At,
What I find interesting is that I came home from work, and noticed that
CNN was running the story on the two bombings. I sat and watched it for a
minute. I soon tired of the story, and went to the dinning room for
dinner. I ate dinner, talked to my children, and discussed the days events
with my wife and totally forgot about the bombings.
Why didn't I stop and think, "You know, this is really terrible. What are
we going to do about it? I should be concerned for a number of reasons."
Instead I simply pushed it out of my mind and acted like nothing had
happened.
Your message, and those that have followed, have made it clear that I was
indifferent to the atrocity.
Am I so desensitized by the violence in the world, that the bombings
didn't even register on my radar screen? Or am I a cold and indifferent
person? Does human suffering not bother me, as long as I'm not suffering?
Or was I acting on a sense of helplessness, realizing that there was
nothing I could do to comfort those who had been hurt or to prevent future
bombings?
I think of life in organizations, and how people respond to pretty
significant events without even batting an eye. And then we sit and wonder
why our organizations die so young?
An example would be how WordPerfect, once the dominant word processor,
failed to respond to Microsoft Windows. It cost them their life. Windows
was a huge event, something that has fundamentally changed the software
industry. Why did WordPerfect respond so casually?
Why did Microsoft fail to see that the Internet was not merely some robust
network for academics and scientist, but an opportunity for new and
world-wide business until their existence hung in the balance?
While in business we're not typically responding to moral issues and acts
of violence, but we are constantly responding -- and interacting -- with
the forces that are shaping our future. Why do so many of us respond so
casually?
Terrorism has and will continue to shape the world environment. I know
that. I should, I took a number of courses on it in college. But I still
failed to take it as seriously as I should have, and, worse, I failed to
understand that (a) someday terrorism may effect me and my family, and (b)
I should think of what my country can do -- within the limits of
international law -- to curtail terrorism.
Just the same in business. I missed the Internet opportunity as much as
Microsoft or Novell did. I saw it as a place where mid-night hackers,
living in dark and dingy apartments, either talked to other scientists
about new galaxies or new discoveries in physics, or where professors
shared their academic thoughts. I didn't see the day when I and those
around me, would be connected together through the Internet. I failed to
thing that (a) the day will come when the Internet will impact my life and
change the way I interact with others, and (b) what can I do to prepare
(and, in this instance, to capitalize) on its utility?
As far as your message about using hurt to control others behavior. Two
things come to mind: First, you can't control another persons or another
countries behavior; Second, the use of hurt only validates the use of hurt
for achieving desired results.
As a parent I have had to learn these lessons the hard way. I used to
think I was to "teach" my children how to behave -- you know, be quiet in
the library, be reverent in church, be nice to other people, etc. When
they "misbehaved" I would use some type of hurt to punish them: Go to your
room, stand in the corner, sit in the chair and think about what you did
and why it was wrong, etc. And then I would wonder why my children would
use "hurt" or punitive activities when interacting with their friends.
One day I was listening to my son have an argument with his friend in the
backyard. Neither of them knew I could hear the conversation. At one point
my son said, "If you don't stop doing that you can't come to my birthday
party!" And he meant it. The other boy started to cry and went running
home to tell his mom that he couldn't go to my sons birthday party. My son
had learned, at five years old, to use hurt to control another person and
to get what he wanted.
As I've come to see my mistakes as a parent, I have become the family
questioner not the family teacher. I'm full of questions. "Why did you do
that?" which the children hate, because I'm asking them to think about
their actions. "How do you think that made the other person feel?" Or
"How would you like it if someone treated you that way?" And when they
come and ask for my advice my first question is "What do you think you
should do?" Once they answer I ask, "Why do you think that is the right
thing for you to do?"
This simply change has transformed the emotional and intellectual
atmosphere at home. At first the children were pouty; they preferred to
have me use "hurt" to control them because it justified them in doing the
same with their friends. But when I stopped doing that and began asking
questions, they became accountable for their actions, while at the same
time becoming more conscious of what they were trying to achieve and why
the attainment of what they wanted was important. They'd literally stand
in front of me and cry, "Daddy, tell us what to do!" And I'd smile and say
"I can't. I'm not you. You have to decide for yourself. And you have to
take the consequences of your choices. All I can do is help you think
through the problem by asking questions. The final decision is yours."
Now they rarely ask me for directions, and more often then not they make
excellent decisions. Their ability to distinguish right from wrong is also
increased, and I have noticed a tremendous amount of growth in their
sociality.
Again I have to wonder why this type of approach isn't used more in
business and in politics.
Terrorists use terrorism because they're not willing to ask questions and
accept that other people will answer differently than they would. That's
a tough thing to deal with. The first time I had a child make a choice
contrary to the way I would have chosen was difficult. I let them do it.
And I let them experience the consequences. We spent a lot of time
talking, after the event, about why things had worked out the way they had
and how they could learn from the experience. It was difficult for me. But
I had to respect their free-will enough to let them stumble and get hurt
-- and then learn from their experience.
The only hurt we really learn from is the hurt we cause ourselves. Those
moments where our actions and the consequences come together -- and we're
conscious of the fact that they've come together -- are powerful learning
moments. The lesson learned may be joyous or it may be painful but it will
always promote personal growth.
Those who use force are trying to evade that moment. I don't care whether
it is a terrorist, a politician, a parent, a child, a manager, an
employee, or a spouse. An attempt to use force to control an outcome is a
moral abdication, because it is an attempt to evade the causal
relationship between action and consequence.
-- Ben Compton bcompton@emailsolutions.comLearning-org -- Hosted by Rick Karash <rkarash@karash.com> Public Dialog on Learning Organizations -- <http://www.learning-org.com>