A gesture for the disempowered

Joshua Thompson’s redundancy support clown wasn’t of the anguished, Pagliaccistyle operatic variety. He only feigned crying. Neither was this clown akin to Stephen King’s malevolent Pennywise, although that’s a thought that might trigger a fleeting retrospective fantasy for many an employee who has headed out of a meeting called by their employer, with redundancy papers in hand.

Instead, the supportive figure Thompson brought with him was a clown of classic, colourful cut. And that sufficed just fine. Much international applause awaited the advertising copywriter as the story, and footage, of his redundancy meeting seized the public imagination.

Clearly, many saw the clown as an artful protest to subvert what would otherwise be one more tedious charade leading to one more all-but-predetermined decision. However, Thompson himself hasn’t described his thinking in terms of protest speaking, so far anyway, more in terms of a cheering idea. Whether that’s an example of Kiwi understatement is hard to determine.

There’s no actual evidence that Thompson’s redundancy wasn’t the result of good-faith consultation.

Nor was it one of those rightly-scorned cases where psychometric testing (Would you enjoy skydiving? Do you often have indigestion? Do you find Greek mythology interesting?) was used not only for recruitment but also by the likes of the Ministry of Business, Innovation and Employment, and the Department of Conservation, to determine redundancies. The Employment Court, bless, had something to say about such ‘‘dubious’’ practice.

But even with conventional approaches we can

collectively look around and agree among ourselves that the world is hardly awash with stories of how redundancy meetings have happily resulted in turned-around outcomes. The commonly expressed view is that these meetings are horribly disempowering.

Perhaps that was behind some of the public reaction; Thompson was ensuring that at least something in that meeting room would be happening on his own terms. You could call that tokenism, or an inventive approach to emotional support.

It would be unfortunate, however, if this memorable case carried an impression that more conventional emotional support people serve little purpose. A supporter well chosen, either for their know-how or their sheer sense of empathy, is no small thing.

A passing nod might also be paid, in a wider context, to those much-mocked critters, emotional support animals (ESAs) – not to be confused with trained and unassailably necessary service animals.

Clear cases have emerged internationally where easily-obtained therapist letters have been used by people who simply want to take their little darlings with them all the time. A New York woman, Patricia Marx, highlighted this issue by disporting herself freely around New York with fake ESA creatures, including a snake, an alpaca and a pig named Daphne, tricking staff at shops, museums and restaurants as she went.

But abuse of the system takes a toll on others who have genuine needs. And if Thompson’s approach was, in its way, endearing, it would be folly for others to start bandwagoning in the expectation that they will receive similar acclaim. It really wouldn’t be a good idea to show up at your hearing with your emotional support peacock.

The world is hardly awash with stories of how redundancy meetings have happily resulted in turned-around outcomes.