Light, learning, and what systems change can learn from culture
Sikh philosophy has always understood the world as a living system, long before we had that language, writes Tally Daphu.
On Monday, 20 October 2025, millions of people around the world celebrated Diwali, the festival of light. For Sikhs, this marks the return of Guru Hargobind Ji to Amritsar in 1619, after freeing 52 political prisoners from unjust captivity. When the city’s people lit lamps to celebrate his return, light became more than a symbol of joy; it became a protest, a prayer, and a collective act of hope.
I’ve been sitting with that story. Because Diwali isn’t only about the triumph of good over evil, it’s also about illumination: bringing to light what has been hidden, healing what has been divided, and remembering our shared capacity to act with courage and care.
Learning in the light
Over the past fortnight, I’ve been part of several systems gatherings, including an event led by Charlie Leadbeater, whose thinking always stretches the frame of what’s possible. He reminded us that real system transformation doesn’t come from grand plans or new structures. It comes from coalitions of the willing, communities who learn, act, and adapt together around a shared purpose.
It got me thinking about what drives my own practice. About how Sikh philosophy and living here on Bunurong Country continually shape how I understand systems work.
Where knowledge systems meet
Living as a Sikh woman on Bunurong Country has taught me that wisdom is never singular. Both Sikh and First Nations worldviews carry a deep respect for relationships. They remind us that wisdom lives in how we care for land, for one another, and for the spirit that connects us.
When these knowledge systems meet, something powerful happens. We begin to see that they are not in competition, but in conversation, and that change begins with how we are in relationship with one another, with Country, and with the unseen systems that sustain life.
This intersection keeps me honest. It asks for humility, to listen before acting, and to hold knowledge as an exchange rather than as ownership. It’s in that shared space, between story and service, that I see the real work of justice taking shape.
What systems change can learn from cultural wisdom
Sikh philosophy has always understood the world as a living system, long before we had that language. It offers enduring social technologies for change: practices that invite us to act with humility, to centre relationships, and hold the wellbeing of all as our shared purpose. The following principles shape how I show up in my work, and I offer them as reflections that might resonate:
Ik Onkar - Oneness.
This teaching reminds us that everything is connected and that fragmentation is an illusion. When we see the world through this lens, systems change stops being about fixing broken parts and becomes about healing the whole. Relationships become the real infrastructure of transformation.
Seva - Selfless Service.
This practice calls us to act without ego and to serve without expectation. It teaches that leadership is not about control or credit, but about humility, curiosity, and shared purpose. It invites us to build movements, not empires.
Vand Chhako - Share what you have.
This principle teaches that justice begins with generosity. It calls us to share what we have (time, resources, knowledge, and influence) so that others can thrive too. In systems work, it invites us to reshape the flow of power and resources so they move through relationships rather than rivalry. When we share from abundance rather than fear, we build the trust and glue that holds communities together.
Sarbat da Bhala – The welfare of all.
At the heart of Sikh prayer is this simple, radical idea: may all beings prosper. It’s a call to act for the collective good, not just organisational or personal success. It asks us to redefine what we measure and value. To see flourishing not as a private outcome but as a shared condition. When systems work grows from this principle, it becomes an act of empathy, tending the conditions for people, place and planet to live in balance.
Nirbhau, Nirvair – Without fear, without hate.
This principle invites us to hold courage and compassion in the same breath. Fear fragments, hate hardens, yet real change asks for both clarity and calm. It asks us to tell the truth without blame, to stay with discomfort without retreat. To live nirbhau and nirvair is to act from love when conflict arises, and to keep our hearts open even when others have closed theirs.
These principles come from lived tradition rather than design frameworks. They remind me that progress does not come through force or urgency but unfolds as life does, through rhythm, reciprocity and renewal. Evolution doesn’t begin with a new policy or program. It begins with what we choose to honour, how we see, how we relate and how we grow together, in step with each other, and with the living systems that hold us.
From story to practice
Marshall Ganz reminds us that lasting change begins in story: the story of self, the story of us, and the story of now. Each helps us remember who we are, what connects us, and why this moment matters.
Sikh philosophy, like many cultural traditions, holds a similar rhythm. It calls us to slow down and connect to self through reflection and service (seva). To connect to the community through shared action and reciprocity (sangat). And to connect to purpose, the larger whole we are part of (Ik Onkar).
It isn’t a framework or a formula. It’s a way of living, a rhythm of belonging, acting, and learning that helps us stay steady and brave in complex times.
Tally’s family home in India, decorated for Diwali
This photo of my family home in India, twinkling with Diwali lights, reminds me that light travels, it connects people and places, generations and stories. My work feels much the same, holding connection steady even as the world shifts around it.
So as the Diwali lights fade for another year, I find myself wondering:
What might our systems look like if they were designed from this place of oneness, service, and shared wellbeing?
What might it mean to lead with the light of humility, to design with and not for?
Maybe the task isn’t to chase change faster, but to listen longer. To make space for the wisdom that’s already here, carried in communities, cultures, and relationships that have been practising systems care for generations.
So perhaps this is the invitation:
To be humble enough to learn.
Brave enough to serve.
And hopeful enough to keep the light burning.
Sarbat da Bhala - may all be well.
If this resonates with you and you’d like to know more, get in touch with Tally here.