Seeking Clarity About Crisis

How do educators deal with crises and challenges—from supervisory problems to school tragedies? The Clearness Committee can help them find the answers within themselves.

Twenty-five years ago, at the outset of my career as an elementary school principal, a kindergartner left our school playground and was killed by a passing car. The aftermath of that tragedy affected many people in myriad ways. For the child's family, words cannot describe the anguish and prolonged turmoil. For the driver of the car, the years have not erased the terror of that moment. For the child's teacher, the events of that spring afternoon flash into view when she least expects it. For me, the principal of a 500-pupil school, the incident inflicted a wound that has never healed. I loved each child at my school as my own, and Steven's death tore a piece out of my heart.

In the days and weeks following this terrible event, I tried to make sense out of what happened. I tried to comfort the mother and the teacher. I tried to reassure our school community, telling folks that school really is a safe place.

Time passed; teachers and students went back to their old routines; the school community recovered. However, I doubt that the child's parents, the driver of the car, or the child's teacher ever did. I know that my life changed forever. I became reserved and quiet, less joyous, always watching for the next car, the next difficulty, and the next shoe to drop.

In the days following the accident, I held my feelings close and tight. Oh, I'd talk with my wife and some others. But I took no one into the private place of terror that was home for me for a long time. I felt I had to tough it out—just as so many school leaders do. Over the years, I've seen scores of educators who have experienced school accidents and other problems endure well-intentioned but hollow words of sympathy. In the midst of professional difficulty, we educators are often told about "a book that will speak to the situation perfectly" or that "I know exactly what you're feeling, and believe me, everything is going to be just fine. Don't let this thing get you down. Just buck up!"

The Clearness Committee

Having experienced and watched this unhelpful behavior for more than 40 years, I listened intently to the words of Parker Palmer at a dinner sponsored by Lewis & Clark College. Around the table we shared how we deal with worries, concerns, and difficulties in our work lives. After learning about the inadequate ways we work out our problems, Parker described the Quaker practice of the Clearness Committee. He wondered aloud whether the Clearness Committee might provide an avenue for educators. "Usually," Parker suggested, "we have the ability to figure things out on our own—to become more clear about our worries and concerns over time. We really don't need sympathy or advice from others. But what we do need are good, honest, and direct questions that cause us to reflect on the situation differently. Clarity is what we need."

I thought of ways that this practice could assist the school administrators whom I have attempted to guide. Mentally, I began to construct a new course that would invite school administrators to present case studies of worries, concerns, and stuck places to a group of their peers. Within that group, we—colleagues and friends—could learn to ask open and honest questions that would, I hoped, bring greater clarity. This might be the missing piece in every educator's ongoing education. Right then, I knew that I wanted to try the Clearness Committee practice with administrators in the program at my college.

I asked the advice of a group of central Oregon educators with whom I had worked for three years—graduate students in an educational leadership program. I found these folks hungry for new ideas and receptive to different ways of doing things. They were bright, eager, articulate, and willing to talk about what was and wasn't working. I suggested that we "practice the practice." One of the educators agreed to bring an issue to the group, and so began our version of the Clearness Committee.

Clearing the Way

At the beginning of that practice session, I read a document given to me by Parker Palmer titled "The Clearness Committee: A Communal Approach to Discernment." Behind the Clearness Committee is a simple but crucial conviction: Each of us has an inner teacher, a voice of truth, that offers the guidance and power we need to deal with our problems.The Clearness Committee is not to give advice or to fix people from the outside in, but to help people remove the interference so that they can discover their own wisdom from the inside out.

Normally, the person who seeks clearness (the focus person) chooses his or her committee—a minimum of five and a maximum of six trusted people with as much diversity among them as possible in age, background, and gender.
The focus person writes up his or her issue in four to six pages with three sections: a concise statement of the problem, a recounting of the relevant background factors, and an indication of steps already taken.
The committee meets for three hours (understanding that a second and a third meeting might be needed at a later date). A clerk (the facilitator) opens the meeting with a discussion of the ground rules; a secretary takes notes for the focus person.
Members are forbidden to speak to the focus person in any way except to ask honest, open questions.
The best single mark of an honest, open question is that the questioner cannot possibly know the answer to it. Committee members ask questions aimed at helping the focus person rather than at satisfying their curiosity. They ask brief, pointed questions instead of larding them with background considerations and rationale. The question should not be a speech.
It is always the focus person's right not to answer.
The pace of the questioning is crucial—it should be relaxed, gentle, and humane.
Committee members remain totally attentive to the focus person.
The session should run for the full time allotted. About 30 minutes before the end of the questioning process, the clerk asks the focus person if he or she wants to suspend "questions only" and move into mirroring. Mirroring simply means reflecting back the focus person's own words and behavior to see if he or she recognizes the image. The person should have the chance to say "Yes, that's me" or "No, that's not me."
The practice is not intended to "fix" the person, so there should be no sense of let down if the focus person does not have his or her problems solved. A good clearness process does not end.

Palmer concludes: This process is not a cure-all. It is not for extremely fragile people or for extremely delicate problems. However, it teaches us to abandon the pretense that we know what is best for another person. Instead, it teaches us to ask those open and honest question . . . helping people find their own answers.

Time for the focus person to distribute the written statement of the problem.
Five minutes of silence—for reflection on the person and on the issue.
Time for the focus person to restate the problem.
One hour or more for asking the questions.
Time for committee members to "mirror" or share.
Last call for sharing.
Time for reactions, responses, and reflections from the focus person.
Time for debriefing the entire process. We would bring the two members of the group who were designated "observers" back into the circle and ask for their observations: Did our questions seem honest and open? How many questions were asked? What did the observers notice?
Commentary on the process. The major question would be, How did this experience go for us?

We experimented with our version of a Clearness Committee in our final class in fall 1997. We were stunned by the power of the experience. The person who volunteered to bring an issue to the group discovered that the issue changed slightly during the questioning. The issue was, "In this matter of Oregon school reform, is it OK to admit that we cannot do it all immediately? Shouldn't we design an implementation plan that honors the place from where we are beginning? And how much support will I have for allowing people the time to take baby steps and muddle around in the mess in order to learn?" After the session, she wrote, "I was amazed at the journey. . . . In the midst of the process, I found myself sharing my fears about being out there in front of the school reform adventure."

Committee members commented afterward on how difficult it was to ask honest, open questions. One member volunteered, "I seem to always ask my questions packed with preambles. It's so easy to make a question into a speech. This process will make me a better listener." Indeed, this initial process made better listeners of us all.

No doubt, we wanted the Clearness Committee to be part of our leadership development. I drafted a pilot course description for the Lewis & Clark College Curriculum Council. Within a matter of days, I received permission to explore the Clearness Committee within an experimental course framework over the next few semesters. If the course was successful, I could bring another proposal to the council for a long-term course adoption.

Learning Clearness Seminar

The Lewis & Clark Leadership and Learning Clearness Seminar began on April 3, 1998. At the first class session, I warned everyone, "This is not a therapy session." Our first problem statement dealt with an administrator who echoed my long-term need to talk about the death of a student. She read us a letter that she had sent to her staff: I wanted to let you know why I was out of the office today and why I may need some time away next week. Yesterday I received a call that one of my students from the school I served last year had passed away. They have not yet determined this, but they feel it may have been suicide. This was one of those children I would have taken home and adopted in a heartbeat. I know that as an administrator I must have some degree of detachment in situations like this, but detached I'm not. My heart is broken by what's happened here. Thanks for reading this letter. I would appreciate it if you didn't ask me how I'm doing with this situation. Just a pat on the back or a smile will let me know that you care.

The focus person gave us her question: "How can I go on doing what I'm doing—caring as much as I care? I care deeply, and this exposes me to the pain of the loss. My feeling is that if I don't have the depth and emotion to care, I won't be able to be myself in this work. How do I care in an uncertain world? How can I return on Monday?"

How did the staff react to your letter?
Why did you react in this way to this child's death?
Are there other things going on with you that have an impact on this situation?
What's the best form of support that's come to you?
What are you considering as your next step?

As we listened carefully to the focus person, our questions changed. At times we became entwined in "our own stuff that we wanted to share," but our colleagues would have nothing to do with these pronouncements. "Remember, just open, honest questions," the facilitator cautioned. "Only questions we don't know the answer to." Our questions became more pure and immediate: Why did this particular student's death cause you such pain? Have you ever experienced pain like this before? How did you deal with that prior painful difficulty? What else is going on in your life right now that complicates the issue or exacerbates the pain?

At the conclusion, we had experienced a way of being together—and a way of assisting a friend and colleague—that we never had before. Over a matter of hours, we'd become better listeners and more trusting friends.

Focus on Clarity

How do you deal with a personality conflict with a supervisor after a long-time work relationship? Is there a need for a job change?
How do you address the personal and professional challenges of coping with a colleague who is also a best friend—particularly when that friend is crossing the line and is behaving unprofessionally?
How is it possible to go on working with high-risk children in an angry community without sacrificing yourself?
In a climate where you do not feel supported by your superiors, how do you move on and focus on developing strong and effective leadership?
When you believe you are competent, visionary, and articulate, how do you find your own way among superiors who can't be described with those words?

One person asked permission to bring an issue to the group that was more personal than professional—a family dilemma. "I need to do this," he told us, "because this matter is draining me of the energy I need to give to the job." Afterward, we realized that our concerns at home often distract us so that we are less than the leaders we wish to be.

For four weekends, our trusted group gathered together and listened to one another's problems. Because this was a learning experience, we sometimes erred. Often we overburdened our questions with prior knowledge about the person. Sometimes we just couldn't help ourselves; we just had to get in a wise thought or two. But mostly we asked simple, straightforward questions that assisted the person who had worries and concerns. Our basic wish was that he or she would gain greater clarity.

Reflections

At the conclusion of our seminar, I asked participants to reflect. Everyone had generous and useful insights: My stuck place related to whether I should leave or stay in my present job. I thought I came to the committee with a reasonably clear reason for why I wanted to leave. Yet, as the process continued, on that day and over the days that followed, my perspective changed. Now I am redirecting my energy to possibly staying with my present employer. I find myself asking some slightly different questions: Where am I to do my true work? Where can I best be myself?As a result of the Clearness Committee, I became much more focused on the changes that need to happen in my life. I came to see that there were multiple levels to my problem. The way I was to direct myself became quite clear. The energy generated by the group helped me to make the necessary changes in my life.I learned about the real issue in my life. I learned about the role of fear in my work. I learned that once the issue can become clear, the answers were there inside me to show me the next steps. This process, this way of thinking, has continued for me and has allowed me to move more confidently—and with improved physical health—into and through the situation. I ask myself the questions the people asked me—continually.The committee helped me sort out, and ultimately confirm, the right ethical solution. I didn't feel railroaded, but affirmed. I went away with confidence knowing what I had revealed to myself—in the company of my friends.

Writing the paper is crucial. Stick to four to six pages. The paper gives the members enough information to ask questions. Identify the problem and include background information and steps already taken toward a solution.
Don't ask leading questions. Ask only those questions to which you don't know the answers. Don't preface questions or set up context. Remember that body language can be as powerful—and as dangerous—as leading questions. Always use the person's name when asking a question.
The process works best when the focus person selects the committee.
Build silence into the process—at the beginning, at the conclusion, and throughout the questioning. The focus person needs time to reflect between each question. Move slowly!
Review the components of the process every time you meet.
Periodically, the facilitator needs to ask the focus person, "How's this going for you? Are you comfortable with the process?"
Mirroring is a very important part of the process.
The physical setup of the room needs to be close and comfortable.
The focus person should determine how he or she wants to record—by audiotape, laptop computer, or written notes.

Circle of Friends

On my way home on that sunny, late Saturday afternoon following our final session, my thoughts returned to another sunny Saturday 25 years ago. The well-meaning principal of a neighboring school took me for a drive into the country "to give me some healthy perspective" on the tragedy. As we drove, he said, "David, just remember that this wasn't your fault, and believe me, in just a few years you'll hardly remember that this incident ever happened. I know it's tough, but you've just got to get over it."

Well, the years rolled on, and I never forgot: the emergency room trauma, Steven's mother's first words to me, the teacher's hot tears on the side of my face. But Steven's death is beginning to make a little more sense to me. It was an awful accident, but one that I responded to in my own best way. I felt the blow totally and embraced the situation fully; I was honest and caring toward all who were anguished and who grieved.

I just wish I'd had an extraordinary circle of friends who knew how to ask open, honest questions and how to listen deeply. Now I have that circle. As a result, all our work lives are richer and more productive. We won't be without difficulties, but we will understand the nature of those difficulties more clearly, and we will be more confident in knowing that we have both inner resources and community support.

This experience taught us to abandon the pretense that we know what is best for others. We learned that we must help others find their own answers. We do not need advice about our problems. What we do need are good, honest, and direct questions that cause us to think about our situations differently. May you all find your own extraordinary circle of friends.