Leaders in the Making

This week, we focused again on leadership and qualities of a leader. This was a timely discussion for two reasons. First of all, this week F&ES announced our new dean for next year, Sir Peter Crane. Dr. Crane is an extremely accomplished botanist, former director of the Royal Botanic Gardens in Kew, England, and former director of the Field Museum in Chicago. He is also a former professor at the University of Chicago. Our previous Dean, Gus Speth, was also an impressively accomplished man, but in a different way. Dean Speth was politically charged with an activist mindset. Though it is difficult to say anything substantial about Dr. Crane's political activities at this point (since all we have to go by is a Google search and a mini-bio by Richard Levin), it is probably safe to say that his priorities and experiences have been more directed towards academia. I personally am very excited about the new dean. I think he will help F&ES grow in a new direction and perhaps make us  a more globally impactful school. From a purely selfish standpoint, I am thrilled to have someone with experience working in museums and living collections. I look forward to having at least a few conversations with him about these institutions, even if his interests lay with plants and mine with animals. 

But a few of my classmates have expressed their skepticism for this new leadership, calling him a "boring academic" and "apolitical." It seems interesting to me that they can make these kinds of judgements about him based on the little information we have. These kinds of arguments also remind of Dean Ascher's (from Claremont McKenna) arguments that leadership is a reflection of the needs and desires of the people being led. F&ES seems to be strongly divided between those who wish to pursue lives nested in academia and those who feel strongly about the political motivations of the environmental movement. There are all manner of interests in the middle, to be sure. But it makes me wonder if it would be possible to hire a dean that would satisfy everyone at F&ES. The diversity of our interests is a huge part of what makes this school so unique and special, in my opinion. But it seems that there are certain challeneges to that diversity as well.

Secondly, reading this materials on leadership seemed timely based on the fact that they came only a few days before my visit to Claremont McKenna College. CMC prided istelf on its capacity to build leaders, and has long-advertised the motto "Leaders in the Making." CMC's focus on leadership was one of the things that drew me to the school in the first place, as I have always felt an extremely strong desire and need to pursue leadership roles in nearly everything I do. A few years after graduating, however, I have to wonder whether CMC really made me a leader, like it promised. Undoubtably, I still consider myself a leader in many respects, especially in terms of my new positions at the zoo and as a captain of the Yale grad student crew team. I think, however, that these are positions I would have taken on regardless of my training at CMC. On the other hand, I cannot deny that after my time at CMC, I feel that I am a stronger person and more capable of weathering challenges, as a leader should. Upon further reflection, I've decided that perhaps CMC did not necessarily give me the skills to be a leader but instead helped me to cultivate and refine qualitites that were already latent within myself. CMC taught me to step up, and to step back, to know when to lead and when to respectfully follow. CMC taught me how to be a silent leader amongst my peers, because sometimes it's not important to vocalize your position but to know how to lead in a more modest and inconspicuous way. 

I suppose now I understand CMC's motto more than I did before. "Leaders in the Making" does not say that the school itself is making the leaders. Instead, it says more that the leaders are passing through the institution, that they were before they came and will be after they leave, and that this school is one step in this ongoing process. 

The Rebirth of Environmentalism

Striking images of the wilderness surround us from the time we are young. From calendars to posters, photographs to films, we are inundated with the spectacular views of the natural world. And if the biophilia hypothesis is correct, these images as well as the landscapes they represent should move us and appeal to us purely by virtue of the way we are wired. As young children we are fascinated by our pets and as adults, we line our cubicles with Sierra Club calendars. In many ways, the campaign for the environment doesn't seem necessary because our whole lives are lined with environmental tendencies. At very least, the "green"movement should be one of the less controversial movements on the modern docket. But somewhere along the way, the cause started to crumble. It lost its connection with the public, the very people with whom it so desperately needed to stay in close contact. 

And most important in this cataclysm of communication, the language of the environmental movement took on a new lexicon, ripe with fear and warning about the potential for great loss. As stated by one of the authors of this week's readings, the new vernacular of green living became about a nightmare, not a dream. We speak of the environment in terms of all the things that could go wrong, all the things that we could lose. We hear about environmental catastrophes, climate upheavals and destruction. For a movement that strongly needs to call on the public for comraderie and a reevaluation of many lifestyles, language so dire does little to appeal to the masses. What we are hearing may very well be absolutely true. Our situation is in need of a great turn-around. But scientists, advocates, and environmentalists of all kinds are forgetting how to speak to people. It comes up in everything from basic child management to elementary communication: people do not like to be threatened, or told what not to do. This generalization has many exceptions, surely, but we are reminded of that feeling that we all got whenever our parents would tell us not to run in the house, or that we couldn't play until we'd finished our chores. Telling people that they cannot do something and threatening them with a dreadful alternative denies them a fundamental identification of respect. For when we tell someone what they cannot do, the language conveys that we have the authority to direct them because we know more, or know better.

So what, then, is the alternative? The language of environmentalism needs to change, therefore shifting the way in which the conservation community interacts with the public. We need to offer enticing visions of a world in which people live more sustainably. Offer them many options for how to accomplish this goal. Many families do not have the resources to trade in their vehicles for hybrids. But they do have the resources to use canvas bags when they shop and to support leadership that will make it affordable and possible for every family to contribute to a greener world. 

The environmental movement is extremely fortunate in that the rewards we have to offer for such choices are undeniably strong. The alternatives we offer shouldn't be dark or unforgiving. They should be the beauty of the wilderness, the benefit of urban nature and the spectacle of the untouched environment. With a movement that has such wonderful things at the end, these should be the landmarks we boast, instead of constantly threatening that they will be taken away.  

Personality Profiling

Over winter break, I went to Zoe's house where she was waiting with an yellowed Psychology book. She quickly encouraged me to take a Myers-Briggs personality test. After I finished, I announced that I was an ENFJ and she yelled, "I KNEW IT!" I assumed that since she had been one of my closest friends for almost ten years, she would naturally be able to pick my personality out of a list of profiles. I didn't dwell on the results much longer and admittedly forgot my four-letter combination until this week, when I had to take the test again, this time for Susan's class. After taking this iteration of the test, I found myself with the same profile: ENFJ (I double-checked with Zoe for accuracy). This time through, however, I read the full explanation of the personality type. And then Googled it to find more explanations, and read those too. Because I was shocked to find that although it wasn't perfect, ENFJ described me pretty damn well. The personality type was labeled as the "Teacher" or the "Giver."

Belief in my students? Check.

Look for the best in my students? Definitely.

Warmly outgoing? I try to be!

Expressive? Check

Dramatic flourishes? Often asked to take on a leadership role? Yes, and yes.

Settled, organized, scheduled, tolerate, able to pick up the characteristics, emotions, and beliefs of those around them...avoid being along, tendency to be hard on themselves and turn to dark thoughts when alone, refrain from expressing themselves sometimes...the list went on and on.

But better than all of that, I found that the personality description that had been assigned to me portrayed a person that I had always wanted to be. Caring, compassionate, with love as my strongest weapon. I was elated to discover that maybe what I have wanted to be all along really is just who I am. But did I create this person because these were characteristics I observed and valued in others? Or was this the person I was always destined to be, that would unavoidably, eventually, develop as it did? I don't know which I prefer. After taking the Myers-Briggs last week, Zoe and I talked at length about these subjects, over a 3000 mile phone connection. In the end, I decided that I would like to think that I was born this way. That in the Mariana Trench of my psyche, I am a good person who loves and cares for others above all else. 

I don't believe that this test works for everyone. Zoe pointed out that having her friends take this test helped her to understand them a little bit better, and ascribe to them a (albeit tenuous) basis from which she could understand them. After having a number of my friends take the test over the past week, I found several instances in which the results of the Myers-Briggs conflicted dramatically with what I knew of the person. In some cases, the two did not match up in the slightest. I'm interested to know the drawbacks and failings of a test such as this.

Because in the end, no personality test can understand us completely. We are who we are, whether created or born as such. I am glad, though, that I have a personality strong enough that it can be guessed by my closest friends. Perhaps that means that this really is who I am, and that my perception of myself the perception of those who know me well are one and the same.

Instances of Respect

Several of the following entries will be in response to Susan's Society and Natural Resources class.

My entry for this week is about places I feel authentic, and what that means.

This is a topic I have often considered, though admittedly more so while at Claremont than now at Yale.  The places where I feel authentic are easy to name. I feel more myself when I am in Portland than anywhere else, and most specifically, when I am at the Zoo. I'm sure this does not require much teasing out. I am lucky in that I grew up in the same house my entire life, with the same neighbors and the same family composition. Most of my friends grew up in Portland too, so I am able to have people in my life such as one of my best friends, Claire, and her family whom I have known since I was five years old. My parents are both immigrants, and my father spent most of his childhood moving from India to Pakistan to Bangladesh to Minnesota, all before the age of thirteen. My mother's formative years were a bit less itinerant, but her displacement from Iran into the United States was and seems to still be a continuously traumatic experience for her. Therefore, a sense of place has always been vastly important to me and I vehemently and proudly call Portland home. 

I have again and again in my journaling career tried to express the feeling I get when I come home for the first time after being away for awhile. It's always a similar experience, driving into the horse-shoe driveway framed with crippled brick pillars, and entering the house through the bizarre but unique mudroom. The first thing I always see is the sea-foam green carpeting in my father's office and I always fail to remove my shoes before traipsing through the beige and peach dining room. Once I enter the living room and see the piano where I spent so many childhood hours finding my first art, and the Persian rugs that I only then realize I'd been missing for so long, I start to feel like I am exhaling in a very slow but substantial way. 

So this is where my sense of authenticity begins to take root. Short trips to Portland are rarely satisfying and leave me with long lists of things I hoped to accomplish and places I hoped to go but never found enough time to complete. Thus when summer comes around, I regard it with an almost religious reverance. Every summer since I was fourteen, I have spent my months at the same place. In high school, as a teen volunteer, I found the zoo as an escape. For the first time in my life, I had found a place where I could be the leader I had always wanted to be, and where my peers and friends spanned a large diversity of ages and backgrounds. My supervisors respected and trusted me and the director of my program became one of the most important adults in my life. After four years, I left the program with an amazingly close group of friends, a network of support, and a strong vision for my future. 

In following summers, I developed a new zoo identity for myself as a camp counselor and eventually as a camp specialist. I still had my close friendships and network of support and was still able to exercise my skills and grow as a leader. Over time, I also realized that I had a strong passion for education and certain talents as a teacher and child manager. For three months every year, my day time hours were entirely devoted towards one cause: the advancement of my camp, making every day perfect for every child while simultaneously bringing my staff closer together and promoting teamwork within our unit. 

And every day that I accomplish this, I feel my rush of authenticity come over me. For me, being authentic, truly being myself, happens here, in my so-called element. To feel authentic, I need to feel like I am a leader wherever I am, and feel like I am singularly devoting my time towards a common cause that others around me share. To be myself, I need to know that what I take does not come at the expense of anyone else and that while leading others I am giving back to a much greater good. Being myself means that I can sing, jump, dance, motivate, unite, step up, step back, inspire, invest, and so much more without reserve. It requires the help of my close friends, a tight groups of incredible young men and women without whom I would have failed long ago. And it requires places like the zoo. Where sacrifices are given and intangible gifts received every day by a diverse group of people who want nothing more than to educate, nothing more than to help in little ways. 

Preparing for the coming summer, I watch my classmates plan for trips around the globe. But I want nothing more than to be able to continue to give and take what the zoo has to offer, and be able to be myself. Every summer is vastly different and this summer I know that many of the things that I loved so dearly the year before will no longer be there. But the last and perhaps truest ingredient towards creating my sense of self is that love. I look forward to the ability to once more, in a different but equally influential capacity, be able to share and expand that love that I have to a new year of friends, teammates, and students. 

And hopefully sing, jump, and dance a little more.