The Problem Behind the Problem

One of the habits I've developed over the years is a healthy skepticism toward the problem everyone says they're trying to solve. That sounds cynical. It isn't. I've simply found that organizations often spend enormous amounts of time arguing about symptoms while the real problem sits untouched.

I was reminded of that during a long-running dispute involving a major transmission project in Vermont. A utility had agreed to fund a transmission upgrade that was expected to cost roughly $12 million. By the time the project was completed, the actual cost had grown to more than $27 million. The utility refused to pay. Litigation followed. Regulators became involved. Utility executives, attorneys, consultants, and board members spent months debating who bore responsibility for the increased cost.

From a distance, the dispute seemed straightforward. The argument was about money. Who should pay? How much should they pay? Was the utility obligated to pay? Was the cost estimate reasonable? Those were the questions everyone focused on. For nearly a year, I did too.

The more I listened, however, the less convinced I became that cost was driving the dispute. The utility had already agreed to spend millions on the project. The project itself wasn't being challenged. The need for the project wasn't being challenged. Even the concept of paying more than originally expected didn't fully explain the intensity of the disagreement. Something wasn't fitting.

Eventually I stopped asking: “What is the total cost?” and started asking: “Why does the cost matter?” That distinction changed everything.

The more I analyzed the situation, the more it appeared that the utility's real concern wasn't the project cost itself. It was the impact that cost would have on customer rates. The dispute wasn't about $27 million. It was about what $27 million would mean over time.

Once I started looking at the issue through that lens, entirely different solutions became possible. Positions that seemed irreconcilable suddenly looked less rigid. Settlement options that had never been considered became reasonable. The conversation changed because the problem changed. Or more accurately, because we finally identified the actual problem. What stayed with me wasn't the settlement that eventually emerged. It was the lesson.

I've seen the same pattern repeat itself in boardrooms, negotiations, regulatory proceedings, and public policy debates. A board argues about cost when the real issue is risk. A regulator argues about process when the real issue is precedent. A management team argues about staffing when the real issue is priorities. A community argues about a project when the real issue is trust.

The visible problem often isn't the real problem. It's just the place where the real problem shows up. That is why some disagreements seem impossible to resolve. The participants are answering different questions without realizing it.

When progress stalls, one of the most valuable questions a leader can ask is: “What problem are we actually trying to solve?” The answer sounds obvious. It rarely is.

In my experience, the biggest breakthroughs seldom come from finding a better answer. They come from asking a better question. Sometimes the hardest part of solving a problem is recognizing which problem you're actually trying to solve.