I have no doubt, replacing a great leader is probably one of the most thankless and delicate tasks that any human being can face in public or private life. Even if that successor was mentored by the one who is no longer here, if he was chosen by the one who is no longer here, the task is extremely delicate, and there is always the feeling that the one who left was a titan and that whoever arrives will not be able to fill his shoes. When the predecessor has left a deep mark, when his leadership was synonymous with growth, identity, or hope, the one who comes after faces a challenge that is not measured in technical skills, but in something much more difficult to achieve: emotional legitimacy.

The death of Pope Francis has made me reflect on this delicate issue of succession. History, politics, business, and even civil organizations are full of examples of failed successions that sank large projects, as well as others – less frequent – where the successor knew how to honor the legacy without being trapped in its shadow. What distinguishes one from the other? What should someone do who receives the baton from the hands of a beloved leader?

The path has two paths that are mutually exclusive: either you give continuity, or you are disruptive. The only certainty that there will be in either of the two ways is that suspicion will be a companion that will walk by our side. It is also that progress will be tortuous if we do not know how to respond to the questions that we are going to face. You have to prepare, that is the best recipe, the most exquisite ingredient, and the secret element that we must always have by our side. Improvisation is not the best of companies.

To move forward, the first thing we must understand is that affection is not inherited. People's affection is not transmitted by decree, ceremony, or contract. The applause that the previous leader received does not magically turn into approval for his successor, I insist, even if he has the support of the predecessor. The successor must know that he must build his own path towards respect and affection, knowing that, for a long time, he will live under inevitable comparisons. There is no escaping it. Moreover, pretending otherwise—expecting to be received as an automatic savior just by holding office—is one of the first mistakes that lead to frustration and disapproval in the longer term.

Therefore, the second thing is to accept the comparison and not fight it. Of course, you have to have the stomach and face to put up with criticism, which is often unfair. Instead of getting angry at the inevitable references to "how the previous one did it", the new leader should assume them as a natural part of the collective grieving process that the organization, the team, or society is experiencing. Especially if the previous leader is no longer there because he has died.

Thirdly, we must understand that comparison is a form, sometimes unconscious, of those who move forward but need to measure how much the world they knew has changed. Instead of fighting against such comparisons, the new leader can use them to build bridges: openly acknowledging past achievements and showing respect for the collective memory, before asking for a vote of confidence to walk into the future. In addition, there is resistance to change. There is always a longing to return to what is known, even if it is known that this is already impossible.

The most important thing is to honor the legacy of the predecessor, yes, but not to be his prisoner. There is a fine line between respecting the heritage of a great leader and falling into paralysis due to excessive reverence. Nostalgia has enormous emotional power, but it should not become a brake on change. Every era needs its own leadership, because contexts change, needs change, and challenges change. A good successor does not destroy what has been built, but neither does he chain himself to replicate everything as it is. The true way to honor a great ancestor is to ensure that the project remains alive and relevant, not that it is mummified in perpetual tributes.

Of course, it's vital to have your own voice. The new leader must resist the temptation to be a mere echo of his predecessor. That, instead of strengthening it, makes it weaker. If he only repeats his formulas, his phrases, his styles, he will end up wearing out quickly. People need to recognize, sooner or later, that whoever is now leading the course has ideas, character, and vision of their own. And it is much better to do it from the beginning, in a serene but firm way. Not to break abruptly with the past, but to establish that there is a continuity in fundamental values, but also a new sensitivity to the times.

The new leader must build legitimacy through actions, not speeches. The new leader gains nothing by long pleas to explain that he or she is worthy of the position. Trust is not asked for; it is earned. And it is won with visible facts: correct decisions, transparent management, active listening, and humane treatment. In the first few months, every little action counts double, because everyone is watching. Each mistake weighs more, each success too. There is no room for easy justifications: the successor is expected to act, to resolve, to guide.

We cannot forget compassion, that is, recognizing that there is a grieving process. When a beloved leader leaves — whether through retirement, resignation, death, or a planned transition — those who remain are grieving, even if they don't always recognize themselves as such. Sometimes it manifests itself in sadness, other times in anger, and sometimes in denial. The successor must understand this phenomenon with empathy and patience. Do not take criticism as personal attacks, but as part of the collective pain. Not to try to force immediate acceptance, but to accompany your community in the process of rebuilding the bond.

To do this, you need to lead with what I call strategic humility. It is not a matter of false modesty, nor of a discourse of "I am nobody", but of understanding that leading after a giant requires a special combination of humility and firmness. Knowing that not everything will go well at first, that there will be resistance, that even the allies themselves may be divided. And at the same time, to maintain the serene conviction that something valuable, albeit different, can be built from that difficult position.

Finally, knowing when to mark a new stage. The best succession is not the one that copies or the one that breaks, but the one that transforms. The one that manages to make the best of the past feeds the best of the future. The one that allows nostalgia to be replaced little by little by hope. Replacing a great leader is not supplanting him.