Life After PowerPoint!

In the United States today is Presidents Day, a national holiday honoring George Washington and Abraham Lincoln.

Washington was not as well known for his oratorical skills as Lincoln. His best known speech, simply called “His Farewell,” was more of a letter to the American people at the end of his second and final term as president, which he read.

But before he was president, Washington gave a speech that had far greater impact.

In 1783 officers of the revolutionary army were hatching a plot. They’d heard that the fledgling government was broke and unable to pay them for their past services.

Washington knew that their insurrection would mean the end of the new republic. He walked uninvited into their angry gathering and for nearly half an hour pled for their loyalty. With little success.

At the end of his speech, he opened a letter from a member of congress, which detailed the efforts being made to pay the nation’s debts in full. Washington squinted, held the letter at arm’s length, and then fell silent. The officers looked at one another, puzzled.

Finally, the general reached into his coat and took out a pair of glasses. The officers had never seen their physically formidable commander with glasses. “Gentlemen,” he said, “you will permit me to put on my spectacles, for I have not only grown gray but almost blind in the service of my country.”

His humbling admission achieved what his rhetoric had not. Some of the officers wept, and in the words of his biographer, “From behind the shining drops, their heads looked with love at the commander who had led them all so far and long.” Talk of rebellion ended on the spot.

Sometimes it’s not our words, no matter how well chosen, but our relationship with our listeners — our mutual affection, trust, and respect — that carry the day.

A college teacher wrote to tell me that she and her students were enjoying the “listening quiz” that’s posted on my website here.

In the intro to the quiz I stated, “80% (give or take 5%) of effective communication involves listening.” Because she’s an academic, she asked me where I got that statistic. What studies had I based that statement on? Sadly, I had to admit I made it up based on my experience.

I’m not going to die defending the 80% number, but I do firmly believe that effective communication depends much more on listening than on speaking.

And when it comes to promoting civil public discourse–as I’m trying to do in reaction all the very uncivil discourse out there–you can’t go wrong by listening. The various parties involved in what amounts to hate speech are always shouting at, talking over, or waving signs at other people. They never listen.

(You might want to check out the International Listening Association for its resources.)

Do you agree that listening is more important than speaking? What’s the percentage you’d assign to listening?

Image courtesy of Dave Fayram at Flickr.

I haven’t written many posts lately. And I’ve wondered why. At first I blamed the fact — alas — that my home/office was flooded during a mid-December rainstorm. Then I blamed getting caught up in the holidays. But finally I realized that I was suffering — again! — from an overexposure to uncivil civil discourse.

I love public debate and the lively exchange of ideas. And I think that speeches, especially those given by leaders – politicians, executives, community leaders, religious authorities, and the like – should set forth big ideas, whether they’re popular or not. As a result, I’ve found this past year or so overwhelmingly painful.

The tone and tenor of our public discourse has too frequently become polarized and polarizing, shrill and strident, malicious, abusive, and offensive. Shouting has replaced listening. Courtesy is nonexistent. Name calling is common. Evidence, logic, and the common good are commonly ignored. People who expound ideas that others dislike are shouted down or maligned.

I let the negativity get to me. I needed to take a break from it all. Now I’m back.

In this blog I want to reflect on and host a discussion of speeches and presentations — the good, the bad, and the boring — in a civil manner. I don’t mind controversy. I kind of like it. But I won’t tolerate discourtesy.

Next up: a discussion of what civil discourse means. Any ideas you’d like to share?

President Obama’s words at Ft. Hood in honor of those who died in the recent massacre did what a eulogy is meant to do. His address, in the words of Plato,  “extolled the dead and exhorted the living.”

(For the full speech and text, go here.)

I found his tribute to each of the dead — when he spoke each person’s name and in 45 to 55 words summed up their lives — particularly moving. “Their lives speak to the strength, the dignity and the decency of those who serve, and that is how they will be remembered.”

Motivation, to my way of thinking, is about 1) moving people to take action 2) in order to achieve a short-term goal, 3) by giving them an incentive.

Coaches during half-time, military leaders before a battle, and managers of all sorts who want their people to dedicate themselves to a short-term goal should be giving motivational speeches.

If you want to see a great example of a motivational speech, watch this clip from the movie Patton. The speech is taken almost word for word from the speech the general actually used to give his troops before sending them into battle. What action does he want them to take? Kill. What’s the short-term goal? Win the battle. What’s the incentive? If you kill them, they won’t kill you.

You can’t give a motivational speech and expect it to last. You constantly have to stir people up.

Inspiration is about 1) asking people to be their best 2) without any promise of reward other than the satisfaction that comes from within. The best way to inspire other people is to be someone worthy of emulation.

A great example of an inspirational speech comes from another American general, Douglas MacArthur. You can watch a clip of Gregory Peck delivering it here. (You can read the entire speech here. It’s beautifully crafted and worth the read.) He isn’t trying to rouse his audience to take immediate action. He doesn’t speak about any short-term goals. And he certainly doesn’t offer them any incentive. Instead, he inspires them to be officers worthy of their uniforms by assimilating the values of West Point: duty, honor, country. He was, at the time, the most highly decorated U.S. officer, a five-star general, and the former commandant of West Point. He was, for the audience he addressed, the embodiment of an officer they would want to be like.

A good inspirational speech may touch people for a life time, forever changing how they seek to be in this world.

Do you have any examples of either motivational speeches or inspirational speeches to share?

Martin Shovel at Creativity Works has a great post, well worth reading on the limitations of PowerPoint. (The comments are equally thoughtful and worth reading.)

Why does PowerPoint Presentations that Changed the World rank so high on the list of books that will never be written? Perhaps the clue’s in the title.

PowerPoint has been with us for over twenty years but during that time it has gained more of a reputation for sending the world to sleep than changing it.

Great orators, past and present, have managed to get by quite nicely without it – preferring instead to weave their magic with words alone. Would Nelson Mandela’s statement at the opening of his trial have been more powerful, or Martin Luther King’s “I have a dream” speech more moving if they’d been delivered as PowerPoint presentations? I think not.

What PowerPoint can’t show you.

I seem to be the only person who differentiates presentations from speeches. (Read “What’s the Difference between a Speech and a Presentation?”). But if you buy into my distinction, I would say that PowerPoint may be effective — when used effectively — in presentations. It’s often counterproductive in speeches.

What do you think?

You can’t motivate other people.

People can only motivate themselves. You can’t make other people feel anything. They and they alone are responsible for their own feelings. So you can’t make people love their jobs or want to do what you want them to. You can only give them incentives — reasons why they might love their jobs or want to do what you want them to — and let them decide for themselves.

You can, however, de-motivate people.

You can give people reasons for hating their jobs or for not wanting to do what you want them to. You can make their jobs tedious and meaningless. You can make them attend endless meetings that accomplish squat. You can make them work with bullies and idle gossips. You can reward incompetence and overlook people’s meaningful contributions. You can enforce rules and policies that make no sense. You can overwork and underpay them.

The job of a leader or of anyone who wants to motivate others is first to un-de-motivate people. To un-de-motivate them, remove as many irksome, useless, and onerous impediments as possible. (In the real world, an impediment-free workplace is an impossibility.)

Create the right environment — not a perfect workplace, but a good-enough one. Give people the guidance, support, and tools they need to succeed. Then it’s up to them. If they become engaged — if they motivate themselves — great. If they remain detached or bored or passive — if they choose not to be motivated — it may be your responsibility to help them find someplace else to work.

Do you agree? Disagree? What would you add?

Last week I wrote about the classic way of structuring a speech, using an introduction, body, and conclusion.

Today I’d like to take a different point of view and argue that some speeches are better off not following that rigid of a structure.

A good speech is like a story: It has a beginning, a middle, and an end. But it doesn’t always proceed through a discrete introduction, a three-part body, and a conclusion. Sometimes — frequently — a good speech seems simply to spill forth, like water pouring out of an upended bucket, following its own momentum.

The Gettysburg Address, for example, doesn’t follow the intro-body-conclusion structure. Lincoln did not preview his main points in an introduction, expound on those points in the body of his speech, and then reiterate them and give his audience reason to take action on them in his conclusion. He dove headlong into idea. He wound his way from the birth of the nation (”conceived in liberty”), through death (”these honored dead,” “that cause for which they here gave the last full measure of devotion,” and “that these dead shall not have died in vain”), to rebirth (”a new birth of freedom”).

Most presidential speeches — think of Kennedy’s inaugural address or of Reagan’s address to the nation after the space shuttle Challenger disaster — don’t follow the intro-body-conclusion structure.

And most persuasive speeches don’t follow the intro-body-conclusion structure, even though they are often the most tightly structured type of speech. (When you’re trying to persuade an audience, you don’t want to give them a preview of your argument. Doing so will raise objections in their minds before you have a chance to address them in the way you want to.)

There’s good reason why so many speakers employ the intro-body-conclusion structure. It’s solid. It’s clear. It gives your audience a sense of comfort and security; they know, after all, where they are and where you’re taking them. But speeches built upon that structure can be a bit stodgy, predictable, pedantic. They can lack beauty, momentum, and grace. Depending on what you want to achieve, you may be better off not using that structure.

What do you think?

In a world that prizes form over content, style over substance, I believe that speeches stand or fall because of the ideas they propose and the words that are spoken to bring those ideas to life.

That’s why I titled a chapter from my book, “Content Is King.” (In it I examined three aspects of content: the idea of the speech, the structure of the speech, and the words.)

An idea, by the way, isn’t simply a dry, intellectual exercise. A good idea — a sticky idea, to borrow the term coined by the Heath brothers in Made to Stick – appeals to the whole person: to the mind, the imagination, and the emotions.

And that’s why I like a recent blog by Cynthia Starks, where she writes:

On the world stage, words can win votes, start wars, inspire a generation.

In the business world, they can increase customers, boost sales, guide and motivate employees, influence investors, mark individuals as thought-leaders and companies as pace-setters.

Words still matter

She goes on to write: “In all of the old and new ways in which business executives and organizational leaders are expected to communicate with their various constituencies today, one thing remains constant. Words matter. When the words are right, the message helps you meet your business and marketing goals. When the words are wrong, the message doesn’t matter.”

Check out the entire piece. And check out the rest of the blog while you’re at it. You’ll find it enriching.

Most presenters ask advice about how to start a speech.

I’ve blogged about ways to begin a speech here and Olivia Mitchell offers her insights here.

In no particular order, here are some ways to begin a speech or presentation:

• Tell a story.
• State a surprising statistic or unknown fact, as long as you can back it up with a reliable source.
• Ask a challenging question, not a self-serving or obvious one.
• Make a bold and contrarian assertion.
• Refer to a current event, as long as you keep in mind that current, these days, means really, really recent.
• Use a quote, if your audience hasn’t already heard it a gazillion times.

But there’s another question, one that rarely gets asked. And it’s this: where do you start a speech?

Anton Chekhov, the 19th century master of the short story and drama, was once asked by a nephew how he knew where to start a play. He replied: “Take your blue book and tear it in half. Begin there.”

I think most presenters could take their scripts, outlines, or slide sets, and delete much of the beginning. It’s probably an exaggeration to say they could eliminate half, but they could greatly improve their talks by cutting the first quarter or third.

I don’t just mean that you should ditch the opening pleasantries — “I’m so happy to be with you today…” “What an honor it is for me to be addressing you…” “You’re such a great group of people…” (Churchill called such statements “opening banalities.”) You should ditch opening pleasantries.

I mean that you should also cut most of your introductory or background information.

If you’ve done your homework and if you’ve researched every possible aspect of your subject matter, your greatest temptation will be to share it all with your audience. Don’t do it. You’ll either overwhelm them with information or bore them. Or both.

And don’t build step by incremental step up to your dramatic moment or insight. Start there. Start with the drama or the insight. Then you can always fill the audience in on how you got there — if, and only if, they need to be filled in.