Watching the Romney campaign, I find myself wondering how this inept and ineffective communicator ever survived - much less thrived - in the corporate world.
For much of my 37-career in corporate America, I was involved in presentations, speaking to clients, regulatory agencies, attorneys, competitors, investors, and upper management. I've served as an expert witness. I've convinced clients to spend thousands and even millions of dollars carrying out my recommendations. I've convinced management to invest in programs to benefit my colleagues. I've convinced angry citizens groups that their concerns were being addressed. I've convinced regulatory agencies to grant my clients reasonable outcomes that address the needs of all stakeholders.
None of that mattered when Bain & Company advised my former employer to keep laying off hundreds and hundreds of people. The only communication that mattered in the end was saying, yes, I understand that I'm being let go, effective immediately. No, I don't need any boxes to pack up my stuff. I know where they're kept.
Back in the day, though, I prided myself on being an effective presenter. It wasn't always that way, though. I was your basic science nerd, good for an occasional snarky wisecrack with my few friends, but otherwise pretty reclusive.
Twenty-eight years ago, I gave my first conference presentation on some pioneering work I'd completed. I was petrified, and had turned my worry into some serious over-rehearsing. As I reached the podium, trying not to let my nervousness show (and trying not to trip over the cables with my high-heeled shoes), I looked out across the hundreds of scientists and engineers and other professionals in the audience. No, I didn't imagine them naked, as some people advise. I had enough to worry about.
I gave my presentation, pretty much in a trance, and left enough time for questions, which I somehow had the presence of mind to answer. I seem to have done a good enough job, as quite a few people approached me later in the day to compliment me and engage me in further discussion of how the technology I'd developed might be used on their projects.
It's been said that most people dread public speaking to the extent that, at a funeral, they'd rather be the deceased than the eulogist. I didn't dread it, though, not after a successful foray. After that, I gave presentations to the public: citizens rightfully concerned about risks in their neighborhood and inaction by corporations as well as the government. By speaking respectfully to their concerns, answering their questions, explaining the plans for action, and promising to keep them apprised of progress, I was able to turn outrage to interest, fear to involvement.
From there, I made presentations to industrial, commercial, utility, and state and federal government clients. Competing for contracts isn't just a matter of pricing. Most clients want to meet the people who will be delivering on those contracts. They don't just want a couple of executives showing up, slapping them on the back, and then leaving. I loved being part of the presentation team when I could, and organizing the presentations for others when it wasn't my turn.
Preparation was key. We rehearsed and tweaked our presentation, made sure it came in well under the time limit to allow for questions and answers, as this was where we often excelled. In some cases, we told the client we'd be happy to cede all of our time to just questions and answers if they wanted; that often led to a win as we "bonded" with their presentation attendees. We held multiple "dry runs", with other people in the office serving as stand-ins for the client (or public) audience members. We rehearsed responses to every "nightmare" question we could think of. By the time the presentation came, we were as ready as we could be, and confident that we could nail it.
I enjoyed this part of my job immensely. Trying to get inside the client's head and really connect with them on the things that mattered most was a challenge and a half. Sure, we could read the request for proposal to see what they wanted the successful bidder to do. But how could we differentiate our company, our project team, and our approach? How could we align ourselves with the client as a true partner in advancing their vision?
Much of that work came long before the presentation. It involved engaging the client in discussion, then listening. Really listening, and drawing them out. Like us, clients were human, and shared many of our hopes and fears. Relating to them in a way that showed them that, yes, we were listening, and we had crafted an approach that embodied their concerns, often resulted in a "win" for us and a successful project for them.
Now that I've been laid off from corporate America, these same skills are helping me to build my own business with some of my former clients. Simply put, there's no substitute for verbal communication skills. Being able to engage a client in a discussion, explore ways to help them solve a problem or realize a vision, and convincing them to take a chance on my new business enterprise? That's priceless.
It wasn't until quite recently that I stumbled upon the advice that explained why I'd been able to achieve success in my presentations to clients and the public:
People don't care how much you know until they know how much you care.
Mitt: you might want to keep this in mind. I know, I know; it's a stretch, since you clearly only care for that infinitesimally small sliver of the population who can write you a six- or seven figure check. But if you're going to have a game-changing debate performance, it will be because you finally
show the voters that you care. Yes, I know you've
told them. But now it's make or break time, and you'll have to show them.
Since you're pressed for time, Mitt, I thought I'd share a few ideas on making a winning presentation in advance of the upcoming debates. You'll never win me over of course, but maybe this will help you with the seventeen undecided voters.
Obviously, you'll want to suppress your tendency to smirk; that's a deal-breaker. We'll know just how much you care: not one iota. You'll have to stifle your urge to bet someone $10,000. That's tacky. Also: don't grin or laugh at the mention of poverty, pain, hunger, medical suffering, unemployment, foreclosure, or death. For some reason, people take that the wrong way.
Make sure you get enough Botox ahead of time to keep your frown from scaring everyone. Keep your voice from rising in indignation at every question. These indignities are part of the process. Some people even consider it an honor to be their party's nominee. If you consider it a gauntlet of indignities, try to keep that to yourself.
If you're getting stressed out during the debate, just go to your Happy Place. I'll leave it to you to figure out which of your many well-appointed Happy Places you chose.
Oh, one last thing. Lose the "zingers". In all my years of addressing executives, attorneys, technical experts, clients, government officials, and the public, I haven't found a single occasion where a zinger would help. Then again, I wasn't running for Stand-Up Comedian-in-Chief. I was trying to help people solve problems and improve their lives. Clearly that's not your shtick.