Inequalities in Feminist Culture

For groups that embrace cooperative leadership—where there is reliance on the wisdom of the whole, instead of that of a single person or council of elders—the ideal is feminist culture, by which I mean a commitment to gender equality and a basic belief that all humans have the same inherent worth regardless of productivity, skills, or sagacity, and that everyone should have a voice in decisions affecting them.

That said, it is demonstrably not true that everyone has the same talent or proficiency at accomplishing what the group needs to maintain its health or to pursue its mission. In short, there is a sense in which everyone is equal… and a sense in which everyone isn't. It gets confusing.

While it's all well an good to strive for a level playing field, not everyone's interested in doing the work to close the gaps between where they are and those ahead of them, and there are some delicate questions around how much of the group's resources should go toward eliminating inequalities—not the least of which is because you'll never get there. 

Please don't misunderstand me. I think investing in capacity building and personal growth are excellent ideas. I'm only saying that there are too many ways in which people are different and no amount of ideological purity or tour de force training will result in a membership comprised of interchangeable parts. While that observation is not very profound, my experience has been that cooperative groups rarely act as if they fully understand that.

Sure, groups get it that all members are not competent auto mechanics, crackerjack facilitators, or gourmet chefs. (For that matter not everyone is that wonderful at scrubbing floors or balancing a checkbook, either.) And there are some distinctions between members that are relatively easy to acknowledge and discus openly:
o  Endurance
o  Size
o  Strength
o  Discretionary Time
o  Education & Training
o  Credentials

Other distinctions, however, are a bit trickier. All the following topics could be: a) straight forward to acknowledge; b) somewhat obscure; or c) controversial to interpret:
o  Physical Health
o  Wealth
o  Experience
o  Skill
o  Privilege

Last, there is there are subjects that members rarely discuss openly, and can even feel offended that you asked about:
o  Mental Health
o  Power 
o  Counseling History
o  Family Challenges
o  Financial Challenges
o  Addictions
o  Personal History with Abuse

Notice that there is no particular correlation between the tenderness of the topic and the likelihood that it will be a factor in group dynamics. My main point in this essay is that there are a number of important ways in which people are reliably different, yet most cooperative groups do not have a clear sense of how to explore these differences, or even an agreement that they should be discussed at all. They just hold their breath and hope for the best.

It's crippling to be actively working toward a goal of equality among members when there are significant differences that are off limits. If you can't discuss them, how will you determine how large they are (or even how large the range of opinions is about the size of the gap), what those differences mean, or what you want to do about them (if anything)?

To be sure, these taboo topics are subjects we've been conditioned to consider private—things we share only with intimate friends and partners. Yet they still impact the group, and if you're serious about working sensitively with differences, then you need to be able to develop a sense of what constitutes healthy inequalities and what are differences that erode the group's cohesion and effectiveness. 

The challenge is whether you have the awareness, courage, and maturity to be able to explore assessments of inequalities wherever they occur relative to group function. I'm not saying that there is a "right" way to handle differences; I'm saying that whistling in the dark and pretending that they don't exist doesn't work.

Why I Only Comment on the Weather When It Rains

I had a phone call from a dear friend yesterday who confided that she's stopped reading my blog because it was too painful. What she meant was that is was hard to see me reporting on the criticism that comes my way as a one-sided conversation. She ached to see more Laird-friendly perspectives on the dynamics that others found troubling and was worried that I was beating myself up too much (which was part of her motivation to call, to see how I was doing).

While I was able to assure her that I still liked myself, I told her that no one's that interested in reading press releases about how wonderful I am. People want postings about reality, not realty listings, and reporting on my struggles is part of my commitment to transparency and makes me—and my work—more accessible. (And I assured her that I didn't hold it against our friendship that she no longer reads my blog.)

In some ways, this parallels how I work with feedback. When I get a complaint in public (an occupational hazard when you're the administrator of a national nonprofit and do consulting for groups in four time zones), my policy is to respond in private, directly with the complainant, and try to address the problem there first. Starting a pissing contest in print, or in front of microphones may be good theater, but it rarely helps build relationship or solves problems. (Reflect on the ineffectual bull elephant posturing of politicians if you're questioning that claim.)

If an FIC staff member or volunteer falls down on the job such that the organization looks bad, I may chew their ass out in private, but in front of non-FIC folks I try to take the heat as the face of the organization. It's about loyalty and grace. Throwing people under the bus promotes neither.

All of that said, if taken too far it can be become habit forming in a way that can be addictive in a self-flagellating way (thank you, sir, may I have another please). My tendency to expose the stains on my laundry can lead to a subtle martyr syndrome, where I attempt to engender sympathy through posting excoriations on a regular basis. That's not what I'm aiming for.

Rather, I see it as an attempt to witness my journey as a human experience, making sure that I chronicle the spine-jarring potholes and goddamn broken axles as well as the glorious vistas and enchanting wayside inns that I encounter in my sojourn down the yellow brick road to enlightenment (as if I'll actually ever get there). It's about having the courage to attempt the trek even knowing I have flawed equipment and holes in my umbrella. Though I am committed to trying to help others even as I help myself along the way, from time to time I get caught in a thunderstorm, and flash floods obliterate the road. I want people to know that there are hard spots (adversity tends to make for compelling narrative), yet I also want them to know that I get back up after being knocked down and get back on the road. A little sorer, to be sure, yet hopefully a little wiser. I'm writing about the adventures of an optimist, not about the woes of a masochist.

Just like Annie, I believe that the next day's weather will be better:

The sun will come out, tomorrow
Bet your bottom that tomorrow, there'll be sun
Just thinking about, tomorrow
Clears away the cobwebs and the sorrow,
Til there's none.

—the opening stanza from "Tomorrow" in the hit musical, Annie