The Role of Stories in Cooperative Groups

Way before writing, humans communicated via stories. We still do. 

Stories are how we make sense of the world, and they guide us in how we make decisions. When stories clash it's unsettling and it can be hard to reconcile. It can be scary opening up the possibility of changing one's story (where is the rock I can stand on?), or even admitting that alternate stories are possible.

Most of Western civilization has been driven by the notion that there is one true story that explains how the world works, and one of the appropriate tasks of humans is to figure out what that is, and vanquish false stories along the way (take, for instance, the ongoing tension between creationist Christians and scientists). Of course, humans have not always agreed on what the "one true story" is, but it hasn't been for lack of trying. What constitutes the most popular version at any given time has undergone a great deal of revisionist thinking over the millennia, generally accompanied by much bloodshed and gnashing of teeth every time there is a shift. Interestingly, the history of stories—which are meant to provide stability and a common frame of reference—makes for a fairly uncomfortable story all by itself, given how often humans change their minds.

For a current example, you need look no further back than the massive tax cut bill that the Republicans passed last week. It's probably an understatement to say that Democrats are holding a very different story about that than the GOP. What Republicans believe will unshackle corporations and fuel a robust economy (all boats rise in a flood), the Democrats see as an inexcusable lollipop for the very rich (just in time for Christmas), while saddling the economy with $1.5 trillion in increased debt. Pretty different stories.

While I have definite views about the tax cut bill, that's not what I want to examine in this essay. I want to focus on how our fundamental need for stories can inadvertently complicate cooperative group dynamics—unless we realize what's happening and what's at stake.

Stories in Cooperative Groups
I will start with the premise that it's normal for conflicting stories to surface in the context of problem solving—not every time, but often. Even though cooperative groups are usually founded on the bedrock of explicit common values and an agreed upon vision, people are not clones and you have to be prepared for divergent perspectives.

Can conflicting stories coexist? Good question. According to cosmologist Viola Cordova (a Mescalero Apache), it is considered normal among Native American tribes that they each have different origin-of-the-world stories, all of which are place specific. There is no native impulse for one tribe to feel threatened by another tribe's differing creation story. Struggling to define and control orthodoxy is a European inclination. And since US culture is dominated by European thought and tradition, most of us have learned to be uneasy in the presence of conflicting stories. Our tendency is to let them fight it out until one prevails—like two queens in a beehive. My point here is that this is a choice, not an inherent human quality.
It's my view that we need to resist the temptation to fight for control of the frame of reference, and learn how to work with the phenomenon of multiple stories constructively. When we succeed we open ourselves up to the benefit of parallax, and the richer field of perspectives with which to see the factors and possibilities. Also, we can stay out of the ditch (where we fight for control of the story) on the road to heaven (a solution to the issue). So there's a lot on the table.
 
I am frequently asked what it takes for cooperative groups to succeed, and my most common answer is social skills among the members. [For more on this see my blog of Nov 30, 2013, Gender Dynamics in Cooperative Groups.] One of the key elements of this is the ability to shift perspectives—to see an issue through others' eyes. Or to put it another way, to hear and respect stories about what's happening that are different than your own (or at least believe that other stories are possible). 

While this may seem like a rather small thing, it turns out to be harder than you think, especially when the stakes are perceived to be high. Too often, in the heat of the moment, the dynamic becomes a battle over which version of reality will prevail; which story will dominate. Participants become consumed with selling their story, rather than curious about how other stories can explain different reactions and offer different insights.

There are two parts to this: a) creating a container in which there is explicit room for different realities to be articulated; and b) the skill to hold alternate realities as possibilities, without the conversation devolving into bickering.

Let's walk through an example to illuminate why this is precious. (While this comes from an intentional community that I worked with earlier in the year, it's a cautionary tale that's played out in many cooperative groups.)
o  The group moved in together 15 years ago and went through a long period of establishing itself as a viable community. There were the usual struggles and awkward moments, but on the whole the people who stayed the course gradually developed a culture and governance style that worked and the group enjoyed many good years. There was some turnover, but it was modest.

o  Because the emphasis was more on results than systems, the structure was loose and the process was informal. While there were written operating agreements, members didn't feel the need to capture everything on paper because everyone who lived there knew how things worked.

o  Then shift happened. The original members got older, and some of those who weren't spring chickens to start with aged out—some died and some moved to assisted living. While this was a natural progression, it was a challenge to digest a cohort of new folks all at once. The new folks tended to be younger, which helped with the demographics (good), yet they struggled to figure out how things worked (not so good). 

o  Having enjoyed a fairly stable population for years, the membership team was rusty and the community wasn't so great at integrating new members. The established members had forgotten what it was like to be new.

o  The new folks read the rules (such as they existed) and tried to follow them, but soon discovered that what actually happened was only somewhat related to what was written. They were confused, and didn't feel accepted. In particular, they were not typically invited to the behind-the-scenes conversations where solutions to common issues were often developed.

o  The new folks complained about being systematically excluded from power. The established folks didn't understand the issue—they were just doing what they had always done, which had heretofore worked well. Couldn't the new folks figure it out like they did?

o  To the new folks it appears that they were purposefully being kept from power. Out of frustration, when nothing changed they intentionally started being pushy, to mimic the way they perceived that they had been treated. (We'll show you what it's like.)

o  In being pushy, the new folks were seen by the established folks as provocative.

o  Now both sides were seen as provocative! Worse, each thought the other had started it.

o  Under pressure, the longer-term folks fall back on what felt safe: informal gatherings to sort out how best to proceed, thereby inadvertently reinforcing the impression among newer folks that backroom politics ruled the day.

What a mess! And it can all be explained without anyone having bad intent. That is, everyone was acting in ways they thought was respectful of the group's long-term health.

What I Tried
It was at this point that I was asked to help the group sort things out. Seeing the factions, and how the stories didn't match up, my first move was to establish among all players that I could hear their story and understand the good intent beneath it. That is, that I could accurately hear all sides. Unfortunately there were too many requests about what issues to tackle while I was on campus and I had to narrow the agenda to what might fit within the time constraints. Whatever I picked was bound to disappoint the advocates of the topics not selected.

I ultimately chose to focus on developing a protocol for how to proceed when one member perceives another to be breaking a community agreement. There was nothing in place to handle this phenomenon and the group had been paralyzed by multiple recent examples (coming from multiple directions) with no clarity about how to proceed. It was one of the things on the community's wish list and I selected it because it was obvious that a robust tool could be put to immediate use in putting out fires. 

Simultaneously, I worked hard to establish the existence and legitimacy of divergent stories about what was happening, in the hope that it would lead to a deescalation of hurt feelings—because there was a reasonable explanation for everyone's actions when seen through the lens of their perspective. I tried to explain the reality of the new folks to the old folks, and vice versa. But I don't think it worked. I came across more as an apologist than a bridge builder.

Shortly after I left I received reports that the group had rubber banded back into the same tensions that existed before I came. Each side, apparently, had retreated back to the security of their story, which only reinforced the anger with which they saw what they other side was doing. Yuck.

The Back Story
Over the years I have worked with this community multiple times. Frequently, my work involved processing some unresolved, anaerobic interpersonal tensions. Whenever these are in play I have discovered that the road to problem solving entails working through the tensions first. Working around them doesn't work. 

However, unpacking interpersonal shit is uncomfortable and takes time. People were impatient to get to the issues and hadn't digested the main lesson from my previous visits: drawing the poison first; solving problems second. So I allowed them to talk me out of starting with tensions. It was a mistake. Not having cleared the air, the conversations aimed at developing the protocol for handling out-of-alignment behavior were brittle, and trust was not restored.

Paying attention to relationships, I was accused of ducking the issues. Sigh.

The Way Forward
In thinking about this community and its ongoing struggles, I am wondering what it will take for the members to be more comfortable with divergent stories—where they can be more consistently open to hearing those stories and curious about where they came from, what they mean, and how they can be bridged—rather than abridged.

Given the strength of hurts on all sides, this may be a tall order. The trap is that each side may only be willing to extend themselves to listen to the stories of others if they have been heard first. Who will be courageous enough to set aside their hurt long enough to listen to the hurt of others, on the speculative hope that they will get a turn later? It's asking a lot.

But that is the fundamental challenge of cooperative groups: how to turn moments of disagreement into a deepening of connections and betterment, rather than an occasion for embattlement and embitterment.

To get there we will have to learn to open our hearts to divergent stories, and how to bridge between them. The bad news is that this can be hard to do. The good news is that it can be done.