I had an interesting intro to this book. The library notified me that my hold on it was ready, but I did
not remember requesting it. I assumed a friend recommended it. I asked
around, but none of my friends knew about it, so I must have gotten the
recommendation from a podcast or something. I actually really enjoy library gifts from my past self, and I’m so grateful to have read
it! It was a good holiday gift, to receive this book from past me and
probably a stranger.
It’s about how healthy or productive
conflicts escalate into “high conflict", the kind of conflict where
people get deeply entrenched in “us vs them,” and includes examples all
the way from the pettiest silly disputes over basically nothing all the
way to literal civil warfare. It was helpful to look at all of that in
one place, zooming out to what human reactions have in common.
I
think overall it was making a point about US politics, through providing
a bunch of examples that a great number of Americans would not have a
personal stake in, which for me, not relating to most of them, was very
effective in forcing me look past my defensiveness and reactivity toward
the people I’ve engaged in “high conflict” with.
If you are tired
of having a cortisol response to things that aren’t a physical threat,
or possibly even things that are, and you would like reassurance about
leaving when you can, I do recommend it.
I just finished it this
week (after only 3 days of reading; it’s very engaging), so I’m still
processing my thoughts on it. My initial response is relief.
I
have an incredibly difficult time bringing myself to try to understand
people who I perceive as my enemies in the US (conservatives). But, I
live in a safe place. I have space, so I’d like to understand.
I’m
a judgemental and short-tempered person. I am also a deeply
understanding person. I feel satisfaction in anger, but much more
satisfaction in empathy, peace, and easy forgiveness. When something
that infuriates me turns out to not be malicious, I am relieved. I want
to believe people are “doing their best,” as a bunch of therapists have
said to me (about myself, my friends, and everyone).
A few weeks
ago, someone broke into my car (gently—they didn’t actually break
anything). They rifled through all my things, and all they took was an
empty notebook, which was baffling. I had chargers, jumper cables, and
blankets, all of which were still there.
As we drove away, my
fiance asked if I was okay. I was. I genuinely didn’t care very much. It
was so odd. I was enjoying being baffled by this human behavior;
wondering what in the world their motivation was. It wasn’t very
inconvenient to me. I was sad to lose the notebook—it was from a
subscription box, so I can’t replace it. But I also didn’t mind someone
else enjoying it, even if they’d done something hurtful to get it.
The
next day, I was driving us, and someone was stopped in the road in a
way that irritated me. They needed to pull over so we could pass each
other, since there was room on their end of the road and not mine. This
made me angry for several minutes. I said, “You know what’s funny? I’m
having a harder time letting go of that than the break in.” They thought
this was wild, and yes, funny.
When I don’t understand something,
it so easy for me to get angry and frustrated. Stealing my notebook was
confusing, but sounded like a teenage behavior; I can picture a
teenager feeling powerless and committing small crimes to deal with that
in a way that feels thrilling and fun. I don’t like it, but I get it.
And I have the power of an adult and can empathize with that in a way I
couldn’t as an uptight teen (instead of an uptight adult).
When
people bother me on the road, I don’t want to understand or empathize,
at least at first. It pulls up all my insecurities that I am
an inconvenient person, on the road and otherwise. I have a lot of
anxiety about driving. I am a good driver overall, but a few years ago I
got kind of too aware of what a car is, and get stuck on this panic
about how dangerous it is to drive, inherently, even though most people
do not get in serious car accidents. It’s tied up in specific mental
health issues for me, and it’s hard to let go of it. Because I am so
insecure, and so distressed by unexpected behavior in general, flames
erupt in my chest when people do normal human irritating behavior while
I’m driving. Am I like that? Surely not, surely they are inconsiderate as a person.
The author of High Conflict
specifically calls out driving in the book. She describes a time she
was lost and confused and ran a red light, hearing honking behind her
and feeling embarrassed. She talks about how when someone else runs a
red light, they’re an entitled asshole, but when she did it, she had
reasons. She points out the very normal hypocrisy of this, that many of
us share.
I’ve had it pointed out to me that maybe the
person doing something weird on the road is a jerk all the time, but
maybe they’re in a hurry because there’s an emergency, real or
percieved. There’s no way to know which is happening, and isn’t it
easier to believe people have a reason for what they do?
Being
angry feels like an action, like it’s giving me power back when I’m
afraid. But it isn’t an action, it’s a feeling, and it isn’t a pleasant
one. When I consider others have reasons for what they do, I feel an
emptiness where the temporary satisfaction of rage was, and then feel
calm and alright again. It’s preferable, in the end.
I’ve realized
that the internet as I use it, primarily with social media and news,
gives me a constant wash of anger and sadness and frustration. There is
joy and hope there too, but it’s too mixed up in the emotions that my
mind tells me keep me safe.
But long term, it’s made me much less stable and comfortable and able to act.
I
noted in my last newsletter that post-election I have been pleased to
see the people who are finally sighing and going “Okay, the rage alone
didn’t help. What can I do now?” and have started looking at how to
engage in their local communities. It’s given me hope and happiness.
The author of High Conflict
encourages disbanding binaries—if there are only two options (like our
voting system) there is so easily an “us vs them”. When there are three
or more options, it becomes immediately more complex. She recommends
measures that give space and time to think. She also encourages people
to expand “us” wherever possible. I found all of this helpful, and
obvious, and not obvious at all.
Realizing that I am
American, whether I like it or not, did some of that for me. There is an
“us” that is my country. There is an “us” that is all humanity, too.
Do
we need a “them”? I’ve spent years online being infuriated that some
people could hate me so much. And being told that actually most people want me dead, actually. Which is absolutely not true.
As
I’ve started to see slivers of the “other side” of US politics, the
biggest and most revelatory surprise of Trump supporters I’ve had
recently is that many of them seem to think of what he says as only a
performance; that it’s silly to “take him literally”.
I read an
article recently about a Latino man who voted for Trump despite having
an undocumented son-in-law who he loves very much. He apparently did
this because he didn’t take Trump seriously on anything. He thought that
the mass deportation line was just an exaggeration, that he meant he’d
deport the “bad ones,” whatever that means. I still don’t find that
acceptable, but I find it comprehensible. I am trying to be able to just
comprehend people whose views I hate. Not to win anything at the
moment—just for my own sanity.
One of the people interviewed in High Conflict voted
for Obama hoping he’d “shake things up” and then when things didn’t
feel shaken up, she picked the candidate who seemed more likely to shake
things up—Trump. And yeah, he did. For the worse. But this person
wasn’t voting for the Trump that me and my friends take very very
seriously, she was voting for whoever the weird one was. It doesn’t
sound like she had a single demographic to hate. It seems like many,
many people are fully unaware of the actual power and intention of his
position.
Knowing that is a much better space to live in
for me—knowing some people do hate me and people I care about, but most
of them do not; even the ones tipping a domino that hurts me and my
loved ones ultimately.
Those are probably people worth talking to.
They can’t change if no one talks to them, and listens to them like
they’re people. That doesn’t have to be everyone, but it should probably
be me, sometimes, at least. I’m not exhausted right now.
That
seems so basic, but I have lived in a very traumatized bubble for most
of my adulthood. I formed my adult social circles around the pieces of
me that were most vulnerable. That bubble felt protective, and at first
it was, but then it convinced me that the world was actually only horror
outside of it.
Reading this book brought home to me the most
distilled version of what I’ve felt for years—I want to treat people as
people, and not be so afraid that paying any attention to them will hurt
me.
A few quotes from the book that I highlighted:
“[In
healthy conflict] curiosity exists. There can be yelling, too. But
healthy conflict leads somewhere. It feels more interesting to get to
the other side than to stay in it. In high conflict, the conflict is the destination. There’s nowhere else to go.”
“Violent
conflict gives people a sense of meaning that they don’t want to lose.
The hotter it gets, the more essential it feels. Fire starters
accelerate this process. Conflict entrepreneurs encourage people to find
meaning in conflict, and it’s not hard to do.”
“Listening
doesn’t mean agreeing. It doesn’t mean legitimizing or amplifying what
other people say. I still decide what to put in the story—and what to
keep out. Listening deeply does not mean creating false equivalencies.
The rush to assume it does comes from a superficial understanding conflict.”
Again, it seems basic but it hasn’t been.
Particularly
the idea that listening to someone isn’t giving them power; it’s just
listening. For many years, I had an intense desire to stamp out the
ideas that I felt were immoral, but over time, that has come to feel
like an American evangelical value. Talking to people like you respect
them can change their minds, and in the meantime, just makes living with
humanity less painful. I want to at least start out with respecting
people.
I occasionally see people who are disappointed that covid
precautions have greatly ended referring to people’s reversion to
“normal” as being actively in favor of eugenics. When I see that, I feel
sad, because that sounds like an exhausting and awful way to live,
feeling that almost everyone is cruel and hateful. It’s also just not
the same, to inadvertently hurt people vs holding the overt opinion that
some lives are better ended. Most people are not hateful, violent, or
in favor of eugenics. We all have biases, and support bad systems at
least here and there. But I can’t live in a reality where I believe that
most people are primarily violent.
I’m hoping for a future
where I can tolerate the feelings that bubble over when I’m making
assumptions about people, and move past them, confident that listening
won’t change my values, and that I can stop listening when it’s too
much. It makes sense to make assumptions when we don’t feel safe—but I
hope to be able to identify when I am unsafe and when I am just reacting
to the reminder of a separate situation where I would be unsafe.
I
want to stop internalizing that things are simple and bad. I am also,
after reading this book, feeling less weird and ashamed to have gotten
caught up in “high conflict” over things I didn’t have to. It’s human.
