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Leading the Crew

Loyalty Is Not a Strategy

Loyalty is a fine thing between people. It is a terrible plan for a career — because the company cannot be loyal back, and it was never built to try.

I want to be careful with this one, because it can be read as cynicism and I don’t mean it that way at all.

Loyalty is one of the best things a person can have. Between people, it’s close to everything. I have men I’d still answer the phone for at 3am, twenty years after we last worked a shift together.

But loyalty to an organization is a different object wearing the same word. And confusing the two has cost more good people more of their working lives than almost anything else I’ve watched.

The category error

Here it is plainly: a company cannot be loyal to you, because loyalty requires a someone.

That’s not an accusation. It’s a description. A company is a structure with a purpose. It has policies, budgets, and people who occupy roles temporarily. The manager who knows what you gave up in 2019 will be gone in three years, and what you did will not transfer with him. It lives in his head, not in the org.

So when you make sacrifices on the understanding that they’ll remember this — there is frequently no “they” left to do the remembering.

You didn’t make a bad bet. You made a bet with something that cannot hold up its end, because it isn’t the kind of thing that has ends to hold up.

How the trade actually gets made

Nobody offers it explicitly. That’s what makes it hard to refuse.

What actually happens is an accumulation of moments where being the loyal one is the obvious right move:

  • You don’t take the interview, because it would look bad during a rough patch
  • You don’t push on the pay, because the department is under pressure this year
  • You take the transfer nobody wants, because someone has to and you’re a team guy
  • You cover the gap for six months, because it’s temporary — and it is, until it isn’t
  • You stay through the reorganization, because leaving during it would feel like abandoning your crew

Every one of those is a decent decision made by a decent person. And ten years of them constitutes a career strategy that you never once consciously chose.

Where the real loyalty goes

This is the part I actually want to land.

Redirect it. Not away — down and sideways, to the objects that can hold it:

To your crew

These are real people. They can and do reciprocate. Loyalty here is not naive — it’s the single most practical investment in the whole business, because a crew that trusts you will tell you the truth about equipment before it becomes an incident.

To your craft

Your competence is portable. It belongs to you. Every hour spent getting genuinely better at the work is an hour that pays out regardless of who owns the building next year.

To the standard

Not the company’s standard — yours. The thing you won’t sign off on. That doesn’t transfer to a new employer either; it just comes with you, because it’s part of who you are rather than where you work.

What this looks like in practice

Undramatic. Nobody needs to know you’ve thought about any of this.

  • Take the call. When a recruiter reaches out, have the conversation. You don’t have to want the job. You need to know what you’re worth, and the only way to know is to check occasionally.
  • Keep your own record. Write down what you actually did — the numbers, the saves, the projects. Nobody else is keeping that ledger, and memories get shorter the higher up you go.
  • Ask directly, once a year. “What would it take to get to X?” A real answer tells you the path. Vagueness tells you there isn’t one. Both are useful.
  • Notice what happened to the last guy. The one who gave everything and then hit a restructure. That’s not a cautionary tale. It’s data about how this organization behaves under pressure.

The line I’d hold

Be the kind of person people can count on. Do the work well. Back your crew. Keep your word.

And keep one clear thought running quietly underneath all of it: the organization is not a person, it does not owe you, and it will not remember.

That’s not bitterness. Bitterness is what happens to people who learn this at fifty-eight, in a meeting they weren’t expecting, after twenty-nine years.

Knowing it early is what lets you stay generous without getting hollowed out. You give freely because you chose to — not because you’re owed something back that was never actually on the table.

From the book

“Loyalty Is Not a Strategy” is Chapter 11 of Don’t Let This Job Break You.

Read about the book →


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About the Author

Randy A. Bridge

U.S. Army veteran and long-time railroad leader who worked his way up from cleaning locomotive toilets to running large-scale operations, crews, and shop floors in crisis. He writes for the workers who build the world — and the leaders who have forgotten where they came from.

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