A Story of Sanctuary

I recently came across this quote by the remarkable Turkish-British writer and novelist Elif Shafak:

“Clock-time, however punctual it may purport to be, is distorted and deceptive. It runs under the illusion that everything is moving steadily forward, and the future, therefore, will always be better than the past. Story-time understands the fragility of peace, the fickleness of circumstances, the dangers lurking in the night but also appreciates small acts of kindness. That is why minorities do not live in clock-time. They live in story-time.”

It stopped me in my tracks.

Much of modern life is organised around clock-time. Targets, deadlines, performance indicators, project plans and annual reports all have their place. In local government, we need them. They help us organise ourselves and deliver services effectively.

But clock-time can sometimes encourage us to believe that progress is inevitable. That society naturally becomes fairer. That discrimination fades away on its own. That each generation will automatically inherit a more just and equal world than the one before it.

Story-time tells a different truth.

Story-time remembers.

It remembers that rights won can also be rights lost. It remembers that peace is precious because it is fragile. It remembers that belonging is not something to be taken for granted.

For many minority communities, history is not a distant subject. It is a living companion.

As I reflect on this weekend’s demonstration and counterprotest in the city…. as we mark many special markers in the year at this time.....Pride Month, Jewish Culture Month and Refugee Week, that feels particularly important.

For LGBTQI+ people, story-time contains stories of exclusion, criminalisation, silence and struggle. But it also contains stories of courage, community and joy. The freedoms many now enjoy were not inevitable. They were won through the determination of countless people who believed a better future was possible.

For Jewish communities, story-time stretches across centuries of extraordinary contribution, resilience and creativity, while also carrying memories of persecution, displacement and loss. The richness of Jewish culture is inseparable from the stories that have sustained communities through both celebration and challenge.

And during Refugee Week, we are reminded that story-time is often the reality of people seeking safety and sanctuary. Behind every journey is a story of hope, loss, courage and resilience. These are not abstract issues or policy debates. They are human stories that invite us to see one another not as strangers, but as neighbours.

Story-time helps us understand something vital about diversity.

Diversity is not simply about representation or demographics. It is about recognising that different people experience the world through different histories. Some carry stories that are rarely heard. Some carry stories that challenge our assumptions. Some carry stories that reveal strengths, barriers and opportunities that statistics alone can never fully explain.

Perhaps this quote resonates with me because I know something of story-time myself. I have skin in the game. 

I am a member of the LGBTQI+ community, yes, but there are other reasons too. 

My mother came to Britain from Franco’s Spain. As a member of an active republican family, she came in search of freedom and opportunity away from political oppression. My grandfather on my father’s side arrived from Italy on a boat as an illegal stowaway. My partner's father was from West Africa. 

Their stories, my stories, remind me that behind every policy, every statistic and every public debate are human lives shaped by courage, sacrifice and hope. Those stories continue to shape how I think about inclusion, sanctuary and the responsibilities we have to one another.

That is one of the reasons I am so proud of Brighton & Hove.

Our city is at its best when it embraces the extraordinary diversity of stories that make up our communities. We are a city shaped, in many ways, by people who have arrived from elsewhere, people who have challenged convention, people who have sought sanctuary, people who have built communities of belonging and people who have chosen to make this city their home.

We will not always agree on every policy question. In a healthy democracy, that is to be expected. But if we are to navigate difficult issues well, we must begin by listening. Listening not simply to respond, but to understand. Listening to experiences that may be very different from our own. Listening to the stories that sit beneath the arguments.

That spirit of curiosity, compassion and listening is one of Brighton & Hove’s greatest strengths, and one that I hope we never lose.

The diversity of Brighton & Hove is not a challenge to be managed. It is one of our greatest strengths.

I feel particularly privileged to lead the council’s asylum and migration services. Every day I encounter stories of resilience, courage and hope. We have recently become a recognised Local Authority of Sanctuary and are now developing a new Sanctuary Action Plan.

For me, that recognition is not simply about a badge or a status. It is about making a commitment to listen to people’s stories and to ensure that they help shape the future of our city.

This reflection feels especially relevant during Refugee Week. Refugee Week invites us to look beyond labels and headlines and to encounter the stories of our neighbours, colleagues and friends. Too often, discussions about migration become trapped in clock-time, focused on numbers, processes and policies.

Story-time reminds us that every refugee and every person seeking sanctuary carries a unique history of loss, resilience, courage and hope. When we listen to those stories, we do more than learn about others. We learn something about ourselves, our shared humanity and the kind of city we want Brighton & Hove to be. A city of welcome. A city of compassion. A city that understands that everyone deserves the chance to belong and to contribute.

It is also why our commitment to becoming a learning organisation matters so much.

Learning organisations recognise that expertise does not sit solely in boardrooms, reports or organisational charts. It also sits in lived experience. It sits in the stories residents tell us about their lives, their communities and their interactions with services.

Data matters. Evidence matters. Performance matters.

But stories matter too.

Listening, real listening, is one of the greatest gifts we can offer one another.

It maybe one of the greatest civic superpowers available to us. 

Sometimes a resident’s experience can teach us more about a system than a hundred pages of analysis. Sometimes the most important learning comes not from speaking but from listening.

If we want to build services that truly meet people’s needs, we have to create space for story-time alongside clock-time.

We have to be curious about experiences that differ from our own.

We have to listen carefully to communities whose perspectives have too often been overlooked.

We have to recognise that every resident brings knowledge that can help us learn, improve and grow.

Perhaps that is the gift of story-time.

It reminds us that progress is not guaranteed. It reminds us to stay humble. It reminds us to value kindness. And it reminds us that the future is shaped not only by plans and processes, but by the stories we choose to hear and the people we choose to include.

Clock-time helps us organise our work. Story-time helps us understand one another.

In a diverse city like Brighton & Hove, where so many different stories meet, that feels like wisdom worth holding onto.

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(Information on the picture: Elif Shafak’s stunning book ‘There are rivers in the sky’ revolves around people and communities linked in a variety of ways to Mesopotamia. In one of the story threads,  a character discovers this cuneiform tablet from Nineveh. This tablet carries one of the earliest known accounts of the flood and Noah's Ark. It tells how the Divine sent a flood to cleanse the world, and how Utnapishtim, warned in secret, built a boat to save life. The story of Noah is perhaps a bridge between cultures-a reminder that across time and place, humanity has shared the same hopes: survival, renewal and the promise of a better world).