The Dialogue Venture

Archive for the ‘Dialogue and Civility’ Category

If you’ve been perusing this blog awhile, you might not expect what you’re about to read.

Like every national tragedy, the horrific shootings in Arizona last weekend have led to instant analysis of the broader picture—especially what this says about us, our laws, and the remedies required. A groundswell of voices is calling for dialogue, for reaching across divides, for “disagreeing without being disagreeable.” More stridently, pundits like Gary Hart have explicitly blamed our toxic public discourse for Jared Loughner’s actions.

Naturally, as someone who cares deeply about dialogue, I would join that groundswell in a heartbeat. Right?

Would that I could.

Look, I am always delighted to see civil, compassionate dialogue get the support it deserves. I think the president hit the right note in his Tucson speech: this tragedy can serve as a catalyst to re-examine our actions and behave more civilly. But precisely because I care about dialogue, I don’t want to connect it causally to the horror in Arizona. Not yet, anyway.

Why not? First consider the evidence—or, more to the point, the lack thereof. We still know precious little about Loughner. What we do know points to serious mental imbalance at the root of his actions. Almost nothing connects him directly with our scorched-earth public discourse. Any connection we make, therefore, is tenuous at best, at least right now, until more evidence comes in.

Consider too our emotional state. Simply put, we are a nation in shock. If you have ever experienced shock, you know it is impossible to think straight. Same deal here.

Authentic dialogue is about clarity, a quest to uncover truth wherever possible, a “listening together” to grasp what the situation is saying to us. By its very nature, this kind of dialogue—whether among friends, between partisans, or across the blogosphere—takes time: time to reflect, time to build on one another’s perspectives, time for new facts to emerge.

Yes, we do need to restore civil dialogue to our public square. The effort to foster it should proceed regardless of any connection with the Arizona shootings. In the weeks and months to come, there will be plenty of opportunity to reflect on that connection. But now is not the time. Better to grieve now and reason together later.

Let’s say you’ve been on planet Earth awhile—at least 20 years—and you’re basically settled on your beliefs about the life, the universe, and everything. Some of those beliefs may be non-negotiable. You might even believe that your worldview is the one and only truth; others, while they might hold bits of truth here and there, are fundamentally incorrect.

Why on earth would you want to listen to someone who believes something else?

This is no idle question. We’ve all known people who won’t listen. To some degree, we are those people. I once submitted an idea for a convention workshop and was rejected because I wasn’t conservative enough for the sponsor—even though the topic had nothing to do with being conservative or liberal. They just didn’t want to hear me.

OK, so back to the question. Why listen? I can think of three reasons right off the bat. See what you think, and please feel free to add your own.

 1. You want to share the great things about your worldview, and listening gets your foot in the door.

 There’s nothing wrong with sharing your enthusiasm for the beliefs that live close to your heart. But be forewarned: in today’s skeptical culture, listening as pretense to talking will likely get you nowhere. Between political campaigns and wall-to-wall advertising, the speed of the Internet and our national ADD, people have become exquisitely tuned to ulterior motives. They also turn off at the first whiff of anything that sounds like a sales pitch. At the same time, they hunger to be heard. The best way to make an impact on someone in those conditions is to listen: first, last, and sometimes only.

 2. The other person might know something.

Even if your worldview is The Truth, it’s not The Exhaustive Truth: it cannot possibly cover every situation relating to God, the world, the human race, etc. The Bible says nothing directly about genetic engineering; might you learn something—maybe something new and consistent with your worldview—if your dialogue partner is a secular geneticist? If you are a Christian (whose tradition says something about meditation but not a ton), might you gain insights on meditation from a Buddhist, then adapt them to your own faith?

3. You get to practice love.

Love is central to nearly every faith tradition—but you don’t need a faith tradition to see that loving makes us better people. It involves putting ourselves aside, at least in the moment, for the good of the other. This kind of love is best honed when it extends to people who are not like us. As Jesus says in the Gospel of Matthew (5:46-47), “If you love those who love you, what reward will you get? Are not even the tax collectors doing that? And if you greet only your own people, what are you doing more than others?”

So there are three reasons for anyone and everyone to take part in dialogue, regardless of convictions. Can you think of others?

“Post-election time for us to come together,” intoned the headline for Wednesday’s Ironton Tribune editorial.

Please forgive me a bit of cynicism here. It just all sounds so familiar.

Maybe you’ve noticed the cycle. After a campaign of scurrilous accusations and character assassination, one candidate wins and everyone extols the healing process. Words spoken during the campaign are rapidly discounted. Voters and candidates alike speak of “coming together.” Then, in the next campaign, we go through the same destructive pattern.

And this is a good way to run a democracy? My concern is that it’s quite the opposite: that negative campaigning is poisoning the public well.*

One principle of advertising, including political advertising, is that if you repeat your message often enough, broadly enough, and loudly enough, people will remember it. So if I, as a candidate, flood the airwaves highlighting my opponent’s ties to the evil cretins of Wall Street, that image will stick in some minds. Of course, my opponent may do the same, casting me as an eccentric cat owner with mental health issues. (Oh wait, that one’s true.)

Let’s say for the moment that these personal attacks succeed. (The research on their effectiveness has yielded conflicting results.) But what do they succeed at? I suspect they not only help elect candidates in certain situations, but also deepen a more pervasive, undifferentiated cynicism among voters in general. Hear enough charges and countercharges, and you can justifiably think that “they’re all ethically challenged/owned by special interests/in it for themselves/etc.”

The results of a survey commissioned by the Project on Campaign Conduct may support this conclusion. It found that 59% of respondents believe all or most candidates twist the truth, 39% believe they lie to voters, and 88% believe at least some candidates deliberately make unfair attacks on their opponents.

So. What would happen if candidates called a cease-fire? If our campaigns were more civil, it might make more emotional room for actual ideas to come to the surface. If we see candidates behaving decently, it might increase our trust in them. If we see them openly wrestling with issues, we might think they’re legitimately concerned for our interests rather than simply promoting the party line. Their campaigns might even give us enough usable input to help us reason out the issues for ourselves.

I have no illusions that we’ll get there anytime soon. In an endeavor that’s all about winning, it’s easy to grab on to any competitive advantage, however dishonorable. But I believe that, at bottom, we’re better than this. And because candidates are the most visible elements of their campaigns, their example of civility could set the tone for a more civil America.

In the meantime, I think I’ll do my small part next election season—by muting every attack ad right from the start. Want to join me? Your brain will thank you.

*I’m talking here about personal attacks and deliberate distortions, not campaigning that legitimately—even bluntly—points out differences in candidates’ positions or relevant character flaws. 

We now return you to our regularly scheduled program, more or less in progress.

For the past 10 days, I have been writing an article for a denominational publication. Wrestling is more like it: sometimes the ideas and connections simply do not flow, and this was one such case. Regrettably, that has drawn me away from communicating directly with you.

For this week, you may want to look over my new article at A Civil Tongue, a website advancing the cause of civility in public life. It deals with three phrases whose consistent practice can turn them into attitudes of the heart—and turn us into more civil people. Have a look, and feel free to comment, either here or at A Civil Tongue.

Thanks so much for your patience.

Three situations and a question.

This past Sunday I was enjoying a lively dinner with dear old friends when someone raised the firestorm over same-sex issues in The Episcopal Church. One friend, an associate pastor in another denomination, made some claims about the actions of the U.S. church that I (being an Episcopalian and way too familiar with the controversy) found somewhat inaccurate. Keep in mind, there’s exactly six people in the room, no response from me will change the course of the issue, and we’ll all continue to love one another regardless.

Speak or shut up?

Another old friend and I were sharing our approaches to depression. Her case was far more severe but now largely in the past, thanks to her brand of faith; mine is more or less chronic, and I’ve picked up some wisdom on living with it. During an email exchange, she expressed her concern that my way is less than best. I shared the lessons I’ve learned and the benefits I’ve reaped. She persisted. We reached an impasse.

Continue the dialogue or shut up?

In my other blog, I posted some thoughts on the “Ground Zero mosque” conflict. It took me forever to do so, because my convictions on this are strong: I had difficulty even considering the other side—and considering the other side is pretty much the job description for a guy who writes about dialogue. The post ended up suggesting a way forward for both sides to find common ground.

Did I do well to speak up (or “write up,” as it were)? Should I have spoken up sooner, when my emotions were hot?

This, for me, is perhaps the most daunting aspect of living the way of dialogue. The decisions are somewhat clearer in formal dialogue, when you gather with others for the same expressed purpose. Far murkier are the everyday situations—especially when, in conversation, decisions have to be made quickly, and it’s unclear what the others expect from the exchange.

There probably are principles we can use. For one thing, it really helps to be mindful: fully present to the conversation/situation at all times, gauging where it’s headed, listening for relationship dynamics, paying total attention to others’ words. That’s a key to turning conversation into dialogue. As for other principles, I’m really not sure.

I can tell you what I did in each of these situations, but I’m way more interested in what you would have done—or how you’ve handled similar situations. Thoughts?

When I was in high school, I dated a young woman who had big plans for my future. At one point she sensed that God was calling me to be a great evangelist; at another time, a pastor of my own church. She somehow saw in me the raw material for the “godly man” she wanted to marry.

Looking back, I wonder if she ever really knew me. (It wasn’t her fault: I didn’t know me back then either.)

During one of our many phone calls, we fell to talking about some situation that flew right in the face of my limitations. I just couldn’t find my way through the obstacle at hand. She would have none of it. Instead, she quoted to me—loudly—St. Paul’s observation to the Philippians: “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.”

“I don’t know,” I stammered. “I’m more complex than you think—“

“I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me,” she boomed.

There’s that talking at again.

In my own rudimentary way, I was in the same space as the people from last week’s post. By saying “I’m more complex than you think,” I was trying to speak from my own perspective, my own experience.

But Girlfriend was speaking at. She was presuming to know my capabilities better than I did. That might have been valid if she’d spoken from a deep knowledge of me. But she didn’t. Instead, she spoke from an external standard, applying it in a way that it was probably never meant to be applied.

Contrast Girlfriend’s approach with a practice from the Quakers. For hundreds of years, they have used a method called the Clearness Committee to discern the voice of their “inner teacher” in the face of life transitions and quandaries. A person assembles five or six trusted people to hear her story and ask her honest, open questions, with no hint of leading or giving advice. The goal is to clear away the person’s mental clutter and thus allow her to hear the inner voice that will guide her toward a resolution.

Totally opposite from talking at. It even goes beyond talking with. It’s listening with. If we aim to dialogue with our “adversaries,” we would do well to listen with—entering their mindsets, thinking as they think, and asking respectful questions. 

When was the last time you were talked at? Have you ever responded well to it? How’d you manage that? When was the last time you were talked with? How was it? Share your experiences in the Comments section below.

Lesson 2 from our bumper sticker of last week:

Imagine a group of recent immigrants (with limited English skills) and lifelong U.S. citizens in a room to discuss language issues. Before the dialogue has any chance to make progress, a citizen lets loose with the statement in our bumper sticker.

That’s bad dialogue practice. Obviously. But what makes it bad? There are many answers, but one in particular may help us think more clearly about how we do dialogue.

Let’s start with the basics: the people involved. Each of us is exactly one person. We bring exactly one person’s perspective to any dialogue: a perspective that feeds (and is made up of) our heritage, our experiences, our unique thought processes, our relationships, our time in history, our gifts, our faith.

Outside of hard evidence and factual statements, this is all we can bring to any dialogue. In other words, we speak from what we know. The process of dialogue is, in part, about getting to know more—specifically the perspectives, insights, histories, etc., of the other people in the room.  

See how this might work in our hypothetical example. The immigrants in the room could relate their struggles with learning English, or the pain they feel when disparaged by English speakers like our bumper-sticker fellow. The citizens might share their disorientation in a suddenly multilingual culture, or their frustration when talking to tech support experts with limited English skills.

All these sentiments, even the hot-button ones, come from personal experience and—when spoken civilly and deeply heard, without defensiveness or anger—can advance the dialogue. It is sharing with.

Contrast that with “You need to learn English.” By saying this, our bumper-sticker guy is suddenly prescribing an action for someone else—whether it fits her experience or not, whether it even makes sense for her or not. He is now speaking at.

Speaking at objectifies the listener. Mr. You Need To might as well be talking to a wall for all the listener matters in this conversation. He is also assuming that he knows what’s best, not only for the non-English-speakers in the room, but for the society at large. That’s more than one person can know with certainty.

Do “you need to” statements ever have value? Sure. People in interventions can tell their alcoholic loved ones they need to quit drinking. Doctors should tell concussion victims they need to follow instructions. More often than not, however, we know less about what x should do than x herself. We can suggest, we can ask careful questions to help her find her own solution, but rarely can we get anywhere by speaking at.

As our bumper sticker (and its many cousins) make clear, we do a lot of speaking at. We need a lot more sharing with. Only through sharing with can we learn from one another, draw more perspectives into each discussion, and build the collective wisdom that, often, has the best chance of bridging divides and solving dilemmas.

I just lived through an example of speaking at, and I’ll share it next week. But what about you? When’s the last time somebody talked at you? When has someone talked with you? How did you feel in each case?

Uncle Sam wants YOU

to learn English

—bumper sticker

I saw this bumper sticker while driving up the interstate yesterday, and after the automatic cringe, it got me thinking about a much larger question than the wrangle over English speaking.

To get to that question, however, let’s probe the bumper sticker a bit more. It seems self-evident that learning the language of the country where you live carries many advantages. If I moved to France (please, O Lord), I could get a job, buy stamps, and find a good dentist way more easily by knowing and speaking French. On a broader level, I could contribute more of myself to my new community—through volunteering, writing, promoting political candidates, etc.—by knowing and speaking French.

So in the United States, learning English enables you to transact your business and make a difference in ways that not learning English can’t. Because of this, you might even say that Uncle Sam would be delighted if non-English-speakers learned English, so they can bring their whole selves to the public square.

None of that changes the fact that the bumper sticker is aggressive and cringeworthy. So here comes the larger question:

How on earth can we hear truth—even a grain of it—in an opinion expressed so offensively?

In an ideal world, of course, the people who express opinions this way would become more civil in their speech and their inner lives. In our imperfect world, there’s a strong temptation to simply ignore these folks. And to ignore any hint of what they express.

Maybe that’s the right thing to do. But here’s why it might not be.

I remember a cartoon in which one fellow at a bar said to another, “All I know is, if you’re against pollution, it can’t be all bad.” See the problem? As we dismiss someone we find obnoxious, we also dismiss his perspective—lock, stock, and barrel—and wind up in a place where we don’t want to be.

Examples? Here’s one to start us off: I’m very worried about the growth of the national debt. Have been since long before it became the cause célèbre of the right wing. But I find it very hard to express that opinion when the more rabid wing of the Tea Party has shouted it—and various distortions of it—from the housetops. I feel almost squeezed into the position of “If you’re against the national debt, it can’t be all bad.”

I’ll bet you can think of a hundred other examples. Go for it. Write about them in the Comments section below.

Marianne Williamson’s letter to Sarah Palin didn’t exactly make front-page news when it first came out. But it’s required reading for anyone who cares about dialogue.

Williamson, a spiritual teacher who, by her own admission, is not a conservative, wrote her letter when Palin was using the language of guns to encourage “taking aim” at her opponents. In theory, Williamson could have joined the popular chorus in mocking Palin mercilessly.

Instead, she tried to engage Palin. And the way she did it is enlightening.

Right from the start, Williamson admitted her position in the public square—both what separates her from Palin and, unusually, where they find common ground. “I don’t share your politics but I do share your country,” she wrote. “I am writing to you now as a fellow American and also as a woman who, like you, puts my spiritual journey above all else.” By asserting that common ground, she looked to build trust where none existed before.

Then she went one step further. Rather than diss Palin’s recent book from afar, she made the effort to read it. What a concept! Williamson found a lot to like and said so, establishing more solidarity. She also found a lot to dislike and said that too—in a respectful, civil manner.

Then she made her plea: a carefully reasoned argument for Palin to stop using gun metaphors in her public appearances.

I could describe the letter more, but check it out and you’ll see what I mean. If we could bring such honesty and gentleness to our own dialogues—if we could first seek out common ground and strive to build trust—we just might connect with our adversaries as never before. Part of building that trust involves absorbing, in depth, what “the other side” believes; in doing so, we show a respect that will come through in our dialogues.

Have you ever reached out to an adversary like this? How did you do it? What were the results? Do tell.

Bertie Simmons opened her remarks by saying, “If we can’t imagine what civility looks like, we can’t do civility.”

She then showed us what it looks like.

Simmons was a panelist at last week’s Citizens’ Civility Symposium 2010, sponsored by the Institute for Civility in Government. (Check out my last post for a broad overview.) Compelling and drop-dead funny, she spun the remarkable tale of her tenure as principal of Furr High School in Houston—and how she used civility to transform the culture.

That culture was tough, to say the least. The school had no fewer than 15 gangs. On her first day, one student threw another through a plate glass window. Another day brought a near riot to the hallways.

Simmons wondered whether she was cut out for the job—especially because 75% of the students were Latino, 25% were black, and she was (in her words) “white and old.” How could she possibly lead such a school, let alone make a lasting impact?

She got an early boost from a cultural phenomenon she hadn’t known about. Many Latino and black children learn from day one to hold their grandmothers in high esteem. As it turned out for Simmons, being “old” translated into being a grandmother. So she had an in.

And she leveraged it with a bold reach across divides. After the near riot, Simmons convened 42 leaders from the 15 gangs in one room—and asked them what it would take to make peace. What she heard amazed her: the depth of mistrust and disillusionment that these young people felt toward the system, the pervasive sense that they had been left behind.

How big was the divide? The gang leaders stunned Simmons with their belief that 9/11 never happened. They’d all seen things like that in movies; why couldn’t the government produce the same sort of “movie” and just make the whole thing up?

So Simmons took it upon herself to prove 9/11—by arranging a field trip to Ground Zero.

It took a great deal of planning and fundraising, but the trip took place, and the gang leaders got to see the devastation for themselves. In the process, Simmons built trust and got a penetrating look into the mindsets that drive many of her students.

That is what civility—and dialogue—look like. That is one way they bear fruit.

Simmons closed her remarks with the quote from Oscar Wilde that I mentioned last week. It, too, is a model for us as pursue dialogue: “Run your fingers through my soul. For once, just once, feel exactly what I feel, believe what I believe, perceive as I perceive, look, experience, examine, and for once, just once, understand.”