In contrast, in Renick’s early years at GSU he knew of several low-income students who were dropped from school for not meeting only one small bureaucratic requirement, never to be heard from again. These kinds of experiences brought Renick to an important insight: Academic ability was rarely the reason low-income students dropped out of college. It was mostly little things, potholes along the road to graduation. As Andrew Grumbel put it in Won't Lose This Dream, his compelling book describing the transformation of GSU: “Contrary to conventional wisdom, academic performance was not the most important predictor of student success or failure.

Nearly all of the transformations at GSU followed a pattern: A review of institutional data reveals a problem, and then data is used to understand it, design solutions, evaluate small-step interventions, and develop and evaluate university-wide scale-ups. Data is also used to manage the often turbulent political waters of persuading colleagues of the need for change and to again their support. As Grumbel put it: “This was a strategy that would come to define the entire trajectory of Renick’s student success work: start small, show the benefits, then scale the program university wide.” The approach is not “you have to adapt to us” but “we have to adapt to you,” said Darryl Holloman, dean of students and vice president of student affairs from 2012 to 2018. As a strategy for institutional change, it inspires trust at every turn.

There is, of course, another pedagogical mindset in graduate education: Give students the freedom to find what they care about, a true passion that will sustain them as their careers unfold. In this mindset, it’s reasonable to rid programs of as much structure as possible to allow students’ own talents, ingenuity, and interests to guide their development. This approach has produced generations of distinguished scientists and scholars. But it may not work as well for a diverse student body. The ambiguities it allows into the training experience may impose a special burden on students whose identities put their belongingness under suspicion. The open-ended freedom assumed to foster development could leave them in near-constant churn.

It’s important to stress that the UC Berkley College of Chemistry, like GSU, used multiple practices to reduce ambiguity and give support in the setting. Multiple red buttons. Any one practice alone might not be enough. Take procedural justice— the degree to which a community adheres to nondiscriminatory, transparent practices in matter of hiring, promotion, and adjudicating disputes.

This book argues instead for a “wise” model of inclusion, as practiced at GSU and Berkley Chemistry: meeting the students or inductees where they are, with trust in their potential to develop and with a focus on giving them the red buttons— the information, know-how, resources, timely coaching, social capital, and so on— and showing them the way forward, all of which will enable them to stay in the setting and cope well. These things lower ambiguity and churn— as illustrated in Pat Neal’s effect on me, and in the effects of GSU and Berkley Chemistry’s institution-level strategies.

They haven’t dropped the practice of giving grades, or jettisoned the lecture format, or lessened their commitment to research excellence. They haven’t restricted their commitment to a narrow sector of the population. Rather, they’ve added capacities that detect and meet the developmental needs of all students, including the less resourced and identity-threatened. They don’t lean back, presuming to select students who have what it takes to succeed in their institution. They lean in; take responsibility for developing students’ abilities and talents. And following this developmental approach they’ve built solid foundations of institutional trust that greatly facilitate student success.