Monday, August 23, 2010

When Written Communication Doesn't Communicate

As a writer, I understand that the point of writing is to communicate.  Every now and then, however, I run into a situation that makes it clear that what is actually in writing is not necessarily what is being communicated.

The best example of this on my desk right now is a document called, "Notice of Procedural Safeguards and Parents' Rights."  It is handed out to parents in California public schools at every step in the special education process. If I go to an IEP meeting, I'm given a copy of my rights.  If I'm asked to sign a form, a copy of my rights accompanies the form.

Last week, as I was walking away from a meeting with about my 30th copy of the document, I decided I would sit down and read it again - just for giggles.  It had been about a year since I read it, even though I had signed that I had received it many times in the last year.

The document is 10 pages long (typed, single spaced).  My first thought is that if I had a dollar for ever page of this document every time it had been handed to me over the past two years, I would have enough money to hire an attorney to help me understand it.  Mind you, that's a little embarrassing for me to admit, especially since I am a college graduate.  Heck, I even went to (and successfully completed) graduate school.  As a former educator, I actually used to hand documents like this to parents and watch their eyes glaze over.

Following an IEP meeting at my son's school recently, I had several questions about my parental rights and procedural safeguards, so I whipped out this document.  I thought, "Finally!  Maybe this isn't a waste of paper after all!" I started to read.  I read some more.  I re-read several sections. I went online and looked up several of the many legal references cited in the document. An hour later it was crystal clear to me that this document about parental rights did not answer any of my questions about my parental rights.

However, I did learn that if I have a complaint, I am supposed to contact the District's Compliance Officer.  Unfortunately, the name of the person listed as the District Compliance Officer is no longer employed at the school district and the address listed to write to this person is not the current district office address.

That looks like a clearly communicated, "Don't complain!" to me.  Isn't that what it would look like to you?

So, in spite of the many words squeezed onto this intimidating 10 page document, here is what it actually communicates:
  1. Here are your rights.  We put them in writing for you so you won't ask us about them.
  2. Don't have a question or a complaint.  The person who can help you no longer works here.
  3. We are supposed to give you this packet of paper. It says we have to give it to you once a year, but we are afraid of being accused of not giving it to you, so we're going to give it to you over and over again until you actually attempt to read it.
  4. There's a budget crisis right now, and we can't afford to buy all the classroom supplies that teachers need, but we can afford to give you a hundred pieces of paper that won't help you understand your rights over the course of a year because that's easier for us than just keeping track of who got the document and who didn't.
Here's the important question:  Are those the things the school district meant to communicate?

I don't think so, yet here we are.

This is the problem you can run into if you think of communication as an obligation rather than as an opportunity for people to come together to share and clarify thoughts and understanding.


Since I know I'm not supposed to complain (message received), I think I'll pick up the phone and actually communicate with someone to get my questions answered.  Novel idea, huh?


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