Day six of our river journey began with an argument over a spoon. One boy was convinced another had stolen it; accusations flew and feelings escalated. Eventually a river guide reached into his dry bag and produced the missing spoon. The conflict ended instantly.
After years helping young offenders, I learned that the real issue is often hiding beneath the argument. The spoon was merely the trigger. Beneath it lay deeper concerns about pride, respect, embarrassment and the ever-present need to save face. While sitting around the campfire that night, I told the boys about a mother and son I had worked with in the same detention centre our young offenders were from.
Conversations between these two almost always ended in anger. Yet as I worked with them, I discovered that the problem was not a lack of love; they just did not know how to express it. Both were fluent in blame, criticism and defensiveness. They reacted quickly when hurt; yet; when asked to express what lay beneath the anger, they struggled. The language of conflict came easily but speaking of love, care, fear, sadness and vulnerability did not. I showed them to identify what they were actually feeling rather than what they were reacting to and the conversations gradually became less about winning and more about understanding.
At the end of the session they stood and embraced. It wasn’t a quick hug because it carried years of hurt, affection and hope. Both were in tears and I was not far behind them. Decades on I still remember that moment because it taught me something important. The love had always been there; what was missing were the skills and language needed to express it.
In 2006 I was part of an Australian delegation attending a conference in Vancouver exploring the idea of establishing Departments of Peace around the world. As I listened to the discussions, I realised the lesson from that detention centre mediation had never really left me. In many ways, the mother and son were a microcosm of something much larger. Both cared deeply about each other, yet neither possessed the skills, language or confidence needed to move beyond blame and reactivity. It struck me that families, communities and even nations often behave in remarkably similar ways. We become highly skilled at identifying enemies, assigning blame and preparing for conflict, yet devote far less energy to understanding, reconciliation and the practical skills needed to build peace.
At the family level it was a mother and son learning a new language; at the international level it is nations learning how to speak to one another differently. Indeed; nations invest enormous efforts preparing for conflict. Our Department of Peace initiative suggested we devote a little more energy to learning how to create peace.
River Wise
The river taught a simple truth,
one worth remembering in our youth.
Not every obstacle we meet,
is something we must try to beat.
A rapid crashes, foams and roars,
then spends itself on distant shores.
But rivers last because they know,
when to push hard and when to flow.
We teach young blokes to fight and stand,
to hold their ground and make demands.
Yet peace takes skill and courage too,
and often asks much more of you.
The world spends billions gearing up,
for bigger guns and sterner stuff.
Imagine if we spent the same,
learning how to end the blame.
A river bends around a stone,
it doesn’t have to smash straight through.
And maybe that’s what strength can be:
not power over, but wisdom too.