We were due our weekend pass, Oudtshoorn 1976 – the old SADF Infantry School. The bosbus rules were simple. The whole platoon of about thirty was dropped off by Bedford truck somewhere near Luiperdskloof after Friday lunch, full kit, water bottles, full magazines, staaldak en geweer. If we were back in formation, showered, all present in step-outs with shiny shoes by five o’clock we could go on weekend pass. If we missed the deadline we would all stay in camp for the weekend, polishing boots, shoes and any other things that one could find to polish.
We got to choose the route home, we got to appoint our leaders and we got to evaluate and monitor each other’s performance. Our methods were somewhat unorthodox, but we weren’t going to miss the weekend pass. We understood clearly who the fittest and fastest were. It didn’t help to complain, or lobby to have the slow ones left behind. On other days we were going to be dependent on our sharp-shooters and on some days when we had hours of pole and buddy PT we needed sheer brawn. But on certain Friday weekend pass days we needed our runners. I was one of these.
It didn’t help to send our best runners out in front, and get them to shout encouragement. We worked out that if we gave the extra water and ammunition to the seven or eight best runners, and lightened the loads of the slowest, we could increase our group’s speed. That however wasn’t enough. We also worked out that if we put the three fastest runners in the 
back row with bayonets fixed, lightly and sharply nudging the three sweating, heaving backs right in front of us, we could raise our game just a notch. We at the back could also shout a slightly different form of helpful encouragement. Our next best runners filled the front rows of three and set the pace. This led to some conflict and even had some risk, but it generally got the job done. The intention was clear – we all wanted to get out for the weekend.
The performance criteria had been set by our supercilious company commander, but the sole judges of our performance were our own platoon leader and platoon sergeant. We all knew that these two semi-gods were capable of running any of us into the ground in spite of their manicured browns and sharply creased berets. They reminded us of this – often. We also knew, very simply, that if anyone else interfered – another platoon commander, or another platoon sergeant, we would be deeply resentful and even rebellious. We took our instructions from our own appointed leaders who in turn looked out for us. They would ensure that there was fair play, that we were not dropped off further away than any other platoon, or that we had any extra kit to carry. They held us to defined standards, and we knew that they took great pride in our performance. They sometimes had strange ways of showing it – this we sort of forgave them.
If any one of us stepped out of line – forgetting to march around the unit in step with our comrades, or walking somewhere while eating, or allowing a rifle butt to touch the ground, or leaving the bungalow inappropriately attired, we knew that we would get caught and punished. If we bumped into anyone of rank, they would apprehend us. We knew that. We also knew that punishment would be meted out – not by any sundry officer, but by our own. The duty officer would simply ask for our names and company and platoon numbers, and report us to our own officers. Punishment would greet us later – sometimes with an element of surprise.
The point was – everyone in the unit was responsible for the standards. No-one turned a blind eye. If that officer apprehended you, and summarily meted out his own punishment, we knew that if our own officers got to hear about it, some form of informal jungle justice would occur. You didn’t touch another man’s troop. Everyone knew that.
The tone came from Colonel Badenhorst – none of us knew him, we had never met him, he didn’t make big motivational speeches at parades – but we simply knew that he called the shots.
One weekend our whole company was punished and held back in camp. I can’t remember the sin. I can remember that there was a general sense that justice was not done and that the punishment was excessive and had been concocted. These punishments were sometimes conjured up in the officers’ mess with a fair dose of alcohol infused bravado amongst the senior officers. Our penalty was the task of moving mounds of earth and filling in behind retaining walls to terrace the grounds. There were tons of the stuff. The junior officers and NCOs were included – we also had our weekend passes cancelled. It was going to take a month.
We were up early on the Saturday morning, grumbling and whining. It was unfair. We started with our wheel-barrows and spades and the morning unfolded slowly and uneventfully. Suddenly we heard the putt-putt of an engine – first one then two. One of the troops had broken into the fenced off enclosure of the Tiffies, and he had jump-started a little dump truck – the one where you sit on a saddle and steer via the rear wheels. Soon we had every dumpster started and roaring around like dodgem cars at the fair. Productivity picked up. We all knew that we were in trouble, but it was worth it. We laughed and forgot our grievances, and we worked like Trojans. The whole task, scheduled for four consecutive weekends was completed by 5pm. Some dumpsters were on their sides – rolled in collisions or purely unable to cope with the speed that a proper Bokkop could coax out of them. They had all run out of diesel. We pushed them back into their enclosure and locked it up as well as we could. We knew that there would be hell to pay.
Major Moolman drew himself up to his full height, and Samajoor Doppies pulled meaningfully on his handlebar moustache. It was Monday morning company parade.
“Manne – we can see that you have worked very hard this past weekend. That is very good. Well done. But we have also heard that something very strange has happened. The Tiffies have reported that someone stole all of their dumpsters, and that there is not one dumpster with any diesel in it. Some of the dumpsters have even been in accidents. This is very serious.”
Silence.
“Who is responsible for this big problem?”
Silence. Troops, corporals and second lieutenants. Silence.
“I’m asking once more – I know it was you – who is responsible?”
Silence.
“No-one? Okay. I will report to the Tiffies and to Colonel Badenhorst that it was the fairies. And the goblins. Dismissed.”
That was the end of the story. The next weekend we all went on pass because the job was done.
Innovation, common sense, fairness and most important, solidarity had won the day. Also high performance.
The army was teaching us plenty of principles – many of which were the product of centuries of wisdom, errors, folly, glory and experience. We were learning about accountability, performance management, bench-marking, delegation, teamwork, innovation even in a very structured environment, and believe it or not – diversity management. We were learning about every single key attribute of a successful team. We had no organisational development experts, we had no training and experience to start with, and we were eighteen year olds. We were in a high compliance, rule bound environment that somehow encouraged innovation. None of these lessons were explicit – they have become clear to me only with the benefit of hindsight – as I have grappled with the challenge of building high performance teams in the business environment.
I have been on leadership development courses, I have been on strategy workshops and strategy and business management training and seminars. I have been on personal and self-development workshops and read dozens of books by the likes of Porter and Senge and Gladwell and Covey and Goleman. I have experienced climate surveys and 360s and performance reviews and KPAs, and set budgets and written business plans. I have sat on boards and Excos. I have been taught to design and implement processes and controls, to assess and mitigate risk. Things have gone right and things have gone wrong.
But I wish that the gurus had captured some of the very simple things that the old SADF somehow knew about and then taught them to me long before I had to work them out for myself. They have somehow made it all so damned complicated. Sigma Six and ISO this and that and Sarbanes Oxley and King and all of the rest.
I think that high performance teams and the way to build them and lead them is actually quite simple – but man – it is sometimes hard. People run interference and put doubts into your head. Egos get in the way and we allow this to happen.
At Schuitema we believe that the variable for the success of any team is the degree to which each member is both committed and able to make a contribution. Teams succeed only when the members of the team collectively give more than what they take out. Schuitema enables client organisations to build contribution-focused, value adding teams through our TEAM EXCELLENCE and LEADERSHIP EXCELLENCE workshops.
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