Head of mission at MSF for 20 years, Jean-Baptiste Marion affirms: the real asset of a manager is knowing that he is not essential
He joined Médecins Sans Frontières at the age of 22, with no professional experience. Twenty years later, Jean-Baptiste Marion is head of mission at MSF. He supervises programs in countries in crisis, coordinates multidisciplinary teams, and makes decisions in contexts where error has a real human cost.
I asked him what distinguishes managers who last from those who collapse in humanitarian work.
His response was not what I expected.
“Modesty.”
Not the facade modesty that we display in the end-of-year reports. Not the false humility of corporate speeches. A structural modesty, anchored in a clear conviction: in many situations, the manager is not there because he is the most competent. He is there because he comes from somewhere else.
“A bit like a circuit breaker in an electrical system,” he said. “If something blows, it’s us.”
This image deserves attention.
The myth of managerial added value
One of the best maintained illusions in the professional world is that of the manager who brings solutions. He arrives, he analyzes, he decides, he straightens out. This story is convenient. He justifies the wageshierarchies, recruitment processes.
It is also, very often, inaccurate.
Jean-Baptiste has experienced it in several humanitarian fields. Upon arrival at MSF, the local teams know the context, the social dynamics, the cultural codes, the real risks. He knows his organization, his procedures, his standards. It’s useful. This is not enough to claim to lead from the top.
“Our technical added value is often limited. What matters is to know your organization, your context well, to stay long enough to contribute something relevant.”
This lucidity is not resignation. It is a precise reading of what management can really produce, and under what conditions. In the humanitarian sector, where national teams have carried the operational memory of crises for years, this reality is particularly visible.
In French organizations, this clarity is rare. Managers are still too often recruited, evaluated and promoted on the basis of their technical expertise rather than their relational and systemic abilities. We bring in the best engineers, the best salespeople, the best analysts. And then we are surprised that their teams do not follow.
What modesty really allows
Modesty is not a posture. It’s a work tool.
A manager who overestimates his added value makes decisions without listening. He overloads meetings with his own analyses. He cuts off his teams’ initiatives before they mature. It creates dependency where it should build autonomy.
A manager who knows his limits does something else. He listens to the teams who have the memory of the field. He asks questions rather than providing premature answers. It creates the conditions in which existing skills can be expressed.
Jean-Baptiste speaks of “healthy management”: providing stability, listening to those who know the context better, recognizing what we do not know. At MSF, where expatriate coordinators are replaced every six to twelve months, this transmission of knowledge to local teams is not an option. This is a condition of operational continuity.
This type of management does not make noise. It does not generate impressive slides or spectacular figures on the dashboards. But he protects the teams. It allows them to operate in harsh conditions without collapsing.
And this is precisely why he is invisible, and therefore underestimated.
The glory of return and the trap that accompanies it
There is something special in the way those around them celebrate humanitarian professionals when they return from missions. The difficult terrain, the decisions taken under pressure, the results obtained despite obstacles: all this feeds a heroic story that the professional and family environment willingly welcomes.
Jean-Baptiste has been observing him for years. “When we return, we are sometimes glorified. However, we are very far from that. We often receive much more than we give.”
This imbalance between the image sent back and the reality experienced is a real danger. Not out of false humility, but because it creates a cognitive gap that is difficult to manage over time. The manager who believes in his own legend ends up taking disproportionate risks. He surrounds himself with people who confirm rather than people who question. He confuses recognition with competence.
Modesty, in this context, is a form of protection. Against ourselves, as much as against the environments that overvalue us.
What this actually changes
Developing structural modesty in your management does not require devaluing yourself. This requires some specific practices.
Know how to name what you don’t know, before trying to fill the void with a quick response. Take the time to stay long enough in a context to understand its deeper logic, rather than diagnosing in forty-eight hours. Explicitly promote the skills of the teams you manage, rather than absorbing them into your own performance story.
And above all: recognize that the stability we provide is sometimes worth more than the expertise we believe we possess.
Jean-Baptiste spent more than two decades at Médecins Sans Frontières building something that many managers are still trying to name. This is not leadership charismatic. It’s not brilliant strategy. It is a lucid, stable presence, oriented towards others.
In a world that celebrates the high achiever, modesty remains the most difficult skill to assess.
And probably one of the most useful.
