Tests of Courage Part 3 – Our Role in Maintaining the Status Quo

by Miki Kashtan

On Saturday I attended the first annual “Love Warriors’ Convocation” - an event that was put together by Seminary of the Street, one of my favorite local organizations in Oakland.

For the last few years I have had the good fortune of having regular walks with Nichola Torbett. I accompanied her, in conversation, through a process of resigning from her last job and founding this organization. Hers is the courage that takes people into confronting their deepest fears and opening up to life.

Over the course of Saturday’s event we were asked to do just that. I was most struck by what happened in the first part of the afternoon, as part of continuing to digest what has happened in Oakland since Oscar Grant was killed. Sujatha Baliga from Communityworks invited us to share in a circle our response to the following question: “How are you implicated in police brutality and the criminal injustice system?”

There were about 22 of us in the room. The object that was held by each speaker kept moving through the room. As each of us spoke, I felt a growing sense of honesty, a bond of truth between us. Everyone present contributed to a growing tapestry of clarity about what keeps it all in place. One by one we shared stories, small and large, of moments in which we had opportunities to stand up, to make a difference, and to show our humanity, and didn’t because of fear.

By the time it was my turn, I was deeply grateful, profoundly grief-stricken, and in awe. I was so grateful to have this experience of so much honesty, so much willingness to expose the ways we didn’t act on our highest truths and values. I was grief-stricken, because I saw how all of us were caring human beings whose lack of action was based in fear. How were we going to create change if we have so much fear that blocks us? I was in awe, because despite it all what shone to me more than anything was the infinite dignity of everyone in the room, no matter how much we didn’t show up fully. The dignity of owning the truth made us human and dear to me.

My Own Complicity

I want to honor the trust that others who were in the room placed in me by speaking only about what I shared in the circle. I identified three ways that I was implicated. The first was immense fear that I have in relation to the police. I shared the memory of a time, about 10 years ago, when I was witness to a police officer taking a young black man away who was accused of stealing from a store. I had enough courage to come out of my house into the street. I had enough courage to stand and look, relatively close. I even had enough courage to talk to the young man from time to time. I had absolutely no courage to face the police, to say anything to the officer, to try to do something to make things easier for the young man instead of just saying what I hoped were encouraging words. I stood there and felt the fear. I don’t think I knew it so fully until that afternoon.

The second was my inability to love the police fully. It’s so clear to me that to the extent that I keep myself separate from the police in this way, I participate in the same system, because I am perpetuating separation, the fundamental building block on which violence, brutality, and domination all rest.

Lastly, and the most ironic, I knew and shared that my reticence about my ideas is also based on separation. I am so deeply situated in the framework of nonviolence, that I find it difficult to fully relate to people who are open to use of violent means to achieve their goals. I am reticent because of not trusting that my ideas would be heard, taken seriously, or engaged with by the young people who are in the streets chanting and demanding a longer sentence for Mehserle.

Moving toward Possibility

To round up this description, I want to quote from Dave Belden, Tikkun’s managing editor:

“After we had gone round the circle Sujatha asked the opposite question: in what ways have we each refused to be complicit with police brutality and done something to counter it? She urged us not to set the bar too high, and to celebrate whatever we had been able to do. I sensed that she was trying to turn the emotions and analysis in the room from self-recrimination, self-judgment, guilt, or simply sorrow, towards hope, self-support, possibility.

“It was sad to me that she didn’t tell any of her amazing stories of what happens in the circle process with young offenders. I wanted her to paint the picture of the system she imagines, where every community has circle holders who convene circles like the one she had just led that help people get to know each other deeply, long before any trouble erupts in the community, so that trust is built, and when trouble comes, people will go to the circle before they go to the police. She did describe it briefly. But once that kind of idea gets hold, it becomes clear what we could each do, if we want to, in our neighborhoods and schools, whether we are rich, poor, privileged, unprivileged. We can build the alternative structures, experience and trust, that must be in place before we can reduce the police presence and the punitive justice system. That will start to wither away only in so far as we build the alternative ways to protect people, prevent harm, redress harms done.”

I look at what happened in Egypt and wonder, as I am sure so many others do: what would it take for there to be a truly mass nonviolent movement in this country? What can I do to make that possibility more likely? Whatever else it takes, I wish that I and all of us could trust ourselves completely, without reservations, enough to keep our hearts open to others who may well disagree or even fight against us. I wish for us to come together, with honesty and acceptance, to see where we are complicit and what we can do to recover our strength and our courage to rise to the occasion. It’s never easy; it always demands of us to overcome our fears and live on the basis of our hopes and our faith. I keep walking in that direction.

Perspectives on Egypt

by Miki Kashtan

I have been asked to write about what's been happening in Egypt, and all this time I have felt completely ill-equipped to do so.

Now I am happy to say that I have some links to other responses to the events that I found meaningful and hope you will, too. This is also an opportunity for me to speak about two organizations I have a lot of trust in.

First, here's a link to an Al-Jazeera video that focuses on one group of protestors that had a leadership role in the events. Most of the video is about how they run the parts that they run. What I found particularly fascinating was a part in which the video points to links between this movement and earlier nonviolent movements, specifically the one in Serbia that toppled Milosevic. I am so heartened to imagine that nonviolent movements do, indeed, build on each other through history.

http://english.aljazeera.net/programmes/peopleandpower/2011/02/201128145549829916.html

Second, I want to introduce everyone who is interested in nonviolence in general and in this uprising in particular to connect with an organization that I have deep respect for. It was founded by Michael Nagler, who I consider to be an exceptional visionary and sharp analyst of nonviolence. Their website has an entire section that is about news from a nonviolent perspective, and I would urge you to visit and browse for soak up the vision and beauty.

http://www.mettacenter.org/nv/community/nonviolence-news


Third and last, I want to introduce you to Tom Atlee and the Co-Intelligence Institute. Tom wrote a blog entry on the potential next steps in Egypt and what true democracy could mean for a movement that's as diverse and decentralized as the Egyptian uprising has been. Along the way you will be introduced to Tom's way of thinking about  governance, which has been inspiring me since 1995 when I first met him.

http://tom-atlee.posterous.com/will-egypt-revolutionize-democracy-itself

I am so grateful to have access to all these rich resources to be able to share them with you. I hope this supports a wider perspective for at least some.

Tests of Courage Part 2 - Who Did and Who Didn’t

by Miki Kashtan

“If I were there [meaning in Germany, during WWII], I would likely be one of those who would go along without asking questions until it was too late.” So began an extraordinary conversation with a woman I recently met when I was in England. I had never imagined hearing anyone say this, so I had nothing but respect for her. “How can you know this about yourself?” I continued. Her answer amazed me even further. She told me she knew herself not to ask many questions, to go along with things. She could see how one little step could lead to another, and by the time you had an inkling of what was actually going on, you would be too entangled to back up. Your family and kids would depend on your income, or your standing in the community would be too precarious anyway. I am wondering if she is ultimately right about herself. After all, she is reflecting on these issues, and with such self-honesty. Wouldn’t that kind of courage give her a moral compass?

The Challenge of Taking a Moral Stand

In an earlier post about these kinds of moral dilemmas I described an extraordinary film I watched when I was in Israel that looks exactly at the challenge of standing up when the cost is high. While still in Israel, I saw “Saviors in the Night,” another astonishing film that directly bears on this question. The movie depicts a true story of a family of farmers in Westphalia that hid mother and daughter during the war under immensely difficult conditions and at high risk to themselves in a small community replete with Nazis. At first not even the entire family knew that their “guests” were Jews, and the teenage daughter was completely identified with the Nazis. One of the most extraordinary scenes in the movie shows the father taking the teenage daughter, after she discovered the truth, to hear some stories that would finally open her heart to the humanity of the Jews. I have rarely seen on screen someone’s heart cracking open to truth, and I sense we can all learn from the choices the father made for how to reach people who are elsewhere.

What this film made abundantly clear to me is just how much courage would be needed in order to make a choice to stand up to the force field of Nazism, to the government, to the individuals around, and to the fear of death itself. It clarified for me why so few had done so. There are only a few hundred documented cases of people saving Jews in Germany. Between this movie and the conversation with the woman in England, I have ever more appreciation for the immense complexity and daunting challenges.

Obedience, Fear, and Empathy

Walking out of the movie I heard someone comment to another about these numbers in a surprised tone in which I heard an edge of moral superiority. I was saddened, because I want us to grow in humility, to learn that we have no way of knowing, any of us, about ourselves. This morning, as I was sitting to write about this, I poked around the web for more information about this movie. I came across a comment from someone that captures this intensity beautifully for me: “If your government was exterminating a despised minority, do you think you would refuse and resist? Or do you think you would go along?”

We know most people didn’t resist. That would mean most of us wouldn’t, either. What makes that possible? What force is powerful enough to be a block to empathy, to what I believe is the natural response to others’ suffering? Milgram’s famous experiments from the 1950s shed some chilling light on the role of discipline and obedience. In his experiments the overwhelming majority of participants were willingly subjecting others to electric shocks which, though in reality imaginary, appeared to them to inflict severe pain on the victims, and which they nonetheless continued to administer.

I had the enormous good fortune of actually watching Milgram’s film, an experience which completely changed my perspective and understanding of what is significant about his experiments. What I found most striking was the degree of personal anguish so many of the participants experienced as they were administering the electric shocks, clearly indicating that their basic reaction was one of aversion to harming another. While people can be brought to ignore, overcome, suppress, or numb out their natural empathic responses, Milgram’s experiments show the enormous cost to human beings of overcoming natural empathy. It’s obedience or fear, not lack of care, that allows these acts.

Who, Then, Stands Up?

Samuel and Pearl Oliner conducted a massive study of people who saved Jews during the Holocaust (The Altruistic Personality). Based on many hundreds of interviews, a couple of telling things stand out. One is that rescuers were asked to do so. This is also true in the movie. The farmer would not likely have offered without being asked. When we are asked, we are confronted with the moral dilemma in a way that makes it harder to ignore and downplay. Let’s not give in to the notion that others are too busy or wouldn’t care enough. Let’s give them the respect of asking, always, for what’s truly needed.

The second distinguishing factor is that the people who rescued Jews they tended to grow up in households where punishment was not the norm. They were raised on engaging with values rather than being punished for doing the wrong thing. As a result, they had less fear and more willingness to stand up. This has implications for parenting: we can raise our children without fear, without calling them to obedience. We can honor their endless questions, encourage them to make their own choices in matters of moral principle, and accept their mistakes as part of learning.

This brings me back to the woman who was so open to the possibility that she might have gone along. I like the idea that the more we are willing to stand up and ask questions, all the time, the more likely we are to maintain our moral courage. This is something we can do on a daily basis. We can ask questions, especially in relation to authority, about everything. We can reclaim this capacity we all had as children. We can cultivate it as an inoculation against complicity, against losing our humanity one not-asked question at a time.

Nonviolence, Consciousness Transformation, and Community

by Miki Kashtan

A little over a year ago I had a pretty significant crisis of faith, what some might call a dark night of the soul. This happened after 14 years of being on two parallel and mutually transforming paths: my personal dedication to living undefendely and working my way through fear, and my work of teaching Nonviolent Communication.

The crisis, simply put, was that I temporarily lost my faith that what I did could have a lasting effect on people’s consciousness. I knew, even in the midst of the anguish, that I was deeply privileged to touch people’s lives in significant ways on a consistent basis. I also knew that being moved and inspired was not quite the same as the choice to integrate this consciousness into daily living, into the fabric of how we make choices moment by moment, into what our lives are about.

I knew I wanted company in embracing the ferocious experience of a life given to the service of consciousness transformation, internally and in the world. Against the weight of my crisis I stretched my spirit into envisioning what this truly meant and what it would take to create this full alignment. Thus was planted the seed of what has now become an active and vibrant community of support for consciousness transformation.

Soon I had a list of core commitments (now numbering 17) that together comprised what a consciousness of nonviolence meant to me. In writing them, I wanted to honor the paradox that I see in using the word “commitment”: on the one hand, life is radically uncertain and we cannot know the future of our ability to make anything happen. On the other hand, the level of inner seriousness that “commitment” entails was important to me.

I wrote the commitments in a way that highlights and provides a constant reminder of our absolute need for support to do this work. Which is why I wanted a community, not just the commitments. I wanted a community that would extend well beyond what I had to offer in terms of experience, vision, leadership, enthusiasm, and energy. I envisioned a group of people willing to take a personal stand for truth and for love, and available to support each other in moving closer and closer to living a life of love and courage. I felt the desire to model this endeavor after Gandhi and Martin Luther King and the countless known and unknown heroes of nonviolence. This meant supporting both action and inner cultivation, as neither alone would be sufficient.

I launched the Consciousness Transformation Community, or CTC, on February 18^th, 2010. What has happened in this year has gone beyond what I could have imagined. We now have 68 people from 6 different countries in a thriving, vibrant virtual community. The biggest surprise of this year was the delightful collapse of the very elaborate structure I initially attempted to put in place. I found it so liberating that a simple and organic structure I couldn’t possibly have thought of on my own replaced my original complex one through an emergent and dialogic process. Now any member of the community has full access to contributing anything they want. We have several options every week to connect on the phone, most of which are led by members of the community other than myself. We have an interactive website for connection, mutual support, initiatives, and discussions of all sorts. We reflect regularly on how we work together. Anyone is invited to take responsibility for the functioning of the community and to participate in decision-making. Lastly, contributions, both to the group and to me, are done entirely on a voluntary basis, as a gift economy.

Gandhi himself had a core group of about 70 people who worked with him, who joined in his “experiments in truth” and lived together in his Ashram. I have even more conviction now that those of us who want to live a life that rests on love, courage, care, and service need each other, because we are by definition going against the grain.

I asked people to share what being part of CTC means to them, so others could have a sense of it. One person said: "Even if I will never actually meet these people in-person, it is very reassuring and encouraging for me to be reminded that there are other people out in this world who are actively committed to living their lives in a consciously nonviolent way." We need community to know we are not alone, for inspiration, for mutual support. Another said: “This community helps remind me of my commitment to nonviolence and hold me accountable to that commitment.” Support sometimes takes the form of reminding us, in difficult moments, what we have committed to.

Our first anniversary is coming up. I want to share this bounty more widely with those who feel called to this particular experiment in truth. Four times a year we open our phone calls to guests. The next open call is this Tuesday, February 1^st, at 10:30am pacific time. What is your own dream for your consciousness transformation? What is your dream of where you can contribute significantly beyond your personal sphere? You can join the call (email ctc@baynvc.org to get a call-in number and pin), or you can share your thoughts as comments here. I am celebrating what we have done, and have more faith in what is possible as a result of coming together to take a stand for nonviolence.

Feedback without Criticism

by Miki Kashtan

I have yet to meet a person who likes criticism. Instead, what most of us do is contract inside when we hear a criticism. Sometimes we respond defensively, sometimes we add the criticism to our pile of self-judgment, and sometimes we deflect and ignore what’s being said. In the process, we rarely manage to make use of the vital information and opportunities that useful feedback can provide: learning, better teamwork, or simply insight and understanding.

On the other end of this painful and familiar dynamic, it is well known that both in personal life and in the workplace most people dread giving feedback. Knowing how painful it can be for people to hear a criticism, and how rarely feedback leads to productive conversations or satisfying change, it’s sometimes difficult to imagine that giving feedback can have beneficial consequences. Add to that how few people have been trained in concrete skills for giving usable feedback, and you get a recipe for disconnection, resentment, or teeth gritting when time comes for performance evaluations or less formal feedback giving.

And yet feedback loops are essential for any individual and group to function at full capacity and potential. Knowing how our actions affect others and the larger whole of which we are a part can support us in learning when and how to change course to contribute to others around us.

Since all of us need feedback, let’s take a look at how we can offer it to others in ways most likely to create the effect we are hoping for: increasing performance while building trust and supporting goodwill all around.

There is much we can do to make our feedback digestible to another person, and to minimize the risk of being heard as criticizing. We can work on where we are coming from in offering feedback, and we can work on developing concrete tools that make feedback more useful to others.

Often confusions around feedback stem for a blending of two different motivations for letting others know of the effect of their actions. Becoming proficient in offering feedback takes us through learning to distinguish between feedback and personal trigger. Providing feedback is usually motivated by a desire to contribute to the learning of another person and to the functioning of the whole. Sharing a personal trigger is usually motivated by a desire to be heard, understood, or attended to. When we mix the two, we are likely to create confusion.

At least some of the time people hear criticism because it’s there. If we want to reduce the risk of being heard as criticizing, let’s indeed transform our judgments and evaluations. Instead, let’s look for, and communicate to others, what the behaviors are, why they matter, and what we want done about them. Here’s how this way of focusing helps feedback become more digestible.

The more we are able to point succinctly to specific behaviors instead of vague generalizations and evaluative statements, the more the other person can keep her or his attention on what we are talking about without getting caught in evaluative words. This diminishes the potential for defensiveness, and also prepares us for shifting our own consciousness away from judgments.

The more we are able to communicate why the behavior matters, the more the other person is motivated to want to do what’s asked of them. We can communicate what’s important to us personally, our own values and needs, or what’s at stake for the organizational whole. When we name the key elements that lie underneath our evaluations (and even judgments), we often feel relief and clarity. This, too, supports us in having feedback that’s less charged and therefore easier to hear.

Even when there is clear understanding of what the goals and values are, and what the significance of the requested change could be, many people can still find it difficult to digest feedback if it comes without specific strategies they could put in place to contribute to the desired outcome in terms of goals and values. Part of why this particular step can be so challenging is that we are called to trust that others would, indeed, want to support what matters to us and the whole. We are asked to shift from telling people what to do to a sense of partnership with them in moving toward shared goals.

No matter how thoughtful and clear we are with our feedback, we may still generate defensiveness or resistance if we are completely set on having the outcome we want, without regard for what the other person might want. Forging and sustaining a sense of partnership, especially in contexts where we have structural power, is no small task. The more we are able to show understanding for the experiences of others and the choices that others make, including understanding what might have led them to take the actions we found challenging, the more of a sense of partnership others can experience, along with more goodwill towards us. Similarly, if we are able to remain open to creating a solution together instead of being attached to a particular outcome, others can sense that their well-being matters, and are likely to be much more willing to stretch in our direction.

My hope is that as more and more people learn to offer feedback based on these principles, the overall dread of feedback giving can diminish, and feedback can be restored to its fundamental function: a method for people to work together to create environments where productivity flows, where trust and goodwill flourish, and where individuals thrive.

If you want to learn more about the art of providing feedback, you can still register retroactively to the 5-session Feedback without Criticism course I taught last fall. If you want to learn more generally about using Nonviolent Communication in the workplace, you can get an MP3 of a class I taught on the topic a couple of years ago. Looking ahead, you may want to explore the MCR full yearlong program starting this coming May, and the MCR conference in March. If you are curious, you can get answers to all your questions in one of two informational calls coming up in February and March.

Living under Occupation

by Miki Kashtan

Today I broke the law. I visited Bethlehem, which is off limits for Israeli citizens. I went to visit Zoughbi Zoughbi, director of Wi’am (cordial relationships) – Palestinian Conflict Resolution Center (http://www.alaslah.org/).

Last night I was looking for directions and could not find them. Who would have known that Google would display the familiar “A” and “B” bubbles and say “We could not calculate directions” for many points in the Palestinian Territories? Who would have known that many spots have two entries, one which says “Israel,” and one which says “Palestinian Territories?” Even when clicking on the latter, the map ultimately shows it all as Israel. Referring or not referring to the place as “Palestine” is a significant choice. All names here are political statements. No choice is innocent. Who will I alienate by my choices?

The meeting place Zoughbi suggested, the Everest Hotel and Restaurant in Beit Jala, is still accessible from both sides. Prior to the establishment of the wall, the Everest was a bustling business and a well known place for connection between Israelis and Palestinians. Today, when I got there, it was almost totally deserted. The road that goes by Beit Jala from Jerusalem goes through a checkpoint on the way to a variety of Jewish settlements. The turn to Beit Jala is only accessible from the other direction. One can easily not notice it even exists. Fewer Israelis are willing to find their way and take the small risk of going there. One more blow to cooperation between the two nations.

Even before crossing, the gap between the two societies is evident. The Arab towns, even within the borders of Israel, are usually built on the sides of the hills, caressing and snuggling the landscape. Open areas are terraced, and often punctuated with olive trees. The Jewish settlements are often perched on the hilltops, scarring the landscape, prominent. I find it hard not to interpret them as making a statement about who is bigger and stronger around here. I work hard to just notice, without interpreting, without judging, and to keep on loving everyone. The Jewish settlements and so-called “neighborhoods” out of Jerusalem have well-paved roads, clean streets, airy apartment complexes. The Arab towns only minutes away are run down and lacking in resources, requiring endless creativity on the part of the people living there to meet basic needs.

And then there’s the infamous wall. I had heard and read some about it. I knew of its existence and of the depth of resistance to its construction, even among many Israelis. None of this prepared me for the visual, on-the-ground effect of standing next to it and seeing the damage. Wi’am itself operates from within a remodeled old building which is right next to the wall. When Zoughbi took me on a ride around town in Bethlehem, the wall was all over the place, towering at about 20 ft or so, cutting right through major areas, reducing formerly upscale wide roads to narrow alleys with deserted businesses, and causing real estate prices to drop dramatically. Some businesses, homes, and farming lands are now on the other side of the wall, confiscated, entirely inaccessible. So much land has been taken, so many olive trees uprooted, that a grocery store owner told me for the first time they are even importing olive oil, a Palestinian mainstay product.

This side of the wall has hundreds of drawings and statements on it, mostly done by foreign groups, mostly about peace and human rights. I wonder what’s painted on the other side, and almost wish not to know.

All day long I wonder how the people of the settlements live with what they see. What kinds of stories can they tell themselves that make it OK to create a living prison behind a wall? Even though I am troubled by people living in these settlements to begin with, I also completely understand and appreciate their fear, their pain at family members and friends being killed through acts of terrorism originating in the Palestinian Territories. I know I want security and well-being for them, too. I still can’t see it, because security in and of itself could not account for places where a town is cut in half on two sides of the wall, or for the million indignities Palestinians suffer on a daily basis. Michael, Zoughbi’s brother, told me that in order to live one must suppress the pain, or else one cannot continue to exist. I think of the cost of suppressing pain. Zoughbi tells me of the deterioration of physical health in the Palestinian community which he attributes to the stress of occupation. His website tells of their work to address conflicts within the Palestinian community, and traces the roots of such conflict to the economic, environmental, psychological, and spiritual consequences of the prolonged occupation.

I am here for one day and my heart is crumbling. How do they survive this, day in and day out? Meanwhile in Tel-Aviv life goes on. It takes conscious and systematic effort if you live in Tel-Aviv to remember, to see the effect of the occupation, to be open to the suffering of Palestinians. Even if awareness is there, the sense of helplessness to do anything about the situation probably keeps everyone focusing elsewhere. I so wish for a vision, some way for ordinary people in Israel to be able to create change.

Towards the end of my visit I sit with Zoughbi, an intern from the Netherlands, and a local person who works at Wi’am. We eat hummus and falafel, and dip pita bread in olive oil and za’atar. Simple, scrumptious, familiar. Zoughbi reminds me that even in the midst of occupation and suffering life goes on. He appears happy with what the new prime minister is doing in this imaginary state without power and authority to run its business in full. People’s daily living conditions are improving some, and Zoughbi thinks that conditions are ripe to make peace. Will the Israeli government find ways of moving toward peace? I tell everyone at the table my conclusion for the day: I am impressed with anyone living under occupation who manages not to hate the occupiers.

Wi’am gets most of its funding from foreign foundations, and continues to invest in the building and its surroundings to create a haven for the local population. Outside, right in front of and next to the wall and an observation tower, overlooking a refugee camp, and under the gaze of a Jewish settlement, a playground was recently built, as well as a little garden with several sitting areas. Let life happen. Inside, I see many artifacts for sale created by jobless women as part of another Wi’am project. I bought an embroidered money pouch, a couple of books, and 10 copies of one of Wi’am’s cards. The card says “Let us transform garbage of anger into flower of compassion.” May it be so.

Don’t Take Yes for an Answer: The Power of Cultivating Collaborative Leadership

by Miki Kashtan

Nick (not his real name), CEO of a privately owned company, identified listening to others as one key area of learning for him. As we explored this challenge, we soon realized that truly opening to hearing others would require overcoming a habit of distancing and separating himself from people whom he perceived to be different. I offered him one of my personal practices: looking for 3-5 things I have in common with someone I experience as different and separate from me. Nick immediately thought of Dick Cheney as an exception, someone with whom he really didn’t have anything in common. I challenged him on this belief, and he succeeded in identifying several qualities they shared, the last of which was this statement: “We both like power.” What did power mean to Nick? Without any hesitation he said: “When you have power you rarely hear ‘no.’”

“Yes” as a Resource for Power

I define power simply as the capacity to mobilize resources to meet needs. One of the resources that people in power have is other people’s reluctance to say “no.” That’s where my perspective intersects with Nick’s. If someone is the boss, there is every reason for others to say “yes,” ranging from fear of consequences to genuine interest in supporting the boss’s vision. Hearing mostly “yes” provides enormous ease for those in power. I can see the appeal of being able to make things happen.

The Cost of Too Much “Yes”

Despite the appeal, in my own small sphere of influence I have been cultivating the practice of questioning people’s “yes” and encouraging others to say “no” to me. I have been recommending this practice to anyone in a position of power.

Considering the ease and apparent efficiency of people’s willingness to go along with the choices of the person in power, why would I recommend the often arduous practice of challenging the “yes?” What gets lost when the option of “no” is less accessible to people? In particular, is there any way in which the effectiveness of the person on top gets compromised? What is the significance of encouraging “no” for the functioning of the whole?

A work culture that operates on the assumption of “yes” compromises the deeper power of people at the top. Here’s why. Leaders need some amount of dissent for creativity and fresh thinking. Without hearing the truth about the true human cost of a path of action leaders lack critical feedback for making informed choices. Agreements based on fear of consequences are less authentic. When people don’t feel free to say “no” they are less likely to give of themselves fully and take ownership of the work they do.

Challenging the “Yes” Supports Organizations

When we recognize that we lose something when someone does something just because we have power, we can create a radically different work environment. As managers, when we honor people’s limits and let them know we care about their wellbeing, we unleash a level of goodwill that permeates all relationships within the group. When we express interest in people’s perspectives and experience, we contribute to creative relationships in which the whole is greater than the sum of the parts. When we include others’ concerns about decision we want to make, we increase ownership of the whole and responsibility for a shared outcome. When we are open to changing our mind in order to integrate feedback from others, we send a message that everyone is significant for the whole, and thereby contribute to much deeper buy-in. The result is not only more satisfaction. Empowering people leads to more distributed innovation, scalability, and – even if it may be surprising – more productivity.     

Steps toward a Collaborative Form of Leadership

What does leadership mean within such an environment? What do these principles look like in practice? What can you do today to open the door for new possibilities in your relationships with those you lead? Instead of following the impulse to control and direct everything, focus on providing the vision, the inspiration, and the creative edge that galvanize people’s capacity to contribute. You can encourage everyone to continually learn and adapt to changing conditions. You can guide the decision-making process to increase synergy and maximize everyone’s contribution. You can support people in finding their true potential and taking risks knowing they will be supported. Ultimately, collaborative leadership, at its best, is a way to restore meaning and humanity to our work life, for leaders as well as for everyone else.

If you work in or with an organization, and you want to learn more about collaborative leadership, you may want to explore the MCR full yearlong program starting this coming May, and the MCR conference in March. If you are curious, you can get answers to all your questions in one of the informational calls we have lined up (the next one is January 18^th).