Reflecting on the nature of human beliefs

Emotional Intelligence,
“Every man would like to be God,
if it were possible;  some few find
it difficult to admit the impossibility”

Bertrand Russell
Power

Some things have to be done.  So for me, no good holiday is complete without seeking out the best book store in town and having a root around.  This is one of the things I did in New York recently when I visited the wonderful Strand book store, which boasts 18 miles of new, second hand and rare books and the tag line where books are loved.

Often I come away from my book shopping experience with books I have been hankering after for a while and this was no exception.  In addition, I also came away with a book which was new to me – though by an author known to me – Milton Rokeach’s The Three Christs of Ypsilanti.

Rokeach was a social psychologist practising in the US in the middle of the twentieth century and with a particular interest in beliefs and values.  In July 1959, Rokeach brought together three men at the Ypsilanti State Hospital in Michigan, who had all been diagnosed as paranoid schizophrenic and each one of whom believed himself to be Christ.  Rokeach’s interest in the nature of beliefs and values was such that he wanted to study the impact on the three men’s beliefs about their identity of meeting with other men who also purported to have the same unique identity.  Rokeach and his colleagues worked with the three men for a period of two years, organising regular meetings between the men and observing the men’s responses.

Many years later, writing an Afterword in 1981 to the book he had written in 1964, Rokeach had cause to reflect on the nature of his experiments, recognising that he, too, had played God in the way that he imagined he could change the men by “omnipotently and omnisciently” arranging and rearranging the men’s daily lives, expressing some regret that he had not seen this at the time he first wrote the book and sharing his growing discomfort about the ethics of the experiment he had conducted all those years before.  It does, indeed, seem unlikely that such an experiment would be conducted today by Western scientists.  It seems to me that this fact serves to highlight rather than to diminish the book’s value.

Rokeach approaches his task from the point of view of the theoretical scientist, beginning, for example, by making some theoretical distinctions about different kinds of beliefs and ending – even in his afterword – by sharing key learnings.  His aim in conducting his experiment was to test some of those beliefs, which he did.  Even so, it’s striking to me that his book serves to bring the reader into close contact with the three men he studied.  It is by no means easy to understand the way they view the world and still, I found myself responding to them with compassion – that is, a fellow feeling with three men seeking to make their way in the world.

Throughout the book, Rokeach underlines how the delusions adopted by the three men serve a purpose even though we may not know what that purpose is.  As it happens, their beliefs are sufficiently far from reality that it’s easy to dissociate ourselves from these men.  At the same time, for me, Rokeach’s study serves to illustrate how we form certain beliefs in response to our early circumstances and how we continue to maintain those beliefs long after our original circumstances have changed.  It also highlights to me how a belief does not sit in splendid isolation in the human psyche.  Rather, it is part of a system of beliefs which are inter-connected.  To change one belief is to open up the need to change other beliefs that are connected.  This issue affects not only the three Christs of Ypsilanti.  Rather, it is one with which we all grapple.

I write more about the nature of beliefs elsewhere.  For now though, as I write, I am sitting with the experience of reading a book which is, in some ways, the most intimate of books.  It is a study about three (perhaps four) real men.  And as we read about those men we get to see glimpses of ourselves.

If you don’t play your music, who will else will?

Developing as a leader,

Amongst life’s many pleasures is lunch with friends, sometimes professional friends.  And sometimes one thing leads to another as it did last Friday.

Let me tell you first of a series of synchronicities that have taken place over time.  In 2008 I found myself sitting next to a man at a seminar.  He didn’t stay for the full duration but we spoke briefly and exchanged cards.  I had no idea at the time that this man, Len Williamson, would go on to become a trusted and valued friend.  Via Len I went on to meet some of his trusted friends, including Emma Chilvers (look out for mention of Emma in the coming days) and Cees Kramer.

Over time I have come to realise that Cees’ work with an organisation called Dialogos in many ways chimes with my own interest in aspects of communication.  On my recent trip to New York I finally bought William Isaacs’ book Dialogue and The Art of Thinking Together:  A Pioneering Approach To Communication in Business And In Life and I’m looking forward to reading it soon.  Meantime, I was curious about Cees’ invitation to an evening on Friday with long-time contributor in the field of leadership, Canadian Michael Jones.  I accepted the invitation gladly.

Let me confess that I had not heard of Michael Jones (at least, not of the Michael Jones in question!) until I received Cees’ invitation.  I was intrigued to hear of someone who combines his own particular style of piano playing with talking about leadership.  Listening to Michael speak on Friday evening I was also struck by his gift for telling stories and in this way revealing some of the deeper truths of our lives.

One story had particular resonance for me.  Michael, a pianist from a young age, nonetheless found himself working in the field of leadership.  Playing the piano had taken second place.  At a business event when the hotel he was staying in was quiet Michael spotted a piano and spent some time playing – a mix of classical repertoire and his own creations.  After a while he became aware of an elderly man emerging from the not-as-empty-as-he-thought lounge, shuffling slowly towards him.

The man asked Michael what he had been playing and Michael listed the names of the composers whose music he had played.  “No, not that – the other stuff”.  It became apparent to Michael that the old man was asking him about his own music.  The old man quizzed him about his own music and, learning that this was something Michael played only for his own pleasure, encouraged him to share it with a wider audience.  “If you don’t play your music”, he asked, “who else will?”  This question stands as an invitation to us all and implies another invitation, too:  to recognise the music in our lives that only we can play.  If you don’t play your music, who else will?

As I write I am enjoying the feelings of gratitude to Cees for extending an invitation to join him in the intimate setting of Bridewell Hall to enjoy Michael’s talking and playing.  I wonder, what does this brief glimpse of Michael’s work evoke for you?

And in case you’d like to find out about Michael’s work you can learn more at www.pianoscapes.com.

The missing dialogue

Developing as a leader, Emotional Intelligence,

Just before I turned off my Blackberry at the beginning of my flight to New York last week I picked up a message from my friend Len Williamson about an article he is planning to write.  It’s called The Missing Dialogue.  I reply and ask him, can I share his thoughts on my blog?  I’m pleased to pick up his yes as I land at Heathrow on my return.

Len points to the work of a number of thinkers in this field – David Bohm, Bill Isaacs, Daniel Yankevich – and highlights the phrase from JMW (Len, who is JMW?) – “all that is ever needed is a conversation”.  He also notes how easy it is to fail to have those conversations we most need to have.  On a teleconference with clients he hears three missing dialogues being played out and reflects on the pain and expense of failing to hold the dialogue.

In his brief sketch for his article Len writes:


The missing dialogue is the one that has the most potential to reduce stress in your life, move you towards meeting your goals and help you to fulfil your potential.  Everyone has at least three missing dialogues and most have many more.  The three you will have will be at least one at home with your partner, one or more at work with your colleagues and at least one at play with your friends.  The dialogue is missing because you avoid it.  You avoid it to protect yourself and others from the assumed consequences of having the dialogue.  Paradoxically, this avoidance creates stress for you as you do not follow the path you want to take.  It also holds you back from progress towards your goals and it limits your potential.  This paper shows it is possible to have these missing dialogues in a way that does not lead to all the fears you have about the consequences of doing so.

This is a rich topic.  I agree that all sorts of people fear the possible outcomes from conversations and I notice how this keeps people from dialoguing with themselves – let alone each with other.  I notice how much people lack skills in this area and how, even when people have skills and choose to open up the dialogue, this offers no guarantee of a constructive response.  In my own life I increasingly put out the invitation even when I believe there will be unwillingness or lack of skill on the part of my partner in dialogue:  whatever the response I know more as a result of opening the dialogue than I did before.

One dialogue that is often missing in key relationships in the workplace and elsewhere is this:  how shall we dialogue with each other?  As a regular reader you already know how much store I lay by establishing ground rules for dialogue in a wide range of conversations.  Sometimes these are ground rules I follow myself and which help me to stay centred and on track in the most difficult of conversations.  In some relationships I have agreement to a shared set of rules – amongst fellow practitioners of Nonviolent Communication, of Neuro-Linguistic Programming and of the Skilled Facilitator Approach (and because I’ve written about all three on this blog I have created links to the library of postings in each area).

I wonder, what are the missing dialogues in your life at present?  I encourage you to take time to identify and reflect on them and, if you feel bold enough, to share one or two of them here.  I also wonder what this subject evokes for you and what more you’re interested to know.  Please leave your comments as a way of supporting Len in writing his article.

Embracing my inner diva

Emotional Intelligence, ,

Hurrah!  I’m here.  Today I have my first rehearsal in New York for two concerts.

In recent days I have been sharing a joke or two with clients about coming to New York to indulge my inner diva.  I recognise that it’s only relatively recently that I have felt comfortable to own the diva within, because of the negative associations I have with the word.  I remember, for example, singing a number of years ago in a concert with Jessye Norman.  The choir and orchestra members were banished from our normal backstage areas in order to keep our humble germs out of Ms Norman’s breathing space.  This, surely, was the behaviour of a diva.

Today I take a moment to reflect.  What does it mean to be a diva?  I turn to Caroline Myss, whose book Sacred Contracts highlights the presence of archetypes in our lives and explores their implications for our learning.  One of the key messages I took from Myss’s book is that each archetype has a light attribute and a shadow attribute – if you like, the power to do good or the power to do harm in our own lives and to the lives of others.  I was sufficiently intrigued by Myss’s theory that I bought her Archetype Cards and I take a moment to look for the card which relates to the diva.  I am disappointed when I find none.

I turn next to Roger Hamilton’s book Your Life Your Legacy, in which he explores what you might also term archetypes in relation to generating wealth.  I know that one of these archetypes is the first cousin of the diva – the star.  And I also know – because I have completed Hamilton’s on-line diagnostic – that my own star energy is high, second only to my creator energy.  Turning to the brief initial descriptions of each archetype, I read The Creators set the stage, the Stars steal the show.  This, I think, begins to tell me something about my inner diva.

Applying Myss’s concept of the light attribute and the shadow attribute to Hamilton’s description of the wealth profiles I begin to explore the two sides of the diva.  The origins of the word diva are, of course, in the Italian word for a female deity – a goddess.  More recently the word has come to be applied to – as Wikipedia currently has it – a celebrated female singer.  Hamilton says of the star:  Stars get their most valuable feedback in the limelight, and find their flow while on their feet.  As a result, they are able to evolve their attraction on the fly, and it is their personal magnetism that is their greatest value.  The essence of the star is to create a unique brand which attracts others and in this way to touch the lives of many.  For the diva this unique brand centres around singing and performance.  Building on Hamilton and Myss, I recognise the role the diva plays in stepping into the limelight and shining a light out into the world.  She is there to express herself through her singing and in this way to inspire others.

What then, of the shadow attributes of the diva?  The diva in her shadow side can seek to eclipse others for personal gain.  Or she may compromise herself in some way, failing to express her unique brand and in this way eclipsing herself and depriving others of her own kind of leadership.  Perhaps the heart of the shadow attributes of the diva is, by failing fully to embrace her inner diva, to keep herself or others small.

I think back to that backstage experience of Jessye Norman and recognise that it’s not always comfortable to be around a diva, even when she’s doing what she needs to do in order to perform.  Perhaps my own inner diva was challenged in the presence of someone who was so fully embracing and living out her diva identity.

If my own fate includes a strong dose of the inner diva, I wonder, what about yours?

   

How well are you listening to your customers?

Developing as a leader,

Yeah!  Today I’m flying to New York! I’ll be flying out with members of the London Symphony Chorus to sing in two concerts this week at New York’s Avery Fisher Hall before flying back after our concert on Sunday.  I’ll be back at my desk in time for work on Monday!

Along the way, I had an experience I still find very strange.  And I must confess, it concerns one of my favourite organisations – First Direct.  Over the years, I have regularly taken out travel insurance with them so it seemed quite straightforward to phone them up again, to get put through to their insurers and to renew my insurance.  But no – this is roughly the conversation I had when I spoke to a representative at Aviva:  What’s the purpose of your visit?  I’m going to New York as a member of an amateur chorus to sing in a couple of concerts.  So it’s a professional trip?  No, we’re amateurs – we’re not being paid.  But it’s not leisure…  Well, yes, in my eyes it is – singing is something I do as a hobby.  Quite quickly, I was asked to approach a specialist insurer for this trip.

I found it hard to get any clear explanation about why I would not be insured as a member of the LSC.  I have been insured for business trips under the same policy in the past so even if they were classing this as a professional trip why would this policy not cover it?  I asked the person on the phone what risks he saw that would not also apply on any other leisure trip and he didn’t have an answer.  I decided to let the team at First Direct know I wasn’t happy.  They gave me another number and encouraged me to phone and try again.  The explanation was clearer this time, though I didn’t enjoy it very much.  We don’t class this as a leisure trip because of your singing commitments.  And yes, we do insure people for business trips, but only for work in administration.  I asked if I could check my understanding, expecting to get a simple, yes, that’s right.  Instead, I got another explanation, which seemed to me to be a little longer and still, essentially, the same as the first one.  I could see the risk that we might go round in circles without ever getting to the point where the person talking to me would say, yes, that’s right, these are the reasons why we won’t insure you.

After talking to a few members of the choir (has anyone else had an experience like this?  Who are you insured with for this trip?) I visited my local Post Office, picked up a leaflet for their travel insurance and made a call.  I made sure to check that they really would cover me on my singing trip and the representative seemed rather amused when I told her about my experience with Aviva.  Yes, we’ll cover you for this and other singing trips.

As I sit here and write I am wondering what I needed from Aviva that I didn’t get – recognising that it wasn’t just insurance.  I know I wanted a clear explanation that I could understand – not just that I could understand the words but also that it would make sense to me in a way that the explanation I received just didn’t.  Also I wanted the representatives of the organisation to stand behind their explanation – to act as if it made sense to them.  When I checked my understanding and didn’t get to a clear, yes, that’s right… I found myself wondering if the reasons for the no made sense to the person I was talking to.

And why does this matter?  It matters to me as a customer.  It also matters to Aviva, because customers have a voice – they tell their friends about their experiences, they put it on the internet.  One man, after his guitar was broken in the hands of America’s United Airlines, and having exhausted all the possibilities for raising the issue with them without gaining compensation, wrote a song about it and posted it on YouTube under the heading United Breaks Guitars.  At the time of writing, Dave Carroll’s song has received close to 11,000,000 hits on YouTube.

Mmm… maybe I should write a song about Aviva…

When emotions rise high in the workplace

Emotional Intelligence
Recently, I was surprised when someone responded to a posting I’d made on a discussion forum by saying that I’d been a bit “harsh” in my posting and describing it as “inquisitorial”.  Initially I was stunned:  I couldn’t square the response with the content or – more importantly – the spirit and intention of my posting.  It took the response of a second member of the forum, which included a number of inferences-presented-as-truths, for me to become aware that a misunderstanding of gigantic proportions had occurred.
One member of the forum responded by writing an impassioned plea:  “I have watched the ‘warm’ exchanges and have become more convinced of the futility of communicating anything other than data via email, forum postings or equivalent batch communications.  Texting with emoticons helps but it is still a very poor option.  Chatting helps because of the instant nature of the responses.  Face to face is the name of the game or telephone/Skype as a second best.  To communicate well we need the subtleties of body language and tone of voice…  Have we not learned the lessons that we teach to others?”  Niels Bohr, physicist, is variously quoted as saying that the opposite of a fact (or a trivial truth) is a falsehood but that the opposite of a great truth may also be true.  I wonder:  what are the opposing truths of electronic communication in the third millennium?
My colleague on the forum summarises one side of the case and echoes a view which is widely held by those who train others in communication in the workplace.  They point to the greater risk of misunderstanding between people by e-mail, when inferences are easily made.  They also point to the greater likelihood that people will reach a new understanding if they take time to communicate directly.  Receiving an e-mail from a colleague who is angry or upset, you may choose to respond in kind – it’s easy for one angry e-mail to stimulate strong emotions in the recipient who may well react in the same vein rather than taking time to process the emotions the e-mail stimulates before choosing a wise response.  The wise response may well be to pop your head round your colleague’s door and say “Wow!  I got your e-mail and I can see you’re not happy.  Can we talk?”
So what is the opposite of this point of view?  Personally, I wonder if it’s good enough in the third millennium to say that e-mail is simply for communicating data and anything else belongs elsewhere.  There is, of course, the question of what constitutes “data” – isn’t it all (including the angry e-mail) data?  There’s also the question of how we work today.  I have any number of clients who have colleagues, clients and other key contacts on different continents and who need to communicate effectively across geographies and time zones, making face-to-face and even telephone communication challenging.  Above all I wonder if the opposite point of view is this:  that it’s not the medium of communication (e-mail, phone, face-to-face) but the skills we have in communicating – the emotional intelligence – that make the difference, no matter what medium we use.  Even the man or woman who stops to think “Oh!  This is not one to respond to by e-mail”, for example, is succeeding in his or her communication because s/he brings insight and understanding as much as because s/he chooses to communicate face to face.
For me there are two truths to add here:  that communication is inherently difficult and that organisations could be far more effective in addressing the challenges inherent in communication.  On reflection, I wonder if my posting stimulated strong emotions in at least one of my colleagues.  I say this without judgement – not least because I, too, experienced strong emotions on reading his words.  This is the “amygdala hijack” Goleman describes in his books on emotional intelligence.  At the same time, there are things we can do that make it more likely that we will be successful in our communications.  Some of them take time and effort to learn – it’s not easy to master your emotions in the moment, for example.  Some of them can be translated into simple rules, such as “check your inferences before you respond”.  One of them is to accept that successful communication is possible only when we accept and embrace the full panoply of human experience and the role it plays in communication, which is often messy and difficult before it’s successful.
Recently I pointed to some of my favourite resources in this area in a blog posting entitled Handling Objections.  I wonder, what is your truth when it comes to communication in the workplace?

As a leader are you “judge and jury”?

Developing as a leader, Emotional Intelligence, ,

On Monday, after spending four years in jail, the young American Amanda Knox was dramatically cleared of the murder of British student Meredith Kercher after her initial conviction was over-turned.

Knox’s original conviction was based on DNA evidence which was later found to be unreliable.  As I write, an article in the New Scientist has highlighted that even before the trial that led to the conviction of Knox and her then boyfriend, Raffaele Sollecito, there were questions about the strength of the DNA evidence on which the case against the pair rested.

It’s hard to imagine the experience of Meredith Kercher’s family members following her death.  We can barely understand the depth of grief and loss, the yearning for answers (Who killed her?  Why?), the desire for justice for their daughter.  It’s a little easier to understand the pressures that members of the police face to get to the answers to those questions.

There is a risk that, for all sorts of reasons, the police respond to the pressures they face by seeking not so much to uncover the truth as to construct some credible “truth” that will lead to a conviction.  A point comes when evidence is met not so much with open curiosity (what is this telling us?) as with a clear intention to convict (can we use this to support our case?).  After a while, the detective is blind to the very truths he has uncovered because they no longer support him in his aim to convict.  Perhaps the original case against Amanda Knox and Raffaele Sollecito was built in this way.  Perhaps it was not.

All this is a long way from the workplace of my readers and still, I wonder if there is some message here for you as a leader.  I wonder if, at times, it seems easier to you to make a case against a member of your team or a colleague in the board room, in order to meet some needs of your own.  Perhaps, for example, it’s easier for you to judge your team member as “lazy” or “incompetent” than it is to see how much s/he is struggling in a new job and to recognise how much you, as manager, have failed to provide the guidance and developmental support s/he needs.  Perhaps, in the Boardroom, it’s easier to dismiss your colleague with a few swift judgements than it is to wonder, “what are his real concerns?” and to explore together what needs you both have that need to be met if you are to come to an agreement that works for your department as well as hers or his.

The signs that you are doing this are easy to spot.  Maybe you are looking for the evidence that supports your case, for example, and dismissing any evidence that might tell another story.  Perhaps you are more concerned with being “right” (and proving that the other person is “wrong”) than you are in building mutual understanding.  Perhaps you are rooted in a single truth rather than open to new information and the possibility that you may, in time, come to a new perspective.

As a leader are you “judge and jury”?  Do you want to be?  If you do, I recommend you ask yourself why and explore your answers fully.  Maybe, in time, you’ll come to a new perspective.

Working as a team to handle objections

Developing as a leader, Emotional Intelligence, ,

Recently, I wrote a posting about handling objections, in which I pointed to a number of resources that are available to the leader who is learning to handle objections in negotiations.  I also asked colleagues about their experiences and fielded an interesting example from someone who, like me, is interested in what Roger Schwarz calls a ‘mutual learning approach’.

Using this approach an objection is not taken as some kind of tactic to achieve the best outcome for the person raising the objection.  Rather, it’s seen as a statement of genuine concern.  By understanding the concern that sits beneath the objection, the person negotiating can think about whether he (or she) can adjust his approach in order to meet the needs of the person objecting, whilst still meeting his own needs.  This is negotiation with the aim of creating outcomes which meet everyone’s needs – a “win, win” outcome.

My colleague’s example speaks for itself so, with his permission, I share it here:

Recently, I had an experience that may be relevant.  When I work with clients I use a charge sheet for different services with different rates for non-profits and for commercial organisations.  I show this to clients on the first business development meeting and I am transparent on how I come to the figures and engage in discussions about the costs and numbers involved.


In a recent discussion with a client there was an objection to the amount listed in the invoices.  I kept the discussion open through my choice of questions.  Originally I didn’t understand his needs with regards the objection.  I also had a need that I didn’t want to have to manage a unique costing structure for this client and potentially for every client.


Exploring the need to modify the amount listed on the invoices, I learned it related to the charge rates of another consultant who happens to be the former MD within my client’s company.  My rates were considerably higher.  Now that was a potentially embarrassing, risky situation!  I can remember the slight glow in my cheeks as I realise the comparison and how my client explained that “Head Office” would see these rates.


In exploring the rates using the mutual learning style, we were able to accommodate and resolve this issue through increasing the transparency of the documentation to show the time I spent on planning and documentation.


I was genuinely trying to be transparent, curious about the client’s needs.  I explained my reasoning, understanding that we both had information that was different – me and my client.  We were doing our best to be mutual learners.

Revisiting our sense of identity

Developing as a leader,

Tuesday evening.  As I write my alarm is set for a 5am start tomorrow, when I’ll be packing my bags to go to Glasgow as a member of the London Symphony Chorus.  We’ll be singing in our fourth out-of-town concert in just two weeks, performing our third work – James MacMillan’s St. John’s Passion.  This is the opening concert of the new season for the BBC Scottish Symphony Orchestra and will be broadcast live on BBC Radio on the evening of Thursday 29th September 2011.

For a few weeks now I have been aware of how busy we’ve been as a choir and this feeling has been all the more intense in recent days as I struggle to find time for the most basic tasks and make jokes about the risk that I shall soon run out of clean underwear.  Today though, I notice something else:  how strong is my sense of identity as a singer right now.

Of course, we all have multiple identities, related to all sorts of activities and relationships in our lives.  At home we may be parents, children, spouses.  At work we may be professionals of some sort, as well as managers, leaders, team members.  Our hobbies confer additional layers of identity.  And then there is the sense of identity that comes with our gender, sexuality and much more besides.

Often, there is an interplay between our sense of our identity and additional layers of truth, so that it’s hard to say with confidence “Yes, this is who I am”.  If we hold too tight to our sense of identity we miss the opportunity to learn and grow.  Our identity as parent becomes stuck at a time when our children were still children, for example, and we miss out on the joys that can come when we allow our relationship to develop as we and our children develop.  At the same time, our sense of identity supports us in the world, acting as a compass or guide.

As we move through our careers there will be times when our sense of identity is one or two steps behind the role we inhabit.  A promotion often leaves us with a sense that, somehow, we don’t belong.  My title is Director of X, Y, Z but who am I to be in this role?  We find ourselves looking over our shoulders and wondering who will be first to notice the incongruity.

The sense of discord (no musical pun intended) is a healthy one because it invites us to explore who we really are.  Is this the right role for me, and if it is, who am I becoming in this role?  And if it’s not, who am I and what role might be right for the person that I am?  At the same time, we may find that layers of identity that were laid down when we were very young – perhaps even laid down by our parents when they were very young and handed down to us – are still in the mix, long after they relate to any objective reality.

It’s time to explore who we have become and who we want to become.  It’s also time to uncouple those things we confuse with who we really are, such as behaviours borne of habit, or the labels we place on ourselves (or others on us).

Is it “accountability” when senior heads roll?

Developing as a leader,

24 September 2011.  Just days after the shock announcement that UBS has identified and arranged the arrest of “rogue trader”, Kweku Adoboli, the news came through that UBS CEO Oswald Gruebel has stood down from his post.  The Bank’s chairman, Kaspar Villiger, said that Gruebel “feels it is his duty to assume responsibility for the recent unauthorised trading incident”.

I notice that my heart sinks when the response to failures in the public domain (in politics, or amongst public servants, or in highly visible senior roles in the commercial sector) is to let some senior head roll.  What does it mean to assume responsibility in this context – and others like it?  There are, clearly, two ways in which someone takes responsibility.  The first is to acknowledge some error that has enabled failures to happen.  This is taking responsibility for what has happened in the past.  There is also the question of who will address the underlying causes of an issue that has happened in the past or the systemic weaknesses that allowed it to occur.  This is taking responsibility for sorting out what happens in future.

It seems to me that when heads roll the people concerned perform a rather strange double face.  On the one hand, by falling on their swords, they appear to say “mea culpa” and others have the option to say “quite right, too!”  At the same time, they tend to say nothing about what it is, precisely, that they take responsibility for so that even as they say “mea culpa” they walk away from any real responsibility they may have.  Equally, even as they say “mea culpa” they may be walking away from holding others to account by whose acts an error occurred.  And of course the man – or woman – who leaves their job in this way does nothing to address the underlying issue, leaving this to a successor who comes in unsullied to the role.

There is, of course, the question of appearances.  Who knows what conversations UBS Chairman Kaspar Villiger may have had with CEO Oswald Gruebel about the need to appease shareholders with decisive action.  I wonder, are shareholders, journalists and other interested parties really so naive?

For my part, I’d like to see a more robust form of accountability in the public domain.  At the very least, public statements would say more about what it means to “take responsibility” in cases such as these.  Perhaps Kaspar’s statement would say “Gruebel was concerned that such a thing could happen on his watch and realised he had not been doing all he needed to to ensure robust risk management in the bank” or “whilst Gruebel is proud of the work he has done for the bank he realised it needs somebody else to get to the bottom of what happened and to make sure it can’t happen in future”.  Then, at least, we would have some insight into what “responsibility” means in this context.  Personally, I find that responsibility – accountability – comes when there is a level of detail in the public statement which makes meaning transparent.

I realise that I am standing on my soapbox right now and I am ready to step down from it – for now.  I wonder how you respond to the rolling of Oswald Gruebel’s head?