Taking care in tough times

P1040697As you’ll know, if you’ve been following my online activity, I work both as a CEO of a medium sized charity, and as a coach.  Oh, and I write books, too.  Working as a CEO and also coaching others, as well as having been, until recently, a charity trustee, gives me a very particular view on issues facing leaders in the third sector.  These are really, really difficult times.  The results of a poll carried out by NCVO of charity leaders, published in January, indicated that charities were having to deal with declining income, whilst meeting increased demand.  Paul Ashton, CEO of Prospects, is quoted as saying:

“Our sector can’t expect to be immune from the economic challenges but further reductions in contract income will be devastating to an already hard-pressed and dedicated workforce. Local charities often provide a lifeline for individuals and families and there is a danger that many effective organisations will be forced to close, leaving the public sector to pick up the pieces.”

And of course we all know that the way things are going, there soon won’t be much public sector at all to even acknowledge the pieces, let alone pick them up.  And for the director or CEO leading their organisation, the challenges are enormous.  We have to balance the books, which increasingly means closing down services and making people redundant.  Increasingly, we have to adapt to a market economy, often bidding for work against colleagues in the sector.  We’re advocates for our service users, so we’re often having to protest to the people who have the power to fund us, or not.  As the health and social care environment goes through a revolution that is by no means bloodless, we have to understand new bureaucracies, build new relationships, prepare to meet a different set of customer needs.  And we need to provide excellent leadership for teams of people who, in many cases, are seeing their incomes fall as wages stay static and the cost of living soars, and who are on the front line, dealing with increasing need with fewer resources.

So if you’re a CEO, ask yourself this: is your board of trustees, or your management committee, a help or a hindrance in all this?  As a CEO, are you drawing on the strengths of your board?  Are you making sure that they’re as informed as they need to be about the aspects of organisation that affect them?  And if you’re a trustee, as yourself this: what have I done this week to support the CEO of my organisation?  Am I doing things that are less than helpful?

There’s never been a time when working together in a spirit of trust and co-operation has been more important.  In order to function with clarity, and to the best of their ability, the CEO needs to know that she or he has the support of their board; and that challenges from trustees will be constructive and relevant to what’s going on now; and that board members will put at the organisation’s disposal their skills and energy, their buy-in to their particular cause.

They say that being a CEO is a lonely job, and you certainly know about it when you’re having to make difficult and unpopular decisions.  Many of us blame ourselves when things go wrong, even if the logic is flawed.  We worry that we’re not doing enough, we’re not good enough.  We fear failing, because the implications don’t just affect us, they affect our staff and our service users and heaven knows who else.  However good the board is, most CEOs will benefit from coaching, mentoring, or non-managerial supervision from someone outside the organisation who’s a skilled facilitator/consultant and has no vested interest in the charity.  Not only does it help to have a sounding board – and someone who can hold the mirror up to you – but taking time with someone outside the office gives you space and time to reflect, to take stock, to creatively problem-solve, to take a reality check, and to explore different options for tough situations.  You can let off steam and know that you won’t be putting your job on the line by doing so.  I’d urge boards of trustees to recognise that even if it means spending some money, your CEO is likely to do a far better job – and preserve their sanity – if they have someone outside the organisation with whom to work on a regular basis.  With my CEO hat on, this has been my own experience – and I also have a board of skilled and supportive trustees.

I was talking to the CEO of a small organisation a few weeks ago.  She’d been having some external non-managerial supervision, which she’d told me had been very helpful.  I asked her how it was going.  “The board haven’t agreed to fund it,” she said.  “I’ve had to stop.  Sorry, I’ve got to dash – it’s just crazy at the moment.”  This surely is not the way to get the best from someone who happens to be immensely skilled and impressive, but who looked to be heading towards exhaustion.

There’s a challenge here for coaches, mentors, and consultants too, especially for those of us who who want to contribute to making a difference through support of third sector leaders.  How do we make high quality coaching and mentoring available at a price that charities and social enterprises can afford?  It’s a tough one: our costs are high if we keep up our CPD, are members of an association, have coaching ourselves, and avail ourselves of supervision.  We have a living to make, after all.  What helps?  Consider having different fee levels depending on the turnover of the charity – you can check out their financial status on the Charity Commission website.  Is running a group an option for some people?  Do you offer different packages, depending on the client’s needs?  Do you give a certain number of freebies, or heavily discounted sessions each year?

It’s the start of a new week.  What changes will you make as a result of reading this?

Reflections on leadership…

P1040697Last Wednesday I stepped down as a trustee of Asylum Aid.  I’d been on the board for 8 years, had acted as its vice chair, and even spent a year in the role of acting Chair, and it felt like a good time to have a break.  My decision was helped by the fact that we’d got some skilled and enthusiastic newcomers on the board: I’d be leaving it in very capable hands.  But I shall carry on being a strong supporter of this extraordinary organisation which achieves so much for some of the most vulnerable people in our society.  Maurice Wren, Asylum Aid’s Director, will also be moving on next month, and so this blog, in reflecting on the qualities that make Asylum Aid so special, is also a tribute to him, and to a particular kind of leadership.  It is also a tribute to Enver Solomon, who has ably chaired the Board of Trustees for the past 8 years.  I want to try to capture some of the qualities of this organisation and share them with my readers, because I think there are clear lessons here for other charity leaders.  I’ve certainly watched and tried to learn during my happy association with Asylum Aid

Asylum Aid is an organisation that’s been successful on a number of fronts.  They’ve influenced the law, nationally, and also at European and international levels, particularly in relation to gender, highlighting the specific experiences and barriers of women who need to flee their countries of origin.  They have an extremely successful track record in terms of their legal representation, thanks to a team that is passionate about their work.  Funders want to support them: in my time, two particular donations stand out, both entirely unsolicited: the first for £25,000, and the most recent for £250,000.  Yes, that’s right.  Someone gave AA a quarter of a million pounds, and we don’t know who was behind the donation, and certainly didn’t ask for it.  So what’s Asylum Aid’s secret?  Well, from where I’m standing, I’d say that right at the top of the list is the integrity of its leadership.  With Maurice and Enver, you know what you’re getting.  They’re both absolutely committed to the cause.  They tell it how it is, even when things aren’t going so well.  They don’t let their egos get in the way of the job.  There’s a humility about Maurice that is truly impressive: he’s not self-deprecating, it’s just that the work is about justice and human rights and supporting people escaping the worst of circumstances.  It’s not about him.  Debora Singer, who has led the Women’s Project since 2000, and whose work has saved countless lives, is also modest about her work and her contribution.  I’m glad to say that it’s been recognised in that she’s been awarded an MBE; but again, with Debora, it’s all about the work, it’s not about her.

And I think that this sense of humility informs the way that Asylum Aid interacts with others.  All donors are thanked, as Maurice explained at the AGM last week.  It doesn’t matter how large or small the donation, everyone who contributes to Asylum Aid’s funds receives a personal and heartfelt thank you.  There’s an openess in the relationship with funders, and that builds confidence.  I do believe that this respect of and for donors and supporters has led to the generous and unsolicited gifts referred to above.

This core value of respect and acknowledgement informs how the board is run.  Every board member is welcomed for their specific skills.  I remember early on in my time, Enver encouraging people who didn’t feel confident in finance matters to join the finance sub-committee, because it would be a good way of learning about charity finance and building up skills.  Everyone’s view was equally valid, and I’m proud to have been part of a functional board which has not been riven by infighting or politics.

There are many qualities that make for a successful organisation.  In Asylum Aid’s case, the two key qualities of integrity and passion, mixed in with a very high level of skill and proficiency, make it an organisation to be reckoned with.  I’m not a trustee any more, but I’m proud to call myself a supporter.  And I hope that this reflection has given you food for thought, particularly if you’re leading an organisation.

 

Don’t lay all the blame on the system

 

Me writing in desert

The reports about the abuse at the Mid Staffordshire Hospital, and the accounts of similar appalling neglect at others, make horrific reading.  Not only did people die needlessly in our hospitals, but they died in pain, stripped entirely of their dignity, starving, dehydrated, filthy.  And we call ourselves civilised.  It seems that those ultimately responsible have escaped punishment and are either living on fat pensions or still drawing salaries that the rest of us could only dream of.  There’s been much talk of the failure of systems and culture, the focus on financial targets, on ticking boxes.  I don’t usually read the Daily Telegraph, but I picked one up on the train this morning, and found myself agreeing with Michael Deacon, the Telegraph’s Parliamentary sketchwriter:

“Do systems and cultures leave patients so thirsty that they drink dirty water from vases of flowers? Do systems and cultures leave patients to lie in urine-soaked sheets? Do systems and cultures ignore patients’ pleas for help?

And perhaps most importantly: are hospitals run by systems and cultures? And what sort of salaries do those systems and cultures take home?”

I’m not denying that many working environments are horrible, stressful, and have become more so.  Violence against staff and other patients and other kinds of extremely anti-social behaviour mean that security staff are now regular fixtures on accident and emergency wards.  Staff tolerate unacceptable levels of abuse and rudeness.  Bus drivers, railway staff, teachers, anyone delivering a service to the public seem to be fair game to those who have little or no respect for others, and this trend brutalises us.  Yes, systems have to take much of the blame: the obsession with meeting impossible targets, cutting costs, the relentless change that saps workers’ energy, that Orwellian phrase, value for money.  But as human beings, don’t we also carry personal responsibility for our actions, for how we perform our jobs, how we treat others?  My mother was admitted to an accident and emergency ward in the summer after she fell and broke her hip.  It was bank holiday Sunday.  The ward was busy and understaffed.  She was in pain, and we, her family, were fearful.  The staff nurse who was trying to hold it all together treated her with respect and did all he could to help her to retain her dignity.  He was patient and kind.  He never once spoke down to her, he did what he could to help her to manage her pain.  He was sweet with us, treating us as if we were part of the team.  And when she was found a bed on a ward, but was left on a stretcher in the corridor waiting for a porter, this same nurse decided that she’d waited for too long.  Unable to locate a porter, he  took her to the ward himself.  When he found that her bed hadn’t been prepared because there were no sheets on the ward, he ran off, returning with a pile of clean sheets.  He then proceeded to make up the bed for her, and helped to transfer her into it, making sure she was as comfortable as possible before going back to the growing chaos on the A and E ward.  His name was Samuel, and he was a beacon of decency.  He treated my mother as if she were his own.  He didn’t have to, he was busy enough.  But his care made all the difference.  He carried out his job with awareness.

There are countless other Samuels, I know.  And yes, we need to make sure that our public services are properly resourced and that systems enable, rather than drive out, humanity.  Sadly, given the current harshness of the cuts, I think it’s going to be increasingly challenging to make kindness the norm rather than the exception.  But we all have a responsibility to treat others with the decency, compassion, and respect that we would like to receive ourselves.  To live our lives kindly.

 

 

Charity Funders, have a heart…please…

I write this wearing my SHARE Community hat, but I think my experience will resonate with many of you working in the charity world.  We all know that times are tough and that it’s more difficult than ever to get our brilliant projects funded.  I know that funders have to make hard choices, and that they just don’t have enough to fund every great idea.  But the ones that really frustrate and annoy me are those who refuse to give any feedback after they reject your bid.  And I speak as someone who has been applying for funds – more often than not successfully – for over 20 years.  They won’t talk to you on the phone, they won’t give written feedback, so you never know exactly what was missing, what would make your failure of a bid into a winner.  You’ve followed the guidelines, you’ve submitted all the right information, you’ve proposed something that you think will help them to meet their priorities.  But you still get the rejection e-mail.  Surely, at a time when smaller charities are having to cut back on anything and everything non-essential, being helped to avoid making the same mistakes, and being given information that helps us to learn how to make sure our bids are successful, would not cause the larger trusts too much pain?  So this is a request to anyone from a major grant giving trust out there who has a policy of not giving any feedback: please think again, and help those of us trying to work with you to make a difference in the world to make the most of the resources that we have.

..and now for the other excellent blogs!

 

Hello again!

When I accepted Tamara’s nomination for “one lovely blog”, I only nominated one blog to pass on.  To tell you the truth, it was late at night, and all this social networking stuff just eats up time; so I thought, well one blog nominated is better than none, and I hope you’ve all enjoyed reading about Henry’s happy philosophy.  But I really needed to nominate seven.  Those are the rules.  And in the time since last posting, I’ve come across some real gems.  Some I read regularly, some are new.

So here’s one of my very favourites:  http://www.downssideup.com/ is a blog that changes general perceptions about Down’s Syndrome, and it’s written by Hayley Goleniowska, mother of a splendid little girl called Natty with Down’s Syndrome.  Her blogs are passionate, inspirational, and are gathering a great fan base. Just read her letter to Geoffrey Clarke and cheer aloud.

Through Hayley’s site, I discovered Steve Allman:  http://www.steveallman.co.uk/undateables/ and decided that I’d follow his blog.  Again, his writing is full humanity and humour.

As a writer, I really like Stella Duffy’s blog, “Not writing but blogging”: http://stelladuffy.wordpress.com/  Tips for writers, lots of thoughts about the relationship between writer and reader, plus much more about life in general.

As a coach (so many hats!!) I like Mike the Mentor – http://www.mikethementor.co.uk because his updates are always so eclectic and interesting, and I’ve learnt a lot just from reading his blogs and poking around his website.

One that I’ve recently found, due to meeting new friends on a Caribbean cruise (!!) is about the adventure of creating a summer home in Croatia.  Only it’s about much more than that.  Allow me to introduce you to my new friends Elisa and Charles:  http://adventureincroatia.wordpress.com/

And the last blog that I’d like to nominate for “One Lovely Blog” is not a blog.  No, I’m cheating.  But I want to nominate my friend Kev’s collection of photographs which he publishes on Flikr:  http://www.flickr.com/photos/fb_onlineportfolio/  They’re utterly beautiful, and deserve a large audience.

So there you go!  enjoy….

One lovely blog…

http://tamaraessexspanishblog.files.wordpress.com/2013/01/one-lovely-blog-award.jpg?w=660

Many thanks to Tamara Essex for nominating me for the One Lovely Blog award.  What a lovely thing to do!  In case you haven’t seen hers, and she has two, they’re always worth reading and are practical and informative – in the case of her consultancy blog – and touching, funny, and thought provoking – in the case of her Spanish blog:  http://tamaraessexspanishblog.wordpress.com/

So the rules are that I have to write 7 things about me.  Here goes.

1) I was the first Fairy Liquid baby.  Yup, the kid in the cot on the black and white TV advert in the late 1950s….

2) Since then, I’ve done lots of different jobs, including singing in bars and modelling for life drawing classes (great for meditation)

3) I’m terrible with money.  In that respect, I am not my mother’s daughter

4) It took me a good couple of years to write Charity Begins with Murder, but I wrote Poisoned Pens incredibly quickly.

5) Noise that I can’t control, like people playing very loud music that I can’t shut out, turns me into a mad woman.  I could be on the ASD spectrum

6) I love to travel and find new people and places.  Great to travel with my lovely partner, also love adventuring on my own.

7) Favourite authors are Rohinton Mistry, Jackie Kay, Vikram Seth, Sara Paretsky…pretty broad tastes, in fact!

 

So now it’s my turn to nominate a blog.  I’m going to nominate Henry Stewart, of Happy Computers, because his thinking is changing how organisations think and run themselves.  His philosophy sounds simple, but is in fact profound.  And it’s not coincidental that professors at the Cass Business School give his Happy Manifesto to their students!  He’s generous, visionary, and inspirational, and so I’m doing my bit to spread the word:

http://www.happy.co.uk/about/henry-stewart-blog/

Enjoy!

 

It’s a wonderful life….

It's a Wonderful Life

A few days before Christmas, I found myself in tears watching the Frank Capra classic with James Stewart.  “It’s a Wonderful Life” is the Christmas movie of all Christmas movies.  If you haven’t seen it, here’s the gist: George Bailey has always done the “right thing”, from rescuing his brother who’d fallen through the ice when they were children, to stopping a grief-stricken pharmacist from making a fatal error in preparing a prescription, to abandoning his dreams of travelling the world in order to save the bank that his father had run with humanity and compassion.  The baddie of the story is the big old capitalist who’s trying to take over the bank and the town, who’s a slum landlord, and who only cares about making a profit, regardless of the human cost.  And in these days of austerity (for the masses) and payment by results, a time when the bean-counters, as Tom Peters predicted, seem to have taken over the world, this film has never seemed more apposite.  When it looks as if the bank is about to go under, George loses faith and heart and sets out to commit suicide.  It’s just before Christmas, and this being north America, it’s freezing, with the blizzards blasting in snow that lies layers deep.  But as he stands on the bridge over the icy river, about to jump, an angel (named Clarence) comes along, jumps into the river, and in apparently saving Clarence’s life, George saves his own.  Clarence’s task is then to show George how much poorer the world would have been had George Bailey never been born.  And of course, George’s community in this vision reminiscent of “A Christmas Carol” is bleak and harsh.  Lives that he touched with love and compassion are bleak.  The brothels and gambling dens have replaced shops and cinemas, and everywhere is aggression and violence.  It all ends well, the local people club together to save the bank as a way of thanking George for his support over the years, and his four kids and sweet wife get the Christmas they’ve dreamt of.  Well, clearly there are lots of lessons to be learnt, and you can reflect upon the moral of the story in many ways.  But I think the main lesson is that we each make a difference.   I got to thinking about the difference that my lovely partner makes in the world, and the lives that together we’ve touched, and what my contribution to the world might be.  And I thought about my work colleagues, who are very special, and about the other angels I’ve been blessed to know.  So what are your special gifts?  What would the world be like had you not been born?  How are you an angel to the people you encounter on your journey?  And how do you want to be?

It’s still Christmas eve, but I’ve had a wonderful gift already.  There’s a bit of a story to tell, though, to set the scene.  Chris and I had a very sweet next door neighbour when we bought our first flat.  He was an older man, a widower, and he loved cats.  In fact he tried to steal ours, one of which voted with her paws and moved moved in with him.  He adopted us, and we adopted him.  When he was younger and fitter, he’d do some of the heavy jobs with which we struggled.  As he got older and more frail, we took more care of him, and we were with him as he lay dying, doing what we could to soothe him and ease his passage.  Apart from his relationship with us, he was something of a recluse, but up until he went to live in a care home, he had a nightly routine in which he’d cycle a little distance up the road to the fish and chip shop on Spa Hill which was run by Elizabeth and Chambi, a lovely Cypriot couple, who’d been forced to abandon their home in Cyprus when the Turks invaded the north of the island in 1974.  Bob, our friend, was diabetic and shouldn’t have been eating so much fried food, but he was a creature of habit, and every weekday evening, he’d go to their shop and buy a portion of fish – which he gave to the cat – and chips, which he’d eat.  As he became more frail, and more reliant on meals on wheels, his visits became less regular, and Elizabeth and Chambi were concerned about him.  And so every Sunday, they’d send one of their daughters to his house with a full Sunday roast.  This went on for several years, until Bob fell off his bike, broke his hip, and moved into a care home.  After Bob died, and they retired, we stayed in touch with them, mostly to exchange Christmas cards and little gifts.  Usually there’d be a plant or chocolates from us, and a box of Kourabiedes, delicious Cypriot biscuits, from the depths of Elizabeth’s pantry for us.  This year, we received a card which read, “From Elizabeth and family.”  We summised the worst: Chambi, who had suffered various health problems, and was well into his eighties, must have died.  And so rather than writing a card, we bought a nice poinsettia and I took it to the house this evening.  Poor Elizabeth, I was thinking.  How would she manage without her tall, gentle man?  I prepared to greet the widow, and wondered if she’d lost her plumpness and her sunny smile.  Imagine my delight when the door was opened by – Chambi!  Of course I couldn’t tell them about our guessing that he’d died and being so pleased to see him alive.  But I was very, very happy to see this dear couple both in good health.  They are the George Baileys of our little community, and they have done their bit to make the world an altogether better and more humane place.  Happy Christmas, and may you have a healthy, happy 2013.