 ‘Voting is irrational. Emotions always win.’ (Eyal Winter) Yesterday, I had a conversation with Alicia, a young German student with an interest in psychology. We reflected on current world events, including the resurgence of Donald Trump in the U.S. and the unfolding German election results. One question puzzled us: Why do so many people support political leaders and parties whose policies and behaviour seem irrational? Take Trump, for example. His use of ‘alternative facts’ doesn’t seem to shake his supporters' confidence. Similarly, politicians on the far left or right offer simplistic solutions to complex problems, yet their followers remain unwavering. Meanwhile, centrist politicians who present nuanced arguments in measured tones often struggle to gain traction. Instead of persuading people, they are met with boredom or disdain. Why is that? Here’s a thought: Many people today feel hopeless when they look at the state of the world and the challenges in their own lives too. Traditional politicians speak to the mind with carefully-crafted words, yet those who feel lost or frustrated are voting from the heart. Perhaps it’s not about what populist leaders think or say. It’s about how they make people feel.
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 ‘Do not get too close to the leading aircraft. Do not get below the leading aircraft’s flight path. Be particularly wary when light wind conditions exist.’ (Civil Aviation Authority, NZ) Seat belts on. Buckle up. We could be in for a rough ride. Caught in wake turbulence, with a change of President in the cockpit and the USA veering off in a new direction, much of the rest of the world is struggling, suddenly and desperately, to regain stability: a sense of safety, security and control. A brace position is an instinctive human response: curled up in foetus position with head down and eyes closed tight, hoping or praying to survive. A crash landing can hurt. We may wish we’d paid for a seat in the exit row. Look now and see some world actors tipping their caps with feigned enthusiasm and rushing around frantically, shouting ‘Yes sir, no sir, three bags full, sir’; trying hard to win approval, make all the right noises and to do all the right things to please or placate the self-proclaimed King. It may well mean sacrificing long-held beliefs, values, principles and relationships but, hey – pragmatism over idealism. The end justifies the means. Sell your soul if the price is high enough and the risks and rewards seem worthwhile. Others, a minority, are speaking from the shadows in muted tones and attempting, in acts of sometimes naïve yet heroic-sounding bravery, to hold a shaken position. They work hard to look confident, to speak with sincere conviction from moral high ground, but anxiety shows its face through the look in their eyes, their wringing hands or their clenched fists. Straining nerves to hold onto hope, they cling to the remnants of an unexpectedly-redundant paradigm, resisting the urge to give up and get on board with a dominating new. One final group have closed their eyes, put their fingers in their ears, and are singing gently but happily from the sidelines, ‘La, la, la.’ It reveals a belief that, if they keep quiet and keep their heads below the parapet for long enough, it will all pass by. Sooner or later, everything will settle down again. It’s the mark of the optimist who doesn’t want to be troubled by an inconvenient truth. They ignore the dismantling of democracy hidden in plain sight and appear completely immune to the geopolitical drama unfolding before them. Each reaction represents, in essence, a defensive routine – flight, fight or freeze – in the face a perceived threat: a daunting future marked by anxiety and uncertainty. To react is, by definition, to follow. It’s what we do when someone, or something, has seized the initiative or taken it from us. What we need now is humble and courageous leadership; people who will bring hopeful vision, whose behaviour is rooted in ethical values and who are not seduced, buffeted or derailed by opportunistic possibilities or a gathering storm.  ‘Don't bend; don't water it down; don't try to make it logical; don't edit your own soul according to the fashion. Rather, follow your most intense obsessions mercilessly.’ (Franz Kafka) It felt painful to find myself nodding in agreement with some of the things J.D. Vance said at the Munich Security Conference last week. Painful to hear such a stinging critique of freedom of expression from a representative of a President that publicly and shamelessly hunts down his own opponents. Painful to hear the announcement of what sounded like the heralding of a potential ending of a special relationship (ironic, perhaps, on Valentines Day). Painful to see the shock and surprise of European leaders caught so off guard by such an entirely predictable US stance. Painful most of all, however, was the reality and truth in Vance's assertion that the biggest threat to Western democracy isn’t foreign aggression from outside, but the erosion of free speech from within. The UK is leading the charge in policing thought, with others in Europe following close behind. Although some of the finer details in Vance’s speech were to be rightly challenged by fact-checking, the thrust of his argument calls for careful and urgent consideration; not the defensive denials we witnessed from hurt leaders wringing their hands, as if misunderstood. [Are you concerned about defending free speech? See: Free Speech Union; Alumni for Free Speech]  ‘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?  ‘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. The brutal murder of Samuel Paty, a teacher in France on Friday, spun freedom of expression back into the media spotlight. Freedom of speech is, after all, a bedrock of Western democracy – not only the safeguarding of the expression of thoughts, feelings, and opinions but also, critically, the right and opportunity to be exposed to those of other people and groups too. The same principle applies in liberal education: learning, development, creativity and innovation emerge from the interaction of diverse insights, experiences and ideas; sometimes awkwardly or angrily if they clash, yet vital for healthy growth. Emmanuel Macron has described the current Kairos moment as an existential crisis: a fundamental conflict between secular, liberal European values and those of radical Islamism. A broader cultural backdrop is, however, a struggle between freedom of speech and freedom from harm, where the latter includes freedom from offence. Brendan O’Neill commented last weekend that, in France, “cancel culture turned murderous…the (teacher’s) beheading was a militarised expression of (it).” The silencing of a voice, the no-platforming of a dissenting view, can lead to dire unintended consequences. Coming from a very different place politically to O’Neill, Douglas Murray struck a strikingly similar chord in, ‘The Madness of Crowds’ (2019/20): “We are going through a great…derangement”. Cultural and technological upheavals are driving humanity at breakneck speed into uncharted territories where many hitherto beliefs, values and assumptions are being stress-tested to their limits. Grasping at simplistic and polarising stances – no matter how irrational – is one way to feel safer and more purposeful in the world. So, question: What do these feverish times call for from us, as leaders, coaches, trainers and OD? Someone just called me, ‘Nixit’. It made me smile. :) I had posted this piece (below) on Facebook as a direct and deliberate challenge to bitter vitriol, negative stereotyping and harsh demonising on social media of people who voted ‘Leave’ in the UK-EU referendum last week.
I feel a bit nervous because, with frayed tempers running high this weekend, it’s very hard to speak and be heard. I can say, however, that everyone I know who voted ‘Remain’ did so with sincere beliefs and honourable intentions. I hope some will feel able to hear me. I hope I will hear too. I voted Leave. ‘Leave voters are inward-looking.’ OK. I’ve been to France, Germany, Netherlands, Belgium, Spain, Switzerland, Lichtenstein, Austria, Italy, Albania, Yugoslavia, Czech Republic, Greece, Turkey, Lebanon, Israel, West Bank, Uganda, Vietnam, Cambodia, Thailand, Singapore, Australia, Canada, United States. You? ‘Leave voters are ignorant and uneducated.’ OK. I have a first degree with honours, a postgraduate diploma with distinction, a masters degree with distinction. I’m a fellow of a UK professional Institute, have had over 100 articles published in journals and have spoken at various UK and international conferences. You? ‘Leave voters are selfish.’ OK. I’m not Mother Teresa. However, I’ve worked my entire adult life with charities and international NGOs in countries including UK, Germany, Albania, Lebanon, West Bank, Vietnam, Cambodia, Thailand, Singapore, Australia, Canada, United States. I’ve been a lifelong supporter of numerous organisations including Amnesty International and Greenpeace. You? ‘Leave voters are right wing, xenophobic racists.’ OK. I’ve been a lifelong leftist, worked in political/human rights for Latino people in El Salvador/Central America, worked in a Palestinian hospital for Muslim children with disabilities, worked in anti-Nazi projects in Germany, taught English to Vietnamese refugees, taught East European people, worked with African people from vulnerable contexts and people from almost every country in Asia. You? ‘Leave voters are nationalistic fascists.’ I’m pro-European and pro-International; pro-refugee and pro-migration; pro-democracy and pro-human rights. Until 2 years ago, I was passionately pro-EU. I voted Leave because, among other things, I feel desperately concerned about rising nationalism across the EU and beyond which is, in my view, fuelled by EU strategy, policy and behaviour. A lot of good people disagree with me and voted Remain. Respect. A lot of good people voted Leave too. We may have more in common than we know. That is my 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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