HELLO

Mark J. Moser 

He/Him

LinkedIn

 

Meet the Leader

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Mark Moser (53/m), Partner, Father and friend living in Bern, Switzerland and Southeast Asia. Lecturer and Consultant on Communication and Conflict Resolution. Co-Founder of Up! International to end violence against males and vulnerable persons. 

 

Restorative Leadership Interview Questions:

 

Question 1: What helps you stay creatively courageous when the world feels threatened/like it’s on fire?

 

I try to keep a perspective of the larger timeframes and the natural cycles our world moves through.

I cultivate gratitude for the simple yet profound privilege of being alive.

 

Whenever possible, I visit places that help me stay grounded—Kraftorte, places of strength and clarity.

I stimulate my mind and soul through art and music.
I stay connected with other courageous and loving people.

I strive to embrace the reality of vulnerability without creating resistance or tension around the emotions that arise. I let them move through me.

I do what I can to bring justice and love into the world. I raise my voice, I move my feet, and I reach out a hand—whenever I can, wherever I am needed.
 

 

Question 2: Describe a time when your imagination helped you move from fear into action.

 

I was working in a prison in Cambodia to set up a mental health program for inmates. There was tension among the guards, as they felt accused and threatened by our presence. We relied on them, but also felt threatened by their aggressive verbal and physical behaviour. What helped me endure this very unpleasant and frightening experience was the vision of inmates receiving basic mental health support through professionals and the self-help groups we were trying to establish. Visualising the successful implementation of the program gave me the courage to push through. The other step is that I imagine other people who endure challenges and press through. We breathe the same air. We share a connection on a deep human level, and I visualise myself tapping into their courage, love, and strength.

 

Question 3: What does growth and holding space look like for you after a loss or rupture? 

 

I am privileged—and undeservedly so. My disability and illness is just one part of my identity and being. I will not let it my whole identity. My identity is hidden in yours. That’s the starting point. I didn’t earn the safety, the education, the access I’ve had. And I try to stay mindful of that every day. I am determined to remain grateful—especially for the simple, often-overlooked fact of being alive. This sense of humility shapes how I meet others. I strive to treat all human beings as equals. I am not special. I am not different from you. We have different stories, different paths of life—but we breathe the same air and carry the same human longings: to be seen, to be safe, to belong. I practice deep acceptance—of my own suffering, of yours, and of the pain we share as human beings. Living with strong chronic pain and facing an incurable rare illness gives me hourly opportunities to embrace what is, to stay present, and to practice non-resistance. Some days that feels impossible. But I still try. I’ve learned to say “yes” to the cards I’ve been dealt. And within that “yes,” I try to embed a seed—a quiet hope for change. Because acceptance isn’t the same as resignation. In fact, I believe it’s the first step toward transformation. I touch what hurts. I try to befriend the dark. I practice embracing life’s limits: the finiteness of our days, the transience of everything we love and know. Suffering tends to drive wedges. Wedges between us and our own experience. Wedges between us and others. My task—and perhaps all of ours—is to resist that splitting. To stay connected, even in pain. Especially in pain. And where I can, I try to bring justice and love into the world. I raise my voice, I move my feet, and I reach out a hand.

 

 Question 4: How do you protect space for imagination in your team or community? 

 

Stay connected and yet acknowledge that as team members we have different life circumstances, possibilities physically and mentally and economically. As much as the team needs a space to share, have fun, perform and dream, the individual needs personal space.

Our mission is more important than our individual opinions.
Celebrate small and big victories.
Mourn the small and big losses together.
Be inspired by the journey of others but yet protecting our community and cause.
Social media and being exposed to the heros and those who portray themselves as such can be discouraging. Keeping it real.
Shared value of respect. We know what we know and what we don’t know. Staying curious while embracing evidence and best practices.

 

Question 5: What rituals or practices help you (and/or your team/community) name what hurts while still holding on to what’s possible? 

 

We all need space. And we all need each other.
Respecting each person’s need for solitude and distance is important—but we also have to be careful. When pain and discouragement enter the room, they often whisper lies: you’re alone, stay quiet, don’t bother anyone. If we believe them, we begin to isolate. And isolation deepens the hurt.

That’s why I try to stay connected, even when it’s hard.
Connection isn’t always loud. Sometimes it’s sitting next to someone in silence. Sometimes it’s sharing food, or humming a tune together. Sometimes it’s simply not turning away.

Certain practices help me stay anchored:
The practice of tonglen, breathing in pain—my own or someone else's—and breathing out relief, care, and spaciousness.
The practice of meditation, to return to the present moment without needing to fix or flee it. 
Music and singing, which often say what words cannot.
Cooking, eating, and sharing meals—ancient, humble rituals of belonging.
And always: telling stories.
Stories of pain.
Stories of trying.
Stories of determination.
Stories of small and big victories.
Words create reality. That’s something I’ve learned the hard way. What we do not say doesn’t vanish—it sits in the room, shaping us in silence.
So I try to express pain, loss, and hurt—not always elegantly, not always fluently, but honestly. I give it voice in words, in music, in grunts, in food, in dance—whatever is possible in the moment.
Because expression is a form of release. And sharing is a form of healing.