In 2003, the UK government instigated the National Programme for IT, a scheme designed to link over 30,000 GPs and 300 hospitals in the country. The project was budgeted at £6 billion and was to include, among other things, an online booking system, a centralized medical records system for 50 million patients, e-prescriptions and fast computer network links between NHS organizations. By 2006, two years into the project’s 10-year lifespan, a group of academics was calling for an independent review. A journalist at the time wrote:
“Technology is still seen as just another form of engineering. But IT systems are not like bridges – they are a tool, not an entity. ... Technology is a process, with no clear start, no clear end and ever-shifting goalposts. And as fast as IT itself evolves, the potential uses of it morph and multiply. There is no end date. The bridge is never built. But that does not mean it is a disaster. That is simply how it should be.”
computing.co.uk, 27 April 2006
By 2011, the project budget had ballooned to over £11 billion and a new government announced that it would be dismantled. The announcement, however, was more a PR exercise than an accurate description of what was happening. The programme’s architecture had changed; what initially had been conceived as an enormous top-down project was now a patchwork of different programmes, generated locally and then plugged together.
When a presented problem becomes ill structured, it ceases to be a puzzle. The vagueness or complexity of the problem causes stress. Hence the name I give to such problems: headaches.
Key heuristics: transform the problem into a puzzle, plan or dream.
A problem may be a headache for various reasons. We might lack the expertise to solve it: I can mend a puncture but I can’t change the clutch on my car. We might have been presented with a problem but not given clear goal conditions: how can your friendly IT consultant rebuild your network if you’re not sure how you want it to operate? We may not be able to judge a solution’s effectiveness without implementing it – by which time it may be too late (‘I think this improvised rope bridge will bear our weight; shall we try it out?’). And we may be overwhelmed by the sheer complexity of the problem: how do we manage climate change, or mediate between warring communities in a disputed territory?
Headaches lend themselves, at least to begin with, to the Explorer style. Headaches, by definition, are unsolvable; in order to tackle them, we need to transform them into another kind of problem. Explorer helps us find different ways of seeing the problem, giving us new possibilities of dealing with it. We shall probably need the other styles at some point, but Explorer is vital at the early stages.
In this chapter, we’ll look at the treatment options for headaches, in increasing order of effectiveness:
The first option is to act immediately to stop the pain. Take a pill; put a sticking plaster on the wound; shore up the collapsing wall; throw money into the gaping financial hole.
Obviously, treating the symptom may stave off disaster for a while, and it may relax the stress. No bad thing. But none of these solutions is likely to be lasting or satisfactory. Taking emergency action may give you thinking time; but you need to use that time wisely to find a better course of action.
In particular, don’t take emergency action and then ...
... which is, of course, what we do, all too often.
The obvious sign of denial is that we give up looking for a solution. We might distract ourselves with other activities. At work, we might just follow orders, do our job, and try not to get in trouble. Maybe the organization will fix the problem at a higher level, in a new version, or at the latest restructuring.
Another common symptom of denial is to assert that the problem is already solved. It’s much easier to do this if you fail to specify the problem clearly. An addict may claim that he doesn’t have a drink problem, because it might be hard to define the point at which alcohol addiction kicks in. A politician may claim that her policy has reduced the number of patients waiting for serious operations, by carefully failing to define the word ‘serious’.
Denial is an abnegation of responsibility. We are moving the problem out of our circle of influence into our circle of concern. We may then find ourselves engaging in the two behaviours typical of problems that sit in our circle of concern: blame or resistance (look back at Chapter 4 for more on these responses).
Sometimes it may be a very good idea to give up responsibility for a headache – or to give up some responsibility. This isn’t denial – it’s managing our responsibility productively.
Giving up responsibility for a headache is not in itself a bad thing to do. There is no shame in admitting that you are overwhelmed by a problem. The key to dealing with a headache is to manage your responsibility.
You have two options:
Learning to say ‘No’ is a vital part of your problem-solving skill set.
Alternatively, seek support. Talk the problem over with someone you trust. Use some of the techniques in this chapter to analyse the problem, break it down into parts and share out responsibilities.
A problem shared really can be a problem halved.
If you decide you want to retain responsibility for a headache, you need to transform it because, as a headache, it’s almost certainly unsolvable. We can use the problem matrix to find ways of transforming the problem.
The alternative to treating the presenting symptom, or denying that the problem exists, is to transform the headache into a different type of problem.
The aim here is to tame the problem: to reduce and simplify it to manageable proportions. And to do that, we need to improve the problem’s structure.
The aim of the transformation is to increase the clarity of the problem’s:
One of the easiest ways to transform a headache into a puzzle is to look for an expert to help you. Solving puzzles, as we’ve seen, requires expertise and experience. Indeed, we employ experts – plumbers, electricians, financial advisers, IT consultants – precisely in order to turn our headaches into neat puzzles.
We can learn from the experts:
If we can do the same with some of our own headaches, we can successfully transform them into puzzles. We can become our own experts.
If you want to try transforming a headache into a puzzle yourself, try the following.
Turning a headache into a puzzle has many advantages. It brings the problem within your circle of influence, giving you a sense of control and the opportunity to use puzzle-solving tools and techniques. And that reduces stress. The satisfaction of seeing success materialize before your eyes will increase your sense of competence, giving you the courage to tackle further problems. Use this strategy to break down complex problems into manageable parts, or to extract puzzle elements from larger, intractable problems.
Ishikawa (or fishbone) diagrams develop cause and effect analysis. In situations where the causes of a problem cannot be easily measured, or where the issue is complex, Ishikawa diagrams help to clarify the major issues and the links between causes:
The main ribs will probably take on more general headings. You might, for example, decide to use these headings as the main ribs of your diagram:
The basic layout of an Ishikawa diagram is shown in Figure 7.1 .
Figure 7.1 An Ishikawa diagram
Some huge problems are puzzles that may have headaches embodied in them. In 1961, John F. Kennedy set his nation a very well-structured problem: to put a man on the surface of the Moon and return him safely to Earth. Solving the problem involved large numbers of headaches, some with tragic consequences; but the main problem was clearly defined, with a limited number of solutions and clear measures of success.
Taming a headache carries some risks. Here are the most important.
A puzzle can still be hard to solve. Taming a headache may bring the problem under our control, but we shouldn’t assume that the resulting problem will be simple. Calculating the square root of 5734, finding the shortest route to a given destination, decommissioning a nuclear reactor – all of these are puzzles, but they have varying degrees of difficulty. The point about all three, however, is that, with the appropriate expertise and experience, almost anybody could solve them.
Limiting the problem definition may simply shift the problem. We may think we’re simplifying the problem, but we may be doing no more than allowing the real problem to scurry away and raise its head somewhere else. Trying to make our organization more efficient by, for example, reducing the number of staff, might simply transfer inefficiencies to new external suppliers, temporary staff or contractors.
Measurement can be a double-edged sword. ‘What gets measured gets done’: we often use that quotation, both to justify measuring and monitoring, and to criticize them. Metrics may give us objective indications that a solution is working; and they may tell us simply that something is being measured. We measure academic performance in schools principally by monitoring pass rates in examinations, but what do such measures tell us about the quality of teaching or learning? We measure many aspects of performance in our hospitals, but how much do such measures indicate that healthcare is improving – or that we are becoming healthier?
Albert Einstein reportedly had a sign on his office wall: ‘Not everything that counts can be counted, and not everything that can be counted counts.’ The aim of problem-solving is to change a situation for the better. And measurement alone can never do that.
The headache may not be like previous problems. Viewing a problem as a repeat of a past problem may be helpful, but if the problem is truly complex it will probably be more unlike previous problems than like them. Using past, successful solutions might then become counter-productive, or even damaging.
Problem-modelling takes us a stage further in the task of transforming headaches into puzzles. The aim of modelling is to represent the system within which a headache arises. We can then discover points of intervention: places in the system where we can act to solve the problem.
A system, according to Simon Baron-Cohen in his book The Essential Difference, is ‘anything which is governed by rules specifying input-operation-output relationships’.
Obvious examples of systems are technical for example: watches, central heating systems, or aircraft. A musical instrument becomes a system in conjunction with the person playing it. A house might be seen as a system; so might a town or a shopping precinct. We can see libraries, companies, board games, ponds, yachts or gardens as systems. A system might be small (a cell in an organism) or very large (a social group or an economic system).
The most important point about systems is that they are well structured. Identify the rules governing the system and you can predict its workings precisely.
For example, if I flick the switch in my living room, the light comes on. The switch is the input, my flicking it is the operation, and the light illuminating is the output.
To analyse a system, we first identify the variables in the system. We then observe what happens when each of those variables shifts. By repeated and close observation, we can work out the rules that govern the behaviour of the system: from input, through operation, to output.
For example, a central heating system will include variables such as the pressure of the fluid in the system, the amount of fuel heating the fluid, the number of radiators built into the system, and so on.
To understand a system more easily, it helps to model it. The simplest models of problems are graphic – pictures or diagrams drawn on paper or a whiteboard:
Models can be three-dimensional: we can represent the problem of reducing fuel consumption in a vehicle, for example, by making a model of the vehicle and placing it in a wind tunnel, to study its aerodynamic performance. Models can also be mathematical or coded in computer language.
All models simplify complex situations; good models simplify usefully.
A good model adheres to the following rules:
The critical question when modelling a problem is to decide what kind of problem we want to model. The model of the problem will derive from the type of problem we choose: how we label it. If we label the problem ‘a manufacturing problem’, we will generate a model showing the flow of materials and information, the processes and controls used, evaluation of output quality, and so on. A financial problem might involve variables from the income statement, balance sheet or chart of accounts (sales, expenses, costs, assets, long-term and short-term debt, and so on).
The model we use depends on how we classify the problem.
Once we’ve modelled the system, we can begin to ask what outputs we’re looking for. For example, if we turn up the central heating, the increase in heat emitted is the output.
The key with outputs is to identify how the existing outputs differ from our desired outputs. (A presented problem, you’ll recall, involves a gap between what is and what should be.) Existing outputs can differ from desired outputs in four ways:
And, this being a system, we’re looking for outputs that are measurable. Only by measuring them can we see whether the output has changed in the way we want. (The model shown in Figure 7.2 derives from the work of Fred Nickols.)
Figure 7.2 Measurable outputs
The only way to change existing outputs into desired outputs is to intervene in the system. And because we want to know whether our intervention has been successful, we also need to identify the point where we can evaluate our intervention. Because we’re working with a system, change will be indirect: we’ll almost certainly have to intervene at one point in the system in order to change the outputs at a different point.
Think back to our central heating system. We want to make the house warmer. The points of intervention to achieve that increase are the thermostatic control, the taps on the radiators and the central controls on the boiler. Of course, if we think of the house as a system, other points of intervention become important: the doors and windows, insulation layers in the roof, and so on. The point of evaluation is a thermometer – often incorporated into the thermostat.
If we’ve modelled the system well, we’ll be able to create linkages between the point of intervention and the point of evaluation:
Some headaches resist simplifying.
Consider these presented problems – all expressed as statements of what’s wrong:
There’s a name for headaches of this kind. We call them wicked.
Wicked problems are the most ill structured of presented problems. They may have innumerable causes – or no identifiable cause. They’re tough to define; and they can’t be solved with a single course of action.
Simplifying a wicked problem into a puzzle may be counterproductive. You may find that your solution actually makes the problem worse by generating undesirable consequences. For example, managers may seek to improve a healthcare system by concentrating on a few measurable variables – waiting times in surgeries or numbers of patients awaiting operations – both of which could have serious repercussions for quality of care.
Wicked problems resist modelling. Managers may find it hard to model the increasingly complex environment in which their organization operates. (How can we model customer preferences, for example?) As a result, they may be confronted with problems that they can’t solve simply by gathering more data, analysing information or breaking a problem down into smaller, manageable problems.
Wicked problems have another defining characteristic: they involve people. Any problem involving a group of ‘stakeholders’ is likely to be wicked. The word ‘stakeholder’ is well chosen: when different people have a stake in a problem, they are likely to see the problem differently:
The term ‘wicked problem’ was coined in the 1970s by Horst Rittel and Melvin M. Webber, professors of design and urban planning at the University of California in Berkeley. Since then, the term has been used principally for large-scale problems faced by corporations, nation states or the international community. But many small-scale problems are wicked: tensions within a family or a work team; conflict in a neighbourhood; growing a small business. It’s not the size of the problem that makes it wicked, but its irreducible complexity.
As Rittel defined it, a wicked problem has 10 key characteristics:
Wicked problems can cause prolonged and painful stuckness. Whether the problem is personal or social, any solution to a wicked problem is likely to require radical and imaginative action to unstick our thinking. And, because a wicked problem involves a group of stakeholders, any solution is going to have to be collaborative.
Your aim must be to seek:
The first thing to do with a wicked problem is to discuss it. Bringing people together to discuss a complicated problem requires considerable skill. You’ll need to manage the conversation and the group’s thinking.
Here are some initial guidelines to help you create genuine dialogue among the stakeholders of a wicked problem:
Commitment, as we saw in Chapter 4, is more than taking responsibility for a problem. Commitment is the highest level of problem ownership: at its most powerful, it generates a sense of unstoppable energy and concentration that we call the ‘flow’ state. How can we begin to generate ‘flow’ in a diverse group of stakeholders?
The problem matrix can help us. We’ve seen that one way to deal with a headache is to transform it into a puzzle. But two other transformations are possible: turning it into either a plan or a dream. To do either, you need to transform it from a presented problem into a constructed problem.
We saw earlier that presented problems and constructed problems are expressed differently. A presented problem is typically expressed as a statement of what’s wrong. A constructed problem is typically expressed as a phrase beginning with the words ‘how to’. The first move, then, in unsticking our thinking about a wicked problem is to express it as a constructed problem – as a ‘how to’.
Take a look at the problem definitions in the table below and transform each into a ‘how to’ statement, which you can write in the right-hand column.
Now find another ‘how to’ statement to express the same problem. And another. And another... For example, we could transform the first statement in the list into: how to get our team to work better together.
Further possible ‘how to’ statements might be;
and so on. (You can undoubtedly think of yet another ‘how to’ statement to put in the box overleaf.)
What is happening to your thinking about the problem as you generate new ‘how to’ statements?
‘How to’ unsticks our thinking in some remarkable ways:
We can use the ‘how to’ technique to involve different stakeholders in solving wicked problems. By focusing their minds on the future, on solutions and on multiple possibilities, the technique very quickly and simply focuses their minds on the issue at hand, dispelling blame and resistance and allowing different perspectives to be voiced.
The next chapter looks at the ‘how to’ technique in more detail. The first move remains the most important: to transform our perception of the problem so that it becomes either a plan or a dream – a constructed problem that we can feel committed to solving.
We can tackle headaches in a number of ways, in increasing order of effectiveness:
The first steps in approaching the problem as wicked are to create:
We create shared understanding through managed dialogue with stakeholders. We can begin to build shared commitment by phrasing the problem as a ‘how to’ – thus transforming it into a constructed problem.
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