Are We Human or Are We Leaders?

Reflections on leadership in an age where scrutiny is king.

It’s interesting how quickly public perception can turn on a single moment of vulnerability from a leader. In Rachel Reeves’s case, what is, at its core, a profoundly human response—a tear slipping down her cheek—has been seized upon as a sign of weakness, a question mark over her suitability for leadership. The discourse that follows, laden with calls for resignation or doubts about competency, says perhaps more about us as a society than it does about her as an individual.

But why do we hold leaders to such rigid standards? The expectation seems to be that, upon donning the metaphorical cloak of leadership, one must shed all signs of human frailty. Yet, as I reminded headteachers in my recent presentations, the cloak doesn’t erase what’s underneath; it simply covers it. Leaders are not immune to the pangs of emotion, stress, or fatigue—nor should they be.

For headteachers in particular, the parallels are striking. In schools across the country, headteachers face their own daily Prime Ministers Questions: the scrutiny of parents, staff, governors, and Ofsted. They are expected to be stoic, composed, and eternally resilient, even as they grapple with the same pressures—professional and personal—that everyone else faces.

Just as Reeves’s tears became headline news, a headteacher’s moment of vulnerability—whether it’s a quiver in the voice during a challenging assembly, or a visible sign of strain in the corridor—can be met with whispers of doubt: Are they up to the job? Can they cope? Should they step aside for someone less “emotional”?

Yet, what if we reframed this narrative? What if, instead of equating emotion with weakness, we recognised that the capacity to feel deeply is an asset in leadership? After all, empathy, compassion, and authenticity are qualities we prize in those who shape the lives of children and staff. Why, then, must our leaders be forced to hide their humanity?

The answer, perhaps, lies in the culture we foster in our schools and wider society. If we continue to view emotional expression as incompatible with strong leadership, we risk creating environments where authenticity is stifled and support is withheld. But if we allow our headteachers—and our political leaders—to be fully human, we enable them to lead with integrity and courage.

Rachel Reeves’s tear was not a sign of weakness but a reminder of the profound weight leaders carry, often in silence. For headteachers donning the cloak of leadership, let it be a signal that it’s not only permissible but necessary to acknowledge what lies

beneath. Leadership, after all, is not about the absence of emotion, but about the wisdom to know when to let it show—and the strength to carry on regardless.

Debs Park