Early on as a new principal, I was in a monthly meeting with union liaison representatives. It was early in my career as a principal, and I had been told that this school prided itself as the flagship of the district union. Decades of union presidents had come through the school, amplifying an “us against them” approach.
I had arrived, with a very different style, accustomed to treating everyone, from custodian to fellow leader, with dignity and respect. I wasn’t a pushover, and there were moments I had to hold individuals accountable. I made plenty of mistakes along the way and discovered some wise methods to respond to others. Following are a few of those tales: How and why some worked and others foundered.
Back to that early meeting with the union …
I was sitting at my desk as they walked in and sat across the room at a conference table. I got up and sat next to them, noticing that they were squirming, a bit uncomfortable with no barrier between us. I had remembered how important proximity was. Build relationships without barriers, desks and doors included.
As the meeting progressed, I had a hankering for M&Ms, so I grabbed a handful from the dispenser. I offered some to the representatives, and they swiftly declined.
Fast forward a month later; same set up. I offered M&Ms and, when they declined, said, “Oh, come on! Who doesn’t love M&Ms?” They admitted they did, laughing nervously and stated, “Alright, I’ll take one…” “One?!? That’s like taking one potato chip, have more!” They didn’t.
Weeks later, I had to address a staffing issue that was seriously impacting others, and the union rep stood in my way, blindly ignoring significant concerns and attempting to intimidate me as the new principal. I stuck to my guns and, a week later, brought cookies for our faculty meeting. Minutes before, I was alerted that the union leader had directed faculty not to eat the cookies as a silent protest!
How this rigidity plays out
As absurd as this sounded, it’s the kind of game that happens more often than you’d believe. What is the saying? Reality is less believable than fiction. Moments before, I quickly scooped up several cookies so it would look like some grabbed a few, even if the staff followed the plan.
Following this tense meeting, an influential faculty member reached out privately to apologize, confessing she felt pressured to join the boycott without understanding the context of the conflict. Instead of responding with anger or defensiveness, which my primal instincts told me, I placed a fresh cookie in the teacher’s mailbox with a note unconditionally explaining there was “nothing attached” to the gift. This small, nonjudgmental peace offering was shared throughout the building, successfully degrading toxic influences, opening the door to a deeper sense of trust.
In one single action, I decreased the negative power. I didn’t know for sure it would work, but I knew that if I leaned into humanity, I might get lucky. And I did, again and again. Except for that one time …
Another issue crops up
I had been fielding another liaison meeting in which the faculty leaders were hanging onto pent-up, outdated negatives. Complaining without exploring solutions was unfamiliar territory for me; in other schools, I had worked collaboratively with my faculty. Low morale (!) was the refrain here. It seemed to be a disproportionate reaction to the real climate and my approach toward positive leadership. What’s more, I was hearing and experiencing something very different: Faculty were generally happy. The negative Nellies’ refrain was that the “ambiguous they” all felt terrible.
I had an idea, thinking I would boost the group’s spirits, so at the next meeting with the union, I decked myself out in football gear, black lines under my eyes and all, and came running into the meeting under the guise of “one team,” with college football music blaring in the background.
The next day, my boss called me and asked pointedly, “Did you run into a faculty council meeting in a football uniform?!”
That took some explaining.
Wait for the right moments
I learned a very important lesson that day as a new administrator. Some (not most) are not ready to come along for the ride, and that small number is too many. Give it time, wait for the right moments and opportunities. This clearly was not one of them!
Driving home that night, I complained to my wife on the phone: “I don’t get it. I’m me. I’m just a regular person who leads them. They seem to think I’m not. It’s hard. Why don’t they just accept me for who I am?!”
Her response was one of those I remember like it was yesterday: “They had 18 years of leadership before having just a couple with you, and you expect them to just change?” That was real, and I was grateful for it.
Then something very interesting happened. I received a private email from a strong, respected teacher. It was simple and unforgettable: “Mike, I know that you are facing a lot of negative pressure from a few. I want you to know that the majority of us believe in you. Don’t give up on us. We believe in you.”
Imagine my about-face when reading that. It kept me going, inspired by the silent majority, and reminded me to lead by modeling, not engaging the loud minority, the “loser support group.”
You know who they are in every school: the vocal minority — about 10% — that consistently challenges leadership and attempts to make them feel diminished or inferior. Everyone loses if they win, especially students. So how do we overcome them?
Surveys win!
I was asked on short notice to allow a unique, one-actor performance of “A Christmas Carol” for an assembly around the holiday season. It was a free opportunity, and the program was well-reviewed. I decided to survey my faculty, prepared for the complaint about lost time and instruction. Ninety percent of the faculty said they would like to have the assembly. Ironic, 90%. Ten percent said no.
At a follow-up meeting with representatives, one noted that she had expected most to vote no. She acknowledged being wrong and was grateful for the opportunity to vote and see what her colleagues had to say.
That was the first of many surveys that offered my faculty choice and a new perspective when seeing the silent majority showing support. The most eye-opening was a 360-degree view of me: Overwhelming satisfaction. The loser support group was fading fast, and I just kept surveying. The quiet majority were winning; they felt surveys were allowing their voice to be heard.
Update
While Likert scale-style surveys offer undeniable speed and scalability, they often trade off the rich, subjective depth that only individual responses can provide when evaluating perspectives. Nowadays, I offer qualitative survey responses, which provide more substance, because I use AI to quickly identify patterns and trends and make recommendations.
Leading with authentic humanity means breaking down barriers and choosing to treat everyone with dignity, even when faced with deep-seated “us against them” history. I learned through awkward lessons that you cannot force a culture change overnight; small acts of nonjudgmental kindness are what build a foundation of trust.
Strategies like surveys empower the silent majority to move past the distractions of a vocal minority and provide the professional validation they deserve. By pairing human touch with tools like surveys to understand staff, we can model the kind of leadership where everyone — especially the students and silent majority — win.