Imagine walking through a desert when you come across a fence. It’s not part of a wider chain of fences and can be easily walked around. Your first reaction would probably be, “How silly, someone should take this down”.
Deciding whether to remove this seemingly obsolete structure is an apt metaphor for some of the ways of working you might encounter when starting a new position in a new school - something I recently did when moving to an assistant principal role.
In any new job, and possibly in a fit of hubris, we can come across traditions and practices about which our ego whispers “Get rid of it; you know better”.
Don’t be hasty
However, Chesterton’s Fence, which the above scenario references - named after British philosopher and writer GK Chesterton - is designed to illustrate the dangers of too quickly removing seemingly useless traditions.
The point is that, at some point long ago, that fence was put there for a reason. Chesterton contested that, as a leader, your job was to learn why before deciding to knock it down.
Doing this requires you as a leader (at any level) to talk to and listen to those already in the school. This is something we hear all the time - but what does real listening look like?
I made a point of meeting every member of faculty when I joined my school. I varied the approach: for some members of staff, I simply turned up at their room when they were not teaching and wandered in.
The conversation may have been prompted by a book I saw in their room, or a certain display on the wall; anything to help me understand them a little.
For middle leaders, though, I organised more structured meetings based on three questions:
- What problems do you face?
- What’s working well?
- How can I help?
No initiative will bring you more soft data in such an effective way as asking questions and listening to answers - and it could easily seem like simply having these meetings is a case of job done.
The art of listening
But the hard bit is the listening. You have to clear your mind of preconceptions; treat people’s responses at face value rather than challenging their perspective.
To do so would be to contradict the very point of the meeting - why ask someone for their opinion, then hint that you do not agree with it?
Your place is not to tell them if their view, for example, on the maths curriculum being too rigid is right or wrong, but to take on board what they believe to be true. You are there to learn, not to tell.
If you do the above authentically, you can help to build trust - and there is perhaps no human need greater than to be deeply listened to and understood.
There will be school staff who have not been asked their opinion on, for example, the way the timetable works, for years - or perhaps ever. Imagine the impact on them having that uninterrupted time to express their truth and feel it was truly heard.
What’s more, if we truly listen and engage, we can move conversations on from simply being transactional - “what can I get from this?” - into something more impactful by getting to know the people you are working with; who they are, what they enjoy, what pressures they face, their role and more.
Learn first, act later
In doing this you can also learn about the Chesterton’s Fences in your school - why things are the way they are, what the thinking was, what should be retained and, perhaps, what should go.
As I reflect, I realise, conversely, that there have been points in the first term when I should have picked up a hammer and started smashing, because some fences just need to go; in fact, some of the most progressive staff in your school may have been waiting for that structure to finally come down.
Ultimately, though, knowing which fences should stand and which should be demolished is perhaps the true test of leadership, and the true test of wisdom.
Andy Bayfield is assistant principal at St Mary’s International School, Japan
