That is one of the principles of wayfinding, which is simply to say that if you don’t know what to do, start anywhere and follow it somewhere. Each step will reveal the next thing to do.
For a beautiful, beautiful exercise in doing this, go here and play for a while with the ToneMatrix.
For many years on this site I have kept a page of facilitation resources that is my working library. I haven’t updated it for a long time, and so today, I went through folders and bookmarks and old emails and blog posts and revised the page.
For your edification, my renewed library of Facilitation Resources, free for the taking. The best links and site to partcipatory process I have found.
Enjoy.
In Thunder Bay on the Fort William reserve there is a distinct volcanic remanant called Mount McKay in English but Animikii-wajiw in Anishnaabemowin. Animikii-wajiw means “thunder mountain” so named because a thunderbird once landed there, ampong other things.
My mood has changed markedly after the work we did today working with Ojibway leaders and Elders from around the north shore of Lake Superior and parts further north and west of here on traditional governance and the assertion of Aboriginal rights and title. This is timely stuff given the historic proposed legislation that will be coming before the BC Legislature soon. There is good news on the Aboriginal title front and it can all lead to good things for First Nations – not without challenge and much effort mind you – but things are looking optimistic on the legal front in a way that is truly unprecedented.
At any rate, our work here is about exploring the meaning and practical implications of all of this stuff, introducing people to a powerful political and legal strategy that has been developed by the National Centre for First Nations Governance, and thinking about what it takes to do this hard work. Today there were three great little teachings that came my way as a result of discussing traditional leadership.
Teaching one came from Nancy Jones one of the Elders who gave us small blankets with a medicine wheel design based on a vision that she had about unity, leadership and healing. One of the great teachings in this medicine wheel was about the north, the direction from which winter weather and wind comes. We laboured here through a blizzard today, waiting for an hour until whoever was coming was going to show up, and working small processes with diminished numbers. But the Elder gave the teaching that essentially the weather teaches us that “whatever happens is the only thing that could have” and that the chaordic path is an inherent part of leadership: you can never really be in control.
The second teaching was from Ralph Johnson. I asked him about the Ojibway word “ogiimaw” which is often translated as “chief” or “boss.” I asked Ralph what he thought the word must have meant before contact, when the concept of “chief” was basically unknown. He said that word relates to the word ogiimatik which is the poplar tree, the tree that is considered the kindest of trees. Poplars are gentle, flexible, quiet and kind and are also good medicine. He said this idea of kindness is what is under the word “ogiimaw” and that influencing people through kindness is the kind of leadership that the word implies. This is very different from the kinds of leadership implied by the word “chief” which is a title now won by competition in a band election, a process that seems to engineer kindness right out of the equation. This is a great legacy of colonization – the lowering of kindness from a high leadership art to a naive sentimentality.
Ralph also gave me one more little teaching that rocked me. He told me that the word I had always understood as “all my relations” – dineamaaganik – actually means “belonging to everything.” Seems like a small change in translation, until another Elder, Marie Allen chimed in and said that the problem with leadership these days was the way ideas like “all my relations” activated the ego. The difference between “all my relations” and “belonging to everything” is the difference between the ego and the egoless I think. This is what Ralph was trying to tell me. That the centre of the universe is not me, and things are not all related to me, rather I belong to everything. Marie and I took a moment to express amazement at the way the earth used us to channel life in a particular shape for a short period of time. We come from her, we return to her, and in the interim we do our work upon her.
So tomorrow, with this platform of reverance firmly established, we return to work with young and emerging leaders in Open Space.
Not so lonely here after all is it?
Last week I was working with an interesting group of 60 Aboriginal folks who work within the Canadian Forces and the department of National Defense, providing advice and support on Aboriginal issues within the military and civilian systems. We ran two half days in Open Space to work on emerging issues and action plans.
In an interesting side conversation, I spoke with a career soldier about fear. This man, one of the support staff for the gathering, had worked for a couple of decades as a corporal, mostly working as a mechanic on trucks. We got into an interesting conversation about fear. He said to me that he could never do what I do, walking into a circle and speaking to a large group of people. I expressed some surprise at this – after all I was talking to a trained soldier. I asked him if he had ever been in combat and experienced fear. He replied that he had been on a peacekeeping mission in Israel and that at one point in a threatening situtaion he had pointed a loaded gun at someone and awaited the order to fire, but he didn’t feel any fear at all.
We decided that it was first of all all about the stories you tell yourselves and second of all about training and practice. The fear of public speaking – fear that would paralyse even a soldier – is a fear that is borne from a history of equating public speaking with a performance. In school for example we are taught that public speaking is something to be judged rather than a skill to be learned. Imagine if we gave grades for tying a shoelace, or using a toilet or eating food. If we performed these important but mundane tasks with the expectation of reward or punishment, conditional on someone else’s judgement about them, having nothing to do with the final result, we might well develop fear and aversion to these things too.
The fact is that the fear of public speaking – glossophobia – is widespread and this makes me think it has something to do with public schooling. Our training leaves us in a place of competence or fear, and, as much of the training in social skills is undertaken implicitly in school (including deference to authority, conditional self-esteem and a proclivity to answers and judgement rather than question and curiosity) we absorb school’s teaching about these things without knowing where they came from. Certainly when I grew up – and I was a little younger than this soldier I was speaking with – speaking in school was generally either a gradable part of reporting on an assignment or was competitive, as in debating, a practice that was prevalent in my academic high school that sent many young people into competitive speaking careers as lawyers and business people. If you were no good at this form of speaking, the results of being judged on your attempts to get a point across were often humiliating. You lost, or you skulked away with the knowledge that people thought you sucked.
In contrast, my friend’s ability to find himself relatively fearless in an armed confrontation was a result of his military training, which, when it comes to combat, is all aimed having a soldier perform exactly as my friend had – calmly and coolly, especially in a peacekeeping role.
These days, in teaching people how to do facilitation, I am increasingly leaving the tools and techniques aside and instead building in practices of noticing and cultivating fearlessness. When you can walk into a circle fearlessly, you can effectively and magically open space. If you harbour fear about yourself or your abilities, it is hard to get the space open and enter into a trusting relationship with a group of people. Once you can do that, you can use any tool effectively, but the key capacity is not knowing the tool, it is knowing yourself.
How do you teach or learn fearlessness?
Just returned from an event in Victoria to raise money and awareness for the first ever Authentic Leadership in Action Institute (ALIA) on the West Coast (May 19-22 at Royal Roads University, if you’re interested). Last evening, 120 people packed in to hear Meg Wheatley talking about leadership in uncertain times. She spoke mostly about the capacity for fearlessness, or a leadership stance that operates beyond hope and fear. It is something that she has been talking about for a long time, and in fact, she has a recent piece in the Shambhala Sun on this very topic.
Following her presentation, my colleague Jennifer Charlesworth and I hosted a cafe on three questions to deepen the exploration of fearlessness. We were working off of Meg’s presentation, but also an excellent article of Meg’s describing Eight Fearless Questions.
So if you read these two articles you can follow along at home and engage in the three questions that we threw into the cafe. Round one was conversation around the question of “When have I been fearless in my life?” Participants were invited to find a story of fearlessness, anchoring it as a touchstone to a deeper inqury.
For the second round we asked: “Who am I called to be for these times?” This is about finding the bigger you that is called into the world to face the challenges of systemic collapse and bringing the future into being.
Finally, we ended with the question “What name do I call myself?” THis question comes directly from Meg’s eight fearless questions, and it invites us to choose a name for ourselves that can hold our whole life. THis is a name beyond who we are and who we have been – it is a name that we tremble to live into. Here’s what Meg says about that question:
I have a colleague who first suggested this to me. And he said, “So many of us choose names that are too small for a whole life.” So, we call ourselves, ‘cancer survivors;’ that seems to be a very bold name, but is it big enough to hold a life? Or, ‘children of abuse.’ Or, we call ourselves ‘orphans,’ or ‘widows,’ or ‘martyrs’…. are these names big enough to hold your life?
And the second question that just occurred to me as I was doing this is, Are we choosing names that demand fearlessness? You’re a coach. You’re an executive. You’re a consultant. You’re a teacher. You’re a minister. You’re a hospital administrator. You’re a civil servant. Are those names demanding fearlessness of us? I don’t know what the names are that would create fearlessness, but I think this is a very important question.
The last movement of the Cafe was an invitation to find a question that you could live into for the next 30 days that would keep these insights alive as a little learning journey for you.
It was a lovely evening, good to see many friends new and old, even though I barely had time to connect with any of them, and it was a delight to see Meg again and work with Jennifer.
We’d love for you to consider joining us at ALIA in May.