The Invisible Power of Leg Work in Public Policy

A few years ago, during a senior leadership visit to India, we had an intense few days of engagements with senior ministers and key officials. Everything came together almost seamlessly - multiple meetings, tight schedules, zero external help. One of my colleagues, watching how it all unfolded, asked me later: “How did we manage to make all this happen so fast?”.

It got me thinking, what looked effortless was actually years of effort layered underneath. The slow, unseen accumulation of trust, relationships, and familiarity with the system that only leg work can build.

When people think of public policy, they usually imagine the high points: the crisp white papers, the big stakeholder meetings, the neatly packaged presentations that land on a minister’s desk. But the truth is, most of the real work doesn’t happen in those formal moments. It happens in the margins - in corridors, waiting rooms, tea stalls, site visits, and in the countless follow-ups that rarely get noticed. Over the years, I’ve realized that leg work is not just an add-on to policy. It is policy. Without it, everything else risks floating in abstraction.

For me, leg work has taken many shapes. Sometimes it’s been hours of waiting outside an office just to get five minutes with a decision-maker. Sometimes it’s been walking through dusty project sites, asking questions that don’t appear in reports. And sometimes it has been something as ordinary as sharing a cup of tea with an officer. I cannot count the number of times a casual chat - unhurried, without the pressure of a PowerPoint deck, has opened doors to more honest conversations. In those moments, people are not “officials” or “stakeholders”; they’re human beings who relax, share context, and often tell you what they really think.

The beauty of leg work is that it reveals what doesn’t get said in official documents. An officer might not admit in a formal consultation that they’re worried about political pushback, but you sense it when their tone drops over tea. A community might nod along in a meeting, but during an informal walk through their area, they’ll point to the actual pain points where the drain overflows, where the subsidy never arrived, where the paperwork got stuck. These observations are gold. They don’t show up in data tables, but they shape how policy actually works on the ground.

Another truth about leg work is that it’s cumulative. One meeting, one visit, one polite conversation rarely changes much. But show up again. And again. Track what was promised, follow up when nothing moves, remind gently without pushing too hard. Over time, people notice. They start to believe that you are not there for a one-off transaction, but that you’re genuinely invested. And that consistency builds a form of credibility that no resume or flashy presentation can substitute.

There is also a personal benefit. Leg work sharpens instincts. You start to notice atmospheres - how a room feels before a meeting begins, who is uneasy, who holds the real influence even if they’re silent. You pick up on details that no briefing paper prepares you for: the hesitation in a voice, the tension in a body language, the small remark that signals a bigger shift. Over time, these experiences create a kind of “internal compass.” You don’t just know the rules of policy; you start to feel the rhythm of how it actually unfolds in practice.

And perhaps most importantly, leg work keeps you grounded. Policy, at its core, is about people. It’s easy to lose sight of that when you’re buried in research or frameworks. But when you’ve sat in someone’s home, walked their street, or listened to their frustrations over a cup of chai, you carry that reality back into every policy conversation. It changes how you frame arguments, how you prioritize, and how you defend your choices. It makes you less abstract and more human in your approach.

A few years ago, I remember asking a consultant to organize a meeting with a senior government official for a new assignment. I accompanied him to the department, only to realize he hadn’t even figured out which floor or room the officer sat in. He was completely clueless, and I remember feeling taken aback, wondering why my company was paying such a premium for someone who hadn’t done the basic groundwork. That moment stayed with me. Since then, I’ve kept this as one of the most critical parameters for evaluating the right consultant or partner: do they understand the "institutional landscape", "the power map", and the unspoken hierarchies that define access and influence? Because policy is not a desk job, it’s about "contextual intelligence" and readiness to navigate systems in real time.

The irony is that leg work is the least celebrated part of public policy. Nobody gives awards for the hours spent in follow-ups, or for the tea sessions where trust was built, or for the persistence of chasing details. Yet, if you strip all of that away, policies collapse. Because at the end of the day, public policy is not just a science of ideas, it is an art of relationships, trust, and lived detail.

So, if there is one lesson I hold onto, it’s this: never underestimate the quiet power of leg work. It doesn’t look glamorous. It won’t trend on social media. But it is the invisible thread that turns policy from paper into practice, from aspiration into action.

And to hiring managers and recruiters in the public policy space, if there’s one big thing to look for when evaluating talent, it’s this instinct for leg work. Look beyond academic credentials or how well someone can frame a memo. Ask whether they have the curiosity to walk the corridors, the humility to listen deeply, and the persistence to keep showing up. Because that’s what ultimately separates a good policy professional from a great one.

(The opinions expressed in this article are solely my own and do not reflect the views of my employer or any affiliated organization.)

‍