Blog
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Your Proverbial Turkey Chase
I've never been on a real turkey
chase, and maybe you haven't either, but as we
approach Thanksgiving, I suspect we're all in
pursuit of something. But where will your own
chase lead you, and why are you headed there?
Here are some thoughts concerning "the chase"
to think about this Thanksgiving.
Turkeys hold a special place in American culture -- from defining early historical meals and current Thanksgiving menus, to Wild Turkey whiskey, to calling something we deem unsatisfactory "a turkey!" It was even the bird Benjamin Franklin suggested be our national symbol instead of the bald eagle. And on every Thanksgiving, there are all kinds of "turkey runs," 5K and 10K races sponsored in support of some charitable cause; if you're so inclined, it's probably not too late to find one in your community.
And yet, the notion of "a chase" conjures up the pursuit of the unattainable. Think: "chase dreams," where you cannot bring closure or finality to something in your life. Think: "ideals," which we strive to place within our grasp, knowing that they may never be fulfilled. According to Wayne Capooth, in Delta Farm Press, "Turkey chases have been a part of American history since our earliest days. Samuel Kercheval in his A History of the Valley (Shenandoah), 1833, said 'the native youth is taught the wiles of the turkey hunter.'"
This week you may be "chasing" your own way to a Thanksgiving gathering. Maybe it is across town, or in another community, or at your home. But, wherever the places you go, this time of year puts each of us in a precarious bind: running to complete our work, running to get somewhere, running to get back to work. That's me too.
I'm in the middle of writing a new book about how people can make good on their urge to do good. There are many subtexts at work, but there are two that shed light on the notion of the turkey chase.
First, there is the pressure of inwardness, which is our proclivity to see our work in public life through the prism of promoting and spreading our own efforts. Inwardness tells us to start with our own needs and programs, rather than the community in which we live and work. The second factor is the push for busyness -- a kind of "activity happy, yet action deprived" approach. Such busyness can make us feel we are doing something, moving ahead, and soothing our own anxieties about the lack of progress. But for all the running, all the activity, little changes.
I raise the ideas of inwardness and busyness because they launch us on a chase of the unattainable. If we are not careful, we risk losing sight of what we care about, and what change or goodness we hope to effect. What about you?
What is that path for you on this Thanksgiving? Is it the "chase" -- the proverbial unattainable, unachievable, even undesirable; or, is it something that you should stop to see and feel and know? There is something noble about Thanksgiving, about how it has the power to halt our busyness and inwardness; for many, it creates the space that might not otherwise exist to come together with family and friends (however difficult that can sometimes be!).
Maybe it is trite to say that this Thanksgiving should be about something doable, and that is intrinsically decent: giving thanks. It's a simple idea, I know, and one that you have already thought about. But it may not be something we each do. -
Making Hope and Empathy Real
In so many ways, the country is unraveling before our eyes. Yet, I have no doubt that in time we will respond effectively. But which paths we take will be crucial, and there are two key ingredients that we must bring to our collective efforts. As I see it, the urgent task is to restore a renewed sense of hope and empathy. Progress depends on it and here's why.
The news these days can be dangerous to your mental health. Just yesterday Citigroup slashed 52,000 jobs. General Motors is teetering on the edge of bankruptcy. Home foreclosures continue to shake the very foundation of people's lives and community life. AIG will receive up to $85 billion in federal help. We continue to fight two wars, and the costs keep spiraling up. The list goes on.
My belief is that we must find ways to tap into our history of hope to sustain and fortify ourselves and our efforts; and we must renew our sense of empathy so that we can understand reality for what it is, and shape the future we want. Each of us must take a piece of this work and make it our own.
If there is one lesson from American history it is that in times like these we have good reason to be genuinely hopeful. Such hope is rooted in something much more enduring and proven than mere optimism. It is neither fleeting nor shallow; it is not based on one day's news cycle, or a single speech, or one set of actions. We have witnessed hard times before and consistently found productive ways forward. Our track record is of a "can-do" nation.
This brings me to the second ingredient: empathy. In recent years our public life and politics have been driven by tools of avoidance when it comes to people's plight and pain. There has been a certain "hard-nosed" mentality, which often implied that people should fend for themselves, alongside a charitable impulse that suggested that our problems can be solved by people writing checks or volunteering for an hour. There is some merit to both approaches, but in these hard times both fall woefully short. We must turn our attention to people and not fear what we will see.
A new sense of empathy would enable us to recognize the challenges and concerns of people, and understand how we might respond. This is not some backdoor ploy to open up government coffers and mindlessly write checks to anyone or any company that expresses need. The task at hand requires much more from us. We must exercise empathy so that we are able to see and hear the realities around us, and then to make discerning judgments and choices about what should be done.
For instance, should General Motors be bailed out, and what will happen to auto workers, and their suppliers, who lose their jobs, and all the communities impacted? What about all the people whose homes have been foreclosed? How long do we keep various non-profits open, and how would we make those judgments? Can climate change be used to spur new industries and green jobs, and in what ways can we get moving locally?
The point is that we must be willing to see and hear each other in these times, and to reach into our history and within ourselves for the confidence to make the judgments and choices to move ahead. Each of us will need to step forward, and we must help each other along the way.
Take the first step, and help others get on the path making hope and empathy real -
Turn Outward in Tough Times
Last week I was in San Diego with public broadcasters who were asked what they would do if they had to cut their budgets by 15-40%. Unfortunately, such a question is no longer academic for many groups and organizations. Hard times are here, and notwithstanding promises of "change," a quick economic rebound isn't likely. But so many times when we face crises and choices, our instinct is to look inward for answers. My advice: turn outward first.
There's a great deal of talk among foundations, at national conferences, and in many publications about the tough times we face. For many groups, money is tight. I suspect very few groups will be immune from the current economic downturn. Budgets are being slashed, staffs cut, programs gutted.
Experience tells me that when most of us feel under intense pressure, we turn to some trusted tools. Many organizations undertake new strategic planning, rebrand themselves, and figure out ways to generate more membership dues while trimming services. In taking such steps the impulse is to look within the organization to save ourselves, our work, and reassemble our efforts.
Recently, I spent the day with some organizational leaders facing their own challenge of shrinking resources. Over a three hour period the conversation was focused entirely inward. When I got up to speak I made the following observation: while their mission is to serve communities, barely anyone had talked about their relationship to community. Instead, the conversation focused on how to incrementally cut budgets, or conversely how to slash operations.
Indeed, the conversations revolved around how the organization could save itself. The essence of holding a public mission was lost in the desire to survive. Some people tell me that trying to maintain their public mission at this time is difficult. It is not that they want to do away with it, but they cannot see how to keep it robust.
My response is simple and straightforward. It is in these times that you must turn outward toward your community. The task is not to engage in marketing research, though that might be helpful, but to gain clarity on the following points:
* What are the real needs and aspirations of people in your community -- and how do they relate to your organization's mission;
* What are the essential priorities for your work -- so that your efforts are relevant and significant within the community;
* What does impact mean -- so that you are focused only on those areas where you are making a genuine contribution;
* What assets do you have to put up against this work -- and what other assets exist somewhere in the community?
Without having clear answers to such questions, how could we possibly know where to focus and what shape our organizations should take? How could we know what to cut, where to refocus, which staff we most need? How could we do yet another strategic planning exercise; what inputs would we use? Would rebranding ourselves, again, matter?
When each of us steps forward to engage in the work we do, we make a basic (usually implicit) choice about the direction we face. Most of the time, we face inward toward ourselves, our colleagues, our organizations. I'm suggesting we assume a different posture, one that has us turn outward toward our communities. By looking outward we discover what we need to know to make the tough choices we face, and find paths for change.
We are coming off an election in which hope and change were the watchwords. Part of that change will come from the work that you and many others are doing to make a difference in our society. Even with all the excitement about change, I know this period of economic downturn will be hard for many of you, and I hope that you find the resources, insights, and colleagues you need to move ahead in your work and efforts. You're fighting the good fight: now, let's turn outward. -
What Obama's Grandmother Tells Us
I've resisted writing this piece today, but as I sat down to type this morning, it has just poured out. Just 24 hours before Election Day, the nation learned that Senator Barack Obama's grandmother passed away, unable to experience the (expected) joy of watching her grandson become the next president of the United States. But her death at this late moment in the campaign introduced something that can easily be lost in campaigns and governing, and which our country so desperately needs: a renewed sense of humanity.
My resistance in writing this piece is because I feel that I should be talking about the larger history Obama might make tonight, or the larger trends that are at work in this election cycle, or the larger meaning of this election for people doing public work on the ground. Writing about his grandmother? Yes, I confess I am pulled in that direction this morning.
The senator stands at the precipice of monumental achievement in what seems like an unfolding fable. He is the young man who experienced an incredible rise to power, and ready to claim to the "brass ring," only to be profoundly brought back to earth by his grandmother's death. As the whole nation looked on, he had to navigate his mixed emotions and keep his bearings.
But, alas, this is not a fable. Senator Obama and the rest of us are reminded of our common fragility and mortality. We are reminded that even amid the pundits' bluster, campaign tactics, and hopes that our candidate (whoever that is) will win, people remain at the center of all this. Perhaps the central character in this unfolding drama has been reminded of this reality as a stand-in for the rest of us.
But the message is really to us, not simply the senator and potential president. The loss of Senator Obama's grandmother reminds us what our work is about: that each child needs caring adults in their life; that expert-driven policies are actually about real individuals and families; that communities provide the support system for people to live and flourish, and thus we must tend to the health of communities; that not everyone has the same opportunities in our land.
It is easy for people to get pushed aside in our politics and public life. Our strength is gauged by how we outfox our opponents, or can get funding for our efforts, or gain publicity. Sure, each of these is needed at different times. But they are not what our efforts are about.
If want to make progress, any kind of progress, then we must return a greater sense of humanity in our politics and public life. We need to see and hear each other again. We need to resist mechanistic responses that deny people's ability to truly engage and express their aspirations and concerns. We need empathy -- not sympathy that asks us to take up each other's cause, but a willingness to understand a different perspective and to welcome different insights. We need to be willing to think about the common good, and not just own good.
Yesterday, in Charlotte, Senator Obama called his grandmother a "quiet hero" and "the person who encouraged and allowed us to take chances." Each of us needs to be the quiet hero to return a sense of humanity back in our public life and politics. All good fables tell us that the hero can never make it on his or her own; there are always quiet heroes involved in any journey.