Agile in Theory

You are a Scrum Master sitting in the weekly Scrum of Scrums meeting, your laptop open, the familiar grid of faces staring back at you. The agenda—what little there was—has long since been abandoned. Someone from finance is talking about budget allocations, their voice a steady drone that makes it hard to focus. You glance at the clock. Twenty minutes in, and not a single delivery issue has been discussed. Not one.

You remember when these meetings used to matter. Back then, it was just the Scrum Masters from each team, a tight circle of people who actually knew what was going on. You’d hash out dependencies, align on priorities, and solve problems that were blocking delivery. It was messy but it was productive. Now it feels like a boring circus. Half the people here aren’t even on Agile teams. They’re here to “listen in” or “stay informed,” which really means they’re here to turn this into a status update meeting. Project management has pushed out the original purpose of the gathering.

It’s a symptom of the broader organizational culture, you realize. Meetings have become a default, a way to signal involvement or importance, rather than a tool for collaboration. The more people who join, the more diluted the focus becomes. It’s as if the organization has forgotten how to make decisions without a committee. You’ve seen it before—meetings that exist simply because they’ve always existed, their original purpose lost to time. And now, it’s happening here, in what was once a sacred space for Agile teams to sync and solve problems.

You catch a glimpse of Priya’s face on the screen. She’s the Scrum Master for the Platform team, and you can tell she’s just as annoyed as you are. Her eyebrows are slightly raised, her lips pressed into a thin line. She’s too polite to say anything, though. Everyone is. That’s part of the problem. The meeting has become this weird, passive-aggressive dance where no one wants to rock the boat, but everyone is silently screaming inside.

The finance person finishes their monologue, and there’s a pause. You consider speaking up. You could remind everyone why this meeting exists—to unblock teams, not to serve as a stage for random updates. But then Tony, the new Product Owner for the Data team, jumps in. He starts talking about a new compliance requirement, something about audit trails. Your heart sinks. This isn’t the forum for this. It’s not even close. Yet here you are, listening to another monologue that has nothing to do with delivery.

Your attention starts to drift. You catch yourself staring at the corner of your screen, where a notification from Slack has just popped up. It’s a message from one of your developers about a build failure. You quickly type a response, then glance back at the meeting. Priya is typing something on her other monitor, her eyes flicking between screens. Tony is scrolling through what looks like a spreadsheet. Even the finance person seems to be multitasking, their gaze occasionally shifting to something off-camera. The irony isn’t lost on you: a meeting meant to foster collaboration has become a room full of people working on other things.

You glance at your notes. You’d come prepared with two key blockers your team was facing, both of which required input from other teams. But now? Now it feels pointless to bring them up. The meeting is already running over time, and the chances of getting any meaningful discussion are slim. You could raise your hand, try to steer the conversation back on track, but you’re not sure it’s worth the effort. The culture of this meeting has shifted, and one intervention might not be enough to fix it.

Priya’s face catches your eye again. She’s typing something in the chat, and a moment later, a private message pops up on your screen: “This is a waste of time. Should we say something?”

You stare at the message, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. You could agree with her, suggest that the two of you push back together. But then there’s the risk of coming across as combative, especially to the non-Agile folks who seem to think this meeting is valuable. On the other hand, you could stay silent, let the meeting run its course, and address the issues offline. But then nothing changes, and next week will be the same story.

The clock ticks louder in your head. Do you speak up and risk the fallout? Do you have the reputation, backing, and political capital to push things in the right direction? Will you just sound like you’re complaining without being able to offer a ready proposal? Or, do you let it go and deal with the consequences later? When is later? The weight of it settles on your shoulders, heavy and unyielding. You take a deep breath, your cursor blinking in the chat box.

What is your decision?

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