I STILL remember the crackling tension of that morning on the 28th floor in 2012, back when I was a junior analyst crunching data analytics for a multinational consulting firm in the Middle East.
That morning had its own kind of drama. Our hot-desking setup was usually calm—partners, interns, analysts all squeezed together under the same fluorescent lights, pretending titles didn’t matter.
But then the silence cracked. A colleague from another consulting division—brilliant, intimidatingly credentialed, the type who could recite algorithms the way others recite song lyrics—suddenly erupted. He wasn’t angry in the quiet, simmering way Filipinos sometimes get when they’re trying to avoid confrontation. No. He shouted. Loudly. Chairs scraped. People froze.
I remember instinctively pretending to focus on my laptop screen while my heart raced—because when someone loses emotional control in a corporate space, it is never just noise; it is a statement.
He wasn’t upset about a botched project or a missed deadline. His complaint? He wasn’t selected as senior manager.
He kept insisting he was “smarter” than the one chosen. In fairness, his academic résumé was blinding: engineering from a world class Swiss university, specialized certifications earned in the United States—the kind you put in bold font on LinkedIn.
Meanwhile, the person promoted was from what he called a “lower-tiered European university.” The bitterness was so raw, it almost felt personal—even though none of it involved me.
At the time, I felt awkward just standing there. Part of me understood his frustration; promotions can feel like verdicts. But another part of me also knew something else: leadership isn’t a math exam. Being the smartest doesn’t automatically make you the one people want to follow.
Rumors swirled: office politics, nationality bias, favoritism. Months later, I learned the truth in a strangely candid way. A European talent assessor who had helped run our company’s Leadership Assessment Center told me—quite unprofessionally (urgh, the confidentiality scorecard)—how that colleague had scored.
“Brilliant on strategy and technical thinking,” he said, “but emotionally… well…”
The assessor trailed off and made a gesture that said everything. Poor eye contact. Do not actively engage when having conversations as if he is swamped with another deliverable. Dismissive of others’ ideas and often dominates conversations, speaking at length. Saw peers as threats. Brilliant but brittle.
Most notably, he couldn’t resist taking a sly, passive-aggressive jab at the other participants, saying they were “pretty slow” but could somehow speed up. It came across as offhand, but in real life, comments like that can be dangerous. Underestimating the pace of your colleagues—or hinting at it in front of others or behind your back—can quickly erode trust and hurt team morale. What might seem like a small remark in a simulation scenario can have real consequences in the workplace, showing a lack of awareness of how teamwork really works.
“We were afraid he would break your diamond clients,” he admitted.
A month later, he left the firm, still brilliant but undone by something he never valued: Emotional Intelligence (EQ).
I remember thinking then: Sayang. Because in Filipino workplaces, we know many talented people like this—people whose minds shine but whose presence drains a room.
And that’s where the real lesson sits.
Why Talent Alone Doesn’t Carry You
Research shows exactly what that moment revealed to me. Vătămănescu and colleagues found an 85% relationship between EQ and leadership effectiveness. Goleman noted that IQ contributes only about 20% to life success. But here’s the thing: you don’t need research to know this. Anyone who has worked in a Filipino office—even in a government agency, a family-owned business, or a university—has seen how people gravitate toward leaders who can listen, empathize, and stay calm during chaos.
In the Philippines especially, where pakikisama is a quiet but powerful force, EQ often decides careers more than any diploma does. We’ve all seen it: the employee na “magaling pero laging nakasimangot,” the technically gifted staff who ends up isolated because they carry themselves like they’re above everyone else.
If IQ opens doors, EQ decides whether people actually invite you inside. (To be continued)/PN
