In the space between

The political shifts of recent months and years have left no one untouched. Right-wing populist and extremist views are gaining ground, whilst civil society organisations are facing increasing pressure. And we sense that this is also fuelling a growing sense of uncertainty: What can we say? Where should we speak out? How political should we be? Where can we have conversations in which there is also room for fear, anger, doubt and unresolved issues?

We wanted to create spaces for this. Not events where the outcome is predetermined. Rather, places for collective exploration at a time when so much can no longer be taken for granted and, at the same time, it is not yet clear what will take its place.

That’s how our interstices; three evenings, on Optimism, outrage and legacy. Always starting with a brief prompt. And then, above all, allowing time for reflection, self-assessment, associations, counter-arguments and further discussion together.

Confidence: „I’m setting off – and I’m doing it with others.“

What keeps us going when certainties begin to crumble? Our first evening began with seemingly small, sensory impressions: moments of wonder, a view of the sea, a concert, young people getting things off the ground, a duckling following a butterfly.

From there, the conversation quickly turned to broader questions. Is confidence a state of mind? A decision? A privilege? And what distinguishes it from hope or optimism?

One key sentence was: „Optimism is an expectation I have. Confidence is a practice we share.“

As the evening wore on, confidence became increasingly evident as something we all shared; it was also seen as something that is not a fixed quantity, but rather something that can be developed. It is linked to a realistic view of the situation, to the experience of one’s own capacity to act – and, above all, to the realisation that one is not alone. One comment from the group summed it up well: „I’m choosing to be optimistic and setting off – together with others.“ Later, a lovely term was coined for it „Community of Hope“.

And perhaps the evening itself was already a small example of this. At the checkout, someone said that this space fostered a sense of optimism. Another spoke of a „refreshing pool“. Not because everything suddenly seemed fine, but because it becomes easier to face an uncertain future when we don’t have to bear the burden alone.

Outrage: „We’re too exhausted to be properly outraged.“

The second evening had a different atmosphere. We wanted to give space to anger and indignation – feelings that, in professional contexts, are quickly dismissed as too emotional, too uncontrolled or not solution-oriented enough. And then this sentence was uttered: „We’re too exhausted to be properly outraged – and when we do get outraged, it wears us out.“

This highlighted a tension that hung over the evening. Indignation can release energy, draw boundaries and expose injustice. But it can also be draining. So how can it be transformed into something that sustains?

At one point, it became uncomfortable: What actually distinguishes our outrage from that of the far right? There, too, people feel hurt, overlooked and unseen.

One of the participants replied: „Anger plus thought equals outrage.“ Others raised the issues of grief, human dignity, fundamental rights and human rights. We discussed what outrage must be directed at in order to prevent it from itself turning into demonisation, denigration and hardening of attitudes.

In the end, there were no clear-cut definitions. Rather, there was a sense that Anger, resistance, outrage and grief go hand in hand – and that we need spaces in which we can actually perceive these connections and explore them together.

Legacy: „Glitter that falls through.“

On the third evening, our initial question came to the fore: What do we want to have achieved here in five years’ time?

„Legacy“ initially brought to mind very personal images: parents, illness, death, one’s own life, the question of what remains of us. But as the conversation progressed, the meaning of the term began to shift.

Perhaps a legacy isn’t linear at all. Perhaps it doesn’t simply move out from us and into the future. After all, our ancestors were once descendants too. And much of what we pass on is not determined by us at all.

Someone mentioned that today they come across things they said twenty years ago – things they themselves haven’t thought about for a long time – but which have triggered a reaction in others. During the conversation, the following image emerged: „Glitter that falls through.“

And then it became contradictory once again: when we project our values into the future – is that a sense of responsibility, or is it also an unreasonable demand? Can we, and should we, tell future generations what must be important to them? In this context, what does the historical legacy of „Never again“ mean? What sustains us in this regard – and where must even long-held tenets be constantly re-examined?

In the end, there was no grand gesture. More like a The Ethics of Closeness: lots of small actions in everyday life, relationships, conversations and deeds in the here and now.

Perhaps we need more breathing space

Three evenings have failed to provide us with an answer as to how we should deal with the political changes. Nor was that their job.

They have made something else tangible: that uncertainty can be voiced without having to be resolved immediately. That people can contradict one another without walking away from the conversation. That anger, fear, confidence, grief and defiance can coexist alongside joy, fun and humour. And that thinking and feeling together actually brings about change – perhaps, at first, simply in the way we face a difficult present.

The other evening, someone said at the checkout: „Positive defiance: Politics, you won’t get the better of me.“ … that could well be the subject of the next ‘In-Between’ piece.