Last week, Netflix eliminated roughly 1,000 jobs and replaced its chief content officer, Bela Bajaria, who had spent years helping transform the streaming service into a global entertainment powerhouse. Netflix said Bajaria was “leaving” after nearly a decade. She wasn’t departing to “spend more time with her family” or to “pursue other interests.” Whatever the circumstances of her departure, she was out.
Donald Trump turned firing people into a catchphrase on The Apprentice. But somewhere along the way, corporate America seems to have turned that sentiment into a management philosophy. Her replacement, Peter Rice, knows the experience firsthand. In 2022, Rice was abruptly dismissed from his senior position at Disney by then-CEO Bob Chapek, reportedly catching himself and much of Hollywood by surprise. Only months later, Chapek himself was fired, learning of his own dismissal via a phone call at home hours before he was scheduled to introduce Elton John at a concert at Dodger Stadium that was being live streamed on Disney+.
In his recent memoir, Behind the Castle Walls, Chapek reflects on the painful end to his decades-long Disney career, including the absence of an opportunity to say goodbye to the employees he had spent years working alongside. Why, he wondered, did they have to be so cold?
Hollywood has always been a competitive, sometimes Machiavellian ecosystem. Executives come and go. Careers rise and fall. And nobody, regardless of their accomplishments, is entitled to lifetime employment. But when did treating people with dignity on their way out become such an inconvenience? To be fair, Netflix co-CEO Ted Sarandos publicly acknowledged Bajaria’s contributions. And companies have every right to change leadership when performance or strategy demands it. But there’s a difference between making a tough decision and making an unnecessarily harsh one.
Bajaria, of course, will be fine. But what about the roughly thousand other employees who lost their jobs? Perhaps corporate boards believe that decisive dismissals send a reassuring message to Wall Street. There’s something almost George Steinbrenner-like about it: We’re steely, resolute and not afraid to make tough decisions. Perhaps we’ve become so enamored with the notion of appearing tough that we’ve forgotten the value of being decent.
And to what end? Wall Street may reward companies for cutting costs. But there’s no market bump for being callous. And what about the longer-term implications for the businesses themselves? Think about the message an abrupt firing sends to the employees who remain. They watch someone who has dedicated years, sometimes decades, to an organization disappear almost overnight. What are they supposed to conclude? That loyalty matters? That their contributions will be remembered? That the company values them as individuals? Or that they, too, are ultimately completely disposable and that it’s just a matter of time.
Multiple studies suggest that treating employees poorly during layoffs can have lasting business consequences. Columbia Business School research has found that layoffs perceived as unfair can undermine the commitment of employees who remain. Similarly, a 2023 study examining Airbnb’s layoffs found that employees who perceived the process as unfair reported lower levels of trust in management, reduced job satisfaction and greater cynicism. The researchers found that respect, dignity and honest communication were important in shaping employees’ perceptions of the layoff process.
Not surprisingly, how you treat the people you fire impacts the people you retain. Companies spend enormous amounts of money recruiting, training and retaining talented employees. They hire consultants to study organizational culture and facilitate retreats, team-building exercises and trust falls. Organizations proclaim that people are their greatest assets—calling employees team members, cast members or even family. And yet, when it’s time to part ways, they sometimes treat those same great assets no better than obsolete office furniture or outdated technology. The contradiction is remarkable.
Consider a remark Russell Vought, now director of the Office of Management and Budget, made in 2023. He said he wanted federal bureaucrats to be “traumatically affected”—to wake up not wanting to go to work. Whatever one’s political views about the size of government, surely there’s a distinction between eliminating unnecessary positions and deliberately demoralizing the people occupying them. Why should disagreement over the value of someone’s job translate into disrespect for the person doing it?
One reason unions can be appealing is that they provide employees with protections against arbitrary or unfair treatment. Companies that resist unionization often argue that they can foster better relationships with employees without third-party intervention. Fair enough. But if you’re anti-union, shouldn’t you at least be pro-human? And this question is becoming more urgent.
We’re entering an era in which artificial intelligence threatens to fundamentally reshape employment. Millions of workers, young and old, are understandably anxious about whether the skills they’ve spent years developing will remain valuable. Some positions will disappear. Others will change beyond recognition. Companies will face difficult decisions about their workforces, often for legitimate economic reasons. But if A.I. agents and technology are going to make employment increasingly uncertain, shouldn’t we at least get the human part right?
I’m not suggesting that firing someone should become a prolonged ceremony or that companies should retain employees who are no longer contributing. Sometimes speed, confidentiality and decisive action are necessary. But what’s the cost of a little consideration? An honest conversation. A meaningful acknowledgment of someone’s contributions. A reasonable opportunity to say goodbye. Assistance in finding the next opportunity. A departure that doesn’t leave someone feeling humiliated. These aren’t extravagant benefits. They’re basic expressions of respect. And they may pay substantial dividends.
Former employees can become future customers, business partners, advocates or even employees again. Remaining employees are more likely to trust leaders who demonstrate compassion when making difficult decisions. And prospective employees, and even customers, are paying attention as well.
Reputations, after all, are built not simply on how organizations celebrate success, but how they handle uncomfortable moments. Employment is, at its heart, a social contract. Organizations provide compensation and opportunity. Employees contribute their time, energy, creativity and, often, a considerable portion of their identities. We all know that the contract won’t always last forever. But its conclusion shouldn’t nullify the value, the camaraderie and the humanity that came before.
Most of us will experience some form of involuntary professional separation during our careers. And those who haven’t should remember that today’s person doing the firing may well be tomorrow’s person receiving the call. Just ask Bob Chapek. Or Peter Rice.
As we hurtle toward a future increasingly shaped by artificial intelligence, perhaps the most important competitive advantage a company can cultivate is something distinctly human—a little dignity. It costs so little. And it may pay dividends for years to come.
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