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Layne Gregory, LCSW, Epsilon Class member
Speech Given at the Annual Meeting Luncheon
June 13, 2007
I want to thank Ellen Grant and the entire Institute for Civic Leadership- staff, board, the fabulous Epsilon Class and all the other alumni- for providing me with this opportunity to speak to you, ICL's newest graduating class- the Xi Class. It is truly an honor to stand before you, another ring of phenomenal people to add to the expanding trunk of the ICL organizational and community tree. I also want to thank ICL for distinguishing me with this award today. However, Collaborative leadership always requires a group of people, rather than an individual, to invest time, talent and resources to ensure that a project is successful. I feel a bit dishonest standing here alone when scores of others should be here beside me. So, I would like to ask all the people in this room who have worked with me on a community coalition or
collaborative project to please stand up so that I and others can recognize you.
I had a difficult time putting this talk together. One of the challenges has had to do with selecting the focus of this address. As I almost always conduct my community-building work in the context of a coalition or group, I have been feeling compelled to speak about collaboration, and, although collaboration is vital to civic leadership, it is not all that interesting to talk about, nor to listen to. I have also felt challenged in another way and that has to do with my dear friend Bud Higgins, who, if you were fortunate to be at this event last year, received the Distinguished Alumni Award for 2006 and gave the most heart-felt, moving and honest address I, and many others, have ever had the good fortune to hear, or rather, experience. Because Bud's talk was an experience. Many of us in the room were quite moved as we heard his
stories of hope, courage and loyalty- the ingredients Bud identifies as central to his brand of effective leadership. After Bud's talk I went up to give him a hug and said, "I feel sorry for the person who gets this award next year".
Given this, I think I have license to talk about what identifies my brand of leadership; what key leadership ingredients do I try to employ to create effective community collaborations. Like Bud, I have had a number of experiences that inform the way I practice leadership- growing up in a loving family and creating one of my own with my husband Daniel has made it easy for me to love others. Through my social work practice, I am very fortunate to have been exposed to a wide variety of incredible people who have had dramatically different life experiences than I: individuals with heroin addictions, children who have been chronically abused and boys struggling to break loose from the gender strait jacket placed on them by a culture that says to be a successful man you have to be tough, unemotional and hard-drinking. This exposure to so
many varied life stories of trauma and redemption, disconnection and reconnection has made it much easier to negotiate the very human response of fearing the unknown, or fearing people who, on the outside, look or seem to be vastly different than me- but in actuality are not at all. I have many stories to share that have worked to shape the way I operate in the world, but I think the experiences I would share with you today, as you graduate this wonderful program, are embodied by two of the ICL Board norms- norms that many of us on the Board Governance Committee and the entire board hammered out to define how we wanted to operate together as a group. There are a number of norms and I am sure Ellen would be willing to share them because they are a thing of beauty to behold, but for my purposes today, I am going to talk about two that have particular meaning to me:
1. Listen as if everyone has something to teach you, because they do.
2. Leverage personal interaction to create trust and safety and to facilitate understanding i.e. invest in relationships.
Each of these board norms, or values, embodies multiple lessons, layers of learning, which I find I often strive to attain or understand. I try to get beyond my own self-centered experience of an individual, an interaction or an event enough to inquire, explore and be present for what that person has to offer or is trying to say. Each of these norms/values- sincere listening and investing in relationships - are illustrated in a story of a fellow social worker, Jane Hubley, who worked for the Child Abuse and Neglect Council, back in the 1990's when I was first a board member there. At that time, the Council had received a significant grant to create child abuse prevention programs in the Portland area and Jane was hired to oversee and work with the community to develop these programs. She was invited to Jack Elementary school on
Munjoy Hill to assist education and social work staff to somehow increase parental involvement in the school lives of their children there. Social Science and pediatric literature has long identified active parental involvement in the academic life of children as an essential ingredient to boys' and girls' success in school. It appeared, however, and was presented to Jane, that the school had made numerous attempts, too many to count, to draw parents into the school. They held parent-teacher nights, very few parents attended. They organized potluck dinners, art shows and formal addresses by school board members, the mayor and a whole array of local dignitaries, but still very few parents showed-up. The school staff had reached the conclusion that the parents of the Munjoy Hill community just did not make parenting a priority; they simply did not care enough about the success of their children to attend school-sponsored events. Jane, in all of her wisdom (and probably some of Lucky
Hollander's too as she was the Executive Director of the organization at the time), decided that she needed to talk with the mothers and fathers of these children, to actually sit down at kitchen tables to ask about school involvement and listen to what the parents had to say. What they told her might be familiar to many in this room. I imagine that some of you have had opportunities to volunteer in your children's classrooms as they grew up. When my boys were in elementary school, I made a point of volunteering on a weekly basis in each of their classes whenever I could. What I discovered when I started working in my son Noah's first grade classroom was that I had an overwhelming need to have his teacher like me, think I was smart and put stars on my homework …if I had handed any in. I was re-encountering the emotional dimension of my first grade experience by simply being in Noah's classroom. Now, I am fortunate because my elementary school experience was reasonably
positive. However, most of the parents who Jane met with did not have positive recollections of school, and in fact many had dropped out early, were unsupported by adults when they were there and, in summation, experienced school as a place of shame and humiliation. Given these deep-seeded recollections, was it a surprise that these parents did not attend school-sponsored events? Each time they entered the school building, they were reminded of what they experienced as their own failures. I tell you this story today because Jane's brand of leadership was to go beyond the assumptions that we all can so easily make when others to not act in ways that conform to what we believe is RIGHT or behave in a way that is familiar. We do not often take the time to inquire about the experiences of others, to listen to their life stories and learn from their humanity. In our busy lives, we are sometimes unable or unwilling to take the time to be present, truly listen and risk
relationship.
Listening to the parents' stories and establishing trusting relationships, Jane made it comfortable for them to be present within the walls of the school. She worked with the school-based team to create a program that incrementally involved and welcomed parents into the school. It started out by designating a room near the entrance for parents to gather; a place where moms and dads could come and have coffee and sit with one another any time during the day. After a while, the parents asked if they might help out in some way, perhaps by collating or stapling worksheets. As the year went on, Jane and the school team devised small but significant opportunities for the parents to run errands back and forth from the office to the classrooms. By the end of that year, most of the parents were engaged in activities throughout the school. They
felt proud of their involvement, their children's attendance increased as did their academic performance…a fine example of what can come from listening and taking the time to establish trusting relationships. Jane is a role model to us all of what I believe to be essential to effective leadership, whether collaborative or not: listening as if everyone has something to teach you, because they do; and leveraging personal interaction to create trust and safety and to facilitate understanding.
The second, and final, story I would like to tell you involves one of my own failures to listen and risk relationship. This story took place 17 years ago at my son Noah's preschool, when he was three years old. I had recently taken a job at Maine Medical Center to establish a child abuse assessment program and set up a hospital-wide, multidisciplinary, multi-departmental team to improve systems' functioning as it pertained to the care of child abuse victims and their families. Noah attended the preschool the three days a week I worked. One evening, after picking him up from school, doing errands on the way home and throwing dinner together, Noah told us that a boy in his classroom had thrown a rock and hit him in the back of his head. The story had Noah waiting in line to file back into the building after a recess period. Evan
(fictitious name), another three year old, apparently picked up a good sized rock and threw it into the group of children. Being the caring parent that I was, as well as an educated child development professional, I indignantly stomped into the teacher's office the next morning and in my kindest demanding voice asked for an explanation. I knew from experience that children who acted out in these sorts of unpredictable, volatile ways were often victims of significant abuse themselves. I wanted answers. How often did Evan attack other children? Was he a menace? Was Noah a regular target? Was he safe? The teacher inappropriately disclosed to me that Evan was a very troubled child. So troubled in fact that they had had to assign a student teacher to him, one on one, for every minute he was there because he was often unpredictably violent with the other children. Evan also had a habit, she described, of curling up under the teacher's desk for hours at a time, not wanting to come
out. He was often left there as he was not a danger to others when lodged under the furniture.
Once again, playing the good mother that I so strived to be, and using my most professionally officious tone, I chastised the teacher, and by now the Director of the school, for exposing my child and others to such a disturbed boy. They tried to assure me that they and a diverse team of mental health experts were working with the divorced parents to ensure that the boy's mental health issues were being adequately treated. This was not enough for me. I wanted that troubled and unstable boy to leave. And, it was not long before Evan was dismissed from the program, the school being one of a growing line of programs that had kicked him out. I was relieved and grateful and did not give Evan much more thought until four months later when I was called to the Department of Psychiatry for a child abuse consult. One of the Child Psych.
Therapists had been seeing a three year old boy named Evan for a few months to address a "parent-child conflict". Although not talking about it in this therapy, Evan had disclosed to his current child care provider that he was being severely and horribly sexually abused by his father when he visited him on the weekends- abuse so criminally sadistic that Evan's Post Traumatic Stress Disordered symptoms had become apparent for what they were. Evidently, Evan's current preschool teacher, Kathy, had not let Evan linger alone under the furniture. Every day she would join him in the small cave that he made under her desk. And each day she would quietly ask him "Evan, what are you afraid of"? Slowly, after a few weeks, Evan began disclosing the details of his existence- being shut in a trash can for hours at a time, tied to beds and physically violated in mind-numbing ways. I will spare you more details, but know that this little boy had been crying out for help-
albeit, in his limited three year old way- for a number of months, maybe longer. And many of us professionals who had had contact with him along the way, like me, were too caught up in their own experience, inconvenience and assumptions to really listen to this little boy, try to establish a relationship and be present for what was his nightmarish reality.
I think about Evan. I think about him when I encounter a multiply pierced, leather encrusted, spiked-out adolescent boy. I wonder about this boy's armor. What is he trying to keep at bay? For whom is he acting tough and what soft marshmallow insides does it protect? I try to listen more. I listen to myself; attend to the judgments and fear of difference that can creep or leap to mind. I attend to that and then let it slip away as I figure out how to connect to this potentially lonely and sad young man.
I believe we can all learn from Kathy's skilled leadership within that classroom and Jane's inclusive listening to the parents of the Munjoy Hill neighborhood. I encourage you all to incorporate into your own leadership practice a commitment to effective listening as well as a heart-felt investment in relationships. There are so many examples of when these two essential skills have made a tremendous difference in building connections and building community. Imagine the dissipation of loneliness. Be courageous by constructing meaningful connections to others. Be bold. Allow yourself to be vulnerable because really listening to others requires that of us. And, what may be most delightful and surprising, the unintended consequence for allowing ourselves these sorts of connections is that we feel more vitally linked to
one another and to our communities. Real listening and honest relationships always brings people together.
I would like to close, in true ICL style, with a poem Laura Moorhead read to you, the Xi Class, on your last day at the Stone House. I found it to be a beautiful and honest calling to all of us who work to build community and relationships through collaboration. It is titled Turning to One Another and is written by Meg Wheatley.
There is no power greater than a community discovering what it cares about.
Ask "what is possible?' not "what is wrong?" Keep asking.
Notice what you care about. Assume that many others share your dreams.
Be brave enough to start a conversation that matters.
Talk to people you know.
Talk to people you don't know.
Talk to people you never talk to.
Be intrigued by the difference you hear.
Expect to be surprised.
Treasure curiosity more than certainty.
Invite in everybody who cares to work on what's possible.
Acknowledge that everyone is an expert about something.
Know that creative solutions come from new connections.
Remember, you don't fear people whose story you know.
Real listening always brings people together.
Trust that meaningful conversations will change your world.
Rely on human goodness. Stay together.
Thank you.
Introduction by Bob Stein
When Ellen Grant asked me to introduce Layne, my first reaction was to say no, because I hate doing things like this. But I suppose in a way it was symbolically appropriate, since Layne is constantly getting me to do things I do not want to do.
And then somehow - and this part I have yet to figure out -- getting me to thank her for the opportunity.
So thank you Layne.
After I agreed to introduce Layne, I then thought well this won't be so bad. I will just read my nomination of her, detailing her great work with Boys to Men. But when I mentioned that to Ellen, she paused and politely offered-- some humor would be nice.
For some reason Layne, and I apologize for this, Ellen and the folks at ICL really wanted me to poke fun at you.
I have to say Ellen's request was actually ironic, because the truth is, I was laughing the entire time I was writing Layne's nomination. Well, at least the first draft, which no one was supposed to know about -- but now you will, because Ellen wanted me to take Layne down a peg or two.
But to appreciate what I initially wrote, you have to know one critical thing about Layne: although Layne has achieved more than many of us combined, it's not because she is smart, visionary, collaborative, and organized -- though she may be all that, I really don't know.
But rather her extraordinary success can be traced to one simple explanation: she is a fabulous cook.
The truth is I am far from alone when I tell you I have done work with Layne and for Layne over the years, in the knowledge that my involvement scores me the occasional dinner invitation. In fact, it's the very reason I nominated her for this award.
So when I wrote the first draft of Layne's nomination, it was 100% about her cooking; but I knew cooking don't win no ICL awards, so then in a second draft of the nomination, I merely substituted the word "leadership" for everywhere I had written the word "cooking," and I have to say it really came out to be quite a nice nomination.
So you can appreciate the simplicity of this exercise, and how little difference there actually was between the two drafts, here's just a small part of the final draft the ICL Board read. And I quote:
From scratch, Layne created something incredibly special. Her "leadership" brought around the table a rich mix of people. Though their plates were already full, it was a group hungry -- for change. Layne was ready to stir the pot, the ingredients for success already there.
Change a word here, add a phrase there, and apparently you can get an award from ICL.
By the way, none of this is meant to minimize the power of food and cooking in affecting change. As Layne well knew and we all know, the way to a boys to man's heart is through his stomach.
Well, I was told to keep this to three minutes -- the time it takes to soft boil an egg (I did some research for this) - but before I fork the mike over, let me say this to Layne: This is not an opportunity I relished, and I only hope I did not cross the fine line between roasting you and skewering you - which as you know is what Ellen wanted.
Mostly, I want to make sure you know I believe you are the rarest of people. And the job you're doing, really well done. Indeed, what it all boils down to is these words that were in both drafts of the nomination, and always in my heart:
"Good leaders should be respected and liked. It would be fair to say that among those who work with Boys to Men, Layne is neither.
She is not respected. She is revered.
She is not liked. She is loved."
Layne, I know you do not do the work you do to win awards, but from your many admirers, it's so richly deserved and if nothing else, I hope it's icing on the cake.
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