The Dialogue Venture

Archive for the ‘Dialogue and Current Events’ Category

What would happen if U.S. elected officials practiced humility?

I can imagine the snorts of derision that question may elicit. Yet last summer, amid the brinksmanship over the U.S. debt ceiling, a number of respected public figures raised this very issue, and now I hear that columnist David Brooks is writing a book on humility.

Maybe it’s not as far-fetched as it sounds—which is perhaps why the Fellowship of Reconciliation just published my meditation on humility in Washington. Please take a look, see what you think, and let me know:

http://forusa.org/blogs/john-backman/toward-humble-washington/10143

A few years ago, my wife and I had the privilege of visiting a monastery in South Africa. Like many monasteries, Mariya uMama weThemba observed the Great Silence from roughly 8:00 p.m. to 8:00 a.m. I relish this extended time of silence and was dismayed, when I awoke early one morning, to hear my wife (quietly) chatting at me.

I reminded her that we were in silence. Her response, with that impish twinkle I know so well: “I don’t care. I’m your wife. I’m going to talk at you anyway.” I couldn’t help but crack up (quietly).

Next story: From time to time, I have joined organizations that think big thoughts and do great things. They are actively seeking ways to make a profound difference in the world. And their contribution to the world is well worth the effort. Many times, however, these groups include a realist or two—someone whose role is to say, “I’d like that too, but here’s how this really works….”

I love these people. And here’s why.

On the dreamer-realist scale, I fall squarely on the dreamer side: the people who push for what could be. The realists remind me of what is. I consider silence a higher good; my wife reminds me that other people have other priorities. I love spinning lofty ideas out of not a whole lot; realists remind me that I have to start with the raw material of right here, right now.

What we miss sometimes, I think, is that we need each other.

Too often, dreamers and realists disparage those on the “other side.” Yet without the realists, the dreamers would, most likely, not make as much progress as they could. Without the dreamers, the realists would, most likely, not reach beyond current realities to envision, and therefore create, breakthrough change.

If they come together with a heart for dialogue, however—a heart oriented toward suspending preconceptions, hearing the other, welcoming a deep interplay of ideas—watch out. They could be a force for serious change.

This need for each other extends well beyond realists and dreamers. I see this in my faith tradition. Many Christians, traditionally identified as progressives, stress God’s concern for the dispossessed and for justice—God’s action in the world. Many others, traditionally identified as conservatives, stress the importance of sanctity and the joy of a personal relationship with the Divine—God’s action in each person.

These emphases often come into conflict. Progressives, for instance, see LGBTQ equality as a justice issue for a dispossessed group of people; conservatives see it as an erosion of godly personal behavior. What if they came together with a heart for dialogue—not tussling over the issue at hand, but listening and probing more deeply to understand, and appreciate, the other’s deeper beliefs? Both sets of beliefs (if the Christian scriptures are any guide) are close to the heart of God, after all.

With a heart for dialogue, we can dispense with our instinctive hostility and instead approach our adversaries with curiosity. We can be open to hear what they have to offer that we need, and vice versa. In most cases, I truly believe the whole will be greater than the sum of the parts.

Recently, on the main listserv and Facebook page for NCDD (the National Coalition for Dialogue & Deliberation, of which I’m a board member), we discussed signs of disaffection with the federal government.

There certainly seem to be a lot of them these days.

Part of the discussion centered on Americans Elect. In case you haven’t heard, this group aims to nominate a presidential candidate in a nonpartisan fashion through an online convention in which any registered voter can participate. The successful candidate (with a vice presidential candidate from the other established party) will represent the views of millions as expressed through their participation in an online survey. The goal appears to be a mobilization of the grass roots through the technology that has given everyone a voice.

Americans Elect isn’t the first group to emerge along these lines. No Labels “supports reforms, leaders and legislation that will help fix America’s broken government and break the stranglehold that the extremes currently have on our political process.” The Coffee Party USA is “a grassroots, non-partisan movement that aims to restore the principles and spirit of democracy in America.” (Quotes come from the respective websites.) And in terms of mobilized disaffection, we barely need mention the Occupy movement and the Tea Party.

I see all this as a hopeful sign. Not everyone does, however.

Amid our listserv discussion, someone posted a scathing article on this topic by the distinguished Mark Schmitt in Democracy. He writes that third-party movements and similar organizations are essentially fantasies meant to redirect our anger away from the hard work of reforming the system. The problems with these movements, according to Schmitt, are threefold: they are started not at the grass roots, but by consummate Washington insiders; they promise to break the duopoly of American politics when that duopoly is enshrined in the very structure of our government; and their policies are vague.

Schmitt’s points raise questions that should be asked of these organizations. The duopoly argument, especially, deserves serious consideration. But I wish he had given one other factor its due: the groundswell of public sentiment behind these movements, regardless of their origins. This sentiment is particularly in evidence in the Occupy movement and the Tea Party. Reforming the system, as he mentions, is important—but so is building and channeling sentiment against the inertia and despair into which government gridlock so easily casts us. It may be that these movements are a necessary first step to mobilizing a critical mass for change: the kind of critical mass that is powerful enough to inspire serious reform.

Or perhaps Schmitt is wrong and they’ll spark serious reform by themselves. Think Tahrir Square (though a direct import of that model to the U.S. seems logistically difficult at best).

What do you think of third parties and reform movements? Are they a waste of time, a distraction from real reform, “people’s movements” with real possibilities, or something else?

Hello, my friends. It’s so nice to be back with you.

A few weeks ago, I told you about an upcoming dialogue to which I’d been invited—a conversation with a dozen evangelical Christians about LGBTQ issues and the Church. As you may know, the words evangelical, LGBTQ, and dialogue do not often appear together in the public square, so this gathering promised to be extraordinary.

It was all that, and then some.

I don’t think I can describe it any better than I have in this Huffington Post piece on the dialogue. The article includes some questions that the dialogue raised in my mind: new (to me) possibilities about the way we might think about not only LGBTQ issues, but the future of the Church itself. The comments on the article, on the whole, have been more thoughtful than one sometimes sees online, so you may want to check them out—and add your response. I’d love to hear your thoughts, there or here.

I will be away from the laptop for a few weeks, so instead of an original post I thought I’d link you to some other food for dialogical thought. Read one a week, and it’ll be as though I never left!

• The Abortion Stalemate: Can “I Don’t Know” Break It? In this post, I suggest that starting over again on abortion—from a position other than drop-dead certainty—might help us make some progress in dialogue where little has existed before. The comments are particularly interesting: many of them show a serious and genuine struggle to grapple with an extraordinarily difficult issue. Hearing the wisdom of others is one of the best things about writing.
• Can Humility Change the World?  From what I can see, this misunderstood virtue is one of the indispensable “habits of the heart” that can reorient us toward dialogue. See what you think of my perspective on the term.
• Beyond Stereotypes of “Conservative” and “Liberal” Christianity. Dialogue starts from a better place when we view our dialogue partners as individuals rather than through predetermined filters. In that spirit, I share what I’ve learned about the “liberals” and “conservatives” in my faith tradition. Again, the comments are most valuable.

As you may have picked up, I so appreciate those who take the time to read, reflect, and comment on what I write. That goes for you too. I learn a great deal from hearing your voice, and I am encouraged by your support. Thank you. I’ll be back on the blog before you know it.

Last week I told you about a dozen or so Christians—gay, straight, conservative, liberal, and people who identify in other ways—who will gather in November to have a two-day conversation about LGBT issues. I mentioned how thrilled I am to be part of this, and how encouraging I’ve found the emails from participants.

I didn’t mention anxiety. But that’s part of the package too.

Why anxiety? It’s not about disagreement. It may be about the intensity this gathering will inevitably generate: no matter how gentle we are with one another, a conversation about LGBT issues in 2011 across divides is not a walk in the park.

What really stirs my anxiety, however, is the risk of being wrong. What if, as a result of this meeting, I have to change my mind about something? What if that something is important to me?

I write a lot about the need to relax our grip on our sacred cows. I don’t spend enough time acknowledging how difficult—and, at times, even inappropriate—that is. Our beliefs and values come from a lifetime of experience. In some cases we have expended a lot of thought and energy to arrive at them. Some of them strike at the heart of what it means to be uniquely us in the world. They shouldn’t be given up easily.

But I don’t think dialogue can come to full fruition unless we set them aside temporarily (as best we can). Otherwise, it is too easy to listen to others through the filter of our own beliefs. This filter can distort the message of others and prevent us from hearing what they are really saying.

Conversely, suspending our beliefs frees us to hear other people with full attention. It gives us the space to explore their thinking from the inside out: to sit with their viewpoint, probe this or that line of thought, gain a deeper grasp of why they think that way.

We get to know them in a way we never could with our filter up.

Is this inherently risky? Sure it is. In exploring new ways of thinking, we might come to see their validity.. If a new thought contradicts our beliefs, we may have to wrestle with that contradiction. Our beliefs may have to change.

But here’s the good news, particularly for people of faith like the ones gathering in November: we don’t have to hold our faith together by ourselves. As members of an Abrahamic faith tradition in particular, we believe in a Presence beyond ourselves that can—and, I think, does—safeguard us.  This sense of safety gives us the freedom to explore without worrying what we might lose.

My trust in that safety isn’t nearly what it should be. My hope is that it’s stronger come November, so I can be fully present to those around me, listening with my whole self, free to explore ideas, so that we might move closer to our ultimate goal: deepening our grasp of truth and our compassion for one another, no matter what we believe.

When a pillar of our quasi-evangelical church came out in 1989, I had just started rethinking the whole issue of gender, sexuality, and the Bible. So I was not prepared for how torturous the resulting church discussion would be.

Partly because of this event, LGBT people and issues have been dear to my heart ever since.  Perhaps this was God’s way of preparing me to become an Episcopalian—a Christian denomination riven by hostility over LGBT issues. Perhaps it was God’s sense of humor that placed me in my specific corner of The Episcopal Church: a liberal (i.e., welcoming-to-LGBT-people) church in a conservative diocese in a liberal national church in a conservative worldwide church.

But wait, there’s more. Once a year, I serve as a representative from our church to the diocese’s convention—which makes me a quasi-liberal surrounded by ardent conservatives.

This is a tense and painful place to live. To be sure, I am one of many comrades in this place: a sort of no-man’s-land in the culture wars. But we are outnumbered—and surely outshouted—by those on either side.

So why would anyone in his right mind continue to live there?

Here’s why I do: Because I will not abandon my LGBT sisters and brothers to a theology I find deeply flawed. Because I believe that my conservative sisters and brothers have great gifts to contribute to the world at large. Because I believe that dialogue has power. Because God calls me to peace and compassion, not to anger and the severing of relationships.

This is why I am deeply honored to have been invited to a most exceptional dialogue. Evangelicals for Social Action has asked a dozen pastors, therapists, scholars, students, writers, and “other struggling saints”—gay, straight, liberal, conservative, what have you—to a two-day conversation about LGBT issues. We will convene in November to get to know one another, share our stories, explore our perspectives, and generally live side by side for a short while.

The dialogue will not be easy. But the very fact of it thrills me. And if the emails we’ve exchanged so far are any indication, this could be something special. No one has brought up the “clobber passages” in the Bible. No one has debated genetics or biblical literalism. Instead, we’ve explored deeper issues of sexuality and gender and personal stories. Some of the participants, at least, are well versed in bridging divides. They bring rich and eye-opening experiences to the table.

If you are the sort to pray, please pray for this gathering. If not, please think of us in November. We may not change the world. But perhaps God will make us a tipping point for reconciliation—or at least one tiny example of living in peace and compassion despite our differences.

I had a moment of cynicism this past Sunday, and the lessons apply directly to dialogue.

As the rain from Irene poured onto our yard, we kept waiting for it to come into our basement. Every hour we walked downstairs and checked. Dry. Dry. Dry. Finally, at 11:30, we saw the first film of water on the basement floor. Much wet/dry vacuuming ensued, but the water level never went above a coating.

Meanwhile, on every TV channel, meteorologists shook their heads and reported that Irene was every bit as disastrous as predicted. At one point I turned to my wife and asked, “Is it possible they’re hyping this just a bit?”

As the day wore on, though, the news footage started to come in from Windham, and Schoharie, and Vermont. And I saw how horribly wrong I was.

In the past few days, this experience reminded me of a basic truth about dialogue as a way of life: the way of dialogue suspends judgment. It is so easy to seize on one factoid or limited perspective or shred of truth—especially if it comes from our own experience—and leap to a fully formed opinion about the whole situation.

I would submit that our culture supports this jumping to conclusions in several ways. The overwhelming volume of media—24/7, always on, always “breaking news”—almost demands that we process and evaluate information instantly just to keep up. Partly to accommodate the media, many pundits, elected leaders, and talk radio hosts reduce complex issues to sound bites, and it becomes easy to assume that the sound bite is the sum total of the issue.

Moreover, the cynicism that pervades much of postmodern life can color our judgment. On numerous occasions, I’ve seen our local meteorologists make a big deal of a weather event that didn’t live up to the hype. Because of that, I found it easy to assume that hype had become standard operating procedure for boosting ratings. I did not stop to consider just how difficult weather forecasting can be, how many variables are involved, or how swiftly conditions can change.

Living as people of dialogue—people oriented toward openness, toward listening, toward a passion for seeking out the reality of a situation, toward the importance of others’ perspectives—calls us to remain open to as many inputs as possible, and consider them with respect, before (and even after) coming to judgment. It’s why getting our news from “the other side” as well as “our side” is so important. It’s why the consultancy for which I work (The Kaleel Jamison Consulting Group, Inc.) urges clients to include a broad cross-section of people in the discussion of an issue: hearing inputs from many perspectives leads to a more complete view of the issue, which in turn makes for more thoughtful analysis and better decisions.

What would happen if we took this open, reflective, think-before-you-judge approach on the federal debt, or on immigration, or even with our kids when they do something questionable? Could it work? What do you think?

How many conservatives read Mother Jones? How many progressives ever tune into FOX News?

If Michael Kitchens’ research is any indication, the answer to both questions is: not many. An assistant professor of psychology at Lebanon Valley College, Kitchens conducted a study that investigated whether people’s religious backgrounds influenced their choice of media on religion. He and his students asked 213 participants to rate their preference for one of three fictitious research summaries: one with positive information about religion, one with negative information about religion, and one neutral.

You can guess what the study found. Religious people preferred the positive summary. Non-religious people preferred the negative summary.

In an article on his research, Kitchens extrapolates from these findings to the political realm. It makes sense, he writes, that “people’s political identity fuels the need to seek information that confirms” their beliefs. This, he reasons, has given rise to a fractured media landscape in which “media sources continue to validate people’s preconceived notions and worldviews.”

I think he’s spot-on here.  What surprises me, though, is his bleak outlook for the future: he says that “harmony is unattainable” and the best course of action is to learn how to conduct “a reasonable debate about ideas.”

But how do we even get to the debate if we are so suspicious of the “other side”? That suspicion comes from the same cycle that Kitchens is on about. As we take in the news media that agree with us, we inevitably hear criticisms of those who disagree. In today’s toxic public square, those criticisms are particularly nasty: we hear our adversaries’ motives questioned, their patriotism impugned, their truthfulness cast into doubt. So how can we approach them with anything that appears like listening?

What if, however, we took one simple step long before the debate: what if we all read or viewed media that disagree with us?

What if we all committed to reading one newsmagazine, watching one news program, or visiting one blog whose worldview is completely different from ours? We could do this not just across political lines, but across other divides too: divides of gender, color, sexual orientation, and yes, religion.

Here’s what I’ve seen happen: once we take in this media from proponents of the “other side,” we realize that their thinking has some rationality behind it, that their motives have more integrity than we’re led to believe, that maybe a few of their points make sense—even if we still disagree with them. This opens our minds a bit. The next time we approach these people or their ideas, we might be just a bit more inclined to listen, and our minds open wider.

Now I’m not talking about the ranting media—particularly the talk radio programs whose sole purpose is to inflame passions and get ratings. I’m talking about thoughtful columnists and pundits who believe something different. This is why I read David Brooks and Kathleen Parker as well as Cynthia Tucker. Maybe I need to suck it up and read George Will, too.

What about you? If you could read one columnist or magazine or blog from the “other side,” which would you pick? Share it here. It might just be a resource no one else has thought about.

Is this a teachable moment for dialogue?

A discussion on this topic recently lit up the main listserv of the National Coalition for Dialogue & Deliberation (where I’m a board member). The inspiration for the thread came from a New York Times article about the downgrade of U.S. debt in the wake of congressional gridlock. From the article:

In its announcement Friday night, S.& P. cited the political gridlock in Washington during the debt limit debate as a main reason for its decision. ‘The gulf between the political parties,’ S.& P. said, had reduced its confidence in the government’s ability to manage its finances.

Let’s summarize:

• Congress faces a momentous vote on the federal debt.
• Rather than dialogue, the two parties dig in their heels and refuse to compromise.
• This shakes the world’s confidence in the government’s willingness (not its ability) to make debt payments.
• Finance people hate uncertainty. So…
• Standard & Poor’s downgrades the credit rating, the markets plunge, and millions of people watch their retirement savings shrink.

Granted, the debt downgrade was not the only driver of the markets over the past week. But that doesn’t detract from the larger lesson here: the refusal to dialogue has consequences. At the highest levels of government, it has big consequences.

I’m not advocating that our elected officials adopt a specific dialogue process to solve this particular issue (though they could choose from a wide range of excellent options if they wanted to). Before any discussion of process, I would suggest, is the need to adopt a dialogue mindset: a deliberate turning toward openness, toward setting aside preconceptions long enough to hear others, toward seeking out common ground, toward seeing the humanness in our adversaries, toward speaking from the heart and listening from the heart.

I know this flies in the face of the Washington culture—and, in some places, even aspects of the system. We elect people, after all, partly to represent our interests. Powerful forces exert their power quite effectively, thank you, without any talk of dialogue, and they perhaps are perfectly happy with the system the way it is.

But on a fundamental level, our elected officials are called to get things done.  Refusal to dialogue makes fulfilling this call extremely difficult. In contrast, authentic dialogue can empower them not just to hear one another, but to build on one another’s ideas—so that the solutions they develop may well be far better than the initial positions of the respective sides.

What would it take for Congress to adopt a mindset of dialogue? What do you think?