Barrier Breakers
I am a blog post behind already, according to my scheduled “Wednesday posting” plan. Writing this blog has been a bliss, but also a challenge with regards to time. Maybe I am just “work avoiding” (a new expression that I learnt in the Adaptive Leadership Course). I will work on my discipline and make sure there is something up here every Wednesday. Knowing that my precious mum and dad are reading these blogs also gives them an extra shine. This one is for my mum and dad!
Talking about my mum and dad (how can I resist, I am missing them); I never quite understood how my mum operated. She was ever so in love with my dad. Growing up, I did not really like my dad. Not that he had done anything to me or anything like that. I just did not like him. I did not like the way he talked to me or the way he did what he did _ but my mom loved him. She seemed to love everybody!!
As part of our training in the Acumen Global Fellowship programme, we had an Everyday Barriers Exercise. We were sent out on a mission, to understand and relate with the people we had decided to serve — low income or people living in poverty. This was supposed to be an empathy exercise, to help us be more empathetic. We stepped onto the streets of New York with a Metrocard loaded two train rides, $5 and a printout with the places we could visit; no cell phones, no wallets; nothing else.
As I stepped out, I really wasn’t worried or scared. I have been exercising my empathy muscles a lot in my life, and well I have been poor so many times too. I could handle a couple of hours. I went into the Bronx. I got there, and a greater population was black — I felt at home; ready to go. I was excited to meet with new people. What I did not realise was; just because of the way I understood the assignment, I had developed a mental model about the people I was going to meet. For some reason I believed they were lesser than me, that I was better than them in some way or the other, and that I had something to give and nothing much to get from them.
I visited one facility. It provided accommodation and rehabilitation services for mentally ill and critically homeless people. Coco, the receptionist advised me that I could not see any of their clients without prior arrangement with the director. The director was in a meeting, and I needed to come back after about two and a half hours. I got the director’s name and promised to come back. I felt a bit rejected though. Why wouldn’t they just let me meet these people? It is a simple, humble and noble thing I was doing- isn’t it?
As I walked out, I saw a lady sitting on the side walk. She was homeless; I could tell from the trolley parked behind her, packed with what I assumed to be her worldly possessions. She was also very dirty. I walked past her and then thought “… isn’t she the type of person I am looking for”. I walked back to her, unsure on how to start the conversation, and asked if I could sit next to her. She shook her head, got up, took her trolley and walked away. Now, this was some serious rejection. Why? “She got issues”, I thought to myself and walked off in revenge.
I then visited a drug rehabilitation centre within walking distance. Soon after introducing myself and stating my mission, I was once again told that I needed an appointment with the director who was also in a meeting. I offered to wait. I sat down in the lobby, next to a lady in her late thirties. We started talking and I found out that she had just checked herself in that morning, for the second time; and she was trying to stop taking cocaine. “Jackpot!” I thought to myself. Here is someone I could talk to. I took on the role of the interviewer and asked her for her story. In that moment, the receptionist noticed me talking to her. He was so furious, he stepped out of his cubicle and chucked me out. Apparently, I wasn’t allowed to talk to this woman.
I have faced rejection before in my life, but three times in the space of an hour was a bit too much. I believe it was at this moment that I stepped off my high horse. I stopped thinking that there was anything special about me, but that I was just another human being and that I had as much to get from anyone around me as I had to give, if not more; if anyone would talk to me at all. I felt humbled and put in my place. It was in this moment that I met Dorothy, sitting on the bench in the little park outside the public housing that had been her home for the last 47 years.
I sat next to her, and just started talking to her _ nothing rehearsed, nothing planned, just two human beings having a chat. We sat there and talked for about two hours. She told me about her life on the farm, moving to the city, her divorce, her nervous breakdown, her daughters, grandchildren and great grandchildren. I watched as the passers-by greeted her with so much love and warmth, many stopping over for a hug. “Oh, he, he my son. His parents passed away a few years ago so I adopted him”. I checked my watch, and it was time for the directors to get out of their meetings. I had to bid farewell to Dorothy, but we exchanged phone numbers. Walking away from Dorothy, I felt loved, and cared for. (I walked away with two boxes of soup.) I felt human, very human.
I went back to the rehab for chronic homelessness and mental illness. Since I was now more in touch with my human side, it was easier to talk to the people all around me. The director was still not available, but I met Leslie and Norman on the street. Interestingly enough, both of them were clients and beneficiaries of the rehab so they gave me a bit of their experiences. Leslie was “rescued” from chronic homelessness when they found a man sitting on top of her one morning. It turned out this man had killed someone three days earlier.
The reason why I did not get along with my dad was simply because I did not understand him. I had never really taken time out to get to know him, and understand why he spoke the way he did, or did the things he did the way he did them. Just one night with him though, changed my perception of him. As I write this, my dad and I are inseparable. I love him dearly and I know I am the apple of his eye. Surprisingly, spending time with my dad has helped me understand myself more — who would have thought! My mum, on the other hand, had such an open heart and an open mind. She believed and still believes in everyone, and tries to understand everyone in all her interactions with them. She clearly saw the amazing man in my dad. I probably would have seen that man too earlier, but I also had mental models about my mum so I never paid attention to her either.
The Everyday Barriers exercise helped me tie loose ends. I had mental models, I had perceptions as I walked out of Acumen that day; about myself, about the people that I was going to meet. My perceptions, my opinions were my real obstacles to meeting and interacting with people, even my own mom and dad. Everyday barriers exist but these are not really institutional or physical, they are all in our minds. The physical barriers we see are a consequence of what we believe.
It is what we believe that influences the things we do; the clothes we buy, where we have lunch, who we speak to on the street and how we interact with other human beings. I believe one of the real reasons we fail to serve the poor people effectively is because we think we are better than them; that we can only give them and get nothing back. But that is not really the case. Those poor people are just like we are, human beings who appreciate being heard, being respected, being appreciated for who they are. They want to have their dignity not be considered yet another case that needs our precious help.
See you on Wednesday!
