learning to lead & the right to fail

Note: This is a revised version of a presentation I delivered as part of a panel discussion on women in leadership, at the Federation of Ethnic Communities’ Councils of Australia (FECCA) Conference in 2022 — held in Melbourne on 16 to 17 June. 

Before I kick off in earnest, it would be remiss of me to open up this conversation today without acknowledging the leadership, strength and sovereignty of the Traditional Owners and Custodians of the lands upon which we are gathered. I pay my deepest respects to the Wurundjeri peoples of the Eastern Kulin Nations, their Elders past and present, and all Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people in the room with us today.

I acknowledge, too, that in discussing leadership, we are going to be referring to parliament, boards, and other institutions of power that have been established on stolen lands — and that while diverse representation in these institutions has benefits, we also need to question the legitimacy of these institutions, and whether their very existence perpetuates colonial structures of power.

Doing so is uncomfortable, but I believe it’s our responsibility to grapple with that discomfort.

Setting the Scene: A Fear of Failure

Speaking of discomfort, I have a confession to make: public speaking makes me uncomfortable. I agonised over these draft speaking notes I have in front of me. Not just the broad strokes and themes that I would touch on, but even the specific words I would use, when I would pause, and what I would wear.

I’m a perfectionist, and I always have been. Part of that, I’m sure, is down to being the child of immigrants, and this fierce desire to be a good Chinese daughter — straight As, teacher’s pet, fulsome resume.

If you’re wondering why I’m sharing this — let me explain using a statistic you might have heard of before: Men apply for a job when they meet only 60% of the qualifications, but women apply only if they meet 100% of them.

Now, I’m a researcher, so I’m a bit pedantic about use of data — I know the evidence behind this particular number is a bit shaky. That said, the figure sure doe makes an important point.

I am definitely one of those women. I see a board opportunity, or a new role that would be a promotion — but then I hesitate, I tell myself perhaps one day but not quite yet. I let imposter syndrome get the better of me.

And yes, some of that self-doubt, my fear of trying only to fail, is definitely a ‘me’ issue — my psychologist and I are working on it! But I know that the tendency to shy away from leadership opportunities and wait until I think I'm perfect for them is one that many young women of colour like me share.

That is because fear of failure is structurally rooted problem, one stemming from a media-driven culture that insists that some people are entitled to leadership roles, whilst others (like me) must be infallible to earn them.

Some people are given extra chances and the benefit of the doubt, whereas others must have an unblemished record first — because we know we will be judged more harshly for any mistakes.

Some of us have to make sure there is no room left for doubt about our loyalties to this country, or how well we can communicate in English, before we can even contemplate running for parliament.

Some of us might only have one shot at the top job.

We carry the weight, the burden of expectation, of those waiting to point at our mistakes and say — as predicted, women don’t have the temperament for this, or they’re too young and inexperienced, or she just isn’t a good cultural fit.

Our failures prove them right.

Problem Definition: Bridging the Abyss

Fear of failure is an epidemic, and the cost is this: a broken pipeline of talent. The abyss. There have been plenty of attempts to fill it, to equip young women like me to take the leap of faith: training programs, various initiatives to boost confidence, mentoring programs, women’s collectives and circles.

All these initiatives have their benefits. They give me those transferable skills, a few connections, some evidence on my resume of my commitment. They push me a bit closer to that edge. But without bridges, and safety nets, that structurally rooted fear of failure still prevents me from making the jump.

So, from the eyes of a young woman who’s afraid to fall, here’s what I think would help.

Individuals: Tap Her on the Shoulder

First — let’s talk about what individuals can do.

I want to admit to you now that I wouldn’t be standing up here today, speaking at my first in-person conference in years, if the lovely folk at FECCA hadn’t tapped me on the shoulder. And in fact, I can go further back — I would never have imagined myself capable of speaking to an audience of this size if a youth worker hadn’t encouraged me to say a few words at a conference five years ago.

They say confidence comes from within, and that nobody can give it to you — but let’s be real here, that’s a very individualistic way of thinking. For me, confidence is also drawn from the metaphorical village that raised me, the allies and the supporters that have my back, and the sponsors that have been willing to put their money where their mouths are to recommend me.

So, rather than putting the burden back onto young women themselves to battle with our cultural fear of failure, and expecting us to champion ourselves, the easiest thing each of you in this room can do is to be allies, supporters and sponsors.

Be loud with your positive affirmations and praise, and take initiative on our behalf. Encourage us to throw our hats in the ring; put our names forward for us; nominate us for awards; give us shout-outs for our achievements online. Find ways to substantially give us your votes of confidence.

Organisations: Create the Safety Nets

What about organisations?

I’ve spoken about the fear of failure about young women of colour, but of course, that fear does extend to organisations. I work on initiatives to support diversity on boards and I often get the same pushback: Governance is a huge responsibility, and boards, particularly if they operate in niche industries or require very specialist skills, can’t bear the risk of giving a wildcard up-and-comer a chance. Boards can’t afford to have members drop the ball.

So let’s get practical here then — how can we remove the risk? How can we create opportunities with safety nets, so that young women don’t have to be afraid to try, make mistakes, fail and fail spectacularly, and ultimately learn?

I’d love to see more organisations commit to board observership and traineeship programs, to give young women of colour opportunities to test out the duties that come along with being on a board, without holding the full weight of those responsibilities.

I’d love to see more corporations implement vertical job-sharing models, so that early career executives and experienced C-suites leaders can learn from each other, whilst benefiting from shared accountability for their roles.

Minister for Youth, I’d love you to bring some young constituents along to your meetings with stakeholders so that they can shadow and observe what you do first-hand — and for that practice to become the norm for all Members of Parliament.

If you’re a gatekeeper in an organisation, get creative and see if you can open up new, low-risk pathways to leadership. If you're a gatekeeper, you can just as easily be a door-opener.

Culture: Celebrate Mistakes

Ultimately, we need to build a culture that doesn’t shy away from failure.

To caveat — I’m certainly not saying we should be too ready to forgive and forget. With the great power of leadership comes with responsibility, so of course it’s imperative to hold leaders to account when they let us down.

But at the same time, as a community, we also need to be honest about the ups and downs of leadership journeys — the inevitable setbacks. And of course, we also need to confront our biases regarding who is allowed to fail, and how intersectional forms of discrimination shape our perceptions of failure.

I still remember the Princeton professor who, in 2016, published a resume of his unsuccessful course, job and scholarship applications, and publication rejections. That viral post had a greater impact on me than any perfectly curated LinkedIn profile I’ve seen ever since.

Of course, it takes a lot of time and effort to shift a culture. But until we have a culture that is open to critique and facilitates accountability, yet also recognises the growth that comes from failure — we will be continuing to punish women of colour who are brave enough to try.

Concluding Remarks

It’s hypocritical of me, but after delivering this presentation, I will probably conclude — even if just for a second — that there was probably somebody else that could’ve taken this slot and done it better.

But for now: I’m thankful for the conference organisers who tapped me on the shoulder, hopeful that I’ve inspired some thoughts about what we can do to change the landscape of leadership, and most of all, proud that I gave this a go.