Leadership Lessons from a Sub-Contractor

My friend, Freddy Kang, sent me this interesting email. I found it quite touching and inspiring and hence I wish to share with my readers. I agree that great leadership is about humility, courage to face up to the truth and consequences, atonement, generosity, fairness and deep sincerity. As my pastor had said, "Everyone wants to be a leader. But remember, to be a great leader, one has to have the heart of a servant."

Leadership lessons from a sub-contractor
16 May 2008


It is not often that one can learn leadership lessons from The New Paper. While our local tabloid is a surprisingly good resource on how to manage one's finances, enjoy fine dining, get the latest gossip, and contains the most comprehensive coverage of football news, it rarely comes up with soul-inspiring stuff.
So it was that I was very touched by this story, 'I give his family $3,000 every Hari Raya', that appeared in its pages on 30 April 2008.

Mr Lam Teck Foo, a sub-contractor, was fined a total of $150,000 for 'failing to take reasonable and adequate fall protection measures, under the Workplace Safety and Health Act'. He was fined as a fatal accident had occurred to one of his workers, who fell to his death while working on the rooftop on September 2006. While his workers had been wearing safety helmets, safety goggles, gloves, safety harnesses and belts, they had no lifelines to secure their harnesses to.
The fine of $150,000 is huge when we look at Lam's income tax return of a little over $43,000. He had not contested the charge and had in fact acknowledged his responsibility for the worker:
…I was not around the work site, but my foreman said that the worker was feeling dizzy. He was walking backwards when he fell off the roof. But, he admitted, that as the boss of the company, he is responsible for the safety of his workers…

The sub-contractor had also promised to give $3000 annually to the family of the deceased every Hari Raya for three years from the accident. On top of the gesture, he had also foot the bill for the burial, funeral and the chartering of his workers to attend the funeral, which worked out to an estimated $15,000. (The funeral took place in the Malaysian state of Terengganu – the hometown of the deceased worker, Mr Zainal Zakaria.)

While we are in no position to gauge Lam's financial means, I am nevertheless touched by his gesture and sincere apology to the family. Feelings aside, though, a few questions are still in my mind. While Lam is the boss, he was not physically present at the worksite to personally supervise the workers, and ensure that his workers had their life-lines secured. So why, then, is he being held responsible for the accident?

Perhaps Lam should have taken a leaf out of our Deputy Prime Minister Wong Kan Seng's example. Here is how the scenario would have played out had Lam been an attentive student in Wong's leadership c lass.

1) Upon knowing that the accident had happened, Lam would have made a gesture of apology by telling the deceased family, 'This should not have happened. I am sorry that it has.'

2) Then, he would have convened a Commission of Inquiry (COI), including one of his own safety officers as part of the committee.

3) Thirdly, he would then have released the COI's findings and absolved himself of all blame, since he is the boss and he is reasonably not expected to be on site to check all lifelines.

4) Fourthly, he would have gotten his colleagues to be both cheerleader and defence attorney, and exhort everyone to 'move on'.

5) Lastly, he would have lain low and waited for it to blow over.

Hey if Lam had learned his lesson, he would have saved his company a whopping $150,000 in fines, plus all the other costs he incurred in compensating the deceased's family.

But no, Lam did not evade responsibility. In fact, he did just the opposite. He stood up, accepted his part of the blame, apologised to the family of the deceased, paid the $150,000 fine, paid for the funeral and even pledged to give the family $3,000 for the next three years at Hari Raya.
Now that, dear readers, is true leadership – f rom a sub-contractor.
Mr Lam has, according to The New Paper report, five children aged 3, 11, 12, 14 and 15. His request to pay the $150,000 fine over ten months was rejected by the authorities.




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About the author:
Chih-Yang is a Financial Advisor. He was previously a Project Manager in the corporate world where he regularly clocks 14-hour-day-work in the office. He is passionate about current affairs, international politics, social concerns and loves to write on issues close to Singaporeans' heart. Chih-Yang is also active in sports and serving in his chu rch. When he is not catching up on the latest news he will be following the fortunes of his beloved Newcastle United Football Club.

Inconsiderate Commuters

 

The sign on the mrt train which also comes in pictures. Some commuters choose to be ignorant!

I wonder if life in Singapore is becoming so stressful that commuters would just choose not to be able to see or to read. Worse, they close their eyes in deep slumber! (Wonder how anyone can really fall into deep sleep with so much movement around him?)

In the past, I had witnessed many times how expectant mothers and very elderly commuters would be left standing to balance themselves and hang on to the railings during their entire journey. I would just glare and fume at the guilty passengers seated comfortably and nonchalantly in their seats. Recently I had been more courageous. I would tap the seated commuters on their shoulders and ask them to vacate their seats. Some quickly got up; while one had glared back angrily at me even as he got up! I was ready with summoning my "qi" should he decide to land a punch on me.! But thank God no punch had landed on me yet. I guess being a lady helps! :-)

I would appeal to all commuters that if you are very tired, try not to occupy these seats because the chances are that you would surely close your eyes and sleep. Try to get a seat in the middle so that you would not be guilty of depriving someone who needs it more than you.

Our mrt trains are getting more and more packed throughout the day. A little consideration from everyone will help to make our journeys more safe and pleasant.

Gan Chau

The Dog and the Angry Man

Frankly, there are two things which I wish I had discovered earlier. Dogs and Toastmasters' activities.! Although we had dogs when we were young, I had not actually appreciated dogs until I had my first pet dog at the age of 35!!! Thanks to my ACS boys who rescued 6 abandoned puppies at a mangrove swamp and brought them back to school. I adopted one puppy and named her "Kamlette".

In concrete Singapore, many people are afraid of dogs!! I hope it is not too late for people to realise that a dog is often considered as man's best friend. Animal therapy has been proven to expedite healing for many an aged patient. The touching story below examplifies the strong bond that can be created between people and dogs.


THE DOG & THE ANGRY MAN

"Watch out! You nearly broad-sided that car!" My father yelled at me.

"Can't you do anything right?" Those words hurt worse than blows. I turned my head toward the elderly man in the seat beside me, daring me to challenge him. A lump rose in my throat as I averted my eyes. I wasn't prepared for another battle.

"I saw the car, Dad. Please don't yell at me when I'm driving." My voice was measured and steady, sounding far calmer than I really felt. Dad glared at me, then turned away and settled back.

At home I left Dad in front of the television and went outside to collect my thoughts. Dark, heavy clouds hung in the air with a promise of rain. The rumble of distant thunder seemed to echo my inner turmoil. What could I do about him?

Dad had been a lumberjack in Washington and Oregon. He had enjoyed being outdoors and had reveled in pitting his strength against the forces of nature. He had entered grueling lumberjack competitions, and had placed often. The shelves in his house were filled with trophies that attested to his prowess.

The years marched on relentlessly. The first time he couldn't lift a heavy log, he joked about it; but later that same day I saw him outside alone, straining to lift it. He became irritable whenever anyone teased him about his advancing age, or when he couldn't do something he had done as a younger man.

Four days after his sixty-seventh birthday, he had a heart attack. An ambulance sped him to the hospital while a paramedic administered CPR to keep blood and oxygen flowing.

At the hospital, Dad was rushed into an operating room. He was lucky; he survived.

But something inside Dad died. His zest for life was gone. He obstinately refused to follow doctors’ orders. Suggestions and offers of help were turned aside with sarcasm and insults. The number of visitors thinned, then finally stopped altogether. Dad was left alone.

My husband, Rick, and I asked Dad to come live with us on our small farm. We hoped the fresh air and rustic atmosphere would help him adjust.

Within a week after he moved in, I regretted the invitation. It seemed nothing was satisfactory. He criticized everything I did. I became frustrated and moody. Soon I was taking my pent-up anger out on Rick. We began to bicker and argue.

Alarmed, Rick sought out our pastor and explained the situation. The clergyman set up weekly counseling appointments for us. At the close of each session he prayed, asking God to soothe Dad's troubled mind. But the months wore on and God was silent.

A raindrop struck my cheek. I looked up into the gray sky. Somewhere up there was "God." Although I believe a Supreme Being had created the universe, I had difficulty believing that God cared about the tiny human beings on this earth.

I was tired of waiting for a God who did not answer.

Something had to be done and it was up to me to do it. The next day I sat down with the phone book and methodically called each of the mental health clinics listed in the Yellow Pages. I explained my problem in vain to each of the sympathetic voices that answered.

Just when I was giving up hope, one of the voices suddenly exclaimed, "I just read something that might help you! Let me go get the article."

I listened as she read. The article described a remarkable study done at a nursing home. All of the patients were under treatment for chronic depression. Yet their attitudes had improved dramatically when they were given responsibility for a dog.

I drove to the animal shelter that afternoon. After I filled out a questionnaire, a uniformed officer led me to the kennels. The odor of disinfectant stung my nostrils as I moved down the row of pens. Each contained five to seven dogs. Long-haired dogs, curly-haired dogs, black dogs, spotted dogs - all jumped up, trying to reach me. I studied each one but rejected one after the other for various reasons, too big, too small, too much hair.

As I neared the last pen a dog in the shadows of the far corner struggled to his feet, walked to the front of the run and sat down.

It was a pointer, one of the dog world's aristocrats. But this was a caricature of the breed. Years had etched his face and muzzle with shades of gray. His hipbones jutted out in lopsided triangles. But it was his eyes that caught and held my attention. Calm and clear, they beheld me unwaveringly.

I pointed to the dog. "Can you tell me about him?" The officer looked, and then shook his head in puzzlement.

"He's a funny one ~ Appeared out of nowhere and sat in front of the gate. We brought him in, figuring someone would be right down to claim him. That was two weeks ago and we've heard nothing. His time is up tomorrow." He gestured helplessly.

As the words sank in I turned to the man in horror. "You mean you're going to kill him?"

"Ma'am," he said gently, "that's our policy. We don't have room for every unclaimed dog."

I looked at the pointer again. The calm brown eyes awaited my decision. "I'll take him," I said.

I drove home with the dog on the front seat beside me. When I reached the house I honked the horn twice. I was helping my prize out of the car when Dad shuffled onto the front porch.

"Ta-da! Look what I got for you, Dad!" I said excitedly.

Dad looked, then wrinkled his face in disgust. "If I had wanted a dog I would have gotten one. And I would have picked out a better specimen than that bag of bones. Keep it! I don't want it." Dad waved his arm scornfully and turned back toward the house.

Anger rose inside me. It squeezed together my throat muscles and pounded into my temples. "You'd better get used to him, Dad. He's staying!"

Dad ignored me.

"Did you hear me, Dad?" I screamed.

At those words Dad whirled angrily, his hands clenched at his sides, his eyes narrowed and blazing with hate. We stood glaring at each other like duelists, when suddenly the pointer pulled free from my grasp. He wobbled toward my dad and sat down in front of him. Then slowly, carefully, he raised his paw. Dad's lower jaw trembled as he stared at the uplifted paw. Confusion replaced the anger in his eyes. The pointer waited patiently.
Then Dad was on his knees hugging the animal.

It was the beginning of a warm and intimate friendship.

Dad named the pointer Cheyenne. Together he and Cheyenne explored the community. They spent long hours walking down dusty lanes. They spent reflective moments on the banks of streams, angling for tasty trout. They even started to attend Sunday services together, Dad sitting in a pew and Cheyenne lying quietly at his feet.

Dad and Cheyenne were inseparable throughout the next three years. Dad's bitterness faded, and he and Cheyenne made many friends.

Then late one night I was startled to feel Cheyenne's cold nose burrowing through our bed covers. He had never before come into our bedroom at night.

I woke Rick, put on my robe and ran into my father's room. Dad lay in his bed, his face serene; but his spirit had left quietly sometime during the night.

Two days later my shock and grief deepened when I discovered Cheyenne lying dead beside Dad's bed. I wrapped his still form in the rag rug he had slept on. As Rick and I buried him near a favorite fishing hole, I silently thanked the dog for the help he had given me in restoring Dad's peace of mind.

The morning of Dad's funeral dawned overcast and dreary. This day looks like the way I feel, I thought, as I walked down the aisle to the pews reserved for family. I was surprised to see the many friends Dad and Cheyenne had made filling the church.

The pastor began his eulogy. It was a tribute to both Dad and the dog that had changed his life. And then the pastor turned to Hebrews 13:2. "Be not forgetful to entertain strangers..."

"I've often thanked God for sending that angel," he said.

For me, the past dropped into place, completing a puzzle that I had not seen before: the sympathetic voice that had just read the right article ~ Cheyenne's unexpected appearance at the animal shelter ~ His calm acceptance and complete devotion to my father ~ and the proximity of their deaths. And suddenly I understood. I knew that God had answered my prayers after all.

Life is too short for drama & petty things, laugh insanely, love truly and forgive quickly.


Written by Catherine Moore