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Who’s in control of whom? Who’s in control of what?

In the main, such questions are asked about governance. For example, who has power and influence on matters of state? And who has power and influence in the workplace? Nearly always leadership and followership are thought of along these narrow lines – either as they apply to government, or to business.

But power and influence are evidenced in near every aspect of everyday life. Take, for example, the experience of shopping. Yes… shopping! Say you want to buy a can of soup, or a pair of pants, or a washing machine. Past and present procedure is you walk into a store, check the item and the price, decide whether or not you want to make a purchase, and either buy or take a hike. But soon such habit will be history. Soon the balance of power between seller and buyer will shift, from the former to the latter.

In the U. S. what we typically see in a store is a set price – a price set by the merchant. What’s about to change – what ‘s already changing – is our capacity to control the price by comparison shopping, on the Internet, with a handheld device. As Doc Searls wrote in a recent article in the Wall Street Journal – “The Customer as a God” (July 21/22) – the newest technologies work on behalf of you, the customer, rather than on behalf of the other guy, the seller.

I write about this not because consumerism per se is so important, but rather because it’s part of that larger phenomenon of such significance. It is, in other words, about the growing control of the previously powerless, in this case buyers, over the previously powerful, in this case sellers.

As Searls correctly reminds, the “move toward individual empowerment is a long, gradual revolution.” But it is, irrevocably, in process – in the marketplace as everywhere else. Today the supply side still reigns. But in another ten years or so, customers will be tantamount to free agents.

The Chronicle of Higher Education recently featured an article on the sudden firing – and equally sudden rehiring – of Theresa Sullivan, president of the University of Virginia. The piece was titled, “UVA’s Painfully Public Lesson in Leadership.”

But the Sullivan saga had nothing to do with leadership – and everything to do with followership. The sequence of events pursuant to the announcement that the governing board had summarily pushed Sullivan from her presidential perch was not initiated by anyone in charge. Rather it was the relentless series of protests from below – by ordinary people without obvious power or authority – that forced the board to eat crow and reverse itself at breakneck speed.

The members of UVA’s governing board failed to appreciate two key contextual components: first, that academic communities are difficult to govern under any circumstances; second, that in the 21st century the likelihood they will take kindly to big decisions made in secret is close to zero.

Whatever Sullivan’s strengths and weaknesses as president, the decision to fire her was abysmal, that is, the process by which the decision was reached was deeply flawed. To all appearances it was hastily reached as opposed to deliberately considered, covert as opposed to overt, and closed as oppose to open. As a result, all hell broke loose. As reported by the Washington Post on June 25, “virtually every conceivable campus constituency” mobilized in Sullivan’s defense, including students, deans, and members of the faculty. Days later, on her way to meet with UVA’s board, Sullivan threaded through a throng of some 2,000 screaming supporters.

There were important issues at stake here, such as what is the role of technology in the way students learn, and at what pace institutions of higher education should create change. But paramount among them is the issue of good governance: what is good governance in higher education at a time when leaders of every stripe are weaker than before and followers are disillusioned and disappointed on the one hand, and entitled and empowered on the other. As Richard Ligon, president of the Association of Governing Boards of Universities and Colleges, put it, boards must understand “that top-down corporate governance doesn’t work in the often frustratingly slow pace of a higher education institutions, even in times like these that seem to mandate prompt responses.”

Higher education has itself been a case in point. Writing in the Chronicle, Jack Stripling points out that there has been “no shortage of presidents who have hit political buzz saws within the past two years,” including those at top schools such as the University of Texas at Austin and the University of Wisconsin at Madison. This makes it all the more important that those who are ultimately responsible for governing these institutions – and I refer here to boards, not to chief executive officers – have what I call “contextual intelligence.” For if they remain ignorant of the academic culture, and of patterns of dominance and deference in the 21st century, they will never be able to do what they are charged with doing – serving the academy wisely and well.

Do you know how dangerous it is to be a whistleblower – downright dangerous? Do you know how important it is that some number of men and women are willing to play the part?
Whistle blowing is at the margin of our collective life. We imagine whistleblowers to be brave but decidedly odd loners, foolishly far out on limb to right some grievous wrong. We imagine right: whistleblowers are followers who refuse to follow. As a result, they are, by definition, poorly positioned to protect themselves against those more highly positioned than they.
Whistle blowing is so risky an undertaking – whistleblowers get used, lose their jobs, get demoted or isolated or marginalized or in some other way penalized for speaking out – that in 1898 Congress passed the Whistleblower Protection Act, which was intended to protect against retaliation anyone who works for the federal government and reports agency misconduct. The act has been effective to only a modest extent – there is, moreover, no private sector equivalent.
There is, however, another federal law, the False Claims Act, which dates back to 1963, and is intended to be invoked by those reporting fraud against the federal government. In rare instances, these claims are successful, in which case whistleblowers benefit from whatever the financial settlement.
Just such a case was recently settled – the largest settlement ever involving a pharmaceutical company. As reported by the New York Times, “Glaxo-SmithKline agreed to plead guilty to criminal charges and pay $3 billion I fines for promoting its best-selling antidepressants for unapproved uses and failing to report safety data about a top diabetes drug.”
To read about this case is to be outraged – outraged at how one of the world’s leading drug companies sacrificed the public interest on the alter of self interest. But it is also to be reminded of the critical role of the whistle blower – in this case, four whistle blowers, employees, all mid level managers – who tipped off the government about Glaxo’s improper practices. To all appearances, this revolting story of corporate greed would not have come out without them – at least not now.
These particular whistleblowers will be rewarded for their efforts. But they are a tiny minority. By and large, for daring to tell the truth, whistleblowers are punished, sometimes severely, which is precisely why they merit fierce protection.

Impossible to go another day without taking note of what’s been happening over the last six months – and now, again, over the last 24 hours – in Russia!
Think of it as the people against Putin. Not all of the people, of course. In fact it’s only a very small minority that has had the temerity to take on the Russian strongman.
But their persistence against all odds, and against Putin’s increasingly heavy-handed attempts to silence them, is as remarkable as it is notable. There’s much more to be said about all this – and I will. For today though, a tip of the hat to followers far from home who refuse to be cowed by the man claiming to be their leader.

The Vatican’s hold on contemporary American Catholics began to weaken on January, 6, 2002, when a headline in the Boston Globe read. “Church Allowed Abuse by Priest for Years.” It was the start of a sex abuse scandal in the Catholic Church from which it has not yet, and likely never will fully recover.
But as it’s turned out, the church’s problems run far deeper and wider than a single scandal. While Pope Benedict XVI made belated efforts to apologize for priestly abuse, it’s becoming clearer by the year that whatever his efforts they were too little too late. It’s becoming similarly clear that his conservative papacy is badly out of touch with its Western constituency. Let me put it this way: when nuns begin publicly to speak out, to claim even a modicum of independence from the Vatican, the church has a crisis of authority.
Two months ago church officials condemned American nuns for what they considered the nuns failure properly to uphold Catholic doctrine. Six weeks of silence followed – that is, six weeks passed before the nuns responded. When they finally did, they did not mince words. In fact they departed dramatically from their traditional image as domesticated and docile. Through their main coordinating organization, the Leadership Conference of Women Religious, the nuns claimed first that the Vatican’s assessment of them was based on a “flawed process” and second, that it consisted of “unsubstantiated accusations.”
Moreover when the Vatican recently chastised Sister Margaret A. Farley for her six-year-old book, Just Love: A Framework for Christian Sexual Ethics, Farley, a reputable scholar who was past president of the Catholic Theological Society of America, vigorously defended both herself and her work, claiming it drew from “present-day scientific, philosophical, theological, and biblical resources.” (Ironically, amusingly, the brouhaha transformed Just Love into a best-seller!)
No surprise that American Catholics are standing firm, defending American nuns against attacks by the Vatican. The days when church officials can expect laity simply to afall into line are over – as, now, are the days when church officials can expect nuns simply to stay mute.

Depending on how you count, Harry Stonecipher was the first to be canned because of Cupid. Stonecipher was 68 at the time (in 2005), married, and chief executive officer of Boeing. What did Stonecipher do that was so bad he was summarily dismissed? He had an affair with a female subordinate.
It was not, swore the board, the affair itself. Rather, said a board representative, it was “the circumstances surrounding the affair, we just thought there were some issues of poor judgment that … impaired [Stonecipher’s] ability to lead going forward.”
Mark Hurd was fired for similar cause (in 2011). He too was married and he too was chief executive officer of one of America’s best known companies, Hewlett Packard. Hurd was ensnared in a relationship with an “adult” movie actress, who ostensibly was hired as hostess at HP client events. In this case too the board denied it dismissed Hurd because of the affair per se. Rather it concluded that Hurd had used HP’s resources inappropriately – and lied in the process.
Nor, despite his best efforts, did the former CEO of Stryker , Stephen MacMillan, fare any better . MacMillan was forced out (in 2012) because the board was unhappy with how he handled his relationship with former flight attendant, a company employee, while he and his wife were getting a divorce. The board made clear MacMillan had “never violated any company policy nor any code of conduct.” Moreover, unlike Stonecipher and Hurd, MacMillan had explicitly sought the permission of the board to pursue his new relationship. To no avail – MacMillan was obliged by Stryker to resign.
What’s going on here? Are board members so straight-laced they cannot conceive of a leader who strays from his marriage? Hardly. What they worry about in new and different ways are the new and different ways personal behavior can become a professional liability. The thought of even one scandalous Facebook post is enough to convert 21st century boards into 17th century puritans.

As I write in one of my books – Followership – Diehards are as their name implies. They are followers, ordinary people, prepared to die if necessary for their cause, whether an individual, an idea, or both. Diehards are deeply devoted to their leaders; or, in contrast, they are ready to remove them from positions of power, authority, and influence by any means necessary. Diehards are defined by their dedication, including their willingness to risk life and limb. Being a Diehard is all-consuming. It is who you are. It is what you do.
It’s rather an old story by now – which explains why we’re inured to its implications. But of the approximately 12,000 people who died in Syria in the last 15 months, a good number were Diehards, willing to risk it all to try to overthrow President Bashar al-Assad. Assad is a brutal dictator, the son of another brutal dictator, Hafez al-Assad. The Assads, father and son in succession, have ruled Syria for over forty years. So far as Diehards are concerned, that’s long enough. They are so fed up they figure they have nothing to lose.
As the violence in Syria continues, the world dithers. Neither NATO, nor the loose coalition known as the Friends of Syria, nor the United Nations with its misplaced assist from former Secretary General Kofi Annan, has stopped the strife. Why? Because every one of the various leaders is risk averse.
Nothing has made this as blindingly clear as the most recent meeting of NATO in Chicago this week. Nearly every NATO leader has publicly condemned Assad, and called for him to step down. But when they met in Chicago the subject of Syria never even came up. Instead the alliance simply stuck to its previous position, that it has “no intention whatsoever to intervene.” How heartening to hear – how heartening to Assad! And what a contrast between NATO’s leaders and Syria’s Diehard followers! The latter are willing to die for what they believe, while the former are satisfied to let the killing continue while they stand by and do nearly nothing.

Love might mean never having to say you’re sorry. But leadership does not. In fact, leaders feel so vulnerable right now they can’t say sorry quickly enough. Most don’t even bother trying to explain themselves or to justify what happened.
This week alone there have been three high profile apologies. Mitt Romney insisted he didn’t remember bullying anyone in high school (though there was good evidence he did), but that did not preclude him from apologizing anyway. I don’t remember all the pranks, he said, but “if I did stupid things, why, I’m afraid I’ve got to say sorry for it.” Joe Biden apologized to Barack Obama for putting him in a position in which he just about had to promptly and publicly declare his support for same-sex marriage. And Jamie Dimon apologized for JPMorgan’s $2 billion blunder.
In fact, Jamie Dimon apologized once, and then twice, and then thrice, and then again, having apparently concluded that frequent displays of contrition were in his best interest. Once Dimon admitted that he himself had been “dead wrong.” More often he couched his apology in the collective, deflecting personal responsibility by resorting to the proverbial “we” or to an abstraction such as “the bank” – as in “we made a terrible, egregious mistake” or the bank’s strategy was “flawed, complex, poorly reviewed, poorly executed, and poorly monitored.”
Apologies quickly and apparently authentically tendered tend to defuse the situation. But make no mistake. People might, if they are so inclined, forgive a leader. But they will not forget – which is why apologies must be strictly rationed. Leaders who choose to accept blame and express regret should consider their apology a chip that can be used only once. For publicly to confess to a serious mistake or to wrongdoing is to expose yourself the world over as ineffectual or unethical (or both) – which is why no 21st century leader is likely to survive an apology a second time.

Boring, boring, boring. I know, I know. But what could I do? I had no choice. I had no choice but to give another Lame Leader of the Week Award to another CEO of another Too Big to Fail American bank, this time to Jamie Dimon of JPMorgan Chase. As recently as April, Dimon was dismissing reports his bank was making bets so big they were distorting a market in credit derivatives. Such reports were, he insisted, “a complete tempest in a teapot.” But just a few weeks later Dimon was forced by facts to eat crow, to publicly admit JPMorgan’s losses of more than $2 billion were a wound that was “self inflicted.”
Whatever Dimon’s previous reputation as one of the few leaders on Wall Street to have escaped the financial crisis nearly unscathed, there’s no escaping blame for losses this size. There are only two possibilities. Either Dimon was ignorant of what his subordinates were up to. Or he knew what they were doing and approved of bets that turned out a colossal mistake. Either way his heyday – if not his pay day – is over. Either way there’s blood in the water and sharks nearby.