The Only Thing Wrong Syndrome

My parents took parenting very seriously and provided a lot of guidance. It wasn't an unloving household, but it was a place where there was a lot of course correction and very little praise. So I grew up believing that the best way to show someone that you care is to tell them how they can improve their work.

As a young adult, starting a career in a very competitive business, I practically begged my supervisors and co-workers to tell me everything that was wrong with my work. Praise made me feel a little uncomfortable. I felt as if the person giving the compliment didn't respect me enough to properly critique my work.

That pattern of thinking served me pretty well until I became a boss. I remember a day at the public television in Dallas, Texas, when a producer brought me the rough cut of a documentary she'd been sweating over for months. A couple of scenes needed some work, but it really was a damned good piece of work, so I gave it what I thought was high praise. I started out saying: “The only thing wrong with this doc is . . .”

That's about as far as I got before I saw the producer's face fall and her eyes tear up. This had been her life for months, she was sleep-deprived and she'd risked a lot physically and emotionally to get this story on video; so I was surprised that she wasn't in a mood to accept my compliment.

Later, I told the story to a friend and kindred spirit who published a local political tabloid. As I recall, my friend gave me a serious look and said, “You know, most people aren't like you and me. Most people really like getting compliments, and even little paper certificates they can hang on the wall and brag about. That's important to a lot of people.”

Honestly, that had never occurred to me. (Most of the awards I'd received ended up in a box in the garage.)

Over the years I've learned to give compliments more freely – though perhaps not as freely as I should. I've learned to open every critique session with a compliment, then give a straightforward criticism, followed by more positive words. It works most of the time. Sometimes people even thank me for my critique, rather than just eyeing me sullenly as they did when I was a less experienced boss.

There is no saint like a reformed sinner. Now I am easily outraged when I hear insensitive criticism. And I really do believe there is a lot more insensitive and mean-spirited criticism than there used to be.

I blame that on a couple of things: The anonymity offered to trolls by the Internet, and the relentless reduction of political discourse to sound bites and bumper stickers - a thin, sharply-defined line between friends and foes. (Others might chalk it up to the lack of forced prayer in the schools, the use of science texts that conflict with the King James Bible, and the increasing acceptance of same-sex marriage.)

But for whatever reason, it's not just Internet yahoos; it's highly visible people in powerful positions who are acting as if they grew up in households that never grasped the concept of constructive criticism. Their criticism is both intentionally hurtful to the target and insulting to our intelligence. It is not meant as guidance, but wielded like a chain saw in an attempt to reduce others to the critic's self-loathing level.

There is a surprisingly large, apparently approving and horribly obnoxious audience for today's verbal bullies. Rush Limbaugh, the cadre of talk radio provocateurs, Fox News's shills and others who wield sharp, poisonous tongues are making an indecent living by dissembling, bullying and – in general – showing off their bad manners.

The thing that is most disturbing to me personally is that I grew up believing criticism was a positive thing. Later, I learned how much more effective it could be when applied judiciously.

Now, it hurts to see criticism so often weaponized; transformed from the finely-honed tool of the wise to the brutish bludgeon of spoiled, boorish hypocrites.

The only thing wrong with that is – everything.