Leadership Our Way: Reclaiming What Was Always Ours

This week I had the absolute privilege of working with a group of incredible young leaders — bright, thoughtful and deeply grounded in who they are. They were taking part in a 4-day immersion programme as part of a broader public service leadership development initiative, and I was invited in to contribute a couple of sessions exploring Islamic perspectives on leadership.

On paper, I was just an add-on. A bonus voice. A bit of “cultural” context. But in practice, something powerful happened.

The space came alive.

What we spoke about wasn’t theoretical. It wasn’t imported. It was lived. These young leaders saw themselves — their stories, values, families and faith — reflected in the conversation. It felt real. It felt relevant. And the most common feedback I heard was some version of: “I needed this. You really get us.”

That stuck with me. And it made me think.

How often are we — especially those of us who come from immigrant backgrounds, who practise minority faiths, who belong to non-dominant cultures — taught that leadership looks a certain way? That it sounds a certain way. That it is a certain way. Usually, that way doesn’t look or sound much like us. So, we adjust. We conform. We contort. And slowly, we learn to suppress or sideline the parts of us that don’t quite “fit.”

A pre-colonial perspective 
This same week, I’ve also been on my own journey — diving deep into Te Tiriti o Waitangi and beginning to understand the profound impact colonialism has had (and continues to have) on our ways of knowing, being and leading. Not just here in Aotearoa New Zealand, but globally. The effect of colonisation hasn’t just been political or economic — it’s been deeply psychological and intellectual. It has left many of us with the impression that our traditional, cultural or faith-based models are somehow inferior to Western secular norms. That to be “professional” or “credible” or “leadership material” means leaving some of our identities at the door.

And yet — the more I reflect, the more I realise how misled we’ve been. Not just by systems, but by stories constructed to obscure truth. Ironically, some of the earliest colonial voices reveal just how sophisticated and humane the ancestral ways were.

Joseph Banks, a British naturalist aboard the Endeavour in 1769, observed this about the Indigenous people of Aotearoa:

“A further proof, and not a weak one, of the sound health that these people that we saw … who, if we may judge by their grey hairs and worn out teeth, were of a very advanced age. Of these few or none were decrepit: the greater number seemed in vivacity and cheerfulness equal to the young, and indeed inferior to them in nothing but the want of equal strength and agility.”

On family relations, the missionary Samuel Marsden noted in 1814:

“I saw no quarelling while I was there. They are kind to their women and children. I never observed either with a mark of violence upon them, nor did I ever see a child struck.”

These aren’t romanticised takes — they’re historical records from those who encountered ways of life that were dignified, peaceful and wise.

Colonisation playbook phase 3
And yet, just a few decades later, the colonial education system institutionalised a new narrative. In A Manual For Use in Native Schools (1864), it was written:

“There is one thing that will do much to give the mind of the Maori plenty of useful and pleasant work, and that is, the knowledge of the pakeha [White Settlers]. The Maori should learn to read English, so that he may become acquainted with the works of clever men and understand their thoughts.”

This wasn’t just education. It was indoctrination. It was planned as the third phase of the colonial project called Assimilation — planting the belief that knowledge, leadership and value only flowed in one direction.

But what if the wisdom of our ancestors, the values of our traditions and the rhythms of our faiths are not liabilities to overcome — but assets to reclaim?

These young leaders reminded me — and maybe I reminded them — that we don’t need to mimic anyone else’s model to lead with impact. We can lead as ourselves. We can draw on the rich heritage that runs through us. We can lead with love, with service, with humility, with justice — not because those are trendy buzzwords, but because they’re embedded in our spiritual, cultural and ancestral DNA.

And that doesn’t just apply to Muslim leaders. Or Māori leaders. Or Pasifika leaders. It applies to anyone whose understanding of leadership is rooted in something deeper than hierarchy and hustle. It applies to anyone who’s ready to reclaim what’s already theirs. 

Call to action
If any of this resonates with you — if you’ve ever felt unsure about whether your values or background “fit” into mainstream models of leadership — I want to encourage you to pause and reflect. Consider where your leadership really comes from. What shapes it? What grounds it? What drives it?

My own leadership development work is guided by a 5-step formula that starts with that very reflection: HOVER — understanding your own starting place, your heritage, owning your unique strengths and looking ahead to the horizon of your journey. It’s about becoming unapologetically your you — shaped by your culture, heritage and faith.

As part of our action-setting process with these young leaders, I walked them through these five steps — and was inspired to add a sixth: HELP. I suggested that we didn't have to "go it alone", that sometimes we needed support, accountability or encouragement. I was humbled when one participant suggested that the greatest help is divine help — turning to the One who created us.

What a powerful way to close an inspiring session… and begin a long-overdue journey, back to our future.

I’ll be sharing more about this approach in the weeks to come. But for now, I invite you to take one step:

Ask yourself — whose leadership model have I been following? And is it time to reclaim my own?