Artists, writers, and the exercise of leadership

Earlier this spring, as part of my year of fellowship through the Rhode Island Foundation, I had the opportunity to participate in an executive education session at Harvard’s Kennedy School, called, “Leadership for the 21st Century: Chaos, Conflict, and Courage.” Led by Martin Linksy, and his colleagues at the KSG and HBS, there were several underlying principles that have stayed with me and that I have tried to think about these last several months.

First, authority (position / title) has nothing necessarily to do with the exercise of leadership. Second, that all systems – teams, organizations, families – are set up to generate exactly the results that they are getting, and to preserve themselves exactly as they are. Change is – from the perspective of the “system” (more on that later) – not welcome. Third, that titles and authority are the rewards that we are given when we live up to the expectations of the system that rewards us. They are not bestowed upon us because we have exercised leadership – rather, because we have met the expectations of those who are invested in the system remaining the same. And finally, the exercise of leadership exists at the margins of our authority. We are most likely not exercising leadership if no one is at least a little bit upset. The phrase we were given as a working definition of the exercise of leadership: “disappointing your own people at a rate they can absorb.”

If one can suspend any accusations of irredeemable cynicism and any accompanying hand-wringing, one might ask, “why, then, would anyone ever exercise leadership?”

The answer is purpose.

Those who exercise leadership as it is described here, do so because they are driven by a sense of purpose that transcends a traditional system of rewards (think: job security, financial security, societal recognition, even physical safety in some circumstances). They are motivated by a clarity of purpose so that the challenges presented to them do not sway them from their work. They are willing to forego comfort (in its myriad manifestations) in service to their purpose.

As I reflected on these ideas, it seems to me that artists do this. Artists – and I mean the term to describe serious-minded individuals who make a life commitment to their craft, whatever it might be – pursue their work not because of any guarantee of financial security. Not because their friends and families will be thrilled they’ve chosen this path. Not because they will live in comfort with societal admiration, and rich rewards. Many artists spend their entire careers in relative obscurity and isolation.

To describe an artist as exercising leadership does not exclude leadership in other forms. Political figures, organization heads, corporate CEOs – it is possible, of course, for individuals in positions of authority to exercise leadership. One can’t help but wonder, however, if the positions of authority themselves serve to inhibit the practice.

Don't ask me to buy a backpack for a child in need

Last night, I attended a lecture at the beautiful Pell Center for International Relations and Public Policy at Salve Regina University. The speaker was Dragana Dulic, from the University of Belgrade. The thesis of her talk, entitled, “Geopolitics of Humanitarian Assistance,” was deceptively simple: All humanitarian aid is inextricably linked to the political strategies of the distributors of that aid. I’m paraphrasing here, but the basic premise seemed to me to be that although we tend to want to think about humanitarian aid as pure in its motives and values, it is not really possible to distribute funds into different parts of the world without there being some sort of strategic politically-motivated choices being made (why this country’s poor and not another?).

"Humanitarian aid," she stated flatly, "cannot solve the political issues."

Many in the audience – who were far, far more knowledgeable on these topics than me – questioned the data she showed toward the end of her presentation. This seems to me a kind of curse of expertise. Experts (and we probably all consider ourselves experts in something) tend to get hung up on the accuracy of the graphs (which, admittedly,are important to get right!) and gloss over the larger, more complicated issues, that in the long-term, have far more impact on social issues than whether we under-reported total humanitarian aid dollars in a research report.

I'll make a big leap from humanitarian aid writ large to individuals as donors. As donors, we typically want to give to something immediate, because it is inspiring and gratifying and motivating to see immediate change. The success and visibility of things like “backpack drives” for school children is a one simple example.

I remember seeing a television spot on a local backpack drive. What image signifies back to school better than a child wearing a backpack? So, we see photos of kids with no backpacks. How can they possibly start the school year? I go to Target, plop down my $20, buy a kid a backpack and now she's ready to go - she's invincible, equipped!

Next image - kid smiling, backpack on. And I can take credit for that change.

Of course, we know that this does nothing for the kid’s family, or for next year, or when the backpack wears out, or gets lost or stolen or left on the bus.

Short-term problems or long-term infrastructure issues? Immediate crisis or strategic change?

The answers to long-term systemic change require courage and boldness, and putting ourselves and our own comfort at risk in a way that handing over a backpack makes no claims on us – no claims on our values, our courage, our commitment.

What are the limits of individual responsibility? Does my responsibility end with my time on this committee? My volunteer hours at this shelter? My shift at the job? What responsibilities do we have beyond the boundaries of our days? Our own lifetimes? Those of successive generations?

read to me.

A friend of mine recently introduced me to the reading marathon. Having been a graduate student in writing, I suppose it reflects badly on me that I had not heard of this before, but I had not, until she told me about the Melville Marathon at the New Bedford Whaling Museum that she participated in earlier this month.

It was difficult, she observed, when the readers did not fully appreciate or understand the particular cadences of rhythms of Melville's prose, and there were times, as one might imagine, that the listening experience was less than pure pleasure. I was suddenly transported back to my years in my graduate writing program, which was the last time I attended literary readings with any regularity. Writers and poets came through town weekly, it seemed. There were frequent student and faculty readings, too, and for each one, we huddled into a black box space, sipped wine from plastic cups, and nibbled on cheese cubes, and for an hour or two, we were read to.

I miss being read to in a darkened room.

I miss the poets especially.

I started looking through my stacks of poetry chapbooks and collections. One of the first I re-encountered was Under Flag, by Myung-Mi Kim, and wondered if there were recordings available online.

Of course, there were, and I stumbled upon this: Lunch Poems.

There are many reasons to avoid YouTube. But today, I'm grateful for it. Enjoy!

Air and Simple Gifts

I watched the inauguration at the State House, at a gathering hosted by Lieutenant Governor Elizabeth Roberts. Despite the unfortunate angle of the sun streaming in through tall windows (which made the screen a little hard to see), the whole morning was moving in a way I hadn't even anticipated.

What surprised me most was my own response to Air and Simple Gifts, the quartet arranged by John Williams for the inauguration. The crowd seemed to hold its breath for those moments - and in those moments, all was hope and possibility. A sudden and unexpected feeling of serenity washed over me, like I was being wrapped in a warm blanket and held there by kind, strong hands.

Of course, that euphoria could not last too long. One only need to return to one's desk, the newspaper headlines, the news reports, the endless demands of the day, to be reminded of the unprecedented challenges of these days - uncertainty, anxiety, fear.

But for those few minutes, I allowed myself to trust that our leadership would, in fact, lead.

And that one day - even if not tomorrow, or next month, or next year, but one day - it would all be better.

Democracy demands wisdom, now more than ever

These are challenging times: A shaky economic future. Troubling global events. Systems that have broken down and failed us, again and again.

The problems that face us are complex, and so are the solutions. We cannot address the issues of our day with sound bites and slogans. We will only progress through deliberate, thoughtful debate, which will inform action with integrity.

Earlier this month, we paid tribute to the life and legacy of Senator Claiborne Pell, one of the most influential statesmen in recent history and Rhode Island's own. From the smallest state in the nation, one of our country's brightest shining lights.

Former President Bill Clinton called Senator Pell's life and legacy "his last true Pell Grant" to our country. Indeed, the National Endowment for the Humanities and the National Endowment for the Arts are among the many gifts the Senator Pell gave us to ensure and protect a true and vibrant democracy. In difficult times, we are reminded of the responsibilites our democracy require of us.

The 1965 Act that established the NEH called upon us to support broad public "access to the arts and the humanities, designed to make people of all backgrounds and wherever located masters of their technology and not its unthinking servants."

For the past 40 years, the 56 independent affiliates of NEH have been at work in our states and territories, creating and sustaining public programs that allow ordinary citizens opportunities for thoughtful, informed conversation about the issues that affect our lives.

In Rhode Island, the Council for the Humanities has provoked and inspired discussion on a wide range of topics---from our state's role in the transatlantic slave trade to the history of apple orchards in Rhode Island. From our work ith the Providence Police Academy to the Learning Community Charter School; Home and Hospice Care of Rhode Island to VSA Arts---what guides us is the conviction that the humanities not only enrich our lives, but their study actually enables us to better sustain ourselves in our communities.

As a society , our beliefs and ideals are our most powerful and transformative resources. In the words of another visionary Rhode Islanders, Barnaby C. Keeney, "Our relations to one another as individuals and to our society are determined by what we know and what we think. Our use of knowledge is inseperable from our ability to express it in words and shapes. Only through the best ideas and the best teaching can we cope with the problems that surround us and the opportunities that lie beyond these problems."

In order to envision and enact the opportunities that lie beyond these problems, we must invest in strengthening the humanities. We must keep the humanities broadly and widely accessible through support of state humanities councils and of the National Endowment. In do doing, we not only honor the legacy of our own Senator Pell, but also we honor ourselves and our own capacity to imagine a better future.