Hi friend,
We’ve been in the middle of a little series on conflict for the last few weeks — what happens in our brains; what a “regulated” nervous system actually is (and what it sure as shit isn’t); how power, privilege, and oppression show up in our behaviors; and how to discern among abuse, harm, and conflict.
We’re about to enter a time notorious for conflict — when familial conflict runs rampant and we regress to our angsting teenage selves despite every best intention, when organizational conflict gets compressed for now and shunted for our Q1 better selves to deal with.
And in both cases, we often just end up ignoring it. We send gossiping side-chat text messages to our coworkers so we don’t get too passive aggressive on Slack or roll our eyes too hard in an all-hands meeting. We mute the conservative uncles ranting in forward messages on a 150+ person extended family WhatsApp group, and we try not to make burst-out-laughing eye contact with our siblings across the dinner table.
So you might be wondering — but why is studying conflict so important?
Why spend four weeks (and half of a consultancy studio) breaking down how it happens, why we respond the way we do, how power complicates it, and what to do about it — when it’s an inevitability that we all suffer through or avoid?
I practice transition design — a framework for complex change that integrates systems thinking, design justice, and societal transition. It’s about looking at what exists, dreaming up what could be, and bringing it to life.
Conflict is the relational infrastructure that makes transition design possible.
A practice of healthy conflict offers us the skills and supports we need in order to move the world forward. Generative conflict serves as an architecture for making something different.
So what does this look like?
Learning how to manage up and navigate a toxic hierarchical work structure — that’s relational architecture. The trickle-down economics of millennials offering their boomer parents bite-sized pieces of therapy — that’s relational architecture. Getting your neoliberal aunt to backtrack in her NIMBY ways — that’s relational architecture. Swaying a governor’s public health board to vaccinate incarcerated people as a priority population — that’s relational architecture.
Sometimes, walking away — going no contact, quitting the job, leaving the relationship — is relational architecture.
A professional dominatrix demanding their clients study Black feminist texts? Also relational architecture.
Mamdani charming the pants off of a despotic president and calling him a fascist to his face? That too is relational architecture.
So here’s what I’m curious about, as we enter these last six weeks of the year:
When those fraught moments happen this season — an exploding Zoom chat in staff meeting, an aggressive mandate from the Board communicated by memo, a deeply problematic phrase said too casually over a slice of pie — how can you reframe them as a design challenge?
What does it look like to ask a better question? What kind of regulation or discernment does it require?
What becomes possible if you see yourself as someone actively building the relational infrastructure for a different world?
And if, over the next six weeks, you find yourself struggling — come tell me about it. I’ll be gathering what we’re all exploring in real time.
