Process Prevents Politics

Have you ever wanted something so bad, you overlooked your gut feeling? We have a built-in early warning system that gives important signals through feelings and body sensations. It indicates if you’re getting warmer—aligning with your goals and dreams—or cooler and farther away.

Once we get attached to an outcome, we tend to ignore red flags and plough ahead. Instead of pausing, listening, and questioning the disconnect, we’re driven to achieve a goal. We get fixated on our viewpoint instead of fascinated by the possibility of what might be.

No matter how much personal development training or self discipline we have, it happens. Such is the pitfall of being human. It recently happened to me.

A not-for-profit organization in my community that serves business start-ups was looking for new board directors. When I first moved here, people told me the organization was exclusive, not well connected to the broader community. That struck me as odd since it was publicly funded. I suspected the board was operating without effective processes in place.

I had board development experience and had served on a public board with a $70 million operating budget. I thought I could help the not-for-profit build a solid foundation for growth and community engagement. I knew how internal board practices, done right, can strengthen external community connections for an organization.

Boards usually publish the skills mix they want directors to have. I asked to see the skills matrix to see what skills and expertise were being recruited.

I never heard back from the chairperson, nor did I receive a skills matrix. But I did receive a call from a director. We had a candid conversation about the organization’s history, challenges, and plans. The board prioritized strengthening community connections, developing policy, and implementing responsible governance. It appeared to us both that I was a good fit.

Based on our conversation, I agreed to seek nomination as a director. The director told me that I’d just been screened and our conversation had been my interview. Wait. What? I’d skipped the application process and gone straight into the interview pool.

The first red flag went up. I ignored it. I wanted to join the board.

There wasn’t sufficient time between the “interview” and the annual general meeting to go through the formal nomination process. A decision was made to appoint me for a one-year term at a regular board meeting held immediately following the AGM. It was a workaround, a loophole that made it possible for me to be elected. I felt uncomfortable going about my nomination this way. My intuition was speaking to me again, but I wasn’t listening. I joined the board.

The organization had committed to the major sponsorship of a large, high-profile event. Several new directors had questions about the investment, benefits, public access, and perceptions of exclusivity. They wanted more information in light of allegations that local entrepreneurs had been excluded in previous years. Other directors minimized these concerns and pushed for the vote. Although I had no objection to the event, the way the vote was rushed through left me with a knot in my stomach. The second red flag went up.

Staff were capable, passionate, and enthusiastic. Clients raved about programming. Directors were honest, hard-working professionals. There was no question about the team’s commitment, dedication, and intelligence. All the fundamental components for full community engagement were in place. The only thing missing was a board culture that welcomed healthy conflict.

A task-oriented chair, although well intentioned, can be one of the worst offenders for shutting down the magic that is available through group dialogue and collaboration. Don’t get me wrong—brevity is important in respect of people’s time. But if time restrictions suppress questions and prevent the sharing of information, the real decision making will take place outside the boardroom, in informal networks. Nobody will get anywhere near the groan zone—or the Possibility Zone.

By shutting down healthy conflict and open dialogue, important reservations that may not be obvious at first do not surface. When conversation remains superficial, the organization misses out on the hidden assets that emerge through deep commitment and meaningful buy-in.

In the case of this board, there was a disconnect between the stated intention of group deliberation and the actual practice. Probing questions weren’t welcomed. Although there was nothing serious or malicious going on, it didn’t feel right to bump up against an invisible wall at the boardroom table.

Trust was missing, but not because people at the board table weren’t trustworthy. The organization, like so many, ran by meeting agenda. There was no overarching structure to build relatedness, open dialogue, or foster trust. In the absence of process, the environment felt cliquey and political. I realized the “participatory decision-making model” was dead in the water when the board declined my offer to present a fifteen-minute segment on board development. The third red flag went up.

People want to contribute, not be rubber stamps. On this board, contributions from certain members carried more weight, and everyone knew it. Regular directors struggled to make it past the gatekeeper.

I should have listened to my intuition when the first red flag went up.

I should not have accepted a seat at the boardroom table knowing that proper protocols hadn’t been followed to get me there. In the words of R. Buckminster Fuller, “Integrity is the essence of everything successful.” I did not seek re-election at the end of my one-year term.

In his book Overcoming the Five Dysfunctions of a Team, Patrick Lencioni presents a conflict continuum. On one extreme is artificial harmony, as I experienced on this board. The other extreme is destructive conflict, the kind of environment that provokes mean-spirited attacks. The ideal conflict point is in the middle.