One morning, my nine year old diabetic son was in kamikaze mode. The simple process of him getting up and dressed, testing his blood sugar, having his insulin injection, eating breakfast, and sorting out his school bag so we were ready to leave the house by 8.30, became a battle of wills. Initially my requests were quietly spoken, but the more uncooperative he was, the louder my voice became until, after an hour trying unsuccessfully to get him ready, I lost it completely. Not only was I conscious suddenly of my potential for violence, I really wanted to hurt him for giving me such a hard time. I banged my fists on the walls, shrieked liked a banshee and scared the wits out of both of us. To avoid the violence which in that irrational moment I felt moved to commit, I put Tian in one room and locked myself in another until I’d calmed down enough to reconnect with him safely and get him into school. Then I went off to my first meeting of the day – on conflict resolution!
That very basic experience brought into sharp relief my increasing unease about the concept of ‘conflict resolution’. While I support the drive to deal creatively with the conflicts of our day, the objective of ‘resolution’ is one I think we should be cautious about because it appears to embrace two assumptions that need questioning. In exploring this subject I will be using examples ranging from the personal to the international. While there is a vast difference in the complexity and shape of these conflicts the dynamics at work are common to all.
The positive potential of conflict The first questionable assumption of the term ‘conflict resolution’ is that by definition all conflict is bad and needs to be resolved. This denies the positive part conflict plays in the development of human understanding and maturity. My seventeen year old daughter’s move from adolescence into adulthood is characterised by conflict as her world view is constantly challenged by the perceptions of others whose experience differs from her own. She could cut herself off completely from this discomfort, retreating into a small world shared only by those whose view of life is compatible with hers. I’m conscious of the attraction to her of this safe life, but whenever she retreats into it she is unhappy because she knows she’s only living a half-life at best, and she needs something more. When she goes out and explores, she experiences herself expanding as a human being, but that growth isn’t easy:
Brought into conflict with the perceptions and experiences of others, her own worldview proves at times to be like a snakeskin that has become too small for her and must be shed, leaving her feeling exposed as she wrestles to create another layer of meaning.
The potential for developing new understanding lies precisely at the point of conflict where differing perceptions clash.
It’s often because particular explanations no longer seem to sit easily with reality that we seek new ways of seeing and being. We may be well aware of how destructive the clash between differing creeds and cultures can be, but when individuals or communities are open to the questions raised by conflicting perceptions, the potential for creativity is immense. This dynamic, whether it is worked out at a very personal level or in the arena of international relations is powerfully captured in the story of Jacob’s ‘dark night of the soul’ at the Ford of Jabbok (Gen.32:24-30). Here he wrestles with one who appears to be his enemy, and yet who through the conflict he comes to see as being of God and a source of blessing.
Through this painful experience his understanding is deepened and he embraces a new identity symbolised in the receiving of a new name.
Recognising the irresolvable The second assumption is that all conflicts are resolvable.
The evidence of history is that this is not the case, at least in the short term. Why should we expect it to be? The factors that lead to destructive conflict are often generations in the making and always complex in nature.
Rather like finding the right sequence of numbers on a combination lock in order to open it, the complexities of a conflict have to made clear and set in the right order if a way forward is to be opened up. One wrong move, and the whole process can be jammed. While I don’t hold to the image of a jealous God ‘visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the children to the third and fourth generation,’ (Exodus 20.5) it is often the case that the conflicts of one generation cannot be resolved in the lifetime of that generation. When we set up unrealistic expectations of resolution that do not materialise, those caught up in the conflict soon feel betrayed and become embittered, and the very end we seek is deferred further.
It is disempowering to confront people with a goal that realistically is not achievable. Anatural reaction to an impossible challenge is to disengage from the process.
At the heart of Christianity we have the image of Christ on the cross. He is the one who literally and metaphorically gets to grips with the nails of inhumanity, Contemplating Conflict Ruth Scott takes a fresh look at conflict. surrendering himself to death, and in so doing enabling the possibility of new life, but between Good Friday and Easter Day is Holy Saturday, that crucial day in the Church calendar highlighting symbolically the fact that deep-seated change takes time.
If we recognise the creative potential of conflict, and the fact that some conflicts may not be resolvable in any one lifetime, it might be far more honest and helpful to speak in terms of conflict transformation. If conflict resolution is impossible in the short-term, what may enable conflict transformation?
Distance learning While standing on Westminster Bridge, a friend was suddenly called upon to stop a suicidal man from jumping off it. As the drama unfolded my friend asked bystanders to run and get the help of the river police at the far end of the bridge. ‘Oh no,’ they replied, ‘we’re only watching.’ Contrary to the opinion of these people, the position of bystander is never neutral. Choosing not to act in such situations may influence the course of events just as much as taking action. In the case of observed violence what we do or do not do aligns us with either the perpetrator or the victim, whether we like it or not. What is more disturbing is the idea that bystanders are more likely to take the side of the perpetrator than that of the victim. Why? Because the perpetrator asks us to do nothing, while the victim asks us to care. To care may require us to take potentially life-threatening risks, to go against our natural desire for safety and security, or to act in a manner that runs counter to our character. It is so much easier to do nothing: To keep at a safe distance. In this context a safe distance is a selfish distance, a protection against both external dangers and internal conscience. At such a distance it is easier to dehumanise those whose faces we cannot see clearly, and thus to either ignore their pain or inflict pain upon them.
Listening to ex-loyalist and republican paramilitaries in Northern Ireland I became conscious that each was able to hold their position justifying violence against the other because they grew up in entirely separate communities and only met in the head-on collision of conflict where there was no distance at all, and creating a ‘good distance’ could only be done by stepping back a bit – an act that in the emotion of the moment could all too easily be interpreted as a humiliating, and therefore unacceptable, retreat. For conflict to be transformed we need to find the right distance. This might be defined as being close enough to be in touch with and touched by another’s humanity precisely because we have stepped back far enough to make room for it. Just to reach this psychological place may itself take years.
Facilitation Those caught up in conflict cannot always either disengage their ‘locked horns’ or bridge the gulf between them without the help of facilitators. Acknowledging that it is a sign of strength, not weakness, to seek the help of others, goes a long way to enabling conflict to be transformed. It’s worth noting in this context that claiming God is on our side can sabotage the possibility of conflict transformation: for those with such a belief, the purpose of meeting the other becomes conversion not conversation. This lack of openness to the story of the other destabilises the safe space that needs to be created for the conflict to become the means by which we move to a deeper understanding as opposed to the expression of our ignorance and prejudice.
Safe space In that lovely story of the woman caught in adultery, and Jesus responding to the desire of her accusers to stone her, with the words, ‘Let him who is without sin cast the first stone,’ his words are coupled with the action of writing in the sand in silence. There has been lots of debate about the significance of this act, but from a storytelling point of view it injects a pause into the narrative and creates a space in the story sufficient for the heated irrational emotions expressed to calm. What is a destructive space becomes one where the potential exists for healing all round. This is the kind of ‘holding’ space necessary for conflict transformation. People in conflict need safe space if they are to deal with the issues. Such space is mutual rather than neutral. The latter does not exist, but there are places of meeting where all parties feel they can be on equal terms. Asafe space is also one where those in conflict are all given the space to tell their stories without Belfast graffiti The first questionable assumption of the term ‘conflict resolution’ is that by definition all conflict is bad and needs to be resolved. interruption. The purpose of questions asked by listeners is to understand, not undermine the storyteller, even though we may not agree with the choices they’ve made.
Recently I was with a group of people from all sides of the conflict in Northern Ireland, the victims of bombs and those who had planted them. In the sharing of stories the victims could see how the perpetrators had themselves often been victims of that conflict and, as a result, become caught up in the cycles of revenge and violence. In this type of dialogue, the use of language has to be carefully watched. It is extraordinary how people can use the same term and mean something utterly different by it. For example, a man might seek for his own sake to forgive the person who shot dead his father in order to relinquish the burden of hate and grief that prevents him from reengaging with life. He needs to free himself from the destructive relationship that he has been forced into with the murderer. For his family, however, this forgiveness may be seen to give permission for the murderer to have an identity beyond being that of the perpetrator of a particular crime, and that may feel like a betrayal of the father. The issue of forgiveness then becomes a source of conflict in the family because neither side recognises they are using the same word differently.
Each person has to take responsibility for the consequences of their actions, and it may be language that highlights their lack of understanding. For example, in telling his story, a bomber may say that it was nothing personal, meaning that he did not pick out those particular people to bomb, but the impact of his action is clearly utterly personal to the person who, as a result, lost a child or a limb or their sight. The presence of facilitators can enable boundaries to be kept, and stories to be heard and understood by both listener and teller.All this needs to happen within a confidential space. In our own time privacy has received something of a bad press. Perhaps that’s not surprising since with 24 hour news channels the pressure to be constantly coming up with something newsworthy means that journalists will hound people in conflict, rather than giving them the space and time they need to process what has happened. Polarised views always make for more dramatic news stories so the polar extremes are often given air time that the numbers of their adherents do not warrant, thus fuelling a battlefield mentality.
Certain healing processes need the safety of confidentiality and sufficient time to unfold. People will not open up if they fear exposure, particularly if part of that process is about coming to terms with the pain they have inflicted on others, alongside their own pain. Developing awareness is impossible under the public spotlight because our natural instinct in the glare of publicity is to batten down the hatches and repel all boarders.
Understanding The purpose of creating a good distance and a safe space is to facilitate deepening awareness and understanding.
Without this conflict cannot be transformed. What we don’t understand, and often unconsciously reject in ourselves, we tend to see as the problem of those with whom we are in conflict. In his book, A Tale of Love and Darkness, Amos Oz captures perfectly the impact of a lack of understanding when he writes:
The Europe that abused, humiliated and oppressed the Arabs by means of imperialism, colonialism, exploitation and repression is the same Europe that oppressed and persecuted the Jews…But when the Arabs look at us they see not a bunch of half-hysterical survivors but a new offshoot of Europe, with its colonialism, technical sophistication and exploitation, that has cleverly returned to the Middle East – in Zionist guise this time – to exploit, evict and oppress all over again. Whereas when we look at them we do not see fellow victims either, brothers in adversity, but somehow we see pogrom-making Cossacks, bloodthirsty anti-Semites, Nazis in disguise, as though our European persecutors have reappeared here in the Land of Israel, put kefiyehs on their heads and grown moustaches, but are still our old murderers interested only in slitting Jews’ throats for fun.
On the cross, the Jesus of Luke’s gospel cries out, ‘Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do.’ (Luke 23:34) His words recognise that at the root of destructive conflict lies ignorance – of both self and the other. We might then define forgiveness as the process by which we move towards understanding and away from destructive cycles of violence and revenge, seeking in the face of inhumanity, real or projected, to maintain our own humanity. Defined in this way, forgiveness becomes the key to conflict transformation.
The climate of today’s Church is not one characterised by an attitude of forgiveness. We have become seduced by the politics of power, caught up in polemical point scoring where the end sought is not understanding, but undermining the position of the other. Ignorance is often confused with truth and the ‘God who makes all things new,’ with idols of our own making. We have much to learn from those of all faiths and none who, experiencing extreme violence and trauma, seek to discover the creative potential of conflict instead of being destroyed by it.
It is extraordinary how people can use the same term and mean something utterly different by it.
Ruth Scott is anAnglican priest,writer and broadcaster.Her second book,Slipstreams for Healing Souls, is published this month by SPCK.In her spare time she eats fire.