CHAPTER FOUR: A PANACEA WHICH CAN MAKE YOU ILL
In which the role of communication in change management is explored

I come off the phone. It has been an expensive call. A peak time call to the UK. I hadn’t wanted to make it, but after all I am out of work and I need to look for another job and the only time that I can call to follow up the applications that I have put in for jobs is during working hours, UK working hours. The particular application I am following up is a reply to an advert in the Sunday Times from a small consultancy firm asking for ‘Change Consultants’. I don’t really know what a change consultant is. But the description of the job sounds a lot like some of the project management jobs that I have done in the past. I’ve always been a bit of a smooth talker and I’m convinced that as long as I can get in for an interview I stand a good chance of convincing them that I am the right person for the job.

The reason the call took so long was that I had been trying to reach the senior partner but had been sent around in circles. I had started off with a receptionist. I had explained who I was and why I needed to talk to the senior partner, she had put me on hold, then I had gone to a secretary, junior consultant, back to the receptionist, a partner, the admin. manager, back to the receptionist and finally to the senior partner’s secretary who informed me that she was out but would probably wish to speak to me and could I try again later. This was rather lucky for me, because by this time I am afraid that I had completely run out of patience and was not sure if I actually wanted the job any more.

What had infuriated me was that each time and with each person I had had to go through my entire explanation. It seemed that they were incapable of passing on simple messages to each other! What would they have done if I had been a client? In the middle of a project, a team incapable of communicating cannot function.

‘Of course,’ I exclaim, ‘that is it! Communication. That, is the secret of project success.’ It is so simple. I wonder why I had forgotten to mention that to Franck yesterday, but now it is so obvious to me. I am surprised that he had not suggested it himself. And being a teacher, or what was it he calls himself? An educator; surely that’s what he does for a living?’

It’s hard for me to think of Franck as a teacher, a respectable member of the community. In my mind Franck was still the good-time anarchist that he had been twenty years ago. At the time his main interests were beer, beer, and solving the world’s problems. He could make us laugh for hours by the way he would take a really serious problem like world hunger, turn it on its head and come up with crazy solutions. One of his solutions for that was to brand food aid, not from the country it came from, but by the politician who had ensured that it be sent. So for example you could have Richard Nixon corned beef hash, in cans complete with a photograph of Tricky Dicky on the side and a quotation from him. Or you could have the Harold Wilson instant milk powder, just add water and stir. Knowing how shallow and egocentric politicians are, they would compete fiercely to try to get their face seen by as many of the starving as possible. The problem would thus be solved overnight.

I’m sitting on the sofa in the front room of my apartment. It is a bright room and feels more like a home than a holiday chalet. It even has pictures on the walls. Opposite is a Monet painting of poplar trees. Fantastic these impressionists, at this distance it looks very real and solid but I know that it is made up of mixed-up, small patches of unconnected colour. Above the mantelpiece there is a Tolouse-Lautrec poster of a woman dancing the can-can. It is painted in bold colours. The dancer’s name is Jane Avril. I know her name because it is written across the poster, which was originally designed for advertising hoardings. I sit there wondering how a person, who can sink so many beers, could possibly manage students. Thinking about students and Franck reminds me of my university research job. The job I had just left when I first met Franck. I feel my chest tighten as it used to from frustration. Isn’t it strange how, after all these years, I still have not gotten over the experience. The reason I feel uncomfortable is that I remember him, my boss, the telepathic academic.

I remember how every new development had been a complete surprise to the whole team and how little we knew or understood about what was going on overall. I remember how the sponsors, KET and CBSG, had been just as surprised as we had by each twist and turn in the project.

I say out loud to myself ‘Communication is most definitely the key! Projects fail because there is not enough communication’. Franck had said that there were no more than half a dozen causes. He had overestimated. There was really only one underlying cause.

I smile and lean back in my chair. I feel so good about my conclusion that I have stopped feeling the pain of 150 Francs wasted on an inconclusive phone call. There is nothing quite like feeling a genius to anaesthetise the aches and pains of life. Then, slowly, with the same dull feeling that you get at the start of a headache, I begin to feel uncomfortable about the conclusion I have just reached. I think, ‘if a lack of communication is the main cause of project failure, then there won’t be any ‘failed’ projects, where the project leader does lots of communication.’

‘Oops!’ I think, ‘a small problem.’ I remember the early projects at Infotech. The ones which we had called Locos. Each project had had a different project leader and since I was often working on more than one at a time I’d had a good opportunity to compare the styles of the different project leaders. Now in retrospect, I try to remember particular details about their communication styles. I allow images of these leaders to swim into my mind, along with my initial image of Professor Costerly, and try to classify what they did. As it turns out I don’t have to think too long. The very first image completely disrupts my original conclusion. A conclusion that I’d based on a hunch and tried to make truth with one example. An example based on the Professor. The image which is causing the discomfort is five foot six, wears glasses and travels at a tremendously high speed down corridors. It is of Audrey Peters.

Audrey had led one of Infotech’s first, book-keeping automation projects Audrey had really believed in communication, ‘The more the better,’ she believed. She kept us all up-to-date with daily briefings and weekly meetings. We were all obliged to attend the daily briefings. The problem was not with the briefings themselves. They were true to title. They were brief. The problem was that little of what was covered was of any relevance to three quarters of the people who were briefed. In practice our brief had little to do with the broad spread of our daily activities, and made little difference. Because they were so frequent, the overall position of the project was never discussed and as a team member I had little idea of the bigger picture. The weekly meetings followed exactly the same formula, except in one respect. True, they were weekly and true we met. True too that meeting had little to do with what we did apart. And true they focused only on detail. The real difference was that they were tremendously boring.

Audrey’s formula for get-togethers, it seemed, was to make sure that we were provided with as many facts and as much data as was available, even if it did not answer any of the day-to-day questions which we faced. Audrey was also a great one for circulating memos, which she had been sent, to the whole core team and any of the members of the invisible team whose names she remembered whilst drawing up the circulation list. In my early days on the project I used to have to take the circulars home and read them in the evening to keep the ‘in’ tray at less than the maximum two inches which would fit into the slot. Eventually, I learnt that the trick to surviving the paper deluge was to scan the document quickly, looking down the ‘action column’ for your initials. If they were absent the document could be ticked off and circulated. Anyway even if you failed to spot your initials you were certain to get a personalised copy as a reminder, sooner or later.

I glance down at my watch. ‘Damnit!’ I am going to be late. I’ve been happily day-dreaming and now I’m going to be late for my appointment with Franck. I hate being late. Over the years I have gotten to feel worse and worse about being late. Especially with project work. I guess it’s because it’s so obvious to everyone if you’re late. If you’re late, they can tell that you’re failing. It’s much more difficult to hide than cash overspends or not meeting specs. And anyway the hard criteria of success are of an order of magnitude harder to hide than upsetting or falling out with your stakeholders. It’s very easy to hide the poor state of the relationship which you have with your stakeholders and anyway, you can always claim to be getting on famously.

I check my hair in the mirror by the front door, open the door and head out towards the car. As I am passing a petrol station I glance at the fuel gauge to check if I have enough fuel. It reminds me of my earlier thoughts. Too much detailed factual data. Unsorted factual data not aimed at anyone in particular. Certainly not aimed at me. No answers to the questions that I had. Not enough of a view of overall progress. Audrey’s project still ended up a Loco, coming in eventually a year late and 120 per cent overspent with a fed up team and an unhappy client.

What I conclude from Audrey and the Professor is that, what was important about communication was not ‘how much’ but whether it serves the purposes of the person being communicated with.

As I drive along, I know that I still do not have the full picture. So I continue to work through my list of project leaders I have known. In particular I think about Bob Timson. Bob had joined Infotech from one of its equipment suppliers, three months before I had. I suspected that he had been on a management course which had stressed the need for interpersonal communications. He excelled at this. His style was one-to-one communication. He would seek you out and discuss issues at great length if he had the full details. If he did not have the full details, he would simply make them up.

The process was exactly the same if you needed information or a decision. There was masses of communication, usually focused on what you were trying to achieve. Sometimes explaining where things had got to in terms of the bigger picture; but most of it was wrong or unclear. When it was wrong it was wrong because in trying to be the font of all knowledge he would be overgenerous with the truth. When it was unclear it was because he always communicated at such a level of detail, that it was as if he was providing you with detailed instructions of what your job required, in a minute-by-minute, step-by-step fashion. This would have been fine, if he actually understood the nature of the job and had grown up in it, but since he had a manufacturing background he did not. As a result he gave a patchy, confusing and inappropriate message.

So to communicate successfully you need to send out messages which are correct. There is also a need to decide how much detail the person you are communicating with can handle. The core team may require the full details whilst the sponsor or senior client may only wish to know the top level of the bigger picture. Providing detail when an overview is all that is needed is as bad as doing it the other way round.

And then there was Patrick Phelan, the man who ‘snatched defeat from the jaws of success’. It had looked as if Infotech was about to net a real success. The client thought we were marvellous and had even started recommending us to other prospective customers. Team morale and spirit were high, a thing I have rarely seen. Project team members actually knowing their individual roles but also bending over backwards to help each other and to fill in any gaps, in roles, that arose as the project progressed. Most of the team members were only working on the one project rather than the normal practice of being spread over several projects.

Unfortunately, Hans de Vries, our MD, had another one of his brilliant ideas. The timing of the idea was also unfortunate since it coincided with the closing stages of the project and occurred before it had ended completely. At the board meeting in March of that year, he announced that full time members of all projects would only be retained by the organisation at the end of the project, provided there was another project for them immediately to join. Joining another project team would not be automatic. Even if there were vacancies, the person would need to put a strong case, which was supported by the project leader of the project that they intended to join.

Pat learnt of this new policy from his copy of the minutes of the board meeting. It must have hit him hard because he decided two things. Firstly that it was very bad news and secondly that the best way to get rid of bad news is to dilute it. This you do by telling as many people as you can as quickly as you can. Pat did a marvellous job at communication. First he called us together and explained the company’s circumstances. He then explained the implications for all the projects that were running and went through the details of the policy, finally asking us each to consider what the implications were for us. He then sent us round a memo summarising what had been covered. I believe that he actually had meant to help and reward us for our loyalty throughout the project. He knew that we had worked hard and did not want us to suffer by losing our jobs. I think he felt also that it was a stupid policy and wished to place the blame for its impact, fairly and squarely where it belonged; with the MD.

He had done an excellent job of communicating to us, which meant that we all understood what was at stake. Everyone on the project immediately started to plot, wheel-deal and scheme to move to other longer term projects, as soon as possible. People with little left to do on the project let it drag out, making deliberate mistakes to give themselves more time to find a place on another project. Morale collapsed, since some of us were in direct competition with each other for future jobs, and the less scrupulous began to look for opportunities to denigrate the work being done by others. There was also some subtle sabotage. From the team’s point of view it was an immense success. Ninety-five percent of us stayed on with the company having managed the shift.

The project of course turned overnight into a disaster. The 5 per cent we lost was Patrick. Four months later he had had enough, and quit.

The timing of communication can seriously affect its usefulness. To communicate effectively you must anticipate the thoughts and actions you expect the person being communicated with to carry out.

As I round the bend I see a lorry pull out from a side road. I bring my fist down, hard, on the steering wheel. ‘Ten more kilometres. Now I’m really going to be late.’ I can see that I’m at the point at which the slope of the road is starting to get steeper. I shrug my shoulders and resign myself to the inevitable. I say to myself, ‘Relax. After all you are on holiday’ and then I go back to my problem.

The final project manager who swam into view was Oswald Micheson. The two things that struck you about Oswald were his height and his vanity. He wore his hair in a coiffured bouffant style all piled up above which made his four foot eleven seem more like five foot seven. He had started his career in sales. My theory was that he had never really got the hang of selling and that was why he had ended up in projects. Anyway, somewhere along the way, he had acquired the looks and attitudes of a second rate estate agent. He was smarmy and slimy and had acquired the habit of saying things he thought sounded good. Statements like; ‘This is a really exciting project’ and ‘I am committed to delivery on time’ and ‘Sticking to our budget is essential’ were frequently used. There was however one small problem. The context within which he made these pronouncements. It didn’t really work. Saying, ‘This is a really exciting project’ without any hint of interest or excitement in his voice, or ‘I am committed to delivery on time’ whilst always turning up late for meetings, or ‘Sticking to our budget is essential’, whilst filing yet another enormous expense claim, just did not send out a coherent message. We soon learnt to watch what he did rather than listen to what he said.

In particular the women on the project hated and distrusted him. They said that he made their skin crawl. He could make my skin crawl also. Whenever he was being particularly insincere he would adopt a very softly spoken tone. He used this soft and breathless voice whenever he wanted to drive a point home.

To communicate effectively you must be credible to the person you are communicating with. Everything you do must mirror the message that you are trying to communicate. People watch closely what you do and use this as a far more reliable guide to what you really mean.

I look at the lorry in front. It is filthy and puffing out ominous black clouds of smoke as it makes its way gradually up the hill. The logo on the back is a yellow arrow threaded through interlinking circles and squares. There is a line of text below the logo. The text is covered in grime. I work to try to read what it says. It’s a challenge. After two attempts I think I have it. It translates roughly as ‘No matter what the obstacles, weather, or route, we get your goods from here to there.’ I snort as I realise, ‘Communication is not two way. It is a one way process’ A one way process fraught with difficulty. You need to deliver the goods. And the person being communicated with needs to confirm that they’re the right goods. But even the journey back is just as difficult. In everyday life this is bad enough but in projects where things only happen once, and are not repeated day-in day-out, it is essential to get that one way trip right each and every time.

As I pull into the car park, I feel quite good about my reasoning, although it is clear that I still have some way to go to work out how communication fits into the picture. It certainly is important but now I know that it is not the key