Due Process

I am a fairly informal person, with little love of bureaucracy, though I do recognise the needs it serves and indeed the importance of those. In particular, bureaucracy is developed to mitigate and manage risk, and to improve efficiency.

And that particular part of bureaucracy known as 'due process' is meant to minimise the risks of a miscarriage of justice. 

One of the growing risks for many organisations is reputational damage. It is so scary, so toxic and in the age of social media can occur so rapidly, that it can be tempting to react very quickly to any threat.

But we skip due process at our peril.

I have not written so far about the Tim Hunt affair. That was partly because I wanted to take my time to reflect on it; but also partly because I wasn't sure how accurate initial reports were. 

Various institutions reacted with extreme rapidity - presumably to limit the reputational damage they feared from being associated with his alleged remarks. But I am beginning to wonder if their haste may not have damaged their reputations too - because they did not follow a due process.

In any just system, however open-and-shut a case may appear, it is fundamental that someone accused has the right to present his or her case.  Tim Hunt was denied that right before being told to resign.

Now it appears that the main witness for the prosecution (as it were) may not be a credible and reliable one, and the case may be less open-and-shut than it appeared. And that leaves the institutions concerned with the unenviable prospect of - possibly - having to review their hasty decision once they have examined the available facts more closely.

For myself, I thought the twitter response was brilliant: the #distractinglysexy selfies posted of women engaged in every type of scientific endeavour was a wonderful demonstration of what needed to be said, and was witty and not abusive.

But I found it less edifying when those who questioned the rush to dismissal were portrayed as the establishment closing ranks to protect one of their own.  That may have been what was going on, but I am not convinced. I don't think it irrelevant that women scientists who have worked with Hunt thought the reported comments were not typical of the man they knew; and now it turns out that the initial account is not only contested in several details, particularly the context; but was also promulgated by someone whose own accuracy and veracity do not seem to stand up to scrutiny.

Those who insist that the response was proportionate to the harm his alleged comments are perceived to have done point out that he is not being stripped of his livelihood; they are honorary positions from which he has been forced to resign. 

But I think that, particularly to a man at his stage in life, reputation is important, and that we are all entitled to our good name, unless we forfeit that right.

Good name in man and woman, dear my lord,
Is the immediate jewel of their souls.
Who steals my purse steals trash; 'tis something, nothing;
'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands;
But he that filches from me my good name
Robs me of that which not enriches him,
And makes me poor indeed.

I do not know whether Hunt is as foolish and mysoginistic as the initial reports suggested, though increasingly I am doubting it.

But my real point is that, like anyone else, he should be deemed innocent until proven guilty, and that the lack of due process in the way various institutions dealt with the PR crisis is an injustice, and reflects very poorly on them. Surely the correct response would be an immediate statement distancing themselves from the reported remarks, and including that they were going to investigate further, including asking Hunt in for a meeting to hear his side of the story.

On Scafell Pike

At the weekend I went up Scafell Pike with Mike (my son) and Dylan (one of my nephews). We had a great walk, despite cloud cover at the summit.
I know the mountain quite well, and had decided that we would return to Seathwaite by a different rout (Esk Hause, if you know it) to the one we had come up by (the Corridor Route).

Map source

So we headed off the summit, went over Broad Crag, and bore North East to avoid climbing Great End and head for the hause. (A hause is a pass, by the way. Don't worry about the geography, if you don't know the mountain: the point I am trying to make will soon become clear, anyway).

However, it seemed to be taking far longer than I remembered to get to Esk Hause, and also the path seemed to be veering too far to the right (ie South). 

So eventually, I decided we should strike off to the North and see what we could see from the top of the ridge.

What happened next was baffling. The landscape looked all wrong. I was expecting to see the path we wanted to join and then cross with Sprinkling Tarn up to our left. But instead, a beautiful valley opened up, heading North West  - which didn't correspond to anything on my map.

Mike and Dylan both recognised it at once, but what they said didn't seem to make any sense to me. So I descended to the path and accosted some other walkers and (swallowing my pride) asked where we were, on their map.  They pointed to the Corridor Route, which made no sense at all - I realised that they were as lost and disoriented as I was. We could not possibly be there, having gone North from the east side of Great End.

However, they were right. The reason that Mike and Dylan had recognised the valley is that we had admired it on our way up. Somehow, I had managed a serious mis-navigation, and was clearly nowhere near where I had thought we were. (I still don't know how that happened, but that's not the point).

What fascinated me, once I had accepted the truth proclaimed by the other walkers, by Mike and Dylan, and (eventually) by map and compass (now I was looking at the right place) was how hard my brain had found it to adjust from what I KNEW to be true, to what was really true. For example, I completely failed to recognise the valley we had admired on the way up, as I KNEW it could not be the same one, as we were somewhere completely different. I KNEW the other walkers were mistaken when they first showed me where we were, and I completely failed to understand the very clear words of Mike and Dylan about the valley they recognised.

It was a very powerful and salutary lesson for me, as someone who coaches others to relinquish 'known truths' in search of more accurate understandings of reality; and is clearly a lesson I am keen to hang on to and continue to reflect on.  And it ties in very well with the fascinating book I am studying at present: Neuropsychology for Coaches, about which I may write more once I have finished it.

Squaring the circle

I was (wryly) amused to see an academic reporting that his research proposal have been turned down by a potential funder because it was insufficiently innovative and insufficiently grounded in previous research.

That seems to me to be a microcosm of a problem at the heart of our universities: the tension between creative thinking and risk management.

On the one hand, universities aspire to be creative places: they aspire to excellence in both research and teaching (funny how their mission statements all say that...) and excellence in either sphere requires, I would argue, quite a large dose of creative thinking.

On the other hand, they have to manage risk; the leadership teams of universities are well aware of the damage to the Institution that will ensue should they perform badly in the REF (Research Excellence Framework), the NSS (National Students Survey) and so on. Slipping down the league tables makes it harder to attract the best staff or students, and has financial consequences that impede their ability to invest in their institution.

There's a good research project in there, of course: how do you square the circle?

Taking it literally...

One of the habits that Andrew Derrington is trying to break me of, in my writing, is issuing caveats and disclaimers, and writing tentatively and conditionally. As I have noted before, he likes an assert/justify style - and in broad terms, I agree. It makes for a clearer and more compelling text.

But I have been reminded of why I write like that as I read John Whitmore's famous and influential book Coaching for Performance.  Because he often writes as absolute statements things which I think are very debatable, and it puts me out of sympathy with his whole text.

It may be that I am just too literal and pedantic in my reading, but it does irritate me.

To give some examples: 

Real performance is going beyond what is expected; it is setting one's own highest standards, invariably standards that surpass what others demand or expect.

Whist I see what he means (and in many cases would agree), I have a real problem with it stated as a simple truth. From time to time, I work with people whose bosses set unreasonable standards - standards that require the individual to sacrifice leisure and domestic time, for example, in pursuit of organisational targets. If I were to see my job as a coach as encouraging them to set standards surpassing those demands, I would be contributing to their stress. Rather, I might help them to recognise that their own standards are different from their boss's, and help them to consider how to negotiate accordingly.

Or again:

 The underlying and ever-present goal of coaching is building the self-belief of others...

As before, one sees what he is getting at; but has he never met anyone so full of himself that a major goal of coaching is an appropriate dose of self-awareness leading to a modicum of humility?

Whitmore's book is riddled with such stuff, and with many assumptions and philosophical positions presented as truths, too, and it does detract from the many useful things he has to say. So just when Andrew was weaning me off the use of caveats and disclaimers, I am suddenly reminded of why I use them.  

Food for thought...

Negotiating Skills In Practice

It is always heartening to demonstrate (to myself) that the skills I train others to use do actually work in practice.

Last week, three of my children and I went to France to walk from Paris to Chartres (and that's another story). Jane (née Plasom) had booked the flights, and I realised a few days beforehand that she had booked them all in the name of Plasom-Scott. For reasons with which I won't bore you, my driving licence, and the kids' passports, are all in Plasom-Scott, but my passport is still in Scott. Realising that this might cause problems at the airport, I phoned the airline to explain the situation.

They said I would indeed have to change my ticket so that the name on it matched the name on my passport, and that they would do that: for an £11 admin fee, and a £40 something-else fee - ie £51 in total.

That struck me as excessive, but I went ahead as I wanted first and foremost to ensure that I could get on the flight with the children.

However, the more I thought about it, the more I felt ripped off, so I got back to them, using the approaches that I cover in my negotiating skills workshop - based on Harvard's model of Principled Negotiation.

That involved being very clear about my concerns, and asking them to explain by what criteria they had reached the conclusion that £51 was a suitable fee for a small administrative change that must have taken them all of two minutes.

Their response was a positional one: that we had a contract; the terms were that alterations were charged for; the fee was comparable with their competitors' charges.

So I replied that I understood that we had a contract; but what I failed to understand was how they had arrived at the level of the charge. It seemed to me that they were simply exploiting the fact that they had the legal right to charge a fee.  However, I made it clear that I was open to their explanation justifying the level of charges. I also made it clear that if they were unable to give me a satisfactory explanation, I would continue to feel aggrieved, and would consider a variety of possible actions as a result.

I listed a range of possible actions I could envisage taking, from amusing myself at their expense online, to using them as a case study in customer care training, as well as contacting the regulator. For, as I told them, if we were unable to reach an amicable settlement, I might as well get some value, if only entertainment, for the money they had taken from me.

The result was a refund of £40.  £11 still seems a bit steep for a 2 minute alteration, but I can live with that. 

So once again, the investment in Getting to Yes (Fisher and Ury) paid off...

The Dynamics of Confrontation

Have you ever had the experience where you have, gently, raised the same issue again and again, and then, eventually, lost your patience and shouted at someone about it? It is a fairly common pattern, and is explained by this model of the dynamics of confrontation, which I have adapted from John Heron's excellent book The Facilitator's Handbook. 

Confront, in this context, means to put something squarely in front of someone, so that they recognise the need to change: typically it is used to address destructive or inappropriate behaviour or patterns of thinking.

1 You identify the need to confront someone

Be clear about the purpose of confronting - to help the other person to change his or her behaviour. That implies that the individual needs to understand what change is required and why, and also that he or she needs to leave the discussion feeling motivated and able to change - not beaten up or shamed.

2 You experience anxiety

There is always some anxiety at the prospect of these difficult conversations: that may be worsened if you have a bad experience of confrontation in the past, either with this person or someone else. Recognising this anxiety is the first step to counter-acting it.

3a Anxiety distorts behaviour

It may be that your behaviour is distorted by your anxiety in one of two ways:

• Pussyfooting: you may be so concerned not to cause offence that you avoid dis- cussing the issue altogether, or you wrap up your message in such woolly or apologetic language that the message or its importance get lost. This will lead to no change in behaviour - and growing frustration in you. If you find yourself thinking “How many times do I have to tell him...?” it may be that you have been pussyfooting.

• Clobbering: you may be so concerned not to pussyfoot - or so frustrated with the problem behaviour - that you deliver your message too forcibly and are perceived as aggressive. This will leave the other person feeling beaten up - and while he or she may comply in the short term, you will leave a legacy of resentment and disempowerment. If you find yourself thinking “Why are they so defensive?” or “Why can’t they decide things for themselves...?” it may be that you have been clobbering.

3b Behaviour freed from anxiety

To detach yourself from your anxiety and other emotions (eg annoyance), use any personal strategies you have for detachment, and focus on steering the middle course: telling the truth as you see it without compromise and with compassion. 

Without compromise means no apologising, no ‘praise sandwiches,’ and short, direct and factual statements.

With compassion means no anger, no blame, and a sincere intention to help the other person to learn and change his or her behaviour.

4 Learning for other person

When you get it right, you are likely to cause a sense of shock or recognition in the other person, that will be very noticeable to you. If you are then quiet and listen (resist the temptation to move into apologetic mode), you will be able to help the other person to consider what you have said and decide what and how to change. This is uncomfortable for both people, but can lead to genuine insight and learning.

5 Appropriate support

At the end of the discussion, end on a sincere and positive note - expressing appreciation of the person’s commitment to address the issue and offering any appropriate support. 

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So to come back to my original example, when you have asked someone repeatedly to change something (gently) and then ended up shouting at them, this model would suggest you have done this: pussyfoot, pussyfoot, pussyfoot, CLOBBER!

(Ask my kids for further details...)

Learning from experience

I have long been an advocate of learning diaries and similar reflective writing as a stimulus for learning. Today I had an interesting experience of the power of using them.

I try to write a reflection at the end of each week: whatever has caught my attention, raised a question, left me happy or unquiet... 

Some weeks it seems fairly banal, and I wonder about the value of it. Last week was one such week. All I could think of to record was a particular coaching session, in which I was not sure I had been as effective as I could have been.

The issue was that I had been talking with someone who was very unclear what he wanted to discuss in this particular session, so after a little probing, I had referred back to the original objectives we had agreed and asked which of them we might explore further. He had chosen one, and then again had little energy for exploring his experience and hopes around it (the poor chap was jet-lagged after an inter-continental flight). So I ended up giving him an overview of some of the theoretical stuff concerning the topic, and he then discussed how that made sense of some of his previous experiences, and how he could think - and act - differently in the future. He said it was a very helpful session.

But what was niggling with me was the degree to which it had been directed by me, rather than client-led, which many experts, (such as John Whitmore) insist is the better way.

It wasn't a big issue, but it was, as I say niggling. And because it was niggling, I noted it down. And because I had noted it down, I discussed it with my coaching supervisor. 

We discussed a number of things: the degree to which I had in fact involved him in the decision of what to discuss, what he learned from it, and how he might apply it - it was not a completely coach-led session; the fact that over the series of coaching sessions, most of the discussions are coachee-led  not coach-led; the fact that I don't agree with non-directionality as a philosophy, merely as an approach which is often helpful (ie if I have useful information, theoretical knowledge etc to share, it is sometimes helpful to share that, rather than try to draw everything out form the coachee); and the fact that he did find the session helpful, which is a primary consideration (though again, we also discussed how that is not the sole criterion, along with issues such as dependency etc...).

So that proved to be a very rich and thought-provoking session, leading to a much more valuable reflective note in my learning diary this week. QED.