<p>Your columnist does not have any realistic claim to fame. With a generous degree of embellishment, he declares himself to be a wildlife photographer, but has little to show for it. He has also failed to be an effective manager of people, preferring solitude in forests and the company of trees, which neither have the ability to push back nor the desire to argue. And yet, like other managers, he has over the years fallen into the trap of corporate offsite meetings, under the dubious belief that they kindle a bond among workmates and a spirit of cooperation that cuts across narrow P&L silos. Having participated in over 20 such jamborees, the laws of probability have, to his mind, clearly determined that silos cannot be broken. Still, offsites are fun to join, especially when someone else is paying. </p><p>The corporate offsite is one of the great rituals of management life. It begins with a noble intent. The leadership team has been working in isolation and functions are not talking to one another. Client Relationship Managers blame the Research Team. HR blames business heads. Finance blames everyone. The CEO, in a moment of weakness, approves a two day retreat at a resort with lawns, buffet meals and a conference room named after a mountain. The invitation arrives with words that are designed to sound resolute. It is a ‘leadership immersion’ and an opportunity to co-create the future. The agenda usually promises visioning and team bonding. It also promises an early morning nature walk, which is attended only by one unusually energetic colleague from HR and a senior executive who misunderstood the timing of breakfast. </p><p>The first session is always about openness where everyone is encouraged to speak freely. This is followed by a nervous silence, because everyone knows that speaking freely in the presence of one’s boss and one’s boss’s boss is an advanced form of career damage. The facilitator smiles warmly and says, “There are no wrong answers.” This is not true, as there are many wrong answers and some of them will be remembered during increment season. Then come the icebreakers. Participants are asked to introduce themselves by naming an animal that best represents their leadership style. The sales head says tiger. The operations head says ant, because ants are disciplined and understand supply chains. The finance head says owl, because owls are wise, though in her case mostly because she sends emails at 1.15 am. Your columnist would say sloth. By mid-morning, the Post-it notes appear. This is when the offsite becomes serious. No modern organisation can discover its destiny without squares of yellow paper stuck to a wall. Participants are asked to write down what is preventing cross-functional collaboration. The answers are brave but vague. “Mindset,” “Communication.” Nobody writes, “Puneeta refuses to share data,” or “Finance rejects every proposal except its own budget.” Truth is welcome at offsites, provided it is sufficiently abstract. </p><p>After lunch, when the human body is demanding sleep and the gulab-jamun is staging a takeover of the bloodstream, the team is divided into breakout groups. Each group must present three bold ideas. This is where imagination briefly flowers and silos will be broken. The organisation will become agile, transparent and future ready. The presentations are enthusiastic and charts are drawn with arrows pointing upward and circles overlap. Someone uses the word ecosystem. Evening brings the real bonding. The formal agenda gives way to dinner, music and the treacherous belief that hierarchy has been suspended. The Finance Manager sings, which is received with the thunderous applause usually reserved for national achievements. By dessert, several people have agreed that the company must do this more often. By Monday morning, they will return to not taking each other’s calls. The next day begins with a recap and everyone agrees that yesterday was energising. The team then commits to action items, which are placed in a tracker, the corporate equivalent of a protected wildlife sanctuary where ideas may live undisturbed by execution. A group photograph is taken, with everyone standing shoulder to shoulder in the warm glow of alignment. And then the miracle fades.</p><p>Back in the office, gravity returns. The silos, far from having been broken, have survived the offsite with renewed confidence. They have been to a resort, eaten well and returned stronger. This is not to say that offsites are useless. They do occasionally produce friendship and a better understanding of why other departments are impossible. They allow exhausted executives to step out of routine and pretend, for a day or two, that the urgent can make room for the important. They also serve a valuable social function, reminding colleagues that behind every email marked urgent, is a human being who also dislikes early morning meetings. But culture does not change because 39 people sat in a semicircle and discussed trust. Still, your columnist remains fond of the corporate offsite. It has decent food and the rare pleasure of seeing serious people behave slightly less seriously. </p><p>It may not change the organisation, but it does provide a brief illusion that it might. Especially when someone else is paying. </p>
<p>Your columnist does not have any realistic claim to fame. With a generous degree of embellishment, he declares himself to be a wildlife photographer, but has little to show for it. He has also failed to be an effective manager of people, preferring solitude in forests and the company of trees, which neither have the ability to push back nor the desire to argue. And yet, like other managers, he has over the years fallen into the trap of corporate offsite meetings, under the dubious belief that they kindle a bond among workmates and a spirit of cooperation that cuts across narrow P&L silos. Having participated in over 20 such jamborees, the laws of probability have, to his mind, clearly determined that silos cannot be broken. Still, offsites are fun to join, especially when someone else is paying. </p><p>The corporate offsite is one of the great rituals of management life. It begins with a noble intent. The leadership team has been working in isolation and functions are not talking to one another. Client Relationship Managers blame the Research Team. HR blames business heads. Finance blames everyone. The CEO, in a moment of weakness, approves a two day retreat at a resort with lawns, buffet meals and a conference room named after a mountain. The invitation arrives with words that are designed to sound resolute. It is a ‘leadership immersion’ and an opportunity to co-create the future. The agenda usually promises visioning and team bonding. It also promises an early morning nature walk, which is attended only by one unusually energetic colleague from HR and a senior executive who misunderstood the timing of breakfast. </p><p>The first session is always about openness where everyone is encouraged to speak freely. This is followed by a nervous silence, because everyone knows that speaking freely in the presence of one’s boss and one’s boss’s boss is an advanced form of career damage. The facilitator smiles warmly and says, “There are no wrong answers.” This is not true, as there are many wrong answers and some of them will be remembered during increment season. Then come the icebreakers. Participants are asked to introduce themselves by naming an animal that best represents their leadership style. The sales head says tiger. The operations head says ant, because ants are disciplined and understand supply chains. The finance head says owl, because owls are wise, though in her case mostly because she sends emails at 1.15 am. Your columnist would say sloth. By mid-morning, the Post-it notes appear. This is when the offsite becomes serious. No modern organisation can discover its destiny without squares of yellow paper stuck to a wall. Participants are asked to write down what is preventing cross-functional collaboration. The answers are brave but vague. “Mindset,” “Communication.” Nobody writes, “Puneeta refuses to share data,” or “Finance rejects every proposal except its own budget.” Truth is welcome at offsites, provided it is sufficiently abstract. </p><p>After lunch, when the human body is demanding sleep and the gulab-jamun is staging a takeover of the bloodstream, the team is divided into breakout groups. Each group must present three bold ideas. This is where imagination briefly flowers and silos will be broken. The organisation will become agile, transparent and future ready. The presentations are enthusiastic and charts are drawn with arrows pointing upward and circles overlap. Someone uses the word ecosystem. Evening brings the real bonding. The formal agenda gives way to dinner, music and the treacherous belief that hierarchy has been suspended. The Finance Manager sings, which is received with the thunderous applause usually reserved for national achievements. By dessert, several people have agreed that the company must do this more often. By Monday morning, they will return to not taking each other’s calls. The next day begins with a recap and everyone agrees that yesterday was energising. The team then commits to action items, which are placed in a tracker, the corporate equivalent of a protected wildlife sanctuary where ideas may live undisturbed by execution. A group photograph is taken, with everyone standing shoulder to shoulder in the warm glow of alignment. And then the miracle fades.</p><p>Back in the office, gravity returns. The silos, far from having been broken, have survived the offsite with renewed confidence. They have been to a resort, eaten well and returned stronger. This is not to say that offsites are useless. They do occasionally produce friendship and a better understanding of why other departments are impossible. They allow exhausted executives to step out of routine and pretend, for a day or two, that the urgent can make room for the important. They also serve a valuable social function, reminding colleagues that behind every email marked urgent, is a human being who also dislikes early morning meetings. But culture does not change because 39 people sat in a semicircle and discussed trust. Still, your columnist remains fond of the corporate offsite. It has decent food and the rare pleasure of seeing serious people behave slightly less seriously. </p><p>It may not change the organisation, but it does provide a brief illusion that it might. Especially when someone else is paying. </p>
