 ‘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?
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 ‘Refugees didn’t just escape a place. They had to escape a thousand memories until they’d put enough time and distance between them and their misery to wake to a better day.’ (Nadia Hashimi) I learnt a new expression in Germany this week: ‘Ich bin ein Anhänger Jesu’: that is, ‘I’m a follower of Jesus.’ Anhänger. An interesting use of metaphorical language. It’s the same word that we’d use, in English, for a trailer. A trailer has no power of its own and relies entirely on the vehicle that pulls it. To be a follower of Jesus is, in the words of 18th century preacher Chales Finney, completely dependent on ‘power from on high’. It’s as if God can draw us in all kinds of directions and make the most amazing journeys possible. Without him, we are like a trailer standing unhitched at the roadside. That’s certainly been true in my experience, and for others too. Margitta was 7 years old when her father, a Christian who resisted Communist ideology openly at increasing risk, made the bold decision to leave East Germany (the former DDR) to escape to the West. They couldn’t have known that, just one year later, the Berlin Wall would be built and that journey would be impossible. Margitta remembers vividly wearing extra clothing – the only possessions they could take with them – as they climbed onto a train. To carry bags would have looked suspicious to the border authorities and tempted arrest. It was Easter Sunday which, for Christians, represents life-after-death, when they stepped off the train in West Berlin. It was the beginning of a new life, but certainly not the end. The next few years were marked by being moved from place-to-place, firstly in West Berlin and then, after having been flown out of the isolated island city that Berlin had now become, in West Germany. Margitta remembers living in large rooms full of refugees with tables upturned to create makeshift beds, then in apartment blocks with brightly-painted coloured doors, then again in halls where families were separated only by sheets hanging from rails or the ceiling. It was a painful experience, especially for Margitta’s Mum, to be separated so far from her extended family and all that had been home. Last night, as I watched the German movie, ‘Bornholmer Straße’ with Margitta and her Christian husband Uli, it brought these memories back to life. I visited Berlin last week and, seeing the film play out the drama that had happened that night – some 28 years after the Wall had been built – when the heavily-guarded border between East and West finally opened again, was an emotional experience. For many trapped in the East who had felt like prisoners in their own country, this Kairos moment really was like a death-to-life experience. Margitta looks back with thanks for how God grasped hold of her family – and took them on that journey of hope, to freedom. Ein Anhänger Jesu.  ‘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.  ‘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.  ‘It is the obligation of every person born in a safer room to open the door when someone in danger knocks.’ (Dina Nayeri) Reading Gill Martin’s insightful book, ‘Borders and Boundaries – Community Mental Health Work with Refugees and Asylum-Seekers’ has been an illuminating experience. It resonates well with some of the issues and dynamics I have witnessed too, albeit outside of the therapeutic arena. I remember when, after a long and agonising wait, a Kurdish-Iranian friend in the UK was granted refugee status. It meant that, finally, he could bring his wife over to join him and he could get a job to fulfil his passion and potential as a gifted architect. His pent-up talents had opportunity for release and he’s now making an outstanding contribution at an architects’ firm. Gill comments on the need, at times, to cross (not violate) what may be regarded as fixed professional boundaries, to meet refugees and asylum seekers at their point of need. She draws attention to the therapeutic meaning, significance and value of being-with, of being-alongside, in authentic human relationship. Much of our sense of identity is founded on e.g. our country and culture of origin; the groups and communities of which we are a part; our shared experiences; the work and roles we fulfil. When forced to leave all we associate with home to flee to a starkly different culture and environment, it can feel isolating relationally and dislocating existentially. Gill observes that talking therapies have their place but aren’t always what refugees and asylum seekers want or need. Sometimes, it’s because they come from cultural backgrounds that hold very different beliefs about health and wellbeing, including what influences, nurtures, sustains or harms it; or, perhaps, cultural taboos that would deem seeking and receiving help of this kind to be shameful. Sometimes, interventions akin to social prescribing, involving people in activities that they experience as worthwhile and life-giving, can be beneficial. Health and healing often emerge through enabling powerless people to regain a sense of agency over their own lives. (Further reading: Working with Asylum Seekers and Refugees: What to Do, What Not to Do, and How to Help; Counselling and Psychotherapy with Refugees; A Practical Guide to Therapeutic Work with Asylum Seekers and Refugees; Refuge: Transforming a Broken Refugee System; Strangers in our Midst: The Political Philosophy of Integration)  ‘Coincidence doesn't happen a third time.’ (Osamu Tezuka) I arrived in the Netherlands on Saturday, aiming to orientate myself briefly to this new country before working with an INGO team there on Monday. When I stepped into my hotel room, however, it smelt damp and sweaty. Trying not to breathe, I opened the windows to an icy blast and decided to go for a walk while the fresh air did its work. Not far away, I noticed a church building so walked over to have a glance at its meeting times. As I did so, I looked up and saw a cross in the sky, a misty symbol painted momentarily on blue canvas by vapour trails. It felt significant, but I didn’t know why. The next day, the church was full when I arrived and I sat quietly in the midst, happily surprised by how much Dutch I could understand. (I can speak German, but this was my first time to read this new language). At the end, a woman kindly introduced herself to me. On learning that I am English, she explained that the church is recovering from an intensely painful internal conflict. The pastor had spoken on a need to look to God. I showed her the photo I had taken the day before – a symbol of suffering and hope – and she started to weep. ‘God brought you here to us this morning, Nick.’ Another woman now introduced herself, explained briefly that she had worked internationally in medical mission, and invited me to a special meeting that afternoon for asylum seekers and refugees. ‘How could she possibly have known anything about my life and work?’ I asked myself, a total stranger. The guest speaker that day was a visitor from Algeria and, serendipitously, works for the same organisation I was about to work with the following day... as does a man who randomly found himself sitting beside me in a hall full of people. Was this all coincidence? I don’t believe so. You decide.  ‘Diversity doesn’t look like anyone. It looks like everyone.’ (Karen Draper) An English guy from the UK in Germany… working alongside Mexican and Romanian English teachers to teach English to German students… whilst supporting a Liberian student to learn German… and alongside a German Mathematics teacher to introduce German students to Philippines language and culture... whilst supporting Iranian refugees with coaching. It’s an incredible privilege to be here. Every day brings new surprises. Today, I chatted with a German teacher… with an Arabic name... who sits quietly in the staff room yet spends her free time doing extreme caving and travelling to different countries around the world. I had another surprise when I shared some videos of Filipino jungle children, dancing, with two groups of German students. They spontaneously leapt up from their seats to join in. When I asked these students if any could speak another language, I was amazed by the range of their responses: Czech, Italian, Spanish, Greek, Russian, Turkish, Ukrainian. It reminded me of the power and potential of diversity, where young people see beyond national boundaries, see each other as individuals that transcend different languages and cultures, and are truly open to something, someone, new. Diversity: a problem to be solved...or an opportunity to be grasped? What do you think? 'Whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly.' (Martin Luther King) DEI, EDI, DIE..acronyms, used interchangeably with a similar meaning. It’s the stuff of diversity, equality/equity and inclusion. If the very sight of those words makes you yawn with boredom or roll your eyes with frustration, DEI experts and advocates need to ask why. To see a glowing example of passion, creativity and inspiration in this arena, have a glance at Shine! The challenges that EDI sets out to tackle are important, complex and human. They affect very real, vulnerable and disenfranchised people in organisations and the wider world. Most DEI policies and plans I see represent implicitly: (a) a legal rights-based approach; that is, to offer protection against illegal discrimination, and ensure equality of access to opportunities and resources; and (b) a humanistic values-based approach; that is, to treat everyone respectfully as human beings, and appreciate the differences between people. Both offer a critical baseline for healthy conduct and behaviour in liberal-democratic societies. We could think of these approaches as, essentially, ideologically-based. They flow from a vision of organisations and societies in which, in particular, people and groups that are non-dominant and less-privileged are offered special protection and support so that they, alongside others, can enjoy free and fulfilling lives. They recognise a genuine risk in any group or society that less-powerful people will be and become marginalised by the cultural interests and priorities of the privileged majority. Against this backdrop, EDI initiatives often prioritise, first and foremost, legal and policy requirements as core foundations. An underlying challenge for these types of ideological approaches is how to gain and sustain traction if others, especially those in powerful positions, don’t share the same vision and values, or a desire to prioritise them. An unintended consequence of effective recent social-political lobbies such as LGBTQ+, BLM and Extinction Rebellion has been to create a silent-silenced group that, for reasons of expediency, presents a convincing, socially-presentable façade, yet with no real substance behind it or commitment to change. Climate activist Greta Thunberg calls this out as the cynical ‘Blah, blah, blah’ phenomenon. For the DEI venture to exert greater transformational influence and impact, I believe those who promote it need to become better at evaluating and demonstrating the tangible benefits of diversity: especially to the pragmatist-sceptics. It’s not enough to create and enforce laws and policies, important as they are for protection, equality and inclusion. It’s not enough to appeal for kinder, fairer and more tolerant organisations – although, as a follower of Jesus – I see such qualities as having intrinsic value. EDI's core proposition that 'diversity is a good thing' will prove far more persuasive if it can show convincingly why. I may have something useful to offer here. For many years, I have had the privilege of working internationally with leaders and professionals from diverse cultures and backgrounds. I often use a powerful, small-group, peer-coaching method called ‘Action Learning’. It enables people who face wicked problems to make better decisions, faster. Diversity in such a group is a critical success factor because it enables a person to unpack an issue, stress-test her or his assumptions and create innovative solutions – precisely because peers pose stretching questions from vastly different perspectives and experience-bases. One organisation I worked with had a strong commitment to DEI. It employed people from a wide range of countries and backgrounds and worked hard to ensure that everyone was treated in the same way. Ironically, its efforts had inadvertently blinded it to the value of difference. It missed completely the significant potential that such diversity can offer when running projects, dealing with challenging issues etc. I invited the leaders to engage in a simple experiment – to create problem-solving and innovation teams based on radical diversity as the key team criterion, irrespective of formal role. The results were truly astonishing. As EDI progresses, develops and learns, I believe that this kind of testing, evidencing and presenting of practical benefits, alongside issuing or enforcing an ethical call, will prove vital and fruitful. It will be an invaluable area for further research. I work with asylum-seekers and refugees who often feel depressed and frustrated by being characterised as helpless victims, rather than as resourceful contributors who want to show they can make a difference. Legal rights-based and humanitarian values-based approaches to DEI are a critical bedrock. A benefits-outcomes approach could ensure an additional life-giving dimension. Turn on the TV and you will see heart-breaking scenes of streams of desperate people, frightened, shell-shocked and displaced by war, fleeing within Ukraine or escaping across crowded borders into neighbouring countries. It’s a tragic and all-too-familiar scene. Not that long ago, we witnessed similar images of dispossessed and traumatised people, at that time clinging together in crowded boats or walking on long roads, trying to reach safety away from the ravages of a brutal war in Syria. It's tempting, in such circumstances, to compare and contrast. Why, for instance, is Poland throwing its doors wide open to Ukrainian refugees whereas it was decidedly reluctant to do so for Syrian refugees? Is this evidence of endemic racism? It is because Ukrainians are white, because they ‘look like us?’ – as more than one TV reporter asked this week. These are important questions... and they also risk pitching one set of refugees against another, as if competing for empathy and support. I’ve had the personal privilege of working in the UK alongside asylum-seekers and refugees from countries as diverse as Afghanistan, China, Congo, Egypt, El Salvador, Eritrea, Honduras, Iran, Iraq, Kurdistan, Mali, Mexico, Somalia, Sudan, Syria, Turkey, Vietnam and Yemen. Up-close, every person is unique, has a name, and carries his or her own lived experience, his or her own individual story. Step back, and we can discern patterns shaped by e.g. culture, history, language, narrative and geopolitics. In some significant respects, I believe European public discourse concerning the Ukrainian refugee situation is different to that in 2015. Geopolitical factors include: Ukraine borders directly with Europe, vs Syria lays at a geographical distance; Ukraine is perceived primarily as an invasion by a foreign power, vs Syria was viewed primarily as a civil war; Ukraine is perceived in simple terms as a ‘hero’ against a ‘villain’, vs Syria was perceived as a complex conflict between multiple ‘villains’. Cultural factors include: Ukrainian refugees are perceived as culturally- and pro-European, vs asylum-seekers in 2015 who came from a diverse range of countries and cultures – often perceived as hostile to European liberal values and cultures; Ukrainian refugees are primarily women and children and, therefore, considered most-vulnerable and least-threatening, vs asylum-seekers in 2015 were perceived as primarily men and, therefore, considered least-vulnerable and most-threatening. If we are willing to pause and reflect openly, honestly and critically, we can see that the stance we take reveals all kinds of underlying personal and cultural beliefs, values, assumptions and biases – including whom we consider worthy, or not, and why. The media plays a very powerful role since most of what we believe and think we know about asylum-seekers and refugees is mediated via media. The ‘news’ is a blend of info and drama, with an agenda. Let’s not fan the flames of a refugee war. (For further reading in this area, see: Alexander Betts & Paul Collier, Refuge: Transforming a Broken Refugee System (2018)) |
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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