Ask More: The Power of Questions to Open Doors, Uncover Solutions, and Spark Change pdfdrive com

Particularly egregious was the assertion that the Iraqis had biological
weapons laboratories that they could move around and hide from weapons
inspectors and spy satellites. It was Exhibit A for the CIA. But it was based on a
single source, an Iraqi defector code-named Curveball. He’d told his story to
German intelligence. American agents never interrogated him. Only after the
invasion did we learn that Curveball had lied.
Why didn’t anyone realize Curveball’s story was full of holes? What

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questions should have been asked, and by whom? Why didn’t alarm bells ring
when officials realized Curveball had not been interrogated by American agents?
More than ten years after the fact, Powell was still steaming mad.
“The friggin’ director of the CIA should have asked! He should have asked
his people, ‘What do we really know about this? … Where did this come from?
Is it multiple-sourced?’”
As secretary of state, Powell didn’t push back hard enough. The power
players—the vice president, the secretary of defense, and others—drove the
decisions. They didn’t ask the right questions either. The U.S. mission in Iraq
turned into a costly open-ended commitment riddled with unintended
consequences and terrible casualties, resulting in an ugly and inconclusive
outcome.
“Yes, a blot, a failure will always be attached to me and my UN
presentation,” Powell wrote in his book, It Worked for Me. “I am mad mostly at
myself for not having smelled the problem. My instincts failed me.”
In his office, far from the cameras and the lights, the retired general and
former secretary of state seemed subdued and regretful that his long and
distinguished life of service to the United States, his record of breaking barriers
and standing for integrity and honor, had been sullied by a mission that he and
others did not submit to the kind of scrutiny and strategic questioning it
deserved. His UN appearance and his insistence that Saddam Hussein
represented a clear and present danger still pained him.
“I’m the one left holding the bag with respect to all this crap and it’s in my
obituary,” he said to me. “And so be it.”
Washington is a town of towering purpose but also towering egos. It is a
place where people assess you by your connections and your access to power,
where you are only as useful as your last job title and the network you bring with
you. Taking responsibility for failure and screw-ups is not a common trait. It’s
too easy to accuse someone else, duck the tough questions, or change the
subject. Powell didn’t do that. He acknowledged when an operation had gone
wrong and he took responsibility where it mattered. He should have been a
louder voice and insisted that difficult but strategic questions got asked along the
way. Whether anyone would have listened to him is another matter. But he
knows he should have tried. That’s a lesson from him and for the rest of us.
Getting Personal

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In the mid-1990’s, when his star dominated the political horizon, Powell
considered a run for the White House. The pressure from supporters was intense.
The calling seemed clear. Powell’s first book, My American Journey, was a
bestseller. America’s victory against Saddam Hussein in the first Gulf War, and
the four stars on Powell’s shoulders, made him a hero. His story was inspiring
and he enjoyed unparalleled stature and authority. He looked like a modern-day
Eisenhower, a leader who could bring precision and discipline to Washington,
along with star quality and diversity to the Republican Party. The very hint of a
Powell presidential bid drove cable news shows and op-ed columns into a
frenzy. I was the anchor of a daily show on CNN at the time, and we could
barely keep the pundits and politicians away from the microphone. Everybody
wanted to weigh in. It was TV heaven, but the spectacle was short-lived.
Powell asked his strategic questions, this time on a much more personal
level.
One, do I have an obligation?
Two, do I really want to do it?
Three, do I have the passion to do it?
Four, do I have the organizational ability to do it?
Five, am I going to enjoy campaigning or will I be good at it?
Six, what is my family’s view of this?
Could he answer each question in the affirmative? No, he didn’t have the
passion. And no, his family was not on board—especially his wife, Alma, who
had suffered bouts of depression over the years. To submit her to the unending
ordeal of a campaign and the intense and public pressures of the White House
should he win were beyond what he could reasonably ask. The world would
never see a Powell candidacy.
Instead, Powell would serve as secretary of state in one of the most
wrenching periods in American history. There would be speeches and books and
boards. And when it was all over, he would have his regrets but he’d still have
his integrity, service to country, and his general’s bearing. And he would
proudly display that little red wagon in his office, dedicated to America’s
Promise.
Challenge Yourself

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Strategic questions are vital company at any major crossroads, professional or
personal. They are deceptively simple questions that illuminate complex
decisions characterized by great risk or uncertainty. They are healthy questions
that call for answers about purpose and the big picture.
You may decide, like Colin Powell, that the answers need to be unanimous
and affirmative. Or you may be comfortable with a more ambiguous response.
After all, some of the best ideas and strategies have been built on hunches or
whims. But strategic questions prompt you to examine the terrain broadly, to
estimate the situation from which you can proceed with a better sense of
capability and destination. Whether you are considering a major business move
or a big investment of your own time and resources, thinking about the long-
term consequences and goals—asking why, where, and how—will help you to
better clarify the stakes and the prospects. At a major crossroad, pose a variation
of these questions to yourself or the group:
Does this course of action advance my interests?
Is there a calling, a bigger purpose?
Does it feel right—is it important, consistent with my values?
Do I have the passion to do this and stick with it?
Can I define “success”?
Do I have the tools to achieve it?
Have I calculated costs and benefits, risks, rewards, and
alternatives?
What are the consequences for my emotional, intellectual, and
spiritual well-being?
Would the people closest to me think this is a good idea?
If this ended up in my biography (or obituary), would I be proud to
see it there?
As the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation considered its campaign against
malaria, the answers to their strategic questions pointed to a need, a capability,
and a plan that justified a massive global campaign. They have since worked
with doctors and scientists, governments and nongovernmental organizations
(NGOs), community organizers and ordinary citizens to make significant
progress against a deadly disease. Big and bold and ambitious, their all-in
strategy produced results that justified the cost and the risk. Their strategy, well
considered and executed, attacked the right problem and was built on the right

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questions.

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