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Ethical Office Politics

Ethical Office Politics

Organizations are full of decisions and choices. The route to getting something done, to making a sale, or distributing a product, is full of decisions, some large, many small. However much effort goes into setting procedures and policies, it’s impossible to anticipate every choice that will be faced—especially since many of them are about choosing between options that are both desirable.

Organizations are social places too. The economic basis for people coming together to work in groups and teams may be to achieve things they cannot do alone, but since people naturally enjoy being with others, the social aspect of work is never far below the surface.

These two facts, taken together, explain why office politics are an inevitable part of any working environment. When choices need to be made that aren’t covered by explicit rules (and that’s most of them), there has to be a mechanism for choosing. Where resources must be allocated and shared, people seek to influence the outcome. And where people come together in a social environment, some will seek to lead and others be content to follow.

Office politics cannot be avoided, however many people regard them with distaste and try to avoid getting involved. Too often they smack of dirty tricks and the use of personal influence in the interests of a few, powerful individuals, conjuring up a picture of secret deals in back rooms and pay-offs in favors given and expected. Ethically, most instances of office politics tend to be dubious.

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Let’s assume that office politics are an unavoidable fact of organizational life. We can’t avoid encountering them. The ethical question then becomes how we act when we do.To make sense of this, you need to distinguish between three aspects of political actions:

  • Making decisions where there are no rules or precedents to guide you.
  • Handling the allocation of resources.
  • Creating a “pecking order” of influence.


Difficult Decisions

People are emotional creatures. They like to believe they use reason to work out what to do when there’s nothing much to guide them, but this is an illusion. They make decisions largely on the basis of emotions (fear, desire, hope, faith), then use reason to justify what they have already decided.

How does this work to create office politics? When you’re faced with a difficult decision and no clear guidance, you tend to think about what others will make of whatever you decide. Will they approve or criticize? Will you trespass on someone else’s turf? How much freedom do you have to make a decision without consultation?

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Fear is one of the commonest emotions, so it’s natural to worry about the outcome and seek reassurance. That’s where office politics comes in. By consulting someone who has influence, or avoiding anything that might upset a powerful person, you gain a measure of safety. Patronage, the power of advancing friends and protecting them from harm, is the main benefit of being politically influential. People who aspire to political power are keen to use and extend their patronage by offering protection and support to their friends when difficult decisions must be faced. Office politics play a significant role in every major decision. These decisions offers scope for extending patronage, lessening the influence of your enemies, and adding more grateful people to your circle of dependents.

Allocating Resources

Companies spend millions of dollars on complex procedures for setting and reviewing budgets to decide how resources are allocated. Yet however much financial and statistical firepower is expended in this process, these decisions can never be wholly rational or objective, because the choices are too complex and uncertain to be resolved in mechanical ways. In every budget decision, there;s an element of guesswork about how things will turn out. In some, there’s little else. Yet you have to choose.

You could toss a coin, but that wouldn’t look very good (though it would often be better than the means many organizations actually use). Office politics comes to the rescue. By instituting a process of persuasion and influence, you can seem to be making rational decisions, even where there’s nothing definite to guide you. Let everyone come forward and make their case, then decide which seems strongest. Of course, the strongest decision isnit always (or usually) made on the basis of rational considerations. Because we’re human, and fear reprisals from powerful people or hope for favors, we tend to give some people’s arguments extra weight. Besides, when the people who make the final choices also stand to benefit from them, a little horse-trading is inevitable. You back my budget and I’ll back yours. You thwart me and I’ll take any opportunity to pay you back in kind. That’s how the world goes.

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The Pecking Order

People are not created equal. Some are more assertive, more daring, more greedy or stronger than others. Take any group and you’ll find a hierarchy of power and influence. Some people long for power and will do almost anything to obtain it. Some long for riches, others recognition, and others want love (or at least the semblance of it).

When formal means of gaining recognition and position aren’t adequate (as is almost invariably the case), people exploit informal ones. Being seen as someone “in the know,” a “mover and shaker” or “a good person to have on your side” confers power. In many cases, this informal hierarchy of political influence is more influential than the formal hierarchy. The common process of “kicking someone upstairs” (awarding a grand-sounding title and position that lacks any real power) proves this.

The upper reaches of most organizations are strikingly like golf clubs. There are hosts of unwritten rules of etiquette and behavior that you break at your peril. Being the best player is not always the route to the top positions. There’s generally a ruling elite which guards its prerogatives fiercely and admits new members only after making sure they will fit in (do nothing to upset the power of existing people) and show the right stuff (speak and act in ways that the ruling elite approves). Formal decisions are preceded by informal discussions amongst those in power to ensure that nothing is done of which they don’t approve in advance. Horse-trading between the great and mighty is the accepted way of allocating resources and influence.

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Ethical Office Politics

If office politics are inevitable, can they be handled ethically? I believe there can, and it’s a crucial element in making a working environment that respects people and allows them freedom to grow and develop.

The basic principle of all ethical action is to promote happiness and well-being and do no harm. You could say ethics is the art of living together in a civilized way. Organizations without much ethical sense tend to live by some version of the law of the jungle. The strongest, most cunning and most unscrupulous people grab all they can. Weaker ones are exploited and despised.

In contrast, any ethical approach to organizational life requires self-restraint in pursuit of an ultimate goal: a business that operates smoothly and promotes the well-being of its employees, customers and the society of which it’s a part. An ethical business is one that is civilized; that it seeks to promote itself as part of a civilized community.

Ethics are always needed where you face choices. The basis for an ethical approach to politics at work is simple. You need to consider your actions in the clear light of the most likely result. Emotions are a poor guide. They tempt you to exchange short-term pleasure (seeing the hated colleague in trouble) for long-term problems (when he or she finds cleverer ways to mess you up in revenge). Rules, even moral ones, rarely cover more than a narrow range of situations. Besides, most people are good at reinterpreting the rules to allow them to do whatever they want—and act as injured innocents if they’re caught.

However you imagine what working life would be like without ethics, the result is fearful. Ethics are their own reward, not in the abstract sense of being right, but in the practical sense that a life without them would be unlivable. All you need to do is consider a greater purpose than your own immediate desires. Civilization has been around for some thousands of years. Sadly, it’s still something many people can’t seem to understand. An ethical approach to working life depends on standards of thinking and acting you impose on yourself, to free yourself from anxiety and regret and increase your satisfaction and happiness—and the happiness of everyone you deal with. An ethical approach to office politics is the same. Simple, isn’t it?

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Last Updated on March 17, 2020

A Review of the Book “The Art of Learning”

A Review of the Book “The Art of Learning”

Josh Waitzkin has led a full life as a chess master and international martial arts champion, and as of this writing he isn’t yet 35. The Art of Learning: An Inner Journey to Optimal Performance chronicles his journey from chess prodigy (and the subject of the movie Searching for Bobby Fischer) to world championship Tai Chi Chuan with important lessons identified and explained along the way.

    Marketing expert Seth Godin has written and said that one should resolve to change three things as a result of reading a business book; the reader will find many lessons in Waitzkin’s volume.  Waitzkin has a list of principles that appear throughout the book, but it isn’t always clear exactly what the principles are and how they tie together.  This doesn’t really hurt the book’s readability, though, and it is at best a minor inconvenience.  There are many lessons for the educator or leader, and as one who teaches college, was president of the chess club in middle school, and who started studying martial arts about two years ago, I found the book engaging, edifying, and instructive.

    Waitzkin’s chess career began among the hustlers of New York’s Washington Square, and he learned how to concentrate among the noise and distractions this brings. This experience taught him the ins and outs of aggressive chess-playing as well as the importance of endurance from the cagey players with whom he interacted.  He was discovered in Washington Square by chess teacher Bruce Pandolfini, who became his first coach and developed him from a prodigious talent into one of the best young players in the world.

    The book presents Waitzkin’s life as a study in contrasts; perhaps this is intentional given Waitzkin’s admitted fascination with eastern philosophy.  Among the most useful lessons concern the aggression of the park chess players and young prodigies who brought their queens into the action early or who set elaborate traps and then pounced on opponents’ mistakes.  These are excellent ways to rapidly dispatch weaker players, but it does not build endurance or skill.  He contrasts these approaches with the attention to detail that leads to genuine mastery over the long run.

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    According to Waitzkin, an unfortunate reality in chess and martial arts—and perhaps by extension in education—is that people learn many superficial and sometimes impressive tricks and techniques without developing a subtle, nuanced command of the fundamental principles.  Tricks and traps can impress (or vanquish) the credulous, but they are of limited usefulness against someone who really knows what he or she is doing. Strategies that rely on quick checkmates are likely to falter against players who can deflect attacks and get one into a long middle-game.  Smashing inferior players with four-move checkmates is superficially satisfying, but it does little to better one’s game.

    He offers one child as an anecdote who won many games against inferior opposition but who refused to embrace real challenges, settling for a long string of victories over clearly inferior players (pp. 36-37).  This reminds me of advice I got from a friend recently: always try to make sure you’re the dumbest person in the room so that you’re always learning.  Many of us, though, draw our self-worth from being big fish in small ponds.

    Waitzkin’s discussions cast chess as an intellectual boxing match, and they are particularly apt given his discussion of martial arts later in the book.  Those familiar with boxing will remember Muhammad Ali’s strategy against George Foreman in the 1970s: Foreman was a heavy hitter, but he had never been in a long bout before.  Ali won with his “rope-a-dope” strategy, patiently absorbing Foreman’s blows and waiting for Foreman to exhaust himself.  His lesson from chess is apt (p. 34-36) as he discusses promising young players who focused more intensely on winning fast rather than developing their games.

    Waitzkin builds on these stories and contributes to our understanding of learning in chapter two by discussing the “entity” and “incremental” approaches to learning. Entity theorists believe things are innate; thus, one can play chess or do karate or be an economist because he or she was born to do so.  Therefore, failure is deeply personal.  By contrast, “incremental theorists” view losses as opportunities: “step by step, incrementally, the novice can become the master” (p. 30).  They rise to the occasion when presented with difficult material because their approach is oriented toward mastering something over time.  Entity theorists collapse under pressure.  Waitzkin contrasts his approach, in which he spent a lot of time dealing with end-game strategies
    where both players had very few pieces.  By contrast, he said that many young students begin by learning a wide array of opening variations.  This damaged their games over the long run: “(m)any very talented kids expected to win without much resistance.  When the game was a struggle, they were emotionally unprepared.”  For some of us, pressure becomes a source of paralysis and mistakes are the beginning of a downward spiral (pp. 60, 62).  As Waitzkin argues, however, a different approach is necessary if we are to reach our full potential.

    A fatal flaw of the shock-and-awe, blitzkrieg approach to chess, martial arts, and ultimately anything that has to be learned is that everything can be learned by rote.  Waitzkin derides martial arts practitioners who become “form collectors with fancy kicks and twirls that have absolutely no martial value” (p. 117).  One might say the same thing about problem sets.  This is not to gainsay fundamentals—Waitzkin’s focus in Tai Chi was “to refine certain fundamental principles” (p. 117)—but there is a profound difference between technical proficiency and true understanding.  Knowing the moves is one thing, but knowing how to determine what to do next is quite another.  Waitzkin’s intense focus on refined fundamentals and processes meant that he remained strong in later round while his opponents withered.  His approach to martial arts is summarized in this passage (p. 123):

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    “I had condensed my body mechanics into a potent state, while most of my opponents had large, elegant, and relatively impractical repertoires.  The fact is that when there is intense competition, those who succeed have slightly more honed skills than the rest.  It is rarely a mysterious technique that drives us to the top, but rather a profound mastery of what may well be a basic skill set.  Depth beats breadth any day of the week, because it opens a channel for the intangible, unconscious, creative components of our hidden potential.”

    This is about much more than smelling blood in the water.  In chapter 14, he discusses “the illusion of the mystical,” whereby something is so clearly internalized that almost imperceptibly small movements are incredibly powerful as embodied in this quote from Wu Yu-hsiang, writing in the nineteenth century: “If the opponent does not move, then I do not move.  At the opponent’s slightest move, I move first.”  A learning-centered view of intelligence means associating effort with success through a process of instruction and encouragement (p. 32).  In other words, genetics and raw talent can only get you so far before hard work has to pick up the slack (p. 37).

    Another useful lesson concerns the use of adversity (cf. pp. 132-33).  Waitzkin suggests using a problem in one area to adapt and strengthen other areas.  I have a personal example to back this up.  I will always regret quitting basketball in high school.  I remember my sophomore year—my last year playing—I broke my thumb and, instead of focusing on cardiovascular conditioning and other aspects of my game (such as working with my left hand), I waited to recover before I got back to work.

    Waitzkin offers another useful chapter entitled “slowing down time” in which he discusses ways to sharpen and harness intuition.  He discusses the process of “chunking,” which is compartmentalizing problems into progressively larger problems until one does a complex set of calculations tacitly, without having to think about it.  His technical example from chess is particularly instructive in the footnote on page 143.  A chess grandmaster has internalized much about pieces and scenarios; the grandmaster can process a much greater amount of information with less effort than an expert.  Mastery is the process of turning the articulated into the intuitive.

    There is much that will be familiar to people who read books like this, such as the need to pace oneself, to set clearly defined goals, the need to relax, techniques for “getting in the zone,” and so forth.  The anecdotes illustrate his points beautifully.  Over the course of the book, he lays out his methodology for “getting in the zone,” another concept that people in performance-based occupations will find useful.  He calls it “the soft zone” (chapter three), and it consists of being flexible, malleable, and able to adapt to circumstances.  Martial artists and devotees of David Allen’s Getting Things Done might recognize this as having a “mind like water.”  He contrasts this to “the hard zone,” which “demands a cooperative world for you to function.  Like a dry twig, you are brittle, ready to snap under pressure” (p. 54).  “The Soft Zone is resilient, like a flexible blade of grass that can move with and survive hurricane-force winds” (p. 54).

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    Another illustration refers to “making sandals” if one is confronted with a journeyacross a field of thorns (p. 55).  Neither bases “success on a submissive world or overpowering force, but on intelligent preparation and cultivated resilience” (p. 55). Much here will be familiar to creative people:  you’re trying to think, but that one song by that one band keeps blasting away in your head.  Waitzkin’s “only option was to become at peace with the noise” (p. 56).  In the language of economics, the constraints are given; we don’t get to choose them.

    This is explored in greater detail in chapter 16.  He discusses the top performers, Michael Jordan, Tiger Woods, and others who do not obsess over the last failure and who know how to relax when they need to (p. 179).  The experience of NFL quarterback Jim Harbaugh is also useful as “the more he could let things go” while the defense was on the field, “the sharper he was in the next drive” (p. 179).  Waitzkin discusses further things he learned while experimenting in human performance, particularly with respect to “cardiovascular interval training,” which “can have a profound effect on your ability to quickly release tension and recover from mental exhaustion” (p. 181).  It is that last concept—to “recover from mental exhaustion”—that is likely what most academics need help with.

    There is much here about pushing boundaries; however, one must earn the right to do so: as Waitzkin writes, “Jackson Pollock could draw like a camera, but instead he chose to splatter paint in a wild manner that pulsed with emotion”  (p. 85).  This is another good lesson for academics, managers, and educators.  Waitzken emphasizes close attention to detail when receiving instruction, particularly from his Tai Chi instructor William C.C. Chen.  Tai Chi is not about offering resistance or force, but about the ability “to blend with (an opponent’s) energy, yield to it, and overcome with softness” (p. 103).

    The book is littered with stories of people who didn’t reach their potential because they didn’t seize opportunities to improve or because they refused to adapt to conditions.  This lesson is emphasized in chapter 17, where he discusses “making sandals” when confronted with a thorny path, such as an underhanded competitor.  The book offers several principles by which we can become better educators, scholars, and managers.

    Celebrating outcomes should be secondary to celebrating the processes that produced those outcomes (pp. 45-47).  There is also a study in contrasts beginning on page 185, and it is something I have struggled to learn.  Waitzkin points to himself at tournaments being able to relax between matches while some of his opponents were pressured to analyze their games in between.  This leads to extreme mental fatigue: “this tendency of competitors to exhaust themselves between rounds of tournaments is surprisingly widespread and very self-destructive” (p. 186).

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    The Art of Learning has much to teach us regardless of our field.  I found it particularly relevant given my chosen profession and my decision to start studying martial arts when I started teaching.  The insights are numerous and applicable, and the fact that Waitzkin has used the principles he now teaches to become a world-class competitor in two very demanding competitive enterprises makes it that much easier to read.

    I recommend this book to anyone in a position of leadership or in a position that requires extensive learning and adaptation.  That is to say, I recommend this book to everyone.

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    Featured photo credit: Jazmin Quaynor via unsplash.com

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