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Making sense of sensemaking – the dimensions of participatory design rationale
Introduction
Over the last year or so, I’ve used IBIS (Issue-Based Information System) to map a variety of discussions at work, ranging from design deliberations to project meetings [Note: see this post for an introduction to IBIS and this one for an example of mapping dialogues using IBIS]. Feedback from participants indicated that IBIS helps to keep the discussion focused on the key issues, thus leading to better outcomes and decisions. Some participants even took the time to learn the notation (which doesn’t take long) and try it out in their own meetings. Yet, despite their initial enthusiasm, most of them gave it up after a session or two. Their reasons are well summed up by a colleague who said, “It is just too hard to build a coherent map on the fly while keeping track of the discussion.”
My colleague’s comment points to a truth about the technique: the success of a sense-making session depends rather critically on the skill of the practitioner. The question is: how do experienced practitioners engage their audience and build a coherent map whilst keeping the discussion moving in productive directions? Al Selvin, Simon Buckingham-Shum and Mark Aakhus provide a part answer to this question in their paper entitled, The Practice Level in Participatory Design Rationale : Studying Practitioner Moves and Choices. Specifically, they describe a general framework within which the practice of participatory design rationale (PDR) can be analysed (Note: more on PDR in the next section). This post is a discussion of some aspects of the framework and some personal reflections based on my (limited) experience.
A couple of caveats are in order before I proceed. Firstly, my discussion focuses on understanding the dimensions (or variables) that describe the act of creating design representations in real-time. Secondly, my comments and reflections on the model are based on my experiences with a specific design rationale technique – IBIS.
Background
First up, it is worth clarifying the meaning of participatory design rationale (PDR). The term refers to the collective reasoning behind decisions that are made when a group designs an artifact. Generally such rationale involves consideration of various alternatives and why they were or weren’t chosen by the group. Typically this involves several people with differing views. Participatory design is thus an argumentative process, often with political overtones.
Clearly, since design involves deliberation and may also involve a healthy dose of politics, the process will work more effectively if it is structured. The structure should, however, be flexible: it must not constrain the choices and creativity of those involved. This is where the notation and practitioner (facilitator) come in: the notation lends structure to the discussion and the practitioner keeps it going in productive directions, yet in a way that sustains a coherent narrative. The latter is a creative process, much like an art. The representation (such as IBIS) – through its minimalist notation and grammar – helps keep the key issues, ideas and arguments firmly in focus. As Selvin noted in an earlier paper, this encourages collective creativity because it forces participants to think through their arguments more carefully than they would otherwise. Selvin coined the term knowledge art to refer to this process of developing and engaging with design representations. Indeed, the present paper is a detailed look at how practitioners create knowledge art – i.e. creative, expressive representations of the essence of design discussions. Quoting from the paper:
…we are looking at the experience of people in the role of caretakers or facilitators of such events – those who have some responsibility for the functioning of the group and session as a whole. Collaborative DR practitioners craft expressive representations on the fly with groups of people. They invite participant engagement, employing techniques like analysis, modeling, dialogue mapping, creative exploration, and rationale capture as appropriate. Practitioners inhabit this role and respond to discontinuities with a wide variety of styles and modes of action. Surfacing and describing this variety are our interests here.
The authors have significant experience in leading deliberations using IBIS and other design rationale methods. They propose a theoretical framework to identify and analyse various moves that practitioners make in order to keep the discussion moving in productive direction. They also describe various tools that they used to analyse discussions, and specific instances of the use of these tools. In the remainder of this post, I’ll focus on their theoretical framework rather than the specific case studies, as the former (I think) will be of more interest to readers. Further, I will focus on aspects of the framework that pertain to the practice – i.e. the things the practitioner does in order to keep the design representation coherent, the participants engaged and the discussion useful, i.e. moving in productive directions.
The dimensions of design rationale practice
So what do facilitators do when they lead deliberations? The key actions they undertake are best summed up in the authors’ words:
…when people act as PDR practitioners, they inherently make choices about how to proceed, give form to the visual and other representational products , help establish meanings, motives, and causality and respond when something breaks the expected flow of events , often having to invent fresh and creative responses on the spot.
This sentence summarises the important dimensions of the practice. Let’s look at each of the dimensions in brief:
- Ethics: At key points in the discussion, the practitioner is required to make decisions on how to proceed. These decisions cannot (should not!) be dispassionate or objective (as is often assumed), they need to be made with due consideration of “what is good and what is not good” from the perspective of the entire group.
- Aesthetics: This refers to the representation (map) of the discussion. As the authors put it, “All diagrammatic DR approaches have explicit and implicit rules about what constitutes a clear and expressive representation. People conversant with the approaches can quickly tell whether a particular artifact is a “good” example. This is the province of aesthetics.” In participatory design, representations are created as the discussion unfolds. The aesthetic responsibility of the practitioner is to create a map that is syntactically correct and expressive. Another aspect of the aesthetic dimension is that a “beautiful” map will engage the audience, much like a work of art.
- Narrative: One of the key responsibilities of the practitioner is to construct a coherent narrative from the diverse contributions made by the participants. Skilled practitioners pick up connections between different contributions and weave these into a coherent narrative. That said, the narrative isn’t just the practitioner’s interpretation; the practitioner has to ensure that everyone in the group is happy with the story; the story is to the group’ s story. A coherent narrative helps the group make sense of the discussion: specifically the issues canvassed, ideas offered and arguments for and against each of them. Building such a narrative can be challenging because design discussions often head off in unexpected directions.
- Sensemaking: During deliberations it is quite common that the group gets stuck. Progress can be blocked for a variety of reasons ranging from a lack of ideas on how to make progress to apparently irreconcilable differences of opinion on the best way to move forward. At these junctures the role of the practitioner is to break the impasse. Typically this involves conversational moves that open new ground (not considered by the group up to that point) or find ways around obstacles (perhaps by suggesting compromises or new choices). The key skill in sensemaking is the ability to improvise, which segues rather nicely into the next variable.
- Improvisation: Books such as Jeff Conklin’s classic on dialogue mapping describe some standard moves and good practices in PDR practice. In reality, however, a practitioner will inevitably encounter situations that cannot be tackled using standard techniques. In such situations the practitioner has to improvise. This could involve making unconventional moves within the representation or even using another representation altogether. These improvisations are limited only by the practitioner’s creativity and experience.
Using case studies, the authors illustrate how design rationale sessions can be analysed along the aforementioned dimensions, both at a micro and macro level. The former involves a detailed move-by-move study of the session and the latter an aggregated view, based on the overall tenor of episodes consisting of several moves. I won’t say any more about the analyses here, instead I’ll discuss the relevance of the model to the actual practice of design rationale techniques such as dialogue mapping.
Some reflections on the model
When I first heard about dialogue mapping, I felt the claims made about the technique were exaggerated: it seemed impossible that a simple notation like IBIS (which consists of just three elements and a simple grammar) could actually enhance collaboration and collective creativity of a group. With a bit of experience, I began to see that it actually did do what it claimed to do. However, I was unable to explain to others how or why it worked. In one conversation with a manager, I found myself offering hand-waving explanations about the technique – which he (quite rightly) found unconvincing. It seemed that the only way to see how or why it worked was to use it oneself. In short: I realised that the technique involved tacit rather than explicit knowledge.
Now, most practices– even the most mundane ones – involve a degree of tacitness. In fact, in an earlier post I have argued that the concept of best practice is flawed because it assumes that the knowledge involved in a practice can be extracted in its entirety and codified in a manner that others can understand and reproduce. This assumption is incorrect because the procedural aspects of a practice (which can be codified) do not capture everything – they miss aspects such as context and environmental influences, for instance. As a result a practice that works in a given situation may not work in another, even though the two may be similar. So it is with PDR techniques – they work only when tailored on the fly to the situation at hand. Context is king. In contrast the procedural aspects of PDR techniques– syntax, grammar etc – are trivial and can be learnt in a short time.
In my opinion, the value of the model is that it attempts to articulate tacit aspects of PDR techniques. In doing so, it tells us why the techniques work in one particular situation but not in another. How so? Well, the model tells us the things that PDR practitioners worry about when they facilitate PDR sessions – they worry about the form of the map (aesthetics), the story it tells (narrative), helping the group resolve difficult issues (sensemaking), making the right choices (ethics) and stepping outside the box if necessary (improvisation). These are tacit skills- they can’t be taught via textbooks, they can only be learnt by doing. Moreover, when such techniques fail the reason can usually be traced back to a failure (of the facilitator) along one or more of these dimensions.
Wrapping up
Techniques to capture participatory design rationale have been around for a while. Although it is generally acknowledged that such techniques aid the process of collaborative design, it is also known that their usefulness depends rather critically on the skill of the practitioner. This being the case, it is important to know what exactly skilled practitioners do that sets them apart from novices and journeymen. The model is a first step towards this. By identifying the dimensions of PDR practice, the model gives us a means to analyse practitioner moves during PDR sessions – for example, one can say that this was a sensemaking move or that was an improvisation. Awareness of these types of moves and how they work in real life situations can help novices learn the basics of the craft and practitioners master its finer points.
To freeze or to flee: a water dragon’s perspective on managing change
Over the last few weeks, it has been raining quite a bit in Sydney. Last weekend I took advantage of a break in the rain and went bushwalking in the Lane Cove National Park with a friend. The park lies along the Lane Cove River – a picturesque little waterway that runs through suburban Sydney. The track we walked along was a bit slippery from the rain of the previous weeks but was drying out nicely in the morning sun.
One of the consequences of sunny weather after a long spell of rain is that reptiles tend to seek open spaces to soak in some sun. With dense vegetation on either side, the open, rocky areas on the track were inviting spots for reptiles looking to sunbathe. I thought we might see snake or two but we didn’t. Instead we walked into a number of Eastern Water Dragons, semi-aquatic lizards that are common in eastern Australia (see Figure 1). Incidentally, fully-grown water dragons are a pretty impressive sight, growing up to a metre in length. They are also quite well camouflaged, black stripes over a grey-brown coat that merges nicely with the rock-and-mud colours of the track.
When a water dragon sunbathes, it stays still, rock-like, for long periods of time. This makes sense from a safety perspective: motion might attract the attention of predators (mainly omnivorous native birds such as Currawongs and Kookaburras). So the reptile remains statue-like, perfectly camouflaged by colours that merge with the ground it lies on…until a blundering bushwalker disturbs its repose, like we did many times (to many lizards) last weekend. At that point the creature has two options: to freeze (maintain the status quo) or to flee (turn tail and scuttle off).
The water dragon senses approaching bushwalkers by the disturbance caused by their footfalls along the trail, further amplified by the crackling of leaves and brush that come underfoot. To the water dragon, the approaching footfalls signify an unknown: it could be benign but could also be a predator on the prowl. It is safest to assume the latter because if the lizard chooses the former wrongly it could end up dead. However, even if it is a predator, it is quite possible that the lizards’s superb camouflage will do its job and render it unnoticeable. (Besides, it is comfortable out there in the sun, so there’s an understandable reluctance to move.) Consequently, the first reaction of the lizard is to continue its statue-like stance, but remain alert to the danger. As the footsteps get closer it reassesses the situation continually, deciding whether to run for it or stay put. At some point, a threshold is reached and the lizard dashes off into the undergrowth (or a stream, if there’s one handy – water dragons are good swimmers).
Now, if there were no blundering bushwalker, the dragon would presumably continue basking in the sun undisturbed. The bushwalker changes the lizard’s environment and the lizard reacts to this change in one of the two ways it knows – it stays put (does nothing) or runs (takes evasive action). Both actions are aimed at self-preservation – we can take it as given that the lizard does not want to be a lizard-eater’s lunch! The first action has the benefit of not expending energy unnecessarily, but could lead to an unpleasant end. The second is a better guarantor of safety but involves some effort. There is a tradeoff: not becoming lunch involves understanding that there is no such thing as a free lunch.
The interesting thing is that the threshold seems to vary from dragon to dragon. When I used the phrase “walking into” earlier in this piece, I meant it quite literally: many times we didn’t notice a recumbent reptile until we were almost upon it. At other times, though, a startled slinker would speed off when we were several metres away. It seems some water dragons scare easily while others don’t. In either case, the lizard makes an assessment of the situation based on the information gleaned through its senses and then decides on a course of action.
These musings got me thinking about workplace change and our reactions to it. Although such changes are rarely life threatening, they can be unsettling. I thought it interesting that the most typical reactions to workplace change are much like those of a water dragon to approaching footsteps. Many (most?) people is to attempt to maintain the status quo and failing that, they quit for (supposedly) greener pastures. This is a perfectly normal reaction considering our evolutionary heritage – most creatures (be they water dragons or humans) prefer the familiar and will do what they can to avoid change. It is no surprise, then, that our first reactions to changes forced upon us is to:
- Pretend they haven’t occurred or
- Run away from them.
The implications for management are the following: since the above is pretty much a guaranteed first reaction from those affected, change management initiatives need to address it upfront. This isn’t the same as the “what’s in it for me” (or WIIFM) factor – it is more basic than that – it is the loss of the familiar world. What is needed is reassurance that the changes are benign – or even better, beneficial – to those affected. On the other hand, if there are going to be negative consequences, then it is best to state – early in the process – that people’s work conditions (or employment) are under threat. In this case folks know exactly what’s coming and can make their own plans to deal with it. Unfortunately, this kind of honesty is rare – organisations seem to prefer to keep their employees stumbling around in a fog of uncertainty.
The implication for employees is much more straightforward. There is a key difference between humans and water dragons: we can think before we act, water dragons can’t. Consequently, we have a third option available to us, one that involves neither freezing nor fleeing – it is to face up to changes and adapt to them.
Cause and effect in management
Introduction
Management schools and gurus tell us that specific managerial actions will lead to desirable consequences – witness the prescriptions for success in books such as Good to Great or In Search of Excellence. But can one really attribute success (or failure) to specific actions? A cause-effect relationship is often assumed, but in reality the causal connection between strategic management actions and organisational outcomes is tenuous. This post, based on a paper by Glenn Shafer entitled Causality and Responsibility, is an exploration of the causal connection between managerial actions and their (assumed) consequences.
Note that the discussion below applies to strategic – or “big picture” – management decisions, not operational ones. In the latter, cause and effect is generally quite clear cut. For example, the decision to initiate a project sets in motion several processes that have fairly predictable outcomes. However, taking a big picture view, initiating a project (or even the successful completion of one) does not imply that the strategic aims of the project will be met. It is the latter point that is of interest here – the causal connection between a strategic decision and its assumed outcome.
Shafer’s paper deals with causality and responsibility in legal deliberations: specifically, the process by which judges and juries reach their verdict as to whether the accused (person or entity) is actually responsible (in a causal sense) for the outcome they are charged with. In short, did the actions of the accused cause the outcome? The arguments Shafer makes are quite general, and have applicability to any discipline. In the following paragraphs I’ll look at a couple of the key points he makes and outline their implications for cause and effect in management actions.
Deterministic cause-effect relationships
The first point that Shafer makes is that we should infer that a particular action causes a particular outcome only if it is improbable that the outcome could have happened without the action preceding it. In Shafer’s words:
…we are on safe ground in attributing responsibility if we do so based on our knowledge of impossibilities. It is not surprising, therefore, that the classical legal concept of cause – necessary and sufficient cause – is defined in terms of impossibility. According to this concept, an action causes an event if the event must happen (it is impossible for it not to happen) when the action is taken and cannot happen (it is impossible for it to happen) if the action is not taken.
This is, in fact, what legal arguments attempt to do: they attempt to prove, beyond reasonable doubt, that the crime occurred because of the defendants actions.
The reason that impossibilities are a better way of “proving” causal relationships is that such relationships cannot be invalidated as our knowledge of the situation increases providing the knowledge that we already have is valid. In other words, once something is deemed impossible (using valid knowledge) then it remains so even if we get to know more about the situation. In contrast, if something is deemed possible in the light of existing knowledge, it can be rendered false by a single contradictory fact.
The implication of the above for cause and effect in management is clear: a manager can (should!) claim responsibility for a particular outcome only if:
- The outcome must (almost always) happen if the managerial action occurs.
- It is highly unlikely that the outcome could have occurred without the action occurring prior to it.
Seen in this light, many of the prescriptions laid out in management bestsellers are little better than herpetological oleum.
Probabilistic cause-effect relationships
Of course, deterministic cause-effect relationships aren’t the norm in management – only the supremely confident (foolhardy?) would claim that a specific managerial action will always lead to a specific organisational outcome. This begs the question: what about probabilistic relationships? That is, what can we say about claims that a particular action results in a particular effect, but only in a fraction of the instances in which the action occurs?
To address this question, Shafer makes the important point that probabilities not close to zero or one have no meaning in isolation. They have meaning only in a system, and their meaning derives from the impossibility of a successful gambling strategy—the probability close to one that no one can make a substantial amount of money betting at the odds given by the probabilities. The last part of the previous statement is a consequence of how probabilities are validated empirically. In Shafer’s words:
We validate a system of probabilities empirically by performing statistical tests. Each such test checks whether observations have some overall property that the system says they are practically certain to have. It checks, in other words, on whether observations diverge from the probabilistic model in a way that the model says is practically (approximately) impossible. In Probability and Finance: It’s Only a Game, Vovk and I argue that both the applications of probability and the classical limit theorems (the law of large numbers, the central limit theorem, etc.) can be most clearly understood and most elegantly explained if we treat these asserted practical impossibilities as the basic meaning of a probabilistic or statistical model, from which all other mathematical and practical conclusions are to be derived. I cannot go further into the argument of the book here, but I do want to emphasize one of its consequences: because the empirical validity of a system of probabilities involves only the approximate impossibilities it implies, it is only these approximate impossibilities that we should expect to see preserved in a deeper causal structure. Other probabilities, those not close to zero or one, may not be preserved and hence cannot claim the causal status.
An implication of the above is that probabilities not close to zero or one are not fundamental properties of the system/situation; they are subject to change as our knowledge of the situation/system improves. A simple example may serve to explain this point. Consider the following hypothetical claim from a software vendor:
“80% of our customers experience an increase in sales after implementing our software system.”
Presumably, the marketing department responsible for this statement has the data to back it up. Despite that, the increase in sales for a particular customer cannot (should not!) be attributed to the software. Why? Well, for the following reasons:
- The particular customer may differ in important ways from those used in estimating the probability.This is a manifestation of the reference class problem.
- Most statistical studies of the kind used in marketing or management studies are enumerative, not analytical – i.e they can be used to classify data, but not to establish cause-effect relationships. See my post entitled Enumeration or Analysis for more onthe differences between enumerative and analytical studies.
There is an underlying reason for the above which I’ll discuss next.
The root of the problem – too many variables
The points made above – that outcomes cannot be attributed to actions unless the probabilities involved are close to zero or one – is a consequence of the fact that most organisational outcomes are results of several factors. Therefore it is incorrect to attribute the outcome to a single factor (such as farsighted managerial action). Nancy Cartwright makes this point in her paper entitled Causal Laws and Effective Strategies, where she states that a cause ought to increase the frequency of its purported outcome, but this increase can be masked by other causal factors that have not been taken into account. She uses the somewhat dated and therefore incorrect example of the relationship between smoking and heart disease. However, it serves to illustrate the point, so I’ll quote it below:
…a cause ought to increase the frequency of its effect. But this fact may not show up in the probabilities if other causes are at work. Background correlations between the purported cause and other causal factors may conceal the increase in probability which would otherwise appear. A simple example will illustrate. It is generally supposed that smoking causes heart disease. Thus, we may expect that the probability of heart disease on smoking is greater than otherwise (K’s note: i.e. the conditional probability of heart disease given that the person is a smoker, P(H/S), is greater than the probability of heart disease in the general population, P(H)). This expectation is mistaken, however. Even if it is true that smoking causes heart disease, the expected increase in probability will not appear if smoking is correlated with a sufficiently strong preventative, say exercising. To see why this is so, imagine that exercising is more effective at preventing heart disease than smoking at causing it. Then in any population where smoking and exercising are highly enough correlated, it can be true that P(H/S) = P(H), or even P(H/S) < P(H). For the population of smokers also contains a good many exercisers, and when the two are in combination, the exercising tends to dominate….
In the case of strategic outcomes, it is impossible to know all the factors involved. Moreover, the factors are often interdependent and subject to positive feedback (see my previous post for more on this). So the problem is even worse than implied by Cartwright’s example.
Conclusions
The implications of the above can be summarised as follows: the efficacy of most strategic managerial actions is questionable because the probabilities involved in such claims are rarely close to zero or one. This shouldn’t be a surprise: most organisational outcomes are consequences of several factors acting in concert, many of which combine in unpredictable ways. Given this is unreasonable to expect that managerial actions will result in predictable organisational outcomes. That said, it is only natural to claim responsibility for desirable outcomes and shift the blame for undesirable ones, as it is to seek simplistic solutions to difficult organisational problems. Hence the insatiable market for management snake oil.


