IS PRESIDENT BARAK OBAMA A PYRAMID CLIMBER?

IS PRESIDENT BARAK OBAMA A PYRAMID CLIMBER?

James R. Fisher, Jr., Ph.D.

© April 20, 2012

On Charlie Rose (PBS television) yesterday, Speaker of the House John Boehner was interviewed.  The full interview is to appear on CBS television “60 Minutes” Sunday (April 22, 2012).  The most astounding comment of the interview was Speaker Boehner’s offhanded comment that the president has been in campaign mode for reelection for the past six months, and has had little time much less inclination to govern, in other words, to lead the nation. 

We are a technocratic society and the president is the quintessential technocrat. 

I have written about technocrats in a number of books, even worked for a few as director of human resources planning and development for Honeywell Europe, Ltd. 

My fascination with the type has now descended into a character in my novel John Cavendish, managing director of BAF, the British affiliate that is to be part of the merger with an American and South African subsidiary into a new company. 

Devlin, the main protagonist of the story, is the young American executive charged with facilitating this merger in A GREEN ISLAND IN A BLACK SEA.  The title of the book comes from the idea that South Africa is a paradise or green island in a sea of beautiful Bantu (black) peoples subjugated to apartheid by their technocratic masters.  The book takes place in 1968.

What follows is a conversation in the book between Devlin, the young American executive of Polychem International, Ltd. with Martin Matthews the managing director of Polychem’s subsidiary, ADM in South Africa.

“Come in,” said Martin, tipping his cigarette against a gold plated ashtray, the air redolent with the aroma of tobacco, “want your opinion on some folks, one in particular that you’ll be working with. 

“You met him, tall chap, not as tall as you with his black hair slicked straight back from his forehead without a part.  He has a beard going to gray, ridiculous smile, the dashing and debonair type, trim, good dresser like you, though a little older.  Women probably see him as handsome, charmer all the way, has penetrating eyes, come to think of it like yours, seems to see through you, remember meeting him?”

Devlin shrugged noncommittally.

“Well, he’s the managing director of BAF.” He paused when he didn’t answer.  “You went to lunch with him.”

“Along with about forty other people if you will recall.  It was our initial get together.”

“True, but I saw you talking to him.  Didn’t he introduce himself to you?”

“I’m sure he did.”

“Well, first impressions, old son, is he one of us or not?  Name’s John Cavendish.”

Of course, he remembered Cavendish, how could he not?  He kept running into people talking about him.  The man made him uncomfortable.  Was he jealous?  He didn’t think so.  Incongruities set off alarm bells.  The man claimed to be diabetic while downing one martini after another. What did that mean?  For openers, he was a risk taker.  Yes, he remembered his penetrating eyes, eyes that seemed to weigh and react to his every word.  The man lusted for power but that was par for the course, no surprise there.  The man was intense and distant trying to give off the opposite impression. 

Cavendish does his homework, asked about Sarah and the kids, how they were settling in, all on automatic pilot.  It’s part of the pyramid climber’s mantra. 

He asked what his role would be in the new company as if anyone had a clue; wanted to know Devlin’s impression of ADM’s managing director, which again set off alarm bells.  Devlin pissed him off with his silence.  Obviously, he’s on the make, wants the managing director’s job in the new company. 

He asked Devlin if he minded him smoking, when the cocktail lounge was cloying with smoke.  Give the man credit.  He has perfected insincerity. 

Devlin sensed the man was conflicting to the extreme, at worse, a potential enemy, at best a calculating colleague.  He reeked of stealth masquerading as charisma, gave Devlin the impression of danger, but to whom?  Step lightly, big fellow, he told himself, he is far cleverer than you are. 

“Pardon?  I hated it when you drift off like that.”

Huge smile, “Admit it, Martin, you’re no clothes horse, and you think I am.  It’s my armor.  It may be his as well.”  Devlin looked to see how this was playing.  Martin looked at him suspiciously through a smoky haze.  “Come on now, Martin, you hate wearing a suit much less a shirt and tie.  You’d rather be in safari garb tending to your solarium.”

“Well, there is some truth to that, but that doesn’t help.  The man, what do you think of the man?”

Devlin was cautious.  “You’ve known him in business for what, a year or more, or since this thing has been in the works.  Give me a sense of your impression.  I’ll feed off of that.  I take it you don’t like him.”

“Liking him or not has nothing to do with it.  I don’t trust him.  Now, are you going to give me your impression or play psychoanalyst?  Your jacket reads like you have some kind of power to read people.  Is that true or not?”

Devlin ignored the question.  “I would say he’s determined to make a good impression.  It surprises me that he was not subtle with you.  I’m sure he thought he was.  It speaks to your powers of observation or perhaps paranoia.”

“Paranoia?  You see me as paranoid?”

“Of course not,” Devlin lied, “So it must reflect your powers of observation.”

“I like you Devlin,” he said cheerfully, “Do you know why?”

Silence.

“You’re an honest broker.  You’re not older than I am but somehow you seem ancient.  Does that make sense?”

Silence.

“Bloody hell, are you going to say something?  I hate those pauses.”

“First, Martin, you are in charge.  This is your show and his job is to help you make that show work.  He knows that.  His future is tied to the success of this operation.  Is he ambitious?  I would hope so.  Can he be trusted?  The jury is out on that as it should be.”  Devlin was hoping Martin would make the connection with Cavendish going through his papers.  “Meanwhile, it is in your best interest to give him the benefit of the doubt.  In any case, your description of him fits the corporate America boilerplate for the executive who is always on the make, except for the beard, of course.”

“Boilerplate?”

“Yes, the Cavendish type is the factory product of MBA programs in our American universities.  Boilerplate is an expression for the corporate technocrat, the ideal type of marching soldier.  It is no accident that American business now rules the world.  We put a pinch of ambition leavened with a promise of riches in a cauldron of company loyalty and display an empty suit with physical charm, striking appearance, usually tall with a true believer mindset to produce the corporate line without deviation.”

“You think this describes our Mr. Cavendish?”  The managing director knew this described him to a tee, but wondered why it brought out Devlin’s anger.  Could it be because it described him as well?

“It appears to be so, but we will have to find out for ourselves.”

“Meaning you must.”

“If you like.”

“It doesn’t describe you.”  Martin said disingenuously.

“You know it does.  Unfortunately, I haven’t convinced my superiors of the fact.”  If he only knew how hard he resisted and yet failed to unshackle corporate influence.

“Cavendish is a seducer, pure and simple,” Martin insisted.

“Which is consistent with boilerplate.”

“What are you going to do about it for me?”

“Nothing.  Absolutely nothing.  Who knows, he may be recruited to join Polychem in Chicago.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Corporate America is in love with type.  The proliferation of type means they have succeeded, and here on foreign soil, remarkable!  He is, if all my sources are correct, the embodiment of the ultimate technocrat, the pyramid climber.”

“Pyramid climber?  You have all these puzzling expressions.  They’re a bit overwhelming.”

“Pyramid climbers are technocrats who are always campaigning for the next job, never finding time to do the job they are paid to do.  They fill the right boxes, go to the right universities, hang out with the right people, live in the right neighborhoods, join the right clubs, go to the right churches, choose the right mentors, all of which improves their chances mightily in the climb. 

“They use flattery, subterfuge, innuendo and rumor, anything that gives them a leg up on everyone else.  Pyramid climbers create fail-safe positions along the way so that if their function folds, the influence of their sponsors decline, or the company goes off the rails, they have a backup plan to move on before the house of cards collapses.  It may be new in South Africa, but Americans have made it an art form.”

“It sounds quite cynical.  Are you cynical, Devlin?”

“Is the pope Catholic?  Of course I am.  I graduated from the college of paranoid cynicism.”

“I don’t follow.  You’re trying to confuse me now.”

“No I’m not.  When I see someone who appears very much engaged in the job, but disinclined to produce any meaningful work, while producing numbers that indicate otherwise, I see a pyramid climber, not a productive worker.  Pyramid climbing is a full time job.  My job is to uncover and neutralize the type if I can.”

Somewhat placated, the managing director smiled.  “Devlin, you’ve described Mr. Cavendish. He’s charming to everyone here with a reassuring line.  When he listens to you, you think he’s taking in your every word.” Then Martin added, “You think he suspects we have our eye on him?”

“A pyramid climber suspects everyone and everything.  He is subtle, but pragmatic.  Whether he suspects something or not, isn’t important.  What is important for the pyramid climber is not to make a false step.”  Devlin stroked his chin feeling the stubble, thinking Cavendish must suspect something.  Yes, he was dangerous.  But to the director he said, “I wouldn’t be alarmed.  He’s feeling his way.  He’s ambitious but not an empty suit.”  No, not at all.

*     *     *

It occurred to me, one who is neither a doctrinaire Democrat or a Republican, nor especially conservative or liberal, but who is concerned about the economy and the national debt both of which the president, as the quintessential technocrat, and who operates very much like the pyramid climber motivated by the mantra, “four more years,” has avoided talking about the economy or the national debt, but instead, again like the pyramid climbers, uses misdirection and guile to promote his ambition.

*     *     *