Preamble
This essay was prepared in connection with remarks delivered to the Philadelphia Society for Promoting Agriculture on January 8, 2026, and is respectfully submitted for inclusion in the Society’s records. Consistent with the Society’s longstanding tradition, dating to its founding in 1785, the paper reflects on experience within the land-grant system and considers issues at the intersection of agriculture, education, and the public interest during a period of meaningful change. Authored by Michael J. Boehm, the essay is offered not as a statement of policy, but as a contribution intended to encourage thoughtful inquiry, responsible stewardship, and continued dialogue in support of the Society’s enduring mission.

The Land-Grant University in a Time of Convergence and Change
Reflections offered to the Philadelphia Society for Promoting Agriculture

Michael J. Boehm

This reflection did not begin as an essay. It began as an invitation.
When I accepted the invitation to speak with members of the Philadelphia Society for Promoting Agriculture, I assumed I was preparing a talk—one grounded in current events, informed by federal and institutional realities, and shaped by my own journey within the land-grant university system. But as I began to frame those remarks, something unexpected occurred. The act of preparation revealed connections that felt larger than a single presentation, and questions that resisted tidy answers.

At the same time, I was still carrying forward the energy—and the unresolved insights—of a thoughtful Food Systems Leadership Institute (FSLI) Commission meeting held in October 2025 in Raleigh, North Carolina. That gathering prompted reflection on leadership, identity, and stewardship at a moment when the systems that sustain food, agriculture, environment, education, health, energy, and security are converging in ways that challenge long-standing assumptions.

As I drafted a short companion piece for my remarks to the Society—never intending it to be more than a modest reflection—I began to see that the questions emerging in Raleigh and the questions I hoped to pose in Philadelphia were, in fact, the same.

What does stewardship mean when systems converge? How do we distinguish constructive disruption from the dismantling of institutions deliberately designed to serve the public good?

And what kind of leadership is required—not to defend the land-grant university reflexively, nor to critique it casually—but to carry it forward responsibly in a time of uncertainty?

At its heart, the invitation that prompted these reflections asked a practical and important question: how do we educate the future practitioners and leaders of agriculture within today’s land-grant university? It is a question grounded in people—students, faculty, producers, and communities—and in preparation for work that is increasingly complex, interdisciplinary, international, and consequential.

Land-grant universities were designed as democratic institutions—charged with bringing education, science, and practical knowledge to the American people. Agriculture was never just a discipline; it was a living system linking land, labor, community, economy, and stewardship.
What has changed is not the mission, but the context.

Today, food systems are inseparable from energy systems, water systems, health systems, environmental systems, and national security considerations. Innovation now moves through networks shaped by policy, trust, regulation, and global events, compressing timelines and amplifying consequences.

At the same time, higher education finds itself amid a broader swirl. Debates about the value of post-secondary education—whether technical and vocational pathways, community and technical colleges, or four-year degrees and beyond—have intensified in a post-COVID, politically polarized environment. Highly visible dynamics in collegiate athletics, including name, image, and likeness policies, conference realignment, and media contracts, further shape public perception. These forces are compounded by an array of social and cultural tensions that play out on campuses and in communities, often drawing attention away from the core educational mission.

Equally important—but far less visible—are the structural pressures facing public institutions. Federal uncertainty is only part of the picture. Support from statehouses has, in many cases, failed to keep pace with inflation, effectively reducing the purchasing power of public investment over time. Swirling above these financial undercurrents is a growing churn in executive leadership—presidents, chancellors, and provosts—who are turning over more quickly than in prior eras. While precise data vary, the cumulative effect is clear: shortened leadership tenures disrupt long-term strategy, weaken institutional memory, and strain the sustained relationships between universities, communities, policymakers, and stakeholders upon which the land-grant mission depends.

And yet, this is where hope enters the story—not as naïve optimism, but as confidence grounded in design.

Land-grant universities are uniquely positioned for this moment. Their integrated missions—teaching, research, and Extension—were crafted to operate at the intersection of knowledge and practice. Their long-standing relationships with producers, communities, and citizens
provide grounding that cannot be replicated quickly or easily. In a converging world, integration is not a liability; it is an advantage.

The risk in moments like this is misdiagnosis.

When convergence is mistaken for mission drift, institutions may retreat from the very integration that gives them strength. When disruption is mistaken for failure, short-term fixes may erode long-term capacity. And when complexity is treated as an anomaly rather than a defining feature of modern life, decision-making becomes reactive rather than intentional.

This reflection is not an argument that land-grant universities must become something new. It is an argument that they must remember what they were designed to be.

I offer these reflections shaped by four decades within the land-grant system—as a teacher, scientist, Extension professional, and executive leader—and by two decades of military service that reinforced a respect for systems, accountability, and stewardship. I share them not as conclusions, but as one perspective among many.

In the spirit of the Philadelphia Society for Promoting Agriculture, this essay is presented not as a prescription, but as an invitation—to reflect together on how the land-grant university can continue to educate future practitioners of agriculture, and how one of America’s most important democratic institutions can steward knowledge wisely in a time of convergence and change.