There was a time when loyalty to an institution was understood as a shared moral contract. An employee gave time, focus and a sense of belonging, and in return the institution offered stability, professional growth and dignity. In the public sector especially, this relationship carried a social dimension: teaching and service were not merely jobs, but responsibilities toward students and society. Today, however, that old contract has weakened. Short-term thinking, limited resources, delayed incentives and uncertainty have transformed workplaces into transactional spaces rather than communities of purpose.
It would be intellectually dishonest to describe every side project as a moral failure. Many colleagues pursue additional work out of necessity rather than greed. Salaries often lag behind living costs, research funding is scarce and professional growth paths are uncertain. In such circumstances, people build safety nets. What looks like disloyalty from the institution’s perspective may feel like self-preservation from the individual’s point of view. This reality must be acknowledged, especially in public universities operating under chronic financial pressure.
Yet acknowledgement does not mean moral neutrality. The ethical problem begins when parallel work silently erodes the core responsibility for which one is paid. If teaching preparation becomes superficial, research engagement weakens, availability to students declines or institutional duties are treated as interruptions to personal projects, then something fundamental is lost. The issue is not ambition; it is divided commitment. Education, particularly in the public sector, cannot survive on half-attention and minimum compliance.
Efficiency is often misunderstood as a matter of hours, but in academic life it is deeply connected to presence. A teacher may be physically in the classroom yet mentally elsewhere i.e. replying to private clients, planning side ventures or calculating alternative incomes. Over time, this divided attention becomes visible in the quality of teaching, mentorship and institutional culture.
Loyalty, however, cannot be demanded in isolation from context. Institutions that expect sincerity must also create conditions in which sincerity feels meaningful. When faculty members experience persistent uncertainty, lack of recognition, limited research support or administrative indifference, emotional commitment inevitably weakens. Loyalty, like respect, grows in an environment of mutual regard. It cannot be sustained by rhetoric alone.
Still, there are clear ethical boundaries that should not be crossed. Using institutional time, resources or confidential knowledge for personal benefit is not adaptation; it is misuse. Allowing personal ventures to conflict with institutional responsibilities undermines trust not only between employer and employee, but also between teacher and student. Public universities exist to serve society, and when that mission is compromised, the cost is borne by those who have the least power to compensate for it.
The way forward lies neither in moral panic nor in uncritical acceptance; it requires institutions to establish clearer policies, fairer systems and genuine professional respect, while individuals engage in honest self-examination. A single, searching question often suffices: if students and the institution could fully see how one’s time and energy are allocated, would that account be defensible? Nowhere is this more urgent than in public universities, where resources are scarce and expectations high, and where integrity remains the most valuable currency. Ambition is human and survival pressures are real, yet education cannot withstand the quiet erosion of sincerity. When commitment turns purely instrumental, universities lose not only efficiency, but their moral center.