Having the conversations we should have when we can have them

On creating frameworks that ensure our conversations are truly generative of a better world.

A note that my book Within reason: A liberal public health for an illiberal time is now available for pre-order and will be released December 1. Thank you for supporting the ideas in The Healthiest Goldfish, and those in the book.

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In a recent piece for the London Review of Books, Judith Butler wrote:

“The matters most in need of public discussion, the ones that most urgently need to be discussed, are those that are difficult to discuss within the frameworks now available to us.”

In the context of the moment we are living in, this makes me think, and quite a bit, about what it means to have conversations, and whether and when certain conversations are even possible. I have long believed in the power of conversation. A healthier world is downstream of the ideas that shape such a world, and ideas emerge from conversation and debate. It is through an ongoing process of disicussion that we decide which ideas are good and which are not, where we stress-test our beliefs and opinions through engagement, and sometimes generative conflict, with the beliefs and opinions of others. As I have written before, the goal of this newsletter is to seed such conversations, helping to create a substrate from which productive conversations can emerge to help shape a healthier world. It is in service of such conversations that I have specifically pushed back against ad hominem statements and the use of shorthand via social media to distill complex ideas into grandstanding soundbites, urging us instead to have conversations, the kind that advance understanding and truly make progress.

If there ever was a time for such conversations, it is surely now, when it feels like in many respects the world is on fire. The Hamas-Israel war has become an unfolding horror in the Middle East, polarizing opinion closer to home. There has been enormous disagreement over the nature of the conflict, the history that underlies it, and what would constitute a just outcome to the war. In universities, statement after statement by academic leaders were repudiated for not being clear enough in rejecting horror, or for not discussing horror that is happening everywhere. The looming 2024 federal election in the US promises that the context will become more, not less, fraught as we engage with fundamental questions about who we are and where we are going as a country. Already, we have seen deep divides in how Americans understand the world and how they conceptualize the common good, disagreement that will likely only become more prominent in the public debate in the months and years ahead.  

These disagreements are not to be taken lightly, as a matter of mere miscommunication or a failure to think deeply about issues. They constitute true differences of opinion, even differences of values, in an engagement with the challenges that emerge in a complex world. If the problems they reflect could be solved easily, they would not have persisted as they have for generations. Yet I remain firm in the belief that there is no problem that is not well served by conversation, by thinking together, by taking the time to talk through difficult issues in a context of civility and good faith debate, by rejecting the mean-spiritedness that can characterize the airing of such issues.     

But while I continue to believe in the value of conversations, I am not naïve about how difficult it can be to have certain conversations in particular, emotionally charged, contexts. Is it possible to have important conversations, always, in all media, with everyone participating? The moment we are in suggests it is not. Sometimes we cannot have the conversations we need to have. We may want to, but a range of factors—fear of controversy, a wish not to alienate social media followers, concern that some conversations will amplify bad ideas, or a hesitance to engage with people whose beliefs we consider beyond the pale—render conversations difficult, if not seemingly impossible. Complicating matters further, the information revolution and the internet-driven atomization of knowledge, culture, and values have meant that we now bring to conversations not merely different points of view, but often different epistemologies. How many times, for example, might we have wanted to engage with a relative at the Thanksgiving table about a complicated political topic but chose not to because we know that Uncle Henry is getting his information from an entirely different media ecosystem than we are, and so conversation would not mean parsing different interpretations of a shared set of facts, but would instead have to begin with a deeper interrogation of where we are both getting our information. To engage with Uncle Henry properly, then, in good faith, we would have to first exchange several YouTube links, podcast recommendations, online articles, perhaps a book or two. We would then need to take a week to fully marinate in where the other person is coming from, getting acquainted with the influences that have shaped their perspective, influences which are likely quite different from our own inputs. Only then could we connect for the kind of constructive conversation that used to be much easier in the age of monoculture when we were all working off roughly the same news broadcasts, the same late-night shows, the same bestselling books we all read. That age has passed (and I am not here mourning that by-gone era, change is a constant, and in the main a positive) with implications for our capacity to have the conversations we need to have, and it is on us to have the wisdom to know that, to see we are swimming in very different waters than we were ten, twenty years ago.

There is, of course, another factor which makes conversations difficult, one which is all too human and persists through every era: emotion. We are living in a time of high emotion. The influence of emotion may seem minor compared with the technological and cultural shifts I have mentioned, but it would be a mistake to dismiss the role of emotion. Emotions are indeed real, just as data are real. They need to be understood. And while the phrase “this is not the time or the place” has been used to postpone needed, difficult conversations, some of which we should indeed be having in the immediate aftermath of tragedy (for example, the conversation about how to end gun violence), these conversations need not, and should not, come at the expense of ignoring the emotions involved. We can talk about the substance of a problem without equivocating about its true nature, without discussing the relative weight of culpability, or otherwise leading with what is likeliest to inflame emotion. Our priority, always, should be to say what must be said, and do what must be done, to address suffering, with maximum concern for the feelings of others. Context matters, history matters, emotions matter, and responsibility for tragedy is not always equally shared. We can talk about this. But first we should concern ourselves with helping those who can be helped in the moment, leaving other considerations for another time. In this, I am reminded of something Pope Francis said early in his pontificate about his vision for the role of the church in a suffering world:

“I see the church as a field hospital after battle. It is useless to ask a seriously injured person if he has high cholesterol and about the level of his blood sugars! You have to heal his wounds. Then we can talk about everything else. Heal the wounds, heal the wounds.... And you have to start from the ground up.”

This could serve as an effective “mission statement” for the kind of conversations we should aspire to in times of tragedy and high emotion. Our conversations should be like “a field hospital after battle” where we create space for reflection, for healing, without shying away from the truth of a given situation. Once we have provided this space, we can then talk about everything else, working to shape a better world “from the ground up.”

I realize that, in trying to define what a conversation might be in this moment and moments like it, I have not yet addressed a question that has emerged with greater frequency in recent years: just who can engage in these conversations? It is a question which can perhaps make us uncomfortable. We would like to imagine that anyone can engage in any conversation, at any time. This ideal reflects the essence of a world built on liberal principles, where, to quote Adam Gopnik in A Thousand Small Sanities: The Moral Adventure of Liberalism, “What matters is not who says it, but the sanity of what’s said.” This is the ideal, but is it, should it be, the reality? Because there are times when feelings (see above) are such that certain people—through identity that carries with it historical resonance, through their stature in institutions and society, through what they have said before—will be heard differently. This does not mean that they should not speak, only that, in speaking, they have perhaps an added responsibility to weigh their words carefully, to acknowledge how context and privilege may shape their perspective, and to try to engage constructively on this basis.

When one thinks about this, it is not that different from the conversations one has in one’s close relationships, with, for example, or a spouse. We conduct these conversations with the understanding that they are best served by telling the truth, but it needs to be told the right way, at the right time. This analogy helps us to answer the perhaps obvious questions that emerge from what I have been discussing here: with all the challenges involved in talking about important, often sensitive, topics, why bother to have these conversations at all? Why risk causing hurt feelings or being misinterpreted when we could just stay silent and avoid the grief? Conversely, why care at all about the layers of context and emotion with which these conversations intersect? Why not just say whatever is on our mind, at any time? This gets at the essence of human conversation, and, in the context of professional engagement with the health of the public, at the core question of: why conversation? 

I would argue that the “why” is to create a better world, a healthier world. That is why we have conversations, to point to a way forward, towards the actions that shape such a world. Just as we tell the truth to our family and close friends because we want the best for them, we engage in open and honest conversations because we want to elevate the ideas that shape a healthier world in a context of honest and respectful discourse. Such discussion is best served through the kinds of conversations I have discussed here, conversations which are conducted tactfully, with a sense of timing and perspective but which nevertheless do not shy away from uncomfortable truths. If what we care about is simply noise, grandstanding, then we should not worry about the “when,” “who,” and “how” of these conversations. If, however, our aim is to bring about meaningful change, then these factors matter. They help us to have conversations that make a difference rather than just noise, conversations we sorely need in this moment.

I realize that this echoes themes I have touched on before, notably my talking of radical incrementalism. In part, that argument is that we need to keep a radical vision of a better world while remaining committed to the hard work of getting there, incrementally. My case here is similar. It also points to a difficult path. It is hard to ask ourselves questions like: can this conversation be had now, by me, in this manner? Am I sharing my views in the right format—might these thoughts be better expressed in person or in a longer form piece, or can they be conveyed on social media? As difficult as such questions can be for us, if we do not ask them, we risk setting back our cause of getting to the radical vision. This also echoes a bit my thoughts about waiting 10 seconds before we speak, a device meant to force us to reflect before we speak in fraught moments.  

In times of tragedy, our first concern should be to grieve, to support those who are affected, and to create space for healing. In such moments, it is also necessary to try to learn, to understand what is happening and why, towards creating a world where tragedies are not repeated. We should learn from tragic moments to the end of doing better, of creating a healthier, safer future. This means reaching out, with compassion and courage, to have the conversations that support such a world. Maybe if we learn how to gauge carefully the “when,” “who,” and “how” of conversations, we can elevate a dialogue that allows us to better address the “why” that should animate all we do.