I was chatting recently with a mediator about a mediation that was mid-way through. A first joint session had taken place, with another scheduled in the near future. However, in the meantime one of the parties had potentially breached confidentiality of the first session.
It was unclear whether there was a technical breach or not, as the party had not discussed anything specific that was said in the session. Rather they had spoken with others about how they felt about the process so far and whether it was worthwhile.
The mediator wondered whether they should terminate the mediation at this point. As we discussed the possible reasons for doing so, and the impact of the mediator’s decision upon each of the parties, what struck me was a phrase the mediator kept returning to: “I’m concerned they’ve undermined the integrity of the process.”
The mediator said it several times, with conviction. It seemed to capture something important for them, a line that had been crossed, a principle that had been violated.
It got me thinking about how we talk about mediation, and whether some of our professional language obscures more than it reveals.
Integrity
Generally, the word integrity, when applied to a person, means the person is honest and has strong moral principles. Applied to an object or a concept, it refers to the quality of being whole and complete. If we’re going to apply the concept of integrity to a process such as mediation, what would we actually be pointing to?
Internal Consistency
A process with integrity would be internally coherent, it does what it says it does. If we tell parties it’s confidential, it functions confidentially. If we say it’s voluntary, no one is being coerced. If we say it’s their process, we actually let them drive it. The gap between what we promise and what we deliver would be small.
Fit for Purpose
It would be designed and conducted in a way that genuinely serves its stated aims. If the aim is to help parties have a difficult conversation, the structure facilitates that. If the aim is to reach a durable agreement, the process supports that. It’s not performative, going through motions that look like mediation but don’t actually function as mediation.
Transparency
The parties understand what they’re participating in. The rules are clear and applied consistently. There are no hidden agendas, no bait-and-switch. What you see is what you get.
Fairness / Even-handedness
Both (or all) parties have equivalent opportunity to speak, to be heard, to shape the outcome. The mediator isn’t favouring one side. The process itself doesn’t structurally advantage one party over another.
Bounded by its own rules
It operates within the parameters that were established at the outset. If agreements were made about confidentiality, timing, who’s in the room, what’s on or off the table, those boundaries hold.
Resilience under pressure
Perhaps a process with integrity can withstand some stress without collapsing. It doesn’t fall apart at the first difficulty. It has enough structural soundness that it can accommodate emotion, conflict, even some bad behaviour, without losing its essential character.
Integrity for what purpose?
Even if we define these attributes, they’re all in service of something. A process has integrity so that parties can trust it, so that they can be vulnerable, so that agreements mean something.
Which brings us back to the original point: the process isn’t an end in itself. Its “integrity” only matters insofar as it serves the people in it.
So when someone “undermines the integrity of the process,” we could ask: which of these attributes has been compromised? And does that compromise actually harm the parties, or just offend our sense of how things should be done?
The process isn’t a person
Here’s the thing: a mediation process doesn’t have integrity. It doesn’t have interests. It can’t be harmed or violated or protected.
A process is a tool. It’s a structure we create to help people have difficult conversations and, hopefully, reach agreements they can live with. The process serves the parties. The parties don’t serve the process.
Yet listen to how we talk sometimes. The process has been “compromised.” Someone has “violated” the process. We need to protect the “integrity” of the process. We speak as if the process itself is an entity with rights and interests that we, as mediators, are duty-bound to defend.
I think this is worth examining. Because when we say someone has “undermined the integrity of the process,” what we often mean is something much more specific, and much more useful to name directly:
- The other parties feel their trust has been damaged
- I’m frustrated that someone isn’t taking this seriously
- I’m worried this won’t lead to a meaningful outcome
- I’m concerned about my professional reputation if this falls apart
- I don’t know what to do, and invoking “process integrity” gives me grounds to act
None of these are wrong. Some are legitimate concerns that might warrant termination. Others are about us, not the parties. But collapsing them all into “process integrity” doesn’t help us think clearly about what’s actually going on and what would actually help.
Who is confidentiality actually for?
Take confidentiality, one of the pillars we hold up as fundamental to mediation. We present it as a firm boundary. We get parties to agree to it. And then we’re distressed when it turns out to be porous.
But let’s be honest: confidentiality is something we ask people to aspire to. We can never guarantee it. Human beings talk to other human beings. Someone who has just been through a stressful, emotional mediation is going to want to debrief with someone. Their partner. A friend. A colleague. This is entirely predictable human behaviour.
The question isn’t whether we can prevent this, we can’t, but rather: what is confidentiality actually designed to protect?
It’s there so parties can feel safe being open in the room. It’s there so that what someone says in a vulnerable moment doesn’t get weaponised against them later. It’s there to create a container for honest conversation.
In other words, confidentiality is there to protect the parties, not the process.
So when there’s a potential breach, the first question shouldn’t be “has the process been violated?” It should be “have the parties been harmed?” And if so, “what do they want to do about it?”
In the case I was discussing, I suggested the mediator go back to the affected parties and ask them. Did they still see value in continuing? Were they willing to proceed with their eyes open, knowing their colleague was skeptical? Would it be useful to have another session where they could address the confidentiality issue directly and make more explicit agreements about what could and couldn’t be shared going forward?
The point is: it’s their process. They get to decide whether to continue, not us.
The seduction of moral authority
I think there’s something psychologically appealing about being the guardian of process integrity. It positions us as principled professionals. It gives us grounds to act decisively. It feels clean and righteous.
But when we invoke process integrity to justify termination, we should ask ourselves: whose interests are we actually serving?
Sometimes, termination genuinely protects the parties from harm. If someone is going to use the mediation to threaten, coerce, or deceive, that’s a clear case for not proceeding.
But sometimes, invoking “process integrity” is about us:
- Avoiding association with a messy outcome
- Exercising control when we’re feeling frustrated
- Protecting our sense of what mediation should be
- Distancing ourselves from parties we find difficult
There’s nothing wrong with having professional standards. But we should be honest about what’s driving our decisions.
Good faith and the messy reality of workplace mediation
Here’s an uncomfortable truth: a significant proportion of people in workplace mediations are not there entirely voluntarily and entirely in good faith. They’re there because their boss told them to be. They’re there because the alternative is performance management or dismissal. They’re there to tick a box.
We know this. We’ve all experienced it.
Does that mean we should refuse to mediate? Does going through the motions “undermine the integrity of the process”?
I don’t think so. Because even reluctant participants sometimes have a shift in the room. They hear something from the other side they didn’t expect. They gain insight. The conversation becomes real despite their initial resistance.
And even when it doesn’t, even when someone participates superficially and signs an agreement they have no intention of honouring, there can still be value. The other parties might need that agreement on paper. The organisation might need documentation. People might want the opportunity to say what they need to say, even knowing it won’t land.
The question isn’t whether the process meets some ideal standard of genuine consent and good faith. The question is: is there still some benefit, for someone, in proceeding? And is anyone going to be harmed if we do?
A more useful framework
Instead of asking “has the integrity of the process been compromised?”, a question that can mean anything we want it to, I’d suggest three more concrete questions:
1. Will continuing cause harm? Not “will it fail to produce the ideal outcome,” but actual harm. Is someone being misled? Is there a risk of coercion or threat? Would proceeding make things worse for the parties?
2. Are the parties genuinely invested in a meaningful conversation? This is the ideal. It’s what we hope for. It’s also, frankly, not always present, and that’s okay.
3. If it’s not ideal, is there still benefit? This is where most workplace mediation actually lives. Not in the ideal, but in the pragmatic middle ground. Superficial agreements. Boxes ticked. Seventy-five percent compliance. Is that better than nothing? Often, yes.
The invitation
I’m not suggesting we abandon our principles or stop caring about how mediation is conducted. I’m suggesting we get more precise about what we actually mean when we invoke concepts like “process integrity.”
Because when we reify the process, when we treat it as an entity with its own interests to protect, we risk losing sight of why we’re there in the first place.
We’re there for the people in the room. Their interests. Their choices. Their outcomes. The process is just how we help them get there. It doesn’t have an identity to protect. But they do.
So next time you find yourself saying “the integrity of the process has been compromised,” I’d invite you to pause and ask: what do I actually mean by that? Whose interests am I concerned about? And what would genuinely serve the parties in this situation?
The answer might be termination. It might be continuation with eyes wide open. It might be a difficult conversation that clears the air.