It feels foolish to return to this newsletter the day before an election. It feels foolish to take up space in your inbox. It feels foolish to add a single drop of noise to the chaos that I am pessimistically confident will ensue over the next weeks and months, regardless of what happens tomorrow.
But I am a writer, and writers are compelled to write. I scribble in my notes app before falling asleep, in my morning pages with a cup of tea by the window draped with yellowing leaves and reddening berries. Ayana says, we cannot hoard the medicine we have to offer in our notes app. And Audre Lorde reminds us: “We can learn to work and speak when we are afraid in the same way we have learned to work and speak when we are tired. For we have been socialized to respect fear more than our own needs for language and definition, and while we wait in silence for that final luxury of fearlessness, the weight of that silence will choke us.”
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About a year ago, people started asking me to mediate conflicts — abortion funds under threat of an impending 6-week ban, reproductive justice organizations deciding if and how to make a statement about genocide, non-Black people of color reckoning with their anti-Blackness, nonprofit think tanks shifting from the “old guard” to the “new guard” of leadership as they shape and support local government. I was surprised, at first, to be so trusted, and then I realized I’ve been doing this for a long time. I dove into teaching relational skills for systems change, and I found there’s little that energizes me more.
In the face of all the conflicts that confront us — war, climate crisis, burgeoning political violence, electoral uncertainty — I offer what I’ve learned to you, dear reader.
First, a few beliefs —
- I believe that generative conflict is an opportunity for intimacy, vulnerability, and worldbuilding.
- I believe that accountability is a gift and invitation into deeper relationship.
- I believe that all systems of power are enacted by humans and on humans, and so the work of systems change is human work.
- I believe we take our lessons of grief, desire, and creation from death, sex, and birth.
- I believe that the work of grieving what has been lost, imagining what could be, and building what is to come is the most sacred work we do.
Conflict can be overwhelming, thorny, sticky, too big and heavy to touch. So next, here’s how we break it into manageable parts.
The Elements of a Conflict
the somatic
What is the bodily experience of this conflict for you?
e.g. I experience tension in my chest, my throat feels tight, I cannot physically say the things I need to say, I am nauseous before meetings.
the emotional
What is your emotional experience of this conflict?
e.g. I feel sad, I feel hurt, I feel betrayed, I feel numb.
the logical
What are the facts or circumstances of what is going on within this conflict?
e.g. a timeline of events. These are the literal unimpeachable facts, not the stories or interpretations.
the relational
What are the shared or communal experiences of what has happened? What are the stories you tell yourself and other people about what has happened? How has the relational fabric changed among you and other people?
e.g. I trust person A more than I did before, but I trust person B less because I believe they are XYZ. I do not feel as safe or comfortable talking to this person anymore, and the story I am telling myself about that is ABC.
the material
What are the material or resource changes that have occurred? What are the material or resource changes that you fear might occur?
e.g. What have I lost? What will I lose? Who have I lost? Who will I lose?
the hierarchical
What are the power dynamics that you perceive within and around this conflict?
e.g. Who makes decisions? How do we make decisions (collective leadership vs. conventional leadership vs. democratic decision making vs. other forms of decision making)? Whose voice is most valued, trusted, or listened to? Whose perspective is dismissed, ignored, or undermined? Why might that be?
Consider the various systems of power and oppression, including sexism, classism, racism, colonialism, ableism, and others. Consider the intersections of those systems, as well as the levels of oppression: ideological, institutional, interpersonal, and internalized. (Adapted from the Chinook Fund.)
the vision
What do you most hope for the future of this conflict? What is your vision of what a successful resolution of this conflict looks like?
e.g. I want us to decide XYZ. I hope that we can move together through ABC process of decision making. I need this perspective to be included. In an ideal world, we rebuild trust through… In order to live out our values… I want to feel…
Then what?
This is the scaffolding with which we start — a first step, a first invitation towards ourselves and each other.
What comes next is the work of mending — of storytelling for repair and restoration, of grief and harm, of accountability and amends, of sustainable commitments and changed behavior, of asking what we need and how we might care for each other.
What comes next demands play, creativity, and imagination — but we cannot jump straight there. First we have to say the things that are hard to say, touch the parts that are hard to look at.
I’ll leave you with some last words from Audre Lorde, in this time of compounding anxieties: “I have come to believe over and over again that what is most important to me must be spoken, made verbal and shared, even at the risk of having it bruised or misunderstood.”
I hope the writing finds you where you are, too. Please feel free to share this framework — in your whatsapp groups, in your social media stories, in your slack channels, in your community gardens, with your aunties and cousins and siblings and coworkers and neighbors and friends. I ask only that you cite me and share the link as you do.
Take care of yourselves and one another, beloveds.
