Power-based leadership theories: Sansa Stark

To recap: we have now considered behavioural theories of leadership, which identify 7524406913406f48bea6a335ca653fa0certain behaviour traits which are arguably necessary, if not sufficient, for a person to become a leader, and contingency-based theories of leadership, which point out that social and political circumstances also affect who gets to lead (and, following on from that, which behaviour traits are necessary for a successful leader in those circumstances).

All very well, but an audience of astute Game of Thrones fans might note there’s something missing here. Namely, power relations.

This is something management studies has also taken note of, particularly given the successive waves of theories (postmodernism, feminism, queer theory, postcolonialism) which all revolve, to a greater or lesser extent, towards looking at unequal power dynamics in society (if you’re interested in reading more about this in the non-Westerosi working world, I can recommend the work of Paul Willis, Lauren Rivera, and R. Roosevelt Thomas for a start).

Westeros is a good place to observe the complex ways in which power relations can affect a path to leadership. For one thing, it makes the official path to leadership, which is straightforward in theory, rather complicated in practice (hence why the death of Robert Baratheon doesn’t lead only to the coronation of his eldest son, but also to a bloody civil war involving his brothers, and, on the sidelines, challenges from other interested parties who may regard Joffrey’s claim to the throne as illegitimate, or else may simply say they do in order to have a shot at the top job themselves).

Voluntarily choosing to give up a claim to a leadership position, as with Jeor Mormont, Jon Snow and Aegon Targaryen, can nonetheless put you in a different sort of leadership position (I’d describe the Nights’ Watch as a semi-meritocracy, in that you don’t have to have had a nobleman’s education in governance and martial arts to lead it, but it clearly sure helps), and can even make you a potential candidate to return to the official leadership race (Stannis Baratheon didn’t seek out Jon Snow for his pretty face, interesting pet, and reasonably sound moral compass).

When it comes to gender and leadership, things can get even more complex: noble women, for instance, have clear power over peasants, vassals and bannermen; are also powerless relative to noble men; while they’re generally not first choice, outside of Dorne, as official leaders, clearly the rule of queens is not unprecedented, or generally unacceptable. Furthermore, clearly most of the women in Westeros who choose a traditional feminine gender role are quite skilled in exercising soft power, or engaging in unofficial, behind-the-scenes power games. Cersei, for instance, was quite clearly prepared to rule through her children, as Catelyn Stark was the effective power behind her son Robb. Religion also provides a way for women to exercise power in more official capacities: consider Melisande, consider Septa Unella. However, this necessitates playing complex political games. From a leadership point of view, it’s completely fascinating watching Margaery Tyrell building complicated power bases involving husbands, brothers, charismatic religious movements, and mobs of poor urban labourers.

However, for our case study, I’d like to point to someone whose rise to power is just as complicated, rather more painful, and ultimately more successful, namely, Sansa Stark.

For quite a lot of the series, Sansa was the subject of large amounts of viewer criticism for her passivity with regard to the power games of Westeros. In my view that’s rather unfair, given that she starts the series as a teenager too young to menstruate (for those of you who think I’m being gratuitous here, it’s actually a plot point), and who spends much of the first few seasons cut off from her allies and living among people who are her family’s sworn enemies.  This ultimately culminates in her getting manipulated by Petyr Baelish into marrying Ramsay Bolton, arguably the worst human being on Westeros (though he’s going to be the subject of a later post in this series, and not, actually, the one on Toxic Leadership either).

This is when she shows that she’s clearly learned from her experiences, and from watching the people around her. After realising that no one’s coming to save her from this, she shows a clear tactical sense in finding a way of escaping, locating allies to help her, and, crucially, doing a deal with Baelish to help her brother defeat her husband (in the Battle of the Bastards, Bolton’s clearly the best tactician, but Sansa’s clearly the best politician, and at the end, it’s politics that turns out to matter). She then, crucially, doesn’t let that alliance stand, but figures out a way to manipulate Baelish into exposing his own power games, and ultimately winds up as the effective power in Winterfell, with Jon even acknowledging to Daenarys that Sansa is a better Warden of the North than he would be.

As Tyrion says to Sansa, “Many have underestimated you. Most of them are dead now.”

And it’s also worth noting that she does all this while still remaining within the bounds of what’s socially acceptable for a Westerosi noblewoman. One of the things Game of Thrones does well is showing us ways in which female leaders– and male ones as well– make decisions about whether to stay within or transgress the gender norms of their society in order to exercise power, and showing us that both can lead to success in different ways.

Jon Snow may have transformational behaviour and a claim to the throne, but when it comes to leadership skills, and the ability to succeed despite being on the wrong end of power dynamics in Westeros, he has nothing on his female relatives.

Next week: Traditional paths to leadership, with Robb Stark and the Baratheon Brothers.

Contingency-based leadership theory: The High Sparrow

Last session, we looked at behavioural theories of leadership. The tl;dr for this time is that the firstHigh_Sparrow theories of leadership were focused on the idea that there were definable and more or less universal leadership traits, which could be identified and classified; and these could, possibly, also be learned/taught, depending on your beliefs about the effectiveness of cognitive behavioural therapy.

As we concluded, also, there’s a few problems with this way of approaching leadership. Leaving aside the cognitive behavioural therapy issue, as businesses began to globalise researchers began to question the idea that leadership traits could, in fact, be universal: as we’ve seen in Game of Thrones, the skills you need to be Khal of the Dothraki are clearly not the skills needed to be Warden of the North or Hand of the King. Many other researchers, including but not limited to feminist and postmodernist scholars, questioned the degree to which such traits could even be identified; consider that in Westeros, Cersei’s leadership abilities were largely ignored by everyone except the audience for six seasons. Most importantly, any researchers generally argued that behavioural theories as structured appear to take place in a vacuum, without reference to the wider circumstancers in which leaders actually lead. Or, to put it another way, you can be Queen of Meeren only as long as the people aren’t actually in open revolt against you.

This led to more contingency-based theories of leadership. As the name suggests, their unifying premise is that different times call for different leaders, and the people who lead are determined by the circumstances in which they arise.

A good example in Westeros is the High Sparrow. Under normal circumstances, the High Sparrow is unlikely to have risen any, well, higher than a local priest or travelling mendicant; people who are comfortable, well-fed and happy with their circumstances don’t generally wind up joining charismatic religious movements. However, with the rulership of the kingdom in turmoil, many people clearly questioning the fitness of the nobility to govern (as we see in the satirical play that Arya witnesses on Braavos), the population in such economically dire straits as to starve for want of a small amount of money, and the church which supports the system clearly corrupt and in hock to the nobles, people are willing to listen to outsiders who seem to offer an alternative way of living.

Game of Thrones leaves unanswered the question of whether or not the High Sparrow would have made a better ruler than the Lannisters or Targaryens; certainly there was potential in his movement for a tyrannical fascist theocracy to arise, but there was also potential for a regime in which peasants led longer and happier lives (consider what might have happened had his alliance with Margaery Tyrell succeeded). And the High Sparrow also fits the behavioural theories of leadership in having many of the traits of the charismatic leader, for instance. But, as the critics of the behavioural theories argue, having the traits is not enough: you need the circumstances as well. The High Sparrow is only one of many cases in Westeros which illustrates that behavioural theories need to be tempered with a little context to consider how leaders are made as well as born.

Next week: I’ll be at Eastercon! I’ll try and compose a post beforehand, but if I don’t… next episode will discuss power-based theories of leadership, with a particular focus on Sansa Stark.

Transformational leadership: Jon Snow

Picking up the Leadership in Game of Thrones thread again and moving on from last episode’s discussion of Daenarys Targaryen as an example of charismatic leadership, this time we’ll be looking at the concept of the transformational leader, as exemplified in Game of Thrones by Jon Snow.

Onjon snow - Free Large Images the surface of it, Jon Snow looks like another charismatic leader. As with Daenarys, he’s good-looking, knows his way around an epic speech, and people follow him even though he’s young, illegitimate, and has handed away any chance that he might inherit via a sidewise route to power (we’ll be talking about Ramsay Snow/Bolton and his alternative career path later in this series) by joining what is effectively a militant monastic order.

The key difference between him and Dany, though, is that he helps the people under his leadership to develop. Consider his relationship with Sam; while he teaches him swordsmanship, he also allows Sam to figure out what skills and abilities he can best contribute to the Nights’ Watch, and steers him towards becoming a scholar rather than just another man with a big stick on top of a wall. When Jon leaves the Nights’ Watch under the command of Dolorous Edd, you really do believe that, through Jon, Edd has developed to the point where this wouldn’t be a completely disastrous idea. Where people develop through Daenarys’s actions, it’s largely by accident or through the results of something she’s done rather than through her active sponsorship; she frees Grey Worm, but, if anyone helps him to develop his skills as a leader, it’s Missandei, not Daenarys. Which is the key point of a transformational, rather than a charismatic leader; that they help the people around them to “transform”.

They also come into their own as change managers, and this can certainly be seen to be true of Jon Snow. Almost every organisation he comes into contact with, he changes, and for the better; he’s got two groups of historic enemies working together, he’s developed an alliance with Daenarys. He’s been instrumental in getting the Northerners to accept his sister Sansa as their ruler. It’s no wonder Jeor Mormont marks him early on as a possible successor as the commander of the Nights’ Watch, above people with greater experience and seniority.

Given all this, a transformational leader might seem more than a little heroic. But that’s not necessarily the case. Transformational leaders, Jon to the contrary notwithstanding, aren’t inherently charismatic. Transformational leadership involves working with people to figure out what change is needed, and to deliver it, meaning that it involves giving way and compromising a lot more than traditional charismatic leadership does. Notice how Jon leads through building alliances and developing trust, not through railroading his way across two continents with a trio of magic beasts and an army of super-tough eunuchs. It also doesn’t make you stronger, or a better human, or smarter, than anyone else. Or to put it another way: Jon Snow’s transformational… but so, in her way, is Cersei Lannister.

Transformational leadership has become a very popular idea in management studies recently, and managers are being urged to be, or to become, transformational leaders (through reading a certain book or taking a certain course, naturally). In some ways, this is a good thing; the business world is currently in a period of upheaval, change is in the air, and the sort of leaders that are needed right now are often change managers. Problem is, this isn’t always true. In periods, and places, where change isn’t needed, your transformational leader becomes a micro-manager, constantly trying to fix what isn’t broken.

Transformational leaders are much nicer than charismatic ones from the perspective of the led– but, in an organisational setting, there’s nothing that makes transformational leadership inherently any better than any other sort of leadership. Context matters a lot to successful leadership, and transformational leaders are at their best when weathering change, not leading a charge or keeping an organisation going. In the end, given the amount of change going on in Westeros right now, Jon Snow is the man of the hour. And now, you know something.

Next time: Tyrion Lannister and transactional leadership.

 

Families, factories and sleeping dragons

While I was working at Car Factory, my grandmother died. This wasn’t unexpected; she was ninety-eight and, although she’d been quite independent for most of that time, her health had taken a sudden turn for the worse in the previous six months. But she was someone I visited at least once a year and spoke to on the phone every week, so it was something of an emotional shock.

The day after I got the news, I was on the line, and talking with my line partner (I did the left side of the car, she did the right) about my grandmother, trying to process the information and remembering what an important person she’d been in my life. After a bit, my line partner frowned.

“What was her name?” she asked.

“Margaret– Peggy Moore,” I answered.

My line partner frowned harder. “Not Peggy from Upholstry Fittings?”

Well, of course it wasn’t– my grandmother lived a good three hours’ train journey from Oxfordshire. But it was interesting she might think so. My line partner had a grown son working on another part of the line, and his younger brother was likely to join him. Another female co-worker had grown up in the shadow of the factory and spoke proudly about how her father and grandfather had worked there.

Which goes some way to explaining why people in the local area would campaign to keep the factory going, even when the owner wasn’t too enthusiastic; why they welcomed the factory’s current owner, even in a political and social climate which was generally suspicious of foreign ownership, and why, if they complained about any of the factory’s previous owners at all, it was about ones who had generally given little evidence of caring about the local community at all.

Now, I’m not going to start pretending that corporations are benign local citizens. In and of themselves, they’re not. They’re in it to make money, at the end of the day. But, particularly when they’re in the area for multiple generations, like Car Factory was, they can become a big part of people’s lives.

Imagine people living next to a huge dragon that spends most of its time sleeping. In and of itself, it’s just being a dragon. But the added sulphur from its breath and fewmets improves crops; it’s a striking part of the landscape. People take pride in the fact that other people think of them as the villagers who live next to the dragon. Occasionally, yes, it wakes up and eats the sheep; but it’s also a living, breathing being that’s a part of your life, and has been a part of your parents’ grandparents’ and great-grandparents’ lives. And may well be a part of your children and grandchildren’s.

And that, in a way, is family.

Leadership Lessons from Game of Thrones: a series

From today, I’m starting a new feature on this blog.

The backstory: One of the things I teach is leadership theory. In order to make it more fun for the students (and for myself), I started doing a lecture where I used examples drawn from Game Of Thrones. This got to be enough of a thing that I was asked to develop a cut-down version as a taster lecture to give to propsective students, which you can watch here if you like:

Since this is a blog about the anthropology of business, and about science fiction and fantasy, I’m building on this to do a series of posts focusing on different characters in Game of Thrones, and how their story relates to what we know about leadership.

This week: Daenarys Targaryen, and the pros and cons of charisma.

 

The charismatic leader: Daenarys Targaryen

We’ll begin our series on Leadership in Game of Thrones with a look at behavioural theories of leadership. ThesGame of Thrones Daenerys Wallpaper - WallpaperSafarie are the sorts of theories that you tend to find, subtextually or textually, running through airport books that tell you how to Find Your Own Leadership Potential or the Seven Habits of Highly Effective People or whatever.

Behavioural theories like to break leaders down into types. One of the most commonly encountered typologies divides leaders, or leadership behaviour, into Charismatic, Transactional and Transformational leaders.

We’ll talk about the other two later, but to start with, I’d like to consider Daenarys Targaryen as an example of the charismatic leader.

Charismatic leadership is a perhaps surprisingly old concept, initially developed by pioneering organisational sociologist Max Weber in the 1920s. His idea was that charismatic leadership was when authority derived from the charisma of the leader, as opposed to through the law or through tradition.

This fits Daenarys perfectly: her claim to governance of anything, let alone Westeros, completely flies in the face of tradition (pretty much every society she’s in contact with accepting female leaders only under extremely unusual circumstances), and is of dubious legality (she’s admittedly the sole surviving member of the former ruling house of Westeros, in a society that values primogeniture– but, like the medieval societies it’s based on, it doesn’t value it to the point of being stupid, which is why most of Westerosi society clearly supports the rule of Robert Baratheon, who’s older, male, and has the support of the feudal lords, instead of a thirteen-year-old girl who’s never set foot in the country).

Much of what she subsequently builds her power base on is, initially, derived from personal charisma. The fact that she’s able to build a bond with the man she’s been married to for political reasons and get him on side for a counter-coup; her ability to then get enough of his followers to support her independently, against all of their, yes, laws and traditions, when he dies (stunts involving dragons and being immune to fire help, but they’re not everything).

The concept was further developed in the 1970s by Robert J. House, who focused on charismatic leadership as a psychological profile, and portrayed charismatic leaders as ones who build up excitement in their followers and empower them to seek to do better things for the organisation, as can be seen when Daenarys conquers Meereen with the army of the Unsullied. Charismatic leaders also build up bonds with their followers, and you can see that in Daenarys’ relationships with Grey Worm, Missandei, Tyrion and Jorah Mormont. Her charisma even bleeds out into the audience: just google her name, or check out the amount of Targaryen tat on Etsy, Ebay and the like, for evidence

A lot of leadership books like the idea of charismatic leaders, so you see a lot of the abovementioned airport books urging you to develop your own charisma and become a charismatic leader. This isn’t necessarily a good thing, though. As another organisation studies scholar, Dennis Tourish, pointed out, bad leaders have the same traits as good ones, and you only have to look at Daenarys’ trajectory to see the bad aspects as well: bullying, monomania, a tendency to abuse the trust and respect her followers have in her (honestly, Mormont, leave her, she’s not worth it). Daenarys also has elements of the “crisis leader” as well, in that she clearly has issues coping with the day-to-day business of ruling rather than the ones that involve making proclamations. Which probably won’t help should she find herself actually having to be Queen of Westeros.

So on the one hand, it’s a good thing for her that she’s surrounded herself with other leaders with compatible skill sets and social capital, like Tyrion and Jon Snow. On the other… she’d better learn how to negotiate and compromise as well as charm, because charisma, while it may be sexy, isn’t everything in a good leader.