The Eyes Have It!

I am currently reading van der Kolk's excellent The Body Keeps the Score. (In passing I notice that this, along with the recent seminar I went on with the Oxford Brain Story, raises further serious questions about the idea of young people having a settled gender identity, and of the affirmative approach to trans youth care.  As I have remarked previously, this is a complex issue which would benefit from serious research rather than political game-playing, virtue-signalling, and polemical point-scoring...)

However, what I want to reflect on today is eye movement desensitisation and reprocessing, or EMDR. This is something I had heard about previously, and been rather dismissive of, as it sounds a bit like so many of those NLP techniques that are claimed to work miracles ('Frogs into Princes') but when researched are found to be largely bogus.  Somewhat to my relief, I found that van der Kolk had started from much the same place: 'To me and my academic colleagues, it sounded like yet another of the crazes that have always plagued psychiatry...'

However, van der Kolk and others have the commitment, skills and resources to do proper, blind, studies, with control groups; and EMDR is found to be extremely effective for many who suffer with PTSD. And as he says, 'While we don't yet know precisely how EMDR works, the same is true of Prozac...'

Nonetheless, there seems to be some connection between eye movement and the way the brain processes thoughts and memories; and the link with REM (rapid eye movement) sleep, which is when we are dreaming, is intriguing and suggestive. There is something about the free association style of thinking in both EMDR and dreams, that suggests the brain is doing something important; and the results, in both cases, seem to support that  hypothesis. 

All of which set me thinking about the Thinking Environment process. When we are listening to someone think for an extended period of time, we notice a few things. One is that the mind does something similar, in terms of free association. The sequence (and even relevance) of what is thought is often far from obvious. But also, the thinker's eyes are often very active. Indeed, when I am listening through the silence, I often glance at the thinker's eyes, and when I see they are moving around, I am confident that the thinker is continuing to think. And often, at the end of such an extended period of thinking, the thinker is able to pull together, make sense of, and find new meanings in, all that has gone before. Which is remarkably similar, albeit dealing with less deep-rooted issues, to what van der Kolk describes his patients as doing.

This is, as ever, simply my thinking aloud about my practice; and it may be that I am making unwarranted links and parallels,  But I thought it was interesting, so I assume others might.  And if anyone knows better, please tell me!

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With thanks to Printerval for the image of the sweatshirt.

Why we Listen to Bad Ideas (2)

I ended my previous post on this topic with a promise to consider the boundaries to what we might be prepared to listen to, and I will come to that in this post (difficult though it is to establish clear boundaries).

But before I do so, I want to add to the positive reasons for listening to bad ideas.  I realised after posting the first post that I had missed a few of these.

The first is that we may learn something. Which is why, in the context of the work I do, which is largely based in Higher Education, I think this is so important. Somebody may be wrong, but listening to them may give us some insights; they may not be wrong about everything, and may even express a truth that we have missed along the way. Or at the very least, they may make it clearer to us why we disagree, and that is valuable.

A second reason is that wrong ideas can often stimulate better ones. That is one of the assumptions of brainstorming, for example, and why censoring self or others in that context is counter-productive. As we react against the bad idea, we may sharpen our understanding of our better alternative, or possibly see a new better alternative that we had not previously seen. 

Further, if we listen, we are better able to refute a bad idea. That works on two levels; on the level of information, we can more accurately identify where the person's thinking has gone awry if we listen to it; and at the level of emotions, we are more likely to be listened to, if we have first listened. We have bought, as it were, a psychological right to be heard: this is the law of reciprocity in action.

And thinking back to my early career in telephone sales, and then as a sales trainer. we always tried to hear all of a clients' objections to a pitch before answering any of them: which makes perfect sense. 

So, given my strong advocacy for listening to bad ideas, what do I see as the boundaries?

These are hard to pin down, but I think that we can recognise, at least, some principles.

One is that children should not be subject to ideas that will be harmful to their health, well-being and development. The modern notion that children are simply younger adults is wrong-headed. We know enough about developmental psychology to assign such idiocy to the bin.

That principle of limiting what is harmful extends also to adults. We all know that it is an abuse of speech to shout 'Fire!' in a crowded place. Likewise, the guidelines around the reporting of suicides are agreed by the press because we recognise the real risk to some vulnerable people of social contagion.

But how that principle applies in other contexts, and who decides, are difficult issues.  Reflecting on this with a colleague, I made a link with the boundaries to confidentiality in a coaching relationship. I am always very clear that confidentiality is not absolute: that if someone discloses that they are breaking the law of the land, or the policies of the University that employs them, or proposes to harm others or themselves, that I may have to tell someone else. So perhaps the same, or similar, criteria could apply to the limits of what we are prepared to listen to; and it would certainly be valuable to have a similar clarity on the subject, at the start of any such discussions.

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With thanks to  Mimi Thian and raquel raclette for sharing their photos on Unsplash

Why we listen to bad ideas

Are there boundaries to what we are prepared to listen to, when we are coaching someone, or facilitating a meeting to generate and exchange ideas? 

I'll come back to that question, but think that there's another that sits alongside it, which I will address first. And that is, why do we listen to bad ideas?  And here, I mean both ideas that are erroneous, and those that are unethical.

The first point, of course, is that  we must be careful not to judge someone else's thinking as erroneous or unethical too quickly. But nonetheless, there are times when that is clearly the case. 

 A white (etc etc) man

Let us imagine that someone says ' I hate white, middle class, middle aged, Oxford educated men' (to take an example wholly at random, you understand, of a completely irrational point of view...). In my book that is both irrational and unethical; I deem it wrong (as well as muddle-headed) to hate a whole class of people, based on a few shared characteristics. That is a reasonable definition of prejudice. 

But if I challenge that statement, it doesn't take a genius to realise that the most likely reaction of the person I'm challenging is to defend it. That will mean summoning to mind all the reasons he or she can think of in support of it. Further, in the felt need to win the argument, and with the support of confirmation bias, new reasons may be manufactured in support of the reasonableness of the stance. The net result of which may be to strengthen the individual's conviction that this is a reasonable stance to take.

On the other hand, if I continue to listen, there is at least a possibility that the person will start to add nuance to the proposition: 'Well, not ALL...' and so on. And that represents a move in a more positive direction. Further, if the statement was made as a provocation, it will be clear that it has not had the desired result, and that in itself may prompt a slightly more reflective examination of the statement, and even a felt need to moderate it somewhat. 

And if given the space, attention, support and respect to continue to think about the statement, the individual may move a long way from it, and generate some real insight: perhaps that this view is based on a small sample size, consisting of one man who has behaved badly in the personal realm, and a number of public figures who share those characteristics, who are variously reprehensible; or that hate is bit of an overstatement and so on.

That is relatively clear in a one-to-one session; but what about a group? Is it reasonable to expect others to listen to people expressing bad ideas?

Here, I think, a lot depends on context, and on the contract you have with the group. If you have agreed that all views are welcome, it is hard to say later 'By all views, I mean, of course, all views that everyone is comfortable with.' That is highly problematic, not least for the reasons that Margaret Heffernan outlines in her excellent book, Wilful Blindness. This is the territory of group-think.

I think it is more fruitful to agree that if we are going to say all views are welcome, we must agree some other principles for the meeting. These will include a principle of equality: that we will ensure that all participants have an equal opportunity to contribute; and a principle of attention: that we will listen to everyone, seeking to understand their perspective. With these in place, and confident facilitation, then the person who voices the 'bad ideas' will be listened to but will also be obliged (morally and by peer pressure and a felt need to conform to the agreement made at the start of the meeting) to listen to others' thinking that is different from his or hers. And that, it seems to me, is the most likely way to achieve good outcomes in such a scenario.

But what about the risk of distress or harm to those exposed to hate speech? That is indeed a difficult question, and I sympathise with the instinct not to give a platform to such speech. But the risks of not doing so (in the contexts in which I work, at least) seem to me to be greater. A complete refusal to engage with those who hold different views fuels a toxic polarisation that makes any kind of nuanced discourse much more difficult, and reduces the likelihood of people moving beyond their initial bad ideas.

So are there any boundaries? There certainly are. And I will come back to this in a future post.

Unhelpful advice?

Time and again, when people are talking about the importance of listening (a proposition I have a lot of time for) they say that we should also listen for what is not being said.

I have always found that to be very unhelpful advice: because the answer is practically infinite. I stored it with other unhelpful injunctions, such as 'Never point a gun' (how will you ever hit a target?) and 'keep a straight bat' (as if you could bend a cricket bat...). 

On reflection, I realise that my misunderstanding of each of these bits of wisdom is of a slightly different order. 'Never point a gun' is simply a contraction of the very good advice never to point a gun at a person (unless you intend to shoot him); whereas 'keep a straight bat' is a slightly inaccurate way of saying 'keep your bat vertical' - also good advice in its own place.

But where was I going wrong with 'listen for what is not being said'? I think it was again being over-literal in my treatment of the actual words, and insufficiently curious about what people meant by them. What I suspect people are getting at is a few different things, all of which may be worthy of attention.

One is 'what category of thing is not being discussed (that one might reasonably expect to be discussed in this context)?' For example, is someone only talking about facts, and logic, in a context where one might expect emotions to be mentioned? Is someone only talking about problems, and the past, when it might be appropriate to think about solutions, and the future? Is someone only talking about other people's responsibility for an issue, when it might be reasonable to consider their own?

A second aspect of this, is what is being communicated but not said out loud. That is, what messages are being transmitted by body language, tone of voice, facial expressions, levels of energy and so on, over and above the words that the person is saying. (Don't get me started on that more that 90% of communication is non-verbal rubbish, though!...). 

And a third thing to consider is what an individual's behaviour says, over time. Consider someone who assumes a cynical stance in dialogue, but in practice is very caring and compassionate; or conversely, someone who declares their commitment, but consistently turns up late and under-delivers.

So yes, it is important to attend to what is not being said, but is being communicated; and in the context of coaching, for example, it can be valuable to raise that as a topic for consideration.  We do need to be careful, however, that we are not projecting our stuff onto the person we are coaching: so owning it as ours is important. 

In a Gestalt-style of session we might mention what we are noticing in ourself in response to what they are saying (self-as-tool); or in a Thinking Environment session, we might offer a reflection under the general heading of Information (once people have thought as far as they can by themselves, of course).

But in all cases, we should explore these as issues to be curious (and open-minded) about, rather than assume that we have seen the truth that the other is (deliberately or inadvertently) not discussing.  As ever, humility is a very good starting point!

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With thanks to Joel Moysuh and Yogendra Singh  for sharing their photos on Unsplash

Conflation

One of the things that disturbs me, particularly when I waste too much time on social media, is the problem of conflation.

This arose this week when I was accused of hatred because I disagreed with someone, for example; and that seems to me to be a very common form of the problem. It contributes significantly to the polarisation and tribal hostility that is a feature of the culture wars. 

In the wake of the reversal of Roe v Wade, it has been very evident in discussions (or to be more accurate diatribes) about abortion; it is certainly a major feature of the continuing trans activist v gender critical disputes and so on. The claim is that if you don't accept my view of the situation, you must be motivated by hatred. This demonises the other, destroys any chance of meaningful dialogue and drives people further into their bunkers. 

I find this particularly odd, as I tend to like the company of, and conversation with, people who see the world differently from me. 

Many of my friends think that I am wrong to believe that the law should not sanction people killing unborn human beings; further they think that my formulation of the issue in that way is wrong too - and that my erroneous thinking will lead to great suffering and evil if enacted. But then, I think the same of their views: that to regard unborn human life as of less value, and therefore disposable, leads to great suffering and evil.  

But that doesn't mean that they have to attribute evil intention to me, nor that I have to attribute evil intention to them. In fact, no good purpose is served by such attribution. And it certainly doesn't mean that I have to dislike (or worse, hate) them; nor the other way around.

The conflation of disagreement and dislike is only one example, of course. With regard to the two topics mentioned, there is a tendency, on both sides of each debate, to muddy the waters by conflating lots of different things into one group. This is amplified, of course by sloganeering and the hashtag culture: which inevitably leads to over-simplification and conflation.

For example the more extreme end of the pro-choice lobby broadcasts that anyone opposed to abortions, wants to ban the treatment of ectopic pregnancy and thus kill women. This approach is designed more to fan the fuels of outrage on their own side of the argument, than to convince those who disagree with them (who, naturally enough, do not recognise themselves in such a mis-characterisation of their position).

And some of the nutters on the fringe of the pro-life lobby broadcast that pro-choicers want to kill children up to (and probably beyond) birth.

Likewise, some of the more militant trans rights activists say that opposing any man's ability to self-identify into (for example) a female rape crisis centre is to deny trans people's right to exist.

And on the other side of the debate, the more extreme gender critical feminists take the most egregious examples of bad behaviour by their opponents and attribute it to what they call trans ideology; and attribute that to all of their opponents.

And as I have mentioned, the result of this type of approach, practiced by those on all sides, is to drive people further into their bunkers, and to assure them of their own moral superiority and the idiocy or (more probably) malice of those who disagree with them. And we all pay a high price for such polarisation.  

The alternative, I suggest, is that we listen to each other, and try to represent what those we disagree with are actually saying; articulating the nuances and the details honestly, rather than seeking to stoke outrage by conflating them and overstating them. I have blogged before about one experiment in this regard, and the very positive outcomes. Harder work, and more boring, perhaps; but much more conducive of understanding, of generating possible ways forward, and of being able to live together with some good will.

Is Understanding Over-Rated?

Regular readers of my musings will know that I am a big fan of Nancy Kline and her work (see my numerous posts on my blog with her name as a tag...).

More recently, I have also become a fan of Kathryn Mannix (only three posts mentioning her, prior to this one, but as I say, I am a recent fan).  Her latest book is Listen: How to Find the Words for Tender Conversations. For those interested, I have reviewed this briefly on the Coaching Supervision Partnership blog, here. It is an excellent read.

There is, of course, a lot of congruence between what they both write about listening, which is hardly surprising. But I was also struck by some stark differences, or even contradictions.  In Nancy Kline's world, it is not important that the listener should understand the thinker. In her books, she gives examples of times when she has not understood, and  that has not, finally mattered.  Whereas interrupting to clarify or check understanding would, in her view, have interrupted the thinker's waves of thinking, and would therefore have been unhelpful. 

I have blogged previously about listening to somebody thinking in a language that I do not speak, and how valuable the person I was listening to found that experience.

However, Kathryn Mannix sees understanding, and communicating understanding, as incredibly important. The fourth chapter of her book is called Listening to Understand.  She writes: These occasional interruptions to check understanding don't usually put the speaker off. In fact, they help the speaker to feel properly listened to. This feels almost like heresy to someone steeped in Kline's approach (though very conventional in terms of most teaching about active listening). For Kline, interruption is the big problem: that is why her latest book is called: The Promise that Changes Everything: I Won't Interrupt You.

So what do I make of this? I have already said that I am a fan of both: I find both of them inspiring and wise guides, who have taught me much. Is one right and the other wrong? And if so, which is which?

But in fact, I think both may be right; and that the difference springs from the contexts in which they are thinking of listening, and the purpose of such listening.  

Nancy Kline is very clear that the singular purpose of her Thinking Environment approach is to help the other person to do their very best independent thinking: to think as herself and for herself. In that context, my understanding may not be necessary (or even helpful, as I noted in my post linked to above, about someone thinking with me in Hindi). For here we are concerned with the thinker's individual cognitive journey, and we do not wish to interrupt that.

Whereas Kathryn Mannix is concerned about listening when a tender conversation is needed: when there is a hurt to be tended. This is primarily the realm of emotion; and in that realm, in order for someone to process their emotions and for the listener to be able to respond with appropriate tenderness, it may well be important for them to feel truly understood by the listener. 

That is not to say that Kline's model doesn't allow for emotional exploration (it does) nor that Mannix's doesn't expect intellectual engagement (it does); but I do think that both the context, and the purpose, of these conversations may change our sense of what is most helpful, as listeners.

All of which brings me back to a question that one of my supervisors once told me was the most important question in any one-to-one work: what are these two people doing together? If we can answer that (ideally together - which is a large part of what I call contracting and re-contracting) we should have greater clarity about what listening processes will best serve us.

Talking to the Bereaved

One day this week, I had occasion to speak to two different people who were bereaved. One had lost a beloved son, and the other (unrelated) a beloved brother.  Like many people, I imagine, I was somewhat concerned: unsure how best to engage but sure that we should not avoid the topic.

By the grace of God (for there is no room for coincidence in my philosophy) I was just getting towards the end of Kathryn Mannix's excellent new book: Listen: how to find the words for tender conversations. And I discovered a short section, just three pages, on Advice from Bereaved People About Making Contact.

This was so helpful that I thought I would share the main points here, and encourage you to buy this excellent book (which I will review more fully once I have finished it). Mannix opens by making the point that Grief is not an illness, it is a response to loss. The grief will last as long as the loss does, and after a death the loss will last forever. (Or at least until the next life, I would add).

So here are the pointers that she has collected from the bereaved:

Please don't avoid us

You don't have to 'cheer us up.'

Say their name. You won't make us sadder by mentioning the person who died.

'How are you?' is too big to answer 

Practical help can be welcome

Remembering to check in is supportive

Instead of platitudes, just express kindness

It's awkward. We get that.

Help us to return to work and social circles

Listen to us

I found these extremely helpful; though how well I conducted the conversations is really not for me to judge.  But I am confident that simply by remembering, for example, to 'say their name' that I did better than I might otherwise have done.

If you think these are helpful, please share them widely, as I am sure that is what Kathryn Mannix would want.  And if you buy her book and value it (as you most certainly should) then share that widely too (and I am sure she would want you do to that, too!)

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With thanks to Claudia Wolff for sharing her photography on Unsplash

On the value of not understanding…

‘Oh Lord, Please don’t let me be misunderstood…’  sang Nina Simone, and it’s a sentiment we all share, I think. (And what a great performance it is!)

It was brought home to me particularly forcefully this week, in a thinking session with a colleague.  She thought, throughout, in Hindi, a language I do not understand.

It was, amongst other things, an experiment. She wanted to see what difference it made to her thinking, if she were to think in the language of her childhood and home upbringing, though not her schooling and education (which were in English). 

It proved a very rich experiment.  She reported that she thought more freely in my presence, knowing that I could not understand; and there were several reasons for that. One was that there was no need to supply context, or to be careful that her sentences were clear.  Another was that there was no risk of my misunderstanding her (or, of course, judging her).  She also reported that the session was very valuable: that she had done good thinking.

It was also fascinating from my point of view.  I had been concerned about whether I would be able to give that full, generative attention that is at the heart of a Thinking Environment (see other posts tagged with that label for more context) for thirty minutes, when listening to a language I did not understand. But fascinatingly, I was able to follow her thinking journey remarkably well. I could tell - from her tone of voice, pace, intonation and facial expressions when she was struggling for ideas, when she was making new links, when she was surprising herself, when she was pleased or amused at her thoughts and so on. And periodically she would pause to write down (in English, she confided to me) particularly important insights. 

But that’s bonkers!, you may be thinking, as my estimable wife did when I described the experience. What were you doing if you couldn’t understand a word?

An understandable reaction, but, I think a misplaced one. I was striving to do what I always do on these occasions: hold the space, provide exquisite attention, and embody the other components of a Thinking Environment.  Also, I asked questions to help her to continue to think, when she reached the end of a wave of thinking. So occasionally she would come to a stop; and I’d wait to see if a new wave of thinking was coming; and sometimes it did, but at other times she asked me, in English, to ask her another question.

How did I know what to ask her?  The first couple of times, I simply asked ‘What more do you think or feel or want to say?’ a fabulous question crafted by Nancy Kline. And the third time I asked if that question was still the most helpful one, and she suggested a different question, so I asked that: and that was all it took.

When it was my turn to think, I was tempted to think in French, to try to replicate the experiment.  I did not, in fact do so, not least as I am not confident that I have enough French to keep it going for 30 minutes. But I think I will try that at some stage, possibly for a shorter thinking session. I’ll be interested to see both whether I find it more liberating when my thinking partner can’t understand; but also how working with a much more limited vocabulary affects my thinking: does it clarify or over-simplify it?  And are there other differences: will my background framework of cultural references be less Shakespeare and Stoppard, and more Racine and Anouilh?

If I conduct that experiment (and if I remember to do so) I shall report back here in due course.

And in the meantime, here's a treat...

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With thanks to Kerensa Pickett for sharing her photo on Unsplash

Seeking to Understand (4)

On further reflection (this post will probably only make sense if you've already read my previous ones on the topic, here and here), something else struck me: I can remember very little of what my interlocutor actually said.  And I can remember very little of what I said, either.

That reflection raises some interesting questions.

In the normal Thinking Environment process, the purpose of listening is to help the other to do his or her very best thinking, in the hope that he or she will have some new thoughts.  Those new thoughts are the property of the thinker, of course, and it is the thinker who (most) needs to remember them.

By that token, I should remember what I said, and particularly any new thoughts that I had. But the truth is that I didn't have any new thoughts in this conversation. I suspect that is because the conversation was relatively brief (20 or 30 minutes, which means about 10 or 15 minutes of me thinking and about the same for the other person. Given that this is a topic I have already given a lot of thought to, and the invitation was to share my thinking, that is not, perhaps, surprising. I also think, intuitively, that had the dialogue gone on for longer, I probably would have had some new thoughts.

On the other hand, given that I was meant to be listening with a view to understanding, perhaps I should have remembered what the other person said, too. What I think happened here is a variety of factors. One is that I do remember one thing the other person said, because I had never heard it before, and it really prompted some fresh thinking in me, whereas much of what she said was familiar to me. Also, had I made notes straight after the conversation, I suspect I could have recalled most of it. 

And again, had the conversation gone on for longer, I am sure that my opposite number would have had more new thoughts, and that these too would have landed with me and been retained.

Another issue, of course, is whether the purpose of this type of interaction is different from, or additive too, the normal purpose of helping someone to do their very best thinking. The other purpose we named was better mutual understanding; and at a deep level, I think that occurred. That is to say, I understood the values and fundamental humanity of my interlocutor's position better than I had done, and I think that was reciprocated.  Clearly, if we had had the intention of taking this further, we would have needed to make (and possibly agree) notes at the end of the conversation.  But our more profound purpose was to learn about the impact of this process on such (normally polarising) conversations.

So instead, immediately afterwards, we (rightly) focussed on discussing the process and the learning about the process, not the content of the conversation: and that is what is fresh in my memory, and continues to stimulate further thought (as this series of blog posts attests).

So my next step, in terms of learning, is to see if I can organise a similar conversation, but this time with a much longer time available, and see where that takes us. Should I manage to organise that, I will report back in due course.

Seeking to Understand (3)

Further to yesterday's post, I have had some more reflections on the process on Thursday. 

One is that, although I mentioned it, I think I underplayed the value of turn-taking in this context. One of the components of the Thinking Environment is equality, of course; and sharing time fairly is a good way of enabling that. And whilst Nancy was facilitating the conversation, in her usual style, to ensure she was not infantilising us in any way, she gave us the responsibility to manage the turn-taking, with her role being to intervene only if someone got so carried away that he or she forgot to do so.

In the event, Nancy did not need to intervene at all (except a couple of times to ask us to speak more loudly so that those at the back of the room could hear). And the impact of that, of having the responsibility only to talk for a couple of minutes and then shut up and give one's complete attention to the other person in the conversation, was a powerful part of what made it such a rich and warm discussion. Demonstrating that constant awareness of, and consideration for, the other person, even when in full flow, was very important.

I also mentioned in my previous post, that the conditions of the discussion made it easy to bring my best self to the conversation.  And ease, of course, is an other component of the Thinking Environment. Coincidence? I think not.

But as the conversation did not result in either of us changing our deeply-held views, a pragmatic question is: what's the point?

I think there are several points.  One is that we both (and those listening to the conversation) learned something.  I hold that to be a good in its own right. Further, we established a relationship in which we were able to keep talking, constructively, about something about which we disagreed profoundly. So if we were in a situation where we needed to reach some kind of accord, or some kind of agreed next steps, we would be in a better position to do so.  There are several reasons for that.

First, each of us would be very much clearer about what would be required to make the other change his or her mind (or the impossibility of that); or what would need to be embedded in a proposal to make it acceptable; secondly, we established much that we did agree on, and those aspects could be the foundation of some progress beyond mere talking. Thirdly, we had established a relationship that would make honest discussion of any ideas or proposals possible, in a constructive spirit.

I can see real potential for using this approach in deeply-conflicted work situations. Even if no final agreement was reached, an open agreement to disagree, accompanied by good will, honesty, and increased trust, is very much preferable to many of the other probable outcomes of such a situation.

And here's a thought: how about a television programme - it could be called More Light Than Heat - where such polarised topics could be discussed in such a way, rather than the conflictual approach beloved of broadcasters? Nancy would make a fine host and chair...

Update

Since writing this, I have had yet further thoughts, which may be read here.

Seeking to Understand (2)

I blogged last week about the experiment we were proposing to run. The question we were exploring was the impact, on conflict-fraught conversations, of a commitment to listen, to seek to understand, and in particular to refrain from interrupting.

Yesterday, we ran the experiment, and here I want to record and reflect on my experience and my learning.  I will not name any of the others involved, as (although it wasn't invoked) I think the Chatham House rule is appropriate here, apart from saying that this meeting was of coaches and facilitators trained in, and committed to, Nancy Kline's Thinking Environment approach, and the process was expertly facilitated by Nancy.

At the start of the day, by way of a check-in, we were asked to consider What question would you have to answer in order to be relaxed when in conversation with someone whose view on an issue that matters to you is acutely different from yours? My question, in answer to that question was, How can I ensure that I bring my very best self to this conversation?  I had not thought long or hard about this, but I think it is significant, as will become clear later in this post.

We also had a five minute Thinking Partnership session with a colleague, and I used that to think about my anxiety about the forthcoming discussions. For at this point I should reveal that I was no passive observer of this experiment, but one of the protagonists (I nearly said, guinea pigs....)  I had volunteered to discuss the topic of abortion, taking the pro-life point of view (a topic about which I have also blogged previously, here and here). And although I did not feel very anxious I did have some concerns. 

The major one was that this is a topic that is clearly very sensitive, and it was statistically highly probable that in a group containing some 50 women, a number of them would have first-hand experience: I did not want to hurt or distress anyone. On the other hand, the agenda had been clear, and so I had to assume that people had chosen to attend knowing the topic; and I am sure that Nancy would have reminded me not to infantilise anyone.  I was also anxious, of course, that I might be disliked by the majority of those present for holding the views that I do - particularly as a man. 

I was also aware that I had not planned what I might say. That was quite deliberate, as the idea was to think out loud in each other's presence, not present a case.  But of course there are risks inherent in that. And then there was a very specific concern: the woman with whom I was in a Thinking Partnership that morning was someone whom I had known at College, lost touch with, and only met again, with much delight (35 years on) at the previous meeting of this group: it would be a shame if she found my views abhorrent and we were unable to be friends.  On that point, she was able to reassure me, which was both kind and valuable.

When the discussion was due to start, I noticed that my heart was going a little faster than usual, but otherwise I felt fine. And Nancy set the context, the ground-rules and managed the process so well that I quickly relaxed and was able to engage in the discussion.

And that was where it got interesting. The process was that each of us would talk for a couple of minutes, and then pause and listen to the other, seeking to give the highest quality of attention, and motivated by a curiosity about the other's point of view, and a real desire to understand it. And of course, we were both quite clear about the absolute prohibition on interrupting.

As a conversation, it worked remarkably well. The ground rules and the process meant that each of us was able really to think out loud, honestly and at ease; we each gave calm and reasonable expression to our strongly-held views; and also we each really listened to the other.  The effects of that were many, and all of them good. 

One was that I felt that I gave the most honest and lucid account of my views on the topic that I have ever done. Sometimes, talking about such a polarising issue, knowing that I hold a view that will be strongly opposed by others, I can adopt a tone and style that I don't like.  I think that was the significance of my opening question at the start of the day: How can I ensure that I bring my very best self to this conversation? This process made it easy to do so.  The respect and interest of my interlocutor ensured that.  And I think (and hope) that was reciprocal.

It also removed the risk of demonisation of the other from the discussion; something that is normally all too prevalent in such polarising conversations. For example, there were a couple of things that the other person said that I could have rebutted triumphantly, had I been intent on the point-scoring that often characterises such discussions.  And I imagine that the other person noticed some such opportunities presented by what I said. But because the focus was on understanding, rather than winning, such an approach simply didn't seem helpful.

And what that meant was that we were both able to hear and recognise the humanity that underpinned the other's point of view; and that we actually learned from each other and understood each other better at the end of the conversation.  The net result of which was that we both found that we felt more warmly towards the other at the end of the conversation than we had at the start; even though we continued to disagree about something important to both of us. That is, I think, a rare and valuable outcome.

The other benefit of this approach was that those listening to the conversation heard a much richer, more reflective and more thought-provoking discussion than they would otherwise have done.  A significant number thanked me afterwards, saying that this topic was never discussed; or that they had never heard the kinds of points I had made and it had really stimulated them to think further, and so on; and of course I saw many people approach my opposite number, and (I assume) make similar points.

And then, over the lunch break, I noticed that I suddenly felt emotionally wobbly; and later in the afternoon, mildly elated. So I realised that the experience had been more of an emotional rollercoaster than I had previously thought.  I am still wondering about the reasons for that.  I toyed with the idea that it was to do with relief that the imagined hatred of all the women in the room had not materialised; but I don't think it was that.  So my current theory (very tentatively) is this: normally I have maintained a strict boundary around my professional work, so that I do not express views on topics as polarising as this.  On the one hand because they are not relevant to my work; and on the other hand because they could be a distraction from that work.  But on this occasion I had deliberately blown a large hole in that boundary - a boundary that was only as clearly apparent to me after I had breached it.  But as I say, that is a very tentative hypothesis.

So all in all, a very rich experience, and one which I am sure I will continue to learn from as I reflect on it - not least as I ask myself: how I might use this learning in my professional work?

UPDATE

Since writing this, I have had some further thoughts, which may be read here.

Second update

And some more, here.

Seeking to understand

I blogged a while ago (here in fact) about a meeting of coaches and facilitators convened by Nancy Kline who are interested (and qualified) in her Time to Think approach.  The next meeting is coming up next week, and I am looking forward to it with great interest.

One of the issues we have agreed to explore is whether and how a real commitment to listening and seeking to understand might transform conflict-fraught conversations.

We all know that there are some subjects on which people hold such strong views that a conversation with someone who holds the opposite view is highly likely to degenerate into a point-scoring pseudo-attempt to convince the other of one's own rightness. I say pseudo-attempt, because the likelihood of such an outcome is extremely low, and is therefore, I suspect, not the real goal of such conversations.

So we are going to have a couple of difficult conversations, between people holding opposing views on some fraught topics; with Nancy structuring and facilitating, and with the agreement that each participant is seeking not to convince, but to understand, the other.

The topics are Brexit and abortion; so you can see what I mean by fraught topics.

We will then, of course, discuss what we have learned from the experiment, and whether there is any value in such an approach; and (I expect) how we might use the emergent learning in our professional practice.  That last point is the one I am most curious about; I am sure that there will be positive learning from the experience, but it is not yet clear to me how that may be relevant to my practice.

I'll also be particularly interested in how the emotional dynamic of these conversations goes. Typically, when people feel passionately strongly about something, and discuss it with someone who takes the opposing view and doesn't budge (and we are not expecting movement, though of course that is also a theoretical possibility) emotions run high.  My guess is that if one feels truly listened to and understood, even if the other person continues to oppose, the emotional temperature may remain a lot cooler.


The other thing that intrigues me is that I imagine (though i may be wrong here) that there will be a significant majority of the group on one side of the argument in each case; and i am wondering how that will affect subsequent discussion and indeed subsequent relationships within the group.

All in all, it will be very interesting; and I will report back in due course.

On Retreat

If I believed in coincidence, I would think it a particularly rich one that the weekend after we were considering the promise not to interrupt, I should have been booked into a retreat at Pluscarden Benedictine Abbey, in the north of Scotland.

The link may not be immediately apparent; but this was a silent retreat. I went to spend a long weekend free of all the demands of daily life, in order to have time to think (ah, there’s a link) and to immerse myself in the ancient Benedictine rhythm of time, marked by the Offices sung throughout the day in Gregorian Chant (those who know me well will understand the appeal already).

Between the Offices, time is free. And I had decided not to engage with the outside world, beyond one brief phone call home each day. I wanted to use the time to stop: to reduce the demands on my mind, and free myself to meditate on what is truly important.

And if you have been paying attention, the relevance will have leapt out at you. With no external distractions and ample time, what do you imagine happened when I tried to think about something – anything – that I decided to turn my attention to?  Yes,  you’re right: I interrupted myself.

And interestingly, the longest periods of non-interruption were those when I was following the Office (chanted in Latin, of course, so requiring quite active attention) or praying that ancient and repetitive prayer, the Rosary (again, I found praying it in Latin helped – a little less easy to drift onto auto-pilot).  It is almost as though the ancients had discovered some wisdom we would do well to re-discover.

And by the end of a long weekend, I was getting better at it: longer periods of sustained attention with less effort required.

Perhaps the most valuable learning was what I choose to interrupt myself with... but that, as they say would be Too Much Information in the public sphere.

And it was little things: like turning my phone off… I was slightly shocked to find how often I got it out, walking from the abbey to my room for example, without consciously deciding to do so, just to check…. To check what, precisely? Why, whether there were any interruptions I could indulge in, to excuse me from the harder work of focusing on one thing at a time.  Of course, having the phone switched off reminded me that I didn’t want to do that – and indeed that was something of a relief; but I hadn’t realised how strong the habit (I had almost written ‘addiction’) was.

So a rich weekend (and in many other ways, which I will not share publicly); but the challenge, as ever, is how to return to the world and keep the learning and practices alive.  And if you ring me but get straight through to my answerphone… well, I’m sorry, but it’s a necessary price to pay from time to time.

Promising Conversations

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At a meeting of coaches and facilitators interested in Nancy Kline’s Time to Think approach, we discussed the difference it makes when people promise not to interrupt each other (or, in coaching, when the coach promises not to interrupt the person being coached). I normally talk about the fact that I won’t interrupt, when we discuss the coaching process at an initial meeting with each coaching client; but I haven’t previously expressed it as a promise; and following yesterday’s conversations, I will now do so.  I suspect it will make a difference…

We then thought in pairs about ‘our interruptive lives’ and then discussed the Risk Analysis of interruptions.

Any excuse for a picture of Magdalen...

 In a very rich day (which also involved meeting an old friend whom I hadn’t seen since leaving Magdalen in 1982…) this was one of the waves of thinking that has particularly resonated with me.

What is it about interruptions that is so destructive? And what can we do about that?

The essence, of course, is that when we interrupt somebody, what we are saying is that our thinking is more important than theirs.

The risk analysis sheds further light on that.  The positive reasons to interrupt, stated at their strongest, might be these:

• I have a great idea on this topic, and if I don’t say it now, it may be lost forever.
• Further, if I do say it now, it may save a great deal of time, as you clearly don’t have such good ideas.
• Also, my good idea may stimulate further good ideas in you; there is a buzz in sparking ideas off each other at speed that generates more good ideas.

But the risks should not be overlooked. The biggest risk is that you may have been on the verge of having a great idea, and that may now be lost for ever… and we will never know. Further, if we are in a position of any kind of authority, every interruption is an assertion of power, an example of how authority may be wielded to dominate the conversation, and risks infantilising those subject to it and reducing their willingness (or even capacity) to express great ideas in the future.  If we are not in a position of authority, interruptions are potentially read as power plays or insubordination: all of which reduce the likelihood of good idea generation in the future.

But the talks about our interruptive lives revealed a lot more; how our lives can be structured around interruptions; how we can teach ourselves (and others) that interruptions are the normal modus operandi, or even modus vivendi. It goes without saying (but I will say it anyway, for the record) that electronic communications play a significant role in that.

But going deeper still, it is salutary to think about the ways in which we interrupt ourselves: how we can interrupt our attending to someone else by paying attention to our reaction to what he or she is saying; how we interrupt our own thinking by… well in my case, by almost anything…

So what can we do?  I think that starting with oneself is often the most productive strategy. And the evidence seems clear, from personal experience, from the wisdom of ancient traditions, and now from a growing body of research: the regular practice of meditation helps us to attend; to keep our attention on the chosen focus of attention.

 

Further,  if we promise not to interrupt, that changes everything.  Indeed, in the spirit of the day, I took no notes while anyone was talking, so as to be able fully to attend. But at the end of this session, before going for a much-needed coffee, I wrote these two words on a piece of paper: Promising Conversations. I think there is more to explore here, in theory and practice…

And one of the most interesting aspects of this, which we aim to explore at future meetings, is how the promise not to interrupt might affect conversations between people who have polarised opinions. Polarisation seems a particular problem at present (think Brexit, GOP/Democrats, abortion…). It is often characterised by interruption, a refusal to listen, still less to understand the other’s beliefs or opinions, and the misrepresentation of those beliefs and opinions in subsequent discourse.  We want to experiment with that, and see to what extent the promise not to interrupt changes that.  We are not expecting convergence or agreement; but at least the reduction of the de-humanising of the ‘other’ and better mutual understanding. And those seem to me like worthy goals. 

I will report back in due course.