I grew up knowing how to live on a boundary. In 1970s' white South Africa, my grandfather counteracted apartheid government propaganda: “Don’t believe what they tell you about Mr. Mandela; he’s not a terrorist, I know, I’ve met him.” No one at school or in my social circles uttered dissent in this way. I kept quiet, observing. Political consciousness led to student activism, and activism in my career, as a facilitator of community development in African townships. I joined the nonracial liberation movement. And I carried angst about acceptance, and belonging.I encountered the Gestalt approach in the mid-1990s, as part of a group of development facilitators searching for a method to help with the dynamics accompanying donor funding of development interventions in Africa and Asia. (As a group we attended the Second International Organization and Systems Development Program in 1995–1996, offered by the Gestalt Institute of Cleveland [see Lohmeier and Wyley 2012].) We sought a framework for the participation of beneficiaries, how to facilitate people’s ownership of change, and sustainable change. Now, I work in organizational development and leadership development, mainly in the public sector in South Africa. Africa’s governments, decades after liberation, continue to fight colonial or apartheid systemic drivers and for the liberation of economies and cultures. This is the field and intention of my work.Through the Gestalt approach, I found value in my vantage point, on the boundary. I let go of wanting to belong to one side, around which I was carrying introjects and sensory discomfort. I could work constructively, releasing paternalistic responsibility and intervening without investment in the outcome. I became aware of my inner “rescuer,” how a strength in empathy and compassion could entrench oppression. A stance of creative indifference, the Zen of nonattachment, lessened my anxiety and encouraged creativity and investment in presence and intention. I could allow a client’s needs to be figural and lived the respect emanating from “change is the choice of the client.” This perspective was profound in the context of white paternalism in South Africa. The Gestalt approach guided me away from a trap, which reinforces stereotypes around race and power.Gestalt theory’s focus on the use of self and intervener presence helped me process guilt around whiteness. My younger self was suboptimized; now, I could use myself in service of clients. I could work with confidence, authenticity, intent, and with clear boundaries that gave space to the client. A typical theme in client systems was shifting responsibility/blaming. My stance of responsibility-giving supported action and performance (underdeveloped in the client system). Showing vulnerability and not-knowing discouraged stereotypical projections (e.g., around race) and invited government officials’ expertise, confidence, and agency.South Africa loves hope and optimism. We are the “rainbow nation”; we strive for unity and prosperity. Often, however, we do not know how to realize dreams, to fulfill hopes, and to take steps to get there. The Gestalt approach invites us to be in the present (honoring what is held from the past). I hold myself and my clients in the present, resisting drifting into a vague “rainbow” future. Gestalt thinking has equipped me to use the phenomena of the moment. As a result, the client’s sense of self and experience is affirmed, encouraged, supported, and the opportunity is created to access choice and agency. This is something that South Africa’s history denied many. What the Gestalt perspective offers has personal and political significance and supports change/transformation at many levels. My clients include leaders, teams, organizations, and large systems, in government, the nonprofit sector, and community organizations, as well as in socially responsible companies. Gestalt methods have grounded my activism and given me a legitimate and effective boundary at which to contribute to South Africa’s democracy.
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