Here’s a test: what single catastrophe killed more people worldwide than any other? It was the Spanish flu epidemic of 1918, which killed 50-100 million people, probably more people than the two world wars combined.[1] One contributor to the death toll was the fact that countries then at war suppressed information about it, which made it less likely to be contained. And one reason that we haven’t had a recurrence within several orders of magnitude of that is that governments around the world, especially the US government, gather and freely share huge amounts of data on diseases.
The average citizen is well aware of the dangers of nuclear war, terrorism and crime, so we accept and even embrace the institutions and people who protect us from them, such as the military, Homeland Security and first responders. When risks are vivid and potentially catastrophic, we don’t mind throwing vast sums at them, because we “get it”.
But it’s the less obvious risks that may threaten us the most in the long run, precisely because we don’t think enough about them and we begrudge every penny spent on preventing them. We don’t pay that much attention to weather, contaminated food, or insufficient health care and nutrition, but they have killed far more Americans than the more easily imagined risks.
It takes a gifted writer such as Lewis (Liar’s Poker, Moneyball, The Big Short) to make us understand and care about the “fifth risk”: project management. This refers to the enormous array of projects that the Federal government runs to address these hidden systemic risks, and the vast amount of data that makes that possible. So many of those projects and data are under threat today.
The average citizen does not understand data in general and does not care about it, unless maybe it’s about their fantasy football team. More specifically, the average citizen does not know:
- How much their safety and prosperity depend on national data—its collection, storage, analysis and application
- Who does most of the collection, storage, analysis and application
- Why that system is under threat today
The book is fascinating because Lewis is a master at telling the stories of interesting, dedicated individuals who work at all levels within the Federal government. Most of us think of them as grey, faceless bureaucrats, even “lazy or stupid” (I have to admit I’ve been guilty of that myself) but many of them are doing fascinating and even thrilling work. Lewis introduces us to unsung heroes who are smart enough to make far more money in the private sector but do what they do for reasons other than money: the mission, wanting to make a difference in people’s lives, a sense of being called to serve.
It also introduces us to the work that Federal agencies such as Commerce, Energy, and Agriculture do that save us from risks potentially as deadly or even worse than foreign enemies. Unfortunately, they’re like the offensive linemen of the Government, because they usually only get noticed when they fail. How many people are alive today because hurricane forecasts have become so much better? How many people are alive today because they did not die from the flu, or because the electricity grid has not succumbed to the half million cyber intrusion attempts it suffers per year? How many kids avoid malnutrition because of government programs, or how many more people avoided becoming victims of violent crime? You can thank government for that, because they are the only institutions who have the resources to collect the data to understand the problems and design and implement projects large enough to solve them.
The book is disturbing because many of those projects are at risk. They’ve always been at risk when politicians strive to cut budgets (and there’s no doubt a lot of fat and waste that needs cutting), but the present administration takes it to a whole different level. It’s a level that is not just oblivious to data, but openly hostile to it—willful ignorance, if you will. It’s the only administration that did not send large transitions teams to learn all about the agencies they were about to take over, to ensure a smooth handoff.
And as this administration took over, DJ Patil, the government’s Chief Data Scientist, “watched with wonder as the data disappeared across the Federal government,” such as links to climate change data, inspection reports of businesses accused of animal abuse, records of consumer complaints, even detailed crime data, and of course anything having to do with climate change. It doesn’t matter whether you’re Democrat or Republican, that’s data that you and I paid for, and they’re taking it away from us.
Why does this matter? The first answer is that the less data you have, the greater the chance that undetected risks will come to pass. The second answer is more fundamental: when government depends on the consent of the governed, how can making the governed less informed be a good thing?
This post is a little outside my usual persuasive communication content, but as a reader of this blog you probably care about clear thinking, supported by hard facts, so I strongly recommend you read The Fifth Risk.
[1] “A Deadly Touch of Flu”, The Economist, September 29, 2018, p.75.
Moderation is dead! The only way to be heard and to have any influence in today’s world is to use extreme rhetoric. Even if you aren’t comfortable with it, you can’t beat them so it’s urgent that you join them before you get crushed! We’re in a post-truth era, which means that you have to be as forceful and hyperbolic in your claims and expression, or you are guilty of persuasion malpractice. IF YOU AREN’T OUTRAGED, YOU’E NOT PAYING ATTENTION!
Now that I got that out of my system, let me start again by saying:
Judging from our current political climate, it would seem that the use of extreme rhetoric is on the rise. You might even think that it’s the only way to get heard, so you would be forgiven for being tempted to adjust your persuasive approach. Some say we’re in a post-truth era, in which outlandish claims don’t have to be true—as long as they work. That being so, if you’re moderate and measured you will only be ineffective on behalf of your side.
Here’s the problem: the second paragraph is more credible, but the first one grabbed your attention.
That’s why it has recently been common practice in our national discourse toward extreme claims and excessive fear mongering. The other side doesn’t just disagree with us, they hate us. Their policies aren’t just misguided, they will cause an irrevocable disaster. The world is falling apart, so we have to be as forceful as possible to save it.
After a while, you just get numb to it, so they ratchet up their rhetoric even more to get past your filters. When they cry wolf so often, the townspeople put on earmuffs and go on with their lives. The problem is that when a real wolf does appear, who will listen then?
I’m not sure anything can be done about it; I certainly don’t have any answers. But it’s critical to your credibility and influence in business that you don’t let it affect the way you sell your ideas.
In fairness, there are some benefits to making extreme claims. Forcefulness grabs attention, which is why talk shows keep inviting back hedgehog pundits even after they’re proven wrong. The fox who keeps saying “on the other hand”, is politely thanked and then promptly forgotten. Plus, if you think of a proposal or an argument as the start of a negotiation where both parties eventually meet in between opening positions, an extreme claim can set an anchor that will make you look reasonable when you back off. Finally, hedges and hesitations can act as “power leaks” that detract from the forcefulness of your speech.
Yet, in negotiation an extreme opening position risks chasing away the other party by insulting them or convincing them you’re not serious. Even if they don’t walk away, they will automatically consider anything that comes out of your mouth as a worst-case or best-case scenario, and will look for contradictory evidence. The biggest risk of an extreme position is that it can trap you: once you crawl out on that limb, you’re a “loser” if you try to come back to the middle.
And there is evidence that others find a moderate level of confidence more credible. In a study done for the legal profession testing mock juries, jurors found witnesses to be more credible when they were in the middle range of confidence about their testimony. In another study, it was seen that people who are already perceived as experts actually seem more credible when they hedge their opinions a bit; it makes them appear more thoughtful.
Another piece of evidence that moderate speech may be more persuasive is the Sarick Effect, which Adam Grant discusses in his book Originals. In effect, it’s the idea that bringing out the negatives of your own idea can paradoxically make it more attractive to others, because it lowers their defenses and makes you appear more honest, among other reasons. I would think that an audience grown cynical by extreme rhetoric would at least find it refreshing.[1]
On the other hand (there I go again) , it may depend on your audience. Research shows that in general, unsophisticated audiences prefer one-sided arguments, but sophisticated audiences prefer two-sided arguments.
Moderation isn’t just about how you say it; it’s also about fairly presenting evidence. Hans Rosling ,in his excellent new book Factfulness (which incidentally sparked my idea for this post), says that you should always present a mid-forecast with a range of possible scenarios, rather than simply selecting the most extreme position As he says, “This protects our reputations and means we never give people a reason to stop listening.”[2]
So, here’s my mid-forecast: go easy on the extreme rhetoric, use only credible data, and over the long term you will protecting your reputation and ensure others keep listening. And yes, I strongly believe that!
[1] Actually, Grant made up the tern “Sarick Effect”, to make a point about how familiarity makes things more believable. That’s a topic for an upcoming post.
[2] Factfulness, by Hans Rosling, Ola Rosling, and Anna Rosling Ronnlund, p. 231.
We’ve all heard that knowledge is power, but admitting your ignorance is a necessary step to knowledge.
So says Yuval Noah Harari in his book Sapiens. As he says, the Scientific Revolution could not begin until a few brave souls dared to openly admit their ignorance, saying in effect, ignoramus, which is Latin for “we don’t know.” Freed from certainty dictated by rulers and priests, a few individuals here and there began questioning, observing, experimenting, and discovering, and ultimately ignited an explosion of progress and wealth, and almost every aspect of human life was fundamentally and irrevocably changed, mostly for the better.
On a more modest level, I’d like to ask how much our lives would change today if we were all willing to say ignoramus a bit more.
I see the value of admitting ignorance in two different ways in my classes. The first form is when I get a grizzled sales veteran sitting with his (it’s always a man) arms crossed as if saying; “I know it all. I dare you to try to teach me something I don’t know.” Those usually turn out to the easiest to teach, but only after I’ve asked a question or two about their accounts that they can’t answer. They often do a complete 180 when they recognize they don’t know something, and see its importance.
Second, I always stress that what kills sales deals—and I suspect much else in business and in life—is the seductive certainty that you have the situation under control because you know all you need to know. Ignorance is productive when it exposes what Donald Rumsfeld called the unknown unknowns, or as I call them, (DK)². But the most insidious form of (DK)² is the assumption, where you think you know but you really don’t. The only cure for the assumption is to admit to yourself what you don’t know.
I don’t pretend to be perfect yet; I still have trouble admitting my ignorance. Just this week I was in a meeting where a speaker threw out a term I didn’t understand. I didn’t want to show my ignorance so I sat quietly, but a woman in the group stopped him and said, “What do you mean by that?” Turns out no one else in the room know either. In times like that’ it’s useful to remember what Will Rogers said, “Everybody’s ignorant, only on different subjects.”
In selling, there is tremendous value in admitting to others that you don’t know. I learned my first big lesson in sales when a prospect asked me why he should do business with my company, and I surprised him (and myself) by saying, “I don’t know.” That frank admission led to an open and productive conversation and a big sale.
What about relationships? Ignoramus makes us humble, and hence quicker to listen and slower to judge. It helps us avoid the fundamental attribution error, in which we impute others’ wrong actions to their character, while we excuse our own wrong actions as being caused by the situation. If we get into the ignoramus habit, we would be more likely to think a little deeper about the causes of the other person’s misbehavior. As Lincoln said, “I don’t like that man. I must get to know him better.”
This one I know will never happen, but how would politics change if everyone was more willing to admit their ignorance? Certainty wraps you in a comfortable cocoon of confirmation bias and closes your mind to anything that might challenge your worldview. Is it any wonder there doesn’t seem to be anything getting done in Washington these days?
Ignoramus, what a wonderful and useful word when it’s directed not at others but at ourselves! How much more would we know if we admitted what we don’t?
If you are truly serious about becoming an excellent persuasive communicator, one of the most important things you can do is to become a writer. You don’t have to do it for publication and in fact you don’t even have to be particularly good at it, but the more you write the better you will get at expressing your ideas.
Everyone wants to be admired for their brilliance of thinking and expression, and we envy those who seem to possess it naturally and effortlessly. We may even feel a twinge of envy and despair that we can’t do it ourselves. But I suspect that many of the people who seem to have natural gift actually work very hard at it.
Here’s what a brilliant writer, Kurt Vonnegut said about it:
“Novelists have, on the average, about the same IQs as the cosmetic consultants at Bloomingdale’s department store. Our power is patience. We have discovered that writing allows even a stupid person to seem halfway intelligent, if only that person will write the same thought over and over again, improving it just a little bit each time. It is a lot like inflating a blimp with a bicycle pump. Anybody can do it. All it takes is time.”
I’m not a novelist. I don’t aspire to be one, and you probably don’t either. But we can still learn from Vonnegut’s sentiment. What can we use from his idea?
Write it down. Sounding halfway intelligent means you sound like you thought about it, but for important meetings and conversations, I don’t believe it counts as thinking until you’ve written it down. That’s because it always sounds better in your head than it looks on paper, at least the first time. As Barbara Minto says in her book, The Pyramid Principle: “No one can know precisely what he thinks until he has been forced to symbolize it—either by saying it out loud or by writing it down—and even then the first statement of the idea is likely to be less precise than he can eventually make it.”
Make time. You don’t have to shoot for the great American novel, because you have a day job. But you still have to carve out some time to give it the attention it deserves. As the old saying says, if you don’t have time to do it right the first time, when will you have time to do it over? Besides, how many times have you regretted something you wrote in haste, especially now that everything written electronically will live forever?
Start early. Patience is a powerful tool, but you have to start early for it to work. I used to think I did my best work under deadline pressure, but I’ve found that starting early to let the idea marinate in my unconscious mind usually pays off in the form of insights and flashes of semi-inspiration at the most unexpected times. It’s better for my blood pressure, too.
Pump up the pump. The metaphor of inflating a blimp with a bicycle pump isn’t exactly correct. When you pump long enough, you get better at pumping, and somehow the pump begins to get upgrades as well. Over time each push of the handle gets a little more productive, in either quantity or quality. It’s the idea of personal kaizen, where thousands of small improvements use the magic of compound interest to add up not just mathematically but geometrically.
Inflating a blimp with a bicycle pump. It’s a powerful idea, brilliantly expressed. I wonder how many times he wrote it and rewrote it?
