Weapons of mass distraction

One of the most amazing modern conveniences, that technology has contributed to the workplace is the telecon. People might argue that the computer or the email software are even more deserving contenders. But I am referring to tools that have the illusion of productivity and not actually productive themselves i.e. like those quality auditors for a project.  I am not referring to a generic phone conversation but the kind of telecons which show as spikes in your electricity bill. The overcrowded telecon.

There is a special kind of silence that descends at the start of an overcrowded teleconference. It’s not the dignified, contemplative silence of a team ready to collaborate. It’s the awkward, slightly panicked quiet of twenty-three people all wondering the same thing: “Why am I here?” 

Somewhere, someone, usually with good intentions decided the safest thing to do was to invite everyone. The intern, the senior VP, the guy from procurement who last touched the project in 2019 with the same wariness displayed towards a COVID suspect, three people who “might find this useful”, and one person whose name sounded vaguely similar to the intended recipient. After all, more people means more alignment, right? Right?

If only organisational life were that simple.

Let’s be honest. Most of us have, at some point, added a few “just in case” names to a meeting invite. It comes from a place of anxiety.

 “What if someone feels ignored and escalates?”

“What if the Head of Finance asks why we didn’t include him and then stares at us in that disappointed father way?”

What if, you actually win a deal and Venky (every teleconference should have a Venky as per NASSCOM guidelines)  from offshore data stewardship team, whose contribution to winning the deal was the same as what Madonna had in India winning the T20 world cup, cannot send a “Great Job team…this shows the spirit of teamwork…blah blah” email because he was simply not even copied on any of the telecons ?

This instinct is the corporate equivalent of adding every spice in the cupboard to a dish. The fear is that something essential might be missing but what you’re left with is a pot of chaos where no one can taste anything clearly. The irony, of course, is that inviting everyone usually leaves everyone equally uninformed. When a meeting is too big, no one participates meaningfully. It becomes a spectator sport, with a live audience of muted faces who silently question their career choices if they are not laughing at TikTok cat videos on their other devices

There’s an unspoken belief that large meetings signal momentum or even worse importance. If that were so, the declaration of independence by the American founding fathers would have had a far more momentous telecon

Washington: Well Ben Franklin will take us through now the complaints against the British monarch…Ben are you there …? Ben?

Ben Franklin: Sorry George I was on mute…can you repeat that?

George Washington: I said, can you take us through our complaints against the King of Great Britain?

Ben Franklin:  My team does only the proof-reading George … I think Sam Adams does the drafting…Sam, are you there?

Sam Adams: I have a bad connecti… …and silence

They would have not announced independence till December. 

Lots of names in the calendar invite = important work happening. But more people does not equal more progress; it equals more politics, more confusion, and more time wasted trying to find a time slot where calendars need to align like planetary orbits. 

Let’s talk economics. A one-hour meeting with 27 mid-level employees costs the company far more than we admit. Multiply hourly salaries, opportunity costs, delayed decisions, and the psychological toll of listening to three parallel monologues talking over each other. Suddenly this innocent calendar invite becomes a budget line. It’s not just that 27 people were invited, they are all actually expected to contribute to the 60 minutes. They would have to talk their contributions in rap to keep time.

But the real cost is cognitive. Big meetings dilute responsibility. When everyone is invited, no one feels accountable. It’s no different than attending a wedding. Your primary responsibility is just showing up. It’s the tragedy of the commons where every participant looks to someone else. The question “Who’s taking this forward?” is usually followed by a silence so long and so absolute, that you can meditate to it.

There’s also a strange performative element at play. Telecons today feel like group chats where no one wants to be the first to leave. People stay in meetings the way we scroll Instagram Reels passively, quietly, and with a small but growing sense of guilt. Some participants switch off video not because of bandwidth issues, but because they’re slicing vegetables or folding laundry while the project manager drones on about “cross-functional leverage.” They’re present… in the same way the moon is present during the day. Existentially yes, but functionally absent.

Overcrowded meetings are like holiday diets. They clearly don’t work, yet we persist. 

Three reasons:

1. Fear of exclusion – No one wants to be accused of “not keeping everyone in the loop.” Needy bosses with insecure egos create this culture.
2. Ambiguous ownership – When roles are unclear, we invite everyone and hope the answer emerges from the digital fog.
3. The illusion of safety – People think there is strength in numbers. It simply spreads the “risk” butter so thinly on the project bread, that it disappears taking with it all the accountability.

Here’s a simple rule:

If the person cannot contribute meaningfully or make a decision, they do not need to be there. Trust me, this already puts you in the top 10% of meeting organisers worldwide. When telecons shrink in size, everything changes. People speak. Decisions happen. Accountability becomes visible. The atmosphere shifts from a digital stampede to an actual workspace.

If you don’t believe me, check with Geroge Washington.

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