I read an article that appeared at the start of 2025 where a woman called Emma Hall, who had undergone treatment for serious breast cancer, described her experience of attending a silent retreat. This isolated event apparently began with everyone making introductory remarks before participants were then expected to turn inwards. As Emma explained,
‘While we’ve all taken a vow of silence, this place does not feel quiet. Without words, it feels like each person’s individual energy reverberates around the space. I already know these people better that if we’d met at a party. And there are inevitable interactions, too, shared with warm eyes – passing bread around the table, scuffling past one another in the dorm with toothbrushes.’
Attending to silence
This is a powerful reminder of how not saying something out loud does not mean that we are being silent, because our expressions and posture can so often speak volumes. It reminds me of a senior leader who one time shared how during a meeting they had inadvertently raised their eyebrow, which led in a short time to an organisation-wide rumour of how they had adversely reacted to something or someone in the meeting.
Emma explains in the article that a lot of the time at the retreat is apparently spent in meditation. On a couple of occasions, other attenders are overwhelmed by emotion as they focus on their internal reflection. They end up in tears or in even more distress, which breaks the silence, of course. On another occasion, someone is so overwhelmed by their emotions that they end up angrily bellowing the word “f**k” out loud, which is patently very disconcerting in any social context, let alone a silent retreat.
The argument seems to have been that the silence allowed the individual to get in contact with their deepest feelings and thereby release them. Silence in this instance can be thought of as a lacuna between an experience and an articulation of it; the silence is necessary as a space where one can find the means to express oneself, possibly in words but potentially just through something seemingly more primal, such as a flood of tears or an explosion of anger.
In this instance, silence can be construed as a pause in communication…but also as a means of communicating in itself, possibly in lieu of giving voice to experiences, opinions, and ideas. It is in fact saying something about the circumstances wherein this potential communication could be occurring – or potentially about how the person choosing silence feels about the opportunity to speak out.
Overall, Emma’s piece reinforced the fact that silence is a long way from solely being the absence of something being said; the withholding of voice can actually be about giving voice but in a way that – circumstantially and personally – feels safe to do. And, as we have seen, it can be indicative of a pause – somewhat unusual these days in many corporate contexts, where there are a polyphony of voices sounding out across the terrain, layer upon layer of things being said and with much of that noise emanating from the upper echelons of the organisation.
I can think of occasions in my working life – in light of the privileged position extroversion enjoys in this context – where a senior manager could not tolerate my choice of silence in the course of a meeting…and publicly demanded of me that I say something. I was told once that I lacked confidence because, whenever I was in a meeting, I chose not to speak unless I genuinely felt that I had something to say.
My silence at that moment was indicative of thinking time. I was taking a moment to gather my thoughts and consider when and how I might articulate them. I was not being silenced; I was choosing to avoid speaking in order to consider what it was that I wanted to say.
The vitality of small talk
Before Christmas, I was chatting to a friend, who said how difficult they found festive gatherings to be. In so many cases, they ended up caught in what they experienced as superficial chit-chat. This stood in sharp contrast to the value that they placed on conversations, exchanges that they saw as richer, wider, and deeper than the hubbub at a cocktail party.
This was interesting to me, as – during the Covid lockdowns – it was precisely passing the time of day that I ended up missing the most. Of course, I struggled with the sudden lack of social exchange with friends in close proximity, although the technologies that came into their own at that time helped to overcome that absence at least to some extent. But I quickly came to realise – as the restrictions began to ease – that I was delighted to once again be able to exchange small talk with someone whom I had perhaps never met before and who I was unlikely to ever see again.
Even last weekend, as I attended my son’s birthday party at a trampoline party, I stopped and spoke to another man who was also there with his children. We merely talked about the present, which is a more relaxing conversation to have than one that mines the past (which can often feel somewhat unhelpfully psychoanalytic) or that projects into the future, which is quite reasonably thought to be unknowable. The present is a lovely place wherein two people can pass but in communication.
After our brief chat, I returned to my wife and my brother-in-law who were sitting nearby, hearing her laughingly declare, “Yes, you see? He’ll talk to anyone!” An observation with which I could not disagree. I greatly value detailed discussions and adore hosting meetings where people come together to share their experiences, thinking and ideas. Additionally, I try and ensure that I speak for an hour in depth each week with John Higgins, a wonderful exchange on each occasion that takes us in all manner of directions and isn’t marred to begin with by the presence of an agenda that implicitly includes some expected outcomes.
Research undertaken back in 2014 undertook a series of controlled experiments where a sample of commuters in Chicago were instructed to stay silent or strike up conversations with strangers. Generally, those involved
‘…predicted that they would have a more positive commute sitting in solitude than connecting with a random stranger. These predictions are consistent with the common behavior in these contexts, where conversations between strangers are rare. Yet, consistent with the broad benefits of social connection and the pain of social isolation, participants […] who actually experienced these two situations had precisely the opposite experience: They had a more positive commute when they connected with a stranger than when they sat in solitude. People seem to ignore strangers because they mistakenly think that forming a connection with them would be systematically unpleasant, whereas isolation would be pleasurable. Humans may indeed be social animals but may not always be social enough for their own well-being.’
I certainly derive a sense of positivity from these fleeting conversations. As I walk away from them, I feel elated, which – now I articulate that here – leaves me surprised by the impact that two ships passing in the night can have. Crucially, I think, at a time when our lives socially, economically and culturally can feel dramatically atomised, not least because of the persistent neoliberal fetishization of the supposedly sovereign individual, it is the momentary connection that I relish the most. It is a quick reminder of the collective and the value that derives from human beings coming together. In contrast, so much in contemporary society contrives to drive us apart, so it would seem.
Throughout my life I have been a quite introverted person…and one who – interestingly, given my interest in power – has always felt mindful of and strongly affected by hierarchy. Years back, I would sometimes deputise for my boss and attend a large meeting of HR Directors in London. In that context, the position that I allocated to myself in that pyramid of positional power left me feel at best like an outsider and – at worst – like an interloper.
As we sat in groups around circular tables, I could tolerate the segments of the meeting where someone made a presentation on a topic…but, if we were then invited to discuss something with the people with whom we were sitting, I would feel desperately uncomfortable. The period before the meeting properly began and the refreshment breaks that were scheduled throughout the afternoon were tortuous for me, as I simply could not forge anything to say or find my voice so as to say something.
Creating space and licence for voice and silence
I am aware now that speaking to a stranger in the street feels so much easier than trying to strike up a conversation with someone of whom I have an awareness in a circumstance that is socially calibrated in terms of allocated notions of authority. It feels more engaging and satisfying, whereas the corporate conversation takes place in a context overwritten by power where I used to find myself carefully watching what I was saying…and very often choosing silence instead of saying something, because of the risk that I perceived to be at play.
Our organisations need to be places where conversation is seen to have virtue in itself. Presently it feels as though there’s too much focus on what people – particularly those in managerial positions – might define as useful or productive discussion. This tends to be exchanges in corporate contexts that are scripted. By this I mean that everyone in a meeting finds themselves performing a role there; there is an agenda that has to be followed; and it is merely a matter of following that unwavering line to the defined outcomes expected to arise from that coming together.
Such an approach to discussion in a company denies the possibility for serendipity. As I often say, the artist Paul Klee referred to drawing as taking a line for a walk. This leads me to observe that unbounded dialogue allows us to take observations and ideas for a walk. And taking the restraints from corporate conversation means that we do not know where it will take us…and what interesting things might emerge.
Occasionally, unexpected things might arise in a structured discussion, of course, but these tend to be quickly brushed aside in preference for the tight focus on what had previously been defined as the purpose of the meeting.
We need to celebrate small talk and downplay the tendency towards heavily structured grandiloquence in our organisational lives. That will create a climate where simply speaking – as opposed to thinking solely of speaking up or speaking out, both of which are important but need a permissive foundation of free exchange in order to flourish – is seen to be a social good, in terms of making connection and enhancing well-being.
Making such a situation comfortable for everyone, of course, entails facing the realities of corporate power head on. In practice, this will involve acknowledging the need to embrace both voice and silence as communicative practices that are intrinsic to being a human being.
Everyone at every level of the organisation needs to begin to call out the hierarchy that they inhabit (including the subterranean hierarchies that persist in organisations that declare themselves to be “flat” or post-bureaucratic). If you’re at the bottom of the pyramid, that critical perspective feels like an easy position to embrace. However, those at the top have to assume a truly ethical position in order to actively dismantle the comforting infrastructure around them that protects their position and the ways in which things have always been done.
We also all need to become better attuned to silence and how those around us experience that. This means ensuring that our presence or position is not silencing those around us…and recognising that silence can very often be a positive choice in terms of engaging in dialogue.
As noted above, it can be a pause for thought, which we need to learn to embrace when those around us opt so to do – and when we feel the need to call a halt to the hurly-burly of corporate clamour. But it can also feel punitive in a somewhat parental way, when a senior manager chooses to say nothing.
In other instances, we need to be conscious of the fact of what it might mean if people around us are choosing silence. And instead of pathologizing them – and commanding them to break their silence, in some fashion – we need to attend reflexively to what it might be about us, those around us, and the circumstances in which we all find ourselves that might cause people to withdraw in this way.
There remains a great deal of work to be done to create workplaces where voice and silence are key issues in terms of people coming together, as opposed to just being boxes to be ticked in a climate that does not respect what people have to say or when they choose not to say anything. But it begins with seeking out myriad ways to make corporate spaces genuinely and openly conversational. This requires a great deal of cultural unpicking and careful personal reflection.
Radical OD 