Day after day, I have hesitated to write here because the onslaught of news has kept me off-balance.  There have been few times in my life when the matters of politics, social upheaval, public health and dysfunctional economics have all come together with such overwhelming force.  Every one of the issues is daunting.  Facing them all  together is nearly beyond our imaginations.  But here we are, and the national nightmare will not be gone when we awaken tomorrow.

When a man who has become a leader enriches himself and his family at the expense of his followers, he is a syphon;

When a man speaks words that betray reality, he is a liar;

When a man sees himself as the only answer to every question, he is a fool;

When a man is willing to sacrifice the good name of another to protect his reputation, he is a traitor;

When a man berates and belittles others to make himself appear strong, he is a bully;

When a man delights in the death of another- any other- he is a tin man;

When a man professes his innocence in the face of his guilt, he is a coward;

When a man must sing his own praises in order to be noticed, he is a braggart;

When a man has dealt away his dignity and his morality, he is without a soul….

–America by Neil Diamond

There’s no shortage of patriotic music today, July 4.  From God Bless America sung by Kate Smith to America by Simon and Garfunkle,  America the Beautiful by Ray Charles, God Bless the USA by Lee Greenwood, I’ve heard songs all day in honor of our nation’s birthday.  It’s part of the enjoyment that is the 4th of July, the quintessential holiday in our country.  But there was one song that stopped me and caught my breath as I listened to it.   It was America by Neil Diamond.  Both the music and the lyrics are powerful, which is why the song became so popular when originally released.  But today the words hit hard, and rang with an ironic twist that, frankly, pulled some of the energy out of the day.

On the boats and on the planes
They’re coming to America
Never looking back again,
They’re coming to America.

Yes, thousands flock to our country on boats and planes, but many also reach our borders for their dreams on foot.  The Mexican border holds thousands in detention at present, and not just in waiting for legal processing for possible admission to the U.S., but in separation from children, spouses, and in cell-like detention for indeterminate periods of time.  Those realities don’t quite match the drama and grandeur of Diamond’s song.  I guess things have changed.

Home
Don’t it seem so far away
Oh, we’re traveling light today
In the eye of the storm
In the eye of the storm

Immigrants coming to America today find themselves in the eye of the storm of a different sort.  The pride of Americans embracing their role as the “melting pot” of the world has faded these days, replaced by a storm of blame, suspicion, racism, and even hatred.  It has not helped to have a political leader who has fanned the flames of those reactions and re-shaped the notion of immigration from a beautiful dream to a horrible nightmare.

Home
To a new and a shiny place
Make our bed and we’ll say our grace
Freedom’s light burning warm
Freedom’s light burning warm

And suddenly it makes a difference to whom you are praying for your suppertime grace.  Some in this land of all faiths now want to know the nature of one’s spirituality so that interpretations can be made and aspersions cast, often in the densest of understanding.  Freedom’s light burning warm becomes ever cooler to the touch.

Everywhere around the world
They’re coming to America
Ev’ry time that flag’s unfurled
They’re coming to America

It’s true that the American dream resonates everywhere in the world, because we have exhibited some of the visions to which all human beings aspire: freedom, choice, participation, pursuit of happiness.  In recent times, though, it would appear as if we vastly preferred those coming from Norway.  Something about looking like more of us than those in detention on the border.

Got a dream to take them there
They’re coming to America
Got a dream they’ve come to share
They’re coming to America

The dreams driving today’s immigrant populations are no different than those of generations before.  They come for opportunity.  They come to escape persecution.  They come for freedom of thought and expression.  In years past, some even came because they perceived opportunities to lie, cheat, steal and break the law with impunity.  But the U.S. figured that the good that came through our doors far outweighed the inevitable bad that is a part of our human reality.

My country ’tis of thee (today)
Sweet land of liberty (today)
Of thee I sing (today)
Of thee I sing
Today, Today, Today
Today, today, today……

Today, we celebrate our country as we have every year on July 4.  There is much in which we take pride, and rightfully so.  Our stories are mythic and powerful and full of the promise of what our future can be.  I had a joyous day with family.

Or at least until I shed a tear upon hearing Neil Diamond sing about coming to America today….

Many years past, there existed  a small village of little renown.  The hamlet was nestled among the mountains of a blessed land, with flowing waters and thickset forests and wildlife so diverse that even the elders of the community could not claim to know all of it.  The rugged qualities of the earth made for a difficult living, but a contented one.  The periodic disruptions of Nature and from other, less fulfilled communities, only served to deepen the enthusiasm for their way of life.  Worries of a sometimes insufficiency were muted by the comforts of a way of life.

Many generations lived in this way.  But there came a day when one of their number became obsessed with the desire to possess much more than his neighbors.  He did not require more to eat or nicer clothing to wear or a better dwelling in which to raise his family, but he coveted such things.  And so, with deliberation and malice, he slowly  acquired more than he needed, and always at the expense of others.  When his fellow inhabitants- with deep curiosity- questioned his actions, he took even more from them and they became his subjects in this giving place.  Without sensible reason, the man’s sole objective became ownership and control over all that the hamlet had to offer.  The passage of years bore witness to his greed.

Of course, the people who were dispossessed did not favor the new apportionment of the resources of the land, but being of peaceful demeanor they did not strongly contest the arrangement until many had too little on which to even survive.  They eventually came to object- first, with measure and words, then with anger and weapons- and they drove out the one who had laid claim to their wealth, though at great cost of resource and years of strife.  When the people had finally prevailed,  spirits climbed high with the belief that fairness had been restored to their place and time, and expectations returned to where they had been before.

But the return to earlier times of a shared life together could not take root.  Something had changed in the minds and the wills of too many, who had witnessed the  plunder and been stricken with the same illness to take, to fatten their shares and reduce those of others to their own advantage.  Soon, new privilege emerged, with still more of the community gifts finding their way into the coffers of a very few.   Competition for the most favored spaces in vying for excess became normal, and along with it arose disparity, deceit, departures and even death.

With the passage of generations, the old way of life slowly, imperceptibly, eroded into a past footnote.  The people no longer imagined a life of equality or even impartiality.  There came to be little that was shared, as all means truly belonged to but one owner.  And it could finally be said that she held all of nothing….

My mother has said over and over that one of the two things Jesus wished he had never said was, “The poor you will have with you always.”  Why?

Because so many Christians use that phrase to justify pouring money into church buildings and doing nothing for the poor.  But what if we re-examined that phrase, and instead of looking at it as meaning an impossible goal of eradicating poverty, look at that phrase as an indictment of the rich?

It is true that, “There is enough in the world for everyone’s need, but not enough for everyone’s greed,” a quote from Frank Buchman.

Staying with my daughter in the Northeast, it is easy to let the poor slip my mind.  As she recuperate from surgery, my daughter is watching mindless television so she can crochet and heal.  One of her shows is “Top Chef.”  I have found it addictive but also, when I remember the poor in Nicaragua, nauseating.

In Nicaragua with climate change and with the socio-political crisis there, people are looking more and more at hunger.  It is easy to forget that as the Top Chef judges say to a contestant that the prime rib was not plated to please the eye.

It is easy for the wealthy or the intellectual class in Nicaragua to create and foment a crisis when their children will be fed and given medical care or even schooling if a new government comes in and discontinues social programs.

It is easy to forget that people are sweating and bearing unbelievable heat when there is cool air at a touch.  When you have food to eat and can jump in an air-conditioned car, it is easy not to feel the urgency that climate change should be our top priority (when diesel prices had dropped, one opposition leader said that the Nicaraguan government was doing the people a disservice by investing in renewable energy!).

A Brazilian priest, Frei Betto, helps those of us who would say we choose to stand with the poor by telling us that, “The head thinks where the feet stand.”

He says that, “It is impossible to be a leftist without dirtying one’s shoes in the soil where the people live, struggle, suffer, enjoy and celebrate their beliefs and victories.  To engage in theory without practice is to play the game of the right.”

Many tell us that our opinion of what is happening in Nicaragua is just wrong, and maybe it is; but Fr. Betto also says, “Choose the risk of making mistakes with the poor over the pretension of being right without them.”

And so, we risk the mistakes….

Thank you, Kathleen….

It all began as a rather typical shift in the climate, not at all unusual for this  latitude.  Many even showed an exuberance for the change, moving outdoors with their pent-up energies in an open display of their unwillingness to cower before the inclemency of such frigid temperaments.  Often there is resolve to be found in collective survival against a common  foe like the icy dispassion of hard winter.  We grow in the belief that we can withstand it, together, and we draw energy from it.

But we were reminded daily of the threat to life and health if we did not heed the warnings to remain inside and avoid confronting the cold.  Travel was not only not advised, but barricades were put up on some main thoroughfares so that rescue of those who attempted flight to more hospitable areas would not become necessary.  Some  citizens were actually arrested for venturing out to places where they had been forbidden to be.  Sadly, deaths occurred, in addition to many injuries.

We have experienced dangerously cold moments in the past, but this one seemed more threatening, somehow.

Some people suggest that the advent of cell phone and social media technology contributed to the deeper feeling of danger.  Instant reporting of cold, and deaths resulting from it, accompanied by photos of people with frostbite injuries, amplified the seriousness of the cold.    We were able to learn of each new impact from the cold front as it happened, making the onslaught feel more continuously brutal than we might otherwise have felt.   We watched video footage of brave demonstrations where the astonishing effects of the cold front were shown: have you ever seen a pot of boiling water immediately vaporized by the severe cold?  Those activities made for indelible images about just how cold it had become.

Most schools closed, and remained closed, with parents too nervous to send their children outside and schools recognizing the danger to their pupils and teachers alike.  Even the colleges and universities were forced to shut down, in fear for the safety of the students and professors.  When our most venerable institutions were forced to take such action, we knew that the severity of the front was real, and that resolutions of standing up to frigid conditions must  yield to the realities of real danger.

There have been serious economic costs to the deep freeze.  Of course, tourism always takes a hit when the climate isn’t friendly.  It’s uncertain how many people chose to stay away from the harsh conditions.  And this is normally a destination which people frequently visit for its beauty and warmth!  But shops and commerce came to a standstill in the face of the blasts, suffering losses that are not likely to be made up soon.

It’s unclear what the remainder of the winter might be like.  Some forecasts suggest that an early thaw could occur and that we all might return to some degree of normalcy.  Others are convinced that this polar vortex is likely to be a more frequent presence in our lives; prior to last year, I had never even heard of it, but during 2018 and to the present it has certainly become a familiar condition.

The entire experience underscores everyone’s necessity for having protective layers against the winds….

In 2005, WPF Founder Harold Nielsen had been stricken with pneumonia (at age 90) and was hospitalized.  I had just retired from leading the company he founded in 1948 and he asked whether I might help out by overseeing the Foundation for a few days, until he had sufficiently recovered.  I did so.  And within the first days of substituting for him, I knew that this was the work that I wanted to do.  I drove to Rochester, Minnesota, where Harold was hospitalized, wondering to myself how I might gracefully interject my services into his small foundation.  But when I entered his room, he was sitting up in bed and spoke almost before I could say hello.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said (true to form).  “This illness has really hit me hard.  It’s getting harder for Louise (his wife and Foundation co-founder) and me to travel to Nicaragua all the time.  Maybe it’s time to pull back.  Would you have any interest in taking over the work?”  And that quickly, I received one of the great blessings of my life.

I entered the role knowing almost nothing about Nicaragua, beyond a visit I had made there at the close of the Contra War. in 1990. I knew of its poverty and something of its victimization by the U.S. over its history.  But I did not know the people, I did not comprehend the rural sector where we would work, I did not appreciate the obstacles that an entire element of a nation’s populace must face for survival.  I had moved from for-profit to non-profit over the course of a few days.  The only thing I knew about development was how to spell it.  I neither spoke nor understood Spanish and its nuances.  Yet the work was compelling.  And so was the learning.

I learned that a meal of rice and beans is fulfilling.  Not just for my hunger, but for its plainness and, in a small way, how it makes me feel tied to the life of the peasant producers with whom we work.  It is simple food that nourishes in ways that fancier food never will.

I learned that, given my many inadequacies, I am utterly lost without the skill to talk directly with those I so deeply admire.  Translation is wonderful, gestures are limited but fun, but the sidebar conversations and off-the-cuff comments are elements in relationships that I crave.  The limits of who I am both required it  and  prevented it.

I learned that regardless of how much one reads and studies, if one’s objective is to understand others, there is no substitute for personal immersion in the lives of those to be understood.  Being in Nicaragua is not enough;  an understanding of the realities of peasant farmers simply is not possible without being among them.  I have been blessed to have had work which allowed me that opportunity.  (I have wondered whether this might not be a valuable lesson for most of mankind.)

I have learned what it feels like to be utterly dependent on someone else.  Having work histories which promoted ideas of self-control and leadership of others, I struggled to learn personal lessons of followership.  I relied upon others for my language, transportation, processing of experiences, meals, accommodations, and virtually any other needs that occurred during my visits.  It provided me some insights about the feelings of peasant producers who have had to rely so heavily upon outside funders, an unresponsive government and the vagaries of natural disasters.  It is discomforting.

I learned that, notwithstanding  my long-held view of my own personal privilege, that insight has been significantly understated.   There is no rationale, no reason and certainly no deservedness to explain the contrast between what I have and what others so desperately need.  To be in the presence of true poverty is to be humbled to one’s knees.  I am likely to spend the balance of my life trying to understand this and to discern what I am called to do about it.

I learned the lesson that Harold Nielsen so fervently hoped that I would learn all those years ago when he provided me the opportunity to represent Winds of Peace.  Harold would offer the wish that I “would become infected” with the outrage and despair of fellow human beings living in sub-human conditions.  Harold got his wish, and I became sick over the truth of the poor.

So, thirteen years later I still cannot speak the language.  But I learned a lot….

As a result, I continue to receive newsletters and employee ownership-related materials, usually nodding in affirmation of the great performances that are featured therein.  Shared ownership worked then as it does now.  So I was not at all surprised to read the latest results of the annual Economic Performance Survey (EPS), summarized in the November 2018 issue of The ESOP Report.  Once again, employee owned companies performed exceedingly well and, in many cases, significantly outperformed their non-employee-owned peer companies.  Since the EPS was launched in 2000, the majority of responding companies have recorded increases in profits for every year but two (2002 and 2010) and increases in revenues for every year but one (2010).  The exceptions noted above reflect the nationwide economic downturns of the prior years (2001 and 2009).  Even in those challenging economic times, 29% or more of ESOP companies responding to the survey reported that profits and/or revenue increased.  And there’s the lesson for our cooperative partners in Nicaragua.

We have chosen to work within the cooperative sector by design.  For the essence of cooperativism- shared ownership- is the same motivator as in employee owned endeavors.  We have always believed in the power of collective wisdom and work; the employee ownership model simply brought some new tools and direction to the coops with whom we work.  Notions of shared benefits, transparency, broad participation, financial literacy and the importance of a cohesive cooperative culture are not natural outcomes with ownership: they each need understanding and practice.  And maybe especially that last item, culture.

As is true in the most successful employee-owned companies, the participants of a coop have an essential need to fully understand the collaborative nature of their organization.  It’s not enough to join a coop in hopes of benefitting from market presence or volume buyers.  Every coop member must understand the machinery of the coop, and the cog that each represents to keep that machinery running.  Without that individualized participation, it’s like trying to win a baseball game with a first baseman who won’t field the position, when every position is vital.  It’s what makes up a team.

But an individual’s impact on organizational culture is more than just fielding a position.  It’s the absolute knowledge that one is part of something bigger than self, that there is strength and security and a sense of “we can do anything together” that inspires and drives the group to thrive.  The strength of collaborative work fashions a safety net that is nearly impossible to replicate individually.  For organizational success, cooperative members must embrace the idea that “we are in this together.”

For Winds of Peace Foundation, that message has remained unchanged over the past dozen years of our focus on coops.  It has been the mantra of the most successful employee-owned companies in the U.S. since ESOPs came into being in the 1970’s.   If the collective efforts of a cooperative are truly in synch, and the rewards of the collective work are truly shared, stability ensues.  Members begin to recognize the rhythm of success.  Momentum builds.  The mindset of the organization transforms to one of expected progress, rather than hoped-for survival.

Cooperatives are not the mirror image of employee-owned companies.  Nicaragua is not the U.S.  But the reality of ownership is universal.  It engenders a characteristic that transcends most of the lines which separate us.  That’s why the truth of shared ownership is as real in Nica as in Nebraska.

And that, in turn, is what makes cooperatives so exceedingly important in Nicaragua today.  Challenging economic times?  With threads in the fabric of the country literally unwinding every day, the nation is in desperate need of institutions that are grounded.  Cooperatives have the ability to be just that.  They can create economic hope.  They can provide a shield of security against dangerous moments.  They can maintain a strong sense of structure when other  forms become distressed.  The coops can represent deep roots against tides that threaten to wash away the groundwork of community.  (For a deeper look into this truth, take a look at Rene Mendoza’s posting in his Articles and Research portion of our website.)

I loved the concept of employee-ownership from the first moment I heard of it.  I was amazed at the power of its best tools, broad participation, open books and financial teaching.  Thirteen years ago I became astonished to learn that the coops of Nicaragua were so similar to U.S. ESOPs in both their difficulties and their needs.

The universal nature of the power in ownership continues to this day.  I never imagined, however, that its importance and potential might figure into stabilizing an entire nation.  But a dream and a reality sometimes are one in the same….

It strikes me that I may not be the only one.

The U.S. government finds itself in shutdown mode once more.  This particular episode seems destined to be of longer duration than the 3- day closing earlier this year or the 16 days experienced in 2013, with the President alternatively claiming “the mantle of responsibility” for himself and blaming Democrats for obstructionism.  The Democrats in return have folded their arms and claimed “no money for a wall.”  On this, the ninth day of the current closure, the sides are not speaking.  They seem to have lost their ability to speak with one another in a common language of compromise.  (Something that members of government are charged with doing, by the way.)

Meanwhile, as I bemoan the shrinking opportunity for me to hear and understand  Nicaraguans, it’s clear that Nicaraguans are suffering from a similar sort of loss.   Theirs is not the loss of words- there have been plenty from both sides of the current impasse- but rather the loss of peace, security, and, in some cases, livelihoods.  In a country which already faces immense difficulties of poverty, natural disasters, economic limitations and a history of international intrusions, the loss of meaningful national dialogue is nothing short of tragedy.  It’s as though the two sides are speaking different languages.

To complicate matters, we live in an age of technology-centered communication, one which seductively encourages the impersonal use of digits in lieu of voices.  Tweets attempt to tell us what to believe as true.  E-mails provide shelter to type things we might never consider saying in person.   Social media permits the replication and amplification of sometimes false or misleading information.  We are told that the digital age should be an assist to language and communications everywhere, yet the modern-day record tells a different story of alienation, mistrust and a growing distance between ourselves and “others,” in locales all over the world.

As a result, perhaps truth and understanding have become qualities that we can only know for personally.  Maybe I can come to know Nicaraguan partners only on the basis of shared conversation, face-to-face, Spanish-to-Spanish (if I ever get good enough).  Perhaps in this country, the tweets of a compulsive prevaricator have to be disregarded and we must  access ideas of substance  from more reliable sources.  And the claims of either an autocrat or a protestor  require affirmation by sources we know and trust and with whom we have spoken.  In short, what we know to be true has to come from  discourse and discernment through common language  If our words have no meaning, then they are no more than empty sounds.

The quality of my Spanish non-fluency diminishes even further with lack of use.  Likewise, the quality of our language- our ability to communicate effectively with fellow human beings- diminishes when not exercised regularly.  Contrary to some modernists, language does matter, whether it’s the diction, the context or the grammar that make up our best efforts to let another human being know our truth.

It’s a new year.  In what is surely a great irony, I pray for the opportunity to return to Nicaragua and to display my utter lack of Spanish language skills. It may be painful but it places me face-to-face with others who also deeply wish to share what they have to teach, what they know as their reality.  Here in the U.S., I hope that the men and women entrusted with bipartisan and compromise governance of our country belatedly recognize the damage that their lack of common language is doing to this nation.  In Nicaragua, I long for a peaceful resolution to the tensions which have ripped apart that country in ways too terrible to imagine even a year ago.

In every case, hope for healing begins in the expression and meaning of our words, and whether they are shared with  any measure of both honesty and compassion….

We all know the story by now, as it became a topic of international attention.  News sources from around the world featured daily updates about the fate of the boys; indeed, nine days elapsed before rescuers even discovered the boys still alive, but each and every day we received updates about rescuers’ progress.  It was no less than a miracle that the team survived so long underground.  And then we waited and watched as rescue teams- made up of Thai, U.S. and other international support- completed the meticulous planning and execution of the rescue itself.  In the end, there was a universal sigh of relief from all corners of the globe that these young lives had been saved.  Maybe the world needed a unified success in something, anything, at this time of extreme nationalism and name-calling.

The international interest and support puzzles me.  I readily understand the empathy and emotional attachment that we feel: imagining one’s own children in such dire circumstances is a nightmare that most parents have, and to which even non-parents can relate.  The anguish and outrage expressed in the U.S. on behalf of children separated from their parents at the border with Mexico demonstrated our ability to activate on behalf of kids.  But the capture of the entire international conscience over the fate of 12 boys astounds me.  There have been and continue to be almost daily events which threaten the lives of children, in many cases far more than a dozen young lives, and for which we show almost casual interest at best.  Sometimes the young lives are lost, and the world takes little note.  Middle East violence has destroyed young lives as a matter of policy.  Syrian war has made no distinctions between use of nerve gas on adults or children.  In Nicaragua, young people are being killed or “disappeared” each day during the current political turmoil, and the world barely knows of it.  What made the Thai soccer team so different for us?

Was it the uniforms?  Was there something about the context of a boys’ athletic team?  Perhaps the difference was due to the nature of the threat: not imposed by politics or other man-made conventions, but rather from Nature herself.  Maybe it’s easier to root for people confronting the forces of natural calamity than to be forced to choose sides in a conflict.  Someone suggested to me that we have a limited capacity for empathy in crises, and that we are more capable of emotion for smaller numbers of victims: we can handle our fears and grief for 12, but it’s much more difficult for, say, 1,000.  For whatever the reason, we seem to pick and choose the victims who we will care about.  It baffles me.  And I feel badly for those other victims who wait for the caress of human accompaniment, prayers and support, even when it never comes.

My reflections over this brought to mind a scene from the movie, “Schindler’s List,” where Schindler is in despair over Jews he could not ultimately help away from Nazi danger, despite his urgent desire to save them:

“I could have got more out.  I could have got more.  I don’t know.  If I’d just…  I could have got more….  If I’d made more money.  I threw away so much money.  You have no idea.  If I’d just….

“I didn’t do enough!  This car.  Someone would have bought this car.  Why did I keep the car?  Ten people right there.  Ten people.  Ten more people.  This pin.  Two people.  This is gold.  Two more people.  He would have given me two for it, at least one.  One more person.  I could have gotten one more person… and I didn’t.  And I… didn’t.” 

Sometimes conscience is too slow, or too selective, and becomes numbed by the happy drama of boys being boys….

It seems conventional and predictable, to celebrate these kinds of events in our lives.  That does not diminish their enjoyment, but it recognizes the expectation that celebrations of family are meant to happen, and often.  I felt a special gratitude yesterday, maybe because I keep getting older, with an increasing awareness that, despite their regularity, these special days are finite in life.  Or maybe there was a nagging awareness in the back of my mind about children elsewhere in our country being separated from their fathers and mothers in the name of the law.  And that is disturbing.

My intention here is not to wade into the great immigration debate within our country; there are enough voices disagreeing about that already.  But there is a distinction between enforcing border security versus tearing families apart as a punishment for border violation.  The practice is not only philosophically reprehensible, even as a deterrent to illegal immigration, but carries an eerie similarity to the separation of Jewish children from their parents at Nazi concentration camps.  Our nation’s posture on this matter is an expression of our values and our morality; I wonder whether this is truly a reflection of who we have become as a people.

The U.S. Attorney General has responded to the criticisms of this policy of separation by observing, “Well, we are not putting them in jail.”  To excuse an abusive and inhumane practice by comparing it to something even worse is no excuse at all.  At the end of the day, after all the explanations and defenses and rationalizations, children are being taken from their parents. In some cases, according to government personnel, they are taken under the pretext of taking them for a bath, and with no guarantee of ever being reunited with mom and dad.  It’s a punishment which the children do not deserve in any context.  But here in the U.S.?

Further defense of the practice falls along the lines of “the law,” that the law requires that this practice be carried out, and that if the practice is to end, it must be the U.S. Congress (noted these days for its inability to pass any kind of meaningful legislation) which takes the responsibility.  But it must be noted that the immigration law being referenced in this defense was also the law under at least two previous administrations.  In neither case was the separation of families used as a means of torture.

We are at an immigration crossroads in our country.  The topic has been discussed and debated, leveraged and used, with words couched in sympathy and actions devoid of empathy: more than 1300 children have been separated from their families thus far.  The untruths about which political party is more to blame is meaningless.  On Father’s Day, 2018, children are being separated from their families.  That’s all we need to know.

I had a memorable Father’s Day and anniversary yesterday.  It was a good day.  But it could have been a lot better….

Once inside the building, I shed my high-tech barriers to the cold and stepped into the rest room to shake off the cold and un-bunch my sweater (something that cold weather people do as a matter of course).   While I was there, the professor hosting my appearance in class came in, too, and remarked about my heavy Filson sweater..  “Wow,” he exclaimed, “nice look! You always have such great sweaters.”

After the class, I mentioned to my host that I was headed for the athletic center to run indoors, since there was no way I was even thinking about an outdoor jog.  He said that he was headed for the center, as well,  and we braved the winter once more to the lower campus.  As we changed into running clothes,  a handball friend of mine stopped by to chat.  We regularly berate and tease one another to maintain our healthy competitive relationship, and this day he  said, with a mixture of derision and compliment, “Wow, you really are in shape!  I wouldn’t have expected an old guy to still have such pins. Too bad they don’t help you on the court.  But at least your legs look strong!”

I laughed him off.  I ran the indoor oval by myself, glad for the run and the chance to burn off some nervous energy.  I was scheduled for a small but uncomfortable surgical procedure that afternoon at the local clinic, and the exercise provided good preparation:  I was tired enough that the discomfort was minimal and the process short.  Better yet, the news that afternoon was good: the doctor came back into the exam room to say that the results were excellent.  “The pictures we got from inside were even better than what we could tell outside,” he offered.  “You look good.”

I felt some relief at my prognosis, so much so that I actually stopped by the church to offer a few thoughts of gratitude inside the quiet sanctuary.  As I sat alone, however, the senior pastor happened to walk in and saw me sitting alone.  He tentatively approached, not wishing to intrude but not daring to ignore.  I assured him that my visit was one of thanks and not petitioning.  He smiled at that, and replied,  “I’m available in any case, if you like.  I’d never presume to know what anyone’s thinking to bring them here late on a weekday.”

By the time I reached home, the events of the day had worked their way deep into my energy reserves.  I flopped into a recliner chair and allowed the footrest to lift my feet.  I lay there for several minutes, replaying the events and the people of the day.  I hoped that my next opportunity to speak with a class might allow a focus on layers, from parkas to physiques, from anatomy to the content of my character….

A young Korean woman by the name of Kyong Juhn will simply begin to walk.  But it won’t be just another Sunday stroll in the Spring.  Kyong Juhn will commence a journey of 323 miles on foot, starting in Rochester, Minnesota and ending in Bemidji, Minnesota some three weeks later.  The purposes of the trek are several: Ms. Juhn will re-create the long pedestrian migration of her mother from North Korea to South Korea a generation ago, a much more demanding effort; Ms. Juhn will walk, as the event is called, “For Hope and Peace,” an initiative which some may view as naive, but which is something she can do; and finally, Ms. Juhn likely hopes that her pilgrimage will awaken in all who might chance to see or read about her what commitment looks like.

The first rationale of her hike is beautiful in its honor and remembrance of Ms. Juhn’s mother.  I do not know the particulars behind the woman’s journey from North Korea to the south, but I can imagine its dangers and demands and the perseverance required to complete such steps.  I can further infer that the odyssey was undertaken before Ms. Juhn had been born, imbuing her trek with a determination for her future, and whatever child or children  might inhabit that world in the fullness of time.  Ms. Juhn will pay a remarkable homage to a woman who is known to very few of us, but who has earned our deep and enduring respect, and her daughter’s abiding love.

Her second rationale for walking might well be a reflection of the artist who is Kyong Juhn.   She is a School of the Art Institute of Chicago (SAIC) Distinguished Scholar Scholarship awardee, who recently finished her Fine Arts degree at SAIC, where she studied photography and art history.  Self-described as having transformed herself from a first generation immigrant-homemaker to a tenacious artist who expresses the complexities of rediscovered identities after returning to school, Ms. Juhn is a creator.  Through whatever media or motion suits her need for expression, she undertakes this walk because it conveys an image, a story-  several stories, in fact-  in manifestation of a deeply-held worldview.  This walk is her art on display.  Pursuit of peace and hope may be daunting ideas, but the walk is tangible and the act of doing it is an imaginative statement in time which sorely needs personal acts of harmony.

Ms. Juhn will be supported, in part, by the organization Vets for Peace, which will accompany her.  They will follow her progress with a “SAG” (support and gear) vehicle for her safety and immediate needs during the trip.  (In fact, the sag vehicle is a Vets for Peace bus funded, in part, by a gift from WPF Founders Harold and Louise Nielsen.)  With help from VFP, Ms. Juhn will seek all the attention that she can get for the purpose of her walk, so that people like you and me will understand that this is what is required of us: that we have the capacity to make an impact in whatever ways are within us, that we each have a role to play, a responsibility for the good or ill that becomes our collective life together.  But we are called to actually do what we imagine, to actually take the first steps for hope and peace.

She will take her first steps on May 6, according to the route below.  I hope the date does not find me standing still….

Let’s be clear about one thing right away: the name is Char-les, not Charles, because he does not like the nickname Charlie.  By pronouncing his name with two syllables, there is less chance that one might make the mistake of calling him Charlie.  Acquaintance with another young boy by the name of Charlie- a peer who is apparently not a favorite of our dinner guest- has rendered the nickname lost forever from the monikers Char-les may adopt over his lifetime.

Aside from the same smiles afforded every young person we might encounter during the day, we had issued no invitation or gesture to encourage his attendance.   He simply drifted over to our table and began to talk.  Maybe it was the unusual presence of two gringos in the small cafe.  Perhaps it was the allure of my broad-brimmed hat (sombrero grande) which suggested a cowboy’s presence.  More likely, it was the pure curiosity of a little boy who, it turns out,  was full of questions and observations about almost everything.

Char-les wanted to know everything we could possibly disclose over the course of a meal, and some things that we could not.  Names?  Home country?  Where is that?  Where is China?  Where are you going?  Why are you here?  Do you know about whales?  Where is your hotel?  Do you have kids?

He balanced the inquisition with some facts of his own:  I’m eight years old.  My mom is in a meeting back there (motioning to a back meeting room in the restaurant).  I like football.  I go to the school that is right behind your hotel.  I like to read.  My mom says that I ask a lot of questions.  I have a brother but he has a different dad.  Some day I’m going to go to Mexico.

Between the inquisition and the exposition, Char-les tended to his job for the night: every time a cell phone rang from among the belongings of the meeting participants, he would dash off to find the phone and take it to the proper owner.  It happened three or four times, and on each occasion, Char-les sprang into action, leaving our discussion dangling until his return.  His reaction to the cell phones made it clear that he not only knew every person in attendance at the meeting, but also knew the ringtone of every phone.  The meeting attendees were both amused by and grateful for this service in telecommunication.  Char-les seemed matter-of-fact about  his duty, but more focused on his interrogation.

“I’m very fast.  Do you know about airplanes?  I have never been on an airplane.  What are you eating for dinner?”  The stream of consciousness hardly paused for those intermittent phone calls and, undeterred by such momentary interruptions, Char-les continued to weave his way throughout the entirety of our dinner agenda.  We were fully engaged in discourse with an eight-year-old orator.  “Is Iowa in Mexico?  You are my new friends.”

With that bond being said, Char-les eventually welcomed his mother to our party and introduced his new-found amigos to her.  She hoped that he had not been a bother to us and observed, to no surprise by us, that Char-les had demonstrated this curiosity and outgoing personality for his entire life.  She described his love for learning and inquiry as exhausting and amazing; we could only concur.  Amidst a continuing flurry of his questions, we bid him a good-night and appreciation for his conversation.

I have been around many eight-year-old children, including our own four as they passed through that inquisitive phase.  But I find it hard to recall an eight-year-old with the persistence and aplomb of Char-les.  Mixed in with such admiration, perhaps there was also the sense of promise that such examination and unpretentiousness holds for his years ahead.  In the center of this rural community, in the center of Nicaragua, in the center of the Americas, is a young boy deserving of every opportunity to learn and expand his understanding, his visions. his outlook for the future.  The need is not his alone.  We all have a stake in the critical importance of listening to the voice of Char-les….

But one of the most unlikely and satisfying slices occurred just last month, during my most recent visit to Nicaragua.  Yes, it was the first pizza I have consumed in that country.  But more important than that was the group of young women with whom I shared the pizza.  What might be the odds that on any given day in my life I would find myself having a Chefella’s pizza with 15 female cooperative members in Matagalpa, Nicaragua?  On March 12th, the answer was 100%

I love pizza anywhere, and under nearly any circumstances.  But when we arrived to join this mid-day meeting of entrepreneurs to the announcement that we would share pizza for lunch, I admit to being triply-excited: first, to talk again with these adventuresome women, most of whom were new to the idea of cooperative life; second, at the prospect of my first-ever Nicaraguan pizza; and third, to consider once more the collaborative symbolism of my favorite food.

You see, pizza in my experience has always been a cooperative meal.  When our kids were young, pizza night was a time for all of us to be in the kitchen and contributing our own labors to the creation of something worthwhile, in this case, for dinner.  Katie made the crust, I formed it in the pan, Megan and Molly spread the sauce, Ian added the meat and Nikki sprinkled the cheese.  We collectively watched the baking and timing.  And of course, we shared happily in the end result.

The entire process was one of great participation, involving every member of our family.  The fear might have been that if you didn’t help out, you wouldn’t get any pizza.  But the reality was more that this was something that we loved doing together, and that made the entire outcome- the pizza- even better.  Of course, the process mandated complete transparency.  Some of us couldn’t eat onions; indeed, a hidden agenda here would have resulted in stomach upset! Others didn’t care for green peppers.  One in our family didn’t wish to eat meat.  So we had to be very clear in drawing the lines of content in our pizzas.  Those ingredient boundaries were our respective stakes in the outcome.   And, of course, eventually we experienced the satisfaction and reward of shared effort: taking a piece of the pie.  Collaboration made homemade pizzas tastier than frozen ones, and more cost-effective than pizzeria models.

A pizza with the 15 women did not involve our collective making and baking, but it did connect us in a shared result.  Sitting around the tables which had been laid end-to-end created a loop of continuity, of solidarity,  of oneness for at least that special lunch period.  It will be up to the women members of the cooperatives to determine whether they can sustain that linkage to their ongoing mutual benefit.

Meanwhile, it made that unlikely pizza one of the best slices I’ve had, and I’ve had a lot….

That candy cost isn’t exactly chicken feed.  By comparison, the total amount of all U.S. aid to Nicaragua in 2017 was $31.3 million, 15% of all that candy.  I only offer the comparison here for contrast; neither I nor most Nicaraguans would argue for greater aid dependency on the U.S.  But it’s quite a difference in sums when one considers the two categories: resources for basic human living standards in Nica versus Easter candy consumption in the U.S.   Setting aside such notions as national boundaries, something seems inequitable in all of that, no matter to what political or economic perspective one may subscribe.  Let me elaborate.

I spent a week with my colleague Mark in Nicaragua last month, visiting with rural partners, hearing about their struggles with various harvests, understanding the need for late repayments in several cases, and attending a two-day workshop designed to teach information analysis, so that these producers might go about their work on a more data-driven basis.

Our week did not represent some kind of hight-level financial development.  We lunched with them on rice and beans.  We spoke with some, in impromptu huddles, about small loans and the most basic tenets of our partnerships: accompaniment, transparency, functioning bodies of governance, broad-based participation, and collaboration within the coops.  We described the nature of goals and goal-setting.  They asked us about work processes.  We laughed some.  The interactions may have been at their most basic level, but they were important and appreciated.  Basic stuff usually is.

What does any of that have to do with Easter candy sales?  Simply this: the sweet taste in the mouth from a dissolving Peep or jelly bean is both artificial and temporary.  And it can never take away the bad taste in the mouth from the recognition that we spend more on candy than on the very lives of others who are in significant need for their basic survival.  That bad taste comes from recognition that our own lives are made up of moments, moments of priority and precedence, wherein we have the free will to decide how we will spend our time and our money and our spirit.  Those decisions impact the impoverished in profound ways, and as importantly, paint the portrait of who we truly are.   And they do leave a taste in the mouth, one kind or another.

Last month in Nicaragua I heard the observation of a producer who was considering the raising of a few chickens as a supplement to his coffee-growing efforts.  His words of hesitation were like a fist to the gut.  “The corn that my hens eat,” he observed, “could be food for my family.”  He was not speaking about candy corn.

Easter is a season of resurrection and salvation, of new beginnings and new chances.  It is a time of reflection for many about the life and example of Jesus and the basis of those who claim followership of his teaching.  It also gives me pause to think about the price of candy and the value of corn….

The time is 8:35.  We are overnighting in the municipality of El Cua, in the department of Jinotega.   The mountains of Peñas Blancas are just behind us; indeed, the road from the mountains to El Cua features some of the most beautiful kms anywhere on earth.  The vistas around each corner are filled with valleys and peaks that truly steal the breath away.  Hotel El Chepita is arguably one of the more modern accommodation in the town,  though in order to flush the toilet in my bathroom, I am required to lift up on the back of the toilet until the stopper, which is somehow attached to the tank lid, is pulled up and the flush can commence.

We are a little late getting in.  We arrive to an empty registration desk and even the desk bell fails to summon anyone to receive us.  Mark calls the phone number for the hotel and we can hear the distant ringing of a phone, but it has no more effect than the bell.  A guest from the lobby, impatiently waiting to retrieve her room key,  comes to the desk and bangs on that desk bell with a fury.  But the assault proves to be no more effective than the other summons, so we simply wait and discuss other lodging options.

After maybe 15 minutes, a young woman comes running to the desk with profuse apologies and a promise to get us registered immediately.  She defends herself by explaining that she is the only person working at the hotel in that moment and she is having understandable difficulty covering all bases.  As she records our identities, she does inquire whether it would be acceptable if one of the rooms has no TV.  Since I still do not speak Spanish with any skill even approaching “just getting by,” a TV is of no import to me so the registration continues.

The room, not unexpectedly, is sparse in its appointments.  There is no chair.  No table.  No clothing hooks adorn the walls, the bathroom has no counters, my room looks directly across the narrow street to a discotheque (yes, even in this era) and the music there is only drowned out by the persistent roar of motorcycle and truck engines racing down our street.  I can shut my slat-style windows, but I need the air in my air-conditioner-free room.  Besides, two of the glass louvers are missing from my windows, so the effectiveness in shutting out noise is highly suspect.  But the barking dogs in the property next to ours do take a break every half-hour or so to rest their voices.

My room is dark and hot.  (Oh-oh, there go the dogs again.)  I keep the single overhead light turned off, to reduce the heat and the depressing feeling that overhead lights always convey to me.  The overhead fan tries hard to keep up with the heat in this upstairs room, but the blades cannot turn fast enough to generate any meaningful cooling.  All I can do is to lie on my bed in the dark and read by the light of my Kindle.  I keep the bathroom light on, though, because the 8 o’clock hour is too early to fall asleep for the night, even in weary Nicaragua.

Staring across the room into that dimly-lit WC gives me pause to wonder to myself how I possibly came to be in a place like this on a Tuesday in March.  It is certainly unlike any place I ever experience in the course of my “normal” life.

And that is precisely the point.  The sounds, the smells, the conditions reveal the life of rural Nicaragua in ways that words or even photographs cannot.  At this moment, I would not choose to be in any other place but this.  In a single, isolated moment I am confronted with gratitude for the good fortune of my life, the shame of my self-centeredness, a humility at my recognition of being the most fortunate of men, an anger that I have not shown the strength and wisdom to have accomplished more, a thankfulness for the men and women here who have taught me even as I posed as the teacher, and gratefulness at being permitted to be among people who are at war with the injustice of their poverty.  Ironically, this place and time represents privilege: my privilege at the opportunity to become a part of their lives, if only for a short time.

To be sure, this evening I miss my wife and the comforts of our Iowa home, as I always do when I travel.  But I am filled up tonight in ways that I could not at home.  In this moment, it turns out that the most important grant during this trip is the one made to me….

George is an octogenarian, and one who has stuffed a great many experiences into his years, whether in vocation, family, service to others or contemplation of self.  For these reasons, as well as the fact that he is simply a very nice man, I enjoy meeting with him every so often for excellent conversation.  Neither one of us will ever be able to recount the winners and losers at The Academy Awards, but both of us like to expound upon what is right and what is wrong with the world today.  We both pretend to have the answers, if not the questions.

The gift he brought to me is no less than a presentation of life’s virtues.  One hundred thoughtful descriptions of moral excellence and goodness of character are printed on 4X5 cards, along with certain actions which embody the particular virtue.  They are a product of The Virtues Project, an international initiative to inspire the practice of virtues in everyday life.  Each day at breakfast, I’m confronted with a new aspect of right action and thinking which may or may not be attributable to myself.  But they’re good triggers for thought and conversation with my wife, as I either claim ownership of a virtue or confess my weakness of it.  (I am too afraid to keep track of whether I have more “hits” than “misses.”)  The object is not keeping score, but reflecting on one’s personal posture.

The experience is stimulating.  I mean, how often do most of us have the questions posed about our daily existence and how we have chosen to live it?  Consider matters of integrity.  Honesty.  Humanity.  Commitment. Honor.  Gratitude.  Faith.  Empathy.  Grace.  Generosity.  Love.  Peacefulness.  Responsibility. Sacrifice.  Tolerance.  Truth.   The list is as long as it is deep.  Serious reflection of virtue is sobering, affirming and complex, all at the same time.

Yet there is a sort of elitist quality about contemplation of such things.  My past week in Nicaragua reminds me that consideration of manners and philosophies often becomes subjugated in light of the daily grind of feeding one’s family or securing the particulars of suitable shelter.   In some cases, circumstances tend to bend absolute virtues, or at least place them in conflict with other virtuous aims.

I do not imply that Nicaraguan peasants are without virtuous living; in fact, the reality is quite the opposite.  My experiences with rural Nica farmers often have been object lessons about living with dignity and hope despite enormously difficult circumstances.  Virtuous behaviors come from within, cultivated from generations of living in concert with their faith, the earth and one another, rather than from a conscious deliberation of what “ought to be.”

What occurs to me in the understanding of living against great odds is that the opportunity for meditation on matters of virtue and how to cultivate such behaviors is almost non-existent.  The conscious deliberation of what “ought to be” is too often a luxury afforded to those who are well off enough to indulge in contemplation of 4X5 cards.

Perhaps the observations are of no note.  Certainly, those who have been blessed with opportunity for musing on such matters have brought about only a modest degree of change and equity in the world: children still starve against the virtues of  Generosity, Humanity, Justice, Mercy and Sacrifice.  In my own reading of the virtues, I long for the recognition of them inherent within myself, regardless of the words on the cards.  But it is not always so, and the gentle reminders of what I could be are blessings to embrace.

There’s still time.  The questions are not complete, the answers not finished, our lives are not done, our legacies are not written and our virtues are not known until the end of our days….

In addition to the immediate travel logistics, there are family matters, as well.  Our twin daughters’ birthday is rapidly approaching and we need to pick a date for celebrating.  Another daughter is participating in a body-building competition and we’ll absolutely be in attendance for it.  We have income taxes to complete and file, a dentist appointment is just ahead, there’s a fix to some flooring that needs to be made, we’ve got to schedule the furnace guy for a mechanical issue, and Katie’s sister is about to move from our house into her own place.  Time’s up!

One of the maxims about growing older is the reality that time seems to speed up.  For many, some of the same old routines take longer, there seem to be more things to accomplish than ever before, and the need for rest each night tends to move up ever so slightly.  The result is a feeling that things are moving faster.  There’s nothing new in any of this: it’s simply the cycle of life as it moves inexorably from start to finish, except for those to whom it is happening, of course.  There just never seems to be enough time and the window of availability just keeps getting smaller every day.

In preparing for my travels, I naturally re-orient myself to Nicaragua as I prepare to adjust from a U.S. lifestyle to a Central American one.  I think about how things will be different next week, from the language to the food to the evening accommodations, from an environment of material excess to one of a perpetual search for basic needs.  And I couldn’t help but reflect on another notable difference: the passage of time.

Our anxieties about time are a product of a society that needs to run with precision.  It doesn’t provide much allowance for delays and its tolerance for being late is thin.  A case in point is my inability to drive 160 miles to the Twin Cities for a long-planned meeting, due to ice and snow.  My luncheon partner was fully understanding and my decision was absolutely the right one to make, but all day long I suffered with guilt and a sense of letting people down.  You may attribute those feelings to an overly-sensitive psyche, but it’s the product of a culture which expects timely completion of plans, no matter what the circumstances.  Snow?  Drive through it.  12-hour days to finish a project?  Just do it, as Nike ads admonish us.

In contrast, my meetings within the rural sectors of Nicaragua next week will not have such expectations.  Sessions to be held with governing bodies of the cooperatives may or may not begin at 2:00 P.M.  as scheduled.  It may take some participants longer to arrive at a central meeting location, as they travel long distances- often by foot-  from their farms in order to attend.  Where available, transportation is unreliable.  The demand of the farm is sometimes a priority that just can’t be denied, even against the obligation to attend a meeting on behalf of the coop.  A weather event might wash away a bridge.  There are not many clocks.  And sometimes it is the North Americans who arrive late, having encountered other delays in the day or on the roads.  2:00 in Nica means, “as close to 2:00 as you can make it.”

Does casualness with regard to time irritate people in Nica the way it most certainly does in the U.S.?  Not in an apparent way.  Rural peasants evince an acceptance of the informality of time that is part of their lives; people subject to systemic indigence learn to cultivate a tolerance to all sorts of inconvenience and oppression. Of course, there are some sectors of society for whom time is a tyrant, but in the rural sectors where our work is accomplished, there is neither luxury nor tyranny of the clock.

In the countryside, matters are attended to as people are able.  The demands of small farm production and subsistence living conspire to direct peasants in their work, not according to the clock, but according to what circumstances allow.  It’s not that time is disrespected, but that it, too, must fall victim to the injustice of poverty.  Poverty is not selective of its prey.

Time.  I’m not sure whether there is greater health in the Nicaraguan’s acceptance of its limitations or in the tight expectations of it in U.S. life.  Maybe the truth is somewhere in between.  What I do know is that having the choice of one circumstance over the other is a far greater advantage than having to tolerate one which is imposed.  Nicaraguans seek a reality that provides the choice.  And it’s about time they have it….

Each of us is, after all, the sum total of choices we have been permitted to make throughout our journey of life.  Our choices reflect not only preferences but, more importantly, our values, our principles, our character.  They serve as articulations of who we wish to be and of who we actually are.  And they are the milestones of our journey, marking the signal events of our lives.

Choices are the acts of bringing to life our beliefs.  They are the expressions of our innermost feelings about lifestyles, about the type of vocation to which we aspire.  Choices reflect our most intimate feelings about having a family and what is important in our personal and spiritual lives.  Choices are dynamic portraits of who we are.  I reflected long and lovingly about the choices that the young man in the photograph made over his coming years, with a sense of satisfaction that his decisions had been, for the most part, the right ones for his own unique psyche.

But what if I had not had the luxury of choice?  What might my portrait look like if my life, instead, had been channeled at every turn. if the circumstances of my being were such that I had no choice?

I might never have been introduced to and courted by music.  Maybe I would not have encountered the opportunity to know sports and fitness, the elements of my physical well-being.  Perhaps I would never have known the centering peace of my spirituality.  What if there had been no option for education?  Possibly I’d have served in the military during the Viet Nam war.  What if Katie and I had never met?  Our adopted children would have been raised in different homes; our mutual, familial love for one another would never have come to be.  Maybe our beautiful grandchildren would never have been born.  What if circumstance had dictated that I spend my days in search of food instead of organizational strengthening?  The list of choice-based outcomes is nearly endless.  How might you own life have evolved differently if you had not had the blessing of choice?

The luxury of choice stems, in part, from political philosophies which recognize and value human independence.  It also arises from circumstances that allow the human spirit to envision new aspirations and realities for itself.  In the absence of these elements, choice is minimized.  And outcomes are dramatically different.  It’s true everywhere.  In the U.S.  In Nicaragua.

Winds of Peace Foundation works with many organizations and individuals in Nicaragua who have few choices.  They are moved in directions dictated by their realities and their histories, in the former cases often motivated by need for survival, in the latter cases motivated only by what they know from previous generations.  And when motivation stems from either absolute need or limited knowledge, then choice is often a forgotten, impractical dream.  The nature of the Foundation’s work is to create the environments for more choice, with the certain knowledge that, over time,  greater choice invariably leads to better outcomes.  I wonder what Nicaragua might look like today if their history was populated with greater choice and fewer outside impositions that eliminated it.

In the years ahead, I expect to make lots of choices about things.  Perhaps the Foundation will adopt some new methodologies. Maybe I’ll move into a new vocation altogether.  I might do some more writing.  My wife and I will make some determinations about eventual retirement.  We’ll think about travel that might be important to us.  I’ll even continue to choose the kinds of food I want to eat, whether for my health or for my enjoyment.  But whatever the issue, I’ll have in mind my gratitude for having the opportunity to choose, and a hope to be a resource to those who do not….

I get to hear the frogs for most of the year.  They live on the river banks of the Upper Iowa River, or in the rain garden on the north end of a campus.  I happen to live in a college town.  It’s a small town and a small private college, but the presence of the school nonetheless enriches the lives of the citizens in the community.  At various times of the year, we have opportunities to hear national speakers on current topics, watch athletic events, attend classes, observe whatever is current in the lives of students, attend plays, or enjoy concerts.  Of course, we don’t have to partake in any of these activities, but it’s certainly a nice benefit to have the choice to do so.  And, of course, we have the frogs.

The college is Luther College.  It also happens to be one of the most beautiful campus settings in the entire country, further adding to its value to the community.  And Luther College boasts (appropriately, I think) one of the most accomplished music programs in the country, as well.  Its 600+ member combination of orchestra and vocal choirs annually stages a musical performance that is, by any measure, exquisitely professional.  The crystalline sounds of the voices from each of the six ensemble choirs is an emotional experience worthy of the distances that audiences often travel in order to be swept away to yet another place altogether.

Of course, development of exquisite sounds requires great determination, practice, exceptional teaching and exhaustive coaching.  Members of the choirs work one-on-one with voice coaches to cultivate and extract the very best from themselves, to discover the ranges and tones and expressions that will wring tears of sheer joy from those who have the good fortune to hear them.  A voice coach can “reach inside” of the student to bring forth the unique character of sound residing within.  The result is nothing short of astonishing.

I have thought about the remarkable role that voice coaches play.  When students first arrive on campus, they are, for the most part, only full of potential.  But raw talent requires forming and nurturing, confidence and a calling, a shaping capable of creating not just beautiful expression, but reflecting an essence of life.  Through voice, we have the privilege to glimpse the soul, and to know its most basic self.  In many ways, that peek into the spirit is a great gift.

By truly hearing the voice of another, we are gifted with the opportunity to respond to it, with our own precision and perfection, to that individual’s deepest need.  We are given the chance to fully hear and know that which could confer a greater well-being, a connection between us, a promise of mutual strength.  There may be few gifts so important or precious as those which meet the deepmost needs of another.

It’s a rare skill, this voice-coaching.  To enable others in the full scope of their expression requires more patience and selflessness than most of us possess.  Encouraging others to venture out beyond the boundaries of comfort and reticence calls for the full valuation of one’s own voice.  Only then can there exist a belief in the intrinsic value of others’ voices and an elevation of their self-esteem, sufficient to enable confidence of articulation.  Voice coaches bring vision to sounds.  We need the tonic of their inspiration.

Among our own varied, daily aspirations, being a voice coach should rank somewhere near the top of our lists.  Coaxing others in the practice of their own voice makes us more equal.  It’s enabling.  Voices together, like those which have been coached in ensemble choirs, are more powerful than solos, and capable of achieving more than any one alone.  Not incidentally, releasing the power of voice is one of the coaching jobs most important to WPF in Nicaragua.

We each deserve the release of our own voice.  It’s a little like those frogs I mentioned above.  It’s the music of life and fulfillment, the integral piece of the sound that is full humanity.    And I am especially energized at the realization that we can be, each of us,  voice coaches to others.  Just listen, sometime, to the frogs….

As the new year has begun its reign, WPF has been thinking about and planning for some of the activities that will consume our time and attention over the coming months.  Our team in Nica has already designed the next major workshop, a two-day session to analyze the land and its use, through the gathering and understanding of data about that land and its use.  The workshops are digging deeper and challenging conventional thought more than ever before.  For the participants, it’s scary and thrilling.

The team works hard to discern what the rural producers need.  They have become intimate partners with many of the coops, cultivating a deep understanding of the challenges faced there.  In turn, the team does its own analysis to identify the tools that they might bring to workshops and on-site sessions so that the farmers might become better equipped to succeed.  The farmers, in turn, are eager to hear new ideas, maybe even to discover a “magic pill” that can make their production and commercialization efforts substantially improved over the past.  In short, the team is determined to deliver and the “students” are avid learners of methodologies.

But as I consider the ideas and tactics that WPF might provide, or that I personally might be able to share, I’m struck by another factor, one that likely receives too little emphasis in development efforts.  (Maybe I’m wrong.  I’ve only been involved in this field for 12 years, a mere blink of the eye over the history of poverty.)  The notion occurred to me as I read a short meditation the other day, one that rekindled thinking that I have cherished myself for many years.  The quote reads as follows:

“The fragrance of flowers spreads only in the direction of the wind.  But the goodness of a person speaks in all directions.”      -Chanakya

It’s a beautiful thought.  But its meaning runs deeper than just a sweet sentiment.  For herein is the truth of the power of the individual, the potential that each human being has for impact on the world around him/her.  Even in the face of incredibly difficult circumstances, whether climate, political, social or economic in nature, we each have the faculty- an enormous capacity- for impacting everything that surrounds us.  For many, it’s a gift that we are reluctant to acknowledge and trust; it seems so much smaller than a new methodology or technology.  It’s too inherent within us to feel credible.  But like our very core understanding of right and wrong, it’s a reality.

What our partner producers may need is something more than a technique.  It’s a message of personal deliverance, the need to remember each and every day the absolute truth that we impact every person around us, either for good or for ill, intended or not, and those impacts shape the success of our endeavors.  How our influences work is not preordained or fated.  It is by choice.  The cooperative’s success, the relationships between members and even success of a single producer are all outcomes over which the individual has tremendous influence, and in ways that most of us do not comprehend well enough.

Like any organization, the cooperative prospers or fades based upon the character of individual leadership, and every member of a cooperative is a co-leader.  Successful cooperatives need transparency, which in turn requires the stewardship of individuals to share information- good or bad- with fellow members.  Collaborative work thrives on honesty, putting the good of all before the individual good of one’s own circumstances.   That’s a tall order when faced with the daily struggle of trying to simply provide for the basic necessities of family life.  But therein lies the irony of success: sometimes the surest way to one’s own well-being is to look out for the well-being of others first.  Even in our so-called developed nations, we are limited in our own well-being by the level of well-being in others.  If you doubt that, see the condition of the world today.  Neither the have’s nor the have-not’s are as well-off as they could be.

The impoverished people of Nicaragua and elsewhere in the world assuredly deserve support, be it financial or the wealth of true accompaniment.  But that accompaniment is most effective when coupled with the truth of self-direction.  When any of us come to understand our impact, our influence and what we are capable to give, we stand at the threshold of making the greatest single contribution to our work that we could ever make.

I know that it’s one thing for someone to speak of these things and another thing to put them into action.  When it comes to advice , Nicaraguans know that it’s cheap, whatever the source, and usually carries with it some kind of “catch” for which they will pay a price.  As a result, they continue searching with healthy skepticism.

And we never even know we hold the key….

As expansive as that opportunity may be, there’s another level of engagement that has been created at some schools.  More recently, it’s a matter of not just traveling there, but also interacting with local populations and contributing something of significance and lasting value.  Winds of Peace Foundation has been in the middle of facilitating that. The Foundation has partnered with Augsburg University for more than 30 years as it has sought to study, analyze and provide resources for development in rural Nicaragua.  It’s the Augsburg Center for Global Education and Experience (CGEE) that has led the Foundation there and served as significant conduit for contacts and entres to the country and the countryside.

What has worked so well is a synergy.  WPF has a acquired an in- depth understanding of Nicaragua’s persistent poverty through its development work; it has not only funded organizations seeking to strengthen themselves through access to capital and education, but also created  a research base of sociological evidence.  Meanwhile, Augsburg has had the benefit of a development “laboratory” at its CGEE site in Nicaragua, a real-life classroom application for students and academics from around the entire country.  What began as a small symbiotic partnership has expanded to something larger and more potentially significant.

What the synergy has created is a real-life boilerworks, wherein learners have the direct contact and impact on people somewhere else in the world.  It’s well past book learning, and even beyond the personal immersion experiences of the old J Terms.  The synergy here is bringing together students who seek to learn and to understand the reach of their abilities, coupled with rural peasants who live day-to-day in deep need of modern resources.  How else would one describe the application of mathematics to measure arboreal CO2 outputs of the actual forest surrounding a peasant farm?  The result is knowledge for the farmers who can now appreciate the precise contribution and importance of their trees, and real-life, vocational application by students who experience the practical effects of a chosen field of study.

It has been a curious mix, this bridging between rural Nicaraguan populations and urban U.S. students.  They would seem, at first glance, to be unlikely collaborators.  They speak different languages.  Their worlds are thousands of miles apart.  Many of the peasant farmers are of an older generation; their student counterparts are millennials or Gen Z members.  Rural Nica education is experience, with perhaps a bit of history thrown in.  Student education is primarily from the books and classrooms of expensive university surroundings.  How different can two group be?

But the “synergy” which holds them together is their universal longing and need to work together, to benefit from each other, to give in return what each has received.  What they have experienced, what the University and WPF has sought to foster, what real life teaches us to be true, is that we need each other.  We’re better together.  We may see the world differently and hold differing views of what that world is trying to tell us, but our differences help us to see it better.  What a lesson!  If you doubt its truth, just observe any group of U.S. young people saying good-bye to their Nica community.

The collaboration between peasant and student is a remarkable coming together of two disparate entities; that’s a lesson in and of itself.   It’s also a mirror of the alliance between Augsburg University and Winds of Peace Foundation: another two disparate entities in collaboration.  And, if I may be so bold, a blueprint for our organizational and political leaders in an expanding fog of mutual marginalization….

Dickens’ focus on the great disparities in Victorian London are well-known, such as in his tale,  A Christmas Carol.  But I ran across a passage in the current book that I simply couldn’t pass up for sharing.  One doesn’t really need to know the context of the story or the characters to understand the clarity of the message.  It reads like this:

In the meantime, a stray personage of meek demeanour, who had wandered to the hearthrug and got among the heads of tribes assembled there in conference with Mr. Podsnap, eliminated Mr. Podsnap’s flush and flourish by a highly unpolite remark; no less than a reference to the circumstance that some half-dozen people had lately died in the streets, of starvation.  It was clearly ill-timed after dinner.It was not adapted to the cheek of the young person.  It was not in good taste.

“I do not believe it,” said Mr. Podsnap, putting it behind him.

The meek man was afraid we must take it as proved, because there were the Inquests and the Registrar’s returns.

“Then it was their own fault,” said Mr. Podsnap.

The man of meek demeanour intimated that truly it would seem from the facts, as if starvation had been forced upon the culprits in question- as if, in their wretched manner, they had made their weak protests against it-  as if they would have taken the liberty of staving it off if they could-  as if they would rather not have been starved upon the whole, if perfectly agreeable to all parties.

“There is not,” said Mr. Podsnap, flushing angrily, “there is not a country in the world, sir, where so noble a provision is made for the poor as in this country.”

The meek man was quite willing to concede that, but perhaps it rendered the matter even worse, as showing that there must be something appallingly wrong somewhere.

“Where?” said Mr. Podsnap.

The meek man hinted Wouldn’t it be well to try, very seriously, to find out where?

“Ah!” said Mr. Podsnap.  “Easy to say somewhere; not so easy to say where.  But I see what you are driving at.   I knew it from the first.  Centralization.  No.  Never with my consent.  Not English.”

An approving murmur arose from the heads of the tribes; as saying, “There you have him!  Hold him!”

He was not aware (the meek man submitted of himself) that he was driving at any ization.  He had no favorite ization that he knew of.  But he certainly was more staggered by these terrible occurrences than he was by names of howsoever so many syllables.  Might he ask, was dying of destitution and neglect necessarily English?

“You know what the population of London is, I suppose?” said Mr. Podsnap.

The meek young man supposed he did, but supposed that had absolutely nothing to do with it, if its laws were well-administered.

“And you know, at least I hope you know,” said Mr. Podsnap with severity, “that Providence has declared that you shall have the poor always with you?”

The meek man also hoped he knew that.

“I am glad to hear it,” said Mr. Podsnap with a portentous air.  “I am glad to hear it.It will render you cautious how you fly in the face of Providence.”

In reference to that absurd and irreverent conventional phrase, the meek man said, for which Mr. Podsnap was not responsible, he the meek man had no fear of doing anything so impossible; but-

But Mr. Podsnap felt that the time had come for flushing and flourishing this meek man down for good.  So he said:

“I must decline to pursue this painful discussion.  It is not pleasant to my feelings; it is repugnant to my feelings.  I have said that I do not admit these things.  I have also said that if they do occur (not that I admit it), the fault lies with the sufferers themselves.  It is not for ME- Mr. Podsnap pointed ME forcibly, as adding by implication though it may be all very well for YOU- “it is not for me to impugn the workings of Providence.  I know better than that, I trust, and I have mentioned what the intentions of Providence are.  Besides,” said Mr. Podsnap, flushing high up among his hair brushes, with a strong consciousness of personal affront, “the subject is a very disagreeable one.  I will go so far as to say it is an odious one.  It is not one to be introduced among our wives and young persons, and I-“

He finished with that flourish of his arm which added more expressively than any words: ” And I remove it from the face of the earth.”

It is an easy thing to simply banish disagreeable realities with a sweep of the arm.  Or to claim that something is true when it is not.  But doing so does not change the realities or absolve us from the human stewardship that we owe to one another as fellow-travelers on this earthly journey.  Dickens knew it.  And as unpleasant, repugnant, disagreeable and odious as it may be, so do we all….

One of these over-the-top promotional pieces features some of the USA athletes reciting words to “America, the Beautiful,” intoning deeply serious recitations against a backdrop of dramatic, athletic scenes.  The combination of somber voice, a stirring verse of “America, the Beautiful” and scenes of personal sport triumph are designed to capture us and convey an sense of ultimate importance for the upcoming games.  I know what they’re after, but for me it accomplishes the opposite.

“O beautiful for heroes proved
In liberating strife,”

I suppose that sports excellence has always conveyed a heroism upon the performer; we hold our athletes in the highest esteem, even when they exhibit behaviors which would be unacceptable when demonstrated by anyone else.  But sports competition is hardly strife.

Who more than self their country loved
And mercy more than life!

The idea of Olympic athletes competing more from loving country than self would be a difficult notion for me to accept, given the fame, the surroundings, the money and accolades conferred upon them.  Indeed, I would be very surprised to learn that an Olympic athlete had grudgingly taken up a sport and sacrificed  a career in medicine or law or social work essentially for the good of his/her country.  And I certainly can’t equate commitment to an Olympic sport with showing mercy upon others or giving up one’s life.

America! America!
May God thy gold refine,
Till all success be nobleness,
And every gain divine!”

The interventions of a divine presence in winning a gold medal will best be left to someone else’s analysis; Olympics aren’t likely the domain of heavenly hosts, and in any case, for every prayer uttered by a U.S. athlete there are potentially 2,872 additional prayers from the other athletes.  (This is the total number of athletes participating in the last Winter Games.)

It matters little whether the U.S. wins the medal count or the National Anthem is played more often than those of others nations.  Success in the Olympics does not define a nation or a people, their character or their compassion.  The Olympics is not a surrogate for battlefields of conquest or measures of character.  But what we can watch closely is the capacity of human endeavor.

The Olympic Games, like their summer counterpart, have always been about the athletes.  They provide a showcase of human physical and psychological accomplishment, a stage for imagining, and seeing, the limits of human capabilities.  That’s the draw and the drama of Olympic sports.  The attempt to make the competitions something more than they are does a disservice to the notions of sport,  competition and the hope that is kindled during this brief unification of mankind.

Yes, the Olympics will provide a world stage for exciting competitions.  But during those 16 days, there will be far more people in the world who cannot or will not be watching.  For them, real heroes are the ones rescuing injured children following a bomb strike or hurricane.  The strife being fought by these competitors is not against a clock, but against oppression or disaster or disease.  These are the ones about whom it may truly be said that they put mercy and compassion ahead of their own lives, that the future of their people holds greater importance than themselves.  Many of these will neither note nor care about the Olympics and the stories behind the athletes there.  For them, there exists an even greater Herculean effort at hand, and one of far greater importance: giving of themselves to others.

So I will watch portions of the XXIII Winter Olympic Games next month.  I’ll vicariously enjoy the breathtaking accomplishments of well-conditioned athletes in their prime.  I’ll cheer for individuals and teams I like- for whatever the reason- and enjoy the hopefulness in seeing even a North Korean team present.  But I’m not likely to mistake either the importance or the heroism embodied by the event.  For that, I’ll look for the anonymous servants who tend to the also-rans….

I finished reading two books last week, one an historical recounting of the life of Native American figure Red Cloud and the other about the worst hurricane ever to hit the U.S.   I love to read.  Reading informs my world view, piques my curiosities, temporarily abducts me from the nonsense in everyday life, makes me laugh, makes me cry.  It shapes my opinions and my character.  In fact, a love of reading was the lifeline that helped me through college, aided in obtaining my first real job, and guided my vocational choices, even to the present: in my next career, I’d like to return to performing voice-over work, reading for the benefit of others.

There’s nothing terribly unusual in that confession; indeed, most of us are creatures of the written word.  Reading is the central tenet of education, vocation, communication with other human beings and of evolution itself.  Imagine, for a moment, where civilization and the human parade might be without the ability to read.

It’s not such a far-fetched thing to imagine.  There are people who cannot read; not that they choose not to read, but that they are unable to read the written word.  They are certainly to be found in the U.S.  And I have met far too many of them in Nicaragua, frequently in the rural areas where education often may not exceed third grade due to the need for every family member to work for the family’s basic sustenance.  The need to eat comes before the ability to read.

This is the context in which “Let’s Read, Reading Is Fun!” was born and continues to grow in Nicaragua.  (I have written about the program here previously, but it continues to be one of the most directly impactful and [for me] personally satisfying endeavors that Winds of Peace Foundation supports.)  The premise is simple: get books into the hands of school-age children and thus release the inherent joys to be found in reading.

It’s easy to take reading for granted when using the skill everyday.  We read books.  We scan newspapers. We network within social media.  We send and receive e-mails.  We read menus before dining, ballots prior to voting, road signs while driving, and airline tickets before boarding.  In short, reading is perhaps the essential skill of modern living.  But in Nicaragua, books are not in great supply, so reading skills become stalled for lack of attractive and engaging materials.  I can only imagine what my own literacy might be today without help from Dr. Seuss and The Hardy Boys.  Where might you be today without the ability to read?  (Among other things, you wouldn’t be reading this essay!)

“Let’s read, Reading Is Fun” recognizes the essential need and right that is reading.  In 2017,  another 9,670 books were distributed within 313 schools.  Since its inception in 2010, nearly 54,000 children have participated in the reading program, honing a skill that forever changes who they are and what they will become.  (The full report of the “Let’s Read” campaign for 2017 and its cause and effect is posted under the Education Funds section of this website, located on the homepage.)

If you are able to read this entry, congratulations on possessing the skill to do so.  While the content written here may not shape your future or your character, what you absorb from the written word elsewhere most certainly will.  Go read a book- it will change you.  It’s a particularly good thing to know that in rural Nicaragua, those same transformations are happening.  You can make book on it….

But my own reflections on the matter shifted to the countries in question, the ones which were denigrated so graphically by the leader of the free world.  What’s the possible basis for such demeaning remarks?  Are these nations really so awful?  And if so, why?  I suppose that, by comparison, Nicaragua might be one of those countries which the U.S President had in mind: it’s the second-poorest nation of the Western Hemisphere (next to Haiti), has a history of internal conflicts and dictatorships, contributes to both legal and illegal immigration to the U.S. and has sustained a strained relationship with U.S. administrations for decades.  With that in mind, I considered the circumstances that might have led countries like Nicaragua, Haiti and the African nations to be held in such contempt by the wealthiest country in the world.

At least in the case of Nicaragua, the beginning of their modern-day difficulties date back to the 1850’s invasion of that country by invasion from the U.S.  Over subsequent decades, the North American neighbor alternately funded insurrection, invaded with U.S. Marines, supported a generations-long dictatorship of oppression, illegally funded a war against a duly-elected Nicaraguan administration, ignored a World Court penalties of $6 Billion for their illegalities, consistently and forcefully interfered in elections and has recently threatened legislation to eliminate U.S. remittances to Nicaragua families.  In sum, it has been an excellent recipe for the creation of a troubled existence.

In Haiti, the early troubles inflicted by the U.S. were quite similar to the incursions in Nicaragua.  On July 28, 1915, American President Woodrow Wilson ordered  U.S. Marines to occupy the capitol.  Forces were instructed to “protect American and foreign” interests.  The U.S. also wanted to rewrite the Haitian constitution, which banned foreign ownership of land, and replace it with one that guaranteed American financial control.  To avoid public criticism, the U.S. claimed the occupation was a mission to “re-establish peace and order… [and] has nothing to do with any diplomatic negotiations of the past or the future.”  Within six weeks of the occupation, U.S. government representatives seized control of Haiti’s custom houses and administrative institutions, including the banks and the national treasury. Under U.S. government control, a total of 40% of Haiti’s national income was designated to repay debts to American and French banks.  For the next nineteen years, U.S., government advisers ruled the country, their authority provided by the United States Marine Corps.  The U.S. retained influence on Haiti’s external finances until 1947.  It was a good way to subdue a culture, an independent economy and self-determination and to ensure their third world status.

For the African continent, the litany of U.S. interventions and self-serving intrusions is far too long to even summarize here.  Africa is a big place, and nearly every one of its fifty-four countries has experienced U.S. interference at one point in history or another.  But the following description of cause-and-effect, excerpted from an article by Mark Levine at aljazeera.com provides some context for current reality:

Traveling across Sub-Saharan Africa it becomes a truism—but nonetheless in good measure true—that the areas where the region’s much-celebrated recent growth is most evident are precisely where people are able to create local markets largely outside the control of corrupt government and private elites. But the large-scale and still expanding militarisation and securitisation of US policy makes the development of such truly free-market mechanisms that much more difficult to realise, precisely because the strengthening of capacities of militaries and security/intelligence sectors invariably strengthens the power of elites and states vis-a-vis ordinary citizens, exacerbates economic conflicts and inequalities, and strengthens the position of those groups that are violently reacting to this process.

The poverty which continues to envelop much of the continent is the result of far more  than just the meddling of the United States.  But the U.S. footprint is present in both actions taken and assistance NOT rendered; if these constitute s***hole countries, perhaps they are perceived this way because we in the U.S. have chosen to see them and respond to them in that way.  After all, no less than the U.S. President has identified them as such.  (I think the President is unaware of the fact that earliest humans emerged from Africa.  Not Europe.  Not North America.  Not Norway.  But Africa.)

The unfortunate truth for many struggling nations is to be found in the poor-man-crawling story:

A wealthy man was walking on a city street, preoccupied with cell phone and important connections.  His preoccupation resulted in a collision with a somewhat disheveled and homeless man walking in the opposite direction.  The poor man fell down, momentarily stunned by the contact, but immediately reached out to gather up several of his belongings which had been knocked from his hands.  The wealthy man, perturbed at the mishap and the dropping of his own phone, retrieved it brusquely and then observed the poor man on hands and knees, salvaging his few possessions.  As he walked away indignantly, the wealthy man observed, “It’s disgusting to see the way these vagrants crawl our sidewalks.  The police should do something about them, to make the streets safe for respectable folks.”

Where there is hunger and thirst, need and distress, poverty and injustice, there are reasons for it.  And sometimes the reasons lie at the feet of those who are not thus afflicted.  S***hole countries, if they actually exist, may well be the result of outsiders who have created them….

Northeastern Iowa, where I live, is home to many emblems of rugged survival.  The high river bluffs of the driftless region, the forest cover overlaying the limestone beds of ancient geologic formation, and the burr oak trees of those woodlands, all stand as watchmen against the march of time and evolution.  The oaks, in particular, with their gnarly limbs and diminutive acorns, are omnipresent here,  bookmarks of an earlier age, a time before settlements and agriculture and highways.  I have come to deeply admire them, for both their arboreal beauty as well as their symbolism of a time that was somehow better.

The oak at the north end of the college campus here has enjoyed its own history and prominence.  It has graced a hillside there since the very earliest days of the school, likely gaining no notice in its fledgling years as first a shoot and then little more than a sapling.  But as the burr oaks are wont to do, it  survived.  It  stood by as settlers migrated to this area to farm and as educators traveled here to teach and preach.  It withstood the winds and the winters of the Oneota Valley, and the inexorable march of settlement and development of the territory.  It became a visible boundary of the college, a sentinel to the people and histories that emerged from that place.  And it continued to grow.

Over time, the oak commanded attention, as an imposing tower at the north end.  A  building was built in its shadow.  A road passed under its limbs.  Students sat beneath it, considering the deepest questions of  our lives, while contemplating the directions of their own.   In more recent years, an entire native grass savannah and rain garden became cultivated around it, to show it off, call attention to its prairie heritage and to reclaim a piece of what once was: a prairie oak savannah.  It steadied us, was a visual touchstone to certainty and continuity, and embodied a needed constancy.

Last year, in the bloom of Spring, nearly half of the burr oak failed to leaf out.  Arborists attempted some treatments, but with no effect.  The tree was reaching the end of its service and accompaniment.  Last week, the tree was taken down.

There remains a wide space in the savannah where the tree’s umbrella once shielded deer and fox, birds and learners alike.  A stump remains for now, chronicling the 125 year life of what was a fixture of the prairie.  For now, I can still walk to the base and sit upon what remains.  The world may not notice its absence.  But I do.

Concurrent with the loss of a great tree is the impending departure of a colleague in Nicaragua.  Ligia Gutierrez will end her consulting role with Winds of Peace Foundation in March, not so much in retirement as in opening herself to the next possibilities in a world which she has so richly served already.

Ligia has served as consultant for Winds of Peace, particularly with regard to the circumstances of the Indigenous people of Nicaragua, as well as working with women’s groups in helping them to discover their collective and individual voices.  To state here that she will be missed is an absurdity, because it does not begin to tell the story of this remarkable individual.

She is a child of the revolution, a committed and activist member of the Sandinista vision of a country free of the dictatorship and inequality that had fouled the country’s circumstances for generations.  She is a psychologist by training, a philosopher in practice, a teacher of holistic and cooperative living that extends far beyond social norms and legal statutes.  Her work is defined by the closeness of the relationships she creates: she is a mother to the youth, an intimate friend to the women, a friendly-but-persistent agitator within a still-machismo culture, a persistent prospector for equal rights and respect, both within the law and within the heart.  For me personally, she has been a Nica mentor, providing context and perspective that has helped me better understand the history and culture in which the Foundation works.  She is a student of physical and spiritual health.  She is a friend.

Ligia is also the source of one of my greatest frustrations in my Nica experiences: I have never been able to speak with her without the voice of a translator.  We have never been able to exchange thoughts and ideas directly with one another, thereby greatly reducing the interactions which might have educated me in untold ways.  My regret over this is a palpable wound that does not heal.

Like the burr oak on the prairie, Ligia has given of herself over a lifetime of service to ideas and others beyond herself.  Though small in physical stature, she is a powerhouse.  She is one of those rare individuals of the universe, seeing both the complexity and the beauty of the whole and striving to manifest it.  That personality, that persona, is what draws the rest of us toward her, for our own sakes.

And like the burr oak, the seeds which she has planted- ideas, self-regard, respect, justice- will far outlive her active service.  Hers is a testament that branches across generations and shelters the hopes of those in need of wisdom and  love.  And like a strong oak suddenly gone, her absence will leave both a gaping space and a magnificent legacy.

The removal of the burr oak tree did not elicit notice even in the local newspaper.  Ligia’s retirement will not be the stuff of international news or perhaps even local notice.  Their respective “graduations” are but the latest examples of the ongoing stream of life.  But they are to be missed.  The beauty, the lessons, the lives that they modeled are gifts for which I will be always grateful….

It’s a good question, one for which there are more answers than time or space to reply.  Why would we want people like astronauts Ronald McNair or Guion Bluford?  Why did we allow George Washington Carver in?  What did Neil de Grasse Tyson or Dorothy Vaughn ever do for us?  Hank Aaron should never have been here.  Nor Willie Mays.  Why would we ever have wanted the likes of Martin Luther King, Jr.?  Or any of the millions of African-American citizens of this country who were either born in one of these “shithole countries” or descended from immigrants who came from them.  The course of our country’s independence, wealth and freedoms would have been dramatically different without the countless individuals who came here, involuntarily or by choice, and dedicated their lives to the character of our country.

Certainly, we don’t want any more immigrants from a place like Haiti.  What would we do with another Sidney Poitier?  The artist John Jay Audubon was one more Haitian than we probably needed. The likes of Danielle Laraque-Arena, first woman president of The State University of New York Upstate Medical University, surely aren’t needed here.  We have plenty of orchestrators, so no more Lee Holdridges, please.  In fact, Haiti is the poorest country in the entire Western Hemisphere and we have plenty of “those types” in our nation already.

The President of the United States (in title) has now been crystal clear with his racist and elitist beliefs.  That a sitting president of any party would make such insulting and inaccurate statements about entire ethnicities is a desecration of leadership perhaps matched only in history by a man named Hitler.

Winds of Peace Foundation has been and remains a politically independent organization, without political affiliation or endorsement.  The President’s comments yesterday are egregious beyond political party….

Closing in on nearly 50 years of collaborative work for the common good, Jacinto has served as the coop’s manager on seven different occasions, and still works to teach and advise it younger members.  He is gifted with storytelling ability, his voice carrying the gravitas of experience and age, his eyes reflecting the sparkle of youth and exuberance.  Among the stories that he shared with the members of our dialogue was one about Father Hector Gallego, and the unlikely beginnings of the Esperanza Cooperative.

“One day in 1968, I was walking along and saw a stranger riding a mule. He reached out his hand to greet me: ‘I’m Santa Fe’s priest,’ he told me. ‘I don’t believe you, priests only greet rich people,’ I answered him. He said: ‘There’s always a first time…. I want to invite you to a meeting this Thursday.’ ‘I don’t have time for meetings,’ I said, lowering my head. ‘No? Those are the very people I’m looking for, people who don’t have time,’ he told me. And he left me bowled over. I went to the meeting. I saw him greeting children and that impressed me. We sat down in a circle. What I saw and heard that day, made me think differently. That day I changed forever.”

“We woke up to the injustice of the wages, the fraud that the stores pulled off with the weighing of the products and their prices. So we decided to form a cooperative. But how could we start a cooperative if we did not think we had any resources? So Fr. Hector threw out a 5 cent coin in the middle of where we were seated, and asked, ‘How many pieces of candy can we buy with that coin?’  ‘Five!’  we responded. Others present looked in their pockets for a 5 cent coin. And others as well. The priest held up 10 coins and said that we had enough for 50 pieces of candy and sent a young boy off to buy them. It was 12 noon, we were all hungry. That same boy passed out the candy to the 50 who were present. The priest asked us again, ‘what does it taste like?’  Someone shouted, ‘it tastes like heaven!’ The priest concluded, ‘that is how cooperativism is done.’  The next week a group from Pantanal bought 1 quintal of salt to sell, and in El Carmen each person began to save 10 cents a week. That is how the hope of the peasants got started, our cooperative.”

Father Hector eventually was “disappeared,” never seen again nor his body ever recovered.  I found it interesting that Jacinto, in telling this story, never added the fact that the priest had been a guest at Jacinto’s home at the moment of the abduction.  I suspect that omitting that detail keeps the focus on the part of the story that Jacinto wishes to emphasize:  the priest was taken in the dark of night, but his lessons about humility, cooperativism and stewardship continue on as lights in each day.  In Jacinto’s thinking, the story is all about the man and his message, and not the details of a midnight atrocity.

Jacinto says that his job is to keep telling the tale and teaching the cooperative youth the profound lessons of the humble priest, that cooperatives can be life-saving structures when they are founded upon and operated for the common good.  Even as an elder of the cooperative, his appetite to represent the lessons of Father Hector pushed him to board a plane in Panama City, fly through the questionable skies of Hurricane Irma, visit the foreign land of the U.S. for the first time, navigate a language barrier and offer himself as a testimony to successful cooperativism.

I never met Father Hector Gallego.  I never even read much about him before the last several weeks.  But I feel as though I somehow know exactly what kind of a man he was….

I spent the better part of last week with colleagues and guests at the Nobel Peace Prize Forum in Minneapolis.  The annual gathering features recent Nobel Peace Prize laureates and many others whose passions are about peace-making.  In this year’s edition, Winds of Peace was invited to host a dialogue about the potential impact of cooperatives on post-conflict societies.  In the session, our colleague Rene Mendoza offered his research conclusions about what constitutes strong cooperatives, how all of the “actors” in the cooperative chain sometimes unknowingly contribute to a lack of fairness to the small producer, and how Fair Trade isn’t always fair.

Our session featured representatives from all quarters of the coffee cooperative chain: producers, buyers, roasters, funders, cooperative associations, consultants and even academics.   They came from Europe, Central America, South America, Canada and the U.S.  We sought as many perspectives as we could find to consider the research and join in the discussion about where and how improvements might be made on behalf of the small producer, and in the process contribute to better chances at creating more peaceful societies.  The gathering was an impressive one, made even more so because of the intensity that they brought to the Forum: these were people who were serious about the topic and, especially, to the notion of contributing to peace.

We heard stories from peasant farmers and the nature of perseverance.  We listened to the findings about premium payments in the Fair Trade and Organic markets and how that money often never reaches the farmers who grow the crops.  We heard stories of progress, for women, for peasant farmers, for struggling organizations attempting to fight the currents of political and monied interests.  We learned about the importance of transparency, of walking in another’s shoes, collaborative work, the importance of “the common good.”  And we felt the passionate undercurrent of an eclectic group of people seeking, in their own way, a means of peacemaking.

And then there was the news coverage this week at the U.N.

The President of the United States openly taunted the leader of North Korea, in front of the rest of the world, by referring to him as “rocket man.”  In the same breath, he stated flatly that, “we will have no choice but to totally destroy North Korea.”  Later in the week, the leader of the free world, in addressing African leaders, twice referred to the African nation “Nambia.”  Unfortunately, there is no such country.  The chief peacemaker in the world did not know the name of the country to which he referred.

In quoting the President I imply no judgment as to his intelligence or the soundness of his political strategies; all persons on the planet can judge for themselves the appropriateness of the President’s position. I only note the stark contrast between last week’s energies toward building peace, and this week’s headlines threatening an annihilation.

I can’t help but be startled by the contrast….

I received the following article from the organization, “Progress Through Business,” a non-profit located at the University of Wisconsin-Madison.  It was founded by an acquaintance of mine, John Hoffmire, whom I came to know through his advocacy in the ESOP world.  I found the subject and the data of the article provocative, and decided to include it here:

It’s an interesting study and a sobering one.  I wonder what misconceptions others have about me….?

The reality is that there is a singular head of the country who has caused some very deep divides among the population.  He is known for saying  controversial things about his opponents and his own achievements.   He governs in a very hands-on fashion, a style which many call autocratic.  That style is accentuated by the fact that he has family members serving within his administration, affirming decisions and positions which are not always popular.  It’s not helped by the fact that he is wealthy and that there are so many within the country who are in serious need.

The government has seemed to be consumed by controlling the press, one of the foundations of a strong democratic government. It has repeatedly discounted any news story that is critical of policy or the president himself.  As a result, the president only speaks with media which represents his positions favorably.  For example, even long after the election results of last year, the administration continues to challenge how many voted.

Even in this age of unprecedented political divide, where polarization is the norm, the administration has adopted an extraordinary agenda of intense marginalization of those who do not support the party in power.  It might mean losing one’s job.  Loyalty is prized above all other traits, even at the expense of truth and integrity.  Within the administration, officials follow only the party line as the singular means to the truth, even to the demonization of those who disagree.

A continuing puzzle is the apparent friendliness of the government toward Russia and its leader, Vladimir Putin.  Unlike a vast majority of nations of the Western Hemisphere, this government has been silent in criticisms of Russia and consistently praising of Putin as a great leader.  Perhaps there is some expectation of return favors in the future, but the government raises suspicions by its unusual posture and kid-glove handling of Russia.   Are we, in fact, independent of “the bear?”

This is one of only three nations to decline participation in the 2016 Paris Climate Agreement.  Whether that effort is sufficient to have a significant impact upon climate change, the country’s unwillingness to participate in the agreement along with 195 other countries creates a signal of dissonance with the rest of the global community.  There is a great deal of disappointment within the country over the unwillingness of government to work with the other nations of the planet in addressing the global warming threat.

So are my musings about Nicaragua, with some interesting comparisons to the U.S., or vice versa?  The reality of both countries is that there is great distress as a result of increasing polarity and fewer opportunities for full participation in  society.

Maybe we’re more alike than we think….

The U.S. has made an entire history out of intervening in Nicaragua’s politics, nearly always to the detriment of that country and its people.  The history is easy to find, so it does not warrant recounting here.  But if the intention of the U.S. government is to improve the lives of Nicaraguans, once again it seems to have itself in a backwards posture, facing the usual unintended consequences.

The draft of the Nica Bill [Nicaraguan Investments Conditionality Act], threatening to impose economic sanctions on Nicaragua in response to the authoritarian drift and corruption of  Daniel Ortega’s regime, was revived recently for discussion in the US House and Senate.

Republican senator Ted Cruz reintroduced the measure, together with Republican Ileana Ros- Lehtinen and Democrat Albio Sires.

“This legislation would direct the United States to use our voice and vote at international financial institutions to oppose loans for the government of Nicaragua until President Ortega’s regime is held accountable for its oppressive policies and anti-democratic actions, and the Secretary of State certifies that Nicaragua is taking effective steps to hold free and fair elections and combat corruption,” Cruz stated.  In April, twenty-five members of the House demanded not only the reestablishment of democratic institutions in Nicaragua but also an active effort to combat corruption and to investigate the high officials tainted by this type of action, as conditions to prevent a funds stoppage.  In addition, they accelerated the timeline for the State Department to present a report about these conditions, making it a ninety-day period instead of the 120 days stipulated in the original proposal.

The new version of the Nica Act that is now in the Senate, also tends to ignore the agreement between the government and the Organization of American States (OAS). In it, the Nicaraguan government agreed to negotiate over the presence of an OAS electoral observation during the 2017 municipal elections. As a result of that agreement, OAS Secretary General Luis Almagro has expressed his concern about the reactivation of The Nica Act, observing that “it is not a constructive contribution to the work of the government of Nicaragua and this Secretary General on issues of cooperation for the country’s democratic, electoral and institutional strengthening.”  Almagro invited the bill’s sponsors to reconsider the initiative to provide Nicaragua and the OAS “the time and space needed to move forward with the work agreed to by both parties.”  The Nica Act does take up concerns from the OAS observation mission’s report, a document that signaled clear flaws in Nicaragua’s electoral system, but apparently doesn’t have any faith in OAS ability to work in concert with Nicaraguan officials to address those concerns.  Once again, the U.S. presumes to know best what Nicaragua needs and to force feed it.

The problem, of course, is that if The Nica Act becomes law, those who will pay the price will not be President Ortega or members of his administration or the large business interests aligned with the government.  The oppressed will be the same as always: the poor, the marginalized, many of whom still experience the effects of U.S. interventions from decades ago.  The poor almost always become the debtors, the ones who must pay the price for whatever U.S. policy dictates.  The Washington-based social justice organization Quixote Center, long present in Nicaragua and working on behalf of those without strong voice, concurs that The Nica Act is punitive legislation that will perpetuate the suffering in Nicaragua, one way or another.

Without doubt, there are significant needs that exist in this second-poorest nation of the Western Hemisphere.  But before the U.S. makes yet another foray into Central American lives and futures- from whatever motivation- perhaps we should devote our energies and attentions to our own election difficulties and inconsistencies, and the state of our own democracy.   Maybe we should take to heart the President’s call for “America First.”  Before touting democracy to others, we must first model it well….

As in past years, the Foundation is supporting the Nobel Peace Prize Forum, to be held in Minneapolis on September 13-16.  This year will be a little different for us, as WPF is contributing not only financially to the Forum, but is also leading one of the “high-level dialogues” being offered on the first day.  The Foundation is bringing six cooperative members to the Forum from their homes in Nicaragua, Honduras, Colombia, Panama and Guatemala.  They will join an important discussion about the role of cooperatives in helping to establish and maintain peace in post-conflict societies.  We’re excited about the topic!

In addition to the panelists, the Forum is interested in inviting other key players in the cooperative chain of commerce- buyers, fair trade certifiers, organic certifiers, retailers and funders- to join in the discussion.  The purpose is to identify where we might collectively contribute to the success of the small, rural producers and the coops to which they belong.  In too many instances, initiatives aimed at helping the small family farmers have become coopted by other objectives and a host of “middlemen” out to game the system.

To that end, we have identified key organizations which have  significant impacts, and which seek to strengthen these small farmers as a major objective.  Indeed, many are important friends of the farmers.  To make an invitation for their attendance at the Forum, WPF agreed to send out a “pre-invitation” letter to  the key players identified, as a way of introducing the idea of this collaborative effort and offering a “heads-up” for the forthcoming, more formal invitation from the Forum itself.  In most cases, we already had identified a name or two from the organization, but in some instances we had to research a bit and make an educated guess as to an appropriate individual.  (My hands are starting to quiver; I think this is where I begin to feel frustration.)

All that I seek is a name and an e-mail address.  I have nothing to sell, no political agenda to push, nothing subversive to drop in anyone’s lap.  I simply have an invitation to offer, for something that is essentially at the heart of what these organizations are professing to do: help the little guys.  But the road to contact in some of these well-known and widely-praised organizations is as impassable and impossible as some of the roads in the Nicaragua outback.

First, there is the receptionist.  The receptionist wants to know why I wish to speak with Ms. X.  I explain the somewhat lengthy story about the Forum and the invitation.  This is met with the explanation that Ms. X AND her assistant are out for the day, and that I should try again tomorrow.  (I wonder if she might have told me that in the first place.)  When I call the next day, I reach a different receptionist, and she, too, wants to know in great detail why I wish to speak with Ms. X.  After reciting the details all over again, she passes me through to the administrative assistant.

Unfortunately, the assistant is not at her desk, and I am invited to leave a voice message.  As much as I don’t wish to do this, I am reluctant to waste this opportunity to connect, for which I have now worked so long.   So I share the story once more to voicemail, and respectfully ask for a return call so that I might elaborate or answer any questions.  I leave my phone number twice, just to be sure that I can be reached.  But, as you might have guessed, there has been no call.  Eleven days later, I have had no response.

I’m frustrated.  So I turn my sights to another large, well-known entity within the development world, one that is known globally as a generous and active funder for the impoverished.  Recognizing the absolute rightness of their cause, I have cause to hope for success.  My first stop is the ubiquitous receptionist, who wishes to know if Mr. Y is expecting my call.  I can’t imagine how he could be, since we have never spoken before, so the receptionist determines that I really need to speak first with Y’s administrative assistant.  (I prayed that it not be the same one as the previous day.  Is it possible that  large development organizations share administrative assistants?  Or do they just all come from the same schools?)  When I reach this guardian of Mr. Y’s time, she, too, wants to know if full detail the nature of my desire to talk with Y.  And after my lengthy-but-alluring description of the Forum and my case for eagerly desiring her firm’s possible participation, she informs me that Y is not available.  She will be pleased to pass along my name and number.  I could hear the deflation from the balloon I had so carefully blown up.  In ten days’ time, I have received no return call, from either Y or his assistant.

I am not organizationally naive. I filled a CEO role in a manufacturing company for 16 years, so I know the demands on an executive’s time and energy.  I know the competing forces that pull on busy people each and every day.  I also know two other truths: first, courtesy is not passe´ and a return call from someone is always appropriate.  (Isn’t that one of the roles of the administrative assistant?  Or has that become too plebian these days?)  Second, important opportunities and initiatives are not always going to be the province of big organizations with large fundraising budgets and lots of administrative staff.  Sometimes, opportunity comes calling in unsuspecting ways and when we shut ourselves off from other voices, we shortchange the very populations we seek to serve.  Indeed, the behavior contributes to the relative lack of impact we have on global poverty elimination.  There is lots of money, plenty of ideas, and too little collaboration.

There.  I’m done now and my hands aren’t trembling anymore.  My experience is probably no different than ones you might have encountered.  It’s just that in the name of peace-building and helping the poorest among us, I expect something more.  Despite having been in this field for a dozen years now, I guess I’m still learning something new every day: for some groups, if it wasn’t invented here, it’s not worth knowing….

I haven’t been in Nicaragua since February and likely won’t make another return trip until August.  No farms, no cooperative counsel, no ownership enthusiasm, no face-to-face conversations with people who do not speak English, but who nonetheless speak “my language.”  Memory of earlier trips fade over time and I begin to feel more and more distant from people who are the focus of our work and the hopes of sustainable Nicaragua.  That exemplifies a problem, a big one for all of us.

Absence may make the heart grow fonder, but it also creates distance.  Physically, I am no further away from my Nicaraguan colleagues and acquaintances than I was upon my return from there in February.  But the ensuing four months have distanced me, nonetheless.  Obviously, I do not see their faces.  I do not hear their voices or the anxieties  within their words.  They do not shake my hand in the morning or wish me a pleasant night in the evening.  We cannot share meals together.  I am not there to encourage and they may quickly forget lessons shared.  We are… apart.  Despite my heartfelt desire to be a resource and a friend, the time and distance erode the intensity of our relationship.  I’ve experienced the phenomenon before.

In 2000, my wife and I traveled with our four children (our two sets of twins) to the land of their birth, South Korea.  One of the many blessings of that travel was the opportunity to meet with both sets of birth parents.  The reunions were priceless, the time spent with these extended families were filled with emotion and love beyond our possible expectations.  We became family with these South Korean kin; by the time of our departure from their country, we promised each other ongoing love and communication.

For a time, we kept our pledge to one another.  From the U.S., we regularly telephoned long distance with the aid of an interpreter. (E-mail was not yet the readily available tool that it was to become.) From Korea, we received gifts and photos.  Christmas featured gifts in both directions.  The bonds remained vibrant.  But in time, they grew less frequent.  Our kids grew into busy young people already pressed for time and energy.  Birth families likely grew increasingly frustrated with time lags and difficulties in translating letters.  And eventually, not even the bonds of shared parenting and extended family could sustain a continued embrace.

It’s perhaps an obvious reality that time and distance intrude on the most sincere of desires and necessities.  And if they can erode our intentions even with respect to those whom we know and love, we can only speculate about the difficulties in nurturing connections with those we do not know.  I experienced it happening with South Korean family.  I feel it developing with Nicaraguan friends.  We become victims of our isolations.

At a time when our government and some of its population look to isolate our nation- to create greater distance and fewer collaborations to Make America Great Again- we would do well to recognize the realities of distance and time.  They are already formidable enemies of peace and humanity.  They siphon away touch and contact and emotion.  They feed doubt and gossip.  They sew seeds of suspicion.  Our needs are not to withdraw even further from the presence of “the other,” but to draw closer.

At the very least, I’m determined to reach out to two families in South Korea.  And to get back to people whom I know and care about in Nicaragua….

The article is fascinating and full of the reasons and motivations for our lies.  (Gosh, it even makes me feel bad to write that line.)  Some of our deceptions are protective, some are ego-driven, some are avoidance-based and some are even altruistic: lies intended to help someone or avoid their discomfort.  (Can I claim ownership to this category as my only source of lies?)  It turns out that we all have dishonesty built into our makeup.

“Lying, it turns out, is something that most of us are very adept at.  We lie with ease, in ways big and small, to strangers, co-workers, friends and loved ones.  Our capacity for dishonesty is as fundamental to us as our need to trust others, which ironically makes us terrible at detecting lies. Being deceitful is woven into our very fabric, so much so that it would be truthful to say that to lie is human.”

Wow.  I never realized the extent of the dark deceit that surrounds each of us.  Certainly, I acknowledge the ubiquity of lies in everyday life: (does “fibs” make that sound less awful?).   Advertisements promise results that could never be true, tabloid magazines publish stories with no semblance to reality, political pundits dish out speculation and innuendo without any basis in fact, and social media simply multiplies the problem.  But, within our own circle of family and friends?  (I wonder now whether those kind words about my sweater were sincere or sinister?)

The reality of our lying makes working in Nicaragua even more difficult than it might otherwise be.  Already, I must navigate relationships and circumstances through translation and my North American eyes.  Now, in addition, I read that there are also untruths being spoken, even if for the very best and most reasonable of reasons: hunger, shelter, health, life itself.  I’m not naive; I am well aware of the frequency of exaggeration and overstatement by people in dire need of assistance, financial and otherwise.  But reading an entire article about it underscores what has been mostly an uncomfortable subtext.  (Truth be told, now, it feels more omnipresent and, somehow, more problematic than before.)  Should the possibility of half-truths suddenly feel more offensive insulting or more threatening?

I’ve thought about that and decided that the answer is likely “no.”  If the article in National Geographic is even close to being accurate, we’ve all been subject to speaking and hearing lies during our entire lives.  There is nothing new happening here, only some data to confirm it.  It’s a bit like enduring a destructive overnight storm and awakening in the morning to read details about what you have already personally experienced.   (I swear, the hail stones were the size of melons!)

But there’s another reality which mitigates any sense of wrong that I might feel after being lied to.   When someone utters an untruth, often he/she is the one who is most hurt by it.  Lies can be like items posted on the Internet, in that they never really go away.  (All lies should be marked as spam.)  They continue to exist, hiding in memory until the moment when they can cause the maximum in embarrassment  and loss.  Falsehoods diminish who we are by eroding our credibility, our connection to truth, and to our own self-worth.  And those erosions hurt.  A deliberate lie to someone else is also a lie to ourselves, made even worse because we know the truth.  The conflict is, ultimately, wrenching.  (Is this why on some days I don’t feel as well as on others?)

We each have little in this world that is truly ours.  (What about my guitars?)  Material items come into our lives, and then they go.    The people in our lives enter and exit.  Always.  We take nothing from this world but our own integrity and sense of honor, two matters about which we can attempt to lie to ourselves, but without success.  It’s true in politics, in business, in farming, philanthropy and any other endeavor we can imagine.

I doubt that reflections here will have much impact on people in their day-to-day correspondence with each other; as the article observes, it’s “in us.”  But like any nagging habit, we can work on it.  We can make it better.   Ultimately, our well-being is built upon what is real, and whoever we are, truth will out….

The National Center for Employee Ownership (NCEO) has published a new study of employee-ownership in the U.S.   Now, the U.S. is not Nicaragua, and employee stock ownership is not cooperativism.  But the results cited in the report focus on enterprise ownership, owning the business and social equity of an enterprise, and that definition encompasses an entire spectrum of stakeholder models.  And this is a portion of what the study has found:

*Enterprise-owners in this dataset have 33% higher median income from wages overall. This holds true at all wage levels, ranging from a difference of $3,160 in annual wages for the lowest-paid employee-owners to an extra $5,000 for higher-wage workers.

*Median household net wealth among respondents is 92% higher for owners than for non-owners. This disparity holds true for the great majority of subgroups analyzed, including single women, parents raising young children, non-college graduates, and workers of color.

*Enterprise-owners of color in this data have 30% higher income from wages, 79% greater net household wealth, and median tenure in their current job 36% over non-employee-owners of color.

*For families with children ages 0 to 8 in their household, the ownership advantage translates into median household net worth nearly twice that of those without employee ownership, nearly one full year of increased job stability, and $10,000 more in annual wages.

The report is full of additional data which supports the organizational value of ownership; take a look at it for lots of details. But the picture being painted here is one of many colors: organizations that involve their workers as owners are more successful;  greater opportunity comes from ownership; greater participation through ownership yields greater strength and organizational growth; there is a central tendency in us as human beings to nurture and protect that which we own.

Concurrent with the publication of this groundbreaking study was the publication of Fortune Magazine’s 2017 100 Best Companies to Work For.  Of the 73 corporations recognized for their outstanding workplaces, more than half of them (35) incorporated ownership plans for their members.  It’s hardly a coincidence that many of the best companies to work for are companies owned, in whole or part, by the employees or members themselves.  (The Fortune list is traditionally weighted heavily toward technology and healthcare providers; the preponderance of ownership would presumably be even higher in a more representative sample of U.S. businesses.)

There is no mistaking the fact that Nicaraguan cooperatives are owned by their members, in at least the structural, legal sense.  But like their U.S. employee counterparts, Nicaraguan owners need the understanding of what ownership is, of what their ownership obligations and rights are, and how their success truly rises or falls based upon the members taking responsibility, collectively.  Successful ownership is not reliant upon heroes or the efforts of the few or the presence of a beneficent patron.  Success follows a basic understanding of how their cooperative works, how A+B=C, and importance of each member to the whole.

So when the third Certificate Program is convened in August, there will be modules about family strategic planning and access to markets and means of improving production and quality.  But at its core, the Program will be about ownership, seizing the opportunity for self-improvement by embracing both self and collective responsibility.  We’ll be there to help conversations about Open Books and Lean, but the days will really be about our partners’ futures, and their appetite to own it….

I’ll first need to acknowledge the “elephant in the room.”  The independent producers in rural Nicaragua are, for the most part, extremely poor.  They have little margin for error in their production cycles, whether the difficulties are the result of natural calamity, market gyrations or corruption.  At best, farmers face incredibly difficult logistics: availability of crop inputs do not always coincide with available finances, most producers rely on mill services at other locations, the roads are often little more than unimproved paths, and transport of the harvest to  a reliable marketplace can be a game of chance.  So, yes, let’s acknowledge the very real and complex issues facing the grassroots producers.

Next, I guess I should recognize the “rhino in the room,” the seductive “siren call” of modern society.  Though rural Nicaraguans lead lives far-removed from the technologies and industries of large urban populations, they do not live in solitary confinement.  Televisions, smart phones and Internet access provide an all-too-clear depiction of conveniences and gadgets that are sleek and enticing enough to beckon even the most resistant young person, even those who are prone to remain in the countryside.  It’s a call that reaches nearly all youth these days, with amazements that have names like Twitter, Instagram, Facebook and Google.  The names even sound like a playground.

Then, there’s also the “hippo in the room,” that vast and universal gulf between one generation and the next, where the elders are seen as archaic and the youth as inexperienced children.  Although Nicaraguans do not have an exclusive monopoly on this circumstance, they do endure the contextual reality of being called the second poorest country in the Western Hemisphere.  That’s more than just a bad name, it’s a brand, and one that any new generation would not appreciate receiving from an older one.

So, locked in a small room with the beasts of the wild, is it realistic to really believe that the youth can fall in love with the countryside again?  I think the answer is yes, and for reasons that transcend the presence of the beasts which prowl there.  The beasts are capable of being tamed.  It’s part of the reason Winds of Peace and others are there, in the effort to at least tame the wild game.

The beasts are not immortal.  While their visits can be life-threatening and sometimes long, they can and do move on.  What’s required is the chance to eliminate their feeding grounds: despair, lack of education and a forgetfulness.

Our partners in Nicaragua have never lost hope.  Despite battles with natural disasters and man-made troubles and sometimes fickle and deceiving markets, some Nicaraguans are seemingly impervious to despair.  It’s a critical matter, because where despair is denied roots, hope grows, confidence takes hold and what was once old becomes new.

New.  It’s what seems to attract youth no matter what the context.  The next generation is always focused on charting a new way, their own way, and even if the way is remarkably similar to the way of their elders.  The education of the youth permits them to experience the countryside and its character in ways very different from their parents.  Education of the youth is the fundamental building block for the progress of the country; ability to read and write and conduct basic math are the keys to doors long-closed for many in rural Nicaragua.  But sometimes what the youth learn in class contradicts what they have experienced in the fields: the taskmaster of economics and the glamor of a technological revolution can quickly mask the solitude of the morning, the presence of neighbors, and the strength of community.  Economics might suggest that money is made by selling off components of life, by trading what is inside them for things that will never be truly part of them.  The Internet allows access to virtually everything that is fantasy and fact, but sometimes overlooking that which is really of value.  The education of the youth is the essential ingredient for their development, but only when  they are  taught within the context of all of life’s values.

The real hope for the youth falling in love with the countryside is perhaps not so much found in the technical and operational teachings derived from their education, nor in their search to separate themselves from the known; children eventually come to recognize the wisdom of their parents.   Maybe it’s as much dependent upon the youth remembering what it is that they have loved before, in the days when they climbed trees and fetched water and helped in the fields with family things.  Maybe it’s in the recollection of a history wherein basic dignities of life were worth a family’s struggle, and where human compassion and decency outweighed the heavy obligations of a competitive modern life.  Maybe it’s the discovery of liberation that comes from truth.

Can Nicaraguan youth fall in love with the countryside again?  Yep.  And maybe a good place to start would be for them to talk with those of us who actually search for a love of countryside ourselves, seeking capital in its non-financial forms, hoping to satisfy a longing for honest self-sufficiency, and to remember life in its most basic components….

It has been very personal work.  We can describe the organizations.  We can remember where they are and the circumstances in which their people live.  We can name names.    That accompaniment is a condition of our work, being “on the ground” where there is little access, few outsider visits and sparse resources.  It’s being with partners on the inside, helping to find a small opening where opportunity might be waiting on the other side.  It’s still our model, still the way that we will continue to work in Nicaragua.  But we also have added a component to such work, this time from the “outside.”

The Nobel Peace Prize Forum is an event which Winds of Peace has sponsored for many years.  The Forum exists as the only sanctioned event under the Nobel Peace Prize name outside of the award selection itself.  Annually, it has brought together past peace laureates, activists, scholars and those working in their own ways and in their own niches for peace and justice, “on the inside,” where life is actually lived.  This year’s Forum will be held in Minneapolis, Minnesota during September 13-16.  It will feature many stories of peace-building and human development.  And it will include work underwritten by Winds of Peace.

In what is billed as a “high-level dialogue” session, major research and “inside” work on cooperatives will be presented by Foundation colleague Rene Mendoza.  Rene is recognized as a development innovator and engages in “participatory action research” to facilitate actions by cooperative members themselves.  Specifically, Rene will highlight the  efforts and conclusions from cooperatives in various countries.  And he’ll emphasize the importance and stabilizing impact of cooperatives in societies emerging from periods of conflict, and how their financial impacts serve as an essential ingredient for both economic and social well-being. He has also assembled a panel of six cooperative members from Central and South America to join in the conversation and share their experiences of cooperative life and meaning.  Yet, that’s not the full extent of the session.

The rest of the invited audience will be comprised of individuals from cooperative-supporting organizations, entities which have in some way positioned themselves as partners with the small cooperatives, whether in the roles of funders, marketers, associations, Fair Trade and Organic certifiers, buyers, roasters or retailers.  They are (hopefully) big names.  The presentations are designed to invite dialogue with this invited audience about where the entire process chain is working well, where it isn’t, and how collectively all actors might make it more valuable to the essential focus:  the producer and his/her family.

As a result of the discourse, the participants will be encouraged to arrive at an objective or change that might be affected during the ensuing 12 months, a plan of action which will be shared with the at-large Forum attendees.  In 2018, some of those discourse participants will then return to the Forum for a report-out on success, and whether the conclusions and actions identified in 2017 really made an impact.  It’s a very action and accountability effort, unlike many conference end results, and one that Forum organizers (and sponsors, like WPF) hope can bring real impact to cooperatives as major peace components.  It’s “outside work,” changing the focus temporarily to the ambient world surrounding places like rural Nicaragua.  Consider this blog entry as an invitation to experience at least this part of the Forum in the Fall.

Why?  Because sometimes circumstances don’t allow us to achieve our needs fully by ourselves.  There is not one among us who has reached full potential and well-being on our own.  Sometimes, we require the intervention of “outside work….”

I have wondered about a lot of things.

I wonder why the 1% of the wealthiest people in the world feel compelled to have more.  What will they do with it?

I wonder why some people go to bed hungry while the U.S. alone wastes about 31% of its food each year, or 133 billion pounds of food.  Do Nicaraguan children throw food away?

I wonder how an elected official can be called a leader when he/she only represents a few wealthy citizens.  Can one actually lead a “force” of, say, 12 people?

I wonder if President Donald Trump realizes that the man in the Texas floods who helped to save an infant who had stopped breathing is an immigrant from Guatemala.  Does humanity have borders?

I wonder what the Earth will be like for my grandchildren when they reach my age.  Will they still be able to breathe the air and drink the water?  What will they use instead?

I wonder if there will ever be an end to poverty.  Is there a statute of limitations on servitude?  Who will free the marginalized?

I wonder why we think that teachers and social workers and the like are content to work for the love of the job and do not care about financial security.  Is teaching and caring for others really that unimportant to our economy?

I wonder what would happen if doctors and other caregivers decided to treat only those people who were part of a “special club” and had paid their dues to join.   Would that even be legal?  What if you couldn’t pay the dues?

I wonder why I do so many things that I ought not to do, and leave untended so many things that I ought to do.  Isn’t my intellect capable of informing me of what is essential?

I wonder who first posited that the poor seem to lead very happy lives despite their poverty.  Was it a wealthy person seeking to assuage his/her discomfort?  Is acceptance the same as happiness?

I wonder what would happen if men and women suddenly recognized what would happen in the world, if women were simply treated equally.  Is there a genetic trait for equity blindness?

I wonder if there will ever be a female U.S. president.  Are there too many men with money to allow that?  Why would any woman want to join in that game?

I wonder whether any member of the U.S. Cabinet has ever missed a meal or been denied health care or been homeless.  Would it make any difference in their policies?

Despite my lack of entries here over the past three weeks, it really has been a busy time, indeed….

Black lives matter.  Police lives matter.  Latino lives matter.  Gay lives matter.

We live in an age of proclaiming that _______ lives matter.  (Fill in the blank with whatever ethnic, racial, gender, vocational or religious designation is important to you.)  Over the past several years, the U.S. has witnessed countless marches, protests and demonstrations which demand and plead for human mercies in the face of injustice and bias.  These are events which are both troubling and hopeful. Troubling, because they invariably follow an incident of hatred and/or hurt.  Hopeful, because they affirm the expectation that we have for fairness and compassion.

I encountered the following article by writer Nick McDonell, writing for The Los Angeles Times.  It casts a somewhat broader view of whether all lives matter to us.  It invites the question, “Is any life of less value than another?”

Civilian war casualties: Truth is, we value others’ lives less than our own

Iraqi officials report that a U.S. airstrike killed nearly 200 civilians in West Mosul in mid-March. The U.S. military acknowledged that it had carried out a mission in the area and is now investigating this strike as well as another in March, said to have killed dozens of civilians near the Syrian city of Raqqah.

When a missile meets its target, chemicals inside the weapon combine, causing gases to expand and exert pressure on the warhead, which shatters outward, turning it into shrapnel behind a blast wave. This wave, faster than the speed of sound, compresses the surrounding air, pulverizes any nearby concrete, plaster, or bone, and creates a vacuum, sucking debris back to the zero point. The chemical interaction also produces heat, causing fire.

Although the ensuing civilian casualties may seem like unstoppable tragedies, they are not. Civilian casualties are not inevitable. They are a choice.

The U.S. military predicts how many people will die in its airstrikes by surveilling and estimating the population within a proposed blast radius. It also sets a limit on the number of innocent people each command is authorized to kill incidentally. This limit, called the Non-Combatant Cutoff Value, or NCV, is perhaps our starkest rule of engagement, and it varies region-by-region for political reasons.

In Afghanistan, civilian casualties caused by U.S. airstrikes are considered a liability in our relationship with that country’s government. The NCV for Afghanistan is therefore zero.

In Iraq and Syria, the calculus is different. The Pentagon believes the Islamic State of Iraq and Syria (ISIS) is a greater threat than the Taliban; the Iraqis have been requesting more aggressive support; the fighting is more urban.

Last year in Baghdad, I asked then-U.S. Army spokesman Col. Steve Warren what the NCV was for Iraq. That is: How many innocent Iraqis was his command authorized to kill incidentally in an airstrike?

“There are numbers — we don’t put those numbers out,” he told me, “and here’s why we don’t put ‘em out: Because if the enemy understand, ‘Oh if I have X number of civilians around a thing,’ its gonna be harder for [the U.S. to arrack] right? So that’s a piece of information that we protect.”

The number, however, came out. It was first reported by Buzzfeed, and then the Associated Press, in December, when the Army issued its latest Rules of War Manual.

“According to senior defense officials,” the AP story ran, “military leaders planning operations against the Islamic State group in Iraq and Syria may authorize strikes where up to 10 civilians may be killed, if it is deemed necessary in order to get a critical military target.” 

That number yields some grim math. Last year, the coalition acknowledged 4,589 airstrikes in Iraq and Syria. If the NCV was 10 throughout, then U.S. policy in 2016 was to tolerate the incidental killing of a maximum of 45,890 innocent Iraqis and Syrians in order to destroy ISIS.

The common estimate for ISIS fighters in Iraq and Syria is 40,000, and between Sept. 12, 2001, the day after the attacks on the Twin Towers, and 2016, foreign terrorists killed a total of 411 American civilians, worldwide.

Our policy for last year, then, was to tolerate the death of 112 Iraqi or Syrian civilians per American civilian.

That’s on paper. In practice, the military does not typically expect civilian casualties, and it engineers strikes to avoid them. I doubt the military anticipated, specifically, those 200 civilians who died in Mosul. We have killed far fewer noncombatant Iraqis than the NCV permits — a minimum of 2,831, according to Airwars, the preeminent independent monitoring group. (The U.S. has confirmed only 220 as of March). And in dozens of interviews with men and women responsible for such strikes, no one expressed a desire to kill civilians or the opinion that it is ever strategically advisable to do so.

Recently embedded in a tactical operations center to observe airstrikes, I met targeteers and commanding officers who were mostly conscientious, within the parameters of their bloody business.

But what’s on paper matters. The math, then, is troubling — especially under a president who, unlike the men and women he leads, has endorsed the intentional, rather than incidental, killing of noncombatants.

“The other thing with terrorists,” then-candidate Donald Trump said on “Fox and Friends” in December 2015, “is that you have to take out their families.”

To do so would be a war crime. Whether or not the Trump administration has relaxed the rules of engagement, as some suspect, Airwars reported in March that we are, for the first time, causing more civilian casualties in the fight against ISIS than our Russian counterparts. 

This monstrous fact will disturb the troops I met in December, who believe that we are always the good guys when it comes to civilian casualties. Or at least the better guys. But there are no good guys in this process. That we have an NCV greater than zero implies something ugly, if unsurprising, about the way we see ourselves in the world, how we value a foreign life against an American one. We value it less.

It is reasonable to care more for countrymen than foreigners. Devotion to family, neighbors and friends defines a life, and one does not love a stranger, a little girl in Mosul, as much as a daughter.

But neither should we be willing to kill that little girl to achieve our aims. Arguably legal, our utilitarian position is neither brave nor morally ambitious for a superpower dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.

Nick McDonell’s most recent book, “The Civilization of Perpetual Movement,” was published in 2016. He wrote this article for the Los Angeles Times (TNS).

It’s a sobering article.  To know that some human beings are simply counted in the calculation of something called NCV is horrifying, even if nothing really new.  The process begs for examination and reflection.  Maybe we start with the premise that one must “love a stranger, a little girl in Mosul, as much as a daughter.”  For these are our daughters.  And our sons.  Our national global strategies have no place for the notion of “taking out their families,” as our president proclaims.  Life is precious in whatever the context.  To deny that is to deny our very humanity….

There are lots of things to like about the members of NUMAJI:  in addition to the aforementioned energies, they are organized, they take their organizational responsibilities seriously, they are constantly seeking ways in which to grow- both organizationally and personally- and they are undaunted by the societal forces which seem to conspire against their quest for independence and preservation of Indigenous tradition.  It’s easy to root for underdogs.

Like their young brethren in most other countries, the members of NUMAJI carry a bias toward “rebellion.”  Not physical confrontation, but a desire to go their own ways as compared to their elders.  The irony for this Indigenous group of youth is that their rebellion is aimed not at abandonment of past ways but at preservation of their heritage, “the Indigenous patrimony.”  It’s in danger of extinction due to passage of time, loss of youth to technology and migration, local and national governments which prefer not having to deal with the reality of Indigenous traditions and rights, and other Indigenous voices which speak about the artifacts of their heritage as being for sale.

This group of young people has been through a lot.  They first came together under the recognition that they needed and deserved a structure in which their voices might be heard by their elders; sometimes elders have a difficult time ascribing value to their eventual successors.  Next, they waded into the swamp of forming themselves into an association, a process which is as long as it is daunting, and especially for the uninitiated.  They face the scorn of many elders who view the association as too inexperienced and too young to be of importance.  They battle the entrenched and politics-driven agendas of some Indigenous and municipal community “leaders,” for whom an association of independent thinkers and actors constitutes a threat to established order.  In short, there are few resources on which to rely as they defend their heritage and birthright.

Except in the case of their work.  As we listened to the issues faced by the youth- many of whom are still in their teens- I was struck by the content of the proposal they made for association work in the coming year.  I wonder where else I might hear youth discussing issues like: internal and foreign migration; the need for development of greater emotional intelligence as a personal development strength;  the impacts of “adultism;” confronting child abuse; writing the statutes and administration of a legal association; or preserving and protecting archaeological sites when municipal and national authorities demonstrate little interest in doing so.  These are not matters of pop culture or social media, but rather, the very real issues of an entire Indigenous people being met head-on by their youth.

It’s an uphill battle, at best.  Maybe NUMAJI will be able to sustain itself through sheer force of wills; young people often have that capacity.  Alternatively, the obstacles may prove to be more than even an energized group of committed youth can withstand.  But either way, this group has educated and experienced itself in ways that will serve its individual members well in the future, whatever that may hold.  Good character and personal courage are qualities that are always in demand and short in supply.

When we left the meeting, I noticed that I actually stood a little straighter, taller than when I walked in….

Most of the sites we visited are well-known to those who have visited the Parks, and the trails leading to these vantage points are well-marked and well-trod by millions of visitors before us.  And at each of those trailheads, the Park Service feels obligated to post a message to its visitors, one which might seem unnecessary in the shadows of majestic peaks and rims of jaw-dropping chasms, but which is offered nonetheless.  It’s a small sign which reads, “Your Steps Matter.”                                                

The sign is simply a reminder of the transience of these landscapes and our impacts upon them.  They are fragile.  People too often have the desire to leave their own imprints on these monuments of creation, as if to satisfy a need to make a statement of existence, to leave their own modern-day petroglyphs about which future visitors might wonder.   Perhaps it was the reflective nature of our trip or my tendency to look for hidden meanings where none may be intended, but the words on the sign prompted other thoughts for me.

Our steps do matter, whether for the health of ground vegetation, rock formations or water quality in the parks.   Trees that have withstood the extremes of nature for more than 100 years are nonetheless dependent upon “breathing space” from the hordes of human visitors who come to these sites constantly to witness the immense majesty of the natural world.  It’s among the places where it’s not OK to take “the road less traveled,” as Frost suggested, and where we’re discouraged to blaze our own trails, in deference to the survival of other life.

In light of the signage, I felt a certain pride at keeping to the paths, as though I was contributing something good to the welfare and sustainability of the parks.  I know that the notion is ridiculous, but staying on the trails was perhaps the one act of preservation that I could make.  But that same sense of self-righteousness led me to consider other steps in my life.

Steps everywhere in our lives matter.  Every stride taken in our journey makes an imprint, leaves a trace, impacts our surroundings. Like the proverbial beating of butterfly wings that affects weather patterns on the other side of the world, we are part of a global tapestry wherein all of us are inextricably dependent upon and impacted by each other.  Choices we make in the U.S. have an impact in Nicaragua.  We might elect to trespass over someone else’s space, and might even be able to “get away with it,” and to do so without detection.  But the space will be changed forever, in ways that we may never know. How and where we walk are matters of choice: we can elect to tread lightly and with respect, or to trample according to our own narrow wills.  Either way, we leave a story for those who follow.  Like our children.  Or our grandchildren.  Or our children’s children’s children.

Our steps are our legacies, like those artifacts we covet from millennia past.  They are the messages we leave behind that attempt to declare our existence and portray the kinds of lives we led.  What a pity if, in our wakes, all that remains are traces of once-resplendent times and places….

Molly commented on the awkwardness exhibited by most of the class members in discussing the notion of their own privilege; it is a group of predominantly white, middle-class students.  Maybe they were feeling a bit of “privilege guilt” or, contrary to my assumptions, perhaps they had never really thought about privilege in their own context.  Whatever the cause, the members of the class struggled in that first session, heads down, voices silent, struggling with whatever notions occupied their hearts and minds.  (Molly related that subsequent sessions became more open, less constrained.)

But the episode spawned interesting conversation between Molly and me, in part because Molly is an ethnic minority herself, an adoptee from Korea at infancy.  She can personally relate to the idea of privilege, both from the standpoint of a minority who has grown up in a white-privilege society, as well as from the point of view of someone who was raised in a family of relative economic and opportunity privilege. The dialogue prompted some musing on my part, as I contemplated the problems inherent in discussing such a charged topic as privilege.

The first of these problems is that privilege is something that everyone inherently wants.  We may not refer to it in terms of privilege, but it’s that competitive or better position that all of us seek, and in nearly all avenues of life.  We want to be “first in line.”  It might be first in line for a new technology.  We line up through the night to obtain front row tickets.  We follow our sports teams in hopes of being able to claim, “We’re number one!” even though the game is played by others.  We push ourselves at work so that we might advance in title and pay.  We wonder longingly what it might be like to have great material wealth or not to be required to work.  Sometimes we even compete to be among the first to escape the church parking lot on Sundays.  It’s in us instinctively.   Whether it’s called getting ahead or realizing one’s full potential or seeking favor in the way our communities look at us, privilege is seen as an advantage, or an honor, or a placement somehow better than before, better than where others are.  We might equate the term privilege with those who are of the economic upper 1%, but it’s an objective we all strive to achieve.

The second problem is that, whether we believe it or not, nearly every one of us already enjoys some degree of privilege in our lives.  Everything is relative in life, and if we could chart the degree of privilege of every human being on a continuum, the only person without privilege would be the individual at the very bottom.  For all the rest of us, we occupy some position that is further ahead or better off than those below us.  We need to recognize that just as we gaze jealously or longingly at someone who we regard as being “ahead” of us, there is someone doing the same thing from below.  All of us are more privileged than some.  Some are more privileged than most.  Most are more privileged than the least.  I even have met some of the least who regard their lot in life as more privileged than the most.  So the cycle depends entirely upon one’s point of view and the meaning of “privilege.”

Third of these problems is that, despite our privilege in life, very few of us recognize that we have it.  We seem to feel as though everyone else has it.  No matter what the blessings or good fortunes of our lives,  we are fixated on those who seemingly have so much more, believing that it’s these fortunate few who are the privileged.  The recognition of privilege is as difficult as knowing our own incompleteness: we can only see it in others.   There are good and valid reasons for us to dream about privilege; such dreams often fan the flames of knowledge and invention.  But privilege has visited most of us, even when we never recognized its random faces.

Finally, privilege has never embraced notions of fairness or justice. When disparities exist among people, discussion of them is usually laced with guilt or blame or other tension to drive a wedge between those who have and those who have less.  The fact that privilege is so unevenly divided within our society has been  cause for debate throughout our history.  It continues to be, and the arbiter of privilege falls to whatever political perspective happens to own government.  That’s ironically the privileged class, and so the cycle continues its lopsided turn.

If the problems of privilege are understood and acknowledged, then a meaningful dialogue can happen for people wanting to know their own places in the equation.  It’s a searing examination of self and other that requires enormous self-honesty and deep compassion.  But the undertaking is a sort of privilege unto itself….

El camino a Santa Ana y a nuestra reunión es lento y difícil, aun para un vehículo con doble tracción; la trocha es un poco más ancha que un sendero. Las panoramas le quitan el aliento a uno, contrastándose las montañas con los valles. En una meseta está una prescolar chiquita, donde las mujeres de COMUSAN esperan nuestra llegada.

Han venido de todas partes de la zona para asistir a esta reunión de exposición, orgullo, y gratitud. La cooperativa ha sido guido en su existencia por la paciencia y determinación de las mujeres, y las socias de ANIDES, la Asoc. Nicaragüense de Desarrollo Sustenible. Dos socias de ANIDES están presentes, pero el momento pertenece a las mujeres.

Lo que es notable sobre esta reunión no es solamente que las mujeres se han juntado para un propósito común (el banco comunal), sino que lo han hecho a pesar de las dificultades enormes, y han tenido un éxito llamativo. Muchas de las socias migraron a esta zona de otras partes del país, desarraigadas o por conflictos anteriores, los estragos de la naturaleza o la falta de oportunidades económicas. Sus edades cubren generaciones. Ninguna tiene antecedentes con los bancos, ni como prestatarias. La mayoría tienen poca educación formal, muchas no han estudiado más allá de la primaria. Los hombres en su vida tienen que entender que la participación en la cooperativa pertenece a las socias, a veces una lección difícil. Y aun así las finanzas del banco comunal incipiente son positivas y creciéndose, mientras las socias toman pasos pequeños y certeros para asegurar el fortalecimiento de su banco – y la cooperativa que ahora lo envuelve – para el futuro.

Es comprensible que las mujeres son timidas en cuanto a hablar en la reunión; no reciben muchas visitantes acá, y a lo mejor son demasiado modestas sobre lo que han logrado, y como se sienten sobre eso. Pedir apoyo es una experiencia de humildad por si solo. Pero la presencia de las 27 mujeres, muchas de las cuales caminaron una distancia larga para asistir a la reunión, es un testamento a su orgullo y determinación de hacer que esta entidad sea exitosa, para ellas y para sus familias.

Hay un sentido de determinación aquí, que las mujeres de COMUSAN van a asegurar que funcione esta iniciativa, a pesar de los obstáculos que enfrenten. Son prudentes. Buscan entender los procesos de su cooperativa. Las socias de la cooperativa y ANIDES van a asistir al taller de cooperativas que se va a dar más tarde esa semana. Un visitante puede sentir tanto la inexperiencia, como la intensidad de un esfuerzo colaborativo para tlograr el éxito. De hecho, un “sueño” expresado durante la visita es que la cooperativa no solamente tenga éxito, pero que sea conocida internacionalmente.

¿Son visiones ambiciosas para una cooperativa rural de mujeres? A lo mejor. Pero pues todas las grandes historias de éxitos empiezan con un sueño improbable…

The route to Santa Ana and our meeting is slow and difficult, even for a 4-wheel drive vehicle; the trail is little more than a wide path.  The surroundings are breathtaking, with the mountains and  valleys contrasting  each other.  At one plateau sits a tiny pre-school house, wherein the women of COMUSAN await our arrival.

They have come from all over the territory  to attend this meeting of exposition, pride and gratitude.  The cooperative has been guided into existence through the patience and determination of the women and ANIDES, the Nicaraguan Association for Sustainable Development.  Two  members of ANIDES are present, but the show belongs to the women.

What is remarkable about this gathering is not just that the women have come together for a common purpose (the communal bank), but that they have done so against such enormous odds and with such striking success.  Many of the members have migrated to this region from other parts of the country, whether uprooted from past conflicts, ravages of nature or lack of economic opportunity.  Their ages cover generations.  None possess previous experience with banking, even as borrowers.   Most have little education, many with none beyond primary grades.  The men in their lives must understand that the stake in the cooperative bank belongs to the members, a sometimes difficult lesson.    And yet the financials of this fledgling communal bank are positive

and growing, as the members take small and certain steps to ensure the strengthening of their bank- and the cooperative which now envelops it- for the future.

The women are understandably shy about speaking up; they don’t have many visitors here and perhaps they are overly-modest about what they have accomplished and how they feel about it.  Asking for support is a humbling experience all by itself.  But the presence of the 27 women, many of whom have walked a great distance to attend the meeting, is a testament to both their pride and determination to make this entity succeed, for themselves and their families.

There is a determination here, a sense that the women of COMUSAN will make this initiative work, regardless of the obstacles they may face.  They are deliberate.  They seek to understand the processes of their cooperative.  Members of both the coop and ANIDES plan to attend the cooperative workshop to be held later in the week.  A visitor can feel both the inexperience and the intensity of a collaborative effort to succeed.  Indeed, one “dream” expressed during the visit is that this cooperative not only succeed unto itself, but that it might become known internationally.

Ambitious visions for a rural women’s cooperative?  Perhaps.  But then, all great success stories start with an unlikely dream….

Along the way, the work spawns the entire range of human emotions.  Often we feel frustration at the slow pace of change, both within Nicaragua and in the U.S. and other nations.  There is also joy, such as in knowing that Foundation resources have made it possible for young children to access books for reading.  Irritation is never far away, often associated with someone’s lack of context or understanding, where a good intention paradoxically becomes a hindrance to progress.  There are even occasional moments of anger, as when someone of privilege abuses that posture, at the expense (usually) of the most defenseless in society.  Nicaragua is home to many causes for emotional reaction.

So it was with a sense of another emotion- incredulity- that I read about…  a basketball fan.  I’m not much of a fan myself, usually only paying attention in March as the collegiate teams vie for playoff glories.  But I couldn’t help but notice the results of a recent match-up between the Universities of Iowa and Minnesota.  The teams not only played close, but actually extended the game to two overtime periods, before Minnesota prevailed.  Apparently, the end result was helped significantly by an errant call by a referee late in the game, a fact that left the Iowa faithful unhappy, at best.  But, bad calls are part of the game of basketball.  Referees are human, they can only see so much at a time, there are lots of big bodies pivoting all over the court at high speed.  When the mistakes happen, we shake our heads and move on.   It’s part of what makes the game and sometimes creates basketball lore.  Right?

The day following the game, I read some of the displeasure of the Iowa fans in the news.  And there, among the laments and the grieving, emerged a comment which grabbed and confronted me.  One Iowa fan confided, “This fills me with an anger I have never felt before.”

I needed to first consider what the writer was saying, that never before had he/she ever felt such a rage.  Then I felt many emotions for the writer: pity, that something as comparatively insignificant as a game (one being watched, not played) could command such control over his/her life; joy, that he/she had apparently never had occasion to experience great anger in life; perplexity, for someone whose emotional passion is apparently confined to  entertainment; and, yes, anger, that of all the injustices in our country and the world today,  this was the one to garner his/her deep emotion.

There are many realities that might give rise to anger: the murder of an innocent 2-year old in Chicago comes to mind;  genocide in Syria and Africa; racial injustice in the U.S. and other countries; an average Nicaraguan income of $2 a day.  An accounting of human tragedies around the world provides a surplus of reasons for deep-seated anger.  But a missed call during a basketball game?

Maybe it was overstatement, something “tweeted” in the heat of a disappointing moment.  Maybe the writer was looking for a way to underscore just how unhappy he/she was feeling with poor officiating.  But as I thought about the  declaration, I thought I recognized a brutal truth about it.  For those of us living in the material bounty of a place like the U.S., priorities too often become defined by our craving for comforts.  We reach a point psychologically where we want what we want, and we believe we somehow deserve it, and that’s what is important, enough so to engender a depth of anger “never felt before.”

The entire episode made me, well, uncomfortable.  I pulled from my wall a framed quotation from Kahlil Gibran: “…the lust for comfort, that stealthy thing that enters the house as a guest, and then becomes a host, and then a master.”  Here’s hoping that the comforts of our lives never take over matters that have meaning….

My apologies for the cyber illness, which we all seem to come down with from time to time….

In a very well-researched and analytical article authored by researcher(and consultant to WPF) Dr. Rene Mendoza, he has undertaken a close look at cooperatives in Nicaragua and other  Latin American countries , to assess the effectiveness of the FT movement.  After studying the symptoms and complaints of the cooperative “patients,” he has also offered a detailed diagnosis of the ailments, including contextual  analysis of the pathology which is draining the energies from cooperatives and their members.  His conclusions should provide all parties interested in the FT ideals with both understanding of the disease and hope for its cures.

Dr. Mendoza attributes no blame for the spread of the unhealthiness, but does identify the complicity shared by all of the actors within the FT chain, from producer to consumer.  He identifies both the malady and its contagion points and has created a clinical treatise on where it leads if the disorder isn’t treated.

The best news is that Dr. Mendoza’s article includes several prescriptions for healing and recovery.  He does not offer a magic pill for immediate wellness.  And restoration of confidence  in a system that initially hoped to marry producers with well-intentioned consumers, in a win-win undertaking, will require serious treatment. Like any well-considered rehabilitation, the restoration to full health is likely to be slow and demanding.  It will require patience, discipline, a collaborative mindset and re-focus on values.  But full remission is possible.

For anyone who has ever purchased a product under the FT label, or sought to be supportive of small farmers in a small way by purchasing their goods, I encourage the reading of Dr. Mendoza’s work.  WPF has provided a link to this groundbreaking research on our website homepage, under the column with Dr. Mendoza’s photograph, and entitled, “Toward the Reinvention of Fair Trade.”

Read it.  It may change your thinking about that next cup of coffee, or that recent chocolate bar and the truth about how it may have reached your home….

Buenas dias, mi amigo!

I did not write back to you since December because we have been very busy with the farm.  We do the last of the coffee harvest now.  We also have been working with a research man here in Nicaragua who has been teaching us about changing and improving our farms, with many interesting ideas.  One example is completing a family investment plan (FIP), which is a very complete look at all of the aspects of our producer lives.  The exercise is very detailed and asks us questions about our farms, our families, our futures, everything.  Every member of our family has been helping with this.  So I have not been able to respond to you during these days.

I have wanted to ask you some questions about many of the stories we have heard recently.  During your election, we have heard many times  the call for “America First.”  Some of the people who live in our area became very excited when they first heard this.  They believe that your president intends to help the people in all of Centro America and Sud America!  As Americans, we can hardly believe it, but this what your president has said.

But there are others who say that he did not mean this at all.  The president of our administrative council says that he meant only the United States and that he was going to become even more demanding of other countries to help his people even more.  I told our cooperative members that the U.S. president would not have said “Americans” if he meant just U.S.  I reminded him that we are Americans and that we were Americans even before the U.S.  Many agreed with me but said this is not the way the U.S. president thinks of us.

Then I reminded him about the other saying that is used, “Make America Great Again.”  I told my friends that this was proof that the U.S. president meant us.  The United States has always been a great country of power and money, so there would be no need to become “great again.”  If he meant only U.S., then he would say “greater.”

The U.S. president said that he did not like the CAFTA agreement and that it was a terrible deal.  Of course, we in Nicaragua agree with that!  It has only benefitted the producers in the North.  We are hopeful that it might be considered again to be more fair.  I do not believe that the U.S. president thinks that CAFTA is bad for him, so he must be thinking of us, no?

In Nicaragua, we have lived through many actions from the U.S. that hurt our country and all of Centro America.  It is partly why many of our young people have decided to move away and find a better opportunity.  It seems to us that your president knows this and sees that past policies have not been fair.  Maybe he knows that our countries were once great, too, and now is the time to make them great again.  I hope that is how he thinks to end illegal immigration to his country.

I try to read articles that will explain these stories but it is very hard to understand what the new U.S. policies will be.  So I hope you can write to me and explain what you think is going to happen.  We believe in “America First” and making “America Great Again,” but maybe we don’t understand?

In two weeks we attend another workshop to learn more about the FIP and other tools to help us produce better harvests.  I will ask these questions then but I hope you will write to me with your thinking.

Adios, Su amigo Nicaraguense

I’m not sure whether a response to my Nicaraguan friend will help much in his understanding of evolving policy in the U.S.  Most of it does not make much sense to us in the North, either.  Meanwhile, I was sent a link to YouTube, copied  here, which puts into visual form what our Nica friend was trying to say.  We are not the only Americans, or even the first….

-William Shakespeare’s King Lear, Act III, Scene iv

It’s good advice for any of us.  The only way to really understand the point of view of “others” is to walk a mile in their moccasins, experience what they experience, see life through their lenses. Truth is ultimately made up of our experiences, what we have seen and felt.  If we have never exposed ourselves to the reality of others, as well as our own, we will never have the knowledge to move closer to the truth.

Most immigrants seek to enter this country for reasons which have nothing to do with terrorism or destruction.  In fact, most immigrants would prefer not leaving their own homelands at all.  But the prospect of losing family members to the violence of war or the ravages of hunger will overshadow nearly any other consideration.  What wouldn’t you be prepared to do for the protection of your child, or spouse or parent?  Necessity is the mother of invention, perhaps especially when it comes to survival.

It might be instructive for the billionaire leaders of our new administration to encounter hunger or violence face-to-face, for a personal understanding of what’s behind many of the immigrants’ motivations.  For example, I have found sharing a meal of egg and tortilla- when such food might well represent the entirety of a host Nicaraguan family’s larder-  to be an educational, humbling and emotional event.  I’m fairly certain that our new President has never wanted for clean water, so maybe a visit to areas of Central America where clean water is an absolute rarity could provide an alternate view on trading water security for oil pipeline routing in the Dakotas.  (Along the way, he might find himself grappling with the question of why some of the pipeline was re-routed after wealthier folks to the north expressed alarm that the pipeline ran too close to their own properties and thus needed to be located elsewhere.  Like where the Native American reservations are.)  Actually, a second trip into Mexico could be a useful journey for the new President if, this time, the stay included a hike into a barrio where most of the inhabitants are poor; it could provide a different slant on Mexico’s ability to pay for a wall, one that would serve the U.S. border.

I like the idea of being “first.”    In many ways, it’s encoded in our DNA to strive and succeed.   Competition has been the engine which has brought about many of the most important inventions and discoveries in human history.  I readily confess to having lived a good share of my life in this mindset.  It wasn’t until my first venture into an impoverished world that I was able to truly “feel what wretches feel.”  The awakening might not have been pleasant, but it was important.

That experience provided the insight to understand that being first is not only a hallmark of success, but a label of obligation.  When we are first, we have the duty toward the last.  In fact, we need the last to be with us, to advance with us, to complete us.  How the poorest of the world’s humanity lives is not a reflection on them, but upon the rest of us.  It is not only the elite members of the new U.S. presidency who could use exposure to the rest of the world’s realities.  After all, a presidency is presumably a reflection of its constituents.  Rather, such perspective is needed in all of us, each of us,  who claim to be seeking truth as part of the human journey.

A shared vision is only possible with a shared experience….

The article was taken from the December 10, 1983 edition of “The Minneapolis Star and Tribune” newspaper, and the title was, “A ‘Friendly Bur’ Helps Poor of Central America.”  Its author, Henry Bellows, had succeeded in doing something that lesser reporters had not: he convinced Harold Nielsen to sit for an interview.  And so, some 33 years after the fact, a portrait of Harold Nielsen, co-founder of Winds of Peace Foundation, reappeared.  It reminded me why the Foundation and I  miss him so much.  (I have also borrowed quotations from One Couple’s Gift, by Steve Swanson.)

“The second day [in Central America] you wake up at 3:00 A.M. and start to cry,” he said. “You don’t have to go to the university to see something is wrong…  You don’t have to study.

“We visited the worst slum I had ever seen- filth, terrible housing, no roads, bridges or infrastructure.  Nothing.  As I stood looking at this mess, something encircled one of my legs.  There at my knee was a little fellow, about 2 years old, naked as a jaybird, his arms wrapped around my leg, hug fashion.  and looking up at me with a big friendly smile.  He ran off then, and was out of my life forever.  But he has been in my thoughts ever since.”

That image may have been the flame that kindled the fire which burned in Harold and his wife, Louise, over the years, as they developed the vision for putting their resources to work in Nicaragua.  Harold possessed both the sensitivity to recognize the injustices of deep poverty, but also the vision to see how he might  be an unwitting contributor to that condition, as well as part of its solution.  By the time he had completed his first trip into Central America, Harold was quick to admit to being a “rampant capitalist.”  But he also recognized that he had become hopelessly “infected.”

Harold had mused hard and long about his experiences.  He shared some of those thoughts when he addressed the employees of his company, Foldcraft, upon announcing his intention to sell the firm to them in an ESOP.   Harold spoke about:

“…our corrupted capitalist system of which I had unknowingly become a part.  I devoted the bulk of my career to succeeding within that system, and now, I find myself disenchanted with the system- the same system in which the company had succeeded  So now I sell a portion of it to you who, in turn, become capitalists yourselves.  Hopefully, a long time before most of you reach my age, you’ll have come to some of the awareness that I gradually have come to.”  

Harold’s conscience not only infected him, but quietly and thoroughly worked its way under the skin of those around him and challenged one’s sense of fairness and morality.  He had not only become infected, but contagious.

With gratitude, many of us came down with the symptoms.  My own journey eventually led me from Harold’s company to Winds of Peace.  And while that “bur” aspect may have dissipated since Harold’s death in 2013 at age 95, the same focus on the poor of Nicaragua still drives the organization which Harold and Louise founded.  Since its inception, the Foundation has learned a great deal about development in Nicaragua, and even many perspectives since his passing.  But curiously, most often it is driven by the image of that little boy who Harold described so emotionally.

“Harold says that he hates getting attention for his giving.  Several times during the interview he said he didn’t want to talk about what he is doing, ‘unless it benefits the kids of Central America.’  And while his neighbors’ feelings toward him are important, Nielsen said that he doesn’t care about the politics of the people he is trying to help. ‘Politics is secondary to survival in Central America.  Here, people are worried about who is going to move in next door.  There, they are worried about how they are going to get enough to eat.  They don’t care about politics as long as they can stay alive.”

Harold’s analysis may not have been perfect, but his sensitivities were.  How else might one explain the decision which he and Louise made thereafter, to use essentially all of their assets to fund Winds of Peace and its beneficiaries.

Harold  was adept at being  a voice of social conscience within his church and broader community, but he was also an architect for building an initiative, one that could help to create sustainable change in the organizations of the peasant communities.  This committed capitalist became a generous steward, a fierce voice for social and economic justice, and an irritant to the comfortable thinking of those who heard him.

I did not need a newspaper article from the archives to recall what Harold and Louise Nielsen were all about.  I am blessed to have worked with Harold for 39 years, to have witnessed his transformation and to have been infected with my own.  But every so often, it’s nice to look back upon someone else’s amazement at the impact of just one “ordinary” person on the lives of so many.  I re-read the article with my own renewed sense of wonder, appreciation and love….

Below, an Indian woman uses a traditional mud stove in the area in front of her hut in a slum area, outskirts of New Delhi, India, Tuesday, March 1, 2016.

DAVOS, Switzerland — The gap between the super-rich and the poorest half of the global population is starker than previously thought, with just eight men, from Bill Gates to Michael Bloomberg, owning as much wealth as 3.6 billion people, according to an analysis by Oxfam released Monday.

Presenting its findings on the dawn of the annual gathering of the global political and business elites in the Swiss ski resort of Davos, anti-poverty organization Oxfam says the gap between the very rich and poor is far greater than just a year ago. It’s urging leaders to do more than pay lip-service to the problem.

If not, it warns, public anger against this kind of inequality will continue to grow and lead to more seismic political changes akin to last year’s election of Donald Trump as U.S. president and Britain’s vote to leave the European Union.

“It is obscene for so much wealth to be held in the hands of so few when 1 in 10 people survive on less than $2 a day,” said Winnie Byanyima, executive director of Oxfam International, who will be attending the meeting in Davos. “Inequality is trapping hundreds of millions in poverty; it is fracturing our societies and undermining democracy.”

The same report a year earlier said that the richest 62 people on the planet owned as much wealth as the bottom half of the population. However, Oxfam has revised that figure down to eight following new information gathered by Swiss bank Credit Suisse.

My granddaughter’s first birthday was on Saturday.  Much like her older brother’s first birthday, upon which I reflected a few years ago, family and friends gathered to ogle and give gifts for the little angel (for that’s exactly what she is) in a symbolic shower of love.  This first year has been a joyful if sleepless time for her parents, and an absolute wonder for her grandparents, who can’t help but recall the memories of their own little girl decades ago.  That memory is aided considerably by the fact that this baby looks so much like her mother, who also happens to be an identical twin.  So the recollections are tripled for grandma and grandpa.

I found myself noting all the individual requirements of this little celestial.  She exhibits definite preferences that must be satisfied; she points to where she wants to go and slides across a floor with ease to explore her latest interest.  She is relentless in her curiosity. She demands to be fed with regularity and particularity.  Her regular sleep patterns must be maintained for domestic peace; she wakes up early for her daily work.   She does not do well if she is too cold.  When she holds a toy, she will struggle against her brother’s compulsion to take it away;  she most often does not have the power to prevail.  She is quick to smile.  As she is being fed, she is very cognizant of the foods which others are consuming and which are forbidden to her; I suspect that she yearns for the day when she might share in those same, enticing meals.  She is adored by her family and, now, anyone else who has the chance to get close to her.  She touches people.  She is inquisitive about them, but not quite brave enough to move outside the comfort zone of her mother’s presence.

In these ways, she is almost exactly like her older brother at the same age.  She is probably just like nearly all other 1 year-olds.  Actually, she’s just like all the rest of us, who require our basic needs to be met and then hope that we might absorb at least a little bit more, so that we can become who we are meant to be.  Just like other North Americans, or Europeans, or Koreans or Russians.   Just like Nicaraguans.

I loved watching her reach for a cupcake.  Like everyone, she deserves it….

Yet with New Year’s Eve on our doorstep and noisy parties on so many calendars , I’m compelled to offer my own list of hoped-for personal transformations for 2017.  I suppose that any of the following could be adopted by others, without copyright infringement, if the fit was right. 

1. I resolve to learn the Spanish language, just as I have resolved for each of the past 10 years.

Knowing a language other than my own grants me a clarity.  The essence of connecting with others lies in the ability to express oneself to others directly and personally, without the intervention of a translator or mechanical interpreter.  The most painful and counterproductive reality of my work in Nicaragua (even with the impeccable translations of my colleague), is my inability to express personally to another human being what I think and feel.  I suspect that no one else suffers from such a shortcoming.

2.  I resolve to be more giving of the immense blessings I have received, both personal and material.

I’m just a temporary steward of everything I am, everything I have.  I don’t get to take any of it with me when I leave.  I’d rather have the enjoyment of giving it away now and feeling the immense pleasure of sharing that which I never deserved in the first place.

3.  I resolve to preserve more water.

I can do without TVs and cell phones and vocation and achievement and even the loves of my life.  But I need water.  (So do you.)  I’m going to collect it and be careful with it.  What a treasure!

4.  I resolve to de-clutter.

While I’m busy giving more things away, I’ll be de-cluttering at the same time.  And when the unnecessary elements of my daily living are out of the way, I’m thinking that the important matters will receive more of my attention.  Have you ever lost anything?

5.  I resolve to be more open to the possibility that newly-elected politicians could actually do some good things.

All resolutions require some time and effort but I really don’t expect to spend much of either on this one, I admit.  People could say that I haven’t really resolved much here, but then again, I can think of few current politicians who have given me any reason to expect honest leadership or commitment to the common good.

6.  I resolve to stay committed to the preservation of my health and fitness, since no one else can or will.

It’s probably true that I am what I eat.  And I am what I drink and how I sleep and how I care for myself.  My health and well-being are a product of my own choices and self-care, rather than the domain of doctors and therapists.  I’d like those professional people to go along for the trip, but I insist on driving.  Who knows, maybe some others might choose to follow.

7.  I resolve to learn more about more of the world, since the politicians and the media are not up to the task.

Like everyone else, I’ve always been a creature who is subject to my own personal perceptions about the truth.  My life experiences necessarily shape my views of things.  But it’s becoming more and more difficult to separate reality from someone’s self-serving spin on the truth.  Absolute truth may not even exist, but I need to get closer to it than I am now.  The future of the world depends on it.

8.  I resolve to better love my neighbor.

It’s what I’m called to do as a moral human being.  I know who they are, I know where they are and I know them as both my obligation and my privilege.  I just need to better understand how to extend my reach.

9.  I resolve to write a book, or at least begin the process.

As I have led organizations and worked with groups around the country (and elsewhere in the world), I’ve come to know that each and every human being has a unique and important story to tell; even the most mundane of lives holds immeasurable gifts.  So it must be true of me, too.  I want to identify and tell that story

10.  I resolve to embrace the truth that peace comes only from within.

I know it’s there, and I have gone to that well more times than I can count over my lifetime.  And still, it is not enough that I have sought and found such peace.  It is there that my joys and trials, achievements and failures, thrills and disappointments are all reconciled within my life.  I know the source of that comfort for myself; I resolve to cherish and foster it.

Maybe your list, if one exists, doesn’t resemble this one at all.  But if I was inclined to set myself up for either enriching my life or, alternatively, creating huge disappointment, these would be my revolutionary priorities.

In any case, I’ve still got two days to think about it….

The reason for the celebration of this evening is the birth of Jesus Christ, known by Christians throughout the world as the true Son of God.  If you are of the Christian faith, tonight your heart is focused on the greatest event of human history, and the message that it brings to you in this miraculous form has your heart turned toward the birth, life and lessons of Jesus.  You are contemplating your own place in this saga of good and evil, earth and heaven, God and humanity,  receiving and giving.  You are humbled by your appearance in the story, seeking discernment about the nature of God’s hopes for you.

If you are of another faith, you are celebrating in a way reflective of those beliefs.  If you are of a non-Christian faith, tonight your heart is nonetheless focused on a message of love and peace and community, the foundational elements of most faiths, many of which are also celebrated in this month. You are still in awe at this time of year, in which so many people seem to pause and wonder aloud if some semblance of peace upon the earth is not possible, after all.  You are serene in both the moment and in the hope.

If you you are not a spiritual person, then you are celebrating this night in a secular enjoyment of family and the season of buying and giving gifts, and generally celebrating life   If you embrace no spiritual belief, tonight your heart is focused on the occasion of being together with people you love, expressing your joy in gifts and good food, togetherness in celebration and laughter and joyful in what life has provided for you.

If you are homeless or otherwise of marginal means, you may or may not be celebrating.  Circumstances don’t allow expenditures beyond the most basic of needs, and faith can be sorely tested if not accompanied by a decent meal and adequate shelter.  Maybe there’s a wish for celebration that is eclipsed by a part of you that is empty.

Four very different scenarios, four life experiences, four different nights of expectation.  And yet, I suggest that in each case, our hearts have been pre-programmed with the same inclinations for this eventide.  Those sensitivities focus on the other.

If Christian, then surely you are struggling with the recognition to “love your neighbor as yourself,” against the somber recognition that so many of your neighbors are in despair.  If Jewish or Muslim or Buddhist, you are called likewise to the love of the other, in pursuit of your faith tenets.  If you are without spiritual affinity, you will experience this night the riches of your life, with an open window to how they dwarf the needs of so many others.  If homeless tonight, you know the desperate longings for survival and self-esteem, while communing with brothers and sisters at the same lonely crossroads.

All hearts this night are ready to feel, to touch, to revere the life of the other.  Sadly, not all hearts will embrace the invitation.

Where is your heart tonight….?

I thank you for your letter from Nicaragua!  It’s always exciting to receive letters from people in other countries; we have enjoyed looking up Nicaragua and reading something about your country.  I’m sorry to admit that, even though Nicaragua is so close to the United States geographically, we know very little about your country and, especially, the U.S. history there.  I’m a little confused about why the U.S. has been such a difficult presence for Nicaraguans over the years.  I hope that all of that is now a distant memory!  Or do you still find that our country presents problems for Nicaragua?

I am writing this letter on an island which is located on Lake Superior, the largest freshwater lake in the world!  We are located very close to the Canadian border, so the weather here is quite cold, with snow in the air every day for the past week.  So it is difficult for some to think about global warming during a period like this!  I think cold weather like this is the reason for some people to doubt the reality of climate change.  But probably a bigger reason is that if climate change is real, then many businesses and individuals will be faced with the need to make big changes in their everyday lives.  It’s less complicated to do things the way we are used to doing them rather than face something as enormous as changing earth temperatures.  We might be pushing the problem off to our children and grandchildren, but by then maybe someone will have discovered a solution.  I’m sorry to hear about the effects that you are experiencing already.  Would it be possible for you to move to a better location?

We really love your coffee!  Almost everyone in our family drinks coffee and our favorite is from Nicaragua.  Maybe we even have some that might have been grown on your farm!  That would be exciting to know.  All I know is that the package says organically-grown and sold through something called fair trade.  I think that means you growers receive most of the money for the coffee.  Does organic and fair trade make a big difference to you?   We also like it because it’s so inexpensive for us to buy compared to some other coffees.

Yes, we are now done with our election season, thank goodness.  Nobody liked either candidate running for President in this cycle, which really makes us very nervous.  We might have even been better off with only one candidate, like you had!  Like your President Ortega, our President-Elect is one who makes outrageous statements, whether they are true or not.  It sounds like you know what you can expect from President Ortega; I don’t know what to expect from the President-Elect.  For maybe the first time ever, many people here are questioning whether our democratic process is really working, since our election was so full of misinformation and fighting.  You say that our democracy is older than yours, but sometimes as we become older we have ailments that begin to occur.

Our holiday season is at full-speed now!  The stores are full of shoppers and there are many parties and special productions to honor the season.  Yes, we eat more than we should during the season, but it seems to be a way to celebrate our way of life and all of its blessings.  The “Black Friday” events that you have seen on news programs seems to be a little less crazy this year; some stores even decided not to open on Thanksgiving Day.  But the stores were all filled with buyers on the day after Thanksgiving.  Many people are preferring to buy gifts online.  I read in the newspaper that almost $100 billion will be spent online this year.  Do you have Internet?

In answer to your question about celebrating the birth of Jesus, the answer is that many do still observe it in churches and in their homes.  More and more public locations forbid it because it is a religious expression that might offend others who are not Christian. It seems strange to me that celebrating the birth of Jesus is offensive to the public and not allowed when there are so many other expressions made out loud that are permitted as “free speech.”  But Christmas here in the U.S. is mostly a secular holiday now, so it’s hard to make rules against it.  I guess some people just struggle with beliefs that are different from their own.  Your tradition of La Purisima sounds beautiful, but I think it might not be allowed in our country because of possible interference with the public.  I’ll have to travel to Nicaragua to experience it!

I have really enjoyed our exchange of letters.  I’ve never had the chance to write to someone in another country.  It has made me think about our two cultures and the way we live.  I think that maybe you have a less hectic life and one that is more focused on important things.  Do you agree?  Sometimes I wonder if a simpler life is a much better way of living.   You have probably chosen wisely in the way that you live!

I hope that I may hear from you again in the future.  Maybe you can write the next letter in English and I won’t need to find a translator!

Best wishes,

P.S.  I have enclosed $20 as a help to you and your family.

I bring you warm greetings from Nicaragua!  I say warm greetings not only for saludos! but also because the temperatures here have been very warm, especially for this time of year.  Do you have high temperatures in the North?  We know that climate change is happening everywhere, but it seems like maybe it is worse for our countries in CentroAmerica.  They say that many of you do not think that it is real, but I do not believe that.

Our rainfall was plentiful this year.  In most areas it was satisfactory, but in other regions it was too much and the extra rainfall has hurt our plantings.  We are worried about this because in addition to the wet conditions, we are very concerned about the markets.  We have been discouraged by what we are told the markets will pay.  Also, now the so-called “free market” and the policy of CAFTA (do you know this agreement?) will include farm products with prices that make it impossible for small producers like me to compete.  With or without the rains, I am worried that our harvest cannot be sold at a good price.  I think this CAFTA may be a good thing for you in Estados Unidos, but it has created problems for my family.

Like you, we have just completed an election season!  My son is there in your country.  He is a laborer in North Dakota in the oil fields there.  He tells me that he thinks the election here in Nicaragua has brought a sadness to our people because the candidates did not tell the truth and there was much bitterness.  He said that people there do not know much about our elections, but that they don’t know much about their own, either.  Is it true that half of your people did not vote?  We also have difficulties here.  We are told that 60% of Nicaraguans voted, but most of us don’t believe that number.  President Ortega was really the only candidate. Sometimes he says some outrageous things and many cannot support that.  But our democracy is not as old as yours and we are still trying to become better.   Do you like Mr. Trump?

We are able to see that you have begun your holiday festivals now.  On the television I watched your Giving-thanks day, with all of the food that you have and big roasted birds!  It looks like an enjoyable feast.  I was wondering if all of the food gets eaten by each family.  We have our festivals and celebrations, of course, but the food is not nearly so plentiful as what I have seen in pictures.    For many of us in Nicaragua, it would be hard to imagine so much food at one time!

One thing that I don’t understand is what you have called viernes negro, or “Black Friday,” which really seems to begin on your Giving-thanks day.  If your Giving-thanks day is a time for your family to be together and give thanks, why is that demonstrated by leaving the home to do buying?  Maybe buying more things is one of your ways of being thankful?  This year, I have heard that “Black Friday” happened in some stores here.  We have some U.S. stores here who started to do it.  But for most of us, buying is for satisfying a need that we have.  It looks like in the United States that buying is more of an activity all by itself, and one that you do even when you do not have an actual need.  My son says that it is a psychological need that you have, that you do even more of it when there is a crisis, to make you feel better.  I remember that this was your way of coping with the terrible 9/11 incident.

We are soon to see the first of our festivities before Christmas. In several days we begin “La Purisima” or as my son translates it,  the Immaculate Conception of Virgin Mary.  Many thousands of young people in the country sing as loudly as they can and go from house to house to sing hymns honoring the Virgin Mary.   In small towns like where I live there is an old custom of the Catholic Church organizing a parade. The priest goes around the town with a number of performers imitating people from the Bible and enacting the birth of Jesus Christ. Many people view this parade with great devotion.
Do you still celebrate the birth of Jesus or is your holiday more about buying?  My son tells me that in some places you cannot even celebrate Jesus in public but I do not believe that could be true at Christmas!

I have enjoyed writing to you!  I hope that my letter is not boring or irritating.  I have never been to your country and do not know it too well.  I would like to come there and see Disney World.  Also the Statue of Liberty.  It would be difficult for that to happen, so maybe you will come here to visit.  We do not have as many things as you, but we have beautiful land and our hearts are open to you….

Adios, Su amigo Nicaraguense

While visiting a Nicaraguan farm one Sunday in September, just before the start of the Certificate Program, we hiked some of the property with the owner of the land, Ernesto, along with several of our Nicaraguan colleagues.  His is a small-but-diverse operation, where he has raised beans, corn, coffee, cattle and cacao for his entire life.  Walking the plot of land, even briefly, was a great enjoyment.  I’m always amazed at what grows in sometimes-suspect soil, and how creative farmers have to be with the logistics of five crops growing on very limited acreage.  But the plant that commanded my attention was not one planted in straight rows or intended for harvest.

As we walked to the grove of cacao trees, one of the family members bent over and pointed to a tiny plant growing wild in the pasture.  The stems of the plant were no more than an inch or so in length, with delicate leaves symmetrically extending from each side of the stem.  Though the plant was not in bloom, I was told that it boasts a beautiful pinkish flower.  The stems were all over the area, like some special ground cover that I might see in a backyard where I live.  The plant is called dormilona, sometimes called the “sleeper plant” or the “bashful plant.”  For when its tiny leaves are even gently brushed, they immediately close up like the pages in a book.  It’s a fascinating response to observe, as though the plant is either ticklish to the touch or so shy as to be physically introverted.  The leaves eventually unfold again, once they are sure that the intrusion has passed.  The experience of touching the plants and observing their response is oddly addicting.  And I had it in the back of my mind at the start of the workshop.

On the following day, the Certificate Program began with each of the 40-some participants- class members, presenters, hosts and guests-  introducing themselves to the rest of the crowd.  This is an interesting and instructive process, however routine it may seem.  For within these brief statements of “who I am,” we get perhaps our first opportunity to meet each of the individuals with whom we will be sharing an entire week.  It’s a quick gauge of personality and perspective to guide the interactions to come.

It’s not unusual for members of a group like this, in any country or setting,  to be a little hesitant or even shy about speaking up; many of us are “hard-wired” to be cautious about how much we reveal of ourselves until we’re sure that the surroundings are safe.  It’s better to venture forth slowly, lest we jump into waters way over our heads and we suddenly discover that we don’t know how to swim.  And particularly with rural Nicaraguans, many of whom have not spent much time in the presence of visitors, the tendency is to be reserved and quiet.  (Unless you’re like the ubiquitous “Juan,” one of whom seems to be in every group, wisecracking and joking from the start!)

Nonetheless, we always start with these introductions, not for the completeness of what they can tell us, but for the brief glimpses of who is in the room.  On this occasion, it’s what started me thinking about the dormilona plant once again.  It seemed to me that there were many in our group who, when their turn to introduce arrived, were clearly humbled to even offer their names,  standing in withering modesty, almost turning inward upon themselves, so tangible was their bashfulness.  I thought of fragile green leaves, folding inward for protection until threats had passed.

During the ensuing week, the dangers must have dissipated, because the Program participants opened up in ways as beautiful as those little green, flowering plants which covered that Sunday hillside.  We came to recognize each member for the capacity which he or she brought to the week.   The participants were engaged and energized, and full of the ideas that could make their week successful.  Indeed, by week’s end when the certificates were awarded, each individual was recognized for his or her own particular character and contribution, and there was nothing bashful about it.  Only a sense of accomplishment and some pride.

Working alongside the Nica participants during the Certificate Program was not unlike interacting the dormilona plant.  At first touch, palpable humility showed itself as a “folding inward” for many.  But with time, the folded arms of shyness gradually reached out to embrace what was good in the environment, to soak in the essential components of well-being, whether personal of group.  It’s a universal truth, though one that we seem to forget the next time we find ourselves among strangers.

Maybe I make too much of the dormilona and my fascination with its gentle ways.  But I have found its character enormously attractive, and worth spending my time on….

The first day of note was the U.S election.  To my knowledge, and certainly in my experience, there has never been a contest as coarse, demeaning, undignified and as utterly devoid of fact as the election of 2016.  Much has been written about the candidates’ behaviors by others (nearly everyone), but from the perspective of one rather ordinary citizen, I characterize the fiasco as an event which oozed disgrace and lack of civility at every turn.  If this is, in fact, democracy in action, then my own sensitivities suggest that we search for an alternative form of government altogether.

Yet the discouragement and even despair that I felt during this election season is ironically what made the second day of my November journey stand out so brightly.  On the  day following the election, I met with both the Managing Director and the Program Director of the Nobel Peace Prize Forum.  We convened to meet one another for the first time, to talk about some of the new aspirations for the Forum and to discuss a potential presentation by Winds of Peace at next year’s assembly.  The conversation was a stimulating and hopeful one.

I mean, how could it NOT have been, when elements of the discourse included the names of past laureates, the efforts being made around the world to convene peaceful resolution of conflict. Yes, members of the Tunisian Quartet, the 2015 recipients of the Peace Prize, would be in attendance.  President Obama has been invited, in addition to his half-sister, Maya Soetoro-Ng, who is among the faculty at peace and conflict resolution institute in Hawaii.  Congresswoman Gabby Giffords will be in attendance, with her husband, astronaut Mark Kelly.  And many others, less celebrated and completely anonymous, will be present over those days to talk about their own initiatives and experiences with peace-building.  Against the glow of enthusiasm and commitment of my hosts, a feeling of hope seemed to lift me a bit straighter in my chair.  I walked back to my car with a little more bounce in my step, I think.

On the third day of this sequence, I was to speak to a University of St. Thomas class about the work being done by the Foundation, and how it mirrors, in many ways, the strategies and attitudes brought into play in my former for-profit organization, Foldcraft Co.  I arrived on campus a little early, so I took advantage of the beautiful morning and walked around for a while, taking in the surroundings and feeling the promise that only a university campus can provide.  Quickly I noticed the scores of banners hung around every sidewalk and building, which read, “All for the common good.”  I was struck by the rightness and optimistic promise of that phrase and truly moved to see its presence everywhere.  It was an advent to the class experience to follow.

The presentation went well ( I was told).  The class participants were engaged and curious and full of outward excitement at ideas of organizational wealth-sharing, broad participation and transparency, collaborative work and rewards, and the practice of capitalism without distinction of class, the sanctity of human worth. The questions penetrated the essence of broad ownership and widespread involvement.  The students were intrigued and enthused.  I was pumped and energized.  Together, we had a good time.  After the class period, several students asked for my business card so that we might talk further about the marriage of business and social responsibility.  On this day, I did not notice a bounce in my step as I walked back to the car; I rather had the sense of floating

Within the span of three days, I experienced the lows and the highs that I know are inevitably a part of our human existence.  The outcome to all of it was simply this: I am reminded that the lows are to be found wherever we choose to see them.  There are enough to bring the entirety of mankind to its knees and complete dysfunction.  But just as assuredly, the highs are at least as numerous, and carry the potential to raise us above the mire of surrender.  It’s a matter of where one’s gaze seeks direction.  With heads down, we see the world as a dark place, indeed, and its paths lead to seemingly endless disappointment and loss.  But there is a great deal more to seen with heads up,  absorbing the brighter prospect, allowing us to see and draw strength from the hope that still does surround us.

All of which leads me to the fourth important day of this month, the one during which we are encouraged to be thankful for every blessing of our lives.  What a great idea, gratitude.  What a terrific posture for looking up, noticing the uplift that surrounds us, for acknowledging and embracing it, and for choosing to be the very engine for change, “all for the common good.”

Wow, Happy Thanksgiving, indeed….

The story is of a successful conference center which, among other amenities, includes on-site lodging accommodations, a beautiful setting, exercise opportunities, and a full complement of meals for their clientele.  It’s an operation that has sought to constantly make improvements in the range and quality of its offerings, so an attempt to streamline kitchen operations and meal services seemed like an obvious initiative.

The kitchen staff gladly accepted the participation of several observers from outside the enterprise, to make notes of wasted time and motion, to document actions and capture the flow of work and the demands upon the staff members.  Using the Lean tools of observation and measuring, together they created a pictorial  snapshot of the breadth of the kitchen staff work for just one meal of the day.

The visual was shocking, to say the least: each one of the colored lines in the photograph represents the travel of one of the staff members in preparation of one meal.  It turned out that the staff members were walking miles within the confines of their kitchen, and most often incurring the high mileage as a result of inefficient placement of materials or redundant movement.

The graphic example provided an immediate blueprint for improved customer service and timeliness, less strain on the staff and better care of kitchen implements and ingredients. Upon actually seeing what a morning preparation looked like, the staff members and their outside “helpers” set out to remove as much of the wasted time and energy as they could, cleaning up the process so that it looked more like that to the right.

Granted, the travel lines were not drawn in this “after” diagram, but the open spaces in the drawing were indicative of the clean-up that was possible, all in the course of a few hours of observation, discussion, modeling and decision-making.  (It didn’t hurt that these particular Lean practitioners decorated their “after” diagram with flowers along the edges, either!)

The example resonated with the participants in the Certificate Program, partly because the topic- cooking and eating- are very familiar and important activities.  In part, they understood because they recognized what those spaghetti-style travel lines represented in the way of excess steps and the drain that such extra movements create during the course of a day’s labors.  They could identify with the notion that there is opportunity for improvement in even the most repetitive, everyday kinds of activities.

But most of all, they attendees could identify with the example because it was of their own making.  Because the example described above was one of the three Lean projects actually undertaken during our week at the conference site at Peñas Blancas.  The “students” grabbed the Lean concepts voraciously, asked questions about process steps, immersed themselves in the work of the kitchen at 5:00 one morning, making themselves part of the the morning’s business, quizzing the kitchen workers, empathizing with difficulties and frustrations likely never before observed.  When they had applied the tools that Brian had provided, they went steps further, preparing written analysis and reasoning for proposed changes, estimating the impacts and the costs of such alterations, and even adding the beauty of those wildflowers along the border of their diagram.  (I have never seen that before!)  The best example of the entire week was the one that the Nicas produced themselves.

The reality of our time spent with participants on the topic of continuous improvement methodology is that they not only absorbed the ideas, but ran with them,  embraced them as though they were hanging on to lifelines in a relentless storm.  Even as newly-initiated to Lean, they added their own signatures to the results, thereby further underscoring the notions of continuous improvement.  Indeed, I have witnessed few Kaizen projects, in my own company and of even longer duration and study, that were as exhilarating as this one.

It’s an example I intend to use in the future, with other groups of curious learners.  And it’s one that will utterly dissolve any excuse that the concepts are simply too difficult for some folks to apply.  What a week….

For teaching Lean, the Foundation enlisted the expertise of Brian Kopas, of Fabcon Precast in Savage, Minnesota.  (Brian was an important presence at Foldcraft Co., where he honed that company’s storied strengths in continuous improvement.)  Brian’s expertise and inviting demeanor won over the Nicaraguan participants thoroughly as he introduced the elements of Lean.  And among those elements, Brian asked “why?”  A lot.

Asking “why” is one of the core tools employed in any Lean implementation, and maybe especially so in an environment where tradition and culture play such a big role in defining activities and protocols.  So Brian was quite specific in encouraging his audience to ask “why” at least five times before settling on the root cause of any problem in need of a fix.  To do otherwise was to simply assume the reason for a difficulty, which can lead to missing the solution due to not knowing the real problem!  “Drilling down” to the real cause of a difficulty requires discipline and patience, but leads to a much better identification of the root cause of our pain.

It’s not a usual practice for anyone, and certainly not for rural Nicaraguan producers, who have followed the habits and traditional wisdom of past generations.  Think about it for a moment, as in this hypothetical sequence: your production of coffee in this cycle is down.  “Why?”  (Your initial observation might be that a fungus has infested part of your crop.) You might go no further in your analysis and respond by destroying your plants and starting all over again, in hopes that in the next cycle you will be luckier.  Instead, Lean would have you ask “Why” has the fungus attacked.  The answer this time is that the fungus affects coffee plants that have not been fully protected by proper nutrients and care.  “Why?”  Because there have been insufficient resources to purchase all of the necessary inputs for a successful crop.  “Why?”  Because the limited resources available were used for discretionary spending by each producer, rather than partially contributed to a general coop fund for a collaborative “emergency” response to threats.  “Why?”  Because the notion of an effectively-functioning cooperative has been lost over the years, and the organization has come to be seen as simply an access point to outside funders.  After five “why’s” we might see the fungus disaster in a new light, a problem of institutional purpose and not one of plant biology.

The Certificate Program attendees became pretty good at asking the five why’s, though it’s not as easy as it may sound.   As is true with most tools,  it only becomes effective with practice.  But over the course of our week together, participants were playfully (and effectively) asking “why” about nearly everything, a process that gradually made it clear to them the importance of the question.  The hope is that the exercise becomes a habit, and then an actual tool for eliminating many of the pains of their work lives.

A treatise on the use of the “five why’s” in the Certificate Program might seem like an odd entry for a blog topic here.  But in observing the impact of the tool upon the newly-introduced, it dawned on me that the process, in fact, isn’t just for the agricultural producer or factory worker or office administrator.  The process of asking “why” takes us closer to the truth of whatever issue might be complicating our lives.  Our human tendencies to jump to conclusions, without seeing the full extent of the issues before us, often lead us to wasteful and even dangerous end results.  Seeing the true, underlying causes of our difficulties is the first step in finding solutions, to becoming truly wise.

Many rural cooperatives in Nicaragua are disintegrating.  “Why?” Because they have limited access to financial and learning resources. “Why?”  Because they are perceived to be poor risks for credit and education investment.  “Why?”  Because development agencies have little knowledge of and relationship with them.  “Why?”  Because the effort and cost in traveling to rural sites to listen to the peasants’ own analysis of circumstances is too great.  “Why?”

Good question….

During the recent Certificate Program in Nicaragua, I absolutely loved presenting open book management materials to our rural attendees.  But with each module over three days, I couldn’t help but feel anticipation for what the next module would bring, so that the participants would see the ideas building upon themselves.  And on the last day of open book materials, I was already eager for them to embark on a Lean journey of continuous improvement, building upon the open book foundations being laid.  (For the uninitiated, Lean is essentially the removal of waste within work processes, creating labor that is safer, faster, more productive and more efficient.) And by the end of the week, I was eagerly anticipating everyone’s return home, where they might discover application of the elements taught.   But I didn’t even need to wait.

Just one day into the material on organizational Lean methodology, the waiting was over.  As the day came to a close, as participants departed for recharging themselves and the Program facilitators gathered up their materials, Jesus stepped forward.

Jesus is a member of GARBO Cooperative, the host location for the Program.  GARBO is frequently where we gather for workshops because they have facilities for long stays and accommodations for meals and meeting space.  Jesus is therefore a frequent face at gatherings, whether as a full participant or as a curious passer-by.  On this occasion, Jesus had joined us as a workshop member.  He is a diminutive presence, standing perhaps a hair over five feet in height and a slender build to contribute to a boyish look belying his years.  His initial shyness is vintage Nicaraguan, but it quickly dissipates in the face of a driving curiosity and friendliness.  His classmates tease him by saying that visitors to GARBO always wish to take him back home, such is his charisma and boyish demeanor.

Jesus came forward to ask a series of simple Lean questions: why, he wondered, are the presenters using such a small table for their work?  The table surface is much too small for the projector and materials, and the presenters have to store their copies and references in other places, either on the floor or on an adjacent table.  Why not use a larger table surface, maybe with some shelving beneath the top, that would allow for easier access, less travel and a better flow of presentation?  In fact, wouldn’t that idea be an example of putting Lean improvement to work?

We looked at each other in astonishment.  Away from the earshot of the other participants, just a few hours into the material, at the close of a day in which we could only hope that some of the ideas of planned innovation might sink in, Jesus had come forward with an absolutely perfect application of Lean.  Better still, he offered the observation to the very ones who had been encouraging the use of observation and application!  His suggestions fit the definition of Lean improvements exquisitely.  Maybe of greater importance, the lessons presented had clearly been received; we had no need to wait for the following days to know whether the concepts were viable to this audience.

I think our immediate joy caught Jesus off-balance.  He did not anticipate that his simple observations would create such an excited reaction from his North American guests.  We immediately asked him to share his insights and ideas with the entire group on the following day, as everyday examples of where to find waste and how to envision its elimination.   The width of his smile at our recognition reflected his own dawning sense of achievement and acumen.  Imagine the moment: the student steps forward in demonstration of his understanding by no less than coaching the teacher, and the teacher, having successfully planted a seed, witnesses its immediate germination.   Plans were set in motion on the spot to create the table of Jesus’ design.

Yes, I love the anticipation of whatever’s next.  Because there is good reason for great expectations from this journey we’re on.  Even our moments of disappointment and disillusionment are filled with the possibilities of redemption.   There is always excitement ahead, and I can hardly wait to see what is to come….

In the course of our time together, we were introduced to an allegorical tale of sorts, one that was intended to stir our thinking about what matters to us, what holds value and is therefore worthy of our time and energy.  The tale is presented here:

A couple was walking down the street, when they noticed a man under a street lamp, looking for something on the ground.  As they approached him in order to help, they quickly determined that he was drunk.  But they asked him, “Sir, have you lost something?”

“I lost my gold ring,” was his reply.

The couple helped him look for a long while, until they grew tired and frustrated with the fruitless search.  The couple asked him, “Are you certain that you lost it here?”

“I am sure that I did NOT lose it here, but over there,” he said, pointing to a darker area nearby.

“Then why are you looking here?” they asked him, wondering if they had not heard him correctly.

“Because the light from the street lamp doesn’t reach over there, but only here!  Can’t you see that?” he responded in a surprised and challenging tone of voice.

The story elicited a wide range of perspectives and interpretations, all of which added insight to the tale; the attendees gave the story some serious consideration as they tried to discern its lessons.  But for me, one conclusion stood out above the others.  In short, it was the question of “where do you seek your treasure?”

It’s not a new question.  But in the rural mountains of Nicaragua, where the basic economics for living have been hard to sustain, where availability of food depends far too heavily upon the vagaries of weather and blight, and where populations might well be excused for seeking gold under seductive bright lights, I did not anticipate the consensus answer to the treasure-question that emerged.

Their first, tentative answers tended to be the seemingly obvious: the man was wasting his time- and that of others- by virtue of his irresponsible drunken condition; he  needed to understand the importance of a clear mind; treasures lost might never be found again.  Then the responses became more reflective: the man was searching in a place that would never reward him; the easy way is not always the best way; sometimes you must discover your own treasure, your own truth, by yourself.  And finally, the lessons became personal, philosophical: we too often seek that which is of greatest value in the wrong places; burdens are made easier when encountered in the light; in searching for that which we think will bring us wealth, we just may discover something else of even greater intrinsic value.

For rural Nicaraguan producers, who face some of life’s most difficult challenges, the story had become all about understanding values, where to look, how to look, how to reconcile what we might wish to be true with our actual truths.  I find myself still marveling at the honesty of their thinking and analysis of their truths.  For, it’s an easier exercise to tackle when one’s basic needs have been met and one has the luxury of contemplating things like self-actualization.  It’s a more profound conclusion to reach when it’s not just an exercise….

At the Certificate Program conducted in rural Nicaragua during the week of September 5, I prepared for two and one-half days of presentations on the topic of open book management.  I have a long history with the subject, having adopted an aggressive open book management initiative at Foldcraft Co. in the 1990’s and having spoken frequently on the topic, especially within the employee-ownership community.  This should have been familiar ground for me.

But sharing OBM experiences at Foldcraft is a lot different than trying to teach the essential components over the course of a few days, especially to an audience which has heard little of the concept previously, produces crops as opposed to commercial seating, has likely received limited  other education of any kind, and which does not speak or understand the English language.  I confess to experiencing reservations about my ability to effectively engage and teach.  Nerves, even.

I began Monday morning tentatively, feeling the group and measuring the level of its receptivity, as I always do.  But my audience quickly calmed me down.  I sensed their partnership in this learning event immediately, a feeling of collaboration that fed my own confidence and, in turn, their own.  We took off together in ways that presenters often dream about, with interest, enthusiasm and absorption mutually fueling our energy.

This rural Nicaraguan cohort proved to be among the most interested and receptive groups with whom I have ever worked!  I had quietly hoped for careful listening and signs of eagerness; what I experienced was rapt attention and ideas being internalized even as I spoke.  They exhibited a hunger, perhaps giving example to the notion that “there must be a hunger before food for thought can satisfy the need.”

By Tuesday, my sense was that our learning together was becoming something special, a collaboration which had begun to feed upon itself, elevating to not just a good session for conceptual learning, but a memorable event that might, in fact, hold transformative capacities.  I think we were all sensing it.  And then, a little bird told me that it was so.

I had just begun reciting the tale named, “The Snowflake.”  For the uninitiated, I reproduce it here:

“Tell me the weight of a snowflake,” a tiny bird asked a wild dove.

“It is nothing but a crystal, so it is nothing more than nothing,” was the answer.

“In that case, I must tell you a marvelous story,” the tiny bird said.  “I sat on the branch of a fir tree, close to its trunk, when it began to snow.  Not heavily, not in a raging blizzard.  But just like in a dream, without a wind, without any violence.  Since I did not have anything better to do, I counted the snowflakes settling on the twigs and needles of my branch.  Their number was exactly 3,741,952.  When the 3,741,953rd flake dropped onto the branch, nothing more than nothing as you say, the branch broke off.”

Having said that, the tiny bird flew away.

The dove, since Noah’s time an authority on the matter, thought about the story for a while, and finally said to herself, “Perhaps there is only one person’s voice lacking for change to come to the world.”

On Tuesday, I had no sooner uttered the words, “a tiny bird,” when a hummingbird suddenly flew into our meeting room through the open door and landed, stunned, upon the floor.  I stopped talking. The participants went silent, watching this little creature in wonder.  They looked from the bird to me, as if somehow I had orchestrated its arrival at that very moment for effect.  But I was as stunned as the hummingbird and, realizing that, the class erupted in utter amazement and joy.

Yeris, a beekeeper and friend of creatures great and small, scooped up the hummingbird, cradling it as though its arrival had been a most special gift.  It remained quite still in his open hands, as if willing to share the beauty and symbolism of its presence.  It was then gently escorted from the room, to be administered a few drops of sugar water in order to revive its energy for flight.  Yeris returned to the room with thumbs up, and within minutes the intrusion was complete.

Some in the room looked to each other to understand what had occurred.  Others bore enormous smiles in realization that they had just witnessed something rather incredible.  I noticed two in the group who appeared to wipe away tears.  My own heart was absolutely racing.  When I had sufficiently composed myself, I could only ask whether the group felt blessed in some way, to which there was universal assent.  Do you believe in messages?

“The Snowflake” was intended to be but a small contribution to the week’s lessons, albeit a powerful one.  Amidst days of workshop rigors, knowledge transfer and difficult exercises, the story occupied but a tiny fraction of our time.  But on occasion, those fractions can become like the weight of a snowflake, significant in their importance and memorable for reminding us what we are capable of knowing and feeling….

I’ve had ample time to sort out my various reflections about the week spent among the rural participants, and I’m sure that some of those images will show up here in the weeks to come.  But as I recall the week in its entirety, there is one observation that rises to the top of mind above the others.  It is the matter of commitment.

Imagine for a moment what it would require of you to leave your home and your work for six full days (eight if you count travel to and from the conference site) to attend an educational workshop.  To further complicate the matter, the work that you will leave behind will not be performed by anyone else.  It is time-sensitive work, agriculture, which will consider no excuse if it is not done on time.  It is your only livelihood.

The conference site itself is a long way from your home, a location to which you will likely travel for hours by crowded bus.  Once at the site, you will be housed in dormitory-style, rustic quarters, but the outdoor toilets are really not more than twenty-five yards away.  Access to sinks and showers is shared, so the earliest risers have the best chance at access.

These are the accommodations that will be yours for an entire week as you learn materials that are quite foreign to your experience; the facilitators will be requiring you to get out of your “comfort zone” every day.  Most of the instructors do not speak your language, so you will be receiving their information through translation.  Furthermore, the instructors are not even from your own country, so the cultural, social and educational norms they bring are not your own.  They have brought books with them, which, though translated into your language, you may or may not be able to read, given your previous educational experiences.  You know few of the other participants, perhaps just the one other person from your own business.

This, then, is the context of the Certificate Program held from September 5-10 at the foot of Peñas Blancas, home of the GARBO Cooperative.  Yet despite the need to come to terms with  inconveniences which might keep most of us away,  forty-five producers, technicians and funders attended this second gathering of organizational innovation.  Their mere presence was an astonishing testament to a desire to learn and implement new ideas in a world that, at times, is changing as quickly in rural Nicaragua as anywhere else in the world.  No one was present because they had to be; they participated in the 9-hour days of presentations and exercises because they had committed themselves to learning something new, to improving upon what they have practiced for generations, to becoming someone different.

Perhaps a part of that commitment stemmed from the presence of several unusual “teachers.”  My own face and voice has become familiar to at least some in the audience, but I was accompanied by two new faces, friends/colleagues from the U.S. who brought a unique and valuable bundle of organizational development experiences with them.  Brian Kopas is a former teammate from Foldcraft Co., the leader in our efforts for implementing Lean Manufacturing there, a continuous-improvement-by-method. one of the main hallmarks of that company’s success in recent decades.  Alex Moss is President of Praxis Consulting Group, one of the truly personal and high-values consulting firms in the U.S., and an outstanding teacher of open-book management cultures and practices.

Imagine for a moment what it would require of you to donate an entire week of your life to helping complete strangers grapple with the difficulties of organizational strengthening.  You will need to seek time off from your “real work” to make the journey.  To further complicate matters, you will receive no monetary compensation for your time and there will be no prospects of financial gain in the future from this endeavor.  You will be required to travel for a day-and-half to reach the conference site. You will be addressing an audience which does not speak your language.  Your accommodations will be modest but comfortable, as long as you don’t drink the water.

There is but one motivation to compel people like Brian and Alex, as well as the participants in the Program, and that is the notion of commitment.  The attendees were as committed to learning as any group I have encountered in the U.S. in over 45 years.  The commitment on the part of Brian and Alex, to bring their expertise to a part of the world where it is sorely needed, is a statement of faith in stewardship and sharing, an unselfish giving that flies in the face of today’s headlines of self-centeredness.

There was a lot more going on in the Certificate Program that week; I look forward to sharing it with you.  But for me, the overriding truth of the week emerged from the strength of its commitments….

As we approached the midpoint of our walk through the local college campus, we passed by the twin dormitories rising up from the valley and towering over the upper campus.  The roof of the buildings caught our attention, as they had brightly-colored banners around the entire perimeter of the roof; workers there were busy with preparations for their day’s labors.  Up on the roof.

I’m not sure what the temperature might have been up there at 8:00 in the morning, but I know that the summer sun was already intense where I was standing, in the shade of some trees below.  The forecast for the day called for temperatures near 100 degrees Fahrenheit.  I felt an immediate empathy for these guys knowing that, “up there,” without access to shade and with the additional stress of physical work, they would endure a real threat to their health this day.  I said out loud, “Boy, I’m sure glad that I don’t have to up there, doing whatever they’re doing.”

And then my wife and I engaged in an effort at one-upmanship, trying to think of the various jobs that might prove to be most challenging on a day like this: road construction people, field workers, fire fighters, farmers, roofers, cement workers, and so on.  In each case, we responded with an exaggerated respect for the people who filled these important roles in our lives, and rejoiced in the knowledge that neither of us would likely ever have to bear the agony of such work in an oven atmosphere.

By the time we had exhausted our lists of grueling work in hot conditions, we had moved on through the campus.  In front of the main administration building, a man stepped outside.  Wearing a crisp white shirt and colorful tie, he moved quickly to his car parked in front, probably eager to get the air conditioning turned on.  The contrast with the outdoor workers was not to be missed.

The episode got me to thinking about how we value people and their skills, and how we value work in our society (and in most others).  There aren’t many of us who would choose to repair a roof or walk a field on such a day as this.  For those of us working in more forgiving environments, we are very grateful that we have never been forced into such labors, or at least for longer than a summer’s job.  But somehow the value we place on such efforts tends to be modest.

Most of us have never walked a farm field in the hot summer sun.  But we eat the food that is grown in those fields.  We drink the coffee that is nurtured in the rural outreaches of Nicaragua.  We wear the clothes of cotton spun from vast fields that may be picked by hand.  We treasure our cell phones imbedded with silicon and other raw materials which often are mined by physical labor.  We have a difficult time envisioning our lives without our amenities, and yet ascribe only moderate value to those who provide us with them.  And yet it is their work that foundationally holds us together in many ways, and allows us to do the other things that we want and need to do.  (I know little about milking cows or fixing a toilet.)

It’s too bad that it takes a blistering hot day or a frozen winter’s night or water gushing into our homes to suddenly and fully appreciate the importance of some work.  The practitioners of such work are undervalued, until the moment we need them.  And while I certainly don’t intend to discredit anyone else’s work, whatever its makeup may be, I carry inside an unwavering respect for those whose work is done with physical strength and integrity of purpose and sometimes in uncomfortable conditions.  Some say that it’s menial work.  I say that it’s essential service.

I suppose that’s what Labor Day in the United States is all about.  We just seem to have forgotten about it on most days.  My train of thought may seem to have little to do with a foundation working in Nicaragua.  But I wonder how many Wall Street bankers or CEOs could raise a crop to harvest?….

The stories have been wide-ranging, to be sure: like the saga of Michael Phelps and how his efforts seem to inevitably result in gold; the heartbreak of Wilhelm Belocian, the French sprinter whose years of Olympic training ended in disqualification when he anticipated the starting gun; the disrespect of Islam El Shehaby, Egyptian judoka who refused to shake hands with his Israeli opponent; or the remarkable career of Usain Bolt and the superhuman speed in his legs.  They are compelling events of compelling people.  But there is one story which, for me, is the most important of the entire Olympics.

You saw the footage, likely: two competitors, fallen during the run of their lives, reaching out to one another at the expense of Olympic dreams, and at the end of it all, in possession of something far more precious than the medal for which they competed.  What the two of them won was a sudden clarity of perspective during what was probably the most important event of their lives.  As it turned out, that moment likely was the most important event of their lives, though for reasons which neither would have anticipated.

Each in her own way dreamed dreams of attaining gold, of the notoriety that comes with finishing at the front of a field of competitors representing the best in the world.  In solitary moments, each nurtured the audacity to believe that she might rise above the others and receive the special adulation reserved for Olympic champions in this, the age of celebrity worship.  Each worked very hard to be the very best that she can be.  And suddenly, each was lying on the ground, in front of their fellow competitors and the world, sprawled together in an inelegant collision which, perhaps for some others, might have become a calamity for all time.  But not for these two.

In turn, they reached out to one another.  In gestures as innate as smiles and tears, and at the expense of their long-held dreams, they stopped the chase to help one another up, to reach out in empathy and mutual encouragement so that neither would be left behind.  Only when both were standing on their own did their personal race begin once again.  And when the event was ended, they sought out each other and hugged in an understanding of what they had just achieved.

That exchange on the track had little to do with who would win a 5,000 meter gold medal race, and everything to do with the hearts and souls of the human race.  In that moment of unrehearsed and unscripted love, two individuals discovered not only the depth of their own characters, but also the hunger for such feeling around the world.  For in its aftermath, the event that played out in front of the world audience touched us all.  We witnessed it, we acclaimed it, we attributed importance and feeling to it.  The women won the admiration and regard of the world in that moment, and have spoken about the unanticipated expressions of respect from people around the world.  And today, few can name the winner of the women’s 5,000 meter event, but Olympic fans the world over know the story of the “women who helped each other.”

There are those who might say that what the contestants did on that day defied the rigors of competition and perseverance, that one of the elements of success in any endeavor is the ability to remain focused on one’s objective and its demands.  Some “winners” wear such a brand proudly, as a testament to toughness, to their rugged determination.  And I understand the allure of such persona.  Oh, to be self-sufficient!

But beyond simply touching us spectators with their empathy, these two women have both discovered and taught a lesson of life to the rest of us.  There is enough reward in the race to make champions of us all.  A hand up carries enough strength to allow every competitor to run the race with dignity and self-respect.  We sacrifice little in the effort of a hand up.  And what we gain in return is tenfold the cost of stopping to help another.  We are always surprised at learning the lesson once more, such as at an Olympic race venue.  We should never doubt its veracity….

As mentioned here previously, Winds of Peace will have the great good fortune to present Brian Kopas and Alex Moss,  gentlemen whose organizational experiences in the fields of organizational Lean and open book management are extraordinary, and therefore of great potential application to this Nica workshop.  They  possess enormous knowledge and practical experiences, they have already provided materials for the introduction of their topics, they are counseling us in our respective workshop presentations and they will be huge resources for the inevitable questions and challenges that are encountered during the workshop.  (Where people are intent upon learning, their questions and challenges are essential.)

But as I consider the wealth of knowledge that will be available to our audience in September, I am cognizant of another critical piece to the process of teaching and growing an audience: the vision.

Underlying all the operational processes and applications, there must be a vision, a mission, a purpose, a theme for the hard work that the attendees will encounter if they seek to bring an entirely new basket of ideas to their farms and coops.  There must be a core principle that can re-direct and drive the improvements consistently, even when the newly-acquired skills might occasionally seem to become stale or seemingly inapplicable for some  reason.  In moments of frustration or temporary setback, that motivator can keep an organization together, to persevere and regain solid footing for the next advance in their collaborative strength-building.

Some organizations employ a vision, a stated “picture” of what the future might be like.  Others prefer the idea of a mission, an intrinsically important undertaking whose outcome has the capability of delivering fundamental, positive changes.  Still other groups elect to use the language of values, citing social or moral tenets that shape their beliefs and actions.   But whatever words are used, the reality is the same: in order for human beings to change, to adapt, to move from their comfort zones, they universally crave a “cause,” a fundamental, personal reason to do that which is difficult to do.

In the case of the very successful Panamanian cooperative La Esperanza de los Campesinos (the Hope of the Peasants), that bedrock upon which their success has been built is in the historical presence of Fr.  Hector Gallegos, whose spiritual and liberation theological teachings centered the coop members.  (See “A Cooperative That Regulates Markets” by Rene Mendoza.)  For a company like SRC Holdings in Springfield, Missouri, the birthplace of open book management, the bedrock was the liberation of employee thinking and intelligence through information sharing and involvement.  For Winds of Peace Foundation, the bedrock has been the  liberation of financial assets to address the dangerous gulf between the poor and the wealthy.  Initiatives come and go, but the calling for the each of these organizations survives because of the depth of its existence.  These organizations must do what they do.  It is in their organizational DNA.

The coops represented in the Certificate Program will need to identify and embrace their own “calls to being. ”  For some, the cause is already deeply engrained and sustaining the direction of the members.  But for others, the identification might be less certain and less steadying.  Maybe it has never been articulated in terms of a vision.  Perhaps there are several purposes that have been embraced by the members, with no single mission emerging as the great unifier.  In some cases, maybe the issue has never even come up; coop membership was simply a way to access funds for the next planting cycle.  Whatever the case, every coop will require  something to hold onto when the vagaries of weather and middlemen and coyotes of the marketplace interject their disruptions into plans for prosperity.  What will the coops bedrock prove to be?

When Brian and Alex bring their skills to the Certificate Program, it will not be due to monetary gain (they receive none) or for notoriety (the program will take place in the deep countryside, away from media notice).  They will present no political cause, no self-service nor personal advantage.  They will spend more than an entire week out of their professional and personal lives because of deep-seated values that inform their senses of servant leadership and responsible stewardship.  The lessons and know-how they teach may change between September and the next time they are invited to work with such an audience, but the reasons for accepting such an invitation will not.  It is, after all, who they are.

Sometime during that first week of September, we’ll be interacting with some very eager Nicaraguans who know precisely who they are….

I started writing here because a decade ago I began my staff work with Winds of Peace Foundation and became witness to circumstances in that country of which I had been previously unaware.  I deduced that these realities were likewise either unknown by most of us in the United States or, if known, then at least greatly under appreciated.  However limited my audience might be, I felt a call to describe matters of concern in Nicaragua, whether economic, cultural, social or educational in nature.  Particularly since we in the United States have permitted such intrusive and destructive actions by our government against the people of Nicaragua over decades of interference,  the recording of my own awakening and periodic reflections seemed like a worthwhile effort for “infecting” unsuspecting readers.

I have attempted here to present issues from Nicaragua as perceived through the eyes of someone who is likely representative of an average North American.  I have described poverty that is easy to read about but heartbreaking to experience.  I have recounted relationships- formed immediately and out of mutual desires to connect- that were as rewarding and precious as friendships in the U.S.  I have witnessed the love and respect shared between Nicaraguans and North Americans, overcoming the stereotypes and caricatures often presented by handmaiden media.  In short, my intention has been to bring elements of Nicaragua north, to shorten the distance between two countries, two ways of life, that are very different and yet much closer than we are willing to recognize.

At the same time, I know in my mind and heart that I have fallen very short of the objectives I have sought to achieve.  Like seeing the vast panorama of Nicaraguan mountains, punctuated by breathtakingly precipitous valleys, my words will never do justice to the realities at hand.  My own perceptions about Nicaragua and the people who live there are always filtered by my own life and bias and self-interest, even when I do not intend it.  My stories are no better than “Nica via Steve.”

But if for no other reason than my own need to write what I experience, for accentuation, I will continue to offer brief glimpses into this one small part of the world.  I’ll offer up pictures of people, just like you and me, who face the daily struggles of survival and, in the terminology of Maslow, self-actualization.  Maybe in another ten years time the contrasts will be less dramatic, the injustices less egregious, the disparities lessened through growing appreciation of our mutual obligations to one another.  And if these entries will have contributed anything at all to that, then the journaling will have been more than worthwhile.

Thanks for coming with me this far….

One of the results from those sessions was my own assignment: a series of presentations on the topic of open book management and organizational transparency.  I’ve presented the stories of my own experiences with the topic at Foldcraft Co., where we explored the boundaries of shared information in ways that most companies do not.  But this September will require preparation and teaching in a depth that I haven’t encountered since those corporate days more than ten years ago.

In one sense, there’s a bit of anxiety as I organize my thoughts and endeavor to pick out the most salient messages in a topic that is brimming with leadership, organizational and individual motivations.  I hope that I can convey the rewards to be found and the potholes to be avoided.  At the same time, I find myself energized as I prepare to “teach” an audience that has shown an eagerness to embrace a methodology that is both perplexing and enticing.  I only get into a small number of classrooms during the course of a year, and this will be a large and important one.  I can feel the adrenaline already.  I wonder what I’m going to feel like  on September 5.

I’ve drawn upon many of the old materials that we used at Foldcraft, re-discovered many of the best lessons from the case of Springfield Remanufacturing Company (SRC) where the whole notion began.  I’ve gone back to re-read the books and the article and the papers that served as  our own lesson materials, and I recall now why this was such a big deal back in the 90’s when we first began opening our books, our operations and ourselves organizationally.  And once again, I’m pumped up because I know what these practices can mean to any organization, but especially one that is struggling with survival, as many of the small coops in northern Nicaragua do.

And slowly, as I paste together lessons and bits of wisdom and truths about the application of open books in a small U.S. company, I recognize once again the universality of its message.  This is just like preparing for a Foldcraft audience all those years ago.  It’s not a ploy or a trick or sleight of hand program to get people to work harder.  Transparency is not a magic elixir or medicine to cure whatever might ail an organization.  Information-sharing is not an altruistic activity designed to win the hearts of co-workers or to win accolades from management periodicals.

The process is simply an appeal to people’s better instincts, their innate feeling that they want to be a part of something bigger than themselves and successful for their lives.  They want to invest themselves in something they can believe in, that they can identify with, that gives them pride and accomplishment for the daily demand of work.  We all seek the same ends, and to ultimately be recognized and rewarded fairly for the investment of our time and our skills.  In a world where there are always those who seek to strip that away from others, to elevate themselves at the expense of others, there is strength in collaborative and informed work.

As they say at SRC and throughout the open book world, “It’s easy to stop one guy, but it’s pretty hard to stop 100.”  No matter that we spend so much of our time trying to distinguish ourselves from each other.  We are all pretty much alike, and looking for the same affirmations….

I read that former Speaker of the House of Representatives, Newt Gingrich, has called for the deportation of all people of the Muslim faith who profess belief in Sharia law– not engaged in illegal activities, but merely believing in a certain religious philosophy.  It’s the latest in a series of xenophobic ideas to emerge from so-called political “leaders” in this country, but an idea which is both unconstitutional and logistically impossible.  Gingrich, who has often promoted unconventional ideas, has clearly exceeded even the boundaries of his own narrow perspectives.  But his concept of extreme prejudice got me to thinking, “what if?”

Gingrich seems to desire a return of Muslim immigrants to their  countries of origin due to the fear that, based upon their beliefs and the violent actions of some constituents of the faith, they will undermine the security and safety of U.S. society.  For the sake of argument, let’s go along with Mr. Gingrich’s postulate and see where it leads.

First, it might be helpful to know where Mr. Gingrich stands with regard to his own religious faith.  He was raised in a Lutheran home environment, though the denomination never seemed to resonate with him.  Later, in graduate school, he became a Southern Baptist convert and most recently he converted to Roman Catholicism.

In any case, it seems as though he may have unwittingly and retrospectively condemned himself and his entire family to deportation from the U.S.   For the annals of criminal justice are brimming over with convicted murderers of all three of the faiths followed by Newt Gingrich.  In his proposal for Muslim deportation, he has condemned all Muslims based upon the actions of some who have killed or vowed to kill U.S. citizens.  If that suggestion has rationale, then we certainly must be prepared to deport Lutherans, Southern Baptists as Roman Catholics, since like some Muslims, their followers have presented threats to the peace and security of this country.

Perhaps it should also be pointed out that during World War II, the Nazi regime was led by a number of “staunch Christians,” including their maddened leader, Adolph Hitler.  There is no argument about the threat which Adolph Hitler posed to the U.S. during his reign of terror, but I doubt that Mr. Gingrich would opine retrospectively about the propriety of expelling Christians from the U.S.

If we go back in history far enough, he might even consider the external threat posed to the original inhabitants of this land and the deadly, culture-destroying invasion of Europeans here.  They, too, were driven by a divine faith which clashed with established religious practice of our earliest ancestors.  They, too, (or their descendants) perhaps warrant deportation.

Taken to its logical conclusion, Mr. Gingrich seems to have set the table for all people to be sent back to the land of their earliest discernible ancestry.   For many Nicaraguans, that might be Spain.  For many inhabitants of the Americas, it’s Europe.  We all might find ourselves asking one another, “where did your people come from?”  Because under Mr. Gingrich’s logic, we should be sent back.

The constitutional tenets of this country provide for each of us to read and believe whatever we may choose, as long as we do not violate laws or the rights of others.  Mr. Gingrich has put forward an idea that utterly rejects that freedom and thus, the U.S. Constitution itself.

The analogies here might seem stretched.  But no more so than the panicky abdication of legal and moral rights expressed by a man who, until this week, was apparently under consideration for the vice-presidency of the United States.  We are always but one voice removed from another human tragedy….

If you look at the workshop brochure, you won’t see “power” listed as a subject.  There will be no power expert in attendance, nor will there be any exercises to help participants in body building or intimidation strategies.  Instead, the subject matter will focus on a seemingly unlikely concept, that of sharing.

The irony and paradox of great power is that it is most magnified when it is shared, because no one of us can ever be as powerful as all of us.  So our sessions will focus on concepts such as open book management, where all of the members of an organization are educated about the metrics of organizational success, and how each individual contributes to that success.  We will examine the workings of a “Lean” organization, where all members are provided with the tools and motivations for continuous improvement, where the ideas and innovations of the leaders are seen to carry no greater weight than any other member.  We will have the rare opportunity to jointly visit some member farms, to both witness good practices and offer insights for improvements- an activity that is too infrequent for rural producers who need every advantage and insight possible.  The sessions will also be designed for the maximum degree of shared storytelling, participants teaching and learning from one another.  In short, sharing will be the core of the entire program.

Power.  It’s a useful thing when shared for the symmetrical strengthening of all members of a group.  It’s a divisive thing when it is accompanied by a lust for absolute and private control.  It’s a seductive thing, capable of clouding even the clearest intentions for equity and fairness.  But it’s also a freeing thing, capable of lifting capacity and talent to their fullest heights.

One of the great ironies of humanity is that we tend to believe that amassing and holding power to ourselves is the surest means of success, when in truth our collective and personal well-being- whether intellectual, social, emotional, spiritual, occupational or physical- hinges upon the extent to which we share our gifts, knowledge and power.  To share power is to gain it, a paradox much like that of love itself: to receive it, we must be willing to give it.

Individuals and organizations alike have been slow to understand and embrace the reality of holding onto power.  It’s so counterintuitive that it tends to make doubters of most of us.  And then there are the nations of the world, who steadfastly model the wielding of power to the exclusion of other lands.  Organizations like companies and cooperatives, who often look to military and government models of structure and administration, end up chasing a tail that can never successfully be caught.  It turns out that we would often rather be wrong like everyone else rather than right by ourselves.

In September’s Nica gathering, we’ll spend a lot of time sharing wisdom about organizational power and leadership with one another.   And that’s appropriate, because they’re meant to be shared….

Elie Wiesel passed away on Saturday.

I never met him, but I feel as though I’ve known him all my life.  He was not a celebrity, but he was a man I followed through his books and talks and his presence in the media.  His slight physical stature gave testament to the indescribable demands of his life, but belied the intensity of strength within his frame. His was the face of The Holocaust, and in it we perceived both the best and the worst of mankind.  As both victim and voice, Elie Wiesel has left us with both the shame and the hope of all humanity.

I was a teenager when Wiesel published his concentration camp memoir, Night.  Until then, my awareness of The Holocaust had been little more than fascination with the operations of the U.S. winning World War II.  Night provided a personal dimension which removed every scrap of glory from the battlefields of Europe and with a laser-focus awakened me to the horrific realities of war generally and The Holocaust specifically.  Elie Wiesel changed me.  His story came to represent injustice and man’s capacities for evil, and Wiesel himself became the definition of survival, perseverance, hope and dignity.

In Wiesel, we were provided with a rare glimpse into the full capacities of a man.  We hope that he was everyman, for in him we witnessed the subjugation of both the body and soul, the humiliation of heart, the resilience of spirit, the rationale for forgiveness and the strength for recovery.  Wiesel provided us with a real-life template for power and strength, despite an outward countenance which seemed frail, gaunt, haunted.  It was as if one could experience fragments of the pain, disillusionment, strength and mastery that he embodied.   With his help, I could begin to unravel at least some of the mysteries which cloud a young man’s maturation.

Elie Wiesel may have been regarded by some as an ultimate victim, one who by chance or odd alignment of fates managed to survive the unsurvivable.  But he was tough.  His indictments of his oppressors carried the power of personal witness and legitimacy.  He demanded and commanded the attentions of a civilization reeling from its atrocities, both past and current.  He became a “messenger to mankind,” according to the Nobel Peace Prize Committee which recognized his impacts with its international prize in 1986.  It was perhaps the tone and consistency of his toughness, merged with an eloquent claim for human decency, that penetrated our conscience.

For much of the world, Elie Wiesel  and his work were the aftermath of The Holocaust and that period of our world’s history.  But Wiesel viewed himself as a voice for the present day, as well as a central character of the historical past.  His causes were today’s litanies of conflict: in turn, Wiesel advocated for the victims of apartheid in South Africa,  Argentina’s Desaparecidos, Bosnian victims of genocide in the former Yugoslavia,  and, yes, Nicaragua’s Miskito Indians. His message transcended borders and inhibitions; his example goaded and coaxed us to speak:

“Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented. Sometimes we must interfere. When human lives are endangered, when human dignity is in jeopardy, national borders and sensitivities become irrelevant.”  (From his 1986 Peace Prize acceptance speech.)

“In Night,” Wiesel said, “I wanted to show the end, the finality of the event. Everything came to an end—man, history, literature, religion, God. There was nothing left. And yet we begin again with night.”  He did that; he shared with us the bottom of all hope.  But he also left us with a beam of light.

Wiesel’s message of peace, atonement and human dignity was a bright gift of the first order.   We are diminished by his passing, and made more whole by his legacy of the triumph of courage and love….

With that in mind, I read a recent report by a midwestern college that provided a short profile of its first-year students, their capacities and their outlooks on certain matters.  And there in the second line, I read a statistic that both puzzled and discouraged me. The report stated that 71.8% of this group feel that it’s “very important” to help others in difficulty.

I don’t believe that these statistics were presented as either positive or negative traits, but rather a report about how these students look statistically.  Nor can I say that they are typical for the age group or an overall college population.  But I could not prevent myself from a certain degree of amazement that nearly 30% of any diverse group would respond in this way, let alone a group of college students whose education and experiences might be expected to produce reports of greater compassion.  Yes, 71.8% of the respondents signaled a high degree of commitment to those in trouble.  Maybe the real story lies within that metric.  But nearly 3 in 10 did not think that helping others in difficulty was very important at all.

I don’t think that I am naive,  Particularly in an age where every sordid and unkind act is reported in detail over ubiquitous social media outlets, criminality and cruelty seem to be rather common. Yet I was struck by the response of this audience, one which, on the whole, might be considered to be more worldly, more in tune with the interdependence that mankind requires for survival, one which seems to pride itself in its attacks upon injustice, calamity and even boorish behaviors with their techno devices in hand.  This was an audience of men and women with at least one full year of college under their belts, more than enough to have begun the awakening that society craves in its “next gen” leaders.  And 3 in 10 have little apparent concern about helping others in trouble.

Maybe these are the outliers, the slow-to-mature ones who have yet to cross the threshold from narcissistic self-serving to a more selfless giving.  Maybe they see the development of their future careers as so all-consuming as to have tunnel vision to those futures.  Perhaps they didn’t understand the question.  But whatever their excuses, these respondents are cause for worry, both for themselves and those for whom they do not see the need to help.

Our reality is that we depend upon the sensitivity and collegiality of one another now more than ever.  Some may deceive themselves into believing that they have survived and thrived in their lives all by themselves, without the presence of others.  But it’s delusional thinking.  Even without mentors or family members, we are impacted daily by the density of humanity on earth and the speed with which our actions are felt by others.    The statistic above makes me wonder what those 3 in 10 feel about all of the actors in their lives, known and unknown, who helped them attain the chance at a college education.

The survey question didn’t even come close to broaching the issue of our global interdependence.  Without a sense of importance about helping those in difficulty at home, the 3 in 10 can hardly be looked to for global solutions to poverty, human rights violations, foreign wars or maybe even  (could they be this myopic?) climate change.  The most pressing issues of our present and future demand extraordinary abilities to “walk in another’s shoes” and live our lives in the mutually dependent manner that our future requires.  It will take 100%  of our human capacities to survive those most pressing issues.  And that’s a statistic which requires little interpretation….

Recently, one of the Foundation colleagues visited with the rural cooperative members to talk about their visions, their needs, and the aspirations.  After the meeting and some contemplation about the visit, Gloria Ordoñez- director of ANIDES and the hands-on godmother of the women members- drafted a thoughtful reflection about both the progress of the women and the challenging road ahead.  It’s worth reading, as excerpted with her knowledge and blessing, below:

For some five years we proposed to deal with this challenge in a joint way with the women, using tools for knowledge management, so that they might learn some of their good and bad practices, improving their self esteem, and the importance that the roles that each one performs have for making their organization stronger, working on the recognition of different leaderships that each one exercises within their organization.

For us the application of methodological tools seem important (Results Oriented Management), for their recognition as human beings and through them that they might recognize their skills, abilities and capacities. Likewise that they might recognize the medium in which they can “exploit” or apply those skills. These tools help to recognize what I am now, what I want, a balance in life, the personal values and how through learning to build their path toward the personal and organizational vision.

These tools not only help the growth and personal development, but also the organization, all the members working together to recognize themselves not only as individuals but as organization, the construction of this path toward the vision from the systemic approach helps them to take more ownership over the organization and to work, putting into practice solidarity as a fundamental principle of cooperativism. We know that putting this into practice, or the implementation of a good attitude toward the members, is a long and steep path that we need to walk.  In these years the members have shown an openness to change and are involved in the processes, more and more in a conscious manner.

… So we have grown together little by little, we started with 15 very fearful women that would arrive at the workshops in the company of their husbands or sons; now we have grown in number and active participation; maybe we needed to not move too quickly through stages, so that everyone might participate at the same level….

The communal banks have been the space for learning to set the foundation for the development of trust among the members, strengthening their self esteem, formation and skill development. Making a sieve in order to create cooperatives with the members that show better strengths, identifying and strengthening the common elements of institutionality (system of values held in common for governance).

We see that the role of ANIDES is still very important for STRENGTHENING THE INTERNAL SELF MANAGEMENT CAPACITY of the incipient cooperative organizations. Through accompaniment processes so that they themselves might facilitate them with knowledge acquired in previous processes, GUIDING the comprehension of INSTRUMENTS FOR COLLECTIVE ENTREPRENEURIAL GOOD GOVERNANCE (these documents already exist for each cooperative) in this new stage we will teach their leaders to use and apply them.

Precisely through this we think that strengthening a promoter group of leaders, we will expedite (in a cascading manner) the training process of the different cooperative organizations from within, being accompanied by ANIDES, so that the grassroots cooperatives might be able to continue strengthening themselves FROM THE IDENTIFICATION OF THEIR OWN STRENGTHS AND COMMON IDENTITIES, (like what you call the institution, that has to do with their roots, values and common commitments as women who are living in similar circumstances, learning to get ahead with their families in the midst of adversities).

Thanks for your multiple perspectives and contributions to continue going more in depth to make a different in the cooperative organizations, which is the strong commitment of ANIDES.

This memorandum is a complete and focused organization development roadmap, as holistic, sophisticated and ambitious as any strategic document I’ve encountered.  Its focus includes the health and strength of the organization, its current and future leadership, the well-being of the individual members, a sensitivity to collaborative realities, courage to take on enormous difficulties and a vision which exceeds the boundaries of sight.  It’s a document of hope and expectation, and one that any U.S. business organization would be challenged to achieve and proud to own.

When people occasionally ask me whether there is good news in Nicaragua, whether there is cause for optimism for the future, I will use the words above to state the unequivocal answer, yes….

These are not cases of children working for their parents or relatives for sustenance.  These are kids who are most often abducted, sold and involuntarily subjected to dangerous and demanding work in sex brothels, mines, fields and factories.  They are forced into child prostitution or the labor black market to produce many of the clothes, foods and electronic devices that we in the West use every day.  By comparison, the zika virus is incidental.  The real epidemic facing us as human beings is found in the involuntary servitude of children, some as young as five years old.

The scope and horror of child slavery is so broad as to be nearly invisible to those of us in the West; we have become very good at numbing ourselves from such overwhelming issues, rendering them to statistical status.  But the idea of enslaved young children numbering more than half of the entire U.S. population is a reality to warrant shame for every one of us, and more than enough to summon the resources and resolve of humanity to end this modern holocaust.  And yet, it continues.

The focus of this year’s Peace Prize Forum has prompted me to wonder about how untenable circumstances arise in the first place, and what combination of apathy, ignorance and disinterest is capable of rendering otherwise empathetic human beings into uncaring bystanders.  The transformation is both baffling and fascinating.

I think it must be like the example of the frog and the heated pot of water. Legend has it that if you were to place a frog into a pot of boiling liquid (no frog has been harmed in the writing of this piece), it would immediately jump out to escape the heat.  However, if you were to place the frog into a pot of tepid water and gradually increase the heat, the frog would adapt to the changing temperature so well that it would remain in the water, even to the point where it would succumb to the boiling temperature.

We human beings seem to be very good at accepting our environments and the discomforts that we observe around us.  We have innate senses of right and wrong, but can be maddeningly silent in the face of the most atrocious violations of human rights.  What may begin as an act of desperation can transition to a custom.  What is accepted as a custom may be adopted as a cultural norm.  And cultural norms can evolve to a sovereign practice, an “emperor’s new clothes” ritual, wherein observers recognize the wrong but remain too silent in the face of it.

If we can be tepid in the face of child slavery, we should not wonder at our seeming acceptance of so many other injustices that confront us daily.  The idea that a Nicaraguan producer might have to exist on less than $2 per day will have little resonance in our combined conscience, until we personally are faced with the decisions that a $2 income produces.  The alarm bells of wealth disparity that continue to sound within our global economy will generate little response, until finally, the top 1% controls it all.  We are unlikely to address the plague of gun violence in our society, until one of our own family members is among the next 50 to be destroyed.  We will accept the outrageous insults of politicians and their cronies, until the attacks become focused upon our ethnicity or lifestyle.  We seem to be slaves to the easy acceptance of the warming waters around us, only jumping at the boiling point.

I’m sure there are elements of the human psyche which psychologists could use to explain these tendencies about us.  Maybe we should read about them to better understand the risks and threats to our collective existence.  Our slavery to apathy is filled with consequence, whether we see it or not.  Dante Alighieri, poet extraordinaire of the Middle Ages, even warned us about it in his own time, observing that “the hottest places in Hell are reserved for those who,in a time of great moral crisis, maintain their neutrality.”  Knowing the consequences might be an important thing, before we fall victim to our own nature….

Along with that invitation, NCEO also wondered whether I might be willing to write a companion piece in a column entitled “First Person,” to be included in their monthly publication, “Employee Ownership Report.”  The periodical provides updates on all sorts of ownership-related matters., both in the U.S. and also in other locations.  I agreed to submit a reflection on the similarities of ownership as I’ve experienced them in both the U.S. and Nicaragua.  The article was published in the May-June edition of the Employee Ownership Report and I think it has application not only for a U.S. ownership audience, but also anyone engaged in development work in places like Nicaragua.  The following is the article in its entirety:

“Universal Truths”

It’s still amazing to me! After working for 31 years in my company, the last 20 of which were under ESOP ownership, in 2005 I found myself working for a private foundation serving rural Nicaraguans. But as different as the circumstances and surroundings may be between those environments, I’m still talking and teaching the same language and the same lessons as all those years ago. To my great surprise, my greatest strength in working with impoverished Nicaraguan farmers is my ESOP orientation, and recognition of just what it is that grabs the human spirit and shakes loose creative drive.

Things such as ownership, as in the coffee cooperatives. And transparency, as in understanding the fundamentals of how an enterprise succeeds, how A+B=C, the rules of the game being played. (Yes, The Great Game of Business translates into Spanish!) Or participation, by members all across the organization, both as constituents and leaders. Like organizational holism, where the entire organization focuses on the six dimensions of well-being: Intellectual, Social, Emotional, Spiritual, Occupational and Physical. It turns out that the elements of organizational strength are the same whether in Nicaragua or within the U.S. and there’s a lesson in that.

The lesson is that the methodologies we encourage for effective employee ownership are not simply progressive management tools that can generate improved organizational performance. Rather, the elements are responses to basic human needs, universal truths that address some of the most basic yearnings that we experience in our lives.

We need to provide for ourselves, of course. But we long to be part of something bigger, something that goes beyond vocation, something that promises a lasting imprint. We want to know how things work around us, and how we make it better. We need to feel that we have contributed something of ourselves to an undertaking that is good and successful. Providing a living for ourselves is a livelihood. But elevating those around us at the same time is a legacy, something that transcends everyday existence in ways profound and subtle.

I’ve experienced the power of that truth both in the U.S. and in Nicaragua. In 1993, The ESOP Association began its annual practice of recognizing employee-owners and companies for their achievements under an ESOP ownership structure. The very first national employee-owner of the year was Shirley Bauer, a Tool Crib Attendant at Foldcraft Co. Shirley and her husband were farmers in southeastern Minnesota; maybe that contributed to her ability to see the potential in employee-ownership. A humble but outgoing woman, Shirley had daily access to people from around the entire company and became an outspoken promoter of the ESOP. When her name was announced at that first annual awards dinner, both her energy and humility-as well as her ESOP passion- were evident to everyone in attendance. The moment emblazoned itself in the memories of many who were present, and I still hear recollections from some of those people today.

Two weeks ago, I sat in a very different venue. I attended an organizational workshop for coffee cooperatives. Before an audience of 75 people, a tiny Nicaraguan woman by the name of Corina nervously but firmly explained the details of a 5-year family farm plan which she had created. I had met Corina several years before, after her small coop had been defrauded by unscrupulous middle-men and faced almost certain collapse. The Foundation provided enough help for coop survival, but I recall Corina as a defeated woman, one who had invested much and now faced near-ruin. Back then, she was barely audible in the presence of her North American visitors. But now she was sharing the wisdom gained through perseverance, the success of her immensely hard work and that of the coop, the “family strategic plan” blueprint provided by her coop mentors. Her radiance mirrored that of Shirley Bauer so many years ago.

We’re not as different as we sometimes think. There are universal elements that feed our psyches and souls, among them the power of shared, collaborative work. Tenets of employee-ownership are not simply good structure. They meet some of our most basic human needs.

It’s often the case that we spend much of our time and energies identifying how we’re  so different from one another, and deciding who should be allowed to participate in the freedoms and joys of this life, rather than recognizing how entirely alike we members of the human species really are….

The water is flowing freely right now, the beneficiary of snow melt and early rains.  The water is clear at the moment- no chemicals in the mix as yet-and not yet affected by the farm field runoff which still carries too much valuable soil and nutrient to the south.  The bubbling rapids are pristine and there is joy in the sight and sound of them; clean water is not only an essential, but a wonder for which to be grateful.  I am delighted by its language, except for the realization that its abundance is shrinking everywhere in the world.

Already, fields have been plowed and crops are being planted for a hoped-for bounty by Fall.  All around the area, the smell of lilac and pine are at their intoxicating peaks, crabapple and black locust permeate entire neighborhoods.  The essence is nearly transformative, lifting me on my run.  I am saturated with gratitude at the sweet scents of the earth, except for my memory of the smells of urban decay, both in the U.S. and abroad, which can quickly overpower the natural beauty of a Spring day.

I encountered five other runners and walkers on this day, each showing elation at the emergence from hibernation with smiles and greetings.  We are all in moments of leisure, blessed in a communion with the beauty of a Spring idyll.  I am glad, not only for myself, but for the experiences of my fellows, except for a sadness that so many others may never know this kind of moment.  Maybe their days will be filled with other joys, but I selfishly want them to feel this moment the way that I do.

I am amazed at my running.  For fifty years I have traversed wilderness and  street, winter freeze and summer swelters, from the Superior Trail to Budapest, Managua to Kyongju.  I have run for my own good, for a sense of accomplishment, to be healthy, and to spark creativity.  I’ve been blessed with good knees and strength, and I recognize every day what such activities have meant to my well-being.  And I find myself full of joy, except for the nagging realization that elsewhere, people conserve their energies for more practical tasks, such as survival.  The thought most often slows me down, even if my step remains light.  Wherever the journey leads, the contrasts are the same.

“Whether you are writing about anger, love, jealousy, desire, hate, it does not make a great difference whether you use a plowed field or a city alley, a garbage can or a rural dump, a city park or Quabbin Watershed Wilderness Area.  The great central human considerations may be found everywhere.”                                                                             -Joseph Langland, Poet

So I run on, in a delicate balance between the sublime and the disquiet, knowing that what I hear is not always heard, what I feel is not always felt, and the others I see are but a fortunate few of the many unseen.  Wherever I am, I run between the conflict of beauty and decay, health and hurt, confidence and despair, for we are whole except for where we hurt, helpless except for when we choose otherwise….

It’s nearly impossible to overlook Mother’s Day today.  In the U.S., stories on the news, on the Internet and incessant commercials on television have been constant reminders that we all owe an enormous debt of gratitude to our mothers and we’d better pay off a portion of that debt today!  Such reminders are frequently followed by suggestions of gifts to bestow on our moms, ranging from flowers to diamonds.  (Personally, I’m not sure what my own mother would have thought about receiving a diamond bracelet from me on Mother’s Day, although I suspect that she would not have accepted it.)

Mother’s Day is a world phenomenon, with versions of it having been observed for centuries.  Its United States version was created by presidential proclamation in 1914 and we’ve been buying greeting cards ever since.  In a sense, it’s too bad that we need a day to show gratitude to our moms.  In another sense, we’re grateful for the official day to remind us to do so.  If my Mom was still alive, she’d be hearing from me, as she always did.

Of course, motherhood is one of the undeniable, universal ties that binds us together, men and women alike.  Not all women become moms, and no dads (that I know of) have become moms, but we all have a mom and thus a shared experience.  As different as our cultures may be around the world, the connection with our moms is one of the great equalizers of humankind, transcending borders and customs alike.

I watched a news program last night, the final story of which had to do with Mother’s Day.   It featured an entire classroom of six year-olds engaged in the task of creating handmade Mother’s Day cards.  As adorable as the children were to watch, their sentiments were even more precious to hear.  Each recited thanks for a special gift from their mothers that made these  moms so wonderful.  “Thank you for getting me breakfast every day.”  “Thank you for letting me watch movies.”  “Thank you for cooking dinner.”  “Thank you for making lunch for me.”  “Thank you for loving me.”  And one little boy reflected on the fact that when thinking of his mom he thought of chocolate cake.

As I listened to this litany of gratitude from the hearts of little kids, it occurred to me that not all little boys and girls around the world would necessarily be thanking their moms for such blessings.  While Nicaragua will not celebrate Mother’s Day until the end of this month, the gratitudes expressed on that day are likely to be quite different from those heard on the news segment: breakfast, lunch, dinner and chocolate cakes are less frequent amenities in Nicaragua than they are in the U.S.   But while the specific thanks might be dissimilar between the countries, one thing is not.  The hopes and aspirations of the mothers are very much the same.

Nica moms love their kids,  have hopes for a better standard of living, aspire to see their children be able to read and become educated, pray that their young evolve into decent people, and envision lives for them that are free from the exhaustion and indignity of poverty.  I can imagine hundreds of mothers in Nigeria today whose visions for their children reach far deeper than breakfast, lunch and dinner.   As well as in Ukraine.  And Syria.  Motherhood in such places is not the same as in the United States.

If the dreams that are dreamed by Nica moms are the same longings as U.S. moms, the likelihoods for those dreams are not.  For U.S. moms, dreams still hold the very real possibilities of becoming true, and kids can and do grow into their mothers’ yearnings.  For far too many Nica moms (and Nigerian, Ukrainian and Syrian moms), their dreams are the gift to their kids, because there are limited chances of such hopes ever becoming reality.  It’s the most and the best that they can do.  

If the sentiments of Mother’s Day are shared across cultures, the context of life and the future are not.  As we celebrate the love and sacrifices of those who brought us into the world, we artificially limit our regard for motherhood if we do not acknowledge the love and sacrifices of all moms….

ProNica’s new Program Director is Bambi Griffin.  In the most recent newsletter, she has written an introductory piece which I think captures an important element of providing assistance of any kind in Nicaragua, or any other country.  She writes of her first visit to Nicaragua shortly after Hurricane Mitch devastated the country in 1998.  I have excerpted her article below:

When I arrived, it was the dry season, hot and dusty.  I was going to help community members by digging postholes.  Wooden posts would be cemented into the holes so the black plastic tarps could be wrapped around them to create basic shelters, the residents’ new homes.  I made it a point to wear my oldest, grungiest clothes that I planned to discard when leaving Nicaragua.  When we arrived, women were hanging freshly washed clothes on anything they could find: barbed wire or a tree stump, to dry them under the sun.  Children were running around.  Little girls were dressed in bright frilly pageant dresses that looked out of place with the dusty brown earth and rows of black tarp tents.  People were trying to put order into their day-to-day lives while living without running water, electricity, or even walls.

The community members came out to meet the volunteers, and when they did, I realized something very embarrassing, something that was the start of an important transformation for me.

The residents of Nueva Vida had done the opposite of what I had done.  They had taken the time to put on the very best they had.  They didn’t come out to meet us looking disheveled.  They were neatly dressed, their hair was combed, the lady whose house we were going to dig postholes for that morning had applied lipstick.  In contrast, I was wearing stained jeans with a hole ripped in the knee.  I had on an old tee shirt that I used to sleep in, that was also stained, and I had a bandana on my head.

Although the community members had lost almost everything they owned, in some cases even their families, they looked presentable that morning when they came to meet the volunteers.  I was ashamed.  I was going to meet people I had never met before to work with them on a project.  Why did I think it was OK to wear clothes that I planned to throw away?  Why did I present myself to them in a way that I would never present myself to any other group of people that I would be working with?  Did I feel that they deserved any less than anyone else?  Why had I not done for the residents of Nueva Vida what they had done for me?  Put their best foot forward.  They, who had so little, offered what they had, and I, who had so much, didn’t consider that these people deserved the same basic respect I would have shown to anyone else.  That day I started questioning myself, my motives, and my actions.

I realized that I unknowingly went into a community under the impression that I was going to “help.”  I entered their space with a lack of sensitivity and awareness of who they were, what they had experienced, and I focused on my own needs and wants.  I had not even thought about them, but rather me.  I thought I was going to do a job, to “help.”  I realized that they did not need me to dig postholes for them.  They were just being kind to let me do it.  What they needed was to be treated with dignity, respect, and compassion.  That is what they needed.  I mistakenly thought I was just there to dog postholes….

I don’t often talk about my first experience in Nicaragua because I didn’t live through what the residents lived through.  I did not live with a dirt floor, four posts surrounded by black plastic tarp for my walls, struggling daily for the survival of my family.  I talk about it now because it was the start of my understanding of my privilege, something that I will never be able to un-do.  When I think I am helping, I might actually be causing harm.  That first experience was when I seriously questioned my motivations, the purpose behind my actions, and my understanding of what I was doing and why….

Like so many other occasions in life, we are sometimes subject to the unintended consequences of what we do.  The desire to “help” in a country like Nicaragua may be well-intentioned.  But without an understanding of the current context, the traditions, the social milieu and even the international histories between nations- being there in the fullest sense-  aid workers and organizations run the risk of perpetuating inequalities, power disparities or even creating setbacks for Nica progress.  Bambi Griffin writes perceptively about that reality, one from which many other aid workers could learn an important truth.

As hard to believe as it may be, giving of yourself isn’t always an easy thing, even if it’s nearly always a good thing….

I thought about the people I know best.  One of my close friends, passionate about the outdoors his entire life, has come to teach environmentalism to college students at a time when most of his peers have retired.  Another has devoted his energies to the cultivation of the arts, and on a broad scale, in a manner that embraces not only accomplished artists but also the most fledgling efforts of the virtually unknown.  A third has ended a career of pastoring his congregations with a voice for social justice,  even when doing so might have generated unrest and personal discomfort.  Each has chosen a cause, a purpose for his voice, a deliberate act of representation.

A lot of people attempt to speak for others but miss the mark. Government officials are notorious for speaking what the constituents want to hear, or what the officials want them to hear.  Religious leaders for centuries have tried to tell their followers how they should behave, only to be challenged by shifting societal norms.  CEOs everywhere adopt the role of corporate spokespersons, but the perspectives of employees are often far different from the company line: ask a CEO about his/her company’s culture and then interview an employee or two.

Others of us are much less overt-  quieter types for whom introversion is a safer form of existence and who are far less likely to mount a figurative soapbox of any kind.  Who or what do we represent in our relative silence?  For assuredly, not to speak is still a statement of one kind or another.

One of the lessons I learned long ago during my earliest years in business was that “silence is acceptance.”  If I was not willing to challenge an idea, then the fair presumption was that the concept was acceptable to me and that I would support it.  While the wisdom served as a potentially liberating management tool, more broadly the notion described the societal reality in which we live.  Just as in the truth of “not to decide is to decide,” there is truth in “not to speak is to speak.”  And there is potential danger in words that are never spoken.

For instance, an article in The Minneapolis StarTribune describes the growing number of “speakers” fomenting anti-Muslim sentiment in rural towns of the Upper Midwest.  The self-appointed proselytizers, whose expertise ranges from used car sales to conspiracy theory, possess an understanding about how to use their words to stoke the fears of the unknown in the minds of their audiences.  Of course, there are many unbiased residents in small-town America.  But the silence of their voices provides amplification to those who portray all Muslims as like-minded, radical jihadists.  The “preachers” speak only for themselves, I hope.

Then there is the case of words spoken out of the side of the mouth. The same political candidates referenced above, with choruses from their legislative colleagues, have all decried the disappearance of the middle-class in the U.S. in the most recent case of a near-extinction.  But while each has accentuated the importance of the species and pledged to save it, their words belie their true loyalties.  While the middle-class faces utter disappearance, the top 1% of the population continues to amass unprecedented wealth. The reality begs the question about who truly speaks for the vanishing strength of America, its middle class.

For whom do we speak?  Whether we dedicate our words and actions to the natural world, the creativity of the arts, the circumstances of marginalized people, a political ideology or something else, our words leave a legacy.  That legacy will be a fingerprint of our lifetimes, a precise identification of who we were in our time, a picture of what was important to us, an identification of our stewardship, the depth of our love, and whether we left the world in any better shape than we found it….

In this particular class, I tried something new to make a point.  Since the class size was only 15, I decided to distribute brand new $2 bills to each person.  (Thank goodness the class was not immense in size- I might have been forced to reconsider this strategy altogether.) Initially it may have seemed as though I sought to pay the students for their attention and interest, but not even I am desperate (or wealthy) enough to stoop to such a tactic.  Instead, as I explained, the $2 bill was theirs to keep and to reflect upon.  For there are many  for whom that $2 represent an entire day’s wages.                          The $2-a-day threshold has been widely referenced when talking about global impoverishment.  Unfortunately, it has been recited often enough that the notion no longer seems to stir the incredulity that it once did; it has become a sad and interesting statistic with less “punch” than it had when we first heard of it.  I wanted the $2 bill to change that, by providing a unique (we don’t see many such bills in circulation anymore) and tangible ($2 in the hand is worth more than words) representation of just how little that amount is.  Then we went on about how some of our own consumption habits influence this state of affairs.

The first reaction of the students was bemusement; perhaps not many guest presenters have left money behind.  But once the bills were in hand, I invited them to consider how their money should be spent, given the realities of everyday needs.  To complicate their deliberations, I also suggested that their dilemma might be even more difficult in real life with the presence of a child or two; the $2 bill is still worth only $2.  There are not many Starbucks coffees to be consumed in that scenario.

When I have spoken about Nicaraguan poverty in the past, some have questioned whether goods are considerably less expensive in Nicaragua than in the U.S.  But by offering a comparison of some common grocery and clothing items in each country, that myth was quickly dispelled in class.  There are no “easy outs” or solutions for this reality.  The fact is that $2 does not come anywhere close to meeting basic living needs, and it’s emotionally disturbing to come face to face with that.   If the students keep the $2 bills for the uniqueness of the denomination, maybe they will also retain the empty feeling they experienced as they contemplated a life of deprivation.

I don’t have enough $2 bills to give away to everyone.  (Do we really need them?)  I can nevertheless invite people to use their own resources to consider what life might be like on $2 a day.  The exercise quickly moves from thinking about which niceties we might be able to do without to a more difficult evaluation of which essentials would have to go.  The first part of the deliberation is vexingly entertaining; the second part is maddeningly impossible.

If the $2 exercise properly infects the students from last Tuesday’s class, they will be left with a virus which has a cure, albeit a difficult one. The treatment for the disparities between those with more than enough and those with less than enough is personal understanding, knowing in both head and heart that the gap exists.  If that treatment truly takes hold, we’ll know what to do next….

History is full of them, of course.  They are events which at their white-hot moments trigger the full range of our most intense emotions.  They are incidents about which we are inclined to say things like, “Never again” or “We will never forget.”  But we do.  The passage of time or the passing of the generations eventually relegate even the most searing instants to dulled history, to be analyzed instead of felt, assessed rather than cried over.  Perhaps that is a good thing about our species, that we cannot retain the rawness of the moment for very long.

Among the images from Brussels are photographs of the deceased. They appear to be common folk.  There were no kings or world leaders or super-wealthy among the dead; there rarely are when it comes to such events.  The faces are even familiar: they are largely a microcosm of European and Western cultures, an ethnic mix of men and women, young and old, people we might meet on the street or in our neighborhoods.  They are reminiscent of you and me.  Everyman/Woman.  News organizations have come to use the individual photograph as a means of making the event more real to us, trying to personalize an event that otherwise might be too remote to elicit the drama and emotion of an important story.  I appreciate the use of photos, but I wish there would be more of it.

For there are other faces in the news over recent weeks and months and years that we have not seen. They are the countenances of other victims from places that are less familiar to you and me.  Places like Syria and Pakistan and Iraq and other locations.  Bombings and deaths have occurred in these places, too, often without provocation or design, other than the obliteration of whatever sense of civility may exist within our nations.  The losses in these places are no less devastating than those we grieve in Brussels.

In particular, we have learned a great deal about the lives of the four U.S. victims in the Brussels attacks.  It’s appropriate that we have a final opportunity to know even slightly the fellow citizens who will no longer be among us, to catch a glimpse of the lives that are no longer available to solving the important challenges of humanity, to imagining what they might have brought to the world.  It is primarily through such reflection that we might begin to fully internalize the losses we have incurred, and thus the insanity of policies that use indiscriminate death and destruction as supposed solutions to conflict.  In Brussels, we have lost some thirty-five potential “pieces to the puzzle,” souls and creators who we will never regain.

Just like the seventy-  primarily women and children-  who were lost this past weekend in Pakistan.  Or the thirteen in Istanbul before that.  Or the eight in Jakarta.  Thirty in Burkina Faso.  Twenty-nine in Ankara.  And so on.  Perhaps these do not strike us as newsworthy, because there were so many, or the events were so far away, or because there were no U.S. or European victims.  We can be myopic at times, in the same way that we did not acknowledge the destruction of life in Nicaragua during the years of the U.S.-backed Contras.  (Still don’t know about that one?)    The places are easy for us to overlook.

But of course, they shouldn’t be.  For within every statistic mentioned above, there was a face and a story, a hope and purpose, a gift and a potential.  When we are afforded the chance to see the beautiful and happy faces of people who died in Brussels, remember, too, the losses which continue to degrade all of us from all corners of the world….

In considering how to provide that clarification, I recalled an e-mail that was written by my colleague and Nicaraguan Director for Winds of Peace, Mark Lester.  He had written a response to an inquiry from another funder asking about our process and assessment of project proposals.  I revisited the e-mail and, as I had suspected, Mark’s words painted a clear portrait of a development process geared to clients themselves, and how WPF has come to work with its potential partners in a fashion that plants seeds for and is very focused on the future.  That e-mail is excerpted here:

I think the goal of having your grassroots group partners dictate to you what their specific needs and priorities are is a very good institutional goal, and one that we very much share, but our experience is that it gets very complicated when you try to put it into practice. 

That reality was impressed upon me again recently in a conversation I had with an acquaintance about measuring end results.  That’s something which most aid organizations are prone to do, because without some sort of results to tout, raising funds from potential donors or justifying actions to a Board of Directors becomes quite difficult. The easiest measurement to take, of course,  is the number of dollars placed during a given year, under the assumption that if an organization is placing lots of money it must be creating lots of impact.  (Which is not always the case.)  During my conversation, a number of additional measures were cited, including number of households served, geographic area covered, number of women included and loan default rates.  We all search for some way to affirm that funds and energy expended have been put to good use and yielded a good result.  We want to look forward to a “harvest” of the good intentions and capital that we have sown.

Understandably, there are many aid organizations for whom the harvest is the main objective and without a reasonably short and certain “growing season,” they won’t make the investment. Harvesters are numerous and they are essential to vibrant development and organizational accountability.  They represent significant funding sources.

But one of the realities of development work learned by WPF over these past several decades is that sometimes germination just takes longer than we’d like, and there is no certainty of anything growing out of a particular investment made.  Risk is without guarantee, and especially when swimming upstream against currents of rural location, prevailing culture, limited education, autocratic governance models and natural disasters.   So occasionally, the exceptionally poor require the presence of “planters,” those who are willing to sow in marginal soil, where possibly the only measurement is whether anything can bloom- not in micro-loans returned or number of houses built, but in whether there are grounds for further accompaniment and relationship.

Planters bring an entrepreneurial appetite for exploration and risk.  They are willing to “get proximate” enough to make a bet on the lives of deeply marginalized people. They not only lend and grant, but also accompany.  Measures are not unimportant, to be sure, but they are less sure. And for planters, that’s OK.  Because eventually planters hope to be harvesters, too.  They just may be willing to wait longer to be so.

Working on development in the rural sectors of any country is not an exact science.  WPF has developed its perspectives and methodologies over thirty years of on-the-ground observation and partnerships.  There is no existing formula for certain success.  If it was formulaic work, more institutions would be doing it, with assurances of success and favorable measurements to share with the donor base.  It isn’t that easy.

We are all members of the development universe in some capacity, whether we acknowledge it or not.  As members of a common humanity, we do have an obligation to one another.  Our actions, whether small or large, create an impact, good or bad.  Harvesters are willing to travel where the path is rocky, but straight, so that they have reasonable expectations of repeating their success.  Planters bring visions and seeds to scatter, in the recognition that neither the path nor the final fruits are necessarily clear; they are less sure of their own viability in the process.  But we need planters and harvesters and every other resource we can muster in order to blunt the disgrace and indignity of deep impoverishment. …

I attended his presentation expecting to learn about dramatic examples of injustices which have occurred in this country, and he provided many of those.  I hoped that he might even offer some insights about both the reasons for and the solutions to some of these miscarriages, and he offered clear views on these.  What I had not expected was his perspective about change and the elements which are critical to bringing about a more uniform and reasonable justice.  As it turns out, he might just as well have been speaking about the poor in Nicaragua as the wrongly-incarcerated in the U.S.  In either case, justice missed its call.

As Stevenson spoke of what would be required of us to mitigate at least some of the miscarriages of justice he has encountered, I was struck by his “blueprint.”  For as he iterated the four important elements of his thinking, he proposed nearly the same set of needs as those which WPF has experienced and amplified over its 30 years of work in Nicaragua.  Consider his priorities for a changed context of justice:

Get Proximate.  Stevenson suggests that in order to truly understand and know the immense cost of injustice (both financial and human), one has to get closer to its reality.  There is an uncomfortable heat generated by institutional unfairness that can bring any of us to a cold sweat, because we are all susceptible, in the same unsuspecting ways as many of Stevenson’s clients once were.

If we wish to truly know the stories of the poor, we face the same call for proximity.  Reading about it in the comfort of a living room is safe, even if sad.  But standing among those for whom $2 a day represents total income is an exposure to virulent indignity.  Being invited to a meal by such a family is an exercise in damned-if-you-do and damned-if-you-don’t, as you understand that sharing such food is taking it away from where it is desperately needed, but refusing it is a rude dishonor.  Effective development work  requires being in the middle of the reality, accompanying those who struggle with not only material assistance but also emotional and social support.  Worse than being destitute is being destitute and alone.

Change the Narrative.  Stevenson advocates for a change in our understanding and beliefs about people.  For him, this means addressing the fears and angers that fuel inequities, violence and conditions for injustices to metastasize.  Ignorance about cultures and ethnicities and histories are the breeding grounds for prejudiced thinking and the virus of irrational belief.  Sometimes the storyline  is just plain wrong.

Without a change in the narrative- by living first-hand experiences that shape our basic knowledge and feelings about others- we stand little chance of repairing the systems which pave the way for poverty and injustice.  Our notions that people in impoverished countries don’t really want to be independent are patently false, just as our belief that U.S. jurisprudence is free from factors of class and race is a myth.  Our stories color a great deal of our beliefs; it’s imperative that our stories are therefore factual.

Embrace Hopefulness. In his talk full of poignant stories, Stevenson might have been forgiven if he had allowed the audience to become depressed at hearing case after case of wrongful incarceration and lost lives.  But his outlook is one that is decidedly upbeat, because he believes in the power of the human mind and spirit.

Likewise, the cause for hope in a land like Nicaragua stems from the resilience of its people and the multitude of people- both inside and from outside of the country, including WPF- who are working hard to convert their good intentions for assistance into actual development results.  The degree to which we succeed in such “good change” may well be determined by the degree to which we heed Stevenson’s blueprint for justice, as outlined here.

Be Willing to Do Uncomfortable Things.  Getting out of our comfort zones.  It’s clear that Stevenson’s work takes him into some of the most uncomfortable circumstances imaginable, working with death row inmates, confronting the harsh realities of lifelong imprisonment, consoling the families of victims and perpetrators alike.  Sharing a last meal.  Stevenson confesses to his continued emotional discomfort of such circumstances, even to this day, but also recognizes the importance of it.  He has heard the entreaty, “please come back again,” countless times from voices who have little other source of hopefulness.  The work is not comfortable, but necessary.

Just like in Nicaragua.  The breadth and intensity of poverty there- economic, educational, developmental- makes for environments that are difficult to understand and to accept.  The rural sectors of the country reflect limited opportunities for its people despite their collective determination and the presence of well-intentioned aid organizations.  But if poverty results are to change, then our collective and individual responses to the disease must change, as well, and that will take us out of our comfort zones.

We’ll do with less.  We’ll speak up publicly more.  We’ll have allowed ourselves to get proximate enough to feel the discomforts.  We’ll become intimate with the truths obscured by myth and manipulation.  And we’ll retain our sense of foolishness to believe that each of us can make a difference within our own niches of life, that we will do the things that others say cannot be done.

Without ever likely having been to Nicaragua, Bryan Stevenson seems to know it with clarity….

I understand the implication:  I’m worthy of the product being offered and the benefits that it will provide.  I must have worked hard in life and am entitled to the luxury-pleasure-convenience-status of the item being offered as a visible affirmation of my worth, one that others will see with admiration and maybe even jealousy, because they, too, are worth it.

It’s an easy trap for us consumers to fall into.  The latest versions of luxurious living and tempting toys are alluring, indeed.  Caribbean cruises on floating hotels and cars that drive and park themselves are nearly beyond imagination.  Even in the far reaches of Nicaragua, cell phone accessibility has become an increasingly commonplace wonder.  If some of the chronically poor peasants enjoy such technology, surely the rest of us are entitled to that and more; we must be entitled.

But the promise of “all about you” and the attendant requirement for acquiring more items in our lives is a misnomer for fulfillment, whatever our socioeconomic status.  Not only because shiny things become dulled in time, but also because they- and we- are all so temporary.  We don’t get to take any of our toys with us when we depart the planet, and they will come to the temporary ownership of someone else.  The cycle will continue indefinitely and we will have been owners for only a second in time, nothing more.  We are only stewards of things, whether they be greater or fewer than others, but they are never truly a part of us.

In reality, it’s not all about me.  It’s hardly about me or any of us at all. (I was even reminded of that recently in church, sometimes not a bad place for new perspectives.  See the message from January 25.)   Each of us is but one seven billionth of the planet; a mere one one hundred and eight billionth of human history.  Clearly, it cannot be about you or me; we are not that unique.  So it must be about something else, a perspective that makes the center of attention somewhere other than ourselves.  If not me, if not you, then our focus must be on “the others,” the marginalized among us who need and deserve our consideration.

Yet the more I consider the notion, an unexpected reversal of thinking occurs to me.  Maybe it is all about me.  Not in the sense of the receiving and entitlement, but in the giving and opportunity.  Maybe it truly is about each of us individually taking ownership, not of our things but of our stewardship.  Maybe instead of competing in the marketplace for the most goods, our competition ought to be seen in divesting ourselves of the incredible wealth we have accumulated during our lives of privilege.  Is it possible that the hallmark of success could be measured by the number of lives touched, the number of hungry fed, the number of homeless sheltered?  For we do lead lives of great privilege in contrast to most of the other humans on earth, present and past alike.  How even those kings and emperors of antiquity would be astounded at the lifestyles most of us live!

I received a product ordered online the other day, another manifestation of my own consumerism.  It arrived in a carton marked, “Happiness delivered.”  I was immediately struck by the presumption that the product delivered would make me happy, and that I never even had to leave the comfort of my home to achieve such joy.  The presumption was yet one more attempt to equate a purchase with personal and lasting fulfillment.  In reality, the item was one that, yes, I felt (right or wrong) that I needed, but it did not make me happy. That emotion has to come from somewhere else, somewhere from within.  And that is all about me, and my relationship to other human beings.

I am informed in my thinking by Native American perspectives on the idea of ownership, not only the impossibility of owning individual lands but of things, as well: ““It was our belief that the love of possessions is a weakness to be overcome… Children must early learn the beauty of generosity. They are taught to give what they prize most, that they may taste the happiness of giving… The Indians in their simplicity literally give away all that they have—to relatives, to guests of other tribes or clans, but above all to the poor and the aged, from whom they can hope for no return.” (Charles Alexander Eastman, Santee Dakota Physician, 1858-1939.)

I’m not an ascetic and thus cannot call others to such a lifestyle.  But I recognize, like Native Americans long before me, that what we have- whether in material, opportunity, education, energy or aspiration- is never owned by us.   Rather, any of these are gifts to be shared in the best ways that we can, part of a collective competition of largesse, and our lives are truly about discerning how to do just that….

During my visit in Nicaragua two weeks ago, I became re-acquainted with a woman I had met several years ago, a grassroots coffee producer and member of a very small cooperative.  She attended an organizational strengthening workshop which the Foundation had underwritten and, in fact, turned out to be one of the presenters.  I want to introduce you to Corina, because she is a composite story of who many Nicaraguans are.

When we first met, Corina and her cooperative had found themselves in deep economic trouble. But the cause of the difficulty stemmed from the fraudulent actions of “middlemen” who recognized an opportunity to take advantage of small producers who were too trusting, unschooled and undereducated in the responsibilities  and obligations of organizational success.  In that first meeting, Corina and her fellow coop members faced a likely collapse of their group; she thus faced a similar fate for her own farm.  Without the middlemen to provide market savvy and price negotiation (as well as deceptive representation), Corina felt lost.

But I recall her tenacity in addition to the shyness.  She had not spoken much in front of her North American visitor those years ago, but she spoke passionately and with defiance when she chose to speak at all.  But I remember thinking that the odds were definitely against this small-producer coop which now faced significant debt not of their own making.  Winds of Peace has made annual loans to the coop since that first meeting, and the coop has survived thus far.  But providing funds each year for fertilizers and new coffee plants is neither the road away from dependence nor the key to sustainability.

Corina and her fellow coop members have worked hard.  They have attended other workshops.  The coop has been attentive to understanding exactly what project proposal information is required of them and what donor expectations are.   They’ve been scrupulously diligent in meeting their loan obligations.  While a preference for having others intervene on their behalf still surfaces at moments, a movement toward self-sufficiency is happening.

So I was both surprised and not surprised in seeing Corina before the audience two weeks ago.  She towered over the audience, in a way that very few people less than five feet in height can; sometimes captivation comes from unsuspected sources.  She clutched a handkerchief like a good luck token, but her voice was firm and her resolution fixed on two large papers taped to the front wall.  On the pages, Corina had charted her family’s 5-Year Farm Plan.

Set aside for the moment the fact that many businesses never attempt something as progressive as a 5-year plan.  Corina, with the assistance of her husband and children and workshop facilitators,  had undertaken a detailed description of her business, including its dimensions, crops, limitations, opportunities, improvements, environmental impacts, successes and its future outlook.  There on two sheets of butcher paper was a complete strategic plan, one which in its simplicity and breadth presented her story, both current and future.

As Corina related her story, her voice grew in size and confidence. The handkerchief became twisted with emotion and conviction.  The audience, notorious for its restlessness, now sat rapt in attention, utterly astonished at both the woman and the content of her work.  At one moment, suddenly self-conscious of her standing, she looked to the workshop facilitator and observed that, maybe she wasn’t making sense and that he could explain the process better.  To his everlasting credit, the facilitator turned to the participants and asked, “Is she doing OK?”  The audience erupted into thunderous applause, matched in emotion only by the modesty in Corina’s face.  She continued, with even greater fervor than before.

By the close of her presentation, Corina had communicated details of her life which, under any other circumstance, would never have been shared.  She talked of her children and their work on the farm, after school.  She described the long hours of labor contributed by her husband, who hired out as a field hand elsewhere by day before returning home to tend to their own land.  She talked of her own unending work among the coffee plants, and how she nonetheless was able to achieve the equivalent of her high school diploma, the first member of her family ever to do so.  By the conclusion of her talk, I had a distinct feeling of under-accomplishment in my own life.

I suspect that many in the group felt the same.  At the conclusion of her presentation, Corina was surrounded by many, people seeking more information, offering their appreciation for her tenacity and strength, thanking her.  Several members of a coffee-buying group from North America sought to establish direct links for purchasing her coffee.  She may never have experienced so many photographs taken of her.  Clearly a sense of accomplishment welled up within her, and yet the demeanor of humility and reserve never wavered.

Corina’s example to her fellow small farmers resulted in many such family plans being drawn up that day and in the weeks to follow; indeed, they are still being created.  She had extended herself, far from her comfort zone, in order to provide a basis for others to act.  Her courage on behalf of other producers enabled a development threshold to be crossed, one that may cultivate harvests and benefits for a long time.  But I recall the day in a different light.  I will recall her performance and leadership as a challenge to my own way of life, to look at its content, its yields and plantings and harvests, its potential and its character with a greater sense of needing to do better….

The inevitability of mortality is no solace when we lose someone whose life has transcended the usual boundaries of what it is to be a human being.  We know that whatever one’s legacy is to be, it is certain to come in time, whether we are prepared for it or not.  When we learned the news of Father Fernando Cardenal’s illness several weeks ago, there was collective hope and prayer that his time had not yet come and that he might recover to extend the remarkable legacy of his life.  But it was not to be.  Despite several rallies in recent days, Father Fernando died Saturday, at age 82, an age that belies the enormous impact of his life.

Neither this site nor this writer can pretend to adequately express what Father Fernando has meant to a world which refuses to see and people who ignore the truth of the poor.  (There are ample locations to learn of the Nicaraguan priest’s background and life story; visit them, and understand the kind of person the world has lost.)  He became the voice and patron of the impoverished, in many ways at the cost of his own vocation and voice.  Indeed, he was expelled from the priesthood for his continued educational work with a revolutionary regime which in the 1970’s overthrew the longstanding Somoza dictatorship in Nicaragua.  Such was his commitment to those who possessed no voice of their own.  (And such was his commitment to his faith, that he earned his eventual reinstallation to the priesthood years later.)

His story, recounted in part in the recent autobiography, Faith and Joy, (and assisted by WPF colleague Mark Lester and Kathy McBride), is a life lesson to make even the most egocentric among us re-think our  own journeys and legacies.  But such was Father Fernando’s gift, to speak for the poor, and for the rest of us, in ways that could touch us profoundly.  I met with Father Fernando on four separate occasions.   I can share without shame that upon each occasion, the passion of his words and the depth of his dedication to “the small people” prompted tears-  of joy, of admiration and of self-reflection.  For Father Fernando, his calling was crystal clear: “I cannot accept that people live this way.  As a human being and as a Christian, I cannot accept it.  It has to change.”  I found it an impossible perspective to refute.

Even at his age of 82, it was still too soon to say good-bye to a life of such inspiration.  We needed more of him, more words of hope and perseverance for the poor and more words of encouragement and for introspection among the rest of us.  We all conduct our life journeys with too little of either, and now one of the important instructors of our consciences is gone.  Take a moment to learn who he was.  His loss begs for for prayer and remembrance….

(“It is my hope that the young people return to the streets to make history.”)                                                           -Father Fernando Cardenal

As usual, I spent the week learning: understanding more about the gaps in education at all levels in country against a cultural reality which has been forced to prioritize work over learning;  sitting face-to-face with grassroots producers who experience all of the same vagaries of raising crops as growers around the world, but with the additional hurdles of unscrupulous coyotes who manipulate and cheat the markets; encountering great development works by local organizations which place human dignity and voice at the top of their resource lists; participating in a territorial workshop where small producers are willing to share intimate details of their work, their obstacles, their dreams and their lives.  Who could ask more from the content of a week?

My reflections of that week just past are nothing new.  They include the recognition that the human struggles in Nicaragua are far more basic than the battles which most of us are compelled to fight in the U.S.  Not easier, not more noble, not enviable, just more basic to the work of making a living and just living.  But also, that a large part of the struggle there is the result of manmade barriers to sustainable daily life.  Of course, there are the realities of natural disasters like earthquakes and hurricanes, but even those have taken on a decidedly man-impacted intensity in recent years.  There are inevitable gyrations to the economic markets which Nicaraguans serve- as diverse as insulated wire and coffee- but also North American market perspectives which view the entire Central American neighborhood as a second-rate trade zone.  There is the rich cultural history of Nicaragua- full of achievement and natural opportunity- but one which has been largely gutted by  outside interventions, by the U.S. and others,  over generations and to the present.

Effective development work in Nicaragua thus requires a re-setting of the clock and of the starting line.  If some of those manmade obstacles are to be corrected, as they ought, then consideration of our collective economic, political and social attitudes have to precede such changes.

It’s a shift which will not be easy.  In talking with one well-intentioned North American last week, I discussed with him some of the roadblocks that compromise Nicaraguan development.  I broached, gently, the notion that we in the North bear a fair amount of responsibility for economic difficulty there.  His reply belied an all-too-frequent posture toward those in the developing world: “If they would just learn English,” he said, “it would be so much easier to work with them.”

Speaking the same language, indeed.  That would be a circumstance which might substantially level the playing field in all kinds of ways, for Nicaraguans and North Americans alike.  But the reality of a universal language is not a particularly likely answer to creating sustainable justice, whether economically, politically or socially.  For many people in Nicaragua, learning comprehensive language skills in their native tongue is a stretch by itself; indeed, a third-grade education in Nicaragua hardly qualifies a child as a linguist.  Learning a second language-let alone, the most difficult language to learn in the world (English)- is neither a practical nor a reasonable solution to development needs.  It’s also a little condescending to expect another culture to adapt itself to our language; there is nothing wrong with their own.  A leveling of the playing field requires some other forms of more mutual adaptation.

It’s easy to fall into such colonial thinking.  We are surrounded by our own, comfortable ways which feel right from their familiarity.   A friend of mine recently made the observation that, “In Nicaragua they just don’t work the same way that we do, do they?”  (No, I thought.  They work much harder.)  Yet, as we know intellectually, if not emotionally, comfort does not always translate to sensibility, and certainly not to justice.  In fact, oftentimes those comforts of ours translate to someone else’s burdens.

Getting out of our comfort zones is an important element of expanding one’s line of sight to such burdens.   I was very glad to be back in Nicaragua last week, to see, to hear, to know….

The holidays themselves pose any number of distractions that can take me out of my daily rhythms.  We plan and prepare for family visits (a household of two is a very different space than a household of ten), change the quantity and content of our meals (cookies are terrific but not very forgiving) and a visit with an elderly neighbor becomes not just a nice time to chat but a holiday expectation (even though she professes to have had all the Christmases she needs).  I suppose that such distractions are among the attractions of the holidays, as they force us out of the sameness of everyday life, even if the routines are the same as other years gone by.  At least they aren’t the same as May or September routines.

Succumbing to illness, especially at this time of year, is especially interruptive, since we have expectations of gaiety and joy; indeed, every advertisement on television informs us of just the right gifts needed to provide giddy ecstasy over the holidays.  Illness, even if not particularly life-threatening, dims the brightness of the days and extends the wakefulness of the nights in a grotesquely unfair example of poor timing, which no amount of tissues or hot liquids can erase.  Holiday illness is the taskmaster of patience, at a time when Godspeed is needed.

To lighten such a load, the birth of a grandchild is highly recommended.  Tiny Claire Elizabeth came into this sphere on January 7, bringing with her the usual fanfare of newborns: the stress of childbirth, the anxiety of families, the thrill of new life, the introspective gravitas of a new legacy, the first cry of perseverance and finally, the unbridled joy of those who will be her family.  What event could be sweeter than this-  the newest piece to life’s puzzle.

So our days have been filled with mixtures of celebration, struggle, anxiety, fears, comforts, dreams and spiritual balm.  The rush of the holidays has passed by for another year, the discomforts of a winter illness have finally sought new victims for their misery and a newborn child has begun her journey of enriching, teaching and loving.

After ten years of working between two cultures and world views, the passage of these past weeks has given me pause to reflect upon the ordinary events and people of that other space in my life, Nicaragua.  What are the holidays and illnesses and births like for my friends in that country, and how do they unfold?  How do such occurrences impact the activities of those who experience them?

I think we can guess at the reality.  The holidays occupy a significant part of many Nicaraguans’ lives, as the celebration of the birth of Jesus is national in its importance.  But there is no frenzy to buy lavish gifts and to host overflowing holiday feasts for most: sufficiency at the table and in the home is difficult enough to maintain on ordinary days, though worthy enough of deep gratitude.

Nicaraguans become ill just like anyone else, so cough remedies and Indigenous recipes abound.  (Honey mixed in rum is what I have been recommended.)  Nicaraguans are not immune to the viruses that seem to stop us in our tracks.  It’s simply a case that Nicaraguans have a much more difficult time stopping in theirs; there is no safety net for such work stoppage and the margin of sufficiency too small to allow the luxury of staying at home or sipping hot chicken soup.  They cannot afford to stop for fear of falling further behind.  There are occasions when illness gets in the way of keeping up.  It’s when one of the particularly virulent strains of virus or bacteria attack the health of a worker and the ability to keep going is lost to the emergency of simply staying alive.  Poverty has a way of breeding brands of illness that make my cold of the past weeks seem like a hiccup.  It seems our respective senses of the ordinary are quite different from one another.

And when it comes to having children and grandchildren enter their lives, Nicaraguans feel the same range of emotion that the rest of us do, I suppose.  But whereas the dreams for Claire Elizabeth include notions of education, achievement and wholeness of life, dreams for the newly-born in Nicaragua may be far different.  The family of a newborn Angelina may dream first of survival and good health for their little girl.  Their prayers might include petitions for enough to eat, water to safely consume, and strength enough to be able to work on the coffee farm at an early age.  Their hopes likely include visions of their daughter being able to stay in school past the third grade, maybe even being schooled to high school, though the hope may be, practically speaking, a long shot.

What constitutes the ordinary for us depends very heavily upon where the miracle of birth and the journey of life occurs.  When we spend even a few moments in reflection and appreciation of that truth, it changes things.  Like the way we choose to celebrate the joys of our lives.  Like the acceptance of a temporary illness as a minor distraction instead of a major roadblock.  And like a growing awareness of just how extra-ordinary our own lives really have become….

That’s too bad, because our reality is so much broader than that.  Our wealth is measured on a number of scales, each of which might be said to be as or even more important than the money metric.  As our modern society careens its way to ever more spending, debt, consumption, environmental degrading and even planetary threat, we eventually understand that our lives are made up of more than monetary accumulations.

That truth has been embedded in the work by Winds of Peace over its entire history, though perhaps in evolving forms.  We have spoken of development in terms of holistic well-being, considering the intellectual, social, emotional, spiritual, occupational and physical dimensions of peoples’ lives.  We have accentuated the importance of transparency, integrity, gender equality, stewardship and collaborative work as means of enriching lives.

It may be self-selection, then, that has led me to read the book, Prosper!, authored by Chris Martenson and Adam Taggart. This intriguing work includes a more fully-descriptive detailing of eight forms of capital, a concept I first encountered at a workshop which Martenson and Taggart facilitated  last Spring.  The concepts resonated with how I have viewed Foundation core beliefs and the book now provides a refreshed and broadened perspective about forms of capital and the compositions of true wealth, and why they transcend the traditional view of what constitutes wealth.

In summary, the eight forms of capital are likely familiar to everyone, but perhaps not in the sense of wealth-building.  But reflection upon the eight elements quickly affirms their importance and their essence to our wellness.

Prosper does include Financial Capital among the eight components, covering the realities of income and expense, debt and money.  There is no attempt in the book to diminish the reality of financial needs in our lives, only an attempt to put them into a different context.

Living Capital is the land, the trees, water, the soil, the other living creatures with whom we share the earth, and our own bodies and physical health.

Material Capital is made up of our tangible possessions like our homes, automobiles, building materials, tools, stored food, computers.

Knowledge Capital includes the things that we know and events we have experienced, and our abilities to apply that knowledge to the issues of our lives.

Emotional and Spiritual Capital refers to our capacity to adjust to the changes in our lives, the way we respond to events and conditions, the calm and centeredness with which we come to terms with both internal and external challenges.

Social Capital refers to our private and public relationships, the people in our lives who are family and friends, with whom we exchange favors and care, for whom we are willing to give of ourselves.

Cultural Capital is made up of the fabric of the communities in which we live, the stories, songs, habits and histories of the people in our midst.

Time Capital is just that: the time that we are allotted in our lives to accomplish and experience whatever it is to which we aspire.  It’s a finite, ever-depleting commodity, the amount of which is unknown to each of us, and therefore of immense value of itself.

For each of us, we possess more of some kinds of capital and less of other kinds.

The consideration of these eight forms of capital has given me occasion to affirm my own thoughts about wealth. Our continuing partnerships with rural Nicaraguans affords the opportunity to observe more distinctly the various forms of capital at work in their lives.  They may possess very little in the way of financial capital, but in fact may hold exponentially greater capital in the form of Living or Social or other assets.  And since the various forms are fungible among themselves, the wealth of rural Nicaraguans (or other financially impoverished around the world) may be far greater than we think, maybe even greater in some instances than that experienced here in the United States: I know who is hungrier, but I’m not sure who is the better nourished.

None of this is meant to diminish the impact of extreme poverty on those for whom Financial Capital is but a dream; indeed, a human must survive before it can thrive.  But at this time of year, when our priorities seem to be focused so predominantly on frenzied consumption of financial resources, awareness of our “other” capital accounts can serve as an important distraction.  It’s a pause that might call into question how we “invest” for our futures….

It was my first Minnesota Vikings game and my first NFL game. I am not new to football, though. As an undergrad at Boston College, I went to many Eagles games, and I played junior varsity football. I knew what to expect on the field. I was excited, and, as I found my seat, I thought about bringing my family to a game in the new stadium.

What I didn’t expect was for a man to push aside other people and point his finger in my face, demanding to know if I was a refugee. He needed to make sure I wasn’t a refugee, he said. There was anger in his face and vehemence in his accusation.

I was stunned. He didn’t know anything about me. We were complete strangers. But somewhere in his mind, all he saw was a terrorist, based on nothing more than the color of my skin. He was white, and I wasn’t. He didn’t see anything else.

He didn’t know that I have lived in Minnesota for the past four years, that I was born and raised in New York and that the words “Never Forget” may mean more to me than to him. He didn’t know that when I went home and my children jumped on top of me and asked “How was the game?” that I’d be holding back tears as I told them about racism instead of touchdowns. He didn’t know that I am an attorney and the director of the Refugee and Immigrant Program at the Advocates for Human Rights.

It was also abundantly clear that he didn’t know about refugees, dignity or freedom. He didn’t know that if he were speaking to a refugee, he’d be speaking to someone who feared persecution due to their race, religion, nationality, political opinion or social group. He didn’t know that many refugees are victims of some of the worst human-rights abuses occurring on the planet, ranging from being sold into sexual slavery to being killed in mass executions. He didn’t know that being a refugee is a badge of resilience and honor, not danger.

In that moment, I was terrified. But what scared me the most was the silence surrounding me. As I looked around, I didn’t know who was an ally or an enemy. In those hushed whispers, I felt like I was alone, unsafe and surrounded. It was the type of silence that emboldens a man to play inquisitor. I thought about our national climate, in which some presidential candidates spew demagoguery and lies while others play politics and offer soft rebukes. It is the same species of silence that emboldened white supremacists to shoot five unarmed protesters recently in Minneapolis.

The man eventually moved on. I found security staff, and with a guard and friend at my side, I confronted the man on the concessions level. I told him that what he said was racist and that what he did scared me. I told him that I was afraid to return to my seat and that I was afraid that people were going to hurt me. I told him that what he did makes me afraid for my children.

Somewhere during that second confrontation there was a change. Maybe some humanity crept inside him. Maybe he felt the presence of the security guard. While he said he was sorry, his apology was uttered in an adolescent way that demonstrated that he felt entitled to reconciliation as much as he felt entitled to hurl hatred. He wanted to move on and enjoy the game. I told him that I didn’t want his apology. Rather, I wanted him ejected from the stadium because he made me feel unsafe.

The security staff talked with him privately. I don’t know what was said. He was not removed. Apparently, the Vikings do not think that hate speech and racism are removable offenses. My gameday experience was ruined. I tried to focus on the players, but I continued to take glances at the man who sat just a few yards away. I couldn’t help looking over my shoulder, wondering if he had inspired someone else. It was clear that I would not be bringing my family to a Vikings game.

I am deeply troubled by what happened to me. Hate speech is a warning for us all. It is like smoke. Imagine your office, church or stadium filling with smoke, while everyone acted like nothing was wrong. That smoke eventually becomes an unstoppable fire, the type of fire that has consumed people around the world to commit horrendous crimes, the type of fire that can bring down the entire building. As President Obama stated in his address from the Oval Office on Sunday evening: “[I]t is the responsibility of all Americans — of every faith — to reject discrimination.” It is up to us all, from individual bystanders to institutions as big as the Vikings, to respond to and to stop the spread of racism and hate.

(Deepinder Mayell is an attorney and director of the Advocates for Human Rights’ Refugee and Immigrant Program.)

This tale caused me to shiver, literally.  I shook from both anger and fear.  I was angry at the baseless, insulting assault on a man attending an afternoon football game.  The assailant might have just as well pummeled Mr. Mayell with a club.  I was angry at the recognition that, even in the presumably well-mannered Midwest, episodes of irrational prejudice can be manifest anywhere.    I was angry at the stadium security people for tolerating such behavior.  (I have seen them less tolerant on far lesser behaviors.)

But mostly, I shivered at the silence exhibited by those seated amidst the confrontation.  Their silence permitted and even sanctioned the assault.  Their failure to defend an innocent spectator might even be seen as a more egregious disregard than the actions of the attacker; he acted on the basis of blind hatred, while the others displayed a silent and collective cowardice which tacitly condoned the bullying abuse.

We often wonder to ourselves how we might respond to emergencies such as at an accident scene or a fire.  Would we have the courage to act?  In the case of the silent seat mates at the Vikings football game, I’m afraid the answer to that introspection would be a resounding “no.”  I pray that I might never be guilty of such indifference….

One of the most significant changes has been the work we have undertaken with Dr. Rene Mendoza Vidaurre.  I have referenced him here many times in recent years, describing the one-on-one work that he has done with our partner cooperatives, Indigenous groups and others.  Rene is a tireless pursuer of healthy development for Nicaraguans.  He is a co-founder and former director of NITLAPAN, the University of Central America entity which is the leading research organization in the country.   He has worked extensively in the rural sectors of Nicaragua, where development efforts are particularly difficult and few resources are available.  He has created and conducted scores of workshops to help strengthen organizational effectiveness and sustainability of the coops.  This year he created and conducted The Cooperative Certificate Program, a six-day holistic, intensive, residential workshop designed primarily for rural producers.  Earlier this month, Rene completed a week-long visit to the U.S. to study organizational strengthening techniques in venues including Springfield, MO, Minneapolis, MN and Boston, MA.

The significance of Rene’s involvement with WPF is that he has brought an intensive research focus to our work.  With more than 30 years of experiences in the Foundation’s history, Rene is synthesizing those experiences with current realities to generate perhaps the most extensive, research-based thinking and writing about Nicaraguan rural development.  In an age of global economic interdependence and enormous economic uncertainties, access to fact and successful practice are more important than ever to aid organizations operating anywhere in the world.  It might be said that, at one time we were primarily placing funds.  Today, we are acting with perspectives of knowledge and specific purpose that are true to the Nicaraguan context.

Many of the recent findings and observations about current context in Nicaragua can be found in Rene’s many weblog entries, featured at this website.  If you’ve entertained a curiosity about the Nicaraguan realities with which Winds of Peace has operated over the past 30 years, you will find Rene’s writings insightful, candid revelations about the challenges and importance of financial aid.  If you work with a foundation or other agency tasked with providing such aid, you will find Rene’s discernments and conclusions to be perceptive resources for consideration in your grantmaking or lending practices, because they reflect the entirety of Nicaraguan realities: financial, historical, political, social, religious.

From time to time I receive feedback on some of my entries here.  I’d be equally interested to hear of reactions to the in-depth work that Rene has undertaken in the name of compassionate research….

The magnitude of the attacks and the brutality of people attempting to destroy the very fabric of a shared existence casts us all into despair, even if only for a moment.  We are lost in attempting to understand the psychology of mass murder.  We cannot fathom the mindset which prompts a youthful jihadist to forsake his or her own life and possibilities.  And failing to comprehend such convoluted thoughts, we are left empty and seemingly without hope.  How do we come to terms with an adversary whose only objective is to obliterate us and themselves?

Amidst the debris of this deadly week, many in Paris and Mali have offered brave declarations of intended normalcy and defiant standing.  The streets of Paris are once again filled with the living, who intend their presence as a statement of resilience and determination.  Their attempts to console each other and the rest of us are admirable, though perhaps not completely convincing; the backfire of an automobile triggers fears that hide just below the surface of courageous postures.  We applaud the bravado, but we know the anxiety.  We have experience enough to recognize it.

Then, as if in response to our collective need for strength and stability, we were gifted with the interview.  If you have not seen it, give yourself the gift of watching it here.  Much of the world has seen it by now, in this age of social media which facilitates bombings and healings in dispassionate and equal measure.  The reporter’s interview was with a man and his young son, two of the thousands who had come to the spontaneous memorial of flowers and candles, laid in tribute to the victims of this current insanity.  The reporter sought to learn how a father might be talking to his son about something seemingly inexplicable.  What the father and son provided is nothing less than an answer for us all, a touching exchange that, in the end, might be the best and the most that we can do.  And it may be just quite enough.

For in the end, none of us will carry the largest gun.  No one can corner the market on deep-seated hatreds.  There are no borders or boundaries sufficient to assure absolute protection from the weakness of humankind.  If the game being played is “last fool standing,” then we all eventually lose anyway.  But in the playing of it, we have choices both personal and collective.  We  have each other, the chance to know love and empathy and beauty and every other good thing encountered in our lives.  Anne Frank knew the truth of it and wrote about it, until her turn was over.

Who can know our final destiny as a species?  A final fool might eventually, in fact,  rule over whatever blighted remains of earth there may be.  But we will have had flowers….

In the process, we’ve shared the concept with lots of folks, both in the U.S. and Nicaragua, seeking to fully consider all of the cultural, social, national and financial aspects of such an initiative: the undertaking requires us to do a great deal more than simply provide funding for a building.  To be done effectively, the Synergy Center demands careful and comprehensive thinking about the needs and the expectations of all parties, with special reflection about Nicaraguan context.  Upon hearing the Synergy Center concept, interested parties have been intrigued and energized by the idea, recognizing intuitively the benefits of such a collaboration, whether in Nicaragua or anywhere else in this very complex and conflicted world.  The Synergy Center is seen as a bridge among people; there are never too many bridges.

Given the Foundation’s interest in sharing the vision and spurring thought and comment about its intentions, the Foundation’s Nicaragua Director Mark Lester focused on it during a breakout session on November 8 at the Ignatian Family Teach-In for Justice in Washington, D.C.  The topic of Mark’s presentation consisted of the rationale behind the Synergy Center concept and how it fits intricately with the call for all of us to be seekers and creators of justice in the world.  The forum is an ambitious one, and Mark’s contribution is a clear statement of the Synergy Center’s keystone ideas and purposes.

Due to our periodic mentions here about the Center and its possibilities, I’ve included a YouTube link to Mark’s presentation.  It takes about 45 minutes to watch, but maybe it’ll give you a sense of a new bridge being built just as so many others seem to be crumbling around us….

I wonder about a global economy wherein so many human beings are in need of so much, while the leaders of governments and industries struggle with the need to grow.  I wonder if we’re even talking about the same planet.  I wonder if impoverished people in Nicaragua know that we in the U.S. spent $7 billion on Halloween costumes, cards and candy this past weekend.  I wonder what they think about that.  I wonder if we think about that.

I wonder if it is even possible any longer that world use of renewable energy sources will be reached before practical depletion of fossil fuels.  I wonder what the outcomes will be if the world does not achieve such a transition.  I wonder what my children will think of me and my generation in such a case.  I wonder if I’ll still be around to hear their frustration.

I wonder about the people I know in Nicaragua, and whether they are doing OK.  I wonder if their harvests have been as good as hoped.  I have not been in the country since April; I wonder if they wonder where I’ve been.  I wonder if they know that I think about them every day.

I wonder about the lottery.  Not the Powerball one, but the one in which the next group of random people are selected by some deluded gunman for elimination from this life.  I wonder what the odds are that any of the victims will be family members or friends.  I wonder if there’s anything I can do about that?

I wonder about Yareli.  I wonder if she is learning, growing, thriving.  I wonder what she is doing.  I wonder about all of her friends and the kids throughout the country, and how they are doing.  I wonder if Nicaraguan leaders truly see her and her classmates as the absolute future of Nicaragua.  I wonder if our paths will ever cross again.

I wonder if we’ll ever get to Mars.  Do we care more about that planet than this one, I wonder?  Sometimes the depths of our conflicts and problems here seem so overwhelming as to be unsolvable.  But I wonder if it could truly be said that the grass might be greener on Mars.  I wonder if anything could grow there.

I wonder if a Nicaraguan farmer could grow anything on Mars.  (Some might say the environments aren’t dissimilar.)  I wonder if a Nica farmer would be successful on land here in Iowa.  I wonder if an Iowa farmer could be successful in Nicaragua.  I wonder if it’s the soil or the soul.  Or something else entirely.  I wonder if U.S. farmers empathize with Nica farmers, and vice versa.

I wonder what the U.S. will be like with a new president in 2017. (Right now, it’s hard for me to picture almost any of the candidates as president.)  I wonder if Nicaragua can envision anyone as their president in 2017 other than the incumbent.  I wonder if new presidents would make any difference to either country.   I wonder what Donald Trump thinks about Nicaragua;  I wonder if he knows there is a Nicaragua.

I wonder what the animals know that we don’t.  Some scientific studies demonstrate that certain species have specialized knowledge and innate senses far beyond our own, that allow them to experience the world very differently than we do.  I wonder why we aren’t more curious to learn more about that.  Especially anything related to stronger memory.

I wonder every day if I’m doing everything I can….

Nonetheless. WPF has been instrumental in helping our partners to acquire new ideas and perspectives about their own circumstances and has thus impacted many  of them in very positive ways.  Concurrently, the Nicaraguan colleagues with whom we have worked closely have proven themselves to be not just good teachers of the rural poor, but great mentors and life-coaches for people who too frequently have had little or no access to such resources.  In short, there has been no shortage of teaching and learning taking place within our work; in fact, it is the essence of transformation.

Nicaraguan education of another sort is now slated to begin in

another week or so, as WPF consultant and colleague Rene Mendoza will travel to the U.S. for an intense week of study and experience on behalf of the rural cooperatives which he has been serving for much of his life.  It’s a learning journey for Rene, who will be studying topics including open book management, continuous process improvement, organizational dynamics, successful cooperative models and more.  It’s also an expedition of preparation, providing Rene with more of the tools to be shared with small cooperatives who are in desperate need of organizational savvy.

Rene will spend four days immersed in open book methodologies, absorbing the best practices of some of the best OBM companies in the U.S.  He’ll then change venues and meet with a real-life practitioner of organizational continuous improvement, or Lean, to gain deeper insights into the sequence and content of teaching newcomers to the concept.  At the same time, we’ll be planning for future Nicaraguan workshops to supplement the Lean materials previously introduced to our partners.  Lean is a subject matter entirely unto itself, but to strategize its absorption and practice by rural farmers (many of whom have received little or no formal education) adds a dimension of difficulty requiring Lean knowledge as well as sophisticated teaching skills.  Finally, Rene will travel to the east coast, there to spend time with Equal Exchange, a cooperative of widespread renown and which strives for mutually beneficial relationships in all of its dealings.  After an entire week of whirlwind experiences, Rene will head back to Nicaragua with a wide range of new experiences and potential strategies, in addition to a need for some rest!

The prospect of Rene’s activities during that week is exciting for him as the main participant, exciting for his WPF colleagues due to the possibilities that such exposures might bring to our development work and exciting to our rural partners who have come to recognize the wide range of enterprise education that exists, and how that might contribute to elevating their circumstances.  The scenario represents “education on steroids,” where practical training meets actual needs, and in real time.

The point of all this is simply that none of us can ever afford to stop the learning, the teaching, the mentoring, the sharing, the growing that lies within us.  We are all purveyors.  We are creatures who possess not only the capacity for development, but the need for it, as well.  Our health, well-being and futures depend upon our openness to it.

In another week, there will be at least one sojourner here who will carry a big load, as a significant pivot for Nicaraguans in need of some friendly leverage….

Looking forward to the next ten years has both precedence and importance.  Years ago, Harold and Louise envisioned a foundation that would somehow help to alleviate poverty and marginalization of rural Nicaraguans.  WPF has likely evolved in ways far different from that initial vision, but the shape of that initial dream has been the base upon which any good results stand.  Nonetheless, it can be dangerous to attempt prognostications.  (I cannot even make a fair prediction about my day tomorrow, let alone a look into the future of a people and their country.)  No one can ever say for certain what the future will hold, whether in terms of natural evolution or human interventions.  But not to dream is a missed opportunity, a failure to imagine better circumstances for the rural poor in Nicaragua and perhaps elsewhere.

What lies ahead?  Our dreams and discussions continue  around the idea of a Synergy Center in Nicaragua, a site in Managua which is the intersection among WPF, Nicaraguan development and an education entity from the U.S.  The Synergy Center concept presents a progressive opportunity for a U.S.-based education institution to become the owner and administrator of a facility that can utilize data and experiences for the real-life learning of its students, as well as for other international visitors seeking to understand and bridge the immense gaps between the Global North and South, for mutual global benefit.  It’s a notion that is bold in light of the frequent tendency of education entities to “pull back” in times of global and economic unrest, the very times when this very sort of personal education presents perhaps the only realistic means of addressing such gaps.  It’s a big initiative for a little foundation, but that is not likely to have stopped Harold and Louise.

The creation of the Synergy Center would represent  a significant boost to education development within Nicaragua, as well.  While the Foundation has funded scholarships for elementary to university-aged students, we will continue to seek additional bridges between opportunity and learning.  The path for rural Nicaraguans to move from poverty is located squarely within education.  The Foundation’s commitment to growing such opportunities was born of Louise Nielsen’s determination that young women, in particular, could become key resources to Nicaraguan society through their education; our continuation will be based on objective data that confirms the essential nature of improved education opportunities at all levels of society.  The Synergy Center can serve as one education “pivot” between Global North and South, an intersection of research and education between the regions.

Concurrent with the establishment of the Synergy Center, the Foundation dreams of collaborations which could bridge the gaps that exist among the various funding agencies which still operate in Nicaragua.  We are all still victims of our own thinking in terms of what Nicaraguans can accomplish and how they will accomplish it.  As a result, there are many development resources which operate in total independence from one another, and sometimes even at cross-purposes.  As is true for any organization, there is greater strength in numbers and collaboration, a truth which still represents a major hurdle for those of us who operate in Nicaragua.  In a curious conundrum, it’s another potential value of a Synergy Center, but only if WPF and other organizations would be willing to abandon a “not invented here” mindset and choose to collaborate and learn with one another.

My own background includes experiences with some of the most important tools for transforming organizations into higher-performing enterprises.  Cultivation of organizational transparency (Open Book Management) in the cooperative’s function and adoption of methodologies which cultivate continuing improvement (Lean Methodologies) are two concepts that will generate transcendent, positive change in both the businesses and the lives of their practitioners.  It’s a movement whose seeds have been planted, and whose harvest needn’t wait for ten more years.  And I can readily imagine rural Nicaraguan cooperatives embracing and applying the tools for themselves as a means to retain the ownership and value of the lands they tend.

Finally, the future must hold one additional achievement, this one perhaps more essential, more transformative, more vital to development of the rural poor (and therefore to the success of WPF) than any of the others.  It’s the awakening of the global conscience to the circumstances of the poor and the terrible costs that we all pay for their plight.  Even if we collectively have no empathy for those who struggle (a terrible supposition by itself), we are inextricably tied to their outcomes.  It’s a sobering prospect to consider.  Those who know and feel it have an exclusive obligation to educate, to touch, to move others who have had no personal connection to draw upon.  That work, too, will continue to be mission and vision of WPF.

The next ten years will pass by like the flash of lightning in a summer storm.  We know this, given the passage of the past ten years.  It is a short term in which to create truly transformative movement in any environment, even shorter when working abroad.  Our aim will continue to be improvement in Nicaraguan and North American lives, by helping people in both lands become more globally literate.

These are visions for WPF, not roadmaps.  Our fuel for change continues to be made up of capital and accompaniment.  But  we will also continue to remind ourselves that better circumstances do not imply greater monetary wealth only.   Indeed, as the adage goes, some people are so poor that all they have is money, and we know that we can aim higher than that….

Ten years ago I left my role as corporate CEO with no plan about what I would do for my “next chapter.”  I had two kids in college and two more headed that way, a nice home with its accompanying mortgage, a desire to distance myself from the obligations of corporate demands (both personal and philosophical), and a need to search for meaningful work that was closer to my passions and compassions.  Firmly believing in the shelf-life of a CEO, I chose an early retirement on September 30, an option some companies afford to folks who are not old enough for Social Security but who are old enough to recognize when it’s time for a change.  I had no plan or prospect in mind.

I became involved actively with Winds of Peace the following day. Having served on its Board of Directors since its inception in 1980, I was familiar with its mission and history.  And with one of its founders, Harold Nielsen, in the hospital with pneumonia at age 90, I might have been the most logical and available person to step in on a temporary basis.  But within a week, I recognized the work as something I wanted for my “next chapter.”  By the time I could visit Harold personally later in that week, he apparently had come to the same conclusion.  He offered me the opportunity.  I jumped at the chance and have never looked back for even a moment.

There have been many affirmations about that decision.  The first was that I continued to work with founder Harold and Louise Nielsen, two of the most genuine and selfless people I have ever known.  (Harold was the wise  and entrepreneurial founder of Foldcraft Co., my firm of some 31 years.  Louise was his wife and co-conspirator, as Harold would say.)  The second immediate affirmation  was in the person of Mark Lester, the Foundation’s “feet on the ground” in Nicaragua, a most exceptional man, a student of and advocate for development in the country, and one whom I had met years earlier during my first visit there.  The third affirmation emerged a bit later, during my ensuing visits to Nicaragua when I was able to meet face-to-face with the potential and actual beneficiaries of the Foundation’s work.  This was where the true richness of the work has been experienced, where the longing to serve meets the hunger and thirst of people who are living their very lives on the edge of collapse, continuously.  These and other affirmations are endless and continue to this day.

Ten years is a long enough period to measure any organization´s impact and progress.  Over the past ten years alone, WPF has issued grants totaling over $2MM, loans totaling $7.6MM and maintained a loan default rate of just over  2%.  It has partnered on more than 300 agreements representing thousands of families.  It has underwritten scores of organizational and technology workshops as its focus has become focused on a territorial strategy.  The Foundation has added primary, secondary and university education as additional focal points for funding and development.  We have accompanied.  We have researched and written.  We’ve been busy.

The past ten years have brought about change in the lives of our partners, as well.  Access to capital in some of the most rural settings of Nicaragua has been a critically important element of life for those served by WPF.  For some, it may have meant survival.  The accompaniment in organizational development by our colleagues has illuminated some dark places where myth, falsehood, forgery and undereducation have festered for generations, rarely permitting the light of opportunity to foster growth.  Women’s voices have been heard.  Students bloomed.  People wept.  And smiled.

Well and good; the actions behind these measures what WPF has been called to do.  But there have been personal impacts, as well.  The past ten years have also rather dramatically changed the way I personally experience the world and its complexities.  I have come to understand how incredibly difficult it can be to “give away” resources.  Not the physical distribution of them, but the ways in which such work must be done to achieve meaning and impact; the presence of large amounts of funding does not guarantee success in the move away from poverty and marginalization.  Sometimes it even contributes to the problems.

I have experienced the importance of accompaniment.  I am still surprised and moved by the importance of our accompaniment with partners.  There is a feeling of strength on the part of rural peasants knowing that they are not entirely alone, that someone else knows of their existence and plight.

I now know the face of the poor.  I have established relationships, friendships, partnerships with individuals, real people with real families and real problems.  These are not statistics or photographs, but real human beings for whom my empathy and concern runs as deep as for any member of my community, my neighborhood, or other niches of my life.  That has changed me, as it would you.  I now personally understand why Harold and Louise Nielsen were so easily moved to tears when talking about this Foundation’s work.

In ten years’ time, Harold and Louise have both passed away.  Our focus has both broadened (with the addition of education and research) and narrowed (with the emphasis on a specific territory).  Our processes have sharpened, with the involvement of our three Nicaraguan consultants and their personal commitments to WPF work, and our own experiences in nurturing healthy organizations.  The presidency of Nicaragua has changed, the country’s relationships within the international community are different and so is the landscape within which development must conduct its efforts.

But the poverty remains.  The Nicaraguan poor are as omnipresent as ever, perhaps not in every statistical metric, but certainly according to any reasonable measure of basic human needs.  And therein lies our work agenda for the next ten years, which I’ll envision in Part II of this message, next week….

Like many, I have watched copious news coverage of the papal visit, out of interest and curiosity.  I’m both interested in hearing the topics that Francis has chosen to highlight and curious about our collective and positive reaction to him and “the higher Chief” to whom Francis reports.  But I wonder about the gap that exists there, one that Francis has referenced on several occasions in his talks here.  That distance between the emotional uplift of this man’s visit and  the reality of our daily actions is wide, and I am confounded by that space.

How is it possible that we can be so emotionally and spiritually attuned to the lessons Francis brings, while at the same time living our lives deaf to our own opportunities to respond?  Matters of climate and environment, poverty and hunger, stewardship and servanthood have seemingly captivated the pope’s audiences around the world- now including the U.S.- at a time when the debate rhetoric around such issues has never been more polarized and heated.  And we are all the same in this spiritual conundrum that afflicts us between our feeling and our doing.

Catholics from Latin America are especially in love with Francis, for he is “of them” and speaks to Latin Americans in their own language, a connection which is treasured.  From country to country Francis is welcomed by heads of state who cherish the moments of being in the presence of the pope and his hopeful message, only to return all-too-frequently to their autocratic regimes of favoritism, exclusion and oppression.  Even in the rural reaches, professors of the faith who hold a very proprietary view of Francis and his humble servanthood will too often seek to take advantage of opportunities for gain over good character.  We are seemingly infected with the virus of selfhood.

In Europe, the pontiff is received upon red carpets and with gifts of expressive love by leaders who, in some cases, have slammed shut the doors of receptive love on the very homeless about whom the pope continually reminds us.  Particularly on the European continent, we are afflicted with the disease of short memory about dispossession and relocation.

In the U.S., political leaders have clamored to be among those in audience with the pope; few were absent as Francis addressed Congress.  Yet some of these eager faces will reflect a far different countenance in the days to come as the country weighs national interests of short-term corporate health against interests of long-term personal, national and global well-being, of political postures versus strength of character, of support for military revolutions in contrast to Francis’ “revolution of tenderness and love.”  Here, we are seemingly diseased through our affluence and power.

The observations and questions posed here are not intended to be accusatory or pejorative to anyone other than perhaps myself.  To be sure, we are complex beings with internally competing motives that shape us day by day, even hour-by-hour.  We are human, imperfect by definition.  We cannot be perfectly consistent because we live in dynamic surroundings, some physical, some emotional, some spiritual.  We are subject to awesome and unexpected changes to our lives, alterations which can be both unanticipated and unexplainable.    Our world is transforming every day, in ways seen and unseen to most of us.

But almost despite those realities, Pope Francis has been able to reach out to the world with a message that has caught us off-guard but which is full of possibilities.  The receptivity to that message does not depend entirely in the voice of the deliverer, but in the hearts and minds of the rest of us.  Francis has asked us to be our best selves. Consistency between that ideal and our daily actions is entirely within our command.  Deep down, that’s why we’re so glad the pope is here, sharing his universal words of humility and hope, and why we long to embrace both him and his message….

I encountered one new proof requirement just this week that caught my attention in a different way.  In order for me to access the site which allows publication of these weekly essays, I have long been required to “log in” with proof of me.  But now the site asks for one more verification.  It asks me to add together two numbers and enter the sum into an answer box, to “prove your humanity,” the instruction reads.

I approach such proof-giving by setting aside my concern that I might enter an incorrect answer and be shut out of the publication site.  Hopefully, one’s inability with math is not a screen for humanity.  It may be a reliable test of numeric skills, but I doubt that it comes even close to measuring the depth of one’s feelings for humankind.

I also wonder about the underlying assumption that an accurate addition of two numbers somehow demonstrates a humanity. We have calculators and computers capable of formulaic computations far beyond the abilities of most people.  The addition of two digits hardly qualifies the respondent as a living, breathing creature for whom other human life has meaning.

Proving our humanity, or the quality of being humane, is a great deal more difficult than simply adding numbers.   There is a depth and breadth to the claim of being human that transcends an ability to crunch numbers.  It’s more than simply being born to human parents.

Humanity implies an emotional connection with the rest of the species, a caring, an empathy for “the other,” acts of mercy, a kindness and a kinship with other humans.  In light of such criteria, perhaps we should be very grateful that we are not required to prove our humanity for anything more vital than access to a website.  It might be the case that very few of us would have the identification needed.

Proof of one’s humanity is an interesting assignment.   It’s more than a Homo Sapiens classification; in fact, we know many names in the human register who demonstrated their inhumanity toward others.  It’s more than unconditional love; our dogs give us that.  It’s even more complex than choosing to be a voice for the oppressed; politicians do that to deflect more real and substantive actions all the time.  Rather, our humanity is  measured in the degree to which we are willing to give ourselves away, to assume the mantle of servant and steward on behalf of the other.  It’s welcoming when welcoming is awkward.  It’s giving when we’re down to our own last assets.  Proof of humanity is as demanding as it is compelling.  We long for it, and yet sometimes it is so elusive.

Maybe that’s why the simple addition of two numbers is all that’s required in a website.  Any more certain proof of our humanity might be hard to come by….

The scope of this tragedy is such that I have found myself remembering other times, other stories of similar human disasters.  Of course, the Holocaust is the first to come to mind.  The enormity of it still defies comprehension, even after all the years and books and movies and even personal visits to historic and dreadful sites.  We recall with discomfort the genocides of Rwanda, Cambodia, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Sudan and others.  I have learned all too clearly the evils perpetrated on the people of Nicaragua by my own government during the decade of the 80’s.  Too soon the atrocities have faded from our memories;  outrage has cooled to the extent that globally we allow something like the Syrian debacle unfold today.

I suppose that it is the human condition that we will always have unfinished work before us.  At the close of World War II, the mantra of “never again” filled the world with hope that maybe this time we had sufficiently absorbed the lessons of hatred, demonization of an entire people, war.  But that hope was short-lived at best and the passage of time allowed a dulling of our sensitivities sufficient to permit subsequent abominations.

The sea of refugees seeking survival from war and indiscriminate death is an overwhelming reality threatening to drown Europe in waves of displaced humanity and despair.  Gradually, some countries have stepped forward with offers of asylum and assistance.  The Vatican itself has said that it would accept two families into their midst in a symbolic act of mercy and a call for all nations to serve.  But as some countries continue to build miles of fences and to reject opportunities for providing humanitarian help, the future for hundreds of thousands remains uncertain.

Their plight rekindles thoughts of those other occasions when humanity seemed to be on the brink of simply not caring enough.  In each of those eras, the post-crisis analysis almost always included unanswered questions about why the rest of the world waited to act, allowing so many to perish in the process.  Of course, in the aftermath of such cataclysms such questions are safe to ask since the drama has come to an end.  Retrospective analysis is more comfortable than current actions.  The questions are much more difficult to grapple with when the events are happening now, in real time.  Such is our discomfort with the refugees’ dilemma in Europe.

As is true for any world conflict which begs for intervention by someone, somewhere, governments speak for us in the absence of opportunities for us to speak for ourselves.  As limiting as that arrangement may be, each of us retains a voice, a stance, a position that begs to be heard.  Those voices are ours.  The actions belong to each of us.  Somebody ought to do something before the current humanitarian quandary becomes another history lesson of grief and embarrassment….

]]> https://peacewinds.org/somebody-ought-to-do-something/feed/ 0 3996 https://peacewinds.org/my-close-personal-friend/ https://peacewinds.org/my-close-personal-friend/#respond Sat, 29 Aug 2015 20:33:13 +0000 http://peacewinds.org/?p=3989 Continue reading My Close Personal Friend →]]> I have a friend who is very close to me.  He reads every one of the observations posted here and has done so since I began the practice in 2007.  Sometimes he likes what I have written and sometimes he does not, but he is never shy about letting me know what he thinks, one way or another.  Thus, there are days when I’m glad that he reads my reflections and other days when I’m not.

I guess I experienced one of those latter occasions last week.  He challenged me on my tendency to write these essays in terms of “we” and “our,” whether referring to Winds of Peace or to the population at large. He wondered if I shouldn’t make my challenges more personal.  “Not everyone is the same,” he reminds me, as if I didn’t already know.  I responded by defending my practice in the name of anonymity and inclusiveness: if readers might be touched in some way or possibly see themselves in the words, they can choose to take them to heart or not.  If they don’t identify with what I have to say, they can at least understand that I haven’t attempted to indict or accuse anyone.  If the shoe fits, it’s to be worn.

Of course, my friend raises the idea from the perspective of one who might not recognize himself as someone who could benefit from greater introspection.  If he did so, he’d be grateful that I write for the broadest audience in order to preserve anonymity.  But taking his challenge to heart, I decided to offer some observations about his own circumstances, to be as direct and personal as I can be.  Naturally, I will not go so far as to use his name.  That way, maybe others will identify with my descriptions of him, while at the same time his privacy will be preserved.

He is a generous fellow, kind to family and friends and quick to offer smiles and greetings to strangers.  Yet  I think he has adopted a rather miserly perspective when faced with bigger issues, like homelessness or global and local hunger.  He gives, but given his circumstances, he could do so much more.

He can be moved to tears and express emotion at injustices and will often rail loudly against the powers and circumstances that conspire to marginalize vast segments of the world’s population.  But I have noticed that he is equally quick to turn away from such realities in an effort to insulate himself or numb the emotions.  He can become curiously inert.  He is an eager onlooker but reticent participant.

He has spoken loudly in criticism of the power of the wealthy and the inordinate influences that such people exercise in nearly every venue of life.  I have frequently reminded him, however, that on the “global wealth continuum,” for every person on that scale above him at whom he points in judgement, there are many more looking up and pointing at him, as well.

He speaks often about the disparities of education, opportunity and material success.  I have even heard him speak to audiences on such topics; he can make a convincing case about the dire impacts of such gaps.  Yet from my own perspective, his life is one that has been earmarked by education, opportunity and success, realities undeserved but which he has never eschewed.

He is a “green” guy, having embraced lots of evolving technologies for renewable energy in his home and transportation.  I admire that in him, but the size of his home(s) and the comforts with which he has surrounded himself perhaps belie the depth of his commitment. More modest accommodations might be more convincing.

He attends church regularly.  I think that’s a good sign, one that suggests a search for grounding and meaning beyond himself and the unknowns which characterize life.  I also happen to know that he is relatively inactive in church affairs beyond the weekly service itself, perhaps another expression of insulation and independence, or maybe just another symptom of a stingy soul.

Well, I have been more than personal in my reflections here.  I could say more but I do not intend injury with my comments.  In responding to him in this way, I simply want to offer a juxtaposition of perceptions regarding someone I care about, a fellow who, like most of the rest of us, tries but falls short of who and what he could be.  I’m sure that I’ll be the first to know his reactions to all of this.  I suspect that he will mirror my own observations.  And I’m sure he’ll have some words for me….

The reaction to this event has been immediate and overwhelming.  People from around the world have expressed outrage and sadness over the death of a lion.  Calls for criminal prosecution, extradition of the shooter, changes in law governing big game hunting and significant fundraising for animal protection have all occurred within days.  The anger and frustration over the death of this lion has been extraordinary.

And so has my perplexity.  I count myself among those who dislike the entire perspective of big game hunting.  I felt the same sadness and revulsion as others upon hearing of the unsportsmanlike slaughter of the lion.  But I am also bewildered at the relative lack of care about the people who share space with other big game of the Hwange National Park in Zimbabwe.  As beloved as the lion may have been, there are other magnificent creatures in the area, not the least of which are people.  And despite the dire circumstances in which these human creatures find themselves, we seem to have a hard time generating much outrage or empathy for them.  Certainly, not even close to the tsunami of reaction engendered by the death of a single lion.

What are we to make of that?  Do we somehow harbor feelings of greater admiration and value for lions than fellow humans?  Is there a difference in reaction because the lion was a known subject of research and the masses are faceless and nameless “others?”  What are the factors that permit us to all but ignore the plight of millions of people?

I suspect that those factors have something to do with the anonymity of the populace in need.  Talk to me about the plight of tens of thousands of people and I move away, too overwhelmed by the numbers and the belief that I could never solve problems of such magnitude.  But describe the killing of a single lion, lured from a protected zone, and I can become emotional about that.

Or maybe it has to do with a name.  Most lions don’t have names, but Cecil did.  The lion was personified.  His personality was well-documented.  He was identifiable and we knew something about him as an individual.  Even the name itself contributed to a connection with this lion.  (Older adults may still recall a favorite animated TV series from their childhoods, Beanie and Cecil.  Those of a younger generation might simply see the name Cecil as a sort of antiquated and “nerdy” name deserving of an emotional cuddle.)  A name provides an identity.

Whatever psychological science lies behind the Cecil phenomenon, there’s a greater sadness and tragedy in this story that is too important to miss.  As beautiful and symbolic as Cecil may have been, his loss pales in comparison to the excruciating and largely unnecessary losses of human lives in Zimbabwe (and elsewhere in the world).  Unless we do, in fact, value lions’ lives over those of human beings, there is an absence of both logic and emotion in the needless conditions of Cecil’s human neighbors that we simply do not acknowledge.

Imagine yourself as the parent of a newborn child who lacks for adequate food and water for survival, and wondering how the world’s attention could so dramatically rally at the death of an animal when the life of your precious son or daughter literally hangs in the balance.  For you, the ignominy of being forgotten is further magnified by the world’s outcry on behalf of a slain animal.

As an outdoors aficionado, I will miss Cecil.  His loss diminishes us both actually and symbolically, which perhaps offers yet another explanation for the world’s indignity at the story.  “We need the tonic of the wilderness” wrote Thoreau, and especially the fantastic creatures which inhabit it.  But as we grieve the loss of one such wonder, let’s not lose perspective.  The lion may sleep tonight, but an anxious mother in Zimbabwe lies awake, in wonder and fear about the source of tomorrow’s needs, and worried about her greatest threats, invisibility from you and me….

I’ve also been reading about episodes of violence in Nicaraguan society.  Nine police officers are charged with the murder of citizens without cause.  Two young men are arrested in the brutal deaths of two women.  The confusion and outrage in Nicaragua seems to be identical to what we read and experience in the U.S.

Our responses to such events are predictable by now.  First there is shock at the act itself, as though we still held onto a belief that such barbarism should not take place within developed societies.  Then there are the questions.  Regardless of the location of these acts, the questions in the aftermath are almost always the same: What kind of a person could have done this?   What was the motivation?  Shouldn’t it have been prevented by authorities?  We feign surprise that it could happen here.  (This week, Louisiana Governor Bobby Jindal said,  “We never would’ve imagined it would’ve happened in Louisiana or Lafayette.”)  Amid the almost-weekly incidents that now haunt our morning news broadcasts, how could we not imagine such an incident happening anywhere?  And finally, we engage in never-ending hand-wringing about what can be done to end the acts, or at the very least, to provide greater protection to the rest of us.

Like most people, I cannot but help thinking about the causes and preventions of the violence.  I think about the proliferation of unimaginable  weaponry and too many people who are unfit  to access them. I wonder about the mis-firing in the brain sufficient to convince one to destroy the lives of other human beings.  I try to analyze the societal conditions that exist to lead us to this point in our evolutionary journey.

With great frustration and a sense of hopelessness, at times, I realize that there are no simple or singular answers.  But I have recognized at least one reality that bridges my experiences between life in Nicaragua and in the U.S. and which may offer at least one dimension to this conundrum.

The killing of a fellow human is predicated on a lack of belief in the sanctity of life.  To terminate the life of another requires a disconnect from empathetic or personal feelings about the victim.  Whether conjured from the depths of mental illness or from some malignant ideology, the malefactor has no affect toward the victim, no recognition of the target’s worth, value, or essential place in the cosmos.  The absence of any such feeling allows the indiscriminate taking of life without the burden of conscience or remorse.

The circumstances which nurture such an emotional and psychological void and which foster uninhibited violence might seem to be infrequent.  But reality is that such ambience has become part of our everyday existence.  We are bombarded daily with news and messages which, like the relentless drip of water torture, numb our sensibilities and caring about life itself.  Eventually, we lose understanding of the sanctity of life.

The continuing episodes of genocide in the world barely capture our attention these days.  The unlawful and wanton bombing of neighborhoods almost anywhere in the Middle East are far enough away as to not generate much discomfort.  The realities of undernourished, unemployed, uneducated peoples who are without shelter or prospect have become too commonplace for care.  (Indeed, where we have demonstrated any emotion to care, such expressions have taken the form of anger and opposition.)

We have collectively allowed ourselves to be pulled into an increasingly deepening hole of disregard, marginalization, disinterest and heartlessness towards an enormous portion of the world’s population.  And to the extent that we choose not to care, they are branded as expendables, as ones whose lives really do not matter.  If lives are so cheap as to be expendable anywhere, they are potentially worthless everywhere, even in anonymous movie theaters, shopping malls, military bases and, yes, even churches.

The erosion of the hallowedness of human life has gradually permitted our insensitivities  about social violence against the poor and the sick to transform, for some, into utter disregard and contempt toward our own neighbors.  If we can learn how not to feel at-large, then we are increasingly capable of unfeeling individually.   We become increasingly capable of great inhumanity.  We know it from history, and we are reminded of it daily.

So I continue to be rocked with the frequent headlines of sudden violence brought down upon innocent and unsuspecting, undeserving victims.  But I absorb the shock, in despair at times, as simply a different manifestation of a larger thoughtlessness toward others that rarely warrants the morning news….

But I also noticed in the “Reader Comments” section of the book source website one reader’s opinion about the work: “Everything is so obvious….  There are some useful items that managers could use for improvements, but they probably won’t read this book, which defeats its purpose.”  That comment got me to thinking about the expressions of truth and how we react to them.

Truth.  It’s one of those ephemeral notions that’s hard to get our arms around, because it changes its shape, is sometimes conditional, and frequently personal.  Often, truth is a matter of one’s experiences and worldview.  Laws of physics and biology aside, truth is often a matter of our perception, and thus something into which we may grow over time.

But the idea expressed by the unimpressed reader at the website suggested something quite dangerous, I think.  In essence, his response to material which he characterizes as “obvious” is that it’s a wasted effort, because  the people who need it won’t read it.  In other words, sharing the truth as the author sees it and experiences it, is only worthwhile if the “right” group of people will access it. Apparently, truth for its own sake and as an invitation to educating oneself to a new point of view is  of no value.

In considering that perspective, I wonder how to regard something like law.  Under this way of thinking, presumably laws are not worth publishing because those who are inclined to break them won’t read them anyway, and we needn’t worry about those who already tend to be law-abiding.  (I wonder how they might have come to an understanding of those laws?)  Or what about works such as The Bible, The Koran or other sources of religious belief?  Presumably those disinterested in spiritual tenets won’t read the tomes anyway and those who are “good” people are already good people even without written works of faith.  So what’s the value in such works?

Truth is actually hard to come by.  Governments routinely provide its citizens partial or non-truths to suit their agendas.  Economic enterprises often withhold the truth of their businesses from members and partners in a condescending, paternalistic effort to control independent thought.  Advertisers come right out and misrepresent the realities of products and services in order to dupe potential customers into buying a lie.  Sometimes even family and friends wade into the distortion of reality, whether for protecting someone’s feelings or for self-aggrandizement.  As a result, we constantly seek truth from behind whatever subterfuge has been scattered along our way.

Thus, sharing the truth is always worthwhile for its own sake.  People may agree or disagree with what is shared, but the opportunity to hear for oneself is paramount to discerning the parameters of essential truth.  The author of the book in question is not defeated in her purpose just because certain readers-in-need choose not read.  It is the very act of writing for those who have not understood her truth that makes her work worthwhile.  She has put forward her truths about organizational health and therein provided seeds to be sown, even if only in one fertile field.

Our collective and individual truths are discerned through life’s lessons, both our own and those of others.  We need others’ truths as a means of validating or rejecting our own, of testing what we think we know as the truth against what others have perceived.

The danger inherent in censorship, whether it has been imposed externally or from our own self-surrender, is that we are left only to our own limited observations of what truly is.  The idea that a strategy or initiative is not worth airing because of limited audience exposure is perilously close to shutting the door on any new discovery.  How many readers found interest in the initial dissertation about application of personal computers?

Writing essays each week here is an exercise of self-indulgence of sorts, a pretentious offering up of perspectives as if they hold some important elements of truth that might be of value to someone else.  I only seek to articulate the sometimes convoluted observations encountered day-to-day, as a contribution to my own understanding of the truth and of my life, and in the process perhaps contribute to those who might chance to stumble across these meager thoughts. They are my truths as I have experienced them, but I also wonder what others know as their truths.

The real value in offering up our truths is in their presentation and an offering to share.  If the “right” people access the words, it’s a bonus.  If only those in agreement embrace them, then we are at least affirmed.  But truth relies upon the energy and courage to say it as we know it.  And when that happens, its purpose will never be defeated….

Share Everything-  We’re taught at an early age that it’s important to ensure everyone has enough: toys, cookies, rewards, being loved and respected.  By and large, we haven’t done very well with this as adults, especially with basic life necessities.  We’ve heard many times how something like 80 individuals in the world own as many resources as half (or more) of the rest of the people on the planet. That’s not a very convincing example of sharing, particularly when so many of the have-not’s are living day-to-day in sub-human conditions.   History and reality both suggest that a primary motivation for many immigrants is the need to improve their economic status.  Most don’t wish to leave their homeland for another spot in the world; they simply must go to where the opportunity is.  Sometimes it’s good to give up our place in the lunch line for somebody else.

Play Fair-  A corollary to the above, playing fair suggests that in a competitive world where people should expect to be rewarded according to their efforts, a rigged game signals to the players that there are no rules anymore, that everyone is subject only to what he/she can gain for him/herself and that creative sidestepping of the rules is not only permissible but oftentimes heavily rewarded.   If CEOs and investment bankers and even nations are immune from penalty for violating rules, the signal is clear for someone considering a cross of the nation’s border.  What is there to lose?  If the teacher is a cheater, the lesson to be learned is that fairness is for fools.

Don’t Hit People-  Especially not with clubs or tasers or fists or bullets. Regardless of where any candidate might stand on the immigration issue, the matter resides at a level of importance somewhere far below the sanctity of human life.  As complex and persistent as the immigration problem has become, its solutions won’t be found in the  box of punitive punishment.  Not even death itself has proven to be a deterrent for the desperate.  Hitting just hurts, and not only the victims.

Clean Up Your Own Mess-  A push in kindergarten is almost always preceded by an instigating act by someone else, whether seen or not.  The push is merely the response that happens to be observed. Illegal immigration is most often motivated by untenable economic circumstances.  And those circumstances have been magnified by treaties, agreements and accords that favored our country and its own economic interests in exaggerated ways.  As a result, the option of remaining in Mexico or Nicaragua or Honduras evaporates in the wake of the social and economic consequences of messy agreements.  Our political candidates claim that illegal immigrants cross the U.S. borders knowing what the consequences are likely to be.  But those same candidates must also recognize the likely consequences of economic repression, one of which is desperation-fueled immigration.  It’s easier to serve as a model for international behavior if our own cubbyhole is clean.

Don’t Take Things That Aren’t Yours-  For every crayon pilfered in kindergarten, there are at least an equal number of excuses for the theft offered up by the filching felon: “it’s my turn, he doesn’t need it, she’s had it long enough,” or “I need it to finish my own work.” While any of them may be true, none excuse the behavior.  It’s no different in the competition for resources across the globe.  Whether oil, agriculture resources, water, geographic access or any other motive, taking what belongs to someone else is wrong, even when we’re the ones doing the taking.

Keep Your Hands (and arms) to Yourself-  If economic desperation is one of the prime motivations for immigration, then flight from the ravages of war is the other.  When physical danger from bombs and gunfire threatens life, then there is nothing to lose in trying to flee to a safer zone, even when such flight violates law.  Too often, the manufacturer’s label on those ammunitions contains the words “Made in U.S.A.”  Even when our nation is not engaged in confrontation with one of our national neighbors, our fingerprints are curiously omnipresent in the horrors of many homelands.

Say You’re Sorry When You Hurt Somebody-  Apology and forgiveness. They are the cornerstones of any relationship, because we live in an imperfect world with fellow humans who are as imperfect as we ourselves.  No individual, no nation, is without fault.  But the offering of forgiveness is a response to apology; it works best when the apology comes first.  The immigration conundrum might be less divisive, less of a political “cause celebre” and even less complex when our nation acknowledges a system that is misleading and unfair to all the kids on the playground.

Well, Fulgham’s treatise on living life well has been panned by many as being too simplistic for the sophisticated and complicated world of today.  It might be too simpleminded for immigration analysis, as well.   Perhaps.  But it also offers an alternative to the process in which we find ourselves today, where political rhetoric includes demonizing an entire ethnic class, building higher walls between nations, and minimizing the desperate realities of other human beings.  Maybe there’s one more Fulgham idea worth contemplating: hold hands and stick together….

Actually, I love the Fourth of July even more than Memorial Day.  It marks the very center of summer, a time when those of us in the far northern states can finally step outside without a jacket and long pants and be reasonable assured that frostbite is not a risk.  Like most, I love the notion of freedoms and independence, those twin icons of the United States.  I love the stories which chronicle this country’s birth as a new nation.  But increasingly, I also long for acknowledgement that alongside our national day of celebration of independence, we might do well to establish one that we might call Dependence Day.

I don’t want to throw cold water on a beloved national holiday.  But I also don’t feel right in overlooking how tremendously dependent this nation has been over its history.  Our history might be more truly a celebration of dependence than of single-handed success.

Of course, our earliest settlers might never have even had the opportunity to dream of an independent state had it not been for the assistance of Native American populations, who often helped the transplanted Europeans to survive the new climate and landscape. Even in winning the war of independence itself, the U.S. would perhaps never have prevailed in its efforts without the enormous assistance from countries like France, Spain and The Netherlands.

We proudly describe our nation as a “melting pot” of peoples from the widest range of cultures and geographies, in essence building upon the rich customs and heritage of the entire world in our DNA.  We cherish traditions in the very fabric of our lives which are almost entirely imported from somewhere else.  Oil, that lifeblood of our industrial, military and technology development, has been heavily supplied by other nations.  Foreign trade linkages have long been an essential glue to our economy and our security.  And it turns out that no matter how independent we may feel, the health of the earth’s environment is impacted by all nations, including ours.  And while on the topic of health, we can agree that following the horrifying outbreak of the ebola virus in the past year, we are clearly dependent upon the practices and assistance of other nations when protecting our population.

We have waged war very infrequently (if ever?) by ourselves; the U.S. waged war against its own Indigenous people over the past two centuries, and the war against The Philippines was undertaken alone.  But otherwise, the scores of military actions by the U.S. in its history have been fought with the help of others.  Even our own Civil War included efforts by France, Germany, Hungary and the U.K.  It’s not surprising that nations would not like to go to war alone, both from economic and emotional perspectives.

It turns out that we need lots of help.  Arctic ice reflects sunlight and influences ocean currents to help protect the atmosphere and limit severe weather.  We import more than $2 trillion worth of goods each year from countries around the world. The earth receives more than 20% of its oxygen from The Amazon rain forest.  Of major dependence is our love affair with coffee: Hawaii is the only state which can grow it commercially, and is not even close in supplying our addiction.

I understand the genesis of Independence Day and its meaning to us; I know its importance to me and my life journey, and I am grateful for it each and every day.  I also understand that no one makes the journey entirely alone.  While we celebrate and give thanks for independence, we do so with a knowing nod of gratitude to those outside the U.S. who helped to make it possible….

When I read the project proposal, I once again noted all of the strengths which drew us to them initially.  But I also noted the frequency with which the charismatic president of the coop was mentioned: in addition to the entire introductory section of the proposal being essentially about him, he was also referenced five other times as an initiator of something good in the cooperative.  Clearly, his humility notwithstanding, he is an important guy within the context of the coop.

His prominence in the proposal gives me pause, however.  As essential and visionary as he has been to the success of this group, I wonder about the longer-term effectiveness of his contributions.  Without question, he is one of the broadest-thinking leaders I’ve had the pleasure to come across in my travels within Nicaragua.  Without doubt, he has carried the progress of the coop on his diminutive shoulders.  But without succession, whenever he ceases to lead, all of his organizational ingenuity is likely to become little more than an aftermath, as opposed to a true legacy.

Despite all of the good things going on here, I’m particularly concerned for the future of this coop.  Ironically, the very strength of the coop- its leader- also may be its biggest liability.  The members’ reliance on their president creates a dependency that will be difficult to manage once their leader is gone.  It’s one of the most noticeable challenges encountered in organizational development: balancing the high impacts of a great leader with the need to institutionalize the good things he/she has brought about.  As the adage goes, not all of one’s eggs should be in but one basket.

As it’s difficult to argue with success, a leader’s recognition of the need to develop the next generation of capable and caring leadership is often subjugated in importance.  The successful leader becomes so engrossed in creating new and successful ideas that there is little time for cultivating the same skills in others.  Sometimes the lack of development stems from a “messiah complex,” an ego in the leader which is convinced that there is no one else capable of governing as well.  Sometimes it’s purely a perception of too little time.  It might be a fear of creating capabilities in others which may eclipse those of the current leader.  Or it may be a lack of certainty about how to develop those characteristics in another, a view that prospective successors either “have got it” or they don’t.  Whatever the reason, effective succession is the most frequent cause of once-strong entities becoming weak.  It’s as true in Nicaragua as it is in the United States. All the greatness of a transformational leader becomes but an historical footnote if he/she has not prioritized succession as the most important piece of his/her legacy.  It’s the difference between giving a fish versus teaching to fish.

The good news here is that this leader, among his other strengths, indicates that he sees the critical need for this development in his organization.  He has asked for help in addressing how to create future, holistic visionaries from a population limited in education and leadership experience.  (This is not hard for him to imagine, as he is limited in his own ability to read or write.)  He has begun to avail himself of tools that can develop such succession thinking, in the form of Open Book Management techniques and Lean Process Improvement methodologies.  He acknowledges both the organizational importance and potential detriment of his role as a high-impact leader of the organization.  These are crucial first steps in a very difficult balance in protecting both the current and future states of the coop, which already exists in a context of significant and sudden changes, whether natural or man-made.

For Winds of Peace, making a loan to an organization which presents reasonable capacity for repayment is relatively simple.  A group that is blessed with strong and visionary leadership is more difficult to find.  But an organization that recognizes the essential need for excellent next-generation leadership is the difference between a cooperative of the moment and a transformational legacy for the future….

People “should not be forced to live on property with brown lawns, golf on brown courses or apologize for wanting their gardens to be beautiful,” Yuhas fumed recently on social media. “We pay significant property taxes based on where we live,” he added in an interview. “And, no, we’re not all equal when it comes to water.”

Yuhas lives in the ultra-wealthy enclave of Rancho Santa Fe, a bucolic Southern California hamlet of ranches, gated communities and country clubs that guzzles five times more water per capita than the statewide average. In April, after Gov. Jerry Brown (D) called for a 25 percent reduction in water use, consumption in Rancho Santa Fe went up by 9 percent.                                                                -Washington Post, June 14, 2015

So now the line has finally, openly, been crossed.  No longer do such feelings reside in unspoken thoughts or in dark corners of consciousness.  Someone has finally come out to state the perspective of many affluent “one per centers” around the world: when it comes to human essentials like water or food, we are not equal.  In other words, one man’s green lawn should take priority over the very lives of others, as long as he can pay for it.

This may not come as a surprise to everyone.  After all, in a world which produces sufficient food to satisfy the entire world’s hunger, we allow more than 795 million people to struggle with insufficient food access, even today.  We seem content to live with that fact, so maybe this class perspective with regard to water is simply more of the same. (Whether people elsewhere die from starvation or dehydration is of little importance, I suppose.  As long as I have mine, who cares?)

But somehow, the attitude reflected by Mr. Yuhas, above, has an additional callousness and arrogance attached to it.  His attitude might be more easily overlooked if it pertained only to poor people in far-off countries; after all, we find distance an immense comfort to conscience on such matters.  But in this case, his disdain is aimed at fellow Californians, fellow Americans, his neighbors.  It represents a purity of narcissistic selfism to claim that his non-essential desires for water use should take precedence over others’ essential water needs, just because he is capable of paying for them.  In a just society, citizens espouse prioritization on the basis of human values, not cash in hand.

In a country which loves to tout its sense of rugged individualism, we would do well to remember that the privilege of that individualism is not without boundaries.  Nor was that privilege attained by virtue of single actors creating that reality.  We became a vibrant society by virtue of collective effort and actions, deferring to the greater good when the larger goals dictated it, forging collaborations and reaping the rewards of that cooperative spirit over generations of self-sacrifice.  If the elitist point of view from California is any indication, those lessons would seem to be lost.  If an elected leader pleads for citizen participation and pain-sharing, the better response is apparently to behave even more wantonly.

We reside, together, on a finite planet.  None of us own any of it.  We are merely stewards of its resources and beauties for a limited time. That stewardship includes the degree to which we ensure that sustainable human life takes precedence over golf greens and that, indeed, we are all equal when it comes to the rights for water….

The man’s reaction to the work of Winds of Peace was not at all unusual.  Wherever I have had the opportunity to represent the Foundation, people have been very vocal about the way they perceive the work, frequently offering both congratulatory words of encouragement as well as wistful wishes about someday doing “some kind of work like that.”  Indeed, the way people used to respond to learning that I was a CEO of a company was far different than their reaction upon learning that I work for a private foundation serving the rural population of a very poor country.

We seem to have an innate awareness that work which serves others is somehow a higher calling, something we should aspire to, more deserving of our appreciation, embodying perhaps a selflessness.  I can make the generalization because I have experienced the shift in perspective of others as I made the transition from corporation to non-profit.  I also admit that I have some of the same feelings myself: foundation work in Nicaragua has greater meaning to me than my corporate responsibilities ever did, despite the fact that I valued those days of corporate organizational development.

We just know, don’t we?  For most of us, there is the recognition that we’d love to be making a positive difference in the lives of others.  It’s why we have reverence for firefighters and nurses and teachers. It’s the same emotion that grabs us when we hear a news report about some bystander performing an heroic deed to save the life of another. We love to imagine ourselves accomplishing something so life-changing.  We hope that we’d be capable of mustering the unselfishness to act in such a way.  The notion taps into our need for a bit of nobility in our lives, to see ourselves as being significant enough to be making even a tiny difference in a very big world.

We know that the need is deep inside of us.  We long for its manifestation.  It resides in us as a psychological desire for meaning in our lives.  It also resides in us as a physical desire to affirm our connections with others: it coaxes the tangible sense of joy that often washes over us when we perform an act of charity or help for another.  In other words, the need is as much a part of our makeup as head or heart.

That need, that higher calling, is an inextricable extension of our humanity, and it’s also as accessible as the next person we encounter. Important work isn’t defined as an occupation or limited to dramatic circumstances.  It doesn’t require a change of vocation or geography.  It’s available in the way that we live.  It’s in our interactions with every other soul in our daily lives.  “Great work” isn’t limited to the rural poor in Nicaragua or the rescue of a small child from a burning building.  Great work is to be found in every niche of our existence, if we will just look for it and see it for what it is.  Of course, that’s the tough part, sometimes even more demanding than entering a burning building.

We know what works need to be done.  In lifetimes limited by time and circumstance, we are simply required to gather the courage and heart to contribute that which we can….

Memorial Day in the U.S. is a day in which to remember those who have fought and died in military conflicts on behalf of the United States.  Like most of our holidays, the original meaning behind the day tends to become lost in the commercial aspects of the celebration.  But upon reflection, many experience- even if only briefly- a somber recognition of the debt that we owe to those who have perished defending our nation and fighting injustice.  Our military dead have not always been fighting for such altruistic reasons, but motivation is perhaps a reflection for another day.  On this occasion, we honor those who have sacrificed their lives believing the forfeit was as important as the cause.

I like the idea of remembering and honoring those who have sacrificed.  Not only is it owed behavior, but it also possesses a cathartic quality, as though we have somehow paid off a bit of an ongoing obligation.  It feels right and good to acknowledge the debt, particularly so when I was neither called nor conscripted to make such a commitment.

As I reflected about this on the holiday, I began to contemplate other groups of people who perished in the line of “duty.”  For surely, every nation has its own version of Memorial Day, a time set aside to recall those patriots who fought for the ideals of their homelands, whatever those ideals may have been, within whatever historical context existed at the time.  Loss of fearless young men and women is a universal experience, wherever one calls home.

In every case of military conflict, both sides of the battle honor the selfless martyrs who were willing to give everything for their cause.  It is the human condition.  We are compelled to remember  because such acts represent the final measure of what a man or woman can give.  It is a state of being that we honor, glorify and celebrate.  And as I reflect upon the reverence we express on our Memorial Day gatherings, I wonder about those who have died “on the other side,” the families left behind, the dreams unrealized and the opportunities lost forever.

For, when it comes to grief, war favors no one.  Though one side of a conflict may emerge from battle having outlasted the other, both sides end up grieving for their losses.  One nation’s sorrow is not less than another’s.  The pain of loss is no less for one family than another.  Indeed, the loss of human potential is an affliction suffered by all of mankind, pieces of the grand puzzle that are gone forever.

From that perspective, I contemplated Memorial Day 2015 in a broader view.  It had less to do with remembering the issues that occasioned fighting, or which side might have fought a more justified war; every nation has been on both sides of that equation.  (Even the U.S. has history of now-indefensible initiatives, such as against Native Americans, African slaves and incursions into places like Viet Nam and Nicaragua.  And around the U.S., memorials are held for both Union and Confederate soldiers from its own Civil War.)  My thoughts this week had more to do with trying to comprehend the nearly-unfathomable costs that humankind has paid for its military ventures, whatever the motivations.

I am not naive nor even a pacifist; my intention here is not to suggest those circumstances which might define “a good war” nor to lessen the importance of the sacrifices that men and women have made in the name of justice.  But for this year, at least, my understanding of just who deserves remembering has expanded significantly, and it extends beyond the colors of any one flag and the borders of any one state or nation….                            

investment banker Bowie McCoy, we learn what it means to focus on “the point of the trip.”  McCoy and a friend take advantage of a six-month sabbatical offered by his company and they travel to Nepal and the Himalayas, there to rediscover and energize themselves, and maybe to sharpen the sense of meaning in their lives.  Climbing the treacherous peak requires strength, persistence and a constant eye on the weather, which provides for only brief opportunities to actually reach the summit.

While on their ascent, a New Zealand climber shows up at their camp with the nearly frozen body of a Sadhu, a religious mystic, and leaves the man with the Americans to rejoin his own party.  Short on time and weather opportunity themselves, McCoy and his companion decide that the suffering mystic should be taken down the mountain to a Japanese camp, where perhaps someone there might better minister to the Sadhu’s needs.

McCoy’s companion volunteers to help the Sadhu and does not meet up with McCoy again until the following day.  Distraught, he relates the seeming indifference of the Japanese climbers to the plight of the Sadhu.  They, too, are focused on the brief window of opportunity which the weather provides to climbers.  The companion relates how he has left the slightly-revived Sadhu at the Japanese camp, uncertain as to their intentions toward this inconvenient intruder.

McCoy and his companion press on successfully to the summit and down again, but never discover the fate of the Sadhu who had come so briefly and awkwardly into their lives.  And it is only then that McCoy, a church elder himself, comes to realize the missed opportunity of his search for renewal.  So focused on the climb and the summit, he misses the noblest and most important chance of all, that of saving the life of another human being.  McCoy has spent his days since that trip in “public confession” and teaching ethics to those who will stop long enough to listen.

I continue to reflect upon the activities and the lessons of the recent Certificate Program for cooperatives in Nicaragua, though several weeks have now elapsed since the event.  While I participated as one of the “teachers,” my greatest take-aways were from the perspective of being one of the “students.”  The faculty and the participants assembled by organizer Rene Mendoza were so good that absorption and reflection were inevitably created in every participant, even if he/she did not actively seek such personal impacts.

One of the more dramatic lessons took place mid-week, at a point when the group likely needed a break from the seminar format and would be most open to learning of a different sort.  Our assignment was simply this: report to the learning center at 6:00 A.M. to commence the hike to the top of Peñas Blancas.  Guides would lead the way for us, and we were all encouraged to make the hike all the way to the top.  We were assured that the climb would be worth the effort, that the view was spectacular and the richness of the forest would reward even the most casual observers.

Surveying the group before departure, I began to wonder whether such admonitions were entirely appropriate for some of the participants.  We ranged in age from approximately 18 years of age to perhaps mid-70’s.  Some women were attired in skirts.  Others wore open-toed shoes.  Beyond that, while I knew that I would be hiking among people who made their livings through hard physical work and who regularly traversed difficult terrains, I also knew that hiking up the side of a mountain required an entirely different set of physical strengths.  I wondered whether the climb was really well-advised for every member.

We set off on the journey full of enthusiasm, high spirits and anticipation.  Our first half-hour presented only a gentle slope as we followed a rough road to the base of the cliff.  We stopped to admire and climb a truly “big rock”

in the backyard of one of the cooperative leaders before continuing on; energy conservation had not yet become a consideration.  Conversations flowed easily among us.  One participant even approached me to try out some of her English as we walked.

Some forty-five minutes into our adventure, we reached the base of the cliff and the origin of the narrow hiking trail upwards.  The tightness of the path dictated a single-file line, though it didn’t seem to limit the ongoing give-and-take of the hikers.  If anything, the laughter and the noise we created seemed to grow in their intensity as we ascended.  Now-steep elevations in the trail began to test our resilience and leg strength.  The trail became more slippery, a combined outcome from the previous night’s rain and the footfalls of some fifty hikers.  Periodic stops along the way signaled the growing fatigue of some, but in every case the cluster of people around them patiently waited for recovery while offering swigs of water from bottles carried by others.

And at each moment, words of encouragement and support were poured out upon each other.  The most savvy and stable of the forest hikers, without request or prompt, assumed personal responsibility for those in greatest need.  Even for me: more than once, as the muddy trail slipped out from under me, Edmundo or Lester were there at my side to offer a hand.  (I suppose they needed to watch out for the gringo.)  But I remember thinking to myself how good and supportive that felt, even in the face of my prideful determination to navigate independently.  The spirit was the same throughout: the group had become determined to ascend to the top as a group, with no one left behind.

The long line of marchers eventually separated a bit into faster and slower groups, though continually within earshot of one another.  I had chosen to move ahead with the faster bunch, eager to reach the pinnacle and take in the views.  My own energy remained good and I was particularly grateful to be wearing my trail boots on this occasion, convinced that they were giving me an advantage over the terrain that most of the others did not have.  At the precise moment of that reflection, I noted the shoes of others nearby and was amazed to see one tiny lady of our group sporting flip-flops for the climb.  I felt sheepish about my footwear despite- or maybe because of- their utility.

Four hours into the adventure, the first cluster reached the small clearing at the summit.  We became rather subdued in that moment, a reverential peace and quiet descending upon us in the face of a panorama that literally took our collective breaths away.  There is something about mountaintops that perhaps suggests closeness to heaven; we all might have been feeling that.  

And then the others arrived at the peak, in twos and threes from the forest trail, tired from the journey but equally transfixed at the valley sights far below.  But of equal importance was the greeting that each successive cluster received as they joined the rest of us.  Cheers and congratulations and laughter resounded from that peak, joy that we had all achieved the summit, that even the oldest and most unconditioned and reticent of us had persevered together.  There was water and snack crackers for everyone, the largesse of several members who simply chose to share.

Watching the entire collection of unlikely teammates, I eventually began to discern the point of the trip, the lesson of the day.  This demanding hike, though not of the intensity or scope of Bowie McCoy’s, offered a renewal.  It had not been about physical condition or our universal longings for achievement or even recognition of our need for a collective stewardship of a beautiful planet.  The exercise revealed something far more crucial for those inclined to see something deeper in the sweat and the mud.  The lesson was revealed in the gathering of all hikers at that clearing on the top, the fact that a very disparate and unlikely consortium of human beings collaborated, persevered, helped one another and triumphed, that we each had been presented with an opportunity to serve another.  Every participant brought an energy and a contribution to the Peñas Blancas effort, even an outsider who did not even speak the same language as the rest.

Our wealth is in each other.  Our achievements and treasures, if won in the solitude of self, hold no import without context. And there is no context in our lives but for the lives of others.  That was our lesson of renewal.

The point of the trip.  It’s an easy thing to miss, even when it’s staring us in the face.  It’s an ancient truth, but one easily forgotten in our competitive, self-driven lives.  The lesson was well worth the climb….

Los salmón son unos de los mejores profesores nuestros. Observamos los salmón jovenes viajando al mar, y los observamos regresando a casa. Observamos los muchos obstáculos que tienen que superar. Los observamos cumplir con el círculo de la vida, justamente como nosotros tenemos que hacer. Y si los salmón no están aquí, se rompe el círculo y todos nosotros sufrimos.

– Leroy Seth, El Tribu de Nez Perce

Para muchas criaturas de esta tierra es una verdad que el progreso y el éxito tienen que ser forjado de cara de muchas corrientes. Como los salmón del Pacífico noroeste, y los pueblos indígenas que dependían de ellos, sus historias definen la idea misma de luchar contra la marea. Y como sus primos lejanos norteamericanos, los y las nicaragüense rurales se han encontrado luchando contra corrientes suyacentes, tanto de dentro como de fuera del país, por generaciones. Como los salmón, los y las nicaragüenses experimentan el nadar río arriba como un modo de vida. Pero al contrario a los salmón, los y las nicaragüenses claramente ven las posibilidades de navegar de una forma diferente.

Entonces, cuando al final del año pasado se creó el plan de que la Fundación Vientos de Paz patrocinara un diplomado en cooperativismo en Nicaragua, avalamos la idea de buena gana. La idea de desarrollar un plan de estudio integral, de buenas prácticas para productores rurales, suscitó un entusiasmo inmediato porque – a lo mejor por la primera vez – se le ofrecía a una población campesina cooperativista un menú de temas digno de cualquier empresa progresista norteamericana. Además, este programa ocuparía una semana entera de la vida de los y las participantes, un bloque del tiempo que por su definición indicó un compromiso serio de aprender. Ese deseo, junto con la realidad logística de alojamiento del estilo-dormitorio, sugerió que los y las asistentes sentían la urgencia y la importancia de convertir una oferta como ésta en un evento trascendental.

No menos importante es que los constructores del programa son líderes comprobados por su conocimiento, tanto de los materiales, como de los y las participantes.

Dr. René Mendoza es un investigador, profesor y escritor con una larga historia en Nicaragua, co-fundador y ex-Director del Instituto de Investigación y Desarrollo NITLAPAN de la UCA (Universidad Centroamericana). En los últimos años ha visitado y escuchado montones de cooperativas rurales, al explorar su viabilidad y sostenabilidad, de cara al cambio económico nacional y mundial. Sigue presentando mucho de los resultados de su investigación en la forma de artículos subidos en este sitio web.

Edgar Fernández es un practicante del desarrollo rural con amplia experiencia, un colaborador frecuente con Mendoza, y también uno de los co-fundadores de Nitlapan-UCA. Un analista excepcional de las fortalezas y debilidades organizacionales, facilmente Fernández se vincula con, y inspira la confianza de, los y las productores nicaragüenses.

Ligia Gutiérrez es una sicóloga y una agitadora ayudando a las poblaciones rurales- sobre todo comunidades indígenas –a reconocer su patrimonio cultural y poderes de influencia y auto-determinación. De cara a la creciente disparidad económica, y la marginación de grandes sectores de la población, sus lecciones de integridad personal y auto-estima resuenan con los que temen perder la esperanza.

Pero la buena disposición de los y las participantes, y la pericia del facilitador, solamente son partes de una ecuación de aprendizaje exitoso. El otro ingrediente esencial es contenido que es, tanto digno de interés, como útil en su aplicación. Aquí la mágica de la inversión de una semana se hizo evidente desde las primeras versiones de su agenda.

Los módulos de las actividades de la semana se podrían haber copiado de un folleto de formación avanzada de liderazgo: Día 1 – Un contexto importante del estado actual de las cooperativas; Día 2 – innovaciones organizacionales (incluyendo la gerencia de libros abiertos y el proceso de mejoramiento “Lean”) de una empresa norteamericana donde los dueños son los mismos empleados; Día 3 – El género y la pérdida de relaciones y recursos; Día 4 – Los impactos del cambio climático, actuales y futuros; Día 5 – Espiritualidad en el trabajo; Día 6 – La salud personal y organizacional. (A lo mejor voy a decir más sobre cualquier o cada uno de esos temas en ensayos futuros, pero por ahora es suficiente reconocer el alcance del programa).

En medio de los diálogos del plenario, llenos de contenido, discusiones en pequeños grupos y la creación de planes de acciones, los días brindaron oportunidades importantes para relajarse del trabajo difícil de introspección y auto-análisis. Se cantaron canciones, había interpretaciones de baile y música por los y las participantes y visitantes, y una caminata impresionante a la alta cumbre de Peñas Blancas. Nos tiramos una pelota para presentarnos el uno al otro, tiramos bolitas de papel a los oradores y a una a la otra para mantenernos positivos de cara a los retos enormes, y

nos reíamos sin fin a la capacidad extraña de una de las participantes de imitar exactamente el sonido de un infante llorando. De hecho, todos los aspectos intelectuales, sociales, emocionales, espirituales, laborales y físicos de nuestro bienestar personal y colectivo estaban en juego completamente durante la semana entera. Fue un evento educativo excepcional.

Al abarcar todos los componentes de la situación de las cooperativas nicaragüenses, este programa y sus presentadores lograron identificar y contextualizar la realidad y las perspectivas nicaragüenses de una manera única e importante. Tal vez por la primera vez los socios y las socias lograron contemplar sus organizaciones, su responsabilidades mutuas uno con el otro, los elementos económicos que de veras están fuera de su control, y los que están dentro de su influencia, la naturaleza de trabajo transparente y colaborativo, y la investigación que subraya todo esto. Las lecciones fueron difíciles. Las verdades fueron incómodas. Sin duda las corrientes provocaron que algunos pensaran en darse vuelta y nadar lejos. Pero la vista integral de sus vidas cooperativas, y un empuje intrínseco de superar obstáculos como “siempre lo hemos hecho así”, o “nunca vamos a poder entender”, permitieron que sucedieran transformaciones durante la semana.

El tiempo revelará cuales de los y las posibles innovadores tendrán éxito en luchar contra la corriente del estatus quo, y en cuales maneras. Tal vez como los salmón, hay voluntad innato y suficiente para completar el viaje que es la vocación de sus vidas, de satisfacer las necesidades más básicas de trabajo y sustento y dignidad. En un sentido muy real, sin esa posibilidad se rompe el círculo de sus vidas, y todos nosotros sufrimos….

“

Dear Jack:

It’s been a long time now since you authored the book, The Great Game of Business, back in 1992.  I remember reading it entirely in one afternoon, I was so excited about what it described!  You folks at SRC were actively doing what we at my company had only dreamed about: creating a business of owners.  Your impact on our company made a tremendous difference in the worklives and outside lives of lots of people.  And I’m writing now to tell you that I’m seeing the possibilities once again.  This time, it’s in the rural communities of the second-poorest nation in the Western Hemisphere, Nicaragua.

If I was excited to come across your book in ’92, then I felt positively ecstatic a few years ago to discover that it had been translated into Spanish.  We immediately acquired copies and began the advocacy for open books as a means to cultivate long-term, sustainable development.  We shared the idea with established coops, with development agencies, a national association of cooperatives and anyone else who would listen.

But the reaction tended to be the same as that which you originally experienced when first sharing the notion with companies here in the U.S.: leaders saw it as a threat, managers could not accept the possibility of broad-thinking peasants, and in our case, there may have even been some nationalism at work as Nicaraguans may have doubted the applicability of a North American business invention.  So we simply continued to reference the concept with groups as we interacted with them, we continued to tell the story of the transformational potential of open books, and hoped that the seeds which were planted might take root.

Then, last month, I think we may have achieved a breakthrough of sorts.  Winds of Peace Foundation provided the major underwriting of a “certificate program” for cooperatives.  The participants were mostly rural producers and members of cooperatives, with some development people, as well.  Some of them had heard us talk about open books previously, but only in a generic way.  This time, they were exposed to more detail and actually performed some exercises to illustrate the process.  By going slowly and with care, many of them seemed to warm to the belief that they could and should “know their numbers” and the processes behind them.  (Their excursion into open books has even been written up by researcher and certificate program developer Rene Mendoza, in the magazine, “Confidencial.”)

I wonder if you knew back in 1992 that the idea of open books contained as much transformational power as it has proven to hold.  You wrote about empowering people and changing their lives at work through open books, you wrote about companies harnessing resources that were previously dormant, you even wrote about the intrinsic impacts that this kind of participation engenders.  But could you have foreseen entire cultural shifts that could result?  Did you contemplate what it might mean in changing the dynamics between the “gatekeepers” of knowledge and the producers who often naively relied upon them?  Having the book translated into other languages constituted a step of faith in that direction, but did you actually anticipate that rural cooperative members- often uneducated and inexperienced- could take control of their organizations that had long been under the influence of other voices?

In Nicaragua, some of our partners are beginning to rethink the cultural norm of autonomous leadership that has existed for generations.  They have begun to experience a confidence in both their need and ability to know the critical equations of their businesses.  I know that you might identify with the feelings I had when visiting one cooperative, exploring with them the reasons for their success when so many of their neighbors were struggling.  The reasons were many, but when they reported having read your book (which we had earlier placed with them) and having implemented some of its lessons, I knew that the magic of the game was as real in Nicaragua as it has been in the U.S.  More importantly, they did, too. If you really did anticipate the universality of open books, then you are, indeed, prescient.

As with any methodology that shakes up the status quo of authority, knowledge and position, this process will take time, repetition and success in order for it to take hold as a new way of life.  You have preached that reality continually from your own experiences.  Winds of Peace will need to stand with the early adopters of open books and provide the necessary resources for continued training and access to experienced voices.  But if the commitment is there, we will be, too.

I can only hope that the cooperatives who show interest in embracing open book management can create the kind of network among themselves that you were able to create with open book organizations in the U.S.  That opportunity for organizations to come together and share their experiences, their difficulties and their solutions have really helped to expand the open book reality.  Those networks have made it easier to deal with problems and false starts before they become too big to handle.  Being available to one another is not only a help to those who are struggling, but also to those who are succeeding, still wanting to achieve more.

So thanks again.  Your idea worked for my former company over the years and now stands the chance to work transformations once again, this time in a more difficult context.  But great ideas have a way of surviving even the most challenging circumstances, and my belief is that one of your many future site visits just might include a stop in Central America, to see the Nicaraguan version of Le Gran Juego de los Negocios…. 

Best Regards,

Steve

It’s a truth for many creatures of this earth that progress and success must be forged in the face of great currents.  As with the salmon of the Pacific Northwest, and the Native American peoples who relied upon them, their histories define the very idea of struggling against the tides.  And like their distant North American cousins, rural Nicaraguans have found themselves fighting against undercurrents from both within and outside of the country for generations.  Like the salmon, Nicaraguans have experienced swimming upstream as a way of life.  But unlike the salmon, Nicaraguans clearly see the possibilities in navigating a different way.

So when the plan was created late last year to have Winds of Peace Foundation underwrite a cooperative certificate program in Nicaragua, we readily endorsed the idea.  The notion of developing an holistic, best practices curriculum for rural producers engendered immediate enthusiasm because -maybe for the first time- a peasant cooperative population was being offered a menu of topics befitting any progressive North American business enterprise.  In addition, this program would consume an entire week of the participants’ lives, a block of time that by definition signaled a serious commitment to learning.  That willingness, along with the logistical reality of dormitory-style living quarters, suggested that the attendees felt the urgency and importance in making an offering such as this a seminal event.

Not least of importance, the developers of the program were proven leaders in their knowledge of both the materials and the

participants.  Dr. Rene Mendoza is a Nicaraguan researcher, teacher and writer, a co-founder and former director of the University of Central America’s well-known NITLAPAN research and development institute.  For the past  several years he has visited and counseled with scores of rural cooperatives in exploring their viability and sustainability in the face of global and national economic change.   He continues to present much of his research in the form of articles posted to this website.

Edgar Fernandez is a broadly-experienced rural development practitioner, a frequent collaborator with Mendoza and also a co-founder of NITLAPAN.

An exceptional analyst of organizational strength and weakness, Fernandez readily connects  with and engenders confidence in rural Nicaraguan producers.

Ligia Guitierrez is a psychologist and “firebrand” for helping rural populations-

especially Indigenous communities- to recognize their cultural heritage and powers of influence and self-destiny. In the face of growing economic disparity and marginalization of large sectors of the population, her lessons of personal integrity and self-esteem resonate with those who fear losing hope.

But participant readiness and facilitator expertise are only parts of a successful learning equation.  The other essential ingredient is a content that is both worthy of the interest and useful in its application.  Here, the magic of a week’s investment was evident from the earliest iterations of the agenda.

The modules of the week’s activities might have been copied from an advanced leadership training  prospectus:  Day 1- An important historical context for the current state of cooperatives;  Day 2- Organizational innovations (including open book management and Lean process improvement) from a North American employee-owned company; Day 3- Gender and the loss of relationships and resources; Day 4- Climate change impacts, current and future; Day 5- Spirituality in work; Day 6- Individual and organizational health.  (I may have more to say about any or each of these in future essays, but for now it is sufficient to recognize the scope of the program.)

In between the content-rich plenary dialogues, breakout discussions and creation of action plans, the days offered important opportunities for relaxing the difficult work of introspection and self-analysis.  There were songs sung, dance and music performances by participants and visitors, and an awe-inspiring hike to the topmost reaches of Peñas Blancas.  We tossed a ball to introduce ourselves to each other, threw wadded up paper at speakers and each other to stay positive in the face of the enormous challenges and laughed endlessly at one participant’s

uncanny ability to sound exactly like a crying child!  Indeed, all of the intellectual, social, emotional, spiritual, occupational and physical aspects of our collective and individual wellness were fully in play during the entire week.  This was an exceptional educational event.

By addressing all of the components of the Nicaraguan cooperative circumstance, this program and its presenters managed to identify and contextualize Nicaraguan realities and prospects in an important and unique way.  For perhaps their first time, cooperative members were able to behold their organizations, their mutual responsibilities to one another, the economic elements which are truly beyond their control and those which are within their influence, the nature of transparent and collaborative work and the research that underscores all of that. The lessons were difficult.  The truths were uncomfortable.  The currents undoubtedly prompted some to consider turning around and swimming away.  But the integrated view of their cooperative lives and an inherent drive to surmount obstacles like “it’s the way we’ve always done it,” or “we can never understand” allowed transformations to take place over the week.

Time will reveal which of these possible innovators will succeed in fighting the stream of status quo and in what ways.  Maybe like the salmon, there exists sufficient and innate will to complete the journey to which their lives are called, to fulfill the most basic needs for work and sustenance and dignity.  In a very real sense, without that chance the circle of their lives becomes broken, and we all suffer….

Over the past several weeks, I’ve found myself in just such circumstances a number of times.  Among several college classroom presentations, a conference in Nicaragua and a seminar at a New England retreat, I occupied the role of the other, unknown to those around me, unfamiliar with people who generally seemed to be quite familiar with one another, and in one case, not even able to converse in the same language as my peers.  To be sure, each of the venues was voluntary on my part and my expectations of unfamiliarity were identical to the reality in each situation; there were no surprises.  But anticipating that reality did not make for an easier adjustment to it.

What is the element deep inside that moves a group toward exclusivity and separation?  Comfort?  What is it inside of our own cognizance that tends to inhibit an immediate acceptance of each other?  Fear?  What is the addiction we have to being part of the group, even at the expense of one who is not?  Suspicion?  Psychologists have the answer to these and related questions, I’m sure.  As for me, I’m just left with the uncomfortable feelings.

But I experienced something else, an unexpected phenomenon. Within these moments of feeling apart from the group, one venue left me feeling welcomed.  And interestingly, the place where I was in fact the most “other-wise” than my fellow participants, is where I became most comfortably assimilated.

My week in Nicaragua was spent attending a workshop for rural cooperative members, a “certificate program” which presented the holistic elements of successful organizations and individuals, including elements of cooperative history, organizational innovation, gender issues, environmental impact, spirituality in work and organizational/individual health.  (We even shared a hike to the top of Peñas Blancas mountain, together!)

I arrived at the conference site on Sunday evening.  By Monday morning there were no cliques or sub-groups, only a room filled with expectant participants, fifty Nicaraguans and two gringos.  

Did I mention that, to my great embarrassment, I still do not speak Spanish?  That every word addressed to me and every response I offered had to be filtered through an interpreter?  Integrating with a new group is hard enough.  Inserting oneself into an assembly in another country is more so.  And acceptance in the face of differing languages is a gulf many of us might deem too wide to conquer.  In truth, I had met some of the attendees in previous settings.  But the gathering at the base of Peñas Blancas  embraced me as a full partner in our mutual journey of education, and in ways I do not always experience in such gatherings of such disparate folks.

A smile, a nod, a handshake and even a wave each have the capacity to draw one into the heart of a crowd; I received gifts of each.  Few words were exchanged among us, given my previously-referenced language deficit, but that insufficiency mattered not.  I felt “at home.”

One week later, I attended another seminar, with attendees of similar outlooks on topics such as the environment, energy and the economy.  We traveled from different sections of the country, sought the same kinds of insights and shared similar expectations.  We even spoke the same language.  Yet here, among fellow countrymen and women, I experienced a curious solitariness.  Small groups had assembled for a social hour and busily chatted away, I imagine sharing their stories of travel to the site, renewing perhaps previous acquaintances, discovering those elements of likeness which cultivate the feeling of belonging to one another and the group at large.  Several times I sidled up to a cluster in hopes of inserting myself, and each occasion was met with barely an acknowledgement.  Of course, each moment made the next even more awkward.

Over the course of the weekend, my role as the other dissipated and I connected with any number of friendly and enthusiastic people.  Small group interactions which necessitate collective participation and expose your thoughts, experiences and uniqueness usually open the doors to collegiality and even friendships.  But I can’t help but wonder what there is in our national culture or customs that seems to require this sort of justification before acceptance is extended to strangers.  Are they less worthy in one moment than the next?

Naturally, we are all inclined to make judgments about others based upon what we hear and the behaviors we observe.  But in the wake of the unqualified reception I received in one setting and the awkward time of trial in the other, I now more clearly recognize the duty that I have to others.  New acquaintances deserve my immediate and best efforts at inclusiveness.  It may just be that my Nicaraguan associates have experienced sufficient hardship and trials in life to understand that there is no time for artificial barriers when it comes to embracing the other….

I drove aboard a ferry this week, en route from an island back to the mainland pier.  In the early morning chill, there were not many vehicles making the run.  But there was one vehicle that caught my attention, first in a humorous way and then in a curious way.  Let me describe the back end of the van.

The van was an older model, and clearly had seen some better days; it’s not unusual to see vehicles of this vintage decorated with interesting bits of bumper-sticker wisdom to consider as we drive along.  On the left side of the back end was this quote: “It’s very frustrating to see otherwise intelligent people demonstrating their ignorance.”  (In other words, sometimes people who you think are pretty wise can surprise you with their stupidity, almost always when they do not happen to agree with you.)  I read it out loud to my wife and we shared a good laugh over its embarrassing truth.

But the sticker on the other side of the van quickly muted the moment.  The sticker there read: “If you can read this, thank a teacher.  If you can read this in English, thank a U.S. Marine.”  (In other words,  be grateful that you speak the only real language of importance and that U.S. military prowess has secured it for you.)

It’s not that I suddenly became all serious and sensitive over a simple bumper-sticker; I’ve seen many that were far more offensive in content.  But in reading the second one after the humor of the first, I was stuck by a sense of pathos, both in what was being said and how it dovetailed with the lighthearted humor right next to it.  Did the driver recognize that by posting the second, he fit right into the description of the first?  As one who has struggled to learn Spanish over recent years, in order to better understand and appreciate Nicaraguans with whom we work, I was struck by the jingoistic flavor of the message on the right.  The suggestion seems to be that English is the superior form of expression, that those who speak it are somehow better than others and that our historic propensities for war- as embodied in the exploits of U.S. Marines- are what have secured this preferred form of expression.  I didn’t intend to frown or shake my head, but I did.

Then, of course, the universality of the first sticker occurred to me and I recognized two potential truths from this rolling provocateur.  First, the owner of the van had hilariously (if unintentionally) demonstrated the truth of the first sticker.  The utter nonsense of English-speaking superiority fits the definition of ignorance like a glove.

But then, second, the owner of the van maybe, just maybe, pulled me unsuspecting into a trap.  It may be that in creating such a juxtaposition of messages there on the back of the van, he/she masterfully subjected me to the uncomfortable truth of the first message: no one has a corner on the market for being right.  There will never be a shortage of issues over which reasonable people will disagree, and we run the risk of demise when we assume a default posture that implies any alternative opinion contrary to my own is “ignorance.”  Did I condemn myself by regarding the driver as ignorant on the basis of the message with which I disagreed?

Well, the fact is that I did not ask the driver about the intended message; it is perhaps most likely that there was never any intentional synchronizing of the messages at all, and that they simply presented two unrelated statements, one clever and one rather overtly nationalistic.  I find myself hoping that such was not the case, that the driver really doesn’t feel the superiority of an English tongue.  (I can’t help it: he’s way off base with the second message.)  But if the presence of the two stickers was more than a chance marriage of the two statements, then the back of the van has some grist for deeper reflection, about truths and disagreements and our world views.

I may need to stop overthinking bumper-stickers….

We’ve had some amazing successes.  We’ve also experienced some unexpected and disappointing defaults.  We’ve come to know a lot about Nicaraguan coops and what makes them work.  Yet, at the same time, we’ve had one organization- not even a cooperative in structure- that models the cooperative methodologies and successes as well or better than almost any other partner.  Yes, I’ve had another visit with ANIDES.

ANIDES has been guiding women of the rural communities of Matagalpa in the creation of small community banks in recent years, creating financial literacy, sustainability, independence and savings accounts for its participants.  The impact upon the lives of its members is palpable, not only in terms of financial strengthening, but also in quality of life and family.  WPF has admired the motivations and results of this group for years.  And now, ANIDES is proud to be reporting that these small community banks are becoming formally-registered cooperatives, with ten of the current thirteen banks in the registration process.  The objective is to eventually form a union of cooperatives once all registrations are complete.

These coops offer strengthened opportunities for their members to establish outlets for their small enterprises: crafts, bread-baking, small services and other commercial ventures.  These entrepreneurial efforts have created the financial wherewithal to “feed” the community banking enterprise.  The resources generated by these small enterprises often are used to fund significant events, such as the addition of indoor plumbing to a home, a water softener for cleaner drinking and washing water, or education opportunities for members’ children,  a dream that might otherwise seem very out-of-reach for these same families.

The legal cooperative status confers some technical advantages for the  women members: they will have access to joint banking accounts, easier accessibility to those accounts, greater security for deposits, cooperative education to further their understanding of collaborative advantages, opportunities to learn from one another.  The plan is to conduct monthly meetings among the cooperative delegates to consistently share experiences, problems, concerns, financial lessons and to celebrate what has been and promises to be a continuing success story in the rural countryside of Matagalpa.

The real value of these fledgling cooperatives, however, may not be in the technical or legal characteristics that registration will confer.  The bigger impact just may be on the lives and attitudes of those who have been willing to risk moving out of their comfort zones and into positions of learning and financial responsibility. For most, it’s an act of faith.  (By comparison, imagine yourself voluntarily signing up for a quantum physics class as a forty-something year-old, when you barely understand arithmetic.)  But such is their determination for improving their families’ circumstances, to work in some form of solidarity.  It also underscores a deepening sense of self-respect: in discussing a request for possible funding,  they have specified for the first time in our work together that the funding be in the form of a loan, to be fully repaid.  (I truly wish I could convey the sense of pride on the faces of the women as they specified a loan.)

They are taught and they understand the basic finances of their banks.  They assume positions of leadership, likely for the first time in their lives.  They make decisions among themselves.  They establish and attend meetings of their banks, sometimes walking for miles to be present.  They create celebrations of their work and themselves.  In short, these women do the things that successful cooperatives-  successful organizations of any sort- must do in order to endure.

As WPF imagines new ways of bringing together organizations to model best practices and to learn from one another, ANIDES might very well need to be part of the mix, even though they aren’t growing coffee, beans, rice or raising cattle.  What they are raising is their quality of life, their knowledge and their self-esteem, and being very cooperative about it….

With the emphasis on education during my recent visit to Nicaragua, we had the pleasure of re-visiting the Association of Women Builders of Condega (AMCC).  AMCC is a non – profit organization whose main purpose is to promote economic, political and ideological empowerment processes to young and adult women from Northern Nicaragua, to enhance the basic conditions for the exercise of their full citizenship.  It’s quite an undertaking when one considers the context of the education, the circumstances of most of the students, the nature of a very patriarchal Nicaraguan society and cryptic attitudes about women, their roles and their capacities.

“Young women are better off staying at home.”

And, oh yes, at the same time the school is providing a very hands-on technical education for their students, teaching practical construction and building skills and demonstrating the latest technologies in use of earth materials.  And their results are stunning in both attractiveness and quality.  A visit to their site and walk through the grounds where the students work hands-on provides a clear picture of what these very young students can achieve.

“Women don’t do well in trades work like carpentry or electricity.”

In addition to receiving practical vocational training, these students are also immersed in the science of environmentalism. They are taught concepts in the making and use of earth building materials, installation and use of solar energy, efficient land use and building projects that are adapted into the AMCC campus after their completion.  My own preconceptions about the use of adobe as a construction material have changed rather dramatically since my visits here!

“Earth materials like adobe aren’t durable enough or attractive enough for serious construction.”

But as is nearly always the case in Nicaragua, the greatest values are to be found in the people engaged in the process.  In some cases, it’s the presence of students in a curriculum that they likely never dreamed about for themselves.  Sometimes it’s the story of a student who excels in a field of study to the extent that she remains at AMCC as an instructor to other young participants who can identify with her easily, and from whom young women are at ease in following her lead.  And there is always the guiding presence of the founding generation, those whose vision and persistence and passion have blended together in a force of determination on behalf of young people’s lives throughout the area of Esteli and city of Condega.

“Young Nicaraguans  today have little ambition or drive to succeed.”

AMCC is helping their young students to recognize who they are, what they can become, that they are a part of their environment, and that they are stewards of those surroundings.  Regardless of what may be said by “others.”

Working within the education arena of Nicaragua, we find that there is much to worry about with regard to student development in the country.  Student access, student retention, availability of materials and adequate teacher training are just some of the challenges facing the country, which has slipped during recent years in comparison with the other Central American nations.  But there are also islands of hopefulness in this great sea of needs, and walking the grounds at the AMCC campus offers a rare glimpse of what could be….

We stayed the night at the home of one of our daughters.  In the morning, we got up early to walk our dog at the brink of yet another beautiful day.  But when we stepped outdoors, I noticed that one of the van’s tires looked a bit saggy, not enough to be flat, but deflated enough that it needed another infusion of air in its tube.  I made a mental note of it, and we went about our sunrise walk.

After our walk and breakfast, I asked my son-in-law if there was a nearby service station where I could fill the sluggish tire, and his response shocked me.  “Well, there are plenty of stations around,” he said, “but up here, most of them charge you for the air.  I’m not sure where there’s free air around here.”

I was transfixed for the moment, not at all certain that I had heard him correctly.  My wide open jaw must have conveyed my disbelief.  “Yes, it’s true,” he said with a shake of his head.  “They actually charge you for air.  I’ve never experienced it before, but it’s pretty common here.”

Now, paying for something that has previously been free is nothing new.  For example, when it comes to the airlines, it’s now the norm.  I pay for my bags to be loaded onto the plane.  I pay for any food I might wish to eat on board that plane. In fact, I’ve even had to pay a fee to assure myself of a seat on that plane, even though I’ve already purchased a ticket!  I used to watch television for free, while I now have to pay a monthly fee to the cable company to bring the signal into my home.  So the burden is nothing new.  But air is the truest commodity, one which is actually needed by all of us for life itself, and the prospect of having to pay for it, even for my automobile tires, well, just jars me to the very core.  Pay for it?  Really?

By the time I wrapped myself around the incredible truth of it, my son-in-law did remember one station where the air is still free, and I carefully noted his directions to the station, as though successful arrival at its pumps and portals was a feat of momentous achievement.  But as we drove to it, I reflected on this troubling trend of modern life.  If air has to be purchased from a hose, how long before someone tries to control it outright?  What might it mean to have to pay for air?

A song from the 60’s envisioned something like that in the tune, “Big Yellow Taxi,” by Joni Mitchell.  One line of the song talks about taking “all the trees, put them in a tree museum, and they charged the people a dollar and a half just to seem ’em.”  I remember thinking at the time that the likelihood of that seemed pretty far-fetched, but in these days, I’m not so sure.  If the big oil companies, who already command profits from their ventures that are beyond imagination, are still seeking ways to further increase their revenues by selling air, then apparently anything is possible, and maybe even likely.

As I thought about the outrageous idea of paying for air (the oil companies would be far better off simply not offering the service rather than charging for it), it triggered some thoughts about similar outlandish realities faced by others.  In Nicaragua, when a rural peasant farmer buys certain hybrid corn for planting, the corn plant bears ears of corn whose kernels are not plantable for the following season; they have been modified in such a way as to prevent their regeneration.  In this way, the giant seed companies hold the farmers hostage year after year, forcing them to purchase new seed annually.  In other cases, hybrid corn is sometimes planted in such a way that some migrates onto a neighboring farm by accident; the seed companies will sue the unsuspecting neighboring farmers for patent infringement, and even win the judgment.   Imagine having to pay for someone else’s error and greed, when you are barely able to feed your family to begin with.

We live at a time when eighty-five of the world’s wealthiest individuals hold as much wealth as half the world’s entire population. It is apparently the case that those who command such wealth are not content with such disparity, and seek to control virtually all of the world’s substantial bounty.  Including the air.  While humans have always lived amidst great differences in wealth and resources, never have we seen inequalities as these.

There is no moral to this story or analogy to be made.  It is simply a report of our further evolution as a species which appears to be intent upon playing the zero sum game of “last man standing.” For the few who play it, it must be exciting.  But in the end, it will be the loneliest of all victories….

I’m not sure how many retirement-age people seek out new fields of learning in their later years, but I suspect that it’s a significant number.  It may not be learning in the sense of a new language or taking up a musical instrument- as suggested in the story- but some retirees are inclined to delve into topics that they never had the time to explore when working vocationally.  The availability of extra time is simply too valuable to leave unfilled.

And what gifts such opportunity provides!  In addition to mental and memory sharpening, learning can  launch the acquisition of new skills, discovery of new outlets of expression, permit an unfolding of a new worldview, and further enrich lives that may have previously been thought to be static.  Even new careers are launched from the base of educational re-birth.  As long as the energy and desire to learn are present, transformation can happen, and at any age.

The recognition is a happy one for someone like me, on the upper fringes of middle age (whatever that is).  But following a week in Nicaragua during which our emphasis again was education development, such awareness exposes an uncomfortable inequity, another one of those troubling realities which has seemingly few avenues for redress and yet massive consequences to us all.  For in Nicaragua, like many other developing nations, access to education is limited, at best, and at every age.

 At the time when Nica children are most eager and receptive to the lessons of life from the neighborhood academy, they are all too often denied entry.  Too many are needed by their families to work in order that living necessities can be met, or they are unable to access a school with books and teachers, or they cannot afford the niggling costs of a uniform and materials.  As a result, rural Nicaraguan children have very small chances of remaining in school past the third grade, and the statistics are not improving. Another generation of so many uneducated children is an enormous burden that the country simply cannot absorb successfully, no matter how strong the optimism or how deep the denial.

Last week, WPF visited  the  Fe y Alegria vocational school in Somotillo, located in the far west corner of the country.  Like so much of the country, it’s a remote, rural sector, featuring high heat and ever-higher winds, few opportunities outside of “street” jobs, and a place where kids have few chances to learn much about their lives and what they could be.  In fact, most of them come from destitute families or no families at all; the street is not only where they work, but where they live.

The Somotillo Technical School is an oasis in this context, where children ranging from pre-school to high school can be exposed to the possibilities in life, away from the streets.  Young people are introduced to trades like welding, furniture-making, sewing, baking, electricity and computers.  (In one class, I inspected this computer made by the students from old parts.  Could you do that?  On my best day I could not.)  As importantly, they are taught life skills, things like respect and healthy relationships, personal hygiene, lifestyle choices.  But most importantly, the kids are given the chance to absorb what they crave: learning and self-actualization.  Melby, perhaps as old as twelve, said it for himself: “I have done baking from my lessons in

the class and it has allowed me to sell and generate a little money for my everyday needs.”  With no one else available to do so, this free school- the only free technical school in the entire region- is helping Melby to learn the basics of self-sufficiency.

Our world requires all the collective knowledge, innovation and insight that we can possibly muster and the under-education of our future generations might be one of the most self-defeating postures ever assumed by humankind.  Issues of poverty and justice, climate change and energy, war and peace, demand intellect and vision beyond what we have at our disposal presently.  The answers to the great dilemmas of humanity may well lie in the untapped mental fertility of those for whom education is a great unknown, a process only to be dreamed of, or perhaps even feared, but never to be personalized.  The notion is frightening enough to conjure a particular vision of Hell, where humans there discover that they had all the answers to life itself within their collective grasp, but failed to see them due to their own shortsightedness.

Truth and irony abound in this education tale.  The truth is that the capacity for learning- indeed, the love of learning- never goes away during our lifetimes.  It may become dormant for lack of use or opportunity, but it is as central to our beings as the heartbeat itself.  The irony is that while most in this country have endless access to even the narrowest fields of learning, we tend to take such privilege for granted and are  willing to forego such capacities in favor of less dynamic pursuits.  And meanwhile, many of the young children of Nicaragua are desperately seeking even the smallest chance to advance their understanding of the world around them. It creates an immense imbalance, one that would seem worthy and capable of address, if we were collectively motivated to do so.

Leave it to a week in Nicaragua to teach me a new perspective.  I am grateful for the gift of life-long learning, a gift intended for all….

The U.S.- and much of the world’s- economy is built upon a model of continuing, compounding growth.

Growth is dependent on availability and use of energy.  Currently, availability is declining and use is increasing.

As a result, our efforts to extract ever-more energy from our finite earth is despoiling the environment, diminishing resource availability and even destroying certain forms of life.

Exponential growth is unsustainable.

To illustrate, I quote an interesting analogy from Chris Martenson’s book, Crash Course:

Suppose I had a magic eyedropper and I placed a single drop of water in the middle of your left hand.  The magic part is that this drop of water will double in size every minute.  At first, nothing seems to be happening, but by the end of a minute, that tiny drop is now the size of two tiny drops.  After another minute, you now have a little pool of water sitting in your hand that is slightly smaller in diameter than a dime.  After six minutes, you have a blob of water that would fill a thimble.  

Now imagine that you’re in the largest stadium you’ve ever seen or been in- perhaps Fenway Park, the Astrodome or Wembley Stadium.  Suppose we take our magic eyedropper to that enormous structure, and right at 12:00 PM in the afternoon, we place a magic drop way down in the middle of the field.

To make this even more interesting, suppose that the park is watertight and that you’re handcuffed to one of the very highest bleacher seats.  My question to you is this: How long do you have to escape from the handcuffs?  When would the park be completely filled?  Do you have days?  Weeks?  Months?  Years?  How long before the park is overflowing?

The answer is this: you have until exactly 12:50 PM on that same day- just fifty minutes- to figure out how you’re going to escape from your handcuffs…

Now let me ask you a far more important question: At what time of the day would your stadium still be 97% empty space (and how many of you would realize the severity of your predicament)?  Take a guess.

The answer is that at 12:45 PM- only five minutes earlier- your park is only 3% full of water and 97% remains free of water.  If at 12:45 you were still handcuffed to your bleacher seat patiently waiting for help to arrive, confident that plenty of time remained because the field was only covered with about five feet of water, you would actually have been in a very dire situation…

With exponential growth in a fixed container, events progress much more rapidly toward the end than they do at the beginning.  We sat in our seats for 45 minutes and nothing much seemed to be happening.  But then, over the course of five minutes- whoosh!- the whole place was full of water.  Forty-five minutes to fill 3%; only five more minutes to fill the remaining 97%.  

With this understanding, you will begin to understand the urgency I feel….

I understand the urgency.  Do you?….

The lesson has everything to do with succession, that final piece in a sometimes long term of service wherein the responsibilities and obligations, the voice and the stewardship for the organization is passed along to whoever follows.  It’s likely the most overlooked responsibility leaders deal with.   That’s not to suggest that leaders don’t think about and plan for succession at all, but that they simply don’t prepare for the eventuality nearly well enough.  That reality is why leadership succession represents one of the most vulnerable times in an organization’s entire life, and why organizational failures often occur within a short time after a succession has taken place.

I have often stated that perhaps the most important accomplishment I ever achieved during my employment at Foldcraft was turning over the leadership of the Company to the “right” successor.  I still believe that to be true.  But it also must be recognized that the effectiveness of that transition was years in the making, wherein senior authority and leadership became increasingly discussed, shared and strategized.  In fact, one could argue that preparation for that particular succession evolved over nearly fifteen years.  Successful succession in that instance was not an event, but rather a process of orientation, teaching, seasoning, making and learning from mistakes.  Organizations rarely have fifteen years to prepare for a shift in leadership, but they owe it to themselves to be constantly preparing for the inevitable change.

And when the planning and preparation have been well provided for, the change in boardroom or management or committee setting can be- in fact, should be- a blast of fresh air.  I hope and believe that my participation in recent Board meetings has not been stale or redundant.  (You’d have to ask the others about whether that’s true or not.)  But I also hope and believe that my successor will bring new chemistry to the process, challenging the way that conversations have evolved over the past 28 years, lending insights that I might never have had, and seeing the future of the organization through a new lens.

If, over the past years, I have brought any positive elements to the organization, I will trust that those characteristics will have impressed themselves on my colleagues and they will blend those singularities with the freshness of the newcomer.  It’s the best of evolution, and our organizations deserve that step up in their continuity.  No one is good forever, and even if they could be, there will come a time when the organization needs something else, something new.

One of the great disservices which befalls an organization is the perpetuation of same leadership.  Leaders are comprised of the sum total of their life experiences and lessons.  It’s the stuff from which they draw conclusions, make judgments and see the world.  But no one possesses perfect vision or all-encompassing experiences, and by definition that means any leader is bound to misinterpret or misread from time to time.  The capture of an alternative outlook sometimes can only be discovered through new insight born of different intelligence.  Hence, the necessity for superb succession.

Some have argued that the risk of succession is primarily because the new leader might not possess the same values and perspectives that allowed the organization to function well in the first place.  And that’s true, if the successor is relatively unknown to those who would make the appointment; any governing body’s primary obligation is to have a pretty intimate knowledge of its incoming leaders.  Where that knowledge exists, the value of new energies will far outweigh the risk of detrimental decisions.  (In any case, no leader should lead without checks and balances and the continuing governance structure should always provide a safety valve against an ill-advised direction.)

I’ll be spending time visiting cooperatives during the coming weeks and one of the essential qualities I hope to see is the provision for what happens when the leadership shift occurs.  First of all, will one occur?  And if so, under what process and preparedness?  It may not feel like a priority to anyone today, but I can guarantee that it will be, and sooner than most are prepared for.

Yesterday, I remember wondering about the future and what it might hold for my organization.  Today,  as I prepare to leave it, I recognize all the promise and challenge once imagined in the past. Tomorrow, I hope neither I nor the rest of the organization will regret any lack of preparedness for what is to come….

We humans can see about 3 miles into the distance, before the horizon disappears with the curvature of the earth.  We can also detect a galaxy 2.6 million light years away, to a time when the first galaxies formed.  With the barest of light, we can see in the dark.  Our eyesight is a remarkable sense, indeed.

There’s another category of sightedness that begs the same sort of question, “how far can you see?”  It’s the view forward, what we can see or anticipate for the future, and what that portends for our current circumstances.  Understandably, we tend to be less accomplished in this effort, because what we endeavor to see is not yet physically visible.  So we do our best to impute, deduce, and imagine.

Many entities try to see, with varying degrees of success.  Within the communities of Nicaragua, leaders often pretend to see bright opportunity for their constituents, when the real view is only one of self-aggrandizement or patriarchal gatekeeping.  For its part, the U.S. government is afflicted with a malady which prevents its elected representatives from seeing much beyond the end of the day; it virtually defines short-sightedness.  Some business leaders work very hard to see into the future, though for many their acuity dims after about one quarter on the calendar.  Fortune-tellers would have us believe that they can see the future with clarity, but I don’t think they do much better than the rest of us.   Unfortunately, too many of us simply hope that the future will be as we might wish it, without working to shape it.

The reality is that in order to “know” the future and create a means to it, we have to be pretty clear about what is happening at present.  That work is more difficult than it sounds, as we tend to fall prey to factors like misinformation, data that makes us look different than we actually are, shorter-term motives and even egos.  If we start from a point of obfuscation, the chances of shaping a realistic future direction are very slim.  But knowing the truth requires self-honesty and discipline, characteristics that are cultivated through courage and practice.

Unfortunately, most of us lack sufficient courage or practice  to express openly those shortcomings and mistakes that have impeded our sight.  Since it isn’t a comfortable or easy thing to do, we don’t practice it much.  And that lack of practice, in turn, renders us less courageous, less open to understanding our truths and being able to use them as the basis for where we’d like to go.  It’s a vicious circle that ever-lessens our ability to see what might be.  And without such vision, we limit where we can choose to go.  We simply can’t see that far.

Later this Spring, a certificate program for cooperatives will be taught in the rural reaches of Nicaragua.  The program will be more than a week in duration, as rural producers will come together to learn holistically about seeing a future of their own making, to create the conditions and circumstances which can better allow those visions to become reality, to open their eyes to their own truths.  Like staring into a bright light after an immersion in darkness, there will be discomfort, disorientation and maybe even even distress.  But like the gradual adjustment our eyes make to that bright light, the emerging views will become clear and free from the drowsy effects of the dark.  And the courage, the practice, the habit, of far-sightedness just may take root in people eager to see further than ever before.  (I’ll be sure to write about the process in April, after the workshop has been completed.)

Meanwhile, I’ll do my best to keep asking the question of myself, “How far can you see?”  It’s one of those introspective probes that just might help me prepare myself for the future….

I wonder whether this could be the year wherein the Synergy Center notion crystalizes in the strategic thinking of an educational institution and we find a partner to take on the asset.

I wonder if the Indigenous communities with whom we have worked will discover during 2015 that their patrimony continues to be slowly eroded away by some of their elected leaders, and that true community must be transparent in order to be strong.

I wonder if this is the year in which I finally become facile enough with the Spanish language to converse with more than simply, “buenas dias.”  I wonder if working on development issues in a Spanish-speaking country  without an ability to speak directly with partners conveys a sign of disrespect.

I wonder if there is an effective way to help cooperatives embrace the very essence of cooperativism; that is, collective, collaborative, participative, informed engagement.  Are cultural, social and historical factors too much to allow for such embrace?

I wonder if the second-poorest country in the Western Hemisphere can really undertake the largest, most expensive engineering and construction project in history, and what the ramifications of that will be, whether it’s ever completed or not.

I wonder if the relations between the United States and Nicaragua will ever be friendly, or whether friendships will only exist among individuals of those two countries.  And if the latter is true, I wonder what that says about the institutions of government.

I wonder how I would survive on $2.00 per day.

I wonder why greater progress hasn’t happened in Nicaragua, given the amount and form of economic aid that has been made available there.  Where does it go?

I wonder if it’s possible any longer to actually know the truth about nearly anything, or whether institutional “spin” determines that.  I wonder if there really is truth about anything.

I wonder whether my curiosities are well-founded or simply the product of narrow, North American hubris.

I wonder….

Jose was the driver, mechanic, ombudsman and one of the great fixtures and jump starter of CGE in Nicaragua: he was its first employee.  He came to CGE 31 years ago, likely with little foresight about how that organization and the thousands of its travel clients would come to be an extension of family for him, nor how he would become so much a part of the family of his co-workers.  This week, all of his families are grieving at his loss.

For most of us, traveling to a foreign country like Nicaragua takes us out of our comfort zone, an experience that is both desired yet anxiety-prone at the same time.  For CGE participants over the past 30+ years, the imbalances created through exposure to a very different culture and reality were stabilized by the reassuring leaders of CGE.  They are very good at recognizing our uncertainties, the chafing which inevitably begins to work on our sensitivities to justice and human dignity.  They have methodologies which focus on processing our discomforts and making sense of what is senseless.  They are skilled guides who deftly facilitate our transitions of thought and feeling, it is their expertise which provides the basis for our sought-after transformations.

But in the need to further connect with and understand those new experiences, we require other hand-holds to steady ourselves and somehow personalize the new context which has challenged our views.  Most of us have needed some additional relationship or voice upon which to test our new sense of balance and stability.  For many, that balance was offered by Jose.

He was always with us.  Navigating the streets and carreteras, of course, but also helping us to reach other destinations that weren’t on a map or an itinerary.  Jose was respectfully quiet with CGE groups, but once engaged, his voice invited a new discourse, his life an object lesson of the life and culture of Nicaragua.  While a bulk of CGE teaching took place in the visits to communities and homes and in group gatherings, Jose served as a field tutor, one who would offer his own perspective, as real and as valuable as any we might hear.  His gift to travelers, to all of us, was his mere presence, both unremarkable and essential at the same time.

Jose also provided the invaluable service of friendship.  When we travel afar, of necessity most of us will eagerly seek the presence of a local, someone to trust, someone we might go home to talk about, in this case a real Nicaraguan whom we might come to know personally, someone who would demonstrate to us the warmth and receptivity of the country.  Especially for North Americans, such affirmation is desperately sought, perhaps as a sign of forgiveness, that we gringos are OK.  Jose gave us that, not only the first time I met him in 1990, but every time thereafter, right up to our last greetings in August 2014.

There are many of Jose’s colleagues who can and will offer more personal remembrances of this man, I’m sure.  I only speak as an outsider who occasionally had the good fortune to experience and to observe his being among those who would learn.  He may have been hired and paid as a driver, but he helped to take thousands of people to places they had not expected, neither on the road nor in their hearts.   Godspeed, Don Jose….

Time.  The game is played over sixty minutes, no more, no less.  The timeouts and the breaks for television advertisements notwithstanding, the outcome of the game is determined over the entire time to be played.

I watched portions of each of the games played over the weekend.  In a couple of the contests, teams were able to mount  significant leads, only to lose those advantages with the passage of time.   Given my lukewarm interest in the actual outcomes of the games, I found myself more closely observing what I perceived to be the emotions and attitudes of the players and coaches as the scores changed, over the full sixty minutes.

In one game, the presumably favored team fell behind by a wide margin on their own home field.  They caught up, only to fall behind again by the same deficit.  When they fell behind for the second time, viewers could actually see the trepidation in the players and hear the despair of the crowd at their plight.  On the opposite side of the field, the opposing team’s players were jumping up and down, dancing and slapping high-fives with each other amid great smiles of self-satisfaction.

If we had had the opportunity to stop the action on the field at that point and talk with the protagonists from both sides, I wonder what we might have heard from each.  In the case of the home team, we would likely have heard that the game was not yet done and that there was plenty of time to  reverse the outcome.  Such optimism is expected from those who are competitive and driven to succeed.  But we might well have heard the hint of doubt or uncertainty in their words while standing under the glare of the massive scoreboard which, at the moment,  would suggest a different end result.  We might not have even had the chance to speak with the guys who had dropped a pass or missed a tackle; they sort of lose themselves along the sidelines.  It might have been difficult to mingle with any of the players much, as the poor guys just seemed down.

On the opposite side of the field, conversation would have been even more difficult, given the hollering and joyful yelling of the team in the lead.  We’d have a hard time hearing each other.  Here, we would have access to all the players, as every one of them would stand with confidence- even hubris- and a certainty that their game plan had been well-crafted and that victory belonged to them, regardless of the face of the field clock.  The word “destiny” might be heard over the din of excitement.

Well, we now know the final scores.  In some of the games, by the final gun the have’s became the also-rans, while those who appeared to be facing elimination survived.  One of those “survivors” may even make it to the Super Bowl.  Imagine that.  The world often becomes topsy-turvy during these times and those in the lead don’t always emerge as the champions.

Maybe that’s why so many people follow the NFL.  There’s always the chance that the “little guy” will rise to the occasion and achieve a status considered impossible.  And we all love a good story about how the high and mighty are somehow justly brought down to size, especially if at the hands of the little guy.  We make legends of five-foot eight, one-hundred eighty-five pound running backs blasting through a line of behemoths to score in the final seconds, reminding us that time is the controlling element, that ultimate success or defeat only occurs at the end of time.

I start watching some football during this time of year, for the reasons mentioned above.  But I can’t help but watch the story lines unfold with an acute awareness of how time will have a way of bringing great surprise to the highly favored and the the lowly alike.  The reality is, we have no way of foreseeing who will be on top when time runs out….

On the face of it, we all understand the value of sustainability, in whatever ways that term is measured.  If we could somehow draw upon the world’s resources without depleting those necessities, or at least not despoiling the environments around which they are extracted or used, our lifestyles and quality of life could go on, theoretically forever, a perpetual, natural bank account that would never be overdrawn.  In these days, with the convergence of crises in energy, environment and the economy, sustainability takes on an essential importance, whether in the U.S., Nicaragua or anywhere else.

Here in the U.S., as we become more attuned to those looming crises, we are called to become more active in transitioning our homes and businesses and environments to more sustainable footprints.  (Or at least, I’d like to believe that.)   Geothermal, wind, solar and other technologies will need to become more mainstream, yard gardens might become the norm in even the wealthiest communities, and chickens just might find suburban living to their liking as communities revise local statutes to allow for their migration and housing.  But the troubling news is that such transitions as these have not evolved quickly, nor are they likely to blossom suddenly in the near future; we are too much creatures of habit and comfort.

As a result, those who have a different vision of the future sometimes hear the call to look abroad for a place to call their own, to create their own concept of sustainable Utopia, to craft the kinds of relationships, cultures and conditions which reflect their priorities and values.   Like the founders of Finca Las Nubes, they seek a place where culture and society have a seemingly soft footprint, where they might settle a new community without conflict or intrusion from whoever might already be in that space.

It’s an intriguing idea.  At some time or other, we all have likely imagined ourselves in some simpler, easier place, where basic needs are met by basic work, where we are compatible with our surroundings and they with us.  But there are at least two realities which render such dreaming problematic: first, there are no spaces on the face of our earth that are immune to global cause-and-effect.  Second, even if there were such places as Shangri-La, they would be inhabited by someone else.

Finca las Nubes may, in fact, be a noble undertaking that has generated very positive results for the members of that community; I read very encouraging things about them.  But with certainty it can be said that their presence in Nicaragua is not taking place in a void; there are already Nicaraguan communities, traditions, histories to be found in the very same region and which, therefore, cannot help but be impacted by the North American immigrants.  Maybe it’s the occupation of the land.  Perhaps it’s the gated community.  Possibly it’s an unintended consequence of farming methodologies employed.  Whatever the case, the establishment of a new community- even a sustainable one- is not without its consequences upon those already present.

My observations are not intended to be an indictment of sustainability or intentional communities or efforts to  oversimplify what has become an unsustainable way of life as experienced in the U.S.  I know very little about Finca las Nubes.  But before we choose to flee our complexities for the anticipated relief of another land, perhaps we owe it to ourselves and the inhabitants of those other lands to seek retooling and relief within our own boundaries.  Fairness suggests that we simplify and clean up our own spaces rather than to risk the importing of cultural carelessness elsewhere.  And even if we can become antiseptic in our behaviors, we are required to possess an intimate understanding of how our idealistic visions will impact the indigenous others.  For certainly, they will.

I really like the notions of sustainable community, self-sufficiency and like-minded people coming together in cohesive society with their peers to preserve a way of life.  I’m pretty sure that Nicaraguans do, too….

It’s difficult to assess at this early stage of announcement just what has led up to the change in attitude.  Apparently there have been preliminary discussions for several years leading up to the joint announcements.  But it just may be that a break in the conflict required an impetus from someone young enough to not possess personal emotions from those earliest days, a leader who could look through the fog of historical missteps on both sides, the razored rhetoric designed to heat continued anger, and the ego of misplaced jingoism, to recognize the futility of self-degradation. For what purpose?

The stridency exhibited by both countries has denied family coherence, wrongfully imprisoned some, destroyed others, limited commerce and development (in both countries), and unnecessarily fomented tensions within other nations, as well.  And while the announcement this week stopped far short of healing all wounds and grievances, the overwhelming reactions of Cubans and North Americans have been expressions of hope and anticipation, maybe even sufficient to further the healing that has just begun.  In a season of saber-rattling that echoes across the globe, this seeming olive branch provides a sweetly quiet sound of promise.

As I imagine all the possibilities that could emerge from such a thaw, I cannot help but think about another small country and its convoluted relations with the U.S.  Nicaragua has borne the brunt of political and social interventions from the U.S. for decades, just like Cuba.  It has suffered from economic embargoes which at times has nearly brought the populace to its knees, just like in Cuba.  It has relied upon one leader in particular for decades, to navigate its tumultuous and sometimes deadly relationship with its neighbor to the north, just like Cuba.  It has displayed a political abhorrence of U.S. policy, both at home and elsewhere in Latin America, just as Cuba has done.  It has partnered with other nations who have contested U.S. intentions and actions.  Just like Cuba.

Could it be that Nicaraguans might want the opportunity to start over again, to rebuild that which has become so fractured, to demonstrate the inherent warmth and curiosity that they hold for the people of the north?  Might they be like the Cubans, waiting for acknowledgement from their president that the days of estrangement have yielded little more than stubborn deprivation and artificial segregation?  Are they desperate to hear a U.S. president acknowledge, “We will end an outdated approach that for decades has failed to advance our interests. And instead we will begin to normalize relations between our two countries. Through these changes, we intend to create more opportunities for the American and [Nicaraguan] people and begin a new chapter among the nations of the Americas?”  The official and diplomatic context between Nicaragua and the U.S. might be quite different from the context which has governed U.S.-Cuba relations, but the impact on our respective peoples has been the same: artificial distance, lack of trust, too little respect.

There are many people in both Cuba who are very comfortable with the distance between their country and the U.S.  History has indelibly imprinted on them the risks of a closer proximity.  Such wariness is perhaps well-conceived, given that history.  Likewise, there are those in the U.S. who view this outreach as a capitulation, a “giving in” to a very different world view.  They seek to stay the course of the past.  To those, I might suggest that their never-budge mentality has achieved absolutely nothing positive in the past 50+ years.  It’s time for a different approach, as Albert Einstein observed so eloquently: “Insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.”  One thing is fairly certain.  The results couldn’t be much less effective than we’ve experienced over those 50 years.

If the Cuba transition unfolds with positive outcomes, maybe I’ll eventually revisit the dream about the gulf that exists between the U.S. and Nicaragua.   Until then, I’ll continue to enjoy the learning, the opportunities and the relationships that I have encountered there, even without an embrace of our government.

I’lI also hope for forgiveness and reconciliation between the U.S. and Cuba.  If I was a smoker, I’d go have a cigar….

The birthday party arranged for Noah turned out to be a stellar combination of family and friends, enough to fill the living room of Noah’s proud parents.  I took a few pictures.  Well, truth be told, I clicked no fewer than 87 photos during just the 2-hour party, in addition to many others before and after.  In fact, cameras were flashing and clicking all afternoon, as each of us sought to capture a precious instant in young Noah’s life, a split second in time which might provide a pleasant moment in each of our lives.  This gathering was truly a happy event for both the honoree and his guests.

As I later reviewed the scenes of gifting and birthday cake squishing and young adults in full expression of true joy,  I started thinking  about the context of something as simple and commonplace as a birthday party such as this.

Noah does not understand nor can he appreciate the wealth of feelings that surround him in these early months of his life.  But on this Saturday afternoon, more than a dozen admirers came together in a statement of generosity, commitment, support and love for this little boy.  Likely, he will be embraced by the presence of their care for his entire life.  And there will be many others, as yet unknown, who will enter this circle of presence in Noah’s life.

For the moment, he has been blessed with an array of gifts that teach and entertain and prompt his curiosity, that will provide companionship to him as he learns to stand and to walk, to develop and to talk, in the fullness of his immense capacities. And for his reflexes we got him best nerf gun of course! He has every advantage that a child’s doting parents could ever imagine.  The playthings most certainly will be matched by nurturing, encouragement, opportunities, enduring friendships, deepening love. And Noah will absorb all of it in becoming the boy, the young man, the adult he is destined to become.  It’s what all of us in the living room want and expect for him.  It’s an awesome picture to behold, and it is there among the stills in my camera.

The vision of it ignites my entire being.  I am uplifted and encouraged and hopeful at the trajectory of Noah’s young life and future.  I am warmed by the gladness that he has already engendered in his family’s circle of acquaintances and the prospect of joy that he will spread throughout his life, in reciprocation of the blessings he receives.  It’s a beautiful notion, and even if I admit to a certain dreaminess about it, I love its texture and storyline.

Inevitably, such dreaming leads me straight back to life’s realities, many of which are very different for little one-year-olds elsewhere.  As I visit the rural outreaches in Nicaraguan countrysides, I have met parents with tiny babies in arms, loving mothers who are my daughters, determined fathers who could be my sons, extended families who intensely seek the promise of fulfilled lives for their children.  In the eyes of the Nicaraguan child I see Noah and all of his potentiality, everything that he might become, every good thing that he might bring to our world.  But too often I have walked away from a village or barrio saddened by the realization that the possibilities which reside deep within that precious child face tremendous obstacles to release.  There may be too little food or home life, not enough chances to learn, insufficient dreaming, a minimum of adult support for high aspirations.  To the same extent that I soar with the image of Noah in unfettered ascent, I also sense the grief of elemental lives incomplete.  There’s nothing new in this reality, just a stark affirmation of it.

By the end of the afternoon I had experienced at least three other affirmations of truth.   I was struck by the recognition of how even relative strangers can so easily come together over something as common as a little boy’s birthday.  I noted the mirrored feelings of guests- despite their disparate circumstances and different ages- in how they absorbed in love and expectation the promise of a child’s growth.  And I felt again both the privilege and the obligation to be part of a child’s well-being.

If Noah’s life and welfare are that important to the people who attended his birthday party, then I can only conclude that every child’s circumstance carries the same importance, the same need, and the same potential.  In a world that is broken and hurting in nearly every way, we are desperate for the health, wisdom and love of every one-year-old boy and girl….

Lights are not always easy to work with.  Usually, before they can assume their proper role, they are a tangled mess.  Even right out of the new box, there are ties to be unwound and stretching to be done so that each string of lights can reach their full extent.  Time usually generates the flexibility necessary for best performance, though time can also introduce deterioration in some lines.  In those cases, dependability becomes suspect and I generally lose patience in working with those lights.  And patience is an essential in working with lights!

Reliability is a big issue with lights: you want to have confidence that after you’ve put them up and turned them on they’ll work.  Few things are more frustrating than investing time and effort into a new string of lights and then having them fail.

Failure can come about for a number of reasons.  Power is always a factor.  If the source of power is compromised in any way, the lights will never shine.  Likewise, if the power does not reach every bulb in the string, only a very few of the lights will glow.  I’ve been intrigued by some claims which suggest that a line of lights will stay lit even if one or more burn out, but I haven’t had much success with those.  It’s been far more common that every light in a string dims and eventually goes out when other bulbs are not working.  Bulbs need to be checked and replaced when that happens.  It’s tedious and sometimes difficult work, especially if it’s cold outside or the project is a large one with lots of other lights that could be affected.  It seems as though when I start working with them I can never quite tell exactly where the problem lights are going to be; otherwise, I’d place them in a way so as to be more quickly accessible.  But lights are among the most fickle of things.  When I test them, they all seem to shine.  But in use, there are always one or two that are burned out.

My friends who never put up lights sometimes ask me why I do it.  They rightly point out that it’s time-consuming and often uncomfortable, not to mention the expense of energy.  I suppose they’re correct in those observations, if I think dispassionately about them.  But there are times, I’ve heard it said, when it’s best to think with one’s head but follow one’s heart, and that’s what has always encouraged me to work with lights.  I can even recall the first “energy crisis” in 1974, when neighborhoods went dark on winter evenings because of the fear of not enough capacity for everyone to be served.  Katie and I still placed a couple of strings  down our front railings, just to remind ourselves (and anyone else who might have been looking) that lights can be very special, even in the darkest times, maybe even more so with diverse colors.

I’ve got everything completed now, or at least for the time being.  I’m ready for the forces of nature, come what may.  Whether it be the cold winds that howl and tug at the light strings, the snows that cover everything until even the lights can’t be seen, or the slick, freezing rains  that are slippery enough to bring down the most stable display, nature will do its best to have its own way.  But for now, we have lights.  And we’ll work all winter to keep them lit….

With just a little different perspective, though, we might recall the basis of earlier Thanksgivings and what was celebrated in those times.  The very first one, I have read, was the effort of the earliest immigrants here to celebrate their very survival in those first years, with the Wampanoag Indigenous people, without whose assistance the great migration might have stumbled to a halt.  The first immigrants owed much to the first peoples; but in sharing, they all observed their common thanks to whatever Spirit occupied their hearts.

The first immigrants to this country stood upon the shoulders of Indigenous people who had been here for generations.  The Europeans were sustained by the Indigenous, learned from them, shared their food and means to survive the new environment.  The Native American culture must have seemed other-worldly to the newcomers, but then, the immigrants had deliberately chosen to seek out a new world. 

Those early celebrations contained two distinct components, the thanks and the giving.  They are pieces of our historical fabric that I’m trying hard to remember in these modern times, when the recognition of our needs for interdependence and stewardship often dims in the shadow of consumerism and self-gratification.  For some, shopping has become the new face of gratitude. Thanksgiving Day has become a day of thanks marked by over-consumption of food followed by conspicuous consumption of other “things.”  In response, I’ve tried to eat less and think more about my own giving.

Since the dawn of existence, we have lived on a finite planet.  That simply means that for every gift, every resource, every blessing that I have received, someone else did not receive it.  Wherever I may fall on the human continuum of prosperity, there will be those above me and those below.  I need to be thankful for where I am on that continuum, but I never wish to lose sight of those below.  I need to remember them because I can, in just the same fashion as I have needed and hoped for the support of those above of me.  It’s the way a real Thanksgiving is supposed to work, I think.  In giving, there is an implicit need for my thankfulness: thanks for being in a circumstance where I have the ability to give, for recognizing my capacity to do so, and for the self-reformation that comes in the giving.  It’s a perspective that is strangely comforting to me, and a view for which I am truly thankful.

There is comfort and confidence in the recognition that I am on this journey of life with many others, rather than facing its uncertainties by myself.  And I think that I am not alone in this….

I continue to regret the degree to which the western media has gone out of its way to portray the energy predicament as nothing more than a problem which can be easily addressed through a program of investment and being ever-more clever.

Instead I wish we could simply note that oil has no scalable substitutes, we support billions of people by growing food with it, and that every political, financial, portfolio, and institutional entity has the same underlying assumption; the next twenty years are going to be exactly like the past twenty years.

Somehow, magically, more oil will be there, it will be affordable, and nobody will have to make any adjustments to their main habits of spending more than they have, and consuming more next year than this year.  We can just keep borrowing more than we earn forever, and therefore current stock and bond markets are reasonably priced.

Martenson speaks from the perspective of a North American in sharing his sobering data, but as I continue to digest the implications of some very convincing realities about energy, the economy and the environment, my mind cannot help but move in the direction of Nicaragua.

As demand for fossil fuel resources continues to increase while supply continues to decrease, there is only one inevitable end in sight.  Denied access to this currently indispensable key to economic viability, national economies across the globe will begin to grind to a halt, starting with the smallest and least able to leverage their demands with oil-producing countries.

Nicaragua currently enjoys a “sweetheart” deal with the government of Venezuela for a great deal of its oil needs, an aftermath from the days of that country’s late president, Hugo Chavez.  But there is no known agreement or promise to assure that such an arrangement would or could survive oil supply impingement across the globe.  At least one likely scenario is that Venezuela would become forced out of its own economic necessity to back away from what was once a political strategy.  Along with other smaller and less influential economies, Nicaragua would appear to be vulnerable long before and deeper than larger nations, especially those which are capable of some level of self-production.

When that moment occurs in Nicaragua, available oil resources are not likely to be made available to rural cooperatives or other small producers. Big business in Managua will likely control the majority of supplies, as will be true in other societies.  The have’s will find a way to access needs and the have not’s will be the first strata of the population to feel the effects of true scarcity.  If the pain implicit in such a scenario would be uncomfortable for those of us in wealthy countries, try to imagine the conditions of the rural people in Nicaragua.  A difficult existence becomes, suddenly, untenable.

Within the U.S., faced with sudden and unexpected compromises in daily life, many of us will encounter a drastically altered existence, as well.  It’s something that most of us have never had to endure.  The new circumstances will create the need for conservation, prioritization, deferral, denial, self-sacrifice, and even sharing.  I wonder what happens if we discover that we aren’t good at those requirements.  Chris Martenson offers a compelling viewpoint and a question:

To a scientist like myself, the energy story is everything.  If you get that, you are armed with the information you need to understand the general direction of things.

The only thing we don’t know is what our respective cultures will choose to preserve as we are forced to jettison various unproductive habits and livelihoods. 

I suspect that it will be change which we will not handle with particular grace and patience.  In that instance, maybe we’d be well off studying our Nicaraguan counterparts.  After all, they’ve had to make do with almost nothing as a matter of course.  They’ve had a lot of practice and, ironically, they just might be pretty good at it….

Our own U.S. elections are now history (thankfully my phone will stop ringing quite so often) and in the latest edition the Republican party has attained a majority in both the House of Representatives and the Senate.  The cheers among the party faithful are loud and long, as their expectations for a country headed in the “right direction” have been fueled once again.    Now, they say, if we can just elect a Republican to the White House in two years, true peace and prosperity will finally be permitted to take hold in our country and we can all get on with the business of the pursuit of happiness.

I presume that we are to forget the anger and outright hostility directed toward the most recent Republican president as he left office a mere six years ago.  Time apparently heals all wounds, even the ones that bring us to our economic knees.

Of course, the outgoing Democrats have proven little during their time in majority, even with a party member in the White House.  They were able to pass a universal health insurance law which has become despised or mistrusted by over half the entire population, but they did pass the legislation.

Together, the Republican and Democrat legislators have forged a dysfunctional government in the U.S. that frustrates and sickens most of the electorate.  What passes for governance today is little more than ideological warfare between the parties, and the good of the nation falls way down the list of priorities for both parties.  Their number one objective is solely to be in authority, just as the Ortega family has practiced its own form of “power lust.”

In reality, perhaps it was ever thus.  Maybe what the people of Nicaragua and the U.S. experience today is pretty close to what their respective governments have provided over the years (or in the case of Nica, at least since the demise of the Somoza regime).  Our reliance upon our governments to significantly address the important issues of our day is misdirected, with little evidence to support the notion that any political party can effectively represent an ever-widening range of divergent interests and demands.

Well, if such is the case, where do we turn for hope in making our countries and our world better places?  At the risk of over- simplification, I suggest that the answer may lie within us.   We have the capacity to give in ways that governments cannot or will not.  A starving person may respect the power and reach of The World Food Program, but he treasures even more the loaf of bread that he has just received.  We all possess the power to strongly influence the niches of our lives, and in ways that we might never even recognize.  Waiting for and relying upon the vagaries of institutional wisdom is often an exercise in disappointment and injustice.   It is far more likely that the endowments that lie within each of us- compassion, generosity, healing and equity- are better suited for the task of remaking our world.  Taking the government and its bureaucracies out of the equation leaves… just people.  And I’d take my chances with each of them one-to-one any day.

I’m reminded of a cartoon which was given to me years ago, to help me put into perspective both the power and obligation I have as a steward of this world.  In it, two creatures of the forest are having a conversation about the global state of affairs.  One poses the idea that plagues us all from time to time.  “Sometimes I would like to ask God why He allows poverty, suffering and injustice when He could do something about it.”

The companion responds with a challenge.  “Well, why don’t you ask Him?”

“Because,” sighs the first, “I’m afraid that He would ask me the same question.”

I think it’s a bit the same when it comes to asking the question of our elected bodies.

We are perpetually torn in our earthly journey, it seems, between recognizing the wisdom and goodness of the human heart versus the easier pathway of allowing others to speak and act for us in ways that defy our better natures.  My own search for answers has circled me back to myself, and a growing inclination to self-sufficiency in responding to the cries of the night….

Dear Harold:

Seems like yesterday that we said good-bye.  In fact, it was one year ago today.  It’s hard for me to believe that Winds of Peace has another year of experiences since we last spoke.  I thought I’d give you an update on how things are going, what we’ve encountered and what might lie ahead.

You’d be disappointed to learn that our government continues to pretend that the economy is healthy following the great recession.  It has continued to drive deeper into debt, print money as a salve and create statistics that have almost no semblance of reality.  It really has been, as we used to observe, a case of “the emperor’s new clothes.”  It has made the management of Foundation funds an uncertain activity at best.  Sometimes markets can be anticipated in their movements; manipulations cannot.

Speaking of government, I’d have to report that Nicaragua continues to transition into a one-party autocracy that continues to tighten its grip on the country.   The democratic structures remain in place, but pretty much in form only.    It’s pretty hard for Nicaraguan people to obtain justice when everything is tied to party affiliation.  Lots of funding agencies from around the world have left, meaning that our presence has become even more important than before.

We’re finishing up a year that has been pretty good in terms of work with our partners.  The coffee cooperatives have faced their usual litany of difficulties, some weather-related, some systemically difficult and others due to organizational dysfunction.  (I’m afraid that we still encounter so-called “leaders” whose only desire for leadership is self-aggrandizement.)  We continue to seek partners who understand that only through full transparency and member participation- women as well as men-  will they achieve the “strength in numbers” that will best ensure their collective success.  Just as in the U.S., who would have guessed that opening the books and encouraging people to look out for their own well-being would be such a tough sell?

We’ve undertaken a great deal more research than even a few years ago.  Our collaboration with colleagues in Nicaragua has provided insight and direction with regard to our funding impacts, especially in our work with the rural cooperatives.  It feels more like we’re following a map to our destination, supplied with the realities of historical and cultural roadblocks that exist along the journey.  I know how much you always valued objective information in your decision-making, and we have more of that than ever before.  I wish you could read some of the website blog entries posted by our Nica sources!

Our partners have responded well in honoring the loan repayments they have promised, and our rate of default is still less than 2%, even after the recent years of coffee plant damage due to the coffee rust plague. That rate is still pretty amazing, given the lack of credit experience for most of our partners  and the uncertainty of peasant producer life.   And most of these organizations have, indeed, worked to implement a true cooperative spirit of engagement.  Do you remember the funding we authorized for translating The Great Game of Business into Spanish?  One partner coop not only received the book with interest, but even proudly referenced its application some months later when we met.  It’s having an impact.

You will certainly remember several years ago, just after Louise passed away, and you talked about wanting to do something significant in a new arena.  When we proposed a focus on improving the education opportunities, you endorsed the initiative immediately.  Well, just this year alone we have underwritten scholarships for candidates in the Master’s Degree in Teaching at the University of Central America (UCA) in Managua, funded teacher training and evaluation initiatives at IDEUCA,  supported vocational and technical training at AMCC and Fe y Alegria, sponsored the Nobel Peace Prize Forum and disbursed funds for the purchase of library books for elementary kids across Nicaragua.  I don’t know exactly how many students or teachers we have touched, but it’s in the thousands.  You wanted us to do something special in Louise’s name; I think we are doing that.

Our work with the Indigenous has been more difficult.  These original peoples continually struggle with a desire to maintain their traditions and culture, against a temptation to succumb to political party influences and money, as I mentioned above.  One of our longest Indigenous relationships is undergoing just such an upheaval currently.  It looks more and more as though we may part company for the time being, until and unless they can regain their footing on behalf of all of their people.  But you know all about making difficult decisions that nonetheless trouble the heart.

The Indigenous youth cooperative is still functioning with openness and a refreshing embrace of solidarity.  But  even the youth are being pressured by outside sources to reflect the party line in their activities.  Hopefully, their observations of party influences  have given them with a sort of negative modeling of how not to organize and interact.  I hope they can hold fast to the instinctive notions they have about collaboration.

I hope you’re still feeling patient with the development of the Synergy Center.  Mark and I continue to strategize and explore possibilities with a wide range of education institutions.  We’ve met with quite a few people from around the entire country to describe the opportunity and potential benefits for both a U.S. university and people in Nicaragua.  I think that many of our contacts intuitively sense the value in establishing cultural and educational bridges with Nicaraguan students and rural populations; it can be truly hands-on learning and life-changing interaction.  I’m having another discussion with several educators in the Twin Cities on December 4, so don’t count the idea out yet!

Well, I have to close for now and post this letter.  In signing off, I want to reaffirm that we take very seriously the development legacy that you and Louise entrusted to us, to promote  economic, social,
and environmental just relations for impoverished Nicaraguans. Your vision of a more just and peaceful existence  is still driving our actions and objectives.  Your passion for that still drives our own hearts.

But make no mistake about it, Harold, we miss your insights and wisdom every day.  I look forward to the next time we have the chance to sit and talk about human nature….

The gathering was in recognition of  The Minnesota Chapter of the ESOP Association.  The chapter is one of 22 chapters nationally, in the association which represents the 15,000 employee-owned companies across the country.    Minnesota has been a particularly strong chapter in the network and over its 25 years has been a strong contributor to the employee ownership movement.

Parties are normally fun and friendly occasions, I suppose, but this event contained a special air of zealotry.  The 75-80 folks who attended are among the most enthusiastic supporters of the shared capitalism idea, and they are never bashful about displaying such passion.  These were the people who have either led the chapter or been especially active in its work; they are champions of the cause and the effects of employee-ownership.  I had not seen many of these people for nearly ten years, since I retired from the employee-owned Foldcraft Co. in 2005, so the gathering had the feel of a grand reunion.

All of that context provided more than enough reason for a stellar evening, and indeed, the laughter and the hugs were genuine all through our time together.  But there was something else in the air.  There was a tangible feeling that this group of ownership advocates exuded an intensity of knowledge, some sort of awareness that other organizations don’t necessarily experience among their members.   That perception, merely felt by some but outwardly acknowledged by others, recognized the immense power of their shared sense of ownership .

Let me be clear on one major point: not every member of every employee-owned entity demonstrates a deeply-felt sense of commitment, empowerment and liberation.  But those who are able to envision their own development within an ownership mindset have often defied the odds in creating opportunities and experiences for themselves and their enterprises.

In fact, organizationally it’s true whether there is an actual ESOP component in place or not.  Entities that are managed under the terms of transparency, broad participation, engagement and a sense of shared outcomes perform better, feel better, last longer and ultimately have a more positive impact upon the societies in which they serve.   That requires the right people, the ones who share in a vision and who possess the energy to want to go there.  In the words of author Jim Collins in his book, Good to Great:

But I know this much: if we get the right people on the bus, the right people in the right seats, and the wrong people off the bus, then we’ll figure out how to take it someplace great.”

On Thursday evening, the ballroom was filled with the right people.  They have been and continue to be consistent champions of encouragement and commitment for everyday workers to access equity ownership.  They know that such an opportunity is actually a component of our holistic health.

It’s a universal need.  We want to claim a deep and rich ownership of our lives, and the places where we work constitute a major portion of our time.  We long to be integral parts of our labors rather than simply renting out our time and skills.  We need to know what is happening in our vocational lives, what is impacting us, what we can do about it, how we can do better.  Where we have come together in our work organizations, we sense that it could be possible to truly belong to an endeavor bigger than ourselves, in some cases maybe even more important than ourselves.

Some of the best-managed companies around the world have recognized this truth.  The most stable and productive governments have operated under principles of democratization, which are still the envy of people in non-democratic societies.   Employee-owned enterprises often “get it,” as reflected in annual workplace survey data.  And in addition to data, I suspect that we recognize intuitively that fully collaborative efforts will almost always outperform individual ones; “none of us is as smart as all of us.”

It’s a truth that Winds of Peace is working very hard to teach this reality to rural cooperatives in Nicaragua, as well.  It may run counter to the model the government uses.  It may fly in the face of the big company executives there who have copied the traditional corporate models from the U.S.  It even challenges the cultural and historical patterns that shape societal behaviors.  But it’s a lesson worth teaching, and one definitely worth learning.

It’s an advantage that we celebrated last week.  It doesn’t represent the easiest manner in which to organize and operate.  But it’s certainly the best….

The Chronicle of Philanthropy found that Americans who earned at least $200,000 gave nearly 5% less to charity in 2012 than in 2006.  Unlike their wealthier counterparts, low- and middle-income Americans — those who made less than $100,000 — gave 5% more in 2012 than in 2006, the Chronicle found. The poorest Americans — those who took home $25,000 or less — increased their giving by nearly 17%.  (The Chronicle analyzed Internal Revenue Service data from Americans who itemized deductions, including charitable gifts, in 2006 and 2012. It measured giving relative to adjusted gross income. The data included about 80 percent of individual donations to charity in those years.)

The statistics raise a good many questions, to be sure, but one that has recurred to me time and again is this: which came first?  Was it the achievement of significant wealth that was followed by a growing lack of empathy for those who are less-well-off , or has it somehow been a case of less caring individuals able to rise to the top of the economic continuum and demonstrating their relative lack of empathy from there?  In either case, it makes a statement about wealth disparity that is not very attractive.  Just what are the wealthy thinking about when they decrease their largesse at the very time when it has been needed the most?

One might surmise that a decrease in giving is simply a reflection of an economic downturn that pinched everyone.  Less income generates less giving.  But there are a couple of flaws in that rationale.  First, the wealthiest citizens were relatively unaffected by the gyrations of the 2008 collapse; their wealth is placed in instruments that are comparatively insulated from disaster.  Second, that rationale is blunted by the fact that middle and lower-income citizens were giving more during the same period.  In any case, it seems to be true that the hungrier among us were the most willing to share, while the best-fed among us tended to keep their leftovers for themselves.

Another explanation might be that the wealthiest in the economy are the ones who can best access resources for a longer-term outlook as to where the economy seems to be headed.  If their outlooks suggested that the collapse was likely to be a longish interlude, they were in the positions to pull back on their charitable giving with foresights born of strategy and planning.  That protocol is much more likely to result in a detached calculation for self-preservation, rather than any emotional response to fellow journeymen who are suddenly in need.  In any case, it seems to be true that the most emotional or responsive among us were the most willing to recognize the stewardship we owe to one another, while the coolest among us tended to look away.

I suppose a third analysis might suggest that, well, this is oftentimes how the wealthy became wealthy, by keeping a focus on their resources to maintain and grow them, to avoid distractions and place their assets in investments with tangible returns.  Maybe so.  In that line of thinking, I suppose that the middle and low-income givers would simply be considered not very smart.  After all, the return on many charitable gifts is hardly discernible.  No wonder these folks occupy the lower rungs of the economic ladder.  By all prudent measures, it really makes no sense to increase one’s sharing at a time of economic depths.  And yet, the last affluent among us have done just that.  Why?

There are at least two types of charitable giving.  There is giving which is intended to strengthen the social support for those who find themselves in desperate circumstances, like when we send gifts to the Red Cross for disaster relief.  There’s also giving which is institutional in its objectives, like when we send gifts to universities, hospitals or to cultural institutions.    The less affluent donor base tends to support the former group; the wealthier donors tend to patronize  the latter.  When economic stresses come to bear on the charitable habits of donors, there is far less hesitation and pain in withdrawing support for an institution than for cutting off human aid; funding a new wing of a building can wait, while hungry children cannot.

There are also at least two reasons for charitable giving.   Some may give to further a cause, an ideal or the work of an institution in whom they believe strongly.  Such philanthropy has driven untold developments in individual health and well-being through the centuries.  Others might give from a posture which suggests that, at some level, we are responsible for one another to whatever extent politics, law and geography permit,  and that a voluntary “redistribution of wealth” is not only a good thing, but an essential component of a society’s health and well-being.  As well as its character.

I don’t pretend to know why philanthropy among the wealthiest people has declined in recent years, especially since we are supposedly  well into a recovery mode.  I can only make a guess as to why less affluent members of our society have increased their giving during that same timeframe.  But there is something important and meaningful in the statistics, whatever that lesson may be.  For such a tiny story on the evening news, it surely contains enormous questions about priorities, conscience and motives, enough to make me stop and examine my own sense of stewardship….

I have reproduced reflections from their newsletters in the past, and I do so here with an analysis for your consideration which gets straight to the heart of a major U.S./Central American policy issue, the immigration of Central American children.

There are many issues around the response of the government of the United States and many of its people regarding the children crossing the border: immigrants vs. refugees, corrupt Central American governments (and yes they are still propped up by the U.S. government as they have been for 100 years), drug trafficking, gangs, Democrats vs. Republicans.  

So many issues bandied about and yet- in reality- the only issue that exists is: do we welcome the stranger?  The child?  Or do we not?  That’s it.  Simple.  Clean.  Do we or do we not?

People frequently ask us why we like living in Nicaragua.  Well, this is one reason: Nicaragua DOES welcome refugees.  Let’s face it, people fleeing their poor countries have to be mighty desperate to come to Nicaragua, the second poorest country in the Western Hemisphere.  But they do come and they are coming and Nicaragua, more than any other Central American country, affords them more access to their social safety nets- such as they are.

What does that say when the second poorest nation is receiving refugees while the richest is turning children away?  What does that say about the soul of the richest nation?

The leaders of the Nicaraguan government, who are not perfect by any means, understand what it means to live under dictators, death squads, terror and horror, and they translate that understanding into action by welcoming others who are living it now.  

Why would you send your children on such a dangerous journey with strangers?  Mine are grown, and the only reason I would send them thousands of miles away, riding on top of trains, would be if I thought…no, if I KNEW…they would die if they stayed.  Do the people in the States who debate this “crisis” and advocate deporting the children really believe in their hearts that Central American families love their children less than they love their own?

Frankly, the only actual crises are the crises in the nations from which the children come… not in the U.S.

In Honduras, the city of San Pedro Sula has more murders per capita than any other place in Honduras, which has more murders per capita than any other country in the world.  During July alone, in this small country, 87 teens and children were murdered, some tortured, and the vast majority of the culprits were not found.  

And this is where the first nine children were deported to… San Pedro Sula.  Depending on accounts, 5 or 7 of the nine were killed soon after landing.  Killed.  We, the U.S., sent children back to be murdered.  Does this mean that the deportation will stop?  No, it does not.

Choosing whether or not to welcome these refugees is easy.  Choosing whether or not to deport these children to die is simple.  This is not a complicated issue… we are not in muddy water here, folks… it is a clean issue, because there is really and truly only one right place to stand… with the kids… we need to stand with the kids.

Who are the strangers we encounter?  And what should we do with the stranger….?

The book is entitled, Time to Listen: Hearing People on the Receiving End of International Aid, by Mary B. Anderson, Dayna Brown and Isabella Jean.  Our colleague in Nicaragua, Rene Mendoza, sent the link to the book only with the comment that it was “very interesting.”  But upon a thorough reading of the research done by the authors- interviewing over 6,000 recipients of funding around the world- I found the book to be a completely revealing look at the world of international philanthropy.

While not exactly a blueprint for international aid providers, it nonetheless lays open some of the most important and limiting facets of international project funding, told honestly from the voices of those who are intended to benefit.  For those beneficiaries, the book served as an opportunity to express the frustrations and suspicions experienced by the very people we seek to assist.  For the readers who are in the funding community, the book is a valuable checklist of pitfalls to avoid and strengths to cultivate.

In the spirit of full disclosure, I have to admit that a majority of the observations in the book are directly in line with the experiences and conclusions of WPF over the past 30 years.  Naturally, any treatise that affirms one’s own world views is likely to be embraced.  But with the observations coming from the recipients themselves, my inclination is to ascribe great credibility to these perspectives, whether the views are in concert with our own or not.  But in this case, they align almost perfectly.  I’m pleased to now have an independent, objective source of affirmation for the very philosophies and protocols that guide the work of WPF, voices coming from the very heart of the field.

For the philanthropic industry, as well as for those not necessarily associated with international aid, the conclusions offered provide a stark picture of the “business of giving,” and why the results from significant philanthropy are often much less than expected.  If you are simply a charitable donor, the book offers help in terms of what to look for in organizations which you might wish to support.   If you are affiliated with any organizational charitable activity- and especially on an international basis- then I strongly recommend this book for your careful reading.  This is how we often look to the people we most want to help.

This research was published in 2012, after almost six years of listening to recipients and distilling their observations.  It is a simple format, made up of the real-life assessments of poor people who have lived the experience, and the authors’ synthesis of what improvements might look like.  One might choose to ignore the opportunity to improve the efficacy of aid delivery, but there is no denying the reality of so many voices….

We’ve all experienced similar circumstances in our lives, where the plain truth is clouded by distorted words and intentions meant to distract us from reality.  For instance, political advertisements which have little regard for accuracy bash the truth every day during this current political season.  Corporations are famous for speaking in euphemisms which are meant to justify the unjustifiable.   Some attorneys make their careers on the basis of clever turns of phrase which are designed to deflect light and reality.

I don’t know why I expect anything different in the non-profit world, but I do.  I somehow became possessed of the notion that amidst all of the self-serving and self-interest in society at-large, the philanthropic community and its service providers might have carved out a niche wherein the desire to do some good would outweigh any other motivations, that here is where conscience would finally catch up with career.  But not really.

I received a marketing piece in the mail this week that caught my attention, not due to its intended message, but because the content so blatantly refuted reality.  The glossy, multi-page brochure was sent by a large, well-known firm which invests funds for foundations. The materials include a 10-page essay by the CEO of the company, whose fundamental message is that the growing income disparity in this country is not really conclusive and that, even if its is really that bad, hopefully the voices in pain won’t be loud enough to bring about any meaningful policy reform.   He goes on to hope that the voices “agitating for much of the change” will go away or prove to be “immaterial.”

The second item in this truth and enlightenment package is a slick, four-page analysis by the firm’s director of investment strategy.  His message is shorter, but no less obfuscating of the truth than that of his boss.  He cites five telltale signs that a bull investment market might be coming to an end and then, one by one, explains why no such evidence exists today.  Among those telltale signs, he cites the risk of monetary tightening, and explains away our current monetary reality with these words: “It may not feel like it, but the economy has been normalizing.”  I found this characterization of our economic status boldly self-contradictory.  If the economy is normalizing, I would expect that the one true litmus test would be that people are, in fact,  beginning to feel less discomfort, fewer threats to their economic well-being, less inequality.  That is not how the majority feels about their current, personal, economic standing.  A normalizing economy ought to bring relief.  But this executive brushes over the reality of what most people are experiencing and says it isn’t true, that things really are getting back to normal.

Both pieces are replete with the obligatory graphs, charts and statistics to back up their claims.  They describe the finery of the garments, the elegance of the fit and an implication that anyone who cannot see the wisdom in their words must be “unusually stupid,” in the words of the fable.  I find the materials even more evocative of the emperor story as I look at the photographs of these two leaders in their crossed-arms, regal poses of trustworthiness.

It is true that this firm (and its master tailors) is only a peripheral provider to the philanthropic community.  Perhaps it is overreaching for this reflection to condemn an entire industry on the basis of a representation of one firm, regardless of how large and influential it may be.  But if the philanthropic community truly cares about its works, its impacts and its reputations, then perhaps integrity warrants a closer examination of its bedfellows.  After all, we are known by the company(ies) we keep.

Saying something does not make it so.  Like the emperor, we may not want to recognize the truth of having been fooled.  But it’s better than fooling ourselves….

“It is a tale, told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.”                                                                                                                     –Macbeth

The proposals received by funders like WPF are meant to encompass both the heart and soul of the organizations seeking favor.  The narratives usually include historical recounting of how the organizations grew into existence, the hardships and challenges faced, the holistic benefits that they seek to offer their beneficiaries and the budgetary plans to make all of that magic happen.  Sometimes, it’s even all true.  Oftentimes, it constitutes little more than a picture of what the leaders would like it to be or, even worse, merely what they believe the funder would like to hear.

It’s a bit of a game.  The requestor tries to articulate the words and ideas that will resonate with the funder, and over the years has likely become quite savvy about what stories seem to “work.”  Meanwhile, the funder attempts to discern exactly what is being proposed within the words and interviews, remaining steadfast with its assistance objectives and requirements while trying to be practical about what rural peasants are capable of accomplishing.  A fair amount of cat-and-mouse likely drains energy from both sides.  But sometimes a balance is reached and a partnership is formed, for better or for worse.  The organization gains access to credit or grant funds, and the funder either gets repaid or receives a report about results.  It all happens under the term “development,” and sometimes good results are created.

It’s the same kind of balance that makes for successful business organizations.  The very best corporations create a balance between executive decision-making and the serious consideration of perspectives from the rest of the organization.  Too little of it results in an organization that feels little loyalty or ownership; too much of it creates delays and dysfunction for lack of agility.  Organizational boards of directors face the same balancing act of knowing how far to reach into the minutiae of operations versus watching the entity from a much higher level.  Such balance constitutes the art of organizational governance.

Non-profits have to follow the same laws of balance in their own pursuits of success.  Knowing when to press and when to accept, differentiating personal perspectives from essential truths, knowing how to rely upon experience and wisdom rather than claiming it, wielding authority instead of serving through it; these are critical hallmarks of enduring organizations of substance.

Economic theories, sociological precepts, historical milieu and political postures notwithstanding, progress comes down to the motives and the integrity of individuals.  Naturally, each has been shaped by the influences of those external factors.  But in the end, success or failure is a result of our willingness to maintain balance….

If his comments are all too true, my friend has made observation of a curious truth.  Why wouldn’t the poor matter to the rest of us?  After all, The United Nations Food and Agriculture Organization estimates that of the 7.1 billion people in the world, one in eight were suffering from chronic undernourishment in 2010-2012.  (That’s about 870 million human beings, so it’s not an easy number of people to simply forget about.)  And, we humans can be an empathetic lot, caring deeply for our own families, expressing our support and concerns via social media for victims of natural disasters, donating to an enormous array of charitable causes, even mourning the loss of our beloved family pets when they have aged and gone.  So why do the poor continue to pose such a difficult and unmet challenge, especially when statistics bear out the fact that sufficient resources exist (at least today) such that poverty need not be?

The reasons are likely complex and daunting to consider.  But in my reflections about “throw-away” people, I surfaced some thoughts which, not necessarily complex or daunting at all, might at least offer some insights as to why we allow this pestilence of degradation, suffering and unnecessary need to persist.  I’ll admit up front that my observations have a great deal less to do with economics and external forces than they do with the internal workings of our hearts and emotions.

For starters, maybe we simply suffer from the inexperience of having walked in the shoes of the poor.  Nearly any new perspective becomes easier to understand and accept when we have the advantage of personal experience.  And reality is that most of us have never known real poverty.  It’s very hard for us to truly recognize the urgency and the desperation of hunger, homelessness, and habitual want.  If we cannot know the depths of panic and hurt, those two accompanists of poverty, then it is far less likely that we will know the need to respond.

Sometimes, we sense that the problem of the poor is too immense to solve, that the forces which converge to create the circumstances of the poor have long historical, political and social roots that are beyond our full comprehension.  And without that previously-mentioned personal experience on which to base our opinion, we regard the plague of poverty as one of those existential realities that has no beginning and no end.  In essence, it’s easier for us to contemplate ongoing poverty for millions of people than it is to create a solution.  (A curious reaction, in an age where curatives for biological viruses receive copious funding and attention.)

Then, as intensely curious as we are to solve the inscrutable puzzles of our earthly past, the genesis of the cosmos and the intricacies of sub-atomic particulates, we are nonetheless troubled by problems that seem irreconcilable.  Such is the fate of “the problem of the poor.”  We may intuitively know that it is wrong for human beings to be in want of life-sustaining, basic necessities.  But the fact that not all human beings have been granted those basics makes us uneasy, leads us to speculate about what such victims might have done to warrant their condition, and allows us to conclude that the only possible reconciliation of their circumstance is that they somehow have deserved it.  Or that we, on the other hand, somehow have not deserved it.  That’s an answer which fits our need for a cause-and-effect logic and our own sense of innocence.

The poor make us very uncomfortable.  They represent the lowest economic status to which any of us might fall.  They present a picture of what any of us could become, of who we might be but for the vagaries of chance.  It’s a frightening look, one that is so despairing and yet so possible that we cannot bear to see.  Like turning our heads away during the most frightening scene of a horror film, we must escape.  That which we choose not to see cannot infect our consciousness or our memories.  And so we do what we believe will keep us safe, deny the existence of what is before us.

Finally, the denial of poverty in our lives- insofar as it impacts us– is merely the expression that it is not our problem.  Whether we are a compassionate people or not, we can too easily defer the issue of the poor by touting our own good fortunes in the face of the poor, by relegating the problem to the poor alone.  It is far easier to conjure a sense of compassion in the fantasies of literature, as in Dickens’ “A Christmas Carol” than in our real lives.  We can see the tragedy of an Ebeneezer Scrooge as he coldly turns his back on what he deems “the surplus population” of the poor at Christmas; it is much more difficult to recognize our own indifferences to a matter which impacts all of us, whether we choose to recognize it or not.

The calendar reminds us that we’re approaching Fall once again, when students of all ages return to their academic lives.  High school and college campuses are coming to life.  As I overhear the shouts of energy today on the campus behind my home, I wonder about what they are about to learn.   I know that upcoming classes will explore economic theories, social constructs and geopolitical analyses relating to our world.  I can only hope that there will be as much emphasis on the causes of continued poverty that reside within each of us.  For if those who have the capacity and the resources to address the disgrace of poverty do not do so, then we are all subject to a re-thinking about who truly constitutes the surplus population….

In the course of our work, funds are periodically transferred from a bank here in the U.S. to whatever banks our partners have indicated to us in their project requests.  When a project has been approved for a disbursement, a wire transfer is executed to the recipient bank.  At some time after the transaction has been completed, the bank’s central office initiates a follow-up call to WPF for the purpose of verifying both the intent and the details of the transfer.  Only then can the wire be sent to the Nicaraguan bank for receipt.  Technically, that’s the point at which WPF can alert the partner that the funding is on its way.  The process works pretty well, most of the time.  But then, there’s the matter of time.

Several weeks ago, a transfer confirmation could not be made on a Friday afternoon because I used a telephone number which was unfamiliar to the bank.  Despite having all of the security codes and passwords and identifications in order, I was not identifiable.  In the time that it took to authorize the number, the bank was closed for the week and the transfer was delayed until the following Monday.   Two days for a U.S. banker only constitutes a weekend; for a Nicaraguan farmer, it could mean the difference between a crop and a loss.

Time, in the more recent case, had to do with the logistical process that most of our partners must follow in order to access the funds which have been sent.  The banks are primarily located in Managua, while most of our partners reside in the more remote sections of the country.  In order to claim the transferred funds, partners must (most likely) board a bus in the early morning hours, ride for hours (shoulder-to-shoulder with endless stops), wend their way through the city to the bank in question, present their identification documents, and then turn around to take the same trip again in reverse.  That is, if time allows.  By this time, the day may be quite late, indeed, and a traveler from the far north may require a night’s stay in the capitol city before the journey home.  All in all, one  or two days’ time is required for the relatively simple task of making a bank withdrawal.

That reality, as harsh as it is, does not suggest that banks in the U.S. have any  influence over the inconvenience; rural peasants just happen to live far away from centers of commerce.  However, in a transfer made this week, I encountered an ignorance of time which dramatically caught my attention.

After a full 24 hours had elapsed since the completion of a wire transfer, I received a message from the U.S. bank, seeking “more information” about the wire.  After a couple of “telephone tag” misses of each other, the bank rep and I finally connected.  He had some fairly straightforward questions needing clarification and our exchange probably lasted only five minutes.  But he opened the door to further conversation by asking whether I had any other concerns or questions to pose since we were on the line.

I seized the opportunity to express my concerns about delays in wire transfers, that his call indicated to me that the wire had not yet been sent , even though the wire confirmation had been completed the previous day.  Given the additional time requirement for sending and receiving transfers, I could easily envision our partner waiting at his bank for a transfer that had not arrived.  I attempted to paint a picture for the bank employee, of peasants interrupting their lives for a day or two just to access these funds.  I stressed the importance of funding to these very rural Nicaraguans, and how even a slight delay might affect their ability to successfully produce their crops.  I described the difficulty which a peasant would encounter if required to stay overnight in a major city without plans to do so.  I thought that I created a fair portrayal of the extreme inconvenience and/or discomfort that could be incurred through a wire transfer delay.  And I hoped for an empathetic understanding of the importance of timeliness.

What I received in return was something less than that.  Beyond a cursory, “uh-huh,” the value of a Nicarguan farmer’s time seemed to carry little importance to the administrator of bank protocol.  I didn’t even receive a promise for the matter to be checked out.  It seems as though our understanding and appreciation for the value of time is still filtered through a singularly North American filter, even in a so-called global economy.

We may never experience a delayed wire transfer ever again.  I may never have to call from the “forbidden” phone ever again (though cell phones have been known to go down).  Claimants may never be required to withstand the ignominy and embarrassment of arriving at a bank and claiming funds that do not yet exist.  But a pronounced lack of urgency, vision and empathy has underscored the vast differences that sometimes exist between our two time zones….

Of course, those who think about innovation begin from relatively different perspectives; one person’s innovation is another’s past practice.  During the workshop, for instance, the participants separated into smaller groups for more personal discussions.  My group was assigned the task of identifying one or two specific innovations that would serve their cooperatives going forward, an idea or two which might elevate the cooperatives above their past performances, build competitive advantage in the marketplace, contribute something creatively tangible that would constitute a significant break with past protocols.  Our group members represented a wide range of creativity.

New process suggestions surfaced almost faster than they could be recorded.  One coop member spoke of identifying a new contact for the market being served.  Another related a strategy very specific to the non-profit nature of his organization.  Someone else was “selling” the group on an outcome which seemed to focus primarily on satisfying the assignment at hand.  Each concept had value in its own right; ideas always possess intrinsic worth even if they hold limited practical salience.  But the drift of the discussion felt as though the participants were responding only from the places one might expect; they spoke from the confines of their respective experiences, rather than from a broader, more far-reaching point of view.  Therein lies the constraint that they, and most of us, stumble over whenever seeking new horizons.  Innovation visits most often when we’re out of our “comfort zones,” and yet that is where most of our past experiences occurred.

Innovation may, in fact, strike like a bolt of lightning.  An idea can materialize at the least likely moment and yet carry with it impact of unimaginable proportions.  But who knows what prompts such fortunate instants and, indeed, how would any of us ever plan for purely lucky moments?  They are always the exception rather than the rule.  To wait for innovation to strike is akin to playing the lottery: it could happen, but probably not.

Rather, cultivating innovation is a learned habit, a way of thinking, an exercise that stretches an imagination and lifts a vision through the discipline of hard effort.  Yes, there are methodologies specifically designed to unleash innovative solutions; competitive organizations around the world have relied upon such activities for years.  But like any exercise done well, the exertions require persistence, patience and the practices which are most likely to produce something bold and new.   And for starters, would-be practitioners have to allow themselves the courage and the spaces to act unconventionally. Those requisites seemed to be just too heavy to introduce to our little workshop conversation, and especially from a gringo.  And in any case, the bravery has to come from somewhere within each of them, not from an outside presence.

I don’t pretend to recognize all of the obstacles in Nicaraguan life that might be at work to prevent such transformational possibilities, be they cultural, historical, political or social.  I certainly cannot fault my workshop group-mates for reciting the small improvements of their daily work as examples of dynamic transformation.  On this topic, Winds of Peace can only continue to sponsor workshop and training opportunities that invite “innovating innovations.”  When the courageous moment arrives, something learned in such gatherings can take root and innovation can grow.  In bringing rural producers together to speak with one another and share their issues, we encourage our partners to “lift the veil” for themselves in discovering the full breadth of their own visions and possibilities.

Come to think of it, that’s not a bad objective for each of us, no matter how comfortable our stations in life….

It’s an area that has received perhaps more than its share of development projects and funding; the colonial flavor of Leon ensures a strong presence of international aid.  We visited with area farmers, men and women both, who have participated in  a series of social development activities aimed at strengthening their abilities in claiming their rights, voicing their needs and expectations to leaders, understanding their collective assets and systematically solving their own problems.

The process has been facilitated by the social workers and technicians at PRODESSA, a longstanding partner with WPF and an organization which has brought its extensive experience and deep knowledge of community development to this western region of the country.  In part, they are here specifically because of that extensive development history, a litany of aid which has resulted in far less success than perhaps it should have.  (PRODESSA relates the story of how this new audience wondered whether they might receive money for attending the meetings that were designed to assist them.)  Our morning was spent with them, learning about their approaches and results at Chacra seca.  The afternoon was spent interacting with the participants themselves.  Both sessions energized me, from the process-oriented methodology of PRODESSA to the real-life experiences of the participants themselves.  And at the end of the day I was left with a somewhat curious observation about how men and women can be so different in the course of transformation.

In the first part of the afternoon, we were given the opportunity to meet with the women from the community, to hear about their interactions with PRODESSA, what they had learned and how it may have impacted their lives thus far.  Their comments sounded nothing short of transformational:

“We’re now not afraid to go anywhere.”                                                                “Fear has been left behind.”                                                                                        “I have felt fulfilled.  I am a person of age and yet I have learned….”        “From unity has come strength.”                                                                               “There’s a path to follow.  We’ve received a grain of sand on which to  build.”

The women repeatedly cited personal, substantive changes in their lives and outlooks, brought about through sessions of training and introspection, reflection and identification of the strengths and assets that collectively they hold.  They have begun to see themselves in a completely new light, one which affirms their wisdom and potential.

Following our session with the women, the men of Chacra seca joined us in discussion of the impacts that they have felt from their work with PRODESSA.  As in the session with the women, the forum was an open one, without prompt or guide from anyone.  We sat in the same circle as with the women and essentially asked for responses to the same questions: what was it like to work with PRODESSA, what had they learned and what kind of impacts had been experienced thus far.  Their comments were nothing short of, well, short:

“We now have chia.”                                                                                              “Our health care is much improved.”                                                        “There is a better poison.”                                                                                 “Our roads are so much better.”                                                                                 “They have helped us with the plantain difficulties.”

For the men, what PRODESSA brought to the table was tangible and technical.  They may have valued discussions and ideas about self-sufficiency in problem-solving, but the real importance to them resided in the very concrete learning which they encountered, wherein specific techniques, products and practices became identified and could be used immediately.  The men tended to see the solutions to various problems in a new light, rather than sensing change within themselves.  The contrast of their reactions with the women’s was palpable.

That’s not to suggest that one group’s outcome was better than the other’s.  Indeed, one might argue that one solid answer to a problem is worth many times the value of increased self-esteem or potential problem-solving capacity.  The two perspectives were simply different and for the right reasons.  While women certainly understand and value the practicality of a specific improvement as well as the men, they also occupy a far different niche in the social structure than their male counterparts.  They recognize the need to cultivate their collective voice, to stretch their independence and rise to the same social standing and value as their men, issues which the men generally don’t even need to think about.

The beauty and the strength of the PRODESSA methodology is that it meets its audience in whatever strata they are in.  It addresses the needs of people based upon whatever those specific needs may be, not according to a formula or a mere assumption of what might be helpful.  It allows its participants to gain what they require based upon their own experiences and wisdom, and it’s why PRODESSA has been so successful in the territories served.  It has lifted both the women and the men of Chacra seca, even when they have come to their transformations from very different planets….

When I first received it and began wearing it, this Christmas gift from my children generated more than occasional teasing from friends and colleagues, who seemed to be of the mindset that somehow “real men” didn’t wear bracelets.  In fact, once when a young Mexican boy was admiring the thing, a colleague playfully pulled the boy away, saying that he shouldn’t be looking at “girlie things.”  (Twenty years ago, attitudes about many things were quite different from the present, as evidenced by the endless variety of bracelets, jewelry and other adornments worn by men of all ages and stations today.)  These days, I’m more inclined to be asked where I found such a piece.

Of course, the bracelet is special to me because it was gifted from my kids, and at a time when they still carried around with them an air of innocence and joy.  But it also carries a legend, this bracelet.  Its circular shape represents the earth, the wholeness of the place where we live.  But because the earth is broken- with conflicts and environmental degradation and wildly disparate conditions of life- the circle of the bracelet is not complete.  There are pieces missing.

The four brass segments on the circle represent my kids.  They each have a special place in the world, as do all children, and their duty is to help the earth back to a state of wholeness, to fill in the missing places as best they can, along with every other member of the human race.  The earth will not be whole and healthy until the circle is complete.  They and all of us have our own parts to play in the restoration, and each solitary piece is essential to the integrity and strength of the whole.  It’s a notion of both hope and healthy interdependence.

Today there are sadly more missing pieces to this puzzle of life that we lead.  Following a celebratory Saturday night in Managua, where thousands of people joyfully remembered the overthrow of the Somoza dictatorship 35 years ago, hundreds of peasants from the countryside boarded buses for the long and uncomfortable ride back home.  Along the way, two buses were attacked by anti-Sandinista sympathizers.  Gunfire was sprayed at the buses, and five people died.  There was no confrontation.  There were no demands made.  Simply bullets unleashed at innocent peasantry, resulting in the deaths of parents and children who had only sought to remember an important and exciting time in the life of Nicaragua.  There are precious few things to celebrate for many in this country; a populist and public commemoration should not have been too much for them to experience without tragedy.  As a result, there are now 5 new pieces missing from the completion of the circle that is represented by the bracelet.  Among them, perhaps the one who would develop the medicinal properties of a rural Nicaraguan plant that would lead to the cure for prostate cancer.

Meanwhile, other senseless tragedies were being played out on far more “newsworthy” stages.  A commercial airliner from The Netherlands and bound for Kuala Lampur was shot down by anti-Ukraine rebels, with 298 souls lost, and many still not found as of this writing.  Among the perished, several would-be participants at an upcoming AIDS conference who might well have posed the solution to the AIDS epidemic facing our world.  And so still more spaces will not be filled along the lines of the bracelet.

And in the Middle East, hundreds of Palestinian and Israeli lives- hundreds of them children- have been lost to the incessant bombing precipitated by the terrors generated by both sides of the insanity.  Among the dead, perhaps, were the two young women who would have devised the plan of Middle East peace which eventually would have been accepted by all parties.  And the spaces in the bracelet grow wider still.

The week has been a grim one, both in terms of the sheer number of lives lost and families rent apart in anguish, but also in consideration of those pieces of the worldly puzzle that are now lost forever.  As we destroy each other with bombs and bullets, we diminish the planet and its finite capacities to discover the answers to our dilemmas.  It is still true that often we do not fully understand or appreciate what we have within our grasp, until it is gone.

I love the bracelet for its symbolism of my children and their importance to this earthly community.  They are universal children, whether I understood that at the time of their birth or not.  But their solid presence on that broken circle at my wrist also reminds me that they- and each of us- possess a unique and important place in this complex place called earth….

Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.                     -Albert Einstein

Change in the effectiveness of development work in Nicaragua will occur as the result of change in its development practitioners.      -Steve Sheppard

Next week’s workshop with rural Nicaraguans will focus heavily on the notion of change: its necessity, its difficulty, its potential and its universality.  Winds of Peace has been invited to make a presentation on the topic based on our own organizational perspective and from the viewpoint of change experienced in a more corporate setting in the U.S.

We’re always eager to share ideas with our Nicaraguan partners when asked.  But in preparing remarks for this session, I found myself perplexed about exactly how to speak with this group of producers, cooperative leaders, second-tier coop organizations and a few other funders.  It’s a great audience for addressing the issues found in the production chain of coffee or other agriculture.  But it seems like the wrong audience for addressing the topic of change in Nicaraguan development efforts.  That audience would best be comprised of international funders, because that’s where the majority of development troubles lie.  The change exhibited there has been loose and not particularly effective.

Let me acknowledge a couple of important facts.  First, as I have said here previously, there are a great many organizations from the U.S. and all over the world which have done great work in making a difference in the lives of the poor.  The intentions of their work are right-minded and their sincerity is unequivocal.  Second, the WPF perspective offered here is not simply an impression or feeling, but rather based upon 30 years of both experience and research in the Nicaraguan field; there is substantial study to support these views.

WPF does not claim to corner the market on development expertise.  We have been involved in Nicaraguan development long enough, however, to know that the most substantive changes which would bring about sustainable development within Nicaragua are those that can only be made by the funders themselves.  And until funders as a group embrace an alternative means of relating to their Nicaraguan partners, development will not accelerate to any meaningful degree beyond its current snail’s pace.

That alternative relationship implies a close and local accompaniment by the funder, knowing the details of the organization being funded, their realities, their obstacles, whatever temptations toward dysfunction they may exhibit, and the methodologies needed to help strengthen the cooperative or association toward healthy collectivism.  Tolerance of “gatekeepers,” autocratic leadership or the presence of self-serving figureheads may ensure the ultimate repayment of a loan, but does not establish a foundation for long-term economic life.  In such cases, the real objective of the lender is the recovery of the funds rather than any development that has occurred.

If the responsibility for development change is in the hands of the funders even more than the recipients, then by extension a significant role is also in the hands of the everyday contributors who make it possible for publicly-funded organizations to operate in the first place.  Neither the amount of money provided by such groups nor the amount they have successfully recovered in their lending programs provide a very reliable barometer of their effectiveness.  It’s the responsibility of donors to truly understand how their contributions are impacting the end users; otherwise, it can be like throwing clear liquid on a flame and hoping that it isn’t gasoline.   It turns out that it’s hard work making effective development investments, but the effort is worth the result to those who seek to improve their circumstances.

Rural Nicaraguans, whether educated or not, are quite perceptive when it comes to the process of requesting funding.  After all, many have had a great deal of experience in it.  And what they have come to learn is that very often donors are focused on the placement and retrieval of their capital, and not so much on the outcomes that result.  Essentially, loan recipients are savvy enough to recognize what they need to say and do in order to achieve funding.  If the primary objective is simply repayment of funds, then that is what will be their priority, as opposed to anything longer-term or more foundational in value.  Repayment of a loan is a good and important thing, but by itself it does not build a future.

All things considered, I guess I’d rather be addressing an audience of funders next week, rather than a group of production chain actors.  While it’s true that change in the expectations of lenders can be driven by the people they serve, the real impetus for substantive strengthening of economic development will come from the lenders tightening their process, or change will be slow to come at all….

In the coming weeks I’ll be headed back to Nicaragua for a mid-summer visit with rural partners, colleagues and a changing culture.  The sources of transformations in Nicaraguan society are many, of course, just as they are in the U.S. and virtually every other place in the world that has access to news, the Internet and cell phone technology.  Our nations are no longer isolated places where lifestyles and mores can exist separate from each other, if indeed they ever were.

Change can be either something that happens to us or something that we create with deliberate intent.  The topic of the workshop that we will attend (along with some fifty small growers, cooperative members, second-tier coop leaders, lenders, and others in the chain of agricultural production) will focus on the power in creating and harnessing change in productive ways.  By having all of the actors in the chain of production participate in the two-day session, their interdependence becomes far more evident than if the attendance consisted of one group only.  Interdependence and collaborative work are essential components to sustainable development in Nicaragua or anywhere.

Winds of Peace has been asked to contribute some thoughts on the topic of change within the context of that interdependence.  We have some thirty years of our own history of change and a wealth of experiences encountered during that time.  Those observations may prove to be worthy of discussion and application for our Nicaraguan audience. But I’ve wanted to envision something else to share, a view which, of its own nature, might generate an entirely different way of imagining our circumstances and relationships, establishing our priorities and values, beholding our very lives.  I’ve been frustrated in identifying that seedling of potentially transformative perspective until now.

I have been reading a book authored by Dr. Carl Sagan entitled, Pale Blue Dot.  It’s an exciting and deeply imaginative work by arguably the most popular and well-known astronomer and astrophysicist of recent generations; indeed, Sagan’s mixture of science and imagination are the ingredients of his notoriety.  Imbedded within this book about our tiny planet- the “pale blue dot-” is a passage that has given me significant pause as I think about the scope and content of change over my own short existence on this earth:

[Seen from about 6 billion kilometers (3.7 billion miles, 40 astronomical units), Earth appears as a tiny dot (the blueish-white speck approximately halfway down the brown band to the right) within the darkness of deep space.]

“Look again at that dot. That’s here. That’s home. That’s us. On it everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever was, lived out their lives. The aggregate of our joy and suffering, thousands of confident religions, ideologies, and economic doctrines, every hunter and forager, every hero and coward, every creator and destroyer of civilization, every king and peasant, every young couple in love, every mother and father, hopeful child, inventor and explorer, every teacher of morals, every corrupt politician, every “superstar,” every “supreme leader,” every saint and sinner in the history of our species lived there-on a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam.

The Earth is a very small stage in a vast cosmic arena. Think of the endless cruelties visited by the inhabitants of one corner of this pixel on the scarcely distinguishable inhabitants of some other corner, how frequent their misunderstandings, how eager they are to kill one another, how fervent their hatreds. Think of the rivers of blood spilled by all those generals and emperors so that, in glory and triumph, they could become the momentary masters of a fraction of a dot.

Our posturings, our imagined self-importance, the delusion that we have some privileged position in the Universe, are challenged by this point of pale light. Our planet is a lonely speck in the great enveloping cosmic dark. In our obscurity, in all this vastness, there is no hint that help will come from elsewhere to save us from ourselves.

The Earth is the only world known so far to harbor life. There is nowhere else, at least in the near future, to which our species could migrate. Visit, yes. Settle, not yet. Like it or not, for the moment the Earth is where we make our stand.

It has been said that astronomy is a humbling and character-building experience. There is perhaps no better demonstration of the folly of human conceits than this distant image of our tiny world. To me, it underscores our responsibility to deal more kindly with one another, and to preserve and cherish the pale blue dot, the only home we’ve ever known.”

The words take me to a different place, where I am forced to think of the world around me in a much broader context than daily life normally provides.  Our self-importance, aspirations of grandeur, competitions for position and slights issued in the name of advancement crumble under the context of a pale blue dot floating anonymously through a universe so immense as to be incomprehensible.

The magnitude of the cosmos may not immediately suggest answers to the complexities of more efficiently getting product to market from the Nicaraguan countryside.  But sometimes dreams of cosmic proportions provide insights  to our selves that we might never have perceived through shorter sightedness.  We need the stretch of the implausible, the unlikely.   Besides, the challenges of everyday lives of Nicaraguans will never be solved by too-narrow thinkers whose solutions are restricted by current circumstance or self-serving acts.  The  answers to the conundrum of change are more likely to be found in contemplation of  broader horizons.

I’m not at all sure that the “pale blue dot” will resonate with the workshop participants the way that it has for me; like the act of dreaming itself, sometimes you just have to try it to see what happens.  But if there’s even a small chance that the message might impact a genuinely searching mind, it’s a prospect worth the stating.  And eventually, an outlook which we must all take into account…

Normally I wouldn’t use this venue to talk about an illness, but it has bothered me enough to compel my address of it.  It has even hampered my ability to compose entries here in recent weeks.  But I’m compelled to write about a disease that has become omnipresent, a low-grade ache that I cannot seem to shake and which even keeps me awake at night.  Aspirin doesn’t help.  In the midst of my best years, I am finding myself hampered from enjoying my days to their fullest.  Worst of all, there seems to be no forthcoming cure.  I find myself wondering whether I’m simply relegated to suffering through the symptoms, which are like some unrelenting fever.

I can trace the earliest signs of my discomfort to a visit in Nicaragua.  I tried to ignore the feeling because I didn’t really have any idea what to do about it there.  (Lots of people become sick when they’re traveling and it just seems easier to try to forget about the knot in your stomach than to seek treatment from someone who doesn’t even speak your language.)  I remember being in a conversation with a group of Nicaraguan producers who spoke of their children leaving the country, in search of work and opportunity, and the anguish that it was causing the parents and community.  I can’t recall too much about the specifics of what they were saying because of my growing ache; that was my first awareness that something wasn’t right.

I felt a bit better after I returned home.  At first I thought maybe it I just needed to get back to the comforts of my own home, diet and routines.  Every once in a while the distress returned, sometimes for a short time and on other occasions for days on end.  The symptoms always subsided, however, and I was able to resume my daily activities without being slowed down.  I just kept hoping that it would go away.  Sometimes denial of a complaint seems like the best treatment for it.  But the condition has worsened and ignoring it becomes more difficult for me every day.

I wish I had known about this disorder earlier and that I had acquired some awareness of its potential severity.  Like most of us, I found it easier to pay no attention to what was happening until one day I came down with it.  For a long time, I don’t think people in the U.S. talked too much about the extent of the malady.  Lately, though, I hear more conversation from those who have been affected.  A friend of mine even forwarded a blog that someone had written about the problem.

It seems strange, but “misery does love company” and I gain some sense of hope from the increase in the numbers of those who are experiencing the same festering that I am.  Long-term remedies often come about only when a significant number of people are afflicted and calls for relief can no longer be denied.  I know that our Federal government is aware of the problem, though I’m not aware of any significant work that is being done toward developing a cure as yet.

I never envisioned myself becoming much of an activist in the eradication of an epidemic.  I guess I never thought I’d become a victim.  But I’m hoping that by speaking out on something that can be rightfully considered the early stages of a pandemic, I might encourage others to help find a way toward a more successful treatment.

Of course, to treat the symptoms, we’ll have to get to the viral cause of the ailment.  And that will necessitate a full-out humanitarian effort to embrace the nearly 60,000 illegal migrants- mostly young boys and girls- being warehoused after apprehension on the southern border of the U.S.  For their circumstance is the source of my discomfort.  From Nicaragua and many other points south, refugees are risking their lives to cross our borders, not for nefarious reasons but for their outright survival.  And their plight is making me sick.

There is a recognition in the wellness community which holds that we can never attain our own maximum well-being as long as those around us are not well.  I can think of no more dramatic example of such truth than the border tragedy, which in time will infect each of us.  It’s time that we stopped denying the symptoms and dealt openly with the disease….

The North Shore Road lay deep and white with the new snow, even in the dark.  No vehicles had traveled on it for hours.  Between the plowed, high snow walls on either side of the narrow road and the new inches that were falling by the minute, we might have been in an advertisement for all-wheel drive vehicles.  Our twenty-five minute distance required nearly forty minutes.  As we finally pulled into the port town, the lights of The Beach Club burned brightly and I could tell in the timbre of our voices that an air of hopefulness had lifted each of us.  But finding lights versus anyone willing to venture out across the ice road on this night were two distinctly different things.  The odds were not in favor of our two  passengers.

Quite surprisingly, a man stood outside the door to The Beach Club, bravely inhaling a cigarette despite the elements.  We were shocked to see anyone on this night.  But my new acquaintance declared that he would be the first opportunity for getting home.  Our refugee jumped out of the car and ran over to where the smoker was hunched up against the cold.

The three of us watched from the warmth of our car, nervously curious as to the conversation between the two men that was actually taking more time than we had anticipated.  Meanwhile, we could see inside The Beach Club, and noticed the absence of many patrons; the chances of finding help seemed dim and Katie and I later confessed to each other that we had begun to think about lodging our unexpected guests at the house for the night.

Our sojourner trotted back to the car.  He jumped into the back seat with a wide grin on his face, and explained the next piece of very good fortune that he had experienced this night.  The smoking man owned a four-wheel drive truck and was soon to head to the mainland over the ice road.  He would be happy to take the young couple all the way back  to their truck at Red Cliff.  And just as quickly as the emergency had materialized, it suddenly was resolved.  The couple thanked us, promising to return the following morning to reclaim their crippled sled.

All that remained for Katie and me was the return trip to the house, now in conditions that were worsening by the moment.  The winds created drifts across the roadway, already nearly obliterating our tracks from the trip to town.  It’s a road well-known to us, though at moments we felt as though traveling circles inside a snow globe, such was the lack of visibility and the endlessness of the road.  We felt a curious mixture of both anxiety and exhilaration feeding our excitement during the 45 minutes back home, and utter relief as we eased into the garage.

Our newfound acquaintances did return on Sunday morning.  The brightness of a perfectly sunny day made for a very different feel for this visit, however.  They laughed and even rejoiced in reliving their tale from the night before, already honing its details for retelling it as a new lake legend.  But our final good-byes carried more gravity.  We all seemed to understand the seriousness of what had taken place, and how very differently things could have turned out, except for a series of serendipitous acts.  What if he had not discerned the open water?  What if I had not turned on the yardlight?  What if he had not removed his helmet, enabling him to notice the light?  What if there had been a fall at the cliff wall?  What if we had not been at home?  Unspoken, these contingencies played themselves out in our thoughts.  As if to punctuate, the young man’s final words to me underscored the obvious: “Whatever you do, make sure you leave that yardlight on!”

And then they were gone.  We have thought about our night visitors often and told the tale as often as circumstances invited it.  We shake our heads at the recollection of that night, the conditions, Nature living out its own reality, the specter of Lake Superior, even in its dormant, frozen state.  The adage of Lake Superior is no less true in winter than in summer: The Lake is the boss.

But what I have come to reflect upon as often as those wintry details is what the moment presented to each one of us as those details played themselves out.  The young couple began their day by challenging the rawness of winter’s worst, staking out their claim on a frozen lake.  Later in the day, the young man repeatedly placed himself in harm’s way for the sake of his girlfriend.  For her part, the young lady withstood a blizzard’s barrage, the dangers of the cold and even loneliness on that sled, all without evident complaint or anger; she retained her sense of partnership and collaboration with her young man.

As for Katie and me, we were simply involved by virtue of a fate of time and place.  We were also receptive to the service that we might render, though upon reflection I frequently wonder what more we could have, should have done.  When a moment of human need presents itself so clearly and with such impact, we like to feel as though the “light has been left on,” that we are ready to respond, capable of giving all that is needed, selfless as necessary and generous as though our own survival depended upon it.

In fact, maybe our own welfare does depend upon it.  Many of us spend our lifetimes seeking purpose and meaning when, in fact, the significance of our existence is no more complex than the small opportunities in everyday living to be of service, to answer a call, to provide light for those who are momentarily lost.  It can happen in the darkness of night on Madeline Island or the searing sun of Nicaragua and at all points in between.  We are not afforded the luxury of knowing in advance when or how such opportunities will occur, only that they will.

On February 15, Katie and I turned on a light, answered our doorbell, made hot cocoa, and drove to town.  Ours were not grand or heroic actions.  And yet in the words of the young couple who sought rescue from a winter tempest on Lake Superior, we might well “have saved their lives.”  And who knows what the outcome of that might eventually prove to be….

“I’ve got to get my girlfriend up from our snowmobile at the base of your cliff; she’s still down there.  We were out on the lake and the storm rolled in and when I headed for shore my GPS died.  So I tried to keep a straight course for the mainland but must have been turned around and we drove until I saw a large black mass ahead.  I slowed down, thinking it was land, but as I got closer I saw that it was open water!  We turned around and headed back the way we came, and then my headlamp went out.  I couldn’t see a thing in the whiteout, so I tried to follow my own tracks.  I had to take off my helmet to have even a chance of seeing anything.  We had about given up when I thought I saw a dot of light in this direction.  I headed for it and as we got closer, the light became brighter and more continuous.  I followed it right to the base of your property.  But my girlfriend is still down on the snowmobile; I couldn’t get her up the cliff.  I climbed up myself and got to your door.  I don’t even know where I am.  We need some help.”

The story was a lot to take in, standing there in the doorway with a blizzard on the other side of it.  I was amazed that anyone out on the ice could have possibly seen the yard light I had turned on to watch the snowfall.  The cliff that he had scaled is a good 70 feet of vertical, ice-coated sandstone.  The woods that he had waded through confronted him with 100 yards of waist-deep snow.  The young man needed to catch his breath and his calm before anything further.

“We never even checked the weather while we were out there,” he lamented.  “I couldn’t believe how bad it was when looked out at 4:30.  And then we couldn’t see anything at all.  Man, when we saw that open water we were scared out of our minds.  We just tore away from there.”  As he rambled on, I thought about dialing  911 on the Island, or calling my contractor friend Tibbs, and wildly thinking about who else might be able to render some serious assistance if it became needed.  But not tonight.  For better or worse, we were the rescuers.

We agreed that the first order of business was to somehow help his girlfriend up the cliff and into the warm house.  I provided stout rope and a large-beam flashlight, and he assured me that he would be able to help her up with only these tools.  While he headed back to the edge of the cliff, I dressed for the storm and prepared the car for a journey to La Pointe, despite the conditions of the night.  Katie shut down the kitchen and prepared herself and Murphy for our unplanned outing.  On this night of all nights to remain indoors, we prepared to go out.  Finally, some twenty minutes later, the two wayward adventurers came in from the cold at last.

The young woman stumbled into the room with her boyfriend right behind.  Her hair was soaking wet, her face a burned crimson from the cold.  Her snowmobile suit had become caked with snow and ice, which began to melt in the warmth of the entry room.  Katie offered a hot drink.  She accepted even as she crumpled to the floor with exhaustion.  I could tell that the young man felt some relief, having his girlfriend finally indoors, but his questions continued to pour out faster than I could answer them.

“How far are we from La Pointe?  How far is that from the mainland?  Do you have any gas that I could buy, to try to make it to La Pointe?  What time is it?  Is there anyone in town at all?”  As he fired the questions, it dawned on me that these two pilgrims were the ones who had occupied the solitary space on the ice, away from the cluster of fishers we had seen earlier in the day.

I explained to this thawing apparition that he had come ashore at the far end of Madeline Island, 14 miles from the town of La Pointe, or at least as the crow flies.  But with no light for the sled, he would have to follow all of the bays and inlets along the shoreline to navigate to town.  “I don’t have enough gasoline for that,” he said.  Additionally, I had no gasoline at all.

As we answered his questions, his frenzied energies began to ease a bit and he elaborated on the story of how they came to be in our house.  “After we lost the GPS, I figured that we could stop and put up our fishing hut again if we had to, because I had two bottles of propane that probably would have kept us OK for heat through the night.  But we didn’t really want to stay out there all night.  I really thought we were on a straight line back to the mainland when we left.  Then I started to notice that there were more frequent ice upheavals and we hadn’t really seen many of them before.  It turns out that they were more of them toward the edge of that open water.”  He stopped talking for a moment and stole a quick glance at his girlfriend sitting on the floor.  “I couldn’t believe that water.  If we had gone in, nobody would have ever found us; our tracks would have been totally covered by morning.”

The hot cocoa was working its magic on the young woman by now and soon she was on her feet again.  The two made it clear that their objective was to not only get back to their truck on the mainland this night, but also to travel back to their homes, nearly two hours away from where the truck had been parked.  Their plan was to return to the Island on Sunday, drive out to our location with fresh gas and the advantage of daylight, and then rendezvous in La Pointe for the eventual trip home.

The young man asked, sheepishly, whether we might be willing to drive them all the way to the mainland across the ice road which linked the two lands.  But I had to invoke my long-held pledge that I would never drive across the ice at night, for any reason.  Too many horror stories about vehicles taking the plunge into the frigid waters of Superior had long ago disavowed me of any appetite for that kind of adventure.  I apologized for my reticence and vowed that we’d get them to La Pointe and whatever other forms of help they might need, though I had absolutely no idea who or what we might find in town on this storming night….

Once again, time and space tell me to stop for now.  I’ll conclude this tale and what it has to teach next week in the final part.  I hope you’ll come back for the ending….

The day had passed quietly.  The severe cold had ensured that most people would stay indoors to indulge their warmer pursuits.  Nonetheless, a group of eight snowmobilers had congregated out on the lake into a little community perhaps a half-mile from the point of our property.  They had erected their portable ice fishing shelters and spent most of the morning and into the afternoon there, presumably with lines dropped into auger holes in pursuit of fish.  Of note, a single snowmobile and shelter also had taken up a solitary position further out on the lake in a show of independence.  We admired their sense of adventure while suspicious of their judgment on such a day.

At approximately 2:15 in the afternoon, the small congregation of ice fishers quite suddenly broke camp, loaded up their shelters and almost as if on cue left their location on the ice, heading back toward the mainland.  The departure was so swift, and completed in such unison, that it gave the appearance of flight.  We noted with curiosity the speed of the abandonment, until some twenty minutes later, when we could see the approach of a snowstorm from the northeast.  Clearly, this band of fishers had been monitoring the weather reports and knew when to strike camp.

The storm swelled across the frozen lake within minutes, and the promised blizzard arrived without reservation.  Howling snow and wind pummeled our front yard inlet- Devil’s Cauldron, so aptly named for just such occasions- and inside we instinctively stoked the fires in response.  The night would be of storybook proportions, with the three of us seeking the warmth and comfort of each other.  So we thought.

At 6:30, our doorbell rang.  That would have been a surprising event in the best of circumstances in the middle of summer.  But in the middle of a raging blizzard, at the end of Madeline Island, the ringing bell was nearly incomprehensible.  Initially, I thought it must have been the telephone, such was the unlikeliness of the ring.  Not knowing what to expect, I grabbed a Bowie knife instinctively and allowed Murphy to lead the way to the back door as I turned on every house and yard light I could reach.

At the door stood a young man, fully dressed in a heavy snowmobile suit but without helmet or gloves.  His face glowed a cherry red, his blond hair waving uncontrollably in the wind.  When I opened the door, his eyes opened wide and words poured from his mouth almost faster than he could form them.  I could barely comprehend the predicament he presented.

“I’ve never been so glad to see a human being in all my life,” he gasped.  “I need help.”

In the interest of length, Part 2 of this incident will be recounted in my next update, scheduled for one week from now. I hope you’ll come back to hear more of the story….

Now, as for my Catholic-ness, I have spoken to a number of classes at the University of St. Thomas in St. Paul, Minnesota.  The classes are  always business, accounting or religion courses, and I am continually impressed with the fact that I am addressing such classes on topics like employee ownership, broad-based equity sharing, organizational participation and open book management.  It suggests to me that there might be significant cross-pollination of ideas, a mixing of the technical with the humanities, a truly serious effort to provide an holistic view of the world even to such seemingly disparate students as religion and business majors.

I haven’t heard Kolvenbach’s name or work mentioned during my brief visits to St. Thomas, but it seems to me that the connectivity among disciplines that I’ve experienced there is absolutely in line with something Kolvenbach wrote years ago, something which recently caught my attention in a major way.  In an address at Santa Clara University in October 2000, this is what Kolvenbach had to say about learning, the world, and our place in it:

“Universities must make it possible for students …to allow the disturbing reality of this world to enter into their lives, so that they learn to feel it, to think critically about it, to respond to its suffering and to commit themselves to it in a constructive fashion. They will have to learn to perceive, think, judge, choose and act in favor of the rights of others, especially of the most disadvantaged.… The measure of Jesuit universities is not what our students do, but who they become and the adult Christian responsibility they will exercise in the future towards their neighbor and their world.”[1]

[1] The Service of Faith and the Promotion of Justice, by Rev. Peter-Hans Kolvenbach, S.J., Santa Clara University, October 2000.

Mother’s Day is a world phenomenon, with versions of it having been observed for centuries.  Its United States version was created by presidential proclamation in 1914 and we’ve been buying greeting cards ever since.  In a sense, it’s too bad that we need a day to show gratitude to our moms.  In another sense, we’re grateful for the official day to remind us to do so.  If my Mom was still alive, she’d be hearing from me, as she always did.

Of course, motherhood is one of the undeniable, universal ties that binds us together, men and women alike.  Not all women become moms, and no dads (that I know of) have become moms, but we all have a mom and thus a shared experience.  As different as our cultures may be around the world, the connection with our moms is one of the great equalizers of humankind, transcending borders and customs alike.

I watched a news program last night, the final story of which had to do with Mother’s Day.   It featured an entire classroom of six year-olds engaged in the task of creating handmade Mother’s Day cards.  As adorable as the children were to watch, their sentiments were even more precious to hear.  Each recited thanks for a special gift from their mothers that made these  moms so wonderful.  “Thank you for getting me breakfast every day.”  “Thank you for letting me watch movies.”  “Thank you for cooking dinner.”  “Thank you for making lunch for me.”  “Thank you for loving me.”  And one little boy reflected on the fact that when thinking of his mom he thought of chocolate cake.

As I listened to this litany of gratitude from the hearts of little kids, it occurred to me that not all little boys and girls around the world would necessarily be thanking their moms for such blessings.  While Nicaragua will not celebrate Mother’s Day until the end of this month, the gratitudes expressed on that day are likely to be quite different from those heard on the news segment: breakfast, lunch, dinner and chocolate cakes are less frequent amenities in Nicaragua than they are in the U.S.   But while the specific thanks might be dissimilar between the countries, one thing is not.  The hopes and aspirations of the mothers are very much the same.

Nica moms love their kids,  have hopes for a better standard of living, aspire to see their children be able to read and become educated, pray that their young evolve into decent people, and envision lives for them that are free from the exhaustion and indignity of poverty.  I can imagine hundreds of mothers in Nigeria today whose visions for their children reach far deeper than breakfast, lunch and dinner.   As well as in Ukraine.  And Syria.  Motherhood in such places is not the same as in the United States.

If the dreams that are dreamed by Nica moms are the same longings as U.S. moms, the likelihoods for those dreams are not.  For U.S. moms, dreams still hold the very real possibilities of becoming true, and kids can and do grow into their mothers’ yearnings.  For far too many Nica moms (and Nigerian, Ukrainian and Syrian moms), their dreams are the gift to their kids, because there are limited chances of such hopes ever becoming reality.  It’s the most and the best that they can do.  

If the sentiments of Mother’s Day are shared across cultures, the context of life and the future are not.  As we celebrate the love and sacrifices of those who brought us into the world, we artificially limit our regard for motherhood if we do not acknowledge the love and sacrifices of all moms….

Actually, there’s probably not a great deal of similarity between Donald Sterling and the rest of us.  He’s a billionaire,  a high-profile owner of a professional sports team, a man who openly flaunts  mistresses of his granddaughter’s age and who does so in full view of his wife.   He’s not the first high-profile person to shoot himself in the foot, nor even the biggest.  But when those infamous recordings were made public, Sterling also revealed himself to be a sadly myopic creature, one who is ironically unable to comprehend and capitalize on his own good fortunes.  And this is where we might have something in common.

In just one recorded tantrum, Sterling managed to disparage an entire race of people, but also: insult the fan base that has fed his basketball investment, betray the human assets on whom he relies to conduct that business, cheat financial sponsors who have supported the team and enflame an entire nation which loves to feed upon the missteps and awkward utterances of those who should know better.  In short, Sterling tore apart the foundation of his own well-being.

For the rest of us, our consequences may be less dramatic and immediate, but our stumbles are no less inscrutable.  We humans possess the innate ability and curse to ignore our self-devised catastrophes despite the wealth of history, science, self-awareness and technologies available to us.  We too easily look away from impending consequences of widening poverty, climate change, loss of liberties and other looming realities in the same way that Sterling dismissed the importance of a personal moral standard.  Our blind tendencies are even endemic within the conduct and pronouncements of our nations.

For instance, the United States.  It’s clear that our government is either oblivious to or content with the inexorable erosion of a middle class which has been the bedrock of the nation’s growth and strength for decades.  As the disparity between the super-rich and the lower economic class continues to widen,  only the wealthiest citizens will be capable of buying goods and services to fuel economic prosperity.  That’s something which this small portion of the population is incapable of expanding, simply due to their limited number.  It’s the death-knell to coveted growth.  But like Donald Sterling, we seem to be unmindful of the very strengths that got us to this unprecedented level of national economic wealth. Like Sterling, we take for granted that such standing will always be there for us.  Yet the illusion foreshadows a very Sterling-like destruction of our own well-being.

It’s no less true in a place like Nicaragua, where our human propensities play out in the very same ways.  The powerful and elite systematically marginalize the powerless and peasantry, to the detriment of sustainable development.  Meanwhile, this second-poorest country of the Western Hemisphere has been attempting for decades to build upon its foundational strengths- agriculture, natural resources, social and cultural heritage- while at the same time ignoring the reality that most Nicaraguan children aren’t even graduating from grade school.  It’s like trying to lay a building foundation on wet sand, and it’s self-defeating.  As in the case of Mr. Sterling, somehow it’s easier to ignore the truth rather than acknowledge the very elements necessary for survival.

Condemnation of Donald Sterling has been swift and nearly unanimous, even among those of us who do not follow the NBA or NFL, MLB or NHL.   And I remain puzzled over this, not because I would in any way condone the boorish behavior of a clueless narcissist, but because I wonder whether we are not all guilty of the same kind of shallow, short-term and self-inflicting pain that Sterling has created for himself.  Maybe we are galvanized in our collective emotions around all of this because deep down we fear that we see something of ourselves in the guise of an 81 year-old who surely, finally comprehends his own hubris, albeit too late….

There were similar slowdowns taking place elsewhere around the world, and for many of the same reasons. The approach of Easter provides a context for pausing just a moment and reflecting about the state of the world and our own lives in it. We become engaged in a type of collective contemplation about conflict and resolution, forgiveness and redemption. Even those who consider themselves less than faithful admit to at least moments of such thoughtfulness, intrigued by visions of what “could be” in this life.

It’s a freeing and valuable process, this immersion into calmer waters of contemplation. We can temporarily transport ourselves to more peaceful places and imagine a world more worthy of the sacrifice that Easter represents. There is a certain sense of serenity and healing, and we are left pondering what the world might be like if it could only experience such tranquillity more permanently; the longing for peace lies deep and innately within us.

Regrettably, such ruminations do not last long. The immensity of the difficulties faced by all of humanity are too great, too deeply-seated to encourage long deliberation. Like the very universe we inhabit, the enormity and complexity of our collective lives is more than we can tolerate in anything but small moments. Faced with such proportions, we feel small, impotent, frozen in indecision. Even those of us privileged to work with institutions which possess resources for change, the obstacles to hope are titanic: where to start, when to proceed, how to finish.

I was thinking about these things during Easter week, indulging in dreams, imagining a different worldly model and my place in it, envisioning creative initiatives but always stumbling before the mountain of reality. And quite unexpectedly, I received a stunning affirmation of a truth well-known but under-appreciated.

As the United States approached the first anniversary of the Boston Marathon bombing, news coverage took on a decidedly Boston feel. News stories of survivors and heroes and those determined to stage an even better and stronger Boston Marathon filled nearly every newscast during last week. Vignettes about enhanced security salved the fears of even the anxious among the “Boston strong.” But it wasn’t the flexing of security muscles or determined runners or dedicated first responders that caught my attention. Rather, the message came from an eight year-old little boy.

Martin Richard died at last year’s marathon bombing.  Much has been written and recited about him from his family and others who knew him. He was, in most ways, quite typical for an eight year-old. But what captured my attention and reminded me of where I stand in this complexity called human existence, was a photograph of Martin holding a sign that he had fashioned as part of a school initiative. In eight year-old lettering of simplistic truth were his words, “No more hurting people.”

Perhaps you have seen the image, too. It is heartbreaking and ironic and a message seared into our history now as an iconic lesson. It’s simple: stop hurting one another.

The lesson is one-size-fits-all.  It’s the one thing you and I can do in the face of impossibility.  At work, in our homes, our neighborhoods, within our communities and relationships, at every venue we inhabit, Martin’s call is for no more hurting people.  The words set a simple standard against which our decisions and actions can be honestly regarded as to their true intent and content. We know what we intend, and we know if there is hurt within. It’s as true in Nicaragua as in the U.S. and every place where human thought and emotion take place.

The filter is simple; the discipline and the desire to live by it are not. We would be naive to presume that such a strategy is as easy as making up our minds.  Yet those who engage in contemplative reflection are not likely to expect easy resolution to hard matters. To the contrary, to engage in the search is to admit the hard work of any quest for a more sensible human existence. During this past week of reflection and introspection, perhaps the gravity and poignancy of Martin’s sign tells us all we need to know for now….

On Friday, a second quake shook the countryside, this one registering 6.6 in size.  On the heels of the first shaking and some 350 aftershocks that followed it, the second tremor underscored the vulnerability that always exists in this region that has been so heavily subject to natural disasters.

There have been previous earthquakes in Nicaragua, of course.  In fact, just in the past month 13 have been registered.  But these larger quakes are the first ones to capture my attention as intensely as they have.  The reasons for this are obvious to me, but they got me to thinking about how most of us tend to respond to news when it occurs so far away.

The reason for my rapt attention to this incident stems from the people I know in Nicaragua.  The incident did not simply happen in a foreign land, but in the country where I work and visit with frequency.  Thus, it happened to friends, colleagues and an array of acquaintances whom I admire and respect.    The earthquakes in Nicaragua are a more intimate event because they have happened to people I know.  When something happens to people I know, it is personal.  I feel it.  I sense that it is something that has happened to me, as well, and I am moved to express my reactions.  I think we are all quick to share the news as well as our own opinions about events that strike close to us, to demonstrate the degree of our involvement and make ourselves more a part of the incident.  (We all do this; it’s even why we so willingly share our stories about “where we were” on a date like 9-11.)

It’s easy for me to feel concern for people in Nicaragua this morning. I hope that Ligia is safe and looking out for others, as is her habit.  I hope Rene and Edgar are able to return to their homes from wherever they have been holding audience.  I think about Thelma and Gladis, Benito and Yaddir, Gloria and the women, Paz and Marisela.  They are all people from whom I have learned and who have given me much.

But thinking of them gives me pause to consider others in Nicaragua whom I do not know, and the gifts they possess, and the worth they represent.  I owe them no fewer good wishes than for the people I have come to meet through whatever serendipity brought us together.  I am connected to these others; I may even meet them on a future trip.  What happens to them is of equal importance as the fates of my friends.  I’m just not as aware of it.

We are inextricably intertwined, every day, in every instance, in every outcome.  We simply don’t acknowledge it.  But as fellow inhabitants on this finite planet, we do share more than we admit.  Our stories are more than just interesting or empathetic bits for the evening news.  They are part of an immense linkage that binds us together.  And as organizational development experts will attest, we are all reliant upon even the weakest link in any chain for no less than our very survival: I can never attain my maximum potential and well-being as long as those around me are unwell.  (Here in the U.S., we have only to look at recent incidents of societal violence to illustrate the veracity of that statement.)  Truly, the well-being of the entire planet is my well-being.

Perhaps fueling such feelings for all Nicaraguans would quickly extinguish whatever flames of passion and care I may feel.   But that does not diminish the truth of our interdependence and what I must invest to achieve my own full humanity….

I receive a number of newsletters and communications from organizations who have a presence in Nicaragua.  It’s very helpful to know about the initiatives and successes being created, and within the development community it’s often valuable to hear what is working through the efforts of others; good ideas were invented to be replicated elsewhere (as long as there’s no copyright involved!)  But I also receive puzzling reports from time to time, missives that defy my understanding (which sometimes doesn’t take much) or which misrepresent reality (which sometimes defies my understanding).  I probably shouldn’t let such things bother me.  But they do bother me when they inaccurately portray the circumstances of those whom they serve, whether intended or not.

One very well-known organization in Nicaragua is particularly renowned for its credit work with small producers.  (I referenced our interactions with the organization in an entry here dated February 9, 2014.)  I’m still a bit frustrated with their abandonment of the small coffee producers in  that case, but maybe especially so in light of the fact that representatives of the group will be speaking to an upcoming conference about the virtues and values of accompanying  “little guys. ” I’m not at all certain how our mutual small producer partners might be depicted.  And they certainly deserve a realistic representation in front of such an audience as potential U.S. funders.  Will their voices be heard?

Then just this week I’ve received a piece sent by an organization which performs significant work in Nicaragua, and which has done so for many years.  Unlike WPF, it relies on investments from the public, so fundraising is never far from their consciousness, which may also be a reason for what was written.  In any case, I always choose to digest their communications first as a potential investor, as though I had no personal experiences within Nicaragua.  It provides an opportunity to hear something new, or at least to hear about Nicaraguan reality through a different voice, hopefully enhancing my own perspectives about the work WPF does and the context in which we do it.

In this issue, I was quickly and sorely disappointed.   The lead article was little more than a self-promotion piece about how terrific this organization is, especially in the eyes of its Nicaraguan partners.  Now, that’s nothing new for institutions that rely on the image of good works for their fundraising success; indeed, often they must “toot their own horns,” because there are few others who can.  It’s fair to do so.   But the article moves into the shadows of misrepresentation when it suggests that a.) their poor, rural partners have many funding options, b.) that their partners  strongly prefer to work with this funder due to loyalty and c.) that the quality of this funder is as important to the borrowers as the money itself.

Wow.  Development groups can tout themselves all they like, and I won’t care a bit.  But to suggest that the truly poor have a wide range of funder options is simply not true.  To state that Nicas “choose” this particular funder because of its mission is an attribution to the poor that is inaccurate, and misrepresents the desperate circumstances of those in need.   Even quoting one of their partners as using the term “corporate automaton” breaches credibility: it doesn’t sound like the language of Nicaraguans I know.

The reality of the rural poor as I have experienced it is quite different.  Credit is a precious resource that is nearly non-existent to the poor who reside in the rural sectors of the country.  There are fewer funders who venture into these areas.  Inability to provide collateral renders potential borrowers ineligible for funds that otherwise might be available.  And where loans are somehow available, the often usurious interest rates makes access to such funding unattainable.  Selection of a funding partner from a wide range of competitive options is simply not the rural reality.

The idea that their partners have chosen this organization primarily from a sense of loyalty suggests that the urgency and desperation for access to credit is a secondary consideration for the poor in Nicaragua.  Now, I am quite sure that the recipient partners are very grateful for the availability to credit which this organization provides; indeed, the access fills a niche that too few other institutions are willing to inhabit.  But the truth of rural Nicaraguan circumstances is that while gratitude and appreciation are heartfelt, such emotions do not put seed in the ground nor fertilizers in the soil.  Financial transactions in this part of the world are built upon needs.  Partners will be grateful for accompaniment, will rejoice in receiving funding visitors in order to show off what they have accomplished.  But years of economic disadvantages and the hidden agendas of potential funders (“do it our way” or “only if you observe this form of faith”) have taught the lesson to Nicaraguans well: whoever has the money at the right rate of interest has their attention.  Survival sometimes makes fickle friends of us all.

Finally, the quality of the lender, claimed to be as important as the funds themselves, is a relative thing.  We all tend to see ourselves through our own range of experiences and values.  When I think of WPF as a “quality partner,” I imagine it through my own definitions of quality and partnering.  Those values may or may not be the same as held by Nicaraguans, whose primary needs are to obtain credit at low interest rates and without political, social or cultural strings attached.   Those serving the poorest sectors of the world’s populations can too easily be pulled into what might be called “a messiah complex,” where we gradually come to see ourselves as as something more than a needed resource.  We can too easily exaggerate who we are.  But in dire circumstances- and with all due respect to motive and friendship and human empathy- the money is what is most important.  What I think funders owe to their partners is an effort to discern their needs and their solutions and the quality of their lives.

I don’t mean to disparage the good works being done by any organization in Nicaragua or anywhere else in the world.  Thank goodness for the care and the caring that is rendered every day in the name of helping the poor.  It’s just that every once in a while I feel this nagging awareness of a self-serving business motive that, frankly, feels out of place in the work of serving others….

The back end of the pickup truck was absolutely filled with kids.  They sat scrunched and huddled there, seemingly glad to be done with the outdoor church service we had just attended, and eager as could be to learn something, anything, about the North American visitors who had come to their community.  Not many of us had come to this part of Nicaragua, perhaps.  For some of the littlest ones- maybe three or four years old- perhaps we were the first gringos they had seen.  But they hung on every word we spoke through rough translation and pounced on every question we asked as if it belonged to each of them alone.  

I had connected with one young boy in a special way.  We had greeted one another earlier in the day, in a location very distant from where we now stood.  Yet, when I climbed off the bus which had brought us to join this neighborhood church service, suddenly there he was, hand extended again, a friend from an earlier hour.  I had no idea how he came to be at this place.

Fernando was maybe ten, but certainly more shrewd than his years.  We talked and joked in gestures.  And seated in the back of that pickup truck among so many other little faces, Fernando finally asked me if I had any children of my own.  With great pride I pulled my wallet and flipped to the pictures of katie and our kids.  The entire truck sagged to the back end as the children strained to see the pictures.  They laughed in delight.  But Fernando sat back, his face serious in thought.  Amidst the laughter, I wondered what was on his mind.

He leaned forward after a bit and put his fingers to his eyes, as if to appear Asian.  It had not escaped his notice that all four of my children are Korean-born.  He puzzled over it because Katie’s picture clearly showed that she is not Korean.

I explained, as best I could, that my four children were  akk adopted from Korea, but my children nonetheless.  He asked if I loved them.  I said, with all my heart.

Then, he pierced my heart.  He asked whether I would adopt him.  That his mother and father would not mind, as long as he was going to a better life.  That he was a good kid.  And that he was sure that I could love him.  He didn’t know the half of it.  Looking into the dark eyes and faces of those children, I could have been seeing the beautiful, dark features of my own kids.  I was chilled to think of them in this impoverished environment.  Perhaps as Fernando’s own parents were.  The idea that Fernando believed his parents would be accepting of his adoption in order to find “a better life” has haunted me for twenty-four years.

A fellow adoptive parent once said about our kids, “Well, you know, they are not really your children.  They are universal children, belonging to all of us.  As all children are.”  In one very real sense, he was absolutely correct.  We- you, me, all of us- are responsible for the lives and the well-being of our kids.  And I came to truly know the truth of it in the face of a little boy called Fernando….

None of us has a corner on the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.  We are all possessed of a unique combination of skills, knowledge, experiences and perspectives which make us singular resources on any subject.   (If you doubt the voracity of that idea, simply ask a group of people about, for example, the most important means to a long and happy life.)  But the answers to difficult questions are not vested in all of us;  some of us simply know more or less about certain things.  It’s why we need each other.

Too often, we believe that we know all that we must.  Self-reliance is a good thing, but self-deception is not.  It’s a dangerous place to be. For if we acknowledge the fact that no one has a perfect understanding of all things, then we necessarily embrace the reality that we could be wrong on any given issue, and that someone else might well see the matter with a clearer perspective.  As begrudging as it may feel, we might be wrong.  Acknowledging it, admitting it, is not a symptom of weakness, but rather a sign of self-confidence in learning.  And there is never anything impotent in that. Impotence lies in the false posturing that is fostered by ignorance, or an unwillingness to accept wisdom from someone else.

I’m occasionally asked whether our partners in Nicaragua are grateful for the partnering with Winds of Peace.  The answer is yes, they understand its importance and impact, of course.  But the more complete answer is that the learning experienced by those of us who interact with Nicaraguans, both rural and city, is at least as great as the value of what WPF brings to the partnership.  There’s a lot that I don’t know about Nicaragua.  My acquaintances there are just the ones to help me with that.  Who better?

The world is a big and diverse place.  Facing our own shortcomings about what we know versus what we think we know is both a curse and a blessing.  It’s tough to admit that we aren’t omniscient and in control.  But it’s a gift to recognize that fact as the starting point for seeking out the truth.  Likely, I’ll never know everything about my computer….

It seems likely to me that most of us, given a choice, would prefer going home at the end of the day feeling good about how we had spent our time.  It’s hard to imagine that there might really be those who would prefer having wasted their time or, worse, engaged in activities that impacted others and the world negatively.  (This belief acknowledges the exception of sociopaths and other deviants who are outliers in the range of human norms.)  The vast majority of us seek not only positive monetary rewards for what we do, but also the intrinsic rewards of bringing something positive to our workplace and to others, however large or small that might be.  But  I find myself wondering how many of us actually succeed in doing so.  And I’m a bit nervous about the answer to the corollary question: how does my own view about what I do compare to how the world sees my efforts?

The reality is likely that there’s a gulf between wanting to feel good about what we do and actually having the basis for doing so.  Feeling good about what we do presupposes that we are actually doing something that warrants feeling good about.  And therein lies the potential problem, because too often we have little or no understanding of the impact of what we do, intended or not.

Nowhere is this conundrum more puzzling and maddening than in development work, like that undertaken by Winds of Peace in Nicaragua.  In a place of such need, where any gesture of assistance might seem to be an act of uplifting compassion,  I have witnessed the occasional unintended, undermining effects that such generosity can create.  Even Winds of Peace has experienced its moments when we have reflected on a grant or loan and recognized only after the fact that our support may have actually eroded a community’s sense of independence, sustainability or even their dignity.   Maybe it even enabled some self-defeating behaviors.  (Learning is a wonderful phenomenon, but it can be painful as it occurs.)

Doing good work, whether in a corporation or a foundation or on a farm, doesn’t simply happen.  It requires not only whatever technical tools are needed for the job to be done, but also a careful introspection of our motives, a sensitivity to equitable results, an understanding of the outcomes, and the discipline to bring those outcomes into reality.  Simply feeling good about what we do can be achieved by anyone-  all it takes is  a willingness to fool ourselves.  If the “feeling good” part of the equation is for our own benefit, then the work that has been done  begs for scrutiny.   More important than how we feel when we go home at night is whether those we  serve feel good about what has transpired.

Significant accomplishments never come easily.  The works of Nobel Peace Prize laureates are immersed in decades of persistence, selflessness and courage.  Advances in medicine and science occur after generations of trial-and-error, careful analysis of fact and relentless commitment.  Sustainable development in the world has been built upon the listening partnerships forged between the weak and the strong who share a need for justice.  Doing vocation that truly allows us to go home at night feeling good about what we do will never be the result of self-delusion.  It only happens as a result of intentionality, integrity and  careful hard work….

During the course of every Peace Prize Forum, the audience is repeatedly confronted with examples of truly saddening realities: famine, disease, war, oppression and stories of inhumanity that defy comprehension by most of us.  Of course, in balance the heat of those realities is dowsed by the tales of selflessness, rescue, relief and hope generated by the souls of humanitarian workers who risk their own lives in service to others.  The profiles of these heroes is the very essence of the Nobel Peace Prize, and it is from the recounting of their efforts that the Forum intends every year to “inspire peacemaking.”

And it happens.  In the course of the weekend, one can feel and almost see an awakening energy in the audience, a growing sense of empowerment and determination to act in the ways that have been exemplified by the Nobel laureates and the everyday workers who labor on behalf of the disenfranchised.  I could feel it within myself yesterday as I watched a film about the courageous medical people of Doctors Without Borders (a Peace Prize recipient in 1999).  I felt as though I wanted to join their ranks and contribute to the brave work that they do in ministering to the wounded and the sick.  And I sensed a similar emotion from others in the audience who winced at the graphic aftermath of military attacks on civilian populations, and marveled at the against-all-odds determination of the medics.  At that moment in the film, I suspect that a recruiting effort by Doctors Without Borders might have garnered a room full of inspired recruits.

Why, then, are efforts to end the ravages of an unpeaceful world so unsuccessful?  What is there in us, as human beings, that allows us to witness atrocities and injustices and then act in such relatively quiet ways in response?  I’m sure that psychologists have many intricate answers to the question, but in my layman’s view, it has to do with personal spaces.

When drawn into the plight of others, whether in person or in story or even in film, we are transported to a space outside of ourselves.  When we are momentarily confronted with circumstances that scream injustice, we allow ourselves to feel the wrong, to sense a welling up of adrenalin and the natural desire to right the wrong. We can suddenly muster the strength to help. We’re willing, in that moment, to sign up for Doctors Without Borders and to do what must be done.  We are “one” with the victims, the needful, and our humanity is as palpable as our lives.  We’re in a close proximity with those who are hurting, close enough to even experience some of their pain.  We can feel some of what they feel.  We cry with them and for them.

It’s the stuff that makes passers-by become Good Samaritans.  And if we could bottle up the moment, the impact could be world-changing.  But too often, something intercedes.  It’s our personal space, that time and distance that we all seem to demand for ourselves to isolate us from the intrusions of others and the world.  As soon as we call upon the protection of personal space, we move away from the afflicted, the suffering, those who need us, and suddenly their plight feels less urgent, less demanding of us.  In fact, we can rather easily put them out of mind altogether, not because we don’t care, but because languishing in our personal space anesthetizes whatever discomforts they have shared with us.  It’s easier.  It’s less painful.

And though it may not represent the person I’d like to be, it’s the person I am, and that most of us are.  Today, I’m less motivated to drive a Jeep into hostile territory than I was yesterday morning, because I’ve been allowed personal space to quell the emotion of the moment.

I have no remedy for this conundrum, only an observation of it.  And I know from my own experiences and observations while working in Nicaragua that only when we allow ourselves- force ourselves- to get closer to the impoverished can we understand their reality and to summon the energy and resolve to actually do the work of true peacemaking.  We need to be close.

And the personal spaces that we carve out for ourselves are too wide and too insulating to allow for it….

present in the Twin Cities to celebrate the occasion.

Really?  The Dalai Lama weighing in on a synergy center in NIcaragua?  Indirectly, yes.  Read on.

At one point in the question and answer session following his remarks, the Dalai Lama was asked for three things that young people might do to bring about a more just and peaceful mindset to the world’s problems.  His Holiness chuckled a bit at the question, perhaps because it sounded a bit like a request for a “top ten” list.  But he gave his response with gentle gravity.  “Change begins first in your own heart, and in the values you carry,” he offered.  “Become aware.  Amend what you find there first, and it will impact those around you, in your family.  And soon, other families will feel the change, as well.  And then the transformation can carry into the communities and the world.”  In other words, international movements always begin with the seed of feeling in someone’s heart; nothing more is needed, and nothing less is required.

The formula offered by the Dalai Lama is as plain and painful as any admonition could be, filled with promise, power and enough personal, internal confrontation to make us shiver.  Instead of suggesting a “do” list, he invited us to look inside ourselves, where no one else can be blamed or credited, where the obstacles to peace are of our own making.  Simple advice, grueling work.

Awareness, reflection, and transforming ourselves first: His Holiness might have been reading from one of the brochures offered by The Center for Global Education (CGE) of Augsburg College or from the mission of WPF.   For thirty years,  CGE (and WPF) has been facilitating the transformational, personal journeys of thousands of students and adult learners, as participants first gained new awareness of other people’s realities, then came to terms with the reasons for those realities and finally reflected on their own feelings about those realities.  The  doors to self-examination and transformation have been open wide for decades.

At the same time, WPF established a wide network of development partnerships, creating a wealth of information and contacts which have been complementary to the experiential process described above.  The two entities have served each other well in cultivating the  very introspection the Dalai Lama encourages.

Thus, the synergy center idea actually takes the Dalai Lama’s notion of self-examination and expands it. The concept brings together rising personal awareness and potential outlets for actions to impact communities and even an entire country through further learning.  Access to the synergy center could bring directly into classrooms and our hearts a wide variety of people and input whose voices are not usually heard. The practical experience of people working in every discipline in Nicaragua, including the challenges they are confronting from their location in the global reality, can enrich research and teaching, and also people’s active engagement with these same issues.  This type of international grassroots access can make for a more global experience in the personal development of students, travelers and everyday pilgrims who simply seek to know and understand our world a bit better.  In a sense, it can enhance both the invitation to awareness as well as access to action.

Well, the Dalai Lama never actually mentioned the synergy center in his comments on Saturday; maybe I did use some poetic license to read into his wisdom.  But the resonance between his invitation to personal change and the history of transformational experiences in Nicaragua is unmistakable.  And I think the Dalai Lama might agree that this initiative is just the sort of seed planted in the heart to make a world of difference….

In January, I spent a week in the high heat of Managua, Nicaragua, where the daytime temperatures are routinely at 90+ degrees Fahrenheit; simply, there is no escape from the humid heat, even in air conditioning.  Last week, I returned from a time on Madeline Island on Lake Superior.  There, the evening temperatures reached -40 degrees Fahrenheit, with windchill factors of -60; simply, there is no escape from the cold at such depths, even when sitting in front of a wood stove.  I suspect I must have been approaching the full range of ambient temperature extremes at which the human creature can survive.

Here in the north, people can be cold to the point where they don’t even recognize each other!  It’s hard to see or acknowledge someone when peering out from the relative warmth and comfort of an insulated cocoon.  We’d actually rather not stop to discourse anyway:  we all sound as though we are actually speaking a different language when muttering from behind frigid faces.  It’s different in the south.  The discomforts that are felt there have nothing to do with cold,  but rather stem from perpetual hot air which suffocates even the heartiest Nicaraguans eventually.

Temperatures aren’t the only extremes I’ve experienced.  My January visit to Nicaragua included a conversation with Vanessa Castro Cardenal, vocal and energetic advocate for educating the youth of Nicaragua.  (See my blog at this site, “Reading Between the Lines,” dated February 17.)   Her fervent hope is to place a book in the hand of every Nicaraguan child in the hope of cultivating a love for reading, and a capacity beyond a third grade level.  Literally days later, meeting with several representatives from the Jesuit University community  was like being on a different planet.  Hearing the aspirations strategized from within that community made me wistful for my youth!  How I would cherish a second chance to embrace the holistic health of such an education as they envision, as would so many in Nicaragua.

In January I “moonlighted” by working on some private employment contracts that contained language providing for hundreds of thousands of dollars in annual compensation and incentives.  And then within days, I found myself updating my own often-cited statistics concerning average Nicaraguan pay: $2.50 per day, up from previous years at $2.00 daily.  The disparity of those two realities was reinforced last week while watching the Sochi Olympics.  I learned that staging the games in Russia incurred a $51 billion price tag, in a country where the average pay might be $20 a day.  Inequity is apparently universal, without national boundaries.

While musing out loud about such wide disparities, an acquaintance suggested that the world has always been this way, both in terms of the divergent natural habitats found on earth as well as in the differences we encounter as its inhabitants.  It was offered up as an explanation of sorts, but I took it as a condemnation.  For while there may be little we can do to moderate the hot and cold temperatures of the air, we certainly control both the warmth and the coolness radiated out from ourselves.  While students will never reach perfect parity with one another in their capacities to learn, we surely owe each the opportunity to achieve that which they can.   And while each of us are owed the full fruits of our labor, it can never be at the expense of other lives.

We seem to have allowed ourselves the latitude to remain cold in the heat of the human struggle, a posture that feels a bit extreme….

Education.  Or rather, the insufficiency of it, both in terms of quantity and quality.  Now, we’re all fond of stating the obvious when it comes to education, that as a society the more of it we have the better our long-term prospects for the future become.  We compare our educational outcomes with those in other countries, we gnash our teeth when math and science scores seem to fall further behind other nations, and we wonder aloud whether the cost of a college education is worth the investment vocationally.  These are all reasonable concerns to have, and we acknowledge them continuously.  But in Nicaragua, the level of urgency and need for education improvement is on another plane altogether.  And without substantive interventions, the outlook is not good. This is a country where most kids don’t last beyond the third grade.  Where teachers all too often have no training for the classroom.  Where the compensation for teachers is less than half the average monthly need for cost of living.  Where even the first lady of the land has described the education performance as, “mediocre.”  Clearly, the scope of both the need and the impact is well-known across society.  Despite all the sources of assistance and other forms of aid coming into Nicaragua, its developmental outlook can never be hopeful without address of its education shortfall.

The plight seems pretty dire on the face of it, and that’s why our visit a couple of weeks ago with Vanessa Castro was so uplifting.  She’s a well-educated educator:  a PhD from the Harvard Graduate School of Education who has worked with the World Bank, IADB, UNESCO, and CIASES .  And her passion is education of Nicaragua’s kids, especially through reading development.

On a national level, Vanessa and others are trying to motivate children with a campaign to encourage reading with greater speed and comprehension.  Underwritten by several sponsoring organizations, the campaign consists of a contest accepting first-grade classes from all around the country that wish to participate.  Any class with a teacher who is full-time and present in class can compete at the school, municipal, and departmental level to reach the finals.  80% of each class must pass the requirements, which include reading an average of at least 25 words per minute and answering 80% of the comprehension questions correctly.  The success rates are improving as the number of schools and participants increases, and the excitement is evident in Vanessa’s  face as she tells stories of small successes.  “Offering awards is just the means to the end of raising these children’s reading fluency to acceptable international standards. We need community motivation, parent participation, and teacher training to spur the children towards these goals.”

Those goals constitute a big part of why WPF has added education as one of its main focal points for assistance.  The Foundation’s activities undertaken over the past three years are varied and widespread across public and private organizations, but all with the aim to lift Nicaragua’s children through enhanced education.  For example, with WPF involvement the reading literacy program  purchased more than 12,000 books last year for placement in primary schools, often constituting the only books available to students in those schools.  Some 8,000 children were served by the effort, a mere fraction of the need but nonetheless an important number of kids exposed to new, engaging stories, and a love for reading.

There are lots of ways that organizations like WPF might seek to make a difference in the lives and futures of Nicaraguans, to be sure.  But even a cursory assessment of their greatest needs underscores the reality that, reading between the lines, education is the basis of future hope….

WPF has taken its grants and loans deep into the rural Nicaraguan interior, precisely because that’s where relatively few other funders have chosen to go.  We know that it takes more work.  Locations are tougher to visit.  Credit experience of partners there is less.  The risks are higher.  Greater presence in the form of our accompaniment is required.  But we wouldn’t have it any other way.

In this learning cycle of mine, I am struck by the posture of some other funders who also claim to be “looking out for the little guy.”  There are organizations in Nicaragua which truly provide essential assistance and long-term development results to its small partners.  But all too often, I experience organizations which seem to have other motives at heart and which, in the pursuit of those motives, create as many obstacles as improvements.  Let me cite a couple of examples.

The small medical clinic founded by The  Union of Organized Women of Yasica Sur (UMOYS) represented a first for their communities and immediately became a source of great pride.  With important facilitative help from PRODESSA (a leading social and economic research, development and training entity), the women have become a strong voice for themselves and their families, as they have learned the lessons of self-responsibility.  Yet twice, a doctor serving the rural clinic was recruited away by a large U.S. funder working to staff their own medical facility.  One could posit that a nice, new medical facility in rural Nicaragua is a good and needed thing, and that providing medical professionals is essential to its function.  But the cost to the women and the residents of the Yasica Sur area has been high, both in terms of available medical services and the lessons that some of the women may have learned about an illusion of self-responsibility.  I have heard defense of the action as serving “the greater good.”    But in my view, the case represents one more example of the unempowered being further disenfranchised.

A second example involves another U.S. funder.  In turns out that WPF and this organization both supported a second-tier cooperative that defaulted on its coffee loans due to management malfeasance.  As a result, the tiny producer coops were left holding the note on more than $4 million that they never saw.  WPF funded an analysis in the aftermath, to help the individual coops re-group and hopefully survive the ruins, while the other funder undertook an audit of the activities, with both parties agreeing to share their respective results with each other and the producer-members.  The audit, however, was never shared.  While it might well have shed light on responsibility and ultimate culpability, and served as a stunning teaching moment for the producers, the U.S. organization has chosen to suppress it. Instead, they feel their interests are better served in working with the newly-elected successor board of the second-tier coop, which does not favor transparency.

The result?  The producer coops will still be on the hook for $4MM and will likely collapse.  They will have no insight as to the cause of the malfeasance.  No one will be brought to justice due to a culture of silence and control.  And the U.S. organization will choose its course based on the best chances for their own financial recovery, ostensibly to continue helping rural Nicaraguans,  presumably for “the greater good.”

There may be some truth in that concept, depending upon the context in which it’s being used.  Maybe there’s justification in turning one’s back on the least empowered among us to further the development of the majority.  But not here.  Not for WPF.  If an organization’s objective is to be a presence in the lives of those who have been most oppressed and marginalized, (“the lesser good”), then accompaniment must be reliable and consistent.  For us, that does not translate into naivete or allowing WPF to be taken advantage of.  But it does mean pressing for just results in an environment where injustices can be perpetrated even in the name of a greater good….

As you will know if you have visited the Winds of Peace website, our history in Nicaragua goes back to the 80’s.  Initially there were the trips taken by Louise and Harold Nielsen in discovery of a country that had been decimated by war and interventions by the U.S.  Soon, project funding followed, primarily through Foundation funding of other entities providing development support.

Eventually, project funding became more direct, as the Foundation was able to utilize the unique connections created by Mark Lester, a long-time Nicaragua resident even then.  The first partnerships with the University of Central America (UCA) and its research and development entity, NITLAPAN, grew out of these connections and have multiplied to the present.  The Foundation partnered with The Center for Global Education (CGE) at Augsburg College for Mark’s time and to create its first synergies.   Delegations were made aware of Foundation sites and activities as part of their educational experiences.  Winds of Peace even donated the current facility which houses CGE offices and residential delegations.  It has been an arrangement that has served both entities very well.

So Winds of Peace shares its newest vision, as we seek to build some additional bridges while utilizing the strength of those already forged.  In summary, we envision the creation of a “synergy center,” a new facility to further the transformative educational experiences, the social and economic development efforts, and the extensive network of relationships and contacts between Nicaragua and North Americans.

More than that, the Foundation is in search of a U.S. education partner to not only access these resources and experiences, but to build a bridge between themselves and Nicaragua, engaging Central American counterparts right where they live and work and to experience the realities of life that are so starkly different from our own.   It’s an opportunity that is outside the parameters of Augsburg’s future directions, although that college is determined to maintain its Nica programming offerings with the new partner as able.

In its visionary Concept Paper, Winds of Peace Foundation articulates a unique blending of resources that expands upon the transformative outcomes already created over decades in Nicaragua.  During this time, participants of student and private delegations have experienced epiphanies of understanding, seeing their world from new perspectives, in some cases changing both career and personal life trajectories.  At the same time, citizens of Nicaragua have encountered visitors to their communities, experiencing their own educational moments.  Cooperatives and other institutions have engaged with teachers, business thinkers, funders and other resource people to enhance their initiatives in new ways.  The impact of the bridges that have been built are both great and small, but never insignificant.

So the search for the new partner has commenced, with initial introductory conversations having been held with a handful of U.S. universities and colleges.  As noted above, the Concept Paper has now been added to this site for reference by virtually any potentially interested party.  The search will expand next month as WPF meets with leaders of a major university consortium, representing a number of schools which have frequently participated in CGE programming in Nicaragua.  While the possibilities of partnership are nearly endless, eventually the Foundation will seek an institution that is very good at envisioning and building bridges.

Watch for periodic updates here in the future as we look for concrete foundations, towers, decks, expansion plates and abutments to span some important distances….

But my thoughts in preparation for leaving have little to do with the weather.  I am always struck by and need to prepare for the reality of how the two countries are supposedly worlds apart, and how I feel about that.

Certainly, I will experience again the poverty that increasingly grips the lower classes; one cannot travel there and miss it.  I know that I will encounter a mother, or a father, who is hurting over the inability to provide for a family, despite their serious efforts to overcome the circumstances that are stacked against them.  I’ve seen the hurt in their faces before, but it always hits me again, like a punch to the gut that I know is coming but which I can’t escape.

Within our actual work agenda, we might well be working with cooperative members who are desperately longing to strengthen their organizations, to feel a part of something bigger than themselves, to succeed collaboratively.  Their efforts are often stymied by the wealthy, those in power, those with voice, or other “gatekeepers” who believe that their strength stems from the ignorance of their workers, while they hoard information and outcomes for their own benefit.  It’s a frustrating way of life that increasingly permeates more and more elements of the society in which they live.  Make no mistake: they see and feel the manipulation.  They just have a difficult time seeing how to change it.

I’ll hear a great deal about a government administration that still doesn’t seem to work very well, even after it has been in power for some time now.  It’s a system that has tended to favor those who have wealth and power, despite ever-growing inequities.  I’ll hear about claims against the president, and euphemistically soothing words from the man himself to assure the population that everything is alright.  Meanwhile, elements of the nation’s democratic foundations continue to erode even as fundamental civil rights drift further away.

Funding for bright lights along major city thoroughfares will be evident.  Lack of sufficient funding for schools and children will be just as clear.  I’ll marvel at the intense beauty of the countryside and wince at the continued evidence of pollution and environmental spoiling.  And I know that I’ll be struck once again at the excesses of some that have been built upon the expense and deprivation of others.

After wrestling with my reflections for a period of time, I’ll recognize that while there are miles that separate our worlds, we are perhaps not so very far apart after all.  True, our economic wealth may be light years in distance from each other.    But some things turn out to be quite universal, and while next week will be very different for me than this week, it will be very much the same….

Now, I’m not referring to the presents under the tree that I received this year; they have long ago become more a cause of guilt than of giddy entitlement.  The gifts that I’ve been contemplating are the ones that take the form of everyday joys and wonders, the ones that we might take for granted if we allow ourselves to do so, the ones that are easy to miss simply because they are so commonplace, so seemingly mundane.  I’ve been thinking about the gifts that make up our everyday lives.

Like uncertainty, for example.  The fact that we arise each and every day without knowing precisely what the day may hold is a treasure of both comfort and surprise.  We derive a sense of comfort in the familiarity of our daily lives and routines, but at the same time feel the edginess of the unknown.  For most of us, that’s just enough imbalance to keep us on our toes, peering curiously into the immediate future in wonder of what’s ahead, like looking at that pile of wrapped gifts under the Christmas tree and wondering what they might hold.  Our daily lives are just like that.

Or, consider the gift of movement.  It’s the most basic, inherent thing we do as human beings, the need to move, to stand, to walk, to be physical.  Without movement, we perish- the heart and lungs and vascular movements within us keep us alive and thriving.  Taking the wonder and pleasure of movement for granted is to ignore the essence of our lives.

What of the presence in our lives of others, unlike us?  The very truth that there are no two humans exactly alike (even identical twins are unalike) creates a curiosity that we can never satisfy: there is something discoverable and worthwhile in every other person born to this earth, and within each of us lies a piece of the grand puzzle that would resolve the essential questions of our existence, if we could only accept each other’s dissimilarities.  Imagine turning away from truth due to the arrogance of similitude.

There are few gifts greater than having the opportunity to help someone else.  That might sound like a platitude, but if we truthfully recall those moments of our lives when we have felt the most satisfied, the most needed and therefore valuable, we will remember incidents of our own giving and assistance.  In virtually every venue of our lives- work, play, community, church, family- the gratitude implicit or expressed to us as a result of our having helped someone with something is a gift we have treasured, if only in the moment.  But, recall the moment, for it is a gift of its own.

And yes, the gratitude we feel and express is a gift, as well.  Gratitude lifts us.  It makes us more positive.  It brings joy to those around us.  It contributes to longevity.  It makes us feel good.  How many other gifts can we name that can create so many returns as gratitude?

I have pondered these notions over the past weeks, maybe in concert with the approaching Christmas and the more introspective thoughts that occur to many of us at this time of year.  Whatever the impetus, the consideration of such gifts has rendered me unsettled, uneasy.  For in the act of trying to recognize and acknowledge the countless gifts in my life, even the supposedly “quiet” gifts of everyday living, I clearly see the injustice of it all.  Even as I consciously seek to feel joy and gratitude at all that I have, I am struck by the reality that my life is far different from so many others in the world.  It is a conundrum that the more conscious I become in recognizing gifts, the more uneasy I become about their distribution.

The difficulty of this puzzle was such that I sought the wisdom of another, someone to whom I could relate all of this without self-consciousness.  His response was a gift in its own right.  He helped me to recognize that even my restlessness is a gift, something on the order of uncertainty, a movement of morality, an awareness of those who are not like me, an awareness of helping others, and a rattling of the conscience to keep me from ever becoming complacent with this gift called life….

The world’s leaders, both past and present, have moved quickly to stand in the aura of this beloved figure of Nelson Mandela, telling us how they were so deeply impacted by him, articulating both their grief and admiration for him.  They have universally cited his capacity for leadership through his personal demonstrations of forgiveness, reconciliation, negotiation and humility.  They have extolled the importance of his place in history as a result of these postures, and lauded the results that Mandela was able to bring about by being someone who placed the well-being of others before his own health and safety.  Indeed, before his very life.

These world leaders have told us of the immense influence that Mandela’s life has had upon them, how they were inspired by his selflessness, moved by his commitment to act in ways that were unconventional, courageous, and full of political risk.  For example, U.S. President Barack Obama has confessed that Mandela’s anti-apartheid movement provided the impetus for Obama’s first political action of any kind, a campus protest.   Or Zimbabwe President Robert Mugabe, who has been in power since his country’s independence from Britain in 1980 and supported Mandela’s ANC during its struggle against the apartheid regime.  Despite himself being accused by critics of increasingly authoritarian rule, Mugabe praised Mandela as a champion of democracy and “an unflinching fighter for justice.”  The list of political figures and their tributes to Mandela’s inspiration is as impressive as it is contradictory.

I have neither seen nor heard any remembrance from anyone who has been able or inclined to say, “Mandela was a great man.  This world needs more leaders of character and conscience like him and that is why I have chosen the same path.”  We have heard nothing like this because it’s not a road easily traveled.  And today’s leaders would be hard-pressed to find such a road, even with a map.

Words of admiration and love are gentle to the ear and soothing to our psyches because they remind us of our humanity, however deeply buried it may be within us.  We long for stories of people like Mandela because they provide a glimmer of hope that such virtues are still to be found among us.  But words of admiration are not enough.  They are shallow recompense for someone who has generated hope through the living of his life.  The legacy of Nelson Mandela deserves emulation.  Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery,  and the only true form of respect….

In the aftermath of the service, as the conversations swelled with stories of Harold and Louise and their adventures, one question surfaced several times, to my great surprise.  The question essentially was, what changes might be expected in the months ahead for WPF?  I felt surprise at the question because I had not anticipated it.  And I had not anticipated it because I foresee very few changes to the Foundation due to Harold’s passing.  Allow me to elaborate.

First, what Harold and Louise established over their decades of service in Nicaragua (and elsewhere) is as fundamental and viable today as it was years ago.  The cornerstones of local initiatives, sustainability, accompaniment, accountability and transformational education continue to form the bedrock of development vision at WPF.  While operational activities may change and focal points might evolve, the base philosophies established by Harold and Louise remain firmly in place.

Second, despite his decreasing capacities in recent years and months, Harold had continued to be very engaged in the initiatives and funding directions of the Foundation.  He embraced the move toward a territorial model of development.  He repeatedly expressed his excitement over the greater use of our Nicaraguan consultants to provide a Nica perspective and analysis to our efforts, including proposals evaluated more deeply “on the ground.”    He was thrilled at the idea of an education initiative as a long-range impact upon future generations; indeed, he authorized the initiative in Louise’s name.

Third, Harold expressed openly his confidence in the staff, management and governance structures and people of WPF.    The Board consists of both family members and trusted advisors.  The staff is comprised of long-time associates.  If his objective was to identify an assembly of people well-connected with the mission and vision of Winds of Peace, Harold accomplished it.  The shared objective will be to continue to administer the Foundation according to the way Harold and Louise envisioned and nurtured it.

There may be many factors in the future that will eventually change the shape and operation of the Foundation.  Over time, a change in resources, political upheavals both here and abroad or new people serving the institution all would leave their mark in some form. But a lasting priority for Winds of Peace will be the retention of the vision that Harold and Louise brought to it in the first place: contributing to global peace by promoting economic, social and environmental justice, and encouraging the personal and transformational education which needs to bring each of us into the struggle.

Life without Harold and Louise will never be the same, but the dreams of Winds of Peace will never change….

Memorial Service for

Harold R Nielsen
First Lutheran Church
309 Forest Street
Kenyon, MN

November 24, 2013, 2:00 pm

Visitation one hour prior to the service at the church
Luncheon following the service.

Harold Ralph Nielsen, 97, of Kenyon, Minnesota, passed away in a spirit of peace and wonder on November 11, 2013.  He was preceded in death by his beloved wife and partner, Louise, and he is survived by their daughter Rosalind Bonsett of Beverly Hills, FL, son Marvin Scott Nielsen (Janet) of Bordentown, NJ, son Stephen Nielsen of Wanamingo, MN, six grandchildren and fourteen great-grandchildren.  His family and nearly every man and woman who ever met him mourn the passing of this gentle, accomplished and caring man.

Harold was born on August 17, 1916 in Waterloo, IA, the son of Lauritz and Dorothea Marie Nielsen.  His early years were spent with his family in Askov and St. Paul, MN, where he received his education through high school and one year of studies at the University of Minnesota. He served forty months as a member of the Merchant Marine in WW II before returning to St. Paul to start a long career as a woodworker, entrepreneur and businessman.

Harold and Louise married on October 27, 1950.  They moved to Mendota, MN in 1955 and began growing Harold’s woodworking business together, leading to its eventual move to Kenyon in 1970.  Nielsen Millwork & Manufacturing along the banks of the Mississippi River eventually grew to become Foldcraft Co., with locations in Kenyon, Burnsville, MN, Kent, WA, Corona, CA, and customer locations around the world.

Upon the sale of their company to its employees, Harold and Louise devoted themselves to charitable activities, focused primarily abroad.  Together, they created Winds of Peace Foundation to aid the poor in Nicaragua, Miracle Ranch Children’s Home in Mexico, and Third World Friends Thrift Store (now All Seasons Community Services) in Kenyon and Faribault, MN, where used clothing and household items have been sold to support both international and local needs.

Harold and his entrepreneurial endeavors received much acclaim over his career, but the most important and enduring initiative was creation of Winds of Peace, where Harold and Louise worked together to address issues of poverty and injustice, particularly as experienced in Nicaragua.  From the Foundation’s inception in 1978, Harold and Louise devoted their time, energy and financial resources to help impoverished Nicaraguans establish sustainable economic and social initiatives, while within the U.S. raising awareness of Nicaraguan circumstances.  Together, they made many trips to the rural Nicaraguan countryside to visit Foundation partners and to accompany them in their struggles.

Harold was a life-long learner and teacher.  He was curious about everything and everybody, and therein lay his ability to put people and concepts together in new endeavors.  Such inquisitiveness also fed his transformation in life from that of a committed capitalist to becoming a fiery philanthropist and voice for the poor.

Harold will be profoundly missed, even by people who never knew him.  His impact on those who had the privilege to know and work with him is everlasting.  Our world is diminished by his death, but so deeply enriched by his life.

In lieu of flowers, memorials may be directed to All Seasons Food Shelf, with the designation that the funds be used in support of the K-W Elementary Food Backpack program.

Harold Nielsen had been struggling in recent months with a chronic respiratory difficulty and this morning passed away from its relentless grip.  He was 96.  The world now has lost one of its most remarkable people.

Harold Nielsen’s name will not be recognized by most people.  That is precisely the way he wanted his life and work to be: anonymous and without fanfare.  He wanted his work to speak for itself in terms of what he believed and the humanitarian perspectives that came to define his life.  But Harold’s character, manner and demeanor gave definition to the notion of servant leader long before the term entered the modern lexicon; his work and perspectives literally changed the lives of those who knew him, and the lives of so many who did not.

Harold had the capacity to see and to feel what so many of us do not.  He truly ached for the people of Nicaragua and other poverty-riddled places of the world, outraged at the circumstances which gave rise to such conditions, and filled with a desperate empathy to help in every way that he could. Quiet tears often communicated the depth of that intense compassion.  Yet he brought an analytical eye to every opportunity, always seeking the maximum benefit that could be achieved, examining each project request with an entrepreneur’s outlook, sometimes increasing requested amounts when he could foresee the need and opportunity even more clearly than the  requester. He demonstrated the courage to take risk for such underprivileged, and spent his personal resources to do it. Thousands of Nicaraguans  have been given a hand up by Harold through Winds of Peace.  It was never enough, but he knew that planting seeds was only the start of any harvest.

Harold’s legacy will be felt far into the future, within the remote corners of rural Nicaragua, the Indigenous communities, the neglected places where women still seek a voice in their lives, and wherever schools work to educate the young.  These were the populations Harold and Louise Nielsen came to regard as the most underserved. And service was Harold’s strength in everything he did.  He will be remembered as one of the most selfless people most of us will have ever met.

Harold was a life-long learner and teacher.  He was curious about everything and everybody, and therein lay his ability to put people and concepts together in new endeavors.  Such inquisitiveness also fed his transformation in life from that of a committed capitalist to becoming a fiery philanthropist and voice for the poor; he came to understand the cause-and-effect between North American prosperity and Developing World poverty.  His fervent hope for those of us associated with him was that we might come to such an awakening far earlier in life than he had.  As such, Harold was a visionary and a mentor unlike anyone most of us have ever known, asking the uncomfortable questions, demonstrating an uncompromising love for the underprivileged, quietly challenging conventional perspective, and always with an air of genuine humility that allowed colleagues to maintain their own sense of worth, even when they did not agree with him.

The true read of Harold Nielsen is beyond any ability to capture in this forum. Rather, talk to those whose lives he touched: the Vietnamese refugees who Harold and Louise housed at their home and supported through college; the scores of everyday people given an opportunity to travel into Developing World sites to experience a far different reality from the U.S.; Nicaraguans who were assisted in order to grow a crop or attend a school or discover their own opportunities and influence; employee-owners of Foldcraft Co. who were afforded the opportunity to own the place where they worked; abandoned Mexican children who found refuge and hope at Miracle Ranch Children’s Home in Las Palmas, Mexico; or even the patrons and beneficiaries of All Seasons Community Services thrift stores and food shelves.  But be prepared, for the chances are great that these folks won’t even recognize the name of Harold Nielsen, only the results of his humanity.

Upon hearing of Harold’s passing, Rene Mendoza, our colleague in Nicaragua, sent the following remembrance which seems relevant to our loss:  “I remember some years ago, when a friend of ours died in the ocean saving two friends, Fr. Gorostiaga said in the celebration of the mass, ‘we are not going to pray for our friend, because he was a saint, someone so generous even up to his last moments; we are going to pray for those of us who are left behind….  From Nicaragua, in the name of so many indigenous families and cooperative members, and boys and girls who benefitted from the generosity of Harold, we send a big hug.'” 

Indeed, we are  poorer at Harold’s passing, but  so much richer for his life….

I have frequently been given the opportunity to present to the workshops, either the stories of my former company, Foldcraft (itself employee-owned and thus very much cooperative-like), or open-book management, or general observations about organizational life and vitality.  With the essential translation help of Mark Lester, we have assumed the role of teachers in that context.  It’s a role that I both love and fear: love, because I think there is potential value in sharing what we know and what we have experienced in our own journeys; and fear, because I am always sensitive to the stereotype of the North American gringo, descending upon a poor rural community to deliver wisdom and rescue to incapable Nicaraguans.  But with that sensitivity in mind, and recognizing fully that everyone in attendance knows Winds of Peace has funded the sessions, we have nonetheless sought to bring our own perspectives into the discussions so that new ideas might be explored.

In the workshops, Mark and I sit right up front.  Right where everyone can see us.  We offer comment and opinion as appropriate.  At the conclusion of major segments, facilitator Rene Mendoza often asks for our opinions or insights into what has just transpired.  At times, it seems as though even the translation of my comments somehow adds to their weight, giving them an aura of importance.  When I’ve made an actual presentation, the audience almost always applauds, something that they may or may not feel inclined to do following other presentations.  It’s heady stuff, becoming the professor, the educator, the sage.  It’s easy to adopt the mantle of teacher after all these years, looked to for my perspective, my opinion, my wisdom.

I find myself embarrassed even to write such things.  For when I succumb to such feelings for even a moment,  I know that I have fallen into the trap which ensnares so many of us and so often.  That trap consists of assuming the guise of teacher without retaining the role of learner.  When I begin to believe that I have assimilated all of the answers, I take an enormous step backwards in my ability to serve.  For truly, everything that I know and teach, I have learned at some prior stage from someone else.  If I disconnect from the possibility of continuing to learn from others, I stagnate.  And in a world that changes every moment, stagnation leads to ignorance and irrelevance.

In my presentation last month, I referenced a book, The Great Game of Business by Jack Stack.  (It’s the essential tome on the topic of open-book management.)  I talked about its themes and guiding principles, realizing that even with the Spanish version of the book, many in the audience would never be able to read it, given reading skills and available time.  It was a reality that the participants themselves acknowledged.  But I encouraged it nonetheless, because the ideas there are so important.  And in the discussion thereafter, one of the attendees gave me a new perspective on open-books or any other topic, for that matter.  With deliberation and a gentle respect for everyone in that room, he stated, “The illiterate are not necessarily those who cannot read, but those who do not seek to understand.”

In the blink of an eye, the teacher had become the learner, the learner had become the professor.  The truth of his words was profound enough by itself.  But I also knew that those words had come from a man who, in fact, was very limited in his ability to read or write.  His expression simply revealed a truth about our capacity to learn and grow throughout our lifetimes, if we are inclined to retain a sense of curiosity and humility as both teacher and learner.

Harold Nielsen, Founder of Winds of Peace Foundation is now 96 years of age and in failing health.  Presently in hospice care at his home, Harold has great difficulty in generating enough breath to speak.  But during a visit with him earlier this week, we did have a conversation, of sorts.  He eked out his words breathlessly as he tried to tell me about a television interview he had seen recently on the topic of creativity and imagination.  He could not recall the name of the woman interviewed.  But one of the last things whispered to me was that he was very curious about imagination, and that “I’d like to learn more about that.”  In his role as the constant learner, Harold also was modeling himself as the constant teacher.  I did not miss the lesson.

Retaining the role of both teacher and learner as I continue to work in Nicaragua is an up-front priority.  For whatever I might have to teach, I likely have twice as much to learn.  But the inequity of that equation feels OK to me.  In fact, as long as I remain the learner I stand a better chance at becoming a worthy and worthwhile teacher.  It strikes me as a possibly significant equation for all who aspire to lead….

Last month’s visit to Nicaragua included another in a series of workshops conducted by colleagues Rene Mendoza and Edgar Fernandez, two of the most experienced researchers and trainers in the country.  They continue to educate, facilitate reflection, spur innovative thinking and encourage the rural cooperatives Winds of Peace has been working with in recent years.  The quality of the discussions in these workshops has been as deep and introspective as any business thinking forums I’ve experienced over the past forty years. 

As part of the worksop, Edgar Fernandez shared an interesting perspective on the relationship between two strata within Nicaraguan society, the elite and the peasant, the have’s and the have-not’s, the powerful and the powerless, particularly in the context of the agricultural commercialization process.   He painted a vivid portrait of how, over generations of time, those in authority have systematically acted as though they- and only they- possess the intellect, vision and courage to manage the affairs of society, especially those of an economic nature.  And like anyone, peasants hearing the same mantra repeated continuously eventually came to believe and accept the perspective as truth.  From this dynamic, a national patriarchy was born and nurtured to this day.  The result is a series of dependencies and deferrals that erode whatever bargaining power small producers might have and place it squarely in the hands of those further along the marketplace chain.

The result of such power inequality is predictable: the powerful become better off and the powerless become more destitute, the powerful speak of the mutual successes achieved and the powerless ponder their worsening conditions, now even more convinced that their need for the patriarch is a reality.  It is an astonishing example of self-fulfilling prophesy.   Even before the next growing season begins, the vicious cycle starts all over again with the market players touting their indispensability  (within a process which they maintain the average peasant could never understand), and small producers accepting the claim as fact.

Edgar’s recitation of the prevailing patriarchy provided a significant insight as to the nature of “class” relationships in society, why the poor continue to slip even further behind even in the face of significant aid resources, how the chasm between living circumstances continues to widen, why government agencies have seemingly few answers to the needs of so many people.  His historical recounting revealed the evolution of an unsustainable relationship of disparity and reliance; the voracity of his observations were reflected in the knowing nods of assent by many in the workshop audience.

The circumstance is one which will be impacted only by significant educational efforts and a receptive population which finally reaches a point of desperation and a final gasp for survival.  Indeed, as resilient and adaptable as human beings are, they often are slow to react to conditions which deprive them of justice and fairness, until sometimes it is simply too late to have any “say” at all.

Yet even when armed with awakening and urgency, the victims in a lopsided power relationship require the courage to stand up to it.  There are many reasons not to: it’s always been this way; it’s easier not to “rock the boat;” there’s a price to pay politically for speaking out; we’re only peasants and they are more educated; God intended it to be this way; confrontation is too stressful.   The list of obstacles is long, having been nurtured and expanded over generations by the very ones who benefit from the patriarchal  model.  But there are even more reasons to take a stand in breaking the model: more autonomy; greater freedom to choose; leverage in the marketplace and in society; opportunities; less dependence on those with competing interests; pride in better controlling one’s own future.  It isn’t easy.  But then, facing Goliath in the shoes of David never was.

Whether  the small producers in Nicaraguan cooperatives will be heard is too soon to say; for now, the small workshops conducted with some very grassroots cooperatives are doing what they can to bring some light into a very dark room.  Meanwhile, the wealthy become wealthier and the poor become more confused about why they can’t make ends meet even in a lush growing cycle.  In a mimic of the Hans Christian Andersen “emperor’s new clothes” fable, what is said as truth is afforded more weight than what is done in reality, and even when seeing the truth we are sometimes manipulated into denying it.

As I reflect on these relationships and the conundrum they present, I am reminded of an identical circumstance that prevails in a much larger, more affluent and supposedly educated country called the United States….

I knew that this transaction would be anything but mundane.  (There are not too many occasions when an airport vendor has shown any enthusiasm for life, let alone a desire to make mine a bit better.)  I replied that help was precisely what I needed, and I gave her my order.  With great energy and purpose, she made up the sandwich right in front of me, smiling and humming as she did so.  And since we were the only people at the kiosk for the moment, she took the risk of asking me where I was headed and where I had been.

I’m not too sure what she might have thought about my destination of Iowa.  But when I told her that I had spent the past week in Nicaragua, her eyebrows first arched straight up in surprise, then dropped low as she considered what kind of a place that might be.  “Ooh,” she inquired, “what kind of a place is that?”  The question was innocent enough, but the tone in her voice made it clear that she already possessed a less-than-favorable mental image of the place.   “What were you doing there?”

And quite automatically, without conscious intent or sense of obligation, I spoke of Nicaragua, telling her of the work that Winds of Peace does, the immense beauty of the country, and the remarkable resilience and perseverance of the Nicaraguan people.  I described the terribly difficult circumstances of many Nicaraguans, what they do to scratch out a living, how they aspire to improving  their conditions in the same ways that we all do, although starting from a reality far different from those of us in the U.S.  I even got around to backgrounding some of the causes for Nicaragua’s current status as the second-poorest country in the Western Hemisphere.

And then suddenly, I was aware of the intensity of my response to her questions.  With some embarrassment, I brought myself back to the moment, at the sandwich bar, talking with a young woman about Nicaragua, rural cooperatives, people in need and the privilege of such opportunities.  To a sandwich barista.  I might have expected her to roll her eyes at my soliloquy to her questions, as I’m certain she never bargained for such an impassioned lesson on the topic of a small Central American country.  But she listened with actual interest and an emphatic, “Wow!”

At that moment, I was Nicaraguan.  Challenged by the frequent misconception about the country and its people, I mounted a defense of both.  I defended the reality of Nicaragua like a sports fan touts the honor and integrity of a favorite team, without hesitation or inhibition, and true to a total identification with its best players.  In this case, my connection is with the many remarkable individuals I’ve been privileged to meet over the past eight years; for that moment, they were my “team,” and I took great pride in speaking of them.

For perhaps the first time in her young life, the woman behind the counter heard something positive and uplifting in connection with a country she knows little about.  She even thanked me for my brief travelogue, still with that big smile that invited my sharing in the first place.

I walked away from the counter strangely uplifted.  For about three minutes, I was Nicaraguan, and it felt good….

It’s an old metaphor and one that may or may not be literally true.  But it has been used by many leaders to describe the dangers of complacency, of accepting gradual erosions of a healthy state of being to an unhealthy one.  In the workshops, Rene has used the story as a metaphor for rural cooperatives who have gradually lost significant value for their work and product to the marketplace, the “middleman” and managers with unfair leverage over them.  The message is clear: jump out of the hot water of powerlessness and acceptance before the heat consumes you.

I wonder what it is about frogs and human beings that allows such acceptance of our conditions.  Is it really easier to withstand the pain of abuse than to get to a different place?  Right now in the United States, the Federal government is abusively dysfunctional, with many government offices closed down indefinitely.  People are out of work.  Important services are unavailable.  Leaders are not governing, but rather posturing for their own narrow interests.  And yet our population tolerates the closure of the very government for which it pays taxes, reacting to it as an inconvenience and a frustration and not as an unacceptable, potentially devastating display of self-centered arrogance.  And all while the water becomes hotter.

In Nicaragua, the small producer has often been the victim of marketplace brokers and buyers and others who have mastered the practice of playing the market; it’s the subject of workshops taking place among some cooperatives.  After each growing season, many cooperative members are left with little more in their pockets than the cost of production and the frustration of not being able to leverage any power in the commercialization chain.  Each year seems to be a little worse than the previous one.  There is dissatisfaction, but no real strategic initiative.  And the water becomes a little hotter.

There is a tremendous irony in our predisposition to simply accept the warming water.  We human beings are almost universally resistant to change, to being forced out of our comfort zones and away from that with which we are familiar.  And yet, adaptation to change is what we humans do better than nearly any other living creature.  We are capable of adapting to conditions or circumstances that are beyond imagination: we have plunged to the depths of the oceans and walked upon the surface of the moon. We live in the frozen Arctic and at the ring of the equator.  We know how to adapt.  But we rarely like to do it unless forced to.  It just seems easier to tolerate the heating of the water and to pretend that it isn’t that bad.

The workshops in which WPF will participate later this month will be making the case that it’s better to get out of hot water when you can rather than to wait until you’re burned.  Learning how to sense the heat, how and when to jump, where to land and what to do next are matters of survival, and action that is far easier done with others than all alone.  In the U.S., we collectively need to move from complacency to outrage.  In Nicaragua, producers have the opportunity to move from serving as pawns to being the most essential components of the marketplace.

The question is, how hot does the water have to get before any of us jumps….

Over the past couple of weeks I’ve departed a bit from my usual observations about our work in Nicaragua and focused instead on some of the content from The Gathering of Games, the national open-book management conference in St. Louis.  The themes from that conference- knowing the organization’s numbers, broad participation of all members and the power of people working together- are so basic and essential that I thought they were worth the amplification.  So if the essays here of late have sounded a bit academic or instructional, well, I confess that they should have!

In the end, though, building a successful organization is not about any specific leadership methodology or magical program that will cure all organizational ills; organizations are far too diverse for any single strategy to fit all of them.  But if we could take the time to examine the most successful approaches to organizational strengthening, to “peel away” the layers of public relations and hype and esoteric terms, we’d most often find three elements: respect, care and love.

I hope that statement doesn’t sound soft.  Indeed, there is nothing soft or simple about applying such notions to the excruciatingly hard work of organizational development.  Honing skills in these three arenas requires patience, learning, practice and intense desire, none of which are easy attributes to cultivate.  Where people are too impatient, not open to learning new ideas, unwilling to undertake the repetition of practice, or if they just don’t care enough, then respect, care and love are notably absent.  They are simple ideas, but not easy; understandable but elusive; omnipresent yet rare.

One finds them in the most successful open-book companies.  They are deeply imbedded in the hearts of the best employee-owned organizations.  The very strongest cooperatives manifest these throughout of their relationships, internal and external.  They may be wrapped in different names; after all, it might not be considered professional or tough enough to use terms like these when talking about building  something.  But they are at the very core of what it takes for any enterprise to develop around its people.  In the end, it’s what each of us is expected to bring to each other….

The answers to that question could take many forms, because there are many ingredients that constitute such a sense of excitement, including the personalities of the attendees themselves.  But one of the conference break-out sessions provided one perspective that I thought stated the organizational reality pretty well.  It’s not a formula, but wisdom seldom presents itself that way.  In this case, the insight comes in the form of three C’s:

CHARACTER

However one might try to define it, character is the glue that holds organizations together.  Even if an organization is temporarily performing acceptably, that performance will be negated in the presence of motives that are personal to its leaders.  Leadership lack of character cripples organizations.

Some leaders simply love the power or their position and the ability to manipulate others with it.  Some seek their own self-promotion.  Others might recognize the chance to leverage their authority for the sake of a few.  And within these instances, the seeds of mistrust, doubt, fear and indecision take root to destroy organizational hope.  It may be assumed that leaders will deeply respect the responsibility entrusted to them, but character is not always sound or automatic.

The character of an organization- its sustainability and chances for positive impacts- is shaped by the character of its leaders and followers alike.  Where members seek to serve as good stewards of their authority and resources, their organizations have a much better chance of surviving and thriving into the future.  And good stewardship simply means the motivation to nurture and protect the the interests of all members and the community-at-large.  It’s the care exercised when members have entrusted to their leaders their economic, social, cultural and community futures for safe-keeping.  Character is the measure of how any of us cares for such precious matters.  “Our character is what we do when we think no one is looking.”

COMPETENCE

Of course, organizations must possess the intellectual and energy resources to accomplish their objectives.  But before anyone dismisses this need as too obvious, consider the kind of competence needed.

First, there is the need for the personal competence of the organization’s members.  In a corporation or non-profit entity, members are hired according to the specific knowledge or experience they can contribute to the institution’s success.  In a cooperative or non-profit, members are added according to the specific knowledge or experience they can contribute to the organization’s success; the members must be added on the basis of their common objectives with the other members, and their willingness to contribute personally to the strength of the group.  Too often, organizations are weighed down by the tonnage of unwilling and therefore incompetent members, people who have joined only for the benefits and none of the work.

Secondly, the organization itself has to demonstrate competence.  Throughout its ranks of members, the organization has to ensure that every player is is clear about what is expected.  In successful enterprises, organizations are specific in emphasizing the needs for everyone’s contributions, that without each member supplying his or her piece of the puzzle, the picture can never be completed.

Competence also builds upon the need for the right character.  Character, and all of the expectations of it, can be a learned attribute like any other.  When individuals and their organizations become clear about the need for certain competencies, a high level of ethical behaviors rises to the top of the list.  Such actions only become the norm when the organizational culture expects it.

Finally, if the organization has acquired or developed essential competencies, it can begin to work on business competence.  In short, the members must know, truly understand, how the organization will succeed.  Members have to know the “business equation,” what actions will drive success, what each of them must contribute.   If each player in the game does not have such insight, they might well be playing a different game altogether.  And when members are playing by different rules, seeking different outcomes, the organization loses.

CONSISTENCY

As if the first two matters of character and competence weren’t demanding enough, it turns out that when our organizations have finally experienced success, it’s not enough.  Exercise of stewardship character and personal/organizational competence have to become the habits of a successful organization, practiced, repeated and refined consistently by its members.  Habits are no more than repeated patterns of behavior, and every act by every individual every day has the potential to become habit, good or bad.  Strong organizational consistency is the ability to reinforce the strengthening habits and eliminate the weakening ones.  The best organizations have discovered the importance of teaching its members the differences between the two.

Like competence, consistency builds upon the issue of character.  The strongest organizations maintain a reliably consistent posture with regard to issues of integrity; there are no “situational ethics” which permit decisions that are not in keeping with the organization’s character.  And the greater the consistency of character, the easier it becomes to demand the same of every member.  There are no exceptions to what is right.

The three C’s described above constitute a big part of the high energy experienced at The Gathering.  People become naturally enthusiastic in environments where there is trust, where members can be confident that their teammates have accepted their responsibilities, and that such behaviors can be counted upon day after day.

It’s true for organizations in the U.S. and ones in Nicaragua.  It’s true for businesses and non-profits.  It’s true for secular and church.  It’s true everywhere because it resonates with the human soul.  Organizational environments like these free people to become more than they may have thought possible.  That awakening creates energy, and makes the hallways at The Gathering alive with dreams….

The Great Game of Business is the title of both a book and a movement.  (If you haven’t acquainted yourself with the concept and the company, I urge you to do so.)  But it also stands for some of the most basic needs of organizational life and development, whether in a business, a government agency, a non-profit or other organizational model.  Come to think of it, they’re pretty good guides for personal life, as well.  And within the simplicity of these basic ideas lies the unqualified success of the concept.  In short, they change not only the organizations that people inhabit, but the lives of the people themselves.

Rule Number 1: Know and Teach the Rules.

Every organization- every organism, in fact- has a formula for success.  There are certain things that have to happen in order to experience surviving and thriving into the future.  For all too many organizations, those rules, those keys for success, are known to only a few.  Maybe it’s because it’s because things have always been done that way.  Perhaps access to such knowledge is regarded as a “perk” to a select few in the organization, a sort of “special secret” made available as a badge of honor to high-ranking members.  Or just possibly, these essentials are simply unknown to the majority of people in an organization and there has been no perceived need to know them, that they are, in fact, the province and concern of others.

Whatever the reason, when organizations reserve the understanding of the success equation to only a few, the organization has limited itself, and sometimes fatally so.  To play any game, the entire team has to know the rules, what strategy is being followed and how to score.  It’s not enough for only some players to know, because they’re not always the ones who are capable of scoring.

If I don’t know the rules, it’s essential for me to learn them.  If my colleague doesn’t know the rules, it’s essential for me to teach him/her.  We only win together.

Rule Number 2: Follow the Action and Keep Score.

The only way to know whether we’re winning is by keeping score.  In a cooperative, it might be measured by how much harvest is produced, or how much is paid for it.  In a business, it could be the total sales made, or what kind of profit was generated.  For a non-profit, it ought to be a measure of the impact made in the lives of its clients, however measured.  Whatever the enterprise, it’s not really worth undertaking unless there’s a means to measure the outcomes.

But it turns out that those final outcomes are also made up of many smaller actions, activities contributed by every member of the organization, in some way, big or small. And before we can expect to measure positive outcomes on that final scoreboard, we need to be tracking those smaller, individual contributions that make up the final score.  That’s the responsibility, the duty, of every organizational member to every other member.  It’s the fabric that holds the organization together, that makes it strong or weak, that allows it to grow into the future.

Sometimes it’s hard for individuals to feel personal responsibility for an organization populated by many others; it’s easier to let others take on the obligations.  But that’s like asking a teammate to do all of his work as well as yours, while expecting the same rewards in the end.  It’s not fair, and it doesn’t work.  Being engaged- following every bit of action- is the price that each of us must pay in order to win.  It’s what feeds the scoreboard.

Rule Number 3: Everyone Needs A Stake in the Outcome.

There are no hangers-on in successful organizations (or at least, not many or for long).  That’s why a stake in the outcome is critical to organization strength.  And that stake in the final score comes about in at least two ways.

First, a stake comes about by an individual and all members investing themselves in the organizational group.  It requires a commitment, a pledge, a willingness to do the things that must be done in order to succeed.  If all the planning, or all the financial support, or all of the field work is done by someone else, it’s hard to feel any sense of ownership of an enterprise.  But it’s that sense of ownership, the pride in having something that belongs to you, which drives people through the difficult times and allows for no quit.  Care for an organization only happens when its members have invested a piece of themselves in it.

Second, a stake comes about in the form of rewards, the reason that people invest in the first place.  And on any team, if anyone wins, everyone must win.  If a World Cup soccer or World Series baseball team paid only a few of its members after victory, that team would dissolve in chaos and anger.  Other organizations are no different. It’s neither just nor sustainable to allow only a few to reap the benefits that have been created by the many.  And there is no more certain way for a team, a coop, a business or any organization to fall apart than to allow an individual or group of leaders or a family to be rewarded with benefits that belong to the entire group.

It turns out that organizational development is the great game.  Behind the three basic rules above, there are a myriad of techniques and methodologies designed to build trust and values and genuine caring for one another, and I’ll address some of those in the days to come.  But for starters, the week just ended has affirmed for us that it all begins with the three very simple and wrenchingly-difficult tenets above.

As is true for many games, sometimes it comes down to how badly one team wants to win….

The process has been both arduous and meticulous.  We searched for over a year for the right piece of wood, heavy enough to carry the feeling of strength, wide enough to hold the symbolic messages, durable enough to reflect both the tenacity of a people and to withstand the ravages of Nature.  And then in the Spring, our friend and contractor brought to us two rounds of redwood, each one nearly two feet in diameter and an inch in thickness, rounds which had been created from the old porch steps from my parents’ home on Madeline Island.  Not only did we have the right wood for our project, but also wood that contained its own history and meaning.

We tried to use discretion and creativity in designing the symbols.  We sought to evoke an obvious Native American appearance, but to do so without co-opting or subverting actual sacred signs.  We used the circle of wood as we received it, incorporated shapes that held generic meaning within Native American cultures, chose colors of Native American significance, and added nuances of our own reflection.  With patience and discipline, we painted the wheel one color at a time, one space at a time, adding one feeling at a time, until it had been finished.

Of course, it’s only symbolic.  But sometimes we can invest too much in our symbols, making of them ideologies in and of themselves, swearing allegiances to imperfect notions and foreclosing the remotest possibility that any conflicting perspectives could hold any merit or worth.  We risk enslavement by the totem rather than employing it to reveal portions of ourselves, and in such process we are rendered but sad caricatures of who we could be.  You can be assured that this is not the case with our modest wheel, though there is always the temptation by some to want to brand us with it.

Here at home, all that remains is for the work to be secured to the front portico.  In its place there, we hope that it will accomplish several things.  We think it’s an attractive piece of decor and will likely serve as an easy identification of our home.  Like any piece of graphic work, it will possess the potential to invite passers-by to look and wonder at its possible interpretations.  We hope that it will cause viewers -if only momentarily- to recall again the rich history and development of Native American life before the white invasion.  We trust that its presence confirms, for all who are curious at its display, that there is much to be loved in traditions and ways of life that are far different from our own, and that such embrace has the capacity to bring us closer to truth, if that is what we seek.

Our wheel is just a symbol, after all.  It’s eye-catching and maybe a little intriguing.  It doesn’t serve as an exhaustive statement of who we are or what we believe or how we think, but rather one reflection of one element that has held importance for us.  Like a family coat-of-arms, a service insignia, a nation’s flag or any other icon to signify belonging, it’s but one clue to the whole.  Who we are in our entirety can only be truly reflected in how we live our lives, in love and stewardship, every day….

I can watch the dance for hours.  Their performances are limited to a short time, so the time for appreciation is limited.  But every night their appearance is as fresh and mystical as the previous night, as if I had never witnessed their tiny, plaintive dots of light ever before.  On special occasion, one might even choose to light on my outstretched hand, as if looking for a momentary place to rest from constant flight and flash.  And when it happens, I am touched, in the same way as when in the presence of a giant redwood tree or eye-to-eye with a penguin or beholding some other treasure of Nature.

There are lots of people who have never seen a firefly.  Fireflies aren’t visible everywhere, so when describing their short summer life, I might encounter quizzical looks and expressions of surprise; there is always wonder at things we don’t fully understand.  Folks are usually surprised to learn that they can be found around the world, even in places where one would not expect.  (However, they are not found everywhere in the U.S.  No one is really certain about why this is so.)

Fireflies have an elemental quality about them.  Ask anyone familiar with “lightning bugs,” as they are sometimes called, and he/she is likely to tell you stories of warm summer nights, during a simpler time in life, of following the luminescence where it would lead, of loving the feel of at least the memories, if not the realities.  (We like to cling to the recollections which make us feel best; the harsh ones fade with time.)  Fireflies, like most awakenings to Nature, fill us with questions and wonder.  They have always been with us, as I suppose they will always be.

I find that there is a great deal to learn by watching fireflies.  It’s not so much that I know a great deal about them or that I’d really like to be a firefly, for that would be a dangerous thing!  There are too many predators who prey on the small to warrant that desire.  But observing their flashing, silent drifting on the night air always gives me pause, to reflect, to wonder, to be grateful, to be humble, to recognize my own life from the center of this sometimes-puzzling creation we inhabit.  I’ve discovered quite a bit about myself, just sitting in the yard with these tiny lights around me.  If you’ve never had the opportunity to be immersed in such illumination, I can highly recommend the experience as breathtaking, even fulfilling, to all one’s senses.

And so with the passage of summer into August, fireflies begin to dim their accents.  It’s not that they will go away forever, but that my awareness of them will fade for a time, until the next generation emerges to remind me of both their plight and radiant joy.  Maybe it’s the fact that I don’t see them very often which endears them to me, makes their life cycles both unremarkable and yet inspiring at the same time.  Whatever the reason, I have come to treasure fireflies.  And later this month, when I find myself on the front porch tracking what could be the last firefly of the season, I know that it’s life-light signals the reality of generations yet to come….

At some point in the discussion, as they inevitably do, the topics of wealth and income inequality were broached.  “Money does not assure happiness,” someone observed, and I thought of Santa Maria de Wasaka in Nicaragua where there are few financial resources of any sort.  “But a base level of income to meet essential needs is a given for that statement,” our facilitator amended, and I called to mind the women of Genesis cooperative who worked on their dreams every day, and often without compensation.  “CEOs make way too much money,” a woman observed, and I thought about the earnings threshold of $2 a day for many Nicaraguans.  “The wealthy are unfairly vilified today, and they do a lot of good works,” responded another, and I contemplated what a billion dollars might look like.  “Poor people are still happy, though, because they have learned to be content with what they have,” commented one.  “They lead happy lives,”  and I couldn’t help but wonder what my Nicaraguan acquaintances might have said in response to such a claim.

It was an interesting discussion, to be sure.  But for those of us in the group, the nature of the debate was largely academic; there were no poor people sitting around our table to talk about their happiness.  It’s easy to make sweeping statements about our relative happiness- and the presumed happiness of people living a planet away- when  we’ve just come from breakfast (really more than we should eat) in the latest Nike shoes.  The fact is that there were certain voices missing from the conversation and I felt great unease, unhappiness, in not being able to adequately represent those who were missing.

Measures of happiness, including statistics about health, education, longevity, social mobility and literacy, among others, are relatively easy to quantify.  We can get our arms around such statistics and critique their meaning as well well as their shortcomings, and whether they truly provide us with a clear representation of people’s happiness.  We can even soften the vaguely uneasy feeling that many in the world are not nearly as happy as we are.  We can rationalize the stats and make them suit our own biases and opinions.  But a voice for the poor would have brought a new dimension to our understanding.  Getting our arms around that person, that reality, would have proven far more difficult than merely speculating about happiness.  Staring truth in the face often has that impact on us.

A more complete understanding of happiness, in our own lives and the lives of others, derives from being able to know truths other than our own.  We are not required to become poor to know poverty, but we do have to confront it face-to-face.  We are not required to become despairing in order to know unhappiness, but we have to get close enough to feel the oppressive weight of need in order to assess our own posture.  If we are not personally possessed of this experiential understanding in ourselves, then we need the voice of one who has lived in such shadows to help us illuminate our own journey of understanding.  Or at least a voice to remind us that there is a wide range in this scale of happiness, and many are quite far distant from where we find ourselves.

In the roundtable, I spoke of Nicaragua.  I talked of the poor I have met.  I contrasted their realities with those experienced by the rest of us.  But it was a weak voice that spoke and I need to learn how to do better.  In their absence, the poor deserve it.  Those who have not experienced it personally deserve it, as a testimony to truth.  We owe it to ourselves if we seek to know reality and understand something like happiness.

Being a voice for the poor.  It’s the highest calling, the highest honor, I can imagine….

That’s right.  WPF, focused on women, Indigenous, rural poor and education initiatives in Nicaragua, will wade into the alluring waters of one this country’s premier conferences for building capitalist thinking and understanding.  But before you think that the Foundation has somehow lost its bearings or commitment to local solutions for local problems in Nicaragua, allow me to explain.

The Gathering of the Games features the art and practice of open-book management, the best and most effective means of engaging members of any organization.  It is the outgrowth of the management approach at SRC Holdings and which gave birth to the bestselling management book, The Great Game of Business, by Jack Stack.    In short, the strategy behind this concept is to help each member of the business organization learn how the enterprise makes money, and what every member needs to know in order to make his/her specific contribution to the success of the whole.  It’s a process that I embraced in my business life and one that I feel could have application in Nicaraguan organizations, especially cooperatives.

But transplanting open-book management to Nicaraguan culture is no slam-dunk.  It isn’t that easy in U.S. businesses, either, and for many of the same reasons:  there are the ubiquitous organization leaders who are in the game for themselves;  conventional wisdom and history dictate that only a privileged few can and will make good decisions; the rank-and-file members rarely receive the education or the opportunity to learn how their enterprise really works; leaders foster feelings of dependence in the minds of their followers to affirm their importance.  The full list of obstacles is a lengthy one, which only serves to highlight the incredible successes achieved by those organizations which persevere through the challenges.

The Great Game strategy is an innovative and successful one within the businesses where it has been deployed.  The question arises, though, as to whether it can be expected to generate the same results within a rural, grassroots cooperative in the remote countryside of the second-poorest nation of the western hemisphere.  That seems a good long distance from the corporatocracy, markets and economies of the capitalist west.  It is.

But there is something in the transparency and participation of the open-book strategy that reaches beyond simply good management technique.  What is successful about the notion is that it recognizes the significance and need for every contributor of an enterprise to contribute.  It acknowledges the strength of collective wisdom and the limitations of unilateral thinking.  It embraces the individual as a critical entity rather than a disposable commodity.  It rewards participants both emotionally and economically.  And it touches something fundamental in the human hearts of people in collective work by  affirming their importance and being a part of something larger than themselves.  It suggests the spiritual dimension of life’s work, and that’s why it resonates so elementally with most of its practitioners.

There may be a temptation to think that all of this methodology would be too complex or sophisticated for a population which is severely undereducated.  But the wisdom, the beauty, of the open-book approach is that virtually everyone can understand the notion of their own work.  Whether university-educated or functionally illiterate, people at work can recognize how one activity impacts another.  That’s all that’s required to elevate the game being played.

There may be a temptation, also, to believe that neither this nor any other western-born idea should be imported into Nicaragua, where solutions to long-simmering economic troubles ought to be solved internally, through local players and ideas.  That’s true.  But good ideas don’t care where they come from, and local adaptations of innovations that have worked elsewhere in the world are still local solutions.  It’s why we have introduced the Spanish edition of The Great Game of Business.  It’s why we have refrained from teaching and touting the concept as the salvation for cooperatives and other institutions.  And it’s also why we’re bringing one of Nicaragua’s most  credible and influential researchers to a conference where he will have the opportunity to hear for himself about innovation potential from many diverse sources.  This is how the concept can become localized.