On a (what Florida considers) cold
night, I accompanied a friend and her co-workers out for a few celebratory
drinks for her birthday. It only took a few hours for the majority of the group
to scatter, leaving me, my friend, and one random co-worker behind to test our
alcohol limits.
At first, we all got along fine and
then somehow, the conversation turned to politics. I’ll skip the gory details,
but it got ugly. (At one point, I called her co-worker stupid.) What caught my
attention about this debate was how unrelenting both sides were, neither one
willing to give an inch to the other’s opinions. There was some part of me that
felt we were desperate to change each other’s entire philosophy on politics. I
should have dropped the whole conversation, but the alcohol kept insisting that
if I could just bring up the right point, she would fold and see the world in a
new light.
I have experienced this scenario countless
times, yet something about psychological reasons behind our argument stuck in
my brain like a splinter. I spent the next few weeks attempting to breakdown an
unnamed idea that encompassed the entire art of debate, human psyche, and
personal outlooks, all relating back to why the two of us found it impossible
to yield our differing opinions.
The answer came to me in the
unconventional form of an old Superbowl advertisement. A long, long time ago,
in 1984, Apple released a commercial
that mimicked Orson Well’s book, “1984.”
If you haven’t seen the ad, the whole premise is essentially mindless drones
(representing humanity) marching towards a screen that preaches conformity.
While all these people absorb what the giant head is communicating to them, an
unnamed woman runs in and smashes the screen with a sledge hammer, breaking Big
Brother’s hold on the masses.
It clicked instantly. It felt like
we were both trying to be that unnamed woman. We were going to be each other’s
liberators and silence the hypnotic source that kept us blinded from reality,
even if we had to kill each other to do it. In the end, only one of us could be
right, or both of us were wrong. And while we both wanted to play shepherd, we never
questioned if we were one of the sheep.
The reason this bothered me was
because I started to wonder how many times in my life I’ve attempted to play
the liberator without having any clue what I was talking about. It can be a
perplexing question to wonder if you’re arguing tirelessly because your
opponent is someone who can’t be reached (or saved, in a sense), or if they
know you are talking out of your ass.
I started to apply this liberator
persona to other frustrating conversations I’ve had. There have been discussions
where a stray observation of life turned the chat to a fierce debate. I wanted
to determine if the conversation turned because I was some kind of visionary
genius above the mental capacity of my peers, or if I was a bumbling idiot who
needed to shut up.
I don’t know if there is any kind
of answer to gain out of this post, but it made me ask questions of myself I
never had before: How does one distinguish if you are attempting to lead people
to a better place or off a cliff? Are you the odd man out, because you are
making a profound statement that most don’t understand, or are you just an
asshole? How can you know if an idea is brilliant or asinine when you’ve only seen
things through your own eyes and are set in your ways?
Neither me, nor my friend’s
co-worker, walked away that night gaining much insight into why we believed what
we believed. We argued and cursed and ended in a vicious stalemate that did
nothing to broaden either of our horizons. But if I could learn anything from
our political temper tantrums, it was that I’m not always the most brilliant
person in the room (not that I really ever claim to be, but I’m using it as a
metaphor.) I took the time to stop and question if I ever actually listen to
what my opponent is saying, and to hopefully apply it to future conversations.
Sometimes you must acknowledge when you are just running with the herd.
“They say the only people who tell the truth are
drunkards and children. Guess which one I am.”
― Stephen
Colbert