Knowledge like water ...

I was thinking, last week, about how facts are like water drops.

We are deluged with information at all times, and technology has only heightened this tendency. We are standing outside and getting rained on – facts pelting us like raindrops -- possibly just a light drizzle in good times, and torrential downpour in others.

If we want to make sense of all of this, we need to become storytellers. Our job is to collect the rain and allow it to flow into a river. The river becomes the story, the channel for all this information.

Either way, we have to get wet.

But when rain flows as a river, at least we get somewhere.

Abaco Cove

The water striped electric blue
we hold our breath
and jump.
Below the wind-flicked swells,
navy, teal, lit with turquoise,
we sink
into the smooth still, punctuated only
by the crisp fizz
of a thousand coral shrimp,
we drift
half-dreaming, between
mustard spines and violet fronds,
silver needle fish, yellow-tailed snapper,
the slow collective arch
of a school of darker jacks.
Then,
they rise,
wings dappled tawny-black
beating languid cadence,
spotted eagle rays undulating
across the sea floor.
We follow
in wonder,
awkward observers
of their curious kingdom.

The Parable of the Raft

What does it mean to journey, and to change? To grow, to continue our onward path, we need to be able to embrace deep changes in our very being.

This makes me think of one of the most famous stories told by Buddha – the Parable of the Raft.

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A man is trapped on one side of a fast-flowing river. Where he stands, there is great danger and uncertainty – but on the far side of the river, there is safety.

Yet there is no bridge or ferry for crossing. So the man gathers logs, leaves and vines and is able to fashion together a raft, sturdy enough to carry him. By lying on the raft and using his arms to paddle, he crosses the river to safety.

The Buddha then asks the listeners a question: What would you think if the man, having crossed over the river, then said to himself, ‘Oh, this raft has served me so well, I should strap it on to my back and carry it over land now’?

The monks replied that it would not be very sensible to cling to the raft in such a way.

The Buddha continues: What if he lay the raft down gratefully, thinking that this raft has served him well, but is no longer of use and can thus be laid down upon the shore?

The monks replied that this would be the proper attitude.

The Buddha concluded by saying, ‘So it is with my teachings, which are like a raft, and are for crossing over with -- not for seizing hold of.’

-----

I find myself changing at the crossroads. My fierce competitive drive was instrumental in helping me to ‘cross the river’. I had to win, at all costs. Each success and failure defined me in the moment.

But now, I feel calmer, cooler, steadier. There is less anger in my body, less need to win. Echoing my mother, I feel as if I have fewer answers, but deeper assurance.

For a time, I worried about this – if I lost that competitive ‘edge’, would it mean I would not be able to face the coming challenges. Would I not succeed?

The raft is a good reminder.

We face many dangerous rivers in our journey. Sometimes we have to rely on certain values, certain aspects of ourselves, to get us across to safety. But once we find ourselves on the riverbanks, do we grasp onto those values, cling to them since they were instrumental to our path?

Do we strap the raft onto our back and carry it up the mountain? No, we lay it down. We embrace change, accepting that we are works-in-progress.

I think I've had enough of rivers. I feel quite light, as I face the mountain.

Priorities for Development? Gender, Environment, Poverty Reduction

There are three areas which, to me, are top priorities for development. I say this based on my own experiences and skill sets, for these are also the areas in which I seek to work. They are: gender equality and women’s empowerment, environmental sustainability, and poverty reduction. I bring to these a series of questions.

First of all, how can we expect to attain common values of peace, justice, democracy, and development, when half of the world’s population still experiences discrimination in some form? I am angry that around the world women still suffer because of their sex –enduring domestic violence and conflicts, having unequal access to healthcare and nutrition and education and dying in disproportionate numbers because of this, experiencing legal discrimination and social injustices, lacking representation in the political and business worlds. This desire to work on gender equality is rooted not only in passion, but also in analysis. Much of the focus of my research over the past five years has been related to questions of gender and development. What this has shown me has been the subtle but repeated failures in attempts to empower women through development interventions, often related to the ways in which gender hierarchies are maintained. My Masters thesis was a study of UNFPA reproductive health programmes in West Java, and my doctorate focuses on state gender policies across Indonesia. I recall being a consultant for the Indonesian Ministry of Development for Disadvantaged Areas (Kementerian Pembangunan Daerah Tertinggal) in 2006 and talking to key officials about gender issues. After explaining some of the complexities and pitfalls involved in some of their projects, as related to gender concerns, the Minister turned to me and asked, ‘So, then, what do we do?’ Finding alternatives is important. My doctoral research has been critical of the processes involved in current gender policies and their institutional formulations. Yet I care deeply about issues such as combating gender inequality and injustice. It is precisely because I feel so strongly about these matters that I am suspicious of the invidious and subversive effects being had on gender relations, and women in particular, by over-simplified and essentialising approaches to gender. This area needs much more work.

Second, how can we expect development to continue apace when environmental pressures begin to constrain possible growth and to endanger the lives of the most vulnerable? My interests in climate change have been mainly personal, but one of my core projects as a Masters student studied the linkages between air travel, climate change, and disparate impacts upon the ‘North’ and ‘South’. It was only years later that this issue came to be championed by environmental organisations here in the UK. The project impressed upon me how environmental sustainability is both of common concern and also disproportionately dangerous for the weakest in society. For instance, we consider the very real possibility of a substantial increase in ‘environmental refugees’ over the next years, and what this will imply. If development efforts do not begin to tackle very seriously the problem of climate change, it is possible that little else will matter in the end.

Finally, how can we live in a world of such phenomenal wealth and accumulation when there are those who literally die from lack of food? The concluding paragraph of Cowen and Shenton’s Doctrines of Development quotes Adorno, saying: ‘He who asks what is the goal of an emancipated society is given answers such as the fulfilment of human possibilities of the richness of life. Just as the inevitable question is illegitimate, so the repellent assurance of the answer is inevitable. … There is tenderness only in the coarsest demand: that none shall go hungry anymore.’ This is not to say that I advocate a ‘basic needs’ approach over a more holistic capabilities approach as from Amartya Sen. But how to operationalise Sen’s work remains problematic. What is evident is that there remain immediate and pressing needs for the poorest of these, who lack the rudimentary components for a healthy life – sufficient food, clean water, sanitation, health care, literacy. The reduction of poverty at its basest level must be done, not only to prevent the gross injustice of dying from hunger in an otherwise well-fed world, but also to achieve development that brings together the greatest number of people able to live the lives that they have reason to value.

Thoughts on Leadership

In 1889, long before he became President of the US, Woodrow Wilson wrote a piece called ‘Leaders of Men’. In it he uses an anecdote that, for me, best captures the metaphor of leadership and its inherent tensions. He describes it as follows:

The captain of a Mississippi steamboat had made fast to the shore because of a thick fog lying upon the river. The fog lay low and dense upon the surface of the water, but overhead all was clear. A cloudless sky showed a thousand points of starry light. An impatient passenger inquired the cause of the delay. “We can’t see to steer,” said the captain. “But all’s clear overhead,” suggested the passenger, “you can see the North Star.” “Yes,” replied the officer, “but we are not going that way.” Politics must follow the actual windings of the channel of the river: if it steers by the stars it will run aground.

There are two different kinds of captains. One sails on the oceans, and sets his or her course by the stars – fixed, absolute, certain. The other sails down rivers, and navigates according to the bends and winding curves of the banks to each side – changing, responsive, adaptive. Wilson describes the politician as leading much like moving downstream; he sees where the river turns, ahead, and gets the ship through.

A good leader, while being sensitive to river conditions, should navigate by the stars. There must be some vision that exists apart from the constraints of the riverbank, an idea and sense of direction and purpose that is imaginative, creative, transcendent. The good leader must be able not only to chart this course, but to ‘guide the ship’ through, which implies the ability to mobilise and excite people toward a common goal. The establishment of vision is critical, as is the ability to facilitate cooperative and empowered participation toward the achievement of this vision.

Every good leader must be partnered with a good manager. This is not to imply that they are necessarily distinct, as both must display overlapping skills. But the question is one of emphasis. The good manager, while knowledgeable of star patterns, should navigate by the river’s flow. The manager understands the intricacies of context and conditions, and is able to safely establish parameters for action, process, delegation of responsibilities, and flows of information – all in order to get the ship safely downstream.

Both leaders and managers, stepping away from the analogy, must be able to deal well with ideas and with people. This is a behaviour that can be learned. Sometimes leadership is associated with charisma. This Greek word, meaning ‘gift of the gods,’ was first used by sociologist Max Weber to describe an aspect of leaders that he did not understand. Yet it is possible to demystify charisma through establishing the particular characteristics demonstrated by individual leaders that prove most successful. Marshall Sashkin, in composing the Leader Behavior Questionnaire (LBQ), argues that there are five factors that help to explain what leaders do that makes them so successful. These behaviour categories are:

- clarity (the ability to focus others’ attention on key ideas, making vivid and visual the key aspects of the leader’s vision, such as through metaphors),

- communication (skills such as active listening and giving and receiving feedback well),

- consistency (‘saying what you mean and meaning what you say,’ i.e. demonstrating integrity of purpose and action to build trust over time),

- caring (demonstrating respect and concern for people, including in the ‘little’ things),

- creating opportunities (empowering followers to accept and take on challenges, while taking care to minimise risk and to not demand overmuch from them).

These five behaviours, among others, can and should be practiced by good leaders and good managers. What is perhaps most important is the willingness to grow, being open to improvement, upgrading, even critique. This is the lesson I have learned from my father, who has been in high positions of leadership: he was always learning, always thinking, and always prepared to receive counsel; in this way, he has continued to develop his leadership skills.

To return to the metaphor, if we envision this sea captain at the helm of the ship, she still holds her compass and ponders the night sky, with a clear vision of where they must go. At her side stands the river captain, managing the ship’s resources and guaranteeing that they are able to make safe passage. Both listen to and encourage the crew, such that the crew members feel an integral part of the voyage and are able to contribute uniquely. In this way, the crew as a whole is able to avoid being bogged down by lethargy or routine, and to adventure together toward uncharted territory.

Varsity Match (March 10 2005)

I step into the ring, step into my memories
(how has it taken me this long to write?
perhaps even this is too much), bending through
to manoeuvre the thick ropes that are meant
to hold me in, keep us square.
Diagonal across from me, she shakes her legs,
rocks her head from side-to-side, front-to-back.
I shrug my shoulders and watch her
as fingers press into my neck –
my coach – his hands, his voice, his mouth
inches from mine as he stresses
what I must do, punctuating advice
with air punches (yes, stresses,
the stress and nerves thudding through me
in time with a heartbeat so loud it shakes
me on my feet). I try to breathe,
focus on breathing, open my mouth for air
to find a mouthguard shoved in,
black plastic meant to save my teeth
but unable to save my lips from the
chafing and burning and swelling to come.
I stare at my coach, focus deep,
try to make the crowd disappear,
give myself one last shake and then it’s
go! it’s the bell! it’s the
clang that signals our warfare.
Hands up and gloves close, I feel the leather
against my moist cheek, pressed into the
hollow by my eyes, elbows tight
to cover ribs and feet arched to react.
Front foot forward, right foot on ball,
calf taut and swollen to sprint, then
spring I do, snapping forward to unleash
the waiting, a stretch of sinew and muscle
from my heart into my left, this extension
of me that rips itself from my fibre
to tear into her face.
She comes back, guarded, strong, swinging
punches with aggression, and I take it,
I move, block, parry
in-and-out, in-and-out (Be first!
I hear his voice, only his voice – Be first! I jab).
We are moving fast, to catch up to ourselves,
and pausing, circling,
eyeing each other with questions of measure –
do I measure up? will I be stronger?
The pain builds as the seconds pass,
a fire that spreads from calf to thigh, shoulder blades
alight, lats and abs twisting and swelling
with each snap, each tension and release.
I catch her and she staggers,
blood crusted just below her nose, blood that
calms me, cools me in my fire. She is hurt.
In my head I am quiet, I am lethal,
I will be faster and stronger and
I will win.
The bell sounds (saved) and I earn one minute.
Shaking legs lower me and I sit in my corner,
gulping air hungrily as they wash my mouthguard,
rinse my mouth, I spit and pant and
listen. Face-to-face, I feel my coach’s words
expelled on my skin, warm. And then
it is time: two more rounds.
We continue our dance, our violent game
picking punches and finding weaknesses
to exploit as we begin to shudder with the pain
of keeping our gloves up, our chins down.
It flashes through my mind, in those last seconds:
‘Pain makes cowards of us all,’ he said
(a champion, a boxer; he knew).
And with sick determination I swallow
the fire, drink the ache, rise again to come
at her, ablaze, stronger and
stronger still, pressing and moving
with the growling hunger of so many years.
Left jab, then a right, and a hook
twisting from the stomach, dropping to
send a short sharp punch just below her sternum,
holding up my arms to block the
massive right hook she throws at me again and again
with her whole body, shuddering with the effort
of absorption.
Then it is over, suddenly and quietly
(but it is only hushed in my head, in this hall
full of shouts and murmurs, buzz
and eyes). I am trembling,
adrenaline pumping in quivers that keep me
on my feet, exhausted. He takes off
my headguard, my mouthguard, my gloves.
Hair is smoothed back, sweat-soaked, tied up
with fingers that twitch.
And the moment comes. We stand in the centre,
referee holding our hands in his as if we are
children crossing the street, needing him there.
A pause, a silence, my heartbeat, then
my arm lifted
my hand raised
and the realization that I have won
hits me just as I hit her: hard,
rich with emotion,
a twisting in the stomach and a
feeling of release.



23 May 2005

Being a boxer

(These were a few thoughts I scribbled down in October of 2005, when contemplating what it meant to be the first woman to compete as a boxer at Oxford University.)

‘Why would you, as a girl, want to box?’

‘Aren’t you afraid of getting hurt?’

‘You wouldn’t want to lose that pretty face, now would you?’

These are all comments I’ve received repeatedly since I’ve started boxing. Some aren’t quite as oblique. One College Fellow looked at me, shook his head, and said: ‘Lady boxer … You ought to be ashamed.’

I simply do not believe that ‘because I’m a woman’ the sport’s physical demands are any different than they would be for a man. There are power differentials, which I readily admit; pound for pound, it is most likely that male and female boxers of equal boxing ability will hit at different speeds and with different strength. But the stresses these boxers are placing on their bodies, in relative terms, is equal. And when a nose bleeds or an eye blackens, it does so equally for both!!

The reality is that boxing can be brutal. It is demanding on the body, the head, the psyche. Boxing is hard. Full stop. And coping with that requires a strength of will that surpasses bodily endurance. But I’ve also fallen in love with the sport. Boxing has such a vicious grace. When a good boxer moves across the ring, it is elegant danger.

Yet women boxers still face different challenges and reactions than men. At every bout I’ve had thus far (and I’ve had 5), the announcers have made some reference afterward to the fact that ‘Oh, their boyfriends or husbands better be careful! Wow! Men, watch out – these women hit hard.’ Can you imagine this same announcer telling the women to watch out for hard-hitting men, lest they get beat up?? I can’t either. Maybe it’s because we still live in a society where statistics on violence against women are all too real, and all too high, and it still surprises people when women pick up a pair of gloves and decide to fight back.

But I’m not trying to speak for all women. I’m not trying to explain the phenomenon that is the slow and steady rise of women in boxing. I can only speak for myself. I can only point to the ways being a boxer has allowed me to lay claim to my strength, to come into my power, to find pride in overcoming my own fears and hurts.

Because ultimately, it is not whether you are a man or a women that pushes you forward to face your opponent in the ring. When every inch of your body aches for rest, screams to stop – when you remember the boxing great who once said, ‘Pain makes cowards of us all’ – finding the courage to continue must come from your heart. It must come from your will.