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  • The Tyranny of Techniques and Process

    Posted by Rich Harwood      3 comments      Add your comment
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    The messages of hope and change that dominate our political discussions these days have made many people giddy about the possibilities for public life and politics. But, if we do not wish to slip back into business as usual, we must beware of our own inclinations and proclivities to rely on techniques and process as a substitute for making hope real. Instead, our task now is to reorient ourselves outward, toward the people and communities we serve, or risk squandering the opportunity before us.


    In our rush to re-engage people and marshal civic resources, we can fall prey to our own good intentions. Good intentions aren't enough, and alone won't get us where we want to go. In our use of techniques and process, we can crowd out the very judgments we must make to create conditions for hope and change. We can assume a false sense of progress and security, and sidestep the very battles we must fight to produce change.

    There's so much to say here, but let me offer a handful of examples of where we turn to technique and process and how they can take us down the wrong path:

    * We can resort to yet another strategic planning process, deftly moving programmatic boxes around, and yet still not focus on the essence of community challenges and what it takes to address them.

    * We can actively engage people in the community and still never change how our own organization takes in the new knowledge, learns from it, and applies it to daily work.

    * We can create elaborate processes that still overlook the poor, those who haven't had a voice, or those in neighborhoods we do not know. Our own unexamined assumptions and fears can prevent us from changing how we fundamentally do things.

    * We can efficiently pull down best practices from web sites and reports, pursuing a "plug and play" strategy, but never fully examine if those practices really fit our context.

    * We can go through yet another branding process in our organization and still not answer the fundamental question: What is our role in the community and what impact do we seek?

    My own sense is that many people make a beeline to techniques and processes simply as a way to be "doing something." Others use techniques and process to combat their own internal fears about ambiguity and the unknown, thus providing a tidy step-by-step recipe for action. Still others may be looking for the silver bullet, the quick way to solve the problem at-hand and move on.

    Many of us operate with the implicit assumption that so long as we are moving forward, so long as we can say something is happening, so long as we are moving down our task list, we can claim that progress is being made. But is it? The danger is that we become "activity happy, and yet action deprived."

    Tools, techniques and to-do lists may assuage our own doubts, may give us a sense of progress, but a completed check list or some such other step won't necessarily lead to change. I worry that our impulse to grab a new technique or process is a way to insulate ourselves from facing difficult truths. We can forget that not every child has access to a good education; that many people are without healthcare; that even as we become a more diverse society, we are turning inward - away from one another. Each of our communities faces its own difficult truths, and we all struggle with how to adequately and honestly address them.

    The problem with the tyranny of techniques and process is that it can be a stand-in for our own need to step up and make judgments on how best to make a difference. It robs us of the possibilities for reshaping public life and politics and discarding business as usual. For sure, I believe there is a role for techniques and process, as tools to help us implement our larger ideas and aspirations in public life. But this requires that we have clarity about our intentions and purpose, that our actions create genuine opportunities to make hope real.

    So while new techniques, processes and tools have a place, we need something more. We need to reorient ourselves. We need to turn outward to the very people and communities we serve. It's time: please, join me in the fight against the tyranny of techniques and process.


    To learn more about how you can avoid becoming "activity happy, yet action deprived" get your free copy of Make Hope Real.  (Chapter 4)




  • Dear Hillary

    Posted by Rich Harwood      5 comments      Add your comment
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    I was asked during the Q&A session following a speech last Thursday what tactics I'd suggest you embrace given Senator Barack Obama's ascendancy. I write this before anyone has cast a vote in Wisconsin, though what I have to say would be the same whether you ultimately win or lose. My chief goal here is not to pretend to be your campaign consultant, because I'm not. Rather, I simply want to let you know what I told the person who asked the question.



    Attacking hope won't get you where you want to go
    . The emerging response to Senator Obama by both you and Senator McCain has been to try and undermine notions of "hope" that he has spoken about. But attacking "hope" as a fluffy concept that won't put food on people’s tables or keep jobs in America denies something of critical importance to many Americans. People are in search of something that has been missing in our society for far too long. And, there is, indeed a huge difference between false hope and authentic hope, something I have written and spoken about extensively. But don't make us cynical about "hope" as you seek the presidency. Disagree with your opponents on substantive matters in ways that let people draw their own conclusions about hope; otherwise, you might win but have little hope within the nation on which to build change.

    Go into an empty room and name three defining characteristics of your candidacy. My advice to you is the same advice I give to leaders and public innovators across the nation: find an empty room, go into it alone, decompress for an hour or two, and then pull out a small sheet of paper and write down three key defining issues or characteristics of your candidacy. I say "three" because people and often leaders too need clarity about the purpose of our efforts and about what motivates us. You often say that you have 35 years of public service. Tell us about it. Keep it short. Make it about the nation’s future and why you're the one to lead. Currently, you’re offering people a series of fragments which don't add up to a cogent narrative.

    Where do you want to go? I know you have numerous policy papers, and that you can speak fluently about your positions. But, Senator Clinton, the main problem you face is the very one you yourself identified in your New Hampshire victory speech: you must find your own voice. Right now your tactics, such as attacking hope or arguing with Senator Obama over details of health care plans, are all people see and hear. Maybe these tactics will work in the short run, but a successful campaign cannot be built on them. You must give rise to a clear narrative about the path you seek to pursue: where did you come from, why are you here, and where do you want to go.

    Next, kick your advisors off the plane. I don't know for sure, but my sense is that you have a lot of people yelling in your ear and pulling at you. It's too much. Get rid of some (many) of these folks and go with the three ideas from above; use your own voice; get rid of the noise. Now, I've worked on quite a few campaigns myself, and I know it's not as simple as I'm suggesting. But I've seen many candidates soar when they’ve freed themselves from their advisors and opened up their own voice. Too much advice leads to too many tactics; that's not what you need.

    Now, last week, when this person asked me the question about you, they seemed to want to know why you weren’t doing better, and why there was this growing Obama-frenzy across the country. I don't profess to know the answers to all these questions, but what I found myself saying to this individual was that I have followed your career, had met you once in the Governor's mansion in Arkansas, and that I believe that you hold very deep convictions about public life and the welfare of society. Yet these convictions often seem to be missing from your campaign.

    Literally, as I write this last sentence, I received an e-mail from a colleague in my office which suggests that the Wisconsin race is now tightening. No matter whether you win or lose I hope you will consider your path ahead. What you do is important -  to yourself, the nation, and the condition of public life.
  • The Joy of Voting

    Posted by Rich Harwood      5 comments      Add your comment
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    Today is Maryland's presidential primary day and I'm damn happy about it. Usually I make a point to downplay the importance of voting, because I believe that so much of the change we need in society will only come through our daily efforts. But there's something special about voting which I want to celebrate today.

    I love the process and ritual of voting. I love driving to my local polling place at the Waldorf School, a former neighborhood elementary school and one of the places where my soccer teams have played over the years. There, each voter is welcomed by the army of campaign workers handing out literature for their candidate or slate. I used to try and avoid these folks, but now I simply smile and say, "No, but thanks!" It's true, I do not want their literature; but I deeply admire their tenacity and enthusiasm, especially as people's engagement in public life has waned.

    I love standing in line to vote, where I inevitably bump into a neighbor or someone else I know – or "sort of know." Inevitably, I find myself in conversation with the person next to me in line, someone I usually don't know. But at the voting place, the barriers that often divide us, or keep us at arms' length seem to melt away.

    I love the senior citizens who check my voting registration and sign me in where I vote. They always take a while to find my name, sometimes not clearly hearing me when I say my name, or they have difficulty making out the voting log. In our hard-driving consumer-minded society, we'd declare this poor customer service. But there is something quite beautiful in the interaction – the intergenerational mix, the slower pace, the welcoming smile, and the fumbling. It's real.

    I love the fact that so many people bring their kids along with them to vote. Yes, they take longer to vote, as they often allow their children to mark the ballot, or they tell their children about a candidate or two. But, in our hyper-busy lives, isn't it worth the wait?

    I love the little "I Voted" stickers you get after you vote. In fact, a colleague of mine walked into my office this morning proudly wearing the little sticker, saying that he always regretted not getting the sticker when he voted absentee. It is a curious badge of honor: at a time when people so dislike the condition of public life and politics, the "I Voted" sticker is a sign of commitment to our common endeavor. What's more, we all wear it on the same day, showing a kind of democratic or civic solidarity, even if we voted for different candidates representing different ideas and values.

    I love voting because it causes people to talk about public life and politics in ways we often dismiss or fail to achieve at other times. For instance, my 20 buddies who buy Washington Nationals baseball tickets together exchanged 20 or so e-mails between yesterday and today arguing the merits of different candidates and exploring the different reasons for their support. It was a conversation, filled with argument, discussion, and great humor. I opened the e-mails with anticipation, and with a sense of deep respect for each individual who made their case, carefully listened, and swiftly calibrated their responses.

    I love voting this year in particular because it is my 18-year old daughter's first time. Indeed, my wife and I gave her permission yesterday to skip school and go to a Barack Obama rally with two other high school friends. She got up before 6 AM to drive to the University of Maryland to be with about twenty thousand Obama fans. Then, last night, she, her 15-year old brother, my wife, and I all sat in our kitchen for quite some time talking about her feelings about Obama, politics, her life, my work, our family.

    For sure, no candidate, however hopeful, can deliver us to a promised land. So many of the challenges we face will be met in our own communities. And so much of the work that must take place will require one effort after another in order to produce results that reflect our genuine aspirations. But, that said, I want to celebrate my voting this year.

    Voting is a curious event, intensely personal and yet fundamentally a collective act. Let us rejoice in our expression, find a place at the table of public debate, and do our work.

  • Michelle Obama's Message

    Posted by Rich Harwood      5 comments      Add your comment
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    Last week, on the night of the Clinton-Obama debate, I found myself racing from a Kellogg Foundation meeting in downtown Washington, D.C. to Bethesda, MD to pick up my son and drive him to basketball practice, hoping to catch the debate on my car radio. No such luck. But what I found was arguably more interesting and compelling: Michelle Obama.


    In the weeks leading up to the final debate, former President Bill Clinton had become a topic of discussion, as he and Senator Clinton pulled out all stops to win in Nevada and try to forestall Senator Obama's victory in South Carolina. The former president came under intense criticism for what some deemed to be underhanded campaign tactics. And while Bill Clinton soaked up the limelight, I came to find that it was his counterpart, Michelle Obama, who deserved our attention. Last Thursday night, while waiting for my son's practice to end, I heard the most incredible speech by Mrs. Obama. 

    Her speech covered an amazing amount of territory, offering both a critique on current-day America as well as a vision about what the future could be. At one point she talked about the improbability of her own journey as a black woman, reporting to the crowd just how unlikely it was for her to be standing there that night with them as the potential next First Lady. Not too many years before, she was told by various people that she would not – she could not – succeed in America.  She was told that she would never get into Princeton, but she did; that she would not be able to go to Harvard Law, but she did; that her husband would never be able to win an Illinois state senate seat, or a U.S. Senate seat, or eventually run for president of the United States. At each point of the way, in the span of just years, she, Michelle Obama, was not supposed to make it.

    Then she told a story about a young girl she'd met in South Carolina who told her that because of Senator Obama's run for the nomination, she now believed she could do anything. And yet, with pain in her voice, Michelle Obama told the swelling crowd that night that we all know that that little girl, because of who she is and where she lives, was already too far behind in school, in her health care, in her nutrition – the odds are already stacked against her. Indeed, Mrs. Obama said that the little girl herself, in her heart, knows that, too.

    As I listened to Michelle Obama that night, I came to realize that she is saying what so many people might be thinking, but which too often is left unsaid in our society: That for all our remarkable progress there is much work to be done.  Indeed, so many want to celebrate the fact that a woman and a black man are the two final contenders for the Democratic nomination, that one of them will make history by becoming the eventual nominee, which is something to celebrate. But Michelle Obama is not celebrating, at least not yet, and good for her.

    This past weekend in California, The New York Times reported that she said in a speech, "In my lifetime, through Republican and Democratic administrations, it hasn't got better for ordinary folks." She's right, if we're honest with ourselves; too many people remain left behind. Indeed, in campaigns, we often become lost in the rhetoric, in the horserace, in the money, and lose sight of whether the words and deeds of the people we elect ultimately make any difference in the lives of ordinary people.

    Mrs. Obama also said in that same speech, "We are still a nation that is too guided by fear. We are raising a generation of young people who are doubtful, who are insular."

    "Hope" has become the magic word of this campaign season. Let's face it, we all want more hope. We all want to celebrate that a woman and a black man have made it to lead the Democrats, and that a decorated war hero, Senator John McCain, is likely to lead the Republicans. But real hope requires something more than campaign placards, speeches and hype; it requires change. We must create change regarding the conditions in which people live; we must rid ourselves of fear; we must be less insular.  Real hope is generated because people come to believe that it is possible to alter the status quo.

    In Michelle Obama's voice, we hear a message not simply of hope, but change. We hear a voice of an individual who seeks to speak the truth about our current conditions and in doing reveals the challenges we must face. Whether we agree with Michelle Obama is not my point today; rather, it is enough to appreciate her courage to stand up and speak out. Because it is only then that we can see ourselves that it is possible for true hope and change to come about.

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