Years ago, I was in a Central American country as a member of a large volunteer organization. We had strict rules about where we could go and do while we were there, and sightseeing wasn’t generally on the approved list of things to do.
One day, I was driving a carload of people from the organization around the capital city. Knowing there were some amazing landmarks only a few blocks away from where we were, I decided a quick detour wouldn’t hurt.
Those few blocks happened to take us into an area of the capital where we were not allowed to go.
A few minutes later, we pulled up to the National Palace and everyone jumped out of the van. We all took turns climbing up on a small security post, getting a picture in front of the historic structure, then we piled back into the van and went on our way.
Of the twelve or so people in the van, my friend and I were the only ones who knew we weren’t supposed to go near the historic district of the capital. The two of us made the great miscalculation of telling the other ten not to mention it to our group leader — a man we referred to as El Jefe (the boss) — that we’d gone to the national palace because it was in the off-limits area.
The existence of off-limits areas was as much for our own safety as anything else. Strict adherence to the rules was also paramount. Almost as soon as I told them we weren’t supposed to be there, whispers started drifting to the front of the van.
One of our group finally spoke up. He said the right thing to do was to let El Jefe know what we had done.
I was immediately sick to my stomach because I knew what they would all say: that I had knowingly taken them outside of our allowed travel zone for the sake of getting some pictures.
My friend and I were the only ones left in the van when a message came over our pager from El Jefe (yes, this was in the days of pagers) that we needed to return to the office immediately.
For our group, the consequences of breaking rules ranged from gentle correction to being sent home before our volunteer time was complete.
My friend and I were almost certain that this particular violation, and the “tone” of El Jefe’s message, would be grounds for both of us getting sent home.
My stomach was twisted in knots when we arrived at the office. The elevator ride to the fifth floor of the office building was one of the longest rides of my life.
No sooner had we opened the main office door than we heard El Jefe shouting for us to come to his office.
With our heads down, we walked into his office, assured our travel papers would already be in process.
“Look at me.” He said, sternly.
It took me at least twice as long as the elevator ride to lift my gaze to meet his.
One relevant side note is that I had been working with El Jefe for a long time, and I respected him deeply. I never wanted to do anything to disappoint him because his approval meant everything to me.
My eyes met his. I was the instigator, so I knew whatever the punishment, I would bear the brunt of it.
“I’ve got a bunch of guys out there who feel terrible about breaking the rules.” He said. “Don’t ever do that again.”
That was it. He didn’t say another word. He just returned to whatever he was doing before we came into the office.
Stunned, we walked slowly back to our van and returned to our apartment.
I continued working closely with El Jefe for almost a year after that experience and he never brought it up again. He never used that experience to remind me of the importance of following the rules or of my “failure.”
As part of that volunteer organization, I had certain assigned responsibilities. I knew what was expected of me, and El Jefe only got directly involved when he needed to.
He had high expectations of me and gave me his complete trust. He also never asked me to do anything he wasn’t willing to do himself. Because of the rugged terrain of the country, as volunteers moved around, I was often assigned to pick them up from bus stations in the middle of the night. It didn’t matter the time of day: if I was up, I knew El Jefe would also be awake. That single fact gave me a lot of confidence because I knew, in an emergency situation, he would always be available.
El Jefe understood well what it meant to lead by accountability rather than control. Training for my responsibilities came with implicit understanding of the accountability associated with those responsibilities. After that, he focused his efforts on the things for which he was accountable and let me do my part. He rarely intervened in anything unless I asked for his help.
It’s been a lot of years since that experience. I know I disappointed El Jefe that day, but he never shamed me. What I learned from that experience is the trust that El Jefe placed in me. He wasn’t controlling, and he never used fear or micromanagement to get what he wanted. He made it clear that I owned my responsibilities and that I was responsible for my actions.
If I can be so cliché for a moment. Leadership isn’t about having power over others; it’s about empowering them through clear expectations and accountability. El Jefe gave me room to take the training I had been given then grow into my responsibilities. Of course, he knew I was going to screw it up sometimes. It’s interesting that his approach gave me a sense of responsibility that carried a lot more weight than punishment ever could.
Accountability isn’t about control. It’s about creating a space with well-defined boundaries — founded on trust — in which a person can thrive and grow.
That’s real leadership.
No comments:
Post a Comment