The Dialogue Venture

Posts Tagged ‘dialogue’

Here’s the sort of thing that gets my attention: 

• A born-again Christian telling me she has no problem with evolution
• The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff supporting a repeal of “don’t ask, don’t tell”
• George W. Bush proposing a moderate immigration policy
• The head of a regional hospital advocating single-payer healthcare
• Leaders from the Tea Party movement and MoveOn.org saying how much they crave dialogue
• Catholic leaders advocating for the poor (a “liberal position”) and against abortion (a “conservative position”)

You see the common thread here? All these statements strike a dissonant chord. They make us think, “How can those people take that position when they also believe this?”

I find these voices terribly important.

To understand why, first consider the voices we usually hear. Spend any time with the news media, and you’ll find yourself hearing, on any given issue, the same things from the same people—over and over and over. If a news segment covers abortion, for instance, it will most likely feature a pro-choice advocate touting a “woman’s right to choose” and a pro-lifer promoting “the rights of the unborn.”

Now the positions behind those sound bites may have merit. But the endless repetition of the same catchphrases by the same people obscures whatever nuance these positions may have. “Of course he’d say that,” we think. “He’s a [insert political party or special interest group here].”

But then someone zags when we expect her to zig. Or she holds two positions that we’ve been led to believe are contradictory. There’s your dissonant voice.

These are important, I think, for two reasons. First, when people express a belief contrary to their historical position or perceived self-interest, it implies that they find the belief itself compelling. I don’t think it’s a slam-dunk that a hospital CEO would support a single-payer system. So when James Barba of Albany Medical Center does, it’s an opportunity for us to see single-payer differently. If he’s for it, the thinking goes, maybe it’s worth another look.

Second, these dissonant voices can explode our stereotypes. Over the years, I’ve been guilty of painting the born-again Christian community with too broad a brush. Like many people, I could see them as uniformly literalist, creationist, and overly focused on abortion and gay marriage. So when a priest’s wife touts the beauty of evolution as the means of God’s creation, or I see born-agains advocating for the environment and social justice, it forces me to rethink my image. More accurately, it forces me to discard the image—and listen to each unique person with his own unique voice.

Dissonant voices can point out areas of truth. Dissonant voices can help us see our “opponents” more clearly—and thus treat them more respectfully. See how many of these voices you can hear in the public square.

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.

Previously on The Dialogue Venture, we looked at one of the world’s most misunderstood virtues—humility—and how it holds the key to dialogue. In the process, I boiled down humility to two basic claims about the self: 

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

The first helps us see our perspective as one among billions and, therefore, acknowledge that others’ ideas might hold as much truth as our own. The second reveals the utter uniqueness of our own beliefs, values, and perspectives—and how, rightly used, they could create more robust solutions for the issues that face us today.

Nice theory, right? OK, let’s see how it plays out in the real world.

I knew next to nothing about healthcare in 2008, when the latest hue and cry for reform began to take shape. A single-payer plan made a great deal of sense to me at first. But as “only one person”—and an ill-informed one at that—I could see how limited my perspective was.

So I sought out other voices. Republicans spoke of tort reform to reduce exaggerated malpractice suits, interstate commerce between insurers to boost competition and lower costs, triggers to the public option. Democrats talked about requiring health insurers to cover people regardless of pre-existing conditions or catastrophic illness. As I listened, something dawned on me: all these ideas had merit.

I hadn’t heard anyone say that.

And that illustrates the contribution of “I am one person” to dialogue. I don’t know the technical ins and outs of the healthcare system, but I do have an unusual ability to consider both/and solutions. In a world where either/or is the dominant paradigm, that’s a valuable gift.

So in a grand dialogue on healthcare, or any issue, even non-experts like me have a role to play. The more people we bring to the table, the more gifts and perspectives we have at our disposal, and more thoughtful the solutions that arise.

This also makes humility an essential component of social change. What if a robust policy framework arises from our grand dialogue? As “only one person,” I look at the power of the Congress, the complexity of the bureaucracy, the staggering challenge of swaying public opinion, and I despair. But, in “I am one person” mode, I look at my gifts and realize I can write. So I write op-ed pieces, letters to the editor, and missives to individual legislators. At the same time, I see that I need others with expertise in recruiting volunteers, drafting legislation, and lobbying elected officials—so I join with them to wield exponentially more clout than I could by myself.

In other words, humility opens us to power of we.  

Humility calls us to hear everyone. Humility calls us to contribute what we have while realizing its limitations. Humility draws us together to think and act with power. Imagine what might happen if everyone cultivated that kind of humility within themselves.

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.

I hate flying. I really hate airport security. So flying in the wake of the Christmas Day bombing attempt was galling beyond belief.

But I’m glad I went through the experience for one reason: it showed me disconnects in our thinking about the “war on terror”—and a role for dialogue in solving them.

Let’s start with the disconnect in security thinking. If the flaw behind the Christmas Day attempt involved a failure of attention and analysis in the intelligence community, why on earth would the solution involve extra searches and full-body scanners? Did federal security officials not think through this disconnect? If not, could the meeting of a broader diversity of minds in dialogue, however quickly conducted amid a crisis, serve as a powerful check on the flawed thinking that often accompanies a rush to action?

We’ve been discussing this on the NCDD e-mail list. One poster mentioned that internal government-agency meetings on security do include a broad spectrum of viewpoints, surely a key to productive dialogue. But political considerations get in the way. Imagine this: If intra-agency dialogue came up with a longer-term, more complex, but truly effective solution—the kind that the current situation may well demand—could it satisfy a public that demands more security now? Could our media, structured for brevity and simplicity, sufficiently inform the public to help them think through their demand? Would elected representatives be more likely to fall in line behind the solution or public opinion?

And so we end up with full-body scanners.

This points up the second disconnect in our thinking: the shibboleths that accompany crisis. With every security upgrade, we inevitably hear someone say, “If it saves one life, it’s worth it.” In a crisis situation, when fear is naturally rampant, it’s easy to fall in line with such noble but simplistic assertions. Repeated and broadcast often enough, these shibboleths end up setting the agenda for action.

The problem, of course, is that it’s nearly as easy to imagine the dangerous extremes to which such an approach could lead us (think of the acts committed in totalitarian regimes under the guise of security and stability).

So where do we draw the line? Such a collective problem could be well served by collective wisdom—the type that dialogue is designed to bring to light. By seeking the truth of the situation through an exchange of views, I believe, we can come to a more consensual, more reasonable, and more effective framework for addressing the situation than if we simply let the shibboleths take the lead.

Simplistic thinking rarely does justice to complex threats. Yet in a crisis, it is so easy to respond to one with the other. That’s when we need one another, and the dialogue between us, to help us act with cool heads and arrive at effective solutions.

The next post for this blog is all ready to go. It deals with dialogue and airport security. I’m very interested in getting your thoughts on it.

But I can’t bring myself to post it. Not this week.

The complete devastation in Port-au-Prince, Haiti, overshadows everything else for the time being. Our divisive issues melt away, at least for a while, in the face of such suffering. While our daily work is certainly important, calamities like this remind me, at least, that it’s just one part of the human endeavor.

At times like this, other parts of the human endeavor take precedence.

There will be plenty of time for dialogue on Haiti, especially in addressing governance, susceptibility to natural disasters, and the grinding poverty that plagues so many Haitians. Now is not that time.

If you are a person of faith, I invite you to pray, or meditate, or light a candle—whatever your tradition calls you to do—for the people of Haiti. My prayers for them inevitably start and end with silence, because words fail me. But God hears silence too. 

Just as important, please give whatever you can to the relief effort. www.redcross.org is a great place to start. 

We’ll talk more next week.

What would happen if you could express your opinions directly to federal government agencies—before they make the decisions that affect your life? What if they paid attention?

That’s what the White House is aiming for. Earlier this week, the Obama administration released its Open Government Directive—an initiative to connect federal government agencies more closely with the public they serve. Much of the directive deals with transparency: publishing more data more promptly, creating open-government pages for each agency website, and so forth.

But transparency is only one-third of the equation. The directive also requires the agencies to integrate public participation into their decision making and use multiparty collaboration—with other agencies, nonprofits, even individuals—to pursue their core missions.

According to a White House press release on the website for the National Coalition for Dialogue & Deliberation (of which I’m honored to be a member), “The directive stems largely from the unprecedented Open Government Initiative…in which the Administration reached out directly to the American people for specific policy recommendations.  Thousands of citizens participated in the online forums and offered ideas on how to transform the government into a more transparent, accountable, participatory operation.”

Several nuggets in that last sentence. First, this just might work. Clearly the government modeled public participation in creating the whole Open Government Directive, and thousands of citizens responded. Second, online technology facilitates participation on a level unheard of in previous generations. Third, although agencies have long provided opportunity for public comment on pending regulation, this directive aims at institutionalizing the whole notion of open government—spreading it into every aspect of agency culture.

This is still embryonic, of course, and a ton of questions remain. The directive doesn’t mandate specific steps—simply that agencies create plans for open government. Changing bureaucracies, by its very nature, is arduous and takes time. Some dialogue professionals are underwhelmed with this effort, seeing it as focusing too much on transparency and not enough on participation or collaboration.

But the thought that our government might actually want to dialogue with us is a refreshing change from business as usual. Stay tuned.

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.

Fluff the pillows, vacuum the rugs, and get your questions ready. We’re going to have a guest.

In thinking about the dynamics of dialogue, I’ve become intrigued by evangelism and the tension it introduces between Christianity and the rest of the world. Many Christians view telling others about Christ as a core requirement of their faith. Many of other faiths see the practice as an offensive, old-school sales pitch, with one person pressuring another to convert. That would make evangelism antithetical to dialogue.

It would, that is, if we defined evangelism exclusively as a one-directional hard sell. But could it possibly be that simplistic? My attempt to think it through led to my recent article in Next-Wave.

Since that article appeared, I’ve heard from several Christian leaders who are also working to redefine evangelism. In the process, they may have something to say to those among us who find the traditional model reprehensible.

One of those leaders is Jeffrey Johnson, who’s come out with Got Style? Personality-Based Evangelism. His thesis is that Christians, while all called to evangelism, must approach it according to their individual personalities. If, for instance, you’re more relationally based, you might focus on nonverbal evangelism, rolling up your sleeves and helping your neighbors. If you’re more analytical, perhaps you engage others in thoughtful discussions of certain topics. (Hmm. Sounds like dialogue, yes?) While allowing that a few Christians are hard-wired for assertive evangelism, he questions the overall effectiveness of this approach in a skeptical and diverse society.

So can dialogue and evangelism peacefully coexist? That’s what we aim to find out. Next week, Johnson comes to The Dialogue Venture as part of a blog tour to promote Got Style? I have questions for him, but I’d like to include yours as well.

If you have a question or two, please send them along before Friday noon (Eastern Standard Time). You can use the comment space on this post or just contact me directly. While I can’t guarantee I’ll use every question (especially if we get tons of them), I’ll include as many as I can.

This could be an opportunity to pick the brain of someone who’s trying to break down a few old walls. Help me help him do that. Think up some questions and fire away.

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?