Margaret is a Ugandan-born British criminologist, mentor, and leadership adviser whose work spans thirty-five years and four continents, often in places where justice was something people struggled to access, protect, and sustain in their daily lives.

Yet for all the policy discussions, international development work, and high-level engagement, the thread connecting her work has remained remarkably consistent: a belief in people and their capacity to grow, lead, and create change. She describes her work as a mentor as shaping leadership from the inside out. “When young leaders are seen, supported, and equipped,” she says, “they not only rise, but they also help transform the world around them.”

Margaret learned she had been anonymously selected to receive a PROSI Excellence Award, presented during the inaugural PROSI Exotic Festival 2026 in Vienna on 13 June. The award recognises individuals who have made a meaningful difference, in Austria, in their country of origin, and/or globally.

On receiving the award, Margaret said: “It took decades to make mentoring emerging leaders my purpose. I share this award with my mentees, past and present, in Austria and across the world. Watching them step into their own leadership is the true measure of this work.”

What stayed with her longer than the award itself was the anonymity of the nomination. Fellow members of the diaspora put her name forward, and said nothing about it. “To be of service to others leaves traces even when you cannot see them,” Margaret said. “Sometimes someone has been paying attention all along, and one day, without telling you, they decide you deserve to be seen.”

When the nominators came forward, their message was simple: “You are a true inspiration to many of us. I am happy you were chosen, as you truly deserve the excellence award for the mentorship work you do under your Impact Leaders Initiative.”

The nomination came through EmpowerHer, an initiative by Diaspora Creatives and several others from the diaspora in Austria.

Margaret extends her thanks to PROSI and the PROSI Global Charity Foundation for the recognition.

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I am a Ugandan-born British criminologist turned mentor. I have worked with institutions across the world, sat in government ministries, negotiated inside multilateral organisations, and chaired the board of a children's NGO. In nearly every one of those rooms, I was the only African woman. I learned early that the person who controls the narrative controls the room. I also learned that the narrative about an African woman in global institutions — diasporan, professional, intelligent, ambitious — is almost always written by someone else.

So, I write to take that back.

I write for many people, but there is one reader I return to again and again when I write on certain topics. She is young and somewhere between early and mid-career, navigating international spaces that are not fully built for her. She is navigating a professional world that asks her to perform fluency in a culture that is not fully hers. She code-switches before she has even decided what she thinks. She is competent in ways that go unrecognised, and she is tired in ways that are rarely acknowledged. She rarely sees her particular experience described with precision. I write for her.

But I would be dishonest if I did not also name who I am writing against. I am writing against the version of young African women that international institutions allow. The one that is resilient but not authoritative. Present but not powerful. Grateful but not demanding. The one that can be cited as supporting programmes but not trusted to lead them. I have watched that construction operate for more than three decades in policy rooms, conference halls and international leadership spaces.

I am also writing against the diaspora story that tends to flatten complex lives into stories of either achievement or adversity. My experience and those of most diasporan women I know fit neither. We are more interesting than that, and the stories that exist in between achievement and adversity matter. It is often in that space that the most valuable insights are overlooked. The experiences institutions dismiss as anecdotal frequently contain the clearest evidence of how identity, belonging and power are negotiated in everyday life. Lived experience is not anecdotal. It is data, and it reveals the gap between how institutions assume people experience the world and how they actually navigate it.

My perspective as a Ugandan diasporan woman is not incidental to my work on leadership, mentorship, identity and belonging. It is the lens that allows me to see how power moves through a room, what people carry into it, and why certain voices go unheard even when they have the most to offer. Writing is where I make that visible. The Impact Leaders Initiative is where I put many of those observations into practice - through leadership development, mentorship and community for emerging leaders who are navigating questions of identity, belonging and influence.

I write because the young African women coming after me deserve better than the simplified versions often presented in international spaces. They deserve the full picture: the ambition, the negotiation, the discipline, the uncertainty, the compromises, and the ongoing work of belonging.

I am writing for the young African woman who is educated, capable and quietly exhausted by the invisible labour of belonging. The one who has mastered adaptation but rarely sees her own experience named with precision. I am writing against the system that permits young African women to be present only when they are grateful, resilient and unthreatening. I am writing against the diaspora story that flattens complex lives into stories of either achievement or adversity.

That is why I write. I write so that young African women can move through international spaces without having to diminish themselves to belong. I write so that their experiences are recognised not as anecdotes but as knowledge. And I write to ensure that the institutions they enter can no longer claim they did not know the compromises, adaptations and acts of self-erasure that belonging too often requires.

I was born in Uganda. My formative years unfolded in Ghana, first at a Ghanaian primary school, then at an international school where a hybrid British American accent began to take shape, and later at boarding school where conversations moved effortlessly between English, pidgin English and local languages. Adaptation became an early lesson in belonging. I learnt to navigate conversations I did not always fully understand and social cues that were not entirely my own. What I did not realise then was that I was learning the foundations of code-switching long before I knew the term. Those experiences continued throughout my international career. They were not disruptions. They were an education.

Then came the United Kingdom, and everything I understood about adaptation was quietly recalibrated. I noticed it first on the telephone when I made a call to a government office in London. I heard the tone on the other end, and something shifted in my voice before I was fully aware of it. The cadence changed. The vowels flattened. The traces of Uganda and Ghana that still surface in certain conversations receded, and a more recognisable British voice came forward. It happened in seconds, but it had been happening for years, at university and then in my professional life.

That is what code-switching sounds like from the inside. It is not dramatic, and not always deliberate. It is just a quiet recalibration. Code-switching is often framed as performance, as though one is concealing something true beneath something strategic. I have never found that explanation adequate. What I do when I move between environments is the result of years spent navigating different cultures and institutions, learning when to adapt, when to translate, and when to remain firmly myself.

I have been told by some Africans that I sound British. I have been told by non-Africans that I sound British but still pronounce certain words like an African. Neither observation is wrong.

What interests me is the assumption behind them: that one identity must somehow sit above the others. Age and experience have taught me otherwise. The different versions are not competing. They are simply part of the same story.

Uganda gave me an origin. Ghana gave me adaptability and an introduction to what a layered identity is. The UK and the world gave me professional rigour, institutional literacy and an accent that surprises people when they learn where I am from. And then I ring home.

A familiar voice answers. My speech softens. Expressions I have not used for months appear effortlessly. In those moments, I know that nothing was ever lost. Some parts of identity simply wait for the right conversation to reappear. These are not competing versions of myself. They are different registers of the same instrument.

Identity is not a place you arrive at. It is an ongoing negotiation between memory, belonging and adaptation. The work is not choosing which voice is most authentic but recognising that they all are.

Does my accent tell a story? Let’s talk.

Available for keynote speaking engagements on leadership, identity, diaspora experience and navigating global institutions through lived experience. Media Kit

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We often speak about international life through its visible outcomes. Careers built. Opportunities gained. Lives remade across borders. But ageing in the diaspora reveals something less visible and far more internal. It forces you to confront what migration has gradually edited out of you and what, despite everything, has remained.

Yet even after years of adaptation as one from the diaspora, certain parts of ourselves remain intact. Cultural memory reveals itself in small things. The way respect is expressed towards elders. The difficulty of addressing older people by first name, even when the culture around you expects it. The instinct to cook in quantity, because guests may arrive unannounced and must never leave hungry. These habits remain long after other things have shifted.

Language carries another kind of memory, and its loss is also an emotional one. Certain expressions from childhood cannot survive translation into English. Humour changes. The particular texture of a mother tongue, its capacity for precision and warmth, does not fully transfer. The loss appears small from the outside. Internally, it carries weight.

Then there is the additional layer of being observed losing yourself. The gentle and sometimes less gentle remarks from others that you have become somehow less African. That the in-between place you occupy is somehow incomplete. It is meant lightly but it does not always land lightly. Over time, though, I have come to know that living between cultures is not evidence of loss alone. It is also evidence of survival, adaptation and the ability to carry more than one world within yourself. Perhaps this is why many people become more reflective with age. Earlier in life, achievement matters greatly. Titles. Institutions. Recognition. Over time, attention shifts towards what remains meaningful enough to pass on.

In the diaspora, we become custodians of memory. We become carriers, moving through time with stories, habits and fragments of cultural continuity that were never fully ours to keep, only to pass forward. Younger generations inherit those fragments differently. They may not fully speak our languages or understand the social worlds that shaped us. What remains are pieces. A surname. A traditional name. A recipe. A traditional song. A dance. A way of greeting elders. A sense of responsibility that feels inherited. Sometimes younger people return parts of ourselves back to us. Through their questions and curiosity, they bring to the surface histories and values we had stopped speaking aloud.

Ageing in the diaspora has taught me that a layered identity is never fully resolved. You do not entirely leave home behind, nor do you fully remain the person who once left it. Perhaps that is the true diaspora within. Not the distance between countries, but the quiet distance between who we were, who we became, and what still remains unchanged beneath it all. Ageing in the diaspora is not simply the story of losing parts of yourself. It is also the story of learning how to live honestly with layered identities, inherited memories and multiple forms of belonging.

Over time, you realise that the in-between place you occupy is not incomplete after all. It is simply where several worlds meet. Africa Day reminds those of us in the diaspora that we are not only carrying memory. We are also part of what the continent continues to become.

Happy Africa Day 2026.

There has always been this quiet assumption that one day, after all these years away, I would return and do something meaningful for the people and the place I was born. I have often asked myself whether giving back should just be about money, or whether it could be something else.

Many in the diaspora send remittances home regularly, keeping households afloat, economies stronger, children in school and, in many countries, surpassing foreign aid. The list is endless and it shows that money matters enormously. But could giving back also be something less tangible, something shaped by distance and sharpened by experience that cannot be wired home through a bank transfer?

Leaving Uganda and building a career across continents taught me things I could not have learned any other way. With over three decades working with criminal justice officials in more than twenty countries, I learned how power operates inside government institutions, the unwritten rules of international organisations, how decisions really get made, how leadership is expressed differently across cultures, how to navigate spaces where African women were routinely underrepresented, and how to hold your ground with confidence in rooms where you are the only African woman at the table.

I learned to translate ideas into action across languages, legal systems and political contexts. These were not lessons from a classroom. They were earned across four continents, navigating volatile political and economic environments, leading diverse teams and managing multi-million-pound budgets. Those lessons cannot be packaged and sent home. The experience lives in the body and has been tested under pressure. The question I eventually had to sit with was what to do with all of this. I could have kept the knowledge and experience to myself, and many in the diaspora do. Instead, I chose to make it useful to someone else.

Now retired from direct institutional work, that choice is at the heart of my work with emerging leaders, mostly young women from Africa and in the diaspora. What I give back is perspective forged inside systems of power, policy and governance across continents. I help young women understand how to position themselves in global spaces, how to carry authority without apology, and how to lead with both confidence and integrity. I help them read the room in contexts not designed for them, and navigate multicultural environments without losing themselves.

This is what we underestimate when we talk about giving back. The conversation gravitates almost entirely toward money, and I do not dismiss the importance of that. However, lived experience should be seen as a form of capital too. It carries insight, judgement and perspective that cannot be acquired any other way. When shared with intention, it becomes something others can use to shape their own path in leadership and public life. That is a transfer of something generational.

For me, giving back is also about building a bridge between my layered identities: from where I was born, where I have been, where I am now, and where me and others are trying to go. It is about offering a way of seeing, thinking and practising leadership that is grounded, globally aware and rooted in responsibility to shape generations.

The remittance is real and it matters. So is this.

The diaspora carries something that cannot be quantified. If we are serious about what giving back means, we must make room for both - the remittances and the capital of lived experience.

Who are you without your career?

That question became the engine of everything I now do.

Born in Uganda, raised in Ghana, I came to the United Kingdom for university education and it is where I started my early professional career. I joined the London Metropolitan Police Service, and spent 15 years working at the intersection of race, crime, and justice. Amongst many cases I worked on, I was the Criminal Intelligence Analyst for a murder inquiry, a case that exposed the London Metropolitan Police as institutionally racist. Over two decades now, that work continues to shape me in ways I am still discovering. From London, I moved into the United Nations system, working on projects across Africa, Asia, Latin America, and Europe. I led projects on human trafficking and child abuse, coordinated criminal justice training programmes, managed diverse teams in Austria, Ethiopia, Cambodia, Laos, Vietnam, Thailand, and beyond.

And then I quit.

I speak about these words by Nelson Mandela - “Quitting Is Leading, Too” - as the truth that I have lived. Leadership was not about staying the longest or climbing to the most senior level. Sometimes the most courageous act of leadership is the decision to redirect, to trust yourself enough to step off the path the world laid out for you and onto the one that was always, quietly, yours.

That is the heart of what I do, write and speak about now.

Information on my online platform is grounded in over three decades of global experience. It is a conversation, warm and honest, rooted in the belief that we must do the inner work before we can do the work that matters in the world. What you will find on the platform draws from three intertwined threads:

• The Mentorship Programme, which is a flagship initiative for emerging leaders, with emotional intelligence at its core. Testimonials from past mentees bring itthe programme to life.

• My Leadership Reflections and stories of impact are a series that draw on my lived experience and cultural identity, exploring courage, collaboration, and cultural humility. African roots are woven through many of the stories.

A common thread through all of this is the question of justice, race and inclusion, because you cannot talk about leadership without talking about who has historically been excluded from it. For anyone standing at the edge of something, wondering whether to stay or leave, I have been there. Pull up a chair. Join the conversation. There is a seat at my table.

From the outset, his style was intentional. He did not feel the need to manage every detail. Instead, he created space and encouraged me to step forward, take initiative, and trust my own judgement. When I made decisions, they were supported by his steady presence and insight. He was always available but never imposed himself. That autonomy, extended with genuine confidence, changed how I showed up. Leadership began to feel less like a role I was performing and more like a responsibility I was genuinely carrying.

The international context we operated in required diplomacy, cultural sensitivity, and restraint. What I observed in him went beyond professional competence. In complex, politically sensitive situations, he led with humility and deep listening. He ensured that local voices, particularly those of criminal justice officials we were there to support, remained central and not peripheral. He understood that being heard is not a courtesy. It is a condition for meaningful work. Watching him navigate those environments showed me that leadership can be both inclusive and decisive, and that empathy and rigour are not in tension.

There was also discipline in how my thinking was developed. Quick answers were rare. Instead, he asked questions that pushed me beyond surface-level responses, questions that required reflection, connection, and foresight. The discomfort was deliberate and purposeful.

It strengthened my ability to anticipate challenges, hold multiple perspectives, and engage stakeholders with greater intention and care. In meetings, my voice was consistently welcomed. Over time, that experience of being genuinely heard, rather than managed or redirected, built something durable. I became more strategic in my thinking, more considered in how I engaged others, and more attuned to the difference between occupying space and contributing to it. His example reshaped my understanding of what empathetic leadership actually looks like in practice: steady, measured, and grounded in real respect.

The most enduring lesson is this. Leadership is about service, trust, and the courage to believe in people before they fully believe in themselves. How you lead matters as much as what you deliver. When a leader demonstrates belief in your potential through the space they create rather than the control they retain, it changes not just how you perform. It changes how you see yourself and what you consider possible.

Today, I carry that forward. I extend the same trust and space to others that was once extended to me, not as a technique, but as a practice rooted in genuine regard for the people I work with. Trust, when practised intentionally, does more than empower performance. It develops leaders. It moves people from waiting for direction to taking responsibility, from self-doubt to self-trust, from following to leading. It is not simply a quality of good leadership. It is a discipline and its effects are lasting.

As Erin Meyer says, “Trust is like insurance. It is an investment you make up front before the need arises.” The best leaders I have known understood this instinctively. They did not wait for trust to be earned through time alone. They chose to extend it early, and in doing so, they built something that no structure or title ever could.

I was born into a generation that wrote letters by hand, sent job applications by post, and built professional relationships slowly, face to face — long before digital platforms shaped how we are seen. It was a professional world without digital infrastructure — where visibility depended on proximity, being known within institutions rather than digital profiles or public self-expression. The emerging leaders I mentor have grown up with the internet as infrastructure — and yet, paradoxically, many approach professional visibility with a level of caution and discomfort that is striking for a generation so digitally fluent.

These are generations highly fluent in digital tools and social platforms. Yet when asked to build a presence on platforms like LinkedIn, the quiet resistance is immediate and genuine. Some find it exposing, others call it “cringe”, some are uneasy about sharing their age, surname, or being publicly associated with their work. These responses are not trivial, as they reflect a shift in how identity, risk, and visibility are understood.

Gen Z and Millennials are navigating a digital environment shaped by permanence, algorithmic exposure, online harassment, and reputational risk at scale. Their caution is not reluctance without cause; it is informed behaviour.

From my experience, many young professionals experience a real disconnect between personal identity and professional identity constructed in public view. To them, the idea of presenting a curated professional self can feel performative — even inauthentic. At the same time, the labour market has evolved faster than this mindset.

Recruiters increasingly rely on digital presence as a first point of contact — with platforms like LinkedIn reporting that the majority of hiring managers use online profiles in candidate evaluation. Digital absence can therefore be interpreted — fairly or not — as a lack of readiness or engagement.

This is where the tension lies.

My role is not to override that concern. It is to reframe it. Professional visibility should not be viewed as performance, but as presence. In a digital and competitive labour market, presence is often the entry point to opportunity. It allows one’s work, thinking, and direction to be understood before you are in the room.

Platforms like Substack, LinkedIn and Instagram, when used with intention, can function as professional infrastructure. A profile, a portfolio, a piece of writing should not be viewed as acts of vanity. They are signals, and they communicate experience, clarity, capability, and trajectory.

What I encourage emerging leaders to understand is this: visibility does not require self-exposure without boundaries. It requires intentionality — and you decide what to share, how to frame it, and where to draw the line. The challenge, then, is not generational difference alone. It is alignment — between capability, identity, and visibility.

My responsibility as a Mentor is not to tell emerging leaders how things were done. It is to help them navigate how things are — without losing who they are. This is because professional visibility, on their own terms, is not a compromise of personal identity. It is a strategic extension of it. As a Gen X mentor, this has required growth on my part. It has challenged my assumptions about visibility and professionalism, and pushed me to understand a generation navigating a fundamentally different reality. Mentorship, in this context, is not one-directional — it becomes an exchange.

At its core, the Mindset-to-Output Mentorship Programme is designed to build alignment.

Moumi Awudu carries a phrase with her everywhere: “mindset to output.” She first heard it from her mentor, Margaret Akullo, and it has quietly reshaped how she moves through the world. “Whenever things feel uncertain or overwhelming, I remind myself that the mindset I bring into a situation will influence what I’m able to create from it,” she says.

The two women met at a pivotal moment. Moumi had just launched a project she had been building for six months, and doubt was beginning to creep in. “I never intended to give up completely, but I did start questioning whether it should become much smaller than I originally planned,” she recalls. What steadied her was Margaret’s ability to see the vision clearly even when Moumi could not. “She encouraged me to think bigger.” The guidance was practical — sometimes as simple as “Just reach out to this person” — but always impactful.

Beyond the project, Moumi was wrestling imposter syndrome and the guilt of asserting boundaries in leadership. Margaret’s affirmation changed that. “She is incredibly down to earth, and what stands out most is how sincerely she takes people’s ideas seriously. When she supports something, it feels real.” That has inspired Moumi to show up the same way for other women — to open doors, encourage boldly, and take their visions seriously.

Margaret Akullo has spent over three decades working across Africa, Europe, Asia, and Latin America, strengthening justice systems with global institutions including the United Nations. But her reason for mentoring is personal. “I know how powerful it is when someone recognises your potential before you fully see it yourself,” she says. “I navigated spaces where African women were routinely underrepresented — those experiences were formative.” Through her Mindset-to-Output Mentorship Programme, she has seen what becomes possible when women are given the tools to lead. “Lived experience only becomes meaningful when shared,” she says, “and that is where my purpose lives.”

For Margaret, the exchange has always been mutual. “Each mentee brings perspectives that challenge me to keep evolving — they mentor me too,” she reflects. “The gain is generational. The discipline and courage are entirely theirs — I simply helped them see what was already there.”

A surprise nomination that said everything

What Margaret did not know — until the announcement was made — was that Moumi had quietly submitted her nomination for the Leading Ladies Africa feature, which had received applications from across Africa. From a competitive pool of nominations, Margaret and Moumi were selected alongside others for the International Women’s Day 2026 feature. It was a gift given in silence — a quiet act that perfectly embodied the values their mentorship had been built upon.

“What an incredible honour to be part of this powerful feature alongside such remarkable women. To every mentor and mentee featured — your stories are a testament to the transformative power of women investing in one another. I am deeply inspired by each of you.

Moumi, I am deeply moved and truly honoured by your kind and surprise nomination. What you may not fully realise is that you have given me just as much as I have given you. Your dedication, your courage in pushing through doubt, and the boldness with which you stepped into your own leadership have been a source of inspiration for me too. Watching you grow from a moment of uncertainty into the confident, visionary leader you are today is the very ‘gain’ I speak about in my Mindset-to-Output Programme. I am so proud of you — not just for what you have built, but for who you have become. Thank you for trusting me, for showing up with openness, and for now doing the same for other women. That ripple effect is everything. Thank you, dear Moumi.” — Margaret Akullo

This story was originally featured in “What Women Gain by Giving to Women: Five Stories of Mentorship and Legacy” — a special feature by Leading Ladies Africa in commemoration of International Women’s Day 2026.

Video credit: Moon Ting Li

Leadership does not begin with a title. It begins with what you decide to build from your experience.

Before you understand a leader, you must understand the child.

More than fifty years ago, I was a little girl in Uganda living through conflict. Soldiers patrolled the streets. Executions were broadcast on television. Schools were closed. There was no water, no electricity, no certainty. At night, my siblings and I would hide in a dark corridor or under the bed when we heard gunfire. We were told to be quiet — not as guidance, but as protection.

In that darkness, I asked myself three questions:

Who knows we are here? Who will hear us? Who will rescue us?

Those questions shaped me more than I realised at the time.

Even then, something quiet was forming. Not strength in the heroic sense. Something steadier. A refusal to accept fear as normal. A belief that life could be better than survival.

In 1976, our family moved to Ghana. For the first time in years, I slept without listening for gunfire. Peace felt unfamiliar, but it also felt possible. I did not yet have the language of leadership, but I carried a vision. I wanted to help shape a world that was safer for children.

That vision guided me from Uganda to Ghana, then to the UK, and eventually to the global stage with the United Nations, working across four continents. I believed in the organisations I served because they spoke directly to the child who once lay awake in the dark, wondering who would hear her. Yet the hardest challenges in my professional life were not operational. They were institutional. Invisible barriers. Closed networks. Expectations of conformity.

As a woman in the diaspora, I often felt the tension of navigating systems that did not always recognise the value of lived experience.

Over time, I came to see that lived experience is not something to minimise. It is an asset. It sharpens judgement. It deepens empathy. It strengthens cultural intelligence. For women in the diaspora especially, our layered identities equip us to lead across difference with insight and credibility.

At 55, I chose early retirement from the United Nations. It was not simply a career decision; it was an identity shift. Walking away from a title and institutional authority was confronting. Without the structure of an organisation behind me, I had to ask: who am I now? In that uncertainty, I found clarity.

That decision became the foundation of my Mindset-to-Output Mentorship programme — leadership shaped from the inside out. After decades working within bureaucratic systems, I realised that sustainable leadership does not begin with position. It begins with internal alignment. Clarity of values. Emotional discipline. The courage to act with discernment.

The theme of EmpowerHer2026, ‘From Resilience to Renaissance’ that took place in Vienna, Austria, resonated deeply with me. I shared that resilience kept me alive. It helped me navigate complexity and endure pressure. But renaissance required something more. It required choice. Resilience is survival. Renaissance is creation. Renaissance is choosing what you become after the storm. It is knowing when to stay and contribute, and when to step away with integrity. It is understanding that leadership is not about endurance alone, but about impact.

Through my mentorship, I have watched young women — and some men — move from hesitation to action. I have seen doubt turn into decision. The transformation is rarely dramatic. It is built through small, deliberate choices made consistently. Leadership shaped from the inside out begins with a single question:

Who are you choosing to become?

As Carl Jung wrote, “I am not what happened to me. I am what I choose to become.” For me, that has meant this:

I am not what happened to me. I am what I chose to build from my lived experience.

That choice remains ours — at every stage of life.

Video credit: Moon Ting Li

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Margaret Akullo
EmpowerHer 2026, Women Powerhouse Hour
Palais Wenkheim, Webster University
Vienna, Austria
27 February 2026

Leadership reflections:

- Mentorship is presence: Being there for others (even the quiet check-ins).

- Empowerment is trust: Believing in their abilities.

- Networks are key: Surrounding mentees with a community that lifts them up.

When we invest in others, we are also shaping individual success stories, strengthening communities, inspiring courage, and building bridges across borders. That, to me, is visionary leadership in action.

Margaret emphasized that it is important to:

• Lead with cultural intelligence and empathy

• Embrace adaptability and learn from challenges

• Foster inclusivity by making space for all voices

• Commit to continuous growth

Through these reflections, Margaret shares insights on courage, collaboration, cultural humility, and purposeful action — offering emerging leaders tools to grow, lead with empathy, and create meaningful impact. Her writing honours the communities and experiences that have shaped her while inviting others to lead with intention, connection, and purpose.

Her series is a practice of intention: pausing, noticing, learning, and offering insights back to a wider community. It encourages reflection, relational connection, and the act of uplifting others as the foundation for meaningful, lasting leadership. Leadership, she reminds us, is not about influence over others but stewardship with others — and everyone deserves a seat at the table.

Margaret weaves lived experience, cultural identity, and global perspectives into a tapestry of insights that explore how leaders grow — not through perfection, but through reflection, courage, and purposeful action. Her reflections encourage emerging leaders to lead with empathy, cultural humility, and integrity.

Ultimately, Margaret’s series speaks to leaders grounded in purpose, shaped by community, and committed to growth. If this resonates with your own leadership journey, consider subscribing to the Leadership Reflections series. You’ll receive new essays directly in your inbox — thoughtful, grounded, and designed to support your growth as a purposeful, culturally aware, and community-rooted leader.

In this Fem Renaissance Podcast episode, I join host Moon Ting Li for an honest conversation about courage, purpose, and redefining leadership beyond traditional institutions. I share the personal journey behind my early retirement from the United Nations, the vulnerability of stepping into the unknown, and how that transition opened the door to empower the next generation of ethical, impactful young leaders. Inspired by Lao Tzu’s wisdom on self-mastery, our discussion highlights the power of self-discovery in shaping meaningful change. Tune in for an inspiring and heartfelt dialogue.