Sometimes a job isn’t big enough for you. “Don’t fret about the host… His talents are better showcased elsewhere.” Jason Zinoman writes in a New York Times piece on the cancellation of The Late Show with Stephen Colbert. He frames the moment not as a failure, but as a pivot point. That sentence resonated deeply—not just because it was true about Colbert, but because it speaks to something all equity-driven leaders eventually face: when your brilliance, courage, and clarity make you a target, it is not the end of your purpose. It is the beginning of your next chapter.

Let’s name it plainly. While Colbert is not an Uppity Minority, he’s a white man in one of the most privileged spaces in media, his work has been unapologetically equity-driven. He used his platform to challenge injustice, lampoon authoritarianism, and elevate voices too often silenced in the mainstream. From biting monologues skewering Trump’s corruption, to heartfelt interviews about faith, race, and democracy, Colbert didn’t just host a late-night show—he cultivated a space where satire and social critique could coexist. And like many who speak truth to power, he did so knowing that institutional tolerance has its limits.

Those limits came into view when CBS, citing “financial concerns” from unnamed sources, announced the show’s cancellation. But the network’s timing raised eyebrows. Just days earlier, Colbert had publicly criticized Paramount (CBS’s parent company) in his show for its $16 million settlement with Donald Trump over a 60 Minutes interview. That settlement, he joked, was a “big, fat bribe.” Three days later, his show was axed. Coincidence? Zinoman doesn’t think so. Neither do I. And even if finances played a role, they rarely tell the whole story. In truth, political discomfort and economic expediency often converge in the quiet ouster of bold voices.

This pattern is all too familiar for Uppity Minority leaders, those of us who are Black, Brown, Indigenous, LGBTQ+, or otherwise marginalized and also equity-driven leaders, and refuse to play the docile role that organizations prefer. We are brought in to lead change, praised for our vision, and celebrated for our diversity. But when we act on that vision, when we speak truthfully, advocate fiercely, or build something beyond their control, the temperature shifts. Suddenly, the praise disappears. Our emails go unanswered. Our achievements are minimized. And eventually, the door closes.

But here’s what they never understand: when the door closes, it doesn’t end your power. It expands it. Colbert’s career has always defied containment. From his days at Second City to his genre-defining Colbert Report, he brought layers of wit, intellect, and cultural critique to the screen that few could match. He didn’t just play a character, he used that character to expose hypocrisy, unravel misinformation, and challenge ideological conformity. Zinoman writes that Colbert “pulled off one of the great comedic feats of this century,” using satire to say the opposite of what he meant, while still making a deeply moral point.

Yet when he stepped into The Late Show, a more conventional, corporate structure, the tension began. Colbert’s improvisational genius and intellectual depth often strained against the format’s time limits and the expectations of advertisers. His deepest riffs, on Trump, or the decline of democracy, deserved more space than the rigid five-minute interview allowed. And while his ratings delivered, so did the pressure to be palatable. But Colbert never fully conformed. He continued biting the hand that fed him, criticizing CBS, calling out corporate overreach, and challenging political actors with a sly smile and a stiletto wit.

That refusal to be housebroken eventually cost him the platform. And yet, Zinoman’s point stands: maybe that’s the best thing that could have happened. Because for equity-driven leaders, whether we are late-night hosts, university leaders, nonprofit directors, educators, or grassroots organizers, there is life after cancellation. There is purpose beyond institutional betrayal. And there is often greater freedom outside the confines of a structure that was never designed for your liberation in the first place.

Let’s be clear: this is not about glamorizing displacement or ignoring the harm of institutional exclusion. It is painful to be cast aside. It is infuriating to be undermined, erased, or made to feel disposable. Many have experienced the sleepless nights, the financial instability, the public scrutiny that comes with being pushed out. But it is also in those moments, those breaking points, that we often rediscover our voice. We remember that we never needed their permission to lead. And we begin to build again, on our own terms.

In education, I’ve seen this play out with visionary faculty denied tenure for pursuing community-based research, or provosts who stood by student protestors and were pushed to resign. In media, we’ve watched journalists removed for investigating the wrong donors, or editors dismissed for platforming inconvenient truths (e.g. 60 minutes on CBS). In every case, the common thread is this: when your work challenges the dominant narrative, institutions will find a reason to end your chapter.

But what they cannot end is your story. Sometimes, your talents are better used elsewhere. Not because you weren’t good enough for the organization, but because it was never ready for your full brilliance. Not because you failed, but because you succeeded in shifting the culture. Not because you were difficult, but because you were principled. And those principles scared people who prefer control over courage.

Colbert will land on his feet. Whether in podcasting, streaming, writing, or a reinvented format of his own design, he will find a new stage, one less bound by corporate fear, and more reflective of his creative and moral range. And that’s the invitation for all of us. When the system spits you out, don’t shrink. Expand. Build the space where your truth can thrive.

As Zinoman observed, Colbert’s talents were “hamstrung” by a system that demanded brevity over depth, neutrality over conscience. But with the constraints removed, what might he do next? That question should inspire every leader who’s been told they’re “too much.” The world is starving for courageous voices. If one institution couldn’t hold your brilliance, find, or create, one that will.

We’re already seeing that kind of reinvention in real time. Joy Reid, long one of the most incisive voices on cable news, has found new freedom and fire since parting ways with MSNBC. No longer bound by network gatekeeping, her commentaries have become even sharper, more unflinching, and unbothered by the pressures of centrism. Unleashed from the constraints of sanitized mainstream media, Reid is leaning into truth-telling with renewed vigor, whether dissecting the rise of authoritarianism, calling out racial supremacy, or speaking plainly about political cowardice on both sides of the aisle. She’s not asking for permission. She’s not softening the edge. And she’s reaching audiences who are hungry for honesty, not hedging. Her post-cable platform proves what many of us already know: when equity-driven leaders are liberated from institutions that police their voices, they don’t fade. They rise.

So if you’re justice-driven, fearless, a critic, or an unapologetically moral leader who’s been cast aside or sidelined—remember this: Colbert and Reid didn’t lose. Their employers did. They lost storytellers who moved hearts, shaped public discourse, and held the powerful accountable. They lost courage disguised as commentary. Colbert and Reid lost a role, but they kept something far more important: their voice, their integrity, their truth.

And now, unleashed from institutional constraint, they are freer to say what needs to be said, how it needs to be said, to audiences who are finally ready to hear it. They no longer have to trim the truth to fit the time slot or soften the message for a squeamish CEO or boardroom. They are writing their next chapter on their own terms on behalf of communities. And if history is any guide, that next act won’t just be powerful, it will be transformative.

So when the system tries to shrink you, sideline you, or cancel you, don’t mourn the door that closed. Celebrate the freedom to build a stage of your own. Then walk onto it, unapologetically.