Of Mice and Turkeys
Imagine for a moment that you’re sitting down to your Thanksgiving dinner when suddenly the roof of your house swings back and you find yourself looking up into something huge and incomprehensible: the eye of a hurricane perhaps, which I suspect is a lot less comprehensible close up than it is on TV.
I was unexpectedly encouraged to think about this today when I went out this morning to start smoking the Thanksgiving turkey. I flipped open the top of my grill and what should I find inside but a mouse nest. Needless to say, the mice were not at all thrilled at having the roof of their house flipped up, but I’m guessing that these mice thought they were getting a pretty good deal on the place and didn’t imagine that their house came with a detachable roof. Let’s not even talk about the central heating…
To make a long story very short, the mice booked out of there and we cleaned out the grill. Half an hour at 500+ degrees did the rest. I figure that any bacteria that can survive that treatment is going to take over the world anyway so I’m not going to worry about it.
Meanwhile, back to the mice. Much to the annoyance of our cats, who sat at the window watching, we let the mice scurry off. Their odds of survival are pretty good, even if their next home is likely to be a real hole in the ground.
Someone recently told me that he was former biology teacher and thus believed strongly in the survival of the fittest. The mice got me thinking: what does that mean? Drop a human in the forest at the end of November and their odds of survival aren’t all that good. The mice, though, will do just fine. Who is more fit to survive, the mouse or the human? Granted, the mice aren’t likely to find any other mice that will take them in or help them, but mice are individualists. They won’t even remember being a family before too long. They’ll survive, or they won’t, on their own.
One untrained person alone in the forest is in trouble. Put several people together, though, and their odds suddenly get much better assuming they can cooperate. Granted, that can be a big assumption sometimes, but it’s vital if you want to survive in the forest or in business.
I once read the statement that, “Teamwork was invented by the weak in order to beat the strong.” I’ve also heard some form of that argument put forth many times, usually by the person who is trying to make sure that no one can compete with him. Let’s face it, the biggest, strongest person has a vested interest in convincing everyone else not to form a team. The fastest, most skillful programmer might well see a real short-term benefit in a fractious and divisive team. In the short-term, there is a real benefit for some in keeping people divided: remember, it’s “divide, then conquer.” The results for the business, though, of such a dynamic may not be quite so good.
Over the long term, being able to work as part of a team confers a distinct advantage on the entire group. Members of the group can support one another, assist one another, and watch out for one another. New members can be taught the skills and accumulated knowledge of the group, so that they don’t spend their time reinventing the wheel. Over time, a cohesive group can outperform any individual or collection of individuals.
Mice don’t form teams. They don’t even have the concept. When disaster strikes, they’re on their own. They don’t help one another. They think only about themselves.
People are capable of forming teams, forming what Ed Schein calls “networks of mutual helping.” We don’t always manage it, but we’re stronger when we do. Whether we’re talking about business challenges or about responding to the next Katrina, our ability to form teams is our greatest advantage if we choose to use it, if we choose to reach out and help others and let others help us.
So here’s my Thanksgiving question: are you a man or a mouse?
