The Inverted V
Sitting in yet another airport lounge – flight delayed, laptop poised – my eyes drifted toward the windows. Outside, as planes slowly taxied on the runway, a V of geese cut across the sky with instinctual certainty. The formation was crisp and confident — no wobbling, no confusion, every bird in the flock knew their place and direction.
The image of these birds flying in formation is a beautiful visual to accompany reflection on the role of leaders within our education system. In a V, each bird understands its role and shares the labour of flight. The birds in front reduce the drag. The birds behind lift one another with the air pushed upward from their wings. Every part of the formation depends on the others, and the flock moves not because of a single leader, but because of the shared effort that carries them all.
At a recent conference, a friend was sharing about “The inverted V”, a vision of the structure of leadership that may best serve our students and families. The inverted V is a shape where those with the most formal authority stand at the base, not at the top. The responsibility of those at the bottom of the V is not to command but to hold, steady, support, and lift. When I picture our system this way, I see the Ministry of Education and Child Care bracing its wide stance to create stability; district leaders reinforcing the foundation; and Principals and Vice-Principals leaning into the work of lifting their staff and communities. At the very top of that inverted V — supported by everyone below — children and families are together.
Leadership, at its best, becomes an act of holding up rather than standing over.
That idea felt especially present this month at the BC School Superintendents Association (BCSSA) Fall Conference. The gathering opened not with data or logistics but with a reminder of the humanity we all share: the griefs we’ve carried, the worries we’ve soothed, the moments that have shaped us. In a world where the lines between work and life can easily blend together, our leadership is no longer buffered from our humanity. Our emotions arrive at school before we do, and they deserve to be acknowledged rather than pushed aside. Dr. Mette Miriam Boell from the Center for Systems Awareness stretched that thinking even further. She challenged us to consider that systems aren’t broken; they’re producing exactly what they were built to produce. If we want something different — more connection, more wellbeing, more justice — then we must look beneath the visible layers of policy and structure to examine the mental models holding everything in place. Systems, she reminded us, are more like ecosystems than machines. They grow, respond, and evolve when conditions change. Leaders do not fix systems; they cultivate the conditions so that compassion, clarity, and collaboration may rise.
It was sobering to hear the global data on children’s escalating anxiety, the weight they carry from climate concerns, political polarization, and the digital deluge. And yet, amid the heaviness, BC emerged again and again as a place where hope still has traction. Decades of Social-Emotional Learning (SEL) and social responsibility work, collaboration across districts, and a Ministry that understands school realities — together, these form a foundation many nations envy. We are not flawless, but we are not lost. We are, in many ways, poised for the kind of change the world is calling for. The conversations on equity and decolonization led by Dr. Ann Lopez from the University of Toronto added another layer of honesty. Inequities do not dissolve on their own. They require leaders who are willing to examine the thinking we’ve inherited, and who are willing to make intentional choices about what we will advocate for, and the areas where we will no longer be complicit or silent. This work is not a project; it is a daily posture, a way of showing up and listening differently.
And through all of these moments, I kept thinking of that flock.
When one bird tires, another glides forward without ceremony. When the wind pushes against them, the shape shifts — not in panic, but in quiet coordination. The birds do not abandon the formation; they adjust it. They trust it. They understand, instinctively, that their strength lies not in a single leader at the tip of the V, but in the shared lift created by every wing.
Our system mirrors that truth.
Those with positional influence — leaders in government, districts, and the sector — carry the responsibility to create lift for those closest to children. Principals and Vice-Principals absorb that lift and extend it into classrooms, hallways, and communities. The inverted V is not just a diagram — it is a way of understanding power as responsibility, not entitlement. A way of shaping systems around compassion rather than hierarchy. A way of ensuring that children and families are not carrying us, but being carried by us.
As we step into the weeks ahead, may we find ourselves moving like that flock — adjusting when needed, supporting one another without hesitation, and rising through shared strength. May we continue to lead with intention, humanity, and courage, remembering that our role is not to stand above, but to lift.
And onwards we grow.