I’ve only ever been on one of those team-building exercises favoured by large management consultancies and firms that operate in the technology sector.
These enterprises may only involve a paintballing experience in a nearby forest where you can let the office dickhead indulge his leadership delusions and act out some fantasies from a childhood spent reading Commando comics.
Some companies, though, will spend six-figure sums organising week-long events whose sole purpose is to sort out the wheat from the chaff. These are designed to identify personnel displaying behaviours bordering on the psychopathic, so that they can be placed on the company fast track to the executive suite.
They also deploy subtle devices in the manner of psychological unexploded roadside bombs to identify dodgier types who display empathy for distressed co-workers and are thus deemed to be susceptible to nascent trade union activity.
A series of challenges from The Beginner’s Guide to Being a KGB Section Head will ensue. There may be fun-filled field exercises where those possessing serious management potential will be scrutinised on their reaction to artfully constructed physical challenges.
If, when confronted with a colleague who has fallen, face down in the mud, do they: a) stop to help them; or b) step on their head to gain that extra crucial spring. Weaklings in the a) category will be “managed” out of the organisation or banished to HR, there to eke out what remains of their squalid little careers. The names of the b) group will be duly noted and invited to a “leadership” weekend for further analysis and processing. Where do you think the managers of our high street banks honed their skills imposing crippling overdraft charges on small companies before driving them to the wall and then gobbling up what was left of the carcass for a song?
These team-building projects in turn have spawned a mendicant band of fast-talking confidence tricksters known as Inspirational Speakers. These hucksters roam the Earth selling quick-fix formulas about taking control of your life and making your first million. Trifling concerns such as sudden unemployment, low wages, health issues, divorce and repossession don’t exist in the Xanadu that they are offering. This can prove challenging if your next speaking engagement is in Glasgow. Luckily, though, there are hundreds of public sector organisations in Scotland happy to indulge them by paying for their management trainees to attend their sessions.
You’ve got an A&E delivery crisis in several regional health authorities. Who you gonna call? Dapper Dan the Man from South Wales, whose paintballing skills are legendary and who inspired us all yon day at Loch Lomond by telling us about the time he held his dog’s paw as it got its balls cut off.
In the main, though, these are a benign bunch whose motley apercus and anecdotes are forgotten when you forsake the rye bread for the Warburton’s once more after a few weeks of self-denial.
Not so the new breed of global speakers, who paint on broader cultural canvases and come with academic baubles attached or a few stints advising presidents. New York’s O’Shea stadium wouldn’t be big enough to accommodate all those political chancers who claimed to have “won it for Clinton” or “won it for Obama”. Steve Bannon now gets his hotels and air fares paid on the back of claims that he “won it for Trump” and a prescription on how to combat global chaos. This seems to rest on: 1) don’t let the fuzzy-wuzzies loose on your land; 2) history favours the strong; 3) give them all guns; 4) public healthcare is for pussies and commies.
In October, Jordan B Peterson, evangelist of the New Right and the Half-Shut Tabernacle door, visits Glasgow. I wouldn’t file Peterson in any category that includes Bannon, as he seems to be a more benign character, whose seminars have captured the imagination of gentle types who might support Donald Trump but don’t want us to judge them for it.
I’d like to attend the Peterson event before offering a fuller opinion but I note that he has kindly offered us his much-heralded 12 Rules for Life to chew on while we await his presence. Peterson is often championed by Christian evangelical types for conveying homespun common sense supported by the flashy argot of political philosophy.
Included in Peterson’s list are a few wee midget gems such as: stand up straight with your shoulders back; do not let your children do anything that makes you dislike them; tell the truth – or at least don’t lie; assume that the person you are listening to might know something you don’t; pet a cat when you encounter one on the street.
Perhaps Peterson stopped at 12 because that number represents the 12 apostles or the 12 tribes of Israel. So in tribute to Peterson and to mark his arrival in my city, I’ll give him the Seven Rules for Glasgow Life. There’s a lot more but seven represents the number of steps it takes to reach the bar from the hallowed entrance of the Commercial Inn in Lennoxtown Main Street.
1 Get up, stand up; don’t give up the fight.
2 Don’t pet a cat but don’t kick it either; pet a dog instead.
3 Make friends with people who don’t shirk their round at the bar.
4 Shun those who do.
5 Compare yourself to who you were yesterday, but only if you were howling with the bevvy and in the company of a nice woman.
6 Always assume that you know more than the person you are listening to but be polite about it.
7 Tell the truth but assume no other wretch is.
• Kevin McKenna is an Observer columnist
