Putting it into Practice - Peacemaking with Nonviolent Communication(sm) in Bosnia, Middle East, and N. Ireland

Hot talk in the Hot Spots

Using Nonviolent Communication(sm) for peace making in N. Ireland, Croatia, Serbia, Israel & The Occupied Territories of Palestine

One of the most selfish and satisfying experiences of my life has been teaching Nonviolent Communication(sm) in some of the war-torn areas of the world, where it is most needed and wanted. I had the opportunity to do that in

I had been longing to go to the Balkans since my friend, Dr.Nada Savic, Director of Psychology at the University of Belgrade, had called me in desperation. This was during the Bosnian war and Nada explained that she was in great personal pain as the ravages of war surrounded her. She felt helpless to stop her own country’s Serbian army as they raped tens of thousands of women and children in a calculated military strategy to punish and scare people into obedience. However she was connected to a very large network of teachers and psychologist throughout the Balkans and was determined to expose them to the Nonviolent Communication(sm) Process. There was a great and growing need for healing and understanding if the recurring cycle of ethnic hatred and violence were ever going to be laid to rest.

I too felt a deep pain and a need to respond to the horrors occurring not only in the Balkans but in Northern Ireland, and in the Middle East. A part of my pain and frustration was that although I had the desire to contribute I did not have the financial resources to go to these regions and provide my services.

I was in the middle of processing this pain internally when I was invited to a large festival called the Whole Being Weekend consisting of about four hundred and fifty people, to teach Nonviolent Communication(sm). I was in the middle of facilitating a workshop when this pain started bubbling up. This was probably inappropriate according to the standards of most professional mental health schools of thought but I come from a different school where teachers and therapists are appreciated for their humanness and vulnerability. I began to cry and explain the pain I was in knowing what was going on in Serbia and how much I wanted to do something about it. A white haired old gentlemen asked "What’s stopping you?" "Money." I replied "The people there really do not have the money to fly me over there although they have volunteered to take care of me once I get there." The old man asked me to talk to him after the workshop.

After the workshop the old man approached me and asked me how much I needed. I told him and then he disappeared for a while. The next time I saw him he approached me with a check in his hands and tears in his eyes. He explained "Ever since I heard about the systematic rape of women and children going on over there I too have been in a lot of pain. I have been desperately needing to do something about that I trust could really help. I thought of sending money to the Red Cross or something, but I worry it is not going to really help things change. Thank you, thank you for giving me a way to really help." And with that he gave me a check for the full amount of what I needed to make my trip. At first I felt my usual resistance to receiving, the jackal thoughts of "You do not deserve it", "He should not have done this for you" etc. However I could truly feel the relief it was bringing him to have me receive his contribution and how painful it would have been for him to have me refuse it. There was a quality in that exchange that I pray for in all of my givings and receivings.

So thanks to Rev. George Whitford, that was the old man’s name, I was off to Europe and the Middle East to respond to the invitations I had received from Nada and others in the International Centers for Nonviolent Communication(sm) to help.

"Granny talk, that’s all you talk." yelled the burly Irish Catholic man to the Protestant ex-nun turned Feminist.

"See -- that’s the very kind of patriarchal put down I would expect from someone like you.

You invalidate my age, sex and emotions all in one phrase" she volleyed back.

This was part of the dialogue in the workshop I facilitated in Northern Ireland on Nonviolent Compassionate Communication between Protestants and Catholics. Believe it or not this was a big relief to hear after two and a half days of "Nicey Nice Talk". (My experience of the Irish was one of particular politeness.) Author Scott Peck calls it Pseudo-mutuality when everyone talks about the importance of peace as an idea but no one reveals what is going on inside himself, from the neck down anyway. There is an unconscious taboo against talking about what feelings are going on between the people right there in the present.

After two days of polite cooperation, totally devoid of any life, emotion, or controversy I began to feel a great fear and painful emptiness welling up in my stomach. I spent the whole night tossing and turning unable to sleep with screaming jackals (inner critics) in my head saying "Who the hell do you think you are pretending to be some big wig international conflict resolution expert, what a joke. You are going to screw everything up for Dr. Rosenberg and his organization (The International Centers for Nonviolent Communication(sm) had invited me there)." Then I had another smaller whiny voice saying "Please I just want to be a simple humble counselor, just let me go back to San Diego and live a simple life."

But it was too late I was thousands of miles away from home with forty something ever so polite Irish Citizens waiting for me to facilitate the workshop. Then I came face to face with a most dreaded realization—I may have to practice what I preach—Ahhhhhh!. I may have to express what is going on inside me and ask someone for empathy (understanding) for this horrible pain. Instead of maintaining my nice professional veneer of the all tolerant mediator, meanwhile seething with judgmental thoughts about what freaking phonies these Irish are. I was faced with having to withdraw my projection, which was "These Irish people are a bunch of polite phonies" and remember that Dr. Rosenberg said that "All labels are the tragic expression of pain and unmet needs." My pain was coming from my unmet need for an authentic connection at the emotional level with these people. I was the one that needed to quit being polite and professional and start being transparent and true to what was real inside me.

I came into the workshop that morning filled with dread and anguish and looked around like a lost pup for any possibility of comfort. Then an angel appeared, Rachel the wife of the director of the facility, asking if I was OK, and if she could get me some tea, something some Irish women do every hour on the hour. Finally honesty comes forth, "No. I am not OK. I am in HELL." The next fifteen minutes or so are a blur. All I remember are Rachel’s beautiful slightly teary eyes soaking in all my shame about not being a real international conflict mediator, my anguish about not knowing how to get the peace process progressing in the group, my fear that everyone wanted to leave and sadness that my dream was turning into a nightmare.

She gave me perfect understanding and empathy for all my pain and fear. She stumbled slightly as she tried to apply this new Model for Nonviolent Communication(sm) sometimes called "Giraffe Language. I reassured her that Giraffes are naturally clumsy, reminding her of the struggle newborn Giraffes have first learning to walk. I was feeling the healing energy of empathy coming through very powerfully. What touched me the most was her pure sweet intention to connect with and comfort me.

It was shortly after this that all Hell broke lose in the workshop between the Catholic man and the ex-nun and many of the other participants. It was a great surprise to me, that when the ex-nun began telling the Catholic man what a Patriarchal Pig he was, he

next be turned toward them, making them into the "scapegoat". We came to understand that it was this fear of becoming the scapegoat that motivated them to participate in such an attack. Then there were the stories that many Irish children on both sides of the conflict are put to bed with each night, describing how those awful Catholics (or Protestants) killed their family members, and how they should demonstrate their love for Mommy and Daddy by getting revenge. So that when anyone begins to sympathize in the slightest way with "the other side" it triggers all this hate and desire to prove their love for their family through violent revenge.

The junior college students were very interested in Nonviolent Communication(sm), particularly how it could be used to help them deal with one of their teachers they saw as particularly oppressive. The workshop went very well and I could see they were all very excited about "getting it". All except for a thirty year old male school Psychologist who sat off to the side wearing a proud broad smirk of skepticism.

With unabashed amusement, just short of outright laughter, he asked if I actually believed this would work in the "Real World". I told him that it worked in my real world. He chuckled and asked if I would like to try it on the schools basketball court just down the hall. Basketball is Croatia’s national sport and they are very proud of their dominant position within the European continent. However basketball is also my game. As a kid I had grown up in poverty on an isolated farm. Because basketball is one of the sports you can practice by yourself without expensive equipment, I spent allot of time at it. I learned to turn my loneliness into lay-ups and my height disadvantage into hook shots. I desperately wanted to play high school basketball, but was told that the drive into town was too long. I have been semi-obsessed with the sport since.

I hid my glee at his request behind my best poker face and gave him a nonchalant nod of acceptance. I heard a little Mr. Macho Man inside me say, "Little do you know that you just asked Zorro to a sword fight." The dual began. I played the only style I was familiar with-"heads up-in your face-one on one-kick ass basketball". The talented young Croatian Psychologist was able to "hang" with my style, making the games very close. Afterwards, however, he approached me and in halting English said "You don’t play basketball like Compassionate Giraffe, you play more like jackal". I had mixed feelings about hearing this. On the one hand I enjoyed the acknowledgment of my game but felt disappointed that I had not conveyed what Compassionate Communication is really about. I had tried to explain that the bigger part of compassion is passion. It is not about being "nice, or passive or giving in" but about being holistically selfish and compassionate with myself first, and sometimes in a very assertive way. To give in or give up on my needs is a form of violence to myself and my relationship with the other. I did my best to clear up this confusion with him but I could tell he did not totally get how we could be compassionate and self assertive at the same time.

From Croatia I took the train to Hungary and then down to Belgrade, Serbia. I could not just

We were deep into practicing the process of NVC (Nonviolent Communication(sm)) as a way of learning NVC. At one point a local psychologist expressed her sense of overwhelm at trying to meet the needs of her clients. She had several hundred refugees from the war in Bosnia on her case load, many of whom were women and children who had been systematically raped by the Serbian army. As I started to empathize with her survivors’ guilt, exhaustion and despairing grief a volcano of trapped pain started to erupt. Suddenly she grabbed her throat as if to choke back the pain saying "How can I take the time to receive this empathy when there are others who are the true victims and are suffering so much more than I." I explained to her that just as a mother must receive nutrients in order to give milk for her young so must healers receive the energy of empathy in order to give the healing energy of compassion to their patients.

She then allowed herself a torrent of tears as did many others in the group as they wept at the beauty of this truth. Many were released from the overwhelming sense of responsibility for the people suffering around them and recharged themselves with the relief that allows them to be responsive to the pain of others. Afterwards we all enjoyed a pristine sense of clarity like the sweet smell of the forest after the rain.

One young woman attending the workshop was the producer for the local radio station, Radio Kotor, and invited me to be interviewed. We had to have a translator, but the show seemed to flow very smoothly from my perspective. I was delighted to help stir up more local interest for the newly forming "Compassionate Communication Community."

I was preparing to leave Montenegro and went to the airport to board the plane only to be told that the plane had not filled up so I would have to wait till the next day. My host Titsa explained that a plane reservation in Montenegro is really more of a "request" than an actual reservation. Eventually I got back to Belgrade and began working with many different groups of students, teachers, psychologists and others. Each workshop was followed by a party that lasted late into the night. I have never worked or played so hard in my life. The energy of the workshops kept building upon itself with phenomenal peaks and valleys. At one point two of the psychologists were giving empathy to each other about the helplessness and despair they felt about the war in their country when somehow they tapped into what seemed like the vortex of despair about the condition of the whole of humanity. Almost everyone in the room began to connect with this overwhelming hopelessness, many broke into gut wrenching sobs for the war, humanity and ourselves. At one point I physically could not hold myself up in the chair any longer and allowed myself to lay over in the lap of Nada and let the waves of sobs take me out to a sea of endless suffering. Nada later told me that this had brought her great relief as she was experiencing an overwhelming need to help someone, anyone. Her pain was that of the Mother needing to help her suffering children. Mine was of the helpless Child, devoid of hope of ever being comforted. We had dovetailing needs.

It is quite paradoxical but within minutes after this experience there was such an incredible connection between all of us that great hope was generated. A great sun started to shine through the clouds after this frightening storm. Then we had the experience of "entrainment". This is where a whole school of fish or birds are all headed in one direction and then spontaneously, they all turn on a dime and as if they were using One Mind and head in a new direction. Suddenly we all wanted to go out and party, even though it was one in the morning. And party and dance we did in the cafes of Belgrade until the wee hours. All of us had such a tremendous surge of energy we had to force ourselves to finally go home to rest. All we wanted to do was joke and play and plan for new ways to bring more people into the cradle and comfort of our community of common unity. It was then that I felt the sanctity of the name the Psychologists in Belgrade had chosen for themselves "The Smile Keepers".

I remember laying in my bed the next day with a smile on my face thinking, "This would be an OK day to die, because I now know that I have really lived." I felt complete and satisfied. I could have stayed there forever, playing basketball in the morning within the walls of the castle Correymagdon, profound workshop encounters in the afternoon and evening and intense celebrating with my brothers and sisters into the night. It was a very sad evening that I said good by, lightened only by the whimsical spectacle of my hosts charming the train attendants into giving me a sleeping birth on

the train in spite of the fact that I had no reservations and security was very tight during this time of war.

I had to take a train to Budapest because there were no commercial flights out of Belgrade to the Middle East at that time.

I arrived in Tel Aviv, Israel after a tormenting delay involving three hours of interrogation by

the El Al airline security. I think my mistake was letting them see a paper that indicated I was

part of an organization called The International Centers for Nonviolent Communication(sm) which included Israelis and Palestinians together. Ten minutes after I landed, I found myself in another very intense encounter with Israeli authorities. I turned away for a few minutes from my bags and when I turned back around a young man was clamping a lock on my bags. When I asked him what he was doing, in a probably rather frightened tone which he probably perceived as aggression, he said "You

abandoned your bags and they are now confiscated." I said "Wait a minute I was just looking at

the map on the wall and could not have been gone more than a minute or two." His body became rigid at the perceived insolence as he shouted "So you are going to be a smart ass, you had better not interfere with police business." I was so scared that I had difficulty empathizing with him. Instead I turned into a raging jackal myself threatening to inform his superior about his use of profanity with me. I feel very fortunate to have gotten my bags back without being shot or arrested.

I spent my first two days in Israel trying to get the telephone number for my contact person to work. I finally broke down and went to the American Embassy who gave me the area code I needed to make the number work. I finally hooked up with the "Giraffe Team" in Israel and with Dr. Rosenberg who was in the region for a week. We went to Betsahur in the Occupied Territories near Jerusalem and did a workshop at the Palestinian Center for Rapprochement for young men trying to build bridges between the moderate and more radical violent factions of young men. Dr. Rosenberg was also teaching them about the uses of Nonviolent Communication(sm) for creating political change. This particular community was already refusing to pay their taxes as a nonviolent protest to the presence of Israeli soldiers. The Israeli response to this was to bulldoze Palestinian houses. They were interested in learning how to stimulate the political change at lower cost to their people.

I met a young Palestinian man named Asa in the workshop who invited me to spend the night with him and his family. I joined Asa and several friends on an excursion into the nightlife of the outdoor cafes in the warm winds and under the brilliant stars of the Middle Eastern sky. I felt total acceptance in the jovial company of Asa’s friends and family. Asa’s father is a master woodworking artist, carving all sorts of religious statues and other figures out of olive wood. However it is difficult for him to survive financially because Israeli law prohibits the sale of his wares. I am very proud of the hand carved Giraffe pin Asa gave me. Whenever I am feeling scared about a presentation I am going to do, like the one I did recently for sixty Episcopal ministers, I put the pin on over my heart to draw from the strength of Asa and his family. I remember their generosity in the midst of financial uncertainty. I remember their joy of community even though under military occupation. I am still deeply touch when I remember the strength of their dedication to living nonviolently in the most difficult of circumstances. It reminds me of why the Giraffe was chosen as the symbol for Nonviolent Communication(sm). The Giraffe has the largest heart of any land animal, up to 26 lbs., and it lives its life with strength, gentleness, and great vision. To really live nonviolently in a violent world requires courage and compassion.

I really needed courage for the next part of my visit in the Occupied Territories. Asa took me for a ride. Driving through the streets of the ancient city was scarier than the worst roller coaster. There are no lights, lines, signs or laws. I think there are only a few loose traditions. Sometimes we would barrel down a street only to have to slam on the brakes, throw it in reverse and drive backwards for a half mile because the road between the buildings would not allow two cars to pass. And at literally every corner Asa found another relative or dear friend of the family to waving to him. We must have waved to two hundred people, as everyone knows everyone. There was a richness of community spirit.

From here I went back to Jerusalem where a workshop was being held to build a bridge between

the Orthodox and Nonorthodox Jews, and the non-religious of Israel. It was fascinating to see how Dr.

Rosenberg dealt with the absoluteness of religious cannon. One Orthodox Jewish woman asked how she might get her son to follow certain rules of religious practice. Dr. Rosenberg told her to describe for her son the beauty and joy she felt following the practices and then allow her son to be a part of it. He told the story of the parent that brought her son to the old Rabbi because he refused to read the Torah. Instead of chastising the boy the old Rabbi just hugged him and frequently held him close to his heart. The boy went on to become a great Rabbinical scholar.

I was also deeply touched by the humility and delight of our host Rabbi David Zeller (the world famous singing Rabbi) as he interacted with Dr. Rosenberg. Later that week Rabbi Zeller arranged a meeting with his friend Ram Dass (Dr. Richard Alpert) and Dr. Marshall Rosenberg. Marshall later told me that Ram Dass was taking steps to get The International Centers for Nonviolent Communication(sm) more money so the training could be made more available.

Then we had a meeting with all the old "dinosaur" Giraffes, those who have known Marshall for

some time. We had a delightful dinner with lots of laughter and teasing. At one point the wave of merriment subsided and a quieter more focused atmosphere of story telling smoothly emerged. Tales of Marshall’s travels were lapped up like the most delicious dessert. All were eager for the inspiration generated by updates on the development of new Giraffe communities. Finally the news had been delivered and it was time for questions and answers.

One of the most profound moments was when one of the more religious Jewish Giraffes asked Marshall what his Judaism meant to him. He explained about the oppression and physical beatings he had suffered for being a Jew as a boy in Detroit, Mich. He told about wanting to be in a certain college fraternity but being excluded because he was Jewish. Being Jewish drove him to understand the nature and causes of oppression and to seek a solution. A solution that was not oppressive in some new way, hence Nonviolent Communication(sm). Marshall’s throat filled up with emotion and his voice cracked as he said "My Judaism means that I can never rest while anyone is oppressed". And when he said it everyone in the room gasped and wept at the beauty of the moment. Everyone knew that for Marshall this was not just words. These words expressed the motivation behind the last thirty-five years of this life. A life of being literally constantly on the road around and around the world teaching Nonviolent Communication(sm) with only a few days out per year to rest and be with his wife and family.

Besides the open programs for the public, there was a workshop for the Right and Left

had been practicing Nonviolent Communication(sm) for three years but had run into a block. I was honored at the opportunity and very much enjoyed the group’s willingness to open up and move through some very painful blockages.

I was also then invited to a nearby smaller Kibbutz of about one thousand people. My hostess, Ruth, was the sixty year old wife of a former director of the commune. I was somewhat surprised to learn that they had the same kind of communication difficulties and hurts, jealousies and guilts as small American towns. One difficulty we explored was how to deal with the hurt feelings towards people who worked on the outside and their having greater access to and more usage of the communal cars. Ruth started with a discouraged tone "Oh yes, I got all caught up in this controversy over the automobiles. That is the last time I stick my neck out. I even wrote a letter in the community newspaper. Now some of my neighbors still will not talk to me. It is very painful. I have been here thirty five years, raised three children here and it still seems that nobody knows how to talk about their feelings or wants without blaming, or ‘guilting’, each other." She showed me the articles in the kibbutz’s newspaper where the two factions try to out guilt each other. She went on to explain about the great need of the commune for Compassionate Communication.

I taught her a technique I call "putting up my clear plastic guilt umbrella" so the sunshine can get through but not the rain. It involves focusing my attention just on the feelings and unmet needs of the other. I suspend thinking about what I should have done differently or defending the rightness of my actions. As I was explaining this over lunch in the kibbutz’s cafeteria a young woman walked up to our cafeteria table and said to Ruth in a very hurt tone "Oh, here you are. I thought you were supposed to be on

duty in the children’s library. I finally got the day care kids over to the library and there was no one to help them because you were having a good time with this young man here." I could almost hear my host’s heart sink with guilt. What is really sad is that this was the first time for years that my host had had a guest visit and had taken a couple of hours off duty for herself.

I empathized with my host’s anger at hearing judgment and guilt about taking time for herself. She was then able to realize that here friend was just sending an SOS for understanding about the jealousy she was feeling that someone was able to take some guilt free moments of leisure. We talked about how all communication is usually either an SOS or a CARE package of some kind. I showed her how she might have responded to the young woman’s comment instead of reacting against it. A Giraffe response might have been "Are you feeling disappointed because you really wanted the children to have some time in the library?". She was beginning to see that when we take responsibility for someone’s pain it blocks us from being empathetically responsive to their pain.

It was later explained that this young woman had really wanted the librarian’s job in the children’s library and had been hurt when she was not selected. "But no one knows how to talk directly about their needs for empathy. It usually comes out like this, with someone ‘justifiably’ pointing the finger of shame and guilt when the opportunity arises" she said with exasperation. She said she would try again to get the community leaders to invite one of the trainers from the local Center for Nonviolent Communication(sm) to come do some training. She also expressed her fear that she would not be able to stay compassionate if she heard the leaders say one more time - "We don’t need this, we have Gods Words".

If you are seeing an Authoritarian you are being an Authoritarian!

The next day I drove up to Haifa in my rental car and had a very profound conflict/encounter with a group of Israeli businessmen at Haifa University. Haifa is an incredible city built over the top of a mountain. I was dying to play basketball (basketball addicts would say I was ‘Jonesing’ ) so I went to the very top of the mountain where the world famous Haifa University sits. I found my way to the gymnasium and began to play around with a couple of guys who were practicing there.

It looked as though they were about to start up a game so I turned to one of the men and asked if I could joined them. He looked a little startled but then answered "Oh no, you have to ask the big boss." And then he pointed to what was literally the biggest man on the court, about six foot, six inches tall, a few feet wide with full mustache and beard. So I went over to him, somewhat nervously, and said to him, with the most confidence I could muster "The fellow over there says you are the one to

ask about joining in with you for a game." Then in a thick Israeli accent the man asked

"What you want from me?" I said "How would you feel about my playing with you for a

game or two?"

"You can not play" he said gruffly and abruptly turned on his heel and ran to get a ball that was bouncing nearby. I felt confused for a moment as I thought to myself "I can too play basketball, it is one of the few things I do well." I quickly realized he was denying me permission. Feeling dissatisfied with the transaction and remembering the Giraffe (A symbol for Nonviolent Communication(sm)) motto "A giraffe never gives in or gives up on his needs". I decided to persist. I walked over to where he was tying his shoe and did my best to empathize with this obviously untrue "Jackal" statement (so I thought) that I didn’t know how to play basketball. .

"Are you worried about getting into some kind of trouble with your boss if I play?" I asked. I was wondering if there was yet a bigger boss from which I would need to get permission. A nightmarish image flashed through my mind of an infinite line of bigger and yet bigger bosses all with bushy beards disappearing over the horizon. Each would deny me permission and then refer me to the next bigger boss.

"It is not possible, we start the game now!" And with that he ran onto the court

and started the game without me. This did not sit well with me. In fact I was experiencing a sort of smoldering outrage, like a roaring fire but with a blanket thrown over it. How dare he? Who the hell does he think he is? This is some way to treat a foreign guest to this country. I sat down on the bleachers so I could watch the game as I brooded, and tried to practice what Dr. Rosenberg calls "Enjoying the Jackal

Show " in my head (i.e. the chorus of critical thoughts). After a few minutes I was beginning to connect with some of the needs underneath my anger: the need to be taken seriously and to be respected, the need for acceptance/inclusion.

I thought about leaving, but shame filled images of a whipped puppy dog with his tail between his legs prevented me. I was determined to find my dignity and command, instead of demand, respect in this situation. What was this all about for me? A part of me began to connect with the hurt little boy inside that was never allowed to join his big brother and his friends when they played games. And the shame that was triggered when I internalized the interpretation "people don’t like having me around".

I really wanted relief from these images so I decided to try to live by the principles of self compassion. This would require putting myself first and only. I remembered Steven Covey’s words that a lose/win or a win/lose is really a lose/lose. I wanted to find out what feelings and needs were behind his not wanting me to play and then "hang in" for a win/win.

After about 15 minutes the game ended and the players sat on the bleachers to rest. I walked up the big boss and in my best street giraffe language said "I suspect that you are worried about getting in some kind of trouble but I have been traveling a lot and it would be a big gift to me if you’d be willing to bend the rules and let me play."

He looked up at me with what looked like astonishment that I had not given up already and said "Look I have orders from my boss that says no one without insurance can play." My first thought was "Oh my God, the old insurance excuse, what a classic bureaucrat". This judgmental thought of course prevented me from empathizing with his message and I therefore made the regretful untimely move to find "the solution". I said "But I do have insurance, in fact it is so good it covers you if you get hurt playing with me." I had also broken a cardinal rule by putting my "butt" in the face of an irritated jackal speaking person; a good way to get bitten. I later felt some amusement and some guilt about this exaggerated fabrication but I cut myself some slack and decided it was a reflection of my desperation.

He was not amused or impressed. He simply got up and started another game with his friends.

Again I felt the flare of indignation. "Where’s the American Embassy?! They can not get away with this!" "I have orders from my boss" I mocked him in my mind. Sounds like the old "superiors orders" excuse to me. My mind wandered back to where I was just two days ago, in Jerusalem. I was searching my mental files for data to document the righteousness of my indignation. I thought of the Nazi War Criminal’s trial that occurred there in Jerusalem when Adolph Eichman was asked "How could you do it, give orders to gas the Jews?" He candidly explained that it was because all the officers had learned to speak "ampsprachen" (loosely translated bureaucratize). Whenever questioned about why they did what they did the standard answer was "I had to, superior’s orders". In other words blame it on your boss.

My arrogance was about to give this highly educated Jew a lesson in Jewish History when Marshall’s words came back to me. He said that when you really feel like lashing out, remember what the Buddha said ‘Don’t just do something, be there!’". As I stood there I remembered Buddha’s four noble truths about anger. 1. I am wanting something I am not getting. 2. I am telling myself someone should be giving it to me. 3. I am about to do something I am going to regret. 4. Even if I do shame or scare the other into giving me something I will pay dearly for it in the long run.

Luckily the "Big Boss" was no longer in front of me but had gone to play basketball giving me time to give myself empathy. I began to feel the rage of my "should thinking". "He should be an individual and stand up for his own values, not bow down to someone else’s authority" my inner righteousness roared. I was completely blind to the fact that he was standing up to my authoritarianism. I began to feel all the rage and powerlessness I had felt growing up trying to negotiate my needs with people in authority. I felt the unresolved animosity toward my big brother who had used his power and physical strength to dominate me. The awareness of bitter humiliation rose in my stomach as I told myself that my inability to stand up to these people meant I was a weak, cowardly, wimpy woos-woman. How sad that my inner critic has been culturally trained to use the opposite sex as a put down. I felt the sadness about wanting to be included in my big brother’s circle of friends. Then I felt the sadness inside me about having bought into tragic self judgments. I grieved the loss of self acceptance and inner strength that this shame had cost me. How sad that I had hated myself all my life for this.

Gradually a different hunger began to grow inside me. It was the hunger to see the humanity of the "Big Boss". Up until that point I had been trying to use the technique of Nonviolent Communication(sm) with a big agenda attached. The agenda was to get him to shift his position and let me play. So even though I was following the letter of the principles and using the "right" words - "Are you feeling....(worried) because you are wanting.......(to stay out of trouble), the spirit of the principles of compassion were still missing. I was really using the technique more out of fear and confusion about what else to do. The energy of real empathy was missing. I was giving "Empathy from Hell". But now I had empathized with and cleared away some of the hell going on inside me about this kind of a dynamic and had a genuine need to feel the interconnectedness of our two beings.

As I sat waiting for my next opportunity to try to "hug my demon" (which by the way prevents them from biting you in the ass) I remembered some other things Marshall said in the workshop in Jerusalem. He said "If you are seeing a Jackal you are being a Jackal." I had certainly been caught up in seeing an authoritarian, bureaucratic, rigid, insensitive, buck-passing jackal speaking jerk. And I had paid the price of slipping into the "sin" of judgmental thinking. I had been paying the price for years in terms of my self created powerlessness in the face of authority figures, the psychological torment of my own rage and the simple frustration of not getting others to hear my needs. Judgementalism is a sin with its own built in consequence. In other words we are punished by this sin not for it.

I was feeling a different quality within myself now, one of more acceptance. Previously I was thinking that the lesson here was about not giving in and finding a way to force my way into the game and prove myself a man. Now I was seeing that I was already part of a much bigger game and the lesson was more about practicing trusting the process. I was learning about timing and the importance of empathizing with myself before I try to empathize with the other. "Get the dirt out of your own eye first so you can see clearly to help get the dirt out of your brother’s eye" a wise Jewish man from the Middle East once said. I was becoming aware that you can not empathize with someone from because you "should" or from fear. There is an order and timing to the empathy and honesty process. If I can align myself with it, I move towards healing and wholeness.

Marshall commented on this timing issue in a workshop when a Palestinian woman stood up and shouted "You expect me to empathize with the Israeli soldier that shot my child." His answer was "Yes, but not now". She first needed to receive total empathy for the horror and grief of losing a child in that way, for the pure hate she now had for all Israelis, for the humiliation and powerlessness she felt about the political situation and much more. If she does not get this empathy her other children will have to grow up with a mother filled with anger and hate. (I also believe that cancers, ulcers and other medical complications are created by unresolved emotional pain.) If she stays stuck in the thinking of racial hatred for all Israelis she will be contributing to the political climate that led to the death of her child in the first place.

By the time the "Big Boss" came back to rest on the bleachers I was excited about making my own contribution to world peace by healing the conflict within me about powerful authority figures. I suspect he was expecting me by this time. "I am a little nervous saying this but I do understand that you are concerned about doing what your boss wants you to, however I am worried that if I leave without coming to a better resolution I will regret it. I would like you to reconsider allowing me to play".

"Look, I have children to feed and I am not going to risk losing my job" said the burly man, this time making direct eye contact with me. It was then that the most amazing (lifting me a-bove the maze of separateness and into the clarity of our common humanity) metamorphosis occurred. Suddenly I felt a surge of compassion and clarity of connection to the huge heart of a fellow Giraffe just trying to protect his children’s food supply. Where I had seen rigidity I now saw fierce love for his children. Where I had seen authoritativeness I now saw passionate self confidence. What I had judged as insensitivity was now a beatific self compassion. I felt a wave of great admiration and caring for the man for taking such precious care of his children.

I also felt the shift of resolution inside me that had nothing to do with compromise. Now I was one hundred percent clear that I no longer wanted to play basketball if it meant that this loving father would be in anxiety about the well being of his children.

They started another game and again I sat on the bleachers to process my feelings. Overwhelming feelings of gratitude and joy gushed up from deep within me in gut felt sobs while waves of tears flowed down my face. I remembered a song title a friend wrote - "I saw World Peace flowing down your cheek". "It worked, it really worked! I stayed with my need, nonviolently until a win/win was created." I proved within myself that if you keep dancing with a "Jackal" long enough it really does start to grow Giraffe spots. In other words if I stay with the process of nonviolent honest and empathy I will eventually reconnect with the other’s humanness and a synergistic solution will emerge. Maybe Marshall was right when he said "There really aren’t any Jackals just Giraffes with a language challenge".

I was so grateful to myself that I had trusted the process long enough to see through my judgmental projections to get to that "other world" of a compassionate understanding of the unity of all life. All I wanted to do was to sit and feel the waves of hope and relief. About this time I heard the booming voice of the "Big Boss" saying "I go now. I no longer want to play." I later believed that he too had had a shift and now wanted me to play. His synergistic solution was what I call the "Shultz Solution." Remember Sargent Shultz from Hogan’s Heroes. Whenever Colonel Hogan was doing something against the rules that the Sargent wanted him to get away with he would put a hand over his eyes and declare "I see nothing."

I looked up as he walked out of the gym. The other nine men, who had been sympathetic all along to my wanting to play, now looked over at me with smiles in their eyes. They did not have to say a word. I jumped up and ran onto the court. "Which team am I on?", I asked. Inside though I knew, at least in that moment, that we are all on the same team.

I want to give you the gift of empathy

And to rid myself of lifeless thought limiting what I see.

It’s taken me a while but I’ve come to see at last

How much I miss the present with eyes fogged by the past.

So if I take some time before I answer you.

I am clearing away my projections so your divinity can shine through.

Song by Marshall Rosenberg

Words are Windows or they’re Walls -

I feel so sentenced by your words, I feel so judged and sent away.

Before I go I’ve got to know, is that what you meant to say?

Before I rise to my defense, before I speak in hurt or fear.

Before I build that wall or words, tell me did I really hear?

Words are Windows or they’re Walls, they sentence us or set us free.

When I speak and when I hear, let understanding flow through me.

There are things I need to say, things that mean so much to me.

If my words don’t make me clear, will you help me to be free?

If I seemed to put you down, if you felt I didn’t care.

Try to listen through my words to the feelings that we share.

Words are Windows or they’re Walls, they sentence us or set us free.

When I speak and when I hear, let the love-light shine through me.

Song by Ruth Bebemeyer a student of Nonviolent Communication(sm)

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