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Marching Bootless
Chapter 17 of The Anatomy of Peace
By The Arbinger Institute
Editor’s note: The Anatomy of
Peace, an important new book by the writers of Leadership
and Self-Deception, shows us the cause of human conflict so that
we can learn to live in peace. Look for the continuation next Monday.
“No, seriously, what else did it accomplish?”
Lou persisted. “What good did this do — taking off their shoes?”
“It isn’t so much what good it did,”
Yusuf responded, “as what good it invited.”
“Okay, then, what good did it invite?”
Yusuf looked at Mei Li and Mike. “Do
you want to speak to that?”
“Sure,” Mei Li said. She looked at
Lou. “I’m not sure what good it invited, Mr. Herbert,” she began.
How does she know who I am? Lou
wondered.
“But I know what happened — to Jenny,”
she continued. “She decided on her own to enroll in the program.
And I bet you wouldn’t have predicted that.”
“No,” Lou agreed, his eyebrows rising
in surprise, “I can’t say that I would have.” Then he added, “How
did that happen?”
“Well, after a few hours, we finally
ended up at a mall. And Jenny ran into one of her friends. She started
telling her what her parents had done to her and about this program
they had tried to take her to. She mentioned that we worked for
that program as well and that we had been following her for most
of the day.
“The friend then looked down at our
feet, which were all bloody, and asked the question you just asked,
Mr. Herbert. She said: ‘Barefoot? You’ve been running around the
city barefoot?’
“‘Yeah,’ Jenny chuckled back at her.
“The friend then looked at us and back
at Jenny, and then said, ‘I don’t know, Jenny, this program sounds
like it might be okay. Maybe you should give it a try.’
“We talked for a while together after
that, until her friend had to go. After she left, Jenny turned to
us and said, ‘Okay then, tell me more about this Camp Moriah.’
“We answered everything she wanted
to know. We told her about Yusi and Avi, about the wilderness we
go to and how we live off the land and how fun and interesting it
is — how liberating, really. She didn’t believe us about the liberating
part,” Mei Li laughed. “But she kept listening. And after awhile
of talking about it, you know what she said?”
The group hung on the answer.
“She said, ‘Okay. I’ll go.’ Just that.
She wasn’t thrilled, certainly. More resigned than anything, I think.
But she was willing. And then during our ride back here together,
just before we pulled into the parking lot, she said, ‘I’m sorry
for all the things I said to you today. And for your feet.’ She
was genuinely sorry. I know, because I could see the water in her
eyes.
“So, Mr. Herbert, did taking our shoes
off have anything to do with Jenny now being safely and willingly
out on the trail? I don’t know for sure. You’d have to ask Jenny.
But I do know one thing for certain: I know what taking my shoes
off meant for me. It was a way of joining Jenny in her world, which
is something we always try to do here. It’s a way we create space
for helping people to get out of the box. So, for example, when
we go out on the trail and the youth have nothing but a food pack
and a poncho, we too have nothing more than the same food pack and
poncho.”
“Unless,” Mike jumped in, “for safety
reasons we have to have something else — a radio, for example, or
a first aid kit.”
“Right,” Mei Li agreed. “There are
those differences. But we keep them to a minimum. Because if the
kids had nothing but corn meal to eat, for example, but I pulled
out a candy bar for myself, how would that be treating them? Or
if they had to sleep on the hard ground while I had an inflatable
mattress, how would that be treating them?”
“As objects,” came Miguel’s gravelly
voice, surprising almost everyone in the room.
Right,” Mei Li agreed. “I would be
seeing myself as better than and more deserving than them. So how
do you think that would invite them to see and treat me?”
“Same way,” Miguel answered again.
“Exactly,” Mei Li answered. “Joining
the youth in their hardships helps them because it helps us not
to invite their hearts to go to war.
“So, Mr. Herbert,” Mei Li continued,
looking at Lou once more, “did it make a difference to Jenny? I
don’t know. But it made a difference to me. It helped me keep a
heart at peace. And I think that might have made a difference to
her. Like Yusuf and Avi always tell us, we can’t be agents of peace
until our own hearts are at peace.”
Lou sat stunned. Here was a twenty-year-old
girl, probably less than two years removed from high school, and
herself a delinquent in years past, who seemed to have a command
of life that Lou himself knew he had not yet approached.
“Thank you, Mei Li and Mike,” Yusuf
said.
Turning back to the group, he added,
“Do you think your children are in good hands now?”
“I’ll say,” Gwyn answered, with others
adding similar sentiments.
“Thanks,” Lou nodded at Mei Li and
then at Mike.
“Sure.”
“Well, then,” Yusuf continued, after
the two of them had left. “You’ve now met our secret weapon — the
young people here at Camp Moriah who work the miracles in your children’s
lives. I’d like to discuss something that follows from what they
just taught us.
“Most wars between individuals are
of the ‘cold’ rather than the ‘hot’ variety — lingering resentment,
for example, grudges long held, resources clutched to rather than
shared, help not offered. These are the acts of war that most threaten
our homes and workplaces. And the principles Mei Li shared with
us apply no less in those environments than they do here on the
trail with your youth.
“Think about your workplaces, for example.
Think of the privileges you may retain for yourself while you apply
other standards to those who work for you — privileges regarding
vacation time, for example, the choice parking spot, the special
perks, the public spotlight, the differences between what you have
to do to get something to happen and what everyone else in your
organization has to do. Which of these are necessary or unavoidable,
and which of them do you retain because in your heart of hearts
you think you are better than others and deserve special treatment?
You don’t think it matters that all your team members have to play
by one set of rules while you play by another?” he asked. “Don’t
you think that sends a message — that you’re better, more meritorious,
more vital?”
“But what if you are?” Lou challenged,
although good naturedly.
“More vital, you mean?”
“Yes.”
“Then I would start wondering what
special accommodations are vital in order for me to perform my vital
function, and what perks are simply personal indulgences. In other
words, which of them are the candy bars and inflatable mattresses,
and which of them are the radios and first-aid kits?”
“But why should that be the question?”
Lou countered. “If I’ve worked all my life to get to where I am,
shouldn’t I be able to enjoy it?”
>Yusuf smiled, clearly enjoying the
exchange. “Yes, Lou. Absolutely. And that’s just the point isn’t
it, because everyone else wants to enjoy the fruits of their labors
as well. The question for you as the leader is whether you are going
to create an environment that is as enjoyable for your people as
it is for you — a place that they are as excited about and devoted
to as you are. The best leaders are those whom people want to
follow. We have a different word for people who others follow only
because of force or need. We call them tyrants.”
Tyrants. The word echoed uncomfortably
in Lou’s ear, for it was what one of Lou’s fired executives, Jack
Taylor, had called him. No doubt what Cory would say as well,
he reflected.
What Lou didn’t say was that no one
who pulled up at Zagrum Company would have the least question which
car was Lou’s, which office was Lou’s, which desk was Lou’s, which
furnishings were Lou’s. And Lou certainly played by a different
set of rules than the rest. Others had to get his approval for any
expenditure over $2,000, for example. He, on the other hand, could
spend whatever he wanted whenever he wanted. But I’m the boss!
He defended himself.
“So what are you saying, Yusuf?” he
challenged. “That I don’t deserve anything extra for all that I’ve
done? I’ve built the company, for heaven’s sake.”
“Alone?”
“Excuse me?”
“You’ve built the company alone?”
“No, that’s not what I meant.”
“No? It’s what you said.”
“Well it’s not what I meant.” Lou struggled
to find the right words. “I mean that I led the building.
It wouldn’t have happened but for me.”
“You’re no doubt right, Lou. No doubt
at all. So here’s the question: What’s more important to you now
— flaunting your well-earned important status or building a team
and organization that will outlive you, surpass you, grow beyond
you, and ultimately thank and revere you? What do you want, Lou?”
This question brought Lou squarely
back to the mutiny in the boardroom. Kate Stenarude, Jack Taylor,
Nelson Mumford, Kirk Weir, Don Shilling — Lou wrote their obituaries
that morning, and with them, perhaps the obituary of his “baby,”
Zagrum. Who am I kidding? he taunted himself. We’re on
the way down. No one’s going to thank me, much less revere me. That
devotion was reserved for Kate.
Kate.Arial'> All of a sudden
her name took on new meaning. She was one of the people,
Lou thought to himself. That’s why everyone loved her. And followed
her. She didn’t think she was any better — more fortunate
maybe, but no better.
“I’ll be damned!” Lou blurted aloud
shaking his head. “I’ll be damned.”
“Excuse me?” Yusuf said.
“I just fired the one person in my
company,” Lou began, his eyes glassy as he spoke, “who refused to
play by a different set of rules from everyone else. She treated
everyone the same. Drove me crazy sometimes, the attention she would
give to some of the staff — even the temps.” Lou paused. “I even
caught her helping the janitorial staff clean the cafeteria one
day when they were short handed. I couldn’t believe it. Thought
she was wasting her time and my money. But they loved her for it,”
he said, shaking his head in realization. “Always made a point of
parking at the far end of the lot too. Claimed she needed the exercise.”
It suddenly struck him that it wasn’t just about the exercise.
“And I’m left with a lot of people
like me,” he continued, “who think they deserve the best.” He shook
his head in disgust. “I’ve had the choice parking spot for years,
and the choice everything else for that matter, and look what it’s
gotten me. Since I fired Kate and the others, we’ve been in crisis.
Labor has me over a barrel, everyone’s worried, our production is
down, our customers are wondering what’s going on. And here I sit
in Arizona — partly because I need to be here, and partly because
I don’t have a clue what to do about the mess back home. And now
it comes to me: I’m the mess. That’s what you’re saying here
— that I’m the mess.”
“Well actually, you’re the one saying
that,” Yusuf said sheepishly. “I didn’t say that.”
“That’s okay, I’ll say it,” Elizabeth
chided.
Lou was lost in his thoughts. “No wonder
everyone loved and followed Kate,” he continued mostly to himself.
“Damn, have I ever made a mistake.”
“So what are you going to do about
it?”
“I don’t know,” he said honestly.
“Perhaps Kate can give you a suggestion,”
Yusuf answered.
“But I fired her. She’s no longer with
me.”
“On the contrary, Lou, she’s never
been bigger in your mind than she is now. You might have let her
go from your company, but you haven’t been able to let her go from
your mind. Am I wrong?”
“No, you’re right,” he said slumping
in his chair.
“There is a reason Kate was beloved,”
Yusuf continued, “a reason people followed her and worked for her.
And from what I’ve heard about Kate, I have a suspicion I know what
it was.”
“What?”
“Something that one of our Kates —
Mei Li — just taught us. Kate created a space for people at Zagrum
that was akin to the space Mei Li helped to create for Jenny. Like
Mei Li, I’m betting that when Kate showed up for work each morning,
she took off her shoes, or whatever the equivalent of that is in
your company. In an environment that is often fearful and ego-driven,
she created a space where people could give up their worries and
thrive.”
Yusuf waited as Lou pondered this.
“Am I right?” he finally asked.
“Yes,” Lou said, his mind now far away
in a building in Connecticut. “You are.”
Copyright © 2006 by The Arbinger
Institute
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