This was no ordinary brawl

My adversary was the first to throw a punch. I ducked and it flew past my jaw. I countered with what I thought was a killer blow. It wasn’t. My adversary looked momentarily stunned, even intrigued, before delivering a retort that knocked the proverbial wind out of my sails.

This was no ordinary brawl. There were no cheering crowds; no maiden’s honour at stake; and it was not going to end with a barstool cracked over someone’s head.

This was serious. It was a war of words.

Actually, one word: leadership.

“You can’t say Adolf Hitler was a great leader!” bellowed my adversary.

“Look,” I offered, “We agree with Peter Drucker’s definition of a leader as someone who has followers, right?” He nodded, albeit suspiciously.

“And we agree that in order for leaders to be called ‘great’, they have to achieve substantial success?” Again he offered a distrustful acknowledgement of the logic.

I continued, “So, if Adolf Hitler had an entire nation follow him, and he helped them transform Germany from a shattered, destitute country in the early 1930s into the most powerful country in Europe by the start of the Second World War, he must have been a great leader.”

I sensed another punch coming. I was right – it was the old “what about Josef Stalin beating Hitler, but murdering millions of his countrymen in an aggressive series of pogroms” argument.

It was a fruitless retort, as I did not believe for one minute that Hitler could ever be classed as a ‘great’ leader. I was merely putting the boot in.

But I did not anticipate his next move. In a superb feign, then thrust and parry, he took the argument out of the political realm and hit me with Warren Bennis’ famous definition of leadership: a function of knowing yourself, having a vision that is well communicated, building trust among colleagues, and taking effective action to realise your own leadership potential.

I stumbled back. I did not anticipate the fuzzy concepts of “trust” and “potential” to be part of his weaponry. They are difficult to counter without sounding like a cold and uncaring adherent of the pro-dictator school of business management.

The argument had started around a simple discussion about whether being a manager or holding a senior position in a business organisation automatically qualified someone to be anointed as a “leader”, and whether the concepts of “leadership” and “management style” were interchangeable.

I had joked that many managers cannot manage to manage, let alone lead.

The man opposite me, a director in a large organisation, suggested that if he instructed members of his team to do something, regardless of its reason and their desire to do it, and they followed his instructions, then it makes him a leader.

“No,” I said, “It makes you a bully.”

A moment of incertitude seized his barrage.

Was this a jocular comment around his definition, or a serious challenge of his management style? A clue was in his answer: “At least I have people to manage.” Ouch!

“So,” I asked him, “Do your minions quake in their boots when you cross the threshold of your domain each morning? Do they obey your every order, so that order can be maintained in your office?”

His jaw stiffened, he ducked and threw another punch, “Discipline is necessary in any organisation if work is to be done; and besides, I’ve worked very hard to get where I am, so I am entitled to be respected for who and what I am.”

I had found a chink in his armour. I began to twist the knife: “You know, battle-fatigued marines in Vietnam had a special gift for an unpopular, arrogant officer who demanded their respect – it was a fragmentation grenade lobbed into his foxhole during the frenzied heat of battle.”

“And your point exactly?” he shot back, angrily.

“Would you say your staff are genuine followers, or do they feign respect whilst obeying your commands, all the time whispering behind your back, simply waiting for a moment to frag you?”

I stared into my adversary’s eyes, as if to gouge my point into his brain; but his mind seemed to wander, as if searching for a different weapon in his arsenal. There was none.

He capitulated.

“Good point,” he said. “It makes sense that only voluntary and objective adherence to my instructions on the part of my staff would suggest they are true followers and ipso facto I display real leadership”. He smiled. I smiled.

I had won. But it was an empty victory. My adversary had dropped his guard too soon.

“You seemed to drift off back there. What happened?” I asked.

“I was mentally scanning an inventory of my staff for performance and allegiance. One or two could have failed.”

“So what are you going to do?” I asked.

“Fire them on Monday,” he grinned.

“Another beer?” I looked at the empty bottle in my hand and then back at my brother – a genial host and a worthy adversary.

“Sure, why not?” ▲

Dayrl Ilbury