Tom Graves / Tetradian

This one is a pick-up from a Tweet by Bert van Lamoen:

• transarchitect: The priority shift we make is from efficiency to effectiveness to co-creativity. #complexity

Of course. Yes. That’s obvious, the moment I look at it.

Except that I’d completely missed before now.

Oops…

I’ve long since drawn a distinction between efficiency and effectiveness. Or rather, that efficiency – ‘doing more with less’, ‘doing things right’ – is only one dimension of effectiveness – ‘doing the right things right’.

[The set of five dimensions that I've used to summarise effectiveness, if you're interested, is efficient, reliable, elegant, appropriate, integrated - see  the slidedeck 'What is effectiveness?' or my book SEMPER & SCORE: enhancing enterprise effectiveness.]

Yet that type of ‘effectiveness’ assumes that there’s some kind of pre-ordained plan – ‘effective in terms of the plan’. What if there isn’t a plan? What if we don’t know what the plan is? What if we’ll only know what the plan was – or sort-of ‘was’ – once we’ve completed it? (‘Retrospective causality’, as a certain person would put it.)

That’s where co-creativity comes into the picture. Co-creating a ‘plan that is no-plan‘, together.

And that’s what I’d missed.

[I can see why I'd missed it: to be blunt, I'm, uh, not good at anything that involves being social, and the whole point and focus of co-creativity is that it's social. But it still doesn't excuse the fact that I shouldn't have missed it. Sigh.]

Yet I’m not the only one who’s missed it: there’s a whole societal shift implied here – a completely different way of working. One that doesn’t assume that there’s ‘The Plan’. One that doesn’t assume that there’s The Person In Control, or The Person Who Knows What’s Going On. Or even that there’s anyone who knows what’s going on. Instead, there’s a trust that co-creation will take us where we want to go: an effectiveness that’s an emergent property of the collective, without any ‘plan’ or pre-certainty at all.

I don’t see this as an ‘either/or’ – either effectiveness-relative-to-a-plan, or co-creation-with-no-plan. It’s more a ‘both/and’ – it seems more an effectiveness that arises from a sort-of plan-that-is-no-plan, one that covers the entirety of the SCAN decision-making space:

The classic ‘efficiency’-based approach is mostly about the left-hand side: assertions about ‘the true metrics’ and so on leads to The Plan which leads to control of actions and decisions at real-time – the Belief ‘domain’. It’s very mechanical – often literally so.

Looking at it now, the approach I’d taken to effectiveness did incorporate a lot more of the right-hand side, with a strong acceptance of various aspects of uncertainty – particularly in the human space, the ‘elegant’-dimension of effectiveness. But it still presumes a plan, an Assertion – and hence that’s where it naturally tends to return.

Co-creativity would seem to focus more on the ‘Use’-domain – literally, “What’s the Use?”. I believe that to work well – to avoid a collapse into a dysfunctional-chaotic free-for-all, a ‘co-non-creation’ – it’d still need some kind of guiding-light or anchor or direction, a shared “What’s the purpose here?”. Yet even that would likely be co-created too – a nice recursion there.

Hmm… A lot to think about. Or, preferably, co-create? Thanks anyway, Bert!

Who or what is ‘I’? How does our experience of ‘I’ change as we interact with our world?

Yes, I do know that those questions might seem to fit more in philosophy or psychology. But as per the previous post, they also have huge ramifications in user-experience and user-interface design, in product-design, in sensemaking and decision-making, and in enterprise-architecture, business-architecture, security-architecture and many other architectures in general.

Quick summary so far:

• there’s a decision-making ‘I’ – “I am that which chooses”, that which experiences the world as ‘I’ and responds accordingly, and which can be highly volatile, especially in terms of real-time decision-making
• there’s a kind of presentation-layer of ‘I’, which is expressed through surface-appearance, through digital-personas and suchlike
• there’s a kind of interaction between each ‘I’ and that presentation-layer – an interaction which is particularly clear in work with Masks, as I’ll return to in a moment
• there’s a distinct identifier-layer for ‘I’, comprised of identifiers acknowledged or imposed by others as well as self, and typically associated roles, rights and responsibilities for ‘I’ – with the identifiers often associated with external or assigned personas (digital or otherwise)
• beneath it all, in most cases, there seems to be a kind of unitary ‘I’ that is experienced by self as ‘I’, and perhaps also experienced by others as one’s ‘I’ – though with reservations on that such as indicated by the classic Johari Window model

So, to identity and Mask.

I’ve just finished re-reading Keith Johnstone’s classic ‘Impro: improvisation and the theatre‘. To me, it’s absolute must-read for anyone interested in the human side of enterprise-architecture: its sections on status, spontaneity and narrative can be real eye-openers for understanding how organisations really work. (Or, more often, don’t work…) Yet for me it’s always been the last section in the book that’s always stood out the most: the section on Masks.

The term ‘Mask’ has a special meaning here – hence the initial-capital on Mask, to distinguish it from a more everyday theatrical mask. In many ways the Mask is just an ordinary half-face mask: the difference is more in how it’s used, not just as a costume-prop but as an active persona or literal ‘per-sona’ – an active filter on ’that through which I sound’.

[There's also another set of techniques that work with full-face Masks, or Tragic Masks, but I won't go into any of that here.]

The context in the book is improvisational theatre, of course – not enterprise-architecture. Yet there are a few themes that are extremely relevant for us.

One is that it’s a real and intensive research-environment. True, it’s subjective-research rather than objective-research, but in essence the principles of of investigation are the same, and certainly the level of discipline required is much the same if they’re to get usable results. So don’t dismiss it out of hand because it’s not IT…

Given that, note what is probably the key theme there: that there’s some kind of interaction that goes on between actor and Mask. It’s not as simple as a one-way ‘I am wearing this prop’: wearing a Mask has definite impacts on the actor, and it seems there’s even some continuity between different people wearing the same Mask:

Another Mask was called Mr Parks. This one used to laugh, and stare into the air, and sit on the extreme edge of chairs and fall off sideways. Shay Gorman created the character. I took the Mask to a course I gave in Hampshire. The students were entering from behind a screen and suddenly I heard Mr Parks’ laughter. It entered with the same posture Shay Gorman had adopted, and looked up as if something was very amusing about the ceiling, and then it kept sitting on the extreme edge of a chair as if it wanted to fall off. Fortunately it didn’t, because the wearer wasn’t very athletic. It really makes no sense that a Mask should be able to transmit that information to its wearer.

I’ll very carefully make no comment here as to how that kind of information could pass from one actor to another, just through the medium of the respective Mask: just note that it is so, under those types of technical conditions.

Also explained in the book is that the whole thing depends on some quite specific psychological or psychosocial conditions. To translate it into the terms I’ve been using with the SCAN framework, it’s all happening in the real-time space, and it just does not work on the Belief (‘control’) side of the decision-modality spectrum. It only works either on the Faith-side of the decision-spectrum – where conscious choice of some kind is available, though primarily as a kind of ‘intentional surrender’ – or when there’s no conscious thought at all – which also means no conscious choice.

The fundamental point in Mask work is that there is a sense not so much of loss of ‘I’, as a kind of negotiation with the Mask as to what that surface-’I’ will be. And the Mask can impose some fairly severe constraints on what it can allow, its ‘repertoire’ and suchlike: for example, it can be very difficult to do any kind of predefined script whilst doing Mask-work. If there’s no awareness of that negotiation with the Mask, there are two likely outcomes: either the student will attempt to’take control’, which results in poor outcomes and sometimes literally ‘wooden’ performances; or the student will fail to notice the impacts of the Mask, and in effect believe that the results are their own choice of ‘I’, rather than the default sort-of-choices imposed by the Mask. Which might well not be a good idea…

So what on earth has any of this to do with enterprise-architecture?

The answer is this: anything can be a Mask in this sense. Anything.

To be slightly more specific, anything that can act as a surface-level filter or persona – a ‘that through which I sound’ – can act as a Mask in this sense. Whether or not we are consciously aware of it doing so.

And anything that can act as a filter on ‘I’, also in effect changes the surface experience of ‘I’, of how others experience that ‘I’, and also the actions and choices of that ‘I’.

A couple of really simple everyday examples:

– Someone may be the most mild-mannered person face to face, but suddenly an absolute demon behind the wheel of a car.

– Conversations in Twitter often seem artificial, terse, mechanical – the Mask of the 140-character constraint.

Consider all the ‘professional props’ of just about every trade and tradition: the doctor’s stethoscope, the barrister’s wig, the consultant’s clipboard. All of them are Masks: the person’s behaviour, demeanour, stance and language will all change the moment they pick up that prop.

Consider a business uniform, a brand, a shop layout, a user-interface layout: they’re all Masks in this sense too – an active filter for a persona, as ‘that through which I sound’, impacting on and constraining the choices and actions of the respective ‘I’.

Every role is a Mask. Every digital-identity or digital-persona is a Mask. (Think for a moment about the impact of that on the ways that people interact with digital systems – especially when multiple personae intersect.)

Layer upon layer upon layer of Masks, changing continuously throughout every day.

And, if we’re not conscious of those impacts and constraints on ‘I’, will find our ‘I’ seeming to change with each change of Mask, yet not knowing how or why.

In short, the sense of identity may – and probably will – become fluid in the context of a Mask.

And almost anything may act as a Mask.

Often in unpredictable and/or emergent ways.

Affecting interaction with just about everything else.

Hence, also in short, a definitely non-trivial concern for security, privacy, user-experience design, process-design, branding and a whole host of other themes in enterprise-architecture and elsewhere.

Identity and Mask might perhaps seem somewhat abstract at first. A bit less abstract by now, I hope?

Over to you for comment, anyway.

Who or what is ‘I’? How do others recognise that ‘I’? How does that ‘I’ express itself? – with what voice does that ‘I’ speak? And how do others recognise that voice?

Yeah, I know, sounds like philosophy and stuff – woefully abstract, deep and pointless. Yawn.

But those ‘pointless’ questions are the core – the heart – of a lot of really important everyday concerns for enterprise-architecture: privacy, security, sales and marketing, just to name a few. The core of ‘enterprise’ itself. Abstract, yes; yet also just about as pragmatic as it gets. Hmm…

Where this got started was a post by Brian Hopkins, on his Forrester blog:

• practicingEA: 2012 Predictions – Technology Will Shape Who We Are As People And Businesses

The post itself is a quick summary of some key themes happening in the IT side of enterprise-architecture at the moment: the fading of ‘Big IT’, a new focus on data, the convergence of social, mobile and local, and the ongoing hype around cloud. Fair enough: interesting to IT-oriented folks, certainly. The comments, though, focussed in on questions about identity in that space – and that’s where things got really interesting…

In essence, we ended up with those questions above. There’s a lot in those comments on Brian’s post, and I won’t repeat it all here: go look at it in the original, it’s well worth the read, especially the notes by Stephen Wilson on on digital-identity. What I’d like to pick up on briefly here are four of those themes:

• identity is simple, complicated, complex, ambiguous, unknowable – all at the same time
• identifier and identity are not the same
• identity and persona are not the same
• identity is filtered through many layers of persona

Identity is complex – that’s the shorthand version, anyway. It’s fluid, it stays the same: we can recognise friends after thirty years’ absence, we barely recognise our own face in the mirror each morning. For me, it changes with the clothes I wear, both in my own sense of identity, and how others seem to see and interact with me. I am my car, my house, my phone, my ideas, my memories: I think I possess them, but they also possess me.

Identity is like a hologram: blurry, muddled, indistinct – until the light shines on it in just the right way. For a brief instant, identity is certain, crystal-clear – and then vanishes again. Until the light shines on it from another direction, showing a different facet, a different face – yet of what is still the same hologram of identity.

Identity is multi-faceted, bewildering, chaotic. There’s one sense I have of ‘I’ when I’m at home, another in the office, another when I’m on stage at a conference, yet another with friends or colleagues in the cafe, and different again when chatting online, or chatting with the ‘checkout chick’ at the market or the mall. On the surface, and from the ‘the inside’, those can be very different people: so which one is me? Which one is real? Which is the myth? And when two or more of those myths collide – meeting work-colleagues at home, for example – there’s a kind of ‘mythquake‘, where for a brief panicked moment nothing seems real at all. Is everything just an act, a mask? Is there anything real behind all of those masks? And yet there is a single unitary ‘I’ in there somewhere, the one voice behind all of those different voices – otherwise we couldn’t recognise it as ‘I’. To quote the Cluetrain Manifesto:

…These markets are conversations. Their members communicate in language that is natural, open, honest, direct, funny and often shocking. Whether explaining or complaining, joking or serious, the human voice is unmistakably genuine. It can’t be faked.

Yet Cluetrain is also about another kind of identity-clash: the distinction between individual and collective, the identity of ‘I’ versus the identity of ‘We’. When I’m part of ‘We’, where is ‘I’? Which one is real? Which one is the mask, the myth?

Confusing, to say the least. And if that’s at the core of so much of enterprise-architecture, it’s no wonder that that’s complex too. Too complex: hence no surprise that so many people try to make it out to be simpler than it is – and that’s where things get messy…

Identifier and identity are not the same - an identifier is not identity, it’s a proxy for identity, for when we don’t have other means to recognise identity. An identifier is just information - and information about something is not the same as the thing itself. It seems this should be obvious, yet evidently it isn’t –  especially to many of those who work on Digital Identity and suchlike, designing IT-systems that seemingly assume they are the same.

We talk about ‘identity-theft’, yet in most cases – perhaps all? – it’s theft of identifier, not identity. An identifier links not to identity, but to a persona associated with that identity – the identity as a role, a set of rights, responsibilities, authorities, tasks. In a possession-based culture, an identifier provides ‘rights’ of access to resources, ‘the right to know’, the right to use: if the identifier is hijacked, those ‘rights’ are hijacked too. That’s what all the worry is about: loss of access to resources, loss of control, loss of concealment for key information. That matters, obviously. But it’s identifier-theft, not identity-theft: the distinction is important.

Going the other way, identity is not identifier. I may put on a company-uniform to identify myself to others as a member of the company; my business-card carries both my own name (a personal identifier) and the company-name (a collective identifier); but that doesn’t mean that I am the company, or that the company ‘is’ me. I use the company-identifier as a persona, and others may recognise me via that persona: yet it isn’t who I am. That distinction is important, too.

[A side-note here: in terms of asset-dimensions, relational-assets link to identity, whereas aspirational-assets mostly to the persona - concrete versus abstract. For more on this, see the post 'Relational-assets are not 'possessions' '.]

Identity and persona are not the same – a persona is an overlay of identity, in exactly the same sense that my clothes are an overlay on myself. A persona is literally ‘that through which I sound’ – a filter, a mask. Online, we have many different personas – not just as represented by distinct avatars and the like, but every online account is in a sense a persona, a ‘that through which I sound’ to or with the respective application.

And the same the other way: the application presents a different persona – a different interface – for us depending on whether we’ve logged in or not, and in some cases (such as the Amazon website) may even adapt itself over time to match the changing history of the relationship. Note the ‘identity-confusion’ that can occur when we present a mismatched persona – such as entering the wrong username / password combination, or using the same avatar in different social contexts.

So too in the offline world. Almost everything is or can be used as a persona: clothes, props, language, body-stance, the way we may drive differently in a rental-car compared to a car we consider ‘ours’. And it’s not just one-way, from us outward: we feel different in different clothes, in different cars, in different climates. There’s an interaction between people and place, and the place has choices too – certainly in a metaphoric sense, perhaps in a literal sense as well.

Identity is filtered through many layers of persona. Persona is ‘that through which I sound’ – a Mask. Each of us has layer upon layer of Masks, some of them seemingly our choice, others less conscious, and yet others sort-of imposed by culture, by context, by the impacts of advertising and the like. It’s complicated… complex…

[One of the best sources to get a sense of of all of this is in impro-theatre: for example, see Keith Johnstone's classic 'Impro: improvisation and the theatre' - particularly the later section on Masks.]

In enterprise-architecture, one of the more useful concerns is provide conditions under which the distinctions between identity and persona become more visible – are ‘surfaced’, to use the psychology-jargon. When people become aware of those distinctions, they also become aware that they can choose the extent to which they identify themselves with a persona – and can let it go and choose an alternative that is a better fit to a changing context. Often we might intentionally set up some kind of ‘ritual’ to mark the boundary: for example, donning a safety-helmet on a building site also triggers a more safety-aware persona.

There’s a lot more to explore here, of course – anyone interested in taking it further?

It’s customary at this time of year to do some kind of review: what’s happened in the past annual cycle, hopes and intentions for the next.

[Sometimes these reviews can be a bit too predictable in their over-focus on prediction? As Forrester enterprise-architect Brian Hopkins put it in a nicely ironic Tweet this morning, "I predict that the volume, velocity and variety of tech predictions will require #MapReduce to analyze by Dec 2012."... Hence, uh, no predictions as such here: apologies if that disappoints you... ]

For me, though, it’s been an interesting exercise to explore cycles within cycles, and the often urgent need to avoid the ‘gumption trap‘ of what Johnnie Moore terms ‘the Tyranny of Excellence‘:

We flounder when we over-react or repress failure. … [O]rganisations flounder if they set up procedures and practices that appear to be about excellence but are more about being in denial of our variability and complexity as human beings. Efforts to make meetings a guaranteed success quite often just lead to the repression of doubt or criticism. …

The risk is that we set impossible standards for ourselves and then get demoralised by not reaching them. The demand for perfection makes us hypercritical and we fail to appreciate what we are actually achieving. When we lose that sense of reality, ironically, we’re more likely to fail or perhaps to give up altogether.

(‘Flounder‘ seems a painfully-accurate metaphor there: a flatfish whose eyes have both migrated to the same side of the head, able to see only one side of the story… But I digress… – return to the story.)

That gumption-trap of floundering can be particularly destructive for those of us who have distinct peaks and troughs in our work-patterns. For example, looking back, I did quite a lot last year: amongst other things, I presented at three very different enterprise-architecture conferences, edited two books, and wrote coming on for two hundred blog-posts on enterprise-architecture and related themes – often three to four thousand words or more each, adding up to the equivalent of several entire books. And I spent a fair bit of time travelling for work, too: a longish stay in Australia, a shorter one in Brazil, and a couple other brief trips as well.

Yet there were distinct patterns in all of that. All of the conferences happened in the first half of the year, as did all of book-editing and most of the travelling; by contrast, most of the blog-posts were in the second half of the year, with a lot of intense work on themes such as metamodels, service-architectures, management-structures and ‘really-big-picture’ enterprise-architecture, and, currently, on tools-ideas and SCAN for sensemaking. Every now and then there would be a definite slump, a kind of ‘mini-burnout’ – I’m in one now, as it happens, where I’m struggling to get much of anything done at all, and on previous experience may well go on for another few days yet.

Within each day, there are definite cycles too. For me, my peak creative-time is usually in the mornings: best time for writing, anyway. The less- creative time in the afternoons tends to get used for editing, for doing diagrams, for – oh joy… – all the administrivia that our ‘sensible’ business-world currently requires. Sometimes in the evening I find myself back in the creative space; sometimes not.

If I try to force myself to do creative work in the off-cycle, I risk ending up doing no work at all, because the all-too-predictable feeling of failure can trigger that gumption-trap of floundering. Just to make things worse, as Paul Graham warns in his classic 2009 essay ‘Maker’s schedule, manager’s schedule‘, one interruption during that creative-time – or even just the threat of an interruption – can destroy creative productivity for the entire day: which again reinforces that sense of failure.

[The mindsets of 'makers' and 'managers' really don't mix - a fact I've been discovering to my cost whilst living in the same household as an elderly person who needs every day's activity to be regimented hour by hour on a rigid timetable, and who now literally cannot cope with any significant change of plan... Not fun, I can tell you: and seriously damaging to creativity, too... ]

And everyone has their own cycles, all of them somewhat different; and often those cycles will change over a lifetime, too, as the lethargic teenagers who can’t get out of bed before midday will change their habits when they become the parents awoken by a crying child at three in the morning. Daily cycles, yearly cycles, the cycle of a lifetime: cycles within cycles.

Yet what happens within most organisations? That’s right: we design systems that assume that people are machines, that they always work exactly the same all the time, in a measured, certain, predictable way. Or that they’re creative geniuses, every possible moment of every possible day.

And we then wonder why it doesn’t work.

Duh…

And then punish people for failing to work to our expectations. (Or teach them to punish themselves for ‘failing to meet expectations’, which comes to much the same thing.)

Oops…

So perhaps it might be a bit more wise to create organisational architectures that actually respect the fact that people are people? That they do each have their own cycles within cycles within patterns within flows within feelings, each subtly or strongly different? That some people indeed do not and cannot give their best work on a ‘manager’s schedule’? That that so-popular Taylorist attitude that regards people as second-class machines is perhaps a guaranteed path to mediocrity and poor performance?

Perhaps it might be more wise to respect people for who they are?

Strange idea for many managers, I know. But perhaps it’s the one that works?

And perhaps a reason why we really need to remind those managers that sometimes the best service they can provide to the whole organisation is to keep out of everyone’s way – such that the people who do actually make things can get their work done on their own natural schedules, rather than the ‘manager’s schedules’ of unusable, fragmented, discombobulated time?

Hmm…

Just reflecting on the passing year, the passing day, the passing time, that’s all.

[Update: as is so often the case, a perfect Tweet came up between writing this and checking Twitter - this time from Michelle James:

• CreatvEmergence: We need workplaces where people can engage and express more of their whole creative selves, not a reduced fraction of themselves

Expresses the point just as well as all of the above, really, and a lot shorter, too. Oh well. ]

What happens when someone gets confused about the nature of different types of assets? Short answer: they try to treat everything as ‘possessions’ – and that’s when the lawyers have a field-day…

A great example of this is described in a BBC article (pointed to by LinkedIn), ‘Man sued for keeping company Twitter followers‘ (27-dec-2011).

The story revolves around social-media figure Noah Kravitz. During his time at tech-news aggregator Phonedog, he accumulated some 17,000 ‘followers’ to his Twitter-account there (@Phonedog_Noah). When he left Phonedog, he changed his username, and the followers either moved with the account, or moved to the new account (dependent on whether he changed the name itself, or moved to a new account – the BBC article doesn’t say). Phonedog regarded the followers as ‘company-property’ – as a ‘customer-list’, to be precise – which Kravitz had taken with him, and were suing him to get it back as their ‘rightful possession’.

There are so many fundamental concept-errors in Phonedog’s actions here that it’s difficult to know where to start… Yet they’re also very common mistakes in the broader business context: hence it’s worth exploring this from an enterprise-architecture / business-architecture perspective.

What we’re actually dealing with here is a fundamental misunderstanding of the nature of non-tangible assets, coupled with a fundamental misunderstanding about the inherent limitations of an economic model that relies on exchange of ‘rights’ of exclusive-possession over assets.

Let’s start by identifying four fundamentally different asset-dimensions:

• physical: a ‘thing’ – tangible, autonomous, exchangeable and alienable (“if I give it to you, I no longer have it”)
• virtual: information, ideas – non-tangible, semi-autonomous, exchangeable but non-alienable (“if I give it to you, I still have it”)
• relational: person-to-person connection – non-tangible, non-autonomous (exists between two entities), non-exchangeable and non-alienable
• aspirational: person-to-abstract connection – non-tangible, non-autonomous (exists from person to abstract), non-exchangeable and non-alienable

Assets may express multiple dimensions: for example, a printed book is both a physical-asset (the book itself) and a virtual-asset (the information or ideas in the book), and may also act as an anchor for aspirational-assets (people’s sense of connection to the book and/or to the ideas in the book). This linking of multiple asset-dimensions is often described as ‘bundling’.

The current economic-model relies on exchanges of ‘rights’ of ‘exclusive-possession’. It’s a concept that only makes sense with exchangeable and alienable assets – in other words, physical-assets. ‘Exclusive-possession’ does not and cannot make sense with any other asset-dimension. Yet since bundling of asset-types means that the rules for all asset-dimensions in the bundle will apply, the flawed assumptions of the economic model will seem to sort-of make sense as long as there’s some element of physicality in the bundle. But when that element of physicality is dropped? – well, that’s when things get, uh, interesting…

Hence the breakdown of the old media-industry business-models over the past few years. What they actually sell is information, but their old model were based on bundling – printed-books, physical disks, seats in cinemas – hence, with a bit of legal arm-twisting, it could be made to look like a physical ‘exclusive-possession’. But physical things are expensive, with all the concomitant costs and complications of managing them as physical assets: inventory, storage, shipping, building-maintenance, retail-stores and so on. Much cheaper to go all-digital. Which, however, then becomes an unbundled virtual-asset – which can only be exchanged by creating copies, which can then also be exchanged by creating further copies, and so on, all without any exclusive-’alienability’. Oops…

Hence the media-industries first tried an old tactic, which was to use the law of ‘copyright’ (which was and still is focussed only on the ‘possession-rights’ of publishers, not authors) to assert ‘possession’ over those virtual-assets. But the nature of information is that it ‘wants to be free’ – not necessarily in a monetary sense, but in that it’s only usable/accessible by creating copies, and copies of copies, and copies of copies of copies, which at some point will slip outside of any attempts at ‘control’.

Law alone didn’t work, so the next tactic was to try to control some crucial point in the physical ‘pipe’ for information: hence demands that the computer-industry should redesign all processor- or interface-chips to include ‘digital rights management’ that would be controllable only by Hollywood and their ilk. Not surprisingly, that didn’t go down very well with content-creators themselves – or the computer-industry, who happened to have their own lawyers and lobbyists too. Result: expensive stalemate – and still no ‘control’ of those naturally-volatile virtual-assets.

That’s been followed by one attempt after another to ‘control’ information, mostly by threats of legal action and the like. What the media-corporations are still not doing is facing up to the fact that not only is it inherently futile to try to control virtual-assets as if they’re physical, but doing so calls into question the theoretical and ethical basis of the entire possession-economy – physical-assets included. Definitely ‘oops’…

Which brings us back to the Kravitz/Phonedog case.

In that schema above, Twitter-follows are, in effect, a bundling of relational-asset (the perceived person-to-person link between the ‘follower’ and Kravitz) and virtual-asset (the information within Twitter that denotes the link) plus a certain element of aspirational-asset (because with some 17,000 ‘followers’, most of those will be more a link to the idea of Kravitz rather than a true relational-asset person-to-person link). What there isn’t anywhere in there is any physical-asset component – and hence nothing on which a notion of literally-exclusive ‘company property’ can make any sense.

I presume that somewhere there will be some utility that can extract a follower-list from Twitter – in other words, create a sort-of transferrable virtual-asset that Kravitz can give to Phonedog. Yet in practice even that makes little to no sense. First, the followers are not ‘customers’ in a transactional sense, either of Phonedog or of Kravitz: they’re just people who have a passing interest in what Kravitz might happen to say, an interest that may or may not relate to Phonedog as such, even in Kravitz’s (literal!) persona as ‘Phonedog_Noah’. It’s a trust-relationship, not ‘customer’-relationship. And second, transferring the list does not transfer the relationship: in fact it’s more likely to kill any potential relationship with the company, because it implicitly treats the ‘followers’ as if they themselves are nothing more than exchangeable ‘possessions’ – which many (most?) people would take as a fairly extreme insult. Certainly not conducive to creating trust, anyway.

In short, Phonedog’s attempts to ‘possess’ the relationships have all but guaranteed making it impossible for Kravitz to transfer them. The relationships are not under his control: relational-assets are real assets in a business sense, yet they exist only whilst they’re maintained by both parties to that relationship. The only direct option he has within Twitter is to destroy the link, by blocking: he can’t create a new ‘follower’ link, or transfer the link to someone else. (The equivalent is true with direct person-to-person links, of course.) Suing him for damages, about something that by definition isn’t in his control anyway, is both absurd and unfair.

There is (or, by now, probably only was) another option: emphasise the aspirational-asset element (person-to-idea rather than person-with-person), create a strong crosslink between the idea of Kravitz-as-employee-of-Phonedog and the idea of Phonedog-the-company, and use that crosslink to gently persuade Kravitz’s followers to also ‘follow’ Phonedog. (Note that a ‘follow’ to a company has a much higher aspirational-asset component than relational-asset component – something I probably need to explain in another post?) But all of that depends on fairly complex multi-way trust-relationships: for example, the followers need to trust Kravitz’s recommendation, and Kravitz also needs to trust that Phonedog will treat ‘his’ followers with similar respect. And again, there’s not much of those trust-interactions that’s under Kravitz’s personal control – hence again it makes little sense to try to assign him the sole legal responsibility for them.

In practice, Phonedog has done just about everything that they could do to destroy all of those trust-relationships – and then, having done so, tried to blame and even punish everyone else for their ‘loss’.

Not exactly wise, we might say?

Yet also not exactly uncommon, either. Quite the opposite, in fact…

The moral of this sad story, from an enterprise-architecture perspective, is be clear which asset-dimensions you’re dealing with in every context, and ensure that those assets are managed accordingly. Because if you aren’t clear about it, and fail to handle each asset-dimension appropriately, your organisation will inevitably find itself in this kind of mess. And the only people who ‘win’ from this kind of mess are the predators, parasites and scavengers in the legal-profession and elsewhere. Oh joys…

Over to you, perhaps?

‘Tis the season for… something, probably?

For many people, it’s ‘the ‘Holiday Season’, or Christmas, or New Year, or something like that. A calendrical marker-point, anyway. Something to celebrate, perhaps.

The culture I come from is nominally Christian, hence ‘Christmas’ and suchlike, so that’s the label others around me tend to use. (Though it doesn’t quite have the same sense for me, I’ll admit: in religious terms, my family-background is in the Quaker tradition, which historically regards Christmas as ‘just another day’.)

[These days 'Christmas' in this country seems barely Christian anyway: it's much more about families - which sadly doesn't have much relevance for me - and, even more, about the real 'state-religion', the Church of Conspicuous Consumption, which I try to avoid as much as possible...]

As a perennial Outsider, my real colleagues are scattered around the globe: I have stronger connections with people in the Netherlands, Australia,Guatemala, Brazil or the US, for example, than with just about anyone in this town. Those friends and families and colleagues all follow different faiths, different traditions, different worldviews: even the Christians amongst them will celebrate their Christmas on different dates, from 1st December right through to 6th January (‘Twelfth Night’, also known in England as ‘Old Christmas’). And even a nominally-secular marker such as ‘New Year’ can be almost as problematic: there seem to be dozens of different definitions of ‘New Year’, few of which make much sense to anyone else.

So it’s kinda tricky knowing what to ‘celebrate’, or know which date-marker to use. For purely pragmatic reasons, I tend to focus on astronomical markers such as solstices and equinoxes, because they’re probably the ‘safest’ in social terms. Hence today, being the solstice closest to the most-acknowledged festival in these parts, and also closest to the New-Year point for this culture.

Even so, which solstice? It’s winter-solstice here, but summer-solstice for my friends down south; and solstices don’t mean much anyway to my friends in the tropical-regions, whose ‘summer’ and ‘winter’ and the like align with other real-world markers. Hmm… see what I mean by ‘kinda tricky’?

So what can a not-particularly-social not-particularly-anchored-anywhere soft-of-digital-native do or say these days, in terms of others’ societal celebrations?

I guess the best I can offer is that however, whatever and whenever you choose your celebrations to be, have fun, and Have A Happy Whatever!

Enjoy! – and thanks again for sharing this journey with me over the passing year.

What’s the point of competition, in a business-context? Perhaps more to the point, what is competition in a business-context? And why?

Another of those ‘obvious’ question-themes that turn out to be not so obvious at all… And the answers are very important in enterprise-architecture, business-architecture and business-model design: not least because if we get it wrong – as too many people still seem to do, in business and elsewhere – then we’ll likely find ourselves on a guaranteed path to business failure.

Was reminded of this by two Tweets earlier today, both from Swedish social-business specialist Oscar Berg:

• oscarberg: RT @letterpress_se: In war, there can be only one winner. Not so in business – Stop Competing to Be the Best  http://s.hbr.org/soHqME
• oscarberg: Apple, Samsung, Motorola, Nokia et al…please fight your wars in the marketplace, not in courts

The HBR article, by Joan Magretta, that’s referenced in that first Tweet, describes the key part of the point I want to make here. The second Tweet illustrates what happens when people don’t get that point: business-energy gets wasted on things that don’t actually matter, until all the players in that ‘game’ get so wasted, in various senses, that none of them can survive.

[There's one subtle yet crucial disagreement I'd have with that comment above from Joan Magretta's article, that "In war, there can only be one winner". I know it's a popular belief, but it's wrong - lethally wrong, often in an all too literal sense. No-one wins from being involved in a war: the only 'winners' are those who take care not to be involved, and the parasites who profit from picking up the pieces afterwards - and who often set up the war in the first place, for exactly that reason. No-one wins from a war: everyone loses. We'll see why that's so in a moment - and also why that fact matters a very great deal in business.]

So is competition good, or not good? For that matter, should we cooperate with others, or not? In all of those questions, the obvious answer is “It all depends…” – but what it most depends on in each case is what we understand as the nature and purpose of competition, and its apparent counterpart in cooperation. And that, in turn, depends on what we understand as the nature and purpose of power.

What’s the purpose of competition? Is it to win? If so, win what?

Is it to beat the other guy? If so, what happens next?

Or is it less about winning as such, but more about not having to face the feeling of failure, of being labelled ‘the loser’, and everything else that goes with that label in so many societies?

Yeah, that last one starts to hit a bit closer to home, doesn’t it? Oops…

Behind most of the myths of competition is a hugely tangled mess of mostly-unacknowledged feelings and fears. The details change from culture to culture, and I won’t go into much of that detail here, but the real core of it is a really simple set of mistakes about the nature of power in the workplace and elsewhere. Again, I won’t go into the detail – see my book Power and Response-ability, if you’re interested, or the associated brief ‘manifesto‘ – but in essence what it comes down to is this:

– the physics definition is that power is the ability to do work

– most social definitions are closer to the notion that power is the ability to avoid work

Therein lie the roots of some serious problems for business…

In the myths around ‘winning’ and ‘losing’, most of the work being avoided is relational and aspirational: in other words, work that can only be personal, not collective. On one side, it’s often a failure to grasp that, on a finite world, we are always in a closed, finite context where ultimately there is no convenient-scapegoat ‘Them’, but only ‘Us’ – hence there is no-one that we can ‘win’ against. On the other side, we actually can’t force others to face our own feelings for us – no matter how much we would want that to happen – because they’re actually our feelings. And in reality there’s no way to win, in any real sense, unless we find the courage to turn round and face that work – rather than wasting what little energy we have in futilely trying and, by definition, failing to ‘export’ it to everyone else.

Do we really think we can ‘win’ by making someone else ‘lose’? The reality is that the most we could achieve is a temporary respite from that ‘feeling-work’, at the cost of actually increasing the damage and the load across the overall system. At best, we gain a short-lived ‘high’ – exactly like any other form of addiction. Which is why most of the myths about ‘winning’, and most of the myths about ‘beating the competition’, are a literally deadly delusion.

[There are plenty of people who would promote such myths, of course - especially the parasites who profit from the ever-popular 'game' of 'let's you and him fight'. The point here is that those myths don't help you - even (or perhaps especially) in a business-context.]

Competition is good: we need competition if we’re to improve our skills, our competencies, our overall game.

But it’s only good – is only successful, in the longer term – if we compete with others. Not ‘against’ others.

Cooperation is good: we need cooperation if we’re to do anything that we cannot do solely on our own.

But although cooperation is always going to mean working with others in some sense or other, it’s only good – is only successful, in the longer term – if the overall aim of the cooperation is with all others. Not ‘against’ others.

There are only two choices here: either everyone wins, in some way; or everyone loses. There is no ‘win/lose’: it’s a delusory form of ‘lose/lose’, in which an apparent gain for one party masks a greater overall loss for everyone – including the nominal ‘winner’.

If we compete with others, and with ourselves, everyone wins. Sometimes one player is ‘the winner’, sometimes another: but overall, over time, everyone wins in one sense or another – and the overall ‘competing’ is a key part of what helps everyone win.

If we compete against others… – well, in short, everyone loses. No matter what it looks like in the shorter-term, everyone loses.

[Except for the scavengers and parasites, of course. And yes, we all know who they are in business. Except we're so often required to pretend that we don't, and that they're not. Oh well.]

And there’s no way round any of that: all of that comes from the real nature of power itself.

So if we’re going to compete – and in business, we’re going to want to compete, and also often have to compete - then we have to compete with others, not against them. Because if we don’t, we’re going lose – even, or perhaps most, when we seem most to ‘win’.

Which is no doubt somewhat different from what we’d hear in most everyday ideas about ‘business as usual’. But it’s also the only way that works. Which can be kinda tricky – especially in enterprise-architectures and the like, where we do need to deliver something that actually does work. Hmm…

Implications in business-architecture and enterprise-architecture

In architectural terms, what all of this comes down to is one very simple fact:

• every instance of ‘competition-against’, in any form whatsoever, represents an active source for loss of overall effectiveness, and a potential point for catastrophic-collapse of the overall architecture

That applies right up to an overall business-model, onward through design of performance-bonuses of sales, or managers’ resource-allocation, right down to real-time relationships between web-services and code-level conflicts. Competition-with is (usually) good: no doubt about that. Yet every time we allow some form of competition-against to slip through and become embedded in the system-structures, we increase the risk of total system-failure.

Which leads us to one very simple test:

• wherever the architecture includes some form of competition, is it competition-with, or competition-against?

In many cases, perhaps most, we’ll want our architecture to encourage competition-with.

Yet we must eliminate every form of competition-against – otherwise we’re designing an architecture that, by definition, is designed to fail.

And yes, this kind of design is all doable - despite all those conventional delusions about power and the like in ‘business as usual’. We just need to be rigorous about it, that’s all.

There are plenty of examples of how and why this works, at every level of the architecture. For business-architecture, see Joan Magretta’s HBR article referenced above, or Michael Porter’s work on strategy, or Tony Hsieh on customer-service. (For an interesting real-world example, see the small Welsh-border town of Hay-on-Wye, whose core business is built around a ‘competition-with’ web of specialist bookstores.) In the mid-range, see Dan Pink’s work on motivation, perhaps, or John Seddon on service-design. On the factory floor, see Deming’s classic ‘14 Points‘. I’ll admit I don’t know enough current code-level IT to give detailed examples there, but I know plenty of people who could.

It’s all doable. None of this is new, as such; and in itself, none of it is especially difficult, either.

[What is difficult is shifting the mindset - the usual myths of competition, the delusion that we can only 'win' by making others lose. That's hard, true: but it's also the only way that works.]

Architecturally, the only thing that makes it hard is artificial boundaries between segments of the overall system. This is one area where we need a whole-of-system perspective, and where the obsessive IT-centrism of conventional ‘enterprise’-architecture would be far more of a hindrance than a help. For much the same reasons, we need regular business-folk to understand that the overall enterprise runs on a great deal more than just money. But again, all of this is doable.

More to the point, it’s all been done – and proven in practice, too. And since overall it’s quite easy to prove that competition-with is more efficient and effective than competition-against – as can be seen in the bitter farce of the current fights between cellphone-manufacturers, as in Oscar Berg’s first Tweet above – there’s an interesting point that those who don’t ‘get’ the value of competition-with stand to lose ground against their nominal competitors…

There is, however, one serious structural problem of which we need to become very much aware. Competition-with is the only way that works, but sadly a lot of people still believe that they can be ‘the winner’ in any game of competition-against. (And there are plenty of parasites and predators who’ll prop them up in that belief, too. For a while, at least…) There are plenty of businesses that operate that way – as we all know all too well.

Yet unfortunately the game is naturally weighted in a way that props up those delusions. We know that win/win is the only way that works; we know that we can only win if others win too. But if they believe in win/lose, then they’ll be certain that they can only win by ‘making’ others seem to lose. In other words, whenever we come across someone like that, we want them to win, but they want us to lose – which is not a good place for us to be…

In those circumstances – to quote the old children’s-film War Games – “the only way to win is to not play”. So once we do get properly onto competition-with, we cannot engage with anyone who indulges in competition-against – because we will always lose, in one sense or another, whenever that occurs.

[In fact everyone will lose whenever that occurs - but it's our organisation for which we're designing the architecture, hence that's what needs to be our focus here.]

So that test – explicitly excluding any interaction with any form of competition-against – needs to be embedded right the way through every aspect of the architecture, without exception. And yes, that’s hard. But essential. Seriously.

And that’s what’s actually implied, in architectural terms, from those two Tweets above. Interesting, I trust?

Anyway, enough for now, I guess. Comments, anyone?

What is it that drives decisions at the exact moment of choice and action? – even in the most mundane, everyday action? If the choice-point itself is a true moment of chaos – a point where literally anything is possible – then what is it that guides us through each of those infinitesimal yet ubiquitous moments?

A lot of this is still tentative, very much ‘a work in progress’. Yet what I’ve found myself returning to again and again over the past few days, whilst working on the design and workflows for the SCAN app, is a pairing of two words: belief, and faith.

[Don't worry, I'm not going to go all religious on you. (Well, probably not, anyway. ) This is still the same enterprise-architecture exploration about the context of SCAN, about sensemaking and decision-making at real-time, particularly in what some would term the 'Chaotic domain'.

Minor warning, though: this is written in English, and from the perspective of an Anglo culture. I think (believe? guess?) that what follows is close to generic across all human cultures, but note that you may well need to do some translation here, both linguistic and cultural.]

Where SCAN’s ‘Simple’ and ‘Not-simple’ are about about how to describe sensemaking, belief and faith seem more about decision-making – the actual moment of choice that immediately precedes each moment of action. In other words, decision-making in real-time. And because sensemaking, decision-making and action are all intertwined with each other within real-world practice, belief and faith also map onto the SCAN frame in much the same way as for real-time sensemaking.

[There's also a mapping to the full SCAN, that extends this outward to the scope where there is more time available for review, but I'll describe that in another post.]

In short, belief maps to the known, the certain, the Simple; whilst faith maps to the unknown, the uncertain, the Not-simple:

As in sensemaking, the crucial distinction occurs where the modality of the decision-choice changes from a Simple deontic true/false to a Not-simple true alethic logic of ‘possibility and necessity’:

– over on the left-side, belief provides a straightforward black-or-white choice: true or false, right versus wrong, culturally ‘proper’ versus ‘politically incorrect’;

– over on the right, choices are more blurry, more uncertain, more ‘shades of grey’ – or more colourful, perhaps – and the only guide we have is faith or trust that what we do is right. (Right in its own way, but still ‘right’ in some sense.)

Both of these are actually about the individual, about ‘I’. Which it should be, of course, because that’s all we have at the exact point of action: our own choice, and our own ‘response-ability’.

Belief is fast, and importantly doesn’t demand any personal skill as such: the whole point is that they’re deemed to be ‘true’ for all who enact them, regardless of who or what enacts them. (A belief may be believed to apply only to self – such as ‘nothing goes right for me’ – but is still held as an ‘absolute truth’ in that sense.) This has both advantages and disadvantages, mainly relating to how well the belief does match up to actual reality. Advantages include:

• simple beliefs are useful when the person enacting them has only a limited level of skill and ‘response-ability’ – “just follow the instructions, kid…”
• even for those with skill, simple beliefs are useful as a structured fallback for whenever the faith falters in the context and in one’s own ability – “when all else fails, follow the instructions”
• advising acceptance that some contexts are constrained by ‘laws’ of some kind – particularly the physical-world constraints implied by ‘scientific law’ and the like
• beliefs are also useful as a disciplined means to temper excess enthusiasm – “trust to Allah, but tie the camel first”

A classic example of a structured belief of that last type is the checklist - mapping out essential safety-checks and other ‘known truths’ prior to or during any activity that is inherently uncertain.

The disadvantages of ‘prepackaged’ belief-structures are more complex, and often rather more subtle:

• the usefulness of beliefs ultimately depends on the myth of ‘control’, the myth of predictability and certainty – none of which may be valid in a real-world context
• beliefs themselves can and do act as perceptual filters, potentially rendering invisible essential contrary information from the context
• as guides for choice and action, beliefs can apply inappropriate constraints to action in any given context – following ‘the letter of the law’ rather than ‘the spirit of the law’
• in much the same way, beliefs can be used to evade difficult or challenging choices – for example, ‘morals’ as ‘the lazy-person’s ethics’

Faith is often the only choice-mechanism available whenever the context is inherently uncertain. It also correlates closely to skill – so much so that, in essence, ‘skill’ is a proxy for the real-world reliability of faith in one’s own ability to work with the inherent uncertainties of a given type of real-world context. In other words, skill is what determines whether we really can do what we believe or hope we can do in that kind of context.

Sometimes, though, it isn’t about skill: it’s just about faith, or trust. Every change of belief requires ‘a leap of faith’; innovation or experimentation always requires us to accept that we don’t know what the outcome will be. (That’s very different from belief, where we do expect the outcome to be what we expect.) A modal-logic of possibility and necessity is the only place where ‘the impossible’ first becomes possible – and thence, through skill, becomes probable, then predictable, and eventually something resembling certain, a kind of ‘law’ in its own right. It may end up as a checklist or some other pre-packaged set of beliefs – but it always starts with faith, in the midst of a moment of inherent uncertainty.

As with belief, there are disadvantages to faith too: not least what we might describe as ‘misplaced faith’, where lack of skill – or plain old lack of awareness – leads to inappropriate outcomes. Whether we like them or not, sometimes the constraints of belief do apply – such as in most (though not all) assertions of ‘scientific law’ and the like.

So in practice we need to be able to bounce back and forth along SCAN’s ‘horizontal’ axis of modality. Sometimes we need to hold to a Simple true/false belief; sometimes we need to let go into the Not-simple world of faith and trust. And of course, recursively, there are no set rules about which one should always apply at any given moment – which means that this too is a skill in itself. It’s Complicated, perhaps, or Complex… yet in real-time action we don’t even have time for either of those. All we have is this decision, right here, right now – no time for anything else. Belief that we know what to do; or faith that the results we need will arise from within the chaos itself.

All of which means that, as enterprise-architects, we need to understand how belief and faith work within our organisation and enterprise, and provide structures to support them in real-world practice.

Enterprise-architecture implications

It’s essential to draw a distinction here between the individual and the organisation. Belief and faith are expressed in practice directly by the individual, or indirectly by proxy, such as via the design or operation of a semi-autonomous machine or IT-system. Yet in an organisational context, it’s the collective belief and faith that we want expressed in action – expressed by the individuals on behalf of the organisation, the collective.

In effect, that’s the key role of organisational culture – and despite the wishes of executives and others, it’s not as simple as it looks… For enterprise-architects, it also means that we often have to address aspects of organisation-architecture that are more usually the territory of HR and change-management and the like – which means that we have to tread carefully at times, and engage in some potentially-challenging negotiations. But the payoff is an enterprise-architecture that really works – for everyone.

The organisation’s beliefs-in-action are expressed in definitive statements such as work-instructions, reporting-relationships and business-rules. One of the architectural concerns here is to provide support such that these business-rules and the like are actually implemented in practice, in real-time decision-making.

To make this work, we in effect need each individual to take up those shared-beliefs as if they are their own personal beliefs. This is especially important wherever these rules must normally be followed ‘to the letter’ – such as in regulatory compliance.

It’s crucial to understand, though, that rules cannot be imposed onto individuals from outside, whether by fiat or threat of force. Although as an organisation we can give ourselves the illusion that this has been done, it rarely works in practice: instead, there will usually be a myriad of small ‘failures’, ranging from unconscious errors to covert rebellion, which effectively sabotage the intended functional impact of the rules. (The former will tend to occur more often in collective-oriented cultures, the latter especially so in individual-oriented cultures.)

What does work is to engage people in the rules – the ‘why’ as much as the ‘how’ and ‘what’. To use the terms from Hagel, Brown and Davison’s The Power of Pull, we create that engagement by shifting from ‘push’ to ‘pull’. In an enterprise-architecture, we do this by treating organisational-beliefs in much the same way as for organisational-values. The Enterprise Canvas model describes a generic structure for this purpose:

• create awareness of the rules-structure, its purpose and rationale, and the context for its use
• build capability to apply the rules-structure in real-time practice
• apply the rules-structure in run-time decisions
• verify and validate the usage of the rules-structure
• derive lessons-learned from the (attempted) usage of the rules-structure

Working with HR, change-management, process-management and others, we create what is in effect a PDCA-type learning-loop, to develop, apply and revise the business-rules and other belief-structures for the organisation.

The faith-in-action side of that decision-making modality-spectrum deals with anything that isn’t covered appropriately by business-rules and the like – which is a large part of most real-world organisational contexts. For enterprise-architecture, the two key focus-areas are skills-development, to enhance individual ‘response-ability’; and vision, values and principles, to enhance consistency in decision-making across the collective.

The skills-issue is one that is almost completely missing from most current-enterprise-architectures, especially those of an IT-centric bent. That’s rapidly becoming a lethally-dangerous oversight – see the Sidewise post ‘Where have all the good skills gone?‘ – and one that we need to address, working in conjunction with HR, organisational-development units and suchlike. EA will come into the picture by mapping out skills-requirements and competency-levels needed within enterprise-capabilities; the actual skills-development would usually be out of scope for EA, of course, though overall much of it would follow that generic structure for values as above.

The values-issue is one I’ve been pushing for a very long time as the true core of the enterprise-architecture: for example, it forms the topmost layer of abstraction in Enterprise Canvas, and thence acts as the anchor for the generic structure described above for values-management services. The reason why it’s important is that if the organisation isn’t clear about its values, then what will be used instead – as the drivers for ‘faith’-type decision-making – will be whatever values happen to be around for that individual. Which could be anything at all. Including not just a destructive ‘me-first’, but a really destructive ‘me-only’. In other words, not a good idea… clarity on values matters.

A lot more that could be said on all of that, but I’d probably best leave that for the moment. The only point that does need to be added here is the importance of story – the enterprise as story, the enterprise is the story – as the ‘glue’ that holds all of this together.

Overall, the real point here is this: that at the point of action – and despite whatever we might plan beforehand – decisions seem to be taken primarily on the basis of belief, or of faith or trust. Which means that, architecturally, we need to design for that fact. Not a trivial point, then.

More on this in another post soon, but any comments so far, anyone?

As the economy shifts ever onward from manufacturing toward services, how do marketing and market-relationships need to change with this shift? And what enterprise-architectures do we need to support this?

[In part this is a follow-on from Dave Gray's excellent Dachis Group article 'Everything is a service': I strongly recommend to read that post first before continuing here.]

As Dave Gray indicates in his article ‘Everything is a service’, many people in and around business are seeing a ‘Great Reset’ – a fundamental shift in the nature of the economy, and with it a fundamental shift in the nature of a viable business: a change in focus from products to services.

In a product-oriented economy, an organisation’s market is built around transactions, exchanges of goods and services. Within this metaphor, services are quasi-products, another type of ‘thing’ to be ‘consumed’ by a passive marketplace of ‘consumers’. Financial services, for example, are packaged as ‘products’; so-called service-organisations sell ‘solutions’ to often-unspecified ‘problems’ that a ‘consumer’ is presumed to face.

Producers produce, consumers consume: the roles are explicit, and explicitly separate and distinct. The role of marketing there is to create a market ‘want’ – often entirely artificial – for whatever product the producers want to sell. The role of enterprise-architecture and the like is to support creation of the maximum volume of product for the minimum necessary effort and cost.

The overall view – perhaps still illustrated best by the implied left-to-right flow in the structure of the Business Model Canvas above – is a linear structure of processes. A supply-chain (‘Key Partners’) feeds into the business-processes of the organisation (‘Key Activities’), the results of which are then sold on to ‘consumers’ (‘Customer Segments’). The sequence ends at the ‘consumer’, or more specifically at the moment that the customer has paid for the ‘product’; and everything is centred around the organisation, as ‘the enterprise’.

This view of the market is also often possession-based, with very unequal power-relationships assumed between the organisation and everyone else: we talk about ‘capturing’ a market, ‘owning’ market-share, and so on. This often leads in turn to a very combative relationship across the market, both between organisations competing for ‘possession’ of market-share, and between an organisation and its customers, employees and broader communities – all of whom, perhaps unsurprisingly, may well object to being treated as possessed ‘objects’ or ‘subjects’ of the organisation.

In business terms, one of the key drivers behind the ‘big reset’ or ‘big shift’ that Dave Gray describes is that this model of the market is rapidly becoming less and less viable. Most markets are either at or approaching saturation-point; the hidden-costs are becoming more visible, and harder to externalise; and the supposed economies of scale of mass-production and mass-marketing deliver steadily lower returns, especially relative to smaller and more adaptable technologies and business-models. And in bald economic terms, there are practical limits as to how much ‘stuff’ we can continue to make and sell on a finite planet – limits which in many cases we’ve already overshot. Some real problems there… – and yet they’re inherent in that model of the business-market.

A service-oriented economy is radically different, in that the market is built primarily around relationships. As Dave Gray put it:

A service is at its core a relationship between server and served. Service is work performed in support of another. At every point of interaction, the measure of success is not a product but the satisfaction, delight or disappointment of the customer.

Within this metaphor, products are best understood as proto-services, typically as part of the means for self-delivery of some service. Everyone in the market is both ‘producer’ and ‘consumer’: the roles blur, and are inherently much more equal or peer-based in nature than in the product-oriented economy.

This view of the market is also based much more on mutual responsibilities: we talk about co-creation, about partnering in a shared enterprise. The power-relationships are much more equal, and necessarily focussed on building and maintaining mutual trust – rather than the combative contracts of the possession-model, which mostly reflect an absence of trust.

The overall model still has transactions and processes and supply-chains, but the perspective is different. As Verna Allee describes it, that linear ‘supply-chain’ is actually one view into a much more nuanced ‘value-network’; and a product- or service-transaction is merely one phase within a much larger market-cycle:

Importantly, the fundamental focus of relationships is inverted, from organisation-centric to customer-centric: as Chris Potts puts it, “customers don’t appear in our processes: we appear in their experiences”. The sales-focus also shifts from ‘push’ to ‘pull’, from manipulating or even forcing the ‘consumer’ into a single once-off ‘the sale’, to building a continuing long-term mutual relationship. All of this requires radically different approaches to sales and marketing, but it can be done – and increasingly, is much more profitable than the ‘push’ model.

[For example, compare your experience of the usual soulless time-driven 'customer-as-product' sales call-centre - such as that which interrupted me just now whilst writing this, and who cut me off in the middle of saying "Thank you, but no" - to an intentionally relationship-oriented call-centre such as that run by US retailer Zappos, which focusses much more on respect and mutual trust. Which approach would you prefer to deal with in your business day? The answer's fairly obvious: which is why the conventional call-centre model is becoming less and less viable, no matter how much pressure is put upon the long-suffering staff.

Another first-hand example: a couple days ago I was looking at cameras in the local branch of a medium-sized national chain of camera-stores. The absence of pressure was really noticeable; and the saleswoman's quiet passion for photography per se shone through. The change in energy of the place was very noticeable, compared to the last time I'd been there, a year or so ago: more like an Apple Store than a 'normal' sales-obsessed high-street retailer.

Talking with her, it became clear that the company had made that crucial shift from product-orientation to service-orientation. The key was that they'd come to understand they made most of their money not from selling cameras as such, but from the ongoing photo-print service. Camera-sales became viewed as a means to support that service: it needed to be profitable in its own right, but it wasn't the primary focus for profit. Hence it became much more important to match the camera to the client's actual needs - and that emphasis on matching real needs itself became a key foundation for mutual trust, and hence for long-term relationships that would be profitable to all parties.

Contrast that with the usual high-street high-pressure retailer, where the emphasis is more likely to be about offloading the highest-margin object that the 'consumer' could afford, then dropping the attention instantly so as to move on to the next 'punter' as quickly as possible. "I worked in a place like that for three months", she said, "and I felt like I aged ten years while I was there. Soul-destroying, for everyone. So I know why I'm working here! - because I want to be here."]

So what kind of enterprise-architecture do we need for a service-oriented enterprise? How does it differ from the conventional product-oriented architectures – particularly in its business-architecture and process-architecture? Probably the key requirement is an awareness of the implications of one simple statement:

A service exists to serve.

But what does it serve? And whom does it serve? Architecturally, those are not trivial questions…

In the highly unequal power-relationships in the conventional product-oriented model, the answers are very clear indeed: there is often a thin pretence of ‘customer-service’, but in reality the ‘consumer’ is deemed to exist solely to serve the organisation and its perceived ‘need’ to sell.

[And the organisation in turn is deemed to exist solely to serve the 'needs' of the stockholders, but that's another story...]

But in a service-oriented enterprise, there are two fundamentally-different types of service going on: and the architecture needs to support both of these.

One type – which we might describe as ‘horizontal’ – is the conventional ‘supply-chain’ structure: the service-producer serves the needs of the service-consumer. The issues here that the architecture needs to support are that:

• the relationships between producer and consumer are essentially peer-to-peer
• the roles of ‘producer’ and ‘consumer’ will often blur or even swap over, especially in the ‘co-creation’ relationships that are common in a service-oriented model
• the overall relationships are built via the self-reinforcing loop of the full ‘market-cycle’, as above

The other type of service is more ‘vertical’: within the context of those ‘horizontal’ supply-chain service-relationships, every player in the shared-enterprise serves the same overall vision and values. The market exists within the context of a broader shared-enterprise, defined by a distinct purpose or ‘vision’ and its associated values.

Remember Chris Potts’ point above, that “we appear in customers’ experiences”: there’s a crucial difference here between the organisation and those with whom it interacts. Architecturally speaking, the organisation chooses the vision and values to which it will align. When customers’ experiences – and, for that matter, suppliers’ experiences – happen also to align with that same vision and values, there is then a basis for a shared connection. Serving the same ends – the same vision and values – creates the basis for mutual trust, which then starts the market-cycle rolling.

So the service is delivered through the ‘horizontal’ connection; but the connection only exists because both parties share ‘vertical’ alignment to the same vision and values.

Note that the customers’ experiences – or even supplier’s experiences – may only align with the organisation’s chosen vision for a brief period: think of a restaurant at lunch-time, for example. But whilst that alignment exists, there is the basis for conversation and connection – and hence the first stage of the market-cycle already in progress.

[Back to the camera-shop. The focus throughout the conversation was photography, what kind of photography I might need to do, about cameras in general. Firstly, there was a conversation - which in some stores doesn't even happen at all; and the conversation didn't have an all-too-obvious undercurrent of 'how can we sell you a high-priced camera that you don't need?' - which I've had all too often in the high-pressure stores. Instead, I felt listened-to, respected, safe, served - all of which increases the likelihood that I'd go back there when I am ready to buy another camera. In other words, that first part of the market-cycle is already in progress; and I feel safe in the belief that the closing 'post-sale' part of the market-cycle would be there, too.

Yet note that I wouldn't go there to buy a sandwich, or clothes, or anything that wasn't about cameras - because that isn't part of their vision or purpose that they present. They're clear about what they do and what they don't do, and demonstrate their vision and values in practice: so I know when to go there, and when not to go there. Sounds obvious, perhaps: but some organisations are so sales-obsessed that they give the impression that they'll sell us anything, whether they have it or not, just to make up their sales-quota - and that's really confusing, for everyone.]

Architecturally, the vision and values are the core of a service-oriented architecture: everything in the organisation needs to be understood as serving that vision.

Hence, for example, the value of a service-viability checklist that explicitly includes tracing of support for each of the values as they touch on every aspect of the enterprise.

Hence also the importance of ensuring that that same vision is carried across any partner- or outsourcing-relationships – especially where key customer-facing connections are handled by outsourced others such as an external customer-service centre.

And hence also the importance of keeping the focus on those shared-relationships overall, such as with Chris Potts’ aphorism above. As enterprise-architect Pat Ferdinandi put it, in a comment on an earlier post here:

That’s a brilliant line by Chris. It’s the corporation’s adjustment between customer service and customer loyalty. Customer service is viewed as a “fix” of problems. Customer loyalty is earned by the customer’s experience with the corporation but not necessarily from the corporation. The experience can be from word of mouse of a trusted friend. The experience can be from reviews by “specialists” in the area.

There’s a lot more on these themes scattered around on this site, and in the various books. For example, take a look at the post ‘Where marketing meets enterprise-architecture‘, or any of the articles here on Enterprise Canvas; and the books ‘The Service-Oriented Enterprise: enterprise-architecture and viable services‘, and ’Mapping the Enterprise: modelling the enterprise as services with the Enterprise Canvas‘. The chapter ‘Step 1: Know your business’ in the book ‘Doing Enterprise Architecture: process and practice in the real enterprise‘ also describes the practical processes needed to set up the initial architecture-models for a service-oriented enterprise. It’s all there: all we have to do is do it.

It’s simple, and straightforward: yet it’s often not easy at all. And the reason why it often isn’t easy is because it does require a real shift in perspective, a paradigm-shift – and no-one should underestimate just how hard those shifts are in real-world practice. Yet also don’t doubt that, as Dave Gray says, it is the way that the business-world is moving: so as enterprise-architects we do have to support our enterprises in that change, in whatever ways we can.

Enough for now, anyway: comments, anyone?

Is ‘identical’ always the same as ‘equal’? Not in service-design – and one of the issues we need to watch for is to ensure that identical service-provision does not lead to far-from-equal service-outcomes.

If ever you want an all-too-real example of this problem in practice, go to almost any public event, and note the huge queues outside the women’s toilets – queues that you’re unlikely to see outside the men’s.

Those queues don’t happen because “it’s just the women are all putting their lippy on”, as one sarcastic male colleague put it. It’s actually a fairly serious service-design failure – and it’s the kind of failure that happens whenever anyone fails to understand that identical is not always the same as equal.

By ‘identical’, I mean that the same service is provided, usually occupying the same physical or virtual space – typically the physical or virtual dimensions, in terms of the asset-tetradian.

By ‘equal’, I mean that the service is experienced as leading to the same or equivalent outcome – typically the relational and aspirational dimensions of the asset-tetradian.

To illustrate the point, let’s explore that specific example of service-provision: toilet-space in public places.

[This is solely about service-design: nothing else. It happens to be a particularly clear example of this kind of design-flaw, that's all.]

Many cultures – most ‘Western’ cultures at least – provide separate toilet-spaces for males and females.

[We'll ignore the cultural drivers for this - they're not particularly relevant for this example. All we need to note is that this is so.]

Toilet-spaces typically include one or more of three distinct forms: individual cubicles, individual urinals, and collective urinal. Individual cubicles take up the most space, collective urinals the least.

For reasons of simple anatomy and – dependent on culture – clothing-design, in general only males will be able to use urinals.

Again dependent on culture and clothing-design, usage of cubicles will often usually involve partial removal of clothing – especially for females. Again for social reasons, this means that in most cases some form of privacy would be expected, typically requiring the cubicle to be large enough to incorporate a closable door.

A typical truck-transportable ‘portakabin’-type toilet – such as used at many event-venues – would be able only to accommodate a single row of perhaps ten cubicles, compared to a double-sided collective-urinal that could accommodate at least a dozen people either side.

A simple time-and-motion study [pun not intended!] indicates that usage of a cubicle takes some two to three times as long as using a urinal.

If we put all of these factors together, we’ll recognise that women will probably need more than twice as many toilet-units as men, occupying around five times as much space as that for men, in order to achieve an equal outcome – same numbers of relieved customers in the same time – from the same nominal service-provision.

Conversely, if we provide the same amount of space – as is still all too common in, say, a theatre-design – then the same usage of service-provision overall is going to take around five times as long for women as for men. Hence those inordinate queues…

The all-too-literally painful lesson here? – Identical is not the same as equal.

In most societies now, structural-inequality is pretty unpopular. In most businesses, inequality of outcomes can create not just loss of future business, but increased risk of serious anti-client problems. In short, it’s not a good idea.

Hence it’s not a good idea to allow our service-designs to create that kind of unequal-outcome by default, through carelessness on our part in the service-design process.

Which means that we need to be careful to distinguish between the service-provision itself, and the outcomes of that service-provision – and design counter-mechanisms to cope with contexts where the circumstances themselves would tend to create unintended inequalities.

Just another not-so-unimportant point to ponder, perhaps?