How a Monkey Changed Everything We Know About Leadership

In 1992, a monkey that wasn't moving changed everything we know about leadership.

Neuroscientist Giacomo Rizzolatti was studying the brains of macaque monkeys at the University of Parma. He wanted to understand how the brain controls motor movement, so he implanted thin electrodes into a monkey's premotor cortex. These electrodes connected to a monitor that would buzz every time specific neurons fired.

One hot afternoon, a researcher walked into the lab holding a small piece of food. The monkey watched him. The researcher brought the food to his own mouth and ate it.

The monkey did not move. Its hands stayed in its lap. It sat perfectly still.

But the monitor buzzed.

The neurons in the monkey's brain fired. And not randomly. The exact same neurons fired that would have fired if the monkey had picked up the food and eaten it himself.

The scientists thought their equipment was broken. They ran the test again. Same result. The researcher ate. The monkey watched. The monitor buzzed.

They had discovered mirror neurons.

What This Means for You

These cells link observation with action, breaking down the line between watcher and participant. Researchers still debate the full extent of their influence, but one thing is solid: the brain echoes what it sees.

A smile sparks activity in the regions associated with smiling, giving you a faint lift. Watching someone freeze in fear activates the circuits tied to fear, leaving you with a trace of their tension. This is the foundation of empathy, the reason you flinch when someone else stubs a toe.

It also explains how culture spreads.

People absorb far more from modeled behavior than from instructions. We run constant internal simulations of those around us. If a leader enters a room looking rattled, the team doesn't merely notice it. They feel it. Stress hormones rise. The mood spreads.

If a leader says "relax" while firing off messages at midnight, the nervous system pays attention to the behavior, not the words.

Sarah and the Shoelaces

Sarah was nineteen years old during her first summer as a counselor. She didn't think of herself as a leader. She thought of herself as a college student who was good at braiding hair and making friendship bracelets. She assumed her job was to keep the campers alive and get them to the dining hall on time.

One morning, Sarah was rushing. She had overslept. Her hair was still damp from a thirty-second shower. She was herding her group of nine-year-olds across the main field toward breakfast.

She felt a looseness in her step. Her sneakers were untied.

She stopped in the middle of the path. She didn't look around. She just crouched down, looped the laces, and double-knotted them quickly.

When she stood up, she froze.

Three of her campers were crouched on the ground behind her. They were not tying their shoes because theirs were loose. They were tying them because Sarah had tied hers. They stood up when she stood up. They looked at her, waiting for the next cue.

It hit her like a physical blow. They are watching everything.

Not just the big speeches at the campfire. They were watching how she held her fork. How she talked to the other counselors. How she reacted when she tripped.

She wasn't just a counselor. She was a blueprint.

The Ripple

Later that day, Sarah struck out during a staff softball game. Her instinct was to roll her eyes. She wanted to throw the bat. She wanted to act cool and pretend she didn't care.

Then she remembered the shoelaces. She remembered the three girls crouching behind her.

She forced herself to smile. It was mechanical at first. She high-fived the pitcher. "Great throw!" she yelled. "You got me." She walked back to the dugout with her head up.

That evening, during a camper game of kickball, a girl named Ava got out. Ava usually cried when she lost. She was the kind of kid who would storm off the field and sit under a tree.

But this time, Ava looked at Sarah. She saw Sarah watching.

Ava took a breath. Her face was red. She walked over to the girl who got her out. She held up her hand. "Good game," Ava said.

Ava hadn't learned that from a lecture on sportsmanship. She had learned it from the mirror neurons firing at 1:00 PM during the staff game.

One Thing to Try

This week, notice what you're broadcasting. Not your words, but your actions. How do you react when something goes wrong? What does your face say when you're listening? What message does your body send when you think no one is watching?

Because someone is always watching. And their brain is echoing what it sees.

Your team copies your behavior, not your words. Leadership is a signal, not a broadcast.

About the Author

Matt Kaufman has spent 40 years in summer camp as a camper, counselor, and director, studying what makes people belong, grow, and thrive. He writes about intentional community, leadership, and the intersection of technology and human connection.

Connect with Matt:

• Instagram: @mattlovescamp

• LinkedIn: Matt Kaufman

• Website: ilove.camp

Books by Matt Kaufman:

• The Campfire Effect: How to Engineer Belonging in a Disconnected World (February 2026)

• The Summer Camp MBA: 50 Leadership Lessons from Camp to Career