Unlike many of my peers, I'm not particularly ruffled about the decision to close the Rose Art Museum. I'm not going to pretend that I frequented the facility or that it was an essential part of my positive academic experience at Brandeis. What has me ruffled, however, is the manner in which the University has gone about implementing this unpopular decision and turned an understandable and potentially necessary financial measure into a public relations disaster.It's true that the University faces an impossible dilemma, torn between the school's history and its financial reality. From the economic perspective, cutting the Rose and profiting from its assets makes sound, if unfortunate, sense. The facility doesn't generate any profit for the University and only serves a small portion of the student body academically, making the museum a beacon for cost-cutting vultures.

The administration could have capitalized on these facts in their presentation. They could have been honest about the depth of our financial deficit, raising concerns about the museum's viability and gathering sympathy. They could have emphasized that the Rose will remain open as an educational institute and exhibition gallery and that there is more than one way to profit from its assets. Instead they chose to present the cut in such a way as to make us appear panicked, illogical and desperate. In the midst of our country's growing recession, national news outlets looking to capitalize on any story that illustrates the effects of the economic downturn have leapt on the Rose's closing with shocking ferocity. Within a day of the announcement, prominent stories appeared in The New York Times and the Boston Globe, both vigorously decrying the decision and painting our administrators as financial opportunists. Even if that's not how things really are, that's how they look-terrible.

Making matters worse is the historical significance of the collection. Acquired early in the University's history for practically nothing, the high-profile collection was a point of pride for a young institution trying to compete with the rest of the academic scene. Since the onset of the national financial crisis, the market for such art works is quite small. That these paintings may be sold for a fraction of their potential value is a tragedy in itself. It's these elements of the story that have characterized our public image and perhaps irreparably damaged our relationship with future donors-a historically essential part of our operating budget-and prospective students.

The approach to the cut has also ensured that nothing like the Rose will ever exist again should the school even survive the financial crisis. Any attempt to revive the Rose or create a similar institution will be met with extreme hesitancy by both art donors afraid of losing their works to liquidation and potential employees afraid of losing their jobs with little or no notice.

Any good politician, even an administrator, knows that any unpopular decision, however necessary, needs to be spun the right way if he's going to minimize revolt and public relations damage. They should have brought Rose Director Michael Rush into the process instead of making him into a martyr for the museum. They should have checked with the attorney general about the donor wills. The administration chose to neglect these steps, and in the process of trying to make a short-term profit, it may have done more long term damage to the University than the budget crisis ever could.