Who Says Elephants can’t go to Vienna?

How does a lowly Indian elephant-keeper (a mahout) get to advise a Captain of Portuguese King Joao III’s Imperial Guard on the logistics of transporting an elephant from Lisbon to Vienna in the sixteenth century? This is just one of the many hidden gems in Nobel Laureate Jose Saramago’s last (and posthumously published) novel, The Elephant’s Journey (2010), based on an actual event in which an Indian elephant and its mahout are given as a royal gift from King Joao to Archduke Maximilian.

A Captain of the Imperial Guard is assigned with troops, supplies and an escort to take the elephant to Vienna through Europe in the throes of the Reformation and civil war.  The mahout, on the other hand, is simply the elephant keeper, whose job it is to feed, clean and (when the occasion arises), to ride on top of the elephant through parades, dressed in gaudy clothes. The problem, however, is that the whole procession which leaves Lisbon in great fanfare is hopelessly behind schedule, and the daily accumulation of inefficiencies threaten to sabotage the whole expedition which needs to be completed before the winter snow closes up the route through the mountain passes enroute to Vienna.

The situation is not new:  even in business today, many a grand project gets crippled through inefficiencies. The people who can offer effective solutions (e.g. the mahout) are often afraid to speak, and even when they do, their suggestions are often ignored by the powers that be (e.g. the Captain). What does Subhro do differently?

1.       Timing: always an important factor. In this case, the mahout Subhro waits the first few days, until the inefficiencies become obvious to all members of the expedition, and the Captain is gloomily complaining of the problem, without any sign of a solution from either himself or his military advisors. So when Subro quietly suggests a word to the Captain, it is received with condescending amusement, but it is nevertheless received simply because no one else has come up with something better.

2.       Problem-Solving: Subhro’s proposal is directly tied up to the Captain’s ultimate objectives i.e. to get the elephant to Vienna by a certain date. The logistical changes proposed will neutralize the current problem (which is a great relief in itself), AND actually enable the journey to be completed earlier than was initially projected (which is an added bonus). This is not a politicking proposal designed to ingratiate Subhro to the Captain, but a practical and useful solution to the problem.

3.       Overcoming Resistance & Inertia: This is probably the biggest problem with implementing a solution. Whether out of ego, laziness, discomfort with change, or sheer lack of interest, most good initiatives are halted in their tracks before they even start. Subhro, however does establish informal relationships with the soldiers and captain as they discuss their theological differences around the nightly campfires. Though he is clearly of the servant rank, he makes confident repartees: when the soldiers dismiss his stories of the Hindu Gods as “fairytales,” he responds that it is no more so than a virgin birth, or turning water into wine at a wedding. He has already made his presence felt among his companions, so that when he does make a logistical proposal, they listen with some interest instead of simply ignoring it as some hare-brained idea.

4.       Getting Involved in Implementation: Once he gets the go-ahead from the Captain, he quickly takes ownership of the new transportation plan, inspecting the carts of elephant feed, ensuring a rotation among riding and walking soldiers, and providing daily progress reports to the Captain. Thus, even if his official ranking within the expedition is as a servant, his visible presence and inspection of the whole change implementation gives him a new authority which the soldiers and porters dare not question for fear of offending the Captain.

5.       Leveraging Sources of Power: Subhro knows that he is relatively insignificant, but that his charge (i.e. the elephant) is of immense importance to both the King and its unwilling recipient, The Archduke. Therefore, he counters any of the Captain’s objections to his proposal by citing the importance of the elephant’s well-being and necessity of being delivered on time. By the same token, he cited the Captain’s importance when attempting to persuade the soldiers and porters to carry out his proposals.

6.       Selectively Offering Advice: reorganizing the logistics of elephant transportation is clearly an area of professional competence for Subhro. However, he is judicious enough not to use his now favoured position as the Captain’s advisor to advise him in areas where he has no expertise. In matters of war, diplomacy and religion, he admits to his lack of expertise, and actively encourages his other companions to offer suggestions to the Captain, assuring them from his own experience that good ideas will be welcomed. Thus, he not only avoids the danger of giving bad advice, but also creates an egalitarian and team-involved atmosphere among his colleagues on the expedition. It is therefore no surprise that at the journey’s end, he is bid farewell by the Captain and his soldiers as a friend, rather than as a mere elephant-keeper when he started the journey.

Before, concluding this blog, I want to make a brief observation on the atypical sources of inspiration for my blogs of recent. As businesspeople, we are advised to stay abreast of new developments in the field of our expertise, which is usually taken to be provided by the ever-increasing number of ‘management’ books, the articles published in specialized journals (like The Harvard Business Review, The Economist, and the Wall Street Journal). Undoubtedly, there is great value to be gleaned from these excellent sources, as I have dutifully done over the past few years. However, as I am a voracious reader of literature, history and personal essays, I have often found valuable insights come from these unorthodox sources. Sometimes insights do come from unusual places and people, like a mahout, a rider of elephants.

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A Lesson from Aristotle and Alexander

Aristotle the philosopher and Alexander of Macedon (later known as ‘the Great’) are the two protagonists of Annabel Lyon’s beautifully re-created narrative in her novel The Golden Mean, of that famous teacher-student relationship. One dialogue (albeit fictional), struck me with a particular force, especially as I have been a teacher and coach in all of my professional life to date. In this exchange Aristotle admonishes his over-ambitious pupil about his inordinate desire to conquer everything:

Aristotle: You make the world larger for yourself by conquering it, but you always lose something in the process. You can learn without conquering.

Alexander: You can.

What is interesting is that Aristotle believes he is imparting a nugget of genuine wisdom, but which is (scathingly? regretfully?) countered by Alexander as the wisdom that may be true for the one may not necessarily be true for the other. A close analogy is mirrored by that rare occasion of an exceptional executive coach working with an exceptional executive client—such that even when the coach may counsel a certain prudent wisdom, the ‘rising star’ executive may just as well reject the prudence in favour of conquest. Ironically it is the best of coaches that so ardently counsel their clients, and the most potent of their rising star clients who necessarily ignore this counsel.

On a millennial time scale, we can see that Aristotle’s philosophy has dominated Western civilization, but within the time-span of his life, it was unquestionably Alexander who, through his rapacious conquests earned the sobriquet ‘Conqueror of the World,’ and legend has it that upon looking at a map of the known world at the time, had wept that there were no new worlds to conquer. Perhaps in the business world we have a reflection of Alexander in, say, Bill Gates who exhibited a similar rapaciousness in his conquest of computing and capital. Gates did not have a single publicly-known coach (as Alexander did in Aristotle), but for many rising CEOs who engage coaches to improve their performance, surely the aspiration must be to something similar: to become the undisputed leader of your industry, and the richest person in the world. This is the particular challenge of the top executive coach when engaged by a client of limitless confidence in his or her limitless potential.

The challenge is twofold: first, what may be possible/capable/desirable for the coach offering the counsel may be impossible/incapable/undesirable for the Executive client receiving it. Second, while the wisdom of the coach may be true for the longer run of the company or the society in general, it may not in the short run, best serve the needs or future of the client. To the first aspect, one may respond that a truly great coach can customize the learning experience to the skills and capabilities of the client. The second aspect however does present a more troubling dilemma, and to which I have no answer as yet. Alexander died at the peak of his power, in his early thirties. Who is to say he was not happy with his choices and the life he chose to lead? If that were true, was Aristotle really his best teacher? Or conversely, was Alexander his best student?

The Rules of Engagement (A Note on Teams)

Machiavelli’s misfortune in inspiring the eponymous adjective “machiavellian” stems from his notorious work, The Prince, in which, he is the courtier advising his prince on leadership strategy. He argues that a new leader, upon assuming his position, should immediately arrange for all unavoidable tyrannies against his people to be committed early on in his tenure, leaving him thereafter with the agreeable task of winning their affection over time by subsequent and sustained benevolence. Shorn of its power dynamic, Machiavelli is simply arguing that the leader manage the expectations (to use contemporary business jargon) of his people by establishing the terms of engagement early on in the game. Thus an effective leader projects himself as both smart enough to recognize the necessary “tyrannies” he is obliged to engage in as leader, and courageous enough to execute them immediately.[1] Setting the terms of the relationship was one of my key insights during the past 15 years of working in Japan and most recently in my MBA program, the validity of which was well-tested in my experiences working with both highly functional and highly dysfunctional teams.

In the first team, we started off our initial meeting with a certain formality characterized by a pre-set agenda, and a tangible post-meeting goal: the creation of a team code of conduct, or ‘constitution.’ The inevitable ‘tyrannies’ such as re-motivating a team member who slacks off, for example, were easily resolved as the terms of engagement were already set in place. Thus, as the term progressed, and many other teams began to fray amidst the growing stress, we grew closer-knit and more effective as a team. Our success as a well functioning team was not only reflected in our grades for group projects, but more importantly in the fact that in later courses (when we had some choice of team members), the three of the original four who found ourselves in the same class inevitably gravitated towards one another, doubtless to replicate the magic we had conjured the year before.

In contrast, my second team (which through a seemingly fortunate coincidence included two of my good friends), proved to be a disaster.  While there were probably many causal factors, one of them definitely would have been the degree of informality and the lack of mutually agreed upon protocols which characterized our meetings. Thus when inevitable conflicts arose, we degenerated into destructive criticism which largely arose out of mismanaged and misaligned expectations. Similarly the lack of success of my second team was marked by lower evaluations on group projects, and more significantly by our firm desire NOT to work with one another again should we have any choice in the matter.

While in both cases, there are arguably many other factors affecting both the actions and outcomes of my teams’ experiences (hence the ‘insight’ rather than definitive ‘proof’), the necessity of A) soberly identifying the necessary challenges that arise in any team and B) setting expectations at the outset, has been a key learning experience for me. It has also served me in good stead in subsequent relationships I made. Thus, what I had theoretically understood 15 years ago in my literary studies of Machiavelli’s work, I had rigorously experienced in subsequent years, and which is now crystallized into a key insight.


[1] I have retained Machiavelli’s masculine pronoun, given its antecedent, Lorenzo de Medici, while asserting that the insights would equally apply to the feminine pronoun, though in keeping with the rhetoric of scholarly publications, I am obliged to call on more studies to be done in this area of undoubtedly profitable research.

A Darker Side of Mentoring

I asked my 7-year old daughter for the first time the other day, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” For some reason or the other this particular question had never surfaced in our many previous conversations (and she is quite gregarious, taking after me, as has been observed—which is not necessarily a compliment).

She replied rather uncertainly, and after some thought. “I want to be a doctor.” Something in her eyes sought my approval.

“A doctor? That’s interesting. Why a doctor?”

Again that uncertain tone, making a statement as if it were a question. “Because I want to help people?…”

“Oh really? Ok, so why would you like to do that?” I was adopting a casual conversational tone in much the same way as I would in asking her which bedtime story she would like me to read her before bed.

“Oh!”  Deep thought, and then more confidently she replies, “Actually, I don’t want to be a doctor.”

“Ok. Why not?”

“Because I am not interested in being a doctor.”

“Ok.”

“Actually, I would like to be a pilot!” she exclaimed. And so the conversation continued.

I realized that this is a conversation that many a parent and child may have, but the reaction of the parent would determine the outcome. For instance, if I had responded to her “help people” quaver with a big smile, maybe a hug and a statement of how proud I was of her noble and altruistic motives, perhaps I might have gotten a different response. It is quite likely that she would have picked up on this fondest of parental ambitions for their children (i.e. to be a doctor) and the predictable canned response (i.e. to help people) somewhere: perhaps at school, from her friends, whispered in her ear by grandparents etc. How easy it would have been to yield to that ambitious parental desire; but how tragic might have been the possible outcome. We would never have known or even suspected that she had no desire to be a doctor—a fact that I may later explosively confront with her years later as she may give up on medical school, and in my opinion, having wasted those sacrifices I may have made for the extra coaching sessions, the ‘enriched’ streams in school curriculum, MCAT prep-school, the obsessions with grades, the greedily amassed ‘volunteer’ hours interning at hospitals, and all the other paraphernalia of getting her into med-school, and all for the simple and inconsequential reason that she didn’t want to be a doctor.

How does this domestic scene shed some light on our workplace interactions? Even in the most wonderful of scenarios where a boss does indeed have the best interests of the subordinate at heart, and most particularly in the case where a rising star has a been taken under the wing of the benevolent boss, so to speak, we see a variation of this scene play itself out. Think of that famous relationship between John Sculley and Steve Jobs, where so many parallels could be drawn to the father-son dyamic, which is just one of the many mentoring relationships that go awry. Even if one were to cast a glance at more commonplace occurrences that have surprised many a benevolent manager when a liked subordinate suddenly ups sticks and moves to a competitor. While the experience holds true for increasing numbers of women, the male pronoun still dominates the comments: “I always thought he was happy here” or “He had a great future here” are common comments that come from head-scratching managers, if they are not completely exploding at the ‘betrayal’ by that snake-in-the-grass whom I treated…ahem, like a son.

These relationships have a way of being heavily dependent on those first originating conversations, where under the benevolence of mentorship, the promising new talent is groomed in the image and expectations of the mentor, but often not of the mentee. The disappointed mentor may often exclaim “Why didn’t he just tell me? I would have listened! We need not have wasted this time and energy!” It is never easy to “just tell” and even more so when the mentee cares deeply about the impression made on the mentor, and appreciates the care and attention given by the mentor. Finally the ‘telling’ will have to happen, the dread the mentee feels having to finally come out with the ‘truth,’ the sense of betrayal the mentor may feel, the recriminations and the forever damaged relationship. I can look back on such moments from my youth and early adulthood as a mentee (and son), and in my later years as a mentor (and father). I can blame myself, my mentors or my mentees, but that does not break this potentially vicious cycle.

Or I can become more conscious of those originating conversations and of how much I am shaping the conversation or being shaped by the conversation. To return to the metaphor of the parent and child with which I started this entry, I can anticipate a possible objection from many an ambitious parent that “I know what is best for my child! I am looking out for my child’s best interests in the future!” which may very well be true, but then one should not be too surprised if the child confounds the parent’s expectations, or back in the business world if the mentee confounds the mentor’s expectations. I cannot offer to my daughter an opinion on the virtues of a career as a doctor or a pilot, but at least I know now what she wants, and more importantly what she does not want… and that is a start.

An Illuminating Blackout

On the afternoon of July 5th 2010, most of the people who worked in Toronto’s downtown core were somewhat discombobulated by a power failure. Once its cause was identified (transformer caught fire), and implications assessed to be relatively trivial (90% power restored in 3 hours), most people were given the rest of the day off, though some of them had to trudge down 30 stories of stairs as the elevators were not functioning. This incident did have an ominous antecedent, the massive power failure across the North America’s Eastern Coast in August 2003. It also provoked a sigh of relief: say for instance, what if the power failure had happened during the G20 Summit which was just the week before? Whatever one’s views of the Summit or of the global economy, such a power failure could have had quite unexpected outcomes.

Nicholas Nassim Taleb’s wonderfully engaging concept of Black Swan events (unpredictable, massively gamechanging, and post facto rationalized) obviously comes to mind. His basic argument is that future events are not predictable, so (from a business perspective) our naïve belief in the risk assessments of various models gives us a false sense of security until a massively game-changing event occurs. The black swan events can be negative e.g. the 2008 economic crisis, or they can be positive e.g. the rise of Google. The key issue I want to raise here is that of risk, and specifically in the context of business, where it is assumed to be brought under human control as much as possible.

The advanced research in Physics, Economics, Mathematics (and even in emerging sub-disciplines like Chaos theory) are brought to bear on the science of managing risk. The rewards are great and the reassurance of the science employed gives us, one and all, a sense of confidence that the risk is indeed being managed. One of the first big principles I studied in Finance was the difference between market risk (the spread of risk among all investments in the market), and unique risk (the risk associated with specific investments). The name of the game has become one of managing this latter type of risk through judicious portfolio management, but rarely does one (in a non-academic setting) consider the implications of the ever-present systematic risk. It is usually represented as a uniform band, probably because it recognizes the existence of less than perfect markets, exogenous conditions like black swans, which by being slight and rare respectively do get very thinly spread out over a large volume of transactions and extended period of time. But, to pursue this metaphor of risk being ‘spread out,’ presumably as butter is spread out on a slice of bread, the problem is that the topography of risk is not as smooth as a slice of bread; it is a combination of smooth plains as well as steep cliffs and deep crevasses. It is these exogenous, Non-quantifiable. Non-measureable, and largely undiscoverable species of risk that completely wipe out any risk-mitigating strategies that may have existed prior to their unexpected incidence.

How, for example, would Bear Stearns have been able to insure themselves against the actual risk associated with the mortgage-backed assets that ended up taking down the company? On a broader economic front, one could argue that it is precisely this sort of fear of a black swan event that would put such a massive fear into the minds of people’s disposition to invest, which would ironically end up crippling the economy: no one would want to transact business out of fear of that huge, unknown and unexpected risk. And they would be right. However, the ‘huge, unknown and unexpected risk’ is not mitigated: we can simply push that into a corner of our mind as we place more faith in calculations, analyses, reputations, novel financial models, and soon amidst all the paperwork, the excel sheets, the models—not to mention the deliberate book cooking, socialization of losses and privatization of gains—we have managed to take a junk bond and work it up to a triple A rating. The risk is not mitigated, it is just swept under the carpet.

Why does this happen? Being more familiar with human behaviour than with the complexities of finance, I would hazard a guess that it stems from a need for control. The market risk is so uncontrollable; the unique risk on the other hand yields itself to measurement, is affected by endogenous factors, and can be spread smoothly over efficiency frontiers (assuming a normal Gaussian distribution, a smooth and well-mapped topography of risk). Therefore when the one firm (or the one portfolio management team), wants to distinguish itself from the others, it seeks the people who will be able to make a difference in the areas that can be controlled, hence the physicists on Wall Street and the superstar financial consultants. As this controllable aspect of risk (unique risk & its predictive models) becomes more and more the differentiating factor between competing individuals, the ante gets upped, and the war for talent reaches unprecedented levels. Meanwhile, the really significant black swan type risks are safely ignored until it is too late and all hell breaks loose—as it did in 2008.

The most recent Toronto blackout is therefore a reminder that the world is not as predictable as we expect. Sometimes unpredictable events happen and have consequences. Yes, we all know that, and yet we get out of bed each morning and get on with the business of the day. The value of the reminder lies in never forgetting how much of the real impact of risk is exogenous, unquantifiable, unpredictable. That sobering consideration tempering our decisions and actions as we carry out the business of the day may well be our last defence against the market risk that threatens…well, the business of the day.

Taleb’s “Ten Principles for a Black Swan Robust World” Financial Times. April 7, 2009 is a short, entertaining and provocative recommendation. <http://www.fooledbyrandomness.com/tenprinciples.pdf&gt;

Thinker’s Arithmetic

In 1784 in Germany, a seven-year old boy, Carl, was enrolled in a typical public school, one of those old schoolhouses where hundreds of poor pupils of varying ability congregate, and are taught by a disagreeable teacher whose primary tool of instruction was the liberal use of his whip: something out of a novel by Charles Dickens. The class was asked to sum all the numbers from 0 to 100, while the teacher probably settled at his desk for a nice long snooze as the pupils patiently pencilled away.

How would one usually approach this problem? Precisely the way that most of the students did:

0 + 1 + 2 + 3 + etc.

Carl, however, discomposed his teacher by announcing a few seconds later that the answer was 5050. He noticed that the numbers formed pairs of 100 i.e. 0 + 100 = 100, 1 + 99 = 100, … 49 + 51 = 100 to a total of 50 pairs. Then there was the single median number 50 which did not form a pair. Now the summing was easy: 50 pairs of 100 makes 5000, plus the median 50 makes 5050. From this simple arithmetical example, we can learn how new ways of seeing can substantially change our preconceived notions of approaching problems. Carl went on to become Carl Friedrich Gauss, one of the greatest mathematicians in history. But is this sort of revelatory insight only reserved for the geniuses of the world? I think not.

Having been a teacher and business coach for many years, I have seen similar moments of insight in my students. Thinking may start with a random thought or observation, but then one needs to grasp that thought and examine it: What does it imply? When is it true? When is it false? How can it be tested? What significance does it have to the problem at hand? In short, we start with a thought and we probe it, sift it through our experiences and learning until it gets converted from a mere thought to an insight. This is thinking.

One of the best ways to think is through the writing of my thought processes. Writing helps me ground my thoughts: they are right there on the page for me to recall, elaborate, modify and hopefully to illuminate. Consider how many interesting casual observations you make in the course of each day. If you were to pick just one of them and spend about 15 – 20 minutes writing about it, sifting through it, and mentally working through it, you have a journal, a record of the idea. Presumably in a class of over a hundred students there must have been at least one other pupil who noted the multiple pairs that added up to 100. Carl, on the other hand, thought through the observation until it yielded an insight. You doubtless have many thoughts and observations each day. Pick one, think through it, and write through it. Every day then becomes a day of discovery.

In Search of a Code

In a recent meeting I had with some fellow students and the MBA Programs Director to discuss the our Code of Academic Conduct that had come under media scrutiny due to some unfortunate pranks by some of the students, one Canadian student related (with some relish, I might add) an anecdote about an international student (a member of her team) who had copied and pasted a portion of text from Wikipedia in contribution to a team project report. When questioned, the international student admitted with some puzzlement that it was indeed from Wikipedia, which, given its open-source position, he did not realize needed to be properly referenced in the document. This anecdote sparked off the subsequent discussion which quickly degenerated into a trading of similar stories of by the other (Canadian) students present, which, while carefully circumventing the actual use of the term “international student” quite clearly implied in the traded stories that these instances of ignorance or malfeasance most likely originate among them. Lax academic standards in their home countries, pressures to produce work of idiomatically and structurally acceptable quality for academic work in a foreign language (English), or simple downright laziness to pull one’s weight on a team project, were all cited as possible reasons for this rash of substandard work.

Yet, the whole stream of stories emerging from the first Wikipedia one seemed to miss the key issue which is that of ignorance: ignorance about the specific protocols of scholarship in a specific discipline and in a specific language. Some students (international or local) have until now, not been instructed on the specific rituals of bibliographic citation that are agreed upon by the scholarly community of the Western Academy. I choose my words advisedly here. There is a mistaken notion among some semi-educated students here that until The MLA Handbook, or The Chicago Manual of Style, the action of willfully passing off as one’s own, or borrowing without acknowledgment, the work of others (i.e plagiarism) did not exist. I find it hard to believe that for any sustained body of continued scholarship to exist, the theft of another’s intellectual capital must have been regulated in some way—it is after all the “capital” of the scholarship industry.[1] The protocols simply change over time, and we learn new protocols.

What constitutes plagiarism, and how to cite within the correct protocols for a given academy is to be taught by those who know (i.e. teachers, fellow students and colleagues) for the betterment of knowledge usage and creation among all of its participants. Therefore, the issue at hand seems to get those of us unaware of the protocols and citation requirements, up to speed. This is no major task: as a student Mentor, it took me perhaps a couple of 1-hour sessions to bring my mentees up to speed on the specific requirements of academic writing in the Canadian university. I am happy to say that they are both genuinely conscientious students, and once they learned the “rules of the game,” they played admirably well within them, roundly trouncing their colleagues over the bell-curve with straight As on their subsequent essays. This training (no different from Excel modeling sessions) is a practical and necessary skill for all students, but most especially to those most in need of the skill. However, the facility in use of Excel does not imply some sort of moral superiority of those who happen to have acquired it over those who have not acquired it yet. The same is true of these protocols of bibliographic citation.

Another student was histrionically appalled that his team mate (another international student) had suggested in a team meeting that Blackberry phones could benefit from having email as an added feature. The appalled student concluded that such an ignorant comment deserved having the offender being rusticated from the program. It is quite likely that the offending team-mate probably assumed that Blackberry was simply another branded phone. Asia’s mobile technology has outpaced that of North America literally by generations, so it is quite possible that someone used to advanced mobile technology arriving from that part of the world may be ignorant of the primitive intermediate steps that were emerging though the supposedly “cutting edge” technology from Blackberry. If anything, the ignorance could arguably be that of the accuser, rather than the accused. Would the accuser then apply such stringent to himself and rusticate himself from the program?

This is a school after all, and it would be instructive to remember that famous reminder that we are given when we joined the program that this is a safe learning environment in which we can make (and learn from) our mistakes in practicing the skills required of our professions—in contrast to a working world where such errors may come with serious consequences. Let us teach our students and one another by all means, but that gloating by those who learned these protocols over those who did not as yet, is as distasteful as a person with eye-sight mocking a blind person who obliviously walked into an obstacle. Having lived outside the familiar space of Canada for the past 15 years, I know only too well of how blind I can be of serious breaches in protocol in lands that are new and foreign to me. We can all be inadvertently blind in that foreign space; we can make mistakes out of ignorance (even where they may have potentially serious consequences), but through the goodwill and guidance of our local colleagues, we can learn and adapt. I would like to hope that the respect for the dignity each student, the comradely support, and the desire to collectively grow as a school community would be a defining attribute of our particular institution, exemplified in all of its students. That spirit of mutual growth, and positive cooperation should probably be the defining spirit of a code of academic conduct here, rather than one which merely sets out a prescriptive list of Dos and Don’ts. I, for one would be proud to belong to such an institution, and count myself indeed fortunate that I can call my fellow students also my colleagues.

Note: The subsequent report that the Programs Director did compile for the Dean was, to her credit, scrupulously attentive to the needs and limitations of all students. This is a laudable step in the right direction, and one hopes the first of many in quest of a better code.

Works Cited:

Gonzalez-Crussi, F. A Short History of Medicine. New York: Modern Library, 2007.


[1] I recently discovered the etymological roots of torcular Herophili (a clump of nerves in the brain), which I had mechanically memorized in the days of my abortive medical studies: apparently, it translates from Latin as “The Herophilus Press” named after its discoverer, Herophilus (c. 335 – c. 280 B.C.), and which have been scrupulously attributed through over 2300 years of scholarship. This is the real and immortal reward of original discovery or creation in scholarship that the taboo of plagiarism so strongly proscribes against (and rightly so). (Medicine, 6)