Patronage and Party Lines: When Loyalty and Obedience Diverge
On Authenticity, Loyalty, and the Quiet Cost of Obedience
Loyalty is often spoken of with reverence in sport, business, and governance. We prize it as a virtue — a bond forged in trust, shared purpose, and the belief that we are in it for something bigger than ourselves. But there’s a difference between principled loyalty and passive obedience. One strengthens systems. The other quietly corrodes them from within.
Authentic leadership doesn’t demand allegiance to people — it demands allegiance to values. It expects integrity. It invites scrutiny. Yet in many governance environments, including the one I’ve worked in for the past four years, I’ve seen how the slow substitution of loyalty for compliance begins to take hold. Voices go quiet. Questions become inconvenient. Over time, alignment becomes less about shared mission and more about maintaining access.
“Unthinking respect for authority is the greatest enemy of truth.” – Albert Einstein
Constructive challenge is the lifeblood of performance. Every high-performing team — on the stages, in the boardroom, or around the table of global governance — relies on it to stay sharp. A psychologically safe environment doesn’t mean easy conversations. It means the freedom to disagree without fear. The best boards encourage this. They don’t just tolerate challenge; they depend on it.
You see this across other sports too. The All Blacks, arguably the most successful team in rugby history, built a culture on accountability and humility. Their famous “No Dickheads” policy makes it clear — nobody is above challenge, and ego is no substitute for performance. Leadership is collective, and even the most senior players are expected to self-correct and listen.
By contrast, British Cycling’s golden era — especially Team Sky — offers a cautionary tale. Their success was built on precision systems and the relentless pursuit of marginal gains. But the narrative shifted when governance and ethics were called into question. Systems alone aren’t enough. When internal challenge dries up and accountability gets blurred, even excellence starts to unravel.
As I wrote recently on LinkedIn, “[FIA] members now have both the opportunity and responsibility to critically challenge these narratives [of any election candidates]… Authentic leadership and robust governance must always be grounded in accountability, verifiable facts, and transparent evidence — not simply persuasive storytelling.”
This moment, as leadership shifts begin to stir across motorsport’s institutions, is more than a contest of personalities. It’s a test of the culture we’ve created. Do we reward honest challenge, or punish it? Do we protect systems that are principled, or just those that are powerful?
In a rally car, the driver must trust the co-driver implicitly, but that trust is built on constant feedback, clarity and mutual accountability. If I had ever sat silent when something felt wrong — or if Richard had blindly followed instructions without questioning — we wouldn’t have finished stages, let alone won championships. Performance is built not on obedience, but on truth shared under pressure. Governance isn’t so different.
I made the decision to step away from my FIA role in part because I could no longer align myself with the way certain things were operating. That choice wasn’t made lightly. But sometimes, stepping away is the clearest way to stay true to what matters.
And we’ve seen what happens when the warning signs are ignored. FIFA is still working to rebuild after years of eroded trust and institutional complacency. It didn’t fall because of one scandal — it fell because good people stayed silent too long. If motorsport aspires to global excellence, it cannot afford to learn the same lesson too late.
In any system where patronage and favour take precedence over principle and transparency, authentic loyalty becomes a threat. Dissent is framed as disloyalty. And soon, everyone learns to keep their head down. That isn’t governance. That’s complicity. And ultimately, it fails the people the system exists to serve.
True loyalty is not blind. It holds a mirror up to the institution it cares about. It asks the awkward questions. It pushes for better. Obedience, by contrast, follows orders and hopes for the best. One path leads to evolution — the other to quiet decline.
To the clubs and individuals holding the vote — you are the guardians of what motorsport becomes next. The power you hold isn’t just procedural. It’s cultural. It’s your chance to shape a future where transparency and accountability aren’t campaign promises, but operational truths. Use it well.
These aren’t easy topics — and they’re not meant to be. But they matter deeply. I’m always open to genuine dialogue with anyone who wants better for this sport, and for the people who make it what it is.
Because the choice facing us now is bigger than who wins an election. It’s about what kind of culture we want to endorse. What kind of legacy we want to leave. And whether we still believe that truth, in the end, matters more than narrative.