By Kenneth L. Hardin  

I don’t like the term “leader.” It ranks high on my annoyance scale along with the other overused superlative, “hero/heroic.” I’ve never quite understood why we assign this extraordinary label to people who simply demonstrate a basic concern for the humanity and wellbeing of their fellow man and act accordingly. As a veteran having served alongside some brave men and women, I’ve seen and read about heroic acts undertaken by those who willingly volunteered to give their life in defense of this country. I recall a poem written by the wife of a military member who captured what a true hero is and none of it depended upon exhibiting superhuman abilities. “A hero isn’t someone with great speed or strength nor someone in great power. A hero is someone who stands up for the old, the small or the weak. A hero is someone who defends those who can’t defend themselves. A hero is someone willing to die for their country so that his friends, family and neighbors can be free. They do this willingly without thought and without regret. A hero is our sons, our daughters, our fathers, our mothers, our husbands, our wives, our brothers and our sisters. Our heroes are our soldiers.” Can I get an Amen from the church?

In a nearly 40-year professional career that has spanned the military, law enforcement, healthcare, politics and entrepreneurship, I’ve  witnessed both the positive and negative sides of the leadership coin. I’ve had the honor and pleasure of following some great people, and then there were times in my career where I wouldn’t have followed others to a water fountain after spending a summer in the hottest part of hell. The disparity has left me more confused and confounded resulting in me silently asking the question inside my head, what is the definition of a great leader? If you ask Dr. Robert Jarvik, developer of the artificial heart, he would say, “Leaders are visionaries with a poorly developed sense of fear and no concept of the odds against them.”  If you could ask deceased retired Army General Colin Powell, he might opine, “Being responsible means sometimes pissing people off. Good leadership involves responsibility to the welfare of the entire group, which means that some people will get angry at your actions and decisions. Trying to get everyone to like you is a sign of mediocrity: you’ll avoid the tough decisions, and you’ll avoid confronting the people who need to be confronted. Ironically, by procrastinating on the difficult choices, by trying not to get anyone mad, and by treating everyone equally “nicely” regardless of their contributions, you’ll simply ensure that the only people you’ll wind up angering are the most creative and productive people in the organization.”

I read an interview with Powell after the release of his 2012 book, “It Worked for Me In Life and Leadership,” where he shared stories and provided examples of how he developed his sense of kind and compassionate leadership. Since I worked for over two decades in a field where compassion was the cornerstone of what my role was all about, I found a kinship in the words and saw them as necessary to exist within me to help people heal and move forward. I’m truly that person or at least I tried to be while working in managerial positions at large academic medical centers and small community-based hospitals. I’ve been responsible for upwards of 40 employees and as few as two. In either instance, I’ve always made sure to say that no one worked for me. I wasn’t that insecure and my ego was just not that needy. I told those who depended on me that they actually worked for the organization and I was  simply in a position to remove barriers, obstacles and impediments so they could succeed.

I have employees who I had responsibility for over two decades ago that still reach out to me for guidance, advice or to share milestones in their lives. That’s a testament to the “leadership” I provided but I refuse to accept any credit for it. I was fortunate to be motivated and mentored by some great people. I think back to being a nervous 18-year-old new airman having left the comfort and security of home for the uncertainty of military life. That life was made easier by those put in charge of my development who guided me into becoming a fine soldier. I also recall the nervousness of assuming my first post honorable discharge role in law enforcement, and my immediate supervisor sharing the confidence he had in me that made the transition easier. I think back to my first night working in the emergency department as a patient advocate and two DOAs coming in at the same time. I was trekking in unfamiliar territory being tasked with notifying the families of the deaths and providing comfort and grief counseling when they arrived. I vividly remember the charge nurse pulling me to the side in the midst of all the chaos and heightened emotion and telling me that she would make sure we would get through it all together.

All of those memories and the people who shaped them for me were from 30-40 years ago, but as Powell believed, “You share a lifelong emotional bond that you will never forget for those people who had such an impact on your life.”

 Kenneth L. (Kenny) Hardin is a member of the National Association of Black Journalists.