Group work makes light work...or not.

 "Alone we can do so little; together we can do so much." - Helen Keller

I don’t know if it’s because, as a teacher, I always used group work to help quiet children build confidence in showcasing their work, or because teamwork is now an essential skill for securing any job, but I was genuinely excited about working in a mature team of students, all striving towards a common goal.

The first assessed group project in my law degree was a presentation. I was eager, convinced I had a lot to offer, and ready to step up as an effective leader.

But reality fell short. Very short indeed.

I was placed in a group of four—three younger students and me, a middle-aged woman. Our task: "What would you change for the better in law?" My mind buzzed with possibilities. So many laws could be improved, so many injustices to challenge. But as I looked at my teammates, I quickly realised that my idealistic view of teamwork was about to be tested.

Two boys and two girls—well, one girl and me. I sensed immediately that my presence unsettled them. They weren’t going to see me as a peer or a friend. We had nothing in common apart from our course. But I took that as our common ground and encouraged them to share their ideas.

Having recently experienced a tribunal and challenged minimum wage policies, I suggested our topic: implementing a universal minimum wage for all, regardless of age. The group agreed, and I assigned research tasks, scheduling a follow-up meeting in the library.

And that’s where my dream of teamwork crumbled.

No one showed up.

Determined, I rescheduled, continuing to work independently—researching, preparing the presentation, ensuring we stayed on track. I wasn’t about to let their lack of enthusiasm impact my grade. I was here to succeed, no matter what.

At the next meeting, only the other girl arrived. She looked lost, uncertain about what we were meant to do, but she was willing to try. That was enough. She reminded me of a rabbit caught in headlights—unsure, unwilling, yet unable to walk away.

The boys? Still absent.

At the third attempt, I sat alone again, gathering information, building the PowerPoint, double-checking data. Finally, with thirty minutes left, one of the boys arrived.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked.

I turned it around: "What do you want to do?" His response was barely audible, inconsistent. But at least he was there. I assigned him a small section, hoping for the best.

On presentation day, with twenty minutes to spare, the second boy finally turned up. He glanced at the slides and decided he’d just wing it.

I had to admire his confidence—the audacity to claim credit without effort, to use sheer personality as a substitute for preparation.

I was last to present, squeezing three weeks of research into five minutes. It felt surreal to have come this far. But one thing stood out: our tutor, who had applauded every group before us, remained silent.

At first, I was furious—furious at my group for their lack of commitment, for wasting an opportunity to produce something meaningful. But then, I turned that anger inward. I had spent years in education; how had I failed to engage them, to raise the bar, to inspire them to take pride in their work?

In my reflection, I acknowledged my frustration but also my own role in the situation. I had unintentionally intimidated my teammates, making them hesitant to contribute.

So what makes a good team leader?

Not a friend. Not someone who does everything. But a guide—someone who listens, involves others, and recognises strengths. Someone who neither takes credit for others' work nor overwhelms them with expectations. A leader fosters collaboration, not just results.

This experience was a lesson in leadership, not just teamwork. And next time, I will approach it differently.