I remember a time when the act of conversation itself emanated charm; sharing a late evening coffee at Woolworth’s or spending a lazy Saturday afternoon under the welcoming shade of a tree in Central Park just talking about the week that was and musing about the week to come. But then, I remember a lot of things; when people relied on wristwatches and not shiny handheld oblongs to tell time, when a hard-earned dollar had weight to it and when civility, without question, was the cornerstone of every productive conversation.
Alas, I find that as of late, the art of civil conversation – that dance of ideas, the courteous exchange of thoughts – is falling out of favour, slipping away from the tips of our tongues and it becomes increasingly harder to retrieve the further we advance, at least technologically. But then, what would I know, right? I mean, besides being witness to more than fifty springs unfurl right here in Schenectady, listening to the region’s heartbeat, and being privy to its stories – whispered and shouted alike.
It seems we are amidst a quiet revolution where non-verbal nuances and adequate verbal pauses are being replaced by acronyms, emoticons and ruthless efficiency that leaves little room for the tenderness that a heart-to-heart once required. Don’t get me wrong, I adore the convenience that technology has brought to our lives. But as the proverbial double-edged sword, it has also eroded the charm off interpersonal communication, converting heartfelt debates to terse exchanges of tweets.
Maybe you’re not old enough to remember, or maybe you just never got the chance to experience an actual debate; where it was as much about the tone of voice, the cadence and rhythm of speech, the occasional flash of vulnerability and the willingness to listen, learn and alter one’s perspective. Let me tell you son, it sure was something!
I remember back in the day, early 70s it was, Leo, a friend and a vociferous Nixon supporter, and I rarely saw eye-to-eye on matters political. Countless evenings were spent at our local watering hole, The Flamingo, animatedly dissecting policies over a pint or three. But what stands out about those evenings was not the disagreements, it was the respect we shared. We were willing to listen, coming from a place of mutual understanding – acknowledging the fact that we were two individuals shaped by different experiences, and thus there stands to reason our ideas would differ. There was no name-calling, no spitting venom, just the pure joy of civil conversation.
But today, we seem to have rendered ourselves incapable of conducting such conversations – face-to-face, without the refuge of an indignant block button or the possibility of curating a one-sided narrative with a deadline that barely tolerates the essence of civil conversation. We feel backed into a corner, defending our positions with an unwarranted ferocity, while refusing to loosen the grip we exert on our preconceived beliefs. The realm for civil conversation is instead dominated by a deeply polarized, either you’re with me or against me optic, as though there can be no room for a middle ground, no acceptance for nuance.
A whiskey-fueled chat with my neighbour, Bob, recently had me laying bare my concerns about this issue. Bob, a printer by trade, has seen the traditional process of colour lithography giving way to digital convenience. He reminisced how his craft, much like face-to-face conversations, was considerably more tactile, personal and charmingly unpredictable. I would have loved to carry on that conversation further, but my grandkids were having a hard time grasping this non-virtual grandpa-grandchildren conversation, their smartphones kept beckoning them.
And so here we are – no time, patience or indeed courage to engage in civil conversation. We need to learn again that the act of conversation is not just a transactional exchange of words, but a vat of shared experiences, ideas, dreams, hopes and fears. Firstly, we need to reassure ourselves that it’s okay to be wrong, it’s okay to not know. And more importantly, it’s even better to admit that, to learn something new, to keep that flicker of curiosity alive and to humanise technology-aided conversations.
When you lose the art of civil conversation, what you’re really losing is the diversity of thoughts, dreams, opinions, a slice of society that is different from your own, yet complements and nurtures it. I hope we rediscover the joy of unhurried, civil conversation; there is something about the human voice inflections, the glint in the eye, the shared laughter, the dignified disagreements, which no technology can match. And remember, my friend, it does not require a stage or an audience, merely presence and a willingness to truly listen. So, here’s to reclaiming our conversational spaces. One civil discourse at a time.
