Collaboration at the Edges

Last month there was a discussion going on in a KM group I participate in regarding rewards. The question being asked was "what incentives are in place for knowledge sharing within your organization?"

Now, those involved in KM will recognize this discussion. It is a recurring theme, sort of like abortion, with no clear answer but lots of heated debate on both sides.

To summarize quickly, there are those who feel that incentives (ranging from simple acknowledgments to actual physical or financial awards) applied strategically can encourage participation and knowledge sharing. While others feel any form of reward system distorts normal behavior, resulting in "false positives" as individuals game the system to collect the rewards, without any real engagement in KM practices per se.

There seem to be valid arguments on both sides, and I have no expectations that I can sort out the issue where so many others have failed. But I do have a different perspective that may have some value. You see, over the past year I went from working for a large corporation (over 50,000 employees) to working for a company barely in the double digits (10 employees, to be exact).

Now you might not think that the activities of ten people working together have much bearing on a large geographically distributed corporation. And, at first blush, you would be right.

We have no trouble with knowledge sharing. We work in close proximity. Conversations break out throughout the day and anyone can and does join in. Questions are asked, frustrations expressed, solutions proposed, and problems solved with almost no conscious effort whatsoever.

It seems almost ludicrous to ask "why don't we have issues with KM?" Isn't it obvious? We all know each other. We are working closely together on a common project.

But we aren't all the same. I'm a writer. Most of the team are engineers. There's a manager. And regardless of our roles, we all have quite distinct personalities, which might or might not be compatible in other situations. But none of that gets in the way.

So is it the distance, the lack of knowing each other, or the loss of a common goal that stand in the way of sharing in larger environments? The answer is probably "yes" to all three -- plus a few other characteristics of working in distributed corporations.

But I have another experience that influences my view of this problem. Years ago (many years ago) I worked for another large corporation. However, at that time, there didn't seem to be any of the difficulties with knowledge sharing I have seen since. The company was large, distributed, and working on many different, often unrelated, products at one time. In other words, no obvious common goal.

In many ways, the employees (particularly the engineers) of that earlier company operated as if they were a team of ten rather than an organization of 100,000. People I had never met responded to my questions openly, offered suggestions, even took time out to assist if necessary.

Most importantly, there were no explicit incentives to encourage this behavior. It just kind of "happened".

Of course, that's not true. It didn't just "happen". The ethos of the company, the culture of the organizations within it, and the personal dedication of the individuals the company chose to hire conspired to create that environment.* But, three things stand out about these examples in my mind:

• If size and distance are detrimental to knowledge sharing -- as they clearly are -- what is it about incentives that would counteract that?
• More importantly, what is it about size and distance that causes the problem?
  
• And why is it the earlier company was able to overcome those obstacles without incentives?

As I said earlier, I have no expectation that I can actually solve this dilemma. But I have a suspicion. And my suspicion is this:

People share openly when they feel they are part of a community

Not a member of the community, a part of the community. They share because they are assisting the community, even if the sharing is one-to-one with another member.

Clearly in the case of small groups, it is easy for everyone to understand the common goal. The individuals cannot succeed unless the group (i.e. community) succeeds. As a consequence, they are eager to contribute where they can. Even, paradoxically, when those contributions are quite tangential to the shared goal (such as recommending good restaurants or which GPS system is best).

Note that lurking -- a behavior specific to members of a community rather than participants -- is difficult in small physical groups. Since the group is so small, people see when you hold back and may even challenge you to open up. Such interaction is much harder in large, distributed groups.

So getting back to the initial question: what can incentives do to counteract the negative impact of size and distance? Incentives can encourage lurkers to speak up (thereby improving whatever quantitative metrics are in place). However, incentives cannot alter the psychological affinity an individual feels towards to community. At best, the incentive may spur an initial (and temporary) jump from lurker to participant, which the individual then finds satisfying. This success may spur them to try again, and over time start to develop a sense of ownership in the group. (In other words, become part of the community.)

This, I believe, is what advocates of incentives are aiming for.

* For a more complete assessment of this earlier company, see Patti Anklam's excellent article The Camelot of Collaboration.

Lurking, a Personal Story

I belong to several professional communities, mostly online email discussion lists. I sometimes participate in the conversations. But mostly, I lurk.

It is not that I am a novice (I've been at my profession -- or professions -- for a number of years). It's not that I don't have anything to say. In fact, quite the opposite.

I was reminded of this recently when a discussion came up about communities and incentives. I've worked in KM for ten years or more. I've also witnessed a number of incentive programs, both successful and not so. So I have no lack of opinions and experiential knowledge I could share.

But I haven't said much. Why? Because these topics, communities and incentives, are areas of contention in the field of KM. What are they? How are they best employed? Do incentives help or hurt? There has already been plenty of space and time spent arguing both sides.

So I try to pick my words carefully. I even started a blog post on the topic to try and organize my thoughts. However, while I picked and edited, others chimed in with their opinions, advice, and war stories and the conversation quickly moved on, diverging into several related threads.

Each time someone else adds to the discussion, there is something new I feel I need to refute, promote, analyze or otherwise respond to.

In the end I don't respond at all.

That, in and of itself, is not interesting. But what may be interesting is what was going on in the background.

I am not just lurking, I am also implicitly deferring to the others who are responding. Note, I don't agree with them all. And there is a certain level of angst at not responding to the comments I disagree with. Because I am emotionally involved in the topic of the conversation. But either because of the number of interrelated concepts being bandied about or the speed of the conversation, I do not feel comfortable joining in.

As a consequence, at least to some small degree, I feel distanced from the community as a whole. And therefore lurk some more.

This is a cyclic event. I've noticed myself do this time and again in more than one environment. I lurk, I sometimes feel better about the community, sometimes worse. Then something will spur me to respond. I'll actively participate for awhile, then go back to lurking.

There are a number of different reasons I don't chime in:

• I agree with what's being said and don't feel like piling on (or distracting from the points already made)
• I disagree with what is being said but don't want to get into a pissing contest about it.
• I disagree with what is being said but can't get my thoughts in order enough to make a cogent argument before the conversation moves on.
  
• I disagree with what is being said, but it is such a minor aspect of the overall conversation that I feel arguing it would be an unnecessary quibble.

There are probably others, but those are just some that come to mind. But more importantly, there are times I do chime in. And those times seem to fall into three categories:

• Someone is asking for assistance and -- before anyone else responds -- I feel I have something unique or clear to offer.
• Someone is asking for assistance and -- although I may not feel uniquely qualified -- no one else responds in a reasonable time frame (anywhere from a few hours to a day or so), so I feel my response will be of use.
• Something is said I disgree with so much, my eagerness to correct it overcomes any of my inhibitions about going off-topic or raising an argument.

What really struck me was the last cause. It really goes against the common beliefs about communities.

We (KM consultants and practitioners) tend to discuss lurking as a static state. We talk about communities being made up of 10% core contributors and 90% lurkers, as if these are permanent labels you can apply to individuals. And one of the key goals of incentives is to convince members to "cross over", stop lurking and become active contributors.

To be fair, incentives can help. Just as taking new arrivals at a party around and introducing them to those already there can help get them to join in. Incentives done properly can help new members "break the ice".

However, this concept of lurking as a static state is so widespread, community members themselves often adopt it and feel compelled to confess their status. At least once a month I read a post starting something like "Hi. I'm normally a lurker in this forum, but..."

The fact is, lurking is not a static state, it is highly dynamic. The cast of active participants changes over time as people flip between lurking and leading. At the same time, lurkers are often paying close attention to what is going on, are emotionally responding to events and -- moment to moment -- adjusting their attitude towards the community based on what is said. They agree, they disagree, they get angry, insulted, surprised, or even flattered (when they feel they or their subgroup have been mentioned positively) all without breaking out of their silence.

And, in opposition to common belief, it is not an improved attitude toward the community that is needed to get them to join in. Often it can be displeasure or disagreement that instigates a need to speak. Of course, how their contributions are received (they don't have to be agreed with, but at least considered and respected) impacts their likelihood to contribute again.

The real difficulty for community facilitators is that this dynamic, changeable, but silent lurking makes it hard to measure the actual "health" of the community as a whole. The volume of discourse may remain high. But as with any voluntary endeavour, people can "vote with their feet". But for online communities, you can't "see" lurkers who choose to tune out. And it isn't until the conversation starts to dwindle (because there are no lurkers left to chime in or pinch hit when an active participant drops out) that you realize there is a problem.

I can't say I have much to offer in terms of positive techniques for counteracting this situation. But I believe that having a more realistic understanding of the dynamics of lurking may help us address the needs of communities we watch over in a less back and white fashion.

To start with, it is important not to stigmatize lurking. Everyone does it sometimes and lurking doesn't mean you aren't emotionally involved. Accepting lurking as a normal stage in a cycle may help make the distinction between active and passive particition less daunting to new members.

And, of course, finding a way to gauge the involvement or commitment of lurkers could go a long way to understanding the actual health of the community as a whole. How to do this is still a challenge that has no clear answer...

Twenty-Five Years of Poetry

It is hard to believe, but I've been writing poetry for over thirty years now. During that time, I have been fortunate enough to have a number of poems published in magazines (for which I am very grateful).

I have also assembled several book-length manuscripts. Unfortunately, my efforts to get a book published have not met with success... Until recently.

My most recent manuscript has been accepted and will be published by the University of Arkansas Press in the Spring of 2016.  I want to thank the staff at the Press and Billy Collins — the series editor who selected the book — for their faith and interest in my manuscript.

In the meantime, I've decided to make some of my earlier work available online:

• A collaboration with friend and fellow poet, Bill Evans: Rilke's Elegies (1985)
• A short chapbook of poems:  Catalog (2007) 

There is no definition that can encompass all that poetry is or can be. But if my work can instill in you, as reader, even a fraction of what poetry has meant to me over the years, I will feel that I have succeeded.

Enjoy.

What Happened to Postcards?

I spent much of yesterday at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston. It was a singularly exhausting experience -- as most museum visits are. (Being a combination of exhilaration and stultification at the same time.)

But what particularly struck me was when we visited the gift store before leaving (I can't resist tacky souvenirs) and there were no postcards for sale.

Yes, they had one small rack of postcards of Egyptian paraphernalia, capitalizing on their current special exhibit of an Egyptian tomb and children's fascination with mummies. (Egypt is to art museums what dinosaurs are to science museums.) There was also a book of postcards depicting paintings by Monet. But there were no small mementos for sale of the individual works that may have struck a chord during your visit.

At first I was confused. But then it occurred to me that there may be a very practical reason why postcards are missing: no one sends physical mail anymore.

Now, this is just supposition. There are a number of different reasons why they may no longer sell postcards: too expensive to produce, take up too much space, need to constantly change stock to keep up with what is on display at any given time... But these conditions are either identical to what they were 20 years ago or easily offset by inflating prices (as they do with the trivets, posters, T-shirts, and other items that are on display).

So I can only assume the market for postcards has itself diminished because people do not send physical mail anymore. Statistics from the US postal service verify this, indicating that personal correspondence via USPS decreased 14% between 2002 and 2008. And the drop off is expected to continue.

The unfortunate part of this situation is that postcards play a role beyond just souvenirs and something to write "wish you were here" on. Postcards, especially postcards from places like museums and zoos that have many different exhibits, serve as mnemonic devices. These mnemonics remind us of the strong emotional experience of seeing the painting, sculpture or whatever. They also act as a surrogate of that experience that we share with those we send the postcards to.

People do not send as much mail because email and other electronic media have replaced the need for physical letters and cards. (As well as being easier, cheaper, and more convenient.) In place of postcards, I could have taken pictures of the paintings I wanted to remember -- which I did in a few instances. But the lighting in museums is hardly conducive to photography. (In some cases, it doesn't even seem very conducive to viewing!)

So what should be done? As much as I enjoy postcards, I recognize it is not practical to argue a return to a form of gifting that never was very practical and is now downright archaic. But it would be a loss to the patrons -- and to the museum -- if there were no form of mnemonic to help visitors retain and relive the pleasure of seeing the art in first person.

If it is not financially viable to stock physical postcards, perhaps they can make it possible to send electronic postcards or custom "picture books" of one's favorite works, whether to yourself or to your friends?

But, surprise surprise. They almost do...

The museum has an searchable online catalog of many of its holdings. The catalog has an expansive advanced search capability. It even lets you send e-cards once you find a specific item. (Yes!)

However, the catalog is only available if you are on the internet, not in the museum itself. (No!) Add to that, the catalog is really designed for those who understand how the catalog works, not the casual user. (For example, the search interface has 12 fields. Enter "Egypt" under culture and search for items on display and nothing shows up. Search for "Egypt" as a keyword and 58 pages of results are returned.)

What would be great would be if there were monitors in each room that let you browse the items available in that room. (No painful searching.) You could select an item and send an e-card in seconds when it strikes you, rather than spending minutes (or more) searching for it later.

Better still, for those with smart phones you could provide a simplified interface that only asks for the asset or accession number. (The accession number appears on the bottom of the placard describing each work of art.)

(Example placard with the accession # 72.2617)

The visitor could quickly call up an item they liked and send e-cards to others or a reminder to themselves on the spot. They could even create an e-book of their favorite works as they proceed through the collection.

In an ideal world, the MFA could put 2D barcodes on the placards so the information could be scanned and retrieved automatically by cellphone. This would be the easiest method technically. However, it would require changes to museum itself (the placards) and a common interface on cell phones -- something available in Japan but still not standard in the US yet.

So sticking with the first two suggestions -- and especially the suggestion for a simplified search available on smart phones -- it would be possible for the MFA to provide a thoroughly innovative and satisfying way for visitors to remember and share their experience with very little change to the existing infrastructure.

Why should the MFA bother? Although this sort of addition would have a cost associated with it, much of the technology already exists in the electronic catalog. Simply by creating a targeted interface -- and promoting the new capability - the museum can deepen the experience for the patron as well as advertise its best qualities through the messages the patrons send.

The word "souvenir" comes from the French for the act of remembering. Postcards are both a souvenir in the sense of a mnemonic device and a vehicle of communication. Their loss may seem minor from a commercial perspective, but they served as a valuable thread connecting the museum experience (quiet, austere, contemplative) with the visitor's regular life (loud, jumbled, exciting and excitable). A thread by which we carry the experience of art from previous generations back into our lives.

Without it, the day at the museum is just that: a day at the museum. But museums have the opportunity to create an even stronger link, electronically. It will be interesting to see if they pick up the challenge.

The World's Smallest Instruction Manual

3.5 X 4.25 inches
Single sheet of paper, printed on one side.
(Instructions for a pocket calculator.)

The Work We Do

I recently changed jobs. As a consequence I am no longer "doing" Knowledge Management. I am reminded of this fact by friends who ask me how much KM is involved in my new job. The simple answer is none. But to be honest, that's not entirely true.

My new role brings me back to my roots in Technical Writing, Information Architecture, and what is currently known as "Content Strategy". (Although "Content Strategy" appears to be having the same sort of identity crisis KM and IA go through on a regular basis.)

Which may also explain why my new role doesn't feel so different. In my previous profession, people would ask me how Information Architecture relates to Knowledge Management. My pat answer was that KM is the architectural design of potential -- rather than existing -- information.

My response was flippant, but also quite accurate. Whether you are defining the structure of a website for well-understood content or designing an interface for some as-yet-undefined content that will be chosen by people in the future... the tools, the methods, and the experience you use are much the same.

Ditto technical writing, which is very much like information architecture except on a much smaller scale. (What goes in this document vs. another? Where do we put the introductory information so the user can't help tripping over it? etc.)

Now, I know there are technical writers that do nothing but write and are affronted if you suggest they "design" things. Just as there are Information Architects that design taxonomies and not much else. But the fields themselves are much bigger than that. Which is where the confusion and bickering comes in.

I seem to be constantly in the middle of one battle or another no matter which of my various "professions" I am practicing. The reason for that is because the boundaries are very fuzzy. And ambiguity makes people uncomfortable.

So they try to delineate their roles. On the one hand, practitioners try to define the field by how they currently practice it: the tools they use or the methodology they have adopted. While others with a more philosophical bent try to expand the scope, often treading on the toes of their neighboring professions.

Currently, information architects are arguing whether IA even exists or if it (and several other forms of design) are all just different flavors of a new profession, user experience design. Or is it interaction design? Or is it...

Similarly, KM practitioners (and pundits from other fields) are trying to decide if there is a battle going on between KM and social media. Excuse me? There is no battle unless you assume KM as a field of study has to be practiced in a specific way or within a predefined, limited field of vision.

I feel like channeling a famous ex-wrestler and shouting "It doesn't matter what your profession is!"

The names we make up for our jobs help avoid conflicts when working with others by divvying up the territory. They also give us a ready answer to social situations when someone asks "what is it you do?"

Unfortunately, these names also create unnecessary barriers to getting work done. If you define your role by specific tools or tasks, you are also defining the boundaries for the solutions you can provide. You doom yourself to repeating the same work over and over... even when the environment around you changes, as it inevitably will.

The fact is that all of my professions are variations on addressing the traditional dilemma of communications theory. Whether it is communication between management and employees, among the employees themselves, between the company and customers, or among the current and potential customers the company seeks, the professions I travel with are all trying to resolve the problem of getting information into the right hands at the right time.

In knowledge management it is creating channels for the ambient knowledge within whatever community you support. In this case, your audience is often both content providers and consumers at different times. You don't control the content, you try to maximize the channel.

In information architecture it is sorting, defining, and providing a clear logical structure to at least that part of the information space you have control over (whether that be a web site, marketing, promotion, community facilitation, or whatever). You manage the content, somewhat like an orchestra conductor. But you are not the composer.

In user experience and usability design it is tuning the communication channel to be as effective as possible. You don't control the content or the structure, but you control how the audience interacts with it. (Of course, this is untrue in actuality because the interface becomes part of the message. Wasn't it McLuhan who said the medium is the message? But this is just another example of how the professions overlap...)

And in technical writing it is creating the perfect communication, including content and structure, but within the limited scope of the channel you have available to you (whether that be books, online help, training modules, or a web site). You have complete control over the content, but less over the channel and still less over the audience.

They all address the issue of communication from different angles. And taken together, provide an endless array of solutions and approaches when faced with any problem related to information.

That's why I like it.

And that's what I do.

Approaches to Sustainability: Design to Zero

[Continued from Approaches to Sustainable KM: Embedded KM]

Another approach to sustainable KM is "design to zero".

It's impossible to start a business initiative with no resources. Even if it is only your own time and attention, there is some expenditure required. And usually there is a lot more than just that.

Any new project requires a "bump" to get it started. This might include training, hardware and software expenditures, project management, etc. Any number of capital or resource costs are needed to get things going.

The problem is that budget planning often only accounts for the short term (2, 3 or perhaps 5 years at most). For projects with a defined endpoint, this is OK. However, almost all KM projects are intended to run indefinitely. (It doesn't make sense to stop sharing knowledge after 3 years, does it?)

This means that, although it may not show up on the plan of record, the KM program must account for the ongoing maintenance of long-term projects. If you load up your KM program with management of ongoing initiatives, there are two negative consequences:

• If budgets and headcount are cut (or worse, eliminated), you have no choice but to abandon one or more of the initiatives, usually bringing the program to a screeching halt. Without the expected leadership and constant "push", non-sustainable programs fail when the budget stops.
• Even if budgets stay the same, after a while, you have no spare resources to start new programs. Even if a good idea comes along (such as Enterprise 2.0) your KM team is fully booked and you do not have sufficient resources to start anything new without impacting existing programs.
  

How do you avoid this dilemma? The key is to design each project -- from the beginning -- to reach zero cost.

That doesn't mean management goes to zero or that residual effort goes to zero, but that the program is designed to become self-supporting at a set point in time.

So rather than planning for the the first year "bump" and letting maintenance trail on indefinitely, plan from the beginning that management of the program and responsibility for its ongoing success will be transferred to the appropriate people within the organization. Sometimes this means the project may need a bigger expense up front (as soon in the graph below). But the benefit is that the project then becomes self-sustaining and the KM team can move on to tackle other tasks.

Going back to our example of embedded KM, it is not sufficient to have the idea to invite architects from other disciplines to the project reviews. You need to make sure that the organization running the reviews understands that their success depends on this outside participation and, therefore, they are responsible for making sure it continues once the program is off the ground.

As with any sustainability practice, not all projects are suited for design to zero. But far more projects are than you might expect. The trick is to look for the part of the organization (usually lines of business) that will benefit most from the effort. Engage them early in the planning, so they feel responsible for its success. Then get them to commit to ongoing management as part of their regular business cycle.

[To be continued]