Blog
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The $100,000 Flop
I’ve had this dream for years now: A major funder gives me big money to design an initiative that intentionally fails in full public view. I find myself sharing this dream with people when I visit their communities and talk with them about creating change and authentic hope. While in Binghamton, N.Y last week, I found myself talking about the dream again. For most my “dream” would be a nightmare; me, I want to make it happen.
What I call the “$100,000 Flop” is based on an actual experience I had years ago working in a community that was down and out. Jobs were scarce, trust was fleeting, and there was lots of finger-pointing and placing of blame. Many people in the community felt so beaten up they were afraid to step forward and take any action. Like many of us, they were afraid they might fail.
At the time a major foundation was funding various change efforts in the community, including the Institute’s work. But progress was slow. No matter how much the foundation funded, fear persisted. People didn’t want to come out from their homes and leaders wouldn’t work with one another. Simply giving out grants didn’t seem to be the answer; money cannot easily erase something as insidious as fear. So I went to the foundation and asked for funding for an initiative that would intentionally fail in full public view. That’s right, I wanted to fail.
After failing, my plan was to call a meeting in the center of town for people to talk about what had happened, and why the initiative had failed. I simply wanted people to see that we could talk openly, in public, about our failures, and that nothing would happen to us. We’d all come through the experience intact, no matter how hard or excruciating the conversation was. I wanted people to see that we could dissect the initiative and together could produce insights that would help all of us; that the conversation need not end in more finger-pointing and acrimony. I wanted to create an opportunity for people to see themselves in my failure; and really believe they would be okay.
Fear of failure is rampant in our lives. I see this fear rear its ugly head in so many communities, where it can have a crippling effect on people’s work and psyche. Sometimes we don’t even realize the fear is within us, only to find ourselves stymied or stuck. The upshot is that we hide from taking risk, and the status quo wins out. So, just for moment, think about your fears and those of the people around you.
· Where do you see a fear a failure?
· Why do you think it exists?
· What’s holding people back?
Many of us choose not to step forward because we fear coming up short in our work or personal lives. We are afraid that others will judge us as less than competent, or less than able, or less than willing. There is often the sense that we must wait for someone else to give us permission to take action. Sound familiar?
But consider what happens when these dynamics are at play. Since none of us want to appear to be inactive or disinterested, we generate lists of activities in order to look busy, or we push hard at the edges of a challenge so as to seem engaged. We get entangled in various narratives that tell us that change is not possible, which we allow to close off opportunities to produce change and hope.
After all these years, I still haven’t given up on my dream. In fact, my own hope now is that people in communities far and wide will try out my dream for themselves. My hope is that you will identify an initiative where you or others have failed, and will gather people around to talk openly about it. Stare straight at the failure so that you do not fear its power over you; wrestle with its implications so that you know there are choices to be made.
When I go to communities, people often want me to talk about success stories. I always try to tell a few. But as important as success stories are, our ability to recognize and overcome our fear of failure is just as critical. My dream these days is that in our efforts to move ahead, we will actually take on what is holding us back.
Click here to download a free copy of Rich's lastest essay: Make Hope Real
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The Pope and the Pennsylvania Primary
The Pope’s recent visit to the U.S. offers us a glimpse into what our society so desperately needs at this moment, and which is so glaringly absent from the current Pennsylvania primary campaign. If only the presidential candidates would address the so-called “regular people” of Pennsylvania with the same forthrightness that Pope Benedict chose to handle the Catholic Church’s child abuse scandal during his recent visit.
From the outset of his visit, the Pope answered the call to address the explosive issue of child abuse which came at the hands of Catholic priests. Now, I know many people believe the Pope’s visit was a triumph of public relations and spin over truth. They argue that the Pope sought to masterfully manipulate public opinion to blot out a stain on the Catholic Church. They rightfully point out that he was merely here for a handful of days, and that many skilled public figures could manage the maladies he had to confront. Time will tell.
But I see a leader who never ducked this issue; rather, he chose to speak out. He started this process before he touched down on U.S. soil, with a press conference aboard his plane after take-off from Rome. His actions came as the Pennsylvania Primary heated up, and turned increasingly nasty and sadly irrelevant. Here’s how Pope Benedict approached his challenge:
• The Pope spoke out on a taboo issue we all know exists.
• He talked about the issue directly from his heart to our hearts. He spoke in human (and deeply personal) terms about shame and regret, rejecting the safety of putting forth convoluted proposals intended to make us think he was “taking action.”
• His words were relatively few. He didn’t drone on with long speeches, seemingly written by someone with little or no relationship to the topic. In this case, fewer words translated into deeper meaning, because we were able to actually see and hear the Pope.
• He talked directly to whomever he was with, instead of talking to cameras or some intended audience. This was not about doing yet another event; or about being cajoled into showing up (like a politician who holds a press conference after getting caught in a compromised position); or about winning converts; or about using people as props. The Pope sought to be with others. This seldom happens with leaders in public life.
• He spoke out over the course of his entire visit, even if it was only for a handful of days. His comments were less a smattering of one-off speeches or events, and more of an unfolding of a “public conversation” that took on increasingly deeper meaning as it evolved.
• Lastly, the Pope met with the aggrieved, in private, and with purpose. Yes, he did not meet with a large group of victims. But he did reach out, and by all accounts the event was genuinely about love and healing, not persuasion or photo ops. For me, the meeting turned into an example of what can become – of how other Catholic leaders and victims can come together.
Think, then, of the Pennsylvania primary, where people are being clumsily categorized into clusters of “rural,” “urban” and “suburban” voters, and little more; where there is a fight over how “bitter” people are and various stereotypes; where issues such as “race” and “closed factories” and “poor schools” are raised one day, only to be forgotten the next; where the personal stories of candidates and their mistakes overshadow the stories of Pennsylvanians and their concerns; where candidates talk incessantly about policies, as if having a “position” is the same as speaking directly to someone’s hurt and aspirations.
Just at the time when the Pope vigilantly sought to address the inescapable realities of a very tough issue, the candidates in the Pennsylvania Primary seem to be spinning beyond any reality we recognize.
I know some people will wonder if I have amnesia, that somehow I have forgotten the history of the Catholic Church, and its slow dealings with the child abuse scandal. I see the shortcomings and failures, but I am not blind to the ways in which this Pope has chosen to step forward at this time.
In the Keystone State, votes will be counted tonight and someone will be declared the winner and another the loser. Then the candidates will hop on their chartered jets and leave for some other town, in some other state, looking for some other voters. And yet, it is not another speech or policy position that I seek from these candidates. I wish for them to engage us in real ways about our individual and collective lives.
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What's Missing in Obama and Clinton's Bitterness Battle
In the face of people’s real lives, Senators Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton's escalating war of words about “bitterness” seems to be an utterly silly, even a potentially destructive distraction. As this battle is fought on 24 hour news networks, I can’t help but think about my waitress this past weekend at a Denny’s Restaurant in rural central Pennsylvania.
I walked into Denny’s at 6AM last Saturday morning. I was in town taking my daughter to an accepted student's day at a local liberal arts college, while most the other people in the restaurant were readying for a day fishing or hunting. One of only two waitresses on duty, my waitress scrambled between 10 tables and the kitchen, all the while calling me “honey” each time she stopped by to refill my coffee. As I went to pay my bill, she told me that she had been at the restaurant since 6AM the previous day, and that she was to work until 2PM that afternoon.
As I quickly totaled the number of hours she would working that day, I couldn’t help but think of Senator Obama’s comments about how people in small towns across Pennsylvania and Indiana feel “bitter” these days, seemingly left behind in a world changing around them; nor could I forget Senator Clinton’s rapid response to his comments, arguing that Obama’s words demonstrated that he was “out of touch,” an “elitist,” someone akin to the wind-surfing Senator John F Kerry.
This most recent spat between the two campaigns took place as the candidates participated on Sunday evening at the “Compassion Forum,” held at Messiah College outside Harrisburg, PA – a quick drive from that Denny's. I listened carefully as each spoke of their personal perspectives on faith, and the connection they see between their faith and goals of fighting poverty. Both these individuals said that such a fight is a moral imperative.
But what does such a moral imperative mean when it comes to the Denny’s waitress? I keep thinking about her as I wonder about this recent war of words. I don’t buy that Obama is out of touch, though I do believe that he must translate his message of hope by speaking more directly and plainly to people in need. And while I do believe that Clinton would fight hard for those in need, I wish she would not lower herself by playing with words in ways that taint her own credibility and seek to cripple her opponent.
The very war over the nature of the word “bitter” makes empty the notion of a moral imperative to fight poverty and lift up all people. It is a digression from the real issues. No, let me put a finer point on that: it is a transgression of a public trust not to play with people’s realities. Indeed, while we may hold different meanings for “bitterness,” we do share a common knowledge that people are in search of an alternative way forward – of a politics and public life that reflect our better instincts. If there are disagreements about the candidates’ ideas, so be it. But that is not really the debate right now, is it?
Perhaps the irony of this debate should not go unnoticed here: two candidates who profess to offer a new direction for the nation are caught up in a duel of words over the meaning of bitterness, when what we all know with certainty is that people are truly bitter (and angry) about the inability of their political leaders to address their genuine concerns.
Here’s my prescription for our current malady. I would ask both candidates to take five minutes to reflect on their words of faith during the recent Compassion Forum. Then I'd ask them to share two sentences about what their notion of faith calls them to say to my waitress from Denny’s. What would they say to her about her life and future as she finishes one of her 32 hour shifts. What words would reflect a sense of meaning in her life, and what word would offer her a sense of possibility about what tomorrow could bring.
These are the words I wish to hear.
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Standing with Those on the Edge
As a Washington Capitals season ticket holder I've come to cherish the moment at each game when fans are asked to salute guest soldiers, many of whom are being treated at nearby Walter Reed Army Hospital. To a person, everyone rises to their feet and gives our guests an extended standing ovation. It's an amazing feeling to be among 15,000 people expressing such love and respect. But when the applause gives way to life's daily drudgeries, I wonder what happens to those brave soldiers, especially those in need of mental health support? Are we asked to stand up then?
This weekend, The New York Times ran two articles on the mental health of our troops serving in Iraq. One, "Army Is Worried by Rising Stress of Return Tours," detailed how each tour of duty significantly raises the odds that a soldier will return home with "anxiety, depression or acute stress." The second piece, "After War, Love Can Be a Battlefield," told of 19 couples who attended a weekend retreat called "Strong Bonds," to learn how to deal with the enormous stress placed on marriages and families when soldiers return home.
What is our bond to our troops when the applause dies down, when men and women in uniform find themselves sitting alone in their dark living room or around an empty kitchen table, when the demons of trauma will not relent, when there seems to be no one they can talk with? After we ship someone overseas for a tour of duty, what does it mean for us to have "strong bonds" with them when they come home?
Mental health is still a taboo subject in our society, though our ability to talk about it openly has improved dramatically in my lifetime. I remember as a kid, watching my mom help to create "Hammond House," a halfway home for mental health patients who had been "de-institutionalized" by New York State during the 1970s. Hammond House was located just a handful of blocks from my own home. What my mom and others did was pretty remarkable.
I also remember seeing the slim white envelopes among the mail on our dining room table, with the austere black lettering in the upper left-hand corner: "Saratoga County Mental Health Committee." Among his many commitments, my dad served on this committee at a time when mental health issues were often considered shameful to talk about in public.
I still recall vividly the college psychiatrist at Skidmore College, Dr. Mastrianni, approaching me after a speech I'd given, to ask if I would consider working at the county's Mental Health Crisis Center. I quickly said yes, and it was an experience that would help direct my life. My role was to help patients during the many hours when no doctor was to be seen. I remember going home after 12-hour shifts and sitting on the floor in my room hoping to decompress and sort out what I had seen and experienced. I was only 19 or 20 years old. I remember once having to help tie down to her bed a struggling patient; she was someone I had walked to elementary school with, someone I had known for years.
What I came to know from my time at the crisis center was how close to the edge so many people live; how someone can seem to be doing relatively okay one day, and then the next they are pushed too far, beyond what they can handle at the moment. Together with other experiences, my time at the Crisis Center left an indelible mark upon my heart: we must be our brother's keeper.
A visiting rabbi at my temple recently asked some of us when we had felt God's presence, or at least some semblance of genuine spirituality. I've felt it many times, but one is when we Caps fans stand-up together in a show of support of our troops. In my row alone, I suspect there are widely divergent views on the war; but in that single moment, when we all stand, there is something incredibly beautiful that occurs, something that seems larger than any of us. We are together.
I keep thinking of the people I met at the Crisis Center, people who desperately wanted to get back up on their feet; I think as well about the people my parents sought to support in my home town, and how they were willing to stand up for them. Now, when our troops return from a war many people do not want, what will we do? I wish we could find a way to stand up for our troops – not merely by giving out medals, or through recognition at sporting events, or with periodic retreats about how to save one's marriage. We need to stand with individuals who need our ongoing support so that they can get back up on their feet. -
Warning: Beware of Political Giddiness
Like many people, I'm excited to see how people are stepping forward to engage in this year's presidential race. Indeed, as I travel the country there's a growing contagion of giddiness spreading throughout the land. But, lurking beneath the surface of our national "feel-good" is a warning we must heed, or else run the risk of promoting false hope.
The challenge before us is to not misread people's shared anger and renewed energy for common ground about how they wish to move ahead. The general urge for change is not at all the same as an endorsement or readiness for particular change. The presidential candidates must know this, and so too must the rest of us who see ourselves as catalysts for change.
What we are witnessing in this election cycle is people saying "Enough Is Enough!" over the state of the union and our overly partisan and rancorous politics. They believe that, as a society, we have failed to make real progress on the pressing issues before us, and that matters have only gotten worse in recent years. Things have come to a head.
But, whenever an impasse is at work, the desire for change should not be equated with agreement on what to do. This is true when any of us hit a personal impasse and feel stuck without the clarity about how to proceed. It was true when I first started working in Flint, Michigan in 1997, when I heard people say, "This can't go on!" and yet there was a clear absence of agreement on what should be done. It is true within organizations that hit an impasse, and for the nation, too. Let's be clear: At impasse, people want relief – and fast; and they want to believe that change is on the way.
And yet, at impasse most communities (and in this case, the nation) lack the civic foundation for widespread change to take place. The right conditions, capacity, collective will, and common ground to produce such change are missing. Go to any community and you can hear people talk about this lack of civic foundation – about the community's fragmented efforts, negative norms for public discourse, lack of trust in its leaders, and dearth of catalytic organizations that truly work for the common good, not just for their own good.
The danger before us now is to assume that the energy emerging from this presidential cycle will automatically convert into enthusiasm and sustainable support for real change. That would be a dire mistake. Sadly, that may be the direction in which we're headed now, a direction rooted in growing giddiness, which will lead to false hope. My intent in raising this concern is not to dampen people's current enthusiasm, or to be a naysayer. Quite the opposite, my own work is rooted in the sense of possibility that is created when people tap their own potential, join together, and act on their shared aspirations.
But, I also know that change requires us to root what we say and do in reality - that is, we must root our programs and promises in the very conditions we face, and infuse in our actions and words clarity about what must be changed. We must be clear about understanding the capacities required to produce such change. It is from this interplay between a clear sense of what we seek and where we presently are that we can engender authentic hope.
If we truly want change, we must carefully harness the enthusiasm and energy emerging from the current impasse and marry it to clear-headed realism informed by our most cherish ideals. Only then we can deliver on authentic hope.