An Excerpt from Work Would Be Great If It Weren't for the People
"Work would be great if it weren't for the people."
--EVERYBODY
Do you believe that...
- sexual attraction in the office is a non-issue?
- cronyism doesn't exist?
- bonuses, raises, and perks are determined solely by performance?
- other people always play fair?
- logic prevails in disputes over organizational boundaries?
- whether or not you're offered a good job is determined by a rational assessment of whether or not you deserve it?
- you can safely ignore what your co-workers say about you?
- you can do your job well without anyone else's cooperation?
- it doesn't matter if your colleague's spouse plays a regular tennis game with the boss's spouse?
Of course you don't.
Why?
Because you know that, although it doesn't seem fair, talent alone isn't enough. Nor is hard work. Or reliability, or an overflowing Rolodex, or an Ivy League pedigree, for that matter.
No matter what you do, which product you make, or how many services you render, without other people you're not doing business. Without other people there is no business.
Every time something goes right -- an order is placed, an account is won, a project is completed -- it's because people got the job done.
Likewise, when something goes wrong -- an order is misplaced, an account is lost, a project collapses -- it's because somewhere along the line people dropped the ball.
So if business is about people, and you're in business, then people is what you're about, too, no matter what you make or sell or service. Unless you've somehow found a way to work in a vacuum, your fortunes at work are inexorably linked with the fortunes of all those around you. That unhappy man at the end of the corridor who signs off on expense accounts, that elderly secretary who watches over your boss like a mother hen, that pleasant security guard who opens the building for you late at night: All these people affect what you do. Always. All the time. And forever.
This means, like it or not, that you're already playing office politics.
If you scoff at this, if you laugh and say that you're not into playing games, that you're above such silliness, then you're already losing at politics. Because no one can survive at any organization on skill alone.
Given that, here's the bottom line: It's okay to be good at politics. All politics really boils down to is the play of human interactions at work that can make your job either easier or more difficult. That's it. So why not be as good as possible? Never mind that the word politics has developed a terrible connotation. Excuse the fact that it sounds demeaning. It's okay to become a good office politician.
And anyone can learn, once you admit that it's a necessary component of the job.
Excelling at office politics doesn't necessarily involve injuries or pain. Only a small minority of people are out to succeed at all cost, and this book isn't for them. This book is for everyone else who works for a living and who wants to further his or her success by understanding more about the human element of the workplace.
If office politics, in practice, can be so good, why does nearly everyone find the idea so objectionable?
For instance: Not long ago I was talking to Mark, a quiet, ambitious young employee of mine who had found himself in the middle of a minor crisis. Believing that a co-worker was jeopardizing a project on which they were collaborating, Mark dashed off a self-exonerating memo to the Big Boss explaining how the other guy was screwing up. Even though Mark was technically correct, airing the problem made everyone look bad. The boss was angry, the co-worker was resentful, and Mark realized he'd stepped into a political morass.
When I asked him why someone so smart had been inspired to do something so dumb, Mark shrugged and answered, "Hey, you know me. I tell it as I see it. I'm no good at politics." He announced this proudly, which is how most people express their disregard for office politics. In Mark's mind his inability to conceal his impatience with a rival meant that he was somehow morally superior.
Mark was wrong. The impulse to draft an angry memo is understandable. But to send it without thinking -- that's a foolish move. Checking his anger wouldn't have meant a moral compromise, and it would have been more practical, as it would have made it easier for Mark and his colleague to fix the underlying problem.
That's the essence of good politics: Negotiating individual agendas so the work can get done.
You'd never know that, though, from the ways office politics is portrayed in contemporary culture. The popular image of an office politician is a slimeball, a plotter and schemer who doesn't care at all about real work, someone who makes trouble for others while thinking only of himself or herself.
Go to the movies. In Jerry Maguire, you know who the good guy is when he posts a mission statement for his office with the same rectitude as Martin Luther posting his Ninety-five Theses. The bad guys? The ones who prophesy the dire political consequences of Maguire's noble effort. In Working Girl, Sigourney Weaver's character is so unrepentantly bad that the audience cheers when her assistant steals her lingerie, her fiancé, and her job, all because the younger woman was the victim of bad politics, thus justifying her revenge. This bias isn't limited to the movies: in books and on television, bad people are always playing bad politics. They deserve bad endings.
Popular culture has in effect managed to separate work from politics. First there's work: this pure, holy thing that we all like to think we've mastered. Then there's politics, which keeps us from doing what we define as work. Politics is the bogeyman. It's politics that keeps the boss from approving your brilliant piece of copy. It's politics that keeps your salary low, politics that gets your rivals promoted.
Sometimes, in fact, the problem really is them. At other times it's us. At still other times it lies in the fact that we're all not talking to each other, or recognizing difficulties early on, or understanding how human emotions can clog up an office the way hair stops up a drain.
If you knew more about office politics, you could make the distinction and you could perform your job more effectively and efficiently -- and maintain your sanity as well.
I happen to be pretty good when in comes to poliics. I should be -- I've worked at it since my first job at the age of twelve in a local bar (it was actually my father's place); all throughout my career in Washington, D.C.; and then as I climbed the ropes up to senior vice president for External Affairs at Prudential Securities in New York. And even I smart when people praise me for my political prowess; it sounds like a backhanded compliment implying my actual work is somehow deficient.
But when I say I'm good at politics, what I mean is that I try to understand the agendas of people around me (including my own), and attempt to coordinate our efforts to create the best possible result. Being a good office politician means that you know how to turn individual agendas into common goals. You become a facilitator. You empower other people to achieve great things.
Not that office politics can't be abused. There are always going to be some people who only play politics for their own gain. If that's you, you'd better do your dirty work fast and be prepared to move on, because the organization will smell what you are -- a predator -- and will rally against you for its own protection.
Excerpt reprinted from WORK WOULD BE GREAT IF IT WEREN'T FOR THE PEOPLE by Ronna Lichtenberg. Copyright © 1998, Ronna Lichtenberg. All rights reserved. Reprinted by permission of the publisher, Hyperion.
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