Germany – Page 4 – understand-culture

Political Conventions

Political advertisements of every kind must pass the objectivity test in Germany. The Germans expect substance and convincing arguments. And although the private and personal is seeping more and more into German politics, due to the influence of American politics, politicians in Germany are still identified directly with the stands they take on specific issues. They represent the political platforms of their respective parties.

Political party conventions in Germany are held once or twice a year. Their purpose is not to nominate candidates before elections, but instead to debate and formulate policy. At the conventions the stage is dominated by the party, with up to three or four rows of ten to fifteen seats per row occupied by the party elite. Until recently the speaker’s podium was to the side. And even though it has been moved to the center, the thirty to fifty colleagues occupying the stage send a clear signal: “Sure, we have different speakers during the convention. But make no mistake, the party comes first, the individuals politicians and office-holders come second!”

In the summer of 1996, while a political adviser to the CDU/CSU Parliamentary Group in Bonn, I attended the Republican National Convention in San Diego. My job was to accompany and assist Peter Hintze (then Secretary General of the CDU), Jürgen Chrobog (then German ambassador to the U.S.) and Ruprecht Polenz (then Member of the Foreign Relations Committee). Bob Dole and Jack Kemp were nominated, then in the general election beaten badly by Bill Clinton and Al Gore.

“Blow by blow”

Along with meetings with leading Republicans, Peter Hintze was especially interested in observing the details of the convention. Part of his job was organizing and preparing the CDU conventions for Chancellor Helmut Kohl. It is well known that American party conventions serve the primary purpose of presenting to voters a high level of unity, in terms of the “ticket” and the substance of the party’s platform. Political debate does not take place, and certainly not in full view of the American public. Germany is different. The conventions are televised from start to finish. And the Germans debate, openly, directly, harshly. The German public can follow it “blow by blow” by television or radio.

The great sensation of that 1996 Republican National Convention was Colin Powell’s speech. Many had hoped that he would be their party’s candidate. Immediately after his 1992 election, Clinton asked Powell to be his Secretary of State, hoping to prevent a Powell-candidacy four years later. Powell had declined respectfully. The arena in San Diego, fifteen thousand strong, exploded in applause when General Powell walked on stage, in civilian clothes, and proceeded to speak directly to the hearts and minds of the American people. From his heart and with great intensity.

Like any and every truly persuasive speaker in the American context Powell used anecdotes, figures of speech and several brief, but very personal stories to convey his message. He wanted to move the people emotionally. Hintze and Chrobog turned to me time and again asking for an explanation of these stories. “Was meint er damit?” (What does he mean? What is he trying to say?) The atmosphere in the convention center was electrifying.

Sitting behind the two Germans, and due to the noise level, which had even surprised me, I had to stick my head forward between theirs and literally scream my responses to their questions. It was clear to all three Germans – Hintze, Chrobog, Polenz – that the convention, and General Powell’s speech, were all about emotions.

Not arrogant Germans

The husband of one of my cousin‘s was in Germany for business. His name is Bert. We hadn’t seen each other in several years. He is a good guy, intelligent, open, hard working, and a good husband and father.

Bert had meetings in Düsseldorf and he asked me to come up on the train and meet him for dinner. I take the train up from Bonn. It is a quick, comfortable, efficient ride. From the central train station in Düsseldorf it was only twenty minutes with the Strassenbahn, the tram. It was enjoyable winding through the tree-lined streets.

I enter the restaurant, turn left, go up a few steps and see Bert at a table with two men. They are his German business partners, or at least partners in this particular investment project Bert is working on. I sit down, we order food and talk. Bert does most of the talking.

The two German guys aren’t terribly talkative. After about ten minutes I realize that they’d prefer to be somewhere else. At home with their families. At the gym getting a workout. Or even at their desk working. They made a very professional and focused impression.

Bert doesn’t really notice that they might rather be somewhere else. They’re polite, nodding to what Bert says, asking a question or two. They discreetly glance at their watches. I feel bad for Bert. He isn’t aware. I also become angry at the Germans for not putting a little more effort into the conversation.

Americans like to do business with people they like and who like them. They do not distinguish as clearly as Germans do between business and personal. Getting to know each other on a personal level is important. What could be better than enjoying a dinner together?

Arrogant Germans, I thought. They were being mean to my cousin, who was unknowing and perhaps a bit naive. My anger didn’t last long, though. From their perspective, perhaps it was selfish of Bert to invite them to dinner.

They were supporting him with their legal expertise, thus not in a position to say no to dinner. Maybe they had a sick child at home or an important report to prepare for the next day. They most likely were good guys, also. Intelligent, open, hard working, good husbands and fathers.

Lone Wolf

Where Americans go into duck and cover mode, Germans see themselves in a spirited debate, perhaps an open argument or dispute, but most likely necessary in order to get clarity on an important matter.

Stuttgart. They meet once a quarter. The leadership team. Each reports on the state of their business. The others have the opportunity (obligation) to comment, ask questions, make suggestions.

German company. German logic. Weak business units are supported to a certain degree by stronger ones. “Your weakness impacts me. Therefore, I have a say in the matter. In your matters.”

One of the business unit heads is American. Barbara. New. Her numbers are solid. There are few comments. Not so for other colleagues. One in particular is cross-examined as if in court charged for a serious crime.

Observing this Barbara feels very uncomfortable. “What value does this have? How can this group ever function as a team?” She senses nothing but negativism. And the head of the organization doesn’t intervene!

The colleague under fire responds calmly. The criticisms are not entirely unjustified. Perhaps overstated, perhaps somewhat mean spirited, but legitimate. Several suggestions from a more experienced business unit head are quite helpful. They agree to meet that evening to discuss.

Their American colleague, though, senses only small mindedness and harshness. She is determined not to subject herself to this every quarter. The next two meetings Barbara is absent. Her reasons are plausible, but not totally excusable.

Among themselves, her manager and colleagues begin to question Barbara’s loyalty to the team. She appears to them to be a lone-wolf of the self-centered kind. Perhaps her business unit should be folded into one of the other ones as a way to integrate her into the team.

Salvos

A senior member in the German parliament meets on a Monday morning with her staff to discuss the upcoming committee work and debates in the Bundestag. She, for American ears, rips into one of her staff members, complaining about a report he had written. The other colleagues at the conference table remain still, while their colleague addresses the criticism point-for-point.

Criticism: fast, direct, hard

“Yes, I understand your dissatisfaction with how that was worked out in the committee. But if you look at my report you will see that I anticipated those questions.” He cites pages 2 and 4. The MP fires another salvo, fast and hard. Not a problem for the staffer, who is not a day older than twenty-eight. “Well, that’s not accurate, either.” He continues to explain why, cool and composed. A third salvo he deflects easily. Their boss, half-embarrassed, moves on to another topic.

Salvo: a simultaneous discharge of two or more guns in military action or as a salute; a sudden burst; a spirited attack, as in the first salvo of a political campaign.

A difficult decision

It was my first client. Two companies were merged. Former competitors each with a full line of industrial products. Decisions had to be made. Who continued to make what products? Who would not? Big decisions. Products. Jobs. Budgets. Production facilities. Power and influence. And national politics, for it involved two very large and very well know companies. Global companies.

Traditionsunternehmen, as the Germans call them. Politics at the highest levels are involved in such mergers. In order to decide on how to merge the product lines – continue, combine or eliminate – executive management opted to have the two sides compete with each other. A horrible decision. It led to a kind of civil war between the two companies. Trench warfare. “Us against them!” Each side dressed-up their numbers, some even manipulated them.

Accusations flew back and forth. “It got ugly fast”, said one of the Americans. The decisions were made. There were winners and losers. Country A got Product 1. Country B got Product 2. But Country B had driven the invention and development of Product 2 over generations. They saw themselves as that product’s parent, and Country A as the illegitimate parents, who really did not love and care for their “child”.

Little thought about long-term effects

They would certainly give preference to their “biological children”, their own products. There was the fear, and partly concrete evidence, that Country A was starving Product 1 to death. For the “parents of that child” in Country B it was a nightmare with so many sleepless nights. A horrible decision, indeed. The decision in and of itself, but also how they went about making it.

Purposely, consciously creating heated competition within a newly-merged company. Pitting new colleague against new colleague. Little thought about the immediate and long-term effects. Amateurish. Irresponsible. Over time the “biological parents” were given access to their “child”. But the wounds still run deep. Both sides continue to fight over the child.

“Revisit”

Post-merger integration. A German company acquired an American company. They had been competitors for many years, and were two of the five major players in a global market . I would serve this German company over several years, going from one organization to the other, doing my best to ensure that the two cultures first understood each other before trying to integrate their approaches.

I was in the process of conducting a Check, an audit, from Latin to listen. The Check was a series of background interviews in one of the larger organizations within the merger. It‘s the first step in supporting my clients. I have to get a read on the situation, get to know the people, the issues, the recent history. Also, it‘s important that those people know who I am, what I do, how I do it, if they are to trust, and therefore open up to me. The Check is the basis for my support.

I conducted over seventy-five interviews across five locations in Germany and the U.S., with folks at all hierarchy levels, and in all disciplines: engineering, manufacturing, supply, sales/marketing, service, etc.

A furious pace, not thought through

At the very outset I encountered something new to me. The Americans complained time and again that there German colleagues were „revisiting“ certain key strategic decisions. It was not clear to me what they meant by that term. After a while, however, it did become clear.

Unfortunately, in many post-merger integration projects the companies involved – acquirer and acquired – feel that they have to make critical strategic decisions quickly, within a certain timeframe after closing. They discuss, debate and decide at a furious pace, often without first having understood each other, how the respective companies operate, the logic behind what they actually do.

One can imagine the stress, pressure and fear involved when folks are unsure how these decisions will play out. For most of them it‘s about job security. For some of them – high-level management – it‘s about power and prestige. In the case of this client, several decisions were made which had very high impact on large organizations and their locations, literally and directly on which organization will design, develop and manufacture what products and at which locations.

Power and back-room political deal-making

Two titans were battling each other within the same, newly formed, company. It was neither healthy, nor transparent, nor particularly pretty to observe. But apparently top-level management felt the need to make such decisions quickly.

„Revisiting.“ One of those strategic decisions did not go the way the German side of the organization had hoped and expected. They were angry, hurt, shocked. From their perspective the decision was clearly the wrong one. The Germans were convinced that it had not been made based on objective, factual, rational grounds, but instead on power, clever persuasion and perhaps even back-room political deal-making.

They were not willing – or not fully willing – to accept, therefore execute the decision. Over the months, and even years, they consciously sought out ways to challenge the decision. Large, complex companies offer opportunities to delay and disrupt high-level decisions. Execution can be clear and disciplined or unclear and undisciplined.

The American colleagues felt – but could not quite prove – that their German colleagues were undermining the decision. Their term was „revisiting.“

Disrupting, or pehaps threatening, the business?

Were the Germans disobeying a strategic decision? Were they being insubordinate? Were they running the risk of severe punishment should their „revisiting“-tactics be identified, documented and attributed to specific people, whether management or subject-area experts? Was their behaviour outrageous?

These were certainly the sentiments on the American side of the company. But, did the Germans go beyond what was considered acceptable company-internal politics? Was their behavior insubordinate? Did it question the overall decision-making authority of senior management, which was jointly American and German? Were the German colleagues disrupting, or pehaps threatening, the business?

From the American perspective it was yes in each case. But from the German perspective? This story is not about where the line runs between accepting and not – or not fully – accepting a decision in two business cultures, although that is a very relevant intercultural topic. Instead, this story is about understanding how the German culture – and therefore German business culture – defines „revisiting“ a decision.

„Führen mit Auftrag“

Go to our core content on Germany-Leadership and read about the German military‘s foundational leadership principle Führen mit Auftrag. The following quotes indicate what‘s operating in the German mind when they feel that a decision is suboptimal, not workable, or just plain wrong:

„The mistakes of senior commanders are often rectified by the troops below.“ Carl von Clausewitz (1780-1831), Prussian General, author of On War.

„Sir, the King of Prussia has made you an officer of the Prussian Army, so that you know when not to obey an order!“ Prince Friedrich Karl to a Major in the Prussian Army (1870)

„In reality, the Germans owe their final victory to the enormous amount of independently-minded and innovative junior officers in all positions all the way down to the very lowest ranks.“ Russian General Woide on the Franco-Prussion War of 1870/71

„The most unfortunate officer in the field, is the one who is distracted by headquarters with daily, even hourly requests for reports on his strategy, tactics and intentions, quite often from an overly self-important junior staff officer with access to a telegraph line.“ General Helmuth Moltke, Head of the Prussian General Staff

„War demands iron discipline of troops and exceedingly tight coordination of forces. In the heat of battle, however, of highest importance are officers and soldiers trained to think and act independently and spontaneously.“ Prussian officer training manual of 1906

„ … in those cases, in which the junior-officer comes to the conclusion that his commander is no longer in a position to judge the situation, and where his order has been rendered inadequate by events, it is the expressed responsibility and duty of that junior-officer to either redefine or ignore the order.“ Prussian officer training manual of 1906

„Führen mit Auftrag is an extraordinarily broad and involved term, which includes all-encompassing aspects of current doctrine concerning the essence of war, characteristics of leadership, tactics, the leadership of troops, the relationship of senior to junior officers to each other and to soldiers, as well as training and education. In addition, these aspects are formulated systematically in a way which allows them to both mutually support each other and to make them inseparable.“ An American Army Officer (1987)

German leadership logic tolerates . . .

This thinking is very uncommon in the American culture. In fact, it is antithetical to it. German leadership logic accepts – and in many cases expects – that people working on the tactical level either revise, in some cases reject, important decisions which they view to be suboptimal, not workable, or just plain wrong.

This is worth repeating. The German leadership logic – which is a logic shared by both those who lead and those who are being led (a shared logic) – allows for what Americans (and perhaps other cultures) would call „revisiting“ or disobeying. The Germans would not call it disobeying a decision.

Germans would say that they are doing their job, which is to interpret and then execute a decision based on their analysis of the situation „on the ground.“ In other words, they see it not only as their job, what they get paid for, but at a deeper level their duty to the company, their customers, and the communities in which these people live, to re-interpret, re-address, slow down, even block decisions which they believe are wrong.

The battle over this strategic decision

This is one reason why the German leadership logic stresses decisions, tasks, mandates, missions which are generally-formulated, which are not highly-defined, not prescriptive. This allows for room for interpretretation. This approach applies also to high-level strategic decisions.

Now certainly there were individual, surely selfish, motives involved in this particular case. Germans are people, too. From the German perspective – and the battle over this strategic decision went on for years – they had very concrete, objective, business-driven reasons for why the decison was wrong.

What was not apparent to the Americans, however, was the German leadership logic and its encouragement of analyzing and interpreting decisions critically before executing them. It goes against the cliché Americans, and many other cultures, have of the Germans as being totally disciplined in executing the order or commands handed down by their superiors.

Much of this cliché is based on American movies and documentary films focused on the Germany of the Third Reich, under the control of the National Socialists. Those portrayals, however, offer an incomplete picture, at best. In fact, the German military during the Second World War operated, as it had in all previous wars going back to the early 1800s, under the foundational leadership principle of Führen mit Auftrag, which was not top-down, command-and-control, hierarchical, but actually quite the opposite.

Gelsenkirchen

It was in the summer. A three-day seminar in Gelsenkirchen. A German multinational company. Design engineers. Germans and Americans. Capable people. Willing people. But working in an atmosphere of collaboration and competition.

I had never been to Gelsenkirchen. I wasn’t very familiar with the Ruhr Area at all. What a historically important area of Germany! Its industrialization, its modernity, is unimaginable without Ruhr coal and steel. Americans learn about the Ruhr Area in documentary films about the Second World War, about how the Western Allies moved across the Rhine to encircle the Ruhr, “the industrial heartland of Germany.”

If you’re an American from a large city you can imagine. If you’re from Pittsburgh or from Bethlehem, Pennsylvania or from a coal and steel region in Ohio you can imagine the Ruhr Area even better. The Ruhr areas of the U.S., with countless immigrant families working in the mines and factories. Families from Poland, Ukraine, Hungary, Slovakia and other European and Eastern European countries. The same kinds of families reside in Germany’s Ruhr.

Until today I’m not sure which I enjoyed more, the seminar or the tour we did at the end of its first day. Summer days in Germany are long, much longer than on the East Coast of the U.S. where I grew up. Day one of the seminar. 6 p.m. we were finished. It had been a long day.

I push and pull the participants along as firmly or softly as need be. I am demanding. Think, reflect, discuss, debate, and decide. These seminars are not intellectual exercises. They’re concrete, specific, work-relevant. Decisions are made, rules of engagement hammered out. Except for during the breaks, there is not a moment to daydream or get distracted. At the end of each day everyone, including me, is exhausted.

Take care of and honor their history.

The tour was exhilarating. NRW (Northrheine Westphalia, the state Gelsenkirchen is located in), Germany as a country, and the Germans as a people take care of and honor their history. Most of the coal mines have been closed. Coal is not NRW’s future. They know that. But they keep their history alive. We hopped on rented bicycles. Eighteen of us. Rode a little over half an hour through fields, wooded areas, over a stream.

The air had begun to cool. We rode to one of the coal mines which had been transformed into a museum. We hopped off our bikes, listened to a short, but fascinating talk given by our tour guide, then stepped into the time machine. On the one side I am right in the thick of things, in the relations between my people (Americans) and the people whose language, history, culture and way of life I am living and studying.

I mean literally the relations, those things which are very personal. How Americans and Germans make and follow through on agreements, how they set up and manage organizations, how they lead and wish to be led, how they try to get out of their own skin in order to get into the skin of their colleagues from the other side of the Atlantic.

Our history. Not past. Not over.

Cooperation means to understand the other perspective as clearly as possible, to stand in the other person‘s shoes. We all know how difficult that is. And how disconcerting it can be, especially if and when we realize that the other perspective is clearer, more true, than our own. For that realization can have real consequences, and not always positive for one’s own self.

It can be difficult, hard, painful. My job is to show them the way and to accompany them. Not as if I had all the answers. I don’t. Not as if I was somehow disconnected, not involved. I sense and live the intensity and complexity just as much as my clients do. I show the way and accompany because I’ve been living the challenges and complexities for many years, and am convinced that Germans and Americans can achieve more together, not only as engineers (back then in Gelsenkirchen), but as human beings.

So, on the one side I am right in the thick of things in the relations. On the other side, our tour, the time machine, which takes us back in time, helps us to understand who we are and how we’ve come to be who we are. This is our past, our history. And it is not past. It is not over.

“Hi, how are you?“

We were sitting in his office in the U.S. A very special customer of mine. Intelligent, active mind, great sense of humor, but also a serious human being. A German, who had lived in the United States for at least five years up to that point. Some of his direct reports came and went as we talked on a warm summer end-of-week afternoon.

With a smile on his face he said: “I really still cannot understand why every time I come into the office and several people greet me at least one person says ‘Good morning, Dieter. How are you doing?’ Then I stop, say ‘hello’ back, and begin to tell him or her how I’m doing, only to notice after a few seconds that they‘re not the least bit interested in how I am doing. It’s unbelievable!”

I smile back at him and respond: “Dieter, they’re just saying ‘hello’ in another way. It’s not meant literally. Who wants to always use the same greeting?” There aren’t that many options, frankly. Hi. Hello. Good morning. “Besides, depending on the context it could be meant sincerely.” Dieter wanted to know more.

Not just in day-to-day interactions

“What if you and a colleague arrive for a meeting early. Just the two of you are sitting there. She knows that you‘re not doing well. Perhaps you’re overworked, not feeling well health-wise, problems at home, or simply you look down.

If she were to greet you in the meeting room with ‘Hello Dieter. How are you?’ and you are fairly close as colleagues, well then, you would know that she means it sincerely. You then have the option to either respond to her concern by letting her know how you are or you could give a brief answer indicating that you prefer not to, ‘Oh, not so bad, how are you?'”

The context was clear to both Dieter and his colleague that a “How are you?” is meant sincerely: two of you in the room, no one else present, you have a fairly close relationship, you’re not doing so well and folks close to you notice it.

Whereas the context of the morning greeting is equally clear: at the beginning of the day, when everyone is anxious to get started with work, passing each other in the hall or going up the stairs, or it’s someone with whom you have a working relationship but not a particularly close personal one.

“Right, I get that, John” he says. “But, in general how do I know when Americans mean what they say? And I mean in serious business situations, not just in day-to-day interactions.” I continued:

Different degrees of commitment

In the American culture, therefore American business culture, a “yes” can have varying levels of reliability, from 98% to 68, to 38, 18, 8 and even to -8, -18, -38% and so on. These numbers are arbitrary. The message, though, is that it depends.

“Depends on what?” On whether the person making the promise is known for being reliable or not reliable. Some colleagues take on more than they can get done. Others are much more conservative when making commitments.

On whether the substance of the promise – the agreement – is such that you know that he or she is likely or unlikely to deliver. In other words, on the degree of difficulty or complexity of it. And especially it depends on the signals given by that person about whether she or he both wants to deliver and can deliver.

About that last point Dieter wanted to know more. I went on. If the person says “Yes, I can get that done for you”, but also says it was a while ago since he worked on the project, that he was not a member of the core team, that he isn’t sure on which server the data which Dieter requested was stored, and that his boss had just loaded him up with two or three new tasks, and finally that his daughter has an important volleyball game on the weekend.

Then those are obvious signals that he would very much like to help Dieter, but there are factors and circumstances over which he has little control and which might, or most probably will, prevent him from delivering.

Direct, but not definite

In other words, his “yes” is conditional. And depending on the amount and nature of the conditions Dieter needs to judge how reliable that “yes” is. Most likely closer to 38%, or even 18% than to 68%.

Dieter then asked: “Why don‘t Americans just say ‘yes’ or ‘no’? How hard can that be?” My response was that in principle Americans always want to help a friend, neighbor, relative, colleague at work, and definitely their boss, and very definitely a customer. It is considered to be poor form, uncooperative, even selfish to ever respond instinctively with a ‘no’ in the American context. The immediate American response is almost always ‘yes.’ Immediate, but not definitive.

Also, Americans tend towards over-promising. They prefer to say ‘yes’ and then try their best to deliver. The context signals which accompany their ‘yes’ are meant to indicate to the other party their own sense of delivery probability, in the sense of:

“I want to deliver, Dieter. I want to help you. And I’ll do my best. However, be warned, I have a lot going on. And I may not be the best person to ask for this information. Other colleagues were more involved in the project than I was. So, you might want to ask the others on the project, too. Besides, my priority is to deliver for my boss, who just gave me additional tasks. It‘s your choice.”

Things began to click in Dieter’s mind. I could see it in his eyes. Then he asked: “But wait. What if the other person does not offer that context information, those conditions? How can I then judge the degree of delivery probability of the ‘yes’?” A very good question.

I replied, “You need to ask the famous w-questions.” Who, when, where, why. And, how. It goes like this: “Hi Sam. How things going? Hey, did you work on that XYZ Project a few months back? I need some of the data the team produced. How involved in the project were you? Can you get it for me? Do you know where it is stored? Do you even have any time for this? I don’t want to burden you, but it would be very helpful to get that data within a few days. Can you manage that or should I contact another person who was on that project?”

In other words, Dieter needs to qualify the ‘yes’ himself by asking context- or reliability-defining questions. Doing so is seldom a sign of mistrust in the American business culture. Quite the opposite. It gives the other person an opportunity to give reasons why they may not be able to deliver or to deliver reliably. It also obligates them. If their responses are all affirmative, then they are committing themselves to following through on their ‘yes.’

This is not a trick or a way of manipulating another person. It is how Americans get a read on, how they gauge or anticipate the degree of reliability of an agreement. The context is always critical. The situation can change. Americans prefer to commit conditionally rather than to not commit at all.

What if …?

What would be the effects in the U.S. if over a three month period of time – a business quarter – all follow up was reduced by 50%? Ask any American colleagues, suppliers or customers you might have.

For some it would be a relief. Agreements would be entered into more carefully. The details would be discussed and settled more specifically. Individuals and organizations would find better, less intrusive, ways to remind themselves of their obligations. Especially those people who rely heavily on follow up – the worrisome ones – would develop better nerves.

For others it would be unimaginable. Why? Because they are among the worrisome, nervous, neurotic? Or because the very nature of their work involves many factors which can influence or alter an agreement at any time, factors which they can neither anticipate, predict nor manage?

The frequency, form, tone of follow up is much dependent on the very nature of the work. To understand this we need only to pose the What if question to a military commander in the field of battle, to the staff of a hospital‘s emergency room, to a trader on the floor of a stock exchange, to the head chef in a four-star restaurant, to the parent of young children on any given day of the week.

Maybe a 25% reduction would be more realistic.

W-Questions

Management training. In Germany’s. Thirty or so Germans in the room. We discuss the topic of agreements. They ask: “But Herr Magee, how do we know when an American ‘yes’ is a commitment?” My response: “Ask the famous w-questions: what, when, why, who, and of course, the how. The more specific the responses are, the higher the level of commitment.”

“Stop by next time you’re in town” is not an invitation, but a polite way of saying “It was nice meeting you. It would be nice if we ran into each other again.” Closer to a commitment would be: “Stop by next time you’re in town. Here is my email address and work phone number.”

Even more committed would be: “Stop by next time you’re in town. Here is my email address, work and cell phone number.” And the next level of commitment sounds like this: “Stop by next time you’re in town. Here is my email address, work and cell phone number. When will you be coming through? Any chance you’ll be in the area in June?” And so on.

The more explicit (detailed) the information, the greater the commitment: “Stop by next time you’re in town. Here is my address and home phone number. When will you be coming through? Any chance you’ll be in the area in June? If so, how about the weekend of June 12-13? We’re having a summer party at our place. We’d love to have you come by.”

“No!” So direct, hard, determined.

Aha! The German training participants get it. Many of them have been disappointed before. They thought Americans had broken commitments. Now they understand. Not Americans breaking their words. Not Americans as superficial. But, Americans who signal different levels of commitment.

Now they’re not as difficult to read. Simply ask questions which gain definition: “Sure. Love to come by and talk again. When were you thinking? I’ll be back in town at the end of next month. Should we check our calendars now or do you want to get back to me?”

Valuable. I helped them understand. But, what about me. An American, often unsure about how to react to the German no. It can come so fast, so hard, so definitive. It throws us off balance. Leaves a bad taste in our mouth. Sometimes we wish we had never asked.

A hand goes up. A big smile. He stands up. Six foot eight inches tall. Lean, fit, friendly. “Oh, that’s easy, Herr Magee. Just as we need to ask Americans the w-questions, Americans need to ask us Germans similar questions.” My eyes get big. Of course!

He continues. “See the German ‘no’ as a first response, but not firm. Identify its component parts, the reasons, for the ‘no’, then counter them one at a time. Give your counterpart good, logical reasons why his reluctance is unfounded.” All in the group nod as if so obvious, so self-stated.

Very valuable. He, they, helped me. It had never occurred to me. How blind I was.