 ‘In years and generations down the line, there's going to be a right and wrong side of history, and I certainly want to be on the right side’. (Duncan Robinson) Shortly after the end of World War 2 at the Nürnberg War Trials, Hermann Göring, a leading Nazi figure, attempted to absolve himself by claiming, ‘The victor will always be the judge, and the vanquished the accused.’ It’s as if the accusations levelled against him for the horrific atrocities of the Nazi regime and, therefore, the necessity for him to defend himself now on trial, were a consequence of the Allies winning the war and the Nazis losing it. It was an attempt to deflect personal responsibility, to re-present historical facts as politically-construed by the victors. No-one can know for sure if Göring actually believed his own cynical rationalisations. We do, however, know that Adolf Hitler was driven by a similar sentiment at the end of World War 1. He felt a seething resentment that, after all he and his comrades had endured during that war, Germany was now presented to the world as the undisputed guilty party and aggressor. The Allies were able to console themselves that their suffering during the war had been worth it, to defeat the evil enemy. The Germans had no such consolation. They were on the wrong side – and lost. This week, I was in Germany and visited the preserved remnants of the infamous Berlin Wall. I spoke with a friend, Alex, who shared some of his own experiences of visiting this place just after the Wall came down. For some people with whom he spoke in the (now former) Deutsche Demokratische Republik (DDR), they had the feeling of being on the wrong side in World War 2 under the Nazis, and then again under the Eastern (Communist) Bloc. It’s hard existentially to carry a cultural history, an international portrayal, a feeling of guilt: to have been on the wrong side.
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 ‘People who are homeless are not social inadequates. They are people without homes.’ (Sheila McKechnie) A crisis moment. Sink or swim. Thrown in at the deep end. With no experience of management, residential care or homelessness, I was suddenly and unexpectedly handed responsibility for 3 hostels for young single homeless people with a 4th in the pipeline. The hostels were in crisis too, having being set up with little thought to the required expertise or financial resourcing. It was a stressful experience that I only survived thanks to God’s help and the good people around me. As part of my orientation, I visited a local project where a group of Christians were working with ‘rough sleepers’, that is people who lived on the streets and, for a complex range of reasons, at that time didn’t want to be housed. It turned out this group was very different to the hostels’ client group which comprised 16-24 year olds who found themselves homeless, mostly owing to mental health or relational breakdown, and wanted housing with resettlement support. The Christian group had conducted light-touch, sensitive research among local rough sleepers to find out what, if anything, they could offer in support. Most suggested very simple, practical things – ‘A place to take a shower’, or ‘Somewhere to wash and dry my clothes and sleeping bag.’ ‘And what else?’, the group asked. ‘A haircut’, ‘A shave’ or ‘To get my nails trimmed.’ The latter requests were all about feeling more human – and being seen and treated as more human. I found these insights very striking. The Christians opened a church building; lovingly fitted hot showers with perfumed, fresh-smelling shampoos, soaps and towels; installed washing machines and tumble-dryers; invited in local hairdressers to offer free haircuts and shaves and local beauticians to give free manicures and pedicures. The rough sleepers were still sleeping rough, but the restoration of their sense of human dignity, worth and self-respect was amazing.  ‘Wealth and individualism are positively correlated at both the individual and the national level.’ (Yuji Ogihara) I met with a group of young students in Germany this week to compare and contrast social trends with the UK. We focused initially on the ways in which our respective households have changed, for example, in terms of size and structure. In the 1950s, for instance, households in Germany and the UK were typically larger and multigenerational. Today, in these and other European countries, households are smaller with a significant rise in the proportion of people who live alone. I invited the students to reflect on what might lay behind these changes and I was astonished by the sophistication of the conversation that flowed between them – a testimony to the Montessori school’s teachers and distinctive pedagogical approach. I suggested that, based on what I have learned in Asia and Africa, household size is often influenced by relative poverty and wealth. It’s as if the more money we have, the less we need to depend on each other: at least financially. Rudo Kwaramba explains: ‘In wealthy countries, if you can’t earn an income or if you lose your job, your government provides you with financial support; if you become injured or unwell, your health system or insurance covers you. In poorer countries, people can only look to each other for this support.’ This interdependency phenomenon is a deep cultural driver behind building and sustaining close relationships within extended families, and between families and wider communities. Broader cultural considerations apart, as the wealthy get richer, not only do we tend to become more individual-orientated but our quality-of life-expectations grow too. Many people in affluent societies now believe they can’t afford to have children because they have to work so hard to earn enough money to gain or sustain the lifestyle they aspire to. As a consequence, we face a ticking time bomb of rapidly-ageing populations with fewer young people to support and replace them. It's time for a rethink.  ‘Live so that when your children think of fairness and integrity, they think of you.’ (H. Jackson Brown) When I first became a follower of Jesus, I was very mindful of some of the horrendous situations in the world that people were living in, in dire poverty and oppression, surviving on a knife edge. And here I was living in UK society with what people here regard as 'normal'. I moved down to London to work as a Community Service Volunteer for a year and I was placed in a hostel where I had a simple room with a bed. The first thing I did was to get rid of the bed. I said to myself, ‘I don’t want to be sleeping in comfort when others in the world are having to sleep in a cell or on the floor.’ Even though removing the bed had zero impact on the poor in the world, it did feel like an act of solidarity and somehow, spiritually, that felt important to me. And things like that have continued to feel important to me. It’s not just about making a physical change in other people’s circumstances and lives. It’s about being in solidarity-with. Now clearly it was different for me because, if I wanted to, I could just replace the bed, whereas people living at bare subsistence level don’t have that option. Yet it still felt like it mattered. I didn’t lock my room because I wanted to own so few possessions that there was nothing there for me to try to protect, and nothing there for people to break in to steal. I didn’t want to be possessed by possessions and this was a simple, practical way to break their hold. A stranger appeared, knocked on my door and introduced himself as being on a brief visit to England. Having seen some radical posters on my walls through my street-level window, he had mistakenly assumed it was a human rights office. He explained in broken English that his daughter was a Chinese dissident in the UK and that he felt desperately concerned for her safety. I listened, powerless and intently, as he poured out his heart. An act of solidarity.  ‘Trust that what needs to be said will come up naturally, either from you or the other person.’ (Liz Dunphy) A commonly-held belief is that the power and potential of coaching resides in asking great questions. It is after all true that a well-worded, placed and timed question can shift our entire perspective, open up fresh possibilities and create a seismic shift in our sense of agency. I’ve experienced that personally and have seen and felt its impact. What else makes the difference? ‘We learn from an early age what the ‘correct’ answers are – those that will win us approval.’ (Rudi Weinzierl) For coaching questions to land well and to do their work without being deflected by defences, there’s something about being in a receptive state of curiosity, of invitation, of a desire and willingness to learn. Yet, deeper still, I notice the mysterious power of presence. Here I am grappling with a complex issue and struggling to find or create a way forward. Somebody I trust comes alongside me, is really present to me, listens actively and intently without even saying a word…and something shifts inside me. It’s like the presence of God – transformational. A new insight surfaces into awareness as if it were released, catalysed by the quality of contact between us. It was already there, perhaps, but hidden from sight or out of reach. In the moment, it can feel like a realisation, a revelation. Questions stimulate and crystallise our thoughts and galvanise our responses. Emergence arises through presence. (See also: Emergence in action learning; Test and learn; Plan vs prepare)  ‘For every complex problem there is an answer that is clear, simple and wrong.’ (H.L. Mencken) Steve walked along a dry mud path between two fields in rural Uganda. To his left, the field was dry and sun-baked with a few wizened banana plants dotted around. To his right, the field was filled with lush, green banana crops. His Ugandan colleague invited Steve to reflect on: ‘Why is there a difference between the two fields, and what’s the solution for the field on the left?’ Steve wondered, ‘Perhaps the farmer who owns the field on the left isn’t thinking about or seeing his neighbour’s field, or perhaps he's too poor to make a sufficient investment to improve it.’ As I listened to Steve, I found myself wondering if the difference could have been, perhaps, a consequence of different irrigation systems, fertilisation methods or seed quality. A proposed solution: what if the farmer on the left could learn from and replicate whatever the farmer on the right is doing? In effect, I was seeing the issue as primarily technological. Without realising it, I was looking at the question through my own cultural lens and considering solutions that emerge naturally from my own cultural paradigm. And I was missing the point completely. Steve’s Ugandan colleague explained. ‘The farmer on the right lives far away in Kampala. The farmer on the left lives here, on his own land. In this context, if the farmer on the left were to copy the farmer on the right, and if his crop were suddenly to improve, the first thing that could happen is that he would be accused of witchcraft. After all, according to local belief systems, what else could explain such a seemingly miraculous change in his fortunes? This would be both devastating and dangerous for the farmer and his family and could, potentially, put their lives at risk. Assuming that didn’t happen, what certainly would happen is that his extended family, friends and community would see his betterment and expect or demand that he share his new-found prosperity with them. If he refused to do so, he and his family would be accused of being selfish, and ostracized. If he did share his new-found wealth with them all, he would be back to square one again – meaning all the extra hard work he would have to put in to improve his own lot wouldn’t be worth it. The farmer on the right, living in a city, is not subject to those pressures.’ This was a powerful illustration of the complex relationship between culture and development and helps to explain why, alongside other factors such as conflict, corruption, climate change (and sometimes sheer craziness), well-intentioned efforts and investments may be rejected, ineffective or fall apart over time. The key lays in relationship – to work alongside local people in a spirit of humility, curiosity and collaboration to understand: why are things as they are, what their hopes and aspirations are; and what would need to happen if they were to be fulfilled.  'When George Orwell wrote 1984, he meant it as a warning, not as a guide book.' (Adam Smith-Connor) In 1922, in his article, ‘Let the People Know the Truth’, Henry E. Jackson warned: ‘If you deny to anyone the right to say what you think is wrong, it will not be long before you will lose the right to say what you think is right. Defence of the freedom of others is self-defence. To quote Voltaire: ‘I wholly disagree with what you say – and I will contend to the death for your right to say it.’’ I struggle to remember a period in my own lifetime when freedom of expression has felt so under threat. It’s not just the ever-shrinking legal space and room for manoeuvre in the public domain, although that alone should be sufficient cause for alarm in any democratic society. It’s the gradual, subtle erosion of what is deemed acceptable or permissible to think, say or do. Those players who favour the suppression of expression are helped greatly in their cause by gross misuses of freedom, whether by an ex-President who calls lies truth and truth lies, or by those who promote violence and hate from the safety of a dark room, lit only by the dim glare of a computer screen. The extremes provide a pretext to justify a policy of broader censorship. I understand a safeguarding impulse to protect vulnerable people from harm. I’m with Martin Luther King on his view that legal provisions are needed to defend human rights: ‘It may be true that the law cannot change the heart, but it can restrain the heartless.’ But the insidious silencing of authentic critique, the pressure to conform with a prevailing norm, is a step too far. What do you think? Do you find yourself self-editing before you speak? Be careful how you respond. (See also: Free Speech and Why it Matters; The Free Speech Union)  ‘Ethics is nothing other than reverence for life.’ (Albert Schweitzer) Are ethics situational or absolute? What might seem neat and tidy in a textbook or a classroom doesn’t always look and feel so clear when faced with complex realities on the ground. Picture this. Gill was working in a refugee camp amongst poor and displaced people. A boy, aged 12, approached her in a wheelchair. He’d had one leg amputated and the other was withered. ‘Got any fags?’ he asked. The thought of giving cigarettes to a child is a definite no-no…but what if he believed that’s what he needed to get through another bleak day of helplessness and hopelessness? An older boy offered to act as Gill’s bodyguard when she found herself surrounded by a large group of children whilst helping them to make free gifts of colourful wrist bands. ‘It’s not safe for you’, he argued. In return, he asked for the black bands. His plan was to corner the market and sell them to other boys. If Gill were to accept his offer, would that encourage entrepreneurialism or racketeering in the life of this young man? And how would he enforce her ‘protection’ among the mass of children who wanted to be there with her? How would they feel to be excluded? Gill sometimes sneaked in bags of rice because the food with which the refugees were provided was of terrible quality. Yet herein lay another challenge. As a volunteer, she couldn’t afford to buy such food for all 2,000 people in the camp. Would it be better to at least help some, with the associated risks of perceived unfairness, or better not to help any at all? If she were to be seen to show favouritism, what effect would resentment from others have on relationships within the camp? Should she eat her own, better food from outside to stay healthy whilst working there? A final and heart-breaking challenge came when a family invited Gill to their makeshift tent-home for sugary tea. It was show of hospitality, yet Gill felt conflicted as the family was already barely surviving on such meagre means. But to refuse would be culturally insulting. As she was about to leave, the father asked her in earnest, ‘Please will you take our son home with you? He would have much better opportunities there than here.’ Gill found herself wondering if she might do it, yet then felt torn for the impact on his family and for the other children she couldn’t take. Are ethics situational or absolute? You decide.  ‘I can’t dream while the platform’s burning.’ (Benjamin Downing) It’s hard to think straight, let alone creatively, if we feel threatened, anxious or stressed. It’s like trying to see clearly while thick clouds of emotion-filled dust are kicked up in the air. For coaching to be effective, sufficient psychological safety and trust are critical success factors. This means co-creating the conditions for a person to engage in critical reflection, decision-making and action. Without it, searching questions are likely to trigger defensive routines. These risk dynamics can be amplified if, for instance, a person is being coached by their own line-manager and worried about how it could affect subsequent performance evaluations; or if coaching has been commissioned by HR as a remedial intervention, rather than something the person has chosen for themselves; or if a person being coached has been betrayed before and doesn’t feel fully-confident in the boundaries of confidentiality they’ve agreed with a coach. In view of this, I find that careful contracting with potential and new clients is very important. It means discussing these and any other issues of hope or concern explicitly from the outset. I may ask, ‘If we were to work together, what would that mean for you (potential outcomes, consequences or implications)?’ And, ‘Given that, if our work together were to be successful (for you, your team or organisation), what would you need (from me, yourself or others)?’ Do you need help with creating psychological safety? Get in touch!  ‘Small things with great love.’ (Mother Teresa) It’s one thing to flee your home from violence and war. It’s another to feel pushed to the edge of the place you hoped would show care and concern. The first thing Gill noticed about the refugee camp in Greece was its remote location, as if putting it there would keep Syrian and Afghan asylum seekers at a ‘safe’ distance from local people. Out of sight, out of mind. Police outside the walls helped to ensure that no-one escaped to the nearest town. Food was delivered by the army and was often infested with 'crawling things'. A child wrote on the wall of a tent in marker pen: ‘We are not animals!’ It was a silent plea to be seen, to be treated as human beings. Tents on dusty ground. No electricity. Water on-and-off. Hope withered under the heat of the sun. Gill volunteered at a family centre; a fenced-off tent where women could have some privacy, feel safe, together. She offered hand-massage and some took it up, sitting on the floor together as she did so. A little girl observed at a distance. She asked to learn, then massaged Gill’s hands. Gill offered to massage the women’s feet too, yet many refused. She discovered they were ashamed of their unpedicured, dirty feet. Gill brought in bottled water to wash, but those who accepted the offer felt embarrassed when their feet made the water in the bathing bowl dirty. But then a breakthrough happened. One day as Gill was carrying the bowl to the tent, a breeze caught pretty petals on a tree and they floated down, forming a beautiful pink canvas over the surface of the water. It felt like a miracle from God. The women were delighted: ‘That’s so lovely. We can’t see the dirty water now. Just the beautiful flowers!’ Gill added lemons too. It was a life-giving gift of dignity restored. As days passed by, a growing queue of women formed at the tent. One brought a radio and played music. Some started dancing, and they got Gill up to dance too. Women were chatting and laughing now. As Gill continued this work, a girl leaned on her shoulder and saw with her own eyes: pink petals and a human touch brought love, joy and hope. |
Nick WrightI'm a psychological coach, trainer and OD consultant. Curious to discover how can I help you? Get in touch! 
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