Organizational structures that allow divisions and departments to

“Organizational structures that allow divisions and departments to own their turf and people with long tenure to take root create the same hardened group distinctions as Congressional redistricting to produce homogeneous voting blocs — all of which makes it easier to resist compromise, let alone collaboration.” — Thus speaks Rosabeth Moss Kanter, the wise chronicler of power and institutions, whose vision pierces through the walls of corporations and nations alike. In these words, she unveils a truth that resonates beyond the boardroom — a truth about human nature and the structures it builds. Her warning is not about politics alone, but about the division of spirit that occurs wherever power grows stagnant and self-interest hardens into boundaries. For when people carve out territories of comfort and control, unity dies, and the great machinery of progress grinds to stillness.

The origin of this quote lies in Kanter’s lifelong study of leadership, innovation, and social change. A scholar of business and society, she has observed how institutions, whether in government or enterprise, become rigid when people begin to guard what is theirs instead of striving for what could be shared. The metaphor she draws is powerful: the redistricting of Congress, where lines are drawn to protect incumbents, to create safe zones for one party or another, ensuring predictability and conformity. In the same way, within organizations, invisible boundaries are drawn — departments become kingdoms, managers become monarchs, and tenure becomes armor. Each guards their “turf,” not to protect the whole, but to preserve the self. And in this fortification, the living spirit of collaboration withers.

This phenomenon is not new. The ancient empires rose and fell upon it. Consider the fall of Rome, that vast organism of power and purpose. In its youth, Rome was united — citizens and soldiers bound by duty and shared destiny. But as centuries passed, the empire fractured into regions ruled by governors who sought their own glory. Bureaucrats defended their titles instead of the common good, and soldiers swore loyalty to generals rather than to Rome. The structure that once held the world together began to suffocate it. The empire crumbled not from the strength of its enemies, but from the divisions within. What Kanter names in the modern age — the stagnation of departments, the resistance to change, the death of cooperation — is the same old malady that felled empires and kingdoms before us.

In her wisdom, Kanter reminds us that structure shapes behavior. The more we divide, the more we defend. When groups grow inward, they begin to fear outsiders; when tenure calcifies, innovation dies; when authority is hoarded, trust decays. The tragedy is not that people become cruel, but that they become comfortable. Comfort breeds complacency, and complacency builds walls. In a company, it manifests as rival departments refusing to share ideas; in a nation, as political parties unwilling to meet halfway. Thus, the fortress that protects us also imprisons us — and every stone laid in the name of stability becomes an obstacle to progress.

Yet, Kanter’s words are not merely a lament — they are a call to renewal. For she speaks to those who would be leaders not of divisions, but of wholeness. The antidote to hardened boundaries is vision — the kind that sees beyond the map of departments and titles. The wise leader must break down the walls, encourage fluidity, and reward collaboration over competition. It is not enough to manage; one must inspire connection. Just as rivers nourish the land by flowing freely, so too must ideas and people move unrestrained across the boundaries of their assigned realms. Where the walls fall, life returns.

History offers us noble examples of this truth. When Abraham Lincoln faced a nation torn in two, he built not a cabinet of allies, but a “team of rivals.” He understood that unity is not born from sameness, but from the courage to bring opposing voices together under a shared purpose. Likewise, Nelson Mandela, emerging from his long imprisonment, chose reconciliation over revenge. He broke the barriers of tribe and color, forging unity where bitterness once ruled. Both men understood what Kanter teaches: that the strength of any organization — whether a nation or a business — lies not in the preservation of turf, but in the bridges between them.

Therefore, let this be the lesson: beware of walls, for they will grow thicker than you imagine. Beware of comfort, for it will root you in place. In your work, in your communities, in your families — do not cling to what is yours; reach instead for what is ours. Seek to understand before you command, to share before you secure, to unite before you divide. Tear down the invisible redistricting of the soul — those inner lines that tell you, “This is mine, and that is theirs.” The world belongs not to the fortified, but to the collaborators — those who know that the greatness of any whole depends upon the openness of its parts.

For as Kanter teaches, compromise and collaboration are not signs of weakness, but the highest expressions of strength. A fortress may stand for a season, but a bridge endures through generations. Build bridges, therefore, wherever you stand — for they are the pathways through which progress, peace, and the very pulse of human greatness will forever flow.