I love being a dad. One of the reasons fathering is so great is you get great singing partners out of the deal.

And so in honour of all the fathers out there, and their children, here is an offering for your ears. This is a Tibetan father and son singing together. Enjoy!

George Por went digging around in his archives dating back to the late eighties and came up with an interview he did with Peter Senge on “generic structures.” Senge said:

This fits what Senge would probably later understand as a chaordic understanding of things, how structures arise themselves and sustain themselves with accumulated memory. To me, looking at things from a facilitation perspective, these are the most powerful structures we have. They can be both incredibly liberating and incredibly restricting.

An example of a highly entrenched communication pattern shows up in the “expert-teacher pattern”. This is ingrained through our schooling experiences and shows up everywhere from public meetings to conferences to training models. It is poison to innovation, participation and creativity and it locks people into dispiriting power relationships.

An example of the other extreme probably has its origins in what happened in the school yard as we met to plot the demise of horrible teachers who exploited the expert-teacher pattern. The “schoolyard collaboratory pattern” is predicated on an assumption that everyone in the conversation can offer ideas and they get booted around and discussed until people somehow decide that placing a whoopee cushion on the teacher’s chair is the way to go. We stand around in circles, make the best possible use of short time (15 minute recesses) and no equipment, to engineer a disruption to the system.

Later in life these structures show up in the conversations that are said to really run things: dinner meetings, golf games, cafe chatter, backroom deals and so on. All of the places where we get unstuck from the constraints of formal systems seem to have their origins in the patters of eight year olds standing in a school yard, free from the physical spaces and configurations that imprison us, as we plot the most efficient way to move things along.

A couple of days ago I had my first experience on a ropes course. We only had a short time at this facility and so the piece I chose to do was what was described as the most fearsome of all the apparati. It was affectionately dubbed “the Pamper pole” after the diaper brand.

The Pamper pole is a a 10 meter high log stood on its end with a platform on top. It has little cleats that you can climb up and the point of the exercise is to get to the top, stand on a platform and leap into space to grab at a bar hanging two meters in front of you.

I have no real fear of heights, and I had no trust issues with my belay crew, so getting up wasn’t hard at all. Standing on the platform though and contemplating jumping out into space was a little strange. I generally pride myself on being able to handle change and chaos pretty well and there are times when I have jumped into figurative unknowns without a problem. But standing on that rickety platform, trying to centre my attention in my core rather than in my knees, I found myself staring at the bar and wanting more information. I wanted to know how it would feel to miss, and how it would feel to actually leap, safety net be damned.

That held me back for a few minutes, and frankly it surprised me. Despite all the safety that I knew was there, I was looking for one more piece, and it was the most intangible and impossible piece. How was I possibly going to get that information other than by jumping?

Interesting. I can see this in many people and groups I work with: looking for impossible information before jumping into something new. Either we suck it up and leap, or we simply shy away and never know what it could have been like.

Been there?

On Friday morning, David Korten offered a very brief and very effective overview of the “perfect economic storm” scenario, whereby peak oil, climate change and the collapse of the US dollar provide the conditions for a fundamental global economic transformation.

There are many places where this is being talked about (Google for more), but I as I thought about this scenario, I gave some thought to what this might mean for First Nations economies.

It’s clear to me that any future economic development or endeavours based on oil – in other words, strongly dependant on long range distribution systems – is digging oneself into a hole. Many First Nations find themselves in this exact trap: harvesting resources (trees and fish) which need to be transported to distant markets, either in the US, or dependant on the US economy.

As the price of oil continues to increase, these endeavours will become more and more expensive and less able to to be profitable. My great concern is that the response to this crises will be to harvest MORE resources in order to support struggling industries.

Obviously, smarter and more sustainable resource harvesting practices are better, including providing community quotas of trees or fish. A quota system encourages value added and sustainable practices that conserve the resource.

But for me, the implications of the perfect economic storm are bigger for First Nations, and I believe First Nations can be key players in a post-storm future.

First Nations are land owners – whether through the assertion of Aboriginal title, or through treaties. Interestingly, they are the only form of government in Canada that local and land based. By and large in our system, municipalities do not have community access to land and resources, and provincial governments are not local (expect perhaps in PEI). Sop First Nations represent a form of governance that is perfectly suited to weathering the perfect storm.

Also, First Nations are scattered all over the place, and in a different world, where supply lines are shorter and reliance on local resources is paramount, First Nations become important hubs for regional population centres. First Nations can be well set to provide food (farming, wild crafting and wild meat), energy (through micro hydro, wind and solar), resources (water, trees and other r building materials) all provided in a long term sustainable way to their own citizens and local non-Aboriginal communities. These sustainable and living local economies will possibly be enhanced when global climate change increases the temperatures and therefore the growing seasons in more northern regions.

The dependence on oil will decrease as the supply lines shorten and the reliance on US markets will disappear as forests are maintained for a lower cut (material used locally) and more diverse uses (more food production from forests and sustenance of water resources). I think there is great promise in First Nations if these sustainable practices are put in place alongside treaties and title and rights cases and I think it behooves local non-Aboriginal communities to partner and support these efforts because it is the fastest way for local regions to gain access to nearby resources.

I’m hoping to further this conversation along with my colleagues in Aboriginal economic development and possibly host a scenario planning workshop were we can actually think through some ideas and strategies for creating these futures. What excites me is that these strategies would have wide applicability across many First Nations and that in implementing, experimenting and learning, communities benefit and create centres of excellence.

Feel free to drop me a note if this notion appeals to you.

The best line I heard at the BALLE Conference today was “faster learning beats better planning.”

Instead of blogging presentations and such, I’m letting ideas seep in and run together and I’ll write over the next week or so about stuff I’ve learned and stuff I’m thinking about.