{"id":255065,"date":"2026-07-09T12:00:53","date_gmt":"2026-07-09T10:00:53","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/socius.de\/?p=255065"},"modified":"2026-07-09T12:00:53","modified_gmt":"2026-07-09T10:00:53","slug":"a-little-miracle-in-may","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/socius.de\/en\/organisationsentwicklung\/ein-kleines-wunder-im-mai\/","title":{"rendered":"A small miracle in May"},"content":{"rendered":"
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Four days, one auditorium, one question that calls out: How do we shape our relationships with one another in uncertain times \u2013 and embrace our differences as a source of connection? A look back, a harvest, an invitation.<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n

\u201eBeyond right and wrong lies a place \u2013 that is where we meet.\" \u2014 Rumi<\/span><\/p>\n

Arrival: An auditorium in Leipzig<\/b><\/h2>\n

Imagine a school hall \u2013 right at the top of a prefab block in Leipzig-Gr\u00fcnau. From the windows, you look out onto more prefab blocks and plenty of greenery, and at a May sky that, on days like these, tends to be a rather blue-grey. No idyllic conference centre, no seminar hotel in the countryside by a lake. Instead: a circle of chairs rather than rows of seats. And over the course of four days, \u2018harvest walls\u2019 spring up on the walls \u2013 flipcharts, drawings, questions on facilitation cards and Post-its, sketches and more.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

In May 2026, this venue was the Freie Schule Leipzig. During the four days of our training, its assembly hall became a practical arena for the art of hosting and cultivating conversations that move people \u2013 which is my favourite German translation of what is referred to in the original English as <\/span>A<\/span><\/i>The Art of Hosting & Harvesting Conversations that Matter<\/span><\/i> <\/a>is known.<\/span><\/p>\n

This is exactly the right place to ask and explore what a sense of belonging might mean. Gr\u00fcnau is one of those places that many people only know through the labels attached to it \u2013 as I did, before we arrived there.<\/span><\/p>\n<\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div>\r\n\r\n

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I\u2019m writing this a few weeks later, and it\u2019s still resonating with me. AoH Leipzig, you were incredible. I had no real idea what lay in store for me \u2013 and for us. It was: intense, thrilling, funny, quiet, loud, courageous, sad, difficult, moving, vibrant. A little miracle in May.<\/span><\/p>\n

But let\u2019s take it one step at a time. Because this training had a root \u2013 or rather, a seed.<\/span><\/p>\n<\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div>\r\n\r\n

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The Seed: An East German Question<\/b><\/h2>\n

At the SOCIUS oe Day 2025, we explored a question that is also close to my heart: what does it mean to navigate the world and organisations with a background rooted in either East or West Germany? Thirty-five years after the fall of the Berlin Wall, German reunification has many facets: some are visible in figures and structures, others are hidden in personal histories, attitudes and patterns of speech. And still others only become apparent in those subtle moments of misunderstanding or confusion in everyday working life.<\/span><\/p>\n

I am someone with a background in East Germany. For a long time, I experienced this as a sense of inner separation \u2013 a quiet belief that kept whispering to me: <\/span>You\u2019re not one of them.<\/span><\/i> I firmly believe \u2013 and I have now seen for myself \u2013 that things can be different: I can belong <\/span>and<\/span><\/i> to be different. And I think we need more of those spaces, moments and experiences. Working together to find out what paths lead there \u2013 and what obstacles lie along the way \u2013 has become essential to me.<\/span><\/p>\n

In her poem \u201eWhere I Come From\", the poet Jasmin Br\u00fcckner asks what one does, as a human being, with this dual, wordless feeling: of identifying so deeply with a region \u2013 and at the same time distancing oneself from it so greatly. What do you do with the sense of connection, the memories, the nostalgia? When I read her lines for the first time, I thought: that\u2019s exactly where I want to go \u2013 to places like these, to people with stories like these. To invite them: into conversations, into learning together, into creating spaces that can foster a sense of belonging and connection.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cEast\u201d and \u201cWest\u201d are still very much a reality in Germany, even if this is not always apparent. The sociologist Steffen Mau speaks of a \u201ephantom border\" that continues to run through the country and makes it difficult to feel a sense of belonging. A study by the Robert Bosch Stiftung in collaboration with More in Common reveals an illuminating pattern: the idea of democracy is widely shared in both the East and the West \u2013 yet the degree of commitment to it varies. In the East, only 38 % say an explicit \u2018yes\u2019, compared with 50 % in the West. And the same study identifies a crisis of trust and discourse: there is a lack of spaces where people can engage in conversation that brings them together.<\/span><\/p>\n

The SOCIUS oe-Tag 2025 sparked a desire in me to do more: to weave my long-standing practice of the Art of Hosting into the SOCIUS field \u2013 and to see what emerges when we bring this to Leipzig. After all, if you look at the map of German-language Art of Hosting training courses, you\u2019ll see that they\u2019re held in Bad Boll near Stuttgart, in Austria, in Switzerland, in Hamburg or Kiel in the north \u2013 and in Berlin, mostly in English. East Germany? Bringing this approach here too was a priority for me. Because I find it valuable: it fosters connection and complements many other practices.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

At the same time, it was important to me that this didn\u2019t become an \u201eEastern\" issue. East and West are just one dividing line among many \u2013 there are so many other factors and identities alongside them: background, class, gender, age, educational pathways, bodies, languages. A sense of belonging is never determined by just one dividing line. That is why this has become a workshop for anyone who wants to take part: a space where we can build skills together \u2013 to shape, hold and reap the benefits of conversations.\u00a0<\/span>
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It doesn\u2019t start with tools. It starts with conversations.<\/b><\/h2>\n

We are living in times of fundamental change. Old answers no longer go far enough \u2013 and new ones are often not yet in place. In between: uncertainty, tension, a sense of searching.<\/span><\/p>\n

For me, the Art of Hosting & Harvesting lies precisely here. Not as a perfect method, but as a practice, an attitude and a sense of grounding. As an anchor \u2013 and as a living ecosystem of people who are prepared to expose themselves to the in-between.<\/span><\/p>\n

The Art of Hosting does not begin with tools. It begins with conversations and dialogue. For conversations are vessels for transformation: for what seeks to emerge when we truly listen; for collective intelligence; and for wise action. Research into the <\/span>Conversational Intelligence<\/span><\/i> (Judith Glaser) shows just how much conversations shape trust, cooperation and security: divisive conversations foster defensiveness and division; empowering conversations foster connection and creativity. They lead from a \u201epower over\" to a \u201epower with\" \u2013 and that is precisely where democratic culture begins.<\/span><\/p>\n

What has moved me about this practice for years:<\/span><\/p>\n

That transformation arises in the space between chaos and order. That tensions, contrasts and paradoxes are not resolved, but held. That \u201cmeaningful conversation\u201d is a profoundly human capacity when it comes to the new. And that learning is never complete \u2013 but rather a journey along the chaordic path.<\/span><\/p>\n

And yes: almost as an afterthought, Art of Hosting is also a powerful suite of formats \u2013 Circle Practice, World Caf\u00e9, Open Space, collective harvesting practices and much more. But anyone who focuses solely on the formats has missed the point. Self-organisation is the real core \u2013 and self-organisation is political. The trick lies in the rotation: everyone takes turns hosting, and everyone takes turns being hosted. Leadership rotates. Responsibility circulates.<\/span><\/p>\n<\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div>\r\n\r\n

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Belonging is not about agreement. Belonging is a practice.<\/b><\/h2>\n

Our \u2018Calling Question\u2019 \u2013 the question that brought us all to Leipzig \u2013 was:<\/span><\/p>\n

How do we shape our togetherness in uncertain times and live differences as a source of connection?<\/b><\/p>\n

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Behind this question lies an attitude that I have noticed in the <\/span>Othering & Belonging Institute <\/span><\/a>find in Berkeley: Belonging is both \u2013 a feeling <\/span>and<\/span><\/i> A practice. Something we experience personally, and something we create collectively. It is not about everyone becoming the same or merging into a grand consensus. It is about an ever-widening circle that recognises the dignity and humanity of everyone \u2013 including, and especially, those who are different from me.<\/span><\/p>\n

In Leipzig, we didn\u2019t treat this as a theory, but as a testing ground. Solidarity not as a consensus, but as a social practice: as an attitude of listening to one another without immediately passing judgement. As the ability to endure tensions without smoothing them over. As the courage not only to allow diversity, but to live it.<\/span><\/p>\n

Perhaps my most important realisation from these four days can be summed up in a single image: <\/span>We can set our differences aside.<\/b> Like objects in the centre of a circle. They do not have to merge. They do not have to contradict one another. They are simply allowed to be there \u2013 visible, acknowledged, in relationship. Being connected does not have to mean total absorption. It can be a matter of recognition.<\/span><\/p>\n

The paradox is always at play<\/b><\/h2>\n

I didn\u2019t first encounter this paradox in the training room \u2013 it was with me in the car. On the journey there and back, travelling with three others from the hosting team, I found myself on the wide streets of Leipzig city centre and felt \u201eat home\" in a way that surprised even me: This sense of space reminded me of the streets of my childhood. I grew up in East Berlin. Sitting next to me was Sabine, who grew up in Karlsruhe \u2013 and she said that in precisely these wide streets, she tended to feel rather lost.<\/span><\/p>\n

The same street. Two bodies, two childhoods, two truths. What feels like security to one is a vast expanse without a foothold to the other. And what does that say about how differently we learnt to perceive vastness, confinement, order and playfulness \u2013 long before we had words for them?<\/span><\/p>\n

It was one of those moments when it became clear: the paradox is always at play. The very same space that feels like home to one person can feel like a foreign place to another. And neither of us was right \u2013 or perhaps we both were.<\/span><\/p>\n

For me, therefore, the Art of Hosting is not an either\/or situation. It is a both\/and: structure <\/span>and<\/span><\/i> Emergence. Clarity <\/span>and <\/span><\/i>Not knowing. Methods <\/span>and<\/span><\/i> Relationship.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Weeks later, in a voice message Sabine sent me, there was a thought that really stuck with me:\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201eWhat if I didn't have to choose between one thing or another \u2013 but could choose everything? That changes everything.\" <\/i><\/b>
<\/span><\/i>Perhaps that is the shortest summary of these four days.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

And ever since then, a second sentence has continued to grow within me like a seed: <\/span>What if I give even more of myself?<\/i><\/b> No less character, no less history, no less heritage \u2013 but more. Strength of heart rather than self-deprecation.<\/span><\/p>\n<\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div>\r\n\r\n

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The venue as co-host, the team as a spider\u2019s web<\/b><\/h2>\n

Two things underpinned this training session, which, in hindsight, are not discussed often enough.<\/span><\/p>\n

Firstly: the place itself.<\/b> A free school in a Gr\u00fcnau housing estate is not just a neutral conference venue. It makes a twofold statement: it is a place where, day in, day out, we practise the idea that learning can be self-directed and collaborative \u2013 right in the heart of a neighbourhood whose architecture and history tell a very different story of educational and social aspirations. This tension is embedded in the walls, and it played its part. Anyone looking out of the auditorium window saw not a backdrop, but the context of our Calling Question. The venue was a co-host \u2013 and our Local Host, Hannah, was the bridge: she knows the city, the stories, the neighbourhood. Without local roots, any training session remains a spaceship that lands and takes off again. With her, it becomes a knot in a fabric that endures.<\/span><\/p>\n

Secondly: the hosting team.<\/b> We deliberately formed a large team \u2013 large enough to maintain a truly stable container. With rotating roles: day hosting, individual hosting elements, and always someone to \u201ehold it all together\". A team that, over the course of our days working together, developed into a delicate yet incredibly stable spider\u2019s web, visible only from certain angles. The participants don\u2019t always see it \u2013 but they sense that it is holding everything together. And I ask myself: what were the main supporting threads that allowed this web to be woven in this way? What came together there \u2013 from the original call, through the months of preparation, and throughout these four days? What is it that we held so deeply?<\/span><\/p>\n

I don\u2019t have a definitive answer to that. But I do know this: adrienne maree brown is right when she says in <\/span>Emergent Strategy<\/span><\/i> writes that the small contains the large within it \u2013 fractally. The way we interacted with one another in the hosting team was, in itself, the sense of community we wanted to foster in the space. Small is beautiful, because it is the small that sets the pattern.<\/span><\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\r\n\r\n

What you can take away: micro-practices<\/b><\/h2>\n

If I were to distil these four days down to what you can try out tomorrow in your own context \u2013 in a team meeting, at a workshop, or around the kitchen table \u2013 it would be this:<\/span><\/p>\n