 ‘Democracies have no obligation to facilitate their own demise. Fascists can only succeed in conditions of excessive democratic tolerance.’ (Karl Loewenstein) As a teenage anti-Nazi activist in the UK, I can remember arguing vociferously that hard right parties like the British National Party and National Front should be banned. A wise older person disagreed with me, suggesting that banning parties simply drives them underground, out of view, and that makes them even more dangerous. He had a point. It’s a tough dilemma for democratic societies – one we face again now when UK society, like others throughout the West, is increasingly polarised between hard right nationalists, hard left progressives and ethnic sectarianism. The centre ground is losing ground and grasping weakly at paper straws to survive. The UK government has tried various tactics to address this, at times mimicking the hard right to appeal to voters on that front, then swinging towards the hard left in an attempt to appease voters heading in that direction. It looks chaotic, often driven more by pragmatic expediency than vision and values and, paradoxically, adds to the attraction of the extremes who appear far clearer, more principled and more decisive. The government also tried silencing free speech via police Non-Crime Hate Incident recording then, after widespread public backlash, repackaged elements in a counterproductive ‘Anti-Muslim Hostility’ definition that even Muslim leaders opposed. This level of instability and uncertainty, with its associated anxieties and risks, is driving some of those balancing precariously on the residual centre ground to argue that urgent and muscular action is needed to defend democracy itself (see, for instance, Paul Mason: Britain Needs Militant Democracy). I see profound resonances here in Germany (where I’m writing at the moment) with its dark history of fascism, where the Nazi party seized power by manipulating the liberal-democratic process to its own advantage – then subsequently dismantled it. German democrats are wringing their hands helplessly as they watch the rise of the Alternative für Deutschland (AfD). The hard left here argues that, if Germans had been more forceful (using violence, if necessary) to crush the Nazi party before it got into power, Germany and the wider world would have been spared the unspeakable horrors of the Third Reich. It’s a compelling argument until we question, along with Mahatma Gandhi, whether using violent means to achieve a non-violent end is ethically defensible and effective practically. Martin Luther King cautions that ‘The ends cannot be used to justify the means because the ends are pre-existent in the means’. I pray for wisdom and courage in the face of such challenges. Democracy itself hangs in the balance.
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 ‘What feels polite in one language can sound evasive in another – misunderstanding is often our first shared culture.’ (Yoon Jeong Kim) I had a funny and embarrassing experience in a German supermarket this weekend. I had gone to buy some milk and fruit and, when I arrived at the checkout, the young assistant picked up the loose bananas, looked at me quizzically and said, ‘Wiegen?’ (pronounced in the same way as the English word ‘vegan’). I was puzzled. ‘Is she asking me if I’m vegan?’, ‘Is she asking if the bananas are vegan?’, ‘Aren’t all bananas vegan?’ After an awkward moment – and with a visibly restless queue forming behind me – she pointed to a weigh scale. ‘Aaah.’ Now I understood. It felt to me like a classic illustration of what can happen in communication more broadly. It’s a particular risk when speaking in a different language, or when trying to understand what another has said in a different language. We can wonder, ‘Have they understood me correctly?’, ‘Have I understood them correctly?’ It’s even more complex when communicating cross-culturally where the same words, expressions or gestures may carry and convey very different underlying meanings. Misunderstandings occur when we think we've understood, and we haven’t. Peter Cotterell explained this phenomenon well when, as Principal and lecturer at a theological school where I studied, he introduced the idea of a presuppositional pool. This is a concept used in linguistics to describe a set of shared, background assumptions that speakers, authors or presenters from a specific culture and context take for granted in communication. It’s a bit like a subconscious underlying framework that enables their communications to make sense to others. Problems arise when we find ourselves swimming in different pools without realising it. Do want to enhance your communication skills? Get in touch!  ‘Carpe diem – Seize the day. Make your lives extraordinary.’ (Dead Poets Society) As I head off to Germany this weekend, my head is already filled with thoughts about a Future Leaders’ Programme, inspired by Jasmin, that I’ll be running for students in the Philippines next week alongside good friends: Eugene D’Cruz in Malaysia, Peirong Lin in Germany, Smita Singh in India and Mike Wilson in the UK. I’ll focus on Personal Leadership; Eugene on Gen Z Leadership; Peirong on Spiritual Leadership; Smita on EI Leadership and Mike on Visionary Leadership. It’s exciting to be part of this brand-new initiative that seeks to inspire graduating students to look inwards, upwards and outwards as they imagine and approach their futures. Who knows, after all, what part they could play in transforming Filipino society and beyond? Jasmin’s vision is to invest in real people, the poor. She prays in faith and hope, then looks to see who or what may emerge. I feel privileged to be involved and grateful to these friends for their unequivocal support.  ‘Borders are scratched across the hearts of men, by strangers with a calm, judicial pen. And when the borders bleed we watch with dread, the lines of ink across the map turn red.’ (Marya Mannes) It’s one thing to read social media reports of irregular migrant pushbacks between EU states. It’s another thing to see actual soldiers guarding a border crossing. I was surprised therefore this weekend to pass by regular police at one end of a small footbridge in Görlitz, Germany, facing soldiers dressed in military fatigues and carrying assault rifles in Zgorzelec on the Polish side of the border. It felt like a sign of the times, a tension and tightening on so many different fronts. Poland says its deployment of soldiers at the border is a direct response to Germany’s push back into Poland of irregular migrants who cross through Poland into Germany. Germany says its own deployment of border guards aims to prevent irregular migrants from crossing from Poland into Germany in the first place. Both governments, like so many others in Europe and beyond, are responding to growing popular anger and resentment against irregular migrants and migration. I walked across the bridge, the border, several times and wasn’t stopped by the guards. Neither side checked my passport nor my immigration status nor gave me a second glance. I did see the police on the German side step out of their van to speak with two men who looked North African by appearance. Perhaps it was just a casual chat. I also saw a young family in Muslim attire scurry across into Poland when the soldiers weren’t there. Perhaps it was just coincidental timing.  ‘Give yourself a gift of five minutes of contemplation in awe of everything you see around you.’ (Wayne Dyer) I love spending time under German motorway bridges. I know that may sound a bit dodgy or weird, yet there’s something about the majestic hidden architecture that I find completely awe- inspiring. The tall pillars supporting the structure above have, for me, an evocative, ancient, temple-like appearance. Standing in those places, allowing myself to feel mysteriously lifted outside of myself, has a kind of spiritual quality to it that I struggle to express easily in words. Finding expansive places like this, whether in awesome mountain ranges or standing on a beach gazing out across open skies and sea, is a stark contrast to feeling hemmed in or pressed down by the day-to-day pressures of everyday life. It creates a moment to breathe in deeply, to feel the freedom and joy of space. I find that expansive, interior space in prayer, in God, too. Contemplation is, for me, presence to the awe-striking Presence who is already present with us.  ‘The German Bible calls the Holy Spirit the Beistand – literally, the One who stands beside us.’ Prayers for Peace. For over 3 years now, since Russia invaded Ukraine, this small and dedicated group of people have met every Wednesday evening in a cold stone church building in Germany, often warmed only by flickering candles and their burning desire to see a different world. The crucified Saviour in the background felt especially poignant tonight. The focus was on Israel-Gaza, praying for all sides of the conflict and standing in spirit beside all people suffering unspeakable pain. As we arrived, I stood slightly outside of the group, leaning against a wooden pew. I’d been sitting down all day writing an article and I needed to stretch to avoid discomfort I have with nerve pain. Just before the prayers were about to start, one of the leaders tip-toed gently across the room and stood silently beside me, without looking at me or saying a word. I’m a visitor from England, a stranger and yet, in the midst of the darkness, I too was touched by their simple act of solidarity.  ‘Charisma is the fragrance of soul. Seduce yourself first. Pursuing your passions makes you more interesting, and interesting people are enchanting.’ (Toba Beta, Kamand Kojouri & Guy Kawasaki) I’ve watched and listened to various UK political leaders during the current party conference season and I’ve been struck by marked differences in presence and style. Some have commented that, for instance, Nigel Farage has an inspiring and engaging charisma whereas Keir Starmer talks down to people like a robotic technocrat. That said, both party leaders attract and repel different constituencies of the wider public – which makes me wonder if charisma, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder. I remember working with an international non-governmental organisation (INGO) that had a very inspiring CEO. At that time, the same organisation was working hard to identify leadership competencies that could be developed or replicated globally. I really struggled with that project. There was something intrinsic to the CEO as a unique individual that had such a compelling influence and impact. Yes, I could well try to emulate some of his skills and techniques – but I still wouldn’t be him. A friend in Germany illustrated a similar principle yesterday by holding up a glass vase. He could drop it on the floor so that it would smash into lots of pieces, yet there’s something about the object as a whole that is more than the sum of those broken shards. Charisma, like the beauty of the vase, is something that can feel mysterious, beyond rational or technical analysis, both in intrinsic quality and its effects on others. In biblical language, it’s a gift from the Spirit – but it can also be a derailer.  ‘There are no permanent friends or enemies in international relations, only permanent interests.’ (Henry Kissinger) The third anniversary of Russia’s attack on Ukraine came and went this week with some hints of progress towards an end to the war. A possible deal or sorts, amidst shifting blame, and against the backdrop of disturbing rumours of hidden geopolitical manoeuvrings behind the scenes. It felt hard not to see Ukraine as trapped in the middle – a David now caught between two Goliaths as one friend put it – seemingly powerless at the hands of bigger, crushing and grabbing forces. In the middle of the mess, we saw the UK straddling two horses – with its Prime Minister in thin disguise asserting himself as the new leader of Europe (another land grab, of sorts, while his German and French counterparts were floundering in political chaos); whilst also sacrificing the poor in the world to the insatiable god of war in a bid to win approval of the world’s new President. I felt sick as I watched the news, seeing a leader sell his nation's soul for political expediency. I wondered what I might do if I were in his position of power and responsibility. I hope better, and I fear worse. I was brought back down to earth on Wednesday evening at a weekly ‘Prayers for Peace’ event in a cold church building in Germany. A group of ten German people – with I as a visiting Engländer – stood in prayerful solidarity with a group of twenty shy-looking Ukrainian women and children. Each held a candle and some cried with tears of pain and hope. I felt like crying too.  'We are not to simply bandage the wounds of victims beneath the wheels of injustice, we are to drive a spoke into the wheel itself.' (Dietrich Bonhoeffer) At a time when much of the democratic West is shifting politically to the right, I had a very harrowing experience today – visiting Konzentrationslager Flossenbürg, a former Nazi concentration camp in southern Germany. Despite dedicating much of my adult life to trying to prevent the conditions that allow such destructive ideologies to take hold, nothing could have prepared me for the overwhelming weight of such a place. Standing before the memorial stones, each marked with a different flag, I read the staggering numbers – lists of people from various countries who were shot, hanged and burned within its barbed wire walls. I felt again an indescribable horror at the sheer brutality of the Nazi regime. A hard question haunted me: ‘How on earth did things get this bad?’ And equally disturbingly, ‘How is it that we, as humans, are capable of such evil?’ Because this isn’t just history and it isn’t just about them. It’s about us and now. This evening, back in my room, I turned on the TV news. More headlines about the growing success of the AfD in Germany – then Starmer appeasing MAGA Trump by increasing UK weapons spending, whilst deftly slashing the foreign aid budget. (He clearly misunderstood Robin Hood as a child). Rising nationalism. 'Us first' ethnocentrism. Crackdowns on free speech. Preparations for war. Does any of this sound familiar? 
‘When we know people whose lives are being destroyed and there seems to be no way of reaching them; when people are in impossible situations and there are no words to help them…hold them at the centre of prayer, where the divine Christ dwells, and expose them to the rays of his love.’ (Iain Matthew) Friedensgebet (‘prayers for peace’) felt even more earnest this evening than last time I was here. As we entered the church, each person lit a candle and placed it on a silver cross before a figure of the crucified Christ. It felt like holding the suffering of the world before one who knows what it is to endure pain. The candle I lit barely flickered at first, as if struggling to spark itself into even the tiniest glimmer of a flame. Hope, too, can sometimes feel like that. Those present reflected on certain parallels in German society today with those that preceded the rise of the Nazis so many years ago now. That was an unspeakably dark period in German history which, at times like this, still surfaces, smoulders and burns in the people’s collective psyche. I could feel their sense of concern and anguish about the forthcoming general election. Would Germany learn from its history, or would it find itself condemned to repeat it? As we prayed, I recalled Iain Matthew’s soulful spiritual wisdom: ‘Feel the way to the wound that is in us, to the place of our need. Go there, take it, name it; hold it before Christ. Feel our way to the wounds of this world, to those people or situations in dire need of healing. Go there, take them, name them; and hold them before him. Go there, not to dictate to Christ what the answer should be or what he should do about it; but to hold the wound before him.’ Yes. |
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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