When the principal turns toxic

A toxic principal is rarely introduced with villain music. More often, the trouble enters in ordinary clothes: a memo that somehow applies only to certain teachers, a meeting where everyone nods but nobody breathes freely, a joke that is not funny unless one is safely allied with the office. In many schools, toxicity does not begin with one dramatic explosion. It begins with atmosphere. The faculty room grows quieter. The most competent teachers become the least visible. People start checking not only lesson plans, but also facial expressions, because one wrong look might become tomorrow’s “insubordination.”

Anyone who has worked long enough in education knows the type. The principal is not always loud. Sometimes the toxic one is polished, prayerful in public, strategic in private, and very skilled at making victims look “too sensitive.” That is why flagging a toxic principal is hard. The damage is often emotional before it becomes administrative. And yet it matters to name it, because toxic leadership in schools does not merely bruise adult egos. It damages trust, weakens teaching, and eventually reaches students, too. Research on toxic leadership in education has linked it to harm in educator well-being and organizational effectiveness.

Let us begin with balance: not every strict principal is toxic, and not every unhappy teacher is being oppressed. Schools need standards, and leaders sometimes must say no, correct mistakes, or demand better work. Teachers themselves can also fall into politics or avoid responsibility. The real problem appears when leadership repeatedly creates fear, favoritism, humiliation, and selective rule-making. Toxic leadership is not a single incident but a pattern. Studies have linked it to authoritarian behavior, abusive supervision, and rising stress among teachers.

Favoritism is one of the easiest patterns to overlook. It often hides behind “trust.” Every leader has close collaborators, but the warning sign appears when opportunity follows closeness rather than merit. The same teachers attend seminars, receive lighter loads, or enjoy forgiving treatment. Teachers notice these patterns quickly. Schools are observant places. In one school culture study I conducted, collaboration was strong, yet recognition still needed strengthening because even healthy institutions can quietly reward loyalty over honesty. When flattery becomes more valuable than competence, something is already off.

Fear around speech is another red flag. In healthy schools, teachers can disagree respectfully. In toxic ones, people learn which truths are dangerous. They smile in meetings, stay polite, and discuss concerns only after the meeting ends. This constant emotional control is what sociologist Arlie Hochschild described as emotional labor. When professionalism means pretending everything is fine, burnout is not far behind. As many teachers quietly say, “Okay lang,” until the body says otherwise.

Public humiliation is a surprisingly common feature of toxic leadership. A teacher is called out during a meeting “for transparency.” Another becomes the target of a sarcastic remark during assembly. A private complaint appears in a group chat. Soon the school begins to feel like a place where every word might travel. Research shows that toxic leadership environments often lead to gossip because staff begin reading power instead of communicating honestly. Silence becomes a form of protection.

Educators have seen this play out many times. A teacher who once spoke honestly suddenly receives extra duties. A capable adviser is overloaded because competence becomes a punishment. Leaders celebrate slogans about teamwork but grow uneasy when real questions appear. Cultural habits like pakikisama and hiya can delay confrontation, while gratitude and fear keep people quiet. Leadership stress may explain tension, but it cannot justify public humiliation.

Flagging toxic leadership requires patience and evidence. Focus on patterns rather than feelings. Document specific incidents with dates, instructions, and witnesses. Calm, factual records are stronger than emotional claims. Institutions tend to respond more seriously to patterns of behavior than to isolated complaints.

Finally, use the right channels. Social media posts may gather attention but rarely lead to real solutions. Speaking with trusted colleagues and using official grievance procedures often works better. DepEd’s grievance system exists for exactly these situations. When complaints are supported by careful documentation and shared experience, the issue becomes harder to dismiss.

Protect the self while confronting the system. Toxic schools often make people feel either heroic or hopeless. Both can be dangerous. Some teachers want to save everyone and end up sacrificing their health, family, and credibility. Others internalize the environment and begin to think they are the problem. Neither is fair. There are moments when the bravest move is formal complaint. There are also moments when the wisest move is transfer, distance, therapy, documentation, or simply refusing to be baited into a public spectacle. A principal can weaponize fatigue. When teachers are exhausted, they react faster, write sloppier, and trust the wrong allies. That is one reason boundaries matter.

In a piece I wrote on teachers’ boundaries in 2026, I admitted that many of us continue replying to after-hours messages and normalizing fatigue because service is often romanticized as endless sacrifice. But no teacher should have to disappear just to prove devotion. Sustainable courage is not noisy. It is clear. It keeps records, seeks counsel, guards mental health, and remembers that resistance is not only dramatic confrontation. Sometimes it is refusing to flatter. Sometimes it is calmly saying, “Please put that in writing.”

None of this means principals should now be viewed as suspects in barong. Many school heads are carrying impossible loads with little support. Some inherited broken cultures. Some are functioning as principal, guidance counselor, custodian, finance officer, disciplinarian, disaster officer, and reluctant accountant all at once. The point is not to make leadership look criminal. The point is to protect what school leadership is supposed to be. At its best, a principal sets tone, not terror. The role is to create professional clarity, reward merit, make room for dissent, and keep the school’s moral center pointed toward students.

A school’s health is not measured by the values printed on its walls. It shows in daily life: teachers working without fear, students protected from harm, and leaders who welcome honest feedback. Flagging toxic leadership is not about revenge. It is about repair—making sure schools remain places where people grow, not places where power silences them. If your leadership makes good teachers smaller, it may be time for the school to raise its own hand and say: enough.

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Doc H fondly describes himself as a “student of and for life” who, like many others, aspires to a life-giving and why-driven world grounded in social justice and the pursuit of happiness. His views do not necessarily reflect those of the institutions he is employed or connected with.