Frederic Laloux’s Reinventing Organizations (Nelson Parker, 2014) has the attention-grabbing subtitle, “A guide to creating organizations inspired by the next stage of human consciousness.” Luckily for me, by the time I paid sufficient attention to that, I’d already been hooked by the book’s premise. Otherwise, I’d probably have veered off along the derision path and missed the “exhilarating and deeply hopeful” reaction the book has inspired during its few months of existence.

It really is a guide, and “reinventing” is putting it mildly. A former associate partner with global management consulting firm McKinsey & Co., Laloux has spent the last couple of years researching companies that have dispensed with a top-down management structure and flourished in the process. Purposely, he sought out organizations from different sectors, with disparate functions and goals. This was no mission to fit facts to theory. He’s not selling anything (I downloaded my copy from Amazon, but skeptics can buy the book on Laloux’s website and pay what they think it’s worth).

No, what we have here is the real McCoy: investigation, synthesis, and reporting. As a beautiful bonus, he writes well. This is his first book.

Laloux is good at anticipating readers’ unvoiced questions, and I certainly found myself wondering how the model could work in gritty old reality. While acknowledging that “modern organizations have brought about sensational progress for humanity,” he believes we’ve gotten the most that we can from typical pyramidal models. A big part of workplace angst comes from a restless sense that we could do so much more if we weren’t constrained by corporate structures.

“The hierarchical pyramid feels outdated, but what other structure could replace it?” he asks. “How can we make purpose central to everything we do, and avoid the cynicism that lofty-sounding mission statements often inspire?” Looking for practical answers to those questions is what prompted him to write the book.

During his investigations, Laloux visited a parts factory in France, a healthcare service provider in Germany, a global energy producer based in the United States, and a tomato processor in California, among others. Companies ranged in size from 100 employees to 40,000. All told, he reports on nine for-profit companies and three nonprofits. Each one is a successful operation without a traditional CEO at its helm, and although the solutions they devise to deal with this vary, all share three elements, around which Laloux built the book’s practicalities. These elements are:

• Self-management: No more top-down hierarchy.
• Wholeness: Bring all of yourself to work.
• Evolutionary purpose: Treat the organization as a living entity and learn to “hear” what it wants.

Regarding this third item, Laloux lays out an introductory section explaining the rudiments of developmental psychology. It’s a necessary setup for what follows, though impatient readers might be tempted to flip ahead to the case studies. Basically, he makes the reasonable assertion that organizations evolve in much the same way people do, toward maturity and wisdom through time and experience. He emphasizes that, as with human development, one organizational stage isn’t necessarily better than another. “All have their peak usefulness under certain circumstances,” he says. “All have their dark side.”

Here’s his color-coded summary:

Red organizations. Constant exercise of power by the chief to keep others in line. Fear is the glue of the organization. Highly reactive, short-term focus. Thrives in chaotic environments. Example: a wolf pack.

Amber organizations. Highly formal roles within a hierarchical pyramid. Top-down command and control (what and how). Stability valued above all through rigorous processes. Future is repetition of the past. Example: an army.

Orange organizations. Goal is to beat competition; achieve profit and growth. Innovation is the key to staying ahead. Management by objectives (command and control on what; freedom on how). Example: a multinational company.

Green organizations. Within the classic pyramid structure, focus on culture and empowerment to achieve extraordinary employee motivation. Example: a family.

Many organizations fall into the orange category, although Laloux is quick to note it’s the rare company that operates purely as a single color. Most are mixes.

So-called teal organizations are the new evolutionary breed whose methods are detailed in the book. They tackle self-management through multiple teams of a dozen or so people, a size that experimentation has proven to be the most effective. Most teams in teal organizations are responsible for all aspects of their job; Laloux cites “budgets, workload, safety, schedules, maintenance, hiring and firing, working hours, training, evaluations, compensation, capital expenditures, purchasing, quality control, long-term strategy, charitable giving, and community relations.”

Three practices are essential for companies comprised of self-managed teams. These are described in detail, using examples from teal organizations, but briefly they are:

The advice process. All members of the organization can make any decision, as long as they consult with the people affected and the people who have expertise on the matter. Nobody, not even the founder, “approves” a decision in a self-managing organization.

A conflict-resolution mechanism. Teal organizations strive to solve conflicts within the team, beginning with a one-on-one discussion. If that doesn’t work, mediation by a trusted peer is tried, followed, if necessary, with mediation by a panel.

Peer-based evaluation and salary processes. Laloux spends some time examining these, since they can easily create unwanted hierarchies and divisiveness. On the salary issue, he discovered that teal companies “give the potential hire information about other people’s salaries and let the person peg his own number, to which the group of colleagues can then react with advice to increase or lower the number.” Similar peer-based processes are used for hiring and performance evaluations.

Thought-provoking as the theory might be, it’s the case studies that really pull. Maybe that’s because these teal companies solve the boss-less puzzle in different but successful ways, all of which are fascinating. Maybe it’s because Laloux is a skilled narrator, highlighting approaches without banging on about his own opinions.

Quotes from company members (few of these outfits call them “employees”) and the author’s obvious respect for what they’ve accomplished generate a subtle excitement that keeps you turning pages. You think, “How can this possibly work?” and then read a matter-of-fact explanation from a team leader or seasonal worker. You’re reminded, indirectly, that we humans are a pretty adaptable bunch, and that all things being equal, we like to give our best effort as often as possible. We’d prefer not to have to fight the system to do good work. This applies to everyone, of course. Even people in the C-suites.

So what happens to the bosses? They’re still around in these companies, just no longer at the top of the heap, no longer so isolated or dependent on channeled information. They’re busy helping teams achieve the company’s purpose, whether it’s making something or providing a service.

In fact, the CEO has arguably the most important role of all: championing the new model into existence. Without this person’s active participation, it’s futile to even consider moving the company out of its entrenched SOP, says Laloux. He talks about one company that changed to the self-managed model under one boss, with positive results, but retreated to an older model, and lower profits, when that boss left the company. When the CEO isn’t engaged, it would be better to apply the ideas on a smaller scale, to one department, for instance.

“You might have noticed a major paradox: CEOs are both much less and much more important in self-managing organizations compared to traditional ones,” says Laloux. “They have given up their top-down hierarchical power. The lines of the pyramid no longer converge toward them. They can no longer make or overturn any decision. And yet, in a time when people still think about organizations in Amber, Orange, and Green ways, the CEO has an absolutely critical role in creating and holding a Teal organizational space.”

In his introduction, Laloux talks about Galileo’s difficulty getting people to look through the newfangled telescope to see alternate worlds out in space. Medieval minds balked at the idea of stepping outside accepted geocentric reality. Similarly, looking through this book’s lens and seeing entirely new ways to do business might seem strange and even unnecessary. But I strongly recommend it. Get a copy, read it, then buy the copies you’re going to want to give others, and read it again.

Taran March is a former director of Up the Road. She currently serves as editorial director of Northern California’s own Quality Digest magazine. A 25-year veteran of publishing, March has written and edited for newspapers, magazines, book publishers, and universities. When not plotting the course of Quality Digest Daily with the team, she usually can be found clicking around the Internet in search of news and clues to the human condition.

Ming-Yi Wu’s novel, The Man with the Compound Eyes (translated by Darryl Sterk), changed this perspective for me. Set mainly in Taiwan, Wu’s story features a mix of cultures, including Han Chinese, European, indigenous Taiwanese and Pacific Islander. Ming drew my attention to the continuity of island cultures around the Pacific, and demolished my preconceptions of Taiwan.

Silly idea on my part—Taiwan looks flat on a political map. I hadn’t realized it is mountainous. Taipei is a bustling center of commerce. I hadn’t realized there are people in Taiwan concerned about environmental issues. The Republic of China was created to oppose the People’s Republic of China on the Asian mainland. I hadn’t realized there were marginalized indigenous populations on Taiwan who maintain cultural traditions that are distinct from the majority Han society.

Wu’s novel asks questions I hadn’t realized were in play by Asians. For example, is it really good to blast enormous tunnels through the mountains of Taiwan in order to facilitate road travel? Is the dominant capitalistic culture the only way to live on the island? What about the ancient values of reverence for the earth and the plant and animal ecologies of the island?

The questioning of the dominant capitalistic values focuses on a trash vortex which is driven by a typhoon from the outer Pacific to the coast of Taiwan. Wu conceives the vortex as a moving island, which serves to connect Atile’i, a teenage boy from Wu’s mythical Polynesian land of Wayo Wayo, with Alice, a spiritually exhausted Han Chinese woman who is trying to make sense of huge losses in her life.

Atile’i floating over the Pacific on a patch of trash is a perfect image of humanity confronted by the unexpected consequences of its own actions. Atile’s knows nothing of modern society. The objects in the trash vortex confuse and tantalize him. He senses that they represent danger, but he must cling to them and travel with them, because his own boat, made from the natural materials found on Wayo Wayo, has been claimed by the sea.

In real life, the majority of the plastic in the ocean consists of particles less than 5 mm. in diameter. There is no island of trash that can easily be spotted by seafarers or a satellite camera. Instead, the ocean plastic is a trash soup. We can’t say for sure how the ecology of the open ocean is changing as the result of the huge amounts of these particles that float at or near the surface, but chances are we won’t be happy with the long-term changes.

Wu’s creation of Atile’i and the “primitive” culture of Wayo Wayo are, to me, the best parts of his novel, because of their magical charm and their contrast with modern Asian capitalistic society. Wu suggests a web of connections between the ancient ways of the peoples who migrated eastward across the Pacific island chains and the marginalized indigenous peoples of modern Taiwan. He also probes for submerged spiritual experiences in the Han Chinese and European characters. Can the modern mind find a link back to prehistoric human relations with nature?

Reading Wu’s novel helped me look west across the Pacific for connections which I, as a European American, am not used to making. Today’s reality is that North and South America, the Pacific Rim nations in Asia, and the Pacific Island peoples all share the Pacific Ocean’s natural resources and can learn from the cultural heritage of the prehistoric seafaring peoples who settled the archipelagos dotted over this ocean. We ignore our connections at our peril.

Photo by Scott O’ Donnell/ CC BY-NC-ND 2.0.

During the Depression, when casinos were legal in Mexico, my grandfather worked as a bookkeeper and cashier at a club in Mexicali. My grandparents lived across the border in Calexico. They were embarrassed that Grandpa was working at a casino, but it was a job. Although recreation was limited in Calexico, they found a surprising amount of entertainment in wandering the desert and examining mineral specimens. It was a hobby that required nothing more than a guidebook.

My grandparents never lost their interest in rocks and minerals. When they were prosperous, they invested in rock-cutting equipment and slabs of mineral specimens.  They learned how to cut stones and make simple jewelry. They visited mineral shows and bought more specimens. They kept picking up rocks as they walked. On beach walks, they showed me how to identify feldspar by washing a rock in the surf, and then tilting it to look for a shiny glint. Beach rocks accumulated in a pile next to their patio.

Eventually, they weren’t able to walk on the beach or work with their rock-cutting equipment. They couldn’t bear disposing of the equipment and the mineral specimens that had cost them something in both money and thought. Their garage was full of rocks and their last car sat outside on the driveway. Grandma went first, and a few years later, Grandpa died in the armchair next to his view window.

“Many possessions hold an emotional charge.” Photo by Scott O’Donnell/ CC BY-NC-ND 2.0.

My parents spent a month clearing out their home. They diligently found recipients for clothes, house wares, Grandpa’s record collection, the last car, and the organ wedged into the living room along with the grand piano. I can’t remember what my parents did with the minerals. They sold the house to a professor at San Diego State who completely redesigned it, taking advantage of the multi-level site to create a uniquely beautiful home.

Once they got over the shock, my grandparents would have liked this. They would have regarded the new owner as a kindred spirit, dedicated to making his home a place with a special feel. In its heyday, their more modest home was artistically arranged, and their home décor had a numinous quality. I have a few of their knick knacks, but the magic is gone from them. They are pretty, but they mean less now.

“The sense of emotional loss when we dispose of possessions isn’t trivial.” Photo by Scott O’Donnell/ CC BY-NC-ND 2.0.

When I stop to examine a rock, I remember the connection to my grandparents, and of course rocks are abundant and free. I don’t collect them, but they give me a particular pleasure.

Like most Americans, I have many possessions that hold an emotional charge. Recently, I hesitated before tossing an old plastic beverage container into the recycling bin. Why? The beverage container was a reminder of the days when my children were small, and we often played and picnicked in parks. I feared I would lose those memories if I no longer owned that container.

“Things may be all we have to remind us of family, where we were raised, what we hold dear, and when we were happiest.” Photo by Scott O’Donnell/ CC BY-NC-ND 2.0.

The sense of emotional loss when we dispose of possessions isn’t trivial. Things may be all we have to remind us of family, where we were raised, what we hold dear, and when we were happiest.

We obtain things almost without thought. Managing the flow in and out of a household takes constant effort, and when emotional logjams are in place, we have overflowing cupboards, bulging garages and self-storage unit bills.

Dave Bruno’s One Hundred Thing Challenge may seem contrived, but I think the book is worthwhile because it’s easy to read and presents Bruno’s internal struggles with his materialism simply and clearly.

Bruno decided he was “stuck in stuff” and challenged himself to limit his personal possessions to 100 items. Perhaps he cheated by counting his sock supply as one item, but I think that is being picky. As he describes letting go of hobby items and sports gear, he gets at the heart of the matter: decoupling the meaning of his life from his things. Once he realizes that his high quality, but rarely-used woodworking tools aren’t bringing him fulfillment, he can let them go.

Bruno lives in San Diego, a setting he labels as “paradise.” A short distance away in Mexico, living standards are lower.  Benjamin Barber addresses this global justice issue in Consumed. According to Barber, the developed world is choking on an excess of consumer products produced by the capitalist economy. Somehow, the system can’t be adjusted so that people in Africa, for example, have jobs and can afford the goods and community services, like clean water, that would life them out of poverty. Ironically, Dave Bruno designs the 100 thing challenge in San Diego while a family in Tijuana can’t afford to send their children to school. Barber’s point is that consumer capitalism infantilizes people as they mindlessly gratify themselves with shopping and lose the perspective necessary to make them responsible citizens, locally and globally.

The exact mechanism of getting people to buy more than they should is examined in Juliet Schor’s The Overspent American. Although this book was published in 1998, Schor’s description of how people aspire to mass media ideals of consumption continues to be relevant. Schor shows how people compare themselves less with their neighbors and more with media images of extreme affluence, propelling them into debt-based living.

The Overspent American and Consumed will be appreciated by sociology majors. Spent, by Avis Cardella, speaks powerfully to anyone who enjoys shopping. It’s easy to stereotype shopping addicts as fashion victims, but Cardella’s intelligent, restrained description of her self-destructive behavior shows how hard it was to resist. Particularly disturbing is her detailed recall of specific purchases, mostly made against her better judgment, over a period of two decades. Cardella’s life was defined by the contents of her closet.

Living Large, by Sarah Wexler, is entertaining journalism about big stuff: McMansions, enormous engagement rings, surgically enhanced breasts, Hummers, and giant landfills. She raises serious questions without scolding Americans for loving bigness. The chapter on landfills made me uncomfortable about being part of the problem. According to Wexler, an island of plastic refuse has gradually accumulated in the Pacific, an ominous monument to consumerism.

Sadly, dumpsters overflow with stuff tossed by “Boomer” children of parents who learned frugality in the Depression. People who kept canning jars and brown paper grocery bags were overwhelmed by the explosion of plastic in the years following World War II. Julie Hall, the “estate lady” says she has thrown out countless Cool Whip containers. Hall, the author of The Boomer Burden and several other books on disposing of a deceased family member’s estate, has practical suggestions on splitting valuables among family members, selling valuable and not-so-valuable heirlooms, and coping with the emotional overload of sorting through a loved one’s home.

After reading The Boomer Burden I managed to discard some things, the low-hanging fruit, so to speak. My home looks as cluttered as ever. I have a long ways to go, but I find I enjoy getting rid of things that were subconsciously worrying me simply by being in the house. Knowing that I have drawers and shelves of inactive stuff, I worry. What is it? What is it for? How will I use it? When it’s gone, I don’t have to think about it anymore, except to regret that some of it may last a thousand years in the local landfill.

Sustainability note:  I obtained all the books referenced above through my local library. Used copies are available through Amazon.

Linda Worden is a Chico native now living with her husband and children in Boise, Idaho. In addition to discarding objects Linda also loves to read. Look for more of her book reviews in coming issues of Up the Road.