 ‘Research is seeing what everybody else has seen and thinking what nobody else has thought.’ (Albert Szent-Györgyi) Today’s focus group with participants from Colombia, England, Iran and Scotland was an intriguing experience. They are all employed as research professionals at a university and their expertise was evidenced as much by the questions they asked as the insights they shared. As facilitator, I spent much of the time listening to discern underlying themes as they spoke together in free-flow around issues and experiences that matter to them. I was aware of both tuning in to hear and understand, and tuning out to maintain an independent perspective. One of the participants reflected astutely from the outset that the order in which discussion questions had been framed mirrored symbolically something of their experience. The first question was focused on organisational issues, the second on cross-departmental and the third on individual. This represented, for them, a perceived hierarchy of importance in the culture of the university itself – with organisational agendas at the top of the pyramid and individual interests at the bottom. It was a profound insight that proved pivotal to the conversation. In debrief afterwards in a café with the client, we reflected on how best to present the outputs of the focus group to organisational decision-makers. If it’s true that leaders are focused first and foremost on the needs of the institution, whereas the researchers were primarily concerned with issues affecting individuals, we will aim to demonstrate how addressing the researchers’ recommendations would benefit the institution, whilst also hold up an observation of the perceived need to do so, as a mirror to raise awareness of implicit cultural values.
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 ‘Taken out of context, I must seem so strange.’ (Ani Difranco) It’s an awareness of the context (in Gestalt psychology, the backdrop or ground) that often enables us to make sense of and navigate the specific issue (the focus or figure) in front of us. This principle came in useful today whilst facilitating a focus group of university research and teaching professionals in Scotland with cultural backgrounds in Bosnia and Herzegovina, Germany, Greece, Turkey and the UK. They knew their context well and were able to draw on insights from personal experience. This created the conditions for a rich conversation and diverse ideas to emerge. There were benefits, too, to my involvement as an independent facilitator. In that role, I was external to their system – intentionally out-of-context if you like – and that helped me to avoid making some of the same assumptions, and to ask questions from a fresh place or guide the group’s gaze towards unexplored places. I was detached and unaffected by the issues they wanted to discuss and that helped me to stay focused: to help them discern their wood from their trees. So, out-of-context within a context can be an advantage; as can contextual knowledge and understanding.  ‘Capabilities are freedoms conceived as real opportunities.’ (Amartya Sen) I keep coming back to this question: what is it that makes the difference? I’ve been drawn recently to reflections on this theme by Indian economist and philosopher, Amartya Sen. He distinguishes between capabilities, which are our resources (including our abilities and our potential), and conversion factors, which are influences on the real opportunities we have to use and fulfil them. Sen focuses his work on wellbeing and on the kinds of lives people and groups are effectively able to lead. He moves on to questions of what people, groups and societies need. Sen offers some interesting illustrations. Two people have the same resources. One is able-bodied and the other has physical disabilities that confine them to a wheelchair. All else being equal, the able-bodied person has more net resources because the person with disabilities has more related expenses. The former may also have greater net opportunities in society because the latter may be limited to places that are wheelchair-accessible. This could lead us to the conclusion that the person with disabilities should be given more resources to ensure equity. Sen then asks, what if the able-bodied person is hard to please and needs more resources to achieve a sense of wellbeing? What if the person with disabilities is content with their life and needs fewer resources to achieve wellbeing? If the goal is wellbeing, should we therefore provide more resources for the able-bodied person? Sen poses two challenges before we leap to this conclusion: sometimes disadvantaged people lower their expectations as a coping mechanism; and society has a moral imperative to support the disadvantaged and vulnerable. Sen provides another example of a person who owns a bicycle. The bike is a means to an end, to ensure mobility rather than an end in itself. Yet to convert the potential of bike ownership to greater mobility, certain conditions need to be in place. These could include, for instance, the physical ability to ride a bike; a social-cultural context that allows the person to ride a bike; and environmental conditions such as safe roads or suitable bike paths that make using a bike feasible. It’s a combination of capabilities and conversion factors that make this difference. So, what does this look like real situations? As far back as 2003, I wrote a research paper as part of an organisation development (OD) masters’ degree that aimed to identify and address common factors that influence engagement and effectiveness in organisations. I proposed that culture, complexity, capability and climate were critical variables. It’s about releasing and harnessing individual potential on the one hand, whilst creating the conditions in which people thrive on the other. This is, in my view, where coaching, action learning and OD intersect. What do you think?  ‘Our cultural strength has always been derived from our diversity of understanding and experience.’ (Yo-Yo Ma) Assertiveness is often framed as a positive trait – being clear, direct and confident in expressing our thoughts and needs. But in cultures where relationship, harmony and saving face are highly-valued, a Western style of assertiveness can sometimes feel abrupt or even rude. It’s a lesson I’ve learned – no, I’m still learning – through having made painful and embarrassing cross-cultural mistakes. So how can we adapt an assertive approach without losing our voice? Here are some general rules-of-thumb: *Observe and learn: Pay attention to local communication styles. Notice how disagreements or requests are typically handled. *Use indirect language: Try to frame your points in a way that aligns with cultural norms (see practical examples below). *Be mindful of non-verbal cues: In high-context cultures, non-verbal communication carries weight. Ensure words, tone and body language are congruent. *Seek local feedback: Engage with culturally-knowledgeable friends or colleagues to refine your communication approach. Here are some practical examples: 1. Listen beyond words: A Vietnamese colleague told me, ‘Yes doesn’t always mean yes here.’ Instead of relying solely on verbal confirmation, pay attention to body language, tone and hesitation. If someone says, ‘That might be difficult,’ they may be politely saying no. Example: If you ask someone if they can meet a deadline and they respond with, ‘That could be a challenge but we will try our best,’ this may mean they cannot meet it. Try asking, ‘I understand it’s difficult. What timeline do you think would be realistic?’ 2. Use indirect language: Rather than saying, ‘I disagree with this approach,’ try, ‘I wonder if there’s another way to look at this?’ or ‘Would it be possible to explore an alternative?’ Softening language allows for discussion without putting anyone on the spot. Example: If a team in Thailand proposes an idea you find impractical, instead of rejecting it outright, you could say, ‘This is an interesting idea. What challenges do you foresee in implementing it?’ This approach encourages dialogue without shutting them down. 3. Frame feedback as a question: Direct or implied criticism can feel very personal in some cultures. Instead of ‘This report isn’t clear,’ try ‘How do you think we could make this report even clearer?’ It invites reflection and change without causing embarrassment. Example: If a junior colleague in Singapore submits a report with errors, instead of saying, ‘This isn’t detailed enough,’ ask, ‘Could we add a bit more background information to clarify this section?’ This encourages improvement whilst maintaining respect. 4. Leverage relationships: In hierarchical cultures, feedback is often best received through the appropriate channels. Instead of challenging a senior colleague directly, discuss concerns privately or ask a trusted intermediary to raise the point. Example: If you need to push back on an unrealistic request from a senior manager in the Philippines, rather than directly saying, ‘This won’t work,’ you might discuss your concerns with a colleague who has a good relationship with them and ask them to introduce the idea tactfully. 5. Respect the pause: Silence is powerful. In Western cultures, we may jump in to fill gaps. But in cultures where people reflect before responding, allow pauses. If you ask a question and don’t get an immediate answer, don’t rush to rephrase – wait. You might get a more thoughtful response. Example: In a negotiation in Cambodia, you propose a fee rate. The other party remains silent. Instead of jumping in with a revised offer, wait. The pause doesn’t necessarily mean disapproval. It may signal they are considering it.  'A physicist friend of mine once said that in facing death, he drew some consolation from the reflection that he would never again have to look up the word ‘hermeneutics’ in the dictionary.’ (Steven Weinberg) I’m reading Henri Nouwen’s deeply introspective, honest and inspiring book, ‘The Return of the Prodigal Son’. At the start, the writer reflects on the relationship between Jesus’ original narrating of the parable in one time and context; the artist Rembrandt’s depiction of that account in a painting in a different time and context; and his own reflections of both, each in light of the other, in yet another time and context. As I'm reading the book here and now, I find myself in the centre of that hermeneutical triangle, in the midst of my own life and context too. This notion of hermeneutics, the art of interpretation and how we place ourselves in relation to an experience or a narrative, is important in psychological coaching because the ways in which clients construe and interpret their experiences shape their emotions, behaviours and decision-making. Social psychology provides some hermeneutical principles – attribution theory, perspective-taking and social constructivism – that I find useful to help clients shift their thinking patterns and develop a greater sense of awareness, understanding and agency. Attribution theory examines how people explain life events: whether they see a cause in themselves or in external circumstances. A balanced approach acknowledges both personal factors and external influences. A client who failed a job interview may say, ‘I didn’t get the job because I’m just not good enough.’ A coach could reframe this by asking: ‘What feedback (if any) have you received from the employer, and how do you interpret it?’, or ‘Apart from your own performance, what broader factors might have influenced the panel's decision?’ Perspective-taking is the ability to step into another person’s shoes and to view a situation from their standpoint. This skill is vital in coaching because clients often become stuck in a rigid, self-focused interpretation of events. Suppose a client is frustrated because their boss gave them critical feedback. They feel attacked and believe their boss doesn’t appreciate their hard work. A coach could ask: ’What assumptions might you be making about your boss’s intentions?’, or ‘If a colleague were to receive similar feedback, how might they interpret it?’ Social constructivism suggests that many of our beliefs about identity, self-worth and success are shaped by societal norms and cultural messages. Coaching can help clients recognise and challenge these inherited beliefs. Example: A client struggling with work-life balance may say, ‘I feel guilty if I’m not busy all the time.’ A coach could ask: ‘What messages did you receive when growing up about the value of hard work and being busy?’, or ’How do the expectations in your work environment reinforce or challenge your current beliefs around 'busyness'?’  ‘We don’t see things as they are – we see them as we are.’ (Anaïs Nin) Social constructionism is a way looking at how we construe reality to help us make sense of it. The ‘we’ is important here because it’s not just what I do but what we do, what others around us do and what others before us have done. If I haven’t lost you already, imagine seeing a person hand someone else a bunch of flowers. Neuroscience can shed little or no light on understanding this event. That’s because the meaning of giving someone flowers is socially-constructed – that is, it’s something we attribute to the act within a specific culture and context, rather than something that is inherent to the act per se. In my own UK culture, giving a person flowers could mean, for instance: a gesture of romantic love; or of thanks and appreciation; or to celebrate a special occasion; or a token of apology; or a wish for someone who is sick that they’ll get well soon; or a sign of empathy if someone has died. In some cultures or contexts, it could signify wealth (e.g. ‘I have enough money to buy you to a gift’) or imply a request for a response (e.g. ‘Will you marry me?’). Types, colours and numbers of flowers convey different meanings in different cultures too. So, social constructionism: a way of making sense of human sense-making.  ‘I have started to feel myself fade. It’s not a sudden and complete vanishing, but rather a slow flickering around the edges as my solidity begins to ebb and flow in the eyes of those around me.’ (Kate Lister) If you didn’t see Kate Lister’s article in the iPaper this week, it’s definitely worth a read. With echoes of and resonances with Susie Orbach’s earlier pioneering work in this field (see, for instance, What’s Really Going on Here and Towards Emotional Literacy), Kate models critical reflection by viewing her personal experience through a broader social-cultural-political lens. It reminded me of Richard Marshall’s insight in the human-relational arena when exploring the meaning and significance of experience: ‘It’s about you, but it’s not only about you.’ The question of seeing and being seen – or not seen – has been a recurring theme too in my own reflections over recent years. It’s as if being seen links existentially and psychodynamically to a deeper sense of ‘I exist’ and with that, if it's with an affirming gaze, to ‘I am loved’. Kate’s article reflects on shifts in her personal experience of being seen as a woman, to becoming unseen as she gets older. Since being seen links to being valued, it can have a profound effect: ‘I felt my power base slip…I had passed by completely unnoticed…I was invisible.’ This phenomenon calls into question what expectations and judgements we place on ourselves and others: where they originate, who and what perpetuates them, who benefits from them and what their impacts are. I too have felt this fading at times as I get older, against a wider social-cultural backdrop of norms against ageing. I’ve worked with people in Asia who’ve noticed that social status diminishes with darker skin tones; and with asylum-seekers who feel their perceived value as human beings is questioned now they've become refugees. Who could I notice, perhaps for the first time? Who could I help to fade-in, to not fade-out?  ‘In a fully developed bureaucracy there is nobody left with whom one can argue, to whom one can represent grievances, or on whom the pressures of power can be exerted. We have a tyranny without a tyrant.’ (Hannah Arendt) I’ve been astonished in recent months by numerous accounts from friends, colleagues and clients of feeling mangled in the machines of bureaucracy. Some have been in commercial business contexts and others, more depressingly in many respects, in the explicitly values-orientated not-for-profit sector. A recurring theme has been being passed from pillar to post, being subjected to impersonal policies, processes and procedures, with no account taken of the human costs. Against this background, I have been remarkably impressed by these same individuals’ resilience. I’ve been amazed at their ability to survive and persevere on the edges of systems that care on paper but demonstrate no empathy in practice. Some have attributed their endurability to trust in God, some to support from family and friends, some to techniques like mindfulness, others to a pragmatic approach in life. They are a testimony to the human spirit in the face of adversity. Ironically, when I speak with people who operate the machinery in such organisations, I don’t often encounter faceless, unfeeling bureaucrats. I do often find people trying hard to do what they or their management considers to be the right thing, or cold technology requires them to do, often against a backdrop of competing pressures and demands and far-from-adequate resources to address them. Losing the human becomes an inadvertent cultural pattern and consequence. Do you need help to rediscover the human in your organisation? Get in touch!  ‘To learn through listening, practice it naively and actively. Naively means that you listen openly, ready to learn something, as opposed to listening defensively, ready to rebut. Listening actively means you acknowledge what you heard and act accordingly.’ (Betsy Sanders) I ran a Leading and Influencing Change workshop today for health and social care professionals, focused on introducing and embedding trauma-informed practice in the mental health arena. Ironically, the event took place in an old, abandoned fortress, with the training room in which we met surrounded by symbols of attack and defence: tanks, artillery, torpedoes, tunnels and protective walls. There was also a disused military hut with 007 on the door, a symbol of secretive actors and actions behind the scenes made famous by fictitious spy James Bond. Serving as metaphors, we considered how to shift team and organisational culture away from, at times, a default and subconscious fight-flight, attack-and-defence response in incredibly busy, pressured and complex work environments. We did this by thinking through approaches and behaviours that may look and feel counter-cultural – in practice, if not in principle – in those contexts. It entails role-modelling five key qualities in attitude and action in communications, conversations and relationships: i.e. safety, trust, choice, collaboration and empowerment. What could this look like practice? One participant illustrated it beautifully. When I asked for volunteers, she commented that she felt nervous to take part in an activity in front of the group. Two simple questions can make all the difference here: ‘If you were to do X, what would that mean for you?’ (e.g. ‘I would feel anxious and exposed in front of my peers’) and, ‘Given that, what would you need?’ (e.g. ‘If I could have more information about what the activity will entail, I could make a considered decision’; or ‘If I could sit behind a table, I would feel less exposed.’) This is, at heart, about adopting and modelling a human, invitational and coactive leadership style and approach that takes the voices, hopes and concerns of others seriously. I don’t believe the oft-quoted maxim that people are necessarily and fundamentally resistant to change. In my experience, people may resist a change, even if they agree with it, if they don’t feel heard and understood. Conversely, people may support a change, even if they don’t agree with it, if they do feel heard and understood. Attack-and-defence is a sign that something has gone awry. [See also: Trauma-informed coaching; A safe-enough space]  ‘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. |
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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