LSU Is Finally Starting to Look Like Louisiana Again

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For years, LSU has been governed like a university embarrassed by the people who built it. Under William Tate and Scott Woodward, the school followed national trends that had little to do with the values of Louisiana and everything to do with the politics of Washington and the corporate Left. Theirs was an LSU that measured itself by how it looked on ESPN, not how it served the state.


That is beginning to change.


Governor Jeff Landry’s decision to clean house at the flagship university—accepting Tate’s resignation, parting ways with Woodward, and insisting on accountability in athletics—marks the start of a long-overdue course correction. For the first time in years, LSU’s direction reflects the electorate that funds it rather than the pundits who lecture it.


As reported earlier, Woodward’s fall was a symptom of a deeper rot. Inside LSU athletics, he was treated like a master deal-maker; in reality, he left behind one of the most expensive mistakes in university history. Advisers urged him to restructure or reassign football coach Brian Kelly to preserve LSU’s negotiating position. Instead, he chose to terminate Kelly outright, triggering a buyout worth tens of millions of dollars and surrendering the university’s leverage. The misstep revealed what LSU had become under his watch—a place where perception mattered more than prudence. In any real organization, a blunder that large would demand accountability.


At LSU, it finally did.


At the same time, President William Tate steered the broader institution toward fashionable national causes that felt foreign to Louisiana’s culture. His administration expanded diversity bureaucracies, mandated bias trainings, and treated the Legislature not as partners but as potential adversaries. In his own words on The Pivot Podcast with former LSU star Ryan Clark, Tate admitted that he “started at a place of mistrust” with state leaders and reminded listeners that he “was not from Louisiana.” Those statements said out loud what many LSU insiders and alumni already felt—that LSU’s top office had grown detached from the people it was meant to serve.


That detachment became even clearer when Ryan Clark took up the cause. Clark’s commentary has become a running case study in how far some national voices have drifted from the values of Louisiana. On his ESPN platform, he has repeatedly inserted race and politics into LSU’s internal affairs. He helped lead the 2020 Black Lives Matter march on campus and turned on Ed Orgeron after the coach praised President Trump.


This fall, on First Take, Clark attacked Governor Landry for proposing a statue of conservative activist Charlie Kirk on LSU’s campus, calling the idea “ridiculous” and “the first dumb thing [Landry] said this week.” He went further, claiming that Kirk “doesn’t represent the people of Louisiana, doesn’t represent the players and the students at LSU, [and] doesn’t represent the executives that work there.”


But that outrage says more about Ryan Clark than about Louisiana. The state’s voters have made their priorities and values unmistakable. In the 2024 election, Donald Trump carried Louisiana with roughly 60 percent of the vote—his fourth straight double-digit victory here. The same electorate sent Mike Johnson to Washington, elevated him to Speaker of the House, returned Steve Scalise and John Kennedy to their posts time and again, and sent Jeff Landry to the Governor’s Mansion without a runoff. These are not outliers; they reflect a state that values free expression, faith, and personal responsibility. The notion that honoring someone like Charlie Kirk—whose activism centers on those very principles—is “ridiculous” simply ignores who Louisianans are.


Landry’s critics call his involvement in LSU “political.” In truth, it is restorative. For years, university leadership aligned itself with a liberal minority, while the state’s majority—those who fill Tiger Stadium on Saturdays and pay the taxes that sustain the school—watched their values dismissed as backward or extreme. By reasserting control and demanding that LSU’s culture reflect its constituency, Landry is bringing the institution back into alignment with Louisiana itself.


Even long-time boosters have sensed the drift. Baton Rouge attorney Gordon McKernan, speaking on Matt Moscona’s After Further Review, described a program that had “empty suites, empty seats, and no energy,” with a brand “getting damaged” by complacency and self-promotion. His words captured what many alumni feel—that LSU lost its fire not because of a lack of talent, but because of leadership more interested in politics than pride.


Now, with Dr. Wade Rousse taking the helm, LSU has a chance to rebuild the right way. Rousse brings a blend of business acumen, academic rigor, and Louisiana roots that could finally make the university both representative and dynamic. He understands that LSU’s strength lies in its people—students from small towns and big cities, families who believe in work over words, and communities that expect excellence without arrogance. If he succeeds, LSU can become not just a great Southern university but a model of how a flagship institution can reflect the character of its state.


Cleaning house wasn’t an act of vengeance — it was an act of alignment. For too long, LSU operated like a northeastern liberal campus dropped into one of the most conservative, faith-driven, and freedom-minded states in America. Louisianans expect their public institutions to reflect their values, not reject them. The elections prove it. The renewed energy around LSU shows it. And now, at last, the governor’s actions reflect it.


The loudest objections come from the same small circle that turned LSU into a national social experiment — the Baton Rouge elite and the media figures who cover the university both on and off the field. For years, they’ve built careers and influence by defending the status quo, protecting access, and insulating the university’s leadership from criticism. They see Landry’s reforms as a threat because they undo a decade of control, privilege, and carefully managed narratives — a system that served insiders well but left the average fan and taxpayer behind. But for the vast majority of Louisianans, the meaning is simple: their flagship is finally starting to look like their state again.


And with the right leadership, it can stay that way.

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