Last week, the New York Times reported that the League of Women Voters did more than raise some eyebrows with its high-profile television ads calling out two US Senators for voting to limit the EPA’s regulatory ability to enforce such standards as the Clean Air Act. The ads, costing $1.5 million, targeted Democratic Senator Claire McCaskill (MO) and Republican Senator Scott Brown (MA), both of whom are up for re-election in 2012.

Brown’s camp accused the League of siding with a “liberal” agenda, while McCaskill and other Democrats also cried foul, calling the ads “not helpful.” But beneath the predictable campaign damage control lies the fact that those on both sides of the political aisle were so utterly shocked that an organization like the League of Women Voters would take such a direct approach.

Accustomed to the League’s more comforting strategies of publishing voter guides and politely issuing position statements, even some League members themselves were taken aback when the organization finally raised its voice to be heard over the noise in the modern political arena.

It was this break in character, in fact, that made the ads so powerful.

I’ve experienced this myself, on a personal level. With a quiet demeanor and a tendency to listen and analyze information in group settings rather than express every idea that comes into my head, it’s a rarity when I speak up, drive home a point, or voice frustration or dissent. But when I do, you can bet I have the ears of the group. And I also understand that with that power comes the responsibility to use it wisely, lest I lose it.

The League of Women Voters’ recent decision to step outside of its own comfort zone, and to risk its image in the minds of others who prefer its more passive persona, is one that I was glad to see it make – not only because it seemed to confirm that the organization does have power at its disposal, but because as League advocacy committee chairwoman Judy Duffy said to the Times, it honors the activism of its founding mothers, who “were not shrinking violets.” At the same time, I hope that it continues to wield this power judiciously, in a way that strengthens its identity, rallies its constituents, and advances its mission.

In what ways might your organization – or you as a professional – consider judiciously stepping outside your box to take a stand, flex your power, or make your voice heard?

I love to use a governance teaching case by Peter Dobkin Hall, called Conflicting Managerial Cultures in a Museum.

In the case, a long-slumbering board hires an entrepreneurial executive director to revitalize their museum. He brings in a small cohort of new board members who are local business leaders. Fundraising increases, and the business board members are highly involved, then they become too involved. They make executive decisions behind the director’s back, move the museum’s banking to the board chair’s bank, buy office equipment from another board member’s company, and tie the museum’s signature event to their businesses.

You can imagine the end of this story. Both the executive director and the board chair submit resignations in frustration and the organization is on the brink of collapse.

When I use this case I ask students, or workshop participants, to first determine what actually happened. Step by step, I want them to understand how the decisions unfolded and the relationships unraveled?

Then I ask them to apportion blame among the various parties – there is plenty to go around. Finally I ask them what could be done now. This usually leads to a lively discussion.

Cases are a powerful learning aid, a realization which brought me the following insight: could a nonprofit experiencing significant internal conflict or lack of clarity benefit from writing its own case?

The idea would be to gather organizational leaders from board and staff and give them a structured writing exercise where they describe the road that has gotten them to their current situation. What key decisions, external circumstances, and relationships were most significant? Maybe do it in small group format so that they can later compare and contrast different versions of the story.

This would lead to an airing of different viewpoints and ultimately, with luck and good facilitation, to a shared understanding of the present situation. With agreement on the “what happened” question, I would ask them to address the causes of their current situation, and then what can be done about it now?

This process follows the model of my big picture view of strategy. It asks: where are we, how did we get here, and what do we do about it?