Empathy for the empathetically challenged
I’ll never forget the worst user research I ever conducted. Many years ago, as a fledgling UX designer, I was conducting observational field research with doctors who were learning a new technique in a cadaver lab. I had never been in a cadaver lab before, and knew that I would likely struggle with objectivity, which is a nice way of saying I would likely freak out.
As a user experience designer and user researcher, I place high value on immersing myself in the world of the people for whom I design products and services. In healthcare, it means cultivating empathy towards people that work in healthcare, individuals with chronic conditions, and caregivers. Qualitative research helps me challenge my assumptions about my audience. That’s the goal, anyway.
I had arranged to spend some time in the cadaver lab before the doctors appeared, so as to try to normalize this hardly-normal environment. Surprisingly, I was more curious than fearful. “You can do this. You’ve got this,” I thought.
Confidently, I gathered with the doctors in the lecture hall and prepared for my day of objective, high-quality research. Behind me, I heard two doctors chatting, engaged in a kind of light and easy banter. “Why do we have to work with stupid cadavers?” one of the doctors muttered.
It stunned me. And then it enraged me. I thought about the sheer difficulty involved in providing medical professionals with human cadavers (and if you’re ever interested in reading about it, I can’t recommend Stiff by Mary Roach enough. Unless you’re squeamish, in which case I can’t recommend it at all). Cadavers are hard to come by. They cannot be reused. They are a precious gift to the medical community. And here was someone talking about what a waste it was.
Jerks, I thought. I didn’t notice the pluralization until much later. So blinded by my anger, I barely noticed what was going on during the training session. I painted every one in the lab with the “jerk” brush. One trainer, noticing my distance and discomfort, approached me and asked me if I wanted to watch him perform the procedure standing behind his left shoulder. “You’ll get the best vantage point standing there,” he said. He asked me if I had ever been in a cadaver lab before. He saw my discomfort and assumed that I was uncomfortable with being in a room filled with dead bodies. I couldn’t bear to tell him that my discomfort was entirely about being in a room filled with doctors.
Reflecting back on that experience has forced me to contemplate bias in research. I hope that this contemplation helps others out there who are conducting research, particularly user experience designers who are encouraged to meet with users but don’t know what it means when they are encouraged to “be empathetic”.
You have biases
You, like every other person out there, are judgmental. There are things you like, and there are things you don’t like. Most people work to maximize their pleasure and minimize their pain. Ignoring this fact and putting on an air of objectivity does not help you conduct better research.
We all want to believe that we’re objective, but acknowledging how hard it actually is to be genuinely objective is the first step.
In my example, noticing that I felt an aversion towards the offending doctor would have been a strong clue that my objectivity was out of whack.
When you feel resistance or affinity towards your research subject, you’re maximizing your concern for self
Because we like what we like and dislike what we don’t, we have the habit of forming in-groups and out-groups in our minds. People who share enough of our preferences become “like us,” while people who share enough of our dislikes become “like them.” Both attitudes are problematic in research because they prevent you from noticing genuine differences. Instead, these attitudes are about strengthening the superiority of your own identity, rather than understanding others’.
I didn’t think to ask the doctor why he said what he did. Perhaps the banter was a way of easing tension. Maybe it was the expression of a heartfelt wish to work with live patients. Or maybe the doctor was expressing a feeling of squeamishness about being around cadavers. I’ll never know. There were many explanations for the comment that didn’t involve me mentally labeling all doctors jerks. With that one simple label, I elevated myself as the “non-jerk” in the room.
Unbiased observation requires practice
Despite the powerful training we all have in defending our preferences and our sense of self, I honestly believe that there are ways to overcome our biases. The key is self-awareness: developing greater attention towards these states of mind and developing the ability to listen without an agenda. Both require practice. Jumping into research without a clear intent on how you’re going to listen leaves you vulnerable to, well, getting pissed off.
I’m a big proponent of meditation to help develop awareness of those faculties of mind that judge, categorize, and label. Once you’ve started to notice what’s going on in your head, that’s when you can start practicing receptive listening with anyone that’s talking to you: coworkers, siblings, strangers on the street, cashiers, and everyone else. Notice what it takes to just listen without internal commentary or external validation, and bring that observational sense to your next research activity, and see what happens. It’s not simple, and it takes a lot of time to develop a “listening ear.”
You might not be able to overcome your bias
Despite the desire to be objective and the intent to listen with open receptivity, you might not be able to do so effectively. Emotional responses can hijack your ability to sense what’s going on in your external environment. And it can happen to anyone. A good way to mitigate this is to make sure you’re conducting research in pairs or teams. And, in some cases, you may want to admit that you’re not the right person to be conducting research in the first place.
In my example, I was lucky enough to be able to coordinate my notes with other colleagues in the room who were not bias-hijacked during the course of the day.
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Truly see when you are maximizing your concern for self instead of maximizing your concern for others, and you’ll understand the limits of empathy. What I learned in that cadaver lab is that becoming a better observer of others requires you to become a better observer of yourself.
