Peter Wright

I did and it changed my way of thinking forever.

I was 15, at school in Perth, where most Australian rules football is played. Our Year 10 team was a new creation and we were expected to be “cannon fodder” for the established teams in our division, but the coach, a brilliant young teacher called Rod Everett, had other ideas.

He began by introducing a philosophy based on mutual respect and shared responsibility, which came rather naturally to a congenial bunch of kids who didn’t believe in bullying, but he wasn’t afraid to discipline us either.

He also asked us to study a creature not known for its sporting prowess: the termite.

Breaking us down into small work teams, he asked us to consider how termites managed to create their astonishing mounds, structures that are far larger and more complex than the individual termites themselves.

Maybe an analogy with wasps, with their rigid hierarchy and queen-dominated society would have been more obvious, but the termite didn’t have a queen, or any identifiable leader; they operated on a system of communication and teamwork that created something remarkable, far bigger than the sum of its parts.

Rod said that he believed that even a team of kids who were considered a bit hopeless could create something special if they worked together, communicated and respected each other, even if they weren’t naturally gifted.

He made us study the termites in some detail, and we were all amazed by the speed at which they worked to construct their extraordinary homes.

We learned that the individual termites’ role in the construction process was simple: to transfer a load of moist earth from the construction site to the inner chambers of the mound, where other termites would take over, using the earth to build the walls, while yet another group maintained the ventilation system.

So far, so good: but what would cause a termite to leave the safety of the mound to make the treacherous journey to the construction site? “They must be ordered to go,” one of us suggested.

“No,” Rod said. “There are no leaders, no supervisors, no overseers; this is a creature that does not know how to follow orders.”

Rod then performed a simple experiment for us. He found a termite and placed it on the ground some distance from the mound. The termite began to wander around, but soon realized it was lost. After a few seconds of panic, it wandered back to the mound and went inside.

“Do you see what’s happening?” Rod asked.

Most of us took a while to work it out. The termite didn’t just wander back to the mound, it left a scent trail as it went. Any other termite that came out of the mound and picked up that scent would follow it to the construction site, and once there they would leave their own scent trails, which other termites would follow, and so on, in an ever-widening web of communication.

So each termite, by setting off on its own to find food or to work on the construction of the mound, was sending a message to its fellow termites: “I have found work to do. Please follow me.”

The most interesting part of Rod’s experiment was what happened if he physically blocked the scent trail. The termite would continue to the construction site, but once there, it wouldn’t return to the mound to leave a scent trail. Instead, it would return to the construction site by a different route, leaving a new scent trail, which other termites would follow.

In other words, each termite was not simply following orders; it was constantly re-evaluating the best way of doing its job and communicating that information to its colleagues.

Rod explained that the termites’ system of communication was based on two basic rules:

• Every termite was expected to work for the benefit of the colony as a whole.
• Every termite had a right to be heard.

It was such a simple idea, yet it was brilliantly effective: a form of democracy that ensured that every termite made a contribution and that no one was left behind.

Rod then dared us to try to implement our own version of termite teamwork. He asked us to imagine all the people who had ever helped us: our parents, teachers, siblings, friends and even strangers who had performed small acts of kindness. “If you took the time to help those people in the same way that they have helped you, what sort of impact would that have?” he asked.

Over the years, I’ve often found myself drawing inspiration from our study of termites.

When I’m faced with a difficult decision, I think of the termite that kept going until it found a new way to get to the construction site, and I remind myself that there is always a solution to every problem, if I’m prepared to think outside the box and to ask for help from my colleagues.

And when I see someone who is struggling, I make sure to offer them the helping hand that I would have wanted them to offer me, knowing that by doing so I am building a sense of community and support that will benefit us all.

So, next time you hear a termite, take a moment to think about how they have inspired you. They may not be the most glamorous creatures, but they have some very wise things to teach us about how to live our lives.

Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed this article. I would love to hear your thoughts and comments below.