If you want more stories, along with more training theory: get on the list to hear about TFC's new book. The book will share more on the challenges of being a trainer and has even more stories from different training associates. Written by George Lakey.

[Matt Guynn tells a story of needing a tool and not knowing its existence -- so he went ahead and invented one on the spot! You can learn more about the skill of developing new tools in our workshop on Creative Workshop Design, part of the Super-T.]

In December 2004 I led a training in Chicago on activism and empowered action, co-facilitatating with the poet and performance artist Sarwat Rumi. We were working with a group of mostly pagan folks in a Methodist church gymnasium! The group was described by organizers as wanting to explore empowered political action but not identifying as "activists" -- a group wanting to make the connection between its core values based on the wb of life and how to work for a better world.

In one afternoon's sequence, we wanted to involve the participants in thinking critically about the stories that surround us in culture, and to experiment with planting the seeds of new stories in the society around us. We also wanted to give a chance for some significant risk-taking, while lifting up a model of social change based on celebration and invitation rather than solemn declarations of wrongdoing. We didn't have an activity that combined all these goals, so we created one!

We adapted activities that both of us had used previously to create a sequence that involved storytelling, reflection, strategizing, and going out into the streets for practice.

First in small groups, participants shared stories that they had heard about life, death, or transformation. Then they reflected critically about these stories, identifying what they found helpful or detrimental to a world of justice and beauty. They were next given the challenge to figure out how to plant the seed of a new story about life, death, or transformation, in a nearby crowded intersection, by using the few seconds allotted for one red light to communicate with all the stopped drivers! The atmosphere we desired to create was a street party, inspired by pagan cluster activists in recent mass actions at the 2004 political conventions.

Some groups used street theater, others bowed in reverence, others created signs in Spanish and English which questioned cultural assumptions. The atmosphere was jubilant and supportive. One participant said, "I could never imagine myself in the streets before this, but this way of approaching it made it possible!"

The tool, which grew from Sarwat's previous work with myth and theater, and my own experience with street speaking as a training tool, fit the bill perfectly -- and honestly, we only knew what it would look like as it unfolded, that afternoon and evening.

[Betsy Raasch-Gilman shares some of her personal learning from her own training experiences. Humility in learning from a new culture is key in any work. And for the trainer/facilitator, it is key to being effective -- in her case it challenged her to find more physical exercises for learning. You can learn more training techniques for groups exercises that are physical in our workshop Adventure-based Learning, part of the Super-T.]

Over a number of years I have had the privilege of training with a group of activists with developmental disabilities. This is not a social club nor a social service agency, but a politically-conscious group of people struggling to improve their lives through self-advocacy. Society generally calls these folks "mentally retarded", and believes that someone else (their parents, their case workers, etc.) must advocate for them. Increasingly, though, people with developmental disabilities are saying, "No, we can advocate for ourselves just fine, thank you." And they're identifying as part of a disability culture.

I began working with Advocating Change Together (ACT) on group process, meeting facilitation, and conflict skills. Direct education methods like brainstorms, simulation games, elicitive questions, and closed-eye exercises are very welcome in this group, which understands the value of popular education. Increasingly, they've taken over the role of trainers themselves, and are now leading workshops for other people with developmental disabilities around the country. Currently I'm helping to develop curriculum units and exercises that they can use.

They've taught me that my most unexamined prejudice is about people who learn differently. Derogatory terms like "stupid," "moron", and "idiot" used to be used as medical terms to describe various styles and paces of learning. How many times have I exclaimed, "This is just stupid!" – unconsciously implying that only a person with a learning disability would do or think that? As someone who's always learned quickly, it's hard to slow myself down, repeat myself without patronizing, and think and speak more literally than figuratively.

Aspects of disability culture make me uncomfortable, too. I've noticed that people at ACT are quicker to hug me than I am to hug them. (I nearly wrote, "…than I think is appropriate". "Appropriate"! Now there's another concept they've taught me to question. Who in the mental health establishment determined the standards of "appropriate" behavior? And yet people with developmental disabilities are constantly bombarded with this concept of appropriateness!) The criticism is often more rough, and the humor more biting, than I like. Affections and fights happen quickly, and sometimes over incidents I don't understand or consider trivial. Tears can well up out of nowhere. There's a learned pattern of ingratiation with people in authority or people considered "nice" which can crop up inconveniently in the middle of a workshop, and get in the way of learning.

On the other hand – and this is really important to training – there's a great deal of patience in disability culture, too. People are usually very willing to help each other out. While I'm sometimes embarrassed by physical limitations and handicaps, people with developmental disabilities are generally quite matter-of-fact about them. If I were suddenly to have a seizure, I'd rather have it in a group of people with developmental disabilities than in a group of "average" adults! For the most part, I find workshops for people with developmental disabilities to be welcoming, warm environments. There's also quite a bit of optimism about the possibility for social change; I don't find the same cynicism and manic desperation that I find in European-American justice and peace groups, for instance.

Some training challenges frequently confront me. Probably a majority of people with developmental disabilities are kinesthetic learners (which is part of why our formal educational system serves them so poorly). Often, though, these kinesthetic learners have physical disabilities that make it hard to participate in kinesthetic learning activities. I've experimented with using limited body movement instead of whole body movement in my exercises – such as moving pieces of paper around instead of moving themselves around -- but I wonder if that isn't too much like occupational therapy, and rather demeaning? Also, many people are on heavy medication and tend to doze off if they sit too long, so I have to plan frequent breaks and stretches.

Recently a person who has studied and worked with people with developmental disabilities extensively questioned the "unpacking" of a simulation game I wrote. I'm still mulling over her challenge. I intended to ask, "How does this make you feel?" – a standard direct education question. She said, "Oh no, don't say 'feel'. That just clientizes people with developmental disabilities. They're constantly being reduced to their feelings, and counseled on their feelings, and advised about their feelings. What they seldom get is challenges to their brains, to their intelligence." That certainly rings true, given that the oppression centers around differing kinds of intelligence and learning styles. On the other hand, could it be that this scholar is simply uncomfortable about being asked about her feelings, and wants to protect people with developmental disabilities from taking that risk? I don't know, but she certainly has more experience with the culture and the oppression than I do.

Self-advocacy is a corner of the larger movement for justice and democracy that I knew nothing about until ACT hired me for trainings. I've been challenged and enriched by what I've learned from people with developmental disabilities, and pleased with how well they can use my tools to make a better world for themselves and for all of us.

[One reason why some anti-oppression workshops bomb is the reputation they have for being grim and miserable exercises in shame and blame. That image can result in a self-fulfilling prophecy! Veteran anti-oppression trainer Erika Thorne found a creative way to contradict the image when she came to a housing coalition to be interviewed for a training contract for an anti-racism initiative. You can learn more about working across cultures and lines of diversity in our workshops on diversity/anti-oppression and is a major theme of the Advanced Training of Trainers, part of the Super-T.]

"I was acquainted with one of the all-white staff, and she'd told me that people felt very stymied, confused and ashamed about their own racism and what to do. The coalition membership meetings had increasingly tense racial dynamics, partly because of the power-down structure of the organization.

I got three beautiful helium balloons in shades of purple, with matching curly ribbons. I held them as I walked into the office, greeted by the executive director, whom I'd never met. "I'm Erika!" I said brightly. "Balloons!" he said, lighting up. He quickly recovered an appropriately serious demeanor for meeting an anti-racism facilitator, and introduced himself.

Into the meeting room we went, where I floated the balloons up into a corner. Each staff who came in noticed them in some way, within about 20 seconds. As the interview went on, I spoke about how anti-racism work has been the most uplifting, healing work I've ever done. That to reclaim my own humanity, engage in authentic relationships, and work on fundamental social change makes me joyful. I have lots of emotions about racism, in fact, from profound grief to hot rage…and all this evidence of my own humanity ultimately makes me joyful!

This appeared to be in contrast to what they were expecting.

They started loosening up, and before long I suggested we do a role play of their coalition meetings. They jumped in, and the "ah-ha's!" showed up quickly. The group apparently had easy access to their own wisdom.

I didn't get the job, nor did anyone else. They decided they could go forward on their own for a while, at least in part because of what they'd experienced in my interview. Never were the balloons specifically mentioned in that follow-up contact, but I knew they had done their job."

[TA Judith Jones writes about how important it is to follow the energy of the group -- even if that energy is distraction. But doing that in a way that keeps the group moving forward is tricky. Here's one snippet of how Judith and George led the Advanced Training of Trainers (ADTOT) and was able to use emergent design to flex the group's needs.]

In the recently completed AdToT, George and I had some interesting moments with the 12 participants. This is just one. On Sunday morning we opened the session with inspirational music [Barbara Streisand "Holy Ground"]. This was followed by an invitation for Open Sharing. This was the second opportunity the participants had to peel their "onions" and once again decided not to "risk." Since we had not unpacked the story telling from Saturday night, we started to make a list of learnings. At this point, George and I noticed how distracted the group had become. There were side bar conversations, conversations in "code" about the previous evening's socializing, laughter and a ringing mobile phone. I have to acknowledge that George and I were experiencing some frustration with the group's resistance to go into their discomfort zone. And the distraction seem to be mirroring our feelings. I recall asking the question "what's going on here?" George made a similar inquiry, stopped scribing and just sat down on the floor.

We elicited from the group three themes present in the field: some people wanted to do "emotional work," some wanted to "keep on learning," and others wanted to attend to "closure." Being transparent, we told the group we needed 30' to redesign the day. As we were leaving some one asked "can you do it in 30'?" Well not only did we "do it in 30'," we did it in style.

The participants could choose to work on one of the three themes presented by the group. Using the AdToT practice model, each learning team had 60' to design a 45' segment that would carry the group forward. After we shared our design, the group's energy rose dramatically and each participant was focused and ready to work. We were offering them a learning challenge that required "applying" the learnings from the AdToT. We could see from their behavior that the participants really got it - the experiential model. The "learning" team did a "class" sociogram that involved the participants along with George and me. The "emotional" team conducted a ritual using some elegant and substantive "sentence completions." And the "closure" team had everyone create a "medallion" using arts and crafts.

We sacrificed some activities and information that is usually shared on Sunday and the group's high performance supported that decision.

Additional comments from George:

I love your description of what happened Sunday morning. Super-clear. The only thing I would add would be our relief -- yours and mine -- at not having to trudge through the day trying to "teach" stuff that the participants had no attention for and we were too disappointed to do with a full heart. Truly a win/win.

Final comments from Judith Jones:

My experience that Sunday reinforced the principle that if I hold onto the direct education model, it can help me "get out of the way" when I'm teaching/facilitating a group. Rather than letting go or giving up on the group, I was able to "notice" how the direct education model led George and I to give the group an opportunity to immediately apply some of the tools and principles of design offered during the Super-T.