Many of the stories I was told in Sunday School were of individuals putting heads above parapets and speaking up, regardless of the cost to themselves. A delegation of American Quakers getting an audience with Hitler in 1938 to protest at treatment of German Jews, and to get permission to evacuate thousands of unaccompanied Jewish children. A former army officer telling of his independent mediation efforts between sides in Biafra's bloody civil war. Representations to the Tsar. Stroppy thorns in sides. For many, unruly rebels sticking their noses in, - why don't you just go home and shut up?
For Quakers all of life is sacramental. And so, if we each have such different life experiences, and yet believe all this in its variety is from God, well then it matters to listen to the experiences of others, - and to speak up and out, to articulate what is going on for each least of us. So what if uniform consensus is otherwise? So what if authority and the party line decree it differently? So what if I'd rather maintain an airbrushed perfection by biting back on the key experience which shows me as so different but which, if articulated, would add something to the understanding held by others. Swimming against the tide isn't perforce wrong. Speaking your mind - coming out with your experience - or advocating on behalf of others - may not be comfortable, but is sometimes your duty.
And so Quakers were the first religious group to set up permanent representations to international agencies. The logic was that as conscientious objectors many of us did relief work rather than bearing arms. We were in stricken places many others weren't, saw things it was important that those in power knew. In the 1920s we established the Quaker United Nations Office, QUNO, to the League of Nations, now the UN. In my twenties I had a one year internship at the Quaker Council for European Affairs in Brussels, keeping a watching brief on working groups in the European Parliament, lobbying and advocating to the European Union, NATO and the Council of Europe. I saw that for difficult issues to be become accepted, acceptable, sometimes it took a pigheaded individual to commit, to speak as a broken record, to gather information, to write letters and to advocate for years. Child soldiers, underage minors being forced to bear arms, is one of the issues on which QUNO has worked with great impact for over twenty years. They've researched reports, built coalitions, hosted working groups, drafted opinions and legislation, changed the landscape - and the lives for tens of thousands of potential child soldiers. But it all only started after one individual outside the organisation gathered clippings for years, spoke on it whenever she could, - acted as a stoppy advocate, the one with a bee in her bonnet who wouldn't sit down and bite her tongue.
In my time in Brussels I and my fellow intern had sought to adapt, to wear smooth suits, to adopt the polished subjunctive in our French. But what a change to my perspective when I shepherded my first Study Tour of activists from different EU countries round the European institutions and NATO. They didn't exude Eurochic airbrushed polish. Rather the opposite. But what power, as Jessie, a feisty Quaker woman in her seventies and a cardigan, grey hair in a bun, drawing on a lifetime of informed & grounded peace activism, listened politely to the NATO speakers, asked the quiet insightful question, followed up with statistics, insights and with a follow-up question from another tack, got the three professionals who had treated her with such disdain to pay attention. Even to reconsider. Again and again during that week grounded individuals from the grassroots, community workers, activists, letter writers for Amnesty, drew on their local experience on an issue, backed it up with evidence and anecdotes, rounded out the perspective of the Brussels legislators, were appreciated as such.
As the t-shirt says, 'Democracy isn't a spectator sport.'
This week I spoke with a potential student politician. He's impressive, principled, articulate, a do-er. He stood last year for a prominent sabbatical position at one of Kenya's elite universities. Surprisingly for me, for a student position, that takes money. Himself from a humble background, wary of standing on a party ticket and of getting cash for favours from adult politicians, getting coopted, he spent all his savings plus money from friends on his campaign - 150,000 KSh, a massive amount, £1200, nearly a year's wages for a teacher. Others, he told me, had spent up to 500,000 KSh and had also been unelected. Because to get elected, on a multi-campus university costs money - for trips to the up-country campuses, to get your campaign out, to borrow cars to carry your team. Though so much?
'I want to be elected for my policies, for my track record on what I've achieved for students,' he said. 'But lots of my peers give their vote on other things. On the ethnicity and tribal background of the candidate. On whether you're a member of the Student Christian Union Society. On the value of the car that you use to transport your team to the elections. One of the candidates borrowed a limo. That got him a lot of votes.' My friend's independence cost him dear. He received phonecalls from adult politicians telling him to withdraw his candidacy if he wasn't prepared to stand on their party ticket, or to leave the coast clear for their endorsed candidate. That's a scary deal in this country where violence can be just below the surface. 'Yes I got very scared. Yes I got depressed. But I did stand and did well last year and I'm going to stand again this year, I think it matters.'
I think its far easier to speak up in a professional context, when you have a business card, a role, a job description and organisation behind you. But it's also part of being a Mum, and as for a student politician, that's where its harder. Things are less clearcut. You aren't acting on a memo or mandate, could be stepping out of line. This week I drew my line in the sand. Spoke to a mother of an boy two years older, who'd humiliated SecondBorn on his birthday and failed to apologise. Was calm, but direct. The mother didn't take it well. It's not at all the way on the Kenyan playground, though it was reciprocal and welcomed in UK. Face, status, appearances matter as much here as they did in Brussels. She called me aggressive. Denied that her son could ever do the like. Said SecondBorn was a pain. Shouted at me for walking away from her. I retreated and cried behind a tree. Replayed the conversation again and again in my head. And later that evening we got a letter of apology from the boy, who had then admitted it to his mother, - though the mother never apologised for her behaviour, and later blanked me in the playground. I know its far smaller scale than any of the courageous examples I grew up with. But at its heart is a shared willingness to look foolish, to be potentially unlikeable and disliked, to say 'This far and no further.'
John Woolman, a prosperous shopkeeper, realised the harm caused by slavery, and for the last years of his life wore undyed cloth. Cloth which didn't provide a market for goods made by slaves. I imagine him standing in his shop, looking, and feeling a fool. Willing to make that painful stand for something bigger.
In my year in Brussels I spent a week standing outside Eurosatory, the major global arms fair held in Paris. We were a handful of demonstrators from across Europe, standing singly at different entrances, inviting conversation rather than shouting slogans. I remember feeling an idiot. Wishing for more bodies to give us the appearance of more strength. But by the third day individual arms dealers would sidle up for a chat. I remember one French arms dealer in particular.
'I don't quite know how I got here,' he said. 'This isn't what I want for my life. I used to own a cafe in Montmatre, but was persuaded to get into this by some clients. And now here I am, and I don't feel I can get out again.'
There was something so unthreatening about an idiot demonstrator standing individually outside a global arms fair, holding a candle which kept going out in the wind, that somehow, individuals felt they could come and discuss their dilemmas and confusion.
For change to happen, individuals need to take tiny uncomfortable steps. And others need to be willing to speak out however uncomfortable, to look a lonesome fool, to come out as the Mum of a boy who might be perceived as a pain, but to be at ease with this persona. You might find him a pain, but he still shouldn't be humiliated. I might look an idiot and be standing all alone, but I still have experience to share which is valid. I may not be on a party ticket, nor have a limo, but my voice still counts and I'm not withdrawing my candidacy no matter how much you threaten.
For Quakers all of life is sacramental. And so, if we each have such different life experiences, and yet believe all this in its variety is from God, well then it matters to listen to the experiences of others, - and to speak up and out, to articulate what is going on for each least of us. So what if uniform consensus is otherwise? So what if authority and the party line decree it differently? So what if I'd rather maintain an airbrushed perfection by biting back on the key experience which shows me as so different but which, if articulated, would add something to the understanding held by others. Swimming against the tide isn't perforce wrong. Speaking your mind - coming out with your experience - or advocating on behalf of others - may not be comfortable, but is sometimes your duty.
And so Quakers were the first religious group to set up permanent representations to international agencies. The logic was that as conscientious objectors many of us did relief work rather than bearing arms. We were in stricken places many others weren't, saw things it was important that those in power knew. In the 1920s we established the Quaker United Nations Office, QUNO, to the League of Nations, now the UN. In my twenties I had a one year internship at the Quaker Council for European Affairs in Brussels, keeping a watching brief on working groups in the European Parliament, lobbying and advocating to the European Union, NATO and the Council of Europe. I saw that for difficult issues to be become accepted, acceptable, sometimes it took a pigheaded individual to commit, to speak as a broken record, to gather information, to write letters and to advocate for years. Child soldiers, underage minors being forced to bear arms, is one of the issues on which QUNO has worked with great impact for over twenty years. They've researched reports, built coalitions, hosted working groups, drafted opinions and legislation, changed the landscape - and the lives for tens of thousands of potential child soldiers. But it all only started after one individual outside the organisation gathered clippings for years, spoke on it whenever she could, - acted as a stoppy advocate, the one with a bee in her bonnet who wouldn't sit down and bite her tongue.
In my time in Brussels I and my fellow intern had sought to adapt, to wear smooth suits, to adopt the polished subjunctive in our French. But what a change to my perspective when I shepherded my first Study Tour of activists from different EU countries round the European institutions and NATO. They didn't exude Eurochic airbrushed polish. Rather the opposite. But what power, as Jessie, a feisty Quaker woman in her seventies and a cardigan, grey hair in a bun, drawing on a lifetime of informed & grounded peace activism, listened politely to the NATO speakers, asked the quiet insightful question, followed up with statistics, insights and with a follow-up question from another tack, got the three professionals who had treated her with such disdain to pay attention. Even to reconsider. Again and again during that week grounded individuals from the grassroots, community workers, activists, letter writers for Amnesty, drew on their local experience on an issue, backed it up with evidence and anecdotes, rounded out the perspective of the Brussels legislators, were appreciated as such.
As the t-shirt says, 'Democracy isn't a spectator sport.'
This week I spoke with a potential student politician. He's impressive, principled, articulate, a do-er. He stood last year for a prominent sabbatical position at one of Kenya's elite universities. Surprisingly for me, for a student position, that takes money. Himself from a humble background, wary of standing on a party ticket and of getting cash for favours from adult politicians, getting coopted, he spent all his savings plus money from friends on his campaign - 150,000 KSh, a massive amount, £1200, nearly a year's wages for a teacher. Others, he told me, had spent up to 500,000 KSh and had also been unelected. Because to get elected, on a multi-campus university costs money - for trips to the up-country campuses, to get your campaign out, to borrow cars to carry your team. Though so much?
'I want to be elected for my policies, for my track record on what I've achieved for students,' he said. 'But lots of my peers give their vote on other things. On the ethnicity and tribal background of the candidate. On whether you're a member of the Student Christian Union Society. On the value of the car that you use to transport your team to the elections. One of the candidates borrowed a limo. That got him a lot of votes.' My friend's independence cost him dear. He received phonecalls from adult politicians telling him to withdraw his candidacy if he wasn't prepared to stand on their party ticket, or to leave the coast clear for their endorsed candidate. That's a scary deal in this country where violence can be just below the surface. 'Yes I got very scared. Yes I got depressed. But I did stand and did well last year and I'm going to stand again this year, I think it matters.'
I think its far easier to speak up in a professional context, when you have a business card, a role, a job description and organisation behind you. But it's also part of being a Mum, and as for a student politician, that's where its harder. Things are less clearcut. You aren't acting on a memo or mandate, could be stepping out of line. This week I drew my line in the sand. Spoke to a mother of an boy two years older, who'd humiliated SecondBorn on his birthday and failed to apologise. Was calm, but direct. The mother didn't take it well. It's not at all the way on the Kenyan playground, though it was reciprocal and welcomed in UK. Face, status, appearances matter as much here as they did in Brussels. She called me aggressive. Denied that her son could ever do the like. Said SecondBorn was a pain. Shouted at me for walking away from her. I retreated and cried behind a tree. Replayed the conversation again and again in my head. And later that evening we got a letter of apology from the boy, who had then admitted it to his mother, - though the mother never apologised for her behaviour, and later blanked me in the playground. I know its far smaller scale than any of the courageous examples I grew up with. But at its heart is a shared willingness to look foolish, to be potentially unlikeable and disliked, to say 'This far and no further.'
John Woolman, a prosperous shopkeeper, realised the harm caused by slavery, and for the last years of his life wore undyed cloth. Cloth which didn't provide a market for goods made by slaves. I imagine him standing in his shop, looking, and feeling a fool. Willing to make that painful stand for something bigger.
In my year in Brussels I spent a week standing outside Eurosatory, the major global arms fair held in Paris. We were a handful of demonstrators from across Europe, standing singly at different entrances, inviting conversation rather than shouting slogans. I remember feeling an idiot. Wishing for more bodies to give us the appearance of more strength. But by the third day individual arms dealers would sidle up for a chat. I remember one French arms dealer in particular.
'I don't quite know how I got here,' he said. 'This isn't what I want for my life. I used to own a cafe in Montmatre, but was persuaded to get into this by some clients. And now here I am, and I don't feel I can get out again.'
There was something so unthreatening about an idiot demonstrator standing individually outside a global arms fair, holding a candle which kept going out in the wind, that somehow, individuals felt they could come and discuss their dilemmas and confusion.
For change to happen, individuals need to take tiny uncomfortable steps. And others need to be willing to speak out however uncomfortable, to look a lonesome fool, to come out as the Mum of a boy who might be perceived as a pain, but to be at ease with this persona. You might find him a pain, but he still shouldn't be humiliated. I might look an idiot and be standing all alone, but I still have experience to share which is valid. I may not be on a party ticket, nor have a limo, but my voice still counts and I'm not withdrawing my candidacy no matter how much you threaten.
The blaze of individual insight is what blogs are for. Thank you for the lived life behind this post and for the preparedness to share it.
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