Just Because You Can Doesn’t Mean You Should
February 2022
I learned a new word this week. Thanks to a fortuitous introduction to a retired U.S. Army Major General-turned author, I now know the term LIMINALITY.
Having published the first of my now three books just two years ago, I admit I’m new to the author profession. Yet, having written multitudes of business documents over the years, I consider my command of the English language at least above average. That said, the General’s use of the word LIMINALITY in our conversation threw me for a loop. I had to look it up.
Dictionary.com defines LIMINALITY as “the transitional period or phase of a rite of passage, during which the participant lacks social status or rank, remains anonymous, shows obedience and humility, and follows prescribed forms of conduct, dress, etc.”
With much of my career spent in bureaucratic Fortune 500 firms, I can relate to the phrase “shows obedience and humility, and follows prescribed forms of conduct, dress, etc.” Yep, that was certainly me during my early corporate days. Even now, following prescribed forms of conduct remains important to me. I am committed to serving as a role model of integrity, responsibility, accountability, business ethics, and adherence to the moral compass gifted to me by my parents and grandparents.
I can still hear my very proper British grandmother saying to me, time and again, “Just because you can doesn’t mean you should.” My earliest recollection of her saying this was when I was just three years old—when she saw me jumping on the bed. The last time I remember her saying this, before she passed away, was when I was in high school. At the time, super short skirts and “hot pants” had come into vogue. She admonished me with, “Wearing such attire is not appropriate. Just because all your friends can, doesn’t mean you should.”
Albeit reluctantly—due to my LIMINALITY—I always obeyed my Nana.
My LIMINALITY peaked in my early twenties when I was a fashion designer. The owners of the design firm I worked for rarely agreed on anything. They incessantly yelled at each other and routinely slammed doors. Sometimes they would even throw things at the walls. Many times, I so wanted to say to them, “You know, just because you own the place and you can behave this way without getting fired, doesn’t mean you should.”
But I didn’t believe I had the status or rank to say such a thing to these owners. So instead, I said nothing—until one day, enough was enough and I quit.
At that point I went back to college to get an MBA, intending to one day run my own company—properly. I desperately wanted to learn more about business ethics, but the university offered no such class at the time. I ultimately became an ethical leader through instinct, thanks to the moral compass gifted to me by my grandmother.
Fast forward about 15 years to when I was running an inside sales organization. Nearing the end of the fiscal year, the VP of sales, Mike, slithered quietly into my office one afternoon. Busy working on my yearend sales report, I failed to notice his entry—until I suddenly felt his hands messaging my shoulders. Shocked, I stiffened up as he then whispered in my ear, “I could use your help revising some of those numbers.”
In essence, he wanted me to fabricate a few sales “that certainly would come in early next quarter.” If I complied, Mike and one of the inside reps reporting to me could attain their annual sales quotas, and he would give me a bonus. His unethical proposition so angered me that I instantly stood up, rolled my chair into him, and growled, “Get out of my office and don’t ever touch me again.”
As soon as he departed, I went straight to the VP of HR and outlined why Mike could no longer be trusted, and why I could no longer work with him. Either he or I had to go. I didn’t give any forethought to how my declaration might impact my employment. My only objective was to stay true to my moral compass and to my personal leadership doctrine. Within 30 days, Mike resigned. Shortly thereafter, I was promoted.
These days, I am aghast to observe what some very prominent leaders seem to think they can get away with. Having listened to the 5 ½ hours of testimony of numerous Covid-expert scientists, doctors, and nurses in attendance at the recent Covid-19 Conference hosted by US Senator Ron Johnson in DC, I was stunned to discover how various hospital administrators have hamstrung doctors, nurses, and even patients in terms of Covid-19 treatment options—maximizing profits at the expense of patient lives. (Note: The discussion starts at about the 40-minute mark.)
Since when do hospital administrators, the FDA, the CDC, the NIH, and CMS believe they know best? Since when did it become appropriate for administrators to put strict, one-size-fits-all controls on the kinds of treatments and drugs doctors may use when treating their patients? This is an obscene example of “Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should.” People are dying due to such dictates.
A doctor’s first duty is to honor the Hippocratic Oath—the underlying ethical rule of modern medicine—First Do No Harm. Hats off to the doctors and nurses who are choosing to quit their jobs rather than succumb to their administration’s imposition of LIMINALITY upon them.
Granted, standing up for what you believe in is not always easy to do, especially when your job, your license to practice your profession, and your livelihood are at stake. But at least when you do, you can hold your head high in staying true to your moral compass.
In closing, I’d like to thank Major General Mari K. Eder (U.S. Army, Retired) for this week’s vocabulary lesson. If you’d like to learn more about how to break away from LIMINALITY, I encourage you to read General Eder’s book, The Girls Who Stepped Out of Line: Untold Stories of the Women Who Changed the Course of World War II.
Just because you can, in this case, perhaps you should. It’s a great lesson in history and moral courage.