Seven steps to reboot your dispute.
There’s no shortage of disagreements these days. There’s also no shortage of disagreements ever. And we’re not always our best selves in the midst of conflict. (At least I’m not). We in the mediation biz know that, when managed properly, conflict can be a great opportunity to move forward, heal relationships, come up with new ideas, or just be heard. So I’m reposting some handy (and deceptively easy) tricks that will prevent your conflicts from escalating out of control…and will help you get what you need while still being yourself. And not sucking.
1. Listen without interrupting…even if you’re hearing absolute baloney. This is not easy, and it’s not about giving in either. It’s about setting the stage so that you can figure out how to best respond. Jumping in and cutting someone off will only jeopardize your ability to make your point.
2. Repeat back what the person just said, and do it without sarcasm, twisting their words, or changing their content. This is even harder than step one, and it sure feels unnatural. Seriously, it’s bad enough to have to listen to a bunch of malarkey, but to have to repeat it back calmly and non-judgmentally? Sheesh. It’s a lot to ask, but it works. Not because you are capitulating (though it may feel that way), but because you want to prepare yourself for responding in way that will ensure that you will be heard. A good start to this parroting exercise: “I just want to make sure I understand…”
3. Let the other person confirm that you understood their issue. Then, remember: understanding their issue doesn’t mean you agree with them. End your parrot spiel with “Did I get it right?” or some such statement. People love to be heard and understood. Once they are, moving forward is so much easier.
4. Let silence be your friend. Trumpeter Miles Davis taught jazzbos that the space between the notes is just as important as the notes themselves. Don’t be afraid to pause before you react. In fact, you may need a few moments to breathe deeply after steps 1-3, which can be exhausting
5. Give assertive and constructive feedback. I’ve never met someone who has responded to, “You, sir, are an ignoramus and a cad,” with a sincere, “My god man, you are so right; through your candor, I have had an epiphany. Hence forth I shall be a mensch – this I vow.” Here are the steps for giving someone a difficult message in a way that will reduce the probability of a defensive response:
—Start with something positive. Is there anything you like/appreciate/don’t hate about the person? Point it out. Reflect that you care about the relationship. Tell them you appreciate their willingness to address a tough issue, and try your very best not to qualify it with a “but” of any kind.
—Be specific. “You’ve always been a slob and never clean up after yourself,” will not get you as far as, “I noticed that last night you left empty tequila bottles in the apartment.” As a rule, try to avoid using the words “always” and “never” in giving feedback, because they’re almost always never true.
—Explain the impact of the person’s actions on you. Tell them how it made you feel, “As roommates, we’re a team, so I felt disrespected/dismissed/unimportant/ignored when you didn’t clean up the joint last night.”
—Ask the person for ideas on how to move forward. Brainstorm on solutions. Repeat all previous steps as needed.
6. Let your body do the talking. We can say whatever we want, but it’s our non-verbal communication that makes all the difference. Open body language (like uncrossed arms) and a cow-face (a look of nonjudgmental, bovine curiosity) can go a long way.
7. Go easy on the venting. Freud’s followers are into the cathartic value of letting off steam. Sure, it can feel good to get all up in someone’s face if they’ve done you wrong, but there’s a diminishing return on venting. It will not only rile up the other person, it’ll escalate your own anger. So, before you attempt any of the above, make sure you’re not in a high state of emotional arousal.
So, good luck…now go out there and generate some conflicts so you can try this stuff out.
Folks, I was honored to contribute a chapter to Stories Mediators Tell: World Edition, which I’m posting here with the generous permission of editors Lela Love and Glen Parker. To read more far-flung mediator stories from Earth, get your very own copy here.
BALLS: A TRAINING DAY STORY
In which I share my semi-addled recollection from around 15 years ago, of a pivotal experience in facilitating large, divided groups.
You may have seen the movie Training Day, in which a young cop played by Ethan Hawke is assigned to undercover duty with a seasoned detective played by Denzel Washington. In a superb performance, Washington chews the scenery like Henry VIII gnawing on an oversized turkey leg. He plays the role with an inscrutable malevolence that leaves his partner, and the viewer, perplexed about his ethics, allegiances, motivations, and sanity. This story is about my Training Day experience, when I was working in Eastern Europe to promote dialogue between the Roma and majority populations.
A few words about the Roma: Commonly known as Gypsies (an ethnic slur – hence the phrase “to gyp” somebody), they emigrated from India more than a thousand years ago, leading a nomadic lifestyle for most of their history. Under the Soviet-controlled regimes, they were forced to give up their wanderings and stay put. After the 1989 revolutions throughout the region, the Roma experienced sever hardships as social safety nets disintegrated. This exacerbated the discrimination, oppression, violence, poverty, racism, and fear they already faced. As democratic ideals were on the rise for many, Roma and other minorities became increasingly disenfranchised. Many Roma lived (and still live) in settlements separated from the majority community, facing dire poverty and social isolation. Like many marginalized groups deprived of economic opportunities, crime among some Roma groups is high, leading to all kinds of negative images in the media and among the general public. In some places, Roma kids, to this day, are automatically placed in schools for the mentally disabled, just because they’re Roma.
My role, working for PartnersGlobal, was to help promote dialogue between municipal leaders (who were all non-Roma) and the local Roma populations in highly divided communities. I had the great privilege of working for six months in Slovakia with one of my mentors in the conflict resolution field. His name is Bolek (name changed to protect…me).
I was Ethan Hawke to Bolek’s Denzel Washington, and our job was to bring these two mistrustful groups together to build consensus and cooperate on shared community needs. At this point, the groups typically saw each other as one-dimensional, negative stereotypes: the Roma were thieving loafers, the local government folks were racist oppressors. This was an opportunity for the groups to three-dimensionalize each other and, just maybe, find ways to work together.
Sunrise. Bratislava, Slovakia. I’m accompanying Bolek to the first meeting of Roma and local government leaders in a town of about 20,000 people, maybe a quarter of whom were Roma. I’d known and admired Bolek for years, but always found him hard to read. As a trainer, facilitator and mediator, he was brilliant: present, animated, witty, creative, and insightful. One on one – I just didn’t get him. I didn’t know how to interpret his quiet demeanor and thousand yard stare – was he shy? Reflective? Was there something about me that just pissed him off? Anyway, It was really important to me that Bolek liked me, and didn’t see me as yet another clueless, out-of-his-depth American. (Which I was.)
So now we’re packing all of our gear into the car. We had the usual facilitation accouterments — flipcharts, markers, paper, etc. – and Bolek says: “grab sack of balls.” My mind whirred over how to formulate a witty comeback to a possible Slavic double-entendre.
Then he pointed to a huge nylon bag, which was indeed full of balls, lots of them. I took a peek inside and saw, inter alia:
And many more. Probably about a hundred balls in the ball bag. Here’s what I remember of our ensuing conversation:
Me: Hey Bolek, what are the balls for?
Bolek: Everywhere I go, I collect balls. This is my collection. I also collect hats.
Me: Yeah but what are they for?
Bolek: To keep my head warm.
Me: I mean the ba—
Bolek: Get in the car. It’s a long drive.
It was, in fact, a long drive. And a really quiet one, punctuated only by my inept and unreciprocated attempts at casual chitchat. Bolek’s not really a casual chitchat kind of guy. But the Slovak countryside was lovely. You should visit it sometime.
Casing the joint.
After an eternity, we arrived in the town. My job was to do whatever Bolek told me and stay out of his way. We pulled up to the local City Hall, a crumbling Stalinist Gothic affair. A taciturn staff person (imagine the Addams Family’s Lurch, without the charm) led us downstairs to a basement that was painted in 1950’s hospital gray-green, with a few lighter gray-green rectangles where I reckon portraits of disgraced Soviet leaders used to hang. The air was redolent with Eau de Bingo Parlor, the room filled with round tables surrounded by ducked-taped vinyl chairs that could have come from my local Chinese takeout joint.
The participants began to stream in. The Roma eyed the place warily, waiting for the other shoe to drop, probably on their heads. The municipal leaders eyed the Roma equally warily, possibly worried they’d steal their shoes.
The two groups clustered amongst themselves, nervously chatting and stealthily eyeballing the other group, like boys and girls during the first hour of a junior high school dance. With feline grace, Bolek got the participants seated, so that each of the five tables had a mix of at least three Roma and three local government folks. To this day, one thing I am terrible at is dividing participants into groups. When I have to count people off and sort them something always goes terribly wrong. (Math – forget about it.)
What followed was much fidgety silent awkwardness at each table. An expert in non-verbal communication would have had a field day, what with the crossed arms, furtive darting glances, shifting in chairs, and micro-gestures a go-go.
At this point, I was expecting Bolek to make some announcement, perhaps build a meeting agenda, facilitate some introductions – the usual. In my experience, in that part of the world ceremonial introductions are kind of a big deal.
Instead, Bolek, in the most he’d spoken to me in the four hours we’d been together, said:
“OK. Take the ball bag, and dump an equal amount of balls on each table. Do it quickly, so they won’t know what hit them. Also, try not to hit them. Then get out of the way because all hell will break loose.”
All hell broke loose. I did what he said, dashing from table to table, unleashing the balls.
A hard rain of balls of all sizes, colors and densities befell the unsuspecting participants. Roma and non-Roma alike darted about frantically, some dodging balls, some catching them, some batting them out of the way. A Roma and non-Roma simultaneously tried to pick up the same ball and bonked heads and literally (by which I mean figuratively) chirping cartoon bluebirds circled their heads. Followed, to my great relief, by much laughter. (This could have ended badly, given the tension between the groups). A new, rule-less sport that combined dodgeball, catch, juggling, and bouncing seemed to emerge. It was like a gym class turducken. Tension and animosity swiftly turned into pure play.
Bolek and I finally called the group to order, and after the last ball bounced, he said “Okay, now each table decide on which is the best ball.” He avoided the participants’ quizzical looks and evaded their questions.
After about ten minutes of heated – but friendly – chatter among the groups, Bolek asked each table if they were able to decide on the best ball. Each table answered ‘no.’ Participants felt pretty strongly as individuals as to which ball was best. There were factions within the tables, crossing ethnic lines, so it was pretty cool to see a Roma and non-Roma fiercely defending a tennis ball, together. There were no longer Roma and non-Roma – just ball aficionados.
“How do we measure what makes one ball better than another? Each table, please come up with a list of what criteria should go into deciding what ball is best. Forget about which ball you like the most, let’s just figure out how to figure that out.”
More spirited discussion ensued — it was hard to imagine that these were the same people giving each other side-eye only moments ago — and ultimately each group managed to agree upon how to best assess ball quality. (I picked up one of the planet-painted balls and made a joke about “Uranus.” Bolek’s silence indicated that it was more of a thought piece than a knee-slapper. Also, I’m an idiot.)
Anyway, the ball-judging criteria included:
Bolek then gave the mini-est of mini lectures on why objective criteria are important in coming up with creative approaches to resolving conflicts, which the group had just unwittingly demonstrated through play…while allowing them to bond and play across sharply divided lines. It was the most fun and accessible way I’ve seen Fisher & Ury broken down.
Bolek then repeated the exercise – this time without balls, and with the question “What criteria should we use to determine the problems facing your community?” Given the tensions and deep mistrust, one might expect this to end in a shouting match, not unlike what many American “Town Hall” meetings have become. However, they pretty quickly came up with agreed-upon themes – safety, hygiene, education, and housing were (as I recall) the biggies. These may seem obvious – but to get these two opposed groups on the same page was incredible. Agreement on how to face these challenges was far down the road – and I’ll save that for another story. But the groups at least agreed upon what to talk about, and, equally importantly, they were actually talking. Bolek’s zany ball exercise primed the participants to build a solid agenda for moving forward, and allowed for a genuine, human connection that paid off in unprecedented cooperation between the groups.
As we packed up our gear, amidst participants shaking hands, laughing, and exchanging contact info, I asked:
“Hey Bolek, you had pretty much every imaginable ball except a soccer ball. How come?”
Bolek’s response: “We’re Europeans. Everyone would choose the soccer ball as the best one. And no one would touch it with their hands.”
(This turned out to be true. Soccer players can’t use their hands, except for the “goalie.” It’s the Riverdance of sports.)
If you haven’t seen Training Day, I won’t spoil it, so see it yourself to find out whether Denzel’s character was a good cop, bad cop, or cop-on-the-edge-just-one-day-shy-of-retirement. With Bolek, I learned that – like many practitioners (and entertainers for that matter) – he lit up in front of groups, and was really reserved one-on-one. That’s just how he rolled. And he seemed to put himself in a kind of trance-like zone before mediating, facilitating, or training – as if to charge his mental batteries before unleashing his creativity and charisma. He gave so much of himself when in performance mode, and seemed to need to power down when not “on.” I get that now. I am that guy.
I gained so much from that day with Bolek, and I often channel the experience when working with large groups. Here are five things that stick with me:
 I’d say about 80% accurate, not including identifying info altered to protect confidentiality.
 The turducken is a culinary abomination wherein a deboned chicken is stuffed into a deboned duck, which is in turn stuffed into a deboned turkey. I may have gotten the order wrong.
 Go watch some 1980’s movies.
Folks, here’s a round-up of my sketchquotes from rock, pop, rap, country and folk luminaries. Enjoy and rock on.
I had the great pleasure of spending last week training a group of amazing police officers from the Conroe Independent School District, and mediators from the Montgomery County Dispute Resolution Center. In Texas! Pictured above are challenge coins, a gift from the officers. They’re used in elaborate rituals called coin checks in such places as bars and saloons, resulting in someone buying rounds of beverages.
Fun fact: 40 miles north of Houston, Conroe more than doubled in size since 2000, making it the fastest growing city in America…and not without growing pains, as the city and its environs become more divers along all kinds of identity lines.
I landed this opportunity when a bunch of mediators and an officer attended a speech I gave at Sam Houston University in Huntsville, Texas about our Police Mediation Partnership, and one thing led to another. Big thanks to the JAMS Foundation for championing our police-community work during these divided times…your support is allowing us to pay the idea forward beyond New York City.
The officers in the Conroe initiative primarily work in schools — dealing with everything from students cutting class (aka runners!), fights, cyberbullying, regular bullying, faculty-student altercations, parental issues, and drug-related crimes. This program is helping to build a vibrant relationship between police and the local mediation center and enhancing officers’ use of words to de-escalate conflicts, like unto our work in NYC.
This was cool: I got a police escort every day to the training (well, not a motorcade but I did get to ride in the front of the cop car, prompting the hotel staff to ask if I kept getting lost.)
The gig also entailed training trainers to build capacity within the department and create a critical mass of police mediators. Lucky for me, a bunch of experienced mediators from the fabulous Montgomery County Dispute Resolution Center attended as well.
Here are a few scenes from my week in Conroe:
This is mediator Jim and Sergeant Julie. In a roleplay they created, they shoehorned every Texas cliché they could into their characters (partly for the benefit the yankee in the room). To wit: a baby named Roscoe, kissing cousins, Waffle House, the Piggly Wiggly and a double-wise trailer with polyester curtains and a redwood deck (it’s from a song!). Of course, in mediation, we get to see people defy and transcend stereotypes.
The officers came up with a bunch of other conflict scenarios they regularly encounter. Here we have Corporal Mike de-escalating a high-intensity traffic stop with mediator Barbara, whose character was intent on refuting the police’s authority. What could have ended badly resulted in smiles and empathy.
Here we are having a ball.
Officers here are mediating a faux dispute between students, involving gossip and dissing — IRL and on the internets — culminating in a physical altercation. They did an amazing job surfacing the students’ common issues — belonging, reputation, being good students — avoiding an arrest or disciplinary action, and eliciting good will between the kids.
Which officer wore it better? Trick question, They both did. (If you look carefully, it’s not exactly the same shirt, but on the other hand, come on, it’s pretty much exactly the same shirt.)
Here I am being schooled on the various meanings of “bless your heart.” (Short version: it’s not always a compliment. Context matters. Kind of like fugghetaboutit in New York.)
One day I walked into the classroom to find this enormous Texas police duck, to contrast with my tiny NYPD duck. Indeed everything, including waterfowl, is bigger in Texas.
And the police ducks kept coming. One might call this — wait for it — the duck side of the force.
With visionary Sgt. Julie and amazing Officer Brandy (who, in addition to being a natural mediator, plied us with homemade Texas tea cookies on the reg. I also split my pants getting into a cab back in NYC, which I blame on Officer Brandy.)
I spent one day working with a smaller group of officers and mediators, training them to train others. I felt like a magician blabbing my secrets as I exposed the method behind my lunacy on how to appeal to different learning styles. I’m so excited to hear how the newly minted officer-mediator co-trainers will do. Pretty sure they’ll nail it….combining the conflict resolution expertise of the mediators with the real-life experiences of the officers. By the way, the cops and mediators, for the most part hadn’t met pre-training, so it was wonderful to see the two communities coalesce.
With our official Sam Houston University sunglasses, here I am with Elaine Roberts, the Executive Director, heart, soul and brains of the Montgomery County Dispute Resolution Center. I learned so much from Elaine and her team. They mediate about a thousand court-mandated case per year, and also do all kinds of creative things….including a super-popular kid’s bookmark competition among students, an anti-bullying pledge, and a Twitter hashtag initiative called #IMediateBecause. Mos def check these guys out.
Here’s one of the aforementioned bookmarks. Every year they get a couple thousand submissions from young artists, and disseminate 12,000 copies of the winners’ work.
We had a touching closing circle, in which I witnessed the well-earned solidarity among the peacemakers. To quote Elaine, “We are all mediators now.”
Happy trails, Conroe friends…and bless all y’all’s hearts!
PS: This just in: the best birthday wish/rap/mediation mash-up I’ve ever received, from one of my fabulous trainees! Those of youse/y’all who took our training will get the references.
Brad….what the heck, man?
You spent 5 days bein’ awesome with us Texans
Normalizin’, Time Travelin’, and Appreciative Inquiry
I can paraphrase and reframe, but it all inspired me
I use my cow eyes and watch my tone,
But if I’m hearing you correctly, today is a big milestone
Not Hawaii Five-O, not Fifty Cent
Just a half century of being a source of encouragement
Keep being Brad…help others, be artsy
Today is about “ewe”, so go out and party
Maybe get crazy, eat lunch, have some food
Happy Birthday my friend, I think you’re an awesome dude