© T.H. Warrior – Tender Hearted Warriors
– S.S.P. & E.L.C.
The M27 came right on time.
That’s what I’d call a miracle. That bus always came at least 5 minutes late. After four months, I had already made my peace with it. It was a rainy, windy Monday.
I had come up with this joke that I thought was very funny: I would take a picture of my watch showing 7 o’clock outside and send it to my best friend in Portland. She then had to guess if it was am or pm.
7 in the morning in November in Germany is no different than the middle of the night.
Usually, on my way to work, once I’d got on the bus, I’d put on my earphones and listen to my morning jam: Laissez moi danser by Dalida.
That morning I scrolled up and down and up and down, and I couldn’t find a fitting song for the mood.
I got off the bus. It felt as if my feet were dragging my body to work. During that 4-minute-walk from the bus station to our building, all I could think of was: „why?“
“ why am I doing this? Why am I wasting my youth on this? Why am I here.“
I got to the building. Took the stairs and not the elevator just to delay my arrival, even if it was for a few minutes.
Got to the building; got to my desk. Grabbed my water; grabbed my coffee. Sat at my desk. Another day. A brand new day. A brand new start.
Was it, though?
After graduating from college, I knew I could afford to be the picky one. I knew my worth. My passion was poetry; my profession, however, was at a headhunting company. I was a psychology graduate slash psychoanalyst at one of Berlin’s biggest talent discovery firms. I had worked my ass off throughout my studies. Tried as many things as possible to discover my strong suit: which was being able to see through people’s shit.
My employer convinced me that I was at the right place; that my talent was going to be put to use. Sitting in front of the applicants and telling if they were telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, that, was my job.
As sexy as it sounds, I didn’t exactly end up doing that, at least, not entirely.
My weeks were filled with back office crap, something that a toddler could easily be taught to do.
I was still happy. Not quite content, but happy for the moment.
I liked my colleagues, The office culture, environment, atmosphere. It wasn’t toxic, that’s for sure. Or at least it didn’t look like it the first few months that I was there. Maybe I wasn’t looking close enough…
Last Friday was when things changed.
For the first time ever, I was feeling the hierarchy. Let me rephrase: the hierarchy was filling me.
In America, the office culture at mid-big firms was completely different.
People were friendly, but they couldn’t afford to be anything but absolutely a necessity to the company. Hierarchy would never have to come in handy because people’s jobs were hanging on a tiny thread. You could start your day, and before getting to the bottom of your morning coffee mug, you could either make a stupid mistake yourself or somehow not be needed anymore, and you’d be escorted to the exit with a box filled with your belongings, and that was it.
In Germany, things were 180 degrees different. On average, it would take a lot longer to find a full-time job and get a contract, but that contract was literally and figuratively sealed in blood. People could not get fired. Companies were polarized into two groups: those who would take advantage of their iron contracts and stay safe and sound and still, rigid as rocks and unmovable from where they were, and people who would take advantage of the lack of movement from the first group. A soldier and leader of society, so to speak.
At our company, hierarchy would gain importance whenever the second group feared and smelled the possibility of transition of a first group member to their group.
And that’s exactly what’s happened last Friday.
When I, without an appointment, or having to go through our CEO’s assistant, walked into his office, was offered a seat, had a laugh, and after 5 minutes with the door open, the words „thank you so much for your time and no worries Soph“ were scattered in the office.
I remember that day on my way to work and on the bus, and with my favorite Chris de-Burgh tune in my ears, I was thinking to myself: „what a beautiful day; what a beautiful time. What a beautiful fall..“
That changed a few moments after I walked out of our CEO’s office. I was asked if I had a moment by a supervisor of mine. I was then told some things. Words were communicated. Something along the lines of efficiency and time management, and bureaucracy. A lot of blah blah that, after a certain matter of time, became a bit aggressive with an intimidating over-tone. I couldn’t quite understand every fancy word being said to me, but one thing was for sure: I had threatened some people, and I had to be put in my place. Pushed back in my place. I had to be belittled. I had to be taught a lesson. I had to be shown some power, some authority. I had to feel the power. I had to fear the power.
I gazed my eyes; eyebrows raised, head tilted while listening to my supervisor’s ego-fulfilling monologue, sold to me as a piece of friendly advice from a friend, nodded, and said the words that were going to make her stop fast and clean: „yes ma’am”.
Walked back to my desk and received almost instantly an email from the same supervisor. It was a monotone task, mostly meant for and suitable for our trainees. Belittling was not over. Not even quite.
In a very weird way, I was happy I’d received that task. I needed to think. The task was an excel table full of names and numbers that needed to be cleaned. Perfect. I could spend 5% of my brain and body on it. The rest, on my thoughts. I had some thoughts. I had to think.
I was sad, sorrowful, was feeling used and confused at the same time.
I was angry but couldn’t tell why. Why what she had said to me had made me that furious?
Was I jealous of her, or did I despise her because she was right and I’d acted stupidly?
Was I angry because I’d made a fool of myself by breaking the rules and stones of hierarchy?
There was one thing I was fearful of: I couldn’t care less if people thought I was ugly, unattractive, or uncool. I just never wanted to be perceived as stupid.
Was I scared of my supervisor? Did I fear her power or envy her power? What was power? What was authority?
The task was less redundant and more brain-draining than I had anticipated. Before I knew it was 7 pm.
M27 was late this time.
I got home around 9 o’clock. Took a shower, turned in early with an empty stomach. Poured me some chardonnay in the foolish hope of falling asleep early that night.
Foolish hopes combined with foolish measures have foolish results. That’s for sure.
I got drunk and emotional.
Seriously, what was power?
Up until that point, I thought history-writers defined power.
Whoever who died and their titles on their graves did not end with their jobs or their god-given roles in the society; people who changed their lives and millions of others, I thought those were the Powerful.
But what was that intimidating force of a feeling I had gotten from my supervisor earlier that day, if it wasn’t indeed, power?
That force that had made me crumble, had made me shy, had made me furious, had made me almost fall.
I thought power was the potential of an individual to influence others and control their actions. Authority, on the other hand, was the legal and formal right to give orders and commands and make decisions. Something police commanders are trained to do, for example.
I thought power was a source of control. Authority was a sort of delegation granted to us. I thought power was flexible, dynamic. Authority, however, I believed to be technical and static. Power could never be accurately illustrated – it flowed in every direction possible, whereas authority was defined in organizational charts, and of course, it flowed downwards.
I thought power came from who we were; resided in whoever who used it, whereas authority was a privilege given to us that lied in a post or position we held, and not in ourselves.
There! I had my answer. I guess two glasses of chardonnay on an empty stomach wasn’t a bad idea after all. It wasn’t power, the force I’d felt. It was a hollow, organizational-given authority that was practiced for evil. I knew I could smell fear in that conversation with my supervisor. It wasn’t my fear, though. It was, indeed, hers.
It wasn’t power, what she was showing me. For what it’s worth, it was anything but power!
Power is an internal trait that comes from the inside, can be gained through hard experience and even failure. It takes years to build a reliable internal power that knows its function and timing. And it takes less than a few epsilons of a second to be put to misuse, where it serves no purpose of social construction but rather more selfish agendas. The only thing I believe that jerk had built internally was lungs full of cigarette ashes and a liver filled with company-paid shots of whiskey during our corporate dinners.
The funny thing about power is that the Powerful are often not even fully aware of their power. Only a few, are, to some extent, aware of their power, and surprisingly they rather deny it than dive into it. They even end up suppressing their power because otherwise, they would have to constantly deal with the question of their legitimacy. They would always have to belittle themselves in fear of not being belittled by others who are intimidated by their power.
Where there is authority, fear is to be found. Authority with no competence is like a bronze, gold-plated piece of jewelry: shiny on the outside, full of crap on the inside. Those pushing their ways upwards fear their missing out on potential connections. And those who have already reached the top, fear losing the privileges that come with their authority. So, those at the top hermetically seal off their area of responsibility, remain in a silo mentality, and guard their knowledge like a treasure instead of sharing it. The young generation, like myself, on the other hand, has long understood how poor you stay when you keep everything to yourself and how rich you get when you share.
Whenever and wherever the management elite understands themselves as „we up here“ against the workforce „them down there,“ the change is inevitable. In such a context, the administrative supervisors are the lesser evils. Above all, human resources are wasted on a large scale because a scenario of threats, intrigue, resentment, and mania as a means of control builds up. The focus is on the inside; a lot of energy goes into attack and defense. Everyone is busy with extensive security measures. There is little room for client concerns.
The power hustle and bustle at the management level is highly unproductive and wastes valuable time that no one has nowadays. It also creates a high level of bureaucracy, which makes the company’s dynamic cumbersome, although agility is urgently needed. Besides, the boss’s „misused authority „dries up valuable initiatives. In a way, that the right employees with high potential learn that their opinion does not count. And they leave the company in droves. With the remaining mediocrity, the challenges of the future will certainly not be met. There’s only so much time you can buy as an incompetent-bronze-gold-plated piece of crap.
Those holding a high status instruct without asking. And the ones below them listen without saying anything. And when the „lower ones „do speak, their comments are irrelevant. Most superiors continuously need signs of power and, at the same time, signs of devotion to be sure of their sovereignty at all times. The submissive use their lower voice, stutter, have a deceptive look, bow their head sideways, make themselves small, wear a fake smile, give a timid apology, awe, pity. Such signs I gave that Friday to my superior with my simple-mouth-shutting-conversation-ending „yes ma’am.“
My supervisor was far from being powerful. She was weak. As weak as it could possibly get. A weak little woman, who needed to watch for her status, was in need of a shiny „tinsel“. Belittled me to hide her smallness. One thing was obvious: she, who had made me feel small and humiliated, could not possibly expect me to take a bullet for her, go an extra mile for her; hell no! I would instead give my time and energy, and youth to someone who appreciated who I was, what I did, and how I did it.
Every superior and supervisor could fall into the trap of authority, could fall for the shine of a powerful-looking position that is nothing but a house of cards built on water if not protected by their employees. Everyone could fall for the fall…
The moment supervisors stop praising their employees, they will find that there will soon be no more praiseworthy achievements in their field – because people reinforce behavior for which they receive attention, recognition, and appreciation.
When they are not appreciated, people commit themselves without commitment.
Wherever power is secured with hierarchy, powerlessness and blind obedience are to be seen. Unreflective yes-sayers are dangerous for every company or society. They cover up unfair practices and do not even reveal derailed morals.
We all get a slightly negative feeling about the term „power, „whereas power could be a constructive force that provides the foundations for a life worth living together, that is, law and order. But when the term power comes up, it usually carries a negative connotation, a bad image.
Power is a dazzling phenomenon that triggers highly ambivalent feelings, fantasies, and evaluations. It is devalued, damned, even demonized, and yet it fascinates us.
We both admire and envy those who exercise it.
That night after my third glass, my eyes were getting heavier and heavier, and I was in a constant battle with myself and the little power left in me, trying to decide if I should use it to hold my balance and my glass in my hand or keep my eyes open. I couldn’t stop thinking about one thing as my life was flashing back before my heavy eyes: „was every rule implied and forced on me with authority or power?
Was I living in a society filled with narcissistically disturbed personalities of the ones in power, or the ones who struggled for power?
I knew one thing, though.
I could never change things by dreaming little; by being that wishful-thinking little girl who thought her supervisor was alone, and if she switched companies, there would be no more like that supervisor.
I did use the little power left in me to keep my eyes open, even if that could lead me to eventually lose my balance, and fall.
I’d rather fall with my eyes open than stand and walk blindly.
I looked around.
I was surrounded by nothing but power-hungry narcissists who wrote the rules of the corporate world.
I could never change it by changing companies.
I had to be them to beat them.
I had to accept the temporary fall to rise.
I had to go to sleep.
Wake up 6 am sharp.
Take the M27.
Look outside the window.
And enjoy the fall…