The decisions you make today will be with you for years.
We often determine how we'll handle a project, a product launch, or an event as part of a set of annual or quarterly initiatives. We're driven by immediate needs to show results, whether it's to our boss, a client, or investors.
And in the heat of those moments, as we're pressured to deliver according to schedule, we may miss longer-term implications because of short-term needs.
A case in point is Facebook, which is back in the news, due to the Cambridge Analytica data dust-up and the U.K.'s Digital, Culture, Media and Sport Committee. At issue is not only Facebook's questionable decisions about its data policy in past years, but how Facebook representatives "deliberately misled" the committee in testimony late last year.
The committee was so outraged with Facebook that they considered social network to be skirting along the criminal world: "Companies like Facebook should not be allowed to behave like 'digital gangsters' in the online world, considering themselves to be ahead of and beyond the law."
Even if we can forgive Facebook's decisions in the years leading up to the election and chalk it up as lack of foresight or a result of a lack of coordination internally, it's getting more difficult to overlook the transgressions above. The leadership has been given ample opportunities to come clean, and at every turn, they're guided by their moral compass, which is expressed through a series of delays, denials, and deflections.
"And those that deceive upon hope of not being observed do commonly deceive themselves, the darkness in which they believe they lie hidden being nothing else but their own blindness and are no wiser than children that think all hid by hiding their eyes." – Thomas Hobbes, Leviathan
Even as Mark Zuckerberg continually expressed his idealistic desire to make the world a more connected place, the constant hunger for data and profits drove the company forward, ethics be damned.
This kind of "culture creep" occurs when an original vision is blurred while day-to-day operations consume what people think about and do. The urgent becomes the essential, and can usurp even the most aspirational and high-minded mission in an effort to satisfy different stakeholders.
An internal group at Facebook called the Analog Research Lab (ARL) is trying to boost morale and provide evidence of a larger meaning of employees' work at Facebook. But even they're having trouble staying true to the mission: "There's a push-and-pull to doing the right thing, and doing the right thing when you have a lot of different things pulling at you is a really difficult task."
Well, no. If the things pulling at you are all driving in the same direction, and your company's culture is aligned around the same vision, doing the right thing should be no more difficult than putting on your shoes in the morning.
If, instead, you're finding that you're being pulled in different ethical directions, then you need to make a decision on what matters most to you.
It's perfectly illustrated with this old Native American folktale:
An old man spoke to his grandson: "Inside everyone there is a battle between two wolves. One is Evil. It is anger, jealousy, greed, inferiority, lies, and ego. The other is Good. It is joy, peace, love, hope, humility, kindness, empathy, and truth."
The boy thought for a moment. Then he asked, "Which wolf wins?"
A moment of silence passed before the old man replied. And then he said, "The one you feed."
Management guru Peter Drucker once said that culture eats strategy for breakfast. Well, Facebook's culture continues to cast a shadow over its strategy. Or perhaps it's a perfect reflection of it.
When your company's culture pulls you so firmly in one direction that your strategy is compromised, then it's time to take another look at each.
Image credit: The Wolf and the Lamb by Jean-Baptiste Oudry (Wikimedia Commons, public domain)
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One of the most peculiar figures of ancient Greece was Diogenes of Sinope, the Cynic philosopher. He believed in living his values, rather than simply talking about them.
Diogenes made it his life's mission to challenge established norms or customs. While his father minted coins for a living, Diogenes completely rejected that and made poverty a virtue. He spent his days in the marketplace, living in a tub or barrel, wandering the streets with a lantern in the daytime, saying that he was looking for an honest man.
He didn't care what others thought of him; he lived as a preached. Even when Alexander—as in Alexander the Great—met him and asked if he could do anything for him, Diogenes responded with, "Yeah, move. You're blocking my sunlight."
To him, it didn't matter whether Alexander was a king or a pauper; Diogenes treated everyone the same. There's something to that kind of free and easy and unconcerned attitude that we can all relate to. But can we put it to practice in our work? That's the challenge.
In recent weeks, I've spent time talking about transparency and reputation. We know there's a balance that works for your brand. At the intersection of those is authenticity. And a purple tutu.
A Lesson from the Old BaileyHorace Rumpole is a portly, curmudgeonly British criminal barrister who never pleads guilty, lives on his wits, cheap red wine (Château Thames Embankment) and small smelly cigars, and refers to his wife Hilda as "She Who Must Be Obeyed."
In the short story "Rumpole a la Carte," we find Hilda angry with Rumpole because of the way he behaved at a fancy restaurant, and the years of dealing with Rumpole's idiosyncracies have pushed She Who Must to the tipping point.
Hilda looked at me, weighed up the evidence and summed up, not entirely in my favour. "I don't think you've made that terrible fuss because of what you thought about the commercial law," she said. "You did it because you have to be a 'character' don't you? Wherever you go. Well, I don't know if I'm going to be able to put up with your 'character' much longer."
"You have to be one all the time, don't you?" She was clearly getting into her stride. "With your cigar ash and steak and kidney and Pommeroys Ordinary Red and your arguments. Always arguments! Why do you have to go on arguing, Rumpole?"
"Arguing? It's been my life, Hilda," I tried to explain.
"Well, it's not mine! Not anymore."
On the way to my place of work I spent an uncomfortable quarter of an hour thinking over what she who must be obeyed had said about me having to be a "character". It seemed unfair charge. I drank Château Thames Embankment because it's all I can afford. It keeps me regular and blots out certain painful memories, such as a bad day in court in front of Judge Graves, an old darling who undoubtedly passes ice water every time he goes to the Gents. I enjoy the fragrance of a small cigar. I relish an argument. This is the way of life I have chosen. I don't have to do any of these things in order to be a character. Do I? [If you like Rumpole, you can find a video of the story above here.]
Just like Diogenes, Rumpole is unapologetically himself. He has a credo—a brand—and he is consistent no matter the situation.
"No man can wear one face to himself and another to the multitude without finally getting bewildered as to which may be true."
Authenticity in my InboxI recently checked the email notifications I got from the neighborhood social network Nextdoor. It was the usual set of complaints and announcements: a stray dog, someone needs a house cleaner, school registration, et cetera.
But then, right there in the middle was the subject line: "Purple tutu."
Now, if that didn't get my attention, nothing ever would. I clicked on it and saw that Mona was asking where should could buy a purple tutu locally. While no one had a definitive answer for her, it was one of the most clicked on messages on the platform. Because Mona's question was so different from the usual groans and bleatings of Nextdoor.
The lesson is to stand out. But stand out for being you, not just for the sake of standing out. Or, as W.H. Auden put it:
"Some writers confuse authenticity, which they ought always to aim at, with originality, which they should never bother about."
Authenticity is the true you – if you act the same way you think. People can tell when you're faking it. Why spend time trying to fit in with others when you can simply telegraph your own values, ideas, and personality to the world?
Like Rumpole, you don't need to be a character. You need to have character. (tweet this)
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