A friend of mine is working in an organisation where someone is being a bully. We were talking about it today. On the one hand, we talked about taking a hard line. That is, senior managers in my friend's organisation need to be very firm with this person. On the other hand, thinking of compassion, we talked about the importance of remembering that chances are the destructive behaviours this person is giving to the outside world are also being turned inwards. Does this justify what she's doing? No. Why should we seek to understand why someone is behaving the way they are behaving and/or to look at how it might be affecting them? Well, wouldn't you want someone to do the same for you? Because haven't you been destructive to others at some point in your life?  And aren't you, or anyone else, less likely to keep up such behaviour if people around you try and help you to see what you are doing, rather than simply punish you for it?  At the same time, isn't the hard line part - drawing boundaries to wake you up - part of being compassionate? In other words, compassion entails both discipline, boundaries and firm words as well as empathy and sensitivity. 

Sometimes, no matter what we do - no matter how compassionate we are with someone - they will be unable to see what they are doing to themselves and others. When those moments come, we often will have a hard choice to make. We might have to let go. We can make it clear we are always there for that person to walk in and say 'I need help.' At the same time, we can make it clear that we are not here to be abused or harmed or to support destructive behaviours generally. This is tricky. It seems like this means placing conditions on love - when the ideal is unconditional love. 

Which makes me wonder  - ask myself - can we still love people even as we are asking them to stay away or as we keep a distance in order to protect ourselves? Yes, we can. In fact, as I suggested above, I'm inclined think that doing so - keeping that distance - is a loving act. Because that person who is doing the harm - well, chances are they do not want to be causing harm.  In this way, it seems that preventing them from harming you further is an act of love - though it might not seem that way at the time. I guess it is what we have come to call 'tough love.'

Something else my friend and I discussed about her colleague is that the colleague doing the bullying does not realise the impact she is having on people around her. And chances are if she knew and understood what she was doing, she would feel quite badly about it. And if she didn't - if there were no remorse - then we know she is suffering from something quite profound. For whatever reason - a congenital inheritance or a mental illness that developed in response to environmental circumstances - she is disconnected from her compassionate, creative and collaborative human spirit.  Surely, if we can help that person reconnect with her spirited self, we should try to do so. 

Some people are beyond help. But I think they are a very small number. The majority of us would welcome help - though it might not always seem to be the case. Help doesn't mean being the saviour or the hero. Sometimes our role is merely to plant seeds. Another person might water them. And yet another might check on them and do what they can to be nurturing. Another person might be the one to be there when the seeds start to open up. And yet another might take them from budding to blooming or bearing fruit. No single individual is fully responsible for someone changing - many people, especially the person with the destructive behaviours - play a role.

This has got me thinking about how I can be mindful of my potential to play any one of those roles in the lives of others  - be they strangers or dear friends. This means, taking with me a consciousness when I am speaking to people - including those who might be acting like a bully. Compassion means having a firm hand and also - as I'm now inclined to call it - a gardner's hand. In nearly every person who acts like a bully is fertile soil for sowing seeds of change.  What can I do to plant and nurture those seeds? That is the question I shall ask myself.

What would it mean for you to apply the gardner's hand the next time you encounter a person who is acting like a bully?  

 

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?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Last day of 2011 and I’m here in the Chicago suburbs, writing in the house where I grew up.  Coming here was unexpected; I booked the ticket a few days before Christmas to arrive on Boxing Day and surprise my parents (they were delightfully surprised, by the way). For the first time, I hopped on a trans-Atlantic flight without checking in bags. It is a short trip – tomorrow I return to London. I therefore don’t need much and it has been a minimal-baggage journey.

I say all this because on this last day of the year, I’m thinking about what we carry with us as we move through the world. I'm asking the question: What are we carrying and how is it impacting on our work in social change?'

In years to come, when I reflect on 2011, I imagine I will firstly think of it as the year where I lived free from anxiety. My last anxiety attack was in October 2010.  My battle with anxiety has been an on-going one, lasting at least twenty years. Never mind why it managed to stay around for so long  (that’s another post – if not a book!). The point is that over the years, driven by constant anxiety, I’ve thought, spoke and acted in destructive and struggle-inducing ways.  

What’s it is like to go about your days with anxiety flowing through your veins?  Well, for starters, sometimes I wasn’t even aware that I was anxious. It is only with hindsight that I can see how I was  – and the implications of it.  Because some days it was just a low steady flow. Chronic anxiety is akin to chronic pain – you can live with it, and it can become so much a part of you, you don’t notice it is there (and its impact on you) until something happens and it decides to surge. Then you think ‘Oh my God, I’m in pain!’ as if it is something new, special, of the moment. When it’s really only a significant increase of what’s been alive in, and influencing you, all along.

Whether I was aware or not, I used to move through the world carrying unhealthy levels of fear and nervousness, which negatively impacted on my professional and social lives. The impact  varied from situation to situation and this isn’t the space to go into detail about how chronic anxiety works.  However, I'll share an example, to give you a general sense of it.

A number of years ago when I was a senior policy advisor in central government, I had a period of severe anxiety. I was going into work a bundle of nerves, very quick to snap. During that time, I had one high-level meeting where – I would later find out – I offended most of the people in the room by being aggressive. This of course meant that people focused less on what I had to say and more on how I was saying it. Perhaps you can imagine it. You’ve got that fear and anxious energy jumping about inside you – so you are in flight or fight mode. You are very scared. When someone says something that even vaguely pushes a button, you growl, hiss, jump at them.  

One day during this time, a colleague and friend overheard a phone conversation I was having while at the desk next to her. She heard me being very short and abrupt with a consultant doing a really important project for us (and, notably, doing it rather well). She said something to me about what she had witnessed and suggested I take some time out to give attention to whatever was going in inside me. In the thick of it, I wasn’t seeing how I was I behaving. Even if I had some awareness, I was so entangled in the arms of anxiety that I didn’t have the wherewithal to think ‘This isn’t right, this isn’t me, and its destructive’ and then consider how I might extricate myself.

For two decades, the anxiety was impacting my professional and social relationships - to varying degrees. Sometimes, I am sure I had periods where people around might not have had any sense of what was going on in side me. Sometimes, it was impacting in little, on-going ways that people probably noticed, but didn't give much thought to. Sometimes, like in the example above, it was having fairly obvious and significant impacts - and people were definitely noticing. Regardless of the degree, most significantly, chronic anxiety meant I was often moving through the world dis-connected from, and less connected with, my creative and compassionate self – two intrinsic resources I value greatly, professionally and socially.

Driven by anxiety, constantly carrying around a lot of fear, I wasn’t serving my self and others to the best of my ability and capacity.

This past year, not only have there been no anxiety attacks, but I’ve generally been moving through the world on a day-to-day basis driven by a much more steady flow of calmness. People around me have noticed the difference. And I’ve noticed the difference. These days, for example, I can sense when I’m feeling anxious – it isn’t the norm, it is the exception. When it arises in me at low levels, it is like a pebble thrown into a still pond; I notice it.  [Note: I must be clear here – anxiety/fear can serve very useful purposes in life. I’m not expecting to banish them from my life – and I’m not saying I have done so. An ‘anxiety-free year’ means I’ve been experiencing healthy levels and forms of anxiety/fear.] Most significantly, I am now much more connected with my creative and compassionate self – I am serving my self and others more meaningfully than I ever have been.

I’m entering 2012 giving a lot of attention to the question of what I carry with me as I move through the world – moment by moment.  Reflections on years of being anxiety-ridden illuminate for me the reality that what I bring with me (large and small) affects what I give to/share with/take from others - intentionally or not. What I bring with me can expand or contract my capacity to be guided constructively by my values and do what I believe I’m here to do: support my self and others to live a life rooted in truth and dignity.

Reflect. See. Be aware. Expand. Repeat....

What are you carrying with you as you move through the world? What can you see when you self-reflect? What types of awareness would help you to be the creative change force you can/want to be?

 Wishing you an expansive 2012!

 

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?

 

I’m a practicing mediator (including as a volunteer with an East London mediation service, Common Ground – yes, I am making a flagrant pitch for the organisation!). Today I did some coaching. The objective of the coaching was to help a woman who had requested mediation, but the other party – who had initially said yes - pulled out before the scheduled meeting. The idea with coaching was to work through different options for moving forward. This case was unusual for me – the primary dispute and request for mediation was in relation to a husband and wife.  I suspect I will be thinking about this coaching session a lot over the next days – I was deeply touched by it. And I ended it thinking – and saying to the interpreter – “Wow. I bet there are so many women like this one. It’s heartbreaking.” And so it is, that I want to tell her story – making changes, so that her anonymity is guaranteed. I have no concrete purpose in telling it, except to bring visibility to women like her.  I say ‘women like her’ with a bit of reluctance – because I believe that ‘women like her’ aren’t all that different from ‘women like me’  - that the story I heard today unfolds in different forms everywhere – cutting across class, race, religion, ethnicity, educational background etc.

I also believe that the fact this woman is experiencing what she is experiencing is a damming statement about our society. Yes, our – not ‘society’, not ‘the society’ or ‘her community’ – our society.  I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again – we all have responsibility for the culture we live in and the destruction around us. Our contributions to and involvement in our society take many different forms including, silence and passive complicity, active encouragement, active challenge, and unconscious encouragement (by unwittingly behaving in ways that undermine ethical values).  But that’s enough of my soapboxing – here’s Sasha’s story (with a few bits and pieces about our exchange).

Sasha is thirty four year’s old. She’s been this country for sixteen years. When she came she spoke no English. She had come with her new husband who spoke English to a decent level. She was scared, but excited to go live in another country. Eventually her family would be coming, too. She soon realized that the man she married was not the kind, gentle individual she had seen when they met and got to know each other. When they arrived in this country, she started to see his need for control, his temper, his impatience and what she would call his ‘cleverness.’

Fast forward, she is thirty four years old and her husband has left her. She has three children who are nine, thirteen and fifteen .  She is taking classes and her English is slowly improving. She understands more than she speaks. Her children are bilingual though their English is better than their mother-tongue. This means, she has discovered, that they do not do a very good job at translating for her – for example, when she has to talk with their teachers.

Sasha has no friends.  Her family has been in this country for almost all of the sixteen years that she has been here. When she told them of her situation, they offered up advice on different people she should talk to – mainly, public agencies – but no one from her family would go with her to make inquiries, support her with language or emotionally.

Sasha feels totally alone.

She also feels angry, frustrated, sad, and powerless.  And tired. She’s very tired of going from place to place to sort out different issues. And often, she has to struggle with language and/or poor service. When she goes to the Job Centre to sign on, she cries the whole way there because she is afraid they will yell at her. Her experience has been that they like to yell and talk aggressively. She has bad knees and a bad shoulder (the shoulder problem, I once heard is a common female ailment – our rotator’s cuffs get worn away and I imagine by the time she is forty, she’ll need surgery). Physically she is tired. Emotionally she is tired.

And, I feel it is appropriate to add, that I imagine she is soulfully tired.

Her children aren’t much help.  The teenagers, likely many young people their age, like to talk back and feign aloofness. When she asks them to help with household chores they resist. They say they are tired or too busy. Same goes for when she asks them to help her on the computer.  She’s aware that learning English and using the computer could open up her world – but it is a very slow journey when she is getting no support at home. She fears her children cannot be changed. 

On that point, we had a lovely exchange where she remembered a time when they were very small and used to pull up chairs and stand on them and help her with the dishes. One day her husband said that she shouldn’t let them do that – it would be bad for their hands. He said he would help her. And sometimes he did. But more often than not he didn’t. One of his ‘clever’ approaches was to send the children upstairs and stay with them, only to go down and offer to help when she was pretty much finished with all the washing up.

As we talked about this I encouraged her to see that her children once –upon-a-time wanted to be very helpful. I suggested that that desire is still within them, only right now it’s hidden. It can, however, be uncovered again. They can change.

We also talked about how the children must be struggling. They are probably feeling all that she is feeling and must be very confused. She would like to talk with them about what is happening in their family – but when she asks them to talk (as is often the case with children and teenagers) they say ‘I’m fine.’ She gave examples of how the children have expressed their frustration with their father and how they do not like having to ask him for things on her behalf.  The children, at times, just seem fed up with both parents. She thinks that they go back and forth between blaming each parent – if they are having an argument with her, for example, they will blame her for the family breakdown. If they are having an argument with their father, they will blame him.  We agreed that they must be very confused.

And we talked about her. ‘What are you good at?” I asked. “I’m not good at anything” was the reply. “Everybody’s good at something.” was my response. Eventually, she told me that at holiday times, when people from her ethnic community would get together, she would often have ideas on what food to make and how to arrange the table. The other women usually loved her ideas and wanted to use them. There we had it, something she’s good at. I suggested to her that she is also good at being organized – after all she runs a house with three children on her own. She keeps it clean, she looks after her children (cooking, cleaning etc), she’s studying English three days a week. 

And how about making friends – I asked if she was interested in doing that. Well, it turns out that she is worried about what people will think when they find out her husband has left her. She feels ashamed.

Shame. Wow. Tough stuff. We talked about how she isn’t unique in having a bad marriage. About how having a bad marriage doesn’t make her a bad person. Eventually we talked about the importance of her connecting with her own strength, with her power  - even though right now it feels like she doesn’t have either.

We talked about going on strike. Could she, I wondered, send a message to her children by going on strike – not cooking or cleaning. She figures that wouldn’t work – they would just happily be messy and go live on junk food. Maybe. It was only an idea – an idea for someone who felt like she had no options – like she had done all she could. 

Throughout this conversation, Sasha cried periodically. Nothing dramatic. I would first see the water fill up her eyes. And then a few tears would trickle. Early on she had left the room to get a stack of tissues. When it was all over, I asked Sasha what she felt she had got – if anything – out of our conversation. She said she felt more confident that ‘social workers’ – though she knows I am not a social worker ‘ could come over and hear her story and listen without judging her.  She felt more confident that they wouldn’t simply take her children away from her. That was a light bulb moment – she’s scared that in seeking assistance, her children might be taken away.

We came up with a few steps she could take immediately. One included going to her GP and explaining that her language skills are not good enough to respond to the letter she received about a psychological consultation (for her depression). The letter was asking her to call for an initial consultation on the phone and had a form to fill out with a number of questions about her mental health. It has a two-week response deadline on it. Thankfully, this had come up in our conversation and we could point out to her that she needs to take action by the last day of October. 

She clearly needs an advocate – someone to bat for her with all the public agencies. Often, when she goes to talk with people they are not very nice and/or they are rushed. Her language constraints become even more constraining in this kind of environment.   She needs emotional support. We agreed that there are organisations that might be able to help her with all these things.

It wasn’t said out loud, but it was clear. Sasha also needs love, tenderness, caring, and affirmations of her worth as a human being.

When I asked her what she was looking forward to over the next couple of weeks, she started to cry. Nothing. She isn’t looking forward to anything. She cannot imagine anything that was going to happen in the next two weeks that would make her smile.

She asked us if we wanted a drink. Previously we had said ‘no, thank you.’ But I asked the interpreter if she had time to stay. When she yes, I said we would very much like to stay for a drink. And so Sasha brought out a tray of biscuits, candy bars, two glasses of soda. She was smiling when she did that.

So much more I can/want to say. But it seems best to end there…thinking about our society how alone, tired, frustrated and scared so many people feel within it.

 

Here I am in the leafy Chicago suburb of Glenview. Here I am, while London's streets have literally been burning. London is where I live. East London - Bethnal Green, to be exact. I've lived in the East End for fifteen years, a marked contrast to Glenview where I grew up. I love London. Like many, I'm sure, I am experiencing a mixed range of emotions as I follow the happenings.  My initial reaction to what happened in Tottenham was outrage - outrage at the individuals who turned peaceful protesting into random acts of violence. I was sad – sad to hear that someone had been fatally shot by the police. I was also sad to see that certain groups of people are so disconnected from where they live and the lives around them that they enthusiastically participate in random violence. And now I'm a feeling a combination of frustration, cynicism, and hope. I am hopeful because I see in the riots an opportunity to shift, to start moving in a different direction in order that we might create a new story for our selves. I am frustrated and cynical because I can see the situation playing out as it always has, though cyber social networking has admittedly radically changed the community organizing dynamic.  Conflict is always an opportunity, provided we can engage with it constructively and creatively. 

Where are we now? Where can we go?

I’m sitting here some three thousand miles away from London and here are the highlights of what I’m observing:

•  Ken Livingstone is talking up the need to be more caring of young people and blaming the cuts. He is making comparisons with the London riots during the recession in the 80s. He sees jobs as being a major part of the solution, applying the formula social programme cuts + unemployment = riots. He is being criticized for political opportunism.
• David Lammy, Tottenham MP, is focusing on condemning the violence in his constituency and emphasizing the destructive forces a small group of ‘mindless’ people have unleashed on the vast majority.
•  Stella Creasy, Walthamstow MP, (where there has also been rioting) is focusing on how her constituency is rallying together to condemn the violence and also to support each other in the aftermath, e.g. creating a respite centre with homemade cakes etc.
•  A Turkish professional from the East End highlights on Facebook that Turkish shopkeepers in Dalston, North London have been doing their best to protect their shops and writes: “if anyone had a reason to riot these people have...but they are protecting the neighbourhood according to Tweeter reports...in the meantime a rioter/looter will be on the front pages of tomorrow's papers, face covered, holding a can of beer in his hand...”
• In Tottenham, according to media coverage, some residents will tell you the riots in their locale are the result of   continuous mistreatment of Black people by the police. Some suggest the riots were stoked not by racial tensions but by more general tensions between young people and the police. Some say the public spending cuts are the cause. Some say the violence was the result of criminals and thugs from all backgrounds simply taking advantage of the situation.   
• The responses in Tottenham are typical: leaders, e.g. the Member of Parliament for Tottenham, in no uncertain terms condemning the rioting; some people saying ‘this has been a long time coming’; the police highlighting progress made over the years in community relations and standing by their policies and practices; a large number of people nodding in agreement that there are tensions, yet are also being confused, bewildered and saddened by the violence and damage done in their struggling community. An investigation into the shooting will take place to handle the matter of whether or not the police shooting was justified. To handle the wider issues such as distrust of the police I wouldn’t be surprised if a working group or commission might be set up – adding the existing groups/partnerships establish to strengthen police and community relations.
•  In the rest of London and other British cities, the rioting is in the form arson and looting on high streets. Some commentators are saying this rioting is simply part of raw opportunism by a small group of criminals, facilitated by technology and social networking; it has no political motive.
•  People seem to fall into two camps in terms of their response to the rioting generally: we need to understand why these young people are doing this and be sympathetic to their plight – they are jobless and frustrated (thoughtless cuts by the current government are of course part the cause) vs. these people are criminals and need to be held responsible for their actions (empathy-schmemapthy – how can you make excuses for criminal behaviour?)

When it comes to this last observation, I observe that The Prime Minister’s formal response to London riots 9 August 11 falls into the latter camp. He said:

I am determined, the government is determined that justice will be done and these people will see the consequences of their actions. And I have this very clear message to those people who are responsible for this wrongdoing and criminality: you will feel the full force of the law, and if you are old enough to commit these crimes you are old enough to face the punishment.  And to these people I would say this: you are not only wrecking the lives of others, you're not only wrecking your own communities – you are potentially wrecking your own life, too.

Here’s what I thought when I read the PM’s statement:

Are you kidding me? ‘Potentially wrecking your own life, too’ he is saying to the looters. Surely, if a young person is compelled to go smash a store window, steal and commit arson their life is already pretty wrecked, no? A strong message of tough punishment -  Okay, you can show the British people (and the world) that you are tough on crime, will not tolerate such behavior, that you won’t let the delinquency of a few destroy the peace and harmony of the many. Then what are you going to do? And finally, I couldn’t help but take the PM’s words and apply them to another set of people who wrecked the lives of others – high fliers in the financial services sector. Not because I want them blamed and punished, but because I want to point out that people from all walks of life can and do wreak havoc on those around them - can and do have a total disregard for the impact of their actions on others. Are the attitudes of the looters really that different from those who took high-risks with other people’s money for personal financial gain?  

I want to ask the PM: What role do we all play in creating a culture that gives rise to such groups – looters and white collar profiteers - in the first place?  What kind of responses to the riots will start to dismantle that culture - and what kind of responses will feed it?

We’ve seen this story before. We know it all well. And I’m sure I’m not alone in  wondering: How can the outcomes be different, how can we move on to tell another story? How can we avoid going through the motions of having dialogues where people generally continue to feel that that they have not been heard, seen or recognized for their experiences and their views? How can we avoid reaching the point – again - where people explode in order to release the pent up energy, anger, frustration, and confusion?

Britain has a golden opportunity to shift its national and local conversations, to take what's happening now and use it as a progressive transformative moment - but will it? Or will leaders and residents (wherever we sit on the political spectrum) simply do what we often do and are doing right now: blame, judge, score points, accuse, condemn rather than understand, collaborate, rise above the 'Us vs Them' and 'Right vs Wrong' mentalities? Riots - even if only done by a small few - are a symptom of a deep illness within our social body. How can we heal the body and not just temper the symptom?

We can already see how discussions are shaping in ways that steer us away from compassion, collaboration and creativity. We are locking people into specific camps – for or against, us vs them, right vs wrong.  We are, or at least those people who have power and voice, usually starting dialogue with solutions and entrenched positions. Ken Livingstone, for example, will say ‘We need to create jobs.’ Does that kind of response really give us something concrete to work with? Are, for example, people prepared to loot going to undergo an inner transformation upon learning that they have an opportunity to work? The Prime Minster wants to focus on making arrests and showing his iron fist. But what happens afterwards generally and what eventually happens to the people arrested? Do they leave prison interested and equipped to make a valuable contribution to the community they once violated?

Of course, where people have committed crimes, arrests ought to take place. But what about the bigger picture? What approach can help us construct a different story for the future? I suggest we endeavor to create a different story by stepping out of our entrenched roles, positions and perspectives – by holding spaces where people can take risks, be able to move beyond our fear and anger, and enter the messy, complicated ‘grey’ areas that take us into deliberations beyond ‘right vs. wrong’ and ‘us vs. them.’ 

How do we do this? We could start by asking questions instead of giving pre-fabricated solutions. Most of the solutions we will be hearing in the coming days are likely to be nothing new. We are, after all, approaching the future with the same mindset that has brought us to the present. One obvious question to ask is ‘Why the violence? ‘ And I’d like to put this question to the rioters. Policies do not cause riots – people’s emotions, beliefs, attitudes and values do. Why have the people involved made such destructive choices? And let’s do it properly here – ‘I don’t have a job’ is not an answer; let’s find out what is truly alive in people.  

What other questions can we ask, and what stories do people need to tell? And by people, I mean everyone - the shopkeepers, the rioters, the police, the politicians, your average person minding their own business and waking up to find their neighborhood in tatters. It isn’t just the rioters who are frustrated. We, the majority of people, are in a time of massive discontent (fear, anger, frustration, cynicism). Everyone has a story that lays out what's alive in them and why.

We also need to stop making observations about everyone else – unless we can back them up. We need to have more people speaking for themselves, and doing so reflectively (as opposed to reflexively)– to dig deep into their emotions, beliefs, behaviors, values, attitudes and assumptions. We need some honest conversation where people can speak without being boxed in and judged. Some might argue that a focus on conversation, honesty, openness is an inappropriately soft, fluffy response to what has been a time of harsh, violent behaviors. Let’s be realistic here - where have hard-lines and overly moderated exchanges gotten us? In many dialogues and deliberations tied to equity and justice, people come to the table (and it is very few who actually are ever at the table) with anger, frustration, distrust, sadness, and hurt. Yet, the dialogues at the table tend to give little scope for people to be heard and understood. You say what you say and are either disparaged, refuted or simply given a nod and a thank you and then it is on to the next person.  

Conflict is always an opportunity, provided we can engage with constructively. This means, creating spaces where we:

• Practice empathic dialogue, listening to and understanding all parties without judgments – putting aside momentarily our disbelief and our frustration or anger over someone else’s choices/behaviors
• Start dialogue without pre-conceived solutions and answers
• Openly engage with our emotions, values, beliefs, attitudes and assumptions
• Deliberate and question what we mean by justice, freedom, responsibility and the ‘greater good.’
• Strive to find common ground, e.g. shared ethical values
• Be prepare to see the situation from multiple perspectives.

Conflict resolution can also include work with restorative justice. What is after all, our goal? Many political leaders will say ‘Jobs, economic growth and prosperity.’ I say it is to sow seeds and lay a stronger foundation for compassionate, caring, thriving and creative communities.  A judgment and punishment-oriented approach will not do that. Demonizing people will not do that. Focusing on guilt and blame will not do that. 

As long as people feel unheard, undervalued, overlooked, excluded, disconnected and invisible, we will be living in a society that is ‘us vs them’ and we will certainly not ‘all be in this together’. Or more accurately, we won’t be acting as if we are – you see, the truth is – we are all in this together. It is a question of whether or not we behave this way. Currently, we often do not. It is also a question of whether or not we take on individual responsibility to scrutinize and challenge our beliefs, attitudes, choices and behaviours. Only by doing so can we collectively change the cultures, systems, and structures that feed the destructive behavior we are experiencing.

Who is responsible for these riots? One way or another, we all are.  Who is responsible for change: one way or another, we all are.

 

 

Today is 23 July 2011. I’m writing from the suburbs of Chicago where it has been storming all night and we are experiencing a power outage. This is not funny. Yet, I’m am inclined to laugh. Why? Well, for starters, this morning I am meant to be meeting some people at the beach – reviving a high school tradition of breakfasting at the beach before going to class. Of course, we would drive there – it is about a twenty minute drive. Now, I suspect – there being a power outage – no one is going – homes with small children will be in a state of morning chaos without electricity or hot water. In my case, the issue is that I cannot get the car out of the garage – it’s electric!  I see a cord dangling, and I’m sure that is the key – but the car is parked smack in the middle of the garage and makes access to the cord difficult. I am compelled to laugh because it seems totally absurd. But this no laughing matter. Here I am confronted by no electricity, and it is a prompt to consider seriously the ways in which I/we have become crazily dependent on it. It also a prompt to consider seriously what is ‘good’ and ‘just’ in this world.

Now you may think this will turn into an ‘anti-consumerist’ rant – but it will not. Sure, consumption is on my mind. But I am also conscious of the ways in which lack of electricity means more than being without a car. In a hospital or care home it is, for example, life threatening. The truth is, I’ve never thought of myself as an ‘environmentalist.’ Recently, however, I’ve found myself writing about the Belo Monte dam project. My primary interest in it is its displacement on the Xingu River peoples.  I engage with it primarily as an issue of human rights and self-determination, though I’m conscious of the environmental aspect, e.g. deforestation of the Amazon.

Access to electricity is at the heart of the Dam controversy. The Brazilian government is prepared to build a dam because it wants electricity for more of its people, which will in turn stimulate economic growth while decreasing poverty. Building the dam is being pitched as key to the economic and social well-being of Brazilians.  Wow. That is quite a narrative to be following.

I came to the dam controversy wearing my hat of moral outrage – having seen a picture of a sobbing Chief from the Xingu River peoples. I still feel that outrage, but  it is now tempered by an awareness of the complex range of issues and tensions at hand. I wrote about this last week. Stamping my foot and saying ‘No Dam’ is all well and good – but what about the underlying policy challenges: how to bring electricity to Brazil; how to do so in a with negligible disruption to the natural environment and indigenous communities; how to create jobs and decrease poverty? To challenge the narrative that has led to the building of the dam, we must look closely at its different core threads.

With each day, I’m wanting to explore this controversy further. It encompasses the essential challenges and complexities to building a fair and just world, to democracy, to harmonious living with each other and the planet. The decision to build the dam is laden with values, beliefs, and assumptions about human relationships and our relationship with nature. Yet, the deliberations surrounding the dam seem to sidestep or marginalise open discussion of values, beliefs and assumptions. Last week, I called these ‘grey areas.’  And today as I sit here, sans electricity, I’m becoming more and more passionate about provoking myself and others to engage with the ‘grey’ areas, with what the Institute for Global Ethics calls ‘right versus right’ dilemmas, with our fundamental beliefs and values.

I get the impression many people think that opening up deliberations about moral, social, and economic beliefs and values is what closes arguments down; that these are the seeds of stalemate and deadlock. But the opposite it true. We sidestep open discussion of these topics at our peril. Our moral codes, our beliefs, and our values are what guide us in our decisions and choices. If – in the name of progressive social change – we are wanting to people to make different decisions and choices – than we must create the spaces where we can be reflective on what we believe in and what is important to us. Only then can we move beyond ‘I’m right and your wrong’, stalemates, and resentment over what seem like unjust decisions. Only then can we being to ask and address ‘How can we move forward together and in ways that bring out the best of who we can be as human beings?’

 

You are in a heated argument with a colleague and each of you is passionately making the case for your position. Then comes along a third person who listens to both of you for a bit. Finally one of you asks her what she thinks. She pauses before she answers and then says: “I understand the rationale behind your respective polar positions…But I cannot take a side. It’s more complex than either of you is articulating.  It seems to me that entrenched as you are in your positions, you are failing to engage with important questions which could help you achieve a constructive, more legitimate solution.” Your adrenalin plummets and you feel deflated. Both you and your opposing colleague are at a loss for words. You both make excuses for ending the conversation and go back to your offices. 

Shades of grey can be disappointing. Engaging with grey can temper the passions, the anger, the sense of righteousness and being on the high ground. It can feel much less exhilarating than having a stance and not budging. But most of our decision-making dilemmas exist within shades of grey. If we want to create a different world – one more aligned with values of justice, compassion, respect, responsibility and honesty – we need to embrace the grey. We need to play with it – the grey space is a playful space where we have the opportunity to use our agile minds in identifying connections that open up new understandings and possibilities for action. That is not to say we must not argue and debate. No, not at all. The point is that exploring and playing in the land of the grey can lead to arguments and debate rooted in a nourishing soil likely to result in more expansive and fruitful thinking. But to journey fruitfully in grey lands we need to be prepared to let down some defenses, to be reflective and honest with ourselves and others, to dig into and challenge our assumptions and beliefs, to let go of our egos, to ask questions before we give answers. 

Two prominent issues in environmental activism have been influencing my recent thinking on the grey lands: Tar Sands drilling in Canada and the Belo Monte dam in Brazil. I learned bout Tar Sands from Liam Barrington-Bush. A couple of months ago, Liam experienced a very powerful journey into the land of the grey.  The brief summary: He was in Canada with a delegate of young British activists (People & Planet) and they heard a tribal Chief talking. He could see the anguish in the Chief’s face. The Chief pulled everyone into the grey lands by telling them about how his peoples had once been fur-traders. This had been an important source of income. Then, the environmentalists/animal rights activists protested against fur-trading. When the fur-trading stopped, so did the income. Along came industrialists eager to drill – tar sands are a rich source of fuel and are seen as a profitable alternative to/replacement for crude oil. When drilled, Tar Sands are also a huge source greenhouse gases and generally are destructive of the land. Environmentalists are now protesting against Tar Sands. 

The Indigenous peoples for the Alberta region in Canada where Tar Sands are prominent historically have a strong relationship with the land – with Mother Earth. Like their non-Indigenous activists, they are outraged by the drilling when they think of what it does to the environment. But they also aren’t very welcoming of unemployment and poverty in their communities. For the Chief to say ‘no’ to drilling is still leaves the anguished question: ‘Where will our income come from?’

The issue of the Belo Monte Dam in Brazil recently captured my attention courtesy of a heart-touching June picture on Facebook (see below, Chief Raoni Chief crying when he learned that the President of Brazil approved the Belo Monte dam project on the Xingu indigenous lands).

The dam is going to displace anywhere from 20,000 (official statistics) to 40,000 Indigenous peoples living along the Xingu River. The argument by the Brazilian government and the industrialists is that the dam will result in electricity for Brazilians (a country with a population of 190,732,694) and in turn lead to economic growth, employment and decreased poverty. One could make the utilitarian rationale here: an important ‘good’ is being created for the majority of Brazilians. Of course, what’s good for the Brazilians is not very good for the Xingu River peoples.

Compared to the Tar Sands issue, the Belo Monte dam might not seem very ‘grey.’  In one respect I don’t think it is: I believe it is ethically wrong to displace people from their lands and to deforest in the Amazon. I’m in the ‘No Dam’ camp for sure. Yet, saying ‘No Dam’ doesn’t address the issue of poverty in Brazil. Nor does it address the desire Brazilians have to be have regular access to electricity. I’ve read that while many Brazilians are sympathetic to the plight of the Xingu River peoples, they also want to improve their standard of living. Are they wrong to have the aspiration?  

So much can be written about both these issues, and I’m not an expert on either. But what I do know for certain is that at the heart of both – in the grey lands – is a hotbed of controversy not about ‘to drill or not to drill’ or ‘to build the dam or not to build’ but about our values as human beings who live on a planet we share with each other and with all the other creatures inhabiting it.  We make decisions based on our values, assumptions and beliefs – conscious and unconscious. Some fundamental differences in values, assumptions, and beliefs underpin our disagreements in decision-making, e.g. one’s understanding of our relationship with earth and other creatures, the moral perimeters we set for ourselves, the responsibility we are prepared to take for our actions, our sense of how we as individuals and communities are connected with each other and impact on one another’s well-being.

Amidst all our differences, I believe we have shared core ethical values and most of us would prefer to uphold those values than not.  Yet, the truth is that sometimes our social and economic values, beliefs, prejudices and assumptions create situations where we undermine our ethical values - albeit unwittingly. For example, we talk about respect and responsibility and we uphold those values for a particular community. At the same time, the manner by which we are upholding those values is disrespectful and irresponsible when it comes to the interests and needs of other communities.

The grey lands – they aren’t simply all around us, but they are within all of us. Crucially, this notion of 'unwittingly' undermining our values should be a wake up call, but is often used as an excuse for complicity. What the Tar Sands, Belo Monte Dam and other similar issues are shouting out for us to do is to open our eyes, seek greater awareness of how we are moving through the world individually and together - journey into the grey lands in search of illumination, see and connect with the intricate dynamics within them.

Arguments about ‘You’re right and I’m wrong’ constrain us as creative human beings. They encourage us to start with an answer rather than a question. Going to the grey lands begs us to begin with a question. What if, for example, we were constantly asking: ‘How can we work together to be the best of we can be as human beings – for each other and for the planet?’ 

 

 

 "...how to engage and connect...recognising our shared values was crucial.  These laid important foundations for our dialogue. In an organisation that emphasises rules and targets, compassion and empathy for others has been lost. Restoring this to our workplace conversation has been empowering, and opened up the possibilities of change." Jane Lanley - a changemaker in pursuit of greater equality in her workplace

In my last post, I posed the question: “What gifts can compassion bring to us when we are engaging with social challenge, change and collaboration?”  Well, this past week I got an inspiring answer to that question, courtesy of one of my clients - Jane Lanley (not her real name). 

I wrote about this woman in Engagement - What's is it? She has bravely raised the issue of gender discrimination/inequality in her workplace. Here is our story. We were at a meeting together where one of the speakers talked about the importance of promoting gender equality. I commented that in doing so we often focus on numbers, i.e., how many women in senior roles in a workplace, and engage very little with the crux of the matter: values, beliefs, behaviours and culture change. Jane came up to me afterwards and said she wanted to know more. I sent her the Runnymede Trust report, Snowy Peaks. She read it and told me that she valued how it affirmed her perceptions of what was going on in her workplace. I sensed that the story in the report helped her to feel less isolated and more confident in her conclusions. This is important because, when she raised the issue with colleagues, some were more than ready to respond with:  'Oh, you women are being too sensitive.'   

After a meeting where the Chief Executive in her organisation announced a new member to Executive Board, she spoke out about the need for change – asking if the new Board member was ‘another White male.’ She subsequently drew upon the findings of recent research from the organisation's equality team and wrote a letter setting out her concerns about gender equality.  They weren't her concerns alone. Amidst bullying and sniggers, she got over a hundred signatures from other staff members before sending a letter to the Chief Executive. 

I saw Jane two weeks ago. She mentioned that she was scheduled to have a meeting this week with the Chief Executive to discuss her letter. She was clearly nervous about it and I offered to help her prepare. On Tuesday last week, we had an hour-long coaching session. Jane started out the conversation in what I would call typical activist positioning. She was focused on the power and status gap between her and the Executive, on his lack of 'enlightened' understanding of the situation, and on the likelihood that the meeting would start off with him reeling off a list of all that he has tried to do for gender equality to date. She also kept reminding herself of how invisible she would be to the Chief Executive - to the Oxbridge man in a suit.

 "I felt invisible, and [I came] to realize how I could be visible without being aggressive." 

By the end of the conversation, Jane was in a different position. Firstly, she came to recognise that she can control her visibility in the meeting - and this need not require her to be aggressive, loud or adversarial. Secondly, she saw the Chief Executive in a different light. For example, she supposed he could be equally as frustrated as her by the situation. After all, he seemed to genuinely feel he had taken a lot of positive steps to address the issue. Yet, he had been publicly exposed as having made little progress on the matter. She speculated that he might be struggling with the organisational culture himself – like her he is likely to be surrounded by supporters and aggressors alike. She considered that he didn’t lack a serious interest in the issue, but lacked a full understanding of it. 

She also, by the end of the session, had thoughts about what they might have in common, e.g. a desire to uphold the values of their organisation and a passion for social justice (she learned he was once an energetic political activist). She became determined to go into the meeting in the spirit of pursuing common interests and collaboration. And she realised that the very skills which made her good at her job could also be useful in managing the meeting effectively: the ability to be a an active listener and to engage people with the tasks they tend to resist the most.

Jane went into the meeting nervous, but confident and looking forward to making a connection with the Chief Executive based on shared values. We haven’t done the full debrief on the meeting, but she has reported via email that it went exceptionally well. He made good eye contact, asked questions, listened to her observations and acknowledged he needed help finding the answers. They not only found common ground but he committed to taking personal responsibility for delivering an improvement in the situation.

What does this have to do with compassion? Compassion is about understanding, non-judgment and forgiveness. Expressing compassion can mean putting away the labels, asking the ‘why’ when it comes to someone’s behavior and remembering our common vulnerabilities. It seems to me that this is what Jane did. As a result she connected with her Chief Executive in a way that laid a foundation for frank discussion and a commitment to collaboration.   As a result, she took a significant step in her journey to create change - and brought the Chief Executive with her.

 

 

 

 

I volunteer with Common Ground, an East London community mediation service. I came into mediation as a result of my social policy work, which was increasingly giving me the feeling that we are stifling our individual and collective creativity - the primary cause being poor communication (see 'Why See & Connect'?).  In 2007, I came to the conclusion that mediation skills would be a valuable asset in my future policy-making and advocacy work. I didn't intend, when I trained, to practice formal dispute resolution. But it turned out that formal mediation is something I love doing. Also the art of mediation has provided me with skills that are proving very useful across all my professional activities and in my personal life - and it is all about communication.

This morning I witnessed the power of good communication while I co-mediated, with my colleague Kweku, a dispute between neighbours. Kweku and I both thoroughly enjoyed the experience, agreeing that it was a quintessential example of our capacity to forge connections with each other - even with the people we see as our adversaries or 'enemies'. When we take the risk - and it often does feel like a risk - to see and connect with each other in different ways, we open up possibilities we previously did not believe could exist. 

Wow. When I started to type this post, I thought I was simply going to describe this wonderful mediation we experienced. Now, having written the above paragraph, I am choosing to focus on one aspect of it: risk and vulnerability. And I thank Kweku for this, because in the course of the mediation it was he that openly articulated to all of us the risks the parties had been taking - and commended them for it - too right; they were courageous. Let me explain.

The issue at hand, at face value, was that a couple was feeling threatened by their next door neighbor's behaviour. This is not the place for the details, but suffice to say the session began with the two parties in different rooms.  The plan was for Kweku and I to shuttle between the two.  Thankfully, very quickly, everyone agreed to meet and talk directly to each other.

In the course of the dialogue, emotions went up and they went down. Most importantly, honest questions were asked - and honest answers were given. Thus, the question 'Why did you do x, that just does not seem normal?' was met with reflection and the answer 'I'm not sure, but I agree it is not right.' To ask direct questions - questions that can make the person doing the asking and the person being asked uncomfortable, is brave. Answering them by being thoughtful and not defensive or judgmental is also brave. The three people sitting across from each other at the table took risks in being forthright - they allowed themselves to be vulnerable to being disbelieved, to being judged for what they were saying/asking, to a defensive or angry response, to the process not giving them what they wanted.   

We ended up with a list of five agreements - practical steps to sustain an on-going amicable relationship between the neighbours. Kweku and I watched as tense shoulders lowered, as looks of puzzlement, frustration and confusion turned into smiles and we even had an occasional laugh shared by all. We heard sincere apologies and conclusive 'we agree to disagree' statements.  We saw how supposedly opposing sides had a lot in common in what was important to them, e.g., freedom in their personal space, friendliness among neighbours, a respect for personal property, direct and honest communication. 

I confidently assert that we all have way more in common than we often think. We have shared values. However, when we feel these values are being undermined and ignored, we understandably become angry and defensive. In turn, our creative possibilities for changing the situation become stifled; we become suffocated by our focus on everything different between 'us' and 'them' and all that is wrong about the current situation. How do we move beyond this? By being prepared to take off our masks - and accept the risk that comes with honesty, openness, and self-reflection. This applies equally to disputing neighbours, co-workers in the office,  government officials and politicians designing policy, and the campaigners/advocates trying to influence them - just to name a few situations.

Of course, getting to the point of risk-taking is a journey. The people involved need to feel safe and in this mediation we had to build up to a face to face meeting. The people holding the space for others need to be fully present and prepared to ask expansive and challenging questions, to listen carefully for what is alive in everyone in the room and to reflect back what they are seeing/hearing. Today I had the honour, with Kweku, of holding a safe space for three people who were willing to journey and take risks. They and we reaped the benefits of it. What a gift.