Hello dear blog readers
The sad news is that I am going to have to leave this blog for some time. I'm starting a new job where blogs are frowned upon, especially ones that are considered to be commentary on the world around us. But I know I'll be back - so hang in there.
In the meantime I have posted three of my favourite columns from last year. I hope you enjoy them.
Till next time.
R
Saturday, February 21, 2009
The Human Spirit Under Fire
From Business Day's MsManagement, December 2008
THIS is my last column for the year. By the time this column appears again next year, a number of my colleagues at various publishing houses may be out of a job.
At Primedia (which owns the likes of 702 Talk Radio and Highveld Stereo) there’s a hiring freeze, no end-of-year parties and little or no bonuses. At Avusa (the company I work for) bonuses have been cut, all entertainment and travel expenses have been wiped out, but as yet there’s no serious talk of retrenchment.
But over at Naspers, with publications such as Beeld and Rapport, the letters for voluntary retrenchment have gone out and if 20% or more of the staff don’t take those packages, then some will be getting the chop on January 5. Lovely timing, don’t you think?
But the company that really takes the cake has got to be Independent Newspapers. I should declare that I worked for this company for eight years. It runs titles such as the Star, the Cape Times, Business Report and the Pretoria News. Last week it sent out letters offering certain production staff voluntary retrenchment. At the same time the news broke that one of Independent’s best writers, Jeremy Gordin, had been retrenched. Gordin is an experienced political reporter and he writes like a dream. You’d think that he’s just the kind of person you’d want to hold on to in tough times because he’s the kind of writer that keeps readers interested, but no, the talk is he was axed because he’s expensive.
This kind of shortsighted thinking on the part of management was evidenced again in the retrenchment letters that Independent sent out to staff across the country. The company wants to amalgamate its production people so that instead of having specialists working on specialist titles such as Business Report, it will have one long production line with financial copy editors struggling with sports articles and senior copy editors being demoted to mere cogs in the wheel.
From those copy editors (also known in SA as sub-editors) Independent wants to get rid of 15 of the most senior of them in Gauteng alone. In Durban and Cape Town, another four or five of the most senior people must go.
Junior staff are not up for the chop because they’re cheaper to employ. And Independent’s overabundance of extremely senior staff, who hide in wood-panelled offices up on the top floors and appear to do very little, are certainly not facing retrenchment.
The message being sent out is that the quality of the papers is expendable. A newspaper, it would appear, has become a fast-moving consumer good, not much different from a can of baked beans.
The old hacks may sneer at my idealism in thinking that a paper is anything more than a consumable, but dammit, why shouldn’t we be idealistic about the press, that vital pillar of our democracy?
Why shouldn’t we expect the papers that we read every day to strive to give us the best news, the best writers, the best pictures, the best designs?
And why shouldn’t anyone expect that, if you work hard and get to the top of your game and put up with the good and the bad from the company you work for, you’ll be rewarded for it rather than kicked out because you tried too hard to do well?
It’s this kind of rubbish that breaks the human spirit. It’s this kind of mismanagement that destroys newspapers and companies and reputations.
During the year I have spoken to countless businesses in SA about job losses and how to deal with the economic downturn and there are three main ways that they have viewed the situation.
Some have said it’s now that you need to keep your best staff — while others downsize, the bullish types can take market share and be well positioned for the upturn.
Option two was to do with allowing natural attrition to slim the head count for at least the past six months and using training programmes to re-skill certain staff and redeploy them into other areas of the business.
Option three was carefully thought through retrenchments that were often started well before December and involved departments that would not impact on the business’s ability to offer customers the best service possible.
As you’ll notice, Independent’s strategy doesn’t appear to fall into any of the above categories.
Part of the problem may be that Independent answers to bosses in the UK and, with the rand having weakened, those bosses want their returns even if it means hacking the local company to pieces. Independent may be a prime example of how not to run a sustainable business.
So this month I’m going to worry about my friends at other publications; I’m going to worry about the future of journalism in SA; I’m going to worry that too many companies have learnt nothing about survival; I’m going to worry that yet again people have become the expendable components in a downturn; I’m going to worry that all the talk about social responsibility and sustainability means nothing when cash flows are tight; I’m going to worry that companies use and abuse their staff and that, even with our progressive labour laws, it never seems to stop; I’m going to worry that despite the world suffering through a tough year together, we’ve come no closer to finding a collective solution that helps people rather than hurts them.
On that note I’m not so sure I can wish you a happy holiday.
But I do wish you health, wealth and prosperity.
Till next time.
THIS is my last column for the year. By the time this column appears again next year, a number of my colleagues at various publishing houses may be out of a job.
At Primedia (which owns the likes of 702 Talk Radio and Highveld Stereo) there’s a hiring freeze, no end-of-year parties and little or no bonuses. At Avusa (the company I work for) bonuses have been cut, all entertainment and travel expenses have been wiped out, but as yet there’s no serious talk of retrenchment.
But over at Naspers, with publications such as Beeld and Rapport, the letters for voluntary retrenchment have gone out and if 20% or more of the staff don’t take those packages, then some will be getting the chop on January 5. Lovely timing, don’t you think?
But the company that really takes the cake has got to be Independent Newspapers. I should declare that I worked for this company for eight years. It runs titles such as the Star, the Cape Times, Business Report and the Pretoria News. Last week it sent out letters offering certain production staff voluntary retrenchment. At the same time the news broke that one of Independent’s best writers, Jeremy Gordin, had been retrenched. Gordin is an experienced political reporter and he writes like a dream. You’d think that he’s just the kind of person you’d want to hold on to in tough times because he’s the kind of writer that keeps readers interested, but no, the talk is he was axed because he’s expensive.
This kind of shortsighted thinking on the part of management was evidenced again in the retrenchment letters that Independent sent out to staff across the country. The company wants to amalgamate its production people so that instead of having specialists working on specialist titles such as Business Report, it will have one long production line with financial copy editors struggling with sports articles and senior copy editors being demoted to mere cogs in the wheel.
From those copy editors (also known in SA as sub-editors) Independent wants to get rid of 15 of the most senior of them in Gauteng alone. In Durban and Cape Town, another four or five of the most senior people must go.
Junior staff are not up for the chop because they’re cheaper to employ. And Independent’s overabundance of extremely senior staff, who hide in wood-panelled offices up on the top floors and appear to do very little, are certainly not facing retrenchment.
The message being sent out is that the quality of the papers is expendable. A newspaper, it would appear, has become a fast-moving consumer good, not much different from a can of baked beans.
The old hacks may sneer at my idealism in thinking that a paper is anything more than a consumable, but dammit, why shouldn’t we be idealistic about the press, that vital pillar of our democracy?
Why shouldn’t we expect the papers that we read every day to strive to give us the best news, the best writers, the best pictures, the best designs?
And why shouldn’t anyone expect that, if you work hard and get to the top of your game and put up with the good and the bad from the company you work for, you’ll be rewarded for it rather than kicked out because you tried too hard to do well?
It’s this kind of rubbish that breaks the human spirit. It’s this kind of mismanagement that destroys newspapers and companies and reputations.
During the year I have spoken to countless businesses in SA about job losses and how to deal with the economic downturn and there are three main ways that they have viewed the situation.
Some have said it’s now that you need to keep your best staff — while others downsize, the bullish types can take market share and be well positioned for the upturn.
Option two was to do with allowing natural attrition to slim the head count for at least the past six months and using training programmes to re-skill certain staff and redeploy them into other areas of the business.
Option three was carefully thought through retrenchments that were often started well before December and involved departments that would not impact on the business’s ability to offer customers the best service possible.
As you’ll notice, Independent’s strategy doesn’t appear to fall into any of the above categories.
Part of the problem may be that Independent answers to bosses in the UK and, with the rand having weakened, those bosses want their returns even if it means hacking the local company to pieces. Independent may be a prime example of how not to run a sustainable business.
So this month I’m going to worry about my friends at other publications; I’m going to worry about the future of journalism in SA; I’m going to worry that too many companies have learnt nothing about survival; I’m going to worry that yet again people have become the expendable components in a downturn; I’m going to worry that all the talk about social responsibility and sustainability means nothing when cash flows are tight; I’m going to worry that companies use and abuse their staff and that, even with our progressive labour laws, it never seems to stop; I’m going to worry that despite the world suffering through a tough year together, we’ve come no closer to finding a collective solution that helps people rather than hurts them.
On that note I’m not so sure I can wish you a happy holiday.
But I do wish you health, wealth and prosperity.
Till next time.
Market Crises and Goldfish
From Business Day's MsManagement, October 2008
I HAVE a goldfish called Fred. He, or she — one can never be sure — is a happy fish. He leaps about when I get home and even flings himself against the side of his tank with glee. I tell myself he’s pleased to see me, but he probably just wants to be fed. He’s a fish after all. And if research is to be believed, Fred only has a three-second memory.
But before anyone reckons that the human race is superior to a goldfish, I’d like to point out that, in relative terms, markets have a three-second memory too.
As the global financial meltdown continues, we have all manner of people flinging themselves dramatically against the side of the bowl. The little bubbles emerging from their mouths contain such gems as “It’s never been this bad before”, “It’s the end of capitalism”, “Everything’s irrational”, “It’s impossible to predict the future”, “Maybe SA will cut rates”, and “Let’s follow China’s example instead.”
And just as you have to be suspicious of a goldfish that gets all amorous at feeding time, you have to be wary of the emotions coming out of a market during a crisis. Because a lot of what’s being said is fatuous and ill-informed and goes a long way to proving that human beings have a horribly short attention span.
Let’s start with the statement that “it’s never been this bad before”. That’s just wrong.
Remember the dotcom crash? We said the same thing then. Human beings have a need to imbue the present with calamity and meaning.
Remember those fateful planes flying into the World Trade Centre ? That was also billed as the worst thing ever — the New York Stock Exchange closed down for an unprecedented three days.
And that’s just what has happened in the past decade. In the market crashes of 1929 and 1987, exchanges dropped almost 30% of their value in just one day. By comparison, the JSE and other bourses around the world have taken more than six months to drop that much this year.
Further, in the 1929 crash there were no regulators and few bail-out packages. Some investors lost everything. To me, that seems worse than the turmoil we’re living through, but our goldfish-like attention to the present precludes a perspective on the past. And that’s dangerous because forgetting the past encourages panic in the here and now.
As for the global financial crisis signalling the end of capitalism — yeah, right. Since markets started trading, as far back as the 1500s, there have been attendant collapses. None of those collapses has changed the world order. Why? Because behind every bulging pair of fish eyes, there lives fear and greed. Despite themselves, investors know that risk and reward are closely interlinked and she who plays the market does so with the understanding that you can lose everything, but you can also make a killing. There may be a lot of yelling when the losses outweigh the gains, but in reality investors are swimming about, hungry to be fed again by the great engine of capitalism.
Along with this cycle you get the outrage about the huge bonuses paid to the bankers whose institutions have now fallen apart. That’s also part of the three-second-memory syndrome.
In good times, people fearlessly defend ridiculous levels of pay, forgetting that bad times are inevitable and that extreme pay will look inappropriate when the cycle turns.
During the meltdowns, investors froth at the mouth about huge pay packages, forgetting that in a few years’ time the lucky CEO who gets to oversee the upturn will be paid even more. At that time the bulk of the goldfish will merely nod in approval because they’ll be getting their fish flakes too.
As for SA suddenly cutting interest rates, it’s just not going to happen. We’ll know by this afternoon . Though it would not be unprecedented, it’s highly unlikely.
Let’s go back to basics, if anyone is able to focus for a bit more than three seconds. The central bank in SA targets inflation. Inflation is high. Cutting rates could push inflation even higher. And that’s a chance the central bank will not take.
As for those who think markets are irrational and the future is unpredictable — well, that’s nothing new. Markets are always a bit irrational and no one has ever been able to predict the future. Except maybe Nostradamus, and he’s never been much help to investors, let alone goldfish.
When it comes to following China’s lead — what? Do we want a blend of capitalism and communism that at its heart means executing people who won’t work in sweatshops or who disagree with the state? Maybe Julius Malema, our esteemed Youth League leader, would like it (because he’s a bit of a piranha), but for those of us who believe in democracy and free markets, the idea that China has got it right is unpalatable.
But if we try to look beyond our rather cloudy fish tanks, what is it that we might see? In the short term, there will be more banking collapses. But there will also be more government intervention. Markets will be crazy and volatile for at least another year. In the medium term we will have hit the bottom of the bowl and a sense of calm will return.
In the long term, maybe five years from now, markets will be trending upwards again and irrational exuberance will emerge. We’ll think we’ve never had it so good. And we’ll be wrong, but we’ll be fat, happy fish again. Because we may suffer from memory loss, but we’re pretty good at surviving
I HAVE a goldfish called Fred. He, or she — one can never be sure — is a happy fish. He leaps about when I get home and even flings himself against the side of his tank with glee. I tell myself he’s pleased to see me, but he probably just wants to be fed. He’s a fish after all. And if research is to be believed, Fred only has a three-second memory.
But before anyone reckons that the human race is superior to a goldfish, I’d like to point out that, in relative terms, markets have a three-second memory too.
As the global financial meltdown continues, we have all manner of people flinging themselves dramatically against the side of the bowl. The little bubbles emerging from their mouths contain such gems as “It’s never been this bad before”, “It’s the end of capitalism”, “Everything’s irrational”, “It’s impossible to predict the future”, “Maybe SA will cut rates”, and “Let’s follow China’s example instead.”
And just as you have to be suspicious of a goldfish that gets all amorous at feeding time, you have to be wary of the emotions coming out of a market during a crisis. Because a lot of what’s being said is fatuous and ill-informed and goes a long way to proving that human beings have a horribly short attention span.
Let’s start with the statement that “it’s never been this bad before”. That’s just wrong.
Remember the dotcom crash? We said the same thing then. Human beings have a need to imbue the present with calamity and meaning.
Remember those fateful planes flying into the World Trade Centre ? That was also billed as the worst thing ever — the New York Stock Exchange closed down for an unprecedented three days.
And that’s just what has happened in the past decade. In the market crashes of 1929 and 1987, exchanges dropped almost 30% of their value in just one day. By comparison, the JSE and other bourses around the world have taken more than six months to drop that much this year.
Further, in the 1929 crash there were no regulators and few bail-out packages. Some investors lost everything. To me, that seems worse than the turmoil we’re living through, but our goldfish-like attention to the present precludes a perspective on the past. And that’s dangerous because forgetting the past encourages panic in the here and now.
As for the global financial crisis signalling the end of capitalism — yeah, right. Since markets started trading, as far back as the 1500s, there have been attendant collapses. None of those collapses has changed the world order. Why? Because behind every bulging pair of fish eyes, there lives fear and greed. Despite themselves, investors know that risk and reward are closely interlinked and she who plays the market does so with the understanding that you can lose everything, but you can also make a killing. There may be a lot of yelling when the losses outweigh the gains, but in reality investors are swimming about, hungry to be fed again by the great engine of capitalism.
Along with this cycle you get the outrage about the huge bonuses paid to the bankers whose institutions have now fallen apart. That’s also part of the three-second-memory syndrome.
In good times, people fearlessly defend ridiculous levels of pay, forgetting that bad times are inevitable and that extreme pay will look inappropriate when the cycle turns.
During the meltdowns, investors froth at the mouth about huge pay packages, forgetting that in a few years’ time the lucky CEO who gets to oversee the upturn will be paid even more. At that time the bulk of the goldfish will merely nod in approval because they’ll be getting their fish flakes too.
As for SA suddenly cutting interest rates, it’s just not going to happen. We’ll know by this afternoon . Though it would not be unprecedented, it’s highly unlikely.
Let’s go back to basics, if anyone is able to focus for a bit more than three seconds. The central bank in SA targets inflation. Inflation is high. Cutting rates could push inflation even higher. And that’s a chance the central bank will not take.
As for those who think markets are irrational and the future is unpredictable — well, that’s nothing new. Markets are always a bit irrational and no one has ever been able to predict the future. Except maybe Nostradamus, and he’s never been much help to investors, let alone goldfish.
When it comes to following China’s lead — what? Do we want a blend of capitalism and communism that at its heart means executing people who won’t work in sweatshops or who disagree with the state? Maybe Julius Malema, our esteemed Youth League leader, would like it (because he’s a bit of a piranha), but for those of us who believe in democracy and free markets, the idea that China has got it right is unpalatable.
But if we try to look beyond our rather cloudy fish tanks, what is it that we might see? In the short term, there will be more banking collapses. But there will also be more government intervention. Markets will be crazy and volatile for at least another year. In the medium term we will have hit the bottom of the bowl and a sense of calm will return.
In the long term, maybe five years from now, markets will be trending upwards again and irrational exuberance will emerge. We’ll think we’ve never had it so good. And we’ll be wrong, but we’ll be fat, happy fish again. Because we may suffer from memory loss, but we’re pretty good at surviving
Trevor's Big Day Out
From Business Day's MsManagement, February 2008
12.14am — Finally got Lesetja off the phone. It’s great he’s so eager but all his moaning about the grammar in my speech is getting me down. I wanted to say “I have done this before, you know” but managed to stop myself.
12.21am — Sudden thought — is this my last budget? That’s what the press keep saying. Do they know something I don’t know? Ag, I’ll think about it later. Although … I do rather like the World Bank; wonder if they got that CV I sent …?
12.43am — Can’t sleep. Bloody Terry Crawford-Browne. That bloody arms deal.
1.34am — Just got kicked out of bed by Maria for tossing and turning too much … I’m heading for the couch; hope the dog will move over.
3.57am — Woke up with a start. Dreamt it was budget day and I’d forgotten to prepare one. Then I thought it must be morning and started cursing Eskom for it being so dark until I realised the light switches were actually working.
3.59am — Speaking of Eskom, I still can’t believe I have to shake up my beautiful budget to save Eskom’s ass. Just the thought of a deficit makes my stomach churn. Bloody Eskom.
6am — Alarm woke me up. As did the dog licking my ear. Must shower.
6.45am — Breakfast with Maria. How come she’s so chirpy? My hands are sweaty and it’s not so easy to eat. Maybe I’ll calm down if I just read the papers.
6.50am — Bloody papers. Now I feel really ill. Half of what they’ve predicted isn’t in the budget. Should it have been? Nah … but will they nail me for leaving out all sorts of issues? Probably. Bloody journalists.
7am — Sweet relief — here comes my car to take me away to the budget lock-up where I get to talk about my favourite things.
7.06am — Drove back to the house — forgot the budget speech.
7.30am — Ha ha — the journalists are looking a bit bedraggled. Probably been up all night drinking. Except for the nerdy ones. The nerdy ones keep flashing their teeth at me and asking complicated questions in the hope that I’ll think they’re clever. Poor sods.
9.32am — Tired. I’m so tired of talking about this damn budget and I haven’t even given the speech yet. I’d go for a walk to clear my head if only the bodyguards would let me out the door.
10.44am — Okay, that’s it. I’m out of here. The nerdy ones look all sad behind their thick spectacles.
11.16am — Just got hold of my budget day gift co-ordinator — you know, the person who has organised the gifts in Parliament like the fruit and the cacti? — and she says they’ve hit a snag and may not be able to deliver today’s surprise gift to the MPs on time. I don’t know what the hell I’m meant to do with that. I can hardly pop down to the closest Woolies and order something stupid like 250 ice-crushers, now can I? Maybe everyone should have just gotten a solar-powered head torch. Or a replica of a little toilet, given the way the markets have been going. Think, Trevor, think.
11.20am — Solved problem by yelling a bit and asking the budget day gift co-ordinator if she knew who I was.
11.45am — Called my Xhosa teacher. I just can’t seem to get my clicks right in the speech this year. It doesn’t help that I’ve got to smile while I click.
12.15pm — Light lunch. Still can’t eat. I really want a whisky but if anyone smells it on my breath there’ll be all sorts of Manto jokes. Bloody Manto.
12.34pm — Maria called. She asked if I’d brushed my hair. What hair? Thinks she’s a comedian on today of all days.
12.56pm — Called Parliament to ask if the back-up generators were in place. Apparently they are, but there’s only enough diesel for 30 minutes. If the lights go out at the beginning, I’m going to have to speed up the speech. Maybe I should get my own head torch. Hmmm.
13.14pm — Set out on foot for my rather heroic-looking entrance into Parliament.
13.16pm — Ran back to the office — forgot the budget speech.
13.33pm — Straightened my tie smugly — it’s a different colour every year so the press can’t use old pictures. Then walked confidently through the cheering crowds. Today, I am The Man. And it feels good.
13.41pm — I was The Man till it hit me that no one was going to like my speech. Except me.
13.55pm — Washed sweaty hands one last time. Must remember to wave them around in there. I have good hands.
14.01pm — Oh lord, here we go.
16.05pm — You know what? I am The Man.
12.14am — Finally got Lesetja off the phone. It’s great he’s so eager but all his moaning about the grammar in my speech is getting me down. I wanted to say “I have done this before, you know” but managed to stop myself.
12.21am — Sudden thought — is this my last budget? That’s what the press keep saying. Do they know something I don’t know? Ag, I’ll think about it later. Although … I do rather like the World Bank; wonder if they got that CV I sent …?
12.43am — Can’t sleep. Bloody Terry Crawford-Browne. That bloody arms deal.
1.34am — Just got kicked out of bed by Maria for tossing and turning too much … I’m heading for the couch; hope the dog will move over.
3.57am — Woke up with a start. Dreamt it was budget day and I’d forgotten to prepare one. Then I thought it must be morning and started cursing Eskom for it being so dark until I realised the light switches were actually working.
3.59am — Speaking of Eskom, I still can’t believe I have to shake up my beautiful budget to save Eskom’s ass. Just the thought of a deficit makes my stomach churn. Bloody Eskom.
6am — Alarm woke me up. As did the dog licking my ear. Must shower.
6.45am — Breakfast with Maria. How come she’s so chirpy? My hands are sweaty and it’s not so easy to eat. Maybe I’ll calm down if I just read the papers.
6.50am — Bloody papers. Now I feel really ill. Half of what they’ve predicted isn’t in the budget. Should it have been? Nah … but will they nail me for leaving out all sorts of issues? Probably. Bloody journalists.
7am — Sweet relief — here comes my car to take me away to the budget lock-up where I get to talk about my favourite things.
7.06am — Drove back to the house — forgot the budget speech.
7.30am — Ha ha — the journalists are looking a bit bedraggled. Probably been up all night drinking. Except for the nerdy ones. The nerdy ones keep flashing their teeth at me and asking complicated questions in the hope that I’ll think they’re clever. Poor sods.
9.32am — Tired. I’m so tired of talking about this damn budget and I haven’t even given the speech yet. I’d go for a walk to clear my head if only the bodyguards would let me out the door.
10.44am — Okay, that’s it. I’m out of here. The nerdy ones look all sad behind their thick spectacles.
11.16am — Just got hold of my budget day gift co-ordinator — you know, the person who has organised the gifts in Parliament like the fruit and the cacti? — and she says they’ve hit a snag and may not be able to deliver today’s surprise gift to the MPs on time. I don’t know what the hell I’m meant to do with that. I can hardly pop down to the closest Woolies and order something stupid like 250 ice-crushers, now can I? Maybe everyone should have just gotten a solar-powered head torch. Or a replica of a little toilet, given the way the markets have been going. Think, Trevor, think.
11.20am — Solved problem by yelling a bit and asking the budget day gift co-ordinator if she knew who I was.
11.45am — Called my Xhosa teacher. I just can’t seem to get my clicks right in the speech this year. It doesn’t help that I’ve got to smile while I click.
12.15pm — Light lunch. Still can’t eat. I really want a whisky but if anyone smells it on my breath there’ll be all sorts of Manto jokes. Bloody Manto.
12.34pm — Maria called. She asked if I’d brushed my hair. What hair? Thinks she’s a comedian on today of all days.
12.56pm — Called Parliament to ask if the back-up generators were in place. Apparently they are, but there’s only enough diesel for 30 minutes. If the lights go out at the beginning, I’m going to have to speed up the speech. Maybe I should get my own head torch. Hmmm.
13.14pm — Set out on foot for my rather heroic-looking entrance into Parliament.
13.16pm — Ran back to the office — forgot the budget speech.
13.33pm — Straightened my tie smugly — it’s a different colour every year so the press can’t use old pictures. Then walked confidently through the cheering crowds. Today, I am The Man. And it feels good.
13.41pm — I was The Man till it hit me that no one was going to like my speech. Except me.
13.55pm — Washed sweaty hands one last time. Must remember to wave them around in there. I have good hands.
14.01pm — Oh lord, here we go.
16.05pm — You know what? I am The Man.
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