Once you glimpse this pattern, you see it everywhere. In abstract thinking that strips out the human. In generalised thinking that pays little attention to what is actually already happening. In strategies that cite copious data but lack a cogent argument. In dense bullet-point presentations that lack focus. In systems built around averages of data that never match the experience of any actual person. And in change programs that bear little resemblance (and pay little respect) to any actual people.
It doesn’t have to be like this. I once sat in a circle of 50 teachers from a public school judged to be one of the worst. It was the first morning of a two-day retreat with a new principal.
When things are tough, we tend to ask ‘what’s wrong?’ and ‘how do we fix it?’ Both questions sound grounded, but are abstract. People respond with a list of problems and solutions — often the same ones listed at the last off-site. But think where either question would take a group of good but dispirited teachers: in a downward spiral.
Instead, we asked a grounded question: Why did you become a teacher? Only stories could answer that question. And for three hours they told funny, touching, heartfelt stories of inspiring in children a love of learning. The next morning, we asked: What do you really think about the kids? Again the stories flowed.
I need to be clear about what we were doing. We weren’t trying to ‘fix’ the teachers or school. Our aim was simple and grounded: to bring a conversation back to life. At the heart of every group is a conversation. In a school that conversation is ‘teaching and learning’. But in this school, at this time, that conversation had all but died.
Our hunch was that the conversation might come alive as teachers discovered their own brilliance. That’s why we took them back to their own stories.
After the retreat, I met with small groups of teachers. Each month I asked them to recall their most puzzling experiences as teachers. Those experiences often revealed their best teaching. But it never looked like what the system called good teaching: that’s why they were puzzled. As they named and paid attention their brilliance as teachers, the core conversation, did come alive.
A decade later the transformation of that school continues. There was no change program. Just a few grounded questions, some profound storytelling, and deep respect for the teachers and their craft and community.
The power of a grounded question is to open a way through our contrived certainty and ill-conceived logic. So how do we find such questions?
It’s as simple and as hard as a CEO standing back from the slides of his change program and looking at his people afresh. He remembers why he is proud of them and wonders at what brilliance might yet come to light.
It’s as simple and as hard as a principal standing back from all the ‘solutions’ she could implement. She looks into the faces of her staff and wonders at their hearts for the children and at their brilliance as teachers.
Grounded questions bring humanity to the fore. Stories flow from there breathing new life into lost conversations. Here we may find the insights from which deep, uncontrived change may come.
In the end, such change depends far more on our willingness to be present, attentive and curious, than on any program.
This article is adapted from Mark’s 2013 TEDx talk in Geneva.
