Bob Niederman, organizational consultant, Miki, and Yumi Kikuchi, Japanese peace activist, at a recent BayNVC Leadership Program residential training.

 

What Is “Nonviolent” about Nonviolent Communication?

One of the most frequent questions I hear when I talk about Nonviolent Communication is “Why Nonviolent?” People feel uneasy. They hear the word nonviolent as a combination of two words, as a negation of violence. They don’t think of themselves as violent, and find it hard to embrace the name.

For some time I felt similarly. I was happier when I heard people talk about Compassionate Communication instead of Nonviolent Communication (NVC), because it felt more positive. After all, isn’t the practice of about focusing on what we want, where we are going, instead of looking at what’s not working? Why would the name be any different?

Like others, I was unaware of the long-standing tradition of nonviolence to which Nonviolent Communication (NVC) traces its origins. Then I learned more about Gandhi. I became more acquainted with the story of the Civil Rights movement. Then I fell in love with the name Marshall Rosenberg gave to this practice, and more so over the years. Here’s why.

Nonviolence as Love
The word nonviolence is the closest literal translation that Gandhi found to the Sanskrit word ahimsa. Although in English this word appears as a negation, in Sanskrit naming a concept or quality through negation instead of directly is sometimes a way of suggesting it is too great to be named. Indeed, avera, the word for love in Sanskrit, literally translates into “non-hatred.”

Hinduism is not the only tradition that honors the unnamable. As a friend pointed out to me when talking about this, Judaism has a similar practice. The name of God is unsayable in Hebrew, being letters without vowels, without instructions for how to read them. Some things are beyond words. And nonviolence is one of them.

Gandhi said: “ahimsa … is more than just the absence of violence; it is intense love.” (Gandhi the Man p. 53)

What is this kind of love? It appears to me that Jesus and Gandhi and those of us following their tradition through the practice of NVC think of love as the full radical acceptance of the humanity of every person, regardless of how unhappy we are with the results of their actions. This love is a commitment to act in ways that uphold that humanity; to care for the wellbeing of the other person even when we are in opposing positions; even when all that we value is at stake.

For the past 15 years I have been dedicating my life to this quest. I want to keep learning and exploring what nonviolence means. I want to live this intense love; model it as best I know how, and more; expose and seek support for the places where I falter; and support others who want the same, who want to grow their capacity to love everyone, including themselves. This blog is, at heart, an attempt to do just that.

Two Medical Moments

On Tuesday morning I had the unusual opportunity to offer coaching and support to two women, one from Egypt and one from Sudan, who are heading a unique program in cultural competence for medical students in one of the Persian Gulf Emirates. Across cultural differences (I am, after all, from Israel), without any training in NVC, we connected, and they learned how they could change outcomes by imagining from the inside the experience of people with whom they were in conflict.

Why were they here? The students in the program they teach are generally open and receptive. But the doctors in the hospital, themselves from many countries, have been consistently expressing doubt and impatience towards the concept of cultural competence, even towards the idea of medical interpreters being present when there is a language barrier with the patient. What could they do, these women wondered, so that their students could get support when they are doing medical rotations at the hospital?

Can Conflict Be Transformed into Partnership?

I invited the head of the program to enter the shoes of a doctor, to say what they have heard them say so many times, and together to understand what their experience is. They learned, with astonishment, how different it would be for the doctors if they tried to form a partnership with them in addressing concerns rather than trying to convince them that the program is essential. We learned that the doctors are struggling with an immense load of patients who are often migrant workers and can’t see how they could take the time to engage in understanding the patients beyond just figuring out the symptoms and reach a diagnosis.

Then I invited the other woman to offer empathic reflection to the doctor that the head of the program was inhabiting. This took us deeper into discovery. We now, through listening carefully, discovered that the doctors wanted to be trusted in their ability, despite difficulties, to understand and carry out their mission to support the patients’ health; that they care about the patients; that they wanted respect; that they wanted choice about how they and their students would practice medicine. These women found out that the doctors would more likely be open to support them if they expressed directly and clearly what the experience of patients was that would lead them to create the program rather than by using the language of rights.

Increasing Resilience through Connecting with Vision

Then we talked about how they could nourish themselves and have more hope and resilience and less stress by connecting empathically with each other, understanding and being with the vision of what they wanted to create instead of “venting” and maligning people who didn’t support them. They experienced how the vision could be a source of energy, fuel for the work that is less likely to be toxic to them than the anger that sometimes arises in them in response to the obstacles they have been facing. Lastly, we equipped them with some materials and ways of learning NVC from afar, and with tips for how they could support and empower the students in these difficult conversations.

Dignity

That same evening, I visited a friend’s mother who is dying. No longer able to go home to die because the transportation would be too painful and too stressful for her frail body, she was in a hospital bed, surrounded by loving people. I walked in the room, let her know I was there, and she opened her clear eyes and smiled fully.
I talked to her, but she was no longer able to respond except with her eyes and her smile. She is a woman of immense light, and I felt blessed to be in the room with her. There was dignity and love in the room. This is what I know the women I saw that morning want for all patients. I was glad to experience it.

Why Be Afraid?

On Monday, during a conference call with some colleagues, I found myself, for the millionth time at least, debilitated by fear of judgment. I knew on some intellectual level that there was no reason to be afraid. The other people on the call, only 4 of them, were close colleagues, all former students, all but one NVC trainers, who were there because they trust what I have to offer and who I am. That didn’t help. Although I was able to talk about the fear, and I was even able, to a significant extent, to make choices despite it, I remained emotionally consumed by fear.

But I made a leap in my experience, perhaps precisely because of the presence of trusted colleagues. A new question arose: Why, in those moment, do I generate fear (I, and so many others, I didn’t for a moment think this was unique to me)? For the first time I was able to consider consciously that fear, like every state we have, is a choice that our organism makes based on some internal process of considering what would most meet needs in the moment. This process usually remains out of our awareness. I had such excitement at bringing this process to awareness and investigating what could be the internal mechanisms that generate the fear.

Today, in a conversation with my beloved empathy buddy, Francois Beausoleil, we took on this question, and I immediately wanted to share the results in the hopes it can support others in working with their fears. First, a word about our interdependence. I believe this, and so many such processes, require the active participation, beyond mere support, of others in discerning what is going on, so self-knowledge combines with the outside insight of a loving witness to recognize truth.

The core insight that Francois and I arrived at is that the purpose of fear, the reason the organism mobilizes it, the need that it attempts to meet, is that of awareness and choice. Usually fear gets mobilized around essential needs, which either now or at some point in the past, are completely intertwined with survival. The purpose of the awareness is to ensure that real choice is made around the level of risk-taking involved with such high-stakes needs.

Given that so often the survival issue is in the past, and the present doesn’t actually pose a threat to our survival (as was the case for me on Monday’s call), how can we work with the fear to increase capacity for present-based choice?

I see two options. One is the path I have been on for so many years now, the path of vulnerability, openness to the risk, stretching our wings, recognizing our resilience and our capacity to survive that of which we are afraid. Often, we can use the specific strategy of imagining worst case scenarios and seeing that we can, indeed, survive them. In addition to imagining them, strength on this path also builds on success, on the actual experience of surviving, beyond pure imagination. This path, to me, is a core element of what it means to live nonviolently.

Today I discovered a whole new direction for working with fear. This is the path of tenderness towards myself. Fully consistent with all I have been teaching for years, just that I had never brought it to bear on fear. Fear was always, for me, something to overcome. What does tenderness look like when it comes to fear? This kind of tenderness is different from simply not doing what we are afraid of doing. It’s all too easy to remain within the confines of the fear, to give in to the contraction and intensity of protection. Bringing tenderness is about connecting with the underlying longing that the fear is calling us to make choices about.

Fear of judgment, on my part, is calling attention to how much I want to belong, perhaps. Maybe it’s about wanting the deepest freedom to be myself. Or maybe it’s about wanting peace and ease. Or all of the above. Bringing tenderness means opening my heart; holding those longings with utmost care; allowing myself, in full, to feel the depth of the longing, separate from what will or will not happen. This builds a different kind of strength that is soft and gentle. I want that strength, for me and for others. I plan on adding to my daily practice some form of meditation on some of those needs, to settle into this softness, so I can do what the fear ultimately wants me to do: be mindful and clear about my options when these needs are at stake in any given moment, and have full choice.

Making Empathy Concrete

One of my biggest passions is finding ways to make what I do teachable, especially in the area of empathic presence. It’s not only a passion, but a necessity. Our times, more than ever, require empathy to become widely accessible to people. I want to find a way to replicate what I do, to build capacity for the work necessary to create a world that works for all. Could this blog be a way to do that?

Recently, talk of empathy is increasing. But the how of empathy is still missing. People are hungry for this knowledge, and yet it’s so elusive. How can one teach about empathic presence? Can empathy really be broken down and learned? I want to say: YES!  Empathy is core to what makes us human. When we bring together our mind, heart, body, and imagination; when we can focus all our attention and become a witness to another’s humanity, we enter the empathic space, and in some small measure life changes. How can we cultivate this capacity?

If, like me, words and thoughts are your primary entryway into another person’s experience, reach beyond intellectual understanding for the human warmth we all wish for when we want to be heard. Let yourself feel and experience and resonate with the other’s experience, and allow that feeling inside you to affect your tone of voice, bring softness to your being, and convey your care and humanity to the person speaking.  

If your primary access is a felt sense of resonance, an experience of being at one with another person, complement it with putting your heart and mind on the other person. Empathic presence is about being with the other person’s experience, so that they can have the benefit of your presence instead of your emotional identification with their experience. Imagine what it’s like for them. Put words to what you discover, and share with the other person. Without your words, how would they know you understood?  

If you can imagine easily, maintain your focus by thinking about the other person and staying clearly with the essence instead of the details of the storyline. Follow the thread of meaning of the person speaking instead of your curiosity. Bring your mind to bear on this focus, listen carefully to the words. Which ones have the most emotional charge? Those usually hold clues to what’s going on for the person speaking. Is the person expressing judgments, frustrations with what is not happening, fear of what might happen? Focus your mind and attention on what they want. What may be leading them to speak to you right now?

If you have strong feelings about what the person is saying, you may be tempted to try to fix the situation, or reassure the person. Instead, it takes focus and determination to remember that your presence is the biggest gift you can give another, regardless of what the issue at hand is.

When we master the art and craft of empathic presence, we become laser-like. We can hear precisely what is wanted in each moment; we find words that convey our understanding and care and can touch another’s heart; and we remain relaxed in the face of strong emotions knowing we don’t have to do anything about them. Then we can discover that empathic presence is also a gift to us: the gift of being nourished by the trust of another, by witnessing pure, distilled, raw humanity in its unmistakable beauty.

About Gratitude

By Miki Kashtan

Despite years of knowing that gratitude contributes to life, and suggesting to people in my workshops to start a gratitude practice in their lives, it is only in the last couple of months that I was finally able to start my own practice. In the past, using gratitude as a PRACTICE instead of just when it arose spontaneously (which I am blessed to have happen often) just wasn’t working for me. But the times were hard enough in my life, and the draw strong enough that I started.

So, for a couple of months now, during a period that included some of the most challenging times in many years, I end each day lying in bed, breathing fully and slowly, and reviewing my day, looking for everything that could possibly be a source of gratitude. Not as a check list, but really pausing with each one, putting my attention again and again on the mystery, wonder, magic, and awe that is the experience of whatever happened, whoever contributed to it. My primary focus is on the people who contribute to my life. It could be something really small, or it could be something extensive. Regardless, I focus my attention and my heart on really taking in that there was no reason for this person to do what they did, they didn't really have to do it, they only did it because they are human and we humans do things for each other. Sometimes without even intending to. On a few occasions my focus has been on people I don't even know, who produced something I was consuming on that day. Slowly, I attempt to open my heart to this person, as if I am trying to BE that person and feel what it's like to have done what they did that contributed to my life. I find enormous beauty in doing this. I go to sleep more peaceful. I also have an inkling that this practice may have been part of what shifted the inner experience I have into more softness, less anguish, despite the fact that so many challenges remain in my life.

What have I learned from doing this?

Two surprising things. One is that, exactly like Marshall Rosenberg, creator of Nonviolent Communication has said, gratitude is a kind of fuel. Especially on days when I have felt depleted, lacking resources, or particularly stressed, I found the practice to nourish me, give me some energy, release some of the stress. Then I started wondering what other aspects of life act in this way, as fuel? So far I have come up with a few: beauty, love, vision, and inspiration. One morning, in talking with a friend, I also realized that I had used vision as my primary fuel for far too long, and that I was worn out. So I am especially happy to have found other forms of fuel.

The other thing I learned is even more surprising to me. I learned that on the days that were the hardest I usually had more things that I could be grateful for, more people that contributed to my life on those days. Why would that be, I wondered. Here's my hypothesis: when we are doing well, we require less support, and we can more easily hold on to the illusion of self-sufficiency. When we are faced with challenges, we become more aware of how much of our life depends on the grace and generosity of others. I find immense comfort and richness in this realization.

Why write a blog?

One of the biggest treasures I have is a diary that my mother kept about me when I was a child. Most of the entries are from when I was about 5. I love it, in large part, because I so completely recognize myself in that girl. One of the entries describes a conversation I had with my mother in which I wanted to bring together all the prime ministers of the world so as to stop war. I couldn’t understand why war continued. In another entry, I asked my mother why we had to pay money to get our groceries; why wouldn’t everyone just be able to go to the store and get what they need.

The questions related to these two stories continue to reverberate throughout my life, along with others. I have enormous passion for finding ways to transform how we live on this planet to reduce and transform violence; to create a world that works for all; to have relationships that nourish us; to have workplaces where workers, bosses, and communities thrive. The list goes on and on. And I know that I am not alone in wanting to create this change.

Since 1995, I have been using Nonviolent Communication (NVC) as my guiding compass for reflecting on my inner life, my relationships, the world around me, and the larger questions that are always on my mind, never far from front and center. Using this lens, I have a different experience inside, I relate differently to people, and I think differently about the world. Starting in 1996, I have been sharing what I have learned with others. Initially, I was working with individuals, and seeing changes in their lives and relationships. Later, I started teaching what I know, and saw others get excited, learn, and create shifts in their lives. A few years ago I started writing some of what I have learned. With the advent of blogs I became interested in sharing what I think and learn and experience with more people than might read my articles or come to workshops of mine. I still had to work through internal blocks. Despite the feedback from others, I had (and continue to have) doubts about why others would want to hear what I am thinking. But the passion overcame the doubt, and I am launching this blog.

What I hope to do here is share what I learn and explore as it’s happening. For example, today, while teaching people in the BayNVC Leadership Program about how to give feedback, I became aware of the parallel between how feedback loops are blocked both systemically and interpersonally. That is something I would write about, so that more than the 30 people in the group could reflect on the absence of feedback in our lives and in our systems. Perhaps in this way I could contribute to creating a culture of open-feedback, where we all learn how to give feedback (see the article on the BayNVC website), and how to be more open to receiving feedback from others.

I might also write about how to bring more empathy to the public conversation about political issues, so that town hall meetings can be opportunities for expanded understanding and working towards solutions that transcend polarized positions. Or about how to work internally to transform habits of blame and criticism so that we can have more harmonious relationships.

So many of us live with a sense of resignation, both personally and beyond; of having to just make do with a life that is, ultimately, not satisfying. My hope is to ignite a sense of possibility in those who read this blog. Perhaps this will show up as a growing willingness to open one’s heart to others in times of conflict. Perhaps it will translate into more self-acceptance, or more capacity to reach for vulnerability. Whatever form it takes, I wish for a way to contribute and to inspire a sense of meaning, purpose, and power in your own life.

My first entry is about the practice of gratitude. You can read about that next.