lessons contained in The Power of Nice, whether big or small, are invaluable. Take, for example, one of Ron's tactical tips on the pitfalls of restating your position. One of my earliest negotiations with the Japanese concerned telecommunications infrastructure. I explained the U.S. position, my Japanese counterparts listened intently, and were…silent. Thinking that they did not fully understand our concerns, I slowly repeated what I had said. They listened carefully, more time went by…and again, silence. I was just about to give it a third try, when a young staffer passed me a note of four words: “Ambassador Barshefsky – Stop talking.” Why? Because Ron is right. Almost nothing is ever said precisely the same way twice, let alone three times. In fact, as The Power of Nice predicted, I had unintentionally altered my pitch, and telegraphed to the Japanese negotiators valuable clues as to my real position. The upshot? I never gave the third iteration, and waited, silently. After about 15 minutes of uncharacteristic American quiet, they began to talk – a lot. We got back on track, and I never made the same mistake again.
Or take Ron's points about forming relationships and not letting emotion overwhelm the talks. I was negotiating an intellectual property agreement with the Chinese, which went on for months on end, but during which my counterparts and I developed a very good relationship. The talks were sometimes tense or acrimonious, but never personal.
Late one night, the Chinese negotiator became highly agitated. I knew that he was under considerable pressure to conclude the talks without further movement on the Chinese side. In an uncharacteristic display, he lunged across the table (fortunately, it was a wide table and he was not particularly tall), and said, “That's it. No more. We are done.” I could have yelled, “No we aren't,” but I didn't. I knew that if I took the bait, we would be done, and I still had one final bit of ground to cover. So I weighed how best to defuse the situation, continue the negotiation for that last little bit, and not do anything that would result in the loss of face for my counterpart. I replied, calmly, “Mr. Minister. I am so sorry, but apparently, there has been a miscommunication. We are both tired. Let me suggest that we adjourn for the evening and resume early in the morning.” With that, I stood, left the room, and returned the next day with essentially the same proposal. After a brief discussion, the deal was done.
Then there is the situation where your counterpart agrees to something that is too good to be true, and where Ron rightly counsels, no deal may be the best option. This almost happened in the case of a large trade agreement with Vietnam – principally because we did not fully appreciate their priorities (another Ron “must do”).
By the early 2000s, the United States and Vietnam had yet to fully normalize relations, despite the decades earlier end to the Vietnam War. Our proposed trade agreement had a twofold purpose: to slowly reform and open the Vietnamese market, and to serve as the last step in the normalization process – something both sides sought.
One day, after months of negotiation, my lead staffer called me from Hanoi so excited he could barely speak. “Today…well…it's incredible. We are nearly done. What should I do?” This astonished me, because there is no way on earth the negotiation was nearly done. As we talked further, it became clear that the other side had simply decided to accept whatever we put forward. That would lead to an agreement that was never going to be fully implemented. I stopped the negotiation, called our team back, and invited the Minister from Vietnam to Washington. It was better to have no deal than to make a deal that wasn't good or wouldn't work.
Then I employed another Ron-ism: Preparation. Or, in this case, further preparation. We had prepared thoroughly for our negotiations in Vietnam. But as Ron teaches, preparation is not an end; it is an ongoing process, changing as the deal, the players, or the circumstances change. So we prepped again for the Minister's visit, analyzing his likely position, his needs and wants – empathizing, and determining our own true priorities, where we could give and where we could not.
When he arrived, we were ready for a heart-to-heart. As our preparation had indicated, for Vietnam, normalization was the overarching goal. For the United States, normalization was important, but so, too, was a strong, realistic agreement that could and would be implemented. So we simplified a number of our proposals, and revamped the agreement by phasing in various reforms over time. The United States and Vietnam normalized relations, and the agreement was fully implemented. No deal led to a better deal.
I could give countless additional examples of putting The Power of Nice to work – both as a systematic approach and an ethos. I was once told that as a negotiator I am tough, but reasonable, and funny – “purposeful” and “nice.” This is, I am convinced, the best and most effective combination of winning, both in the short term and long. The proof is in The Power of Nice.
Foreword to the First Edition:
Can You Say “Agent” and “Nice” in the Same Sentence?
Some people believe that successful professional athletes are prima donnas, and are only interested in how much money they can make. People may also think agents are aggressive, bloodthirsty sharks, who will promise anything to cut a deal. These stereotypes may be true in some cases but I hope my career proves there are exceptions. I know Ron Shapiro disproves this theory in his profession.
Just because you practice The Power of Nice, you listen to the other side, and everybody comes out a winner doesn't mean you're not a good negotiator. In fact, it shows that it is a more involved negotiation, and both sides end up getting what they want – a whole lot more. Ron Shapiro finds out how both parties can come out with a win. He is a real life example of a successful win–win negotiator.
When I first met Ron, I was about 18 or 19 years old. I was an up-and-coming baseball player and a lot of agents were interested in representing me. They wooed me pretty hard, trying to persuade me that they or their agency would represent me the best and the most aggressively, get me to the big leagues faster, get me a more lucrative contract, handle my money better, and get me more endorsements.
These agents had all kinds of not-too-subtle ways of convincing a player they were the best. Some of them would arrive in stretch limousines to take you out to dinner at the finest, fanciest restaurants: great big lobsters and New York strip steaks. They put the emphasis on glitz and glamour.
To tell the truth, I enjoyed it. After all, there were a lot of agents out there, there were a lot of good restaurants, and I like lobster and steak. I would graciously accept the agents' invitations, go out, eat dinner, and listen. I referred to it as “the agent game.”
One day, Mr. Shapiro called. Okay, I admit it, I'd heard of him and I called him. But he did call me right back. I now know his name is pronounced “Shap-eye-ro” but I called him Mr. “Shap-ear-o” and he called me “Carl.” My parents and I made an appointment to hear his presentation so I could determine if I wanted him to represent me.
Right away, it was obvious that he was different from all the other agents. He said, “Let's meet at my office.” So I thought, “This is okay. He'll show me his office and it's probably really posh, rich leather sofas, mahogany paneling, marble floors. Then he'll buzz for his driver and we'll go out to the fancy restaurant.”
I arrived at his office and he introduced me to his staff. We talked baseball and what his approach would be for me. In some ways, it was similar to what others had said, but in a different atmosphere. The office wasn't posh. It was, what's the word – plain; no leather, no paneling, no marble. Eventually, it was lunchtime, and I was getting hungry, and I was anticipating that expensive restaurant. Ron had tuna sandwiches brought in and we ate at the conference table (which was oak, not mahogany).
In the end I chose Ron Shapiro. Why? Maybe it was everything he didn't do that told me how he'd act on my behalf. Maybe it was not living up to the myths of his profession but clearly
