The Power of Giving Away Power

Picture this: you're in a meeting where the person with the highest title dominates the conversation, dismisses alternative viewpoints, and makes unilateral decisions. Everyone else sits silently, waiting for instructions. Sound familiar? This scenario plays out in boardrooms, classrooms, and communities worldwide, reflecting our deep-seated belief that effective leadership means consolidating power and maintaining control.

Yet this traditional approach to leadership is failing us. In an era of unprecedented connectivity and rapid change, the old command-and-control model leaves organizations brittle, teams disengaged, and leaders exhausted from pretending they have all the answers. What if there's a fundamentally different way to lead—one that creates more power by giving it away, that finds strength in vulnerability, and that builds lasting success through genuine collaboration? This revolutionary approach doesn't just change how we work together; it transforms who we become in the process.

In 1776, while the founders were declaring independence, they faced an unexpected challenge: they needed a logo. What followed was a six-year struggle that would ultimately reveal two competing visions of American leadership.

The first committee, led by Benjamin Franklin, Thomas Jefferson, and John Adams, proposed dramatic biblical scenes and classical heroes—all featuring lone, powerful figures. Franklin wanted Moses parting the Red Sea while drowning Pharaoh. Jefferson suggested wandering children of Israel. Adams preferred Hercules choosing between easy and difficult paths. These were images of individual might conquering through force or divine intervention.

But Charles Thomson, Secretary of Congress, saw something different emerging from America's experiment. After three failed committees and mounting pressure to finalize the Great Seal, Thomson made a bold choice. He synthesized elements from all the failed attempts but placed at the center something revolutionary: a "radiant constellation" of thirteen stars, representing states that were simultaneously independent and united.

This wasn't just artistic preference. The constellation symbolized a new form of leadership—one where individual elements could shine brightly while being part of something larger. Unlike the pyramid (which would eventually appear on the seal's reverse), the constellation had no single point of control, no rigid hierarchy. It was a living system where leadership could flow based on need and circumstance.

The genius of Thomson's insight was recognizing that independence and dependence were both forms of isolation. What America needed was interdependence—the courage to remain distinct while choosing to connect. This constellation mindset would prove essential not just for governing thirteen colonies, but for unleashing human potential in any collaborative endeavor.

Mary Parker Follett should be a household name, yet she's been nearly erased from history. In the 1920s, she was the most sought-after speaker on business leadership, drawing packed audiences of Fortune 500 executives. Peter Drucker called her his guru and "the brightest star in the management firmament." Then she died in 1933, and within a decade, her revolutionary ideas had been forgotten.

Follett's insights emerged from personal experience with power's complexities. Growing up with an alcoholic father struggling with what we now call PTSD, she witnessed how traditional authority—military commanders, ministers, family pressure—failed to create lasting change. What finally worked was something radically different: her father joining a fellowship where people shared their struggles and supported each other's recovery.

This early lesson shaped Follett's revolutionary understanding of meetings and group dynamics. She observed that most meetings produce one of four outcomes: acquiescence (giving in), victory (winning at others' expense), compromise (everyone partially satisfied), or integration (creating something genuinely new together). Only integration, she discovered, actually multiplied power rather than redistributing it.

Follett's prescription was deceptively simple: enter every interaction expecting to need others, expecting to be needed, and expecting to be changed. This wasn't about being weak or accommodating—quite the opposite. It required the courage to bring your whole self to the encounter while remaining genuinely open to being influenced.

Her concept of "power-with" rather than "power-over" anticipated everything we now know about high-performing teams, innovative organizations, and sustainable leadership. She understood that the magic happens not within individuals but between them, in the spaces where different perspectives meet and create something neither could achieve alone.

When Barack Obama's 2008 campaign faced Hillary Clinton's formidable organization, they discovered something remarkable: treating volunteers like partners rather than foot soldiers created exponential growth. Two young staffers noticed that giving away access to the campaign's precious voter database—typically guarded like state secrets—didn't lead to chaos but to multiplication.

The campaign leadership initially resisted. Surely rival campaigns would steal their data. But the staffers persisted with a compelling argument: the energy created by empowered volunteers would far exceed any potential downside from information leakage. On Election Day, instead of the typical 50% "flake rate" where half the committed volunteers don't show up, Obama's campaign experienced negative 50%—for every ten people who committed, fifteen showed up.

Years later, as ambassador to the United Kingdom, this lesson took new form. Rather than hosting formal diplomatic receptions for established power brokers, the embassy began visiting high schools across Britain. These sessions followed a simple pattern: ask students to share what frustrated them about America and what inspired them. Then listen—really listen—without defending or explaining.

The initial reaction from diplomatic colleagues was skeptical. Wasn't this a waste of time that could be spent with "important" people? But something magical happened in those classrooms. Students who expected to be lectured instead found themselves heard. They sat taller when told they were future leaders. They engaged with complex issues when treated as partners in dialogue rather than passive recipients of information.

These conversations multiplied organically. Students talked with their families. Teachers requested more sessions. Local officials asked to hear what was being discussed. A simple pattern of authentic engagement—ask, link, serve, and open up—created ripples that strengthened relationships far beyond any formal diplomatic protocol.

The lesson transcended politics and diplomacy: sustainable influence flows not from imposing your will but from creating spaces where genuine relationships can form. In an age of performative leadership and transactional interactions, the revolutionary act is simply treating people as fully human.

Jane Jacobs looked at thriving neighborhoods and saw something urban planners missed: beautiful complexity that couldn't be imposed from above. While experts advocated for "master plans" with separate zones for sleeping, working, and shopping, Jacobs recognized that vibrant communities grew through countless small interactions—the branching and connecting that creates energy rather than depleting it.

Her insight extended far beyond city planning. In nature, the most successful forms of growth follow fractal patterns—think of how trees branch, rivers form deltas, or neurons connect in the brain. These systems succeed not through centralized control but through simple patterns that repeat at every scale. A tree doesn't "plan" its growth; it follows basic principles that allow it to adapt to changing conditions while maximizing its ability to capture sunlight.

The same principle applied to Obama's campaign organization. The "snowflake model" started with paid organizers who recruited "super volunteers," who in turn engaged regular volunteers. Each level replicated the same pattern: respect, empower, include. Success meant your territory getting smaller, not larger, as more people joined and took ownership. The pattern was self-similar—what worked for a city block worked for a state, and what worked for a state worked nationally.

This fractal approach reveals why traditional change management so often fails. When leaders try to impose transformation from the top down, they're fighting against natural patterns of growth. Real change spreads through networks of relationships, person by person, team by team, with each group adapting the core principles to their specific context.

The key insight is that uncertainty isn't a problem to be solved but energy to be harnessed. Like heat from the sun that powers entire ecosystems, uncertainty creates the conditions for adaptation and innovation. Leaders who embrace this reality stop trying to eliminate uncertainty and start creating systems that can thrive within it.

The internet began not as a technology platform but as an invitation to dance. Vint Cerf and Bob Kahn didn't just connect computers; they asked colleagues at universities and research institutions to "internetwork" with them. This request required vulnerability—opening their networks to others with no guarantee of reciprocity. Many said no, preferring the security of isolated systems. But those who said yes created something unprecedented.

What made this "unreliable" network—as it was technically classified—become the most reliable communication system in history? The answer lies in understanding the difference between complicated systems and complex ones. Complicated systems, like clockwork, can be perfected through engineering. Complex systems, like ecosystems, thrive through diversity and adaptation.

Modern leadership faces the same choice. We can try to build "reliable" organizations through tight control and predictable processes. Or we can create "unreliable" networks that adapt, grow, and innovate through human connection. The first approach promises certainty but delivers brittleness. The second embraces uncertainty but creates antifragility—the ability to get stronger through stress.

This shift requires what Mary Parker Follett called "reciprocal freedom"—the recognition that your liberation is bound up with others'. It's the insight that indigenous leader shared with philanthropist Lynne Twist: "If you are here to help, please leave. But if you are here because you feel your liberation is bound up with ours, then stay—let's work together."

The future belongs to those who can navigate this paradox: standing out while fitting in, leading while serving, creating power by giving it away. This isn't just a nicer way to work; it's the only way that scales in a connected world where authentic relationships are the ultimate competitive advantage.

Throughout history, transformative leaders have discovered the same counterintuitive truth: real power multiplies when shared rather than hoarded. From the founding fathers' constellation to Obama's campaign snowflakes, from Jimmy Wales' Wikipedia to Dee Hock's Visa network, the pattern remains consistent. Leaders who embrace uncertainty, trust in collective wisdom, and create space for others to shine don't just achieve better results—they transform what's possible.

This isn't about abandoning accountability or structure; it's about recognizing that in our interconnected age, the old models of command and control are not just ineffective but counterproductive. The leaders who will thrive are those who can ask questions they don't know the answers to, follow conversations wherever they lead, and trust in the creative potential that emerges when human beings come together around shared purpose. The choice is ours: we can continue exhausting ourselves by pretending to have all the answers, or we can discover the renewable energy that flows from genuine collaboration. The constellation is there, waiting for us to connect the dots.