by TS DeHaviland
Occasionally, commentators like me get raked over the proverbial coals for calling certain economists and corporate management types "evil."
But then you hear a story like the one Yuki Noguchi did for NPR last week. Noguchi, to her credit, pointed out that Robert Simons, of Harvard Business School, the vocal proponent of stacked ranking systems interviewed for this story, has tenure and is therefore not subject to the system. But nobody else in the story seemed to even blink when terms like these were used in reference to struggling employees:
"You have surgery to cut the cancer out."
"[I]it can sometimes work with an ailing business that has gotten too fat."
"[T]he bottom performers."
We're really talking about people here, of course, and struggling people to boot. We're not talking about pathologies or cellulite or even the "bottom performers," but people whose "performance" in any given position is a complex matter of what's going on their lives, what kind of relationship they have with their co-workers, and even what kind of work they're doing.
To glibly refer to people in this way simply means that the experts are being evil, callously distanced from the humanity of people who work. Calling someone a "cancer" simply because that person might have coworkers that don't like her or might be a poor fit for a position or might be expected to do impossible things on impossible deadlines with little or no support is simply unconscionable.
"Bottom performers" may, in fact, be the true innovators, but what they're doing may be beyond the ability of an organization, its managers, or the person's coworkers to understand.
And anyway, stacked ranking systems ask for fundamentally contradictory things: that people compete with one another but also act for the good of the team they work with and the organization as a whole. What part of the stupid-but-true cliche "There is no 'I' in 'team'" have proponents of stacked ranking not heard?
It gets much worse, of course: systems such as stacked ranking create cadres of people who gang up against the one or two scapegoats that they know they'll have to get rid of every year. This doesn't improve anything at all; it just poisons the atmosphere of work for everybody. After all, next year, the "poor performer" the popular kids decide to yank could be you.
The flippant attitude of those who purport to know about management is so deeply ingrained that the so-called proponent of employee engagement who is quoted here dismisses it even as she tries to explain it: "Employees like to hear that their opinion matters. They like to hear that their manager cares what they think."
Employees like to hear it, but if their opinions really don't matter and if the manager doesn't actually care what they think, if their opinions are never acted upon, then "engagement," like "empowerment" of the 1990s, will be just another empty business buzzword, just another mask for the deep-seated evil that all too often governs the terms of employment.
The Result of University Cost-Cutting Measures . . .
the Plausible Deniability Blog takes up where the PostModernVillage blog left off. While you'll see many of the same names here, PDB allows its writers and editors a space away from financial strum und drang that torpedoed the PMV blog.
Tuesday, December 10, 2013
Friday, November 29, 2013
Against Problem Solving and Goals
by Lael Ewy
Almost all of our self-help and
management literature is infected with the co-occurring disorders of
goal-setting and problem-solving. The problem I have with goals is
that they're poor ways to live your life. We live a continuum, not
from discrete moment to discrete moment.
Goals are preferred by power
structures because they can be easily quantified, listed on a resume or in a
quarterly report. But they're also defined by their completion, by
the discrete nature of their own parameters. Once reached, they have
an effect similar to certain drugs: momentary euphoria followed by a
crash (another reason, no doubt, that those power structures prefer them). If
the meaning of what you do is entirely goal-defined, you'll be at a
loss about what to do and how to be after the goal is achieved. And
if the goal is not achieved, you may be in danger of not
knowing what the point of all your work in fact is.
Goals, then, while useful for marking
work and organizing it, can also become traps, catching people in
such a way that they define themselves in terms of what is or can be
achievable or accomplished instead of as persons who are having
experiences, learning, becoming.
Likewise, we fall into traps when we
problem-solve. Almost all problem-solving techniques begin with
defining the problem clearly; some even advocate defining the problem
in a way that can be solved. This presupposes a certain kind of
solution: one already implied in the way a problem presents.
This approach restricts the possible
solutions and outcomes. It also often leads us to define problems in
ways we're comfortable with instead of ways that address difficult
truths. The “problem” of education in America, for example, is
presented as a problem of achieving certain measurable outcomes,
namely, student performance on standardized tests. This fails not
only to address issues such as preparing students to apply what they
know in the real world; it also fails to address the person as a
learner, as someone who will have to keep on learning in an
unpredictable (and unstructured) future environment.
Furthermore, we know that in the real
world, problems are seldom defined in the abstract, prior to their
being tackled. It's much more likely that real-world problems will be
defined and redefined as they are being solved. Once we've
(pre)defined what a problem is, brainstormed solutions, and selected
a plan of action, there's little room for changing course. This is
how we tend to get literally lost, how economies fail, how people get
mired in “stuck” places. The problem has been so clearly defined
from the outset that even firsthand observers sometimes fail to see
what the problem really is.
We all know from experience, as well,
that a structured problem-solving process, as good as it looks on
paper and as easy as it is to teach, is seldom how problems actually
get solved. Ideas often come to you while you're doing something
other than actively thinking about them. But employers would probably not
pay employees to creatively go do something else until a solution
appears, as that's, also, nearly impossible to account for. So we
continue to pretend our problem-solving techniques are the way things
really work, content to have defined the actuality, safely, away.
Sunday, November 17, 2013
Beyond Excellence
by Lael Ewy
We need to teach students not to meet
benchmarks but to question the very premises upon which those
benchmarks are based.
What is or isn't “excellent” is the
wrong aim of education in a democracy. We should be able to create
standards and critique them, not just to live up the standards
those-who-would-have-us-think-they-are-our-betters set. We should be
well-versed in making meaning, not just in coming up with answers.
All this dilly-dallying about with
“performance” is actually selling education far short, and we, as
a nation, should be ashamed of settling for it. Performance standards
are, at best, a distraction from the potentials of education and, at
worst, part of a concerted effort to reign in the more
independent-minded, and therefore more subversive and revolutionary,
aspects of being an educated person.
The fact that school systems find it
difficult to meet (often arbitrary) performance criteria is not a
measure of the “rigor” of those measures but rather an indication
of their irrelevance. We are a culture full of people who find
themselves falling behind economically, losing collective power, and
constantly facing new struggles that our existing power structure,
instead of helping us solve, helps to compound. None of these more
salient problems are addressed by standardized tests, and we feel it,
even if we haven't the language to express it.
One's self-discipline is a factor of
one's motivation; it isn't “laziness” to not want to play a game
that you know is rigged against you. Rather, it is common sense to
opt out, screw off, half-ass it. It's a good deal more compelling
when what you need to know is presented as a factor of what you need
to do. Exploring ways to better yourself that you can see and
touch makes much more sense than granulated, preprocessed
abstractions and idealizations of “knowledge.” Paulo Friere
understood this, and his “problem-posing” education was thus
attacked as being “theoretical,” the antithesis of what it
actually is.
All we've done with “excellence” is
increase the minimum allowable balance of our current “banking”
style of education; we've done nothing to put that value to work for
a people increasingly impoverished in both real and intellectual
ways.
Crisis Fatigue and the Indifference of Ted Cruz
By TS DeHaviland
I am suffering from a great deal of
crisis fatigue. I could get all uppity, as I'm wont to do, and remind
everyone that crises are mostly the results of poor planning, but the
ugly truth is that most crises are problems that we create for
ourselves for the sake of proving to others that our concerns are
real. We feel the need to continually prove this because the world is
largely indifferent to our actual complaints.
And while a few of us still give
lip-service to compassion—and some of us are even authentic about
it—there's nothing cooler to your average American than simply not
giving a fuck.
Th real reason Ted Cruz's stand against
Obamacare didn't really hurt him or the Tea Party in the long run is
that it established his image of cold indifference. It was petty and
selfish and procedurally pointless, but to a lot of Americans, it
made him look like a badass. His faux filibuster was a declaration of
“I so thoroughly don't give a shit about anyone else's suffering
that I will shut down the whole government to get what I want.”
And if that sounds like assholery, it
precisely well is.
But the fact that it made Ted Cruz, for
one horrible historical moment, the most powerful man on Earth is not
lost on any American male, and a whole lot of American males admire
him for it.
You see, the same American males are
all too aware that their power is in decline. But instead of looking
around and blaming the Ted Cruzes in their own lives—their bosses,
mainly—for it, they look at those people and ask “If they've got
all the power and all the cash, how can I be like them and get some
of that power and money too?”
The litany of ways they try to do it is
also a laundry list of liberal complaints against conservatives:
bigger guns and more of them; control over women's bodies;
indifference to the downtrodden and the poor (even though many of
them are poor themselves); alignment with a vengeful, Old Testament
God.
What fatigues people like me, people
who have been raised to take care of things and not wantonly break
them, people who spend time solving problems instead of blaming
others, is that the more Ted Cruzes we have blasting their
indifference all over the walls of our schools and the halls of our
Congress, the more energy people like me have to waste cleaning up
tragic and unnecessary messes.
Sunday, November 3, 2013
Towards a Dialectics of Organizational Tongues
by Lael Ewy
A lot of the trouble we end up having
in the workplace stems from our preconceived notions of how the
workplace ought to run, our expectations of what we ought to be
getting out of it, and what different communications at the workplace
signify.
The ability to adapt to a new work
environment—to a new workplace culture—is essential to our
survival and comfort on the job. This could be said about any
organization, schools, even families as well.
Part of that success is in reading the
contextual cues of the environment and the organizational culture, of
the communications of the “natives.”
A couple of tools spring to mind to
help deal with the problem of not adapting well to an organizational
culture, and one prominently: Reader Response, a theory of literary
critique. Reader Response postulates, among other things, that texts
contain the means of their own interpretation, that each work gives
the reader cues and clues as to what's going on within it. Often,
readers are unaware of how a text is “teaching” you to read it,
but exploring these indicators formally helps us to see what we might
have missed, explain things that confuse us, and help us gain insight
into the internal codes the author has used. An organization's
culture can be analyzed in much the same way: an awareness of its
“tells” can give us insights into what is really going on.
If done well, a person can can not
merely adapt to an organization but also gain a certain amount of
agency, if not power, within it. This can help address the unspoken
power differences that often create barriers between organizational
equals.
The in-group language of those in
charge, however, can still be used to to create and maintain
hierarchies and reinforce institutional structures of power. In the
same way that a ruling social class has its own set of terms and
cultural cues, so too do the powerful within an organization: methods
of dress and address, jargon specific to a certain theory of or
school of management, or idiomatic fixations become, very quickly,
the means to express in order to impress. Mastery over these may not
guarantee success at an organization, but they no doubt increase or
improve it. In turn, lack of mastery of these is used to create and
reinforce subservience. As Bakhtin might have put it, those at the
top speak the language of organizational epic. A way to push back
against this reification of power would be through some form of
polyglossia, of the novelization of intraorganizational discourse.
As with other forms of colonization,
when those in charge try to “improve” the staff by teaching them
the “master's” tongue, the result is nearly inevitable failure:
outside the context of the boardroom, the language of the power
structure holds little relevance and therefore little power to create
positive change. Its lack of effective magic in these circumstances
reinforces the idea in the minds of the managers that those lower on
the org chart deserve their place, that those already in charge are
fit to lead; their mastery of the magic tongue makes it so. This also
reinforces among those lower in the organization that they deserve
their place: if only they could make the incantations work, all would
be well. That they cannot simply proves that they are not fit to
lead.
Both sides forget a few important
things: those of lower organizational status forget that the language
of the managers is ill-suited to the work that they are doing, the
appropriate language being that created by the nature of the work
itself. And the managers forget that the miraculous effects of their
words—the ability to create almost instant compliance, for
example—comes not from the words but from the fact of
organizational power.
Thus the language of power is really
about the organization and its structure, not about the work the
organization ostensibly exists to do.
For power to be challenged, then, and
for the good not necessarily of the organization but its stated aims,
actual dialog must take place, without assumption and on neutral
ground.
True empowerment is dialogic, a product
of shared magic.
A Bit on Brands
by EW Wilder
Brands have long lives but thin skins.
Branding is an essentially defensive
move, as shown by its origins in tracking the ownership of cattle.
The brand attempts to avoid attack by approximating ubiquity. For as
much as the factual history of a brand may be written, it projects
ahistoricity; the brand's job is to convince you that it has always
existed. In this way, branding is much like religious iconography and
tries to perform the same function.
Frequently, it succeeds.
Tuesday, October 8, 2013
Coming to Terms with Cocker
by Lael Ewy
A while ago, I pledged to explain Joe Cocker. It's not an easy thing to do: by turns gruff and spasmotic, to any even halfway intelligent outside observer, Cocker should have long ago succumbed to some agonizing, long-term, debilitating neuropathy.
And yet, he persists.
Laying aside the apparent physiological impossibilities for a minute (for this will only take a minute), listen sometime, if you dare, to Joe Cocker and Jennifer Warnes' 1982 hit "Up Where We Belong." Easily Cocker's most famous piece of work.
True to its origins as a cheezy love song from the film An Officer and a Gentleman, and to its writers, Jack Nitzsche, Buffy Sainte-Marie, and Will Jennings, the lyrics and music are pure '80s pop schmaltz.
But if you want to understand Joe Cocker, you'll move past all that. Here Cocker is best displayed because of the contrast to Warnes. From her first "Who," delivered in a way both diaphanous and powerful, Warnes' voice is everything Cocker's isn't: it is genuinely operatic but with a slight folk-singer edge. These qualities force us to really listen to Cocker's voice, which is as rough and proletarian as Janis Joplin's ever was but with an utterly inexplicable tunefulness.
Listen to any classic Cocker track, like his cover of "With a Little Help from My Friends," and then put on some Led Zepplin. Go ahead. I'll wait.
See, that wasn't so hard.
Now, did you notice something? Yeah: no matter what kind of Robert Plant fan you are, you are now ready to realize what I have: Joe Cocker did, seemingly by accident, what a young Robert Plant was trying way too hard to do.
What I'm talking about, of course, is the blues.
This is also why, vocally, Plant's later work was so much better; he finally grew up a bit and came to terms with the fact that if he worked less hard he could get more done.
And Cocker? Well Joe Cocker just can't help himself, and that may, in the end, explain his greatness better than anything I could do.
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