Yayyyyyyy! Yahooo! Rich connections. Rich potential. Rich learning. "We are all One" but "We don't want people talking to the customers"? I'll get to that at the end.
I'd just put up my sign at 11:10 when Jennifer strolled, open armed and open smiled, right into me for a discussion about chatting around the world. This beautiful Brit has been travelling for twenty years and made a point of talking to anyone. She discovered that basically people ARE the same, wherever you go. In this moment I'm asking myself, are people intrinsically the same or is it us who encourage people to act-out our similarities, by the way we show up in the world? I suspect it's not an either/or situation at all. I am inspired to feel the possibility that peace and progress are possible from inviting connections with strangers. This comes from the phenomenon of expressed similarity, that only comes about because we are curious about what lies behind the clothes, skin, culture, behaviour. I am convinced our success as a species will come from this kind of awareness.
Back to Jennifer, She saved me from myself at that moment, because the Mall security guard had asked me to come with him to seek a permit through the Concierge's department. Jennifer's impact was pacification and the guard withdrew. He didn't stay away the whole time however, as I shall tell shortly.
Then a butterfly danced between us, by the name of Patsy, lightness and vividness infected our conversation with enthusiastic support for a world of chance meetings and new progress. So then we were three. Jennifer left and Patsy, after they'd swapped details, and stayed for a while longer. There's a picture of us together on her facebook (here).
Here is Patsy's visitor book entry:
Mr Long was next, he ambled over from his morning espresso and stayed with me for 10 minutes, discussing the poor state of Malaysian race politics and ethincally polarised education as the root cause of Singapore's relative greatness. I've recently been reading in the press the results of youth servey's which show Malaysian youngsters consider themselves Malaysian, mostly, and not Malay, Chinese, Indian, Nyonya, etc. So Mr Long's bitterness gave me the refreshment of espresso, sweatened by a sense that the time is right for open, curious dialogues between strangers.
Dayang and her friend, Malays from a neighbouring province, studying business here, had circuited me three times before their curiosity got the better of them. We chatted about school and aspiration
Then came Sara, an Iranian marketing MBA grad and hopefully, recently successful job interviewee, who was mad at herself and opened up for a bit of Process coaching. I won't say more about that other than, from my side, I was exhilarated to be doing what I trained for, in the street, with someone I had known for five minutes. here is a testament to the value of openness:
Sara checked in with me on Facebook and tells me the discovery she made about herself in our conversation is now working its way out.
During my stay, in the shade from the tall mall, I noticed the security guards always seemed present in the corner of my eye. They kept away as I discussed Malaysians' incorrect interpretation of Islam, with Moaad, a Libyan MBA graduate. They remained in the periphary while Jesse, a 20 year old boutique manager, enthused about the fashion chain he wants to start, looked on by his grinning, younger friend. I almost didn't notice them when the Irish engineer, Fergus, was cross-examining me about my mission and motives. But it was after I ran into my own set overtime to joke around and have polaroids taken with a group of Indonesian business students, that I noticed a smartly attired woman, just over my right shoulder, flanked by two guards.
She asked to see my "work permit", a doc issued by the operating company for the mall. I told her how I wasn't doing work, nor soliciting or preaching and that this was private research, etc. Obviously I had no permit, so she informed me that "we don't want people talking to the customers" and invited me to seek a permit upstairs. Flanked by a three-pipped guard supervisor with no spoken English, we elevated to the 9th floor, to a sanitary, glass corridored complex and went into the Retail Operations department. I had two similar conversations with two female suits. Yes they were objects to me because I failed to challenge the persona of suitness they projected. I failed to take it higher. I had made up I was just going through some motions that would lead to rejection and I got exactly that. Turns out there is not one patch of pavement (sidewalk) in that district which is not privately operated by a retail company. My heart sank.
As I walked, pole in one hand, wrapped sign board in the other, bag and brolley over my shoulder, having just left my guard escort at the threshold, I reflected. How amazing! I did it! I wasn't arrested either! No-one was unkind; everyone who even made eye contact smiled or encouraged me. People here seem to want this like the people in Calgary. I even did better by maintaining my non-commercial/political/religious integrity AND gaining some tangible allies (Facebook friends), who are already talking this up with their friends. I resolved to keep getting escorted to the office, if necessary, AND NEXT TIME I meet a suit I will try harder to listen, be curious and seek the common connection.
It's funny, right beside where I chatted is a huge hoarding proclaiming on behalf of Calvin Klein that "We Are All One". I didn't need a multinational corporation to tell me that, because I was experiencing and proving it on a privately owned sidewalk, meeting the owners' disapproval.
We don't need anyone to tell us, folks, how it is that we are "all one" and we don't need to accept that our interactions be controlled by retail operations departments. We can find out for ourselves and the possibilities that then open are vaster than they imagined.
With love,
Phil
