Here’s a guy in Biddeford, ME, stopped on a street by another guy with a camera, and asked to share his thoughts on the killing of Joan Sebastian Durán Guerrero by an ICE agent.

He doesn’t hesitate: the victim should have come to this country “the right way,” should have played by the rules, shouldn’t have cut the line. He seems certain in his view.

Then the camera operator simply says “he has a social security number.” He informs the guy that the victim did play by the rules.

The man says “he did?” Then asks if the victim was armed. Nope, the camera operator says.

And then the man does something we so rarely see, in general and especially on camera. He changes his mind. “That’s f’ing sad,” he says.

It’s a counter to what we usually see on social media: someone gets new information and doubles down. Especially on camera, people don’t want to lose face.

This guy does the opposite. He doesn’t look for information that backs up what he already believes. He doesn’t dismiss information that challenges his view. He just… updates.

We so often want to defend and fight back and not get caught being wrong. If we do change our minds, it’s on our own timeline, in private.

Should this guy have had all the information about this tragedy before he came to a conclusion that he shared with the world? Sure. Is it remarkable that he completely reversed course, on camera, the moment he got that information? Absolutely.

He shows us that it is possible to suppress the instinct to defend, and to embrace the idea of being open. You can do it without losing face, or without looking weak. You can do it while looking like someone who is more interested in learning the facts than defending without them.

Maybe we could all learn something from the guy who learned something.

Here it is: “I hadn’t thought of that.”

Two reasons why this seemingly inconsequential phrase is, in
fact, so powerful.

First, when you’re managing difference with someone, that
phrase is an indicator that you’re making progress. It shows that what they are
saying resonates with you, and sends the message that it’s okay for what you’re
saying to resonate with them.

And that means movement - you’re both headed to a different
place than where you began. You might not end up at full ‘resolution’ per se,
but you’ve both made progress and are in a different place. You’re both
evolving.

Second, using that phrase is a courageous act. It shows you
are confident enough in your beliefs that you can show vulnerability without
compromising your identity. When I hear this phrase come out of someone’s
mouth, I think of them as comfortable in their own skin.

Here’s the challenge for you and for me: can we create the
conditions for this phrase to come out? Can we create an environment where
someone can genuinely say that and not be punished for it?

And how? How do you set the scene, and manage the
expectations of everyone in the room so that this phrase is welcomed as a sign
of progress, and not dismissed as a sign of weakness?

I think about that question a lot. Got ideas?

(thanks for having me E Pluribus Unum and Harvard’s Center
for Public Leadership)

We conflict/negotiation people always talk about the power of preparation — how our conversations will go much more smoothly if we think through the issues in an organized way ahead of time.

But we assume that means just thinking about the substance of the conversation: what we want to communicate, our message, our talking points.

We do a lot of preparation for how we want to talk.

We rarely prepare for how we want to listen.

How do we do that? (1) Anticipate what they might say, and come up with possible questions to make sure you understand it as much as you can. (2) Anticipate any surprises — how will you respond if they say something out of left field?

Both efforts go back to an idea I’ve talked about before: making sure you understand someone's perspective before drawing a conclusion of “I agree” or “I disagree” with it.

In the moment, that's so hard to do, and that’s exactly why listening also takes preparation.

Sorry to give you more homework.

I counted how many times I heard “I disagree” over a week. Of course,
it was pretty unscientific - I was counting times I heard the phrase in person
and on TV - but I heard it 8 times.

Each time, one person would make a conclusion, and another person would declare that they disagreed with it. And each time, I had the same reaction I usually have
when I hear them: “how do they know?”

There were so many different reasoning paths that could have led to that conclusion.
So many possibilities. How could the other person be so sure they disagreed?

The quick, very-non-scientific experiment reinforces for me a powerful idea: when we encounter difference, we are so certain in our assessment of it, and so quick to cast judgment on it.

Such confidence we have, and we are so often wrong.

Whenever I hear “I disagree,” I often ask “How do you know?” And I also follow it up with “I don’t know yet.”

There is so often so much more both people need to do to understand the complexities of the differences. It’s not just *that* you disagree, it’s *where* you
disagree.

Try it out. Notice how often you hear someone say “I disagree,” and then ask yourself if you think they actually had enough information to accurately make that declaration.

Let me know how it goes. I expect your report on my desk at 8am tomorrow.

Here they are: “I disagree with you.”

We hear these words all the time. People use them casually and without hesitation. And each time I hear them, I dislike them more and more.

Why? Because they make assumptions that can harm our abilities to navigate conversations across differences well. They assume:

• That we are looking at the same thing, and do not have the same perspective on it.

• That we have done the work of understanding each other enough to know that we don’t have the same perspective on it.

• That we can explain not just that we disagree, but where we disagree.

Those are all huge assumptions, which are often wrong. The problem is that we rarely take the time to find that out.

“I disagree with you” should come at the end of a process, not the beginning of one. It should be the conclusion we draw after we have done the exhausting work of probing each other’s perspectives. We should be able to pinpoint exactly where we disagree, so that at the end of this journey of understanding, we can confidently and legitimately say “yes, I guess we do disagree on this.”

After all, there are multiple places where disagreement could happen. We could be making different conclusions because we are looking at different things. We could be making different conclusions because we are looking at the same thing, and choosing to focus on different parts of it. We could be making different conclusions because we are looking at the exact same thing, and our experiences and values lead us to interpret it differently (remember the green dress that took the internet by storm a few years back?).

Boldly proclaiming “I disagree with you” moments into an argument is like writing a review of a movie after only watching the trailer. You don’t yet have enough information to make such a claim.

And when you make that claim prematurely, you make the conversation competitive, which makes navigating the difference much more difficult. ”I disagree with you” signals to them that you’re on one side and they’re on the other, and the only way to resolve this is if one of you capitulates and comes over to the other side. You automatically set up a dance of concessions, where the ‘winner’ is determined by who loses less. Rarely do these situations end with an outcome both sides are happy with.

So, whenever I hear “I disagree with you,” most times my response comes in the form of a question: “how do you know?” And I usually encourage them to keep going, to stick with me in the conversation so we can figure out not just that we disagree, but where we disagree (if we even disagree at all).

Let me then adjust the statement I make at the beginning of this post. It’s not that we should never say “I disagree with you.” Rather, we should say it at the right time, after we’ve done the understanding work. If we’re going to make bold proclamations, we better be sure about them.

She didn’t indulge my whininess. She just slowly looked up from her book and casually dropped wisdom that has played an important role not just in my band life, but in my entire life: “committed to the process, agnostic about the outcome.” Indulging me no more, she looked back down at her book while I just stood there.

I could list the many ways this simple phrase has been helpful to me, in areas like parenting and work and sports, but we’re not here for that. So, what does this have to do with people fighting with each other?

Last post, I talked about this question I was asked: “We understand each other. Now what?”

We had been facilitating tough conversations between Israelis and Palestinians where our purposes for the day were to promote understanding. But it was clear in that
situation - and in so many situations where people are on opposite sides of an
issue or a conflict - that understanding is not enough. Nor is demonstrating
empathy. Nor is cultivating a learning conversation.

I made the case that there needs to be some level of change, of evolution, for the effort to be worthwhile.

Okay, so what do we actually do?

It’s a huge question, but here are two quick takes:

First, change your expectations. If a mind is going to change, it will change over time, not overnight. It’s amazing how often we get into debates assuming that our
pristine, air-tight arguments will have this profound effect on our counterparts in that very moment.

When’s the last time you made an argument and the other person said “Wow. I’m convinced. Everything is different now. Thank you so much!” It’s pretty rare. If there is going to be a change, it will take time.

Second, use Sarada’s advice: be committed to the process and agnostic about the outcome. The way the change will happen will not be the way you initially expected it to. We often walk into disagreements with a particular outcome in mind. “I’m going to get them to think X” or “I’m going to persuade them to Y.” Let go of X and Y, focus
on the process you build, and be open to change happening slightly differently.

What does that look and sound like? Let’s go back to my group of Israelis and Palestinians, where I could say “we’re going to meet again, and then again after that. And we will be looking for both of you to evolve in your thinking. We can’t rush it, and we can be deliberate in how we distinguish between fixed and flexible beliefs.”

And once we hone in on those flexible beliefs, we can see where change might happen. But that doesn’t happen unless there is faith in the process, and letting go of our specific notions of what that change means.

Committed to the process, agnostic about the outcome. Put it on a bumper sticker.

I heard that after an intense day of facilitating a hard conversation between Israelis and Palestinians. We had all agreed going in: we weren’t there to negotiate or advocate or change minds. We were there to understand each other – the very different perspectives of the two sides, and the complexities within those sides.

Those are noble purposes. In my world you hear it constantly – get curious, be empathetic, foster a “learning conversation.” The more thoroughly we understand each other’s perspectives, the thinking goes, the easier it becomes to find common ground.

But sometimes that’s wrong. Sometimes there just is no common ground. Sometimes people spend all this time and energy understanding each other, and the path forward still has a brick wall in the middle of it.

After years of doing this work - partnering with and supporting the many organizations whose missions are to promote understanding - I’ve come to a conclusion: understanding alone is not enough. That’s not to say it’s never important. In these polarized times when it’s hard to even get opposing sides into the same room, there is tremendous value in promoting understanding.

It’s critical, but it’s insufficient.

Without the expectation that we are moving towards some sort of change of opinion – some sort of effort to break down that wall between us – understanding on its own comes with costs. Here are two of them:

First, understanding loses its value. Most people don’t engage in tough dialogues because they’re curious. They enter craving change: better relationships, an agreement, a path forward. If they don’t see progress toward that, they start asking “what are we even doing here?”

Second, the realization that they have nothing in common — “Yup, Uncle Frank is just as wrong as I thought he was” — can lead to a feeling of resignation. The next thought could easily be “I don’t need to engage with him again.” I have seen too many conversations – particularly in the context of Israel/Palestine – that have ended with “been there done that, don’t need to keep talking about it.” That resignation makes it harder to build bridges in the future.

We need the path forward. The question is, how do we create it? How do we manage people’s expectations, and make the case that change can happen, just not right now, and that understanding is a critical early step in getting there?

When the Israelis and Palestinians asked “We understand each other, so now what?” I said: “Now we do more work. And it will take time.”

Next time: how the work actually happens.

One day, our daughter came home from school talking about a bully who had punched another kid at recess. Our daughter is a third grader processing schoolyard violence for the first time. She is also opinionated. Do not argue with her about the amazingness of Hamilton or how the Harry Potter books are waaay better than the movies.

She explained that the kid who got punched just ran away. I asked her what she thought of that. “He should’ve punched him back!” Both and I - thankfully on the same page - probed a bit. “What would that accomplish?” “What happens next?” Etc.

Daughter was not pleased with these questions. It’s simple, just punch him back. In her mind, the alternative - to flee - just signified weakness. It showed that punching was okay, which she thinks is definitely not okay.

I went into dad-lecture-mode with “if you punch back, you’re doing what they want you to do. You’re letting them decide how things are going to go.” In response, she demonstrated her newfound mastery of eye-rolling.

But then I started laughing, and she perked up. I had realized something, and said, “I literally said the same exact thing at work, to adults, the other day.”

Of course, the context was different. I said it to a team of professionals navigating the ups and downs of the workplace. While there were no punches in the face, they were dealing with the office equivalents: a snarky email posing as a joke, a demeaning comment in a staff meeting, a raised voice.

In those situations, my thought is always the same: punching back might feel good in the moment. You might feel like you are honoring your dignity, calling out bad behavior, and enforcing your own sense of justice.

But there’s a downside. When you raise your voice right back, you are agreeing to the game. You are handing them the keys to the car and saying “you drive.” Expect this to be how you settle things going forward.

The advice here isn’t simply “don’t play their game.” Nor is it “never punch the bully.” I just want you to make as fully informed a decision as possible.

So, when someone comes at you - via fist, raised voice, or aggressive email - and you debate fighting fire with fire, ask yourself three questions:

1. Do I want to play this game?

2. Am I good at this game?

3. Do I want to compete with this person, over time? Do I want them as a competitor?

If the answer to any of those questions is no, reconsider punching the bully. Instead, change the game. Reject the premise. Exert influence over the process. What does that actually mean? It could mean walking away. It could mean “I’m not fighting you.” It could mean offering them lunch. Think about an upcoming scenario that might involve someone coming at you - now take 30 seconds to think about what you would do to change the game.

Just don’t just punch back impulsively. Don’t automatically do what the bully wants you to do. Don’t just give them more power.

“Don’t worry, you can still be enemies.”

I found myself saying this to some Israelis and Palestinians in the region the other week.

It sounds a bit...troubling. You’d be right to ask, “Aren’t you supposed to encourage those people to *not* be enemies? Are you just really bad at your job?”

Possibly. And that statement made sense to me in the moment. These were leaders in their respective communities trying to figure out if they could work through one of the trillion third rail issues in the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. It would be easy to reject a relative outsider coming in and encouraging them to reach agreement on any of those issues. To them, agreement means compromise, sacrifice, loss. It cuts to the core of who they are.

The thing is, I was not asking them to agree on an issue. I was not asking them to compromise on their ideals, or sacrifice their values. I was not asking them to change their identities.

What I was asking them to do was to work together only *through this conversation.* I wanted them to be partners – right now in this room – only for the purpose of jointly navigating out of the massive gulf that separated them.

What does that look like? It means helping each other understand that gulf. Figuring out not just *that* they disagree, but *where* they disagree. And then figuring out what level of understanding they would need to continue exploring their differences together.

To me, the best sign of progress is not when two sides agree on a substantive topic per se, it’s when two sides can demonstrate understanding. Over two days, I got shots of dopamine every time I heard both sides independently use phrases like “I hadn’t thought of that before,” or “I can see how you see things that way.”

And I was able to say, “don’t worry, you can still be enemies,” and then add, “and at this moment in time, you can also be partners to each other in figuring out how to move on from here.”

There’s an internet video that I can’t stop watching. It’s a low-quality steady shot of a a toy figurine about the size of an apple. The figure looks like a crystal, and is made to replicate a character from a video game. In the video, two hands push a button on the base of the figurine, and it lights up and makes a swooshing noise. Then you hear it say something.

What does it say? That depends on the ear of the beholder. Some insist it says “brainstorm.” Others insist it says “green needle.” Obviously this became yet another thing to fight about on the internet.

Turns out both sides of the debate were correct: the toy seemed to say whichever phrase you had in your head right before you heard it. Think about the words “green needle,” and you’ll swear to your grave the toy says “green needle.” Think about “brainstorm” and replay the exact same video, and the toy says “brainstorm.”

There’s a scientific explanation you can read about called “top down processing” (google it). But it’s also a useful example of confirmation bias. In working with folks to better deal with difference, confirmation bias comes up more than any other cognitive bias. When we feel passionately about a topic, we: (1) form a conclusion about it; (2) look for information to back it up; and (3) dismiss information that challenges it.

I felt the power of confirmation bias just recently. I signed my 1st grader up for a basketball league, knowing games would be on Saturdays and the exact day and time of practices would be announced later. When we found out they would be on Thursdays, I said “great, that’s one day where he doesn’t have any other activities.”

My wife Sarada Peri was not so excited. Because of my sometimes-ridiculous travel schedule, on the first few Thursdays of the season, it would fall on her to take him and figure out what to do with our 3rd grader. It was a lot to ask after already jam-packed weeks.

I had made my conclusion – “We can make this work!” – and completely dismissed information – Sarada’s completely valid concerns – that challenged it. Only until she pointed out that I had forcefully raised it three times (“c’mon dude, we can make this work!”) did I realize I was swimming in confirmation bias. And in the process, unknowingly making her feel like crap.

Confirmation bias is sneaky, showing up when we don’t expect it. Whether it’s a hot political issue or our schedule on Thursday nights, it can easily escalate an unproductive conflict.

The question we have to grapple with is, how do we catch it before our conversations explode? How do we resist its power before we have lost the thread? How do we stop priming ourselves with ‘green needle’ or ‘brainstorm’?

I’m all ears!

Someone recently told me they refused to talk about Israel/Palestine with fellow congregants in their faith community. “I don’t want to have the conversation - I’m afraid.” When I asked why, he said “I don’t want to be yelled at, and I don’t even want to be around other people yelling at each other.”

The first part of his explanation wasn’t surprising. Nobody wakes up and says “you know what I want to do today? Get yelled at. Let’s gooo!” (Correction: many podcasters do this).

It was the second part of his explanation that struck me: why do we assume that a conversation about a particularly tough topic necessarily descends into chaos?

My theory: we don’t have models. We don’t see examples of people talking about the most sensitive issues in a calm and curious way.

We see talking heads on cable news deploying their arguments with abandon, getting rewarded for how brutal their zinger was with likes and reposts. We see legislators on Capitol and statehouse floors out-decibel-ing their colleagues across the aisle, getting rewarded for how passionate their monologues were with pats on the back.

The more fiery the speech, the more attention you get. We live in an attention economy, so we see people yelling through conflict all the time. It seems to be the only type of discourse we see, so of course we assume this is how conflict conversations go. Why would we think anything differently?

It makes sense for TV: it’s pretty boring to watch two people ask questions, acknowledge each other’s perspective, and investigate where the difference lies between them. I’m no producer, but that sounds like bad TV.

And, what’s bad for TV is often great for real life. We can ignore those talking heads and politicians and carve our own path in having these interactions, in a way that’s authentic to us and consistent with our styles and values. We just need to look for the models.

Ask yourself two questions:

(1) Can I think of someone in my life who has these conversations well, and who can act as a model for how I want to have them?

(2) Can I find examples of models, on TV or elsewhere? They’re rare, but they’re there.

It’s always easier to find a viral video of constituents screaming at their elected official in a town hall than it is to find a boring video about people disagreeing well. But I’m on the hunt, and would love to collect good examples.

If you come across anything, will you send them my way? Who is actually out there on the internets modeling this behavior?

Oh, and the photo. Well, I used the word ‘model’ a lot in this post. Josh Hartnett is the closest I’ve been to a model. Yep, that was a cheap trick.

…

It’s Thanksgiving. Your uncle showed up. Your heart is full — you don’t get to see family often. And your stomach is turning — what kind of political nonsense is going to come out of his mouth?

It’s a situation many of us face, so it’s no wonder that around this time of year, you’ll see articles with tips on how to handle it. A common theme: get curious, understand before seeking to be understood, listen first.

And that’s great. The problem is, I’m exhausted. I just don’t want to deal. I don’t want to spend my time and energy indulging someone’s ignorance. I don’t want to WORK on Thanksgiving.

Instead do one thing: figure out your purpose. Your uncle will start talking politics. When he does, ask: what are you trying to do? Get clear on your purpose in advance and save yourself the headache later.

And you have options on your purpose. Is it to:
1. Change his mind?
2. Vent?
3. Ignore?
4. Shut it down?
5. Learn?

Each one has tradeoffs:

1. Minds tend not to change in the heat of the moment (lots of research here). You may have an interesting discussion, but don’t expect any revelations.
2. You might feel good about yourself, and you could escalate things. Mashed potatoes could be flying.
3. The storm may pass, but you may beat yourself up later for staying quiet. “How could I let that nonsense stand?”
4. You could nicely negotiate the process - “we probably disagree here and there’s not much upside to having this conversation now - maybe we pick it up later?” This takes energy and discipline.
5. You could set your purpose as just learning - and maybe asking him to learn from you as well. The tricky thing is agreeing to that purpose with them up front. “We shouldn’t try to change each other’s minds here - what if we just figure out this difference between us?”

There are plenty of resources out there on each one of these purposes. It doesn’t matter which one suits you best -- I just want you to actively choose one so that the moment doesn’t hijack you.

So often, it’s not the disagreeable relatives that make Thanksgiving so fraught. It’s that you’re not prepared to respond. You’re caught off guard, things quickly escalate and mashed potatoes go flying.

So be prepared. Decide — before the doorbell rings — what you want to accomplish when the politics rabbit hole opens. Do a little work in advance to prevent a lot of work later. And keep those potatoes firmly on the table.

I’m currently in Vegas, and Vegas reminds me of a fight I got into with a family member. It was during covid, and it was about the vaccine.

I remember trying different tactics. First, a warning: “you’re risking your life by not taking it.” When that didn’t work, the facts: “most doctors say it’s safe.” When that didn’t work, insults: “you know you’re being selfish if you don’t take it, right? We all want to get together for Thanksgiving!”

As I look back on that intense time, I’m reminded of the old phrase, “understand before seeking to be understood.” I remember thinking about it in the moment, and scoffing. It sounded naive to me, as if the purpose was to build relationship, to hold hands and walk into the sunset together. With this family member, I was pissed. No sunsets!

As I later reflected on that phrase, I realized it’s not about sunsets. It’s about being more persuasive.

I was so enamored by my arguments that I had the thought, “There’s no way these won’t work.” When they didn’t, I immediately judged my family member: they were selfish, or careless, or not as educated as they could be. I was rational, they were not.

What I didn’t realize was that I was gambling with my arguments. I was shooting them off into the air and hoping they would land in the right spot, like I hope the ball lands on red at the roulette wheel.

In the heat of the moment, we often don’t realize that the ball could land on black.* I assumed those arguments would be enough for my family member to change their mind, and didn’t anticipate them not landing.

We spend a lot of time developing our arguments. We have meetings whose sole purpose is to create ‘talking points’. We have comms professionals develop ‘key messaging.’ When we plan for a tough conversation, we think about how we want to get our own points across.

We ought to acknowledge that if we are just relying on our arguments, we are gambling. If we want to increase the odds of those arguments landing, we ought to refine them based on what we learn when we try to understand our counterparts.

Along the way, we may discover that our counterparts may not be so irrational or uneducated, and our own perspective may change. But that’s a topic for a different post. Right now I gotta go hit the casino…



* Wesley Snipes was right

(2) Expect disagreement. The more you expect it, the softer the blow when you discover it.

We’re all stuck together. We ought to be prepared for disagreement from anywhere. Because the call might just come from inside the house.

I was a curious kid who loved puzzles, and trying to wrap my head around complicated ideas. I knew that if I worked hard enough - at math problems, logic games, riddles - I would eventually get it.

But lying in that bed, one idea kept plaguing me, and I never could wrap my head around it. What happens after death? I would think, “okay, I go up to heaven, or to hell, or I am reincarnated as a tulip or a squirrel. And then what?”

Those words “and then what?” would make me panic, because there was no answer. Time is infinite, it doesn’t stop. And it made no sense to me, as hard as I tried. I had to get out of bed and work on some Legos to calm my brain down.

When we don’t want to have that hard political conversation with someone, when we have that screw-this-I-cannot-work-with-them instinct, we are left with the same question that plagued tween me: And then what?

Sure, I can just go back to my bubble and spare myself the momentary anxiety of an exasperating conversation.

But then what? That uncle is still there, thinking those things. You’ll still get seated next to him at Thanksgiving. You won’t vanquish him and he won’t vanquish you.

We have to deal with each other again, at family holidays or awkward staff meetings. When your body is screaming to just walk away, remember that if you do, nothing will change. Everybody will dig in their heels further.

And then what? Assuming we don’t have Legos on hand to calm ourselves down, that question will continue to plague us.

So:
(1) Consider the alternative - nothing will change.

(2) Get ready for the hard conversation. It’s possible, and doesn’t have to be scary (more on that later).