Books - Confluencesn| A Language of Gifts

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Confluences

Intents of Book | Forward by Lynn Hoffman | Preface by Cami Ostman

Intents of Book

I personally hold that the world does not need another “how-to” book! I have observed that when we do our work well, whether in our personal or employment interactions, there are usually processes at play which bring forth thoughtful and compassionate responsivity . Those times I am involved in hiring people, I want to know that a person is able to think on her feet, with a keen awareness of the social worlds in flux around her, and, most importantly, perhaps, I want to know that she carries a strong curiosity for, and value for the gifts in circulation within people's lives and communities. I do not want to see a person dependent upon “how-to” instructions that remove her from her own responsibilities and responsive actions.

A variety of styles are found within these pages, including essays, poetry, lyrics, satire and humour, along with photography and art. I believe that the ‘information' which enables quality work to occur is much more than just ‘information.' I am calling for a ‘rhizome know-how' -- a pragmatic and ever-shifting understanding of the movement of gifts, goods, restraints and roadblocks, in lines that move through local relationships and geographical locations, as well as larger scale histories, culture and even nature. It is my desire that the rhizome movements invited through this book will assist readers toward a reinvigoration of their various relational practices and an encouragement to continue in their communal, gift-centred work.

A few comments about the intents of this book.

This book is written for those who have keenly felt this tension between institutional requirements and the invitation toward communal action. Whether the reader is a worker, an administrator, or a consumer of so-called human service products, if in his walk through the human services realm he has experienced the pulls of this tension (that is tensions between: institution/ community, intervention/response, tree/ rhizome, gift-economy/restricted-economy – to name a few), it is my hope that he may find understanding and courage within these pages

· I personally hold that the world does not need another “how-to” book! I have observed that when we do our work well, whether in our personal or employment interactions, there are usually processes at play which bring forth thoughtful and compassionate responsivity . Those times I am involved in hiring people, I want to know that a person is able to think on her feet, with a keen awareness of the social worlds in flux around her, and, most importantly, perhaps, I want to know that she carries a strong curiosity for, and value for the gifts in circulation within people's lives and communities. I do not want to see a person dependent upon “how-to” instructions that remove her from her own responsibilities and responsive actions.

· A variety of styles are found within these pages, including essays, poetry, lyrics, satire and humour, along with photography and art. I believe that the ‘information' which enables quality work to occur is much more than just ‘information.' I am calling for a ‘rhizome know-how' -- a pragmatic and ever-shifting understanding of the movement of gifts, goods, restraints and roadblocks, in lines that move through local relationships and geographical locations, as well as larger scale histories, culture and even nature. It is my desire that the rhizome movements invited through this book will assist readers toward a reinvigoration of their various relational practices and an encouragement to continue in their communal, gift-centred work.

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Forward\

Author, Family Therapist

Northapton , Massachusetts

Much of this Forward is excerpted from “The Art of Withness ,” by Lynn Hoffman, in Harlene Anderson's (2006) Collaborative Therapies:  “Relationships and Conversations that Make a Difference,” New York :   Routledge .

The Rhizome Connection | The Fairy Godfathers | New Systems For Old | The Conversational Therapies

The Rhizome Connection

This book offers to the world of human services - and to the world of humans – an unusual governing image: that of the rhizome. Chris Kinman , the author, became fascinated by the work of two postmodern French philosophers, Gilles Deleluze and Felix Guattari (1986) , who compare the hierarchical realm of the tree with the horizontal realm of the rhizome. For up-down structures, like a bureaucracy or the military, think tree. For horizontal, self-creating forms, think crabgrass. These two images represent the difference between the formalism we think of as control and what Kinman calls the “territory of the Alive.”

This self-published book, that draws on metaphors, ponderings, pictures, quotations, and poems, is itself an example of a rhizome in that it sparks an uprising in one's mind of alternatives to the already known. In fact, we are noticing a larger pattern that is being played out across the internet, itself a primary example of a rhizome. Other examples are the combinatory spread of knowledge showing up in Wikipedia, or the ubiquity of instant messaging and cell phones, where young people get more power from their networks than from parents or teachers. Because of developments like these, one could even start to talk about a Rhizome Century.

Applying these ideas to the area of human services, which is based on a rhetoric of deficit, Kinman is concerned with moving us toward “worlds that proliferate and repeatedly touch upon abundance.” He finds the term “managed care” a particularly obnoxious oxymoron. Where “management” is associated with rationality and control, “care” is usually associated with grandmothers and softer feelings. As a result: “Care is removed from its communal geographies and placed under the hierarchical arrangements of institutionalized authorities.”

I could continue to focus on the content of this book, but to be true to its spirit, I think I should tell the story of my own connection with it. “Rock the Boat” is an unorthodox helping business run by Kinman , who is a family and community therapist and former minister, together with his partner, criminologist Peter Finck . For 12 years I have been crossing the continent to Vancouver almost on a yearly basis to be part of what Kinman and Finck are up to.

My involvement started in 1994, when Chris phoned me and asked me to come out to do a workshop in British Columbia . While I was there, he brought me into contact with the powerful traditions of the First Nations people, particularly the art and culture of the Haida Gwai from the Queen Charlotte Islands . Chris was working with First Nations youth and families, and had been fascinated by the ancient ritual of the potlatch, where the idea is to give rather than to get. It was not surprising to me when he told me that he wanted to work from the idea of bounty rather than the idea of lacks and disabilities.

Another feature of this work was a strong communal presence. During a break in my workshop, which was being held in Vancouver , a person in the audience took me into a room filled with green light. There, in the midst of ficus trees and bamboo, was an astonishing object. It was a greenish bronze canoe, half the size of the room, and in it a variety of totemic animals were struggling with each other: the raven with the bear, the wolf with the eagle, the crow with the dog, while half-human creatures like the Dogfish Woman, or the Bear Mother, paddled, watched over by the sombre Village Chief with his temple-shaped hat. I learned that this was the achievement of a sculptor called Bill Reid, who was himself descended from First Nations people. In this work, titled “The Spirit of the Haida Gwai ,” Reid represented himself as the Ancient Conscript, paddling along with the rest.

Chris also took me to the university bookstore, and bought me “Anti-Oedipus” by Deleuze and Guattari , mentioned above. Another favorite writer was Gaston Bachelard (1994), who came up with the concept of “reverberation” as an alternative to causality. This idea pushed me back to Bateson's (1987) “Grammar of the Creatura ,” where transmission of meaning goes along the sublingual paths of resonance and metaphor rather than through chains of logical thought. At this time I also bought a book by Jacques Godbout called “The World of the Gift,” (1998) and remember telling Kinman that he should make this Language of Gifts a main descriptor for his work.

Kinman then showed me examples of a “Local Wisdom” series he had put together based on sayings provided by the persons he was working with. Some of the titles were “Local Wisdom of the Mothers,” or “Local Wisdom of the Kids.” He would transcribe what people said to him and put it into a kind of chapbook. Sometimes he would intersperse their comments with passages he wrote, or quotes from writers he admired. I felt it gave the people he worked with a special dignity to be set down in print like that.

Another innovation Kinman had come up with was what he called a Collaborative Action Plan (2000). This document was an alternative to the usual problem oriented intake form, widely used by services in that area. What was special was that it was organized around the “language of gifts” referred to above. The first question asked, “What are the gifts and potentials this person can give to the community?” The second asked, “What are the gifts and potentials the community can give to the person?” The third page read, “What are the roadblocks to these gifts and potentials?” This was the gist of it, although it varied over time. Kinman told me that just the use of this document altered his relationships with the people he worked with in a very significant way.

In his wish to acquaint me with his environment, Kinman put me up in an old time resort hotel in the Canadian Rockies. It was only one night, but it must have cost a fortune - well worth it, if the idea was to impress me. I asked about the work he was doing with young people and their families, and he told me touching stories about his efforts to see the world as they did. One anecdote he shared was about a teen-age girl who said to him, “Therapists try to get into your head; counsellors help you bear your burdens.” Or, as he put it, “What the mountain cannot bear, the river takes away.” I liked the idea that therapy might be like the river. We closed our time together with a trip to the Anthropological Museum , the repository of so much First Nations culture and its splendor . Then I bought a book on the work of Bill Reid, and said goodbye.

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The Fairy Godfathers

But it was not good bye. The following year, Kinman asked me out again. He had organized a meeting that represented the “systems” he was working with: some parents of kids he was seeing; a group of his trainees; and a few of his colleagues. At the time I was much influenced by Tom Andersen's (1991) ideas about the reflecting process, and thought we could use such a format for our meeting. What I did was to ask Kinman to sit and listen while I interviewed each “pod” in the circle about their experience with Kinman's very different way of working. The parents said that he was not like the usual social service worker because he made them feel like helpers and partners. The students were pleased, because the tools he gave them made connecting with clients so easy. His colleagues had similar things to say. During all this, Kinman occasionally tried to break in, but I stopped him. When all had their say, I turned to him and asked about the impact of what he had heard. He was obviously full of emotion by this time, and turned to the notes he had taken, offering each person's idea as if it were a line in an extended poem. It was an intensely moving experience for all of us.

Two years later, Kinman asked me to come back again to preside over a meeting that we were now calling “ Honoring Community.” This time the gathering was more formal, and Chris introduced me to his new partner, Peter Finck . Present were representatives of various social services: some foster parents, two members of a biker gang who directed homes for troubled boys; a probation officer (the only one there who had a professional degree); some social work trainees; and a group of adults brought over from Vancouver Island by psychiatrist Robin Routledge that was called The Mood Clinic.

Kinman gave an orienting talk, and introduced me, and I then sat with each subgroup and asked about their work. I was very touched by the different experiences that were presented, and the ideas offered. Because most of the people present would not have otherwise known about the worlds of the others, it became a fascinating conversation, both for those talking and those listening.

The day before, I had sat in on a weekly conference attended by a group of men who were in charge of homes for troubled youth. They were all bikers and had vivid tattoos winding up their forearms. Not having been introduced, I felt like a foreign object, but I sat and listened with interest. A large dog under the circular table kept going from one set of feet to another, finally settling on mine. At this point, the leader of the group, still without introducing me, asked me for my opinions. I said that what had most impressed me was their tenderness.

Then I ventured something outrageous: I said “To me, you are just a bunch of fairy Godfathers.” A moment of appalled silence, and then the group burst into a huge roar, looking especially at the leader, the one who had the most impressive tattoos. Luckily he was laughing too. This man and a colleague came to our community meeting the next day and commented powerfully on their past experience of class prejudice from persons in social service agencies. But what most caught my eye was a small tag pasted on the shirt of the leader, saying “Fairy Godfather.”

The conference finished with all of us listening to the Mood Clinic. This was an informal club which played an advocacy role between patients and medical doctors on issues to do with medication and treatment. Their stories enlisted both our sympathies and a feeling of hopefulness. The event as a whole had given me a depth knowledge of the helpers and workers who toiled, you might say, in the shadows of desperately troubled clients, but kept their optimism intact.

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New Systems For Old

But that in no way prepared me for the next time I was asked to the Vancouver area. I had kept in touch with Kinman , and every once in a while he would fax off to me another one of his writings. Once he used up a whole roll of my fax paper - yards of it came pouring out of the machine across my study floor, like an endless Chinese scroll. But soon there was a new addition to the wisdom series which featured the public health nurses of the Frasier River Valley . And I learned a new story.

Kinman had told me that some nurses from the Frazier Valley Health Area had come to Rock the Boat for advice because they had become disenchanted with their problem-oriented assessment form. They had heard that he and Finck had been experimenting with an alternative that was based on gifts. Apparently, the Collaborative Action Plan was just what they were looking for. Kinman told me how these women had taken this format and were fitting it to their own practice. To my amazement, it seemed that their supervisors and the bureacracy were supporting them. Then Kinman said that the teaching program in public health nursing at the University of Victoria was also changing.

Sitting on my hill a continent away, I received these smoke signals, but I still had no idea of their profound implications. Without much warning, Kinman asked me out one more time. It seemed that they were going to have another Honoring Community meeting built around the achievement of the public health nurses. So I flew across again, and what I found really staggered my mind. As soon as I got there, Kinman introduced me to the frontline workers and they told me about their plans for the meeting that was to be held the next day. Here is an account of what happened.

First Kinman gave a slide show featuring commentary from the nurses themselves (he stayed up all night to finish it). Then I sat with a group of frontline nurses who told me how their work lives had been transformed. Then came key persons from the bureaucracy who had backed the program. Next came some teachers from the public health nursing program at University of Victoria . Lastly, I sat with Marjorie Warkentin , one of the nurses who had helped spearhead the change, together with a young mother who was recovering from a postpartum depression and had agreed to add her voice.

This was the first time in my 40 years in the field that I had been present at a change at each level of a complex health system: front line workers, administration people, teachers, and clients. That last group had usually been excluded from such conferences, except as the Exhibit A in teaching events. I thought about all the families that had been used to demonstrate family therapy in front of huge audiences since the field began. But this young mother was not there as evidence of some clinician's ability, but in charge of her own story . She and Warkentin described their experience with this “gift-oriented” approach to human difficulty, and told us what a difference it made to both of them.

These systemic changes have lasted and I can now bear witness to the newness that shone forth so brightly in the Fraser River Valley Health Authority that day. Despite the reductive mantle of managed care, shifts like this one continue to inspire hope in those of us who believe that the language game we use makes all the difference. And there are many of us who continue to be watchers on that hill!

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The Conversational Therapies

The secret of talk that sponsors abundance and gift is that it operates on a felt-sense level, rather than following codified rules for change. A recent article by Roger Lowe (2005) compares what he calls the “structured question” approaches used by Michael White and Steve de Shazer , with the more extemporaneous style that Tom Andersen, Harlene Anderson (1997), John Shotter (2004), Chris Kinman , myself , and many others prefer. Lowe comes up with two terms for this style of working: “dialogical” or “conversational.” I like the term “conversational.” It suggests a quality of open-endedness together with an emphasis on spontaneity, more like the way a creative artist operates than a pedigreed professional.

Whatever we call this new big tent, it seems obvious to me that we have gone beyond social constructionism's “linguistic turn,” and its emphasis on the malleability of meaning. Instead we are looking for “ withness practices,” a rhizome type of exchange if there ever was one. Being “without rank,” these practices bypass the hierarchy implicit in most social interaction. They do not lead to some pre-determined goal or depend on a pre-arranged technology. If a sense of having “got there” occurs, this must come spontaneously, much as Wittgenstein (1953) suggests when he says that the aim of philosophy is to help us know “how to go on.” Above all, they operate on a feeling level, which is the field where goods are struggled for and contests go on, and where a sense of justice is a constant living thing.

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Preface by Cami Ostman

Family Therapist

Bellingham/Seattle, Washington State

I am excited about this new work by Chris Kinman . In fact, I feel privileged to have been present during its creation, as Chris and I have sat with numerous glasses of wine (where all good ideas are born) discussing theories and arguing about the implications of some of them.

I'm thrilled to see these thoughts compiled in one volume. I hope readers of Chris' work will experience, as I have, the unfolding of a way of understanding human connections that honors the gift- ness of our exchanges. Here we are, on this planet, Alive and engaging, intersecting this Alive in complex, indefinable ways. It's a very exciting perspective!

I am wondering about this idea, now. Perhaps the gift exchange can be ignored, trampled over, bureaucratized and made illegal. But, all of us can interact with each other, can engage in our various work, in ways that give recognition to this Alive that Chris talks of. And, it seems to me, that this gift, this work of the gift that we can bring to all our relationships is actually extraordinarily resilient and very difficult to repress.

Chris' ideas and our conversations have been seeping into my work as a therapist. I've always viewed my work and those who consult me as gifts in my life, but I've begun to see not just the gifts, the ‘thing' of the gift, but, in a more intimate way, the intricacy of the exchanges I am involved in, in my work and beyond. I hope that the reader will also encounter this complexity of exchange, will see the movements of gift circulating between life and world, and within this discovery will also be aware of a renewal of the Alive within her or his own life and work.

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A Language of Gifts

Coming soon...