As a young student in South Africa, Donald Pols was involved in an far-right student movement that opposed the ANC. This became known this week through NRC and was then widely picked up by Dutch media.
I do not want to make light of that. Apartheid was a criminal system. The far right was dangerous then, as it is now. Anyone who ever associated with it must account for that.
And yet this is not a piece about the young Donald Pols. Nor about the question of whether a person can change. They can. Fortunately.
I have met Donald Pols. In the contacts I had with him, he came across to me as a man of integrity. A progressive man. Someone with his heart in the right place. Not a fascist. I also do not think he is an opportunist who simply trades in his convictions for a better position.
That makes his story more interesting. And more painful.
Because in addition to that recent revelation, there was of course already the earlier commotion: Pols left Milieudefensie to become director of sustainability at Tata Steel. Milieudefensie immediately distanced itself from that choice, precisely because Tata Steel is a company that the environmental movement has been putting pressure on for years.
Many people saw betrayal.
What I mainly see is a question that is much bigger than Donald Pols: what happens when someone changes their assumption about change?
“Many people saw betrayal. I mainly see a question that is much bigger than Donald Pols.”
How do you think change happens?
Everyone who works in a civil society organization has an answer to that question. Usually without fully realizing it.
How does the world change?
By organizing citizens? By applying pressure? By taking legal action? By sitting down at the table with ministers? By convincing the elite? By building better alternatives yourself? By getting people to change their behavior one by one?
These are not details. These are assumptions of change.
An assumption of change is different from a strategy. A strategy says what you are going to do. A theory of change explains how your actions lead to impact. An assumption of change lies beneath that. It is the often semi-conscious belief in how social change actually happens.
And that belief does not arise in a strategic memo.
It grows. Through the books you read. The people you spend time with. Your first demonstration. Your first defeat. The teacher who plants something in your mind. The action where you suddenly feel: there are more of us than I thought. The meeting where you discover that power is sometimes simply an Excel file with budget lines. The anger at injustice. The frustration because, after years of commitment, far too little is still changing.
Assumptions feel rational. They are often emotional too.
“An assumption of change is the often semi-conscious belief about how social change actually takes place.”
From pressure to proximity
Environmental activism often starts from a few clear assumptions.
One: organize people. Build groups. Train citizens. Turn supporters into leaders. Let people experience that they can build power together.
Two: increase the cost of carrying on as before. That can be done with actions in the streets. It can be done with civil disobedience. It can also be done with strategic litigation. A lawsuit is then not a meek step within the system. It can be a sharp form of pressure. It slows things down, forces transparency, puts administrators under strain, and makes visible where power normally hides behind technical language.
Three: win the narrative. Make sure people start looking differently at what is normal, reasonable, and achievable.
From that logic, Milieudefensie became strong. With campaigns, members, local groups, legal strategy, public pressure. Donald Pols became a face of that way of working.
His move to Tata Steel seemed based on a different assumption: seduce and convert the elite. Then you believe that change arises by getting close to power. You work with the existing elite. You use moral, economic, legal, or technical arguments. You try to persuade people with a lot of influence to do the right thing.
That can work. Sometimes it is even necessary.
Only: it is a different game.
Those who have believed for years that change comes through pressure from the outside feel strange when the leader suddenly says that real change may come from within. The supporters then hear something other than a new job. They hear a different worldview.
That is why it felt like betrayal.
“The base hears something other than a new job. It hears a different worldview.”
The table changes your perspective
I see the same thing in many organizations.
They start out as volunteer organizations. The assumption is clear: citizens will carry the change. We have to organize them, train them, educate them, give them trust. That may be about climate action, nature management, homework support, fighting poverty, culture, care, peace, or human rights. The volunteer is not an extra pair of hands. That volunteer is the movement.
Then the organization grows.
Funding arrives. Subsidies. Funds. Major donors. Paid staff. An office. Policy papers. Subject-matter expertise. Consultation meetings. The organization is allowed to have a seat at the table.
At first, that feels like a victory. Finally they are listening. Finally ministers, companies, or administrations have to take on board what was shouted from the outside for years. Finally you have access to the places where decisions are made.
And then something subtle happens.
Anyone who sits at the table long enough discovers that the other side is also made up of people. People with children, doubts, humor, fatigue, and sometimes even genuine concern. The enemy turns out not to be a cartoon character. That insight is human. It is also dangerous.
Because proximity to power changes your imagination of change.
You begin to think: if I speak their language better, if I understand their limitations, if I make the right business case, if I don’t attack them too hard, if I win trust, then maybe they will move. The assumption shifts. From building power to convincing power. From organizing conflict to protecting relationships. From applying pressure to maintaining access.
No one likes to call it that. We prefer to say that we are becoming more mature. More professional. More constructive. More strategic.
Sometimes that is true.
Sometimes it is simply fatigue.
“Proximity to power changes your assumption of change.”
Not every phase calls for the same logic
Still, we must beware of drawing too simple a lesson.
An organization does not have to remain faithful to its first assumption forever. That would be foolish. Social problems evolve. An issue that no one acknowledges calls for different tactics than an issue with broad support. In an early phase, you often need to disrupt, make things visible, organize conflict, and push a problem onto the agenda. Later, consultation, policy work, or institutional embedding may become logical.
Strategic maturity means daring to adjust your assumptions when the phase changes.
Strategic naivety begins when you assess the phase as more favorable than it is.
That often happens. An anti-poverty organization sees research showing that 80 percent of the population considers poverty a problem, and thinks: we are almost there. But recognition of a problem is not support for the solution. Many people think poverty is terrible. That does not mean they support strong rent regulation, a massive increase in social housing, higher benefits, or fiscal redistribution.
That is a different question.
And one step further: even broad public support does not mean that political or economic power is willing to move. Especially when real change affects property, profit, production, land, labor, or budgets.
That is where things often go wrong. Organizations survey their own bubble, mainly hear people who are already on board, confuse recognition with support and support with power. Then they move too quickly toward consultation, elite persuasion, or policy work. Not because they are bad. Because they hope the long road will finally become shorter.
Life is short. Social change takes agonizingly long. Anyone who does not occasionally despair over that has probably not been paying close attention.
“Strategic naivety begins when you assess the phase as rosier than it is.”
A leader is not a Theory of change
That is why we also need to talk about leadership.
The leader of a civil society organization carries a lot. The mission. The people. The finances. The political relationships. The criticism from outside. The impatient base. The slow institutions. Their own doubt.
I recognize that. I too have periods when I think: what is the point of it all? How long will we keep making the same analyses, fighting the same struggle, facing the same power?
That feeling is human. It becomes dangerous when the frustration of one leader begins to determine the logic of change of an entire organization.
That is why organizations need shared ownership of their assumptions about change. Boards, management teams, staff, volunteers, and supporters must be able to discuss together: what do we actually believe in? Do we think change comes through organizing? Through mass mobilization? Through policy work? Through procedures? Through convincing the elite? Through building alternatives? Through changing the narrative?
And above all: why do we think this assumption fits this phase of our issue right now?
Leadership around social change also requires timely renewal. Not because leaders are suspect. Because the work is hard. Because frustration accumulates. Because no one should become the strategic soul of an organization on their own.
An organization is entitled to steadfastness that is greater than the mood, fatigue, or hope of its director.
“An organization has a right to steadfastness greater than the mood, fatigue, or hope of its director.”
Examine your hidden beliefs
If you are facilitating a strategy process today, sit on a board of directors, lead a team, are a volunteer, or feel as a member that your organization is starting to move strangely, don’t just ask the classic questions.
What is our mission? Who is our target audience? What are our goals? What actions are we planning?
Also ask this question:
What assumption of change lies beneath our strategy?
Do we believe that citizens need to build power themselves? Do we believe that a professional civil society must defend interests? Do we believe that institutions can be improved? Do we believe that the elite can be persuaded? Do we believe that we must first attack the dominant narrative? Do we believe that we must build alternatives ourselves?
And then:
Do the board, team, volunteers, and support base actually believe the same thing?
Many strategic conflicts are not about personalities. Nor are they about “resistance to change,” that favorite conversation-stopper of those who have no desire to listen better. Often, they are about clashing assumptions.
One person wants a seat at the table because he thinks the time is ripe. Another wants action because she sees that power has not moved a millimeter. One wants constructive language because access is fragile. Another wants sharp language because otherwise the support base will disappear. One sees maturity. The other sees capitulation.
Both can be right. Just not at the same time, without a conversation.
“Many strategic conflicts are not about personalities. Often, they are about conflicting assumptions.”
Call us before you lose each other
This is why we at S&L like to work with the model of the assumptions of change. It makes visible what often remains hidden. It gives language to strategic conflict. It helps directors, employees, volunteers and boards understand why they sometimes lose each other while everyone still says they serve the same mission.
Especially when your organization grows. When volunteers drop out. When you suddenly find yourself at tables you used to protest against. When your base grumbles. When your strategy process runs into difficulties. When you sense that people do not simply want different tactics, but actually believe in a different route to change.
Call us then.
Not because we have the right answer to the question of how the world changes. That answer does not exist. But because we can help put the underlying assumptions on the table, examine which phase your issue has truly reached, and determine together which logic of change now has the best chance of success.
Donald Pols is only the prompt for that.
The real question lies with all of us.
What do we actually believe in when we say we want to change the world?
