I recently spent a week in the middle of India facilitating an extraordinary leadership immersion programme created by The Hunger Project. Instead of attending courses at Harvard or INSEAD, twenty leaders from a large financial services company went to India to learn about leadership from women elected to serve on their local village councils (‘gram panchayat’). 

I learned a lot from these women but to my surprise the most impactful was what the world needs most from me as a man. There were seven lessons in total. This article is the third in a series.

Pana-bai is now serving her second five-year term as an elected woman representative on her ‘gram panchayat’. By now she is a seasoned professional at the business of politics. Even more impressive was her recent election to President, despite coming from the lowest caste. 

Like any politician she faces plenty of critics. For Pana-bai it has been a group of men from the privileged castes who aren’t used to women making decisions and having power. They accuse her of ‘behaving like a king’. 

“Yes, I am behaving like a king!” she says with a laugh. “I’m getting things done.”

Her advice for other elected women representatives is to collaborate. Even a force of nature like Pana-bai cannot do it alone. Working together is the only way to overcome the enormous resistance they face on the job.

Her story is typical. Ten years ago she was uneducated wife living at home in seclusion, kept indoors by her husband and mother-in-law. 

To her surprise, Pana-bai’s family supported her first election campaign. Maybe they thought she’d just be a rubber stamp and come home early. But a decade of meetings and of campaigning for change has meant lost wages and others stepping in to do her household chores. The family complained from time to time but now they support her. 

The male elected representatives presented the next hurdle. At the start of Pana-bai’s first term, they prevented the elected women from sitting on chairs during meetings. The symbolism of women at the men’s feet on the floor was powerful. They soon created a united front and negotiated the right to use chairs as equals.

The men also insisted the women remain veiled during meetings. But communication was difficult because the women couldn’t be heard properly and their facial expressions were also hidden. Collective persistence by the women wore down the male attitudes, and the veils soon came off.

Pana-bai passes on these lessons to her sisters, encouraging them to work together to make things happen. For example, her protégée Lada-bai had been single-handedly trying to close down the illegal, and troublesome, drinking den in her village. Lada-bai’s concern was for women’s safety, both when their men came home drunk, and for girls vulnerable to sexual assault. 

But the men put her off with threats of a beating. She went to her mentor Pana-bai for advice. They decided to gather as many women as they could from the neighbourhood to ‘pay a little visit’ to the bar. Large numbers of angry women turned up, forcing the grog shop to close. 

The bootleggers have adapted by moving their den further away and keeping a low profile. But the elected representatives assemble a crowd of sisters whenever the men get rowdy. The women make life so uncomfortable the bar has to shut down again. Although the problem has not disappeared, they feel able to concentrate on other issues.

The Hunger Project has focused heavily on delivering this message of collaboration to all elected women, as we saw at one of their regular training sessions. Led by the formidable Ganga, a trainer who has worked with thousands of women around the country, about thirty representatives were divided into groups of five, each gathered around a pile of stones. Ganga’s instruction to each group was to build the highest tower possible from the stones. 
 
You could see most women in each group were hanging back, leaving it to the assertive ones to build towers on their own. The best result we could see was four stones high.  

Ganga inspected the results and announced, “Sisters, always remember one thing: if you want to go fast, go alone. If you want to go far, go together.” 

She instructed each group to do the exercise again, this time electing a leader and working together collaboratively. Not surprisingly they all built much higher towers.

It was a simple exercise but the women were ecstatic. Those of us observing were affected too. So much so within two weeks one of the executives on the trip asked a hundred of his sales people to do the same exercise at an offsite back home.

“I saw university-educated, sophisticated people have the same insight as village women,” he said. “We all learned that on your own, you can do so much less.”

For my part, I cannot stop thinking of how many times I’ve wandered around lost rather than ask for directions. Or made a mess of a DIY job rather than call a mate for advice. Asking for help has always seemed like a sign of weakness for me. A lot of men I know feel the same way.

A few years ago I was running a consulting firm, and struggling to manage a period of rapid growth. A senior colleague cornered me in the board room one day and suggested there was a better way than trying to do it all myself. 

I politely told him to mind his own business. But his intervention stirred me up. I’d been telling myself I was in control, though I knew deep down I wasn’t. I thought admitting I needed support would mean I was a failure, as if I was supposed to be always perfect, know what to do and never need collaborators. 

Where did these crazy ideas come from? Probably my father, a lone wolf in almost everything he did. He almost lost his business twice by doing it alone.

Fortunately, I soon got over my pride. I formed a leadership team, bringing in others (all women) whom I’d been keeping at arm’s length. To my delight they put wind in my sails, becoming invaluable partners running the business. I have never felt so empowered. 

I still tend to go it alone and keep control. It’s not natural for me to work collaboratively. But now I have a big vision to fulfil: men working, living and loving well, for boys and men to thrive. 

I must remember Ganga’s words, ‘If you want to go far, go together.’

Watch out for lesson #4 coming soon: Courage is Overrated

The Hunger Project is a global NGO committed to the end of hunger and poverty by pioneering sustainable, grassroots, women-centred strategies and advocating for their widespread adoption in countries throughout the world. In India they coordinate the training and development of the most marginalised elected women leaders for the entire five years of their tenure in office, enabling them to be effective in ending hunger and poverty in their villages. 

I recently spent a week in the middle of India facilitating an extraordinary leadership immersion programe created by The Hunger Project. Instead of attending courses at Harvard or INSEAD, twenty leaders from a large financial services company went to India to learn about leadership from women elected to serve on their local village councils (‘gram panchayat’). 

I learned a lot from these women but to my surprise the most impactful was what the world needs most from me as a man. There were seven lessons in total. This article is the second in a series.
​
I met Reka at one of the elected women’s monthly training sessions. We’d been there for a couple of hours and I was finding it hard to concentrate. It was over 40°C inside (104°F). The intermittent fans only made things worse, pushing even hotter air from the ceiling down on top of us. My bottom was numb from sitting on the floor cross-legged for so long. The translator was hard to hear. 

But then Reka told her story. She wore a brilliant purple sari and was bedecked with silver and gold bangles. Her voice was quiet but clear and her gaze unswerving. I was transfixed.

The region she comes from suffers from severe drought in spring and summer. Amongst many other tasks, the women are responsible for fetching water each day for their families. Their only source is a local spring. Even those living close by must carry more than ten litres of water (weighing twenty-two pounds plus the container) twice a day on their heads. Some walk more than a kilometre (0.6 miles) each way. 

Unfortunately, local men from a privileged caste regularly used the spring to perform their ablutions. Even worse, in spite of pleas from Reka and other women, the men would often urinate and even defecate in the water. As an elected representative Reka tried to raise this issue at the ‘panchayat’ (the village council), but was told by the men she would not be allowed to table the matter. The next month, she tried to raise it again but was pushed back. 

A month later, having learned about the power of collective action at her training session from The Hunger Project, Reka arrived at the council meeting with a group of her fellow elected women representatives to increase the pressure. But through crafty political manoeuvring, the men on the council again pushed her back and the matter was not discussed. 

To make matters worse, not only were the bathers at the spring polluting the water, they began taunting the women as if to say, “Just try and stop us.”

Reka would not be deterred. She and her colleagues discussed the matter with anyone who would listen, including women from the same privileged caste as the bathers. They were sympathetic when they heard what was going on. Finally, after four months of trying, Reka had a critical mass of support to ensure the issue was raised at the next ‘panchayat’ meeting. 

In spite of continued resistance from some men on the council, it was decided to end the practice of personal ablutions in the spring. They also voted to install tube wells and hand pumps to make gathering water easier. With the council now supporting the project, the new infrastructure took only took a couple of months to complete. Clean water was finally available for all.

I was delighted for Reka. She was happy with the outcome. All she wanted was clean water and now she had it. 

But I was uneasy. Men who shat in other people’s drinking water, just because they could, were still roaming free! What about them?

Then I remembered a radio interview with Jim Wallis, an American church leader who has been raising hackles all over the US talking about white privilege. He says, “If you’re white and don’t know what white privilege is, you’ve got it!” 

John Coonrod, Executive Vice President of The Hunger Project, said it another way with similar dry humour, “I used to think everything I achieved was by my own resources, skills and intelligence.”

It made me wonder if my attitudes were that different from the Indian bathers. I have to accept I am the beneficiary of white male privilege. Through dumb luck and no effort of my own, I was dealt four aces at birth. I was born into a loving, middle class family in Canada. I attended an exclusive, all male private school and two elite universities full of men like me. We helped each other along the way with jobs, contacts and contracts. At no cost to us, a system constructed exclusively for our benefit was dropped into our laps. 

What about the women in my life? My mother sacrificed a potentially glittering career in advertising to raise her four boys. My wife gave up her role as UK manager of a US company to raise our baby and allow me to pursue my career. There was little discussion; it just happened. 

Until recently I’ve gone through life unaware and unappreciative of this unmerited grace bestowed upon me. And now everywhere I look I see men like me enjoying success, convinced it comes from the fruit of their own labour, and unaware how ridiculously lucky they are. 

I’ve heard many men protest, with sincerity, they’ve done nothing wrong. It’s other men, they say. They glaze over when a discussion starts, convinced it has nothing to do with them. But even if we don’t consciously exploit it, men benefit from ‘male privilege’ and women do not.

The real issue is not about the behavior of individual men shitting in a well, passing over a woman for a promotion, or bragging in a bar how smart they are. Or even denying there’s a problem at all. The issue is our collective failure to recognize the ‘invisible’ structure inside which we live and these attitudes flourish. 

It would be transformational if men stopped either exploiting or ignoring it, and looked for ourselves at the structure. Let’s make an effort to understand how much it is rigged in our favour, holding women back.

Marginalised people, in particular women, have done a lot to advance their own cause. They now need us privileged men to be their partners. 

There is a quote from Jesus who recognised this issue two millennia ago, “From everyone who has been given much, much will be required.”

Reka taught me a good lesson. But the challenge for me is to acknowledge the ‘water I swim in’: the invisible system I benefit from holding others back. 

​
Watch out for manhood lesson #3: Don’t Do It Alone 


The Hunger Project is a global NGO committed to the end of hunger and poverty by pioneering sustainable, grassroots, women-centered strategies and advocating for their widespread adoption in countries throughout the world. In India they coordinate the training and development of the most marginalised elected women leaders for the entire five years of their tenure in office, enabling them to be effective in ending hunger and poverty in their villages. 

“At first they refused to allow me to sit in here with them,” she began. “They made me take my chair outside and sit in the hot sun. I had to listen to everything through the open window.” 

“Why would they do that?” someone asked.

The translator discreetly explained Asha is a Dalit (formerly known as an ‘Untouchable’), the most marginalised caste in India. Interacting with her, even being in her shadow, would be considered unclean for the men. Social conventions have been this way for centuries.

“The Hunger Project told me I have a legal right to attend these meetings,” she said with a smile. “I never knew it before. So I took my place at the table. But when I sat down all the men moved outside!”

She went to the other women representatives for advice. They banded together around Asha and reminded the male representatives of her legal right to be there. The men eventually relented and now grudgingly accept her presence at meetings. 

I was shocked by this story of injustice. Anger welled up inside me. On the bus ride back to the hotel, I sat in the back alone and turned my face to the window so no one would talk to me.

I thought back to the time our mother told us how Dad had been forced to flee his homeland, on his own on foot, at sixteen years old simply because he was Jewish. I was angry an innocent person (who happened to be my father) could be persecuted simply for being born a Jew.  

“Mum, how did those people get away with it?” I asked.
 
“Because no one stood up to them,” she replied. “That’s why we never stop telling the story.”  

At the same time, US television shows were waking me up to the brutal treatment of African-Americans just across the border from my native Canada, simply for being born with dark skins. I could not believe people could be so unfair to their fellow human beings for such a stupid reason.

And now here in India, almost fifty years later, the same thing was happening all over again. I felt devastated. 

But as we approached the hotel I had a startling realisation. I did not need to feel sorry for Asha. She is not a victim but rather a genius! 

In spite of all the insults and abuse dished out by these men, she refuses to take offense. She wastes no time vilifying her opponents. She does not try to get even though she has every justification to do so. The men have all the power but she doesn’t let them grind her down. Their slights slide off her like beads of sweat off her brow. 

And even more remarkably, she has produced amazing results. Since she won the right to sit in council meetings, Asha has championed several initiatives, including getting the police to stop child marriages in the village (illegal but still widely practiced in rural India). She herself had been married off at twelve and was pregnant a couple of years later. She was determined no other young girl would ever have to go through the same experience. 

I learned two things from Asha. First, we men exclude women in many ways we don’t even see, and need to stop doing it. 

The more personal lesson for me, however, was the realisation how often I take offense and what it costs me. 

Taking offense is a national sport in Australia where I now live, so I fit right in. We have specific phrases for it: ‘having a ‘tantie’ or ‘chucking a hissie fit’. National radio presenter Walid Ali even said recently, “Now we demonstrate our virtue by our outrage.” 

I wouldn’t recognise myself if I did not get offended! Like when someone cuts me off on the road. Or my wife points out my poor driving habits or shoddy DIY handiwork. Or when my old boss would challenge some of my decisions. Or when clients don’t return phone calls, or even worse, don’t renew a contract. I take offense if people don’t praise what I write in articles or say in my workshops, or even worse, criticise me. 

But being offended wastes so much time and energy. It alienates me from those I care for. It stops me making the difference I want to make. I know in the Christian Bible there are over thirty exhortations not to take offense, all directed at men! Like take the plank out of your own eye before pointing to the sawdust in the eye of another. Or if your enemy offends you, to turn your cheek to him and forgive. What a counter cultural way to live! 

Asha’s training from The Hunger Project empowers her to ignore the slings and arrows from others and stay focused on her goals. In a small village where her social status puts her at the bottom of the heap, she quietly takes her legal place at the table with the men and makes things happen. 

From the point of view of a Western male, it looks like she’s had to eat a lot of humble pie. But now I see it as grace. Every day she reaches into her depths to find it. But she does not care as long as she can continue to stop child marriages.

Martin Luther King said in his essay ‘An Experiment in Love’ not to “seek to defeat or humiliate the opponent, but to win his friendship and understanding... The end is redemption and reconciliation. The aftermath of nonviolence is the creation of the beloved community, while the aftermath of violence is tragic bitterness.”

The challenge for me now is how do I stop taking offense, and concentrate more on making a difference?

Watch out for the second lesson in manhood: White Male Privilege

The Hunger Project is a global NGO committed to the end of hunger and poverty by pioneering sustainable, grassroots, women-centered strategies and advocating for their widespread adoption in countries throughout the world. In India they coordinate the training and development of the most marginalised elected women leaders for the entire five years of their tenure in office, enabling them to be effective in ending hunger and poverty in their villages.