<p>The higher your columnist has risen in his organisation, the more agreeable his colleagues have become. I have naturally attributed this to my growing wisdom, although school fees and next month’s mortgage payments may also deserve some credit. Even my suggestion that we enter a business nobody understands can receive thoughtful nods from people who seemed perfectly sensible before I entered the room. I welcome bad news, of course. My door is permanently open, as is my mind, provided the news does not concern anything I suggested last Tuesday. Mention that my brilliant new product appeals mainly to relatives and I begin examining the messenger’s reasoning with annoyance.</p><p>My colleagues could therefore be forgiven for describing a lost customer as a portfolio adjustment, while a project running six months late enjoys an extended validation phase. By the time a report reaches me, several helpful people may have removed the bits likely to spoil my lunch. The business consequently enjoys excellent prospects until somebody mentions a difficulty paying salaries. Management scholars call this organisational silence. I would probably call it a failure to keep me informed, overlooking my contribution to the arrangement. Meanwhile, the people who nodded during my presentation gather outside to discuss how much furniture might be salvaged.</p><p>I should also beware of mistaking an attentive audience for an appreciative one. A colleague watching me dismantle a disappointing forecast may be captivated in much the same way as a motorist passing a motorway pile-up. Neither is necessarily enjoying the spectacle. My performance is unlikely to encourage the next person with unwelcome numbers to volunteer for the matinee. Still, I hope I may enter one plea in mitigation. Bad news delivered through an unending tour of departmental history can test even a better listener than me. By the twentieth minute, I may be thinking less about the problem than about escaping through my permanently open door.</p><p>What would help is a brief account of what has happened, what is at risk and what we might do next. If somebody has stumbled, an admission saves us a lengthy inquiry into everybody else’s contribution, including, possibly, mine. News of a leak in the boat is easier to receive from someone carrying a bucket. Practical options, a recommendation and a clear decision for me to make would give your columnist something useful to do, while reducing the temptation to ask who approved the voyage.</p><p>There is, however, a danger if I insist that every warning arrive with a solution. People may wait until they have one, by which time we are all standing in water. I would rather hear what they know, what they are checking and when they will return with options. Making that preference believable requires me to listen before passing judgement and thank the person who interrupted my comfortable afternoon.</p><p>My colleagues will remember what happened to the last person who tried. If I want an early warning next time, a little encouragement would be a sensible investment. I might also resist explaining how I foresaw the entire difficulty, particularly if there is a minute recording my enthusiastic approval. Your columnist would surely prefer a mildly bruised ego to another morning of cheerful assurances from expensive people quietly moving their belongings downstairs.</p>
<p>The higher your columnist has risen in his organisation, the more agreeable his colleagues have become. I have naturally attributed this to my growing wisdom, although school fees and next month’s mortgage payments may also deserve some credit. Even my suggestion that we enter a business nobody understands can receive thoughtful nods from people who seemed perfectly sensible before I entered the room. I welcome bad news, of course. My door is permanently open, as is my mind, provided the news does not concern anything I suggested last Tuesday. Mention that my brilliant new product appeals mainly to relatives and I begin examining the messenger’s reasoning with annoyance.</p><p>My colleagues could therefore be forgiven for describing a lost customer as a portfolio adjustment, while a project running six months late enjoys an extended validation phase. By the time a report reaches me, several helpful people may have removed the bits likely to spoil my lunch. The business consequently enjoys excellent prospects until somebody mentions a difficulty paying salaries. Management scholars call this organisational silence. I would probably call it a failure to keep me informed, overlooking my contribution to the arrangement. Meanwhile, the people who nodded during my presentation gather outside to discuss how much furniture might be salvaged.</p><p>I should also beware of mistaking an attentive audience for an appreciative one. A colleague watching me dismantle a disappointing forecast may be captivated in much the same way as a motorist passing a motorway pile-up. Neither is necessarily enjoying the spectacle. My performance is unlikely to encourage the next person with unwelcome numbers to volunteer for the matinee. Still, I hope I may enter one plea in mitigation. Bad news delivered through an unending tour of departmental history can test even a better listener than me. By the twentieth minute, I may be thinking less about the problem than about escaping through my permanently open door.</p><p>What would help is a brief account of what has happened, what is at risk and what we might do next. If somebody has stumbled, an admission saves us a lengthy inquiry into everybody else’s contribution, including, possibly, mine. News of a leak in the boat is easier to receive from someone carrying a bucket. Practical options, a recommendation and a clear decision for me to make would give your columnist something useful to do, while reducing the temptation to ask who approved the voyage.</p><p>There is, however, a danger if I insist that every warning arrive with a solution. People may wait until they have one, by which time we are all standing in water. I would rather hear what they know, what they are checking and when they will return with options. Making that preference believable requires me to listen before passing judgement and thank the person who interrupted my comfortable afternoon.</p><p>My colleagues will remember what happened to the last person who tried. If I want an early warning next time, a little encouragement would be a sensible investment. I might also resist explaining how I foresaw the entire difficulty, particularly if there is a minute recording my enthusiastic approval. Your columnist would surely prefer a mildly bruised ego to another morning of cheerful assurances from expensive people quietly moving their belongings downstairs.</p>
