The Chopping Board

Yesterday I gave a very short presentation to the Board of Directors of a potential client - one of Asia’s largest companies.

It has taken me 2 weeks to prepare for last Tuesday 11:30am: when my efforts were to be poured into 20 minutes of tense hope.

A lot is was is was is on the line … especially for me personally. Our CEO even came with me for the occasion, mostly to show support but also to see how I – waiting for a new contract – would perform. 

The sword was dangling above me. It wasn’t hanging by a horse hair, but I could still see it.

This has been a long journey.

My first trip to Jakarta was on 17 July 2009. Google has kindly memorized it for me on this blog (I type BOMBING JAKARTA into the search box).

In the past 8 months I have made 9 trips to Jakarta to work with this client. The client’s problems were unclear so it took 5 months to work out what we should propose: something to guide them out of the stone age. By the 5 month mark we had defined a good solution and broken it into a small start.

"Don't talk about long term strategy with the client", they said, "because it sounds expensive and scares people". So we focused on fixing the immediate problems.

In Indonesia, if things are left unattended they will grind to a halt. In Jakarta I try to generate as much activity and focus as possible ... twirl the spinning top forcefully, hoping it can keep moving until my next visit.

For the following 3 months we experienced jam karet, or “rubber time”. Time is very flexible here and some delays are just … are.

During this time the Board welcomed appointed Directors who were now scrutinising everything, including our work.

2 weeks ago no one was worried about the delays. I asked in December why sign-off was taking so long and they just assumed it was due to Jesus' birth or death (they were unsure which one was for Xmas). "Or jam karet", they told me with a smile.

Then it all came to a head. The new Director (potato) refused to sign off on our project as his pen  hovered over the purchase orderHe wanted more detail, like how this project fitted into a longer-term strategy.

If we pass, we could get about $15m worth of work. If we fail, nothing. We were granted 20 minutes to persuade him.

There are many problems with this request, but the biggest problem was me. Put simply, I'm not an expert in the areas he wanted to talk about but I was all they could think to offer in the moment.

One the stakes were high, the language used in our office started to change. Pronouns shrank themselves from plural to singular. Articles turned into pronouns. “We” became “you”. “The” became “Anthony’s”.

"Our project" became "your project". 

"The project” was now “Anthony’s project”.

“What should we do?” became “What are you planning to do, Anthony?”.

In short, this white boy was the new black.

I consoled myself that this is one of the reasons I'm employed. I earn more than the locals and must accept that I need to do more, or harder, stuff.

It goes without saying that this presentation has been on my mind.

Two weeks ago the expectation started as a dull ache in my stomach and grew outwards and upwards. After a week it was taking up more space. So many questions and doubts ... How should it be structured? What they might ask? What will they like? What will they hate? What can I find out about their backgrounds? Are there any clues in the Annual Report? How can we be bold and confident, without appearing smug and arrogant (a fine line)? And of course the selfish one – Where is all this going to leave me?

I found the Annual Report and saw photos of the new potatoes. The one with the wavering pen looked deliberately stern, as if he expected me to be looking him up.

I imagined the board members sitting around in a circle, like a counselling session in an asylum. I was sharing my thoughts, turning slowly like on a microwave dish. They were sporting cowboy hats and pistols, taking shots at my feet as I danced my silver tongued little heart out. Mrs Worthington is standing behind them, hissing at me to keep smiling.

I dreamt about the presentation. Last Thursday I was delivering it in my pyjamas … in a jungle clearing in Africa. I was facing the huge boardroom table, in front of a large screen which was hanging from vines. Directors were screaming at me and the angrier ones were transmogrifying into orangutans for a few seconds of loud hissing, before turning back. Mrs Worthington wasn’t there but I spotted Kerry (my 2nd grade teacher) in one of the trees.

This is easily explained. I love my new pyjamas and I am travelling to Africa in September. The word "orangutan" is Indonesian for “jungle man”. Just add a laptop, a projector, a large desk and 15 executives and there you go. 

I kept thinking back to last year, 8 months ago when I was briefed by the team about how the client loved us, only to turn upto a frosty reception.

On that occasion, I found myself standing on a raised platform and performing to a large group of people. They seemed to have no interest in anything I had to say. Their bosses had probably sent them in their lieu. Lips were pursed and arms were crossed. People fiddled with blackberries or whispered to one another. Others just stared me vacantly, planning dinner or reminiscing about porn. This must be what it’s like to deliver the acceptance speech after winning an Oscar for Sound Editing.

Regardless of what my colleagues had told me, Like many clients this one was initially suspicious of us. We are the big, arrogant, expensive multinational potatoes coming to tell them that they’re useless. In these situations aim to achieve 2 things from the earlier meetings: get them to relax their lips and unfold their arms. I also try to get them talking - a hidden agenda is much easier to manage than open criticism.

The different work cultures in this region make the situation more difficult, interesting, confusing or ridiculous.

In Vietnam you begin your relationship by being punished. There is a grimness to the initial meeting. Nothing is said during the presentation and the room pays grim attention. Towards the end, there will be eye-rolling and snapping retorts from the boss. There is testosterone in the air and chest beating  and I feel like I should wearing a rubber jumpsuit with a ball in my mouth, licking someone’s boots. "All this talking makes no sense to us” is not an uncommon opening question. 

I've learned that you just need to worm your way through it, gently. The hostility is not real fades, usually over a lunch-time booze. You will be sitting across from the angry boss and suddenly it's all cheers and beers.

In Thailand it’s hard to work out who the boss is but you need to find out. It can be a woman, too, which is unexpected in these parts. You must frequently glance and nod at everyone, especially in key moments. You will be served tea with a side of smiles but this means nothing. At the end of the presentation, when you ask if there are any questions, expect a long and awkward silence until the boss (and only the boss) says something. Never disagree with whatever is asked. Oh – and never allow the meeting to run past midday. Lunch is taken very seriously.

In Malaysia they will expect you to read their minds. They will test you with trick questions, then openly criticize you when you get it wrong. It’s OK to disagree, but only on those points they want you to.

In Indonesia they expect good ideas and interesting references. They are typically smart and well educated, so keep feeding them and tailoring your experience to their own business. They also expect the occasional self deprecating joke, but not too many. Given that my surname means fuckwit in local slang, that last part is easy. Eventually, they will tell you they need this project completed within 3 months and must get started now on validating requirements. Requirements validation will typically take 18 monts.

But one thing is common to all countries: do the wrong thing or upset the wrong person and you will be shut out for years.

Vietnam is a little unique, though. My colleagues do not warn me in advance about protocol … or even tell me afterwards what went wrong. Attempts at preparation are answered with “Don't worry - it's all fine”, accompanied by a wave of the hand and no eye contact. Vietnam is going to take a long time to tackle their xenophobia, which is an understandable byproduct of war that now holds back their progress. Unfortunately, the people I work will not be the ones to solve it.

In short, in Asia you build a business relationship very slowly. Expertise is not as important as patience and manners. Like any long courtship, you never know how it will end up: sometimes you get dumped, sometimes you form a lasting relationship and sometimes you just end up fucking each other.

Personally speaking, the pressure and uncertainty of the presentation had been mounting. It’s hard to work on something for many months, with sacrificed weekends and late nights, only to be asked to explain it why you're doing it. Moreover, the request to explain our long-term strategy was troublesome because we didn’t have one.

“You can come up with something can’t you Anthony?”I was the solution offered by my colleagues.

Last Sunday I flew to Jakarta. This allowed time to finalise our presentation and rehearse on Monday.

On Monday morning we were informed that the presentation date would be pushed back another week and that we will have 20 minutes this time may be extended and if so, it means things are either going very badly or very well.

We were also told that the other person I had lined up speak (our only true expert in this area) did not fit the profile.

“You can do all the presenting can’t you Anthony?” was the solution offered by my colleagues and this did not feel like flattery – more like burnt hands from a hot potato.

So on Monday night I popped over to Bangkok to deliver some bad news to a client because our Thai project team is too scared to tell them. Cunt for hire.

So yesterday morning we arrived early – me and my CEO – and were kept waiting for an hour outside the boardroom. He spent this time telling me how important this client is to our future business in Indonesia, and how disappointing it is to be in this position. I nodded glumly, like a schoolboy trying to hide chewing gum in his left cheek.

He recounted a story about his longest ever boardroom wait – from 11am to 5:30pm – for a steel company who had called him back urgently to explain some problems. I hoped our antechamber would be little more efficient. The atmosphere was becoming funereal and I thought about that bit in Portrait of a Lady, by TS Eliot, where the young man stands waiting to face the inevitable:

Inside my brain a dull tom-tom beginsAbsurdly hammering a prelude of its own,

I had some butterflies in my stomach but was mostly calm. Probably due to a lack of sleep. We were eventually called into the room with a brusque “Hi. Quick! OK. You only have 15 minutes now!” by a woman in a paisley hijab.

We were shooed to the front of a large room, where many grim faces were sitting around in a U-shaped. It looked just like the jungle from my dreams and I looked down quickly to check for pyjamas.

I cranked up my computer and started the little show. Everyone was staring but no one was smiling. I knew the ones to look out for. “Relax your lips,” I implored them, “please just relax your lips” as I concentrated on relaxing mine. I thought again about that poem:

And I must borrow every changing shape
To find expression ... dance, dance
Like a dancing bear,
Cry like a parrot, chatter like an ape.

At the end of my 15 minutes – which I stretched to 18 (fuck ‘em), I asked for questions and in they flooded. Some were hostile, as expected. Some were a little mocking. Some were sticky. But there were no surprises and when I heard English accents coming out of the taut lips of the potatoes I felt a little relieved. I felt like I was more on my own turf; that finally I had more chance than my colleagues of understanding what was going on.

Question Time lasted for 30 minutes and we left the room, unsure about whether it had gone well or badly.

Now it’s a waiting game and we still don’t know the outcome.

On Tuesday afternoon I returned to the office and starting spinning the top again; tried to create actions and plans for my colleagues. It was a frenzy of cat herding to merely get people in the same room at the same time.

It is Wednesday and I am hurrying back to Hanoi for boardroom presentation at one of Vietnam’s largest banks. I have been allocated 30 minutes with the Chairman and CEO, although this time I know a little bit more about the topic so just need to brush up on banks.

Today as I departed Jakarta it felt like I had left my baby on the stairs of the church. Swaddled and basketed and hoping the nuns find him before the cats do; hoping the local team will take care of him but secretly knowing I will come back to a starving foetus and start it all again.