Trashing the Hallowed Halls of Haggling

by Jim Thomas Common Ground Seminars Author Negotiate To Win

Seven hundred years ago, an unknown, penniless Franciscan friar

named William of Ockham had a notion that changed the world.

“The best answer to a question,” he said, “is the simplest answer

that explains the facts.” In modern vernacular, “Keep it simple,

stupid!” *

Upon a fourteenth-century society that believed everyday events

were governed by mystical forces beyond human reckoning, his

proposition—today known as Ockham’s Razor—fell like a bombshell.

Suddenly, everything was open to question. Unfortunately

for Ockham, “everything” included the Catholic Church, which

promptly branded him a heretic and tossed him into the slammer.

His idea, however, refused to be unthought. The first faint glimmers

of Renaissance brilliance—kindled, in part, by Ockham’s

notion—soon illuminated the Dark Ages. Ockham’s Razor would

help to change modern thinking.

* Another modern restatement of Ockham’s rule—attributed both to Albert Einstein and Yogi Berra—is “Keep things as simple as possible, but no simpler.”

It changed my thinking about negotiating.

Many years ago, a client requested that I give a short briefing on

negotiating techniques. The client was determined to improve the

negotiating skills of his people, and had tried everything—every

bargaining book and seminar he could find—to no avail. Nothing

worked.

The client’s instructions were very specific: “I don’t want any

theory. I don’t want to hear about Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs. Just

give me the stuff that works. If you have any doubt about something,

leave it out.”

In short, take Ockham’s Razor to the subject of negotiating.

I read everything I could find on the topic. And the more I

read, the more frustrated I became. Practically nothing passed

the Razor test. Much of the material was naively theoretical, or

focused on physical trappings (table shape, clothing, seating protocol,

and the like), or preached intimidating or unethical behavior,

or worse. Newer works rehashed earlier ones. Instead of nuts-andbolts

guidance, I found theory, folklore, trivia, clichés, and war stories.

Here’s a brief, Razor-eye view of some of negotiation’s “accepted

wisdom”:

The academic approach. For years, respected and influential scholars

have rejected ordinary (they call it “hard” or “positional”) bargaining

in favor of a more inclusive or “principled” style. A central

tenet of this approach is the importance of focusing on the true

needs and interests behind the other side’s stated position, rather

than the position itself.

BUYER: I want a 10% price rollback. Now.

SELLER: I hear what you’re saying about a 10% price rollback.

But what are we really talking about? Is this a recognition

thing for you? An empowerment thing? Do you feel that

my company hasn’t treated you with enough respect in the

past? Let’s be honest with each other.

In the above example, it’s altogether possible that the buyer will respond

with a thoughtful, revealing answer, and the parties will go on

to form a lasting agreement. However, I wouldn’t bet on it. This is

much more likely:

BUYER: Thanks, pal, but if I’d wanted psychotherapy, I

woulda’ called a shrink. I’m here to talk about pricing. And

I’m in a hurry. What’s it gonna be?

When adults haggle—especially at work—you can bet your patootie

that most of the time our stated positions are going to be seriously

close, if not identical, to our real interests. On those rare occasions

when they aren’t, we’ll be absolutely delighted to make our

underlying interests abundantly clear, along with the many wonderful

ways they can be satisfied. You won’t be able to shut us up about

our interests.

Negotiations fail because of conflicting values, perceptions, and

beliefs. They fail because of insufficient resources, fear, timidity,

and clashing personalities. The interest-based, academic approach

rarely works because conflicting interests are rarely the problem.

And when, as is frequently the case, one side is adversarial or more

powerful than the other, it’s almost completely useless. It’s elegant

and well intentioned, and it doesn’t pass the Razor test.

Folklore. The subject of negotiating abounds with folklore, much

of it about the trappings of the bargaining venue or the bargainers

themselves. We’re advised that the person in the “power seat” (head

of the table, back to the window, facing the door) is likely to prevail.

We’re coached on the best days and times for negotiating, the

preferred table shape, whose “turf ” we should bargain on, and what

biorhythms insure haggling success. We’re urged to wear “power

colors” (dark blue, gray, and black). Picture this:

As the blue-suited negotiator strides confidently into the room,

her counterpart anxiously whispers to an assistant, “No! She’s

wearing the blue suit! We’re toast! Whenever she wears that

suit, I give away the ranch! I just can’t help myself! What’s the

point of going on? Why don’t we just give up right now?”

Wouldn’t that be great? This would be the shortest negotiating

book of all time: “Wear blue. And keep it to yourself. It’ll be our little

secret.”

There’s not a shred of empirical evidence behind this stuff. It

just gets repeated, gaining undeserved credibility with each retelling.

I have never heard of, let alone witnessed, a negotiation that was

significantly influenced by when or where it took place, what the

participants wore, where they sat, or the shape of the table (if any)

they used. In fact, after almost 30 years in this business, I can honestly

say that I don’t know of any physical factor that has so much as

a measurable effect on negotiated outcomes. Not one. When you

Razor-cut it, much of negotiation’s folklore turns out to be fiction.

Body language. Some negotiating pundits insist that an individual’s

posture and gestures can be “read” to reveal what he or she is thinking.

Everyday nonverbal gestures—an opened palm, a tilted head,

a stroked chin—are given elaborate interpretations. Folded arms

show skepticism and resistance. An unbuttoned jacket signals openness

and readiness to reach agreement.

Then again, maybe it signals that the wearer’s hot. Or needs

some air. Or has put on some weight. And maybe those arms are

folded because their owner is freezing. Or shy. Or thinks it makes the

biceps look bigger. Or any one of a thousand other reasons.

It all fails the Razor test. An insurmountable obstacle will always

frustrate the development of any reliable, systematic analysis of

body language: Everybody’s different. A gesture or cluster of gestures

that convey a specific meaning when exhibited by a particular

person in a particular culture at a particular time can easily have an

altogether different meaning—or no meaning at all—for another

person, or within another culture, or at another time.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I freely admit that a vast amount of

important communication takes place without words, and in no

way am I suggesting that you ignore nonverbal cues. What I’m suggesting

is that you’re a body-language guru right now. Since you were

a kid, you’ve been reading the other side’s body language like a highway

sign. You know when they’re excited, happy, sad, angry, interested,

resistant, or bored. You know that when they stand up, the

meeting’s probably over. You don’t have to think about it. You just

know it.

If you’re consciously thinking about body language, you’re giving

it too much attention. And you’re distracting yourself from more

important things you should be thinking about.

Strategies. While looking through his desk, the new Manager

of Labor Relations finds four envelopes. The first is labeled

“Strategy 1,” the next “Strategy 2,” and the third “Strategy 3.”

The fourth is labeled “Open Me First,” which he does. Inside is

a letter from his predecessor that says: “Welcome aboard! These

envelopes contain my best negotiating strategies. If you ever

run up against a problem you can’t solve, use Strategy 1 first,

then Strategy 2, then Strategy 3.”

The new manager smiles at his predecessor’s thoughtfulness,

puts the envelopes back in the desk, and forgets about

them.

Six months later the union goes on strike, shutting the

company down. It’s losing money fast. After a long night of

hostile negotiating with the union, the manager remembers

the envelopes. As instructed, he opens the “Strategy 1” envelope.

Inside is a note that says, “Blame your predecessor for

everything.”

It works. The strike ends and his job is saved.

A few months later, there’s another strike. The union is

even more adversarial than before, and its demands are outrageous.

After hours of fruitless bargaining, the manager goes to

his desk and opens the “Strategy 2” envelope. The note reads,

“Blame the government for everything.”

It works like a charm. Once again, the strike ends and his

job is saved.

A month later the union declares yet another strike. This

time, its demands are simply preposterous. It refuses to compromise

on anything. Desperate, the manager runs to his desk,

tears open the last envelope, and reads the note. It says: “Prepare

four new envelopes . . .”

The literature of negotiation is packed with literally hundreds of

so-called “strategies.” Often carrying faux-dramatic names like

“salami” and “surprise,” they offer an uneven patchwork of advice

that ranges from worthwhile to wrongheaded to downright

unethical.

The “forbearance” strategy, for example, advises the negotiator

to patiently “wait out” the other side. In Rule 15, Be patient, we’ll

show why patience in negotiation—when practicable—is a fine

idea. But it’s hardly a strategy, a carefully devised plan of action.

Without the host of other elements that animate the negotiation—

offers, counteroffers, concessions, and more—forbearance alone

accomplishes almost nothing.

The “bland withdrawal” strategy suggests that the negotiator

simply leave the discussions—perhaps without so much as an explanation

to the other participants:

Where did Bill go? He was here a minute ago. He was going to

give us his position on the offshore tax structure. You say he just

wandered off? Does this happen a lot? I hope he’s O.K.

This is no strategy; it’s just loony behavior. And it’s no way to reach

an agreement.

The fait accompli strategy is often illustrated by the sending of

a check for less than the agreed amount. Not only isn’t this a negotiating

strategy, it isn’t even negotiating. The negotiation ends when

the parties agree on the number. What’s being suggested by this technique

is chiseling. Or fraud. It’s blatantly unethical, highly offensive,

and a virtual guarantee of reprisal.

When you’ve only got a hammer, everything is a nail. The

Achilles heel of all negotiating strategies is that they try to solve inherently

dynamic problems with inherently static solutions. Every

negotiation—and every negotiator—is unique and must be handled

differently. You can’t do this with a handful of canned strategies.

Even if you could, the exasperating unpredictability of the process

would quickly render even the best-planned strategy obsolete.

Strategies fail the Razor test, not because they aren’t simple

enough, but because they’re too simple. Strategies alone will never

make you a good negotiator. You must know how to negotiate.

Intimidation. There’s something strangely fascinating about intimidation

in negotiation. It’s juvenile, rude, unprofessional, and ineffective

but, like the proverbial train wreck, we’re mesmerized by it. We

love to hear about how somebody gave away the ranch because of a

sweltering room, a wobbly chair, a blinding light, a noxious smell, or

the other side’s obnoxious behavior.

The concept is simple enough: By behaving antagonistically, irrationally,

or offensively, you can intimidate, upset, or confuse the

other side into making generous concessions.

Here’s a scenario. You arrive at the appointed time, only to learn

that the meeting has been delayed. After an hour’s wait in the reception

area, you’re ushered into your counterpart’s office and motioned

to a small, soft, stuffed chair. You sit, quickly sinking up to

your waist in pillow-soft padding. Your counterpart’s desk—easily

the biggest desk you’ve ever seen—sits on a low platform in front of

a huge window. You can just make out his head and shoulders from

your sunken vantage point.

Shortly after the talks begin, the sun appears from behind an adjacent

building. A brilliant sunbeam centers itself perfectly on the

back of your counterpart’s head. Now, looking at him is like looking

at a solar eclipse: Incandescent rays emanate from the black dot that

used to be his face. Tears stream down your cheeks. The room is hotter

than a sauna. His calls aren’t being held, so the telephone rings

constantly. A stream of visitors interrupt the meeting. Implements

of war decorate the walls: axes, maces, bows and arrows, guns,

spears, knives, animal heads. There isn’t a square inch of unused flat

surface, so you have to hold your paperwork in your lap—but it

keeps falling on the floor because one of your chair’s legs is an inch

shorter than the other three and you’re uncontrollably rocking back

and forth. This aggravates your nausea from the noxious blend of

fumes from your counterpart’s rancid cigar and cheap cologne.

Got the picture? Good. Now, how do you feel? Conciliatory?

Flexible? Generous? More specifically, do you feel like making concessions

to the person behind the big desk?

No? Precisely. If you’re like most people, concessions are about

the last thing on your mind right now. People who are treated like

this don’t get generous, they get angry. Or at the very least, defensive.

They make fewer, not more, concessions. Aside from insulting or

screaming at the other side, it would be hard to dream up behavior

less likely than this to elicit concessions. It just doesn’t work.

And it’s a good thing it doesn’t, because it would be even worse

if it did.

Here’s what would happen. Let’s make our imaginary victim a

complete bargaining neophyte in his very first formal negotiation.

He walks into the above-described den of horrors, he panics and he

gives away the ranch. In the vernacular of the trade, it’s called “a hosing.*”

Stay with me on this.

* From hose (hoz) vt. In negotiating, to obtain a highly favorable, one-sided agreement.

Probably derived from the Canadian slang “hoser” popularized by the Bob and Doug

Mackenzie skits on SCTV: “I can’t wait to hose those tree-hugging geeks.” Hosed (hozed) adj.

In negotiating, to be bargained into a highly unfavorable, one-sided agreement. “We were

totally hosed in that negotiation. And it’s your fault.” See also dehose, rehose, hoser, hosee.

The unsuspecting hosee returns to his office and dutifully presents

the deal to his boss. At first, the boss is merely incredulous:

“This is a joke, right?” he says. “You’re a comedian.” When the true

enormity of the debacle sinks in, the boss is apoplectic: “This is the

stupidest deal I’ve ever seen! Have you taken leave of your senses?”

With luck, the hosee will keep his job. But he’ll never forget who

put him in this humiliating, career-threatening position. As he drifts

off to sleep that night, his last thoughts will be of the person behind

the big desk—the hoser. And he’ll quietly vow eternal revenge

against him, his organization, his family, and his lineage unto the last

generation.

Some day, the hoser’s and hosee’s paths will cross again.? And

when they do, I’ll bet the hoser gets an unforgettable lesson in the

true cost of win-lose negotiating.

THOMAS’S TRUISMS

What goes around comes around. Sooner or

later, you have to pay for your sins.

THOMAS’S TRUISMS

Pestering. A tawdry variant of the “negotiation by intimidation” approach

advocates, in essence, negotiating by being a pest: bugging

people until they give in. Prescribed techniques include deliberately

wasting the other side’s time, making a scene, raising your voice, and

complaining endlessly.

Pestering passes the Razor test because, unlike intimidation, it

actually works sometimes. But like intimidation, it’s tacky and winlose.

And if you use this approach, have no illusion about the reason

you’re getting whatever the other side gives you:

To get rid of you.

All of this brings us back to my little briefing. It was now

? The Bargaining Gods will insist on it. There’s been a hosing, the accounts are out of

balance, and the Bargaining Gods are offended. They’ll arrange a rematch.

painfully clear that I wasn’t going to be able to cut and paste a presentation

out of conventional wisdom. I was going to have to start

from scratch. And so, with my client’s instructions (“Just give me the

stuff that works”) firmly in mind, I began. I didn’t know it then, but

I was writing Negotiate to WIN.