 'We don't get to choose how we come into this world - but God gives the freedom to choose how we live in it.' (Frances Cabrini) The end of a year and start of a new one marks a transition point in the calendar and, at times, in our own lives too. It’s an opportunity to look back, re-evaluate, learn and make choices before casting our eyes forward to take next steps in a future direction. I find the best way I can do this is by taking time away from day-to-day distractions in silence, to sit before God and before myself, as if looking into a mirror long and hard to face whatever may surface into awareness. This kind of reflective examination sometimes helps me to avoid falling into repeating patterns of thought and action, often based more on habitual routines than on conscious decisions. Part of the challenge we may encounter is self-deception; made more difficult by subconscious projection (that is, framing others in ways that distort reality) and introjection (that is, framing ourselves in ways that distort reality). The subconscious part means we do it without being aware that we’re doing it. It’s a kind of fooling ourselves about fooling ourselves – a double bind, if you like. There’s a risk, on the one hand, that we believe what we want to believe – which is a way of defending ourselves from anxiety, confusion or stress – or, on the other, we believe what we fear most – which is a sign, driver and consequence of anxiety. And both without knowing it. So how can we get past this? I try a number of strategies. On the foundational hope, purpose and ethics front, I reflect prayerfully on the Bible and on other spiritual resources. On the professional development front, including to address my own hidden assumptions and risks of avoidance, I employ a talented coach who’s high in stimulus and in challenge. On the fresh thinking front, I network, read articles and write blogs to share and invite insights and ideas with and from others. On the international front, I work cross-culturally and, on occasion, visit other places and cultures. Taken as a whole, these approaches help me to stay, as well as I can, at the edge of my calling.
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 'Is coaching too dominated by a Western cultural paradigm? What could we do to make coaching more sensitive and appropriate to different cultures?' Nick Wright (UK) and Dr Smita Singh (India) offer their own reflections here: I (Nick) first began to ask myself these questions when I was invited to coach three women from different countries in South East Asia: Singapore, Myanmar and Indonesia. I noticed that, when I asked them questions that implied personal autonomy in decision-making, they often looked at me quizzically as if there were something strange in the questions. I was puzzled and didn’t understand what this meant until, later, when coaching a woman from the Philippines, she explained that the questions didn’t really make sense in their cultural contexts, where individual decisions are often subject to wider family and community decisions. She helped me to understand that personal autonomy is a Western cultural construct and assumption – a key difference between individual and collective cultures. This was a profound revelation to me. Since then, I’ve noticed other differences too when coaching cross-culturally with people in and from different parts of the world. The next most striking and recurring theme has been that of perceived authority in a relationship, and the implications of cultural authority in wider systems. In Western cultures like the UK, we tend to frame the coaching relationship as essentially egalitarian and, as coaches, we typically relate to those we are coaching with that stance. I’ve noticed through experience, however, that this approach can sometimes create discomfort, awkwardness or confusion when working with people from cultures in which higher power-distance relationships are the norm. I’ve learned, for instance, to accept that people in the Philippines will call me ‘Sir Nick’ – a sign of respect – in spite of how alien that feels for me. A third area, and the one I still struggle to get right, is direct (low context) vs indirect (high context) communication. Western coaches are often trained to ask short, incisive questions and to feed back concise, challenging reflections or responses. In some cultures, however, this style of relating can come across as blunt, disrespectful or rude. As I continue to think through and practice greater cross-cultural curiosity, awareness and competence in these areas, therefore, I’m learning to reframe, e.g. ‘What do you want to achieve?’ as, say, ‘What goals are important to you and the people who matter most in your life?’; ‘We are equals in this process’ as, ‘I’m here to support you in a way that best aligns with your values and traditions’; ‘What is holding you back?’ as, ‘What challenges do we need to address together as we move forward?’ I (Smita) agree that, as coaches, a contextual understanding is absolutely essential. Without it, it’s possible that we may fall prey to our default settings, or to our routine preferences in dealing with coachees. When working cross-culturally, I find it’s a good idea to do some homework beforehand, in exactly the way that consultants do before they engage in the first meeting with a client. This may give us some insight and understanding of cultural dimensions like those Nick has mentioned above, such as power distance and/or individuality versus collectivism. If we discover and use metaphors from the client’s culture or reflect the metaphors a client uses in their own language, it can also accelerate the relational rapport-, credibility- and trust-building processes. This will make it easier for the coach and client to work together smoothly. As an illustration, I noticed that, when I was writing my book on ‘Accelerated Action Learning’ with Nick and other UK specialists as contributors, I had to adopt a very straight forward and, what felt to me like formal, way of communicating. By contrast, when I talked with coaches in India or other Asian countries it was very different. Asian coaches preferred rapport-building and general chatting before starting with the coaching conversation itself. There are some similarities in the time management of coaching conversations too. Western coaches and coachees are often and ordinarily monochronic in their approach, for example with strict scheduling and punctuality as important values and behaviours whereas, by contract, coaches and coachees in and from Eastern cultures are typically polychronic in their approach, for example viewing interpersonal relationship and being present in the moment as important. At the bottom line, any winning coaching conversation will be client-centric. I find that, if we start from an appreciation of the coachee’s own cultural frame of reference, we will often achieve better outcomes. Social media and Artificial Intelligence (AI) can provide useful research resources in this area. I’ve created my own simple ‘DFS’ framework that proves useful when working with coachees. D is for Dive into the coachee’s culture and background before the first conversation; F is for Float with that insight and information when you meet, greet and work with the client; S is for Swim to help the client navigate through the labyrinth of their own thoughts, feelings and experiences as swiftly and effectively as possible. In my experience, this culturally-sensitive approach can build and sustain great relationships and outcomes. What do you think? We’d love to hear about your experiences, insights and ideas of working cross-culturally too! (Dr Smita Singh is a faculty member at IMT Nagpur Business School in India and is also a management consultant, coach and author.)  ‘None of this is about morality, or religion, or dogma, or big fancy questions of life after death. The capital-T Truth is about life before death. It is about making it to 30, or maybe 50, without wanting to shoot yourself in the head.’ (David Foster Wallace) The seagulls woke me with their loud cries. I couldn’t tell if they were singing or screaming. Perhaps it was both. Still, it's better than the bellowing bark of the neighbour’s dog that shatters the sleep, silence and solitude most days. There are no lights outside on my house. Only a single candle with a flickering flame inside: enough, I pray, to hold back the darkness. Tis the season to be jolly and yet, as the sun rose this morning, I felt more like Neil Young’s lonely boy: ‘Can't relate to joy, he tries to speak and…can't begin to say.’ I felt lost for words. Mindfulness won’t bring peace on Earth and no amount of positive psychology will shift the mood. I can’t fake a façade, a smile – and I refuse to do it. This is spiritual, existential. I listened to and felt Anna Robbins’ words: ‘So here it is. The incarnation of God...is not a sweet baby Jesus moment. It is light in the midst of the deeps; meaning in chaos; presence in isolation…(It) remembers his coming, celebrates his presence. and anticipates a future coming when all will be made well. Which means all is not well right now…in an uncertain world filled with conflict and disorientation.’ ‘If you don't feel excited about the usual preparations, there is nothing wrong with you…(and) if you feel out of sorts, it's because we all are, and you choose not to pretend anymore…Honesty about what a mess things are enable(s) us to receive the light of Christ as reality in which we participate, rather than simply offer our carols as spiritual whistling in the dark.’ That resonates. It feels for me like touching a fundamental reality, a rock bottom from which the only way is up. It’s deep and it matters. It’s only against the backdrop of darkness that the nativity, the coming of Jesus – Light of the world – makes sense. As I look around and see worldwide poverty, violence, oppression, corruption and injustice, that Light is hope.  ‘In the arrival of Jesus Christ, all ambiguities are swept aside. We are no longer alone, no longer without hope. God is with us.’ (Thomas Merton) Merry Christmas!  ‘Every child you encounter is a divine appointment.’ (Wess Stafford) Words can’t capture it. Photos can’t express it. I can’t find a way to do it justice. The sheer, vibrant joy and excitement of 127 children this Christmas on receiving what they had asked for – a bag each with bright-coloured notepads, pens and a handful of sweets. Rewind for a moment. These kids live in a city cemetery in the Philippines. Yes, a cemetery, among the gravestones and broken down mausolea. Desperately poor, their families cling to the edges of society, surviving invisibly at meagre subsistence level. Imagine it. A Filipina saw them. She remembered vividly and painfully how, as a child living in dire poverty too, she never received a Christmas gift. Other children did and that felt sad and confusing. In her child's mind, she concluded that she must have done something wrong. It was only later in life that she learned that wealthier parents had paid Santa to distribute gifts to their own children. This experience burned deep in her soul. She’d always returned home heavy-hearted and empty-handed. She determined that these kids wouldn't. Back to now. The children knew something special was about to happen. She’d asked them in advance what they’d love – if God enabled a way to make it possible. ‘School bags!’ they replied. It was a humble and humbling request. As she arrived, the tension was tangible, the kids straining in eager anticipation to see what she’d brought. The Filipina had packed every gift individually, beautifully and prayerfully so that each child would know they are seen, valued and loved. The children skipped, sang and danced. A sacred encounter. What a gift. Remember the poor. We can be hope.   ‘Everyone has the right to freedom of opinion and expression; this right includes freedom to hold opinions without interference.’ (United Nations Universal Declaration of Human Rights) As a teenager, I was once stopped by police in the street for wearing a t-shirt I’d just had printed with, ‘Nazis Are No Fun’ emblazoned on the front. It was a caustic and satirical anti-Nazi slogan at the time and the police claimed that, by wearing it in public, I was ‘inciting violence with the (hard right) National Front (NF)’. They instructed me to take off the t-shirt immediately. ‘It doesn’t mention the NF’, I objected with typical teenage sass. The police responded, ‘You know full well who it’s talking about.’ I pushed back again, ‘But the NF says it’s not a neo-Nazi party.’ They rolled their eyes, gave up, walked away and told me not to wear it again. I wore it again. Those were the days when freedom of expression was still regarded in the UK as a sacred tenet of democracy. To be honest, I had no intention of provoking violence – far from it – but I did want to make a public statement of resistance to the influence of what I saw as a growing, pernicious ideology at the time. Fair enough too: the police were justified in raising their concern about how others might react but, notably, they didn’t arrest me, nor slap a Non-Crime Hate Incident (NCHI) record on me. They tried to convince me and to caution me, conversationally rather than threateningly, of the potential risks of what I was doing. How things have changed since then. Against this backdrop, I was pleased recently to see a think tank publish a research paper titled, ‘Non-Crime Hate Incidents: A Chilling Distraction from the Public’s Priorities on Policing’ which recommended in no uncertain terms: ‘The Government should legislate to abolish, in its entirety, the recording of Non-Crime Hate Incidents by the police.’ I was also encouraged to see this sentiment echoed last week by Lord Nick Herbert, Chairman of the (UK) College of Policing – albeit in softer terms: advocating that the government should consider scrapping the (NCHI) practice in its present form. Freedom of speech is painfully hard won and all too easily lost. Speak – while you still can.  ‘As a global community, we face a choice. Do we want migration to be a source of prosperity and international solidarity, or a byword for inhumanity and social friction?’ (Antonio Guterres) I didn’t notice that yesterday was International Migrants Day. If I’m honest, it passed by vaguely on the edges of my awareness. I was too preoccupied by other things to pay it attention. I guess that’s how it feels for some who move within or across borders as a consequence of poverty, persecution, climate disaster or war. There – but not seen. Existing – yet as if not existing. I can only imagine how it is, how it feels, to escape from home with nothing left to hold onto apart from a flickering spark of hope. The poorest are by far the most vulnerable. That hurts. Dire poverty steals the opportunity to move. ‘The poorest people generally do not have the resources to bear the costs and risks of international migration. International migrants are usually drawn from middle-income households.’ (United Nations). ‘Worldwide, roughly 85% of all refugees live in developing regions, not in wealthy industrialised countries.’ (Refugee Action). ‘70% of refugees live in (their) neighbouring countries.’ (International Rescue Committee). The poorest live – no, barely survive – on the borders, the edges, of their places of origin. This begs strategy and policy questions as we face the future, especially in light of the growing number and scale of climate emergencies worldwide; a growing trend of autocratic-style governments that clamp down on dissent; growing risks of geopolitical tension and war and the associated likelihoods of increasing numbers of displaced people seeking sanctuary or a better life elsewhere. Building higher walls is one option. Investing in climate solutions; poverty-reduction; human rights; and peacebuilding is a more life-giving and sustainable alternative. What do you think?  ‘Hope reflects a psychological state in which we perceive the way-power and the willpower to get to our destination.’ (Charles Snyder) I’ve spent much of the past 18 years working with leaders in beyond-profit organisations, enabling them to lead and influence transitions in the midst of dynamically-complex change. This often involves helping them to develop the qualities and relationships they need to support themselves and others to survive, thrive and perform well in the face of an uncertain and, at times, anxiety-provoking future. A recurring challenge that such leaders encounter is how to instil and sustain hope within themselves as well as within and between others. Putting on a brave face my inspire confidence in the short-term but can feel inauthentic if their foundations are wobbling – and authenticity is a critical condition for building and sustaining trust. New leadership calls for resilience, resourcefulness and faith. Hope Theory offers some useful insights and ideas here. If we (a) have a desired future in mind (vision), (b) can see a way by which it can be achieved (way-power) and (c) are motivated to take action to do it (willpower), we are more likely to experience genuine hope. It’s very different to abstract idealism or naïve optimism, which may engender a good feeling but lack any grounding in reality. Yet what to do if someone is stuck: devoid of vision, unable to see a way forward or lacking in any sense of agency to do anything about it? This is where co-active leadership, coaching and action learning can really help; offering practical means by which people and groups can discover or create fresh goals, find or devise innovative solutions, and gain the traction they need to move things forward. Do you need help with hope? Get in touch!  ‘Truth-telling lays at the heart of authentic community.’ (Pete Chapman) I get it. Some things are better left unsaid, especially if they could prove hurtful, damaging or dangerous. Some things are best said only at the right place and time, in the right spirit or by someone we trust. This is, or course, an intrinsic part of navigating everyday human-social relationships. Imagine, for instance, a relationship or society in which people apply no filters, where people always say whatever they are thinking or feeling with no regard whatsoever for the impact on others. Transparent and no dancing around issues – but could feel pretty bruising. Imagine also if someone were to reveal intimate personal words or images shared in trust, or to say or portray things that engender hatred or incite violence, or to disclose state secrets with serious security implications. These are the types of considerations that tear hard at the boundaries of freedom of expression in democratic societies. Where should we draw the lines and who should decide? It’s also the arena in which some governments, including the UK, are tipping the tricky balance away from freedom of speech towards freedom from (apparent) harm. This is a complex issue. If you were to hurt my feelings, would that constitute harm? If you were to express an opinion that I find offensive, would that constitute harm? If your answer to those questions is ‘Yes’, do you believe I should have legal protection from such harm? If your answer to that question is also ‘Yes’, how much hurt or offence would you regard as an appropriate threshold for legal sanction? Should I be expected to demonstrate that your statements are harmful per se, or simply that I find them harmful? And what should such sanctions be? Applied as a blunt instrument, suppression of expression is a high-risk strategy for ensuring the health of a society. It creates a hidden pressure cooker of seething resentment, waiting to explode. Look, by contrast, at courageous examples such as South Africa after the fall of its repressive apartheid regime. It showed truth-telling is vital to unite a divided society – a principle applied since by other states including Peru, Philippines and Sierra Leone. ‘Conflict is hard, (but) there’s a world of difference between barbed words and barbed wire.’ (Andrew Doyle) [See also: Free Speech Union; Alumni for Free Speech]  ‘The candle burns not for us, but for all those whom we failed to rescue from prison, who were shot on the way to prison, who were tortured, who were kidnapped, who ‘disappeared’.’ (Peter Benenson, founder of Amnesty International) Human Rights Day 2024 saw the tearing wide open of the doors of the infamous Saydnaya Prison in Damascus following the unexpected fall of the brutal Assad regime. It couldn’t have been more poignant. As militia, family and friends of people held there searched frantically for their loved ones, the men, women and children who have survived limped, walked or ran into the awaiting daylight stunned with hope, joy and relief. It was a breathtaking moment and a graphic reminder of the critical importance of protecting and safeguarding human rights. It reminded me: my first foray into human rights work was in the early 1980s during the horrific atrocities and abuses taking place in El Salvador. It was a very testing time personally and a desperately harrowing time for the people of Central America. Inspired by Archbishop Oscar Romero and, later, by Baptist primary school teacher and community activist María Cristina Gómez – both of whom were murdered for their stance for the poor – I was determined to use my own small voice to advocate for change. (I do wish my efforts had been more effective). I’ve seen a shift since in attitudes towards human rights. Back then, values that were often regarded as self-evident – in principle, if not in practice – were fairly widely-held in liberal democratic societies. Now, the notion of rights has become embroiled in heated, polarised debates over issues such as: transgender rights vs feminist rights; abortion rights vs unborn child right to life rights; asylum rights vs state border protection rights. Along with an erosion of confidence in international institutions including the UN, rights no longer command a consensus. Perhaps this is all a natural consequence of a postmodern, globalised, multipolar world with contrasting, competing and conflicting beliefs, values and priorities, all jostling for space and supremacy in the same human-geopolitical arena. Perhaps, too, it’s why Human Rights Day 2024 passed by largely unnoticed by mainstream media, like some ethereal concept with little felt-sense of relevance or tangibility. I hope the shocking images, sounds and stories of what happened in Saydnaya will serve as a wake-up call. Human rights are hard-won yet easily-lost. |
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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