Gavin’s Digital Diner

I was settling in to my seat on the 767-400; tucking away all the detritus that one travels with in today’s world – squirreling away my cheap paperback, iPod, and headphones in the seatback in front of me, throwing the blanket on the floor, and stuffing the pillow between me and the armrest. I travel “neat” and I like everything just so. [I know, but I'm that way.] I was on my way to Brussels for a week and some, and it was already playing out to be a difficult trip. I knew already, that because of a botched connection, my luggage was bound for parts unknown – probably Pango Pango.

Anyway, just as I was taking off my shoes in prep for the 8 hours ahead of me, the speech began. You know the one:

“…this aircraft is equipped with [Pick one] [four] [eight] [fifteen] [sixteen] [twenty-three] [forty-two] exit doors…, fasten your seatbelt by inserting the metal tab, pull up on the huskerdo thingy to release,… in the event of a water landing, be sure to inflate your shoes, etc., etc.”

Right, you’ve heard it, I’ve heard it. I’ve heard it enough that I could do the little accompanying hand motions if I pushed myself [two fingers waving towards each side of the plane to illustrate the location of the doors, etc].

This time, however, I realized something. As you’ve probably noticed, the speech has been automated. On more and more flights, it’s a video. That’s not new. What was new – or at least up until now I hadn’t noticed – is what the cabin stewards did while the speech was running. Robbed of their finger wagging, freed of their bondage to the oxygen mask demonstration, no longer forced to demonstrate how a life jacket could be inflated manually… they just stood there.

On this flight, they stood, each under the video monitor, at parade-rest, in the middle of the aisle just where they used to do the speech. It was as if they were still doing the presentation. Only they, like the rest of the humans in cabin, were busy staring off into space. And, as I watched, I thought to myself: What a perfect example of “holding the horses.”

It’s a phrase and a concept I delightfully steal from historian Elting E. Morison. The term is from a series of lectures first delivered at CalTech in the 50’s. No, I wasn’t there, but I was lucky enough to have had to read his book in graduate school. It’s from a collection of essays published as “Men, Machines, and Modern Times.” It’s not so much a book about history as it is a book about the interplay of history, technology, change, and adaption to change; more stunning today than ever, more relevant. It’s a must-read if you work with people and new technology, providing an understanding of how and why and where institutions and individuals fight back against change, against new technology.

The phrase “holding the horses” is from the introduction to an essay entitled “Gunfire at Sea: A Case Study of Innovation.” The lesson has stuck with me for years. Morison tells the story of a “time and motion” efficiency study – the write-up of an analysis of firing a field artillery piece done around WWII. Let me explain the horses.

The goal was to identify ways to improve the efficiency of firing a mobile artillery piece — either to speed up the number of rounds in a given time and/or decrease the required number of people it took to do it – almost a classic definition of “productivity.”

As part of the analysis, the researchers examined the carefully orchestrated movements of the gunnery crew – a total of five soldiers as I recall – as they loaded, aimed, primed, and fired the gun. The process had been carefully choreographed over time for maximum efficiency and speed.

Watching, and later filming, the dance of the gunners, the analyst was puzzled by what seemed to be a series of wasted and wholly unnecessary steps. Two of the gunners, in fact, seemed to do nothing half the time, while the other three worked their respective asses off. Just before the gun was fired, these two soldiers just stepped back, one to either side of the gun and simply stood there; watching the other three work. Once the gun was fired, they stepped back in to help. It was obviously part of the carefully choreographed routine, but it made no sense.

Puzzled, the analyst queried other gun crews looking for an answer. The whole loading and firing process was carefully scripted, extremely orchestrated, right down to individual movements and roles. There had to be a reason why two of the guys just stood there half the time. Nobody seemed to know why; they just all agreed that it had to be done that way. It was the way they were taught, and that was the way it was done, period.

Finally the researchers asked an old colonel of artillery, someone who had been around for a while, and someone that actually trained the younger gunners. The veteran knew immediately. “They’re holding the horses,” he said. “What horses,” asked the researchers. “Why the ones that used to haul the guns. Each gun was hauled by two horses. If you didn’t hold them steady when the gun fired, they would bolt.” Of course, the horses had been replaced by mechanized artillery years before.

Looking at the flight stewards, I thought to myself: I bet they’re holding the horses. Automation, in this case a standardized video message about seatbelts, exit doors, and all things oxygen mask, had changed their role, actually improved their jobs, but they were still left holding the horses by the old processes. The world had changed around them.

On the return flight, the same act played out. The video ran; the attendants stood. Curiosity piqued, I had to ask. I motioned one of the stewardesses over and asked her what was up. With serious face, she replied that the stewards stood there so that it was “clear to the passengers who to ask if they had any questions about seatbelts or water landings.” “And,” she added, looking very very serious, “to make sure you’re paying attention.” Since, of course, I hadn’t been, nor had anybody else, I momentarily felt a little guilty and felt myself blushing red. Then she winked, and we both broke into laughter.

Confronted by today’s rapid pace of technological change, organizations hold a lot of horses; the faster the change, the more horses. We all do it. We treat web sites like magazines, databases like report producers, voicemail like a “while you were out” pad, and email like it was direct mail. Some of us even think to treat email like a weapon, using it in an attempt to inundate or overwhelm, harkening back to the days of postcards or letter campaigns, while never thinking that deleting a million messages is as easy as deleting one. That’s just stupid.

Non profits are not immune — in fact they’re probably worse. Working with nonprofits as a consultant, I’ve often walked into what felt like an imaginary stable, horses being held steady to the left and right; a regular day at the races. To quote again Dr. Morison, “The tendency is apparently involuntary and immediate to protect oneself against the shock of change by continuing in the presence of altered situations the familiar habits, however incongruous, of the past.”

There is no clearer example than the persistence of paper, especially paper reports; usually generated by databases. We are swimming in paper reports – most unneeded – each one immediately out of date the moment it is printed. We print them despite the fact that the same information is available, dynamically, on-screen, with the push of a button.

Language too, can show you where the horses are stabled: it’s slow to keep up. When things are in flux, language usually reflects the associated angst. That’s why you still here the phrase “in the can” when a news crew finishes a video shoot – it refers to the act of putting the film into a sealed container or “can.” Film is gone, and so is the can, but the language has failed to adapt. The examples are everywhere: “b-roll,” “post-modern,” “post-industrial,” “login,” and “boot,’ or for that matter, “reboot.” Our brains hold horses and we don’t even notice. I shudder, for example, when I hear voicemail with a message like: “Can you call me back. I need to ask you a question.” We’re thinking pink “While you were out” pads. Sadly, I am not immune.

One example that sticks in my mind: the language surrounding the grantmaking process at one foundation. There, a grant was referred to as “going to blue” — a point in the process where approval was almost certain and eminent. Stymied, after a few days I broke down and asked: “Why blue?” “What’s blue?” After some digging [basically asking the foundation's the colonel of artillery], it turns out to be a reference to the carbon paper; the “blue” copy that was produced when the paperwork was being finalized. Hell, we still call it paperwork.

Today’s tools are different. They do different things. Confronted with change – driven for the most part by technology – we often can’t or won’t change, we’ve been left holding the horses, holding on to past ways, however, incongruous. The problem is in our heads and our hearts. But it’s not just us individuals.

Organizations too, fight back against change, eliminating all but the slimmest possibility of “change from within.” In the same study, Morison concludes that “[T]he deadlock between those who sought change and those who sought to retain things as they were was only broken by an appeal to a superior force, a force removed from, and unidentified with, the mores, conventions, and devices of the society.“ The argument, the great generalization, here is that no institution can reform itself. Truly, it’s a rare institution that can. That reform requires rare bravery, rare vision and even rarer leadership. And, it is why, the view from without is so valuable sometimes. I could see the bridles in the hands of the cabin attendants. They could not.

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