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A few weeks ago, a leading agency strategist I've known for years called me with a question I don't hear very often. Most of the time, when clients or consultant partners reach out, they're looking to kick around a research challenge, noodle through a study design, explore innovative methods, or discuss an upcoming project. This call was different.
"Do you have a moderator training course?" It wasn't a question I'd been expecting.
She went on to explain that one of her pharmaceutical clients had a head of medical affairs who strongly believed that members of his own internal team should be facilitating physician advisory boards and one-on-one interviews with key opinion leaders. On the surface, the idea made perfect sense. Medical affairs professionals are often PharmDs, pharmacists, nurses, physicians, or scientists with deep therapeutic expertise. If anyone understands the material well, surely they should be well positioned to lead conversations with expert clinicians.
The problem wasn't their scientific knowledge. It was everything else.
As she described the sessions, a familiar portrait began to emerge. The moderators moved faithfully from question to question but rarely lingered when an interesting idea surfaced. They accepted the first answer rather than probing for the second or third. They occasionally slipped into teaching mode instead of listening mode. And, she admitted with a laugh, there were "a lot of 'umms' and 'you knows'... and perhaps not nearly enough curiosity."
Her question stayed with me long after we hung up because it reflects an assumption I encounter surprisingly often. Many industry professionals, particularly those whose teams engage regularly with physicians and key opinion leaders, seem to believe that moderating skills are simply a natural extension of subject matter expertise. If someone has spent years mastering the science, surely they can facilitate a productive conversation!
I've never believed that.
In fact, I told her I'd be delighted to develop a moderator training program for the group. Because while great moderators certainly benefit from understanding the science, the ability to facilitate a truly insightful conversation is a professional discipline in its own right. Like any discipline, it can be learned; but it shouldn't be taken for granted.
A remarkable number of qualitative researchers in the pharmaceutical industry learned how to moderate from one particular individual: Dr. Richard Vanderveer.
Richard has been away from the PMRG stage for many years now, but his influence is difficult to overstate. He trained an entire generation of moderators, myself included, not simply by teaching us how to ask questions, but by teaching us how to listen. While he was working with us at ThinkGen, a few clients approached me with exactly the same request my recent caller had made: could we teach their teams how to moderate? Richard would dust off his well-worn slide deck, slip effortlessly into professor mode, and spend the next few days walking them through the discipline.
And it was never just about conducting an interview. He taught people how to recognize a meaningful insight, how to think analytically while the conversation was still unfolding, and ultimately how to build a coherent story from what they had heard.
That has always impressed me as the essence of moderation. It isn't a personality trait, and it certainly isn't something that automatically comes with a PharmD, an MD, or a PhD. It is a professional craft. Yes, subject matter expertise undoubtedly helps. If you're speaking with a leading oncologist, cardiologist or ID specialist, you must enough command of the science to establish credibility and to recognize when something important has just been said. But scientific expertise and moderation are not the same skill.
Richard had a line that he used at the beginning of almost every interview: "Today, you're going to do the talking, and I'm going to listen." It sounds deceptively simple. In reality, it captures one of the hardest disciplines in qualitative research. Great moderators resist the temptation to demonstrate how much they know. Instead, they devote their attention to understanding how someone else thinks. They recognize the hesitation before an answer. They hear the contradiction between something said twenty minutes ago and something said right now. They recognize when a seemingly casual remark deserves another five minutes of exploration instead of moving dutifully to the next question in the discussion guide.
Back when most qualitative research took place in focus group facilities, experienced moderators paid as much attention to body language as they did to the spoken word. A pause, a half smile, or a raised brow often suggested there was more to be learned beneath the surface than the respondent had yet expressed.
Listening at that level is not passive. It is active, analytical, and religiously curious. Every follow-up question changes the trajectory of the conversation. Every in-the-moment decision to probe, or not to probe, shapes the quality of the insight that ultimately emerges.
Which is one reason I remain skeptical that generative AI will become an exceptional qualitative moderator anytime soon. Asking questions is relatively easy. Following the subtle thread of human conversation, recognizing that something important has just been revealed, and having the judgment to abandon the script in pursuit of it -- those are profoundly human capabilities. They're also the very skills that Richard spent a career teaching the rest of us.
One of the biggest misconceptions about qualitative research is that the discussion guide or topical agenda drives the interview.
It doesn't.
The respondent does.
The discussion guide is simply the architecture of the conversation. It provides a framework, ensures that important topics are covered, and gives the moderator a roadmap. But the most valuable (and, frankly, entertaining) conversations I've ever moderated have rarely unfolded exactly as they were designed on paper.
Every experienced moderator knows the moment I'm talking about. A physician says something unexpected -- perhaps an offhand comment about a patient, an admission that contradicts conventional wisdom, or an observation that wasn't remotely anticipated when the guide was written. In that instant, the moderator has a split-second decision to make. Do you politely acknowledge the comment and move to Question 12 because that's what's on the page? Or do you put the guide aside for a few minutes and see where this unexpected tributary might lead?
In my experience, the most valuable insights almost always lie down that second path.
Ironically, this is often where internal moderators struggle -- not because they lack intelligence or curiosity, but because they've been handed a discussion guide that feels almost contractual. The questions are often enumerated prominently in a slide deck, colleagues are observing from the back of the room, and there is an understandable desire to "cover the material." Before long, the guide becomes the objective rather than the tool.
The best moderators think about it differently. They aren't trying to complete an interview. They're trying to understand another human being. That's fundamentally different. It encourages active listening rather than passive note-taking. It rewards curiosity over efficiency. It allows the moderator to spend five minutes exploring a surprising comment or a raised emotion instead of feeling guilty for falling behind schedule.
And that takes confidence. Confidence that you'll still get where you need to go. Confidence that leaving the guide for a few minutes isn't losing control of the interview but, in fact, exercising it. Like any professional discipline, that confidence comes from experience: from interviews that didn't go particularly well, from thoughtful coaching, from candid feedback, and from conducting enough conversations that listening eventually becomes more instinctive than following the script.
I've often thought that inexperienced moderators worry about getting through the discussion guide. Experienced moderators worry about understanding the person sitting across from them. Those are very different objectives.
Whenever this topic comes up, I find myself recalling the movie Ratatouille. One of its most memorable lines is, "Anyone can cook."
That's a wonderful sentiment.
The same, I think, is true of moderation -- but with an important caveat. Like cooking, some people seem to possess an almost natural instinct for it.
I've been fortunate enough to work with a few of them. My colleague Michael Rose, a former soldier and bartender, jumped into the moderating chair and seemed comfortable almost immediately. He knew how to put people at ease, how to keep a conversation flowing, and how to make respondents feel heard. My former colleague Curt Jorgensen was much the same way. Watching either of them moderate, you had the distinct impression they'd been doing it for years.
But those people are the exception, not the rule.
For most of us, myself included, moderation is learned through practice, thoughtful coaching, honest feedback, and the willingness to conduct interview after interview until active listening becomes second nature. That's why I answered my client's question without hesitation. Yes, moderation can absolutely be taught. In fact, I think it should be.
As Richard used to teach us, the moderator's job isn't to demonstrate expertise. Certainly don't mispronounce a drug name, but that's not the point. It's to create the kind of conversation where someone says something they might never have said otherwise. That's what great moderation has always been about. And I suspect it always will be.
