Because 110,000 readers (and counting) didn’t just read The Uppity Minority series (The Uppity Minority: Executive Leadership, Power, and the Price of Speaking Up and The Uppity Minority: How They Will Come for You, Be Ready) they are telling me they felt it. You saw yourself in it. You messaged me. You reposted it. You told me it was the first time someone had named what you’ve lived: that when your leadership speaks uncomfortable truths, the system doesn’t applaud—it retaliates.

So now, I’m taking it a step further. Introducing my new series: Judas in a Suit. Because some betrayals don’t come with warning signs—they come dressed in professionalism, carrying HR memos, camera-ready smiles, and strategic planning memos. This series isn’t just about disloyalty. It’s about the quiet assassinations happening every day in education leadership. The betrayal not just of people—but of purpose.

We prepare educational leaders to analyze budgets, disaggregate data, and draft strategic plans—but not for the moment when someone you trusted, someone you lifted, sells you out for access, applause, or self-preservation.

This is what betrayal looks like when it wears a suit and a title.
When it shakes your hand while digging your grave.
When it says “equity” out loud but kills it in committee.

And here’s the part we don’t say enough:
When someone betrays you, they lose far more than you do.
Because they’ve traded conscience for convenience—and eventually, even they won’t recognize who they’ve become.

Welcome to Judas in a Suit. Let’s talk about how betrayal works—and how we rise anyway.

What Betrayal Looks Like in Education Spaces

Betrayal in education is often subtle, cloaked in policy language, HR language, or “strategic alignment” speak. It’s not always overt sabotage—it can be silence when support is needed most. It can be a leader who talks equity in public but kills the initiative behind closed doors. It can be a district that launches a DEI initiative only to backtrack when the media or the governor shows up with tiki torches.

Let me name a few of the common forms:

1. The Coward’s Retreat: This is the colleague or board member who initially stands with you on controversial reforms—restorative discipline, inclusive curriculum, teacher diversity—but disappears when public pressure arises. You’re left alone at the podium. Alone in the news cycle. Alone in the fight.
2. The Political Pivot: You were brought in as the leader of change. But then politics shift. A new superintendent, a new president, a new school board arrives. Suddenly, what was once “visionary” is now “divisive.” The promises vanish, and so do the supporters who once cheered you on.
3. The “Personnel Matter” Betrayal: When institutions want to silence a justice-driven leader, they don’t call it sabotage. They call it a “leadership transition.” They say it was a “mutual decision.” Or worse—they quietly hire a law firm to dig, distort, and discredit you, all while protecting the status quo from disruption.
4. The Equity Mirage: This is when an organization performs DEI work in public but resists every form of actual change behind closed doors. Task forces with no teeth. Reports that sit unread. Communities consulted but not heard. And when you push for real transformation? You’re told you’re “too divisive.”
5. The Mentor-Turned-Opponent: It hurts deeply when someone you once looked up to, or helped advance, turns against you—not for principle, but for positioning or legacy. When someone who once benefited from your advocacy uses their power or proximity to power to undermine your credibility or block your leadership.

Each of these betrayals is uniquely painful—but collectively, they reflect a systemic failure to protect those who lead with courage and commitment.

The Emotional Labor of Leading Through Betrayal

Betrayal doesn’t just break trust—it breaks spirits. It destabilizes your belief in people, in process, in progress. And in a field that already asks courageous leaders—especially those who challenge the status quo—to do more with less, to navigate politics carefully, and to constantly justify their convictions in institutions often resistant to change, betrayal compounds the exhaustion. You start to question everything. Did I move too fast? Was I too direct? Should I have waited? Was I naive to think they really wanted change? And yet, in those moments, I return to this truth:

What they fear is not you. What they fear is what you represent.

You are not being punished for incompetence—you are being punished for clarity. For naming what others are too afraid to say. For pushing beyond the performance of equity into the practice of it. They fear that you will make good on the promises the institution has plastered across its website. That you will force them to live their mission. That you will move the needle in a way that can’t be walked back when the media loses interest.

They fear your truth.

The Loss Belongs to the Betrayer

Let’s say this out loud: betrayal may temporarily derail your job, your campaign, or your grant. But it doesn’t define your worth. The person or institution that betrays you loses something far more vital: credibility, conscience, and community. They lose the opportunity to build something real. To earn trust in a lasting way. To be part of something transformational. They may keep the corner office, the press release, or the political endorsement—but they will spend their career surrounded by people who only tell them what they want to hear. They will never know the joy of authentic collaboration, the strength of solidarity, or the impact of integrity-led leadership. Betrayal rots leadership from the inside. And when they do it often enough—which they usually do, as history shows a clear pattern in how they’ve treated people—they eventually lose the ability to recognize the sound of their own conscience.

They become Judases—efficient, polished, and morally empty. And communities see this bankruptcy. They feel the silence. They witness the double-speak. They send public messages—letters, petitions, social media campaigns, and votes of no confidence—urging the leader to course-correct, to show courage, to act. But these appeals often fall on willfully ignorant ears. A quick Google search will show you just how often communities rise up in response to morally empty decision-making. Yet many leaders ignore the signs, retreat into defensiveness, and double down on betrayal. Because once a leader becomes fluent in betrayal, they often forget how to speak the language of accountability.

How We Heal and Move Forward

So what do we do, those of us who have been betrayed?

We keep going.

We mourn the Judases, yes. We name the loss. But we don’t let betrayal turn us bitter. We let it refine our circle. Clarify our calling. Sharpen our discernment. Betrayal must not become the reason we abandon justice. If anything, it should strengthen our resolve. Because we know firsthand what’s at stake—and we know the cost of cowardice.

Here’s how we rise:

1. Hold on to your values. Betrayal wants you to doubt everything, including yourself. Don’t let it. Reaffirm why you began this work. Your north star didn’t change just because someone else got scared.
2. Protect your peace. Exit spaces that no longer deserve your brilliance. Some environments are too toxic to stay in. Walking away is not weakness—it’s wisdom.
3. Build your coalition early. Isolation is the weapon of betrayers. Community is your shield. Identify your people, inside and outside the institution, and invest in those relationships before the storm hits because they will be there for you after the storm.
4. Document everything. Yes, this is practical—but it’s also about reclaiming your narrative. Betrayers often weaponize ambiguity. Your receipts are your protection and your power.
5. Tell your story. Do not let Judases silence you. Whether it’s a blog post, a speech, or a confidential conversation—you deserve to be heard. And others need to know they’re not alone.

A Word to Those Who Choose Betrayal

If you’re reading this and realizing you’ve played a role in someone else’s betrayal—through action or silence—this is your moment. Do better. Leadership isn’t about keeping your hands clean. It’s about making hard choices for the right reasons. If you’ve been protecting power at the expense of people—you’re not leading. Your managing decline. It’s not too late to choose courage. Choose to tell the truth—even if it costs you political capital. Choose to stand up for the person being dragged—especially when they’re not in the room. Choose to use your power to protect, not punish. Because leadership without integrity is just performance. And this moment in education needs more than performers. It needs protectors. Visionaries. Builders.

Reclaiming Solidarity in a Time of Retraction

Right now, we’re in an era of retraction—where DEI offices are being shut down, faculty and staff are being silenced, and student protest is being criminalized. Leaders who speak up are being labeled “divisive.” Truth-tellers are being pushed out in the name of neutrality. And in this climate, betrayal is not just a personal act—it’s a political tool. Which makes our solidarity even more urgent. We must create spaces—districts, campuses, movements—where betrayal is not normalized but called out. Where justice work isn’t just protected, but prioritized. Where those who lead with heart aren’t isolated, but embraced.

This is not a feel-good wish list. This is a survival strategy. We do not survive betrayal by retreating. We survive by organizing and standing together. We must teach future education leaders not just about data dashboards and policy memos—but about how to spot betrayal. How to survive it. How to prevent it. We must equip them to build cultures where courage is contagious.

After the crucifixion—after Judas betrayed Jesus—he was denied by his own disciple before the morning dawned. Let that sink in. He faced abandonment in the darkest hour. So let us not repeat history. Do not deny the leaders who fight for justice and equity after they’ve been betrayed. Stand with them. Speak for them. Organize beside them. Because surviving betrayal isn’t just about resilience—it’s about collective resistance.

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In Closing: A Commitment to Trust, Respect, and Solidarity

Betrayal, as painful as it is, should not deviate us from our values or extinguish our hope. If anything, it should light a fire in our belly—a fierce determination to speak our truth, to tell our story, so that others won’t fall victim in silence.

Let betrayal make you bolder, not bitter. Let it teach you where the real alliances lie. Let it drive you to build institutions and movements where honesty is honored, not punished. Because the story of what was done to you may be the survival guide someone else desperately needs.

Let the betrayals behind you sharpen your vision. Let the betrayals around you clarify your calling. And let the betrayals ahead of you (yes, there will be more) meet a version of you that is too rooted, too righteous, and too ready to be undone.

Because betrayal might bruise your spirit—but it can never cancel your purpose. And in the end, what will outlast them isn’t their disloyalty. It’s your legacy.

Please share.