What is it about committees? I’ve participated in and led scads of groups charged with resolving, managing, coordinating, etc. etc. Otherwise (usually) reasonable people get together and start blathering and repeating each other, talking past each other, getting picky and personal, and losing sight of why they’re there. Often, there is (as I have regularly remarked) “violent agreement” about the issue at hand, but since a majority feel the need to (vigorously) express their (concurring) views, we waste a lot of time.
Fourteen years in the AT&T/Bell System gave me more than enough of inter- and intra-company sessions. In terms of bureaucracy, it was, on average, worse than being in the government. Probably the smartest thing AT&T did strategically when it agreed to be broken up in the early 1980s was to split the provision of local telephone service into seven different companies (the “Baby Bells”) who were then forced to work together—by committee. I worked for Pacific Telesis and spent hours every week in sessions with my counterparts trying to coordinate our positions and plans. It was painful and expensive and distracting from what we needed to do. In terms of strategy and public policy (the areas in which I was most involved), AT&T was able to move much more effectively.
That work environment was not my first exposure to the joys of committees, however. In college, I had the dubious distinction of being elected as the undergraduate representative to the Brandeis University Political Science Department. OMG, talk about pro forma and performative politics! I quickly came to understand something of group dynamics in an academic setting. I formulated
“Harris’ Law” (adapted from the gas laws of elementary physics): “The intensity of the politics is inversely proportional to the significance of the issue being discussed.” I have since found this principle to be widely applicable, both in public and corporate settings; but it has its true home in academe (with a fine showing on the part of small non-profit boards of directors).
One of the (few) benefits of not having professorial tenure is that I haven’t been required to perform academic “service” (i.e. participation in the multi-level, minimal functionality of University governance). This is evidenced by the presence of some hair remaining on my head. Given the many challenges faced by Universities and by History Departments generally, one might think that the dire situation would bring focus and attention to developing solutions and adaptations. Rather, to the contrary, despite the formidable brain power present in such sessions, an appalling portion of these meetings are devoted to what I can only call “rearranging the deck chairs on the Titanic.”
By-laws and organizational structures are a favorite topic guaranteed to engender argument among verbally-sophisticated professors. I have seen groups where far more time is spent in such “word-smithing” than on, e.g., how to teach better, what to do about AI, or how to promote History as a field of study. Debating the number and type of assignments required of students in particular types of courses, faculty committee structures, and whether the faculty offices (which are usually occupied less than five hours per week) are sufficiently spacious all seem a more satisfying way of spending group time than wrestling with the core issues facing the institution or the discipline of History. Now, I get that small groups can’t solve universal problems. Neither a department or a University is going to change the nature of 21C US society and the nature of “kids” today. Still, there are things to be done within the remit and capability of such groups; there’s still an opportunity to “fight the good fight” on our own turf, even if we can’t do it all.
Non-profits, too, fall into this trap. Strategy and mission are taken for granted, issues of funding are flailed about, leaving such groups to a “hand-to-mouth” existence until they fade into irrelevance or insolvency. Repeated rumbling around on large and small issues without resolution or even direction is neither satisfying nor effective. Good intentions are no substitute for clear thinking.
(Of course, this problem is not limited to small-bore groups. At a societal level, the looming ice bergs also seem easy to ignore and legislative/regulatory processes are strewn with examples of parochial concerns sucking up all the oxygen to the detriment of broader, more fundamental concerns.)
My sense is that this pattern of group behavior reflects a combination of an inability to contemplate the scale of change necessary to address such existential threats plus the small, but real, satisfaction that comes with accomplishing something, even if trivial. When combined with the common human traits of presentism, assuming the continuation of the status quo, and forgetting the general precariousness of life, it’s a recipe for self-congratulatory inaction.
The principal remedy for all this is organizational leadership. Someone with some vision and charisma has to wrest the steering wheel and persuade the group members of the need to look beyond their parochial briefs. Sometimes that means scaring them, with the dire prospects of running into the icebergs nearby. Sometimes that means portraying the “sunlit uplands” of the group’s aspirations. Sometimes it even means (gasp!) bringing in a consultant (with all due caveats on that score). In most cases it calls for a recognition on the part of the group members that despite their combination of noble intent, brain power, and commitment, they are not necessarily well equipped to take the larger view and steer their particular ship. Stated starkly, deck chairs should be the province of stewards and furniture designers. The rest of us need to get on with dealing with more important things.
Fourteen years in the AT&T/Bell System gave me more than enough of inter- and intra-company sessions. In terms of bureaucracy, it was, on average, worse than being in the government. Probably the smartest thing AT&T did strategically when it agreed to be broken up in the early 1980s was to split the provision of local telephone service into seven different companies (the “Baby Bells”) who were then forced to work together—by committee. I worked for Pacific Telesis and spent hours every week in sessions with my counterparts trying to coordinate our positions and plans. It was painful and expensive and distracting from what we needed to do. In terms of strategy and public policy (the areas in which I was most involved), AT&T was able to move much more effectively.
That work environment was not my first exposure to the joys of committees, however. In college, I had the dubious distinction of being elected as the undergraduate representative to the Brandeis University Political Science Department. OMG, talk about pro forma and performative politics! I quickly came to understand something of group dynamics in an academic setting. I formulated
“Harris’ Law” (adapted from the gas laws of elementary physics): “The intensity of the politics is inversely proportional to the significance of the issue being discussed.” I have since found this principle to be widely applicable, both in public and corporate settings; but it has its true home in academe (with a fine showing on the part of small non-profit boards of directors).
One of the (few) benefits of not having professorial tenure is that I haven’t been required to perform academic “service” (i.e. participation in the multi-level, minimal functionality of University governance). This is evidenced by the presence of some hair remaining on my head. Given the many challenges faced by Universities and by History Departments generally, one might think that the dire situation would bring focus and attention to developing solutions and adaptations. Rather, to the contrary, despite the formidable brain power present in such sessions, an appalling portion of these meetings are devoted to what I can only call “rearranging the deck chairs on the Titanic.”
By-laws and organizational structures are a favorite topic guaranteed to engender argument among verbally-sophisticated professors. I have seen groups where far more time is spent in such “word-smithing” than on, e.g., how to teach better, what to do about AI, or how to promote History as a field of study. Debating the number and type of assignments required of students in particular types of courses, faculty committee structures, and whether the faculty offices (which are usually occupied less than five hours per week) are sufficiently spacious all seem a more satisfying way of spending group time than wrestling with the core issues facing the institution or the discipline of History. Now, I get that small groups can’t solve universal problems. Neither a department or a University is going to change the nature of 21C US society and the nature of “kids” today. Still, there are things to be done within the remit and capability of such groups; there’s still an opportunity to “fight the good fight” on our own turf, even if we can’t do it all.
Non-profits, too, fall into this trap. Strategy and mission are taken for granted, issues of funding are flailed about, leaving such groups to a “hand-to-mouth” existence until they fade into irrelevance or insolvency. Repeated rumbling around on large and small issues without resolution or even direction is neither satisfying nor effective. Good intentions are no substitute for clear thinking.
(Of course, this problem is not limited to small-bore groups. At a societal level, the looming ice bergs also seem easy to ignore and legislative/regulatory processes are strewn with examples of parochial concerns sucking up all the oxygen to the detriment of broader, more fundamental concerns.)
My sense is that this pattern of group behavior reflects a combination of an inability to contemplate the scale of change necessary to address such existential threats plus the small, but real, satisfaction that comes with accomplishing something, even if trivial. When combined with the common human traits of presentism, assuming the continuation of the status quo, and forgetting the general precariousness of life, it’s a recipe for self-congratulatory inaction.
The principal remedy for all this is organizational leadership. Someone with some vision and charisma has to wrest the steering wheel and persuade the group members of the need to look beyond their parochial briefs. Sometimes that means scaring them, with the dire prospects of running into the icebergs nearby. Sometimes that means portraying the “sunlit uplands” of the group’s aspirations. Sometimes it even means (gasp!) bringing in a consultant (with all due caveats on that score). In most cases it calls for a recognition on the part of the group members that despite their combination of noble intent, brain power, and commitment, they are not necessarily well equipped to take the larger view and steer their particular ship. Stated starkly, deck chairs should be the province of stewards and furniture designers. The rest of us need to get on with dealing with more important things.
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