United States – Page 2 – understand-culture

Verzicht. Small skies.

I reflect, try to imagine how it was back then. It is 1944. My mother is fourteen years old. No father at home. Killed in an automobile accident in 1938. My grandmother at the time with seven small children. The oldest was nine. The youngest an infant. My grandmother carrying her eighth child. The coal supplier comes by the house. He informs my grandmother that he can no longer supply her. He demands that she pay the bill. Money was very, very tight. Grandmother is behind in her payments.

It is winter. Unusually cold. My mother is hiding in the corner, hearing for the first time how her mother pleads with the coal supplier to give her more time. He does. My mother has never forgotten that day, that conversation. It put its stamp on her, made a deep impression. Thirty years later, her husband, my father, Frank, would die at the age of forty-four. Heart failure. My mother then, 1974, with six children. His first heart attack was at age thirty-five.

“What does it cost to heat those places?” A question my mother asks spontaneously whenever we drive by oversized houses in suburban Philadelphia. Not just one of those curious questions, but a question of survival. For my mother, back then.

True, not to be compared with the experiences of the German people in terms of limited resources during certain periods of their recent history. Nonetheless, an imprint on my mother, 1944 and the coal-man. A far greater influence on Americans is living in a country of abundance, in many cases over-abundance. Land, natural resources, freedom and opportunity. I’ve never been to the Upper Midwest – Wyoming, the Dakotas, Montana. Big Sky Country it is called. Literally: “Land as far as you can see!”

This must have been what the multitudes of immigrants to America had imagined, as well as the recently-arrived immigrants who moved west from the cities of the East Coast. But not only they, also the Germans. Yes, the Germans, back then. Many generations grew up reading Karl May, the author of best-selling books of fiction about the American West.

Cowboys and Indians. Germans of today, who travel through the U.S., who live there a few years, who dream of settling in America, see, imagine and experience that abundance. Who in their imagination is not attracted to the idea of no limits?

These days, to have to accept that there are limits, to reorient one’s own thinking, through self-reflection and self-critique, to change deep-seated habits of mind. Who wants to do that? Is able to do that? Painful and disconcerting. Verzicht. To do without. To do with less. To accept limits.

No Limes. No Irmensul.

Americans are, indeed, a young and often impatient people. But not all that young, for they are descendents primarily of Europeans. And the Americans of German descent are the largest ethnic group in the U.S., when separating out the British, Scottish and Irish.

In other words, an American, especially an American of German descent, who plays the piano well, including the most difficult works of German composers such as Beethoven (the child of Dutch immigrants to Germany), is just as much, if not more, an heir and descendent of that famous citizen of Bonn as those living in Bonn today who aren’t interested in classical music, who have never visited the house Beethoven’s was born and raised in, who prefer listening to heavy metal music on the MP3-players while sitting on the #61 tram from Dottendorf into the center of town. Americans and Germans are cousins, sharing to a large part the same history.

Here’s a story I heard a while back from a German woman I knew during my graduate studies in Berlin. She was on a flight to North Africa. Morocco or Tunesia. Sitting next to an American: jeans, sweatshirt, baseball cap on his head. One of those seemingly naive, carefree, smiling, overly-friendly Americans who Germans identify immediately.

She wondered what a guy like that – provincial, unsophisticated – was doing on an airplane to North Africa. Did he get on the wrong plane in Frankfurt? After a few minutes of small talk she realized that the “country bumpkin” was a tenured professor at an elite university on the East Coast of the U.S., spoke fluent Arabic, had high-level contacts in Egyptian politics, academics and culture. “Never judge a book by its cover.”

Another story. Similar. November 1995. In Washington, D.C. Watergate Hotel. Evening. We’re sitting in the lounge drinking a beer, after more than a handful of meetings in the American capital. The Majority Leader, his wife, his Chief of Staff, the Head of the Konrad Adenauer Foundation in Washington. I had been asked by the Majority Leader to accompany him to the U.S. To advise him, and to play “fly on the wall”, to observe, then provide him with my analysis afterwards, on what my Americans eyes see, and American ears hear.

No Cologne Cathedral, but not country hicks.

Before the trip I rewrote his speeches. They had been translated from German into English by the language experts in the Bundestag. A bit wooden, overly structured, not how he speaks. I was also able to arrange for him to give a major foreign policy speech at Georgetown University, my alma mater. Pure coincidence. My uncle was, and is still, a Jesuit and professor of Theology at Georgetown. The university president – a close friend of my uncle – had done his Ph.D. in Theology in the late 1960s in Münster, on the great German theologian, Karl Rahner.

He spoke fluent German and had had several conversations with Chancellor Helmut Kohl, a Catholic from Rhineland Palatinate. Kohl was known to be in close contact with Rome. The CDU (Christian Democratic Union – Kohl’s party) connection to Georgetown goes back to the days of Konrad Adenauer’s chancellorship, 1949-63. One of Adenauer’s sons had studied at Georgetown during the Second World War.

In any case, I felt very comfortable in Washington, having studied at Georgetown just around the corner from the Watergate. That evening a member of the CDU in the German Bundestag walks in, their spokesperson on economic issues, also in Washington for meetings. He pulls a chair up next to the Majority Leader and says: “Wolfgang, it’s astonishing. The Americans are totally informed about our fiscal and economic plans, ours in Germany and in the EU!” Weeks after the trip it occurred to me: “Hey, wait a minute. Why is this guy so astonished?”

It’s true. Americans don’t have a Cologne Cathedral. They don’t have a Limes. No Teutoburger Forest. No Bavarian Purity Laws for brewing beer. No Irmensul. But are Americans, therefore, country hicks? Maybe it’s a tactical advantage to be considered such.

Fill the Vacuum

I supported Stefan and his team for well over a year, as part of a larger organization. He was in his early 40s, spoke great English, had a clever sense of humor, managed a team with roughly one hundred people in Germany and the U.S. each. His staff of seven managed well the two hundred. Stefan travelled to the U.S. three to four times per quarter.

During dinner after a two-day workshop Stefan turned to me and said: „John, I get the feeling whenever I come to the U.S. that my people here don‘t even know who I am.“ He had a funny kind of smile on his face, perplexed.

I sensed what was going on. „Well, Stefan, when you come over who do you typically meet with?“ He went through the list: his direct reports, senior-level management in other departments, a handful of selected subject-area experts in testing, manufacturing, supply chain, and two or three German delegates to the U.S.

„Am I leaving a vacuum?”

My response: „Remember what we‘ve discussed over the last few months about American leadership logic. If you‘re not present in the eyes and minds of your team here, they will automatically orient themselves towards the strongest of your American direct reports. They won‘t have any other alternative.“

„Am I leaving a vacuum which is being filled?“, Stefan asked. I nodded. Both of us had gotten through our burgers, were eating our fries and drinking our juices. The background music was loud, but we could discuss further, nonetheless. We were in a college town, it was the middle of the Fall semester. Thursday evening. The place was full with students, faculty and university administration types.

„Americans like to know who their team lead is, and the strategic direction“, I said. Visiting as often as Stefan did was good. „But, you have to take the time to visit the troops, as we Americans say.“

“Your organization and people.”

„Town Hall meetings and such?“ I responded with a yes. „And have open office hours at set times and make sure folks know ahead of your visit. If you can fit it into your schedule, got out for lunch and dinner with members of your organization. Give them a chance to interact with you in an informal setting. They‘ll bring up what‘s on their mind if they feel comfortable with you.“

Stefan paused, ate a few more fries, took a sip of his juice and responded: „Yeah, but I don‘t want to get too involved. That could bother my direct reports. I mean, it‘s their organization, their people. I don‘t want to interfere in their work.“

That was pure form German leadership logic. You see it in the German military, where an officer from one level has to formally ask an officer at the next lower level for permission to visit that officer‘s troops. An American manager reserves the right to reach out to anyone in their organization, at anytime, and almost anywhere, with just about any question.

„You determine to what degree you get involved.”

My advice to Stefan was that he would in no way be perceived by his American reports as getting too involved in their work. On the contrary, they would be very happy to have a boss who is involved, who takes the time to become familiar with their teams, their work, the details.

„You determine to what degree you get involved, Stefan. At a minimum be present, ask questions, listen carefully, respond to their questions, observe. Most importantly, take what we are discussing now to your American direct reports and decide together the appropriate level of interaction you should have when you‘re in the U.S.“

I then added: „And while your at it, keep your eyes open for American colleagues in senior-level management who might be applying their leadership logic to their German teams, and possibly causing some irritation by perhaps being too present when they are in Germany.“

Stefan smiled in a mischievous way. „What?“, I asked. „I can think of at least three Americans, all first-rate team leads, who do just that.“ We laughed.

The Big Meeting

An attempt to cure all ills, is the impression many Americans get of German processes. From their perspective, Germans try to apply processes in areas where only common sense and good judgement work. „Processes can‘t substitute for people“ is a common statement one hears from Americans in German companies. Much of what people in companies do simply cannot be objectified. Continuous process modification, from the American perspective, produces far more internal agitation than it does any kind of value.

Frustration was high, very high. It was about the bid process. A German multinational with a large presence in the United States. Plant construction. Big plants. Complex. Customers in a multitude of countries. The bid process, too, is complex. All of the key topics come together: market, customers, product portfolio, price, competition, etc. And the key disciplines come together: engineering, supply chain, project management, finance, risk, etc.

An offering is formulated. If they get the contract, the project runs over several years. Tremendous depth of detail. If the complexity is not grasped, nothing but problems during the entire project. Lose a lot of money. If the complexity is understood, the project is executable. Earn lots of money.

No good decision without a good decision making process

There is a process for bidding on projects. The problem is, the processes on either side of the Atlantic look different. From my point of view, no surprise. Americans and Germans have different approaches to the topics, to the disciplines. At its core, the bid process is a decision making process. And as such it is only to a certain degree technical. The baseline analysis is done. Engineers. Engineering methods. IT tools. The results: numbers. Processes are critical here. Science does its work.

But after that it‘s all about judgement. Experience, intuition, common sense. Everything comes together in the big meeting. The boss with her direct reports, the heads of the disciplines. Interdisciplinary, as they say. They discuss intensely, long, often in great detail, open, focused. Key parameters are looked at from every possible angle. The boss drills down with her questions. The experts respond to the best of their ability, and based on their calculations.

Far more than a brainstorm, they look for ways to handle the tough questions. Back and forth, up and around, combine, separate. More art than science. Bids are formulated not generated. The big meeting is not a factory. No place for a process here. The task is far too complex.

And so it went for years, actually generations. It‘s how Americans make decisions. The big meeting. I had heard about it. Then I was allowed to sit in, like a fly on the wall. German headquarters wanted to change the bidding process. Make it more German. Process harmonization. The Americans were not amused. The big meeting.

It was fascinating. It went as I had anticipated. I felt at home, understood its inner logic. The German colleagues do it differently, much differently. They move along a process, from beginning to end. No big meeting. The topics are addressed in a crisp, brief, focused manner, like knocking off the topics in a routine meeting. Not all that much interaction among the participants. Everything based on facts and analysis, and the process. Objectified in the spirit of: „Good decisions are the result of good decision making processes.“

“That’s not the way one does that.”

„So macht man das nicht“ – that’s not the way one does that. „Wir machen es nicht so“ – that’s not the way we do it. „Das ist nicht richtig so“ – that’s not right. „Das ist falsch, wie Sie es machen“ – you’re doing that wrong. „Ach, Sie gehen so amerikanisch vor“ – ach, you’re taking such an American approach. These sentences I’ve heard many times. Of course, it could have been that I did most things in the wrong way.

So many times I have had the impression that in the German context there is the right way to do something and the wrong way. Implied in such thinking is that there is only one truly right way. All other ways are wrong.

I don’t understand much philosophy, but my impression is that Germans develop their ways of doing things deductively, from generally accepted principles. Kant, Hegel, and all of those great German philosophers, wanted to explain human existence – break the code, so to speak – so that people (individuals) know what to think and what to do.

They put together systems which are incredibly complex, all-encompassing, which explain all sorts of human interactions and interconnections. Rather German: complicated, hardly understandable, nonetheless intricate, impressive, somehow wonderful. Yet, more than somewhat abstract, distanced from everyday experience.

Not egotistical, much more collectivistic

The German “that’s not how one does it” comes from above, from on high, not dictated downwards, but more as if it were simply a given, based on some irrefutable logic. The tone of the statement is always as if there was really nothing, or at the most very little, to discuss.

Not “I want it done in this way” or “I know best how this should be done.” Not stubborness, obstinance or ignorance or egotism. Those are not German character traits. Quite the contrary the Germans are very open-minded people in many ways. Ignorant? No chance, instead intelligent, well-informed, intellectually very curious. And not egotistical, instead far more collectivistic.

I cannot explain it. It’s puzzling, enigmatic, mysterious. Perhaps Germans think that in any given situation there can be only one truly optimal way to do something, and therefore „bevor ich Deinen Weg ernsthaft in Betracht ziehe, sage ich, unser Weg ist der richtige, oder eher der richtige” – before I seriously consider your approach, I say that our approach is the right one, or more or less the right one.

“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.

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.

Allow yourself to be pulled in

The history of Germany, as well as the historical consciousness of the German people, continue to impress and attract me. Today, just as strongly as a quarter century ago. You need only to go into a bookstore in Germany. Their books are not only solid, well bound and have great covers. The Germans have a very special relationship to books. There are always many older and newer publications about history, about their history. For those Germans who want to know their history there will never be a shortage of opportunities.

Every city in Germany, large and small, has museums in which history, but not only theirs, is told, is kept alive and relevant. In my early years in Berlin and Bonn I was astounded by how many fascinating and well-made documentary films were shown on German television. There was never a day without at least one in the evening. The German language is worth learning if only to read their books, to visit their museums, and to watch their documentaries. Although not a documentary, but one with the look and feel of one, was Heimat.

It was the summer of 1992. I watched episode for episode of Heimat. My eyes were glued to the television, my mind racing to understand every word, to pick up on as many nuances as possible. What an opportunity for me to gain insight in Germany of that time period, between the world wars. Time and again I had to turn to my German wife to get the meaning of this or that word, for the dialogue was in the dialect of that region of Germany, the Hunsrück, along the Moselle River, between Trier and Koblenz. After every episode I was in a kind of trance, reflecting about what I had just taken in.

The history of another people

Then another time. I was in the car. Driving through Bonn. Evening. I turned on the radio. Deutschlandfunk. A book review was being read. It was about the immediate post-war years in then West Germany. The first sentences grabbed my attention. They flowed: complex, clear, rich, full of substance, critical, analytical, yet elegant. That feeling had come back, from when I was a student at Georgetown. History. German History. The history of another people. In another part of the world. And when I read the books by John Lukacs. Trance.

The reader continued. I was captured, drove further, but as if on a soft cloud just a few inches above the road. I think of the many war memorials in Germany. When I walk or ride my bicycle down the hill from the Venusberg in Bonn to the former government quarter on the Rhine, I pass through Kessenich where there is such a memorial. It’s round, cement, encircling a lovely oak tree. Six pillars about eight feet high. Plenty of space between them to step in and out. The tops of all eight crowned – or held together – by a cement ring providing the tree with space to stretch out its branches. Just below the top each of the eight the face in cement of a German soldier with the iconic German steel helmet from the World War I.

Chiseled into the pillars, from the top to just about the bottom, are the names of the men who died in the two world wars. Six pillars, three sides each. Longs lists. Names. Of men, and boys, from that part of Bonn, from the neighborhood. Yes, boys, many no older than seventeen or eighteen years old. Sad. Especially sad for me, as one of five Magee boys, to read the same last names. Meyer. Schmitz. Leyendecker. Two, three, sometimes four of the same last names. Brothers. Cousins. Imagine the deep, deep sadness of the mothers and fathers who saw their boys go off to war only to kill and be killed. 1914. 1915. 1916. 1917. 1918. Four long years for an entire continent. Then on the other sides of the pillars. 1939. 1940. 1941. 1942. 1943. 1944. 1945. Many of the same names. The sons and nephews of those fallen between 1914 and 1918. The Germans suffered, too.