But first, a little linguistic wildlife identification.

Collegial describes a relationship characterised by cooperation, mutual respect and shared responsibility among colleagues.

A fine word. A civilised word. A word that looks splendid in company mission statements, HR presentations and glossy recruitment brochures.

Colleague-ary, on the other hand, is my newly invented term for the curious behaviours that emerge when people share a workplace but occasionally forget the principles of collegiality.

You see, being colleagues is an organisational arrangement.
Being collegial is a behavioural choice.

And there’s a rather important difference.

Let’s wander a little further into the undergrowth, shall we?

The inhabitants of the office jungle

Every workplace has its own fascinating collection of creatures.

The Peacock

Magnificent plumage. Impressive presentations. An extraordinary ability to turn someone else’s good idea into a personal achievement.

Its mating call is usually something along the lines of:

“As I was saying in MY presentation…”

The Parrot

Repeats everything it hears, occasionally without understanding it.

Particularly fond of corporate buzzwords, strategic alignment, synergy and sentences beginning with:

“Management has made it very clear that…”

The Hyena

Travels in packs. Finds considerable amusement in the misfortunes of others.

Its distinctive call can often be heard shortly after a colleague makes an unfortunate mistake.

Usually followed by:

“I shouldn’t laugh, but…”

The Ostrich

An expert in avoiding uncomfortable conversations.

When trouble appears, its preferred strategy is to pretend nothing is happening.

“I wasn’t aware there was a problem.”

Remarkable, considering the problem has been sitting in the weekly team meeting for the past six months.

The Elephant

Never forgets.

Particularly not the unfortunate comment you made during a meeting in March 2019.

Possesses an impressive memory for historical grievances, but occasionally struggles to remember the actual agenda.

And then there’s my personal favourite …

Enter the Rhinoceros.

Now, anyone who knows me knows I have a particular affection for rhinos.

Magnificent creatures.

Thick-skinned. Grounded. Powerful.

Equipped with an impressive horn and a backside substantial enough to send a wheelbarrow of nonsense straight back into the bushes.

The rhino doesn’t need to be the prettiest animal at the watering hole.

It doesn’t need universal approval.

It doesn’t spend its mornings wondering whether the zebras like its personality.

And it certainly doesn’t arrange an emergency meeting because the giraffe looked at it funny.

It simply gets on with being a rhino.

Of course, real rhinos can be rather formidable when threatened. But for the purposes of our office safari, I’m borrowing their thick skin, solid footing and unmistakable presence.

Not their occasional inclination to charge first and ask questions later.

Because thick skin doesn’t mean a hard heart.

A strong backbone doesn’t require a sharp tongue.

And having a horn doesn’t mean you need to stick it into everybody else’s business.

There is, after all, a considerable difference between standing your ground and flattening the entire department.

The language of the jungle

Ah, communication!

That wonderful human ability to say one thing, mean another and leave everyone else wondering what on earth just happened.

Let’s examine a few familiar office calls.

In the collegial workplace	Somewhere deep in colleague-ary territory
“I’d appreciate your input.”	“As I have already explained…”
“Let’s find a solution.”	“That’s not my department.”
“I see your point.”	“Interesting.” (It wasn’t.)
“Thanks for the feedback.”	“I’ll bear that in mind.” (Absolutely not.)
“Let’s discuss this openly.”	“I’ve copied everyone into this email.”
“We’re all on the same team.”	“Who moved my bloody stapler?”

Naturally, none of these expressions is automatically hostile.

Sometimes interesting really does mean interesting.

Sometimes something genuinely isn’t your department.

And occasionally somebody really has stolen your stapler.

It’s not always the words themselves that cause trouble.

It’s the tone, the timing, the body language, the intention and the history accompanying them.

Funny thing, communication.

You can deliver an impeccably polite sentence with a facial expression that makes it sound like a declaration of war.

And you can disagree quite firmly while leaving the other person’s dignity perfectly intact.

Which brings us to the next important survival skill.

You don’t have to like the other animals.

This is where things get interesting.

Somewhere along the way, we’ve developed the rather peculiar idea that a good working atmosphere requires everyone to like one another.

It doesn’t.

You don’t have to invite your colleague to Sunday lunch.

You don’t have to admire their taste in music, holiday destinations or office footwear.

You don’t even have to agree with their opinion on how the department should be run.

You simply have to behave in a way that allows both of you to do your jobs without making each other’s working lives unnecessarily miserable.

Professional respect isn’t a reward for liking someone.

It’s the minimum admission fee for sharing the same workplace.

And here’s something worth remembering:

Collegiality doesn’t require friendship.

It requires fairness.

It requires boundaries.

It requires the ability to disagree without humiliating, excluding or undermining another person.

In other words, it requires a certain amount of adult behaviour.

A rare and endangered species in some organisational ecosystems.

So, how does one survive the office jungle?

My advice?

Borrow a little from the rhino.

Grow a thicker skin, but don’t lose your sensitivity.

Stand your ground, but don’t trample someone else’s.

Recognise the difference between a genuine threat and a bruised ego.

Don’t mistake every raised eyebrow for an act of aggression.

And, for heaven’s sake, stop collecting other people’s mistakes like souvenirs from a particularly unpleasant holiday.

Most importantly, understand that strength doesn’t always announce itself.

Sometimes the strongest person in the room is the one who refuses to participate in the nonsense.

No dramatic confrontation.

No lengthy email copied to seventeen innocent bystanders.

No need to have the last word.

Just a clear boundary, a calm voice and the confidence to get on with the job.

That’s not weakness.

That’s strength with manners.

Or, as we discovered in our previous episode, perhaps that’s the difference between Kraft and Macht.

Funny how those two keep popping up, isn’t it?

One last thought from the watering hole.

Organisations spend considerable time and money talking about teamwork, cooperation, communication and corporate culture.

They create values statements, codes of conduct, team-building activities and wonderfully optimistic PowerPoint presentations.

And yet, the quality of a working environment is often determined by something far less complicated.

How people behave towards one another when nobody important is watching.

Whether they take responsibility for their mistakes.

Whether they give credit where it’s due.

Whether they address disagreements directly rather than inviting the entire watering hole to participate.

And whether they understand that being professional doesn’t mean being perfect.

It means being accountable for your behaviour.

Because at the end of the working day, the jungle doesn’t need everyone to become the same animal.

It simply needs its inhabitants to stop behaving as though everyone else is the enemy.

Collegiality costs nothing. Colleague-ary can cost an organisation a fortune.

And if all else fails?

Find your inner rhino.

Plant your feet.

Keep your dignity.

And remember:

Just because you have a horn doesn’t mean you have to use it.

Unless, of course, someone is coming for your stapler.

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Hester Street Newsstand — observing human behaviour, playing with language and occasionally poking the wildlife with a very long stick.

No actual colleagues, peacocks, parrots, hyenas, ostriches, elephants or rhinoceroses were harmed in the writing of this article. A few egos may experience mild discomfort.