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We are exultant, triumphant. We figure we’re the greatest team in the history of the low-ropes course, and we say so.

Debriefing afterward is when things get really interesting. Who was the leader in our group? Was it Kathleen, who stepped up to manage the process? Rob and Bob, the water guys, who got us off to a quick start with their engineering savvy? Rhoda, who saved the day? The answer, of course, is that we all led in turn, by virtue of listening to each other and playing to our individual strengths. This, it turns out, is not just incidental, but key to the concept of “small-l leadership,” or “leadership in action.”

Leadership in action is defined by what people do, who they are, and how they mobilize those elements to move a process forward. Leading effectively means knowing both when to step up and when to step back. (So much for my fear of discovering I’m a follower instead of a leader.) Leadership need not be tied to any given job title, position, or location on the salary grid; instead, it’s demonstrated from within the ranks. Leadership in its best sense is democratic.

But I’m still wondering whether leadership is a skill or a talent. The answer that emerges during our week in Banff is that it’s both – and neither. Denis Caron from SIAST pauses thoughtfully when I ask him what he thinks. “Leadership isn’t a tangible entity. It’s not a treasure you go out and find, but something that comes from within. If you’re not yourself, you won’t be a good leader.” This is a revolutionary idea to me. It does away with the notion that there’s a template for successful leadership and it explains why so many different kinds of people succeed. You’ve known them: the quiet woman who never says a lot but is always listened to, the affable man whose laugh can put a room at ease, the power-broker who energizes everybody, the parent whose examples in the workplace draw on family life. Their styles may be different, but they all somehow work, because they’ve learned how to cultivate their innate strengths and be at ease with their weaknesses. Leadership is neither skill nor talent, but a process that starts with the self.

Just as importantly, good leaders know how to draw out strengths and downplay weaknesses in others. This is why teamwork is so crucial to effective leadership. As we learned in the “low ropes” course, everybody brings a particular aptitude to the table, and everybody has a blind spot. Good leaders see this and work with it. This is similar to the notion of the servant-leader, and there is still room for tried-and-true rules like the ones Bob Couture, an inspector with the Calgary Police Service, lives by: first, lead by example; second, don’t ask anyone else to do something you wouldn’t do.

But small-l leadership is bigger than that. We’re playing under new rules now. Christo Grayling posts them on our classroom wall:

Whoever has the ball is the leader.
Never oppose force with force.
Play the whole field.
Co-operate to compete.
Honour the opposition.
Ball hogs die.

I’m starting to understand why many people find this approach to leadership risky. However, as we put ourselves into risky situations with each other all week, whether that means walking the high ropes, imitating each other’s poses during an evening of theatre improv, fashioning a lump of clay into something with a partner without speaking, practicing our coaching skills on one another or simply striking up conversations in the dining room, I am also starting to understand how taking the risk of trusting others can bring rewards. Small-l leadership essentially demands that you give up the idea of being an insulated, isolated – safe – individual. Instead, you put yourself out there heart and mind, knowing full well that you will never be perfect, that your individually conceived solutions will never be watertight, that no single person can do all that needs to be done. The leadership part is knowing all this and putting your best foot forward anyway. You do so believing that others will see you in all your complexity and, instead of merely criticizing, will offer up strengths that complement your shortcomings.

Scary stuff, for sure – but also liberating. Freed from the responsibility to be everything I’m not as well as everything I am, I might find myself with more time to think strategically, more energy to listen expectantly, more patience to coach effectively. Thinking ahead to my multiple roles as teacher, mentor, colleague and supervisor, I start to get excited. Couldn’t I incorporate some version of this leadership into my undergraduate classes? Wouldn’t it be an important thing for my graduate students to know? And what about my colleagues: what if, instead of feeling obliged to take up every committee assignment that comes my way, I said, “I can’t do this, but I think you can, and here’s why.” The possibilities tantalize.

But can this new conceptualization of leadership solve the dilemmas that plague all of us at our workplaces? Ron Avery, a retail grocery store manager, puts the question most crisply when he asks, What does it mean to practice small-l leadership when you report to a capital-L Leader? We debate this for some time, ultimately concluding that to believe in small-l leadership is to believe in incremental change. You might not change a Leader but, over time, you can change organizational culture. Cultural change is difficult to achieve and its improvements are incremental. But they last a long time.

What about work/life balance? Does the downloading of leadership increase stress or does it empower employees to deal with it? Claude, a senior official at a national cultural agency, argues that collegial leadership helps people take charge of their lives. I press him a little: “Doesn’t this let organizations off the hook? What about downloaded responsibilities, double shifts, labour shortages, the expectation that employees will work longer and longer days?” Claude shrugs: “Sometimes you have to take the risk of working better and not working more, of not being as productive as someone else, of not getting the promotion this time around. Good leaders set the right pace, which sometimes means taking the risk of slowing down.”

We’re back to the scarcity of time. Although we don’t talk about this directly, it becomes clear over the week that time is indeed a precious resource. It’s marvelous to take a week away from everyday responsibilities in order to stand back and think hard about cultivating leadership in oneself and in others. I’ve learned more in this six-day spell than I have in ages, and the thrill of constant learning is bracing. I come back to my hotel room at night buzzing with possibilities and ideas. The program builds in plenty of time for debriefing, quiet solo reflection and small group discussion about what we’re learning, with the result that we all have time to really develop ideas, goals and relationships.

Unfortunately, most people don’t have that kind of time in the workplace. Even in the university we are constantly struggling to find what we call “time to think.” The deliciousness of having a full week for that here in the splendour of Banff, surrounded by thoughtful and creative people, reminds me just how valuable that is. Maybe Claude is right, that if we slowed down a little, set a more manageable pace, we might find ourselves working better instead of just working more. Clearly this is a huge risk. It would mean changing the bottom line from narrow definitions of productivity to a more holistic cultivation of workers as whole people. What would that mean? Would our competitors do the same? Could we hold onto our market shares even if they didn’t? How much is the payoff in employee loyalty and social wellness worth? Going this route would be filled with risks and would demand huge trust. The rewards, though? Incalculable.

Throughout the week we have been encouraged to push ourselves “an inch or two” beyond our comfort zones. Up here on the telephone pole, I’m approximately 25 feet beyond mine. My panic-induced haze lifts enough for me to hear someone shouting down on the ground. Incredibly, it sounds like, “You’re doing great!” A cheering section? I risk a glance over the edge. Eight pairs of eyes look back at me, channeling confidence. Someone else says, “You can do it!” I can? Can I? The ropes at my back are taut and strong. And maybe the foam target isn’t that far away after all. I make the Leap of Faith.

Instead of falling headlong toward the ground, I feel like I’m soaring. It’s a total rush. I’m suspended up in squirrel territory enjoying a perspective I’ve never had before. I did it! I really, really did it! I’m lowered to the ground with high fives all around and a couple of hugs. My triumph is the whole team’s triumph.

Then I tune in the facilitator’s voice. “So,” she’s asking, “does anyone want to try it blindfolded?”

June 2007 Contents

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