The intensity and hostility of the Oval Office clash between Donald Trump, JD Vance and Volodymyr Zelenskyy has left many observers taken aback. 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 opposition, it reinforces the pecking order, and remind 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 meant to stifle disagreement.
Every investment banker has seen this in action. And these tactics sometimes pay off. Most banking veterans can recall times when the bullies got the 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 proposed 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. 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”, “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, walking back 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 exact same trade at a sharper price, earning an eight-figure fee and lavish client praise. I could only seethe in silence. Internally, no one acknowledged the blunder. Even now, many years later, the memory stings. Could I have pushed harder? Maybe. But that would have been career seppuku.
On another occasion, a commitment committee call to approve a convertible bond underwriting took a turn when a senior banker — clearly set against the deal for no discernible reason — started peppering my colleague with rapid-fire questions. She handled each one with aplomb and precision, but his frustration only 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 staying firmly shut.
Just about everyone I know across the City and Wall Street 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 senior banking leaders don’t operate this way. In fact, most of the people I reported to over the years valued informed debate and constructive pushback. And 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 from his Ukrainian counterpart.
When rhetorical dominance prevails, it creates a self-perpetuating cycle. A leader surrounds himself (it’s 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.
To be fair, there are moments in investment banking when decisiveness has to trump endless debate. When dealing with politically savvy colleagues (and most bankers excel at internal politics), excessive consultation can stall necessary reforms, derail change, or compromise strategy. As an erstwhile mentor once told me, “Sometimes you have to steamroll people to get things done.” I’d like to think that when I led teams, I relied on my powers of persuasion rather than naked appeals to my own authority — but at times my patience wore thin, and decisions had 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 — an expertise still alive and well on Wall Street.