I am spending this summer visiting my parents. My eighty one year old dad is avid gardener – and a very good one. His garden contains a vast array of flowers that start blooming now and will carry on through the summer.  All the colors of the rainbow will be well represented in different shades. Throughout the season, my senses will be enraptured by a range of colors, textures, shapes and scents that emerge, change and thrive in this garden.

Not only do I sit in the garden, but I’m also working in it. I’m new to gardening – all these years, I’ve made practically nil effort to learn about how my dad created his masterpiece. This year is different. I’m a keen gardening apprentice. This excites me for a number of reasons. They include, as I’ve suggested in a previous post, my belief that the gardener and his/her garden have a lot to teach me about social change and activism.   This week, the practice of watering the plants has instructed me on the basics of awareness.

Warning: Some of you might get a bit distressed by the quantity of water you can imagine is being used to maintain the garden. Water is a precious resource that I do not take for granted. Yet, the joy gardening brings to my dad – and the joy his garden brings to anyone who sees it (as well as the bees, birds and bunnies that seem to be enjoying it, too!) – prevent me from boycotting it in the name of water conservation.

This morning, hose in hand, I slowly made my way around the garden to water the plants. In the past, I never had much patience for this vital task. I’d stand for probably what was a minute and then be ready to move on. ‘No, no, no,’ my dad would shake his head ‘Go back, you need to stay there for almost ten minutes – it’s really dry.’

Ten minutes watering the same set of plants? Really?  I couldn’t fathom it. Thankfully, my capacity for patience has developed greatly in the past year. 

Previously, my dad had mentioned to me that he likes watering; he finds it meditative and relaxing. Thus, I assumed that when he waters the garden he tunes out and his mind goes blank. The other day he explained that this isn’t the case at all. Rather, while he is watering, he uses the time to look closely at all his beloved plants and the happenings in his garden. Sometimes he focuses in on the minutia, sometimes he casts a wide glance to take in the big picture.

Look, the buds on that plant aren’t opening and the leaves on that one have a lot of holes. Maybe those plants would be better over there – more sunlight. And those plants are starting to take over – making the other one’s struggle. And these plants, well, the bunnies must be getting fat! And so forth.

He uses the time while he is watering to SEE his garden and understand it better. He is very present to all the creations in the garden – some of which he has had a hand in, and others that are beyond his control.

This morning, while watering, I started to play around with this practice. I quickly became pleasantly surprised by what I noticed when I paid close attention. Well, not so much by what I noticed but by how much I noticed. I was amazed by all the details I was seeing, e.g., amidst the browned, dying leaves are a whole bunch of tiny buds, if I consciously choose to pay close attention.   So it is that watering the garden is also becoming a meditation for me  - which most certainly is a tuning in and not a tuning out.  In fact, it is about becoming finely tuned and is rather similar to my daily meditation practice of Vipassana – which involves closely observing what’s alive in me.  

When I finished watering today, I found myself wondering, in what ways can I  - and activists more generally – be more attentive? How can we create more spaces to meditate on the environment in which we are working? After all, our ego-driven activist instinct – in my experience – can easily default to “Here’s what I think you need to do….” or an anxious and overly-eager “What can I do?” without a pause to watch and observe.

Which of the mundane tasks we perform in our activism potentially give us an opportunity to see and connect with the world around us more deeply and thoughtfully? How can we create more spaces in which we can focus on soaking in what is before us in the here and now?  How can we integrate different meditation practices, i.e., increased focus and awareness, into our activism?

The past few days, I’ve been thinking a lot about relationships. Human relationships is the aspect of social change that gets me super excited. I’ve also been thinking about systems and processes. These don’t get me so excited – thinking about them usually leaves me frustrated. On Monday I was coaching a colleague, Andrew, to support him with his restorative justice (RJ) project. Andrew’s specific task at hand is to work closely with a social landlord committed to urban regeneration and responsible for some nine thousand homes. We quickly identified that one of his challenges is the way that generally the staff of public service providers, e.g. those delivering social housing, often get tangled up in and constrained by their systems. Life, as a an employee for a public service provider, can easily become a daily grind of following the rules to be able to tick boxes and show you’ve done your role in implementing the latest system or process created to address some problem or another.

How uninspiring is that?

And how often does this cultural norm result in cycles of problems that seem to get a bit better only for a short time or, in fact, never really change at all?

Talking about this context, it quickly became clear that Andrew would benefit by working out how he can support the social landlord staff to understand RJ as more than just another system to implement. His work to promote RJ runs a high risk of the main staff question becoming: “What are the basics I need to do with this new process, you know, to get my job done?’

What’s Andrew to do?

One of the questions I asked Andrew, who has facilitated many successful cases in his RJ work to date, is: ‘What makes you so passionate about RJ – what about it really gets you excited?’ He responded by telling me that he loves it when he sees people let go of their assumptions about others – and that this is a crucial dimension of the RJ process.

To which I responded: “Now tell me a story – tell me about a case that you get excited about when you think of it?” I asked him if he has a partner – answer, ‘Yes.’ “Okay” I said “Pretend I’m your partner and you’ve just come from work, we are in the pub and you can’t wait to tell me about what happened in a case you facilitated that afternoon – what do you tell me?

This time Andrew started to become animated as he told me the story of a adolescent burglar meeting the victim of his crime – an elderly woman living alone in the house that he broke into. I prodded him to tell me what he felt when he was watching and listening to these two people he had brought together. I wanted to know what he witnessed happen between them. I wanted him to make RJ come alive for me, so that I could start to get a sense of what it was about and connect with it emotionally.  I encouraged him to flesh out a few such stories, so he can take them along whenever he goes out to talk about RJ.  

But he can also benefit from communicating more than just the individual case stories.  When we communicate about the social change we want to see, we can easily miss out on what Andrew called the ‘meta-narrative.’ This isn’t a term I would normally use, but it did seem appropriate. What we were both thinking is that he has a larger story to tell – one that is bigger than the details of individual cases. It is about the types of communities he wants to create. RJ is not just another system, it is part of the journey to create a different world – or if that feels too grand, to create a different neighborhood.

Really.

For example, maximizing the impact restorative justice practices can have in our communities requires that the people involved are prepared to listen to the ‘enemy’, to put aside their assumptions about people and see the other through different lenses, to work with compassion and forgiveness, to make themselves vulnerable, to trust a process where the outcome is not pre-defined – which ultimately requires trusting others, to be open-minded and ready to create in new ways, i.e. come up with actions that will bring about justice in a way that is healing.

Thus, the bigger story that holds restorative justice processes within it is that we are committed to building communities more strongly rooted in trust, compassion, forgiveness, connection, visibility, creativity, collaboration and healing. To do this we need to relate to each other differently from what we are doing in the status quo. 

On the surface, what’s there not to like, right? Wrong. Many people find it hard to believe that the communities we live in can have such roots – our experience has pushed us be distrustful, cynical, pessimistic and wary of both systems and people. Which means that Andrew, and any of us when in a similar situation, are faced with the often-difficult task of taking people on a journey. 

Yet, we sometimes approach the task as though we are making a sales pitch. We try to explain away why our system is better than the one currently being used. We make a business case. We do this when, instead, we could be extending an invitation to join us on a journey – a journey where we work together to create different kinds of relationships and different kinds of community/communities.

What would inspire you more - to be asked/encouraged/directed to implement a new, more effective system or to be invited to play an active role in collaborating with people - perhaps in ways that are new to you - in order to reshape the communities you all work and live in?

I’m now thinking about the following questions and I put them to you: As a social change activist, what kind of communities do you want to create – what are their main characteristics in terms of how people relate and collaborate with one another?  What are specific stories you have that illustrate what can happen when we head off in this direction? How might integrating your big-picture change story - your ‘meta-narrative’ - into your day-to-day work help you be more effective in creating change – whatever the arena?  What indiviual, specific scenario stories do you carry around with you to help communicate why your work matters to you and why you think it should matter to anyone else?

I have a lot of topics I can think to write about, including: what is meant by ‘be the change you wish to see’; the relationship between law and creating cultures of integrity; deliberative ethics. Yet, somehow this week, I’m not moved to write about any of these topics. Instead, I’m in the mood to write about laughter. A few months ago, a friend started talking to me about Buddha. She said that she thought that, for a lot of us, one of life’s lessons is to laugh more. “I mean,” she explained “think about all those Buddha images where he is just laughing.”  

As happens, over the years, I’ve been collecting Buddha images – little statues picked up in my travels. I only bring home the 'Happy Man' figures. I also have one that was gifted to me by my brother and his wife. I’d put a picture of it here, but it is currently packed away. It is a sandalwood Buddha carving with one big Buddha in the middle and a few smaller Buddhas surrounding him, including flying about his head. They are all laughing ecstatically. I love this carving and usually keep it on my desk - I find it inspiring. Likewise, I’ve noticed that often the Dalai Lama has a huge grin on his face when pictured. This is a man who feels deeps compassion for humanity – he meaningfully feels the pain of others on a regular basis. Yet, what a smile – the face of joy.

Isn’t it easy, as we work for our social causes, to forget to laugh? After all, the issues are sooooo important. And we are sooooo important, aren’t we? We are fighting for justice, equality, freedom – are we not? We must always be serious, if we are going to do great works...

Really?

I reckon if we want to create a more joyful world – which is definitely something I want to do – part of doing so is the expression of joy, which often comes in the form of laughter. I reckon if we want to create a more healthy world – which is definitely something I want to do – part of doing so is release, which often comes in the form of laughter. I reckon if we want to create a more humble world – which is definitely something I want to do – part of doing so is not taking one’s self so seriously, which often comes in the form of laughter.

I’m one of those people who frequently used to tell myself, and be told by others, to ‘not be so serious all the time’ or to ‘stop taking everything so seriously.’ My laugh didn’t used to come from the belly – it was usually a sort of shallow, perhaps a bit nervous kind of laugh. In recent years, I’ve come to know the joy of a good belly laugh. I’ve experienced times where I’m laughing so hard my face hurts.

And when this happens, I think ‘Why don't I let myself do this more often?’

A wise woman recently advised me that laughter helps open us up to our intuition. As I understand it, intuition is the wisdom we all carry that is bigger than our own individual experience. I would also like us to create a world where we are more tuned into, and making choices guided by, our intuitive selves.  I like this idea that laughter can help us do that.

In short, this week when I think of social change and activism, I’m thinking about being silly, laughing, giggling, joking around with people. Compassionate, robust activism need not be mutually exclusive to joy – quite the contrary, I should think.

Okay, perhaps I was wrong at the start of writing this post. I guess I did feel like writing about being the change we want to see – just not in my usual way.

When is the last time you laughed so much your face started hurting or your eyes starting tearing? When you laugh, do you laugh from your belly? How often do you giggle? When is the last time you did something silly?

I recently visited a friend who last year became a mom for the first time. At the time of her pregnancy, she was working for an organization committed to gender equity. Certain responses to her pregnancy – to her entering the community of mothers – have saddened me. I’m not sure what has been more saddening – the responses or the fact that I was not surprised when I heard about them. I’ve posted about this before – about how we activists sometimes struggle to be the change we are seeking. I’m writing this post to remind myself and others to look in the mirror and self-scrutinize. Do I want us to aspire to be perfect? No. No one is perfect. But I do want us to be more of who we truly are. Because for me the starting point is that the human spirit is - we are - intrinsically creative, compassionate, collaborative. Let us be more inspired – in spirit – in our actions and in all our relations. 

And let us recognize that life (and therefore activism) is full of contradictions and dilemmas. Often, however, we don’t like to talk about them openly and in our silences we end up suffocating our spirited selves, moving further away from - rather than closer to -who/how we want to be in this world.

Here are a few of the responses my friend received to becoming a mother:

• Upon telling her employer that she was pregnant, certain aspects of her contract all of sudden became complicated and not what she thought was originally agreed.
• One colleague told her to get in touch when she feels like coming out of slavery (in reference to the fact that my friend is not in paid employment – is, as the label goes ‘a stay-at-home mom’) and into the realms of empowerment.
• Fellow feminist friends, including those who have children, are not interested in hearing about her experience of motherhood – which, of course, is a huge part of her life at the moment.

Since leaving her employer, she has frequently been sought out to give solace to those who have stayed. Mothers or not, many of her colleagues are worn out from the politics which involve pettiness, bullying, power struggles. We’ve all seen it, I’m sure. Sometimes we’ve been victims of it and sometimes (I hold my hand up) we’ve been aggressors.

I find myself repeatedly coming back to the complexity of the situation – rooted in the fact that we are trying to change the cultures we are in, at the same time that those cultures heavily influence our behaviors.  I am perfectly aware that I’m stating the obvious. So what is it that I could possibly hope for in making such a statement of the obvious? I guess I’m just wanting to go with what’s alive within me and it is this niggle that what’s really critical is awareness. And not just awareness of ‘We’re not living the change.’ That in and of itself doesn’t really get us anywhere. As I reflect on the stories my friend has told me, I think about entanglements.

For example, a woman is in a workplace and the culture is aggressive. The work the organization does is important for social change and this person wants to be there and contribute. She’s thinking of leaving the organization because of the culture and is upset to have to make the choice. She is frustrated that she feels she cannot speak up, voice her concerns because she fears the consequences. What if the culture is so dirty it results in her losing her job? And this is not just a matter of principle. It is also one of practicalities. Her income is important to her family, the job is easy to travel to and has employee benefits that really help her family financially. She feels trapped within a web of systems that seem to limit her choice and her power when it comes to employment. The issue of the aggressive workplace culture is entangled with finances, healthcare, transportation etc.

That’s one set of entanglements – the practicalities of speaking up to challenge workplace conditions. This kind of entanglement is totally non-unique to our woman in the workplace. Millions of people in workplaces around the world are in similar situations.

Another set of entanglements that stands out to me is our limited capacity as activists to talk about the contradictions that plague us in life (and activism) and how we all struggle with navigating them. Instead, we too often try and be black and white about it all.  For example, the mother who chooses to work during her child’s early years then openly looks down, judges the mother who is staying at home. And perhaps, vis-versa. Both might consider themselves feminists. Each, outwardly, can be smug and self-righteous. Yet, each, inwardly is struggling to create what feels like a balanced healthy life. Each is struggling to understand what’s right for them as an individual, what is right for their child, and what is right for their family as a whole.  I get the impression we aren’t so good at talking openly about such struggles. Instead we choose to take up a firm stance and stick by it – believing, it seems, that to do so is empowering.

This has got me wondering about how we – activists – get sucked into prevalent cultural conventions that make us ashamed to show our vulnerabilities - which include confusion over what is 'right', the fear that we are getting it wrong, the sense that there must be another way that is more empowering for more people, and the desire to raise a hand and say "Hey, can we pause for a minute to reflect and talk with one other about how life really works?" 

And I’m asking myself: ‘What does it mean if we, who are trying to drive and create positive social change, are unable to hold spaces for ourselves to grapple with life's challenging entanglements openly and honestly? What does it mean for the change we are trying to create? What does it mean for how we relate to the people we are trying to support and influence (be they the people standing up for rights or the people who are trampling on them) if we ourselves struggle with navigating the contradictions, tensions, complexities?’

Ahh, I know, know - but we already do so much talking when what we need is action. Thing is, we don't necessarily have to talk with each other more, we just have to talk with each other differently. 

When I was working in social policy and employment, I would frequently be told or read that what ‘disadvantaged’ individuals need is more social capital and soft skills – sometimes soft skills fit under the umbrella of social capital. The point being made was that the right people connections and the ability to connect confidently and effectively with people, e.g. in a job interview, are as important as formal qualifications to succeeding in the world of work. Lately, I’ve been thinking about social capital and soft skills, but in a new light. The questions I’m currently playing with are: What kind of social capital and soft skills most nurture inspired (in spirit) social change activism? Are we giving enough attention to developing these resources in ourselves and our communities/movements?

When I was working in the arena of workplace equality and I kept coming back the questions of ‘What are we trying to do here?’ and ‘What do we think is the most effective path the follow?” Where I was going with these questions is to try and understand: Were we – social policy people – trying to change the nature of the game or were we wanting to ensure that everyone had a fair shot at the game? Were we wanting to advise on how to support people to play the game better?

This question is totally not unique to workplace equality matters. I grappled with this question back when I was working to tackle racism using international human rights standards. Our work cut across the range of arenas – criminal justice, immigration, education etc. I was an American working in London with people who self-identified as Black-British. Some of the people I worked with looked at the US civil rights movement in awe - and I wasn't quite sure what direction they were taking from it. This was in the mid-nineties. I distinctly remember a period when I became seriously concerned. I wondered – are some of my colleagues fighting to ensure Black people can attain as much wealth and White people – can play capitalism to their advantage equally? Because if so, that’s not my gig.

At the time, I wasn’t necessarily thinking ‘Oh, we must dismantle capitalist infrastructures’ but I was thinking ‘Surely, the struggle is to liberate all people from poverty and from injustices that shorten and destroy lives and leave people in basic survival mode. Surely the struggle is not about ensuring that Black people (using this word in the old political sense) can have big houses and big cars, too.’ Nearly two decades later, I’ve got a much broader and more developed take on liberation and what it means.. I’ve also left the social policy world to focus my energies on working with how we (social activists) develop human relations – who we are as individuals, collectives, communities.

Which brings me back to social capital and soft skills. Liberation, for me, is about freedom from the constraints, illusions and destructive behavior patterns that arise when we become driven by ego and social, economic and political conventions and systems rooted in fear, insecurity, greed and shame. What kind of social capital and soft skills do we - as activists - need to open ourselves up and bring about such freedom?  

I think – though we might not use the jargon of ‘social capital and soft skills’ – we are increasingly exploring this terrain. Compassion, vulnerability and empathy, for example, are starting to become hot topics in many activist circles. People are increasingly feeling an itch with regards to the 'soft' side of activism. Recently, I was coaching an activist who is organizing a training day for her organization’s leading members around the country. Let’s call her Sophia. Sophia has gone around and asked people what they thought they needed in terms of training and development. She kept hearing answers like ‘How do we do power-mapping? Or how do we develop a media strategy?’

She was frustrated by these answers. Because her spirit and gut have been directing her towards wanting to support others to open up their activism to be more creative and collaborative - and less about towing a 'party' line and trying to persuade others of 'what needs to be done.'. She told me how she recently organized a meeting where she tried to dismantle the usual format. Instead of a plenary she had discussion circles – to give everyone a chance to contribute and share. To spark lively, thought provoking discussion among equals rather than question/answer between the experts up there and the listeners on the floor. To focus attention on exchange and opening up of ideas, rather than on persuasion.

However, as she moved about the room, she could tell that in those circles people were trying to bring people to their point of view and/or to simply to assert their position. People were not really listening to each other – they were plotting what they felt needed to be said to hold their own ground. People weren’t asking questions, they were asserting what they felt they already knew. People weren’t allowing themselves to be challenged, they were only seeking to challenge others. People weren’t allowing their thoughts to be provoked, stirred, shaken, they were wanting to walk a straight line with no detours. With this experience in mind and given the answers participants for the training and development were giving, she asked me ‘What can I do to get different outcomes, to take people in a different direction?’

This isn’t the place to go through the specific options we generated together for designing the event. No. What I want to focus on is the conclusion Sophia and I both agreed on: the training and development session could be an opportunity to hold a space for activists to work on who they are in human relationships. An aim of the session could be to offer up a space for developing all those practices which you really only learn through interaction with other people and greater self-awareness. A starting question for designing the event became “What skills can these activists develop to strengthen the types of relationships they are creating in their work – so that they grow relationships which have strong foundations for creativity, agility, collaboration, contribution and individual/shared responsibility?”

Sophia's instinctive answer: we need to develop our skills in active listening, questioning, self-reflection, empathy and reframing.

These skills, we agreed, fall into the category of ‘soft skills’ – not the hard, methodical stuff of power mapping. Arguably, ‘soft skills', in any event, have a role to play in strengthening how we work with some of the more ‘hard’ skills – people who are able to listen, see and connect with open minds are more likely to understand the nuances and subtleties of situations. Consequently, they are more likely to work with the 'hard tools' more accurately and creatively.

As for social capital – the ‘who you know’ factor. Well, I’m thinking that the way we need to work with social capital takes us in the direction of ‘how you know.” That is, what kind of relationships from the get-go are we forming with ourselves, each other, and people in the wider space? What invitation (as Margaret Wheatley might ask) do we extend to others when we are out and about and doing our thing?

A dimension of this idea is well-illustrated by Peter Bregman in his piece on How to Attend A Conference as Yourself.

Looks to me like social capital and soft skills aren’t just for the so-called ‘disadvantaged.’ Or maybe we need to start questioning how it is that in one way or another any one of us can be considered ‘disadvantaged’ in terms of achieving success in getting where we to go. Is a matter or perspective, isn’t it? One determined by your direction of travel and where you think you are trying to get to…

The other day I was in a coffee shop talking with an old friend about our personal demons. Demons – we all got ‘em. This friend also happens to be a social activist and a political science professor. It wasn’t long before our talk of the personal turned political. And I got very excited because I’ve been thinking a lot about that seventies feminist catch phrase “The personal is political.” This phrase/idea really resonates with me – but not in relation to what I’ve always took to be its original meaning. These days, I’ve got a new angle on it.

Until the last few years, for me ‘the personal is political’ meant personal issues, e.g., what goes on in our bedrooms, relationships between men and women, childbearing, tie into social, political and economic dynamics – ergo,  they deserve to/needs must have a space in activist and political debates and deliberations. The struggles and power plays in our homes cannot be disconnected from the struggles and power plays on the Hill (or in Westminster).

I still agree with this idea, but now I’m also thinking about the personal being political in relation to our demons – our inner struggles – the stuff discussed (if it is discussed) behind closed doors with a therapist, a counselor or simply in our own heads.   

I have another friend who is very political (well, actually I’ve got a lot of politically active friends) and works in the gender equality arena. I used to work in the race equality arena. We used to compare notes and have a little competition on whose people – meaning colleagues – were more high maintenance – ‘crazy’ is often the word we would use. We would laugh and joke about it, but underneath we were both making a serious point. Between us, we had plenty of experience of working with/in organizations, campaigns, committees, working groups etc., and witnessing a lot of destructive behavior.

These behaviors included people acting like bullies, being very controlling, defensive and aggressive. On the one hand, we’d be together talking about and advocating for equality, fairness, respect and on the other we were treating each other with disrespect, being unfair and playing power games that invalidated any sense of true equality between people. And I raise my hand to confess that, at times, I was a guilty culprit.    

I could easily say I got caught up in the cultures of the organizations I was in or I was responding to how I was being treated – I’ve had my fair share of bullying  and harassing colleagues in the workplace. As true as that may be, that is not the full story. Organizational cultures are strong and can pull people into their ways quite easily. Yet, at the same time, my behaviors were also the result of what I brought to the table – of my demons tied to insecurity, self-esteem, negative beliefs etc.  Thing is, I’m not alone – we’re all bringing our demons to the table.

We bring our demons to our activism.

These demons direct us to create tense, difficult, destructive relationships with each other and the world around us. They influence how we do our work in and out of the office, how we handle negotiations, meetings, protests, etc., What’s significant about our demons is they tend to direct us using fear, anger, rage, and sadness, despair.

While it is often the case that these very emotions are the catalysts that prompt us to get involved in social change – that prompt us to want to stand up and speak – we start getting into trouble if it is these emotions that are guiding our every step.  Imagine if fear, anger, rage, sadness and despair are guiding an individual’s movement in the world. Imagine if they are guiding our collective social movements. Surely, when this happens, we are not at our creative and collaborative best.

As we sipped our coffee and talked about all this, I explained to my old friend what I think frequently happens in activism. Let’s say – for example,, you are in a meeting about some social policy matter. Someone presents a set of policy recommendations. A person of authority (could be from the same organization or could be an adversary of sorts) says that those recommendations are rubbish, impossible, absurd. Sometimes what happens is that an activist - goaded on by their demons - who has worked on those recommendations experiences the criticism as a personal affront rather than a mere challenge to the policy recommendations. The exchange becomes much more loaded and they hear something like this: “You are rubbish. You are absurd. You always want the impossible – you just don’t think.’

They experience criticisms of their policy recommendations as a personal, invalidating, belittling attack.

Thing is, this isn’t consciously done – they don’t know that these thoughts are driving what happens next, which might be a tightness in their belly, a feeling in their chest and/or heat in their face as a anger begins to well up.  Reacting to the strong emotions arising in the moment, our activist speaks full of fear, rage, and/or despair. And perhaps you can imagine the exchange that follows is not hugely constructive.

Wounds. These wounds are our demons and we carry them with us. My point is that we might say we are going into social justice to fight for others – for people living in poverty, for people being discriminated against, for people who are in particularly vulnerable situations etc., and this might be true. At the same time, however, we are often also going into social justice to fight for ourselves – we are reacting to our own wounds. Sometimes we are conscious of these wounds and they are directly tied to the politics at hand – a victim of domestic violence seeks to get better policies to lead to the prevention of violence in the home. Other times, however, we aren’t conscious of our wounds and they aren’t linked to the social-political issues at hand. They are instead battles we fight connected to old, usually subtle wounds that go way back – wounds that might have been created soon after that first wail we gave when we came into world. Often they are tied to a sense of invisibility – a need to be heard, seen, valued, loved.   

And this is what I think of these days when I consider the catch phrase ‘the personal is political.’ Our personal demons/unhealed wounds come with us wherever we go – including the office, the basement, the coffee house, the street, the Occupy camp – wherever it is we are doing our activist thing. And what becomes important is that we develop self-awareness of these demons so that our fights for justice can be separated out from our individual fights for a sense of self-worth and validation – which ultimately must come from within.

What’s really clear to me right now is that when the personal and political get tied up in this way, we do a disservice to our selves, our relationships and our movements. What can we do about it? Become more self-aware and create more spaces that allow for and support internal reflection, work and change.

"We have to trust that if we are acting with integrity, compassion, honesty and heart that the outcome will be the right one..." anonymous 

I've made this anonymous, but I know who said it. I'm saying this because I think it is important to point out that I know the experience behind the words. I really value what is being said here. In recent years, I've often thought about trust. Primarily, my thinking has focused on people - trusting people, trust between people. Let's call 'anonymous' Zach. Zach's instruction here is talking about trust in relation to journey, process, dynamics.  People are definitely involved - but it isn't people he is asking us to trust. What's crucial about his instruction is that he is drawing our attention to source and motivation - what is driving our actions. He's asking us to trust that if we have right motivation/drivers underpinning our actions, we can do no wrong. Can this be true? And how is it relevant to social activism?

Tempting as it is to conflate the two, I want to make a clear distinction between what Zach is suggesting and the idea of 'having good intentions' - because the latter is rather vague. Zach's pretty specific here: honesty, compassion, love (heart).  He also mentions integrity: acting with integrity. 

What does that mean - and why should we trust integrity to be our guide? 

One definition of integrity is: the quality of being honest and having strong moral principles; moral uprightness. 

Another definition is: the state of being whole and undivided.

I'm interested in both, as I think they are totally entwined, but at the moment I am more interested in the latter - which, I believe, isn't often used when it comes to 'acting with integrity.'  If applied, we would be talking about acting from a state of being whole and undivided.

What does that mean?

Sometimes, we are moving through the world driven by a sense of lack, longing and/or fear of loss. When we are driven by such a sense, we are likely to be sad, angry, fearful. Nothing wrong with any of these emotions - but action driven purely from them is likely to be reflexive and reactive - lacking consideration and often out of alignment with our core values - we act and then look back and want to say 'I was not myself in that moment - that wasn't me.' 

Acting in a state of integrity is being true to who you are in your wholeness - not lacking anything - and therefore not trying to protect or gain anything. Instead, you are seeking to share yourself - you have plenty left over to give and with which to be in service. Zach is reminding us that when we come from this place of wholeness, our actions are the best that we can do - the best of who we are as people who are driven by compassion and love rather than fear, rage, vindictiveness.

What's key here is understanding that 'right action' doesn't mean we will necessarily get the outcomes we intended or sometimes even want - at least on the surface. Because our actions are not done in a vacuum. A lot depends on how the world around us perceives what we are doing - what's alive in others. And sometimes all of our options involve someone losing something - or at least perceiving that they are losing something - which means decision-making will be difficult, will feel like because there or two or more 'right' paths there are actually none. Genuine ethical dilemmas do exist - but that's for another post.The point is, choosing integrity is not necessarily a soft or easy option - and on the surface to some people it can seem 'wrong.'

Integrity - which for me intrinsically includes honesty, compassion, love - is a powerful backstop, a reinforcement. If we act with integrity, we know that we have acted motivated by the best of who we are. Sometimes what follows is chaos - we fail to meet convention or expectations or the needs of certain people. Some people get angry because they feel they have been wounded by our actions - even though we are claiming to be acting out of love. This is where the trust Zach is talking about becomes really important.

In such moments, continuing down the path of integrity requires a leap - not that all will go according to plan, but that necessary shifts are taking place - driven by our actions. Doesn't mean its comfortable - usually quite the opposite, at least in the short term. But just because it is discomfoting, doesn't mean its wrong.

We often are reluctant to trust our direction of travel because we are so focused - or  are being pushed to focus - on the short term and on having a clearly visible, pre-determined destination. Thing is, our direction is our destination.  IF we want to choose to act for the long term, we need to be able to trust - because the long term is always unknown to us.   Well - for the most part. What we can know, verify, is that if we act with integrity - from compassion, with honesty, with love - we are heading in the right direction. If you don't believe me, check out this article about James O'Dea, former Director of Amnesty International in Washington, D.C.

Which brings me to social activism. Policymakers are obsessed with outcomes - particularly measurable outcomes. But many of us are familiar with amazing stories of community and change that weren't planned - could not forecast how they could end. What mattered most were the motivations - usually a group of people sensing they have something to share and trying to work out how best to share it - feeling not just whole, but overflowing while rooted in compassion, honesty and love (heart). They trust that they are building positive human relationships and doing so while working with their innate resources - and that's enough to go on. They trust their direction.  

In what ways is this kind of trust already embedded into the way you (and your colleagues) work as social activist(s)/changemakers? How can you work with it more deeply?

I've just returned from a spectacular 8 day retreat/workshop - of which I'm sure I will write more another time. In the next few days, I have to focus on getting ready to be away from London for a year - splitting my time between Chicago and San Cristobal de las Casas (Chiapas, Mexico). I'm taking the liberty this week (and to make up for no post last week - I was totally offline) of allowing someone else to do the 'talking.' 

Brené Brown has two amazing, entwined Ted Talks - one on vulnerability and one on shame.  They are reminders of something we all share as human beings - but rarely talk about and often try and hide. Yet, the more we can see what we have in common - particularly with respect to areas of life that we try to keep secret - the more likely we are to be able to create and grow together - wherever we are and whoever we are. I'm delighted to share her talks below - on the off chance that you have not already listened to/seen them.

The Power of Vulnerability

Listening to Shame

I listen to Brené and my heart opens. I have much gratitude for her courage, her humour, her passion and her ability to articulate beautifully the wisdom of the human spirit.

Inspire means to fill with enlivening energy. I never really thought about it until last year, but 'inspire' is linked to 'spirit' - to put spirit in someone, is how I see it.  The latin origin of spirit points to soul, courage, vigor, or breath. I like to think of spirit as life force. This means, when someone asks you 'What inspires you?' it is the same as asking 'What makes you come alive?' or 'What wakes up your Spirit - your courage, your soul, your vigor?'

Well, what does inspire you?

I think this is a question we don't ask ourselves and each other enough. This question is important because we are at are at our best as creatives, contributors and collaborators when we are inspired - being and doing from Spirit. Yes, I capitalise the word. Because I believe it is an important part of our humanity. I believe when we connect with Spirit - the energy that is us, that created the universe - we expand - just like the universe did billions of years ago. We also break down the distinctions between you and me. 

Perhaps I'm not explaining myself very well - in which case, I encourage you to have listen to Jeff Lieberman. He's gets what I mean and articulates it beautifully: Jeff Lieberman talks about Science and Spirit. Note how his voice sometimes quivers. I like that - to me it is a sign of him being inspired, spirited. It is a sign he is expanding so much, filled with passion, creativity, wonder, and possibility that he feels emotional, a bit overwhelmed and perhaps even in awe. Do you know that feeling?

When we are moved by Spirit - when we are inspired - we have lots of energy, we have a lightness about us, we believe deeply in what we we are saying and doing. And what perhaps is most important  - we are creating from our hearts and expect nothing in return. The act of creating is what counts because it sustains us, it is like breath itself.

In this world of ours, we easily step into the rhythms around us. We might take a first step down a path driven by inspiration - by Spirit - but we soon start to focus on all the demands and behaviours around us. We get caught up in the rules, on the protocols, on the conventions. Then we start to feel agitated, restless, frustrated, angry even. We maybe even feel sad. What do I think is going on when this happens? I think our Spirits feel trapped and constrained when all they want to do is to expand. We feel suffocated, like we cannot breathe.

I recently caught up with an old friend Jane (not her real name) who is in her fifites and all her life has been a social justice activist. She looked me in the eye, and said 'You know what Veena, I don't care anymore about fighting for XXXX - i'm done with all this.' Wow. This was a shocker. As the conversation went on, I heard how she was tired from the battle that never really seemed to shift over the decades. The focus of her work had come to drain her. We quickly realised what had happened - she was totally disconnected from her Spirit - from what inspired her, breathed life into her, when it comes to the particular social issue that had been her lifelong passion. The day-to-day drudge of campaigning and trying influence policy makers was dis-Spiriting. 

This is why we need to keep asking ourselves and each other, 'What inspires you?' We need to constantly bring ourselves back to what makes comes alive, to the Spirit within us. As I write, that oft-quoted Howard Thurman quote keeps popping up: "Don't ask yourself what the world needs. Ask yourself what makes you come alive, and then go and do that. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive." Dr Thurman was effectively saying - I think - we need more people who are inspired.

What inspires you? What makes you come alive? And can you feel it? Are you expanding? Or do you feel like you are shrinking or suffocating? If the latter, what can you do to unleash your Spirit and become inspired again? 

I was chatting with a friend today who works in the financial services sector. She isn't a banker. Let's call her Amita. Amita watches the telly on Sunday - I didn't know the show, so I've forgotten its name. In any event, someone from the St Paul's site was on the show. Amita was excited - she's been curious about Occupy, wondering 'What do they stand for?' and also vaguely inspired by them - people setting out to drive change. When the show wrapped up, she wanted to throw a shoe at the TV. 'I think that person did the Occupy people a disservice' she suggested. This is the story of what happened, of how Amita went from having an open and engaged mind (and perhaps heart) about Occupy to relegating it to something she might read about in the papers or hear about on the telly occassionally, but not connect with in any meaningful way.

Apparently, the Occupy guest on the show was asked: "What does Occupy stand for?"  He said it was for a better world and listed all the things he didn't like - for example - about capitalism and public transport. He made policy suggestions. He was wearing the 'V for Vendetta' mask. Amita observed: "He basically wants a perfect world. A perfect world isn't going to happen." In some ways I wanted to suggest to her that it certainly won't happen if we don't believe it can happen, but I heard what she was saying - that it all felt very idealistic and, in turn, unrealistic and thus futile. And for Amita, this was a turn off. What really frusrated her with the Occupy guest, however, was not what he said. It was the mask. She explained that it was hard to listen to someone with a mask. You couldn't see his face, you couldn't really see his eyes - "How are we supposed to trust him, if he is hiding behind a mask?" she wanted to know. "He could" she suggested, "Wear a badge of the mask or have the mask pushed back on top of his head - so the symbol is present. But wearing it like that, covering his face - it doesn't help."

I found myself agreeing with her. I wondered why he didn't tell a story - a personal story. I explained to Amita my take on what she was telling me: That guy was failing to connect with people watching him, and if we expect to create change in the world we need to engage and connect with people who are interested in knowing the answer to the question "What is Occupy about?" Wearing masks and giving endless lists of 'things to be changed' are offputting, dis-engaging. 

Liam Barrington-Bush (@hackofalltrades) and I once started to collaborate on a joint post about the subject of what is Occupy about. We never did finish that collaboration - who knows, we might come back to it in the future. Regardess, we both strongly agreed that we would like to see the Occupy sites be sources of stories about the change we want to be and see in the world. Occupy sites, along with various projects in all sorts of communities around the world, are all spaces where people are experiementing with different ways of how we can live together. We'd love to see Occupy sites (in all shapes and forms - not just the obvious ones like St Pauls or Bank of Ideas) spreading their stories of living the change we want to be/see - including the challenges faced and how these challenges are addressed. Or perhaps even putting questions out there to people - asking for ideas on how to address some of the more difficult ones. We can tell our stories in order to share, learn, grown and expand. 

The obvious physical sites of the Occupy Movement (I know, I know, a lot of people have problems with that label...I find it a useful shorthand) can be symbols of the belief that we can create a different world. People that speak about Occupy can spread this message - and, yes, I'm repeating myself here, I know - We can create a different world. A world that is more compassionate, creative and collaborative. A world that nurtures and lifts up the Human Spirit - individually and collectively. 

But I think Amita was right - we are unlikely to spread such a message hiding behind masks and giving shopping lists of what needs to be done. More stories, please. More stories that help us connect as human beings. Stories that awaken, engage and connect hearts and minds. Stories that stir something in us, enliven us. 

I just googled 'quotes about the importance of storytelling' and these two quotes caught my eye:

"A story is the shortest distance between people." Pat Speight

"Storytelling allows you to hear the soul and spirit of words." Vi Hilbert

I would add to that last quote: Storytelling allows you to hear the soul and spirit of our shared humanity. Let us tell our stories, so we can reconnect with one another - and together create a different world.

And that's the end of my story. I make no claims to this little story being as engaging, heart-awakening, mind-expanding as the types of stories I think we need to hear more of....but the point stands - let us tell more stories, in order to occupy hearts and minds.