Equity, Listening (the joke's at the end)
Listening, Equity (the Joke’s at the End)
“Listen or your tongue will make you deaf”
Cherokee saying
Co-facilitating a 2-day Summer Seminar focused on equity, with a team of 4 representing diverse socio-cultural, racial and professional backgrounds. For once, we had attracted a participant group that was not primarily white with a couple teachers of color but instead 2/3 of our group were from minority backgrounds. One of my teammates greeted me with a smile, “You seem really stressed and nervous,” she said. I wanted to say, “Why aren’t you? We are putting our beliefs on the line with a promise to provide a transformational experience in two short days.” But instead, I just said, “Yeah, feels like a big responsibility.”
We started the first morning with a chance to hear every voice in the room. We asked people to respond to the question: Why were you were drawn to this work?
Many people told stories that were sharp and brutal about kids lost in the system, watching their own kids get passed by, their own personal experiences as children or teachers of color in a white mainstream world. Individual expressions of frustration hung over our facilitation team as we took on pressure that we not join the ranks of people who have let them down and didn’t deliver on a promise that they would leave with something they had not had when they arrived; even more that they would not spend their time on something that wouldn’t make any difference for their work, for the kids and their families. Some people wanted specific strategies to take and use. I felt their urgency. We couldn’t solve any of the dilemmas. We couldn’t remove the racism from our systems…yet. What could we do in two days that would leave people with increased capacity to make more of a difference when they left?
We worked with a tension between content of the field of multicultural education, equity, diversity and our work in developing collaborative cultures, structures, relationships as process to work together on the content. We rubbed against each other, our agenda, our time frames.
By the last hour of the two days my heart was still pounding with worry that we had not done enough. Papers were strewn around the room. The circle of chairs was scattered, some of the seats were unoccupied. One young teacher who had wanted methods to take back to her classroom had left at lunch without saying anything. Another colleague who I had known for years left before the very end after getting upset over the content of another’s dilemma. Those remaining in the final circle leaned forward and moved in close. They shared what they were taking away from the experience and then there was nothing left to do but for me to wrap up the intensity satisfactorily for everyone.
As I brought my words to a close, a participant spoke up. “Can I say one thing?” “Yes, of course.” “We need each other,” he said, “to be allies, to back each other up as we continue to try and put ourselves out there. I hope we’ll continue to meet.”
I took my first free breath and realized what had happened. The two days were not about our content and processes but about their experiences listening to each other, even for the two who had left possibly disturbed.
What they had said at the end was they had learned to listen…and listen…and listen. Even when you think you’ve heard that story before, listen. Even when you are uncomfortable and defensive, listen. Put your own need to talk, comfort or be understood aside and listen. Listen as if you were saying, “I see you are carrying a heavy load. Shift a little of that weight into my arms. I’ll carry it with you for a while.”
When we put ourselves on the line, we need allies we can go to who will believe us about our experiences, who will stand with us, fearless, stoic and genuine in a willingness to persevere, who will not be deterred by hurt feelings, a bruised ego or fear of rejection. I realized that maybe, then, that was enough. And in the end, the joke was on me.
Here’s a real joke………
A journalist assigned to the Jerusalem bureau has an apartment
Overlooking the Western Wall. Every day when she looks out,
she sees an old bearded Jewish man praying vigorously. Certain
he would be a good interview subject, the journalist goes down
to the Wall, and introduces herself to the old man.
She asks, "You come every day to the Wall. Sir, how long have you
done that and what are you praying for?"
The old man replies, "I have come here to pray every day for 25
years. In the morning I pray for world peace and for the brotherhood
of man. I go home have a cup of tea, and I come back and pray for
the eradication of illness and disease from the earth. And very, very important, I pray for peace and understanding between the Israelis
and Palestinians."
The journalist is impressed. "How does it make you feel to come
here every day for 25 years and pray for these wonderful things?"
she asks.
The old man replies, calmly, "Like I'm talking to a wall."
“Listen or your tongue will make you deaf”
Cherokee saying
Co-facilitating a 2-day Summer Seminar focused on equity, with a team of 4 representing diverse socio-cultural, racial and professional backgrounds. For once, we had attracted a participant group that was not primarily white with a couple teachers of color but instead 2/3 of our group were from minority backgrounds. One of my teammates greeted me with a smile, “You seem really stressed and nervous,” she said. I wanted to say, “Why aren’t you? We are putting our beliefs on the line with a promise to provide a transformational experience in two short days.” But instead, I just said, “Yeah, feels like a big responsibility.”
We started the first morning with a chance to hear every voice in the room. We asked people to respond to the question: Why were you were drawn to this work?
Many people told stories that were sharp and brutal about kids lost in the system, watching their own kids get passed by, their own personal experiences as children or teachers of color in a white mainstream world. Individual expressions of frustration hung over our facilitation team as we took on pressure that we not join the ranks of people who have let them down and didn’t deliver on a promise that they would leave with something they had not had when they arrived; even more that they would not spend their time on something that wouldn’t make any difference for their work, for the kids and their families. Some people wanted specific strategies to take and use. I felt their urgency. We couldn’t solve any of the dilemmas. We couldn’t remove the racism from our systems…yet. What could we do in two days that would leave people with increased capacity to make more of a difference when they left?
We worked with a tension between content of the field of multicultural education, equity, diversity and our work in developing collaborative cultures, structures, relationships as process to work together on the content. We rubbed against each other, our agenda, our time frames.
By the last hour of the two days my heart was still pounding with worry that we had not done enough. Papers were strewn around the room. The circle of chairs was scattered, some of the seats were unoccupied. One young teacher who had wanted methods to take back to her classroom had left at lunch without saying anything. Another colleague who I had known for years left before the very end after getting upset over the content of another’s dilemma. Those remaining in the final circle leaned forward and moved in close. They shared what they were taking away from the experience and then there was nothing left to do but for me to wrap up the intensity satisfactorily for everyone.
As I brought my words to a close, a participant spoke up. “Can I say one thing?” “Yes, of course.” “We need each other,” he said, “to be allies, to back each other up as we continue to try and put ourselves out there. I hope we’ll continue to meet.”
I took my first free breath and realized what had happened. The two days were not about our content and processes but about their experiences listening to each other, even for the two who had left possibly disturbed.
What they had said at the end was they had learned to listen…and listen…and listen. Even when you think you’ve heard that story before, listen. Even when you are uncomfortable and defensive, listen. Put your own need to talk, comfort or be understood aside and listen. Listen as if you were saying, “I see you are carrying a heavy load. Shift a little of that weight into my arms. I’ll carry it with you for a while.”
When we put ourselves on the line, we need allies we can go to who will believe us about our experiences, who will stand with us, fearless, stoic and genuine in a willingness to persevere, who will not be deterred by hurt feelings, a bruised ego or fear of rejection. I realized that maybe, then, that was enough. And in the end, the joke was on me.
Here’s a real joke………
A journalist assigned to the Jerusalem bureau has an apartment
Overlooking the Western Wall. Every day when she looks out,
she sees an old bearded Jewish man praying vigorously. Certain
he would be a good interview subject, the journalist goes down
to the Wall, and introduces herself to the old man.
She asks, "You come every day to the Wall. Sir, how long have you
done that and what are you praying for?"
The old man replies, "I have come here to pray every day for 25
years. In the morning I pray for world peace and for the brotherhood
of man. I go home have a cup of tea, and I come back and pray for
the eradication of illness and disease from the earth. And very, very important, I pray for peace and understanding between the Israelis
and Palestinians."
The journalist is impressed. "How does it make you feel to come
here every day for 25 years and pray for these wonderful things?"
she asks.
The old man replies, calmly, "Like I'm talking to a wall."
Labels: allies, equity, facilitation, listen, seminar
posted by Unknown | 7:51 AM
1 Comments:
Wow...what a powerful statement on all such workshops and attempts to effect change. That the content and facilitation are important but that the real magic always comes from the careful building of community and the understanding that we all need to be heard as a precursor to real growth.
Listen as if you were saying, “I see you are carrying a heavy load. Shift a little of that weight into my arms. I’ll carry it with you for a while.”
I think the person desperate for a quick fix left too soon. I guess she felt up against the wall, like the old man. And speaking of the walls we create, my only disconnect with that joke is the idea that a female journalist could have walked up to an old bearded man at the Western Wall and gotten anything but shouts to get over to the women's section!
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