Flattery will get you nowhere
This has been quite a week to watch one Donald Trump at work and play. In between promoting his golf courses and shoring up the investment opportunities for his businesses, he has been attending meetings with various world leaders. Flourishing by sucking up the oxygen of admiration, he has taken every opportunity to point out what a great job he is doing, how outstanding his success has proven, and how poor everyone else is in comparison. Blundering his way through negotiations, exploding pacts and alliances, ignoring evidence and changing his mind as he sees media responses, it has been a horrifying yet fascinating spectacle to observe.
One obvious question to ask is: ‘what are his advisers doing?’ Silly question: we know that Trump believes that only he has the insight, the intelligence, to know what to do. He’s told us he’s really, really smart: he doesn’t need advisers; he just has to listen to himself. On the other hand, he dispenses advice to everyone he meets. Maybe not ‘advice’ so much as telling people what they should do, usually starting by pointing out all the things they have done wrong in the past. He loves flattery, but seldom praises others, unless he senses this would be a good time to show ‘nice Trump’ to the world. Do you think those he meets ask for his advice? I can’t quite see that being done by Prime Minister Theresa May or Chancellor Angela Merkel.
The series of events over the week culminated in meeting the Russian President in Helsinki. Do you think he asked President Vladimir Putin for advice? Or Vladimir asked him how he could run Russia more effectively? Sadly, they had ‘one-on-one dialogues’: how I wish I could have been privy to the conversations behind closed doors!! As usual, all we know is what was said afterwards (here I am relying on Australian television Channel Nine’s report):
The enduring image of the US-Russia summit in Helsinki on Monday will be that of President Trump standing next to Vladimir Putin and suggesting he found Mr Putin’s “powerful” denial at least as persuasive as the US intelligence community’s unanimous finding that Russia intervened in the 2016 election. Coupled with another groundless attack on the FBI and an apparent endorsement of a patently disingenuous offer by Mr Putin to collaborate with the investigation of special counsel Robert Mueller, Mr Trump appeared to align himself with the Kremlin against American law enforcement before the Russian ruler and a global audience. Mr Trump had said he would raise the issue of Russia’s interference in the election with Mr Putin, but the result was a series of statements that could have been scripted by Moscow. Mr Trump said that, while Daniel Coats, the United States’ director of national intelligence, had told him Russia was responsible for hacking into the server of the Democratic National Committee, “I don’t see any reason why it would be.”
Since then, he has claimed he ‘misspoke’ (miss-spoke?), ignoring his advisers again and again. I’m at a loss to know what to say. Perhaps the Trumps have a business deal coming up in …
As the ghastly circus continued, it prompted me to spend some time thinking about advice, advisors and flattery. Over the years, I have sometimes ended up in positions where I have been asked for advice, not because I had any special skills or experience, but more because of what I was doing. Early on, my advice was sought by people who were really interested in what I might be able to contribute and who appreciated my efforts, however limited I was in experience and wisdom. My small areas of expertise were in higher education, management, and dreaming!
Over the years, one major area was policy on universities. That began on arrival in Australia, invited to join an informal advisory group for John Button, Labor Senator and Commonwealth Government Minister, who was mainly concerned with industry, but had a side interest in education. He met every month with this small group, when he would ask us questions about higher education policy, and what we thought would be sensible ways to develop the sector. We would put forward ideas, and be asked to justify them. It was exhilarating. He listened, and together with a few other people I believed we were having an impact.
A few years later, I was in a similar informal group for a minister in the Coalition government (combining the Liberal and Country Parties, a conservative group). John Dawkins established what he called his ‘purple circles’ (a term for private elite groups). He held the Employment, Education and Training portfolio, and we were a sounding board for educational proposals: he planned to merge some universities with colleges of advanced education, as well as reintroducing student fees for undergraduate courses. Like Button, Dawkins listened: however, in his case, I always sensed that he wanted to identify where trouble might arise, to be able to head it off. He already had clear proposals to be implemented; the issue was successful execution.
When I started working for a Commonwealth Government statutory authority, we were in the portfolio of the Minister for Immigration and Ethnic Affairs. There I met Ian McPhee, yet another man who really wanted to hear views and debate issues. Despite being on the Coalition side of politics, he was regarded as a ‘wet’ (meaning his views were relatively soft on right wing issues, unlike many of his ‘dry’ colleagues!). He would question, debate, prod and push, and never once suggested that I and the others at the table were wrong or mistaken. Instead, he would articulate his views and reasons, and allow us to challenge him. A great minister, but one who was later to fall to the ‘drys’: he eventually left politics to go into legal practice.
I didn’t realize how lucky I had been. Soon after Ian McPhee came another minister, again from the Coalition, in this case from Queensland. He would ask for advice on upcoming meetings, but never on policy. I quickly learnt that his requests for input from his staff were meaningless. He knew what he was going to do: not because he was brilliant, or even astute, but because the task was beyond him and he was very anxious to do whatever the Prime Minister said. Advice was off his agenda. I began to see my initial contacts in the political world had been atypical. Today, I read about the goings-on in Australian politics and sense that most representatives are totally uninterested in advice, unless it accords with their existing believes and commitments (it was Prime Minister ‘Bob’ Hawke, who touted his accord with the union movement, and was taunted by one critic who observed the “accord is a piece of string, trying to hold up a failing promise”).
In that same statutory authority, my predecessor as Director was Petro Georgiou, a former adviser to Malcolm Fraser when he was Prime Minister, and brilliant in the role. For him, policy advice was about nudging, to use that now very popular word, gently moving politicians and departments along a path which would eventually achieve important changes. The determinant for successful advice was always ‘facts’. Each time the Australian Institute for Multicultural Affairs produced a policy report, we had to be able to justify the case we were making, empirically, with facts and figures. Late night discussions on an issue always ended with Georgiou pushing back at the team: always the same question – how can we prove that? If we could find the data to persuade him, then there was a good chance the same data would also convince a minister and even Cabinet.
Petro Georgiou was always sanguine about the adviser’s role. You can give advice, but you can’t make anyone accept or act on it. He could afford to be sanguine, as he was very successful in getting changes made in government operations, often to the frustration of departmental staff determined to block anything that might alter well-established sets of rules and regulations.
It was around the same time that I was becoming involved in the world of political advisers that I started joining boards. The first such role was an easy one: a member and soon after that the chairman of the local high school’s board. We had few responsibilities, and it was a great place to be an apprentice, learning the rules of the game.
Not long after, I joined the Victorian board of a national organization concerned with the preservation and conservation of heritage. When I was elected on the board, I was told the long-standing CEO was a fine man, doing a great job, and I heard Board members telling him the same thing at my first meeting. The flattery was superficial. Behind the scenes, I discovered the board was concerned about a range of issues. The much vaunted head was a poor leader, unable to handle staff issues. Moreover, he was paying scant attention to budgetary concerns, and the organization was in trouble. This wasn’t the time to be nice, and within a few months I initiated the necessary moves to retire the CEO and look for a replacement. The odd thing was that I was not a popular person: action was needed, as most agreed, but as the initiator of change I was seen as unsympathetic, uncompromising and far too businesslike!
Since those early days, I have been a member of many boards, mainly in the government and voluntary sectors, but also some in the private sector. Apart from giving advice, from time to time, it has been my lot to initiate unpopular but necessary actions, even closing things down, or having to terminate staff. I would always seek suggestions, listen to opinions, ask for evidence and try to work out the best ways to act. On some occasions, I would be criticized by both sides to an issue; those who were pushing for action would argue I was too slow and cautious; while those against change would regard me as pre-emptive, unwilling to listen! The middle ground is often an uncomfortable place, but the lessons from my days working with Petro Georgiou never left me: listen, debate and look for data.
I also discovered a great deal about the kind of person who ends up at the top of an organisation. Simply stated, there seem to be two types of CEO. Some see their directors as providing a ‘sounding board’, a source of advice, a place for confidential discussions, and the opportunity to draw on the experience of people from various industries and areas of work. On the other hand, there are other CEOs who ask the board for their views on a current issue, and then quickly pass on to telling them what they had already decided they were going to do. Rather believing there is always something to be learnt around the table, these people are supremely confident: they know what to do and how to do it. After all, he or she is the CEO!
I discovered a quite different forum for advice-giving came with teaching students, especially postgraduates. More times than I care to think of, a student would come to see me and ask about career choices, course choices, or where to go next. Often I was being invited to be a mentor, a role I was happy to accept. The reason was simple: I had learnt from two outstanding mentors in the past. Both were invaluable sources of help early in my career. As I thought about it, they did so by never giving me any advice! They would ask questions, and leave me to think about the answers I gave, the issues the questions revealed. Surely I could do the same. I have mentored many people since then, often advising by asking questions from which I learnt as well.
Obviously a key person to turn to in all this is Machiavelli. How did the master of advice to despots and dictatorial rulers see the role? Towards the end of ‘The Prince’ he had some very clear observations (possibly rather upsetting to some of his readers in Florence, many of whom seemed to like flattery!):
“I’m talking about flatterers. Princely courts are full of them; and it’s hard for a prince to protect himself from the plague that they bring, because ·princes, like· men in general, are so pleased with their own doings and so deceived about them. … So a wise prince will steer a different course ·between listening to flatterers and listening to everyone:· namely assembling a cabinet of wise men and giving the freedom to tell him the truth only to them, and only in answer to questions he has put to them. But he should question them about everything, listen to their opinions, and then form his own conclusions. When dealing with these advisers, as a group or separately, the prince should implicitly convey to each of them the message ‘The more openly you speak to me, the better I will like it’. He shouldn’t listen to anyone else, but should resolutely stand by, and act on, the decisions he has made. If he doesn’t have this policy, either he’ll be ruined by flatterers or will change course so often, because of the different opinions he listens to” [1].
I would never accuse Donald Trump of reading, but I wonder what he would think of the comment that “princes [Presidents], like men in general, are so pleased with their own doings and so deceived about them”?! What would Machiavelli suggest to him today? Pull together a group (a cabinet) of wise men and women, and expect them, and only them to tell him the truth, not just when he sought advice but on all the subjects of which he should be aware, and make sure he listened to their opinions. Would he do this? Trump’s track record is clear. Apart from telling everyone about the brilliant choices he made in appointing his cabinet, he wouldn’t.
Right now, it seems the leadership in the US Republican Party is deeply and unthinkingly engaged in flattery. The majority appears to have concluded that if you say nice things about Trump and praise his actions, you will get re-elected; after all, he got all those votes. If he wants advice, tell him he is ‘great’. That’s enough, because anything more will be ignored. In some ways, you have to conclude those craven characters in the GOP are right. Play to the average rural white voter by supporting Trump’s outlandish views, and you may be able to scrabble together enough extra votes for re-election in November. Their strategy is obvious: flatter someone important, even if he or she is stupid, and that flattery might get you somewhere.
However, someone who is stupid will eventually fail and fall. Then the flattery rebounds on to the flatterer. The real point is that in the long run flattery gets you nowhere.
[1] These extracts come from Machiavelli, The Prince, Chapter 23: How to avoid flatterers
