To whom it may concern, and it certainly does concern you.
I write today not to criticize, but to applaud.
It has come to my attention the UF Presidential Search and Selection Committee has been doing its job with an efficiency and predatory grace that can only be described as deeply Gator. And I mean that in the most literal, zoological sense possible.
You see, people misunderstand the Florida Man. They misunderstand the Florida Gator. They think "Gator" is a mascot — a friendly orange-and-blue abstraction wearing a jersey, perhaps juggling a football, smiling in a way that implies it has no teeth.
But a gator has teeth — approximately 80 of them. And it uses them.
You, the search committee, are showing us what it really means to be a Gator.
Consider the American alligator in its natural habitat. It does not post a job listing. It does not convene a subcommittee to evaluate the structural integrity of the marsh ecosystem before proceeding. It does not invite public comment.
It waits — submerged, still, patient as an endowment — and then, at a moment of its own choosing, it lunges.
This is called a search process.
I understand now the opacity some have complained about is, in fact, a feature. An alligator does not publish its search criteria in advance. Transparency would ruin the hunt.
The prey — I mean, the candidates — must not know they are candidates. The finalists must not know they are finalists. The university community must not know there are finalists at all.
This is simply good predatory hygiene.
I have heard some critics argue a presidential search at a major public research university ought to involve faculty input, student voice or some minimal gesture toward the democratic values we presumably teach in our political science departments. I want to assure those critics they are thinking too small.
A gator does not ask the herons for their input. A gator does not hold a listening session with the turtles. The turtles are simply there on a log, blinking in the sun — and one day the log is gone, and so are the turtles, and the gator has moved on.
This is called stakeholder engagement.
I also want to commend the committee for its handling of the timeline. Much has been made of the speed, or the lack thereof, or the inconsistency thereof — I confess I lost track, which I suspect was the point.
But consider: The alligator's ambush can last hours of motionless waiting followed by 0.8 seconds of decisive action.
When critics say your process has "lacked clarity" or "moved without explanation," what they mean — and I say this as a compliment — is that you have successfully maintained the element of surprise. You are 0.7 seconds into the lunge. We simply cannot see it yet.
Respect.
Some will say a university is not a swamp and a presidential search is not a death roll. “Institutional trust" exists, and it can be damaged.
To these people, I say: Have you been to Florida? Have you seen what flourishes here?
The gator does not need your trust. The gator has been here since the Miocene. The gator survived the asteroid. The gator is not particularly moved by an op-ed.
In conclusion, I want to thank the Presidential Search and Selection Committee for reminding us what it means to be a Gator — not in the comfortable, alumni-weekend sense, but in the real sense. The ancient, armor-plated, ambush-adapted, deeply unbothered-by-your-concerns sense.
You are not administrators. You are apex predators. And UF is lucky to have you.
It's great to be a Florida Gator.
Contact Sasha Morel at smorel@alligator.org. Follow him on X @BySashaMorel.
Sasha Morel is a sophomore at the University of Florida studying Politics, Philosophy, Economics, and Law, as well as Anthropology. His returning column focuses on policy analysis surrounding domestic, global, and local politics, with a focus on targeting root causes of common issues and highlighting unrepresented perspectives. Outside of the Alligator, Sasha is a nationally recognized debate coach for high schoolers across the US.
