I’m a big fan of skimming stones. When one finds a stone with just the right roundness and flatness, and couples that with a masterful throw, the result can be a skip of epic proportions. Of course, when one chooses badly or has an arm sadly lacking in either exactitude or prowess, the outcome is merely ripples of ever-increasing size. Alas my arm possesses neither quality nor quantity and ripples are a recurring theme in my world.
I was thinking of ripples the other day, but not in the context of throwing stones. Rather I was thinking of the ripples that leaders’ words sometimes have. Specifically, I was talking to a colleague about the unintended consequences that can occur when people make a flippant remark that those around them take to heart. This is doubly so when the person making the comment is in a position of power, and triply so (or more) when that position of power is one of governance or management.
I’m reminded of an episode in the excellent HBO series Silicon Valley. In this particular episode, Gavin Belson, the CEO of the fictitious tech company Hooli, makes a comment to his team that “the bear is sticky with honey.” Thus ensues weeks of work by his team who obsess trying to decipher what this seemingly allegorical comment could mean. Could it be a reference to an acquisition opportunity the company has? Could it be a reference to staffing levels and a need for an immediate downsizing?
In truth, Belson was pointing out that the honey dispenser, which helpfully had the shape of a bear, was literally sticky with honey. Rather than an earth-shattering statement on the state of the world, the economy or his country, Belson was making a comment that the product of nature’s wunderkind apis mellifera was, in fact, smeared on the exterior aspect of its dispensing container. Be careful with your words, huh?
I recently had occasion to reflect on the power of my own words. Now before anyone mistakenly assumes that I perceive myself to be a big-noter, let me clarify. I’m just a random individual who, like most others, is trying to find his way in the world. No visions of grandeur for me. That said, it would be duplicitous to fail to admit that, thanks to the roles I fill, I have a degree of positional power. Now you could argue that I don’t deserve that modicum of power (and I wouldn’t necessarily disagree with your view) but the situation, as bizarre as it may seem, is as it is.
Indeed, recently a governance colleague of mine cautioned me to think deeply and chose my words carefully when engaging with management within an organisation we both serve on. Their advice to me was to “be careful, as a director you’re omnipotent and people sometimes act weirdly around you.” It is, I must admit, a notion I struggle with – how on earth could anyone consider, even for a moment, that my potency gets anywhere near the omni level.
Humility aside, I’ve had to reconcile myself to the fact that, regardless how I see myself, and outside of the imposter syndrome I suffer from, others’ perceptions are different and, like Gavin Belson, people sometimes assign far more importance to my missives then I’d expect (and, to be clear, far more than they are worthy of). I might simply be reflecting on the agglutinative nature of the sweetener receptacle, but to others I’m making a deep and powerful proclamation.
It’s something for anyone in a position of power to consider. John Emerich Edward Dalberg-Acton, 1st Baron Acton, 13th Marquess of Groppoli, Knight Commander of the Royal Victorian Order, Deputy Lieutenant and better known simply as Lord Acton, was himself no slouch when it came to leadership. He is, of course, best remembered for the remark that:
Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.Â
I can’t say about absolute power, that’s something for others to remark upon, but I’d risk a subtle amendment to Acton’s quote that “Power tends to corrupt, at least in how a message is received.” While leaders may never mean their words to be taken with a deep sense of gravitas, it is often the case. It is worth cogitating upon that before making an utterance.
I’ve never been particularly good at skipping stones but, at this stage in my life, I’ve come to realise that sometimes I create ripples that, at least in my small pond, have a degree of significance.
