Why asking obvious questions works

Creativity & Communication

The barrier created by thinking “I may make a fool of myself if I ask this” can mean that starting points and new directions for thinking remain undiscovered. Always ask the questions that seem too obvious, or those you think you’re supposed to know the answers to. When industrial designer Kenneth Grange was briefed to develop new express trains for British Rail in the 1970s, a seemingly naive question popped into his head: “What exactly are the buffers on the locomotive for?” Expecting to be told “They’re to stop the trains crashing into stations, stupid!”, instead he learnt that they were for shunting carriages – a redundant activity from a bygone era.

“What are the buffers for?”

Not how to streamline them. Not whether their colour is on-brand. What are they for?

That question is dangerous because it threatens the premise. Organisations prefer improvement questions: can we digitise the fax field, automate the approval, make the weekly report interactive? Each one preserves the sacred object. “Why does this exist?” may discover that nobody has sent a fax since 2009 and the report’s final reader retired during the first iPhone.

Expertise makes obvious questions socially expensive. Newcomers assume the answer is buried in history. Veterans assume somebody else remembers. Everyone protects themselves from looking stupid, and an obsolete process enjoys another profitable year.

Give new people a confusion list. Ask outsiders to map the journey. Treat “I thought I was supposed to know” as a warning, not an admission. Some inherited constraints will turn out to be essential, which is useful knowledge too.

But when nobody can state the current purpose in plain English, the burden of proof belongs to the process—not the person asking. Do not optimise inherited furniture before checking whether the room still needs it. A foolish question may waste thirty seconds. One unquestioned old answer can waste a decade.