“The Toyota Way – 14 Management Principles for the World’s Greatest Manufacturer” is Jeffrey K. Liker’s legendary contribution to the canon of lean thinking.
In it, he unpacks the various principles that underpin and power the Toyota Production System – one of the most envied people-based thinking systems in the business world.
“The Toyota Way” is one of those books that you cannot unread – by which I mean it is impossible not to find echoes of the principles in nearly every life situation – even if you are not at work.
In my last post on this blog, I reflected on the experience of purchasing and receiving a new pair of glasses. There I thought about my eyesight as a quality system. Poor eyesight had caught up with me over time, despite the constant feedback loops being received by my brain. I chose to ignore the signs that my vision was fading and ended up with an expensive corrective measure – in this case, a sparkling new pair of varifocals.
But it was during the fitting of these glasses that the eighth Toyota Management Principle floated back into my consciousness: Adapt and adopt technology that supports your people and processes.
As mentioned above, I was being fitted for my new pair of glasses. It was a grey, blustery and rainy Saturday afternoon and outside, the light was fading fast.
Meanwhile, during the previous hour, I had been subjected to a battery of tests, many using the latest in expensive technological equipment. The pressure in my eyeball was tested by a pulse of air, and a photograph had been taken of the back of my eye to check my retinal health. My peripheral vision was also tested by a machine that randomised a sequence of small, white lights. The idea was to depress a small clicker whenever you spotted a light. I am not sure if I did not just fall into a rhythm on that test, but it was impossible not to concede that a very thorough examination had taken place.
It was then that I went in to see the optician. While technology was still in evidence, the next round of tests revolved chiefly around reading letters from the chart. This was no longer the paper version but an image that the optician could change and manipulate. Here, the technology could definitely be seen to be supporting the process. The problem with an unchanging chart is that it can be memorised, potentially skewing the measurement system. It would also require a physical transaction to change it for something else. In a lean sense, the changeover time between facilitating one test and another had been minimised. There was also some exciting elements of ECRS, as one system could be used throughout the process, hence maximising the value-added time of the optician.
Eventually, the optician shook her head sadly and explained that my prescription had changed significantly. Varifocals, she said, were now my best option to ensure that I could interact with a world that was not blurry around the edges. The next stage was to choose some frames, back in the main shop.
This I duly did, selecting a pair of highly bendy Japanese frames. I reasoned that this model would stand up to all of the rigours that the wearer would throw at them, plus they were incredibly light and comfortable. I was now ready to proceed to the next value-added process step, which was to have the frames measured and adjusted to optimally fit my head.
It was here that the eighth Toyota principle was apparent.
As I was purchasing varifocals, knowing precisely which point of the lens my pupil was looking through was key. If it was in the wrong place, I might not have been looking through the distance power of the lens when I needed it. Similarly, the reading element of the lens also needed to be in the correct position – in this case, towards the bottom. I would need to look down to read.
The lens transition point was marked with a white pencil. The alignment was done by eye by the highly trained assistant. The frames were then removed and placed face down on a card, where further pen marks were carefully placed in the pre-existing measurement grid.
It was fascinating.
After the technical wizardry of the previous stages, I was moved to remark upon this manual process.
“Well,” said the assistant, “we could use the machine over there, but this way is just as easy.”
And there it was: Adopt and Adapt Technology That Supports Your People and Processes.
The fact there was a technological aid for this process drove the point home even more. The assistant felt that she could replicate the outcome with at least the same or greater degree of accuracy and ease by applying the manual process.
In this case, the technology delivered to take the perceived pain out of this process was not being used. The expert had returned to the tried and tested method with which she felt comfortable.
It was a wonderful reminder of the eighth principle concerning the application of technology. The system must add some value that was not previously there. Technology for technology’s sake is doomed to failure.
I imagine that many of us can think of familiar processes where the artisan can comfortably outperform the machine. Let us be sure, however, that technology can be remarkably liberating. One only has to recall the beauty of Sakichi Toyoda’s automated loom and the concept of jidoka to understand.
But what is clear to me is this: the human is still the ultimate technology. We are wonderful creatures capable of achieving remarkable things. For all that is negative in the world, we must never lose sight of that.
I have an unshakeable belief in human ingenuity. I see it every day in the fantastic people that I work with. All it took was a humble pair of glasses to bring that back into sharp focus.