Surplus to requirements: If only we appreciated the delicate art of redundancy
There’s a right way and a wrong way for the corporate world to go about telling someone they’ve become surplus to requirements, writes Michael Blucher
He’s been at it again folks, the man known to his mates as “Crocodile Redundee” has collected his sixth brown paper bag full of “departure” money.
Talk about a decorated corporate career – six and out – a bit like backyard cricket! It’s even more impressive when you consider he’s had a hand in three of them. That’s right – engineered his own demise, sharpened the very blade that severed his ties with the company. (That’s not a knife. THAT’s a knife!) As an aside, we might at last have identified a tangible benefit of being a chartered accountant – charting your own path to prosperity.
Redundancy – most workers these days accept it as a reality of corporate life. And the figures back it up – statistically, one in four Australians will be made redundant at some point in their working life. The pace of change, the pressure of profit, the potential of the young and energetic, weighed up against the predictability of the wise but battle weary – it all adds up to the swapping of seats around the executive table.
Some “recipients” take it hard, very hard, even refusing to acknowledge their fate publicly. We’ve all encountered them – the deniers. “Yeah, I just thought it was time for a change. They asked me to stay on for a few more years, you know, just to mentor the young ones. But I’d had enough”. And then they curl up in a dark corner somewhere, and hate the world and everybody in it for the next five years.
At the other extreme, there’s the eternally grateful types who see redundancy as a free kick in front of the posts. Take the two, or the three, or the six points and play on. Lash out for a few weeks then go find another “field of dreams”. They’re everywhere, and who knows, the grass might be greener!
Most of course sit somewhere in the middle, at least temporarily indignant about the notion of no longer being valued, and mildly uncomfortable about the uncertainty of not knowing what’s ahead.
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Momentarily donning my amateur psychologist’s hat, this is where self talk comes to the fore. You can tell yourself you’ve reached your “use by date” and are now destined for the executive scrap heap. Or you can dismiss your dismissal as a simple vagary of modern day corporate life. Like the party games we played as kids. The music stopped and you didn’t have a chair. Off you go, Sunshine!
As difficult as it might seem to some, the choice is almost entirely yours. Throw what you like at me, but you can’t tell me how to think. Free will – Nazi Germany concentration camp survivor Viktor Frankl wrote a book about it.
The true challenge comes when your whole sense of identity is wrapped up in what you do. Professional athletes are a good example . So intense is their commitment and investment in what they’re doing, the “who” and the “what” become one of the same. Human doings instead of human beings. Roll forward to the point “full time” is called on their “playing” career, and the fall from grace is often crippling. The pain of redundancy permeates every pore in their body, every nerve cell in their brain.
In corporate life, it’s a bit easier to keep a clear delineation between the two. That high powered job that carries influence and a handsome salary package, clinically viewed, is “just what I do, it’s not who I am”.
That doesn’t mean there aren’t those who over time find their whole identity attached to the title on their business card. And you can hardly blame them – if you spend 30 plus years as the head of the same professional services firm, how can you not become synonymous?
But just like the professional athlete, an identify linked entirely to what you do week in week out, rarely ends well. Some level of separation is essential.
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What is staggering, given the prevalence of redundancy in this day and age, is how poor so many supposedly sophisticated organisations are at delivering the news to those being “tapped on the shoulder”.
Regardless of their seniority, length of service, state of mind or even their mental preparedness to depart an organisation, employees are entitled to an appropriate level of respect.
This isn’t achieved by parachuting some big wheel in from head office, interstate or even overseas, and having them deliver the unpalatable news, while the leaders these people have worked with for years stand around silently, or even worse, hide in the room next door.
That’s plain insulting, so too other modern day forms of communication we rely on daily, the cursory email or the three line text message. “I regret to inform your position at ACME inc has been made redundant. Please return your laptop, mobile phone and keycard to head office by the close of business, Friday. Thank you for your service. All the best with your future endeavours.”
It would be funny, if I wasn’t quoting from the corporate playbook.
Recently, Wallabies coach Dave Rennie lost his job via a 6am Zoom call from South Africa.
That’s where Andy Marinos, the CEO of Rugby Australia, was at the time he “needed” to deliver the news. There would have been an explanation for both the timing and the impersonal nature of the communication. There always is. And if there’s not, it’s left to the
comms team to “spin it” to protect the corporate reputation.
On the positive side, at least Rennie didn’t read about his fate in the media. Plenty of that goes on too, particularly in the primal world of professional sport.
Upfront, genuine, authentic, no bullshit, the news delivered face to face by the appropriate person at the appropriate time – that covers the expectations of most. They might not like what they’re hearing, or agree with the decision, but if their fate is outlined with compassion and sincerity, most will cop it on the chin, take their brown paper bag and move on.
Just ask Crocodile Redundee. He’s got the spiel down pat.
These days, he’s so well rehearsed, he doesn’t even offend himself.
