I've heard that nearly 9 million soldiers died in the First World War, and yet on Christmas Day in 1914, opposing armies came onto the battlefield and played football. Some say they even sang carols together. It's our ability to see each other as fellow human beings—even when we're supposed to be enemies—that makes us human.
When my children were small, they'd scuttle across the street, often barefoot—I confess—to a house, and in that house was their father and his new wife. Sometimes I would join them, not barefoot, and it was as if I was consorting with the enemy the way some people reacted. Even good friends said, "Suzy, it's this great co-parenting thing, but you've got to admit it's a bit weird."
I began to wonder if maybe I was weird, but that doesn't make sense because ten years together, three children born from love—if I hadn't tried to co-parent, surely that would have been weird. Later on, I became a divorce strategist, helping people to navigate more peaceful ways through divorce, and I would say to mediators, "Why doesn't everyone use mediation when they divorce?" "Well, Suzy," they'd reply, "the thing is that your mediation is wonderful, but it's not for everyone."
But that doesn't make any sense. You save thousands of pounds, better outcomes for the children—how could it not be right for everyone? I began to wonder why we find peace so difficult, and I think I may have come up with an answer. I call it the peace delusion.
I invite you, just for a moment, to close your eyes and think of someone that you are in conflict with, and then imagine a voice that says, "Maybe there's a more peaceful way to deal with this." And I want you to notice what words come into your mind about what peace actually means to you. Might they be words like "losing out," "failing," "being weak"? Because those were the words that came into my mind, even though I know from personal experience that that's not true. But it's a delusion—it's a very persistent one. And how can we create a peaceful world if we're deluded about what the word "peace" really means to us?
And in the war of divorce, if you don't have peace, the casualty rate can be catastrophic. I'll never forget sitting opposite a mediator at a lunch, and she used to be a family lawyer, so I said, "Why would you stop being a family lawyer? I mean, it's big money." "You can do both, Suzy," she said. "I just couldn't stand it anymore—that the family law system is so toxic, and no matter how hard I tried to keep things peaceful, my last two clients both killed themselves. One hung himself, and the other threw himself off Beachy Head. I just couldn't stand it anymore."
She's not the only lawyer I've met who's left the profession because they just couldn't stand it anymore. I'm at a party—a Christmas party—and I'm talking to a very elegant woman, and when she hears that I'm a divorce strategist, she says, "Oh my god, Suzy—my best friend is having the most horrific divorce. It's so toxic that her child—my godchild—is cutting herself. She's self-harming, and her mother just doesn't see the connection. She's oblivious that it's anything to do with the divorce." "Are you going to tell her?" "Oh, I can't. She'd never speak to me again."
We don't like to get in the way of other people's battles, do we—even when the casualties are children? But in their war for peace, we're up against a lot more than just a toxic family law system. I was shocked to read a survey—a study by law firm Khaitan Rao—and it was done a while ago, but what they found was that in the respondents, about 1 in 5 of them admitted to making things as difficult and awkward for the other side as possible during the divorce. About half of them admitted that they sought additional time in court—for example, haggling over residency orders and agreements—even though they knew that made it harder for the children. Quite a lot of them who did notice the effect it had on their children said their children were so traumatized by the divorce that they self-harmed or even became suicidal.
But children are standing up for themselves—not in the world of divorce, where they are pretty powerless, but in the world of climate change. They're going on school strikes. There is one particular one—a certain teenager—who has shamed us all with how we're destroying the planet. And I became fascinated with how Extinction Rebellion make peace a core element of their actions—not for fluffy reasons. They did their research; they worked out that rebellions that are peaceful are more successful. Peace works better.
And during the October rebellions in London, I spoke to mothers and fathers and grandparents who were sacrificing their liberty, getting arrested, trying to protect the planet for their children and their grandchildren. And I thought, "Wow—peace is not fluffy. Peace is about vision and courage and boundaries." As Marianne Williamson often says, "Sometimes love is saying no."
But I can hear what some of you might be thinking. You might be thinking, "Well, this peace stuff, Suzy, is all very well, but in the world of divorce, how can you have a peaceful divorce when there's been infidelity? All that pain, all that shame, all that rage?" I remember what that felt like. If you were with me back in 2003, you would have seen me desperate. I thought he died—I thought my children's father had had a car accident and died—because when he didn't come home that night. And when I found out the truth—they'd run off with someone—for a while, I wondered if maybe it would have been better if he had had a car accident. And I'd just turned 36; three 18-month-olds—what was I going to do with all that pain? What was I going to do with all that shame? What was I going to do with all that rage?
What would you have done?
So what did I do? I discovered personal development. I went to Anthony Robbins, and I took off my shoes and socks, and I walked barefoot over those burning hot coals. "Calma, calma, calma"—and I didn't burn my feet.
I borrowed self-help books. This one has the word "revenge" in the title—don't know why that caught my eye. And to cut a long story short, I found myself putting on the UK's first ever divorce fair, helping people find more peaceful ways through divorce. It was in the national and international press; I was on breakfast TV. But what mattered to me most was that at that event was my children's father and his new wife, supporting me.
How could that be, you might ask? Well, maybe in part it was that book I mentioned earlier. It's by Chuck Spezzano, and its full title is Happiness Is the Best Revenge. But the real reason was that we'd busted that peace delusion. We knew that co-parenting was about vision and courage and boundaries—lots of boundaries. And we'd seen clearly that there's no such thing as a broken family—there's only extended families.
Sometimes that peace delusion is very, very persistent. Even I find myself thinking, "Oh, maybe peace isn't for everyone." But then I have a secret weapon, which I'm going to share with you. It's a poem by Claire Kiernan; it was commissioned by the Staffordshire Family Mediation Centre. And this poem helps us all remember why peace has to be for everyone.
"Our marriage is spiraling, spinning beyond our control, and we have wounded each other. Love lost. Wow—broken ring thrown. First, we used silence as weapons; then we used words, and then fists. The arms race was swift and impressive. Our hands are now empty; they twist in the dust. We have thrown everything away but our anger, and still we have to keep fighting. But there is one thing we can do together: let's use the children as infantry; let's use the children as spies; let's bring them up with a director's cut—with spin and with spite and with lies; let's use the children as weapons; let's use the children as snares. There'll be plenty more years of reprisals if we make our unhappiness theirs."
Peace is not fluffy. Think of the courage of that captain as he walked onto the battlefield on Christmas Day in 1914—not knowing if it was a trick, defying orders by fraternizing with the enemy, allowing both sides to see each other as fellow human beings, even though they were supposed to be enemies. Think of the courage of standing up for a child when you may lose your best friend. Think of the vision of those mothers and fathers and grandparents who are getting arrested to try to save the planet for all of our children.
And when you see parents co-parenting well, please don't call them weird. It takes vision and courage and boundaries to make that work—and the ability to see each other as fellow human beings, even though sometimes the other parent may act like the enemy.
And I invite you all—whether it's on the battlefield of climate emergency or whether it's in the war of divorce—to make peace your weapon of choice.
[Applause]
