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Its May this year. It's Toronto. Over dinner an
old family friend from Calcutta is lamenting the invasion of the boisterous
immigrant Chinese into her once quiet township of Richmond, Ontario. I ask why
she needs to be so xenophobic, given that she herself is an immigrant of
"questionable" origins.
Cut back to early 2000. I'm sharing a beer with
my ex-chairman, one of the giants of branding. He led an amazing bunch of
consistently motivated people, who delivered some impossible results year upon
year. A very difficult environment to replicate or even resurrect. So we end up
talking about the good old days...yet again.
Forward to 2014. A mammoth Indian transnational
shares an existential dilemma with us: "we are a very culture driven
group, but how do we get business verticals to keep the faith, under the sword
of growth and margin pressures?"
What is it about words like culture and environment
that make us feel either nostalgic or deprived? If it is so good to have then why do we lose it
with such ease?
Why should we pay any attention? What good does
a unique culture do? What created it in the first place? Is it worth protecting?
Consider my friend in Toronto for a while. What
is she lamenting? That strange and unfamiliar people have taken over her
neighborhood? Not really. She was ruing the loss of a very particular kind of
community character that she traveled 7000 miles to live in. She left home and
hearth in search of it. Pre 2000 Bangaloreans feel the same. Don't get me
wrong, I have nothing against immigration. The US was built on it. But can we
stand by and watch the disintegration of a distinct way of life? Some will
argue the benefits of evolution. But equally, what is worth preserving?
My ex-employer's issue was not very different.
He led by example and created an environment which many large multinational
agencies would have given their left hand for. Armed with an indomitable
(almost Gaulish) spirit, with little politicking and a penchant for questioning
the obvious, these Davids took on the biggest Goliaths of their time and bested
them.
With growth and the infusion of
"professional blood", the environment died and it's soul departed. Did they lose what made them win in the first
place? Was it worth preserving? Should they have fought to retain that soul at
the cost of blazing growth?
So finally, when we ponder on our prospect's
existential dilemma, it is indeed a very serious question. Think of a large,
low profile conglomerate like The Murugappa group. They have a way of life
which is not negotiable. Decency, fairness and prudence are its underlying
principles. What was their motive for committing themselves to these traits so
many years ago? Why is there a governing body that protects these with a ferocity
uncharacteristic of an otherwise gentle and pacific demeanour?
The million dollar question then is whether
there is really a business case for defining and nurturing a culture. Like
heritage buildings, or art. It reminds us of what is most precious about us and
allows the world to celebrate and revel in. It etches a character that then
extracts and encourages the best in ourselves.
But does this produce business results? Consider
how easily some organizations (and countries) attract talent and capital. How
smoothly they achieve transnational mergers. The effortlessness with which they
sign up business partners.
