They don’t always say it out loud.

But if you’ve been a leader, you learn to read the signs. The soft smiles. The slow blinks. The way people praise your convictions in private—right before distancing themselves. It’s the same pattern that leaders like Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. faced: celebrated for their ideals, shunned for their demands. Institutions love change-makers as long as they don’t actually change anything too important. That’s how you know you’ve crossed the threshold from “visionary” to “threat.”

Let’s be clear: you don’t become radioactive for misconduct or incompetence. You become radioactive for conviction. For courage. For refusing to water down your commitments to equity, justice, and community. For being an uppity minority—too informed, too unafraid, too unwilling to play the game.

But in a moment when institutions are under siege from every direction—being “radioactive” isn’t a disqualifier. It’s a credential. It means you’re visible. You’re fighting. You’re not asleep at the wheel while the mission burns.

And that’s exactly why they fear you.

Because the truth is, you are not radioactive because of what you say. You’re radioactive because of what you accomplish for communities that some people don’t want to see succeed. You’re radioactive because you shine too bright in rooms that prefer you to be a shadow. Because you bring clarity to places that survive on confusion. Because your presence alone is a challenge to a system built to exclude, deflect, and maintain power through politeness, not progress.

When the System is Problematic

I’d like you to meet Craig. He is a K–12 leader, doctoral student at Vanderbilt, and an emerging leader who seeks to be a dynamic and principled leader. He’s also been branded “radioactive” (my words) in ways that reflect the exact kind of systemic retaliation so many Black professionals face for daring to lead with clarity and conscience. He reached out and told me the following stories.

His journey has been marred by three distinct acts of institutional betrayal. First, while serving as head track coach and the only Black teacher at a high school, Craig was placed on leave under disputed circumstances. The fallout was seen so problematic that star athletes publicly resigned from the team in protest. Though a settlement followed, no public rationale was ever given—just silence, shadows, and another Black educator pushed out quietly.

Then came another incident, where Craig—an employed professional—was accused of impersonating a staff member and detained in handcuffs by school security. Only after confirmation of his employment came from an athletic director was he released. The symbolism was chilling: Black excellence, even in a suit with credentials in hand, was still criminalized.

Most recently, Craig experienced issues in pursuit of a leadership credential. In his view, despite exceeding every requirement and receiving early confirmation of eligibility, he was later denied based on a new rule introduced mid-process. The message? Even when Black leaders follow the rules, the goalposts will move.

Craig’s story is emblematic of a wider truth: if you’re excellent, vocal, and an Uppity Minority in leadership, your biggest “offense” is existing outside of the script. That alone can get you marked as radioactive.

What Makes a Leader “Too Much”

Let’s name the real issue. Leaders aren’t called radioactive because they’re underqualified. They’re labeled that way because they’re too visible. Too effective. Too unflinching in their commitment to changing the conditions that exclude and harm. They’re not radioactive because they speak out. They’re radioactive because they produce results in service of communities that institutions only pretend to prioritize. This is the twisted calculus of the status quo: excellence in equity work makes you dangerous. Not to students or society, but to systems that thrive on decorum over disruption, on symbolism over substance.

Ask anyone who has dared to lead boldly—they’ve all heard some version of the whisper: “You’re impressive, but we’re not sure you’re the right fit.” That’s code for: “You’re not afraid enough of power to make us comfortable.” I’ve been asked more times than I can count, “Julian, aren’t you worried that your academic writing, your public testimony, or your social media commentary might cost you future leadership roles?” During a recent East Coast presidential search, I was even asked whether my public scholarship might compromise my ability to serve as a “spokesperson” for the university.

In other words: Can you smile while quietly abandoning your principles like the others we are interviewing? But it’s a false choice—one we’ve seen before. They are presenting that you can either speak truth or get the job. You can be Claudine Gay—Harvard’s first Black president, forced to resign after a coordinated political ambush—or you can be a placeholder who smiles through erasure. But you can’t be both. And let me be clear: I didn’t earn advanced degrees, lead institutions, engage lawmakers, and write about public policy for years just to nod politely while education, equity, and liberty go up in flames.

The Real Risk: Cowardice, Not Courage

So, let’s talk about the real risk.

In 2025, politicians are outlawing DEI. Governors are micromanaging university governance. Trump is withdrawing non-profit status, cancelling critical research funding, and banning international students or (like a 1984 police state) monitoring their social media. Students are being arrested for peaceful protests. Professors are being punished for social media posts. And still, institutions whisper, “We just need someone steady with a pedigree.” Steady and pedigree isn’t the flex they think it is. In a moment of crisis, steady is often just silent. And silence is not neutrality—it’s complicity.

So who’s really risky—the leader who speaks up for institutional values or the one who ducks? Universities, school districts, professional associations, and accreditors are standing at a crossroads. They can continue to elevate leaders who are experienced, pliant, palatable, and performatively polished. Or they can choose leaders who are experienced, purposefully polished, principled, public, moral and powerful. Because in this moment, the real liability isn’t the person who has “made waves” defending institutional mission—it’s the person that refuses to stand for liberty.

Radioactive Is the New Ready

The radioactive label is meant to shame you. To push you out of contention before the first round with the search committee. To make you feel like your boldness is the problem. But in reality, radioactive means you’ve seen too much to pretend. It means you’ve heard the behind-the-scenes double-talk of “leaders” and refused to translate it for them to your community. It means you earned the trust of communities not by pandering, but by showing up—in solidarity, not just celebration.

In this new era, radioactive isn’t the scarlet letter. It’s the north star.

The leaders of today are not those who retreat into bureaucratic jargon. They are those who show up with conviction. Who are visible in the trenches. Who are willing to be uncomfortable to create conditions where others can finally breathe. So, to every hiring committee, every board, every policymaker: stop wondering whether someone has stayed “safe.” Ask whether they’ve ever been dangerous for the status quo. Ask whether they’ve ever sacrificed comfort to do what’s right. Ask questions about who they’ve lifted, what they’ve risked, and whether they would do it again. Because that’s what leadership requires now, in this moment. Not tiptoeing. Not equivocating. But being willing to grow and glow—even if it makes others squint.

Conclusion: Turn Up the Glow

So yes—call the Uppity Minority radioactive.

Call us dangerous. Say we’re too loyal to the communities we serve. But understand this: what you’re witnessing is integrity that refuses to dim. What they truly fear is leadership that doesn’t wait for permission or approval. What they’re rejecting is the very thing institutions claim to value—vision, voice, and values.

To the leaders who glow: keep glowing.

To the communities who’ve been dismissed: we see you. And we will act in your name.

To the early-career Uppity Minorities watching in silence: you don’t have to wait your turn. And you don’t have to lead quietly. Your time is now.

The so-called “radioactive” are ready to illuminate this moment in history.

And in 2025, ready is exactly what the world needs.