Tenor

He tells the story of an angry man, fresh from a tongue lashing from a client, assembling the team to pass along in the same fashion he received it, dissatisfaction and blame for an extremely expensive mistake.  As he finishes his tirade, sucking every bit of collaborative, problem-solving energy out of the room, a cooler head asks if he’s finished, and then proceeds to inform this man of his misdirected fury:  This group of individuals is only the messenger, reporting bad information. Breaches in operational protocol and a lack of communication mean no one has eyes on the big picture; the right questions sure to catch mistakes go unasked.

There are a couple of things wrong with this story.  First and foremost is the fury.  This man’s shaming approach does nothing but shut everyone down.  Sure, I get that he’s angry.  His head is on the chopping block; he’s not a “doer” on this team, he’s responsible for oversight, and as such he’s the one with the burden of communicating the implications of this error to his superiors.  But the reality is he’s responsible for much more; he’s responsible for modeling and supporting an environment where hard questions are routinely asked, with the goal to uncover risk before disaster strikes.  Small mistakes happen every day. Left unchecked, they can become monumental.  I believe we can prevent some of them, mitigate many of them, and solve for all them when we create environments where we welcome constructive conversation about them.

Secondly, is the finger-pointing behavior this fury unleashed triggers.  People automatically shift the blame; it’s a natural defense mechanism.  It’s pretty certain this team played some part in the outcome, but few are willing to make themselves vulnerable in that admission amid public flogging.

Core to the culture of safety we are developing in my organization is the concept of “near miss” reporting.  A near miss is defined as a situation with potential to cause an accident, identified and corrected before the accident ever happens.  Things like addressing improper ladder set-up before the technician climbs it, or stopping someone without safety glasses before she walks into the lab.  We track our near misses, broadcast them; reward even, the individuals who call out these seemingly small infractions before they cause a serious problem.  I love this behavior.  It is at a very basic level an exercise in vulnerability; one that is sorely needed in the workplace, and evidence of an ever-so-slight shift in culture to one of constructive collaboration through a willingness to speak openly of failures.

 

We could easily go the other way.  We could track these same near-misses negatively, dock pay, or invoke performance plans, but instead we choose to look at them as learning opportunities, as evidence that safety is so important to us we speak openly about these mistakes to draw continuous attention to risk mitigation, stressing prevention and raising awareness with humanity top of mind. We empower people to learn from a position where corrections can be made before consequences become dire; their ability to make a difference becomes visible to the team.

  

I can’t help but think back to the angry monologue. What if instead this man had pulled the entire team into the room, not just the group he views as the offenders, and explained calmly the mistake and its deep financial implications?  What if he had asked this group of experts in the field to help him unravel and understand how this all happened?  I like to believe he’d walk away from this conversation with more ideas then he’ll ever be able to implement to solve this problem, and a loyal team willing to help solve any problem.

The executive oversight role can be a struggle in business and in life. As parents, some of us wake up one day to realize we’ve received an unwanted promotion into this position.  Our young adults are making their own decisions now, and we feel a bit powerless, no longer calling all the shots. Do we breeze in periodically to take them to lunch, or hold the perfunctory check-ins so we can walk away reassured we’re all good?  Or do we roll up our sleeves, teaching them how to assess and manage the risks inherent in life by asking the tough questions lurking below the surface, and listening without interjection to the answers these intelligent and vulnerable individuals so desperately want to share?

We can make a difference no matter where we are in the food chain.  At the top we set the tone. Are you yelling?