Ancrages

There is a humility that precedes every authentic word. Each time we speak, we do so from a place that is ours alone, a point of view shaped by privilege, struggle, and memory. Yet too often, language claims a false universality. It rises above the soil, losing touch with the ground from which it was meant to grow. In families as in societies, many speak of the world without ever speaking from it.

To govern, to advise, or to love from such a height is to forget that no two lives carry the same weight. The single mother who juggles two jobs, the refugee learning to rebuild his dignity in an unfamiliar tongue, the elder negotiating relevance in a digital age, each speaks a different truth.

And the trusted advisor who dares to tell families what they sometimes do not wish to hear must do so not to wound, but to help them grow; not to criticise, but to encourage what is right, and prevent what could destroy. Truth, when spoken with respect and love, becomes an act of care.

True governance, like true dialogue, begins with the recognition that our experience is not the norm. It calls for listening without the desire to correct, and for learning without the fear of being changed. Families that endure are those that cultivate this awareness, the art of hearing the younger voice without belittling it, and the courage of the younger to listen without resentment. To educate across generations is not to impose one’s truth, but to illuminate the many ways of being human within the same lineage.

The universal does not arise from proclaiming a single truth. It emerges from our shared effort to understand what binds us despite our differences. The future of every family, like that of every civilization, depends on this humility, the ability to question our certainties, to decentre our gaze, and to make space for other voices.

I dedicate these reflections to the families who, over the years, have invited me in, trusted me with their stories, and allowed me to speak truthfully, never to hurt, always to help, and always from my own ancrage, with both roots and wings.

W.