CEOs should lead corporate culture

But it takes a rare breed to do it.

It’s become something of an obsession, particularly for business leaders under pressure. Perhaps one of the most unlikely advocates for the idea of corporate culture in recent times has been former Barclays chief executive Bob Diamond. Before being forced out of the bank he claimed to “love”, Diamond repeatedly spoke about the importance of building a culture of integrity and trust and he once defined true organisational culture as being “how people behave when no one is watching”.

Meanwhile on the G4S website, the security outsourcing giant states that it is proud of its “distinctive culture and strong values that are cascaded through the organisation”. It would be interesting to hear Nick Buckles, the G4S chief executive, explain what part that culture and those valued played in the current Olympic security farrago.

Both examples demonstrate how closely culture and leadership are connected. Both organisations fall into a category that might be called macho management.

Hierarchical, slightly old-fashioned and reliant on a supposedly “strong” leader to set the organizational tone, which can then cascade down through the ranks. In these situations, the values, ethics, behaviours and attitudes of the top people in an organisation set the tone and culture. Such leaders usually feel the need to add their seal of approval or stamp of authority on every major decision.

They also like to keep organisational power secure in the centre. They surround themselves with people who agree with them, people who defer to the position and authority of the leader rather than challenge their wisdom. This is a culture that has little or no place for dissent and little time for discussion. These leaders would agree with the old-fashioned concept that it is lonely at the top.

Rather than a strong, open culture, this approach breeds fear and resentment and encourages people outside of the hallowed centre to keep things under wraps if they think it might displease the leader. It encourages people to misreport activity in order to make sure those they are reporting to hear what they want to hear. When the leader shouts jump the rest of the management team ask “how high?” and then rush off to organise jumping practice and instigate new height measurement protocols.

Management and leadership writers have spent the past 30 years filling business school library bookshelves with reports, books and academic papers about the value of low-profile leadership, open and transparent management processes and creating cultures that empower people to make decisions at the lowest effective level in an organization. Those as close as possible to the front line should be the ones making the most important decisions quickly and effectively.

The trouble is that this rhetoric and research is hard to put into practice. The modern corporation was born in the image of the military and too many leaders appear hard-wired to continue this approach. Worse still, too many senior and middle management adopt the attitude of followers, rather than challengers.

While most people can probably name a company that does things differently, if you ask lots of people you get a depressingly short list of the same usual suspects. It’s refreshing, and yet also shamefully rare, to hear of a successful organisation that adopts an upside-down culture or whose leader seems to embrace the idea of an open culture and is big enough to actively invite dissent and discussion around the boardroom table.

That’s because it takes a rare breed of leader confident enough to do it. And a rare bunch of shareholders and investors to allow it happen. The financial crisis and recession have made things even harder. The upshot of this is that senior executives are not used to dealing with confrontation or dissent. Perhaps that’s why so few CEOs seem to know how to cope with the uprising among the shareholder and investor community.

The bad news for CEOs — and shareholders — is that culture change is difficult and painful to do at all, let along do well. The good news for all of us is that recognising there is a problem with culture is a good first step towards making things better.

This article originally appeared in economia.

Some CEOs. Photograph: Getty Images

Richard Cree is the Editor of Economia.

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What David Hockney has to tell us about football

Why the sudden glut of blond footballers? A conversation I had with the artist back in 1966 gave me a clue. . .

In 1966, I went to interview David Hockney at a rather run-down flat in Bayswater, central London. He was 28 and had just won a gold medal at the Royal College of Art.

In his lavatory, I noticed a cut-out photograph from a newspaper of Denis Law scoring a goal. I asked if he was a football fan. He said no, he just liked Denis Law’s thighs.

The sub-editors cut that remark out of the story, to save any gossip or legal problems. In 1966 homosexual activity could still be an offence.

Hockney and a friend had recently been in the United States and had been watching an advert on TV that said “Blondes have more fun”. At two o’clock in the morning, slightly drunk, they both went out, bought some hair dye and became blond. Hockney decided to remain blond from then on, though he has naturally dark hair.

Is it true that blonds have more fun? Lionel Messi presumably thinks so, otherwise why has he greeted this brand-new season with that weird blond hair? We look at his face, his figure, his posture and we know it’s him – then we blink, thinking what the heck, does he realise some joker has been pouring stuff on his head?

He has always been such a staid, old-fashioned-looking lad, never messing around with his hair till now. Neymar, beside him, has gone even blonder, but somehow we expect it of him. He had foony hair even before he left Brazil.

Over here, blonds are popping up all over the shop. Most teams now have a born-again blondie. It must take a fortune for Marouane Fellaini of Man United to brighten up his hair, as he has so much. But it’s already fading. Cheapskate.

Mesut Özil of Arsenal held back, not going the full head, just bits of it, which I suspect is a clue to his wavering, hesitant personality. His colleague Aaron Ramsey has almost the full blond monty. Paul Pogba of Man United has a sort of blond streak, more like a marker pen than a makeover. His colleague Phil Jones has appeared blond, but he seems to have disappeared from the team sheet. Samir Nasri of Man City went startlingly blond, but is on loan to Seville, so we’re not able to enjoy his locks. And Didier Ndong of Sunderland is a striking blond, thanks to gallons of bleach.

Remember the Romanians in the 1998 World Cup? They suddenly appeared blond, every one of them. God, that was brilliant. One of my all-time best World Cup moments, and I was at Wembley in 1966.

So, why do they do it? Well, Hockney was right, in a sense. Not to have more fun – meaning more sex – because top footballers are more than well supplied, but because their normal working lives are on the whole devoid of fun.

They can’t stuff their faces with fast food, drink themselves stupid, stay up all night, take a few silly pills – which is what many of our healthy 25-year-old lads consider a reasonably fun evening. Nor can they spend all their millions on fun hols, such as skiing in the winter, a safari in the spring, or hang-gliding at the weekend. Prem players have to be so boringly sensible these days, or their foreign managers will be screaming at them in their funny foreign accents.

While not on the pitch, or training, which takes up only a few hours a day, the boredom is appalling, endlessly on planes or coaches or in some hotel that could be anywhere.

The only bright spot in the long days is to look in the mirror and think: “Hmm, I wonder what highlights would look like? I’ve done the beard and the tattoos. Now let’s go for blond. Wow, gorgeous.”

They influence each other, being simple souls, so when one dyes his hair, depending on where he is in the macho pecking order, others follow. They put in the day by looking at themselves. Harmless fun. Bless ’em.

But I expect all the faux blonds to have gone by Christmas. Along with Mourinho. I said that to myself the moment he arrived in Manchester, smirking away. Pep will see him off. OK then, let’s say Easter at the latest . . . 

Hunter Davies is a journalist, broadcaster and profilic author perhaps best known for writing about the Beatles. He is an ardent Tottenham fan and writes a regular column on football for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 22 September 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The New Times