
I can barely say the word. I don’t use it much anymore. So much needs to be done before we can contemplate it. So much truth, so much restoration of lands and people and communities. But today I came across this poem by Anishinaabe (Wasauksing First Nation) poet Rebeka Tabobondung who is the founder of MUSKRAT Magazine. She published this in 2013 and I will let her say it, because at some deep level this is what I am always working towards:
Reconciliation
We are waking up to our history
from a forced slumber
We are breathing it into our lungs
so it will be a part of us again
It will make us angry at first
because we will see how much you
stole from us
and for how long you watched us suffer
we will see how you see us
and how when we copied your ways
we killed our own.
We will cry and cry and cry
because we can never be the same again
But we will go home to cry
and we will see ourselves in this huge mess
and we will gently whisper the circle back
and it will be old and it will be new.
Then we will breathe our history back to you
you will feel how strong and alive it is
and you will feel yourself become a part of it
And it will shock you at first
because it is too big to see all at once
and you won’t want to believe it
you will see how you see us
and all the disaster in your ways
how much we lost.
And you will cry and cry and cry
because we can never be the same again
but we will cry with you
and we will see ourselves in this huge mess
and we will gently whisper the circle back
and it will be old and it will be new.
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The great shadow of North American history I think is that settlers know deep down that we don’t belong here. The idea of “settling” the west was predicated on the continent being cleansed of its original inhabitants. This happened in a number of ways. There was outright murder perpetuated by war, disease and neglect. There were treaties which ripped people from their territories and bound the loyalties of indigenous people to the Crown rather than their own laws. There was the residential school system which had as its goal the “education” and “civilization” of indigenous children such that they would no longer be indigenous, which resulted in hundreds of thousands being torn from their families and raised by many abusive and unwell priests, nuns, administrators, social workers, nurses, doctors, coaches and teachers.
It seems everywhere settlers ventured on this continent, they have left unsettled peoples, lands, animal populations and communities. The devastation of indigenous population over 500 years and including to the present day through the loss of lands, language, autonomy, self-governance, dignity, health and resources has been rightly called genocide, and documented as such in the last decades’ inquiries into residential school legacies and missing and murdered indigenous women and girls. There has been a deliberation erasure of peoples here, which made possible economies that have resulted in some of the monetarily richest people in human history living some of the most prosperous lives humans have ever lived.
And I think deep down, every knows that it was gained on the backs of genocide.
So that has some bearing on whether settlers can even feel at home here. And I think that unresolved cognitive dissonance – maybe deeper, maybe a soul dissonance – perpetuates inhumane level of violence towards people, land and community. On this continent the world’s mightiest military power has taken root, supported by the world’s mightiest economic engine and spread death and exploitation around the world. Here in Canada, the same week as 215 children were found deposited in a mass grave separated from their families, communities and even their names, we saw photos of a single 1000 year old spruce tree being carted away to make guitar tops. Songs will be sung through a tree which lived twice as long as colonization and which was weeks away from being protected forever by a provincial law prohibiting such logging.
The term “settler” is used to describe willing immigrants to this continent, because traditionally it was the word that our families all used when they were heading here to settle down. But it conveys a sense of serene calm, of finally arriving somewhere, of belonging.
It must be heard in the context of all the unsettling that has resulted from this. Even amongst settlers, the privilege extracted from this continent has been concentrated in the hands of very few (who even continue to become enriched during the biggest public health crises in a century) resulted in this unsettling being pushed through the class ranks rendering people housing insecure, unhealthy, burnt out and poor.
35 years ago I stood in the summer night around a fire in Sudbury participating in a process to make an apology from the United Church of Canada to indigenous peoples, a powerful and important gesture that indigenous people like Alberta Billy, Art Napoleon, Murray Whetung and Stan McKay asked for. And we wrestled for hours over the wording of that apology because in the room where we were deliberating were residential school survivors, teachers, administrators. The whole system was there. And the concern in the room was sparing the feeling for those that had “good intentions.” And so the debate went back and forth and in the end I don’t think we spared their feelings, but I do think we must have hedged on the final wording just a touch, because the Moderator – Rev Bob Smith – delivered the apology to the Elders and we waited and waited and finally the Elders announced that they were appreciative of the apology but they did not accept it. They wanted to see what would happen next.
At the time, I thought this was a brilliant response and a generous one. It was an invitation to join in relationship and do something meaningful together, because the proof is in the actions and the only future that can begin to redeem the past is in mutually beneficial reciprocal relationships, which now must first consist of a MASSIVE transfer of wealth and land back to First Nations. It is what indigenous people have been saying since the very beginning: hey, let’s do something cool together. And at every turn everything has been stolen.
That night changed my life. It made me unsettled. And I think that is the only job of settlers: become and remain unsettled. If the news of this past week has unsettled you, good. Perhaps that will enable you to finally be in relationship with all of the people who have been unsettled by the history of colonization on this continent. Get unsettled, be in relationship. If you have land, think about how you can give it back. If you have cash, donate. LIsten to what indigenous people are saying. They are inviting us all into a better world, but we need to let go of the idea that settler colonialism is a viable path to that world. It is not.
There are people among you right now who properly belong to this place. No matter how closely connected you feel to where you live, not matter how long your family has been “in these parts” there are people here whose history goes back to the time before your ancestors even thought about farming. Listen to their voices. Follow their lead. Be unsettled and be led.
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It’s funny to start noticing the cycles and patterns that return here over a year. I’ve lived on this island for 20 years now and this is the first time I have spent an entire year (15 months now, and counting) without traveling outside of the bioregion. And as everyone has noiticed, time has taken on a ndifferent ndimension during the pandemic, but perhpas what is really happening is that we are just getting more comfortable with the way time actually is.
This morning I was cruising through my garden, sending slugs to their doom and cropping a few lettuce and spinach leaves for my lunch and I heard a great mass of bees swarming a California lilac plant that we have. The sound was really deeply familiar as they were all at that same plant last year for about two weeks. Hearing the sound again was like being greeted by an old friend. Something familiar. Same as the Blackheaded Grosbeaks that are waking me up every morning with their beautiful piercing calls and the lushness of my salad garden, delivering full bowls of goodness for lunch and dinner every night. I had the thought “I’ve been here before. THis is a feeling of home in time.”
Despite my close intimacy to rhythms of the land here, I think this is the first time I have really felt time as an actual circle, which returns to the same place. It has the effect of drawing out my experience of life. Slowing it down, not disrupting it like it does when I travel away from this place. Over this past year I haven’t had the sense of getting older, as if there is a line or a path you travel. Rather I have a sense of being different, but in the same repeated moments and places.
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It is a mild day here on the southwest coast of Canada. Last week we were touched every so lightly by the polar vortex that swung a little right on it’s southward adventure and managed to squeeze cold air with storm force winds out of our fjord. The windchill dropped to around -20 a few times, with 100 km/h outflow winds buffeting Howe Sound. That isn’t especially chilling by Canadian standards, but here on the west coast we live in house made to keep us dry, not necessarily keep us warm in the same way and so pipes freeze, wood stoves are over fired, and hydro bills go through the roof. Luckily we suffered none of the small disasters of cold weather in a temperate climate. But my friends and clients in Texas did.
Word this morning that one of them, Bertina Combes, passed away on February 19. during the height of the cold weather that crippled Texas. She died from complications of COVID-19 and in her passing the University of North Texas has lost a much beloved professor, academic leaders and fierce and kind fighter for racial equity and diversity. Bertina was a core member of our Participatory Leadership cohort. and was championing the use of deeply participatory methods to address diversity issues at UNT. And she was a terrific human being. I’ll really miss her. Tender.
Communities and organization pass thresholds all the time. Some are subtle and you find yourself in a new territory and new space without really knowing how you got there. And other times the markers are obvious and everything has changed. It certainly feels like that when a person is born or dies in your circle. We ritualize these thresholds, often with the intention of holding each other together as we cross through the thin space between two worlds. Whether it is the rituals of death and life, the transitions of power, the dissolutions of structure, or the sharp changes in a culture.
In the natural world, transitions between states and seasons are very gradual, but the more you pay attention, the more you notice sharp transitions. Here on Nexwlelexwm/Bowen Island, we have just passed across a threshold. Today the dawn chorus of birds was loud and strong, led by Pacific Wrens, Spotted Towhees and Black-capped Chickadees, resident birds we see and hear everyday, but who have started their breeding songs. The light is returning faster and earlier and the migrants will begin returning as well. This is pretty typical for mid February, and we are increasingly unlikely to have anymore snow at sea level. Yesterday I spread compost on my garden beds and seeds of peas, kale, spinach, lettuce and – optimistically – beets, I sprouted indoors two weeks ago are growing steadily now and will be ready for planting out soon. I’ll tempt the frost a little in an effort to get at least two crops out of my beds this season, but in my bones it feels right to move. We have crossed a threshold and action is different.
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For much of the past few years my facilitation and evaluation practice has been steadily merging together. When I FINALLY came across Cynthia’ Kurtz’s body of work, Participatory Narrative Inquiry a few years ago, I felt simultaneously validated and challenged. Validated in that the participatory facilitation work I have been doing since I stumbled on Open Space Technology in 1995 met the complexity work I have been in since 2005 and the developmental evaluation work I’ve been doing for the past ten years. Challenged in that it opened up new streams for my practice, and that has been gratifying.
Nowadays I regularly do story gathering as a part of all my projects. I use online tools like NarraFirma, Spryng or Sensemaker and sometimes pen and paper approaches. In a future blog post perhaps I’ll name some of the projects we’ve been doing with these tools and how they have contributed to our work.
Today in a conversation about getting started with stories, someone asked about how to get a bunch of perspectives from throughout to company on a new phase in a company’s evolution. I responded with a simple approach to PNI. You can use this to get started with a group.
- You want to begin by collecting stories, not running a workshop where everyone tells you what they think are the issues. That approach tends to get everyone prepared to advocate for their own position. So try this simple approach. Do a little questionnaire, using Google Forms for example. Ask participants to “share a story of something that happened lately that made you think: ‘we need to address this issue…'” Get everyone in the organization to enter one story, a few sentences. On the form then ask them a) how common do you think this is in our organization and b) what is one thing we could do to address that issue?
- Now you have a collection of grounded stories and a bunch of material you can use to host some more interesting strategic sessions. Convene some meetings and give people the stories to look at, maybe separated into common and rare, and have them look at the material and work together to create ways of addressing the issues.
- There are many things you can do with these stories, but the principle is “Use the harvest to convene the conversation.” From that the conversation can produce a harvest of things to try to address the issues you discover.
The advantage of this is that everyone’s voice gets in the mix, and everyone has a chance to interpret their own stories and then interpret what other people’s stories might mean. This generates massive engagement.
I really appreciate Cynthia’s clear writing on this and offer you this quote from work as a heuristic in your own planning and design:
In my experience, the greater the degree of participation the stronger the positive impact of any project that involves people and aims to improve some situation faced by those people. I have also noticed that some forms of participation are easier to manage than others. So I generally encourage people planning projects to think about taking one more step up the staircase of participation, wherever they find themselves now; but I order the steps so as to make the transition more feasible in practice.
If you are asking people to tell you stories, why not ask them what their stories mean?
If you already do that, why not ask people what the stories other people told mean?
If you already do that, why not ask people to build something with their stories? Why not ask them what that means?
If you already do that, why not ask people if they can see any trends in the stories that have been told?
If you already do that, why not ask people to design interventions based on the stories they have told and heard?
Then, why not ask people to help you plan new projects?And so on. As you step up, keep watching your project to see if increasing participation is making it better. If it stops making the project better (for the people you are doing the project to help), stop increasing the participation. Wherever you find yourself is participatory enough. For now.