The Dialogue Venture

Archive for the ‘Practical Steps Toward Dialogue’ Category

A week in France over Christmas set me to thinking about one of America’s white-hot issues—and how we might deepen the dialogue around it.

While traveling through Normandy and Brittany, we encountered few people who were comfortable with English. I speak enough French to get by, so it became my job to order at the deli, buy stamps from the post office, talk to the cellphone people, etc. I adore the language, so this was a labor of love. But it took extraordinary amounts of mental energy to think through my sentences, understand the other person, and respond in kind. 

By the time my head hit the pillow, I was dead exhausted. And that led me to think about immigration.

Imagine you’re a U.S. immigrant whose first language is Spanish. Every day, you expend all that mental energy to navigate a strange language and culture. On top of that, you have to hold down a job, talk with your kids’ teachers, figure out the banking system, etc., etc. You may want to speak English, but learning a language takes years.

All this leads me to three thoughts. First, there’s clearly more to the immigration issue than “if you live here, you have to speak the language.” Whatever the validity of this position, it raises more questions than it answers. Since mastering English is both complex and time-consuming, can the U.S. take steps to accelerate the process among immigrants? How much accommodation should Americans make to other languages? Should government be involved in this? Should business?

All of this can lead to a rich dialogue, bridge building, and perhaps even a direction for policy. But it requires us to eschew bromides like “just speak English” as the beginning and end of the discussion.

Second, my place in this grand debate reminds me of the need for humility and sensitivity. I have my own (ridiculously liberal) opinions about immigration policy, but then I don’t live in a high-immigration region. It’s essential, then, that I honor the opinions of both Anglos and Latinos in the U.S. Southwest—because they live this issue. No matter how much I think that absolutes of social justice are on my side, I cannot be a party to this dialogue unless I commit to hearing others out.

Third is the surpassing value of travel in broadening our perspectives.  When we delve into another culture entirely, we quickly discover an incredible diversity of viewpoints. What seems self-evident to white Anglo Americans might be completely foreign to a South African matriarch, or an aboriginal hunter, or a young hotelier in Normandy. We cannot help but begin to see our personal worldview as one among many. This reorients us to approach others not only with openness, but with empathy.

In my case, I can hold all kinds of theoretical opinions about immigration and language issues. But traveling to France gave me a glimpse of what it really feels like to be a stranger in a strange land. It left me, quite naturally, with more openness, more empathy. And that was just for a week: imagine how much a year in Poland, say, or mission work in the Philippines might have changed me.   

Given the long, angry history of our national immigration debate—which has lasted well over a century—this openness and empathy might be just the thing to move us from debate to dialogue.

Humble. Humbled. Humility. The words don’t even sound pretty. They’ve come to denote some very unpleasant feelings.

I am convinced that they hold the key to dialogue.

Few words generate greater misunderstanding than humility. In the minds of many, it signifies humiliation, self-denigration, low self-esteem. Even the dictionary enshrines such definitions: Google humble and definition and see what you get. Eating humble pie is something no one wants to do. Being of humble means is something no one wants to be.

But there’s a better way to think about humility, and it can release all kinds of potential within us. Rightly understood, humility is complete clarity about our individual selves and our place in the universe. As the Holy Cross Associates’ Rule puts it, “Humility is not self-denigration; it is honest appraisal. We have gifts and deficiencies, as does everyone else.”

So what does this have to do with dialogue? To find the answer, let’s think about “our individual selves and our place in the universe.” I reduce this to two basic claims: 

1. I’m only one person.
2. I am one person.

Take the first claim. I am only one person among billions. My perspective, therefore, is one among billions: I see only a small sliver of reality as it is. It stands to reason, then, that others’ perspectives on reality might hold as much truth as my own. If I am curious about the cosmos, I want to hear these perspectives. If I care about the monumental challenges of our age—challenges far, far beyond my reach to solve—I want to hear the ideas and solutions of others. Our collective wisdom is our best chance to see all sides of each challenge and, perhaps, arrive at effective solutions.

Now for the second claim. If my perspective is one among billions, it’s also the only one of its kind. I don’t know whether it might hold the key to solving a problem, or blessing another person, or stimulating a discussion that needs to happen. So it’s important that I share it—tempered with the realization of its place as one perspective.

By cultivating this type of humility, we see what we know—and how much we don’t. We can appreciate just how unfathomable a mystery the universe, and the Divine, truly are. With those realizations, we see the value of sharing and listening.

In other words, the value of dialogue.

This is dense stuff. So an example or two is well worth exploring. Let’s look at one next week.

About 10 days ago, I was preparing to take part in a discussion on All the Way IN Radio. (Check the News & Views section of the homepage for directions to the broadcast.) The topic, which concerned zeal vs. terrorism, was set in the context of the Fort Hood shooting. My research raised more questions than answers, but one thing became clear: the need for precise language in dialogue on sensitive topics. 

Take terrorism. According to the Christian Science Monitor, retired Army general John Keane offered his thoughts on the definition during testimony before the Senate Homeland Security Committee. To quote the article, “Hasan shouted ‘Allahu Akbar’ before firing on a crowd…. That’s enough evidence for General Keane to label the shooting an act of terrorism.” What does this mean? That the addition of a religious utterance automatically turns an act of violence into terrorism? If, then, a platoon of soldiers publicly dedicates their efforts in battle to Jesus Christ, is that terrorism?

The definition of terror in the Merriam-Webster Online Dictionary comes closer: “violent or destructive acts (as bombing) committed by groups in order to intimidate a population or government into granting their demands.” Yet if we accept this definition—with the word group—we rule out the Fort Hood shooting as an act of terrorism, because Major Hasan allegedly acted alone. Is that reasonable?

Based on the terrorist atrocities of the past several decades, I think we can make certain assertions about the concept of terrorism with some confidence. It involves physical violence. It’s designed for media coverage. The goal is to intimidate and/or call attention to a cause.

Note what’s missing here: any mention of religion or spirituality. Clearly, religion does motivate some to commit acts of terror. But religion is not a necessary condition. Right?

Or wrong?

This is tough stuff, and granted, it can devolve into pointless hair splitting. But there’s a reason for getting it right. As my sister-in-law says, “Words mean things.” They also carry emotional weight—especially the buzzwords at the center of our most divisive issues. Use them at all and you get an instant reaction. Toss them around carelessly and the emotional reaction multiplies. People get angry, put up their defenses, and stop talking. Nothing gets solved.

Throughout a dialogue, then, it’s useful to keep a small part of our brains finely tuned to the words we use. If we can use them precisely—and civilly—we have a better chance of communicating our meaning, being heard, and making progress with our adversaries.

For the last two weeks, I’ve been scrambling to update my book proposal for a university press. (This is why I posted no blog entry last week.) The whole process—which involved a great deal of hard work with no guarantee of return—set me to reflecting on a disturbing question:

Why would 21st-century people want to engage in dialogue at all?

So much of contemporary life militates against dialogue, especially (and ironically) the advance of communications technology. Laptops, iPhones, and PDAs liberate us to conduct our business wherever we are—so the culture now expects us to conduct our business wherever we are. As a result, many of us move at a pace beyond frenetic.

That has its own problems. When moving so fast, we find it difficult to concentrate on anything for very long: I once heard that if you can’t communicate your message to today’s teens within three seconds, you’ve lost them. We need more convenience more than ever: even an extra click on a website is perceived as a hassle. Is it easy? Is it short? Does it provide return on my investment of time or money? Only if the answer is yes will it pass muster.

None of this has anything to do with dialogue.

By its nature, dialogue takes time—time to listen deeply to the other, to reason together, to reflect on the issue at hand. It requires undivided attention, so we can hear everything (verbal and nonverbal) that our dialogue partner has to say. As anyone who has taken part in dialogue will tell you, it is demanding work, usually for fuzzy objectives like mutual understanding or conflict resolution. That doesn’t even take into account the spiritual preparation that, I suggest, can help us dialogue more effectively.

So back to our question: why dialogue at all?

If we’re going to draw more people into dialogue, we need to provide an answer that resonates with them. I would like to tell people about the deep human connections that dialogue fosters, the larger perspective we gain by talking with others who disagree with us, the ability to work through conflicts with neighbors, coworkers, and friends. I would like to convey the importance of contributing to the welfare of the world through dialogue, and the breakthroughs that can result.

But this is eminently countercultural. It flies in the face of so much that preoccupies so many of us. Is it enough to draw them into dialogue? If not, what would?

What do you think?

The front-desk person at our local gym can be uncommunicative at times, or so I heard before my wife and I joined recently. I’m drawn to people like that. So I set out to get to know her a bit.

On my first day, I made a few lame jokes while filling out the application. She only responded to the last one, but that gave me hope. Every day thereafter, we exchanged a few words as I checked in. Bit by bit, she started to talk more. Now she gives us a big smile whenever we come in. At 6:45 a.m., that’s a major accomplishment.

In my musings about dialogue, I find myself coming back to a bit of sage advice from the biblical Book of Proverbs: A soft answer turns away wrath (Proverbs 15:1). Have you ever seen this in action? Perhaps you’ve encountered a snarly co-worker whose whole face relaxes when she hears a kind word, a defensive co-worker who shows his human side when someone expresses genuine interest, or even a stressed-out child who responds to a soft voice.

A kind word, a soft voice, genuine interest: these are so easy to give away. Yet the signal they send is game-changing. In their presence, people open up, their hearts soften, their barriers come down—even if only a little at first. They see you as someone who, just maybe, can be trusted. Each “soft answer” builds the trust a bit more.

Now imagine that I wanted to discuss abortion, or gay marriage, or even a possible improvement to the gym with the front-desk person. Because we’ve built a bit of openness and trust, she is much more likely to hear me and respond honestly—in other words, to engage in authentic dialogue.

An apocryphal story from the 1978 Camp David peace accords tells of the opening meeting between U.S. president Jimmy Carter, Egyptian head of state Anwar Sadat, and Israeli prime minister Menachem Begin. Before delving into control of Jerusalem, Israeli settlements in the Sinai, and other issues that nearly derailed the talks, Carter asked Begin and Sadat to talk about their families. As each man talked affectionately about his spouse and children, his adversary glimpsed the human side of the person across the table. That bond, it was said, contributed to the breakthrough. The soft answer, the genuine interest, inspired them to dialogue more deeply than if they had approached the negotiations without it.

Here as elsewhere, I think people of faith have an exceptional advantage. A connection with the Divine fosters what St. Paul called “the fruit of the Spirit,” including gentleness. We can be gentle because it springs from the Divine within us. I found an online devotional that expresses this well from the evangelical Christian perspective.

Try it. Find an unpleasant person and respond to her with a soft answer. The results may surprise you.