They’ll shake your hand at the press conference. Applaud your credentials. Post your photo across their websites and diversity brochures. You’ll be celebrated as a historic first—until you act like more than a figurehead.

Then they’ll come for you.

They’ll call it a “personnel matter.” A “leadership transition.” A “mutual decision.” But what it really is? Retaliation. For speaking up. For protecting students, staff, and faculty. For refusing to quietly rubber-stamp inequity in the name of collegiality.

In this sequel to The Uppity Minority, which has already been viewed by nearly 70,000 readers, I want to talk not just about what happens when courageous leaders—especially those of color and from historically marginalized communities—disrupt the status quo, but how the system responds with surgical precision to neutralize us. And how we prepare, survive, and organize when it does.

This is not a warning. It’s a field guide. Because if you are a courageous leader in education—whether you’re from a historically excluded community or simply refuse to be silent—sooner or later, they will try to take your mic—and your seat.

Be ready.

---

Let me tell you about Amani Reed.

In July 2022, the University School of Nashville (USN) proudly announced Amani as its 11th Director—and its first head of school of color in its 107-year history. The announcement was radiant with praise. The school hailed his extensive credentials—leadership at Columbia University’s K–12 school, and roles at Lakeside School, Sewickley Academy, and the University of Chicago Laboratory Schools. His educational background from Teachers College at Columbia and the University of Portland was framed as both elite and mission-driven. He was described as a change-maker, a bridge between the school’s past and its aspirations for a just, equitable, and modern future.

They called him “visionary.” A “transformational hire.” They pointed to his track record of curricular reform, expanding student access, facility modernization, and community engagement. USN was proud to represent, “Look at us. Look who we’ve hired.”

But celebration, for too many courageous leaders—especially those of color and from historically marginalized communities, is only the opening act before the takedown.

When a brave student came forward with allegations of inappropriate actions by a teacher and purportedly wanted them made public, Amani responded swiftly and with integrity. He suspended the teacher, initiated an external investigation, and treated the matter with the seriousness it demanded—even while attending a Leadership Nashville engagement.

That’s what real leadership looks like. But when justice meets institutional discomfort, accountability can become a threat.

The student’s family eventually went public out of frustration over the pace and transparency of the school’s response. Then a long-serving faculty member who had supported the student submitted a detailed, private letter to the USN Board of Trustees.

And what did the school do?

They hired a law firm—not just to assess the matter at hand, but to investigate those raising concerns.

My current understanding is that the law firm’s second report—the one not focused on student safety but instead on internal blame—was used to construct a narrative that would be familiar to anyone who has led while Black in predominantly white institutions: “poor communication,” “leadership concerns,” “loss of confidence.” Vague language meant to signal that the problem wasn’t the incident—it was the leader that responded to it. I also understand the report to indicate that the USN trustees did not fully handle all of their fiduciary responsibilities and had some struggles respond effectively to the crisis.

The result? Even though it was his understanding that he has followed school policy, Amani was removed as Director.

Despite doing what any responsible head of school should have done—despite acting swiftly, commissioning an independent inquiry, and seeking the truth—he became the fall guy. The leader of color who tried to address the harm? Gone.

It’s not just chilling—it’s calculated. It weaponizes process and perception against those who speak truth.

This is the playbook. When an institution or its leaders fail, they don’t course-correct—it scapegoats. And when the scapegoat is a leader of color or someone from a historically marginalized community, institutions move with breathtaking speed to erase, discredit, and dismantle.

Based on the public information, USN should be ashamed.

This moment is about more than just one school. It’s about the disturbing pattern we’ve seen across the country: leaders of color celebrated on arrival, surveilled during tenure, and discarded once they make power uncomfortable.

---

If You’re Leading While Black or Brown, Protect Yourself

Executive leadership training and doctoral programs don’t prepare you for this. They teach you how to manage budgets, inspire vision, and lead teams. But here’s what they don’t teach you: how to survive institutional betrayal.

That’s why you need to protect yourself before the crisis comes. Here’s a set of starter ideas that is not meant to be legal advice.

1. Hire your own lawyer—before you sign. That contract they just emailed you? It’s already been reviewed a dozen times—by their lawyers. Get your own. Hire an experienced employment attorney to protect your interests. Make sure more than just salary and benefits are satisfactory—demand clear provisions for due process, legal support, and indemnification. And if they’re not willing to negotiate? Be ready to walk away. That tells you everything you need to know about their culture—and their intentions for your leadership.

2. Define “cause” with precision. Avoid vague language that allows the Board or President to remove you without clear criteria. Define what constitutes a performance failure, and secure a right to remedy issues before termination.

3. Include favorable clauses. Give yourself pathways to defend your work without ending up in court. Include clauses that prevent the institution from dragging your name through the mud with impunity.

4. Build your internal coalition early. You need truth-tellers. People who will speak up for you when you are attacked. Not sycophants—but principled colleagues who understand what’s at stake.

5. Understand that applause is not protection. You may be the first. You may be the face of progress. But once you start acting like more than a mascot, the same people clapping will go silent—or worse.

And yet, we step forward to lead—fully aware that as Uppity Minorities, we must secure these kinds of protections simply to do the work with integrity and courage.

---

You Didn’t Fail. The System Failed You on Purpose.

When you lead with courage in spaces built on comfort, you will inevitably face resistance. If you’re removed, don’t let them convince your soul it was because you were “unethical,” “incompetent,” too “difficult,” too “outspoken,” too “much.”

No. You were too honest. Too ethical. Too committed to student, staff and faculty safety, transparency, and actual equity.

Your story isn’t a story of personal failure—it’s a story of institutional fragility. And those institutions will do anything to protect themselves: weaponize investigations, manipulate narratives, erase history, even use lawyers and courts to intimidate.

But here’s what they can’t erase: the truth—and the results.

They can’t erase that when students, staff and faculty come forward, they were heard and their situations acted on. That real action was taken. That accountability was prioritized over convenience.

They can’t erase the fact that, under your leadership, records were broken, milestones reached, and standards elevated.

They can’t erase the outcomes: increased access, stronger partnerships, higher retention, historic firsts.

And they can’t erase you—your impact, your integrity, your results—unless you let them.

---

Stay Ready. Stay Brave. Stay Loud.

We’re in a moment when the stakes are higher than ever. DEI is under attack. Student voice is suppressed. Faculty and staff fear retaliation. And courageous leaders are being picked off one by one.

But we don’t back down.

We build smarter contracts.

We organize deeper coalitions.

We mentor the next generation of justice-driven leaders.

We write LinkedIn articles that reach tens of thousands of people.

We fight—because we must. Because every time one of us is silenced, a thousand more must speak louder.

---

Coming Next: The Colluders

But let me tell you—there’s another layer to this fight. A darker, more insidious one.

It’s not just the institutions that come for you. It’s the colluders.

The ones who look like you but serve the institution—often at the expense of the very communities they claim to represent.

The ones who made the mistakes, but want them blamed on you.

The ones who think that by throwing you under the bus, they’ll be handed the keys to the kingdom or that they can ride out into the sunset unscathed.

They whisper behind closed doors, plant seeds of doubt, distance themselves just enough to survive—and hope to ascend by betraying the very justice they once claimed to support.

They are the internal agents of the external machine. And their betrayal cuts the deepest.

In the next post of my Uppity Minority leadership series, we’ll name this phenomenon for what it is. Not with names, but with patterns. We’ll expose how educational institutions and other organizations weaponize “colluders” and how we can resist being turned against one another. Because justice isn’t just about surviving the attacks from the outside—it’s also about confronting the sabotage from within.

Until then, lead with eyes open.

Lead with your values intact.

And when they come, be ready.

Revised 5/29/25