That's When Culture Changes

In a dance, sometimes you lead. Sometimes you're led. This is one of the second kind.

I'd been brought in to help an executive team work on their culture. I already knew some of the team — I had coached one or two individually over the years.

Give us "brutal honesty!"

In recent days I had delivered to the team a situation appraisal — a specially tailored process designed to examine complex issues, such as culture, provide some analysis and deep assessment of potential root causes. It provides the basis for any organisational design and development work to follow. I knew they had requested "brutal" honesty — they had inserted the brutal, not me. However, it is always a little unnerving when the team challenges the results of the assessment. This was the follow-up session, delivered a few days later, giving the exec team a chance to review and digest the material.

The blood-letting …

I often refer to these sessions as blood-lettings, for reasons I have become all too familiar with.

They aren't called that because they're cruel. They're called that because they are a necessary way of releasing old energy, old emotions, old grievances — they need a safe place to go before anything new can grow. Better out than in. Better in here, where I provide the psychological safety, than out there in the corridors or other team meetings afterwards.

But blood-lettings are raw. And raw rooms can be unpredictable.

This one was heading somewhere unhelpful. The situation appraisal had left them sore. A little bruised. And powerful people who are used to driving things their way don't always handle bruising with grace. The conversation was starting to turn — not toward the problem, but toward each other.

Then Mike stopped the room.

Asking the right question at just the right time …

Mike was someone I'd worked with before. Considered, thoughtful and dignified. The kind of leader who listens more than he speaks — and speaks more astutely because of it.

"Mark," he said, "I remember a question you asked me in one of our coaching sessions. It really made me think. I wonder if it might be worth asking the team."

I asked him to remind me.

"If you could choose just one thing — would you prefer to succeed or be right?"

The room went quiet.

After a while someone laughed. Not the humorous kind. The uncomfortable kind. The kind that happens when something lands somewhere true.

"Are we sure we can't have both?" Now the room truly laughed — that dose of humour was the catharsis the room needed.

What happened next was one of those moments where I enjoy my role as a facilitator. The team took over and two flip charts went up on the wall. SUCCESS on one. BEING RIGHT on the other.

And then the dance moved away from me leading — to me being led.

The energy rose. Chatter bubbled. Groups self-organised. I stood back, sipped my coffee, and ate a chocolate biscuit.

Don't push the river …

I write in The Hidden Gap about the Gestalt cycle of experience — how energy moves when you remove the blocks rather than push through them. Once it finds its flow there's no stopping it. In much the same way as there is no point trying to push the river, there is even less point trying to stop the river in full torrent.

Mike's inner coach felt what the room needed and acted on it. A question from a coaching session, months earlier, showing up at exactly the right moment in a completely different room. That's not technique. That's values work landing where it was always supposed to land.

The prime question — what do I need right now? — had become, from the team's perspective, what do we need right now?

The room answered itself. I just made sure nobody interrupted it.

So, where are you with all of this?

I wonder if this story reminded you of any team, past or present? Was there a Mike? Or a "comedian" who provides the light relief? How safe are the rooms in your organisation?

I have started this community in From Our Trenches to ponder these and other questions — to allow your voice an opportunity to speak. I hope it works for you.