Correction and Clarification re Goldstone and Tikkun

by Miki Kashtan

Since i wrote my two pieces about Goldstone, I was informed that in part due to Tikkun's role, Richard Goldstone DID get to attend his grandson's Bar Mitzvah. Here's a link to the source in Haaretz (an Israeli daily). I was very happy to hear this despite my mild embarrassment at having not tracked the information accurately.

I also realized that I hadn't made it clear enough that Tikkun's 25^th anniversary is open to the public and is an opportunity to be present for the award ceremony and to celebrate a magazine that has been dedicated to a unique perspective that places caring at the center of a vision of political and social life.

In Appreciation of Complexity

by Miki Kashtan

As I was writing yesterday about the Goldstone report and the Tikkun award given to him, I became more aware of how much both these men are holding positions of great complexity. As far as I understand, Goldstone agreed to accept the invitation to lead this commission because he was hoping to be able to counterbalance what he saw as one-sidedness from the UN. Indeed, his report condemns both sides, even though it was based only on Palestinian views. While he was making efforts to have an Israeli perspective included, the government of Israel didn’t accept the investigation (on grounds that it was biased to begin with) and thus did not cooperate with it.

Similarly Lerner regularly promotes a position that invites both sides of this ongoing conflict to hold understanding of each other, to recognize the difficult history, to understand both of their roles in contributing to the conflict and to violence. I believe they both see themselves as supporting Israel and opposing its policies, and as supporting both Israelis and Palestinians in living in peace, dignity, and safety.

In a climate where positions are polarized, this is a difficult position to hold. The vitriol that accompanies any polarized position spills over, and each side tends to associate those who hold complexity and paradox with the other side. I looked through one blog post and comments on the issue and saw people on both sides calling each other Nazis, for example.

To make matters even more controversial, the UN subsequently adopted a resolution that only condemned Israel, despite Goldstone’s insistence that the investigation and the report must include both sides. 

Those who are in the peace and justice movements hailed the Goldstone report. The Israeli and US governments, along with many vocal parts of the Jewish community, condemned it. I am aware of how incredibly divisive the Israel-Palestine issue is for so many people (even calling it this way can be upsetting for some). I wasn’t aware, however, of just how much Goldstone had been part of the mainstream Jewish community until the report came out. He calls himself a moderate Zionist. He has held prominent positions in very mainstream Zionist organizations. And he participated in investigating Nazis in Argentina to bring them to trial. This is no simple “enemy” of Israel.

None of these credentials protected him from being seen as a traitor by vast numbers of Jews, especially in South Africa. I imagine that he knew the risks when he took on this task. After all, he received similar kinds of responses when he conducted an investigation of apartheid in South Africa. He nonetheless proceeded to accept the invitation from the UN, saying: “I decided to accept it because of my deep concern for peace in the Middle East, and my deep concern for victims in all sides in the Middle East.” I don’t know if he could have predicted that he would ultimately choose not to attend his grandson’s Bar Mitzva.

I started writing about this topic because I was so inspired by the courage. As I was writing and learning about the issue, I realized I also wanted to support, however microscopically, de-polarizing of the topic by naming what I believe is at the heart of each side’s passion and conviction. As you read my attempt to understand each side, maybe you can try to apply it to your own experience with this issue, or to some other issue that you feel passionately about and about which you have strong opinions. I find this especially powerful when I am meeting someone with very different beliefs. Understanding the core values of the person with opposing views or the basic human needs and longings that are common to all helps me see the common humanity and remember the possibility of finding a way forward together, despite differences.

As far as I can imagine, the people who are so angry at Goldstone are doing so in the name of a deep wish for understanding of the pain and suffering of Jews over millennia. Maybe they are longing for relief, for some sense of safety, or for a place they can call their own in the world. I also imagine they want the humanity of Israeli soldiers to be seen. I have no difficulty understanding such longings.

What about those who celebrate Goldstone’s report, or those who ask for economic sanctions against Israel, or even those who call into question the very legitimacy of the state of Israel? I imagine what’s at the heart of the matter on this side is a rather similar wish for understanding, this time for the plight of the Palestinians. I imagine they are hoping for some effectiveness in addressing such pain, a way to create immediate relief and safety for the people who are suffering so much. And for their humanity to be seen, too. Again, I find no difficulty in understanding.

My difficulty is in the polarity, in the belief that there is room for one, not the other. That only one side can have legitimate needs; that only one side is seen as acting harmfully; and that only one side can claim self-defense. Lerner and Goldstone, in their different ways, are holding out to all of us the complex and nuanced perspective of possibility. Whether or not I align with either of their specific prescriptions for addressing the Israel-Palestine protracted crisis, I want, with them, to believe in the possibility of a Middle East that supports all its inhabitants in thriving.

Courage in the Midst of Controversy

by Miki Kashtan

For the most part, I have been staying clear of controversies. My passion, and where I see my gifts, is for the process of bringing people together across differences more so than in advocating for this or that position. I take a stand for certain principles and for a vision of a world that serves everyone, not for particular opinions, even though I do have my opinions in abundance. This is a conscious and ongoing choice because I want to make myself available to everyone, not only those with whom I happen to agree on any given issue. 

Today, however, I am about to walk a complex line on a rather sensitive topic. I am doing this because I have been writing about tests of courage several times in the last several weeks, and I want to acknowledge two men who have taken a stand despite significant costs in order to honor their own values and moral integrity.

A week from Monday, on March 14^th, Tikkun is celebrating its 25^th anniversary. Part of the celebration consists of 6 awards given to a number of people, one of whom is Justice Richard Goldstone from South Africa. Goldstone headed a fact-finding commission of the UN to Gaza in 2008-2009, and the report that came from that investigation has been the center of enormous controversy. So much so, that Goldstone agreed not to go to his grandson’s Bar Mitzva to avoid a mass demonstration that would divert attention away from the family and the focus on the boy.

I plan to post again tomorrow with more about the controversy and what lessons I want to draw from it. For now, I want to focus on courage. First, I want to take in how much courage Goldstone had to have in order to accept the invitation to lead the commission and to face the attacks and accusations he surely knew he would face.

Then I want to acknowledge Rabbi Michael Lerner, editor of Tikkun Magazine and founder of the Network for Spiritual Progressives, who decided to honor Goldstone. Again, this took significant courage. Soon after making his support of Goldstone public, his house was defaced with graffiti that said: “self-hating Jew” and “anti-Semite like Goldstone.” Rabbi Lerner didn’t back down, and continues to publicly endorse and defend Goldstone.

I have been very inspired and touched by the courage of these two men, and I decided to write this piece so I could acknowledge their courage and draw attention to the occasion of the 25^th Anniversary and the award giving. As I started, I learned that much more was at stake here for me. I realized that in posting this piece I am stretching my own muscles around courage. Writing this post (including the 2^nd part that’s coming tomorrow) has taken me longer than just about any other post on this blog. I write, erase, write again, look, rethink. I rarely do that, and so I have to believe I am afraid, somewhere, of some reaction, from someone. Now, as I am writing these words, I am tapping into compassion for all the people who don’t speak up about things that matter to them out of fear. What we are afraid of varies. The choice point is the same. At some point, somehow, we manage to take the stand, to recognize the risk and welcome it, accept the consequences, and live in integrity. I am hoping that by writing about this, and by adding my own fear to the mix and making visible the possibility of transcending fear to take a stand, I can contribute something to nurture more courage in more of us. I know we will need every bit of it, because so much is at stake if we want to turn the tide of human life on this planet into a more workable future.

Separation, Connection, and World Transformation

by Miki Kashtan

Last night I saw the movie I am by Tom Shadyac. In case you don’t know – Tom has been a writer and director of numerous comedy films which have netted him billions of dollars. In the course of the last number of years he has been on an incredible journey of shifting his values from success and consumption to simplicity, love, and compassion. He sold his mansion and established a foundation with the money. Here’s what his website says: “Ultimately, the goal of The Foundation for I AM is to help usher in a more loving, kind, compassionate, and equitable world for all.” The movie tells some of his story, and also sets out to answer two key questions through interviews with a number of well known thought leaders such as Desmond Tutu, Howard Zinn, and others: What’s wrong with the world, and what can be done to change it?

I enjoyed the movie tremendously. I appreciated the footage that served as background to the interviews, and his appearances on the screen that were interspersed with the interviews. It’s a rare documentary, in my experience, that manages to balance information, a strong point of view, and entertainment. This is what I experienced with this movie. I was inspired by seeing someone make such a personal journey of rededicating his resources to a cause other than personal consumption. I very much recommend it to anyone interested in these topics.

In addition, I have asked very similar questions, and have been thinking about the overlap between the movie’s answers and my own, as well as differences that were provocative and have already enriched me. The movie focuses on the profound role that the story of separation and its derivatives – scarcity, competition, and massive consumption – play in keeping war, domination, and poverty in place. I also was so happy to see a movie that shows some of the evidence that has been mounting in recent years that is challenging the core assumptions of separation. This evidence is so strong now, that researchers at UC Berkeley talk about “the survival of the kindest.” All of this was very compelling.

It was the “what can we do about it” part about which I was left puzzled and somewhat disappointed. It was a version of “Be the change” that leaves me lacking confidence about achieving the phenomenal mobilization towards change that I believe is necessary. The prescription, if I understood it correctly, is to make a commitment, all of us, to shift our internal story to one of love and compassion, which is, as the movie suggests, the fundamental nature of being human. If all of us do this, says Tom, then the shift will happen.

The movie calls for a massive waking up, a critical mass of people changing their actions and choices. What’s missing for me is first taking a serious look at how we can get enough people to wake up sufficiently. The challenge is immense, as I see it, because we are called to change millennia of deeply ingrained habits of separation that are often activated immediately when we see others take actions – personal or otherwise – that we don’t like. I am called to respond to this challenge. I want to find ways to sustain the loving orientation beyond the moments of epiphany. I want to learn more and more what keeps the story of separation so deeply ingrained. I want to provide vision, inspiration, and concrete practices that support making loving and vulnerable choices despite the strength of the message of separation.

The second missing piece for me is an understanding of the systemic and structural dimension of the life we live. It’s not just the stories in our heads and bodies. It’s also the organizations we have created, the institutions and norms that govern our lives, the economic engines of allocation of resources, the schools that educate our young, and the societal legacy of so many forms of separation that are beyond attitudes of individuals. Perhaps I am being small-minded, and I am open to that possibility. I simply can’t see that enough individuals can make enough change and create enough connection between them to shift that entire structure. To use a recent example, so many Egyptians came together and managed to topple the government. I am thrilled and in awe of this event. Does it challenge the fundamental logic of having a government that’s elected in particular ways and into which ordinary people don't have a real say except during the moments of election? I don’t think so!

Riding home I continued to discuss these rich questions. Then an idea arose that gave me some pleasure, much curiosity, and a little hope. If, as I also believe, we are equally capable of love and compassion as we are of conflict, protection, and separation, then there is likely an ongoing flow of opening and closing that happens to each of our hearts, in an entirely different rhythm and orientation than anyone else. Sometime we converge and have moments of exquisite love and intimacy. Sometimes we diverge and can’t connect. Tom shared, for example, that he noticed how much love there was in church communities that then doesn’t stay for the daily living outside the service. Something happens in times such as the Obama election that galvanized so many people, or the Egyptian uprising, or even something as small as a group of people getting together to share their experiences in a workshop. That something may simply be a form of synchronization of rhythms and orientation of the openness. How this happens is entirely mysterious to me. I am clear that people like Gandhi and King or the young people that organized the Egyptian mass demonstrations knew how to do this. Somehow they could issue a message that included enough vision and enough attentiveness to the real suffering of people that everyone could open up at once and a movement was born. That makes sense to me, and helps me understand how change becomes possible.

I am called to respond to this challenge, too. Beyond the individual level of functioning, I want to keep learning and teaching ways of working together, of creating organizations and systems that embody the same principles we love as individuals, and help us synchronize and move closer to harmonious functioning. There is much to learn, and much that is already known about taking love, heart, and empathy to the larger levels of functioning. I want to hold out, without wavering, the real, tangible, and practical possibility of establishing social systems that make room for everyone to thrive.

Beyond Submission and Rebellion

by Miki Kashtan

(This piece is part of a book in progress called, for now, Reweaving the Human Fabric)

I have never been successful at mastering obedience. As a child, often enough it was my attitude toward my father rather than something in particular that I did which was the cause of punishment and criticism. Obedience is highly prized in authority-based systems. No surprise, then, that my father was attempting to control my defiant spirit more than my specific actions.

Obedience is a form of submission, of giving our will to another out of fear of consequences. It is almost essential to obedience that there be no specific rationale for the action demanded by the authority. “Do as I tell you” leaves no room for questions. We are not supposed to understand, only to carry out.

My father never managed to break my spirit, as was his clear and explicit intention (my mother regularly tried to dissuade him from this plan, to no avail). My defiance, a deep-seated rebellion of the spirit, became an article of pride for me. More often than not, I did what he insisted I do, simply because I had no particular reason not to. And yet I knew that I wasn’t going to let him “get to me,” and I know much of his wrath was precisely about that.

Given my inner satisfaction at emerging from childhood with my full defiant self, I was utterly surprised when I first heard Marshall Rosenberg say: “Never give anyone the power to make you submit or rebel.” It had never before occurred to me that my rebellion, however successful, left the power in my father’s hands. Internally I was more preoccupied with not giving in than with knowing what I wanted and going for it. I chose my actions reactively, not truly from within. I didn’t see what is now so clear to me: that true choice, true freedom, emerges from inner clarity.

I still struggle with this legacy, all these years later. Any time I see someone in a position of authority, be it a police officer, a doctor, or even a therapist, I stiffen a little to protect myself. I recognize that vigilance, that intentionality of protection and defiance, as blocking my soft, open-hearted access to myself, my values, my needs, my feelings, and the choice that emerges clearly from there. Still, often enough I don’t have the inner resources to release the protection.

As luck would have it, I also became, myself, an authority figure for hundreds if not thousands of people who have studied with me. I have watched the dynamics of submission and rebellion from this side, too. I have seen people defer to me when I didn’t ask them to do so, and have felt the pain of separation, the loneliness I experience when people give their power away. I have also seen people respond to me in defiance and rebellion, react to what I didn’t say or do, just because I am in power.

I have been studying this now for years. Although I am still learning, I have already figured out some things. I know that much of the challenge revolves around asking for what we want and being asked by others. When power differences exist, which they do most of the time, even in apparently equal relationships, making requests, saying “yes,” and saying “no” are not simple matters.

Transcending the paradigm of submission and rebellion means asking for what we want without giving away our own power and without taking away the power of others. Children are usually trained to believe that the power resides with the parents. Accordingly, instead of asking for what they want, they tend to say “can I …”, a form of request that leaves the decision about what will happen with the parent. This is a form of submission. Rebellion, often in teenage years, though sometimes years earlier, takes the form of “I am going to …” without leaving any room for the parent to have a say. Freedom, for me, resides in the dialogic stance. “I would like to … and I want to know how you are about it.” Possible at any age.

Moving towards full choice also means being able to receive another’s request, however it is couched, in a way that maintains our own dignity, autonomy, and care. I continue to work on being able to say “no” without closing my heart in defiance, and on being able to say “yes” with full generosity and willingness even when someone is in a position of authority and from their perspective there is no room for dialogue. Choice is soft, empowered, intrinsic.

Such choice is at the heart of a radical consciousness that can see and understand without reacting; a consciousness that can stand up to authority without losing love. Radical consciousness means standing outside the authority structures, seeing them fully, understanding the effects they have on us and others, and knowing internally what matters to us. Sometimes what matters to us is at odds with the culture, and sometimes it is entirely within. Sometimes it aligns with what others want, and sometimes it makes us stand out in our naked vulnerability. Either way, we see, and know, and choose from within, continuing to liberate ourselves from our own blindness, fear, complicity, and mindlessness, and moving towards freedom and full human aliveness, until we become unstoppable.

A Year of Blogging

by Miki Kashtan

Today is exactly the anniversary of starting this blog. I looked at the first piece I wrote, and have been reflecting for a few days on this past year through the lens of writing the blog. What stands out to me is that writing this blog marked the beginning of an amazing journey of freedom and finding room for myself in this world.

The very act of writing a blog has been liberating. I remember even when I started the blog I was still struggling with wondering why anyone would want to read my thoughts. Over the course of the year I have felt bolder and bolder in terms of what I am willing to say. I have shared openly about myself and my inner world over the course of this year. I have ventured into controversial topics. And I have allowed my passion and my vision to show. I am holding back less and less, perhaps not at all any longer. This has been a profound experience for me.

On top of that twice this year I have been asked by people I greatly respect to do just this: let go of holding back. One was an invitation to write down all of my dreams, all the projects I long to carry out, the concrete steps I believe can move us towards the vision I hold with such fervor in my heart. I was invited to say it exactly like it was, without holding back, toning down, or censoring in any way. It was very easy for me to come up with the list, because generating ideas has always been easy for me. I was surprised by how hard it was to describe each of them. Many of them brought up fear that I would be judged as naïve or megalomaniac. I had to call on all my being to commit all the words to screen without editing. And now I am only weeks away from publicizing this list and inviting support to make at least some of them happen.

The second invitation was to write a book. My instructions were very stringent: to write a book that has my entire message to the world, including the prophetic vision, the challenge and invitation to look and see where we are, the vision of what’s possible, the concrete practices that I believe support movement towards that vision, the struggles I’ve had in living with this vision and with being who I am. In short: everything. This particular invitation has unleashed more power and joy for me than anything else I can remember this year and for many years. I have been flowing with this invitation, and I anticipate being done with a draft of this book probably by end of April or May. I have almost been in an altered state working on this book, writing, looking for what I have written over the years, putting what I have been thinking about for years into digestible (hopefully) chunks of information. I have found enormous joy in this process, and I feel happier than in such a long time I no longer even remember.

This year has also been a year of gratitude. For most of this year I have maintained a daily practice of gratitude at the end of the day. You may find out about it in the 2^nd piece I posted that first day of the blog. I had read reports from research that said that even after three months of just a weekly group practice of sharing gratitude as compared to sharing annoyances, there were differences between the two groups in various measures including physical health! So I know gratitude was powerful. I just didn’t know how much doing more than a year of daily practice would shift my inner landscape. I can’t imagine that this practice isn’t, also, part of what brought me to this place of experiencing joy and satisfaction to such a degree. I have integrated this practice sufficiently to where I am now looking for another daily practice, and am experimenting with a few. Ahh, it’s so sweet for me to think to myself that of course I will keep you posted about this, in a very literally sense.

The third thing that happened this year, which I don’t see as related to this blog and yet is so central to the transformation that’s happened in me, is that I have taken many steps this year to line up what I do with my clearest vision and goals, and to review and reconfigure my commitments. I weeded, expanded, modified, shifted focus, reframed. The result is another part of my current joy – knowing that I am truly and actively looking forward to everything that’s on my calendar now in terms of sharing NVC.

What a rich year!

In conclusion, two things. First, sitting here wondering what I might be able to do or say that would encourage you, the person reading this, to break loose and show up in full, to take the risks, to bring your tender heart and full soul and mind too to everything you do. I want this for all of us, I want this for the possible future of our species. Will you join me?

The second is the sense of mystery. This piece, in addition to closing year one, is also opening up year two of my blog. What will this year bring? So much unfolding, both personally, in terms of my work and calling, and in the world. Far from all good, on any of these levels. I want to trust myself to be the person I want to be in response to all of it. That is, ultimately, my favorite form of freedom.

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.