In this chapter we will explore: ‘There are these two young fish swimming along and they happen to meet an older fish swimming the other way, who nods at them and says “Morning, boys. How‘s the water?” And the two young fish swim on for a bit, and then eventually one of them looks over at the other and goes, “What the hell is water?”’ David Foster Wallace How many times have you been with a group of colleagues at the dinner table discussing the joys of a nice juicy cat bite abscess, only to realise the unfortunate lay person among you has dropped their knife and fork and turned an unpleasant shade of green…? [Insert alternative personal anecdote here.] There is a context to our work as veterinary professionals that we, inevitably, take for granted and that may even be out of our consciousness, at least on a day‐to‐day basis. Whilst organisations may have publicly stated ideas about what they are for and ‘what they do’, there also levels of ‘what we really believe we are doing’ and ‘what is actually going on’ (Stokes, J. in Obholzer and Roberts 1994). The concept of ‘what is actually going on’ is encapsulated in the exploration of the hidden curriculum in veterinary teaching institutions and the enculturation of veterinary students as they develop into professionals (Mossop et al. 2013; Roder and May 2017). In this chapter, I will explore the veterinary context, with some of its contradictions and paradoxes, and think about where leadership fits into the picture. Throughout this book, I will refer to complexity and the leadership challenges this brings. It seems fair to cover some definitions at this point to contextualise this approach. Complexity science has shed light on human organisations and how and why they form and develop. It is useful to consider the distinctions between simple, complicated, complex, and chaotic systems. Easy to conceive and understand with linear cause and effect, such as the response of a snooker ball to being struck by another or following the recipe to bake a cake. Can be understood by breaking down and examining its individual parts. Can be re‐assembled from those parts. An analogue wristwatch, for example, is complicated but ultimately understandable. Can only be understood holistically. Meaning is in the relationships and interactions, which are multiple and nonlinear (Snowden and Boone 2007). Complex systems are dynamic, unpredictable, and complexly stable (Marion and Uhl‐Bien 2001). They can be self‐organising around simple rules, e.g. flocks of birds in flight (Snowden and Boone 2007). Complexity is about ‘rich interconnectivity’ in that, ‘when things interact, they change one another in unexpected and irreversible ways’ (Uhl‐bien et al. 2017). Unlike complicated systems, complex systems cannot be divided back to unchanged parts (Levy 1993). Our patients are complex systems and are in a state of constant disequilibrium that is managed by that process we know as homeostasis and where small deviations trigger feedback loops that can either create a return the old ‘stable’ state or, potentially, a whole new state (emergence). Deviation is allowed and, indeed, encouraged, and ‘failing small’ and reacting is far preferable to ‘failing big’ (Meadows and Wright 2009). When thinking about human organisations that are complex systems, we must consider our ability to adapt roles and identities, knowledge of past responses, and our agency to change the system from within (Snowden and Boone 2007). Human healthcare systems have been categorised as complex and adaptive/responsive, and I believe the same argument can be readily made for the organisational world of veterinary professionals (Plsek and Greenhalgh 2001). Furthermore, these systems are open to influence and in relationship with the wider world. Rules of complex systems can be understood retrospectively but cannot be applied for the future when new patterns emerge. As Kierkegaard (1844) said, ‘Life must be understood backwards. But then one forgets the other principle: that it must be lived forwards’. This is the realm of the turbulent, fast‐moving, and unknowable, where relationships are in constant flux. Only acting on this system and reducing some of the fluctuation can bring them into a more manageable and complex state (Snowden and Boone 2007). Wicked problems have the following characteristics (Periyakoil 2007; Cleland et al. 2018): Contextualising the veterinary professions as sitting as part of complex, open, adaptive/responsive system and where many problems are wicked without ‘perfect solutions’ informs the approach to managing the realities, and challenges, of leadership in veterinary medicine. The early professions such as medicine and law arose as learned activities in the late Middle Ages and formal professions developed to allow a monopoly over a domain of practise (Adler et al. 2008). Generally speaking, professions are knowledge and/or skill‐based; entry is certified, e.g. by examination, and professional competencies must be maintained. This monopoly gives a right to charge for service and prohibits ‘lay’ persons from practising. With professional status comes an identity that develops before and after training, and a professional community to which we belong. Historically, professional membership has come with a high degree of trust and, generally, professions have been self‐regulating (this has, arguably, diluted as trust in the professions has diminished) and set their own standards of practise. Morrell (2016) citing Lord Benson in a House of Lords debate in 1992, offers a list of the distinguishing characteristics of a profession: Knowledge leadership in veterinary medicine can be traced centuries back, such as through the production of treatise in China c. 2500 BCE. Formally, the veterinary profession was begun through the leadership of Claude Bourgelat who founded Lyon Veterinary School and Alfort School in 1765. This was followed by establishment of the ‘London Veterinary College’ by Charles Vial de St. Bel (a graduate of Lyon) in 1791. The development of veterinary nursing as an independent profession in the United Kingdom continues with milestones such as with the first veterinary nurse to sit on Royal College of Veterinary Surgeons (RCVS) Council and, in 2012, development of a new Code of Professional Conduct including, for the first time, a declaration to be made by Registered Veterinary Nurses on professional registration. Interactions between humans and animals are complex and multilayered (ranging from practical to psycho‐social to transpersonal) and are the subject of deep interest, study, and debate (Haraway 2008). Humans use, and relate to, animals in multiple ways, to provide food, security, research subjects, transport, assistance, objects of veneration and worship, companionship, and sources of profit. As companions, pets remind us to be joyful and mindful, they bring life (and death) into a home, take us out of ourselves and provide reasons for living. What a responsibility that places on veterinary professionals! On a prosaic level, we can see that the motivational drivers and ‘purpose’ of the veterinary professions have developed and diversified over time from care of farm animals, to care of military animals, through to support of animal health and production, welfare and use of animals in medical research, to leisure and pet care. The picture of the profession (including practice type, gender balance, ownership structures and governance) is continually changing with societal needs and expectations. The profession is embedded in society and serves many different functions, including being a source of ‘entertainment’ through books, TV shows, and even stadium tours (Figure 2.1). Throughout the history of the veterinary professions, globally, there are examples of great achievements that have impacted human society, e.g. the eradication of Rinderpest. Achievements in other areas, e.g. food production (breeding, animal health), drug development, nutrition, and medical research can be readily identified. More recently, the veterinary profession’s role in global One Health is gaining prominence and recognition (Gibbs 2014; Natterson‐Horowitz 2015). To be a veterinary surgeon (veterinarian) or veterinary nurse (in the UK) is to be part of a profession and accept the authority and oversight of a professional regulator. In the United Kingdom, the regulator is the RCVS and the underlying legal status of the profession is the Veterinary Surgeons Act (1966). Much of this Act relates to how individuals are entered into, and maintained on, the Register of practitioners. What the registered professional can actually do is much less proscribed; the Act does say it is unlawful for anyone other than a veterinary surgeon to perform acts of veterinary surgery, whether or not they charge a fee (but the right to charge a fee for services is implicit). The RCVS also maintains a Register of Veterinary Nurses qualified to provide supporting nursing care to animals and, under veterinary direction, to undertake certain treatments and procedures that are also controlled by law under the Veterinary Surgeons Act 1966. The RCVS Codes of Professional Conduct for Veterinary Surgeons and Veterinary Nurses puts ‘meat on the bones’ of professional responsibilities and, with supportive guidance, outlines what is expected of professionals. Furthermore, on admission to the veterinary register we declare that ‘ABOVE ALL, my constant endeavour will be to ensure the health and welfare of animals committed to my care.’ If you were to ask a cross‐section of the general public what the veterinary professions are ‘for’ you might expect a range of responses such as ‘looking after sick animals’, ‘vaccinating and neutering’, ‘diagnosing and treating disease in animals’. For veterinary professionals, the answers might be broader, more specific, more nuanced, and not, in every case, aligned with the view of the profession from wider society. I doubt, for example, that many non‐veterinary professionals would raise ‘protection of the food chain’, ‘farm animal productivity’, ‘racehorse performance’, ‘medical research’, ‘drug development’, or the many other areas in which veterinary professionals practise. And this is where we run into paradox, contradiction, complexity, and ambiguity. Who, truly, do the veterinary professions serve? Our professional status gives us the right to cause harm to animals (‘acts of veterinary surgery’), which is modified (and contradicted) by the primacy of animal welfare as per the oath. We also have the right to charge a fee for our services and, thereby, serve our own needs. Yet, are we, truly, outside of society? Of course not. As the professions’ response to global threats show, human welfare (of both colleagues and society) takes precedent, above the declaration that we serve animal welfare ‘ABOVE ALL’. The profession serves the animals in its care, yes, but it does so with implicit (the social contract) and explicit, legal, permission of human society. Many people are not interested in really understanding the role of the veterinary professional; they are just grateful someone is there to take on the responsibilities on their behalf. If caring organisations are developed to provide defences against anxieties on behalf of human society, then this raises interesting questions about what the veterinary professions are really ‘for’ at an unconscious level (Armstrong and Rustin 2014). The veterinary professions, generally accepted to be ‘caring’, take on a part of the management of the human‐animal interface on behalf of society at large, and function as a place to hold and contain the associated anxieties. This human–animal interface is itself a place of contradiction, paradox, and pain where the idealism of animals as joint rightful sharers of the space on this earth does not (for most of us) bear critical examination, and where the joys of animal companionship come with, emphasise, and maybe help us to face, the inevitability of human pain, ageing, and death (cheery, huh?). So, even at a basic level, to be a veterinary professional is to wrestle and manage with uncertainties of role and identity. These conflicts and paradoxes may be conscious or unconscious; perhaps this is the water in which we swim? How does this perspective help understand the veterinary professions? Following the logic of Hafferty and Castellani (2010), who examine the medical professions from a systems perspective, the unconscious and contradictory forces that are at play, and the resultant types of professional(ism), the veterinary professions might readily be viewed as existing within a complex open system. Hafferty and Castellani (2010) identified 10 key aspects of human medical work (altruism, autonomy, commercialism, personal morality, interpersonal competence, lifestyle, professional dominance, social justice, social contract, and technical competence) and then arranged these within different clusters to identify seven types of professionalism. The authors emphasise that these key aspects of medical work and types of professionalism are not the only ones worth examining and, extrapolating from studies of veterinary professional identity I have added a ‘relational’ archetype (Armitage‐Chan and May 2018; Hamilton 2018). The resultant role complexity is too great for any individual to hold and suggests it is right that we should respect similar diversity of purpose, values, and primary task in the veterinary professions (Table 2.1). A failure to examine, understand, and accept this might underlie some of the dynamic tensions that repeatedly play out as a result of inevitable conflict between differing, yet equally valid, professional stances.
2
Veterinary Leadership in Context
2.1 Introduction
2.2 Complex Systems and Wicked Problems
2.2.1 Simple
2.2.2 Complicated
2.2.3 Complex
2.2.4 Chaotic
2.2.5 Wicked problems
2.3 What Is a Profession?
2.4 The History of the Veterinary Profession
2.5 What Are the Veterinary Professions, and What Are They for?
2.6 Uncertainties of Role and Identity
2.7 Professional Archetypes