“… [A]nd Why Things Are Better Than You Think” is an unusually encouraging subtitle for a book about learning and leadership. We are habituated to believe that our leadership skills need to be developed because the challenges we face are unprecedented, in these unprecedented times. And we have been told that these challenges threaten our productivity, our work as a whole, or even our lives. We read books to improve ourselves because our obvious flaws and weaknesses cry out for correction.
In short, books usually work first to convince us something is wrong, and then to tell us how reading [insert leadership book title here] can make it better, or easier to bear.
So when I picked up Factfulness by Hans Rosling, I was expecting a tutorial on thinking and viewing the world objectively. Sure, that was there. However, I was surprised to find I was holding a rather Zen and uplifting book on viewing the world as it is, instead of through the preconceptions that tell us that the world is going to hell in a handbasket.
In Factfulness, Rosling examines 10 instincts that prevent us from seeing the world clearly. These instincts are thinking errors or biases we make as humans that cause us to ignore, overlook, disregard, or even fail to look for data that might help us gain a clearer look at the situation right in front of us. Rosling uses his work with NGOs and governments, solving large-scale world health problems, as the jumping-off point for these instincts.
And he notes, gently, that these are instincts. We aren’t to be blamed for having them. However, I would suggest that once you’ve been shown your errors in thinking, you are to blame if you don’t address them.
So what does this have to do with education and leadership? Let me explain, by outlining one important instinct and how it impacts our daily lives: the gap instinct.
[Author’s note: Rosling died in 2017. However, his work lives on. I made the conscious choice to keep the present tense when discussing lessons from his book.]
The Gap Instinct
First, we in the “developed” world tend to believe that there is a tremendous gap between us and the rest of the world, or the “undeveloped” world. When Rosling would quiz his audience about key metrics such as child mortality rate, he reported that a startlingly large percentage of people thought things were far worse in countries we view as developing than they actually are.
His audience (and, by extension, we) overlook that world-wide, there have recently been tremendous improvements in child mortality rate. World Bank data from 2017[1] shows that in the past 30 years, the world has cut infant mortality by more than 50%.
“But!” we instinctively protest. But we do so hastily. In the US, we might be surprised to learn we rank 42nd in this metric, behind such countries as Cuba and Portugal.
He points out that our tendency to divide the world into two categories, essentially “us” and “them” is one of the culprits in our inability to see what is true. His solution for viewing this large-scale data more objectively is to instead divide the world into four levels based on income. This leads us to realize that most countries are in the middle and few outliers are among the highest or lowest, which shapes our thinking about the general welfare of the world.
In Cincinnati, groups like Cradle Cincinnati have worked to educate parents and explore best practices to drive infant mortality down 20% to an all-time low of just under 9 deaths per 1,000 births. Their success should be celebrated. This is an amazing accomplishment in a statistic where every single death is tragedy. However, we can’t lose sight of the fact that the US average is just under 6 deaths per 1,000 live births.
And we need to note that that the US ranks behind 46 other countries in infant mortality.
We must stop thinking of ourselves as exceptional when, in the very important metric of protecting children until their first birthday, we are in fact quite average.
Perhaps we think of ourselves as exception out of habit.
Us and them: the gap instinct in various contexts
I taught for 15 years and then was a principal for 10 more in Cincinnati Public Schools. During that time, in two different schools, the student population was considered high poverty. The generally accepted definition of “high poverty” is when more than 7 in 10 students are eligible for free or reduced price lunch.
In each of these schools, I worked with teachers and staff who believed that all of the students in their school were living in poverty.
This “us” / “them” mental division is more than just an error in thinking, or a simple mistake. Instead, this belief has silently shaped these teachers’ opinions about their students. It shapes their belief about whether these students can achieve certain outcomes in and out of the classroom.
For instance, pre-deciding that parents won’t show up for conferences (which is not dependent on income) or that parents don’t have the skills or desire to help with homework (which is not dependent on income) creates a dismissive, self-fulfilling prophecy.
Sharing pictures of snarky memes that fault parents for not showing up for conferences is an act of self-sabotage. If you believe a child isn’t loved and being supported as best as that parent knows how, then you too might excuse yourself for short-changing that student. This is a recipe for failure.
Years ago, the school where I was principal was located in a Cincinnati neighborhood called Winton Terrace. The last few days of school, I asked for teachers to assist outside after school. Here, they could watch as our students walked the first block home. This would reduce the likelihood that excess playfulness would get someone hurt. One teacher responded to my request by saying aloud, “it’s dangerous out there.”
This prompted some murmuring of agreement from the group.
Here we were again, “us” and “them.”
I paused, searching for the right response. “You know, we feel it is too dangerous to stand outside for ten minutes at the end of the school day.” I said. And yet every afternoon we are comfortable dismissing 13 year-olds to walk home through this neighborhood. Through their neighborhood. Where they live.”
While I believe I may have caused some of my teachers to experience shame, that was not my intent. I merely wanted them to experience community, or compassion, or humanity. A sense that we were in this with our students.
In fact, it was a neighborhood where violent crime occurred more often than in some other neighborhoods. However it also remained the neighborhood that housed many of our students.
After this discussion, many of the teachers assisted after school and helped with a smooth end of the school year. A few chose to stay inside.
I don’t think those who stayed inside were bad people. I don’t think those who helped outside were being heroic or especially selfless. But I do believe that the gap instinct can manifest itself in different ways, and they can be harmful to us because they attack our sense of community. Worse, they present ourselves with a false vision of ourselves and others. Perhaps even a vision that sees ourselves as more deserving of safety or other resources than others.
How can you defend against the gap instinct?
We must work to avoid falling victim to the gap instinct, and thinking that our country, or our state, or whatever group we are in is superior to other groups.
We can do this by examining all the available data. We must be open to hearing about our faults. And then we must address our faults.
If we fear standing in an unsafe neighborhood, do we then retreat to another neighborhood? Or do we work to make this neighborhood safer.
The most pernicious effect of the gap instinct comes with complacency about the status quo.
We must ask ourselves, am I creating the gap, or closing it? Can I even see it?
[1] https://data.worldbank.org/indicator/sh.dyn.mort?end=2017&start=1987&year_high_desc=false