(You can find all the work of Rascal Zurfluh at https://zimplicity.org/.)
The story of the observations of a trusted confidant of a retired school leader.
February has drawn to a close, and with it the lanterns, the lion dances, and the bright red envelopes that always seem to fascinate humans (and, I admit, occasionally contain crinkly paper that sounds suspiciously like treat wrappers).
This month, many international schools celebrated Lunar New Year—Chinese New Year, as my master still calls it with affection. As a Shih Tzu with roots tracing back to Chinese imperial courts (yes, I carry myself accordingly), I feel uniquely qualified to comment.
There is something beautiful about the way schools embrace this season. The decorations. The storytelling. The reverence for renewal, family, and fortune. But as I sit here reflecting at the end of February, I’ve been thinking less about the festivities and more about the conversations that surround them.
Because if there is one thing the Lunar New Year reminds us of, it is that culture is not decoration—it is dialogue.
And dialogue, as I have observed over many years beneath conference tables and beside office chairs, is the true test of leadership.
The Gift of Directness—and the Grace of Listening
In international schools, February is often a month of conversations. Enrollment projections. Contract discussions. Performance reviews. Strategic planning updates. Board reflections. Parent concerns that have been quietly building since autumn.
Humans have a curious way of avoiding hard conversations until they can’t anymore.
My master learned early in his career that honest communication delivered without compassion wounds. But compassion delivered without honesty confuses. The art—the true leadership discipline—is holding both at once.
This month, as schools marked the Year of the Snake—a symbol of wisdom, transformation, and discernment—it struck me how much leadership depends on those very qualities. The snake does not thrash wildly; it moves deliberately. It sheds what no longer serves it.
Perhaps February asks leaders to do the same.
When the World Feels Divided
It would be impossible to write this reflection without acknowledging the wider world. Political tensions continue. Cultural misunderstandings flare quickly. Social media amplifies certainty and reduces nuance.
For international communities, this creates a peculiar strain. Families arrive carrying perspectives shaped by vastly different national narratives. Staff bring their own lived experiences of policy, protest, and power. Students absorb it all.
The temptation in such times is silence. To say, “We are a school; we do not enter these waters.”
But I’ve seen what happens when silence replaces guidance. Assumptions grow. Misunderstandings deepen. And what could have been clarified through dialogue hardens into distance. My master knows he made this mistake more than once.
Compassionate communication is not about taking sides. It is about creating space. It is about ensuring that every voice is heard without allowing any voice to diminish another.
That is not a political act. It is an educational one.
Rascal’s Heritage and the Wisdom of Renewal
Chinese New Year carries the tradition of cleaning house before the new year begins—sweeping away old dust, opening windows, resetting intentions.
In leadership, this metaphor feels apt.
- What conversations need to be revisited?
- What assumptions need to be cleared?
- What tensions need gentle, honest attention?
I remember one February when a misunderstanding between two faculty members threatened to divide a department. Emails had grown terse. Meetings had become stiff. My master did not issue directives. He invited conversation. Not performative dialogue, but real listening—each side allowed to speak fully before responding.
The result was not perfect agreement. It was mutual understanding.
And understanding is far more durable than agreement.
The Courage to Speak—and to Stay
Compassionate communication requires two forms of courage: the courage to speak honestly, and the courage to stay present when others do.
Many leaders are comfortable with one but not the other. Some speak clearly but struggle to listen. Others listen endlessly but hesitate to articulate hard truths.
February, in its reflective close, invites balance.
In international schools especially, where cultures interpret directness differently, leaders must model both clarity and care. They must demonstrate that disagreement does not threaten belonging. That clarity is kindness. That listening is strength.
From my place near the floor, I’ve observed that the healthiest school cultures are not those without conflict—they are those where conflict is addressed respectfully and promptly, and where lessons are learned when the mark is missed on this goal.
Even dogs understand this. A low growl or a warning bark communicates far more effectively than a sudden bite.
A Word to Leaders
As this month ends and lanterns dim, here is Rascal’s counsel:
- Speak early and speak gently.
- Listen fully, even when it’s uncomfortable.
- Assume good intent but clarify harmful impact.
- Create structures for dialogue before crisis demands them.
And remember that culture is sustained by conversation, not celebration alone.
The relationships strengthened through honest communication now will steady your community in the months ahead.
Closing Thoughts
Chinese New Year reminds us that renewal is possible. That wisdom grows with reflection. That transformation does not require spectacle—only intention. As February closes, may you carry forward the discipline of compassionate communication. Not as a seasonal theme, but as a daily practice.
The world may remain complex. Perspectives will continue to differ. But schools can be places where discourse is civil, where listening is valued, and where empathy is not aspirational but operational.
And if a small Shih Tzu with ancient heritage can learn to sit patiently and listen before barking (most of the time), surely the rest of us can too.
Until next time,
Rascal ?
P. S. – A message from Rascal’s master – Second reminder – I’d like to volunteer to compile and publish for AISH an anthology of School Head stories. If you would like to tell a story or offer a story to be included in what I envision will be an annual publication, please reach out to me. I will serve as editor voluntarily, so you can submit or simply schedule a Zoom call with me to tell your story and I’ll put my best efforts into capturing the tales in a way that offers insight to others but also allows us to capture in the archives of AISH the important stories of school leadership from around the world. I perceive this to be a worthy pursuit. Please reach out to me if you are interested at jzurfluh@gmail.com. I’ll respond and plan with you in due course.