Why NASA (and you) should ditch the systems-speak
Broom & Moon’s name was inspired by John F. Kennedy’s ability to communicate the magic of that first mission to put a man on the moon. A vision articulated so beautifully that everyone at NASA — from the chief rocket scientist to the humble janitor — could get behind it.
So, naturally, we have a professional interest in how NASA has been talking about its latest trip to the moon. Our assessment?
JFK it is not.
Kennedy famously declared that human beings rise to challenges like the moonshot “not because they are easy, but because they are hard”.
And in its modern incarnation, NASA seems determined to tell everyone exactly how hard it is to get to the moon.
How do we know? Things as outwardly prosaic as space suits and rockets are now labelled as “systems”. Some examples:
What you’d probably call it
Spacesuit
Rocket
The rocket’s auto eject
A ski-lift for evacuating the rocket before take-off
The buoys that keep the capsule afloat after it lands in the sea
Mission control
What NASA is calling it
Orion Crew Survival System (OCSS)
Space Launch System (SLS)
Launch Abort System (LAS)
Emergency Egress System (EES)
Crew Module Uprighting System (CMUS)
Exploration Ground Systems (EGS)
Such nomenclature reminds us that every aspect of NASA’s mission involves the complex interaction of interconnected elements (often other systems), each with its own initialism. Even NASA’s own employees are no longer teams, but systems created to develop and operate other systems.
The namers at NASA clearly need to spend some time with the space-inspired Up-Goer Five Text Editor. But NASA is far from alone in shouting about how systemically complicated its work is. That fear of dumbing down is something we find ourselves often having to assuage in many of our clients.
We call it “exposing the internal wiring”. That desire to say: “look what we’ve done — isn’t it impressive?”.
But, as a non-technical observer, do you need to be told that a rocket is a system of interconnected systems? Or could you have surmised as much? Is it, in fact, an insult to your intelligence to be told what a complex bit of kit a rocket is — as if you had been thinking all along “well anyone could have built that”.
Worse still, exposing the internal wiring represents a massive missed opportunity. An opportunity to lean into the magic. The mystery. The feeling of wonder.
As I watched Artemis II take off last week, I was lost for all but one (repeated) word: wow.
I didn’t need to know I was watching the culmination of the interaction of a series of systems to feel an absolute sense of awe.
Wow. Wow. Wow.
In fact, not being a highly trained engineering nerd, much of my awe came from not seeing the complexity. Because once you know how a magic trick works, it’s no longer magic.
So what’s the lesson for those who are techie-minded and jargon-dependent?
If you’ve spent years developing a piece of kit, or — dare I say it — a system, swallow your professional pride. Hide its complexity. Make like Steve Jobs, who understood that simplicity is the greatest sophistication of all.
Such humility will pay off. For there is not merely a seductiveness in not showing your working out. There is strategic advantage. Awe is, after all, one of the emotions that is known to promote virality.
If you want your idea to spread, hold back on the systems speak and fill people with awe.
