The question isn’t who’s going to let me; it’s who is going to stop me?
—Ayn Rand (1905-1982), Russian-born American writer and philosopher
The intense and hostile clash in the Oval Office among US President Donald Trump, Vice President JD Vance, and Ukraine’s Volodymyr Zelenskyy has astonished many observers.
For those of us who have spent careers in investment banking, however, the scene had a familiar ring.
What unfolded in that meeting mirrored a strategy used by some leaders in finance: the use of rhetorical dominance as a substitute for substantive dialogue.
It’s a tactic wielded in meeting rooms and on conference calls when actual arguments are in short supply.
Designed to shut down the opposition, it reinforces the pecking order and reminds the other parties of their place.
The repeated demands for gratitude, the warning not to “litigate” the issues “in front of the American media,” the reminders of Ukraine’s weakness — these kinds of statements aren’t meant to foster real debate; they’re intended to stifle disagreement.
Every investment banker has seen this in action.
I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve witnessed it myself.
One that still stands out is last year, during a forum with People’s Bank of China (PBoC) governor Pang Gong Sheng and China’s economy czar He Lifeng.
Goldman Sachs CEO David Solomon engaged in a heated debate with Pang over sensitive matters, and the tension in the room was palpable.
That hour gave us the confidence to press forward with even more conviction in the next sessions.
I later broke it down in my business columns, The flip side of China’s Miracle (Oct 23, 2024) and China’s Billion-dollar Exodus (Nov 27, 2024).
These tactics sometimes pay off.
Most of us recall times when the bullies got promotions while the collaborators were sidelined.
These apex predators don’t climb the ranks by fostering fresh ideas or building consensus; they ascend by tightening their grip on their fiefdoms and wielding power with ruthless efficiency.
Early in my career, I built a carefully structured block trade, only to have it summarily shot down by senior managers who, as it later turned out, had incurred unrelated trading losses they didn’t care to disclose.
(A structured block trade is a big, privately arranged buy-or-sell order designed to avoid shaking up the market. Instead of dumping a massive order and hoping for the best, it’s crafted to manage risk, secure better pricing, and sometimes include built-in protections like hedging — basically, insurance against losses. Think of it like selling a rare car collection — you wouldn’t auction off everything at once and crash the market price. Ideally, you’d arrange a private deal with collectors, ensuring you get the best value while keeping demand steady.)
Instead of a straightforward explanation, they deployed the standard arsenal: “We’ve beaten this issue into the ground and there’s nothing left to discuss”, “We’ve backed you so many times before”, and “You’re not being a good partner.”
The message was clear: Drop it or risk losing crucial allies for future deals.
Shut up and take the L.
So I made the awkwardly mortifying call to the client, retracting the nonbinding price indication I had previously given (an indication I had cleared internally with the same senior leaders).
Days later, a competitor executed the same trade at a sharper price, earning an eight-figure fee and lavish client praise.
I could only see them in silence.
Internally, no one acknowledged the blunder.
No postmortem, no lessons learned — just business as usual.
Even now, many years later, the memory stings.
Could I have fought better? Maybe.
Regrettably, at the time, I was a rising star and pushing too hard would’ve been career seppuku.
(Seppuku — ritual disembowelment, an honourable way for samurai to go out instead of facing disgrace. In corporate terms, self-inflicted career implosion.)
Rather than risk that, I spent months quietly studying their mathematical blind spots, breaking them down and rewriting them into a new framework.
Today, those methods are embedded in how we structure deals.
On another occasion, a commitment committee call to approve a convertible bond underwriting took a turn when a senior banker — set against the deal for no discernible reason — started peppering my bond analyst Carmen with rapid-fire questions.
(Convertible bond underwriting is when a bank (or a group of banks) helps a company issue convertible bonds by buying them first and then reselling them to investors. A bookstore agrees to purchase all copies of a new book from an author and resell them to readers. If the book doesn’t sell well, the bookstore takes the hit, not the author.)
She handled each one with aplomb and precision, but his frustration grew.
Finally, he snapped, “Please stop lecturing me about this stuff. I was doing convertibles before you were even born.”
A long, airless silence followed.
That was the moment we all knew the deal was dead.
The rationale didn’t matter.
What mattered was that we had failed to pay homage to him early enough.
He hadn’t just appointed himself gatekeeper — he had anointed himself high priest, and the temple doors were firmly shut.
Just about everyone I know across Wall Street or any workplace has similar stories, often much more lurid, yet only on rare occasions will the exchanges result in an HR complaint.
There’s no profanity, no explicit misconduct — but just enough residual unpleasantness to leave the recipient feeling undermined and victimised, partly because there’s no clear avenue for redress.
Similarly, while Trump and Vance may have been harsh towards Zelenskyy, they can plausibly argue they relied on forceful rhetoric rather than outright abuse.
Of course, many banking leaders don’t operate this way.
Fortunately, most people I reported to over the years valued informed debate and constructive pushback — even though it wasn’t the easiest or most popular stance.
It wasn’t always a black-and-white case of dominance or dialogue —
some leaders would run roughshod over those they saw as weak or out of favour while showing respect, even deference, to others perceived as stronger or able to defend themselves.
This is much like Trump’s contrasting treatment of Zelenskyy and Emmanuel Macron; the American president tolerated disagreement from the French president in their meeting far more than his Ukrainian counterpart.
When rhetorical dominance prevails, it creates a self-perpetuating cycle.
A leader surrounds himself (usually, though not always, a man) with sycophants, discourages challenging perspectives, and creates an environment where subordinates spend more time deciphering his whims and wishes than developing sound strategies.
The resulting atmosphere of confusion and obsequiousness undermines institutional effectiveness, and yet, paradoxically, the leader’s grip tightens.
This approach might deliver short-term wins — bigger compensation pool allocations, more headcount, internal victories — but the long-term consequences are steep.
Morale withers.
Market share erodes.
Innovation dries up.
Key considerations are overlooked.
Meanwhile, the architects of this culture keep rising, leaving others to clean up the wreckage.
In investment banking, there are instances where swift decision-making must take precedence over prolonged deliberation.
When dealing with politically savvy colleagues (and most bankers excel at internal politics), excessive consultation can stall necessary reforms, derail change or compromise strategy.
An erstwhile mentor once told me, “Sometimes you have to steamroll people to get things done.”
I believe that when I guide skilled teams comprising diverse talents, backgrounds, and nationalities, I prefer leveraging data and logical reasoning to support my arguments, rather than relying solely on my position of authority. At times, however, my patience wears thin while decisions have to be made, cutting off discussion and dialogue.
The White House dispute has, at least temporarily, scuppered the agreement between the US and Ukraine to develop Ukraine’s natural resources. While Trump and Vance may not have mastered the art of the deal, they have perfected the art of stifling dissent and ostracising anyone who defies their authority — expertise still alive and well on Wall Street.
The views expressed here are those of the columnist and do not necessarily represent the views of Sarawak Tribune.
