In my last post "Responsibility: Where does Gandhi's Steer Take you?", I asked the question: What is compassion? I asked this because living the change I want to see means being a compassionate person. I want to see, give, and experience more compassion in the world. As a practicing mediator, I think about compassion a lot. The other day I found myself talking with a fellow mediator - Jack -  about compassion and hit on something I had not seen so clearly before: the connection between compassion and invisibility.  I am a woman very occupied by the importance of seeing our selves and allowing ourselves to see and be seen by others. And now I recognize more clearly that compassion is all about seeing and being seen.   

Compassion is a word that needs to be reclaimed. It feels as though to many it is a dirty word. Firstly, compassion often is equated with pity, which in turn is linked to a sense of superiority. But compassion is not pity and it does quite the opposite of creating a sense of superior and inferior: compassion connects us as equal human beings.  Secondly, compassion became political with the idea of  'Compassionate Conservatism' and Cameron's 'Hug a Hoodie' call to action back in 2007. This was a shame because we definitely need more compassion to be woven into politics. What we don't need, however, is politics being woven into compassion - because then the latter simply disintegrates. And what Cameron did felt more like the latter than the former.

My fellow mediator, Jack, is well-versed in Buddhist teachings and is a very compassionate individual. On Saturday he was showing me compassion - doing a lot of empathic listening as I stood before him in tears describing what was alive in me with regards to something which had been unsettling me for the past two weeks.  Later, Jack would tell me that he really appreciated getting to know me better through that exchange. I was aware that I had allowed myself to show my vulnerabilty to someone I didn't really know that well - but knew enough to know he has a very gentle, open spirit. I felt safe in allowing my doubting, judgemental, upset self be visible to him. Receiving his compassion required that I allow him to see me- and I let that happen.

Jack also commented on how he had enjoyed getting to know me by seeing me at work - in my professional element.  On Saturday we had been out and about door knocking for some work we are doing together. At one point, Jack and I - along with a third mediator - were talking with a group of sixteen year old boys. I asked them : "Do you carry knives?" This seemed to offend some of them, but it was a legitimate question in the context. They all wanted to make it clear that they didn't carry knives and weren't interested in violence. In response to this exchange, I found myself asking them about they how they imagined other people see them and if they thought people were seeing them as they would like to be seen. 

Jack was seeing me. And I was also seeing myself - personally and professionally. As Jack listened to me empathically, I repeatedly would see myself in new ways - see what was beneath the tears, the anger, the frustration - what beliefs I am carrying that are weighing me down and feeding destructive tendencies (a good empathic listener can be a mirror to one's soul). Similarly, though not as deeply, Jack saw that I was trying to see those sixteen-year old boys and similarly hold a mirror up to them so they could see their selves. 

And what Jack and I discussed as we reflected on all this 'seeing' is that compassion involves helping people to see for our selves and show to others what we often keep hidden - render invisible, stashed away out of sight.  And what is at the heart of compassion is the idea that what we see in others is no more that what is in us. We connect to what we are seeing in someone else because it is familiar. We all know what it is to feel sad, angry, hurt, frustated. We all know what it is to lose trust and to fear. We all know how it feels to be invisible. The details of the experiences which give us such wisdom/insight will differ. Yet, the feelings are the same. 

The more we are able to see our selves, the more we are able to see others. This is one reason why self-reflection has such an important role to play in social change - if we are not visible to our selves, then we will have a hard time not only seeing others clearly but it will be challenging to see and connect with each other compassionately. For example, we might meet someone who has been bullying people and judge them for being a bully, for hurting others. We are likely to be angry with them, even feel hate. If, however, we have an awareness of the bully within - the part of us that we know is capable of being and has at times been, the bully - we can then find compassion in how we connect with that person. This does not mean we go 'soft' and let people get away with harmful behaviour, give them excuses. It means we respond in a restorative way - in a way that is intended to contribute to healing, to connecting with each other as one vulnerable human being to another. 

Compassion is about seeing self in other and other in self - melting down the binary of self and other. Let us reclaim compassion for what it is: our human capacity to connect with one another out of a desire to alleviate suffering because we all know what it is to suffer and what is to desire joy. In that way, we are all equal.  Writing this post makes me wonder how much of himself could David Cameron see in those 'hoodies' he wanted people to hug? And what are the different forms a 'hug' can take? For example, how comfortable would he feel letting the young people he and others call 'hoodies know how much they have in common? How comfortable would he be to listen empathically to the stories of these young people'?  This includes stories of destructive behaviour which I would say aren't about bad people but are about bad choices. And we've all made bad choices.

This post is also making me think about how (un)comfortable people generally feel with the idea of compassion - because a lot of people across the political spectrum let out a nervous laugh in response to Cameron's 'Hug a hoodie' call to action. Sure, in some ways it deserved some sniggering. Yet, at the same time, I can't help but think Cameron was on to something quite meaningful, albeit perhaps quite unconsciously and perhaps not so strongly rooted in true compassion. Unfortunately, in the political realm, we tend not to talk about compassion openly and honestly. We see it as a touchy-feely matter, not for serious deliberation. This is despite the fact that we often hear politicians say they would like to create more caring communities. Well, if we are going to do that, we need to create more compassionate communities.

When you are doing your work to help others, how much of them can you see in you and vis-versa?  What exactly does being compassionate mean for you? How compassionate are you being - with your self and those you are trying to support? How could you be more compassionate? What do you fear about being more compassionate?

Every year since 2007, a friend and I have created themes for the year. I’ve declared 2012 my Year of Responsibility and Service.  It isn’t witty, sexy, or funny. And it can be, I’ve found, a bit of a conversation stopper. Twenty-Eleven was Year of Abundance and Faith. When it would come up in conversation people tended to be curious, ask questions and consider what their own theme might be. In contrast, Year of Responsibility and Service renders people silent and – I get the impression – uncomfortable. If I’m talking with social change colleagues, I tend to move the conversation along by laughing and remarking: “I know, I know – it sounds so  Big Society.“ But Big Society was not the inspiration for the theme. Rather, my time spent at a Vipassana meditation course in November 2011 led me to this year’s theme.  What’s the purpose of the theme? I use my yearly themes as a point of focus. Throughout 2012, I will reflect regularly on the significance of responsibility and service to my life – to my well-being, to my relationships with others, to both my social and professional activities and commitments.  Today, I’m reflecting broadly on responsibility and social change. 

Back in the nineties, when I was working to promote the Human Rights Act and influence its implementation, I was frustrated with the language of responsibility. I was frustrated because it was being used in the phrase ‘rights and responsibilities’ with politicians and officials constantly talking about Joe/Jan public having responsibilities alongside having rights. I detested this language because I felt that it was distracting from the real issue: the government’s responsibility to secure people’s human rights (no, not citizens – this is the beauty of human rights, they are not linked with our passport identities).  

Some fifteen years later, I am still not a fan of the phrase ‘rights and responsibilities’ – but I’m much more interested to talk about responsibility and not simply with regards to government action. Passionate about contributing to social change with an aim to creating more caring, creative and collaborative communities, I now want to talk – get excited by it, in fact - about the responsibilities we all have to this end.

Invariably, when I think about responsibility in this context I come back to the Gandhi quote: “We must become the change we want to see in the world.”

On a day-to-day basis, what exactly does that mean? We say it a lot, but what of it?

Well, the key to the change I want to see in the world won’t be found in policy documents – though I have some ideas on what kind of policies might make the world a better place. The change I want to see in the world distills down to human relationships – human relationships which are nurturing, supportive, expansive, compassionate, creative.

If I follow Gandhi’s steer, then I must accept that I am responsible for bringing these traits to life in me. Again, what does that mean on a day-to-day basis? Well, to try and capture that would make this a very long post. But I’ll start with the idea that it means constantly reflecting on how I move through the world - particularly on how I am interacting with others, from a stranger on the street to my mom and dad.  It means exploring what each of those traits means to me in practice:

·      How do I nurture and what am I nurturing?

·      How do I create and what am I creating?

·      What does compassion look like?

·      How do I support others and what am I supporting them to do?

·      How do I relate to people in ways that are expansive rather than constraining?

What does Gandhi’s oft-repeated steer mean to you on a day-to-day basis? What responsibilities do you claim when it comes to social change?

Last night, I went to a performance at the Roundhouse: Unprovoked. The play was created through the work of The Forgiveness Project. The play tells the story of the knife-murder of a fifteen-year old girl by an eighteen-year old girl and how it is that the mother (Mary Folely) of the victim has forgiven the girl who killed her daughter. We had the privilege of being joined afterwards by Mary in a Q&A session. Not surprisingly, I think, the Q&A focused equally on understanding Mary’s journey to forgiveness alongside exploring how young people become subsumed by violence and destruction.  Mary, through the Forgiveness Project, is very active in giving talks at prisons, particularly those filled with young offenders. I concluded the evening with two ideas dominating my brainwaves: (1) at the heart of forgiveness is freedom (2) too many people in our society – of all ages - are feeling unheard and unseen and a critical a consequence of this is violence and destruction in big and small forms, directed inwards and outwards.

For this post, I’m going to focus on the first idea. In particular, I’m thinking about it in the context of social change and activism.

To some people, forgiveness is a somehow an act of weakness, a ‘giving in’ to someone who has caused harm to you – a ‘they win’ outcome. In the play, Mary’s character (and she said this herself after the performance) eloquently describes how the anger she felt towards her daughter’s killer, Beatriz, was changing her. She was becoming a type of person her daughter would not have liked and in some ways, she suggests, she was becoming little different from someone who kills – at least in her thoughts. She would consider what could happen to Beatriz in prison – how punishment might be inflicted on the girl. She distanced herself from her children and her husband. The on-going harsh and disconnecting thoughts and behaviours she was experiencing in her self were allowing one death in their family to turn into two.

Alongside Mary’s increasing discomfort with how she was being in her self and in the world, forgiveness popped into her head and heart. The first time it made an appearance, she quickly dismissed it. Then she starting allowing it to hang around a bit longer each time it came. Finally, one day, she embraced it and chose it as an action. She described to us how in doing so, she felt that a burden had been lifted from her shoulders.  Now Mary dedicates time and energy to turning her family’s tragedy into a learning tool – into a tool that can hopefully also lift heavy burdens from the lives of others – particularly young people who have committed violent crimes.

I think of Mary and I think courage. Yet, something in our society discourages people from forgiveness; as I’ve already said, some people see it as a weakness. But that isn’t all that is going on in the arguments against forgiveness.

Anger is powerful.

Anger usually tries to steer us away from forgiveness – wanting to protect itself and to grow and thrive, anger must keep forgiveness at bay. Anger heats us up, it can help shift us from feeling like vulnerable victims to empowered protagonists, it energises us. Anger can seem like a strong, reliable, protective friend.

At first glance all this sounds positive – anger as a valuable asset. And it is in this way that anger fuels the day –to-day movement of many social activists.

Anger. ANGER!

Mary chose forgiveness because it helped her to return to feeling whole and to connecting fully with her compassionate humanity.  We briefly touched upon the idea that forgiveness is often made possible because the perpetrator of harm has shown remorse and regret.  What if someone doesn’t even see that they have done anything wrong, let alone show remorse? In such a situation can we forgive?

I ask this, because often we social activists find ourselves in situations where we are angry because we feel we aren’t be heard or respected. We feel that, for example, policymakers are ignoring our needs. It is the sense of injustice that often keeps us going day in and day out and often under rather trying circumstances. We have no one to forgive because no one seems to be taking responsibility for what it is that we feel is harming us. But what we do have is anger, raging inside us. 

Mary is taking an active part in creating social change without anger – and this seems inextricably tied to her choice to forgive.  Her story has me wondering: What role might forgiveness have to play in social activism? Can we be credible and effective if we aren’t driven by anger? What does social activism rooted in compassion look like? 

Mary is a strong, powerful force.  I think of her, and I’m inclined to think that anger can be a valuable and perhaps necessary catalyst for change – it is what fires us up and it is a natural response to injustice – but then we would serve ourselves well to shift anger into another energy, into another type of fuel, one that keeps us more deeply connected with the truth of who we can be as human beings – compassionate and nurturing.  We would do well to be aware, I think, of the ways in which anger can easily become a false friend. 

Forgiveness is intriguing me right now. I feel like it turns conventional approaches to social change on their head. It directs us to find freedom, strength and power by letting go of our anger. It almost feels counterintuitive. 

But then breaking old habits often does feel strange, uncomfortable and wrong – so much so, that we struggle hard to succeed in making the break. And now I’m inclined to ask and consider: what are the habits we have as social changemakers/activists that feel ‘right’ because we are accustomed to them – but actually are doing us a dis-service? In what ways – as was happening to Mary – are our reactions to injustice taking us away from being the people we want to be and creating the society we want to see?

Since 22 August, which kicked off the DC part of my US travels, I’ve been having a lot of comparative discussions about the UK and the US. They began with a brown bag talk I gave at The Praxis Project and carried on into coffees with researchers and conversations with Londoners who are now living Stateside. In fact, they carried on in Staunton, Virginia where I stayed with a couple who just moved here from London. They included a lunch with the Executive Director of the Institute for Policy Studies. A lot of these conversations keep bringing me back to the topics of moral courage, divisions between people, and self-awareness.

I was not in London - in my Bethnal Green neighborhood (in the US, and doing US spelling) - when the riots happened. Thus, I write what follows fully aware that many people will think I am on very shaky ground and want to respond with 'You weren't here - that's all easy for you to say, but you weren't here.' And, in fact, people I said this to over here did say that. Yet, those same people also suggested that my observation wasn't without merit. With all this in mind, here's what I'm thinking...

The Turkish and Kurdish shop owners in Dalston, Hackney are now famous for their collective stand against the looters. They stood in front of their shops, some with brooms and rocks in hands, ready to defend their livelihoods. I read that in Whitechapel and Bethnal Green damages were limited because the local Muslim communities (of Bengali and Somali backgrounds)  - like their Dalston counterparts - also stood ground.  Immigrant communities (I won't get into the problems with articles like that of Cristina Odone's Telegraph piece, Immigrants love this country more than we do) have been hailed for their sense of responsible community not just in relation to self-preservation, but as a demonstration of commitment to Great Britain. 

Putting aside discussion on patriotism, I thought/think "Well, good on ya" when it comes to people who stood up against the violence (let's also put aside that some people perhaps were ready to fight violence with violence). But I've been wondering (as I guess Odone was, too, but coming from a different angle): Where was everyone else?

I did see in the media that occasionally a brave passer-by to the riots stopped to try and persuade looters of their madness. Again, good on ya - especially since as a lone individual that was a risky act. And, yes, I know that in places like Hackney pro-social tweeting, e.g., #riotscleanup, led to hundreds of people coming out with their brooms. They also organized a street party one Saturday to show solidary and support local businesses. Initially, I was really excited by that - and I still think it is great. 

But I'm wondering: what if all the people who turned up to clean up and to celebrate their neighborhood, had turned up on the same street (heavily hit by the riots) in hundreds in defiance of the violence? What if hundreds had stood in solidarity with the Dalston shop owners? One person suggested to me that the 'immigrant' communities had the advantage of having the community infrastructure to mobilize and support each other. He suggested that other people, e.g. progressive middle class types, lacked this. To which my response was - that's not true, people got it together to do clean up the next day and to organize a street party.

And here's what I haven't mentioned yet - my sense is that those involved in East End cleanup were predominantly the educated, middle class folks - people like myself and many of my friends (see, for example, Matthew Brown's article).  

People were breaking shop windows and setting cars alight - people did die during the riots (sympathies to their families). So it is right to say to me 'You weren't there and it was dangerous.' Yet, wouldn't it have been less dangerous if the number of people standing in defiance were significantly higher? And also, isn't that - at the end of the day - what moral courage entails: risk-taking? 

It is no light decision to put one's self in harms way. If I look in the mirror and wonder what would have I done in that situation, I know what I would like to think I would do - but I cannot honestly say for certain that my ideal would have translated into practice.  Yet, I do not think this moots my query: Why didn't we see more moral courage during the riots - more people putting up a non-violent stance against the violence and destruction?

To note: I do remember reading somewhere that some people wanting to take a stand felt it was hard to know what to do in terms of relating to the police. I guess the police were probably trying to clear areas and encouraging people to stay away. Thus, it might have felt as though the police were a barrier to creating any counter-demonstration to the rioting. This raises questions about the relationship between civil society and the police - and the challenges of managing that relationship during civil unrest, particularly when peaceful demonstrations against the State transform into violence. Under such circumstances, peaceful demonstrators might feel uncomfortable allying themselves with the police, and vis-versa. 

But I want to go back to this idea of moral courage. Because thinking about who did what during the rioting, has got me thinking about what we all do on a day-to-day basis when it comes to standing up for others. And, in fact, I wonder how many of us really believe that standing up for others is really the same as standing up for our selves - a harm to another person, is a harm done to me. I wonder this, because I feel that we - progressive people wanting greater equality and justice - can often be complicit in our movement. And, yes, I include myself in this - what beliefs do I have and choices do I make that reinforce inequitable and destructive cultures, systems and structures? How is my passivity contributing to the injustices that surround me? How can I be more morally courageous? When does it make the most sense? How do I balance that fine line between courage and foolishness that I suspect exists?

And all this brings me back to the US. Because our President is getting a lot of criticism - including from his own party. In the conversations I've been having about the riots in Britain, we've also talked about this. And a few of us are thinking the same thing: the progessive left in the US has let the President down. After he was elected we did not sustain the momentum to do on the ground what we wanted him to do in office – change and strengthen our democratic culture. I've been wondering, for example, why more people weren't out on the streets in protest of the inane Congressional deliberations over the national budget/deficit. Instead, many Americans watched coverage on the television and became hugely frustrated about it all - but we did not really do much, did we? I'm not even talking about having moral courage here - I'm talking about switching from passive to active. What could we have done? Well, that's another subject to consider.

I'm in Chicago now, and in one of the last discussions I had on these topics, I was told about how activists here have become really interested in UK Uncut. They want to create a similar movement here and have been in contact with UK Uncut to learn more about how the US can create a movement to challenge the banking industry.  I think that's great - I'm all for a bridging of activist communities across the Atlantic and love what UK Uncut has been doing.

But when I think of UK Uncut, I think of a story I wrote about previously - which feels like it brings me full circle with this post. Kurdish and Turkish shop owners in a mixed-income area stood with their brooms ready to defend their livelihoods. Thinking particularly about the East End, it feels like we need to do more to build bridges between people like the local shop owners and the types of people who came out with brooms post-rioting and/or who are likely to be connected into the UK Uncut world (I suspect they are one and the same).  I think growing these connections, building these bridges involves greater reflection and self-awareness about our movement. How do we relate to one another? What does our ethical commitment to each other look like on a day-to-day basis? What are we doing to see each our selves and one another more clearly? How do we support one another? 

Maybe my friend was/is right – maybe our (middle class progressives) social networking is very limited – our bonds and social capital are weak, particularly when it comes to extending our ethical commitment beyond our social and economic circles.  Which is why, maybe, moving forward we might want to do some inward focusing to strengthen our outward activities. As one friend back in London once asked at a dinner party I hosted: "Why is it that we only ever talk about poor people having to grow community?" 

Engagement is one of those words that can potentially be off-putting because it is used so often, yet with so little clarity on what it means. When I use the word 'engagement' - in the context of See & Connect - I am referring to involvement and commitment. Thus, stronger 'engagement' means involvement and commitment with deeper roots and greater effectiveness in delivering desired outcomes. Take culture change. Engagement is an essential part of driving culture change. Culture change without engagement tends to be a process of compliance rather than commitment.  

I could write a lot on this, but for the purposes of this post, I'll focus on one point: developing strong and effective engagement is a journey. Engagement begins with assessing where people are with the issue/matter at hand.  What's currently alive for them? What ethical values, social values, beliefs and roles are guiding their responses and behaviors to the issue/matter?  My ideal starting point in an engagement process is to get to know people and what's important to them. Where we go from there will unfold depending on what's alive in people and how they need to travel to get to a point where it feels right for them and/or they are inspired to become actively and positively engaged with the issue/matter at hand.  

Yet, when driving culture change, changemakers often try to engage people by telling them the following:

•   We have a problem.

•   We need to do something about this problem because...

•   This means you have to start doing X, Y, Z.

How does this feel to you? To me, it feels like I'm telling someone something and assuming the 'facts' alone will result in them doing what they are told to do - I'm instructing someone rather than asking them to join me in working through what's going on and how we can together create change. I'm also ignoring their experiences and perspectives, including their fears and concerns. Here are some reasons why the above method seldom delivers transformative change:

•   People do not accept there is a problem.

•   People accept there is a problem, but do not think they have a role in creating/perpetuating it nor in addressing it.

•   People are not persuaded that anything can be done about the problem - 'it's the way things are...'

•   People agree there is a problem, but believe it does not impact on them and see no point in getting involved - they want to know 'What's in it for me?'

•   People feel angry because they have a sense they are being accused and blamed for wrong-doing.

•   People agree there is a problem, but do not the like the solutions being given to them.

This is not to say that setting out the problem, its significance and possible solutions is a wasted effort - not at all. Only today, someone who read my Runnymede Trust report Snowy Peaks told me it was a relief to read because it affirmed her experience of her organisation - she feels less alone and more empowered to take action.

What will be important for this woman, and is important in any engagement effort, is to be ready to embark on a journey rather than focus solely on identifying a problem and preparing a list of demands.  In a journey with this woman and her not-very-convinced-there-is-an-issue colleagues, the aim is to generate mutual understanding and find common ground - for the people involved to see and connect with themselves, each other and the issue in new ways. If we want to create more equitable, responsible, nourishing workplaces, schools, public institutions and communities at home and across the world, we need more cultures where people are engaged with a progressive vision - rather than ticking boxes to be compliant with seemingly necessary rules. Compliance cultures usually exist to deliver minimum standards.  Minimum standards will rarely bring about human flourishing. I don’t know about you, but I want to aim for flourishing – not basic survival. And if we are going to aim high, we need more connective forms of engagement.