For six years I served as both provost and dean. Those titles looked impressive on paper, but the cost was clear in hindsight: inboxes overflowing, back-to-back meetings stacked on top of each other, and the unrelenting sense that no matter how much you gave there was always another fire to put out. Over time, that kind of leadership role consumes you without your even realizing it. When I finally stepped back, I could feel the difference in my bones and blood pressure. Suddenly my mornings were not scripted and my evenings were not swallowed whole.
The gift of time had returned to me, and with it came a deeper clarity. Thomas Edison once wrote that “time is really the only capital that any human being has, and the only thing he can’t afford to lose.” For years, my role required me to spend that capital on the institution. Yet time is never only an individual possession; it is the fragile, finite resource that anchors our families, sustains our communities, and fuels our collective work. It cannot be stretched by politics, replenished by policy, or reclaimed once consumed. And when it is taken from us—through overwork, inequitable demands, or the quiet politics of who is expected to sacrifice their values—the loss is not only personal but communal, rippling outward in ways we often fail to acknowledge until it is too late.
I was reminded of this lesson not only in my own life but in the life and death of a colleague and dear friend: Dr. Caroline Sotello Viernes Turner. My Uppity Minority series celebrates those who refused to stay quiet, those who dared to disrupt business as usual, and those who were marked as “troublemakers” because they told the truth too loudly. Caroline was all of that and more. She was my peer in Sacramento State’s doctorate in educational leadership program, but she was also my mentor, my guide, and my friend.
An Academic Journey Rooted in Justice
Caroline modeled for me, and for so many others, what it meant to walk unapologetically in one’s identity as a woman of color in higher education. She insisted that diversity was not a side project but the core of academic excellence. Her presence in leadership spaces was proof that representation matters and that research can change policy when it is grounded in justice. She was willing to say what many were afraid to say, and that made her a classic example of what it means to be an uppity minority.
Her academic journey was both wide and rich. Caroline earned her PhD in Administration and Policy Analysis from Stanford University, where she built a foundation for the groundbreaking work that would define her career. She served as professor at California State University, Sacramento in the Educational Leadership program (and stepped into leadership as interim dean of the College of Education) where her focus on faculty diversity, cultural equity, and leadership development deeply shaped the campus and its students. She also held the title of Lincoln Professor Emerita of Higher Education and Ethics at Arizona State University, where she taught and mentored. Earlier in her career she also contributed at the University of Minnesota, bringing her expertise into new contexts and always advancing the same core mission: equity in higher education.
Scholarship That Reshaped Higher Education
At every institution, Caroline left a mark by raising the standard for how diversity was discussed and acted upon. Her books, Diversifying the Faculty: A Guidebook for Search Committees and Faculty of Color in Academe: Bittersweet Success, remain essential reading. These works gave practical strategies for equity at a time when many universities were still pretending that “colorblindness” was a real concept in the United States of America.
Her scholarship changed how search committees wrote job descriptions, how hiring panels deliberated, and how campuses defined their commitment to inclusion. Caroline was not simply a scholar; she was a leader who demanded action. Her books were not written for the shelves but for the meeting rooms where decisions were made. Because of her influence, countless faculty of color gained opportunities that would otherwise have been denied. She never let institutions off the hook for treating equity as optional, and in that way she was unrelenting.
The Cost of Time and Leadership
Yet even the most committed leaders pay a price. Caroline developed an illness that took her life just as she was preparing to retire. I still have her number saved in my phone, and sometimes my instinct is to call or text her when I publish something or when I need her wisdom. Then I remember she is not here. I wish she had stepped away sooner so that she could have savored her time with family, her rest, and her joy outside of the academy.
She gave so much of herself to her students and colleagues. She believed in people, and she believed in education as liberation. She carried an unwavering conviction that universities could and should be engines of justice. Yet time is the one capital that does not replenish, and the world can be relentless in demanding more than it gives back. Her passing was not only a personal loss for those who knew her but also a warning about how institutions often consume the very people who give them life.
Thinking about her death has made me take stock of my own choices. The leadership titles (Provost, Dean, Director etc.) I once thought of as pinnacles also came with hidden costs, costs I had not fully counted until I stepped back. Now, with more unstructured hours in my week, I see that the real measure of leadership is not only how much you give to an institution, but how much of yourself is left when you are done giving. Caroline’s life has pressed that lesson into my heart.
A Call to Protect Time
Her story also serves as a caution: do not wait until retirement to reclaim your time. The clock does not pause for ambition, and there will always be another meeting, another project, or another urgent task waiting. If we do not protect time for ourselves, for our families, and for our health, no one else will do it for us. Caroline’s illness and untimely death show us how costly to our families and other loved ones it can be to delay the decision to step back.
Caroline Turner was an uppity minority in the truest and best sense of the phrase. She unsettled the complacent, challenged institutions, and insisted on diversity, equity, and justice long before it was politically safe to do so. She paid with her time, her energy, and ultimately her health. Yet her impact endures because she gave that time to others with courage and conviction.
Her illness took her too soon, but her influence remains. Every time a faculty search committee uses her framework, every time a student of color sees themselves reflected in their professor of color, and every time a scholar cites her work, Caroline is still here. Time may be the only capital we cannot replenish, but Caroline invested hers in ways that continue to multiply.
Living as Uppity Minorities
To honor her, let us refuse to play small. Let us spend our time boldly, lovingly, and justly. Let us speak truth when silence would be easier. Let us remember that the true measure of success is not simply the accumulation of titles but the impact we have on people and communities.
Caroline’s life calls us to be uppity minorities in the spaces we inhabit, to refuse the seduction of quiet compliance and nuetrality, and to push for equity and justice for all wherever we find ourselves. She reminds us that time is precious, but it is also powerful when invested in justice. Her story is a charge to live fully, to love generously, and to lead unapologetically.
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Julian Vasquez Heilig is a nationally recognized education leader, scholar, and advocate for equity whose career spans seven senior leadership roles in higher education, including dean and provost. Known for driving innovation and measurable results, he has led institutional transformations that strengthened academic programs, advanced diversity and inclusion, expanded community partnerships, and elevated national rankings. His leadership is grounded in the belief that true progress requires both bold vision and fearless action.
For more in the Uppity Minority series see:
The Uppity Minority: From Pet to Threat, the Cost of Leading Boldly
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
Cloaking Inequity 
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