Watership Down and the Antidote to the Demagogues Who Plague Us
We’re plagued right now by blowhard leaders whose idea of leadership is to issue orders, belittle others, and frustrate the democratic prowess—none of which fosters beloved community.
Richard Adams’ Watership Down (told from the point of view of rabbits, no less) illustrates how servant leadership is the cure for what ails us.*
Lessons on Leadership from Bunnies?
Who better to illustrate vulnerable leadership but the most vulnerable creatures? Hazel, the leader of the refugee rabbits in Adams’ story, lays himself on the line, proposing for his followers nothing that he himself doesn’t do. Hazel’s old warren, Sandleford, is doomed not merely because it will soon be destroyed by humans but because only the strong are allowed to benefit. Hazel’s answer is to:
Make room for and to use the talents of all types — visionaries (Fiver, Hyzenthlay), the muscular (Bigwig, Holly), the intelligent (Blackberry), the storyteller (Dandelion), etc.
Model the formative rule of community — everyone looks out for everyone.
Welcoming the stranger, seeing gifts even in the most unlikely.
Hazel’s at his best when his leadership is most in jeopardy. Lost, tired, and vulnerable, the Sandleford refugees are now failing to respond to his call. When even Hazel loses hope, Pipkin, the smallest, weakest rabbit, whom Hazel had earlier refused to abandon when Pipkin went lame, offers encouragement that becomes “Hazel’s only support against his own weariness.” As the wanderers reach safety, the rabbits credit Hazel, who succeeds because Pipkin, the little stone rejected, becomes the cornerstone of the community. Later in the story, Hazel becomes permanently lame, with the community accommodating Hazel’s need.
Other Leads
Throughout the novel, Adams portrays competing modes of leadership to show Hazel’s in relief. The Threarah, leader of moribund Sandleford, lacks the vision to save his warren because he has none of Hazel’s compassion and scoffs at getting the other rabbits to leave their doomed home, bolstering the status quo, regardless of the cost. Fleeing towards life, Hazel wields the impulsive ingenuity that empowers the surviving rabbits to change, grow, adapt, and found a new community.
In another example of failure to lead, Cowslip’s warren has no servant-leader to mobilize the community in the face of danger, because, in exchange for comfort and food from a rabbit-pelt farmer, the community willingly embraces death. A servant-leader responds to the cries of those who die in the snare, ignored by the rest of the community to maintain an illusion of abundance. Left running without its operator, Cowslip’s machine has no purpose but its servitude to death.
The third and most dangerous counter-example to servant leadership is Efrafa, which persists only because its leader, General Woundwort, is the machine that keeps it running. Rather than serve followers, Woundwort leads by doing what no other rabbit would do, thereby inspiring fear and submission to his will. A predator, Woundwort’s agenda is death to rabbits — using force to face danger instead of wits in avoiding it. The results are an overcrowded warren that cannibalizes its young.
How A Servant Leads
To Woundwort, Hazel lends a gift of vision, practicality, and compassion:
“I’ve come to suggest something altogether different and better for us both. A rabbit has two ears; a rabbit has two eyes, two nostrils. Our two warrens ought to be like that. They ought to be together — not fighting. We ought to make other warrens between us — start one between here and Efrafa, with rabbits from both sides. You wouldn’t lose by that, you’d gain. We both would. A lot of your rabbits are unhappy now and it’s all you can do to control them … Rabbits have enough enemies as it is. They ought not to make more among themselves.”
Hazel offers Woundwort community based on what it means to be a rabbit — to sense and avert danger, impulsively adapt, change, and grow.
Hazel knows that he is the “prince with a thousand enemies,” that he cannot take on dogs or stoats, that he cannot abandon a wounded friend no matter how weak or small, cannot refuse the opportunities presented by a stranger in need, and can never relinquish his vagabond status. The moment he does, he not only loses vigilance but a sense of what it means to be a rabbit.
Shunning Hazel’s offer because he thinks Hazel merely a courier of the bigger, stronger Bigwig, Woundwort is undone when he realizes that Bigwig is not the chief rabbit of Watership Down. Unable to conceive of a servant-leader, Woundwort imagines an even more gruesome rabbit than the resolute Bigwig, who fights him to a standstill out of self-giving love for his servant-leader, Hazel. At this, Woundwort loses his life, and his minions lose the will to fight and, therein, the battle.
Our Moment to Lead
In these contentious times, we, too, risk losing the ability to mobilize our communities the moment we put into concentration camps the Hazels and Pipkins we meet.
Hazel limps up to even his enemy, Woundwort, and offers life. That death, evil, and injustice still take their toll in our world should, like the thousand enemies of rabbits, sound for us an answerable call. The best leaders to answer that call are all of us — followers who resist the status quo of might makes right.
*Adams’ one lacking — female leadership. All the principle characters are male. However, the protagonist, Hazel, fortunately embodies the Partnership Model of cultural organization as recounted by Riane Eisler in The Chalice and the Blade.
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