by Marisa S. Cianciarulo
For the past three years, I have had the privilege of serving as the dean of Western State College of Law. As I prepare to step down and return to faculty life, I find myself taking a brief pause from grading Civil Procedure exams to reflect on my time leading an extraordinary institution—one defined by an unmatched commitment to student success. It has been deeply rewarding to witness Western State grow, evolve, and thrive, and I am profoundly grateful to have been part of that journey.
Over the last three years, Western State College of Law has enjoyed meaningful progress in several key indicators of student and institutional success, while continuing to strengthen its focus on access-oriented legal education. Our bar pass rate has improved dramatically, from 67% in 2023 to 85% in 2025. Our employment rates continue to rise, going from 87% for the Class of 2023 to 94.6% for the Class of 2025. We have added three new clinics to our Immigration and Deportation Defense Clinic: the Entrepreneurship Clinic, the Probate Clinic, and the Criminal Defense Clinic. We have established a Master in Legal Studies for non-lawyers who work in the healthcare industry. We have strengthened relationships with the bench and bar. We have moved into a beautiful new “forever home” in Tustin. We have remained committed to inclusion and opportunity and been recognized by publications including preLaw Magazine and Princeton Review for having a student body that includes significant representation of women, first-generation students, working professionals, and historically underrepresented populations in the legal profession.
My students and colleagues have been extraordinarily generous in their praise over the years, even going so far as to name a commencement leadership award after me—an honor that remains both deeply meaningful and slightly surreal. I certainly cannot take credit for Western State’s accomplishments; institutions are built by communities, not individuals, and this one has succeeded because of the remarkable people who care for it every day. But in the interest of avoiding the kind of false humility that makes everyone uncomfortable, I will admit to being proud that I was able to help steer the ship during a particularly exciting chapter in the law school’s history. At the very least, I can say with confidence that I did not crash it into an iceberg while answering emails and preparing for class.
Leading a law school is a unique responsibility. A dean is not simply managing an institution or overseeing a budget. A law school dean is stewarding a community made up of students discovering their professional identities, faculty deeply committed to teaching and scholarship, staff members who keep the institution functioning every day, alumni who care passionately about the school’s future, and a legal profession that depends upon law schools to educate thoughtful, ethical lawyers. Because of that, leadership in legal education cannot rest solely on authority or expertise. It requires relationships built on trust. Two qualities are especially important in earning and maintaining that trust: humility and accountability.
Humility in leadership is sometimes misunderstood. People occasionally assume humility means uncertainty, passivity, or a lack of confidence. In reality, humility is one of the strongest and most stabilizing qualities a leader can possess. It’s knowing you are not the smartest person in every room and being perfectly fine with that.
A humble leader can say things like:
“I was wrong.”
“That’s a good idea.”
“I don’t know.”
“Can you explain this to me like I’m five?”
These are not signs of weakness. They are signs of a functioning adult. In fact, one of the fastest ways to identify a terrible leader is to observe how allergic they are to those phrases. Some leaders will do absolutely anything to avoid admitting error, including doubling down on catastrophically bad decisions.
The problem with arrogance in leadership is that it creates an information vacuum. Once people realize the person in charge cannot handle criticism or correction, they stop offering honest feedback. Meetings become theatrical productions where everyone nods enthusiastically while internally thinking, “This is going to end badly.”
There is something deeply reassuring about a person who doesn’t need to pretend they know everything. Confidence combined with self-awareness is enormously stabilizing. People trust leaders who appear grounded in reality. Compare that to the leader who insists they are always right. Nobody trusts that person. At best, people tolerate them. At worst, they secretly despise them.
Humility also allows a dean to remain teachable. Legal education is changing rapidly. Student needs are evolving. The legal profession itself is shifting in response to technology, economics, and broader societal change. A dean who assumes they already know everything necessary to lead effectively will quickly fall behind. The best leaders remain curious: they ask questions and seek perspectives different from their own. They recognize that leadership is not a static achievement but an ongoing process of growth and adaptation.
This connects directly to accountability, which is perhaps the least popular leadership quality in the history of civilization. People love authority—accountability, less so. Everyone enjoys being in charge right up until something goes wrong, and then suddenly it’s “a complex situation involving multiple stakeholders.”
Accountability means taking responsibility when things go wrong. Not blaming interns, not blaming “communication breakdowns,” not blaming misaligned stars. Accountability is calmly saying: “That was my decision, and I should have handled it differently.”
Most employees, students, colleagues, and teams can tolerate mistakes surprisingly well if leaders are transparent about them. What destroys trust is denial, spin, and the frantic attempt to avoid responsibility. A leader who says, “I made the wrong call,” immediately becomes more credible. Why? Because everyone already knows mistakes happened. Pretending otherwise just insults people’s intelligence.
Accountability also has a powerful ripple effect. When leaders admit mistakes openly, it gives everyone else permission to do the same. Problems get solved faster because people stop wasting energy hiding them. Teams become healthier because individuals focus less on self-protection and more on actual improvement.
Accountability doesn’t have to be dramatic. Sometimes it’s small things: showing up prepared, following through on promises, giving credit generously, admitting when an idea flopped, not disappearing whenever difficult conversations need to happen.
Accountability also requires transparency. Law school communities function best when people understand not only what decisions are being made, but why they are being made. Even when members of the community disagree with a particular outcome, openness about the process helps preserve trust. People are more willing to support difficult decisions when they believe those decisions were approached thoughtfully, honestly, and with integrity.
Ultimately, leadership in a law school is not about commanding attention or projecting authority at every moment. It is about helping people flourish. It is about creating an environment where students can grow into capable and ethical professionals, where faculty can pursue meaningful scholarship and teaching, and where staff members feel valued as essential partners in the institution’s mission.
The strongest law school communities are rarely built by leaders who try to stand above everyone else. They are built by leaders who remain connected to the people they serve—leaders willing to listen carefully, act thoughtfully, admit mistakes honestly, and approach the work with both confidence and humility.
In the end, that combination of humility and accountability does more than strengthen leadership. It strengthens the entire community. Together, those qualities build trust, and trust is everything. People will forgive imperfections. They will endure stressful periods, difficult decisions, and occasional mistakes. What they struggle to endure is ego without responsibility.
At the end of the day, leadership is less about commanding or managing people and more about deserving their confidence. That doesn’t require perfection, brilliance, or Academy-Award-winning speeches delivered against the backdrop of a rippling American flag. It mostly requires self-awareness, honesty, and the emotional maturity to say, every now and then, “Hey, I messed up.”
I am profoundly grateful to Western State College of Law for giving me the opportunity to lead the institution during this extraordinary era of growth and rejuvenation for Orange County’s oldest law school. They have been gracious about difficult decisions, forgiving of mistakes, generous in their praise, and unmatched in their support. I will carry that with me always.
Marisa S. Cianciarulo was Dean and Professor of Law at Western State College of Law from 2023-2026 and is a tenured professor at Chapman University Fowler School of Law. She can be reached at cianciar@chapman.edu.
Home