Managing your prejudices (3): it’s all in the language

“How do you manage your personal prejudices in a coaching situation?”

Reflecting on and writing about prejudice in recent days I am bound to reflect not only on my own prejudices but also on the widespread use of words which imply bias or interpretation and yet go unquestioned. In the most simple way I can, I thought I’d list a few here:

  • “How rude!” To what extent is there something called “rudeness” and is this term ever used without prejudice? If I describe your behaviour as rude am I not claiming to know something about what is or isn’t rude and in some way to have authority over your behaviour?
  • Terrorist: who gets to decide that an individual is a terrorist (rather than a freedom fighter) or that an act is an act of terrorism? On what basis is one act an act of terrorism and another (whether deemed legal or illegal) a war?
  • Mental illness: Thomas Szasz wrote a book questionning the use of the term “mental illness” or “mentally ill”. Is there any such thing? Jung Chang’s memoir Wild Swans with her description of her father’s response to the experiences he had under Chairman Mao’s regime illustrates just how behaviours that pass as “mental illness” could equally be seen as a sane response to the set of circumstances in which we find ourselves. So, is it prejudicial to describe someone as mentally ill?
  • Thug: How often do our journalists use terms such as “hooligan”, “thug” and “vandal” as if to use such a term were to state a fact rather than to make an interpretation? And to what extent does the use of a wide range of labels – from “parent” to “paedophile”, from “late” to “leisurely”, from “hard-working” to “high-potential” – imply prejudice on the part of the speaker?

I wonder how you respond to these terms? And what other words and phrases would you identify as showing prejudice.

Managing your prejudices (2): why bother?

“How do you manage your personal prejudices in a coaching situation?”

Yesterday, I explored what we mean by the word “prejudice” in response to my client’s question. Today I venture to ask myself why I or others might choose to manage my personal prejudices – and indeed, why we might choose not to.

I have to declare a bias! For all my instincts are in favour of being aware of my prejudices, of stripping them away, of letting them go… it is easy for me to make the case for managing one’s prejudices in a range of roles. I think of parents, leaders, teachers, coaches… Given my own bias, I want to recognise that there might be well-intended reasons for maintaining a prejudice and even that maintaining prejudice is inevitable.

What might be our reasons for maintaining a prejudice or bias? What needs might we meet by holding a prejudice? Yesterday I mentioned that generalisations simplify the act or process of living. It’s also easy to see how prejudice might be born of fear – a generalisation from one experience to protect us from similar experiences in future. It’s only a few steps, for example, from knowing that crime rates are high in xyz area to drawing the conclusion that all people who live in xyz area are dangerous and to treating them with suspicion. Even when we don’t hold a view we might choose to adopt it for fear of what happens if we don’t. Some of the most striking examples are visible in totalitarian regimes. Others are more subtle and can be seen by the discerning eye in our families, churches, workplaces and other communities. To maintain a bias may keep us safe from something we fear. It may also help us to maintain our place in a community.

What might our reasons be for choosing not to examine our prejudices and to manage them? One reason is that our prejudices are often unconscious, resting on beliefs we take to be truths – matters of fact. How many of us take “you have to work hard to succeed” to be the ultimate workplace truth, for example? Perhaps there’s another reason we choose not to examine our prejudices. For some of us at least hold the view that we are the sum of what we think. To open up our beliefs to examination can be frightening indeed – for who are we when our beliefs have been stripped away and found to be false? With what do we replace them?

Given the reasons we have to maintain our prejudices, why might we choose to manage them – to bring them into conscious awareness, to examine them, to let them go or at least to choose how we respond to them? It’s clear that there can be negative consequences from holding a prejudice, both for the person who holds it and for others with whom they are in contact. Consider the parent, for example, who forms and expresses the view that Johnny is the lazy one in the family (or stupid or ugly…) and that this is a bad thing or that Sally is the resourceful one in the family (or bright or capable) and that this is a good thing. Research in many fields suggests that such declarations tend to sow seeds for the behaviour of the children (or adults) involved. We can expect that over time Johnny and Sally will tend to conform to the ideas their parents have of them. In the field of leadership, research shows how the beliefs of leaders can have the same impact across teams or even whole organisations.

Even when the beliefs of parents (or leaders) are “positive”, they may have unintended and undesired (or undesirable) consequences. In the family Sally may feel pressure, for example, to live up to her parent’s description of her and may fail to ask for help when she needs it. Both Sally and Johnny may over time feel increasingly estranged from their true selves and from the adults who have labeled them in whatever way.

And what about coaching? It seems to me that any hidden assumptions, generalisations or beliefs held by the coach may limit what’s possible in coaching. It’s not that the coach’s experience counts for nothing – often coaching clients look to their coach for input and observations based on their own experience. At times, it’s the coach’s personal experience or experience of other’s progress that tells them that more – much more – is possible for a client. At the same time, when the coach presumes to have an answer, he or she may unwittingly limit the client in his or her progress or in the expression of his or her authentic self.

Perhaps authenticity is the hidden “plus” in all of this. For insofar as we value authenticity and see benefits in recognising and nurturing authenticity in ourselves and others, we are likely to want to go beyond our prejudices and to be open to a level of insight which cannot come from generalisations of any kind.

I wonder, what do you think?

Managing your prejudices (1): what is a prejudice?

“How do you manage your personal prejudices in a coaching situation?”

This question, from a client commissioning coaching, has been deeply thought-provoking such that I have decided to explore it here. I notice that I have no easy answers even whilst wishing to come to coaching without prejudice. The first thought that comes up for me as I engage with this question is, in turn, a question: what is a prejudice?

It isn’t often that I take my Shorter Oxford English Dictionary (that’s just two volumes) off the shelf but now I do. Amongst the definitions it offers are the following: 1. a previous judgement; esp. a premature or hasty judgement. 2. preconceived opinion, bias favourable or unfavourable […] usually with unfavourable connotation.

I wonder just how far to take this. One way of looking at it is to describe a prejudice as a generalisation which may or may not be injurious to the person(s) who are the object of the generalisation. If we take this definition, we might want to ask ourselves what difference there is between a prejudice and a belief. It seems to me that the answer to this question is a matter of degree and is generally in the eye of the beholder. It may equally be held in the eye of a group of beholders: such groups might include nations, or people of a common profession, or members of a single family.

An example of one such prejudo-belief is that homosexuality is in some way wrong, erroneous, sinful… the list of such judgements is long. It’s easy to see that different groups hold very different views about sexual preference and/or the choice to act on sexual preference. It’s also easy to see that different groups hold opposing views with equal sincerity and equally positive intentions. Whilst some groups campaign for acceptance of homosexuality and equal rights for homosexual men and women, for example, other groups seek to surpress homosexuality and even to heal people of homosexuality.

When it comes to homosexuality, it’s easy to identify different groups with deeply held, sincere and opposing views. But what about prejudices or beliefs that are so widely held that they are never questioned? Perhaps beliefs against homosexuality have fallen into this category at various times and in various cultures. (Quite recently I met someone who told me that homosexuality does not exist amongst the men of her country of origin. It is my guess that it does). What is received wisdom for one group or generation may be seen as a myth by another. It is the nature of prejudice that it is often unconsciously held.

It is easy to see how prejudices come about. For it is in the nature of human experience that we construct a map of the world around us and beliefs about what’s true or not true, what works and doesn’t work etc. We need this map or Weltanschauung to simplify the act of living. It helps to hold certain beliefs in order to save time in making choices based on diverse and complex data, for example. Equally, living in society and negotiating our interactions with others implies negotiating a path between many options and ways of interacting. Life can be simpler – or at least appear to be simpler – if we have shared beliefs which guide everyone’s behaviour.

So how do we differentiate between a belief and a prejudice? Perhaps the act of owning a belief goes some way towards making it conscious though it may still be prejudicial. This is the simple difference between saying “X is true” (or simply “X”) and “I believe X is true”. In addition, the closer a belief is to the data it seeks to reflect (the closer the map to the territory) the further we are from a prejudice and the closer we are to a belief. Or are we? I wonder if, insofar as there is any gap between the map and the territory, there is always the risk of prejudice, of bias favourable or unfavourable.

I wonder, what are your views?

We are the music makers

We are the music makers,
And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wandering by lone sea-breakers,
And sitting by desolate streams; –
World-losers and world-forsakers,
On whom the pale moon gleams;
Yet we are the movers and shakers
Of the world for ever, it seems.
Arthur O’Shaughnessy
Our rehearsal schedule has been intense as we prepare to sing some of the best-loved of British music. It is twenty-three years since the London Symphony Chorus last sang Elgar’s Music Makers which we perform this evening alongside Holst’s Hymn of Jesus and Vaughan William’s Towards The Unknown Region.
In our final tutti rehearsal we are tired and it’s hard to imagine that we might invoke the spirit of music making less than two hours after we finish our rehearsal. Thank heavens that, when the time comes, our adrenalin kicks in to supply the physical resources we need to sustain a committed performance.
Our concert this evening is a performance, yes. Perhaps more significantly it is an act of love and devotion as we remember Richard Hickox with whom we worked so closely until his untimely death on 23rd November 2008. It also marks the inauguration of the Richard Hickox Foundation with its aim to cherish and support those interests that were close to Richard’s heart.
Arthur O’Shaughnessy’s words, set to music by Edward Elgar in 1912, remind us of the legacy that the music makers create and leave behind. Can we fail to think of Richard and of his extraordinary legacy – the groups, orchestras and festivals he initiated, the musicians whose careers he sponsored, the composers whose music he cherished, his recordings (more than 280 with Chandos alone)? It is not so much that this legacy consoles us as that it reminds us of the man he was. The time will come when we shall cease to have been separated by death and yet, meantime, our preparations for this concert serve to remind us of our loss and sense of separation.
In rehearsal Elgar’s stirring and somehow quintessentially English music reminds me of my own musical inheritance. For in 1975 at the age of twelve I took part in my first choral concert, singing The Music Makers alongside Rubbra’s Dark Night of the Soul at the Newbury Music Festival. I remember how my mother feared this music might put me off for ever. Singing The Music Makers for the first time since 1975, I am suddenly and deeply aware of the consequences throughout the whole of my life of that early decision to sing. Can there be any gift for which I can feel more grateful to my parents than for this gift of music?
We are the music makers.

Coaching, therapy and the outstanding leader

Autumn is meeting time for many as people return from holidays and begin to shape an agenda for the year ahead. Coaches are no exception. On the one hand, coaching clients return to coaching after their summer break. On the other hand, commissioning clients often ask to explore what role coaching can play in supporting the corporate agenda.

As I prepare for one such meeting, I am invited to share information in response to a range of questions. How do you work with clients? What are your aims and objectives? What is your coach training, knowledge and background? What arrangements do you have in place for your continuing professional development? What types of coaching intervention do you offer and to whom? How do you measure results? Can you share a typical coaching programme, including details of any questionnaires or tools you might use? Can you share your CV?

As I prepare my responses to these questions, I notice that I pause – only for a moment – before I share information about my personal development. What if I am judged on the basis of sharing this information? Still, I go ahead and write:

Alongside my professional formation I have also invested extensively in my own personal development throughout my career. As well as working with professional coaches I have also chosen at times to invest in therapeutic interventions including cognitive behavioural therapy and the physical therapy known as rolfing. My trainings in NLP and NVC have brought both personal growth and insights which inform my work as a professional coach, consultant and trainer.

I recognise the part of me that fears judgement. It is an old, old fear. I remember a period before I began to invest in my own learning in this way. This was a period in which I yearned to make this investment and yet was so fearful – what if I make this investment only to learn that I really am as flawed as others seem to be telling me I am? This was my greatest fear. This is the fear that still sits behind my fear of being judged by the people I have not yet met and who may become clients.

And yet I know how valuable these experiences have been to me and just how important they are to my work as an Executive Coach. For they give me something that the most effective leaders have in spades – the ability to stand back and observe myself, to notice my thoughts, feelings and emotions, to connect with my motivations in a given moment and to choose to respond to them in ways which serve me and those around me. For how can our leaders respond effectively in a given moment if they lack awareness of the choices they are already making, let alone of the wide range of choices available to them?

There’s more. For I draw on the depth of my own learning and experience when I ask questions of clients and make observations that open up new pathways for them. In the same way, the leader who has a deep self awareness is uniquely placed to coach those he or she leads. Though I am not a therapist, it comes as no surprise to me that some of the most effective coaches have a background as a therapist or experience of therapy as clients.

Perhaps, though, the most fundamental benefit I can offer to my clients based on my own experiences is this. For sometimes clients struggle in their current way of thinking, yearning to make changes and wondering if they will ever find a way to free themselves from the thrall of their habitual ways of thinking. Sometimes clients soar to reach new heights that they could not have believed possible and for which role models are few and wonder if they can make the journey. Sometimes they both struggle and soar. On these occasions I can come to coaching with a confidence that the journey they are setting out to make is possible for them. I can bring compassion for the journey. I can support them as they slow down to take just one step at a time.

For there is nothing to fear in supporting clients in their journey when your own journey has taught you that, yes, you can.

Joseph Campbell and the hero’s journey

In April 2005 I wrote a brief introduction to the hero’s journey as described by Joseph Campbell, author of The Hero With A Thousand Faces and (with co-author Bill Moyers) The Power of Myth. Of all the articles I have written in my regular newsletter this is the article to which I return most often. Why? Because Campbell’s description of the hero’s journey captures something universal, something about the human experience. And, what’s more, because as a coach, I am often a witness to the first steps people take on their own hero’s journey.

Whether or not people choose to commission coaching or to take some other step, their first contact with me and our early discussions often represent a crossing of a threshold. This threshold will be unique to the individual concerned and often comprises bearing witness to a challenge they face which they have, up until now, chosen to down-play or even ignore. This is the time they say “I recognise this is a problem for which I would like to find a solution” or “I am allowing myself to share the dream which – until now – I have barely dared to voice to myself”.

In our lives we are likely to face many such thresholds, for with the crossing of a threshold a new journey opens up. Just as when we reach the top of one hill we see another before us, so also when we cross a threshold we have already made our first steps towards the next threshold. Of course, we need not cross the threshold that faces us and may choose to stay eternally in one place – be it a physical location or a single mindset or way of being. The consequences of our choices (either way) are captured in Harold Ramis’ witty and compassionate film Groundhog Day.

What are the steps in the hero’s journey? This is how I described them in 1995, drawing on the work of Joseph Campbell and of others such as Robert Dilts in the field of neurolinguistic programming (or NLP):

1. The Call to Adventure: this is the first sign of the hero’s journey and may come in many forms. The hero hears it – and may choose to accept or refuse this calling.

2. Crossing the Threshold: On accepting the calling the hero steps into new territories outside his or her past experience and ‘comfort zone’. In this new arena the hero is forced to grow and to seek assistance on the journey.

3. Finding a Guardian: “When the student is ready, the teacher appears”. Only when the hero has crossed the threshold will the guardian or mentor appear.

4. Facing a Challenge (or ‘demon’): often the demon is within. The hero has to face the challenge or demon in order to progress.

5. Transforming the Demon: By facing his or her demon the hero acquires a resource which is needed to complete the journey.

6. Finding the Way: Building on the work of Campbell, Robert Dilts highlights that Finding the Way to fulfil the calling is achieved by creating a new set of beliefs that incorporates the growth and discoveries brought about by the journey.

7. Returning Home: Finally, the hero completes the journey by Returning Home as a transformed or evolved person.

A conductor’s duty is to cross the line

“A conductor’s duty is to cross the line, take risks.
If you want to please the critics, you shouldn’t conduct

Valery Gergiev
Conductor

Saturday morning. It’s been a punishing week and I savour a leisurely start to the day. Six days after I bought my Sunday paper I open the review section of the Observer to read an article I know is there: about Valery Gergiev, Principal Conductor of the London Symphony Orchestra.

The fact that it has taken me so long before reading this article reflects the very reasons I have to be interested to read it. As a member of the London Symphony Chorus I have been balancing my work commitments this week (and somewhat precariously) with the commitments I made to the chorus when I signed up to sing in three concerts in a single week. It all looked so easy – so tidy – on paper! Gergiev has been our conductor for these concerts: two performances of Ravel’s Daphnis and Chloe and one of Berlioz’ Damnation of Faust.

As I read, I recognise so much of journalist Ed Vulliamy’s description of Gergiev the conductor. In our rehearsals Gergiev has paid close attention to particular phrases, passionate about the phrasing or volume or speed. At the same time, other parts of the pieces have barely been touched. It did not go unnoticed, for example, that the time we spent on the final movement of Damnation of Faust gave Kate, member of the chorus, only a little time to acclimatise to singing her solo role.

I am also curious to read Vulliamy’s account of Gergiev’s choice to abandon the baton: “So many batons have flown from Gergiev’s hands into audiences and orchestras over the years that he now conducts with a toothpick, or with an inimitable flutter of the fingers“.

Of course, in response to what we see and how we experience what we see, we all form our own story. Reading Vulliamy’s account it is easy to conclude that the orchestra’s members enjoy the precarious fairground ride which is performing under Gergiev’s leadership. In the chorus, responses vary. Some respond with wry amusement to his “inimitable” (should it be “unfathomable”?) “flutter of the fingers“. Some weave tales of a man for whom the chorus simply does not matter and fall prey to anger or despair. Others are excited by the very qualities Vulliamy describes.

The critics, too, form their own story. I heard of Geoff Brown’s account in the Times of our Damnation from outraged colleagues: “Gergiev’s fingers fluttered busily, but his grasp was intermittent. He ignited Berlioz’s orchestral explosions nicely enough, and graded speeds winningly during Act I. Recklessness elsewhere, though, and a bland Dance of the Sylphs“.

Perhaps my own choices reflect a wider choice to be “at choice”. For it is by choice that I sing with the chorus and it is by choice that I sing under Gergiev’s – toothpick. I want to recognise and own that choice and I don’t want to wallow in self-pity or anger when I yearn for a signal that doesn’t come when our time comes to enter. As an observer of leadership, I also want to approach my experience with curiosity – what does Gergiev’s approach and our various responses tell me about what it means to lead?

Above all, though, it is my choice to enjoy the music. Ravel’s exquisite writing never fails to seduce me and I can hear the flute’s evocative solo even as I write. In the Berlioz the cor anglais was perfectly poised and hauntingly beautiful at the beginning of the fourth act and Joyce DiDonato’s Marguerite left me wide-eyed with admiration.

Coaches in dialogue

Regular readers of my blog know that I am a member of the Training Journal Daily Digest and get many benefits from my participation in this daily discussion forum. Sometimes though, I do feel a little lonely – a coach amongst trainers. I have yet to find a forum for coaches that is as active and informative as the TJDD.

Recently I signed up for a LinkedIn group for coaches set up by the CIPD publication Coaching At Work. As well as giving me the opportunity to dialogue with colleagues this is also helping me to raise my visibility with colleagues in the profession. It’s early days and still, I’d like to think this group could become the coaches’ equivalent of the TJDD.

I’m wondering, what else is out there? I’d love to hear how other coaches. How do you connect with your colleagues in the profession? And how do you maintain dialogue?

English food? One for Saint Delia

It’s been a mad week! So mad that I start the new week as if I’m running to catch up with the week just gone – dealing with last week’s e-mails before I take a look at those that have arrived today, tired from the week just gone and looking forward to a good night’s sleep tonight… you get the picture.

As I prepare my supper I find myself savouring the visit that Lisa made, daughter of my treasured friend Cora Hartmeier. Lisa spent her first (ever) five days in England with me last week. There’s a reason why making supper stimulates my sense of fun and laughter. For the reputation – justified or otherwise – that English (or is it British?) food has around the world is not always a good one. Only yesterday, as we ate lunch in a very traditional English pub before Lisa caught her train to Oxford, she described this strange thing her brother had told her about following his own first visit to the UK and which I recognised as Yorkshire pudding. Do people really choose to eat (enjoy eating even) this thing made of flour and egg and water – with beef?

When it came to cooking Lisa a traditional English supper the first (and only) thing that came to mind was bangers and mash. Before I knew it I’d committed to making bangers and mash whilst also dispelling a few myths about English food. Thank heavens for Saint Delia! (Lisa, that’s Delia Smith). I know from experience that the recipe for venison sausages in her winter cookbook is divine. And even though I couldn’t find any venison suasages in my local supermarket (and never did find any juniper berries) I decide that this is the way to go.

As for the mash, it didn’t escape my attention recently when David, my nephew, told me that my mother makes the best mash in the world. Of course, when I shared this with my mother she deftly batted away the compliment, though not before she’d shared that she uses only butter (no milk!) So that was my mash – with a few peas and leeks stirred in.

Did Lisa enjoy her supper? That’s a question for Lisa and only Lisa to answer. (And I wonder – what culinary delights would you offer a first-time visitor to the UK?) I know I did – and also Lisa’s visit. To watch a friend embark on the journey of parenthood and to watch her children grow into young adults – such delightful young adults – is a treat indeed.

Giving up on coffee – one year down the line

Sometimes readers of my blog have long memories and sometimes they find something that goes back a while simply by browsing. So I don’t know why it surprised me when a colleague recently reminded me of my pledge, made in August last year, to stop drinking coffee for at least a year. How did I get on?

It’s worth saying that, even though I was only drinking a mug a day (OK, a single small cafetiere’s worth of high quality, strong coffee) giving up included some unpleasant withdrawal symptoms. In particular, though I rarely suffer from headaches, I experienced a few in the days and weeks immediately following my decision to stop drinking coffee.

Then there were more subtle forms of addiction. These were the moments when I thought – as a matter of habit – “ooh! I’d enjoy a cup of coffee right now!” Setting a target to give up for a year worked well for me in relation to these habitual responses. I found that saying no in the moment whilst knowing it might not be for ever was easier than saying no for ever.

Over time, these bonds of habit have loosened so that I rarely have those “ooh! Wouldn’t it be nice…” moments. I’ve been happy to keep coffee in the house for visitors and I now know that’s what it’s there for. Meantime, I have discovered that all those herbal teas that used to smell divine and taste like cardboard now smell and taste divine.

August was an interesting month as the year’s anniversary approached. Let’s be clear, I knew I want to continue to live my life without coffee. Still, the thought that I might celebrate the year anniversary by enjoying a cup of coffee before giving it up – well, it did cross my mind. In the end though, I realised both that I didn’t want to risk rediscovering my love of coffee and that I am enjoying myself just as much without.

On a path to living an enjoyable and healthy life, giving up coffee has been just one small step. Still, it’s a step I celebrate.