Some Lawyers Need To Learn When To STFU

When I was a newbie lawyer, working at my first in-house job, my boss sent me to a meeting about the bankruptcy (or possible bankruptcy) of a borrower that all of the banks in the room had lent to, in some amount or another. (Thank goodness my client wasn’t the agent bank, who had to lead the meeting.) The room was full of men (in the early 1980s, no surprise, in fact, it’s still not a surprise almost 40 years later.) I didn’t know much about bankruptcy then, so I was to just sit, listen, and report back to those higher up the corporate legal department ladder.  Was I intimidated? You bet. Did I say anything in the meeting? Nope.

The attorney for the agent bank, and not the client, ran the meeting. (I could make a number of comments here. I won’t, but sometimes lawyers don’t remember that their job is to offer legal advice, not make the business decisions. Lots of lawyers make lousy business decisions, but that’s a topic for another time.)

What fascinated me then, and what still fascinates me, is the deference accorded to the person who talks the most, speaks the loudest, or a combination of both — the person to be listened to, the person with the purported expertise. And that’s the way this particular meeting went. But was he truly the expert? What do you think?

In an article in Strategy + Business, the case is made that our brains fall for false expertise. What the article says is that when our brains are left to our own devices, we take shortcuts, and our attention is drawn to the loudest, tallest, or whatever other “est” characteristic fits the bill in the particular situation. Include “smartest” in that list of “ests.”

Some examples from the article:

1. Even if there’s recognition within a group that one person has the particular subject matter expertise of value to share in the meeting, that person is listened to less than two-thirds of the time. (What does that say about the value of expert witness testimony? Eyes glazing over, rolling back in the heads, nodding off. Perhaps that’s why expert testimony is not necessarily all it’s cracked up to be.)

2. “Airtime,” the amount of time that people spend talking, is a stronger indicator of perceived influence than actual expertise. How many times have you, me, we been at an MCLE seminar where one speaker hogs the time and drones on in a monotone that makes you want to get the hook? Now in the webinar era, that need to throttle that speaker is greatly reduced, since all we need do is turn down the volume. Score another one for the value of webinars.

I was at one seminar several years ago where there was no way the speakers could get through all the material unless Mr. X would STFU. He didn’t and so they didn’t. That showed a lack of time management plus plain old-fashioned discourtesy to the other speakers. Mr. X. was so oblivious and so in love with the sound of his own voice that interruptions were futile. He hogged all the airtime.

3. Since we prefer people we know to people we don’t know (a form of cognitive bias), our brains make the faulty assumptions that if people are good at one thing, they are good at other unrelated things. Thus, we value expertise based on faulty assumptions. We make leaps of faith without any safety net. How many times have we done that?

If you haven’t already, read Daniel Kahneman’s book, Thinking, Fast and Slow.  It’s a great book for helping to understand how people decide and that includes clients.

. Kahneman says that in making decisions, our brains have two speeds, fast and slow, e.g. instinctive, quick reactions, and the other speed, more deliberative, thoughtful, measured. It’s the difference between cruise control and manual; it’s the difference between autopilot and conscious thinking. Oftentimes, we go fast, relying on purported expertise, when we should be going slow.

We have a habit of deferring to those we think are smarter than we are, more fluent than we are, more astute than we are. But we are often wrong, and we give ourselves little credit for our own knowledge and expertise in a particular area. If we don’t have any in that area, then we do need to STFU, but how many lawyers have the verbal self-control to do that?

How many lawyers do you know that think they are the smartest people in the world?  How many lawyers think that they are indeed the experts in particular areas, but how many of them have been tripped up by a simple question (innocent or not) that makes them pause, or even (gasp) fall quiet? Silence can be a beautiful thing.

That’s not to say that you shouldn’t use your expertise, your knowledge, which is what clients are paying you for. It’s more that we don’t necessarily have all the answers, the knowledge, whatever will lead to the right result in the particular situation, but someone else may have the answers if we will only let them have some “airtime.”

If you Google the line, “If you’re the smartest person in the room, then you’re in the wrong room,” you’ll come up with thousands of references.

Thought leaders, business leaders, and TED talkers, all expound on this theory, but I don’t think enough attention is paid to the quiet ones in the room, the ones who get talked over, interrupted, and, worst of all, ignored. Sometimes those who have to fight to be heard have the most of value to say. So newbies, speak up if you have something to say that contributes to the discussion. Over time, you will learn what that is. And if you don’t have a contribution to make, then you know what to do.

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Jill Switzer has been an active member of the State Bar of California for 40+ years. She remembers practicing law in a kinder, gentler time. She’s had a diverse legal career, including stints as a deputy district attorney, a solo practice, and several senior in-house gigs. She now mediates full-time, which gives her the opportunity to see dinosaurs, millennials, and those in-between interact — it’s not always civil. You can reach her by email at [email protected].