As I See It: The Dons of Dialogue

Published: September 20, 2007

by Victor Rozek

Back in the 400s BC, two obscure Sicilian poets, Sophron and Epicharmus, wrote what scholars believe to be a series of two-performer plays. Although their work did not survive, it acquired an ancillary importance because it inspired the work of a more notable personage, Plato. He used the theatrical format to develop what would become known as the Platonic dialogues--instructional vignettes in which Socrates and one or more interlocutors expound on the finer points of philosophy.

Beyond its dramatic appeal, dialogue proved useful as a non-threatening structure for the discussion of controversial subjects. It became, perhaps, the first communication model, one which proved to be not only robust, but enduring. With modest modifications, it survived to the present day.

If Plato was dialogue's most illustrious practitioner, philosopher Martin Buber and quantum physicist David Bohm re-popularized it in the 20th century. Buber synthesized all of existence to a series of encounters (with self and others), which is the essence of dialogue. Bohm latched onto the idea of using "encounters," or dialogues, as a method of bridging divisions and allaying the isolation he saw in society. He proposed that groups of 10 to 40 people engage in free-floating conversation, without agenda or predetermined goal, emphasizing the process of the communication rather than the content. In Bohm's model, all participants have equal status, all beliefs are respected, and all views are welcome. Free of hierarchy, agenda, and judgment, everyone has the opportunity to learn from and connect with everyone else.

Bohm's model was popular for a time and has been adapted in various forms for use in business, therapy, and interpersonal communication. And now, as if to prove that everything old is new again, here come Kerry Patterson, Joseph Grenny, Ron McMillan, and Al Switzler with what they believe to be a groundbreaking book on guess what? Dialogue.

Like Bohm, they have ambitious hopes for dialogue. Their "audacious claim," as they themselves call it in the first chapter of their book, Crucial Conversations: Tools for Talking When Stakes Are High, is that if you "master your crucial conversations," you will "kick-start your career, strengthen your relationships, and improve your health." But that's not all. If enough other people drink the Kool-Aid as well, you can also "vitalize your organization and your community." Whew! That's a lot for only $16.95 (eight bucks more if you're Canadian).

The authors essentially believe that your life will work to the degree you are able to navigate what they call "crucial conversations." A crucial conversation is defined as one in which "the stakes are high, opinions vary, and emotions run strong." Workplace examples would include: talking to an offensive coworker; publicly disagreeing with your supervisor; giving a negative performance evaluation; critiquing a colleague's work; speaking truth to management; and (I love this one) "talking to a coworker about a personal hygiene problem." Can't wait to try that.

The ability to talk openly about high-stakes, emotional, and controversial topics, the authors claim, is the singular "source of power" for creating strong relationships and successful careers. Likewise, they contend, the same ability fuels vigorous organizations and underpins spirited communities. In other words, it's a one-size-fits-all solution to any problem requiring human interaction. We can only hope.

The alternative to dialogue, the authors say, is either silence or violence. When people descend into silence, they either mask their true feelings, avoid the difficult subject altogether, or withdraw by physically leaving. The authors define "violence" as an attempt to control the conversation by coercion or cutting others off; labeling people and ideas in order to discredit them, or directly attacking other speakers.

The value of dialogue is that it keeps the peace and gets all relevant information into the open, creating what the authors call "a pool of shared meaning." And without shared meaning there can be no synergy and no commitment. "When people purposely withhold meaning from one another," say the authors, "individually smart people can do collectively stupid things."

I'll say. My wife and I once almost bought a painfully ugly carpet because each of us mistakenly thought the other liked it. Our pool of shared meaning almost ended up lined in barfy Berber. Fortunately, an eleventh-hour dialogue resulted in a cancelled order and a wiser choice prevailed. But I digress.

The trick to engaging in successful dialogue is to "start with the heart," say the authors, and that requires creating and maintaining safety. Therein lies the rub. Unless you're running a dating service, chances are your organization is not terribly concerned with the heart. The vast majority of business conversations start and end with the head. As an instrument of cognition, the heart is frowned on as inappropriate and unreliable.

But even if your organization isn't heart-safe you can, as the authors suggest, start with yourself. Know what you really want; avoid yes/no, win/lose, either/or choices that lock-in failure or resentment (i.e., keeping the peace or being honest); and be accountable for your motives and reactions. Particularly, the authors warn, question the stories you make up about incidents that distress you and to which you have strong reactions. They diagram the reactive process this way:

\r\n
• We see and/or hear something.
\r\n
• We make up a story about the event. The story adds meaning to the event and assigns motives to other people's actions. Thus, we judge the event (and the person or people involved) to be either good or bad, for us or against us.
\r\n
• Reacting to the story we have invented, we have feelings.
\r\n
• Based on these feelings, we act.
\r\n

The problem is that there are many potential explanations for an event and being attached to a single explanation can be both unfair and dangerous. For example, a woman who suddenly spends an unusually large amount of time in her male manager's office may quickly be rumored to be having an affair. But there are many possible alternate explanations. She may be working on a sensitive, confidential report; or, regular consultations may be part of an ongoing performance evaluation; or, as happened in a place where I once worked, the woman was helping her manager plan a surprise 40th birthday party for the manager's wife, who worked in the same company. Because the wife had many friends and acquaintances throughout the facility, the manager had asked for complete secrecy. Tragically, the rumors of the affair reached the wife before rumors of the party.

Conversely, what motivation can we assign to an employee who consistently dominates the conversation during project status meetings? He may well be trying to impress management. He may want to take more credit than he is due. But he may also simply be nervous or insecure. Or he may be an external auditory processor (someone who has to talk in order to think). Or, as the senior programmer on the project, he may think presenting is his responsibility. Or, he may believe he is sparing others the discomfort of speaking in public and having to answer difficult questions.

The payoff for questioning the stories we tell ourselves is that honest inquiry has the power to eliminate a great deal of the misery we create for ourselves and others. If, as the authors say, we react emotionally to the stories we invent, what might our reactions be to believing: "My manager doesn't respect me." "My work isn't appreciated." "My partner is having an affair." "They hate us for our freedoms." When strong emotions are present, the most useful remedy is to ask: Is what I think really true?

Dialogue, the authors warn, is not decision making. It is what makes peaceful decision making possible. It doesn't guarantee you will get your way; it ensures your preference (and that of other stakeholders) will get a fair hearing and respectful consideration. Ultimately, decisions are made in one of four ways: command, consultation, vote, or consensus. Each method has its advantages and its place, and each can be informed by dialogue.

The authors make a compelling case for learning to master crucial conversations, supported by over 20 years of research and observation. And they just about had me convinced. But after I finished reading the book, I happened to flip back to the dedication, and it gave me reason to wonder if they actually practiced what they preach. In it, the authors dedicate their work to (among others) their 23 children! Apparently, having a little chat about birth control was not among the conversations they considered crucial.

At least that's the story that I make up.

                     Post this story to del.icio.us
               Post this story to Digg
    Post this story to Slashdot