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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.  

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Middle East
Migration
6 min read

Letter from Istanbul: how many neighbours is it possible to love?

It’s easy to feel overwhelmed by the sheer mass of humanity in Turkey

Becky is a a writer living in Istanbul.

An Istanbul street curves and the sun illuminates one side
An Istanbul street.
Drew McKechnie on Unsplash.

 

Living in the megalopolis that is Istanbul in Türkiye, as the country is now calls itself*, is both wonderful and utterly overstimulating. As the sun dawns earlier in the summer months, I often ponder on what woke me up as I sip my morning coffee. Was it the Call to Prayer from our neighbourhood mosque; the caterwauling cats; fighting crows; howling dogs or squawking seagulls?

Istanbul (formerly known as Constantinople) is where East meets West, and home to up to 20 million people. It's the only city in the world to straddle both Asia and Europe, separated by the narrow Bosphorus sea, which you can cross by ferry in 20 minutes. 

Known in the Bible as 'Asia Minor,' Türkiye boasts a wealth of Christian history and numerous religious sites, including the breathtakingly preserved ancient city of Ephesus.

Once the largest Christian cathedral in the world, the Hagia Sophia in Istanbul’s historic quarter Sultanahmet attracts millions of tourists to its grand Byzantine architecture every year, as both a mosque and a museum. 

Istanbul's gastronomy is among the best in the world. The food, paired with the melting pot of history, faith, and culture, also makes for the warmest sense of hospitality in the world to visitors and newcomers that you could ever imagine. It is a stark contrast to what I was used to in the UK. 

Turkish hospitality is about way more than tulip-shaped glasses of tea and aubergine köfte kebabs; in Turkish culture, a guest is honoured, making them feel as if they belong. From the drawn out etiquette of home visits to literal fights breaking out when it's time to pay the bill, in Türkiye, a guest is seen as a 'gift from God.'

Speaking of hospitality, Türkiye's official population is indeed an estimate due to the constant stream of refugees that pour into the country and settle in Istanbul, hoping to build new, better lives for themselves.

It is a hugely built-up city, with each skyscraper competing for height and a Bosphorus sea view; here and there, you can spy small little houses called gecekondus (which means 'put up at night'). These are the (illegal) homes of newcomers. 

Türkiye is, on the whole, proud of its migration history (and its 2016 agreement with the UN). Of course, it's a country in a prime position to grant refuge to displaced people in neighbouring nations and as a transit country for people trying to emigrate west, and is home to the world's largest refugee population (3.2 million Syrians and up to 222,000 other nationalities). The latest refugees to seek sanctuary in the four thousand year old city are more Iranians. I enjoy friendships with Turkish, Persian, and Syrian friends in my faith community. 

Of course, attitudes vary regarding the many 'neighbours' who make their home in Istanbul. There are complaints that 'enough is enough.' There is a 'Türkiye first' rhetoric that permeates the Caffe Nero I sometimes work in.  (Eye-rolling and body language speak louder than words when the barista is short with a burka-wearing, stroller-pushing mum speaking Arabic. 

And I do get it. 'Istanbul is overcrowded' is a massive understatement. You can't even begin to compare it to the UK immigration rhetoric. 

Behind most discrimination is fear, and secular locals worry that so many refugees in Türkiye could lead to a different religious landscape one day.

I, too, am a guest here in Türkiye, and I am grateful I've been able to make it my home. I'm reminded that every person is worthy of love and respect no matter where they are from. 

Of course world events significantly impact attitudes towards refugees in Istanbul. Sadly, it's a fact that events around the world can shape people's discourse regarding certain people groups. I find it hard to switch off from what's going on around the world, and since Israel bombed Iran last two weeks ago, I've been glued to the news. 

My hairdresser is an Iranian girl who has a residence permit due to her husband's job in hospitality. I asked her how she was doing. She said she's scared for her mum and sister, who are in a city that's being bombed, and she wants to bring them to Türkiye. She said the scariest thing about it all is that all flights are grounded right now, and the internet is inconsistent; they feel utterly helpless. All I can do is hug her and tell her all life is precious to God, and that I am praying for peace.

A week later, I woke up to the news that the USA had struck Iran, with the intention of destroying three of its nuclear facilities. The world waits and watches with bated breath to see what will happen next.

I don’t have the answers for overcrowding or immigration policies, but when I reflect on 'who is my neighbour' I know it is whoever I find standing in front me.

 

Many in Istanbul do ask 'who is my neighbour? It is a question that has been asked for millenia, most famously by Jesus.

Jesus replied with a powerful story that would have pushed the buttons of all those gathered around on issues of race, religion, and hospitality, which became one of his most famous parables. In 'The Good Samaritan,' a traveller and a Jew are brutally attacked and robbed when he's walking from Jerusalem to Jericho. Beaten, bloody, and left for dead on the side of the road, a priest passes by, but instead of helping, he ignores the man and continues his journey.

Next, a Levite who also worked in the Jewish temple comes along the road, crosses to the other side, and walks away.

Finally, a man from Samaria (sworn enemies of the Jews) passes along the road, sees the injured man, and stops. He stops, tends to his wounds, puts the man on his donkey, and takes him to an inn to recover, covering all the expenses from his pocket.

You can imagine the sound of a pin dropping when Jesus asks which of these three was a neighbor to the man attacked by robbers: 'The expert in the law replied, 'The one who had mercy on him.' Jesus told him, ‘Go and do likewise.’

The message is simple- our 'neighbours' are all the people we come across. It's those different from us and even those with whom our ethnicity and national history demand we make enemies. 

As a white woman with a British passport, I am privileged. I can return to the UK when I choose. People don’t wince if they hear me speak English in Caffe Nero. As a resident in Istanbul, I navigate the attitudes and ever-shifting narratives towards immigration in Türkiye by prayer. 

I want to hold space for my Turkish friends who feel scared and frustrated.

I want to be a voice of peace to my friend who sends me a video of missiles heading for Iran over the border from Hatay, Türkiye. 

Living in Türkiye as a woman of faith has changed me, and I can't help but think that if we all adopted the Turkish philosophy of hospitality, which views all guests as gifts from God, deserving to feel like they belong, the world could be a different place.

I don’t have the answers for overcrowding or immigration policies, but when I reflect on 'who is my neighbour' I know it is whoever I find standing in front me, no matter where they come from. I ask for the strength to 'love my neighbor as myself' no matter the country on their ID card (or despite their lack of one). And when I feel overwhelmed by the sheer number of precious human lives arriving in Türkiye every day, I remember that each of them is also a neighbour - and my job is to care for the one in front of me.


* Türkiye is the new spelling of the country’s name. Find out more