Leadership As Emotional Labour : Management and the 'Managed Heart' [1 ed.] 9781136226878, 9780415674355

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‘This book gives a theoretically and empirically robust account of the emotional dynamics of leadership. It offers both a genuine contribution to the field and a fresh look at the work of leading.’ Dr Richard Bolden, Centre for Leadership Studies, University of Exeter Business School, UK ‘This edited collection provides a fascinating and intellectually challenging perspective on the labour of leadership as an emotional rather than purely psychological and individual act of influence. A must read for students and academics interested in the critical study of leadership.’ Dr Simon Kelly, School of Management, Bradford University, UK

Leadership as Emotional Labour

Even if we don’t realise it, most of us are now familiar with the idea of ‘emotional labour’; that ‘service with a smile’ which everyone from cabin crew to restaurant or call centre staff is expected to give, irrespective of what they actually feel or think. This book considers the complex ways in which this need to show (or hide) particular emotions translates into job roles – specifically those of leaders or managers – where the relationships are lasting rather than transient, two-way rather than uni-directional and have complex, ongoing goals rather than straightforward, one-off ones. The book contends that these differences contribute unique characteristics to the nature of the emotional labour required and expounds and explores this new species within the ‘emotional labour’ genus. The main theme of this book is the explication and exploration of emotional labour in the context of leadership and management. As such, it focuses both on how our understanding of emotional labour in this context enriches the original construct and where it deviates from it. By exploring these issues at the level of situated practices and the real world, real time experiences of leaders, the book seeks to make an innovative and nuanced contribution to our understanding of the emotional element within ‘leadership work’. Marian Iszatt-White is Director of the Executive MBA at Lancaster University Management School, UK, where she teaches leadership and organizational behaviour. Her research interests include leadership as emotional labour and feeling valued at work. Her publications include a study of leadership in Further Education.

Routledge Studies in Management, Organizations and Society

This series presents innovative work grounded in new realities, addressing issues crucial to an understanding of the contemporary world. This is the world of organised societies, where boundaries between formal and informal, public and private, local and global organizations have been displaced or have vanished, along with other nineteenth century dichotomies and oppositions. Management, apart from becoming a specialized profession for a growing number of people, is an everyday activity for most members of modern societies. Similarly, at the level of enquiry, culture and technology, and literature and economics, can no longer be conceived as isolated intellectual fields; conventional canons and established mainstreams are contested. Management, Organizations and Society addresses these contemporary dynamics of transformation in a manner that transcends disciplinary boundaries, with books that will appeal to researchers, students and practitioners alike. 1.

Gender and Entrepreneurship An ethnographic approach Attila Bruni, Silvia Gherardi and Barbara Poggio

2.

Understanding Organization as Process Theory for a tangled world Tor Hernes

7. Management and the Dominance of Managers An inquiry into why and how managers rule our organizations Thomas Diefenbach 8. International Management and International Relations A critical perspective from Latin America Edited by Ana Guedes and Alex Faria

3.

Time in Organizational Research Edited by Robert A. Roe, Mary J. Waller and Stewart R. Clegg

4.

Efficiency and Management Guy Callender

5.

Values-Based Service for Sustainable Business Lessons from IKEA Bo Edvardsson and Bo Enquist

10. Style Differences in Cognition, Learning, and Management Theory, research, and practice Stephen Rayner and Eva Cools

6.

The Public Services under Reconstruction Client experiences, professional practices, managerial control Marja Gastelaars

11. Storytelling and the Future of Organizations An antenarrative handbook Edited by David Boje

9. Visual Culture in Organizations Theory and cases Alexander Styhre

12. Pluralism in Management Organizational theory, management education, and Ernst Cassirer Eirik J. Irgens 13. Why Organizational Change Fails Robustness, tenacity, and change in organizations Leike Van Oss and Jaap Van ’t Hek 14. Imagining Organization Performative imagery in business and beyond Edited by Paolo Quattrone, FrancoisRegis Puyou, Chris McLean and Nigel Thrift 15. Gender Equity in Science and Engineering Advancing change in higher education Diana Bilimoria and Xiangfen Liang 16. Commitment to Work and Job Satisfaction Studies of work orientations Edited by Bengt Furåker, Kristina Håkansson and Jan Ch. Karlsson 17. Fair Trade Organizations and Social Enterprise Social innovation through hybrid organization models Benjamin Huybrechts 18. Organizations and the Bioeconomy The management and commodification of the life sciences Alexander Styhre 19. Managing Corporate Values in Diverse National Cultures The challenge of differences Philippe d’Iribarne 20. Leadership as Emotional Labour Management and the ‘managed heart’ Edited by Marian Iszatt-White

Other titles in this series: Contrasting Involvements A study of management accounting practices in Britain and Germany Thomas Ahrens Turning Words, Spinning Worlds Chapters in organizational ethnography Michael Rosen Breaking Through the Glass Ceiling Women, power and leadership in agricultural organizations Margaret Alston The Poetic Logic of Administration Styles and changes of style in the art of organizing Kaj Sköldberg Casting the Other Maintaining gender inequalities in the workplace Edited by Barbara Czarniawska and Heather Höpfl Gender, Identity and the Culture of Organizations Edited by Iiris Aaltio and Albert J. Mills Text/Work Representing organization and organizing representation Edited by Stephen Linstead The Social Construction of Management Texts and identities Nancy Harding Management Theory A critical and reflexive reading Nanette Monin

Leadership as Emotional Labour Management and the ‘managed heart’ Edited by Marian Iszatt-White

First published 2013 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada by Routledge 711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2013 editorial matter and selection, Marian Iszatt-White; individual chapters, the contributors. The right of Marian Iszatt-White to be identified as the author of the editorial material, and of the authors for their individual chapters, has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data Leadership as emotional labour : management and the “managed heart” / edited by Marian Iszatt-White. p. cm. — (Routledge studies in management, organizations, and society ; 20) Includes bibliographical references and index. 1. Leadership—Social aspects. 2. Leadership—Psychological aspects. 3. Management—Social aspects. 4. Management—Psychological aspects. 5. Emotions. 6. Interpersonal relations. 7. Organizational behavior—Social aspects. 8. Service industries—Social aspects. I. Iszatt-White, Marian. HD57.7.L43164 2012 658.4'092—dc23 2012008507 ISBN: 978-0-415-67435-5 (hbk) ISBN: 978-0-203-09840-0 (ebk) Typeset in Times New Roman by RefineCatch Limited, Bungay, Suffolk

Contents

List of illustrations Notes on contributors 1

Introduction: the ‘Managed Heart’

xi xii 1

MARIAN ISZATT-WHITE

2

Leadership as emotional labour: so what’s new?

14

MARIAN ISZATT-WHITE

3

Leadership as emotional and compassionate labour: managing the human side of the enterprise

37

JOAN V. GALLOS

4

Getting to the ‘heart’ of leaders doing emotional labour: a methodological, theoretical and empirical contribution

56

DALVIR SAMRA-FREDERICKS

5

How leading with emotional labour creates common identities

80

RONALD H. HUMPHREY

6

The ‘Managed Heart’ of leaders: the role of emotional intelligence

106

FRANCES M. PEART, AMANDA ROAN AND NEAL M. ASHKANASY

7

Truth, authenticity and emotional labour: a practitioner’s perspective

129

SUE INGRAM AND MARIAN ISZATT-WHITE

8

Middle managers’ emotional labour in disseminating culture change: a case study in the requirement for changing values SHARON TURNBULL

153

x

Contents 9 Valuing employees: management rhetoric, employee experiences and the implications for leadership

173

MARIAN ISZATT-WHITE

10 Games leaders play: using Transactional Analysis to understand emotional dissonance

192

SARA LODGE

11 Conclusions: management and the ‘Managed Heart’

220

MARIAN ISZATT-WHITE

Index

236

Illustrations

Figures Figure 9.1 Feeling Valued – The Factor Clusters Figure 10.1 The Ego States Model Figure 10.2 The Drama Triangle

181 195 198

Tables Table 5. 1 Table 6.1

How skilful leaders use emotional labour at the five levels of emotions in organizations Emotional labour and emotional intelligence

99 117

Contributors

Neal M. Ashkanasy is Professor of Management and Member of the Leadership and Change Research Group at the University of Queensland Business School, The University of Queensland, Australia. Joan V. Gallos is Professor of Leadership, University of Missouri Curators’ Distinguished Teaching Professor and Director of the Executive MBA Program at the Henry W. Bloch School of Management at the University of Missouri-Kansas City, USA. Ronald H. Humphrey is Professor in the Department of Management at Virginia Commonwealth University, USA. Sue Ingram is Managing Director of Performance Resolution Ltd and Honorary Teaching Fellow at the University of Lancaster, UK. Marian Iszatt-White is Director of the Executive MBA at Lancaster University Management School, UK. Sara Lodge is Director of Beehive Coaching and Leadership Development Ltd, UK. Frances M. Peart is a PhD Student at the University of Queensland Business School, The University of Queensland, Australia. Amanda Roan is Senior Lecturer in Management at the University of Queensland Business School, The University of Queensland, Australia. Dalvir Samra-Fredericks is Reader in Organizational Behaviour at Nottingham Business School, Nottingham Trent University, UK. Sharon Turnbull is Professor at Durham Business School, UK and Director of the Centre for Applied Leadership Research, The Leadership Trust, UK.

1

Introduction The ‘Managed Heart’ Marian Iszatt-White

In her seminal work, The Managed Heart, Hochschild (1983) drew attention to the increasing requirement by employers, particularly in service industries, for their staff to perform ‘emotion work’ or to attempt to change or manage their emotions in order to present only those feelings that are deemed suitable to the situation and/ or suppress those which are deemed inappropriate. The requirement to conform to socially accepted display rules or ‘feeling rules’ – i.e. we don’t laugh at funerals; we do smile at weddings; we speak respectfully to our bosses; we tend not to show explosive anger at work, and so on – is accepted by Hochschild as being in line with a learned ‘social structure’ and a necessary skill within a smooth-running society: it is the appropriation of this skill for commercial purposes that is most properly termed ‘emotional labour’ and that is under scrutiny here. The fixed smile and friendly, helpful manner of airline cabin crew and the cheery ‘have a nice day’ greeting of McDonalds staff – even in the face of the most difficult, unappreciative passenger or customer – is presented as the epitome of ‘the social actor’s ability to work on emotion in order to present a socially desirable performance and capitalism’s appropriation of that skill’ (Bolton and Boyd, 2003: 291). This appropriation of emotional skill is summarized by Hochschild in her description of the work airline cabin crew are expected to perform: The company lays claim not simply to her physical motions – how she handles food trays – but to her emotional actions and the way they show in the ease of a smile . . . For the flight attendant, the smiles are a part of her work, a part that requires her to co-ordinate self and feeling so that the work seems to be effortless. To show that enjoyment takes effort is to do the job poorly. Similarly, part of the job is to disguise fatigue and irritation, for otherwise the labour would show in an unseemly way, and the product – passenger contentment – would be damaged. (Hochschild, 1983: 7–8) Hochschild goes on to outline three modes of emotional expression, all of which can be drawn into commercial service. In the cognitive mode, the labourer attempts to change images, ideas or thoughts in the service of changing the feelings associated with them (a classic example of this in my own domain of education would be the reframing of a ‘failure’ as ‘an opportunity for learning’). Recognizing

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the link between the emotional and physical, the bodily mode of emotion management entails attempting to change somatic or other physical symptoms of emotion, such as trying to breathe more slowly or trying not to shake when we are nervous or frightened. In the third mode, the expressive mode, the act of trying to change expressive gestures in the service of changing inner feeling – for example trying to smile, or to cry – we are attempting to clothe ourselves in the accepted expressions of a particular emotion without feeling it on the inside. In defining the construct of emotional labour, Hochschild delineated clear characteristics for jobs that may be expected to require emotional labour. They are said to: • • •

entail face-to-face or voice-to-voice contact with the public; require the worker to produce an emotional state in another person; and allow the employer, through training and supervision, to exercise control over the emotional activities of employees.

Bolton (2005) would add a fourth criterion to this list, namely the ‘creation of a profitable product with the use of emotional labour as a major factor in its production’ (2005: 51). The ‘product’ here need not be physical – indeed is more likely not to be – but constitutes some form of ‘value added’ to the underlying service such that customer satisfaction or contentment is enhanced and repeat business is more likely to be secured. Hence early studies were undertaken in relation to front-line service sector employees, such as airline cabin crew and – curiously, perhaps – debt collectors. In the latter case, the ‘value added’ was more effective repayment of debt rather than more contented customers, but the role of emotions – fear and shame in this case – is still evident in achieving this end. Later studies included broader forms of service, such as nursing staff and teachers, which still clearly meet Hochschild’s criteria for jobs requiring emotional labour. A strict interpretation of the above criteria may prompt a question as to the appropriateness of applying the term ‘emotional labour’ to leadership – depending upon how one interprets ‘the public’ and even ‘exercises control’. In this book, I, along with others, will contend that the term still makes sense in relation to our understanding of how leaders ‘do leadership’ and certainly adds value to our understanding of this important discipline. It can also be seen as adding a richness to the emotional labour construct without in any way diluting the power of its original focus. In contemplating the ways in which emotional labour may be performed, and for whose benefit, Hochschild differentiated between ‘surface acting’, where the emotional labourer was required to put on a display of the appropriate emotion to the customer in compliance with organizational expectations, and ‘deep acting’ where the aim was to ‘deceiv[e] oneself as well as deceiving others’ (Hampson and Junor, 2005: 174, citing Hochschild, 1983: 33). This latter can be ‘either “passive” (the automatic, routine and largely unconscious adoption of a role) or “active” (working on one’s own thoughts and feelings in order to produce the required emotion and emotional impact)’ (Hampson and Junor, 2005: 174).

Introduction 3 Hochschild (1979: 558) clarifies the distinction by referring to two differing approaches to stage acting, that of adopting the ‘outward demeanour’ of the character to be portrayed versus that of the actor ‘guid[ing] his memories and feelings in such a way as to elicit the corresponding expressions’. In either case, it was Hochschild’s view that this relationship is entirely exploitative and one-sided, with the only gain or benefit to the employee being financial. Subsequent authors have seen this form of social interaction as more complex. So, for example, O’Brien (1994) saw emotional labour as an instrument of social control: in a study of health care provision and health promotion he suggested that ‘it is through performing emotional labours that nurses perceive that their primary lever for individual change lies’ (O’Brien, 1994: 402). Considering emotional labour by teachers, Price (2001) suggested that earlier accounts of the phenomenon ignore the potential for rewarding dimensions within this type of work, and how by drawing on ‘very ordinary, universal capacities for relating to others as deserving of recognition, empathy and respect’ (Price, 2001: 179) it gives a moral dimension to ‘human services’ work. Zapf and Holz (2006) considered the balance between positive and negative effects resulting from emotional labour, seeing the level of emotional dissonance as being important in determining the sense of stress versus personal accomplishment produced. And in seeing the concept of emotional labour as providing an incomplete account of interactive service work, Hampson and Junor, (2005) characterize it as a species of ‘articulation work’ – the invisible ‘working out and carrying through of work related arrangements’ (Strauss, 1993: 87, cited in Hampson and Junor, 2005: 168) which contribute to the total working interaction. In one of the key extensions of the original theory, Bolton and Boyd (2003) take the view that Hochschild’s formulation of emotional labour – where ‘offering cynical performances in the form of “surface acting” results in ultimate alienation from one’s “true self” and deep acting, that is efforts to conjure up sincere performances, results in “altering” one’s self’ (Bolton and Boyd, 2003: 290, drawing on Hochschild, 1983: 186–8) – is too absolutist in its implementation and consequences. As such, it makes no allowance for the distinctions between the capitalist exploitation of ‘service with a smile’, emotion work arising from internalized views of professional norms of conduct, and emotion work arising in the normal course of social interaction (such as the ‘white lie’ which avoids hurting a friend’s feelings). In moving between these different modes, it is suggested that emotional labourers, such as airline cabin crew, are not always on the receiving end of an emotional agenda set by their employers, but are ‘skilled emotional managers who are able to juggle and synthesize different types of emotion work dependant on situational demands’ (Bolton and Boyd, 2003: 289). Bolton and Boyd’s concept of ‘skilled emotional managers’ thus recognizes a distinction between emotional work which occurs in response to the requirements of an employer or job role, where it may rightly be referred to as emotional labour, and that which occurs as a routine part of how we manage our emotions in the world. In recognizing this multiplicity of agendas, Bolton (2005) also identified four distinct types of emotional self-management in organizations:

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• •

pecuniary – which equates most directly to Hochschild’s ‘emotional labour’; presentational – the equivalent of ‘emotion work’ (Hochschild, 1983) or ‘presentation of the self’ (Goffman, 1978); prescriptive – which captures the everyday following of occupational feeling rules, but as a professional commitment rather than an explicitly economic act; and philanthropic – which Bolton sees as the giving of ‘that little extra’ during a social exchange in the workplace.

•

•

To encompass this array of agendas and motivations, Bolton uses the term ‘emotional management’, subsuming within it Hochschild’s original construct. Under this typology, workers do more than just sell their emotions in a commercial context. They are skilled emotional managers who are able to juggle and synthesize different types of ‘emotion work’ as they move in and out of the different agendas, personal, professional and organizational, which shape their working lives. So, for example, a member of an airline cabin crew gives ‘service with a smile’ (pecuniary) to a passenger asking for their drink to be refilled; then looks sad (presentational) when her fellow crew member tells her she has split up from her partner; then remains calm (prescriptive) when the pilot announces the plane will be flying through turbulence and a nervous flyer needs reassurance; and finally provides genuine reassurance (philanthropic) to a child who is frightened by the bumpy ride – all in the space of 10 minutes! This familiar scenario clearly demonstrates Bolton and Boyd’s contention, with which most of us would freely agree, that it is ‘not always the organisation that defines the emotional agenda’ (2003: 291). Building on Bolton’s (2000a; 2000b) distinction between different types of organizational emotionality, Lewis (2005), for example, explores how and when nurses choose between ‘prescriptive’ and ‘philanthropic’ forms of emotion management, the gendered nature of the resultant behaviours, and their associations with ‘professional’ and ‘caring’ aspects of the nurses’ work. In an alternative if somewhat confusing typology, Miller, Considine and Garner (2007) consider the sources and targets of workplace emotions by adding ‘emotion with work’, ‘emotion at work’ and ‘emotion toward work’ to refer respectively to emotions stemming from interactions with co-workers, emotions arising from non-work sources which are nonetheless experienced within the workplace, and emotions in which work itself is the target of the emotion experienced. These emotion types, said to be drawn from the extant literature, are in addition to the authentic and inauthentic interactions with customers and clients which they refer to in a confusing if minor variation from Hochschild as ‘emotional labour’ and ‘emotional work’. Whilst their work in exploring these emotion types through the analysis of workplace narratives is an interesting and useful addition to the main body of ‘emotion at work’ literature, the typology itself seems to add to the lack of conceptual clarity perceived by Bolton and discussed below. In a broad review of the field, Bolton (2005) makes an important contribution to the debate surrounding the appropriation of the term ‘emotional labour’ to refer to wider issues of emotional management in professional and caring roles, suggesting that it is an inadequate term to cover all the aspects of emotion

Introduction 5 management to which it is often applied. So, for example, whilst acknowledging Fineman’s (1993) contribution to our understanding of the role of emotions in organizations, she takes issue with his use of the term ‘emotional labour’ in relation to acts of caring and suggests that there is ‘little evidence of conceptual clarity’ (Bolton, 2005: 54) in his use of the term. She similarly accuses Hearn of using the phrase as ‘a catch-all phrase to describe any and every type of emotion in organisations’ (Bolton, 2005: 54) when he states that ‘in one sense all organisational work, membership and presence is emotion labour . . . Indeed the quality of being in an organisation – organisation-ness – is itself a form of emotion or emotional labour’ (Hearn, 1993: 161). She similarly contests the application of the term to the professions and to internal relationships between employees within the same organization, again referring to Hochschild’s original job specifications by way of justification. In referring to an emotional labour ‘bandwagon’ and the misuse of the construct in relation to nursing and the legal profession, she may perhaps be hinting at a commercial appropriation of the construct of emotional labour which in some respect parallels the nature of the construct itself. Whilst, in point of exactitude, we can see and appreciate the distinctions Bolton is making – and can commend her adherence to the original parameters of the construct and Hochschild’s defence of them – we can also see the role this adherence plays in enabling her to promulgate her own typology as a valuable refinement of its predecessor and as a potential barrier to the further development of this important area of knowledge. This refinement is indeed valuable, but extension of the construct to new domains – with some necessary caveats and amendments – can be equally valuable. Intuitively, leadership stands as a discipline which can derive much benefit from innovative attempts to understand its day-today practice and the role of emotions in its successful accomplishment. That the leaders participating in research in this field readily relate to the notion of ‘emotional labour’ and the effort and dissonance of which it is often productive seems to support our adoption of this more narrowly defined term. In a discipline which relies heavily on metaphor for its sense-making, to use ‘emotional labour’ as a metaphor in preference to the more accurate, but less descriptive ‘emotion management’ seems to me to be a forgivable sin. That the contributing authors in this volume have, to a large extent, chosen to work with this metaphor is suggested to be a vindication of the insight it offers even where some of the original niceties are lost. Where those niceties are of analytical significance – as they often are – we can still draw on them for clarity and to locate our work in the existing field. But, in the main, our efforts are directed at moving forward: at synthesizing one area of knowledge with another in order to generate new insights which are greater than the sum of the parts. In this endeavour, we hope not to tread on the toes of the purists amongst those who have followed Hochshild, but to draw on the insights she gave us and to adapt them to our own use.

Leadership and emotional labour Notwithstanding the later developments surrounding emotional labour, in essence it has remained a creature of the service industry, with the relatively superficial

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and transient emotional displays which such labour calls forth in this domain. This book considers the more complex ways in which this need to show (or hide) particular emotions translates into job roles – specifically those of leaders or managers – where the relationships are lasting rather than transient, two-way rather than uni-directional, and have complex, ongoing goals rather than straightforward, one-off ones. The book contends that these differences contribute unique characteristics to the nature of the emotional labour required, and expounds and explores this new species within the ‘emotional labour’ genus. At the same time, it can be argued that leadership theory is at a crossroads. With a rich history of theoretical approaches behind it – from traits to behaviours, leader-focused to follower-constructed – the discipline remains a long way from fully understanding this most complex and varied activity. What recent approaches do recognize, however, is the importance of the ‘human element’. There is much talk of propounding a vision to motivate followers, and the role of leaders as ‘managers of meaning’ (Smircich and Morgan, 1982). The dream of the ‘happy, productive worker’ (Staw, 1996) remains the Holy Grail of organizational research, and the emphasis placed on leadership as the means by which it might be delivered continues to grow. New theories of spiritual leadership (Fry, 2005), authentic leadership (Avolio and Gardner, 2005), and even servant leadership (Spears and Lawrence, 2004) all speak to the emotional component within the leader–follower relationship. This book addresses this emotional component from a new angle – not that of a philosophical proposal, but through a detailed examination of the ‘emotion work’ performed by leaders in order to ‘bring off’ the accomplishment of leadership activities. Thus the main theme of this book is the explication and exploration of emotional labour in the context of leadership and management. As such, it focuses both on how our understanding of emotional labour in this context enriches the original construct, and where it deviates from it. In so doing, it considers some of the fundamentals of emotional labour, such as deep versus surface acting, emotional dissonance, and the different agendas and types of ‘emotion work’ encountered by the ‘skilled emotional manager’ (Bolton and Boyd, 2003: 289). It explores the extent to which emotional labour work requires more of the competent leader than mere ‘emotional intelligence’ (Salovey and Mayer, 1990). It also considers the impact of value congruence in characterizing emotional labour in a management context, and the extent to which this might be an essentially public sector phenomenon. By exploring these issues at the level of situated practices and the real world, real-time experiences of leaders, the book seeks to make an innovative and nuanced contribution to our understanding of the emotional element within ‘leadership work’.

An overview of the contributions that follow In this chapter, I have laid the groundwork for the idea of emotional labour beyond the service sector and suggested how it might be a more complex species of the phenomenon than that set out by Hochschild, or even by Bolton. In Chapter 2 – ‘Leadership as emotional labour: So what’s new?’ – I expand this theme by

Introduction 7 seeking to establish in more detail the character of emotional labour as it relates to leadership, and contrast this with our understanding of the construct as it relates to service industry roles. In particular, I focus on the complexity of the emotion work required and the contribution it makes to the accomplishment of leadership as an ongoing activity. This complexity derives from a number of sources – the ongoing nature of the relationships involved, the wide variety of situations encountered, issues of hierarchy and consistency, and the different requirements of oneto-one and one-to-many presentations of leadership. As a result of these features, the formulaic nature of service encounters is replaced by the need to respond appropriately to the situation as a situation at the same time as displaying the appropriate emotions. Similarly, the emotions themselves might be a combination of professional display rules, social display rules and – the added factor here – the emphasis or de-emphasis of felt emotions as an explicit tool of leadership. It is in this respect that the chapter claims that professional ‘emotional labour’ – and specifically that undertaken by leaders – goes beyond the possession of emotional intelligence (Goleman, 1995), a more common theme within the management literature. In Chapter 3 – ‘Leadership as emotional and compassionate labour: Managing the human side of the enterprise’ – Joan Gallos explores the concept of compassionate leadership and the complexities of managing the human side of enterprise. The chapter puts the powerful human emotions around loss and change at the heart of the leadership process and identifies core strategies for generating the positive and facilitative emotional environment vital for leadership success. In so doing, it underscores the social nature of leadership and the importance of the complex intrapersonal and relationship management skills for leaders that are too often under-valued in a work world where job descriptions emphasize the rational and observable whilst neglecting emotional elements of work (Guy, Newman and Mastracci, 2008). To do this, Joan presents a detailed exploration of two cases which illustrate the complexities and opportunities in managing the human dynamics of loss and change at the heart of the leadership process. She contrasts the emphasis on love, people and passion which Howard Shultz displayed in his leadership of Starbucks with what she describes as an ‘all-too-typical story of failed leadership’. Drawing on Bolman and Gallos (2011) she relays the sad (disguised but true) tale of ‘Donald Quixote’, who came in as the new president of a large university with ambitious plans for renewal and greatness. In discussing these case studies, Joan explicates the role of the leader as a magnet for follower hope and angst and considers the dependence of others on the leader as a handler of toxic emotions in unhealthy work systems. Successful leaders are said to infuse their organizations with excitement and positive direction, while managing the inevitable emotional spill-over of individual development and organizational change. To do this well, leaders must bring their full self to their work, understand their choices and drivers, and sustain their efforts through nourishing body and soul. Chapter 4 – ‘Getting to ‘the heart’ of leaders doing emotional labour: A methodological, theoretical and empirical contribution’ – continues Dalvir

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Samra-Frederick’s programme of work seeking to contribute to sociological studies of emotions in organizations and the simultaneous speaking of emotionality and rationality. The chapter draws on previous work where an innovative approach to ethnographical research was shown to be valuable in getting to ‘the heart’ of the phenomenon – the phenomenon in question being emotional labour as it is enacted in the then-and-there. In the current chapter, just one component of the wider sociological study is considered in terms of the everyday interactional assembly of emotions by those who also simultaneously accomplish leadership ‘roles’ or identities. The chapter also reiterates the argument that we need to extend the ethnographic-observational approach to include real-time audio-recordings subjected to detailed analysis. From doing so, insight into, and theoretical development of, members simultaneous speaking of emotionality and rationality during naturally occurring interactions over time and space becomes possible. Dalvir draws on Nash’s study of rhetoric as emotion and the four discursive constituents deployed by orators to show how one senior member in a manufacturing company intertwined emotional expressiveness and a rhetoric of rationality to influence complex interactional-organizational processes. Two brief transcribed extracts from her earlier study are reproduced: one is abstracted from the ebb and flow of interaction to illustrate typical everyday ‘mini-speeches’ of ‘great’ oratory skillfully intertwined with emotional labour. The second brings in interaction, revealing the ways emotion can be likened to a ‘barometer of moral and relational ethics’. A third extract from another study concludes the chapter. It points to future research efforts where a female vice president in a hi-tech company sought to legitimate her assembly of the emotional–rational couplet. The chapter adopts a dynamic rendering of identity as emergent and relationally-rhetorically accomplished, and crucially, always assisted by and thus infused with, emotion. The transcribed extracts of elites-at-talk illustrate the scope of this fine-grained analysis and its potential to theoretically further extend the field of studies opened up by Nash’s account of rhetoric as emotion and the work of the sociologists Goffman, Garfinkel and Sacks. In Chapter 5 – ‘How leading with emotional labour creates common identities’ – Ron Humphrey develops a model of how leaders use emotional labour in their everyday leadership work, and positions this against our understanding of emotional labour in the service sector. The chapter starts by discussing how leaders use emotional labour and emotion regulation to take control of their own emotional reactions to help them overcome negative affective events in the workplace. It then explores the use of emotional labour by leaders in influencing and motivating their followers. In this context, Ron expounds on three types of emotional labour – surface acting, deep acting and spontaneous or genuine emotions – and demonstrates how leaders use them to display emotions to followers and team-members and thereby control emotional contagion processes. He also covers some additional dimensions and factors that influence the emotional labour process and, in relation to both these elements, compares and contrasts the types of emotional labour performed by leaders with that performed by different types of service workers.

Introduction 9 The chapter goes on to extensively explore the different levels of identification and how people identify with their roles and their organizations. Because authenticity is a key concept in both the literature on emotional labour and the literature on identity, there is an important discussion here which ties the two literatures together by examining their common focus on authenticity. The chapter then goes on to show how leading with emotional labour creates two-way, interactive empathic bonds that create a shared sense of identity among leaders, followers, and team-members. The relationship between emotional labour and social identity processes is explored, as are the ways in which leaders build identification (both individually and collectively) with followers. Finally, the chapter offers a model of how this shared identity and interactive empathic bond contributes to the development of shared meanings and a common vision for the group, organization or society. The relationship between emotional intelligence and emotional labour is explored in more detail in Chapter 6 – ‘The managed heart of leaders: The role of emotional intelligence’ – by Frances Peart, Amanda Roan and Neal Ashkanasy. While the constructs of emotional labour and emotional intelligence have figured prominently in the leadership literature of late, and may even be seen as being in competition for our attention, no attempt has been made to date to integrate the constructs in this context. This important gap in the field is addressed in this chapter, in which the authors develop a model of leadership that incorporates both of these constructs as a means to further our understanding of emotions and emotional management in leadership. In particular, they view the four branches of the Mayer and Salovey model of emotional intelligence (perceiving, assimilating, understanding, and managing emotion) as essential components of ‘leading with emotional labour’. They illustrate their integrative model by reference to a field study of nurse managers working in a for-profit hospital setting in Australia, thus providing valuable evidence for how these two significant constructs are both similar and distinctive. In bringing the constructs of emotional intelligence and emotional labour together, they observe that, ‘hand in hand with the notion that an individual’s emotional intelligence assists them to display organizationally required emotions, is the perspective that other individuals perceive and understand that emotional labour’. They conclude by suggesting future avenues for research in this important field. Having themselves focused (as we all have) on the performance of emotional labour from the perspective of the leader performing it, they suggest that the next step is to investigate emotional labour from the perspective of the people to whom it is directed or those who are watching it: the peers, subordinates and superiors at whom it is directed. Chapter 7 – ‘Truth, authenticity and emotional labour: A practitioners’ perspective’ – seeks to bring together the academic and practitioner perspectives with the aim of providing richly detailed narratives of the ‘doing’ of emotional labour and locating them in the literature surrounding ‘authentic leadership’ (Avolio and Gardner, 2005). This literature, and its bed-fellows in the form of servant leadership (Spears and Lawrence, 2004), spiritual leadership (Fry, 2005) and ethical leadership (Ciulla, 2005) – for which authentic leadership claims to be

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the ‘root construct’ – are all in a largely emergent and philosophical stage of development. As such, they sound like a great idea but may be expected to produce their share of difficulties in the actual execution! For example, since most leaders would recognize the existence of emotional labour in their everyday working lives, how do we square this ‘performance’ with the requirements of being authentic? Similarly, telling the absolute truth can often be painful and/or unproductive – for the manager with goals and objectives to meet, is it always possible to be authentic and still get the job done? And how do we as leaders decide what gives and what holds in those situations? Sue Ingram, practitioner, teacher and executive coach draws on her own experience and that of her clients to bring fresh perspectives from managers and senior managers on these and related issues, whilst I attempt to square the reality with the often somewhat altruistic teachings of recent theorizing. In the course of these discussions, the chapter provides the reader with stories, experiences and tactics for coping with the real challenges of expending and managing emotional labour in the workplace. There are examples from both public and private sectors, and from a range of managerial levels, which collectively seek to understand the ongoing nature of emotional labour and to explore examples of where extra labour (beyond that which we all perform every day of our lives) has been required to meet organizational objectives. Coping strategies, in terms of balancing personal values, thinking and support systems are also identified. In Chapter 8 – ‘Middle managers’ emotional labour in disseminating culture change: A case study in the requirement for changing values’ – Sharon Turnbull pursues a similarly empirical path with a detailed case study of emotional labour in a period of culture change. Set in a major defence contractor responding to significant changes in strategy arising from the demands of their largest customer (the MOD), this chapter looks at the practice of emotional labour in a time of personal transition. By way of background to the case study, Sharon explores what she calls the ‘rise of the normative organisation’ and what this implies for the psychological contracts of those who work within them. In this context, she contends that middle managers – caught between the instigators of change programmes and the intended recipients – are the most likely to experience emotional dissonance as they struggle to implement a succession of change programmes and initiatives. As this neverending process goes on, they must control their own emotions (doubts, concerns, scepticism) at the same time as enthusiastically exhorting others to buy in. This scenario is explored in detail through participant observation of a 12-month, 1,500-employee-wide change programme rolled out to middle managers at ‘Aeroco’. In detailing the emotional labour – and emotional dissonance – of the managers involved, the chapter addresses the question of how managers present a convincing role model of the new culture being instigated by the organization, when they have yet to internalize its features themselves. And how they do so when their own views of the culture and what it may demand of them may be uncertain or against long-held values. The chapter reproduces a journal paper published a number of years ago, and constituting at the time a highly innovative attempt to empirically explore

Introduction 11 emotional labour in a management context. At the time, it raised some important questions concerning the pivotal role of middle managers in organizational change, and the price they potentially pay for delivering it. As Sharon’s presentday commentary makes clear, we have still a long way to go in delivering to the research agenda she then set out, and the insights of the original case study remain as rich and as valuable today as they were when they were first published. In Chapter 9 – ‘Valuing employees: Management rhetoric, employee experiences and the implications for leadership’ – I take an ethnographic approach to the explication of valuing practices by leaders, and their perception by followers. In providing a detailed account of such practices, the chapter seeks to provide empirical evidence of the motivational role of leaders at the ‘micro’ level, in contrast to the more usual current focus on the articulation of grand visions. More specifically, the chapter examines the gap between management rhetoric on how employees are valued and employees’ experiences. Management discourses relating to employees as valued assets – for example the rhetoric of Investors In People – are seen to shape employees’ expectations of what it is to feel valued, and why it is desirable. The ‘feeling valued’ construct, already defined by the author, aims to capture an individualized, positive, emotional response to the praise or recognition of others arising from the moment-by-moment expression of value for some ability or quality. The feeling will be moderated by a range of factors including situation salience, evaluator relationship, cultural and gender-based expectations, and environmental factors such as job security. Employees’ experiences of feeling valued are explicated using data from two ethnographic studies in the learning and skills sector. The chapter goes on to explore the implications of the perceived gap between expectations and experiences for the practice of leadership. In particular, the need for ‘emotional labour’ by leaders attempting to meet employee expectations and generate the willingness to contribute discretionary effort and go beyond mere ‘task performance’ is explicated from the data gathered from the two studies. Chapter 10 – ‘Games leaders play: Using Transactional Analysis to understand emotional dissonance’ by Sara Lodge – synthesises two areas of theory from different disciplines – emotional labour and Transactional Analysis (TA) – to provide a more nuanced perspective of practitioners’ experience of emotional management within leadership roles and, in particular, to explore the factors which determine the degree of emotional dissonance experienced. Sara uses TA, a theory that encompasses child development, personality and systemic constructivism, to gain a more nuanced understanding of one element of leadership emotion work, that of emotional dissonance. Eric Berne’s (1968) classic structural ego-state model, and his notion of script, are used as analytical frameworks – along with Karpman’s (2007) Drama Triangle to present a fine-grained exploration of CEOs’ experiences of emotional dissonance and its opposite. From the analysis of in-depth interviews with practising CEOs it appeared that in all the instances of emotional dissonance described, the discrepancy between displayed and felt emotions could be explained in terms of ego states such that there was incongruence between the behavioural ego state displayed and the internal ego state experienced.

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In delving into this deeply personal view of leadership, the chapter provides insight into the relationship between emotional dissonance in leaders and negative outcomes such as emotional exhaustion and burnout. It also explores the implications of emotional dissonance for the quality of leader decision-making and the ability of leaders to fully engage with complex situations from an Adult ego-state perspective. The power of ‘script’ – a childhood blueprint for survival – to ‘rubberband’ grown adults back to childhood emotional states in situations of emotional dissonance, and to hook them into game dynamics with negative payoffs, is powerfully demonstrated, as are the implications for decision-making in the ‘here and now’. As a conclusion of this exploration, Sara emphasizes not just the desirability but the necessity of personal development at all leadership levels, to safeguard not only the well-being of the leaders themselves but also the remits with which they are entrusted. In the concluding chapter – ‘Conclusions: Management and the “Managed Heart”’ – I attempt to draw together the various themes already discussed, and summarize our understanding of leadership as emotional labour. I also go on to suggest some of the areas of further research which this undoubtedly incomplete understanding might point to as valuable.

References Avolio, B. J., and Gardner, W. L. (2005) Authentic leadership development: Getting to the root of positive forms of leadership. The Leadership Quarterly, 16: 315–38. Berne, E. (1968) Games People Play. St Ives: Penguin. Bolman, L. G., and Gallos, J. V. (2011) Reframing Academic Leadership. San Francisco: Jossey-Bass. Bolton, S. (2005) Emotion Management in the Workplace. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Bolton, S. (2000a) Who cares? Offering emotion work as a ‘gift’ in the nursing labour process. Journal of Advanced Nursing, 32 (3): 580–6. Bolton, S. (2000b) Emotion here, emotion there, emotional organizations everywhere. Critical Perspectives on Accounting, 11: 155–71. Bolton, S. C., and Boyd, C. (2003) Trolley dolly or skilled emotion manager? Moving on from Hochschild’s Managed Heart. Work, Employment and Society, 17 (2): 289–308. Ciulla, Joanne B. (2005) The state of leadership ethics and the work that lies before us. Business Ethics: A European Review, 14 (4): 323–35. Fineman, S. (1993) Emotion in Organisations. London: Sage. Fry, L. W. (2005) Introduction to ‘The Leadership Quarterly’ special issue: Toward a paradigm of spiritual leadership. The Leadership Quarterly, 16: 619–22. Goffman, E. (1978) The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life. Garden City, NY: Doubleday. Goleman, D. (1995) Emotional Intelligence. New York: Bantam Books. Guy, M. E., Newman, M. A., and Mastracci, S. H. (2008) Emotional Labour: Putting the service in public service. Armonk, NY: M.E. Sharpe. Hampson, I., and Junor, A. (2005) Invisible work, invisible skills: Interactive customer service as articulation work. New Technology, Work and Employment, 20(2): 166–81. Hearn, J. (1993) Emotive subjects: Organisational men, organisational masculinities and the (de)constructing of emotions. In S. Fineman (ed.), Emotion in Organisations. London: Sage.

Introduction 13 Hochschild, A. (1983) The Managed Heart: Commercialization of human feeling. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Hochschild, A. (1979) Emotion work, feeling rules, and social structure. American Journal of Sociology, 85 (3): 551–75. Karpman, S. (2007) The New Drama Triangles. Drama Triangle updates, (online) available at: http://www.karpmandramatriangle.com/dt_article_only.html (accessed 19 February 2012). Lewis, P. (2005) Suppression or expression: An exploration of emotion management in a special care baby unit. Work, Employment and Society, 19 (3): 565–81. Miller, K. I., Considine, J., and Garner, J. (2007) ‘Let me tell you about my job’: Exploring the terrain of emotion in the workplace. Management Communication Quarterly, 20 (3): 231–60. O’Brien, M. (1994) The managed heart revisited: health and social control. The Sociological Review, 393–413. Price, H. (2001) Emotional labour in the classroom: A psychoanalytic perspective. Journal of Social Work Practice, 15 (2) 161–80. Salovey, P., and Mayer, J. (1990) Emotional intelligence. Imagination, Cognition and Personality, 9: 185–211. Smircich, L., and Morgan, G. (1982) Leadership: The management of meaning. The Journal of Applied Behavioural Science, 18 (3): 257–73. Spears, L. and Lawrence, M. (eds) (2004) Practising Servant-leadership: Succeeding through trust, bravery and forgiveness. San Francisco: Jossey-Bass. Staw, B. M. (1996) Organizational psychology and the pursuit of the happy/productive worker. In R. M. Staw, L. W. Porter and G. A. Bigley (eds), Motivation and Leadership at Work. Singapore: McGraw-Hill. Strauss, A. L. (1993) Continual Permutations of Action. New York: Aldine de Gruyter. Zapf, D., and Holz, M. (2006) On the positive and negative effects of emotion work in organizations. European Journal of Work and Organizational Psychology, 15 (1): 1–28.

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Leadership as emotional labour So what’s new? Marian Iszatt-White

Introduction In this chapter, I seek to establish the character of emotional labour as it relates to leadership, and contrast this with our understanding of the construct as it has been explicated in service industry roles. In doing so, I will draw upon those authors who have already made this leap of faith, but also put forward my own proposals as to how these two important constructs mesh together. In particular, I will focus on the complexity of the emotion work required to be performed by practising leaders and the contribution it makes to the accomplishment of leadership as an ongoing activity. At the same time, I will suggest the importance of value congruence in relation to leadership as emotional labour, and set out my views on the implications of this for such things as deep versus surface acting and the issue of who we are really trying to convince when we perform emotional labour as leaders. In support of these propositions, the chapter draws on two empirical studies of the nature of leadership as emotional labour, thus helping to fill what I believe remains an underexplored area in the literature to date. It is an underpinning premise of this chapter that, in professional domains such as the practice of leadership, the complexity of the emotional labour that practitioners are required to perform and its relation to underpinning values and beliefs can be seen to differ from the commercialized ‘service with the smile’ typical of emotional labour in the service roles (Ashforth and Humphrey, 1993; Hochschild, 1983) where it has been more traditionally studied. This is not surprising when we consider the very different relationship between performer and recipient in the two contexts: leaders have an ongoing professional relationship with those they lead, very different from the one-off service encounter previously observed in most emotional labour studies. In addition, leaders are required to produce a more complex and varied species of emotional labour than is the norm in service industry roles. This reflects the greater variety of issues faced by leaders and the greater variety of leadership work required to deal with those issues. The more values-driven, less commercially instrumental aspects of leadership work are also an important consideration in understanding the character of emotional labour in this context, and its effect on those required to perform it. In saying this, it is at the same time necessary to acknowledge that inherent in the initial study

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setting (that of the learning and skills sector) were a number of distinctions and contrasts which may be seen as potentially problematic in their relation to the delineations being drawn, but which the later studies suggest are a problem of degree rather than of kind. Specifically, there are a number of contextual contrasts which can be made – between public sector and commercial/private sector settings; and between values-driven and more transactional relationships between the emotional labourer and the emotion work they perform – which can be seen to have relevance to the research findings. In focusing on different types of leadership work, the chapter necessarily makes some assumptions concerning issues of context in relation to sector and relationship type which, whilst open to challenge, are not seen as fundamentally diminishing or undermining the distinctions that it is the thesis of the chapter to delineate.

Leadership and emotional labour The recognition of leadership as a social influence process (Yukl, 2002) which underpins most current theories – and particularly variations on the charismatic and transformational themes – is an inherent acknowledgement of the use of emotional as well as rational skills in the achievement of organizational goals. Even the most prescriptive and ostensibly rational leadership frameworks require us to recognize that leading an organization or team of people cannot be done without a consideration of emotions. Attempts to match, for example, ‘delegating’ or ‘participating’ leadership behaviours with follower ‘readiness’ – all terms from Hersey and Blanchard’s (1982) original specification of situational leadership theory – implicitly require a degree of emotional awareness which we would now recognize as one of the components of ‘emotional intelligence’ (EI) (Salovey and Mayer, 1990; Goleman, 1995). And discourses in the literature relating to the need to create a vision, gain buy-in, build commitment, and the like (e.g. Kotter, 1996) all tap in to a leader’s ability to persuade through emotional appeal rather than to convince through logic or command on the basis of authority. This recognition that leading is about people, as well as about decision-making, has led to the emergence of a focused strand within the literature addressing the role of emotions in leadership (e.g. Ashkanasy and Daus, 2002), and their impact in organizations more broadly (Fineman, 2000; Weiss and Cropanzano, 1996). The notion of emotional intelligence is strongly featured within the strand (e.g. George, 2000; Wong and Law, 2002), with the ability to recognize specific emotions (Rubin, Munz and Bommer, 2005) in oneself and others being seen as a key component in effective leadership. The importance of emotional competency, whilst widely accepted, is not without its naysayers. These include a fascinating contribution by Locke (2005) contending that the EI construct is in itself invalid (on the grounds that it is not an intelligence, as such, but a collection of skills or habits) and that in relation to leadership it is a fundamentally inadequate substitute for ‘actual intelligence’ (Locke, 2005: 428). Locke also takes issue with the notion that one can ‘reason with emotion’ (Mayer, 1999), contending that this is a contradiction in terms and that one can only ‘reason about emotion’ (Locke, 2005: 427).

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Whilst his complaint that EI is so broadly defined, and contains so many components, as to be almost unintelligible certainly carries some weight, there is undoubtedly value in the EI metaphor, which should not be thrown away on the basis of a strict dissection of its meaning. Where EI does appear to me to fall short is in failing to make enough of the distinction between emotional skills and emotional displays, since whilst emotional intelligence in the round may be said to be concerned with both – to be ‘the ability to understand and manage moods and emotions in the self and others’ (George, 2000: 1027) – it is more frequently seen in the literature as a tool of understanding than of management. So, for example, drawing on Mayer and Solovey’s (1997: 5) definition of emotional intelligence as ‘the ability to perceive emotions, to access and generate emotions so as to assist thought, to understand emotions and emotional knowledge, and to reflectively regulate emotions’, George treats it as an adjunct to and resource for leader reasoning and decision-making. Where emotion management is contemplated within the EI framework, it is seen as a generic (i.e. neither individually directed nor commercially oriented) stabilizing influence on one’s own moods or emotions, or as a similarly group-oriented attempt to inspire or influence others. The need for emotional displays – for the proactive use of emotions-based work in the accomplishment of leadership work – is the extra step which I believe EI has so far failed to take and which the application of the emotional labour construct (Hochschild, 1983) to leadership recognizes in everyday leadership work. In a purist sense, however, it can be counter-argued that the term ‘emotional labour’ should not be applied in the case of leadership work, since this work fails to meet Hochschild’s job criteria in two significant respects: it is not strictly ‘customer facing’ and the display rules required by the setting are not enforced via supervision and training. Whilst both these observations are true, I believe a strong case can be made for extending the domain of emotional labour by relaxing the strict adherence to these criteria which some authors (e.g. Bolton, 2005) would support. Indeed, a strict reading of Hochschild gives grounds for this blurring of the lines in that she herself includes some professions in the scope of her definition. Harris (2002), in his exploration of the emotional labour of barristers, notes her inclusion of lawyers, physicians, clergy and university teachers – what he calls the ‘original status professions’ (Harris, 2002: 559) – in the 56 per cent of workers she sees as undertaking emotional labour. Harris draws out a number of key characteristics of professions as distinct from occupations which, whilst ‘appearing likely to differentially affect the origins, content and consequences of emotional labour’ (Harris, 2002: 554) do not conceptually invalidate the application of the term in this context. Thus the prescription of standards via well-established ethical codes, the largely self-regulating nature of those within the profession and the values-driven nature of much professional work (Fincham and Rhodes, 1998) are all seen as important in shaping the less formulaic nature of emotional labour within professional domains, whilst in no way reducing the extent to which the emotion work undertaken is a commercial labour. Whilst the original status professions had a clear client-facing role, later ‘occupational professions’ such as accountants and engineers (see Larson, 1977; Reader, 1967) provide some

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precedent for the proposed blurring of the lines with regard to the client-facing element of leadership roles. Indeed, if we take Kerr et al.’s (1977) proposed characteristics of professional status – namely expertise, ethics, identification, commitment, autonomy and standards – I think we are soundly justified in linking our expectations of leadership roles with professional occupations and hence placing leaders alongside other professional performers of emotional labour. They certainly perform what Bolton (2005) would refer to as ‘emotion management’ and if their motivations are not solely and explicitly commercial then the context most generally is. Even in the realm of further education – the context of my original study – the recognition that colleges have to be commercially viable and students are also customers brings us only a few steps away from ‘service with a smile’. In bridging what remains of the divide, Harris (2002) usefully introduces the device of ‘private’ and ‘public’ domains of emotional labour, referring respectively to those involving interactions with colleagues versus those undertaken in the outward-facing aspects of a professional role. This differs from Hochschild’s (1983, cited in Theodosius, 2006) linking of emotion work to the ‘private realm’ of home and family and the reservation of emotional labour for the ‘public realm’ of work. Humphrey, Pollack and Hawyer (2008) lay claim to being the first authors to develop a theoretical model of how leaders perform emotional labour, and develop 15 propositions that are said to distinguish emotional labour in this context from its service role counterpart. Significant amongst these are those which relate to the wider range of emotions leaders are required to display, and the greater exercise of judgement entailed in deciding which emotion to display when. In light of this broader emotional remit it is not surprising that, in one of the few empirical studies to include managers alongside service workers, Brotheridge and Grandey (2002) found that their frequency of performing acts of emotional labour was equal to that of their service role counterparts. Whilst Humphrey et al.’s (2008: 153) adoption of the phrase ‘leading with emotional labour’ to refer to ‘managers or other leaders who use emotional labour and emotional displays to influence the moods, emotions, motivations and performance of their subordinates or followers’ provides a useful starting definition, it is very much aligned with the subsequent discussion of leadership emotional labour as a component or tool of effective transformational leadership. In a similar vein, Epitropaki (2006) found that leaders who performed emotional labour were seen by subordinates as more transformational, and Humphrey (2008: 9) advocated that leaders should ‘take steps to introduce positive events into the workplace’. As such the focus to date has been largely on ‘big picture’ displays and, for me, lacks the flavour of the everyday, mundane practices through which leadership work is actually accomplished. I would ask, with Button (1993), what has happened to the ‘missing what’ of leadership work, the routine performances of the corridor chat, the encouraging feedback, the disciplinary interview, that get the job done in between the visionary speeches and transformational intent. Whilst Ashforth and Humphrey’s (1995) offering of four institutionalized mechanisms (neutralizing, buffering, prescribing and normalizing) for regulating the experience and expression of emotions in the

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workplace is a step in the right direction here, the leadership undertones remain firmly transformational. Closer to the mark, I believe, is Gallos’s (2008) stirring account of life in the ‘toxic trenches’ and the notion of leaders as ‘emotional toxin handlers’ or Samra-Fredericks (2003) fine-grained study of the talk-based interactive routines through which strategic leaders were able to shape the attention and opinion of others in order to produce desired strategic outcomes, through their choices of which discourse to deploy, what and how much emotion to show, when to bring elements of company history into play, and how to use mitigating language to turn the flow of debate in order to influence how strategic direction comes to be determined. The need for emotional display within leadership work, as demonstrated by Samra-Fredericks (2004) – for example in the rhetoric of selling a vision – raises the issue of leader authenticity and ‘the morality of inspirational styles of leadership’ (Mitchie and Gooty, 2005: 441). Mitchie and Gooty (2005: 450) argue that self-transcendent values and positive other-directed emotions are important determinants of authentic leadership, whilst Avolio et al. (2004) contend that authentic leaders are able to instil hope, trust and positive affectivity in their followers via personal and social identification. The attribution of positive intention in leader–follower relationships (Dasborough and Ashkanasy, 2002) is said to be an important factor in how such emotional displays are received and the influence they have on behaviour. As with much of the leadership and emotions literature, the focus here is on authentic emotional responses by leaders, and their display as part of the leadership process. The management of emotions as a tool of leadership is rarely mentioned, although Crawford’s (2007) discussion of the symbiotic relationship between emotion and rationality in primary school leadership goes some way towards bridging the gap with the idea of emotional labour (Hochschild, 1983) as a tool of leadership rather than a follower requirement. (See Chapter 7 in this volume for a critique of Gardner, Fischer and Hunt’s (2009) rare attempt to address the issues of authenticity and emotional labour in the context of leadership and the conceptual model of leader emotional displays which they advance.) At the heart of my issues concerning Gardner et al.ʼs (2009) model is my sense that it is somehow ‘mechanical’ in its prescriptions, and thus fails to allow for what I see as some of the key differentiating features of emotional labour in a leadership context. So, for example, my study data would suggest that, for most leaders, their emotion work appears to be underpinned by values and beliefs which see such work as moral and rewarding. Also, the interplay of different forms of emotional labour occurs within the remit of the leadership role rather than representing the movement in and out of role as discussed by Bolton and Boyd (2003) in relation to service settings: it is in this respect – in the variety of in-role emotional labour rather than the different types of emotional labour reflecting differing occupational and personal roles – that leadership emotional labour is now construed as being more varied and potentially complex than its forebears. This premise is supported by Harris’s (2002) study of emotional labour in the professions (discussed above) in which he noted the ability of professionals to slip in and out of the roles expected

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of them by their clients, others in their profession, and the other audiences to which they performed, thus showing an ability to distance themselves from their emotions. With the closer interweaving of emotional labour and issues of personal authenticity which this implies, there is a clear resonance between the potentially detrimental effects of prolonged emotional labour and issues raised in the field of identity theory. These resonances have been picked up by writers who use social identity theory to argue that some effects of emotional labour will be moderated by the personal and social identities of the labourer (Ashforth and Humphrey, 1993) and that ‘emotional dissonance’ (Zapf and Holz, 2006) – hypothesized as leading to emotional exhaustion and lower job satisfaction – is generated by having to express organizationally desired emotions not genuinely felt (Morris and Feldman, 1996). More importantly, I believe, this sense of identity and value congruence turns on its head the relationship between deep acting and who we are trying to convince when we use it to perform emotional labour: the fact that the values and beliefs are already within us doesn’t prevent the management of emotions from being a labour, but does impact on the target at which deep acting is aimed. In the presence of value congruence and identity with the work to be performed, I would suggest it is a tool for producing a more convincing display for others rather than a tool for convincing ourselves that we feel what we are called upon to display. In taking this view, I would agree with Theodosius’s (2006: 894) thesis that ‘an understanding of the interactive nature of emotion and its unconscious processes is necessary to a social analysis of emotion and emotion management.’ This view also has resonance with Hochschild’s original claim that emotion work, through either surface or deep acting, can be done by the ‘self upon the self’, by the ‘self upon others’ or ‘by others upon oneself’ (Hochschild, 1979: 561–2).

Methodology and context The basic propositions contained in this chapter, concerning the complexity of emotional labour as performed in leadership roles and the role of value congruence in relation to such labour, originally derive from an ethnographic study of leadership in the learning and skills sector, involving the extended study of the principals and senior managers in a small number of further education colleges. This original study has since been supplemented by a series of interviews with middle and senior managers from both public and private sector organizations. The primary location for the original study, at which an extended period of fieldwork was undertaken, was a sixth form college in the south of England, hereafter referred to as Lambton Sixth Form College. The data gathered here were supplemented by similar data from a number of other sixth form and general further education (FE) colleges,1 obtained through one-to-one interviews and focus groups with college principals, senior management teams (SMTs) and staff. Collectively, the research thus conducted was undertaken under the auspices of the Centre for Excellence in Leadership (CEL), within Lancaster University’s Management School, and was part of a suite of research projects focused on leadership in the UK learning and skills sector. The main ethnographic location is

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described below. The other locations differed in a variety of respects: in particular, FE colleges tended to be larger than sixth form colleges, with leadership being exercised at more levels within the staff. Principals, not surprisingly, tended to be more distant from hands-on teaching issues and to have a greater element of commercial management within their roles. These differences in scale and commerciality resulted in some differences in structure and style of leadership, but at the level of day-to-day leadership practices the commonalities were far greater than the differences. Lambton Sixth Form College consists of approximately 1,800 students, aged 16 to 19, and 230 staff. Courses are mostly academic, with some vocational, and most students go on to university. There is also a more vocationally oriented college in the town, with the result that the sixth form takes on a somewhat ‘elitist’ status for both staff and students. In line with the local community, the student population is culturally diverse, and the college prides itself on its inclusivity and safe working environment. It sets high academic standards and at the time of the study had recently received an excellent OFSTED report, including a Grade 1 (outstanding) for leadership and management. The college mission statement, which appears on walls and posters throughout the college, states that ‘The main purpose of Lambton Sixth Form College is to be a centre of excellence for academic and general vocational education of young people.’ At the time of the study, the Principal had been at the college for four years and had previously held senior management positions in other colleges, in both post-16 and general FE. Although he originally taught law, and hence could be seen as coming from a curriculum background, he describes himself as a ‘business manager’ rather than the ‘lead professional’ within the college. I was in college for all the major events of the academic year, from enrolment and induction through to results day, as well as seeing a wide range of more dayto-day activities. Between February and September 2004, I spent a total of 20 days shadowing the Principal, as well as repeatedly interviewing him and members of his SMT, shadowing curriculum managers, conducting focus groups with staff, and collecting documents. The Principal’s activities included staff appraisals, lesson observations, governors’ meetings, staff and student briefings and external meetings. I also observed him working at his desk, touring round the college, visiting the staff room and staff/student canteen and other less formal activities. At no time was I asked to leave a meeting or denied access to anything in which I expressed an interest, even when the staff involved might have viewed the meeting as potentially sensitive or private (for example, appraisal meetings). Over the period of fieldwork, I was able to talk freely to students and staff, and to move about the college as I wished. I was allowed to record meetings and interviews, as well as taking notes on whatever activities I observed, and taking photographs of settings and artefacts where these seemed relevant. Staff became used to seeing me around and, hence, very relaxed in my presence. I believe this contributed greatly to my being able to observe the workings of the college, ungilded and as they naturally occurred. In so doing, I was able to form an impression of the culture within the college as being highly professional, deeply concerned with the

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learning experience provided to students, focused on meeting the needs of students and the local community, and genuinely aiming to be socially inclusive. All the members of staff I met cared deeply about their work and set high standards of professionalism for themselves and the college in general. Fieldnotes and interviews gathered during my time in college were subsequently transcribed to provide a rich and detailed resource in relation to the routine activities and practices of leadership work within the setting. In analysing the data, a number of ‘tropes’ (Randall, Harper and Rouncefield, 2005), or ‘sensitizing concepts’ (Blumer, 1969) were employed by way of a starting point for the study’s enquiries. These related to a focus on mundane practices through which leadership is accomplished as an ongoing activity (as per the ‘studies of work’ strand within ethnomethodology, e.g. Button, 1993), and the constructs of ‘feeling valued’ (White and Mackenzie-Davey, 2003) as part of our working experience and ‘emotional labour’ (Hochschild, 1983) as a facet of leadership work. From this starting point, the data were analysed using a variation on template analysis (Crabtree and Miller, 1992; King, 1998), commencing with a limited number of pre-defined codes, but incorporating the potential for emergent coding in subsequent iterations. These initial findings were then presented to groups of education leaders attending CEL leadership programmes in order to test out their resonance with practitioners in the field. The initial coding was used to provide evidence of ‘valuing practices’ by college leaders, as explicated in Chapter 9 of this volume. Following on from this, a more theoretical position was developed in relation to the thesis that emotional labour in professional contexts such as leadership practice is more about ‘in-role’ acting and less about movement in and out of role than in the settings studied by, for example, Bolton and Boyd (2003), and entails a different species of ‘deep acting’ (Hochschild, 1983) when compared with its original service sector formulation. The potential mitigation of emotional dissonance arising from a congruence of underpinning values or valued social identities with the emotional work required was also proposed as a result of this research, which it has been the work of subsequent research to test out. Later studies have been undertaken with middle and senior managers from both public and private sector organizations, accessed via Lancaster University Management School’s postgraduate diploma in Public Service Leadership (for which the author was programme director) and the School’s long-running Executive MBA. Data have been gathered through semistructured interviews with programme participants (five from PSL, all public sector and seven from the MBA, all private sector or professional) and as a corollary of in-programme learning and development activities. The data used in this chapter have been drawn primarily from these later studies.

Complex labour: difficult relationships and being human In both the original study and in its more broad-based sequel, leaders and managers clearly recognized the notion of ‘emotional labour’ and how it related to their own activities. At its most basic level, they related to the idea of professional

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display rules and the requirement, as part of their role, to demonstrate what were deemed to be appropriate emotions. So, for example, one interviewee spoke about his strategy for dealing with occasions when this requirement was hard to maintain: You need to maintain a professional image all the time because how you deal with things reflects not only on you but also on your company. So you have to bear that in mind when you’re dealing with customers and when you’re dealing with employees. So it’s quite easy to get frustrated . . . it’s very easy to get angry or annoyed but what I try and do is maybe go and do something else, get my initial emotions out of the way so I can deal with it in a more structured way. (RS – Operations Coordinator, chemical storage company) Another interviewee recognized the broader social context within which socially accepted display rules called forth continuous emotion management, but made the distinction between this and the more ‘enforced’ emotional labour called for by work roles: I feel it is part of the job and part of life – we do it all the time. Maybe in a work environment or dealing with a customer, it’s a little more enforced, a higher priority than if you’re with friends and family. (CG – Manager, software company) There was also recognition of the balancing act between emotional labour and authenticity: between being oneself and being what the role required. Even in claiming to show ‘the real me’, the interviewee still acknowledges some degree of management around how emotions are shown even if not in relation to which emotions she can display. The data extract below speaks to the debate around in-role versus out-of-role emotion management and the various typologies used to describe them: It’s a balance between role playing and the real me. I try as much as I can to operate with my managers so what they see is what they get – so generally speaking if I’m concerned or angry about something, whilst I control how that is demonstrated by me, I don’t necessarily control the fact that I’m angry or concerned. (JR – Assistant Director, city council) The need for deliberate performance is also acknowledged, together with the need on occasions to show more emotion than is felt in order to achieve a desired outcome or effect. The interviewee below positively advocates the distancing of oneself from genuinely felt emotions, and relates his past experiences as a teacher and the ‘mask’ that this required him to wear in front of his pupils, as the other side of this emotional display coin:

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You can present an emotion that you are not feeling – you can appear to be angry, you can raise your voice, you can appear annoyed, or relaxed when actually you’d like to hit someone, but it’s a bit like an actor. You try and present an appearance – you don’t necessarily have to feel it. There’s a sense of being in an acting role. If you’re in a situation where you think it’s going to be valuable to raise your voice and shout at someone, then do it, but you don’t have to feel it and be annoyed. (TF – Director of Student Services, University) The opposite of this need to hype up an emotional performance was also evident in the data. There were numerous examples of interviewees needing to exercise what one of them referred to as ‘emotional containment’ (SR – Client Manager, IT services) – the deliberate holding in of emotions deemed inappropriate to the role or situation: I can cope with anger because you just have to swallow it, I think it is inappropriate to show anger in the workplace and I get very, very uncomfortable if it is shown towards me. If I am criticised, particularly if I think it’s unjust and particularly if it comes from a client, which fortunately doesn’t happen often, I can be quite upset. I really do take that to heart and there’s nothing worse than a woman bursting into tears. I’ve never done that and I never would, but you feel it. . . . I’ve learned to take it on board and say ‘thanks for the feedback’, go away and lick my wounds and then talk about it once I’ve digested it. (RD – Business Development Director, management consultancy) The notion of performance was also called forth in the context of influence without authority: where leaders have to rely on persuasion to produce desired outcomes rather than being able to invoke hierarchical power. This was particularly the case in public sector environments, where the current demand for collaborative working across organizations produced a number of examples of conflicting agendas, varying degrees of commitment, and consequently high levels of frustration: I have to suppress emotions at various levels because I deal with Chief Execs and Chief Finance Officers and they sit on my board. I report in to a Chief Exec directly, he’s my line manager, and because collaboration has no real power we sit there just coaxing everybody into trying to do things. . . . It’s like a performance because all you’re doing is selling what you’re doing all the time without actually saying that’s effectively wrong – we can’t say specifically what’s wrong with any particular Authority so, yes, all you’re doing is performing all the time. (NH – Director, local authority procurement hub) More generally, the need to present a consistent, and consistently upbeat, persona to one’s team was seen as an important element in motivating the team to deliver.

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Also within this category of labour was the need for ‘social chit-chat’ and maintaining some level of personal connection or rapport with colleagues, even when this was not a natural preference or characteristic of the role incumbent: You have to be positive so that your team is positive, which is certainly a challenge, but I think it’s important because your enthusiasm rubs off on colleagues and if you don’t have that passion then they won’t be motivated to work with you on things. I think that’s important – it’s something I need to work on and it’s difficult to have an upbeat character all of the time. That is a struggle – some people do it really well, others don’t. (RC – Assistant Director, borough council) For some, the boundary between colleague and friend, whilst still existing and being seen as important, might still be crossed to a limited extent as a deliberate tool of management. One interviewee referred to this form of emotional labour as a ‘social currency’ which could be used to leverage specific benefits: You don’t go to that friendly level, it’s just professional, you don’t socialize. You can use it as a social currency sometimes – going for a drink for example, I might get better treatment next time – but only at that level, it’s not to see them as a friend. There are still boundaries around the relationship. They are in a box and I am in a box and there’s a little bit of overlap. (SR – Client Manager, IT services) The above examples clearly establish the resonance of the emotional labour construct with those in leadership and management roles. Also apparent from the data was the more complex nature of the labour performed in this context when compared with the more traditional notion of ‘service with a smile’. The examples below illustrate some of the ways in which the more ongoing relations, the wider variety of desired outcomes, and the more complex nature of leadership work per se all contribute to making professional emotional labour more complex and less formulaic than its service sector counterpart. This complexity is predicated upon the existence of recognized professional standards of behaviour and the professional persona role incumbents feel required to uphold as a result. Whilst this was a common theme throughout all the interviews conducted, it is one of the less mainstream examples that, perhaps, expresses it best. The interviewee here is the owner/manager of an outdoor activities company, specializing in mountain biking. Within this context, he guides mountain biking groups at home and abroad, teaches mountain biking instructors and group leaders, and is an examiner for the sport’s governing body, as well as managing the five staff employed by the business. In the interview extract which follows, he outlines how he sees his ‘professional persona’ when he is operating as a mountain biking instructor, but the weaving together of different elements of a persona to create a credible and convincing whole will, I’m sure, have resonance with managers in many other settings:

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It’s a combination of lots of things – it’s about on the one hand putting people at ease because that’s really important not to make people on edge. I’ve seen professionalism look almost intimidating and I don’t think it should be. So that making them feel at ease, but also confident and secure in your knowledge and that whatever you’re about to ask them to do is definitely what they want to do because you’re obviously expert. So it’s a combination of an impression of expertise and knowledge that people feel safe in your hands whatever it is, whether it’s a training thing or a management thing. And also knowing you’re going to do whatever it is you say you’re going to do – believability, I suppose. (CF – Owner/manager, outdoor activity company) A common theme within the data – and one which speaks most to the difference between acknowledged-to-be-fake ‘service with a smile’ of the service industries and the more authentic emotional labour of professionals – is the need to be seen to be human: to balance the need for a professional image with that of being approachable and empathetic to those we seek to lead. The potential for conflict between these two aims – for ‘humanity’ to be equated with ‘weakness’ in the eyes of subordinates and superiors alike – is reflected in the interview extract below: I started off as an accountant, so I’ve always had a very professional set of clothes. Certainly in my early career, I tried to be emotionless in the workplace and then – this was in my corporate role – I was brought in for leadership training and 360 degree feedback and that type of thing and I found that the feedback I was getting was that I was too aloof and distant. So I had to be a little bit more open to people, particularly more junior members of staff, and I struggled to get the right level of engagement. So I have tried to work on that now and to show a little bit more of the human side and I’m starting to see . . . you don’t have to be this figure of authority and this faceless grey suit. You can actually show you are a bit human and people will still respect you if you’re good at your job. (RD – Business Development Director, management consultancy) The less formulaic nature of emotional labour in a leadership context is, perhaps, best reflected in one of its most mundane and trivial incarnations – that of making ‘small talk’ and ‘chit-chat’ with subordinates to oil the wheels of rapport building and generate a sense of each person being recognized and valued as an individual. This aspect of emotional labour is covered in more detail in Chapter 9, in the context of ‘valuing practices’, but is acknowledged to be important in the interview extract below: I don’t think I do small talk as well as I should do and you need to have those skills to get that rapport, that trust, that wider social discussion. . . . It’s those sorts of common bonds I haven’t got and then I start feeling self-conscious about it which has a negative – makes you feel a bit more nervous about that interaction. But it’s an important skill to have. (RC – Assistant Director, borough council)

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The ongoing nature of relationships within the working environment of the vast majority of leaders – the existence, in fact, of ‘followers’ as an implicit part of their role – adds another dimension to the complexity of the emotion work undertaken. In addition to the day-to-day activities associated with rapport building and valuing of the individual, there are also the complexities arising from the different roles that managers have to play, at different times and with different people, in order to meet their organizational remit. Thus a manager might need to be encouraging, supportive and approachable as the bedrock of their leadership style, but then hold someone accountable for poor performance or give them bad news about redundancy in a specific instance. The difficulties underpinning these emotionally very different aspects of leadership work, and the implicit boundaries they create between leaders and led, are illustrated by the following example: We were going through quite a big restructuring and a number of managers had to apply for new posts within the service. I am friends with these people and they are good people and fun and we have a laugh together. I was wondering whether it would be appropriate to join these people on a Christmas night out or not – because things happen at Christmas dinners, don’t they and you’ve had a few drinks and things get said that could be completely inappropriate just in the lead-in to me taking the chair’s role in the recruitment and selection process for them. So you have to be quite careful. (RC – Assistant Director, borough council) More mundanely, we often have to keep our emotions in check in the face of ongoing working relationships with people we don’t like, or whose work we don’t respect. This is particularly the case in situations where we have no direct authority to remove the person from our team but, instead, have to accept them as a peer, a collaborative partner, or a superior: In a social circumstance I won’t let myself get involved with difficult people or if I do it will just be polite, but it won’t be as natural as it would be if it was somebody I had made that connection with. In a work situation, particularly if I’m in a leadership role, I don’t find that a comfortable feeling but as I’ve got older I’ve learned to say ‘well, that’s just normal’ and be up front and honest with the individual without being insensitive. Ultimately, it’s about saying ‘we have to work together, we might agree to disagree and not try to become the same as each other but we have to work together for us both to achieve what we’re expected to by the business and we can do that the hard way or the not-so-hard way’. (TJ – National Sales Manager, specialist employers’ federation) Whilst the example above adopts the approach of addressing challenging colleagues head-on, the example below demonstrates the risks associated with this strategy – especially where our ability to hold our emotions in check is not absolutely secure. Here we see how the value-congruent nature of much emotional

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labour in leadership contexts can be a disadvantage as well as an advantage, making our emotions – and the relationships – less straightforward to manage. The context here is of a subordinate continuing to pursue a project that had had its funding cut and the angry showdown which resulted when her line manager – who had not been responsible for the budget cut, but who did feel aligned with the overall aims of the programme of cuts of which it was a part – finally confronted her on it: I wanted to find out how it was we had got to this stage and what we could do about it to prevent it happening again. She was going on so much and actually the problem for me was that I was angry and she was trying to set me up as the person who hadn’t told her to stop it – which was crazy and eventually I did explode and accused her of something. I knew I’d let my emotions get control so I back-tracked and I apologised, said I didn’t mean it and said all I wanted to do was find a way of working together. We stopped that meeting there and had another meeting two or three days later when we had calmed down and we sorted it out. But I feel she was using her emotion to play me. I feel she wanted me to get angry because then she would have something to accuse me of. I’ve never been in that position before and it was certainly a lesson I learnt through all the management training I’ve done, you have to try and prevent emotion from dominating. (GB – Head of Service, city council) This example also gives a flavour of the higher stakes which can often exist in the context of leadership decision-making and the consequent need for emotion management. An individual service encounter may be pleasant or unpleasant – it may result in future customer loyalty or loss of business to a competitor – but these are relatively minor stakes in the grand scheme of things. In organizational contexts of leadership and followership, leaders may be dealing with the livelihoods and careers of those they lead and – depending upon the industry in which they work – even higher stakes in terms of health and safety issues, national defence, or social policy. This context of ‘high stakes’ emotional labour is powerfully illustrated by the example below, which also gives some indication of the toll such activities can take on the emotional labourer: My background before doing this was insolvency. I spent five years with Deloittes going into companies and managing receiverships and if there’s one industry that teaches you emotional control, its being in an environment where you’re firing people day after day, stripping down assets, people are crying because they’re losing their jobs . . . I think those five years were a really tough training ground. Companies that are going to the wall – some people are grateful you’re there because you’re trying to save the business and sell it as a going concern, but you were still getting rid of people . . . so it was tough but I think that taught me to, at the right time, box up my emotions, put them to one side and get on with the job that had to be done in a considerate

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The importance of underpinning values In addition to being more complex than more traditional varieties of emotional labour, the emotional labour of leaders was also found to bear a different relationship to their underpinning values and beliefs, when compared with workers in the service industries. For most of the latter, compliance with required display rules was a commercial transaction which had little or no resonance with their own sense of identity or personal beliefs. It was ‘just a job’ for them, necessary to pay the bills but not related to goals to which they were personally committed. That the existence of underpinning values was an important moderating factor for participants in my initial study – conducted in the learning and skills sector – is, perhaps, not surprising. A belief in the value of education is widespread within society, and bears a high degree of face validity as a powerful motivator for career choices. That this value congruence was replicated in the second study – conducted across a much wider range of commercial and organizational settings – is perhaps more surprising. Nonetheless, the data provide ample evidence of the importance of values to those in leadership and management roles, and the manner in which a belief that their actions are congruent with strongly held values supports role incumbents in the performance of emotional labour. Nor is the dividing line between public and private sector clear-cut in the extent to which values are supported in each setting. So, for example, one’s values can be challenged even in the context of delivering public service: I think values are the most important thing in anybody’s life, not just work life, but certainly at work it is important to have very clear values. What I’ve found in this organization – and I’m sure it’s the same for many organizations – it can challenge your values quite strongly. I’ve been here ten years now and I know I’ve moved from coming here fairly value strong and going through quite a difficult patch when my values were challenged and my beliefs were challenged and then coming out of it with my values reinforced. (GB – Head of Service, city council) Equally, leaders in what one would think of as purely commercial settings – in this case, sales – can find strongly values-driven reasons for what they do and how they undertake their role: I don’t believe I’m a typical sales person, I’m not all about money. I got a lot of satisfaction from doing a deal that I knew was going to provide a good service to a customer but ultimately that was quite limiting . . . what gives me the greatest level of satisfaction is trying, with every individual in the team

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and collectively, to reach our overall target by leading those individuals and that team as well as I can. I feel very passionate about leadership, and growing and developing talent and trying to contribute to somebody individually reaching their potential. (TJ – National Sales Manager, specialist employers’ federation) In either setting, it is possible for a leader’s values to be challenged or compromised, and for this to have significant consequences for the role incumbent. The issue of emotional dissonance is discussed elsewhere in this volume, and is an important issue for all emotion labourers – perhaps even more so for those who have invested much of their identity in their work. In addition to the day-to-day stress of this dissonance, there also comes a point where the leader must choose between their role and their values. As one interviewee expressed it, there is a balance between accepting the minor compromises which are an inevitable part of any job, and arriving at the point where such compromises are no longer sustainable: If it fits your role as part of your job then it’s one of the things you have to deal with and you’ve said you’ll do it as part of your job. If it’s so fundamentally against your values you’d have to consider whether it’s still appropriate to stay in that role. If I was in a job where 50% I hated doing, I wouldn’t be there and, yes, you can tolerate small amounts of things – like we may have to lose a member of staff – you would go ahead and work that one out and do it. (TF – Director of Student Services, University) For some, the sense of identity with their work, and with the manner in which it enables them to self–actualize, is so great that it takes precedence over personal issues even in the face of great personal difficulties. For one interviewee, the breakdown of a 12-year marriage was a devastating trauma, but her passionate commitment to her work – which she saw as underpinning the provision of the best possible opportunities for the community within which she worked – was still the driving force which governed her behaviour and enabled her to keep her personal emotions in check: For me, my job isn’t a job – I’ve known this for years, what I do and my work defines who I am, not the other way around, so therefore to give any indication that the job didn’t come first was part of that. (JR – Assistant Director, city council) Her underlying belief in what she was doing, in the value this provided to the community, was also what enabled her to undertake unpleasant or difficult tasks such as redundancies or disciplinary procedures. When asked how she felt about such tasks, she said: It feels OK strangely, because there’s an expectation that’s how an officer at my level would operate. The only time it isn’t comfortable is if I’m doing

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Again in the context of dealing with difficult people or situations, the data also offer examples of interviewees who were able to use their emotions positively in support of their values and beliefs. The degree of congruence expressed here – and clearly felt – between the need to show particular emotions and the underlying goals or aims to which this display contributed, is clearly very different from the commercial exploitation of formulaic emotional displays posited in the earlier emotional labour literature. Whilst there remains a need for performance, for the management of emotions within the constraints of a professional role, the motivation for the performance is internal and values-driven rather than external and commercially driven. This congruence, and the motivational force it produces, is at the heart of the premise for this chapter: Rather than seeing it as a difficult thing that has to be managed, I see it as a challenge. Treat it as part of their career challenge. How do I make sure that I’m emotionally aware and become an emotionally positive manager that uses my emotions in a way that actually helps people to get the best out of themselves rather than destructively. But it all comes from awareness. (CF – Owner/manager, outdoor activities company) The existence of internal, values-driven motivation for the performance of emotional labour, I would contend, turns the process of ‘deep acting’ (Hochschild, 1983) on its head. Enthusing about England’s cricket score or making polite small talk with staff to build rapport may require enforced cheerfulness and displays of interest when one’s mind is actually on balancing the budget or a disciplinary meeting to be conducted later the same day. Such requirements for ‘surface acting’ (Hochschild, 1983) can be found in all walks of life and, indeed, most social interactions. But it is in the realms of ‘deep acting’, and of the relationship between the emotions as managed and those actually felt, that the variation of emotional labour as practised in leadership roles can begin to be witnessed. The evidence from the data suggests a more complex relationship between the emotions actually experienced and the role of deep acting, in some cases even amounting to a reversal of its original purpose: the performance of ‘deep acting’ here – previously understood as an attempt to create congruence by bringing underpinning beliefs in line with displayed emotions (Hampson and Junor, 2005) – is intended to deceive the recipient as to the strength of the emotion displayed rather than to deceive the actor as to the extent to which the emotion is grounded in belief. The beliefs thus prompt or cause the acting, rather than deriving from them, whilst still requiring a degree of amplification or acting to give them impact for a third party. This is, I believe, an important departure from our previous understanding of how and why emotional labour may be undertaken.

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In suggesting the possible reversal of the relationship between deep acting and emotions felt, I am not suggesting that the existence of value congruence does away with the need for deep acting per se or of its previously delineated role of ‘convincing the emotional labourer’. Examples of this effort to bring one’s own emotions in line with the front one is required to present were certainly present in the data. So, for example, one interviewee said: You have to rationalise why it’s happening and be convinced there’s a reason behind it – if you’re losing staff there has to be a reason behind it. Even if it’s you doing the hatchet job you have to rationalise why you’re doing it. (TF – Director of Student Services, University) Leaders also talked in terms of having to get themselves ‘in the right frame of mind’ for undertaking particular activities, suggesting the need to remind themselves of why they were doing what they were doing and how it fitted with their wider purposes. The emphasis here is on the need to (re)convince themselves before they can be convincing to others, although this appears to be more about bringing pre-existing feelings back into consciousness rather than about creating them from scratch. This process of re-convincing is most frequently associated with the performance of difficult or unpleasant tasks, such as addressing poor performance: When it comes to people that I’m responsible for their development and who I value, I do find it difficult to get myself into that frame of mind to be able to discipline. And it surprised me how hard I found it but at the same time trying to structure in a way that’s positive is important to me because I’m very much a coaching, developing leader. So I have to make sure in my own head that I’m not being destructive, so I suppose I have to go through quite a long mental process of preparation to make sure that what I’m really talking about is how we’re going to solve the problem. (CF – Owner/manager, outdoor activity company) This pre-existence of value-congruent emotions is reflected in the extract below, where the interviewee states that ‘managing emotions’ is not the same as ‘changing emotions’. For this leader, the act of management is about how emotions are displayed, not about what they actually are: Managing emotions makes it sound like you’re having to do it constantly and therefore you’re not allowing any flow, but for me I’m managing my emotions all the time but it’s not necessarily managing them in a way that’s trying to change the way I feel. I’m just aware of them. (JR – Assistant Director, city council) The metaphor of ‘clothing yourself in emotions’ is echoed by the literal wearing of role-appropriate clothes in discussing the degree to which leaders are called

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upon to act and be authentic at the same time, again suggesting redundancy for the traditional requirement of deep acting in this context: If you’re presenting yourself in a particular way it’s because you want to achieve something. I wear a suit to work because there is a certain expectation. If I wore jeans it wouldn’t fit and I think the same is true of that, that the emotion you’re presenting could be how you actually feel or it may not be but it’s what you feel is appropriate for what you want to achieve at that particular time. So at some level it’s still congruent. (TF – Director of Student Services, university) The data also offer explicit recognition of the need to convince others, and the extent to which convincing oneself and convincing others may actually run in parallel. The sense in the following extract is of building on existing or real emotions to make them more visible or more powerful for others. Thus the interviewee talks in terms of ‘magnifying [his emotions] up by a hundred times’ to achieve the desired outcome: A lot of the time it isn’t for me at all, it’s for them, it’s very much an act – I believe that sometimes . . . some things that people do, particularly in a physical environment, need real energy and really focused energy and if they haven’t got it within themselves, sometimes as the trainer you have to give it to them. And the way to give it to them is through really loud, enthusiastic body language so you’re energising the people through what you’re saying and how you’re saying it and how you’re moving . . . So there’s an element of real enthusiasm for me but you magnify it up a hundred times before delivering so you’re more likely to get a result. (CF – Owner/manager, outdoor activity company) Whilst the previous example was of emotion amplification for the purpose of convincing others, the next extract illustrates the dyadic interweaving of convincing yourself and convincing others at the same time. In relaying difficult decisions to subordinates (in this case, redundancies) the interviewee feels the need to reassure themselves at the same time as reassuring the recipient, thus suggesting a blurring of the lines in relation to deep acting and its purposes: You’re trying to convince them but at the same time you’re going through it in your own head trying to convince yourself that ultimately that was the right decision to make. You have to deal with that emotion, so I’m trying to convince these people the decision is correct, I’m trying to reassure myself the decision is correct, all at the same time. (RS – Operations Coordinator, chemical storage company) This blurring of the lines is also evident in the following extract, which also uses the clothing metaphor discussed above. In this instance, a management consultant is relating her feelings when making an important presentation to a client:

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I’m not made of stone, if I have an important presentation I get nervous. It’s almost like putting your suit and face on, I’m in a professional zone and it helps with delivery and with the way that they see you as well. (RD – Business Development Director, management consultancy)

Conclusion That the accomplishment of day-to-day leadership work relies on the exercise of emotional labour is clearly evident from the data, despite the value congruence which is often seen to underlie the emotions displayed. The leaders’ identification with and personal commitment to organizational goals on the basis of personal values and beliefs suggests a very different motivation for this type of ‘emotional labour’ when compared with the commercial underpinnings of its service sector counterpart, which it has been the work of this chapter to explore. The aim has been to provide a richer understanding of how leadership work is accomplished, at the same time as suggesting the more complex manner in which ‘emotional labour’ is required to be practised – one in which ‘deep acting’ is turned on its head. The value congruence which was observed to underpin the emotional labouring of leaders and managers within the two studies discussed here suggests a reversed causality in which the beliefs may be said to prompt or cause the acting, rather than deriving from them, without doing away with the requirement for acts of labour in specific instances. The complexity surrounding value congruity, professional role perceptions as a motivating factor, and professional emotional labour which has started to emerge here requires further elaboration, as do the perceptions of emotional labour and its consequences held by those undertaking leadership work. Also in need of further research attention is the question of how, and to what extent, the existence of value congruence impacts on ‘emotional dissonance’ and its effects: the leverage offered by social identity theory, and the related concepts of identity relevance, salience and authenticity, is suggested as a fruitful means of pursuing this endeavour. More generally, the present study bears out Bolton and Boyd’s (2003) notion of ‘skilled emotional managers’ moving seamlessly between different modes of emotional labour, both private and public, but with the distinction that the different modes all occur in-role rather than as a result of moving in and out of different roles. Leaders and managers in all sectors are certainly influenced by professional norms in determining what constitutes appropriate emotional behaviours, but also see emotional displays as tools in the delivery of a wider organizational agenda. Behaving in accordance with perceptions of ‘how leaders should be’ accords with the notion of ‘prescriptive emotion management’ (Bolton and Boyd, 2003: 291), although the use of emotional display as a tool of leadership bears more likeness to Harris’s (2002) observations of the self-regulated espousal of the greater moral good in barristers than to Bolton and Boyd’s ‘little extra’, which they term ‘philanthropic emotional management’. A more detailed mapping of leadership as emotional labour onto existing models of its character and uses – of which this chapter offers only a part – will be important in locating the

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leadership species in the wider genus, and understanding both its similarities and its differences.

Note 1

Within the UK education system, sixth form and further education colleges form the first layer of non-compulsory, tertiary education undertaken prior to attending university. Sixth form colleges, which may be either independent or form the final two years of extended secondary education (i.e. 11 to 18 rather than 11 to 16), tend to be more academic in their curriculum and prepare students for higher education. Further education colleges, which are always standalone, are more vocational in their remit and students usually go straight into a trade or occupation on completing their studies.

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Samra-Fredericks, D. (2003) Strategizing as lived experience and strategists’ everyday efforts to shape strategic decision. Journal of Management Studies, 40(1): 141–74. Samra-Fredericks, D. (2004) Managerial elites making rhetorical and linguistic ‘moves’ for a moving (emotional) display. Human Relations, 57: 1103–43. Theodosius, C. (2006) Recovering emotion from emotion management. Sociology, 40(5): 893–910. Weiss, H. M. and Cropanzano, R. (1996) Affective events theory: A theoretical discussion of the structure, causes, and consequences of affective experiences at work. In B. M. Staw and L. L. Cummings (eds), Research in Organizational Behavior, Vol. 18. Greenwich, CT: JAI Press, pp. 1–74. White, M. and Mackenzie-Davey, K. (2003) Feeling valued at work? A qualitative study of corporate training consultants. Career Development International, 8(5): 228–34. Wong, C. S. and Law, K. S. (2002) The effects of leader and follower emotional intelligence on performance and attitude: An exploratory study. The Leadership Quarterly, 13: 243–74. Yukl, G. (2002) Leadership in Organizations (5th edn). Upper Saddle River, NJ: PrenticeHall. Zapf, D. and Holz, M. (2006) On the positive and negative effects of emotion work in organizations. European Journal of Work and Organizational Psychology, 15(1): 1–28.

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Leadership as emotional and compassionate labour Managing the human side of the enterprise Joan V. Gallos

Leadership is about the ongoing process of building and sustaining a relationship of influence between those who aspire to lead and those willing to follow. Leadership can arouse passion and emotion of extraordinary power. Even the study of leadership stirs feelings because leadership is so central to our identity, beliefs, and values – a complex, ineffable process that involves our self-image, primal needs for security, and moral codes (Heifetz, 1994). The leading news stories on any given day are often about leadership, reflecting collective yearnings for more leaders – better leaders – to resolve the crises, dilemmas, and complexities of modern life. The assumption is that good leaders make a difference and that we are better off because of what they do. While there is widespread agreement that leadership is important and that effective leadership is vital, there is less clarity about what that means (Gallos, 2008a). For some, leadership is synonymous with good management. For others, it centres on persuasive abilities. Some see leadership as fostering opportunities, others as solving problems. Some understand leadership as a social phenomenon. Many are quick to equate it with a single heroic figure. But leadership is complex, interpersonal work at the boundaries of human learning, adaptation, and growth for leader and followers. All that we know confirms that. But if we don’t understand at a basic level what that really means, how can we prepare to lead effectively? And equally important, how will we know if we do? This chapter explores the concept of leadership as emotional and compassionate labour. It puts the powerful human emotions around loss and change at the heart of the leadership process and identifies core strategies for generating the positive and facilitative emotional environment vital for leadership success. The chapter underscores the social nature of leadership and the importance of the complex intrapersonal and relationship management skills for leaders that are too often under-valued in a work world where job descriptions emphasize the rational and observable while neglecting emotional elements of work (Guy, Newman, and Mastracci, 2008). Managing the human side of leadership is multi-dimensional in skill and orientation. Successful leaders need to understand and attend to individuals and groups, task and process, present and past, self and others, sign and symbol, appearance and reality. Such work demands strong emotional intelligence: abilities

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to understand and manage one’s own emotions and to assess and influence those of others (Goleman, Boyatzis, and McKee, 2008). It also requires confidence, capacities for multi-level diagnosis (Gallos, 2008b), and strategies for working competently across a diverse range of issues. Despite their best efforts and intentions, leaders often get lost when navigating the emotional labours of leadership, a major reason that disappointment in leaders is so widespread and stories of bad leadership so abundant (e.g., Kellerman, 2004; Lipman-Blumen, 2005; Sutton, 2010). A look at two contrasting cases can help us understand the complexities of leadership work, and the subtle or not-so-subtle factors that can send the process spiralling off in one direction or another.

Howard Schultz and Starbucks On the day in 1987 that Howard Schultz bought a local business in Seattle called Starbucks, he held an all-employee meeting at the company’s old roasting plant in Seattle. He had just three talking points: ‘1. Speak from my heart. 2. Put myself in their shoes. 3. Share the Big Dream with them’ (Schultz, 1999: 101). Schultz saw two requisites for Starbucks’ growth: (1) sustain the passion and personality upon which the company had been built; and (2) instil in every employee a reverence for the coffee experience – the capacity to recreate the transcendental ‘blend of craftsmanship and human connection’ that Schultz encountered with ‘the gracious Italian gentleman called a barista’ who brewed his first espresso in Milan in 1983 (Schultz, 2011: 10). Create a consistent, high-quality experience for people, and they will reciprocate with trust and loyalty. Profits will follow. A company can grow big without losing the passion and personality that built it, but only if it’s driven not by profits but by people . . . The key is heart. I pour my heart into every cup of coffee and so do my partners [the company name for all employees] at Starbucks. When customers sense that, they respond in kind . . . If you pour your heart into your work, you can achieve dreams others may think impossible. That’s what makes life rewarding. (Schultz, 1999: 8) Starbucks is an amazing success story. In the 1990s, it was opening a new store almost every day and is now the world’s largest coffeehouse company with more than 18,800 stores in 55 countries and more than 10 billion U.S. dollars in annual revenues – a 10-fold increase in a decade that also necessitated Schultz’s return as CEO to address the company’s 2007 financial slide and reignite the innovation needed for continued success in an increasingly competitive global market. Starbucks is also, by Schultz’s label, ‘a love story’: a testament to his love of coffee and of the work in growing a company and building a corporate culture that inspire and excite Starbucks’ customers, vendors, and employees. Infusing work with purpose and meaning is a two-way street. Yes, love what you do, but your company should love you back. As a merchant, my desire

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has always been to inspire customers, exceed their high expectations, and establish and maintain their trust in us. As an employer, my duty has always been to also do the same for people on the other side of the counter. (Schultz, 2011: 15) Schultz’s philosophy translates into policies and practices like affordable comprehensive healthcare for all employees (even part-timers), flexible work hours, ‘Optimal Scheduling’ for employee planning, competitive wages, stock options, and other perks that repeatedly land Starbucks on Fortune’s ‘100 Best Companies to Work For’ list. We’ve built a solid foundation on the direct and open relationship we share with them [employees, called partners at Starbucks] and our legacy of providing them with a positive workplace. . . . Starbucks is recognized as a great place to work for good reason: we have made treating our partners with respect and dignity one of our guiding principles. (Starbucks, 2012) In 2011, Schultz was named Fortune’s Businessperson of the Year for restoring quality and financial stability and taking the company he founded to record revenue and profits (Fortune Online, November 17, 2011). Contrast Schultz’s emphasis on love, people, and passion with an all-too-typical story of failed leadership. Bolman and Gallos (2011) relay the sad (disguised but true) tale of ‘Donald Quixote’, who came in as the new president of a large university with ambitious plans for renewal and greatness.

Donald Quixote and his University Donald Quixote charged into the presidency of a research university with an aggressive vision of ‘transformation’ to vault the institution forward in both national reputation and service to its local community. ‘Right now’, he announced to the university, ‘campus transformation is the one thing worthy of our passion’. Soon after Quixote’s arrival, the transformation was launched with a series of workshops guided by outside consultants. The goal was to share Quixote’s vision with faculty and staff and to fire their desire to get on ‘the rocket to greatness.’ Staff, especially those in lower-level positions, loved the workshops and opportunity to shape university direction – a role historically reserved for faculty and campus leaders. Faculty and senior-level administrators were sceptical and busy. The workshops and meetings felt like one more imposition on top of already heavy workloads. Noting that faculty were staying on the sidelines, Quixote pressured deans to get professors to attend workshops and participate in the growing number of transformation activities on campus, and to engage in the many new efforts themselves to demonstrate their support for the transformation. Those included culture change dialogues, expanded outreach centres, new initiatives to follow

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‘energy streams’ generated during the workshops, unit-specific transformation opportunities, town–gown partnerships, and the President’s Shared Leadership Council (150 people from across units and ranks to advance the transformation). A few deans balked. Most did their best. All felt squeezed between presidential expectations and faculty norms of autonomy. As pressures mounted for deans to get everyone ‘on the rocket’, stories swirled about consequences for those who couldn’t or wouldn’t. Some deans resigned. Others were replaced. Some were sent for more training: cross-country trips for one-on-one coaching with the transformation consultants. Junior faculty enlisted – campus rumours told them that workshop attendance and ‘loyalty to Don’ were necessary, if not sufficient, for tenure. Of the faculty who participated, some bought into the vision. Many concluded the process was flawed and the workshops intellectual hokum. Most stopped short of saying anything too critical about the president’s change initiative for self-preservation. Over time, the transformation efforts produced fear and loathing on a deeplydivided campus and exacerbated historical tensions among faculty, staff, and administration. Quixote’s supporters saw possibilities for national acclaim. Much of the faculty saw misguided efforts that threatened academic freedom and wasted precious time and scarce resources. The rocket crash-landed a few years into the transformation when President Quixote was forced out by a series of no-confidence votes. The transformation initiatives mostly died. Campus morale and finances tanked as the institution scrambled to regain its bearings and set a new course – and those on both sides of the Quixote controversy had to learn to trust again.

Navigating the affective domain Managing the leader’s self and role on the leadership stage Both of these stories are powerful reminders that the emotional nexus between leader and constituents is always at the heart of leadership success or failure. Leaders need passion, high energy, and commitment to do their work. But they must channel those passions and use their emotions in ways that inspire and evoke loyalty, trust, and positive responses – to them as the guide to a new future and to the substance of their mission. On this central dimension, Howard Schultz succeeded while Don Quixote’s abundant energy and commitment led to the sense of oppression, punishment, and anger felt by many followers. Self-knowledge and self-management underpin the emotional intelligence and interpersonal savvy required to manage the leader’s hunger for change and to forge the connections essential to it. Leading is hard work and not for the apathetic or faint of heart. Guy, Newman and Mastracci (2008) reviewed the literature on emotional labour and identified a range of skills for managing the human side of work. Their list overlaps with a number of core leadership competencies. Some are strategies for psychological self-protection. No matter what leaders do, they often find themselves under fire from people who dislike the leader’s direction, strategies, or persona. Taking it all to heart can lead to illness (Frost, 2003). Responding to

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everything is a recipe for overload. Developing ‘emotional Teflon’ (Sigford, 2005) is useful in letting negativity and criticism slide off. A leader’s emotional armour serves intra-psychic functions as well. Successful leaders learn to compartmentalize, suppressing or modulating their own emotional response to criticism or circumstances so as to stay focused with their eye on the prize. President Quixote discounted any validity in issues raised by his critics and was subsequently surprised by the votes of no confidence. Successful leaders try to understand and learn from critics while managing their emotional reactions and responses to the criticism. Some emotional labour strategies facilitate productive and positive interpersonal connections with followers. Leadership is the property of a relationship. Capacities for empathy and emotional engagement, for caritas – true caring and service, for discerning another’s emotional state, or for reflecting another’s fears and feelings help forge the bonds of trust and collaboration at the heart of leadership effectiveness and progress. Other strategies express the dramaturgical side of leadership. As in good theatre, successful leaders play their roles and connect with their audiences in ways that increase the power and impact of their message. Goffman (1959) helps us understand the importance and inevitability of facework in our social interactions and of how we all adjust our presentations of self to audience and purpose. Leaders are symbols of a brighter future. In playing that role they need an actor’s capacity to convincingly express emotions they may not feel, to mask feelings they do have, to turn emotions on or off – or switch them depending on the situation like social chameleons (Goleman, 1995), to put on a game face when it’s show time, or to take on divergent roles as when playing, for example, ‘good cop–bad cop’. Followers want their leader to convince them – ‘magnify the illusion and reality’ that the leader is in control (Sutton, 2010: 47). Research shows that leaders increase the odds that others will implement decisions when leaders convincingly convey their confidence in the new approach – whether the confidence is there or not. All these emotion management strategies are focused on one important task: eliciting the desired emotional response for commitment from important others. Howard Schultz wanted Starbucks employees, for example, to understand their job as that of a barista, not a counter clerk. That involved an elevated sense of the work: creating relationships, understanding excellence, consistently producing high-quality products and service, and delivering both with the care and theatrics to evoke strong, positive emotional responses from the customer. Quixote wanted innovations and activities that could quickly transform a complex institution. He hoped to ignite the campus to extraordinary heights – herculean efforts and ‘quantum levels’ of creativity – while it also continued to deliver its other outputs and offerings. Schultz wanted a transcendental experience for Starbucks customers. Quixote wanted transformation. Both needed individuals throughout the organization to adapt and learn in order to accomplish organizational change. Schulz read his audience well and filled his role convincingly so that others rose to the challenge. Quixote misread his audience and delivered performances that caused many to resist or turn away.

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Demonstrating leader compassion: Resisting loss, not change Leaders often ask others to rethink current roles, beliefs, and strategies, to learn and grow, and to rise to new possibilities. This takes leadership into the realm of human development: providing opportunities for individuals to expand their core cognitive, psychological, and socio-emotional capacities through rethinking of their values and worldview and reflecting on the constraints of their current belief systems and responses (Gallos, 1989; 1993). Human development requires deep change. Common sense theories say that people resist change. A deeper look reveals something else. People resist the personal losses that change often represents, not the process or outcome of the change in itself. This subtle difference, which underpins a number of theories of change leadership (e.g., Bolman and Deal, 2008; Heifetz and Linsky, 2002; Nadler, Shaw, Walton, and Associates, 1994) is important for leaders to understand. Compassion is a vital leadership competency; and patience, understanding, empathy, opportunities for open discussion, tolerance for others’ strong emotions, and persistence inform successful leader–follower relationships. Classic research involving the study of English widows by sociologist and urban planner Peter Marris (1975; 1986; 1987; 1996) illustrates the point. Marris identifies multiple levels of loss in the face of change: from the loss of simple psychic comfort in regular life patterns with a spouse to a weakening of self-confidence and the potential for ongoing social learning to a more fundamental loss of self when change disrupts the expression of important life meanings and purposes. He argues that all change involves some loss, but the degree and intensity varies with the form of change. Marris differentiates three kinds of change: substitution (exchanging the old for a better new), evolution (gradual change with time to reorient and reform significant attachments), and deep loss (the sudden disappearance of something or someone valued). Marris sees holding on to the familiar in the face of loss as a functional response and a fundamental part of human nature. This is true even if the change is chosen, highly beneficial, or inevitable. ‘The impulse to defend the predictability of life is a fundamental and universal principle of human psychology’ (Marris, 1986: 2). Holding on – or resistance to change, as some might call it – is essential for human health, action, and learning. It is a basic survival technique: a way for humans to compare, contrast, and interpret the meaning of new events, experiences, and people. It is also the personal grounding that provides the internal confidence and psychic strength to know that we can explore new experiences and still survive. According to Marris, humans learn by revision. They assimilate new events into the models and experiences they already have under their belts. For that reason, the human psyche is inherently cautious and needs to be. The ability to change is directly correlated with the strength of our ability to defend our current state and beliefs. It would be too costly otherwise. Individuals develop frames of reference and belief systems to make sense, giving meaning and predictability to their experience. Developing these takes considerable time and effort. After all, our strong beliefs and meaning systems

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make us who we are. As a result, individuals have an investment in the meaning structures they create. There is always a dilemma then in choosing to revise or give up that which has worked well over a period of time – and being thrust into this work when change is sudden or externally caused adds to the burden. Change exacts a price in terms of time, effort, and temporary loss of confidence and effectiveness. In addition, it is hard to know in advance whether it is more useful to hold on to how one sees and acts in the world (and save the costs associated with the internal assessment, assimilation, adaptation, learning, and re-consolidation processes inherent in growth and change), or to move onto something new (and save the costs of defending that which may be maladaptive or inappropriate under the current situation). In addition, successful life experiences may have already reinforced our basic confidence that everything is fine just the way it is. It is slow, painful and difficult for an adult to construct a radically different way of seeing life, however needlessly miserable his preconceptions make him. In this sense, we are all profoundly conservative, and feel immediately threatened if our basic assumptions and emotional attachments are challenged. The threat is real, for those attachments are the principles of regularity on which the ability to predict our own behaviour and the behaviour of others depends. . . . As we grow up, [our belief systems] become more and more difficult to revise, by virtue of their very success. Since new experiences can only be interpreted in terms of what we already know, we are bound to assimilate them to our present understanding if we can. The longer we live, the less likely we are to encounter events that cannot somehow be incorporated within it. (Marris, 1975: 12–13) Our meaning systems make us who we are; however, we need concrete vehicles for their daily expression. We create those through attachments to unique people, places, and activities. For example, think about your answers to the question, What are the things that provide meaning and purpose in your life? They might include such things as love, achievement, family, learning, respect, joy, wealth, children, or friends. Such things are essential to a sense that life is meaningful, but they are abstractions. Love takes many forms and can be expressed in many different ways. Achievement can be found in a variety of activities and careers. Life is a search for outlets that anchor and allow us to express important meanings and beliefs about ourselves. Initially, the choice of people to love or careers to follow may be almost accidental. A blind date may lead to a long and successful marriage. An accidental encounter with a powerful mentor may lead to a choice of career. Many of the most fundamental elements of an individual’s life – like language, culture and faith – are often accidents of birth. But once we find a particular person or activity that enables us to express important meanings, we begin to form attachments to it. The stronger an attachment, the more of our central life meanings are connected to this specific means of expression.

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Joan Didion’s The Year of Magical Thinking (2005), a description of the first year the writer spent after the sudden death of her husband and closest colleague, is a case study of the kind of spouse’s grief that led to Marris’s theories. Didion’s work also offers an inside-out look at the process of adapting to change. Her husband’s death led to the loss of Didion’s ways of expressing central parts of herself. Possibilities for love, intimacy, and simple things like companionship at dinner seemed irretrievably lost. The fundamental crisis of bereavement, according to Marris (1975), is not the loss of the other. It is the immediate loss of self. Attachments can be reformed, and parts of self can be given life again. The process, however, is long and psychologically painful. It takes time and effort to understand the full impact of the loss; re-evaluate important beliefs and life meanings that have been brought to the psychic forefront by the change; identify new possible anchors; and begin the attachment-forming process again. All this has been a difficult thesis for leaders to grasp. They have often failed to realize, for example, that sound rational and economic choices like ‘slum clearance’ can destroy families and communities as well as old buildings; that ‘improved production techniques’ can invalidate old skills and unravel old networks of relationship; that one person’s reform is almost inevitably someone else’s loss of meaning and confidence. The implication is not that change is impossible, nor that it is necessarily a bad thing. It is precisely because organizations and individuals often cling to outmoded and counterproductive structures of meaning that leadership is so important and needed. But potential followers will not give up old structures easily, and they cannot give them up quickly and painlessly. Empathy and patience might have saved Quixote’s presidency and moved his institution closer to the intended prize. Handling toxic emotion Further complicating these dynamics are organizational history and culture (Gallos, 2008c). While leaders might wish for a clean slate and unlimited opportunities, reality is less kind. Leaders inherit groups or organizations with a unique history and culture – often with long-buried, toxic land mines. Unhappy or complicated histories may have faded from institutional consciousness and records, but they still reside in the social system – as do memories of ineffective leaders and failed change efforts from the past. New challenges and pain can rekindle unresolved past emotions. The result is a toxic ‘garbage can’ (Cohen and March, 1974), of sorts. The social system acts as if hard-wired for collective angst: emotions are stronger, quicker to trigger, more random, more disruptive to productivity. Anger, fear, frustration, and a host of other feelings randomly circulate around and through the organization. They attach unselectively to available issues, persons, or projects, undermining decision making and authority structures while raising the emotional ante for all. Toxic garbage cans may seem functional to those involved. In toxic cultures, this is the way many have related to the organization for a long time. And wellmeaning leaders may encourage them: venting is one way to dump pain and

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release frustration and shared powerlessness. But toxic dumping contaminates a broad range of organizational processes and outcomes. It impacts innocent bystanders and weakens individual and organizational capacities needed to break the escalating emotional spiral. People feel caught in a whirlwind rather than positioned to work through individual loss and heal systemic rawness. Leaders who understand these dynamics realize that any change initiative risks triggering hidden emotions which can undermine the leader’s work and produce excessive pain for all involved. The first step in coping with these risks is to study context: recognize the organization’s change history and attend carefully to followers, seeking to understand deeply what’s at stake for constituents. The better leaders know their audience, the easier it is to find strategies to make change manageable. One way is to slow the process down to give people more time to adapt. Another is to look for ways to turn loss into substitution, by offering something new and attractive to replace the old. A third is to reduce the sense of disruption by linking the initiative to the organization’s history and traditions, so that it can be experienced as a continuation or a reaffirmation of existing values and commitments rather than a leap into the unknown. A fourth is to provide training and psychological support to enable followers to cope better with the new order. Kübler-Ross (1969; 1975) reminds us that loss requires significant grieving – and grief resembles clinical descriptions of mental illness. It can take months, even years, to work through deep cycles of grief. It takes even longer to do that and enhance workplace performance. Encouraging engagement and alignment: Empowerment, trust, and care Dynamics of loss, toxicity, and emotional overload present deep challenges for leaders. But there is also hope and opportunity. Organizations and people need each other, and people look to those who can help them see a path to a better and more hopeful future. Aligning human and institutional needs is never easy, but leaders who do this well bring the combined skills of a servant, catalyst, and coach. The servant’s role is to understand and respond to the best interests of both people and institution, seeking ways to bring them into a more harmonious alignment. The work of the catalyst is empowerment: helping people get the information, resources, and leeway that they need. The coach teaches, mentors, and provides developmental opportunities to enhance skills, stamina, and confidence. In this work, leaders are building an environment with characteristics akin to those found in a caring and supportive extended family. They invest in establishing a broad range of constituent relationships and set out to understand relevant others with an openness and authenticity (George, 2008) that make the leaders increasingly vulnerable to rejection, manipulation, or personal attack. Research tells us, however, that the payoff when things work well is higher levels of constituent engagement, motivation, satisfaction, and productivity (Bolman and Deal, 2008). The bedrock of this approach is a capacity to encourage people to bring their best talents and selves to work – something which cannot be mandated

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by policy or executive order. Leaders accomplish this in several ways. First, they promote openness and transparency and use themselves to model the skills and impact. They understand that their constituents want a leader they can trust – especially when times are tough – and look for opportunities to demonstrate their credibility. People want to believe that their leader is telling the truth – bad news as well as good. Trust and confidence are easier to squander than to develop, as we saw in the case of President Quixote. But over time, savvy leaders can build both through an artistic combination of open communication, empowerment, support, coaching, and caring. Starbucks employees at all levels, for example, were elated when Howard Schultz returned as CEO. They knew he walked the talk. Second, leaders understand that constituents want a leader who respects their talents and contributions. Empowerment has become a buzzword that is easier to talk about than do well. That may explain why empowerment finished third, right below ‘working with idiots’, on a list of annoying business practices as voted by readers of the Dilbert comic strip. Successful leaders get beyond hypocrisy or empty rhetoric with the savvy to see what’s really important to constituents and to increase people’s ability to make informed and consequential choices for themselves – decisions that make a difference. Third, effective leaders understand that followers want a leader who cares about them and about the unit’s future. Robert Greenleaf (1998) argued that the essence of leadership is service, and that the chief responsibility of leaders is to serve the best interests of their constituents. As Greenleaf saw it, people caring for one another is the rock on which progress is built. Unlike ‘leader-first’ individuals who seek leadership for power or possessions, those who are ‘servant-first’ begin with care and a desire to support. They work to enhance their constituents’ dignity, as well as influence their performance (Sutton, 2010). Howard Schultz recognized the power of investing in people. For President Quixote, people were pawns in the game of progress. At its simplest, caring begins with reaching out to constituents and spending time with them to stay in tune with their needs and concerns. The packed schedules that typify leader’s lives and work make this challenging, but time spent building relationships with constituents often saves time in the long run by fostering a trusting and collaborative climate that makes it easier to lead and get things done.

Leader as emotion magnet: Hope and angst Certain roles attract and are strategically positioned to serve as targets for workplace affect. Leaders are natural emotion magnets. There are better and worse ways to handle that role, but avoiding it is not an option. Leaders are visible by the nature of their work. And hierarchies make them designated links to power structures that solve (and cause) problems, organizational symbols of hope and progress, outlets for frustration, and convenient scapegoats when things go wrong. Maccoby (2004) and Kets de Vries (2003) remind us of the ease with which we

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all transfer early-life disappointments, ambivalence about power, and disdain for dependency onto leaders. Part of the unstated contract between leader and followers is the leader’s willingness to accept the followers’ current and past emotion-laden projections – and more. Followers, after all, give leaders their authority in exchange for the leader’s willingness to hold constituents’ fears and needs. This is especially true under conditions of confusion, complexity, or overload. In times of distress, we turn to authority. To the breaking point, we place our hopes and frustrations upon those whose presumed knowledge, wisdom, and skill show the promise of fulfilment. Authorities serve as repositories for our worries and aspirations, holding them, if they can, in exchange for the powers we give them. (Heifetz, 1994: 69) By creating holding environments, leaders serve as buffers against uncertainty whose job includes making ambiguity psychologically tolerable, relieving individual and organizational stress, and sustaining hope for constituents. Howard Schultz understood this function. His return to the CEO position refocused Starbucks employees on organizational standards for quality and service. More importantly, it rejuvenated their faith in the company’s future and in the value of their individual contributions to it (Schultz, 2011). Quixote, by contrast, overwhelmed the campus. He ignored the escalating concerns, questions, and exhaustion of supporters and critics alike. Progress on transformation initiatives trumped all. In his study of caregivers, William Kahn (2005) identified a paradox in compassionate service that is relevant to leadership. Caring professionals who serve individuals in need require simultaneous openness to and distance from those they seek to aid. They need clear boundaries to sustain objectivity, protect themselves from the stress of the work, and nurture essential autonomy in others. At the same time, effective caregivers, like effective leaders, need to understand others at a deep level so as to respond in appropriate ways to the unique realities of their situation over time. This only happens when caregivers ‘take in’ those in need – fully grasp others’ fears, capabilities, limitations, and needs. Learned skills in clinical detachment enable clinicians to bound this process; however, they still risk ‘the strain of absorption’ – accumulated stress from close relationships with those in need, recognition of others’ pain, and the ‘constant waves of emotion’ that wash up against them in the course of their everyday work (Kahn, 2005). Over time, compassion fatigue (Figley, 1993; 1995) can take a toll. Like caregivers, leaders burn out when they act like ‘psychic sponges’ (Borysenko, 1988), soaking up the emotions of those around them whether they realize it or not. Counsellors, clinicians, and caregivers are trained in clinical detachment to limit the depths of their psychic engagement. They also learn to recognize when they have crossed the line, accumulated too much exposure to others’ pain, or inadequately cleared themselves of the unavoidable ‘affective

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residue’ of their work (Kahn, 2005). Leaders may have empathy, passion for the cause, and a willingness to charge into the fray. Few, however, have the clinical skills to protect themselves from others’ strong emotions or to recognize when they begin to extract a personal toll. Before his death, the late Peter Frost (2003) shared his story to illustrate the point. As associate dean in a large professional school, he repeatedly interacted with frustrated faculty – the majority of those who come to a dean’s office. Frost remained unaware of the ways that those repeated exposures weakened his psychic defences, despite his experience as a private sector manager, professor, and organizational scholar. Only in hindsight did he notice a change in himself over his years in the job. Frost reported taking in more, rather than less, of others’ pain and feeling it more deeply and longer. He increasingly replayed emotion-laden exchanges in his mind, searching for better ways to handle and respond to problems and complaints. He described sleeplessness in the face of exhaustion at the end of each day. Research helps explain why. Repeated exposures to strong emotions and negativity result in brain changes that can make individuals more vulnerable to emotional pain – and their bodies quicker to trigger unhealthy responses to it (Goleman, 1995; Restak, 2003). A Journal of Advancement in Medicine study (Rein, McCraty and Atkinson, 1995) confirms that simply remembering strong emotions creates physiological changes that can compromise the immune system. Discussing stressful events with friends may even be counterproductive for some (Rose, Carlson and Waller, 2007). Even leaders who understand the emotional load in their work are often willing to ignore it, caught up in internal and external pressures to produce and dynamics that keep leaders focused on followers’ needs rather than their own. Gardner (1990) acknowledges a universal ambivalence toward leaders that predisposes them to be other-centred. People want leaders who are powerful and capable of results. At the same time, they hate dependence and giving power to others – or others taking it even at their insistence. The ambivalence can push followers to blindly up the dependence ante when leaders can’t deliver – or don’t deliver quickly enough. The stage can be set for an escalating cycle of pressure and anguish for all. Shared conceptions of heroic leadership – the solitary superhero whose brilliance and strength save the day – support stoic acceptance of the added pressures. So does the reality that all leaders serve at the will of their followers. Rising expectations, however, bring the potential for rising disappointment. Leaders, after all, are only human. And mounting frustrations can lead followers across a dangerous line where disappointment morphs into ill-will directed at the leader. Research (e.g., Dossey, 1997; 1993) points to the physiological consequences of negative wishes directed toward another: toxic projections can harm. Leaders also face a multiplier effect. People in emotional pain can unconsciously blame leaders for their inability to find relief. They may also hold leaders responsible for their continued suffering and project harm toward them. When leading in a toxic workplace, the leader easily becomes the focus of collective negativity.

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Surviving and thriving: Nourishing the leader – body and soul Managing the human side of leadership is technically and emotionally challenging, and leadership is a lot harder and less glamorous because of the demands. Attention to self and others keeps leaders moving back and forth between looking inward to manage self and looking outward to forge and manage relationships. Followers must be earned – and they can be harsh or resistant critics. Inevitable dynamics of loss and change ask leaders to play at the boundaries of human development and to manage the pace and emotional spill-over of change so as to reflect constituent needs for adaptation and learning. Dysfunctional dynamics and toxic cultures can fuel emotional flames and test leaders’ stamina and emotional armour. Decisions are often made in the face of ambiguity and incomplete information, and mistakes can be costly to the leader and the entire enterprise. Leadership is complex, lonely work that engages mind, heart, body, and soul – and even the most prepared are never fully certain they will succeed until tested. Leadership has its dangers. A leader’s choices are fateful for leader and others, and personal needs and desires can cloud professional judgments. Followers’ mixed feelings about leadership add risk to the equation. They want powerful leaders who can deliver, yet fear those who may challenge the comfort of what they know. In such a world, leaders are always vulnerable; and they need tactics to protect themselves from their own and others’ efforts to undermine progress. Heifetz and Linsky (2008) call this leadership’s dark side: the inevitable attempts to take leaders out of the game. The external hazards take multiple forms. Leaders can face direct attacks that shift discussions to their character or skills and away from the substance of their initiative. They can be marginalized – overly identified with a position or issue so that their authority and larger impact are undermined. They may be seduced by their constituents – so concerned about followers’ approval, affection, comfort, or happiness that they fail to demand the work and adaptation needed for real change. They can fall victim to over-filled calendars, hooked by meetings and requests that keep them too busy to lead. In extreme cases, leaders may face actual physical dangers. Effective leaders stay vigilant. Heifetz and Linsky (2008) suggest four strategies: 1

2

3

Operate in and above the fray: Leaders need regular breaks from the action where they can step back and ask themselves, ‘What’s really going on here?’ Getting off the dance floor and up to the balcony to survey the action on the dance floor below metaphorically captures the essence of their challenge. Court the uncommitted: Identifying allies and opponents is important, but the large number of folks in the middle (who care little about the actual substance of the issue but who will still cling to the comfort of their known world if mobilized) can tip the scale in either direction. And there is safety for the leader in numbers. Cook the conflict: Leaders can raise the heat on a topic to get people’s attention or lower it to provide time for them to reflect and adapt. Pacing is vital.

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4

Give the work back to the people: Constituents may ask leaders to go it alone and fix things for them, but they’ll resent the imposition if they had hoped for a different fix. Solutions to complex problems rest with the collective.

Leaders will also be challenged by their own internal conflicts, and they serve others better if they strengthen and support themselves. They will need to embrace self-reflection, accept their strengths and limitations, and dig deep into their moral core to manage ego and ‘personal hungers’ (Heifetz and Linsky, 2008) that can disrupt the capacity for wise choices and effective action. Savvy leaders build the skills of a reflective practitioner (Schon, 1983) and learn to regularly examine their impact on those around them. Leadership always seems simpler from the outside. Internal struggles, conflicting passions, and doubts of the soul are all par for the course. Spiritual intelligence, cultivated by exploring larger life issues of one’s meaning, purpose, and contribution, offers a grounded base from which to lead. Spiritual maturity is at the heart of leadership effectiveness, and research has shown that inner growth matters in important ways (Delbecq, 2008). Inner growth involves finding one’s life calling, leveraging personal passions and skills for a larger good, bringing a clear moral compass to decision making, and using spiritual disciplines like prayer and meditation to sustain a leader’s health and healthy openness to new opportunities and to others. Bolman and Gallos (2011) suggest attention to five key areas: 1

2

3

4

5

Boundaries: Leaders attend to the distinction between self and work role and remember that others’ reactions are largely responses to role-related actions rather than to them as individuals. This does not exempt leaders from paying attention to feedback and seeking better ways to lead, but it cautions them not to personalize the many reactions their work inevitably provokes. Blur the distinction and leaders carry too much on their own shoulders and challenge others too little. Biology: Leaders need health and stamina to stay grounded. It is easy under stress – physical or emotional, personal or professional, real or imagined – to settle into poor eating, sleeping, and stress management. Chronic activation of the stress response wears a body down, and a wounded leader cannot muster the care and compassion to attend to others. Balance: Strong boundaries and health require balance – retaining one’s equilibrium and perspective in the face of challenge. Two suggestions: (1) counterbalance stress with relaxation techniques, and (2) neutralize toxic affect with positive emotions. Leaders can’t stop the waves, but they can learn to surf. Beauty: Maintaining balance suggests identifying activities that feed the soul. The beauty and recuperative power of the arts make them an obvious choice. ‘Without art, the crudeness of reality would make the world unbearable,’ said playwright George Bernard Shaw. Bounce: Resilience is the ability to grow and strengthen in the face of challenge or trauma. All leaders face trials and uncertainty in their efforts to make a difference. Bennis and Thomas (2008) call these ‘crucibles’: experiences that

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force leaders to grapple with their current reality, question themselves, determine what really matters, and emerge stronger and more committed. Failure becomes a blessing when it provides critical opportunity to learn and grow. Resilience is strengthened when leaders recognize that they always have choices in interpreting and responding to events, keep things in perspective, trust their instincts, practice new behaviours and responses, and reflect on the consequences.

Closing thoughts: Listening to the background music When performed at its best, like fine background music, emotional labour goes unnoticed. (Guy, Newman and Mastracci, 2008: 10)

The capacity to lead well is based on understanding how leadership works and what can increase the odds of success. Good theories for action are prescriptive and personal: they are the internal maps leaders bring to manage their choices and actions. Whether home-grown, borrowed from experts, or some combination of the two, they guide leaders in their work. The reverse is also true: naive or distorted understandings send leaders blindly down the wrong path, squandering time, resources, and credibility – perhaps even health – along the way. The field of leadership studies traces its roots to the management and administrative sciences (Rost, 1991). It is no surprise then that much of the advice on leadership practice and competencies focuses on the more rational, observable, and administrative tasks in leading. Activities like crafting a vision, forming a strategy, and planning one’s first 90 days in office, for example, are all foundational steps in getting leadership off on the right foot and in bringing deliberateness to complex work. Like much of the advice on how to lead well, it focuses on the cognitive and behavioural. Leading is cast as a combination of advanced problem-solving and strategic planning: bring the right people to the table, think things through well, craft a consistent and coherent strategy, communicate it, and implement the plan as designed. Constituents play utilitarian roles in all this: they provide data and effort to move the plan forward. Oh, if only leadership and followership were as rational and straightforward! But the theories and advice of the field that imply they are inform the theories for action that leaders bring to their work. Overlook or devalue the emotional labour in leading, and we do leaders – and the leadership field – an injustice. The emotional labour in leadership is a very demanding part of the work. How can we best prepare leaders for it? It takes high skill, deep self-knowledge, strong interpersonal and diagnostic capacities, and careful attention to manage and positively guide the affective domain for self and others at the heart of the leadership process. Leaders only succeed when they: • •

forge and sustain healthy and positive relationships of influence for others; inspire hope and possibility in times of need;

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• • • •

engage others in ways that bring out their best; stay positive and convey confidence in the face of ambiguity and complexity; bring one’s full self to the work yet keep an over-developed ego in check; embrace empathy and care without incurring compassion fatigue or burnout; and work the emotional-laden domain of human development to facilitate the adaption and learning essential for real progress.

•

In the language of this chapter, leaders succeed when they understand and are prepared well to handle the human side of leadership. Like fine background music, emotional labour goes unnoticed when leaders bring skill and competency to this task. But background music is more than fluff or filler. Grammy and Academy Award-winning composer John Williams has written some of the best known and most powerful film scores of our time – the Star Wars series, the Harry Potter series, Jaws, Raiders of the Lost Ark, Schindler’s List, E.T., and much more. Williams’s success comes from understanding that what may look to the uninformed as simple background in fact shapes the movie viewer’s experience and makes a one-dimensional visual emotionally real and compelling. Another opportunity that we have in film [music] is to create melodic identifications with characters. So we can identify people aurally on and off the screen. We can suggest the presence of a character. We can sense Darth Vader’s approaching because we hear his tune. And so these are parts of the toolbox of how we put together a soundtrack to a film that will illicit emotions and underscore them, suggest them, enhance them. . . . If you take orchestral music particularly out of action films and watch the film without it, something of the energy or the circulation, if you’d like, or the temperature of the film is taken away and it becomes inanimate almost. So the music has shown itself to be an essential part of this audio-visual experience. . . . And we can not only underscore emotions that are developing but suggest some that may not be. (Williams, 2009) Music speaks in primitive ways to the brain, and its ability to alter emotions has long been known (e.g., Sacks, 1973, 2008; Jourdain, 2002). Successful movie makers appreciate that a powerful and appropriate soundtrack is as important as a good story line or casting choice for box office success. So it is with the emotional labour in leadership. Successful leaders appreciate that technical skills to manage the observable tasks of work are important, but not enough. Understanding the human side of leadership, appreciating its power and possibilities, attending to its nuances, and developing skills for proactively managing it can make all the difference. Leaders succeed when they bring hope, compassion, and an appreciation of human nature in all its richness to their work. Like Howard Schultz at Starbucks, they know how to use themselves and their

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passions to foster an unshakable faith in a new and better future and to enable others to rise to their full potential in making that happen.

References Bennis, W., and Thomas, D. (2008) Resilience and the crucibles of leadership. In J. V. Gallos (ed.), Business Leadership. San Francisco: Jossey-Bass. Bolman, L., and Deal, T. E. (2008) Reframing Organizations: Artistry, choice and leadership (fourth edn). San Francisco: Jossey-Bass. Bolman, L. G., and Gallos, J. V. (2011) Reframing Academic Leadership. San Francisco: Jossey-Bass. Borysenko, J. (1988) Minding the Body, Mending the Mind. New York: Bantam. Cohen, M. D., and March, J. G. (1974) Leadership and Ambiguity: The American college president. New York: McGraw-Hill. Delbecq, A. (2008) Nourishing the soul of the leader: Inner growth matters. In J. V. Gallos (ed.), Business Leadership. San Francisco: Jossey-Bass. Didion, J. (2005) The Year of Magical Thinking. New York: Knopf. Dossey, L. (1993) Healing Words: The power of prayer and the practice of medicine. San Francisco: HarperCollins. Dossey, L. (1997) Be Careful What You Pray For. . .You Just Might Get It: What we can do about the unintentional effects of our thoughts, prayers, and wishes. San Francisco: HarperCollins. Figley, C. R. (1993) Compassion stress: Toward its measurement and management. Family Therapy News (January). Figley, C. R. (ed.) (1995) Compassion Fatigue: Coping with secondary traumatic stress disorder in those who treat the traumatized. New York: Brunner/Mazel. Fortune Online, (2011) Howard Schultz brews strong coffee at Starbucks, November 17. http://management.fortune.cnn.com/2011/11/17/starbucks-howard-schultz-businessperson-year/ Accessed online January 3, 2012. Frost, P. J. (2003) Toxic Emotions at Work. Boston, MA: Harvard Business School Press. Gallos, J. V. (1989) Developmental diversity and the OB classroom: Implications for teaching and learning. Organizational Behavior Teaching Review, 13(40): 33–47, November. Gallos, J. V. (1993) Understanding the Organizational Behavior Classroom: An Application of Developmental Theory. Journal of Management Education, XVII(4): 423–39. Gallos, J. V. (2008a) Introduction. In J. V. Gallos (ed.), Business Leadership. San Francisco: Jossey-Bass. Gallos, J. V. (2008b) Making sense of organizations: Leadership, frames, and everyday theories of the situation, in J.V. Gallos (ed.), Business Leadership. San Francisco: JosseyBass. Gallos, J. (2008c) Learning from the toxic trenches: The winding road to healthier organizations—and to healthy everyday leaders. Journal of Management Inquiry, 17(4, December): 354–67. Gardner, J. (1990) On Leadership. New York: Free Press. George, W. (2008) Leadership is authenticity, not style, in J. V. Gallos (ed.), Business Leadership. San Francisco: Jossey-Bass. Goffman, E. (1959) The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life. Garden City, NY: Doubleday. Goleman, D. (1995) Emotional Intelligence. New York: Bantam.

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Goleman, D., Boyatzis, R. E., and McKee, A. (2008) Primal Leadership: The hidden power of emotional intelligence. In J. V. Gallos (ed.), Business Leadership. San Francisco: Jossey-Bass. Greenleaf, R. K. (1998) The Power of Servant Leadership. San Francisco: BerrettKoehler. Guy, M. E., Newman, M. A., and Mastracci, S. H. (2008) Emotional Labour: Putting the service in public service. Armonk, NY: M.E. Sharpe. Heifetz, R. (1994) Leadership Without Easy Answers. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Heifetz, R. A., and Linsky, M. (2008) A survival guide for leaders, in J.V. Gallos (ed.), Business Leadership. San Francisco: Jossey-Bass. Jourdain, R. (2002) Music, the Brain and Ecstasy: How music captures our imagination. New York: Quill/Harper Collins. Kahn, W. (2005) Holding Fast: The struggle to create resilient caregiving organizations. New York: Brunner Routledge. Kellerman, B. (2004) Bad Leadership: What it is, how it happens, why it matters. Boston, MA: Harvard University Business School Press. Kets de Vries, M. F. R. (2003) Leaders, Fools and Imposters: Essays on the psychology of leadership. New York: Universe. Kübler-Ross, E. (1969) On Death and Dying. New York: Macmillan. Kübler-Ross, E. (1975) Death: The final stage of growth. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: PrenticeHall. Lipman-Blumen, J. (2005) The Allure of Toxic Leaders: Why we follow destructive bosses and corrupt politicians – and how we can survive them. New York: Oxford University Press. Maccoby, M. (2004) The power of transference. Harvard Business Review (September). Reprint R0409E. Marris, P. H. (1975) Loss and Change. New York: Doubleday. Marris, P. H. (1986) Loss and Change (revised edn). London: Routledge. Marris, P. H. (1987) Meaning and Action: Community planning and conceptions of change. London: Routledge. Marris, P. H. (1996) The Politics of Uncertainty: Attachment in private and public life. London: Routledge. Nadler, D. A., Shaw, R. B., Walton, A. E., and Associates (1994) Discontinuous Change: Leading organizational transformation. San Francisco: Jossey-Bass. Rein, G., McCraty, R. and Atkinson, M. (1995) The physiological and psychological effects of compassion and anger. Journal of Advancement of Medicine, 8(2): 87–105. Restak, R. (2003) The New Brain: How the modern age is rewiring your mind. New York: Rodale, Inc. Rose, A., Carlson, W. and Waller, E. M. (2007) Prospective associations of co-rumination with friendship and emotional adjustment: Considering the socioemotional trade-offs of co-rumination. Developmental Psychology, 43(4): 1019–31. Rost, J. C. (1991) Leader for the Twenty-first Century. Westport, CT: Praeger. Sacks, O. (1973) Awakening. New York: HarperCollins. Sacks, O. (2008) Musicophilia: Tales of Music and the Brain. New York: Vintage. Schon, D. (1983) The Reflective Practitioner: How professionals think in action. New York: Basic. Schultz, H. (1999) Pour Your Heart into It: How Starbucks built a company one cup at a time. New York: Hyperion.

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Schultz. H. (2011) Onward! How Starbucks fought for its like without losing its soul. New York: Rodale. Sigford, J. L. (2005) Who Said School Administration Would Be Fun: Coping with a new emotional and social reality. Thousand Oaks, CA: Corwin. Starbucks (2012) Facts about Starbucks and Our Partners (employees). Accessed January 2, 2012 at http://news.starbucks.com/article_display.cfm?article_id=225. Sutton, R. (2010) Good Boss, Bad Boss: How to be the best. . .and learn from the worst. New York: Business Plus/Hachette. Williams, J. (2009) Transcript of conversation with John Williams (interview by Josephine Reed) at http://www.nea.gov/av/avCMS/Williams-podcast-transcript.html. Accessed January 6, 2012.

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Getting to the ‘heart’ of leaders doing emotional labour A methodological, theoretical and empirical contribution Dalvir Samra-Fredericks

Introduction Managers have to acquire a degree of emotional literacy in order to survive or thrive in the job. They will need to know the places to erect social defenses, the kinds of emotions that can or cannot be expressed in particular settings and how emotions can be used strategically to gain desired ends. (Fineman, 1997: 22–1)

Managers’ own self-reporting during interviews indicates that such emotional management is an integral and routine aspect of their practice (e.g. see Hopfl and Linstead, 1993; Watson and Harris, 1999: 141–55; also Watson, 1994). Following Hochschild’s (1983; 1993) seminal work, emotion is indeed a ‘covert resource’ needed by companies ‘to get the job done’, even at senior organizational levels. More recently, Murray (2011) who coaches leaders also contended that the ability to inspire others pivoted on ‘striking the right emotional chord’ and that rational analyses do not ‘move’ people. To ‘talk from the heart’ is deemed to be the pivotal ‘Language of Leaders’ (the title of Murray’s book). This is not new as we shall see. This chapter draws on work which has captured emotions being assembled during the everyday interactional routines between senior managers – that is, managerial elites or leaders and, hereafter, referred to as leaders in keeping with this edited collection’s terminology. So too the definition of a leader as someone who persuades and/or influences ‘process’/outcomes is retained (from Yukl and others). This accesses those leadership processes and is in keeping with the ethnomethodological/conversation analytic tradition (see Samra-Fredericks, 2003, 2004a, 2004b; Samra-Fredericks and Bargiela-Chiappini, 2008) whereby any labeling or ascription of person A or B as a ‘leader’ is always a situated accomplishment of details (Rawls, 2008) – a ‘leader’ is a situated identity arising from sequentially derived interactional details of the sort we glimpse later. Today, however, we still see a focus on organizational members’ deployment of a ‘language of emotion’ (Waldron, 2000) during interviews, thus losing the situated interactions constituting both leaders and emotional displays. It is, perhaps, understandable that many continue to examine the ‘language of emotion’ from interview data and that everyday talk is, of course, littered with it – ‘being annoyed’, ‘irritated

Getting to the ‘heart’ of leaders doing emotional labour 57 by’, ‘makes me angry’, ‘it’s so frustrating’, ‘I’m worried’ and so on. Yet, how these apparently simple expressions ‘feed’ into members’ split-second interactive routines to alter (or not) the subsequent trajectory of the talk has remained elusive. For example, how is the doing of worry accomplished when face-meets-face in corridors and during meetings? These are important matters – indeed, recent events in the UK appear to offer one timely example: Fred Goodwin, former CEO of RBS, is reported to have constituted an organizational context where others seemed fearful to speak out. We can perhaps imagine emotions such as fear, anxiety and so on, but the emotional tempo in such ‘upper echelons’ can only be imagined since what little research has been undertaken has been from a distance, deploying the ‘method’ of interviews (Goodwin/RBS, for example, Gratton and Ghoshal, 2005). Until we are granted access to go-and-see-just-what-happens-and-how, then this critical topic of ‘leadership’ and ‘emotional labour’ and its organizational (societal) consequences will remain elusive and under-researched and yet, hugely important and consequential. This chapter aims to make a methodological, theoretical-conceptual and empirical contribution to understanding the everyday skilful nature of emotional labour, simultaneously wrapped up in layers of ‘rationalities’. It draws on close-up studies of senior organization members’ everyday interactions across time and spaces. Here, it focuses on the ‘social and relational’ (Fineman, 2000) facets for doing emotions constituting self, task and organizations. It primarily draws on an earlier published study and re-emphasizes a neglected route for the study of ‘real-time’ emotions in organizational life as well as showing how Nash’s (1989) work on rhetoric as emotion furnishes an insightful and contributory conceptual and analytical schema. As a fine-grained study of how those we label as ‘leaders’ assemble emotions and ‘put them to work’ during their routine talk-based interactions to shape strategic direction (Samra-Fredericks, 2004a), it also showed how they routinely – and skilfully – conveyed their feelings of frustration, anger and despair in order to get the work done. The move beyond self-reports in interviews to seeing and capturing such intricate and interactionally fine-tuned displays of emotion necessitated an ethnographic approach which included audio-recording their naturally occurring routines over time/space. The argument has already been made elsewhere that only through doing so can we begin an empirical ‘filling out’ in a unique and richly textured fashion (Samra-Fredericks, 2004a). So too only then can the two crucial questions posed by Fineman (1993: 217) be explored/answered. That is: ‘in what ways do decisions unfold over time as a function of the way people feel . . . about themselves, their projects and significant others? How, for example, does anxiety, suspicion, love, and hate take decision-making through various paths towards particular outcomes?’ Acknowledging that emotions are ‘integral and essential modalities of organisational performance’ (Albrow, 1997: 110, cited in Sturdy, 2003: 97; SamraFredericks, 1996), one noticeable element for influencing strategic processes was an ability to be ‘more’ emotionally expressive and to do so appropriately and at the ‘right’ moment (Samra-Fredericks, 2003). The twelve months of field work generated an extensive set of audio-recordings which were listened to again and again,

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and eventually generated detailed transcripts of the sort we glimpse here and elsewhere (see Samra-Fredericks 2004b for details). These were subjected to finegrained analysis set against various theoretical schemas in order to understand what is going on and how. In the earlier cited published work which this chapter selectively reproduces, Nash’s (1989) account of ‘rhetoric as emotion’ was shown to facilitate theoretical and analytical development of the ways language/talk assists assembly of emotional displays for persuading others while simultaneously speaking a rhetoric of rationality. This focus upon talk is also warranted since much of what these leaders (and managers, more generally) do and accomplish is through talk (see Samra-Fredericks, 2003, 2004b for a fuller discussion of this stance). This chapter also illuminates emotions as being a crucial barometer of ‘moral and relational ethics’, following in the steps of Erving Goffman (1959). In sum, it hopes to open up an avenue for getting closer to the ‘heart’ of the phenomenon. A highly selective review of the literature is followed by a brief discussion of methodology (further details on methodology and practical issues in SamraFredericks, 2004a; 2004b). The next section summarizes Nash’s four discursive constituents and associated maxims as one route for theoretical development of the field. Then, two empirical illustrations are reproduced. Extract 1 is purposefully abstracted from the ebb-and-flow of conversational exchange to provide concise illustration of when our effective orator/leader (Eddie – a pseudonym) had secured the floor to make (mini) ‘great man-type’ speeches which conveyed his feelings and emotions in ways which ‘moved’ his listeners so that particular ‘actions’ followed. In contrast, extract 2 illustrates the split-second turn-by-turn interpersonal leveraging of emotional expressiveness to advantage. It brings in the critical role of others’ efforts (responses) which subtly regulate the emotional terrain when a breach of the ‘acceptable’ and localized ‘norms’ or protocols of interaction were perceived to have occurred. Indeed, in the second extract how two listeners (Martin, again a pseudonym and the Managing Director (MD)), when witnessing an angry outburst, were prompted to intervene and avert the breakdown of the relational dimension is outlined. Their split-second responses demonstrate their ‘reading’ of Eddie’s emotional display (anger) and their investment in interpersonal effort which not only constituted it but also sought to finetune it in ways which met with their culturally derived notion of appropriateness. The conclusion follows and here extract 3 is reproduced: while space issues prevent analytical discussion which further consolidates the range of earlier ‘findings’, it points to future research efforts. Leaders, emotions and strategizing George (2000: 1032 – see Samra-Fredericks, 2004a) was shown to propose that leaders need to ‘possess certain emotional capabilities’ in order to be effective. There were echoes of Gardner and Avolio’s (1998) depiction of charismatic leadership and the linked notion of ‘transformational’ leaders which pivot upon abilities to arouse emotions such as ‘passion’, excitement and so forth in others (see Ashkanasy and Tse, 2000; Bryman, 1992). Overall,

Getting to the ‘heart’ of leaders doing emotional labour 59 [i]n order for leaders to generate and maintain excitement and enthusiasm, they must be . . . knowledgeable about how to influence these feelings. They must also be able to anticipate how followers will react . . . Leaders need to manage emotions . . . leaders need to be able to distinguish between the emotions their followers are actually experiencing, their ‘real’ feelings, and the emotions they express. (George, 2000: 1041, emphasis added) How they do this, however, remains outstanding. When discussing the strategic leaders’ role, Westley and Mintzberg (1991: 43–4) also observed the crucial linkage between language-use and emotion. They proposed, for example, that ‘[h]ow the vision is communicated . . . becomes as important as what is communicated’ and, more importantly, added that language provides ‘the ability to stimulate, not only through appeals to logic but also through appeals to emotion’. Again, what remains outstanding is research into just how appeals to logic and emotional expressiveness are simultaneously spoken by leaders in organizational settings in ‘real time’ or, in George’s case, just how a leader interpersonally influences feelings or manages others’ emotions. What is also particularly problematic, as well as raising a spectrum of methodological issues, are attempts to distinguish between what are experienced/real feelings and those that are seemingly falsely expressed (see Sturdy, 2003: 87–8), a point returned to later. The sociological ‘take’ on emotions From a sociological perspective, ‘emotions’ are defined as the ‘social display of feelings’ (Sturdy, 2003: 86) leading to calls to explore ‘collaborative social performances’ (Waldron, 2000) where emotions are ‘done’ (Hearn, 1993: 146). This sociological focus is further warranted since much organizational activity is interactional and talk-based in nature. Indeed, to develop a central point regarding the ‘linguistic turn’ within the social sciences where talk is deemed to be a form of action (see Samra-Fredericks, 2004a, 2004b), actions such as blaming, denying, justifying and so on also imply emotional displays and evoking ‘feeling states’ in others. It is where language use or talk, then, not only realizes specific configurations of social and political realities constituting ‘organization’ and identities, but it also integrally realizes aspects of the emotional terrain. Furthermore, emotions come to be expressed ‘within local rules as to how to do irritation and anger’, hence embracing the issue of what is ‘socially acceptable’ (Mangham, 1998: 58) within a particular epoch (UK, late twentieth/early twentyfirst century). An individual’s personal ‘store’ or set of resources are also acquired from prior experiences, furnishing them with a culturally derived ‘working’ knowledge of the norms and rights and obligations both in terms of what is right and wrong more generally, and more specifically, in terms of what are appropriate forms of emotional expressiveness given the setting and who else is present. There are, then, close linkages between the moral order as a ‘background expectancy’ (Giddens, 1976, 1984; Goffman, 1959, 1967, 1983; Turner, 1988) and emotional

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expressiveness. It is where if the moral order is breached or challenged, then emotions and feelings such as injustice and anger are evoked. Arguably, the ways that emotions intricately mark and express moral outrage or give force to relational obligations remains elusive primarily because ‘the interview’ has remained the dominant research ‘method’ or, where observational studies have been undertaken they have failed to capture the dynamic and intricate nature of emotional labour being done. In sum, we need to get closer to the ‘heart’ of the phenomenon.

Method(ological) issues Many scholars (see collections edited by Fineman, 1993, 2000; and Hopfl and Linstead, 1997; also Albrow, 1997; Sturdy, 2003) acknowledge that studies of the emotional realm of human activity challenge conventional types of analyses. Emotions research is hindered by its inherent complexity and elusive nature – Sturdy’s (2003: 81) observation that emotions are ‘private, intangible, transient, unmanageable’, and even ‘unknowable’ indicates the formidable task facing any researcher. Yet, as he also adds, aspects can be accessed and made ‘known’ and that doing so is important for challenging ‘rationalistic and dualistic analyses’ (Sturdy, 2003: 81). The requirement is to move from self-reported descriptions of what organizational members say they felt during interviews to one where we observe/record how such feelings are linguistically assembled, expressed, acknowledged and reciprocated (or not) during actual interaction. Indeed, to ask organizational members/leaders how do they effectively convey or ‘hide’ emotions such as anger or frustration on some matter is immensely problematic. They tacitly know the acceptable levels and configurations of emotional display given their shared definition of the context and their prior knowledge of each other set alongside their ability to draw upon their personal ‘store’ of complex knowledges/ resources. Essentially, this knowledge includes knowing how and when to do (Polanyi, 1967, see also Garfinkel, 1967) emotion. The suggestion here is that an ethnographic-observational approach which places centre-stage recording lived experience happening across time/space offers one basis for making emotion ‘knowable’ from a sociological perspective. This has been outlined more fully elsewhere (Samra-Fredericks, 2004a; 2004b) and it is acknowledged that to gain such access can be difficult. In both studies drawn on in this chapter, it did take many years of protracted negotiations to access the necessary mix of ‘data’. This mix includes observation recorded in field notebooks, audio-recordings and the collection of company documents. Taken together they provide a sense of: them as individuals (their interests, goals and so on); their present purposes (what they are doing now and why) alongside; an understanding of their biography of prior dealings (what happened yesterday, last week/month). This is the researcher’s ‘store’ of background ‘knowledges’ so essential for interpreting utterances and meaning-making given the indexicality of language (Garfinkel, 1967). It is also the basis from which to illuminate a performative capability which defies prescription or any simple declaration of leaders’ conscious adherence to, here, Nash’s (1989) four maxims (summarized shortly).

Getting to the ‘heart’ of leaders doing emotional labour 61 In conducting the analysis from which extracts 1 and 2 are drawn, it was nevertheless difficult to resist attributing to Eddie an ‘artful’ deployment of the discursive constituents. Yet, we need to be careful of implying simple intention or calculation on his part. What can be stated more generally is that to persuade others a speaker raids their stores of ‘knowledges’ of which linguistic capability is crucial alongside making split-second judgments regarding appropriateness given the participants/setting in order to aim for their ‘target’. Hence, there is always an element of intention/calculation but not one which seamlessly observes Nash’s maxims. On a more general level, one route for discerning a speaker’s broader intentions can arise from undertaking such ethnographic fieldwork since some understanding of their interests and goals are acquired by the researcher, in turn, assisting interpretative efforts. Another more specific analytical route can arise through careful examination of the ‘devices of affective rhetoric’ which lets others ‘know that you are bent on touching a nerve’ (Nash, 1989: 50). For example, the device of hyperbole – ‘broke my heart’ (extract 1) – indicates some intention on Eddie’s part to ‘touch’ ‘nerves’ while simultaneously speaking a ‘language of emotion’ (Waldron, 2000). Nevertheless, there are always unintended consequences, not least arising from others’ responses to such dramatic claims. There is another key issue which concerns the translation of an embodied lived performance spanning both verbal and non-verbal elements into a written account: clearly, emotional expressiveness, especially during the conflictual moments when ‘tempers’ flared, encompasses non-verbal gestures such as frowning, clenched fists, wagging one’s finger and so on alongside those more subtle aspects such as ‘clenched teeth’. There is also the matter of tone, tempo/loudness and so on. So, how can we translate the dynamic, split-second, rich, embodied and lived performative capability spanning both verbal and non-verbal domains of human activity into a written research account? While the focus here is on the spoken element, where such observed features were noted in the field-notes, they were either noted in [square brackets] in the transcripts and/or a brief description was provided. In addition, given that tone/tempo of voice or inflection/intonation and the placing of emphasis upon words at various points and so on are important components for assembling and expressing emotions, transcription practices aim to translate them into a written format too. For example, italics indicate emphasis of ‘words’ and rising intonation is depicted through underlining in the extracts (see appendix 1 for other transcript conventions). The next section now summarizes the conceptual and analytical schema which develops our understanding of the skilful ways leaders weave together emotional displays with a rationality that is hard to displace. Rhetoric as emotion Nash (1989) asserted that rhetoric as the ‘wit of persuasion’ is a fundamental competence. He added that one integral basis for persuading others is the ability to express feelings or emotions and to evoke corresponding ones in the audience/ listeners. However, unlike Nash, rather than trace his ‘four discursive constituents’

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for ‘moving an audience’ through written examples drawn from the traditions of literature, poetry and ‘great man’ speeches preserved in various historical artifacts (e.g. Lincoln’s Gettysburg address), detailed transcribed instances of leaders ‘doing’ everyday emotion which, in quite complex ways, influenced subsequent management/strategic processes is our focus. As already emphasized, this chapter draws on the earlier study where the way one executive director in a large manufacturing company – our focal leader, Eddie – deployed to advantage emotional displays such as frustration, despair and anger will be glimpsed across the first two extracts. Within Nash’s (1989: Chapter 2) schema there are four discursive constituents for ‘moving an audience’ and they are only deemed to ‘move’ us when correlated with ‘great themes’ or matters of ‘empathetic concern’ (Nash, 1989: 31). This is the first discursive constituent and the analysis of senior organizational members’ interactions suggested – unsurprisingly – that the specific ‘great theme’ or ‘empathetic matter’ was (organizational) ‘survival’ as opposed to Nash’s ‘universals’ of love, war, death and so on. When turning to our leaders’ everyday verbal interactions, though, this ‘theme’ of survival was indexed in complex and subtle ways to ‘move’ the community of listeners. In extracts 1 and 2 these listeners are a core group of executive directors and senior managers who met regularly to discuss the ongoing implementation of strategic initiatives alongside discerning possibilities for the future. Nash’s second discursive constituent is ‘stance’. It is this which centres on the emotional domain and is crucial for effectively articulating the ‘great theme’ so that others are ‘moved’ or in Nash’s terms, their sympathies are evoked. Great themes are those which should resonate with the audience/listeners and correspondingly ‘evoke sympathies’ with ‘sympathy’ being a (capacity for) being simultaneously affected with the same feeling as another . . . sharing another person’s or thing’s emotion or sensation . . . mental participation with another in his trouble or with another’s trouble; compassion or approval (for); . . . agreement (with) in opinion or desire. (Concise Oxford Dictionary, 1984: 1083) In evoking such ‘feeling’ states during verbal interaction we are also acutely sensitized to the relational aspect which is interestingly noted here as arising from ‘participation with another in his trouble’. That ‘shared trouble’ for our senior organizational members returns us to organizational ‘survival’, one of the ongoing ‘great themes’ of current times. This second discursive constituent of ‘stance’ is also acknowledged by Nash as the most difficult to effectively constitute, touching as it does upon other elusive interpersonal phenomena such as being sincere and engendering trust in one’s account. This difficulty has also been noted by scholars interested in emotions in organizations from a sociological perspective (e.g. Fineman, 1993, 2000; Sturdy, 2003). For Nash, the ‘ethos of the act, the posture, tone and demeanor’ are all features deemed to be essential for convincing others that one

Getting to the ‘heart’ of leaders doing emotional labour 63 is ‘not putting on’ a ‘pretence’ – in Hochschild’s (1983) vocabulary, not ‘surface acting’ but expressing genuine emotions. While ‘stance’ is the most complex facet of human capability, its excavation is central to this chapter. Nash’s definition also points to a performative element. Indeed, tenor/tone of voice was specifically noted by Nash to convey the speaker’s attitude to the ‘great theme’ and to the audience. Given this, one avenue is to examine the ‘rhythmic management of a sequence of phrases’ (Nash, 1989: 30) and/or emphasis placed upon key words which then frame listeners’ attention (illustrated shortly). These then are crucial for assembling the emotional domain and ultimately, one’s ‘stance’. Inevitably it also gives rise to the rhetorical problem of which device(s) would enable one to ‘discharge the desired emotion’ so that one’s ‘stance’ is conveyed and the audience/ listeners ‘sympathies’ are evoked. Nash suggests that the two ‘companion skills’ of ‘design’ and ‘relation’, the third and fourth discursive constituents respectively are called for. These third and fourth discursive constituents deal with how speakers pattern their utterances (termed ‘design’ or taxis) and deploy from their cultural ‘store’ a set of rhetorical devices (termed ‘relation’ or lexis) to assemble emotions (stance) while, here, being also couched in a rationality around the ‘great theme’ of survival. Design involves the ‘patterning’ of the text (for us, the spoken utterance) which Nash (1989: 51) observes has ‘obvious affinities’ with the classical taxis (framework/structure). It is where attention shifts to the syntactic and figurative components which build step by step to an ‘emotional conclusion’. This aspect is closely tied to the fourth constituent of ‘relation’ in terms of devices of style and imaginary, itself having ‘affinities’ with classical lexis. One core device is that of the ‘tropes’ or metaphors which can evoke images ‘that correlate with, and thereby enhance, the emotions to be expressed or elicited’ (Nash, 1989: 51 – see Samra-Fredericks, 2004a). While efforts in combining taxis and lexis are more consciously undertaken when we are dealing with writing a speech or a literary text, everyday spoken rhetoric is also underpinned by this capability but it remains a split-second affair which also resides upon additional and complex sets of tacit skills and ‘knowledges’ (e.g. knowing when and how to). Moreover, during verbal interaction there is also that crucial involvement of others where no amount of planning or prior rehearsals can envisage and account for their responses. Briefly, the four associated maxims are: 1 Let your matter be broadly empathetic . . . 2 Let your stance be direct and uncomplicated [that is] let your audience be in no doubt that you mean wholeheartedly what you say . . . 3 Make the design of your text [talk] compulsive . . . to assert, or even impose, a powerful feeling . . . 4 Let your relation focus powerfully on one or two tropes or ‘correlates’. Never pack your discourse with unrelated images and metaphors . . . The trickiest of these rules is the maxim of stance which says in effect, ‘publish your truth’; for it is possible to be wholly sincere in terms that ring insincerely, and to be quite insincere in language that trumpets sincerity. (Nash, 1989; 51–3, and reproduced in Samra-Fredericks, 2004a)

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Two intertwined accomplishments derived from such rhetorical effectiveness are securing that elusive quality of being taken as ‘sincere’ and being able to influence outcomes/processes. Yet, when dealing with human interaction as Nash (1989: 53) observes, matters are never simple. Indeed, as he observes, the ‘speaker whose purpose is to move the deeper emotions of an audience is always at risk’ and ‘if rightly or wrongly, your audience perceives insincerity, it will no longer oblige you by being moved, however solemn and emotional your matter’. This is the task for any manager or leader looking to persuade others and one which Eddie effectively accomplished – he did instill others’ participation in his ‘troubles’ as perceived and articulated by him. The first extract – whilst abstracted from the ebb-and-flow of human exchange – concisely illustrates his deployment and combination of lexis and taxis. He did evoke his listeners’ sympathies and ‘moved’ them to act – an interpretation based upon what transpired next. Again, the issue of sincerity will be addressed in the concluding comments section. One other essential point to note is that ‘to move’ others to act through evoking their sympathies requires more than a ‘one-off’ moment of great oratory. Indeed, to effectively sway – evoke sympathies and thus persuade – others to one’s views/ opinions (etc) within the organizational settings necessitated a series of emotional displays. With this understanding we now turn to the two extracts. Ethnographic background During the fieldwork period of twelve months, the company was in the midst of managing a substantial strategic change initiative. When expressed in the ‘language’ of strategic management they were engaged in securing ‘competitive advantage’ and making efficiency gains given their recent capital investments in updating the manufacturing process. Over the course of this twelve-month fieldwork period, the senior members’ routines were observed and recorded across time (between one to three days per week) and space (meetings, offices, corridors, car parks and so forth). What transpired was that one member effectively shaped strategic direction – that is, he influenced process/outcomes and constituted a situated identity as ‘leader’. This was done through skillful assembly of emotional displays and in Nash’s terms, the ability to evoke others’ sympathies in ways glimpsed next. Extract 1 ‘broke my heart. . .’ I think I’ve said this before at one of these meetings when I (.) it near broke my heart when I joined the company to find dozens of procedures, practices, manuals which somebody in this company years ago spent I don’t know how long doing and the whole thing has fallen apart ‘cause nobody maintained them (.). . . This was one occasion where the subsequent trajectory of the talk altered and thus Eddie had influenced process. His explicit appeal was heard and acted upon in the

Getting to the ‘heart’ of leaders doing emotional labour 65 sense that a set of actions/decisions did follow. As noted earlier, while such outcomes are difficult to trace directly back to any one utterance/oratory since simple cause–effect relations are discounted, what can be stated is that in consistently speaking in this manner and through linking what are ostensibly everyday microissues (e.g. manuals not being maintained) to the ‘great theme’ (see extract 2 too and Samra-Fredericks 2004a for a third extract from this study), alongside displaying emotions such as frustration here (and anger elsewhere – extract 2), Eddie made points that ‘stuck’ and which then needed to be addressed. Jumping ahead, in this case Eddie’s department was subsequently assigned formal responsibility for producing, maintaining and enforcing procedures laid out in the manuals. Additional human resources were allocated to him to ensure that this was achieved so that ‘hearts’ would not be ‘broken’ in the future. Moreover, others seated around the table were subtly assigned blame for past failures. What these others seemingly felt, given what was expressed, included injustice and frustration as they undertook periodic explanations. While this latter aspect and the interactional elements are not elaborated here, extract 2 provides a glimpse of another speaker’s (Martin’s) splitsecond efforts in doing ‘explanation’ shot through with an emotional ‘tinge’. Returning to this first extract then, why and how was this utterance effective in ‘moving the audience’ and instigating particular actions? First and on a general level and linking us to the ‘great theme’ or ‘empathic matter’ of ‘survival’, the appeal was made to count given Eddie’s framing of a ‘problem’ against the background or known-in-common understanding where ‘procedures’ and ‘manuals’ form the backbone of ‘quality’ processes. Simply stated, having spent time/money developing complex processes for attaining Industry Quality Standards, a major problem identified by Eddie ‘when I joined the company’ was that the necessary documentation was not updated against continuous improvement initiatives. Further analytical depth for assigning significance to this uttered ‘problem’ arises from the background knowledge derived from the ethnographic fieldwork and which concerns their collectively voiced organizational/strategic ‘intent’ (Hamel and Prahalad, 1989) to increase market share. Like those elites seated around the table and listening to Eddie’s appeal, the researcher too has some access to their background meaning systems to assist interpreting what is meant or being inferred alongside what happens next. In this instance, one route for increasing market share was deemed to be through enhancing quality standards in ways that would differentiate them from their competitors. More specifically, there is an implied and seemingly logical/rational relationship which is as follows: to develop/write ‘procedures, practices and manuals’ takes time and effort; the declared ‘fact’ that they were not ‘maintained’ must be interpreted as a waste of (scarce) resources which; not only implicitly raises questions of inefficiencies and ineffectiveness, but also prevents the ultimate goal of realizing competitive advantage which underpins the ‘great theme’ – survival. The spectre of failure compounds the pathos of survival and given that they subsequently allocated resources to Eddie’s department following this emotionally laden appeal, it would seem that the listeners were ‘moved’ to act. In other words, he had evoked sympathy for his ‘troubles’.

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We need, though, to take this broad ethnographically embedded description further in terms of how Eddie established his ‘troubles’ as legitimate, prompting the series of actions/decisions. So, which rhetorical skills or features did he deploy and combine? The extract concisely illustrates a range beginning with the initial achievement of ‘affect’ through aporia. This, Nash (1989: 128) observes, is one ‘common element and strategy in speech-making’ dealing with the ‘affectation of perplexity’ or expression of doubt, here, through ‘I think I’ve said this before’ and ‘I don’t know how long doing’. For Nash there is conscious intention, dealing as he does with written speeches but here we see its everyday articulation to secure ‘affect’. Then, there is hyperbole – ‘broke my heart’ – which as a figure of speech consists of an exaggerated statement deemed to be purposefully used to express strong feelings or to produce a strong impression (The New Shorter Oxford Dictionary definition). As a basic human experience routinely represented in extravagant terms, ‘hearts are broken’ usually through the actions of others. Thus the appeal is strengthened since it is on behalf of someone else – the ‘somebody’ whose efforts have gone unrewarded by the ‘nobody’. A moral high ground is subtly constructed. This use of ‘contrast’ – ‘somebody’ versus ‘nobody’ – has also been deemed to be an important component in charismatic leaders’ speeches (Fairhurst and Sarr, 1996) and here it achieves expansionary ‘effect’. Another repeatedly identified feature deployed by such leaders (Hartog and Verburg, 1997) is the ‘list of three’ (see also Atkinson’s 1984 regarding politicians’ talk). Here there is ‘procedures, practices and manuals’. Importantly, Nash (1989) notes how such listings provide a ‘rhythmic structure’ enhancing the rhetorical device of ‘style’. While written texts can capture this aspect too, it is the spoken performative capability which arguably fully utilizes the auditory reception of ‘rhythm’. This is also the case in listening to ‘somebody/nobody’ and alongside tone and intonation (indicated through italics and underlining), in this instance and when taken together, assisted the assembly of this fairly dramatic ‘appeal’. In other words, Eddie constituted his ‘stance’ of frustration and despair around the ‘somebody’s’ efforts going to waste. Further links to the ‘great theme’ also subtly surface through his emphasis upon ‘dozens’ which highlights this as being not just one isolated instance but a series of lapses. Thus, Eddie connects his ‘stance’ to the ostensibly rational ‘great theme’ of organizational ‘survival’ which is jeopardized through inefficient resource allocation and waste. Another similar illustrative extract subjected to this same level of detailed analysis was reproduced in the earlier published work. It showed further the ways everyday rhetorical flourishes necessitated combinations of interactional skills and bodies of knowledge which assemble both an emotional display and particular organizational rationalities. It was where obligations – the moral prompt – come to be couched in rational but also aesthetically engaging terms (see SamraFredericks, 2004a where other devices such as masculine metaphor use are glimpsed). These work to legitimate both displays of emotion as well as constitute a reality infused with a ‘hard rationality’. Across a series of encounters, then, Eddie worked to convey himself as someone who was morally bound and emotionally ‘moved’ by failures to do something and in speaking as he did, sought a

Getting to the ‘heart’ of leaders doing emotional labour 67 corresponding response in others to ‘act’. This ‘call’ for support was difficult to refuse given the rhetoric of rationality linking it to the great theme of ‘survival’. In terms of the companion skill of ‘design’, the patterning of this utterance in extract 1 also arguably pivots upon the hyperbole of ‘broke my heart’ as one waits to see how Eddie will legitimate this purposeful expression of strong feelings aiming (we assume) to evoke this community of listeners’ sympathies. This apparently strategic use of language aiming to ‘move’ others (persuade) does have a long tradition as Nash (1989: 50) observes when Anthony warns his Roman audience that: ‘if you have tears, prepare to shed them now’ . . . [and thus] among the common devices of affective rhetoric is that of letting your hearers know that you are bent on touching a nerve. To declare that it ‘broke my heart’ Eddie can also be seen as marking out his intention to touch a ‘nerve’. Equally, it is one simple example of a speaker’s routine referral to their ‘subjective states’ during their naturally occurring talk- and task-based routines which Waldron (2000) labels as the ‘language of emotion’. When such emotionally-laden performances consistently and effectively warrant or legitimate the speaker’s concerns and issues, then he can be deemed to ‘trumpet sincerity’. Again, the issue of discerning Eddie’s sincerity is picked up in the concluding section but it is important to re-emphasize that consistent and persistent efforts are called for in order to provide warrant for such feelings of exasperation and worry. The second extract explicitly illustrates the split-second positioning of self and others for regulating and constituting an effective emotional display. It is where the listeners’ response to a speaker’s expressions of impatience/frustration and anger is shown as a crucial component for ultimately ‘completing’ and thus constituting the emotion. Indeed, while it illustrates Eddie’s split-second turn-byturn interpersonal leveraging of emotional expressiveness to advantage, it also shows how others sought to regulate the emotional terrain when a breach of the ‘acceptable’ and localized ‘norms’ or protocols of interaction were perceived to have occurred. Here, others attempt to establish the acceptable boundaries for doing anger and we see again the ‘language of emotion’ marking out an intention to ‘touch a nerve’. Crucially, it provides a glimpse of those occasions when emotion as a ‘barometer of moral and relational ethics’ is stretched and then re-calibrated to a speaker’s advantage. While sensitive to making overly ambitious claims here, the discussion of this second extract also substantiates Goffman’s (1967) seminal account of the nature of human interaction as well as pointing to the ‘big’ concept of ‘identity’. Goffman suggested that individuals are fragile or ‘ritually delicate’ thus inviting elaborate moves/techniques to ‘repair’ perceived breaches or ‘mishaps’ arising from ‘inappropriate tone/pitch, unmet gestures’ and so forth so that the relational ebb-and-flow is maintained. Emotions are integral to this and it is also where Goffman (1967: 43) observes the fundamental role of communication, such that:

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Dalvir Samra-Fredericks [w]hat the person protects and defends and invests his feelings in is an idea about himself, and ideas are vulnerable not to facts but to communication . . . for communication can be by-passed, withdrawn from, disbelieved, conveniently misunderstood, and tactfully conveyed.

It is easy to envisage that such communications would give rise to feelings prompting a mosaic of emotional displays. Indeed, when confronted with an explicit attack on another’s ‘face’ which ‘anger’ entails (and as glimpsed in extract 2), then ‘ideas’ about the ‘self’ are risked – one’s competence is questioned and hence identities are at-risk. Indeed, minor mishaps can easily spiral into potentially damaging interpersonal collisions. Without doubt, collaborative interventions to repair and re-establish the basic protocols of human exchange are called for. This will be discerned next while a discussion of identity work would take us beyond the objectives for this chapter, except noting that emotional labour is crucial for effective identity work, here, in terms of a situated identity of ‘leader’. As before, this second extract has been condensed for reasons of space. So, while numerous noteworthy features surface, the focus will be on emotional expressiveness with specific attention directed to the rhetorical devices and utterance design features which assisted the positioning of listeners into ‘temporary emotional roles’. These then also positioned them to be ‘receptive’ to the beginnings of a ‘redemptory argument’ (Nash, 1989; here at lines 26–8): Extract 2 ‘absolute crap . . .’ Eddie:

5

well three pages a minute for a modern printer is absolute crap! [brief pause] [ I know that a laser printer would Martin: [ ah we we Eddie you Eddie: [produce it far far [ inaudible word] Martin: [should you you Eddie I I appreciate that and I’m aware of it the question whether we need it or not I mean if you’re looking at my case (.) I was thinking with ........

Shortly after..... [ [interrupts] [ well what’s worrying me is we’re being driven by let’s keep the cost down instead of what’s most appropriate for the job with a vision of what we’re gonna use it for for the future= MD: =yeah well part of the problem maybe no one’s actually 15 told him what we want Eddie: go ask! MD: ah= Martin: =well = Eddie: =go ask=

10 Eddie:

Getting to the ‘heart’ of leaders doing emotional labour 69 20 MD: =well I thought [ [inaudible word] Martin: [ actually to be fair Eddie in this case and I an e::r I think when we spoke about the particular problem the problem was very clear (.) we could A minute or so later. . . . . 25 [ [interrupts] Eddie: [ I just think that we’ve gone the wrong way and what we’ve done is we’ve taken a cheap option that we will bitterly [ regret in the not too [ distant Martin: [ just [ yeah 30 Eddie: future= Martin: =hang on Eddie [ I think he eeee what we do Eddie: [ and 33 Martin: in the future is is accepted as being questionable= (See appendix for full transcription convention. New symbols here are: = indicates immediate latching between prior and next utterance.) Once again, there is the prefacing of subjective states with the ‘language of emotion’, here – ‘what’s worrying me’ (L10) and later ‘bitterly regret’ (L27). The latter expression may also be interpreted as an instance of hyperbole. Such ‘states’ may be variously elaborated upon, justified and defended given others’ responses. Here, the claim that the ‘printer is absolute crap’ (L1‒2) and then shortly after, ‘well what’s worrying me’ (L10) again indicates this speaker’s intent to touch a ‘nerve’ – his frustration and anger is an undercurrent which builds and is expressed more forcefully at L16 and 19. In these opening lines a blunt assessment is made of another’s (primarily Geoff’s, who remains silent for these two minutes of talk) decisions to purchase particular equipment as simply ‘crap’. This directness results in a noticeable pause. Couched in such strong feelings how can others respond to such an assessment? To agree or disagree with the ‘crapness’ of the printers is called for but both are ‘positions’ which would give rise to feelings of discomfort in others. Indeed, given that the response of others is important for legitimating and thus constituting the emotion of anger being expressed here, it is noticeable that we have a ‘brief pause’ which was unusual. What follows is that both Eddie and Martin begin to talk at the same time (lines 2 and 3) and on reading what transpires (lines 5–7, 21–4) discomfort appears to have triggered Martin’s doing of explanation as a way of managing and mitigating Eddie’s emotional outburst. Martin is hesitant and uses indirect forms. He explicitly refers to Eddie by name four times (L3, 5, 21 and 31) and adds ‘I appreciate that’, ‘I’m aware of it’, ‘if you’re looking at my case’. This use of ‘I’ and ‘my’ signals the taking-up of a personal perspective and responsibility for what is being stated against a ‘we/our’ which would convey a different positioning altogether. In this way he moves to personalize the encounter as opposed to one imbued with institutionality (which Eddie does). Yet this talk does

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not diffuse the situation and calm Eddie down who does not seem to accept the basis of Martin’s explanation. What happens then is that both Martin and the MD (lines 14–15, 17, 18, 20, 21–4) endeavor to regulate the emotional crescendo which is building up. In responding as they do they signal their recognition or ‘reading’ of the emotion ‘anger’ and thus complete or constitute it even though they also attempt to downplay or question its legitimacy (e.g. L21). Nevertheless, they are prompted into performing ‘temporary emotional roles’ (Mangham, 1986; 1998) in their efforts to calm this ‘worked up’ colleague down. While fine-grained analysis of the relational web was purposefully set aside in the first extract, here we see it being stretched given the emotional outburst and it is noteworthy that Martin and the MD begin their utterances with the discourse marker, ‘well’ (L14, 18, 20). Ostensibly a trivial linguistic resource, ‘well’ fulfils its pragmatic function to mitigate forthcoming dissonance (Schiffrin, 1987; see Samra-Fredericks, 2003 too) and it is in such intricate and subtle ways that the fundamental moral order as a background expectancy is observed. Here too we can theoretically link such ‘polite’ linguistic forms with Goffman’s (1967) notion of ‘face’. Crucially, it is through such subtle interpersonal efforts – often overlooked – that speakers try to re-calibrate their moral and relational obligations to each other. In this way a route for witnessing and tracing that elusive interpersonal process where emotion has been likened by Waldron (2000) to a ‘barometer’ which measures and paces ‘moral and relational ethics’ is opened up to scrutiny. Overall, what Martin and the MD do is try to regulate the emotional-relational tempo which was building up and through performing such collaborative linguistic moves (as on other occasions in the empirical materials) they managed ‘face’ issues (Goffman, 1967) since interpersonal collision was a strong possibility given Eddie’s expression of anger. More specifically, at L21 Martin interrupts the MD’s ‘well I thought’ (L20) and begins with a noticeably stronger opening through ‘actually to be fair’. In this way, the perceived breach of the localized moral order was further explicitly marked. In other words, Martin implies that Eddie is unfair and by inference, the emotional display of anger unwarranted. This response ‘warns’ of inappropriateness but it does not ignore the display of anger and hence, Martin is effectively positioned to take up a role which aims to mitigate and re-calibrate the relational realm. Martin invests interpersonal effort to take some of the responsibility or blame given Eddie’s emotional expressiveness around the original purchasing decision given his ‘case’ (lines 7 and 22). Can we go so far as to interpret Martin’s utterances as the everyday assembly of empathy? What can be tentatively proposed is that this is one empirical illustration of what Fineman (1997: 19) termed the ‘anticipation’ of ‘guilt’ which ‘cues and defines moral matters’. This can explain their efforts to intervene as well as reduce the anger ‘felt’ by another through this diffusion of blame. Yet, while Martin and the MD undertake such roles their efforts seem wasted as they continue to fuel expressions of Eddie’s anger at what he ‘felt’ were technically flawed and short-term decisions (subsequent exchanges substantiate this comment).

Getting to the ‘heart’ of leaders doing emotional labour 71 Having opened with – ‘well what’s worrying me’ (L10) initially prefaced with the mitigating discourse marker ‘well’ (and at L1 earlier), we see that this is noticeably absent in Eddie’s subsequent and repeated ‘go ask’ (lines 16 and 19). Imagine a ‘well’ before each ‘go ask’. It is the notable absence of such basic mitigating linguistic resources which assisted Eddie’s assembly of anger and, having seemingly breached the basic protocols of human interaction, was cued into given what Martin and the MD ‘do’. We also see here employment of the rhetorical device of epizeuxis (lines 16 and 19) – the repetition of a word with emphasis and which prompts both the MD and Martin to ‘latch on’ (signaled by =) in their efforts to re-calibrate the spiraling emotional crescendo. As noted earlier, while Martin attempts to explain, justify and thus defend Geoff (lines 21–4, and continues but not reproduced here) at line 26, Eddie interrupts with a mitigated but still assertive account – ‘I just think . . .’ but what he expresses is what he feels. Further consideration of Eddie’s utterance here (lines 26–8 and 30) and the twin discursive constituents of ‘design’ and ‘relation’ reveal the use of parison with anaphora which again subjects listeners to a rhythmic and step-by-step process. Indeed, together with the earlier ‘we’re being driven’ (L11) he rhythmically consolidates his ‘stance’ through, ‘we’ve gone the wrong way . . . what we’ve done is we’ve taken’ and thus, he appears to moves his listeners towards his eventual direct and passionate expression, ‘bitterly regret’ (lines 26–8). ‘We’ indexes a relational terrain which explicitly invokes their collective organizational identity as well as aiming to involve them in his ‘trouble’ (Samra-Fredericks, 2004a). Furthermore, as Nash suggests, this rhythmic pattern is based upon a re-occurring syllabic structure just like ‘somebody’ and ‘nobody’ in extract 1. The message is that they, that is, others – given this ‘stance’ (which sets him apart from them) – should not have ‘gone’ and ‘done’ that. Indeed, going the ‘wrong way’ (evaluative) and taking the ‘cheap [negative connotations] option’ as one that ‘we will bitterly regret’ is difficult to counter. One final feature to note before summarizing the links to the ‘great theme’ and subsequent ‘outcomes’, concerns this exchange’s taxis of successive parts as spoken by Eddie. Specifically, we see four points of intensification – at lines 1–2, line 10, line 16 and 19 and lines 26–8. The first three points build the emotional crescendo with the fourth providing the initial speaking of a ‘redemptory argument’ which itself relies upon this prior positioning of others to feel discomfort and become involved so that they are then receptive to what is said at this fourth point of intensification where ‘bitterly regret’ is spoken. It is in such intricate ways that this speaker did effectively consolidate a situation where others’ sympathies were evoked. There can be no doubt in the listeners’ minds what Eddie’s feelings are on the matter and in expressing them in this way, he did influence subsequent process. But equally to evoke others’ sympathies he once again needed to link it to the ‘great theme’ of ‘survival’. Here to state the obvious, ‘crap’ equipment will never yield that goal of realizing advantages over the competition. It is slow (inefficient) and will only be a source of much emotional turmoil (bitterly regret) in the future. More explicit linkages surface through ‘vision’ and references to the ‘future’ (lines

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12–13 and 30). This draws our attention to their shared-in-common forms of knowledges where such nebulous notions (including, competitive advantage) furnish a complex background of systems of meanings which are indexed in equally complex and subtle ways. Indeed, it is interesting to observe that as senior organizational members leading/shaping strategic direction, communicating the ‘vision’ even amongst themselves, let alone to others, as proposed by Westley and Mintzberg (1991) demanded ongoing efforts such as these to determine what the ‘vision’ means for them now and what they should do. Here, it is where ‘crap’ printers risk the realization of futures and, in terms of what transpired, the earlier decision to purchase further equipment was overturned. This led to particular individuals (for example, Geoff) expressing a diffuse set of concerns and anxieties during subsequent turns-at-talk. In particular, the analysis suggested that he sought to dislodge ascriptions of blame, yet, in providing explanations and justifications later (integrally also expressing emotions), he inadvertently constituted the ‘blame’.

Concluding comments While extract 1 was purposefully abstracted from the surrounding ebb-and-flow of human conversational exchange, extract 2 preserved this as far as this was possible. The intention was to outline a route for capturing and subjecting to finegrained interactional analysis the ways emotional displays are done, then-andthere. As part of this exercise, theoretical development resting on Nash’s four discursive constituents is offered as providing one insightful route for the analysis of such routine occasions where the floor is effectively secured and in ways which swayed listeners, here, primarily through emotional expressiveness. The second extract added greater empirical and analytical texture. As Waldron (2000: 75) comments: Fear. Enthusiasm. Pride. Sympathy. Anger. Delight. Envy. These and other emotions must be detected, manufactured, elicited and controlled as ordinary working relationships are enacted. When we do turn to the everyday interpersonal elicitation, manufacture and detection of such emotions, a complex and taxing lived experience is discerned. Equally, the issue of tacit forms of knowing around what is an appropriate level of emotional display and how to ‘do’ it during the split-second ebb-and-flow of human exchange demands the sorts of interpersonal dexterity undertaken by the MD and Eddie and Martin as glimpsed in extract 2. While the transcribed/written words can never fully capture the experienced on-the-spot spoken sentiment, feelings or emotions, it is hoped that the chapter, drawing on the earlier published work, re-emphasizes how a greater sense of the intricate and fragile nature of how these facets are ‘detected’ or ‘manufactured’ as everyday phenomena, and ways they can be rendered more amenable to fine-grained analysis, is conveyed. Emotion is indeed like a ‘barometer’ which measures and paces ‘moral and

Getting to the ‘heart’ of leaders doing emotional labour 73 relational ethics’. Here, for example, both the MD and Martin appeared to ‘detect’ and then sought to regulate the emotional tempo so that an ethics was preserved. While there were numerous other features within this second strip of interaction, a glimpse of how they sought to ‘pull off’ a collective emotional performance when another’s ‘face’ was explicitly attacked is offered. One question remains: was Eddie ‘insincere in language that trumpets sincerity’? Was he manipulative, playing political games? Are the emotions expressed ‘truly’ felt? From a sociological and ethnographic basis, the researcher like the community of listeners (his fellow colleagues) witnessing such emotional displays over time builds a picture of this speaker in terms of what ‘moves’ him (is right/ wrong, good/bad – values) or consistently concerns or worries him and thus, what sort of person he is. From this basis, a judgment is made whether to trust his emotionally imbued rational accounts or not. It is where any attribution of sincerity is not accomplished from one isolated moment of great oratory where ethos and pathos are seemingly assembled but from successive occasions where speakers aim to consistently convey their feelings on matters (‘great themes’) and in ways which evoke the sympathies of others. These others can always choose to trust or challenge the expression of emotions as being feigned or insincere based upon their experience. In this case this did not occur and Eddie was deemed to have been ‘taken’ as sincere. What these senior organizational members ‘felt today’ or are made to feel given, for example, ‘mini great-man-type’ speeches as witnessed in extract 1 or the emotional outbursts as seen in extract 2, is what matters. It is on the basis of current feelings and emotional displays – shared/reciprocated, negotiated over and legitimated – that future actions are envisaged and decisions crystallize. Even if some of our organizational members seated around the table had doubts about trusting Eddie’s emotionally imbued (mini) speeches or accounts, the fact that such doubts were not expressed meant that he had influenced process at that moment in time. He accomplished the situated identity of an effective leader from such skilled interactional details. It is a form of analysis which also begins to reveal the way interpersonal leverage is granted and how some come to exercise that elusive concept, power. Power exists within networks of relations (Foucault, 1980; see also Alvesson, 1996, Samra-Fredericks, 2005) and is deployed in such complex ways and instantiated at points of human contact. Indeed, when emotional expressiveness is ‘done’ in the right way at the right time it can grant interpersonal leverage. In sum, Eddie’s improvisation, then-and-there, did get the rational, emotional, moral and relational ‘job done’. In this setting at this time for this particular set of individuals, the ethos of their age furnished a sensibility which elevated ‘survival’. Our orator, Eddie, articulated a localized rhetoric of rationality (around maintaining quality standards/appropriate equipment for the ‘job’/visions inadvertently giving way to costs) which linked to the great theme in complex and subtle ways. It necessitated his employment of devices such as hyperbole, metaphor use, epizeuxis and so on and at the right time and in a particular fashion (design). Simultaneously to constitute effective performative delivery, it required

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the tacit skill of placing emphasis on key words, deploying rhythmic contrasts, phonetic figuration and so forth. Further sociological research which gets to ‘the heart’ of emotional labour and captures senior members (deemed to be ‘leaders’) in ‘real time’, intricately and interactionally, assembling emotional displays as detailed here is ongoing. From doing so, we can continue to answer questions such as those posed by Fineman (1993). More specifically too, when we scrutinize ‘leaders’ and what they ‘do’ as proposed here, then, how Westley and Mintzberg’s (1991) leaders would seek to interactively weave and perform both logic and emotion in ‘real-time’ becomes possible too. So too from getting close to George’s (2000) leaders, we would begin to expose the formidable task they face as they endeavour to influence and manage the emotional terrain. Emotions can be productive and destructive too and if we had secured close up access to Fred Goodwin (RBS CEO) doing his everyday work with others, then perhaps the ways fear, anxiety and hate promulgated an ethos of silence and the constitution of a setting seemingly devoid of challenge and questioning would have come to light – we will never know in this particular case, but it is incumbent on us to be persistent and secure that kind of access. This chapter concludes through pointing to ongoing similar work whilst also acknowledging that there is still that sense of ‘you had to be there’ (Boden, 1994). At conferences I have played portions of the tapes in order to convey the ‘essence’ of what we are dealing with. On one occasion I have played a minute of talk from another set of empirical materials accessed in the same way but this time from a high-tech company. We heard a female Vice President (FVP) and a male Vice President (MVP) engaged in an extremely heated exchange: the analysis suggests that, as a women, her expression of anger was a particularly risky venture due to the routine ascriptions of women as being ‘just’ or more emotional or, their ‘upsets’ being dismissed as due to ‘that time of the month’. This was clearly not the case for the men observed/shadowed and certainly wasn’t for Eddie. The gendered nature of emotional displays is another avenue currently being unpicked in great detail. After I played the tape there was a silence: without doubt, you had to be there or at the minimum hear the voices to hear the full thrust of the emotions. Here is a glimpse of that exchange – edited due to space issues – but hopefully conveying something of its essence. Immediately after the MVP had left her office we also see/hear an angry ‘spill over’ shared with the project manager with whom she had been meeting for an update on a multi-million pound project before the interruption by the MVP: MVP: FVP: MVP: FVP: MVP: FVP:

I specifically stated I’m not going to sign non-disclosure because . . . [continues to explain] look [name of MVP] I’m not going to argue with you = =because= = I’m not going to argue with you | over this= | because sorry either you want to listen= = if you want to deal with it you deal with it [inaudible two words]=

Getting to the ‘heart’ of leaders doing emotional labour 75 MVP: FVP: MVP: FVP:

=I don’t want to deal with it= =we’ve had this argument before | I have spent weeks and weeks and weeks | ah [inaudible word] dealing with this bloody [product name]=

[continues. . . .] MVP: FVP: MVP: FVP:

I don’t care who’s to blame I really don’t give a damn Ok the way forward | is |but there’s no DAMAGE!= =yes there is damage= =why?

[continues with efforts to clarify who did what wrong and if a major customer knows too much now. . .] MVP: FVP: MVP: MVP: FVP:

MVP: FVP: MVP: FVP: MVP: MVP: FVP: MVP: FVP: MVP: FVP: MVP: FVP: MVP:

if they know the ‘cause of S1 someone must obviously have told them= =it was | David told them | because um= =because we we agreed Mark [another MVP] and I agreed we told them we didn’t want to mention [product name] to S1 he said ‘I can’t get away without mentioning it ‘cause the first thing they gonna say to me is whose the supplier?’ and if I say I don’t know who the supplier is or ‘I can’t tell you’ they’ll say ‘you’re not working in the right frame y’know we’re supposed to be working as a team, you’re supposed to be sharing with us the problems that you have with your suppliers . . . [cont] so long as you . . . [cont] there is there’s a potential problem well if we won’t do it from the C1 business unit point of view if | Peter |[inaudible word] gets | any requests | calm down please= =yeah but if Peter | gets any | I wonder [cross group]= =NO | he won’t |I [inaudible word]= =I’m getting upset = =yes= =because I’ve spent WEEKS doing this | and you’re now saying that I and the C1 | yeah

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team were wrong to say S1 I’m trying to | explain to you that we had no option | you’re [not] but to tell them it was | S1 | I hate this (.) [name of FVP] you know the team better than anybody else= =yes I | do | and I also believe it period= =y’know you might think he was wrong we had no option so in the end [name of another VP] and I agreed that he could mention S1 (.) right [cont]

[continues. . . .] The male VP leaves the room, closing the door behind him. The female VP turns to the project managers and says: FVP:

PM: FVP:

PM: FVP:

I’m bloody pissed off with him excuse me [to researcher] if he comes in here ONCE more and mentions [product name] I’ll shove an [product name] up his backside and they’re this big [gestures size to researcher, PM laughs, researcher smiles] (.) I’m gonna I’m gonna have a go at Peter over this (.) the st sts stroppy email he’s got his nose pushed out of joint because we didn’t consult him [cont] =Peter’s done a (.) number on= = Peter says he’s worried about it so he comes in here and says what wh wh he’s just confrontational y’know in other words ‘you must not let’ as if I’d put S1 in front of bloody C1 its like me putting [S3] in front of C1 and that’s a worse bloody problem trust me ‘cause that’s gonna cost [number] million quid if we’re not careful (.) Peter’s just stirring it he’s a stirring little shit | and one | [quietly] he’s one of of these days I’ll put an [product name] up his backside as well

We know that ‘politics’ infuses organizational life with allied efforts to avoid blame and so on and so forth. This means that we are also dealing with a mosaic of emotions, carefully managed and assembled for display and, sometimes, spiralling out of control. As I discovered from conducting the field work, this FVP was a much liked ‘leader’ who ‘wore her heart on her sleeve’. She managed major projects and teams of highly skilled, primarily male, technology experts and yet walked a ‘tight-rope’ seeking to legitimately blend the emotional with the rational to get the job done. Without doubt, skilful displays of emotional labour at the right moment are integral to being effective but they also gave rise to particular challenges for this senior female Vice President given the historically and culturally established expectations/knowledges furnishing interpretive possibilities (e.g. a woman is inappropriately emotional, etc.).

Getting to the ‘heart’ of leaders doing emotional labour 77 To close, then: through getting this close to the work being done and through conducting the kinds of fine-grained analysis glimpsed in this chapter, one sociological route to enable us to get to ‘the heart’ of the phenomenon is opened up. We see emotional labour being done, then-and-there, amongst organizational members, and always with the simultaneous and intricate infusion of rationalities too.

Appendix 1: Transcription symbols (simplified) [ signals interruption (.) signals a brief pause of less than a few seconds (does not conform to conversation analytic method) [square brackets] contain references to names of people, financial figures, products etc. or transcriber is unsure of exact word spoken or notable non-verbal gestures E::longated sound = signals immediate latching on, no pause Italic signals emphasis underlining signals rising intonation

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Goffman, E. (1959, 1990 reprint) The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life. London: Penguin Books. Goffman, E. (1967) Interaction Ritual: Essays on face-to-face behaviour. Middlesex: Penguin. Goffman, E. (1983) The interaction order. American Sociological Review, 48: 1–17. Gratton, L., and Ghoshal, S. (2005) Beyond best practice. MIT Sloan Management Review, 46 (3): 49–57. Hamel, G., and Prahalad, C. K. (1989) Strategic intent. Harvard Business Review, 67(3): 63–9. Hartog, D. N. D., and Verburg, R. M. (1997) Charisma and rhetoric: Communicative techniques of international business leaders. The Leadership Quarterly, 8(4): 355–391. Hearn, J. (1993) Emotive subjects: Organisational men, organisational masculinities and the (De)construction of emotions. In S. Fineman (ed.), Emotion in Organisations. London: Sage. Hochschild, A. R. (1983) The Managed Heart: Commercialization of human feeling. Berkeley: University of California Press. Hochschild, A. R. (1993) Preface. In S. Fineman (ed.), Emotion in Organisations. London: Sage. Hopfl, H., and Linstead, S. (1993) Passion and performance: Suffering and the carrying of organisational roles. In S. Fineman (ed.), Emotion in Organisations. London: Sage. Hopfl, H., and Linstead, S. (1997) Introduction: Learning to feel and feeling to learn: Emotion and learning in organisations. Management Learning, 28: 5–12. Mangham, I. L. (1998) Emotional discourse in organisations. In D. Grant, T. Keenoy and C. Oswick (eds), Discourse + Organisation. London: Sage. Mangham, I. L. (1986) Power and Performance in Organizations. Oxford: Blackwell. Murray, K. (2001) The Language of Leaders: How top CEOs communicate to inspire, influence and achieve results. London: Kogan Page. Nash, W. (1989) Rhetoric, the Wit of Persuasion. Oxford: Basil Blackwell. Polanyi, M. (1967) The Tacit Dimension. New York: Routledge and Kegan Paul. Rawls, A. W. (2008) Harold Garfinkel, ethnomethodology and workplace studies. Organization Studies, 29(5): 701–32. Samra-Fredericks, D. (2005) Strategic practice, ‘discourse’ and the everyday constitution of ‘power effects’. Organisation, 12 (6): 803–41. Samra-Fredericks, D. (2004a) Managerial elites making rhetorical and linguistic ‘moves’ for a moving (emotional) display. Human Relations, 57 (9): 1103–43. Samra-Fredericks, D. (2004b) Talk-in-interaction. In C. Cassell and G. Symon (eds), Essential Guide to Qualitative Methods in Organisational Research. London: Sage. Samra-Fredericks, D. (2003) Strategizing as lived experience and strategists efforts to shape strategic direction. Journal of Management Studies, Special Issue, 40 (1): 141–74. Samra-Fredericks, D. (1996) Talking of emotion for the development of strategy in the boardroom. In C. Combes, D. Grant, T. Keenoy and C. Oswick (eds), Organizational Discourse: Talk, text and tropes. London: KCM Press. Samra-Fredericks, D., and Bargiela-Chiappini, F. (2008) The foundations of organizing: The contribution from Garfinkel, Goffman and Sacks, an introduction. Symposium Issue. Organisation Studies, 29: 653–75. Schiffrin, D. (1987) Discourse Markers. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Sturdy, A. (2003) Knowing the unknowable? A discussion of methodological and theoretical issues in emotion research and organisational studies. Organisation, 10 (1): 81–105.

Getting to the ‘heart’ of leaders doing emotional labour 79 Turner, J. H.(1988) A Theory of Social Interaction. Stanford, CA: Stanford University/ Cambridge: Polity Press. Waldron, V. R. (2000) Relational experiences and emotion at work. In S. Fineman (ed.), Emotion in Organisations (2nd edn). London: Sage. Watson, T. J. (1994) In Search of Management, Culture, Chaos and Control in Managerial Work. London: Routledge. Watson, T., and Harris, P. (1999) The Emergent Manager. London: Sage. Westley, F., and Mintzberg, H. (1991) Visionary leadership and strategic management. In J. Henry and D. Walker (eds), Managing Innovation. London: Sage.

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How leading with emotional labour creates common identities Ronald H. Humphrey

Introduction: Emotional labour, leadership, and identity Emotional labour is a concept that was originated by Hochschild (1979, 1983). She defined emotional labour as the ‘management of feeling to create a publicly observable facial and bodily display’ (1983: 7). Hochschild (1983) focused on how service workers, such as airline flight attendants, were required to display emotions as part of their job duties. For example, many service workers are told to smile and act friendlily towards customers (Pugh, 2001). Because emotions are contagious, service workers who display positive emotions may spread their positive emotions to customers and boost customer satisfaction with service quality. Rafaeli and Sutton (1987; 1989) were also among the first scholars to study emotional labour, and they argued that organizations set emotional display rules that govern what emotions must be displayed to customers (they argued that organizations can regulate only observable external displays, and not internal emotional states). Display rules increase predictability and make service interactions go more smoothly; when display rules conform to normal social expectations, both parties (service agents and customers) understand what emotions should be displayed and how they should treat each other. Thus display rules guide interactions between people and increase efficiency (Ashforth and Humphrey, 1993; Rafaeli and Sutton, 1989). As conceptualized in these early studies, emotional labour was something performed by front-line service workers – those who had direct contact with customers – and not by managers or leaders. As a result of these influential publications, almost all subsequent work has been on how service workers perform emotional labour. Ashforth and Humphrey (1993) also examined how service workers used emotional labour; however, in addition they reasoned that people in other roles may also use emotional labour. They stated, ‘[G]iven that roles are essentially bundles of social expectations and that emotions are inevitably experienced in the performance of roles, it is difficult to imagine an organisational role to which display rules would not apply at various points’ (Ashforth and Humphrey, 1993: 109–10). However, Ashforth and Humphrey did not specifically examine leadership roles. Thus one of the main purposes of this chapter is to demonstrate how leaders use emotional labour in their efforts to influence and motivate their

How leading with emotional labour creates common identities 81 followers and teammates. Just as service agents use their emotional displays to influence their customers’ emotional reactions and increase service satisfaction, leaders also use their emotional displays to influence their followers’ emotions and their job satisfaction. Ashforth and Humphrey (1993) also related emotional labour to identification processes. People’s personal and social identities have a wide variety of important effects on both their individual well-being and their relationships with others (Brewer and Gardner, 1996; Stets and Burke, 2000; Tajfel, 1978). Ashforth and Humphrey (1993) argued that performing emotional labour that is consistent with one’s personal and social identities increases psychological well-being, and a comprehensive review of the research confirmed this (Bono and Vey, 2005). Moreover, Ashforth and Humphrey theorized that performing emotional labour, especially deep acting, will increase one’s identification with the role. However, they did not examine how leaders use emotional labour to build identification with their followers. Some good work has explored how identity processes are related to leadership (van Knippenberg, van Knippenberg, De Cremer and Hogg, 2004; 2005). This chapter will add to this work by including emotional labour concepts. Thus another major purpose of this chapter is to examine how emotional labour influences leaders’ personal leader identity, their interpersonal and relational identity with individual followers, and their followers’ collective and organizational identity. The following section introduces the concept of leading with emotional labour. The next section discusses the different types of emotional labour. This is followed by a section that covers some additional dimensions and factors that influence the emotional labour process. Both of these sections also compare and contrast the types of emotional labour performed by leaders with that performed by different types of service workers. These sections are followed by an extensive section on the different levels of identification and the basics of how people identify with their roles and their organizations. Because authenticity is a key concept in both the literature on emotional labour and the literature on identity, the next two sections tie the two literatures together by examining their common focus on authenticity. Some of the research on authentic leadership is also discussed in these sections (Hunt, Gardner and Fischer, 2008; Norman, Avolio and Luthans, 2010; Shamir and Eilam, 2005; Sparrowe, 2005). Hence these two sections integrate emotional labour, identity processes, and authentic leadership. Finally, both emotional labour and identity are examined with regard to the multi-level model of affect in organizations (Ashkanasy, 2003; Ashkanasy and Jordan, 2008). This final section shows how emotional labour methods are related to identity processes at each of the five levels. Most importantly, it explains how leaders can use emotional labour to maintain their own identification with their role and to build a common identity with and among their followers.

What is leading with emotional labour? Because emotional labour is such a key component of front-line service work, research in the 1980s and 1990s continued to focus on service workers.

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One important exception is a study of managers done by Mann (1997); he found that emotional labour was used as part of the communication process at all levels of the organization. However, in 2002 an important study was done by Brotheridge and Grandey, who found that managers performed emotional labour as frequently as did sales and customer service workers (Brotheridge and Grandey, 2002). A second study, by Diefendorff, Richard and Croyle (2006), found that rules that govern emotional displays (e.g. ‘acting friendly to others’, ‘suppressing annoyance that I feel at work,’ 2006: 283) were viewed as formal job requirements by supervisors as well as other employees from a variety of service and non-service occupations. Together, these studies suggest that emotional labour may be an important component of managerial work. Humphrey and his colleagues were the first to develop a systematic analysis of how leaders use emotional labour (Ashkanasy and Humphrey, 2011; Humphrey, 2005, 2006, 2008; Humphrey, Pollack and Hawver, 2008). According to them, leaders use emotional labour (1) to regulate their own emotions, (2) to influence the moods, emotions, motivation, and performance of their followers, and (3) to create organizational-wide emotional display rules that help create an organization’s unique culture and identity. Only slightly later, Gardner and his colleagues also began to develop theoretical models of how leaders use emotional labour (Gardner, Fischer and Hunt, 2009; Hunt, Gardner and Fischer, 2008). This was followed by an important article by Iszatt-White (2009) that combined theoretical analysis with a case study approach. Although the research on how leaders use emotional labour is still in its infancy, the initial studies have yielded promising results that suggest this field is ready for growth. Because leaders’ emotions are emotionally contagious to their followers, leaders need to be able to manage their own emotions and emotional displays if they want to influence their followers’ emotions. Leading with emotional labour is not meant to be a complete theory of leadership, as many leadership duties do not involve emotional labour. Instead, ‘leading with emotional labour’ consists of a specific set of emotion regulation tactics that can help leaders establish better leader– member relationships, be more authentic in their interactions with others, and exhibit transformational leadership. Thus leading with emotional labour complements existing leadership theories. For example, scholars have made several hypotheses that linked the type of emotional labour that leaders performed to whether they were true transformational leaders or pseudo-transformational leaders (Humphrey, 2005; Humphrey, Pollack and Hawver, 2008). The theory that transformational leaders use emotional labour is supported by research done by Epitropaki (2006); she found that leaders who used emotional labour were rated higher on transformational leadership.

The three types of emotional labour Hochschild (1979; 1983) described two different ways in which service employees performed emotional labour: surface acting and deep acting. When performing surface acting, employees change their outward emotional expressions to match

How leading with emotional labour creates common identities 83 organizational norms for emotional expression, but they do not attempt to actually feel the emotions they are portraying. In other words, surface acting involves faking one’s emotional expressions. In contrast, when employees use deep acting they first attempt to summon up or elicit the emotion they want to portray, and they then let the newly generated emotion animate their outward displays. Thus deep acting involves an attempt to actually feel the emotions the employee wants to portray. Ashforth and Humphrey (1993) argued that a third type of emotional labour exists: spontaneous and genuine emotions. They stated, ‘a service agent may naturally feel what he or she is expected to express without having to work up the emotion in the sense discussed by Hochschild. A nurse who feels sympathy at the sight of an injured child has no need to “act”’ (Ashforth and Humphrey, 1993: 94). In this quote, the phrase ‘is expected to express’ is important because it signifies that in order to qualify as emotional labour the naturally expressed emotion must still comply with the organization’s emotional display rules about appropriate emotional expressions. Ashforth and Humphrey further maintained that employees are more likely to spontaneously experience and express the required emotions when they identify with their occupational role. Subsequent research has confirmed that spontaneous and genuine emotional expressions are an important type of emotional labour. Glomb and Tews (2004) and Diefendorff, Croyle and Gosserand (2005) published two of the most important articles on the validity of the third form of emotional labour. Glomb and Tews (2004) surveyed five samples from a range of industry types. Their results indicate that employees do spontaneously experience and express genuine emotions at work that are in compliance with occupational display rules. Because they surveyed a range of industries, they were able to demonstrate that the type of genuine emotions expressed varied by industry type and in accordance with occupational norms. Glomb and Tews were also able to distinguish these genuine emotional expressions from surface acting and deep acting, and they concluded that genuine emotional expressions are empirically distinct from the other two forms of emotional labour. Diefendorff, Croyle and Gosserand (2005) surveyed employees from a variety of ‘people work’ (2005: 344) occupations. They used a confirmatory factor analysis to demonstrate that surface acting, deep acting, and the expression of naturally felt emotions are three distinct forms of emotional labour. They also examined how these three types of emotional labour are related to personality measures. They found that employees who used surface acting scored higher in neuroticism and self-monitoring and lower on extraversion, conscientiousness, and agreeableness. In contrast, employees who expressed naturally felt emotions were higher on extraversion and agreeableness. Diefendorff and his colleagues summarized their findings by arguing that the natural expression of emotions may be quite common in organizations. As a result of these convincing studies, more scholars have begun exploring the benefits of genuine and natural emotional labour. For instance, Dahling and Perez (2010) have continued the investigation into how individual differences influence the ability to perform emotional labour. They found that older and more mature

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service workers (who probably had more work experience performing emotional labour) were more likely to express naturally felt emotions. Another study suggests that employees who use genuine and natural forms of emotional labour may also be better at providing customer service. Hennig-Thurau, Groth, Paul and Gremler (2006) found that customers responded more favourably to employees who used genuine emotional displays so long as the displays complied with display rules. Some innovative research suggests that we can categorize emotional labourers in terms of their use of the three strategies. Jordan, Soutar, and Kiffin-Petersen’s (2008) study revealed that only 4 per cent were ‘chameleons’, high in all three types of emotional labour, and that another 28 per cent were ‘empathists’, high in deep acting and genuine emotional expression. Consequently, their survey suggests that only about a third of employees are highly skilled at using emotional labour.

The dimensions of emotional labour Emotional labour can also be classified according to its dimensions (Morris and Feldman, 1996). For example, some interactions between customers and service agents last only a few moments, such as when a customer visits a fast food establishment. Thus at fast food places the interactions are frequent, of short duration, and low in intensity. The employees also express a fairly limited range of emotions as part of the job, so the variety is low. Other types of service workers may interact with fewer customers (low frequency), for longer durations, and may have to display a wider variety of emotions with greater intensity. The six-faceted Emotional Labour Scale was developed by Brotheridge and Lee (2003) to measure these dimensions. Their scale measures the ‘frequency, intensity and variety of emotional display, the duration of interaction, and surface and deep acting’ (Brotheridge and Lee, 2003: 365). Because natural and genuine emotional labour has now been shown to be an important form of emotional labour, it can also be added to the types and dimensions of emotional labour. Humphrey, Pollack and Hawver (2008) compared the types of emotional labour performed by service workers with that performed by leaders across the dimensions of emotional labour (they used the dimensions as classified in the Brotheridge and Lee, 2003, Emotional Labour Scales). In addition, Humphrey et al. also compared service workers and leaders with regard to their identification with their roles. First, they classified service workers into three types: customer service (e.g. waiters/waitresses, hotel clerks, retail sales clerks); caring professions (e.g. nurses, childcare workers), and social control agents (e.g. bill collectors, police, security guards). Within each of the three types of service workers, there are considerable differences in occupations – a hairstylist, for example, interacts with customers for longer times than do fast food employees. Over the course of a few years a hairstylist may actually get to know his or her customers fairly well, whereas fast food employees rarely get to know their customers. Most customer service workers usually engage in fairly brief and repetitive encounters with customers and rarely get to know them well. These encounters are usually fairly scripted, and the service agents are supposed to express the same

How leading with emotional labour creates common identities 85 basic emotions over and over again to different customers. For example, most customer service occupations require ‘service with a smile’ (Pugh, 2001; Rafaeli and Sutton, 1987; Van Dijk and Kirk-Brown, 2006). In other words, these service agents usually are required to express mainly positive, friendly emotions to customers. Most of the interactions are fairly brief, but some, like hairstylists, may take somewhat longer. The positive emotions that customer service agents are supposed to express are usually ones that most people enjoy feeling, but agents may find it difficult to actually feel friendly towards strangers or rude customers (Rupp and Spencer, 2006), or when feeling tired and exhausted at the end of a long day. The type of emotional labour performed by members of the caring professions may often be of considerably greater intensity and duration than that performed by customer service workers. Some nurses may interact with patients fairly briefly, but others, such as those in long-term care facilities, may spend considerable time with patients each day and work with them for months or even years. Childcare workers and teachers also have lengthy, long-term interactions with those in their care. The variety of emotions expressed may also vary considerably by occupation in this category; childcare workers may have to express sympathy for sick children, but most often may be expected to express cheerful emotions while playing games with children. However, many of the workers in this category are required to display sympathy, compassion, care, and concern, and it is the requirement to display these sympathetic emotions that most distinguishes this category from the customer service category. These emotions are often associated with unpleasant events, like sickness, or even with major traumas and tragedies that most people experience only infrequently. However, emergency room doctors and nurses treat people with these major traumas on a daily basis. As a result, these care-givers have to express sympathetic emotions on a much more frequent basis than do most people. These emotions may not be ones that are always pleasant to experience, and the requirement to display these emotions may be one reason why these occupations often have high rates of burnout and stress. However, care-givers who identify with their occupational role may find meaning and purpose in their jobs and may derive considerable satisfaction from helping others and from their ability to display compassion. Workers in the social control category may also be required to express emotions that most people do not enjoy expressing, such as anger or irritation. As Sutton’s (1991) study of bill collectors demonstrated, these employees are required to display irritation or even anger in their efforts to convince delinquent account holders to pay up. As Sutton observed, displaying the right amount of irritation can be difficult – it has to be enough to get people to pay their bills, but not so much that they feel abused and file claims against the company. Many police officers spend much of their time displaying compassion while helping out accident victims and other people who need their assistance; however, police officers, security guards, bouncers, and similar workers differ from the caring professions in their need to display sterner emotions. These workers may also need to use emotional displays to signal their power and dominance over offenders. The duration and frequency of the emotional labour may also vary considerably in this category;

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police officers giving traffic tickets and bill collectors may have frequent interactions of short duration, but guards in prisons or other institutions may have lengthier interactions. Whereas customer service agents typically have to display friendly, positive emotions, caring professionals have to display sympathy and compassion, and social control agents have to portray irritation, anger, and power, leaders have to express emotions characteristic of all three types of service occupations (Humphrey, 2008; Humphrey, Pollack and Hawver, 2008). Leaders, in their daily interactions with subordinates and team-members, need to express friendly, positive emotions to build trust and good leader–member relations. Leaders who display positive attitudes are more likely to build a positive climate in the workplace and to have employees with high morale and job satisfaction. Leaders may also have to demonstrate sympathy when hard-working employees are feeling frustrated while encountering workplace obstacles. Over the course of time it is also normal for employees to experience a wide variety of personal problems, ranging from sick children to deaths in the family, and effective leaders care about their employees as people and not just as workers. These personal problems require leaders to display appropriate care and concern. Iszatt-White’s (2009) study of college leaders convincingly demonstrates that leaders use emotional labour in order to show that they value and care about their followers. For example, she interviewed a college leader, Patricia, who is normally a positive, supportive and happy leader. However, like all leaders, Patricia occasionally has some bad moments, and Patricia has to use emotional labour methods to portray the right emotions to others. Iszatt-White reported Patricia as stating: The only place where I am ever miserable is within my immediate office, with the people who work immediately to me. Because if I walk down the corridor looking unhappy and that person hasn’t seen me for three months, they will then regard me as inconsistent. So you have to also bear in mind the frequency and the context in which people see you, what their expectations are . . . . (Iszatt-White, 2009: 460) Leaders may also have to use emotional labour to express anger and irritation over poor performance (Humphrey, 2008; Humphrey, Pollack and Hawver, 2008). When employees are purposively slacking off, taking long breaks, and making careless, negligent mistakes, leaders have to let the employees know their errant behaviours will not be tolerated. Iszatt-White’s (2009) study also demonstrates that even leaders high in valuing others may sometimes have to show disapproval and negative affect when subordinates are failing to meet goals. Iszatt-White (2009) presented her field notes on a meeting between a leader (named Steven) and his subordinate named Paul: When Paul arrives, Steven refuses to be diverted by Paul’s assurances that ‘things are happening at an operational level’ and impresses on him the need

How leading with emotional labour creates common identities 87 to take control and deliver on time: appears angry with Paul about lack of progress on key issues and shows strong disappointment at his apparent failure to see the seriousness of his position. (Iszatt-White, 2009: 459) In her interviews with Steven, Iszatt-White (2009: 459) found that ‘he often had to show stronger emotion than he felt’, and that when dealing with Paul he had ‘to be “tougher” than it was natural for him to be’. Although most of the time the leaders she interviewed felt they were able to express their true feelings and attitudes (i.e. use genuine emotional labour), as the case with Steven and Paul illustrates, at times the leaders had to use surface acting or deep acting. Because leaders have to perform emotional labour characteristic of all three types of service categories, it may be especially difficult for leaders to effectively perform emotional labour, as they would need to be skilled in all three types of emotional labour. A leader good at showing care and compassion, for example, may not be good at displaying just the right amount of anger and irritation to ensure compliance when dealing with motivationally-challenged employees. When performing emotional labour leaders may need to use considerably more judgement than most service agents do (Humphrey, 2008; Humphrey, Pollack and Hawver, 2008). Many service agents, especially those who perform the ‘service with a smile’ type of customer service, know that they need to basically express the same friendly emotion with each customer in a fairly repetitive fashion. Thus they do not have to use much judgment as to what emotion to display. In contrast, leaders often have to decide what the appropriate emotional response should be. For example, when an employee shows up late for work, the leader may need to decide whether to express sympathy for the employee’s childcare problems, stern disapproval for the tardiness, or some combination of support and irritation. In many cases, leaders must not only decide the type but also the degree of emotional support or disapproval. Mild offences require appropriately mild rebukes, and little wins can’t be treated with the same enthusiasm as major victories. It takes a leader skilled in emotional labour to express not only the right type but the right amount of emotion for each occasion. The need to rapidly switch from one type of emotional display to another may also make it difficult to perform emotional labour. Whereas many service workers perform the same type of emotional display over and over again, leaders must frequently switch from one type of emotional display to another, often within minutes of each other (Humphrey, 2008; Humphrey, Pollack and Hawver, 2008). For example, a leader may have to discuss performance problems with one employee right after praising another employee for good work; this might be followed by the need to give emotional support to an employee who is doing his or her best to handle a frustrating work problem. Because our emotions and moods tend to last for at least some time, going from negative affect to positive affect immediately may be especially difficult. A leader who is still somewhat angry after talking to a poorly performing subordinate may not sound too sympathetic when trying to give sympathy to a frustrated worker.

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In addition to considering the six facets in the Brotheridge and Lee (2003) scale described previously, Humphrey, Pollack and Hawver (2008) examined how leaders and service workers differed in their identification with their roles. Because of the great variety of service jobs, the degree to which service agents identify with their job is likely to vary greatly by occupation. Some customer service agents, like fast food employees hired for the summer, retail clerks hired for the holidays, or other low-paid employees working in high turnover occupations, probably have low identification with their jobs. On the other hand, many nurses and police officers strongly identify with their occupations. Leaders, however, because of their position as managers, are likely to have high levels of identification with their jobs. This might even be true in occupations with normally low levels of identification. Many restaurant managers might well intend to make a career in the restaurant industry and thus might identify more strongly with their role than would many of the high turnover cashiers and waiting staff they supervise. Thus leaders should generally have higher levels of identification with their role than typical employees. The degree to which people identify with their jobs should influence the type of emotional labour they perform. Employees should be more likely to use surface acting when they do not identify with their roles. When employees do not see the emotions they are supposed to express as consistent with their personal identity they are not likely to want to actually feel the emotions they are displaying. As a result, they fake their emotional expressions. On the other hand, when people identify with their role they may desire to feel the emotions that go along with the role. The ability to actually feel the emotions may depend on the actors’ experience and ability to perform the role (Ashforth and Humphrey, forthcoming). Experienced employees may naturally feel the emotions that are part of their role. For example, an experienced company representative may feel confident, even cheerful and charismatic, when presenting to potential clients. Thus experienced and competent employees who can easily meet organizational display rules and who identify with their roles should have high rates of using spontaneous, genuine and natural emotional labour. Novice agents, however, may have to use surface acting or deep acting to cover up their nervousness. These novice representatives may dream of striding confidently into the potential clients’ boardrooms, their voices booming with assurance. Yet they may find their firm resolve turning into jelly when they see the competitive glare of the CEO, the bored expressions of the vice-presidents. Thus these novice agents may have to ‘fake it until they make it.’ Although these novices identify with their role and aspire to become successful, confident presenters, they have to use surface acting and deep acting until they gain enough experience to perform naturally. Some indirect evidence for this viewpoint is provided by the Dahling and Perez (2010) study previously described; these authors found that older (and presumably more experienced) employees were more likely to use genuine emotional labour. Some employees may not initially identify with their jobs, but over time grow to identify with their roles. Ashforth and Humphrey (1993) reasoned that when

How leading with emotional labour creates common identities 89 employees use deep acting they will become more likely to identify with their role. When using deep acting, employees try to actually feel the emotions they want to display, and the act of feeling the emotions may engender identification. In time, the employees using deep acting may find that their emotions may become automatic, genuine, and natural emotional expressions. In contrast, employees who use surface acting may find themselves experiencing increasing dissonance and inauthenticity. The constant awareness that they are portraying emotions they are not actually feeling on behalf of an organization they do not identify with may become increasingly galling. These employees may either quit their jobs or suffer psychological distress as a result of the emotional dissonance and inauthenticity. The importance of the one-on-one relationships between service agents and their customers, or between leaders and followers, is also a key factor that influences the emotional labour process. In many service occupations, the importance of the relationship between a service agent and any one particular customer might be fairly low, and the customer and service agent may never expect to see each other after their brief encounter is over. The airline stewards that Hochschild (1983) studied, for example, are unlikely to have had particularly important relationships with many individual passengers. Airline attendants may get to know a few frequent travellers, but most passengers are likely to remain anonymous strangers. Cumulatively, of course, passengers play an important role in the stewards’ job satisfaction. Likewise, passengers may appreciate good service, but they are not likely to see their relationships with stewards as important to their careers, their families, or to other important parts of their lives. It is perhaps for this reason that previous research has not listed the importance of the relationship as a key dimension affecting emotional labour. Although the one-on-one relationships between service agents and their customers or clients are not of crucial importance in many situations, in some situations the relationships may be of considerable importance. Service agents and customers sometimes have long-term relationships, and in healthcare settings the relationships may even be of vital life-giving importance to the patients. A cancer patient, for example, may see his or her relationship with a doctor as essential to recovery. The doctor in turn may also recognize the importance of the relationship. Many professional company representatives also have long-term relationships with buyers. These company representatives may also see their relationships with buyers as crucial to their career success, especially when they deal with a small number of major accounts instead of with thousands of small accounts. In some cases, a customer representative may work with a single account. Emotional labour demands may be particularly high when service agents work with only a few major accounts that are critical to their career success. In buyer–supplier relationships, both parties may attempt to project the emotional displays that they think will best aid them in their negotiations, ranging from friendly expressions to threats to terminate the relationship, while simultaneously trying to gauge the other’s true feelings (Humphrey and Ashforth, 2000). In these cases, both buyers and suppliers may have to use communication styles that go against their preferred style and emotional tone.

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Teenagers who hold part-time summer jobs, or employees who work in other temporary, non-career-oriented jobs, might not see their relationship with their manager or leader as very important. However, the majority of employees are likely to see their relationships with their managers or leaders as important to both their career success and their job satisfaction. This means that the emotional labour demands on both leaders and followers are likely to be high. Both parties are likely to pay careful attention to each other’s emotional displays when assessing the quality of the relationship. A manager in a bad mood may inadvertently display negative affect when greeting an employee even if the manager thinks highly of the employee. In such cases, the employee may misinterpret the emotional display as an indicator of his or her relationship with the manager. Consequently, managers and other leaders need to be especially careful to use emotional labour tactics to control their emotional expressions to employees. Because of the importance of the relationship, employees are likely to assign undue weight to low-intensity negative managerial emotional displays, and to over-attribute the emotional displays to their leader’s attitudes towards them. The relative power between the two parties is also another factor that greatly influences emotional labour processes. The relative power advantage determines the direction of the emotional labour appeals. The less powerful person usually has to direct his or her emotional labour towards winning over the more powerful party’s goodwill, whereas the more powerful person often only has to use emotional labour to convey gracious acceptance or rejection. In many customer service interactions, the power advantage may tilt towards the customers. The service providers may depend upon the customers for tips or commissions, and disgruntled customers can always complain to the service providers’ managers about poor service. However, this is not always the case. Customers may urgently need the services provided by the service agents, whereas the service agents may regard the customers’ requests as routine, low-priority chores. Anyone who has ever waited for hours in an emergency room, sick or bleeding, while bored-looking staff members stroll about, understands that the relative power is sometimes in the hands of the service providers. Buyer–supplier relationships can also vary in the relative power between vendors and purchasers (Humphrey and Ashforth, 2000). Although one might intuitively think that purchasers have the power advantage over their suppliers, suppliers sometimes hold patents that give them monopolies over needed items, or possess other advantages (such as superior quality and defect rates) that greatly increase their negotiating power with buyers. In social control occupations, the power advantage usually goes to the social control agent, as anyone who has ever tried to charm a police officer into giving a warning instead of a ticket knows. In most leader–follower relationships, the leader or formal manager usually has the relative power advantage. However, again, this is not always the case. The fact that leaders may have little or no power over those they supervise was recognized in the earliest contingency theory of leadership as developed by Fiedler (1967). He included relative power as one of the three environmental conditions that determined which leadership style leaders should use. In some organizations,

How leading with emotional labour creates common identities 91 front-line or mid-level managers have little authority to hire or fire employees, give pay raises or optional bonuses, or punish errant behaviour. When supervising highly skilled professional employees, managers may depend upon their employees’ expertise and enthusiastic cooperation in order to get the job done and achieve their own departmental goals – this dependence on their subordinates lessens the managers’ power. Even when leaders have considerable discretionary authority and power over their subordinates, they may still feel the need to win over their employees’ goodwill in order to boost cooperation, improve morale and job satisfaction, and achieve peak performance. However, the fact that most managers have at least some authority and power over their subordinates gives a considerably different flavour to the type of emotional labour that they perform compared with that done by service workers. The amount of autonomy that managers and leaders have to determine how much emotional labour they will perform, to obey emotional display rules, or even to create emotional display rules, also varies greatly (Humphrey, 2008; Humphrey, Pollack and Hawver, 2008). The amount of autonomy that service providers have has been shown to be an important aspect of emotional labour (Grandey, Fisk and Steiner, 2005), although it has not been empirically studied with regard to how leaders use emotional labour. Owners and entrepreneurs may have considerable autonomy to create the emotional display rules at their companies. Indeed, an entrepreneur may use emotional labour display rules to create a unique organizational culture in an effort to create a competitive advantage or establish a market niche. Powerful CEOs who have the full support of their boards may also be able to create emotional display rules for the entire organization. Even local managers may have a substantial ability to create local norms with regard to emotional displays. Kelly and Barsade (2001) describe how organization-wide emotion norms can constrain or amplify group members’ emotions; however, they also recognize that in some organizations with looser display rules local norms may modify the organization-wide norms. But not all owners, managers, and leaders have autonomy with regard to display rules and emotional labour. Although business owners may have more latitude than most managers, franchise owners may find that they still have to conform to the overall franchise rules for emotional displays. Even many independent small business owners may feel compelled to conform to general societal norms and expectations about how people in their business should behave. Owners, managers, and other leaders may also feel more compelled to conform to these expectations than typical workers might feel. The owners and leaders have more invested in the organization and thus may feel greater pressure to strictly adhere to emotional labour norms. They may feel a strong pressure to be role models for their employees and to exemplify the correct behaviour. In contrast, many employees may not feel they have to be model employees, especially if they intend to work at the job for only a year or two. Hourly employees at many restaurants and retail establishments may not have much at stake with regard to whether a particular customer is satisfied or not. This may be one reason why Brotheridge and Grandey (2002) found that managers regulated their emotional expressions with customers as

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much as their front-line service workers did despite the managers’ putatively greater autonomy. Middle managers may especially lack autonomy with regard to the emotions they have to display to other organizational members. As Cowsill and Grint (2008) observed, mid-level leaders are often caught in the middle between demands from upper management and those from their subordinates. Upper management is often most concerned with productivity, whereas subordinates often desire care and support from their managers. A good example of how managers are often caught in the middle is provided by Bryant and Cox (2006); they examined how both subordinates and middle managers had to change their emotional expressions as a result of policies handed down from upper management. These policies lead to demotions and displacements and other undesirable changes for the employees. As a result of having to enforce these policies, the managers had to alter their once friendly emotional expressions towards subordinates and become more distant and unfriendly. In turn, the subordinates had to use emotional labour tactics to hide their new negative feelings towards their managers. The next section provides an overview of the research on identity theory. This overview will allow us to then integrate the research on emotional labour with the research on identity theory.

The components and levels of identity Ashforth, Harrison and Corley (2008) reasoned that we can conceptualize identity in narrow terms consisting of our self-definition, our values, and our feelings about our self. Or, they maintained, we can consider identity in somewhat broader terms that include our goals, beliefs, skills and abilities, and typical behaviours. Another way to think about identity is in terms of the roles that we play. Stets and Burke (2000: 225) conceive of core identity as ‘the categorization of the self as an occupant of a role, and the incorporation, into the self, of the meanings and expectations associated with that role and its performance’. Our identities are formed as we learn our roles. For example, while growing up we learn how to behave as a student, how to behave as a family member, and how to behave as a member of a sports team. As an adult we may learn various occupational roles, such as doctor, lawyer or truck driver. Our knowledge about how to behave in these various roles becomes part of our role identities. This knowledge is contained in the form of cognitive categories (Kihlstrom, Beer and Klein, 2003; Lord, Brown and Freiberg, 1999). An important part of our identities is the extent to which we see the identity or role as an essential part of our character – a student temporarily working as a waiter or waitress may not see the role as central to his or her core identity. The fact that we learn our roles and identities also means that our identities contain knowledge and expectations about how we should perform our roles. A newly hired waiter or waitress may have expectations about how waiting staff should behave towards customers based upon years of being a customer, and these expectations may guide the employee’s behaviours. The more the employee sees

How leading with emotional labour creates common identities 93 the role as an essential part of his or her character and identity, the more motivated the employee should be to live up to the expectations and perform the role in an exemplary manner (van Knippenberg, van Knippenberg, De Cremer and Hogg, 2004; 2005). Consequently, leaders can improve performance by helping employees identify with the job. Employees will want to do a good job if they see the job as an important part of who they are. In addition, leaders can build identification by training employees how to do the job correctly. As Ashforth, Harrison and Corley (2008) argued, our broader identity includes our beliefs about our skills and abilities. Just as hitting a home run reinforces a high school player’s identity as a sportsperson, making a key sale reinforces an agent’s identity as a company representative, and performing a new nursing task reinforces a nurse’s pride in being a care-giver and nurse. Likewise, a leader who successfully performs a challenging leadership task will be more likely to see the leadership role as an essential part of his or her character and identity (DeRue and Ashford, 2010). Burke (1991) and Thoits (1991) argued that the degree to which performing a task boosts our morale and well-being depends up the degree to which the task is identity relevant. If the task is not relevant to our personal identity, we may not care too much whether we succeed or not at it. However, if we see performing the task as part of an identity and role that is important to us, success can boost our morale while failure can be stressful. For instance, an accountant who also sees himself or herself as a leader may be pleased with the opportunity to chair a committee. For this accountant, chairing the committee would be an identity-relevant task that the accountant would want to succeed at. Another accountant, however, may not view chairing the committee as relevant to his or her identity as an accountant, and may regard the same opportunity with distaste. Learning a new identity and role may not always be easy. Pratt and his two colleagues (Pratt, Rockmann and Kaufmann, 2006) chronicled over a six-year time period how new interns and residents take on the identity of doctors. They found (2006: 235) that these would-be doctors often encountered ‘work-identity integrity violations: an experienced mismatch between what physicians did and who they were’. As new interns and residents, they had idealistic conceptualizations of what their role as a doctor entailed. As one intern stated: An intern [first-year medical resident] is something like a secretary and a social worker and a physical therapist and an errand boy. You just take care of business as an intern. . . . That means you know – that means writing down hundreds of pages a day of text into different places – patients’ charts and forms. It is just an unbelievable pile of paperwork that somebody has to do. . . . The interns get left to do all that sort of crap. (Pratt, Rockmann and Kaufmann, 2006: 243) Pratt and his colleagues found that over time the interns learned to identify with the various aspects of their jobs by engaging in ‘identity customization’ and

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‘identity enrichment’. This process helped the interns see the broad range of tasks they had to perform as consistent with their identities as physicians. We can also think about identity in terms of the level of identification. For example, Brewer and Gardner (1996) examined three levels of identity: individual identity, interpersonal identity, and collective identity. Two other macrolevels of identity are also important: organizational and cultural levels. These five levels are defined below. Everyone has identities that exist at all five levels, but the extent to which an identity is activated determines which level influences a person’s behaviour at that particular time. The situation we are in influences which level is most relevant at the time and is thus most likely to influence our behaviour. Individual and independent identity At this level, our identity is derived from our beliefs about our individual traits, characteristics, and behaviours. Our individual identity is especially based on those traits that distinguish us from other people. This contrast with other people has two important consequences. First, it means that when this level is activated, an individual’s self-esteem is based on how he or she compares with other people on the traits that comprise his or her identity and that most distinguish him or her from others. Second, when an individual and independent identity is activated, an actor considers his or her interests to be separate, or independent, of other people’s interests, hence a person operating at this level seeks to maximize his or her own interests instead of the group’s interests. Interpersonal and relational identity Our interpersonal and relational identity is activated when we identify with and take into account our interdependent rolerelationship with another individual on a one-to-one basis. For example, we can have one-on-one relationships with a spouse, or a co-worker, or with individual supervisors or subordinates (Brewer and Gardner, 1996; Sluss and Ashforth, 2007). When we are primed to identify at the relational level, we feel pride and self-esteem from meeting our obligations to our partners. When this level is activated, actors take their partner’s interests into consideration. Collective identity and social identity Tajfel (1978: 63) defined social identity as ‘that part of an individual’s self-concept which derives from his knowledge of his membership of a social group (or groups) together with the value and emotional significance attached to that membership.’ When this level of identification is activated, people care about the welfare of the group. Moreover, group membership influences people’s self-esteem; as a result people want to identify with and belong to high-status, successful groups. Organizational identity Albert and Whetten (1985) defined organizational identity in terms of three properties: these measure characteristics of the organization that are distinctive, enduring, and central to the organization and the way it operates.

How leading with emotional labour creates common identities 95 Cultural or national identity Cultural values also influence our identity and way of behaving, and when this identity is brought to consciousness we focus on characteristics that distinguish cultures and nations from each other. As the above section indicates, the degree to which we act solely to promote our own personal interests, or act as well on the behalf of others, depends to some extent on our level of identification. Good evidence for this is provided by Sosik, Jung and Dinger (2009). They surveyed 218 managers and their 935 subordinates to find out how the managers’ levels of identity influenced their altruistic behaviours and job performance. They found that managers who were high on collective or social identity were more likely to perform altruistic behaviours; moreover, managers who performed altruistic behaviours also had higher job performance (as rated by their own managers).

Authenticity, emotional labour and identity Authenticity is a key concept in both the literature on emotional labour and the literature on identity. According to the emotional labour literature, people experience inauthenticity or dissonance when their felt emotions are discrepant from their expressed emotions (Hochschild, 1979; 1983). This inauthenticity can lead to both negative job outcomes (Van Dijk and Kirk-Brown, 2006) and stress and diminished well-being (Bono and Vey, 2005). Likewise, the literature on identity also attributes feelings of inauthenticity to a conflict between one’s behaviour and one’s inner feelings and values. The sense of inauthenticity occurs when people do not identify with the role they are asked to perform. This frequently occurs when a role requires someone to act in a way that is inconsistent with the way the person normally acts in other important roles. As Ashforth and Humphrey (1993: 98) stated, ‘proponents of social identity theory suggest that individuals who strongly identify with their organisational roles (or, relatedly, their occupations, departments, or organisations) – that is, individuals who regard their roles as a central, salient, and valued component of who they are – are apt to feel most authentic when they are conforming to role expectations’. Consequently, when a leader identifies with the leadership role, the leader will feel more authentic when acting as a leader. As indicated earlier, not all employees regard the leadership identity as a key part of their occupational identity. Many nurses, doctors, professors, engineers, accountants, cooks and computer programmers identify more strongly with their profession than with being a manager or leader. Nevertheless, many of these same people find themselves accepting promotions into managerial and supervisory leadership positions. Sometimes they accept these promotions for financial reasons, sometimes for the increased status, and sometimes just because no one else is available. In order to feel authentic in their role as leader, newly appointed managers need to identify with the overall leader identity and also with the specific tasks that they have to perform as a leader. In other words, they must learn to see the tasks they are now obliged to perform as identity-relevant tasks. For example, as a regular member of an academic department an English professor may identify with

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the ability to analyse literature, engage students and speak with a dramatic, Shakespearean flair. As a new department chair, the same person may now have to start identifying with the ability to manage meetings, schedule classes, keep to a budget and resolve conflict among department members. Some of the more mundane tasks may create the sort of work-identity integrity violations that Pratt and his colleagues described in their study of interns (Pratt, Rockmann and Kaufmann, 2006). Some professors may not feel that keeping track of travel budgets is consistent with the skills they acquired during the years it took them to earn a PhD, or that they should have to resolve petty disputes between faculty members. In order to feel authentic when acting as a department head, these professors may need to engage in identity enrichment and add these new tasks to their identity. Surface acting generates the greatest amount of emotional dissonance and feelings of inauthenticity. Employees who accept promotions due to financial pressures (or for other extrinsic reasons) might be more likely to use surface acting. The more they tell themselves they are only doing it for the money, the more likely they are to fake their emotional expressions or to display emotions inconsistent with their new role. Thus newly promoted leaders will be more likely to successfully adopt the leader identity if they use deep acting instead of surface acting. Deep acting prompts people to actually feel the emotions they are trying to display and the act of feeling emotions consistent with the role prompts identification (Ashforth and Humphrey, 1993). Managers and other leaders may also feel inauthentic if their leadership role requires them to carry out behaviours inconsistent with the type of behaviours they perform in most of their other roles. Identity theorists maintain that we have multiple selves that can be quite distinct (Markus and Nurius, 1986; Markus and Wurf, 1987; Thoits, 1983). Each major role that we play in life creates a role identity, and thus we have multiple selves that correspond to being a parent, a child, an employee, a sports team member, perhaps even a member of a weekend rock band. Each of these roles emphasizes different types of behaviours; as a parent we may be kind and supportive, as a rugby player tough and aggressive, as a rock band member wild and irresponsible, as an employee hard-working and punctual. A leader who identifies strongly with being a kind and supportive parent may find it hard to act like a tough manager. Likewise, after spending the weekend shouting out rebellious rock lyrics it may be hard to reprimand tardy subordinates without feeling like a hypocrite. Even within the workplace we have multiple selves that correspond to our multiple roles at work (Ashforth and Johnson, 2001). Navigating between these multiple identities can be tricky (Ashforth, 2001). Middle managers, for example, are both subordinates and supervisors. They are subordinates to the executives above them but supervisors to those below them; as a result they have to activate their leader identity in some circumstances while in others they need to bring out their subordinate identity. Going from ‘I’m in charge’ to ‘You’re the boss’ isn’t easy for everyone. With some people, managers may be both a peer and a supervisor, depending upon which role relationship is activated. An engineering manager, for example, may view his or her fellow engineers as colleagues and

How leading with emotional labour creates common identities 97 peers when discussing engineering principles, but as subordinates when discussing project deadlines. Although our roles often conflict in many ways, the fact that we can only bring up one role at a time in our working memory means that we are often not aware of the inconsistencies in our roles (Markus and Nurius, 1986; Markus and Wurf, 1987). This can reduce the amount of inauthenticity that a leader may feel when enacting leader behaviours inconsistent with other identities. Thus leaders who adopt strict attitudes when acting as a leader may not realize how their attitudes conflict with the attitudes they held as subordinates. Observers, however, may still notice such inconsistencies. Hunt, Gardner and Fischer (2008) also explored the ramifications of leaders’ use of emotional labour; they developed a typology that relates the three types of emotional labour to authentic leadership. They reasoned that the distance between leaders and followers determined the most appropriate type and overall effectiveness of the leaders’ emotional labour. Their typology classified distance in terms of physical distance, social distance, and frequency of interaction.

Emotional labour and authentic, transparent identities Leaders are not always aware of discrepancies in their own attitudes across roles, yet these contradictions can cause subordinates to view them as inauthentic. Authentic leadership theory argues that leaders should be ‘transparent,’ or open and honest about their own thoughts and feelings (Hunt, Gardner and Fischer, 2008; Norman, Avolio and Luthans, 2010). Authentic leadership theory also states that leaders should be self-aware and have a deep understanding of their own values and beliefs. Avolio and his colleagues stated (Avolio, Gardner, Walumbwa, Luthans and May, 2004: 802): ‘We conceive of authentic leaders as persons who have achieved high levels of authenticity in that they know who they are, what they believe and value, and they act upon those values and beliefs while transparently interacting with others.’ Leaders who have a deep, authentic understanding of their values are likely to be more successful in integrating their values and behaviours across the different roles in their lives. Because of their commitment to values and to their personal identity, they are unlikely to accept a job or leadership position that is inconsistent with their other roles in life and with their core sense of identity. Shamir and Eilam (2005) argued that authentic leaders understand their life story and how the different events in their life have shaped their identity. Moreover, authentic leaders choose to interpret even the negative events in their life in a way that promotes growth, development and positive values. According to Shamir and Eilam, authentic leaders regard behaving as a leader as an expression of their true selves, and they have adopted the leadership role because they have a cause and a mission. Sparrowe (2005) also took a life story approach; he emphasized how leaders need to understand their relationships with others. He (2005: 435) maintained that, ‘[t]o the extent that the narrative identity of a leader is derived from the provisional

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selves he or [she] has available from friends, colleagues, and acquaintances, understanding those other individuals and their own stories may prove important’. Leaders who use genuine emotional labour to express their spontaneous and natural emotions are being transparent. Thus this is the form of emotional labour that is most consistent with authentic leadership principles (Gardner, Fischer and Hunt, 2009; Humphrey, 2005, 2008; Hunt, Gardner and Fischer, 2008). When leaders have successfully integrated the different roles in their lives they have less need to use surface acting to cover up discrepancies in values and attitudes, or contradictions between roles. These transparent displays of emotions are also likely to be the most effective at creating a sense of common identity with followers. Because most people have at least some ability to detect faking, authentic displays of emotion usually produce the best result and are most likely to evoke emotional contagion and a common emotional bond with others. Nonetheless, there may be times when authentic leaders need to use either deep acting or even surface acting. As previously discussed, emotional labour researchers realize that people may be ‘faking in good faith’ (Rafaeli and Sutton, 1987). Thus leaders may suppress the expression of their natural emotions for a good reason. Anyone who has ever held back an angry, ill-advised retort understands that it is not always wise to express naturally occurring emotions. The suppression of emotions can be a sign of an ethical character. Wright and Quick (2011: 976) reasoned that two of the crucial elements of character are moral discipline, defined as the suppressing of ‘individual, personal needs for those of a greater personal good’, and moral attachment, which involves a ‘leader’s commitment to someone or something greater than herself’. When authentic leaders use surface acting or deep acting to suppress their immediate irritation, frustration, doubts, or fears on behalf of a cause they truly believe in, then they are faking in good faith. This type of suppression and moral discipline builds common ties and identities among leaders and followers. Although authentic and genuine forms of emotional labour usually produce the best results, Hunt, Gardner and Fischer (2008) argued that transparent displays of emotion are only effective if the displays are consistent with societal expectations, organizational norms and overall display rules. Hunt and his colleagues (2008: 51) expected that ‘the favourability of audience impressions to be reduced when genuine emotional displays violate situational display rules, since these leaders may be seen as emotionally out-of-touch and lacking in social skills.’ For instance, suppose a store manager expresses undue anger when a clerk makes a minor mistake. In this case, the clerk is likely to think that the manager is expressing his or her true emotions, and is thus being ‘authentic’ or transparent. However, this display of genuine emotion is not likely to have a positive effect on the clerk’s relations with the leader. Going back to the Ashforth and Humphrey (1993) description of spontaneous and natural emotional labour, their description emphasizes how spontaneous emotions must meet expectations (i.e. display rules) in order to be a form of emotional labour. When a leader’s spontaneous emotions do not match display rules and social expectations, leaders should suppress their spontaneous emotions and use either deep acting or surface acting to display a more effective emotion.

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Building a common identity Ashkanasy and Humphrey (2011) developed a multi-level view of leadership and emotions that paid particular attention to how leaders use emotional labour. The multi-level component of their model was based on Ashkanasy’s (2003) Five-Level Model of Emotion in Organizations; this model was later developed in more detail by Ashkanasy and Jordan (2008). The multi-level model includes five levels: (1) within person, (2) between persons (individual differences), (3) interpersonal interactions, (4) group, and (5) organization-wide. Table 5.1 applies the literature on identity and emotional labour to the Five-Level Model as it is developed in this chapter. Table 5.1 How skilful leaders use emotional labour at the five levels of emotions in organizations Level 1: Within-person Effective leaders may use deep acting to help them feel the appropriate emotions throughout the day; they may also naturally feel the appropriate emotions more often than less effective leaders and as a result have higher levels of identification with their leadership role. Level 2: Between-persons (individual differences) When leaders and group members share many personality traits, values, and background characteristics, then it is more likely that collective and social identities will be activated. In contrast, when leaders and group members have few traits or characteristics in common their individual and independent identities are likely to be activated. However, leaders who are high on empathy and emotional intelligence should be better able to look beyond individual differences; these leaders may have to use surface acting, deep acting, and genuine emotional labour to develop a collective identity among disparate group members. Level 3: Interpersonal Leaders who are good at performing emotional labour take initiative in expressing their emotions in order to establish good one-on-one relationships and interpersonal and relational identities with individual group members. Authentic, transparent leaders who primarily use genuine and natural emotional labour are likely to be better at developing relational identities with others. Level 4: Groups and teams Resilient leaders use surface acting or deep acting to take control of their own emotional reactions during crisis situations or during other times when negative moods and emotions are emotionally contagious among group members; these leaders then establish resonance and a common empathic bond with their followers. After establishing resonance and empathy, resilient leaders use displays of positive emotions and confidence to control emotional contagion processes, move their followers to a more productive emotional state, and build collective and social identification. During normal times, effective leaders use genuine and natural emotional labour to generate high levels of enthusiasm and productivity while maintaining collective and social identities. Level 5: Organization-wide Leaders skilled at emotional labour develop organization-wide emotional display rules that create organizational cultures with positive emotional climates. The positive emotional climate in turn leads employees (and often customers as well) to have high levels of organizational identification.

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From this table, we can see that at the organizational-level leaders are responsible for creating the organizational emotional display rules. Although created at the top, these emotional display rules govern behaviour at all five levels as they regulate the emotional displays that individuals show to customers, as well as emotional displays that regulate interpersonal interactions and interactions among group members. The organization-wide emotional labour display rules may influence employees’ overall level of organizational identification. Humphrey and his colleagues (Humphrey, 2008; Humphrey, Pollack and Hawver, 2008) argued that leaders can use emotional labour tactics to take control of emotional contagion processes, and this may have an important effect at the group level of the model. Prior research has demonstrated that emotional contagion can have a strong effect on the emotions that group members feel (Barsade, 2002; Bono and Ilies, 2006; Sy, Côté and Saavedra, 2005). Humphrey (2008: 5) stated that ‘leaders who use emotional labour to take control of their own emotional expressions can use emotional contagion to influence others in the workplace as well.’ During crisis situations or when things go wrong, fear, anxiety and even panic can spread rapidly from member to member. During these times, resilient leaders need to use either surface acting or deep acting to take control of their own emotions, and then to project onto the group expressions of confidence. Because leaders are especially emotionally contagious, leaders are in a good position to use emotional contagion to influence group members, and confident leaders can use their own emotional expressions to create positive emotional contagion processes. Even during normal times, leaders can use positive emotional contagion to create a sense of enthusiasm. In a similar vein, Pescosolido (2002) also argued that group members look to leaders to know what emotions they should feel when encountering ambiguous events or setbacks. In Primal Leadership, Goleman, Boyatzis and McKee (2002) argued that leaders need to create resonance with group members. Leaders build resonance by first getting on the same emotional wave-length as followers and group members. Thus if the members are feeling frustrated the leader has to acknowledge the frustrating events in order to be in sync with the members emotionally. Once this synchronization has occurred, leaders use the emotional bond they have established to move the group members to a more productive emotional state by displaying confidence and other positive emotions. Likewise, Kellett, Humphrey and Sleeth (2002; 2006) also argued that an empathic bond was important to leadership – in their studies empathy was the best predictor of leadership emergence. Thus emotional labour at the group level should help leaders build collective and social identity by allowing them to take control of emotional contagion processes and create resonance and a common empathic bond with followers. The interpersonal level of the multi-level model corresponds to the interpersonal and relational level in identity theory. In order to establish a common bond and identity at this level, leaders need to focus on their one-on-one relationships with others. Leaders who are transparent and who genuinely express their true emotions are likely to be good at establishing resonant, empathic, and trusting relationships with others.

How leading with emotional labour creates common identities 101 Level 2 of the five-level model looks at individual differences between people. Clearly, people who are more alike in terms of personality and background are likely to have higher levels of identification with each other. In addition, people higher on empathy are likely to be better at understanding others and feeling a common tie with people. Consequently, people high on empathy may be better at creating a sense of common identity even with people who are somewhat different from them in terms of personality traits, values, and background. Emotional intelligence may also be a personality trait and competency that allows people to create a common identity. People high on emotional intelligence and competencies are better at reading other people’s feelings and regulating their own feelings, and both of these abilities should help them establish relationships with others. A recent review found that the majority of studies on emotional intelligence/ competencies found that they were positively related to leadership emergence, leadership behaviours, and overall leadership effectiveness (Walter, Cole and Humphrey, 2011). A recent meta-analysis also found that emotional intelligence/ competency measures incremented the ability to predict job performance when controlling for cognitive intelligence and measures of the Big Five personality traits (O’Boyle, Humphrey Pollack, Hawver and Story, 2011). Level 1 concerns within-person variations in the experience of emotions throughout the day. Emotional labour tactics such as deep acting may be particularly important here. As the day wears on and leaders become tired, bored or irritated with daily frustrations, deep acting can help leaders continue feeling the emotions appropriate for their role. In turn, feeling the appropriate emotions can help leaders identify with their job and occupation.

Conclusions Although few studies have examined how leaders use emotional labour, a number of theoretical articles have provided solid theoretical reasons to believe that leaders use emotional labour in their interactions with followers. The few empirical studies, such as that done by Iszatt-White (2009), have found support for the overall premise that leaders use emotional labour. Leader emotional labour and identification processes are interrelated at all five levels of the multi-level model of affect in organizations. This shows the importance of both emotional labour and identification processes to the overall study of affect in the workplace. Identification processes are crucial to leadership, and leaders who create a common bond and identity with followers are more effective. Because leader emotional labour can influence identification at all five levels, the prospects for doing research in this area are very promising. There should be abundant opportunities to do research on each level. Research on the overall topic of emotional labour is booming: the term emotional labour has been used in over 10,000 articles since 1980, with over half of those cites occurring since 2006 (Grandey, Diefendorff and Rupp, forthcoming). Clearly, the time is right to begin empirical studies on the relationships between leader emotional labour and identification processes.

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References Albert, S., and Whetten, D. A. (1985) Organizational identity. Research in Organizational Behavior, 7: 263–95. Ashforth, B. E. (2001) Role Transitions in Organizational Life: An identity-based perspective. Mahwah, NJ: Erlbaum. Ashforth, B. E., Harrison, S. H., and Corley, K. E. (2008) Identification in organizations: An examination of four fundamental questions. Journal of Management, 34: 325–74. Ashforth, B. E., and Humphrey, R. H. (1993) Emotional labour in service roles: The influence of identity. Academy of Management Review, 18: 88–115. Ashforth, B. E., and Humphrey, R. H. (forthcoming 2012) Emotional labour: looking back nearly 20 years. In A. Grandey, J. Diefendorff, and D. Rupp (eds), Emotional Labour in the 21st Century: Diverse perspectives on emotion regulation at work. New York, NY: Psychology Press/Routledge. Ashforth, B. E., and Johnson, S. A. (2001) Which hat to wear? The relative salience of multiple identities in organizational contexts. In M. A. Hogg and D. J. Terry (eds), Social Identity Processes in Organizational Contexts. Philadelphia: Psychology Press, pp.31–48. Ashkanasy, N. M. (2003) Emotions in organizations: A multilevel perspective. In F. Dansereau and F. J. Yammarino (eds), Research in Multi-level Issues: Multi-level issues in organizational behavior and strategy. Oxford, UK: Elsevier/JAI Press, vol. 2, pp.9–54. Ashkanasy, N. M., and Humphrey, R. H. (2011) A multi-level view of leadership and emotions: Leading with emotional labour. In A. Bryman, D. Collinson, K. Grint, B. Jackson, and M. Uhl-Bien (eds), The Sage Handbook of Leadership. London, UK: Sage, pp.363–77. Ashkanasy, N. M., and Jordan, P. J. (2008) A multi-level view of leadership and emotion. In R. H. Humphrey (ed.), Affect and Emotion: New directions in management theory and research. Charlotte, NC: Information Age Publishing, pp.17–39. Avolio, B. J., Gardner, W. L., Walumbwa, F. O., Luthans, F., and May, D. R. (2004) Unlocking the mask: A look at the process by which authentic leaders impact follower attitudes and behaviours. The Leadership Quarterly, 15: 801–23. Barsade, S. G. (2002) The ripple effect: Emotional contagion and its influence on group behaviour. Administrative Science Quarterly, 47: 644–75. Bono, J. E., and Ilies, R. (2006) Charisma, positive emotions, and mood contagion. The Leadership Quarterly, 17: 317–34. Bono, J. E., and Vey, M. A. (2005) Toward understanding emotional management at work: A quantitative review of emotional labour research. In C. E. J. Härtel, W. J. Zerbe, and N. M. Ashkanasy (eds), Emotions in Organizational Behaviour. Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates, pp. 213–33. Brewer, M. B., and Gardner, W. (1996) Who is this ‘we’? Levels of collective identity and self-representations. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 71: 83–93. Brotheridge, C. M., and Grandey, A. A. (2002) Emotional labour and burnout: Comparing two perspectives of ‘People Work’. Journal of Vocational Behaviour, 60: 17–39. Brotheridge, C. M., and Lee, R. T. (2003) Development and validation of the emotional labour scale. Journal of Occupational and Organizational Psychology, 76: 365–79. Bryant, M., and Cox, J. W. (2006) The expression of suppression: Loss and emotional labour in narratives of organizational change. Journal of Management and Organization, 12: 116–30.

How leading with emotional labour creates common identities 103 Burke, P. J. (1991) Identity processes and social stress. American Sociological Review, 56: 836–49. Cowsill, R., and Grint, K. (2008) Leadership, task and relationship: Orpheus, Prometheus and Janus. Human Resource Management Journal, 18: 188–95. Dahling, J. J., and Perez, L. A. (2010) Older worker, different actor? Linking age and emotional labour strategies. Personality and Individual Differences, 48: 574–8. DeRue, D. S., and Ashford, S. J. (2010) Who will lead and who will follow? A social process of leadership identity construction in organizations. Academy of Management Review, 35: 627–47. Diefendorff, J. M., Croyle, M. H., and Gosserand, R. H. (2005) The dimensionality and antecedents of emotional labour strategies. Journal of Vocational Behaviour, 66: 339–57. Diefendorff, J. M., Richard, E. M., and Croyle, M. H. (2006) Are emotional display rules formal job requirements? Examination of employee and supervisor perceptions. Journal of Occupational and Organizational Psychology, 79: 273–98. Epitropaki, O. (2006) ‘Leading the show’: The impact of leader’s emotional labour on subordinates’ transformation leadership perceptions and collective emotional labour. Paper presentation, The Academy of Management, Atlanta, GA. Fiedler, F. (1967) A Theory of Leadership Effectiveness. New York: McGraw-Hill. Gardner, W. L., Fischer, D., and Hunt, J. G. (2009) Emotional labour and leadership: a threat to authenticity? The Leadership Quarterly, 20: 466–82. Glomb, T. M., and Tews, M. J. (2004) Emotional labour: A conceptualization and scale development. Journal of Vocational Behaviour, 64: 1–23. Goleman, D., Boyatzis, R., and McKee, A. (2002) Primal Leadership. Cambridge, MA: Harvard Business School Press. Grandey, A., Diefendorff, J., and Rupp, D. (forthcoming 2012) Emotional labour: overview of definitions, theories, and evidence. In A. Grandey, J. Diefendorff, and D. Rupp (eds), Emotional Labour in the 21st Century: Diverse perspectives on emotion regulation at work. New York: Psychology Press/Routledge. Grandey, A. A., Fiske, G. M., and Steiner, D. D. (2005) Must ‘service with a smile’ be stressful? The moderating role of personal control for American and French employees. Journal of Applied Psychology, 90: 893–904. Hennig-Thurau, T., Groth, M., Paul, M., and Gremler, D. D. (2006) Are all smiles created equal? How emotional contagion and emotional labour affect service relationships. Journal of Marketing, 70: 58–73. Hochschild, A. R. (1979) Emotion work, feeling rules, and social structure. American Journal of Sociology, 85: 551–75. Hochschild, A. R. (1983) The Managed Heart: Commercialization of human feeling. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Humphrey, R. H. (2005) Empathy, emotional expressiveness, and leadership. In L. Weatherly (ed.), Proceedings of the Southern Management Association published online at http://www.southernmanagement.org/meetings/2005/proceedings/flashpop. htm. Charleston, SC: Southern Management Association. [Accessed 11-15-2005]. Humphrey, R. H. (2006) Leading with emotional labour. Paper presented at the annual meetings of the Academy of Management Conference, Atlanta, GA. Humphrey, R. H. (2008). The right way to lead with emotional labour. In: R. H. Humphrey (ed.), Affect and Emotion: New directions in management theory and research. Charlotte, NC: Information Age Publishing, pp.1–17. Humphrey, R. H., and Ashforth, B. E. (2000). Buyer-supplier alliances in the automobile industry: How exit-voice strategies influence interpersonal relationships. Journal of Organizational Behavior, 21: 713–30.

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Humphrey, R. H., Pollack, J. M., and Hawver, T. H. (2008) Leading with emotional labour. Journal of Managerial Psychology, 23, 151–68. Hunt, J. G., Gardner, W. L., and Fischer, D. (2008) Leader emotional displays from near and far: The implications of close versus distant leadership. In R. H. Humphrey (ed.), Affect and Emotion: New directions in management theory and research. Charlotte, NC: Information Age Publishing, pp. 42–65. Iszatt-White, M. (2009) Leadership as emotional labour: the effortful accomplishment of valuing practices. Leadership, 5: 447–67. Jordan, C., Soutar, G., and Kiffin-Petersen, S. (2008) Are there different ‘types’ of emotional labourers? A symposium presentation at The Sixth International Conference on Emotions and Organizational Life EMONET VI, Fontainebleau, France. Kellett, J. B., Humphrey, R. H., and Sleeth, R. G. (2002) Empathy and complex task performance: Two routes to leadership. The Leadership Quarterly, 13: 523–44. Kellett, J. B., Humphrey, R. H., and Sleeth, R. G. (2006) Empathy and the emergence of task and relations leaders. The Leadership Quarterly, 17: 146–62. Kelly, J. R., and Barsade, S. G. (2001) Mood and emotions in small groups and work teams. Organizational Behaviour and Human Decision Processes, 86: 99–130. Kihlstrom, J. F., Beer, J. S., and Klein, S. B. (2003) Self and identity as memory. In M. R. Leary, and J. P. Tangney (eds), Handbook of Self and Identity. New York: Guilford Press, pp. 68–90. van Knippenberg, D., van Knippenberg, B., De Cremer, D., and Hogg, M. A. (2004) Leadership, self, and identity: A review and research agenda. The Leadership Quarterly, 15: 825–56. van Knippenberg, D., van Knippenberg, B., De Cremer, D., and Hogg, M. A. (2005) Research in leadership, self, and identity: A sample of the present and a glimpse of the future. The Leadership Quarterly, 16: 495–9. Lord, R. G., Brown, D. J., and Freiberg, S. J. (1999) Understanding the dynamics of leadership: The role of follower self-concepts in the leader/follower relationship. Organizational Behaviour and Human Decision Processes, 78: 1–37. Mann, S. (1997) Emotional labour in organizations. Leadership and Organization Development Journal, 18: 4–12. Markus, H., and Nurius, P. (1986) Possible selves. American Psychologist, 41: 954–69. Markus, H., and Wurf, E. (1987) The dynamic self-concept: a social psychological perspective. American Review of Psychology, 38: 299–337. Morris, J. A., and Feldman, D. C. (1996) The dimensions, antecedents, and consequences of emotional labour. Academy of Management Review, 21: 986–1010. Norman, S. M., Avolio, B. J., and Luthans, F. (2010) The impact of positivity and transparency on trust in leaders and their perceived effectiveness. The Leadership Quarterly, 21: 350–64. O’Boyle Jr., E. H., Humphrey, R. H., Pollack, J. M., Hawver, T. H., and Story, P. A. (2011) The relation between emotional intelligence and job performance: A meta-analysis. Journal of Organizational Behaviour, 32: 788–18. Pescosolido, A. T. (2002) Emergent leaders as managers of group emotion. The Leadership Quarterly, 13: 583–99. Pratt, M. G., Rockmann, K. W., and Kaufmann, J. B. (2006) Constructing professional identity: The role of work and identity learning cycles in the customization of identity among medical residents. Academy of Management Journal, 49: 235–62. Pugh, S. D. (2001) Service with a smile: Emotional contagion in the service encounter. Academy of Management Journal, 44: 1018–27.

How leading with emotional labour creates common identities 105 Rafaeli, A., and Sutton, R. I. (1987) Expression of emotion as part of the work role. Academy of Management Review, 12: 23–37. Rafaeli, A., and Sutton, R. I. (1989) The expression of emotion in organizational life. In L. L. Cummings and B. M. Staw (eds), Research in Organizational Behaviour, vol. 11. Greenwich, CT: JAI Press, pp.1–42. Rupp, D. E., and Spencer, S. (2006). When customers lash out: The effects of customer interactional injustice on emotional labour and the mediating role of discrete emotions. Journal of Applied Psychology, 91: 971–8. Shamir, B., and Eilam, G. (2005) ‘What’s your story?’ A life-stories approach to authentic leadership development. The Leadership Quarterly, 16: 395–417. Sluss, D. M., and Ashforth, B. E. (2007) Relational identity and identification: Defining ourselves through work relationships. Academy of Management Review, 32: 9–32. Sosik, J. J., Jung, D., and Dinger, S. L. (2009) Values in authentic action: examining the roots and rewards of altruistic leadership. Group and Organization Management, 34: 395–431. Sparrowe, R. T. (2005) Authentic leadership and the narrative self. The Leadership Quarterly, 16: 419–39. Stets, J. E., and Burke, P. J. (2000) Identity theory and social identity theory. Social Psychology Quarterly, 63, 224–37. Sutton, R. I. (1991) Maintaining norms about expressed emotions: The case of bill collectors. Administrative Science Quarterly, 36: 245–68. Sy, T., Côté, S., and Saavedra, R. (2005) The contagious leader: Impact of the leader’s mood on the mood of group members, group affective tone, and group processes. Journal of Applied Psychology, 295–305. Tajfel, H. (1978) Social categorization, social identity and social comparison. In H. Tajfel (ed.), Differentiation between Social Groups: Studies in the social psychology of intergroup relations. London: Academic Press, pp. 61–76. Thoits, P. A. (1983) Multiple identities and psychological well-being: A reformulation and test of the social isolation hypothesis. American Sociological Review, 48: 174–87. Thoits, P. A. (1991) On merging identity theory and stress research. Social Psychology Quarterly, 54: 101–12. Van Dijk, P. A and Kirk-Brown, A. (2006) Emotional labour and negative job outcomes: An evaluation of the mediating role of emotional dissonance, Journal of Management and Organization, 12: 101–15. Walter, F., Cole, M. S., and Humphrey, R. H. (2011) Emotional Intelligence: Sine Qua Non of leadership or folderol? The Academy of Management Perspectives, 25: 45–59. Wright, T. A., and Quick, J. C. (2011) The role of character in ethical leadership research. The Leadership Quarterly, 22: 975–8.

6

The ʻManaged Heartʼ of leaders The role of emotional intelligence Frances M. Peart, Amanda Roan and Neal M. Ashkanasy Helen Chan, manager in the operating rooms of a busy metropolitan hospital, started explaining how the day had been for her. She summed it up by saying ‘it’s a Friday and it feels like a Monday,’ implying that a number of things had gone wrong that morning. Later in the day, a surgeon in one OR had asked Helen for a drink of cola; she provided him with what he wanted because she knew that particular surgeon could become quite temperamental if things did not go his way. Some way into the session, the manager met the surgeon in the hallway and asked if the soda had made him feel better. He replied that the morning was progressing well. Helen smiled, thereby indicating to him that she was pleased he was having a good day; and reinforcing to herself that it was important to check that everything was going well for the surgeon. In another scenario, a surgeon had been assigned to an OR away from both the usual setup area and the post anesthetic recovery area. Subsequently, a number of errors were detected, apparently attributable to the surgeon not working in the main OR area. As a consequence he was quite angry about his location. Helen had been into the OR and explained the errors and apologized for the mistake. The surgeon did not overtly display anger but he did let her know that he wasn’t pleased about the move. At a later time, Helen went into the theatre to check that things were going OK. ‘Is everything OK doctor?’ His muffled response indicated that things were proceeding despite the inconvenience. Helen frowned and nodded, indicating her agreement that the surgeon was justified in his displeasure. He really shouldn’t have had to relocate to another room, and Helen thought that the surgeon was quite reasonable in the way he had communicated his concerns.1

The two scenarios above illustrate a typical set of interactions in the day of a professional nurse-manager in an operational leadership position in a hospital setting. In the cases highlighted in the scenarios, the setting was a for-profit private hospital where commercial considerations are important as well as patient care. As we will show shortly, Helen’s behavior can be interpreted from three perspectives: (1) authentic emotional expression, (2) emotional labour, and/or (3) emotional intelligence. Although there is a significant body of research supporting emotional intelligence as a prerequisite of successful leadership (e.g., see Prati, Douglas, Ferris, Ammeter and Buckley, 2003); the role of emotional labour among leaders is still controversial and often misunderstood. In this chapter, we will return to our

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opening scenarios to explore the role of authentic emotional expression and emotional intelligence in leaders’ performance of emotional labour. The layout of our chapter is as follows. First, we explore definitions of emotional labour and emotional intelligence and explain how our opening scenarios exemplify a nurse leader’s use of emotional labour, authentic emotional expression, and emotional intelligence in the performance of her role. In the next section, we will explore the points of connection between emotional expression, emotional labour, and emotional intelligence; and propose how these constructs might be linked. We will then describe alternative explanations of what might be going on in these scenarios, and conclude with some directions for further research.

Emotional labour The nurse-manager in our scenarios, Helen Chan, in effect plays the role of an orchestral conductor (cf. Galbraith, 1995). The ‘orchestra’ in this instance comprises a system of operating rooms in a busy metropolitan hospital. This is a complex and difficult role within the organization insofar as, within this hospital, over 90 percent of patients require surgery. This means that the revenue earned by the hospital is directly related to the efficiency of the ORs. As a consequence, it is critically important to manage them well. Moreover, as Chattopadhyay, Finn and Ashkanasy (2010) have shown, the personalities of doctors and nurses in this environment can be especially difficult to manage. Consequently, it is also extremely difficult for managers like Helen to maintain an amicable working environment conducive to effective and efficient work functioning and outcomes. We note in particular that hospital top management typically have high expectations of their OR managers, similar to any other service-providing organization (cf. Heskett, Sasser and Schlesinger, 1997). Moreover, in a surgical hospital setting, these managers are expected to maintain positive working relations between nurses and surgeons. Thus, in our scenarios, Helen can be seen to take this responsibility seriously. As we can see in the first encounter with a surgeon, irrespective of her own feelings, Helen appears to display an interest in the way the day is unfolding for the surgeon. In fact, Helen does not actually feel that emotion herself. She behaves in this way simply because such behaviour is what is expected of her; in effect, Helen is required by her employer, hospital management, to perform particular emotional displays as part of her position. In this situation, there are two ways for her to display the emotion. The first is merely to pretend to be experiencing the emotion. This is what Hochschild (1983) refers to as employing surface acting to achieve a display of concern and interest to the surgeon. Alternatively, Helen might try to put herself in the surgeon’s position, and recall an occasion where someone had done her a favor in a similar stressful situation, and how she had appreciated this gesture. In this instance, Helen is not pretending, but actually experiencing the emotion. Hochschild refers to this as an example of deep acting to achieve a display of concern and interest to the surgeon. In the second scenario, Helen’s response, although ostensibly similar, is different because, while she genuinely felt that the surgeon had been treated

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unfairly in the allocation of the theatres, she was an experienced manager, and trained to act calmly. Helen was able to convey that emotion in her discussions with the surgeon and this had the effect of keeping him calm so he was able to continue his scheduled operation list. The difference between this display and the previous one was that Helen actually felt the emotions that she was required to display. Helen did not need to use either surface or deep acting in the interaction with the surgeon to portray the organizationally required emotional display. The emotions she displayed were a genuine conditioned response to the particular situation. Ashforth and Humphrey (1993: 94) refer to this as spontaneous and genuine emotional display, where the actor may naturally feel what he or she is expected to feel with relatively little effortful prompting (see also Glomb and Tews, 2004). Our view is that these scenarios represent examples of how a manager might engage in various styles of emotional responding that are consistent with organizationally desirable goals (maintaining a positive work environment in ORs). Helen’s job was to make sure that the OR ran smoothly, a task that involved technical, organizational, and leadership skills. In the context of a for-profit hospital, this means that she needed to make sure the surgeons had what they needed to make them happy; even if it was what the manager saw as a trivial requirement: viz. the surgeon has his soda. As such, the relationship between surgeons and the hospital was a business partnership that needed to be maintained; and it was Helen’s job to see this was achieved. Recognition that the emotional regulation effort expended by employees in performing their roles is a part of their employment was first and most eloquently explored by Hochschild (1983) in her discussion of the work of flight attendants. Hochschild’s text draws the comparison between the Marxist notion of labour capital and its value in the new industrial economy and the exploitation of human emotion in service work in the twentieth century. She explains that, where workers are required to manipulate their feelings and emotions to display an organizationally required facial expression or verbal tone, they are engaged in what she terms emotional labour. In a noteworthy footnote, Hochschild differentiated between the terms emotional labour – performed in the context of paid employment, and emotion work – emotional regulation voluntarily undertaken as a part of regular interpersonal interacting. In this chapter, therefore, we use the term emotional labour to refer to emotional displays that are required in the context of paid employment that require conscious effort, and which are executed in circumstances where it is either stipulated by the organization or where the employee recognizes an organizational requirement to perform it. Hochschild (1983) initiated the use of the term emotional labour to convey the sense that human feelings are used for exchange value in a commercial environment. The organization has rules that require the employees to display particular emotions in particular situations. Employees then engage in conscious effort intended to display these emotions as part of customer services. This in turn results in customer/client satisfaction and the creation of increased surplus value by the employee for the organization which can be converted to wealth. In essence,

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leaders perform emotional labour when they display organizationally required emotions using the techniques of deep and surface acting to portray discrete emotional states. Although these displays may not be as tightly scripted as in Hochschild’s Delta flight attendants, employees in leadership positions in organizations are required to deliver emotional expressions on behalf of the employer (Humphrey, 2005; 2008). In the next section of this chapter, we explore three components of emotional labour: (1) the process of displaying emotions, (2) deep and surface acting, and (3) the discrete emotions that are displayed.

Displaying emotions Philosophers have long sought to provide explanation for human emotion. Aristotle referred to anger as a cognitive process driven by desire (Calhoun and Solomon, 1984). Gross (2007) notes Descartes’ explanation that passions of the soul result from excitement in a gland in the brain. More recent thought by Heidegger suggests that emotions and their expression cannot be disassociated (Calhoun and Solomon, 1984); a sentiment supported by Damasio (1994). Whatever the private feelings or physical changes that are experienced by a person as part of an emotion, it is the outward expression of that emotion which is then interpreted by others. Darwin (1872) sought to explain the physiological mechanisms by which emotions are displayed in humans and animals so as to reveal the purpose of emotional expression and how it has evolved through the species. Drawing on Darwin’s work, Frijda (1986) explains four principles regarding emotional expression. The first principle, relational activity, refers to the way expressive behaviour is a response that has evolved or been learned. The second principle, interactive effectiveness, refers to the influence that emotional expression can have on others. The third principle, activation, covers the influence of emotions on body and the physiological changes which result. The final principle, inhibition, is the reverse of activation; that is, there is a reduction in the physiological response when an emotion is experienced. While these four principles are useful to categorize emotional expression, it is important also to understand that the act of expressing emotion is a key to socio-emotional exchange. Thus, complexity lies in describing what is expressed rather than how or why it is expressed. Interestingly, for the purpose of our discussion, both mood and emotion can form part of the emotional display required by the employer. Frijda (1993) attempts to sort through the confusion regarding affect and its definition and cites that an emotion is a state of action readiness which is prompted by a particular emotional event. This is in contrast to moods that are diffuse states of action readiness, not directed toward any particular object. Note, however, that Frijda rejects the use of duration as a criterion to determine the difference between mood and emotion, pointing out that an object-focused emotion can be evoked years after the experience of an event. For example, Melamed (2008) relates that, even seven years after 9/11, New York residents were still reporting they experience fear when they recall the events of that fateful day.

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Although Hatfield, Cacioppo and Rapson (1994) agree that the definition of emotion is elusive, they make the important additional point that emotions can be ‘contagious.’ Hatfield and her colleagues outline three mechanisms though which emotions can be transmitted between people: cognitive processing, conditioned and unconditioned emotional responses, and mimicry. Based in this idea, Humphrey (2005; 2008; Humphrey, Pollack and Hawver, 2008) argues that the emotional contagion phenomenon has important connotations for the performance of emotional labour in interpersonal and group situations (see also Ashkanasy, 2003, Sy, Côté and Saavedra, 2005), and may even be the key to the idea of ‘leading with emotional labour’. According to Fineman (2003), the emotional displays required of an employee can be either a general expression of affect (in the instance of a requirement to be supportive of and positive about the organization) or a discrete emotional response to a situation (e.g. expression of concern and understanding in the instance of responding to a complaining customer). Most importantly, emotional displays in the context of emotional labour are not about the emotional experience for the worker or how the worker feels about their work. The issue of interest is the emotional display that is required as part of their work.

Surface acting and deep acting Consistent with Hochschild’s (1983) original formulation, Grandey (2000) notes that the emotional effort required to perform emotional labour can be enacted in one of two ways by the employee: deep or surface acting. When an employee merely alters her or his facial or vocal appearance, she or he are said to be surface acting. The employee is not actually experiencing the emotion (i.e. required by the organization) on a personal level. On the other hand, deep acting requires the employee actively to alter her or his emotional state to achieve the required expression. Grandey (2003) explains this further as the two dramaturgical strategies that employees can use to portray a required emotion. The initial situation we described in the scenarios at the beginning of this chapter involving the corridor encounter with the surgeon is illustrative of the surface–deep acting difference. In fact (the real) Helen related to the first author of this chapter that she felt frustrated by this surgeon because he was temperamental and often caused problems for her. Consequently, Helen needed to hide her real feelings and to display a calm and reassuring demeanour; so she ‘sweetly’ provided him with the cola she knew would calm him. Moreover, she did so in such a way that both she and the surgeon came away from the encounter in a positive frame of mind. Note that Helen did not force a smile and then go off feeling frustrated and angry, feeling the surgeon was a real pain (i.e. engage in surface acting). Instead, in suppressing her frustration based on her experiences in similar situations in the past, Helen actually relieved her own sense of building frustration. Moreover, Helen felt proud that she was able to control her emotions and therefore avert what she saw to be an impending crisis. Helen also suppressed display of pride in that interaction.

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Thus, although she did not genuinely feel affection toward this surgeon, Helen was able to portray compassion and concern when enquiring about how the list was progressing (because she knew it was required for her position). She reported that she did not find it difficult to maintain a calm and reassuring persona at work because she was able to marshal deep resources from her long experience in the job. In summary, it was not effortful and it enhanced her sense of job satisfaction. This is what is meant by deep acting.

Discrete emotions Akin to the debate regarding the difference between mood and emotion, is the controversy over the structure of affect. In this respect, Watson and Tellegen (1985) proposed the idea of an ‘affect circumplex’ based on dimensions of positive and negative affect. Russell and Barrett (1999) posited subsequently that what they refer to as ‘core affect’ is based instead on dimensions of pleasantness and activation. Russell and Carroll (1999a; 1999b) pointed out, however, that positive and negative affect are in effect simply rotated axes or dimensions of activation and pleasantness (see Watson and Tellegen, 1999 for a response to Russell and Carroll). Carver (2001) has subsequently argued that the two positions can be reconciled using a functionalist perspective, where each dimensional model is appropriate to different behavioral conditions, based on an incentive focus or a threat-avoidant focus. More recently, Seo, Barrett and Jin (2008) concluded that there is enough congruence across the models to argue that they are all validly measuring affect, albeit from different perspectives. Seo and his associates provide a comprehensive review of the theoretical underpinnings of the models and conclude that, although it might be regarded as simplistic to condense the range of emotional experiences to only two, there appears to be biological and psychological support for the classification (see also Ashkanasy and Ashton-James, 2007). Seo et al. (2008) explain that, in contrast to the Watson and Tellegen (1985) positive/negative affect model, the Russell and Barrett (1999) valence/arousal model of affect organizes the discrete emotions on the grid created by horizontal and vertical axes. The valence dimension scales between pleasure and displeasure and the arousal dimension refers to intensity or level of activation of the emotion. Again the authors provide physiological and psychological evidence that this model accurately reflects the nature of affect. These classifications of the emotions facilitate our interpretation of how emotions and moods are experienced. In this respect, Izard (1993) explains that, although it is easier for researchers to obtain reliable data at the aggregate, there is a compelling argument to consider discrete emotions (cf. Gooty, Gavin and Ashkanasy, 2009) in emotional labour. Izard proposes that each emotion serves an adaptive function and as such is worthy of closer investigation. For example, Izard explains that sadness derived from grief following a personal loss can invoke community support, empathy or self-reflection. Each of these responses acts to protect the sad individual and lead to improvements to enhance life. Grandey

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(2008) concurs with Izard and suggests that, while research conducted using specific emotions can be classified into the parsimonious research categories such as pleasantness and unpleasantness, it is not possible to generalize in the reverse. As a consequence, research undertaken using measures of positive and negative affect cannot be unpacked into specific emotions. Grandey’s (2008) point is amply demonstrated in experimental research conducted by Bono and Vey (2007), who manipulated discrete emotions of enthusiasm and anger to test a relationship between personality and performance. Bono and Vey were able to report their results in relation to positive and negative emotions, but not discrete emotions. Similarly, Hennig-Thurau, Groth, Paul and Gremler (2006) were able to test experimentally the effect of smiling by measuring positive affect. By design, a particular emotion – happiness – was manipulated to test the contagion effect of employees’ emotional display upon customers. Results revealed significant and direct effects on the customers’ positive affect, but the researchers were unable to identify a particular effect of discrete emotion. In another study, Scott and Barnes (2011) acknowledged that their study was limited to states of negative and positive affect without exploring the pleasantness and activation dimensions. Scott and Barnes call on future researchers to focus on a diversity of affective states using a within-individual approach. As Grandey (2008) noted, the theoretical context for the research will determine the level of specification of emotions required to achieve meaningful results. For example, focused examination of particular emotions displayed during emotional labour could reveal the nuances of the effects of performing emotional labour upon the employee. It would be interesting in particular to compare the effects of surface acting enthusiasm and anger to identify if one was less effortful than the other to perform or to contrast using deep acting to portray joy and disgust to determine if they appeared equally as genuine. Discrete emotions are performed in particular situations as part of emotional labour and therefore it is prudent to unpack these experiences to appreciate their similarities and differences. The challenge to explore the potential differences in discrete emotions was in fact taken up by Diefendorff and Greguras (2009) in a study of display rules. Interestingly, these researchers were able to demonstrate differences in expression management strategies in response to particular emotions in that there were significant differences in the strategies used to express contempt, disgust and fear compared with anger and sadness. This research also demonstrates that there is much more detail to emotional labour than has been revealed in prior research. To illustrate affect, we refer to the second of our opening scenarios, where a surgeon found himself allocated to a non-preferred OR.2 The surgeon was angry and Helen, our nurse manager, also felt annoyed with the nurses who had allocated the surgeon to the wrong room. Although the surgeon was not overly demonstrative in expressing his anger, Helen withheld conveying her true feelings about the situation so as to demonstrate loyalty to the staff who had arranged the allocations. She responded calmly and reassuringly, offering to resolve any particular issues where possible and her performance appeared genuine. Helen was very experienced with these situations and explained her emotional display as ‘an automatic

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response.’ She explained that when she was much younger she became quite upset when surgeons were frustrated. She reported to the first author that such displays didn’t have any effect on her at all. She said that if she were to respond to the situation, the surgeons would know that they had ‘got to her.’ Helen attributed her ability to remain calm to her years of experience in the role rather than particular organizational requirements. She made the comment that the younger managers aren’t able to do this and she was concerned for the emotional tone of operating rooms in the future. Iszatt-White (2009: 460) in her research involving education leaders, identified that congruence (between emotion and expression) may result from ‘prolonged and effective “deep acting” acculturating the individual into the professional expectations associated with being a leader.’ In summary, although the performance of surface and deep acting in this instance was not effortful, it was acknowledged that not all theatre managers could have done it so easily.

Emotional intelligence Returning again to the scenario described at the beginning of the chapter, we see that Helen seems to make use of her ability to recognize and to interpret her own and the surgeon’s emotions. This suggests that she is using specific abilities to do so, now recognized under the rubric of emotional intelligence. In this sense, we refer specifically to the concept of the ability model of emotional intelligence. Ashkanasy and Daus (2005) refer to the model of emotional intelligence set out by Mayer and Salovey (1997) as the ‘Gold Standard’ in respect of emotional intelligence, and this is the one we address in this chapter. Mayer and Salovey (1997) defined emotional intelligence in terms of four ‘branches:’ perception, utilization, understanding and management of emotion. These branches are structured such that perception of emotion is a prerequisite to being able to use and understand emotion. Mayer, Salovey and Caruso (2004) contend that a person’s level of ability in these four areas is indicative of the extent to which emotional intelligence has become an automatic response. According to Mayer and Salovey (1997), perception or recognition of emotion in language and expressions is the most basic level of emotional intelligence. At this level, the individual has the ability to identify emotions in self and others and then to use verbal and non-verbal means of communicating emotions to others. For example, a person is said to have ability in this first branch of emotional intelligence when they are able to differentiate between a smile which has been forced and one which is genuine. At the second branch of emotional intelligence, a person has the ability to utilize their perception of emotion to make decisions. Through experiencing and recognizing emotions, the individual accumulates a knowledge-base and can draw on this knowledge to plan future actions. It is typical for people to appreciate the consequences of particular circumstances in terms of how it makes them feel, for example, ‘When I achieve at work, I feel good about myself’. People are therefore likely to repeat that behaviour actively so as to recreate that sensation that made them feel good.

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According to Mayer et al. (2004), a more complex cognitive process occurs at the third branch of emotional intelligence. This involves understanding emotions and the effects they have on not only themselves but more generally on others. Individuals who are functioning well at this level tend to consider the emotional impact of events and actions as well as the physical impact. The highest level of emotional intelligence involves the manipulation of emotion in self and others to achieve specific outcomes in terms of events or circumstances. According to Mayer et al. (2004), this is the stage at which emotional intelligence has been fully integrated into a person’s repertoire of responses. At that time, the individual not only considers the emotional outcomes of their actions but actively manages the situation or events to induce a desired mood or feeling. Use of the ability model to explain and to predict organizationally relevant outcomes is well supported in empirical research (Daus and Ashkanasy, 2005; Joseph and Newman, 2010; O’Boyle, Humphrey, Pollack, Hawver and Story, 2011) and, despite controversy (e.g. see Antonakis, Ashkanasy and Dasborough, 2009), the weight of evidence points to its applicability to understanding leadership (Ashkanasy and Humphrey, 2011). So the question arises as to whether Helen employed emotional intelligence to assuage the surgeon’s feelings so as to ensure that he continues to operate despite disruptions and inconvenience. Based on the four-branch ability model of emotional intelligence, we can argue that a case can be made that Helen did use her emotional intelligence. In the first instance, she detected that the surgeon, when he first asked for the cola, was experiencing a high level of stress. She then assimilated this information, together with her previous experiences with this surgeon, to facilitate her decision-making, namely, to get him the cola, a drink he liked. She used her understanding of emotions to appreciate that the cola would help to make the surgeon feel better. To make sure of this, she even went back to doublecheck that this was the case. In the end, by engaging in deep acting, she was able to assuage the surgeon’s emotions successfully and, as a result, to ensure that the OR would continue to function well for the rest of the surgeon’s list. In the second encounter, Helen quickly understood that the surgeon was angry. She knew that if the surgeon was given the opportunity to explain how he was feeling about the relocation to the other theatre, then it was likely that he would be more willing to keep his displeasure under control. Interestingly, although Helen also felt that the allocation of the theatres was not fair, she did not mention this to the surgeon at the time because she also knew that reinforcing the negative aspects of the situation may only have served to exacerbate his anger. Finally, Helen managed her own and the surgeon’s emotions to ensure that the work continued. She managed her own emotions in that she did not display her displeasure about the theatre allocated to the surgeon and she managed the surgeon by listening to his feelings about the circumstances and then apologizing for the unsatisfactory outcome. Helen was not directly responsible for any of the errors which had led to the reallocation of the surgeon’s list. We maintain that this scenario is a typical example of how a leader can employ emotional intelligence across all four branches of the Mayer and Salovey (1997) abilities model to meet organizationally important goals.

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Emotional intelligence and leadership: An ongoing controversy In fact, there is a growing interest in the emotional aspects of leadership and the role of emotional intelligence in this context (e.g. see Ashkanasy and Dasborough, 2003; Ashkanasy and Tse, 2000; Barling, Slater and Kelloway, 2000; Dulewicz and Higgs, 2003; Higgs and Aitken, 2003; Mandell and Pherwani, 2003; Robbins, Bradley, Spicer and Mecklenburg, 2001; Prati et al., 2003; Wolfe, Pescosolido and Druskat, 2002). At the same time, scholars continue to debate the issue hotly (e.g. see Antonakis et al., 2009). For example, in an early attempt to dispel myths and to establish the science regarding emotional intelligence, Matthews, Zeidner and Roberts (2002) compiled a comprehensive review of the issues surrounding emotional intelligence; they concluded that the Mayer and Salovey (1997) definition is the most credible and reliable model, a conclusion subsequently endorsed by Ashkanasy and Daus (2005). Matthews and his colleagues (2002) note that the academic consternation surrounding emotional intelligence can be partially attributed to its attractiveness as a topic for the fourth estate. This has resulted in a colloquial use of the term which has complicated its interpretation in academia. Law, Wong and Song (2004) subsequently argued that they had managed to distil a valid self-report scale that demonstrated a significant distinction from personality measures, and therefore maintains the integrity of the construct (see also Jordan, Ashkanasy, Härtel and Hooper, 2002). Locke (2005) rejects the concept of emotional intelligence on the basis that there is no agreement about its definition, and withdraws to the Cartesian view that appreciating emotions is an inherent human skill and the antithesis of scientific knowledge and reason. Ashkanasy and Daus (2005) argue that Locke’s views (2005) are restrictive and outdated, and reiterate commitment to the ability-based definition proffered by Mayer and Salovey (1997). Another criticism of emotional intelligence is that it does not qualify as a form of intelligence. For example, Brody (2004) concludes that the latent construct measured by the Mayer-Salovey-Carouso Emotional Intelligence Test (MSCEIT) does not contribute to an understanding of the differences between individuals and therefore does not meet the requirements to be classified as intelligence per se. Matthews et al. (2002) argue on the other hand that emotional intelligence is congruent with the fluid and crystallized intelligence theory. Ashkanasy and Daus (2005) explain that their interest is primarily on the issue of emotions in organizations and that they have found the four-branch ability model helpful in explaining individual differences in the way people behave at work. In this instance, the differentiation between its categorization as an ability or an intelligence may be inconsequential. Landy (2005) summarized a range of other criticisms of emotional intelligence including scientific concerns, its use as a political tool, and the lack of peerreviewed research to support the claims made about its efficacy. With regard to the methodological issues raised, Ashkanasy and Daus (2005) acknowledge these

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limitations and explain that they will be resolved as the construct of emotional intelligence matures in the literature, although they reject the accusation that emotional intelligence researchers are politically motivated. Indeed, subsequent meta-analyses (Joseph and Newman, 2010; O’Boyle et al., 2011) have subsequently resolved the issue of efficacy. In summary, although there are numerous criticisms about the construct, emotional intelligence (Averill, 2004) and its measurement, and we accept the proposition that scientific enquiry in this field is developing (Jordan, Ashkanasy and Härtel, 2003; Gohm, 2004), the recent evidence (e.g. Joseph and Newman, 2010; O’Boyle et al., 2011) suggests that it is a valid and efficacious construct, suitable for application in the context of organizational behaviour research.

Leadership, emotional intelligence and emotional labour Having discussed emotional labour and emotional intelligence and the role these constructs play in explaining behaviour and leadership in organizations, we now come to consider whether an explanation of the events in our opening scenario can be developed in terms of the two concepts in tandem. As we outlined earlier, nurse-manager Helen demonstrated that she was able to utilize abilities corresponding to all four branches of emotional intelligence in dealing with the surgeon. In effect, she used her emotional intelligence to perform organizationally required emotional expressions, including engaging in emotional labour (deep acting in Scenario 1) and natural expression of emotions (Scenario 2). The question that arises at this point, however, is whether we understand how the leadership and engaging in emotional labour are interrelated. We discuss this next. As we outlined earlier in this chapter, the study of emotions has been conducted across a number of epistemological traditions. We contend that, over the last three decades, the concept of emotional intelligence has tended to be rooted in scientific realism and the psychological traditions embedded in the study of individual differences (cf. Miller, 2008). Mayer and Salovey (1997) define emotional intelligence as an individual’s ability to perceive, assimilate, understand, and manage emotions in self and others, both within and outside the work context. As Fineman (2004) pointed out, however, emotional intelligence has a deeper connotation within the context of paid employment, especially when presented ‘as a key to organisational success’ (2004: 719). Research regarding emotional intelligence addresses the central issue of quantification of the difference between individuals’ ability. Emotional labour, on the other hand, arose from the sociological traditions. Hochschild’s work in emotional labour is located within a labour process analysis perspective (Bolton, 2005, 2009; Brook 2009), which attempts to link work with the broader organizational, social, and political contexts (Thompson, 2009: 916). Emotional labour refers to the organizational requirement for workers to display particular emotions and the value created by that performance. Intuitively, emotional intelligence should influence the individual’s ability to perform emotional

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labour. In this section we will look more closely at this relationship and propose a model which explains the connections between the two constructs. To achieve this, we delineate the relationship between emotional labour and emotional intelligence, describe the detail of what is meant by surface versus deep acting, and relate those performances to the four branches of emotional intelligence described by Mayer and Salovey (1997). The discussion in this section relates to the minimum level of emotional intelligence required to perform surface and deep acting. Clearly, an employee who has abilities in all four of the branches in the Mayer and Salovey model of emotional intelligence would be adept at performing both types of emotional labour and would not assist in defining the specific level of ability required for each strategy. We depict the relationship between emotional intelligence and labour in Table 6.1. The first line identifies the parts of the ability model of emotional intelligence that are required for surface acting, which in essence involves faking emotions, or portraying emotions that are not actually felt. Thus, to enact surface acting successfully, the actor needs to have the acumen to suppress the genuine emotions she or he is actually experiencing, and instead to display emotions according to organizational display rules. We argue that surface acting does not require the full set of four emotional intelligence skills as set out by Mayer and Salovey (1997). Of the four abilities, only two are required: perception and emotion management. This is because the employee merely needs to alter her or his facial expression or tone of voice; he or she is not required to actually experience the emotions being portrayed. Thus, in terms of the four-branch model, an employee still needs to have an appreciation of the particular emotion required. In other words, she or he needs to have the ability to perceive the emotion being experienced. Based on this perception, and in response to the organization’s display rules, the employee then needs to manage/regulate her or his emotions with a view to enacting the appropriate emotional display. The employee does not assimilate the required emotion into her thinking processes, nor does she or he need to have an understanding of the emotional states involved. All that is needed is to perceive and to manage the outward expression of emotion. More specifically, assimilation and understanding of emotions are not required because it is not necessary for the employee to understand the effects of the required emotion on themselves and others to be able to deliver the emotional performance. The employee must be able to recognize the circumstances when the emotional display is required and then do their best to portray it; however, it is not Table 6.1 Emotional labour and emotional intelligence Emotional intelligence Perception Emotional Surface acting  labour Deep acting 

Assimilation Understanding Management  





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necessary for the employee to appreciate the impact of this emotion. She or he does not need either to assimilate the emotion, or understand it to do this. When the employee engages in deep acting, however, she or he needs not only to perceive the emotions she or he is experiencing at a surface level, but to be able to access her or his emotional states, to understand what is involved, and then to use this cognition to manage/regulate her or his emotional display. Interestingly, this process is less effortful than surface acting. Research into emotional regulation and ego-depletion (Muraven and Baumeister, 2000) tells us that emotional regulation saps ego resources. Notably, Muraven and Baumeister’s findings were based on a surface acting regulation task. Grandey (2003) subsequently demonstrated how surface acting in particular can contribute to emotional exhaustion. Deep acting, on the other hand, by accessing deeper cognitive processes, involves less effortful regulation processes. In this regard, Totterdell and Holman (2003) and Tice, Baumeister, Shmeuli and Muraven (2007) showed that positive affect results in less effortful emotional regulation. Consequently, since deep acting normally involves recall of positive affect memories, it can be expected that deep acting should also prove to be less effortful. More recently, in a study of nurses’ emotional labour, Diefendorff, Erickson, Grandey and Dahling (2011) found that display rules accounted for significant variance in the relationships between surface and deep acting and emotional exhaustion, but that the effect was stronger for surface acting. They found further that the effect of deep acting was ameliorated by positive affect. In summary then, we argue that the four emotional intelligence branches defined by Mayer and Salovey (1997) are linked to surface and deep acting. Surface acting requires abilities of emotion perception and emotion management (see Table 6.1). Deep acting, on the other hand also requires abilities of emotional assimilation and understanding. The deeper cognitive processes involved with surface acting, combined with the positive affect of recollections in positive deep acting, mean that deep acting is likely to be less effortful than surface acting, and therefore to be less likely to lead to emotional exhaustion and burnout. Interestingly, Diefendorff et al. (2011) also found that an individual difference variable, namely positive affect, interacted with this effect. Although Diefendorff and his colleagues did not study emotional intelligence, this result does suggest that individual differences can impact employees’ use of emotional labour strategies, and that this might then differentially affect their propensity to burn out emotionally.

An alternative explanation Diefendorff and Richard (2003) explain that the interpersonal requirements of a job and the extent to which supervisors demand employees to express positive emotions and suppress negative emotions are the key measures of display rules. Diefendorff, Richard and Croyle (2006) subsequently explain that there are also jobs that require employees to display neutral or negative emotions. As Humphrey (2005; 2008) has noted, organizational managers fit into this category. In particular,

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the manager’s role requires display of integrative emotions. There are instances where the manager is required to undertake emotional masking, the suppression of both positive and negative emotions. For example, during selection interviews, managers need to maintain a neutral emotional display so as not to appear to express bias toward any particular candidate. Managers are also required to display controlled negative emotions at work; for example, when dealing with unsatisfactory subordinate performance. This complexity is compounded by the lack of clarity regarding these rules when organizations do not make these display rules clear to managers. In summary, despite the fact that emotional labour is a widely used concept in the study of organizations and employment, we consider that the narrow definition of the concept tends to constrain our understanding of the interpersonal responses involved in the execution of managerial and leadership roles. These rules ignore the meaning of emotional labour in terms of labour process and use emotional labour as an instrumental organizational concept, confining emotional labour to service work requiring personal encounter. We argue therefore that, owing to this complexity, scholars need to address a broader range of concepts and labels that suit complex organizational life. In the following section, we discuss one such set of responses: authentic expression of emotion.

Going beyond ‘leading with emotional labour’: Expressing authentic emotion The idea that expression of genuine emotion is a form of emotional labour has been suggested by Ashforth and Humphrey (1993) and Humphrey (2008). This view is based in the idea that the employee actually feels the emotions required by the organization, and is able to display them spontaneously and genuinely. In this respect, this kind of emotional labour does not imply effort on the part of the employee. In the second scenario presented at the beginning of this chapter, Helen Chan was in a situation where she was able to express to the surgeon the emotions she was actually feeling at the time. He should not have been allocated to a remote OR, and both he and she felt upset and angry that he had been. Moreover, based on her experience as a manager, Helen was able to express her true emotions in a manner that helped to calm a potentially nasty situation. The idea that a person expresses genuine emotion at work that is congruent with the organization’s expected emotional display goes some way to support the recruitment and induction practices of the organization (Rafaeli and Sutton, 1987). One explanation is that the selection process has resulted in employees who share the values held by the organization and are easily able to display the required emotions. The second reason employees are easily able to display organizationally required emotions is that they have become assimilated into the company’s culture. In this respect, Härtel and Ashkanasy (2010) note how organizational culture can play a critical role in determining the affective climate of an organization. In particular, in organizations characterized by a Positive Work Environment (PWE),

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the employees feel they have the freedom to express their authentically felt emotions. Note, however, that this does not mean that employees are at liberty to express whatever emotions they might be feeling at the time. Like Helen Chan in our opening scenario, employees in a PWE are acculturated to help each other to overcome potentially negative emotion-evoking situations. Ashforth, Sluss and Saks (2007) note in this respect that a critical driver of authentic emotional expression in organizations is culture and the employee socialization processes that follow. To illustrate this, we look at another example, where a service employee feels that she or he is completely aligned with the organization’s mission and values. The employee feels genuine interest in the well-being of customers and wants to do everything possible to make their service experiences exceptional. The same employee might have recently suffered a great loss, however, and is therefore in a very sad mood. But she or he works in an organization where the culture and climate is conducive to a PWE. Consequently, while it is understood that, at a cultural level, a positive emotional display is required for the customers, her supervisors and co-workers empathize with her position and allow her to express her sadness both privately among staff and more publically, albeit in a restrained manner, with the customers. In this instance, this supportive environment and her alignment to organizational norms and values assists her to deliver excellent customer service. The above example demonstrates how, in a PWE, when an employee is devoted to the cause of her organization, despite the fact she or he might experience a range of other emotions in other aspects of her or his life, she or he is easily able to experience and thus display positive emotions. The act of choosing to display the organizationally desired emotions (albeit genuine) at the right time rather than the emotions about other aspects of the employee’s life is a form of effortless emotional labour and is therefore clearly distinct from the level of effort required to engage in either deep or surface acting. We argue therefore that it is not correct to rely on the terms ‘surface acting’ or ‘deep acting’ as the only methods in which a worker manipulates their emotion at work. Employees have their own emotional state which might be different from that which is required at work and therefore they are required to engage in a process of managing their emotions. The explanation of this process as drama – surface or deep acting – is concerned with differentiating the experience of that emotion for the employee. That is, they actually are experiencing the emotion required at work. Côté (2005) explains that this difference in worker experience can have an impact upon the effort required to achieve the required display and the consequences for the employees’ physical and psychological health. In an ideal world, a PWE would mean employees were less reliant on emotional intelligence and would reduce the incongruence between authentic emotion and emotional display. The employees in a positive culture organization are socialized to experience and to display emotions that reflect the shared norms of their organization. In this respect, Härtel and Ashkanasy (2010) stress that organizational leaders play a central role. Based on Schein’s (2004) dictum that organizational

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leadership and culture are inextricably linked, Härtel and Ashkanasy posit that leaders therefore have a particular responsibility to model and to reinforce positive behaviour in the organizations they lead. In effect, this goes beyond the idea of ‘leading with emotional labour.’ Instead of expecting leaders to express organizationally desired emotions, the environment is created by leaders so that the organization becomes one where employees are acculturated and socialized to express their emotions freely. Emotions come to be expressed as an everyday part of employees’ working experience.

Future directions and conclusion In this chapter, we have attempted to illustrate that both emotional intelligence and emotional labour can be used to interpret the emotion regulation performed by leaders at work. Additionally, we have identified that organizational climate, and PWE in particular, can also provide the stimulus for leaders to portray organizationally desired emotional displays. This discussion has opened up a number of interesting issues that have the potential to prompt theoretical debate and avenues for empirical investigation for the future. We argue in particular that, while individuals might be able to use their emotional intelligence to perform emotional labour, the nature of this relationship still needs further investigation. Future research could explore the differences between individuals with high levels of emotional intelligence and those with low levels of this ability. It is possible that individuals with high levels of emotional intelligence do not suffer the negative consequences of performing emotional labour, or that individuals with low levels of emotional intelligence do not persist in positions with high levels of emotional labour. A recent study by Pugh, Groth and HennigThurau (2011) serves to illustrate further how emotional labour, and even surface acting, might not be so bad after all. They found that some employees, especially those who were high on self-efficacy or self-liking, could engage in surface acting more easily than others. Although these authors did not consider emotional intelligence, an implication of their findings is that personal attitudes and proclivities can impact the way they engage in emotional labour. There has been considerable research regarding the display rules for service workers in a range of organizational contexts (Diefendorff and Gosserand, 2003; Diefendorff and Richard, 2003; Diefendorff, Croyle and Gosserand, 2005; Diefendorff, Richard and Croyle, 2006; Diefendorff and Croyle, 2008; Diefendorff and Greguras, 2009; Diefendorff, Erickson, Grandey and Dahling, 2011). In this chapter, we attempted to show that leaders are also bound by organizational requirements for particular emotional displays. The question arises, what is the nature of display rules for leaders in organizations? Drawing on what we know about display rules already, the leader would be permitted a higher level of discretion in terms of interpreting and portraying the intent of the organization. The rules for emotional displays for leaders need not be as prescriptive as those for service workers. Social frameworks such as professional codes of conduct and human resource legislation would provide direction for the leader in terms of

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acceptable emotional displays toward others in the workplace. These factors would influence the ways in which organizations convey display rules to leaders and this could result in greater variability in the ways in which leaders interpret organizational display rules. Similarly, leaders could perceive display rules differently to service workers. Given that leaders can be expected to have a broader understanding of the organization and its strategic direction, leaders could interpret the display rules of the organization in terms of middle- and longer-term goals and be less concerned with the outcome of any one interaction and more focused on the overall impression of the relationship being managed. Hand in hand with the notion that an individual’s emotional intelligence assists them to display organizationally required emotions is the perspective that other individuals perceive and understand that emotional labour. In this chapter, we focused on the performance of emotional labour from the perspective of the leader performing it. The next step is to investigate emotional labour from the perspective of the people to whom it is directed or those who are watching it (e.g. see Dasborough and Ashkanasy, 2002). In the case of our opening scenarios, it would be interesting to know how the surface acting and genuine emotions are perceived by the hospital executive, Helen Chan’s peers, and her subordinates. In these instances of emotional labour, the end result is to invoke a particular reaction in the recipients of the emotional display. Attribution theory could be used to explore the interpretation of a person’s behaviour by others and the conclusions they draw as a result of that perception. (Martinko, 1995). In its original context, attribution theory was initially utilized to explain the reason for or to allocate responsibility for an event or behaviour or to classify the motives or qualities of particular individuals. Organizational studies have expanded upon this application of attribution theory (Weiner, 2004) and in particular Dasborough and Ashkanasy (2002, 2005) utilized attribution theory to explore the perceived motives or intentions inferred by followers from a leader’s behaviour and the emotions which are invoked as a result of that perception. In a similar vein, attribution theory could offer an explanation of the range of interpretations which can be made of emotional labour. Another interesting point which has been raised by this chapter is that the discussion has largely been about the emotional displays of leaders to the exclusion of other forms of influence that the leader is able to manipulate. Notably, the activities of the leader from the perspective of traditional organizational science have not been included in this discussion. Consequently, our exploration of the emotions component of leadership did not make reference to other rational and cognitive aspects of leadership (e.g. see Antonakis, 2004). This underscores one of the future directions for theory and research in leadership, which is to develop a consolidated model of leadership that includes both emotional and cognitive aspects. In conclusion, this chapter has presented instances of a leader displaying her emotions at work so as to illustrate the complexity of what appear to be straightforward interactions at work. We have used approaches from psychology and sociology to explore the detail of what is going on in these situations. The construct of emotional labour originated in the sociological tradition and has been

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expanded from the context of explaining work in the service industries using a labour process approach to include its application to the work of leaders. This perspective encourages researchers to identify the parts of the system which influence the way emotions are displayed at work; for example, what emotions displayed by the leader are likely to facilitate productivity in the workplace. This is in contrast to emotional intelligence, a concept derived from the discipline of psychology, and which offers an explanation of the performance of emotions based upon individual ability. We hope that the ideas expressed in this chapter will offer researchers the opportunity to investigate the differences between individuals and to identify ways to enhance a leader’s ability to portray particular emotions. The combination of these approaches provides greater insights into the leader’s emotional displays at work and offers exciting potential to explain the complexity and dynamics of the situation using multiple research traditions.

Notes 1

2

This scenario was observed in an ethnographic study conducted as a component of the first author’s doctoral dissertation project. Two of the authors witnessed the interactions between the manager and surgeon and subsequently spoke with the manager about how she felt during the interactions. ‘Helen Chan’ is a pseudonym. Surgeons in this hospital are normally allocated to operate in the same room each time they come to perform a list.

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7

Truth, authenticity and emotional labour A practitioner’s perspective Sue Ingram and Marian Iszatt-White

Introduction This above all, to thine own self be true . . . . (Laertes, Act 1, Scene 3, Shakespeare’s Hamlet)

Laertes’ exhortation to his son is at once simple and very complex, and made more so by the rather tedious way in which we, as the audience, are meant to view the prosings of an old man. Yet this oft-repeated phrase encapsulates the central message of authenticity and, in doing so, sets us on a path that is easy to see yet hard to follow. Whether we are talking about leadership or other occupations, the acknowledgement of ‘emotional labour’ (Hochschild, 1983) as a requirement to manage our emotions to someone else’s agenda – to abide by the ‘display rules’ (Ekman, 1973) of a particular situation or role for commercial rather than cultural reasons – immediately raises the issue of authenticity, of the extent to which we can be said to be true to our own self whilst intentionally showing an emotion we do not feel. The potential for ‘multiple emotional roles’ (Wharton and Erickson, 1993) arising from multiple practical selves – boss, colleague, citizen, parent, partner – and for each of these roles to have their own truths, further complicates the situation by adding the potential for internal conflict as a precursor to external displays. And the need for different kinds of displays – for example, what Wharton and Erickson (1993) refer to as integrative emotions, differentiating emotions, and emotional masking, all of which may be called forth by the professional display rules of the leadership role – and their alignment or otherwise with our natural dispositions can be expected to have a bearing on how stressful it is to perform the necessary displays (Zapf and Holz, 2006) and how convincing they appear. Also problematic is the question of who gets to define what it is to be authentic. Is authenticity an innate quality of the person being described as authentic or something that must be attributed to them by others (Goffee and Jones, 2005)? And if the latter, then what are the properties and consequences – for them and for others – of an ‘authentic performance’ (Bulan, Erickson and Wharton, 1997) and what does this really signify? In this chapter we explore the stories and experiences of practising leaders in relation to the need to be authentic and the difficulties of living up to this need.

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They tell us their tactics for coping with the real-life challenges of expending and managing emotional labour in the workplace, and how they balance this labour with a sense of authenticity. We provide examples from both public and private sector practitioners, which collectively offer the reader an understanding of the ongoing nature of emotional labour and examples of where extra labour has been required to meet organizational objectives. Coping strategies, in terms of balancing personal values, thought processes and support systems will be identified. The aim of this chapter is to give both academics and practitioners a rich resource of examples of how experienced leaders expend emotional labour, and their experiences of managing the strains of doing so. For the practitioner, these examples may provide insight and encouragement to enable them to meet similar challenges with an increased level of personal management and awareness. For the academic, it is hoped to contribute another layer to our understanding of how the performance and accomplishment of emotional labour ‘works’ in practice, to further feed the theoretical debate. In the context of a volume which has already set out a finely nuanced bricolage of definitions and perspectives on emotional labour, this chapter will not attempt to cover the same ground. Instead, our point of departure is the literature relating to authentic leadership (Avolio and Gardner, 2005) and its accompanying ‘positive leadership’ (Cameron, 2008) perspectives. It is here, we believe, that the gnarly issue of the real costs of performing emotional labour as leaders potentially lies, and possibly also the solutions. Having laid out the theoretical – or perhaps philosophical, since the approaches discussed are still at an early stage of theoretical development – terrain within which our research sits, we will then briefly share the thought processes that led us to be interested in this issue in the first place. Through working with experienced leadership practitioners in relation to the practical and emotional challenges of having ‘difficult’ conversations with their colleagues – the disciplinary interview, the redundancy notification, the aggressive colleague, and so on – we came to wonder what resources leaders had for dealing with these situations and what an exploration of this topic could tell us about what it is to be a leader. The challenges of ‘truth telling’, of telling it like it is even when this is a personally difficult or unpleasant thing to do, offer rich resources for the juxtaposing of the constructs of ‘emotional labour’ and ‘authentic leadership’, as we hope the analysis which forms the main thrust of this chapter will show. We conclude by drawing some lessons from the experiences of our research participants, and offer them up to academics and practitioners alike as worthy of further reflection.

Authentic leadership: Not as straightforward as it sounds In the broadest possible context, ‘authenticity’ has been subject to two very different symbolic interpretations (Carroll and Wheaton, 2009): ‘type authenticity’, which refers to whether an entity is true to its associated type, category or genre, and ‘moral authenticity’ where ‘the issue concerns whether the decisions behind the enactment and operation of an entity reflect sincere choices (i.e. choices true

Truth, authenticity and emotional labour 131 to one’s self) rather than socially scripted responses’ (Carroll and Wheaton, 2009: 255). Type authenticity – associated most commonly with products, tourist attractions and the like – is relatively easy to assess and establish. There exist a number of recognized authentication processes – from hallmarks on silver, through patents on product designs, to historical listings on buildings – to establish the innate qualities of the ‘product’ and its right to be described as belonging to a particular type. It is when we get into moral authenticity, as it relates to people and roles, that the issue becomes more complex. For example, Harter (2002: 382) tells us that authenticity occurs when ‘one acts in accord with the true self, expressing oneself in ways that are consistent with inner thoughts and feelings’. On this view, authenticity is clearly a property of that which is claiming to be authentic, and arises as a natural or spontaneous occurrence. Thus, in relation to leadership, authentic leaders are ‘transparent about their intentions and strive to maintain a seamless link between espoused values, behaviours and actions’ (Luthans and Avolio, 2003, cited in Mitchie and Gooty, 2005: 442–3). The parallel is clear here between authenticity as an innate quality of a person and the same property as an innate quality of a product. The focus is very much on the inner feelings and outer behaviours of the person themselves – on their intentions and how these are enacted – as the source and basis of authenticity, but this surely raises the question of whether it is possible to be authentic and not seem it or to seem authentic without feeling it. The role of the ‘other’ – the person on the receiving end – becomes significant here and forces us to consider an alternative perspective. Specifically, in the context of people and roles, should we let go of the idea of authenticity as an innate quality or attribute of that which is called authentic, and acknowledge it to be a socially constructed phenomenon (Peterson, 2005)? This accepted, we would also need to acknowledge the ‘authenticity work’ and ‘processes of authentication’ through which authenticity is both produced and accepted. Similarly Eagly (2005) views authenticity in leadership as a relational construct, whereby it is insufficient for leaders to ‘know who they are, what they believe and value, and . . . [to] act upon those values and beliefs while transparently interacting with others’ (Avolio et al., 2004, cited in Eagly, 2005): instead, authenticity requires that (1) ‘leaders endorse values that promote the interests of the larger community and transparently convey these values to followers’ and (2) ‘that followers personally identify with these values and accept them as appropriate for the community in which they are joined to the leader’ (Eagly, 2005: 461). It follows that ‘relational authenticity’ is arrived at through processes of persuasion and negotiation within which values may be contested and potential ‘fault lines’ (Eagly focuses on gender) must be recognized and overcome. Interestingly in the context of our own research, Eagly also identifies issues of role incongruity and value inconsistency as potential sources of relational inauthenticity. Continuing the socially constructed theme at the same time as drawing from hermeneutic philosophy, Sparrowe (2005: 419) sees authenticity as ‘emergent from the narrative process in which others play a constitutive role in the self’. In adopting this perspective, he draws on the work of Ricoeur (1992) who ‘characterises the self as a “narrative project” through which individuals interpretively

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weave a story uniting the disparate events, actions, and motivations of their life experiences – much as novelists enliven their characters through plot’ (Sparrowe, 2005: 420). In this way, the discursive nature of experience and what Riceour describes as ‘emplotment’ are brought together to create authenticity: together they offer an explanation of how beliefs, actions and outcomes combine to create a unified and coherent story of why actions were taken and how they are aligned with underpinning values and beliefs. This is an inherently selective and post hoc process through which leaders and others make sense of events in real time and locate them in a shared context (Weick, 1995). On this view, it is necessary for others to ‘call leaders to account’ in order for their authentic selves to be construed. A narrative approach is also adopted by Shamir and Eilam (2005), this time to examine the process of authentic leadership development. The suggestion here is that leaders acquire the characteristics necessary for authentic leadership through continually constructing, developing and revising their life-stories in order to provide a ‘meaning system’ from which they can then act authentically, i.e. can ‘interpret reality and act in a way that gives their interpretations and actions a personal meaning’ (Kegan, 1983: 220, cited in Shamir and Eilam, 2005). They also identify a number of ‘proto-stories’ (Shamir, Dayan-Horesh and Adler, 2005) – ‘natural process’, ‘struggle and hardship’, ‘finding a cause’ and ‘learning process’ – or recurrent themes in the leadership development life-stories of their study participants. The importance of eudemonia and ‘self-concordant goals’ also emerge as important underpinnings of authentic leadership development, echoing the themes of role internalization (Rafaeli and Sutton, 1987; Morris and Feldman, 1996) and value congruence found elsewhere. Whilst Shamir and Eilam go on to argue that the leader’s life-story provides followers with a major source of information on which to base their judgements about leader authenticity, they fall short of Sparrowe’s recognition of the role played by followers in actually constructing the leader identity. By contrast, Ladkin and Taylor (2010) draw on the work of Stanislavski to equate authentic dramatic performances with authentic leadership performances, and to explore the importance of the somatic sense of self in contributing to the felt sense of authenticity. It is through the embodiment of the ‘true self’ that leaders are perceived as authentic. Leaders must engage with their own somatic cues – and those of followers – if they are to produce a performance that is experienced as authentic, both by themselves and by their follower ‘audience’. In drawing on the resources of emotional memory, the ‘magic if’ and physical action in producing authentic performances, we can clearly see the resonance with ‘deep acting’ as it relates to emotional labour, and the role it plays in convincing the actor of the emotions they are feeling as a route to convincing others. In his detailed exposition of the various forms which authenticity work can take and the value that these strategies may contribute, Peterson (2005) is clear that it is with the ‘end user’ rather than with ‘experts’ that the actual process of authentication resides. The fact that Peterson was writing in the context of authentic ‘cultural products’ and experiences – a trip to Ireland or the original Magna Carta – in no way invalidates this claim in our own context of leadership. Whatever

Truth, authenticity and emotional labour 133 academic ‘experts’ write about leaders and leadership, it is followers who decide in a very real and practical way whether the leadership they find themselves subject to is authentic. The obvious implications of this for their decision whether or not to follow, and the organizational outcomes this generates, make the issue of ‘managing authenticity’ (Goffee and Jones, 2005) a popular topic for authors from both sides of the academic/practitioner divide. The popularity of authentic leadership, and other forms of ‘positive leadership’ – by which we mean, for example, servant leadership (Greenleaf, 1977; Spears and Lawrence, 2004), spiritual leadership (Reave, 2005; Dent, Higgins and Wharf, 2005); ethical leadership (Ciulla, 2005) and the like – has arisen, in part at least, as a result of the unhappy consequences of its predecessors. In particular, the small but high-profile array of corporate scandals laid at the door of charismatic leadership (for example, see Tourish and Vatcha, 2005, for an account of the part played by charismatic leadership in the demise of Enron) has seen leadership writing harking back to the more explicitly moral format of transformational (Bass and Avolio, 1994) – originally transforming (Burns, 1978) – leadership, and drawing more clearly the distinction between the two. Whilst Avolio and Gardner (2005) would claim authentic leadership to be the ‘root construct’ which underpins the other forms of positive leadership listed above, the literature remains at a relatively emergent and philosophical level, with significant overlap between the various constructs together with a number of similarities between these supposedly ‘new’ constructs and the transformational and charismatic varieties they purport to supersede. Avolio and Gardner (2005) conduct an exercise in cross-matching the characteristics of authentic, servant and spiritual leadership, together with those of their transformational and charismatic forebears, whilst Dent, Higgins and Wharff (2005) review the definitions, distinctions and embedded assumptions within the spiritual leadership literature. What none of them do is suggest how these constructs may be operationalized for the guidance of the practicing leader. Closer to home in this respect are contributions in the field of values-based leadership, such as Worline and Boik’s (2006) seven practices of values-based leadership and Glynn and Jamerson’s (2006) framework for principled leadership. In the case of the latter, their central tenet of ‘leading courageously with humanistic values’ (Glynn and Jamerson, 2006: 155) seems particularly resonant with our own interest in ‘truth telling’ in difficult situations. Servant leadership was a phrase originally coined by Robert Greenleaf in 1977. After 40 years as a manager at AT&T, he compiled his observations on his leadership experiences there into a treatise designed to stimulate dialogue on how to build a better and more caring society. Although he coined the phrase, Greenleaf never actually defined what he thought servant leadership was, although he did say that ‘the servant-leader is a servant first; then makes a conscious choice to lead’. Attributes such as valuing individuals and developing people, building community, practicing authenticity, and providing leadership that focuses on the good of those being led and those whom the organization serves have been suggested as belonging to servant leaders, but Russell and Stone’s (2002) systematic cataloguing of functional – which were seen to be central to servant leadership – and

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accompanying – which were also referred to in the literature but less frequently or centrally – attributes appears to produce a mish-mash of fairly generic-looking leadership components. Whilst one or two items – for example, service, appreciation of others and stewardship – appear to set servant leadership apart, many of the others – such as vision, communication and influence – most of us would tend to view as being a part of any form of leadership. Taken together the sheer range of characteristics mentioned in relation to servant leadership – nine functional and ten accompanying attributes are identified – and the lack of empirical work to support such claims, may explain why it has not so far taken root as a mainstream approach, although, as Russell and Stone acknowledge, it is still very much in its formative years. This said, Russell and Stone do advance our understanding of this approach by offering the following definition of what motivates the servant leader: The prime motivation for leadership should be the desire to serve . . . Servant leadership takes place when leaders assume the position of servant in their relationship with fellow workers. Self-interest should not motivate servant leadership: rather it should ascend to a higher plane of motivation that focuses on the needs of others. (Russell and Stone, 2002: 1450) Fry (2005), a leading proponent of spiritual leadership, defines it by saying that: . . . what is required for workplace spirituality is an inner life that nourishes and is nourished by calling or transcendence of self within the context of a community based on the values of altruistic love. Satisfying these spiritual needs forms the foundation for the new spiritual leadership paradigm. By tapping into these basic and essential needs, spiritual leaders produce the follower trust, intrinsic motivation and commitment that is necessary to simultaneously optimize organizational performance and human well-being in learning organizations. (Fry, 2005: 621 – our emphasis) Fry puts forward a causal theory of spiritual leadership which is developed within an intrinsic motivation model incorporating vision, hope or faith, altruistic love, workplace spirituality and spiritual survival. He sees the purpose of spiritual leadership as being to create vision and value congruence across the organization – at the strategic, empowered team and individual levels – in order to foster high levels of organizational commitment and productivity. He also sees this as being necessary to individual well-being on the basis that all individuals have a need for spiritual survival through calling and membership, which may or may not be expressed in religious terms. Fry introduces a generic definition of God as a higher power – with a continuum upon which humanistic, theistic, and pantheistic definitions of God can be placed – and considers the implications of these different forms of spirituality for leadership and the workplace. In so doing, he suggests that spiritual leadership is able to incorporate the principles of religious, ethical and

Truth, authenticity and emotional labour 135 values-driven leadership theory in a way that is more inclusive and parsimonious than the component theories. Ethical leadership, or the ethics of leadership, has a long history in the literature, although it is not a theory of leadership as such but a recognition of some of the issues that arise in leadership situations. Probably the best known writings in this area are Ciulla’s (2005) edited collection of working papers by leadership scholars at the Kellogg Foundation, which examine how leadership theory and practice could be used to build a more caring and just society. Since the first edition of the book, interest in the field has taken off exponentially, with an important aspect of this approach being its emphasis on followers’ needs, values and morals, and the role of the leader in moving followers to higher standards of moral responsibility. Grounded in the domain of political leadership, Burns’ (1978) position on leadership as a morally uplifting process – a recognizable precursor to ethical leadership writing – was not without its critics, and raised many questions, which have found resonance in the new ethical genre. For example, how do you choose what is a better set of moral values, and who is to decide? If leadership, by definition, entails raising individual moral functioning, does this mean that the leadership of corrupt leaders is not actually leadership? And so on. In a different but equally interesting vein, Heifetz’s (1994) perspective, also stemming from a study of politics, was to emphasize the role of leaders in helping followers to confront conflict in order to create positive change. As a psychiatrist who studied a number of world-famous leaders (such as President Lyndon Johnson and Gandhi) he observed how they helped followers to deal with the conflicting values that emerge in rapidly changing work environments and social cultures. He said that leaders create a ‘holding environment’ in which trust, nurturance and empathy allow followers to feel safe enough to confront hard problems. Whilst these new incarnations of moral leadership have received much attention in recent years, there has also been a more careful reworking of transformational leadership, aimed at distinguishing it from charismatic leadership on the basis of its moral component. So, for example, Bass and Steidlmeier (1999) draw a distinction between ‘authentic transformational leadership’ and ‘inauthentic or pseudotransformational leadership’, in which the former is equated with Avolio, Waldman and Yammarino’s (1991) ‘four Is’ of idealized influence, inspirational motivation, intellectual stimulation and individualized consideration, whilst its opposite is seen as ‘counterfeit’ and ‘dissembling’. The distinction is said to be grounded in: (1) the moral character of the leaders and their concerns for self and others; (2) the ethical values embedded in the leaders’ vision, articulation and programme, which followers can embrace or reject; and (3) the morality of the processes of social ethical choices and action in which the leaders and followers engage and collectively pursue. (Bass and Steidlmeier, 1999: 181) There follows a rather abstruse treatise on virtue and moral character, linking issues of authenticity and impression management to the philosophies of Socrates

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and Confucius. More interesting for our purposes, however, is the observation that there is an inherent value conflict in attempts by transformational leaders to induce followers to eschew their own interests in favour of organizational goals. Whilst we would acknowledge this to be the case, our own research focuses on the value conflict within leaders in contrast to Bass and Steidlmeier’s concern with value conflict as it exists between leaders and followers. We would also echo Price’s (2003) concern that the proposed distinction between authentic and pseudotransformational leadership fails to take into account the possibility that ‘leaders sometimes behave immorally precisely because they are blinded by their own values’ (Price, 2003: 67) – i.e. that: leaders fail to do what they should do, not because of self-interest but because they think that generally applicable moral requirements are overridden by the other-regarding values to which they are committed. (Price, 2003: 69) This observation muddies the waters considerably by blurring the lines between what is moral and what is not, and between what it is to be moral and what it is to be authentic. We find this deeply significant in the light of the very real dilemmas faced by leadership practitioners we spoke to, and a direct corollary to issues of the requirement to perform emotional labour. In a rare attempt to address the issues of authenticity and emotional labour in the context of leadership, Gardner, Fischer and Hunt (2009) advance a conceptual model of leader emotional displays, adopting the three categories of surface acting, deep acting and genuine emotions. They go on to discuss the manner in which: the consistency of expressed leader emotions with affective display rules, together with the type of display chosen, combines to impact the leader’s felt authenticity, the favourability of follower impressions, and the perceived authenticity of the leaders by the followers. (Gardner et al., 2009: 466) Whilst we would applaud this much-needed attempt to make sense of these important aspects of leadership, authenticity and emotional labour, we cannot help but feel that the end result is somewhat mechanical, and that the reductionist approach adopted fails to embrace the essential ‘messiness’ of everyday leadership work. Whilst some of the proposed propositions are worthy of investigation, some of their premises require careful critique. So, for example, their definitions of emotional labour appear to ignore the more nuanced – but more recognizable – character of Bolton and Boyd’s (2003) ‘skilled emotional manager’ in favour of the earlier, more two-dimensional alternative. Similarly, their approach to authenticity fails to really grasp the socially constructed nature of the construct and (more importantly for us) ignores the potential role of value congruence as a moderator of emotional dissonance in leaders. As a final point, the adoption of Weiss and Cropanzano’s (1996) ‘affective events theory’ as the basis for the initiation of

Truth, authenticity and emotional labour 137 emotional displays seems to suggest that it is only ‘big events’ – ‘hassles and uplifts’ in the terminology of Basch and Fisher (2000) – that require the management of leader emotions. We would suggest that the normal, mundane events of everyday leadership – showing interest in the weekend cricket scores with a colleague enthusiast or offering a smiling greeting in the corridor when you are tired or bored – also need to be considered here: further, we believe that their ongoing and relentless nature are an important consideration in understanding the effects of emotional labour on those required to perform it. Also interesting is Ashforth and Tomiuk’s (2000) examination of emotional labour and authenticity in relation to the creation of emotional dissonance. In a study of service agents across a variety of occupations (from dentists to estate agents, and from funeral home directors to librarians), they observed that the agents were more affected by feelings of emotional dissonance than by the need to perform emotional labour per se. They also noted that feelings of authenticity may depend upon what identities are most salient in a given context, and the consequent mediating effects of role internalization on the experienced level of dissonance. Thus far, we would agree with their thinking, and see significant parallels with the themes emerging from our own data. The attempt to codify the authenticity/ dissonance relationships inherent in service agent roles is not without its problems, however, and it is here that we would (methodologically, at least) wish to part company with them. As with our earlier discussion of Gardner et al. (2009), the reductionist approach inherent in attempting to fit all possible reactions to emotional labour into a 2x2 matrix seems unhelpful to us, and to obscure as much as it illuminates of the complex relationships between deep and surface acting, authenticity, and emotional dissonance. So, for example, with reference to the juxtaposed questions of ‘No, you don’t have to act’ (service agent) and ‘No, it’s not him/her’ (what a friend would say if they saw them at work) Ashforth and Tomiuk (2000: 188) acknowledge that ‘different roles call forth different, but possibly equally authentic, facets of the self’ as an explanation of how the two answers can both be true. What they don’t consider – and which we think is important in leadership roles as well as reflecting Bolton and Boyd’s (2003) ‘skilled emotional manager’ – is the potential for multiple authentic identities within one role. Similarly, they talk about high role identification in the context of situational and individual factors that affect the perceived need to act in a particular way: they also note participants’ sense of the need to uphold ‘the sanctity and conventions of the role or organisation’ (Ashforth and Tomiuk, 2000: 192) – where they could go further is in drawing out the underpinning motivations here in terms of values and beliefs. In our own study context, we see value congruence as a key mediating factor between the need to perform emotional labour and the level of emotional dissonance experienced as a result. What is helpful, however, is their speculation that there are two levels of authenticity: ‘surface authenticity’, which is concerned with behaviour, and ‘deep authenticity’ which is at the level of identity. Thus deep authenticity occurs: when one’s emotional expression or display is consistent with the display rules of a specific identity that one has internalized (or wants to internalize)

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In cross-referencing deep and surface acting, deep and surface authenticity, and deep and surface inauthenticity, the authors arrive at a rather complex array of relationships expressed through decision trees and 2x2 matrices which, for us at least, seemed a rather less-than-helpful way of utilizing what were undoubtedly rich and interesting data. We hope our own thematic analysis will touch on some of the same areas, but in a more intuitively accessible format.

Background to the current study Building on both authors’ existing ‘participant pools’ (as a coach and management consultant and a lecturer of Executive MBA students and ethnographic researcher of leadership respectively) the research was conducted through a series of semistructured interviews, each lasting approximately an hour. The questions ranged from asking participants in what ways they have to undertake emotional labour in their role and what it feels like when they do, to asking them what advice they would give to an aspiring leader on how to handle the emotional side of leadership work. We also asked questions relating to the coping strategies and support systems participants had available to them to help deal with the stressful elements of the requirement to perform emotional labour, and the extent to which this labour was congruent with their personal values – i.e. how personally authentic they usually felt when having to perform it. In each case, we asked them to relate specific incidents from their personal experience which exemplified the issues we were raising. The interviews comprise two separate groups, which collectively constitute a wide range of public and private sector, middle and senior managers. The first group (interviewed by Sue) are drawn from her contacts as a coach and trainer and comprise middle to senior managers in the public and private sectors. The second group (interviewed by Marian) are drawn from two groups of postgraduate students registered with Lancaster University. One group (five interviews), from the PG Diploma in Public Service Leadership, were middle and senior leaders from public sector organizations in the North West. The second group (seven interviews), from the Executive MBA programme, were of similar seniority but from private sector organizations across Europe. Each set of interviews was recorded and transcribed by the interviewer. Taken together, the total of 15 transcripts provide a rich and detailed resource in relation to discourses surrounding the production of emotional labour and its implications for feelings of authenticity. Having conducted the interviews independently, the two authors then came together to analyse the resultant data, effectively interviewing and re-interviewing each other to draw out and examine each others’ perceptions of and reactions to our own and each others’ data. In analysing the data, a number of ‘tropes’ (Randall, Harper and Rouncefield, 2005), or ‘sensitizing concepts’ (Blumer, 1969) were

Truth, authenticity and emotional labour 139 employed by way of a starting point, drawn both from the literature and our own experience of working with/being leaders. From this starting point, the data were analysed using a variation on template analysis (Crabtree and Miller, 1992; King, 1998), commencing with a limited number of pre-defined codes, but incorporating the potential for emergent coding in subsequent iterations. This part pre-defined/ part emergent approach was felt to offer a more data-responsive approach than other qualitative methods such as content analysis (Weber, 1985) and grounded theory (Glaser and Strauss, 1967) and to offer the best possible process for combining our independently rooted understandings of what we were seeing. The resultant themes form the basis of the discussion which follows, and suggest some key attributes of ‘authentic leaders’ called upon to perform emotional labour. We have presented our results by first identifying where leaders found emotional labour easy to perform and then moving onto the more difficult emotional labour aspects of their role. Following on from this we present occasions when leaders have ‘lost’ their professional mask, with the resulting consequences, before presenting advice from the managers on how to cope and manage emotional labour. The chapter then closes with our conclusions.

Acting in the role of a manager There was an easy acceptance by managers of the ‘display rules’ and ‘play acting’ that the role of manager required. Ted, whose initial training was to be a teacher, actually stated that ‘as a teacher one of the things we were taught was the mask . . . a teacher never shows their emotions, particularly if you are annoyed, because then you’ve lost it’ and made it explicit that ‘it’s a bit like being an actor, you try and present an appearance you don’t necessarily have to feel it. If you are in a situation where you think it’s going to be of value to raise your voice . . . then do that but you don’t have to feel it.’ He encapsulated this notion of display rules by saying, ‘I wear a suit to work because there is a certain expectation.’ Another senior manager in the public sector, Julie, stated it as ‘a balance between role playing and the real me . . . so generally speaking if I am concerned or angry about something . . . I control how that is demonstrated by me, I don’t necessarily control the fact that I am angry or concerned.’ Julie went onto state, ‘we are having to face some real challenges around how we do things, I am constantly performing’. Managers regard this as a normal part of their job role and a natural requirement of completing managerial tasks and, as such, needing little conscious emotional labour from them. In fact one manager Rebecca stated that ‘75% (of her behaviour at work) is managed, 25% me’ and went onto explain: ‘if I let too much of my strong character into the workplace, I would never do any work. I like people and I like chatting . . . so you have to draw a line’. Richard, working for a local council, states it as ‘you have to be positive so that your team is positive, which is certainly a challenge, but I think it is important because your own enthusiasm will rub off on colleagues and if you don’t have that passion then they won’t be motivated to work with you on things’.

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Managing redundancies All of the managers interviewed had been required to make redundancies or handle disciplinary issues which were initially considered by the authors to be situations of high emotion and therefore requiring a high degree of emotional labour. However, the managers talked of these experiences as challenging, but straightforward to handle once the necessary thinking behind the ‘business decision’ to lay off staff had been made. Even when faced with a male colleague breaking down in tears after being informed of a reduction in hours, and therefore salary, Roger stated, ‘but the best way for me to deal with it is to know that I have made a fair decision because then at least I can think I don’t feel bad, I have not acted out of malice . . . it is my job, I have assessed it, it is a right and fair decision and this has to be the outcome’. However, Roger went on to state that ‘it’s difficult and I still felt bad for a few days afterwards’. It is therefore not surprising that he found a way to increase this individual’s hours as soon as the business allowed. Managers often talked of supporting their staff at this time whilst also taking a pragmatic, philosophical approach. Julie, a manager from the public sector with 4 departments and 600 employees, explained her position to staff as ‘wrapping my arms around all of you but I can’t stand in front of you, I don’t have that power’. Managers report that redundancy conversations are relatively easy to manage because the decision to make redundancies is based on a purely logical business rationale which they, the manager, can’t alter. However, the way in which the communication is made and the degree of support given to staff is within the manager’s direct control and here the manager can allow their values to be authentically expressed. Managers also reported the importance of building trust and a strong relationship with staff which makes the task of breaking bad news easier. Julie talked about having a trusted relationship with her staff that enabled her to say to them, ‘this is me, you know who I am, I will do everything I can to prevent redundancies but there are likely to be some’. Any emotions felt by the manager are managed in such a way as to be calm and professional in their dealings with staff and therefore of greater value to the staff member. Terry, a National Sales Manager, neatly summarizes it as: I’ve had to make people redundant and I didn’t look forward to it but I managed to separate personal feelings of ‘I wish I didn’t have to do this’ from a professional responsibility, explaining the reasons why and keeping focussed on those commercial reasons and trying to show a degree of sensitivity rather than just being completely detached emotionally. But my instincts would probably be to have got more emotionally involved from a natural value structure perspective but if I had done so it probably would not have helped the individual. It would have hurt them more and that’s probably come with age.

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Managing disciplinaries Disciplinary conversations have the possibility of a higher degree of conflict but again, and despite the higher levels of emotion possibly involved, are an accepted part of the role of manager. Roger stated, ‘I feel . . . uncomfortable because I don’t like confrontation but at the same time I don’t shy away from it because I recognise it is part of the job’. Nina, talking about the need to confront an underperforming member of staff, makes it clear, ‘if I didn’t do anything as her manager then I was not being effective in my position’. Managers repeatedly stressed the importance of preparation and planning for disciplinary conversations. Planning strategies for how the meeting is to be conducted and preparation in terms of collating evidence and thinking through the business rationale for the conversation taking place were referred to as an important coping strategy. Rebecca, who works in consultancy and is experienced in performance issues to the level where ‘difficult children’ have been passed to her by the organization, said, ‘I think you have to plan it out. Whenever I go to any meeting I have a set of tricks – if I think they are either going to shout at me in which case we can do that, or they are going to burst into tears and we can do that.’ Managers also prepare for these meetings by gathering clear evidence of the situation and consequences, even when addressing poor attitudes. Nina provided an example of where collating the evidence enabled her to gain a positive outcome from the conversation: ‘getting evidence and asking people what impact has it had on them . . . helped me understand how they felt on the receiving end of her attitude’. Consequently, ‘I have been able to sit her [the team member] down and say you are having this effect on this person and as a manager I am not happy and your colleagues, they are not happy.’ As result this conversation was ‘far more effective’ than previous attempts to address the issue. Managers accept that, in planning for a disciplinary, it is necessary to take a detached, business view as reported by a private company director, Catherine: ‘With the disciplinary and the reasons behind it, that’s more a thought thing than an emotional thing. I am assessing facts, that’s now I deal with that – not emotionally involved.’ And Curtis, who runs his own business, has learnt to take a dispassionate review before acting, despite the ‘real temptation to be absolutely furious at the time’ and the importance of completing a rational review, ‘Are there things we can help him develop or is he just not fit, should he go? . . . What value does he bring and are the negatives things we can sort out? So I tried to be quite objective about it.’ However, this is an area where increased management experience, and consequent maturity, is shown. Nina states, ‘I think initially I absolutely hated them. At first I felt I just wanted to run away from it because I did not want that conflict.’ She then goes onto say: I don’t think there is any point in shying away from them because if you do, things just get worse and worse so as long as you are confident with the knowledge and evidence you are taking into that meeting then I am a lot more confident.

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Managing without authority Being a manager and leader within an organization means more than managing a team. Managers are required to influence and lead others outside of their direct team and this is where managers reported a higher degree of emotional labour. For example, Henrietta, working in a local borough council, who had successfully managed a redundancy programme which reduced her team from 22 members to 7, by both voluntary and compulsory redundancies, described herself as ‘terrified’ and ‘shaking’ when she felt the need to address a peer on their negative attitude to herself and a fellow colleague. It is not only in the management of peers and senior management where emotional labour is expended. Managers cited other stressors from outside of the organization. For example, Rebecca, a director of a management consultancy, stated that ‘I would be much more likely to be worried about presenting to a bunch of executives on a bid or something than I would be in a one to one with a member of staff talking about their behaviour.’ Rebecca and another consultant, Steven, from a multinational IT consultancy, identified the stress experienced in managing clients and their requirements. Steven describes his frustration and emotional labour expended when clients: . . . don’t know exactly what they want – at one meeting they want xyz then at the next meeting they may have changed some of those things. They will suddenly raise new issues – it’s frustrating but you are not able to express that frustration. . . . If you stand up and say ‘I am not going to do it because you are changing your mind way too often’ it is not going to look good for our company. Emotions have no place in those dealings . . . I hold back comments I want to make. Rebecca talked about the need to consciously control emotions in front of clients and maintain the professional mask: ‘whatever you think, if the client is talking utter rubbish, you just stay pan faced, so I am quite consciously in control of my emotions at work’. Nina spoke of the difficulties of working as a public sector service delivery manager to 15 councils where her duties were to collaborate and coordinate cost savings, and the issues of where: . . . collaboration has no real power, we sit there just coaxing everybody into trying to do things [and that creates] frustration in that you probably can’t say things in the way you want to say things . . . I couldn’t go into an Authority and say ‘you’re not doing x, y and z and I think that’s letting your Authority down’ because what I would be saying there is ‘you’re not running your department right’ and they would not take too kindly to it. Even though we could see that was the case. Nina goes on to say, ‘it is like a performance because all you are doing is selling what you are doing all the time without actually saying what is effectively

Truth, authenticity and emotional labour 143 wrong – we can’t say specifically what’s wrong with any particular Authority so, yes, all you are doing is performing all the time’.

Responding to personal criticism Managers reported the highest level of emotional labour when responding to criticism and where they had to respond professionally to a comment or attack that had struck them at a personal level. Rebecca explained how she responds to client criticism: ‘if I am criticised, particularly if I think it’s unjust, and particularly if it comes from a client, which fortunately does not happen very often, then I can be quite upset, I really do take that to heart’. Her nature is to be quite ‘reactive’ and ‘defensive’ if someone criticizes her, however, she has ‘learnt to take it on board and say “thanks for the feedback”, go away and lick my wounds and then talk about it once I have digested it’. Indeed she suggests that the big four consultancies must offer consultants training in handling client feedback and criticism. ‘I’ve seen some of the big four be absolutely slated by some very senior people in meetings and its almost water off a duck’s back . . . wow, that’s impressive because I would be reeling from that level of criticism’. Dennis, a Director within the public sector who has responsibility for the public face of the organization and is therefore required to speak to the media, spoke at length of his experiences. ‘I do a lot of media that is more stressful [than communicating changes and redundancies to staff].’ When presenting to the media he experienced a sense of personal attack: ‘what the TV are trying to do is portray me personally, and my organization, as somebody who are trying to withdraw services from very vulnerable people’ and when ‘the reporter is being aggressive with you [you need to] remember to keep really calm’, a calmness he has partially learned though training although ‘most of it is experience’. He also talked of being falsely accused by his wider staff group and how hard it can be to experience those accusations: ‘people [staff] accused me of providing those services just because it was more cost effective and people who know me know that that would never be the case . . . Sometimes you do feel it more personally when things aren’t really true’. Once again Dennis reported preparation for these meetings and presentations as key to maintaining a professional stance despite attacks: ‘Sometimes I probably am over prepared but I feel more confident doing that.’ Criticism was provided by Peter, an experienced manager in a large multinational, as a reason for not seeking further promotion to top-level posts. Senior managers ‘have to become more thick skinned . . . not to be beaten down by the amount of criticism . . . as you rise to a higher position it would appear that there are more people who then feel justified in having a shot at you’. It is interesting that in a discussion about expending emotional labour at work, five managers (one in three) volunteered incidents where they have been personally accused. These were the three managers identified above and a further two, one accused of being a liar and the other of being dishonest. An association and memory that comes to mind when asked to speak about expending emotional

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labour thereby demonstrates the connection between these incidents and high emotion. Henrietta, who had been accused of being a liar, talked of being stuck between two sides of herself and how it was ‘very hard’ for her to review the accusation calmly and logically as ‘someone had called me a liar and that is a horrible thing to do and it is unprofessional’. She managed to pull out to an objective observer role within herself, however, and was able to review it as ‘this is so weird that someone has called me a liar. Why call me a liar? What is this about?’ She later learnt that the individual accusing her was under considerable personal stress at the time, which enabled her to make sense of this apparently senseless act. However, Catherine, who was accused by a colleague of being dishonest, reported that she ‘did lose my rag’ and afterwards still felt ‘mad – even when I think about it now I feel mad with them – and a little with myself for losing it as it was bit undignified’.

Values and emotional labour Asking the managers about values brought up some interesting comments. It quickly became apparent that values are held differently by each individual manager and therefore how they responded to situations also differed. When managers were asked to discuss how values impacted their work and emotional labour, some seemed to take a pragmatic approach to the issue whilst one reported a breach of their values as contributing to a breakdown. This is not a simple or easy subject to draw a conclusion from as values are such an individually held barometer. For example, Roger, who works for a large organization in the petrochemical industry, talks about the conflict between acting completely ethically and holding onto his job: Ultimately you want to please your boss because you know in the back of your mind if you please your boss, it will get you a promotion and that’s what you go to work for – for career progression. Everyone signs up to the code of ethics and you think ‘well, do we actually, hand on heart, follow the code of ethics’ and I would say not everybody does. And he went on to to say that ‘I have got my own career to think of so you don’t want to go upsetting people.’ He seemed to be saying here that infringing minor values is an accepted part of working life and is balanced against his stronger value of developing his career. Richard, working in a local council, describes a similar situation where he had been asked to find jobs for friends or family by senior managers. He reported: ‘You can feel professionally compromised but I get round that in my head by thinking it’s just the environment I work within . . . whether it’s right or wrong is something for me to think about but it’s nothing I can influence.’ Fortunately, in these particular cases, the individuals concerned were the strongest candidates for the role so ‘It’s not put me in a position that I’ve had to put my hand up and say

Truth, authenticity and emotional labour 145 I have a problem with this because I don’t want to be doing that because of future career prospects.’ Richard goes on to clarify that ‘I know what my boundaries are and my boundaries have not been pushed to the extent that I have felt I had to make a stand because I have been able to manage the situation.’ Ted, a director in higher education, when asked what happens when he doesn’t believe that what he is expected to do is right, rationalized the situation as follows: If it fits your role as part of your job then it’s one of the things you have to deal with and you’ve said you’ll do it as part of your job. If it’s so fundamentally against your values you’d have to consider whether it’s still appropriate to stay in that role. He went on to to say that it would have to be ‘something really quite severely out of kilter with my values or policies of the company’ to lead him to resign. However, he did resign from a previous organization and cites as a contributing factor the implemention of ‘changes in the way the institution was working’, giving him the sense that ‘they were missing an opportunity’ in failing to continue to support a function he had successfully developed. Many managers spoke about their values around honesty; however, even these appear to be compromised in the working practices of organizations. Peter from a large multinational organization commented, ‘there would appear to be modern business rules where you are required to state “it [a project] is running dead on time” and we have to say that to maintain the share price to keep the orders up and you know that is a lie. You know I find that very, very hard.’ However, he does officially make that statement when required. Some values are highly held and the consequences of these being compromised can be career changing. Henrietta reported an incident in her junior career when she had a difference of opinion with her line managers in how to handle a matter of values. She felt that a possible breach of rules had taken place during a school examination whilst her line managers felt it was not an issue and should be ignored. However, Henrietta can ‘remember thinking I can’t forget it, this is horrible, this is not right’ and the matter started ‘eating away at me’ and contributed towards a breakdown and resignation from the post. If meeting with a similar situation again, having learnt from the experience, Henrietta would ‘work within the system to effect a change’ and if she couldn’t ‘then I would have to leave’. Catherine, who now works in a private IT company, also resigned from a previous post within a college and stated that one of the reasons that contributed to her decision was a difference between her views of how student recruitment should be determined and the policy of the college; she reported that: when I started off I believed in what I was doing but then it did get down to much more of the bums on seats. [I was asked] ‘Why did you not take them? They can come because they are going to pay’. So I found that difficult.

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She also left the public sector to work in the private sector where ‘the non-political correctness and male environment that I [now] work in was just a whole breath of fresh air after working in the college which was so unbelievably politically correct’. She goes on to say that she ‘did get disciplined for shouting at someone [within the college] and I didn’t even think it was that bad’: a clear example of how a job role created emotional dissonance due to a demonstrated difference between personal and organizationally held values.

Losing professional control During our conversations two managers told stories of when their managerial mask had slipped and they displayed unprofessional, yet genuine emotion. One was Gordon, an experienced manager in a city council responsible for the allocation of over £4m per year. He shared the story of an incident with a manager in his team who insisted on carrying on a project when he had made it clear that it should be halted: She was being very angry and fighting back and was basically saying I hadn’t told her it should be stopped but I had and I was angry that she could turn round to me and say I hadn’t. . . . eventually I did explode and I accused her of something, can’t remember what, and that went down like a ton of bricks! . . . I quickly realised that I was wrong. I knew I had let my emotions get control so I backtracked and I apologised and said all I want to do is find a way of working together. I emphasised that I liked her as a person but we had to find a new way of working. At this point, he brought the meeting to a close and they met again two or three days later when both had calmed down. The second example was from Nina, and related to a meeting with her chief executive when she presented her business plan to him: He absolutely slated it, saying it will never work, but I had got buy in from everybody and people had fed into it and I just cried. I was trying to look out of the window and blink and I just couldn’t stop the tears – like an outburst . . . I was devastated that I had cried instead of talking to him professionally. The next day she had her appraisal with him and said ‘I never want to discuss it [the incident] again’. Whilst these examples of losing emotional control serve to re-emphasize that managers are simply human beings and can’t be expected to act professionally on every occasion, it is interesting to note that in both these cases Gordon and Nina reported that this ‘unprofessional’ outburst and display of authentic negative emotion had a positive effect on their future working relationships. Gordon states, ‘the irony is now I have a better relationship with that person than anyone else. There’s a lot more trust, more dialogue and an agreed sense of moving forward.’

Truth, authenticity and emotional labour 147 Nina reports, ‘since then our relationship has been miles better in that it has been a lot more open. I don’t think he realised what pressure we were under to deliver and he has put himself there saying “I should have done this, should have been more supportive in that way” . . . in hindsight, even though I was distraught at the time, it had a real positive effect on our relationship’.

Strategies for coping with emotional labour During the interviews we asked each manager what advice they would give to an aspiring manager about how to successfully manage the emotional labour required to be a manager. Every respondent talked of the need to control emotions and not to ‘do anything in anger’, taking time to take a step back to view situations dispassionately. Steven advised ‘try and stay detached. If you put forward a plan and it is being ripped apart, it’s the plan that is being attacked, it’s not you, don’t get yourself between the two.’ However, Rebecca advised ‘don’t shy away from things’, on the basis that avoiding situations causes more emotional labour than facing difficulties. It is also important to be able to take the observer’s role and analyse the reasons behind a situation. Gordon gave this advice for meetings: firstly, you never go into a meeting when you have let your emotions get the better of you. If I am already in a meeting and I feel it happen I would probably just go quiet, I would shut up and start to think, not so much about the person or what it is that is making me angry, but to try and find out what the actual issue is. However, it is important not to deny any emotions that are being felt, to remain authentically aware of your feelings, but to manage how they are expressed. Curtis’ advice was: every time emotions come into play in the workspace, take a bit of time to reflect on how your emotions have affected yourself and other people and whether you are happy with that effect. So not necessarily trying to control yourself or immediately change, because that’s a really hard thing to do, but almost to be aware of how important your emotions are and how much they can affect other people. The most dangerous thing is being unaware. Indeed Curtis treats the management of emotions as a career challenge. ‘How do I make sure that I am emotionally aware and become an emotionally positive manager that uses my emotions in a way that actually helps people to get the best out of themselves rather than destructively?’ Another theme that came through was around fairness: ‘you treat people fairly, you treat people as you would like to be treated yourself’. Managers spoke about building strong relationships and trust with their staff so that giving bad news and feedback can be completed calmly with a positive outcome. Richard talked about staff conversations being easier than public conversations because ‘people are

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probably not going to be rude or insulting like a member of the public can be and that is because of the rapport and the type of relationship I have built up’. Rebecca advised ‘being sensitive to people and honesty and integrity are absolutely essential if you are to have a good relationship with someone on your team You want people to respect you, it’s nice if they like you as well, but it’s not essential.’ ‘Planning and preparation is everything’, was advice given by most managers in facing difficult meetings and conversations. Gordon gave clear advice around planning and also the skills and approach a successful manager should adopt: you have to do a lot of preparation – you have to make sure that you know what the points are that you want to say – you have to make sure that you have an idea of what sort of resolution you want out of it which is all preparation and it’s all logical preparation and then when you actually go into the meeting you have to be a very, very good listener because a lot of conflict management is about giving the other person a chance to express what they have to say and their feelings – they have to express their feelings if they want to. Then you have to acknowledge what they’re feeling . . . . If you’re going into a meeting like that being accusative you will get resistance, if you go into a meeting trying to understand and trying to open the person up, you will meet some sort of resolution that you’re happy with. It was predictable that all managers talked about the need to have people with whom they could discuss difficult situations. Some discussed issues with their partners whilst some purposely did not, maintaining the separation between work and home life. However, all talked about the value and benefit of having a ‘circle of trust’ where issues could be discussed and support given. Peter advised ‘find a friend or a colleague who you know has a similar value system or who you can let off steam to. Or who you think will at least give you an objective response to “why am I feeling like this” or “need to remember this, that or other”.’ Many managers cited exercise as their chosen way of handling high emotional labour. There were all types of exercise suggested: yoga, walking, horse riding, bicycling. More often than not the exercise was outdoors and involved nature. Dennis, a director in the public sector, made the connection between exercise and successfully handling the strains of emotional labour explicit: ‘If I know I am going to be going to a challenging meeting I tend to go to the gym first or go for a swim and I would get rid of my testosterone and I find myself so much calmer. On a Tuesday [the day of his weekly management meeting] I used to find myself feeling quite annoyed, to the point where I would be moving in my seat, my heart would be going over a particular issue and I used to find it so difficult to control.’ A trip to the gym was his regular way of diffusing this tension.

Conclusion Surface acting is an accepted part of a manager’s role and there are clear advantages from acting as a manager is required to act. As Terry put it, ‘if you are always

Truth, authenticity and emotional labour 149 grumpy then people will behave accordingly’, presumably with a negative or grumpy response in turn. ‘Hard’ conversations such as redundancies and disciplinaries, although difficult, were not seen as requiring a high level of emotional labour. Managers undertook an objective and dispassionate business review before conducting any such conversation and, more importantly, saw themselves as being in control of how the message is conveyed, allowing them to express their values, and be authentic to themselves, in the way in which they conducted the conversation. Higher emotional labour is expended when talking with peers, senior management or those outside the organization – such as collaborating organizations or customers – where the manager does not have permission to say what they wish, or want, to say. Here they need to suppress their genuine feelings and ‘act’ the part. Rebecca, a management consultant, neatly sums this up when she says, ‘if you are the leader, ultimately you are the one in control of the situation. If you are dealing with somebody with a load of business for you they are holding the cards and it is down to me to impress them. If I have a poor subordinate, what is the worst that can happen? They are going to leave, hurrah.’ Steven, an IT consultant, also highlights this difference: ‘with your team you have a choice because you are in control but with people at the same level you don’t have much control and you have to go through the process of emotional containment and you have to keep it apart from your heart’. Being personally attacked was hard for managers to handle. Indeed Dennis, who handles a lot of the media interventions as a director in the public sector – regularly being questioned or attacked by journalists – found this aspect the most stressful of his role despite receiving media training and gaining the experience which has enabled him to develop the ability to remain calm despite provocation. Values and emotional labour was an interesting area to explore with no universal agreement as to which values constituted the ‘bottom line’ in terms of needing to be upheld no matter what. There were some interesting examples of how some people may ‘let go’ or ‘stretch’ a lower-held value, or nice-to-have value, in order to meet a higher value of retaining their job, career and ability to provide for a family. These ‘elastic values’ would be worthy of further study. However, managers do have values that are not elastic and, like Richard quoted above, it is important to ‘know what my boundaries are’. This is probably identity work that each individual person needs to undertake: to determine their boundaries and how they will act if they are heavily compromised. Some managers have left organizations as a result of values not being supported or valued. The most intriguing data out of the interviews were the stories of two managers who had completely ‘lost control’ and acted ‘unprofessionally’ with colleagues, and yet this outburst of emotion had led to stronger and more open relationships underpinned by a high degree of trust. It seems that if a negative emotion is genuine and authentic it can carry a strong message, and that this message is capable of creating a positive outcome. In the cases reported here, both managers went on to deal with the situation in a professional manner – in the case of one, apologizing and committing to finding a joint way forward, and in the case of the

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other, agreeing to put it behind them both – but there is no doubt the genuine display of negative emotion provided valuable positive results in both cases. When it comes to advice for managers on how to handle high emotional labour, the messages were clear: • • •

•

•

become aware of your emotions and reflect upon them before acting; plan and prepare key conversations by determining your desired outcomes and gathering evidence to support your case; if you get ‘caught’ with a high emotional response in a meeting, step back in your mind and take an observer’s role to review what is actually driving the behaviour on both sides; be sure to cultivate and maintain a ‘circle of trust’, which may or may not include members of your family, where you can offload and gain a trusted outside response; and find some physical outlet for the tensions arising from the requirement to perform emotional labour – exercise, ideally in nature, was a popular choice, but the advice was ‘find whatever works for you and practise it’.

References Ashforth, B. E., and Tomiuk, M. A. (2000) Emotional labour and authenticity: views from service agents. In S. Fineman (ed.), Emotion in Organisations. London: Sage Publications Ltd. Avolio, B., and Gardner, W. (2005) Authentic leadership development: Getting to the root of positive forms of leadership. Leadership Quarterly, 16(3): 315–38. Avolio, B. J., Waldman, D. A., and Yammarino, F. J. (1991) Leading in the 1990s: The four I’s of transformational leadership. Journal of European Industrial Training, 15(4): 9–16. Avolio, B. J., Gardner, W. L., Walumbwa, F. O., Luthans, F., and May, D. R. (2004) Unlocking the mask: A look at the process by which authentic leaders impact on follower attitudes and behaviours. The Leadership Quarterly, 15: 801–23. Basch, J., and Fisher, C. D. (2000) Affective events-emotions matrix: A classification of work events and associated emotions. In N. M. Ashkanasy, C. E. J. Hartel and W. J. Zerbe (eds), Emotions in the Workplace: Research, theory and practice. Westport, CT: Quorum Books, (pp 36–48). Bass, B. M., and Avolio, B. (1994) Improving Organizational Effectiveness through Transformational Leadership. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Bass, B. M., and Steidlmeier, P. (1999) Ethics, character, and authentic transformational leadership behaviour. The Leadership Quarterly, 10(2): 181–217. Blumer, H. (1969) Symbolic Interactionism: Perspective and method. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Bolton, S. C., and Boyd, C. (2003) Trolley dolly or skilled emotional manager? Moving on from Hochschild’s Managed Heart. Work, Employment and Society, 17(2): 289–308. Bulan, H. F., Erickson, R. J., and Wharton, A. S. (1997) Doing for others on the job: The affective requirements of service work, gender, and emotional well-being. Social Problems, 44(2): 235–56. Burns, J. (1978) Leadership. New York: Harper & Row.

Truth, authenticity and emotional labour 151 Cameron, K. S. (2008) Positive Leadership: Strategies for extraordinary performance. San Francisco: Berrett-Koehler Publishers. Carroll, G. R., and Wheaton, D. R. (2009) The organisational construction of authenticity: An examination of contemporary food and dining in the U.S. Research in Organisational Behaviour, 29: 255–82. Ciulla, J. B. (2005) The state of leadership ethics and the work that lies before us. Business Ethics: A European Review, 14(4): 323–35. Crabtree, B. F., and Miller, W .L. (1992) A template approach to text analysis: Developing and using codebooks. In B. F. Crabtree and W. L. Miller (eds), Doing Qualitative Research. Newbury Park, CA: Sage. Dent, E. B., Higgins, M. E., and Wharff, D. M. (2005) Spirituality and leadership: An empirical review of definitions, distinctions, and embedded assumptions. The Leadership Quarterly, 16: 625–53. Eagly, A. H. (2005) Achieving relational authenticity in leadership: Does gender matter? The Leadership Quarterly, 16: 459–74. Ekman, P. (1973) Cross-cultural studies of facial expression. In P. Ekman (ed.), Darwin and Facial Expression: A century of research and review. New York: Academic Press (pp. 169–222). Fry, L. W. (2005) Introduction to ‘The Leadership Quarterly’ special issue: Toward a paradigm of spiritual leadership. The Leadership Quarterly, 16: 619–22. Gardner, W. L., Fischer, D., and Hunt, J .G. (2009) Emotional labour and leadership: A threat to authenticity? The Leadership Quarterly, 20: 466–82. Glaser, B., and Strauss, A. L. (1967) The Discovery of Grounded Theory: Strategies for qualitative research. Chicago: Aldine. Glynn, M., and Jamerson, H. (2006) Principled leadership: A framework for action. In E. D. Hess and K. S. Cameron (eds), Leading with Values: Positivity, virtue and high performance. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press (pp. 151–71). Goffee, R., and Jones, G. (2005) Managing authenticity. Harvard Business Review, 83(12): 86–94. Greenleaf, R. (1977) Servant Leadership: A journey into the nature of legitimate power and greatness. New York: Paulist Press. Harter, S. (2002) Authenticity. In C. R. Snyder and S. J. Lopez (eds), Handbook of Positive Psychology. New York: Oxford University Press (pp. 382–94). Heifetz, R. A. (1994) Leadership Without Easy Answers. Boston, MA: Harvard University Press. Hochschild, A. (1983) The Managed Heart: Commercialization of human feeling. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Kegan, R. (1983) The Evolving Self. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. King, N. (1998) Template analysis. In G. Symon and C. Cassell (eds), Qualitative Methods and Analysis in Organizational Research: A practical guide. London: Sage. Ladkin, D., and Taylor, S. S. (2010) Enacting the ‘true self’: Towards a theory of embodied authentic leadership. The Leadership Quarterly, 21: 64–74. Luthans, F., and Avolio, B. J. (2003) Authentic leadership: A positive development approach. In K. S. Cameron, J. E. Dutton and R. E. Quinn (eds), Positive Organisational Scholarship: Foundations of a new discipline. San Francisco: Berrett-Koehler (pp. 241–61). Mitchie, S., and Gooty, J. (2005) Values, emotions, and authenticity: Will the real leader please stand up? The Leadership Quarterly, 16: 441–57.

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Morris, J. A., and Feldman, D. C. (1996) The impact of emotional dissonance on psychological well-being: The importance of role internalisation as a mediating variable. Management Research Review, 19(8): 19–28. Peterson, R. A. (2005) In search of authenticity. Journal of Management Studies, 42(5): 1083–98. Price, T. (2003) The ethics of authentic transformational leadership. The Leadership Quarterly, 14: 67–81. Rafaeli, A. and Sutton, R. I. (1987) Expression of emotion as part of the work role. Academy of Management Review, 12(1): 23–37. Randall, D., Harper, R., and Rouncefield, M. (2005) Fieldwork, ethnography and design: A perspective from CSCW. Ethnographic Praxis in Industry Conference Proceedings, 1: 81–99. Reave, L. (2005) Spiritual values and practices related to leadership effectiveness. The Leadership Quarterly, 16: 655–87. Ricoeur, P. (1992) Oneself as Another (trans. K. Blamey ). Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Russell, R. F., and Stone, A. G. (2002) A review of servant leadership attributes: Developing a practical model. Leadership and Organisational Development Journal, 23(3/4): 145–57. Shamir, B., and Eilam, G. (2005) ‘What’s your story?’ A life-stories approach to authentic leadership development. The Leadership Quarterly, 16: 395–417. Shamir, B., Dayan-Horesh, H., and Adler, D. (2005) Leading by biography: Toward a lifestory approach to the study of leadership. Leadership, 1: 13–29. Sparrowe, R. T. (2005) Authentic leadership and the narrative self. The Leadership Quarterly, 16: 419–39. Spears, L., and Lawrence, M. (eds) (2004) Practicing Servant-leadership: Succeeding through trust, bravery, and forgiveness. San Francisco: Jossey-Bass. Tourish, D., and Vatcha, N. (2005) Charismatic Leadership and Corporate Cultism at Enron: The Elimination of Dissent, the Promotion of Conformity and Organizational Collapse. Leadership, 1: 455–82. Weber, R. P. (1985) Basic Content Analysis. Beverly Hills, CA: Sage. Weick, K. E. (1995) Sensemaking in Organizations. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications Inc. Weiss, H. M., and Cropanzano, R. (1996) Affective events theory: A theoretical discussion of the structure, causes and consequences of affective experiences at work. In B. M. Staw and L. L. Cummings (eds), Research in Organisational Behaviour. Vol. 18. Greenwich, CT: JAI Press (pp. 1–74). Wharton, A. S., and Erickson, R. J. (1993) Managing emotions on the job and at home: Understanding the consequences of multiple emotional roles. Academy of Management Review, 18(3): 457–86. Worline, M., and Boik, S. (2006) Leadership lessons from Sarah: values-based leadership as everyday practice. In E. D. Hess and K. S. Cameron (eds), Leading with Values: Positivity, virtue and high performance. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press (pp. 108–31). Zapf, D., and Holz, M. (2006) On positive and negative effects of emotion work in organisations. European Journal of Work and Organisational Psychology, 15(1): 1–28.

8

Middle managers’ emotional labour in disseminating culture change A case study in the requirement for changing values Sharon Turnbull

The following article was published in 1999, at a time when the topic of emotion in organizations was generally ignored by organizational scholars. Very few studies of the emotions of organizational life existed, and few scholars of emotion were given credence in a theoretical world dominated by the rationality of ‘management science’. Hochschild’s 1983 study had caused a stir in the service industry, and a number of similar publications followed, but studies of emotional labour had remained firmly rooted in the service industry for a number of years. Since this chapter was first published as a paper in Human Resource Development International (and awarded best paper in that volume for its originality) the study of emotional labour has been a burgeoning field. The construct has been challenged, critiqued, debated and developed considerably into new domains, and is now a well-established field of study. However, it is perhaps inevitable (as well as disappointing) that scholars should continue to overlook the focus of this chapter: the emotional labour required of middle managers in large corporations. Since writing the original paper I have discussed the findings of this study with numerous middle managers during my teaching. They immediately recognize the phenomenon, and can identify with the emotional tensions that I discovered in Aeroco. In republishing this work, I believe that the phenomenon uncovered in this article should be placed once again on the research agenda. We still have little understanding of the scars left on middle managers who are tasked with taking their companies through the type of change programmes that go beyond behavioural change to enter the territory of personal values and beliefs, as illustrated in this chapter. I posit that a by-product of many such programmes, even today, is the emotional labour of managers, as I found in Aeroco. The lived emotional labour of managers inside organizations is still a domain that escapes the attention of most organizational scholars. It is a phenomenon that few practising managers feel able to discuss, and yet it continues to be of vital importance for our understanding of organizations. The organizational, cultural and gender influences on how emotional labour is played out in such organizations remains an under-researched field. And finally, personal thresholds for how long emotional labour (and the enacting of feeling rules) can be sustained by .

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managers in such organizations remains fertile territory for current emotional labour researchers.

Introduction The subject of emotion in organizations has until recently been carefully avoided, the terrain clearly being fraught with difficulties for the organizational researcher seeking to use empirical methodologies. Hochschild’s (1979, 1983) highly original writing on the commercialization of human feeling, however, broke new ground on the subject, finally breaking the taboo, and generating much interest in this field (Fineman 1983, 1993; Kemper 1981, 1990; Newton 1995; Wharton and Erickson 1993; Ashforth and Humphrey 1993). In this paper I propose to examine the concept of ‘emotional labour’ (Hochschild 1983) and its application to management, in particular to those managers in the ‘middle’1 of large organizations. The paper will draw specifically on empirical research from a case study conducted by the author of a major organizational culture change programme in Aeroco2 plc. Hochschild defines emotional labour as the management of feeling to create a publicly observable facial and bodily display; emotional labour is sold for a wage and therefore has exchange value. This labour requires one to induce or suppress feeling in order to sustain the outward countenance that produces the proper state of mind in others. (Hochschild 1983: 7) Although much has been written about the concept of emotional labour in service occupations (Hochschild 1983; Ashforth and Humphrey 1993; Rafaeli and Sutton 1987), I will argue that little attention has been given to the insidious and potentially worrying (both to individual and organization) increase in the control of the feelings of middle managers in today’s delayered and ‘fad-driven’ organizations (Pascale 1990; Abrahamson 1991). This form of control goes beyond role playing or dramaturgical discourses (Goffman 1959; Mangham and Overington 1987; Hopfl 1994), challenging not only the manager’s perceptions of his/her3 role in the organization but also his fundamental concept of self. I shall demonstrate that this can alter not only a manager’s behaviours, but also his world-view, moral values and relationships, potentially leading to manifestations of stress and forms of alienation. While these initial observations may resonate with the language of the neoMarxist labour process theorists (Friedman 1977) who have long argued that the rhetoric of employee involvement and their responsibility for corporate performance provides ‘one of the best twists yet in containing the contradiction between employee control and employee commitment’ (Newton 1995: 61), this is not my intention. My aim is not to take a political perspective on this issue, but to examine some of the sociological and psychological implications of the phenomenon of emotional labour specifically in the context of managers in the ‘middle’4 of organizations. From this I aim to discuss the implications of Hochschild’s theory for

Middle managers’ emotional labour in culture change 155 the HRD community, many of whom are often called upon to play an active role in the design and execution of major corporate change programmes. It is my contention that the phenomenon of emotional labour in management has already been observed and well documented (although not labelled as such) through much ethnographic research (e.g. Jackall 1988; Moss Kanter 1977; Smith 1990; Watson 1994). This paper will examine the extent to which these documented and observable managerial behaviours reflect Hochschild’s original concept of emotional labour. I shall commence with a brief examination of the growing trend towards more normative organizations and the reasons for this trend. This will then be applied to Hochschild’s theories and to later interpretations of her ideas (Wharton and Erickson 1993; Ashforth and Humphrey 1993). I shall then briefly examine some of the evidence for emotional labour among the managers in Aeroco before turning to the discourses of ‘emotion’; ‘real self’; organizational engagement and alienation. Finally, I shall discuss the potential effects of the current behaviour and trends in our post-recession organizations on the middle managers within them and on the organization’s performance, making recommendations for future research in this field.

The rise of the normative organization The trend towards more ‘normative’ organizations, demanding ‘moral’ psychological contracts, particularly with their managers (Etzioni 1961; Schein 1988) can be traced in popularity to the early 1980s, with the rise of the so-called ‘strong organisational cultures’ (Peters and Waterman 1982; Deal and Kennedy 1982) and the associated rhetorics of employee commitment and participation. Since then, the passion of business leaders (and often their HR advisers) for the latest managerial fad (Abrahamson 1991)5 has turned ‘many otherwise thoughtful executives’ into ‘management gimmick junkies’ (Pascale 1990: 21). ‘Excellence’ campaigns have given way to ‘quality circles’ and total quality management programmes, with these in turn being replaced by ‘empowerment’ initiatives and most recently with ‘business process re-engineering’. The empty rhetoric of many of these programmes has frequently been exposed (Anthony 1994; Legge 1995), with much of this organizational activity being dismissed as ineffective in improving organizational performance. However, little has been made of the effects of such initiatives on those expected to implement them, those often known as ‘middle managers’. It is my contention that it is this group that is most at risk of experiencing emotional dissonance, as they are required to manage the interface between the authors of the latest fads (the senior managers) and the recipients (the employees). These managers are often expected by their organizations simultaneously to control their emotions (Jackall 1988; Rafaeli and Sutton 1987; Burrell 1992) and to exhibit ‘to order’ displays of enthusiasm (Peters and Waterman 1982; Pascale 1990; Jackall 1988). To expand on this apparent paradox, there is evidence that many traditional organizations still like their managers to be strong, in control, leave their personal

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problems at home and stay cool under pressure. Managers learn that such ‘masculine’ behaviour is rewarded and indeed expected in many of our traditional organizations. Confusingly, however, these same organizations are today just as likely to demand the passionate display of euphoria and rousing excitement from its managers when communicating to their subordinates the details of the latest managerial initiative to hit the company. It is perhaps inevitable, therefore, that these managers often find themselves at best role playing (Goffman 1959; Mangham 1986) or perhaps more dangerously entering into self-deception and inauthentic behaviour (emotional labour) which in turn can cause the boundaries between their own identities and those of the organization to begin to ‘blur’.

The evidence for emotional labour in middle management This section considers the evidence for emotional labour in parts of organizations beyond its service workers, and in particular within the middle management group.6 Hochschild (1983) introduces the notion of emotional labour through her study of airline stewardesses, the focus of the concept being in service-related occupations where face-to-face contact with the customer is involved. Hochschild recognizes that ‘conforming to or deviating from rules is hardly new’ (1983: 20) but argues: What is new in our time is an increasingly prevalent instrumental stance toward our native capacity to play, wittingly and actively, upon a range of feelings for a private purpose and the way in which that stance is engineered and administered by large organisations. (Hochschild 1983: 20) Her notion of emotional labour goes beyond the requirement to indulge in certain displays of behaviour (surface acting) to the purposeful manipulation of one’s own feelings in order to change the feelings themselves (deep acting): ‘In surface acting we deceive others about what we really feel . . . In deep acting we make feigning easy by making it unnecessary’ (1983: 33). It is perhaps the notion of deep acting, stirring up or blocking our feelings to the point that these become indistinguishable from our ‘real self’ which differentiates Hochschild’s theory of emotional labour from the role playing or dramaturgical writers in the Goffman school. She sees today’s institutions as increasingly demanding not just surface acting but deep acting: ‘they suggest how to imagine and thus how to feel’ (1983: 49), for the purposes not of ‘self-discovery’ or ‘the pursuit of fulfillment’ but simply ‘to make money’ (1983: 55). While Hochschild’s prime focus is on ‘sales workers, clerical workers and service workers’ and she does not directly relate emotional labour to managerial roles,7 her description nevertheless resonates with the experiences of middle managers today. Indeed, the empirical evidence which will be outlined below suggests that managers today are required to ‘process feelings’ as soon as they begin their

Middle managers’ emotional labour in culture change 157 careers. They are expected to think, behave and feel in ways which will ‘produce an emotional state in another’ (Hochschild 1983). I would argue that the identical process takes place when they are expected to convince subordinates and peers to follow the ‘feeling rules’ laid down by those at the top.8 I argue that Hochschild herself notes this phenomenon when she describes the following: At the very top of the upper class are the tycoons, the imperial decisionmakers They assume the privilege of personally setting the informal rules to which underlings eagerly attune themselves, rules designed to suit their own personal dispositions. Their notions of what is funny, what to beware of, how grateful to feel, and how hostile one should be to outsiders will become an official culture for their top employees. (Hochschild 1983: 155) This she says is ‘a subtle and pervasive way of dominating through the enforcement of latent feeling rules for subordinates’ (1983: 155). A number of pressures on middle managers appear to be responsible for creating the conditions for emotional labour. Each of these pressures has been evidenced in the management ethnographies drawn on throughout this study, as well as in the Aeroco study which will be summarized below. These pressures include a range of factors, for example the need to please senior management; competition with peers for recognition and promotion; the societal expectation that managers will remain in control of their emotions in the workplace; and the demands of multiple roles inside and outside the workplace. Pleasing the bosses Although the term emotional labour has remained in usage by followers of Hochschild to refer to service workers, a similar phenomenon has been treated by a number of sociologists, among them Kets de Vries and Miller (1984) whose evidence suggests that the concept may be more widespread than has previously been understood. In particular, they indicate the widespread tendency in organizations for subordinates to indulge in ‘self-deception’ and ‘to take on the beliefs, values, attitudes, and behaviour patterns of their feared superiors’. In one organization they describe how this compliance led to the executives (middle managers) ‘adopting the president’s style of dress and imitating many of his mannerisms and expressions’. They do not go as far as to suggest that deep acting is taking place here but at least as far as suggesting that it is not unusual to pay attention to one’s displays of feelings in order to please superiors. Playing political games to stay ahead Perhaps the most graphic description of political game playing is in Jackall (1988) who cites numerous examples of role conflict, dissonance, inauthenticity and insincerity in action among middle managers, suggesting that inauthentic displays

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of feeling are a requirement of the managerial job. Later, Solomon (1992) outlines two managerial roles commonly found in organizations which he sees as lacking in ‘sincerity’ and ‘integrity’. These he names the ‘opportunist’ and the ‘chameleon’: the first being prepared to do ‘whatever it takes’ to achieve success and the second being prepared to do ‘whatever seems to please people’ (1992: 173). My contention is that these are very tangible examples of managers performing emotional labour. Keeping a stiff upper lip Newton (1995), in his thought-provoking book which deconstructs the growing ‘stress’ discourse of the 1990s, suggests that one of the most important reasons for managers performing emotional labour is the stereotype of the ‘real manager’ who ‘isn’t afraid of the pressure, keeps his cool, owns his stuff, and doesn’t winge or moan’ (1995: 148). This ‘macho’ description is immediately recognizable as applying to most of today’s organizations. Coping with multiple roles A further example of the impact of emotional labour, particularly on middle managers, is highlighted by Wharton and Erickson (1993), who argue that ‘organizational studies of emotion management remain uninformed by the growing recognition that organisational members typically manage multiple roles’. This can be shown to be acutely true of managers who are required to adhere to different sets of display rules at work from at home, i.e. to exhibit emotional control and ‘infallibility’ at work, but to show their ‘real’ feelings in the domestic environment. Common symptoms associated with holding multiple roles, all requiring high levels of emotion management, are identified by Wharton and Erickson as workfamily role overload and role conflict. Role overload occurs where ‘an individual in one or more roles is required to constantly display normatively prescribed emotions, whereas role conflict results when the feelings a person is called upon to express in one setting are contrary to those feeling that are expected in another setting’ (1993: 472). Clearly both of these pressures are experienced by many managers in today’s organizations. Managing the interface between the total ‘commitment’ and dedication required by organizations, and the emotions and behaviours expected in the home has been shown to be highly stressful, often producing feelings of guilt and inauthenticity (Newton 1995).9 The need to be part of the crowd Newton suggests that feeling rules in organizations fall into two categories: the explicit ‘deliberate, managerially contrived ways of serving the organisation’s commercial or supposed strategic ends’, and the implicit and informal, ‘procedures which help people to get by in everyday social interaction; they help, protect or save face’ (1995: 129).

Middle managers’ emotional labour in culture change 159 It is clear that for managers in today’s organizations both types of emotional labour apply: managers’ ‘real feelings’ are often ‘transmuted, or dressed up, into a form that the actor judges acceptable for public consumption’ and, at the same time, they ‘privately labour with, or do work on, their feelings in order to create the socially desired emotional expression and impression’ (Newton 1995: 128). Hearn, in his important contribution to the literature on organizational men and masculinities and the deconstruction of emotions, also appears to confirm the view that emotional labour occurs not only in service roles, but in many parts of the organization. He interprets Hochschild’s emotional labour in its broadest sense: ‘In one sense all organizational work, membership and presence is emotional labour . . . Indeed the quality of being in an organisation – organisation-ness – is itself a form of emotion and emotion labour’ (1993: 161). Indeed, Hearn is perhaps the lone voice in the current literature to relate emotional labour directly to management: Whether the management of the professions, the state or business, management is centrally concerned with the management and control of emotions, both of others and the self . . . As such management is a kind of emotional labour managing emotions, yet often constructed as non-emotion(s). (Hearn 1993: 161)

The Aeroco case: emotional labour in action As suggested earlier, one of the most prevalent examples of managers being required to perform emotional labour in organizations today is in the implementation of the highly popular ‘culture change’ initiatives which are usually intended to instil a new set of values into the workforce and in turn result in productivity increases. The case which provides empirical evidence to support my assertions was an empirical study of a large corporate change programme which I conducted in Aeroco,10 a large engineering corporation over a twelve-month period (Turnbull 1998). The programme was aimed at 1500 middle managers in the organization, and the research was conducted through a representative sample of interviews by function, age, length of service, gender and business unit. In addition, I attended all five modules as a participant observer with the specific purpose of understanding the managers’ responses to the programme as it unfolded. While this paper does not intend to report on the findings of this study in any detail, the study does offer an opportunity to provide evidence of emotional labour in action among the target population of the Aeroco programme. The two predominant types of acting posited by Hochschild (deep acting and surface acting) were both found to be common among the participants. Those engaged in deep acting (labelled in the study evangelists) exhibited a devotion to Aeroco bordering on religious fervour. They had clearly worked on their feelings to bring them into line with the expectations of their company and were able to go with the flow of change in the organization whenever required. Willingly

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committing to this programme, which was just one in a long line of ‘initiatives’, they expressed an element of blind faith in their relationship with Aeroco. They tended to be managers who worked long hours, often to the detriment of family life, as they clearly relied on Aeroco to provide the meaning in their lives. One manager in this group even declared: ‘I would die for Aeroco. I live and breathe the company.’ Lawrence argues that organizations ‘become trapped by the idea that they can survive by a quick, painless intervention, a magical new idea promising a millenarian future’ (1995: 13). The symptom for managers in these organizations is to become trapped in the ‘near manic excitement’, spending ‘longer and longer hours at work’ with ‘the inner world of the institution’ becoming ‘the source of all meaning for such individuals’ (1995: 17). While the case study did not support Lawrence’s contention that this is a general response for managers, there was evidence that this was a typical way of coping for quite a large group. For this group in Aeroco, the evangelists, their commitment went further than mere compliance. These managers had ensured that their own feelings and identity were in line with those espoused by the organization and hailed the programme in almost messianic terms as the one which would make the company great: they were ‘pleased to be part of it’, ‘keen to be part of the greater Aeroco’. Hochschild warns: ‘Some institutions have become very sophisticated in the techniques of deep acting; they suggest how to imagine and thus how to feel’ (1983: 49). The suggestion I am making, then, is that this is transferred to individuals in some cases through the internalization of such feelings and the subsequent loss of discretion or ability to question the values or validity of any discourse produced by senior management. Middle managers are probably the group most susceptible to this deeper form of emotional manipulation. Often managers feel that they have a great deal to lose by resisting their organization’s requirements, and find that the stress they experience in deep acting is considerably less than that experienced when surface acting. Hence the evangelists in Aeroco appeared to be experiencing much less internal conflict than others, as their inner feelings were mirrored by the behaviour expected of them. Fineman identifies one reason for this: To be established in a job and to also admit that it leaves one replete with fears and worries can feel very uncomfortable and threatening; so dissonance is resolved through a degree of self deception. The less savoury aspects are suppressed, ignored, and an ‘O.K’ face is presented to self and to others. (Fineman 1983: 153) The second group, those engaged in surface acting, were labelled the actors – again quite a large group. These actors are engaged in surface acting most of the time. They tend to be very insecure and distrusting of others, and uncritical in their thinking, preferring the route of resigned behavioural compliance while at work. This group was easily led, and rarely ‘let their masks slip’. The clearest

Middle managers’ emotional labour in culture change 161 evidence of surface acting emerged, however, through frequent examples of selfcontradiction during the course of interviews or across different conversations. In addition, the actors had a tendency to make sweeping assertions which, on deeper probing, could not be substantiated. Unlike their evangelistic colleagues these managers had very little deeper engagement with the organization. Anthony refers to the ‘acting skills of employees, developed in the context of instruction from management’ (1990: 5) and the ‘isolation of the managers of organisational culture, locked into the deeper commitment to values not shared’ (1990: 3). Less frequently acknowledged, however, is the more covert ‘resigned compliance’ found in middle managers who not only act out a prescribed role towards their subordinates and superiors, but are also required to sustain this when with their peers. Furthermore, managers are often expected to continue ‘in role’ well beyond working hours, with community activities or social events with colleagues very often forming part of the organization’s expectations. There was considerable evidence of this need to act out an expected role in the Aeroco programme. Managers rarely admitted this about themselves but many had detected it in others: ‘Many are mimicking the change’; ‘People have to say they’re committed’; ‘You keep your head down’; ‘You do what your manager wants you to do’; ‘We had a good time. Nobody refused to engage. One person – an accountant – nearly did, but he stuck at it and played his part’. It was poignant that, unlike the deep actors who retained their enthusiasm at all times, the surface actors tended to let their masks slip in the bar during the workshops, the alcohol impacting on their ability to dissemble. This relentless ‘play acting’ (Mangham 1986) or ‘surface acting’ (Hochschild 1983) would appear to be far more stress inducing than the roles played by service employees towards their customers: ‘Maintaining a difference between feeling and feigning over the long run leads to strain’ (Hochschild 1983: 90). Managers are aware too that their subordinates will be looking for evidence of incongruent behaviour and responses, and will notice any ‘reverting to type’ (i.e. if the mask slips temporarily): ‘Provided the managers are living the values and not paying lip service we can go places’ was a comment representative of the concern felt about the possibility that peers and superiors were ‘play acting’. A number of writers point to this type of behaviour as being rooted in fear, and therefore argue that such acting is consequently more stressful for the individuals concerned. Flam (1993), for example, argues that it is the fear of unemployment which leads to the ‘anxiety driven enthusiastic play acting’ found in organisations engaged in the creation of strong cultures. Lawrence supports this view: Indeed the fear of mistakes – there is no possibility of learning from them – is such that it becomes dangerous to have thoughts that are different from the majority. In such conditions the thinkers and feelers have to be expunged, wiped out. (Lawrence 1995: 13) This is illustrated too in the Aeroco managers’ comments: ‘There’s not always time to be visionary with the sharks snapping at your heels’; ‘We are blamed for

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failure’; ‘In a fear culture it is difficult to protest’; ‘People gauge their audience before they say things’; ‘We’re not lions we’re donkeys’. Hosking and Fineman confirm that this phenomenon is widespread, describing the management process as though it were simply a game: ‘Executives, closeted in boardrooms, often learn to be adroit players in emotional encounters with colleagues, or adversaries, the most skilled knowing just what personal feelings to express, inflate, or fake’ (1990: 599). Many of the Aeroco managers confirmed this claim: ‘We were told what the party line should be’; ‘I’ll be the good soldier. I’m a company man despite the difficulties with it’; ‘So I decided to buy in’ are all direct evidence of conscious decisions being made by the Aeroco middle managers to engage in emotional labour through surface acting. While Lawrence is critical of such behaviours, other writers believe middle managers to have little choice when confronted with the ever changing rhetorics of their organizations: A choice between securing one’s own success by jumping on and off the bandwagon of the moment, or sacrificing oneself for the long-run good of a corporation by diverting resources and really seeing a programme through is, for most managers, no choice at all. The alert manager pays whatever obeisance is required to the ideological idols of the moment. He comes to measure all relationships with others by a strict utilitarian calculus and, insofar as he dares, breaks friendships and alliances accordingly. (Jackall 1988: 143)

The quest for ‘the real self’ The main theme of this paper is the assertion that emotional labour in middle management is a growing phenomenon, the implications of which have not been fully explored. Central to this is the notion that managers are being asked to act and feel in ways that are alien to their sense of their ‘real selves’ producing in them potentially disturbing feelings of inauthenticity and ‘stress’. In order to pursue this argument, however, it is clear that the concept of ‘real self’ needs further exploration, and it is to the differing interpretations of this concept, particularly in the organizational literature, that I will now turn. Many organizational writers take the existence of a ‘real self’ for granted, using the concept without further explanation, but making culturally based assumptions that the term has a common meaning. Ashforth and Humphrey, for example, state that deep acting ‘may impair one’s sense of an authentic self . . . and ultimately lead to self-alienation as one loses touch with this authentic self’ (1993: 97). They do not, however, attempt to define the ‘authentic self’. This criticism is also valid in respect of Hochschild’s writing in which the notion of real self is ambiguous and never fully discussed. She indicates: ‘We still search for a solid, predictable core of self even though the conditions for the existence of such a self have long since vanished’ (1983: 22).

Middle managers’ emotional labour in culture change 163 Despite numerous arguments against the existence of a real self, many of which follow the Foucauldian notion of self-creation and ‘technologies of self’.11 my work with middle managers suggests that it is a common belief among this population that they are often asked to be ‘someone they are not’, hence the constant allusions in the Aeroco study to acting roles and playing the game. The debate about the self is a fascinating one, but important only in so far as it colours the perceptions of the middle managers under study. If they feel that they are being inauthentic, then it can be argued that they expect to be allowed to develop a single self as a project and that it is the presence of multiple selves which is problematic. Whereas Hochschild appears to distinguish between the ‘real self’ and the ‘organisational self’, Solomon challenges this view. He points to ‘the bad faith’ involved in the usual distinction between ‘who I really am’ and the person I am on the job, claiming ‘corporate role identity is genuine identity, and to deny this is to alienate oneself from the corporation from the start’ (1992: 161) a standpoint which is completely contrary to that of Hochschild and indeed to many of the managers interviewed in Aeroco. Confronting this issue from the perspective of integrity, Solomon says that it ‘is a matter of who one is, coupled with the fact that, on the job, each of us is (at least) two persons at once’ (1992: 169).12 While this argument would probably be accepted by many managers, my experience of the Aeroco programmes, combined with five years’ experience running MBA programmes for experienced managers, suggests that it is this very expectation which causes stress in the workplace, particularly where the two roles required demand different traits and often a different ethical perspective. Solomon sees integrity as being more about being ‘true to yourself’ than about ethics, putting the onus clearly on the individual to ensure that his values are congruent with the values of the organization to which he belongs. Solomon does not, however, appear to address the issue of how this integrity should be achieved, nor the question of how managers should deal with the constantly changing rhetorics and values declared by their organizations. This does indeed call into question the numerous culture-change programmes which aim to change behaviour and values in the organization. How this unitarist perspective on organizations can be reconciled with an individual’s desire for self-expression is a problem which has been puzzling the HRD community for some time (Du Gay 1996).

Alienation and authenticity in middle managers The implications of these ideas for the concepts of organizational control and emotional labour are many. Since Turner (1976) believes that there is no ‘objectively, but only a subjectively true self’ our sense of performing emotional labour and any resulting sense of alienation will clearly be dependent on our sense of self. Thus, ‘alienation is an intrinsically evaluative concept’ (Turner 1976: 99), partly arising from a sense of distance between the self and the organization, but equally occurring as a result of what Turner calls ‘low self-resolution’: that is, unclear self-conception or a vague and uncertain identity.

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It is likely then that a strong sense of an inner self will lead to dissonance between the individual and the organization if the two are out of line. Often organizational messages can be construed as contradictory and confusing, and cause emotional dissonance. For example, although some organizations have consciously and explicitly set out to reward the behaviour associated with selfexpression and autonomy, they may often reject a manager who takes this licence too literally. The expression ‘empowerment within defined boundaries’ was the operations director of a major retailer’s way of reducing the rush of enthusiasm which the company had inadvertently unleashed by the launch of their empowerment programme (Turnbull 1991). Indeed, the same phenomenon was found in Aeroco. One of the ‘values’ espoused by the change programme was innovation, yet this caused considerable concern among the managers who had experienced contradictory messages. On being innovative one manager said: ‘Look at John! He was bounced for being too radical’; and, after the programme, another confirmed the confusion: We were all fired up at the end. We wanted to do something with the business idea but the person who was supposed to make contact with me never did. One person was all for taking it to the top, but perhaps in the cold light of day breaking all the rules didn’t seem such a good idea! There is much evidence then to suggest that such contradictory messages regarding the behaviours and emotional responses expected from managers are commonplace in our organizations today. In the first module of the Aeroco programme, the managers were required by the consultants to hold hands and make a wave with their arms in the style of a football crowd. The horror among these managers, 98 per cent of whom were male, was intense. Yet the same emotional display (even crying) would be considered normal behaviour by these same individuals if they were at a football match, for example. Interestingly, while a couple of the managers in the room did refuse to comply with the request, and were visible in opting out, over a hundred people in the room went through with the activity despite their intense dislike of it.

Scepticism as a manifestation of alienation One of the apparent manifestations of ‘alienation’ and of a person’s inability to achieve an ‘authentic’ existence can be scepticism (Baxter 1982). This has frequently been demonstrated (Jackall 1988; Smith 1990) as a by-product of the attempts by organizations to manipulate their managers’ behaviours and emotions: ‘Scepticism, the arch indifference, is the estrangement of those disinterested in present values, work ethics, cultural norms, and ideologies. It is possible to see the significance of role playing for the estranged sceptic’ (Baxter 1982: 98). Baxter demonstrates that, for the sceptic, role playing is essential, as a method of differentiating himself from the ‘Other’, i.e. the organization in which he finds himself. For Baxter scepticism is active estrangement from the organization.

Middle managers’ emotional labour in culture change 165 The alternative, passive estrangement, is when the individual craves (yet never finds) unity with the organization and some higher ideal, constantly seeking meaning and an externally based purpose in life (1982: 110). Arguably, Baxter has identified here the same two types of acting identified by Hochschild: active estrangement equating to surface acting (the actors) and passive estrangement equating to deep acting (the evangelists).

Organizational socialization, identification and engagement The discussion this far indicates that most writers would agree that a person’s conception of their real self is influenced by a mix of cultural, situational and contextual factors. The importance of socialization in this process has been much debated both in the social and anthropological literature, as well as in the organizational literature, and has an important bearing on the issue of emotional labour in management. Ashforth and Mael (1989) observe how this socialization process occurs on entering an organization. They argue that ‘organizational newcomers are often concerned with building a self definition, of which the social identity (or identities) is likely to comprise a large part’ (1989: 27). They demonstrate that ‘through interactions individuals learn to ascribe socially constructed labels such as ambitious, engineer, and upwardly mobile to themselves and others’ (1989: 27). In addition, they point out that not only do individuals take on organizational roles, but that nested within these are workgroup roles which can ‘be somewhat at odds with one another’ (1989: 30). Ashforth and Mael therefore appear to subscribe to the view that it is ill-conceived to view the individual as a unified and consistent whole, believing by contrast that ‘Most individuals slide fairly easily from one identity to another’ (1989). Kahn (1990), however, considers the socialization process as inherently more complex. Using Goffman’s (1959) work as his conceptual starting point, he has studied the extent to which people are ‘psychologically present’ in the roles they play, defining personal engagement as ‘the harnessing of organisation members’ selves to their work roles’ (Kahn 1990: 694). However, he makes no real attempt to define the concept of self, except to state that: ‘Personal engagement is the simultaneous employment and expression of a person’s ‘preferred self’ in task behaviours that promote connections to work and to others . . . To express preferred dimensions is to display real identity’ (1990: 700). His notion of personal engagement, therefore, is the complete congruence between the preferred self and the role being played. This contrasts with personal disengagement, which he describes as the withdrawal and defence of the person’s preferred self; emotional absence; passive behaviours and the removal of ‘personal, internal energies from the physical, cognitive and emotional labours’ (Kahn 1990: 701). One behaviour found to be quite common among the Aeroco group was indeed disengagement. This was most common among professionals, however, who found their need for group membership was fulfilled by membership of their

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profession. Labelled in the research as the untouched professionals, their behaviour maps Kahn’s disengagement, a typical comment from this group being ‘Well, of course it doesn’t apply to us’. Kahn’s view that personal engagement demands higher levels of energy than personal disengagement, however, appears to ignore the energy required by the sceptic (see Baxter 1982) or deep actor (Hochschild 1983) who, as discussed earlier, is likely to require far more energy to perform the emotional labour required to survive in the organization than those who are engaging with the organization.

The potential costs and effects of emotional labour in management on individuals and organizations In this paper my objective has been to demonstrate that emotional labour in management is a demonstrable phenomenon, which is becoming increasingly prevalent in organizations today. In the last sections I aim to discuss some of the implications and costs of this, not only for the managers themselves but also for the organizations in which they work, as well as the implication for the HRD community. Costs and effects on the managers One of the greatest costs of emotional labour identified by Hochschild is the fact that emotional work ‘affects the degree to which we listen to feeling and sometimes our very capacity to feel’ (Hochschild 1983). The unpredictability of today’s society has, she says, led people to turn to their feelings in order to locate and understand themselves. Emotional labour considerably distorts these feelings making it increasingly difficult for an individual to differentiate the authentic from the managed feelings. Van Maanen and Kunda (1989) echo her concern, noting ‘emotional burnout and numbness’ among the managers they researched. Even those who ‘fake’ the normative emotions expected of them ‘in good faith’ (Hochschild 1983) are believed more likely to suffer from stress or poor mental health caused by the estrangement between felt and expressed emotions (Rafaeli and Sutton 1987: 33). Adopting a dramaturgical metaphor, Hopfl and Linstead express concern that organizations should ‘consider the costs to corporate actors of carrying their roles in support of organizational action, reflecting on what happens when people find their roles “unbearable”, become unable to carry on, and in theatrical terms “corpse”’ (1993: 92). They also point to the stress experienced by those constantly undertaking emotional labour: The person is thus subject to powerful and conflictual inner movement and motivations but must ‘carry’ the role expectations required by the action. This becomes apparent only when the actor is no longer able to carry the role,

Middle managers’ emotional labour in culture change 167 becoming visibly and publicly alienated from it and exposing it to demystification, and the continuation of the performance is in doubt. (Hopfl and Linstead 1993: 92) Costs and effects on the organization and implications for the HRD community The implications of such emotional manipulation for an organization’s psychological health are considered by Hosking and Fineman: ‘The heaviest emotional costs may emerge when emotional exploitation is deep within the culture of an organisation’ (1990). They note that the growing stress discourse is reliant on treating the individual’s symptoms but point out that ‘we find it easier to respond to symptoms of distress at work than to challenge the organisational structures and social processes which contribute to this distress’ (1990: 60). Fineman also notes that organizational control of emotions can often lead to ‘suppressing disagreements, eliminating employee voice, and reducing upward information flow’ (1993: 44), all unhealthy symptoms for an organization. It is clear that emotional control and manipulation of employees through initiatives such as the Aeroco programme, and the consequent emotional labour in management evidenced in this paper, are likely to lead to problems for both the individual and the organization. But how far can an organization go in the control of its managers and is there a point beyond which managers are likely to withdraw their emotional labour and why? This is a critical question for HRD specialists involved in the design of all forms of corporate change and culture programmes. Hopfl and Linstead state: ‘The extent to which this illusion of control or of authorship in corporate performances can be sustained is perpetually an issue’ (1993: 91). In her empirical study of flight attendants, Hochschild does find a point beyond which feeling rules are no longer observed and emotional work breaks down. This occurred during a period of recession when the staff were expected to ‘speed up’ and work harder with fewer people. The result was that the cabin staff ‘cut back on their emotion work and grew detached’ (1983: 126). A parallel example of this occurring among middle managers is in Smith’s study of an American bank undergoing considerable streamlining and a ‘culture change’ programme during the recession of the late 1980s. In the face of such huge costs to those around them, the middle managers were required to take on increased responsibility, become more ‘entrepreneurial’, and to expand the scope of their jobs beyond their job descriptions at the same time as changing their behaviours to suit a more ‘empowered’ organizational culture. Instead of complying and ‘play-acting’ the new role created for them, however, they became detached, openly cynical and refused to perform the emotional labour expected of them, demonstrating that there is a limit to the extent to which organizations can expect compliance by their managers. For Hochschild, this type of behaviour is a form of ‘slowdown’ staged in a different way and parallels her observations of cabin attendants: ‘Since their job is to act upon a commercial stage, under managerial

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directors, their protest may take the form of rebelling against the costumes, the script, and the general choreography’ (1983: 126). In the Aeroco case study, there was clear evidence emerging of such rebellious or cynical behaviour among small numbers of the managers. While it has been shown that many were either deep acting (evangelical) or surface acting (the actors), equal numbers of participants were either withdrawing and becoming emotionally detached or actively engaged in cynical behaviours. This detachment or cynicism was demonstrated by statements like: ‘We introduced a change process in response to everybody else . . . we then jumped on the quality bandwagon . . . when visions came in we got one, and when missions came in we got one, and when values came in we got them too!’ While this is an example of humorous irony, others were more frightened, cynical of senior management’s agenda, some even believing the programme to be a clandestine selection process for identifying candidates for redundancy. Clearly in such a change process, both humour and bitterness can be equally damaging both to the organization and to the individuals themselves. Only the passage of time will reveal the extent of slowdown or protest to emerge in Aeroco.

Conclusions It has been shown that the costs of emotional labour to the middle managers themselves can be high, in terms of the stress, emotional sterility and the loss of ability to recognize the inner self. While it is acknowledged that there are many ways of coping with these pressures, and Watson (1994) and others have illustrated the importance of humour in defusing emotional tensions, for organizations engaging in these various forms of normative culture programme the suppression of emotion at middle-management level has been shown nevertheless to have strongly negative effects on communication channels and, in the long term, on motivation. Since much managerial behaviour has been shown to be either play acting or resigned behavioural compliance, organizations cannot be certain about the robustness or sustainability of these displays. The boundaries and thresholds of performing emotional labour have yet to be fully researched, but Smith’s study of control and resistance in an American bank and Hochschild’s airline study both indicate that there are limits beyond which organizations will not succeed in achieving the compliance that they have come to expect. The Aeroco research, suggests that there are a range of emotional responses to such programmes in which managers engage in order to deal with the expectations of them. The implications are clear for both practitioners and academics engaging in human resource development in organizations. The long-term impact of corporate culture change programmes on those participating in them and the organizations which sponsor them are not yet known. The increasing frequency of such programmes, and the dissonance caused by them could well be creating long-term problems in our organizations today. It is possible that the ‘fear factor’ caused by job scarcity has hidden many of the longer-term costs, and that these may start to emerge more clearly in the future. Indeed, it could be argued that the problem of

Middle managers’ emotional labour in culture change 169 conflicting feeling rules in organizations today may well be more serious and potentially damaging than the rhetoric and reality conflict suggested by Legge (1995) and extensively debated since by the HRD community. The long-term damage to individuals as a result of the stress engendered by emotional labour is also unknown, although it has already been noted that stress counselling and psychotherapy are both growing businesses today, with many organizations now employing stress counsellors in-house. It is of concern, however, that many human resource functions in organizations are still predisposed to treating the symptoms and not the causes, and these symptoms are therefore likely to continue unabated.

A research agenda It is proposed that further research is required within the HRD community of both practitioners and academics on the impact of organizational culture change initiatives on the psychological health of middle managers and their organizations, particularly in those which regularly launch new initiatives as a result of the latest managerial fashions. The organizational health in terms of communication, confidence, ability to display real as opposed to manufactured feelings and the long-term impact of emotional labour on an organization should all be the subjects of further research. The thresholds beyond which emotional labour is no longer sustainable in organizations are also an important area for further research, and the impact of economic, historical, cultural and individual factors on these boundaries will also be important. This paper has not been able to cover the cultural implications of the ideas contained in it other than to recognize that culture plays a major part in our relationships with the organizations which employ us and in our understanding of the concept of self. The cultural dimension should therefore be the topic of further research. Nor has this paper been able to discuss the gender issues contained in these concepts, yet it is clear that men and women will often react differently to socialization and control issues, as a result of our differing world experiences. Further research of these issues will be essential for understanding the notion of emotional labour in management. It has already been noted that the study of emotion in organizations is one of the most difficult areas for empirical research, as emotions are so well hidden and multilayered: ‘Capturing emotion in process requires some methodological ingenuity’ (Fineman 1993: 222). However, it is clear that those of us operating in the field of HRD can no longer continue to avoid the subject. Fineman states: Emotions are central to the constitution of the realities we so readily take for granted in our working and organising. Once we strip the facade of rationality from organisational goals, purposes, tasks, and objectives, a veritable explosion of emotional tones is revealed. (Fineman 1993: 1)

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Notes 1 Structurally and politically. 2 A pseudonym. 3 Henceforth ‘he’ will be used to denote either sex, as the majority of middle managers still fall into this category, especially in the case-study company Aeroco. 4 Even in today’s delayered organizations there are managers who are ‘stuck in the middle’ arguably dealing with greater pressures than in previous, more hierarchical structures. 5 While Abrahamson’s work did identify positive aspects of managerial fashions on innovation in organizations, my concern here is with the passing fads which often do little more than confuse their recipients. 6 While accepting the difficulties of defining such a group, as it varies significantly across organizations, its importance is key to this argument. In this paper the author uses the term to mean the group of employees below board level who are responsible for operationalizing strategy. It is, however, acknowledged that this is problematic. 7 Hochschild (1983: 234) does include managers in her statistical tables of those currently performing emotional labour, although this is scarcely mentioned in her text. 8 Hochschild defines feeling rules as ‘The social guidelines that direct how we want to try to feel . . . a set of socially shared, albeit often latent (not thought about unless probed at), rules’ (1979: 563). 9 Hearn (1993) believes that these symptoms are likely to be more marked for women than for men, often as a result of their perceived or real additional domestic responsibilities. 10 A pseudonym. 11 Explored thoroughly in McKinlay and Starkey (1998). 12 This concurs with Wharton and Erickson’s (1993) theory on multiple roles (see discussion above on p. 130).

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Putnam, L. and Mumby, D. (1993) ‘Organizations, emotion, and the myth of rationality’, in S. Fineman (ed.) Emotion in Organizations, Beverly Hills, CA: Sage, pp. 36–57. Rafaeli, A. and Sutton, R. (1987) ‘Expression of emotion as part of the work role’, Academy of Management Review 12(1): 23–37. Sampson, E. (1990) ‘Social psychology and social control’, in I. Parker and J. Shotter (eds) Deconstructing Social Psychology, London: Routledge, pp. 117–26. Schein, E. (1985) Organizational Culture and Leadership, San Francisco: Jossey-Bass. Schein, E. (1988) Organizational Psychology, Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice Hall. Scherer, K. (ed.) (1984) Approaches to Emotion, Hillsdale, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum. Scherer, K. (1988) Facets of Emotion: Recent Research, Hillsdale, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum. Schweder, R. and LeVine, R. (eds) (1984) Culture Theory: Essays on Mind, Self, and Emotion, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Seeman, M. (1959) ‘On the meaning of alienation’, American Sociological Review 24(6): 738–91. Seeman, M. (1972) ‘Alienation and knowledge seeking’, Social Problems 30: 3–17. Smith, V. (1990) Managing in the Corporate Interest: Control and Resistance in an American Bank, Berkeley: University of California Press. Solomon, R. (1992) Ethics and Excellence: Cooperation and Integrity in Business, New York: Oxford University Press. Turnbull, S. (1991) ‘The empowerment of store managers in Woolworths: rhetoric or reality?’, MBA dissertation for Lancaster University. Turnbull, S. (1998) ‘Corporate ideology: an iron cage for the middle managers in a large corporation’, paper delivered at BAM conference, September. Turner, B. (1989) Organizational Symbolism, New York: Walter de Gruyter. Turner, R. (1976) ‘The real self: from institution to impulse’, American Journal of Sociology 81(5). Van Maanen, J. and Kunda, G. (1989) ‘“Real feelings”: emotional expression and organizational culture’, in L. L. Cummings and B. M. Stow (eds) Research in Organizational Behaviour, vol. 1, Greenwich, CT: JAI Press. Watson, T. J. (1994) In Search of Management, London: Thomson Business Press. Wharton, A. and Erickson, R. (1993) ‘Managing emotions on the job and at home: understanding the consequences of multiple emotional roles’, Academy of Management Review 18(3): 457–86.

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Valuing employees Management rhetoric, employee experiences and the implications for leadership1 Marian Iszatt-White

Introduction Based on two ethnographic studies in the learning and skills sector, this chapter examines the expectations raised by management rhetoric on valuing employees and employees’ experiences of being valued. In this context, the notion of ‘feeling valued’ (White and Mackenzie-Davey, 2003) aims to capture an individualized, positive, emotional response to the praise or recognition of others, and in particular those viewed as organizational leaders, which is not about job satisfaction (e.g. Wright, Cropanzano and Bonett, 2007), or followership (e.g. Collinson, 2006), or organizational commitment (e.g. van Knippenberg and Sleebos, 2006), but is at the same time more personal and more transitory. It is seen as arising from a moment-by-moment, real-time expression of value for some ability or quality which the recipient considers to be important, and to reside in a sense of the fairness or appropriateness of such expressions. The proliferation in recent years of management discourses relating to employees as valued assets – for example the rhetoric of Investors In People and the often sweeping generalizations of organizational vision statements in this regard – has undoubtedly shaped employees’ expectations of what it is to be valued, and why they might reasonably expect to be so. From a management perspective, the idea of the ‘happy, productive worker’ (Staw, 1996) has long been the Holy Grail of organizational research, with the recent focus on such topics as emotions at work (Fineman, 2000) and the psychological contract (Rousseau, 2001) reflecting the ongoing attempt to shed light on the relationship between employee positive feelings and behaviour. The current organizational research agenda recognizes the need to understand factors which determine performance, and what prompts employees to bring their ‘whole selves’ to work rather than just their technical skills. For example, the expansion of the domain of job performance to include contextual as well as task elements (Borman and Motowidlo, 1993), or attempts to capture ‘organisational citizenship behaviours’ (Smith, Organ and Near, 1983) such as helping colleagues and volunteering ideas, both recognize that the ‘accomplished worker’ (George and Brief, 1996) is only one of the possible selves potentially in need of motivational attention. Less well recognized is that how valued we feel by a particular act of praise or recognition will be mediated by

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the salience of the situation or attributes being evaluated, along with such mediating factors as the relationship of the recipient with the evaluator, cultural and genderbased expectations of being valued, and the influence of moderating environmental factors (e.g. job security and the surrounding economic climate). For employees, ‘feeling valued’ has become a good in itself: the basis for a sense of self-esteem (Cast and Burke, 2002) or self-worth (Crocker and Wolfe, 2001), and as such, a basic right of employment. Employee expectations of feeling valued, and the extent to which they are met, are explored with reference to the study data. Based on extensive interviews, focus groups and observational fieldwork in a range of organizations within the learning and skills sector, this paper takes as its starting point the management rhetoric which has emerged surrounding the valuing of employees, and shows them to be part of employees’ ‘psychological contract’ (Rousseau, 2001) in relation to feeling valued at work. The perceptions of employees in relation to how (and whether) these expectations have been met are explored through the data. The paper goes on to suggest how the need to meet these expectations has important implications for the practice of leadership in organizations, in particular, as it necessitates ‘emotional labour’ (Hochschild, 1983; Bolton and Boyd, 2003) by leaders in the delivery of ‘valuing practices’.

Emotions at work: locating the study in the literature In her seminal work The Managed Heart Hochschild (1983) drew attention to the increasing requirement by employers in service industries for their staff to manage their emotions such that they actively express those deemed appropriate to a given situation and/or suppress those which are deemed inappropriate. The fixed smile and friendly, helpful manner of airline cabin crew – even in the face of the most difficult, unappreciative passenger – is presented as the epitome of ‘the social actor’s ability to work on emotion in order to present a socially desirable performance and capitalism’s appropriation of that skill’ (Bolton and Boyd, 2003: 291). Subsequent research into emotional labour in other sectors has brought a widely held recognition (e.g. O’Brien, 1994; Price, 2001; Lewis, 2005; Harris, 2002) that the phenomenon is not limited to service settings, and that we are all required to manage our emotions at work to a greater or lesser extent. Running parallel – and perhaps counter – to this important theme in the literature is the recognition that employees inevitably bring genuine emotions with them to work, and that these must be taken into account by those leading and managing them if they wish them to be happy and productive (Staw, 1996). The literatures on motivation (e.g. Steers and Porter, 1991; Locke and Latham, 1990), authentic leadership (e.g. Avolio et al., 2004; Mitchie and Gooty, 2005) and the psychological contract (e.g. Rousseau, 1989; Robinson, Kraatz and Rousseau, 1994), amongst others, are testament to the recognition that work is no longer merely about pay and that expectations of self-actualization (Maslow, 1970) and job satisfaction (e.g. Wright, Cropanzano and Bonett, 2007) by employees are required to be taken seriously. Discourses of ‘employees as valued assets’ have been one kind of response to this recognition but, arguably, there has been more talk than action.

Valuing employees 175 For all the organizational rhetoric, the notion of feeling valued at work appears to be a topic that has seldom been addressed by researchers, with a previous study by this author (White and Mackenzie-Davey, 2003) being one of the few exceptions. Elsewhere in the literature, where it is mentioned (e.g. O’Shea and Kelly, 2007), it is as a taken-for-granted phrase, the meaning of which is neither explored nor defined. In contrast, White and Mackenzie-Davey specifically asked the question: ‘What makes employees feel valued at work?’ and identified three clusters of factors which were significant contributors to the creation of this feeling. Collectively, the components of the clusters, discussed below, tap into a number of familiar topics within the literature. What none of them individually captures, however, is the personally relational, transient, affective nature of ‘feeling valued’ as a response to specific acts of valuing by managing individuals within the organization. Even the notion of the leader–member exchange (LMX) (Dansereau, Graen and Haga, 1975; Gerstner and Day, 1997) relationship, which at first blush appears to come close to the dyadic, responsive relationship between employee and leader envisaged by the ‘feeling valued’ construct, differs in a number of important respects. First, the LMX relationship is formulated in terms of exchanges between supervisors and their direct subordinates (Graen and Cashman, 1975), rather than including the role of more distant leaders in shaping employees’ affective responses to their working environment. Secondly, understood from a social exchange perspective (Liden, Sparrow and Wayne, 1997), the supervisor’s input into the relationship has been defined in terms of ‘advice, information, effort, social support and friendship’ (Greguras and Ford, 2006: 435): what is missing from this list of ‘potential social currencies’ (Greguras and Ford, 2007: 435) are the individualized, differentiated praise and recognition which White and Mackenzie-Davey (2003) found to be strongly generative of feelings of being valued and are highly characteristic of valuing behaviours. Even those definitions that do include ‘formal and informal rewards’ (e.g. Ilies, Nahrgang and Morgeson, 2007) fail to capture the giving of differentiated praise or recognition as a targeted act of valuing. Greguras and Ford’s (2007) use of a multidimensional LMX scale – incorporating contribution, loyalty, affect (after Dienesch and Liden, 1986) and professional respect (after Liden and Maslyn, 1998) goes some way in the right direction. However, their emphasis on validating these dimensions and hypothesizing their impact on, for example, organizational citizenship behaviours (Motowidlo and Van Scotter, 1994) – in common with the LMX literature in general – fails to capture the lived experience of being valued or the situated leadership practices which bring this about, both of which are attempted here. Returning to the factor clusters identified as contributing to feelings of being valued at work, the first of these clusters deals with the organizational processes which affect employees and it relates to perceptions of fairness. Under this heading are included procedural and distributive justice (Hendrix et al., 1998; Beugre and Baron, 2001), transparency (de Boer et al., 2002) and consistency, with particular reference to decision-making (Leventhal, 1980). The aspects of this cluster seem to constitute the basic building blocks of human and organizational relations, and have their roots in equity theory (Adams, 1965). Social exchange

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and person–environment fit theory have also been applied in this context (Janssen, 2000), whilst empirical approaches (e.g. Sashkin and Williams, 1990) identified a number of constituents of fairness including equity, consistency, justice, trust, truthfulness and respect. More broadly, social construction approaches (Lamertz, 2000) see employer/employee relationships as ‘conduits for social comparison, social cues, and social identification, which are sources of sense making about fairness’ (2000: 19). The second cluster relates to factors within the organizational environment, and attempts to capture a number of diverse aspects of the context within which individuals work. Included under this heading are organizational support (Rhoades, Eisenberger and Armeli, 2001; Hutchison, 1997), trust (Dirks and Ferrin, 2001; Mayer, Davis and Schoorman, 1995), recognition and feedback (Kluger and DeNisi, 1996), organizational reputation (Jones, 1992), pay (Brown, 2001; Marsden and Richardson, 1994), personal development opportunities and inspirational leadership (Conger and Kanungo, 1994). The elements of this cluster have the common theme of being ‘one way’ between the organization and the individual: something the organization does or gives to the employee. They are central to feeling valued in representing the organization’s response to the employee as an individual, rather than to wider organizational issues. Of the diverse elements within the environment cluster, perceived organizational support – defined as the extent to which individuals felt that the organization valued their contribution and cared about their well-being (Eisenberger et al., 1986) – is perhaps worthy of special attention. Through the mechanism of social exchange theory the perception of support – in the form of praise and approval, pay, status and influence, and job enrichment – would be reciprocated through organizational commitment (Eisenberger et al., 1986) to the extent that they were seen as signifying a positive evaluation of the employee. Interestingly, as defined, perceived organizational support does not include elements of practical or systems support likely to make the actual performance of the job easier (e.g. availability and quality of resources), which proved a recurring feature within the study data. The third cluster concerns feelings of inclusion, and relates to aspects of the relationship between the employing organization and the individual employee. Covering the areas of participation (Glew et al., 1995; Lawler, 1986), involvement (Shadur, Kienzle and Rodwell, 1999), communication (Eisenberg and Witten, 1987), voice (Harlos, 2001), and shared values (Finegan, 2000; Goodman and Svyantek, 1999), it encompasses the impact on individual employees of the organization’s efforts to make them a part of itself in a meaningful and personal fashion. It is a characteristic of the aspects of this cluster that there is an element of reciprocity: values are shared; the organization listens to the views of the employee and also communicates with them on issues which affect them. Murphy (2002) remarks on the centrality of shared values between employees and their employing organization to the promotion of a strong organizational culture and the enhancement of organizational effectiveness. Elsewhere in the literature, a predictive relationship has been found between employees’ perceptions of organizational values and aspects of commitment (Finegan, 2000) and contextual and task performance

Valuing employees 177 (Goodman and Svyantek, 1999), the former by building on a person–organization fit approach. It has also been proposed that the perception by employees of a ‘covenantal relationship’ (Barnett and Schubert, 2002) between themselves and their employer indicates a belief on their part that there is a mutual commitment to shared values and the welfare of the other party in the relationship, a view which clearly has resonances with the concept of the psychological contract (Bunderson, 2001; Robinson and Morrison, 1997, 2000; Turnley and Feldman, 1999). Whilst many of the above literatures (for example job satisfaction, organizational support, LMX and the psychological contract) can be seen to be related to the ‘feeling valued’ construct, there is yet a distinction to be made. An understanding of what it is to feel valued is aimed neither at the behavioural and performancerelated outcomes of work-related interactions, nor at feelings generated in response to the organization generally or the work undertaken there. Instead, it is concerned with an intrinsic, emotional response by an individual, to some act or behaviour they experience from their employer as personified by those they consider as their leaders. It requires a congruent set of criteria of what skills, behaviours, etc., are to be valued, and is occasioned by receipt of individual recognition of the specific skills being exercised. That it is now considered by many to be a reasonable expectation of any employee owes much to the growth of management rhetoric in this area. At the same time there are clearly linkages to the literatures concerning notions of self-esteem (Cast and Burke, 2002) and self-worth (Crocker and Wolfe, 2001). Its transient nature and a growing belief in its likely contribution to discretionary effort and contextual performance has led increasingly to acts of ‘emotional labour’ (Hochschild, 1983) by organizational leaders to bring it about, as evidenced by the study data presented in this paper.

Methodology and context The present paper is based on two ethnographic studies, one in an educational trust and the other in a college in the learning and skills sector. The earlier study was conducted in 2002 at Bramley Farm (Bramley), an educational trust in the North of England with the remit of providing personal development training for young people. Bramley also undertakes development training for commercial clients, and uses the surplus thus generated to support its youth work. In the main, training consultants work either with young people or with corporate clients; only occasionally do they work with both. Although the facilitation skills they utilize are broadly similar, their educational backgrounds and previous experience differ in ways which tend to suit them to one work stream or the other. Within both teams, there are also a number of associate trainers, with whom Bramley has longstanding relationships, and whose backgrounds and experience span the full range of that found in the full-time team. At the time of the study, I was a training consultant on Bramley’s corporate team, with all the benefits and disadvantages to the research process which this position entailed. At that time, the pay scales offered to the youth and corporate teams had recently diverged (although not markedly), in recognition of the differing markets in which they operated and

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the price expectations of the clients they served. This had resulted in an uneasy debate, never really resolved, as to the basis upon which consultants should be rewarded, and by implication perhaps valued. In addition to the primary study location, data were also collected from a small commercial management development company delivering a similar style of programmes to Bramley: this organization was included in the study to provide a counterbalance to the charitable ethos of Bramley. The primary data from this study were collected through a number of focus groups (Kreuger, 1994), of approximately one hour’s duration each, supplemented by email surveys. Focus groups were chosen because of their effectiveness ‘in gaining insight into shared understandings and beliefs, while still allowing individual differences of opinion to be voiced’ (King, 1998: 121). The questions asked were the same for each group (focus groups and email surveys), and were designed to offer only broad headings for discussion. Later focus groups were asked to read an (anonymized) transcript of the previous focus group and draw out the themes which they observed, thus achieving a measure of counterbalance to any assumptions or preconceived ideas I may have brought to the subsequent coding process (King, 1998). Email questionnaires were used to gather data from would-be participants whose remote location or busy schedules did not facilitate a focus group format. The second study took place in 2004 in a sixth form college in the south of England, hereafter referred to as Lambton Sixth Form College. Lambton consists of approximately 1,800 students, aged 16 to 19, and 230 staff. Courses are mostly academic, with some vocational, and most students go on to university. In line with the local community, the student population is culturally diverse, and the college prides itself on its inclusivity and safe working environment. It sets high academic standards and had recently received an excellent OFSTED report, including a Grade 1 (outstanding) for leadership and management. The college mission statement, which appears on walls and posters throughout the college, states that ‘The main purpose of Lambton Sixth Form College is to be a centre of excellence for academic and general vocational education of young people.’ Fieldwork access covered all the major events of the academic year, from enrolment and induction through to results day, as well as a wide range of more day-to-day activities. Between February and September 2004, I spent a total of 20 days shadowing the principal, as well as repeatedly interviewing him and members of his senior management team, shadowing curriculum and other senior managers, conducting focus groups with staff, attending meetings and collecting documents. I was also able to talk freely to students and staff and to move about the college as I wished. Staff became used to seeing me around and, hence, very relaxed in my presence. I believe this contributed greatly to my being able to observe the workings of the college ungilded and as they naturally occurred. The data was supplemented by interviews and focus groups with other college leaders. Data from this second study was initially analysed in a similar manner to the first study, though less structured. Fieldnotes and interviews gathered during my time in college were subsequently transcribed to provide a rich and detailed resource in relation to discourses surrounding the valuing of staff, employees’

Valuing employees 179 feelings of being valued in practice, and the leadership practices aimed at promoting this feeling. In analysing the data, a number of ‘tropes’ (Randall, Harper and Rouncefield, 2005), or ‘sensitizing concepts’ (Blumer, 1969) were employed by way of a starting point, many of them deriving from the earlier study. From this starting point, the data from both studies was analysed using a variation on template analysis (Crabtree and Miller, 1992; King, 1998), commencing with a limited number of pre-defined codes, but incorporating the potential for emergent coding in subsequent iterations. This part pre-defined/part emergent approach was felt to offer a more data-responsive approach than other qualitative methods such as content analysis (Weber, 1985) and grounded theory (Glaser and Strauss, 1967). Collectively, the two data sets provide empirical evidence of employees’ experiences of feeling valued and its implications for leadership.

‘Our people are our greatest asset’: creating great expectations The development, in 1990, of the IIP ‘Standard’ – ‘a business improvement tool designed to advance an organisation’s performance through its people’ (www. investorsinpeople.co.uk) – is seen by many as evidence that the transition from ‘command and control’ management to an approach aimed more at winning the ‘hearts and minds’ of employees was becoming a reality. This view is, perhaps, supported by Tosti and Jackson’s (1994) assertion a few years later that ‘(u)ntil recently, the proposition that people are an organisation’s greatest asset has received little more than lip service in most companies’ (Tosti and Jackson, 1994: 58). But the key components of the Standard, including the setting out of organizational and employee indicators in relation to recognition and reward, involvement and empowerment, and learning and development, are not as universally applied as the familiar rhetoric would have us believe. Whilst it may be true that ‘(e)veryone agrees that people are an organisation’s greatest asset’ and that ‘(s)uccessful organisations are those that appreciate their people and value the contribution they can make’ (both extracts from the IIP website), the recommended ‘encouragement and praise’ is not always forthcoming in practice (as is evident from some of the data extracts discussed below). Nonetheless, the discourse of valuing staff, now a common feature of organizational mission statements or promotional material, has served to embed the notion in employees’ expectations of the ‘psychological contract’ (Rousseau, 2001) to which management are deemed duty-bound to adhere. If an organization claims that ‘most of all we are proud of our people’ (Bramley website) or ‘the college recognizes that its most important asset is its staff’ and states that one of its aims is to ‘develop an inclusive, caring and supportive environment that respects and values people as individuals and the contribution each makes to the college’ (Lambton staff handbook), this is expected to translate into actions and behaviours which demonstrate the valuing of employees on the ground. Based on data from the Bramley study, Figure 9.1 shows an analysis of what participants sought from their employers in this regard. The inclusion cluster,

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which relates to the means by which an organization attempts to make employees feel that they belong, was found to be particularly important to freelance associate workers. So, for example, one participant wanted to feel they worked for: . . . an organization that talks to you and listens to your responses, and then you see them take actions as a result of those responses. With the increasing use of remote working, virtual teams and portfolio employment, the need for employers to create a bond with workers and to proactively include them in organizational processes is likely to become increasingly important. The fairness cluster, a reflection of how decisions are made and implemented within the organization, was mentioned most frequently by those participants working directly for Bramley as an educational charity, perhaps reflecting a more idealistic approach to both life and work. One participant expressed their sense of fairness as follows: . . . they (targets and rewards) need to be fitted together in a way that is coherent. So there is transparency of communication about how different people are contributing in different ways and what’s valued and what isn’t. Common to all those who participated was a concern with a wide range of factors affecting the context in which they worked, collectively constituting the environment cluster. Whilst in many ways divers, the elements of this cluster share a sense of reciprocity, of both sides needing to put something in to the relationship in order to get something out. Hard to capture in brief because of its breadth, examples of this aspect of feeling valued included the following quotes: . . . a sense of being trusted to do good work, rather than being monitored, supervised and all that kind of stuff. You have a lot of freedom to deliver in the way you decide you want to. . . . it’s that having the structure and the vision and the ‘this is where we are going, this is how the organization is structured to get there, this is your part in the organization, this is how you contribute to it’ . . . . . . there have been two or three occasions when somebody has come to me and earmarked me for something: so it’s like my skills have been recognised and they’ve been thinking about the most appropriate person for the job and I’ve been identified as such. And that’s made me feel really valued. In claiming that ‘(o)rganisations invest massive resource in their people yet, all too often, fail to realise this investment’ (Bramley corporate brochure) – the statement upon which a significant proportion of the management development

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Figure 9.1 Feeling Valued – The Factor Clusters

training conducted by Bramley is premised – Bramley is perhaps being overly kind to its corporate clients. As the data below suggest, the argument can be made that ‘staff are our greatest asset’, whilst existing as a near-ubiquitous rhetoric and the subject of numerous training and development programmes, has in many cases yet to be translated into the routine, daily management practices which reference to the investment of ‘massive resource’ implies.

Feeling valued? Well, not always Drawing on the data from both studies, there is ample evidence of employees’ expectations of feeling valued, and their experience of both when this occurs and when it does not. That the expectation exists is apparent from the resonance which questions concerning feeling valued had with participants and the readiness with which they spoke about their experiences in this regard. That their expectations are not always met is equally apparent from the data themselves. One aspect of feeling valued which comes through strongly from both sets of data is the importance of the ‘personal touch’, of the kind of one-to-one interaction in which the leader demonstrates genuine knowledge of and concern for the person as an individual and tailors their intervention – be it praise, recognition, constructive criticism or whatever – to that individual. So, for example, a member of the support staff at Lambton College said: I would like to know over the next year that (the new head of department) has got to know us as individuals, so . . . can appreciate that you started

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Marian Iszatt-White off not knowing much about something and now you know more about it, or that something was difficult for you and you persevered with it. And gives you that specific feedback, because I think that . . . show(s) that the person’s interested and aware and . . . I’d do anything for a leader like that.

And similarly from a member of the teaching staff: . . . And the way I would feel valued is being asked, particularly, how what I do feeds into the way the college is going. What is it that I need to do to move the college forward to the next . . . whatever the next stage is for us. Whilst the previous two participants were ambivalent as to whether their expectations in this regard were likely to be met, there were other examples of where the personal touch was clearly lacking. For example, one training consultant at Bramley said (rather plaintively!): . . . well, I don’t know what they think about me, I really don’t. But it’s been so long that I don’t . . . My guess is it would feel quite nice, but I can’t . . . (shrugs). Where it is perceived to have developmental intent, criticism can also be seen as valuing: it is implicit in being given development opportunities that you are seen as having the capacity to improve. That this, in itself, is valuing was recognized by, for example, the Admissions Registrar of Lambton: . . . any professional development is a way of, you know, giving you a pat on the back anyway, because it’s saying you already do really well, but you know, you will be even better if you have the opportunity to develop in this way. So anything that comes up, if you’re encouraged to do that, that’s really positive. Staff also felt valued by recognition of the difficulties of their job or their personal commitment in dealing with them, irrespective of the outcomes achieved, although it was more often the absence of this recognition than its presence which was felt. For example, after listing a number of personal difficulties which had led her to go from full-time to part-time, one teacher at Lambton said: Now I worked – this sounds real sour grapes – but I worked really hard to hand over, and I handed over spick, span and perfect – and this is a team I built up, I started it, it’s the biggest one in the college – and it’s such a little thing, but on my last day nobody, nobody, not one person said thank you. . . . All it needed was just somebody to say, ‘thanks, we know it was hard’ . . . and nobody. So I just . . . (shrugs).

Valuing employees 183 A related issue is that of being consulted in respect of issues which concern them. Thus a training consultant from Bramley, speaking about their experience with a previous employer, said: . . . what the organization did was invited everybody who was involved in delivering that piece of work to a review. So other opinions about how it went and what they could learn from it and how they could improve working with that kind of big client . . . I felt really involved, and that my opinion counted. The failure to consult – which, as with recognition of difficulties, was often felt to be notable by its absence – was seen as undervaluing both their professional expertise and their feelings as people. One department was told that its workroom was to be moved and that a system of hot-desking was to be introduced. One of the teachers in the department commented: . . . and when we tried to say, ‘that’s going to be a problem because you’ve got people in Health and Social Care – we’ve got so much paper’ . . . but we couldn’t get (the vice-principal) to see, and I think he just thought we were being silly. Which, of course, just made the whole thing worse, because we want to work together as a team but we can see all kinds of problems – but it was just ‘this is going to be done, you are just being silly people for having concerns about being able to do your job’ and people felt very angry about that. With its additional focus on leadership, the second study provided ample opportunity to explore the ‘valuing practices’ of leaders and the extent to which they are perceived as falling short of the organizational rhetoric. The next section gives examples from the data of ‘valuing practices’ by leaders and considers them in the context of the ‘emotional labour’ (Iszatt-White, 2005) which they (rather than their employees) are called upon to practise in order to meet employee expectations.

Leading with emotions: the role of emotional labour ‘Valuing practices’ can take a variety of forms. From attending a staff retirement party, through giving detailed, quality feedback on a teaching observation report, to saying ‘good morning’ to staff while walking down the corridor, the principals observed in the second study consciously undertook a number of activities designed to make public their appreciation of work done or to present ‘the human face’ of leadership to their staff. The data also reinforced the notion of the ‘personal touch’ and college leaders’ awareness of its importance. Thus valuing staff is acknowledged to be about spending time with them, being accessible to them, and recognizing their interests as people rather than merely seeing them as resources to fulfil tasks: Fieldnote extract: The Principal leaves his office to go ‘walkabout’ round the college. A recent staff survey said senior management were too distant – trying

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Marian Iszatt-White to address this by being seen about the college regularly. He says hello to a member of staff in the corridor, and comments on England’s performance at cricket over the weekend: knows the member of staff is a keen fan. Goes out to the main gate to talk to security staff: there was trouble at the college bus stop the previous evening and wants to check the staff are ok. Then goes to the staff room for a cup of coffee and a chat with whoever’s there: making himself visible to anyone who wants to talk to him.

The valuing effect of constructive criticism was also recognized, as it acknowledges that people who want to progress need to hear about their weaknesses as well as their strengths. The principal of Lambton worked hard to give detailed, specific feedback on the lessons he observed as part of the college-wide lesson observation scheme, also seeing it as an important link with teaching and learning in the college given that he no longer taught himself. The following example shows him giving a colleague practical advice about how to progress her career in a way that is neither patronizing nor artificially encouraging: Fieldnote extract: Helen (Curriculum Manager) has recently been unsuccessful in gaining promotion and has asked Steven (Principal) for feedback as to why she was not selected. Steven wants to make sure the meeting is positive and developmental, as he doesn’t want her to feel undervalued and leave her current job. He talks Helen through the grade sheet completed by those who assessed her application against pre-set criteria for the role, giving equal weight to the strengths and weaknesses she demonstrated: e.g. clear depth of knowledge in her own area, but didn’t demonstrate thinking or ability in the wider areas she would need to step up to if she got the job. Steven encourages Helen to draw conclusions about where she needs to develop in order to be more successful next time and suggests training opportunities and project work which might help her gain the skills and experience she needs. Conversation is honest and open, gives clear reasons for the decision made without being apologetic or patronizing, and focuses on the practical steps required for future development. The following extract shows the principal turning a group occasion into a series of one-to-ones by ‘picking off’ individuals in conversation, rather than making a speech to the whole group, in order to offer specific, differentiated feedback and recognition to each. The extract also illustrates what may be described as the other side of the ‘valuing practices’ coin, namely holding someone accountable for poor performance: the rationale here is that praise for good work is devalued – and with it the person performing it – if others are not held accountable for poor work: Fieldnote extract: A-level results day. Large numbers of teachers and support staff have turned up, during their holidays, to enable students to collect their results from the college. A huge amount of organization has gone into ensuring a smooth process, including photographs and interviews with successful

Valuing employees 185 students for next year’s prospectus, and counselling and advice for those who have done less well than expected. The Principal does the rounds of staff, sitting with them individually and talking about the results for their department, commenting on particular successes and obstacles overcome. Also talks with support staff, asks them how they are coping with the large number of students arriving for their results, and thanking them for their support in making the day run smoothly. Has an individual word for everyone. Discretely ticks people off his list when he has spoken to them – wants to get round everyone in the course of the morning. Notes someone who is absent – has missed the last two results days despite committing to attend – will get a written warning this time. That these and other valuing practices entail emotional labour is acknowledged by college leaders. Enthusing about England’s cricket score or making polite smalltalk over coffee in the staff room may require enforced cheerfulness and displays of interest when one’s mind is actually on balancing the budget or a disciplinary meeting to be conducted later the same day. Such requirements for ‘surface acting’ (Hochschild, 1983) can be found in all walks of life and, indeed, most social interactions. It is in the realms of ‘deep acting’ (Hochschild, 1983), and of the relationship between the emotions as managed and those actually felt, that the complexity of emotional labour as practised in leadership roles can be witnessed. The following example from the data illustrates the practice of emotional labour in leadership, and leaders’ awareness of it as a job requirement, more explicitly: Fieldnote extract: The Principal (Steven) prepares for his weekly 1:1 meeting with his Vice Principal (Paul), who is under-performing. Steven says he is sympathetic towards Paul because he has recently been ill with a virus, but cannot let this be used as an excuse for his long-standing inefficiency. Checks his notes of recent meetings to remind himself of what is outstanding and what Paul has committed to do. Sees Paul as falling short of the standards appropriate to someone of his level of seniority: has tried coaching and encouraging him but now feels that he needs to take a tougher line and hold him to account. Takes a hard line with him in the meeting: refuses to be diverted by Paul’s assurances that ‘things are happening at an operational level’ and impresses on him the need to take control and deliver on time. Appears angry with Paul about lack of progress on key issues and shows strong disappointment at his apparent failure to see the seriousness of his position. Both in terms of the prolonged observation of his leadership practices and through recorded interviews regarding his work as a leader, Steven’s values and beliefs about educational leadership were abundantly clear: he felt that he and his team were mutually responsible for doing whatever was necessary to ensure the best possible learning experience for students within the college. Activities as varied as picking up litter in the college courtyard and working with local feeder schools

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to improve secondary level provision were all done in the context of promoting and exemplifying these values. At the same time, Steven would (and did) describe himself as being un-charismatic and ‘linear’ in his style of leadership: he saw his strengths as being organizational and critical rather than inspirational and visionary. For this reason, he often had to show stronger emotion than he felt and, in the case of his Vice Principal – who he recognized as having strong people skills but being poorly organized and not always as committed as his role required – to be ‘tougher’ than it was natural for him to be. Where his expectation that shared professional values would motivate Paul to do what was required failed, he exhibited a firm, almost disciplinary, demeanour towards him in order to emphasize the importance of the work to be done. But in a reversal of its original purpose, the performance of ‘deep acting’ here – previously understood as an attempt to create congruence by bringing underpinning beliefs in line with displayed emotions (Hampson and Junor, 2005) – is intended to deceive the recipient as to the strength of the emotion displayed rather than to deceive the actor as to the extent to which the emotion is grounded in belief. The beliefs thus prompt or cause the acting, rather than deriving from it, whilst still requiring a degree of amplification or acting to give them impact for a third party. This is an important departure from our previous understanding of how and why emotional labour may be undertaken. The existence of some degree of congruence of displayed emotions (i.e. emotional labour) with felt emotions seems typical of the principals shadowed in the second study. So, for example, when asked whether leadership was a performance, one principal responded: It’s an effort of will – one which I find I’m naturally able to make. I couldn’t live a myth. I could not sustain a performance which fundamentally is not me. And I’ve come to recognize that I can [make that natural effort], but not everybody can. That there is a personal cost to this labour, that leaders experience and have to find a way of dealing with the ‘emotional dissonance’ (Zapf and Holt, 2006) that results, is also evident. As one college principal expressed it: The only place where I am ever miserable is within my immediate office, with the people who work immediately to me. Because if I walk down the corridor looking unhappy and that person hasn’t seen me for three months, they will then regard me as inconsistent. So you have to also bear in mind the frequency and the context in which people see you, what their expectations are, and of course, if I’m going to maintain my sanity, I have to have the option of completely losing it! The need to appear emotionally consistent with staff is so taken for granted here as to not even appear to the principal herself as something she has to work to achieve. By contrast, however, the need for a bolthole where she can ‘lose it’ – show the emotions she is really feeling – suggests an almost constant emotional

Valuing employees 187 labouring in the maintenance of her professional, consistent image beyond her office door.

Conclusion This combination of value congruence and emotional labour, often in the pursuit of a mutually perceived professional image, appears to be a new and interesting aspect of the emotional labour construct as it occurs within the professions and other environments where the ‘pure’ commercialization of emotion may not apply. Arguably, in professional and public sector situations (O’Brien, 1994), the employment of emotion work may take the form of a routine mechanism of social control for the achievement of socio-cultural and/or wider political ends. By mediating what information is conveyed in leader–staff interactions, it serves to create a particular relationship between the parties involved – be it one of trust, authority, fear or support – which operates to further particular aims and objectives within the organization or beyond. This idea of ‘control through communication’ (Yates, 1989) is echoed in the various communication genres (Yates and Orlikowski, 1992) – newsletters, staff briefings, satisfaction surveys, appraisal reports, etc. – each loaded with emotional as well as factual content, through which the leadership shapes the information it chooses to share. By explicating in rich detail some of the ‘valuing practices’ undertaken by college leaders, and their sense of the emotional labour thus entailed, this chapter has sought both to contribute to our understanding of the situated practice of leadership and to extend the ‘emotional labour’ construct further into the professional arena. The chapter has also made a contribution to our understanding of employees’ experience of feeling valued at work in the face of widespread management rhetoric. In documenting and offering a typology for what makes employees feel valued at work, it is hoped both to give a flavour of the extent to which this is now a routine part of employees’ expectations, and to suggest where management efforts to live up to organizational rhetoric might best be deployed. The three factor clusters of Fairness, Inclusion and Environment highlight distinct elements of how employees perceive, at an individualized, personalized level, the psychological contract between their employer and themselves. In turn, they exemplify ‘the way we do things around here’, how the organization makes the individual a part of itself, and elements of reciprocity in the work context. Whilst clearly suffering from a number of limitations, of which scope is perhaps the most obvious, it is hoped that the studies thus described are sufficient to prompt further interest – and research – into the generalizability of the factor clusters, the links between ‘feeling valued’ and aspects of discretionary effort, and the further development of the ‘emotional labour’ construct in professional contexts.

Note 1 This chapter was first presented as a paper to the 26th International Labour Process Conference, Dublin, 18–20 March 2008.

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10 Games leaders play Using Transactional Analysis to understand emotional dissonance Sara Lodge

Introduction In 2004 Simon Sebag Montefiore wrote Stalin, The Court of the Red Tsar, a history of Stalin’s leadership and his imperial court. Sebag Montefiore followed this in 2007 with Young Stalin, an account of the Bolshevik’s early years in which the origins of his brutal and charismatic leadership style can be seen. While Sebag Montefiore states in the introduction to Young Stalin that he purposely avoided writing a psycho-history, he also states: ‘Yet the formation of Stalin’s character is particularly important because the nature of his rule was so personal. Furthermore, Lenin and Stalin created the idiosyncratic Soviet system in the image of their ruthless little circle of conspirators before the revolution’ (Sebag Montefiore, 2007: xxxi). That adult behaviours are strongly influenced by childhood experience is nothing new; it is central to most theories of child development. That leaders – in fact all humans – co-create in their families, teams, organizations, and countries idiosyncratic social systems based on previous social systems they have experienced is not new either; it is a central premise of social constructivism. However, by bringing together two different theoretical approaches – leadership emotion work and Transactional Analysis (TA) – a new and potentially significant dimension can be added. This chapter uses TA, a theory that encompasses child development, personality and systemic constructivism, to gain a more nuanced understanding of one element of leadership emotion work, that of emotional dissonance. In doing so it demonstrates that leadership is deeply personal and provides insight into the relationship between emotional dissonance in leaders and negative outcomes such as emotional exhaustion and burnout. It also emphasizes not just the desirability but the necessity of personal development at leadership levels.

Transactional Analysis (TA) and emotional dissonance Bringing together two theoretical approaches presents both an opportunity and a challenge. Each discipline is based on a set of premises and assumptions familiar to students of the discipline but alien to others, and these assumptions have to be

Using TA to understand emotional dissonance 193 explained in a way that makes them accessible and the insights credible to nonpractitioners. As the theory of emotional labour has been set out elsewhere in the book, this chapter will initially focus on emotional dissonance and on clarifying some of the current understanding of the phenomenon. There will then follow an introduction to TA with specific attention paid to the models referred to in the research and the assumptions on which TA is based, in order to position them as valid tools with which to analyse emotional dissonance. The process by which the interviews took place, and the constraints and limitations of the interview process will then be described. From there, evidence from the interviews will be used to give a TA-based explanation of what might be happening during the occurrences of emotional dissonance. The implications of this and the potential for further exploration will then be discussed. Emotional dissonance Emotional dissonance has been variously defined as, for example, the discrepancy between displayed and felt emotions (Hochschild, 1983); the disturbing disequilibrium between expressed and felt emotions (Schaubroek and Jones, 2000) or as ‘the display of unfelt emotions and the suppression of felt but organisationally undesired emotions’ (Zapf and Holz, 2006: 13). It has been described and measured as an antecedent or as a consequence of the performance of emotional labour, as well as an inherent component of emotional labour and even as distinct from emotional labour (Van Dijk and Kirk, 2006). Zapf et al. (1999) differentiate between four dimensions of emotion work: (i) being required to display positive emotions, (ii) being required to display and deal with negative emotions, (iii) the requirement to sense the emotion of the other party, and (vi) dissonance between felt and displayed emotions. They proposed that the first three dimensions of emotion work are not necessarily stressful in themselves but may become so through emotional dissonance, considering emotional dissonance the ‘stressful aspect of emotion work’ (Zapf and Holtz, 2006: 5). Correlation has been found between emotional dissonance and emotional strain/burnout. However, the relationship between emotional dissonance and emotional strain/ burnout is not a straightforward one. Van Dijk and Kirk (2006: 103) comment that ‘researchers have also argued that emotional dissonance is an inevitable state arising from the performance of emotional labour although it has been noted that it is not necessarily harmful to all employees and does not always result in emotional exhaustion’. On the issue of emotional strain in the leadership role, Humphrey (2008: 10) states that ‘leaders are more likely to identify with their jobs’ and ‘ while “emotional labour that is consistent with one’s personal identity may actually be beneficial to the actors” psychological well-being . . . the high identifiers were more likely to suffer emotional exhaustion’. From this we can see that there is no straightforward causal link between emotional dissonance and emotional strain. Some who experience emotional dissonance do not experience emotional exhaustion, and high identifiers are more likely to correlate with emotional strain. This suggests that something else is happening that is unaccounted

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for by current theoretical approaches, and this is where the chapter hopes to shed light on emotional dissonance in leadership roles using TA. Transactional Analysis Transactional Analysis (TA) is a theory of child development, personality and communication developed by Eric Berne, Claude Steiner and other ‘radical psychiatrists’ in the 1950s and 60s in California and was originally developed as a profound psychotherapy for individuals, couples, families and groups. Berne deliberately used ‘words that were immediately understandable to most people’ (Steiner, 1974: 4) to make the complex and profound concepts accessible to his clients, and as a result of his publication of Games People Play in 1964 TA concepts became part of everyday vocabulary and entered the world of pop psychology. This and the lack of empirical grounding for the theories may have led to the concepts subsequently being devalued – accessibility being mistaken for simplisticness. However, TA theories are now used in education, training and organizational development as powerful tools to enhance learning and understanding of communication, organizational dynamics and systems. Some of the most recent developments have charted a shift to the use of ‘systemic, transactional analysis concepts’ (Schmid, 2008: 17) as a way of acknowledging and understanding, among other issues, the multiple roles, multiple contexts – organizational, professional and personal – and the multiple background levels – such as the psychological or ulterior level – that influence individuals and organizations at any one time. For the purposes of this chapter, however, we are going back to basics, precisely because the accessibility of the models makes them easy to explain to nonpractitioners, and in order to rehabilitate the models and provide more empirical grounding by demonstrating their continuing relevance to a recent area of research – that of emotion work in leadership. What follows is an explanation of ego states, script and games: three key TA concepts.

Social and psychological levels That we communicate at two different levels – the social/conscious level and the subconscious/ulterior level – is a basic TA premise. Generally there is congruence between the two levels; sometimes, however, the messages communicated by the two are different and there is incongruence. On these occasions the behavioural outcome of the interaction is always determined at the ulterior level, most often by the Child ego state – see explanation of ego states below. TA practitioners learn to pick up on this incongruence by relearning the kind of intuition that we have as children but is trained out of us as adults, the ‘nonconscious process of intuitive (clinical) evaluation that occurs without conscious attention or reasoning’ (Bove and Rizzi, 2009: 40). This is described as ‘thinking Martian’; looking out for incongruities and mismatches that give clues to what is happening at the psychological level.

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Ego states model A way of modelling our conscious and subconscious states is by using ego states, the most basic TA model. There are many ego state models, but for the purposes of this chapter we’ll be referring to Hay (2009). We can consider that we have three parts to our personality or ‘ego’ known as Parent, Adult and Child (see Figure 10.1). Berne defined these as ‘coherent systems of thought and feeling manifested by corresponding patterns of behaviour’ (Berne, 1975: 30). They are always written with a capital letter to distinguish them from parents, adults and children. External and internal ego states Hay clarifies Berne by explaining that these may be viewed as a set of internal ego states – the Parent ego state consisting of patterns of thoughts, feelings and behaviours we’ve copied from parents and parent figures as children and that we continue to add to during our lives; the Adult ego state consisting of thoughts, feelings and behaviours that are a full adult response to what is happening in the here and now; and the Child ego state consisting of feelings, thoughts and behaviours experienced and used as a child that are recorded and built up like tree rings as we grow. Also, there is a set of behavioural ego states which is what others can observe externally. The behavioural ego states can look like a particular ego state from the outside but may have arisen from another one internally – like the bully who appears parental but may be reacting internally from scared internal Child. We can also experience one internally while displaying another, such as when we are apparently engaged in a presentation or meeting (Adult) while internally judging the spelling mistake in the agenda (Parent) or wishing to be outside in the sun (Child). It was the connection between incongruence between internal ego states and external behavioural ones in TA and the discrepancy between displayed and felt emotions in emotional dissonance that gave face validity to using one to explore the other. We can revert to archaic Child or Parent patterns of feelings, thoughts and behaviour as adults. When we move into archaic Parent or Child ego state we do

Figure 10.1 The Ego States Model Source: Berne, 1964

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it out of awareness. We don’t realize we are behaving/thinking/feeling as we did as a child or as our parents might have done. In these situations we ‘discount’ or ignore elements of reality. When we are in Adult ego state we are in full consciousness, and are using full adult capabilities, without discounting.

Script From birth we begin to develop our own unique frame of reference on the world in response to our experience of it. Frame of reference in TA terms refers to ‘an overall perceptual, conceptual, affective and action set, which is used to define the self, other people and the world’, which acts as a filter on reality (Schiff et al., 1975: 50). ‘The role of the Parent (ego state) in a person’s frame of reference is pivotal . . . since parental definitions lay down the parameters for all a person’s thinking, feeling and behaviour’ (Schiff et al., 1975: 52) Our parents or other caregivers consciously and subconsciously, verbally and non-verbally provide us with definitions of ourselves, others and the world from the day we are born, which we then interpret and adopt. Script forms part of our frame of reference, and we discount elements of reality to fit with our script. Script is one of the most important theories in TA because ‘it gives us a way of understanding why people behave in the ways they do’ (Stewart and Joines, 1987: 113). ‘Script theory is based on the belief that people make unconscious life plans in childhood or early adolescence which influence and make predictable the rest of their lives’ (Steiner, 1974: 23). When we are born we are helpless in a hostile world and we have to find ways of getting our needs met to survive – a way of making the chaos predictable. We search for a pattern to help us make sense of the world (Hay, 2009) and script provides us with that pattern. Parent messages Script comprises a number of different elements, one of which consists of messages we got from our parents that form part of our Parent ego state. The information our parents provide for us in childhood takes many forms, but for the purposes of this chapter we are interested mainly in information given in the form of ‘commands’. Commands are the things children are told to do by their parents, for example ‘work hard, play hard’, ‘speak when you’re spoken to’ or ‘eat everything on your plate’. Depending on how often the commands are given, the non-verbal messages and what else is happening at the time, these commands can assume a great deal of power to a child and be adopted as part of our script. These messages are referred to as Parent messages in TA, as they form part of our Parent ego state. Life course and script character As children we are unable to distinguish reality from story so they get mixed up. Stories and myths in the form of fairy stories, nursery rhymes, TV programmes and family stories provide predictable patterns to make sense of the world because

Using TA to understand emotional dissonance 197 the same themes and patterns arise in them and the same characters turn up. Script theory asserts, therefore, that to make sense of the world as children we invent or adopt a story – a life course – that seems to fit with our experience of how to get our needs met, mitigates against the unpredictability of the world and forms part of our frame of reference. We also choose a script character for ourselves, based on the familiar characters from the stories we’ve heard that would enable us to accommodate our Parent messages. Our life course can often be summed up in a simple phrase or sentence and can be what springs to mind when people think of an individual – ‘it always happens to me’, for example, or ‘square peg in a round hole’. So powerful is our script that we construct systems of reality to fit with it – subconsciously choosing the characters we need for our story through the relationships we form, selecting what we perceive, discounting elements of reality, and joining professions and organizations to further it. Script consists of our subconscious Child strategies for getting the unconditional love and acceptance we needed as children. TA works from the premise that everyone has a script, though some are banal where little happens and are not grandiose like Stalin’s. We play out our script in our adult lives to a greater or lesser degree. When something in the present reminds us of a situation from childhood or challenges our script beliefs we are ‘rubberbanded’ (Stewart and Joines, 1987: 111) back to that situation and replay the childhood scenarios and our child strategies for getting our needs met in the present. We are not aware that the way we are behaving is not an appropriate Adult response. We may engage in transference which means that we don’t see people for what they are; we transfer the image of someone else onto them and respond to the image, not the real person (Jervis, 2001, cited in Bove and Rizzi, 2009: 40). It may, however, be apparent to an onlooker who sees us repeat patterns of behaviour or who recognizes that our response is not proportionate or appropriate to the person or situation.

Psychological games Psychological games are unsatisfactory behavioural patterns with specific subconscious elements that are one of the ways we further our script. They have a set of characteristics, the more of which are present the more likely it is that a game is being played. The characteristics are: • • • • •

Repetition – the same patterns occur. Predictability – there’s a sense of inevitability about what will happen. Hidden agenda – while the social level interaction is plausible there is something else going on below the surface. A switch point – a point where the social level is dropped and the hidden agenda becomes overt. The payoff – a familiar negative feeling that confirms a belief about ourselves and the world or other people (Hay, 2009), i.e. confirms our frame of reference.

We all spend time playing psychological games.

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For a game to take place there have to be at least two people who are willing to play. We all have weak spots – subconscious script beliefs about ourselves, others and the world we need to reinforce that make us susceptible; painful things in the past we want to avoid for example, hence we all get embroiled in games. Once we’ve found someone who has a corresponding weak spot (a Rescuer who finds someone who has a Victim tendency, for example – see Drama Triangle below) a series of exchanges take place that on the surface are quite plausible. An onlooker (or even a player at some level) may feel at some level something isn’t quite right. We have an intuitive sense that attracts us to people who play our particular game. These may continue for some time – minutes, months or years. Finally, however, the switch happens. The subconscious dynamic breaks the surface and the real agenda becomes apparent. The players are often left wondering how it happened. All parties are left with a negative payoff – a bad feeling, generally familiar, and the confirmation of beliefs about themselves, others and the world that form their frame of reference on the world. The bad feelings can feel like good feelings in the player who ends up feeling superior or ‘one up’.

Drama Triangle An easy way to understand and analyse the dynamics of a game is to use the Drama Triangle devised by Stephen Karpman in 1968 and still used today. He saw that psychological games were similar to theatrical drama and borrowed from drama the action roles of persecutor, rescuer, and victim, though these are written with a capital letter when referred to as part of a psychological game. In the Persecutor and Rescuer roles, the player takes a ‘one up’ position in relation to others and the rest of the world. In the Victim role the player takes a ‘one down’ position. Karpman identified that ‘drama begins when these roles are established or anticipated by the audience’ (Karpman, 1968: 40) and that drama could be analysed through the switches in roles. He placed the three roles on a triangle to show how they interact with each other. Hay (2009) uses the example of James Bond films using the predictability of outcome, the way the audience is made aware of the hidden agenda allowing them

Figure 10.2 The Drama Triangle Source: Stephen B Karpman, M. D. 1967–2008, 2011

Using TA to understand emotional dissonance 199 to anticipate the roles taken, and the way the switching of roles between Bond and the villain creates drama to illustrate the Drama Triangle. The same process is obvious in plays, soap operas and movies, and can sell celebrity magazines and tabloid papers.

Systemic constructivism Scripts are also found in human systems. Jongeward (1973) argues that organizations have scripts just like people, and that the lifelines of organizations can seem to resemble those of people, with some destined to be successful and others not. Krausz (1993: 78) states that ‘individuals create organisations as part of their ongoing programmes [script] based on their theories of how to succeed or fail’. She goes on to say that ‘using script theory to analyse organisational culture may enlarge our understanding of the dysfunctional aspects of organisational culture and behaviour that are introduced by the founders and other parental figures’. Just as script recurs at different levels in human systems, so do games. Games are played by everyone but the games played by leaders, in the board room or in the political sphere, have particular significance because they can affect hundreds, thousands or millions of people. It is this recurrence at many levels and the systemic nature of the concepts that led Kreyenberg (2005) to position TA as a systemic constructivist approach in its own right. In systemic constructivism organizations are viewed as living systems characterized as unpredictable, networked, dynamic, opaque and undeterminable. Kreyenberg proposes that systemic TA concepts can provide a map to navigate a living system and give shape to the apparent chaos. Taking self-similarity as a key systemic constructivist issue she relates games and scripts to fractals, ‘patterns in which the same pattern recurs on every level’ (2005: 3). In this TA exploration of emotional dissonance and as part of the analysis of the interview transcripts we will be paying attention to the recurring patterns identified in the research.

Reasons for playing games It may seem odd that we would engage in dynamics that lead to negative feelings. However, games have psychological advantages that are not immediately apparent: • • •

We get our needs for attention, stimulation, social contact and recognition met, though negatively. The beliefs that form our frame of reference on the world and make it safe and predictable are confirmed. We avoid addressing an uncomfortable situation in the present and a pain in our past.

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Sara Lodge It gives us something to think about and talk about with others – much talk around the water cooler and across the dinner table is about games.

Research methodology The aim of the research was to analyse examples of emotional dissonance in leadership using a TA framework to gain a more nuanced understanding of the phenomenon. The research sample consisted of four Chief Executives (CEOs) who kindly donated their time from a variety of organizations. CEOs were chosen because the impact of their decisions is greater than most. The organizations led by the CEOs were varied and included: a large public sector organization, a fastgrowing SME, an insurance company and a higher education establishment. Initial semi-structured interviews of around two hours were conducted by a TA practitioner to gather qualitative data. There were many demands and constraints on the process. First was the need to build rapport and trust very quickly as the information required from the interviewees was extensive, personal and in-depth. Apart from one in the sample the CEOs were unfamiliar with the TA models involved and had not had in-depth coaching – important because the questions asked required a high level of reflective practice. There was limited opportunity for follow-up with interviewees, though one CEO made himself available for a second interview and one for a third. While the interviews had some of the features of a coaching session they were practitioner-led in that there was an agenda set by the practitioner and an intention to elicit specific information from the interviewees. This meant that the questions, while open, were leading in the sense that they were aimed at eliciting certain information and exploring specific areas of experience. While the same basic structure was used for the interviews, the questions did not invite a uniform response, and pursuing the responses inevitably led to further divergence from the interview structure. The inherent constraints in the process were mitigated against to some extent by means of clear ‘contracting’ at the beginning of the interview – interviewees were made aware that they were in control of the process and could decide not to pursue the question, the taping or the interview itself at any point. The research protocol was sent out to all interviewees before the initial meeting. Interviewees were reassured that the recordings of the interviews would be treated under the Data Protection Act, and used only for the purposes of transcribing the interviews. Each CEO was given the opportunity to discuss the findings of the first interviews. A brief introduction was given to both the concept of emotional labour, the concept of emotional dissonance, and to the basic principles of TA involved, to enable the interviewees to make their own connections during the course of the interview. The questions were structured to move from the general to the specific in order to encourage trust and to build rapport and set the reflective tone from the beginning. The interviews were transcribed and a situational analysis undertaken using a TA framework. This required sensitivity to the ‘latent content’ or psychological level in the interviewee’s communication and to the ‘latent response’ to it (Bove and Rizzi, 2009: 42) evoked in the interviewer. The inferences drawn, therefore,

Using TA to understand emotional dissonance 201 were taken not just from direct response to the questions but also from clues in the patterns of communication – the music behind the words. Because, as Berne himself stated, while script is the most important item of equipment an individual brings to a group, it is also the most difficult to investigate (Berne, 1963) the research findings are not presented as definitive, but indicative of themes and connections that are worthy of further research and investigation.

The interview questions In the first interviews the concept of ego states and script were introduced and the interview was structured around five questions. The aim of the first three questions, aside from engaging the interviewee in the process and building rapport, was to give the interviewer important background information required to conduct a transactional analysis of the transcripts. The first three questions were: 1 2 3

What kind of person are you? (life course) What significant messages or ‘slogans’ about yourself, others and the world did you get from your parents? (parent messages) Who were/are the leadership figures that you most admire? (insight into script character)

The second part of the interview focused first on an example of emotional congruence in their leadership role, when the individual was aware that their internal emotional experience was congruent with their external display. Finally, an example of emotional dissonance in their leadership role was requested, where the external emotional display was different to what they were experiencing internally.

The second interviews CEOs were given the chance of a second interview to discuss the findings. In subsequent interviews the characteristics of games, the game process and the Drama Triangle were explained, and the CEO asked to reflect on whether they recognized the game dynamic in the examples of emotional dissonance they had provided. Their responses were explored with the intention of clarifying the game process and uncovering the beliefs that the games were there to reinforce.

Results of the initial interviews In all four interviews the first three questions elicited detailed information about the upbringing, parenting and childhood experiences from each of the CEOs. Each CEO was able to give an example of when their emotions were congruent with internal experience and values, and an example of emotional dissonance in their leadership role when their emotional display was different to their internal experience. Those that had a second interview were able to identify

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the game dynamic in their emotional dissonance examples. The evidence is presented using a combination of direct quotation from the transcripts, and TA analysis of the responses.

Case study one – CEO A A is CEO of a fast-growing organization. He instigated the management buy-out of a failing division that was about to be sold off to save himself and others from potential redundancy, ‘because it looked like no one else was going to do it’. CEO A grew up in a working-class household against a backdrop of the strikes of the 1970s and 1980s, the eldest child of a father who was, ‘out on strike at various times’. This, CEO A stated, ‘had a very strong impact on how I do things’. Life course ‘Triumph over adversity’ was a theme running throughout the first interview, the words and concept occurring 12 times in different contexts along with the related comments: ‘if something is going to make me emotional . . . it’s going to be the underdog wins type of thing’ and ‘even with a really bad hand of cards I’d make something out of it’. CEO A sums himself up at one point in the interview by saying: Perhaps triumph over adversity has been a theme running through my whole life really y’know . . . the working class boy trying to make good, trying to provide a better working environment for people who work here, trying to make a better life for my kids, y’know, perhaps there is in here, somewhere, a sense of constantly trying to triumph over adversity. Interestingly the word ‘trying’ qualifies every action mentioned here. ‘To try’ has particular significance in TA; ‘Children learn to say “I’ll try” to get their parents off their backs’ (Goulding and Goulding, 1997: 56), and the suspicion is that effort will be put in in a way that leads to failure. CEO A gives his reason for instigating the management buy-out as him being almost, ‘forced into a leadership role through adversity . . . that’s the best analogy I can use’. His example of emotional congruence is, ‘where I feel we’ve [the company] come through periods of adversity’ and of emotional dissonance when he fails to triumph. From the consistency of the theme, mentioned so often without prompting, and from the example of emotional congruence chosen, and from his own summing up of himself, it is possible to infer that ‘triumphing over adversity’ is his life course – this is what he has set out in his life to do. Parent messages When asked about the messages he received from his parents about the world, CEO A offered ‘you do have to lead by example’, ‘don’t be a scrounger’, and ‘give

Using TA to understand emotional dissonance 203 people second chances’. Some Parent messages presented more of a problem, however. ‘Strive to better yourself’ combined with ‘working class solidarity is everything’ present a challenge to a child – how do I better myself without breaking with the all-important working class solidarity? As a working-class child with a father in the strikes, the ‘us and them’ of workers and management would have been very much apparent. Certainly scepticism with authority came over strongly, which he recognized stemmed from his working-class background. When asked about the messages he may have got from his parents about leader/managers, A responded, ‘the best way I’d summarise that is . . . the old respect must be earned . . . I don’t expect anyone to respect me automatically’. His own experience of being managed was: I can’t really think of any who have led me very directly who I admire, at no point in my career have I been mentored or brought on by anyone who I would consider to be a very good leader or manager. Indication of script character An individual’s chosen script character originates in the fairy story or stories told in early childhood. Characters that have significance in adulthood may be a reflection of them, however. In taking on a leadership role, CEO A had to reconcile himself to becoming one of the leaders that he had scepticism about and having to earn the respect of others. When asked about leaders that have significance for him, CEO A chose the social philanthropists Leverhume and Cadbury because: I’ve always bought into the notion that leaders need to not only provide satisfying and well-rewarded work for their people but I also think they ought in some way try to improve their lives . . . think that comes from partly the working class background and personal experiences. The social philanthropists provided him with a model that meant he could conform to his conflicting Parent messages of bettering himself but not giving up on working-class solidarity, by adopting a leadership model that looks after the needs of employees. Example of emotional dissonance As part of the management buy-out, CEO A inherited staff member B who was the sales director and had been performing poorly for years in the parent company. Despite being a ‘square peg in a round hole’, the former owners wouldn’t sack B. Mirroring the former owners, CEO A didn’t sack B for a long time either, despite continuing poor performance and the fact that B ‘couldn’t work out what we were trying to do, hadn’t actually done a very good job in the previous ownership structure’. This delay was based on CEO A’s philanthropic belief/Parent message

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that, ‘people get a second chance’ along with ‘a professional desire to turn the situation around’. A series of interactions then occurred between CEO A and B in which CEO A ‘over a period of time, several years . . . sat with him, coached him, [went] through my whole repertoire I could think of to improve this guy’s performance’. CEO A even lied to cover B’s poor performance: ‘I’d be given results which were poor and I’d have to say things like, well, B’s working very hard in this area and he wasn’t working very hard.’ Finally CEO A decided to ‘just get rid of him, so in the end I just got rid of him’. At a social level this happened suddenly: ‘it came as quite a shock to a lot of people that I fundamentally had to ask him to go’. CEO A described it as ‘one of the most difficult things I’ve had to do in my career’ and B left without a reference at a difficult time in his career. The emotional dissonance is clearly stated. While on the surface others in the organization, ‘just saw the same level of interaction and professionalism they see with everybody else . . . a seamless approach’, what had been going on below the surface for CEO A was very different: My behaviour towards him was . . . outwardly, professionally appropriate but inwardly increasingly frustrated . . . I was having to wear this mask of professionalism whereas internally . . . lots of my programming around . . . work hard – he didn’t work hard – he didn’t, he didn’t behave in any way that I considered to be contributing to the business, so I had a huge internal conflict . . . I had a conflict between my professional beliefs and my very basic working class beliefs . . . ‘don’t be lazy’, ‘don’t be a scrounger’, he was all of the things I’d been told not to be, therefore, I had that conflict. When asked if he could identify the ego states involved, CEO A said, ‘I had a huge internal conflict . . . the Child ego state saying he’s not very good . . . and the Parent ego state . . . saying maybe there’s something going on at home’. The ‘discrepancy between displayed and felt emotions’ of Hochschild might therefore be explained in ego state terms as the Child ego state struggling to comply with the Parent messages internally, while externally displaying Adult, professional behaviours. The game A Martian might ask why CEO A tried to cover up the poor performance and took three years before making the decision to sack B, despite knowing that the previous owners had doubts about B’s performance, having continued evidence of this not changing and having the authority to make the decision. B did, after all, hold a position crucial to the success of the organization. A TA analysis of the situation might be that while the example of emotional congruence given was a situation that conformed to his life course – he triumphed over adversity – the example of emotional dissonance given was when the situation didn’t conform to his life

Using TA to understand emotional dissonance 205 course – B was an adversity that CEO A couldn’t triumph over. In that situation his survival felt threatened and he began to replay subconscious childhood strategies in the form of a psychological game in response. To confirm and explore this analysis a second interview was conducted.

Case study one – CEO A – second interview In the second interview an explanation of game theory and of the Drama Triangle was given at the beginning to enable CEO A to make his own connections, if any, between the example of emotional dissonance and the game dynamic. CEO A’s response to game theory was unequivocal: ‘it’s instantly recognisable . . . very interesting – I’m obviously aware of such interactions all the time’. On being reminded of the example of emotional dissonance he gave and invited to reflect on whether it might fit the game dynamic the response was again immediate: ‘yep, absolutely’. On being invited to describe how the example fitted the dynamic, CEO A responded: Maybe I was the Rescuer, attempting to coach this person and this kind of, y’know, problematic individual, then switch to Persecutor when I finally had enough – maybe, er, looking at this model here, the bait was an individual who needed coaching and the weak spot was my ego in terms of my selfbelief that I could turn this person around, and obviously the series of many transactions there, so yes, I can see absolutely how that scenario very much fits with that. On explaining the psychological ‘bait’ – that the Victim in a game may on the surface appear open to support and consciously want support while subconsciously being averse to being helped – CEO A responded: That person (B) was the perennial Victim in that they didn’t want to be helped. . . . this individual was older than me, and more experienced in this kind of business . . . maybe that individual didn’t acknowledge, at a conscious level, that I was capable of helping them. So maybe at a conscious level they weren’t seeing themselves as the unconscious Victim, somebody who needed to be helped, they were just thinking this guy’s taken me on, he’s the boss, I could equally have been the boss if I’d done what he did, he’s less experienced than me, he’s quite a bit younger than me, er, I don’t really see why I should listen to him except that he’s the boss. So the longer it went on, him not listening to me and me – apparently – not doing much about it, y’know, in terms of more forceful interactions i.e. disciplinary or whatever, the more likely it was for him to feel comfortable with that interaction. On describing the ‘advantages’ to game playing, CEO A immediately recognized the social advantages of the Victim position for B:

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Sara Lodge He’d had a problem with alcohol in his past and had become entirely teetotal . . . we’d have meetings after work . . . and when we were all ordering wine he’d order a pot of tea, now clearly that would elicit some discussion, and he would regularly trot out the story rather than just saying ‘I don’t drink’.

CEO A then stated B had a physical disability which meant he ‘felt physically somewhat persecuted, and then so maybe, as you’re referring to this complete victim personality, perhaps these things contributed’. Interestingly, CEO A referred to B on three occasions in the first interview as ‘a square peg in a round hole’ – possibly a description of B’s life course. Certainly it seems that the previous owners of the division who failed to sack him too despite years of poor performance had become hooked into B’s game as well. Further exploration of the game process and the advantages that CEO A might gain from the game resulted in CEO A identifying the ‘scripty’ belief he held that the game was reinforcing: Maybe what it confirmed to me is a subconscious belief that maybe I am not hard enough to be an absolutely top manager, top CEO. . . . People from relatively humble backgrounds always have at the back of their minds even a microscopic speck of doubt someone is going to come along and tap them on the shoulder and say ‘aren’t you that kid from the council estate?’ The game enabled CEO A to confirm a belief that he wasn’t top CEO material, and therefore he was able to meet the Parent messages of striving to better himself but not betraying his working-class roots by being successful but not too successful – not ‘an absolutely top manager’. The repetitive element of games is alluded to in the comment, ‘interestingly I have an individual at the moment who it may be argued is a similar type’.

Case study two – CEO B In the next two case studies only one interview was conducted with each CEO. B was the CEO of a large and rapidly growing organization. He had a challenging childhood, suffering serious illness and spending prolonged periods in hospital alone and dependent on medication. His parents had moved to the UK from overseas and were not good English speakers, so CEO B was expected to play a significant role in their businesses even when a small child. During his hospital stays he learned to play chess, becoming a player of national distinction and since then has excelled in sport as well. His childhood experiences had a big impact on him: I’m still inwardly very, very fiercely competitive, that’s probably because I came from a very underdog position . . . I wanted to not only compensate for

Using TA to understand emotional dissonance 207 that but . . . be better than everybody else as a result, and I’ve found that’s been the constant theme all along. Life course CEO B is a self-confessed game player. Winning and playing by the rules were themes that recurred often during the interview. They form the basis of his examples of emotional congruence, which CEO B described as ‘when I’m in strategic negotiations with other company CEOs . . . such a meeting of minds, straight to the point, no problems, executed . . . within the rules’. His example of emotional dissonance is when someone does not play by the rules, and CEO B refers to playing by, breaking or manipulating the rules 14 times during his explanation. From the level of recurrence of the theme, the fact that it forms the basis of his example of emotional congruence, and that he recognizes it as a theme in his life, ‘play to win’ could be considered his life course. Emotional dissonance Interestingly in the example of emotional congruence given, CEO B states that in his negotiations with other CEOs, ‘we usually start with where I want to get to’ – i.e. he starts in a one-up position, and as he plays to win, he seeks to end the game in a one-up position too. The example of emotional dissonance given was a ‘particular example of an investment I’ve been working on’ in which CEO B was trying to take over a share in a small business. This had taken over a year because ‘along the way there’s been every possible excuse, reason, hindrance from that side, not to finalise the document’. CEO B starts in a one-down position because the other CEO ‘knows it’s [the deal] to my advantage more than his – he doesn’t need the money because he’s rich . . . but I do’. CEO B finds himself moving around the Drama Triangle, shifting between the one-up and one-down position as the other CEO changes tactics: I shake with you today . . . we’ve made an agreement, on a very significant transaction and we’ve thrashed it out and we’ve involved the accountants and . . . the deal is on! I’ve told my board . . . put my name by it, and then . . . you’ve changed your mind . . . the person has just changed the rules of the game – they’re playing chess, and they’ve just put another piece on the board that wasn’t there. The result is he keeps ending up in a one-down position. When asked about his external display CEO B replied, ‘I would be displaying calm; I would be displaying to him reason’. When asked what was going on internally he replied, ‘anger – ’cos you’ve [the other CEO] not played by the rules, and you’ve not kept your word, and if you don’t keep your word I get somewhat frustrated’. As a means of identifying the internal ego state experienced, the interviewer asked CEO B how old the angry bit inside was. He replied ‘it

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would be sub 12 years old . . . that sense of injustice, the youngest child, small, very weak, and frustration’. The discrepancy between displayed and felt emotions could therefore be explained in ego state terms as CEO B internally experiencing his Child ego state while externally displaying Adult, professional behaviours. CEO B’s description of his experiences pre-12 provide a particularly good example of the phenomenon of rubberbanding mentioned earlier in the chapter. ‘Rubberbanding’ Our parents are often to be found at the ends of the rubberbands as they are so important to us (Stewart and Joines, 1987). CEO B gave a detailed description of the frustration of his pre-12-year-old experiences dealing with his parents and the family business: I would get frustrated trying to explain to them [his parents] something and they couldn’t understand it, and that anger and frustration comes about through a lack of understanding . . . I realised probably that they’re not seeing my position, and there’s a language barrier of the rules of engagement or communication . . . that would take me back to when I was sub twelve. CEO B explains the lasting impact of this experience, ‘when you’re under 12, it can take a long time to get over something like that’. The sense of injustice is very strong; CEO B says, ‘that’s just life and usually that’s injustice, and I hate injustice’. However, ‘by the rules there was a sense of justice’. A TA interpretation could be that excelling at the rules of chess and sport enabled him to achieve the ‘one up’ position of winning as a child, giving a sense of control, justice and order to a world in which he was normally the underdog. When the other CEO stopped playing by CEO B’s rules, CEO B felt in a ‘one down’ position which triggered a replay of the childhood sense of frustration and injustice held in the Child ego state. CEO B expresses this frustration as, ‘What consideration are you going to give me there? You’ve given me no consideration, and I don’t just mean financial, I mean you haven’t thought about me.’ Script beliefs Some of CEO B’s responses provide examples of script beliefs – beliefs about the world that involve a discount and form part of our frame of reference, and that early in our lives seemed to keep us safe and the world predictable. For example, in response to the interviewer asking whether negotiations at this level don’t often involve manipulating the rules, CEO B responds: Manipulating rules is fine, changing the rules is not. Also, if you play by the rules at anything you should be fine . . . if you are able to use the rules to your

Using TA to understand emotional dissonance 209 advantage and understand your opponent you will excel . . . if you bend the rules once you set a precedent, and that’s very difficult to apply. A Martian might question whether viewing life as a chess game could ever be a good strategy, particularly when CEO B himself admits that others have other sets of rules, and particularly when the set of rules CEO B plays by leads him to always win. In his Child state CEO B is discounting his own ability to respond flexibly to the situation.

Case study three – CEO C CEO C has been a significant global success in his career. At the time of the interview he had taken on the CEO role in a large organization despite there being ‘an economic environment which has been challenging’, the organization being ‘starved of working capital’ by the parent company, and with a business model that was ‘bizarre’. CEO C was an only child and lived in a small village during his childhood. He says: We lived in what would have been the largest house and . . . we tended to be possibly seen as slightly more prosperous than the average, and . . . it meant that I probably found it a little more challenging to make peer friends at the school, because people tended to be very envious . . . if you were the only family in the village with a television or a car . . . then you’re setting yourself up as a bit of a target. Life course Success is a theme running through CEO C’s life; in his own words, ‘I suppose I was always quite lucky in that I tended on the whole to succeed in whatever I attempted to do, and that’s quite important‘ and ‘So I was very, very lucky early on because most things that I attempted to do were successful’. When asked if being successful was a way of belonging that led to acceptance in the village, CEO C responded ‘yes, absolutely’ and stated, ‘quite simple things like getting into the school football team, at the age of 11 and then becoming the captain of the team . . . to be able to get into the football team and to be leader of the team, y’know, that was quite nice’. A similar thing happened with the rugby team; ‘because I was actually quite talented they took me on . . . and they would almost protect me as it were’. Being successful meant as a child CEO C went from being a target to being accepted and even protected. The example of emotional congruence given was when his organization developed and offered a product ‘that no one in the world has’ as a result of CEO C’s specific combination of experience and expertise. For this reason CEO C was ‘particularly keen on it succeeding’. The product was very successful, and was chosen by an another organization where ‘they made it quite clear that they selected [us] because of me, so had I not been here they would have gone somewhere else’. The reason this was particularly important was the ‘feeling of personal

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attribution, it’s the fact that someone somewhere has said, yes, this is the guy we need to work with’. Because of the recurrence of success as a theme, and because he acknowledged that being successful was a way of fitting in as a child, and because his example of emotional congruence was the personal attribution of success, ‘succeed’ could be considered his life course, what he set out to do. Emotional dissonance CEO C’s example of emotional dissonance was when the new chair of the parent company, ‘without speaking to me or anyone at [C’s organization] . . . talks about how he’s going to revamp [C’s company] and make it more relevant. Now that is deeply offensive’. CEO C explains, ‘it’s something that really creates . . . deep anger, however, I can’t display this to my team because I am their leader . . . so I have to act cool, calm, in control’. When asked what age CEO C was when feeling the anger, he replied: About 15 or 16, I was brought up in a pretty rough, tough village . . . you had to learn to be quite defensive and sometimes resorting to bashing someone on the nose . . . so I suppose when I’m thinking about [the new chair] I’m thinking about I’d really like to give him a smack on the nose! In TA terms, again the emotional dissonance can be explained in terms of an external display of Adult ego state while internally experiencing Child. Impact on decision making CEO C was able to track the feelings in the emotional dissonance example back to experiences in his past, giving an example of a similar situation earlier in his work life after which he left a job, then right back to a situation in childhood when he acted impulsively and was punished. The interviewer asked CEO C ‘whether that kind of 15 year old element of yourself ever impacts on the adult business decisions that you have to make – whether that be a sticking two fingers up [at authority].’ He replied, ‘Yes, yes, yes, I think it does . . . the 15 year old inside you tends to make you maybe more impulsive’. When referring to the previous work situation when he left a company as a result, he stated: ‘I should have . . . maybe stuck around . . . we [his family] tend to be a little bit wild at heart, maybe we tend to do things that sometimes we shouldn’t do, you know’. Since the interview CEO C has left the organization. The game The repetitive element of the game dynamic was present not just at the individual but also the organizational level. A quick look at the history of the organization would have shown that CEO C was not the first CEO to take on the apparently

Using TA to understand emotional dissonance 211 unviable organization, vowing to turn it around, and then leaving feeling deeply unhappy. A Martian might ask why anyone would want to take on what appeared to be a ‘poisoned chalice’. In Drama Triangle terms CEO C joined the Victim organization as Rescuer, believing he could turn the organization around when others had failed. The switch occurred when the new chair took over the Rescuer position, inviting CEO C to feel the Victim.

Case study four – CEO D CEO D is at the head of a large organization which is undergoing significant culture change. He had a challenging childhood, with a responsive and nurturing mother and an abusive father with alcohol problems. CEO D had undergone in-depth coaching as part of leadership development in his role and was familiar with the ego states model. Life course A theme that became apparent during the interview was thinking independently and not conforming, which was mentioned more than 17 times in the first 1 ½ hour interview, including: I think from what I said earlier, about ‘I am this type of person’, one thing in all that is someone who’s independent or independent minded, you know . . . fundamentally it’s about being your own person I guess. He states that he got from his mother ‘the sense of being non-conformist’ and recognizes that: I suppose this sense of being independent and having to think for yourself came from an early age . . . you know, some sort of inner resilience to get things done and having to fend for yourself . . . it’s ingrained, that might have something to do with some leadership traits that there are, that are . . . erm . . . expressed later. When asked why being independent minded is so important he stated that ‘you’re being genuine if you’re being independent, or true to yourself’ and that ‘I think maybe there’s something about not wanting to be unconsciously manipulated to behave or do things’. When asked about a character that has significance for him, CEO D’s first choice was Philip Marlowe, because he was ‘a bit unconventional, non-conformist, genuine, wanting to do the right thing I guess, a bit of an antihero’. The example of emotional congruence CEO D gave was working with a group of stakeholders, trying to persuade them to be ‘a bit more independent minded . . . I guess I felt passionately about that in a sense, you know, it probably comes back to this business of not always going with the tide or with the flow’. From the number of times the theme arises and the importance given to it, from his summing

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up of himself above, and from the example of emotional congruence given, it might be possible to infer from this that ‘being my own person’ could describe his life course; what he has set out to do in his life. Parent messages As mentioned, CEO D had two parents with very different styles. When asked about the parent messages he may have received as a child, CEO D states that from his father he got, ‘little or nothing . . . nothing of substance’ though he learned as a result of living with his father not to have expectations. From his mother CEO D heard, ‘be tolerant, try to understand people’, and ‘it doesn’t matter what you’ve done, it’s just . . . how are you?’ He mentions that while, ‘she never used these terms but you might guess from her behaviour . . . tolerance and understanding of people . . . a sense of fairness and equity’, and being courageous, persevering and succeeding against the odds. CEO D mentions that ‘I’ve never thought about it until now but . . . perseverance is an attribute of a leader, and I guess maybe subconsciously that might have rubbed off on me, she was very dogged and determined.’ Emotional dissonance The example of emotional dissonance given was summed up generally as ‘this business of agreeing something and then finding that you haven’t agreed it’, with a specific example given of a series of meetings with a line manager described as, ‘you’ve agreed something before, it hasn’t worked, and therefore you need not to do that again, and then you come to the next meeting and they’ve done it again, and you think – I thought we’d discussed [this] last time!’. In these situations his external display is demonstrating, ‘a bit of empathy, agreement’ while internally CEO D is feeling, ‘frustrated . . . that maybe someone is not addressing the issues and that I’m not succeeding in getting them to address the issues’. The discrepancy between displayed and felt emotions could therefore be explained in ego state terms as him displaying his Parent ego state, being tolerant and trying to understand the person, while the Child ego state is experienced internally struggling to comply with the Parent messages. The game The meetings described had the game characteristics of being repetitive and predictable in outcome, with CEO D going into the meetings hoping things may have changed but deep down believing ‘that it might not’ and that ‘we’re just fooling each other’. After the interviewer explained the Drama Triangle in the third interview, CEO D recognized it immediately and saw how he switched roles during the meetings. Despite not being familiar with the model he gave a clear description of his experience of the three roles of the Drama Triangle, including his discounting elements of reality in the Victim role:

Using TA to understand emotional dissonance 213 With a Victim there is that feeling of helplessness . . . I think there are times when I underestimate the potency I have . . . I’m not really thinking in awareness I’ve got some potency, I’ve got authority, I’ve got experience, I’ve got influence, and therefore I should be behaving differently, in a more effective way. You did talk about the drama being the moving from one role to another . . . I feel a little bit guilty about being in the Persecutor role, as if it almost feels as if you’re bullying a bit . . . again out of awareness, the awareness might come later, but . . . when someone’s looking at it from the outside, actually you’re bullying that person now, you’re in a superior position . . . and is the Rescuer something where you’re actually not helping the situation because it’s not sustainable for you to be the Rescuer all the time in a relationship? A Martian might ask why CEO D continues with the same course of action, even when he admits he does not expect it to work. CEO D spontaneously connected the game scenario to a specific event when he was nine or ten in which he tried to impress a policeman by being clever and questioning his sister pointedly in a very serious situation. He said, ‘I remember being admonished by my mother afterwards and that was a rare thing. Presumably I felt bad about it then and I wonder if when I’ve been in the Persecutor role and I’ve felt bad about it is it related back to that incident?’ Certainly the manager involved in the meetings was female and he was displaying not Adult, but Parent behaviours. One interpretation could be that the situation had ‘rubberbanded’ CEO D back to a situation in the past, and he was in Child ego state, trying to conform to his mother’s messages of being tolerant and understanding people. CEO D’s payoff – the familiar bad feeling and the confirmation of beliefs about himself, others and the world – was initially a sense of frustration ‘with myself for not being more honest and I’m not sure why that is, whether I’m just not courageous enough to be honest or if I’m too forthright I’ll create bigger problems’ which occurred in the moment. However, CEO D also recognized another feeling, much deeper, ‘it’s a feeling of hopelessness you might say . . . I can deal with really big problems, political problems, strategic problems, personal problems, uncertainty, all that kind of stuff and that won’t have this kind of impact’. This wasn’t experienced in the moment; instead, ‘my [CEO D’s] experience is it leaks out at 2 or 3 o’clock in the morning’. When asked what he really wanted to say to the manager, CEO D said, ‘“you’ve let me down; I’ve tried to support you, in this situation, why have you let me down”?’ When asked by the interviewer how familiar the feeling of being let down was, he replied ‘maybe too familiar’ and gives the reason that when living with his father he learned ‘you don’t have expectations, do you?’ He stated that ‘I’m not sure I’m as disappointed by that sense of hopelessness as say someone who . . . well, I didn’t expect much anyway so what the hell, y’know?’ A TA interpretation of this could be that having low expectations of people was a way CEO D had found of protecting himself from the feeling of being let down which was so familiar to him in his childhood. In the current situation, when he feels in Victim

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position, feels he’s being let down and is discounting his potency, authority and influence, he is using a Child strategy to deal with a situation that rubberbands him back to the difficult times of his childhood. He says: because you believe you can’t control the situation, you’re almost comfortable being in that sort of Victim state, it suits your mood and disposition at the time. And it’s easier to be there than to perhaps play a different role.

Two types of emotional dissonance What is particularly interesting with respect to the relationship between emotional dissonance and burnout/emotional exhaustion is the two types of emotional dissonance identified by CEO D, one that is experienced in the moment during the course of the meeting and one that is more sustained and stressful, that wakes him in the early hours. While, as mentioned earlier, it is possible to be displaying the behaviours of one ego state while experiencing another in the moment and outside of a game dynamic, this is different to the dissonance that occurs when script beliefs are being challenged, survival feels threatened and archaic behaviour patterns are activated in the form of games. The difference between the two types of emotional dissonance gives a possible explanation of why there is an inconsistent correlation between emotional dissonance and burnout – the emotional dissonance related to burnout is associated with challenges to script and is driven by much deeper psychological influences. There may be a connection between this and the finding that emotional dissonance occurs as a consequence of negatively evaluating emotional experiences as a threat to one’s identity, as claimed by Jansz and Timmers (2002, cited in Van Dijk and Brown, 2006).

Conclusions From the analysis of the four initial interview transcripts it appeared that in all the instances of emotional dissonance described, the discrepancy between displayed and felt emotions could be explained in terms of ego states – there was incongruence between the behavioural ego state displayed and the internal ego state experienced. This was recognized by the CEOs who all made an attempt to identify which ego states were involved in the external display and internal experience. In each case study a ‘theme’ occurred that was identifiable in the lives of the CEOs interviewed, in the interviews themselves, in the way they summed up their lives, in their examples of emotional congruence and in their examples of emotional dissonance. This theme was interpreted as an indication of the CEOs life course; what they have set out to do with their lives, which forms part of their script. In each case the example of emotional congruence given was when reality seemed to conform to their script. The example of emotional dissonance given was when reality did not appear to be conforming to their script.

Using TA to understand emotional dissonance 215 Because script is a childhood blueprint for survival, in the situations of emotional dissonance when script and therefore survival seemed to be challenged, the CEOs were ‘rubberbanded’ back to a childhood situation, and then engaged in a game dynamic. The game characteristics were apparent in each case; a socially plausible situation; a series of interactions that were at first socially plausible but which, on closer analysis, did not quite make sense; switches in roles, and a point at which the subconscious or hidden agenda became apparent. Each ended in negative feelings and all four of the CEOs interviewed identified the ‘payoff’ emotion at the end of the game as being a familiar one, and one that they could trace back with varying specificity to childhood. The two CEOs who had subsequent interviews immediately recognized the game dynamic when it was presented to them, could describe how their examples of emotional dissonance fitted the pattern, and could plot their movement between roles. As it is inevitable that reality will not conform to script (because script is a prerational interpretation of events and messages originally laid down at a time when we could not distinguish reality from stories) it is therefore inevitable that everyone will replay childhood strategies for getting their needs met at some point (is there anyone who has never sulked, never given someone the silent treatment, never played helpless, never got angry in their adult lives?). On that basis we can conclude that everyone plays games and that some of our decisions will be compromised by them. The sample CEOs were not chosen because they were identified as having script and playing games when others don’t, quite the opposite and in fact their life courses – triumphing over adversity, playing to win, succeeding, and being your own person – are all admirable qualities that we actively look for in leaders. The implications of games at leadership levels Script and games have particular significance at leadership levels, however, because leaders lay their scripts on their followers and the decisions made by leaders can impact on hundreds, thousands or even millions of people. On the basis that games further script, we can extrapolate that the CEOs were in script during these incidents of emotional dissonance, and therefore were using subconscious Child or Parent strategies to deal with the situations rather than full Adult capabilities. While games can be played at relatively insignificant levels that only result in discomfort in personal/professional relationships, Karpman (2007) refers to games escalating to levels where ‘1) the number of players increase, 2) the geography widens, 3) the confusion and complexity increases and 4) the stakes increase to the level of dire consequences’ (www.karpmandramatriangle.com accessed 19/1/2012). If leaders escalate games the dire consequences can have massive implications. In June 2009 the Institute of Chartered Secretaries and Administrators (ICSA) prepared a report into board room behaviours as a contribution to Sir David Walker’s review of corporate governance in UK financial services, published in November 2009, which looked at the causes of the financial crash. The ICSA

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report concluded that ‘even well-run companies were capable of making strategic sometimes catastrophic misjudgements’ and that there were links between these misjudgements and board room behaviours which ‘confirms that governance behaviours cannot be viewed in isolation’ (ICSA, 2009: 5). The possibility of a link between the catastrophic misjudgements made that led to the financial crash and the dire consequences of game escalation is by no means remote. Part of Sir David Walker’s findings was that psychological dynamics played a role in the financial crash. In Annex 4 of his report, Sir David Walker gave a summary of the ‘Key psychological issues relating to board performance’ based on his research and literature review, recognizing that ‘behaviour is learnable, changing and dependent on situational demands such as . . . the dynamics of the group itself’ and that ‘susceptibility to social influence is not a trait of those who lack will power; it is hard wired into all of us’ (Walker, 2009: 139). Leadership development Script, however, can be changed. Bringing subconscious material into conscious awareness enables us to have greater choice and control over our actions; for example, if we can become aware of the triggers that lead to rubberbanding we can behave differently. CEO D, who had had intensive coaching himself, recognized the potential of developing coaching skills to reduce emotional dissonance based on his own experience of coaching in a leadership role. He said: you can acquire skills that can help you in that kind of situation . . . which would almost help alleviate the emotional dissonance. If you felt the emotional dissonance plus you didn’t get the result . . . the damage if you like of the dissonance or the tension . . . would have continued for a while. However, had he had coaching skills, CEO D felt that he, ‘probably would have still felt some emotional dissonance during the course of the meeting, but I don’t think that would have been sustained if I’d made, come to a successful conclusion or moved an issue on.’ CEO D recognized that personal development and growing personal awareness would enable him to avoid moving into script behaviour as often as before. CEO D had also instigated a behavioural review of his board which had involved the use of TA models. This had made a big difference to the way the board worked together. He explains: I’m familiar with feeling a Victim . . . y’know, the world’s against me, I can’t do anything about this situation, it’s hopeless, and I just think this [the Drama Triangle] is a useful technique or way of thinking that can help me understand or be more aware when I’m in that situation . . . because I’ve found the Child ego state thing . . . it has been useful, it’s changed our behaviours in our leadership team, we tease each other about it sometimes, y’know, are you in

Using TA to understand emotional dissonance 217 your Child ego state there? And it has changed behaviours, y’know . . . we’re starting to think or become more aware . . . and this could be another useful way of thinking that will help me to be aware when I’m in the Victim, without just going into it out of awareness. Karpman, when describing ‘escape triangles’ or ways of avoiding the Drama Triangle, talks of starting with ‘knowledge of the roles, and switches, knowledge of how and why you got there, and knowledge of the consequences’ (2007: 4). Increased awareness means greater choice of response, and decreases the likelihood of moving into unhelpful behaviour patterns like games. While not advocating that all board members or leaders become psychotherapists or psychologists, awareness of the psychological processes that impact on decisions and behaviour is important. CEO D states: It’s these techniques of learning that can help you shift the balance between conscious thinking and unconscious thinking, it’s these techniques that help you to understand when you’re being manipulated by your unconscious thinking and therefore, no longer by definition is unconscious thinking. The ‘manipulation by unconscious thinking’ is important but is rarely given the significance it deserves in the boardroom. For example, much of the recent work around corporate governance has focused on financial risk but that risk is at the social, overt level. As demonstrated by the case studies, there are risks at the psychological level that will, regardless of what is going on at the social level and the financial risk, determine the outcome of interactions because they are perceived as an existential risk. For example, the existential risk for CEO A, experienced in his Child ego state, was in disobeying his Parent messages and it was this that guided his decision making and may have to some extent compromised the performance of his company – certainly having an underperforming sales director for a number of years will not have helped it. Romm (2002: 455) states that ‘recognising our own involvement in the development of systems means that we can reconsider – with others – the status of our own constructions as potentially generating self-fulfilling effects. A trusting constructivist view suggests that people cannot desist from offering their own constructions . . . but they need to recognise the choices they are making as they create constructions’. Leaders are trusted by followers to make decisions on their behalf. They have a duty to ensure that those decisions are the best they can be. Unfortunately, ‘many executives find that as they become more senior they receive less coaching and become more confused about their performance developmental needs’, and may even ‘unwittingly send off a vibe that while they claim to encourage constructive criticism they really don’t want to hear it’ (Kaplan, 2011). This chapter therefore ends with questions – isn’t continuing leadership/personal development at the highest levels not just desirable but an absolute duty for our leaders, and shouldn’t shareholders and stakeholders be insisting on it?

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References Berne, E. (1968) Games People Play. St Ives: Penguin. Berne, E. (1975) What Do You Say After You Say Hello? (2nd edn). Berkshire: Corgi. Bove, S., and Rizzi, M. (2009) Listening to intuition: Reflections on the unconscious Processes in the Therapeutic Relationship. Transactional Analysis Journal, 39 (1): 39–45. Goulding, M., and Goulding, R. (1997) Changing Lives through Redecision Therapy (rev. edn). New York: Grove Press. Hay, J. (2009) Transactional Analysis for Trainers (2nd edn). Hertford: Sherwood Publishing. Hochschild, A. R. (1979) Emotion work, feeling rules and social structure. American Journal of Sociology, 85(3): 551–75. Hochschild, A. (1983) The Managed Heart: Commercialization of human feeling. Berkeley: University of California Press. Humphrey, R. H. (2008) Affect in Emotion, New Directions in Management Theory. Virginia: Information Age Publishing. Institute of Chartered Secretaries and Administrators (ICSA) (2009) Boardroom Behaviours. (A report prepared for Sir David Walker). London: ICSA. Jansz, J., and Timmers, M. (2002) Emotional dissonance: When the experience of an Emotion jeopardizes an individual’s identity. Theory & Psychology, 12: 79–95. Jervis, G. (2001) Psicologia dinamica (Dynamic psychology). Bologna: Il Mulino. Jongeward, D. (1973) Everybody Wins, TA Applied to Organisations. Boston, MA: Addison Wesley Publishing Company. Kaplan, S. (2011) Top Executives Need Feedback – here’s how they can get it. McKinsey Quarterly (online), available at: http://www.mckinseyquarterly.com (accessed 19 January 2012). Karpman, S. (1968). Fairy tales and script drama analysis. Transactional Analysis Bulletin, 7(26): 39–43. Karpman, S. (2007) The New Drama Triangles. Drama Triangle updates (online), available at: http://www.karpmandramatriangle.com/dt_article_only.html (accessed 19 February 2012). Krausz, R. (1993) Organisational scripts. Transactional Analysis Journal, 23(2): 77–86. Kreyenberg, J. (2005) Transactional Analysis in organisations as a systemic constructivist approach. Transactional Analysis Journal, 35(4): 300–10. Montefiore, S. S. (2004) Stalin, the Court of the Red Tsar. St Ives: Clays Ltd. Montefiore, S. S. (2007) Young Stalin. Chatham: CPI Mackays. Romm, N. (2002) A trusting constructivist approach to systemic enquiry: Exploring accountability. Systems Research and Behavioural Science, Sept/Oct, 19 (5): 455–67. Schaubroeck, J., and Jones, J. R. (2000) Antecedents of workplace emotional labour dimensions and moderators of their effects on physical symptoms. Journal of Organizational Behaviour, 21(2): 163–83. Schiff, J. (1975) Cathexis Reader. New York: Harper & Row. Schmid, B. (2008) The role concept of transactional analysis and other approaches to personality, encounter, and co-creativity for all professional fields. Transactional Analysis Journal, 38 (1): 17–30. Steiner, C. (1974) Scripts People Live (2nd edn). New York: Grove Press. Stewart, J., and Joines, V. (1987) TA Today. Nottingham: Lifespace Publishing. Van Dijk, P. A., and Brown, A. K. (2006) Emotional labour and negative job outcomes: An evaluation of the mediating role of emotional dissonance. Journal of Management and Organisation, 12 (2): 101–15.

Using TA to understand emotional dissonance 219 Van Dijk, P. A., and Kirk, A. (2006) Emotional labour and negative job outcomes: An evaluation of the mediating role of emotional dissonance. Journal of Management and Organisation, 12(2): 101–15. Walker, Sir David (2009) A Review of Corporate Governance and Other Financial Industry Entities, Final Recommendations. London: Financial Reporting Council. Zapf, D., and Holz, M. (2006) On the positive and negative effects of emotions work in organisations. European Journal of Work and Organisational Psychology, 15(1): 1–28. Zapf, D., Vogt, C., Seifert, C., Mertini, H., and Isic, A. (1999) Emotion work as a source of stress: The concept and development of an instrument. European Journal of Work and Organizational Psychology, 8(3): 371–400.

11 Conclusions Management and the ‘Managed Heart’ Marian Iszatt-White

Introduction In this concluding chapter, I want to try to locate some of the themes discussed in the preceding chapters in the wider management literature, and emphasize how ‘on trend’ a book about leadership as emotional labour is at the present time. I will suggest that leadership theory has been at a crossroads for a number of years, and is looking to a more holistic understanding of leadership practice to launch itself forward into a new direction. The role of emotions in leadership work is, I believe, at the heart of this attempt. In framing this argument, the chapter outlines some of the themes in leadership/management thinking which characterize current debates and suggests the resonance of emotion-sensitive approaches. Secondly, the chapter attempts to synthesize the contributions made by the preceding chapters, and to draw out some of the key themes which emerge. With the range of perspectives encompassed within these contributions, this is likely to be a challenging endeavour and will struggle to do justice to all. It will, of course, be a very personal synthesis, and not necessarily one the authors themselves would make or agree with. I hope they will allow me some licence with their ideas in trying to formulate a few of my own. Finally, the chapter will suggest some areas for future research. This is likely to be a fecund ground for discussion, since there is still much to understand about leadership emotional labour and many perspectives from which it might be fruitful to consider it. I will suggest just a few that arise from the work already collected here. No doubt others will occur to readers who, I hope, will be tempted to make their own contributions to the field.

Management . . . In the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, as growth in demand for goods and services by a more affluent population (in the Western world, at least) led to a move away from craft-based production in favour of more mechanized methods capable of producing in greater quantities, we first see the advent of ‘management’ ideas both in practice and in the literature. They are very much a product of their time – and a product of practical industrialists. As small craft shops gave way to

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larger factories – originally ‘manufactories’– and the era of the deskilled production worker began, the core ideas of ‘scientific management’ were developed by Frederick Winslow Taylor. They were first published in his monograph Shop Management (Taylor, 1903) in 1903 and later expanded in The Principles of Scientific Management (Taylor, 1911), published in 1911. Taylor had been working as a lathe operator, and later as a foreman, at the Midvale Steel Works in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, when he noticed the natural differences in productivity between workers, which he attributed to differences in talent, intelligence, or motivation. In attempting to formalize these observations, he was one of the first people to apply ‘scientific’ methods to the problems of production and manufacturing. As well as understanding why and how these differences existed, he wanted to devise a systematic method of analysing and synthesizing work processes that would enable him to develop ‘best practices’ that could then be generalized to other factories. He believed that working practices based on standardization would produce better-quality outputs and more efficient production than the old craft-related ‘rules of thumb’ which he still saw operating around him. Putting this belief into effect, he instigated wide-ranging ‘time and motion studies’ to make careful study of how specific work tasks were accomplished most effectively, and wrote detailed step-by-step procedures based on his findings. The application of these procedures – the bedrock of ‘scientific management’ – was contingent on a high level of managerial control over employee work practices, which necessitated a higher ratio of managerial workers to labourers than previous management methods. The essence of scientific management was efficiency – with workers being just one more resource used in production. And if human resources were not seen as different from any other resources by virtue of their ‘human-ness’ then leadership – or management as it still was – was not seen as ‘human work’: it was about rationality and the meeting of economic and commercial goals. Managers were neither concerned with the feelings and emotions of their workers, nor were they expected – either deliberately or accidentally – to allow their own emotions to encroach upon their work as managers. That these emotions might actually have a positive contribution to make in the achievement of this work was still completely beyond the realms of contemplation. Under this approach, emotionality was seen as a threat to the standardization of work outputs and was dismissed as irrational and unnecessary: something to be suppressed or contained, not to be valued or harnessed. Hardly surprising, then, that Taylor’s methods became a source of friction between workers and managers, and were the origin of the social tensions which came to exist between ‘blue collar’ and ‘white collar’ classes. Emotions might be suppressed, but they could not be eliminated. From this, we can see that the early remit of management was perceived as being to control and administer ‘unwilling’ workers, with the emphasis very firmly on efficient production and task completion. Whilst Taylor had observed that some workers were more motivated than others, he did not suggest that managers should try to motivate those who were more reluctant. Instead, his emphasis was on creating efficient step-by-step work processes that forced workers to operate at the

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required pace. These ideas were the early origins of ‘Fordism’ and brought the development of mass production lines that moved at a certain pace and required workers to keep up. Charlie Chaplin’s film Modern Times – released in 1936 – is a poignant commentary on these early days of industrial management, which saw workers as cogs in a machine and management as those who ‘turned the handle’. By ‘management’ here, we are talking about little more than ‘supervision’ – the near surveillance of machine operatives to ensure close compliance with required procedures and ways of working – a far cry from the complex role we would see as modern management. Far off days indeed! It would still be some years before the word ‘leadership’ would enter the management literature, and would be considered as a separate entity from management in an organizational context. And even this advance made only partial recognition of the role of emotions in leadership work. Early leadership studies were based on the idea that one could identify a ‘one best way’ of being a leader and that the ability to perform in this way was based on a person’s character traits. Through successive approaches – behavioural (most famously the Ohio State University and University of Michigan studies, and Blake and Mouton’s (1964) Managerial Grid), contingent (e.g. Hersey and Blanchard, 1984), transformational (e.g. Bass and Avolio, 1994) and distributed (Gronn, 2003), to name just a few – the role and scope of leadership as an organizational discipline has changed and grown and its focus oscillated between its proximal and distal incarnations, but the role of emotion work has until relatively recently remained peripheral. In more recent times leadership studies have sometimes aligned themselves with business and management theories and models, leading to the inevitable question of the difference (if any) between leadership and management. For instance, a common argument is that leadership transcends the bureaucracy of management and is about ‘doing the right things’ rather than just ‘doing things right’ (Bennis and Nanus, 1985). Similarly, in his book The New Meaning of Educational Change, Michael Fullan (2001) makes the distinction between leadership as relating to such things as mission, direction and inspiration, and management as involving designing and implementing plans, working effectively with people and getting things done. Central to most attempts to distinguish between leadership and management has been the issue of orientation to change. For example, Kotter (1990) defines management as ‘coping with complexity’ and leadership as ‘coping with change’. Despite the obvious appeal of the leadership/management distinction – reflected in the proliferation of books on the former now supplanting such offerings as the previously popular One Minute Manager (Blanchard and Johnson, 1983) – there remains considerable doubt as to whether the two can actually be distinguished in practice, and whether and when this is a useful distinction to try and make. The need for consistency, predictability (Rost, 1991) and a sense of continuity (Gosling and Murphy, 2004) – things normally associated with management rather than leadership – even in times of change, suggests considerable overlap between the two. Similarly, the ability of the same individual to progress from a ‘management’ role to a ‘leadership’ one – whilst still being the same person! – suggests that it may be more useful to conceive of leadership as just one of the many roles a manager

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undertakes (Mintzberg, 1975). Whilst the ‘leadership versus management’ debate continues to rage, we have at least moved on considerably from the early ratioeconomic beginnings in terms of our understanding of what such roles might entail. In particular, the Holy Grail of the ‘happy, productive worker’ (Staw, 1996) as the bedrock of organizational success in a competitive world has focused attention on the motivational and inspirational aspects of leadership work. This, in turn, has opened the flood gates of emotion-related approaches and perspectives in relation to leadership writing. As elsewhere in the history of leadership theorizing, we see an oscillation here between successive ‘solutions’ and the problems they are seen to cause. So charismatic (Conger and Kanungo, 1987) and transformational leadership (Bass, 1985; Bass and Avolio, 1994) were seen as the universal panacea in an era of restructuring, redundancies and low worker morale, only to be followed by an emphasis on more ethically grounded approaches in the wake of a number of well-publicized corporate scandals. This focus on the moral and related aspects of leadership, and its impact on followers, has spawned a swathe of publications on ethical leadership (e.g. Ciulla, 2004), spiritual leadership (e.g. Fry, 2005; Reave, 2005), servant leadership (e.g. Spears and Lawrence, 2004) and authentic leadership (e.g. Avolio and Gardner, 2005). Avolio and Gardner (2005) provided a useful cross-matching of the characteristics of authentic, servant and spiritual leadership, together with those of their transformational and charismatic forebears, at the same time as laying claim to authentic leadership as the ‘root construct’ for these supposed variants. Dent, Higgins and Wharff (2005) offered an interesting review of the definitions, distinctions and embedded assumptions within the spiritual leadership literature, which also serves to locate it in the wider genre. In addition to significant overlap between the various constructs, there can also be seen a number of similarities between these supposedly ‘new’ constructs and the transformational and charismatic varieties they purport to supersede. What is common to all of the so-called ‘positive’ approaches to leadership, however, is that they are rooted in issues inherent in the human condition. Thus they revolve around values and beliefs, communication and meaning, and individual and social identity. It is in this context that not only has the existence of emotions in the workplace been recognized but also that the commercialization of such emotions has become a topic for exploration. In the second edition of Emotion in Organisations (Fineman, 2000), first published in 1993, Stephen Fineman recalled how he had characterized organizations as ‘emotional arenas’ – places where members bond and divide, and frustrations and passions are deeply woven into the performance of everyday tasks and roles – such that it was impossible to excise emotions from the wide array of organizational processes of which they form a part. Whilst the original volume highlighted the ‘emotionalization’ of how meanings and order are created within organizations, the production and politics of social differences and the substance of organizational culture and change, the second edition acknowledged the expansion of the emotional arena. Having previously derived from a largely biological and psychological perspective, organizational research is now seen as viewing emotions in a more social and relational context. The study of emotional labour is encompassed within

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this shift, and Fineman acknowledges not just the labour of the ‘emotional proletariat’ (Macdonald and Sirianni, 1996) but the emotion work required of doctors, managers, teachers, police officers and the like. He also tracks the growth in interest in the problem of authenticity under regimes of emotional management, and raises the issue of what he calls the ‘emotions of control’, referring to the role of emotions in inculcating and perpetuating the many relationships of control – boss/ subordinate, skilled worker/unskilled worker, old hand/novice, male/female, inspector/inspected – which occur in organizational settings. The very physical nature of emotions – that they are felt in and of the body through a tightening of the chest, a dryness of the mouth, etc. – is also seen as worthy of exploration, and of a more expansive style of exploration than has currently been forthcoming under largely reductionist auspices. Sharon Bolton’s (2005) exploration of the pivotal role of emotions in organizational life has been mentioned elsewhere in this volume: her work has been instrumental in forming my own ideas of emotion management and was, I believe, as seminal as Hochschild’s original formulation of emotional labour in giving us a more complex and multidimensional understanding of the ‘skilled emotional manager’. Her typology of prescriptive, pecuniary, presentational and philanthropic forms of emotion management adds richness to our understanding of both the contexts in which we might be called upon to manage our emotions and the complex responses we are capable of making to such demands. And no overview of the advancement in our understanding of emotions in organizations would be complete without some acknowledgement of the work of Neal Ashkanasy and his colleagues at ‘Emonet’ – more fully, the volumes of work resulting from the successful ‘International Conference on Emotion in Organisational Life’, first held in 1998 – which in 2011 added to its successful book series with a reflection on what we have learned about emotions ‘ten years on’. The volume (Härtel, Ashkanasy and Zerbe, 2011) catalogues broad-ranging advances in the study of emotional labour as a phenomenon, in its contribution to organizational outcomes, and in its impact on individual well-being. All of these advances are underpinned by a steady and growing research interest in emotions and emotion work and their importance not just to the organizations in which they occur but to the individuals who experience them. Whilst leadership as emotional labour sits as one of the newer species within this genus, it is nonetheless fair to say that it appears in this context to be an idea whose time has come. As the following section suggests, leadership research is more than ready to take this emotion-sensitive approach into its heart and use it to carve out a new path for the development of useful theory – theory which is capable of both reflecting and enhancing leadership practice.

At the forefront of leadership thinking Increasingly, then, even the ‘new’ constructs of leadership mentioned above are being found wanting and leadership scholars are seeking new ways to conceptualize and understand the leadership phenomenon. In what follows, I attempt to

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summarize some of those which seem to me to offer the most promise and to have the most resonance with our own endeavours. A seminal contribution in its engagingly provocative stance, Ladkin’s (2010) Rethinking Leadership draws on Continental philosophy – and particularly Edmund Husserl’s phenomenology – to re-examine and reframe the central questions of leadership study. In doing so, she emphasizes the lived experience of leadership and followership as a valid way of knowing, contrasting it with the reductionist knowing of positivism. Through its emphasis on deconstructing and measuring, positivist leadership study – the source of the vast majority of Western leadership theories – is said to place severe limitations on what we conceive leadership to be and to focus our attention on those elements which our chosen methodology allows us to capture. This results in a focus on leaders in isolation from context and organizational others, and on visible behaviours to the exclusion of relational and invisible aspects of the phenomenon. As Ladkin (2010: 5) puts it: . . . it collapses ‘leadership’, a collective process which encompasses not only leaders but their followers and the context in which they come into contact, into ‘leaders’, an individually-based unit of analysis. As she goes on to note, the invisible and relational aspects of leadership do not lend themselves to clear identification and measurement, and have thus been ignored for much of the history of leadership study. In engaging with the ‘emerging post-positivist conversation about ways of engaging rigorously with the leadership terrain’ she proposes the development of a humanities-based way of developing and knowing in relation to leadership. Phenomenology is seen as being ideally suited as a philosophical underpinning for this attempt, in that it pays close attention to the lived experience of leadership and reasserts the importance of the felt experience within the phenomenon. In so doing, it is able to recognize the impact of invisible and relational aspects by seeing leadership in its organizational, social and human context. This is an endeavour which opens the door to the study of emotions in leadership work, and has resonance with the research and ideas collected in this volume. Its exploration of relational theories of leadership, drawing on ideas from Maurice Merleau-Ponty, asks if there is a way that we can conceptualize this relation as an entity in itself, rather than as the separate but connected entities of leaders and followers. A re-examination of charismatic leadership draws on aesthetics, and Kant’s notion of the sublime, considers the power of such leadership from the perspective of followers’ ‘felt sense’ of it. And the notion of ‘meaning’ as something that is ‘made’ by managers and passively passed on to followers is problematized through the application of ideas from hermeneutics. These and other philosophical discussions seek to establish leadership as a ‘collective process, encompassing both those who would be known as “leaders” and those who would be known as “followers”.’ (Ladkin, 2010: 11). In so doing, it challenges traditional approaches to understanding leadership – based on traits, visible behaviours and the like – and invites us to engage with the

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leadership phenomenon at its most fundamental, namely as a lived experience: fertile ground for our own endeavours. To use Ciulla’s (2011) terminology, the contrast here is between Anglo-American analytic philosophy which acts as a ‘handmaiden’ in supporting the study of leadership, and European Continental philosophy which, in the role of ‘Queen’, attempts to answer the big questions about such study. Another theme in the perceived need for new ways to understand leadership is the call for a more interdisciplinary approach. Harvey and Riggio (2011) observe that different disciplines bring different methodologies to the study of leadership, and thus offer different insights. They draw on the metaphor of the blind men trying to describe an elephant – each feeling different parts but not realizing they are all connected – to describe the current fragmented nature of these different understandings and the need for different disciplines to climb out of their individual silos and create a more holistic leadership discipline. So, for example, the existing disciplines of psychology, sociology and history have long been used to consider leadership from the perspectives of personality, social interaction and historical context, but the work of bringing these perspectives together into a leadership discipline per se is, they suggest, still emergent. In the context of this emergent discipline, they see the involvement of management scholars in the study of leadership as problematic. The emphasis on efficiency and effectiveness which drives their interest in leadership has the effect that: . . . as management theories become more sophisticated, and research work more intense, the leadership theories become mechanistic and [take] much of the human element out of leadership. They note that more recent management theories and research have attempted to restore this human element by incorporating broader disciplinary perspectives, and go on to contribute to this effort by considering leadership through a number of lenses suggested by the arts, in particular stories and story-telling, visual arts, and literature and film. The need for a multidisciplinary approach is echoed by Bolden et al. (2011) in their attempt to reframe the study of leadership and to redress the balance between theory and practice by returning attention to the latter. In their critical discussion of the study of leadership from individual, organizational and societal perspectives, they suggest that there is a need not to ‘uproot’ leadership study from its traditional perspectives but to ‘re-route’ it in relation to its future direction. They suggest drawing on disciplines including sociology, philosophy, anthropology, history, literature and politics to supplement the current largely psychological focus, and taking a multi-level approach to incorporate both individual and social/cultural practices, as a means of arriving at a more systemic understanding of how leadership is framed and enacted in different settings. At the same time, they cite a former president of the Academy of Management, Donald Hambrick, in arguing that as a discipline ‘our insistence in the field of management that all papers contribute to theory may actually have the unintended perverse effect of stymieing

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the discovery of important theories’ (Hambrick, 2007: 1351) and that as a result of this theory fixation, most management research actually fails to have a meaningful impact on management practice. They propose a more dialectical, appreciative approach to the study of leadership as a means of moving away from what they describe as ‘leadership by numbers’ and towards a more humanistic, holistic understanding of what leadership can do in the world. Thus: It would seem that in our quest for knowledge we may have lost sight of the direction in which we are headed – to generate theory for theory’s sake or to seek the convenient evidence that enables us to evade some deeply inconvenient and unsettling truths about the imbalances of power, resources, recognition, status, rewards, and opportunities that permeate organisations and societies . . . we call for a re-routing of leadership studies in directions that are more likely to lead to equitable, effective, and engaging forms of leadership practice. Inherent in this call is a recognition of the need to see leadership as a ‘process of critical and compassionate engagement with the world’ (Sinclair, 2007: xxiv) and as one which requires the development and application of both social and ‘human’ capital (Day, 2000), such that leadership ‘from this perspective consists of using social (i.e. relational) systems to help build commitments among members of a community of practice’ (Day, 2000: 583). Once again, the recognition of the role of emotions in leadership work is evident: we can now observe, with Bennis (1999: 23), that ‘there is no difference between becoming an effective leader and becoming a fully integrated human being’. The new approaches summarized so far share an intention to position themselves in contrast to the traditional ways of studying leadership, primarily as represented by the reductionist, measurement-oriented methodologies of positivism. The final perspective I wish to highlight shares this contrast, specifically as it relates to that most positivist of the social sciences, psychology, at the same time as acknowledging the contribution it has to make to the study of leadership. In Discursive Leadership (2007) Gail Fairhurst envisages – and, indeed, begins – a ‘conversation’ between traditional, psychological approaches to leadership and socially constructed approaches as exemplified by her own discursive approach. What is of interest, for her, is not the ability to arrive at an objective or generalizable account of leadership but to question how it is accomplished or ‘brought off’ as a localized, here-andnow interaction. From this perspective, leaders are seen as ‘practical authors’ (Shotter, 1993) and – drawing on ethnomethodology and the work of Knights and Willmott (1992) – leadership is cast ‘as a practical accomplishment where a social order may be experienced as routine and unproblematic, but is really a precarious, reflexive accomplishment’ (Fairhurst, 2007: 5, original emphasis). The emphasis here is on language and communication as the medium of accomplishment. Thus discursive leadership rejects the search for essences inherent in trait- and behaviour-based approaches and instead sees leadership as an intersubjectively made attribution. In pursuing this perspective, Fairhurst draws on the work of

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Foucault and contrasts his view of discourse (which she characterizes as ‘big D’ Discourse) with that of ‘little d’ discourse. Where the former represents a ‘system of thought and a way of talking about a subject that together supplies the necessary linguistic resources for communicating actors’ (Fairhurst, 2007: ix) – and thus delineates what we can say and even think about the subject in hand – the latter refers to the study of everyday talk and text in social practices. This is the home of local achievement and the embodiment of cultural meanings; it is the ‘medium for social interaction where the details of language in use and interaction process are central concerns’ (Fairhurst, 2007: 6). In focusing on ‘little d’ discourse, Fairhurst is seeking to get to the heart of leadership practice as a relational activity. This focus prompts its own definition of leadership which, drawing on Robinson (2001: 93), she delineates as being exercised ‘when ideas expressed in talk or action are recognised by others as capable of progressing tasks or problems which are important to them’. This is surely a definition of leadership as a practice which has room for emotion work within it: whilst Fairhurst’s interest in the words – the language used by leaders in communicating and constructing themselves as such – our own interest in emotional labour shares the essentially communicative nature of leadership work: it shares the notion of leadership as a phenomenon ‘embodied in persons’ and inherently contextually situated. We might also claim some common ground with Grint’s (1997) ‘constitutive’ approach to leadership, which sees leadership as the ‘consequence of various accounts and interpretations’ (1997: 5) and focuses its attention on ‘the processes by which [leadership phenomena] are constituted into successes or failures, crises or periods of calm, and so on’. As Bolden et al. (2011: 37) note, ‘what is important from this perspective are the processes by which accounts of leadership are generated, communicated and consumed within groups and societies and the manner in which issues of power, authority, and experience influence these sensemaking processes’. This echoes the discursive leadership emphasis on accomplishment and how leadership is ‘brought off’ and inherently accepts the nature of leaders and followers as ‘fully integrated human beings’ (Bennis, 1999: 23), feelings and all! In concluding this section, it is worth noting that the recognition of emotionality as a source of value added in the workplace, a tool of management that can contribute to increased performance and productivity, the potential for toxic emotions is also emerging as a topic area within the literature. Bolden et al. (2011) acknowledge the requirement for leaders to be handlers of toxic emotions in others. They draw on the work of Frost in the late 1990s in comparing such emotions to working with dangerous or carcinogenic chemicals, and the need for leaders to operate as ‘psychic sponges’ and ‘sin eaters’ in order to absorb the toxic emotions generated by organizational dynamics and behaviours. This theme is powerfully expounded by Joan Gallos’s chapter in this volume. But they also note the potential for leaders themselves to be toxic and to have a powerfully destructive impact on those who follow them. That people do follow toxic leaders is evident from even a cursory glance at history: why they do is emerging as a topic worthy of investigation in the leadership literature (see, for example, Padrilla, Hogan and Kaiser, 2007).

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. . . and the ‘Managed Heart’ Turning, now, to the second strand of this concluding chapter, I will attempt to pull together some of the themes already discussed with those from the contributing chapters. For me, there are five headings under which the chapters in this volume can be gathered, though there are many interconnections. Some of these headings have direct resonance with the themes discussed above, at the same time as suggesting areas for future research – the final element of this chapter. First and foremost, the construct of leadership as emotional labour is still a developing one, and chapters within this volume contribute to the extension, refinement and positioning of the construct. Not surprisingly, that is achieved through positioning it against other constructs: in my case by delineating it as an extension – a new species within the genus – of the original emotional labour construct, and in the chapter by Frances Peart, Amanda Roan and Neal Ashkanasy by comparing it with the already well-established construct of emotional intelligence. In each case, the aim is to fine-tune our understanding of what the construct has to offer us, both in terms of being distinct from its neighbours and in terms of its connections to them. In setting out leadership emotional labour as a species of emotional labour per se I attempted to explore the performance of ‘deep acting’ in the context of value-congruent work roles, and to differentiate this from its service sector equivalent. I also pondered the increased in-role complexity of leadership emotional labour, when compared with service sector emotional labour, and positioned this as distinct from the in-and-out-of-role skilled emotion management put forward by Bolton. Frances Peart and her colleagues explored the connections between emotional expression, emotional labour and emotional intelligence in order to add clarity to both the distinctions and the overlap between these two important tools of management. They also explored how these different approaches can offer us different explanations of or perspectives on organizational events. This is important work in the process of theorizing the role of emotions in leadership, and builds on the recent trend towards phenomenological and other nonpositivist approaches. We are not seeking to deconstruct or measure here, but to explicate and describe the lived experience of ‘doing leadership’ and to provide a rich resource of fine-grained analysis as the basis for equally rich theorizing. This is an effort which will no doubt continue: through the dialogic interplay of different efforts to theorize emotional labour in this and other contexts new ideas will emerge, existing ideas will be honed or rejected, and the terrain of emotional labour will progressively be mapped. Leading on from the theme of post-positivist approaches to the study of leadership mentioned above is the treatment of leadership as an embodied practice and a practical accomplishment. Many of the chapters in this volume adopt approaches which address leadership as a lived experience and as something which is locally situated and ‘brought off’. So, for example, Sharon Turnbull’s middle management case study showed us managers declaring that they ‘live and breathe the company’ whilst Sue Ingram showed us the way in which leaders work off the stresses of the job through physical activity, both reflections of leadership

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as an embodied accomplishment. The practical accomplishment of leadership through language is richly exemplified in Dalvir Samra-Frederick’s chapter on the simultaneous speaking of emotionality and rationality, as is the way in which emotions are assembled during everyday interactional routines. In the course of showing us how emotions are ‘wrapped up’ in rationalities in the talk of organizational elites she makes an eloquent plea for the adoption of richer forms of ethnography, incorporating voice recordings and video, in order to capture the ‘performative capability’ which is the doing of emotional labour. This performative capability is essentially absent from the kind of interview data upon which we have largely been reliant to date, in which leaders talk about emotional labour but don’t actually perform it. Taking talk as a form of action, she demonstrates how observing emotional labour as a practical accomplishment gives us rich insights into how emotions are interactively assembled, how collaborative work occurs to repair mishaps and threats to identity arising from breaches to the emotional display rules, and how emotions can operate as a barometer of moral and relational ethics. In her conclusion, focusing on a female leader’s talk-in-interaction, she also hints at how approaching emotional labour as a practical accomplishment can help us to unlock such issues as the potentially gendered nature of emotional labour and how identity work infuses members’ practices for organizational leading. The twin issues of authenticity and emotional dissonance form the third theme I wish to draw out from the preceding chapters. The two halves of this counterpoint are tackled by Sue Ingram and Sara Lodge respectively, and collectively the topic area is reflective of a growing trend towards ‘positive’ approaches in leadership writing. As our news media bombard us with both global and local problems – banking failures, corporate fraud, economic downturn and seeming political inactivity – the call for authentic, ethical, sustainable or just different leadership becomes ever louder. The juxtaposition of a philosophical exposition of authentic leadership with the emergence of emotion management as a recognized tool of leadership practice is an interesting piece of timing! Sue Ingram’s chapter looked at one half of this juxtaposition by focusing on the strategies leaders apply to dealing with the need to feel authentic in a world where professional display rules are taken for granted and the ‘performance’ of leadership is a daily occurrence. The application of value hierarchies (that is, knowing what really matters to you and what you can live with) and the development of personal coping mechanisms enable managers to retain a sense of authenticity at the same time as practising the role requirements expected of them. Sara Lodge addressed the other side when she used Transactional Analysis theory – in line with the strand in recent writing which calls for multidisciplinary approaches – to understand leaders’ experience of emotional dissonance. In doing so, she offered an explanation of why some leaders burn out and others don’t at the same time as raising the alarm in relation to the cost of emotional labour in terms of damaged – and damaging? – leader decision-making. Taken together, these chapters illustrate the fundamental problems associated with the expectations we as a society have of our leaders, and the costs that individual leaders – and their followers – may have to pay for the delivery of those expectations.

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As the preceding point suggests, followers should not be forgotten here. My fourth theme, therefore, relates to the impact of leader emotional labour on followers – those on the receiving end. My own chapter, here, considered emotional labour as it translates into ‘feeling valued’ and the followers’ experience of being valued. Issues of inclusiveness, fairness and the working environment (from a social and interactional perspective) are explored here, bringing together the literatures on voice, communication and participation, shared values, procedural and distributive justice, transparency and consistency, trust, organizational support, and recognition and reward under the banner of ‘valuing practices’. These practices are, in turn, related to the emotional labour it takes to deliver them – and the acknowledgement that attempts to do so may not always be successful. Ron Humphrey’s chapter considered the creation of shared identities, with and between leaders and followers, arising from the practice of emotional labour, and the different levels – within person through to organization wide – at which effective leaders perform emotion work in order to create such identities. Both contributions offer recognition that – just as leadership study was deficient when it looked only at leaders so – emotional labour is inherently relational and requires to be ‘brought off’ in the eyes of those at whom it is directed. I have already raised the issue of authenticity from the perspective of how leaders feel in ‘performing’ emotional labour, but we should consider, too, how authentic those performances appear to those who see and experience them. The smile that doesn’t reach the eyes or the ‘white lie’ that doesn’t quite convince are a commonplace of everyday life, but what are the implications of the ‘feedback’ that feels like a personal whinge or the ‘vision’ that sounds hollow and unconvincing? Are we, perhaps, asking leaders to (emotionally) labour in vain if followers are, by nature, too sophisticated to be taken in? This brings me, I think, quite naturally to the final theme I wish to note, that of toxicity in relation to emotions. Joan Gallos’s powerful chapter in relation to university leadership is our standard bearer here, and eloquently marked out the terrain. In working her purpose with two contrasting case studies, and in her discussion of the need for compassionate leadership, Joan got to the heart of the need to square the circle of authenticity and emotional labour, and to bring value congruence and genuine caring to our practice of both. In recognizing the role of leaders as toxic emotion handlers – creating a holding environment which buffers uncertainty and frustration for others – she likewise set out the importance of leaders balancing this with care for their own well-being. Here strategies for ‘nourishing body and soul’ offered an important counterpoint to the exercise of emotion management, and a hopeful place to conclude this thematic review.

Future directions It would be easy – and not unreasonable – to conclude that all of the topic areas above might benefit from further research. In each of them, there is still potential for theoretical refinement, empirical validation or methodological triangulation. But there are, I think, some questions which present themselves as particularly salient or in tune with the current flow of leadership study.

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More empirical studies of the practice of emotional labour in leadership are certainly needed to flesh out our understanding of what it looks, feels and sounds like. As Sharon Turnbull notes in presenting – or re-presenting – her own study of a middle management change programme, the research agenda she set out ten years ago remains largely unaddressed, whilst the instance of change programmes and the personal tensions these can create make an understanding of the ethical issues around changing values and beliefs – and portraying these for others – more important than ever. More mundane contexts for the application of emotional labour in leadership work also abound, and these need likewise to be empirically studied and considered from a range of methodological perspectives if we are to develop a rich and nuanced understanding of it as an embodied phenomenon. Also ripe for empirical research is the ‘effectiveness’ of emotional labour in terms of the recipients’ experience of it and their understanding of it. The extent to which it is perceived as being in some way authentic is likely to be important in relation to its effectiveness in generating a range of organizationally desirable outcomes from greater employee commitment to increased discretionary effort. Yet might it not be possible that the mere effort of some forms of emotional labour could be sufficient to produce beneficial results? A leader who makes an effort to be friendly when they are clearly busy or worried might be given credit for the attempt, even when it is seen to be an effort by those on the receiving end. Conversely, emotional labour that is too good – where the mask never slips – may leave a leader seeming distant or remote by virtue of being too in control and (seemingly) not subject to the normal human failings of temper to which everyone else is subject. Thus understanding emotional labour as a relational phenomenon, through paying attention to the other side of the relational equation, seems likely to prove fruitful – not least in helping leaders learn how to do it better. The impact of emotional labour by leaders is significant in another way, as Sara Lodge’s chapter brought to light. If leaders’ decision-making ability is compromised by their experience of emotional dissonance or the leakage of suppressed emotions into supposedly rational decision-making processes, then this has potentially serious consequences for their effectiveness as a leader. Further research is required into the occurrence of adverse impact on the quality of leader decisions arising from emotional tensions and the psychological processes which underpin these impacts. At the same time, attention should be given to how leaders are developed – both formally and informally – and whether leadership learning processes are supportive of emotional awareness and maturity. Significant work has been done in relation to emotional intelligence and its trainability, but the new perspective offered by a Transactional Analysis perspective is likely to offer equally significant insights in this regard. The performance of emotional labour has been seen to have an effect on the performer, in terms of emotional dissonance, stress and often burnout. Thus a third area worthy of further research is that of the well-being of leaders required to perform such labour. This needs to occur from at least two different angles. First, following Sue Ingram’s lead, we need to understand more about the mundane, day-to-day strategies that leaders and managers adopt in coping with the daily

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pressures of performing emotional labour. How do they deal with issues of value congruence? How do they physically cope with the effort entailed in difficult situations? And what supportive structures do they draw upon in maintaining the required mask of professional display rules? Secondly, we need to explore the fundamentals of well-being and how leaders can sustain themselves as healthy, as well as effective, leaders over the longer term. Bolman and Gallos (2011) suggest five key areas to which leaders need to pay attention if they are to maintain themselves in this healthy state. I believe the current trend towards positive forms of leadership can also be seen as reflecting the needs of the leader in this regard as well as the needs of followers, with authenticity and spirituality in particular being suggestive of a leader who is ‘at peace with themselves’ and has the necessary personal resources to sustain their own well-being. Whatever these fundamentals might be, they are likely to be of the utmost importance in supporting leaders as they undertake the ever increasing burdens placed upon them. The authors represented in this volume have, singly and collectively, recognized the important contribution that emotional labour has to make to leadership work: they have also been at the forefront of exploring the price that leaders pay for performing this work successfully, and will no doubt carry forward the research agenda set out above. Leadership as emotional labour is now establishing itself as a significant theme within the leadership literature, and it is hoped that this volume appears at the right time to collect together some key ideas which have emerged to date and to encourage further development. Whether we lead or whether we follow, we are all ‘skilled emotional managers’ (Bolton and Boyd, 2003: 289), but the requirement of those who lead us – with all the weight and significance we place on leaders – to perform emotional labour must surely be a topic worthy of our utmost effort to understand.

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Index

Page numbers in bold refer to figures and tables activation 109 Adult ego state 195 affect circumplex 111 affective events theory 136 alienation: authenticity and 163–4; scepticism as manifestation 164–5 anger 109 Ashforth, B. E. 80–1, 83, 88–9, 92, 95 Ashkanasy, N. M. 99, 224, 229 authentic leadership 6, 9–10, 81, 97, 130–8; acting in the role of a manager 139; background to current study 138–9; losing professional control 146–7; managing disciplinaries 141; managing redundancies 140; managing without authority 142–3; responding to personal criticism 143–4; strategies for coping with emotional labour 147–8; values and emotional labour 144–6 authenticity: alienation and 163–4; emotional labour and identity 95–7; truth, emotional labour and 129–50 automatic response 112–13 Avolio B. J. 58

Burke, P. J. 92, 93 burnout 214

Barrett L. F. 111 Barsade, S. G. 91 Berne, E. 11, 194 Blanchard, K. 15 bodily mode 2 Bolman, L. G. 50–1 Bolton, S. C. 2, 3–4, 17, 18, 33, 224 Boyatzis, R. 100 Boyd, C. 3, 18, 33 Brotheridge, C. M. 17, 84, 91–2

ego states model 195, 195–6; external and internal ego states 195–6 Eilam, G. 97 Emonet 224 emotion amplification 32 emotion work 108 emotional contagion phenomenon 110 emotional containment 23 emotional display 16, 17, 18, 22–3, 30, 33, 58, 81, 87, 90, 109–10

Centre for Excellence in Leadership 19, 21 Chan, H. 106–23 Chaplin, C. 222 Child ego state 195 cognitive mode 1 collective identity 94 commands 196 compassionate labour: leadership 37–53 Considine, J. 4 constructive criticism 184 core affect 111 Corley, K. E. 92 Croyle, M. H. 82, 83 cultural identity 94 Dahling, J. J. 83–4 deep acting 2, 3, 21, 30–1, 82–3, 101, 107, 110–11, 118 deep authenticity 137–8 Didion, J. 44 Diefendorff, J. M. 82, 83 Discursive Leadership (2007) 227 Drama Triangle 198, 198–9

Index emotional dissonance 12, 29, 192–217; definition 193–4; and Transactional Analysis 192–4; types 214 emotional exhaustion 12, 214 emotional exploitation 167 emotional expression 109–10 emotional intelligence 6, 7, 9, 15–16, 113–14; alternative explanation 118–19; and emotional labour 117; expressing authentic emotion 119–21; four branches 113–14; future directions 121–3; and leadership 115–16; leadership, emotional labour and 116–18 emotional labour 1, 108, 116–17; Aeroco case 159–62; articulation work 3; authentic, transparent identity 97–8; authenticity 95–7; autonomy 91–2; complex labour 21–8; costs and effects on managers 166–7; costs and effects on the organisation and implications for the HRD community 167–8; deep acting 2; definition 154; dimensions 84–92; emotion research methodology 60–72; and emotional intelligence 117; emotional self-management 3–4; emotions and strategizing 58–9; evidence in middle management 156–9; future directions 231–3; institutionalized mechanisms 17–18; job characteristics 2; leaders 56–77; leadership 5–6, 14–34, 15–19, 37–53; leadership and common identities 80–1, 80–101; methodology and context 19–21; and middle managers 153–69; one-on-one relationships 89; potential costs and effects on individuals and organizations 166–8; social identity 9; sociological factor of emotions 59–60; strategies for coping with 147–8; surface acting 2; three types 82–4; truth, authenticity and 129–50; underpinning values 28–33; value added 2; and values 144–6 Emotional Labour Scale 84 emotional management 3–4, 16, 18, 22, 27, 31, 41 emotional skill 1 emotional Teflon 41 emotionalization 223

emotions: discrete 111–13; discursive constituents 62–3; expressiveness 61, 68; language-use 59; leaders and strategizing 58–9; moral and relation ethics 58; research methodology 60–72; rhetoric 61–4; sociological factor 59–60; temporary roles 70 emotions of control 224 emotions research 60–72; ethnographic-observational approach 60; ethnographical factor 64–72; redemptory argument 68–9; rhetoric as emotion 61–4 employees: creating great expectations 179–81; emotions at work 174–7; experiences of being valued 173–87; the factor clusters 181; feeling valued 181–3; leading with emotions 183–7; methodology and context 177–9 Epitropaki, O. 17, 82 ethical leadership 135 expressive mode 2 Fairhurst, G. 227–8 feeling rules 1, 4 Fiedler, F. 90–1 Fineman, S. 5, 56, 70, 223 Fischer, D. 97, 98 Five-Level Model of Emotion 99, 100–1 Fordism 222 Frist, P. 48 Fullan, M. 222 Gallos, J. V. 7, 18, 50–1, 228, 231 Games People Play (1964) 194 Gardner, J. 48 Gardner, W. L. 58, 97, 98 Garner, J. 4 genuine emotions 83 George, J. M. 58–9 Glomb, T. M. 83 Goffman, E. 41, 67–8 Goleman, D. 100 Goodwin, F. 57, 74 Gooty, J. 18 Gosserand, R. H. 83 Grandey, A. A. 17, 91–2 Greenleaf, R. 46

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Gremler, D. D. 84 Groth, M. 84 Guy, M. E. 40 Hambrick, D. 226 Hampson, I. 3 Harris, L. C. 16, 17, 18–19 Harrison, S. H. 92 Hawyer, T. H. 17, 84, 88, 100 Heifetz, R. A. 47, 49 Hennig-Thurau, T. 84 heroic leadership 48 Hersey, P. 15 Hochschild, A. 1–6, 80, 82–3, 89, 174 Humphrey, R. H. 8, 17, 80–1, 82, 83, 84, 88–9, 95, 99, 100, 231 Hunt, J. G. 97, 98 identities: authentic and transparent 97–8; authenticity 95–7; components and level 92–5; creating 99–101; leadership and emotional labour 80–1, 80–101; organizations’ five levels of emotions 99 IIP Standard 179 independent identity 94 individual identity 94 Ingram, S. 229, 230, 232 inhibition 109 Institute of Chartered Secretaries and Administrators (ICSA) 215 interactive effectiveness 109 interpersonal identity 94 Iszatt-White, M. 86–7 Jordan, C. 84 Junor, A. 3 Kahn, W. 47 Karpman, S. 11, 198 Kaufmann, J. B. 93–4 Kelly, J. R. 91 Kerr, S. 17 Kets de Vries, M. F. R. 46–7 Kiffin-Petersen, S. 84 Kübler-Ross, E. 45 Ladkin, D. 225 language of emotion 56–7, 61, 67, 69 leader-member exchange (LMX) relationship 175

leader–follower relationships 18 leaders: compassion 42–4; effective strategies 49–50; as emotion magnet 46–8; emotion research methodology 60–72; emotional labour 56–77; emotions and strategizing 58–9; empowerment, trust and care 45–6; management 49–51; role management on leadership stage 40–1; sociological factor of emotions 59–60; toxic emotion 44–5 leadership 224–8; affective domain 40–6; complex labour 21–8; development 216–17; emotional and compassionate labour 37–53; and emotional intelligence 115–16; emotional intelligence emotional labour and 116–18; emotional labour 5–6, 14–34, 15–19; emotional labour and common identities 80–1, 80–101; five key areas 50–1; future directions 231–3; implications of games at leadership levels 215–16; Lambton Sixth Form College 20; lead capacity 51–3; leader management 49–51; leaders as emotion magnet 46–8; methodology and context 19–21; Quixote, D. and his University 39–40; Schultz, H. and Starbucks 38–9; underpinning values 28–33 leadership work 6, 8 Lee, R. T. 84 Lewis, P. 4 Linsky, M. 49 Locke, E. A. 15 Lodge, S. 11, 230, 232 low self-resolution 163 Maccoby, M. 46–7 Managed Heart 229–31; and the management 220–33 management 220–4; at the forefront of leadership thinking 224–8; and the ‘Managed Heart’ 220–33 management rhetoric: creating great expectations 179–81; emotions at work 174–7; expectations on valuing employees 173–87; the factor clusters 181; feeling valued 181–3; leading with

Index emotions 183–7; methodology and context 177–9 Mann, S. 82 manufactories 221 Marris, P. 42, 43, 44 Mastracci, S. H. 40 Mayer, J. D. 16 Mayer-Salovey-Carouso Emotional Intelligence Test (MSCEIT) 115 McKee, A. 100 middle management: Aeroco case: emotional labour in action 159–62; alienation and authenticity 163–4; coping with multiple roles 158; costs and effects of emotional labour 167–8; emotional labour in disseminating culture change 153–69; emotional labour on individuals and organisations 166–8; emotional labour on managers 166–7; evidence for emotional labour 156–9; keeping a stiff upper lip 158; need to be part of the crowd 158; normative organization 155–6; organizational socialization identification and engagement 165–6; playing political games to stay ahead 157–8; pleasing the bosses 157; quest for the real self 162–3; research agenda 169; scepticism as a manifestation of alienation 164–5 Miller, K. I. 4 Mintzberg, H. 59, 72, 74 Mitchie, S. 18 Modern Times 222 Montefiore, S. S. 192 moral authenticity 130, 131 Murray, K. 56 Nash, W. 57, 58, 60–1, 61–4, 66, 71 national identity 94 Newman, M. A. 40 O’Brien, M. 3 occupational professions 16–17 organizational identity 94 organizational self 163 Parent ego state 195 Parent messages 196 Paul, M. 84 Peart, F. 229 Perez, L. A. 83–4 performative capability 230

personal engagement 165 personal touch 181 phenomenology 225 Pollack, J. M. 17, 84, 88, 100 positive leadership 133 Positive Work Environment (PWE) 119, 120 Pratt, M. G. 93–4 Price, H. 3 psychological games 197–8 Quixote, D.: University 39–40 Rafaeli, A. 80 real self 163 relational activity 109 relational authenticity 131 relational identity 94 resigned compliance 161 Rethinking Leadership (2010) 225 Richard, E. M. 82 Roackmann, K. W. 93–4 Roan, A. 229 role conflict 158 role overload 158 Russell, J. A. 111 Samra-Fredericks, D. 7–8, 18, 63, 230 scepticism: as manifestation of alienation 164–5 Schultz, H.: Starbucks 38–9 scientific management 221 script 196–7; life course and script character 196–7; Parent messages 196 sensitizing concepts 179 servant leadership 6, 9, 133–4 service with a smile 17, 24, 25 Shamir, B. 97 social currency 24 social identity 9, 94 Solovey, P. 16 Soutar, G. 84 Sparrowe, R. T. 97–8 spiritual leadership 6, 9, 134–5 spontaneous and genuine emotional display 108 spontaneous emotions 83 Stalin, The Court of the Red Tsar (2004) 192 Starbucks 38–9 Stets, J. E. 92 strong organizational cultures 155

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surface acting 2, 3, 82–3, 96, 107, 110–11, 118 surface authenticity 137 Sutton, R. I. 80, 85 sympathy 62, 65, 67 systemic constructivism 199 Taylor, F. W. 221 temporary emotional roles 70 Tews, M. J. 83 The Managed Heart 1–12; alternative explanation 118–19; discrete emotions 111–13; displaying emotions 109–10; emotional intelligence 113–14; emotional intelligence and leadership 115–16; emotional labour 107–9; future directions 121–3; leadership emotional intelligence and emotional labour 116–18; leadership and emotional labour 5–6; overview 6–12; role of emotional intelligence 106–23; surface acting and deep acting 110–11 The Managed Heart 174 Thoits, P. A. 93 Transactional Analysis (TA) 11, 192–217; case study four 211–14; case study one 202–5; case study one CEO A – second interview 205–6; case study three 209–11; case study two 206–9; definition 194; Drama

Triangle 198, 198–9; the ego 195; ego states model 195–6; and emotional dissonance 192–4; implications of games at leadership levels 215–16; interview questions 201; leadership development 216–17; psychological game 197–8; reasons for playing games 199–200; research methodology 200–1; results of initial interviews 201–2; script 196–7; second interviews 201; social and psychological levels 194; systemic constructivism 199; types of emotional dissonance 214 transformational leaders 58 truth: authenticity, emotional labour 129–50 Turnbull, S. 10, 229, 232 type authenticity 130, 131 value added 2 value-congruent emotions 31, 33 values 28–33 valuing practices 173–87 Waldron, V. R. 67, 70, 72 Walker, D. 216 Westley, F. 59, 74 Williams, J. 52 Young Stalin (2007) 192