“Problems cannot be solved with the same mind set that created them.” – A. Einstein

Einstein’s insight is a challenge for leaders.

Everybody quotes Albert Einstein for everything. Sort of like Churchill. But on this one, his short sentence implies a big and important lesson for leaders.

Without intending to blaspheme, I’ll call the lesson, The God Trap. Deeply embedded in all our cultural traditions, whether Judeo-Christian or others, is the sense that seniority brings it with a kind of omniscience. The elders, in an analog to God, are steeped in the notion that they are supposed to know everything.  This idea is unfair to top leaders.  It’s a set-up.

Today’s top leaders got to the top by solving the problems of their time.  To do that, they probably had to make their own mistakes and dodge their own bosses.  Out of that experience they developed sets of assumptions about the world.

The human brain likes assumptions and patterns. It needs patterns to tell us what to do. We need this function. Without it we would not have survived as a species. The more experience we have this the more our pattern recognition habits shape the way we believe the world works. Our brains also like the idea that my pattern is THE pattern.  We develop what the Nobel economist Daniel Kahneman identified as “cognitive biases.”  Left to its evolutionary devices, our brains get trained to operate on more and deeper assumptions.  One of the big ones for leaders is the “Framing Bias.”  We believe we know in every situation who’s genuine and legit and who isn’t.  We give more or less credence to new information based on who or what is presenting it to us.

I once saw the Framing Bias prevent the Boston Police Department top brass from getting a handle on gang violence for an additional two years, because of who presented the new information to them.  Some line cops, one of whom they saw as overly ambitious,  and probation officers asked for permission to sit with the brass and share their observations from the street.  ‘Who are these guys,’ the big guys objected, ‘to tell us anything?’  For leaders already stuck in The God Trap, the Framing Bias prevented the information from being heard.  (I also witnessed a 180-degree shift in this thinking and practice, see below).

By the time they have 20 or more years on, those who succeed to the top are very, very good at operating effectively within the prevailing patterns of work in their field or organization. What makes one excellent at being effective in a particular pattern also makes it very difficult for one to see the new one taking shape. With our success, i.e. promotion to positions of authority and responsibility, comes an investment in a defined way of succeeding.

One easy way to avoid the trap is for the leader to think of him or herself as the Great Facilitator.  The job of leader is to provide mature guidance and coaching, encouraging the next generation to think and act creatively, without harming themselves or others.  The parameters are not whether it looks like something we would do or who gets credit.  Rather the parameters become, is it right, morally, and will it work?

The futurist Joel Barker wrote a book in which he refers to these patterns as paradigms. In addition to sounding like a reference to two US coins that add up to 20 cents, paradigm is a Greek and Latin-rooted word for “a framework containing the basic assumptions, ways of thinking, and methodology that are commonly accepted by members of a scientific community.”  In The Business of Paradigms  Barker wrote that the most unlikely source of the next important idea is the executive suite.  Not because senior leadership is not smart and wise, but because of where it is situated, in the middle, enveloped in the conventional pattern.  The most likely source is on the fringe of your organization, where people are less invested in the prevailing paradigms.

How do we wrangle and make use of the talent and fresh perspectives on the fringe?  In The Wisdom of Crowds, James Surowiecki piles up research and examples of how a group properly assembled and facilitated can be smarter than the smartest expert.  In The Idea Factory Jon Gertner shows how Bell Labs did this in their research facility in New Jersey.  They forced people of different disciplines to interact on a daily basis.  They even deliberately put all the labs on the same corridor so people would run into each other in the corridor.  Out of this came the foundation of our electronic world.

I witnessed the Arlington MA PD revolutionize its use of leadership by pushing authority out and down in the department.  The chief transformed himself into that Great Facilitator; he listened to sergeants and gave them the room to develop a rich, new program in leadership action and education.

In the 1990’s I witnessed this concept in action when a group of players on the fringe of power and authority made the 180-degree shift referenced above.  This time, they figured they’d ask for forgiveness instead of permission.  Line cops, probation officers, Black ministers, non-tenure academics, school cops, assistant prosecutors and others revolutionized the understanding of how the gang world works.  That led to a revolution in strategy and tactics that alternately wore the label “Operation Cease Fire” and “Boston Miracle.” It’s important to underscore that these folks didn’t set out for fame.  If they had they would have failed.  They set out to prevent the next kid from being killed.  That made all the difference.

The article copied below is another great example of how innovation can happen on the fringe, where the people closest to the problem have the greatest investment in solving the problem.  The best of them are much less invested in “success” as defined by stature, title and position.  They are more eager to change the world. Every field and organization has Charles Vacanti’s among their personnel and wider circles of stakeholders.  Find them and put them to work.

___________________

Ignorance led to invention of stem cell technique

Discoverer was freed by what he didn’t know

By Carolyn Y. Johnson

|  GLOBE STAFF  FEBRUARY 02, 2014

The genial 63-year-old anesthesiologist who left stem cell scientists shaking their heads in wonder and puzzlement last week, with the discovery that a simple acid bath could be used to generate powerful stem cells, doesn’t even have a PhD.

Vacanti is an accomplished tissue engineer and the chairman of the Anesthesiology Department at Brigham and Women’s Hospital, but he’s a virtual outsider to the highly competitive and fast-moving stem cell field.

Until now, he was best known for creating the grotesque “earmouse” — a mouse with a human ear grown on its back, in a demonstration of the complex structure that could be grown with the technique.

His discovery is a reminder that as specialized as science is, sometimes, a little ignorance may be a virtue. A stem-cell expert would probably never have even bothered to try the experiment Vacanti has been pursuing, on and off, since the late 1990s.

“In science, the prevailing opinion is called dogma. And dogma is often right, and often wrong,” said Arnold Caplan, a biology professor at Case Western Reserve University and friend who has acted as a sounding board for some of Vacanti’s ideas.

Unlike many scientists who fear getting scooped or being wrong, Dr. Charles Vacanti is more open in speaking about his research. The stem cell work discussed is unpublished.

YOON S. BYUN/GLOBE STAFF

Unlike many scientists who fear getting scooped or being wrong, Dr. Charles Vacanti is more open in speaking about his research. The stem cell work discussed is unpublished.

“He tests them out on me and if I think they’re totally stupid, I tell him, since I’m not known to be subtle,’’ Caplan said. “Most of the time, I’m encouraging, because every time we think we know something, we don’t know it exactly.”

Sitting in his office a day after he shook up the stem cell world, Vacanti was unguarded and modest.

“I know I’m wrong a lot of times, but do you know how happy I am when I’m right once in awhile?” he said. “That’s what I live for.”

He laughs easily and has a midwesterner’s casual, aw-shucks demeanor. Colleagues said it’s not unusual to see his tie crooked at a cocktail party, and he can sometimes seem like an eccentric and slightly bumbling uncle, but his intelligence is always just under the surface.

Vacanti did not set out trying to devise a new way to make stem cells with the ability to become any of the myriad organs and specialized cells in the body. The technique he and colleagues revealed last week is shockingly simple compared with the genetic manipulation of cells now required.

In the late 1980s, he had begun doing research with his older brother, Joseph, a surgeon who was then working at Boston Children’s Hospital and pioneering the new field of tissue engineering.

Charles Vacanti — who is called Chuck by his friends — had gotten interested in growing bone, but first he had to learn how to work in a lab, so he asked his brother to be his mentor. He started by growing cartilage cells onto scaffolds, which is what led him to eventually create the earmouse.

Vacanti said most of the things that have happened in his life have not been planned out. In 1994, he moved to the University of Massachusetts Medical School. When a BBC film crew was making a documentary about research there, he asked if they would like to see something neat. The BBC broadcast footage of the earmouse drew an international spotlight to his work.

Not long afterward, Vacanti gave a talk in London, and later read a newspaper’s exaggerated account of what he had said — including an outlandish claim that Vacanti had vowed to “cure Superman,” meaning the paralyzed actor Christopher Reeve, by fixing spinal cord injuries. But the article sparked Vacanti’s curiosity, and he began to get interested in trying to do just that.

It was a natural time to diverge professionally from his brother Joseph, too.

“I thought, this is great. My brother’s taught me a lot, but I need to move on into a different area rather than hang on to his coattails my whole career,” Vacanti said.

He recruited his younger brother Martin, a pathologist, to come out to UMass and try to find a type of cell that could be used to cure spinal cord injuries.

Martin, now at Irwin Army Community Hospital in Fort Riley, Kansas, recalled telling his brother, “That sounds like a great opportunity, but you’re absolutely nuts. This isn’t cartilage. You aren’t going to grow spinal cord.”

Chuck, he said, responded in typical fashion: “Just do it. I don’t care if people say it’s impossible.”

Growing up, the two brothers had been close — riding motorcycles together, getting into mischief, traveling to Europe. They were kind of like two Don Quixotes, Martin said. Like the windmill-fighting hero of literature, Chuck “just doesn’t see why it can’t be done.” he said.

For more than a year, Martin struggled, but then he tried using a procedure used to isolate fetal stem cells from rodent brains. He cut up an adult rat brain with a scalpel he borrowed from an operating supply room. He passed the mashed-up tissue through progressively thinner tubes, squeezing and even injuring the cells. Then he looked in the microscope.

“All I had was junk and garbage and debris,” Martin recalled. “But I noticed these very, very small, tiny rounded” structures.

A colleague dismissed them as nothing, and a depressed Martin returned to the lab, debating whether to throw out the Petri dish or stick it in the incubator. He decided to see whether anything would grow. After a weekend had passed, still feeling sorry for himself, he looked at the dish and saw that the dots had grown into spherical clusters that seemed to be acting like stem cells.

The initial, tiny seed cells seemed to be very hardy and resistant to harsh conditions, so he and his brother dubbed them spore-like cells and published their results in 2001 in a respectable, though not prominent journal.

Other UMass scientists were extremely skeptical of the results. Eventually, tired of having to defend his work internally, Charles moved to Brigham. He made a conscious choice during the job interview not to mention the research.

“I didn’t want to tell them about my little flop on spore-like stem cells,” Vacanti recalled.

Martin eventually moved back to the Midwest, and Charles’s research went in other directions. But he was still interested in the strange cells he and his brother had isolated. He asked Koji Kojima, a thoracic surgeon and researcher in his lab, to try to see whether he could isolate the same tiny cells.

Kojima started by trying to find them in lung tissue. Eventually, he found the right protocol. Another scientist in the lab found them in muscle.

But Vacanti had learned his lesson. Maybe his lack of training had been an asset when he was trying an unconventional approach and following his intuition where few others would have gone. But he now knew he had to build a rock-solid case that these cells were what they seemed to be.

“We said, ‘We need a card-carrying scientist to be involved in this. That’s the only way anyone is going to believe us,’ ” Vacanti recalled. And they needed someone who was not only skilled, but malleable.

Mature scientists, Vacanti said, have committed themselves to a certain destiny. Just as stem cells specialize into muscle cells or nerve cells, for example, scientists might go down the road of studying the immune system or genetic engineering. Once they are committed to a field and to their ideas, they are far less flexible.

“Older scientists were never going to abandon what they were taught. We needed someone who was flexible enough to explore different possibilities,” Vacanti said. They needed a student.

In 2008, a Japanese graduate student, Haruko Obokata, took up the project, and succeeded in much more rigorously replicating the 2001 work that had attracted so much criticism.

Two years later, at a conference in Florida, Vacanti met with Obokata and her mentor from Japan, Masayuki Yamato, from Tokyo Women’s Medical University. He asked them not to make fun of him. Then, he proposed that maybe the isolation procedure was actually creating the cells. He wondered if Obokata would return and see whether this was true.

“I was completely convinced that the cells we described . . . were being ‘created’ during the isolation process, rather than simply being isolated,” Yamato wrote in an e-mail. “I was so surprised to find that Chuck and I had independently reached the same conclusion.”

Obokata worked with top stem cell scientists to show rigorously that these cells were triggered to return to a stem cell-like state by an environmental stress, such as being placed for 30 minutes in a mild acid bath. They submitted the first paper to a journal in April 2012, but it was rejected. Over the intervening year and a half, they continued to answer questions.

Dr. George Q. Daley, a stem cell scientist at Children’s Hospital, said the value of being a nonexpert is that you may take risks because you don’t know better. There is a flipside, though.

He said Vacanti’s ability to bring in world experts, including Teruhiko Wakayama, a specialist in mouse-cloning, “gives tremendous confidence to those of us within the field of pluripotent stem cells,” which are able to give rise to multiple types of tissue.

Daley said when the paper was published last Wednesday, he exchanged e-mails with other leaders in the field, agreeing that the level of proof furnished by respected scientists meant the work, surprising and puzzling though it was, had to be taken seriously.

Vacanti is not nearly as circumspect as many scientists, who are reluctant to speak about preliminary results or new research for fear of getting scooped or being wrong. He invited a Globe photographer to take photos last week of what he said are the first human stem cells created with the new technique.

He told reporters that a collaborator had already made an effort to clone a mouse from stem cells created with his technique, but that the fetus did not survive. All the work is unpublished, unvetted, preliminary — the sort of thing most scientists wouldn’t speak about publicly.

“There’s a little bit of a little kid in him — he’ll do what he feels like,” said Robert Langer, a bioengineer at MIT who has worked with Vacanti.

Joseph, his older brother, chalks up Chuck’s openness to something that the brothers all share — a plainspoken manner that comes from their Nebraska background. Chuck’s persistence and willingness to challenge orthodoxy, he said, stems from their upbringing, especially their mother, who was self-assured and had no patience for mindless authority.

“I think that’s helped us establish this whole field of tissue engineering, because you have to be open. You have to be able to work with others. You have to be able to respect others. The whole way science works is to share and not to hide,” Joseph said.

Carolyn Y. Johnson can be reached at cjohnson@globe.com. Follow her on Twitter @carolynyjohnson.

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About stephenomeara

My name is Jim Jordan. I have had the privilege of working with the Boston Police Department and hundreds more departments over my nearly 30-year career in police administration and city government. I am now teaching and consulting independently at www.sergeantsleadership.org. I have learned the best of what I know from the thousands of smart, dedicated and ethical police personnel and scholars who have guided me along the way. My address is named for the great Reform commissioner of the Boston Police at the turn of the 20th century. Commissioner O'Meara died just a short while before the Strike in 1919. He was replaced by a vicious puppet (of Gov. Coolidge) named Edwin U. Curtis. Had O'Meara lived events may have turned out quite differently.
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