Meet the Leaders: In Conversation with Jeanette Bain-Burnett for Black History Month

Jeanette Bain-Burnett is Executive Director for Policy and Integrity at Sport England, where she leads work to ensure integrity and inclusion are central to the nation’s sport and physical activity system. Her remit spans thought leadership on key policy issues, supporting a sector that enables everyone to access the benefits of movement and participation.

Before joining Sport England in 2022, Jeanette served as Director of Participation at the Trussell Trust, where she shaped strategies for community engagement and inclusion. She previously held senior roles at the Greater London Authority, including Assistant Director for Communities and Social Policy and Head of Community Engagement.

Jeanette’s career began in the arts and cultural sector as Director of the Association of Dance of the African Diaspora and later as a strategic consultant for organisations such as Arts Council England, Creative Lives and BBC Arts.

Could you share a little about your leadership journey and how you got to where you are today?

I grew up in Jamaica where there was always something to do. I did a lot of sport, but the thing that moved me was dance. From about seven years old, school dance classes lit something in me. As a teenager I joined a community dance company. It was faith based and it became a creative home. The director saw leadership potential in me and gave me small chances to lead. That was my first experience of being shaped by a community leader with a clear vision.

I moved to the UK to continue with dance and the performing arts. I performed, did postgraduate study in choreography at Middlesex, and then realised I wanted to enable others. I could have worked to become a choreographer, but I felt my strengths were in building organisations and creating the conditions for others to succeed.

I applied for administration and project roles and kept seeing an exhibition poster, Black Dance in Britain. I applied to the organisation behind it. They called and asked whether I had noticed they were actually recruiting a Director. I had the experience, but I had not organised my story to see it. I became the first Director of ADAD, the Association of Dance of the African Diaspora. It was a small organisation and that role made me. I defined what leadership looked like there, learned by doing, and led a network and movement focused on moving artists from the margins to the mainstream.

Later I freelanced, then joined the Greater London Authority to lead community engagement at City Hall. Under the Mayor, nothing reached his desk if it had not addressed community need, which made the work both political and deeply practical. Post-COVID I moved to Bristol for family balance and joined the Trussell Trust to lead participation strategy. It was short, but I learned a great deal about structural change in the anti-poverty space and how institutions work with communities at the right pace. I am now at Sport England, leading policy and integrity so that inclusion, access and fairness are central to how people experience sport and movement across the country.

I learned a great deal about structural change in the anti-poverty space and how institutions work with communities at the right pace.

How has your identity as a Black woman influenced your approach to leadership, equity and inclusion?

That’s such an interesting question. I actually did a women’s leadership course earlier this year, and we spoke a lot about barriers that women face in leadership. Some of those experiences resonated with me, and others didn’t.

I grew up in Jamaica with quite a privileged and secure background. My parents were professionals, and I didn’t carry the burden of representation. I didn’t have to justify my existence or prove that I belonged. So when I moved to the UK, it was a kind of cognitive dissonance –  people often expected that I would have low confidence or need extra help because I was a Black woman. And my reaction was, yes, I may need support, but that’s because I’m human, not because I’m Black.

That experience made me more reflective about how barriers show up. Some are structural – around access to safety, security and support. Others are institutional – based on perceptions and stereotypes. And all of them sit on a very long legacy of systemic discrimination that still shapes how people are treated.

One of my early experiences at City Hall captured this perfectly. I got into the lift and pressed number eight for the Mayor’s floor. A woman looked at me and asked if I was one of the secretaries. I said, “No, I’m the new Head of Community Engagement.” You could see the colour drain from her face. It was such a small moment, but it revealed so much about bias, and it made me determined to lead differently.

I don’t ever want to reproduce those same patterns. Inclusive leadership isn’t automatic just because you’re a Black leader. It’s a practice, one that involves humanising other people’s experiences and asking real questions about their stories, rather than relying on the stereotypes we all carry.

People often expected that I would have low confidence or need extra help because I was a Black woman.

Where do you see the biggest tensions around power and equity today, and how can people in positions of influence work to address them?

Across every sector I’ve worked in – arts, policy, community and sport – there’s a genuine appetite for equity. But there are also structural realities that make it hard. Power is concentrated in certain places. Organisations worry about what change means reputationally, or they hold on to comfort.

I always say it’s not enough to celebrate diversity or mark moments like Black History Month. These things are valuable, but only if they’re backed by a redistribution of power that shapes who gets opportunities, who is recognised and whose voices are heard.

One of the hardest truths is that real inclusion demands emotional work. It means leaders confronting their own fears of loss – loss of certainty, influence, privilege. That anxiety sits deep in institutions. Until we’re able to name it, hold it and move through it, we’ll keep circling around the same issues.

One of the hardest truths is that real inclusion demands emotional work.

Many Black leaders speak about the double burden of leading and representing. How do you stay grounded and maintain resilience?

I’ve learned that taking on that burden isn’t good for anyone. It’s not good for me, and it’s not good for the people I want to help.

These days, when I’m asked to carry too much of that responsibility, I often turn the question around and ask, “Why is that my responsibility alone?” I will always choose to lead on inclusion and mentorship because it matters to me, but it has to be shared. The next frontier of inclusion is when everyone owns the agenda – not just those most affected by inequity.

I sponsor our culturally diverse staff network, I coach and mentor, and I try to model what shared ownership looks like. But I also draw boundaries when it becomes exploitative of my energy. Sometimes I simply rest. Rest is part of leadership too.

Sometimes I simply rest. Rest is part of leadership too.

What advice would you give to emerging Black leaders who are trying to build their voice, influence and impact?

First, be clear about your message, what you stand for right now, and hold it. It will evolve over time, but it’s important to know what drives you and not to compromise it.

Second, prioritise wellbeing. That means emotional, physical and financial wellbeing. There’s often a false choice between doing work you love that doesn’t pay or doing well-paid work that drains you. Find the balance. Sustainability is part of leadership.

And finally, stay connected. Build spaces of belonging and joy. Leadership carries expectation, but it’s also a chance to redefine what leadership looks like – to root it in humanity, purpose and care.

It’s important to know what drives you and not to compromise it.