With nothing much to do this weekend, I tidied up my bookshelf again. I happened to come across Wang Xiaobo’s The Silent Majority, a book I truly love. I flipped through it to revisit some passages and stumbled upon these lines again.

Wang Xiaobo wrote: “One of the main reasons I choose silence is that from speech, you rarely learn about human nature, but from silence, you can.” He also said, “When speech is controlled by power, what is imprisoned is not language, but the independence of the individual. To preserve one’s independence, one has no choice but to remain silent.”

Reading this, I couldn’t help but think back to my earlier post on why corporate culture became the scapegoat.

Back then, I argued that culture becomes the fall guy, and the reason it can bear so much blame is not because it’s soft and malleable, but because it weaves a web of meaning around “who we are.” This web is invisible yet omnipresent—it determines whose voice is worth listening to, whose behavior counts as “one of us,” and whose questioning is seen as betrayal. And the fabric of this entire web is group identity.

Identity is a psychological force of astonishing intensity. It isn’t built through propaganda but slowly seeps into your bones through the subtle suggestion that “you belong here.”

In a company, the primary drivers are, of course, KPIs, bonuses, and career prospects—these are the hard currency. No one works for free just because they’re “one of us.”

But the subtlety of identity lies in the fact that it doesn’t provide motivation; it provides a lens.

The same bonus takes on a different meaning within the narrative of “our people.” The same overtime feels psychologically different when framed as “carrying the load for the team” versus “being exploited.” Identity alone doesn’t drive action, but it acts as a hidden psychological lever, quietly amplifying your craving for belonging and your fear of isolation. This social instinct turns strangers into comrades, individuals into extensions of the group, and keeps the organization cohesive under pressure—not because everyone is noble, but because no one wants to bear the cost of being cast out.

This is the “sweetness” of culture.

A sense of belonging is a cheap yet highly effective adhesive. It can make a team operate like a well-drilled military unit—coordinated, swift, and even a little blindly loyal. You see this force at work in companies like Huawei, and equally in early-stage startups—a group charging forward together for a shared belief is a moving sight. Culture makes collaboration smoother, communication more efficient, and decision-making more directional.

Once a team figures out “who we are,” many problems naturally dissolve because the answers are already embedded in that identity.

But behind the “sweetness” of culture, there is always a hidden “poison.”

Group identity is a double-edged sword. It can unite a team, but it can also blind it. When “being like us” becomes the standard for judgment, professionalism gives way to conformity, and questioning gets labeled as “not fitting in.” People begin to self-censor, their speech becomes increasingly polished, and their opinions grow thinner. Innovation becomes safely mediocre, and breakthroughs turn into performances. Everyone knows where the problems are, but no one dares to articulate them clearly, because doing so instantly demotes you from “one of us” to “that person who speaks too bluntly.”

The silent majority is not born; it is manufactured.

When an organization shoves contradictions into a vague basket labeled “culture hasn’t taken root,” it is essentially avoiding real structural flaws: chaotic incentives are a system issue, not an attitude problem; communication breakdowns are a process issue, not a values problem; lack of innovation is a power-design issue, not a matter of employees not being “enough like us.”

Culture becomes the scapegoat because it’s too convenient, too soft, and too ambiguous. By deflecting blame toward “insufficient identification,” responsibility shifts from the system back to the individual, and the cost of reform is pushed back onto employees.

At a deeper level, the mechanism of identity itself is going astray.

When an organization starts emphasizing “this is how we do things,” it shrinks the boundaries of what is permissible. Once those boundaries shrink, difference becomes suspect, suspicion becomes dangerous, and silence becomes the safe choice. Culture then loses its vitality, turning into a system that constantly taxes the individual. A healthy culture should give people confidence, not pressure; it should make people more whole, not more standardized; it should allow the “I” to breathe naturally within the “we,” rather than being forcibly molded into a uniform shape.

A truly strong culture isn’t about making everyone the same; it’s about enabling everyone to be their best selves. You can be sharp and still be accepted. You can ask tough questions without being accused of “not understanding the culture.” You have the freedom to speak, along with the responsibility that comes with it. Your relationship with the team should be one of mutual growth, not unilateral concession.

An organization that can accommodate a “non-silent majority” is truly mature. It isn’t afraid of noise, disagreement, or someone saying, “I think you’re wrong.” Because it believes that diverse voices are not a threat, but a fundamental safety valve.

Wang Xiaobo’s relaxed, almost sardonic clarity feels like a reminder to everyone wrapped up in group identity: don’t forget to maintain independent judgment.

You can belong to the group, but you cannot be assimilated by it. You can love your job and your team, but you cannot surrender your right to think. The true value of corporate culture is not to make everyone obey like soldiers, but to make everyone think like adults. An organization should offer people a seat, not a set of shackles.

I closed the book and felt a strange sense of certainty: “Who we are” has no standard answer. It needs to be constantly discussed, revised, and challenged. If an organization doesn’t allow such discussions, its culture has already begun to age. If a group cannot accommodate those who are “different,” its future has already hit a ceiling.