I’ve worked with good bosses, difficult bosses, and a few who reminded me how fragile healthy workplace culture can be. I’m often asked why I don’t switch organizations.
Sometimes the answer is family—the stability it provides and the roots I’ve built where I am.
Sometimes it’s freedom—the ability to build, to experiment, to make decisions that matter.
Sometimes it’s that I’m lost in my work—absorbed in projects, initiatives, or research that feel meaningful.
And sometimes, it’s recognizing that the organizations I once idealized as a graduate student aren’t as perfect when you start peeling back the layers.
But mostly, the answer is simple: I believe in doing the work.
For me, that work means giving people who have never used a library’s resources, spaces, or people the opportunity to explore who they are—to find connection, information, or even belonging in a space that welcomes curiosity. It’s not a calling. It’s a practice. It’s showing up, doing what needs to be done, and doing it well.
Still, “doing the work” doesn’t happen in a vacuum. It happens inside organizations—systems full of expectations, hierarchies, personalities, and, at times, contradictions. Over the years, I’ve realized that staying in any institution means constantly negotiating a balance between satisfaction, frustration, and hope. You learn to decide when to speak, when to adapt, and when to quietly endure.
That balance isn’t fixed. Some days, it feels like purpose outweighs everything else; other days, the bureaucracy or politics threaten to undo your patience. And in those moments, you start to understand that “doing the work” isn’t just about the tasks themselves—it’s about how you respond to the culture around you. Whether you stay, speak up, or move on becomes its own kind of ethical choice.
That tension—between staying, speaking, and leaving—is the space Albert O. Hirschman explored in his 1970 framework Exit, Voice, and Loyalty. His model helps explain why some people remain committed to institutions through difficulty, why some use their voice to push for change, and why others ultimately choose to walk away.
When Voice Feels Risky
In an ideal organization, voice is valued. Feedback and dissent are welcomed as part of learning and improvement. But in many academic libraries, voice becomes dangerous.
When librarians or staff raise concerns about inequity, poor communication, or toxic leadership, they may be ignored—or worse, punished. Over time, silence becomes the safest option.
Those who care deeply about inclusion and fairness often withdraw. Others leave. And each time someone exits, the organization loses its conscience and a bit more of its credibility.
This cycle is exactly what Hirschman warned about: when the most engaged members choose exit, decline accelerates.
Why People Stay
So why stay? Loyalty, in Hirschman’s view, isn’t blind allegiance—it’s the force that keeps people invested enough to try to make things better. But loyalty without the safety to use one’s voice turns toxic.
In academic libraries, staying can be both an act of hope and an act of resistance. It means choosing to keep showing up even when systems make it hard. It means continuing to serve students, teach information literacy, and advocate for access—because the mission still matters, even when the culture falters.
I stay because I believe in the power of persistence: in doing the work with integrity, even when the environment tests it. That’s not passive loyalty—it’s a form of voice.
The Cost of Silence
Silence, however, carries a cost. When libraries lose people who speak truth to power, what remains is a brittle culture of compliance. Problems deepen under the surface, trust erodes, and innovation stalls.
Toxic cultures rarely collapse all at once—they hollow out from within.
The antidote isn’t more loyalty. It’s restoring the conditions for voice—psychological safety, transparent communication, and leadership willing to listen without defensiveness.
Reclaiming the Learning Organization
At their best, academic libraries are laboratories of learning—for students and for staff. But in too many institutions, fear has replaced curiosity. Reclaiming a learning organization means valuing experimentation over perfection, collaboration over control, and dialogue over silence.
At Inclusive Knowledge Solutions, we’ve seen that transformation begins when organizations redefine loyalty as shared accountability and voice as a collective practice, not an individual risk. Healthy libraries make it safe to challenge assumptions, question inequities, and imagine new ways of serving their communities.
A Final Reflection
When people ask why I stay, my answer may still vary—family, freedom, the work itself—but the deeper truth is this: I stay because I believe that doing the work well and with integrity is its own kind of voice.
Toxic cultures push people toward silence or departure. Healthy ones create room for honest conversation and growth. The work of transforming academic libraries isn’t glamorous. It’s slow, steady, and sometimes lonely. But it matters—because every time we choose to do the work instead of walking away, we keep open the possibility of change.
💬 Reflection for readers:
If your organization feels silent, ask yourself—what would it take for people to feel safe enough to speak?
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