civil discourse

jerry-kiesewetter-195442

As reported by The Hill:

“On Friday, Charles Murray, author of ‘Coming Apart’ and ‘The Bell Curve,’ was driven out of the McCullough Student Center at Middlebury College by a mob of angry students. He gave his talk via live stream from an ‘undisclosed location’ on campus.  The live stream was chanted over, the fire alarm pulled to cut power, and at the end of the talk Charles Murray’s car was surrounded and Professor Allison Stager, his interlocutor, was assaulted, her hair pulled and her neck injured.  

The protesters were successful. They drowned out freedom of speech, silenced those with whom they disagree, and attacked the defenders of democracy.

The words that carried the night were not Murray’s. And they were not the reasoned arguments of those who disagree with Murray. They were the chants of an angry mob who believed that disagreeing with Murray necessitated silencing both him and those who had asked him to speak: ‘Charles Murray go away,’ the students chanted, ‘Racist, Sexist, Anti-Gay.’”

One can agree or disagree with the message of Murray. What I found myself pondering was the sincerity of the protestors.

Even though their tactics were disrespectful, deplorable, and/or “de-something,” my sense is the protestors were sincere. They do not want Murray’s message to be spread… because they obviously believe it to be absolutely wrong, incorrect, maybe even evil.

Via the wisdom of an articulate friend, it reminds me of the abortion protests in previous decades. While the anti-abortion movement remains an active voice, prior to the enacted buffer zone laws in recent decades, previous protests sometimes included the destruction of both property and people.

Noting that their tactics that were sometimes disrespectful, deplorable, and/or “de-something,” I again ponder the sincerity of the protestors.

It seems in both examples, regardless of our agreement or disagreement with the protestors or the issue at hand — and admittedly, this is a tough thought to swallow… but… the protestors may be potentially, fully sincere. While their tactics sometimes fall somewhere short of democratic — and even in some cases, criminal — my sense is the protestors may still be sincere.

Granted, sincerity remains not a justification for the “de-something” means… at least not in a democracy.

As The Hill article questions, even with sincere, passionate protests, civil discourse is a central tenet of democracy, so how within our democracy do we actually engage in it? How do we resist the need to shut opposing opinion down, even when we don’t agree with the opinion — or we believe it to be, maybe even evil? Shutting down opposing opinion means disallowing civil discourse.

As the The Hill states: “Democracy is based upon the principle that citizens can think for themselves, choose for themselves, and vote their conscience.  The tradition of free speech, freedom of the press, and freedom of assembly that we are so lucky to enjoy in America is meant to provide all Americans with the capacity to promote their views.  These liberties help to protect us from tyranny no matter its form — whether the despotic rule of one or the vulgar justice of a mob…

Protesters who silence others by angry chants presume their fellow citizens not capable of choice — unfit for self-government.”

So two questions:

One, who are we to declare entire groups of others as “unfit”, thus shutting down their opinion?

And two — perhaps most significantly — do we really believe in democracy?

Respectfully…
AR

limiting my own perspective

hannah-wei-84051

I’m thinking I won’t be venturing out on too much of a rhetorical limb here when I suggest current political discussions have become fairly difficult — at least difficult in navigating through via an interactive, respectful, honoring-of-all kind of way.

I witness such weekly within a few online groups I belong to, in which politics and various socio-economic issues are intentionally discussed.

We often struggle with respectful dialogue. We often also disagree as to why.

This week, for example, a respected friend started a conversation with the following:

“It remains amazing to me how there are millions of people that love this country and want what’s best for it. Yet somehow they are willing to simply shrug off the exploding volume of evidence…”

As the thread continued with multiple participants, it seemed amply one-sided, affirming the perspective of the conversation’s initiator. The opinions stated were also pretty strong. Please note: there is zero problem with that; many of us have strong opinions — and it’s ok to share them. There were also no insults, disparaging treatment or direct attacks, nor anyone believing it was ok to add “you idiot” at the end of their individual expression.

At one point, however, my friend asked where I was…

“AR… Nothing to say in response to the original post? Do you agree? Disagree?”

My friend sincerely wondered what I thought.

And so I chimed in…

“Your original post gave me the impression that you were starting a discussion from a point of telling everyone else how wrong they are, if they don’t have your perspective. With the far majority of persons sharing such strong opinions, that is where many of these threads seem to start… I find many of these threads not interested in interactive, varied, balanced, and respectful dialogue. Hence, it’s easier not to engage than be immediately told why I’m wrong and why there’s no validity behind my perspective.”

He then asked a brilliant question…

“As long as your mindset is as you described, and therefore you choose to avoid comment or participation, how can anyone even know what your perspective is or tell you that you are wrong?”

He was right. How can anyone know what we think if we choose not to tell them?

I added…

“That is an excellent question. And you’re right. No one can tell what my perspective is if I choose not to share it. My impression — and it may be wrong — is that most of us don’t listen long enough nor intently enough to truly understand why another person has the perspective that they do. And that’s a problem on all sides of the aisle… in Washington… on Facebook… here…”

Again, my friend sincerely wondered how I thought and desired my participation. Yet the interaction made me question the impression each of us offers to unspoken others — and how inviting we are to all. It made me wonder…

Are we allowing and promoting environments which clearly welcome diverse opinion?

Are we giving the impression that we will or will not listen intently to others?

And…

Are we limiting our own growth and perspective, by only listening intently to the likeminded?

Respectfully… always…
AR

best friends for a day…

suhyeon-choi-184100

[This is a tough day for the Intramuralist. But this post originally published in January of 2016 makes me feel a little better, as it’s one of my all time favorites. I apologize for the repeat; however, some stories are worth sharing far more than once…]

_____

A little less than a year ago, I had one of the best worst weeks of my life… as nothing prepares you for the passing of a loved one. Nothing. The only thing that makes the unbearable pain bearable is a faith that is grounded in wisdom and hope — and speaks of something greater than the circumstances at hand.

My younger sister passed away early that Monday morning. My family and I had long planned to fly to NYC on Thursday, as my teenage son and his talented show choir were set to dance on the prestigious, Lincoln Center stage on Friday. Hence, the celebration of Nicole’s life was moved to Sunday, which meant much travel (and even more emotion) packed into a few short days.

Unfortunately that Thursday morning, the undesired occurred again; in our midwest city of often sporadic weather, we were experiencing a blizzard-like storm that included over 9” of snow. Perhaps minor for our friends in Boston and Colorado Springs, 9” can be paralyzing in Cincinnati.

With the storm extending across the entire East coast, flights were being cancelled by the minute; one by one, we would hear disheartening news of another show choir family unable to make this once-in-a-lifetime trip. For some odd reason, our morning flight took off, relatively on time.

Save for my grieving heart, the flight itself was fairly smooth — that is, until we approached LaGuardia. We were immediately placed into an hour long holding pattern, as the airport had closed in order to plow the runways. Unbeknownst to us at the time, after that hour, the airport had actually reopened, but the first Delta flight attempting to land skidded right off the runway, crashed through a fence, and came to rest with the plane’s nose extending out over the adjacent bay of water. Thank God no life-threatening injuries occurred.

Needless to say, our Delta flight was then told the airport was closed. With the storm intensifying and more airports closing, we wondered if they would return us home. After more delay, we were told we would be landing at Bradley International — although most of us knew not where that was.

Once landed (in Hartford, CT, no less), we found ourselves in a sea of stranded others… so many questions and confusion. Airline reps attempted to be clear; maybe busses would come; maybe they could get us to our desired destination sometime today. There were too many “maybes.”

Yet there amidst the hundreds stranded, we were given a blessed gift. Three other show choir families were experiencing the same flight and plight: two sets of parents, one set of grandparents. We recognized one another, but previous to this moment, I did not know them well. We huddled, put our minds together, assessing our options.

Deciding to take things into our own hands, we walked and talked. As a group, we shared all this unexpected, significant emotion… the challenge of being diverted… the fear of being stuck… the concern for our friends traveling alternate routes… the empathy for our friends no longer able to come… and the worry for our kids, who were separately en route. There was so much deep, dichotomous emotion — almost too much to handle.

“Too much to handle” for me was all this on top of what had happened earlier in my week. Thus, thrust together in Connecticut — feeling simultaneously totally overwhelmed and profoundly grateful — I couldn’t help but share the more prevalent feelings permeating my heart, that which happened before we ever took off. The way those men and women then reacted to the news of my sister’s death was beautiful… the tears in the women’s eyes… the immediate hugs… the questions, the sincerity, and the genuine concern… They loved this then semi-stranger in a way that was meaningful, authentic, and true. Any differences did not matter. They became, as I like to say, my best friends for a day.

Several hours later, we finally made it to Manhattan. The time included multiple phone calls, prayers, selfies in the abandoned baggage claim area, a drink in the pub, and then a two/three hour, at-times-treacherous but fun-filled van ride before pulling into Times Square near 5:30 p.m. As we each exited the van, saying “see you tomorrow,” we hugged one another, unspeakably aware of all the emotion the day entailed. Those friends will always be uniquely, deeply dear to me — what a beautiful role they serve… my “best friends for a day.”

Respectfully… with peace, joy… tears, too…
AR