Journal of Organizational Change Management

Journal of
Organizational
Change
Management
Change and continuity in writing
about change and continuity
Guest Editors: Pauline Gleadle,
Nelarine Cornelius, Eric Pezet and
Graeme Salaman
Volume 20 Number 4 2007
ISSN 0953-4814
www.emeraldinsight.com
jocm cover (i).qxd 02/07/2007 11:02 Page 1
Access this journal online __________________________ 471
Editorial advisory board ___________________________ 472
Guest editorial
Pauline Gleadle, Nelarine Cornelius, Eric Pezet and Graeme Salaman _____ 473
Freedom and autonomy in the university enterprise
Todd Bridgman ________________________________________________ 478
Managers as lazy, stupid careerists? Contestation and
stereotypes among software engineers
Dariusz Jemielniak ______________________________________________ 491
Knowledge workers in the in-between: network
identities
Tara Fenwick __________________________________________________ 509
Borders of the boundaryless career
Julie Sommerlund and Sami Boutaiba_______________________________ 525
Knowledge management in a New Zealand tree
farming company: ambiguity and resistance to the
technology solution
Alan Lowe and Andrea McIntosh __________________________________ 539
Journal of
Organizational Change
Management
Change and continuity in writing about change
and continuity
Guest Editors
Pauline Gleadle, Nelarine Cornelius, Eric Pezet and Graeme Salaman
ISSN 0953-4814
Volume 20
Number 4
2007
CONTENTS
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Responding to crisis through strategic knowledge
management
Duncan Shaw, Matthew Hall, John S. Edwards and
Brad Baker ____________________________________________________ 559
Contested practice: multiple inclusion in double-knit
organizations
Irma Bogenrieder and Peter van Baalen _____________________________ 579
Book review_______________________________________ 596
Call for papers ____________________________________ 600
CONTENTS
continued
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Journal of Organizational Change
Management
Vol. 20 No. 4, 2007
p. 472
#Emerald Group Publishing Limited
0953-4814
EDITORIAL ADVISORY BOARD
James Barker
HQ USAFA/DFM
Colorado Springs, USA
David Barry
University of Auckland, New Zealand
Jean Bartunek
Boston College, USA
Dominique Besson
IAE de Lille, France
Steven Best
University of Texas-El Paso, USA
Michael Bokeno
Murray State University, Kentucky, USA
Mary Boyce
University of Redlands, USA
Warner Burke
Columbia University, USA
Adrian Carr
University of Western Sydney-Nepean, Australia
Stewart Clegg
University of Technology (Sydney), Australia
David Collins
University of Essex, UK
Cary Cooper
Lancaster University Management School, Lancaster,
UK
Ann L. Cunliffe
University of New Mexico, Albuquerque
Robert Dennehy
Pace University, USA
Eric Dent
University of Maryland University College, Adelphi,
USA
Alexis Downs
The Business School, Emporia State University,
Kansas, USA
Ken Ehrensal
Kutztown University, USA
Max Elden
University of Houston, USA
Andre M. Everett
University of Otago, New Zealand
Dale Fitzgibbons
Illinois State University, USA
Jeffrey Ford
Ohio State University, USA
Jeanie M. Forray
Western New England College, USA
Carolyn Gardner
Kutztown University, USA
Robert Gephart
University of Alberta, Canada
Clive Gilson
University of Waikato, New Zealand
Andy Grimes
Lexington, Kentucky, USA
Usha C.V. Haley
School of Business, University of New Haven, USA
Heather Ho pfl
Professor of Management, University of Essex, UK
Maria Humphries
University of Waikato, New Zealand
Arzu Iseri
Bogazici University, Turkey
David Jamieson
Pepperdine University, USA
Campbell Jones
Management Centre, University of Leicester, UK
David Knights
Keele University, UK
Monika Kostera
Vaxjo University, Sweden
Hugo Letiche
University for Humanist Studies, Utrecht,
The Netherlands
Benyamin Lichtenstein
University of Hartford, Connecticut, USA
Stephen A. Linstead
Durham Business School, University of Durham, UK
Slawek Magala
Erasmus University, The Netherlands
Rickie Moore
E.M. Lyon, France
Ken Murrell
University of West Florida, USA
Eric Nielsen
Case Western Reserve University, USA
Walter Nord
University of South Florida, USA
Ellen OConnor
Chronos Associates, Los Altos, California, USA
Cliff Oswick
Kings College, University of London, UK
Ian Palmer
University of Technology (Sydney), Australia
Michael Peron
The University of Paris, Sorbonne, France
Gavin M. Schwarz
University of New South Wales, Sydney, Australia
Abraham Shani
California Polytechnic State University, USA
Ralph Stablein
Massey University, New Zealand
Carol Steiner
Monash University, Australia
David S. Steingard
St Josephs University, USA
Ram Tenkasi
Benedictine University, USA
Tojo Joseph Thatchenkery
George Mason University, Fairfax, USA
Christa Walck
Michigan Technological University, USA
Richard Woodman
Graduate School of Business, Texas A&M University,
USA
Guest editorial
Change and continuity in writing about change and continuity
Introduction to special issue on Change, identity and employment: the role of
knowledge
We have six papers in this special issue on Change, identity and employment: the role
of knowledge. The rst four papers explore identity and change with respect to
different kinds of knowledge worker ranging from business school academics and
software engineers to various types of contract worker and microbiologists. The last
two papers address knowledge management in two quite different organizations, a
New Zealand tree farming company and the UK Mortgage Code Compliance Board
(MCCB). All six papers are crucially concerned with the role of knowledge, specically
with issues around change, identity and employment.
Todd Bridgmans paper on business school academics puts us under the microscope
just as we ourselves do later in this editorial. Todd argues that at the level of
government policy, enterprise is narrowly dened in commercial terms. However,
people can be enterprising in different ways, some of which openly challenge the
narrow denition of enterprise put forward by government and afrm the role of
the autonomous and critical academic. The enterprise literature (du Gay, Nik Rose,
Barbara Townley and others) notes that enterprise operates at three different but
inter-related levels polity, organisational structures and relationships, employee
identity an subjectivity, and that the relationships between these levels represent
important focii of analysis and research. Organisations structured in terms of the
prescriptions of the enterprise literature may not be enterprising and employees may or
may not be enterprising. Bridgmans article not only raises questions about the
prevalence and implications of enterprising behaviour within academic contexts; it
also raises more fundamental questions about the highly problematical nature of the
links between organisational and individual levels of enterprise and about the nature,
origins and implications of pervasive and dominant conceptions of the enterprising
employee.
The next paper by Dariusz Jemielniak on Lazy, stupid careerists stands in the
long tradition of ethnographic writing going back to Donald Roy and Egon Bitner and
others and more recently Julian Orr. The paper concerns the existence of a work
group, software engineers, with distinctive attitudes at odds with management.
However, despite this apparent stand-off between groups with different even opposed
value systems and priorities, an accommodation has been found between the two
groups as illustrated in two cameos. In the rst, the HR manager is talking to the new
recruits on their rst day at the rm and she makes it clear that while company rules
and procedures exist, management does not expect software engineers to spend much
time worrying about these. In the second cameo, a group of very formal Japanese
clients shows itself to be delighted by the contrariness displayed by the software
engineers in the study. The software engineers perhaps engage in posturing as despite
their apparent contempt for management, there is little evidence in the paper that they
choose to leave their organisations. So, while they insist on their own autonomy, there
exists a negotiated order characterised in fact by a lack of change.
Guest editorial
473
Management
Vol. 20 No. 4, 2007
pp. 473-477
qEmerald Group Publishing Limited
0953-4814
Tara Fenwicks paper is concerned with the aftermath of the massive organizational
restructuring in the 1990s in North America and the consequent shufing and even
dissolution of jobs in the professional/middle managerial ranks. As a result of these
changes, many knowledge workers left organizations to become self-employed, with
Arthur and Rousseau (1996) maintaining that such workers are revolutionising
employment relations in bringing about the phenomenon of the boundaryless career.
Julie Summerlund and Sami Boutaiba also address the existence or otherwise of the
boundaryless career. According to Arthur and Rousseau, newer thinking on careers
emphasizes their unfolding through individuals choices in time. However,
Summerlund and Boutaiba uncover continuity as well as change, nding that the
old ways of understanding the career continue to be useful.
Alan Lowe and Andrea McIntosh in their study of a New Zealand tree farming
company contribute to an understanding of knowledge management (KM) issues at the
organizational and work group levels. Specically, they explore the interaction of
organizational control processes and the nature of resistance in the complex
environments typical of knowledge work settings. Finally, the last paper by Shaw,
Hall, Edwards and Baker contributes in that KM and learning in times of
organizational crisis has attracted little comment to date. In the case study they
provide of the MCCB, KM is used to manage an impending crisis, the planned
dissolution of the organization.
The insights into organisational change generated by the papers will be readily
apparent but it may be useful to point out one interesting feature of this set of papers.
This is that by focusing on change they inevitably and necessarily also focus on
non-change on continuity. Managers involved in advocating or championing
change frequently focus so emphatically and positively on the necessity for and virtues
of the change in question (sometimes dened as reform so as to rule out the
legitimacy or possibility of the rational or moral basis of any questioning or
resistance) that they in effect disregard or reject what came before the change.
By focusing on change they overlook continuity. The authors in this collection,
however, avoid this trap. For these papers, in studying when and how organisations
change and the implications and origins of these changes also necessarily and properly
focus on non-change continuity. It is as important to know why change does not
happen as to understand when it does. The paper by Julie Summerlund and Sami
Boutaiba for example argues that although researchers have argued that a certain
change is occurring in the nature of careers, in fact within their sample, conventional
historic forms of career persist. Here the signicant nding is that things remain the
same, that change has not occurred: the dog did not bark.
Another variant of this phenomenon is displayed in Dariusz Jemielniaks paper.
Not only does this paper follow a long and valuable tradition of work-place
ethnographies, it also explores the nature and implications of work-place processes of
accommodation whereby disparate and even apparently opposing groups and cultures
maintain their differences but nd subtle ways of indicating and achieving a
negotiated order. Like the management and staff in the gypsum mine studied by
Gouldner (1954) in Patterns of Bureaucracy or the prisoners and wardens described in
Sykes (1958) Society of Captives, the two groups in Dariusz Jemielniaks study, despite
their widely different rhetorics and values and the almost abusive ways these cultures
relate to each other, nevertheless, nd ways to ensure that the basic relationship
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between the two groups remains in a state of equilibrium. A form of symbiosis is
achieved a modus vivendi not despite the differences but arguably because of
them. One might argue that the function of the differences and the apparent hostility
between the groups is not to generate any momentum for change but actually to enable
things to persist whilst allowing a display (but no more than this) of conict and
difference. Antipathy is a way of avoiding real change. In Contested practice: multiple
inclusion in double-knit organizations Irma Bogenrieder and Peter van Baalen
are concerned with another aspect of change and continuity, namely with the
multiple-inclusion of single individuals in many communities of practice at once. Is our
membership in those communities a separate chapter in our professional lives or is it
but another link of a smooth continuum? Is this multiple inclusion a blessing in
disguise, which allows us to share tacit knowledge and facilitates situated learning or
is it asking for trouble (when norms set buy different communities clash)? Be it as it
may, the authors tend to conrm Contu and Willmotts intuition that communities
of practice do not t into a technocratic tool of organizational engineering.
However, as well as addressing the nature, sources and implications of different
types of change and continuity within organisations the papers also allow us a
glimpse into how research into organisations (here, into organisational
change/continuity) is itself characterised by change (or continuity). This is not
something we expected to nd or sought to nd. But we think it is a feature of this set
of papers and possibly of the eld of research into organisational change as a whole.
The papers are interesting and insightful in what they reveal about processes of
organisational change. Thats why they have been included. But they are not only
about change, they are also in intriguing ways, themselves manifestations of change.
They are revealing about how the analysis of change and research into organisational
change, have themselves changed and also how they have retained an element of
continuity.
The papers are revealing both about the subject matter: change in
organisations and about the conceptual and theoretical tools and assumptions
used by researchers in researching this subject matter.
One feature of these papers that struck us was that extent to which the papers did
not draw on or deploy to any noticeable degree concepts, frameworks and models from
something that could be called the change literature. We began to wonder if there was
such a literature. If there is it isnt used by these authors. Although in their various
ways these papers are about change they approach the understanding of
change/continuity via a range of concepts (identity, enterprise, career, role, culture,
etc.) which are not specically tied to a discrete and identiable change literature. For
these authors apparently change is normal feature of organisational life and therefore
needs to be addressed via the concepts currently in play in analyses of organisational
dynamics and not by the use of specialist change concepts or models. These authors
seem to have accepted the frequently rehearsed assertion that change is normal and
that it must be addressed as such. In other words for these students of change it is not
necessary to change analytical concepts frameworks and models when addressing
change in organisations: change can be analysed and understood via the concepts
which would be used to explore organisational structures, dynamics and functioning.
The analysis of change also displays another continuity not only with other
current analytical approaches but with traditions of analysis that is, it displays
Guest editorial
475
continuity over time. Although many of the concepts used here are modern and reect
current discourses of organisational analysis enterprise, theories of identity for
example we were also struck how these papers also displayed in ways which may
not be always apparent to the authors, contemporary manifestations of phenomena
which have interested students of organisations for many years: relationships
between differentiated groups within organisations, issues of control and commitment,
the notion of career and the meaning of work, work group structures and cultures,
the nature and role of reference groups, work-based communities, attempts by
management to generate legitimacy and impose cultures, and so on.
The paper by Dariusz Jemielniak for example can be seen as part of a tradition of
sociological and ethnographic analysis of workplace relations stretching back to the
1940s with the Chicago school. But this is by no means the only paper in this collection
which reveals to those who can take an historic overview more continuities with
classic concepts in work and organisational analysis than the authors themselves may
realise. In this respect too then, the papers reveal continuities. All six sets of authors
are exploring issues of change and continuity using tools of modern theory. However,
the issues explored themselves are perhaps older, illuminating an enduring paradox
about academic analysis of organisations (or the pressures surrounding the
achievement of success within academic careers) that the analysis of organisations
centres on a set of continuing issues and tensions within work structures and
organisations but that this element of continuity must be addressed through the
deployment of concepts which at least appear to be distinctive and different. So while
analysis must demonstrate and embrace change and difference it also displays
signicant continuity.
Finally, this collection of seven papers, all addressing issues of change (one of which
focuses on change within the academy) reveal another and deeper possibility of
change. Organisations, professions, work structures and processes, all demonstrate
change and continuity. This applies no less to academic work and organisations than
to any other, as Todd Bridgman, in this collection illustrates. It may be possible to
argue that these papers about change reect a long term change in the nature of
academic work itself not in the choice subject matter, or the tools and debates
employed to address the subject matter, but in the way in which these papers reect
tacit assumptions about the nature of the standards which apply to high quality
academic work, about how academic virtuosity can be displayed about what counts as
high status academic work in 2007 and specically about the perceived relative
importance and value of displaying mastery of theoretical and conceptual materials
(often of a somewhat arcane and esoteric nature) compared to achieving empirical
illumination and understanding.
In the this selection of papers most of the authors with the exception of Dariusz
Jemielniak concentrate considerable intellectual resource on impressive theoretical
exegesis but devote relatively less attention to achieving empirical illumination.
Furthermore, the links between exegesis and empirical analysis are often not strongly
evident (although in our view this does not weaken the value of the empirical analyses).
This suggests that the exegetical sections (which are, as noted often markedly
accomplished) are seen as valuable in their own right that theyindicate achievement of
academic values. The balance between conceptual exegesis and empirical illumination
tilts strongly towards the former. An academic Rip Van Winkle awaking after 20 or
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30 years might be struck that during that time an interesting and signicant change had
occurred in the criteria that academics use to evaluate quality academic work in the
study of work and organisations, might even be surprised that at a time when notions of
enterprise were apparently being imposed on the academy and academics not least
within Business Schools where many of these authors are employed, academic
achievement was apparently dened in terms of the accomplishment of a somewhat
introverted form of conceptual exegesis. Is it possible that the nature of these articles
reects a change in our own world of work and employment, a change that has been so
subtle that we have hardly noticed it? Although we had no Rip Van Winkles on the
editorial board we thought that compared to the 1960s and 1970s, for instance, when
there was more emphasis on empirical work including longitudinal studies, this sample
of papers could well reect a long term change and that the articles in this special issue
could be regarded not only as valuable in what they contribute but also as phenomena
worthy of comment in their own right. If this is the case then of course our authors can
themselves be seen as enterprising in recognising and meeting these trends. But since
our role as academics interested in organisational change includes a concern with
understanding the changes which impact on us as well as on others this could well be an
issue that deserves further analysis and discussion.
Pauline Gleadle, Nelarine Cornelius, Eric Pezet and Graeme Salaman
References
Arthur, M.B. and Rousseau, D.M. (Eds) (1996), The Boundaryless Career: A New Employment
Principle for a New Organizational Era, Oxford University Press, New York, NY.
Gouldner, A.W. (1954), Patterns of Industrial Bureaucracy: Case Study of Modern Factory
Administration, reprinted 1964 by Collier-Macmillan, London.
Sykes, G.M. (1958), The Society of Captives: A Study of a Maximum Security Prison, to be
reprinted as Princeton Classic Edition 1 May 2007.
Guest editorial
477
Freedom and autonomy
in the university enterprise
Todd Bridgman
Victoria Management School, Victoria University of Wellington,
Wellington, New Zealand
Abstract
Purpose This paper seeks to explore notions of enterprise as an instance of organizational change
within university business schools, using a theoretical approach drawn from the discourse theory of
Ernesto Laclau and Chantal Mouffe. Their concept of articulatory practice is useful for examining the
management of knowledge workers across multiple levels of discourse, including policy, practice and
processes of identication. Specically, the paper aims to investigate the articulation of enterprise
within government policy on higher education, management practices of directing, funding,
measuring and regulating the activities of faculty in ways that seek to promote enterprise, as well as
demonstrating how agents can resist attempts at top-down managerial control through processes of
self-identication.
Design/methodology/approach An empirical study consisting of an analysis of government
reports on higher education along with 65 interviews conducted at six UK research-led business
schools.
Findings At the level of government policy, the university is recast as an enterprise within a
competitive marketplace where the entrepreneurial academic who commercializes research becomes
the role model. However, management practices and identity processes amongst faculty reveal
inconsistencies within the articulation of the university enterprise, to the extent that this idealised
identity is marginalised within research-led business schools in the UK.
Originality/value The theoretical approach captures the dynamism of hegemonic projects across
multiple levels, from policymaking to management practice and the constitution of identity. Laclau
and Mouffes conception of hegemony highlights mechanisms of control, while their assumption of
radical contingency illuminates dynamics of resistance.
Keywords Universities, Business schools, Organizational change, Entrepreneurialism
Paper type Research paper
Introduction
Academics need not venture far from their campuses to better understand the
management of knowledge workers during periods of organizational change.
Universities meet the most basic denition of knowledge-intensive rm given that
the work conducted draws primarily on mental abilities rather than craft or physical
strength and the work is performed by well-educated, qualied employees who expect
high levels of autonomy and invest heavily in their work identity (Alvesson, 1991;
Alvesson and Sveningsson, 2003). It is puzzling therefore, that the literature on
knowledge intensive rms has tended to look elsewhere for its empirical work, whether
that be accountants (Grey, 1998), management consultants (Fincham, 1999), high-tech
workers (Kunda, 1992) or the creative minds of advertising (Alvesson, 1994).
The neglect of academic labour as an instance of knowledge work would appear to
lie in the association of knowledge work with a particular form of organisational
structure the post-bureaucracy (Heckscher, 1994). Functional approaches to career,
control and commitment stress the importance of rules and standardised procedures in
The current issue and full text archive of this journal is available at
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Management
Vol. 20 No. 4, 2007
pp. 478-490
0953-4814
DOI 10.1108/09534810710760036
the form of career planning, targets, incentives, monitoring and rewards. These
traditional control mechanisms are held to have less purchase in knowledge-intensive
rms which are increasingly post-bureaucratic in their organisation, driven by
market demands for exibility. Post-bureaucracy is not a label readily applied to
even the most lean and exible academic institution, yet academics are undoubtedly
knowledge workers who have, in Western democracies at least, historically enjoyed
considerable autonomy, embodied in the notion of academic freedom.
Higher education is an intriguing sector for studying the management of
knowledge workers because of government initiatives to make universities more
enterprising. Paradoxically, freedom and autonomy are nodal points in enterprise
discourse (Storey et al., 2005), yet precisely these values are seen to be threatened
by the change to make universities more closely resemble private sector
organizations (Slaughter, 1988; Slaughter and Leslie, 1997). Academic freedom, for
instance, has become a target of managerial and government agencies who
perceive a lack of accountability in the phrase and regard it as a symbol of
resistance against managerialism (Taylor et al., 1998). Unsurprisingly, the literature
on academic freedom is generally pessimistic about its future in an increasingly
professionalised and commodied higher education sector (Soley, 1996; Parker and
Jary, 1995). There is acute tension, therefore, surrounding the nature of academic
work as knowledge work and the desire by these agencies to foster an enterprise
culture within the academy.
In addition to presenting the ndings of an empirical study of UK research-led
business schools, this paper seeks to make a theoretical contribution to discourse
approaches for analysing organizational change. The study of discourse has become
widespread within organization studies but there is criticism that the preoccupation
with language has gone too far, to the extent that all that matters is talk and text
(Down and Reveley, 2004). In recent times, it has been argued that to understand
identity processes in organisation we must look beyond discourse. Alvesson and
Robertson (2006) draw a distinction between discourse, which they dene as explicit
language use, and a range of strategic and symbolic mechanisms, many of which have
a material existence as part of the work process. Motivated by similar concerns,
Karreman and Alvesson (2004) distinguish between a technocratic layer of structural
elements such as hierarchies, career paths and work methodologies from a
socio-ideological layer which concerns identity and identication.
This paper acknowledges the importance of studying objects and action as well as
text. It proposes that we stick with discourse, but via an expanded denition drawn
from the discourse theory of Laclau and Mouffe (2001), which has begun to make
an impact within organization studies (Bridgman and Willmott, 2006; Willmott, 2005).
For Laclau and Mouffe (2001, p. 96) discourse is not reduced to text, nor seen as distinct
from structures and practices. Rather, discourse is an articulatory practice which
constitutes and organises social relations. Specically, this paper investigates
enterprise discourse as a set of hegemonic articulatory practices which constitute
objects (e.g. university), practices (e.g. promotion), identities (e.g. academics) and the
ways in which relations of career, control and commitment are organised.
The outline of the paper is as follows. In the next section, key contributions to the
literature on enterprise are reviewed, followed by a brief introduction to Laclau and
Mouffes discourse theory. Following that is a presentation of the empirical study of
Freedom and
autonomy
479
UK research-led business schools. In the nal section, the relevance of the study for the
management of knowledge workers is considered.
Conceptualising enterprise
Du Gay and Salamans (1992) seminal contribution highlights the discourse of
enterprise as being behind a range of organizational reforms that replaces
organizational regulation with market regulation. Enterprise discourse is seen as a
totalising and individualising economic rationality, where patients passengers and
pupils are reconstructed as customers. Enterprise discourse has become hegemonic
to the extent that even those cynical of its claims inevitably reproduce it in daily life.
Fournier and Grey (1999) argue that by stressing the totalising effects of enterprise
discourse on subjectivity Du Gay fail[s] to account, or even allow, for resistance or
alternatives to enterprise (p. 117). Rather than implying that enterprise discourse is
the only discursive resource on which employees identities will be congured,
Fournier and Grey prefer to see enterprise as one discourse amongst others.
Early conceptions of enterprise discourse are also criticised for being insensitive to
material concerns. Du Gay (1996) claims it has achieved hegemony over other
organizational discourses, yet also acknowledges evidence from empirical research
which suggests that the discourse, and its associated focus on excellence is not being
adopted in most organizations. According to Newton (1998), Du Gay acknowledges
these material circumstances, but sees no need to modify his argument about the
salience of enterprise discourse, whatever the empirical data might suggest. What is
needed, argues Newton, is an understanding of subjectivity and organization which
attends to agency and materialism yet avoids dualism, essentialism and
reductionism (p. 441).
Recent approaches to understanding enterprise have focused on identity and
identity processes. In their study of freelance and contract workers in the media, Storey
et al. (2005) examine the enterprising self from the perspective of worker responses to
systemic attempts to see themselves as enterprising subjects. They found that workers
did not merely absorb passively the discourses and practices to which they were
exposed (p. 1050) but aspired to some qualities of enterprise while criticising others
and developed a range of enterprising strategies to counter their weak market position.
In sum, the literature shows a movement away from seeing enterprise discourse in a
somewhat deterministic fashion as a project that is imposed on workers from above,
towards an understanding that is attentive to agency and the possibilities of resistance.
What is needed is a theoretical approach that is sensitive to structure without being
deterministic and that is also sensitive to agency and the possibilities of resistance,
without succumbing to voluntarism.
The discourse theory of Laclau and Mouffe makes a potentially valuable
contribution to this goal with their distinctive social ontology that distinguishes it from
other forms of discourse approaches that have made an impact within organization
studies, such as Foucauldian analysis and critical discourse analysis, which is based on
a critical realist ontology (Fairclough, 2003)[1]. In discourse theory, all objects and
practices are discursively constituted and therefore meaningful (Laclau and Mouffe,
2001). This is not an idealist claim that extra-discursive reality does not exist, as critics
of discourse theory, such as Geras (1987) have claimed. Instead, it dissolves the
distinction between being (ontology) and knowledge (epistemology) by claiming that
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while objects have an existence external to discourse, our knowledge, or understanding
of them, depends on the structuring of a discursive eld. For example, the business
school, including its buildings, facilities and programmes of study, exists external to
discourse, but our understanding of what the business school is its distinctive
identity is rendered discursively. In asserting the materiality of discourse, Laclau
states that it is not that discourse produces some kind of material effect, but the
material act of producing it is what discourse is (Bhaskar and Laclau, 1998, p. 13).
From this perspective, attention is focused on the ways in which the material and the
social are articulated within discourses that establish relations between them
(Bridgman and Willmott, 2006).
Another key ontological assumption of discourse theory is the radical contingency
of all objects and identities, which draws our attention towards the operation of
hegemonic discourses such as enterprise. While these projects offer a partial xation
of meaning, they are penetrated by a radical contingency that prevents closure or
totalisation, since they rely on discursive exteriors that partially constitute and
therefore potentially subvert them. This undecidability of the structure becomes
evident in moments of dislocation, which induces an identity crisis for the subject and
compels the subject to act in order to restore or afrm a recognisable sense of identity
through identication with discourses (Laclau, 1990). This insight that identities and
practices are ultimately contingent facilitates an analysis of the ways in which subjects
can resist the totalising efforts of hegemonic discourses.
Methodology
What then, are the implications of this denition of discourse for doing discourse
analysis? The assumption of radical contingency means that while discourses might
appear as natural and uncontested, contingency remains within any social practice.
Any discursive articulation is an incomplete system of meaning which brings together
elements that have inconsistencies when linked together. The task of the analyst,
therefore, is to examine not only how discursive articulations come to appear as
natural, but also to highlight the contingent elements of social practices and ways in
which those moments provide opportunities for political contestation and
transformation.
According to Storey et al. (2005), it is vital to consider enterprise and its relationship
to identity frommultiple levels fromtop-down attempts to dene identity, through to
individuals self-identication with these narratives. However, Alvesson and
Karreman (2000) note the general failure of discourse approaches to climb the
ladder of discourse to go from local encounters with talk and text to large-scale
discourses that have effects in constituting the social world. Laclau and Mouffes broad
conception of discourse is useful here, incorporating an analysis of actual language use
(talk and text), strategic and symbolic resources, actions, behaviour as well as grand
discourses such as enterprise. This paper, in considering issues of career, control and
commitment in higher education, involves an examination of policymaking at
government level, managerial efforts to create an enterprise culture within the business
school, and the ways in which employees identify with and/or resist such efforts.
The data set includes archival and interview data, the former consisting of
government reports and white papers on higher education. In addition, a total of 65
interviews were conducted at six research-led UK business schools. The study set out
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481
to explore issues around academic freedom in the changing context of contemporary
higher education, especially that notion that the university has a democratic function
as a source of social criticism. Respondents were those with signicant interactions
with external audiences, such as practitioners, policymakers, journalists and
think-tanks, since it was believed that in these interactions the tensions around
academic freedom would be most acute. The choice of schools reects a mix of factors,
including size, the proportion of resource income from external sources (industry,
commerce and public corporations) and geographic location. Within each of the six
schools a diversity of respondents were sought on categories of age, gender, specialist
eld, faculty rank and type of external engagement.
The ndings are presented in the following four sections. The rst looks at the
constitution of the university enterprise within government policy documents,
followed by the section that highlights the contradictions within the articulation of
enterprise discourse at the level of management practice. The penultimate section
considers implications of enterprise for academic freedom and autonomy, while the
nal section explores identity processes and illustrates possibilities of resistance.
Policymakers construction of the university enterprise
The construction of the university as an enterprise is hegemonic within UK
government policy documents. In a familiar narrative, higher education becomes a
global business (DES, 2003, p. 13) where only the ttest universities will survive.
Universities must play a central role as dynamos of growth in a knowledge-economy
but they will only full that mission if they match excellence in research and teaching
with innovation and imagination in commercialising research (DTI, 2000, p. 27).
Of particular relevance to issues around the management of career, control and
commitment within universities is the mistrust of traditional collegial governance
structures. The 2003 Lambert Review on Business-University Collaboration criticises
collegial and collective forms of management for being slow and risk-averse, in
contrast with the strong executive structures of private sector models (Lambert,
2003, p. 6). Lambert acknowledges that while universities are not businesses they
need to be business-like in the way they manage their affairs (p. 14). In this
articulation, collegiality is incompatible with a commercially focused university, where
more autocratic, executive styles are needed in an environment of rapid change.
Academics might be knowledge workers, but they are not to be afforded the autonomy
and respect for their professional expertise which is supposedly characteristic of
knowledge-intensive rms.
Lambert notes a change in organizational culture with many universities casting
off their ivory tower image and playing a much more active role in the regional and
national economy (p. 3). In this articulation of the university enterprise, academic
freedom becomes the freedom to be entrepreneurial to be creative in seeking new
ways to generate revenue. This applies both at the organizational level, where ways
must be found to give [universities] more room to develop a strategic vision and take
entrepreneurial risks (p. 102), but also at the level of employee identity:
A new role model, the entrepreneurial academic, has appeared on many campuses and some
of them have become rich as a result of their efforts in consultancy, or by creating and
subsequently selling spinout companies (Lambert, 2003, p. 83).
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Although enterprise discourse has become hegemonic at the level of government
policy, as Laclau and Mouffe make clear, any such project is ultimately contingent,
since it relies on an Other that constitutes and therefore potentially subverts it.
Enterprise discourse is constituted by its differential relation to traditional discourses
associated with university life, such as scholarship and collegiality. In theorizing
resistance, there are two possible approaches. One, following Fournier and Grey (1999)
is to examine academics identication with one of these competing discourses. The
second approach, drawn from Laclau and Mouffe and taken here, is to examine the
contingency of enterprise discourse to explore its constituent elements in search of
contradictions.
Managing careers and generating commitment
Specically, there is a contradiction between the demands to commercialise research,
as articulated by Lambert and a desire to make academics more accountable for their
time spent doing research. The demand for accountability is manifest in the research
assessment exercise (RAE), which provides ratings of research quality. The RAE
commodies academic labour, with products of academic research (books, journals,
etc.) given a weighting and used to inform funding decisions (Willmott, 1995, 2003).
It is informed by thinking on new public management, where audit replaces
professional self-regulation and academics become employees of state capitalism
(Jary, 2002; Prichard, 2000). In the RAE, research and its communication to an
academic audience via journals take precedence. It is here that a contradiction emerges
which problematises Governments role model of the entrepreneurial academic who
exploits the commercial potential of research. This contradiction is illustrated through
an analysis of reward and recruitment practices.
Several schools have developed new performance indicators that measure and place
a greater value on enterprise. One school used to just look at publications and teaching,
but has recently added criteria of inputs and impact. The former measures money
sourced externally, while the latter measures the effect of a persons work on
stakeholders. At another school, enterprise has become the fourth promotion
criterion alongside teaching, research and administration.
However, despite the formal recognition of enterprise, respondents believed that
securing academic publications for the RAE was still a higher priority than being
commercially enterprising. One commented that:
It only helps if youve still got that research. Its not an either or. They expect it to be an
add-on. They think it is great and would love you to do more of it, but thats on top of
research, rather than instead of research.
The pressure to publish or perish is felt most acutely by junior faculty, who are under
pressure to develop a journal publication track record, in order to satisfy the
requirements of the RAE. Consequently, there is little time available for them to
undertake enterprising activities. Even if there is time, such activity is unlikely
to attract the same institutional rewards as scholarly publications. One respondent,
a young lecturer in the eld of entrepreneurship, is heavily engaged in outreach
activities with industry. In many ways, he represents the role model of the
entrepreneurial academic as articulated by Lambert (2003). He was a key gure
behind the award of nearly 2 million in public funding to set up a new institute at
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483
the business school, has been active in policy discussion at a regional and national
level, developed a business-to-business networking event with local business and
makes regular appearances in the media. This is work he has enjoyed doing, but sees it
coming at a cost to his chances of promotion.
The biggest problem that I have is that Ive excelled enormously well in this area in terms of
linkage with local businesses but its not something that will help me get onto my senior
lectureship. And thats my biggest major annoyance at the moment, in order to do these
things Ive sacriced my research output and in doing that Ive made it more difcult for
myself to get promotion.
Recruitment practices can also work against the fostering of enterprise. Many
respondents suggested that because of the value placed on journal publication,
business schools are reluctant to hire people from industry, who are well placed to help
develop an enterprise culture but yet usually have no track record of publication. One
respondent stated that:
Its extremely difcult for people who have done business to come in and study business and
turn out a respectable RAE performance in a faculty like this. Its extremely hard to do
and I know very few people who have succeeded in doing it.
The picture is complicated by the growth of commercial research centres within
business schools. Business schools are becoming increasingly entrepreneurial in
turning to external funders to supplement their core funding from the public purse.
This can be through direct grants or the sale of research and other consultancy
activities. Clients can include commercial organizations, charities and other
not-for-prot organizations, and government departments. While money from the
UK research councils is generally regarded as the most prestigious funding, it is also
more competitive and the amounts awarded tend to be small compared with sponsored
research. Therefore, contract research, conducted through research centres, is a
potentially signicant revenue stream for business schools.
Several research centre faculty who took part in the study either had no established
publication record or were no longer seeking one. These respondents tended to identify
with enterprise discourse in describing their work, as illustrated by the following
quote:
Our entire bias starts with a client orientation and that means we have geared our activities
towards that practitioner/user community, either industry or policy. What that means in
practice is that we deliberately started to emphasise some things and deemphasise others.
I stopped writing academic publications . . . our client base would not regard that sort of
work as providing legitimation or accreditation for what we do.
However, this respondent felt marginalised by the lecturing faculty within the school:
Once we get out the door here out status shoots up. Come back here and were nobody, just
dogsbody contract researchers. Go out the door and were industry experts worth a fortune.
Similar sentiments were expressed by one contract researcher who has his own
consultancy business that generates potential clients for contract research, is providing
bespoke research that benets commercial organizations which lack dedicated R&D
departments and is generating additional revenue for the business school through
these activities. Far from feeling like a role model as envisaged by Lambert, he feels
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like a second class citizen within the school and not a proper academic because he
is yet to develop a track record in academic journal publications.
In these research centres, faculty tend to prioritise engagement with external
constituencies and therefore have little time to publish in academic journals. The
overall picture is the emergence of a split between high-status RAE contributing
faculty and low-status contract researchers who are expected to generate revenue and
demonstrate the relevance of their institutions. One explanation of these phenomena
is that business schools want to be both academic departments and commercial
enterprises and their reward and recruitment practices reect this. In other words,
it is to argue that there are multiple discourses competing for hegemony over the
constitution of the business school. An alternative explanation, which draws on the
insights of Laclau and Mouffes discourse theory, is to suggest there is a contradiction
within the discursive articulation of enterprise between two of its constituent
elements commercial research and audit. The use of the RAE to increase the
productivity of academics has led to the governments preferred identity of the
commercially oriented researcher becoming a marginalised gure within UK
research-led business schools.
Managing academic freedom and autonomy
Academic freedom is legally protected through its incorporation in the UK statute,
however the interest here is not the legal status of academic freedom, but how it is
enacted in the day-to-day activities of UK business schools. As business schools seek
to be more enterprising, they are encouraged to think more strategically about their
engagements with external stakeholders. They become more conscious of their public
prole which can lead to censorship of faculty whose work is perceived to tarnish the
image of the school and to threaten its relationship with industry and government
sponsors.
Earlier, it was noted how Lambert (2003) believes that while universities are not
business they must act like businesses. The increasing attention given to branding and
public image by business schools is a business-like activity and can be used to justify
the imposition of conditions on academic freedom. This demand for loyalty, of course,
contravenes the right of faculty to put forward controversial views without fear of
losing their jobs and in particular, jeopardises the position of potential
whistleblowers.
One respondent, who manages a school, said he would intervene if faculty were
damaging the schools brand. When asked to explain what this meant in practice,
he said:
I would just say I forbid you to do it. And they have a choice then. If I give them a direct
instruction and they disobey it then I will re them. That would be gross . . . it would have to
be quite serious before they did that. It would have to be the equivalent of gross misconduct,
but I would certainly do it . . . Theres a point beyond which freedom becomes disloyalty and
ultimately I see that as one of my responsibilities to make that judgement and defend that
judgement.
A story told by several respondents at one school concerned a faculty member who
was involved in establishing an anti-capitalism discussion group at the university.
When the head of the school became aware of this, she ordered him to withdraw from
the group, because she considered it was not appropriate for a business school to be
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associated with anti-capitalism. She was concerned about the possibility of upsetting
potential sponsors of a new research centre at the school[2]. This story is illustrative of
concerns about academic freedom, with the fear being that business schools, by
entering into partnership with industry and government sponsors, lose their
independence and their capacity for critique.
Censorship can also occur when external sponsors seek to exert their inuence on
the work undertaken by faculty, not just in terms of setting the research agenda, but
also by inuencing how the research is conducted and how ndings are disseminated.
One respondent, who works in a research centre, described an incident which occurred
when he was invited to present a paper at an industry conference. He drafted a paper
that was highly critical of a rm that he had previously provided consultancy services
to. The company was a signicant funder of his university and when it became aware
of the criticism, it approached the head of the school and threatened to withdraw its
funding unless the criticism was removed. The faculty member stood his ground and
the funding was not withdrawn, but he has not been asked to work for the rm again.
While some instances of censorship were reported, there is no indication of
widespread, overt ideological control in the six business schools studied. However,
faculty did report a high incidence of self-censorship, meaning they avoided potentially
controversial work that might upset either the business school or key external
stakeholders. While academic freedom has legal status, respondents believed
it was usually not worth the ght that would be involved to assert their right to
speak out.
Self-identication with enterprise discourse
These threats to academic freedom cannot be ignored, but the ndings also offer some
cause for optimism, since there is evidence that the promotion of enterprise discourse is
not uniformly negative for the protection of academic freedom and autonomy.
Autonomy and freedom are commodied becoming objects that give business
schools a competitive advantage and that demonstrate the relevance of the institution,
therefore justifying its continued support from the public fund.
An illustration of the commodication of critical thought is the sale of consulting
work undertaken by business school faculty. Lambert (2003), in his review of
university-industry collaboration, is keen to increase the level of consultancy, because
of the revenue it brings to universities and because it can foster research collaboration
between the university and industry. For those respondents engaged in consulting, the
independence and capacity for critique that derive from their position within a
university becomes a major selling point.
One respondent, who is active in consultancy with companies and non-prot
organizations, stated that:
Companies are becoming increasingly sceptical of consultants because they often offer a
packaged solution, so in areas where the problem is non-standard thats not enough. They
also want people who are going to look in more depth without an axe to grind and without a
pre-formulated answer, which is precisely what being critical offers. The willingness to be
critical is what some companies want.
Another respondent, who is heavily involved in consultancy, identies strongly with
the identity of the academic entrepreneur:
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On all of our activities we have to meet market demands. And everybody here equally runs
their own business. So for me, gaining money, gaining revenue, dealing with client needs,
meeting client needs, doing research, having that research positioned so that it adds value to
them, running a budget, having the academic community as only one particular stakeholder
group has been my life for as long as Ive known it. So I cant even identify with the research
community.
However, while rejecting the identity of academic this respondent does identify with
the role of critic. He identies two sets of responsibilities providing a service to the
client, but also upholding values of academic freedom and autonomy:
The second area of responsibility is that you are a university. And as a university, despite the
fact that you are nancially, potentially nancially constrained by clients, you do have to
stand above that and offer an opinion in terms of whats happening.
These ndings suggest that meanings of autonomy and freedom within the university
enterprise are multiple and contested. At the level of government policy, it means the
freedom to generate revenue. This threatens a long-held understanding of academic
freedom which positions university faculty as detached from the corrupting inuences
of external stakeholders such as industry and government sponsors. A different
interpretation comes from faculty members self-identication with enterprise
discourse, in which autonomy, freedom and the role of the critic can be accommodated.
Conclusion
It is clear that policymakers in higher education remain infatuated with the discourse
of enterprise, as they do in other areas of the public sector. This is problematic for the
management of academics as knowledge workers, since its articulation by government
poses a direct challenge to freedom and autonomy. This is ironic given that
knowledge-intensive rms are supposed to be distinctive in the autonomy bestowed on
employees and a greater respect for and reliance upon their expert knowledge.
In todays universities, governments narrow vision of enterprise as commercial
exploitation risks compromising these values and with it the motivation, loyalty and
commitment of university faculty.
It becomes increasingly difcult, even for those cynical about new public
management, to think about, talk about and practice higher education without making
reference to some notion of enterprise (Du Gay and Salaman, 1992). This does not mean
that its effects are total and uncontested and this paper goes further to suggest that
these effects are not uniformly negative. Resistance to enterprise can be explained
by the existence of competing discourses which subjects can drawn on in constituting
their identities (Fournier and Grey, 1999). This ndings from this study suggest that in
addition, we should look within the hegemonic discourse itself and in particular the
inconsistencies which create opportunities to challenge and subvert it. Governments
desire for more commercial research is stymied by the RAE, an audit mechanism
which itself is part of enterprise discourse. A second set of possibilities for resistance
comes from the over-determined meaning of enterprise. At the level of Government
policy, enterprise is narrowly dened in commercial terms. However, one can be
enterprising in different ways, some of which openly challenge the narrow denition
of enterprise put forward by government and afrm the role of the autonomous and
critical academic.
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Laclau and Mouffes discourse theory, with its distinctive ontology and assumption
of radical contingency, has the potential to make a valuable contribution to our
understanding of organizational change. Through its broad denition of discourse as
articulatory practice, it is useful for exploring organisational change across multiple
levels, from the language of policy to management practices as well as processes of
identication. Laclau and Mouffes assumption of radical contingency of objects,
identities and practices highlights the contingency of the enterprise project. Even if this
order appears as the new reality there is always opportunity for knowledge workers
to exploit inconsistencies with a discursive articulation in order to resist and
rearticulate it.
It would be unwise to claim too much for Laclau and Mouffes discourse theory,
since its application to organisational analysis is in its formative stage. Much work
remains to be done on a detailed comparison of this approach with critical discourse
analysis and Foucauldian analysis, which are more established in the organizational
change literature. In addition, discourse theory is an abstract amalgam of concepts and
its use as a methodological instrument requires further elaboration. Nevertheless, it is
hoped that this paper has demonstrated that such undertakings would be worthy ones.
Notes
1. For an excellent account of the ontological differences between discourse theory and critical
realism see Willmott (2005).
2. Both the head of the school and the faculty member concerned declined my request for an
interview.
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About the author
Todd Bridgman is a Lecturer in organisational behavoiur at Victoria University of Wellington,
New Zealand. He was previously a Postdoctoral Fellow at the Judge Business School, University
of Cambridge, where he completed his PhD. His research interests include public sector reform,
the role of the university as a civic institution and the discourse theory of Laclau and Mouffe.
Todd Bridgman can be contacted at: todd.bridgman@vuw.ac.nz
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Managers as lazy, stupid
careerists?
Contestation and stereotypes among
software engineers
Dariusz Jemielniak
Kozminski Business School, Warsaw, Poland
Abstract
Purpose The purpose of this paper is to present the results of a qualitative study of software
engineers perception of dress code, career, organizations, and of managers.
Design/methodology/approach The software engineers interviewed work in three European
and two US companies. The research is based on ethnographic data, gathered in two longitudinal
studies during the period 2001-2006. The methods used in the study include open-ended unstructured
interviews, participant observation, collection of stories, and shadowing.
Findings It was found that the majority of software engineers denounce formal dress-codes.
The notion of career was dened by them mostly in terms of occupational development. They
perceived their own managers as very incompetent. Their view on corporations was also univocally
negative. The ndings conrm that software engineers form a very distinctive occupation, dening
itself in opposition to the organization. However, their distinctiveness may be perceived not only as a
manifestation of independence but also contrarily, as simply fullling the organizational role they are
assigned by management.
Originality/value The study contributes to the organizational literature by responding to the call
for more research on high-tech workplace practices, and on non-managerial occupational roles.
Keywords Software engineering, Workplace learning, Managers
Thus, spake the master programmer: Let the programmers be many and the
managers few-then all will be productive (James, 1986).
Introduction
Although the managerial literature is dominated by the perception of culture as a
companys integrative factor or even manageable asset (Hofstede, 1980; Ouchi, 1981;
Peters and Waterman, 1982; Schein, 1985), many authors show that organizational
realities are never so simple. In fact these realities abound in conicting and chameleon
subcultures, quite often challenging the dominant managerial view (Rosen, 1991;
Van Maanen, 1991; Martin, 1993). Conict between managers (basing their power on
the company owners mandate and formal structures) and professionals (in turn basing
their power on knowledge) occurs in many, if not most, organizations (Hall, 1986;
Abbott, 1988; Trice, 1993). A good illustration of this tension is given by Pondy (1983),
who cites the example of accountants who have a proverb that their job is protecting
the company from the managers.
The author would like to sincerely thank Davydd Greenwood, Pauline Gleadle, and the anonymous
reviewers, whose constructive critique and comments helped in improving this paper.
Managers as
lazy, stupid
careerists?
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Management
Vol. 20 No. 4, 2007
pp. 491-508
0953-4814
DOI 10.1108/09534810710760045
Kunda comments that managers must learn to squeeze the most out of engineers and
development groups (Kunda, 1992, p. 44). Software engineers are a professional group
that is particularly subject to constant managerial pressure and a consequent burn-out.
They also experience time famine having to work to constant deadlines and tight
budgets (Kunda, 1992; Perlow, 1997; Perlow, 1998; Cooper, 2000; Jemielniak, 2005). This
is perhaps hardly surprising, in view of the nding that high-tech workers are often
subject to normative control, to an imposition of values and feelings from the greedy
organization (Coser, 1974; Kanter, 1977; Kidder, 1981; Kunda, 1992; Hochschild, 1997).
Viewed in this light, identity shaping, indoctrination, and creation of emotions are all
tools used by management (Jackall, 1988; Karreman and Alvesson, 2004).
Indeed, it is argued that managers and professionals (particularly engineers) are
those who most closely identify with the companies for whom they work (Kunda and
Van Maanen, 1999, p. 64). However, as commented elsewhere, software engineers forma
quite unique and distinctive (counter)culture (Kraft, 1977; Bucciarelli, 1988; Trice and
Beyer, 1993; Garsten, 1994; Kunda and Van Maanen, 1999; Hertzum, 2002; Pineiro, 2003;
Vallas, 2003). They manifest their distance from organizations they work for in many
different ways (Kidder, 1981; Perlow, 1997). They form also, as some authors claim, the
avant-garde of the brave new workplace of (the) electronic age (Gephart, 2002).
The current study is an ethnography of a particular work group with distinctive
attitudes at odds with management. The study is interesting for the way it addresses
and illuminates the nature and implications of work-place culture and other differences
which co-exist within a work setting.
Method and its limitations
A longitudinal ethnographical study was conducted in three Polish and two US IT
companies. The research method was based on non-participant direct observation,
collected written stories (asking interviewees to write a story beginning with a phrase
Once a software engineer met a manager . . . ), shadowing of the selected actors, and
open unstructured interviews, lasting typically 40-50 minutes (55 software engineers and
ve managers in the study). Importantly, all interviewees were salaried workers, not
contractors. However, in the companies studied the majority of programmers were
employed full-time, the sole exception being the temporary coders. Those were not treated
by the fully employed as really belonging to the group and thus were not interviewed.
To assure anonymity, the interviewees names were replaced by a companys
ctitious nickname and a number. The results are performative, not ostensive, as in
Latours (1986) terminology. In this sense they aim to understand and explain the point
of view of the interviewed, rather than at offering a denitive interpretation of the
analyzed problem, resulting from a preconceived theoretical model. Thus, the choice of
questions was very much dependent on how the interview progressed and the outcome
is to a large extent under the inuence of the interviewees (Whyte and Whyte, 1984).
For structural reasons, carefully selected excerpts are presented from
interviews found particularly representative of what most of the informants said.
The title of the paper, on the contrary, reects the authors own synthesis of the
interviews. The paper is organized into four sections. The rst addresses the most
visible issue of dress code and software engineers perception of this. The second
covers their view of career. The third is dedicated mainly to their comments about
organizations and managers. Finally, the last section sums up and places the ndings
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within the framework of professionalization theory. We conclude that paradoxically,
the rebellious role programmers play in many organizations may result from the
strong expectations organizations explicitly present them with.
Coders dress code
The way people dress conveys many meanings, sometimes even resulting in the name
given to an organization group. The Brown Shirts formation is one of many historical
examples, but organizations commonly have such groups. For example, according to
Johnson (1990), suits is a term commonly used by blue-collar workers to describe
managers. Similar tendencies can be observed in high-tech businesses. According to
Kawasaki (1990), a top manager in Apple, calls programmers T-shirts and labels
people from nance or marketing ties.
Indeed, software engineers are quite often depicted as dressing very informally (e.g.
by this groups ethnographic pioneer: Kidder, 1981). According to an Australian
corporate stylist, Melanie Moss, IT workers are perhaps the worst dressed
professionals in all industries (Hearn, 2005). In the current study of ve companies, out
of 55 software engineers interviewed, none regularly wore a suit or a tie. In contrast, all
managers and salespeople encountered wore both at all times. The difference was so
marked that it was decided to explore reasons behind these differences.
Most of the programmers initially expressed a belief that their profession did not
have any dress-code. They also quite commonly said that the company they worked for
did not impose any rules in this respect. You can dress however you like Anything
goes Wear something, thats the rule [laughter] were the recurrent comments.
The general tone of the responses is represented by the following excerpt (Wodan2):
I never really liked suits, I didnt feel comfortable in them, but I dont know . . . My friends
who are software engineers, too, but work for the big companies, they often have to wear
suits. They have something like a policy or an agreement, about what they have to wear,
and so on. But here its different.
Here, its different was what interviewees often repeated, no matter which company
they worked at. Even in the big corporations studied here (American, one of the world
leaders in speech recognition, and Polish, a Central European leader inbusiness software
solutions) the programmers not only shared this belief, but also stated that they did not
like other big companies policies that enforced a strict dress code. Viewed in this light
a suit was described as a symbol of being boring or even uncultured (minicorp4):
[Q:] What about the way software engineers dress? Can you tell me more about this?
[A:] Well, about software engineers dress . . . Im not sure; Id think what you wear is not that
related to any particular job at all. Or it is rather related to some conventions of a rm. I mean,
in general I noticed, that in todays world a white shirt and a suit are like a military uniform of a
sort, there is some uniformity. I guess it is supposed to suggest working culture, but it suggests
the lack of it. No offence, but you wear a white shirt for some special occasion, not every day,
this is why its special. Here, at our company, it is a small one anyway; we dont have any dress
code whatsoever. It is a fact, though, that when we go to see a client, we do wear a suit, and our
boss asks us to do so. But this is rather obvious, it in a way shows respect for the client (. . .).
This interviewee dened a suit as a military uniform; consciously or not recognizing
its historical origins, expressing a very negative opinion of dress codes per se.
Managers as
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493
However, he did believe, and so did most of the interviewed, in the necessity of wearing
a suit for meetings with clients.
Although in general interviewees at rst did not recognize that a dress code existed,
many of them added that their peers in fact do exert subtle pressure on how to dress.
These observations were consistent with the negative perception of formal dress codes
(Wodan2):
[Q:] If you wore a suit, how would it be received?
[A:] Well, colleagues would laugh denitely. But it wouldnt be mean, just friendly comments.
You know, we dont usually wear suits, so if somebody appears in one it somehow causes
reactions . . .
This pressure was described by many of the informants. The dialogue typically went
as follows (Minicorp5):
[Q:] Could you tell me more about how software engineer dress?
[A:] Well, in our company you can dress as you like.
[Q:] I understand . . . But in some companies people are not told what they are supposed to
wear, but they still dress in a particular way, e.g. a suit.
[A:] Sure. You can wear a suit and tie here, if you want, sure. But people prefer not to.
[Q:] Why? What would happen, if you did?
[A:] Well, people would snigger, naturally. I guess it is difcult to describe, its specic. . .
When somebody has a meeting with a client, people start commenting on it.
[Q:] Really? In what way?
[A:] They make silly remarks, like ho ho! and so on . . . comments that youre in a suit, and
that you look so cute, and that maybe you are going to propose to your girlfriend.
So wearing a suit was accepted only for meeting clients (Sand7):
[Q:] Do you often wear a suit?
[A:] Occasionally, and only if I am told earlier that I have a meeting with a client, then yes.
Lets say a day earlier I am told, so I wear a tie, and go to the client. You know, you have to
look presentable when you meet a client (. . .)
Software engineers described, how they rejected a formal dress-code within the
organization, while observing it outside[1]. When outside the organization programmers
felt they represented the rmand so for this reason they accepted, even if not welcoming,
the external dress code. Wearing a suit was a sign of respect for the client. Inside the rm,
though, they perceived wearing a suit and tie as being beyond the pale.
The failure to wear a suit is a sign of not belonging to certain organizational groups,
usually management, marketing and sales. Crane (1997) views bohemian dress style as an
avant-gardist aesthetic practice meaningful mainly in opposition to mainstream fashion.
For programmers, a formal dress code was not perceived as a sign of high status, as is the
case in many other contexts (Rafaelli and Pratt, 1993). They did not emphasize their
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independence by common choice of some particular clothes. On the contrary, their status
was dened rather by their freedom of preference in this respect. They enjoyed their
freedom from a formal dress code, instead joking about their peers who had to conform.
Paradoxically, dressingsupposedlycarelesslycouldbe viewedhere as a signof power and
competence. But to understand the meaning of this symbolism, it is necessary to explore
software engineers views of management, and of organizations.
Organizing and managers
Most of interviewees did not mince their words when they spoke of big companies.
Many criticized corporations, without prompting (Wodan6):
[Q:] Would you like to work in a bigger company?
[A:] No. I get goose pimples whenever I think about big rms. I mean, well, I dont really like the
idea of them. Even without thinking too much about it, its obvious that the bigger the
organization, the less exible it is. Things take longer, everythinghas to go throughmore people.
And second of all, I was never really impressed . . . I was never impressed by big companies, all
this paperwork, I think I always associated it with something bad . . . maybe with propaganda.
[Q:] Propaganda?
[A:] Yeah. Just think what happens in these companies . . . They brainwash people: you are
the best, you are a team member, you are . . . you have to achieve something, and then
something else, and else . . . Thats my impression and this is what my friends, who work in
bigger rms, tell me. You are simply a cog in the wheel there.
The programmer described a typical big corporation. He stressed the ideological
character of managerial rhetoric by labeling it propaganda. Many other informants
expressed a similar distaste for managerial rhetoric (Sand1):
[Q:] What irritates you about the company?
[A:] Oh, occasionally many things. . . I think what I dislike most is when somebody from the
higher echelons, some big boss, comes here and blabs on about how much they care about our
work and how important we are, and when we ask about the promised raises he behaves as if
we offended him. Seriously, we had this situation a couple of months ago. And we have this
sort of blah-blah on an everyday basis.
The interviewees clearly identied the agitprop character of many of the ofcial
organizational announcements. Blabbing and blah-blah was how they saw the
bosses rhetoric. Programmers stressed their anti-ideological stance. Ideology itself
was denounced, even if was not particularly striking in organizations they worked for,
it constituted the most disliked element of the stereotypical corporation. Whether it
was what they experienced in their organizations or not, managerial indoctrination
was listed as being exceptionally repulsive.
Correctional ofcers in Klofas and Tochs (1982) research often shared a belief that
the mainstream culture of their profession does exist, even though they did not
belong to it. Similarly, interviewees in the current study, even the ones from really big
rms, unanimously said that even though the companies they work for are exceptions
to the rule, in general big organizations are unfriendly and hierarchical.
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All programmers from two corporations operating in the international markets made
such statements (Sand18):
[Q:] What attracted you to this company?
[A:] Well, Id say I came practically in off from the street, I didnt know anyone here.
But I must say, that it is different from what people say, that the companys big, takes
advantage of people, and so on. The atmosphere here is denitely humane, were a separate
team anyway, a separate cell, a bit away from the rest of the rm, so you dont normally even
notice that the company is big, maybe just occasionally.
For a pretty neutral question about the reasons for working in the rm he worked, the
interviewee was making excuses, questioning what people say. He justied his
choice and emphasized that even though the whole company is big, his unit is small
and structurally independent, indeed denitely humane; in contrast to elsewhere.
Other interviewees, in similar tone, referred to bureaucracy as a typical and
particularly striking aw of bigger rms (Wodan4):
[Q:] What made you apply for a job in this company, when you didnt even know it?
[A:] Small size; that for a start.
[Q:] Why is that important?
[A:] Well, its not that being small is important, its that being big is a problem. I mean,
I, you know, have friends from university, a couple of them at least, who went to work
with big corporations, I wont give you their names, but there the internal problems are
somehow multiplied.
[Q:] What kind of internal problems?
[A:] For example: a stupid boss. And apart from this there is also another, namely
bureaucracy. I mean, in particular, it happens often, that a guy gets an order . . . I mean for
example, gets an order, spends two days on preparing some document, and then a bigger
boss comes and throws this away. Says that its something totally else. In small rms you
can communicate directly, there are fewer people in general; work is not wasted as much.
In big corporations nobody minds that somebody lost two days on some crap, that wasnt
even used after all. And you have to spend lots of time on in-ghting. You have to intrigue
and drive people out, so as to prevent yourself from being driven out.
The inevitability of power struggles in bureaucracies was emphasized in many
interviews. Software engineers criticized the highly political nature of organizational
life and its irrationality, resulting from undue bureaucracy. They also resented the fact
that in many companies they have to engage in the game on managerial terms, so as
not to be marginalized.
Negative views of management (stupid boss) were repeated in many interviews.
Large company size was associated with inefciency and in-ghting. There was a
common fear of incompetent bosses in big corporations (Minicorp3):
[Q:] What do you like about the company you work for?
[A:] First of all, that its small.
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[Q:] So whats so important about being small?
[A:] Well, a friend from work, who brought me here, put it nicely: he said there is no
dilbertization. I guess you know what I mean. And I think its because the company isnt big,
you know.
[Q:] What is dilbertization?
[A:] Well, I mean, its not an exact term, ok? But in general, when there is no dilbertization,
youre not talking about big companies and youre just working faster, without problems.
I mean problems . . . From what I hear, in bigger companies people have to do the same job
several times, because a manager changed his mind, a company changed its mind, and so on.
A popular cartoon caricaturing corporations absurd behaviour, the comic strip
Dilbert was used as a catch-phrase for big companies. Again, even though the
questions were focused on the companies programmers worked for, rather than on
management, the gure of the boss was brought up spontaneously, as an important
icon of the company. The manager was described as somebody who changes his mind,
and makes people work not only more, but also for nothing. Such negative perception
was intensied when I asked about managers directly (Wodan4):
[Q:] So, I have a nal question. Could you give some advice to managers, people who lead
IT projects? Some dos and donts? What would you advise?
[A:] Well, my view of a bad manager is somebody, who knows nothing but pretends to know
a lot.
Software engineers question not only managerial competence in IT projects. They also
challenge managerial knowledge per se. People who pursue a career in management do
so because they cannot do anything else. As a result of their technical ignorance they
make unrealistic demands, the most common complaint of programmers.
Many of the interviewees expressed frustration with the fact that their superiors
perceived software as easily modiable. A typical example is as follows from Wodan:
Tom, the project manager opens a meeting with the programming team. He refers to a
discussion with a client and describes the list of changes the client asks for. Programmers
take notes, sometimes asking questions for clarication. Occasionally they make remarks like
Will do OK, if THATS what they want . . . However, one of the changes leads to an
astonished reaction. Peter, a member of the programming team, says But it would require a
major revision of the program. Somebody adds It doesnt make any sense; well have to
start all over again. Tom is very apologetic, he explains that the client is really important,
and the change has already been approved by the company. He dismisses all doubts raised.
By way of consolation he adds that he was able to negotiate a deadline extension, but two
programmers shake their heads, even though they say nothing. Once the meeting is over the
team stays in the room to decide what to do. Mark, one of the programmers, says Its just
software and everybody laughs. Later I ask him what it meant. Oh, you know. They never
would ask an engineer to rebuild a bridge, or something physical, right? But they think
software is like a couple of written lines, like a document or something, that you can alter
whenever you want and how you want. But its like rebuilding a bridge, or worse, as you
dont really understand what one change will imply elsewhere. Once before we had a similar
situation, and there was some ridiculous revision of the specication almost near the end of
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the whole project, and somebody said Take it easy, its just software. It was so absurd, you
know. So since then we say that and everybody knows, what it means.
The tension described had its roots in managerial misconception of programmers
work. Although interviewees did give some examples of knowledgeable managers,
they faced misunderstanding and even disparaging of their own work on daily basis.
But managers were criticized not only for their lack of skill. Another issue pointed out
by more than a half of the interviewed was a fundamental difference in perception of
software as a nal product (Sand17):
[Q:] What could you tell me from your own experience about relations between a software
engineer and manager?
[A:] Well, its not too good, Id say. I think there are two approaches. I mean, a manager
always thinks about effectiveness. It doesnt matter howsomething works, it only has to work.
And among programmers, there are two groups, as I said. Some do, excuse the expression,
fart around, and follow managerial commands. But there are also programmers, who do
something real, and they want to do it well, and doing this well is a bone of contention. For a
manager doing something well means that something works. For a programmer it means
that a program works, is stable, and has additional features, and so on.
Following managerial instructions was compared to farting around. It was
contrasted to a stance, in which a programmer really cares about the product, while
a manager only wants it to be workable on basic level. Indeed, it is not unusual for
managers to identify with the organization they work for, and for employees to identify
more with the products they create (Sievers, 1990). Software engineers, however,
expressed also a deep contempt for what managers do. Much of it was related to the
way managers treated them. As one of the programmers put it (Visualprog3):
[Q:] Could you, based on your own experience, give some advice to IT managers?
[A:] Id say. . . In general, a good manager does not watch over you the whole time you know. I
mean if he knows what I have to do, and I know what I have to do, and we agree more or less
when it can be done, whats the point? Maybe its just me, some people like to be led by hand,
but in my view the best managers I worked with understood, that ok, I can update them every
10 minutes or in real time, but then my job will only consist of describing why I cant do
programming at all because of this reporting, you know? Not to mention that if youre in the
middle of something and somebody comes and asks you to write something immediately, you
drop everything, start doing this report, and cant return easily to what you did earlier. Its not
that simple.
What was noticeable was that most of advice interviewees dispensed concerned the
things that managers should avoid doing. In software engineers view the best
managers were those who intervened as little as possible, and simply followed a
laissez-faire principle. In fact, the community of software engineers seemed to dene
the managers as redundant at best.
The best manager was one notable by his absence as managers were portrayed as
stupid. However, it was recognized that managers were powerful and so programmers
have to take part in their games, much as they tried to avoid this. The software
engineers were unanimously sceptical and even hostile towards formality and
procedures, which they associated with the companies they worked for, or with the
general idea of how the rms operate. Whenever their organizations were described in
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a positive way, they were praised for being exceptions to the general rule. Although
interviewees admitted the usefulness of organizing per se, they all criticized it rst,
and only then added disclaimers.
Interestingly, enough, these views were recognized and even accepted by managers.
They often made an effort to minimize bureaucracy for programmers. The following
scene from the company orientation program at Visualprog was particularly striking:
Vera, the HRM ofcer for Visualprog is welcoming two new engineers. One of them will join
the software group, the other will be supporting the business development department.
Even though this is the rst day at the company for the two of them, they both wear sweaters.
Vera, on the other hand, wears a suit. She spends about 30 minutes describing the history of
the company. Quite often she emphasizes the uniqueness of the environment they are going to
work in (. . .) Youre part of a small company that was organizationally designed to be agile.
People come here and say that everything here is a chaos. But it is just different. Were really
not big on org charts . . . Both engineers nod and read the companys employees benets
folder. Vera speaks uently and clearly, quite often repeating herself, probably on purpose.
Maybe its just an impression, but it seems as though she has delivered this speech many
times before. She takes a piece of paper out of her folder. You wont have to memorize this,
its funny we have this on the walls, but nobody really takes any notice of it she says and
recites the companys mission. Then she goes on to describe the reasons the company had for
choosing ISO quality system several years ago. Our quality system, all respect due to the
creators, is not very user friendly she adds with a smile. She hands a procedure chart to both
of them. Youre welcome to read all of our quality procedures. If you do, let me know I will
be really impressed. But seriously, you wont have to do so much paperwork here; were kind
of sensitive enough to make sure you dont have to.
The companys agility and chaos are presented as strong points for engineers.
The ISO system, quite strict about procedures, is depicted as not necessarily inevitable
(the engineers are ironically informed that they do not have to read all of the
procedures) and as not entailing much paperwork. Caricatured and selective as this
view of software engineers in the eyes of managers may be, it is still worth noticing
that in the companies studied, managers quite often made allowances for
programmers, commonly lowering bureaucratic expectations of them.
Deep-seated or just a veneer?
The hostility of software engineers to managers may be inuenced by group
stereotypes (Gill, 2003). Many of the symbolic gestures described have only surface
meaning, and performing opposition may be in fact a sort of behavioral artifact.
This would be particularly understandable when considered that, in contrast to the
specialists described by Barley and Kunda (2004) in their study, interviewees were not
contract workers and they stayed in the organizations by their own choice, in spite of
available alternatives. This could mean that they were not exasperated enough to leave
the organization, but also that they need to channel their negative reactions within the
company. When knowing how well freelance workforce may be off, and while still
being reluctant to leave the relatively safer payroll jobs, their aspirations and
emotional reaction towards organizations could just as well be under the inuence of
those hired guns. Itinerant programmers, reviving the Wild West archetype (and
similarly to hackers, another important icon of this profession Thomas, 2002)
cultivate the idea of freedom and criticize big corporations. Interviewees might have
been simply borrowing this language and using it perfunctorily.
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However, even surface actions and stereotypes show the ways in which
organizational reality is constructed. They constitute nothing more, but also nothing
less than a particular kind of stories by which actors organize and make sense of their
workplace (Boje, 1991; Feldman and Skolberg, 2004).
Software engineers, similar to architects in this respect, have to dene their
profession in relation (or opposition) to the clients and organizations they work for
(Larson, 1993, p. 144; Kociatkiewicz and Kostera, 2003). Organizations exist as speech
communities, sharing an intersubjectively created system of meanings (Barley, 1983).
In this light language of the analyzed group, forms reenactment of their roles. They
reproduce sense and artifacts of daily work (Czarniawska-Joerges, 1992). Moreover,
within the current study, the main focus is on actors expressions, and the researcher
should not judge which of them are deep, and which is a veneer. The power of naming
is the power to shape reality. Additionally, within the methodology adopted, it may be
quite difcult to discern the veneer from the essence, as the main purpose of the study
is to analyze what the interviewees say, rather than guessing what they may mean
(Rottenburg, 1994). Indeed, in this paper surface acting is regarded as equally
important to deeply held beliefs. In the following paragraphs we interpret the
programmers-managers hostility, and the unusual denouncement of traditional career
and organizational values in the context of theories around professionalization.
Professionalization?
It may be useful to try to apply professionalization theory to the processes discussed.
The tension between managers and software engineers could be understood as
resulting from professionalization of engineers currently taking place. In some sense
this tension is understandable in terms of antagonism between the managing and the
managed, based on the old strategy of struggle, resulting in redening the relations of
organizational power (Foucault, 1982; Latour, 1986).
Originally professions were dened in terms of the altruistic provision of high
standards of service to society (Carr-Saunders, 1966; Wilensky, 1964). Over the last
30 years it has been demonstrated, that it is also useful to use this term to describe a
common trend among occupations in search of authority and recognition, and seeking
to secure their own interests and privileges (Abbott, 1988; Alvesson, 1993). In this
context, questioning managerial competence could be perceived then as a typical
struggle regarding who should dene the product and its standards. In more general
terms it could be seen as an attempt of attaining social position and privileges. The
extent to which a worker has control over the process of production, as well as to which
vocational group is privileged to evaluate the outcome of work, have been emphasized
as important for the advance of professionalization (Johnson, 1972; Trice, 1993).
Viewed in this light, software engineers dislike of their superiors would be nothing
else but a manifestation of their subcultures struggle for legitimacy, quite typical for
many occupations. In this sense the professionalization approach could be used then as
an explanatory metaphor for understanding the interviews.
However, the traditional understanding of professions may be not fully applicable
in case of software engineers. In order to be regarded as a profession, they would have
to fulll many criteria, including long formal and standardized education, barriers to
entry, own code of ethics, peers fraternities, client orientation, application of scientic
methods, etc. (Abbott, 1988; Brante, 1988). Clearly, software engineers do not meet at
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least some of these requirements. For example, they very seldom unionize (Milton,
2003; Jaarsveld, 2004) and rarely belong to professional associations. Indeed,
interviewees on many occasions showed that they not only did not fulll the
requirements of the model of professionalization, but also that they could not care less
about the concepts it emphasized as important.
Something else that was at odds with the model of professionalization was that
software engineering often calls for creativity, intuition and improvising, which are to
some extent in conict with a strict professional training.
Finally, professionalization theory refers to a process of formalizing the status and
organization of some occupation, and this is not what software engineers favored. In this
light it is also worth mentioning that the software engineers interviewed commonly
categorize their managers, clients, but also their peers by referring to their knowledge,
rather than to their formal status as in the following interview extract:
[Q:] Can you give an example of a really good manager?
[A:] Well, once I had a project leader, who was really outstanding. He was a former
programmer, but he hadnt written a line of code for years, and thank God he knew he wasnt
able to do this anymore. But he had a good grasp of what is possible and what is not, he really
understood how things work. And he really knew something about projects, it was not that he
went in for micro managing your work.
In describing other programmers the interviewees also often referred to their
competences, irrespective of formal position or age (he is quite new to our company,
but he really knows the technology well . . . Its ridiculous that people with such poor
understanding of the environment are allowed to coordinate the whole team at all . . . ).
Even among the interviewees some programmers were perceived as just coders and
their work was described as purely reproductive, just as a couple of project leaders,
although high in the organizational hierarchy, were not respected because of their
supposed ignorance.
What is certain is that interviewees in general did not particularly like managers
showing up on the horizon at all. As the engineers said, they were able to control their
own work to a large extent, irrespective of managerial interventions and checks.
According to software engineers the managers also did not, and even were not able to
delve into the process of software creation with any competence, being able only
to judge outcomes. Moreover, other than simply communicating clients needs,
managers rarely participated in discussions of how particular problems should be
solved.
Despite this lack of understanding, management persisted in trying to exert its
authority. For example, many programmers were subject to some forms of basic
personal surveillance: in four of the companies researched the time spent at work was
tracked (both by the clock and by computer logs). One of the stories recounted by
interviewees at Sand was a particularly good example of how companies try to control
software engineers, and at the same time how they resist it. The story was about a
programmer, who supposedly:
. . . logged into the network in his cubicle, opened a couple of applications, left his jacket on
the chair, put a cup of water on the table, and just drove with his wife to the mountains till
Monday. The funniest thing is that nobody really noticed he wasnt there. I mean, probably
Managers as
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careerists?
501
some people knew hes not around, but nobody said anything and the manager thought hes
just working hard somewhere else.
Although perhaps apocryphal, this story describes both the resented surveillance, and
the hero outwitting the hated system.
In fact, the use of a professionalization discourse may actually turn out to be a
managerial device used to exert more control over the IT professional (Kraft, 1977;
Greenbaum, 1979), a sort of ideological device validating a given rhetoric (Prasad and
Prasad, 1994).
It has been commented that the importance of organization (and thus managers, in
opposition to vocational groups) is historically relatively new (Whalley and Barley,
1997; Winter and Taylor, 2001). Thus, currently we can observe trends in the
workplace that restore the former signicance of particular occupations. The tension
discussed is described then in terms of emerging knowledge workers organization or
so-called intellectual capital (Bell, 1973, 1989; Mallet, 1975; Hippel, 1988; Senge, 1990;
Drucker, 1993; Stewart, 1997; Styhre, 2003). Perhaps, a new culture is developing in
relation to new specialists its distinguishing marks being competence-based
authority, horizontal at structures, the demise of management and low formalization
(Zabusky and Barley, 1996). These characteristics are true of many IT companies and
may suggest that software engineers exist in opposition to traditional bureaucracies as
their occupational identity is based mainly on knowledge. Thus, they denounce the
bureaucracy, the vertical career structures, and formal authority of managers as
reinforcing the old system they want to replace. In this sense software engineers could
be labeled as organizational professionals (Freidson, 1986) in that they exercise their
competence and power within, rather than over organizations, in distinction to the
classic professions.
However, a totally different interpretation is possible, too. Software engineers may
in fact be acting as the passive carriers of organizational roles, only agreeing to assume
the role of a rebel. This view will be discussed in the conclusions.
Conclusions
Managerial power in many organizations can be understood in terms of their ability to
impose their denition of their own cultural terrain on other groups and so to force the
adoption of their own vocabulary (Rosen, 1991). Software engineers may constitute a
major threat to managerial rhetoric, to managerial monophony (Hop, 1995).
As Zabusky (1997, p. 129) observes:
[T]his conjunction does not represent a simple juxtaposition of two complementary forms;
instead, it involves a contest for legitimacy, authority and autonomy within contemporary
organizations. The contest is played out particularly among these technicians who are
coming to work in bureaucratic organizations in increasing numbers.
Czarniawska-Joerges (1988) describes organizational ideology as a system of ideas that
dene the local reality, including the desired state of matters and ways to reach it.
These ideas permeate the organization, imposing norms on the participating actors,
who have to react towards them, one way or another. However, these ideas do not come
from nowhere: organizations follow the ideas their stakeholders consider to be
particularly valid. In this connection Meyer and Rowan (1977, p. 341) comment:
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. . . the formal structures of many organizations in postindustrial society (Bell, 1973)
dramatically reect the myths of their institutional environments instead of the demands of
their work activities.
According to this perspective, in order to be successful economically, organizations
should abandon their traditional structure, decrease bureaucracy, and rely on
knowledgeable gurus. Whether organizations with the new specialists playing major
roles are indeed more effective is another issue.
According to Schon (1983), the myth of nally reaching the stage where organizations
will be knowledge-driven, and knowledge industries will be as important for the economy
as were formerly railroad or steel, is an old idea (Mallet, 1975). Indeed, for many years
futurologists have proclaimed the era of the technical expert. Managerial functional
literature has also gradually introduced the idea that specialists in general, and software
engineers in particular, play a signicant role in organizations. This role requires a
particular approach and abandoning older management style, as programmers are too
distinctive and important, to be treated like other employees (Licker, 1983; Prager, 1999).
Brante (1988, p. 123) summarizes this point, when commenting that:
In contrast to the old bureaucracy, their positions do not rest on legal authority but on
argument, reason, and knowledge. Therefore, they stand in a politically contradictory relation
to the old guardians which they regard as irrational and ignorant.
This view is arguably applicable to software engineers as they are professionals
in that they are endowed with high esteem and authority. However, the ideal of
the software engineer is that of the organizational rebel.
Managers treat programmers as being in the avant-garde of the future workplace,
and this way the programmers full this role. Indeed, their rejection of managerial
culture is even expected and so required by the environment they work in. Ullman
(1995) comments in this connection:
The research is being funded through a chain of agencies and bodies which culminates in the
Japan Board of Trade. The head of the sponsoring department comes with his underlings.
They all wear blue suits. They sit at the conference table with their hands folded neatly in
front of them. When they speak, it is with the utmost discretion; their voices are so soft, we
have to lean forward to hear. Meanwhile, the research team behaves badly, bickers, has the
audacity to ask when theyll get paid.
The Japanese dont seem to mind. On the contrary, they appear delighted. They have received
exactly what their money was intended to buy. They have purchased bizarre and brilliant
Californians who can behave any way they like. The odd behavior reassures them: Ah! These
must be real top-rate engineers!
Similar scenes have occurred in the companies studied. Vera from Visualprog when
introducing new employees to the company, after describing the organizational
structure and ISO policies to them, still on many occasions later emphasized they will
not be required to ll in the paperwork, as elsewhere or expected to spend most time
on reporting, rather than actual work. Software engineers are expected to dislike
procedures and resist bureaucracy. Indeed, the role they assume of anarchistic
professionals is perhaps necessary for other reasons.
For example, their knowledge can be viewed as standardized, systematic, and
impersonal. Onlythenit is justiable andreasonable to provide themwithspecications
Managers as
lazy, stupid
careerists?
503
of the needed construction rather than engage them in communication/brainstorming
with the client on what the program should actually do. In such a setting the knowledge
associated with software development is more likely to be perceived as quantitative,
codied, and explicit rather than qualitative, intuitive and tacit. Norm goes
before creativity, standard education before genius. As a result organizations and
managers tend to ignore individual aspects of coding, as well as its unique, extremely
contextual character (in most cases advanced IT systems require lots of adjustments and
modications, if not revisions, for any additional client). For example, companies treat
programmers as interchangeable and they follow a misleading man-month myth,
believing that adding man-power to a project may help in nishing it more quickly (in fact
usually it is just the opposite Brooks, 1995). The same approach leads to the its
just software principle, described by the informants. In fact, these assumptions are,
Bryant (2000) shows, a major drawback in understanding programming, and one of the
mainobstacles insuccessful communicationbetweenmanagers andprogrammers. This is
exactly what interviewees remarked on in their stories on managerial incompetence.
Another reason is that their understanding of their own role calls for the creation
of schedules, division of labor, as well as linear communication with the client.
This inevitably results in perceiving software as transferable, with assignable
responsibilities and tasks, and as designed according to an initial specication with
just minor changes introduced later. It also goes without saying that such a denition
of programmers position is much more convenient for managers as well. On the one
hand, software engineers are heroes of the future, fullling the myth of
knowledge-intensiveness. On the other they have to write programs, which are
extremely complex and contextual, as if they were easily replicable and modiable;
they are expected to (re)produce rather than to create. No wonder that being treated
this way, and explicitly persuaded to renounce structures and procedures, they also do
not particularly like their superiors whom they regard as lazy stupid careerists.
Note
1. The old debate on the sense or otherwise of dening the boundaries of an organization
(Weick, 1979) and on the use of notions such as outside or inside does not constitute the
subject of this paper.
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About the authors
Dariusz Jemielniak is Assistant Professor of Management at Kozminski Business School,
Warsaw, Poland. He was visiting researcher at Cornell University (2004-2005), is currently
visiting researcher at Harvard University and will have the same appointment at the University
of California Berkeley in 2008. He is a co-editor of The Handbook of Research on
Knowledge-Intensive Organizations (2009) and of Management Practices in High Tech
Environments (2008). He has received scholarships from The Fulbright Foundation, The
Foundation for Polish Science and from The Collegium Invisibile. His areas of interest include
organizational practices in knowledge-intensive environments and he has done qualitative
studies of engineers including software engineers, and is currently conducting a follow-up study
on lawyers. Dariusz is also starting to undertake action research. Dariusz Jemielniak can be
contacted at: darekj@kozminski.edu.pl
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Knowledge workers in the
in-between: network identities
Tara Fenwick
University of British Columbia, Vancouver, Canada
Abstract
Purpose This paper seeks to examine the identities and subjectivities of independent knowledge
workers who contract their services to organizations. Two questions are addressed: who are these
enterprising knowledge workers, in terms of how they understand and position themselves relative to
organizational structures, practices and social relations in their work as inside outsiders? How do
they recognize their own constitution, and what spaces for agency are possible?
Design/methodology/approach The discussion draws upon a qualitative study of
18 self-employed consultants in organizational change, analysing their articulations as ongoing
constitutions within prescribed discourses and cultural technologies. Semi-structured in-depth
interviews were analysed inductively to determine themes and silences among the narratives.
Findings The argument shows how these subjectivities emerge from in-between spaces, both
inside and outside organizations. As they negotiate these spaces, they exercise agency by resisting
control while building connections. These articulations are described as network identities.
Originality/value The paper concludes with implications for organizations employing or
contracting with such individuals. Suggestions for managers involve enabling more project structures,
negotiating boundaries and purposes more clearly, providing more exible conditions and facilitating
more integration of these knowledge workers with other employees before, during and following
innovative project activity.
Keywords Knowledge management, Contract workers, Networking
Introduction
With massive organizational restructuring in 1990s in North America and the
consequent shufing and even dissolution of jobs in the professional/middle
managerial ranks, many knowledge workers left organizations to
become self-employed. These self-employed workers have been described variously
as consultants, contractors, freelancers, independent professionals, itinerant experts
(Barley and Kunda, 2004) even boundaryless workers or portfolio workers: popular
writers such as Arthur and Rousseau (2000) maintain they are revolutionising
employment arrangements. While this may be overstating the case, numbers of
self-employed workers certainly appear to be rising in North America, Europe and the
UK. In Canada, for example, Hughes (2001) reports that self-employment rose sharply
in 1990s and has continued to rise steadily since: 15 per cent of all Canadian workers
are now self-employed (Industry Canada, 2006).
At the same time, commentators have drawn attention to the ascendancy of
enterprise as an organizing principle within bureaucracies, which has restructured the
This paper is based on a portion of a three-year project 2002-2005 funded by the Social Sciences
and Humanities Research Council of Canada. The author is grateful to the comments of
anonymous reviewers, whose suggestions have helped strengthen the article considerably.
Knowledge
workers in the
in-between
509
Management
Vol. 20 No. 4, 2007
pp. 509-524
0953-4814
DOI 10.1108/09534810710760054
nature of work within organizations and thrown new emphasis on reexivity as
individuals nd themselves compelled to develop identities as innovative, risk-taking
entrepreneurial selves (Du Gay, 2004; Storey et al., 2005). Barley and Kunda (2004)
argue that the rise in contract-based employment is due to a myriad of pressures and
expectations, not simply demands for exibility, that guide every actors decisions.
What constitutes their knowledge is particularly complex. As Alvesson (2001) points
out, knowledge workers tend to use uncertain, shifting knowledge that is essentially
ambiguous in its content, signicance, and results. This ambiguity, argues Alvesson,
leads to the centrality of securing and regulating identity among knowledge workers.
In fact identity its inuences and processes of manufacture has become an
important site for scrutiny to understand not only particular challenges confronting
contract workers, but also the changing congurations of knowledge that they both
inhabit and enact in organizational conditions of exible work (Alvesson, 2001; Barley
and Kunda, 2004; Chappell et al., 2003; Fenwick, 2004).
The work structures of these contractors tend to have in common four main
characteristics:
(1) their work is typically project-based, dened by individual bounded contracts
of varying periods for varying activities;
(2) they contract their knowledge services to a variety of employers, including
organizations and single clients;
(3) they often juggle multiple projects and contracts simultaneously; and
(4) they remain self-employed and rarely hire other employees except as limited
contracts to assist with particular projects or maintenance services such as their
own accounting (Fenwick, 2004).
Some of the more exuberant studies of these independent, enterprising knowledge
workers have suggested that they are mobile and active in designing their careers,
exhilarated, able to enjoy personal meaning and personal responsibility for their work
(Sullivan, 1999), while contributing to continuous knowledge production (Bird, 1996).
Since, such independent workers tend to form multiple networks, argue Gee et al.
(1996), they enable wide distribution of learning across social groups and institutions.
They supposedly project a positive social vision comprising multiple nodes of learning,
and multiple connections among people, tools and environments created through the
unconstrained knowledge and unbound identities of boundaryless labour (Gee et al.,
1996). Others such as Alvesson (2001) have provided a more suspicious perspective,
showing that their knowledge tends to rely most upon image impression, rhetorical
intensity, and social connections, leading to a shakiness and vulnerability that makes it
difcult to secure and regulate identity.
Particular interest has centred on these workers career identity. How individuals
construct non-organisationally sustained accounts of their working lives is a focus for
Gold and Fraser (2002, p. 583), who examined independent workers strategies for
successful transition. While remaining outsiders to their employing organizations, their
contracted projects require them to inltrate and become immersed in the networks of
relations and practices within the organization, becoming temporary insiders
(Fenwick, 2003). Yet this is a delicate position, for both they as well as the regular
employees recognize that the independent knowledge worker always remains external,
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and is granted certain privileges and freedoms along with exclusions that other
employees do not experience. Thus, the independent knowledge worker occupies an
in-between space: neither a separate enterprise apart from the organization, nor
an integrated part of the organization, even temporarily.
From an organizational point of view, these independently-oriented knowledge
workers are attractive as they tend to be enterprising exible workers who thrive on
challenge and initiative. For organizations, then, two questions are of interest in
examining this phenomenon. Who are these enterprising knowledge workers, in terms
of how they understand and position themselves relative to organizational structures,
practices and social relations in their work as inside outsiders? How do they recognize
their own constitution, and what spaces for agency are possible? These are questions of
identity and subjectivity. Certain rather pessimistic accounts of governmentality in the
workplace (Rose, 1998) suggest that worker identities have been shaped by
contemporary discourses of exibility, enterprise and self-reliance in ways that
govern their very attachments and desires to produce particular subjects required by
contemporary organizations. However, other accounts (Chappell et al., 2003; Davies,
2000; Hey, 2002) contest this rather deterministic reading. They show, through detailed
readings of workers negotiations of material and discursive practices in organizations,
that these workers exercise agency and manage their various identities to create spaces
for freedom, autonomy and security. In the case of self-employed knowledge workers,
these exercises of subjectivity are intimately linked to their relationships and knowledge
services that constitute their work. Barley and Kunda (2004) showthat contractors must
constantly manage what they know and who they know to survive in the market:
a labour of managing ones self, knowledge, and social capital.
This paper addresses these questions by presenting a recent qualitative study of
knowledge workers who left organizational employment to pursue independent careers
in organizational change. What is particularly interesting is that while all of these
individuals profess the enterprising, innovative characteristics of entrepreneurial
identities, none turned to entrepreneurship until after many years among the
rank-and-le of organizational employment. Even when they did make the break to
self-employment, they structured their career as individuals working with and through
other organizations, rather than setting out to build their own organization of
employees and production. Their contracts with organizations revolve around their
knowledge which is tied up with their exercises of and inuences upon their
subjectivit(ies), which in turn is closely integrated with their positions, relations and
practices within organizations. For these reasons, an appreciation of these dynamics of
subjectivity from the perspective of independent knowledge workers is important for
managers in organizations relying on their knowledge provision. The paper closes with
specic implications for managers drawn from the study ndings.
Subjectivity and knowledge work
The questions at issue here have to do with what subjectivities are created in this
independent work, and what processes are involved in their constitution. And what is a
subject? The view adopted here is consistent with post-structural perspectives, that
step away from binaries of the individual as separate from the collective to understand
the subject as discursively constituted, malleable, and positioned at the intersection
of libidinal forces and sociocultural practices (Davies, 2000; Hey, 2002). In this view,
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there is no central authentic self who goes forth with agency and intentionality to
author a life of meaning and accomplishment; there are no transcendental centres of
consciousness, competence, or freedom. As Butler (1992, p. 13) writes, the subject is
neither a ground nor a product, but the permanent possibility of a certain resignifying
process. That is, the subject is an opening in the everyday ux of practices, discourses
and symbols seemingly sewn shut in a path-dependent ow an opening for
unexpected action. This action is of course, infused with, even predicated upon, the
available repertoire of strategies and meanings (including available images of identity),
but until it occurs it remains a possibility: there is suspense, hope, and possible
surprise in the unpredictable uptake that represents the movement of the individual.
In this possibility, in this ongoing constitution, lies the agency of the subject.
Quite unlike conceptions of agency as an individuals internal resource fashioned as will,
intentionandcapacityto act, Davies (2004, p. 4) suggests readingagencyas the capacity
to recognise that constitution and to resist, subvert and change the discourses
themselves through which one is being constituted. Agency, in such a denition, comes
froma persons freedomto recognise multiple openings such that no discursive practice,
or positioning within it by powerful others, can capture and control ones identity. In this
view, autonomy is the recognition of counterpower and counterforce within power and
force, and the awareness of new life forms capable of disrupting or even overwriting
hegemonic forms (Davies, 2004, p. 4). Such a view departs completely from views of
autonomy bound up with individuation, identity-formation, or emancipation fromsocial
structures. Instead, this post-structural notion of autonomy focuses on the question of
just how individuals recognize the multiple forces in which they participate, become
aware of new life forms, take up existing practices and images while resisting others
all in a process of exercising some freedom within the ongoing constitution and
reconstitution of ones subjectivity.
This process is not about nding or creating a self. Subjectivity is not about the
self in this discussion; nor is subjectivity synonymous with identity. Identity is an
image, a symbolic code representing something the subject desires to belong to or
possess, to identify with. The subject strives to perform an identity or various
identities. Identity is ultimately a representation or mental conception that we ascribe
to ourselves and to others:
. . . our conception of who we are, our identity, is constituted by the power of all of the
discursive practices in which we speak which in turn speak us (Chappell et al., 2003, p. 41)
[italics added]
Some suggest that the striving to perform this or that identity, compelled by desire for
identication with an object, position, community or ideal, is driven by a ubiquitous
lack of identity. Further, in the human desire for unity, stability and continuity, we
invent a monolithic, coherent even sedentary story of self a Me, based on our
consciousness and remembrance of identities we have inhabited and performed.
Taylor (1989) links this drive with a desire to dene and reach the good based on moral
ideals of self-mastery and self-control. The result is a turn to reexivity:
The turn to oneself is now also and inescapably a turn to oneself in the rst person
perspective a turn to the self as self. That is what I mean by radical reexivity. Because we
are so deeply embedded in it, we cannot but search for reexive language (Taylor, 1989,
p. 175)
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This turn to the self with accompanying practices of self-improvement and
self-control, energised by a drive for identity, is increasingly viewed as an important
phenomenon by researchers of exible work. Drawing from Giddens theory of
reexive selves, Brocklehurst (2003) argues that independent or boundaryless work
drives people to try to create a concrete and anchored self. This attempt at
self-construction is often knit with creating a rmer sense of place: when geographic
organisational boundaries are removed individuals try to x other boundaries that
they perceive will enable their very existence.
Yet in its enactment the subject is always in motion, and constantly produced in
time and space. Subjectivity has no existence, per se: it cannot be xed and identied as
a continuous self, but is continually constituted and resignied. The subject is derived
from and subjugated to practices and cultural discourses, including practices of
identication and images of identity available in the (limited phallogocentric) cultural
discourses. It is conjured into presence and then moves according to how it is
positioned in joint activity, its encounters with others, and the gaze of these others
as well as the limits and desires of its own corporeality (Thrift and Pile, 1995). Always
subjectivity is produced by power and acted on by power. Usually the subject exercises
power, sometimes to resist the very power that is shaping it, but always from within
the socio-psychic forces and resources that constitute it.
In the accelerated global competition and increasing exible employment conditions
of the new capitalism, these meanings are hardly benign. Rose (1998, p. 56) analysed
the new subject of work as a complex territory to explored, understood and regulated
through engaging the employee with the goals of the company at the level of his or her
subjectivity. This notion of governed subjects derives from one particular
Foucauldian concept, which explained the individuals constitution as largely an
effect of technologies of the self (Foucault, 1988), cultural discourses internalized as
self-regulatory mechanisms by the individual:
One of the rst effects of power is that it allows bodies, gestures, discourses, and desires to be
identied and constituted as something individual. The individual is not, in other words,
powers opposite number; the individual is one of powers rst effects. The individual is in
fact a power-effect, and at the same time, and to the extent that he [sic] is a power-effect, the
individual is a relay: power passes through the individuals it has constituted (Foucault, 2003,
p. 30).
In such a view, individuals regulate their own subjectivities through technologies such
as career discourses, modelled images of the good worker/learner, surveillance,
mentoring and other explicit guidance within particular social and political contexts.
These are wedded to individuals own desires for control, belonging, and so forth to
produce their desires to become particular subjects desired by the organisation. Thus,
subjection to production and efciency continues but through complex psychological
means governing how subjects move, speak and manage their own movements and
speech. In an age celebrating entrepreneurial, risk-taking, self-responsible workers, the
new subjectivities are expected to pursue meaningful work and autonomous careers
through choices in a biographical project of self-actualisation.
However, those who contest this formulation argue that subjectivation is the
process by which one becomes an acting, self-creating subject in work, achieved
through the will to act and be recognised as an actor (Casey, 2003, p. 629). In a study
of mentorship, potentially a disciplinary process producing particular subjects,
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Devos (2005) found instead a very active self-constituting subject in work, whose
capacity to exercise political and moral agency emerges within the very social,
historical and cultural practices and relationships that constitute it. In a study of how
freelance media workers position and make sense of self and subjectivity, Storey et al.
(2005) show the strategies workers adopted to respond to enterprising discourses and
power assymetries in the market. These authors employ an analytical approach
drawing from Giddens and Alvesson and Wilmott, delineating three stages in the
construction of identity: identity regulation or external attempts to shape identity,
identity work by the individual, and self identity: the latter consists of precarious and
relatively unstable and shifting narratives of the self (Storey et al., 2005, p. 1037).
Overall, they found that independent workers both actively disciplined and protected
their identities, using notions of enterprise to judge themselves and their
success/failures, and also to protect their identity when experiencing rejection,
declining income or sense of mastery. Alvesson (2001) argues that the ambiguity of
knowledge among such workers leads to space for innovative constructions of identity.
This sort of close analysis begins to reveal that while work identities and their
strategies of construction are generated through organizational, cultural and market
discourses, individuals actively exercise these strategies in idiosyncratic ways to
constitute their everyday subjectivities ever mobile and contingent. To avoid sliding
back into that seductive notion of subject as the heroically agentic autonomous self, we
need to examine more closely the interaction of subjectivity, agency and action. Zizek
(1999) conceives subjectivity within the continuous ux of action without dissolving
the subjects political agency. Drawing from Hegel, Badiou, Althusser, Butler and
Lacan, Zizek shows that the disparate chaotic ux of reality becomes events,
meaningful actions, and possibilities a positive objective order precisely through
the intervention of the subject:
The subject is the act, the decision by means of which we pass from positivity of the given
multitude to the truth-event and/or to hegemony . . . Subject is not a name for the gap of
freedom and contingency that infringes upon the ontological order, active in its interstices;
rather, subject is the contingency that grounds the very positive ontological order, that is,
the vanishing mediator whose self-effacing gesture transforms the pre-ontological chaotic
multitude into the semblance of a positive objective order of reality (Zizek, 1999, p. 158)[1].
In this gesture, this act, the subject also comes into presence. Zizek cautions that this
conception does not presume an ontological gap of contingency waiting to be lled by
the subjects action. Rather:
. . . the subject is both the opening or void which precedes the gesture of subjectivisation, as
well as the gesture itself . . . the subjects very endeavour to ll in the gap retroactively
sustains and generates this gap (p. 159).
Hence, subjectivity becomes a space of possibilities. A subject is realised at the same
time as a recognisable event. This realisation occurs through the subjects act or choice
intervening in the multitude of symbols, technologies, ideas and activity available in
that moment. This choice does not originate from outside this multitude but is made
available from a range of possibilities within it: from the tightly prescribed and
oppressive, to the subversive and resistant. Power presumes counter-power. The
subjects agency, the freedom that can be exercised within the action choice birthed in
an event, is the recognition and articulation of possibilities that can rupture preceding
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hegemonies and sealed signications to engender the unexpected, the creative, the
emergent. Questions of most interest to researchers exploring this subjectivity and
agency in work include: How do people recognize and understand the constitution of
their subjectivity, their articulations of different identities at work? How do they
endeavour to resist, subject and change the discourses within which they are being
constituted? What different positions do they take up within these discourses?
Study methods
The study grounding this discussion of subjectivity in independent knowledge work
set out to explore the unique rewards and challenges of this work through the narrated
experiences of self-employed individuals who contract their services to various
organisations and clients. In-depth interviews were conducted in 2002-2003 with a total
of 31 men and women based in large urban Canadian cities representing west coast,
prairies, and central Canada. The study used conventional methods of semi-structured
interviews which were taped and fully transcribed, then validated with participants.
Participants were asked to describe forms of work and their reasons for entering
self-employment, their approaches to creating relationships with clients and designing
the work project, their challenges and strategies of working with organizations as an
independent knowledge worker. Transcript analysis was inductive and interpretive,
identifying common themes and disjunctures across the participant narratives.
Two groups of participants were convened in follow up online dialogues to validate
emerging themes and issues identied through the analysis process.
This paper will focus on 18 of these individuals whose contracted knowledge work
focused on facilitating organizational change. They began their careers as health care
workers, educators, human resource professionals, communications specialists,
systems analysts and information technologists in small and large organisations.
All had completed at least ten years of organizational employment usually enjoying
progressive responsibilities and scope of authority before changing to
self-employment. All had been self-employed for at least four years at the time of
interviews. Their contracted work embraced a range of consultative activities related
to organizational change and development: training and development, program design
and evaluation, management and team coaching, and change implementation. All
enjoyed at least a moderately comfortable income, and were mid-life ranging in age
from late1930s to mid 1950s. Most were well educated: all held baccalaureate degrees,
all but two held masters degrees, and two held doctoral degrees. Thus, most
participants enjoyed a degree of mobility and social and cultural capital.
All participants claimed that they had freely chosen to shift to independent
employment arrangements (Fenwick, 2004). Their reasons are consistent with those
described in self-employment literature, including push motives (frustration with
repressive organisational structures or difculty nding full-time employment in their
preferred practice), pull motives (desires for exible work schedules, freedom from
supervision, or urge to create a personal practice), or a push-pull combination
(Cohen and Mallon, 1999). However, it is by now well-recognised that the notion of
choice is problematic, and may more accurately represent received cultural
discourses emphasising individuals responsibility for their own conditions than an
individuals exercise of agency. Even though some of the interviewees here may have
believed they freely chose to leave employment, they may in fact have had little choice
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in cases where work conditions were intolerable, no full-time work was available, or
future staff cuts were inevitable.
Findings: negotiating subjectivity in the in-between
A consistent motif across all participants narratives was awareness of their
subjectivity being constituted in and as their activity of bringing knowledge to
organizations: their identities are the knowledge that is mobilized in the work. This
knowledge is often imbued with moral purpose and a sense of integrity and meaningful
work. As one explained:
I dont really sell services, I bring myself to the organization. Like I truly have my own vision
and mission statement and its around organizations being really human places to be, and
that we get productive for sure but its through using peoples potential, not at the expense of
people . . . Integrity and meaningful work and doing my work in a meaningful way is really
an anchor for me and so I envisioned change in a way that made sense to me (MM, ll. 692-95).
What is striking about this statement, besides the melding of identity (myself) with the
knowledge service, is the foregrounding of values and the strong assertion of an
agentic I exercising these values as both the core of the knowledge work and the core
anchor of the me or self. Yet they seemed to resist anchoring processes involving
control such as managerial or evaluative activities, integrating or institutionalizing
knowledge to help it become routine in a group. Their descriptions of knowledge
tended to remain at the level of creating and innovating, as though other forms and
processes of knowledge generation were not as interesting or valuable to them. So at
the same time as they sought this identity anchor, participants shared a restlessness, a
desire for novelty and challenge and a high need for continuous change (LH, ll. 293).
Feelings of boredom set in with too much repetition or routine work:
. . . a bit suffocating, kind of like being buried alive (ST, ll. 23)
I get bored with things very quickly. So as soon as I feel Ive mastered them or gured them
out I want to move on . . . I need to be on a steep learning curve (TD, ll. 409-14).
If Im learning, its ok, but if Im not learning . . . or if its a tough team or an ineffective team,
then you couldnt pay me $10,000 a day (LH, ll. 590-92).
Partly, this may stem from their capacity and preference, as independent contractors,
to design much of their work:
. . . the gains are mental gains, emotional gains . . . interesting work . . . a collage of things, and
I pick that collage. I can choose a bit more who I work with . . . I get to say no . . . I like the lack
of control over me (ST, ll. 145-50).
Part of it stems from what they describe as the stimulation of the innovative process,
seeding new ideas, and a dislike for the management processes required by
implementation over the long-term: I really get a kick out of creative problem solving
and coming up with a rst, something thats unique (WC, ll. 395-97);I dont want to be
in that corporate crap anymore (GM, ll. 95-96); Managing people is an energy waster
for me (ST, ll.678). Yet while managerial activities of coordination and control are
denigrated, managing clients in an expert-client relation is not, as one anonymous
reviewer helpfully pointed out. Remaining positioned in-between an isolated space of
innovation outside, and the everyday complexities requiring routine and control inside
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the organization, allows these individuals to play out a subjectivity balanced on the
edge between ground and ight.
These motifs of both anchoring and restlessness in the constitution of subjectivity
in and as a particular form of knowledge work play out in various themes emerging in
the narratives of these organizational change consultants. Two themes in these
negotiations have been selected for further exploration here: working the in-between
space (as both insider and outsider to the organizational employer) and resisting
control within connections. These themes were identied through inductive analysis of
the participant transcripts.
Working the in-between space
As described earlier, the in-between space here refers to a discursive and relational
space occupied by the independent knowledge worker that is neither inside nor outside
the organization. As a non-employee, this worker is apart from the organizational social
networks and cultural norms, and is not enmeshed in the everyday joint activity that
comprises organizational practices. As the organizational expert contracted precisely
to become enmeshed quickly within the organizations knowledge and relations, the
independent knowledge worker is not an outsider, either: They want you to be part of
their small group . . . They dont want you to come in and deliver something and go out
and be apart from, they want you to be a part of (LH, ll. 135-37). This ambivalence
played out in being treated differently at different times. The contractor shares days of
intense and intimate planning sessions with employees, after which they go out to
celebrate then go back to their regular activities: there is no more lonelier feeling in the
world (FJ, ll.) Or the contractor works alongside employees for weeks, endeavouring to
champion their knowledge above all, but is still treated by management as having
special knowledge that others do not which is worth more because it is outside.
Far from resenting this ambivalent space, however, independent knowledge
workers appear to appreciate its possibilities: I have so many communities that when
I disconnect I like to be alone. So independent within a team really works well for me;
(LH, ll 274-75); I like long-term projects . . . from a distance (GM, ll 217-20). First, they
liked the distance from organizational politics the daily competitive manoeuvrings
for resources and position. Second, they enjoyed some freedom from historical
organizational practices and prescribed organizational procedures: while respecting
the limits of structures, independent knowledge workers were not shaped by them.
They could focus more on what was occurring in the moment:
We didnt feel as constrained by whatever the frame was that might require some people
who... are needing to have things prepared and processed ahead of time and whatever thats
all about, . . . for contract workers it was more created in the moment. So at this particular
period of time, for this particular audience (MM, ll. 131-33).
Because they traversed many organizations and communities of practice, and because
they were constantly reading to keep up with the different and changing knowledge
domains in which they needed to practice, these independent workers could draw upon
varied ideas and models. This allowed them to think differently when they approached
problems alongside organizational employees:
I think if youre part of a system sometimes youre part of the problem. As an external person
you bring in a perspective that maybe the others need to hear (LH, ll 262-64).
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The freedom of their inside outsider status, many emphasized, also allowed them to
say things that employees might self-censor for reasons of long-term consequences:
I ask the question that people want [to but cannot] ask themselves, and being an outside
consultant you have that luxury . . . its my responsibility to affect change within but really
. . . as an external person I see my job even more in terms of planting the seed and assisting
them to take responsibility (KT, ll 319-24).
In working this space, independent knowledge workers walk a ne line in asking the
tough questions that organizations hire them for, without crossing sacred lines of
organizational authorities and undiscussables. For example, independent contractors
say that they often see from the beginning when a project for which they are being
hired is poorly conceived or grossly short-changed in resources and time, but they
must proceed delicately to determine how to shift managements thinking without
jeopardizing the contract or their reputation. This negotiation is nothing new to
consulting rms, but an independent contractor lacks the weight of constructed power
and knowledge authority often wielded by an international rm. Once inside
contractors must continually scope out employees changing reactions to their own
questions and ideas sometimes submerging themselves and planting an idea seed
in such a way that employees develop it themselves. Employees know the contractor is
paid at a higher daily wage than they receive for similar work, and may observe the
contractor treated as the second coming by management.
Independent knowledge workers also negotiate their own identity investment in
projects. As MM said, the anchor is integrity and meaningful work: I bring myself
to the organization. Yet they eventually leave the project and the organization
altogether, with the hope that the work they started in organizational change will be
taken up by management and employees. This is sometimes a thin hope it is well
known that many consulting efforts are one-shot temporary efforts that never become
integrated into organizational life. So while this ability to leave provides
the independent knowledge worker a distance from the politics and employee
management that so many dislike, it also endangers their ability to derive meaning and
personal worth from their work:
The good news about being a contractor worker is you can do your work and you dont own
all those other pieces and you can go home again! But the bad news is that youre not
connected to all those other pieces and I think theres a danger that your work really doesnt
have much impact. So they can hire you, you can come, you can do something, they can
ignore you (MM, ll 409-12).
This ultimately comes down to identity work, not just in negotiating ones subject
position within and without the organization, but coming to terms with the inherent
uidity of self and knowledge that this entails. One who had only been contracting for
two years (compared to MM, who had been independent for 11 years), admitted:
Ive been searching to nd out where I belong (KT, ll. 433). Another was delighted to
hear herself enunciate her identity:
I can remember the moment when I was in an elevator being introduced to someone
and I actually shook their hand and said, when they said what do you do, Im an
organizational development consultant and I have my own business. I remember thinking,
Holy shit! that sounded so impressive, and I dont know what got me there (GM ll. 949-54).
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For most, a key dynamic in working the in-between space of this knowledge work was
establishing this security of a well-connected identity invested in relationships that
generate knowledge, while resisting the control exercised by these relationships.
Resisting control within connections
Narratives recalling their former employment as organizational employees are
instructive in understanding independent workers need for control over their own
work, and resistance to others control. Organizational control is perceived as a
suffocating environment, dealing with barriers, stopping some of the opportunities
(ST, ll. 107-8). Interviewees told stories of petty tyrants: I had a kind of boss who was
more intrusive, obnoxious, bully-like (GM, ll.142-3). They disliked policy restrictions
that they felt to be petty, such as dress codes. Some complained about structures and
people not open to innovation, and endless meetings that accomplished little. Several
indicated feeling a values disconnection with managers pursuing directions they felt
to be unethical or that lacked meaningful purpose.
Yet as independent knowledge workers they sought to insert themselves temporarily
in organizations presumably struggling with the same rigid structures, petty politics
and glacial responses that had frustrated themas employees. So, while they continued to
resist organizational control, they designed their work in such a way that intimately
connected them with this control. There is some indication that these individuals are
attracted to others control structures, in a way that is different to entrepreneurs who go
off to build their own organizational structures and design their own products.
For example, MM articulates how the organizational controls that can be suffocating to
employees actually helps focus her innovative process within the organization:
I always want to know what the givens are too so tell me what they are and well work with
those . . . I really want to know intention and I really want to know what were trying to
accomplish and what is critical so that it doesnt morph into something else. Those things are
all important to me. And then I want the freedom to create within that (MM, ll.212-15).
The freedom to create within seems to be the key to understanding resistance to
control. Clear boundaries, both those that are given and those that are negotiated, are
not perceived as controls when they remain inert as container walls within and
around which the contractor can work. Independent knowledge workers are always
negotiating with organizations the boundaries dening their actual activity, people,
location, responsibilities, timelines and deliverables of their work (Fenwick, 2003).
When these boundaries start to move, they are perceived to inhibit the uid ow of
knowledge, social relations and ideas that independent contractors value. They
threaten control, which the contractor resists:
I worked with people that I really trusted and that had a tremendous amount of integrity and
that I really valued and we were doing some really exciting work and, and then some of the
leadership changed and, and it wasnt working for me . . . I wasnt being given the
same level of independence and I just thought, you know what? I dont need this anymore
(GM, ll 100-105).
In negotiating boundaries of the work, independent knowledge workers appear able to
exercise control. They turn down projects that they believe are not viable or have
questionable purposes (such as a government department wanting to complete
a small project that would accomplish little but would create optics of action).
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Some, depending on personal condence and security of their business, are openly
critical with potential clients about a projects design: People call me and they ask me
to do the strangest things . . . Like, why would we do that?? (MM, ll. 696-98). This
resistance to particular project purposes or designs seems often connected with
personal values determining what work is worthwhile. Stories about this were told
with some relish, as though for these individuals, the capacity and opportunity to
exercise such values in choosing or refusing work activity was particularly satisfying:
It became very apparent that my values and principal were really critical . . . You know
I said, This is great if this is what you want to do but just know that if you do it youre
opening a can of worms and if youre doing it you need to go the distance because its not fair
to others (KT, ll 388-90).
The other main area of resisting control is in client demands. The nature of these
struggles with client organizations over what are reasonable expectations appears to
vary widely depending on the size and resources of an organization, its experience
working with contractors, its past relationship with a particular contractor, and the
contractors own disposition, demeanour, years of experience, power of position and
knowledge relative to the organization. However, most independent knowledge
workers note their clients tendencies to expect a contractors full commitment to and
accommodation of client needs:
Ive had to set some boundaries with clients and with myself where historically . . . I would
make myself available whenever they wanted or needed me, wanting to accommodate the
clients in terms of what the client wanted and needed (KT, ll 242-44).
I had a call recently and someone wanted something like a week later, which was completely
inappropriate. And I was going away and I thought, I could change my plans. And I thought,
no. I dont want to change my plans, and this isnt long enough notice (GM, ll. 408-416).
This process of learning to set boundaries that exercise control while building strong
connections is a central tension in independent knowledge work.
Im always out there looking for connections between communities and kind of living on the
edge all the time (LH, ll 285-86).
Here, LH was describing how she often bid on a contract opportunity in her eld of
health service evaluation with little more than a beginning good idea, then mobilized
connections among groups within the university, government, community agencies,
health care system and evaluation associations to conduct the activities. In fact for
most contractors interviewed in this study, connection denes their identity:
I link parts of the organization to itself . . . Im interested in bringing systems thinking and
kind of personal awareness, building . . . the link between the broad perspective and who we
are individually (DS, ll. 20-24).
Im a linker. As an outsider you can see the connections, you can link one part of the
organisation to another (MM, adult educator, ll.444-45).
Discussion: network identities
Independent knowledge workers describe themselves and their work as immersed
in processes of connection: connecting organizations to other groups and ideas,
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520
connecting people across organizations, connecting the personal to the systemic, and
connecting themselves and their values to the organizations nets of action and
purposes. In negotiating these connections, contractors could be understood to enact
network identities. That is, their presence or image of personal identity appears to
them in the act of connecting and mobilizing networks of actors and knowledge.
They see themselves as a connector or link, but a link does not exist until the agents to
be linked emerge. To recall Zizek (1999), the contractors intervention causes both
themselves and the agents to come into presence, through the act, the decision by
means of which we pass from positivity of the given multitude to the Truth-Event:
here, an act of connection.
As this connection their subjectivity is constituted by organizational/cultural
discourses and regulated through orthodoxies about what comprises organizational
change, as well as through technologies such as contract arrangements and intense
scrutiny of their performance in the project. They are also self-regulated through
particular desires, such as to remain intimately connected with organizations while
attaining the sense of personal independence and distance accorded to the enterprising
self of neoliberal capitalism.
Yet despite their clear subjection to these discourses and technologies within
which emerge their actions, knowledge and identities as connectors these
independent knowledge workers exercise agency in the sense described by Davies
(2004). They recognise their own constitution and resist and subvert the discourses
themselves through which they are being constituted, such as in negotiating
boundaries dening their work and relationships, rejecting work they consider
purposeless, and resisting control of their action by insider politics or intrusive
managers. At the same time, their in-between work space, neither inside nor outside the
organization, allows them to recognize and leverage the counterpower and
counterforce within power and force that Davies (2004) treats as autonomy. For
many organizational developers interviewed in this study, this counterpower
comes partly from connecting to the desires of both managers and employees for
something new, something meaningful: salvation that reassures even as it provides
deliverance to meaningful work.
These independent knowledge workers created networks and submersed
themselves in these networks, but did not dissolve in them: their sense of identity in
both their knowledge and their modus operandi was linked to a source of values and
personal purpose located outside the organization. Indeed, they saw themselves as
alternative, outside mainstream organizational practices of stagnancy and fragmented
activity. These values, of course, are constituted within prevailing (some might say,
middle-class, western) cultural discourses of authentic self and meaningful work.
However, values are exercised by these knowledge workers in ways that grant them a
certain freedom and control over their sense of identity, subject positions
within/without the organization, and their work activity. It is worth noting that
these individuals do not challenge fundamental structures of organizations,
knowledge, or their own subjectivity. However, even as they embrace constraints,
they remain network identities: uid agents connecting people and ideas
while resisting control always moving, always working the in-between to avoid
capture.
Knowledge
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521
Conclusion and implications for organizations
How can organizations enhance the contributions of these independent knowledge
workers, informed by an understanding of their subjectivities? This question implies
two aspects of enablement. On one hand, organizational conditions and management
approaches might shift in ways more amenable to the working relations and identities
of independently-minded knowledge workers, to encourage these innovative workers
to not leave the organization in the rst place. This does not mean locking such
workers into place, but about conceiving work structures that allow far more open,
independent movements and interactions. On the other hand, given increasing
organizational reliance on contracted workers including independent knowledge
workers, managers might nd ways to better facilitate their integration toward
enhancing both workers satisfaction and their participation in organizational projects,
routines and relations.
Presumably, these knowledge workers act in ways that organizations value: initiating
innovation, creating connections, nding solutions, and adapting easily to change.
If organizations do want to keepthemfromleaving inthe rst place, andthe fact that these
individuals did not seek independent careers until after many years as employees may
well indicate their amenability to remaining in employment relationships, certain
conditions might help. Their professed need for change and creative challenge, their skill
in connecting/facilitating people and their preference for seeding rather than
managing ideas suggests temporary project work arrangements. Their predilection to
question policies, purposes and structures of activities suggests a need for exible
managers open to criticism and change. Their impatience with glacial bureaucratic
processes andcontrollingpolicies suggests a needfor managers who will block for them:
help to champion their ideas, nd ways to cut red tape and jump hierarchies to help them
link with appropriate teams. Yet these people are not usually free-wheeling maverick
innovators eschewing organizational policy: they say they appreciate and even prefer
boundaries, but need these to be clear and transparent. What they resist are managerial
attempts to control their work: they need to negotiate the conditions and purposes of their
activity, a human need which is surely not restricted to knowledge workers. The work
patterns of suchindividuals nodoubt mayact uponorganizational structures toopenthem
even further, such that uid networks, projects and temporary alliances or at least
organizational spaces protecting such congurations characterize connections and
activity trajectories more than structures and classications.
Organizations contracting with such individuals will enable better working
relations by articulating clearer project purposes linked to organizational objectives,
clear terms of contract activity, clear roles and clear expectations a clarity that
contractors say is often lacking. Indeed, this lack of clarity may result from the sorts of
complexifying detail that obscures the managers view, and that can be relieved in part
through the outsiders perspective[2]. Integration of the contracted work with the
organizations activity needs specic facilitation from managers: assisting the outsider
to build relationships inside, and enabling concrete links between the contracted
project and everyday organizational practice. This means coaching existing employees
and opening their work in ways that allows the insertion and growth of new
relationships and activity. Independent knowledge workers say they want to be
partners with organizations in a development process, but that managers often treat
them as solo solutions contracted to relieve them of an irritating problem.
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Most of all, managers need to understand that knowledge is not a package delivered
by a knowledge worker, whether from inside or outside the organization. Knowledge is
dynamic, a moving active unpredictable ow that unfolds through new connections
and relationships. Independent knowledge workers specializing in organizational
change understand themselves as connectors, projecting a network identity that
suggests their activity as generating and linking, not transmitting, knowledge.
Organizations that can exibly respond to and grow with these new connections not
only may enable fuller satisfaction of knowledge workers but also closer integration of
their participation with existing organizational networks of knowledge.
Notes
1. Thus, neither hegemony nor truth derive directly from any ontological set, but depend on the
subjects action. A truth-event is precise political experience bearing (signiable and
ideological) truth for those engaged in it. Multitude may be considered the chaotic excess of
the situation(s) from which the experience derives.
2. The author is grateful to an anonymous reviewer for this particular point.
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About the author
Tara Fenwick is a Professor of Education and Head of Educational Studies Department at the
University of British Columbia in Vancouver, Canada. Her research focuses on learning
processes and knowledge generation in work environments, with particular interest in
knowledge workers, the effects of globalising processes on work and learning, and knowledge of
vulnerable workers. Her most recent books include Learning Through Experience: Troubling
Assumptions and Intersecting Questions (2003 Krieger), Educating the Global Workforce
(Co-editor Lesley Farrell, 2007 Routledge), and Learning, Work and Subjectivity (co-editors
Stephen Billett and Margaret Somerville, 2006 Springer).
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Borders of the boundaryless
career
Julie Sommerlund
The Dan/sh 5hcc/ cf Des/gn. (enler fcr Des/gn Researh. Denmar/. and
Sami Boutaiba
The 5lale Em/cvers Aulhcr/lv. The Dan/sh M/n/slrv cf I/nane. Denmar/
Abstract
Purpose The paper aims to examine the notion of the boundaryless career, arguing that the notion
is problematic, and that simultaneous co-existence of different types of careers makes both new and
old types of careers possible.
Design/methodology/approach The approach is twofold: a theoretical argument, and a
qualitative ethnographic study, involving observations and interviews.
Findings The theoretical argument questions the underlying premise and promise of the notion of
the boundaryless career, namely that modern careers amount to a higher level of personal freedom.
This empirical study will serve to illustrate the co-constitutive nature of different career stories.
Research limitations/implications The research is qualitative and thereby limited in the
following way: it serves to give a deep understanding of the phenomena at hand, but is not easily
generalizable. However, the methodology can inspire scholars to explore the ndings observed in
this paper.
Practical implications The idealization of the boundaryless career is problematic, as it poses
problems to those concerned with the career. A more exible ideal of careers would be preferable to
researchers and organisational actors alike.
Originality/value The paper gives a practical and empirical input to a debate that has been
largely conceptual or generalized.
Keywords Sciences, Career development, Interviews
Introduction
Many contemporary voices within the eld of careers research have suggested that we
now view careers differently (Sullivan, 1999; Larsen, 1998; Jackson, 1996; Eby el a/,
2003; Arthur and Rousseau, 1996; Peiperl el a/, 2000; Van Buren, 2003; DeFillippi and
Arthur, 1994; Bird, 1994). In what follows, we shall outline some of the main thrusts of
this new agenda.
First, we will present the theoretical debate concerning the new boundaryless
career. We will point out some inconsistencies and problematics inherent in this
concept on a theoretical level. Second, we will follow the theoretical debate and the
notions of old and new careers in a research laboratory that has been a research site
for observational studies and qualitative interviews.
Through these two lines of investigation, we will conclude that a rigid distinction
between old and new types of career is problematic because rst, both old and new
careers are still present and secondly, the new and old career types are each others
prerequisites rather than contrasts. Moreover, we contend that both types of careers
Borders of the
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Management
Vol. 20 No. 4, 2007
pp. 525-538
0953-4814
DOI 10.1108/09534810710760063
can be successful or unsuccessful depending on other factors, which we will specify in
the empirical analyses.
The boundaryless career
The traditional denition of career is neatly captured in the following quote by
Wilensky (1961, p. 523): let us dene career in structural terms. A career is a
succession of related jobs arranged in a hierarchy of prestige, through which people
move in ordered (more or less predictable), sequence. The concept of career presented
here is one where structure of a spatial character is laid down in advance of the
individual that makes career within the structure.
The newer career thinking has found a strong voice in the founding works of Arthur
and Rousseau. They argue that it is essential to account for time and its implications in
order to be able to understand the notion of career (Arthur and Rousseau, 1996, p. 3).
They dene career as the unfolding sequence of a persons work experiences
over time (Arthur and Rousseau, 1996, p. 4). Thus, in Arthur and Rousseaus (1996,
p. 3) text, emphasis is on the individual, and what constitutes career is a question that
can only be answered by the individual. Moreover, career is dependent on the
unfolding of time. Thus, whereas Wilenskys denition puts emphasis on hierarchies
that exist outside of the individual in a spatial dimension, Arthur and Rousseau puts
emphasis on the individual traveling through time.
Arthur and Rousseau exercise great care in emphasizing that we have entered, or are
entering, a new organizational era in which concepts such as job security are becoming
obsolete. Or as the renowned organizational scholar, Karl Weick, suggests in Arthur
and Rousseaus volume, the stories of boundaryless careers are in effect stories of
shifting identities (Weick, 1996, p. 40). He depicts zigzag people ready for multiple
fresh starts (Weick, 1996, p. 43), where increasingly uid boundaries of organizations
make it imperative that people develop networking skills, think in terms of ongoing
learning, and become focused on enterprising behaviour and pursuing personal
opportunities beyond the organizational boundaries (Arthur and Rousseau, 1996, p. 12).
According to Gunz el a/ (2000, p. 26), At its very simplest, the boundaryless career
hypothesis holds that careers are no longer constrained by organizational boundaries.
These organizational boundaries can be argued to be parallel to the spatial structure
that constituted careers in the quote from Wilensky (1961). In Wilenskys view, careers
are dened by organizations, while the newer thinking on careers, as presented by
Arthur and Rousseau and other authors mentioned here, dene careers as something
that unfolds through individuals choices in time.
A common theme in the texts by Arthur and Rousseau, Weick, and Gunz, Evans
and Jalland is that the modern career is described as possessing an alertness to
opportunities that rise and fade for the individual as moments in time go by. Thus, the
modern career is described as placed in a narrative of suspension. It thus appears that
the newer ways of dening career implies a conscious rejection of the traditional,
external guides of orientation; the most recognizable signs of which are advancement
in the hierarchy and increases in salary (Weick, 1996, p. 40; Sullivan, 1999, p. 457).
Hence, it is the foreshadowed (Morson, 1994), predetermined career story of, for
example, Whytes (1956) organization man (Larsen, 1998, p. 22; Ellig and
Thatchenkery, 1996, p. 171) that is questioned by these texts. It is also in this vein
that we should understand what Sennett (1998, p. 32) calls the revolt against routine,
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bureaucratic time, which, supposedly, is now passe. Instead, as Weick (1996, p. 40) goes
on to suggest, more reliance is placed upon internal, self-generated guideposts, such as
growth, learning, and integration. From this, it would appear that modern career
thinking takes recourse to a more romantic sense of inner quest.
Careers in a molecular biology laboratory
In their view, Baruch and Hall (2004) suggest that the academic career model neatly
captures some distinct features of the future of career thinking (2004, p. 248). Thus,
Baruch and Hall emphasize the academic career models professional basis, at
structure, multi-directional career paths, high degree of lateral movement across
organizational boundaries, autonomy of the academic, and strong dependency on
networks and, we might add, personal networking skills.
Further, Baruch and Hall argue that the scientic career is typical or emblematic of
modern boundaryless careers. It is precisely in a scientic setting that we have done
our empirical work, upon which we will base our discussion of the distinction between
the old and the new understandings of career. As it will be apparent below, we
view the old and the new careers as co-constitutive. Moreover, it is an important point
for us that the old career understanding cannot be discarded as less successful that the
new one. Rather, as we will point out in our analysis, the success of the career types is
contingent and dependent on the working community in which they unfold. One
central characteristic to the performance of successful scientic careers whether
old or new in our empirical setting is vocation. This probably distinguishes
scientists from many other occupations: thus, both Weber (1946) and Rorty (1991)
argue generally that science and scientists are characterized by vocation by being
exclusive, and philosophically that by holding privileged access to truth and reality.
Hence, in our study, vocation works as a border to the boundaryless career.
The Molecular Microbial Ecology Group (MMEG) was established about 16 years
ago, as a part of the Danish Technical University (DTU). The work of the group is
based on a combination of experimental tools from molecular biology and microbial
ecology. The staff at the MMEG generally consists of about 17 researchers who have
been the objects of observations and interviews: one full professor (tenured), two
associate professors (tenured), four laboratory technicians, two assistant professors,
two post-doctorial research fellows (post docs), seven PhD students, and three research
assistants (see Appendix).
Interviews were conducted after intensive ethnographic studies of the group for one
month, and attending meetings, conferences and seminars during the next two years.
On the basis of eld notes from these studies, six interviewees representing different
hierarchical statuses were asked to participate in one-on-one interviews. We have
chosen the interviewees to match the relative number of their professional group, so
that each interviewee represents approximately three group members. So for example,
the three tenured scientists in the group are represented by one tenured interviewee,
and so on (Table I).
The MMEG researchers were asked about their career paths prior to joining the
Group, and their professional expectations for the future, thus prompting career
narratives. The interviews were recorded and later transcribed full length. It is these
transcriptions that have been the basis of the following analyses.
Borders of the
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527
In analyzing the interviews, we have chosen to use the terms foreshadowing and
sideshadowing, as discussed by Morson (1994). The terms fore- and sideshadowing
were chosen after grouping the statements in the interviews that had bearings on
careers. It was conspicuous that all interviewees narrated their career as either
something directed from the outside, most often from the organization and/or their
research subject or as something directed by themselves. We argue that it is productive
to use Mortons terminology to designate these two types of career-stories, as it helps
highlight both the differences in narrative time and the importance given in each type
of story to the individual actor. In the following, we will present these terms in more
depth. Afterwards, we will present the stories analyzed.
Foreshadowing refers to closed narrative time and deterministic, unidirectional
narrativity. Foreshadowed stories reach closure at the end of the narration, and it is
thus the ending that determines the action, not the other way around. Foreshadowing
is the narrative style and structure that dominates most traditional and popular novels
as well as classic Hollywood cinema. Translating the term to career theory, the
deterministic narrative also reects the predictability of the old hierarchical careers,
where people stay in place, in the hope of climbing the corporate ladder and/or a stable
working life (Wilensky, 1961; Whyte, 1956).
Sideshadowing, on the other hand, is a term offered by Morson to apply to stories in
which other endings are real alternatives to the one presented, and in which the ending
is not the only causally possible conclusion to the story (Morson, 1994, p. 117). Rather,
practical choices made by individual actors have practical consequences that inuence
the potential courses of action. Morson points to Tolstoy and Dostoevsky as examples
of novelists using the device of sideshadowing. As we suggest, numerous devices in
modern career thinking work to the same effect. Thus, we contend that the emphasis
upon, for example, networks, shifting identities, lateral career moves (DeFillippi and
Arthur, 1994; Arthur and Rousseau, 1996; Gunz el a/, 2000), share the same basic idea
of human action, namely that of individual freedom. The reader should both take note
of the title of Morsons (1994) work Narrative and Freedom and the many
connotations of freedom in the literature on career and modern work conceptions, e.g.
words like independence (Arthur and Rousseau, 1996), free agency (Pink, 2001),
and self-generated career guides (Weick, 1996).
When interviewing MMEG researchers about their careers, we asked them all two
questions; how did you end up in this group, and where will you go from here? We had
received hints, indications, and fragments of narratives from MMEG researchers
earlier when doing observational studies. We asked questions in a way that resembles
Czarniawskas (2001) narrative interview and as described earlier in this section, we
noticed two basic ways of telling the story of careers: one directed by the organization
and the research-topic, another directed by the individual protagonist. It is these two
basic story-lines that we have designated as fore- and sideshadowing, respectively.
Number of researchers in group Number interviewed
Three tenured scientists One interviewed scientist
Four assistant professors/post doctoral students One interviewed scientist
Seven graduate students Three interviewed students
Three research assistants One interviewed assistant Table I.
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When conducting the interviews, many other narratives were presented to us, such as
narratives of power and gender, to name only a few. Thus, the narratives designated as
fore- and sideshadowing were not the only ones present in the interviews, and not all
narratives could be reliably presented as either fore- or sideshadowing. But when
focusing on career stories, the driving forces were found either within or outside of the
protagonist which also produces different conceptions of narrative time, and hence the
concepts of fore- and sideshadowing were chosen for the evaluation of career stories.
MMEG researchers that presented their work as the natural conclusion to their
professional life stories up until now (foreshadowing) neither bend nor break the rules
of being a normal scientist. They are not perceived as extraordinary, neither in the
positive nor in the negative sense. In this category, people do as expected of them,
submerged as they are in the technicalities and details of their work.
The other category of MMEG researchers presents the group as one of
many possibilities (sideshadowing). They are either perceived by themselves and
others as extraordinary in the sense that they are new-thinkers, or as mists pushing
the borders of being a scientist to the point of breaking them. The sideshadowed
stories success is dependent on MMEG researchers ability to make the different
networks of interest complement each other rather than work against one another.
For instance, spare time interests is mentioned by those that consider themselves
successful as resources for their working life, while those that present themselves as less
successful see such interests as competing with or subtracting from their working life.
We will go on to present stories that represent the styles of fore- and sideshadowing,
respectively. The stories from which we quote are selected as examples of typical or
exemplary stories, not as individual renderings of each researcher.
Icreshadcu/ng
I started out here [DTU] many years ago, and took the courses you have to take. I started as a
chemical engineer. And slowly I homed in on microbiology. That was interesting [. . .] and
naturally, I took some more courses at this department, and I wrote my bachelors project here.
I talked to the professor and found what he was doing interesting. I was in really good time, a
year and a half years before I actually started, I went around and talked, and we agreed that
I should take his class: molecular microbial ecology [. . .] I did that, and then I started my
preliminary project after that.
So, youve been doing microbiology all along?
Yes, only. . . Yes, I have.
Above, a researcher describes his road to the MMEG as quite straightforward and
unidirectional. His career route is completely logical, considered from the viewpoint of
his present. It is difcult to imagine alternative endings to the story. This kind of story
is probably the simplest version of a fore-shadowed story told in the laboratory. In the
following, we will render another type of story told by another researcher, in which
the elements of foreshadowing are subtler, though we will argue, as strong as in the
story-fragment above:
How did you end up working with this?
That goes back to. . . I was a student with [. . .] that was from 1981 to 1983. We did
microbiology and nothing else [. . .] And we got the idea that we should look at the enzymes
Borders of the
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529
that come out of the cell. That was the rst cautious attempt at looking at interactions
between organisms. We isolated bacteria from fruit and vegetables. I promise you that that
was unheard of where we were. You used e.coli, and that was it [. . .] I did a PhD about those
enzymes [. . .] It turned out that they were coupled to the motor apparatus of the organisms
[. . .] It is called swarming [. . .] And it turns out that swarming is connected to quorum
sensing. That turned out to be important; because we had suddenly moved to a place, where
what we were doing was important on an international level [. . .] We have worked together
for seventeen years now. Ever since, actually.
This story has more detail than the story above. It holds more surprises, but is still
quite logical and leads directly to the researchers current place. Interestingly, the
explanations of the career path concern only details from the subject matter: the subject
matter leads the researcher in different directions not vice versa. Coincidences hold a
prominent place in this story, but the coincidences concern the object of research e.g.
one enzyme turning out to be connected to the motor apparatus and not the
researcher himself, as is the case in side-shadowed stories. Or in other words: the
project of the protagonist remains xed, which is one of the basic characteristics of
fore-shadowed stories. In this sense, we detect virtually no trace whatsoever of the
modern career whose orientation towards the workplace is bound to be a much more
strategic one.
MMEG researchers that tell their stories using foreshadowing, are generally deeply
committed to one niche of the laboratorys research. They are distinguished by
working almost exclusively with one type of bacteria, or the development of one
specic method. When asked how they ended up in the group, they usually say that
they have always been drawn to this specic type of research ever since their
rst years as under-graduates. They are very into the science of their work, and do not
readily respond to questions about aesthetics, tactics, emotions, careers or other
non-scientic questions. Questions pertaining to such matters are typically considered
to be questions about science, posed in an awkward manner. Thus, the conception of
careers presented by these researchers is a very narrow one, as they virtually represent
themselves as epi-phenomena to their object of research to which they are devoted and
conscientious servants. This group share many characteristics with Weicks (1989)
specialists, and has what Delbecq and Elfners (1970) refer to as local orientations.
An important theme traversing the stories employing both fore- and sideshadowing
is that of a commitment to science. MMEG researchers that use foreshadowing when
telling their stories can be regarded as very committed, as they explain their interest
from the inside of science, so to speak; not expressing a need to explain why they
consider it interesting. The commitment is expressed through one type of interest;
interest in the subject matter. This sense of commitment corresponds nicely with a
general myth about science: that it is a calling or a vocation. These terms echo two
important theoretical voices in sociology of science: rst, Weber (1946) says in his text
Science as Vocation that: In the eld of science only he who is devoted solely to the
work at hand has personality. Second, Rorty argues that contemporary scientists have
taken on the role that priests had before the enlightenment that of having privileged
access to the instance that instigates truth (Rorty, 1991). Both Weber and Rorty thus
emphasizes the relation between scientists and the religious term of vocation.
Thus, the type of researcher that has specialist interests, is committed to science,
and narrates stories of careers by means of foreshadowing can be regarded as the
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530
typical core-scientic stance, both in the MMEG and in science in general, where
career is dened in terms of an eternal path towards greater knowledge about the
subject matter at hand.
5/deshadcu/ng
Other researchers tell their stories using the less orthodox narrative style of
sideshadowing. Using sideshadowing as a narrative device in the scientists career
stories is a strong indicator of individual freedom in the sense of being somewhat
independent of any specic research objectives and of any specic, narrow research
group. However, as will become clear, using sideshadowing is not unequivocally
a means of constructing a successful career story. It can also be a way of conveying a
feeling of marginality t/sa t/s the scientic community. The difference, it seems to
MMEG members, comes down to vocation and whether alternative networks of
interests support or counteract the science network:
I am a chemical engineer, and when I rst started at DTU I thought I was going to work with
sulphuric acid catalysts, and that kind of thing. So, I took some inorganic classes. But I got
tired of that [. . .] Then I started working with organic chemistry. That didnt work out either.
So, I went into the environmental stuff, which I got really exited about. I went to the States to
study there for a year [. . .] When I went, it was the idea that I would do some more
microbiology. I met a teacher over there who worked with biolms in drinking water [. . .]
That inspired me greatly, but I still didnt think I knew much about microbiology. I got into
the course rather late, because Id been to the States, and the professor was giving a lecture
[. . .] We discussed the biolm-thing. . . And that led to me wanting to write about drinking
water and biolms, and identication of bacteria in drinking water. We launched it as a
co-operation between Biocentrum and Department of Environmental Technology [. . .] And
I ended up here it was coincidence upon coincidence.
Do you have any ideas of what you want to do in the future?
There are many possibilities there are all the biotechnical companies. Earlier I wanted to
work as a consulting engineer, but I dont want that anymore. Then Id rather be in the
pharmaceutical industries. Research & Development. And I could easily imagine staying on
as a researcher.
Here?
I dont know maybe for a while.
MMEG members that tell sideshadowed stories akin to the one above, can be observed
to speak and behave in line with the theoretical description of the boundaryless career;
they express distance to the nerdy bench-work in a range of ways: being continually
unable to nd their white coat or other necessary equipment, having to borrow from
other researchers or technicians. They write only sparsely on petri-dishes and in notes
and refuse to restreak as many times as the standard requires, as this is a waste of
time.
When asked to describe the ideal researcher, these researchers explain that
researchers should keep themselves informed about the general development of
research and science, and stay open to new areas of working. One researcher describes
himself as interested in working out new methods for developing new knowledge
which is a fairly broad denition of scientic interest, and offers an explicit strategy for
Borders of the
boundaryless
career
531
his work in research: it must be relevant, as research is often too narrow and useless;
and there should not be too many researchers doing it already. The self-assuredness
and strategic overview expressed in this type of statement mean that such researchers
spurn admiration and envy in many colleagues. The statements also indicate a
researcher who performs career as boundaryless in the sense that organizational
borders or even professional borders do not restrict the narrative development in time.
It is also a type of researcher that is reminiscent of Weicks generalist and have what
Delbecq and Elfner (1970) refer to as cosmopolitan orientations.
When side-shadowing researchers are asked how they ended up in the group, they
usually say that it was a coincidence. Broad networks of interests have driven them
rather than one specic type of science. They have often worked in different areas
during their training and career. Most of them say that they want a career in research,
but they have no specic ideas as to where, and are generally willing to try out new
areas.
It is probably important to the perceived success of these researchers, that they
make one traditional choice within the variables that make up a researcher that of
perceiving science as a vocation. These researchers often downplay vocation when
asked directly, but can be observed to be very committed researchers usually being
present in the lab, and when not there, being on visits to labs abroad or attending
conferences. However, this vocation does not entail the exclusion of other interests.
On the contrary, they think of their current work as one possibility among other likely
career-moves that could be just as attractive. In this sense, these researchers embody
some of the underlying premises of the boundaryless career, namely those of
independence of any specic employer. Instead, they are always on the look-out for
personal learning opportunities and other potential career-stories that might, in
professional and personal terms, be as challenging and rewarding as the present one.
As such, the notion of vocation need not be the life-long, foreshadowed type
characteristic of Webers denition of scientic vocation.
In the following section, we will describe stories that use sideshadowing where
different networks of interest are conicting rather than mutually supportive, giving
MMEG members who make this choice a sense of being marginalized, or of being
unscientic:
When I started studying, it didnt really matter what it was. Whether I studied medicine, law,
or engineering. So, I chose DTU because it was far away, and it sounded cool. I roamed DTU
for a couple of years [. . .] I didnt care at all if I was going to graduate from one or the other
department. One day I took my rst course in microbiology [. . .] Id found genetics interesting
beforehand, but it might as well have been [. . .] biochemistry, biotechnology, there were lots
of possibilities. I didnt really care what it was. . .
Do you know what are you going to do when you nish your current project?
No not except that I want to get away. It has become too frustrating to be here. Im not sure
Ill be able to honour my own expectations. I really like teaching, and that kind of thing [. . .]
Im good with people [which is not what a researcher is expected to be].
This story is an example of a sideshadowed story in which boundarylessness is not a
forte, but a disruptive force, threatening to fragment both story and researcher. It can be
argued, that what separates the successful sideshadowed stories from unsuccessful
ones, is the part played by vocation. In the story above, the researcher hints at a lack of
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vocation by using wordings as I didnt care at all and by stating that he does not want
to stay in research. Later in the interview, he describes how his attitude and lack of
sacred re makes him perceive himself as ung to the peripheries of science. But he
quickly goes on to ascertain that his lack of vocation to science makes himmore of a full
person. In a certain sense, MMEG researchers make use of sideshadowing and its
promise of a variety of possible endings. Yet, in some cases, like the ones used as an
example above, sideshadowing is used as a means of escape, as a way of denying the
present work situation any sense of meaningfulness. The real scientists although
envied for their commitment are described as having one-track minds going out,
and going to work.
The one-tracked mind has been observed in other scientic communities as well.
Thus, Sharon Traweek (1988, p. 21) writes that the physicists observed by her had
generally been committed to becoming scientists from early adolescence, or even
childhood, and that they regarded being physicists as a calling, not an occupation or mere
job. The same canbe saidof the microbiologists at the MMEG, who all state that theyknew
that theywantedtoworkwithsome sort of researchfromanearlyage. Or rather, almost all
portray their career-path as circumstantial, but the alternatives they mention are other
labs or research institution, and only seldom completely different areas.
Some of MMEG researchers succeed in balancing the forces of sideshadowed
careers and a sense of vocation. But they also exemplify how the ongoing construction
of a boundaryless career resembles Sisyphean labor. Even though we cannot readily
dismiss that the importance of salary and promotion in a hierarchical organization still
remains (becoming a professor with the prestige and salary this also implies), there is a
sense in which these vertical aspirations have to coexist with the path that Weick
refers to as growth and learning. Thus, researchers that successfully narrate
sideshadowed stories are open to personal opportunities in quite different working
environments, while also being successful performers in their present environment.
Contrary to this, researchers that narrate sideshadowed stories to tell stories of lack of
success, show an openness that is somewhat forced; more colored by indifference
t/sa t/s the present work environment than by the appeal of other work environments.
Whether successful or unsuccessful, the sideshadowing career is thrown into a
never ending process of self-assessment that ought to enable the individual worker to
optimize their work trajectory in order to become more knowledgeable, more
competent, and importantly, more marketable. While some researchers seem to thrive
on this, others are clearly battling to become able to narrate their career story in a
narrative slope that is not regressive (Gergen, 1997). If not, the career story might come
to resemble a tragedy, in which the researcher is reduced to a mere victim of
circumstances. However, while the successfully sideshadowed researchers career
stories seem more robust, a certain fragile aspect also characterizes it. It is thus our
claim that the boundarylessness conveyed by sideshadowed career narratives, is not
necessarily a sign of success. Whether this sense of narrating careers works or not
depend on other contingent factors. In this respect the most noticeable factor is
vocation, which traverses the divide between fore- and sideshadowed stories (Table II).
Conclusion
In the beginning of the paper, we stated that we would show that the boundaryless
career has not replaced the traditional career, and that narrating career as boundaryless,
Borders of the
boundaryless
career
533
does not ensure success. We will begin this synthesis with the last distinction the one
between good and bad:
Our researchers stories have shown us, that the sideshadowed stories of
boundarylessness can lead to two different results: a positive and negative one.
Again it is important to stress that our aim here is not a normative one: when pointing
to positive and negative result or successful and non-successful researcher
strategies, we are presenting what MMEG members have pointed to as positive and
successful, and negative and non-successful.
The positive result implies that multiple foci enable the researcher to draw on
several networks at one time, thereby constructing a fresh, powerful, and up-to-date
identity narrative through their careers. Sideshadowing reects a career-path that
bends rather than breaks the borders between normality and marginality. For the
MMEG members in question, this means that peripheral science interests complement
and support interests in core science. Likewise, the different networks of interest
supply the researcher with a reserve of ideas and thoughts that can be used in molding
new concepts and creating new elds of research. It is probably no coincidence that
sciences that are considered truly cutting edge are often combinations of traditional
elds as for instance genetics (biology and informatics) and neurobiology (biology and
psychology).
The negative results of sideshadowing imply that the multiple foci result in an
unsuccessful construction of the scientists story and identity. As shown in the
discussion of sideshadowing, it is contingent factors from the concrete work-place that
makes or breaks the career. In the laboratory studied for this paper, it is vocation that
is pivotal.
Without the vocation, the multiple interest gives rise to a sideshadowed career-story
that can become a tragic story of a person victim to circumstances. When career
becomes something that each individual has to construct for him or herself, it is also
the individual that is at stake when dening and communicating a convincing
narrative of work and career.
Maybe it is not surprising that a critical perspective is rare in the debate on careers
in the new organizational era, as the ideal of freedom is a notion so saturated with
positive value that it would appear almost counterintuitive to argue against it.
However, there are good reasons to interpret the ideological tone of freedom with some
suspicion, notably as it seems to work upon the individual as an institutionalized
regime of forced and incessant self-reection (see also Roses, 1989, Chapter 18,
insightful discussion on the technologies of autonomy).
Fore-shadowing Side-shadowing
Vocation Essential group members. Performs
core-work. Produces experiments and
publishable results
Visionary group members. Lays out the
ground for future work. Does national and
international networking thus helping the
group e.g. with funding
Lack of
vocation
Not present in group Marginal group members. Networks, but
does not connect networks to group Table II.
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This demand seems a quite obvious consequence of the shift from organizational
careers to boundaryless careers, where people no longer gain their work-identity from a
spatial reference to the mother organization but, on the contrary, have to put more
effort into the invention and permanent reconstruction of one. No matter what,
individuals pursuing the modern career seem obligated to narrate themselves in time
as movers, people who learn, improve and grow as productive beings. Thus, MMEG
members using the narrative mode of sideshadowing spend a great deal of energy on
becoming or remaining mobile, enabling them to transgress boundaries and move in
worlds that lie beyond the petri dish.
As enchanting as this seems, the notion of a boundaryless career, heavily
preoccupied with growth and learning, has incited people to become the kind of
reective beings who constantly monitor and judge their own moves with the aim of
constantly improving (Rose, 1989, p. 245). This is not surveillance and control from the
top or the centre, but a sophisticated panopticon (Foucault, 1977) extended in time
rather than space, which performs a subtler and more efcient control from within a
control that we refer to as freedom. Thus, whatever boundaries there may be, they are
mental barriers that need to be disposed of in order for the individual to be able to
reinvent himself, use his metaskill and cultivate his own adaptability (Thomas and
Higgins, 1996, p. 269).
Likewise, it is not empirically relevant to distinguish between old and new career
types. The group studied in this paper is crucially dependent on both types of
researchers. MMEG members who tell traditional foreshadowed career-stories, form
the base and ground of the experimental work done in the laboratory. Researchers
telling their stories using the device of foreshadowing are perceived as making the
traditional choice of proper science. However, as creativity is also perceived as an
essential element of being a truly ground-breaking scientist, MMEG members using
the device of foreshadowing are sometimes perceived as good analysts, but not as good
at synthesis: bringing new elds together in truly new ideas. They are perhaps more
concerned with doing things right, with becoming excellent at one particular technique.
But without them, there would be no scientic ndings to publish.
MMEG members who narrate sideshadowed stories are the architechts of the
future as one researcher told us in a conversation. The multiple-focus that is implied in
sideshadowing allows room for multiple versions of the story and multiple endings.
This conception of different types of scientists is reected in many types of literature,
from the classic concept of 8//dung (the romantic ideal of improving ones self through
education; includes acquiring knowledge of diverse topics as science, music, arts, and
literature) to Michel Serres metaphor of the har/eu/ncal (a metaphor of knowledge
often used in Serres later works; the coat is assembled from an innite number of rags.
See for instance Serres and Latour (1995, p. 116). In this view, true science is the ability
to synthesize different interests and elds of knowledge. The sideshadowing
researchers plan and plot, while their foreshadowing colleagues perform experiments.
However, a sense of hierarchy can be detected between the two: while the
sideshadowed, boundaryless careers are placed at the top (which can be seen from
researchers pointing to this group as the architects of the future and from their
positions in the academic hierarchy), the specialized, foreshadowed researchers form
the bottom (which can be seen from the tone of envy in statements these researchers
make about sideshadowing researchers). The foreshadowing researchers think that
Borders of the
boundaryless
career
535
they deserve more prestige because of the scientic purity that they claim, whereas
the ability to connect different networks appears to be crucial to the status of the
sideshadowing researchers. But the tensions introduced by this status battle does not
make the group less functional.
Rather, the two groups of researchers seem essential to the work and the unity of the
group, as each type carries out an essential task. Continuity and cooperation between
types of researchers is necessary to accomplish work. Different types of researchers are
essential to the group, as this means that the repertoire of competences becomes broader.
This indicates that the old and the new the bordered and the boundaryless
the foreshadowed and the sideshadowed must be seen as co-constitutive, and not
as the contrasts they have often been described as in the literature on the boundaryless
career and the new organizational era.
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Appendix. Data
Field notes from observations:
Laboratory of the Molecular Microbial Ecology Group:
.
September 1-October 1, 1999
.
February 1, 2000-April 1, 2001
Notes from meetings, seminars and conversations:
.
September 1, 1999-September 1, 2001
Interviews:
.
Research Assistant, February 16, 2001
.
Graduate Student, February 16, 2001
.
Graduate Student, February 21, 2001
.
Graduate Student, March 5, 2001
.
Post Doctoral Student, March 5, 2001
.
Associate Professor, March 6, 2001.
Borders of the
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537
About the authors
Julie Sommerlund is an Assistant Professor at The Danish School of Design. She works within
the eld of Science and Technology Studies, and has been working on a project about geneticists
and biotechnology. The research presented in the present paper is one result of that research.
Other papers based on the same research have been published in 5c/a/ 5lud/es cf 5/ene, Sage,
and (cngural/cns, Johns Hopkins University Press. Julie Sommerlund is the corresponding
author and can be contacted at: julie.sommerlund@dkds.dk
Sami Boutaiba currently works as a Principal in the Danish State Employers
Authority. Before joining the State Employers Authority, he was an Assistant Professor at
Copenhagen Business School. Sami Boutaiba has worked extensively with career development
and HRM, and has published work on time, narrativity and career, for instance in Hjort &
Steyart: Narral/te and D/surs/te Arcahes /n Enlrereneursh/, Edward Elgar, 2004.
E-mail: SOU@perst.dk
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Knowledge management
in a New Zealand tree
farming company
Ambiguity and resistance to the
technology solution
Alan Lowe
Aston Business School, Birmingham, UK, and
Andrea McIntosh
Waikato Management School, Hamilton, New Zealand
Abstract
Purpose Managers at the company attempt to implement a knowledge management information
system in an attempt to avoid loss of expertise while improving control and efciency. The paper
seeks to explore the implications of the technological solution to employees within the company.
Design/methodology/approach The paper reports qualitative research conducted in a single
organization. Evidence is presented in the form of interview extracts.
Findings The case section of the paper presents the accounts of organizational participants.
The accounts reveal the workers reactions to the technology-based system and something of their
strategies of resistance to the system. These accounts also provide glimpses of the identity
construction engaged in by these knowledge workers. The setting for the research is in a
knowledge-intensive primary industry. Research was conducted through observation and interviews.
Research limitations/implications The issues identied are explored in a single case-study
setting. Future research could look at the relevance of the ndings to other settings.
Practical implications The case evidence presented indicates some of the complexity of
implementation of information systems in organizations. This could certainly be seen as more
evidence of the uncertainty associated with organizational change and of the need for managers not to
expect an easy adoption of intrusive IT solutions.
Originality/value This paper adds empirical insight to a largely conceptual literature.
Keywords Knowledge management, Forestry, Control, Case studies, Interviews, New Zealand
Introduction
Knowledge exists in relation to certain practices, which it actively plays a part in organising
and transforming. It is also part of a wider set of processes . . . [and] to an issue, which makes it
useful (Mouritsen et al., 2001, p. 739).
This paper presents the ndings of an in depth case study of an organization
engaged in a high technology service function in the forestry industry. The
organization unit studied is a subsidiary of a large New Zealand-based forestry
and wood products multinational. The study took place over a six-month period
during the implementation of a technological solution to knowledge management.
Managers at the company had adopted the idea of an electronic library-based approach
Knowledge
management in
New Zealand
539
Management
Vol. 20 No. 4, 2007
pp. 539-558
0953-4814
DOI 10.1108/09534810710760072
which they expected to improve the retention of knowledge within the rm. This would
in turn increase efciency and provide a platform for better control procedures.
Our emphasis on knowledge as constituted through practice provides a justication
for the adoption of an intensive style of case research. The use of this approach to
researching organizational experiences of knowledge management is designed:
To show how a practice-based theorizing arises from multiple perspectives and negotiations,
and how in so doing delegitimizes a univocal narrative of scientic authority (Gherardi, 2000,
p. 219; Engestrom, 2000; Blackler et al., 2000).
The aim of the paper is to contribute to the understandings of knowledge management
issues at the organizational and work group level. Our theoretical frame adopts a
performative approach (Alexander, 1992; Knorr Cetina, 1999; Pickering, 1995) which
reveals the strategies, interests and interactional accomplishments of individual actors.
Improved understandings in this area may be useful in providing more enlightened
concepts of organizational control in knowledge settings. The use of a single case study
provides a contextually rich site in which we may collect and interpret the reactions of
individual organization participants. Our case material provides insights on the
construction of identity and resistance (Hull, 1999; Knights and Morgan, 1991; Lowe
and Doolin, 1999; Foucault, 1982) within a specic knowledge setting.
The next section of the paper seeks to provide an understanding of the processual
view of knowledge production. This perspective places emphasis on understanding
the nature of practice as it unfolds in its social and organizational context. This is
followed by a section which reviews relevant themes from the knowledge
management literature. The following section of the paper gives a brief context of
the case organization and provides an outline of the research methods used. Next, two
sections based on the case investigations follow: rstly the main case analysis section
provides a picture of employee reactions to developments at the company; then a
discussion section provides a brief synthesis and review of the themes which have
been described in the previous empirical section. The nal section provides
concluding comments with a particular focus on the evidence of resistance we
encountered.
Organizational knowledge and practice
Gherardi (2000) identies three conceptions of organizational knowledge inthe literature
which she suggests only became recognized as a topic for organization theorists in the
1970s. The areas Gherardi indicates are organization learning, knowledge management
and knowledge as practice. This section seeks to provide an understanding of this third
view. What might be termed a processual, or practice-based, view of knowledge
production. Such a perception places an emphasis on understanding the nature of
practice as it unfolds in its social and organizational context:
Practice . . . refer[s] directly to those dynamic sequences which are the ingredients of such
machineries. This notion of practice shifts the focus away from interests or intentions, toward
the conditions and dynamics of the day-to-day actions of collective life (Gherardi, 2000, p. 218).
From an organizational theory perspective knowledge and learning are often seen as
linked. We read of the learning organization and knowledge management. These
concepts often entail strong assumptions about the ability and certainly the desirability
of transferringknowledge through learning. This paper seeks to developanemphasis on
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the culture and practice of organizations through a practice-based understanding of how
knowledge is mobilized in organizational contexts. The distinctive nature of
understanding learning through everyday practice is related to a holistic approach to
knowledge. In everyday practice, learning takes place in the owof experience, with or
without our awareness of it (Gherardi, 2000, p. 214). Having noted this Gherardi points
out that such a view draws from Heidegger (1962) and his followers who used the
term Dasein to denote this being-in-the-world whereby subject and object are
indistinguishable.
In the phenomenological tradition, pre-reexive learning, a comprehension that
takes place in situations of involvement in a practice may be closely related to the
concept of tacit knowledge. Reexive or theoretical knowledge is only called into play
when breakdown occurs and reexive activity intervenes. In well understood acts
within ordinary practice we are typically unaware of our actions. Objects involved in
our activities, our practice, are simply present (Vorhanden), no longer understood as
separate objects but become an implicit extension of our actions. The typist does not
think of the actions necessary to fabricate the printed words anymore than
the carpenter is aware of the techniques needed to propel the plane across the
work-piece. Practice is mediated through social contexts and tacit knowledge which
inuence the day-to-day activities of organization members. The:
. . . concept of practice reveals how comprehension of situations where one is thrown
headlong into use is pre-reexive and does not draw distinctions among subject, object,
thought or context. It also reveals how reexive understanding arises at moments of
breakdown (Gherardi, 2000, p. 215, emphasis in original).
Learning is at its heart a participative and usually essentially social activity rather
than a reexive or cognitive activity (Blackler, 1993).
Studies of organizational practice must recognize that the sens pratique of
organizing is inscribed in the bodies and in the habitus of the organization participants
(Cook and Brown, 1999; McDermott, 1999; Orlikowski, 2002; Tsoukas, 1996). This is
much more than can be understood in the text of quality guidelines or budget manuals.
This aspect of practice is what Polanyi (1962) refers to when he says that we know
much more than we know we know. Nevertheless, if studies of organization are to
theorize practice they must engage in reexive thought. In such an endeavor practice
may be changed as:
The logic of practice contributes to its [own] transformation simply by making it explicit.
Disembedding knowledge is an act of reexive logic which betrays the logic of practice. It inserts
distance, reection and separation between subject and object where previously there was no
distinction between subject and the world; both were totally present and caught up by the
matter in hand (Gherardi, 2000, p. 216, emphasis added).
Using such conceptions of practice to interrogate our understanding of knowledge
accepts a view which emphasizes spatiality and facticity. Knowledge is perceived
as a practical accomplishment of actors within organizations. In this view knowledge is
grounded in a real situation and is presented as based on an accounting for reality even
where this reality may be socially constructed. The concept of situated knowledge has
been particularly thoroughly developed using a cultural perspective (Cook and Yanow,
1993; Cook and Brown, 1999; Tsoukas, 1996). Some of these writers have concentrated
on the social construction of organizational knowledge which produces social worlds
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in which practices assume meanings and facticity (Gherardi, 2000, p. 217; Star, 1996;
Tsoukas, 1996; Cook and Brown, 1999; Gomart and Hennion, 1999; Carter and
Scarbrough, 2001; Orlikowski, 2002). Others have examined aspects such as the
concept of community of practice (Wenger, 1998) and the concept of practice as work,
situated knowledge and social learning (Brown et al., 1989; Lave and Wenger,
1991), or epistemic cultures (Knorr Cetina, 1997, 1999).
The discussion in this section has attempted to clarify the notion of knowledge as
constituted within day-to-day routine. Knowledge in this view must be examined as an
outcome of the performance of the routine practices of knowledge workers and their
interactions with the systems and/or tools which constitute their knowledge systems.
This emphasis on the notion of knowledge as constituted through practice provides the
justication for the adoption of an intensive style of case research the results of which
will be discussed in the second half of this paper. The next section of the paper
provides a brief review the knowledge management literature.
Conceptions of knowledge management
Much of the contemporary professional business and academic literature agues that
managers are, or certainly should be, looking for new opportunities which may enable
them to develop intellectual capital and control and manage knowledge within the
organization (Civi, 2000; Gupta et al., 2000; Banks, 1999; Sveiby, 1997; Prusak, 1997).
This academic and practitioner literature is motivated from an implicit or explicit
assumption that it is the successful management of knowledge that will be a key
success factor in the new knowledge economy (Prusak, 1997; Stewart, 1997; Sveiby,
1997). Prusak (1997) identies many of the same issues as Giddens (1990, 1994, pp.
vii-viii) though his interpretation of the resulting trend is somewhat different:
.
globalization of the economy, which places increasing pressure on rms to adapt,
innovate and process at speed;
.
increasing awareness of the value of specialized knowledge embedded in
organizational processes and routines in order to cope with pressures such as
globalization;
.
increasing awareness of knowledge as a distinct factor of production and its role
in the growing book to market ratios within knowledge-based industries; and
.
lowered cost of computer networking which gives a tool to enable us to work and
learn with others.
Many would not argue with the statement that the world is changing at an accelerating
pace. But the thesis that this results in the obsolescence and outdating of knowledge
and that the organizational response should be to look for more sophisticated methods
of managing knowledge (Prusak, 1997) is not so widely accepted.
Some writers argue knowledge can be conceptualized as consisting of both tacit
and explicit elements (Gupta et al., 2000; Beckett et al., 2000; Lee and Yang, 2000).
This concept was rst distinguished by Polanyi (1962). Tacit knowledge is dened
as knowledge whichis not easilyvisible andexpressible (NonakaandTakeuchi, 1995, p. 8):
Tacit knowledge is highly personal and hard to formalize making it difcult to communicate
or to share with others. Subjective insights, intuitions and hunches fall into this category of
knowledge . . . Tacit knowledge is deeply rooted in an individuals action and experience, as
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well as in the ideals, values or emotions he or she embraces . . . the technical dimension.
The second dimension is cognitive which consists of schemata, mental models, beliefs and
perceptions which are so ingrained they are taken for granted. This dimension is not easily
articulated as it shapes the way we perceive the world.
Nonaka and Takeuchi (1995) dene explicit knowledge as that knowledge which is
easily processed by a computer, transmitted electronically or stored in a database. It
is the type of knowledge alluded to in the introduction of this report, such things as
reports, projects and generally hard copy documents. Martensson (2000) states
explicit knowledge is the knowledge that can be captured and shared through
information technology.
The increased attention that has been given to the importance of knowledge
management initiatives has spawned, two strategic schools of thought that now
underpin much of the conventional literature; knowledge-based theory and
resource-based theory (Martensson, 2000; Swan et al., 1999). Both schools are largely
concerned with utilizing knowledge in some way as a key competitive resource (Storey
and Barnett, 2000). The key assumption of resource-based theory is that knowledge or
intellectual capital is a core competence or strategy to achieve competitive advantage.
Essentially, this theory recognizes knowledge as a major resource and/or strategic
competence for the organization and this viewis positively advocated by a large body of
literature (Sveiby, 1997; Prusak, 1997; Skyrme, 2000; Stewart, 1997; Martensson, 2000).
The other strategic school of thought is termed knowledge-based theory and like
resource-based theory, this concept recognizes knowledge provides a source of
competitive advantage, but this theory goes one step further. Knowledge-based theory
suggests that rather than knowledge being the strategic competence, it is in fact the
knowledge management processes and the culture of an organization having the
ability to foster knowledge creation and knowledge-sharing which is the organizations
main competence. This concept recognizes knowledge as a living asset requiring
nurture and growth.
Swan et al. (1999) characterize the approaches to knowledge management
differently. They distinguish between a cognitive and a community-based model of the
knowledge management process. Their model has features in common with
the knowledge-based versus resource-based conceptualizations, in which there are
close similarities between resource-based and cognitive. Their community networking
model is a carefully developed version of a knowledge-based model which is reliant on
a social constructionist conception of the processes of the production and sharing of
knowledge (Swan et al., 1999, p. 273).
Within knowledge management initiatives Hoadley et al. (1998) highlight two key
themes. The rst theme centres on how information technology can support the
capture of tacit knowledge held by individuals and its conversion to explicit form
(suggesting the use of groupware mediums such as Lotus Notes). The second theme
involves the use of information technology to electronically publish corporate
documents on an intranet with the intention of supporting the search for information
by employees. Hoadley et al. (1998) characterizes the critique against these themes as
being solution driven rather than problem driven and largely focused on the
explicit form of knowledge (outlined above). This is generally because it is explicit
knowledge which is well suited to being stored and retrieved by information
technology.
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The above conceptions are relevant to the forest services (FS) project which is the
setting of this research. The project management appear to have adopted the idea that
tacit knowledge can be captured, while the essence of the project is its aim to make
[explicit] knowledge more widely available among employees. Storey and Barnett
(2000) contend that the major problem with the solution driven approach, is the
failure to adequately consider the importance of tacit knowledge and its often intimate
links with explicit knowledge (Carter and Scarbrough, 2001; McDermott, 1999; Newell
et al., 2001). Storey and Barnett also argue that the tacit component receives little
attention in the literature because it involves recognition of the importance of
behavioral and motivational issues rather that simple data and document capture.
Many of the conventional theories discussed earlier in this section adopt an
essentially modernist perspective. Such:
. . . theorists tend not to address the question of how the knowledge processes they
incorporate into their arguments work, which structures or principles adequately describe
this working, or how the notion of knowledge dealt with in these systems ought to be
specied (Knorr Cetina, 1999, p. 7).
Instead these theorists tend to concentrate on the transformative effects of these
systems outcomes on other social spheres, on personal life, industrial organization,
market expansion, etc. (Knorr Cetina, 1999, p. 7). Knorr Cetina argues that by contrast
we have a poor understanding of the contexts within which knowledge is produced
(Latour, 1987, 1996; Pickering, 1995; Hacking, 1999):
A knowledge society is not simply a society of more experts, more technological gadgets,
more specialist interpretations. It is a society permeated with knowledge cultures, the whole set
of structures and mechanisms that serve knowledge and un-fold with its articulation
(Knorr Cetina, 1999, p. 8, emphasis added).
This section of the paper has identied a number of key themes which have emerged in
the contemporary literature on organizational knowledge. The next section of the paper
will indicate the research methods used and introduce the case organization. The case
evidence that we present in the next section of the paper will address aspects of the
failure of organizations to take appropriate account of the importance of tacit
knowledge, the complexity of social settings and the difculty of managing such
knowledge (Carter and Scarbrough, 2001; Newell et al., 2001; Scarbrough and Swan,
2001).
The case organization and issues of research method
Radiata is a New Zealand-based tree-farm entity in the business of supplying solid
wood product solutions to selected markets both domestically and globally. Radiata
are committed to understanding and meeting their customers needs. They seek
competitive advantage in terms of products, quality, service, safety and costs. Radiata
owns and manages purpose-grown sustainable tree farms. The Company breeds and
manages short rotation crop and actively participates in genome research for both Pine
and Eucalyptus. Approximately, six million cubic meters of wood are harvested per
annum with 1.4 cubic meters processed at ten New Zealand sites[1]. Radiata created
strategic business units within the organization to take responsibility for key customer
groups and their related supply chain segments.
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FS, the strategic business unit for whom this study is being prepared, manage
approximately 316,000 hectares of Central North Island forest estate. This means
having responsibility for the establishment, tending, pruning, harvesting and forest
information for the estate. Since, restructuring, all research undertaken regarding the
future of the forest and its wellbeing is undertaken by members of FS52 staff. The
project which is the setting of this research involved the implementation of an
electronic project based knowledge data base (see Appendix for further details).
The research was based on an intensive, qualitative single case study approach
(Alvesson and Skoldberg, 2000; Massey and Meegan, 1985; Sayer, 1997). Data
collection was primarily through interviews, observation and documentary analysis.
Documents examined included board minutes, laboratory trials, harvest plans, budgets
and internal procedure manuals. Interviews were carried out with 18 employees from a
total 52 employees. Observation of work practices extended over the period of the site
visits which lasted for about four months. Over this period at least one of the
researchers was at the organization during normal working hours for two or three days
each week. Nine employees were selected randomly from each of the two site ofces.
The tenure of employment for the interviewees varied from 1 to 20 years. Within FS
there are several work teams and interviewees were selected to give coverage of
different work areas. Interviewees included administration staff in addition to those
working in the forest on a day-to-day basis, planning plantation of the forests,
preparing for plantation, supervising plantation and checking the forests for pests.
The next section presents ndings from the research site. In terms of time, the work
involved in observing work practices was the most intensive. In the following
discussion, interview extracts will be used to provide a reection of the researchers
impressions of the case organization. Clearly these impressions have been formed in
large part by the signicant time spent in the case organization. The evidence
presented will provide the basis of an understanding of the context of knowledge
production (Knorr Cetina, 1999) in a business setting. The section is structured to
present a picture of the main themes revealed in the empirical data in regard to the
knowledge management project.
Evidence of attitudes to knowledge and work practices
This section presents the ndings of the case research. The intention of this section is
to put emphasis on the notion of knowledge as constituted through practice. The use of
an intensive style of case research provides a way to bring out the performative nature
of knowledge production (Knorr Cetina, 1999; Law, 1999). The manner in which
knowledge comes to play a role within the organization is theorized to be dependent on
the opportunity of individuals to share know-how in productive situations with their
colleagues (Gherardi, 2000; McDermott, 1999). In this view knowledge is produced and
reproduced as part of day-to-day practice. It is actively constructed in the act of doing.
As a result the nature and character of day-to-day practice and the attitudes of workers
becomes central to any operationalization of tacit knowledge.
The empirical material is framed within a conception of knowing which seeks to
emphasize the complexity of understanding everyday practices. This is in contrast
to a mainstream view which might be characterized as follows: employees are
identied as a crucial competitive resource because of what they know; attempts
are made to capture this knowledge so that it can be of benet to the organization
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as a whole; employees resist attempts to get them to document what they know for a
variety of reasons (fear of blame, lack of time, feelings that whatever power they have
will be undermined); therefore a culture supportive of knowledge sharing needs to be
encouraged so that the knowledge can be released. According to this view, the main
limitation of codication strategies is a lack of willingness on the part of employees.
If only this barrier could be removed, everything would be all right. This is far too
simplistic.
The mainstreamperspective leaves the dualismbetweentacit andexplicit knowledge
undisturbed. This is in contradiction to the perspective in practice-based approaches
which does not accept a simple dualistic perspective of knowledge. Because knowing
and practice are crucially inter-related, and some form of tacit background or
interpretative framework is entailed in knowledgeable practice, it makes little sense to
speak of tacit and explicit knowledge in dualistic terms (Gherardi, 2000).
The ndings from our case study are presented in sections loosely in accordance
with the themes identied in the previous section. These include: employee attitudes to
the data base knowledge project (the technological solution); the reluctance of
employees to share their knowledge and, to the extent we can discern it, the tacit nature
of that knowledge. The discussion will indicate the problematic nature of these
conceptions through the interpretation of the interview accounts.
Ideas of knowledge management at FS
Interview material can only provide a rather supercial indication of the underlying
realities that people experience in their daily work practices. Our interpretation was
based on the feel for the organization and its members gained during extensive
observation in addition to the interviews we carried out. Unfortunately in terms of
illustrating the case story we are largely limited to interview accounts. We believe that
the context of the research at FS is clearly reective of aspects of the organization
culture and history together with peoples assumptions and experiences of the
company.
FS management had adopted a technological solution (Martensson, 2000; Storey
and Barnett, 2000) to their perceived knowledge management problem. This was
reected in interviewees responses. Employees understandings of knowledge
management often seemed to reect back what had been promulgated within the
organization a management informed perspective of FSs IT centered project. This is
from the project manager. She describes the knowledge management project at FS as:
. . . a system developed to track all knowledge [in FS], for example hardcopy les, electronic
les, reports, manuals etc . . . by subject and location so that information can be accessed and
shared without being centralised (manager project library, February 13, 2001).
Another interviewee expressed a conventional but rather sanguine view of the project:
Its a new opportunity to stop the problem of duplication we have at FS. Im sure it will have
its pros and cons (plantation supervisor, February 28, 2000).
These quotes display a rather na ve management centered view of the all
encompassing nature of such data base knowledge gathering approaches. Not all
staff followed this line consistently as we will relate later. In some cases individuals
would make such a strong commitment to a technological solution only to depart later
in the interview to make statements which contradicted such a view. Often these
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later remarks seemed to be somewhat spontaneous and more reective of the
individuals work experiences and understandings.
The interviewees, as indicated earlier, were spread evenly across two site ofces.
There was some evidence of a greater negativity toward the project at the larger and
less remote of the two locations. It appeared that this may have been a result of the
familiarity of these staff with previous management initiatives which had not always
been successful.
Some employees reected more on their concerns about the size and complexity of
the project an object coming into the organization that was providing some
uncertainty and threat to their environment, an initiative, of management, that would
soak up much of their time rather than make their lives easier. In such instances
interviewees tended to recognize the human side of the knowledge management project
but also dwelt on the demanding nature they perceived the system would have. One
respondent noted rather emotively that:
Everyone needs to play a key part in the project library in order to support this. The project
library requires not only a huge organizational commitment but a huge commitment by
individuals if it is to succeed (ofce administrator B, January 16, 2001, emphasis in original).
Others expressed much more serious concerns and disquiet. It was interesting to see
this theme emerging in the interview responses.
To me the [library] project is just a . . . waste of time (forestry planner, March 1, 2001).
Such comments were not uncommon and indicate some of the misgivings felt by
potential project participants. A signicant minority were far from enthusiastic in their
attitudes toward the project. Swan et al. (1999) allude to such problems in an electronic
banking setting, though they do not report the reactions of individuals.
The situated nature of knowledge and information sharing
There was evidence of the importance attached to the situated nature of knowledge and
knowledge management practices as interviewees reected on various aspects of their
reliance on others in the organization. This extended not just to conventional ideas as
to the importance and value of information sharing but additionally exhibited features
of the dependence of management and the organization on the individuals use of
knowledge within their work practices. A number of employees involved in the
knowledge management initiative gave indications that they are aware of the
importance of their knowledge to themselves, their colleagues and to management
(Martensson, 2000; Bailey and Clarke, 2000; McDermott, 1999).
I have a personal interest in my job. I like to observe others efforts in the same area and learn
from them (member forestry team A, January 19, 2001).
. . . there is more to life than just work, you gain knowledge and skills from working that
you apply to your personal life in community groups, clubs and personal relationships
(forestry planner, February 13, 2001)
. . . this knowledge is crucial to me in seeking employment elsewhere (member forestry teamB,
January 9, 2001).
Frequently, comments were made which reected the interviewees awareness of the
importance to the management of FS of their skills and knowledge:
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Of course, how else will they [FS managers] grow a forest without the application of our skills
(member forestry team A, February 28, 2001).
Its very important to FS, that each of us undertake a particular role which helps the business
unit do what it is supposed to do . . . if none of us knew anything, FS would nd it very hard
to do business . . . employees are a core part of their business . . . (forestry planner, February
16, 2001)
. . . as employees of the same organization, we feed off each other. Many of us produce
information to be used by others in our SBU [strategic business unit] or in other SBUs . . . it
has to be right and there is great weight placed on how right it is . . . I think its very important
to other employees and the company (plantation supervisor, March 1, 2001)
The above quotes reect the majority view expressed by the interviewees. Most
considered the knowledge they developed and made use of, in the work environment at
FS, as important both to themselves, other employees and to management. Such
responses appeared to indicate employees placed some genuine value on the
knowledge they had gained within their FS work environment and that they were
aware of its signicance. Such a view was not universal. Others did not seem to want to
privilege the knowledge gained in their FS work or were dismissive of its value:
Not at all . . . anyone can do my job, I just turn up do what I have to do and leave, I dont need
to know much (member forestry team B, March 1, 2001)
No, I cant do anything with it its just part of the job (member forestry team A, January 12,
2001)
These latter responses again indicate quite a range of attitudes within the workforce.
Such views indicate a heterogeneous work culture. In these circumstances it is
apparent that a simplistic approach to the implementation of the knowledge
management initiative, based on a notion of an extant culture of trust between
management and workers and even among workers, would be an unrealistic approach
to the project.
The accounts provide only supercial indications of the part that knowledge plays
in the functioning of organizations. The quotes reveal some of the complexities in how
individuals think about the value of knowledge of the organization to themselves and
their colleagues. The above reections and other descriptions of the working
environment which the interviewees provided could be seen as supporting the
theorizations of knowing in practice (Orlikowski, 2002). Such understandings may
provide some indication of what elements within the work situation provide a focus
and motivation to workers.
These features may support a way of understanding how individual knowledge
workers construct the knowing that is an aspect of their work [which is a] dynamic
interaction of the knowledge (both explicit and tacit) possessed by the actors
(Orlikowski, 2002, p. 270; Cook and Brown, 1999). The attitudes to knowledge form a
part of work practices that may be inuential in providing interest and motivation
within specialist groups of knowledge workers. Such understandings may be critical in
knowing how [knowledge sharing] can be seen as a process of enabling others to
learn the practice that entails the knowing how. It is a process of helping others
develop the ability to enact in a variety of contexts and conditions the knowing
in practice (Orlikowski, 2002, p. 271). In the context of knowledge sharing
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Kogut and Zander (1996) focus attention on the problematic nature of best practice.
They prefer to talk of useful practices and suggest that their usefulness is
consequent not on so much on transfer but on peoples capacity to enact these practices
in their everyday action. Consequently, what may be important is the recognition of the
contextual and provisional nature of such practices. Such a view would place some
emphasis on an ability to identify aspects of context that might be reproduced. Rather
than concentrating on the transfer of best practice we might look toward transferring
elements of the work environment:
. . . best . . . practices are, by denition, situationally constituted. They are not discrete
objects to be exchanged or stable processes to be packaged and transported to other domains.
Practices are generated through peoples everyday action practice (Orlikowski, 2002, p. 271).
Knowledge, technology and ambiguity
A number of comments were made which have implications for the views workers held
of their understandings of practical knowledge. Some employees referred directly to a
complex conception of the knowledge they required by referring to specic situations
in which they would act in specic ways. They would liken their work spaces to ling
systems which could not work separate from their knowledge of the idiosyncrasies of
their own approach to ling information. They would also refer to knowledge as
resided in their heads. The following remarks indicate the feelings of a number of
individuals that such knowledges are different but equally useful to what could be
captured in a database repository. They saw such knowledge as an essential ingredient
of a knowledge management system. Others expressed a degree of disquiet:
How will we know what types of information we should include, we cant include every bit of
information we have, it would take forever, where do we draw the line. Over half the
information I use I only know where it is because of my psychological ling [system]. The
library will need to record the information I have in my head as well as in my cupboard to
have any hope of anyone making any sense of it but me (forestry planner, January 19, 2001).
In the merger of FS and Forestry Corporation of New Zealand, people were only aware of the
types of projects their respective company had done and you can see this mindset continuing
within FS today. People are very keen to use the knowledge they already have . . . but how do
you share that information with others . . . that is probably more benecial to FS than most of
the stuff on the library database (plantation supervisor, February 9, 2001).
In cases such as these highly skilled workers express clearly the nature of their
knowledge work and their doubts about the ability of the technological solution to
handle the complex nature of their knowledge. The following comment neatly indicates
how this might be understood in relation to the forestry work at FS:
In some cases there is probably too much to write up [in a lessons learned report]. What
would you write up about spraying a forest? Its hard enough saying when you spray it,
[let alone] what it looks like when you spray it. It would take so much time (member forestry
team A, February 28, 2001).
In this comment the interviewee notes the importance of a highly complex learned on
the job skill. The ability to visualize an aspect of their production process, a visual
knowledge (McDermott, 1999; Weick, 1996) is recognized as a key part of knowing in
this work environment. In this instance the experience and knowledge needed involves
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a learned ability to see the condition of the forest and how this enables an optimal
work process, of timing of forest spraying, to be achieved. This appears to be a very
good example of practice-based ways of knowing. Ability and skill acquired and
re-enacted through practice (Cook and Brown, 1999; Orlikowski, 2002).
Another worker expressed their concerns about the technological solution being
implemented at FS:
I dont see any need for a library database. I much prefer the paper trail, being able to locate
my hands on hard copy information and talk to the right person about it. You can only put
hard copy documents on a database, you cant put someones ideas or advice on a database . . .
I much prefer the paper trail (plantation supervisor, January 16, 2001).
It appears that concerns such as these might be important reasons for employees to be
reluctant to commit to the project library, but rather than a conventional explanation
based on a loss of power or fear of blame, these subjects, were concerned at the
prospect of physical records being replaced with an electronic library. This may be
interpreted as a general resistance to change but it also evidences an aspect of
the nature of knowledge work. This is the felt need at times to engage, in a physical
way with knowledge objects (Star, 1996; Brown et al., 1989; Wenger, 1998). This is clear
in the case of the craftsmen or designers who express their skill and tacit knowledge in
action (Cook and Brown, 1999; Gherardi, 2000).
Similar aspects of knowledge work have been recognized in relation to engineers
and scientists (McDermott, 1999; Knorr Cetina, 1999; Pan and Scarbrough, 1998).
McDermott notes the value of interactions among geologists in rening and developing
new models of oil exploration by engaging with each other using maps and other
seismic representations in hard copy as well as electronic form. An important feature of
such patterns of knowledge sharing, relate to the familiarity and meaningfulness of
forms of representation to different types of workers and experts (Knorr Cetina, 1999).
In our case company such interactions take place among employees, trees and the
forest as a whole.
Knowledge sharing, organization culture and resistance
In this section we consider the ways in which our case evidence can be seen as
resistance to the knowledge system. We focus directly on resistance here but it may
also be seen in the themes we discussed previously, particularly in the discussions of
ideas of knowledge management and the last section on knowledge, technology and
ambiguity.
Interviews were structured in order to elicit employee perceptions of the
knowledge-sharing culture at FS (Storey and Barnett, 2000). The following
comments give an indication of employee views on this issue:
Knowledge sharing is important to the effective and efcient functioning of any organization.
If you are in a role where you do not need to share information or knowledge with others,
I would ask, is there any need for that role? Knowledge sharing makes everyones job much
easier and gives FS as an organization a much better chance of achieving their goals
(manager project library, January 16, 2001).
As a team, we all need to use the strength of individual knowledge. We are all members of a
organization who are trying to achieve the same goals, I am always going to be willing to
share my knowledge (plantation supervisor, February 28, 2001).
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Many of these statements appeared positive and displayed the willingness of some
employees to share knowledge. The above rather conventional views might be
interpreted as what workers perceive management wants to hear. On the other hand
such statements do not show an appreciation of the complexity of accessing knowledge
(Polanyi, 1962; Cook and Brown, 1999; Gherardi, 2000; Orlikowski, 2002). These writers
note the difculty of individuals in identifying tacit knowledge in order to share it
consciously. Other workers exhibited rather less positive attitudes to knowledge
sharing:
. . . when it comes to reaching targets and competitive type work . . . people tend to fob others
off and are . . . reluctant to help people out (ofce administrator B, January 16, 2001).
. . . [people may be reluctant to share knowledge] because of intimidation or a lack of
condence but also because they dont always want to share what they know if they may gain
advantage from being one of the few people who know about that particular area of FS
(member forestry team B, January 19, 2001).
I am happy to share my knowledge and put it on the project library, as long as I can take what
is mine when I leave and FS dont think it belongs to them . . . if thats what they think then Ill
just keep it to myself (member forestry team A, February 28, 2001).
A clear theme emerges which indicates a level of awareness of the management
proclaimed organization culture and against this the existence of an alternative culture
(rather at odds with managements conception of compliant employees and shared
values). Here, we are seeing some evidence of a rather negative view of management
attempts to foster a positive organization culture along with the knowledge
management initiative. Instead, what is revealed is indicative of a rather heterogeneous
set of perspectives within the organization. Some of these interview extracts certainly
could be interpreted as evidence of resistance. Alvesson (2002) argues that such
heterogeneity within organization culture should be considered the rule, rather than the
exception. It might be suggested that such diversity of perspectives may be more of a
problem in knowledge intensive organizations. In such an environment members of the
organization might typically be better educated and more aware of their contribution to
the rm. This could mean they would be less accepting of the organizational rhetoric
encountered in organization mission statements and other policy documents.
Martensson (2000) argues that evidence of a reluctance by employees to share their
expertise may be a consequence of too much emphasis on competition in the
organization. Other writers suggest that it is better to see such issues as a consequence
of management attitudes and organization culture (Reed, 2001; Ezzamel and Willmott,
1998). The following interview extracts seem to support the existence of problems in
relation to knowledge sharing:
Most FS staff tend to keep their knowledge to themselves . . . this is a cultural hurdle . . . FS
staff are not good at centralised systems . . . they tend to retain it [knowledge] so others are
not aware of its existence or location (forestry planner, February 13, 2001).
FS . . . [does not have] a culture of knowledge sharing. There is an idea among this culture
that a request for information poses threat or raises suspicion. This occurs at all levels and in
all business units (plantation supervisor, March 1, 2001).
Knowledge
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551
These views on knowledge sharing indicate negative reactions to the project. They
also indicate a signicant lack of belief in the organization culture. Interviewees were
often unconvinced of the likelihood that colleagues would perform adequately to
maintain the integrity of the system. Not surprisingly they were concerned that the
integrity of the system would be jeopardized and that undermined their condence
that the system could operate to their benet. The FS culture perhaps also lead people
to be wary of taking a position of trust, when their past experience in the
organization may have been more of an emphasis on control (Knights et al., 2001;
Maguire et al., 2001; Reed, 2001).
The theoretical ideas which are the focus of this paper, about the importance of
practice in developing and re-enacting skills and applying tacit knowledge, indicate
that changes which impact strongly to alter work practices should be carefully
considered. These theorisations of knowing and knowledge practices imply that the
context may be crucial to the ability of workers to continue to act effectively and
re-enact useful practices. Such conclusions are not just only relevant to knowledge
management initiatives but also to other technologies of change such as the
implementation of ERP systems and organizational reengineering techniques.
The introduction of such technologies of change impact work practices dramatically
often requiring workers to put to one side their existing knowledge-practice systems
and replace them abruptly with best practices. The evidence as to whose best
practices these are and how applicable they are to all organizations is equivocal
(Kogut and Zander, 1996; Orlikowski, 2002; Pollock and Cornford, 2004).
Discussion
The previous section has focused on the manner in which knowledge workers
responded to a technological solution to knowledge management. Issues relating to the
difculty of identifying and sharing of knowledge have been considered. Storey and
Barnett (2000; see also McDermott, 1999; Pan and Scarbrough, 1998) in describing
solution driven knowledge management systems, suggest that tacit knowledge is
neglected . . . this latter form of knowledge is hard to make available through computer
systems (p. 3). Malholtra (1999, p. 2) states unless you can scan a persons mind and
store it directly into a database, you cannot put bits into a database and assume that
some body else can get back the experience of the rst person. Other writers (Tsoukas,
1996; Gherardi, 2000; Orlikowski, 2002) doubt the relevance of the implicit, explicit
dichotomy. This literature regards a holistic perspective as a more adequate
theorization.
Some employees stressed the importance of the knowledge they had in their heads
(Gherardi, 2000; Knorr Cetina, 1999; McDermott, 1999). Examples included
psychological ling cabinets where employees are aware of where their knowledge
resides . . . through to the knowledge felt necessary to undertake the employees own
work and extend also to routine instances where people change jobs or leave the
company. The employees highlighted the difculty in capturing what knowledge they
use in their work. This knowledge was illustrated by how people are able to recall
where some very specic information is held or recall what the status of that project
might be. Many of these concerns reected the perceived difculty in expressing and
codifying knowledge in other than rather supercial ways (Haldin-Herrgard, 2000;
Storey and Barnett, 2000).
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Another illustration from the accounts reported earlier is of the difculty of
documenting, or developing a technique that would enable less-experienced employees
to judge the condition of a plantation. When is the best time to spray in order to ensure
healthy trees and good growth? It is possible to document time intervals in order to
plan approximate treatment periods, but the best time to spray is affected by weather
conditions. Changes in weather conditions over a period of months could cause
considerable variability in the condition of a plantation. Our interviewee maintained
that under such, difcult to predict, circumstances, it is likely that the knowledge of
when exactly various treatment processes should be applied is best achieved by visual
inspection and knowledge acquired and rened over many years. This can only be
gained through experience of how the forest looks at different times, in differing
conditions over the seasons. The difculty in documenting these complex scenarios
arises, in part, because some element of tacit knowledge is relied on by the forestry
workers. Haldin-Herrgard (2000) suggests that the intuitive and tacit elements of this
are more than can be reliably captured.
Instances and examples such as these are good indicators of the part played by
practice-based knowledge (Gherardi, 2000; Pan and Scarbrough, 1998; Swan et al.,
1999). Knowledge of this nature which is caught up in the intimate relations which
workers form with their work and the means of their work activity can only be
effectively learned through practice. The linkages among work objects such as tools,
machines and the objects which constitute the work space are so difcult to separate
from work practice. These networked relations (Swan et al., 1999; Knorr Cetina, 1999)
are fundamental but difcult, or impossible, to disentangle from day-to-day work
practices in any meaningful way.
Toward the end of the case section we provide an alternative interpretation of some
of our case evidence. We suggest that the accounts and attitudes expressed by
participants can be of theorized as resistance. The interpretations we suggest indicate
that resistance by employees can take a variety of forms. Our interviews provide
evidence that some people were refusing to contribute to the system while others
appeared to be following a less confrontational approach using the discursive space
provided by the system to frame their resistance (Lowe and Doolin, 1999). Though the
individuals reactions are quite different many of the employees were effectively
resisting the system by anything short of the compliance anticipated by managers. The
system could not be effectively deployed in the organization without strong support
from the workers who were being encouraged to contribute to it and of course make
use of it.
Concluding comments
The case research we report provides evidence of the difculties in capturing work
knowledge. In addition we identify other lessons about organization change and
resistance in knowledge intensive settings. Our interview extracts reveal attitudes to
change and strategies of resistance that knowledge workers have constructed in the
case organization. Though the picture is of a heterogeneous work environment it is
clear that many of the workers are uncomfortable with the imposition of the
technological solution that management have begun to implement. The accounts we
report suggest a range of responses to the new management initiative ranging from
apprehension to distain.
Knowledge
management in
New Zealand
553
Our research has placed emphasis on knowledge practice and regards practitioners
as actors within the structures, processes, and environment of the organization. Knorr
Cetina (1999, p. 9) argues that such a performative approach can provide important
insights into how agents generate and negotiate certain outcomes (Pickering, 1995;
Alexander, 1992). This frame-work reveals the strategies, interests and interactional
accomplishments of individuals. In using this approach the paper contributes to
an understanding of knowledge management issues at the organizational and work
group level. Examining these aspects of knowledge work also contributes to our
understanding the interaction of organizational control processes and the nature of
resistance in the complex environments typical of knowledge work settings (Lowe and
Doolin, 1999).
In the organizational setting we describe control processes are bound up in the
implementation of a technological solution to a perceived knowledge management
problem. Managers at the company regarded the information system solution as a
way to try to avoid loss of expertise and improve control and efciency within the
organization. The accounts in the case section of the paper indicate a variety of
response from the workers . . . some of which are quite negative toward the knowledge
management system and its professed objectives. The workers reactions to the system
also reveal some of their strategies for resisting the technology (Covaleski et al., 1993;
Knights and Morgan, 1991; Foucault, 1982).
In many instances our interviewees do not provide evidence of clear-cut resistance.
The accounts of our interviewees are not homogeneous indicating the independent
nature of these knowledge workers. The interviews could be seen as presenting a
picture of inconsistency, ambiguity and tension (Engestrom, 2000; Blackler et al., 2000).
The attitudes these responses evidence is of resistance to the system. In many
instances it is not outright opposition but much more subtle questioning of the aims of
the technology that unsettles its implementation (Hull, 1999). In effect the knowledge
management system we encountered contributed to a new discursive space (Lowe and
Doolin, 1999) within which the organizational participants found themselves. In these
circumstances resistance becomes tied up with the new initiative as managers and
workers engage with the issues that the new system evokes. We would argue that
resistance could be expected to be less clear-cut in the relatively complex environments
typical of knowledge intensive organizations.
Note
1. Log processing plant, four saw-mills, one plywood mill, two mouldings plants and two
remanufacturing plants.
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Appendix. Database technical details
The database was set up using a Compaq Proliant 3000R Server, a Pentium III 500 Processor
with 512MB Ram and four 9 GB Hard Drives. The software being used is Microsoft Internet
Information Server 4.0 with Active Server Pages (ASP), Microsoft SQL Server 7.0 Database,
Microsoft Internet Explorer 5.0 and Microsoft Visual Interdev 6.0 commonly used for web page
development.
The database operates by an administrator entering information about the project including
le locations into an ASP which passes the information into a database on the server. Extranet
users then retrieve the information via other ASPs which allow users to enter various criteria to
search within the projects loaded. Both hard copy and electronic copies of the information can be
retrieved from the database.
About the authors
Alan Lowe is a Professor of accounting at Aston Business School, Birmingham, UK and at
the Waikato Management School, Hamilton, New Zealand. Alan has published a number
Knowledge
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of research articles in accounting that adopt a socio-technical perspective to examine the
impact of accounting and other information communication technology such as enterprise
resource planning and Casemix systems. Alans other research interests include the impact
on management accounting systems of changes in management philosophies, methods of
performance measurement, issues related to the management of intellectual capital, journal
quality and the application of qualitative research methodologies. Recent publications have
appeared in: Accounting Organizations and Society, Accounting Auditing and Accountability
Journal, British Accounting Review, Critical Perspectives on Accounting, Journal of Organizational
Change Management, Management Accounting Research, Organization Studies, and Policy
Studies. Alan Lowe is the corresponding author and can be contacted at: lowead@aston.ac.uk
Andrea Mclntosh was an honours student who was completing a Masters in Management
Studies at Waikato Management School, New Zealand.
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Responding to crisis through
strategic knowledge management
Duncan Shaw, Matthew Hall, John S. Edwards and Brad Baker
Aston Business School, Aston University, Birmingham, UK
Abstract
Purpose Many managers would like to take a strategic approach to preparing the organisation to
avoid impending crisis but instead nd themselves re-ghting to mitigate its impact. This paper
seeks to examine an organisation which made major strategic changes in order to respond to the full
effect of a crisis which would be realised over a two to three year period. At the root of these changes
was a strategic approach to managing knowledge. The papers purpose is to reect on managers
views of the impact this strategy had on preparing for the crisis and explore what happened in the
organisation during and after the crisis.
Design/methodology/approach The paper examines a case-study of a nancial services
organisation which faced the crisis of its impending dissolution. The paper draws upon observations
of change management workshops, as well as interviews with organisational members of a change
management task force.
Findings The response to the crisis was to recognise the importance of the people and their
knowledge to the organisation, and to build a strategy which improved business processes and
communication ow across the divisions, as well as managing the departure of knowledge workers
from an organisation in the process of being dissolved.
Practical implications The paper demonstrates the importance of building a knowledge
management strategy during times of crisis, and draws out important lessons for organisations facing
organisational change.
Originality/value The paper represents a unique opportunity to learn from an organisation
adopting a strategic approach to managing its knowledge during a time of crisis.
Keywords Change management, Knowledge management, Strategic planning
Paper type Case study
Introduction
One only needs to talk to a range of managers to discover that, in many organisations,
strategic thinking and strategic planning are often replaced with re-ghting and the
reliance on emergent solutions (Spence, 1999). This can be the case with knowledge
management (KM) where organisations sometimes develop capabilities piecemeal,
perhaps before adopting a strategic approach (Ruggles, 1998; McCann and
Buckner, 2004; Ciabuschi, 2005). However, often the need for a strategic approach
(i.e. purposefully aligning initiatives with an organisations strategic imperatives) is
only realised when looming crisis forces reconsideration of the organisations current
direction (Collison and Parcell, 2001; Ford and Angermeier, 2004).
The imperatives forcing the need for a strategic approach obviously depend on the
particular context. On the basis of experience of 16 organisations, we have recently
worked with in developing KMstrategy (Edwards and Shaw, 2004; Shawand Edwards,
2005), the crises which encourage their taking of a strategic view included: becoming
swamped with data and being unable to forecast accurately as a result; the merging
of three organisations which necessitated the new organisation acting differently;
Strategic
knowledge
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Management
Vol. 20 No. 4, 2007
pp. 559-578
0953-4814
DOI 10.1108/09534810710760081
needing process change to remain competitive and retaining essential knowledge
during site relocation.
The organisation which is the focus of this paper, the Mortgage Code Compliance
Board (MCCB), was faced with a particular kind of crisis the impending closure of the
organisation, driven by legislative changes in the regulatory environment. MCCB is
quintessentially a knowledge organisation and its employees knowledge workers its
regulatory and advisory function relies upon the codication of professional expertise.
The importance of the employees knowledge and the need to manage it effectively was
recognised by MCCB and became a strategic central pillar of its organisational change
programme. MCCB was forced to take a strategic view of KM because they were closing
their operations and a dwindling workforce had to cope with growing stakeholder
requirements, thereby necessitating major changes in order to sustain operational
effectiveness. Over nearly three years these changes requiredthe balancing of three pillars
of KM: people, process andtechnology (Ahmed et al., 2002; Masseyet al., 2002). The MCCB
has now closed and this paper provides a retrospective analysis of how the organisation
managed the crisis of closure by undertaking a strategically central programme of KM.
Our work with MCCB has been discussed elsewhere (Shaw et al., 2003, 2006), but
this paper adds to these accounts by providing a more critical assessment of the
implementation of KM strategy from a new perspective both of the senior managers
who designed and implemented that strategy and the staff who were affected by these
changes.
The structure of the paper is as follows. First, we review the KM literature
and consider what constitutes an effective KM strategy. We ask the question
what happens to knowledge management in a time of organisational crisis? We then
introduce the background to the case study and describe the crisis which encouraged
MCCB to take a strategic view of KM. We briey introduce the methodology used to
develop the strategy, before examining the change process and reviewing the actions
implemented as part of the strategy. Drawing upon in-depth interviews with members
of the KM implementation group, together with observations from workshops and
meetings, we discuss how MCCB made its KM strategy central to the change process,
and we draw conclusions about the role of KM in a time of organisational crisis.
Balancing people, processes and technology
Owing to the breadth of KM activities and the scope of KM practice, there are many
conceptions of KM in organisations. Early practice has been criticised for treating KM
as the short-term implementation of IT-based projects, with a predominant view of
knowledge as being little different to information (Swan and Scarborough, 2001;
Hislop, 2005).
It is now widely accepted that approaches to KM fall into two distinct perspectives:
people- and technology-centred (Alvesson and Karreman, 2001; Dueck, 2001;
Scarborough and Swan, 2001; Moffett et al., 2003; Handzic and Zhou, 2005). Despite
emphasis on the use of IT to mobilise KM practices, there is widespread acceptance
that knowledge is inherently personal (Fahey and Prusak, 1998; McDermott, 1999;
Coakes et al., 2002), and that IT can only play a limited role. This is expressed
most commonly in the concept that knowledge has a tacit dimension (Stenmark, 2000;
Connell et al., 2003) and that only part of a persons knowledge can be made explicit
and articulated as information.
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Although IT plays an important role in facilitating the ow of knowledge in
organisations, it should support knowledge processes rather than become the
predominant focus of KM activity (Alavi and Leidner, 2001). As knowledge is
inherently personal, KM initiatives need to focus rst and foremost on nurturing the
people who have the knowledge, with technology playing a supplementary role only
(Robertson and Hammersley, 2000). Furthermore, the organisation needs to foster
appropriate processes by which the knowledge of its individual members can interact
for the benet of the whole organisation (Hammer et al., 2004). Maier and Remus (2003)
suggest that a process focus is a way of bridging this apparent dichotomy between the
people- and the technology-oriented approaches. However, the business should not
nurture business processes whilst stiing that informal knowledge sharing between
people by which much organisational work is performed (Brown and Duguid, 2000).
A number of organisations have recognised the balance between people, processes
and technology as a framework for organising their KM activity. For example,
Massey et al. (2002) discuss the case of the telecommunications rm Nortel Networks,
while Ahmed et al. (2002) give the examples of the information systems company ICL
and the UKs Post Ofce organisation. Even if rms do not adopt an explicit
people-process-technology framework, there is nevertheless a universal recognition
within KM case-studies that an important lesson is for rms to nurture an appropriate
culture for KM. This is fundamentally a people and process-oriented focus. Black and
Decker is one among the many cases in point (Pemberton et al., 2002).
Knowledge management and strategy
Because KM is such a fundamental activity which impacts upon most areas of the
business, organisations need to take an overarching strategic approach to align KM
with business strategy, rather than KM existing as random and isolated pockets of
activity (Zack, 1999; McCann and Buckner, 2004; Snyman and Kruger, 2004).
In knowledge-based rms strategy cannot be treated as an exclusively top-down
process, but knowledge workers should be represented and involved in strategy
formulation in order to generate collective ownership of the process (Carlisle, 2002;
Shaw and Edwards, 2005). Because of the increasing importance of knowledge
processes as the principal activity of knowledge-based organisations, KM should be
embedded in the organisations working practices and business strategy. While
ongoing senior management support for KM plays a critical role, knowledge sharing
should be everyones concern, not just the occupation of an isolated group or project
(Liebowitz, 1999; Storey and Barnett, 2000). Nevertheless, there is an important
leadership role to be played in building and sustaining the momentum of any specic
KM activity. Jones et al. (2003) refer to this dual role of expert change agent and
knowledge manager by the term knowledge champion.
Knowledge management in times of crisis
Despite the ideal of these principles, the reality of creating and sustaining the
momentum of KM in business is often difcult. Storey and Barnett (2000) present a
case-study of a rm which is forced by an external crisis to drop its KM initiative.
Although the initiative is central to the need for cultural change in the organisation,
and arguably, reects a deeper and more embedded form of organisational crisis, the
rm is forced into a mode of re-ghting for survival, leading Storey and Barnett to
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conclude that KM is often seen as a nice-to-have rather than a mission-critical
activity. That KMis viewed as a luxury which can be so easily dropped implies it can
be viewed as an appendage and not as properly embedded into business processes or
integrated into organisational strategy.
Roux-Dufort (2000) denes a crisis as a process of transformation induced by a
major disruption that forces the restructuring of social, human and natural systems.
He presents case-studies in which the opportunity for the organisation to learn from
a crisis is confounded by its attempt to re-establish the status quo, rather than seeing
the crisis as an opportunity to learn and evolve. This is in contrast to Kim (1998),
following Pitt (1990), who nds that some rms view crisis as more of an opportunity
than a threat. Kim (1998) suggests that there are two types of crisis; those which are
proactively constructed by the rm in order to precipitate organisational change, and
those which are brought about by the external market, technological or regulatory
environment to which the rm must reactively respond. Kim views such times of crisis
as episodes in which rms can engage in rapid organisational learning, as in the case of
the Korean car manufacturer Hyundai, which brought about a state of crisis in order
to transform itself from a rm which learned through imitation of foreign
manufacturers, to one which was able to generate its own research-led innovation.
Thus, Kim argues that a state of crisis should not be seen merely as a danger which
renders the rm defensive, but as an opportunity for organisational learning.
While organisational crisis and its management have provoked modest interest in
the academic literature, interest in KM and learning in times of organisational crisis
has attracted even less comment. There have been some interesting papers on
organisational learning or the failure to learn from crisis (Roux-Dufort, 2000; Elliott
et al., 2000) and learning about how better to manage the crisis process (Simon and
Pauchant, 2000). However, this paper is not about organisational learning and how
organisations learn or fail to learn from crises. Instead, it is about what happens to an
organisations KM agenda in such a period of major restructuring. The literature
review has suggested that effective KM should be constituted of a balanced focus on
people, process and technology which features at the core of the rms strategy.
As such a rms strategic approach to KM should survive an episode of crisis rather
than be dropped from the agenda. However, we have been unable to nd any empirical
research on rms which have incorporated strategic KM into the process of crisis
management. While it would appear some organisations are reacting to external crises
while others are proactively generating crisis in order to learn, in both cases there is the
implication that the aim of crisis management is to ensure organisational survival.
Pearson and Clair (1998) characterise an organisational crisis as a short-term episode
which has a major threat to the survival of the organisation or its stakeholders, but one
which is nevertheless capable of resolution. In this paper, we examine a case-study of
an organisation facing a type of crisis which has not hitherto been encountered in the
research literature an external crisis for which the only resolution is the inevitable
dissolution of the organisation.
Methodology
The paper is based upon a case-study of an organisation in crisis that of a UK
nancial services organisation known as the MCCB. The data are drawn from a
number of sources collected over a three year period, including:
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.
Data from three strategy making workshops (each a day long). More on the aims
of these workshops is discussed below, but the data collected includes: records
from pre-workshop meetings; the model of discussions built during the
workshop; computer logs of who shared which opinions; participant feedback on
the process and strategy; post-workshop de-brief meetings with the client; nal
reports of the workshop outcome and a video recording of the third workshop.
.
In-depth interviews with ve members of the change implementation team
(September 2004, MCCB ceased its operations in October 2004). These looked
back at the groups impact on the organisation.
.
Documentation collected from MCCB, e.g. monthly staff newsletters and the
strategy document.
.
Details from a web site set up to support communication among ex-staff
following closure.
.
Observations made by one of the papers authors, who worked at executive
director level within the case-study organisation during the period of the research.
Findings were arrived at by analysing the interview data and allowing themes to
emerge through that analysis (Miles and Huberman, 1994). These themes helped us
to appreciate and communicate what the participants experienced and felt.
It is important to clarify the role of the authors in the data collection process. Initial
contact between the authors and MCCB was through the facilitation of three strategy
making workshops (described below). These workshops enabled MCCB to generate its
own change management programme, led by a team which became known as the
Aston Group after the university at which the facilitators of the workshops were
based. (More detail about the team will be given in the section Organising change in
MCCB.) As such the role of the researchers within the change programme was one of
facilitation rather than implementation. Design and implementation of the change
programme was the exclusive responsibility of MCCB employees. Included in the
Aston Group was the third author of this paper, who worked in MCCB for four years at
executive director level and led the change initiative. Although he was a manager at the
time of the change programme, the role of this manager as author is to reect post-hoc
on the change process.
In terms of reecting on the impact of the actions, there was no use of formal tools
such as the balanced score card, or specic key performance indicators against which
progress was measured. Instead, there was extensive reection on the impact of the
initiative by the managers who were in the Aston Group. Reection was a fundamental
feature of MCCBs strategic approach to KM as, in monthly progress meetings,
reection was used to assess the impact of recent activities. A major reective event
was a workshop which brought the Aston Group together to reect on their progress
and agree next steps. The reection took the form of considering the progress towards
each action and exploring where more effort was needed.
The methodology for this research is therefore case-study based, the authors
drawing upon this organisation as an example of KM in times of crisis.
Moreover, the authors were predominantly passive observers in the change process,
rather than the methodology being one of action research in which researchers
adopt a proactive role in implementing change in order to observe its effects.
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As Eden and Huxham (1996) suggest, it is important not to confuse passive
engagement in a case-study of change in an organisation with the more purposeful
methodology of action research.
Throughout this paper, we make use of quotes from all members of the change
implementation team. These quotes are taken from the variety of sources mentioned
above.
The case study
Introducing MCCB
The UK mortgage market is acknowledged as one of the principal drivers of the UK
economy. Prior to the implementation of statutory regulation, under the Government
sponsored body, the Financial Services Authority (FSA), the industry was regulated by
a non-statutory or voluntary code of practice. This was monitored and run by the
MCCB an independent, not-for-prot organisation, funded by registered rms.
The MCCB had secured near 100 per cent adoption of the code amongst trading
mortgage rms (lenders and brokers) and had strong powers of enforcement over its
registered rms.
The MCCB began operations in October 1999 and ceased its activities in October
2004 when responsibilities were assumed by the FSA. Since, its inception the MCCB
knew that closure was inevitable, but was uncertain of when this would happen until a
government announcement of December 2001. The date for statutory regulation to be
implemented was then set for October 2004. This uncertainty contributed to the
impact of the crisis, but was also a catalyst for the organisation taking a strategic view
of KM.
The MCCB was led by an executive management team of six people, with the senior
management group reporting to it. There were two main departments in MCCB.
Registration Services (sometimes called Administration) managed quantitative
data on rms which was collected and updated through a formal annual registration
and data capture process. The Compliance Team was responsible for acquiring
qualitative data from market intelligence and visits to rms. Also, a helpline function
was in place which handled telephone calls about the Mortgage Code from consumers
as well as dealing with queries from registered rms.
Framing the crisis
The crisis to which we refer involved an increasing workload with which the existing
processes would have been unable to cope given the certain gradual diminishing of the
workforce. The pressures of work were painfully complemented with the pressures of
redundancy, as one employee noted, its been described as the longest death-bed
scenario in the world. We have known for three years. The crisis was accentuated by
several factors within the organisation, including (to save space we have limited
evidence to one quotation from a manager on the Aston Group for each point, but more
are available):
Process. One main factor was the ineffectiveness of processes used in MCCB.
Information and knowledge was being regularly lost due to the lack of effective
capturing processes. It was as simple as telephone calls not being logged, for example:
if we get a call from the public or from Trading Standards or someone, in the past it
could have been lost. Alternatively, it could be as serious as specialist knowledge not
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being retained by the organisation: people were leaving [specialist functions] . . .
taking knowledge . . . with them it wasnt being recorded. Some processes which
required important knowledge were too labour intensive for the dissolving
organisation: we would spend an entire day with the rms collecting data . . . half
the stuff we could do in paper format a month before we go and see the rm. Other
processes lacked coordination across the organisation: we used to collect data on the
understanding it would be useful to other people and then we found it actually wasnt
useful to anybody. Lack of communication between departments was signicant and
knowledge was not being shared: there are cases where Registration were nding
things out about rms and not passing it on to Compliance and vice versa. Knowledge
was being lost. The processes in MCCB were complicated by the working
environment: 20 compliance inspectors working from home . . . and we also have the
London [Headquarters] ofce. For a small organization [communication is]
quite complex. In short, the processes were in need of revision which would require
cross-functional team collaboration.
People. The people in MCCB contributed to the looming crisis, in as much as they
suppressed their concerns over their working environment: we all knew what the
problems were, but its difcult to voice them sometimes. One reason for this was that
departments were in competition with each other, rather than cooperating: personality
problems with some of the senior management . . . at each others throats . . . didnt get
on terribly well, which affected communication all the way down the line really.
Problems with communication were physical as well as personal/social:
. . . very much [sic] communication problems which were physical because we have an
upstairs and a downstairs. Compliance Teamis upstairs, Registrations is downstairs and that
caused some sort of them and us [atmosphere].
All this created a working environment from which people who were very highly
marketable . . . could be quite easily induced to leave which would put additional
strain on the remaining workforce.
Technology. Regarding technology and IT training: we didnt do much in the
way of internal IT training where someone who was maybe a specialist in
Microsoft Access or Excel, that knowledge wasnt being shared.
Overall, the problem was often summarised to be: about internal
communication . . . about sharing knowledge within the job.
Potential solutions to the crisis were unclear, largely because of its effect on most
aspects of the organisations people and processes, and less so on technology (discussed
later). It was a wide-reaching problem, as one member of the change implementation
team reected about KM, Imagine travelling to the end of the universe. You can think
about it for ten seconds and then you go, I cant do that. Instead of following a
re-ghting approach of dealing with emerging problems piecemeal, MCCB took a
strategic approach to planning and implementing a programme of change.
Organising change in MCCB
In order to implement change, a group of eight key MCCB senior staff was formed,
drawn from all functions across the organisation. Members of MCCBs executive
management team suggested suitable members for the group, but all those suggested
readily volunteered to participate. These eight people comprised the majority of the
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senior management group, and included 50 per cent of the executive management
team. This group was supported by the entire executive team, and was empowered to
make the changes required to achieve its objectives.
Very early in the initiative the group named themselves the Aston Group, after the
name of the facilitators university. Previously we have described the Aston Group as a
community of implementation in that it had the aim of pool(ing) individual
knowledge (including contacts and ways of getting things done) to stimulate collective
enthusiasm in order to take more informed purposeful action for which the members
are responsible (Shaw et al., 2006). The Aston Group regarded its scope to be
very much that it wasnt our responsiblity to ensure that [progress] happened. It was
to provide the catalyst for the company to actually achieve those things themselves.
It is clear that, the members of this group therefore met the Jones et al. (2003) denition
of knowledge champions since they were acting both as knowledge managers and as
agents of change. Jones et al. emphasise the need for knowledge champions to link
various groups of people within an organisation, including innovators, opinion leaders
and users (of knowledge).
Core to the strategic thinking of the Aston Group were three workshops:
(1) Workshop 1 (June 2002) aimed to uncover the magnitude of the crisis and
explore a range of potential high-level solutions as well as begin to get the group
to gel with the view of them being responsible for taking action to address the
problems.
(2) Workshop 2 (September 2002) aimed to: narrow the range of tasks from
Workshop 1 which would be tackled into those which would deliver most
organisational benet; allocate individuals to working on these tasks and get
the group to bond into a tighter working unit.
(3) Workshop 3 (October 2003) aimed to: reect on progress since Workshop 2;
discuss barriers to progress, explore the impact of actions on MCCB and
identify actions for the remaining period.
Between each workshop, the Aston Group held monthly progress meetings. These
meetings aimed to: monitor progress of actions against targets; support the members in
overcoming problems being encountered; strategise how to have most impact on the
organisation and to agree publicity of the Aston Group and its progress. Members of
the group volunteered to take actions in specic project areas, and all actions had at
least two members being responsible for their delivery to ensure accessible support was
readily available. As mentioned earlier, all members were senior managers, but it
should be noted that before the formation of the Aston Group they had no prior
experience either of formally carrying out knowledge management or of being
responsible for it.
The actions
The contribution of this paper is a retrospective assessment of the impact of KMstrategy
on organisational learning, not a discussion of what was implemented in MCCB.
The detail of the actions have beendiscussedelsewhere (Shawet al., 2003, 2006), but need
to be briey reviewed here to set the scene for reecting on their impact.
A limiting feature of the action plan was that actions had to be completed at
minimal cost within six months because:
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There is no point in setting out a project which isnt going to gestate in anything longer than
six months. If we only have a two-year life whats the point of having a two-year project.
We wont get any benet from it.
The Aston Group had ve main strategic objectives. They were self-dened, but had
executive sanction, and included:
(1) To improve employees skills with the aim of beneting MCCB, retaining staff
and improving their personal marketability following closure (Rolled out by
April 2003, running to closure).
(2) To build skills contingencies with the aimof retaining key knowledge (In place by
November 2002, rolling out intensively to April 2003, activities running to closure).
(3) To improve internal communication structures (Start immediately, running to
closure).
(4) To improve the personal working environment with the aim of motivating
people not to leave before closure (Start immediately, running to closure).
(5) Process improvement with the aim of reducing input whilst maximising output
(Rolled out by April 2003, running to closure).
The rst four of these focus on knowledge retention, while the fth explicitly centres
on process efciency.
To address these ve objectives, the Aston Group designed seven projects.
The projects were described in MCCBs staff newsletter as:
.
Contingency planning to retain knowledge and skills of staff in key roles (In place
by November 2002, rolling out intensively to April 2003, activities running to
closure).
.
A retention strategy to encourage staff to stay to the end and help them to
prepare for the future (Strategy in place by November 2002, rolling out
intensively to April 2003, activities running to closure).
.
Build an open and supportive working environment to encourage teamwork
(Start immediately, activities running to closure).
.
Improve processes through continuous improvement (Rolled out by April 2003,
running to closure).
.
Sharing knowledge of each others roles (Start immediately, running to April 2003).
.
Create a sense of belonging to the same organization (Start immediately, running
to April 2003).
.
Using existing software more effectively (Start by November 2002, rolling out to
April 2003).
Each project included a number of inter-linked activities. To give a avour of these
activities, we briey note that these included: audit of computer-skills; arrangement of
tailored training sessions (e.g. IT, presentation skills, CV writing); documentation of
work processes; rationalisation of business processes; organisation of job rotation and
training in critical roles; provision of awareness training of roles across functions;
improvement of cross-functional communication through formal meetings and
informal social activities; introduction of new processes for sharing knowledge
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and agreement of service standards between departments. All of these actions aimed to
address particular components of the seven projects, most addressing a number of
components on a range of projects.
Reecting on the change
The paper will nowreect on, from the perspective of members of the Aston Group, the
change implemented in MCCB. These reections were amassed from individual
interviews with each Aston Group member and are presented below in terms of: the
impact of actions; the implementation of actions; progress since cessation of the Aston
Group.
Reecting on the impact of actions
In the third workshop the group felt that 85-90 per cent of the original actions had
been implemented (see Shaw et al., 2006 for what this involved). However, this
percentage estimate fails to convey the effect these actions had on the organisation.
The following, more insightful reective account reviews the effect of these
actions, from the perspective of those who implemented the change and who were
affected by it.
The projects had positive implications with regard to the causes of the crisis
again clustered around process, people and technology.
Process. Considerable attention was given to the processes, by management and the
users of the processes. Part of this focused on reviewing the worth of processes and
improving their usability given a reducing workforce:
. . . people were encouraged to say, what do you do within your job that we dont actually
need to do. Right, can we cut one or two of those out? Can we do [that] in a different way? So
its certainly continuous improvement but its another way of (doing) it.
Streamlining processes has improved . . . [we were collecting useless] data, so why collect it?
Why waste our time?
This effort led to a more efcient use of time:
. . . [using our new Intermediate Compliance Questionnaire] you can do an audit within two
hours from a desktop, issue a relatively accurate report without the need to [as we used to]
spend a day travelling, a day with the rm, a day writing the report.
This also led to sharing knowledge across departments because the process users were
becoming used to talking to each other about business activities:
. . . whilst we have data and they have data, we never used to openly go and ask each other
about it or share it. The workshops, the Aston Group work has certainly blown that away.
We now say, Registrations need to be aware of this, [and] well get some [information] from
Registrations that helps us.
Another part of process improvement involved a skills audit to:
. . . identify what everyone did, what was the process and who had that knowledge.
Then we [built] a matrix to see [what would happen] if that person left . . . and set up a
training course where we want at least three people to have that skill and knowledge.
This exercise also captured key process knowledge:
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. . . we went through the [task] of creating procedure manuals and we almost did a
competency exercise and, as a result of knowing an awful more about ourselves, we decided
to try to do as much cross-training as possible.
The result was the ability to identify key areas of risk and build contingency plans to
sustain the organisation if/when key individuals left.
The building of skills contingency had two levels of intensity awareness training
and full competence training. Awareness training aimed to show staff how roles t into
the organisation:
Someone from upstairs would go downstairs for the day. Someone downstairs will go
upstairs and [we learned] what they do with information that is passed upstairs or was on the
database.
This successfully:
[gave us] a far greater appreciation of . . . what roles were performed in other parts of the
business . . . not only what they do [but] why they do it and why they do it in a certain way.
In certain areas MCCB trained individuals to be fully competent in core tasks to retain
specialist knowledge and skills:
. . . they swapped jobs so that they could actually do the job of another person within the same
department . . . so that if somebody were to leave then there would be a second and a third
person who was actually able to do that one job.
Part of this was done through:
. . . job rotation (which) has been hugely successful, because we are seeing the benets of that
now now people are leaving . . . people are being able to slot into their roles.
This allowed wider recognition of knowledge needs in other parts of the business as
well as helping form closer working relationships across the organisation.
The enhanced personal working arrangements, staff training, and broader
awareness of other processes in the organisation allowed MCCB to begin to share
resources across departments and thus respond to work pressures:
. . . we have been quite seriously understaffed at times. But that has been overcome because
there has been training undertaken to make sure that the rest of the staff downstairs are able
to . . . give cover [to other functions].
People. Attention to the people dimension was particularly important given the nature
of relations in MCCB. The closer working arrangements fostered by a focus on process
improvement began to break down barriers, which was encouraged by openly
discussing internal relations:
. . . people openly said, yes, there is a problem . . . it was as though (like) a barrier had been
moved.
. . . we had overcome quite a lot of the problems with communication between the two halves
of the company. I think that was already being broken down having been brought out into the
open and discussed.
Instead of competition, the two main departments began to cooperate, something
requiring a change of mindset: If we interacted better or more fully then MCCB would
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benet, so once this concept was introduced I embraced it wholeheartedly; [the
initiative] certainly enhanced the co-operation within the building here. In the last year
the relationships between [functions] are so much smoother.
From meeting colleagues and learning about the roles of others, people uncovered
some common interests which led to corridor conversation and improved
communications:
. . . conversations took place whilst you were making a cup of tea or whilst you were walking
through the place. Whereas before that conversation either didnt take place or there was no
work content in that conversation. So I could ask you how we felt things were going in your
area, knowing what you did and vice versa.
This helped to unite the workforce: it brought us closer together, talking more about
things; as well as helping to improve the effectiveness of the organisation because
people were talking to each other:
. . . the bookkeeper went down and spoke to the Registration team about the way they
processed information that came up to us, and she was able to help the ow of information
between the two departments.
Overall, there was a closer working arrangement between the people in MCCB and this
led to additional process improvements: [an] investigator . . . became very much more
involved in the checks that they are doing downstairs and helping them, giving them
guidance.
Another aspect to the people dimension was investing in staff to retain them:
Staff development has been uppermost in the last two or three years. There is hardly
anybody who is not studying for something . . . everybody has grown enormously.
The notion was to incentivise people to stay by increasing their marketability:
. . . we encourage people to acquire more skills . . . We said, you do what you want and well
pay for it, and a lot of people have taken that opportunity [six examples were provided].
Technology. The focus in MCCB was on people and process, but with regard to
technology the main focus was on identifying IT training needs and then providing
these as required:
We did the IT literacy survey, where we asked people where they felt they were at, in the
sense of nding who can do the training and also seeing how good or bad peoples skills in
Word, Excel, etc. were.
This led to the targeted provision of IT training: improving users awareness of
available software and also improving their skills in a range of applications.
Many cross-functional social activities were also organised, and an innovative
private networking web site (an extranet) was developed to allow staff maintain
contact following closure.
Despite the many successes, one member of the Aston Group thought they could
have achieved more:
I think some would say, yes [we achieved what we aimed to]. Others are aware that perhaps
they didnt push quite as hard as they might have done. But I would say, on the whole,
that people felt that there were positive benets that came out of the exercise.
Another thought progress was made. I dont think it was 100 per cent.
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Overall, in terms of measuring the effect on the organisation:
. . . its softer benets to come out of it rather than saying we achieved savings of 500,000.
It generally improved communications in a sense that we belong to the same organization and
we are trying to achieve the same things.
Furthermore, due to tackling the crisis strategically, the initiative has enabled MCCB
to remain fully effective in its operations despite the impact of change and uncertainty
experienced in the period to closure.
Reecting on the implementation
Adoption of a strategic approach was acknowledged as being key to the progress of the
Aston Group. In addition to the points above which are indicative of the benets of
adopting a strategic approach, participants commented on the importance of being
prepared by planning ahead:
. . . the fact that we were already thinking about this two years ago was an enormous
advantage . . . Yes, people are going to leave. What are we going to do? Were not going to
just tackle [it by] re-ghting.
There was a strong need for everyone in the organisation to understanding the aims of
the initiative and its potential impact on them. Reecting upon the transfer of skills
project in the administration department, a senior manager commented on the need to
sell the benets to those affected by change: 12-18 months ago I said to everybody that
this is what we are going to do and [outlined the] benets. The MCCB identied their
aims and actions using our workshop approach, but other forms could be just as
effective: [as a result of the Aston] exercise, that wonderful tool, helped us actually to
understand in depth what was needed. The Aston workshop was a major beginning
to closer relationships at a management level:
. . . it was a very valuable experience in communication in actually bringing together
management . . . to discuss issues and actually focus on things that werent day to day
operational matters but more communication and staff development issues.
It also allowed management to build motivation: just as a result of those two
workshops a group of people did something about it. It was very, very useful.
This motivation was targeted at implementing agreed actions which would have
signicant impact on the organisation: we obviously all agreed that these were things
worth working on.
Reecting on progress since the cessation of the Aston Group
The Aston Group meetings stopped soon after the third workshop. Reasons for this
have been given as its all about plugging the gaps . . . so we can just crawl our way
until [closure] and redundancy has proved a bit of a distraction.
This dissolution of the Aston Group brought about an end to the adoption of a
strategic approach to KM, weve stopped thinking strategically now, were looking
more at a re-ght situation. . . operational issues on a daily basis, not even thinking
beyond that.
There were varying views as to whether there had been slippage on the issue of
communication between the last workshop (September 2003) and the interviews
(October 2004). While some thought communication had worsened: Some things
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have gone backwards probably . . . the, them and us others thought communication
was still good: for the last twelve months we have seen the benets of people talking
more openly and being more aware of what is going on in different areas of the rm;
I think communication is generally better.
Up to closure, benet was still being realised from the initiative: probably without
[this change] happening we wouldnt be in the relatively comfortable position we are.
There is still relatively good morale . . . because the groundwork was done.
Following closure, the extranet web site (which was set-up to facilitate
communication after closure) was being actively used by a majority of ex-employees,
both for group communication and one-to-one contacts. Five months after closure a
social activity was organised through the web site. Feedback was that both Compliance
and Registration [were] well represented.
Discussion
MCCB was clearly facing a unique crisis which has not hitherto been encountered in the
research literature. Following Pitts (1990) and Kims (1998) distinction between crisis
which is internally or externally evoked, the crisis faced by MCCB clearly falls into the
latter category. The impending closure of MCCB was an externally-evoked (Ditto as
above) crisis driven by statutory changes in the regulation of the mortgage industry.
The case is notable for MCCBs embracing a strategic approach to KM in such
circumstances. This is indirect contrast to the case presented byStorey and Barnett (2000)
of the international consulting rm which abandoned its KM initiative when crisis in the
industry forced the rm to restructure. In contrast, MCCB has used KM as a response to
crisis. The case shows that for knowledge-based rms such as MCCB, the management of
knowledge is essentially what the rm does, and as such, KM and business strategy
should be inseparable (Zack, 1999; McCann and Buckner, 2004; Snyman and Kruger,
2004). MCCB took an holistic approach to its KM strategy, identifying the deciencies in
the attitudes of its people and the processes by which their knowledge interacted and by,
then designing a comprehensive and organisation-wide solution.
It is interesting in this respect that when the Aston Group embarked upon the
course of crisis response, they did not recognise it to be an exercise in strategic KM, but
over time realised that what they were doing effectively was KM. In looking at the list
of activities and the impact they have had, readers also may not recognise the role of
KM in, for example, more efcient use of time, sharing resources, or training. Taking
the example of training, the Group came to view this as a KM activity because it
involved:
.
identifying critical knowledge-intensive activities for which there could
potentially be a skills shortage;
.
building a skills matrix to nd out who could cover these key activities, and who
had the knowledge (and training skills) to train others;
.
designing MCCB-relevant training sessions which targeted knowledge-intensive
activities;
.
multi-skilling staff to enable them to cover tasks when people left; and
.
using knowledge already in the organisation.
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Thus, it was not that KM was used as an umbrella term under which all the businesses
activities sought refuge. Instead, it was that the Group decided that the core problem
and/or solution to these issues depended on better KM. This was an inherent
recognition that MCCB is essentially a knowledge organisation within which all
business activities depend upon the effective sharing and managing of knowledge.
What features of the case make this a good example of strategic knowledge
management?
Carlisle (2002) and Shaw and Edwards (2005) recommend that KM cannot be imposed
from the top-down, but that a representative group should be mobilised to generate
collective bottom-up ownership of strategy formulation. In the MCCB case,
a collective understanding of the problems, and a shared sense of motivation to work
towards a common solution, were both critical features of a strategic approach. There
were, however, limitations to the extent of representation within the Aston Group:
Firstly, no on-the-road based member of the Compliance Team was included in the
project team, although an ofce-based manager represented this community. This may
have limited ownership and understanding of the project objectives and outputs,
despite attempts to address this at regular team meetings and through communication
methods such as the newsletter and e-mail updates. Secondly, although one of the key
success criteria to overcome the lack of understanding and mistrust between the two
main departments was achieved at an operational level, conict persisted between
two senior managers.
The Aston Group acted as the knowledge champions (Jones et al., 2003)
responsible for building and sustaining the momentum of the KM strategy. This was
evident when momentum declined following the disbanding of the project team.
Nevertheless, it was clear that some fundamental shifts in attitudes and working
processes had been embedded as lasting changes, with the knowledge champions
having helped to institutionalise relevant knowledge. Certainly the effect of the change
was deemed to have prepared the organisation for closure.
According to Storey and Barnett (2000), the effective alignment of KM and business
strategy requires the support of top management. The importance of CEO-support is
particularly well illustrated in the case of Buckman Labs (Liebowitz, 1999). In the
MCCB case, the CEO was very supportive of the project and promoted it at every
opportunity. However, he was not part of the Aston Group and only attended one
meeting and none of the workshops. Arguably, this may have weakened the group as
regards the status of its championing KM within the organisation, but there is no
suggestion in the work of Jones et al. (2003) that the CEO personally has to be a
knowledge champion.
Effective communication and publicity of the KM initiatives was a key means by
which the Aston Group were able to have impact on the organisation. Many of the
actions were staff-centred and publicity was a means of engaging staff with
the initiatives. This engagement involved encouraging staff to: feed into the design of
the actions to improve KM; contribute to the initiatives, perhaps as trainers on courses
or helping in action implementation; share good practice and participate in the new
esprit de corps which the initiative was building between departments. Publicity was
mainly through staff briengs, promoting activities organised by the Aston Group (e.g.
training sessions, social activities), acknowledgments in executive level meetings
Strategic
knowledge
management
573
(which fed through to staff via the minutes), and the staff newsletter (which was edited
by the leader of the Aston Group).
The features discussed above all illustrate how MCCB recognised the importance of
fostering a culture for KM to thrive. There are many examples in the literature which
emphasise the need to have an appropriate culture for KM to succeed (Liebowitz, 1999;
Hammer et al., 2004). Many of MCCBs initiatives sought to remove psychological and
physical barriers to communication in order to encourage collaborative sharing of
knowledge and resources. As in the case of Nortel Networks (Massey et al., 2002) and
ICL (Ahmed et al., 2002), MCCB prioritised initiatives for people to develop and share
their knowledge, and developed the working processes by which this could happen.
There was, however, a limitation in the linking of project objectives to formal appraisal
processes and the organisations business plan. This was seen as a missed opportunity
for institutionalising a KM strategy within the organisation.
In MCCB, the emphasis on people and process dominated the approach to strategic
management, while technology played a supporting role. This is consistent with other
studies which demonstrate an effective balance between people, processes, and
technology in KM(Pemberton et al., 2002; Edwards and Shaw, 2004). In the MCCB case,
making better use of existing technology through training staff was the main focus
here, for two reasons:
(1) MCCB had enough technology that it already did not use well, and it did not
want more; and
(2) buying and implementing new technology would probably fail to satisfy the
within 6 months, low cost limitation.
Interestingly, rather than source external trainers, MCCB made the strategic decision of
identifying those who can or wish to be trainers in each application and [then]
design(ing) the appropriate courses for training. This aimed to tailor training courses
better than would an off-the-shelf provider. Additionally, it gave knowledgeable and
willing individuals the opportunity to develop as trainers.
Reecting on the impact of strategic knowledge management
Although this is not a paper about organisational learning per se, it nevertheless raises
some interesting issues related to organisational learning. The crisis faced by MCCB
provoked the need to engage in strategic KM, and precipitated what we might call
learning by imperative. Here, a climate of learning about each other as well as
about processes, customers, department cultures, roles and responsibilities, causes of
friction, new tasks and undertaking further training permeated the entire
organisation.
The prior knowledge base was extensive and immediately available while the staff
still worked in the organisation. In the three years before the initiative began, a wealth
of process knowledge had been accumulated, but this could not be fully harnessed until
the destructive culture was addressed. Improving communication was key. This
enabled staff across departments to address process weaknesses collectively and work
while understanding the importance of their task in the wider process. Communication,
and developing a more personal feeling of belonging, was critical in addressing the
cultural problems, in particular the friction between the two main departments.
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The intensity of effort was apparent through the momentum of the Aston Group,
the regard with which the organisation viewed that groups success, the internal
publicity of the initiative, the effect of the effort on each employees working life and
the rapid implementation of a large proportion of the actions. Through intense effort,
driven by the looming crisis a few key individuals infected most of the organisation
with a desire to change which had real impact.
Interestingly, much of the reection on impact was focused on the internal matters
and operational efciencies. The organisation fully achieved its corporate objectives of
maintaining robust industry regulation and consumer protection and facilitating
transition to statutory regulation. This was recognised by the UK government minister
with responsibility for nancial services markets, by senior industry and consumer
gures as well as in the relevant trade and consumer media.
Some Aston Group members perceived that the third workshop marked the demise
of the Aston Group as they believed that they had accomplished nearly all of their
tasks and had avoided a large proportion of the threats of the crisis. After this
workshop much of the enthusiasm seemed to be turned towards operational matters
and the impact of redundancies rather than furthering the work of the Aston Group.
Conclusion
The lessons from MCCB demonstrate the strategic centrality of KM to an organisation
in a time of radical change. There is little precedent for an organisation pursuing such a
vigorous and successful KM initiative amid the dissolution of the organisation. MCCB
received widespread praise from industry, trade and consumer media and from
government for maintaining its operational effectiveness and managing a successful
transition to statutory regulation.
Within MCCB:
. . . the effort made in establishing the Aston Group and taking it forward was certainly seen
as justied even though a diminishing workforce created additional pressures as the
organisations lifespan became ever shorter.
Justication is in terms of improving the effectiveness of the organisation through
internal communication and process enhancements across all functions particularly
between Registration Services and the Compliance Team. This meant that information
on registered rms was more readily captured and shared, and the overall project
enabled MCCB to remain fully effective in its operations despite the impact of change
and uncertainty experienced in the period up to closure.
As the ex-CEO of MCCB said:
In most organisations inevitable closure and full redundancies would have led to major crisis,
reduction in organisational standards, loss of morale and possible organisational collapse.
I am pleased that such a scenario was avoided at MCCB indeed operational efciencies,
standards, workloads and staff loyalty and satisfaction all increased over the period. We fully
met our corporate objectives and the expectations of our very diverse stakeholders. The
strategic approach adopted by the Aston Group and its work in focusing on KM, business
processes, service delivery, managing change, enhancing internal communications and
concentrating on people issues was undoubtedly one key factor for us during this successful
nal period.
Strategic
knowledge
management
575
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About the authors
Duncan Shaw is a Senior Lecturer in Aston Business School, Birmingham, UK. His research
interests include structuring complex problems, facilitating groups and individuals in their
strategic decision making, and strategy implementation. He regularly works with management
teams to design and implement manageable actions plans which they are committed to
implementing and which will bring about lasting change. Duncan Shaw is the corresponding
author and can be contacted at: d.a.shaw@aston.ac.uk
Matthew Hall lectures in information and knowledge management in the Business School at
Aston University. He has a particular interest in the social and political dynamics of knowledge
in organisations. His current research is looking at technology and knowledge transfer in
multinational corporations. E-mail: m.j.hall@aston.ac.uk
John S. Edwards is a Professor of Operational Research and Systems, and Head of Academic
Programmes at Aston Business School, Birmingham, UK. He has an MA in mathematics and a
PhD degree from the University of Cambridge. His doctorate was in human resource planning
models. His principal research interests now include: investigating knowledge management
strategy and its implementation; the relevance of technology to knowledge management; and
integrating knowledge-based systems with simulation models. He has published more than 50
refereed articles, and two books, Building Knowledge-based Systems and Decision Making with
Computers. He is editor of the journal Knowledge Management Research & Practice. E-mail:
j.s.edwards@aston.ac.uk
Brad Baker holds an MBA degree from Aston Business School and retains close working
links with that institution. In his previous role as a Director of Communications and Marketing
for the Mortgage Code Compliance Board (MCCB) he led the major internal project referred to in
this paper. Brad currently trades as an independent consultant; working with clients to deliver
solutions to a variety of management and media communications issues. E-mail: brad.
baker@ukgateway.net
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Contested practice: multiple
inclusion in double-knit
organizations
Irma Bogenrieder and Peter van Baalen
RSM Erasmus University, Rotterdam, The Netherlands
Abstract
Purpose Most people participate in various groups and communities simultaneously. Many
authors have pointed to the importance of multi-membership for knowledge sharing across
communities and teams. The most important expected benet is that knowledge that has been
acquired in one community of practice (CoP) can be applied into another CoP or group. This paper
seeks to discuss the consequences of multi-membership for knowledge sharing in a CoP.
Design/methodology/approach The concept of multiple inclusion is used to explain why and
how multi-membership can hold up knowledge sharing between groups.
Findings This case study shows that knowledge transfer between CoPs and teams can be
problematic when norm sets between these two groups conict.
Originality/value This paper concludes that CoPs can sustain when the practice remains at a
safe distance from the real project work in teams that are guided by managerial objectives.
Keywords Community relations, Knowledge transfer, Participative planning, Public relations
Introduction
One of the most intriguing issues in recent organizational learning research are
communities of practice (CoP) that have gained enormous popularity since its inception
in Lave and Wengers (1991) seminal study. Part of its success may be explained by its
close afliation with the burgeoning knowledge management literature. CoPs are
conceived as knowledge resource networks for organizational learning and innovation
that may overcome the constraints of hierarchically structured organizations.
According to Wenger et al. (2002), CoPs should not just be seen as auxiliary structures,
but as foundational structures on which to build future organizations.
In spite of the enthusiasm about CoPs in the management literature and
organizational practice our understanding of this new concept is still immature
(Roberts, 2006). As a consequence, many initiatives to set up CoPs fail within short term.
One important issue here is that CoPs cannot be considered in isolation from the
rest of the organization and groups, or understood independently of other practices
(Wenger, 1998). The learning that takes place within a CoP only makes sense to the
organization if it can be shared with or applied in adjacent CoPs or in the wider
organization. This issue has been addressed for the rst time by Brown and Duguid
(1991) when they advocated a conceptual reorganization that must stretch fromthe level
of individual CoPs and the technology and practices used to the level of the overarching
organizational architecture, the community-of-communities. Similarly, Wenger (2000)
views CoPs as basic building blocks of an organization-wide social learning system.
This larger system should be conceived as a constellation of interrelated CoP.
Contested
practice
579
Management
Vol. 20 No. 4, 2007
pp. 579-595
0953-4814
DOI 10.1108/09534810710760090
McDermott (1999) differentiates within this constellation by distinguishing between
CoPs and teams, resulting into what he calls a double-knit organization. He discusses
how knowledge creation and learning that takes place in project teams is synthesized
and shared within a community and, then, transferred back to new project teams.
According to Wenger et al. (2002), double-knit organizations are characterized by a
multi-membership learning cycle in which knowledge creation and knowledge
application commute between teams and CoPs. The challenge of organizational design
then is not to nd one kind of knowledgeability that subsumes all others, but to
coordinate multiple kinds of knowledgeability into a process of organizational learning
(Wenger, 1998, p. 247).
One important question then is how these interrelations between different CoPs and
project teams look like. How can the knowledge that is created within one community
be shared with and applied to a team? Different concepts and theories have been
launched (brokering, boundary management, bridging, multiple memberships) to deal
with the interconnections between different communities and teams.
In this paper, we will explore the consequences of interconnectness between various
teams and communities for the contribution and collaboration in CoPs. Our starting
point is not the CoP or the bridge between CoPs and teams but the consequences for
learning processes when an individual is a member of both a CoP and a team.
Engestrom et al. (1995) have introduced the concept of polycontextuality which does
not only mean that the individual is engaged in multiple simultaneous tasks and
task-specic participation frameworks but also increasingly involved in multiple CoP.
We take this issue one step further by introducing Allports concept of group
membership manifold which we will call multiple inclusion (van Dongen et al., 1996).
Multiple inclusion is a potential for collaboration from which different communities
and teams can reap the benets if collaboration is legitimized in the different CoPs and
teams. Following Lave and Wenger (1991) this means that the individual is engaged in
different and sometimes conicting processes of legitimate peripheral participation
(LPP).
In this paper, we rst briey review recent developments in theorizing on learning
in CoPs and teams. Multiple inclusion suggests that partial involvements in different
communities and teams are connected and inuence each other. Our case study will
demonstrate that multiple inclusion does not lead automatically to knowledge sharing
between communities and teams and to sustainable learning processes. We apply
Krackhardts theory on triadic ties and impact of norm sets in groups on individuals
behavior to explain the diverging evolutions of the communities in our case story.
We will conclude this paper with some suggestions for further research and general
conclusions.
Communities of practice, teams, and context
Double-knit organizations combine teams with CoPs. In order to have a good
understanding of the working the interrelationships between CoPs and teams, we rst
discuss the two social groups briey.
According to Hislop (2003), the CoP concept is based on two central premises:
the activity-based nature of knowledge/knowing, and the group-based character of
organizational activity. Although the two premises have been treated in different and
often separate ways, in the original study of Lave and Wenger (1991) both are
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inseparable foundations of their theory of situated learning. Their learning theory has
drawn attention away from the predominance of individual cognitive learning,
decontextualization of knowledge and specic schooling contexts (e.g. classrooms)
(Lave and Wenger, 1991; Lave, 1996,) in favor of new ways of learning in interaction
like apprenticeships (sterlund and Carlile, 2003). Situated learning theory contrasts
the conventional learning paradigm by positing that learning is fundamentally a
relational process through which meaning is (re-)constructed (Fox, 2000, Handley et al.,
2006). Learning occurs through participation in a (in fact any) social practice which
involves the whole person (not just cognition) (Lave and Wenger, 1991, p. 53). In later
work, Wenger (1998, p. 149) emphasizes the idea of the whole person that is engaged in
a social practice by discussing how strong identity formation and CoP are connected:
the formation of a community is also the negotiation of identities. Instead of
separating knowledge and knowing, abstraction and application, cognition and social
world, situated learning draws attention to learning as participation in every day
activities through social interaction in shared practices (Fox, 2000).
Lave and Wenger (1991) have coined the concept of LPP to describe the process by
which newcomers become part of a CoP. Participation in a cultural practice is an
epistemological principle of learning (Lave and Wenger, 1991). By introducing this
LPP-concept they explicitly acknowledge that not only knowing is embedded in power
relations but also the process through which this knowledge is acquired. Newcomers
start participating in a practice at the periphery and as they gradually master these
peripheral practices their legitimacy increases in the community. They do not learn
about a practice but they become part of a shared practice (sterlund and Carlile, 2003).
Practice is the criterion that provides legitimation. Not every contribution in a CoP is
legitimate.
Recent studies have criticized the CoP concept for different reasons. sterlund and
Carlile (2003) argue that CoPs cannot be dened in or of itself, but through the relations
that are shaped by its practices. They therefore view them as probabilistic constructs
that should not necessarily be conated with reality (2003, p. 6). The community
concept is in fact misleading as it usually refers to particular types of relationships
(communal, equalitarian, friendship). The authors warn for emptying the CoP from its
relational nature which might give rise to overly romantic perspectives on CoPs in
which they are seen as managerial utopias where employees work without
surveillance, generate their own motivation, take full responsibility for their
activities and innovate without being managed (sterlund and Carlile, 2003).
Contu and Wilmott (2003) argue that the original critical stance of situated learning
theory with its radical view on the impact of embedded power relations on learning has
been mufed into an organizational device that emphasizes consensus, shared
interests, and shared values of the community (Fox, 2000). They conclude that the
analytical concept of LPP is recast as a technocratic tool of organizational engineering
(Contu and Willmott, 2003, p. 289). They therefore call for re-embedding situatedness
into analyses of learning in organizations.
Roberts (2006) points at the limits of CoPs regarding its applicability to broader
socio-cultural contexts which are less conducive to collaborating working practices.
Moreover, CoPs probably would not t into small and medium sized rms,
hierarchically controlled structures, and in organizations that work with highly
Contested
practice
581
standardized production systems. The author states that there is the need for
developing a detailed classication of types of CoPs (Roberts, 2006).
Lindkvist (2005) argues that CoPs, as conceptualized by Lave and Wenger (1991)
and Wenger (1998), does not t with how temporary organizations or project
organizations operate and therefore calls for making a distinction between knowledge
communities and knowledge collectivities.
Handley et al. (2006) criticize the problematic distinction between participation and
practice as they are used interchangeably. They further argue that individuals
probably participate in multiple communities during their lifetime, each having
different practices and identity structures, resulting in tensions and conicts as
individuals participate in these communities.
It is interesting to read that Lave and Wenger (1991, p. 42) leave the CoP concept in
their monograph as an intuitive notion . . . which requires a more rigorous
treatment then is presented in their book, Especially, the unequal relations of power
must be included in a more systematic way as they co-determine the possibilities for
learning. The term community does not necessarily imply co-presence and/or
well-dened group with socially visible boundaries but primarily an activity system in
which participants share understandings concerning what they are doing and that that
means in their lives and for the communities (Lave and Wenger, 1991).
The initial intuitive conceptualization and the attempt to include different social and
epistemological dynamics into the CoP leave the CoP to an arbitrary and ill-dened
concept. For this reason some researchers have suggested to distinguish different types
of CoPs (Dougherty, 2001; Roberts, 2006) or distinguish CoPs from other knowledge
social groupings like networks of practice (Brown and Duguid, 2001) and collectivities
of practice (Lindkvist, 2005). In this paper, we alternatively argue that CoPs are unique
combinations of three basic elements: a domain of knowledge, a community of people,
and a shared practice (Wenger et al., 2002). This means that CoPs can vary to a large
extent but all share the same basic structure. The domain refers to a more or less
dened knowledge eld which creates the common ground and a sense of identity of
the community. The community refers to a particular set of relationships between the
group members that share a domain that is directed towards mutual engagement
(Wenger, 1998, p. 73). Practice is conceived as being the community knowledge like a
set of frameworks, ideas, tools, jargon, heuristics that develops out of the frequent
interaction between community members. The practice is idiosyncratic as it evolves
from the specic community relationships.
The main difference between CoPs and teams is that the former are not rooted in
bureaucracy (Dougherty, 2001) and hierarchical relationships. People in the CoP
understand themselves to be responsible for their practice and for developing and
contributing their own expertise that help them to understand their work and
profession (Dougherty, 2001). CoPs are driven by the value they provide to the
individual members who share information and ideas voluntary without being
guarded by managerial objectives (McDermott, 1999; Wenger et al., 2002). The CoP is
essentially produced by its members through their mutual engagement and evolves in
an organic way (Wenger, 1998, p. 118). In contrast, teams are tightly integrated social
groups driven by achieving formal objectives, set by upper management, within
strict time frames. Although teams may be self-organizing there are nested in a
hierarchical authority structure in which higher levels have the power to determine
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practices at lower levels (like teams) to a large extent (Kontopoulos, 1993). In this
sense teams reect the wider, hierarchical structured organizational context which
might conict with the communal sharing relationships within CoPs (Roberts, 2006;
Handley et al., 2006; Fiske, 1992).
McDermott (1999) argues that double-knit organizations are a solution to the
problem how to coordinate cross-functional products and services and still keeping
people to the cutting edge of their functional discipline. The main challenge is to
weave different structures tightly knit teams and CoPs into one new
organizations. This weaving might be problematic because of the incongruence and
potential conict between the value systems that are based on different types of
relationships (hierarchical) between teams and CoPs (communal sharing). To analyze
this potential conict empirically we rst have to discuss the relationship between
these two organizational setting, multiple inclusion.
Multiple inclusion
Multi-membership should be conceived as a core concept in theories on CoPs and social
practice as it reveals the living experience of boundaries between different CoPs
(Wenger, 1998, p. 161). Multi-membership may put the individual in ambiguous
situation as the different practices can make competing demands that are difcult to
combine. Elements of one repertoire may be inappropriate or incompatible to another
CoP (Wenger, 1998). Whereas, Wenger recognizes the possible inconsistencies that
result from multi-membership he does not consider the consequences of
multi-membership for practice within a CoP.
To stress the notion that the individual is connected to different groups, we
elaborate on Allports (1962) insights about the relationships between the individual
and the collective order. Allport suggests that multiple membership is not just about
diverse and separated memberships a view in which the individual is fragmented
and entertaining separated memberships. Instead, Allport (1962) introduces the notion
of partial inclusion. This concept is also discussed by Weick (1979, p. 97), who explains
the relevance of the notion of partial inclusion as a person does not invest all in a
single group; commitments and interlockings are dispersed among several groups.
Wenger (1998, p. 159) argues that membership in any CoP is only a part of the identity
which should be viewed as a nexus of multimembership. Allport emphasizes the
interconnection between the various (and partial) inclusions of an individual. He views
the individual as a sort of matrix in which these patterns of collectively organized
segments meet and affect one and another (Allport, 1962, p. 25). In more concrete
terms:
What the individual does in one group, or merely his relation to that group, may have an
important bearing upon what he does in another group; and the total group membership
manifold of one individual who is a member of a particular group may be widely different
from the manifolds of the other members (Allport, 1962, p. 25).
Allport suggests that group membership in one group has consequences on
membership in another group. The manifold of group membership is interconnected in
the individual person:
Instead of saying that a group incorporates (or is composed of) many individuals, we would
do almost better to say that an individual incorporates many groups. One group has salience
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for him (that is, he is present in it or acting in terms of it) at one time, and another has salience
at another time. When not salient for the individual, a group to which he belongs could be
said to be represented in his own organism as sets, latent meaning, or stored memories
(Allport, 1962, p. 25).
The implication of an individual as a node between diverse groups, then, is not only
partial inclusion but also multiple (partial) inclusions a notion which is also
described by van Dongen et al. (1996). These authors insist that multiple inclusion
consists of the simultaneity of partial inclusions. Multiple inclusion serves as an
interpretative background for particular and participation in a community.
Multiple inclusion should be distinguished from multi-membership.
Multi-membership assumes an individual participating in different communities and
seeking for a balance between participation and legitimation in different communities.
Multiple inclusion refers to the relatedness of the individual to different groups and to
the interconnectedness between memberships and practices. The main observation
here is that individual behavior within a group is not an isolated phenomenon but is
related to other group memberships. The implication of multiple inclusion for learning
in a CoP is that engagement within a CoP is interrelated with engagement in
alternative groups which may effect participation within a CoP.
Multiple inclusion, legitimation, and boundary objects
Multiple inclusion suggests that the individual engaged in different communities is
bridging through participation. Following Lave and Wengers theory on LPP, an
individuals participation in a community depends on the way and extent to which
participation is legitimized within a community.
When assuming multiple inclusion, legitimation of participation is also related to
and situated in alternative social relations.
This situation is analyzed by Krackhardt (1999). He points to contradictory sets of
norms that the individual is confronted with when he is participating in different
groups which may thwart knowledge sharing. Krackhardts study is valuable to our
notion of multiple inclusion as he extends the focus of social network analysis on
dyadic relationships to triadic relationships (Simmelian ties). Simmelian ties are
relationships that are embedded in several cliques as is the case in multi-membership.
Krackhardt argues that being strongly tied to several cliques might constrain the
individuals behavior as is argued in the notion of multiple inclusion. Furthermore, he
makes a distinction between private and public behavior.
Krackhardt argues that under circumstances of private behavior the various groups
do not know that a member is also included in other groups. In this situation the
individual can reap the benets from the bridge position as already argued by Burt
(1992). In the case of public behavior, however, the individual becomes observable by
other group members from the cliques. As a consequence, the individual behavior,
being part of different groups, is less free, less independent, and more constrained
(Krackhardt, 1999). Krackhardt puts it as follows:
That is, to the extent that norm-bound behaviors are visible to members of both groups, a
person who is a member of two cliques has fewer permissible behaviors than a person who is
a member of just one of them. By extension, the more cliques one is a member of, the more
constrained are ones options (Krackhardt, 1999, p. 198).
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Krackhardts observations have some important bearings for multiple included
individuals. Firstly, when behavior is public the multiple included individual is
constrained because both groups do not allow the individual to take all the benets to
his private interests. Secondly, the limitations in behavior come from the intersection of
the two norm-sets of the two groups (e.g. teams and CoPs) and the observability
(publicity) of these behaviors.
Multiple inclusion refers to the interferential dynamics between partial inclusions.
It describes the consequences of participation within a group that originates from the
type of interrelatedness between groups. Alternative relationships inuence the salient
membership in a particular community, which becomes visible in the kind of
engagement and the choice of practice. When adopting the notion of multiple
inclusion, the concept of LPP has to be broadened. Legitimation now depends on
both participations in- and outside the community. Shared practice within a
community is not the only base for legitimating participation. Moreover, practices as
realized in other groups might inuence the legitimation. In our case study, we will
analyze how, as a consequence of multiple inclusion, different legitimation regimes
conict and have impact on each other.
Multimembership and multiple inclusion are the living experiences of boundaries
(Wenger, 1998, p. 161). However, this does not mean that knowledge transfer can be
assumed or will be transmitted unproblematically. Knowledge transfer across
knowledge groups is always mediated through artifacts, tools, instruments and
symbols (Engestrom, 1987; Bowker and Star, 1999). Wenger (1998) distinguishes two
types of mediation, boundary object and brokering. Boundary objects refer to the
reied form (artifacts, documents, terms, concepts) of the knowledge products of a
practice, whereas brokering refer to connections by which unreied elements of one
practice are introduced into another practice. In this paper, we will limit ourselves to
boundary objects that serve to coordinate interaction between CoPs and teams. Wenger
(1998) points to the fact that when boundary objects serve multiple constituencies, each
has only partial control over the interpretation of the object. However, Wenger
considers only the use of boundary objects among CoPs. In our case different
knowledge groups (teams and CoPs) are investigated that are based on different types
of relationships. These differences in the relational base of these knowledge groups
might inuence the room for negotiating meaning and generate tensions between the
different interpretations of the teams and CoPs.
Case description and methodology
Our case story about a Dutch consultancy rm which we will call Proper deals
with this type of double-knit organization. Proper is a management consulting and
information technology services company which employs about 500 people. Our
research is conducted in one of the departments of Proper called business consultancy
which consists of about 80 people. The clients of Proper are often multinationals or other
big companies. Client assignments are mostly conducted in project teams with
professionals from the various departments. The Proper employees know each other
rather well as they have worked together in various project teams. Especially, within the
consultancy-department, people are well connected to one another because of past
cooperation in projects. Most of the project teams work on long-term assignments. The
average tenure of the consultants is 4.5 years. The composition of the project teams
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varies according to the clients assignment. Success and failure in projects are the main
criteria for determining career paths of the individual consultants. High demands on
quality from the customers side and time pressure have created an accountability
culture which rewards success and hardly leaves any space for publicly discussing
problems or failures in the project teams. The management team of Proper
acknowledges the problem of high performance and time pressure. Nevertheless, the
management team also recognizes the need to learn from one another. Therefore, the
management team has decided to encourage and support the establishment of learning
groups within the rm. These learning groups are thought of as a professional home
base, next to the hands-on project teams. Members come fromdifferent project teams.
These learning groups should support the individual consultants in their learning
processes in order to benet for (current or future) projects. However, the management
team does not prescribe how the learning groups should work.
This exploratory research started about 10 months after the installation of the two
CoPs. The research should provide management with insights in the way the CoPs
work and whether they realize organizational learning according to the respondents.
For our research, we conducted 20 semi-structured, explorative interviews with
seven senior, 11 junior consultants and two managing consultants (out of ve
managing consultants in this department). Managing consultants lead functional
groups of about fteen business consultants. The members of the functional groups are
also the members of the learning groups with a few exceptions. All the interviewees,
except two consultants, are both members in project teams and in the learning groups.
The sampling of the interviews started with recommendations from the management
of the department. Management had a vague idea that there exist two different types of
learning groups, but wanted more detailed insights. From here, purposive sampling for
information-rich respondents was applied by snowballing (Patton, 1987). In most cases
the respondents recommended other persons who they thought might have an
interesting view on the learning groups. Interesting was interpreted in multiple
ways: supporting or denying the own view on how the group functions and how the
development of the group is experienced. We started with questions derived from the
literature. As interviews progressed, additional topics were added. The interviews took
approximately 1.5 hours and were recorded. We used triangulation as a test of
internal validity, by crosschecking accounts made by different participants in an
anonymous form. The interview-questions were designed to elicit information about
the course of a meeting in a typical learning group, the interviewees explanation for
this course of action and what they think they learn within these groups. In addition,
questions seeking information about the respondents career path, current project
involvement and networks of collaboration with other colleagues were asked. The
interview transcripts were coded for patterns in how learning group meetings proceed
and for respondents suggestions as to why. Variations were also noted.
In this case study, we briey discuss the development of two types of CoPs: the
professional development group (PDG) and project improvement group (PI). The names
and identication of both types of learning groups took place afterwards by the
researchers. The interviewees just narrated about different groups and, had only a
vague idea what exactly happened in another group. Eight persons including the
managing consultant were identied as being member of PI. Ten interviewees
including the managing consultant were member of PDG. The other two persons were
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not member of any learning group at that moment. They were members of already
existing expertise-groups who discussed the current product-market-mix and the
consequences for project acquisition. The interviews with these two respondents were
about their wishes and potential purpose of a learning group (Table I).
The domain of both CoPs are more or less the same, they both deal with
improvement of project work. However, the practices between the two CoPs differ
importantly. Members of the PDG take their own professional development as
consultant as the practice of the community. The consultants discuss, in a general way,
how their own professional skills as necessary in a project can be improved. These
near histories events that almost happened (March et al., 1991, p. 6) serve as
boundary objects in the PDG-CoP. Members in PI alternatively decide to take their own
current client-projects as learning subject. Here, real stories about their projects serve
as boundary objects. PI-members discuss how a particular project that they are
running could be improved. Hence, there is a clear difference between the two groups in
the practice they have chosen. In our case study, we will show that this distinction
between the practices of the CoPs has important consequences for the functioning of
these groups within Proper. This distinction in two types of CoPs is a rst result of this
research.
Dealing with multiple inclusions reections of participants
In this section, we discuss two types of results that came out of our interviews with the
members of PDG and PI. The rst type refers to the functioning of the CoP, while the
second relates to the content of the practice.
The project development group
The PDG consists of a mixture of senior and junior consultants that meet regularly on
monthly meeting. There is a slight informal pressure to attend the meeting and when
members cannot visit the meetings the group is informed about these:
If you dont show up or exclude yourself from the group, people start questioning about the
reasons for not attending the meetings.
In the course of the time, PDG develops its own set of norms that rules out particular
behavior within the community:
Behavior that is not accepted is for example gossip, backbiting, bragging and frequent
absence.
The members enjoy participating in this group and feel comfortable. The interaction
and contribution are high and intensive; critical comments and feed-back are
appreciated. Members care about the comments. The main drive for participating in
PDG is to help one another:
Project development group Project improvement group (PI)
Domain of CoP Improvement of project work Improvement of project work
Practice of CoP Personal development Project
Relationships Communal Communal
Boundary object Near-histories Real stories
Table I.
Characteristics PDG
and PI
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People judge, but do not condemn contributions.
By talking about ourselves, we enrich each other as group and as individual.
Participants report about high commitment towards each other. Engagement and
participation are high in the PDGand are found stimulating. Members do not feel urged
to nd a consensus within the group and the discussions are vivid. PDG members
thoroughly discuss generic themes like conict resolution, organizing commitment,
giving unsolicited advice to a client, client resistance, ethics in the consultancy practice,
interpersonal skills, case studies, which they consider to be important for their
professional development. The CoP serves as a space for experimentation as they call
it, to exchange ideas and to enrich the members insights and knowledge:
We use the process in the group as a way to enrich the individual. The insights as learned
within the group are always used in the actual project work, for example learning to ask the
good questions.
Participants report that they do not discuss their current projects in which they are
involved. Instead, they bring in their experiences or questions in a hypothetical form or
in the form of near histories and describe their experiences or problems in an
anonymous way. Members can hide in vague references such as . . . what once
happened to me . . . , . . . what I have heard from a colleague . . . , . . .what
I wonder . . . , etc. Members report that these stories are considered to be realistic
experiences that might or might not originate from(current) work in projects. Members
do not bother whether the stories really happened or not. The near-realistic stories are
accepted as shared practice within the community. They clearly avoid real stories:
I would discuss a project that is not running well with my project leader and would only
discuss some aspects of the project in PDG. The group is a space for experimentation in
which projects with clients can be discussed. It is not allowed trying to achieve commercial
targets within the group.
The project improvement group
The working of the PI is different. The group has decided to take the current projects
as their practice. The idea is that every member should discuss his/her current project
as it really runs and the group should help to improve this project by giving advice,
hints and tricks. In contrast to PDG, the PI members expect that their participation
could directly contribute to the commercial process of their consultancy projects by
learning tips and tricks concerning project acquisition and project management.
While PDG members stress the importance of helping each other in an almost
altruistic way, some PI members assume a direct reciprocity for exchanging ideas and
experiences:
. . .the added value for ones own project depends on what one receives in return . . . the group
becomes more relevant the more I receive in return. . .
PI members are convinced that it does not make sense to discuss important issues only
in general terms:
It does not work for me talking about a theme in a general way. I want to have the whole more
pragmatic in order to being able to apply the knowledge.
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Within PI they exchange experiences and discuss how they could solve real problems
they experience in their projects:
We really want to hear how somebodys project is running; not information about several
projects, but what did we achieve, what does the client think we have achieved, what were the
problems during the project?
In spite of this emphasis on exchanging real experiences, the group members avoid to
exchange painstaking and sensitive information about their projects. According to the
participants, most contributions are rather supercial, not touching the real problems
in consultancy projects:
People dont dare to show that they are vulnerable. Presenting what you are doing is
generally not such a big problem. But to show how you do things individually that does
not really happen.
The interviewees indicate that the main reason for the supercial and often
disappointing contributions is that most members fear that disclosing their project
information would threaten their position in the organization as other members within
PI could pass the information outside PI. This could damage ones reputation and could
have consequences for involvement in future projects and even for ones career.
According to one managing consultant, people do not feel safe in PI:
In a bilateral conversation the information is kept within the room and safety checks can be
built in. This is not the case in the PI group. Some people in the group have ambitions and
want to realize these ambitions. For this reason they avoid making project information public
as long as it can inuence careers.
Like the PDG group, the PI group also has monthly meetings. However, absenteeism is
high and commitment to the CoP is rather low. Members of the PI group report that
they would leave the group if nothing changes. In their view the meetings are useless
as long as the contributions remain supercial.
Analysis: multiple inclusion and its impact on CoPs
This case about the CoPs illuminates some interesting points with reference to the
notions of multiple inclusion, the choice of a domain of knowledge and the development
of a shared practice. In this analysis, we show how participation in a CoP is interrelated
with membership in a team. We argue that a chosen practice can interfere with
project work in a situation of multiple inclusion.
Behavior within both CoPs is to be characterized as public behavior as described by
Krackhardt (1999). In the case of PI, several quotations refer to the possible
vulnerability of an individual consultant when getting or asking for feedback because
information may leak outside the CoP. This vulnerability is associated with potential
consequences outside the CoP as others may come to know about failures in a project.
In this conguration of public behavior Krackhardt predicts that the individual is
maximally constrained when he/she has to satisfy two (or more) norm systems.
We want to stress in our analysis that as far as learning is concerned this
conclusion does not generally hold. Constraints on behavior only take place if
interference between multiple inclusions exists. We will show that some practices are
more susceptible to interference than other ones. We will then discuss the
consequences for the choice of a practice in CoPs.
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We compare the development of PI and PDG and relate this development to the
notion of multiple inclusion. We consider multiple inclusion as a key notion for
explaining why participation in a particular practice is more legitimated than in
another.
One of the most important differences between PI and PDG is the choice of a shared
practice. PI has improvement of current projects adopted as shared practice. They
want to learn for and from their current project work in the teams (tips and tricks,
application in project, relevant for the project). Subsequently, current project
functions as a boundary object between the team and PI. Members of PI bring in or
better: want to bring in their experiences, questions, problems from the current
projects. The description of a current project is not reied at that stage since project
work is still ongoing. Within PI the meaning of that boundary object is renegotiated in
the shared practice as a problem. Members commemorate their projects to a certain
degree as the problems they encounter in the projects. Almost by denition, learning
for the current project within PI implies negative framing of a project (March et al.,
1991, pp. 13-14). The shortcomings in a project are stressed in order to discuss possible
improvement. Negotiating meaning of a boundary object in opposite norm systems
constrains an individuals behavior as Krackhardt (1999) predicts when people are
members of several groups. Indeed, members in PI report that they are reluctant of
revealing problems in their current projects as this might damage their reputation as
project-worker. Releasing knowledge in the PI could cause (future) cooperation in
projects to be compromised. Members of PI, therefore, question the possibility of
legitimate participation on the chosen practice as this practice also touches their
alternative memberships in a project team. Their involvement in other organizational
activities conicts with legitimate participation in PI. These threats of outside effects
undermine the legitimate participation within PI. As a consequence, the development
of a shared practice is hampered. Psychological safety (Edmondson, 1999) within the
CoP cannot develop.
The PDG has taken an alternative route and this nicely demonstrates the effects on
legitimate participation. Members of PDG take their professional development as
shared practice. Their shared practice is what members generally encounter in a
consultancy process. This practice builds on consultants experiences in the projects.
However, the real project is not mentioned. In cases that a real project is used as a
boundary object, only a part of the project is commemorated. Members are not irritated
about not knowing the real story. The extent to which an experience has really taken
place does not matter in developing a common practice (space for experimentation).
A project as boundary object is modied in order to blur any resemblance with the true
story (telling parts of a project). In this case, Krackhardts result does not hold. People
do not feel constrained by multi-membership. Their participation in the learning group
is not hampered by their team-membership to the contrary. Members of PDG
succeed in developing a shared practice and communal relationships with high
psychological safety (Edmondson, 1999). Members of PDG are concerned with helping
each other developing into a consultant-practitioner (enrich each other). The
discussions are personally affected. Compared to PI, this shared practice avoids any
interference with current work. Multiple inclusion does not hinder legitimate
participation within the adopted practice.
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What is important here is that membership in a CoP is not neutral or isolated from
membership in the project teams. Membership in a CoP is inuenced by the norm
system in the hierarchical project teams which again has consequences on the nature of
participation and development of a shared practice. The notion of multiple inclusion
assumes that there always exists an interference between group membership.
However, as the case of PDG demonstrates, interferences can also be moderated and
can even be advantageous when the shared practice is distant from their project-work.
The distance allows members to be more open and thus a shared practice and
communal relationships can more easily develop. These insights suggest that it might
be more useful for a CoPs development to choose a practice more distant from the daily
work. Also in PDG, the constraining effects on legitimate participation in a CoP by
alternative membership can be identied (would not discuss a problematic project).
However, the PDG has in a way circumvented negative consequences of multiple
inclusion.
At this point, the explanatory value of multiple inclusions becomes clear. If we
consider a CoP as isolated entity, explanations for the failure of a CoP could
erroneously be located on the individual level (i.e. individual motivation), or on the
communal level (i.e. trust, psychological safety). When applying the notion of multiple
inclusion the failure of developing a shared practice within a CoP, as it happens in PI, is
explained by the interrelationship with the organizational project-context. The
individuals behavior in PDG and PI is linked with the individuals multiple inclusion
in the project teams. Before participating in a CoP members also bear in mind the
consequences this might have on their future work in the project teams and their career
prospects. This behavior conrms Allports (1962, p. 25) idea of group membership
manifold: Instead of saying that a group incorporates (or is composed of) many
individuals, we would do almost better to say that an individual incorporates many
groups. As the analysis has shown, some type of shared practice is more convenient
for combining multiple membership than others. Multiple inclusion provides the
explanatory framework why membership should match for a prospering CoP.
We believe that such a contextual explanation for the development of a shared
practice has important implications.
Implications and future research
Members in both CoPs choose for a specic practice. When conict with alternative
membership can be avoided, participation is legitimized and a shared practice can
prosper. However, when a group chooses a practice which directly interferes with
alternative memberships, engagement and participation are declining as we showed in
the case of PI. In our analysis, we showed how multiple inclusion constrained
individual behavior within a CoP. Our ndings have several implications for
managerial practice and research on CoPs.
The rst is that multiple inclusion should be viewed as an underlying relational
dynamic in knowledge transfer between different organizational groups (e.g. CoPs and
teams). This interrelatedness between membership in a CoP and in a team provides
some specic conditions that affect legitimate participation. These relations should be
taken into account when setting up or cultivating a CoP by management. Contu
and Wilmott (2003) call for re-embedding situatedness. We now can conrm this
claim as multiple inclusion directly refers to the embeddedness of interrelationships.
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We can add to this insight that it depends on the choice of a practice in what way the
individuals behavior is constrained. From our case study, we learned that a practice
that is distant from the hierarchical context of the organization is more easily
legitimated than a practice that is close to real projects. This suggests that it is
essential for CoPs to maintain a safe distance with real organizational work. Such a
safe distance from real projects also questions the notion of practice. Practice in a CoP
is not necessarily to be equated with (noncanonical) work practice. Practice in a CoP
could and should be modied if interference is threatening. Narrating only parts of a
project in a near story as happens in PDG can be one way of modifying practice in
order to avoid interference. There might be other ways. However, it is not mentioned in
the literature, as far as we know, that modifying practice can be a way to support the
development of a CoP. Safe distance puts constraints on the direct applicability of
knowledge and manageability of CoPs. More distant practice makes multi-membership
commensurable but the new acquired knowledge is less applicable. This again
conrms Contu and Willmotts (2003, p. 289) view that CoPs do not t into a
technocratic tool of organizational engineering.
Another implication is that CoPs have a choice which practice to adopt. If both
groups accept a boundary object but adopt a practice within an opposite norm system,
failure of a CoP is almost guaranteed as an individuals legitimacy of participation in
one of the two groups is severely questioned. It is, however, the chosen shared practice
that determines whether the boundary object will indeed be interpreted in opposite
directions. Literature often discusses shared practice as something xed. Our research
suggests that members in a CoP have a choice in their practice. As our case study
indicates, even in the same starting position CoPs can develop in various directions for
adopting a practice.
A third implication is that some practices are more convenient to avoid interference
with team membership than others. We have not been able to identify precise criteria
for chosing a domain. The optimum lies somewhere between the following extremes:
the same domain with contradictory norm sets and a different practice with mutual
legitimation. If CoPs are relevant for organizational learning, the practice of a CoP and
other organizational groups should be related in order to support mutual legitimacy.
As Hanks states: If both learning and the subject learned are embedded in
participation frameworks, then the portability of learned skills must rely on the
commensurability of certain forms of participation. (Hanks in Lave and Wenger, 1991,
p. 20). The notion of multiple inclusion suggests that the commensurability of certain
forms of participation heavily relies on the mutual legitimation of group membership.
It is not clear what the required characteristics and relations for practice are for gaining
legitimacy. Further, research is needed to explore the benecial combination of
domains and norm sets for assuring legitimation of a practice also outside the CoP.
Yet, there are some weak indications. First, the practice of a CoP should be at safe
distance from the project work in a team. The disadvantage of such a distance is that
knowledge from the CoP cannot be applied directly in the project work. Some kind of
translation will be necessary. Second, if a boundary object is used, the boundary object
itself can be manipulated for creating a more convenient practice. Not only is it possible
to interpret a boundary object in various direction (we already discussed this issue
above), but the boundary object itself can be manipulated in a way that practice in
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a CoP does not interfere with project work. Management should take care of this space
of experimentation.
A nal implication is that some CoPs cannot operate in the public domain.
There could be organizational issues which should be treated in a private context as
Krackhardt describes it. A CoP then functions in a disjunct zone of collective behavior.
In this situation, multiple inclusion puts constrains on knowledge transfer between
CoPs and teams.
Conclusion
We started our discussion about multiple inclusion by identifying different
interpretations of CoPs as they are discussed in the literature over time. We have
argued that CoPs can be viewed as collective entities that are embedded in the
organizational context. We focused on the consequences for participating in a CoP
when the individual is involved in multiple groups. Multiple inclusion indicates that
the various involvements of an individual do not exist in isolation. They inuence each
other. Multiple inclusion is not an artifact that has to be created or a position to which
someone can be appointed. It is an interferential dynamic which can be called upon and
is moulded through participation and legitimation. From this viewpoint we discuss the
consequences on the development and sustainability of a CoP. Conicting norm sets
between communities might thwart knowledge sharing between those groups.
Our research showed that multi-membership can be problematic and that the
cross-transfer of knowledge in double-knit organizations cannot be taken for granted.
Only under specic circumstances participants and organizations can benet from
multi-membership. This appears to be the case when legitimacy of participations in
both teams and CoPs are acquired. Boundary-crossing between teams and
communities is procient as long as the individual is legitimized for his multiple
group membership and as norm sets do not contradict each other.
For organizations that want to set up CoPs it is important to take care of congruence
of norm sets between different communities and groups/teams. A CoP is not a neutral
zone within the organization in which new and different norm sets can be settled from
scratch. Our discussion on multiple inclusion and the consequences for the
sustainability of CoP show some of the intriguing complexities that organizations
are dealing with today.
References
Allport, F.H. (1962), A structuronomic conception of individual and collective, Journal of
Abnormal and Social Psychology, Vol. 64 No. 1, pp. 3-30.
Bowker, G.C. and Star, S.L. (1999), Sorting Things Out. Classication and its Consequences,
The MIT Press, Cambridge, MA.
Brown, J.S. and Duguid, P. (1991), Organizational learning and communities-of-practice: toward
a unied view of working, learning, and innovation, Organization Science, Vol. 2 No. 1,
pp. 40-57.
Brown, J.S. and Duguid, P. (2001), Knowledge and organization: a social-practice perspective,
Organization Science, Vol. 12 No. 2, pp. 198-213.
Burt, R.S. (1992), Structural Holes. The Social Structure of Competition, Harvard University
Press, Cambridge, MA.
Contested
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Contu, A. and Wilmott, H. (2003), Re-embedding situatedness: the importance of power relations
in learning theory, Organization Science, Vol. 14 No. 3, pp. 283-96.
Dougherty, D. (2001), Reimaging the differentiation and integration of work for sustained
product innovation, Organization Science, Vol. 12 No. 5, pp. 612-31.
Edmondson, A. (1999), Psychological safety and learning behavior in work teams,
Administrative Science Quarterly, Vol. 44, pp. 350-83.
Engestrom, Y. (1987), Learning by Expanding: An Activity Theoretical Approach to
Developmental Research, Orenta-Konsulti Oy, Helsinki.
Engestrom, Y., Engestrom, R. and Karkkainen, M. (1995), Polycontextuality and boundary
crossing in expert cognition: learning and problem solving in complex work activities,
Learning and Instruction, Vol. 5, pp. 319-36.
Fiske, A.P. (1992), The four elementary forms of sociality: framework for a unied theory of
social relations, Psychological Review, Vol. 99, pp. 689-723.
Fox, S. (2000), Communities of practice, Foucault and actor-network theory, Journal of
Management Studies, Vol. 37 No. 6, pp. 853-67.
Handley, K., Sturdy, A., Fincham, R. and Clark, T. (2006), Within and beyond communities of
practice: making sense of learning through participation, identity and practice, Journal of
Management Studies, Vol. 43 No. 3, pp. 641-53.
Hislop, D. (2003), The complex relations between communities of practice and the
implementation of technological innovations, International Journal of Innovation
Kontopoulos, K.M. (1993), The Logics of Social Structure, Cambridge University Press,
Cambridge.
Krackhardt, D. (1999), The ties that torture: Simmelian tie analysis in organizations,
Research in the Sociology of Organizations, Vol. 16, pp. 183-210.
Lave, J. (1996) in Chailklin, S. and Lave, J. (Eds), Understanding Practice. Perspectives on Activity
and Context, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, pp. 3-32.
Lave, J. and Wenger, E. (1991), Situated Learning. Legitimate Peripheral Participation, Cambridge
Lindkvist, L. (2005), Knowledge communities and knowledge collectivities: a typology of
knowledge work in groups, Journal of Management Studies, Vol. 42 No. 6, pp. 1189-210.
McDermott, R. (1999), Why Information technology inspired but cannot deliver knowledge
March, J.G., Sproull, L.S. and Tamuz, M. (1991), Learning from samples of one or fewer,
Organization Science, Vol. 2 No. 1, pp. 1-13.
sterlund, C. and Carlile, P. (2003), How practice matters: a relational view on knowledge
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Academic Publisher, Dordrecht, pp. 1-22.
Patton, M.Q. (1987), How to Use Qualitative Methods in Evaluation, Sage, London.
Roberts, J. (2006), Limits to communities of practice, Journal of Management Studies, Vol. 43
No. 3, pp. 623-53.
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Wenger, E. (1998), Communities of Practice. Learning, Meaning, and Identity, Cambridge
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Wenger, E. (2000), Communities of practice and social learning system, Organization, Vol. 7
No. 2, pp. 225-46.
Wenger, E., McDermott, R. and Snyder, W.M. (2002), Cultivating Communities of Practice.
A Guide to Manage Knowledge, Harvard Business School Press, Boston, MA.
Further reading
Carlile, P. (2002), A pragmatic view of knowledge and boundaries: boundary objects in new
product development, Organization Science, Vol. 13 No. 4, pp. 442-55.
Castells, M. (2003), The Internet Galaxy. Reections on the Internet, Business, and Society,
Oxford University Press, Oxford, NY.
Contu, A. and Wilmott, H. (2000), Comment on Wenger and Yanow. knowing in practice:
a delicate ower in the organizational learning eld, Organization, Vol. 7 No. 2,
pp. 269-76.
Cox, A. (2004), What are communities of practice? A critical review of four seminal works,
paper presented at the Fifth European Conference on Organizational Knowledge, Learning
and Capabilities, April.
Gherardi, S. (2000), Practice-based theorizing on learning and knowing in organizations,
Organization, Vol. 7 No. 2, pp. 211-23.
Gherardi, S. and Nicolini, D. (2002), Learning in a constellation of interconnected practices:
canon or dissonance, Journal of Management Studies, Vol. 39 No. 4, pp. 419-36.
Wellman, B. (2002), Little boxes, glocalization, and networked individualism, in Tanabe, M.,
van den Besselaar, P. and Ishida, T. (Eds), Digital Cities II: Computational and Sociological
Approaches, Springer, Berlin.
Wenger, E. and W, M. (2000), Snyder Communities of practice: the organizational frontier,
Harvard Business Review, January/February, pp. 139-44.
About the authors
Irma Bogenrieder is an Associate Professor on Organizational Processes in the Department of
Organization and Personnel at the Rotterdam School of Management, Erasmus University.
She was trained at the Marketing Research Institute, Amsterdam. Currently, she teaches in the
area of organizational dynamics and organizational change. Her current research focuses on
organizational learning, especially on communication rules in team collaboration with cognitive
diversity. Another research issue is on routines and change of routines. Irma Bogenrieder is the
corresponding author and can be contacted at: Ibogenrieder@rsm.nl
Peter van Baalen is an Associate Professor of Knowledge, IT and Organization at the
Department of Decision and Information Sciences, and director of the Centre of e-Learning and
Knowledge Management (CELK) of RSM Erasmus University. Peter van Baalen lectures in the
elds of knowledge management, e-organizations, new media and communication in business,
and open innovation in the knowledge economy. His recent research focuses on knowledge
exchange, IT-adoption, open source software development, the emergence of e-communities, and
the evolution of global knowledge networks. Peter van Baalen published seven books and about
75 articles in national and international journals, chapters in books, and research papers and
reports.
Contested
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Book review
Stumbling on Happiness
Daniel Gilbert
Alfred A. Knopf
New York
2006
pp. 304
$24.95
Keywords Behaviour, Individual psychology, Individual perception
Review DOI 10.1108/09534810710760108
Wizardry and cookery in the human brain
Despite the third word of the title, this is not an instruction manual that will tell you
anything useful about being happy (p. xvi), says Daniel Gilbert of his recent inquiry
into the workings of the human psyche. Gilberts (2006) Stumbling on Happiness fondly
but realistically maps out the human psyche in all its fallibility, trying to answer this
burning question: why, if humans possess an imagination that can project an
emotional hologram into the future, cannot we envision what will make us happy and
map our day or our lives to it? Despite the disclaimer that his book will not lead to
happiness, and despite his conclusion that we are hopelessly fooled by our brains into
and out of happiness, he sustains an upbeat, playful, and even ippant tone as he
describes the path we totter along in our search for fulllment. Our lives, Gilbert
claims, are a series of predictable misperceptions by an imperfect mind; yet somehow,
that mind manages to net good feelings when all is said and done. If this book could be
summarized by a gesture, it would be one of shrugged shoulders, upturned palms,
and a not bad exaggerated frown. All things considered, the human species is
managing well.
Gilberts inquiry is highly sometimes overly accessible; it condenses an
incredible mass of scholarship on the elusive subject of emotional happiness into a
disarming series of conversational gestures (Uh-huh. Right. Are we really supposed to
believe that people who lose their jobs, their freedom, and their mobility are somehow
improved by the tragedies that befall them? If that strikes you as a far-fetched
possibility, then you are not alone) (p. 152). If Gilberts asides to the reader are
generally vexing and overacted, they are nevertheless admissible in light of his last
30 pages: a compendium of research on happiness, consisting of 387 endnotes that cite
and annotate a history of thinking on the topic. Harvard College Professor of
Psychology at Harvard University, Gilbert clearly knows his stuff. This is a mixed
ethos, but for those who attended teaching universities, it is not unfamiliar.
In his Foreword, Gilbert introduces his claim that humans are hopelessly
ineffective at predicting what our future selfs tastes, preferences, needs, and desires
(p. xiv) will be, thus we are generally stumped when we realize that our plans for
happiness did not hit the mark. Ironically, says Gilbert, our inability to predict our
future emotional state tends to follow fairly predictable patterns. Just as we all err in
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Management
Vol. 20 No. 4, 2007
pp. 596-599
0953-4814
the same way when we view an optical illusion, the mistakes we make when we try to
imagine our personal futures are also lawful, regular, and systematic (p. xvi).
So Gilbert has already disoriented us by introducing a concept of happiness that is
twice removed, rst by placing it in the future, and second, by implying that it will be
misidentied. In Prospection (Part I), he explains the concept further: our brains
were made for nexting (p. 8), or projecting ourselves into the future and then
imagining how we will feel when it happens (pp. 16-22). The problem is that our power
of prospection, or looking into the future, is just as prone to illusion as our eyesight
and our memory (pp. 23-24), and can be explained by the same basic principles of
human psychology (p. 24). His next three sections, Subjectivity, Presentism, and
Rationalization, explore those basic principles and apply them to his line of inquiry.
Subjectivity (Part II) paints a picture of the human brain as self-obsessed,
convinced of its absolute uniqueness, and prone to its own sleight of hand. Because of
this, happiness is almost impossible to describe, and highly difcult to re-conjure in its
original form once it has passed (pp. 32-33). Unfortunately, some of Gilberts
expressions (Happiness, then, is the you-know-what-I-mean feeling (p. 33)) are no
match for the poignancy of his topic, but he effectively outlines the complex apparatus
of human perception, using graphic representations of the brains processes, lmic
metaphors, and step-by-step tracings over some of the brains most stunning, yet
hidden, work.
In Realism, (Part III) Gilbert shows that just as the brain compensates for the blind
spot on our retina by supplying an image based on surrounding information, (p. 81),
the brain lls in external stimuli with what we already think, feel, know, want, and
believe to construct what we know as reality (p. 85). Though discussion of this concept
dates back to Immanuel Kants 18
th
century theory of idealism and has been echoed by
the likes of Will Durant and Jean Piaget (pp. 85-6), humans remain aloof to their own
brains scams when imagining the future, projecting erroneously every time (p. 89).
Like Realism, Presentism (Part IV) shows how the human imagination insists on
imposing the present on the future. Because imagination and perception share the same
apparatus, and because at any given time the brain will prioritize current feelings over
imagined ones (pp. 117-125), we often mistake reality-induced feelings for
imagination-induced prefeelings (p. 123). When we think we are previewing an
emotion in the future, we are simply drawing from what we feel right now and
projecting it into the future.
Gilberts depiction of the instantaneous, unsolicited processes that the brain
conducts in order to shape our perceptions is disappointingly familiar. The idea that
my brain is unable to measure without comparing (my old car versus a new one, last
years fashions versus this years), and that I am unaware of how my brain will use
comparisons to trick me at any given time, reminds me that my brain is the ultimate
sales professional. Yet Gilberts theory begs to be applied on a larger scale the world
marketplace, the class system, anything.
Part V concerns the brains uncanny and underestimated powers of
Rationalism, which depends on the fact that experience by its nature is ambiguous
and can be perceived convincingly in a variety of ways. Using the bodys immune
system as a metaphor for our brains psychological balancing act, Gilbert shows that
as a healthy physical immune system must balance its competing needs and nd
a way to defend us well but not too well, our psychological immune system does
Book review
597
the same when we face an emotionally difcult event: it strikes a balance that allows
us to feel good enough to cope with our situation but bad enough to do something
about it (p. 162). Interestingly, the less ambiguous the experience, the more difcult it
is for the psychological immune system to defend us from the rejection (p. 177). Whats
more, our defense system is triggered by traumatic experiences more so than lifes
everyday annoyances, and therefore does not provide coverage for the latter. Ironically,
then, we are likely to have a more contented view of a devastating experience than we
would for a broken pencil (pp. 180-82).
It seems, though, a bit too neat to say that traumatic experiences tend to net greater
happiness than annoyances what about the phenomenon of post-traumatic stress
disorder? Gilberts laws of perception would be more believable, or at least more
textured, if he explored them against the backdrop of trauma, or the readers shared
sense of what deep emotional pain feels like.
In Corrigibility (Part VI), Gilbert brings home one of the crowning achievements
of the psyche: the manufacture of memory. Our psyche selectively remembers the
uncommon and the nale scenes, rather than the workaday elements that make up the
majority of experience; so our past tends to look like a string of highly original and
striking events, an idiosyncratic synopsis (pp. 197-202). Where there are blanks,
memory uses stereotypes as llers and may completely misconstrue facts based on
conjecture (pp. 205-10). To make matters more challenging, the prevalence of
inaccurate beliefs, like the transmission of genes, is possible if those beliefs create an
environment that supports their continued transmission (p. 215). This holds true for the
false belief that money buys happiness: it does not necessarily promote happiness,
but it does serve the needs of an economy, which serve the needs of a stable society,
which serves as a network for the propagation of delusional beliefs about happiness
and wealth (p. 219). Like Gilberts analogy of the immune system with the psyche, this
metaphor is absolutely tting.
So what are we to do? Gilberts proposes that we forego the use of imagination when
predicting future emotional states, and instead, gather real-time data from actual
people who experience now the event we are pondering for the future. After all, this
method has been proven to yield much more accurate results than the unaided
imagination (pp. 224-7). But of course, we categorically reject this conclusion; we are
hardwired to believe strongly that we are highly unique. It stands to reason in our
biased mind, then, that others dont experience things the way we do, and that
surrogacy is doomed (pp. 228-32). On reection, I nd using my own imagination
highly preferable to using someone elses real-time data. When I consider the latter,
I imagine being infected by a contagion or my individuality being compromised in
some way. Of course, that is my emotional reaction, and it is utterly wrong, just as
Gilbert predicts. Yet I would still choose it.
Gilbert concludes that the imagination is an amazing gift, but it is far from perfect:
if our great big brains do not allow us to go surefootedly into our futures, they at least
allow us to understand what makes us stumble (p. 238). This is an oh, well
conclusion not even poignant enough to be disturbing. Its just at. In fact, I hope
that the tone of Gilberts conclusion is calculated. If it is, Gilberts genius lies in his
simulation of the very trickery his book discusses. Not only has the experience of
reading the book simulated the process that it describes failed predictions about
emotional wellness in the future it explains exactly why that is so, and why we
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cant do anything about it. I entered the reading experience predicting increased
enlightenment and fullled purpose by the end, only to nd that my predicting
equipment had far overestimated the quotient of joy I would experience. If it were not
for the fact that my reaction to his ending proves Gilberts point, I would be pretty
upset with his anemic conclusion that humans are fundamentally prone to
self-deception.
Perhaps the most impressive of Gilberts talents is his ability to make accessible a
vast body of scholarship about the human perception and deliver it to a large reader
base. If only for that reason, his book is a masterful instrument for transmitting ideas
and prompting discussion. Like the tamping iron that pierced clean through Phineas
Gages skull and took out his frontal lobe (pp. 12-15), Gilberts in your face writing
style, paired with his precise aim, exposes a little-known aspect of our brain and leaves
our consciousness changed forever . . . or until our brain makes us forget.
Anne Marie Albertazzi
George Mason University,
School of Public Policy,
Fairfax, Virginia, USA
Reference
Gilbert, D. (2006), Stumbling on Happiness, Alfred A. Knopf, New York, NY.
Book review
599
Journal of Organizational Change Management
Special issue on
Work and play
Since, Huizingas (1955) seminal Homo Ludens we were aware of
the centrality of play to our humanity as manifested in everyday
life, work including. Play, in the form of gaming was responsible
for some of the largest and most complex organizational feats of
antiquity: the Greek Olympic Games, and bloody Roman circus
shows for the masses. But with the progress of the machinery of
the industrial revolution, work has been split apart from play
(and vice versa) in an ever increasing march of efficiency and
rationalization (Zuboff, 1988).
Recently, a number of strands have come together to break the
traditional divide between work and non-work. The flexing of
workplace boundaries (with the impact of new technology and
telephony the boundaryless organization (Ashkenas et al.,
2002), has created virtual offices, virtual teams and even virtual
organizations. The rise of protean (Hall, 1976) and boundaryless
(Arthur and Rousseau, 1996) careers; and the corresponding
demand for maximizing flexibility have affected the traditional
binary divide between work and extra-work domains. The work-
family balance debate (and the EU legislation on working hours
and related initiatives, such as the 35-hours week in France), has
forced a re-examination of time and space at home and at work,
withworkspaces incorporating leisureelements (suchas cafeteria
andgyms), while the homeoffice is rapidly becoming an integral
part of the post-modern habitat, with pertinent health and safety
regulations extending to cover eventualities such as accidents.
The ever expanding consumer society (having fun as a divine right)
and the search for authentic experiences (living a real life as an
ideal) all combine to put forward the relationships between work
and play (in line withthe American colloquial: we work hardand we
also play hard) as a critical aspect of contemporary working lives.
Companies such as Google and Du Pont encourage employees to
freely use up to 20 per cent of their formal working time to play
with ideas (Mainemelis and Ronson, 2006) a practice which has
beenaroundfor alongtime(3M, for example, usedtoprideitself as
a hotbed of experimental ideas) but not as an institutionalised
procedure. On the other hand, the use of play as subversion to
organized work has long been noted (Roy, 1959; Fremontii, 1971),
and indeed its anti-structural essence (Turner, 1974); as are its
seductive qualities, so fundamental to our consumer culture
(Altman, 1998). Theroleof play insuperior peak performanceand
as a personality variant is central to the flow phenomenon
characterized by Csikzentmihalyi (1990) and so it is to developing
and maintaining creativity at work (Mainemelis andRonson, 2006).
Play as an element of mindfulness is only starting to make inroads
into management practice, with the emergence of positive
organizational scholarship (Cameron et al., 2005).
We concur with Mainemelis and Ronson (2006, p. 82) that play
as a topic of inquiry is among the least studied and least
understood organizational behaviours. This special issue of
JOCM wishes to address this lack by providing the scope and
space to scholars in the fields of management, organization,
and the social sciences in general, to comment and enlighten us
on this rapidly resurging central aspect of working lives play in
its various manifestations; and in so doing, help define the field
as a scholarly enterprise as well as a managerial concern. Here
are some suggested topics we want to cover:
.
play and its relevance to creativity in work;
.
the sacred, spiritual, ritual aspects of play behaviour at work;
.
affect and emotions in play and their role in organizational
behaviour;
.
institutionalized play: the organization of space, time and
boundaries of work;
.
playfulness in organizational behaviour the role of humour,
joking behaviour, relations between the sexes;
.
play as a gendered phenomenon at work;
.
playassubversivebehaviour: seductive, underminingauthority;
.
the work-place (Christmas) party: role, process, implications;
.
the ethics of engaging play at the service of work;
.
organizational aesthetics as a play phenomenon;
.
play and (organizational) history; and
.
play and work as documented in the arts and literature.
Guest Editors
Dr Yochanan Altman, Research Professor, London Metropolitan
University, E-mail: y.altman@londonmet.ac.uk
Professor Babis Mainemelis, Professor of Organisational
Behaviour at London Business School,
E-mail: bmainemelis@london.edu
Please send your abstracts to the Guest Editors (work-
play@hotmail.co.uk) before October 1, 2007. If accepted, you
will be notified and asked to submit the complete paper for
Call for papers
blind review before December 30, 2007. The Work and play
special issue of JOCM will appear as issue No. 4, 2008.
References
Altman, Y. (1998), American ritual drama in action: the Disney
theme park, in Deegan, M-J. (Ed.), The American Ritual
Tapestry: Social Rules and Cultural Meanings, Greenwood
Press, Westport, CT, pp. 8595
Arthur, M.B. and Rousseau, D. (1996), The Boundaryless Career:
A New Employment Principle for a New Organizational Era,
Oxford University Press, Oxford
Ashkenas, R., Ulrich, D., Jick, T. and Kerr, S. (2002), The
Boundaryless Organization: Breaking the Chains of
Organizational Structure, Jossey-Bass Publishers, San
Francisco, CA
Cameron, K.S., Dutton, J.E. and Quinn, R.E. (2005), Positive
Organizational Scholarship: Foundations of a New
Discipline, Berrett-Koehler Publishers, San Francisco, CA
Csikzentmihalyi, M. (1990), Flow: the Psychology of Optimal
Experience, Harper & Row, New York, NY
Fremontii, J. (1971), La Forteresse Ouvriere: Renault, Eyrolles, Paris
Hall, D.T. (1976), The Career is Dead Long Live the Career,
Jossey-Bass Publishers, San Francisco, CA
Huizinga, J. (1955), Homo Ludens: A Study of the Play Element in
Culture, Beacon Press, Boston, MA
Mainemelis, C. and Ronson, S. (2006), Ideas are born in fields
of play: towards a theory of play and creativity in
organizational settings, Research in Organizational
Behavior, Vol. 27, pp. 81131
Roy, D.F. (1959), Banana time: job satisfaction and informal
interaction, Human Organization, Vol. 18, pp. 15868
Turner, V. (1974), Social dramas and ritual metaphors,
Dramas, Fields and Metaphors: Symbolic Action in
Human Society, Cornell University Press, Ithaca, NY
Zuboff, S. (1988), In the Age of the Smart Machine: The Future of
Work and Power, Harvard Business School Press,
Cambridge, MA
Call for papers

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