They call you visionary, fresh air, the leader they have been waiting for. But the moment you do what they hired you to do, lead boldly, speak truthfully, and push for real change, the applause fades and the temperature drops. What was once celebrated becomes condemned. What they once praised becomes politicized. This is the quiet betrayal that turns admiration into anxiety. This is what it means to go from pet to threat.

In 2009, Dr. Kecia M. Thomas gave a name to this pattern that so many leaders of color had already endured without language to describe it. She called it “pet to threat.” In her research, Dr. Thomas explained, “When women and people of color are hired into roles, they’re often celebrated— at first. But when they begin to challenge the status quo or speak up about inequities, they’re seen as a threat.” That shift, from being welcomed to being watched, is not imagined. It is structural. And it is widespread.

This post is part of the Uppity Minority article series, where I explore what happens to equity-driven leaders who are bold enough to lead vision and clarity. It is not a theoretical series. It is rooted in experience. In being the first, the only, or the different. In being praised for your presence and then punished for your principles.

Pet to threat is not just a catchy phrase. It is a survival map for leaders who find themselves suddenly isolated, gaslit, or targeted by the very systems that once embraced them. The shift rarely happens all at once. It is more often a series of small signs. Meetings that were once full suddenly go quiet. Praise becomes “concern.” Clarity is labeled “aggression.” Passion becomes “tone.” The same boldness that was called courageous on day one is reframed as insubordinate two years later.

I have lived this. Many of us have.

When I entered senior leadership as a man of color with a strong record of student success, community engagement, and justice-driven leadership, I was embraced enthusiastically. I was the first and was told it was a game-changer. I was invited to help reimagine the institution. I was asked to build trust with communities that had long been ignored. I was hired to do transformation.

And I did it. I elevated voices that had been excluded. I empowered staff who had long been overlooked. I partnered with faculty on equity-centered programs and pushed for strategic shifts that aligned with our stated values. Students responded. Outcomes improved. Recognition followed. That is when the temperature changed.

Emails went unanswered. Decision-making spaces became closed. Whispers began. Some of the same people who had welcomed me into leadership now questioned my approach. Rumors replaced dialogue. What was once collaboration became obstruction. And slowly, I began to recognize the pattern that Dr. Thomas had described. She wrote, “The pet to threat dynamic is a predictable result of racialized institutional norms. When organizations are unwilling to evolve structurally or culturally, they turn on those who demand that evolution.”

It is not about failure. It is about fear. You become a threat not because you failed to lead, but because you succeeded. You become a threat not because your ideas are flawed, but because they are gaining traction. You become a threat because you are no longer performing diversity. You are embodying equity. And that is dangerous to institutions that only wanted the illusion of change.

President Barack Obama experienced this phenomenon on a global scale. In 2008, his election was hailed as a symbol of hope. Even his critics often praised his demeanor, his intellect, his calm under pressure. He was treated as a unifying figure, a walking reassurance that the country had moved beyond its racist past. But when he began to govern, when he dared to speak more honestly about the unfinished work of justice, the mood shifted. His very identity became a point of attack. Birther conspiracies. Racial dog whistles. Constant obstruction. His wife was portrayed as angry, unusual, ungrateful. The admiration became animosity.

Obama himself once said, “There’s a deep reservoir of hope. But there’s also a deep well of fear.” What many feared was not incompetence. It was the loss of control. The pet to threat shift often comes down to this: power was never truly shared, only temporarily lent. And when you begin to exercise that power with purpose, they want it back. You are no longer the symbol. You are now the disruptor.

The Pet to Threat Playbook in San Francisco

This dynamic is not confined to universities, corporations, or national politics. It is alive and well in local school districts. Alison Collins, a longtime educator and parent organizer in San Francisco, knows this all too well. Her story is a textbook example of what happens when a leader moves from pet to threat.

Collins entered public service with more than 25 years of experience advocating for educational equity for historically marginalized students. In 2018, she was elected to the San Francisco Board of Education, where she authored resolutions that removed police from schools, expanded access to arts programs for all students, and required the district to acknowledge Native American land and history. She worked to address systemic racism, including long-standing student demands to stop racial abuse and inequities at Lowell High School, the city’s elite academic magnet.

For a time, she was celebrated for her boldness. She was seen as a fresh, unapologetic voice for racial justice in one of the nation’s most progressive cities. But when she began to tackle issues that challenged entrenched privilege—particularly Lowell High School’s restrictive admissions process and the culture of racial bias in elite schools—she became a lightning rod.

Right-wing strategists, tech billionaires, and venture capitalists found in her story an opportunity to reshape local politics. They weaponized parental frustration over pandemic closures and fears about “woke ideology” and LGBTQ inclusion. Conservative think tanks, national anti-CRT operatives like Chris Rufo, and local political players teamed up to target her. The Friends of Lowell Foundation coordinated with national organizations opposed to affirmative action, using disinformation and racial wedge politics to fracture coalitions.

Collins and other board members faced a well-funded recall campaign, backed by millions in donations from Silicon Valley figures like Arthur Rock and David Sacks. The campaign drew on the playbook now common across the country: amplify discontent, frame equity work as incompetence or extremism, and mobilize fear to flip leadership.

The attacks did not stop with the recall. Collins and her family were doxxed, harassed, and subjected to coordinated online defamation. National figures testified before Congress using her name and misrepresenting her words as evidence that antiracist educators were themselves racist. The aim was not just to remove her from office, but to make her a cautionary tale for anyone else considering bold action.

This was pet to threat in full view. Collins was embraced when her presence served the image of progress. She was targeted when her leadership threatened systems of advantage.

The Pattern Is the Problem

In my own leadership journey, I have felt this shift. I had not changed. My tone had not changed. My values had not changed. What changed was the comfort level of those who had hoped I would innovate without disrupting. They wanted diversity without justice. They wanted change without cost.

Collins’s story shows how quickly “visionary” becomes “controversial” when you touch the levers of real power. Pet to threat is not about performance. It is about proximity to change. The closer you get to making it real, the more dangerous you become to those invested in keeping things as they are.

Sometimes the backlash is cloaked in language about “unity” or “professionalism.” Sometimes it is more overt: recalls, lawsuits, media smears. Sometimes it comes from the right. Sometimes it comes from self-described moderates or progressives who are comfortable with symbolic equity but not structural change.

Dr. Thomas warns that “organizations tend to tokenize Black professionals, particularly women, placing them in visible roles without real power. When those professionals seek to move beyond tokenism and wield influence with integrity, the backlash begins.”

Why We Must Name It

There is no comfort in being a threat. It can be exhausting. It can cost you your position, your allies, your peace. But it is also a moment of clarity. When they label you a threat, it means they have heard you and they are afraid. It means your leadership has landed. So what do we do? We name it. We teach it. We speak up when others are targeted. We build circles of protection. We prepare the next generation to recognize the signs. We remind each other that courage is not the absence of consequence. It is the willingness to lead anyway.

Pet to threat is real. It is persistent. But it is not inevitable. As Dr. Thomas notes, it can be avoided with intentional, structural change, if organizations learn to share power and commit to equity as practice, not just performance. Until then, leaders like Alison Collins will continue to face coordinated efforts to remove them from positions where they can make a difference. And communities will continue to lose the transformative possibilities that such leaders bring.

If you have been labeled a threat, it is not because you are the problem. The problem is the pattern. And patterns can be broken. You were not hired to be a mascot. You were born to lead. You are not too much. You are enough. You are not alone. You are part of a long line of equity-driven leaders who refused to shrink in the face of fear. They will try to make you the problem. But the truth is clear: the real threat is to systems of inequity. And the sooner we name that, the sooner we can dismantle them.

Please share, follow, and read the past articles from the Uppity Minority series by Julian Vasquez Heilig:

The Uppity Minority: The Politics of Hiring and the Price of Courage

The Uppity Minority: Stephen Colbert and Joy Reid—Fired, Freed, and Unleashed

The Uppity Minority: Executive Leadership, Power, and the Price of Speaking Up

The Uppity Minority: How They Will Come for You, Be Ready

The Uppity Minority: Radioactive or Ready?

The Uppity Minority: Is Resigning the Right Thing to Do?

The Uppity Minority: When the White Ally Isn’t

The Uppity Minority: Hunted, Surveilled and Secretly Recorded

The Uppity Minority: When the Betrayal Comes From Inside the House

The Uppity Minority: You Spoke Up—So They’ll Call a Lawyer

The Uppity Minority: Dominate your Box

Julian Vasquez Heilig is a nationally recognized policy scholar, public intellectual, and civil rights advocate. A trusted voice in public policy, he has testified for state legislatures, the U.S. Congress, the United Nations, and the U.S. Commission on Civil Rights, while also advising presidential and gubernatorial campaigns. His work has been cited by major outlets including The New York Times, The Washington Post, and Los Angeles Times, and he has appeared on networks from MSNBC and PBS to NPR and DemocracyNow!. He is a recipient of more than 30 honors, including the 2025 NAACP Keeper of the Flame Award, Vasquez Heilig brings both scholarly rigor and grassroots commitment to the fight for equity and justice.