The silence before the exit what leaders miss and what they can do
Giuseppe Di Rienzo recently wrote two LinkedIn posts that struck a nerve. His core insight is sharp: competent people don’t leave when they resign. They leave much earlier—when they stop speaking up.
The progression he describes is familiar to anyone who has worked in organizations:
First, they speak freely. Then they start selecting what to say. Then only the essentials. Then they do their job well, without “disturbing” anyone.
From the outside, it looks like professional maturity. From the inside, it’s a silent retreat.
Di Rienzo’s diagnosis resonates because it’s true. But diagnosis isn’t cure. And in the comments section of posts like these, a predictable pattern emerges: everyone recognizes themselves as the silenced competent person. Almost no one asks: “Am I the one creating silence?”
This is where the conversation needs to go deeper.
Why Leaders Create Silence (Often Without Knowing)
It’s easy to frame this as a story of villains and victims: bad leaders silence good people. But reality is messier.
Most leaders who create silence don’t do it out of malice. They do it because:
They confuse alignment with agreement. When a leader says “I need the team aligned,” they often mean “I need everyone to agree with me.” Alignment should mean shared direction despite different perspectives. Instead, it becomes a filter that screens out dissent.
They’re under pressure and need speed. Listening to problems takes time. Exploring alternatives takes time. When you’re firefighting, the person who says “I think this won’t work” feels like friction, not insight. So you start signaling—subtly, often unconsciously—that problems aren’t welcome unless they come with solutions. Eventually, people stop bringing problems at all.
They mistake silence for consent. When no one objects, leaders assume everyone agrees. But silence in a meeting is ambiguous. It can mean “I agree,” or “I disagree but it’s not worth the fight,” or “I’ve learned that speaking up here is pointless.” Without deliberate effort to distinguish these, leaders live in a false consensus that feels comfortable until it collapses.
They don’t see the cost until it’s too late. The damage from silencing competent people is invisible in the short term. The meeting runs smoother. Decisions happen faster. The leader feels effective. The cost shows up months later: in a risk no one flagged, a customer problem no one escalated, a resignation that “came out of nowhere.”
The Confirmation Bias Trap
There’s another layer Di Rienzo’s posts don’t address, and it’s uncomfortable.
When people read about “competent people who stop speaking up,” almost everyone self-identifies as that person. The silenced genius. The unheard truth-teller. It’s a flattering narrative.
But not everyone who goes silent is a misunderstood visionary. Sometimes people stop speaking because:
- Their contributions weren’t as valuable as they believed
- They struggled to communicate their ideas effectively
- They were resistant to feedback, not just “not aligned”
- They confused disagreement with persecution
This isn’t to dismiss the real phenomenon Di Rienzo describes. It exists, it’s damaging, and it’s common. But the rush to identify as the victim can prevent a more useful question: What role am I playing in this dynamic?
If you’re a leader: Am I creating the conditions for silence? If you’re the one who went silent: Was I actually contributing signal, or noise? Did I make my case effectively? Did I confuse being right with being heard?
Both questions are hard. Both are necessary.
From Diagnosis to Action
So what does a leader actually do to prevent the silent retreat?
The research on psychological safety (Amy Edmondson’s work at Harvard is the gold standard) points to a few concrete practices:
Make it safe to bring bad news. This isn’t about being “nice.” It’s about responding to problems with curiosity instead of blame. When someone flags a risk and your first reaction is “why didn’t you catch this earlier?” you’ve just taught everyone to stay quiet next time.
Separate the idea from the person. When critical thinking gets labeled as “negativity” or “not being a team player,” you’re not evaluating arguments anymore—you’re punishing people. The most dangerous version of this is when leaders say they want honesty but then treat honest feedback as a loyalty test.
Ask explicitly for dissent. Silence in a meeting doesn’t mean agreement. Before closing a decision, try: “What am I missing? What’s the strongest argument against this?” And then wait. The pause is uncomfortable, but it’s where truth lives.
Protect people who speak up—visibly. It’s not enough to tolerate dissent privately. When someone raises a concern and gets attacked by others, what do you do? If you stay neutral, you’ve sent a message: speaking up means standing alone.
There’s a deeper principle here that connects to how organizations survive uncertainty.
An organization where competent people stop speaking is an organization that has lost its early warning system. It’s flying blind, confusing the silence for smooth operation.
The leader’s job isn’t just to tolerate dissent. It’s to actively cultivate it—to create conditions where the smartest people in the room feel safe to say “I think this is wrong.”
That’s not a soft skill. It’s a survival strategy.