New normal: Difference between revisions
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But is not [[the new normal]] ''precisely'' the thing for which [[chief operating officer]]s the world over have been wishing, carelessly, for thirty years? Is it not the logical conclusion of management’s generation-long push, in the name of [[cost reduction]], to deprecate the office-working experience? For the “new normal” was here long before the bats went crazy in Wuhan. If you want to talk sagely about the “going back to the ''old'' normal”, well sorry, chump: that ship has long since sailed. | But is not [[the new normal]] ''precisely'' the thing for which [[chief operating officer]]s the world over have been wishing, carelessly, for thirty years? Is it not the logical conclusion of management’s generation-long push, in the name of [[cost reduction]], to deprecate the office-working experience? For the “new normal” was here long before the bats went crazy in Wuhan. If you want to talk sagely about the “going back to the ''old'' normal”, well sorry, chump: that ship has long since sailed. | ||
Over that time employers have systematically dismantled many “peripheral benefits” of office life, treating them as regrettable externalities that should not avoidably accrue to their staff. That is, where they can be persuaded not to dispense with professional staff at all | Over that time employers have systematically dismantled many “peripheral benefits” of office life, treating them as regrettable externalities that should not avoidably accrue to their staff.<ref>That is, where they can be persuaded not to dispense with professional staff at all: the temptation to [[Outsourcing|outsource]] meaningful work altogether to itinerant, gig-working [[school-leavers from Bucharest]] is one that many [[middle manager]]s cannot resist.</ref> | ||
So, things a junior clerk might have expected in 1990 — an office, status, privacy, a [[travel and entertainment]] budget, an assistant, an internal mail service, a typing pool, proofreaders — these fripperies have gone | So, things a junior clerk might have expected in 1990 — an office, status, privacy, a [[travel and entertainment]] budget, an assistant, an internal mail service, a typing pool, proofreaders — these fripperies have gone. | ||
To be sure, the graduate clerk’s office might have been a coffin-sized, mouse-infested internal filing cupboard, but it was at least, marginally ''private''. But some time in the late ’90s she had to share it, then give it up it for a cubicle, then an un-barricaded desk in a row. Nowadays she has a soft commitment that, as long as the projected number of co-workers are sick or on holiday, there ''should'' be a spare terminal somewhere in the department she can log into, as long as she wipes it down and removes her belongings in compliance with the [[clear desk policy]], before leaving for the day, and as long as she [[bring your own device|brings something to log in with]], at any rate: even the [[IT department|hardware]] has been taken away, now, because it’s too expensive. And forget about the tea and coffee — even paper cups have disappeared from kitchens; chocolate biscuits have disappeared from meeting rooms which, themselves, are slowly vanishing as we compress our working spaces. | |||
Now all this would be fine for work that really could be [[operationalise]]d: the history of technology, since the plough, has been the separation of work into | ''The office has, long since, lost its appeal''. Like frogs in a warming pot, we have tolerated the piecemeal withdrawal of emoluments: thousands of cuts in a long-term doctrinaire erosion of paltry joys. But the professions changed over that period: they were transformed into [[fungible]], interchangeable items of capital. In this way are ''personnel'' becoming ''plant''. | ||
Now all this would be fine, for work that really ''could'' be [[operationalise]]d. Nor is it new: the history of [[technology]], since the plough, has been the separation of work into mechanical tasks, better done by a machine, from complex ones that must be done by the [[meatware]]. But, as we know, for professional work, that separation is far easier said than done. As long as it has not been done — [[Operationalisation|and it hasn’t]]<ref>The clue is that you still need humans, albeit itinerant [[school-leavers from Bucharest]], to do it: work that is ''actually'' suitable for machines should be done by, well, ''machines'', not [[school-leaver from Bucharest|itinerant school-leavers from Bucharest]], who are bad machine-proxies.</ref> — you run significant [[tail risk]] pulling your punches with staff whose expertise you might really need without warning one day in the yanwning, unknowable future. | |||
For the [[employment contract]] is a two-sided affair, and the [[consideration]] the employee asks for her “work product” is ''more than mere [[money]]'' — a subtlety that eludes those whose abiding focus is in the cost, and not the value, of the firm’s resources. Besides money, professional employment bestows status, facility, and eminence — what {{author|Daniel Pink}} would summarise as “[[Drive: The Surprising Truth About What Motivates Us - Book Review|autonomy, mastery, and purpose]]”. It is hard to see any of these in a disinfected formica desk and a keyboard, or a permanent diet of [[Skype]]-conducted [[opco]]s, [[steerco]]s, stakeholder check-ins and semi-annual [[compliance]] attestations. | For the [[employment contract]] is a two-sided affair, and the [[consideration]] the employee asks for her “work product” is ''more than mere [[money]]'' — a subtlety that eludes those whose abiding focus is in the cost, and not the value, of the firm’s resources. Besides money, professional employment bestows status, facility, and eminence — what {{author|Daniel Pink}} would summarise as “[[Drive: The Surprising Truth About What Motivates Us - Book Review|autonomy, mastery, and purpose]]”. It is hard to see any of these in a disinfected formica desk and a keyboard, or a permanent diet of [[Skype]]-conducted [[opco]]s, [[steerco]]s, stakeholder check-ins and semi-annual [[compliance]] attestations. | ||
Revision as of 10:34, 23 September 2020
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In our bossy times we hear a lot about what is, or isn’t, the “new normal” and how employers — especially big institutional ones — might be “pivoting” back from the unexpected marvel of compulsory remote working — which, let’s not forget, they were bounced into, to get out of a COVID jam — to their more usual disposition of outright distrust, in which staff must present themselves at on premises, where they can be properly over-watched, audited, monitored, measured and assessed for periodic thinning.
Tech start-up hysteria notwithstanding, the institutional disposition has thus settled: calm the hell down, everyone. We’ve got this. There’s nothing to see: this is not a new normal. Old normal service will be resumed as soon as possible. Do not adjust your mindset.
Au contraire.
Be careful what you wish for
But is not the new normal precisely the thing for which chief operating officers the world over have been wishing, carelessly, for thirty years? Is it not the logical conclusion of management’s generation-long push, in the name of cost reduction, to deprecate the office-working experience? For the “new normal” was here long before the bats went crazy in Wuhan. If you want to talk sagely about the “going back to the old normal”, well sorry, chump: that ship has long since sailed.
Over that time employers have systematically dismantled many “peripheral benefits” of office life, treating them as regrettable externalities that should not avoidably accrue to their staff.[1]
So, things a junior clerk might have expected in 1990 — an office, status, privacy, a travel and entertainment budget, an assistant, an internal mail service, a typing pool, proofreaders — these fripperies have gone.
To be sure, the graduate clerk’s office might have been a coffin-sized, mouse-infested internal filing cupboard, but it was at least, marginally private. But some time in the late ’90s she had to share it, then give it up it for a cubicle, then an un-barricaded desk in a row. Nowadays she has a soft commitment that, as long as the projected number of co-workers are sick or on holiday, there should be a spare terminal somewhere in the department she can log into, as long as she wipes it down and removes her belongings in compliance with the clear desk policy, before leaving for the day, and as long as she brings something to log in with, at any rate: even the hardware has been taken away, now, because it’s too expensive. And forget about the tea and coffee — even paper cups have disappeared from kitchens; chocolate biscuits have disappeared from meeting rooms which, themselves, are slowly vanishing as we compress our working spaces.
The office has, long since, lost its appeal. Like frogs in a warming pot, we have tolerated the piecemeal withdrawal of emoluments: thousands of cuts in a long-term doctrinaire erosion of paltry joys. But the professions changed over that period: they were transformed into fungible, interchangeable items of capital. In this way are personnel becoming plant.
Now all this would be fine, for work that really could be operationalised. Nor is it new: the history of technology, since the plough, has been the separation of work into mechanical tasks, better done by a machine, from complex ones that must be done by the meatware. But, as we know, for professional work, that separation is far easier said than done. As long as it has not been done — and it hasn’t[2] — you run significant tail risk pulling your punches with staff whose expertise you might really need without warning one day in the yanwning, unknowable future.
For the employment contract is a two-sided affair, and the consideration the employee asks for her “work product” is more than mere money — a subtlety that eludes those whose abiding focus is in the cost, and not the value, of the firm’s resources. Besides money, professional employment bestows status, facility, and eminence — what Daniel Pink would summarise as “autonomy, mastery, and purpose”. It is hard to see any of these in a disinfected formica desk and a keyboard, or a permanent diet of Skype-conducted opcos, steercos, stakeholder check-ins and semi-annual compliance attestations.
Home working as the next logical step
In many ways, “bring your own premises” is really just the logical next step. We may have been going there anyway. In any case, COVID has let the genie out of the bottle: just as we found BYOD an unexpected blessing, “BYOP” offers us so much more: we trade a sterilised rectangle of desk-space for our own office, as grandiose or grubby as we like. We can keep photos of our departed pets, printouts of those faxed Larson cartoons and whale music in the background if we want, and the chief operating officer need not care a row of buttons, and can’t do a thing about it, even if he does.
And since we have seen that possibility — and not just seen it, but proven effortlessly, over a sustained period, that it makes us happier and more productive — I mean, who would have thought? — is it any wonder the thought of slogging, on our own dollar, back into a drab central location to sit at a telescreen and participate in exactly the same Skype calls that we could do from home, only with a crappier screen, worse coffee and no guitar for those lengthy mutable spells — really doesn’t appeal?
See also
References
- ↑ That is, where they can be persuaded not to dispense with professional staff at all: the temptation to outsource meaningful work altogether to itinerant, gig-working school-leavers from Bucharest is one that many middle managers cannot resist.
- ↑ The clue is that you still need humans, albeit itinerant school-leavers from Bucharest, to do it: work that is actually suitable for machines should be done by, well, machines, not itinerant school-leavers from Bucharest, who are bad machine-proxies.