Last weekend I helped run a rabbit and cavy show. Though rabbits and cavies don’t speak my language per se, I did learn something about communication (and, by extension, dialogue) from the experience.
Over the past few years, the show’s organizers have done an outstanding job in making the show bigger, better, and friendlier to exhibitors. I have been continually impressed with their energy and good cheer. They needed all of it and more for this year’s show—because the usual location was smack in the middle of flood-ravaged upstate New York.
Not to be deterred, the organizers found an alternate location: same town, but now a hotel high on a hill. Still, there were many questions in the air, and on Facebook things were getting testy. Some exhibitors started to question the wisdom of moving forward with the show. (I was worried about it myself.) Others jumped in to disparage the questioning—and the questioners. Virtual voices were raised. People ascribed ulterior motives to those on the “other side†of the debate. I’m sure some relationships were damaged in the result.
I think that conversation could have gone differently. I wish I had acted differently.
For one thing, I wish the organizers had communicated specific answers to our questions. I believe that in many cases, people act from reasonable motives and assessments, so when I hear their reasons I can often go along with their decision. Even if I disagree with it, I at least understand and appreciate their logic. So perhaps more specifics from the organizers could have defused the Facebook kerfuffle and got us all pulling in the same direction.
But, of course, the organizers are not mind readers. They can’t anticipate every concern. So my part in the general conversation (the part I wish I had played differently, and the part any exhibitor could have played) was to ask the questions. Not inflammatory questions like “How can you possibly have the gall to hold a show when people are suffering?†or “Why are you putting our animals at risk?†but specific questions like “What do you know about conditions that we don’t know? Where can I get information about the roads? How wet is the hill where the outside portion of show is taking place? What can the hotel people tell us? What does the federal disaster area declaration mean for us?â€
In a nutshell, here’s what I’ve learned: If you have information, share it. If you should have information (as an event planner, a leader, etc.), go get it and then share it. If you’re not privy to information, ask good questions. Whoever you are, assume good intent on the part of others until proven otherwise.
I think this goes for dialogue in general. Do you really know what the “other side†thinks about the issue at hand? If not, what questions can you ask that will help you understand their thinking? What can you share about your perspective that will help them understand you? Is someone in the dialogue missing key information or access to a respected source that could clear up misunderstanding?
Question for the day: Have you ever been in a dispute where one missing piece of information resolved the whole thing—or at least made it easier to understand where everyone was coming from? Please share your story here.
this whole information sharing thing is one of my biggest pet peeves and our local electric company would do well to practice it too.
For upwards of 2 WEEKS in our area here, there were people with no power. Nothing…and no obvious reasons why we had no power. We were told that the line crews had all been sent to another region, that we weren’t a priority and that there were NO estimates of when our power would be back on.
The worst part of it was that the customer service people – when and IF you could get through – were less than helpful almost to the point of being nasty. They were under a lot of pressure, I get that…have them walk a mile in our very dark shoes though
Had the utility company said something, anything – even if it were “hey, we know you’re not happy and we’re really sorry! We’re waiting on a dooflagie part that is made in Hong Kong and once that arrives we’ll get you up and running cause this part NEVER breaks and we don’t have back ups for it” people would understand. They’d at least have an idea of what was going on and maybe try to be a bit more patient.
I work with customers every day at my job. The company motto is “do whatever it takes” and we do. My job is different than the utility company because people can go somewhere else if they’re not happy. We’re kind of stuck with the utilities we have.
Communication is the key – without it all you have is unhappy people and aggravation.
I think your wording of what the electric company should say is absolutely spot-on. Some understanding of how the other person feels, some serious explanation of what’s behind the delay, some kind of ballpark timeframe (or the specific reason why they can’t give you a timeframe): that sort of communication could probably defuse a lot of anger. As it is, the company comes off as arrogant and insensitive, and the world needs a whole lot less of that.
The topic — the value of information sharing in event planning — calls to mind my experience at my workplace last year, over the planning of the annual staff Christmas party. I work on a college campus, and the event is usually held at noon, in the gym or dining hall. Staff members look forward to the event as a time to gather, get paid for an extended lunch break, enjoy a casual buffet with co-workers, and have a chance to win generous door prizes. (or, more typically, enjoy watching other more fortunate co-workers win door prizes.)
Last year, the event planner at the President’s Office decided to do something a little different. Okay, A LOT different. They decided to throw a formal dinner party, after hours on a Friday night. I think wine and beer and enhanced menu options were thrown into the mix. My thinking was: “Free food! Sounds good to me.” However, when I asked around to see who else was going (assuming just about everyone would share my enthusiasm for “free food” — I found out that, across the board, people were bitter. The consensus among co-workers was: “If they think I’m going to go home on a Friday night, change clothes, turn around and come back here after work hours, and attend a party on my own time, they’ve got another think coming.”
“Free food” didn’t sound like so much fun anymore, when I realized that none of my co-workers were coming. The subtext of the murmuring was that it was an elitist event for the “higher ups” — president’s office staff and the like — and that the higher ups had, like the Grinch, stolen Christmas from the Whos down in Whoville — the rank and file.
At some point — in an attempt to be helpful — (reminder, no good deed goes unpunished) — I decided to compose a little note to the party planner in the president’s office, sharing the “scuttlebutt” — communicating the information that the best laid plans of the president’s office were being construed negatively by my staff colleagues.
I got quite an unexpected blast from the president’s office in response. “Yes, we are aware of the scuttlebutt, and I think your colleagues are a bunch of ungrateful so-and-so’s. We’re offering free food, free beer and wine, and the usual door prizes, a live band, and a chance to dress up and have an evening of fun at the college’s expense. And noone is grateful, Everyone’s whining!” The worst part was she cc’d: her response to a bunch of folks in my department — namely, my supervisors.
I wasn’t expressing my personal views about the party — nor was I trying to get any of my colleagues in trouble with the president’s office. Just a humble attempt to “liaise” and communicate that there was an apparent disconnect between the intention of the party planners, and its perception, or reception, among many invitees.
The planner’s response went on to say, “I, for one, am looking forward to the party. I’ve worked at other places where they put on a Big Bash and give us a chance to Schmooze.” I.e., “What’s wrong with you people? Haven’t you got any class?”
The e-mail circulated among the staff, and I wound up receiving a number of e-mails from co-workers who congratulated me on speaking out and regarded me as a freedom fighter and a champion of justice and all this stuff that I wasn’t aiming for. If anything, I was mainly peeved with my co-workers for being a bunch of party poopers.
I wrote back to the party planner (and cc’d my superiors) that I hadn’t intended my comments as a criticism, just an observation, and a regretful one because the party idea, which sounded like fun to me at first, became a non-starter when I realized that none of my colleagues were planning to be there.
I received a lavish apology from the president’s office for her first e-mail, with the explanation that she was in over her ears with party-planning stress, and with distress that the format had not been well-received — not just by my department, but she was hearing grumblings across the campus — and, oh well, it’s too late to change the plans now, I’m not going to let a bunch of whiners spoil the fun, and I hope to see you there.
Anyway — it was a lot of Drama, for a workplace that is typically devoid of drama. I don’t suppose I did any harm — although not sure I did any good — by my attempt to insert myself as a mediator. I guess we’ll have to wait and see what the party plans are for this year.
P.S. I regret that I didn’t go — even though none of my department co-workers went, Mario the custodian, who I talk to every morning when he comes in to vacuum the rug, was looking forward to it. I could have met his wife, and sat with the other members of the housekeeping staff, and maybe I would have even won a door prize. Mario was disappointed that I didn’t go, and I felt bad too — Just to go for Mario’s sake, it would have been worth it.