When I stepped into the role of director for Women, Peace and Security (WPS) at the New Zealand Defence Force (NZDF), I knew the terrain would be complex. The National Action Plan had lapsed in 2019. There was no roadmap, no resourcing and no system, just a legacy of patchwork initiatives driven by passionate predecessors.

There was no approved implementation plan, no dedicated funding and only one full-time equivalent assigned to the work. Much of the NZDF’s gender-related efforts were housed under diversity and inclusion, which led to an internal focus on participation rather than the strategic and operational goals of WPS. Without a clear strategy and sustained investment, WPS risked remaining an aspiration rather than becoming a practical reality.

As a trained military planner, I knew the first step was to assess the situation and define the vital start state. I attended an NZDF training course for gender focal points (GFP)—personnel tasked with providing gendered perspectives. Despite prior exposure to UN Security Council Resolution 1325, I found myself perplexed. It was one of the most interesting courses I’d ever done, but at this point I still wasn’t sure what a GFP was supposed to do, let alone how to implement the concept NZDF-wide.

The epiphany came through three key experiences: attending the Nordic Centre’s Gender Advisor Course; engaging with academics such as Katherine Wright at the NATO Gender Conference; and connecting with Australian Defence Force counterparts at the Gender Peace and Security Directorate. These encounters helped crystallise the problem: the NZDF lacked a system that was accountable, measurable and embedded in change management.

So, I developed a five-year implementation plan based on the ADF’s model. I incorporated the work of my predecessors, added my own insights and focused on operational effectiveness. Rather than wait for approval, I implemented it—seeking forgiveness rather than permission. Fortunately, my senior leaders were quietly supportive.

To make change real, I focused on integrating gender perspectives into the NZDF’s training system, starting with the army. It was the most complex component, but also the one I understood best. In a landmark moment, this was approved by the then land component commander, Major General Hugh McAslan.

I developed a training concept that embedded gender considerations at every level. Soldiers received introductory briefs, junior personnel learned practical application with gender in mind, and senior personnel learned how to include gender integration in the planning process. We produced guides on incorporating gender in non-combatant evacuation operations, cordon-and-search missions, and deploying GFPs and gender advisors effectively. Military planners often take a task-focused approach—our challenge was to encourage them to consider the human terrain.

Almost fortuitously, the maritime component commander, Commodore Garin Golding, returned from Australia inspired by their progress. He appointed a gender advisor and directed that all ships have GFPs aboard. These were positive steps, but I remained cautious. Having GFPs and enabling them to act are very different things. We had plenty of GFPs, but their impact was unclear. So we created a toolkit: a living document that evolved with our understanding of the role and its practical application.

Yet, even where GFPs were embedded, I was still being called upon to do the work myself. I wanted to understand why. A quick survey revealed time as the biggest constraint: when pressed, people defaulted to their core expertise and gender fell off the radar.

To address this, we gave GFPs key tasks, embedded responsibilities into their performance development reviews and educated supervisors on the value of the role. We aligned the GFP model with leadership development frameworks—particularly the concept of conscious competence, which refers to the stage in learning where individuals understand what they need to do and can apply it, but it still requires deliberate effort.

This journey hasn’t been without its challenges. At times, my commitment to integrating gender perspectives was met with resistance. Some colleagues felt other priorities should take precedence, and there were moments where the value of the work was questioned or misunderstood. In one instance, I was advised not to expect revolutionary change, reflecting the reality that cultural shifts take time, especially in environments where traditional perspectives are deeply embedded. While I understood the caution, it was also a reminder of how entrenched norms can quietly undermine progress.

Leadership means making space for perspectives that have long been excluded. It requires the courage to challenge norms, the humility to listen and the persistence to keep going when the path isn’t clear. Operational effectiveness demands that we understand the human terrain—not just the mission, but the people. We must do the right thing by those we are there to support.

Moving on from this role was one of the hardest transitions I’ve ever made, but a necessary one. It was an essential shift to leave room for growth, innovation and fresh inspiration. I know I’ve laid the foundation, and I do so with deep gratitude to those who walked alongside me: Addie Brownlie, Paul Corke and Emma Songivalu. Their support, insight and courage helped shape this journey, and will continue to shape what comes next.

The next incumbent has, hopefully, inherited more than good intentions—they deserve a system that works and a culture that values what they bring.