Treat Everyone Respectfully. Never Look Down on Anybody, Regardless of Socioeconomic Status
I discussed in the previous chapter that you should listen carefully and respectfully to all. Never be dismissive of what others say and always assume they may have something of value to say. Only after careful listening and reflection may you elect to be dismissive of their opinion, should it still not make any sense to you.
This is the very next extension of that advice. Never be disrespectful or dismissive of anybody. Never look down upon anybody. Let me state the corollary, just to emphasize the point: Always treat people with respect and never look down on anybody, regardless of socioeconomic status! This is not meant to be advice just for the business environment. This is meant to be an all-encompassing piece of advice for life in general.
It is proven by scholars such as Malcolm Gladwell that we harbor biases for others if they don’t measure up to some “standards” we have set for interacting in society. Naturally, we may disrespect some, not like some, hate some, don’t want to be associated with some, or whatever. I’m not suggesting that you shouldn’t feel the way you do or should associate with people you might not want to. What I’m advising is different: Never openly insult, be disrespectful to, or be dismissive of anybody, regardless of how you may feel. More importantly: Don’t use socioeconomic or educational background as a basis upon which to have a lower opinion about people. Treat everyone as you would like to be treated.
This is the way I have led my life. I didn’t do it just to be nice, but because I wholeheartedly believe in it. I hope you do, too!
I served three years in the Israeli Army in a time of war. The army teaches you that your life depends on the person next to you and vice versa. You accept that as a given. You know it is true. It is the way it works.
I’ve seen people at their worst and at their best and can tell you unequivocally that socioeconomic and educational backgrounds are not predictive of a person’s capability or character. The person who may come to your aid when you need help; the person who will jump through fire to save you; the person who will share their water with you in the desert; the person who will show you real and true kindness when you need it most; the person who will risk their life to save yours is not driven by any socioeconomic or educational level. I have many friends, and some of my dearest, whom I respect most, are in fact blue-collar, working-class people. And I don’t say this to suggest I am something they are not. I mean that I never looked at them as being anything but equals. Perhaps a personal story about my father, which I heard as a child, will serve as an example.
My father lived in Poland when the Nazis stormed his homeland. He was the only Holocaust survivor from a family of nine. He survived by recognizing early on that the Nazi atrocities would only get worse with time. So he decided to escape into Russia.
The trip to the border would take weeks and was exceptionally hazardous. The Nazis would kill anybody caught outside their hometown. He faced anti-Semitism, harm, and betrayal. It was in the middle of winter, and food, water, and shelter would be a real challenge. The final hurdle was crossing the border itself, which meant crossing a large river. Anyone attempting to cross the river would be shot as a spy by either the Germans or the Russians—only a spy would attempt to make a dangerous crossing of a river and a border in the winter in a time of war.
My father talked to his brothers, but only one, an older brother, decided to join him. They used back roads to avoid military personnel. Every day was a touch-and-go situation for them, but they persevered. They met many kind people on their way, and some who treated them badly. They had some close calls but managed to reach the river. They had to wait until nightfall to try to cross the river. My father attributed their success in reaching the river to the fact that neither he nor his brother looked “Jewish” and that my father spoke Polish like a “real Polack.”
While waiting for nightfall, the older brother got overwhelmed with the risks that they were about to face trying to cross the river. He decided to not go through with their plan, and tried to talk my father out of it as well. My father didn’t yield—he was determined. The older brother wished him good luck and turned to go back home. He never made it.
My father was unable to cross the river for another three days. At a deserted location, he started crossing the river at dusk. It was dark enough to not be easily seen, but there was sufficient light for him to find his way across. He made it and headed downriver on the Russian side of the border. Unfortunately, he ran right into a small outpost of Russian soldiers and was captured.
They were sure he was a German spy and interrogated him for hours on end. It continued the following morning. After about three hours, the Russian soldiers took him outside and undressed him. They told him that if he wouldn’t confess, they’d let him freeze to death. My father denied he was a spy. The soldiers poured cold water on him and told him that he would soon freeze to death. They waited for him to “break.” My father was sure that he was about to die.
Then a jeep containing a driver and officer drove into the outpost. The officer inquired about what was happening and then approached my father and asked him who he was. My father told him that he was a Jew who was trying to escape the Nazis, just as he had told the others. The officer ordered the soldiers to dry my father off and let him in the cabin. Inside, the officer took my father into a corner and quietly said in Yiddish—a unique Jewish language—that he was very lucky and that he, himself, was also Jewish. He told my father that there was little chance he would be able to leave the front and reach a town or village without help. He then sat down and wrote something on a military form, signed it, and told my father that whenever he was stopped or needed anything along the way, he was to show the form.
My father thanked him, and then he was told to leave. My father had no idea how high-ranking the officer was. The only thing he knew was that he was stopped often, and every time he showed the form, he was treated with respect and offered help. My father reached a train station and after displaying the form once again was permitted to travel to the interior of the country. In time he met my mother. They were married in Russia.
Life can be very random and unpredictable. You never know who your savior might be. Never disrespect anybody!