I teach courses on leadership.
And I tell my students that in a real crisis, there are only two kinds of institutional response: clarity or evasion. You either name the failure and take responsibility, or you hide behind process, language, and time.
This week, Sarah Lawrence College President Cristle Collins Judd chose evasion.
In response to a damning report from the US House Committee on Education and the Workforce on antisemitism in higher education, Judd sent a campus-wide message. It is a near-perfect example of how not to lead.
The email assures the community that the college “engaged in good faith” and emphasizes that “at no point [did we] share student names or any other personally identifiable student information.” It notes that the past two and a half years have been “challenging,” expresses disagreement with aspects of the report, and reaffirms commitments to diversity, inclusion, free expression, and academic freedom.
It is polished. It is careful. It is empty.
What it does not do is acknowledge failure. There is no recognition that Jewish students experienced hostility. No admission that administrators were slow or inconsistent in responding when antisemitism emerged in politically acceptable forms. No explanation of decisions made during the protests of fall 2024. No plan for reform. No accountability.
Instead, the message retreats into procedural language and institutional self-protection.
And this is not just about one email.
Leadership is exercised—and judged—through teams. At Sarah Lawrence, that includes senior administrators responsible for student life and campus conduct, including Vice President and Dean of Students David Stanfield, whose office sits at the center of how protest and discipline are handled.
The internal record makes the problem unmistakable.
When concerns were raised about class cancellations tied to protest activity, Stanfield asked whether it would be “worth clarifying that faculty have individual discretion to cancel class”—a formulation that leaves enforcement uneven by design. In another exchange, administrators emphasized that attendance policies were “the purview of the faculty” and urged only that policies be applied “consistently,” avoiding any institutional standard.
Even more telling is how concerns about antisemitism were handled. When outside Jewish leaders warned that “many scared Jewish students” were feeling unsafe and urged the administration to “please speak out for them,” the response was not decisive action but process—meetings, reassurances, and internal discussion.
At times, the tone borders on dismissive. In one exchange discussing possible federal pressure, Stanfield responded to proposed action with: “like the angry grad student—that we disband SJP. Yeah, not gonna happen.”
That is not leadership. It is dismissal.
The House report is not subtle. It documents patterns: administrative hesitation, selective enforcement, and a broader unwillingness to confront antisemitism when it intersects with ideology. One can debate interpretation. But one cannot plausibly claim that nothing went wrong.
And yet, that is the posture the college adopts.
This is not simply a communications failure. It is a leadership failure.
Real leadership begins with accountability. When something goes wrong, especially something as serious as the breakdown of trust and safety for students, the first obligation is to say so clearly:
We fell short. Here is how. Here is what we will do to fix it.
That is what students deserve. It is what faculty deserve. It is what the public expects.
Instead, we get vague reassurances and procedural defenses.
This approach is not only inadequate, it is counterproductive. Political science research, particularly the work of Shanto Iyengar, shows that negative information is more powerful and durable than positive messaging. When institutions are perceived to have failed, generalities do not restore trust. They deepen skepticism. The gap between lived experience and official narrative becomes its own source of alienation.
Students notice this immediately. So do parents, alumni, and policymakers.
What makes this moment especially frustrating is that it was an opportunity. The House report created a clear opening for institutional reset: for honest reflection, reform, and a reaffirmation of principles applied consistently.
Instead, the college doubled down on abstraction.
There is a broader pattern in higher education. Universities produce statements—long on values, short on specifics. Diversity and inclusion are invoked constantly, but unevenly applied. Some forms of bias are treated as urgent. Others are contextualized or minimized.
Students see that inconsistency.
And it is not sustainable.
Leadership requires judgment, courage, and the willingness to impose standards even when doing so is unpopular.
It also requires consequences.
When leadership cannot clearly name a problem, take responsibility, and chart a path forward, there must be accountability at the top.
If leaders like Cristle Collins Judd and senior administrators responsible for campus climate cannot provide that clarity, they should step aside for those who will.
At Sarah Lawrence, the problem is no longer ambiguity. It is avoidance and avoidance is not leadership.