 ‘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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 ‘Our work can be a calling only if it is reimagined as a mission of service to something beyond merely our own interests.’ (Timothy Keller) I met with a small and enthusiastic group of college students in the Philippines this morning. As part of their studies, they have been learning about the Association of Southeast Asian Nations (ASEAN) and Jasmin, their tutor, invited me to share my experiences of working in some of those countries. They were keen to learn about my life and work too, as people whose careers still lay ahead of them. I was able to share glimpses of my diverse experiences in Cambodia, Philippines, Singapore, Thailand and Vietnam. I was also able to share some of the varied roles in my own life and career to date including: community development, human rights, English teacher, Baptist minister, trainer, leader/manager, international development, organisation development and psychological coach. To help the students relate to these experiences, I invited them each to imagine themselves in one of these roles and to consider: 1. Who would you serve or help? 2. What problems would you try to solve? 3. What attitudes and skills would you need? 4. What might be difficult about it? 5. What would you enjoy most? I was impressed by their level of awareness and how easily they were able to do this. I was also struck by how well they related these roles to their own career aspirations, such as in leadership and management, community development or care and counselling. An underlying recurring theme was their desire to help others in need, to improve the quality of other people’s lives, to make a difference for good in the world. This desire to live their mission and values impressed me too. At the end, one young woman asked me, ‘What have you learned in life?’ She was curious to hear what words of wisdom I could offer them, given my own background. I offered them my 3 guiding principles, the core I have discovered as key to all aspects of my own life and work: ‘Prayer, Presence, Participation’. Bottom line: ‘Follow the call God has placed in your heart – and trust him for all you need.’ Would you like help to explore your career and calling? Get in touch!  ‘Our deeds determine us, as much as we determine our deeds.’ (George Eliot) Mike is a role model of vision, compassion and integrity. I’ve rarely met anyone like him. In fact, he’s one of the most amazing leaders, line-managers, I’ve ever had the privilege of working with. It was all the more heartbreaking, therefore, to see him treated disrespectfully by an executive team and dismissed (in my view) unjustifiably from post. This was some years ago now yet I still feel a wince of pain whenever I remember it. At the time, I asked Mike how he managed to handle himself so honourably in the face of such harsh opposition. He replied simply that he had been reading the account of Joseph in the Bible and had concluded that, ‘They can take your job, they can take your income, but they can never take your integrity. That’s only yours to give. Remember, Nick – whatever happens in life, guard your integrity.’ Wow. Such courage under fire. The day of Mike’s leaving arrived and people crowded into the staff room to say goodbye to this man that so many had held in high esteem. The executive team stood at the side with their backs to the wall, looking tense and nervous. What might Mike say? Could it kick off a riot? Mike looked around the room, smiled gently and said, ‘The executive team are ordinary people who carry extraordinary responsibilities. Pray for them.’ It was absolutely astonishing. People looked at each other quizzically around the room, and the executives breathed a (somewhat surprised) sigh of relief. Mike said those words with such incredible empathy and kindness. Not a hint of resentment or revenge. Mike’s wife had joined him for the leaving do and they closed by standing in the centre of the room together, holding hands, and sang a gospel song about trusting in Jesus.  ‘Every border I crossed blurred another line inside me, between who I was and who I was becoming.’ (Yoon Jeong Kim) When I trained to be an English teacher for speakers of other languages, one of the things we discussed was to look out for was false friends, also called false cognates. These are words from different languages that appear similar yet have very different meanings. An example is the word ‘sensible’ which means something like ‘reasonable’ in English, but ‘sensitive’ in Spanish. A risk for language learners is that they assume that familiar, similar-sounding words, phrases or even gestures used by others carry the same meanings as their own, and that can lead to all kinds of misunderstandings. Language and culture are closely-linked, and similar risks can occur when we meet or work with people from different cultural backgrounds. We may assume that others’ similar behaviours carry the same meaning as ours, or assume that different behaviours of others mean the same as they would in our own culture. An example is nodding or saying ‘Yes’ which in many Western cultures would signal ‘I agree’ or ‘I consent’, whereas in many Eastern cultures it could mean ‘I hear you’ or ‘I understand what you are saying’. In some Eastern and African cultures it could simply be a sign of respect. Given the potential for confusion, consternation, embarrassment or frustration, I try to approach cross-cultural conversations and relationships in a spirit of curiosity. If a person or group from another culture says or does something (especially if this is a recurring pattern) that confuses, surprises or jars me, I try to pause, breathe, suspend my own judgement (based on my own cultural values) and inquire tentatively what it could mean for them. I encourage them to do the same with me. This isn’t always easy and often calls for prayer, humility and patience, yet the benefits can be immeasurable.  ‘I know you think you understand what you thought I said but I'm not sure you realize that what you heard is not what I meant.’ ‘I guess I should warn you, if I turn out to be particularly clear, you’ve probably misunderstood what I said.’ (Alan Greenspan) You may have had that experience of communicating something you thought was perfectly clear, only to discover that the other person got the completely wrong end of the proverbial stick. How is that possible? Was it something in what you said or, perhaps, how you said it that influenced how the message was received, distorted or misunderstood? Whatever the cause, when it does happen, you can both feel bemused, confused or frustrated – and the consequences can be difficult, damaging or dangerous. I want to suggest this occurs mainly as a result of mismatched beliefs, values, assumptions and emotions in four critical areas: language, culture, context and relationship. There are, of course, situations in which a person may wilfully misinterpret what you said or simply choose to ignore you. However, I’m thinking more here about when it happens inadvertently and out of awareness. It’s something about what influences (a) what we infer and (b) how we interpret, when we communicate – so that we can improve it. The language question means the same words can mean different things to different people, even in the same language group. The culture question means the assumptions I make appear obvious or self-evident in the groups or teams I belong to. The context question means I interpret what you say based on my own perspective and understanding of the situation. The relationship question means I filter what you say based on what I perceive and feel about the nature, dynamics and quality of our relationship. So – this where a spirit of inquiry can help: Check what the other has heard and understood. Notice the language they use. Be curious about their cultural and contextual perspectives. Sense and explore how they are feeling. Build trust.  ‘Reflexivity is our own self-reflection in the meaning-making process.’ (Margaret Kovach) It’s a bit like looking in a mirror. When I look at any situation and myself in relation to it (e.g. who or what I’m focusing on (and not); how I’m feeling; the stance I’m taking), what could it reveal about me?’ If I grow in awareness by responding honestly to such questions, it could enable me to grow in authenticity and open up fresh insights and ideas for action. Example: ‘My team colleague is under-performing and I’m frustrated with her laziness. It annoys me that I have to do extra work to make sure we don’t miss deadlines.’ On the face of it, it sounds like a simple description of my colleague’s behaviour and impact. Yet what reflexive insights could this reveal about me (and, perhaps, my broader cultural environment too)? Let's think. It could, for instance, say something implicitly about my own beliefs; assumptions; values; filters; expectations; hopes; preferences; fears; norms or needs. (I could, critically, substitute ‘own’ with ‘cultural’ in that list – it’s about me, but it’s not only about me.) By coaching a person to work reflexively in this way, they can choose afresh how to respond.  ‘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.  ‘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.  ‘You're either coming out of a storm, in a storm or heading into a storm.’ (John Easley) Urban myth: ‘If we can just get through this, there will be calm waters ahead.’ Now, I concede that things may be less turbulent for a while than they are in the midst of whatever dramas today may bring, yet the new normal is to face continual and complex change. Think back for a moment to the most significant experiences you went through in the past 12 months, personally and-or professionally. I imagine that some of those things were anticipated, some less so, and some came from completely out of the blue; appearing like a rogue wave from left field. Mixed metaphors apart…this reality was certainly true for a group of UK health and social care professionals I worked with this week. The winds of change have left some feeling buffeted, battered and bruised by waves and, at times, clinging onto what feels like a shipwreck. It was also true for a Filipina teacher this week who, on discovering corruption that impacts seriously on her poorest students, registered her protest and resigned from her post as a matter of principle: no job to go to but with her ethics intact. The officials in question are now breathing threats. The good news is that not all changes are or feel so rough. There are clearly experiences in life and work that we initiate, control or welcome. At those times, it may feel like we’re surfing the waves, enjoying the rush of the ride and savouring its benefits. So, what can we do in those situations where we do feel out of our depth? How can we grow in our resourcefulness and resilience? Here are 3 things I'm still practising: 1. Pray: open myself to God and his perspective; 2. Prioritise: focus on who or what matters most; 3. Prepare: develop myself to be more agile.  ‘For every complex problem there is an answer that is clear, simple and wrong.’ (H.L. Mencken) Steve walked along a dry mud path between two fields in rural Uganda. To his left, the field was dry and sun-baked with a few wizened banana plants dotted around. To his right, the field was filled with lush, green banana crops. His Ugandan colleague invited Steve to reflect on: ‘Why is there a difference between the two fields, and what’s the solution for the field on the left?’ Steve wondered, ‘Perhaps the farmer who owns the field on the left isn’t thinking about or seeing his neighbour’s field, or perhaps he's too poor to make a sufficient investment to improve it.’ As I listened to Steve, I found myself wondering if the difference could have been, perhaps, a consequence of different irrigation systems, fertilisation methods or seed quality. A proposed solution: what if the farmer on the left could learn from and replicate whatever the farmer on the right is doing? In effect, I was seeing the issue as primarily technological. Without realising it, I was looking at the question through my own cultural lens and considering solutions that emerge naturally from my own cultural paradigm. And I was missing the point completely. Steve’s Ugandan colleague explained. ‘The farmer on the right lives far away in Kampala. The farmer on the left lives here, on his own land. In this context, if the farmer on the left were to copy the farmer on the right, and if his crop were suddenly to improve, the first thing that could happen is that he would be accused of witchcraft. After all, according to local belief systems, what else could explain such a seemingly miraculous change in his fortunes? This would be both devastating and dangerous for the farmer and his family and could, potentially, put their lives at risk. Assuming that didn’t happen, what certainly would happen is that his extended family, friends and community would see his betterment and expect or demand that he share his new-found prosperity with them. If he refused to do so, he and his family would be accused of being selfish, and ostracized. If he did share his new-found wealth with them all, he would be back to square one again – meaning all the extra hard work he would have to put in to improve his own lot wouldn’t be worth it. The farmer on the right, living in a city, is not subject to those pressures.’ This was a powerful illustration of the complex relationship between culture and development and helps to explain why, alongside other factors such as conflict, corruption, climate change (and sometimes sheer craziness), well-intentioned efforts and investments may be rejected, ineffective or fall apart over time. The key lays in relationship – to work alongside local people in a spirit of humility, curiosity and collaboration to understand: why are things as they are, what their hopes and aspirations are; and what would need to happen if they were to be fulfilled. |
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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