I was at Birkbeck College during the summer, saying farewell to the fantastic Rob Briner, scourge of ill thought through management fads and staunch upholder of the critical approach as he moved to Bath University. As I walked past the lovely Russell Square park in the golden evening sunshine, I saw some people practising T'ai Chi under the trees. They moved to the beat of hand-held drums.
If I'd seen this in Central Park in New York, I would have been delighted, but not surprised. But because it was in London, I was a bit taken aback - delighted yes, but was this London? Where things of beauty and tranquillity happen as though completely normal?
Well, yes. And as a result, it made me wonder what else was happening under my nose which was unexpected and more lovely than I had assumed. So I've started to look more closely.
And saw a homeless man shuffling along the street wearing a huge red rose on an indescribably dirty coat. A smile exchanged between a youth and an ancient old lady as he allowed her on to the bus first in one of the roughest areas of London. A gurgle of delight from a toddler playing with - of all things - an empty crisp packet.
Now I don't want to go all sentimental and positive psychology on you, but it really is this sort of stuff which makes life rich and glorious. And I'll bet if you looked at your employees in the workplace, you'd find equally wonderful examples. Like the restaurant waiter in Leeds who, seeing me stagger to my table with a streaming cold, brought me - unasked - hot water, lemon and honey. Or the post officer worker who posted my glasses to me from the States when I'd left them on the counter.
Quite a lot of performance management appears to work from a deficit model - we try to fix what's wrong rather than celebrating what's right, and indeed, are so used to looking for what's wrong, we no longer see what's very, very right. Like the T'ai Chi practice under the trees on a summer's evening.
Is it time to perhaps stop expecting to see the worst and start noticing the best?
Monday 21 November 2011
Sunday 14 August 2011
A Sheriff rode into town.....
So - 'supercop' Bill Bratton from New York is coming to tell us how to manage our gangs, is he? Thankfully, the post of Metropolitan Police Commissioner is only open to Brits, so our beleaguered police are spared the final humiliation of having an American tell them how to do their jobs. It's one of the few times I've felt grateful to Theresa May.
It's possible that Sir Hugh Orde, seeing that police work in the capital may be guided by someone essentially acting as a consultant, has decided that being Commissioner will be a sacrifice too far, and is sniping from the sidelines as well as he can - loudly supported by Boris Johnson, who always has an eye for political opportunism. I note that Bratton is Chair of security consultancy Knoll and it would be interesting to know what fee is being paid to him. Or indeed, the consultancy.
The fury of the Met, (who have reduced gun crime in London) can only be imagined at this move by David Cameron to bow to the popular demand for a crackdown. This demand, from an equally unpleasant mob now rampaging through the streets of England, is driven by powerful emotions against those people who have looted and caused criminal damage. The emotion is only to be expected; what's less to be expected is a knee jerk reaction from number 10.
Why someone to sort out 'gangs'? When everyone arrested by the courts has been processed, it will be interesting to see who, exactly, has been caught up in the riots. I would bet my rapidly shrinking savings that they're not all council house tenants, on the dole, or under the age of 21. Which begs the question - why this sort of expert?
And it also brought to mind the resigned anger of many people in organisations, who have a consultant thrust upon them. It may be that they're doing a good job, but perhaps more slowly than management wants, and in order to accelerate the programme, a consultant is parachuted in.
They often have the same sorts of issues that Bill Bratton will have; different experience, an outsider's view of the situation (which may not be right), a different culture. Plus, they will be facing the irritation of the existing staff who've been dealing with the situation for months, if not years.
The difference between a successful and an unsuccessful consultancy assignment is often down to the communication of the introduction of the consultant - and being hailed as an 'expert' can sometimes be the kiss of death. You can imagine existing employees folding their arms and sitting back, waiting to be impressed.
And this situation has made me understand why existing employees can be hostile towards consultants - you can see why when you look at the response of senior Met police officers who aren't short of experience. Hugh Orde helped deal with sectarian violence in Northern Ireland, for goodness' sake.
Bill Bratton hasn't helped himself in his interview in the Daily Telegraph in his positioning - tough guy coming to enforce order. From this 'know it all' stance, any movement looks like a climb-down, but really, a little humility wouldn't go amiss. The British don't, after all, subscribe to the idea of the wild west and a sheriff riding into to town to sort out the bad guys.
It's possible that Sir Hugh Orde, seeing that police work in the capital may be guided by someone essentially acting as a consultant, has decided that being Commissioner will be a sacrifice too far, and is sniping from the sidelines as well as he can - loudly supported by Boris Johnson, who always has an eye for political opportunism. I note that Bratton is Chair of security consultancy Knoll and it would be interesting to know what fee is being paid to him. Or indeed, the consultancy.
The fury of the Met, (who have reduced gun crime in London) can only be imagined at this move by David Cameron to bow to the popular demand for a crackdown. This demand, from an equally unpleasant mob now rampaging through the streets of England, is driven by powerful emotions against those people who have looted and caused criminal damage. The emotion is only to be expected; what's less to be expected is a knee jerk reaction from number 10.
Why someone to sort out 'gangs'? When everyone arrested by the courts has been processed, it will be interesting to see who, exactly, has been caught up in the riots. I would bet my rapidly shrinking savings that they're not all council house tenants, on the dole, or under the age of 21. Which begs the question - why this sort of expert?
And it also brought to mind the resigned anger of many people in organisations, who have a consultant thrust upon them. It may be that they're doing a good job, but perhaps more slowly than management wants, and in order to accelerate the programme, a consultant is parachuted in.
They often have the same sorts of issues that Bill Bratton will have; different experience, an outsider's view of the situation (which may not be right), a different culture. Plus, they will be facing the irritation of the existing staff who've been dealing with the situation for months, if not years.
The difference between a successful and an unsuccessful consultancy assignment is often down to the communication of the introduction of the consultant - and being hailed as an 'expert' can sometimes be the kiss of death. You can imagine existing employees folding their arms and sitting back, waiting to be impressed.
And this situation has made me understand why existing employees can be hostile towards consultants - you can see why when you look at the response of senior Met police officers who aren't short of experience. Hugh Orde helped deal with sectarian violence in Northern Ireland, for goodness' sake.
Bill Bratton hasn't helped himself in his interview in the Daily Telegraph in his positioning - tough guy coming to enforce order. From this 'know it all' stance, any movement looks like a climb-down, but really, a little humility wouldn't go amiss. The British don't, after all, subscribe to the idea of the wild west and a sheriff riding into to town to sort out the bad guys.
Saturday 13 August 2011
Calm down, dear - it's only a loft conversion...
This, more or less, what what my normally wonderful brother said to me after the latest potential show stopper to our loft conversion.
We'd applied for planning permission at the end of January, had it refused, re-submitted plans for permitted development (which moved the wall of our loft a whole six inches back from the edge of the existing wall) and finally - finally - got the all clear to start the work. Except of course for the solar panels which should have been on the plans for the original application, and weren't.
The man from the solar panel company told us our local authority was being difficult and unclear about the angle of the solar panels (to be above the line of the roof, or not to be above the line of the roof, that is the question) and we might need to go back for planning permission for the panels, rather than through permitted development. Which meant another twelve? eight? weeks which meant that we might need to pay for the scaffolding again if the main contractors had finished.
Then the builder queried the position of the steels supports - he was a bit worried that they might be going through the chimney stack. This might have been less irritating if the structural engineer hadn't airily dismissed our suggestions that he might visit us and look at the loft space. "We do work like this all the time" his email stated. "Our experience in these sort of houses should be sufficient." Our builder sucked his teeth and was unconvinced.
So far, we've been patronised by a variety of contractors - the floor fitter who told us the floor we'd chosen was too 'thick'; the structural engineer who did our calculations on the basis of his "extensive experience" without bothering to come and view the property - well, Wimbledon IS a long way from North London; and finally, our architect who suggested we were asking too many questions and taking up too much of his valuable time - which we had paid for.
All this from a bunch of - let's face it - blokes - who smiled benignly at us and told us not to worry our pretty little heads about it all. So far, our architect has submitted incomplete plans; the structural engineer has not taken into account the fact that our chimney breast isn't symmetrical and the steels don't fit where they are supposed to - as a result, we're having to have a 'bulkhead' which certainly isn't in the plans, to make it all work; and the flooring we've chosen is entirely appropriate given that we're having the office there. Perhaps this wouldn't be quite so galling if my partner and I were air heads. But we're not; we just no speaka da building lingo. Although I have to say, we're learning fast.
This frustrating experience had me thinking about words and meaning, laziness and power, exclusion and responsibility. For most people, to know the planning process isn't hard; it's on most local authority websites and most times, it's written in plain English. What's less explicable is the 'black box' of phrases such as "considering your application" which takes ten weeks in which you wonder just how much consideration your one-room dormer with an en suite actually warrants. Laziness in this sort of situation is an art form - from those who can't be bothered to explain in non-technical terms, to those who design the processes to be opaque and mysterious.
The power issues are just as prevalent - from builders who spout jargon to architects and structural engineers who don't translate because it suits them not to. That which needs detailed explanation will always command a fee. This can essentially reduce our involvement to discussions about the wallpaper, or the shape of the loo. And of course, without proper information, we are being asked to take ultimate responsibility without proper understanding.
Sadly, this sort of befuddlement is not limited to the building trade, it's everywhere. People who work together have their own jargon which serves as shorthand and saves time, and also binds people together as they recognise other people 'like them' speaking the same language.
Unfortunately, alongside these qualities it can also serve to exclude people and, if they accept their exclusion, they can also abdicate responsibility.
Given that this is our house, and our money, my partner and I have decided that either we get up to speed on the building world, or negotiations and discussions have to take longer as our various professionals explain in words a five year old could understand precisely what's happening, and the implications of our decisions. We've chosen the latter, but with some sneaky Internet work on the side to meet the builders half way. This enables us to share responsibility and the power inherent in the discussion is evenly spread.
Thankfully, our builders also make their own tea, most of the time.
We'd applied for planning permission at the end of January, had it refused, re-submitted plans for permitted development (which moved the wall of our loft a whole six inches back from the edge of the existing wall) and finally - finally - got the all clear to start the work. Except of course for the solar panels which should have been on the plans for the original application, and weren't.
The man from the solar panel company told us our local authority was being difficult and unclear about the angle of the solar panels (to be above the line of the roof, or not to be above the line of the roof, that is the question) and we might need to go back for planning permission for the panels, rather than through permitted development. Which meant another twelve? eight? weeks which meant that we might need to pay for the scaffolding again if the main contractors had finished.
Then the builder queried the position of the steels supports - he was a bit worried that they might be going through the chimney stack. This might have been less irritating if the structural engineer hadn't airily dismissed our suggestions that he might visit us and look at the loft space. "We do work like this all the time" his email stated. "Our experience in these sort of houses should be sufficient." Our builder sucked his teeth and was unconvinced.
So far, we've been patronised by a variety of contractors - the floor fitter who told us the floor we'd chosen was too 'thick'; the structural engineer who did our calculations on the basis of his "extensive experience" without bothering to come and view the property - well, Wimbledon IS a long way from North London; and finally, our architect who suggested we were asking too many questions and taking up too much of his valuable time - which we had paid for.
All this from a bunch of - let's face it - blokes - who smiled benignly at us and told us not to worry our pretty little heads about it all. So far, our architect has submitted incomplete plans; the structural engineer has not taken into account the fact that our chimney breast isn't symmetrical and the steels don't fit where they are supposed to - as a result, we're having to have a 'bulkhead' which certainly isn't in the plans, to make it all work; and the flooring we've chosen is entirely appropriate given that we're having the office there. Perhaps this wouldn't be quite so galling if my partner and I were air heads. But we're not; we just no speaka da building lingo. Although I have to say, we're learning fast.
This frustrating experience had me thinking about words and meaning, laziness and power, exclusion and responsibility. For most people, to know the planning process isn't hard; it's on most local authority websites and most times, it's written in plain English. What's less explicable is the 'black box' of phrases such as "considering your application" which takes ten weeks in which you wonder just how much consideration your one-room dormer with an en suite actually warrants. Laziness in this sort of situation is an art form - from those who can't be bothered to explain in non-technical terms, to those who design the processes to be opaque and mysterious.
The power issues are just as prevalent - from builders who spout jargon to architects and structural engineers who don't translate because it suits them not to. That which needs detailed explanation will always command a fee. This can essentially reduce our involvement to discussions about the wallpaper, or the shape of the loo. And of course, without proper information, we are being asked to take ultimate responsibility without proper understanding.
Sadly, this sort of befuddlement is not limited to the building trade, it's everywhere. People who work together have their own jargon which serves as shorthand and saves time, and also binds people together as they recognise other people 'like them' speaking the same language.
Unfortunately, alongside these qualities it can also serve to exclude people and, if they accept their exclusion, they can also abdicate responsibility.
Given that this is our house, and our money, my partner and I have decided that either we get up to speed on the building world, or negotiations and discussions have to take longer as our various professionals explain in words a five year old could understand precisely what's happening, and the implications of our decisions. We've chosen the latter, but with some sneaky Internet work on the side to meet the builders half way. This enables us to share responsibility and the power inherent in the discussion is evenly spread.
Thankfully, our builders also make their own tea, most of the time.
Thursday 14 July 2011
The Faustian version of Take That...
With apologies to those who do this professionally and for a living, I thought I'd stray somewhat to report on a concert I went to last Friday. Take That at Wembley.
Now, while I've hummed along to Relight my Fire with the best of them, I haven't been a fan since they started. I'd heard that their live show was worth seeing, my mate Lorraine needed a Christmas present, and - well, here we were.
Because it was at least fifteen minutes into the show that I decided that I had to record this for posterity, I'm a bit ashamed to say I can't remember the name of the first song (I think it was Shine).
However, I was wide awake when we were asked to sing along to the National Anthem, which struck me as so cheesy I was surprised you couldn't smell in Oxford Street. Embarassment out of the way, this was followed by Patience and the relief was palpable. The band looked fit and confident although I thought Mark Owen looked knackered.
We then moved into Disneyworld as roller skating bees, a pink caterpillar and a rapid change of costume accompanied a Beatles number (Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds? - I was seriously thrown by the caterpillar), the sun shone, people were happy and yellow ticker tape floated from the sky. Parents smiled, kiddies clapped and middle-aged ladies bounced.
And, as the Fab Four wandered off, the sky seemed to darken, the volume increased and dropping like a malevolent spider from the top of the huge set, Robbie Williams arrived.
With a blast of fire I could feel from the second tier of Block M, the atmosphere changed in a second, and Mr Williams, appropriately dressed in black tails and black everything, leered into the camera and snarled his way through Let Me Entertain You. In his role as Mephistopheles, Williams alternatively made love to the audience and stuck his finger up at them, and those who could lip read might have been a little taken aback at his vehemence, if not his language. Play time for the kiddies was indeed over with skating insects replaced by bikini-clad women, and the Beatles turned into Beetlejuice who was quite plainly here to spoil the party.
At the end of his second number, he treated us to some doggerel which included the Donne-like lines:
Study Shakespeare and be quite elite
Or be an Essex girl and just piss in the street
as well as reference to some of their Sunderland fans who's got completely hammered at the North East gig. The audience laughed, some of us a bit nervously. And what's more, you couldn't tell just how serious he was.
Some of the dialogue to the audience declared his patriotism, hand on heart, O to be in England, at Wembley and doing seven shows...or was it eight?...to all their marvellous fans. The Sun would have been proud. And then he winked to camera and you wondered if this wasn't all ironic and like the Devil, he was simply leading us a merry dance.
As if the chasm between his short set and before it wasn't obvious enough, he then went into Walk on The Wild Side, with a punch-drunk audience providing the Do, do, dos.
He repeated, with appropriately inserted expletives, the number to call if people didn't like Uncle Robbie's language, and then, lying flat on a steel platform, swung low over the standing audiences, leering from the platform, touching hands and posing to the camera. For an ugly man, he can look devilishly handsome.
And then, finishing Feel, we were back on stage and back to panto as he urged the crowd to start a mexican wave. Such was the sense of theatre that to actually believe in Angels, dedicated to four people who Williams had lost recently - was a bit of a struggle. But if the mask slipped at all during his performance, it was here.
The crowd loved it. Disappearing - again like a panto baddie - down a trap door in the stage, Williams left the stage to some shadowy monk-like figures, waving fire baskets and wafting incense. We were then treated to a Cirque de Soleil interlude (to give him time to change, presumably) with spider-man figures climbing the wall of the 50 foot set. Seconds later, they were on the scaffolding at the top of the set, and The Flood provided an appropriate soundtrack for the various spider-men to get a thorough soaking as water poured down the walls.
The whole show seemed to me to be a power battle for the band. The smart, blonde (but somehow rather dull) Gary Barlow against the full throated, wicked and sparkling Robbie Williams. He changes the dynamic of the band so much - it's a like a different band. The rather anodyne love songs (pretty enough, don't get me wrong) simply don't stack up against the cynical lyrics, sex and heavy beat of Williams' numbers. And what's more, Barlow looked like a choirister suddenly playing with the bad boys - enjoying himself hugely, but would he love himself in the morning?
The final song before the encore was - predictably enough - Never Forget - and the stadium thundered to the sound of 85,001 people clapping their hands. Back on stage via a huge sliding stage, the final song - preceeded by a couple of lines of Williams' No Regrets (more irony?), a group hug and a reprise of we are the lads - was Relight My Fire. No Lulu this time, this was a boys party, with Williams singing her part.
Although they did look like a five piece band by the end of the concert, you can't help but wonder if the struggle for the soul of Take That would ever be resolved without tearing the band apart. But certainly, there is no going back. Williams' influence is evident in the more jagged-sounding new albums. There was some light-hearted fooling around the piano while they did a few old TT numbers - but the lack of punch (and musicians) for them indicated that they were part of another life, another country.
Now, while I've hummed along to Relight my Fire with the best of them, I haven't been a fan since they started. I'd heard that their live show was worth seeing, my mate Lorraine needed a Christmas present, and - well, here we were.
Because it was at least fifteen minutes into the show that I decided that I had to record this for posterity, I'm a bit ashamed to say I can't remember the name of the first song (I think it was Shine).
However, I was wide awake when we were asked to sing along to the National Anthem, which struck me as so cheesy I was surprised you couldn't smell in Oxford Street. Embarassment out of the way, this was followed by Patience and the relief was palpable. The band looked fit and confident although I thought Mark Owen looked knackered.
We then moved into Disneyworld as roller skating bees, a pink caterpillar and a rapid change of costume accompanied a Beatles number (Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds? - I was seriously thrown by the caterpillar), the sun shone, people were happy and yellow ticker tape floated from the sky. Parents smiled, kiddies clapped and middle-aged ladies bounced.
And, as the Fab Four wandered off, the sky seemed to darken, the volume increased and dropping like a malevolent spider from the top of the huge set, Robbie Williams arrived.
With a blast of fire I could feel from the second tier of Block M, the atmosphere changed in a second, and Mr Williams, appropriately dressed in black tails and black everything, leered into the camera and snarled his way through Let Me Entertain You. In his role as Mephistopheles, Williams alternatively made love to the audience and stuck his finger up at them, and those who could lip read might have been a little taken aback at his vehemence, if not his language. Play time for the kiddies was indeed over with skating insects replaced by bikini-clad women, and the Beatles turned into Beetlejuice who was quite plainly here to spoil the party.
At the end of his second number, he treated us to some doggerel which included the Donne-like lines:
Study Shakespeare and be quite elite
Or be an Essex girl and just piss in the street
as well as reference to some of their Sunderland fans who's got completely hammered at the North East gig. The audience laughed, some of us a bit nervously. And what's more, you couldn't tell just how serious he was.
Some of the dialogue to the audience declared his patriotism, hand on heart, O to be in England, at Wembley and doing seven shows...or was it eight?...to all their marvellous fans. The Sun would have been proud. And then he winked to camera and you wondered if this wasn't all ironic and like the Devil, he was simply leading us a merry dance.
As if the chasm between his short set and before it wasn't obvious enough, he then went into Walk on The Wild Side, with a punch-drunk audience providing the Do, do, dos.
He repeated, with appropriately inserted expletives, the number to call if people didn't like Uncle Robbie's language, and then, lying flat on a steel platform, swung low over the standing audiences, leering from the platform, touching hands and posing to the camera. For an ugly man, he can look devilishly handsome.
And then, finishing Feel, we were back on stage and back to panto as he urged the crowd to start a mexican wave. Such was the sense of theatre that to actually believe in Angels, dedicated to four people who Williams had lost recently - was a bit of a struggle. But if the mask slipped at all during his performance, it was here.
The crowd loved it. Disappearing - again like a panto baddie - down a trap door in the stage, Williams left the stage to some shadowy monk-like figures, waving fire baskets and wafting incense. We were then treated to a Cirque de Soleil interlude (to give him time to change, presumably) with spider-man figures climbing the wall of the 50 foot set. Seconds later, they were on the scaffolding at the top of the set, and The Flood provided an appropriate soundtrack for the various spider-men to get a thorough soaking as water poured down the walls.
The whole show seemed to me to be a power battle for the band. The smart, blonde (but somehow rather dull) Gary Barlow against the full throated, wicked and sparkling Robbie Williams. He changes the dynamic of the band so much - it's a like a different band. The rather anodyne love songs (pretty enough, don't get me wrong) simply don't stack up against the cynical lyrics, sex and heavy beat of Williams' numbers. And what's more, Barlow looked like a choirister suddenly playing with the bad boys - enjoying himself hugely, but would he love himself in the morning?
The final song before the encore was - predictably enough - Never Forget - and the stadium thundered to the sound of 85,001 people clapping their hands. Back on stage via a huge sliding stage, the final song - preceeded by a couple of lines of Williams' No Regrets (more irony?), a group hug and a reprise of we are the lads - was Relight My Fire. No Lulu this time, this was a boys party, with Williams singing her part.
Although they did look like a five piece band by the end of the concert, you can't help but wonder if the struggle for the soul of Take That would ever be resolved without tearing the band apart. But certainly, there is no going back. Williams' influence is evident in the more jagged-sounding new albums. There was some light-hearted fooling around the piano while they did a few old TT numbers - but the lack of punch (and musicians) for them indicated that they were part of another life, another country.
Friday 1 July 2011
open questions - the sign of a good interview
I watched the Fiona Bruce interview with Price Philip. There's no doubt that he wasn't particularly keen to be interviewed - he said as much - and like many people from his generation, he wasn't keen to dwell on his internal thoughts and feelings.
His reticence wasn't always so apparent, according to other footage in the programme; he can be seen presenting a TV programme on travel and different cultures, inviting the BBC in to film some intimate moments with his family. He appeared to believe that what was shown on the surface, was accepted as truthful. And didn't think it needed further explanation.
So I can't have been the only person who cringed at a complete lack of rapport between Fiona Bruce and Prince Philip as she assumed more and more in her interviewing approach and left less and less space for true dialogue. Armed with research, she seemed to go into the interview looking to prove a number of pre-determined hypotheses - he was unhappy when he couldn't continue his naval career, he felt like a spare part when Princess Elizabeth became Queen.
Quite rightly, in my view, the Prince looked rather offended at this presumption and began to answer the questions Fiona Bruce asked - just the questions she asked. Which, given that she asked mostly closed questions, made for a very uncomfortable interview. Added to this was an astounding lack of awareness of her interviewee - surely if someone declares that they didn't want to do an interview, don't you believe them? And then tread more delicately, antennae on the alert, building trust and developing some kind of relationship to draw them out?
None of this appeared to strike Ms Bruce, who seemed to panic slightly, filling in more and more of the dead silence. It's not that I envy her the job - a reluctant Royal famed for speaking his mind would hardly be considered an easy interview.
But she hardly helped herself, presenting "facts" and then simply asking for comments on them. I looked up the concept of an open question on Google. It said to use open questions:
"to develop a conversation and open up someone who is rather quiet."
I think the key part is about developing a conversation - that, and being more attuned to what makes someone comfortable enough with you to open up. While it might be considered a bit of an art, surely an experienced TV interviewer should have it?
His reticence wasn't always so apparent, according to other footage in the programme; he can be seen presenting a TV programme on travel and different cultures, inviting the BBC in to film some intimate moments with his family. He appeared to believe that what was shown on the surface, was accepted as truthful. And didn't think it needed further explanation.
So I can't have been the only person who cringed at a complete lack of rapport between Fiona Bruce and Prince Philip as she assumed more and more in her interviewing approach and left less and less space for true dialogue. Armed with research, she seemed to go into the interview looking to prove a number of pre-determined hypotheses - he was unhappy when he couldn't continue his naval career, he felt like a spare part when Princess Elizabeth became Queen.
Quite rightly, in my view, the Prince looked rather offended at this presumption and began to answer the questions Fiona Bruce asked - just the questions she asked. Which, given that she asked mostly closed questions, made for a very uncomfortable interview. Added to this was an astounding lack of awareness of her interviewee - surely if someone declares that they didn't want to do an interview, don't you believe them? And then tread more delicately, antennae on the alert, building trust and developing some kind of relationship to draw them out?
None of this appeared to strike Ms Bruce, who seemed to panic slightly, filling in more and more of the dead silence. It's not that I envy her the job - a reluctant Royal famed for speaking his mind would hardly be considered an easy interview.
But she hardly helped herself, presenting "facts" and then simply asking for comments on them. I looked up the concept of an open question on Google. It said to use open questions:
"to develop a conversation and open up someone who is rather quiet."
I think the key part is about developing a conversation - that, and being more attuned to what makes someone comfortable enough with you to open up. While it might be considered a bit of an art, surely an experienced TV interviewer should have it?
Thursday 9 June 2011
wanting it enough?
I seem to be thinking a lot about unemployment at the moment. Partly because some of the people I'm coaching are without a role at the moment, and partly because we're doing some building work.
We had some replies to our emailed tender today; I won't name the company but a couple of things struck me from their response in times when money is tight and new business is hard to find.
The first thing was that the company got my name wrong. Call me old fashioned, but this is basic, basic stuff. If can't get my name right on the first email you send to me, what else are you likely to get wrong? So nul points there. I noted from the response that the sender's first language might not have been English, and some might say that I need to cut them some slack.
My response to this is - if you want to demonstrate how much my business means to you, then can you please check the spelling, the grammar, the details? After all, this is my first impression of you. (I actually now don't even open mail which can't spell my name correctly, it simply goes in the recyling).
I look at the proposal they've sent me. The words "bespoke" jump out at me from what looks like a standard response. I look more carefully through the details. We've already spent a lot of money on plans, and developing a fairly detailed tender document - down to the number of power sockets we wanted in the new space.
Sadly, this contractor either forgot we'd asked for this number, or decided we couldn't possibly want that many, and replaced our specified number with his own in the quote. In addition, instead of quoting for the type of insulation we'd requested, he ignored that too and said HIS company always used THIS type.... no other explanation. He also told us we'd have to pay more for the drawing up of the plans - which we'd included in the pack.
Now I'm a reasonable woman, and frankly, building work is hardly my forte, but given that we'd already spent time with our lovely architect pulling the tender together, asked tenderers for the costs to be presented in a certain way, and approached this company to offer the work (so limited sales costs for this job!) - I'm a mite hacked off that they couldn't be bothered, at this early stage, to actually do what we asked. Are we not the customer?
And in a tight market, where people have less money to spend and are looking more carefully at who they spend it with, is it not a good idea - presuming you want the business, of course - to build a relationship with the customer by treating them well and trying to respond to their every whim? I mean, had we stipulated that all the work should be done in purple tutus, deprived of their normal tea breaks, or completed within four weeks instead of a reasonable ten.... then perhaps such a response might be justified. But we did none of that, just put a tender together which said what we wanted.
Because we're reasonable people, I daresay we'll point out a few differences in what they'd offered and what we'd asked for. But will they get the business? The jury is still out, but it's not looking great.
We had some replies to our emailed tender today; I won't name the company but a couple of things struck me from their response in times when money is tight and new business is hard to find.
The first thing was that the company got my name wrong. Call me old fashioned, but this is basic, basic stuff. If can't get my name right on the first email you send to me, what else are you likely to get wrong? So nul points there. I noted from the response that the sender's first language might not have been English, and some might say that I need to cut them some slack.
My response to this is - if you want to demonstrate how much my business means to you, then can you please check the spelling, the grammar, the details? After all, this is my first impression of you. (I actually now don't even open mail which can't spell my name correctly, it simply goes in the recyling).
I look at the proposal they've sent me. The words "bespoke" jump out at me from what looks like a standard response. I look more carefully through the details. We've already spent a lot of money on plans, and developing a fairly detailed tender document - down to the number of power sockets we wanted in the new space.
Sadly, this contractor either forgot we'd asked for this number, or decided we couldn't possibly want that many, and replaced our specified number with his own in the quote. In addition, instead of quoting for the type of insulation we'd requested, he ignored that too and said HIS company always used THIS type.... no other explanation. He also told us we'd have to pay more for the drawing up of the plans - which we'd included in the pack.
Now I'm a reasonable woman, and frankly, building work is hardly my forte, but given that we'd already spent time with our lovely architect pulling the tender together, asked tenderers for the costs to be presented in a certain way, and approached this company to offer the work (so limited sales costs for this job!) - I'm a mite hacked off that they couldn't be bothered, at this early stage, to actually do what we asked. Are we not the customer?
And in a tight market, where people have less money to spend and are looking more carefully at who they spend it with, is it not a good idea - presuming you want the business, of course - to build a relationship with the customer by treating them well and trying to respond to their every whim? I mean, had we stipulated that all the work should be done in purple tutus, deprived of their normal tea breaks, or completed within four weeks instead of a reasonable ten.... then perhaps such a response might be justified. But we did none of that, just put a tender together which said what we wanted.
Because we're reasonable people, I daresay we'll point out a few differences in what they'd offered and what we'd asked for. But will they get the business? The jury is still out, but it's not looking great.
Wednesday 8 June 2011
The power of ducking and a thicker skin
I took part in a panel discussion at an event a few months ago. Despite my advanced years, I was nervous. Indeed, despite my advanced years, I'd never done anything like this before. The other panellists had written books, changed organisations, moved mountains (figuratively at least) and one belonged to a huge organisation with offices everywhere, consulting in far-flung places.
I was from a tiny consultancy, and had little but my academic background and a reasonable level of common sense to recommend me. I couldn't claim years of global projects, but I did have a good understanding of almost ALL the theory behind the debate, and some critical interpretations of said theories. Plus lots of feedback particularly from people in the public sector, to how the theory worked in practice.
I'd prepared, done some reading, honed my opinions and I bought a new dress.
The event went ok, I thought. I said some sensible things, some people agreed with me, some not. My partner, who attended the event to support me, said I'd done well.
The session was videod and when it was released, I watched it, trying not to cringe. I saw when I didn't answer the question from the audience, when I got pompous and into the rhetoric, when I looked too earnest. I also saw when I nailed my own personal views, saying them exactly as I wanted to, concisely and eloquently. So - by no means a ten out of ten performance, but ok. Maybe a seven.
As this was the first event of this type I'd been involved in, I anxiously waited for feedback and people wrote to me, saying they either agreed with or enjoyed my contribution.
Glowing in a muted kind of way, I assigned the experience to a box marked "worthwhile" and went on with life.
Some time later, I looked at a blog on the same topic. The comments that had been added to the blog mentioned the panel I'd been on. To my dawning distress, there were a number of comments that effectively dismissed the event that I'd been on, suggesting it was over hyped and self indulgent. To say I was shocked would be an understatement. I was weirdly hurt too, by these people who didn't know me, knew nothing of the preparation or the nervousness.
I was taken aback by the snide comments and the almost personal asides. They weren't even aimed specifically at me - but as I'd participated, I felt a large level of responsibility for the feedback on the event and spent a pretty fruitless half hour wondering how I'd managed to add to the negative view of the event. I managed not to pore over the video again.
This happened a few weeks ago. The very fact that I'm blogging about it now (and blogging about it at all!) probably says more about me than it does about the event, or the comments. But the experience did remind me of a few salutary lessons.
1. Putting your head abover the parapet increases your chances of getting shot at.
2. Those who try new things may well be applauded - but there's always someone ready with a gripe
3. Those who are never criticised probably haven't done much.
Of course, the million-dollar question is - would I do it again. Answer: definitely.
And yet another question is - if people can misjudge you, your actions, and your motives (and you have good intent) - are you doing the same to others? Answer: probably definitely.
Feedback, said a good friend of mine, is the breakfast of the Gods, a gift. Occasionally, as with gifts, you may like to exchange it. However, as with all gifts, the best way to receive them is with gracious thanks and a smile.
So now, having said all this, I'm off to grow a thicker skin and delete the video.
I was from a tiny consultancy, and had little but my academic background and a reasonable level of common sense to recommend me. I couldn't claim years of global projects, but I did have a good understanding of almost ALL the theory behind the debate, and some critical interpretations of said theories. Plus lots of feedback particularly from people in the public sector, to how the theory worked in practice.
I'd prepared, done some reading, honed my opinions and I bought a new dress.
The event went ok, I thought. I said some sensible things, some people agreed with me, some not. My partner, who attended the event to support me, said I'd done well.
The session was videod and when it was released, I watched it, trying not to cringe. I saw when I didn't answer the question from the audience, when I got pompous and into the rhetoric, when I looked too earnest. I also saw when I nailed my own personal views, saying them exactly as I wanted to, concisely and eloquently. So - by no means a ten out of ten performance, but ok. Maybe a seven.
As this was the first event of this type I'd been involved in, I anxiously waited for feedback and people wrote to me, saying they either agreed with or enjoyed my contribution.
Glowing in a muted kind of way, I assigned the experience to a box marked "worthwhile" and went on with life.
Some time later, I looked at a blog on the same topic. The comments that had been added to the blog mentioned the panel I'd been on. To my dawning distress, there were a number of comments that effectively dismissed the event that I'd been on, suggesting it was over hyped and self indulgent. To say I was shocked would be an understatement. I was weirdly hurt too, by these people who didn't know me, knew nothing of the preparation or the nervousness.
I was taken aback by the snide comments and the almost personal asides. They weren't even aimed specifically at me - but as I'd participated, I felt a large level of responsibility for the feedback on the event and spent a pretty fruitless half hour wondering how I'd managed to add to the negative view of the event. I managed not to pore over the video again.
This happened a few weeks ago. The very fact that I'm blogging about it now (and blogging about it at all!) probably says more about me than it does about the event, or the comments. But the experience did remind me of a few salutary lessons.
1. Putting your head abover the parapet increases your chances of getting shot at.
2. Those who try new things may well be applauded - but there's always someone ready with a gripe
3. Those who are never criticised probably haven't done much.
Of course, the million-dollar question is - would I do it again. Answer: definitely.
And yet another question is - if people can misjudge you, your actions, and your motives (and you have good intent) - are you doing the same to others? Answer: probably definitely.
Feedback, said a good friend of mine, is the breakfast of the Gods, a gift. Occasionally, as with gifts, you may like to exchange it. However, as with all gifts, the best way to receive them is with gracious thanks and a smile.
So now, having said all this, I'm off to grow a thicker skin and delete the video.
Thursday 21 April 2011
Babylon's Burning - memories of unemployment
So there I was on the tube and on my iPod came the sound of The Ruts and a live version of Babylon's Burning. As I drew in a breath, I was transported back to the Leadmill in Sheffield, circa 1982. The driving, pounding rythym and a sense of youth and power washed over me as I swayed and was jostled on the Victoria line.
It doesn't matter how old I am, how corporately I'm dressed, this track brings me smack back to my younger self - slightly rebellious, hungry and yearning.
The 80s weren't a particularly happy time for me. I left university almost in a daze, and walked into the worst recession in the UK since the 30s. It took me two years and more applications than I care to remember before I got a job. As time went on, I gradually sank further and further into helpless depression which my mum - in work since she was 15 - didn't recognise, and couldn't help me with.
But I didn't get that drained, helpless feeling when I listened to this track. I just hear the raw energy and excitement and I get infused with the sort of gritty determination which threads through the music. In NLP terms, this is called an anchor.
What strikes me most forcefully now is the resilience of the human spirit. I went through the first real misery I had ever known coming out of university - bright, with a newly-minted qualification and nowhere to go. As my unemployment went on and on, I slowly lost all sense of who I was and what I was good at. It has taken me years to rebuild my identity as worthy, useful, intelligent.
But that's forgotten, listening to this track - I only remembered the tense, hopeful excitement of the beat, the live atmosphere.
I think it's vital to concentrate of who you are, not what you do for a living. You're more fascinating in your likes, quirks, views and curiosities than any number of clients, any amount of transactions, any level of budget responsibilities. The lack of a role doesn't make you less lovable, less kind, less intelligent. Think of times when you had a sense of purpose, of power, of excitement of joy and relive them.
And get out your old records.
It doesn't matter how old I am, how corporately I'm dressed, this track brings me smack back to my younger self - slightly rebellious, hungry and yearning.
The 80s weren't a particularly happy time for me. I left university almost in a daze, and walked into the worst recession in the UK since the 30s. It took me two years and more applications than I care to remember before I got a job. As time went on, I gradually sank further and further into helpless depression which my mum - in work since she was 15 - didn't recognise, and couldn't help me with.
But I didn't get that drained, helpless feeling when I listened to this track. I just hear the raw energy and excitement and I get infused with the sort of gritty determination which threads through the music. In NLP terms, this is called an anchor.
What strikes me most forcefully now is the resilience of the human spirit. I went through the first real misery I had ever known coming out of university - bright, with a newly-minted qualification and nowhere to go. As my unemployment went on and on, I slowly lost all sense of who I was and what I was good at. It has taken me years to rebuild my identity as worthy, useful, intelligent.
But that's forgotten, listening to this track - I only remembered the tense, hopeful excitement of the beat, the live atmosphere.
I think it's vital to concentrate of who you are, not what you do for a living. You're more fascinating in your likes, quirks, views and curiosities than any number of clients, any amount of transactions, any level of budget responsibilities. The lack of a role doesn't make you less lovable, less kind, less intelligent. Think of times when you had a sense of purpose, of power, of excitement of joy and relive them.
And get out your old records.
Friday 25 March 2011
What price a job?
The quarterly figures released by the Office for National Statistics earlier this month show that the number of people unemployed has risen to 2.53 million – an increase of 27,000. This is the highest level of unemployment in the UK since 1994.
In November, the Government announced that anyone without a job who refuses community work, the offer of a job, or fails to apply for a job if advised to do so, will lose their benefits. This could be for between three months to three years, depending on their intransigence.
Almost regardless of the political arguments, or indeed the state of the public purse, there seems to be something out of kilter with Government policies. This push to make it better to be in work than out of it, is beginning to force the employment relationship into a transactional frame. This appears to completely work against the McLeod report and Government exhortation to businesses to “engage” employees.
This edict for the unemployed seems to imply that they would be willing to go to work purely to earn sufficient money to live.
So will ANY job will do for more than two and a half million people, just so they can get some money - whether earning a wage or keeping their benefits? The majority of academic studies on employee well –being and engagement talk about a sense of connection with their organisation, some elements of control in their job. They talk a lot less about the wage. I think that those forced into taking jobs won’t feel any sense of control and indeed, if they are asked to work for nothing, won’t even feel any sense of satisfaction that they have something in their pocket at the end of the month.
As for engagement – I wonder if this would be possible with people forced into jobs over which they have little choice and where potential poverty is the main motivation for applying.
In November, the Government announced that anyone without a job who refuses community work, the offer of a job, or fails to apply for a job if advised to do so, will lose their benefits. This could be for between three months to three years, depending on their intransigence.
Almost regardless of the political arguments, or indeed the state of the public purse, there seems to be something out of kilter with Government policies. This push to make it better to be in work than out of it, is beginning to force the employment relationship into a transactional frame. This appears to completely work against the McLeod report and Government exhortation to businesses to “engage” employees.
This edict for the unemployed seems to imply that they would be willing to go to work purely to earn sufficient money to live.
So will ANY job will do for more than two and a half million people, just so they can get some money - whether earning a wage or keeping their benefits? The majority of academic studies on employee well –being and engagement talk about a sense of connection with their organisation, some elements of control in their job. They talk a lot less about the wage. I think that those forced into taking jobs won’t feel any sense of control and indeed, if they are asked to work for nothing, won’t even feel any sense of satisfaction that they have something in their pocket at the end of the month.
As for engagement – I wonder if this would be possible with people forced into jobs over which they have little choice and where potential poverty is the main motivation for applying.
Saturday 26 February 2011
Face to face is dead - long live Facebook?
I was on Facebook recently and I saw a message trail which made me look twice. Someone had posted an RIP for someone I knew. As I looked, his sister had posted a comment, also his girlfriend and a number of his friends. Strangely enough, it wasn’t that he had died that shocked me – although that was shocking enough. It was the messages.
It’s difficult to find anything to say about death which in the light of mourning, isn’t trite or repetitive. But on Facebook, the messages acquired a new shallow quality that I found repulsive.
I’ve no idea why messages about the death of a friend or relative should be different from those about the birth of a new baby. After all, it’s a fast, easy to read, easy to write, update about something that has happened. But nevertheless I found myself thinking how crass it was.
The death of someone you know is always shocking, expected or not.
But death, thrust into Facebook posts of breakfast, travel plans, greetings to friends and party photographs, seems indecent in its starkness, as incongruous as someone shouting at prayers.
To my surprise, I find that lots of organisations appear to announce the deaths of employees via email, with noticeboards for people to write their thoughts and condolences. In a large organisation, this might be rapid, expedient and – by giving employees an opportunity to express their feelings – humane. HR and internal communication professionals believe that it helps for people to be able to post their thoughts, and that the family find it comforting.
Myself, I’m still not convinced that Facebook is the right place to announce a death.
Death brings us face to face (pardon the pun) with the inevitable. And facing our ultimate end doesn’t require a computer screen and type – it requires a soft voice and a warm, human hand. It requires space and silence – but with company to reassure. And a piece of electronics hasn’t yet been invented than can pass a tissue or give a hug.
I worry that while social media was once heralded as something that could help shy and awkward teenagers connect with other teens, to help then gain confidence, it’s now had the effect of making face to face contact a highly risky thing. While digital communication is as immediate as face to face – it’s also relatively anonymous.
After all, face to face you don’t have time to think before making a response (as you do on Facebook) and your tone, face and body send messages as well as what you say. But people KNOW you – you’re there in front of them. If they don’t like what you say, they can punch you on the nose. If they like it, they can kiss you. Or something in between. The response from Facebook is much more distant – they can unfollow you, even if they don’t want to make a response. Or the argument is carried out online, potentially no less hurtful or vicious – just less immediate, less THERE.
I can see distance creeping in to relationships, even the closest ones. I see relationships between people in the same house being conducted online, in the full view of friends and family, where instead of banging out their frustrations on a keyboard, they would be better served – as would their children – talking to one another.
This is also played out in the workplace, where email is so much more prevalent for business communication than, say, picking up the phone or even walking to the other side of the office.
This is a little way from announcing that someone has died over the internet – but stems from the same issue, I think. We’re forgetting how to communicate with one another, face to face.
I showed this blog to my partner – she pointed out the irony of using a blog to say this. This irony is not lost on me….
Sunday 6 February 2011
why information = reduced stress
In December, I was walking from Kings Cross station to the British Library. As I walked up
The amount of snow in
Press coverage of the event showed travellers angry and upset that they had been left in the dark and that they felt abandoned.
So why might information have helped? Customer announcements would hardly have melted the snow, or taken the ice off the rails.
Information is necessary for people to make choices. In the case of these travellers, even a little information might have enabled them to decide to stay in the queue – or to stay in a hotel for the afternoon. And it’s not so much the depth of information, it’s about the sense of power that having the information gives. In situations of uncertainty, more information gives at least the option for more choices. Without it, people are caught in a dilemma made even more difficult because of a lack of rational data to help them move from one place to another – and in the case of Eurostar, this place was physical as well as emotional.
It struck me, working on a change programme after Christmas, that stress for employees is often because of the same problem - a lack of information. There are plenty of good reasons why management may keep information about their future plans from employees – further consultation is required, plans aren’t finalised, the markets require it.
But there are also plenty of bad reasons that management keep quiet about their plans. These include sins of omission - management not considering that it’s necessary, or not even recognising that it’s important, or history (this kind of information has never been released in previous change programmes). They also include the less forgivable reasons, for example, management cowardice, or a paternalistic attitude towards employees that implies that they can’t cope with the “truth”.
However, my experience is that by withholding information, management make employees into children by disenfranchising them from the choices they might have. For example, knowing truthfully that a reorganisation is going to result in headcount reductions – even if you don’t know how many and where - may enable people to make their own minds up about what they want. This might mean hunkering down for the wait, or starting to look for a job elsewhere, even start a new career. It will certainly mean discussions with family, partners and friends, and those discussions about what, and when, and how – all give people a sense of power and self-direction. It will also enable them to start finding the resources and support they need to take action – whatever that is.
My guess is that management don’t do this because they fear an exodus of their best people and that “business as usual” won’t be possible as people consider their options.
I have news for them – for anyone going through large scale change, business is anything but usual.
But the benefits could be considerable.
If management is prepared for this, this may not simply mean an exodus of the best people. It might mean a more adult, informed, and frank debate about the future. It might mean more prepared and resilient employees who feel they have some control and some choices. All of which are steps towards reducing the stress of the people caught in the middle of the change.
www.corporatemagnetism.com
Saturday 15 January 2011
the real pain of being out of your comfort zone
Late last year I decided I would return to a real love of mine, singing.
Now, I'm no Kiri te Kanawa, but I can (generally) hold a tune and have a decent range. Most of my previous forays onto the stage have been in musicals - the role of Rizzo in Grease was a highlight, but I've also done Madam Dubonnet in The Boyfriend and a variety of chorus parts in Godspell, Jesus Christ Superstar and Joseph and the Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat - for example. I've sung jazz, and rock, and the idea of being on stage doesn't frighten me.
Now, I'm no Kiri te Kanawa, but I can (generally) hold a tune and have a decent range. Most of my previous forays onto the stage have been in musicals - the role of Rizzo in Grease was a highlight, but I've also done Madam Dubonnet in The Boyfriend and a variety of chorus parts in Godspell, Jesus Christ Superstar and Joseph and the Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat - for example. I've sung jazz, and rock, and the idea of being on stage doesn't frighten me.
So far, so good. But this time, I wanted to do something a bit more serious, and more stretching. The choir I had in mind to join performed "classical choral pieces" - Elijah was first on the list, followed by The Messiah. So this was a significant change for me.
I'm not a scaredy-cat and I happily threw my hat into the ring, emailed and called to ask if I could come along. Please do, said the charming lady on the end of the phone. We do auditions at the end of the month, she added, where we'll test your voice to make sure you're in the right place in the choir and give you a sight reading test.
"Sight reading test?" I quavered.
"Oh yes, we do quite challenging work and we do need a reasonable level of sight reading to make sure you can keep up," was the brisk response.
"Oh yes, we do quite challenging work and we do need a reasonable level of sight reading to make sure you can keep up," was the brisk response.
"I see....." I trailed off.
I've never learnt to sight read and frankly, faced with a bunch of dots on a treble clef my brain goes to mush. Any sense of timing, tone - and any common sense, come to that - just evaporates and I become a wavering, weak and timid soul who squeaks, rather than sings.
This conversation took place in August - rehearsals for Elijah started in September, the concert was in November. Stiffening my spine, I immediately sent off for books from Amazon to help me learn to read music. When these didn't seem to help, I started to work with programmes on the internet which gave you the notes and then played the tune. When this didn't help and with start of rehearsals coming ever closer, I began music lessons. Two weeks to go before rehearsals began and I was having two or three lessons a week.
The choir lady had suggested that I come along to a couple of weeks' rehearsal before the audition, ("Just to see if you like us, dear") and in this time, I had an additional four lessons. And what a torment they were! My poor, beleaguered teacher spent much of the lesson passing me tissues to mop up my despair and soothing my fury that the information wouldn't go in. She gently told me that things would sink in, if only I would relax and go with my instinct.
The day of the audition, I hadn't slept well and I didn't eat all day. I felt physically sick, and arrived, a good 20 minutes early, for my ordeal. By this time, I'd talked myself both in and out of choir membership, forgetting one fairly important thing - I actually have a good voice, and I can sing.
I fluffed the sight reading - not dreadfully, but I fluffed what your average six-year old learning the recorder would play after a glance. The conductor suggested gently that I ought to continue with the lessons - and then accepted me as a second soprano. I was shaking by the time I left the hall. In mid November, I was with the choir, singing my first classical concert as a second soprano.
This post is not about my success - it's about my suffering. This was a very different environment for me - serious music, the focus completely on the voice, where skills were expected and in which I was poorly-tutored. I felt ill for a good week before the audition and a sort of stunned relief for a couple of days afterwards. I was, classically - out of my comfort zone.
As a communicator and trainer, I often have people in front of me who are being exhorted to "do something different", and I'm there to help them. My involvement is often to demonstrate how easy it is to do something different and that all you need is faith, and to buckle down.
Having sweated for at least six weeks to try and grasp even the basics of sight reading, I now have a pretty clear idea of how "being out of your comfort zone" doesn't just affect you mentally, it can also affect you physically. My confidence plummeted and my appetite waned, I didn't sleep, and I felt nauseous. Is this, I wondered, how people feel at work when they're asked to change what they do, who they do it with, and learn new skills into the bargain?
And this was something that I really wanted to do - imagine how it would feel if you were being put through this anguish for something you disagreed with, but needed to do to keep your job. Reflecting on this experience, I hope I'm now a little more patient and understanding with employees who, as a result of organisational change, are being asked - or forced - to do their jobs in unfamiliar ways. My "tick list" of change now reads:
- try not to set timescales - they make people nervous and nervousness does nothing to improve learning capability
- be patient - can you truthfully expect people who've behaved in certain ways for ten, 15, even 20 years to do things differently in a matter of months?
- some people (me included) learn best from other people - reading books or e-learning may not produce results, increases frustration and knocks confidence
- the impact of trying to change is mental AND physical - what's in place in your organisation to help with this?
- people who lead training, change agents and leaders of the change programme - they've had time to reach a level of equilibrium. The people in front of them, worried about their role, their competence and their rapidly diminishing confidence probably have not. Cut them some slack and recognise that any resistance may not be to inconvenience you. It's because they didn't sleep last night and they may feel sick to their stomach.
Finally, not being able to demonstrate a particular skill may not matter. I can't sight read (very well, yet) - but I can sing. I find my own ways of keeping up with the rest of the choir, listening to music files for my part from the internet, and learning it by rote. If the criteria for acceptance for my choir was just the sight reading, I wouldn't be writing this. But the conductor had the end result in mind.
It's a shame that more organisations don't think like this.
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