further contributions. Also, as Sara Ahmed says, “reading …books [is] like making friends” (Ahmed, 2017, p. 31) and “…books make communities…” (p. 17), and so you might find new friends in the ‘rich pickings’ of the reading lists provided by many authors, bringing lesser heard voices into the systemic field.


Being political and disagreeing well


“…we live in a world in which there


is enormous injustice, as well as vast disparities in income, resources, and power between those in diff erent nations and within nations, as well as profound legacies of injustice…yet, keeping social justice in focus remains a work very much in progress (in the family therapy fi eld)” Jay L. Lebow (2019, pp. 3-5).


Starting out on this issue, I had two


particular concerns in mind: first, a concern about what, in my experience, is the silence from our field about the ongoing impact of austerity and other government policies (for example, in relation to welfare reform) on growing inequality and hardship for many in the UK, and the impact of this on family life and wellbeing; and secondly, the growing challenges of working within health and social care in the UK, due to ever dwindling resources within the context of austerity, marketisation and privatisation, and the implications for us as practitioners. However, many silences remain of course, many areas where the political and professional intersect, not written about here. One reason for such silences can be the


possibility that some areas are difficult for us as a community to talk about, due to concern about the anger, hurt and relational ruptures it could cause in our community. While there are some articles in this issue that do open up conversation about such areas, many others remain. There are no articles, for example, on the ways in which our European colleagues’ and clients’ lives have changed and how work and personal spaces have become less safe for them since Brexit. An article ref lecting on the time leading up to the end of the Gender Recognition Act consultation was withdrawn due to the threats and abuse a colleague had received in response to


2


their work and publications in the area of gender identity. Talking about the political is inherently


difficult and requires courage and is often easier to avoid unless talking with those we know agree with us. I guess one could argue that, as family therapists, we have often been invited to be apolitical within our professional contexts, to hold multiple (and equal) perspectives, to be ‘neutral’. From my perspective, adopting a position of neutrality in the face of discrimination, exclusion or oppression is a highly political act. That is why I believe that we have a moral duty to speak up about the oppressions we bear witness to. This got me thinking about how we


can have these potentially difficult conversations. How do we listen to one another when we see things differently, when we feel challenged by, even offended by, the words of the other, when we powerfully disagree about bringing the political into the professional field? Knowing how to do this well feels more and more important in the times in which we find ourselves. Pádraig Ó Tuama (2019) from the Corrymeela centre for reconciliation suggests that “common ground is not the only way forward – trust can also come with openness” and states that we “do not [need to] seek to overcome differences, merely we [can] hope and pray that we can learn to hold our differences differently” (O’Tuama, 2017, p. xvi). Such ‘good’ conversations are probably best had in shared spaces, where we can look one another in the eye, sense intentions, and express concerns; where our mutual humanity can come into play. Pádraig goes on to say “...the complication of civic, religious and political life is best explored in community: in the gathered space of cups of tea; shared meals; fireplaces… where we hope we can find new ways to name old pains” (p. xvii). I invite you to read this Context with the imagined cups of tea in hand, listening with openness to those speaking from their lived experiences, knowledge and scholarly efforts, and from the witnessed experiences of those who consult with them. I hope that, as you read this issue, you


will be inspired and reinvigorated. I hope that you will have a sense of solidarity and of not being alone with struggles. I hope that you will consider new conversations to have with colleagues,


in supervision and with clients. I hope that you feel more able to move “from positions of …paralysis to positions of hope; that is, … to doing something” (Morgan, et al., 2019, 5/10). As Jim Wilson (this issue) puts it, “the aim here is to promote conversation, debate and action” (my emphasis). Finally, I hope that you might feel challenged at times, that you will be offered new perspectives (especially some you disagree with) and will open your mind and heart to these, considering how they might add to, expand or adjust your current practices and perspectives; allowing you to hold differences differently; allowing for something new to occur.


Front cover: Tears, by David Garner (2015)


(Aneurin Bevan press photograph


[1957], clipboard, medical dish, water) T e archive press photograph of


Aneurin Bevan was taken at the Labour Party Conference at Brighton on the 30th of September 1957. On the reverse of the image, along


with the usual photographic agency stamps are two comments: the fi rst is a description, ‘Mr Bevan wipes his eyes as he listens to the speeches at the opening of the Labour Party Conference at Brighton today’; and the second is a quotation, ‘“It is no laughing mat er”, says Mr Bevan opening the Labour Party Conference’. T e act of wiping the eyes,


associated here with the term ‘no laughing mat er’ were considerations in arriving at the concept of the work. T e photograph is presented on a


clipboard, which suggests a process of collating or documenting information or evidence, especially in a medical context, reminiscent of a doctor ‘doing his rounds’. T is medical theme is pertinent given Bevan’s connection with the National Health Service and is reinforced by the inclusion of the kidney dish. T e kidney dish, fi lled with water,


becomes a secular reliquary holding tears shed at the current condition of the NHS, an institution described by social theorist Richard Titmuss as the “most unsordid act of British social policy in the 20th century”.


Context 164, August 2019


Editorial


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