by Dan Heath
Stephen Covey, in his book The 8th Habit, describes a poll of 23,000 employees drawn from a number of companies and industries. He reports the poll’s findings:
Only 37 percent said they have a clear understanding of what their organization is trying to achieve and why.
Only one in five was enthusiastic about their team’s and their organization’s goals.
Only one in five said they had a clear “line of sight” between their tasks and their team’s and organization’s goals.
Only 15 percent felt that their organization fully enables them to execute key goals.
Only 20 percent fully trusted the organization they work for.
Pretty sobering stuff. It’s also pretty abstract. You probably walk away from these stats thinking something like “There’s a lot of dissatisfaction and confusion in most companies.”
Then Covey superimposes a very human metaphor over the statistics. He says, “If, say, a soccer team had these same scores, only 4 of the 11 players on the field would know which goal is theirs. Only 2 of the 11 would care. Only 2 of the 11 would know what position they play and know exactly what they are supposed to do. And all but 2 players would, in some way, be competing against their own team members rather than the opponent.”
The soccer analogy generates a human context for the statistics. It creates a sense of drama and a sense of movement. We can’t help but imagine the actions of the two players trying to score a goal, being opposed at every stage by the rest of their team.
Why does the analogy work? It relies on our schema of soccer teams and the fact that this schema is somehow cleaner, more well-defined, than our schemas of organizations. It’s more vivid to think of a lack of cooperation on a soccer team—where teamwork is paramount—than in a corporation. And this is exactly Covey’s point: Corporations should operate like teams, but they don’t. Humanizing the statistics gives the argument greater wallop.
As another example of the human-scale principle, take a mundane situation: figuring out whether a particular technological upgrade is worth the money. One example comes from Cisco, when it had to decide whether to add a wireless network for its employees. The cost of maintaining a wireless network was estimated at $500 per year per employee. That price sounds hefty—on the order of adding dental or vision insurance for all employees. But it’s not a benefit, it’s an investment. So how do you compute the value of an investment? You’ve got to decide whether you can get $501 worth of additional value from each employee each year after adding the network.
One Cisco employee figured out a better way to think about the investment: “If you believe you can increase an employee’s productivity by one to two minutes a day, you’ve paid back the cost of wireless.” On this scale, the investment is much easier to assess. Our intuition works at this scale. We can easily simulate scenarios where employees can save a few minutes from wireless access—for instance, sending someone a request for a forgotten document during a critical meeting.
Statistics aren’t inherently helpful; it’s the scale and context that make them so. Not many people have an intuition about whether wireless networking can generate $500 worth of marginal value per employee per year. The right scale changes everything. We saw that Concreteness allows people to bring their knowledge to bear—remember HP’s simulation of a family at Disney World? Similarly, the human-scale principle allows us to bring our intuition to bear in assessing whether the content of a message is credible.
Statistics are a good source of internal credibility when they are used to illustrate relationships. In the introduction of this book, we discussed the example of the CSPI’s campaign against saturated-fat-loaded movie popcorn. The relevant statistic was that a medium-sized bag of popcorn had 37 grams of saturated fat. So what? Is that good or bad?
Art Silverman, of the CSPI, cleverly placed the popcorn’s saturated-fat content in a relevant context for comparison. He said that one bag of popcorn was equivalent to a whole day’s worth of unhealthy eating. Silverman knew that most people would be appalled by this finding.
What if Silverman had been a sleazebag? He could have picked a food item that was notoriously unhealthy but relatively low in saturated fat, such as lollipops. “One bag of popcorn has the fat equivalent of 712,000 lollipops!” (Or an infinite number of lollipops, since they’re fat-free.) This statistic is sleazy because it draws its power from sleight of hand involving different senses of unhealthy food. A sleazy movie-theater executive, to retaliate, might have changed the domain of comparison from saturated fat to some positive attribute of corn: “A bag of popcorn has as much Vitamin J as 71 pounds of broccoli!” (We made this up.)
These possibilities are examples of why writing about statistics filled us with anxiety. Particularly in the realm of politics, tinkering with statistics provides lucrative employment for untold numbers of issue advocates. Ethically challenged people with lots of analytical smarts can, with enough contortions, make almost any case from a given set of statistics.
Of course, let’s also remember that it’s easier to lie without statistics than with them. Data enforces boundaries. Unless people are unethical enough to make up data, the reality of the data constrains them. That’s a good thing, but it still leaves a lot of wiggle room.
So what about the rest of us, who aren’t spinmeisters? What do we do? We will still be tempted to put the best possible spin on our statistics. All of us do it. “I scored sixteen points for the church basketball team tonight!” (Not mentioned: twenty-two missed shots and the loss of the game.) “I’m five feet six.” (Not mentioned: The three-inch heels.) “Revenue was up 10 percent this year, so I think I deserve a bonus.” (Not mentioned: Profits tanked.)
When it comes to statistics, our best advice is to use them as input, not output. Use them to make up your mind on an issue. Don’t make up your mind and then go looking for the numbers to support yourself—that’s asking for temptation and trouble. But if we use statistics to help us make up our minds, we’ll be in a great position to share the pivotal numbers with others, as did Geoff Ainscow and the Beyond War supporters.
CLINIC
Dealing with Shark Attack Hysteria
THE SITUATION: Every few years the media go frothy over shark attacks. Shark attacks, however, remain extremely rare and do not vary much from one year to the next. So why do they consume so much media and public attention? The answer is that shark attacks spawn terrifying, dream-haunting stories like the following, from The Oprah Winfrey Show:
OPRAH: Bethany Hamilton loved to ride the waves. Surfing daily since she was 8 years old, Bethany was such a phenom, people said she had salt water running through her veins. At the young age of 13, Bethany was a rising star on the surfing circuit and had become a local celebrity, but what happened next landed Bethany in headlines around the world.
It was early morning. Bethany was in the ocean lying on her board with her arm dangling in the water. Suddenly, a deadly fifteen-foot tiger shark seized her arm. Violently, he jerked and yanked it until her arm was ripped right off of her small body. Seconds later the shark and her entire arm were gone, and Bethany was left alone on her board surrounded by bloody water.
Imagine that you are forced to combat these vivid stories. Maybe you’re the publicity director of the Save the Sharks Foundation, or maybe you’re trying to convince your junior high school daughter that it’s okay to go to the beach. How do you do it? You’ve got the truth on your side—attacks are very rare—but that’s no guarantee that people will believe you. So what source of credibility do you tap to get people to believe you?
• • •
MESSAGE 1: We based this message on statistics published by the Florida Museum of Natural History:
You’re more likely to drown on a beach in an area protected by a lifeguard than you are to be attacked by a shark, much less killed by one. In the United States in 2000, twelve people died in lifeguard-protected areas. There were no fatalities from sharks. (In a typical year there are only 0.4
fatalities.)
COMMENTS ON MESSAGE 1: This is okay but not great. This message taps internal credibility—the credibility of hard statistics. We have two comments: First, drowning does not seem like the right comparison to make, because many people may think drowning is a common cause of death. “Drowning is more common than shark attacks” does not feel particularly unexpected. (And maybe we’re too skeptical, but the presence of the college-student lifeguard never struck us as an ironclad guarantee of safety.) Second, the statistical comparison—12 deaths versus 0.4—is good, but it isn’t particularly vivid or meaningful on a human scale. It’s unlikely that anyone would remember these numbers a week later.
• • •
MESSAGE 2: This message is also based on statistics published by the Florida Museum of Natural History:
Which of these animals is more likely to kill you?
A SHARK A DEER
ANSWER: The deer is more likely to kill you. In fact, it’s 300 times more likely to kill you (via a collision with your car).
COMMENTS ON MESSAGE 2: We like the unexpected idea that Bambi is more dangerous than the evil shark, followed by the doubly unexpected statistic that Bambi is wildly more dangerous (300 times more deadly!). It’s absurd to the point of being funny, and humor is a nice antidote to the fear generated by shark-attack stories. In a sense, we’re fighting emotional associations with emotional associations (see the next chapter).
This message taps internal credibility with the statistic, but it also taps into the audience as a source of credibility. People in the audience know how much they fear deer when they’re driving around—i.e., not much. Few of us are afraid to go out in the evening on account of lurking deer. We know that we don’t fear deer, so why should we fear sharks? (This is more effective than comparing shark attacks with drowning—after all, most of us have at least a mild fear of drowning.)
SCORECARD
Checklist Message 1 Message 2
Simple
Unexpected -
Concrete
Credible
Emotional -
Story - -
PUNCH LINE: When we use statistics, the less we rely on the actual numbers the better. The numbers inform us about the underlying relationship, but there are better ways to illustrate the underlying relationship than the numbers themselves. Juxtaposing the deer and the shark is similar to Ainscow’s use of BBs in a bucket.
The Sinatra Test and Safexpress
We’ve seen that we can make our ideas more credible, on their own merits, by using compelling details or by using statistics. A third way to develop internal credibility is to use a particular type of example, an example that passes what we call the Sinatra Test.
In Frank Sinatra’s classic “New York, New York,” he sings about starting a new life in New York City, and the chorus declares, “If I can make it there, I’ll make it anywhere.” An example passes the Sinatra Test when one example alone is enough to establish credibility in a given domain. For instance, if you’ve got the security contract for Fort Knox, you’re in the running for any security contract (even if you have no other clients). If you catered a White House function, you can compete for any catering contract. It’s the Sinatra Test: If you can make it there, you can make it anywhere.
Safexpress, a family-owned business based in India, used the Sinatra Test to its advantage. Safexpress competes in the shipping business, where competition is fierce. And, while the competition led to low prices, there was a catch: Most shipping firms would not guarantee safe, on-time deliveries. With some firms, you couldn’t be guaranteed that deliveries would be made, ever.
To distinguish itself from the competition, Safexpress assured its customers of safe, on-time delivery. International companies operating in India—companies accustomed to the reliability of FedEx—embraced Safexpress immediately. But Safexpress struggled to attract business from Indian companies that weren’t accustomed to paying higher rates. Rubal Jain, a member of the founding family of Safexpress, was determined to make inroads with Indian companies.
To do so, Jain set his sights on winning the account of a major Bollywood studio. When Jain proposed that Safexpress distribute the studio’s films, the reaction was “Are you kidding?”
The skepticism was predictable and plausible: Piracy is a major concern in India, as it is in the rest of the world, so distribution is mission-critical. If films end up “misplaced” en route, bootlegged versions show up a few weeks later on street corners. This risk wasn’t one that the movie studio could take.
Fortunately, Jain had a powerful credential ready. Safexpress had handled the release of the fifth Harry Potter book—every Potter book in every bookstore in India had been delivered there by Safexpress, an insanely complicated delivery: All the books had to arrive in stores by 8 A.M. on the morning of the release. Not too early, or the bookstore owners might try to sell them early and the secret would be blown; and not too late, or the bookstore owners would be irate at lost sales. Also, the Potter books needed the same piracy protections as the studio’s films—there could be no leaks.
And Jain had a second story. He knew from an earlier conversation that the Bollywood studio executive had a brother who had recently taken his high school board exams. After telling the Harry Potter story, Jain mentioned, “By the way, we also safely delivered the examination papers for your brother’s boards and carried the return answer sheets.” Safexpress handles the distribution of all the central examinations for high school and university admissions.
Two months later, the deal was signed.
Both of Jain’s stories passed the Sinatra Test. Jain could have used statistics instead of stories—“98.84 percent of our deliveries arrive on time.” Or he could have drawn on an external source of credibility, such as a testimonial from the CEO of a multinational company: “We’ve used Safexpress for all our deliveries in India and we’ve found them to be an excellent service provider.” Both of these are good credibility-boosters. But there is something extraordinary about being the company that carries completed board exams and the latest Harry Potter book. Their power comes from their concreteness rather than from numbers or authority. These stories make you think, “If Safexpress can make it there, they can make it anywhere.”
Edible Fabrics
For an example that unites all three of the “internal credibility” sources—details, statistics, and the Sinatra Test—we can turn to Bill McDonough, an environmentalist known for helping companies improve both the environment and the bottom line.
Most executives tend to be skeptical and suspicious when approached by an environmentalist, even a “business-friendly” environmentalist like McDonough. To overcome such skepticism—to prove that there can be perfect consistency between business goals and environmental goals—McDonough tells a story that passes the Sinatra Test.
The story goes as follows. In 1993, McDonough and a chemist, Michael Braungart, were hired by the Swiss textile manufacturer Rohner Textil, which produces the fabrics for Steelcase chairs. Their mission was one that most people in the textile industry considered impossible: Create a manufacturing process without using toxic chemicals.
The textile industry routinely deals with hazardous chemicals. Most dye colors contain toxic elements. In fact, the trimmings from Rohner Textil’s factory—the excess cloth not used on the chairs—contained so many questionable chemicals that the Swiss government classified them as hazardous waste. Furthermore, the trimmings couldn’t be buried or burned in Switzerland—to comply with government regulations, they had to be exported—shipped to a country with laxer regulations, such as Spain. (Note the vivid, concrete detail.) McDonough said, “If your trimmings are declared hazardous waste but you can sell what’s in the middle, you don’t need to be a rocket scientist to know you’re selling hazardous waste.”
To tackle this problem—eliminating toxic chemicals from the furniture-manufacturing process—McDonough needed to find a willing partner in the c
hemical industry. He had to provide Rohner Textil with a source for clean chemicals that would fit the company’s production needs. So he and Braungart started approaching executives in the chemical industry. They said, “We’d like to see all products in the future be as safe as pediatric pharmaceuticals. We’d like our babies to be able to suck on them and get health and not sickness.”
They asked chemical factories to open their books and talk about how the chemicals were manufactured. McDonough told the companies, “Don’t tell us ‘it’s proprietary and legal.’ If we don’t know what it is, we’re not using it.” Sixty chemical companies turned them down. Finally, the chairman of one firm, Ciba-Geigy, said okay.
McDonough and Braungart studied 8,000 chemicals commonly used in the textile industry. They measured each chemical against a set of safety criteria. Of the chemicals they tested, 7,962 failed. They were left with 38 chemicals—but those 38 were “safe enough to eat,” according to McDonough. (Note the concrete detail—“safe enough to eat”—plus a statistic that establishes a relationship—a tiny number of good chemicals out of a larger number of toxic chemicals.)
Amazingly, using just those 38 chemicals, they were able to create a complete line of fabrics, containing every color but black. The fabric they chose was made from natural materials—wool and a plant fiber called ramie. When the production process went online, inspectors from the Swiss government came to check the water flowing out of the plant to make sure chemical emissions were within legal limits. “At first, the inspectors thought their equipment had broken,” McDonough says. The instruments were detecting nothing in the water. Then the inspectors tested the water flowing into the factory, which was Swiss drinking water, and found that the equipment was fine. McDonough says, “The fabrics during the production process were further filtering the water.”