One year, the concentrated power of dump trucks brought dirt from a nearby construction project and the power of bulldozers smoothed it out and completely filled in one of the gully systems I had been working with. In a few days, they accomplished far more than I ever would in several years. But when the storms came, the runoff quickly cut its way down through the new fill dirt, down to the original gully bottoms. Concentrated power can seduce us with overly-optimistic visions of command and control, with fantasies of creating solutions and moving on to solve the next one. But if we take the time to look back, did our solution actually solve the problem?
I grew up within top-down chain of command organizations (public school, scouts, American government) and was taught that power resides high in an organization’s chain of command. A general or CEO gives a command and it flows down through a hierarchy. Soon thousands of people are transforming their part of the world in accordance with the general or CEO’s command. This is power. Success is measured by how high a person can work their way up within a chain of command. But making little plays high in the drainages instead is changing my understanding of power.
I find it intriguing to compare a chain of command chart with a diagram of a drainage network. As water’s power flows down through a drainage, it converges from many headwaters into one powerful river. As power flows down through the chain of command, it diverges (spreads out) through levels of increasing amounts of subordinates. The two diagrams are almost mirror opposites.
As I kept working with my little plays, a subversive thought germinated. The invisible power of photosynthesis is fueled by the raindrops that soak into the ground. The erosive power that converges within a drainage network comes from the raindrops that don’t soak in and become runoff. I work at helping more raindrops soak in and less run off. What if the power at the top of the chain of command does not really reside at the top? What if it actually arises from the thousands of people lower in the chain of command surrendering their ability to absorb their own power and, instead, allowing their power to flow and converge into the concentrated power at the “top” of the chain of command? If so, what would happen to that “top” of the chain of command power if those who are lower in the chain of command absorbed more of their own power, leaving less to flow and concentrate “downstream?”
For a hint of the answer, we can see what happens when a watershed becomes urbanized so that more of the area becomes paved. (Check graphs of pre-urban/urban hydrographs to see this graphically. https://www.researchgate.net/figure/Typical-hydrograph-for-urban-and-rural-runoff-This-hydrograph-shows-the-volume-of_fig1_320472321 ) Another one: http://science.unctv.org/content/sites/default/files/styles/media_gallery_large/public/RainCatchers_PhG5.jpg?itok=2NxhpQWP
Four main changes happen.
- The peak runoff is higher in the urbanized watershed because less of the rain is absorbed; more of it runs off.
- The runoff peaks sooner in an urbanized watershed because runoff can flow across pavement a lot faster than it can flow across grass-covered soil.
- After the peak, the flow in the urban area drops off much faster for the same reason.
- After the storm, less of the precipitation remains within the urbanized watershed. Therefore, the urban area streams have less water flowing during the time in between rains.
An analogous comparison with chains of command would say that chains of command (the urban model) could generate greater power faster but that the power would be more erosive. Less of the power in the chain of command would be life-nourishing. Systems where individuals are encouraged to absorb as much of their own energy as possible would not be able to generate a lot of power quickly but there would be more life-nourishing power overall within the system.
This power of water to either erode soil or nourish soil I came to call (a la Tolkein) The Two Powers. The erosive power of water is concentrated in space and time into a highly visible, rushing brown torrent of water that can quickly scour the landscape. This power would be analogous to the power in a top-down chain of command. But the other power that comes from absorbing the rain throughout the drainage leads to quietly growing grasses so diffused in space over all the slopes and so diffused through time over many weeks of photosynthesis that it appears invisible in comparison.
I set off to oppose the downward spiral of erosion, but I was learning that the more powerful strategy was to nourish upward spirals of creating possibilities. The lessons the fields were teaching me (Go high in the drainage. Offer a new path before opposing the old path. Nourish the Upward Spiral. The work grows on itself.) felt very allegorical, capable of being applied with Great Significance to other situations. Perhaps, by sharing my experiences, I could help shift assumptions in my culture. Certain assumptions, like “the world is doomed to run down” or “get it while the getting is good” or “My life is subservient within a chain of command,” felt like the hardening of soil that prevented our life energy from soaking in to nourish good actions and instead allowed the energy to run off and converge into erosive powers downstream. Perhaps my experiences could help more of our energy soak in to nourish upward spirals.
The idea of writing a book germinated. Each time I walked up into the fields, the idea grew stronger and more detailed. But each time I came back down into the company of others, the idea weakened into doubts and fears of appearing foolish and naïve.
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