Why Are We Still Afraid to Speak?

Jul 24

7 min read

By Camilo Lopez | July 24th, 2026

Hello!

Grab a coffee and settle in.

This is my attempt to start a conversation about something I think many of us can relate to. I have my own thoughts and experiences, but at its heart, this article is driven by a series of questions that I believe are worth reflecting on together.

Fear-based systems exist in almost every aspect of our lives. We see them in personal relationships, workplaces, politics and even within governments and institutions. They shape how people communicate, how decisions are made and, ultimately, whether people feel safe enough to speak honestly.

The opera industry is no exception.

Why this conversation matters to me

If I'm completely honest, perhaps I recognise these patterns because I've experienced a fear-based system in its most extreme form.

I grew up in Venezuela under an authoritarian regime, where fear wasn't simply a feeling; it became a mechanism of control. People learned not to speak openly because there were real consequences. Opposition voices were silenced. People worried about what they said in public, what messages they kept on their phones and even what opinions they expressed to friends. Independent media outlets faced enormous pressure, and many people lived with the constant fear of retaliation.

Fear, political repression and the resulting humanitarian and economic crisis ultimately forced around eight million Venezuelans to leave the country, creating one of the largest migration crises in modern history.

To be clear, I am not comparing the Australian opera industry to life under a dictatorship. They are fundamentally different realities. What I am comparing is the way fear changes human behaviour.

Once people begin to believe that speaking honestly carries a cost, silence slowly becomes the safer option. After enough time, that silence no longer needs to be imposed from above - it becomes embedded in the culture itself. It becomes part of how a community, an organisation or even a nation learns to behave.

That experience has shaped the way I think about organisations, leadership and culture. It has also shaped the questions I ask about the industries I'm fortunate enough to work in.

Fear and psychological safety

A fear-based system is an environment where behaviour is shaped primarily by the fear of negative consequences rather than trust, openness or mutual respect. People become less likely to challenge ideas, admit mistakes, ask difficult questions or have honest conversations because they believe doing so may damage their relationships, opportunities or careers.

The opposite of a fear-based system is psychological safety. Psychological safety doesn't mean everyone agrees or that difficult conversations disappear. It means people believe they can ask questions, challenge ideas, admit mistakes and raise concerns without fear of humiliation, retaliation or being punished simply for speaking honestly. Healthy organisations still have disagreements and high standards, but people know they can contribute without risking their dignity or future opportunities.

Perhaps that's why conversations about psychological safety matter so much. Fear is rarely at its strongest when someone tells you to stay silent. It's at its strongest when nobody has to.

Have you ever felt this?

If you're reading this, perhaps you've experienced something similar.

Have you ever felt uncomfortable raising a concern with a director or management?
Have you questioned whether giving feedback to a company would actually achieve anything - or simply make you appear "difficult"?
Have you chosen not to say something because you worried it might affect future opportunities?
Have you avoided a conversation with a colleague because the potential consequences felt too great?

Most people, regardless of industry, will probably answer yes to at least one of those questions. Good communication is often presented as the solution. And it certainly helps. Honest, respectful conversations are essential to healthy organisations.

But what happens when even good communication doesn't feel safe?

What happens when speaking professionally and respectfully still feels like a risk?

That's where the conversation becomes more complicated.

Why opera?

Over the years, working as an independent producer and singer, I've lost count of the number of conversations I've had with artists, colleagues and friends - both in Australia and overseas - who have shared stories of issues that were never addressed, conflicts that were never resolved and concerns that were quietly set aside. As someone who also works in a corporate environment outside the arts, I often find myself reflecting on the differences between the two worlds. There are moments when I see behaviours in the arts that simply wouldn't be accepted in many other industries - not because people are less passionate or committed, but because expectations around accountability, leadership, communication and workplace culture can be very different.

So why do fear-based systems seem to emerge within opera?

Is it simply human nature?
Is it the way organisations are managed?
Is it workplace culture?
Or is it something structural?

The details shared with me are always different, but the themes were remarkably similar: uncertainty about who to approach, a lack of clear procedures, communication that broke down or the belief that speaking up simply wasn't worth the risk.

That raises another question.

If communication alone isn't always enough, what is missing?

The Australian context

Australia's professional opera landscape is relatively small. At its centre are the major state opera companies, surrounded by dozens of independent and grassroots organisations, with only a handful operating at a comparable professional level.

It is a close-knit ecosystem where artists, directors, conductors, administrators and companies cross paths repeatedly throughout their careers.

Does that concentration of opportunity unintentionally create an environment where people become more cautious about speaking openly?

Additionally, perhaps we've inherited a culture - passed from one generation to the next - that tells emerging artists and arts workers that speaking up, no matter how respectfully it is done, comes with consequences. That questioning decisions might lead to fewer opportunities.

That being perceived as "easy to work with" matters more than being honest.

Artists, contracts and culture

Perhaps another question we should be asking is whether artists are, intentionally or unintentionally, expected to accept workplace conditions that would be questioned in many other professions.

Does the reality of working on one-off productions, fixed-term engagements or annual contracts make artists less likely to speak up?

Does the uncertainty of where the next contract will come from encourage silence over honesty?

Is that simply the nature of freelance artistic work, or is it a culture we've come to accept without ever really challenging it?

Opera companies are made up of two very different employment experiences.Many members of the administration, marketing, development and management teams work in ongoing or permanent roles, building the organisation over many years. Artists, by comparison, often arrive for a production, create the very work that audiences experience and then move on to the next engagement.

Yet despite those different employment models, both groups are working towards exactly the same goal: creating exceptional opera.

So how do we bridge that gap?

How do we create a culture where permanent staff and freelance artists feel equally invested, equally heard and equally safe to contribute? If artists are the public face of a company should they feel any less able to ask questions, offer ideas or raise concerns than anyone working behind the scenes?

Should the type of contract someone signs determine how psychologically safe they feel at work?

And if a culture of fear discourages artists from contributing to conversations with the people making decisions, is that really helping our companies grow? Or are we missing opportunities to build healthier organisations, stronger artistic outcomes and a more sustainable opera ecosystem?

Where do we go from here?

Whether or not these fears are justified in every circumstance is almost beside the point. If enough people believe they are, those beliefs begin to shape behaviour. Some of the behaviours I have noticed over the last few years are:

People stay quiet.
Concerns go unspoken.
Difficult conversations never happen.
Unacceptable behaviours and inappropriate remarks are sometimes left unchallenged.
Silence becomes part of the culture.

And once silence becomes normal, fear no longer needs to be enforced. It sustains itself.

So, the next set of questions is:

How do we build opera companies where everyone feels like they belong to the same team?
How do we create workplaces where speaking up is seen not as a threat, but as a contribution?

These aren't questions I claim to have the answers to. I do believe there is a fear-based system across the entire spectrum of opera activities in Australia. Some choose to challenge it in their own ways, but from my own experience silence is the common denominator. Even writing this article generated this visceral reaction of fear of retaliation or being seen as a “problem maker”.

First Hand Example

I'll share one personal example.

When I founded Voxalis Opera in Brisbane, I was surprised to learn that an influential figure within the industry was speaking negatively about the company to others, despite never having attended one of our performances or even having a proper conversation with me or my partner. Over time, I heard about these conversations from people in different parts of the country, including Sydney. We were 1.5 years old as an organisation - so quite new - and most of the people that would perform with us were close friends anyways.

Whether the intention was to discourage others from engaging with us or simply to undermine our credibility, the effect was the same. It created uncertainty, fuelled rumours and sent a clear message to young singers, most of them my colleagues at university, that supporting a new company could come with professional consequences to them.

My interpretation at the time was that our mere existence was perceived as a threat - perhaps because it was assumed we would compete for the same funding that they kept getting rejected for. I may be wrong, but that's how it felt.

Ironically, Voxalis Opera wasn't funded by grants at all. In those early years, my partner and I funded the company ourselves. We simply had a professional brand and some good Canva marketing that made us appear much larger than we actually were.

That experience made me reflect on how easily fear can spread through an industry - not always through explicit threats, but through reputation, whispers and the unspoken understanding that certain people or organisations should be avoided.

Fast forward a few years, that situation was fortunately resolved. Today, Voxalis Opera is celebrating its fifth year, while that individual no longer appears to be actively pursuing opera initiatives.

Looking back, I'm simply grateful that we stayed focused on our mission rather than allowing fear, fights, or rumours to define our path. However, this is my first time 'speaking up in public' about something that truly affected my mental health quite badly.

The End

These are questions I've been asking myself for years, and I believe they're worth asking together. I'd genuinely love to hear your experiences and perspectives.

We won't all agree, and that's okay. Healthy industries aren't built on unanimous opinions. They're built on honest conversations.

Perhaps the first step towards a healthier culture isn't having all the answers. Perhaps it's simply being willing to ask the questions, listen to one another and have the conversation.

The future of opera doesn't just depend on artistic excellence. It also depends on whether everyone involved feels safe enough to use their voice - ironically.