“Is your tattoo of an olive tree? Mine is, too.”
I always strive to communicate better. After all, it’s part of my job to help people understand and repair interpersonal conflict. Yet in my personal life, I confess I haven’t always had the courage and generosity to “stick with it” in really difficult conversations with people who embrace a dramatically different viewpoint on something that I care about. I’ve sometimes given up on a conversation – or even let someone fade from my life – because I just couldn’t figure out how to continue.
So, I found this dialogue published in the Guardian last weekend, between a Palestinian (Christine) and an Israeli (Orla), utterly humbling and also very inspiring, both professionally and personally. It was a difficult and wrenching conversation on both sides; of course it was. But it was also brave, constructive and moving.
Just how were these two women able to have a functional, respectful conversation about such a huge and anguished topic? I encourage you to read the whole dialogue if you can, but in this post, I honour Orla and Christine by shining a light on some of the skilful, beautiful ways they managed to build connection and trust while discussing one of the most painful possible topics.
They expressed constant curiosity about the other’s worldview.
“Was there ever a time when you felt safe?”
“It would help if you would tell me your experiences with violence.”
They highlighted points of connection whenever they could.
“I’ve seen that too, and I have the same reaction to that.”
“When you explained that, this helped me calm down and understand you more.”
“I can understand how violence would reinforce your desire for a Jewish state to keep you safe.”
“I can own up to the violence and illegitimacy of removing your grandparents from their home.”
They continually and proactively attended to each other’s feelings.
“I feel like this is the part where I’m hurting you.”
What’s going on for you when I say this?”
They acknowledged when the conversation was difficult and affirmed their commitment to stay with it.
“I need to take a deep breath. I’m getting riled up, but I am trying to move from a place of curiosity rather than judgment.”
“If someone says something like what you just said, my impulse is to get really mad… I have to… know that about myself, calm myself down and turn to you…”
They were explicitly willing to hold space for conflicting points of view.
“I am again shattered by what you’re saying. Imagining those conditions, wanting it to never have been… And with all of this, I want you to make some room, even if it’s a tiny room, like a little attic, to talk about Hamas.”
“I[m] not trying to undo your positive memories or experiences or emotions related to Zionism or Israel, but I want to reframe them so that your narrative makes space for me.”
They acknowledged the limits of the conversation.
“I think maybe I need to accept that I have to stop trying to convince you.”
“To my mind, our purpose here is to sit in turbulence…”
I am grateful to Orla and Christine sharing their dialogue in all its vulnerability, and to the Guardian for publishing this powerful story. Not all the professional and personal conversations I encounter will be as fraught and precarious as theirs was (thankfully), but this is a powerful reminder of how we can show up more generously and effectively in all our dialogues.
