Lessons in persuasion from a heinous crime

Sajjad Mughal’s overwhelming ambition: make love to Pallavi Purkayastha. He is a young (22), under-educated Kashmiri working as a watchman at Himalayan Heights, an upscale block of flats in Wadala, Mumbai. A graduate of the National Law School Pune, she (25) is a legal adviser. She has been staying with her partner Avik Sengupta in a flat on the sixteenth floor for a little under a year.

He tries to please her and befriend her, generously offering any special services that she might need. She spurns his repeated offers. Faced with such stony behaviour most men would give up the chase especially when the social distance between them is so great. Not Sajjad. He observes her routine and her live-in partner’s. He discovers that Avik often comes home well past midnight.

To achieve his objective, Sajjad must enter Pallavi’s flat when she's alone. He should not attract anyone's attention. That means he cannot force his way in. She must open the door and welcome him in. So he searches for some service that she asks him to render in the flat.

He figures out that if power goes off in her flat, she will seek someone's help. Once he senses an opportunity, Sajjad finds out from the electrician where the trip switches are and identifies the one that controls the power supply to Pallavi’s flat.

One night he switches off power supply to her flat. She telephones Avik, who is still at work. On his advice she asks the watchman on duty– Sajjad – to get an electrician. He does. A couple of hours later he switches off the power supply again. This time the electrician, accompanied by Sajjad, asks Pallavi to disconnect all heavy appliances to prevent any further tripping at night. Meanwhile Sajjad quietly steals the key to the main door and leaves the room with the electrician. He returns after 1 AM, opens the door to the flat, and enters, determined to rape her in the short window of opportunity available to him.

Pallavi is fast asleep; he tries to force himself upon her. She proves to be tough. She resists valiantly. Brustrated, Sajjad pulls out his knife and stabs her wildly before running away. She dies well before Avik’s return.

This is a horrible crime against an innocent woman. It deserves to be condemned by everyone without any reservations. Let us, however, glean a few lessons in persuasion from the unfortunate incident. Sajjad tried ingratiation first. A very powerful tactic, it failed in this case. Perhaps he appeared too eager, alarmingly eager, and that turned Pallvi off. But without giving up, he observed the target closely to identify her needs and chinks in her armour. Do we study our targets systematically when we plan our difficult persuasion acts?

Sajjad was in too much of a hurry; that took him quickly from the beautiful thought of seduction to the ugly plan of rape and ultimately to the horror of murder. That's another lesson in persuasion for us. Hurry kills.

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Acknowledgement: The account of the murder and the events leading up to it have been picked up from various newspapers, mainly The Times of India. Pallavi's photograph is taken from www.ndtv.com.

Cheap Viagra, Summer Internship

This is the season of summer internship applications. In March-April, the inboxes of professors in top tier business schools in the country get flooded with e-mail from second year and third year students of engineering at IITs/NITs and other leading engineering institutes in the country.

The arrangement is good for both the parties. Many professors work on their research projects during the summer vacation when they are free from classroom teaching. They welcome the high-quality but inexpensive assistance the bright young men and women from the top engineering institutes provide. The students gain even more. Most of them are interested in doing an MBA after their engineering. A close association with a professor and an inside view of a top business school give them an edge when they compete for a place in these business schools.

But a large number of these smart engineering students never get a reply, not even an acknowledgement. What’s wrong? Instead of identifying the kind of professors they want to work with, customising their request to appeal to those individuals, and then e-mailing them individually, these students adopt the persuasion techniques of spammers who peddle cheap Viagra.

For spammers, a one percent response rate is more than enough because their e-mail goes to millions of people of all ages and colours all over the world. Secondly, their aim may not be to persuade you to buy cheap Viagra (or whatever) they claim to be selling but to get you to click on a dangerous link. Even if you don’t want the product or service they advertise, you may click on the link if they can arouse your curiosity. Their persuasion techniques are inappropriate for students interested in summer internship in an academic institution.

Here’s the body of an e-mail I received from an IIT student recently. It’s reproduced without any change except for dropping the names.

Respected Sir,

            I, [First name Second name], am second year undergraduate student at Indian Institute of Technology [Place name]. I am currently pursuing my B.Tech Degree in Mining Engineering. I have perused through your web page and found your field of working to be coinciding with the field of interest of mine and find it very interesting.

I appeal to you, to consider me for a research internship under you between first week of May to 30th June. I enclose herewith, my Curriculum Vitae. I firmly believe that your guidance would surely add to my excellence.

 Thanking You,

Yours Sincerely,

I am certain that this bright young man has not visited my website and has no idea what research I do. If he had, he would have referred to something that I am working on. While not wasting his time visiting any professor’s website he thinks he can persuade some of them to respond by making a general statement that is true of any professor who has a website and who does some research. They are violating the first principal of persuasion: know your target and frame your proposal to meet their expectations. If they get a positive response from a professor, it only means that the professor doesn’t care who gets to work as a summer intern for him.

Photo credit: http://www.istockphoto.com/

Chalk and cheese

Recently I was waiting in a well-known Ahmedabad bakery to buy a cake. The man ahead of me bought three cakes; the total bill came to Rs 670. He handed the sales assistant the exact amount. The assistant asked him whether he wanted a carry bag.  Being told that he wanted one, the sales assistant said, “that would be Rs 5,” put the cake boxes into a carry bag, and handed it to him. (To discourage the use of plastic bags, Ahmedabad Municipal Corporation has instructed shopkeepers not to give carry bags free. Customers are required to pay for them or bring their own reusable bags.) The customer pulled out a ten Rupee note from his shirt pocket and handed it to the sales assistant.

Soon the assistant realised that he didn’t have change. He asked the customer for change, but he didn’t have any either. The assistant checked with a couple of his co-workers, but no one had change for Rs 10.  As there were several people waiting in the queue, the customer helpfully asked whether he could pay Rs 5 on his next visit.  

Suddenly the shop-owner’s visibly old father, who was standing behind the counter, moved up and told the customer that the shop didn’t give anyone anything on credit. The customer was startled; so was I. He told the old man that he didn’t want any credit; he had already paid for the cake and for the bag. Now the shop owed him Rs 5. The old man said that the shop had no change and asked the assistant to take the bag back. 

The customer told the old man that he had just bought stuff worth Rs 670, and so perhaps they should consider giving him the bag with their compliments. The old man was bent upon taking the bag back, saying again that the shop didn’t believe in selling anything on credit.

Fortunately an employee produced a five Rupee coin, and the customer was allowed to leave with his purchase in a carry bag. “You idiot, you spoilt my day,” shouted the customer at the old man as he stormed out of the shop.

I found the old man’s behaviour incredible. How did he build up a successful business with this kind of behaviour? Or, what is it his son would built the business? Of course the stuff they sell is very good. Is that good enough to persuade customers to keep coming back to him?

In stark contrast to this was my wife’s experience of buying vegetables from a wayside cart in our part of Ahmedabad city. When told that her purchase came to Rs 55, she handed him a 100 Rupee note. The vendor returned a 50 Rupee note and asked her for Rs 5. She didn’t have any change on her. Then he suggested that she pay it the next time she bought something from him. She had never bought any vegetables from him earlier. So she truthfully told him that she wasn’t at all sure she would be coming that way again. That didn’t make any dent on his attitude. He just said, if you ever come this side, you can pay me.

My wife found this vendor incredible. Now she would like to buy vegetables from him whenever possible.

Small gestures can be very persuasive.


A friend of mine, V Ravikumar, has sent me the following link to a YouTube video of a funny exchange between a customer (played by Nana Patekar) and a sales assistant. The customer doesn't want a toffee in place of the change the store owes him: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jBKSNTYD-uM 

Photo credit: http://www.istockphoto.com

How to be a smart blackmailee

This morning’s papers in Ahmedabad brought the sickening news of yet another rape. This time it was Atul Bhatt, a fifty-year old senior officer in Gujarat Government’s Social Welfare Department, who is alleged to have raped his thirty-year-old woman employee.

Newspaper reports are notorious for inaccuracies and one-sidedness. We can’t jump to any conclusions based solely on newspaper accounts. Here, however, is the story, put together from three different sources.

Bhatt had hired Rupal (name changed), mother of two, in June 2011 as a peon in the office of an NGO that he runs in Ahmedabad. On June 19, 2011, he gave her directions to his house and asked her to go and work there after lunch. By the time she reached his house, he also arrived there. There was no one else at home. She asked him for water to drink. She fell unconscious soon after drinking the water that he had given her.

When she came round, she realised that she had been raped. When she returned home, she didn’t tell her husband or anyone else about the incident because Bhatt had told her that he had captured the rape on a CD and threatened to make it public if she told anyone about the incident.

Bhatt raped her several times during the following months. He even persuaded Rupal’s husband to let her go with him to Mumbai on ‘official’ work. Bhatt raped her there also.

Unable to carry on, Rupal swallowed poison recently to end her life. But she didn’t die. Although she tried to tell everyone else that she had taken the poison by mistake, her husband wasn’t convinced. Under persistent but sympathetic questioning from him, she broke down and narrated the whole story. With his help she lodged a police complaint yesterday.

***                                                   ***

How could this man keep having his way against her wishes and yet gag her effectively for so many months even as she led an apparently normal life?

Bhatt’s success was built on smart framing. Rupal was asked to look at the terrible consequences she would face if she defied him. That frame was so overwhelming that she didn’t for a moment think of the worse consequences for her tormentor. Being a senior government official (with two children – one a practising doctor and the other a student of medicine), he had a lot more to lose than Rupal if the CD was made public.  He could lose his cushy government job and spend the rest of his life in jail if she filed a case against him. If she had been raped when she was unconscious, it shouldn’t be difficult for the investigators to conclude that it was not consensual sex.

We’re too easily persuaded by blackmailers of all colours including certain bosses in organisations because we are overwhelmed by the way they frame the troubles we will have if we defy them. We can be smart ‘blackmailees’ and call the blackmailer’s bluff if we reframe the issue in such a way that we focus on the troubles they will have if we defy them. The only time this may not work is when we are blackmailed by someone we don’t know.

How do you deal with attempts by your bosses, co-workers, subordinates, or even customers to do things against your will?

Photo credit: http://www.istockphoto.com/

Power persuades!

Rose Nisenbaum had an emergency fund of $400 in her bank account. She had built up that fortune over a lifetime of careful saving. She needed part of the funds urgently, but the bank wouldn’t let her withdraw any. It was during the worst stage of the Great Depression in the US and the banks had instructions to stop people from withdrawing money.

When all her efforts and pleadings failed, she decided to write to Franklin Roosevelt, President of the United States. Members of her family were amused. It was silly to appeal to the president when the banks had strict orders against disbursing cash. Who in the White House was going to bother about the letter from a poor old woman? They asked her to accept the reality and wait until the conditions improved.

She didn’t listen to such wise advice. She wrote to the president. Everyone was shocked when, eight weeks later, she got a response from the White House. She was asked to take a sealed letter, enclosed with the one she received, to her bank.

She promptly took the White House envelope to her bank. It was closed so she rapped on the window and signalled to the manager to let her in. He wouldn’t. He knew very well what she wanted and there was no way he was going let her withdraw cash. He tried to wave her off.

Nisenbaum didn’t go away. She pressed the envelope against the glass pane. Seeing the White House insignia on the envelope, the manager let her in, read the letter to the bank, and promptly allowed her to withdraw cash from her account.

This is based on an account by Hilary Leila Krieger, “Reaching for the Jewish Vote,” in The Jerusalem Post (Israel) of Feb 9, 2012. (Accessed via wordsmith.org/words)

Rose Nisenbaum is admirable. In the face of ridicule and in the absence of any assurance of success she wrote to the president of the United States and got her job done. It is truly impressive. But what caught my attention is the power of the White House insignia on the envelope that she pressed against the window pane. When that was combined with the confidence and determination on her face, the manager was readily persuaded to open the door and let her in. Authority sells!

I have been reading in the local newspapers several stories in recent weeks about fake cops. The cheats appear in police uniform in different parts of the city and it’s pretty easy for them to persuade ordinary folks to do just about anything including parting with their cash and jewellery for ‘safekeeping.’ The uniform does the persuasion. Many people don’t even try to check their identity cards. Of course, the impostors are likely to come well equipped with fake ID cards too.

Symbols of power and authority – even empty ones – seem to have high levels of persuasive power.

The frame is the message (2)

This is a continuation of last week’s post, The frame is the message (1).

Framing is so obvious in advertisements that it is difficult to miss it. When a mosquito repellent is advertised, for example, the focus is on the joy of sleep undisturbed by mosquitoes or freedom from dreaded diseases such as malaria and dengue. The advertiser doesn’t bring into the frame any concerns about allergy the users may have to the chemicals in the repellent. Or any other side-effect, for that matter. If we ask whether it is safe, the advertiser may tell us that millions of people have been using it for years. That doesn’t mean that it will be safe for us, but the framing is such that we assume that it will be safe for us too.

Framing is the heart of persuasion. If it is attractively presented at the right time, it can alter perceptions radically and change the complexion of the discussion. The American invasion of Iraq was, for example, framed as part of the “global war on terror.” Which right thinking individual or country can refrain from supporting this holy war? That frame was guiding the discussion so powerfully that those who questioned the wisdom of invading a country without adequate evidence of wrong doing were easily brushed aside. Those who suggested that perhaps the American love for oil might be an important factor in this invasion were laughed out of op-ed pages of newspapers.

The overwhelming power of smart framing was evident in the recent protests led by Anna Hazare against corruption. The government and the Parliament lost the game completely because the issue was framed as a fight between the people of India and the corrupt government.  It captured the imagination of a large number of people, young and old, educated and uneducated, all over the country. But this is no foreign government imposing its will on an enslaved population. This government and the parliament consist of representatives duly elected by the people of this country.  They represent the masses far more authentically than a small band of self-appointed members of “civil society.” However, Hazare’s version of the Lokpal bill was framed as Jan Lokpal bill and when it was introduced in Parliament, it was declared by the media as “people’s victory.”

Major changes initiated by the leadership in some organisations fail to excite many employees because of poor or no framing.  Employees don’t do things they are asked to because they don’t see why they should. Or they comply reluctantly merely because of penalties. Poor framing is the villain.

If Anna Hazare can unite millions of Indians with wildly diverging views and goals through brilliant framing, why shouldn’t corporate leaders do so with their employees?

Photo credit: www.adsavvy.org

The frame is the message (1)

A woman approaches you. She is suffering from tuberculosis. Her husband has syphilis. They have had four children.  The first is blind, the second died, the third is deaf and dumb, and the fourth has tuberculosis. Now the woman is pregnant with her fifth child. She and her husband are willing to have an abortion. There is no way you can examine the foetus and find out if it is all right.

L Agnew of the department of Medical History, University of California, set this scene at the start of a class and asked his students:  “What advice would you give the couple?” 

Before you read on and find out what the students said, ask yourself what advice you would give the couple. Unless driven by a strong belief that  all abortions are sinful, you are likely to advise the couple to go in for an abortion. Why go through the fifth pregnancy when there is a very high chance approaching certainty that the outcome will be tragic? Is it worth taking such a big risk?

Most of the students readily advised the woman to go in for an abortion as the most reasonable course of action.  “Congratulations,” said Agnew, “You have just murdered Beethoven.”

“Oh no,” you say. We thought this was just another uneducated couple who didn’t know what was good for them and messed up their lives. This new piece of information changes the picture completely. What Agnew told us initially led us as well as the students to recommend abortion. We didn’t know if the woman and her husband came from illustrious families that had produced great composers or scientists. If they did and if we were given that information along with the list of all the problems they were suffering from, many more of us might have suggested that they should perhaps take a chance rather than abort the foetus.

We do know that Ludwig van Beethoven turned deaf in his 20s and died when he was fifty-seven. Of course he was so brilliant that he composed masterpieces and conducted orchestras even after he became totally deaf. We can’t be blamed for recommending abortion based on the information Agnew gave us.

This is what a frame does. It limits our vision and shapes our thinking without our noticing it. This is what all smart persuaders do. They give us a frame to see things through. Based on what we see through that frame we happily arrive at conclusions that the persuaders want us to. Often the frame appears so attractive that we don’t ask whether we need to look at things beyond what is in the frame. So with apologies to Marshall McLuhan, we can say the frame is the message.

Have you had any interesting experience of being influenced by smart framing by others?

Photo credit: istockphoto.com

The persuasive power of the unknown

I eagerly opened the envelope the postman brought home the other day. Out came a leaflet. It was the photocopy of what appeared to be an advertisement in a newspaper. The sender didn't identify himself or herself. The text, which was in Malayalam, fascinated me. Let me give you a rough translation.

There was a miracle at Vailankanni. [This, as you may know, is a coastal town in Tamil Nadu. St Mary's shrine there attracts hundreds of thousands of pilgrims from different religions and regions every year.] One Sunday Mother Mary appeared in the form of a child to a devotee and said, “I will come back to earth shortly to do penance for [others’] sins. Inform everyone. Anyone who distributes 1000 copies of this announcement will have his wish fulfilled in fifteen days. Those who don't act on it immediately will suffer a great deal within twenty-two days.” Then she disappeared.

One Mumbai resident who heard about this got 1000 copies of this announcement printed and distributed. As a result, he got Rs 6.8 million. A rikshaw driver distributed 850 copies, and he got a small pot of gold. An unemployed youth distributed 500 copies of this leaflet and found a job in a few days. Another man tore up the leaflet he received saying it was humbug. Within three days his son died. […]

Therefore, please publicise this information by distributing leaflets so that everyone can get Mother Mary's blessings.

From a believer

I tossed it into the waste bin. Then I picked it up. I felt it deserved to be examined carefully for lessons in persuasion.

 Whoever sent it to me was persuaded to do so either because of fear of harm or of hope of good fortune or perhaps a combination of both. Or is someone playing it safe? Whatever it is, what is the basis of such a strong blend of emotions? Why would anyone believe stories like these? There are no names, no dates, no addresses if you want to check what happened (if anything happened at all). How can anyone accept a causal link between someone’s decision not to circulate an anonymous leaflet and a death in the family? Why, then, do people lose their common sense and circulate such ridiculous stuff? The persuasive power of the unknown is so strong that even a mention is enough for many of us to comply with its apparent wishes. If you are scared of snakes, even a paper snake can make you run.

Unlike forwarding an email to everyone in one's address book, making photocopies of an announcement, putting it in hundreds of envelopes, writing genuine addresses on these envelopes, sticking stamps and posting them cost a believer time and money. Why would he/she do it? How about the first person who started this chain? Was he/she a believer? A prankster? What did he/she get out of it?

For me, this is another instance of emotions firmly establishing their supremacy over reason. 

Photo credit: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Velankanni_Town

Why Big Favours Flop

Commenting on my recent post, 'I Took a Bribe,' (on the persuasive power of small gifts and unsolicited favours) Girish asks an interesting question about why big favours don’t lead to the same kind of results as small favours. He says that people don’t even care to acknowledge big favours.

If a small unsolicited favour can pay rich dividends in persuasion, it is reasonable to assume that big solicited and unsolicited favours should lead to even bigger returns on investment.  This generally holds good. Yet a big favour you have done may fail spectacularly when you try to influence the recipient. This is what Girish is referring to.

In order to understand this phenomenon, let's first look at the way bribe generally works. The size varies depending on the kind of service you are looking for. Often you pay a bribe to get what you are perfectly entitled to. You want to avoid artificial delays and related hassles. Then you may find yourself paying a bribe to jump the queue or to get what you are not strictly entitled to. There are also people who pay bribes so that they can break rules with impunity. These attract the biggest bribes because the bride-taker also runs a big risk. In some of these instances there may be a demand; in many instances you have to infer that a bribe is expected or that a bribe will do the job that you are interested in.

What is common to all these instances is that the recipient of the bribe doesn't deserve it. It is a different matter that he will justify it by pointing out that everyone else is doing it, that he runs a risk, and so on. If the bribe's recipient believes that he deserves it, he doesn't feel obliged to do anything in return whether the favour done is solicited or unsolicited.  This may appear strange but friends and relations often belong to this category.  So the next time you do what you consider to be a big favour and discover that you have no leverage over its recipient, ask yourself whether they aren't taking you for granted. Most probably they are. They don't consider it a favour.

Photo credit: www.istockphoto.com

I took a bribe

It’s confession time. Let me share with you the bribe’s source and amount, and the favour I did in return for it. Let me also tell you why I did what I did.

Last week a courier brought in a large envelope. When I opened it, a dollar bill popped out. A genuine American dollar. There was also a fat, eight-page questionnaire with a cover note from The Economist. The letter, addressed to me by name (I’m a regular subscriber) appealed to me to participate in their comprehensive, once-in-four-years reader survey. It would take nothing less than forty minutes to answer the numerous questions in a small font size.

Towards the end of the letter was a reference to the dollar bill. Of course it was not payment for the valuable time I would spare for answering the questions, said the writer. It’s just a token of their appreciation. Perhaps I could donate it to a charity.

I felt annoyed. I had simply deleted two e-mail requests for taking the same survey online during the past two months. Four years ago I had participated in their equally comprehensive survey without any incentives. I didn’t want to do it again.

But what to do with the dollar bill? Keep it? Post it back to The Economist? Did I want to invest my time and effort and money to tell the writer that I didn’t like what they did, and here was their dollar bill? Was there any guarantee that the dollar bill would actually get back to the person who had signed the letter?

What if I kept the dollar, but didn’t answer the questionnaire? What if I gave it away? What if I threw it into the waste bin? Whatever I did, for the writer of the letter I would be one of those who took the money but didn’t answer the questionnaire. A sense of obligation started growing within me. So finally I kept the dollar and spent nearly an hour answering all the questions.

Why did I behave the way I did? I suddenly remembered the rule of reciprocation that Robert Cialdini talks about in his Influence: The Psychology of Persuasion. Quoting the example of the Hare Krishna volunteers in the US (who give you a small gift before asking you for a donation), he shows that even when you don’t like the gift-giver, you feel obliged to give something in return. And what you give is generally of much greater value than what you have received. Traders make use of this brilliantly. How many of us can walk away without buying anything from a bakery after tasting free samples of cookies?

It’s pretty easy to reject a commercial proposal that doesn’t interest us. It’s not so easy to reject a gift even if we don’t like the person offering it. Somehow it appears rude to do that. And once we accept a gift, we feel restless until the balance is restored in our favour.

Why do I use the word bribe for the dollar that I accepted? Partly because it’s not at all a payment for the service I rendered to The Economist. But it’s mainly because it reminded me of what happens when you are offered a bribe in the guise of a gift. You didn’t ask for it, and the giver doesn’t make any demands. You, however, feel obliged to return the favour. If the gift-giver later asks you for a favour that is not illegal, it is difficult to say no. He has persuaded you to do what you would otherwise have not done.

Sweet vine, bitter berries

Today let me retell a true story that Mallika Sarabhai brought to our notice last Sunday (“Where can this woman be safe?” DNA Ahmedabad edition, October 30, 2011, page 4).

Urmila (not her real name), a married woman with a young  son, was working in the HR department a prestigious teaching hospital in Ahmedabad. She was happy with her work. Everything was going well for her.

At work she bumped into a doctor who worked for the Chief Justice of Gujarat. He was not only from her caste but also from her village. The occasional chat with him gave her joy in the otherwise sombre atmosphere of the hospital. Soon the doctor friend would often come around at the end of the work day and offer her a ride home. She had no hesitation in accepting this favour. They could chat on the drive home. Once in a while they would stop on the way for an ice cream. This was beautiful. Urmila was grateful for his warmth and selfless friendship.

One evening the doctor offered a ride as usual, but asked her whether she would mind if he stopped at a friend’s place for a few minutes to drop off something. Of course she didn’t mind. The doctor’s friend, a man, opened the door and invited them in. He gave her a glass of juice and asked her to make herself comfortable in the sitting room while the two men went in to another room for a discussion.

Urmila doesn’t recall anything that happened in that house after that. By the time she was dropped off outside her house a few hours later, she had just woken up from a deep sleep. She found it strange but said nothing about it to anyone.

The following day the doctor friend met her at work as usual and said that he had a surprise for her. She was eager to know what it was. He whipped out his cellphone and showed her a picture. She couldn’t believe her eyes. She looked again. The picture showed her performing oral sex on him. “Now you are in my hands,” gloated the doctor.

Urmila felt sick, violated, frightened. Somehow she got home. She stayed in bed for several days. Her husband and son were puzzled but had no clue.

The doctor friend called Urmila one morning and asked her to get back to the hospital and to ‘service’ a friend of his. She obliged.  She felt she had no choice. This went on for a few months. Then she quit the job.

Finally she picked up enough courage to bring together her family and close friends. She told them what happened. They were horrified but sympathetic. They decided to approach the police and to lodge a formal complaint.

You can read the rest of the story – the denial of justice – in Mallika Sarbahai’s column. I would like to focus on how deftly the doctor used persuasion techniques for his admittedly evil plans.

Readers, would you like to write in your comments and analysis? I’ll give my views in next week’s post.

Photo credit: http://www.istockphoto.com/

Vinod Mehta’s Googly

Vinod Mehta, Editor-in-chief of Outlook recalls (Delhi Diary, October 17, 2011) how he managed to get a full-length interview with Mansur Ali  Khan Pataudi - Tiger Pataudi - in 1974. It has some interesting lessons in persuasion.

Mehta had just taken over the fledgling men’s magazine Debonair as its editor-in-chief.  He was desperate to get a Playboy-type interview that would make the centrepiece of his launch issue. He knocked on many doors; none opened.

He tried to telephone Tiger Pataudi.  But the folks around the star cricketer wouldn’t put him through. Desperate, Mehta “wrote him a begging letter.” What made the begging persuasive was his admiring reference to Pataudi’s extraordinary performance on the cricket field. Mehta wrote that he had seen him score a century in both the innings against Yorkshire. He pointedly referred to the way Pataudi had battered Fred Trueman.

Photo credit: http://photogallery.outlookindia.com

The letter was magical. Mehta got an immediate reply and an invitation to Pataudi’s flat in Mumbai.

The story doesn’t end there. Mehta knew that Pataudi was fond of 555 cigarettes.  Mehta also knew that for someone like Tiger Pataudi, getting 555 was no big deal even in the Socialist 1970s. Still, Mehta “carried a tin” of Tiger’s favourite cigarettes.

Once he had a full-length interview with the cricketing great, Mehta says he had “much less difficulty persuading the great and the good to cooperate.”

Let’s look at the lessons.

First, no one is above persuasion. Heroes who are idolised by millions of people are human beings. They have human feelings. Even those who easily detect flattery and detest it have difficulty resisting the power of genuine admiration. If we study our targets well and frame our proposals appropriately, we should be able to persuade them. But we often give up even before trying. Or we use a frame that is convenient for us rather than appropriate for the target.

Second, gestures touch us. Mehta knew the value of maintaining relationships. The gift of 555 cigarettes after the interview is a testimony to the editor’s ability in this department. A great deal of persuasion is born out of relationships. Maintain them through gestures that touch the heart of the targets.

Third, Mehta used his big catch to persuade others, who were earlier unwilling to do anything for his venture.

None of the techniques of persuasion Mehta employed were extraordinary. What is extraordinary is the way he used ordinary techniques to persuade a star.

The King and I

I am sorry to disappoint you if you thought I was Deborah Kerr playing Anna Leonowens with Yul Brynner as the King of Siam. I am an ordinary rabbit. Let me tell you my story although  Aesop has already brought it  to you.

Years ago, there was an arrogant and capricious lion in our forest. He was called King Leo. He would kill all kinds of animals for food. That is quite understandable. After all, Kings and other members of the upper class thrive on the flesh and blood of ordinary folks.

But King Leo would kill mindlessly even when he wasn't hungry. When his atrocities crossed all limits, my brothers and sisters got together to find a way to stop him. Some of hot-blooded youngsters suggested that we kill the wretched predator. The older and wiser ones rubbished such plans.  They said it was easier to catch a cloud than kill a lion.

Finally, we worked out a solution. It was simple. We would send an animal every morning without fail to King Leo's court provided he stopped hunting us mindlessly. This was painful, but there appeared to be no other way to survive. King Leo agreed.

I told my brothers and sisters that this was ridiculous. I'm not surprised that nobody took me seriously. Not even tortoises take rabbits seriously any more.

Finally, it was my turn. I was young and dreaming of raising my own family. I didn't want to be gobbled up. But the elders had given their word. They insisted that I go.

That is when I really thought hard about getting rid of this menace. It was not possible to kill him. I wondered if I could persuade him to kill himself. I analysed King Leo's strengths and weaknesses. He had tremendous power and speed, and the supreme confidence that comes from being King.

He wanted everyone to accept him as King. He wouldn’t tolerate any rivals. I decided to play on it. I sat under a tree for quite some time and arrived late at King Leo's court. He was furiously pacing up and down. Obviously he didn't like to be kept waiting. I ran towards him and pretended to be panting.

King Leo was livid. His dinner was delayed. And that dinner was a tiny rabbit. He would need to eat at least five rabbits to bring down his hunger. He was about to strike me when I cried out tremblingly, “I’m sorry I’m late, but It's not my fault, it's not my fault!” Fortunately, he waited for a moment. Using that little opening, I continued: “There were six of us coming to you; but another big lion stopped us and ate my brothers. I'm the only one that escaped.”

“Don't be silly,” growled King Leo. “I am the Almighty King of this forest. There can't be any King but me.”

“That is what I also thought, your Majesty,” I said. “But this big lion not only ate my brothers up but also said that you were a doddering old impostor.”

“Take me to that b-----d right away,” he roared. I led him to a deep well with a lot of water at the bottom. I told him his rival was in the well. King Leo peered into the well, and he was shocked. He let out a huge roar to frighten the other lion. But he got back a roar that appeared a little louder. He couldn't stand it any longer. He decided to teach his rival a lesson. He jumped into the well. He never got out of it.

I don’t know if King Leo or his ‘rival’ learned any lesson. But I learned something: smart persuasion with brilliant framing can overcome many hurdles that appear insurmountable.

Amanda Knox

The recent release of Amanda Knox, a young American exchange student convicted and imprisoned in Perugia, Italy, in connection with the murder of her flatmate Meredith Kercher in 2007, has been widely reported in newspapers all over the world.  We don’t know if she was guilty as the trial court determined in 2009 or innocent as the appeals court determined last week. You can read a detailed account of the murder and the trials here. But let us look at some angles of persuasion illustrated in this case. 

Amanda Knox

Photograph from inquisitr.com

There was never any clear forensic evidence that linked Amanda to the dead flatmate’s murder. The prosecution could not point to any convincing motive either.  But as Ian Leslie writes in The Guardian (Amanda Knox: What’s in a Face?), the Italian investigators had already concluded from her body language that she was guilty. Edgardo Giobbi, the chief investigator, had declared that his team could establish her guilt by closely observing her “psychological and behavioural reaction during the interrogation.”  The young woman’s behaviour was “too cool and calm;” she also appeared to be hyper-sexed. Giobbi was so sure of her guilt that he went to the extent of saying that there was no need for other kinds of investigation to establish it.

Of course the police did bring in a lot of ‘evidence,’ confessions, and theories that showed Amanda’s role in the murder convincingly enough for the court to give her a 25-year prison sentence. It appears now that what persuaded the investigators to conclude that Amanda was guilty of murder was essentially her body language. Their instincts told them that she was guilty. Once they arrived at that conclusion, they were looking for evidence to justify it. 

Ian Leslie cites the results of experimental research conducted in 2008 by a group of Norwegian scientists to understand how police investigators judged the credibility of rape claims. The researchers found that the investigators, who were proud of their objectivity and ability to see through false claims, were heavily influenced by the demeanor of the victim. In their experiment, an actress played the role of a rape victim and used the same statement, but varied her emotions. She was perceived as telling the truth when her statement was accompanied by tears or a show of despair.  

Underlying such perception or judgement is a vague and unsubstantiated model we have in our mind about how others should behave in a given context. 

If seasoned police investigators who want to be objective can be influenced by people’s looks and behavior, can we be free from them? Can we be sure that when we are persuaded to buy a product, service, or idea in the world of business, our decision is driven primarily by evidence and rationality? When we reject others' proposals, can we be sure that we are driven by evidence and rationality? Could it be that something about the persuader triggers our instincts one way or the other and once we are persuaded, we look for evidence to justify the decision to ourselves and to others?

Guilty as Charged

This post is dedicated to a young woman who asked me a series of difficult questions in class recently. I did not answer them to her satisfaction. Or mine.

I thought I would attempt an answer through this post because her questions echo those of many people in the corporate sector. (Another reason of course is that I don't have to look into her disappointed eyes and become tongue-tied.)

Why was I promoting emotion over reason in persuasion attempts? Would this be sensible at all in the data-driven corporate world? Shouldn’t objectivity be the centrepiece of persuasion in the world of business? Wasn’t I going against the well accepted norms of corporate behaviour? She was confused, she said, because she had been brought up to respect facts, logic, and objectivity.

I am guilty as charged. But let me explain.

There is a millennia-old maxim, “the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach [and loins, if I may add].” It was coined most probably by a smart woman who had observed how easy it was to manage men, even the ones who wielded enormous power.

The maxim’s creator was, possibly unwittingly, pointing to something central about humans, not just about men. Instincts and emotions are far more important than logic and reasoning in decision-making, in spite of our routine chest-thumping about being rational animals.

The heart is the seat of belief, the director of action. You don’t reach it through the head. In fact, the way to a person’s head is through the heart.

Facts, evidence, logic, and objectivity are alluring notions because they appear to be independent of and above the persuader and the target. We have convinced ourselves that in the context of an organisation, these should reign supreme, not the whims and fancies of individuals. Our beliefs and personal preferences are secondary and may be irrelevant in some cases.

But this is a myth. The head is not the heart’s boss but its handmaiden. This is as true in the world of work as at home. Nevertheless this myth thrives as triumphantly as the other myth (created most probably by shrewd women) about men being in control of the affairs of the world.

Facts don't dictate action. What matters is the interpretation of facts or the perception of the significance of those facts. This is where the heart asserts itself. This is where egos rear their heads. This is where biases colour decisions. Even in apparently emotion-free decisions, the framework is created by values and attitudes. But we are good at projecting our decisions as logical, objective, and fact-driven.

If there is a platform of shared values and beliefs, facts and logic work like a breeze. If you provoke the mind when there are no shared values, it becomes belligerent and responds with counterarguments. You may be able to silence someone with arguments, but not persuade him. As Thomas Kuhn demonstrates in The Structure of Scientific Revolutions (1962, University of Chicago Press), even great scientists cling to their paradigm in spite of mounting evidence that makes it untenable. The whole world can see that they are wrong, but they are not convinced.

Of course, if we build our persuasion on instincts and emotions alone, we cannot go very far. We need reasoning. After all, we are rational animals. Emotions make the mind receptive. This is equally true whether you’re attempting to persuade your data-driven boss at work or your five-year-old daughter at home. 

Blessed are the thick-skinned

Once there was an unjust judge who didn't care about what the public thought of him. He wasn't afraid of God either. He did what he pleased. 

In his city there was a widow. She approached the nasty judge, complained to him about a man who was ill-treating her, and asked for justice. The judge just ignored her. She kept going back to him with the same plea and the judge kept turning her away. Finally, he said to himself, “I am tired of this woman. Even though I don't care about God or public opinion, I will see that she gets justice. I want to stop her from being a nuisance.” The widow gets what she wants.

After narrating this story (chapter 18:1-8, Gospel according to Saint Luke), Jesus asks his audience, “If this is what an unjust judge does, won’t God give justice to his children who cry out to him day and night?” 

I don’t know enough about God’s ways to answer this question with any certainty. But I do know that persistence pays with folks on earth. In fact, a thick skin is often more persuasive than an eloquent tongue when you have no power over your target.

If you want to be persuasive, you need some kind of power to bolster your persuasion attempts. The power could be that of muscle or money. Good looks can be as powerful as fertile brains. If you have popularity, tradition, or the law or on your side, that gives you power, too. If you have no power of any kind over your target, you cannot persuade him because he has nothing to lose by not complying.

In such contexts, a thick skin is the best bet. If we are thin-skinned, there are many disadvantages. First of all, we will hold ourselves back from making many potentially successful persuasion attempts. We are so worried about possible failures that we don’t even want to try. If we pick up enough courage to make a feeble attempt, we give it up as soon as we sense a snub. There are millions of men and women who would have been happy boyfriends and girlfriends or even devoted husbands and wives if they hadn’t taken their first rebuff too seriously and abandoned their wooing efforts.

There are two reasons why persistence backed by a thick skin is persuasive even when we have no power over the target. First, the target would like to avoid the embarrassment or nuisance that persistence generates. The unjust judge didn’t care about what happened to the widow or about what the public thought of him, but he didn’t want her to keep coming to him. He wanted to get rid of that nuisance.

Second, a persuader’s persistence is usually a sign of deep conviction and passion. Even if the target is unwilling to invest time and effort to examine whether the request is reasonable, he may readily come to the conclusion that if the persuader is so persistent, so convinced, and so passionate, he must be right and his request must be accepted.

Perhaps a thin skin is hurting many of us. The good news is that with a little bit of determined practice we can make it thicker. 

The Hidden Hand in the Boardroom

This week let me share with you my short article that appeared in last Friday's (August 19) Corporate Dossier (The Economic Times) under the title, 'When the last leaf falls' http://economictimes.indiatimes.com/features/corporate-dossier/when-the-last-leaf-falls/articleshow/9651359.cms

I also copy it here.

“The Last Leaf” is one of the most delightful O Henry stories with a twist in the tail.

Young, struggling artist Johnsy is down with a severe attack of pneumonia one autumn. Her best friend and roommate Sue nurses her with deep love and care. The doctor gives her the best that modern medicine offers. But Johnsy’s condition deteriorates by the hour.

She doesn’t respond to any medicine because she is convinced that she is going to die soon. She knows exactly when she will die: the moment the last yellowing leaf on an ivy falls. Lying in her bed she can see that ivy climbing on the wall across her window. Unfortunately it is shedding its leaves fast because it is lashed by heavy rains and strong winds.

Sue tries to convince her that it is silly to link her life with a few yellowing ivy leaves. She begs her to cheer up. To encourage her, Sue even lies to her that the doctor considers her chances of survival excellent. Nothing works – neither logic nor love. By the time night falls, there are just two or three leaves on the vine.

Sue doesn’t know what to do to save her best friend. She mentions her predicament to Behrman, an old painter who lives on the ground floor beneath them. He pooh-poohs Johnsy’s idiotic belief.

Johnsy expects all the remaining leaves to have fallen off during another night of rains and fierce winds. When day breaks and the curtain is drawn back, however, she is amazed to find one recalcitrant leaf clinging to the vine on the wall. It bravely withstands battering by strong winds the following day and night, too. That does the trick for Johnsy. It convinces her that she is not going to die. She asks Sue for soup and milk and for a hand mirror. Now she wants to live; she wants to paint.

The following day the doctor gives Sue the good news that Johnsy is out of danger. He also gives her the bad news of old Behrman’s death. He caught pneumonia because he was out in the cold, windy, and rainy night standing on a ladder and painting a leaf on the ivy on the wall across Johnsy’s window.

***      ***      ***

The last leaf is not a leaf at all. But it pulls Johnsy out of her deep conviction that she is going to die. We may find her belief silly.  How can there be any link between a yellowing leaf falling off from an ivy vine during autumn and a person breathing her last? We may also wonder why she doesn’t see through the trick of the painted leaf. It doesn’t flutter in the wind; a real leaf should. Why doesn’t she wonder? Why doesn’t she investigate?

But the fact is that we are no different from Johnsy – we all have some such beliefs that we hold tightly and without questioning. Our beliefs are, of course, well-founded while others’ beliefs are laughable superstitions. We can readily punch holes in others’ beliefs but we can’t see anything wrong with ours. However unreasonable it appears to the rest of the world, we cling to our behaviour shaped by such beliefs.

Our politicians are in the forefront of those who organise their public lives around some such beliefs. They may swear in at the unearthly hour of 2.39 am because they believe that that is the most auspicious time to open a new momentous chapter in the history of the world.

The strange behaviour of many famous sportsmen and women is common knowledge. During matches Michael Jordan used to wear his university’s blue shorts under his Bulls uniform. Whenever Goran Ivanisevic won a match, he would repeat everything he did the previous day: eat the same food, talk to the same people, and watch the same shows on television.  During the recent cricket World Cup, Virender Sehwag stopped wearing shirts with numbers at the back while M.S. Dhoni sported 7, the date of his birth, both apparently on sound astrological advice. During each match Zaheer Khan is said to have kept a yellow handkerchief on his body.

The power of such beliefs is so strong that, when a star sportsman is denied his lucky number or underwear, he may lose the game. That is why people who know about such beliefs make sure that there is no disruption so that the players can play their natural game and do well.

When he heard about Johnsy’s strange belief, old Behrman had nothing but contempt for it. But he understood the power of belief. That is why he risked his own health to go up in the cold rain and paint in a leaf. He framed his response in perfect alignment with Johnsy’s fears and expectations. If her belief was that with the fall of the last leaf she also would leave this world, a leaf clinging to the vine tenaciously and fighting the storm should persuade her to give up the thought of death and start thinking about the business of life.

Behrman could save Johnsy’s life because she had made her belief known. The problem with the corporate world is that everyone pretends it is governed by reason and evidence. Many wonderfully competent and visionary corporate leaders may not reveal to anyone some of the beliefs that drive their actions because they are afraid of being ridiculed. Would a CEO let the world know that after an expensive transcontinental flight he returned home without attending a crucial meeting because he had forgotten to pack his lucky undies?

The next time your boss doesn’t listen to reason and refuses to be persuaded, perhaps you may want to look out of the boardroom window for the last leaf. Or a hidden hand that stops him from doing what you want him to.