Last week I was invited on to a podcast called “Fix It.” It’s produced by a friend I met through the Kennedy School of Government when his class visited the Vermont Statehouse. He wanted me to discuss a problem I was trying to fix and what steps we could each take to try to fix it.
The problem I’m trying to fix is the failure of political leadership. But really, it can be any kind of organizational leadership. Although the topic is daunting, I’ve given it a lot of thought and feel like I’m starting to get a handle on it.
When I say “the failure of political leadership,” I’m referring to the bombast and snarkiness that has infiltrated politics. Perhaps it’s always been there, like a cancer on the Republic, but the rise of social media (and 24 hour news reporting) means there’s a never ending stream of video clips of leaders doing leadership poorly.
What do we see? A culture of one upmanship. It’s leadership that is self-centered and lacks humility. It has little self-reflection and is often rooted in anger and impatience. It doesn’t show enough empathy, and ultimately, it reveals the inability or the unwillingness to lift others up
The landscape is ugly. And I just couldn’t do leadership this way. I had to create my own model that felt true to me.
I’m the Vermont State Senate Majority Leader, and I’m among the younger legislators in the Senate. As a woman, I’m in the minority. There are twice as many men as there are women in the chamber. And as an openly gay woman in leadership, I’m pretty unusual.
The situation I find myself in has sometimes felt lonely and tight. But over the years I’ve realized that my status as an outsider to the political club, which usually is filled by older males, means that I actually have an opportunity to do leadership differently. And that has been incredibly freeing.
I’ve contemplated this problem—the failure of political leadership—a lot over the past eight years, and I gradually settled on a truth that guides me: The spirit of our work matters. Our daily interactions with others always matter. It cannot be an afterthought—it must be a central part of our work.
Our best leadership comes from within and is shown to others, not just in times of crisis and uncertainty, but in the way we treat colleagues and neighbors, day in and day out.
I call my path radical leadership. When I say radical, I’m not talking about radical, the noun. I’m talking about radical, the adjective. Radical, meaning: essential, fundamental and profound. It’s based on the belief that the best leadership is authentic and vulnerable.
When I lead trainings on authentic leadership, I start from this place, and I begin with this statement: We are all talented and flawed. I am talented and flawed.
This is, of course, painfully obvious, but few leaders will give voice to this uncomfortable thing we all know. There is power in naming the thing that’s going on. Here’s what else I know: Every single day we have triumphs and failures. We have moments of grace and instances of ugliness. We will never, ever totally “get it right.” We just keep working at it.
But we must realize and accept that every single day we all have impact on the people around us. We need to understand this and own the impact we have, both positive impact and negative. What kind of impact do we want to have?
I think most politicians get into this line of work because we want to have impact. We want to make change; we want to move people. And while we’re working to impact others, we are also being impacted by others. We’re all personally influenced by thousands of small interactions and moments of revelation.
These are not throw away moments. These are not the interactions we “get through” in order to get to the good stuff. This IS the good stuff. Trust and good leadership are built in these moments—not usually in grand gestures.
Unintended impact happens constantly. As political leaders, we must become more aware of this and use those moments to show courageous leadership. Not just with our colleagues and our constituents but every day in small, seemingly insignificant ways.
We all want to be seen. We want our contributions to be noticed. Not because we need credit, but because we want a basic kind of acknowledgment that we’re here and we matter.
It starts with witnessing. Simply noticing the people around us and what they’re doing. When I see good work, I name it and acknowledge it directly to that person. From the custodian polishing the floors in the statehouse, to the worker filling up the coffee urns in the cafeteria, to the lawyers who draft my bills.
Acknowledging what we see in others has a tremendous impact on people and groups. There is great power in simply witnessing.
A quick story to illustrate what I’m talking about. It was my first session. A witness came into one of my committees to share with us her story of how substance misuse had destroyed her life. She was very nervous and told us so. She told us about the moments and experiences she thought had sent her life spiraling out of control. And she told us in stark, heartbreaking details how difficult it had been for her to get her life back on track.
I leaned in to listen.
After a few minutes, I looked around at my colleagues and realized I was the only person making eye contact. Nobody else was actually looking at the witness. The others shuffled papers, fiddled with iPads or phones, or whispered to lawyers or assistants.
There’s really not much time to do all the work we’re tasked with in the legislature. So I know we all feel the pressure. But despite the time constraints and the lack of resources, we cannot leave the heart out of the work.
Yes, we want to get at the crux of the matter and work towards solutions. But we must see it as a vital part of our work to acknowledge the sadness, the courage, the anger, the despair, or the hope that a witness shares with us. It takes only a few moments, but it brings heart into the room. In this way I try to stand firmly rooted in compassion and wholeheartedness in my daily work in the legislature.
Take a moment today and acknowledge and encourage someone around you. Thank the woman who rings up your groceries and tell her how much you appreciate that she’s working during a pandemic. Say to the letter carrier, “You must be so hot today in this humidity. You are working so hard. Do you need a glass of water?” Yes, it’s about being kind and polite. But in a much larger sense, it is about really seeing someone and acknowledging that you see them.
During this pandemic, consider thanking the person who facilitated your last Zoom call and letting them know that you understand how hard it is to be successful on that platform. Write a short email to a colleague and appreciate their contribution on your last project.
Trust and strong leadership are built in thousands of these little moments. Start today.