 The truth, they say, is a good thing, for it will set you free. This seems reasonable, even self-evident to many. But what is truth? Is it a thing (a fact) or a process? Is it deterministic or does it emerge? Is it absolute or relative? And, in a social context, is truth even possible or desirable? The pursuit of truth conjures the notion of a deterministic 'answer' to a question or problem, without worrying too much about (or even considering) the context within which the truth claim exists. Consider darkness. Does being unable to read a book on the patio at twilight mean it is dark? How might this expression of darkness compare with the darkness inside a sealed cavity into which light cannot penetrate? And what of degrees of truth? If just one instance is discovered to be false, does that mean the entire truth claim needs to be set aside? Complicating matters, something may be 'true' but unpalatable, such as, genocide or rotten eggs. Now, consider health. What does it mean to be healthy? For some, maintaining a balanced diet and sleep pattern is sufficient. For others, health involves strenuous exercise and physical fitness. Yet others pursue mental health, a sound mind and great relationships. Is the threshold one of having food, shelter and security; or is a higher order of fulfilment necessary to be healthy? And, how might health and truth relate to each other? Is truth a necessary condition for personal health, or are there situations in which truth might need to be secondary to health? Are truth and health even related? And what of truth and health in an organisational setting? Are the comparisons similar or different? Who decides and what factors should be considered in the decision process? In the past two years, I have come face-to-face these types of questions on many occasions:
Selecting between two tough options is never easy. The 'least bad' option doesn't sit well in many cases. But as in life, decisions in organisations need to be made, more so in boardrooms. If boards are to provide effective steerage and guidance in pursuit of an agreed outcome, they need to roll their sleeves up, understand the options and make a decision. But with what reference point to the fore? Should boards prioritise being 'right' (legalistic, truth), or should they select options more likely to lead to sustainable outcomes (organisational health)? If boards are to govern with impact, the high road is, in most cases, the better option.
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 I had the good fortune to catch-up with a dear friend and professional associate yesterday; someone I have not had the chance to interact with for nearly nine months. Tony and I chatted about all manner of things: his new barn (read: man cave and office); our exploits with Rosa (read: 1951 MG Y-type); geopolitics; ChatGPT; and more besides. What was fascinating was that we both found ourselves chatting as if the last time we spoke was yesterday. Before we knew it, some 75 minutes had passed by. My father told me that this is a good thing; a sign of true friendship. One aspect of our conversation that piqued my attention was Tony’s investigations around artificial intelligence and board reports—or, more specifically, his application of large language model tools to discern and make sense of board reports. The rapid progress over the past twelve months is a sight to behold. Tony summarised his experiments and findings. Did you know that if you feed ChatGPT a set of board papers and ask it to summarise the key points, including nuances and appropriate questions to ask in a board meeting, the likelihood of the responses being both insightful and relevant is high? You can also use it to discern whether directors have read and understood the board papers! I have been a sceptic about the application of AI tools for some time but, on the strength of what was outlined, I’m ready to believe ChatGPT (or Claude, or other) can be a real boon for directors struggling to make sense of large data sets. While context eludes ChatGPT (and all other LLMs), and meaning and reasoning too, the direction and pace of travel seems to be reasonable. Certainly, progress is rapid. I went to bed after our call pondering a plethora of options, including whether board directors might be supplanted by machinery in future. Of this, I am doubtful. But where LLMs could be quite valuable is to distinguish between lights in the distance: those that are sunlight at the of the tunnel, and those that are a train heading towards me at great speed. And so, with 2025 underway, is your board ready for what lies ahead? Can it, for example, confidently distinguish between [sun]light at the end of the tunnel and a train headlight? Has it carefully considered options having read widely, invoked various tools including AI tools and debated options; or, does it remain reliant on what management feeds up in the board report? To rely on management reports as the sole source of ‘truth’ is not smart; it never has been. PS: this is Rosa:   Today is the last day of 2024, the day many people reflect on the year gone and ponder what might lie ahead. Everything from checking off goals set twelve months earlier, to setting goals and resolutions for the year ahead. I am amongst those who 'reflect and set' around this time of the year. Normally, the exercise involves reading back through notes and notebooks, and pondering goals. This year, I asked for help; not help from anyone who knows me really well, but from a newly-released LinkedIn feature, Coauthor. This is what Coauthor, an AI tool, curated, in both textual and info-graphical form: What happens when a board advisor steps into new territories while staying true to core principles? 2024 showed me. The year brought significant evolution in how I serve boards and directors, particularly through co-founding govern& with Jurate Stanisauskiene to help boards in the Baltics achieve sustainable outcomes.  While I may not have highlighted these specifics 'by hand', the general tenor of the summation by Coauthor is pretty good—save one word: expert. While my record implies a level expertise in several areas, I make no claim to be an expert director, expert advisor or even a governance expert. To use 'expert' in this way is, I think, self-aggrandisement. I am, straightforwardly, someone with a deep interest in the performance of organisations and the contributions of boards of directors. So far, so good. But what of the future? How does AI do when looking ahead? What does Coauthor have to say in relation to 2025? This: govern& will expand its impact in the Baltics while I continue advancing thought leadership in corporate governance. The focus remains helping boards see around corners and make decisions that drive sustainable outcomes. This is a reasonable attempt, as far as it goes. What Coauthor does not, and cannot, 'know' is what sits in the wings, much less how other as yet unknown factors might influence me in 2025. My intent to finish writing Boardcraft: The art of governing with impact is not mentioned, nor is a significant initiative to support boards in several developing nations, or speaking engagements at conferences in New York and Milan. And therein lies a critical limitation. When AI writes the news, it can but summarise the past. And, generally, speaking, it does this very well. Making statements about what might lie ahead is much more difficult; anything requiring mimicry of human traits—such as intuition, reasoning, sense-making and undeclared preferences—are beyond its capabilities. Boards need to bear this in mind when considering if, how and where AI might 'fit' when considering strategic options. AI can be an incredibly powerful enabler, and its application to drive efficiencies and expose new sources of competitive advantage should be explored. But, great caution is needed: as attractive as the outputs from LLM models appear to be, their predictive power beyond the next word, or ability to credibly simulate social traits, is rather more limited. Regardless, thank you for your supporting 2024, and best wishes for what lies ahead in 2025.
 Since time immemorial, man has sought to explore: natural curiosity has led to many discoveries, of previously unknown lands, flora and fauna, and more besides. Innovations and inventions too; discoveries enabling further exploration, and on it goes. Through the arc of history, exploration and discovery has been based upon empirical techniques—going and having a look. About six decades ago, Jane Goodall put this approach to work as part of her research to learn more about chimpanzees. Her assessment was, straightforwardly, that if reliable understandings of how chimpanzees socialise were to be achieved, they needed to be watched, directly, over an extended period, as difficult as that might be. The extended period is necessary because behaviours change when a new actor arrives. Thus, Goodall’s study could not begin in earnest until the chimps became more familiar with her and reverted to behavioural patterns thought natural. When behaviours reverted, as Goodall thought they might, several new discoveries not previously known were made. The approach Goodall used, and her discoveries, demonstrated the high value of longitudinal ethnographic techniques when studying social groups and their behaviours. And yet, while this has been understood for decades, centuries even, its application to my field—boards—is rare. Instead, since the dawn of board research, the dominant paradigm has been to collect data about directors, the composition of the board and other data, from outside the boardroom, typically from public databases, interviews and surveys. Such approaches have been deemed acceptable because researchers have found it very difficult to enter the boardroom. Given the only place the board and its work actually exists is in the boardroom, and that the board is a social group, surely the gold standard must be to conduct long-term studies of boards in session (through direct and non-participatory observation), as Goodall studied chimpanzees? This issue, of using appropriate techniques that explore the subject of interest, not a proxy, was made plain by an ex-military colleague recently; his pertinent remark was, simply, “The map is not the terrain.” What seems to be the case (on the map) may not be the case (in reality). The underlying message was confronting: if you want to really understand, go there, gain first-hand knowledge. And so it is with board research. If we really want to understand how boards work, and how boards actually make decisions and influence performance, not how directors say they do when they are interviewed, watch them over an extended period. Then, possibly, you might be able discern what happens; how directors act and interact; and, even, spot associations between a strategic decision and some subsequent change in organisational performance. The findings will be contingent, of course, because the group is social, the situation complex, and external influences are many and varied. To date, fewer than a dozen longitudinal observation studies, of boards going about their work, have been published. And, somewhat awkwardly, the reported findings present a different perspective from that commonly asserted by others informed by research conducted away from the boardroom: The capability of directors (what they bring), the activity of the board (what it does), and behaviour (how directors act and interact), appears to be far more important than the structure or composition of the board. Now, as I wait to board a flight, for yet another international trip to work with boards, my colleague’s comment is ringing in my ear. And with it, a question, “What guidance will you rely on, given the importance of governing with impact?”  Have you ever thought about the arc of your career, and how things change over time—not only preferential changes, but societal and technological changes too? My first university degree (a bachelor with first-class honours in computing technology, manufacturing systems and management science) marked me as an engineer, of sorts. But five years into my work career, I was invited to set the programming skills down and to take on a ground breaking project. And I did, and it was good. Sales, leadership and international business development roles followed. Then, in 2001, I stepped away from an executive career having realised a preference to become a consultant or advisor. This, and a post-graduate diploma in business that followed, saw me re-marked, as a social scientist. Most recently, in 2016, I completed a third tranche of study, this time a doctorate, in corporate governance and strategy, to support my passionate interest in helping boards govern with impact and realise organisational potential. Retraining and continuing professional development has been a constant thread through my career since I first graduated from university. Clearly, my professional preferences and interests have moved over the arc of my professional career. And technology has too. Telex machines were de rigueur when I got my first job, but the onset of facsimile machines saw telexes and their operators cast off. Later, email replaced internal and postal mail. The arrival of the Internet, smart phones, and apps changed everything again. Jobs commonplace in 1984 simply do not exist any more, and untold numbers of new job titles have appeared too. Today, humanity stands on the cusp of another change: a transition some say will be transformation, a paradigm shift, in a Kuhnian sense. The emergence of artificial intelligence (AI), and its application to routine tasks (notably but not only administrative and repetitive tasks), portends the demise of a whole swathe of roles, just as jobs entitled telegram runner, mailroom sorter, and telex operator have been consigned to the annals of history. One area where the onset of AI strikes close to home is administrative support for boards: the role of company secretary (or, board secretary)—that role that helps prepare board agendae, record minutes of meetings and ensure various compliance items are attended to. I've been trialling Zoom's AI companion (a meeting recording system), Microsoft Co-pilot and a few other tools to document conversations. The results are astounding. Now, I am wondering whether [human] secretarial support will be required in the boardroom in the near future, for the quality of the outputs from AI tools is already pretty good. Assuming these tools continue to get better, which they will, what of all the people who have trained as board/company secretaries (or the modern moniker, governance professional)? Might these people now be standing at an inflection point, even on the cusp of obsolescence? Or, will boards still need a human to check what is written and what is prepared? I'd really appreciate hearing your thoughts on this, especially company secretaries and governance professionals, for whom the onset of AI has the potential to completely disrupt career choices.
 I have been watching the leaves on a potted plant go a little yellow in recent days. Something is not right; the plant has been suffering, clearly—but why? Had I been over- or under-watering it? Or have I applied the wrong amount of fertiliser? After checking with sources more knowledgeable than me (a book in my library, but also Google), the penny dropped. The plant had become root-bound, a victim of its own success. Simply, the pot had become a constraint. The resolution? A bigger pot, to provide space for the plant to thrive once more. Now, we wait. Boards and companies are analogous to the pot and plant in this illustration. The pot holds the plant and provides space for it to thrive and grow. Sometimes, a new pot is the change needed if the plant is to thrive. And so it is with companies: sometimes changes are needed at the board table to reinvigorate decision-making, steerage and guidance. Whereas plants tend to droop, go yellow or otherwise signal poor health, tell-tale signals that it might to be time to make adjustments in a boardroom tend to be visible too. Examples include:
While this list is far from exhaustive, it is indicative. Notice many of the signals (that a director is out of their depth or no longer fit to serve) tend to be behavioural. But how might any shareholder or supernumerary know the real situation given boards tend to meet and operate behind closed doors? Something might seem to be amiss, but what, and who? A governance assessment (note, not a board evaluation) can be a useful tool to assess the effectiveness of the board and the governance 'system', and to diagnose any underlying problems. These should be conducted annually, by a credible independent assessor. Recommendations emerging from such an assessment need to be taken seriously. Boards that dismiss evidence-based recommendations out of hand, or make cursory adjustments only (the "sweep it under the carpet and hope for the best" tactic), should take a good look in the mirror. The response is itself a clue—defensiveness tends to confirm that all is not well. When something doesn't quite seem right, check it out. Directors serve at the pleasure of shareholders, and replacement is always an option. Often, it is a very good option; sometimes, it is the best option. Normally, a simple majority is all that is required to both appoint and remove a director. To give the director the benefit of the doubt is rarely the best option. Finally, if a decision is taken to remove a director, act on the evidence quickly, but do so quietly.
 Over the past couple of months, I have been deeply embedded in a pro-bono advisory engagement, and fulfilling several speaking and capability-building assignments—to such an extent that my writing has languished. Progress on Boardcraft stalled, and my last blog entry was back in May. But now, with those commitments in hand, I have surfaced to draw breath, scan the vista, and to begin writing again. Starting next week, I will pick up my pen (keyboard!) once more, to share my thoughts and observations on corporate governance, the board's role in driving organisational performance, and other topics that catch my attention. Expect a new muse some time on the first Monday of each month. As we get going again, may I ask a favour? Please tell me what you want to know about (as a comment to this post or via private message) and I'll do what I can to respond. This is a genuine offer to explore anything of interest—except if it is illegal or immoral, of course! For now, have a great weekend. See you Monday!
 Several times in the past year, I have been asked for advice, even to intervene, in situations where relationships between board members have become strained, or shareholders have fallen out—with each other or with board members—over differing expectations around returns and/or succession. Each situation has been both complex and demanding, for they involve people and human emotion. The following vignettes are illustrative of the types of things that can go wrong and the ensuing behaviours of various actors:
As is typical in board and shareholder matters, options are many and resolutions are far from clear cut. What options might a capable independent director consider in such circumstances?
These are questions of commitment and duty. Directors need to not only recognise this, but consider options amidst ambiguity, and work within the constraints of the law and what is ethically acceptable. Essentially, these questions ask how far a director is prepared to travel, how hard they are prepared to work, how long they might prepared to wait before enough is enough. Are they prepared to make decisions that may be unpopular or even unpalatable, because such decisions are in the best interests of the company? Will they go to the ends of the earth, so to speak? Or does the preservation of reputation rank more highly than acting in the best interests of the company—essentially, will they bail when the possibility of reputational damage arises (as several directors of Wynyard Group reportedly did just before the company failed several years ago)? Directors would be well-advised to have asked themselves these questions before they accept an appointment. They should also be prepared to act (step away) if the thresholds they set themselves are surpassed, or if they no longer have the expertise or courage to act. Of the directors you know, how many possess the wisdom and maturity to act diligently, in the best interests of the company?
 A few weeks ago, while facilitating a board masterclass at Naivasha, Kenya, I had the good fortune to see some local wildlife at close range. Some people consider walking in close proximity to wild animals to be dangerous, for it may portend harm or injury, but others embrace the activity with open arms. Thinking, that well-spring from which ideas and insights emerge, innovations are birthed, and humanity progresses and flourishes, is similarly polarising. One of the things I have been thinking about recently is quite selfish: What direction should I take my writing in 2024? Musings is nearly twelve years old (first entry was in March 2012, which coincided with my doctoral research efforts, and sharing of conference papers and articles). While the longevity makes it a rarity, my motivation has not changed. It has been to share thoughts on corporate governance, strategy and boardcraft; our place in the world; and other topics that catch my attention. Apart from the introduction of 'boardcraft', a word I coined in 2020, this overarching goal has remained consistent since day one. From humble beginnings, when entries garnered just a few readers, the blog is now widely read. Over the years, many readers have been graciously engaged in a discussion about a topical matter, or asked for help to realise potential. And that has been wonderful, thank you. And, as you might expect, some entries have garnered high attention; others less so. Readers seem to prefer pragmatic guidance over provocations or calls to think more deeply about something. Recent examples of the former include writings on questions, chairmanship, and storytelling. Now, as we stand on the cusp of 2024, my hope is that Musings remains relevant and useful into the future. And with that, may I ask a favour? (Actually, provide an opportunity, to crowdsource Musings!) What topics and style would ensure Musings remains relevant and useful as it moves into its teenage years? Do respond in the comments block below, or send me an email. And, thank you in advance.
 Twice this week, I have been asked about my reading and thinking habits. One enquirer wanted to know much time I spend reading and pondering insights garnered from various authors; the other whether I schedule [slow] thinking time. Although neither asked explicitly, both enquirers seemed to assume that quiet time and the notion of reading widely are important to me. And, indeed they are. But, why? The practice of reading serves, I think, two inherent objectives: to maintain currency with trends and developments, and to become a better person. The objective is not to become a technical expert capable of regurgitating data and ideas (ChatGPT can do that), but a more holistic thinker—one who discerns problems and opportunities, considers them from different perspectives, asks appropriate questions and draws relevant conclusions. More succinctly, someone who leads a reflective life. May I propose something? To philosophise is to breathe. In my experience, and that of others who I have been fortunate to interact with, the ideas that emerge from the practice of philosophising provide a solid foundation for that which follows. And yet many business leaders and board directors claim to be too busy to take time to ponder (think about) possibilities that might lie below the surface or around the corner. Quite why such a (seemingly) bedrock activity is neglected is a curiosity to me; high quality thinking is an antecedent of effective leadership and governance, n'cest ce-pas? When people I interact with, especially friends and clients, say they see a better me (someone who is on top of his game, is nice to be around and who offers relevant and considered advice), such observations tend to coincide with a period of reading literature (or other so-called 'brainy' books) and thinking deeply about the questions posed by the authors. While comments like this are gratifying, they serve a higher purpose: to remind me to make time, regardless of what else is going on around me. (And, in case you are wondering, my answers to the enquirers were, "About 12–15 hours each week" and, "Yes.")
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Dr. Peter Crow, CMInstD
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