Article
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War & peace
7 min read

How to disagree agreeably

How do we converse passionately about controversial topics without falling out or falling into war? Jörg Friedrichs shares his insights after a difficult conversation with a colleague.
Two 1950's men un suits sit at a table dominated by a large hanging microphone. One points a raise hand and finger into the air. The other listens.
A 1951 BBC debate between Iorwerth Thomas MP and Gwynfor Evans Teitl.
Llyfrgell Genedlaethol Cymru / The National Library of Wales, vis Unsplash.

Last year in spring, I bumped into an academic colleague whom I had not seen for a long time. I mean, we had talked over screens but not seen each other in person. He is a valued colleague, yet we ended up having a difficult conversation about the Ukraine war where we could have easily fallen out. It was close but, fortunately, did not happen, so let me share how we had a productive discussion instead. Of course, we did not end up agreeing on everything, but we did let one another finish. Avoiding an escalation was not easy then and is never easy in situations of this kind, but it is worth trying because relationships are more important than asserting personal viewpoints. 

Differences of opinion escalate easily in so many situations, especially in war-like ones. We see this with the war in Ukraine, but also in the context of the so-called culture wars. How do we disagree agreeably when people hold strong and principled views about controversial issues? Gender and lifestyle? Religion and race? How do we express a nuanced view that might question strongly held opinions, without either being labelled as something nefarious - “racist”, “woke”. Or thus labelling somebody else? What I am going to share is applicable to many situations, from the culture wars to marital disputes, from conversations over football to a post-mortem between parents when their kids have had a meltdown in the playground.  

Difficult conversations

There is no question that conflict generates false moral certainties, and it is often good to question them. Just because Russia attacked Ukraine, is anything to punish Russia justified? Conversely, just because Ukraine has suffered an attack, is it a victim nation deserving unlimited and unconditional support regardless of its own actions? Is the West, because it supports Ukraine, unquestionably in the right? Is any support of Russia, or even an attitude of neutrality, totally objectionable?  

In a war situation, people tend to look at things in a black-and-white fashion, and even-handed views are unpopular. Expressing them requires courage because partisan observers will attack us when we fail to roundly condemn one side while exonerating the other.  

How are we going to react when they do so? We will certainly feel put on the spot, but this does not disqualify their arguments. We therefore must consider their accusations with humility.  

In my conversation with the colleague, he accused me of spreading “Kremlin propaganda” when I suggested that the West should be more sensitive to the concerns expressed by Russia as a humiliated great power. Spreading Kremlin propaganda is not a minor accusation these days, and I did not feel I deserved it. I therefore found that, in a situation like this, keeping one’s patience is challenging. I was tempted to counterattack, perhaps accusing the colleague of being prejudiced. Instead, I had to take a deep breath and explain to him, as calmly as I could, that my aim was not to side with Russia but to suggest something that might have enabled, and might still enable, diplomatic negotiations and peaceful change rather than replicating a conflict that is so hugely damaging.  

From my point of view, the colleague had accused me unjustly, and so I found it difficult to render justice to what he was saying. Yet, while spreading Kremlin propaganda was not my aim, I had to recognise that part of what I had said overlapped with what a Kremlin propagandist might say. It was uncomfortable to accept that, perhaps, my colleague had put his finger on a vulnerable spot and I should take greater care to distance myself. To make things worse for myself, my colleague also pointed me to a factual inaccuracy regarding a historical detail.  In all honesty, I found it challenging to accept any form of criticism from someone who had just accused me of spreading Kremlin propaganda. Yet, the intellectual virtue of docility demanded me to concede the inaccuracy of this particular historical claim and stand corrected. I had to remember that, ultimately, what unites us is a search for truth, and that the truth can only reveal itself in a discursive spirit of give-and-take. 

Disagreeing agreeably 

We then had a productive discussion where I was able to point out that, during the crisis preceding the attack, Russia had made it very clear that the casus belli (cause of the war) had been a dispute over whether Ukraine was entitled to join a military alliance perceived as hostile by Russia. The USA and its allies insisted that this was not negotiable. Was that, and is that, worth a conflict that is killing countless people and has dire consequences for global energy and food systems? Has everything been done to avoid the war, and is everything being done to end it? While it is easy to see that Putin’s Russia is wrong, are we sure that “we” are right?  

Since the end of the Cold War, “we” (that is, Washington and its allies) have been involved in a significant number of military interventions, from Kosovo to Afghanistan and from Iraq to Libya. By comparison, Moscow has hardly been involved in any out-of-area interventions. Where Russia has invaded an adjacent country or region, as in Crimea and South Ossetia, the trigger was always the fear of a neighbouring country turning hostile. While attacking a neighbouring country is unacceptable, it seems fair to ask if the USA would stand by idly if a hostile power were extending its reach into its own regional neighbourhood (Cuba, Nicaragua, Granada). While a US attack on a country in its regional neighbourhood seems unlikely under present circumstances, there is a need to understand Russia beyond condemning the invasion of Ukraine. 

Unfortunately, propaganda from both sides has become so intense that it is becoming difficult to gain an even-handed understanding. There has even been open debate about using nuclear weapons. 35 years ago, the Cold War ended with a consensus that a nuclear war cannot be won and must never be fought. Indeed, fear of a nuclear holocaust was one of the reasons why the Cold War remained, largely, “cold.” There was communication with Moscow even under Brezhnev. Today, some would see a dialogue with Putin as treason. How can fundamental lessons of diplomacy and deterrence be unlearned so quickly?

We must value and recognize not only those whom we find it easy to empathize with, such as the Ukrainian and Russian people, but also those whom we dread and whom we fear. 

While my colleague stood his ground and reminded me, repeatedly, that “we” must punish or even humiliate Putin’s Russia for its attack on a sovereign country, we were able to have a calm debate where he listened to my arguments as much as I listened to his.  

This was only possible because I had stuck, as best I could, to a series of intellectual virtues, highlighted above in bold: courage; humility; patience; justice; docility; and search for truth. The list goes back to Nigel Biggar, a moral theologian who has adapted Christian virtues for intellectual needs. Professing such virtues is easy in principle, but hard in the heat of a real encounter. In the exchange with my colleague, I passed the test by the skin of my teeth. At other times, I fall short.  

Now, for those familiar with the lore of Christian virtues, you will know that 'six' is a weird number. Everything should come in 'sevens'. So Nigel Bigger gives us a final, seventh intellectual virtue. Charity. Quite possibly the most important.

If only we could become like brothers and sisters who are able to carry out our disagreements in love, giving each other the benefit of the doubt in having sincere intentions and reasoning to the best of our abilities.  

Of course, virtue sounds like a very grand word. Perhaps there are saintly figures who “possess” virtues as personal qualities. For the rest of us, virtues are aims to which we should strive, however much we struggle to reach them. Centuries ago, even a child would have been able to enumerate the seven virtues of Christian morality. Today, some of us may still remember the three theological virtues (love, faith and hope), but what were again the four natural or cardinal virtues? Well, never mind.  

In a twist that encapsulates the best of the Christian tradition, the virtues are not about being virtuous in a self-righteous way. Contrary to the pagan tradition where virtue is something heroic, Christian virtues are about valuing and recognizing others while humbling and decentring ourselves. We must value and recognize not only those whom we find it easy to empathize with, such as the Ukrainian and Russian people, but also those whom we dread and whom we fear. Christian virtues equip us for the arduous task of entering a dialogue with Putin’s Russia, with the view to seeking peace. Having negotiated with everyone from Stalin to the Vietcong, from Gaddafi to the Taliban, we hear today that the idea of negotiating with Putin’s Russia is naïve at best and misguided at worst. Yes, it is going to be fiendishly difficult. Yet, it is necessary. Equipped with intellectual virtues, nothing should stop us from trying. Neither should we stop trying to have conversations across the trenches, even those of the culture wars.   

Note: this post uses material from an earlier post by the same author.  

Article
Church and state
Comment
Community
Trauma
5 min read

After Southport: how to communicate amid tragedy, rumour, and riot

Handling the media in the aftermath brings dread, discretion and dignity

Stuart is communications director for the Diocese of Liverpool.

A media pack await a press conference in a street.
Media covering the Southport attacks.
The Emperor of Byzantium, CC BY-SA 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons.

Working from home in the quiet town of Ormskirk, about four miles from Southport, the first I noticed was a cacophony of sirens accompanied by our local Facebook groups buzzing with speculation over what it was this time. The news started breaking. An incident in Southport, vague details at first but enough to start that feeling of unease.  

Then the phone call and email. The local vicar and one of our Archdeacons seeking advice as inevitably the media would be looking for comment. I’ve taken a similar call many times over the 20 years I have worked with the church. It sets a mix of contradictory emotions. Selfishly you can’t help thinking there goes my plans for the day before you are sharply brought up to the knowledge that the reason for this is a tragedy for others.  

Southport brought out a further emotion. When I was a student, I lived for a year close to the location of the stabbings. 30 years on and the suburban area I knew was seemingly unchanged. Yet everything was different. 

The role of the press officer at this point involves navigating a tricky balance. You have a job to do, the journalists you deal with have a job to do. You are constantly fielding phone calls, jotting messages juggling time slots. You have a relentless barrage of people putting interview requests in and you want to ensure the right voices are heard and that those who represent aren’t worn out by interview upon interview. 

Then you remember what caused the story in the first place. You think of the emergency services working hard to support those in need. Above all you think of the victims and the families – at that time not knowing how many or how serious. And the sense of gloom deepens as the rumours of how serious the situation spreads before you get word of a police conference fearing the worst before the worst gets confirmed. 

At these times the mood amongst the media teams always feels strange. Acutely aware of the pain of the situation and sympathetic to what’s happened they can’t escape the job they have to do. I have seen this over many years mainly through the management of the press pens outside funerals at Liverpool Cathedral and churches across the region. You get to know some of the pack well, mainly and somewhat grimly reuniting at the next tragedy. They are massively co-operative with a strong sense of camaraderie, yet you can feel the pressure coming down to them from their news and picture desks. So, a sharing of resources and support occurs underpinned by a hint of journalistic competition.  

The press officer’s role here is to feed the machine. It’s hungry. They have time to fill and very often, particularly so close to when the event happened, everyone is more speculative than informed. The machine needs feeding whatever and the church voice can be a calm voice of authority speaking the anxieties and wishes of the local community. However, we don’t want to be rent-a-voice, we are not helpful if we seem to be trying to grandstand over someone else’s grief. We need to show the compassion and love that our faith and Christian values teach us. 

That became critically important on the second night when things turned ugly and the story was hijacked by rioting right wing mobs. Having been to the peaceful and respectful vigil on the afternoon I drove back past the scene of the stabbings on my way home. You could smell the tension in the air as people were converging on the streets exuding a purpose that did not seem like the sorrow from earlier that day. 

The media aftermath for the church was then to support the efforts showing the community rebuilding whilst also calling for harmony, standing shoulder to shoulder with representatives from all faiths. 

And on to the funerals. 

There are many patterns to organising press coverage at a funeral. Usually, we need a pen to marshal the cameras in a way that enables them to get the pictures they need whilst maintaining a respectful, sympathetic distance. It feels there is a nigh on obligatory picture of the service order, my hand featuring in many of these shots. There is a lot of standing and waiting, clarifying the minutia of the service so the reporters can tell the story and capture the atmosphere.  

Yet for me each funeral is different as I try to ensure the family’s wishes predominate. Southport was a case in point. Of the two funerals in Anglican churches (one victim was from a Roman Catholic family) one family wanted no coverage and my role was simply to make sure that wish was honoured. The other saw cameras in and around church and a full suite of reporters so we work hard with them to ensure respect. Mostly that involves a combination of setting consistent fair rules and supplying enough for them to tell the story. Journalists can cope with told they can’t do something provided their rivals are getting the same message. Lose the consistency you lose the pack as I experience outside Ken Dodd’s funeral when I had to scream at the press pack to get back in their pen before the cortege arrived.  
I see this as a ministry. I have learnt techniques over the years, witnessed fights in graveyards, stood soaking waiting for the funeral to end and the coffin to leave so I can relax. Doing this is a privilege which spills over into the funerals I conduct as a priest. As do the learnings from those funerals that, in turn, inform my ministry. Get it right it becomes a fitting, respectful and dignified way for the wider community to say goodbye to a victim. 

Then when it’s done we move on. The press pack to the next day’s story myself to the tasks from the routine job that I had to ditch. That’s easier for us. But the families and loved ones can’t easily move on from their pain and grief. 

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