Strengthening a Sense of Openness

Two weekends ago the JVI community in Chuuk had our spring retreat. We decided to all give talks, and below is a copy of what I spoke to. It was my first time writing out any kind of speech word for word. It has its advantages, including being able to copy and paste it onto this blog. So here it is, if you can make it through...

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On Monday, for our Spirituality night, Jessie had us work on our talks. She put on some music and we went to work. At one point, a very distracting Lauryn Hill song came on. I asked her to switch the music, but not before Lauryn Hill had commented on how we “lay ambush for the man who has a different point of view, infuriated because he doesn’t understand and brings up things we don’t want to talk about.” I think she was insinuating that we ought to be more open.

I define openness as “hearing another without judgment.”

Openness isn’t just about listening to another person’s arguments in order to formulate a best counter-argument. Openness isn’t listening to another’s words and shrugging, condescendingly holding back with a “well, that’s what you believe.” Openness is actually hearing the words, the thoughts, the perspective of another. Hearing the other with an assumption of legitimacy, of intelligence, and most importantly, of justification. It is hearing another and being fully prepared to say “you’re right.”

Sometimes this is easy to do; often it is next to impossible. That is, to be fully prepared and ready to say “you’re right.” This isn’t to say that openness is achieved only through agreement. We are free to disagree, of course, but where does that disagreement come from? Is it honest, objective and humble disagreement? Or does it come from insecurity, attachment, guilt, or, even worse, pride? To be open we have to be free of all these. We have to open our ears, our minds, our hearts, and truly hear the other – before we start thinking about what to say, or do next.

Openness is hearing another without judgment.

Openness lacks judgment. It is hearing another without ever judging the person neither before nor after they have spoken. This may be an impossible task. Nonetheless, it is one to strive for. Despite everything, can we withhold judgment of another? Being open is more than just hearing another. Can we accept them, the other person or people, as equals? Neither above nor below us? No matter what we think of their thoughts, beliefs, actions, can we withhold that judgment? As has been said before, we can judge actions, thoughts, beliefs etc. as objectively as possible, within frameworks that we know, but we can never judge a person.

Think of anybody in your life that you feel you know the best. Family members, best friends, loved ones, significant others past and present. Who did you know the best? Now, in truth, how well did you know them? How well do you know their inner thoughts, the breadth or scope of their experience? The subtleties of what it means to be them in the world they live in? We see God through a muddy glass. We see each other through a tinted muddy glass. Perhaps judgment is justified, but that is never for us to say.

So, I believe openness is truly “hearing another without judgment.” However, this is not a “This I Believe” essay so it’s time to switch gears.

When I was in grade eleven at Carleton Place High School, the public high school I went to in Ontario, Canada (Colleen), my parents asked me how I would feel about moving to Vermont. This is after I begged and pleaded my best friend Alex not to abandon us (Dan and myself) for Toronto. However, moral was very low in the public education system, not a lot was happening and I thought it would be sweet to experience St. Johnsbury Academy, the private school I would be attending in Vermont. An adventure, if you will. So I agreed, took a summer class in mathematics, and then entered what became my final year of high school. It was an adventure, and in the end I am thankful for it despite the disdain shown towards a public education. Let this not define my year there, but one of the best things that happened was a motivational speaker that was brought to the school.

Lame, I know, and they aren’t ever supposed to actually accomplish anything. And to be honest, I hardly remember what he looks like and certainly don’t remember what he said, except for this one story. I do remember that all of his stories came from past experiences as a motivational speaker which makes you wonder what he had to say when he started. Nonetheless, one story stood out and struck a chord with me.

It was about boys in a cafeteria. This speaker, we’ll call him Bob, was sitting with a group of students at lunchtime either before or after a speech. A boy in raggedy clothing came in, and sat down alone at another table. A different table of boys started joking and making fun of this other kid, saying things like “Why are you wearing the same clothes again? Why didn’t you get new clothes, are you too poor to afford a new shirt? Maybe you should drop out of school and get a job, earn some money!” And it went on.


Bob, our speaker, conveniently happened to know the kid with the raggedy clothes and his story and so, when that other table of boys were leaving, he got up and caught them in the hall. He asked them if they knew why Paul, the kid with the raggedy clothes, was wearing the same clothes for the 5th day in a row? They said no, among some snickers and smirks. Bob told them that Paul hadn’t been home. He said that Paul’s sister had been in a terrible car accident, was close to death, and that Paul had been going straight to the hospital after school, working, eating and sleeping by her side until the morning when he would return for classes.

The boys were silent until one said “Sorry, we didn’t know.”

Bob responded, “How were you supposed to know?”

This story is simple, cliché, not particularly good and might even be made up. I don’t really care, the story itself is not the point. It is that Bob responded to the boys with “How were you supposed to know?” This hit me deep. “How were you supposed to know?” Often times we excuse ourselves the way the boys did, with a “I didn’t know,” or a “if I had known that then…” or even a “how was I supposed to know?”

And the thing is, probably you weren’t supposed to know.

We have a hard enough time getting to know the people closest to us. We can go back to that person we were thinking about before, and how much we still don’t know about them. We aren’t expected to know everybody, not even close. But this means that some humility is in order.

This story Bob told made me stop. It made me say to myself, although not in so many words, that it would probably be a good idea to stop for a second and listen a little bit more. It made me think about how little I do know about other people, and consequently about the world and this thing we call reality (as far as we can sense it). It made me want to be more open, even in the simplest relationships. It made me want to cultivate my sense of openness.

This feeling got major support a couple of summers later when I was working at P&H Truck Stop. One of the waitresses and one of the cooks were partners, working for low wages and not the best hours (the waitress sometimes did the overnight with me). Through random conversations I came to learn that they had once owned a series of restaurants across the country. They were working at P&H because they had retired. They had sold their restaurants, purchased some land in Vermont and were enjoying working in the business they loved without the stress of management. A destruction of all sorts of stereotypes. This further strengthened my resolve to be open, truly open to others in all regards.

This, however, is not always easy. I had a good friend at St. Johnsbury who I don’t speak to anymore (not related to a conflict). Her name is Kristen, and we could never speak about politics. She loved Bush and, well, that was hard for me. And I couldn’t deal with it. We could not have had an open, honest conversation. Why? Because I cared too much.

And there’s the rub. I believe openness to be good, if not essential. But it’s not trivial openness that is worth speaking of. It is openness with the things that are rooted the most deeply in our hearts, the things that make us the most passionate. Can we be open to someone who speaks against the things that we don’t just dear, but the things that root us and provide us with the foundation upon which we live our lives?

Last year I had a really discouraging encounter with an S.D.A. Christian named Seth. Marcos and I met him through the ISC, and later in the year he asked Marcos if he could speak to him about Catholicism. Marcos agreed, and I made sure to be there for the conversation. Why? Because I thought that after spending so much energy in college on inter-religious dialogue I was ready for some intra-religious dialogue – that is, dialogue between different sects and denominations of one religion. In our case, Christianity.

I thought I wanted to dialogue, but I was wrong. I didn’t want to be open to him. I wanted to open him. I wanted him to see what it meant to be open to diversity, to break away from the idea of right and wrong, or at least more right or less right. He was a fundamentalist, but he was a fundamentalist who was honestly in search of truth, which I would consider an admirable pursuit. But I couldn’t hear him, because my entire worldview was at stake. So much of my time and energy, and so many millions of life decisions, big and small, were based on the assumptions that I had developed through my own experience. If I was wrong… I couldn’t even think of it, not really.

So what happened? I got impassioned, frustrated, and could feel my pride crying “red alert.” Saying, “Lincoln, you have to be right on this one or it is going to be really, really embarrassing.” I didn’t hear anything he was saying, and showed his perspective little respect. I could not allow it to be justified, it would undercut too much of who I was, who I had been with such sureness.

It is so, so hard to be truly open. Open with the things that matter most. Yet, as usual, those are ironically the things we need to be the most open with.

My favourite minister said that “Diversity is the hardest thing to live with and the most dangerous thing to live without.” It’s true. We need diversity. Of thought, of opinion, of perspective. We cannot seek homogeneity in thought, in opinion, nor in perspective. Diversity is something that should be sought, encouraged, strengthened – it should not be deconstructed, undercut or made irrelevant. And diversity exists all levels, in all sorts of different, overlapping and concentric circles. Can we truly be open to it?Openness is the sense that I speak to, but it is not unique to me. Especially the pursuit of it. The uniqueness may lie only in the fact that I decided to talk about it. Openness, the hearing of another without judgment, is a sense though. We know when we are being truly open, and we know when we are not. We can sense it.

The question that I’ve been trying to work on with intentionality since the guy we call Bob came to speak at St. Johnsbury Academy is this:

Can we be truly open to another, on any topic, in any situation?

Perhaps not, but it’s at least what I strive for, in the hopes that if I can’t achieve absolute openness, at least I can come closer to it.

Cultural Presumptuousness

Last November the Federated States of Micronesia celebrated Thanksgiving day, along with the United States of America. The holiday that awkwardly celebrates the arrival and welcoming of European settlers on the East coast of North America. The holiday that celebrates a time, an event, and people that never had any connection whatsoever to these small island nations, save a few unfortunate historical parallels. And yet, much to our dismay and outrage as cultural sensitive and humble Americans (and Canadians), the FSM celebrated American Thanksgiving once again last November, and did so with little reservation.

“What an example of cultural imperialism!” we cried. “This is so absurdly inappropriate, a stunning example of the negative effects of American cultural influence on weaker, smaller cultures. What an atrocity! An embarrassment!” We fumed, we talked, we threw up our hands. “Why did Americans ever come in the first place?”

However, after having a couple of conversations and observing the Thanksgiving Masses, it became clear that the Chuukese at least have made the holiday their own. Thanksgiving is a meaningful, powerful and beautiful holiday here in Chuuk. There is no celebration of pilgrim landings – there is a celebration instead of thing people here have to be thankful for. It is a celebration of family, of friends, of fish to eat, breadfruit to pound, islands to live on, of life. It is also a very religious holiday – a celebration of God and her loving presence in everything.

Above all, Thanksgiving in Chuuk is a holiday infused with meaning for the Chuukese, and one that is heeded with respect and reverence. For the Chuukese, it is a time to stop, contemplate, and give thanks to the many things we spend the majority of our lives taking for granted. The timing, to be sure, is more than a little irrelevant for the Chuukese, and for Micronesians, but the day and month is, in the end, of little consequence. For Chuuk, and presumably for the greater FSM, the essence of the holiday has nothing to do with pilgrims, Native Americans or rich forested coasts. Chuukese, and presumably Micronesians in general, have taken the holiday and made it their own, made it something meaningful and consequential to themselves. It is an American holiday, to be sure, but it has also become a Chuukese one, a Micronesian one.

Which brings me to the point. If we go back a couple of paragraphs we can read about our cries of indignation. Cries, I’ve since realized, that were based in a subtle, but fundamental and dangerous cultural arrogance on our part. We assumed that anything American was forced on these islands and that these islands really had no say in the matter. More sharply, we assume that the power of American culture is so great that the people of FSM, and the people of Chuuk, could do nothing in the face of it. That it’s power is so great as to take away the ability of Micronesians, of Chuukese, to think for themselves.

We assumed that the Chuukese were not thinking for themselves. That they were following blindly, ambiguously, superficially. And yet the truth is very different. Chuuk saw something good, and adopted it. The FSM saw something good, and adopted it. This country is full of free thinking, intelligent people. While other forms of cultural influences are more nuanced, complicated, and hard to navigate, the celebration of Thanksgiving Day is a simple choice. And it is one that was made, quite explicitly, quite simply. The national government asked itself, does the FSM want to celebrate Thanksgiving Day? The State government of Chuuk asked itself, does Chuuk want to celebrate Thanksgiving Day? Both said yes. So who are we to say no?

And this kind of cultural arrogance can be pervasive. The idea that American, or Western culture is so strong as to strip people of the ability to think for themselves. Such a fundamental assumption is extraordinarily disempowering. Such an assumption strips even more meaning from the very lives we pity for their superficiality, their loss of meaning.

One can see this globally in Christianity. Christianity spread through the missionary work of millions of ministers, priests, and lay people. Christianity spread through an effort to “save the pagans” or to “save the heathens.” There’s no denying or hiding this. And yet it would be well to remember that Christianity in and of itself is not a bad thing. In fact, it is something quite beautiful. And presumably this is what millions of people saw, despite the potential arrogance of the missionaries themselves. You could never go up to a Ghanaian, or an Indian, or a Chuukese Christian and say, “the only reason you believe in Christianity is because of historical cultural imperialism,” because this would be an insult to their intelligence and a devaluing of their spiritual life. So why do we think such things?

I am not saying that the weight and power of American and/or Western culture is inconsequential. I am saying that we would do well to humble ourselves a little bit when we think about our influence on cultures abroad. That, in the end, people think for themselves and that, in the end, if they decide they don’t like something American, or something Western, they won’t buy into it. To not give people of other cultures the final say is arrogant, disempowering, and insulting.

That, in the end, the Chuukese celebrate Thanksgiving Day late in November not just because it is a random American holiday, but because they want to. Needless to say, our cries were effectively silenced.

Will You Marry Me?

3^rd period. Right after lunch. 10 minutes into class. Junior English Skills in 11 Maroon. We had just finished our daily journal entry, about our strengths and weaknesses in public speaking, and were transitioning into a lesson on building a speech when it began.

There are two doors in each of our classrooms. One at the front, and one at the back. Kendall, one of the best Junior students, and David Mersai, a smart but lazy joker of a student, had just stepped out of the back door into the hall. I called to them, told them to come back inside. They seemed to be assenting, as they walked to the front door (there are windows between the classroom and the hall) to re-enter the classroom.

Then, Kendall got down on his hands and knees and started crawling into the classroom. David followed close behind him, crouched very, very low. This is the way Chuukese pay ultimate respect to someone, or to a group of people. Why they were doing this here and now, I had no idea.

He sat himself in front of TJ, who happens to be a phenomenal actor (and volleyball player). “Tirow om,” he said – a very, very humble “excuse me.” And he began speaking to TJ. Nelly, one of my best female students, translated for me (yes, they were speaking Chuukese in an English skills class). Kendall was pretending to be David’s father, having come to TJ to ask for his daughter’s hand in marriage for his son. As he was speaking, slowly and with great humility, another two of my best female students – Jessica and Hiromy – sat down beside TJ as his wife and wife’s sister. Soon, Ariel joined the group, sitting between TJ and Jessica (husband and wife) as the daughter.

So, we have a father and son, meeting with two parents, their daughter and an aunt, discussing the marriage of the daughter and son. And they went through the entire ceremony, and they did it with commitment. Jessica was holding her daughter, crying at the idea of losing her. TJ was warning Kendall of all his daughters negative attributes, Kendall was assenting regardless. Kendall promised the protection of TJ’s daughter. He also put to ease many of Jessica’s worries and fears for her daughter. Hiromy comforted Jessica, as Jessica in turn caressed Ariel, the daughter it seems she was going to lose so soon. At last, an agreement was made, Kendall made excuses for himself and David, and the two crawled back out the front door.

This was all with impressive authenticity. I have no idea how it was pulled off. I have no idea how these students were able to take ten minutes of class to do an impromptu performance of a marriage request, in Chuukese no less, without any hint of disrespect to myself or the class. We were discussing speeches, so the event was not unrelated, and we were able to accomplish the lesson in spite of all this, but still. I personally thought it was great because I had a chance to see a thorough presentation of the Chuukese proposal ceremony. And everyone in the class was engaged throughout – no one’s mind wandered, no one was bored. They threw in a couple of jokes, but the overall mood was solemn, respectful, and, well, impressively authentic.

I’m going to miss these kids…