To resort to power one need not be violent,
and to speak to conscience one need not be
meek. The most effective action both
resorts to power and engages conscience.
—Barbara Deming
Within our own lifetimes, the accelerating pace of change and the increasing complexity of problems stagger even the experts. All organizations have grown—larger and away from us. As a result, some people feel like strangers, like ciphers lost in the crowd. Such an attitude is a curious blend of apathy and despair. The apt metaphor is Franz Kafka’s The Castle, with its red tape and faceless masses waiting in endless lines.
It’s as if we have become depersonalized, like minute particles of some great statistical census—working ants in the giant anthill of life.
But it wasn’t always this way. You may recall a time when, even in a large city, people went into a neighborhood store and the owner greeted them by name. Although this way of doing business may have been less efficient than modern commerce, it was somehow more satisfying.
Obviously, I am not advocating that we “return to those thrilling days of yesteryear.” What I am suggesting is that if you are to negotiate effectively, the other party must not see you as a statistic, a thing, a commodity, or an article of commerce. If you present yourself as a unique, vulnerable human being, there is greater likelihood that you will get what you want. How many of us can be indifferent to those we see in human terms without being indifferent to ourselves? Deep down, most people know that their own welfare is related to the welfare of others. Any slight to my neighbor eventually becomes an injury to myself.
Theoretically, we may know that “no man is an island,” but faced with the pressures of daily living, we tend to forget this interdependence. Therefore, it’s up to you to humanize yourself so that you are not seen as a depersonalized statistic. No one identifies with large numbers, but almost everyone commiserates with the anguish of a flesh-and-blood person.
This fact is implicit in the reputed comment of Samuel Adams, just prior to the American Revolution. During the planning of the Boston Massacre, Adams was reported to have said something to this effect: “There ought to be no fewer than three or four killed so we will have martyrs for the Revolution. However, there should be no more than twenty, because once you get beyond that number we no longer have martyrs, but simply a sewage problem.”
Aside from Adams’s callous remarks and their ethical implications, his theory was correct. To maximize the impact of an event, people must be able to identify with those involved and with the circumstances.
When the Second World War was over, we learned the statistical magnitude of the atrocities committed against humankind. We could not fathom the absolute evil perpetrated by the Nazis and their countless millions of silent and passive accomplices. For the average person, the numbers were incomprehensible.
More than anything else, it was the writings of a teenage Jewish girl that helped people understand some of the horror that had taken place. While hiding from the Nazis, she wrote a vivid and tender account of her experiences. Her words expressed innocence, optimism, and humanity that produced an emotional impact. This was, of course, Anne Frank: Diary of a Young Girl, published in 1947 and later made into a play and a film that affected the world.
Accordingly, to maximize your impact as a negotiator—no matter whom you are dealing with—you must personalize both yourself and the situation.
How do you personalize yourself? You make the other party see you as a unique, flesh-and-blood, three-dimensional individual, someone who has feelings and needs, someone the other person likes, cares about, and somehow feels obligated to—at least someone the other person wants to do something for.
How do you personalize the situation? The answer is simple. Try not to negotiate on behalf of an institution or organization, no matter how large or small. Negotiate on behalf of yourself, representing the institution.
Let me elaborate. Few of us keep commitments to sterile institutions. They are too remote, lifeless, and abstract to create a sense of obligation or concern. No one, except an architect, cares a hoot about bricks, glass, steel, and concrete. Institutions are cold and lifeless. That’s why IBM, Con Edison, General Electric, Ma Bell, the IRS, and other abstract entities get zapped so often. (Typical attitude: “What’s the difference if the Mobil Oil Corporation loses $100,000? It’s not even half a cent a share!”) That’s why it’s self-defeating to negotiate on behalf of prosperous organizations, and obviously, that’s why phrases like the following usually fall on their faces:
“On behalf of the Bensonhurst Chamber of Commerce we’d like you to …”
“For the benefit of the Boy Scouts of America, we want you to …”
“The Missouri Synod of the Lutheran Church urges you to …”
“For the sake of financial solvency, the National Organization of Women requests that you fulfill your pledge.”
So if you represent the March of Dimes, the state of California, the United Way, the local women’s club, the New York City Transit Authority, or what have you, and you’re supposed to gain the commitment of others to these impersonal entities per se (virtually an impossibility), what can you do? You can personalize. You can gain the commitment of others to you.
Here’s what I mean. Let’s say you’re with an organization, and someone you’re negotiating with is giving you a hard time. Persuade that person to be concerned about you, not the institution, or to be concerned about you via the institution. Say the equivalent of:
“I happen to be with so-and-so … but didn’t you promise me you were going to do this? I was counting on you. I assured my boss about it. I told my family. I guaranteed the auditor. You aren’t going to let me down, are you?”
When the other party asks, “You aren’t taking this personally, are you?” you plaintively reply, “Yes!”
In other words, “lay it on” the other party. Get him or her emotionally involved. It’s difficult for people to back off if you say the equivalent of, “I’d appreciate it if you’d do this as a favor to me.” Such phrases are extremely effective in personalizing situations. Of course, if you create an obligation on your part, it’s understood that you’ll reciprocate in kind when appropriate occasions arise.
This leads to the next question: How can you personalize yourself in some of your negotiation encounters?
Following are some down-to-earth illustrations:
Here’s the first example. Let’s say you’re driving forty-five miles an hour in a thirty-five-mile zone. A squad car, concealed in a shrub-lined driveway, bags you on its radar. A siren blares as it trails you in merciless pursuit. You curb your auto, muttering because of the inconvenience. A cop steps from the squad car, then ambles toward you, ticket pad in hand, eyes unreadable behind one-way-mirror sunglasses. You feel as helpless as a small munchkin trying to play defense against Kareem Abdul-Jabbar. There’s no guaranteed way to negotiate yourself out of this, but you can decrease your chances of getting a ticket in this situation.
Initially, get out of your car in a nonthreatening manner. Meet him (sometimes today it’s her) with a compliant approach, as if to say, “I’m totally in your hands.” Do not sit in your vehicle with the windows rolled up. For all he knows, you may be high on drugs or a criminal with a handgun in your lap. Nowadays, some officers get shot by crazies in similar situations. In essence, think of his or her needs and concerns, as well as your own.
While you tender your license, the turning point in this encounter will occur. You have three purposes at this juncture of the interaction:
Start off by saying, “Boy, am I glad I found you, officer, because I’m lost! I’ve been driving around in circles! How do I get to such-and-such a street?”
He’ll probably ignore your question for the moment and quickly interject, “Do you realize you were speeding?”
You now steer him back to the question by saying, “Yes, but I’m lost. I don’t know where I am!”
The officer will invariably provide directions. While he does this, ask an endless number of subsidiary questions—anything to keep him from writing. After he’s spent five minutes giving you explicit directions, and you’ve acted properly grateful, he’ll return to the subject at hand—your traffic violation.
At this point, try to make the officer feel important by talking about the danger and difficulty of his job. Portray yourself as a law-abiding citizen, an average working person beset by problems. When he returns to your excessive speed, say, “Gee, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize that … It was just that I was thinking about … ” Here, you recount a unique personal dilemma that you confide in him. Everyone has something: a tyrannical boss, a sick spouse, an aged and arthritic parent, an installment payment that can’t be met, an unfaithful mate, or a disappointing child.
Make sure you let him know anything else that might bear upon his decision. Assuming you have a record without “blemi,” remark, “This will be my first ticket after twelve years of driving. I’d hate to have this tarnish my proud record!” Chances are, he’ll hesitate. Cops are reluctant to give anyone a first citation.
Whatever your excuse, it’s better if it’s unique and different. Keep in mind that this law-enforcement official has practically heard them all. If your saga is special and interesting, it meets his need for some entertainment in what is often a routine and monotonous job. Moreover, he now has a “war story” to recount to his partner or colleagues back at the stationhouse.
Speaking of the uncommon excuse, I was told this story by a police commissioner at the F.B.I. Academy: A policeman was about to ticket a person for driving the wrong way on a one-way street. Suddenly, the accused innocently asked, “Officer, has it occurred to you that the arrow might be pointing in the wrong direction?”
The story teller assured me that this actually happened and that the ticket was never written—presumably as a reward for creativity. As Ripley said, believe it—or not!
Whatever you do, don’t remain seated in your car and give the officer a hard time when he queries you. Never make “macho” statements like: “So, give me a ticket! I’ll fight this all the way to the Supreme Court!”
“I want you to know I’m a person of great wealth and influence.”
“Radar’s no good, and you know it. Scientifically, your apparatus isn’t all that accurate.”
Women are probably more effective than men as negotiators in such situations. Statistics show that when a speeding auto is clocked by radar, there is no awareness of the driver’s gender. Yet somehow, as a group, women receive about 25 percent fewer citations per thousand drivers than men.
Most women, when stopped, seem to follow the techniques we are outlining. They get out of the car, seem contrite, act friendly, and try to relate to the officer on a human level. I grant you that the 25 percent variation occurred with predominantly male police officers. However, even with the everincreasing number of females in law enforcement, I don’t believe the statistics will change much. Let’s face it, in these instances, many women are better at “personalizing.”
Let’s look at a second example: You are moving from San Jose to San Francisco in six months to reclaim your heart, left there previously. After endless days of looking for a highrise residence, you learn about a building that is perfect for your family. The problem is that only one apartment will be available, and there are thirty names ahead of yours on the waiting list. You want to go from thirty-first to first on the list. How can you do the seemingly impossible? How can you get what you want?
Go directly to número uno, the ultimate decision maker—the building’s superintendent. He really is the person with the final say in this matter. Bring your spouse and children with you. Coach the youngsters to behave, and if necessary, resort to “parental bribery.” All I am suggesting is reasonable dress, manners, and decorum. There’s no need for anyone, children included, to go to an extreme. Put differently, no one expects to rent to a perfect plastic couple named Ken and Barbie.
The point is that you want to appear as a responsible, suitable, stable, and desirable tenant. Keep in mind that the family selected becomes a neighbor of the superintendent, a group that he’s stuck with for the duration of the lease. Based on past experience, he knows that the tenants chosen can cause him untold irritation or could conceivably enrich his life. Learn as much as you can about him and his family. At the same time, make sure he sees you in personal, three-dimensional, human terms.
Politely ask to see the apartment that will be available. If he counters with, “I’m sorry, but there are thirty people ahead of you!” don’t be deterred. Explain how far you traveled and say in effect, “I know we haven’t much of a chance, but can we just get an idea of what it looks like?”
Even if you cannot see that particular flat (it may be occupied), try to get the super to show you any apartment. As a last resort, how about his place? Throughout, you must convey the proper blend of tact, empathy, courtesy, consideration, persistence, affability, and thoughtfulness.
From that day on, whenever you are in the area stop by to visit with the super. Even if he tells you your chances are hopeless, maintain these contacts.
While the superintendent invests considerable chunks of time in you, elaborate on your circumstances, confide in him, and ask him for advice. Detail who you work for, the kind of job you have, the organizations you belong to, the hours you keep, and your interests and hobbies. Do this till the superintendent knows you virtually as well as he knows his own family.
Thanks to your intensive personalizing efforts, what will happen when a vacancy occurs? The superintendent will glance at his list. His eyes will linger on the first name for a moment, but that’s all. You see, that name is nothing but a faceless label. He now has the option of renting the apartment to someone he knows nothing about and feels nothing toward … or he has the option of renting the apartment to you, about whom he knows plenty. As we said earlier, “The devil known is better than the devil unknown.”
Chances are you’ll jump from thirty-first place to the top of the list. You’ll get that apartment because of the superintendent’s investment and his identification with you. You have personalized the selection process. (Of course, this technique will work only where the superintendent has the power to make the selection. In other cases, you will have to make use of other negotiating techniques.)
Now for the third example. When our middle child, Steven, was about to enter his final year of high school, he made extensive summer plans to hitchhike across America. As he put it, “It’ll be a great experience, and I won’t need much money or clothing.”
Needless to say, his parents were totally opposed to this idea. We presented him with the usual objections to such an undertaking: It’s physically dangerous; it’s illegal in certain areas; and it’s unpredictable. After some discussion, he refuted these arguments logically.
Then we came up with what we thought was a sure winner: “Okay,” we said, “but no one will give you a ride. People don’t pick up hitchhikers any more.”
Much to our surprise and dismay, Steven had thought of that problem also. He had purchased a gasoline can from a local filling station, with the intention of cleaning it and transforming the interior into a small dufflebag or suitcase. Apparently, his cross-country trip was not a simple case of teen lunacy, but a goal supported by a well-conceived strategy.
After months of talk and debate, we opted for “benign neglect,” allowing him to pursue his dream. When he returned safely, one of the first things he spoke about was the ease of getting lifts from passing vehicles.
Steven remarked that the first driver who stopped for him set the pattern for what was to follow. After proceeding several miles down the road with Steven, the motorist commented, “You walked a hell of a long way to get that gas.”
Steven replied, “Oh, I don’t own a car. This can is my suitcase. Don’t you think it’s easier to get rides this way?”
He said that this usually caused guffaws of laughter from the driver, followed by a friendly and informative dialogue. Although using your thumb as a means of transportation involves considerable risk, it worked well in his case. By carrying that “gasoline can,” he personalized himself and distinguished himself from the average hitchhiker. Passing drivers saw him, albeit mistakenly, as a pathetic human being whom they identified with and wanted to help.
Our fourth example: One of the instruments of modern life that enables the individual to be seen as a statistical speck is the computer. Have you ever received an erroneous letter, bill, or statement from a computer? If you have, you know how difficult it is to negotiate with a mechanical thing. You can call and write, but your opponent is programmed to be deaf and blind to your pleas.
How do you get the correction you want?
First, let’s deal with a notice you receive in the form of a rectangular computer punch card marked, “Do not fold, tear, or mutilate.” Here the solution is simple. Take a pair of scissors or a ballpoint pen and make one or two additional holes in the card. Enjoy yourself and be creative as you violate their injunction, which makes use of the power of legitimacy. Then print the change you desire on the card and mail it back.
When your unique card is put through the system, the computer will reject it, because of the original artwork. A human being will process it by hand. If their records justify the correction you want, it will be made.
Second, let’s contend with an erroneous computerized notice in the form of a letter or statement. In this case, call the organization and speak to the person handling your records. In most instances the changes you desire will be forthcoming. Suppose, the same mistake appears the next month? Should this occur, type a “personalized letter” to the individual you spoke with and send a carbon copy to their superior and the top person in the organization. The names of these people can easily be secured from secretaries or telephone operators.
The core of both approaches is to make contact with a mortal who sees you as a unique human being requiring help.
Continuing to the fifth example: Sharon, our daughter, gets credit for this story. She spent a summer residing with a French family, as part of a student-exchange program. The people she lived with owned a small farm, where they grew melons.
Periodically, they received phone calls from people interested in buying a melon wholesale. In each instance the offer was rejected.
One day, a boy about twelve years old came in person with a similar request. The same answer followed. Nevertheless, the young waif persisted, following the owner around as he did his chores. After listening to the child’s personal saga for almost an hour, the farmer paused in the midst of a melon patch.
“Enough!” he said to the boy. “You can have that large one for one franc.”
“I only have ten centimes,” the boy pleaded.
“Let’s see, at that price,” the farmer said slyly, winking at Sharon, “how about that little green melon over there?”
“I’ll take it,” he said. “However, don’t cut it off the vine yet. My brother will pick it up in two weeks. You see, I just do the purchasing. He handles shipping and delivery!”
Consider the sixth and final example: Let’s say you live in an apartment in a desirable location. It’s the middle of January, and you aren’t getting enough heat. Even your cat is shivering.
Should you complain to the superintendent, building manager, or landlord? Probably you already have, without getting results. By this time you must realize that I do not believe in approaching anyone in a petulant or aggressive manner. You never “complain,” but simply make your needs and circumstances known. Should you come on too strong, the issue shifts from the lack of proper service to your lack of proper manners.
In this example, it is important to determine whether the indoor arctic climate is widespread. Is this a deliberate attempt by the owner to increase his investment return? Should this be the case, all the tenants must get together to act, so as not to suffer the slings and arrows of an outrageous landlord. In essence, utilize the power of commitment.
But let’s make this problem more difficult. Somehow you are the only one affected, and you have tried almost everything—phone calls, letters, governmental agencies, and the local radio station’s Call for Action—all to no avail!
The situation is very serious, and you have exhausted every reasonable approach. Before you go further, determine who is responsible for this continuing condition. For the sake of argument, we’ll say it’s an absentee owner.
Now, find out where he lives. Drop in and visit him, unexpectedly, on a Sunday, when his wife and children are present. Act in a concerned, likable, low-key manner. Never accuse him of neglect, because he’ll get angry if he loses face in front of his loved ones. Say the equivalent of, “Look—here’s my situation. I know you aren’t aware of it, because you wouldn’t tolerate it. I have a sick child, and the temperature in my unit is only sixty-two degrees. What do you think the problem is—a malfunction or defect in the pipes? What can I do? I know you can help me!”
Chances are, on stage, before his family, he won’t ignore your plight. Moreover, he no longer knows of you as apartment 203, but rather, sees you as a person with very human needs.
There are no universal prescriptions for every specific negotiation situation. A particular combination of facts exists only at a particular time. But some general principles always apply.
Keep these two things in mind:
Although we have come this far together, a caveat about this approach may be in order. Please recognize that any effective technique carried to an extreme is no longer effective. It may become downright ridiculous. So some moderation is often helpful.
Some time ago I was told an apocryphal story that I would like to share with you. A new priest was so nervous at his first mass, that he could hardly speak. Afterward, he met with his superior, the monsignor, and asked for help.
Pleased by the request, the monsignor placed his arm around the young priest and said, “To hold your audience, you must make the Bible come alive. Your flock must see those times and events as if they were happening today. Remember, Jesus’ interest was in the redemption of man’s very humanity. His mission was not to govern men, but to release them.
“In other words,” the monsignor said, leaning closer, “make it a personal experience for the worshipers. Use their language. Tell it like it is, as the young people say.”
The priest was nodding enthusiastically, encouraging his superior to continue.
Impressed by the attitude of the young man, the monsignor couldn’t resist one last piece of experienced advice. Beckoning the priest closer, he whispered, “Oh, yes—it might help you relax a little if you put some vodka or gin in your water glass.”
The next Sunday, following his superior’s instructions to the letter, the young priest was very much at ease and talked up a storm. However, he noticed the monsignor, in the rear of the congregation, furiously taking notes.
When the mass was over he rushed up to his superior, anxious for some more sagacious feedback. “Well, how did I do this week?”
“Fine” the monsignor said, “but there are six things that you might straighten out in the future.”
He then handed the priest his notes, which follow:
Moral: Don’t be a literalist. Do what is appropriate under the circumstances—exercising moderation always.
Probably, one of the most effective uses of “personalizing power” was made by the late Richard J. Daley, long-time mayor of Chicago. Let me try to contrast and characterize his approach with a contemporary in big-city government, John Lindsay, New York City’s former mayor.
In my opinion, John Lindsay was the best-looking mayor the Big Apple ever had. Lean, chisel featured, and square jawed, he could easily have pursued a career in media or show business. He was the tallest mayor the city ever had—which isn’t saying much. His dress was impeccable; he was an eloquent speaker. Why, he didn’t even sound as if he came from New York. This, if nothing else, should have qualified him to be the mayor of New York. John Lindsay appeared to have everything.
Did John Lindsay, a decent public servant with the best intentions, achieve his objectives? Not at all. Why not? Because despite his engaging personality he didn’t personalize. He always negotiated on behalf of the City of New York. He said such things as, “New York City would like you to honor your commitment.” Do you think people like labor leader Michael Quill (who played the “dumb is better” routine by always mispronouncing the mayor’s name as “Lindsley”) cared about this impersonal abstraction? The megalopolis of New York is too big for a finite mind to comprehend. To Quill it was like a request from the British Empire.
Daley, on the other hand, was short, with a silly-putty body. When he lost weight he could best be described as pudgy. He clothed himself in suits that had been out of style for thirty years. When he spoke publicly his syntax butchered the English language.
One day he would cut the ribbon on a new school and dedicate the building to the “highest platitudes of learning.” Thereafter, he would defend an indicted crony with, “We’ve been boyhood friends all our lives,” and then dismiss the Vietnam War protest by remarking, “I don’t see any more serious division in our country than we had during the Civil War.” He once advised a group of business executives, “Today, the real problem is the future.”
Then there was his famous rebuttal to reports of a police riot during the demonstrations at the Democratic National Convention in 1968. “The police are not here to create disorder,” he said. “They are here to preserve disorder!”
When the newspapers dutifully quoted him, Earl Bush, his press secretary, blamed the media.
“It’s damn bad reporting,” he told the reporters gathered. “You should have quoted what the mayor meant, not what he said.” (Somehow they understood that.) “Hizzoner” himself even reproached the press: “You have condemned me, you have vilified me, you have even criticized me.”
Were Daley’s appearance and garbled speech a drawback? To the contrary. They made him human, endearing, and appealing. He’s still so revered in Chicago that you might say he’s on the verge of local canonization.
Late last autumn I was sitting in a plane at O’Hare waiting to depart. My seatmate asked, “Is it snowing outside?” After glancing out the window I assured him that it was. He responded matter of factly, “You know, when Daley was alive, it never snowed this early!”
The late mayor is buried in an unimpressive grave site at a small cemetery in Chicago. However, year in and year out, tens of thousands of visitors make a pilgrimage to his last resting-place, to pay homage. As a matter of fact, the weight of all these people has caused the ground to sink around the grave, and the mound of earth, under which his remains lie, has risen. Why does this multitude come? For all we know, they’re still asking for favors. And for all we know, he’s still granting them!
Why is it that even today, management and business people in Chicago claim, “Daley was our friend; he really understood business”? Why do labor representatives still say, “Daley really understood the working man and his needs!” How could he possibly deal with both sides of the fence, then convince each group he was on its side? Because unlike Lindsay, Daley negotiated personally. He never negotiated on behalf of the Democratic National Committee, the Democratic party, or the City of Chicago. He knew in his gut that such concepts were too abstract. Instead, he approached individuals privately, one by one, asking for their commitment to him personally.
For instance, he’d say the equivalent of: “John … you told me you were gonna do this. I was counting on you. I told my wife about your promise. You can’t let me down! Do you know that I include you in my prayers when I say my rosary? I even lit a candle for you this morning! Look … here’s the wax on my fingers!”
That’s “personalizing power”!
Now that we have come full circle, I trust that the end of this journey marks the beginning of a rewarding and liberating phase of your life.
You have a role to play in this world—a reason for being here. But it is up to you to find your part and direct your future.
You alone determine your destiny through your own efforts. Accept this responsibility—not just for yourself, but for us all. You have the power to change your life and the lives of others as well. Don’t back away from the exercise of power or wait for someone else to act. Of course you can get what you want, but part of what you want should be to help others along the way.
The good life is not a passive existence where you live and let live. It is one of involvement where you live and help live.
Allow me to close this book with words written by William Styron in Sophie’s Choice:
The most profound statement yet made about Auschwitz was not a statement at all, but a response.
The query: “At Auschwitz, tell me, where was God?”
And the answer: “Where was man?”