We’ve all heard of the glass ceiling. What of the glass floor?
In a world where we all aspire to be leaders, who exactly are we leading? An exploration of the growing support deficit in contemporary society.
I am interim leader of a marginal, but ambitious, municipal political party. I didn’t become party leader by following a leadership course at university, nor by attending conferences on leadership. I became leader by necessity.
It’s not a very flattering story, but I’ll tell it nevertheless. It begins in July 2014 when, after a spectacular run for Mayor of Montreal the previous year, party leader Mélanie Joly (who was runner-up for Mayor, but didn’t obtain her seat on council) announced her departure for more promising horizons, leaving her fledgling party orphaned. Only a handful of us had been elected to City Council, and we subsequently divided up among us the various roles needed to ensure our functioning.
Predictably, there was a lot of instability and very little cohesion; without our charismatic leader, things quickly began to go sideways. By the end of the following year, I realized that our options were to either split up (as was already happening) and go our separate ways, potentially grafting onto other formations, or to reorganize around a new leader in hopes of remaining viable through to the next election. Knowing no one was ready to make a leap elsewhere at this early stage, I took on the task of keeping the party together.
And that is the “inglorious” story of how I became leader: basically, we needed one, and no one else wanted the job.
Being a leader isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, as any leader will tell you. There’s a lot more grit than there is glamour. And there is much that we keep to ourselves for the sake of cohesion. We aren’t allowed to be pessimistic; too many others are already busy doing that. Our job is to uphold the work of others, to inspire enthusiasm in the mission, and to keep the flame of optimism burning through difficult times.
To paraphrase the well-known saying, behind every successful leader is a group of supporters. Support for the leader is what enables her to soldier through the tough times, so that she can in turn inspire her team to do the same. Support, I’ve come to learn, is absolutely essential to successful leadership, which is otherwise the loneliest job in the world.
While many people may be fired up about engagement, rather than providing support, this often comes at a tremendous cost to the leader. Infighting, negativity disguised as constructive criticism, jealousy and unchecked ambition can be more corrosive to an organization’s advancement than anything an opponent can throw.
It’s this “support deficit” that I’d like to examine.
What’s in it for me?
It’s become a common complaint to lament the loss of social values such as altruism, public service and volunteering. These values defined a generation who emerged from the shambles of the Second World War thanks to rolling up their sleeves and engaging, shoulder to shoulder, in team work. Their legacy persists, largely through the structured organizations created from that crisis; but those shared social values do seem to be eroding.
When approached by an organization, many people — not counting the door-slamming “not interested” majority — will first ask “What will I get out of it?” There can be valuable payoffs to participation, such as bolstering a resumé for an aspiring new grad, or social status for someone already established in their career. Volunteer engagement with a political organization is often motivated by political aspirations, if not a direct path to candidacy.
Yet still there’s hope. We’ve seen tremendous examples of altruism during the COVID crisis in Canada; in the province of Québec, when the Premier called for reinforcements to help with critically understaffed senior-care homes, thousands came forward, ready to help. Those who stayed on past the initial crisis received training to be able to continue in their care work.
But what’s the incentive for altruism elsewhere? We are surrounded by motivational rhetoric, urging us to aim higher, to be leaders. The modern-day rhetoric reflects our unwillingness to take on what are seen as secondary, supporting roles, failing to recognize them as crucial to the success of any organization.
Making the world a better place
The incentive should be this: to make the world a better place. I know it sounds corny, but sometimes these corny sayings make us squirm precisely because we know them to be true. Taking a broader view that focuses on organizational objectives rather than roles enables us to shift focus from personal achievement to the success of the whole, and to gain understanding of our integral role in that overall success.
There is no shortage of candidates and causes competing for our support. While the democratization of media has given everyone a critical voice, it’s also opened us up to a far greater number of solicitations for our support, whether for a cause, a petition, or a political party. It can be tempting to pick apart those who put their ideas forward, to focus on their perceived shortcomings, constantly holding them up to an imaginary ideal. The “Tinder tendency”, the ability to instantly size-up and discard, has made us ruthless.
We should instead refocus these shortcomings as opportunities for support. Rather than performing the emotionally depleting exercise of engaging in hand-wringing despair or virulent criticism broadcast over social media, to step up our support by getting engaged with a cause or a candidate whose ideals are close to our own. He or she won’t be perfect. But she will be perfectible. And she needs our support.
