The Cost of “I Don’t Care.”
A few years ago, I was sitting at the negotiation table with the staff negotiator for the UAW who was representing most of the staff of the human services agency I directed. We both knew where the final agreement would settle within a fairly narrow range, so the negotiation was somewhere between proforma at one end and details that didn't matter all that much one way or another at the other end. As expected, the union made some proposals that we both knew weren't going to be accepted and a few that were both reasonable and acceptable. The negotiation was to sort out those details and issues. We both knew that labor and management can have big issues at times but also knew that this was not one of those times; or so I thought. In this round of negotiations, the agency would have been fine continuing the current contract but was quite willing to sweeten the deal some. Here is the problem. The UAW negotiator made the first offer from the union that he knew, and I knew would not be accepted. The agency then made its first counter offer that I knew, and he knew would not be accepted. We were setting the outside limits within which the negotiation was expected to focus. To my surprise, the UAW negotiator immediately brought out his only real weapon. Instead of making a modified offer, he said that they would take an immediate strike vote if their first offer wasn't accepted in full. What do you think my response should have been? I admit that the temptation to play his version of hard ball was nearly overwhelming. Although I was far from speechless, the range of possible responses was flowing past so rapidly that I was temporarily dumbfounded. I finally said, "I doubt if that would be a very good outcome for either of us." His response was even more surprising than his starting the negotiation by refusing to negotiate. They would not negotiate. Either they got everything they wanted, or they would strike. To my suggestion that striking would not be a good outcome for either of us, he said, "I don't care. I just don't care what you think about the outcome." It may not be obvious that this junction was in reality a serious test of the value of good manners, but it most assuredly was. Let's pursue what may at first seem to be an irrelevant tangent. I will come back on point a little later. P J O'Rourke thought, "Good manners can replace morals. It may be years before anyone knows if what you are doing is right. But if what you are doing is nice, it will be immediately evident." The idea seems to be that good manners can and often do cover up the proverbial multitude of sins. As Arthur Schopenhauer put it, "Politeness is to human nature what warmth is to wax." It may quickly distort or otherwise transform reality. What seems sincere may merely be the latest example of Abel Stevens' observation, "Politeness is the art of choosing among one's real thoughts." The point is that in an effort to "be nice," candor can easily take a backseat to what Emily Post described as "a sensitive awareness of the feelings of others." The desire not to upset or offend takes priority over the responsibility to be honest and straightforward. Of course, W Somerset Maugham did say, "I don't think you want too much sincerity in society. It would be like an iron girder in a house of cards." And Lord Halifax said, "A man that should call everything by its right name would hardly pass the streets without being knocked down as a common enemy." The conclusion follows that there is an appropriate, middle ground between total honesty and bad manners. One should find that balance between excessive rudeness and being unnecessarily impolite on the one hand and knavery or excessive dishonesty on the other. Are you tempted to agree with this argument? If so, you are probably aligning with the polite majority of people who behave as if the choice is between candor and insensitive rudeness. When it comes time to choose,