We appear to be living in a world currently beset by unintended consequences, or at least a world in which the main proponent does not seem to have thought about the consequences the rest of us now have to live through. In lesser matters, though, unintended consequences may also be rife, including in the pursuit of science and the role of leadership.
I am prompted to write this in part from a musical direction. I recently heard a piece of music I last encountered as a teenager, singing in a choir organised outside of school but run by the school’s music teacher. We were known, back then, as the Carissimi singers and this was a piece written by this very Giacomo Carissimi (ca 1604-74), Jeptha. It tells the biblical tale of a successful, if unwise, leader who, having won some battle, vows to sacrifice the first person he encounters on returning home. Sadly, for him and indeed her, this turns out to be his daughter. Radio 3 played the plangent tones of the final chorus as he laments his loss. Vows like that are dangerous things, but his unintended consequence only wiped out one person, unlike some current actions.
So, let’s scale down again. In our every day lives we may all perform actions that don’t turn out as we intended but are unlikely to lead to actual human sacrifice. Having spent the start of last week at the Royal Society’s conference on Women and the Future of Science (part of their celebrations of 80 years since the first female fellows were elected; I wrote a framing document for it), there was more cause to think about consequences, unintended or otherwise. In several of the sessions there was discussion about leadership, both how one acted as a leader, but also actions that had made a difference to each speaker during their career path. Empathy, support and above all kindness got a lot of air-time; one might wonder if panels of men would have mentioned the same topics, even if they equally identified with them.
It reminded me of one time when I thought I was being kind to a struggling PhD student, only to find that the consequence of that was not all that helpful.I had a student (male) who was writing up their thesis. As was usual in my conversations with students at this stage, I would set him targets about what I wanted to see from him each week. To start with, every week he turned up empty-handed with plausible explanations why. I wanted to encourage him not deflate or bully him, so I accepted these excuses. Then he asked for longer between meetings, so he had time to complete things. Again, I went along with this. After about 3 months it became clear that this was not the right strategy. Once I pushed him harder, he admitted that he had completely failed to write anything and was in a complete tizz. Once he’d opened up to me, we agreed he should just come each week and talk about how he was, or wasn’t, getting on. That turned him around and in due course he completed the thesis and got his PhD. But I realised that being ‘kind’ had been anything but, as it just left him able to stay in denial about his own progress and leave me in the dark. A lesson learned. But every student is different and needs a ‘personalised’ strategy to get them through what can be a really challenging period.
As a supervisor, a teacher or any kind of mentor means that one’s words can have an effect that may or may not be intended. Again, this past week, we heard of women saying how being told they ‘couldn’t’ do something, or – probably even worse, they weren’t ‘up to’ doing something – pushed some people to stamp their feet and determine to show their interlocutor they were wrong. As a clear example of this, take Rita Colwell (the first woman to lead NSF in the States). In her book, A Lab of One’s Own in response to being told by a professor at Purdue that ‘we don’t waste fellowships on women’, she says:
‘My first reaction is dismay – quickly followed by anger at the injustice of this policy and at his off-handedness in telling me about it…..He seems to think I have no future. Well, I tell myself, I will damn well prove you wrong.’
And she did. That was 1956, but today as then, many people – regardless of gender – may have their hopes apparently dashed by some ‘off-hand’ remark, only for that to spur them on to achieve whatever it is they are apparently being denied. Unintended consequences, but in that framing a positive outcome, sadly not so often true.
As a leader and a mentor one can immediately see that brushing someone off carelessly and without thought, as that professor brushed Colwell off, is not a kind or caring thing to do. The trouble is, there will be people who may be aiming at something beyond their reach and it is necessary to let them down gently. That can also be kind, but it can appear to be quite brutal to the recipient. In reality, and as the panel at last week’s discussion made clear, for those (all women as it happens) who had succeeded, a helping hand, a frank piece of advice, sponsorship and just ‘being there’ as a support were the things that stuck in their mind and coloured their own leadership styles as they rose in seniority.
Business gurus tend to talk about ‘being authentic’ as the right way to lead. But if you are a testy, over-bearing soul being authentic may be very destructive for those around you. The mantra, I believe, means don’t be afraid to show your own weaknesses – perhaps you’re tired having spent the weekend visiting your elderly parents 200 miles away, or are struggling with PTSD or whatever upset is occupying your mind – but too many people may want to deny they have any weaknesses at all. In which case being authentic may lead to yet more unintended consequences, as an exhortation to a team to strive harder may come across as bullying and lead to resignations. I prefer the encouraging words that Ijeoma Uchegbu, spoke last week, having experienced this herself when junior, that it is ‘always important to show empathy and kindness.’ We should all remember these words. Who knows who we will inspire or encourage to progress and who will thereby go on to make the most of their potential.
