When Optics Rule
Lessons in leadership: why substance matters more than perception
As an Indonesian, watching the recent protests back home has been painful. The images of tear gas, burning tires, and crowds filling the streets are not just headlines. They carry a weight for anyone who knows what it feels like to be unseen by those in power. Channel News Asia described the government’s early response as focused more on optics than on listening, more on control than on care.
Of course, what is happening in the streets is about lives, not management theory. This post isn’t meant to diminish the weight and reality of what happens in Indonesia. But it shows a truth that applies across all forms of leadership.
I feel that as president, Prabowo Subianto is highly focused on optics. In just his first nine months in office, he traveled to 26 countries in his first year, a whirlwind global tour that commentators described as a deliberate effort to project influence and stature abroad. Analysts have noted that many of these trips served as diplomatic spectacles, reinforcing his image as a strong, charismatic leader rather than focusing solely on policy substance. At home, his Gaza-related initiatives were also described as making for “good optics” both domestically and internationally, further suggesting that Prabowo thrives on praise, ceremonial recognition, and the performance of leadership.
Oh boy. I feel that this is utterly familiar with my own situations at work, too.
The bubble of optics can exist anywhere: in politics, in corporations, in small teams. And the pattern is always the same. Leaders who retreat into their bubble feel safe for a while. They polish the story, manage upward, and keep the surface looking calm. But the ground shifts. People know when they are invisible. And when voices are ignored, they eventually rise.
I have seen it inside companies. Leaders who are brilliant at managing up, who know exactly how to impress their bosses, who can spin reality into clean slides. But downward, toward the teams they are meant to serve, they go quiet. Advocacy vanishes. Trust erodes. The people carrying the real weight are left alone.
The idea that a controlled story can overpower reality is seductive. But history shows how fragile it is. President Nixon thought he could control the Watergate scandal by sealing off the truth, by clinging to optics. For a time, it worked. He convinced himself the bubble would hold. But once cracks appeared, the truth rushed in. The presidency collapsed under the weight of what he tried to hide.
The New Yorker (May 26, 1973) published an article titled “Facts According to President Nixon” which deftly captures how Nixon attempted to "seal off" the truth by manufacturing and controlling narratives, what he termed "Presidential facts", and using repeated messaging and selective suppression to override actual facts. This encapsulates the idea of clinging to optics while suppressing reality:
"The Presidential facts were crowding all other facts off the stage… The factual environment, by contrast, is conservative and reassures them… The many traditional wellsprings of information have been unclogged…”
The same happened in the corporate world. Enron was once celebrated as a miracle of innovation. Behind the curtain, it was a house of cards propped up by optics. Executives obsessed over quarterly appearances, not long-term substance. They silenced dissent, inflated numbers, and kept the story tight. When reality finally broke through, it destroyed not only a company but also the trust of thousands of employees and investors.
These are extreme cases, but the principle holds even in the everyday. John Wooden said it best:
“Be more concerned with your character than your reputation, because your character is what you really are, while your reputation is merely what others think you are.”
Reputation is optics. Character is what endures when nobody is looking.
The breakdown of trust rarely starts with riots. It starts with silence. People stop speaking up. They stop pushing back. They stop offering ideas. Andy Stanley warned:
“Leaders who don’t listen will eventually be surrounded by people who have nothing to say.”
Tim McClure sharpened the point:
“The biggest concern of an organization should be when their most passionate people become quiet.”
Silence is resignation. And silence always comes before the collapse.
From the outside, though, things can look fine. Reports look tidy. Meetings run on schedule. Leaders mistake order for health. But Benjamin Hooks put it bluntly:
“If you think you are leading and turn around to see no one following, then you are just taking a walk.”
There is another path. Peter Block called it stewardship:
“The willingness to be accountable for the well-being of the larger organization by operating in service, rather than in control, of those around us.”
Stewardship flips the script. Leaders are not only accountable upward, but also downward, to the people they hold power over.
Simon Sinek captured it in plain words:
“Leadership is not about being in charge. Leadership is about taking care of those in your charge.”
That applies equally to a prime minister, a CEO, or a manager of five. The role is not to polish an image but to carry the trust of others.
Ignore that responsibility, and reality always breaks through. Martin Luther King Jr. said:
“A riot is the language of the unheard.”
In the streets, the unheard eventually fill the squares and avenues. In companies, the unheard leave, disengage, or quietly resist. But the principle is the same: people will find their voice, one way or another.
Barry Posner wrote:
“Leadership at its worst creates fear; at best it inspires trust.”
Fear may keep people silent for a moment, but only trust sustains. And trust is not built inside the bubble. It is built on the ground, in the messy space where people struggle and hope someone with power will stand with them.
Throughout my career, I’ve seen both the best and the worst of managers. The best always advocated for me and my team.
I remember back in 2015, my manager at the time helped me handle some difficult stakeholders. He was utterly disappointed with their unrealistic timeline and even repeated the exact words they used. Then he came back to me and said, “Let me help you. It’s not right that they said this to you. I don’t care if I get fired.” I loved that energy and authenticity.
In 2021, another manager knew I had just been diagnosed with a medical condition. He told me, “Don’t get too stressed out. Take necessary breaks—even in the middle of the day. We all know we have commitments to care for ourselves and others. I can help manage the timeline for you.”
And the worst? They simply didn’t care. I’ve had managers who used 1:1s just to do status updates or run through Figma files. I hated that. 1:1s are supposed to be about my well-being and my career. But all she cared about was how she was perceived by upper management. That was it.
That is the thread that connects Jakarta’s protests, Watergate’s tapes, Enron’s spreadsheets, and even the smallest team in the quietest office. Leaders who cling to optics eventually discover how fragile it is. Leaders who choose character, who choose stewardship, who listen downward as much as they manage upward, are the ones who endure.
The bubble always bursts. The only question is whether leaders step out before it does. These bubbles might not be utter physical riots, but they could be rejections, disrespect, silence and at worst… resignation.