I have spoken with quite a few leaders who knew exactly who they were when they had the job, the title, the compensation. And who lost their sense of identity when one or all of those went away. Sometimes it was a reorganization. Sometimes a reduction in force. What strikes me is not the loss itself. It is what the loss revealed. When the title went, the self-worth went with it, and I have watched capable, caring people wonder whether any of it counted for anything. The years, the commitment, the work they carried home - did any of it exist outside the role?
In reflecting on how many of these leaders were treated at the end, I keep coming back to one thought: a person becomes a poker chip when we stop seeing the whole human being behind a job title and start treating them as a unit to move around. Casino chips make money feel less real. You can push them across a table without feeling the same pause you might feel handing over cash. At work, language can create a similar distance. “Headcount,” “resources,” and “FTEs” may be convenient terms, but they can also make it easier to forget that each number represents a person with a life beyond the workplace. A reduction in force (RIF) sounds simple. It sounds efficient. But for the employee receiving the news, it may mean an immediate change in income, routine, confidence, and family plans. The impact does not stop with the person whose role is eliminated. Coworkers may be left wondering whether they are next, carrying additional work, or trying to make sense of how a workplace that spoke about belonging could make such a consequential choice.
Values and culture statements are great. But when employees are treated like poker chips thrown on the table in times of difficulty - gambling for a return- those values are also called into question. They start to look like words on a wall rather than words to live by. This isn’t to say organizations won’t face challenging or difficult decisions. It’s that employees are often viewed immediately as a chip vs. a person. I listened to a podcast where James Talarico stated that there was a time when companies viewed their employees and their families as shareholders. Today - it’s only investors. Before making a decision, it is worth asking: Have we thought about how the timing will affect the people involved? Will each employee hear the news directly and respectfully? What support will be available afterward, for both the people leaving and those staying? These questions do not guarantee a painless outcome. They help us remember who will live with it.
That is what I mean when I ask for leadership with humanity: not perfect answers, but a willingness to face the human consequences instead of hiding behind familiar business terms. I explore that responsibility in my book, They’re Worth It!, which asks what it truly means to put employees first. To me, it starts with more than a statement of intent. It shows up in the choices we make when doing right by people takes more thought, more honesty, or more effort.
What stays with me most from these conversations is what people say afterward. Not the anger, though there is anger. Not the worry about money, though there is that too. It is the quieter sentence underneath - did all the sacrifice for events, family gatherings, hours at work, etc., truly make a difference? Did it matter? And I notice the same question echoing in the people who remain. They start wondering what their own worth would look like on a spreadsheet someday.
When we see people as chips, it becomes easier to move them without pausing. When we see the human being, we have to consider the life connected to every decision. The choice to treat people with dignity is still ours, even when the decision itself is hard. A person is never a poker chip.
Coach Ha-Keem
