Leylandii roots, volunteers and power

It would be nice if we could take those leylandii stumps out, I thought. I gave one a shove and it wobbled, promisingly. The trees had been cut down around eight years ago and the wood of the stumps was now soft and rotten in places. 

As we lifted them out of the ground, I remembered how we had taken the trees down in the first place, and the complicated issues around power that project had revealed.

Dayamay and Satya

Back when we first opened the temple one of our regular attendees was a tree worker. He ran a decent sized company and contracted out to councils and developers. He wandered around the garden and volunteered to take down some of the overgrown leylandii that were darkening our garden, and crowding out other trees. He offered to do the work for free, if we could provide some helping hands, and told us how many thousands of pounds we’d be saving.

I knew a little about gardening, not much about landscaping, and nothing about tree work. Our volunteer was a big man, with confidence in himself and his work, and in every word that he said. 

Of course we accepted.

In the back of my mind a little voice said, remember that conversation you had with this guy a few weeks ago? The one where he said he stopped going to a different Buddhist centre because they were too dictatorial? Do you think they really were dictators? Or maybe it’s something to do with this volunteer's personality?

I’ve experienced this before. Someone arrives complaining about their experience at another Buddhist centre. Sometimes they arrive and fit in easily, and sometimes they find something equally terrible that we are doing and move on.

The work day arrived and I looked at our volunteer. He was wearing proper work clothes, and had all the safety equipment he needed. He can be taciturn, I thought, and he is very confident that doing things his way is the best way, but look at him, he’s probably right. 

The results were excellent. We followed his instructions and everything happened easily. I noticed that I was afraid of suggesting anything, or questioning anything. Satya and I were ultimately responsible for the garden but I had stepped out of that role and into a more junior one. We handed all of the power and responsibility over to this volunteer.

I had mixed feelings about that dynamic. But the trees came down and the garden looked better, and the remaining trees looked happier and the neighbours were happy. Nothing to worry about, I reassured myself. It all worked out in the end.

A few weeks later, he wandered through the garden when I was marking out where to lift turf for the new veg. patch. He frowned, disapprovingly. I was definitely doing it in the wrong place. It should be around the corner. Around the corner between the high coach house, the tall block of flats and the four storey temple. There’s not enough light there, I suggested. Have I never heard of a walled garden he asked me. 

I had been to lots of walled gardens. All in places where they get plenty of sunlight. I pushed my spade into the turf. The volunteer shook his head and walked off.

A couple of weeks later, when the veg. patch was done, and the supports for the beans were in place, he conceded that I’d done a good job.

I was very pleased to be right. Pleased to see this guy admitting that, and pleased to get his quiet approval. For a moment I felt like Babe on the receiving end of Arthur Hoggett’s, that’ll do, pig, that’ll do. 

That was a young part of me looking for approval from someone who knew what they were talking about. At the same time, I knew that I’d probably chosen the wrong person to look for approval from. I was becoming less and less convinced that his confidence in his ability to do everything was backed up by actual skills and knowledge, and more and more aware that he really struggled not to be the one in charge. Despite that, another voice said, he looks and sounds impressive.

It was later summer.  We were working on another project: build a deck in the corner of the garden where the sunlight lingered longest. This volunteer stepped up again. He was as confident in this work as in the tree work and I knew nothing about building a deck. We really wanted a deck in this corner. His plans sounded convincing. We went for it.

The finished deck looked good. But was it supposed to wobble this much, I thought, when I stepped onto it. My father in law was visiting the next weekend and said it definitely wobbled too much. The deck was not supposed to be bouncy.

The chair of the charitable trust that owns the temple was a garden designer. When he visited he took one look at the deck and told us we weren’t allowed to use it. It wasn’t up to scratch. There wasn’t enough support underneath the deck boards. He was happy to talk to the volunteer himself about getting it redone. He had the expertise to back this up.

I introduced them. The introduction went well. Our volunteer was wary but friendly and the chair of the trust was charming. I left them to it. They walked over to the deck. I never saw the volunteer again.

We had become too dictatorial. It turned out that meant giving any feedback or specific instructions to him at all. 

Some part of me had been expecting this. I’d noticed how wary I had been of managing this volunteer in a clear and direct way and suspected I’d been responding to that exact resistance.

Part of me was deeply grateful for the tree work. Part of me was fond of this volunteer. Part of me was relieved this complicated relationship was over.

We have been working to mitigate power here at the temple. We have introduced more of the voices of our attendees into our practice sessions, we are handing over responsibilities and creating structures to encourage accountability and power sharing. Having seen how badly power can be handled, how much harm it can create, and how much more likely that harm is with steep organisational hierarchies, this week feels crucial.

Remembering the experience with this volunteer reminds me how complex issues of power are, how much our own personality and beliefs condition how we hold, use and react to power. I can also see how this intersects with some of the gender issues I was writing about in last week’s newsletter.

Having both been harmed and harmed others through mis-used of power, it’s completely understandable that parts of me want to give it all away. But that isn’t the whole answer. I think it’s important to both give power away responsibly and own and use it when appropriate.

That takes work. The work of setting up helpful systems and structures (Satya has just shared the work of The Circle Way with me) and also the personal work of examining and letting go of unhelpful beliefs around this stuff.

Lots to think about, and more writing to come on this, I’m sure.