When my wife Mary and I drive through the country, it is inevitable that she will find any and all farm animals and gleefully point out her discovery.
“Cows,” she’ll call out, and with good reason. Who would ever expect to find a cow in Wisconsin?
Sigh.
The truth is, while I admire anyone who can find the joy in the mundane, I find no joy in seeing my future food in their mostly unnatural habitats.
When Mary calls out cows, I’ll always counter with “hamburgers.”
Passing a transport truck full of pigs, I’ll call out something to the effect of “Ooh, bacon.”
And so it goes.
She’s quiet with chickens because she will actually eat those. The closest as I can get to a theory of her eating habits is that she won’t eat anything with a nose. I find that comforting in the event we ever crash in the Andes.
It’s not that I don’t find these animals cute, but the fact is that they’re my food, and I name them as such.
I eat beef, not cows.
I eat pork, not pigs.
I eat nuggets, not chicken.
These naming conventions insulate us from putting a face, as it were, to a name.
Change the name and ignore the face.
When this doesn’t happen, then I’m reminded of exactly what I’m doing. This is why I stopped eating octopus.
I’ve watched too many reels of how clever they are at opening jars for food, escaping their aquariums, and connecting with their owners. And if I’m being honest, I’m not even sure they’re not aliens.
But most importantly, they don’t have euphemistic names to hide behind.
Maybe there are just as many reels devoted to cows, steers, chickens, and pigs doing wonderfully cute things, but I’ll never know because I choose not to watch those reels.
Self-protection and all.
This is the same reason I stopped using the term human capital years ago and would encourage corporations to do the same.
This is not going to be an easy ask as the idea has its roots in the 18th century and has since evolved into an economic theory that views people as assets, with investments in them evaluated much like investments in machinery, a fellow asset.
I guess we should at least be grateful to be labelled as an asset.
Until we’re not.
But I’m not here to argue economic principles, being underqualified to do so.
And admittedly, I spent almost an entire professional career using corporate abstractions in strategy, planning, and accounting.
But when corporate abstractions creep into everyday communication, it may be time for a pause.
There is power in words and more leaders and corporations would do well to remember that, especially in an era that somehow feels less personal the more social media tools are introduced.
I can be an incredible corporate asset (until I’m not), but you can just call me Randy for short.
Which town hall would get more interest? One where you’re going to present on the human capital management plan, or one where you’re going to discuss your people strategy?
Both can be brilliant or equally ineffective, but which is more likely to pique interest?
But who am I kidding? Town halls are about as exciting as meeting icebreakers.
And to play devil’s advocate, what you say may not be nearly as important as how you act.
I can be honest and say I’m eating cow, but that is of little consolation to the patty in my bun.
Still, though, how hard would it be to just call it your people strategy?
When economic terminology becomes the corporate norm, who really benefits?
It’s not as if flipping from corporate-speak to a more people-centric approach is difficult.
We do it all the time.
While we might plan a project around 7 FTEs (the thoroughly abstracted full-time equivalent), we may actually picture Dan, Dave, Brittany, two Cathys, and two Johns.
That is, if we’re close enough to the people that can fill those slots.
If not, FTE it is!
You see, in planning abstraction, everyone is equal, and no one has a face.
That’s why when I hear “human capital,” I always actually hear “human cattle.”
And whether others hear that as well, I can’t say I know for sure, but I can say that no one feels special about being reduced to a category.
It really is about how we view each other, and words matter.
If I walk around claiming that I love humans, you might give me a look. If I say I love people, that makes me a people person, and all is good.
Although, please avoid the cliché “People are our greatest asset.”
No one’s buying that in an increasingly cynical world.
I know I’m not, even though ironically I believe it to be true.
Rhetorical abstraction does have its beneficiaries, and leadership tends to benefit more the higher they are and the smaller everyone else becomes.
With economic abstraction as the norm, no decision ever needs to sound personal.
We’re family in good times, FTEs in bad.
Rightsizing is downsizing.
Position elimination is firing.
And beef is cow.