Teaching in the Year Ahead

When the pandemic arrived in March 2020, I was pretty much dead in the water regarding my consulting and teaching—as everything I'd done since 1987 had been anchored by in-person work. To be sure it was augmented by phone calls and email, but the root was face-to-face meetings and consultations, and that was suddenly off the table.

Then, like many others, I reinvented my delivery, as I immersed myself in the possibilities of Zoom and videoconferencing. To my surprise, I've been able to deliver quality product in that medium beyond my expectations. While it's not the same as face-to-face, it's a decent substitute, and clients are happy to save on my travel costs. The key to this working is that I'm still able to read the energy accurately—based largely on facial expressions and voice tone—despite having fewer visual cues to work with.

So, while I have not yet met in person with a single client or group of students since March 2020, I have never been busier, and I am happily reporting here on the variety of learning opportunities I am offering in the coming 12 months:

Facilitation Training

I was in the midst of delivering two versions of my two-year intensive training program (where students in a geographic area gather for eight 3-day weekends spaced about three months apart) when COVID arrived (man plans and the gods laugh) and we hit the pause button on the training weekends. Then we started experimenting with Zoom and figured out a way to restart the trainings. In fact, it went so well that we launched an all-Zoom training program as well—the same material and the same time commitment, all delivered via Zoom.

As I have a firm boundary of not conducting more than three courses concurrently, I am fully subscribed at present. That said, my BC-based training will end in March and my NC-based training will draw to a close in April, which opens things up. Although the end of social distancing appears uncertain, I expect to be launching one or two new training programs by late spring—probably by Zoom, but I want to remain open to what the public health situation is at that time before making final decisions about set up

If you are interested in information about new facilitation training offerings, please send me an email (letting me know where you live) and I'll keep you informed; laird@ic.org. Classes fill on a first-come-first-served basis.

Process Webinars

Last year I collaborated with the Foundation for Intentional Community (FIC) to offer two 10-hour webinar series: one on Facilitation and the other on Conflict. They went so well that these will be offered again in 2022, along with three new ones: Consensus 101 (for beginners), Consensus 201 (for folks who've taken the first course or have prior living experience with Consensus and have run into difficulties), Membership (all aspects of this key concept in community living, and the team that is asked to manage it).

All webinars will be delivered over five consecutive weeks (on the same day of the week) in 2-hour chunks via Zoom. There are discounts available if you sign up for multiple courses.

Here is the schedule, with hyperlinks to registration. Note that all courses will be offered twice, and on different days.

Consensus 101 for Cooperative Groups • Jan 4-Feb 1 (Tuesdays); Sept 15-Oct 13 (Thursdays)

Consensus 201: Places Groups Get Stuck & How to Get Unstuck • Feb 15-March 15 (Tuesdays); Oct 26-Nov 23 (Wednesdays)

Designing a Community Membership Process • Jan 6-Feb 3 (Thursdays); May 10-June 7 (Tuesdays)

The Art of Facilitation for Cooperative Groups • Feb 17-March 17 (Thursdays); Sept 13-Oct 11 (Tuesdays)

Working Constructively with Conflict in Community • March 31-April 28 (Thursdays); Oct 25-Nov 23 (Tuesdays)

In addition there will be 1-hour teasers offered next week for both the Consensus 101 and Membership webinars as follows:

Understanding How Consensus Works in Cooperative Groups • Dec 15 (noon Central)

7 Membership Questions All communities Should Address • Dec 16 (noon Central)

Workshops at the National Cohousing Conference • Aug 25-28, 2022 in Madison WI

I recently submitted proposals for a dozen different workshop possibilities for this event, and the organizers are mulling over which to accept. Once that's determined, I'll let you know. I'm hopeful of attending this event live, which means there will be room around the edges for conversations with others at the event, not just what you can glean from a Zoom screen. I hope to see you there!

Losses Along the Way Revisited

Three weeks back, someone posted this anonymous comment about my previous blog post, Losses Along the Way.

It seems like you are trying to contribute to people and some appreciate your work. In reading this blog I see a lack of trauma and power dynamics awareness and it looks Ike you have caused harm due to that. It sounds like you are trying to make yourself feel better or get others to side with you. In all of your examples I see you making things up about other people some of whom sound like they are not feeling emotionally safe and you aren't getting it so you do things that make them feel less safe including in group situations. So much so that they stop interacting with you. I think even posting this is going to have an impact on some despite your attempt to obscure identities. Some will know who you are talking about. That is a harmful use of power in my view. Instead of being curious about your actions and what you aren't seeing you write in a fashion that comes off as knowing more than others and ultimately lacks compassion and self awareness to me. Your conclusions are the same. I don't know you or these people. But in reading this I feel sad for those you have written about in ways that are most likely not how they would describe themselves, their intents or their actions. I also feel sad for those you have had this attitude with in groups. I think you need to check your privilege and power.

I've sat with this for a while and have a number of reflections. This criticism brings into question what I do in the world and how I do it, cutting pretty close to the bone.

I. Am I making things up about other people?

While it's certainly possible that I can misread people, I work hard to listen and try to establish that I have understood another's story and impact before laboring with someone when I feel they are behaving in a way that is damaging for the group.

All three people I profiled in my blog come across as strong individuals who have no problem voicing their views in group. Having said that, it does not mean that they have had no trauma in their life, nor does it say anything about where they are in recognizing or recovering from trauma. The truth is I don't know.

While I have no particular training in trauma response or in psychology, I have deep familiarity with cooperative group dynamics (which is why I was in the room) and working with people on the energetic/emotional level is a normal part of how I go about my business. I studiously steer clear of labeling people as damaged, unless that person wears the label (in which case I try to understand what that means to the person and what they're willing to share with the group about how they'd prefer to be understood and worked with). 

Further, I'm leery of suggesting that someone is acting from a trauma response (even if I think they are), as I don't think that would be well received—I may as well be juggling lit sticks of dynamite! On a more subtle level, I am concerned that if I regularly interpret behavior through the lens of trauma responses (typically fight, flight, or freeze) it may lead to less than vigorous consideration of their input, which I consider fairly dangerous.

Instead, I work at the behavior level—regardless of its origin, once it's in play and impacting the group, I try to work with it as accurately, sensitively, and non-judgmentally as possible. Sometimes that goes well; sometimes it doesn't. With the examples I wrote about, I think it's probable that Dale, Adrian, and Chris did not feel safe or well understood by me. Yet in each case there is another lens to view this through: what is the impact on the group if I do not speak up? My goal is to use my power (my influence) for the good of the whole yet there are times when individuals don't like my observations or how I express them. 

While I am at peace with my assessments (that the individual's actions were detrimental to the group), I have been brooding over how I might have gone about it differently. How much of the poor ending was a consequence of my ham-handedness; how much was attributable to the door being barricaded against my analysis and they were unwilling to look in the mirror? This is very difficult to discern, yet the best I can do is to work my side of the street.

It was unsettledness about these exchanges that motivated me to write the blog in the first place.

II. Should I be exploring tender examples in a public forum? Checking my power

The commenter questions this—will it reinforce the trauma that may be at the root of their actions? After working with groups for decades I have come to the conclusion that not talking about difficult dynamics is a major contributor to why they persist and why they tend to get so toxic (festering anaerobically in dark corners). A major part of my work is unpacking old crap that continues to infect current dynamics because the wounds were never (ad)dressed well in the first place. Not being confident about how to do this well, most individuals (and most groups) avoid it and hope for the best—which is a spectacularly ineffective strategy.

Further, I find that people generally benefit from having theory grounded in live examples, and that difficult exchanges are the most illuminating (students never seem to tire of hearing about how something I did went awry). Overwhelmingly, I have gotten positive responses to my willingness to discuss hard and tender stuff. To be fair, others have expressed concerns about possible blowback from people or groups who recognize themselves in my stories (even when I use aliases and obscure identifying details that aren't germane to my point), but I have never had someone do that, and I think the plusses substantially outweigh the potential harm.

The commenter opined that I was abusing power. If you think of power as influence, I own that I am trying to impress upon my audience a number of things:

•  That it's important to be clear about your process agreements and then speak up when they are not followed.

•  That it's important to attempt to do this with as much compassion as possible (there's an art to giving effective feedback and most of us aren't that good at it).

•  That it's valuable to reflect on your part whenever a relationship has been damaged or ended.

•. The role of facilitator is difficult for people who want everyone to love them. Occasionally you will be called upon to speak up on behalf of the group and attempt to redirect inappropriate behavior. You cannot reasonably expect to be loved in those moments by the person(s) you are trying to redirect—and you cannot let your fear of being disliked dissuade you from acting when you know a line has been crossed. Tough love goes with the territory.

Do I think that's an abuse of my power? No, but I appreciate that others, like the commenter, may disagree. My intent in writing the blog was to tell stories—albeit from my perspective—about challenging moments as a consultant/facilitator. It's almost a dead certainty that Dale, Adrian, and Chris have different stories about what happened and why they rejected my analysis. Does that mean I shouldn't have used my power to object to their behavior on behalf of the group and good process? What would I be reserving my influence for, if not for that?

III. Checking my privilege

This is a fair comment. After all, I am bathed in privilege as an older, well-educated, articulate, able-bodied, heterosexual, Protestant-raised, white man. I've got the whole package. And it wasn't until I went to college that I started to break out of the cocoon that was my upbringing in the conservative middle class suburbs of Chicago. My journey toward greater awareness that began then has continued throughout my adult life, and I don't expect to ever be done peeling back the layers of that particular onion. It seems, to my chagrin, that I am forever uncovering additional ways in which the deck has been stacked in my favor because of privilege.

Here's what I've been doing to work on this:

• Recognize the advantage I've had being raised in a household where I never went hungry, lacked for adequate clothing or warmth, and never felt unsafe. I grew up with the enormous advantage of not feeling insecure about whether basic needs would be met.

• Taking this a step further, I was able to use my secure upbringing as a platform to question a materialistic lifestyle as a young adult, to redefine what it meant to lead a happy, fulfilled life. (Have you ever tried to tell someone who doesn't have a thing that they don't need it—that its acquisition is overvalued?) This gave me the opportunity to experiment with a different kind of wealth (relationships) and get off the let's-make-a-lot-of-money merry-go-round early in life.

• As a direct consequence of my professional work with cooperative groups, I've come to understand the power of two key concepts that bear on privilege:

a) The value (necessity) of constructive feedback

Cooperative living has helped me understand the difference between intent and impact, especially as we widen our knowledge of the incredibly varied ways people take in information, process it, and express ourselves. I've come to appreciate that everyone makes mistakes. The key challenge is learning how to be open to hearing that things haven't landed well for others (even when it's not delivered "nicely"), so that next time I might be able to do better.

b) The ubiquity of diversity

Fortunately, my work as a facilitator has enhanced my understanding of the myriad and kaleidoscopic ways in which people are different and of the need to create ways to explore what those are (telling our stories) and how we can adjust how we do our work to help everyone's input be more welcome. 

The goal is not trying to know everyone's story, avoiding the trap of thinking that I could know what it's like to grow up Black, or as a woman, or as gay. It's being aware that stories vary by person and I need to take time to hear what they are, looking for what bridges I can find. The goal is not to manage differences; it's to understand them and see the potential for the group to make better choices based on the hybrid vigor possible when all input is taken into account. It's being as aware as I can be that these differences exist and are normal—even when I'm not alerted by external appearances that they may be in play.

• I have always been a voracious and eclectic reader. In the last five years especially I have made it a point to regularly read non-white authors, both fiction and nonfiction, as a portal into seeing life through the lens of people who have had less privileged lives than I have. This works both at the visceral level (what it felt like to be marginalized or victimized) and at the informational level (combatting ignorance and the whitewashing of history).

• For the past 18 months I have a been a regular participant in an anti-racism group where participants unpack our personal journeys of discovery, much of which has been obscured by privilege.

We meet weekly for an hour via Zoom. Currently we've been working with Resmaa Menakem's My Grandmother's Hands as a study guide, which focuses on the concept of racialized trauma response and how that's stored in the body. The author examines this through three main lenses: white body, Black body, and blue body (police), providing insights into the roots and damage of systemic racism. What's special about Menakem's approach is that the principal work is done kinesthetically, rather than rationally or emotionally. I'm excited to see where this leads.

Am I doing enough? I don't know.

Losses Along the Way

As a process consultant for 34 years (the entire lifetime of my daughter Jo incidentally), I've accumulated a number of scars, and I lay in bed this morning going over some of those experiences…

While there are occasional times when groups engage me in order to learn how to stay out of the ditch, mostly I get called in because they are in the ditch. To be sure, the severity can vary widely, all the way from two wheels sliding down a grassy gradient, to a broken axle on a shaky bridge over boiling rapids. All of which is to say, I'm often trying to help groups extricate themselves from tough dynamics. It goes with the territory.

It's my job to speak truth to what I see, and that doesn't always go down well. Perhaps because my analysis is faulty, perhaps because I deliver the news clumsily, and some of the time because people simply don't want to hear it.

This morning I was brooding about the last of these. About people who started out being happy to see me, and now want nothing to do with me. In general, this has happened when I tried to hold them accountable for doing or proposing to do something that was harmful to the group and they weren't having any. It was more palatable for them that I was mistaken, and their actions were justified (I was on a crusade and they were a victim of my overzealousness).

To frame this properly, most of the time my observations and interventions go well and are helpful to all concerned. I work hard at calibrating what I ask of folks to what I think they can handle, and I like to think I've gotten better at that over time. But I still lose people, and it doesn't feel good. Even when I reflect on what happened and believe my analysis was correct, it still hurts to lose relationship.

The hardest ones are when I had an established connection with the person and then lost it. Let me describe three (with identities obscured):

Dale

More than 20 years ago I met Dale at an FIC community event, and it started a friendship. While we never lived near each other, our paths crossed a number of times over the years in the context of community, and we had a warm connection.

At a certain point it happened that I was conducting a facilitation training session hosted by a group where Dale was living, and she joined the class for that weekend. All was well and good until the students facilitated a meeting for the community (a regular feature of training weekends) and something came up in the course of the meeting that Dale (acting as a member of the community) voiced an objection to. When the student facilitator was unsure how to handle that moment I stepped in (as the trainer) to ask Dale what her concern was and she demurred—she didn't want to talk about it. I pushed a bit, explaining that her right to object was tied at the hip to a responsibility to explain her objection and to make a good faith effort to explore its resolution. Dale felt bullied by me and refused to speak—she didn't want to be in the spotlight and was determined in her resistance.

Though the moment was awkward, we moved on. Afterwards, in the meeting debrief (also a regular part of the training) I tried to unpack that dynamic. Unfortunately, Dale wanted no part of that either, walked out of the meeting, and sent me a note the next day informing me that she would not be continuing with the class. As an experienced communitarian and someone who considered herself a skilled communicator, she had never been held to the standard of meeting behavior I was insisting on, and didn't like being held accountable. Her response was exit, and I have not heard from her since. I was voted off her island.

Adrian

For a number of years Adrian had been an avid follower of my blog, and was excited by the chance for his community to host a facilitation training weekend. Adrian was a founding member of his community and had been struggling for years with tensions with other members.

Knowing that there were strained dynamics, I arrived for the training early and spent time listening to a number of members about how they saw things. After more than a dozen interviews a picture started to emerge: everyone acknowledged Adrian's dedication and good intent, but it was almost impossible to work anything out with him. He had his views about the "right" way to do things and nothing would dissuade him. Eventually people with differing views would be worn down by Adrian's obstinacy and give up. Almost no one was willing to serve on committees with Adrian any more.

I took this information to Adrian directly (we spent about six hours 1:1 over the course of my visit, as I labored to get him to see how he was inadvertently killing the community by insisting on everything going their way). I tried to make the case that you cannot successfully build community by sacrificing relationships on the altar of your principles.  

Adrian had been hoping that I would support his efforts because he was so well intentioned. While I did like his principles, that wasn't the problem; it was the unyielding way that Adrian pursued them, tolerating no interpretation other than his own. To be clear, Adrian wasn't mean or petty—just adamant. It was Adrian's way or the highway. Some got discouraged and left; others hunkered down to await developments.

Adrian resisted my analysis and advice, but there were few people interested in creating community with someone who never seems to value opinions that differ from their own. In the end I told Adrian that I thought the community was better off without him unless he could start working more respectfully with others' input.

We parted in sadness. Adrian stopped subscribing to my blog and we have had no contact since.

Chris

A number of years ago I was hired to work with a community where there had been a major flare up between one member (Chris) and a number of others. Chris was a passionate woman who expressed in no uncertain terms her displeasure with how she had been treated unfairly by others. As is often the case, there were two parts to the dynamic: a) the incidents themselves; and b) the community's lack of agreement about how to work with strong feelings—or even whether to attempt it.

After taking time to listen to all the key parties to get their version of what had happened and how they were seeing it, the pivotal moment of my work with the group occurred when I was able to get Chris and another member to work with me (in plenary) in a dyad, unpacking a difficult incident. This led to a breakthrough, and everyone was pleased with the outcome, including Chris.

Months later, new tensions arose with Chris, and again I was hired to help. By the time I got on the scene, a couple of members were poised to drop Chris from a team where her participation had been problematic. When I found out about this move, I urged the two to slow down—both because the community had not defined the conditions under which someone might lose their seat on a team, nor had it defined the process by which such a step would be considered. In particular, I thought the group would be better off making clear to Chris what behaviors of hers were problematic, and giving Chris an opportunity to make adjustments before abruptly terminating her team membership.

While the two were congratulating themselves for being decisive: I was worried they were acting precipitously. Meanwhile, Chris was on the warpath when she learned that a coup to oust her from the team was underway and outraged that I didn't immediately put a stop to it (as if I had that power). I tried to explain that I did all that I thought possible given how far things had advanced before I was made aware of them, but Chris would have none of it. Either I joined her in burning the would-be ousters at the stake, or I was also the enemy and couldn't be trusted.

Though I labored with Chris for many hours (in an effort to make clear that burning people at the stake may feel good in the moment but is rarely therapeutic), in the end she wrote me off and I am no longer welcome back at that community.

• • •

When I conduct facilitation trainings I make it a point to tell students that facilitating offers a great opportunity to serve—but if you need to be liked all the time, it's not a great choice.

Dia de los Muertos 2021

In the spirit of the Mexican holiday Dia de los Muertos I am pausing to reflect on three souls who dedicated their lives to community, who touched me in their transit across the firmament, and whose brightness dipped below the horizon in the last 12 months:

Linda Joseph • passed May 31 (age 68 )

Although Linda and I were of a similar age and shared a burning desire to promote community, our paths were mostly parallel rather than intersecting. She invested in the ENA (Ecovillage Network of the Americas, a subsidiary of the Global Ecovillage Network) while I sailed under the flag of the FIC. While FIC focused on intentional communities of all stripes in North America, ENA focused on hemispheric connections that emphasized ecological values. While I lived at Sandhill Farm, a homesteading community in northeast Missouri, Linda pioneered EarthArt Village in the high plains of southern CO. Both of us lived in rural communities dedicated to exploring self-sufficiency and resource conservation (think downwardly mobile).

Linda served as a commissioner in Saguache County (2007-15), and was steadfast in her support of GEN and GEN-US (a splinter network from ENA after the Spanish and Portuguese-speaking countries calved off from ENA circa 2012.

Linda and I had a number of interactions during 2013-15, when there were active conversations about whether it made sense for FIC to assume GEN-US' portfolio, or to continue as two separate organizations. While we ultimately decided not to interweave, it was fruitful to discuss mission and identity, and Linda was very much in the thick of things.

Stan Hildebrand • passed Aug 30 (age 75)

Stan was my long-term fellow traveler at Sandhill Farm, where we lived together for 35 years (1979-2014). I have honored him previously in my blog post of Aug 30, Hildebrand Elegy.

Pat Murphy • passed Oct 1 (age 82)

I first became aware of Pat in the early '90s, when FIC held its fall organizational meetings at the Lama Foundation (San Cristobal NM) and they were attended by Faith Morgan, a third-generation community person whose parents raised her at The Vale in Yellow Springs OH. Faith had married Pat and moved to California to be with him and assist with a tech venture company that Pat had launched.

Eventually the company was sold and the two of them relocated to Yellow Springs, where they could care for Jane (Faith's mother) toward the end of her life, and they became active members of The Vale community (established in 1960). While there, they took over from Jane the management of Community Service, a network organization launched by Faith's grandfather, Arthur Morgan, in 1940. Under Faith and Pat's stewardship, Community Service redefined its mission from a focus on small community to one on Peak Oil and what Pat styled "Plan C," by which he meant community as a solution to society's main challenges. In the process they tweaked the name to become Community Solutions. Pat wrote books and articles while Faith did videos, notably The Power of Community: How Cuba Survived Peak Oil and The Passive House Revolution.

This dynamic marriage continued its leadership at Community Solutions until 2015, when Susan Jennings replaced them as Executive Director and the name was changed yet again to its current incarnation: the Arthur Morgan Institute for Community Solutions.

• • •

Farewell to you three, one and all. I salute your lifetime of service to making a better world.

The Integration of Ideas and Energy

I've been a cooperative process consultant since 1987. Early in my career it became apparent to me that in the community context you need to be able to work with both thoughts and emotions. Neither alone is sufficient to create and sustain healthy group dynamics.

Ever since that insight I've been wrestling with how best to integrate these two essential ingredients into a plenary cake mix that will reliably produce something both palatable and nutritious. Let me describe the progression:

1. Stonewalling

While there remain a lot of intentional communities who are not resolved about the need to work explicitly with energy, I'm happy to report that their number is dwindling. Mainly because the rational-only approach simply doesn't work. It polarizes half the group and leads to brittle decisions. I think the only thing that sustains this antediluvian idea is paralysis about how to work effectively with energy. It calls for a level of personal awareness and a communication skill set that are typically not screened for in membership, and the way forward can be bumpy. 

In fairness to groups in this muddle, the skills needed to work effectively with thoughts are completely different from the skills needed to work effectively with energy, and it can be a challenge finding or developing people who are ambidextrous.

2. Separate But Equal

More subtle is what I style the Plessy v Ferguson approach where the group offers both business meetings (for the product oriented) and heart circles (for the relationship oriented)—thereby officially acknowledging the need for energy work. While there is a tendency to style these two separate offerings as equally valuable (whence my reference to the 1896 Supreme Court ruling), in fact, they rarely are treated that way, and the integration of the two is left largely to the imagination. (The people needing exposure to the energetic information often don't attend those sessions, and the product of the heart circles does not inform the business meetings. Stalemate.)

Just as the 1954 Brown v The Board of Education Supreme Court ruling exposed the fallacy of Plessy v Ferguson, I'm here to tell you the money is in figuring out how to integrate these two precious elements into all plenaries, where the one complements the other.

3. An Issue's Journey 

That inspired me to develop the concept of An Issue's Journey, a sequence that could serve as a blueprint for productively working through a generic issue from start to finish. This was my initial attempt, back in the late '90s:

Step 1: Presentation of the Issue (What are we talking about? What are trying to accomplish on this topic?)

Step 2: Questions (Did everyone understand the Presentation? Let's make sure everyone is on the same bus.)

Step 3: Discussion (What does a good response to this issue need to taken into account?)

Step 4: Proposal Generating (What responses best balance the factors identified in the previous step?)

Step 5: Decision (Are we satisfied that what we've come up with is good enough?)

Step 6: Implementation (Who will do what, by when, and with what budget?)

While this articulation did a decent job of explaining why you should never start with proposals, it didn't get at the energy/ideation dichotomy very well. Gradually it occurred to me that there needed to be an explicit invitation to welcome strong energy if that was in the room (it isn't always, but when it is there needed to be a place to open it up and hold it). My thought (circa 2014) was to include it in Step 3, suggesting that if anyone wanted an opportunity to make a full-throated pitch for why a factor mattered to them, they would be given 1-2 minutes on the soap box to do so.

This didn't quite answer the need, so I kept tinkering… which lead a new-improved model that I trotted out a couple years later.

4. An Issue's Journey 2.0

Step 1: Presentation of the Issue (What are we talking about? What are trying to accomplish on this topic?)

Step 2: Questions (Did everyone understand the Presentation? Let's make sure everyone is on the same bus.)

Step 2a: Clearing the Air (Are there unresolved tensions in relation to this issue? If so, let's deal with them here.)

Step 3: Identifying Factors (What does a good response to this issue need to taken into account? What common values do we need to keep in mind? This is an expansive phase, casting the net.) 

Step 4: Proposal Generating (What responses best balance the factors identified in the previous step? This is a contractive phase—advocacy is over; now we're looking for bridging.)

Step 5: Decision (Are we satisfied that what we've come up with is good enough?)

Step 6: Implementation (Who will do what, by when, and with what budget?)

I added 2a (instead of renumbering 1-7) because this step isn't always needed—though if it is, then it needs to happen early. The three key steps in this sequence are 2a, 3, and 4. Each requires a different container and quality of participation, and they need to be undertaken in this order.

This was closer to what I wanted, but I found the level of engagement in Clearing the Air to be uneven. Some spoke from the heart while others treated it as a platform for analysis or simply as a way to insert an early pitch for their preferred solution and it was clunky to manage, which brought me to my latest incarnation, that I test drove this past summer…

5. An Issue's Journey 3.0

Step 1: Presentation of the Issue (What are we talking about? What are trying to accomplish on this topic?)

Step 2: Questions (Did everyone understand the Presentation? Let's make sure everyone is on the same bus.)

Step 3: Laying Out the Field (Is there anything you want the group to know about how this issue touches you? We are looking for statements from the heart. Everyone gets one chance at the mic. We are not looking for dialog, judgments, or proposed solutions at this stage. If unresolved tensions surface, we'll deal with them as we go.) 

Step 4: Identifying Factors (What does a good response to this issue need to taken into account? What common values are in play?) 

Step 5: Proposal Generating (What responses best balance the factors identified in the previous step?)

Step 6: Decision (Are we satisfied that what we've come up with is good enough?)

Step 7: Implementation (Who will do what, by when, and with what budget?)

My early experiments with this reconfiguration have been encouraging. The sharing manifested in Laying Out the Field has included strong feelings and also tenderness that has previously not been widely disclosed, and has helped to establish a nuanced understanding of what matters to people before we get into problem solving. To be fair, people still try to sneak in ideas about solutions, which I have to gently yet firmly set aside, but there's a learning curve with any new process and I try to breathe through it.

While it may not be heaven, I reckon I'm getting closer all the time. 

Key Facilitative Skills: Trusting the Force

As a professional facilitator for more than three decades, I've had ample opportunity to observe which skills make the most difference. As a facilitation trainer since 2003, I've also collected plenty of data about which lessons are the most challenging for students to digest. Taken all together, I've assembled a series of blog posts on the facilitation skills I consider to be both the hardest to master and the most potent for producing productive meetings. They will all bear the header Key Facilitative Skills and will be a distillation of where the heavy lifting is done.

This is the final segment in the series. 

Here are the headlines of what covered in this series:

I. Riding Two Horses: Content and Energy

II. Working Constructively with Emotions

III. Managing the Obstreperous

IV. Developing Range: Holding the Reins Only as Tightly as the Horses Require

V. Semipermeable Membranes: Welcoming Passion While Limiting Aggression

VI. Creating Durable Containers for Hard Conversations

VII. Walking the Feedback Talk

VIII. Sis Boom Bang

IX. Projecting Curiosity in the Presence of Disagreement

X. Distinguishing Weird (But Benign) from Seductive (Yet Dangerous)

XI. Eliciting Proposals that Sing

XII. Becoming Multi-tongued

XIII. Not Leaving Product on the Table

XIV. Sequencing Work Productively

XV. Trusting the Force

• • •

One the most important skills that a facilitator can develop is their intuition—the sense of what to do in a given situation, even when the rational pathway to that choice is obscure. I tell my students (with tongue only partially in cheek) that the difference between a good facilitator and great one is about 10 seconds. Don't tell me later what you should have done; you need to be able to find it in the dynamic moment.

Part of this, of course, is simply facilitating a lot of meetings, so that you have a large pattern library to draw from (when have I seen this before; what does this remind me of; what worked then; how is this the same and how is it different?).

It's also about opening yourself up to the unknown. You have to simultaneously do all you can to be prepared for the meeting, and then be willing go off script (which I style off-roading) when something emerges that you didn't anticipate—which happens, on average, 2-3 times a meeting. It requires being able to develop your spidey sense that alerts you that something important just happened, or is about to.

This can be subtle (not just a matter of someone jumping up and down and shouting, or sobbing in the corner). Perhaps it's a change in voice tone, body language, or pace that signals stress or vulnerability. It generally means it's time to slow things down and recognize that someone dropped into a deeper or more tender place that warrants attention. Often you won't know the meaning until the moment is explored. That is, you'll have to trust your sense that something potentially important has occurred and hold the group's focus to it without knowing where it will lead or whether it's even germane to the topic at hand. This is hard to do without the benefit of prior positive experiences reinforcing one's courage to do it again.

The metaphor I use is that you want to trust your intuition to the point where you're willing to step into the unknown without knowing where the floor is—believing that it will be there when your weight comes down, because you trust the Force.

This is, of course, not a beginner's skill. Newbies tend to hold onto their meeting plans like a lifeline, fearful of off-roading because there be dragons or sea monsters (or giant spiders—think of Tolkien's band of dwarves trying to navigate Mirkwood Forest on their way to the Lonely Mountain). On the journey to becoming a skilled facilitator, you need to make friends with your intuition, as an augment to your brain, not a substitute.

Fortunately, this is something you can practice when you're not the facilitator (and the stakes are lower). For example, any time you're in an informal conversation. Does something feel off, or missing? Is the energy discordant with the words? Is the conversation in laminar flow or turbulent? Those are all indicators that there is something roiling below the surface.

To be clear, even if your intuition is correct, that does not guarantee that the person you are asking to go deeper will be happy with the invitation. They may be invested in maintaining a boundary about what they share and reluctant to disclose more honestly. So you can knock on the door, but it may not open.

For that matter, the group may not welcome going off script on what may appear to be a side issue or a fishing expedition. The test will be whether it yields insights into the issue at hand and/or enhanced relationships among members. Unfortunately, you have to commit to the examination before you know whether the output will be deemed valuable.

Despite these impediments, I purposefully reserved this facilitative skill for last in my list of 15 because it has been my experience that a well-developed intuition—and the courage to act on it—is perhaps the most potent tool in the box. Virtually all of the breakthrough moments I have helped midwife as a facilitator the last four decades have come from my acting on intuition about what to do in a pivotal moment.

The obverse of embracing intuition is what I style paint-by-number facilitation, where the person (and group) develops rules and meeting structures which are strictly adhered to (if A happens, then do B), in the hope that there will be safety and reliability in walling off from the chaotic elements of emotions and intuition. While this is more accessible (and requires less personal growth work), I find this approach brittle and poorly adapted to emergent energy, and the messy, complex reality of who we are as humans.

Don't get me wrong. I think meetings should have structure, I think it's appropriate to define acceptable meeting behavior, and I think there are better ways to sequence how we work with issues. I also think getting stellar results requires being open to surprises and engaging with whatever is in the room—never mind how it got there, or the awkward way it may have been broached.

One of the most short-sighted concepts in facilitative thinking is the idea that information doesn't "count" or is in some sense illegitimate if it isn't delivered in a respectful or polite way. While I get it that it's easier to hear and work with opinions offered gently and with compassion, can you really afford to put someone (and their views) in the penalty box if the presentation was raw? I don't think so. You have to be willing to play with the dragons, rather than avoid them and hope you don't get burned. To accomplish that, you have to learn to trust the Force.

Observations from the Road

For the second time since the arrival of Covid I taking a trip to see my kids and grandkids in Las Vegas. The previous time, in May, I drove. This time I'm taking the train. 

While the train is my preferred mode of travel, this is the first time I've been on Amtrak in 19 months—the longest stretch I've gone trainless since the early '80s. To celebrate my reemergence on the rails, I'm doing this trip via a USA Rail pass, which allows me 10 segments within 30 days for a set price. Fall is a great time to travel (less extreme temperatures and beautiful colors) and I'm doing a giant circle: Minneapolis—New Orleans—Los Angeles—Las Vegas—Seattle—Minneapolis. While the centerpiece is 16 days in Sin City with my downline, I'll also enjoy six nights on the choo choo, rumbling through two time zones and as many climates as America has to offer.

In addition to seeing my kids (a high priority) this is a break from the busiest 12 months of consulting and teaching I've ever had. It turns out that pandemics are good for business. Who knew.

I. The eastbound Empire Builder

This train was full last Friday. While that complicated my ability to write reports (no room to spread out papers) I was glad for Amtrak, and we arrived into Chicago on time.

II. The southbound City of New Orleans

Ridership thinned out after Memphis and the ride into the Crescent City was spacious enough for me to start working on reports in the Lounge Car. About 20% of the homes on the north side of New Orleans sported blue tarps on their roof, marking residual damage from Hurricane Ida last month. Although you can't see the social damage, I encountered plentiful homeless encampments and sleeping bags in doorways.

I ate dinner last evening at a Japanese restaurant close to my hotel, and enjoyed teppanyaki. You needed to be masked and proof of vaccination to get in (or a recent negative Covid test) and they only placed customers at six of the 10 seats that fit around the grill, to allow for a modicum of social distancing. The other five at my table were a couple with their daughter, and childless couple. All four adults were fully engrossed in their cell phones while we awaited the start of the cooking show. I remember when eating out was more of a social occasion, but I'm not so sure it is any more.

III. The westbound Sunset Limited

There are just four ways to get from the Central time zone to the West Coast by train, and the Sunset Limited is the least used of these. It runs three times a week from New Orleans to Los Angeles, and I sought this route out because I've traveled it the least and it takes me through terrain I otherwise rarely see. Originating this morning in the steaming humidity of the Gulf Coast, we will traverse 2000 miles (half of it in Texas, from Beaumont to El Paso) to get to the City of Angels. As we proceed, the moisture will gradually be wrung out of the air until we're parched in the Sonora Desert of southern Arizona. 

Although there are still blue tarps on some of the houses in Lake Charles (courtesy of the double whammy that hit this city in August 2020, first Hurricane Delta and then Laura), I was impressed by how much the physical damage has been repaired. 

While the first two trains legs of this adventure both ran on time, we're already spectacularly behind schedule on this one, mainly due to freight train shenanigans. Good thing I'm not in a hurry.

Distinguishing Between Having Concerns and the Way They Are Expressed

Today I want to examine a dynamic about which people frequently get confused—especially when they're upset: the difference between having concerns and the way they're expressed.

Suppose Person A does or says something that Person B finds outrageous. Perhaps A is perceived by B to be extreme or acting from personal interest that seems out of alignment with group values or agreements, or has sidestepped what B believes to be good process. Mind you, that may not be A's story (and probably isn't), but B is in reaction. Overwhelmingly, in my experience, they both have a point, but it goes pear-shaped when B does any of the following as a way of expressing their upset—rather than taking their concerns directly to A in a caring way, perhaps with third party help:

• Calling out A in a meeting (often with high affect).

• Railing about A in the parking lot to others.

• Unilaterally sabotaging or undermining something A acted on without group approval.

When this occurs and the choices B has made about how they're expressing their concerns is brought into question, the response is something on they order of, "Person A did an outrageous thing and I'm responding in kind. Now the gloves are off." Sigh. Does eye-for-eye frontier justice ever lead to world peace? Not that I can see. It's just war mongering. While B thinks A started it, does that justify fanning the flames?

Rather than constructively addressing the issues B has with A, they're piling wood on the fire and turning up the heat. Yuck.

Cleaning It Up

OK, so what can you do if you're wearing the FEMA hat? The first order of business is putting the fire out—stopping the sequence of provocative words and deeds. In general, the way in is through making sure that upset people have been heard, starting with the person perceived to be most in distress and working down the line. The concept is that people don't hear that well when they're upset, and you have to unclog the ears first. (People almost always deescalate if they feel heard accurately and their point of view is understood without judgment. Mind you, I'm only talking about hearing, not agreeing—don't conflate the two.)

To be fair, this step can be complicated by a third party (Person C) having a reaction to how B expressed themselves (see the list above), and their urge may be to comment on that first. Don't do that (if the goal is to turn this around). When people are upset they are rarely open to hearing comments about their actions. It works far better if you connect with B before attempting anything else. For that matter, I have the same advice for working with A, who may be poised to retaliate to what they see as B's aggression.

After you have established that all upset parties have been heard (to their satisfaction, not yours) then you can proceed to tackle two things: a) what are the concerns that B (and perhaps others) have with what A originally said or did; and b) what are the concerns with how B expressed their concerns. While these can be done in any order, I think it's important at the outset to make clear that you'll do them both, and one at a time. When working with messy dynamics, it almost always work better if you can break it down into components (simplifying the conversation), and not allow a conversation to mushroom into a free-for-all examination of past unresolved incidents (they can be done later if necessary). Keep it contained!

At the end of the day, people won't remember whether you tackled a) before b) or the other way around, so long as both were fully and fairly addressed.

Choices When Upset

Although this doesn't always occur to people in the heat of the moment, you always have choices about how you respond when you are in reaction. For what it's worth, here is the sequence I recommend for handling this on a personal level:

1. Developing the capacity to understand that you are having a reaction—by which I mean a nontrivial emotional response. It's a normal thing and doesn't mean you're a bad person. It's data. It's a sign that you feel something is off.

2. Take time to examine what that means to you; where the reaction comes from. If you are Person B, to what extent is this about what Person A did? To what extent is this about Person A (unresolved tensions or low trust with them, rather than about the specific action that set you off)? To what extent is this more about you than about A (something you are struggling with internally, or perhaps with another person and that unresolved tension has been triggered by what A did, but isn't really about them or that specific action)? It could be a combination of these—people are complicated.

Essentially, this step is taking time to crystallize what your concern is about, and what meaning you can find in the strength of your reaction. This step is meant to be helpful to you, independent of what happens further.

3. What is your menu of constructive choices based on the outcome of the previous step? By "constructive" I mean potential actions you could take that have a reasonable prospect of opening up a dialog to address your concerns. This probably translates into how best to inform A (and perhaps the group) to the fact that you have concerns about what A did and are in reaction. 

The priority here should be on how to clean this up, not on expressing judgment or condemnation (which is essentially indulgent and rarely helpful).

4. Making a choice about how to proceed. At any step along the way I think it's fine to elicit help from friends—not to faction build, but to explore your feelings, to help discern their meaning, and develop a menu of options about to proceed.

Note: it tends to be less provocative if you can report your emotional reaction, rather than being in it. Thus, "I am angry that you parked the community pickup in front of a fire hydrant and it got hauled off by the police. This is the third time you've done this in the last three months and I'm frustrated that you're not being more careful of community property" is different from "You asshole! Don't you ever learn? This it the third goddam time you've mindlessly parked the pickup in front of a fire hydrant it got hauled off! Even an idiot would have figured out how to stop doing this by now." See the difference?

This is not about suppressing your reaction, including your upset, it's about being mindful of how you go about it and how it will land.

Questions About Working with Emotions in Group

This is from the mail bag. Back in December, Carolina wrote:

If you are in the middle of mediation, how would it help to appear to take sides? To gush about one person? And I see now I made a mistake—watch what someone does not what they say. That's just a rule for life, and a good one if you live in close proximity.

I'm trying to make sense of the madness. Of listening to all people and their hurts and concerns and then not seem to really hear all of them. Plus, I wonder how useful lots of talk is when the actions are not being taken. I wonder who is really afraid of big emotions. That is a theme I hear on this blog. Others are focused on forming a community where all can be respected. As an outsider, that must be tricky to figure out when some are more persuasive than others and without a therapy background, some mental health issues may not be noticed.

There's a lot here. 

1. Appearing to Take Sides

When I'm working with someone in distress, my number one priority is connecting with the person at the experiential level—showing that person that I can feel what it's like to be them. Thus, it's important to get the affect right, not just the words. In doing so, I may come across as siding with that person, when all I'm really doing is seeing them as fully as possible.

For this approach to work well, I have to offer the same quality engagement with others in the conflicted dynamic. My experience is that others will generally give me room to be present for others, so long as I am present for them in turn.

To be clear, I am not "gushing about one person"; I am connecting with them.

2. Connecting Words with Actions

When I'm working with someone in distress, I'm simultaneously tracking what they're saying with their words, and what their saying with their energy. Sometimes, these two don't align, which always gets my attention, usually indicating that we haven't yet gotten to the bottom of what's going on for that person (say, when the speaker reports anger yet expresses themself in well-modulated tones; or the other way, when there is a lot of force and intensity in their speech, yet all of the words are about ideas rather than feelings).

Sometimes people make promises about future behavior that they don't keep ("I won't do that again," and then they do). Of course, you can't know whether the follow through will be there when a person makes a commitment to shift future behavior, but I think it's important to give them the benefit of the doubt. I'm not asking groups to be naive, but if the group doesn't allow for the possibility of change, it is far less likely to occur. 

3. Fear of Strong Emotions

—I wonder who is really afraid of big emotions. 

In my experience this is widespread. While it's common to find some support for working emotionally in groups, it is extremely rare to not find pockets of resistance to that. The wider culture does an abysmal job of preparing people to articulate their feelings and to listen closely when others express their feelings. For a number of people, their personal experience with the expression of strong feelings is that people are going to be targeted, dumped on, or abused. If that's all you know, is it any wonder you mistrust going there?

I focus a good deal on working emotionally because I think it's a critical skill, and it's typically hard for groups to buy into it. It's a heavy lift.

Just this week I had an example that illuminates my point. There was a contentious issue in the group and I made room for everyone to state how the topic touched them—not what they wanted to happen (that would come later), but the ways in which they were impacted by the topic, or the group dynamic in relationship to it. Not surprisingly, some people were worked up and they expressed their upset in the session—which was exactly what I had in mind. Afterwards I got roundly criticized by a few members who are uncomfortable with strong feelings being expressed in meetings, having found the criticisms to be raw, uncivil, and unproductive.

Interestingly, three of my detractors have been reported to be among the most provocative members of the group outside of meetings, where they apparently feel it's OK to unload on others they're upset with, or otherwise engage in provocative acts. In other words, they believe there should be special norms for meetings that don't apply otherwise—or at least not to them.

I'm scratching my head trying to understand how that works.

4. Respect

This is not just a song by Aretha Franklin. While almost everyone agrees that respect is a good thing, that concept is seldom unpacked to understand its nuances. Upon examination, it turns out that—surprise!—not everyone defines respect in the same way. Let me give an example of how this can go awry.

For some, respect means a willingness to hear their truth, in their own voice, which may be accompanied by strong passion. For another, respect may mean never raising your voice when communicating. It isn't difficult to see how these two perspectives don't play nice with each other, and each can feel they were promised respect that the other is not willing to give. Uh oh.

5. Knot Therapy

I do not have training in psychology and am not qualified to diagnose mental health issues. While they are a real thing and may be a factor in what's going on, I advocate engaging on the behavior level (rather than dabbling in amateur psychoanalyzing)—what actions are acceptable and which ones aren't. Never mind what the roots of those behaviors are, let's deal with what's in the room, let's unpack the reactions, and let's decide how to move forward. So the first point for me to make is that I am making no therapeutic claims about engaging with reactivity.

Better, I think, is to see what I am advocating as a way to untie the knots that are constricting circulation among members. In doing this work I try studiously to avoid the trap of allowing strong feelings to determine the menu of what gets considered. While I think it's beneficial to welcome strong statements germane to the topic, I do not allow those to dictate what we can or cannot discuss. I prefer to see the feelings as data, rather than as manifest destiny.

At the end of the day, it will be the group's work to discern how best to balance all the factors that are play, and you don't get extra credit for having spoken with high passion—though neither should you be penalized for it.

Hildebrand Elegy

Stan Hildebrand died this morning at a Kansas City hospital. He was 75. He had been in pain for a while, battling a peptic ulcer, and his body just gave out.

Stan and I journeyed through life together as fellow members of Sandhill Farm for 35 years, and I'm taking time today to recall this special person, who was forever curious and adventurous.

Stan first visited Sandhill in the summer of 1979. He had hitched to the community one summer afternoon, arriving unannounced. From that inauspicious beginning (dropping in at communities is considered poor etiquette) things improved greatly. I was the only one home when he walked up the gravel road, and it wasn't long before he was helping me dig postholes and install fence posts for pasturing our milk cow. It was the start of a relationship centered around farming and building community that endured for half my life.

We were an unlikely pair in that we came to our confluence from completely different paths. He grew up as the eldest son of Jake & Alma, a Mennonite farming family in the Red River Valley of southern Manitoba, near Halbstadt. I grew up the son of Val and Bob, in the Republican suburbs of Chicago. We both were acorns who walked away from the conservative trees from which we fell, to explore the world with fresh eyes, nurturing a root interest in trying to make a positive difference in a world that was largely going to hell in an adversarial, competitive handcart.

Stan quickly established himself as Sandhill's farmer, and taught himself to become an expert in the homestead manufacture of sorghum syrup—the community's main agricultural cash crop. After a number of years struggling to make ends meet solely through food production, he and I stabilized the community's income through value-based outside work. While I was an administrator for the Fellowship for Intentional Community and offered my services as a facilitator and trainer in cooperative group process, Stan became an independent organic inspector.

I have deep memories of working the fields before dawn on summer days to hoe out in-the-row weeds from our fields of sorghum, corn, and beans. As organic farmers our herbicides were attached at our wrists. While a field cultivator would do a decent job of removing weeds between rows, we had no mechanical advantage for removing weeds in the row (excepting what we could effect with a rotary hoe if conditions were right). 

That meant early morning trips to the fields in July and August (to beat the heat) and walking the rows to remove foxtail, purslane, bindweed, velvetleaf, and cocklebur, one plant at a time. While progress could be excruciatingly slow working alone, it was a social occasion when you did it as a team. Stan was most often the one who organized the weeding parties.

Trial by Fire

Sandhill first made sorghum in 1977—two years before Stan arrived on the scene—and it was the community's signature crop until a couple years ago. Over the course of more than three decades we overhauled our cooking process twice, always guided by Stan's insatiable hunger for making a better product.

Each fall, harvest would begin somewhere around the autumnal equinox and extend two or three weeks into October—until we either ran out of cane, or ran out of weather, as the syrup would be ruined by a hard freeze. In the early years, we cooked sorghum by the batch method, where one body of raw juice would be boiled down to a finished state in one go. In a typical 36-hour period we might cook 500 gallons of juice nonstop—in several batches, one after the other—to yield 6o gallons of salable syrup.

When we were in full tilt production, cooks had to stay up through the night every other day to stay ahead of the field work. During those intensive stretches, Stan and I would often take turns being the person who covered the graveyard shifts from midnight to dawn—mesmerized by the flames of the wood fires, and the sweet smell of the softly popping syrup as it gradually thickened. Even though we weren't awake at the same time, we were bonded by the work—generating a quarter of the community's income in three weeks.

I cherished partnering with Stan as a long-term member of Sandhill—as someone who joined with me to create and sustain an open attitude toward new members. Often there would be pressure from newer members to be more selective about additional people joining the group (the pattern, which I've encountered repeatedly in my work with intentional communities, is that the last ones to arrive have a tendency to want to close the door) and Stan was my steadfast ally in resisting the urge to pull up the welcome mat for the newest immigrants.

Stan and I had different personalities, and different sensibilities, but the dream of community and a strong belief in the basic goodness of people burned brightly in us both. I will be eternally grateful to have had him as a partner in building an open-hearted community.

Extended Family

In addition to being community members together, my life with Stan was more closely woven together by his becoming a second father to my son, Ceilee.

Ceilee, was born to Ann and me in 1981. Shortly after the birth, Ann and I broke up as an intimate couple and Stan got together with Ann. For the next 18 years, all of us—Stan, Ann, Ceilee, and me—lived together at Sandhill and Ceilee effectively had three parents. While that wasn't something I was particularly looking for, it worked well. I never felt threatened by Stan (he didn't try to replace me as Ceilee's father), and it was a bonus for Ceilee.

It's All in a Name

Stan had many nicknames at Sandhill, but the one that stuck the most was "Pooch," which had a convoluted etymology. Before coming to Sandhill, Stan was in a relationship with Sandy and the two of them experimented with community homesteading in Guatemala for three years in the early '70s (Tierra del Ensueño). During that time Sandy took to calling him Poophead—later altered to Poopsie—lampooning his grumpier side when the two of them were struggling in the highlands of Central America. Sandy shared this history with us (she tried living at Sandhill also but didn't stayed long), and Poopsie became his moniker.

When Shining arrived as the second child born at Sandhill, half a year after Ceilee, she had trouble saying Poopsie. It came out more like "Pooshie" which later got shortened to "Pooch." For reasons that will forever be obscure to me, that corruption of a small child's temporary mispronunciation stuck, and it's still the name I use to evoke Stan today. (Another thing that Stan and I shared was an appreciation for whimsy and life's oddities.)

All of that said, by any name Pooch, I'll miss you.

Support for Support Teams

In my work with cooperative group (water I've been swimming in professionally since 1987) I notice trends. In particular, where do groups struggle and what might help. Sometimes this leads to thinking about generic issues, such as communication, understanding consensus and navigating its challenges, meeting facilitation, diversity, and working with emotions (to name a few things that I offer concentrated assistance with).

I also specialize in organizational structure—right relationship between plenary and committees (or teams), and where the hot spots (and weak spots) are. I observe patterns, and I try to develop solutions to the challenges. In general I've come to the view that the big four committees that groups often need help with are:

Steering

Process—under which there are two potent subcommittees: Facilitation and Heart (offering assistance to members in interpersonal tension who are not able to find their way through it on their own).

Membership

Participation (non-monetary contributions to the well-being and maintenance of the community)

I have written about all of these previously in this blog (you can search by key word). Today I want to add a new concept that has recently emerged for me: The Support Team.

The basic idea is that members occasionally need help with meeting basic needs and may find it awkward to ask for it—especially if the only channels available are an announcement in plenary, a notice on the common house bulletin board, or with a message posted on the community list serve. 

While some do not have any trouble asking for what they need; others do. Perhaps they don't want to be a burden, perhaps they feel uncomfortable because they are uncertain about whether they'll be able to respond in kind and don't want to run a social capital deficit, perhaps it's embarrassing to discuss personal needs outside the household, perhaps fear of being turned down is too excruciating to take the risk of asking, perhaps they feel overwhelmed at the prospect of organizing and making good use of positive responses, perhaps they are unsure what to ask for and don't want to be vague or inarticulate. There are a number of reasons why putting out the call may not be easy.

The need for this tends to be episodic and can be wide ranging. It could be temporary debilitation (recovering from knee surgery) or permanent (an amputated leg). It could be acute (a bout with pneumonia) or chronic (think emphysema). While it tends to effect older folks more,* anyone can be affected. Even where there this a basic understanding that community members aspire to provide support to one another in time of need—and there is a wealth of heartwarming stories about how this has worked well (even heroically) relying solely on spontaneous personal initiative, there is also a sad underside to this, where help often is extended unevenly—mostly because members are unaware of the need or how they can help. In short, there is a dearth of coordination, where spontaneity and courage fall short. It's not anyone's fault, but there is nonetheless a fault line.

* This concept has terrific potential to be an integral part of how a community can sensitively offer substantive support for people aging in place. Just be aware that needs are not limited to seniors.

As I've become sensitized to this situation I've been thinking about what might help. The response I've come up with is the concept of a Support Team, whose job it would be to work behind the scenes to coordinate a flow of up-to-date information about household needs, shopping the situation discreetly among the membership, and then coordinating responses.

As I envision it, it would work like this:

—The Support Team would be available for any resident to approach it and discuss their household situation. This could be done with the whole team or with just a single member—whoever the resident would feel most comfortable with. The Team (or its rep) would listen carefully and compassionately, help the member get clear on their situation and the specific needs that are being requested. Note that requests will be tailored to that household's situation and can be wide ranging—anything from walking the dog at 8 am to dropping by for a chat and a cup of tea at 4 pm.

—The team would then draft a summary of the information, to be sent to all community members as a private communication, though only after its wording has been approved by the requesting household.

—Part of the communication would be a delineation of the specific things that others are being asked to sign up for. People who are willing to help can offer a one-off (cooking a pan of lasagne next Saturday) or an ongoing commitment (doing grocery shopping every other Thursday morning for the next three months), It's up to them. 

By doing it this way, people can respond discreetly, minimizing concerns about how their offer—or the lack of one—may be perceived by neighbors. The point of this is that you want offers to be made guilt-free, and minimally impacted by peer pressure. Responses can vary, depending on a number of factors: the responder's personal relationship with the requester, the responder's history with having received support from others in the past, the bandwidth in the responder's life to carve out support time for the requester, the comfort/skill level of the responder relative to what is asked for, etc.

—The team will then collate offers, clear up ambiguities, and slot shifts into a support chart specific to the requesting household, minimizing double-booking, and troubleshooting to fill unmet needs to the extent possible. Responders will be given their assignments and the chart will be handed over to the requesting household. While all slots may not be filled, half a loaf is better than none.

—The team will periodically check back with the requesting household to see if the situation has substantially changed and pass along updated information to the community as appropriate. Oftentimes community members appreciate getting updates (helping them track what's going on with their neighbors) even if they are not in a position to offer assistance. 

—If people miss shifts, the team may be on-call to assist the requesting household find a last-minute replacement.

—Annually the team could offer a summery report on how many requests it handled, roughly how many hours it devoted to the work (so that the community had a solid sense of how much the team was doing), any trends it noticed, and any ideas it had about how things could be enhanced.

It is important to understand that there would be no guarantee that all (or even any) requests for help will be answered. However, if you don't ask, the answer is always "no." It would not be the Support Team's responsibility to cheerlead or cajole; they would simply be passing along important and sensitive information accurately and with compassion—both for the requester and for potential responders.

No one would be required to use the Support Team's service; it would just be something available if you want their help. Similarly, no one would be required to respond to requests for help; it would just be an option. The Support Team would be a coordinating service intended to grease wheels that might otherwise be stuck or sidetracked on the road to compassionate support.

I'm thinking that this role might be filled by a team of 2-3 folks with the following qualities:

• compassionate

• empathetic

• good listener

• patience for working with people when they are under stress and possibly confused and disorganized

• organizational skills

• good communication skills

• discreet with sensitive personal information

• have the bandwidth to be able to respond relatively promptly to requests

• good with logistics and problem solving

• ability to collaborate well with others on the team

Anyway, that's my inspiration. If you like the general concept, feel free to tweak this in any way that you think might be a better fit for your situation. Think of it as a way I can support you and your group.

Back from the Potawatomis

Last Thursday was the 51st anniversary of Earth Day, and it was fitting that I was reading Braiding Sweetgrass (2013), the collected essays of Robin Wall Kimmerer, a native Potawatomi, about ecology and right relationship to the land, inspired by her dual life as a Native American and as a university professor in botany.

She writes with passion and poignancy about how the nature-based wisdom of Indigenous People—who figured out over the course of centuries how humans could fit into the rhythms of Nature, rather than how we could control it for our implacable greed—has been systematically discounted and ignored by the dominating white, European-centric culture. As the realities of Climate Change and the limits of Earth's resources come into greater focus, this is tender stuff to read. We could have done so much better.

Especially powerful for me was the chapter entitled "People of Corn, People of Light," which relates the Mayan cosmology, taken from their ancient text, the Popul Vuh. It's a creation play in four acts:

I. The gods made the first humans from mud, but they were ugly and ill-formed. They were crumbly, could not reproduce, and melted in the rain.

II. Next they tried carving a man from wood and a woman from the pith of a reed. These were beautiful, lithe, and strong. They could talk, sing, and dance. They learned to use and make things. They had fine minds and bodies, and could reproduce, but their hearts were empty of compassion and love. All of the mis-used members of Creation rallied together and destroyed the people made of wood in self-defense.

III. The third time the gods made people out of pure light, the sacred energy of the Sun. These humans were dazzling to behold—beautiful, smart, and very powerful. They knew so much they thought they knew everything. Instead of being grateful, they believed themselves to be the gods' equals. Understanding the danger this posed, once again the gods arranged for their demise.

IV. On the fourth try, the gods fashioned people out of corn. From two baskets—one white and one yellow—they ground a fine meal, mixed it with water, and shaped a people made of corn. They could dance and sing, and they had words to tell stories and offer up prayers. Their hearts were filled with compassion for the rest of Creation. They were wise enough to be grateful.  To protect the corn people from arrogance, the gods passed a veil over their eyes, clouding their vision as breath clouds a mirror. These people of corn are the ones who were grateful and respectful for the world that sustained them—so they were the ones who were sustained upon the earth.

Kimmerer goes on to challenge the reader with these paraphrased paragraphs:

Creation is an ongoing process and the story is not history alone—it is also prophecy. Have we become people of corn? Or are we still people made of wood? Are we people of light, in thrall to our own power? Are we not yet transformed by relationship to earth?

How can science, art, and story give us a new lens to understand the relationship that people of corn represent? Only when people understand the symbiotic relationships that sustain them can they become people of corn, capable of gratitude and reciprocity.

Science lets us see the dance of chromosomes, the leaves of moss, and the farthest galaxy. But is it a scared lens like the Popul Vuh? Does science allow us to perceive the sacred in the world, or does does it bend light in such a way as to obscure it? A lens that brings the material world into focus but blurs the spiritual is the lens of a people made of wood. It is not more data that we need for our transformation to people of corn, but more wisdom.

I dream of a world guided by the lens of stories rooted in the revelations of science and framed with an Indigenous worldview—stories in which matter and spirit are both given voice.

While scientists are among those who are privy to the intelligence of other species, many seem to believe that the intelligence they access is only their own. They lack the fundamental ingredient: humility. After the gods experimented with arrogance, they gave the people of corn humility, and it takes humility to learn from other species.

We may not have wings or leaves, but we humans do have words. Language is our gift and our responsibility. I think of writing as an act of reciprocity with the living land. Words to remember old stories, words to tell new ones, stories that bring science and spirit back together to nurture our becoming people of corn.

• • •

Inspired by what Kimmerer wrote, let me tell you a story. 

I grew up in northern Illinois, which is territory that was home to the Potawatomi before the Europeans pushed them aside. While I had no contact with Native Americans growing up, I gradually developed a sense of place, and connection with the living land—which happened to coincide with Indigenous beliefs, as described in Braiding Sweetgrass. It started with my mother's sister, with whom I shared a birthday (albeit 42 years apart). She lived in the two-story homestead house that her grandparent's built on the windswept plains west of Chicago in 1899. Today that house is smack in the midst of Elmhurst, a well-established suburb, but when it was constructed more than a dozen decades ago there wasn't another house in sight.

Growing up in the 50s, it was always a treat to visit Aunt Hennie, and stroll through her well-tended backyard gardens, which included a well-tended birdbath, grape trellises, and an amazing mix of flowers and small fruits—especially raspberries and currants. I took cuttings of her black currants to establish a patch when I moved to northeast Missouri in 1974 and started Sandhill Farm.

Years later, the entire 2006 crop of those currants were consigned to fermentation, which was the featured adult libation at my wedding the following spring. In fact, there's are still a few bottles of that vintage in the basement of Susan's and my house in Duluth. I use it mainly as a secret ingredient when the recipe (or my inspiration) calls for cooking wine, and every time I pull the cork I think of Aunt Hennie and my ties to her homesteading roots.

I grew up as one of five children—a typical number in the 50s—and it happened that when my father was horsing around with us young 'uns he would (for reasons that are obscure to me) often threaten to send us "back to the Potawatomis" if we didn't straighten out. To be sure, this was done in jest and only when he was in a jocular mood. While I had no idea where that came from (or why it was a bad thing to have come from the Potawatomis, much less to go back there), here I am reading the wisdom of an actual Potawatomi, and it has all come back to me.

While my father was a dyed-in-the-wool capitalist and was never seen with his hands in the soil, I am pleased to recall that I grew up in the land of the Potawatomis, and have come—over the course of my 71 years—to understand the power of a respectful relationship to the earth, and the need to curb the acquisitive lifestyle that my father so uncritically embraced. 

Sixty-five years after my father was tossing my sisters and me around on his double bed and threatening us with transportation—not to Australia, mind you, but back to the local Native Americans—I am humbled to take my inspiration for the way forward in these troubled times from a Potawatomi.

Reflections on the Day

I awoke this morning with a completely unscheduled day—something of a rarity. (I had a Zoom session slated for this afternoon, but it got canceled.) Thus, it's a perfect time for some reflection. 

Today is noteworthy in two special ways:

First, my youngest sister, Alison, turns 65 today. It's a marker that all my siblings (we are five) are still alive and all are now eligible for Medicare. What a journey! Having recently retired from a part-time job she held these last years working in the library of an elementary school in suburban Chicago, she has been volunteering there this winter because she loves the work so much (isn't it great when that happens?). The drive into work each day provides her with a rotating opportunity to have a phone chat (thank you, Bluetooth) with her brothers and sisters, and I've been enjoying those 10-15 min chats that roll my way every two or three weeks.

Unquestionably, staying connected is a lifeline in the days of pandemic and social isolation, and I honor Al's diligence in seeing to it that we Schaubs stay in touch. She has been the social hub of the family in our generation and we all have benefitted. Notably this includes maintaining and updating the family address book as a Google spreadsheet, covering a whopping 51 Schauberjobbers—our "official" nickname—spread over three generations, as well taking the lead in organizing family reunions. Thanks, Al.

Second, today marks the one-year anniversary of my return from my last business trip. As this was something I was doing once or twice a month (with social visits piled on top of that), "normal" life screeched to a halt. Of course, normal got redefined for us all. I'm only saying that in my case, I have suddenly been home a great deal more. 

Mind you, my work hasn't stopped (if anything, the stresses of the pandemic have led to more work with cooperative groups) and I've successfully made the transition to working remotely (we're all Baby Zoomers now). Like many of us, I've adapted—a process that never really stops, but the need for which has been accelerated during the last year.

While it's a blessing that I'm in the same boat as Al with respect to work—we both love what we do and are appreciative of the opportunity to continue to serve after getting our Medicare cards—I am also dismayed at that state of the body politic, and wondering what role, if any, I can play in turning that ship around. It is staggering to reflect that not a single Republican in either the House or Senate voted for the latest Covid relief plan just passed by Congress, despite it's being supported by 70% of the voting public.

What are they thinking? They claim it's fiscally irresponsible, yet this is essentially the same group that crowed about a 2017 tax cut bill for the rich that blew a hole in the national debt of a comparable size. Hard to argue both sides of that coin without looking foolish. 

Republicans argue that this additional stimulus is unneeded because the economy is on the road to recovery without it (I watched Mitch McConnell look right in the camera and say that last night on PBS), blithely sidestepping how the recovery is glaringly mixed. The rich are doing just fine—in fact the stock market is at record highs. Yet service industries are in sore need, and individuals mired in the lower third of the economy—which disproportionately includes BIPOC—are still struggling and were close to the end of benefits when this relief bill arrived in the nick of time. Are Republicans only interested in the impact on the owning class? It certainly appears that way.

To be fair, this battle is now behind us. The relief package succeeded without GOP support. The next test will be whether progress can be made on immigration reform, infrastructure, and voting reform with Democrats and Republicans actually collaborating. I suppose much will depend on whether the Republican Party awakes from the fantasy that an outvoted, disgraced, divisive, vindictive, and demonstrably unfit ex-President can lead them to returned glory going forward. How long can you retain power through viciousness, anger, a steady diet of misinformation, and cult of personality? A President who threatens primary challenges to any Republican who questions his actions or offers to talk across the aisle.

I guess we'll find out.

Going the other way it was a breath of fresh air to hear Biden last night, speaking on the eve of signing the relief bill. He spoke with sobriety and compassion (527 thousand dead in the US and counting!), he didn't bash Republicans, he's over-performed on his promises to distribute vaccines, and he tells the truth. I could get used to a President like that—one who tries to hold the whole, rather than one who is hellbent on poking holes.