West Coast Story
By Sean Weaver
I have been fortunate enough to experience first-hand the value of compassionate action, in an often adversarial eco-political setting. Such experiences come from my clumsy efforts but are inspired by those who are far more adept, and remind me that it is worth practicing wholesome ideals, even when we are beginners. Like learning to play a musical instrument – with practice we improve.
Spring 1998. Inspired by the dedication and passion of a wonderful group of caring young people, I decided to drop everything and get involved fulltime in the Native Forest Action campaign to stop the logging of lowland forests on the West Coast of New Zealand. I came to this phase of activism as a compassion-junky dedicated to taking spiritual practice headlong into the chaos of ecopolitics. My own practice is Zen, but that is simply one among many ways to unleash our hearts and let it guide us on great adventures.
I was particularly focused on the 9th Buddhist precept at that time – “I take up the way of not indulging in anger” – and especially the way that we can learn to embody the transformation of anger (and its expression as defensiveness) into something much more constructive and powerful. A line from a teaching rang repeatedly in my ears: … “All the more, we can be especially sympathetic and affectionate with … someone who becomes a sworn enemy, and persecutes us with abusive language…” Thirsty for an opportunity to try this out, I decided (in early 1999) to attend a public meeting in Reefton organised by logging supporters.
I went there to listen to their views and show that I even shared some of them, such as the right of local people to earn a decent living. I was not afraid of my opponent (partly because I identified with many of their concerns), and in fronting up without a team of supporters I placed myself at their mercy to some extent – by walking into the lion’s den and then climbing into its mouth.
I was not so naïve to think that vested interests would change their views because of me, but also not so naïve to think that the opponent’s camp was devoid of people with an open mind. It was these people that I wanted to meet, listen to, learn from, and share ideas with. I was convinced (and remain so) that by witnessing each other’s humanity we can transform conflict (disconnection) into collaboration (connection).
On route to the meeting I anticipated that there would probably be some conflict and I prepared by reminding myself how I would act if and when this arose.
A sudden silence filled the packed community hall when I arrived. On the stage were the Mayors of the three West Coast Districts, the Chair of the Regional Council, and the local Member of Parliament.
As I walked to an empty seat, the presenter announced who I was, and then read a statement declaring support for the logging, and asked me if I agreed. I replied that he and the audience already knew that I did not agree with the statement, given my frequent appearances in the newspapers and on radio to the contrary. He then asked me to leave the meeting because it was only for people who supported the statement (it was in fact a public meeting as advertised).
I said calmly that I had come to listen to and learn from this community and seek constructive dialogue. A police officer then approached, warning me of arrest if I did not leave. Time to practice what I had come here to do: I took a few deep breaths, noticed the knot of anger in my chest, named it, felt it as a physical sensation striped of any storyline, listened to the sounds of the hall, noticed the colour of the floor, and remembered to stay calm and focused. I allowed myself to be escorted from the hall, head up, calm, and without protest. The meeting resumed.
I listened from the street outside, as the presenter proceeded to lie to the audience by saying I was a terrorist, and claiming that I had promoted terrorism at a public meeting some months before.
Wow. This one came out of left field. But of course, my practice is to be “especially sympathetic and affectionate with someone who becomes a sworn enemy, and who persecutes me with abusive language”. One of my biggest challenges is indignation at being falsely accused. But now quite substantial false accusations in public, and ones that would be declared in the newspapers soon after: what a great place to practice equanimity, acceptance and kindness.
* * *
This West Coast Story conveys my awkward attempts as a beginner of compassionate environmentalism, and shows how it can work when we might give it a try. For me it was uncharted territory, but they say that true adventure is only possible if one is willing to lose sight of the familiar. Falsely accused of being a terrorist after being escorted from a public meeting in Reefton by a police officer set the scene. The key was my conduct at the peak of the conflict – because compassionate action is a body practice.
On this occasion I chose to remain calm, and loyal to my Zen training, attempted to remain especially sympathetic and affectionate with those who were persecuting me with abusive language. The compassionate body practice that I have been taught is to feel anger, fear or anxiety as a physical sensation, and explore where it lives in the body. For me anxiety feels (physically) rather similar to indigestion – and indigestion is not distressing – but neither is the purely physical sensation brought on by fear when being persecuted. I can then notice and name the sensation, accept it as perfectly normal, take note of sounds and colours, and take a few deep breaths.
This enables a gap to open up that prevents me from falling into the incoherent tunnel vision of fury or anguish. It allows me to choose how to act, rather than be tossed around by uncontrolled emotions. I chose to act calmly and attempted to remain friendly – although I was considerably stressed at the time.
A common evaluation of such an episode in hindsight is that it was a “disaster.” It was certainly quite different from the constructive dialogue that I had sought. Perhaps it was a failure and a big mistake to have attended that meeting. Not so fast. Other things were at work that I had no control over but which were triggered by not losing my self-control in that community hall.
The following day I received a phone call from a committee member of our political opponents (the logging supporters). He said he was annoyed at the way I was treated at the meeting, and wanted to hear what I might have to say. He asked me if I would come to his home in Reefton for a coffee and a chat. I very much doubt that he would have invited me had I behaved in the manner of a cantankerous protester, shouting quotes from the Declaration of Human Rights, and expressing uncontrolled indignation.
So I went. I met Dave on his driveway and we crunched the gravel with our boots and entered his lovely rural home. We talked, and talked, and talked. By asking and answering questions about our motivations and what we valued, and listening to each others views, we discovered that we had far more in common than differences. So about two hours, several brews and visits to the toilet later we crunched the gravel with our boots again after deciding to work together for a common cause: to put an end to this logging but if and only if it could be done in a way that looked after the local economy by means of a regional economic development package.
This combination of conservation and development was what I had wanted all along (I had already developed a proposal to this effect), and I had gone to the public meeting to listen to their views, and articulate mine if invited. So instead of silencing me, those who threw me out of that meeting amplified my message, by motivating one among them to want to meet this friendly opponent.
Letters started arriving in Parliament from my new Reefton colleague asking for a regional development package in exchange for an end to the logging. Letters coming from a 5th generation local – a community leader who was not an environmentalist and who had modified their view after collaborative dialogue – was powerful. I know in my heart, and I have since been informed by senior officials in government at that time, that this had an important effect on the eventual government decision to end the logging of 130,000 hectares of lowland native forest, and provide a $120 million development package for the region.
The region prospered after the logging stopped, which showed that environmental protection and social-justice can be two sides of the same wholesome coin.
Dave and I are still good mates more than a decade later…
The outcome of the West Coast Forest Campaign was the product of the dedication and perseverance of the members and supporters of Native Forest Action – among the most wonderful people I have had the privilege to meet and work with. My own contributions to this campaign were part of a much larger effort.
© Sean Weaver
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Spring 1998. Inspired by the dedication and passion of a wonderful group of caring young people, I decided to drop everything and get involved fulltime in the Native Forest Action campaign to stop the logging of lowland forests on the West Coast of New Zealand. I came to this phase of activism as a compassion-junky dedicated to taking spiritual practice headlong into the chaos of ecopolitics. My own practice is Zen, but that is simply one among many ways to unleash our hearts and let it guide us on great adventures.
I was particularly focused on the 9th Buddhist precept at that time – “I take up the way of not indulging in anger” – and especially the way that we can learn to embody the transformation of anger (and its expression as defensiveness) into something much more constructive and powerful. A line from a teaching rang repeatedly in my ears: … “All the more, we can be especially sympathetic and affectionate with … someone who becomes a sworn enemy, and persecutes us with abusive language…” Thirsty for an opportunity to try this out, I decided (in early 1999) to attend a public meeting in Reefton organised by logging supporters.
I went there to listen to their views and show that I even shared some of them, such as the right of local people to earn a decent living. I was not afraid of my opponent (partly because I identified with many of their concerns), and in fronting up without a team of supporters I placed myself at their mercy to some extent – by walking into the lion’s den and then climbing into its mouth.
I was not so naïve to think that vested interests would change their views because of me, but also not so naïve to think that the opponent’s camp was devoid of people with an open mind. It was these people that I wanted to meet, listen to, learn from, and share ideas with. I was convinced (and remain so) that by witnessing each other’s humanity we can transform conflict (disconnection) into collaboration (connection).
On route to the meeting I anticipated that there would probably be some conflict and I prepared by reminding myself how I would act if and when this arose.
A sudden silence filled the packed community hall when I arrived. On the stage were the Mayors of the three West Coast Districts, the Chair of the Regional Council, and the local Member of Parliament.
As I walked to an empty seat, the presenter announced who I was, and then read a statement declaring support for the logging, and asked me if I agreed. I replied that he and the audience already knew that I did not agree with the statement, given my frequent appearances in the newspapers and on radio to the contrary. He then asked me to leave the meeting because it was only for people who supported the statement (it was in fact a public meeting as advertised).
I said calmly that I had come to listen to and learn from this community and seek constructive dialogue. A police officer then approached, warning me of arrest if I did not leave. Time to practice what I had come here to do: I took a few deep breaths, noticed the knot of anger in my chest, named it, felt it as a physical sensation striped of any storyline, listened to the sounds of the hall, noticed the colour of the floor, and remembered to stay calm and focused. I allowed myself to be escorted from the hall, head up, calm, and without protest. The meeting resumed.
I listened from the street outside, as the presenter proceeded to lie to the audience by saying I was a terrorist, and claiming that I had promoted terrorism at a public meeting some months before.
Wow. This one came out of left field. But of course, my practice is to be “especially sympathetic and affectionate with someone who becomes a sworn enemy, and who persecutes me with abusive language”. One of my biggest challenges is indignation at being falsely accused. But now quite substantial false accusations in public, and ones that would be declared in the newspapers soon after: what a great place to practice equanimity, acceptance and kindness.
* * *
This West Coast Story conveys my awkward attempts as a beginner of compassionate environmentalism, and shows how it can work when we might give it a try. For me it was uncharted territory, but they say that true adventure is only possible if one is willing to lose sight of the familiar. Falsely accused of being a terrorist after being escorted from a public meeting in Reefton by a police officer set the scene. The key was my conduct at the peak of the conflict – because compassionate action is a body practice.
On this occasion I chose to remain calm, and loyal to my Zen training, attempted to remain especially sympathetic and affectionate with those who were persecuting me with abusive language. The compassionate body practice that I have been taught is to feel anger, fear or anxiety as a physical sensation, and explore where it lives in the body. For me anxiety feels (physically) rather similar to indigestion – and indigestion is not distressing – but neither is the purely physical sensation brought on by fear when being persecuted. I can then notice and name the sensation, accept it as perfectly normal, take note of sounds and colours, and take a few deep breaths.
This enables a gap to open up that prevents me from falling into the incoherent tunnel vision of fury or anguish. It allows me to choose how to act, rather than be tossed around by uncontrolled emotions. I chose to act calmly and attempted to remain friendly – although I was considerably stressed at the time.
A common evaluation of such an episode in hindsight is that it was a “disaster.” It was certainly quite different from the constructive dialogue that I had sought. Perhaps it was a failure and a big mistake to have attended that meeting. Not so fast. Other things were at work that I had no control over but which were triggered by not losing my self-control in that community hall.
The following day I received a phone call from a committee member of our political opponents (the logging supporters). He said he was annoyed at the way I was treated at the meeting, and wanted to hear what I might have to say. He asked me if I would come to his home in Reefton for a coffee and a chat. I very much doubt that he would have invited me had I behaved in the manner of a cantankerous protester, shouting quotes from the Declaration of Human Rights, and expressing uncontrolled indignation.
So I went. I met Dave on his driveway and we crunched the gravel with our boots and entered his lovely rural home. We talked, and talked, and talked. By asking and answering questions about our motivations and what we valued, and listening to each others views, we discovered that we had far more in common than differences. So about two hours, several brews and visits to the toilet later we crunched the gravel with our boots again after deciding to work together for a common cause: to put an end to this logging but if and only if it could be done in a way that looked after the local economy by means of a regional economic development package.
This combination of conservation and development was what I had wanted all along (I had already developed a proposal to this effect), and I had gone to the public meeting to listen to their views, and articulate mine if invited. So instead of silencing me, those who threw me out of that meeting amplified my message, by motivating one among them to want to meet this friendly opponent.
Letters started arriving in Parliament from my new Reefton colleague asking for a regional development package in exchange for an end to the logging. Letters coming from a 5th generation local – a community leader who was not an environmentalist and who had modified their view after collaborative dialogue – was powerful. I know in my heart, and I have since been informed by senior officials in government at that time, that this had an important effect on the eventual government decision to end the logging of 130,000 hectares of lowland native forest, and provide a $120 million development package for the region.
The region prospered after the logging stopped, which showed that environmental protection and social-justice can be two sides of the same wholesome coin.
Dave and I are still good mates more than a decade later…
The outcome of the West Coast Forest Campaign was the product of the dedication and perseverance of the members and supporters of Native Forest Action – among the most wonderful people I have had the privilege to meet and work with. My own contributions to this campaign were part of a much larger effort.
© Sean Weaver
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