Unfortunately, many negotiators think that compromise is synonymous with collaboration. It is not. By its very definition, compromise results in an agreement in which each side gives up something it really wanted. It is an outcome where no one fully meets his or her needs.
The strategy of compromise rests on the faulty premise that your needs and mine are always in opposition. And so it is never possible for mutual satisfaction to be achieved. Acting upon this assumption, each of us starts out making an outlandish demand, so that he can ultimately have room to make concessions.
When the pressure builds on both of us to lay aside our differences for the sake of society as a whole, we compromise at a midpoint between our extreme positions. This solution is accepted to avoid a deadlock, but neither of us is really satisfied.
Our needs frustrated, we find some solace in reciting old bromides and clichés: “Half a loaf is better than none,” or “Give a little, get a little,” or “A good negotiation outcome is one where both sides are somewhat dissatisfied.” Needless to say, neither of us feels much obligation to support this arrangement which has not given either side what it really wanted.
If we were to apply “the compromise formula” literally to some of life’s negotiation dilemmas the solutions would be ridiculous. Let me show you what I mean with the following simple anecdotes:
Vignette 1
Two graduate students from Seattle, Washington, decide to spend their winter holiday together. He wants to go to Las Vegas, and her preference is Taos, New Mexico. All we know is that each of them has independently arrived at their conclusion.
Let’s assume that we can use only the two geographic alternatives in finding a middle-ground solution. If we were to methodically apply the compromise formula the couple would spend their holiday in the vicinity of Polacca on the Hopi Indian reservation in northeast Arizona.
Obviously, I have exaggerated to make my point. By now you realize that if this couple shared information, experience, assumptions, and expectations, a location could be selected that would result in a mutually rewarding trip.
For the sake of argument, if his needs are gambling and big-name entertainment and her needs are downhill skiing and fresh air, options exist (such as Lake Tahoe and Squaw Valley) for both of them to get exactly what they want.
Vignette 2
Recently, I ran across an interesting story dealing with compromise. It was told to me by a friend, who is affectionately known as Big Buddha, “the enlightened one.” He goes by this moniker because he once left his wife and infant son to devote himself wholeheartedly to the search for truth. In his case, the noble quest lasted twenty-two hours, but the nickname remained.
Big Buddha recounted a dispute that his two teenage sons had at the conclusion of a Sunday family dinner. The object of their conflict was a leftover baked Idaho potato—not a very big issue in the scheme of things. Each son contended that his claim was superior, and the disagreement intensified.
Playing the role of patriarch, but without getting any information, my friend made the decision for them. In the Buddhist tradition of “middle way,” he cut the potato in half and divided it between the sibling rivals. Satisfied with his solution, he adjourned to the living room for serenity of soul—or nirvana via TV.
Later that evening, Big Buddha was advised that his “perfect compromise” had to be renegotiated. It seemed that one son wanted only the skin, whereas his brother desired merely the soft inside of the potato. Obviously, their needs were not in opposition, and the best solution was not a symmetrical compromise.
Vignette 3
As a youngster I shared a bedroom with my older sister. Although the age difference was slight, in intellect and maturity she viewed me from across the great divide. Her serious academic and cultural pursuits contrasted sharply with my activities of closely monitoring the radio adventures of Jack Armstrong and The Shadow.
Because of these dissimilar interests and the limited resource of one bedroom between us, we frequently had conflict over what constituted disturbing and inconsiderate behavior. For months, there were attempts to compromise by “splitting the difference” in our divergent viewpoints or practicing “share and share alike.” Even with written schedules and agreements plus parental mediation, the controversy persisted.
Ultimately the matter was resolved when we both came to recognize that considerable time and energy were being wasted as we maneuvered and positioned ourselves for the next mathematical compromise. With recognition of a common interest in solving the problem for our mutual benefit, we were able to think beyond the obvious physical resources of space, hours, and materials. The satisfying solution that met both of our needs was the purchase of earphones for the radio.
Thereafter, I was able to use the radio whenever I chose without disturbing my sister. Chief among the benefits of this solution was that I was listening at the very moment that Kellogg’s announced “a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to send for a Junior G-man Card.” In retrospect, this may have been a crucial turning point in my life.
As these examples show, the use of a “statistical compromise formula” will not necessarily result in the successful resolution of conflict. If such an approach is employed “across the board,” it causes an increase in game playing, accompanied by now familiar tactical maneuvers, ultimatums, and self-centered adversary behavior.
This is not to say that compromise is always a poor choice. Often the strategy of compromise may be appropriate to the particular circumstances. Therefore, you must recognize that once in a while, to be truly effective, you will have to compromise, accommodate, persuade, compete, and even be prepared to walk away.
However, where your relationship with the other side is continuing, you should strive at the outset for a solution that is not just acceptable, but is mutually satisfying. Should circumstances warrant, you may need to alter the course of your initial collaboration to display more accommodation or even competition.
Much like a great chess master, a winning negotiator needs to know every possible strategy from the opening gambit to the end-game play. Then he can enter the event with confidence that he is prepared for every possible eventuality that might occur. Nonetheless, he strives for the best outcome that can give everyone what he wants. And he knows that compromise may be acceptable, but it’s not mutually satisfying. It is a back-up, a concluding strategy that he may ultimately have to use to avoid the consequence of a deadlock.
Throughout this chapter, the point has been made that your winning in negotiations does not require someone to lose. Winning means managing the outcome by seeing your reality true and clear and being able to react with the appropriate strategy.
Winning means fulfilling your needs while being consistent with your beliefs and values. Winning means finding out what the other side really wants and showing them a way to get it while you get what you want.
And it is possible for both sides to get what they want, because no two people are identical in terms of likes or dislikes. Each of us is trying to satisfy our needs, but those needs, like our fingerprints, are different.
Ironically as I try to get what I want, only a part of my satisfaction will be derived from acquiring the product, service, right, or thing—the what that I am bargaining for. To a much greater extent, my satisfaction will result from the process itself—the how of the bargaining encounter. Remember the couple that purchased an antique clock and the way I secured a newspaper in the Miracle on 54th Street? In these episodes, the nature of the process was what fulfilled needs and determined satisfaction.
It is this individuality and the meeting of needs through the process itself that causes us all to do silly things. Have you ever observed people returning from a tropical winter vacation? Away for just two weeks, they stand in a customs line at a northern airport. They are wearing Hawaiian shirts and muumuus, holding huge sombreros, or carrying stuffed alligators. Whenever I see them, I start to smile. But then, I recollect that I myself am the owner of a Mexican serape!
Do you know what a serape is? It’s a shawl, a poncho, a bright-colored woolen blanket that Mexicans wear slung over their shoulders. More than that, most serapes are sold for exorbitant prices to gringos who come down from the north.
Before I tell you about the circumstances of my purchase, let me furnish you with some insight into my background and needs. From the time I was a little boy, I can honestly say that I never wanted a serape. I never coveted, craved, or desired a serape. In my wildest fantasy, I never saw myself with a serape. I could have lived my entire life without a serape and looked back and said, “You know, it was a good life.” That being the case, how did this need—a need that I never knew I had—develop and get satisfied?
Seven years ago, my wife and I went to Mexico City. We were walking about, when she suddenly tugged my elbow and said, “Hark! Yonder I see lights!” (She speaks that way, you know.)
I grunted, “Oh no—I’m not going over there. That’s the crass commercial section for tourists. I didn’t come all this way for that. I came here to pick up the flavor of a different culture … to encounter the unexpected … to get in touch with unspoiled humanity … to experience the authentic … to move through the streets with the ebb and flow. If you want to wallow in commercialism, go ahead. I’ll meet you back at the hotel.”
My wife, unconvinced and independent as always, waved goodbye and left. Moving through the streets with the ebb and flow, I noticed a genuine native some distance away. Approaching closer I saw that despite the heat, he was wearing a serape. Actually, he was wearing a lot of serapes and shouting, “Twelve hundred pesos!”
“Who can he be talking to?” I asked myself. “Surely not me! In the first place, how could he know that I’m a tourist? In the second place, I could not be cueing him, even subliminally, that I want a serape!” As I mentioned earlier, I absolutely did not want a serape!
Doing my best to ignore him, I picked up the pace somewhat. “Okay,” he said. “I go from one thousand pesos and give a bargain—eight hundred pesos.”
At this point I spoke to him directly for the first time. “My friend, I certainly respect your initiative, your diligence, and your persistence. However, I do not want a serape. I do not covet, crave, or desire this item. Would you kindly sell your product elsewhere?” I even spoke to him in his own language, “Do you understando?”
“Sí,” he replied, indicating he understood perfectly.
Again, I strode away, only to hear his footsteps behind me. Still with me, as if we were attached by a chain, he said over and over, “Eight hundred pesos!”
Somewhat annoyed, I started to jog, but the serape seller matched me stride for stride. He was now down to six hundred pesos. We had to stop at the corner for traffic, and he continued his one-way conversation, “Six hundred pesos! … Five hundred pesos! … All right, all right, four hundred pesos!”
When the traffic passed, I dashed across the street hoping he would be deterred. Before I even turned around, I heard his lumbering footsteps and his voice, “Señor, four hundred pesos!”
By now I was hot, sweating, tired, and irritated with his tenacity. Somewhat breathless, I confronted him. Spitting the words through half-clenched teeth I said, “Dammit, I just told you, I don’t want a serape. Now stop following me!”
From my attitude and tone he seemed to get the message.
“Okay, you win,” he responded. “For you only, two hundred pesos.”
“What did you say?” I called out, surprised by my own words.
“Two hundred pesos!” he reiterated.
“Let me see one of those serapes!”
Why did I ask to see the serape? Did I need a serape? Did I want a serape? Did I even like a serape? No, I don’t think so—but maybe I changed my mind.
Don’t forget that this native serape seller started at twelve hundred pesos. He now wanted only two hundred pesos. I didn’t even know what I was doing; yet somehow I had negotiated the price down one thousand pesos.
As we commenced our more formal negotiations, I found out from this merchant that the cheapest anyone ever paid for a serape in the history of Mexico City was a fellow from Winnipeg, Canada. He bought one for 175 pesos, but his mother and father were born in Guadalajara. Well, I got mine for 170 pesos, giving me the new serape record for Mexico City that I would take back to America for the Bicentennial year!
It was a hot day, and I was perspiring. Nevertheless, I was wearing my serape and feeling terrific. Adjusting it so it enhanced my body contours, modest as they are, I admired my reflected image in store fronts as I sauntered to the hotel.
Entering our room where my wife was stretched out on a bed reading a magazine I exulted, “Hey, look what I got!”
“What did you get?” she inquired.
“A beautiful serape!”
“What did you pay for it?” she asked casually.
“Let me put it this way,” I said with confidence. “A native negotiator wanted twelve hundred pesos, but the international negotiator—who occasionally resides with you on weekends—bought it for 170 pesos.”
She grinned. “Gee, that’s interesting, because I got an identical one for 150 pesos. It’s in the closet.”
After my face fell, I checked the closet, removed my serape, and sat down to think about what had happened.
Why did I really buy that serape? Did I ever need a serape? Did I ever want a serape? Did I even like a serape? No, I don’t think so. But on the streets of Mexico City I encountered not a peddler, but an international psychological negotiating marketeer. This individual constructed a process that met my particular needs. To be sure, he met needs that I didn’t even know I had.
Obviously, I am not only talking about my serape, but somewhere in the back of a closet or high on a shelf, you may have acquired what I call a figurative serape. You know what I mean: The porcelain Canadian Mountie made in Hong Kong, the puka shell beads hand gathered on the island of Maui, the genuine Zuni ring, the piece of turquoise mined just west of Bisbee, the sparkling abalone shell, the Spanish doubloon washed ashore at Boca Raton, or the authentic Wells Fargo belt buckle.
To me, all these things are “serapes” and almost everyone I know has one. Think about your serape acquisition. Was it the item itself or the process that met your needs?
Basically, my message is simple. You can get what you want if you recognize that each person is unique and needs can be reconciled. At the same time, never forget that most needs can be fulfilled by the way you act and behave. Mutual satisfaction should be your goal and the means of achievement—collaborative Win-Win negotiations.