Dr. Sylvia Lafair

I’m the first to admit that when the conversation turns to computers, I’m inclined to put my hands over my ears and start singing “la-la-la-la-la….” So when Patti, our director of communications, asked me today to read a post from a blog about “dynamic collaboration technologies,” it’s a good thing she said the word “collaboration” before “technologies,” or I probably would have started singing. Instead, my ears perked up. Because when it comes to the subject of collaboration, I am what Patti calls “a one-woman wiki.” (And I’m pretty sure that’s a good thing.)

In a post titled ”The Political Conundrum of Collaboration,” which was quoted recently on BNET,  technology consultant David Coleman made a great point about collaboration that apparently isn’t as familiar to IT types as it is to those of us who live and breathe the “people” side of business:

“The tools are an extension of our mindset, and our mindset (and assumptions) have to change before we will be able to use the tools effectively. Unfortunately, changing mindset and behavior is much harder (and probably more expensive) than changing a line of code or a configuration setting in a collaboration tool.”

Coming from an expert in a field as mind-boggling to me as information technology, the acknowledgment of the challenges of changing human behavior makes me more proud than ever of the work we’ve done with so many organizations (and, by the way, not at exhorbitant expense). I wonder how many CIOs and “hard-skills” managers out there put their  hands over their ears when confronted with the realities of getting people to work together collaboratively, creatively, and most important, profitably.  On the other hand, some of our greatest client success stories have been technology companies whose leaders recognized that the flesh-and-blood of their organization was just as important as, if not more important than, the nuts-and-bolts. 

Mr. Coleman said it well: “So why are collaboration tools so political? In my opinion, one reason is that when you start to change the way people communicate with each other (inside the company) and how they can share content, you begin to change the organizational structure. People are very picky about what, how and with what they do these behaviors with (after all collaboration is a human behavior not a technology).”

Ah… music to my ears.

As I was researching the effect of ongoing conflict in the workplace for my book about long-term patterns, I was struck with how many people will “go to the mat” to argue for their position rather than look at what is really in everyone’s best interests.

Anyone own a pair of Puma or Adidas sneakers? The two companies were started by brothers who became such rivals that the town where they both lived in Austria was divided by who wore what. The Puma people didn’t talk to the Adidas people, would snub each other at the local pub. And the feud created a great opening for Nike to take the major share of the business.

Then I came across an article in a recent Business Week magazine (April 14, 2008). It caught my eye because a subsidiary of corporate Swiss giant Nestle plans to operate one of the largest spring-water bottling plants in the U.S. in the town of McCloud, California, in the foothills of Mt. Shasta.

The area around Mt. Shasta is breathtaking. It is a place where my husband Herb and I spent time when we were searching for answers to an illness that had plagued him for many months. Just being there helped. I remember the water tasting sweet and pure.

So what is the big deal if Nestle bottles the water and sends it around the country for others to enjoy? First, there was no buy-in from the community of 1300 residents. They are furious that their elected representatives signed the deal without consulting them, keeping it behind closed doors.

Next is the ecological consideration. Forget the water for just one minute and think about the approximately 17 million barrels of oil needed to produce the bottles that all that water comes in. The Pacific Institute says that is enough to fuel more than 1 million cars and light trucks for a year.

Then there is the emotional cost to the residents who have become two mutually hostile camps. One former board member blames the upset for his two heart attacks. Another had her tires slashed. Sales fell when pro-Nestle residents began to boycott a local grocery store.

In the powerful play “An Enemy of the People,” Henrik Ibsen takes the conflict concerning profits over people to a real, although despairing conclusion. It is fascinating that this theatrical production from another century also has water as an underlying theme.

I personally want to salute the residents of McCloud for standing strong. When will leaders learn that business has a bigger mandate than just the bottom line? The essence of our Total Leadership Connections^TM program teaches that “everything is connected and no one wins unless we all do.” Water is for life, not for profits!

The other day I turned on the television to catch up on the media buzz around the Pennsylvania primary and ended up mesmerized as I watched a group of teenage “cheerleaders” in Lakeland, Florida participate in violently beating a classmate and videotaping the incident.

My mind went from the youngsters’ desire to videotape in order to become instant celebrities on YouTube to “Where were the parents”? I began to mull over the frustration I feel about the media, the internet, and our “stimulation addicted” society.

Loud, crude, rude, and outrageous seem to be the modern themes of not only acceptable behavior, but of what actually gets all the attention. That is the route to becoming rich and famous.

And that leads me to Phil McGraw, aka Dr. Phil. His show continues to hit new lows of subject matter and poor taste as participants verbally abuse each other so “good daddy” can set them straight. Isn’t Phil with his grey mustache and bald head the epitome of the “ideal” father figure? He is strong, both physically and emotionally, competent, clear-headed, direct, and “tough-loving.”

Actually, his advice is only good for TV sound bites and not so good for long-term sustainable change for his “clients.” All he does is create a forum for his down-home good ole Texas one-liners (as in “This isn’t the first rodeo I have participated in,” to show the world that you can’t pull the wool over Daddy Phil’s eyes!).

And then I read that his producers bailed one of the cheerleader teens out of jail in exchange for an exclusive interview with her (and because of public disapproval withdrew the offer.)

Phil McGraw, the girls who violently attacked their schoolmate, the media that continues to put out low-level programming, and you and I are all in collusion. I am as much to blame for the youngster who was beaten unconscious as the girls who smacked fists into flesh and their parents. I am as much to blame for Phil McGraw’s producers running to bail out one of the teens, to put her on a mediocre television show and make her an instant celebrity as they are.

The 1976 Oscar-winning movie Network pulls all the strands together as it indicates that the media is in the “boredom killing business.” And it makes me think, “Is that why Dr. Phil and other talk show hosts let people sling shit at each other? Is that why those youngsters in Florida beat the shit out of another girl? Is that why most present-day movies and books are merely combinations of sound bites rather than deep dialogue? 

And I am to blame! I complain about the lack of creative and healthy sustenance we feed ourselves and the malnourished emotional diets our kids are getting. And then I get busy with my own projects and improving my Total Leadership Connections™ program, and I don’t bother to connect to a larger aspect of society and say what I believe. I believe most of us have become complacent and we need to open our windows as they did in Network and yell out, “I’m as mad as hell, and I’m not going to take it anymore!” Please join me to get more programs of meaning into the media and help give our kids the tools to deepen as human beings.

Recently I asked one of my colleagues if she had heard Barack Obama’s speech; she paused and then said, “You mean THE speech?” The capital letters in her voice told me she knew she had heard something of uncommon importance. I know I did.

For me, it brought back a memory of a particular moment of truth in my life, which I’d like to share. This is not about politics or who to vote for. It’s about what goes on inside us and inside business organizations, as we teach in our Total Leadership Connections program.

Her name is Vivian. She is a tall, beautiful, African-American corporate VP, the epitome of correctness in her tailored business suit. When I first met her years ago, she rarely smiled. She told me once that she often wondered which bothered the men in her organization more, her blackness or her woman-ness. She often wondered which bothered her more.

Vivian was part of a small group of internal and external consultants who came together to create a program for all of the field business units. It was called ConneXions: Results Through Relationships.

We met, five of us, on a regular basis. Our agreement was to go for core truth in our communications, exactly what the program was geared to teach. Over time, we began to feel more like family than family.

It was by far the safest Vivian had ever felt in a group. Slowly, she let her guard down. As she became more open, her wardrobe changed. She would wear the African prints she loved and her favorite jewelry of ebony and carved wood that was appreciated by everyone.

One night after dinner, two members of the team sat telling childhood stories of Br’er Rabbit. Vivian, born and raised amid the bigotry of the South, tried not to be upset, tried not to feel betrayed by these people she had come to trust. Of all the stories in the whole world, why did she have to listen to stories that were painful reminders of a lonely past in a segregated town?

We had agreed, no holding back. We needed to learn from our time together, and if we remained politically correct our work with the corporation would ultimately be superficial and pointless.

And yet, Vivian didn’t want to upset the ambiance of this peaceful evening, so she chose her life-long pattern of avoidance, of stoically saying nothing. The evening ended on a seemingly pleasant, comfortable note.

The next morning, however, she took the risk and talked about the pain of listening to the Br’er Rabbit stories. The rest of us, all white, were ever-so-slightly dipped into the tumultuous emotional river of growing up black in a racist environment. We thanked Vivian for her willingness; everyone had touched another truth we might never have touched without her.

The months rolled on, and finally we were ready for a formal presentation, to a fairly headstrong group with many resistant men who saw this “relationship bull” as a waste of time.

And then, two days before “show time,” one of the team members approached me: She was afraid Vivian might be too serious and her presentation would set the wrong tone for the program. Please, she asked me, you have so many funny stories to tell, please can’t you do Vivian’s part also; please, just for this first time. We were so concerned about the squirmy men in the group, neither of us thought deeply about Vivian. She was like a sister to us by now. Surely she would understand.

We met at the beautiful resort in San Jose the night before the offsite. The printed agenda clearly showed that Vivian’s presentation time had been shortened. No, of course she didn’t mind, but she was curious who made the change, and why hadn’t everyone been consulted? Wasn’t this a team effort and weren’t we all to model teaming?

There were lots of quick “sorries”: Sorry, forgot to check, sorry we just got busy, sorry didn’t think it would matter to you, just thought it would be better this way, just because these guys are so tough and you have said you don’t love to present too much. No big deal, really, we won’t forget to consult next time. Vivian stuffed her feelings inside and returned to her pattern of saying nothing.

The meeting was scheduled to start right after breakfast. We would meet for croissants and coffee and just to tie up any loose ends.

Vivian was back in her corporate uniform. No beautiful prints, no hand carved jewelry, no smiles, and no joy.

Ten minutes before “show time,” she looked at us and in a cold, professional voice said that the company’s CEO had called earlier to find out how things were going, and she told him she thought the ConneXions program should be scrapped. It wasn’t worth the time or money and most of the men in the organization were resistant to the psychobabble and process stuff anyway.

The bomb she had dropped left the group littered with debris.

We quickly changed gears to let the business unit do their sales meeting first, so we could figure out what had just happened…

At first, Vivian was an impenetrable wall. Could she pinpoint when she decided the project was worthless?  Why hadn’t she called a teleconference to discuss the situation?

 ”You mean like you did when you wrote me out of the presentation?” Her icy demeanor was beginning to melt.

 ”Vivian, you said last night it didn’t matter. We had to practically beg you to do the presentation in the first place.”

 And then the truth spilled out onto the table. “You’re just like the rest.” she said quietly. “You said you were different, we began to share from a different heart place, but in the end you’re just a bunch of insensitive honkies who think you’re in charge and you white folk can do whatever you want and expect us blackies to ‘Uncle Eric’ you and keep peace.”

Then she did something we had never seen 6-foot-tall, beautiful, competent, assured Vivian do. She not only cried, she blew her nose loudly into the hotel napkin.

Together, we peeled away another layer of truth. We looked at the underlying fear of betrayal that is ever-present in the lives of our African-American colleagues and friends. The sense of hurt is the legacy of generations of lies and pain and the only way to survive is to “Uncle Eric,” meaning to go along no matter how you really feel. We Caucasians had learned an important lesson. We had to look at our own arrogance and our own fear of confronting our black colleagues because we don’t want to see the pain that our white ancestors have caused.

As we peeled the layers, we all felt grateful that we had stayed in the cauldron of discontent to be boiled into the truth. It made a difference in the program we presented that afternoon.

Vivian began with a talk about the meaning of success. She decided to risk being spontaneous, and shared a personal story. This is the essence of what she said:

“People have asked me what it is like to be both African-American and a woman and be a senior VP. My response is: It’s a good place to be, but it’s not how I measure success. One day three years ago, I gave away my fur coat and I traded in my BMW. The trappings of success were merely that. I had arrived nowhere. Yes, there I was, the fulfillment of the American dream and I had nothing.

“I took a trip to Africa and felt a slight touch of the pain my ancestors must have experienced. And putting this program together has given me more important insights into what really matters.

“Let me tell you what success means to me. It’s getting that we are all connected, that without you I don’t exist and vice-versa. That we are all responsible for learning to tell our truths to each other no matter how scary that is, that we are all responsible for listening to each other and for finding ways to help each other. So if you think this relationship stuff is nonsense, well then, dare to tell me that so we can talk about it. Somewhere between you and me is a new way, and if we don’t run away, if we dare to talk, we’ll find it. And I believe both our personal lives and our business lives will benefit.”

And those reluctant guys rose and gave Vivian a standing ovation.