Collective Narrative Practice...convening definitional ceremonies DULWICH BOOK amended.indd 51 14/10/08 8:58:20 PM 52 Enabling contribution In this chapter, I wish to tell a story

This long-awaited book introduces a range of hopeful methodologies to respond to individuals, groups and communities who are experiencing hardship. These approaches are easy to engage with and can be used with children, young people and adults.

The methodologies described include:

• Collective narrative documents

• Enabling contributions through exchanging messages and convening definitional ceremonies

• The Tree of Life: Responding to vulnerable children

• The Team of Life: Giving young people a sporting chance

• Checklists of social and psychological resistance

• Collective narrative timelines

• Maps of history

• Songs of sustenance

To illustrate these approaches, stories are shared from Australia, Southern Africa, Israel, Ireland, USA, Palestine, Rwanda and elsewhere.

This book also breaks new ground in considering how responding to trauma involves responding to social issues. How can our work contribute not only to ‘healing’ but also to ‘social movement’? As we work with the stories of people’s lives can we contribute to the remaking of folk culture? And is it possible to move beyond the dichotomy of individualism/collectivism?

Collective narrative practices are now being engaged with in many different parts of the world. This book invites the reader to engage with these approaches in their own ways.

David Denborough is a community practitioner, writer, teacher and songwriter at Dulwich Centre, in Adelaide, South Australia. Dulwich Centre is one of the homes of what has come to be known as narrative therapy and community work.

Responding to individuals, groups, and communities who have experienced trauma

by David Denborough

www.dulwichcentre.com.au

Collective Narrative Practice by David Denborough Dulwich Centre Publications

COLLECTIVE NARR PRAC COVER.indd 1 14/10/08 11:38:28 AM

iCollective Narrative Practice

Collective Narrative Practice:

Responding to individuals, groups, and communities who have experienced trauma

David Denborough

Dulwich Centre PublicationsAdelaide, South Australia

DULWICH BOOK amended.indd 1 14/10/08 8:58:16 PM

ISBN 0-9752180-5-0

Copyright © 2008 Dulwich Centre Publications

Dulwich Centre PublicationsHutt St PO Box 7192Adelaide 5000, South AustraliaPhone (61-8) 82233966 Fax (61-8) 82324441Email: [email protected]: www.dulwichcentre.com.au

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Excerpt from The Society of Individuals, by Norbert Elias, copyright © 2001. Reprinted by permission of the Continuum International Publishing Group.

Excerpt from We Make the Road by Walking: Conversations on Education and Social Change, by Myles Horton and Paulo Freire, copyright © 1990. Reprinted with permission by Temple University Press

Excerpt from If trees could talk: Stories of Australia’s greatest trees, by Bob Beale © 2007. Reprinted with permission from the Licensor, Bob Beale c/- Curtis Brown (Aust) Pty Ltd.

Excerpt from Language of the night: Essays on fantasy and science fiction by Ursula Le Guin © 1989. Reprinted with permission by The Women’s Press

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C H A P T E R T H R E E

Enabling contribution: Exchanging messages and

convening definitional ceremonies


52 Enabling contribution

In this chapter, I wish to tell a story of how collective documents can be used to start a process of mutual contribution between groups and communities. This story has been documented in more detail elsewhere (Denborough et al., 2006). It begins in Port Augusta, in conversations with members of the local Aboriginal community. Barbara Wingard, Cheryl White and I had been invited to a meeting in which family members’ experiences of loss and grief were to be discussed.1

A collective narrative document was created from this initial meeting in Port Augusta, entitled ‘Responding to so many losses: Special skills of the Port Augusta Aboriginal Community’. This document described the devastating effects of recent deaths in the community which included deaths from suicide and violence. The document also described a range of special skills that family members were using to respond to these losses. These included asking questions, dreams, spirituality, crying together, honouring the contribution of key figures in the community, remembering and staying connected to those who have passed away, unity, music, turning to families, remembering the good times, tears and laughter, and others.

By chance, at around the same time, we had been asked to visit Aboriginal communities in the far north of Australia. The communities in the north were also having to respond to many losses, so we asked those in Port Augusta if they would be happy to share their document with those up north. They showed great interest in this idea and expressed hope that all they had been through might be able to offer something to others.

As it turned out, their document was warmly embraced by the Yolngu people of Yirrkala and Gunyangara. So much so that members of the communities up north wanted to send messages back to the people down south. I will include here a story told to me by one young man, in response to hearing the Port Augusta document. He relayed this story in the hope that it may be of assistance to other young Aboriginal men.

Trying hard to find a future2

Some of us are doing all we can to try to find a future. One of the ways I do this is to try to stay away from trouble. When my family members are drinking every day, when they come back from town drunk, I know I don’t want to end up like this. I think about doing some work, or doing something for the day. Making a plan to do something is important. I might go hunting for the day, or do some work. That’s better than hanging around


53Collective Narrative Practice

doing nothing. It can be hard to hold onto dreams for the future when things are tough in your family, and when there have been a lot of losses. You can use some help from a friend – someone who knows you very well. A friend can say something, give you a little idea that might help with your situation. And then they keep in touch to see how things are going. This makes a difference to me. It helps me to keep trying to find a future. I am nineteen years old now. I have been trying hard for a future since I was fifteen. I have two more years to go. If I get to twenty-one I will have a future. At twenty-one, I will break the line. It’s like there is a line that we have to break. We have to break out. Inside the line there is all this trouble. It is all around us. We have to find ways to hold onto our dreams and then we can break the line.

I have known about this since I was fifteen. This knowledge came from school and from old men who talked to me about this. They talked to me so many times about having a future. This was when we were at outstations, doing ceremony business. After the dancing, we would sit down and they would talk to me and encourage me.

A lot of things have happened since then. It has sometimes been very hard to hold onto a future. If the old men could hear me talking about this now, if they could hear that I have still remembered what they said to me, and that it has helped me to hold onto a future, I think they would say, ‘I’m really surprised. I’m pleased. Thank you for listening’.

These old men also had a vision for the future. They had the same thinking. It was their hope for the future and now I am saying it. It was like they put a seed in the sand. Next, my kids will be saying it. When I have a kid I will pass the ‘hope for a future’ onto them. I will hand this vision over to my son. The seeds turn into trees, with branches. My aunty told me this image.

When it gets hard to hold onto these hopes for a future, sometimes I go back to the outstation and stay there for a while. That’s the best place to be to get reconnected. That’s where the story came from in the first place.

Other people probably don’t know I have this vision. I have not talked about it. It’s good to share these things with other people. I have a little nephew. He is three months old. He is someone who will take up the message and he can pass it onto his kids when he has children. When



he gets to five I will start encouraging him to make spears, to go hunting. I will tell him the stories that the old man said to me. While he is still very small, I will tell him to watch me doing things. I will take him to watch me using a spear. In this way the seed can go into his mind. It can start to work its way. That’s what I am here for, to carry on this message and share it amongst the little ones.

We are trying hard to find a future.

While this story was initially related by one young man, it seemed clear that its message was shared by many others in his community. To confirm this, the story was read aloud to a group of young men from his community. They were asked if they thought this story should be sent down to Port Augusta and they all indicated that they thought that it should. What’s more, they made it clear that this story represented all of them, that it was a collective story and they wanted it to be sent on behalf of them all.

The next step was therefore to take this story back to Port Augusta and read it to those for whom it was intended. When this was done, those who listened to it had further messages they wanted to send back up north:

This story is deadly3

The following words are from members of the Port Augusta Aboriginal community. These are their responses to the story ‘Trying hard to find a future’. These people in Port Augusta have all experienced many losses lately, including losses of young people through suicide. Many of them have also attempted suicide themselves, and many of them are struggling with issues of alcohol and other drug use. The story ‘Trying to find a future’ was read out under an overpass near the water in Port Augusta. After this story was read, one community member encouraged others to huddle around and listen to these important stories from up north. The words from up north were treated with great respect and they wanted very much to send these messages back to the young men of Yirrkala and Gunyangara.



It touches our hearts ~ Listening to the young men’s stories from up north was good stuff. It’s deadly. The way it expresses what they’re going through. It touches your heart. It’s like they’re reaching out to us to touch our hearts. The things they’re talking about are happening here today – too many drugs, alcohol, and too many deaths. A young girl committed suicide here recently. If she’d heard something like this she might still be alive. These sorts of stories are important. They can keep hope alive.

On the same track ~ Listening to their story about trying hard to find a future was good stuff. It was inspirational. It was something I’d never heard before, and it was a good thing to hear. I’m trying to be on that track too. It’s like I’m halfway on the track. Sometimes I get off track, and sometimes I’m on the track. It’s a bloody good story.

Life is precious ~ Their words made us think about how life is precious, about how we only live once and there’s no point in throwing it away. Their words have made me think of my family, my kids, grandparents, brothers and sisters. If I am feeling hopeless and I think of all of them, it stops me from cutting myself up. Their words have made me think about how precious life is. Please tell this to those young people.

Over a period of months, a wide range of collective documents about ways of dealing with hard times were shared between these two communities in ways that enabled members of both communities to make real contributions to each other.4

The messages that were sent back and forth were not random. They were double-storied: they never focused only on problems or difficulties but instead they relayed special skills and knowledges about ways of responding to hardship. And in all the exchanges, both groups continually conveyed how the messages they were receiving were contributing to their lives. In this way, both groups experienced making a contribution to the other.

Definitional ceremonies

Throughout this process, it was also possible to convene in both communities a number of what are known as ‘definitional ceremonies’. This concept of ‘definitional ceremony’ is a significant one, so I shall now discuss this in some detail.



In developing forms of collective narrative practice, the concepts of ritual and definitional ceremony (Myerhoff, 1982, 1986) are influential. Barbara Myerhoff coined the term ‘definitional ceremony’ to describe particular rituals through which members of an elderly Jewish community in Venice Beach actively defined their collective identity:

Socially marginalized people. Disdained, ignored groups. Individuals with what Erving Goffman calls ‘spoiled identities’, regularly seek opportunities to appear before others in the light of the own internally provided interpretation … I have called such performances ‘Definitional ceremonies’, understanding them to be collective self-definitions specifically intended to proclaim an interpretation to an audience not otherwise available. (Myerhoff, 1982, p.105)

There are two aspects of this quote that seem particularly significant. Firstly, that definitional ceremonies involve ‘collective self-definitions’ and secondly, that the role of the audience, or outsider witnesses, is of critical importance.

Michael White (1995, 1999) translated the concept of definitional ceremonies to the therapeutic context, and applied the metaphor of definitional ceremonies involving ‘outsider witnesses’ to the reflecting team work developed by Tom Andersen (1991, 1999). In Michael White’s version of definitional ceremonies, individuals or families would be interviewed about the ways in which they were trying to deal with whatever problems they were facing. Certain ‘outsider witnesses’ would act as an audience to this conversation. In the second part of the ‘ceremony’, the outsider witnesses would speak about what they had heard the family speak about while the family would be in the audience position. The roles would then be reversed again so that the family members could reflect upon what had been spoken by the outsider witnesses.

In this process, Michael White elucidated four categories of response that ‘outsider witnesses’ can make which contribute in significant ways to rich story development:

1. Identifying the expression: As you listen to the stories of the lives of the people who are at the centre of the definitional ceremony, which expressions caught your attention or captured your imagination? Which ones struck a chord for you?



2. Describing the image: What images of people’s lives, of their identities, and of the world more generally, did these expressions evoke? What did these expressions suggest to you about these people’s purposes, values, beliefs, hopes, dreams and commitments?

3. Embodying responses: What is it about your own life/work that accounts for why these expressions caught your attention or struck a chord for you? Do you have a sense of which aspects of your own experiences of life resonated with these expressions, and with the images evoked by these expressions?

4. Acknowledging transport: How have you been moved on account of being present to witness these expressions of life? Where has this experience taken you to, that you would not otherwise have arrived at, if you hadn’t been present as an audience to this conversation? In what way have you become other than who you were on account of witnessing these expressions, and on account of responding to these stories in the way that you have? (White, 2005)

Outsider witnesses within narrative therapy are drawn either from professionals, or family members, friends, or others who have experienced similar difficulties as those being interviewed. They listen to a conversation that takes place between the therapist and the person consulting the therapist and then, after a certain period of time, these ‘outsider witnesses’ offer their responses in accordance with the categories listed above. These conversations are carefully structured so as to provide those at the centre of the ceremony with a powerful sense of acknowledgement.

Having been a part of, and witnessed, many of these therapeutic definitional ceremonies5, one of the elements that seems to be the most powerful is the sense of contribution that the person at the centre of the ceremony comes to experience.

As Myerhoff explains, ‘A story told aloud to progeny or peers is, of course, more than a text. It is an event. When it is done properly, presentationally, its effect on the listener is profound, and the latter is more than a mere passive receiver or validator. The listener is changed’ (1982, p.116).

Because outsider witnesses speak about how they have been changed6 in some positive way by what they have heard, this enables the person at the centre of the ceremony to experience making a contribution to the lives of the outsider witnesses.



We have become very interested in convening definitional ceremonies as ‘ceremonies of contribution’, in which individuals, groups and/or communities come to experience that they have made significant contributions to the lives of others. For example, when the story ‘Trying hard to find a future’ was shared in Port Augusta, the community members there who listened to it and responded, did so as ‘outsider witnesses’. One of them made the following response:

Their words made us think about how life is precious, about how we only live once and there’s no point in throwing it away. Their words have made me think of my family, my kids, grandparents, brothers and sisters. If I am feeling hopeless and I think of all of them, it stops me from cutting myself up. Their words have made me think about how precious life is. Please tell this to those young people.

This is a powerful outsider-witness response. It clearly conveys how the listener (the outsider witness) has been changed on account of hearing the story. It clearly demonstrates that the story ‘Trying hard to find a future’ has made a contribution to their life.

When the young men from up north heard the outsider-witness responses, when they heard that ‘their story’ had in some significant way contributed to the lives of other Aboriginal people who are also having hard times, this made many different things possible:

It made it possible for the individual young men to feel/think differently 1. about themselves.

It made it possible for the individual young men to feel/think differently 2. about each other.

It made it possible to the young men to have a different sense of themselves 3. as a group, as a collective.

Because the story ‘Trying hard to find a future’ powerfully acknowledges the elders who passed onto this generation the ‘hope for a future’, when the young men heard that this story had a contribution to those in Port Augusta, then this process became a ‘unifying ritual’, a ritual that generated a sense of ‘historical continuity’, as Barbara Myerhoff explains:

Rituals provide continuity of two distinct but related kinds, the individual’s sense of unity as a person (individual – biographical continuity), and the sense of being ‘One People’ on the part of the whole group (collective –



historical continuity). Despite great changes and disruptions, the individual must be convinced of his/her continuity; thus must be able to re-experience parts of the past in the present … The group, to think of itself as One People, must connect with those of their kind who have gone before and those who are yet to come. The difference between ‘us then’ and ‘us now’ is enormous. This sense of unity, of identity with one’s past and future, ‘We have been here and we will continue, despite so many changes’, is a very important function frequently managed by ritual. (Myerhoff, 1977, p.151)

Within narrative collective practice, we are interested in enabling a sense of ‘unity as a person’ for individuals whereby a person’s skills or values in the present become linked to personal and familial history. We are also interested in being able to generate a ‘sense of unity, of identity with one’s past and future’ for collectives of people.

Through the process of generating the story ‘Trying hard to find a future’, the young men were connected both to the older generations from whom the hope originated, and future generations to whom they will pass the hope on. The outsider-witness responses from Port Augusta therefore honoured not only the young men but also ‘their people’, their ancestors and those yet to come.

Noticing and building upon existing definitional ceremonies

There are many different forms of definitional ceremony that are relevant to collective narrative practice. Some are convened across great distance (such as the exchange of messages from Port Augusta to Yirrkala). In others, the outsider witnesses are present and offer spoken word reflections.

Barbara Myerhoff observed a wide range of diverse pre-existing community rituals (storytelling, public rituals, ceremonies, meetings, murals, protest marches, and so on). Having observed and documented these pre-existing rituals, she then became interested in how to convene further events and ceremonies. Again, these took diverse forms: from life history classes (1982) to folk art and folk life exhibitions (1980). Myerhoff’s work vividly demonstrates that within any community there are existing rituals which are used to define the community and the individuals within it.

Similarly, a range of family therapists (including Combs & Freedman, 1990; Imber-Black, Roberts & Whiting, 1989; Laird, 1989; Palazzoli, Boscolo, Cecchin



& Prata, 1977) were very interested in exploring the possibilities of the use of ritual in therapeutic work. Joan Laird described a particular interest in rituals which related to women’s experiences within families:

The family therapist should develop skill in understanding and interpreting meanings and prescriptions embedded in existing family rituals, in assisting women and families in preserving rituals important to individual identity and family coherence, in reclaiming those that may have been passed over or now exist in truncated, outdated, or destructive forms, and in sharing in the construction of new rituals. (Laird, 1989, pp.341–342)

Following Myerhoff’s observations of existing community rituals, family therapists’ invitations to explore ritual within families, and Michael White’s categories of outsider-witness response, we have become increasingly interested in examining existing definitional ceremonies in the lives of individuals, families, and communities, and then, in partnership, exploring how these can be convened or reconvened in ways that contribute to the rich description of community skills and knowledges.

For instance, in many Aboriginal communities, it is the weekly football or softball match that draws people together. These are existing definitional ceremonies in which many generations support and cheer on the skills and abilities of the current team members. When seeking out a possible forum for re-telling stories relating to the skills and knowledges of young men and young women, these existing weekly ceremonies can be ideal starting points.7 Stories which richly convey young people’s hopes and dreams, and that trace the histories of these, can be shared in front of a carefully chosen audience. These outsider witnesses then offer responses (using the categories of response outlined on pp.56–57) and the crowd shows their appreciation, all before the game begins …

Culturally diverse practices

Definitional ceremonies will look very different in an Indigenous Australian community8 than they will in Hong Kong, Rwanda or in an elderly Jewish community.



The significance of exploring diverse forms of ceremony became very apparent when Cheryl White and I were facilitating a workshop on narrative collective practice in Moscow, Russia.9 One part of this workshop was considering how to convene a definitional ceremony around the skills and knowledges that had sustained participants during hard times. A collective document had been generated around this theme and discussion then took place about how some form of ceremony could be held in relation to this. After considerable discussion, across translation, it was decided that the appropriate form of definitional ceremony would be a ‘kitchen-table ceremony’. We learnt that during Soviet times, when the country was under strict communist rule, formal ceremonies came to be associated with pomp and insincerity. It was only around the kitchen table that people felt secure to speak of their lives and to seek comfort from one another. A kitchen-table ceremony was therefore convened. I will include here an extract from the letter that Cheryl and I wrote to participants after this workshop:

Dear participant,

G’day!

This is a quick note from Cheryl White and David Denborough before we leave Russia.

We just wanted to thank you all for your participation in the workshop and to wish you well in your efforts to develop narrative collective practices here in Russia. As we mentioned many times during the workshop, one of our key aims is that these workshops will spark discussion and consideration about what would be appropriate collective and community practices in whatever cultural context we are visiting. We hope that practitioners will develop their own forms of practice.

What was so heartening in the workshop over the last two days were the rigorous and thoughtful discussions about what was, and what was not, culturally appropriate in a Russian context. A number of key ideas were expressed in relation to what would need to be taken into account in developing definitional ceremonies in a Russian context. These included:

That formal ceremonies may have associations with Soviet times •and that what may be more resonant will be informal ‘around the kitchen table’ ceremonies.



That at these ceremonies, rather than having the ‘outsider witnesses’ •watching on separately, that they would be invited to sit at the same table.

Perhaps ‘ceremonies’ is not the right word for the Russian context •and you will come up with another term?

We also heard from you about the differences between Russian •formal culture and informal culture. It will be very interesting to see how the collective practices you develop take this into account.

Within the ceremony that was held during the workshop, it was very interesting to us to watch as people adapted the process as it went along. For instance, some people chose to speak and embellish upon their individual stories of skills and knowledges of overcoming hard times, while others read aloud from the collective document that had been created. It may be that in the ceremonies you develop there will be opportunities for people to speak both individually and as representatives of the collective.

It will be very interesting to see how you might further develop these ‘kitchen table’ ceremonies, and the role of outsider witnesses within them. We heard suggestions that perhaps at the beginning of the ceremony everyone would introduce themselves to each other. Perhaps you will also find particular ways in which tea and food are involved that divide the ceremony into particular parts?

We are hoping that collective narrative practices will look very different depending upon the culture in which they are developed. A diversity of practice is so needed! The sorts of cultural discussions we shared over the last two days and the distinctions mentioned above are an important part of laying the groundwork for the development of culturally-appropriate collective practices. The rigor of the discussion around some of these matters was heartening for us. And we would like to express our appreciation to you for this.

Thanks again for all your contributions over the last two days. And good luck in developing your own forms of collective practice.

Warm regards,Cheryl White & David Denborough.



Finding ways of convening diverse definitional ceremonies that build upon existing cultural and community traditions is an exciting prospect, particularly because the shape and form they can take is so varied.

Beyond ‘verbal’: the role of folk culture within definitional ceremonies

We are also interested in how many different mediums of experience can be used within definitional ceremonies. These events do not only have to consist of the spoken word. One of the forms of definitional ceremony that Barbara Myerhoff was involved in convening within the Jewish community in Venice Beach, was a ‘living history class’:

Their Life History sessions paralleled the Definitional Ceremonies in their presentational format. They were intended to persuade, and enactments were inserted as often as possible. Illustrations of points people wanted to make were taken to class in the form of objects. They brought mementos, gifts, plaques, awards, certificates, letters, publications, and photographs from all periods of their and their families’ lives. One woman brought her sick husband who had grown senile and could no longer speak coherently. She spoke for him, recounting his stories, and along with them, the place he had filled in her life. Another woman brought her retarded grandson ‘to show you what I am talking about what I tell you about him’. He was a kind of badge of honor, for she handled him with dignity and patience, an injury transcended but for which she wanted credit. Still another man brought in a yellow felt star bearing the word ‘Jude’. It circulated throughout the room in silence. Words were not needed. The star dramatized a major facet of his existence. A number of women regularly brought in food, demonstrating their claimed skills as cooks. Songs were sung, and from time to time there was dancing. Poems were recited frequently in many languages, demonstrations of erudition and memory. Learned quotations, of Marx and Talmud, folk and fine literature also adorned people’s accounts. The sessions, then, were not merely verbal. Insofar as possible they were made into performances. People displayed the qualities they wanted seen as much as they could and became what they displayed. (Myerhoff, 1982, pp.114–115)



As Myerhoff describes here, these sessions were ‘not merely verbal’. In engaging with the definitional ceremony metaphor, it becomes possible for us to consider how all the forms of folk culture can be engaged with in our work. In the ceremonies we have convened, alongside conversation and storytelling, documents, songs, food, dancing, poems, visual arts, photographs, gifts, collage, physical theatre and sculpture have all been engaged to richly convey the skills, abilities, values, hopes, dreams and commitments of the particular group or community.

Acknowledging ‘fictive’ elements of definitional ceremonies

It is relevant to note that rituals and definitional ceremonies can involve the generation of fictions as well as truths:

Fortunately, in ritual, fictions can be presented which disguise truths, save face, and convince all concerned that matters are in order. For rituals allow people to maneuver, fight on their own terms, choose the times, places, conditions and shapes of their assertions … Such maneuvering may result in action, encounter and change, or may end in poetry … where instead of being moved anywhere we are accommodated in many subtle ways to our condition in all its contrarieties and complexities. (Myerhoff, 1977, p.150)

When Myerhoff was observing existing definitional ceremonies that were being created within and by a community, she was noting how these fictions which related to meaning and history of the community were being collectively negotiated. The people who were to be most influenced by the creation and re-creation of meaning through these rituals were themselves participating in this process. This makes a significant difference in the negotiation of ‘truth’ and ‘fiction’. Those present have the capacity to restrain and renegotiate the narratives that are generated. Various community and cultural protocols also come into play in this regard.

Within collective narrative practice, it is important we take care to ensure that any definitional ceremonies of which we are a part do not create ‘fictions’ that could have adverse effects on the lives of those present or those who are not present. This is particularly true when working across cultures or in communities in which there are entrenched social difficulties.

Ironically, as narrative practices deliberately focus on preferred story development, one such ‘fiction’ to avoid within community definitional ceremonies



is the generation of storylines that lead to ‘euphoria’ or ‘ungrounded expectations of change’. I am indebted here to Russ Hernandez and Anne Mead for these two phrases as they have drawn attention to the care that needs to be taken when working with definitional ceremony processes. Russ Hernandez in his cross-cultural counselling work, and Anne Mead who works within an Indigenous community, have both pointed out that if definitional ceremonies are engaged with in ways that lead to an experience of temporary ‘euphoria’, this can lead to a heightened sense of expectation of change which in turn can lead to disappointment and loss of agency when this does not occur back in the regular routines of life.10

We have attempted to remedy this through forms of definitional ceremony that enable experiences of ‘communitas’ without ‘euphoria’. This can include facilitating smaller, lower-key ceremonies that occur regularly and over time within a community, rather than focusing on a one-off ceremony with an entire community present. Other options include the exchange of written messages, or taped reflections, which can be played and replayed. In other contexts, the internet, emails, songs, murals, and other community arts mediums can be utilised.

In acknowledging the possible ‘fictive’ elements of definitional ceremonies, it then becomes our responsibility to find ways to monitor the effects on others (those present and those not present) of the storylines that are generated or strengthened during these ceremonies. I am particularly aware of this responsibility in relation to those who may not be present during the ceremony. As preferred storylines are constructed in relation to one member of a family, or one part of a collective or community, we must find ways of monitoring the effects of this on others to whom they are connected.

Ceremonies as social action

Two of the definitional ceremonies that Myerhoff (1986) describes in detail involve collective social action: a protest march and a public mural depicting the political and social history of the community. While ‘one is behaved and the other is a picture of ideas’ (p.281), Myerhoff describes how the parade and the mural are ‘mutual shapers of thought and action’ (p.283). Their intent was to alter ‘more than their own version of themselves’ (p.267) and to bring about wider changes in meaning, understanding, and in social practice.11 For instance, the march was protesting the death of a member of community who was hit by a bicyclist and the



members of the community succeeded, through their actions, in having barricades placed on either side of the community centre.

Among the chosen audience members (outsider witnesses) was the media: ‘the elders originated the image that was broadcast, and it was to their image that they successfully drew their witnesses. They not only created an imaginary existence for themselves but for those who watched them’ (p.273 ).

The reason I mention this here is that the very origin of the concept of definitional ceremonies involved far more than redefining identities. These ceremonies described by Myerhoff (1986) were forms of social action. In a later chapter (chapter ten), I discuss how collective narrative practice seeks to bring together considerations of meaning-making, identity-formation, enabling contribution and social action. It seems relevant to mention here that definitional ceremonies, as described by Myerhoff, have a great deal to offer us in this endeavour.

Her descriptions invite us to remember that ‘identity formation’ and ‘social action’ are not separate. Convening definitional ceremonies around, and in relation to, various initiatives of social action that people are taking can powerfully influence not only these people’s self-definition, but also their ability to continue to take action.

Finding ways to convene ceremonies in which people act as outsider witnesses and as engaged participants joined in social projects for a broader good, is one of the aims of collective narrative practice.

An example of a definitional ceremony

To close this chapter, I will briefly describe a small definitional ceremony that took place in Yirrkala, the community from which the story ‘Trying hard to find a future’ was told. This ceremony took the form of a barbeque outside the council office, overlooking the sea. This is a place where community celebrations are often held. Teachers from the local school brought a number of younger people to witness the ceremony. I am not sure if ceremony is quite the right word for this context. This event was a mixture of formality and informality. There was laughter, occasional awkwardness, and also that quality of exquisite listening that takes place when the words being spoken are powerfully resonant for all concerned.

A number of different people spoke: firstly, the senior elders and the head of the local council, before a number of stories from the community were read aloud. These were stories that richly described the skills and knowledge of different groups of the community (women, men, young women, young men) in trying to address some of



the current difficulties they are facing. After these were read, various messages (or outsider-witness responses) were shared. These came from far and wide. A member of the Port Augusta community12 was present and she spoke of what it had meant to her to hear the stories from Yirrkala and to be a part of the process of exchange. Then a message from a Native American colleague was read:

My name is Julie Moss. I am an indigenous woman of North America, a Keetowah Cherokee. We came originally from the South East of the USA but were forcibly removed just a few short generations ago and marched to Oklahoma Indian Territory … which is where we are now. We still follow and practice traditional ways. I am the wife of the one of the leaders of our ceremonies. We have this message for you.

We send greetings and good tidings to you from here in Indian country, Oklahoma. I send greetings on behalf of the Keetowah Band of the Cherokee.

Our hearts go out to your community, including your elders and ancestors. Thank you for sharing with us your visions and dreams. We honour these. In your words, we sensed a strength in traditions and ceremonies and a beautiful view of life. We stand in solidarity with you and hold you in our prayers. As we are also using our traditions and our dreams and visions as a firebreak in tough times.

We are reading and telling your stories all the way over here in Indian country. Your stories are a teaching, just like our dreams are a teaching. Your stories about remaining connected to those who have passed away is a teaching for other peoples. This is something to be honoured, acknowledged, and treated as sacred.

When we have a sudden or violent death or a suicide here, it leaves a lot of pain behind and questions. It’s like someone has been snatched from life and our people are still reaching out to that person. Many times, in order to achieve peace for ourselves and our community, we hold a sweat lodge ceremony. Our sweat house is considered sacred and holy. We fast before we enter and inside we sing tribal songs and offer prayers. It is our holy place and this is where our healing happens. Peace is achieved in the doorway between this world and the next. The person who has gone, comes to that doorway and then after the ceremony they move on, and we are allowed to go on with our lives. The next time that we hold our ceremony we will remember you all in our prayers. We will pray for you inside our sweat lodge. We will speak of how you sent your stories to us and what this has meant to us. We will request prayers for you in our lodge. Thank you for your teachings and way of looking at life. (quoted in Denborough, et. al., 2006, p.45)



This was followed by a message from Barbara Wingard, an Aboriginal woman from South Australia:

I would like to tell the women up there that I have been inspired by them. You have motivated me to do something in my own community here in Murray Bridge. Some of our young people are lost. They are scaring other people. They are going to the river drinking. Because I have seen what the women in Yirrkala and Ski Beach are doing, I am now going to go and sit down by the river. This is where the fighting takes place and this is where I need to be.

I was meant to be up there this week sharing this day with you. And I would love to be with you. But I have realised that I need to stay here this week. It’s your inspiration that has led me to start talking to mothers and grandmothers here, and soon I will talk with the young people in small groups. We will share some of your stories. And if any of you have messages for the mothers, grandmothers and young people down here, I will pass these on to them.

Please know that I would love to be with you all today. But I am down by the river, where I need to be. And I know this, because of spending time with all of you.

Other messages were shared too, from non-Indigenous team members who were present at the ceremony, before two songs were played. These were songs written from the words spoken by community members.12 Following this, the head of the council and the most senior woman present closed the proceedings and we all enjoyed a good feed.

There were a number of practices that made this event a ‘definitional ceremony’, a ceremony that contributed to renewed ‘collective self-definition’ (Myerhoff, 1982, p.105). Firstly, the stories that were told about the community richly described the skills, knowledges and values of community members. Secondly, the histories of these skills and how they are linked to culture and tradition were acknowledged and honoured. Thirdly, through the sharing of messages from outsider witnesses, the people of Yirrkala were able to hear about the contributions their stories had made to the lives of other peoples who are also experiencing difficult times. Fourthly, further outsider-witness responses were offered by non-Indigenous team members which also richly acknowledged the contributions of those of Yirrkala. Fifthly, the special knowledges of the community were re-presented and shared in the form of song. Significantly, at all stages along the way, community members were involved in the generation of the stories, how these were to be re-presented and how, where


and when the ceremony would be held. Finally, it seems relevant to mention that this ‘ceremony’ involved different generations. Young people were able to listen to the stories of elders. And elders were able to listen to and respond to the stories of the younger generation. A number of school teachers who were present requested copies of all the stories so that these could become a regular part of the local curriculum.

This was not a grand ceremony, nor was it euphoric. But it was honouring of contributions made and shared. And in its own way it enabled the people in the community to perform particular ‘collective self-definitions’.

Summary

This chapter has described how exchanging messages between groups who have experienced hard times, and convening definitional ceremonies, can play key roles in collective narrative responses to trauma. Through these processes, those who may initially be burdened by a sense of failure and hopelessness come to experience making contributions to the lives of others. Along the way, individuals, groups and communities can experience rich acknowledgement and a sense of renewed possibility.

Notes

1. Carolynanha Johnson-Koolmatrie was also present at this meeting and she went on to play a key role in the events that would unfold.

2. This story, ‘Trying hard to find a future’, and the way in which it is documented, represents an attempt at what Barbara Myerhoff referred to as ‘the third voice’. Marc Kaminsky explains that: ‘She (Myerhoff) wished to find a way of editing the tales so that everything she knew about them would be ‘invisibly’ embedded in the tales, through the editing: the tales would be presented without the framing discourse of the interpreting anthropologist … The notion of the third voice was formulated in her attempt to work through the problem of jettisoning explicit anthropological commentary’ (Kaminsky, 1992, p.13). The story ‘Trying hard to find a future’ is presented without any commentary, and without the questions that contributed to its formulation, and yet these remain ‘invisibly’ embedded in the tale.

3. ‘Deadly’ is an expression in Aboriginal English meaning ‘awesome’.4. To read about the entire process, see Denborough et al. (2006). For an evaluation of the project,

see Berthold (n.d.). 5. These definitional ceremony structures have been used within therapeutic contexts and also

within wider community gatherings. Community gatherings informed by narrative ideas are discussed in chapter eleven.




6. ‘Transported’ is the word most commonly used to describe this experience within narrative therapeutic practice. It is not a word I choose to use, however, as here in Australia it has associations with ‘transportation’: the social policy of the English that led to thousands of Irish and poor English men and women being sent to Australia in the 1700s and 1800s.

7. For more about the possibilities implicit within sporting rituals, see chapter five. 8. When narrative community gatherings have been held in Indigenous communities considerable

consultation is required to determine where and how opening and closing rituals take place and how definitional ceremonies are convened during the gathering. Tim Agius, Barbara Wingard and other Indigenous Australian colleagues have played key roles in these consultations with communities.

9. This workshop was organised by Natasha Savelieva (Centre of Narrative Practice, Moscow) and Daria Kutuzova. Natasha can be contacted c/o [email protected], Daria can be contacted c/o [email protected].

10. Russ Hernandez has also described complexities that can occur in counselling contexts when the outsider witnesses are of a different culture or community than those whose stories are being witnessed. When there is a group of professional outsider witnesses responding to the stories of one or two people who are from a different culture, he describes how this at times can lead to a performance of gratitude being required by those at the centre of the ceremony (Hernandez, forthcoming).

11. It seems relevant to note that Myerhoff’s concept of definitional ceremony was explicitly ‘political’. Marc Kaminsky describes this in more detail:

Myerhoff worked up the concept of ‘definitional ceremonies’ in two important case studies of the discursive forms used by ‘oppressed people’ to wage political fights … Myerhoff includes storytelling, public rituals, and ceremonies, meetings, murals, protest marches, and other enactments and displays under this category. The genre-shaping intention that these have in common is the intention to affirm the individual by grounding her personal identity and worth in the culture and social history of the group. In practice, this assertion of value is polemical and oppositional: it is made against the dominant social evaluation which denies the meaning and value of the group’s culture and social history. Hence, the intention is to contest the evaluative and interpretive social discourse of the dominant culture (ageism, sexism, anti-Semitism, devaluation of working-class and poor people). (1992, pp.17–18 in footnote no. 5).

12. Carolynanha Johnson-Koolmatrie played this role of representing the Aboriginal community of Port Augusta.

13. For more information about the role of songwriting as a part of collective narrative practice, see chapter eight.


Documents

Collective Narrative Practice...convening definitional ceremonies DULWICH BOOK amended.indd 51 14/10/08 8:58:20 PM 52 Enabling contribution In this chapter, I wish to tell a story