Conferences

Your columnist has, over the past 30 years, chaired and moderated several panel discussions. This is not a confession he makes proudly. Some admit to tax errors and others to youthful indiscretions. Your columnist must live with the knowledge that, on many occasions, he has invited four intelligent people to sit under bright lights and answer a question so large, which generations have failed to resolve. The great Indian panel discussion is now one of the pillars of corporate life, along with quarterly targets, airport lounges and pretending to understand what consultants mean by operating model transformation. It appears at every conference and leadership retreat.

The ritual is always similar. There is a backdrop with 17 logos. There are five chairs, one of which wobbles. There is a table with plastic flowers, three bottles of water and microphones that will work perfectly during the sound check. There is also a moderator, armed with a sheaf of papers and the doomed optimism of a man who believes the session will end on time. The topic is never modest. No one assembles a panel to discuss why expense claims take six weeks to clear. Instead, the subject is The Future of Leadership in a Disrupted World. Such titles are carefully designed to sound profound, while meaning absolutely nothing. The moderator begins with the words, “We have a very distinguished panel.” This is compulsory. The moderator then promises to keep introductions brief, before reading each biography in full, including school prizes, honorary fellowships and the fact that one speaker was once listed among 40 under 40.

The first panellist thanks the organisers for inviting him and congratulates them for choosing a timely theme. This takes two minutes. He then says he will make three quick points. At this moment, experienced members of the audience lower their expectations and raise their phones. No one who announces three quick points has ever made three quick points. The first point contains context. The context contains background. The background contains a global overview. The global overview contains a reference to China. By the time the second point appears, the hotel staff has started laying out lunch. The second panellist says he broadly agrees with the first speaker. This is unfortunate, because the first speaker also broadly agreed with himself for 14 minutes. The second panellist then says, “Let me offer a slightly different perspective,” and proceeds to say the same thing, but with the word digital inserted in three places. The third panellist says the issue is complex. This is the safest sentence in corporate India. Everything is complex, including the decision to choose amongst the dessert spread.

The fourth panellist is the one to fear. He has waited patiently and nodded gravely. He has made notes. He has watched the moderator glance at the clock and has interpreted this not as a warning, but as encouragement. He, consequently, begins with history. Not recent history, which would be tiresome enough, but proper history. The Industrial Revolution is mentioned. Then Japan’s lost decade. Then liberalisation. A brave soul in the audience coughs. A weaker one checks return flights. At this point the moderator must intervene. This is where chairing a panel becomes less like journalism and more like hostage negotiation. One must interrupt an eminent person without making him look interrupted. The approved phrases are, “That is a fascinating point,” and “We must come back to that.” Translated into English, these mean, “Please stop.”

Then comes the audience question. In theory, this is the democratic part of the session. In practice, it is where a gentleman in the third row rises to deliver a keynote address, disguised as curiosity. He begins, “My question is very simple.” This is never true. Simple questions do not require autobiography. He explains his company, his sector, his journey, his concern with the macro environment and his recent dissatisfaction with artificial intelligence. Four minutes later, the moderator says, “Could you please come to the question?” He replies, “I am coming to that.” He is not.

There is also the person who says, “This is more of a comment than a question,” thereby at least pleading guilty before committing the offence. Whilst the moderator frets, there is a synchronised rolling of eyes by the audience. Then there is the person who asks all four panellists to respond, though the session ended seven minutes ago, followed by the one man who begins with, “I may be completely wrong,” and then speaks with the confidence of a Supreme Court judgment. To be fair, good panel discussions do exist. They happen when panellists are concise, honest and willing to disagree without reaching for diplomatic waffle. They happen when the moderator asks the question everyone is thinking, rather than the question printed in the briefing note. But these are rare gifts, which admittedly your columnist has failed to acquire despite decades on the job. More frequently, the great Indian panel discussion ends in the traditional manner, with applause, thank you mementoes and a group photograph in which everyone looks relieved. The audience departs with a tote bag, a brochure and the impression that disruption is real and transformation must be purposeful, provided somebody else does the implementation.

The panellists shake hands and the moderator exhales whilst running to the washroom, a clear indication that his enlarged prostate requires an urgent visit to the urologist. The organiser declares the session outstanding. The hotel staff removes the plastic flowers. And somewhere, in another ballroom, five chairs are already being arranged for a discussion on The New Paradigm.