Why Empathy, Resilience, and Kindness Are the Future of Leadership

A Conversation On the Trampoline of Change.  

By Jojanneke van den Bosch, with Dr Max Tookey

It started at the National Portrait Gallery. I had met up with Dr Max Tookey (Lecturer in Management, Psychology and Research Methods at the London College of Fashion). Together we walked to the Royal Society of Arts, to one of our favourite hideouts: the RSA library in the Long Gallery. As always, Max gravitated to his favourite bookshelves, and I found myself getting greedy again, gazing at hundreds of books I couldn't wait to dive into.

There's something about that library. It's peaceful. It's inspiring. It's safe. "If someone gave me a choice between a nightclub and a library," Max said, "I'd go to the library. Ten out of ten. Maybe nine and a half if the club had cake." The space itself evokes thinking. We agreed: it's more than just a study spot. It's a heterotopic space, as Foucault would call it—a place of potential, of self-directed learning and wonder. "Libraries gave us power," Max quoted the Manic Street Preachers. "And then work came and made us free."

That's where our conversation began, and from there it soared.

Some (not all) of the topics we talked about are included in this article. If you'd like to discover all topics in this conversation, please listen to the podcast (due to be published 

A Place for Fellows, Ideas, and Unlikely Encounters

The RSA (Royal Society for Arts, Manufactures and Commerce) is more than a stunning building. It's a global network of changemakers and critical thinkers. Since 1754, the RSA has been at the forefront of significant social impact. Both Max and I are RSA Fellows, and it was the Fellows Festival 2025, just two days earlier, that had reignited our dialogue. We were still buzzing from Baroness Hillary's keynote on rural digital exclusion, and from spontaneous exchanges in the corridors that only RSA gatherings seem to make possible.

Empathy: The Root System Beneath All Change

We spoke about change—not in theory, but in practice. In lived experience. In human terms. "You can't lead for social change if you don't habitually tune into empathy," I said. "It's not about agreeing. It's about genuinely stepping into someone else's world. Only then can you understand what must be done." Max expanded: "Change requires eclecticism. You need a multidisciplinary approach, but also a shift in perspective. People are entrenched. And it's hard to admit you might be wrong."

We weren't talking about abstract change. We were talking about very real systems: housing, healthcare, education, and what it means to navigate them as a human being. "Resilience," I said, "is often framed as gritting your teeth. But I've come to realise that resilience and creativity are the same muscle. It just depends on whether you're surviving or inventing." "That's true," Max replied. "And if you're going to invent anything that matters, you need to release stress. Let go of grudges. Carrying resentment will age you faster than time itself."

Both of us believe that social change starts with perspective, and that empathy is the entry point. It's not about campaigns; it's about contact. Dialogue. Slowing down enough to hear what isn't said.

Kindness Is Radical

Kindness isn't passive. It's not soft. It's sharp. It's deliberate. Max shared a story from his birthday, where a stranger asked him the secret to staying youthful. "Don't stress. Let it go," he told them. "Don't carry rage. Don't let animosity take root. That's what keeps people young." I nodded. "That's what lets people grow."

We also talked about ghosting, and the culture of instant disengagement online. "Ghosting is a toxic filter," I offered. "It tells you who's not willing to have the hard conversations. It's like the trash takes itself out." Max agreed but cautioned: "It's also passive-aggressive. Real leadership means saying: I don't like this, let's talk. Even if it's hard."

Sometimes, setting boundaries is the most loving thing we can do for ourselves and for others. That's not withdrawal. It's clarity. As Max put it: "Sometimes not answering the door is wisdom."

The Psychopath in the Boardroom

Max's academic work focuses on psychopathy at work. And while it sounds a tad dark, it's critical to understand. "Psychopaths don't come with warning signs," he said. "They charm. They mirror. They manipulate." We discussed the danger of cognitive empathy. The kind of empathy people use to simulate care, while lacking any real emotional connection. "Empathy can be mimicked," Max warned. "That's what makes it dangerous. Emotional intelligence without ethics is just manipulation."

It made me think: in the work we do in NGO circles, in education, and in public leadership, we often assume people mean well. But what happens when they don't? What happens when someone uses empathy as a mask? "Then you need to know when to shut the door," I said. "And know that's okay."

Max recently contributed a chapter to the forthcoming Handbook of Psychopathic Behaviour in Organisations, edited by Clive Boddy. His research dives deep into how psychopathy manifests in leadership, and what we can do to safeguard healthy environments. We talked about the dark triad, which consists of narcissism, Machiavellianism, and psychopathy, and the importance of naming these traits when we see them. Not to diagnose, but to discern. To protect teams, to hold space for real leadership, and to prevent toxicity from taking root.

Mr. Rogers, the Vagus Nerve, and the Anatomy of Trust

Somewhere in our conversation, we found ourselves talking about Fred Rogers. Yes, that Mr. Rogers. "He was a safe person for millions," I said. "For me, too. I didn't grow up with him in the Netherlands, but I found his videos during the pandemic. He modelled the kind of radical kindness we're missing." Fred Rogers was the creator and host of Mister Rogers' Neighborhood, a groundbreaking American children's television program that aired from 1968 to 2001. With puppets, music, and direct-to-camera sincerity, he addressed everything from fear and anger to love and loss. Always gently. Always human. We got emotional about it. That kind of presence, which is undistracted, undivided, and loving, feels revolutionary today.

We even touched on the vagus nerve, which is how your body knows before your brain does when something (or someone) isn't quite right. It's also knows as the main nerves of your parasympathetic nervous system, which controls specific body functions such as your digestion, heart rate and immune system. I mentioned this is an actual nerve that starts in the brain, and goes down all the way down your spine, and touches most organs. "We should all have an internal sat nav," Max laughed. "It tells you: don't talk to that person. Turn left." And we agreed: in social change, you need to listen to your gut, not just your grants. I added, "You can't always logic your way through danger. Sometimes your nervous system knows before you do." We need to know and apply this in leadership. Especially now, in turbulent times.

The Plot Twist: Not a Safety Net, But a Trampoline

"In my TEDx Talk," I recalled, "I asked whether people would be willing to hold the safety net for others. But you know what? Now I've come to think of it: a net only catches. A trampoline launches. Resilience isn't about bouncing back. Because in fact, that is impossible, since you inevitably change when something intense happens. You can't go back one hundred percent to where you were before it happened. You bounce forward to a new situation, in which you try to thrive as well as possible." Max smiled. "We need trampolines in our lives. And parachutes." Our conversation was filled with plot twists like that. Moments where lived experience shaped theory, and theory circled back to life.

When I advocated for housing protection for orphans in the Netherlands, it wasn't about protest. It was about strategy. Story. And understanding the system well enough to bend it toward justice. "You don't need a thousand people in the streets," I said. "You need the right story in the right room."

Change isn't always about noise. Sometimes it's about nuance. Max added: "You need networks. Not transactional ones, but real ones. With people who show up when it counts."

Letting Go as a Leadership Skill

We reflected on funerals. On how we celebrate life, and how we carry the legacies of those we've loved. I shared about my half-sister's passing. The Beatles' "Let It Be" played, just before we said goodbye in the forest where she was buried. At the memorial service, there were people there who had clashed with her. But they came. We honoured her essence, not her perfection. Life is a journey, things happen. "Forgiveness isn't about spiritual bypassing," I said. "It's about processing pain in a way that doesn't keep you hostage."

Max nodded. "If you want to age well, if you want to lead well, you've got to learn to let go." That became a quiet theme of our talk: letting go. Of stress. Of grudges. Of performative personas. What remains, when you do that, is substance.

So Here's the Question...

What if leadership wasn't about being loud, but about being real?

What if systems change wasn't about burning it down or merely holding a safety net, but building a trampoline strong enough to carry someone else?

What if kindness and resilience were the most radical strategies we have?

If this resonates with you, please share your thoughts and ideas, or forward this to a friend.