Possible, p.19
Possible, page 19
But as I observed in the Kalahari and in South Africa, there is never, in any conflict, large or small, just two sides. There is never just “us versus them.” Every conflict takes place within a larger social context. Whether we perceive it or not, there is always “all of us together.” It is an anthropological truth that we are all connected in a seamless web of sociality, however torn that web might seem.
In seemingly impossible conflicts like those we face today, it is only natural to wonder where we can turn for help. What I learned from my experiences in Africa—and elsewhere—is that help can come, as it has for eons, from the engaged community—the third side. Here was a constructive alternative to the path of endless destruction, violence, and war.
It was a ray of hope for humanity.
THE THIRD SIDE IS US
The third side is people power—people using the power of peers, adopting the perspective of the whole, and supporting a process of conflict transformation.
In the conflicts around us, each of us is a potential thirdsider—as a family member, a friend, a colleague, a neighbor, or a fellow citizen. When conflicts affect everyone, it is our responsibility to help. Transforming conflict is not just the job of specialists. It is everyone’s job.
The third side is us—each of us and all of us working together.
Before my experiences in Africa, my image of a third party was of a mediator, a neutral outsider who could assist the parties in negotiating a mutually beneficial agreement. Mediation was what I had learned to practice. Mediators have an important role to play. But now I came to understand that there is a much broader and ultimately much more potent way to transform conflicts: a community that can mediate its own disputes.
An analogy for the third side is our body’s immune system. There are trillions of viruses in our bodies, more apparently than there are stars in the universe. The vast majority of them are benign, but what keeps the threatening viruses in check is our immune system. It is our natural resilience. The third side can be understood as a social immune system that helps keep the virus of violence and destruction in check.
We don’t have to be neutral to be a thirdsider. Often we are not. Among the Kua and the Semai, thirdsiders are close relatives who urge their family members to calm down and talk it out. Even the parties themselves can sometimes act as thirdsiders if they take the perspective of the whole. Mandela became a third-side leader even as he remained a strong defender of his own side. He advocated for the whole even as he led one particular party.
The third side is motivated by more than altruism. Whether we are family, friends, or neighbors, we are impacted by conflicts around us. We are acting out of collective self-interest because this is our community.
When Roger Fisher, Bruce Patton, and I worked on Getting to Yes, we focused on mutual gain—a classic “win-win”—an outcome good for both sides. What I learned from my experiences in Africa and elsewhere is that if we are to fully mobilize the third side, we need to take a big step beyond our previous thinking about win-win. From win-win, we need to move to win-win-win. We need to think in terms of a third win—a win for the larger community, for the future, for our children. This third win catalyzes and sustains the efforts of the third side over the long term.
To be an effective thirdsider is not easy. If we are reactive and intrusive, we risk making things worse. As thirdsiders, we can help others go to the balcony only if we have gone to the balcony ourselves. We can help the parties build a golden bridge only if we ourselves have built bridges of trust with the parties. That’s why in the logical sequence of the path to possible, the third side is the final victory, building on the work of both the balcony and the bridge.
The third side is an invisible resource that we have barely begun to tap, perhaps the greatest power we have for transforming conflict. If we activate it fully, it has the potential to be the much-needed antidote to today’s troubling polarization, extremism, and demonization of the other.
UNLOCK THE POTENTIAL AROUND
If going to the balcony unlocks the potential within us and building a golden bridge unlocks the potential between us, engaging the third side unlocks the potential around us.
To activate the third side, we deploy three natural powers. Each is an innate human capacity, something we may already know how to do but simply need to develop and hone.
The first is the power to host—to welcome and connect the parties. When the Kua circle around the campfire in their kgotla, they are effectively hosting the conflict and the parties. No one is left out of the circle.
The second is the power to help—to help the parties go to the balcony and build a golden bridge when it is not at all easy to do. Among the Kua, the friends, relatives, and elders help the parties by facilitating resolution and reconciliation.
The third is the power to swarm—to apply a critical mass of ideas and influence. As a flock of birds swarms an intruder attacking a nest, the third side can swarm a difficult conflict. In South Africa, external thirdsiders combined with internal thirdsiders to create a strong force of influence and persuasion.
The three powers have a logical sequence. We begin by hosting, which creates a propitious psychological atmosphere. We intensify our engagement with helping, which focuses on addressing the actual issues. The process culminates in swarming, which brings the full influence and leverage of the community to bear. Together, all three powers unlock the full potential around us.
The third side is a sleeping giant. It is a latent “superpower” that exists within each and all of us. Our challenge today is to find ways to wake it up.
Chapter 9
Host
From Exclusion to Inclusion
He drew a circle that shut me out—
Heretic, rebel, a thing to flout.
But Love and I had the wit to win:
We drew a circle that took him in!
—Edwin Markham
Are you William Ury? My name is María Elena Martínez. I’ve been on a bus all night for twelve hours, and I have been waiting here since six o’clock this morning just to meet you,” said the stranger who came up to me as I entered the doors of the Teatro Ateneo de Caracas in the capital of Venezuela in February 2003.
Five heavily armed national guardsmen and a US Embassy official were escorting me into the theater. Immediately, the embassy official tried to shoo away the woman, explaining that we were busy, but I insisted on hearing her out.
“I’ve just come from a gathering of indigenous leaders deep in the rainforest,” María Elena told me. “Yesterday, they held an all-day ceremony for the peace of the country. The leaders recited many prayers to bless this necklace and sent me here to present it to you so that it may bless this conference. May I put it on you?”
She held out her hands, offering me the necklace. It was strikingly beautiful, made of red and white seeds from the jungle with a large brown hard nut in the center.
I paused for a moment and looked into her eyes.
“Por favor,” I said. “Gracias.”
I bowed my head as she placed the necklace around my neck.
As soon as we entered a private room in the theater, the embassy official said to me:
“I suggest you take off that necklace. It looks ridiculous on you.”
I chuckled. “I bet it does look a little strange with my suit and tie,” I replied. “But all the same, the indigenous leaders and that woman went to a lot of trouble to bring it to me for this meeting. I don’t want to let them down.”
I neglected to say that I was an anthropologist and it didn’t seem so strange to me. The embassy official gave me a hard look and turned away.
I was in Venezuela at the invitation of the Carter Center and the United Nations to provide ideas on how to deal with a conflict that was tearing the country apart. In between meetings with government officials and opposition leaders, I was invited by my friend and colleague from the Carter Center, Francisco Diez, to co-facilitate a conference for citizens. The theme was El Tercer Lado, the third side, the title of a new book of mine just translated into Spanish.
“How many people are you expecting?” I asked him.
“I don’t know since it’s open to the public. But this is an all-day meeting on a weekday. Maybe a hundred and fifty people will show up, maybe two hundred if we’re lucky. Frankly, things here are so polarized that I’m not sure how much interest there is in a public dialogue. But just in case, we rented a theater that holds five hundred seats. Don’t worry, though. If the numbers are small, we can all sit up front.”
But when Francisco and I got to the theater, to our surprise, we found the street teeming with more than a thousand people clamoring to get into the theater and dozens of armed soldiers holding them back. Since chavistas—supporters of President Hugo Chávez—and anti-chavistas had never met in such numbers except to protest and fight, the National Guard had been called out for fear of violence. It didn’t seem to bode well for the peaceful public workshop Francisco had intended.
“What do we do now?” I asked Francisco in the car as we eyed the wild scene around the theater. “Is there a larger venue that can fit all these people? Or should we postpone it until we can find one?”
“At this point, unfortunately, we have no other options. I think we should just proceed,” he replied. “We can do another one later. Everything has been planned. Secretary General Gaviria is about to arrive.”
“Okay,” I agreed. I felt a little unsure, never having facilitated a large meeting of angry, polarized citizens like this before. “Let’s do our best.”
As I stepped out of the car into the chaos, I recalled the gathering of the Kua around the campfire in the Kalahari, what they called a kgotla. That was the third side in action, hosting a live conflict: taking care of the parties, listening to them, and making sure everyone felt included. I was wondering if somehow, in a very different context, we could create a modern-day version of hosting a conflict. What would it look like?
Going into the theater foyer was when I met María Elena Martínez. I felt strangely fortified by her unexpected gift of the necklace with the prayers of the first peoples of the country. The necklace reminded me of the people all over Venezuela whose lives were deeply impacted by the dangerous political conflict. It made me aware of why I was there.
LET THE THIRD SIDE BE HEARD
When I entered, every seat in the theater was filled, with people standing in the aisles or sitting on the stairs in the upstairs sections. Everyone seemed to be speaking at once. Many voices sounded agitated and fearful.
The conference began, as planned, with brief introductory remarks by César Gaviria, the secretary general of the Organization of American States. As he spoke, I tried to collect my wits, remembering to breathe. Then Francisco introduced me. I went onto the stage and stood behind the podium, looking out at all the people in the theater. Many faces seemed drawn and anxious.
“Thank you for having the courage to come here today for a conversation,” I began. “This is the hardest work we human beings can do—to face our fears and listen to others with whom we may disagree.
“I know a lot of people wanted to participate in this conference, many more than the organizers expected. I am truly sorry that many people who wanted to come today were not able to because the theater is too small. We will try to find a way to include them very soon.
“You may be here today as individual citizens, but you carry the fears and hopes of many others around the country. One of you took an all-night bus for twelve hours just to be here. She came directly from a meeting of indigenous leaders in the forest. They performed a ceremony yesterday for the peace of Venezuela and asked her to bring a necklace that holds their prayers to bless the conversation we will hold today. She was instructed to place it around my neck so that it can be here with all of us. María Elena, will you please stand so we can thank you and the indigenous leaders?”
As María Elena stood up, people clapped.
I continued, “I have to tell you up front that I am still learning about Venezuela and your conflict here. There is much I do not know. But I have worked in many other conflicts around the world, many civil wars. And I believe that you have an enormous opportunity here in Venezuela—to prevent a civil war before it begins. I can tell you from my own experience that it is so much better and easier to prevent a war. Once blood starts to flow, it is extremely difficult to stop it.
“In almost every one of the conflicts I have worked in, there are common early-warning signs before civil war. People start buying weapons. Rumors spread of impending violence. People stigmatize the other side not just as political opponents but as evil. They begin to perceive the danger as existential, threatening everything they hold dear. That’s when the violence begins.
“So let me ask you a few questions: How many of you in recent months have bought weapons or know people who have?”
Almost every hand in the theater went up.
“How many of you have heard rumors that your neighborhood will be attacked?”
Again, the hands went up.
“How many of you have heard words calling the other side evil, devils?”
Once again, most hands were raised.
“In your conflict, like in others, it seems like everyone has to choose one side or the other. People who don’t take a side are criticized and attacked. I have heard there is even a name for those people here in Venezuela. It is ni-ni [Spanish for “neither-nor”], and people who are ni-ni are shamed by people around them. Is that right?”
People nodded their heads.
“How many of you have been called that?”
Some hands went up.
“What can stop a civil war? I can tell you from my experience elsewhere that the key is the whole community coming together to stop violence. Beyond the two sides, there is a third side. It is the side of all Venezuela—the side of your children and their future. And your future. The third side is the engaged community that opposes violence and stands for dialogue and finding ways to live together peacefully, even with deep political differences.
“Any of you can be a thirdsider. You can be a thirdsider if you are a chavista or if you are an anti-chavista. Or if you are neither. To take the third side simply means to take the side of the whole community.
“Think for a moment about how this conflict has hurt you and those you love. Maybe someone you know has been beaten up or even killed. Maybe your family members or friends no longer speak to each other. Maybe you or someone around you has lost their job. Maybe you or your child have had a nightmare about violence.
“In the places I have known where the community comes together to unite against violence, it is the third side saying no. If you were to say no to violence here in Venezuela, what word would you pick?”
“Basta!” someone yelled from one of the distant rows. “Enough!”
“I would love to hear for one moment the voice of the Venezuelan people saying no to violence. Until now, this voice from the third side has been silenced. As you think about how this conflict has hurt you and those around you, I ask you to call out ‘Basta!’ together, with all the emotion you feel. Will you do this for me?”
They nodded their heads.
“Ready? On the count of three. Uno . . . dos . . . tres.”
“BASTA!” they shouted.
It was powerful, but I could tell that people were still holding back.
“Do me a favor, and just repeat it one more time. Uno . . . dos . . . tres.”
“BASTA!!” This time it was louder.
“One last time. See if you can give it all your strength.”
“BASTA!!!” The sound was deafening as the theater shook to its rafters.
That was the voice of the third side I had been wanting to hear.
At that moment, the emotional atmosphere in the room seemed to change. The negatively charged emotions of fear and anger began to give way to a positively charged intention to put an end to the destructiveness of the conflict. It seemed that everyone in that theater suddenly remembered what it meant to be Venezuelan, part of a larger family. In that moment, the latent power of the third side was activated to interrupt the escalation toward violence.
In the theater after lunch, the participants broke up into small groups, chavistas together with anti-chavistas, and then gathered in larger groups to discuss how they could work together to prevent violence and preserve the peace of the country. The theater positively hummed with excitement and creativity.
MEET EXCLUSION WITH INCLUSION
My experience in the theater brought to mind the short poem by Edwin Markham that I quoted at the beginning of this chapter. I first heard this poem from my friend Landrum Bolling, a noted peacemaker then in his nineties. Landrum told me he had heard it when he was a boy from the lips of the poet himself at a high school in Tennessee in the 1920s.
Landrum described how Markham had stood up on the stage, with his big shock of white hair, and begun reciting “He drew a circle that shut me out—/Heretic, rebel, a thing to flout” while dramatically drawing a circle in the air with his finger. Then, equally dramatically, the poet, stretching out his arm fully, drew a much larger circle: “But Love and I had the wit to win:/ We drew a circle that took him in!”
In that one stanza, the poet summed up a key obstacle to transforming conflict and offered up an ingenious strategy—a surprising action that met exclusion with inclusion. It was emotional jujitsu. That little poem and its wisdom have stuck with me ever since.
At the core of almost every deep-seated conflict I have ever worked on is the wound of exclusion. Palestinians and Israelis, Protestants and Catholics from Northern Ireland, Serbs and Croats, and coal miners in Kentucky—I have listened at length to their stories of feeling discriminated against and humiliated, stories that often go back many generations or even centuries. These feelings and traumas fuel conflict and often trigger acts of violence and war.
