Exploring Depths and Breadths (and Breaths) of Community, Part III

The conflict you have been waiting for. (Or not.)

The circle has reconvened. It's mid-afternoon, and the group of diverse leaders from across Pakistan, are coming back together after the spacious afternoon out-breath. We are about mid-way through our 5-day YES! Pakistan Leadership Jam together, and so far, it's been a sweet and uplifting time, full of connection and care. We have been singing and dancing at night, dropping into deep conversations during the day, sharing stories with tears and laughter, enjoying the lovely space at the quiet farmhouse, about an hour outside of the bustling city of Karachi. There are about 30 of us, and we are getting back together on the beautiful red carpet under the tent and about to dive into an exploration of our vision of the most hopeful future of Pakistan and how our collaborations can help us to get there.

Just then, my co-facilitator, Kanwal, starts crying and says she can't be in the same space as Salman any more.* She says he grabbed her in the pool and touched her in a way that she didn't want. Shock spreads across the community, as gender-based violence will not be tolerated, and people begin to speak up. Confusion and fear streak Salman's face, and he gets up and bolts out of the tent. One of my other co-facilitators, Yasmin, goes after him, while the rest of us stay put, and support Kanwal as she struggles to get her words out. I invite the group to take some deep breaths and slow down together. The day before, we had just explored tools for working through the conflicts in our own lives, and here is a chance to practice, in real time. I invite us to listen and learn together as a new community and to see how we can work through this conflict together. Is it possible that all that we have built together can help us through in this pivotal moment, or will everything fall apart?

Welcome to the 3rd installment of this series, where we explore the conflict part of community — community as “come untie” or “co-mutiny” (cue dramatic music). This is also where the ‘breaths’ part of this series title comes into play, and I invite you to breathe throughout this reading journey. Because one thing I have learned is that working through conflict necessitates some big whole-body breaths.

Conflict in community is inevitable.

There, I said it.

It may not be what you wanted to hear, and I know I don’t like saying it. And there’s a release and a relief when I say it, and hopefully, when you hear it. Because it doesn’t mean anything is wrong with you and/or with the other person/people when it shows up. It just means it was bound to happen, and so it did.

I know I struggled to accept this initially, because I want community to be real and loving and deep and healing and revealing and nurturing, and all the ways and things I described in the last two pieces in this series. And community is all of that. AND, it also means conflict, too. Community has, invites and necessitates conflict. I propose that people who meet those conflicts and travel through them together come out more unified and tied together as a community.

I worked for a long time with a definition of conflict as ‘the meeting point of differences’ — which I think still holds true. I see something one way; the other person/people see it another way; our two (or more) ways of seeing are meeting. Those ways are different, and that difference feels pointy. That’s the part that usually doesn’t feel so good, that sharp kick when I realize, “Oh, we don’t see this/do this/feel this the same way. Ouch. That hurts.” And, conflict means working with the feelings around having the difference, as well as the nature of the difference itself.

Later, I heard from my husband Austin that “Every conflict is a chance for me to learn you more.” And so I added that into the above and saw that conflicts could be redefined as learning opportunities — learning about myself, learning about others, learning about a situation. Maybe instead of just a kick in the gut about this difference, which was still there, I could take a breath and get curious, too. I could find something to learn (or unlearn), and this learning would likely strengthen me and this relationship.

About 10 years later, I learned from my friend Kazu Haga, who learned from West African elders, Malidoma and Sobonfu Somé, that “Conflict is the spirit of the relationship asking itself to deepen.” Whoa. This definition added in a spiritual dimension and felt like conflict would enable a relationship to go further and become even more sustaining.

Now, I put all of this together when I think about community. Any group of people coming together — even when they share values, visions, identities, actions — will also have differences. Partly, because we are human and don’t show up exactly the same way in every single moment. Partly, because our differences add beauty, texture and richness to community as “come and tie” and “coming together in unity”. Those differences will sometimes untie us, so community becomes co-mutiny. We will get sharp and pointy and start reacting to each other. It’s inevitable, just around the corner, waiting to happen. Then, if we breathe, if we slow down and catch it, conflict brings us the possibility of learning, depth, and being guided by spirit — all of which will ultimately grow stronger relationships which, in turn, grow more powerful communities.

That’s what happened in Pakistan at that Jam. With support from Yasmin, Salman returned to the tent where we were. I supported the group to breathe together and to remember all we had learned over the last few days about listening, sharing our stories from the heart, not freezing anyone in a moment, getting curious, and mirroring back what we were hearing. As a community of witness, we were there to understand, not assign blame or judge, and help support a return to wholeness.

Kanwal then shared her experience about what happened to her in the pool; we all listened and reflected back her experience. We took it slow and gave her time to get her words out. Then, when she was complete, we invited Salman to share what happened for him. From his sharing, we saw another perspective and saw how the conflict and missed-understanding happened. The community reflected back to him what we heard from him, again, taking it slow. We left time for the group to ask questions of each of them, and gave Kanwal and Salman both time to ask questions of each other and digest. And, then a beautiful moment happened. Kanwal integrated both perspectives, stood up, offered forgiveness, and asked to give Salman a hug. He accepted, and the whole community breathed together. Others in the group then reflected on how they had seen similar conflicts tear a group apart and usually lead to violence. So, to watch it transform in such a different way, to actually feel our group strengthen as a result, was a tremendous inspiration and gift.

Back to Michael Meade for a moment, my cosmic mentor. He says that there are three levels of human community. The first is, survival of the fittest. Me, mine, I take what’s mine, while you try to take what’s yours. That’s not a fun place to be, and the subject of most apocalyptic stories. The second level is, you scratch my back and I scratch yours. We exchange, and so long as things are good, we go on this way, in mutual reciprocity. The thing is, when a conflict comes, this level of community drops very quickly down to the first level, back to survival of the fittest. So, there is a third level — which is a community that faces the so-called negative emotions of grief, anger, fear, etc., and works through them. When conflict hits this kind of community, it can sustain, because it has practiced these feelings and the relational and spiritual work needed to go through them.

With beautiful souls around the world, I have aimed to co-create communities at this third level. How we do it, what it takes personally, interpersonally, and systemically, how we feel and be in it, is the content I will continue to offer in this platform. The good news is that we have done it, over and over again, in incredible and regenerative ways. All while remembering to breathe (of course).

* Names changed to protect confidentiality