A Special Forces’ selection exercise from the 1980s provides a unique perspective on how people respond to change.  And it has big implications for the role of change management within a programme.

Cast your mind back (if you can) to the 1980s; no internet, no biographies (courtesy of iron-clad legal restrictions) of ex-Special Forces soldiers.  As part of their resistance to interrogation training, the would-be Special Forces recruits would endure a forced march whilst hand-cuffed, blind-folded and scantily clad in cold conditions.  At some point during the forced march, they would be permitted a few minutes rest, but to prevent them escaping, their ‘captors’ (in reality their instructors) would handcuff them to a disused railway track.

Exhausted, they would slump to the ground, or rather the wooden sleepers and steel rails of the railway line, while they caught their breath, gathered their thoughts, and tried to regain their composure.

In the distance the rumble of a train echoed.  Or was it?  Was it coming their way, or was it merely a train in the area?  Deprived of sight, they could only rely on the other senses.  Disorientated, they mumbled to their captors who assured them that the line was disused: What they were hearing was just a train in the area.

But as the minutes ticked by, the rumble crept closer.  Not only that, but the rails were vibrating: Not a lot, just a little bit, but enough.  Enough for it not to be ‘just a train in the area.’

And then the rumbling was getting noticeably louder, and the vibrations stronger.  Suddenly came the moment of panic, not from the recruits, but from their captors.  “Get them off the f**king tracks!  Who’s got the f**king keys??  Where are the f**king keys???”  A lot of <expletives deleted> in a matter of seconds.

Suddenly, the threat of being chopped up by a passing train was all too real.  The recruits reacted in different ways.  Some, in a blind panic, spread-eagled themselves across the track.  Death would be instantaneous.  Some got themselves clear of the track with only an arm left protruding across the rail.  They wouldn’t die, but they’d certainly have to learn to live with the loss of a limb.  The final group got themselves completely clear of the track and extended an arm under the rail, so that the only thing exposed to the passing train wheels were the links connecting their handcuffs.  The passing of the train would free their bonds, enabling them to slip their blindfolds and maybe even escape in the ensuing pandemonium.

Fortunately for all of them, the incoming train would pass safely by on an adjacent track.  And the instructors had seen all they needed to see about the recruits’ reactions to the carefully-staged exercise.

The train-track selection exercise is no longer used: The internet has put paid to that, but the three archetypes manifested in the exercise provide a vivid illustration of how human beings in a corporate setting respond to change.  Some panic; no rational response at all.  Others try simply to limit the damage.  And then there are those who see and seize the significant opportunities in an unexpected situation.  

I’m now in my fourth decade in the world of high-stakes programmes, but when I was first introduced to the concept of a change manager, it was explained to me as a people-focused role.  Its objective was to a) avoid the panic reaction and b) counteract defensive behaviours by c) creating and sustaining the conditions that allowed people to see and access the opportunities.

Almost every executive sponsor of a high-stakes programme acknowledges the importance that people play in the programme’s success, but converting the sentiment into an actionable plan is the real challenge.  When we are assessing this aspect of a programme, we look for three indicators: