Faster, Better, Cheaper?

I've been doing some research into NASA's Faster, Better, Cheaper initiate from the 1990's. It's quite a story, and I must admit I'm stumped as to why FBC got scrubbed.

The results of the FBC missions were fantastic. For less than the price of the Cassini mission, NASA launched 16 mission, including the Pathfinder mission to Mars and the Near Earth Asteroid Rendezvous (NEAR), which no kidding, landed on an asteroid, after collecting 10 times more data than they'd expected. Of those 16 mission, only 10 succeeded, but that's still 10 successful missions for less than the price of a single planetary mission using the "traditional" Slower, Suckier, More Expensive approach (excuse me - I mean, the deliberate, modernist, Scientific Management approach, which never ever fails ever).

The crazy thing is, many people treat FBC as if it was not only a failure, but an embarrassing failure. As if NASA should have known better than to try something so absurd as reducing costs and delays in their pursuit of knowledge and adventure in space. As if 10 successes for the price of 1 is an inadequate track record. As if the data clearly shows we must "pick two," instead of pursuing simultaneous improvements in all three dimensions. I don't get it.

OK, I'm not really stumped. I have my theories about why the approach was rejected. But it's becoming increasingly clear that the rejection and ridicule of the FBC approach has nothing to do with the initiative's actual results, which were admirable and impressive.

How about you? What do you think when you hear the phrase "faster, better, cheaper"?

Rethinking the Principles of Program Management

Some interesting concepts that come out of asymmetrical warfare strategy talk to the importance of taking advantage of opportunity and agility in maneuvering against an enemy. Often, these principles are linked to the conduct of war as an art form. As an art form, principles devised to guide conduct are not considered immutable or inviolable. One author even states,

The crucial element of its artistic application is recognizing unique contexts, the contingent factors, and the opportunities to create advantage purposely by violating principles or rules when needed. [A]rt accepts the existence of principles and rules, but only as guides. Each case has its own features - which modify the application of the rule, and may even make it at times wholly inapplicable.

- Frank Hoffman, Chap 17, Rethinking the principles of War, Naval institute Press, Oct 2005

If this applies to the messy work of warfare, why not program management? Isn't program management as much an art form as warfare? I think so. Yet too often (if not exclusively), the same defense department that conducts war treats the business of weapons technology development as a precise science to be quantified, measured, predicted and proven. This behavior is as if the human factor of "business" doesn't exist. But it does and with it comes the art of business. A craft that can't be accounted for by implementing rigid processes or precise controls. The artistic practice of business allows for unknowns and flexes to let humans use their ingenuity to solve problems rather than forcing them to stick strictly to the script. The artistic practice of business is attuned to serendipity.

Removing an over reliance on process and procedure is one step toward practicing the craft. Increasing tolerance of failure and allowing deviant practices as a matter of course are others. Anything that puts people back into the drivers seat of business - that's how to practice the art of business.

JFK endorses FIST

President Kennedy's vision for landing a man on the moon is exactly what FIST is about:

In a very real sense, it will not be one man going to the moon. If we make this judgement affirmatively, it will be an entire nation, for all of us must work to put him there. This decision demands a major national commitment of scientific and technical manpower, material and facilities, and the possibility of their diversion from other important activities where they are already thinly spread. It means a degree of dedication, organization and discipline which have not always characterized our research and development efforts. It means we cannot afford undue work stoppages, inflated costs of material or talent, wasteful interagency rivalries, or a high turnover of key personnel.

- John F Kennedy, 1961

Hope

Several times in recent days I've found myself wanting to jump up and run screaming out of a meeting. Fortunately, my military training kicks in and prevents me from making a scene (actually that's probably unfortunate - one of these days, I should probably do it).

What stimulates such a response? Rampant cynicism, explicit statements of a preference for process over talent, descriptions of the workforce as "elementary schoolers," disparraging comments about the value of consensus and praise for top-down dictation of mandatory actions, enthusiastic condemnations of situations where people have been "given too much flexibility, and scoffing at the idea of hope. It's the sort of thing the villian would say in a movie or a book... except this is real life.

That last one really got me. I'd heard people say "Hope is not a strategy" before, but never with such venom.

Personally, I think hope is essential. Hope is a discipline. Hope is good. We should combine hope with planning, talent and thought, to be sure. But there is something foolish about throwing hope out the window and stomping on it with such enthusiasm.

And so, I persist in my hope that things will change. I hope I will be able to make a difference. I hope I'll succeed in nudging things in a good direction, a more human direction, where people are led and not pushed around... where people are treated as professionals, are trusted.

I've got a strategy to make this happen. I've got a plan. And hope is at the heart of it.