The fragile balance

There is a subtle but crucial difference between working with someone and working for someone. Most of us recognise it instinctively, long before we find the words to describe it. It appears in tone, in small decisions, in how credit is shared or withheld. It is the difference between collaboration and subordination, between being trusted to think and being expected to obey.

In my postdoctoral years, I experienced both. I once worked with someone who embodied genuine leadership: open, curious, and generous. Every discussion felt like a shared exploration, and every idea could grow freely. I learned more in those months than in years of formal training. But later, that same person began to change, subtly at first, then unmistakably.

When collaboration becomes command

The shift did not arrive with open conflict. Decisions that used to be shared became orders, and questions turned into tests of loyalty. Meetings that once inspired discussion began to feel like performances, where the safest strategy was to agree.

I realised that I was no longer part of a collective search for knowledge. I had become a subordinate in a hierarchy. The person who once led by example now ruled by position. The change was quiet, but it was enough to make me leave.

The anatomy of leadership

Authentic leadership in academia is not about control, but about creating space. A leader amplifies others, listens more than speaks, and makes people feel that their ideas matter. Authority, by contrast, is about ownership, about securing recognition, visibility, and compliance.

The tragedy is that our system often rewards the latter. Universities measure success through grants, publications, and lab size. It is easier to run a group through authority than to build one through trust. But every time a leader turns into a boss, creativity shrinks. People stop sharing half-formed ideas, stop questioning assumptions, stop growing.

Leaving as a lesson

When my mentor became my boss, I lost motivation and a sense of purpose. Leaving my postdoc was not an act of rebellion, but of self-preservation. It taught me something I now hold as a quiet principle: work only with people, never for them.

Science is a collective endeavour, but it thrives only when leadership remains human, when guidance does not silence curiosity. The difference between working with and for may seem small, but for those who live it, it defines the very texture of intellectual life.