I remembered vividly the question I asked my then boyfriend, now husband, when Tun Dr. Mahathir Mohamad was sworn in again as Malaysia’s Prime Minister in 2018.
“Doesn’t Tun have a successor? He’s 92 years old and is now sworn in as our Prime Minister again.”
And he replied, “I think the question isn’t simply ‘did he have one?’, but rather, ‘could anyone succeed him?’”
That moment stayed with me — not because of politics, but because of what it revealed about leadership and succession. It sparked a reflection that has since shaped how I see leadership in both nations and organisations: it’s one thing to lead; it’s another to prepare others to continue leading when you’re gone.
It’s about mentoring — or at least, we like to think it is. But is it really?
When Tun Dr. Mahathir returned to power, it was a moment that symbolised both strength and trust. It represented the people’s enduring faith in his ability to lead — and the remarkable longevity of his influence. Yet it also raised a deeper question in me every time I looked at a great leader and wondered “what happens after him/ her?”.
Just like my other half rightfully pointed out – “the question isn’t simply if they did have a successor, but rather, could anyone succeed them?”
What happens when leadership becomes deeply intertwined with the person, rather than the system?
That event reminded me that even the most visionary leaders can face the timeless challenge of continuity. And that challenge of ensuring the future can thrive without them is one that transcends politics; it’s a lesson every leader, in every context, must eventually face.
Succession planning.
Succession planning is not about replacement; it’s about continuity. In organisational theory, it refers to a deliberate and systematic effort to ensure leadership continuity by identifying, developing, and preparing future leaders to fill key roles. It’s a process that goes beyond naming a successor — it builds a pipeline of capable people who can uphold and expand upon the leader’s vision.
In my HR Analytics class in 2025, we discussed on several theories underpinning this concept.
One of the earliest is the “replacement planning” model, where succession was treated as a contingency — a reactive measure in case of sudden leadership loss. But over time, as organisations evolved, this approach proved insufficient. Leadership transitions are rarely mechanical; they are cultural, emotional, and systemic.
That’s where strategic succession planning emerged — integrating leadership development into an organisation’s long-term strategy. This model focuses on three critical components:
- Clarity of Vision – The successor must not only know what to do, but why it matters.
- Depth of Capability – The system must nurture people who are trained, trusted, and empowered to act.
- Cultural Continuity – The values must be deeply rooted enough to survive leadership changes.
These three principles are as true in corporate life as they are in nation-building.
We then explored how to measure its success — through what’s called “bench strength”. Bench-strength, simply put, measures how ready an organisation is for transition. The formula is straightforward:
Bench Strength Ratio = (Number of ready successors) ÷ (Number of key positions)
A ratio of 1:1 is considered ideal — one ready successor for every critical role. Anything less exposes a fragility that can cripple a company when someone resigns, retires, or burns out.
Strong organisations like IBM, GE, and Procter & Gamble (P&G) are built on this understanding. P&G’s culture of promoting from within ensures a steady flow of leaders who understand not just the business but the brand’s DNA. GE institutionalised leadership development through its Crotonville campus — grooming successors years before the need arose. IBM, too, has long integrated leadership readiness into its performance metrics, seeing it not as a cost but as an investment in continuity.
They all share one common leadership philosophy: succession is not about replacing people — it’s about protecting purpose.
From my own experience, I’ve come to see bench-strength as more than just a number. To me, it’s a form of business continuity planning. In my recent leadership role, I learned this lesson the hard way. I was leading a team of 7 and each of them had their own specialised function — unique, important, and critical in their lane. But it also meant no one could step in for another. Whenever someone took emergency or medical leave, operations stalled, and the only way to keep things running was for me to learn every single role, just so I could back them up.
That season taught me one of my most valuable lessons as a leader: a team that depends on one person — even if that person is the leader — is not sustainable. Building bench-strength isn’t about creating clones; it’s about ensuring the mission can go on, even in your absence. It’s about equipping others with the skills, confidence, and decision-making capacity to act independently. Because leadership, in its truest form, is not about holding control — it’s about creating capability.
Over the years, I’ve noticed another pattern in my career. Many of the projects I’ve been part of — despite being well-intentioned and well-executed — eventually came to an end. Sometimes because priorities shifted, sometimes because organisations themselves closed operations.
That experience made me reflect deeply. It wasn’t about success or failure. It was about legacy. The difference wasn’t in how well the project was managed — it was in whether the system and people were prepared to sustain it.
That’s when it clicked for me: the absence of succession isn’t a failure of planning; it’s a failure of culture.
When we compare national leadership transitions with corporate ones, the similarities are striking. As mentioned, the success of succession depends on three elements: clarity of vision, depth of capability, and cultural continuity. The next person must not only know what to do but why it matters. The system must have trained, trusted people ready to act. And the values must be so deeply rooted that they survive leadership changes.
Just few days ago, me and my husband (same guy from 2018 😉) revisited this topic, and he spoke to me about Singapore’s governance model introduced by Lee Kuan Yew. The model rooted from LKY’s guiding philosophy — “system before self”. He shared a quote from LKY’s book From Third World to First that has stayed with me:
“I have to make sure that whoever succeeds me will carry on the system that will work.”
It was a simple but profound statement. LKY understood that sustainable success cannot rely on personality. It must be built on predictable systems, shared values, and institutional strength. He didn’t just develop successors — he institutionalised succession itself. His leadership pipeline was cultivated through years of mentoring, exposure, and evaluation, ensuring that leadership was always a shared, evolving process rather than a personal legacy.
LKY’s method of leadership continuity followed what modern organisational theorists would call the “integrated development approach.” This model aligns individual development, organisational goals, and succession readiness — so that leadership growth is not accidental but engineered.
He embedded it into every level of governance. Ministers, civil servants, and potential leaders were rotated, mentored, and exposed to complex challenges — not to mimic his leadership, but to embody the nation’s enduring values. He built a governance model that functioned almost like a corporate leadership system — with performance metrics, structured mentorship, and long-term capability planning.
And that’s what made his legacy so enduring. LKY didn’t build Singapore to depend on him. He built Singapore to outlive him.
Today, when I reflect on Tun Mahathir’s and Lee Kuan Yew’s legacies, I no longer see one as greater than the other — only as different manifestations of leadership. Tun represents the power of belief and drive; LKY represents the discipline of structure and foresight. Both are lessons in leadership — one born of conviction, the other of continuity.
As a leader myself, I’ve learned that the hardest part of succession is not planning it but accepting it. It requires humility — to accept that leadership is not ownership, but stewardship. It’s not about being remembered but about ensuring that what you’ve built doesn’t end with you.
Sometimes the true measure of a leader is not how much changes when they’re there, but how little disruption happens when they’re gone.
Succession equals sustainability.
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