By Oyewole O. Sarumi
In the grand theater of human endeavor, whether within the marbled halls of government, the glass-walled corner offices of multinational corporations, or the humble meeting rooms of community organizations, there exists a persistent and seductive illusion. It is the mirage of permanence. When an individual ascends to a position of significant authority, the psychological weight of the title often distorts their perception of time.
The applause, the deference of subordinates, and the sheer capability to shape outcomes can create a false sense of ownership over the chair they occupy. However, the most profound reality of leadership is its impermanence.
Authority is not a possession we acquire for eternity; it is a temporary leasehold, a loan from the collective trust of an organization or a society, and like all loans, it comes with a maturation date.
The history of civilization is littered with the statues of leaders who believed their reign would last forever, only to have their names eroded by the winds of time, remembered only by the pedestal on which they stood rather than the lives they touched. It is a tragedy of perspective.
Far too many leaders spend their limited capital of influence building monuments to their own egos, constructing silos of control, and silencing dissenting voices to preserve a grip on a reality that is already slipping through their fingers. They fail to realize that the clock began ticking the moment they were sworn in or promoted.
This article seeks to challenge the modern leader to rethink the definition of tenure. It is an invitation to shift the focus from the accumulation of power to the distribution of opportunity. We must confront the uncomfortable truth that a leader’s worth is not measured by the height of the throne they sit upon, but by the strength of the shoulders they stand on and, more importantly, the shoulders they strengthen for others to stand on in the future. The spotlight will inevitably shift. The question that remains is not how brightly you shone, but how many lamps you lit before your turn was over.
The Psychology of the Temporary Custodian
To understand why so many leaders fail to grasp the transient nature of their role, we must examine the psychology of power. Neuroscientists and behavioral psychologists have long studied what is often termed the “paradox of power.”
Research suggests that the qualities that often propel individuals to leadership, empathy, collaboration, and openness, tend to fade once power is acquired. Dacher Keltner, a psychology professor at UC Berkeley, has described this phenomenon as power causing brain damage, noting that individuals with significant authority can lose the capacity to mirror the emotions of others. This neurological shift creates a bubble where the leader begins to view their position as a personal right rather than a functional responsibility.
When a leader begins to view the organization as an extension of their own identity, they stop acting as a custodian and start acting as a proprietor. A custodian understands that they are caring for something that does not belong to them, preserving it for the next generation. A proprietor, however, feels entitled to hoard resources. This distinction is critical. The custodian leads with the humility of knowing they are replaceable; the proprietor leads with the arrogance of believing they are essential.
The reality, however, is that every leader is an interim leader. Whether the tenure is four years, a decade, or a lifetime, it is a blink of an eye in the context of institutional history. The CEO who ruthlessly cuts mentorship programs to boost quarterly earnings is a proprietor, extracting value for their own immediate glory.
The CEO who sacrifices short-term accolades to build a robust talent pipeline is a custodian, understanding that the true test of their leadership will happen when they are no longer in the room to influence the outcome.
The Ozymandias Effect: The Futility of Self-Preservation
There is a poetic irony in the way self-obsessed leaders attempt to secure their legacy. They slap their names on buildings, draft policies that center all decision-making on their desk, and create cultures of dependency where nothing moves without their approval. They believe this ensures they will never be forgotten. Yet, this approach guarantees the exact opposite. By creating a vacuum of capability beneath them, they ensure that the moment they depart, the structure collapses or, more likely, their successors immediately dismantle their work to survive.
Consider the literary warning found in Percy Bysshe Shelley’s poem “Ozymandias,” where a traveler finds a shattered statue of a once-great king in the desert. The inscription boasts of his mighty works and challenges onlookers to despair at his greatness, yet nothing remains but sand. In the corporate and political world, we see this played out repeatedly. We see leaders who surround themselves with sycophants, “yes men” who reflect the leader’s ego rather than challenging their perspective. While this feels like safety to the insecure leader, it is actually a form of strategic suicide.
When a leader suppresses the growth of those around them to protect their own superiority, they are engaging in a zero-sum game where they are the eventual loser. The team members who are talented and ambitious will eventually leave to find environments where they can breathe, leaving the insecurity-driven leader with a team of mediocre dependents. When the inevitable transition of power occurs; whether through election, retirement, or dismissal; the leader is left with no lineage. They are forgotten, or worse, remembered with relief rather than reverence. The motorcades stop, the urgent emails cease, and the calendar clears. In that silence, the only thing that echoes is the impact made on human lives. If that impact was negligible, the silence is deafening.
Human Capital as the Only Enduring Monument
If physical structures decay and quarterly reports are archived and forgotten, what then constitutes a valid legacy? The answer lies in the only element of an organization that possesses the capacity for infinite reproduction: its people. A leader’s true magnitude is measured by their ability to make themselves unnecessary. This counter-intuitive truth is the hallmark of transformational leadership. If a leader does their job perfectly, they build a team so capable, so empowered, and so aligned with the vision that the organization thrives even more after the leader has moved on.
We must pivot to a model of “Generative Leadership.” This is the practice of deliberately using one’s current capital; social, political, and intellectual, to enrich others. Think of the mentor who takes a junior executive under their wing, not to clone themselves, but to unlock potential they never had. Think of the politician who uses their legislative influence not just to pass bills, but to nurture young community organizers who will one day run for office. These are investments that compound over time.
A bridge built of concrete has a lifespan. A bridge built of opportunity, connecting a talented individual to a destiny they could not reach on their own, can last for generations. When you use your power to open a door for someone who has been systemically excluded, you are altering the trajectory of a family and a community. That individual becomes a living testament to your leadership. Long after your name is scrubbed from the office door, the people you championed will be making decisions, leading teams, and raising families based on the foundation you helped lay. That is immortality in its most practical form.
The Strategic Duty of the “Pen”
Metaphorically speaking, leadership places a pen in your hand. With this pen, you have the authority to sign approvals, authorize budgets, greenlight projects, and write recommendations. This pen is the instrument of the loan you have been granted. The tragedy is that many leaders clutch this pen tightly, fearful that using it for others will deplete its ink. They hoard opportunities, treating the distribution of favor as a loss of power.
However, the logic of legacy dictates that you must write as many “checks” of opportunity as possible while the signature is still valid. There is a statute of limitations on your signature. The day will come when you will pick up that pen, and it will no longer command authority. The memo will be ignored; the directive will be overridden. Therefore, the urgency of leadership is to use the weight of your office while it still carries gravitas to advocate for the voiceless.
This goes beyond mere kindness; it is a strategic imperative for the continuity of any endeavor. The best leaders are talent scouts and talent developers. They are constantly scanning the horizon for their replacements. They are not threatened by competence; they are relieved by it. They understand that their final duty is to ensure that the vision survives the visionary. By inviting others to the table while there is still room, the leader diversifies the wisdom of the organization and ensures that when they eventually stand up to leave, the table does not remain empty.
The Isolation of the Self-Serving vs. The Community of the Servant
We can often predict the post-tenure life of a leader by observing their current relationships. The leader who views people as utilities, tools to be used and discarded, will find themselves in profound isolation once their utility as a power-broker expires. The phone stops ringing because the relationship was transactional. Once the transaction is impossible, the connection is severed. This is the bitter harvest of a self-serving tenure. We see former titans of industry and politics who, stripped of their titles, appear shrunken and bitter, unable to understand why the world has moved on so quickly.
Conversely, the leader who invested in relationships, who treated their subordinates with dignity, and who viewed their role as a service to the collective, enjoys a rich and vibrant relevance long after the official power is gone. They remain mentors, advisors, and respected elders. They are welcomed not because of the chair they sit in, but because of the person they are. Their authority has transitioned from positional power (based on rank) to personal power (based on respect).
This transition is only possible if the leader spent their tenure planting seeds. You cannot harvest loyalty if you planted fear. You cannot harvest connection if you planted division. The “alumni network” of a great leader is their greatest validation. When we look at the “coaching trees” in professional sports or the “executive academies” of certain legendary corporations, we see that the primary leader’s brilliance is refracted through the dozens of leaders they trained who are now winning championships and leading industries in their own right.
The Final Audit of Influence
In the final analysis, leadership is a temporary stewardship of energy and influence. It is a baton pass in a relay race that began long before we arrived and will continue long after we depart. The delusion that we are the final destination of power is the greatest enemy of progress. We must constantly remind ourselves that the lease will expire. The board will vote, the electorate will choose, the term limits will kick in, or biology will take its course.
Therefore, let this be a charge to every individual currently holding a measure of authority: Do not let the sun go down on your tenure without having elevated those around you. Do not let the seductive comfort of the corner office blind you to the impermanence of your stay. Use your borrowed power to build people. Use your temporary influence to create permanent pathways for others.
The ultimate judgment of your leadership will not be found in the surplus of your budget or the size of your entourage. It will be found in the stories told by those who stood in your shadow and found that you were not blocking their light, but rather, reflecting it onto them.
When the applause fades, and it surely will, the only thing that will remain standing is the human legacy you constructed. Power is a loan; the interest we pay on that loan is the service we render to others. Let us pay it gladly, wisely, and generously, knowing that in the end, we are only remembered by what we gave away.