Most Western OD consultants treat planning as gospel. The detailed master plan, the MS Project file, the color-coded spreadsheet — having one isn’t just useful, it’s treated as proof you’re a serious professional. Plans define deliverables, assign roles, lock in timelines. Case closed, right?

Wrong. Planning isn’t the neutral, universally-agreed-upon good we like to pretend it is. It’s a cultural belief system wearing a business suit — and it quietly assumes the future is knowable enough to schedule.

Let’s look at  the closing of Hormuz and its impact on supply-chain planning. The honest truth was that no one could tell you what could happen let alone build a 12-month roadmap around it. Lack of planning  wasn’t wrong because of miscalculation . It was wrong because the premise — that this was a plannable problem — never held.

I’ve seen the same thing lately with AI. Executives ask for a three-year plan for “AI impact on the organization,” and I understand the instinct. But the answer may be  that nobody knows what AI capability looks like in three years, let alone how it reshapes a given business. Building a detailed long-term plan on top of that many unknowns isn’t rigor. It’s theater.

That’s when it hit me: a plan isn’t always a tool. Sometimes it’s a security blanket — a way of pretending the future is more legible than it is.

A client in Egypt later handed me a saying that named exactly what I was seeing:

“Isal el rafik kabl el tariq” — Ask who you’ll travel with, not which road you’ll take.  To a lot of the people I work with, planning isn’t discipline. It’s a fixation — and sometimes it’s a way of avoiding the harder, less comfortable work of building the relationships and reflexes that let you adapt when the map turns out to be wrong.

That was a hard pill for me, a naturally disciplined planner, to swallow. But once I did, the shift was real: instead of asking clients “what’s the plan,” I started asking “who do you trust, and how fast can you move together when things change.” That question mattered more than any timeline.

Once I stopped assuming that Germans, Americans, Brits, and Dutch clients shared the same relationship with planning as everyone else — and started noticing where that assumption quietly broke down — my results got dramatically better across India, Taiwan, Israel, Thailand, and Indonesia.

Here’s the uncomfortable truth: some cultures believe the world is controllable enough to plan their way into the driver’s seat. Others assume the world is too unpredictable for that — Hormuz and AI being two good recent proofs — and put their faith in the people beside them instead of the map in front of them.

Maybe the real question isn’t whether planning works. It’s whether we’ve been honest about which problems are actually plannable at all.

When a manager imposes a single communication style on cultures that value either face-saving or extreme directness, the outcome is often fatal.

The vessel of communication must fit the audience.
This is not a matter of “training people to be open and authentic.”
It’s about cultural intelligence, not good intentions.

Here’s a real illustration.

Harry Foreman, SVP APAC+ & ME+, brought together his two divisions at the Centara Grand at CentralWorld, Bangkok, for a three-day sales conference. The objective was clear:
drive strict adherence to the product roadmap and stop client-driven customization.

Harry — sweating like only a farang can sweat despite air-conditioning set to 75°F — opened with a request:

“Please listen first. Then we will have an open dialogue, not debate.”

He launched into a 33-slide presentation explaining why:

• the roadmap must be respected

• no deviations would be allowed

• customers must wait 17 months for the next major release

• sales must “manage customer expectations” and “dig in our heels”

Then came the invitation:

“OK guys — discussion. Who’s first?”

Takahashi (Japan) spoke first.
She thanked Harry warmly and added:

“And I thank Foreman-san in advance for even more tools and details for M (key customer).”

Message received by Harry: full alignment, missing the “even more” subtle clue.
Message received by everyone else: total evasion.

KT (India) began explaining how the Indian market requires cheap, heavily customized solutions that ultimately pay off through volume.

Harry interrupted:

“Are you debating?”

KT immediately replied:

“We are in full agreement, Sir.”

Dov (“Bear”), Israel, didn’t bother with diplomacy:

“This won’t fly. I don’t care if you call it a debate or a watermelon — with all my love for you, Harry, you’re way off.”

Harry smiled:

“I guess we all know Dov’s style. Please, guys — no debate.”

Som (Thailand) sat quietly, smiling.
As the best-performing country manager in the division, Harry pressed her:

“Khun Som, please — speak up.”

Wearing a bright orange outfit (a linguistic irony in Thai since Som means orange), Som smiled — the smile of embarrassment:

“I am tsua that market forces cannot be changed. And we also know Khun Harry is very senior. I am tsua we all know what to do. Thank you, Harry.”

Her thick accent ensured that no one really understood her — but Harry thanked her for the “positive input.”

At lunch, bets were already being placed on how long Harry would last.

Som was the most adamant:

“Why corporate always send their shit managers here to talk bla bla?”

The Lesson

What failed here was not strategy.
What failed was cross-cultural leadership. It is absurd to expect everyone to understand the same thing about “dialogue” especially after a senior manager has given his marching orders, except for cultures where management direction is merely a suggestion. “Dialogue” means radically different things across cultures:

• In Japan and Thailand, it protects hierarchy and harmony via subtleness

• In Israel, it is debate

• In India, agreement may mean temporary compliance

Treating communication style as universal is a management illusion — and a costly one.

Why I Share This

I’ve spent years working across Asia, the Middle East, Europe, and the U.S., helping leaders and organizations avoid exactly this kind of failure.

Strategy doesn’t fail in PowerPoint.
It fails in the room, when culture is ignored.

If you manage global teams and still believe that “open dialogue” means the same thing everywhere — this story should make you uncomfortable.

And it should.

After nearly 1,500 hours working across Asia, I learned a counterintuitive truth: communication is not about clarity alone—it’s about context, restraint, and cultural intelligence. These were not easy lessons. In fact, they were among the hardest I’ve ever learned.

Some of my most influential teachers were not in classrooms:

• Khun Som in Bangkok taught me how much can be communicated through evasion—and how silence can speak volumes.

• Miyazaki in Osaka showed me that in certain cultures, giving the right answer takes years, and until then, silence is wisdom, not avoidance.

• Emma in Malaysia and Felipe in the Philippines taught me that some topics are best left untouched—so that communication itself can continue.

• Ji in Shanghai helped me understand how what we label as “lying” can, in context, be a deeper form of truth-telling.

• Igor in Moscow made it clear that when the arguing stops, the relationship—not the debate—has ended.

Across Asia, something remarkable happened: people understood how different I was—and never tried to change me. We didn’t communicate despite our differences; we thrived because of them.

My frustration begins elsewhere.

When communicating with some Americans (not all), I often sense an expectation to conform: to speak the same way, think the same way, value the same forms of directness. At times it feels as though the message is: be like us, and then we can communicate. I am acutely aware of this, perhaps because although I was born in North America, and have lived in the Middle East for 56 years. I sound like a North American, but when you scratch a bit, accent aside,  my roots are not that evident.

Perhaps that’s just my perception in talking with Americans—but it often feels as if true dialogue is postponed until one has “outgrown” their cultural instincts.

Organizational development consultants must practice humility. The world is not populated by one communication style. It is full of Soms, Miyazakis, Allons, Pierres, and Hans—many of whom find the efficiency, sterility, hyper-directness, and occasional face-losing tendencies of U.S. communication deeply uncomfortable.

Alignment comes from learning to sit down with a certain amount of discomfort—and listen anyway.

No one wakes up intending to build an apathetic organization.
Yet many leaders do exactly that — methodically, predictably, and at scale.

Here’s the playbook.

Tell people they can work from home as much as they want, as long as the job gets done.
Then act surprised when work becomes a contract, not a commitment.

Eliminate wasteful  meetings — especially those unstructured conversations where people talk, wander, and connect.
Call it efficiency. What you’re actually cutting is trust.

Replace real conversations with WhatsApp, Slack, and chat threads.
Now everything is urgent, nothing is important, and no one feels heard.

Normalize checking phones while talking to one another.
You’ve just taught people that attention is optional and respect is negotiable.

Set aggressively unrealistic goals “to bring out the best.”
Add wellness programs to manage the damage.
This isn’t balance — it’s gaslighting.

Give the same task to multiple people and see who performs best.
You won’t get excellence. You’ll get internal competition and silent resentment.

Automate HR, travel, and logistics through global shared services.
Congratulations — support is now efficient, anonymous, and emotionally vacant.

Promote work–life balance — except for clients, boards, executives, and financial crises.
In other words: balance applies until power speaks.

Hire in kitchens and parking lots to prove your DEI credentials.
When symbolism replaces content, cynicism follows.

Never bend on compensation because “the system must be protected.”
The system survives. Loyalty does not.

Run difficult messages through PR until they’re smooth, safe, and empty.
People stop listening when they stop believing.

Acquire innovative companies and put them under middle management supervision.
That’s not integration. That’s suffocation.

None of these decisions are accidents.
They are choices.

And the message they send is crystal clear:

“Deliver results. Don’t expect meaning. Don’t expect fairness. And above all — don’t care too much.”

People hear that message.
They adjust.
And then leaders ask the most dangerous question of all:

“Why is everyone disengaged?”