(Originally published in The Welsh Agenda #69, Autumn / Winter 2022)
I’ve been part of The Welsh Agenda’s editorial group since 2017, and I’m stepping down after this issue: it is time for me to make space for new members and fresh perspectives. It’s been an enriching experience; I have learnt much from the discussions, and have been able to play a part in shaping the publication’s content – even occasionally making a contribution. As I am writing these words, I am up against the latest possible deadline. An email from Dylan Moore, the Agenda’s editor, lies in my inbox since this afternoon… have you finished the article? I had not, but in penning an explanation – a justification, an excuse, and an apology, this has come tumbling onto the page.
I had proposed to write a reflection on Jonathan Cox’s piece published in the autumn/winter 2016 issue of The Welsh Agenda, just before I joined the editorial group. It was called ‘The Audacity of Hopelessness’. It made a strong impression on me at the time and I saved it, referring back to it several times over the intervening years.
Back then, writing about the still fresh Brexit referendum results, Jonathan posited that the ‘Leave’ majority vote in Wales was not down to issues of sovereignty, economy, or immigration – but that of a lack of hope. People in areas where the economic or cultural context allowed them an optimistic outlook were more likely to have voted Remain, while those feeling hopeless in the face of injustice, unable to influence the destiny of their community, alienated from democratic decision-making, voted Leave as a cry of pain and anguish at their perceived lack of power and agency. He proposed community organising, which has a long historical tradition in Wales, as an antidote to this disempowerment and a way to build communities’ resilience and social capital. This chimed with my outlook and my work, supporting public services to return power and agency to people, and making them a part of the decisions that affect their lives.
I’ve been reading Jonathan’s piece over and over again. I admitted defeat at lunchtime; my article wasn’t coming together and the ideas I’d jotted down didn’t work. I wanted to write of hope and possibility, of positive change and a way forward, but how can I when everything feels so much bleaker than it did then – even than it did two months ago when I suggested it?
Six years on from that analysis, community organisations and the voluntary sector are operating on barely a shoestring, even while public services and local government recognise their contribution and rely on them more heavily, since they too are suffering from budgetary constraints on a whole new scale, as well as the pressure of capacity being diverted to deal with successive crises. The mainstream news is an exhausting airing of climate and nature emergency, war and conflict, Covid-19, attacks on human rights, rising cost of living, and political decisions serving the few rather than the many. The resources available to deal with all of this don’t cease to dwindle. We’re relying increasingly heavily on people’s goodwill, caring, ingenuity, and soldiering on in the face of adversity. I want to trust that this will always overcome all odds, but I also worry very much that the human spirit is perhaps not an infinite resource; or even if it is, it’s nevertheless housed in a physical envelope that requires warmth and sustenance to survive. And I am angry, so angry, that factors over which we seemingly have no control are eroding people’s access to food, warmth, and safety.
There are positive stories in my little corner of the world, in my work supporting public services to co-produce with communities: a council, health board and social housing provider finding ways to overcome their organisational silos to pool data and enable joined-up responses to public health issues in their communities; grassroots organisations and community groups joining forces with council staff to share knowledge, resources, and ideas, forming alliances to find new, creative ways to make a difference. Sketched out in broad strokes these might all sound remote and uninteresting, but they make my heart sing because they are fundamentally stories of brave, inspiring, and inspired people, coming together to take action, creating genuine radical change and shaping better solutions and outcomes within their spheres of influence.
As long as I keep my gaze on this microcosm and watch it unfolding, celebrating the bright spots and sharing the good practice, I can sustain hope. Things are getting better. But when I take in our broader context, I just cannot fathom how to preserve this confidence. I fear that one by one, worn out by the overwhelming demands placed on them, these precious sparks of light will dim and go out. If I dwell too long in this fear, a creeping paralysis sets in; so keeping my eyes on my feet and doggedly placing one in front of the other is the only way I can navigate these troubled times. Often it means putting my blinkers on to the news and media feeds: it’s not an act of denial – I see the impact reflected in everything around us. It’s an act of self-preservation, for I cannot function if I am punch drunk from hearing about all the pain in the world.
Fred Rogers once said, ‘When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.’ I look for the innovators who don’t think of themselves as such; for the connectors changing the world one relationship at a time, building understanding, trust, and alliances; for those who believe we can do better than this!and are ready to roll up their sleeves, because if not them, then who? They sustain my faith in the resilience of the human spirit, including my own. They enable me to keep balancing my grief and despair, with hope and endurance. I may feel helpless at a global scale, but tomorrow the sun will rise, and right here and right now, I can make a difference to one person.
Photo by Taylor Wright on Unsplash