I consider myself, over many years, both a motorcyclist and a cyclist. Yet despite the commonality of two wheels and a helmet, the mindsets are distinctly different.
For the former, I’m a volunteer training officer for a local advanced motorcycle group. And if you boil advanced riding down to its simplest proposition, it is: “Ride as if everything and everyone is trying to kill you, but you can make progress.”
On the other hand, cyclists, (me included) often embody the persona of ‘we are saving the planet’ in our daily commute, expecting appreciation for championing the ‘Cinderella’ of mobility.
As a college chair, what ‘helmet’ do I wear? Every time, it’s that of the advanced motorcyclist.
Having spent the last decade of my career mainly in operational roles, I have long since ceased believing that anyone in a strategy or policy role (private or public) fully understands how the world really works. Nothing personal – their incentives, vested interests and progression paths are simply different from those in frontline roles.
So I start from the perspective that, at best, public policy for colleges will be a patch of oil spilt mid-corner, approached on a relaxing Sunday ride.
But, to quote my favourite tutoring expression, I’m always prepared for it to be a ‘snake skating on a skateboard’ mid-corner instead.
This is not a negative or pessimistic outlook for further education. Over the last 12 months I’ve been visiting each of the campuses of Capital City College, and this has been both a humbling and hugely energising experience.
The professionalism and grit of staff, matched only by the determination of learners to discover a future that is uniquely theirs, are inspiring. I doubt any of them are tentatively waiting for the latest government policy pronouncements.
Having therefore discounted the wider policy environment – and my apologies to the Association of Colleges, I don’t think I’ve ever fully read their weekly email – I approach the role differently.
I mis-recall the Hippocratic Oath of Doctors, but as chair, I start from the persona of ‘don’t mess it up’. Then, I try to follow three simple rules:
1. Governance is a team game
I am proud to have a team of governors who, through the sub-committees, hold the executive to account and strive to protect the assets, experiences and outcomes of all our key stakeholders. This, for me, is where all the hard work is done, and it is consistently underappreciated.
2. Leave strategy to the executive
Governors approve and hold the executive to account for the strategy the executive team designs and implements. The moment governing bodies or non-execs start thinking they know better, you’ve got a one-way ticket to a fractured relationship. In the private sector it is often the CEO who falls in this scenario, still wondering why they were asked to leave for doing what the board asked.
3. Create a safe space for the executive to think
Encourage them to explore the issues on their minds and look further ahead. The best non-execs I’ve worked with are thoughtful people who bring a wider perspective of the external environment and likely directions of socio-economic travel. They modestly share their own experiences not as a prescription, but as a path worth considering, helping the executive generate future thinking to create a future-focused organisation.
All of this I learned and adapted (i.e. forgot and reinvented several times over) from a course I attended at Harvard School of Government nearly 20 years ago.
Coming back to where I started, riding a motorbike is about being anxious and accountable, and ironically is probably where I’m most at ease. So, perhaps being a college chair is just an extension of who I am.
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