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Kaila Colbin
Founder and CEO at Boma and Crusaders Leadership Programme™, leveraging sports as a gateway to values-based leadership
Kaila Colbin is a prominent figure championing values-based leadership through the Crusaders Leadership Programme™ that draws insights from successful sports franchises.
Her focus is on building a community of intentional, intelligent, and courageous leaders by utilizing sports as a platform for leadership development.
Kaila's expertise lies in entrepreneurship, strategy, idea generation, event management, and networking.
She holds a Bachelor of Science (B.S.) in Hotel/Motel Administration/Management from Cornell University and has a diverse educational background including studies at Riverdale Country School and Singularity University.
Kaila has been associated with various organizations in leadership roles including being the Co-founder of the Crusaders Leadership Programme™, Founder and CEO at Boma, and Member of Global Women (New Zealand).
Her professional journey includes roles such as Certified ExO Consultant at OpenExO, Chairman of the Board at Natural Gourmet Institute, Contributor at Mediapost, and Director at ChristchurchNZ.
Kaila has also been involved in several entrepreneurial ventures and initiatives like Co-founder and Trustee at Ministry of Awesome, Curator at TEDx events, Chief Marketing Officer at MiniMonos.com, and Director of Communications at PMI New Zealand.
She is known for her exceptional communication skills, ability to connect with people, and her relentless drive to turn innovative ideas into reality.
Highlights
Blame vs. Accountability He runs into his room, slams the door, and locks it.
Oh, come ON, I think. Stop being such a child!
Ungenerous: he is, in fact, a child. One of my stepsons, facing one of life’s adversities, and finding it beyond his ability to cope.
After half an hour, he lets me in, but still isn’t ready to engage: face-down on his bed, pillow over his head. I wait.
“Are you hurt?” A grunt and a headshake: No. “Can we talk about what happened?” A grunt of indeterminate nature. “Come on, buddy, help me understand.”
Eventually, he emerges from under the pillow. Eventually, through tears: “Lochee punched me in the head.”
“Oh sweetheart, I’m so sorry he did that. Punching someone is not okay. Did he just walk up to you and punch you out of the blue?”
“Well… not exactly.”
“Okay, then what happened?”
“We were play wrestling and I pinched him BARELY and then he punched me!”
“Hmm. Is it possible that you pinched him a little harder than you thought?”
“Fine! Forget it! It’s all my fault! I’m the worst kid!” Back under the pillow he goes.
It’s a constant struggle, the search for ownership and accountability without descending into shame and blame. Despite its pretense at ownership, we know a passive-aggressive “fine, it’s all my fault,” isn’t actual accountability—but why not?
They certainly seem similar. Oxford Languages defines blame as “responsibility for a fault or wrong;” “responsibility” is offered as one of the definitions of accountable. But they also have this for accountable: “The fact or condition of being required or expected to justify actions or decisions.”
“Shame and blame” yields “bad person” and “all my fault.” There’s no point in nuance, no point in looking deeper or in trying to understand what happened: I’m the one who failed; I’m the one who let everyone down; I’m the worst kid.
Accountability, on the other hand, drives insight. When we hold ourselves accountable, we want to know all the details: What exactly happened? Where was the breakdown? What's my role in this—mine to own—and what's someone else’s to own? What can I learn from this? Accountability requires an unflinching acknowledgement of the facts.
Blame is about who; accountability is about what. Shame is about finger-pointing (at others or at ourselves); ownership is about understanding. Shame and blame are about punishment; ownership and accountability are about acceptance.
Blame tells me who to be mad at; accountability tells me what I need to learn. Shame creates victims; ownership creates freedom and power.
We get there eventually, me and my stepson. He apologises to his brother for pinching him and his brother apologises to him for punching him. They seem to mean it. No doubt we’ll find ourselves back in a similar situation soon enough—these are the lessons of childhood, and they need to be repeated over and over. But I have confidence in their ability to learn.
I only hope we adults can hold ourselves accountable to the same standard.

There’s a terrifying genre of post going around LinkedIn. It starts with a promise: “Here’s how I went from 0 to 7 million followers in 30 days and you can too.” It unravels step by step: “Start by using TopicBeastAI to find out what topics are popular. Then use QopyQat to find out which posts on those topics get the most engagement. Then use FormulaiQ to derive the underlying post structures. Then use PostFaker to generate your own version of each post.” Set aside whether the suggested tools are effective. Set aside whether the process generates the sought-after followers. The entire idea of it is fundamentally, vomitously broken. I know: It’s not new. But it is enabled and accelerated by generative AI. It’s bad enough to outsource creativity to ChatGPT. What this type of process does is outsource our lack of creativity. When we ask our AI tools to find a “proven formula,” by definition, what they come up with is not new. It’s a reconstitution of what everyone else has done.
The irony of it all is that generative AI itself functions in this way: by digesting and regurgitating content. And where that gets us, as Azeem Azhar pointed out last week, is “reversion to a bland mean.” The bland mean is an issue even before we get to AI hallucinations or tools designed to “poison” content to protect copyright. And all THAT is even before we get to the concept of model collapse: “the degenerative process that large language models like ChatGPT can experience when they're trained on AI-generated junk data.” Model collapse is what you get when AI ingests all the existing data, pulps it, and then spits out so much rehashed content that it begins to feed on itself. We’re not far off. A couple weeks ago, OpenAI CEO Sam Altman tweeted, “openai now generates about 100 billion words per day. all people on earth generate about 100 trillion words per day.”
He said that like it’s a good thing. Last month, Vice reported that, already, “a ‘shocking’ amount of the internet is machine-translated garbage, particularly in languages spoken in Africa and the Global South.” In the face of this impulsion towards pre-chewed dreck, rather than striving to be more creative and innovative, we’re trying to copy the very reduction in creativity generated by AIs themselves. Instead of developing our own positions, opinions, points of view, we’re absorbing existing content and spitting out what we think is expected from us. We’re turning ourselves into human versions of generative AIs. The reason to share on LinkedIn is not that you’ve found a way to digest and regurgitate popular content. The reason to share on LinkedIn is that you have something of value to offer. If you are crafting what you share to reverse-engineer popularity, you’ve already lost.
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