The Benign Terrorism of Opposing Ideas

When disagreement grows into an antagonism to discussion, we are locked into the least challenging conversations and the most limited potential for common understanding.

At this point in my life I have a strong understanding that my default settings are a lot for people to take.

I like to analyze ideas and possibilities. I learned to debate at a pretty early stage but what sounds like debate (arguing to win) is more often punching holes in my own ideas to find the blind spots in order to find those pieces that allow me to change my mind if necessary.

A lot of what I write takes that form for me yet still comes across as being (perhaps) needlessly antagonistic to others. I’m endlessly curious about the how’s and why’s of human beings so I push the buttons to see past the niceties of polite conversation. My third ex-wife categorized me as a non-intellectual sociologist—studying human behavior, systems, and structures by confrontation then study.

One can imagine that that sort of person is not the one you invite for brunch.

I’m finding that, in order to keep the peace, I have to do that eggshell walk around certain topics because people in my life are either used to this method of interrogation or have decided that they want nothing to do with it.

I can’t really discuss issues surrounding racism, religion, or the American political scene without pissing someone off. Granted, I have skeptical takes on all three and my opinions tend to push back on those embracing the polarization so prevalent in the past thirty years or so. I don’t believe in tribal essentialism, God, or that there is very much difference between politicians on either side of the ideological fence. For true believers, for some reason, these are lines in the sand.

“This country is steeped in white supremacy.”

I could just let this go. I don’t agree with this blanket statement. It’s a lazy, one-size-fits-all dogma and because it isn’t true in an awful lot of cases the pronouncement feels important but is only propaganda.

“Really? How do you explain the economic ascendancy of Asian-Americans and Indian-Americans who have a per capita higher average income than white people? If white supremacy is the bulwark of whiteness you claim, how do you explain this circumstance?”

What he hears is I think you’re full of shit. What I’m asking is What do you see that I don’t? I’m not arguing but he sees a challenge and decides I’m arguing as if my intent means nothing. If he decides to argue, I’ll argue. Why not? All I did was ask a question. I find the reality that of the top ten racial classifications in the United States, whites rank ninth, a bit of an inconsistency with the notion of a country steeped in white supremacy but if he has a reasonable explanation for it, I’m all ears.

My buddy Joe (the infamous Joe) tells me it may be my tone and he’s probably right. I’ve been so confrontational in style that when I say “Hey. I respect your pronouns but you need to declare them. If you don’t declare them, you can’t expect me know,” the tone might be a tad aggressive. They don’t hear the respect piece because I’m already coming off as an ass.

Thus, eggshells.

One thing that has me wonder if I’m necessarily that aggressive lies in two recorded situations. Zoom recordings. Recording podcasts. After the recordings, both times, it was presented to me that I got confrontational, that my tone was argumentative, that I was aggressive. I went back and listened and, to my ears, I was not. Hell, I listened to these exchanges three times apiece to try to hear what they heard. Nothing. No raised voice. No demonstrative language. Questions. Information. Discussion points.

Again with the third ex-wife. She used to get really tangled up and angry at something I’d said or done but I realized she was having an argument with someone else and directing it at me. Once I figured this out, I’d walk away from her and request “Hey. When you’re finished arguing with that person, I’ll be right here to talk about it if you want.”

Perhaps… perhaps… people who’ve known me for a while have it so firmly lodged in their perception that I’m automatically arguing with them that they see and hear it even when I’m not.

Or maybe I’m just an ass.

Either way, the very act of disagreement has become a benign sort of terrorism. Generally, anyone I encounter who is absolutely 100% certain of just about anything is suspect. Certainty is a guarantee that the doors to curiosity are closed and welded shut. This is why, more than any other single reason, I believe people who do hate Trump, hate him. Not because he was a bad president (he was) or due to his criminal and treasonous pursuit of power but because he makes pronouncements of certainty as if they are objective facts. His inauguration. His business acumen. His lost election. He is objectively wrong, there is evidence to demonstrate this, yet he insists on claiming certainty he is absolutely right. It's maddening.

Jack Kerouac wrote "I had nothing to offer anybody except my own confusion." There is a humility that I admire in the statement. There is a possibility (and more a probability) that in my own confusion I puff it up to appear like I have certainty. I disguise my lack of understanding with a pose of authority unearned. In that peacocking, I alienate those struggling with their own uncertainty and they, defensively, want to punch me in the face. After all, I am the least likely person to give anyone advice on marriage and parenting yet think nothing of doling it out to my friends and family, standing here on both utter inexperience with the latter and a mountain of failure with the former.

I have nothing to offer anybody except my own confusion. I seem like I offer my own certainty. Need to work on that but, for now, I’ll tiptoe a bit more and stomp a bit less.

In the meantime, I’ll be skipping brunch.