Decibels vs Data: A Colony Meeting Story

Some meetings make you tired. Some make you sleepy. And some make you wonder if you accidentally walked into a reality show called “Who Can Shout the Loudest?” Yesterday’s Colony General Body Meeting comfortably qualified for the third category.

It was an extraordinary meeting to replace two retiring Executive Committee members, present accounts, and take up a few other matters. As always, nearly half the residents were “extraordinarily absent.” I was presiding over the meeting.

Ever since my days with Cost Accounting Chapter meetings—some 30 years ago—and later with corporate training programs, I always enjoyed addressing large audiences. There is a certain order, flow, and rhythm when a hall is full. You speak, people listen, questions follow, answers follow, and everyone feels reasonably intelligent by the end of it. Smaller meetings, on the other hand, have never been my cup of tea—neither then nor later. So yesterday, with fewer than 20 people and chairs placed in directions that encourage multiple speakers to go in one go, I already knew what I was in for. 

I was prepared for arguments in the group. And I was not disappointed.

To be fair, I truly believe everyone has the right to voice their opinion. That part does not disturb me at all. What does disturb me is when opinions mutate into accusations, discussions become duels, and volume replaces logic. Somewhere in between, a few arrows were also generously directed at me as the President—for not handling things “properly” on some occasions when members had taken things into their hands at an indivual level. Ironically, this feedback arrived in the form of… an interruption.

Being a rather soft person by temperament (at least behaviorally, even if not necessarily in action), I find this style of engagement mildly overwhelming. I do not wish to shout to make a point. So instead, I follow a simple strategy: I let people talk until they either make their point—or run out of breath. Yesterday, in a three-hour meeting that should ideally have lasted one, several people achieved both.

What truly fascinates me is this universal belief that the louder you speak, the more correct you become. Shouldn’t data and rational thinking do at least some of the heavy lifting? In meetings, we should ideally be discussing, not auditioning for voice-over work in action movies. Yet, every time I attempt to present actual data or facts, I rarely get past half a sentence when I had a paragraph to respond to the queries, before someone jumps in. Knowing my own style, I would patiently wait for others to talk before responding. But in such environments, completing even half a sentence feels like qualifying for the finals of a debate championship.

I started analyzing philosophically why this happens. What is that happens in the mind that makes us raise our voice when we want to make a point?

Slowly, I am beginning to suspect that ego is the real culprit. All human beings have it inherently. And men, have it more than women. Alpha men have it even more. Ego wants recognition. Ego wants attention. Ego wants applause. And when applause is not guaranteed, it settles for noise. The trouble is, noise invites more noise. One raised voice demands another, and soon the meeting turns into a surround-sound experience. The original agenda, meanwhile, quietly slips out for tea.

The real purpose of a meeting is to achieve the goals set in the agenda. But ego has its own unofficial agenda—to be seen, to be heard, and preferably, to be remembered. Under this cloud, even genuinely clever ideas often never surface. Verbal dominance is mistaken for achievement, and frequently, the voice of the average ends up deciding the fate of the extraordinary.

What amused me most was one particular allegation—that I “don’t let people talk.” Yesterday, by my rough calculation, I spoke for less than 1% of the three-hour meeting. That's like under 20 minutes or so. Of course, I did make my points. I wonder how this impression came into existence.  

All said and done, such meetings drain an incredible amount of energy—even if one is only listening. Especially if one is 'only' listening. 🤔