On Friday, while driving, I listened to an interview between primary school teacher Karine Lacroix and journalist Patrick Lagacé on 98.5

She described how, in 3rd and 4th grade, she is increasingly hearing retrograde, homophobic, sexist, and violent remarks—words that had nearly vanished from schoolyards but are now returning with a vengeance.

She spoke of parents contesting the mere presence of books featuring two men getting married, emails denouncing homosexuality as "forbidden," and resistance whenever LGBTQ+ realities or the issue of consent are addressed with students.

She also described a decline in empathy, where children no longer feel concerned when discussing respect, violence, or hurtful words: "If I call someone 'gay' or if I hit them, what does it matter? It doesn't affect me".

Karine has been teaching for over 23 years.

She feels more scrutinized than ever, expected to "be perfect" and cautious about every book and subject for fear of complaints or headlines.

Despite this, she said something that stuck with me:

"I am in Quebec, and I teach every child in front of me. I have a society to build, and my goal is to open minds, not close them".

Listening to her, I had a reflection that extends far beyond the world of school.

These children will one day become our colleagues, managers, senior leaders, and elected officials.

Among these children is my son, who has a developmental language disorder. He is brilliant, funny, and sensitive. Yet, I already see him being categorized, labeled, and sidelined because he doesn't fit what is considered "normal" in how he speaks, reads, or presents to others.

What is happening today in a 3rd-grade classroom—the rise of hateful or exclusionary discourse, the normalization of homophobic, sexist, or racist insults, and the decline in empathy—will play out tomorrow in our executive committees, hiring decisions, promotions, and how we treat anyone who doesn't fit the dominant norm at work. This applies whether it’s their way of speaking, their accent, their body, their identity, or their background.

What if, as leaders, we had the same responsibility as Karine?

The False Logic of Identity Competition

We often speak as if everything is a turf war: men against women, heterosexuals against LGBTQ+, "the real ones" against "the others," "old-stock" people against racialized people, "healthy" people against those with disabilities.

This logic rests on a belief in scarcity: if one person moves forward, the other moves back.

However, organizations that prioritize diversity and inclusion perform better, innovate more, and create more long-term value.

This isn't a "woke" opinion; it's a finding repeated in studies on the performance of diverse teams.

A few unsettling but necessary questions:

• Why should a promotion for one automatically be perceived as a loss for another?
• Since when has "being inclusive" been opposed to having courage, clarity, and high standards?

When we stay trapped in binary thinking, we fight to see "who loses" as soon as someone wins.

When we move past it, we finally begin to ask: what do we gain collectively by expanding the table?

When the Ally Becomes a True Leader

In a meeting, a marginalized colleague—perhaps because she is younger, racialized, LGBTQ+, living with a disability, neurodivergent, or has a language disorder—proposes a solid idea. Silence. Ten minutes later, a "normal" person repeats the same idea, and this time, everyone applauds.

The ally is the one who says: "That’s what Corinne suggested earlier; I think it’s important we recognize that".

Being an ally isn't about making grand speeches on diversity; it's about taking small, concrete risks to better share the floor, the space, and the credit.

It shows up in repeated micro-choices: who I recommend, who I truly listen to, who I credit, and who I support when a line is crossed.

Holding Paradoxes: The Real Test of Leadership

A manager recently told me: "I feel like I'm being asked to do two impossible things: deliver results and please everyone". Behind this phrase is the idea that one must choose a side: performance or the human element.

This is exactly what binary thinking does: it transforms complex realities into false dilemmas. Either we are "for some" or "for others". Either we "protect freedom of expression" or "censor everything". Either we "defend performance" or "talk about inclusion".

The leadership we need today is one capable of holding these tensions without retreating into a reassuring camp. Concretely, it means being able to say, in the same breath:

• "Yes, we are aiming for ambitious results, and, yes, how we treat people matters as much as the numbers".
• "Yes, everyone is entitled to their opinions, and, no, discourse that dehumanizes colleagues has no place here".
• "Yes, we will give more space to marginalized people, and, no, that does not mean others will lose their value".

Holding these paradoxes is not being lukewarm or indecisive. It is accepting that reality is richer than our slogans and standing tall enough to remain within that complexity.

Ultimately, a leader who holds paradoxes doesn't seek to win a partisan debate. They seek to build an environment where multiple truths can coexist, without anyone having to erase themselves for another to exist.

And perhaps that is the leadership our schools, organizations, and societies need most right now: leaders capable of opening minds... and staying big enough to hold several truths at once:

Open the space. Open the conversation. Open the power.