Paul Bloom’s recent essay in The Chronicle of Higher Education, “Why Aren’t Professors Braver?,” makes a point that resonates beyond universities. He argues that the very process of American education selects for caution rather than courage. From the earliest stages of schooling, US students learn that advancement depends on following rules, deferring to authority, and producing work that pleases evaluators. By the time they complete doctoral training, win a tenure-track job, and navigate the gauntlet of peer review, most professors have already internalized a survival lesson: play it safe if you want to succeed. Bravery, in the US system of schooling, is not rewarded. It is weeded out.

The irony is that higher education markets itself as a place of fearless inquiry and bold discovery. Universities celebrate their Nobel Prize winners, their public intellectuals, and their groundbreaking research centers. Yet those few who are visible for their bravery stand out precisely because they are exceptions. For most academics, the incentives are clear: publish what reviewers will accept, avoid antagonizing donors, steer clear of controversial topics in the classroom. The system creates scholars who are highly skilled and deeply knowledgeable, but also hesitant to risk the stability they fought so hard to earn.

This process does not just apply to professors. Anyone who has climbed to a position of power through highly structured systems learns the same lesson. Lawyers, doctors, nonprofit leaders, and corporate executives all advance by passing exams, mastering bureaucratic requirements, and proving themselves reliable to superiors. Each step requires more rule-following. By the time they reach leadership, they have spent decades perfecting the art of caution. Bloom’s essay highlights this paradox: the very paths that lead to positions of influence often strip people of the bravery they will later need to exercise that influence well.

The Two Faces of Dual Consciousness

The result of this conditioning is what can be called dual consciousness. People learn to live with two faces, one for themselves and one for the world. Internally, they may nurture convictions, curiosities, or even doubts that are genuine and unfiltered. Externally, they present the carefully curated persona demanded by their institution. Educators who privately question a new administrative directive will publicly echo the official talking points. Employees who doubt the wisdom of a new corporate strategy will praise it in meetings. This internal-external split helps them survive, but it creates ongoing tension between authenticity and safety.

Dual consciousness is not simply hypocrisy. It is an adaptation to systems where dissent is costly. In authoritarian governments, this phenomenon is obvious: citizens smile in public while grumbling in private. But it also thrives in democracies, workplaces, and schools. A graduate student may avoid telling an advisor that their research direction feels uninspiring, because honesty could jeopardize future opportunities. A mid-level manager may stay silent about a flawed product launch to avoid alienating an executive sponsor. In each case, the individual knows the truth but represses it to maintain stability.

The long-term costs of dual consciousness are significant. The more someone maintains this split, the more exhausting it becomes to sustain two selves. Over time, the external persona can colonize the internal one. What began as a strategic performance becomes habitual, even natural. The person loses touch with their own convictions, accepting the safe version of themselves as reality. When this happens across an entire organization, the collective culture becomes timid. People stop generating bold ideas, and institutions lose their capacity for innovation and moral courage.

How Shock Creates Obedience

Naomi Klein’s concept of the “shock doctrine” helps explain how dual consciousness can be deliberately cultivated by leaders. Shocks disrupt normal patterns of life and create a window of vulnerability. In the wake of a crisis, people are more willing to accept new rules, even ones that clash with their values. Leaders who understand this dynamic can use shocks to push through unpopular changes while people are too disoriented to resist.

Shocks can be dramatic, like wars, recessions, pandemics or presidential administrations, but they can also be subtle and targeted. In a university, the abrupt firing of a respected dean who is delivering results sends a message to faculty about the costs of dissent. In a corporation, a sudden restructuring disorients employees, making them more willing to accept long hours or reduced autonomy. The shock itself matters less than the fear and uncertainty it generates. People retreat into self-protection, displaying outward compliance while suppressing inner doubts. Dual consciousness spreads as a survival strategy.

This pattern can be seen in many sectors. After major economic downturns, workers are more hesitant to unionize or speak out about poor conditions. After political scandals, civil servants avoid taking risks that could bring unwanted attention. Even in nonprofits, sudden funding cuts or leadership changes can create a climate of caution. The shock clears the path for obedience, and dual consciousness takes root in the cracks of fear.

The Oppressor Within

Paulo Freire warned that oppression is not only external. Over time, the oppressed can internalize the worldview of the oppressor. This means that people under authoritarian systems begin to adopt the language, tone, and values of those in power, even when those values contradict their own lived experience. In the workplace, this manifests as employees repeating the slogans of leaders they privately distrust, because doing so feels safer than risking open disagreement.

For educators, this might look like parroting administrative buzzwords about “excellence,” “efficiency,” or “student success,” even when they suspect those policies erode academic freedom. For corporate employees, it might mean praising “disruption” or “innovation” while quietly dreading the layoffs such initiatives usually bring. The repetition of the leader’s language is more than survival. It is a slow reshaping of thought. The more often people say the words, the more those words begin to shape how they see the world.

Freire’s warning is powerful because it explains how systems perpetuate themselves without constant external force. Once people internalize the logic of the oppressor, they become self-policing. They silence themselves, correct their own thoughts, and even defend the system against critics. Dual consciousness shifts from an exhausting split into a blurred identity, where survival performance and genuine belief are no longer easily separated.

The Rationality of Aligning With the Bully

Consider Texas State University’s firing of associate history professor Thomas Alter this fall. After a video of his remarks at an online socialist conference circulated, administrators said he had “advocated inciting violence” and terminated him on Sept. 10, 2025; a judge briefly reinstated him and ordered a due-process hearing, but the university upheld his dismissal after the hearing on Oct. 13, 2025. Alter argues his comments were protected speech made in a personal capacity. Regardless of where one lands on his rhetoric, the sequence—viral clip → administrative alarm → termination—broadcasts a simple message to every faculty member watching: stray from the line and your livelihood is negotiable

Bloom’s essay asks why professors are not braver, but a better question might be: why would they be? In environments where dissent leads to punishment, aligning with the bully becomes rational. People who witness colleagues being humiliated, sidelined, fired or denied tenure quickly learn the price of resistance. The lesson is clear. If you want to survive, you nod along, even when you disagree.

This logic extends far beyond academia. In nonprofits, staff may avoid advocacy that might offend wealthy donors, even when it undermines the mission. In K–12 schools, teachers may follow rigid scripts that limit creativity, because deviating could trigger complaints. In corporations, executives may agree to flawed strategies in meetings because challenging a CEO risks career suicide. Outward alignment is the shield that protects them from retaliation.

Yet this shield can become indistinguishable from genuine belief. People who align with bullies long enough begin to forget their own views. They convince themselves that the leader must be right, or at least not worth resisting. Bravery feels like a luxury they cannot afford. The system works not by inspiring loyalty, but by training fear.

The Corporate Mirror

Corporate settings reveal the same patterns in sharper relief. In large companies with hierarchical structures, employees often agree publicly to unrealistic goals while admitting privately that the deadlines are impossible. Meetings become rituals of performance, where everyone praises the plan while venting their frustrations in private chats or after-work conversations.

Health care offers another example. Doctors and nurses may endorse administrative policies publicly while knowing that those policies hurt patient care. Speaking out could jeopardize their licenses or jobs, so they remain silent. The dual consciousness of outward agreement and inner resistance becomes a daily practice.

Nonprofits are not immune either. Staff may exaggerate program successes in reports to funders, knowing that honesty could result in lost grants. Outwardly, they align with leadership’s rosy narrative. Privately, they share frustrations with colleagues. The cumulative effect across sectors is a culture where truth is hidden beneath layers of performance.

Fear as the Invisible Policeman

Fear is the most efficient enforcer of dual consciousness. Leaders do not need to monitor every word or thought. They only need to punish a few people visibly. When a whistleblower is fired, when a professor is denied tenure, when an outspoken employee is demoted, the message is clear. Everyone else learns to stay quiet.

This logic is powerful because it embeds itself in people’s minds. They begin editing their speech before they even open their mouths, anticipating potential consequences. They adjust their thoughts, steering away from dangerous topics. Fear creates internalized boundaries, making explicit censorship almost unnecessary.

Bloom’s Chronicle essay notes how this fear silences professors, but the same dynamic silences workers, students, and citizens. Fear works not because it is constant, but because it is predictable. People know the risks, so they regulate themselves. The invisible policeman lives in their own minds.

Recognizing the Split

The first step in resisting dual consciousness is recognizing it. This means acknowledging when you are tailoring your words solely to appease authority rather than to persuade or collaborate. It requires honesty about the gap between your internal convictions and your external performance. Naming that split is not easy, but it is necessary. Creating safe spaces for honesty is one way to resist. Small peer groups, mentorship relationships, or trusted networks allow people to share their genuine thoughts without fear of punishment. These spaces act as counterweights to isolation, reminding individuals that they are not alone in their doubts.

Resistance grows stronger when it is collective. Educators who coordinate quietly to share alternative resources can preserve critical thinking even under rigid mandates. Faculty senates, when unified, can push back against administrative overreach (e.g. This is why the University of Kentucky abolished their faculty senate). Corporate employees, acting together, can press for transparency and better working conditions.

Professional associations like the AAUP also play a critical role. They can defend members who face retaliation for legitimate dissent, providing a buffer against fear. By standing together, individuals reduce the risk of being singled out and increase their power to influence change. Collective agency shifts the balance of power, making it harder for a single leader to impose a distorted reality unchallenged. Collective resistance does not eliminate dual consciousness overnight, but it creates cracks in the facade. It signals that authenticity is possible, and that bravery can be exercised without facing isolation.

Lessons for Leadership

Leaders who wish to avoid fostering dual consciousness must cultivate cultures where disagreement is safe. Silence should never be mistaken for agreement. Instead, constructive criticism should be encouraged and rewarded. Leaders who punish dissent may enjoy short-term compliance but at the cost of long-term trust and innovation.

Bloom’s essay challenges leaders to ask themselves: do you want subordinates who perform agreement, or colleagues who think freely? The former may keep meetings smooth, but the latter produces better decisions. Organizations that thrive are those where people can raise concerns without fear of retaliation. The real test of leadership is not how well people follow, but how free they feel to speak. Leaders who embrace this principle protect their institutions from the stagnation that dual consciousness inevitably produces.

Authentic dialogue is messy, but it is more productive than the brittle peace of enforced conformity. Organizations that cultivate freedom preserve their members’ creativity and integrity. Those that suppress it invite stagnation and decay. If dual consciousness is the epidemic of modern institutions, then education as freedom is the cure. It reminds us that learning and leadership should expand our courage, not shrink it.

The Bravery We Need

Bloom’s Chronicle essay on professors’ bravery is not just about academia. It is a lens on the deeper dynamics of fear, conformity, and dual consciousness that shape life across sectors in the US today. Professors, executives, teachers, nonprofit workers, and civil servants all face the same dilemma: protect yourself through outward compliance or risk yourself by speaking your truth.

Dual consciousness may keep people safe in the short term, but it erodes agency, creativity, and moral clarity over time. Recognizing the split between internal truth and external performance is the first step toward resisting it. Building safe spaces, forming collective alliances, and cultivating leadership cultures that value dissent are essential.

The choice before us is stark. We can accept a future where fear dictates our public words and corrosive leadership distorts reality, or we can build one where authenticity and courage guide our shared reality. Bloom’s question, why aren’t professors braver, is really everyone’s question. The answer we give will shape not only our universities but also our workplaces, our politics, and our communities.

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Julian Vasquez Heilig is a civil rights advocate, scholar, and internationally recognized keynote speaker. He has served as Education Chair for both the NAACP California State Conference and the NAACP Kentucky State Conference, advancing equity for students and communities. Over the past decade, he has delivered more than 150 talks across eight countries, seeking to inspire audiences from universities to national organizations with research, strategy, and lived experience that move people from comfort to conviction and into action.