You have been in this meeting before.
The slide deck reaches the final page. The boss looks around: “Any thoughts?”
Silence.
People exchange glances. Someone starts spinning a pen. Someone suddenly discovers a highly urgent message on their phone that demands a reply. Someone clears their throat, ready to speak—but the person next to them chimes in with, “I think it looks good,” and they swallow their words.
The boss nods: “Alright, let’s go with this.”
Meeting adjourned.
Walking out of the conference room, you make eye contact with a colleague. She lowers her voice: “Actually, I think the plan is flawed.” You smile bitterly: “I think so too.” “Then why didn’t you say anything just now?” “Why didn’t you?”
The two of you look at each other in speechless frustration and head back to your desks.
A profound sense of exasperation washes over you.
This is not just your personal failing. It is a collective factory bug of humanity.
Psychologists call it Groupthink. Translated into plain English: A group of smart people, in the interest of maintaining superficial harmony, collectively makes a brain-dead decision that is worse than what any single individual would choose.
Furthermore—everyone internally knows it is wrong, but nobody wants to be the “buzzkill.”
How General Motors Killed Itself
In 1983, General Motors (GM) launched an ambitious project: Saturn.
The objective was clear: create an entirely new car brand to meet the rising dominance of Japanese imports head-on. An independent factory, an independent sales network, and an independent corporate culture. The goal was to build a product that was “as good as a Japanese car, but American to the bone.” This is akin to a legacy automaker today setting up shop in Silicon Valley to incubate a new brand entirely free from the constraints of its old bureaucracy, just to compete with EV startups.
The project was once hailed as “the biggest gamble in the revival of the American auto industry.”
It started well. Very well. The first-generation Saturn SL offered excellent value and exploded in popularity. Consumers even spontaneously organized an owners’ festival called “Saturn Homecoming”—tens of thousands of owners drove from all over the country to the Tennessee factory at their own expense on a pilgrimage.
Think about how crazy that is—people driving eight hours just to thank a car company?
But this was precisely the beginning of Saturn being killed off by its own parent company.
The “Harmonious” Boardroom
The more successful Saturn became, the more uneasy GM headquarters grew.
Because Saturn’s success was a slap in the face to GM itself: Look, without the archaic dealer system and without the bureaucratic management processes, it is actually possible to build cars that consumers love?
GM executives sat in their Detroit boardroom facing a core question:
“Do we let Saturn continue to grow independently? Do we reform GM’s other brands using the Saturn model?”
The correct answer to this question is obvious even to a first-year MBA student: Of course we do.
But guess what happened in the meeting?
Executive A thought: “If I support Saturn’s independent expansion, won’t the budget for the Buick division I manage get slashed?” Executive B thought: “If I support reform, won’t we have to tear down the dealer network we’ve spent 20 years building? My team will hate me.” Executive C thought: “The CEO doesn’t seem to want to change… Better keep my head down.”
And so, a room full of the highest-paid auto executives in America, looking at a brand that was creating a growth miracle for their company—collectively chose silence, evasion, and playing the peacemaker.
No one pounded the table and said, “Saturn represents the right direction.”
Everyone was protecting their own interests. Everyone was reading the room. Everyone was waiting for someone else to speak first so they could echo the consensus.
The result: Saturn was slowly, systematically swallowed back into the GM bureaucracy. The independent sales network? Axed. The independent culture? Assimilated. The unique product positioning? Blurred.
In 2010, the Saturn brand was officially shut down. A brand deeply loved by consumers was not killed by the market; it was suffocated by a quiet boardroom.
Kentai-itchi: The Soul Between Attack and Defense
In Kendo, there is an ironclad rule called Kentai-itchi (懸待一致)—attack and defense must exist simultaneously.
“Ken” (懸) is to attack, to apply pressure, to move forward. “Tai” (待) is to wait, to observe, to defend.
When true masters strike, attack and defense are executed in a single motion. The moment you deliver a downward cut, your body posture already incorporates the trajectory to counter your opponent’s retaliation.
A healthy team should operate the same way—there must always be someone on the “attack” (pushing ideas, initiating action), while simultaneously someone is on the “defense” (questioning assumptions, checking blind spots).
What went wrong with GM’s board? Everyone was playing “defense.” Not a single person was on the “attack.”
Everyone was defending—defending their own interests, defending their egos, defending the safe distance of “not sticking their neck out.” The result was deafening silence. All the “attacks”—all the courageous voices, the correct but grating opinions—were eradicated before they were even spoken.
In a team entirely on “defense,” you might as well have a single person making the decisions.
Your Family Dinners Are Like This Too
Do not think this is solely a big corporate pathology.
Think about your family’s New Year’s Eve dinner.
Your uncle says: “The kid should study finance. It’s stable.” Your aunt chimes in: “Yes, exactly, finance is good.” Your mom looks at your dad; your dad looks at the ceiling. You are thinking to yourself: “He loves painting, why not let him try?” But as you open your mouth, you see everyone nodding—
You stay quiet.
And then the whole family happily makes a “correct decision” for your child—one he doesn’t want at all.
This is Groupthink: Family Edition.
Family meetings, departmental syncs, class reunions deciding where to go—in any “collective decision-making” scenario, Groupthink is waiting to strike.
How do you break it?
Kendo provides a simple answer: You must become the one who attacks.
Not to win an argument. Not to look smart. It is because in a room full of “defenders,” it only takes one person willing to risk being disliked to speak the truth—and the entire board comes alive.
Next time you are in a meeting, if you hold a dissenting opinion—
Before the thought of “never mind, don’t say it” arises. Before you swallow those words.
Speak up.
Even if your voice shakes. Even if you are the most inconspicuous person in the room. One blade willing to be drawn is worth more than a hundred blades idling in their scabbards.
A one-step practice you can do this week: In a low-stakes, routine meeting, if everyone is nodding, try to be the first to propose a “slightly different perspective.” It does not require sharp antagonism; simply offer a “supplementary viewpoint” mildly. Practice breaking the stagnation in the air, and feel the wind created by unsheathing the blade.
