Semen stains and the rules
Between proper jobs, I was sent on a short assignment to Management Services Wing in 1986. This unit, a forerunner to Service Quality Wing, is laying the foundation for organisational change.
That work will gather pace throughout the late 80s and into the 90s. Because as society transforms, a middle-class emerges, and the public demands of the police alter. With that evolving of expectations, there is a recognition that policing needs to adjust.
My first day in MSW doesn't go well. The new boss informs me;
"I want you to find out how many unnecessary pieces of paper are flying around in the organisation."
"Most of it is unnecessary" My reply fell on deaf ears.
Never a great one for administration, I'm not thrilled with this project. After a couple of days, we agree to hone the task down. I'm to look at the duplication and submission of returns.
In simple language, a return is a piece of information submitted on a regular basis, either statistical or narrative. This data generates the tables of statistics the government trots out. There is a general view that the number of returns has grown to create an administrative burden.
In the era before computers, gathering information was by bits of paper moving from place to place.
The 'Manual of Office Practice' dictates the process. If nothing else, it's impressive to witness the byzantine thoroughness. The size of fonts, paragraph lengths, file numbering, and minute sheets are all there.
The system works well. Once briefed, staff go about the task with earnest relentlessly. The generated data is typed up and dispatched. Yet, over time things can go astray. Some of the information that is no longer needed or duplication is taking place.
My task over the next five months is to try to get a handle on the situation. Then, perhaps, we can cull a few returns.
To illustrate the problem, let us consider the monthly return from CID on obnoxious exhibits. In the past, someone had complained about handling exhibits soiled with blood or semen or similar. It's not a pleasant task. As a result, staff are reluctant to undertake the role.
In a typical fashion, a committee forms to examine paying an allowance for the role. To understand the scale of the issue, they've asked for monthly submissions on obnoxious exhibits. But that's years ago.
My research took me from frontline CID units up the administrative tree to a filing cabinet. Each month, with flawless execution, the system delivers statistics for filing at headquarters. CID units gathered the information, then submitted returns to the regional offices.
In turn, the regions merge the information to send it on. In police headquarters, Ms Julie Tan files the returns away. A seamless exercise in office practice that keeps people employed.
In a single cabinet, the information sat. No one asked to see it. No one questioned its value.
This process had gone on for over eight years as with due diligence, Ms Tan filed the data away, chasing up those who missed a return. For three years, she'd done the job in line with the briefing from her predecessor.
It's the same throughout the entire chain of the process. Officers informed by former post-holders kept the system running except for one crucial point - the committee examining the issue no longer exists. Plus, someone neglected to cancel the return. Meanwhile, the bureaucratic leviathan trundled along.
The obnoxious property saga was one of many. So it's intriguing that some folks reacted with grunts of indignation when told to cull returns. As if sustaining the beast took precedence over everything—an aversion to change without a struggle.
They required convincing - this bureaucratic inertia constantly proved unshakable throughout my career.
I found there is a particular type of administrator who took delight in citing arcane regulations. These people turned delaying decisions and obstruction into an art form. It's a game you had to learn to play.
Only with rules on the creation and submission of returns did the situation improve. A ranking officer needed to sanction the return, plus its continuance. By using someone senior, we held back the production of unnecessary returns.
My five months in MSW taught me a few things. Primarily, to operate in the system, I needed to know the rules. Archaic but functioning, sets of regulations and procedures dictated how the organisation worked.
Civil Service Regulations would be my reading material for the months ahead. Then, armed with that knowledge, I'd be ready to defend my corner.
In October 1986, I said farewell to MSW. Awaiting me is a posting in Emergency Unit Kowloon East. That's more like it.
That work will gather pace throughout the late 80s and into the 90s. Because as society transforms, a middle-class emerges, and the public demands of the police alter. With that evolving of expectations, there is a recognition that policing needs to adjust.
My first day in MSW doesn't go well. The new boss informs me;
"I want you to find out how many unnecessary pieces of paper are flying around in the organisation."
"Most of it is unnecessary" My reply fell on deaf ears.
Never a great one for administration, I'm not thrilled with this project. After a couple of days, we agree to hone the task down. I'm to look at the duplication and submission of returns.
In simple language, a return is a piece of information submitted on a regular basis, either statistical or narrative. This data generates the tables of statistics the government trots out. There is a general view that the number of returns has grown to create an administrative burden.
In the era before computers, gathering information was by bits of paper moving from place to place.
The 'Manual of Office Practice' dictates the process. If nothing else, it's impressive to witness the byzantine thoroughness. The size of fonts, paragraph lengths, file numbering, and minute sheets are all there.
The system works well. Once briefed, staff go about the task with earnest relentlessly. The generated data is typed up and dispatched. Yet, over time things can go astray. Some of the information that is no longer needed or duplication is taking place.
My task over the next five months is to try to get a handle on the situation. Then, perhaps, we can cull a few returns.
To illustrate the problem, let us consider the monthly return from CID on obnoxious exhibits. In the past, someone had complained about handling exhibits soiled with blood or semen or similar. It's not a pleasant task. As a result, staff are reluctant to undertake the role.
In a typical fashion, a committee forms to examine paying an allowance for the role. To understand the scale of the issue, they've asked for monthly submissions on obnoxious exhibits. But that's years ago.
My research took me from frontline CID units up the administrative tree to a filing cabinet. Each month, with flawless execution, the system delivers statistics for filing at headquarters. CID units gathered the information, then submitted returns to the regional offices.
In turn, the regions merge the information to send it on. In police headquarters, Ms Julie Tan files the returns away. A seamless exercise in office practice that keeps people employed.
In a single cabinet, the information sat. No one asked to see it. No one questioned its value.
This process had gone on for over eight years as with due diligence, Ms Tan filed the data away, chasing up those who missed a return. For three years, she'd done the job in line with the briefing from her predecessor.
It's the same throughout the entire chain of the process. Officers informed by former post-holders kept the system running except for one crucial point - the committee examining the issue no longer exists. Plus, someone neglected to cancel the return. Meanwhile, the bureaucratic leviathan trundled along.
The obnoxious property saga was one of many. So it's intriguing that some folks reacted with grunts of indignation when told to cull returns. As if sustaining the beast took precedence over everything—an aversion to change without a struggle.
They required convincing - this bureaucratic inertia constantly proved unshakable throughout my career.
I found there is a particular type of administrator who took delight in citing arcane regulations. These people turned delaying decisions and obstruction into an art form. It's a game you had to learn to play.
Only with rules on the creation and submission of returns did the situation improve. A ranking officer needed to sanction the return, plus its continuance. By using someone senior, we held back the production of unnecessary returns.
My five months in MSW taught me a few things. Primarily, to operate in the system, I needed to know the rules. Archaic but functioning, sets of regulations and procedures dictated how the organisation worked.
Civil Service Regulations would be my reading material for the months ahead. Then, armed with that knowledge, I'd be ready to defend my corner.
In October 1986, I said farewell to MSW. Awaiting me is a posting in Emergency Unit Kowloon East. That's more like it.
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