Pop 89: The Noble Ear

By Madonna Hamel

Recently, my friend Page and I stood in his backyard, swapping stories about popular song lyrics we mangled as children. For instance, I first heard "Home on the range, where the deer and the antelope play," as "where the deer and the ant elope, play," Now that's a marriage that will never work, I thought. I also thought the pop song" This guy's in love with you" was actually "the sky's in love with you." Oh, that's pretty common said Page. Who didn't mistake Jimi Hendrix's "excuse me while I kiss the sky" for "excuse me while I kiss this guy."?

"This guy" and "the sky" are easy mistakes to make. Especially as we get older and our hearing fades. In eleven years, Page and I have had three big arguments, the last having to do with his hearing and me yelling louder and louder to get my words across. Now the tiff seems petty. Especially because, while maybe he doesn't always hear so great, Page's an exceptional listener. Many an evening I've knocked on his door to whine, or kvetch or just sort through my thoughts out loud. And he always welcomes me, and like an analyst would, waves me toward the couch where I launch into my latest conundrum, observation or half-baked theory.

My brother often gets frustrated when he tries to describe what it's like to see through a damaged brain. His frustration is less about finding the words to describe his predicament - his language lobe is intact. (In fact, he seems even more poetic than before - so perhaps, in their search for new neural pathways, his neurons are hitting on some new zones of metaphor and poesy.) His frustration derives from people rushing in with advice, assurances, admonishments and diversions. "You're not listening!" he yells. At which point everyone feels unheard, unacknowledged and stymied.

Listening requires a willingness to let the language of the other land, not in our heads, but in our hearts. The most agreed-upon quality attributed to Pope Leo is his ability to listen. In fact, when fellow synod participants were asked about what stance he took at the large church gatherings, they would say: "Actually, he was the quietest person at the table. He just listened."

It's hard to believe that anyone in the public sphere has that kind of ability or restraint these days. Especially when conflict and aggression seem to be considered a skill rather than a serious detriment. Trash talk, snark, low blows, out-and-out slander get prime time viewing, garner clicks, egg grown men and women (who should know better) on to lower blows and crueller and creepier language, full of false claims and blatant threats.

The solution to violent language is the engagement of a "language of compassion", extolled by a very different sort of public voice: Martin Luther King Jr.  "Don't ever let anyone pull you so low as to hate them. We must use the weapon of love. We must have the compassion and understanding for those who hate us. We must realize so many people are taught to hate us that they are not totally responsible for their hate."

Can you imagine any commentator or politician or rights leader or pundit saying that? Can you find even a popular preacher who dares to repeat his theme - that we have love each other, even if we don't like each other? Especially in times of strife, as were the 60s and are now, when the normal animal instinct and the normalized human response is one of hyper-vigilance and alertness to possible harms, not to possible friendships.

There was a day when Nonviolent Communication was a thing. Healthcare and social work professionals, and even people in media, studied the techniques employed by Gandhi and MLK and taught by Dr. Marshal Rosenberg, who identified forms of "life-alienating communication which contribute to "behaving violently toward others and ourselves." Among those forms are labelling, comparing, and "judging others as deserving or not".

Today, we readily turn each other's words into ammunition, returning vituperative volley for volley. And so I fear this week's calls for putting down the sabres after the murder of Charlie Kirk will not endure, because they were never meant to endure. How long before the swords of slander get raised again by everyone, from late-night talk show hosts to the president of the USA? Because, prioritizing compassion means including your enemies in your words of consolation for more than one day of mourning. (And certainly means not searching the internet for footage of the moment of death.)

I would not compare Kirk to King, as some people have. King was a preacher, Kirk was a political figure. The problem and the solution goes deeper than the words they spoke. What the was the goal of those words? What was their intent? How were they delivered? 

Rather than acknowledging a common humanity, today's public conversations are driven by a compulsion for heated arguments. An "oh yeah? Well, prove it" kind of attitude. Rarely do we see an impulse toward engaged dialogue and genuine encounter. The phenomenon of constant debate is driven by a desire to win, and results in "opponents" hearing only what can be used against the other. 

Does our culture even understand the difference between debate and dialogue? Do we even care what each other has to say? Does listening as an act of human compassion no longer count? 

MLK' said: "I have decided to stick with love" because "hate is too heavy a burden to bear". Pope Leo says, quoting Augustine: "Listen with your ears in your heart." 

My friend Page gives of his time and energy, presence and goodwill, every time he sits and listens to my ponderings. And while "hearing" is a physical attribute - one of the senses, like seeing, touching and tasting - listening is a choice, a conscious decision to absorb what is being heard. Listening is a noble endeavour.