, but at least people will trust that the outcomes weren’t decided over coffee and a nod.

Of course, none of this matters without real leaders—people who understand that leadership is about stewardship, not just having a corner office. True leaders recognise that their decisions shape the culture of their institution. They model transparency and accountability, fostering environments where trust and collegiality can flourish. They don’t hide behind the excuse of “this is how we’ve always done it”; they challenge outdated practices and push for meaningful change.

Unfortunately, weak managers are rarely up to this task. Instead of leading, they act as gatekeepers of the status quo, guarding outdated systems with all the enthusiasm of a tired librarian telling you the book you need is on interlibrary loan. Their failure to lead undermines not just their own credibility but the integrity of the entire institution.

So where does that leave us? For universities, the path forward is clear: invest in leadership development, create structures that hold managers accountable, and stop equating authority with leadership. Being a manager isn’t about having a title; it’s about having the courage to do what’s right, even when it’s inconvenient.

For those of us slogging through academia, the challenge is equally clear. We must call out opaque practices, demand better governance, and hold our institutions to the standards they claim to uphold. Yes, it’s an uphill battle. Yes, you’ll probably earn a reputation as “that person” in faculty meetings. But if we’re not willing to stand up for fairness and transparency, who will?

At the end of the day, academia owes it to itself—and to its students—to live up to the ideals it teaches. Leadership isn’t just about ticking boxes, forwarding emails, or ensuring the coffee machine gets refilled. It’s about responsibility, vision, and the courage to make decisions that reflect the values of equity, inclusion, and integrity.

Weak managers may keep the lights on, but true leaders are the ones who make the institution shine. They challenge the status quo, foster trust, and ensure that governance isn’t just a word in the mission statement—it’s a practice. And hey, if they can also fix the coffee situation in the lounge? That’s just a bonus.

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