Welcome to Committee City

I spend a lot of time talking about collaboration these days. If you've heard me speak recently, you've probably heard me say some version of the same thing: tourism's biggest challenges are too complicated for any one organization to solve alone.

• Housing isn't a DMO problem.

• Resident sentiment isn't a hotel problem.

• Workforce isn't a Parks problem.

• Regulation isn't a host problem.

Everything is connected to everything else, which means collaboration matters. Real collaboration. Not performative collaboration.

There's a difference.

Performative collaboration is often what happens when nobody wants to make a decision, so we schedule another meeting.

CONFESSION: I love these rooms. I've spent a serious chunk of my career in them, and I've been almost every person I'm about to describe. I've guarded my turf. I've played contrarian for the sport of it. I've been the one frantically building a timeline nobody asked for.

So this isn't a takedown, it's a mirror.

Which brings me to Committee City.

Committee City is a magical place where problems go when nobody wants to own them. The city itself is beautiful. It has strategic plans, mission statements, and a steering committee overseeing a working group overseeing a task force overseeing a subcommittee that meets quarterly to discuss findings from the steering committee.

It is, by every measurable standard, thriving. And like every city, it has citizens.

The Lifetimer

The Lifetimer has served on the committee since the Bush administration.

Not sure which Bush.

The Lifetimer remembers every failed initiative, every executive director, every strategic planning consultant, and every political fight that has occurred within a fifty-mile radius since 1998. Sometimes this is incredibly useful. Other times you'll spend twenty-seven minutes discussing a visitor center renovation that happened before Taylor Swift had a driver's license.

The Lifetimer is not trying to derail the meeting. The Lifetimer simply carries the entire history of the destination in their head and occasionally feels obligated to share it.

All of it.

The Resume Builder

The Resume Builder joined three weeks ago and has already updated LinkedIn.

Community Leader.

Regional Advocate.

Strategic Tourism Advisor.

The committee has not actually accomplished anything yet. The only decision made so far was whether to meet on Tuesdays or Thursdays.

But the headshot looked great, and sometimes that's enough.

The Territory Protector

The Territory Protector believes every idea is secretly trying to take their budget. It doesn't matter what the idea is.

New marketing initiative? Budget threat.

Wayfinding improvements? Budget threat.

Visitor education campaign? Budget threat.

Free puppies for local children? Nice try. Budget threat.

The Territory Protector isn't mean. They're just battle-tested. Years of fighting for limited resources have turned them into the tourism equivalent of a castle guard.

Nothing gets through without a challenge.

The Silent Observer

The Silent Observer attends every meeting.

Every single one.

The Silent Observer arrives on time. The Silent Observer nods thoughtfully. The Silent Observer takes notes. The Silent Observer leaves.

I have personally witnessed people serve on committees for years without contributing a single sentence. At this point I have to assume they're gathering intelligence for another organization. Or they're a hologram.

I haven't ruled either one out.

The Consensus Collector

The Consensus Collector wants everyone to be heard.

A noble goal.

Unfortunately, everyone includes everyone. Not just the people in the room.

Everyone.

Before moving forward, perhaps we should hear from another stakeholder group. And then another. And then maybe conduct a survey. And then perhaps a listening session to discuss the survey. The Consensus Collector is proof that good intentions can sometimes add six months to a timeline.

The Contrarian

The Contrarian doesn't necessarily disagree with the proposal. The Contrarian simply feels somebody should. Usually begin their contribution with "well, playing devil's advocate..."

For balance.

If the committee announced free ice cream for children, the Contrarian would immediately ask whether we've adequately considered the ice cream's perspective.

They are exhausting.

They are also occasionally right. Which is incredibly annoying.

The One Who Wants to Do Something

This person is easy to spot. They're the one volunteering. The one sending follow-up emails. The one asking who owns the next step. The one creating timelines. The one who mistakenly believes the purpose of a committee is to accomplish something.

The room is never quite sure what to do with this energy. By month three they're frustrated. By month six they're researching careers in goat farming.

God bless them. They're usually the reason anything happens.

The Consultant

Eventually, every committee summons a consultant.

This is tourism law.

The consultant arrives carrying a PowerPoint presentation. The presentation reveals that stakeholders desire alignment. The recommendation is additional alignment. A task force is formed. The task force recommends a working group. The working group recommends a steering committee. The steering committee hires a consultant.

Nature is healing.

The funny thing about Committee City is that most of these people are not wrong.

The Lifetimer protects institutional memory.

The Territory Protector protects resources.

The Consensus Collector protects relationships.

The Contrarian protects against blind spots.

Even the consultant occasionally helps.

The problem isn't the people. The problem is that somewhere along the way, tourism became so focused on getting everyone involved that we forgot somebody eventually has to decide.

Because collaboration isn't the outcome, it's the process.

The outcome is action.

The resident doesn't care how many meetings were held. The host doesn't care how many stakeholders participated. The hotel doesn't care how many listening sessions occurred.

They care whether anything changed.

And that's where the best collaborations separate themselves from the rest. Not because everyone agrees. Not because nobody gets offended. Not because every stakeholder gets exactly what they want. But because a group of people with competing interests decide the problem is more important than their individual agendas.

Then they do the hardest thing imaginable.

They stop talking and start building.

I'm Jenn Barbee. And if your committee has been meeting for four years, produced six reports, launched three task forces, created two subcommittees, and solved absolutely nothing...disband or decide something.