Motivation, Leadership, and Legacy in Agriculture: A Human-Centred Approach

Understanding Intrinsic and Extrinsic Motivation

In every corner of South Africa, from the citrus orchards of the Eastern Cape to the maize fields of the Free State, motivation shapes how people lead, work, and endure. It is what gets a farmer out of bed before sunrise during a dry season, what keeps a young agricultural student in class when family expectations pull them elsewhere, and what compels a rural co-op leader to fight for better market access despite years of bureaucracy. Motivation is not just an abstract idea. It’s practical. It’s daily. It’s human.

At its core, motivation comes in two broad forms: intrinsic and extrinsic. One rises quietly from within, the other is driven by what lies outside. Both matter, but they work in very different ways.

Intrinsic motivation is the internal spark that makes someone pursue something for the pure satisfaction of it. A young herder might spend extra time perfecting the layout of the ubuhlanti (kraal), not because anyone told him to, but because it brings him quiet pride. A researcher at an agricultural college may stay late in the lab not for recognition, but out of sheer fascination with plant genetics. No one’s watching, no one’s clapping, but the work continues, because it matters to the person doing it.

Extrinsic motivation is different. It’s fueled by external outcomes, a paycheck, a trophy, a government grant, or the fear of being reprimanded. A farmworker might rush a task to meet a quota. A student might cram for exams just to earn a bursary. These motivators can be effective, especially in the short term, but they often lack staying power.

In the context of agricultural leadership, this distinction is crucial. A leader motivated only by external rewards, influence, income, or prestige may not sustain their commitment when seasons turn harsh or support dries up. But a leader who is also intrinsically motivated, who genuinely cares about food security, land stewardship, and the people in their community, will often persist, even when there’s no applause. These are the kinds of leaders South African agriculture needs more than ever.

Understanding what drives us, and what drives those we work with, is not just academic. It’s the difference between short bursts of effort and a life’s work. Between compliance and commitment. Between farming to survive and farming to transform.

Why Intrinsic Motivation Keeps Us Going

Some mornings, especially in the Cape’s harder winters, the only thing that gets a person moving is something that can’t be bought. It’s not the fuel subsidy or the market price of apples. It’s not the praise from a mentor or the threat of a supervisor’s raised eyebrow. It’s that quiet, often stubborn thing inside us, the deep belief that the work we do matters.

This is the heart of intrinsic motivation. When someone continues to tend to the soil, improve their livestock, or test new crop rotations long after the funding has dried up, it's usually not because they're chasing a prize. It’s because they’ve tied the work to something more profound. A sense of purpose. Identity. Even love.

In isiXhosa, there's a phrase — "Ndiyazenza izinto zam" — I do things because they are mine to do. That spirit defines intrinsic motivation.

The psychologists Edward Deci and Richard Ryan described it well through their Self-Determination Theory. They found that people are most driven when they feel three things: autonomy, competence, and relatedness. In plain terms, we want to feel like we have some say, like we’re good at what we do, and like we belong to something larger than ourselves.

You’ll see it in a young farm intern who experiments with bokashi composting not because anyone told her to, but because she’s genuinely curious. Or in a retired vet in Oudtshoorn mentoring youth in sustainable grazing, simply because passing on knowledge brings him joy. These are not tasks tied to rewards. They’re tied to meaning.

And it’s not unique to South Africa. Across the hills of Hawke’s Bay in New Zealand or the dry wheatlands of Western Australia, you’ll find the same thing. Farmers who endure because they care. Because the land means something. Because feeding people isn’t just a job, it’s a calling.

When people work from this place, from umoya, a sense of spirit or soul, they don’t burn out as easily. They adapt more quickly. They are less likely to quit when markets crash or when bureaucratic systems fail to meet their expectations, as they often do.

And for those of us building agricultural systems, training future leaders, or shaping policy, the lesson is clear. If we want resilient, long-term impact, we must build structures that support this kind of motivation, not stifle it. We must leave space for curiosity, pride, and purpose.

Because when people love what they do, they’ll do it even when the rains don’t come.

How Extrinsic Motivation Affects Us

There is nothing inherently wrong with rewards. In fact, in agriculture, they often keep the system moving. Grants, bonuses, yield-based incentives, climate-smart funding, and even social recognition can all spur action. A farmer may adopt a new soil conservation practice because there’s a government payout attached. A young agri-tech developer might pour energy into a project because there’s a cash prize on the line. This is extrinsic motivation, and when used wisely, it works.

But there is a catch, especially when it becomes the only reason people act.

Over time, when rewards drive behaviour too strongly, the behaviour itself can start to lose its meaning. The work begins to feel hollow, conditional, and mechanical. The job gets done, but the heart leaves the room. And when the rewards dry up, motivation often dries up with them.

Psychologists refer to this phenomenon as the overjustification effect — when people stop doing something they once enjoyed because the reward has overshadowed the original joy. You see this with youth who once loved working with animals, but after too many years of being told only high-yielding results matter, they begin to lose interest. You see it in community farming projects that start strong under donor support, then collapse the moment the funding ends, because the intrinsic motivation was never nurtured.

In the South African context, and especially within agricultural development and land reform efforts, this is a recurring issue. External incentives, well-intentioned as they may be, can sometimes unintentionally erode the very spirit they aim to build. When training programs are designed solely around performance metrics, or when emerging farmers are evaluated only on outputs, we risk turning farming into a formula, instead of a relationship with land, labour, and legacy.

Across the world, it plays out similarly. In Australian agribusiness, studies show that overly competitive bonus structures can damage collaboration and long-term thinking. In New Zealand’s dairy industry, external pressure to hit compliance or sustainability targets has led to what some call “tick-box farming”, where farmers follow the rules, but feel increasingly disconnected from the why behind them.

Leadership, then, must tread carefully. Extrinsic motivators are powerful tools, but they cannot replace the deeper drivers of human effort. If we want behaviour to last, if we want commitment that endures beyond funding cycles or seasonal trends, we must also speak to purpose. To identity. To what matters.

It is not about removing external rewards. It is about ensuring they are placed in a system that honours the person, not just the outcome. That recognises ubuntu, the idea that a fulfilled individual contributes more meaningfully to the whole. When rewards align with values, and not in place of them, that’s when we build something sustainable.

The Role of Core Values and Human Needs

At the heart of every sustainable leadership journey is something deeper than motivation alone. It’s not just about what moves us — but about why we move at all. This is where values and needs come in. And if you're leading in agriculture — an industry rooted in culture, identity, and survival — ignoring these human drivers is not just an oversight, it's a risk.

One of the most enduring frameworks we have is Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. It begins with the basics, food, water, safety, and moves upward through belonging, esteem, and finally to self-actualisation, where a person can become their fullest, truest self. For many leaders in agriculture, especially in rural or post-marginalised contexts like parts of South Africa, Maslow’s ladder is not theoretical.

It's lived.

You cannot expect an emerging farmer in Genadendal or Sterkspruit to commit to a long-term regenerative farming model if their electricity is unstable, or if they fear losing their land lease in six months. Imfuneko, basic needs, must come first. Yet once those are secured, something powerful begins to happen. People start to reach upward.

That’s where Self-Determination Theory becomes especially useful. It adds texture to Maslow by naming three key psychological needs:

• Autonomy — the ability to make your own decisions,

• Competence — the belief that you're capable,

• Relatedness — the feeling that you belong to something bigger than yourself.

In practical terms, it means this: a farm manager who’s given real decision-making power is more likely to take initiative. A student who believes they can succeed in agri-science is more likely to stick with their studies. A smallholder who feels respected and seen in a co-op is more likely to stay loyal, even when the road gets hard.

Now, layer onto that the power of core values —those internal codes we carry, often shaped by family, culture, and lived experiences. In the Western Cape, you might meet producers whose values are shaped by unity or ukuziphatha kakuhle - integrity. In parts of the Karoo, values might be tied to generational stewardship: “My grandfather farmed this land, I must do the same.”

When people are asked to act in ways that conflict with these internal principles, such as cutting corners, exploiting the land, or leading in ways that feel transactional, they may comply, but they rarely commit. Over time, this misalignment breeds burnout, disengagement, and resistance. And no incentive program can fix that.

But when work aligns with both human needs and personal values, something unlocks. People step into leadership roles not just because they must, but because they want to. They build resilient teams, foster real collaboration, and stay focused through chaos. They don’t just manage the farm, they shape the future.

This is the kind of leadership the agricultural sector needs. Not only in South Africa, but everywhere, the land and people depend on each other.

When Motivations, Values, and Needs Intersect

Leadership becomes complicated and human, where different forces collide. The most successful agricultural leaders aren’t those who push the hardest, but those who understand how to align motivation, values, and human needs. Without that alignment, the system starts to creak. With it, the entire machine hums.

Let’s start with intrinsic motivation. At its best, it reflects what someone values. A livestock manager in the Klein Karoo might genuinely enjoy nurturing animals, not for money, but because he was raised to see farming as a calling. That value aligns with his internal drive. Now imagine his employer introduces performance-based bonuses focused solely on profit per head. The joy begins to erode. The intrinsic motivation weakens under pressure from extrinsic goals that ignore what matters to him.

This is not abstract. It plays out on farms, in agri-business boardrooms, in rural development projects, across the country and across the world.

Conversely, consider someone who needs security, one of Maslow’s fundamental needs. Maybe a young woman from a township outside Worcester takes a job in viticulture, not because she loves the work, but because it offers consistent income. That’s extrinsic motivation, rooted in survival. And there’s nothing wrong with that; in fact, it’s wise. However, if that job never evolves to meet her higher needs, such as personal growth or a sense of belonging, she may start to disengage, or worse, leave the sector entirely.

As consultants and leaders, this is where your real work begins: recognising when a person’s motivation clashes with their values, or when their needs aren’t being met by the structures around them. These moments aren’t failures, they’re signals. Signals that something needs to shift.

The sweet spot, of course, is when all three align. When someone’s intrinsic motivation, personal values, and core needs reinforce each other. This is where you find the team member who shows up early, solves problems without being asked, and teaches others without ego. It’s the farm worker who becomes a mentor. The smallholder who becomes a systems thinker. The agri-entrepreneur who doesn’t just innovate, but inspires.

Globally, the most successful models, from regenerative dairy in New Zealand to community-led seed banks in Mpumalanga, are rooted in this kind of alignment. The people involved are doing meaningful work in a way that reflects who they are while also sustaining their practical needs. They’re not being pulled in three directions; they’re walking one path.

As a leader, your challenge is to design environments that allow this alignment to emerge. That means asking better questions. Listening deeper. And crafting systems, be it incentives, training, culture, or communication, that speak to the whole person, not just their outputs.

Because when people are pulled by both purpose and belonging, they stop needing to be pushed.

How Motivation Shapes Our Happiness

For leaders, especially in agriculture, it’s easy to treat motivation as a means to an end, a lever to pull, a fire to stoke. But in truth, it’s far more than that. The kind of motivation we rely on doesn’t just shape performance. It shapes well-being. Over time, it can determine whether a leader flourishes or quietly burns out. Whether a team thrives or fragments. Whether a farm becomes a legacy or a burden.

When we are intrinsically motivated, and our values and needs are met along the way, there’s a kind of emotional resilience that forms. It’s not the sugary happiness of quick wins or easy praise. It’s deeper — more like satisfaction. The kind that comes from knowing you’re doing work that matters, in a way that reflects who you are.

Studies back this up. Research published in the Journal of Happiness Studies found that people who pursue intrinsic goals, like personal growth, mastery, contribution, consistently report greater long-term happiness and emotional stability. Those focused mainly on extrinsic goals, wealth, status, external validation, often experience anxiety, dissatisfaction, or emotional fatigue. The more we chase approval, the more we risk losing ourselves in the process.

This is true for a COO in Stellenbosch agritech and for a cooperative chairperson in Mbizana. It’s just as true for a farm owner in Victoria, Australia, or a sheep station operator in Canterbury, New Zealand. In every context, when people feel autonomous, competent, and connected, they not only work better, they feel better.

And happiness is not a soft metric. It shows up in how well leaders make decisions, how they manage conflict, how long they stay in the sector, and how they treat those around them. It shows up in how they sleep at night, and whether they bring the best of themselves to the next season, or just what's left over.

This is especially important in agriculture, where the pressure is constant, the margins are thin, and the emotional toll can be heavy. You can’t pour from an empty cup, and yet many leaders in this space are running on fumes, kept going only by external pressure and obligation. That’s not sustainable. Not for them, and not for the teams or communities who rely on them.

The best agricultural leadership is built on more than skill. It’s built on alignment. Between what drives you, what matters to you, and what supports you. That’s where real happiness begins, not the fleeting kind, but the kind that sustains over decades.

So ask yourself, and your teams, not just what you’re doing, but why. And whether that why still fits. Because when motivation flows from the inside out, and not just the outside in, the results go beyond yield or revenue. They ripple into legacy.