Digby was the CEO of a merchant bank. He had been with the bank since leaving school, starting as a clerk and working his way up to the top job. Now silver-haired and approaching retirement, he occupied an office in the City with a fine view of a couple of Wren churches and, beyond, a glimpse of the Thames. His office was lush and spacious and on the walls hung oil portraits of some of his predecessors (all looking suitably stern).

The bank suffered from institutionalised deference. In its long and glorious history it had moved grudgingly from a command-and-control culture to being slightly (ever so slightly!) more consultative. Traditional managers such as Digby, however, found anything that smacked of democracy very puzzling and inconvenient. It was so much simpler to tell everyone what to do and demand unquestioning obedience. Asking for opinions invariably meant tapping into a host of irreconcilable differences and, in the end, having to say, ‘Forget I asked. We’ll do it my way.’

With the bank’s long history of built-in deference, staff operated with two switches. One was marked ‘bow, scrape and agree with everything’, and the other was marked ‘rant, rave and complain’. Needless to say, the former switch was thrown whenever senior managers were present and the latter switch as soon as their backs were turned.

Digby allowed himself to be persuaded to run a series of workshops for the managers in the bank on the subject of change. This was because the bank were overhauling their antiquated job grading system and the process had thrown up a number of serious anomalies. A two-day workshop was devised where managers would work in small teams, identifying changes they thought necessary and putting forward recommendations for action. Digby agreed to ‘bless’ each workshop by saying a few words at the start about the need for change and to return for the final plenary session to listen to the recommendations.

The workshop ran nine times in order to accommodate all the managers it was designed to reach. The participants on each workshop differed, but the pattern of events was uncannily similar. Digby would sweep in at the start and read a short speech from a lectern. There were a couple of vaguely light-hearted remarks that always evoked polite laughter. He didn’t invite any questions (far too consultative for Digby) but always finished by saying how much he looked forward to returning the next day to hear the recommendations.

As soon as Digby left the room, all hell broke loose as the managers spluttered their wrath at his condescending manner. The ‘rant and rave’ switches had been thrown.

Once the managers had calmed down, they settled to the task of prioritising the many changes they thought necessary to improve the bank’s performance, to brainstorming ways forward and to preparing persuasive presentations. Throughout, ranting and raving was much in evidence as the managers steeled themselves for Digby’s return.

Time for the final plenary came eventually and Digby would arrive with a couple of other directors in tow. Switches were immediately turned to ‘bow and scrape’. The fighting talk of the last two days simply evaporated without trace. Each presentation consisted of halfhearted insinuations and meaningless platitudes. After hearing all the presentations, Digby would stand, politely thank everyone for their contribution and then calmly dismantle each idea by explaining why it wouldn’t work. The participants, of course, sat there nodding deferentially whilst seething inside.

Everyone thought the workshops were a charade. Digby, however, was very pleased with them. For him they were proof that consultation didn’t work!