On the layoffs (and the insatiable appetite for chaos that produced it)
There's a particular kind of chaos that only reveals itself once you've watched an organisation lay off people with a combined few hundred years of institutional knowledge, seemingly to save on their pension contributions. It's rather like watching someone empty the fire extinguishers to make room for more decorative candles — and then congratulating themselves on the redecoration. Takis, SS, great job... clowns.
The official line, such as it is, has been a masterclass in saying nothing at considerable length. No rationale. No roadmap. Just the occasional blank stare from a senior leader whose remit has changed three times this year and whose conviction hasn't changed once. Say what you like about the people shown the door — they at least knew what they were doing. The people who did the showing seem to have skipped that module entirely, and appear to have developed a genuine taste for the chaos that followed. One round evidently wasn't enough.
One does start to wonder whether "strategy" has quietly been redefined by the leadership team as "whatever avoids an uncomfortable conversation this quarter." It's a bold approach to running a scrutinised business — rather like a ship's captain steering by vibes and hoping nobody mentions the iceberg in the town hall, then wondering aloud why morale is "a bit off."
And do stop me if you've heard this one: the same roles being made redundant are, delightfully, still live on LinkedIn. Nothing says "considered restructuring" quite like advertising for the exact job you just eliminated, three floors down, at a more agreeable salary band. It's less a talent strategy and more a magic trick, except everyone can see where the rabbit went — and increasingly, so can regulators.
I have my theories about the why. Leadership with a seemingly insatiable appetite for risk or anything so inconvenient as ethics. A marked allergy to bad news, delivered by people who've made an art form of not wanting to hear it. And, above all, a reluctance to pay for the kind of expertise that quietly prevents disasters — right up until it's gone, at which point everyone's terribly surprised when the disasters arrive precisely on schedule. Funny, that.
I'm not writing this from a place of panic. Professionally I'm in better shape than most and not remotely desperate...yet. But I've been looking for a few months now, and I've no intention of stopping. If all goes to plan, by the time the weather turns, I'll have finally stepped off what has become a very slow, very avoidable train wreck — one that, judging by the appetite upstairs, still has quite a lot of track left to run. I'd recommend the view from outside to anyone still deciding whether to stay aboard.