Silence doesn’t reduce risk. It merely gives up control over who gets to own the story and be on the better looking side.
Earlier this week, revelers enjoyed Carnival Tuesday in Trinidad & Tobago, a celebration created by enslaved people as an act of resistance. This not so little celebration generated US$95 million for the local economy in 2025.
A major contender for this year’s Road March title was a groovy and infectious song called “Cyah Behave,” inspired by a condescending comment that instructed locals “to behave” themselves after the country found itself in the foreign affairs spotlight.
The irony wasn’t lost on anyone: You can’t profit from a culture and then tell us to quiet down about who we are.
We’re a little more than a year out from a time when professionals and institutions scrambled to find ways to redefine their missions, motivations, and entire identities to accommodate shifting political winds.
Same Pattern, Different Stage
Far too many companies swung from loudly affirming underrepresented voices to going completely silent.
Some of us can’t rebrand our way out of our identities when the optics shift. And neither can the organizations that serve communities like mine.
You Can’t Rebrand Your Way Out of Your Identity
If you’ve met me in person, you know my laugh is loud. So is my enthusiasm for others’ progress. So is the fabulously layered community that raised me to be this way. I’ve tripped over my tongue and gotten into hot water for what I believe enough times to proudly share that it ain’t changing anytime soon. And I’ll keep doing it for the missions I believe in as well.
When organizations go quiet to stay safe, their donors, clients and community members fill in the blanks. What they’re filling in isn’t “Leadership is being strategic,” it’s actually landing as: “This was performative all along.”
When you stop telling your story, you don’t protect yourself from criticism. You just lose control of the narrative.
“Cyah Behave” ultimately didn’t win the Road March title, but I fully expect to hear it in heavy rotation at every Caribbean carnival celebration on the circuit right up to the Columbus Day finale in Miami.
Rooting for Resistance
I’m going to root for every one of us who understands that sometimes, one’s existence is the barest and simplest form of resistance.
Showing up for clients, community, and constituents as loudly and as unapologetically as my Trinidadian parents taught me is how we help each other through messy times.
