Responsibility: where does Gandhi’s steer take you?

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?

 

 

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Let yourself go: see yourself, allow yourself to be seen and connect…..

This week, I’m going to let Researcher Brene Brown do the talking…..via a TED talk “The power of vulnerability”

 

 

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Reflections….

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!

 

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A beautiful story with radiant insights….

I don’t normally post so much in the course of a week, but I just watched a  video that  touched me deeply. So much so, I wanted to share right away – but not just by retweeting the link from TED. 

Thank you, Alberto Cairo, for telling this story: There are no scraps of men

I saw/listened to him and the following came to mind:

No research. No focus groups. No expert panels or task forces. No pilot projects. No strategy meetings. No consultations. 

Only human beings…

willing to take risks

in search of dignity

ready to break rules

asking for help

believing in each other

being courageous

being fiercely disciplined

being open to the unimaginable

teaching one another

learning from one another

collaborating with no plan

with eyes opened

with hearts touched

with spirits awakened.

Powerful warriors living in a battlefield – waging a different kind of war.

 

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More on the matter of Trust…

So, I can’t get Trust out of my mind. In part, because I’ve been thinking I left something out of my last post – On the Matter of Trust. And here’s what I want to add…

I described how I had awareness over the weekend that I was quick to distrust – wrongly so, I might add –  my new plumber/heating engineer. This was the case even though he came recommended by a friend (well, a friend’s neighbours) and to date has given me no real reason not to trust him. As said, the quickness to distrust stemmed from previous experience – a plumber/heating engineer who was a shyster.

What I’m mulling over  – why I’m coming back to this – are those moments when we are inclined to distrust/be very wary, even though we have little reason on the face of it. Sure, we’ve got past experience – but then the question arises, what does it take to let go of that experience and judge a situation on its own merit? I suspect there is something here about finding balance – about being rightly cautious and aware, while also being open – being open to trusting others.  Or, as Liam said in his comment, being open to ‘conscious vulnerability.’

Let’s step out of the client/service provider relationship (though it is an important space, particularly in areas such as healthcare). In creating and collaborating with others, upon what evidence do we base our Trust?  How much of Trust is about instinct/gut?  How do power dynamics intersect with Trust? Actually, in situations involving healthcare and plumbing alike we are all put in very vulnerable positions – having to defer to the expertise of someone else and sometimes, e.g. in emergency situations, left with little or no option to seek second opinions, gather our own information, empower ourselves to ask the right questions – a topic for another post, perhaps.

Going back to topic, from a different angle – how can you tell when someone is distrustful of you? How do you manage that? How do you gain their Trust? In the New Year, I’ll be organizing community conversations on estates that have a long history of violence between them. This process will have Trust at its core – I mean, why should residents trust us – representatives of the organisation I’ll be doing the work for? How can we gain their Trust?

Each resident will have their own set of stories which will determine how trusting and open they are or are not. Each resident will have their own unique door – entryway – into Trust. Building trust is in part about identifying that entryway. It will invariably connect up with an individual or group’s past experiences  – both specific to the incidents we are wanting to discuss and also outside that realm.

I wasn’t thinking about this work when I started writing this post. But I’m glad for the unexpected detour – as it a good reminder to me as I embark on the project. I was, in fact, thinking about social justice and the many activists I’ve known over the years who have been consistently distrustful. I’ve watched people (and no doubt have been one myself!) enter meetings on the defensive, aggressive, and ready for a fight.

Yet, top of head, I cannot remember (though that doesn’t mean it never happened) anyone going into a meeting and simply saying straight off: I’m here, but the truth is, I don’t trust you. Do people do that? I’ve heard people whisper it on the sidelines, in the backroom to each other about someone else – but I don’t recall anyone saying it straight out.

Have you done that? Has anyone done that to you? And how often does someone say ‘Look, I know this might seem unfair, after all you seem like you’ve been quite straight up with me, but I’m just having trouble trusting you.’ Can you say that out loud without destroying the relationship?

Perhaps if you say such a thing you need to come to the table with a concrete request – a specific ‘ask’ as to what it would take for that person/group to earn your trust.

What are different approaches can we take to situations where we are entering them with a lack of Trust? I ask that because – and I’m repeating myself here – we know that a meeting and/or an on-going relationship of whatever kind is unlikely to be highly creative, constructive and collaborative if we lack Trust in the others involved.

How often do you check in with your self to see if you are going into a situation with your guard up, with the walls high and trust low?  And if you are, do you assess whether that positioning is justified? Or ask yourself where its coming from, what is driving it? 

What do you do in such circumstances – times when you are distrustful and are entering a meeting or a collaborative relationship?

Still thinking about the matter of Trust because Trust matters.

 

 

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On the matter of Trust…

Well, well. Liam Barrington-Bush and I have not completed our joint blog post/article. And that’s okay. It isn’t because we are struggling with it, but we’ve both deprioritized it amidst various matters arising in our respective lives. Life is like that.

While that post is no doubt brewing away in the back of each of our minds, at the front of my mind is the matter of Trust. I capitalize the word because it is an important one when we are talking about relationships. Whether we are talking about collaboration, creativity, or community (I’m sure there are a host of other ‘c’ words/spaces you can think of) relationships are an essential element. And these relationships are most fruitful if they are rooted in trust.

If you don’t trust someone you will have a tough time collaborating, creating and being in productive company with them. Without Trust, we become defensive, guarded, and afraid to be vulnerable.  We find it hard to be open and expansive.

Yet, I’ve noticed this past few years that we – people who might think of ourselves as progressive and wanting to build a fairer, more equal society – do not talk about trust much.  Nor do we explicitly work with it. I wish we did. I wish, for example, we would be more open about the possibility that in many spaces where it is critical for people to be collaborating and creating together, people are distrustful of others – and thereby limiting the potential of their joint activities.

Am I wrong? Are people regularly talking about Trust, but I’ve just not been hearing it? Are people examining where, when, and why we have low levels of Trust? Are they looking at how to build greater levels of Trust? Are people exploring they ways in which we’ve been misguided in our Trust and the damage it has caused?  Have they sought out to examine and explore the nature of trusting relationships in highly creative and innovative (to use popular jargon) spaces?

Trust was front of my mind last year when a taster survey I did with the Runnymede Trust (forgive the pun, if it is a pun) came up with the following stat: 38 per cent of Black and minority ethnic professionals say the statement ‘I trust my colleagues’ is accurate as compared to 77 per cent of White professionals. (See their Snowy Peaks report). Wow. That is a large gap, isn’t it?  What’s going on with all those people who don’t feel comfortable with the statement ‘I trust my colleagues’? What does that feel like everyday to go into your workplace and be distrustful – which presumably means you are afraid – because don’t fear and distrust go hand in hand? How sad it must be to go to work everyday and not trust your colleagues. In workplaces and out, we talk a lot about cohesion (another ‘c-word’!), tolerance (can’t stand the word – but that’s for another post) and living together harmoniously and productively – but how, how can we come together if we don’t trust each other?

So much going on in all the c-spaces: community, collaboration, creativity, civic society. What’s up with Trust? What do we know, what are we learning? Who is trusting whom? And who is not trusting whom? Why?

I’ve got trust on my mind right now because of an incident I had this weekend – where I realised I’ve been finding it hard to trust someone (or perhaps more accurate to say, I’m quick to enter a state of distrust): my new plumber/heating engineer.  This is specific kind of relationship: client/service provider. I’m heavily influenced by my previous client/service provider relationship. Basically, it turns out my last heating engineer was a shyster.  And this is one way we become distrustful – experience. If we are treated badly, if our trust is abused, we then find it heard to trust people in the future.  It is understandable. But it can also be debilitating.

In a client/service provider relationship lack of trust on the part of the client can result in a tension that eventually can make a service provider feel ill at ease, and limit their ability to serve well. Imagine being constantly questioned, being subtly accused of being deceitful. That’s what happens, isn’t it, when someone doesn’t trust you? In the end, the person who loses out the most is the client – moving about their days distrustful, s/he can easily end up without someone to do what they need doing.

In something like heating service, we do have some checks in place for the basics, e.g., if someone in putting your boiler in they must be a registered gas service engineer. Beyond that formal credential, however, it’s a matter of trial and error. Usually the way we navigate this is by getting referrals/recommendations from others (I got my new plumber from a friend’s recommendation).

Okay. So, in other situations – more collaborative and creative, not involving direct monetary exchange – How do we (re)build Trust? What causes us to enter relationships with distrust? How is Trust lost?

I don’t have any specific suggestions or actions around Trust – I’m just wondering where it fits into all the c-space activity and have a feeling that we need to give it more attention. What do you think? When is the last time you thought and/or talked openly about Trust?

 

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Collaboration – it ain’t easy, but it is worth it!

So, here’s what’s going on….a brief (by my usual standard) post…

Liam Barrington-Bush and I are currently working on a joint post about Occupy. It came about from a chat we were having on Friday, where Liam said ‘Veena, you should blog about that…’ and then as the conversation carried on he said ‘Veena, let’s do a post together!’ Right on – intentional collaboration (we are constantly in states of unintentional collaboration, no?). Love it!

But you know, of course, collaboration isn’t always as easy as we might assume or want it to be – even with good friends and people who seem to share our world view. Often, when it comes to close collaboration we start to see differences and distinctions. Often, because it is people we are close to, the process feels more difficult than were we to do it with a stranger.

Writing together, in particular (but this might be overstating it – this might equally apply to most other forms of expressive collaboration), is tricky – because it centres around voice. We are connecting ourselves with statements that we are putting out to the world. We are entering the realm of shared responsibility. It is one thing to write a sentence and own it and put it out there. It is another to co-create a sentence, own it and put it out there.

It is a process/dynamic of connecting our distinct voices to create a unique third voice. Sometimes it is easy to forget how challenging this can be. I suspect we both thought our ideas are so similar there isn’t much in writing jointly. Ahh, ideas might be similar, but voices are unique – tone, points of reference, ways of framing, emphasis etc. A union of voices is a balancing act. It involves give and take; it is a constant pushing foward and pulling back.

This process is reminding me of my work with the School of Movement Medicine. In one exercise you move across the room in pairs seeking to connect with the other person and what is alive in them, while retaining your own rhythm. Writing together is an attempt to capture that movement – to capture the movement that embodies two together and the dynamic created between them. 

Collaborating is a bit scary. We were working on it yesterday and I found myself regularly asking – would I feel comfortable being associated with these words, with this way of making the point? Wouldn’t I add this, this, and this? What aspects of my truth are essential to embed into what we are saying together? And how best to embed them – how to keep my distinct rhythm and movement while joining in with someone else’s – and also keeping open their freedom to do the same? I definitely feel vulnerable to losing my truth, to mis-representing myself. 

Co-creation, collaboration – as Liam tweeted on Sunday – ‘it ain’t easy, but few worthwhile things are.’  

It ain’t easy, and I do have moments of feeling vulnerable. But I’m enjoying the dance we’re in, trying to think and write together. In this process I’m connecting equally with my strength, as well a my vulnerability. I’m relishing in the delicate, empowering journey of going deeper into myself in order to connect with another truthfully and – importantly –  create with them a shared voice that speaks to the world from a place of integrity. 

 

 

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The Bank of Ideas has got me thinking….

I was at the Bank of Ideas today. For those of you not aware, the Bank of Ideas is a UBS building taken over by squatters and affiliated with the Occupy London movement. I was there to meet up with some Occupiers (though these days none of them are camping out) to talk about – well, I’m not going to say what we were meeting to talk about because I think I have an obligation to keep people anonymous. They don’t know I’m writing this blog post. I hadn’t planned to blog about Occupy today – it’s just happening. Anyway, I had a long chat with one of the people in our group. He’s quite active with the Occupy site at St Paul’s. We talked about some of the chaos going on within the on-site community.

I listened to his frustrations about tensions going on between groups (three types of groups seem to exist – ideas/policymaking groups, engagement-related groups, e.g. media group, and internal site management groups). This guy, let’s call him Rick, was totally frustrated by the arguments, felt under threat by some people, was concerned that some actions were unethical, and couldn’t understand the people who would come to meetings and always challenge the process.

He wondered: “Why are these people here if they don’t like the way we do things, if they don’t actually want to work by consensus?”

He observed: “Eventually we broke into two groups almost completely divided by gender! What’s going on there?”

What’s going on, I observed, is that Occupiers on-site are mirroring the social dynamics they want to challenge.  Rick said ‘Yeh, someone else said that. We are becoming them.”

My response: “I wouldn’t put it that way. No. I’d say that we are them – we’ve always been them. There is no them, only us. Whether we like it or not, consciously or unconsciously the 1% exists in part because of the complicity of the 99%. We shouldn’t be surprised that behaviours inhibiting consensus, participatory democracy, and creative collaboration are alive and well at the Occupy site. Trust is breaking down. Some people are paranoid (Is that person a cop? Is that person here simply to undermine us?) Some people are afraid and defensive.  In many ways, this reality reinforces the need of the Occupy Movement – which to me, is about Waking People Up. The people who are occupying are themselves occupied – by the norms that we’ve all been living, which have fed greed, dis-trust, consumerism, and our lives (to borrow from T.S. Eliot) as Hollow Men (and Women). What Occupiers are now experiencing is the challenges to culture change and a glimpse into a mirror which is offering the gift of reflection. I think it is great – valuable lessons are to be had that take us out of the realms of talk-talk-talk, theory, theory, theory and into practical experience. We only really learn anything, if you ask me, through experience. The challenges experienced on-site are opportunities to gain deep understandings of the maladies that are plaguing us and our communities – that are the very reason Occupy has sprung into existence.

No us and them. Only us – though we are reluctant to think of that way. And our task at hand is to wake up, become more self-aware. How are we moving through the world and how can we move differently? What is our movement about?

On a related, but different note, I need to say something about toilets (no crude pun on movement intended). Turns out – I learned today – that people are being paid to clean the toilets on the Occupy site (I’m talking St Paul’s – I don’t know what’s up with Finsbury Square). I was shocked to hear this.  I assumed that daily upkeep of the site would be co-cordinated through volunteering – which could involve, for example, time banking. To illustrate what an alternative economic and social system might look like, I assumed people were seeking to get as much done as possible without conventional monetary transactions.

Well, I got that wrong.

According to Rick, I also got wrong the sense of service that is alive among Occupiers. He explained that in the beginning it felt like the spirit of service was alive and kicking – he gave the example of how quickly the kitchen tent arose and people were fed. He reckons that for the first two weeks the ethos was there, but now its gone. What’s seems to be happening is that a small group of enthusiastic people have become responsible for a lot. This includes ensuring the toilets are cleaned.

I heard this and said “Ahh, okay, same thing. People are falling into conventional behaviour from the society we live in which often takes the form of, ‘I’m entitled to X and someone is going to take care of it for me.’ Do I sound like a conservative – a Tory or a Republican when I say this? Maybe. But I think what I’m describing cuts across political and class affiliation. 

We – people generally (it will vary from individual to individual) have a diminished sense of service. Now this can lead to a “Big Society” debate and what different roles do we have as individuals and what roles do we want to assign to our government institutions. But that’s not a debate I want to enter here. Though I will point out I’ve been particular about how I’m phrasing this issue. It isn’t people versus government – because we are the Government. We are the State. Or, to me, that’s the way it should be. And I believe, that is the way many Occupiers would like it to be. That this is part of what Occupy is about – reclaiming our governments and reclaiming our relationships with each other so they are based on trust, mutuality, and the desire to serve each other well. What I think on-site conflicts are showing us is that we have a lot of reclaiming to do in our individual selves – we all have some soul-searching to do about how our behaviours do or do not align with our ethical values – about how much the systems we want to change are alive and active not just around us, but within us.

This brings me to the final topic that came out strongly for me today while I was at the Bank of Ideas – that difficult question of what is Occupy about. I left with a very strong sense that we need to get the message out more vocally that Occupy is about much more than occupying a physical space.  Occupy is about entering into social, political and economic thinking in new ways. Thus, to be part of Occupy, one need not be camping out. And, conversely, I see no reason for the groups camping out to feel obliged to come up with political demands – in fact, I don’t think that is their role – though it is a role which needs to be filled. Rather, physical Occupiers have played a critical role in getting people’s attention in Waking People Up. And they might play a really innovative role in bringing to life a lot of ideas that people have been putting down on paper as theories or recommendations, and experimenting with ways of living that communities around the world have been experimenting with, e.g., timebanking. The campsites could be testbeds for more than just how to govern by consensus. Meanwhile, collectively -beyond the Occupy sites, we still have a long way to go on this journey of waking up. Many of us have been stirred from our slumbers and now we need to really open our eyes and move about in new and exploratory ways. We have a lot to do, and many ways to do it.

When I left the Bank of Ideas, I was wondering if really what we actually are – and I consider myself an occupier even though I’ve never spent a night at a site – is de-occupiers. It feels like for too long, our minds and spirits have been occupied by ideas, values, ways of moving through the world that aren’t who we are by nature. I fundamentally believe that by nature human beings are born to be compassionate, creative and collaborative – there will, of course, be rare exceptions (as a result of congenital conditions). Let’s put those individuals aside and think about the majority.  Too many of us have become dis-connected from our true nature. Consequently, we are actually trying to de-occupy our selves.

But such wordplay is messy and confusing and a bit pretentious, I suspect. So I’ll put it this way: Occupy London/Wall Street/Chicago/Oakland etc, for me, are all about unleashing who we are as human beings – about Waking Ourselves Up. What’s really important is that we keep creating more and more spaces in which we can move – let go of who we have been, in order to become who we can be. What’s also important is that we do not limit our selves to the realm of ideas. This movement, I would argue, is also a spiritual one – in the sense that it is about how we understand our relationships with each other (and with nature, but that’s for another post) and how we become more compassionate, creative and collaborative in line with our fundamental ethical values. If you ask me, this requires a bit of soul-searching.

Occupiers. Movers. Whatever the label – we are here and we are staying, but not just in tents (and regardless of whether the tents exist or not).  If we are going to succeed, however, we would benefit by doing more to remember that we have as much work to do internally – in our selves – as we do with people around us.  We become more effective as Occupiers/Movers if we are fully aware of what our own thoughts, words and actions are illustrating and bringing to life. 

And – to come back to the beginning, back to the tensions on-site, a key dimension of this awareness is having clarity on how we manage conflict, how we handle our disagreements, how we work with the fear, the anxiety, the anger, the hurt that is alive in our selves and others. Because it is the fear, the anxiety, the anger, and the hurt that prevent us from growing creative collaboration and sustaining compassionate community.  

Ahh, it is a hackneyed saying, I know, but I can’t help but come back to it:

‘We must be the change we wish to see in the world.’ Mahatma Gandhi 

It ain’t easy, but it is essential.

 

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A story of bravery on the 205 bus to King’s Cross….

I thought this week I would write about awareness, prejudice and progressive politics. I had a rather insightful conversation in Milan over the weekend that was going to be my focus. However, instead, I want to tell a story of a story of bravery.

Yesterday, travelling to King’s Cross, I got on the 205 bus from Old Street Station. At one stop, a man got on and leaned against the open door – staring straight ahead through the bus’ front window. The driver couldn’t shut the door and get the bus moving as long as this man was standing there. I heard the man – probably in his early forties – say something to that effect. – that he knew the driver wouldn’t be able to shut the door. People walked passed him to come on the bus. Finally, after nearly everyone was on the bus, he came in and sat down. For whatever reason, I assumed that he had done what he did to keep the driver waiting so that his friend wouldn’t miss the bus. When a man carrying a parcel (filled with cakes, I assumed it was) got on and then our door-stopper followed in after him, I assumed that this parcel-man was his friend.

But soon it became clear that they didn’t know each other.

I was perplexed. Meanwhile, door-stopper man sat down. And my thoughts moved on.

Until the next stop – or it might have been two stops. Door-stopper man got up and did the same thing . He was repeating something to himself as he leaned up against the open bus door. A woman standing next to me must have saw the look of confusion on my face and explained that door-stopper man has autism. He feels unsafe on the bus, and he has a routine he does until he feels safe again.

With this knowledge, I continued watching him. A young woman – probably in her mid-twenties – got up and started talking to him. She was gentle. She was trying to persuade him to sit down. Without looking at her – she was on his right, between him and the bus driver’s compartment – he explained “I’m  okay. I’m autistic. I’m okay. I need to do this (not sure about these last words…but I think that’s what he said). “ She backed off and stood watching him, while he continued to look straight ahead and repeat whatever it was he was repeating.

No one said anything – at least not loudly. The driver just waited.

I asked the woman who had explained his situation to me if the drivers knew him and were familiar with his condition. “Some are, some aren’t.” she said “The ones that know him because this is their regular route don’t say anything. But some of the others, they yell at him. And it just makes it worse for him.” She didn’t say it, but I understood – when the drivers yell at him, he feels more scared and presumably takes a longer time to sit back down.

When he sat down in his seat this time round, I think he said ‘thank you’ to no one in particular – or maybe to the driver or to his fellow passengers – but as I type, I realize I might be making that up. In any event, I got off at the next stop – and he went through the same routine. I got off, but before the driver shut the door I got back on. Before I had hopped off the bus, my eyes had started to tear-up. Something in watching this man touched me deeply.  I was feeling a mixture of emotions. But one feeling stood out to me when I got off the bus and saw him sit back down again – this time he only stood for a very brief period: admiration.

So, I hopped back on the bus and as it moved to go to the next stop, I went over to door-stopper man and said “I think you’re really brave.”

To which he said, without looking at me:  “Thank you.”

I got off at the next stop and walked to my meeting, having to wipe away a few tears that were trickling. By the time I got to where I was going, I had grounded myself and was more than prepared to walk in and go straight into meeting mode – which I did.

The initial discussion I was having was unplanned and with more than just the person I had come to see. When that was over, my colleague and I moved to another part of the building to have our planned meeting. We sat down and I immediately said “Before we do anything, I would just like to share what happened to me on the way here.”

I told him the story. I used the opportunity to think through a bit more why I had so much admiration for the man on the bus. I said to my colleague: “It would be so easy to stay at home under those circumstances or not go out alone. But he’s putting himself out there – taking on the comments, the looks, the shouts that no doubt come when he stops the bus. His response is to explain he is autistic and do what he needs to do. Right on.”

Brave. That man is brave.

My colleague shared my view. Later, I was talking with someone  – a stranger at a bus stop who randomly started talking to me about something she had just seen on a bus.  I must have been looking quite serious, because she struck up the conversation by saying “I’m going to make you laugh” and the went on to tell me something that did make smile.

In return, I agreed with her than London can be full of odd-ball people whose behaviour makes you laugh. Then I suggested London is also full of people who touch your heart. And I told her the story. Before I got to say how brave I thought the man was, she interjected: “Oh, he should stay at home and not be disrupting people like that.” After she said this, I paused before telling her that I think he is brave.

She was a bit shocked by this, and then nodded her head in agreement. She said something, too, but I can’t remember what. Her initial response, though, didn’t surprise me. I was, in fact, very surprised at how when I was on the bus and he was keeping us waiting no one shouted at him. On London public transport, people can be very impatient and intolerant. I’m glad no one shouted.  I’m glad that man is brave enough to get out and about. He has a right to use public transport like anyone else, no? But then you might wonder about the person on the bus who becomes late to pick up their child from school or who is late for work because of door-stopper man. What about their needs?  

Well, looking at this situation from such an angle could make for lively and thought-provoking discussion about conflicting interests and maybe even conflicting rights. We could also probably think about the situation and launch into a discussion about care in the community. But for now, I’m still thinking about that man’s bravery. About the burden he bares. About the freedoms I take for granted. About his strength.  About the patience of the bus-driver and everyone else who just kept quiet while he went through his routine. About the young woman who gently tried to get him to move out of the doorway, in what was presumably a combined gesture of compassion and a desire to get where she was going.

And I’m thinking that in addition to telling him I think he is brave (which I suspect could be construed as patronizing, though that was not my intention), I would have liked to have told him I admired him and thanked him for inspiring me by the way he is living so courageously.

Respect.

 

 

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Forgiveness, anger, and breaking old habits….

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?

 

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