-ocracies
Often, the best learning in our classrooms is not planned for.
In one of my lessons this week, we went off on a tangent about how different governments might respond to the same issue differently. We thought that a democracy might call for a vote, an autocracy might impose a decree, a technocracy might consult the experts, and a meritocracy might reward the solution proposed by whoever had the strongest track record.
That was enough to get the ball rolling, and soon my eclectic class was off, throwing around different -ocracies and how they’d handle the same issue.
One student suggested that a bureaucracy would require three forms, two signatures, and a rubber stamp before doing anything. Another added that the issue would probably disappear before the paperwork was processed (I liked that one a lot).
Someone else threw in kakistocracy (rule by the worst). I had never heard of that one. Apparently, this is where they’d do the wrong thing, badly, and then blame the people who warned them.
Then came mobocracy. “Easy,” said one of my more excitable students, “they’d just follow whatever was blowing up on the Grade 10 WhatsApp group.” I moved on quickly.
Another voice called out adhocracy. “They wouldn’t plan,” she said, “they’d just make it up as they went along. And somehow, it might even work.” That’s a good point, I thought, although I also wondered if she was referring to my lesson planning!
Finally, another bright spark chimed in with gerontocracy (rule by the oldest). “They’d say, ‘We’ve always done it this way,’ and refuse to change a thing.”
Although we were having fun, there was a recognition that each -ocracy said something about how governments, organisations, and leaders can use and misuse their power. And then, as I was desperately resisting the urge to get my phone out and search for more -ocracies, one student leaned back in their chair and casually remarked:
“Isn’t our school basically a mission-ocracy?”
The room went quiet.
It was half a joke and half a provocation. But it landed with me. What does it mean when a school is governed by its mission?
When Mission Governs
Our UWC mission is arguably one of the most ambitious in the world: to make education a force to unite people, nations and cultures for peace and a sustainable future.
At first glance, the idea of a mission-ocracy sounds wonderful. A school where every decision is filtered through purpose—who we admit, who we hire, what we choose to teach, and how we spend our budgets. The mission is the compass.
Time after time, I hear from teachers and our community that it’s what brought them to the school, what sustains them there, and what often brings them back when they leave.
A clear mission gives extraordinary coherence. In a diverse community like ours, with more than 90 nationalities, it becomes the one thing we all share. It offers clarity in a chaotic world.
As Nelson Mandela (the former Honorary President of the UWC) once shared, “Education is the most powerful weapon which you can use to change the world.” A mission-driven school takes that seriously, making education not just about individual success but about collective transformation.
But, as with each of those -ocracies above, there’s a risk, too.
When a mission becomes too sacred, any disagreements can start to feel like disloyalty. For example, we would not want a teacher asking a practical question about resources or feasibility to feel as if they’ve somehow failed the cause. Students, meanwhile, sometimes slip into performative earnestness, saying what they think the mission wants to hear, rather than what they really believe.
So there’s an irony embedded in many mission-ocracies: the mission inspires unity, but can also narrow the space for disagreement. Yet disagreement, as awkward as it might feel, is often the very thing that keeps the mission alive. The whole point of our mission is to help people overcome differences.
At its best, though, our mission-ocracy points us toward what Rutger Bregman calls moral ambition. This is the courage to use education not just to produce high achievers, but to form young people willing to take on the world’s hardest problems.
When Metrics Become the Thing
A mission-ocracy is also at its most vulnerable when another -ocracy grows louder — especially meritocracy.
The pressure for academic results is constant: competitive university admissions, anxious parents, league tables, and competition from other schools. It would be easy to shift. A little more exam preparation, a little bit less service time, a bit less inclusive. Less inquiry and more teaching for tests.
Empathy, resilience, and intercultural competencies — these all start to look like luxuries. Let’s not teach children to manage distractions, let’s just remove them.
This is how a mission-ocracy can quietly become a meritocracy in disguise — producing what William Deresiewicz once called “excellent sheep”: high-achieving students who are compliant, but lacking moral ambition.
The Do-ocracy
Running alongside the missionocracy, there’s another hidden force shaping school life: the do-ocracy.
A do-ocracy is a place where power flows to those who step up and take action. Authority doesn’t come from job titles or hierarchy, but from contribution. You have a say because you’re the one doing the work.
It’s true that many of our school’s most exciting things — our service partnerships, student-led projects, and curriculum innovation — are the product of do-ocracy in action.
Here’s where Kurt Hahn’s philosophy comes alive. He believed schools should shape knowers as well as doers: young people who understand the world deeply and act on it courageously. His oft-quoted reminder, “There is more in you than you think,” is not just about personal growth but about our moral responsibility to discover our capacities and use them in the service of others.
A missionocracy without a do-ocracy might produce students who can speak fluently about peace and sustainability but have never had to organise a meeting, run a project, or take a stand. A do-ocracy without a mission risks leading to busy, well-meaning activity with no real purpose.
I wonder if a missionocracy needs a do-ocracy to survive. After all, a mission, however lofty, can do nothing on its own. It’s the do-ers who give it life.
But (as with the other -ocracies) do-ocracies have their own risks. Left unchecked, they reward the loudest or the most privileged — those with the time, the social capital, or the confidence to step forward. They can drift into inequity just as easily as missionocracies can drift into dogma.
When the two are in balance, good things happen. The mission provides the purpose; the do-ers provide the fuel.
Living in the Tension
So the real work of leadership in mission-driven schools is holding each of these forces — mission, merit, and momentum — in creative tension.
It’s ensuring that the mission is grounded in guiding principles (and not fixed doctrine – I think we do this well in our school). It also means creating a culture where initiative isn’t just tolerated but celebrated (as long as it stays tethered to the bigger why).
It means empowering students and staff to act while also asking, “Does this serve the mission?” Or, as Rutger Bregman might put it, “Are we being morally ambitious enough?”
If we’re serious about raising young people who will serve peace and sustainability, we need to be more mission-driven, not less. That’s hard to do, because of that creative tension I mentioned. Leading in this space is messy, imperfect, and not something you can do well alone.
The Missionocracy We Need
So back to my class and that question: “Isn’t our school basically a mission-ocracy?”
Yes. It is. And I want our school to be a mission-ocracy. But I also want it to be a generous one. One that has room for sceptics, for pragmatists, and for strugglers. A school where teachers can say, “Yes, I believe in this, but I also have questions.” And where students can say, “I want to change the world, but I’m still figuring out how.”
The real test of a mission-ocracy is not to produce “excellent sheep,” but morally ambitious graduates who can both know and do — living out Kurt Hahn’s conviction that “there is more in you than you think,” and proving Mandela right that education, when guided by mission, really can change the world.
I’ve managed to reference four of my favourite people in this article:
Bregman, Rutger. Moral Ambition: Why We Need the Courage to Change the World. London: Bloomsbury, 2024.
Deresiewicz, William. Excellent Sheep: The Miseducation of the American Elite and the Way to a Meaningful Life. New York: Free Press, 2014.
Hahn, Kurt. Plus est en vous [“There is more in you than you think”]. Quoted in James, Jeffrey L., The Kurt Hahn Schools: A Legacy of Adventure and Service. Edinburgh: Scottish Academic Press, 1990.
Mandela, Nelson. Long Walk to Freedom: The Autobiography of Nelson Mandela. Boston: Little, Brown, 1994.
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