Boardroom ‘yes men’ are dangerous

Peter Honey | 4 Feb 2010 | 15:12

Clare Short’s description (to the Chilcot inquiry) of the way cabinet meetings were run when Tony Blair was prime minister sounded horribly familiar. She claims that an open discussion about the decision to invade Iraq was impossible and that, when she attempted to ask some awkward questions, she was told to shut up.

I have observed many board meetings where decisions went through “on the nod”, ostensibly without any reservations. In fact, in my experience, it was comparatively rare for board members to raise objections. What usually happened was that dissenters kept quiet in the meeting and grumbled afterwards about not having the opportunity to speak up. Had they been assertive they could have created the opportunity – but that takes courage. At least Clare Short, if she is to be believed, attempted to speak up only to be shouted down.

The trouble with deference is that decisions, even big ones where much is at stake, don’t get the scrutiny they deserve. A persuasive leader and a submissive board of directors is a recipe for disaster. The decisions are only good if the leader is right – and no one individual can be right all the time. The checks and balances provided by collective responsibility, provided it is exercised, come to the rescue.

I was once hired by a CEO who was desperate for someone to challenge him. He was surrounded by sycophants who tended to agree with everything he said. He invited me to attend his board meetings and play devil’s advocate. He hoped that if I demonstrated this behaviour his directors would see how useful it was and start to emulate me. In practice, there were two problems with this approach. First, I used to sit in the meetings, listening to the CEO waxing lyrical about his latest idea, and think to myself: “That’s a good idea, I like that”. It is very difficult to disagree with someone on demand when in fact you are in agreement! Second, my attempts to play devil’s advocate were counter-productive. The sycophants were so appalled that someone had the audacity to challenge their leader, they rallied round and supported him with even more enthusiasm than they had before the introduction of a common enemy; namely me!

The experiment failed and after a three-month trial period I did the honourable thing and called a halt to the project.

Despite my failure, I remain convinced that sycophants are dangerous.

The right degree of teaching competence

Peter Honey | 25 Jan 2010 | 11:32

While understanding the need to ensure teachers have the requisite skills, I was astonished to read that Conservative leader David Cameron is proposing to ban anyone with a third-class degree from embarking on teacher training. He described the move as being “brazenly elitist”; sounds as if even he knows it’s dodgy!

Just in case you suspect that what follows is sour grapes, may I assure you that I would not be disqualified by Cameron’s entry criterion. In fact, years ago I successfully completed my training as a teacher (it was called a “dip ed” in my day). I did my teaching practice in a tough secondary modern where, within two weeks of my arrival, half the staff were struck down with ’flu. In their absence I acted up and temporarily became head of the English, geography and history departments and the producer of the school play! I never got over the shock of being demoted when they all returned.

My doubts about Cameron’s proposal aren’t anything to do with whether raising the bar will lead to teacher shortages (apparently it might only exacerbate the problems of recruiting sufficient maths and science teachers), or whether, as Cameron hopes, it will raise the status of the teaching profession and attract higher calibre applicants.

No, my worry is whether, paradoxically, raising the academic bar might lower the competence bar.

I’m not aware of any robust studies that show a correlation between academic excellence and teaching ability and, even if there were any, they would not necessarily be demonstrating a causal connection. When you think of what teachers actually have to do – connect with diverse kids with different needs/abilities/learning styles, instil a love of learning, demonstrate an enthusiastic curiosity about life in general, manage risks and disruptive behaviour, keep cool before, during and after Ofsted inspections – and all the rest of it, it is hard to imagine that having a second- or first-class degree will be a sufficient predictor of success.

I understand the attractions of having a neat, easily checkable, entry criterion, ignoring other factors and extenuating circumstances, but it sounds to me as if Cameron is falling into the trap of over-emphasising IQ and under-valuing EQ and other multiple intelligences that are likely to be at least as relevant as the class of degree. Actually, I think the answer might be to select people with halos hovering over their heads. But saints are few and far between so raising the bar that way would definitely result in teacher shortages!

When will we learn not to make new year's resolutions?

Peter Honey | 8 Jan 2010 | 10:54

I love this time of year, when so many suggestions are proffered about new year’s resolutions. Things to do to be happier, eat more sensibly, do more exercise, give up smoking and/or alcohol, enjoy friends, do voluntary work, ditch old routines, go “at risk” with out-of-the-comfort-zone adventures, and so on. Then, within a few short weeks, come the inevitable confessions about shortfalls between resolution and implementation.

It reminds me of the struggle to get people to implement well-intentioned action plans after participating in a course. Ironically, the more uplifting the experience of the course, the greater the difficulties of transferring lessons learnt. The rarefied atmosphere of the course can over-enthuse people to such an extent that they lose touch with the reality of their back-at-work situation. As a consequence, their action plans become unrealistic. They temporarily (alas, only temporarily!) forget how alien their working environment is when it comes to personal improvement plans.

There are some obvious solutions to the transfer problem. Abolishing off-the-job courses would mean there was nothing to transfer from one environment to another. Waving a magic wand over working environments so that they instantly became enlightened, learning-friendly, places would also do the trick. Alternatively, we could treat courses like holidays, where people are simply expected to enjoy themselves without any expectation that they transfer anything back to the workplace.

Tempting though all these possibilities are, I favour a more mundane solution where greater attention is given to creating action plans that are doable. I use a simple mnemonic as a guide: L-E-A-R-N, where L is for limited (one plan at a time), E is for exact (dot the i’s and cross the t’s), A to for appropriate (tailor-made for the person), R is for realistic (tailor-made to the situation – warts and all), and N is for now (no delays – get cracking straight away).

If new year’s resolutions were equally robust they’d have a better track record when it comes to implementation. Without the L-E-A-R-N criteria they tend to be laudable intentions, too dependent on fickle willpower.

But I’m being a spoilsport. Surely making new year’s resolutions is a bit of harmless fun and failing is an amusing reminder of our fallibility. It is all a bit like laughing when people fall over; even funnier when you know you shouldn’t be laughing.

Copenhagen conference shows why process is as crucial as substance

Peter Honey | 22 Dec 2009 | 12:48

Imagine you have a tough problem to solve and you need to bring together, say, eight strong-minded stakeholders and get them to agree on a way forward. Unfortunately, they each have different vested interests they are determined to protect. They are also conscious that they will need to sell whatever solution emerges to the folk back home and any sign of weakness will be seized upon. The pressure is on – a lot is at stake.

You are alarmed when the participants start playing games. They can’t seem to agree on all sorts of procedural issues that you consider to be relatively trivial in the light of the problem they have been brought together to solve. The meeting breaks up having failed to produce anything other than an unsatisfactory vague compromise.

Now imagine you are organising a high-profile conference for delegates from nearly 200 countries who are expected to agree something contentious in the space of two weeks. Once again, you find people lapse into playing games with many points of order that take ages to resolve. Miraculously, the conference produces an eleventh-hour fudge.

It is hard to get eight strong-minded characters to agree, let alone 200. Ed Miliband, secretary of state for energy and climate change, expressed his exasperation that process was getting in the way of substance at the recent Copenhagen conference. I know what he meant, but my reaction was to say “process is substance”. In fact, it is so substantial that time and time again it sabotages the task.

I find that the managers I work with invariably underestimate the importance of agreeing adequate processes (for example, how they will work together, make decisions, etc) before settling down to the easy bit: solving the problem.

The outcome of the conference in Copenhagen may have been a disappointment, but it is a timely reminder that processes need at least as much attention as tasks.

Process isn’t the tail that wags the dog; it is the dog.

HR profession map is common sense in action

Peter Honey | 15 Dec 2009 | 10:48

If I was a stick of rock, instead of the name of the resort running all the way through, mine would say learning and behaviour. The advantage of these two themes is that, unlike real sticks of rock, they have no sell-by date. For as long as human beings last they will always have to learn and behave.

However, as with anything as durable as learning and behaviour, there is a downside; they get taken for granted. So, whenever I extol the virtues of becoming a more effective learner or of improving interpersonal skills, there is a tendency for people to be underwhelmed. For a start, messages about the importance of learning and behaviour aren’t new – and people love something new. Second, learning and behaviour are kids’ stuff, something we all learnt at school, something even babies do, apparently naturally, from the word go. So, what’s the fuss? Why bother with a natural process that we can all do effortlessly, like breathing?

I can take all this on the chin and sometimes even persuade people that it might be best to treat their learning and behaviour as skills capable of development. But there is something else that people say that gets me; it’s just common sense. The dismissive “just” is what jars. If they said it’s common sense, without the just, I would see it as a compliment. My dictionary says common sense is “practical good sense and judgement” and I’d feel very pleased to have my life’s work described thus.

Of course, the truth is that common sense is far from common. On the contrary, it is rare and remarkable, something to be celebrated. Common sense, when exercised, succeeds in closing the gap between what we know and what we do. The CIPD has seen the light with its new HR profession map. Just listen to the institute’s chief executive Jackie Orme: “HR people will need to demonstrate their competence in terms of knowledge (what they need to know), activities (what they need to do) and behaviours (how they need to do it).” The article continues: “To put so much influence on behavioural skills… is certainly an innovation for any business profession.”

I’m really chuffed about this development. The CIPD even has “curious” (ie learning) as one of the designated eight key behaviours, with a contra-indicator that says, “Tends to make assertions and looks for evidence to support own view” (oh Lord, that’s exactly what I’m doing!). It goes on to say, “Has a bias for knowing rather than learning.” Definitely not guilty; my bias is for learning rather than knowing.

Are you cynical or sceptical?

Peter Honey | 3 Dec 2009 | 09:08

I’m addicted to This Week, the BBC One programme on Thursday nights that immediately follows Question Time. I enjoy the mickey-taking review of the week in politics and the absurd sight of former Conservative MP Michael Portillo wedged against current Labour MP Diane Abbott on a sofa that is clearly too small.

Last week there was some discussion about the difference between being cynical and sceptical. Portillo advanced the view that being cynical was “intellectually lazy”, a kind of default dismissive position. Being sceptical, on the other hand, was considered a healthy state to be in because it meant you were doubtful but questioning.

In other words – my words, not Portillo’s - cynicism is anti-learning and scepticism is pro-learning.

I must admit, I had never thought of this before. Of course it sent me running to my dictionary and, sure enough, while it doesn’t actually say anything explicit about learning (I notice that learning is often taken for granted, like some sort of subterranean river), being cynical is described as “doubtful about whether something will happen or whether it is worthwhile”, whereas being sceptical is “inclined to question or doubt, not easily convinced”. The crucial difference is that cynicism, unlike scepticism, is so laden with doubt that it snuffs out curiosity - questioning something worthless is a non-starter, a waste of time. By contrast, scepticism has doubt as its starting position and triggers questions born of curiosity.

So we have two sorts of doubt: one dismissive (end of story, no learning), the other questioning (beginning of story, lots to question/learn). Questioning, coupled with refusing to be easily convinced, seems to me to be admirable - a bit like playing devil’s advocate in order to test the robustness of an idea or a proposed course of action.

But alas, sceptical questioning has many enemies: deference, complacency, group thinking. It all reminds me of Jerry B Harvey’s excellent book The Abilene Paradox, which has numerous examples of people having doubts, sometimes grave doubts, but acquiescing for the sake of peace. The psychological pressure to conform and not rock the boat wins too often.

It only remains for me to invite sceptical comments on this blog; nothing cynical please.

Assumptions: not only necessary but very useful

Peter Honey | 20 Nov 2009 | 13:42

I often hear people say that you shouldn’t make assumptions. But I can’t see how I could function without them. For example, I’m assuming lots of things right now: that the roof will not fall in on me, that I shall live long enough to finish this blog (I wouldn’t even start if I didn’t assume this), that someone will actually read this blog and find it thought-provoking. And so on. Life is one assumption after another.

I have a number of assumptions that I find very useful – even when they aren’t true. I call them operating assumptions. Here are some examples:

The customer is always right. This assumption leads to much better decisions about how to treat customers, instead of assuming that they are always wrong, or even that they will be wrong on, say, 50 per cent of occasions.

It is better to err on the side of over-communication than under-communication. I know people can suffer from information overload, but most communication problems stem from too little communication rather than too much.

Personality clashes are always half a dozen of one and six of the other. I find it is much safer to assume this instead of blaming the other person. It helps me to think about my behaviour and to take responsibility for my half.

Teams have the potential to thrive more on the differences between people than the similarities. This reminds me that, even though managing diversity is tricky and often irksome, it is worth the struggle.

People are trustworthy until they prove otherwise. This operating assumption has sometimes let me down – but very rarely. It helps me to behave towards people as if they are to be trusted and, hey presto, most people respond by being more trustworthy than they might otherwise have been.

People learn all the time – even if it isn’t what I want them to learn. This reminds me that there is no such thing as a non-learner. Learning, like water running downhill, is unstoppable.

Lastly, the people who are there are the right people. This helps me to focus on the people who have turned up rather than fretting about all the people who haven’t. The same applies to my blogs. The people who read them are the right people – never mind the millions of people who don’t know what they are missing.

Devastating? Don’t talk yourself into it

Peter Honey | 9 Nov 2009 | 16:09

I read recently that a woman had been caught out by the change in Marks & Spencer’s returns policy. Instead of it being open-ended, purchases now have to be returned within 35 days. The woman said she was devastated when the goods she wished to return were refused because she had overshot the stipulated 35 days.

When people claim to be devastated by life’s events, I have a tendency to dismiss this as an unnecessary exaggeration. I fully accept that some things are truly devastating in the sense that they lay something to waste. Famines, severe droughts, hurricanes, earthquakes, tsunamis, genocide, wars and financial depressions can all have devastating consequences for thousands, perhaps millions, of people. But lots of the things people claim to be devastating, such as losing a football match, being insulted or criticised, having your house burgled, being made redundant – or even a bereavement – do not have to be devastating unless, that is, we let them.

I realise that I run the risk of sounding insufferably stiff-upper-lip, but I think it is easy to talk yourself into feeling devastated when a less troublesome emotion would be appropriate. You could argue that there is no harm in a bit of exaggeration, but feelings are easily contaminated by thoughts and words. If I keep telling myself, and other people, that I’m devastated by something that has happened to me, then the chances are that I will fall for my own propaganda and feel far worse than I otherwise would. Most of the time, feeling sad or upset will do; on a Richter scale of emotions, nowhere near feeling devastated.

Does this matter? Well yes, I think it does. Some feelings, such as being devastated, are so negative that they cripple us – we become incapable of taking sensible actions to improve the situation. Why do you suppose so many people delay going to their GP with symptoms that could turn out to be cancer? In any case, harbouring strong negative feelings doesn’t feel at all nice. I’d rather swap them for something easier to handle, something more benign.

But all this assumes that you accept that people can exercise some choice over how they feel.

Trial and learn from errors

Peter Honey | 29 Oct 2009 | 15:08

The other day, in passing, a colleague used the expression “trial and error” and it set me thinking. As a believer in the power of experiential learning, I am in favour of trial runs and experiments. They are positively dripping in learning opportunities. In a very real sense, life is one trial after another. I often joke that everything I do is an experiment with uncertain outcomes.

Somehow, being in experimental mode adds spice to life and gives credence to all the things I do that turn out to be a hash. For example, I have recently been conducting some experiments with different marketing initiatives – telemarketing and placing adverts in magazines we have not used before. Both these experiments gobbled up money and produced no discernable financial return. Undaunted, I’m now on the brink of experimenting with data cleansing, customer segmentation and micro sites. These are all carried out in the spirit of trial and - the word sticks in my gullet - error.

“Trial and error” makes the latter seem an inevitable consequence of the former. I resent the built-in expectation that one will follow the other in the same way that winter follows autumn.

Errors and mistakes certainly sound more respectable when you can say, “Well, it was only an experiment”. Except that this, on its own, is a lame excuse with the most important thing left unsaid: what was learned from the experiment. The ultimate purpose of any experiment is to learn – and this also applies to experiments that turn out to be a roaring success, not just to the disappointments. I wont bore you with all the lessons learned from our telemarketing experiment, but here’s a few: about having a clear call for action, briefing the person doing the calls more thoroughly, carefully monitoring the early calls and adjusting the patter, the time of day the calls are made, the need to build in pauses for reviews of progress (or lack of it), and closer supervision of the whole project. In revenue terms this experiment was a flop, but in learning terms it was a very useful exercise.

So how about dropping the gloomy expression “trial and error” and replacing it with something more cheerful and encouraging such as “trial and learn”? Or perhaps that makes learning sound like a trial? Which, of course, it sometimes is.

To do or not to do?

Peter Honey | 16 Oct 2009 | 17:58

Everyday I produce a “To Do” list. Today’s currently has eight items – people to phone, emails to send, bank balance to check, marketing scorecard to sign off, microsite to dream up… and a blog to write. I say ‘currently’ because I reserve the right to add some extra things as I go along. I even reserve the right to change my mind and delete some things. Should a friend unexpectedly phone inviting me out for lunch, I might postpone the whole list and shunt it into tomorrow. There is no way my list will get between me and spontaneity!

I know To Do lists don’t suit everybody, but I revel in the whole process. The act of producing the list makes me feel purposeful - even though I haven’t actually done anything yet (except produce a list). Ticking things off as I do them gives me a tremendous feeling of accomplishment. This applies to small things as well as to big things (which is why I never prioritise). In fact, ticking off lots of small things is a real morale-booster – it’s a quantity thing and never mind the quality. And then there is the ritual of carrying over into tomorrow the things that I didn’t manage to do. That makes me feel busy because, of course, it is never my fault that things didn’t get done. Feeling guilty is not an option.

Even reviewing the things done and the things not done generates insights. There are patterns – the most prevalent being my tendency to do the things I enjoy most and to postpone anything resembling a chore. The other noticeable thing is that urgent things get done more often than important things. I wonder why that should be?

But best of all are the games you can play. Two of my favourites are to do something that is not on my list and, having done it, to add it to my list and, with a triumphant flourish, immediately tick it. My other is to let something on my list happen without me having to do it. Phone calls are an excellent example. I’ll have “Phone so-and-so” on my list but, before I have done it, so-and-so phones me. Ticking things other people did is even more satisfying than if I’d actually done them myself.

If you are not into To Do lists, I urge you to mend your ways. You are missing out on so much harmless fun.

Time for a coffee. Wait, that’s not on my list… but it is now.