Lessons In Leadership Part 2
A charming voice can win a room. But only steady hands can steer a
mission.
Smoke, Mirrors, and Hope
At Rea Bana National Institute (Rea
Bana), leadership was more than a job title—it was a trust. A weight. A call to
safeguard legacies, steer complexity, and hold the line between ambition and
principle. Over the years, I encountered many leaders under that roof.
Some
were builders—quiet, methodical, deeply connected to the mission. They didn’t
seek the spotlight; they lit it for others.
Some
were firestarters—restless and catalytic. Their presence shook systems and
birthed renewal.
Others were caretakers—gentle hands who preserved the soul of the organization with grace.
...And then, there were the performers. Polished. Persuasive. Magnetic. The kind who could breathe oxygen into a room but leave it emptier than before. They didn’t lead with vision; they led with volume. And when tested, they unravelled. One such figure was Phil Jordan.
But before Phil Jordan’s chapter unfolded, there was the slow drift.
The Void Before the Storm
After the former
CEO—a leader known for clarity and consistency—stepped down, the board made a
hasty appointment from within. She was one of the directors. Competent in her
job and on paper, but uninspired in practice as a leader. She ran the
organization with the enthusiasm of a weekend gardener—present in name, absent
in soul. You wouldn’t trust her with a flowerbed, let alone a legacy
institution. The plants would wither under her gaze.
Staff disengaged. Partnerships frayed. The
organization dimmed. Hope faded like paint on a neglected wall. The board
panicked—and that’s when Phil entered the spotlight.
Enter: The Showman
Phil Jordan was
unforgettable— he wasn’t particularly tall or imposing, but he commanded
attention the moment he walked in. He floated into rooms with practiced grace
and magnetic ease. He was the kind of man who didn’t speak at people;
he performed to them.
Charisma followed him
like perfume. Every gesture choreographed. Every word dipped in honey. He could
sell you a dream with a handshake and convince you it was your own idea. He had
that rare salesman charm—the kind that could sell frost to an Eskimo, and have
them write him a thank-you letter afterwards. He had the energy of a political
candidate, the flair of a startup CEO, and the shine of someone who knew
exactly what to say—especially when the cameras were rolling. With boldness and
a megawatt smile, Phil pitched visions like TED talks.
He wasn’t new to Rea
Bana. He had been around in various capacities - briefly advising the former
CEO, sitting on regional boards, and even contributing ideas to early reforms.
He also had a resume garnished with political roles, a private firm, political
activism, a religious minister, and a brief military stint he liked to remind
people of. If he were a movie character, he’d be the renegade outsider who
swoops in to save the day—minus the realism of doing same.
He launched a national
charm offensive aimed at the sector’s least-favored players —town halls, strategy rollouts, and vision casting
with theatrical flair. He singled out a notoriously difficult funding agency as
the villain, promising to sever ties and lead Rea Bana into glorious
independence, which will usher in a new era. Staff applauded. Partners were
intrigued. Finally, someone who looked like leadership.
But no one asked: With
what plan? With what resources?
Big Promises, No Blueprint
Once appointed, Phil moved fast. He expanded the staffing structure dramatically, creating shiny new executive roles. He negotiated a jaw-dropping personal compensation package, convincing the board he would unlock new income streams and "make it rain in the drylands."
His first official act? Overspend. Projects were asked to contribute more to overheads to fund the new structure. Control was centralized. Departmental autonomy was trimmed like deadweight. Everything and everyone now needed Phil’s nod.
And then, the spectacle expanded. He relocated Rea Bana’s offices to upscale, unnecessarily expensive parts of the cities. New cars arrived. New office furniture replaced perfectly usable ones. Equipment was refreshed—even though existing contracts were still running. Some vendors were paid twice for the same services - it felt like an episode of Oprah: “You get a printer! You get a phone! You get a fancy title!”
Imagine a man buying luxury roofing for a house he hasn’t designed. Or taking out a loan to install a chandelier in a restaurant that doesn’t have a foundation. That was Phil. He cooked up gourmet meals with eggs meant for hatching. Guests dined well—but the farm was now barren.
Cracks Behind the Curtain
The illusion held for a while. But even the thickest curtains can’t hide a collapsing stage.
Projects began to stall. Budgets bled.
Implementation delays became routine. Resources ran thin. Salaries were
delayed, statutory payments suspended, and pension investments tampered with.
Financial reports turned into works of fiction. Yet Phil, aided by a complicit
finance director, kept the board distracted with dazzling presentations and manicured
reports.
He refused to accept responsibility. When
performance lagged, he blamed project managers, regional teams, the funding
model—anyone but himself. Instead of course-correcting, he doubled down. His
decisions became more erratic, as if overconfidence could cover for collapse.
A few of us directors grew deeply concerned. We
asked questions. We probed reports. We pushed for answers. Phil shrugged us
off. Visionaries
are always misunderstood, he’d say.
But the cracks had widened beyond denial.
The Illusion Falls Apart
The board ordered an independent inquiry. It didn’t take long for the damage to surface.
There were contracts paid in duplicate. Staffing
layers that made no sense. Strategic moves that haemorrhaged funds. Projects
derailed due to inflated overheads. Phil had manufactured an empire of
image—built on spending, not sustainability.
The inquiry made the board grasp the true
magnitude of the damage. To them, it was
like realising that you ordered a camel, but a llama was delivered. Camels are strong,
dependable, desert-ready animals. You needed one for your desert
experience, but llamas are charming and fluffy – not fit for hauling burdens
across the heat for your desert experience. ...Cute? Yes. ...Strategic? No.
Phil had delivered charisma where competence was required. The compass was broken from day one. But the brass had been polished so well, no one saw it wobbling.
Course Correction
When the truth could no longer be hidden, Phil was relieved of his duties. But he didn’t go quietly.
True to form, he went public—issuing statements, granting interviews, stirring rumors. He painted the board as the villain, Rea Bana as the failing ship, and himself as the betrayed visionary. It was classic distraction theater: If I go down, I’m taking the whole stage with me.
But the
damage had been done.
The board asked me and
another director to lead the turnaround. Rebuilding from the wreckage required
more than structure—it demanded soul work.
We pulled the curtain
back. We reviewed contracts, closed loopholes, realigned staff, and refocused
the mission. We sat with teams, listened to frustrations, and rekindled trust.
Where Phil had promised
lightning, we lit candles—small, steady, and real.
In the process, a foundation of trust was
laid—quietly, consistently, over time. It was that trust that eventually led
the board to appoint me as CEO. I went on to steer the organization through
seasons of stability and renewed purpose. And even after I stepped down and
left for Canada, I continued to serve as an honorary board advisor—still
carrying a quiet flame for the vision we fought to protect.
The Real Test of Leadership
Phil Jordan taught us one of the hardest truths in leadership: charisma
is not capacity. A spotlight doesn’t illuminate substance. And a loud voice
isn’t a plan.
Leadership isn’t what you say at press conferences—it’s what you begin doing
the morning after your appointment. It’s not how you impress the crowd—it’s how
you steady the ship when the applause fades.
Brass may polish well. But if the compass is broken, the shine only
hides the drift.
The mark of real leadership is not how loudly you speak, but how
consistently you act. It’s not about being right in the room—it’s about
being aligned with the mission when no one is watching.
Let your words carry the weight of your values.
Let your actions speak before the applause. And let your leadership be visible
from the very first decision.