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When Results Fall Short of Expectations

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A number of years of writing and teaching has forced me to be a student of the unexpected ricochet. That’s pretty much the whole game if you are playing racquetball, and it has a lot of relevance to communication.

second thoughtsThe actual court for the game is simply a 20 by 40-foot white box with walls that function as a playing surfaces for several players hitting a hard rubber ball. It’s typically smashed so hard against the playing wall that it comes back at speeds and angles are hard to predict. Those missed shots off the walls, ceiling or floor are how you score points against your opponent. Those who have escaped the sting of that small missile can be thankful. It hurts. A bruised French player must have coined the word “ricochet.” But it also evokes the unanticipated associations, meanings, slights, and bogus significations possible every time we open our mouths. More than most kinds of human endeavor, persuasion is fraught with effects that are unforeseen. No wonder it is so difficult.

From a number of meta-studies we know that the odds of getting someone to alter their attitudes even after a flurry of good reasons have been presented is—on the best days—no better than maybe one in ten. After explaining this theory of “minimal effects” in a class, a student glumly asked, “What’s the point? Why bother? The challenge hardly seems worth the effort.”

The short answer is that we have no choice. We are hard-wired to connect. And, by the way, who says that convincing another person to give up an attitude or a cherished behavior should be easy? We’ve worked hard to put our lives together in some sort of coherent way; we are not going to rearrange them on a whim.

It’s best to consider what can go wrong. In persuasion theory, unexpected effects are called “boomerangs.” The idea is important to remember because even well-planned campaigns to change others’ behaviors can easily veer off course. I teach this logic, and encourage my students to wear their newly acquired skepticism as a badge of honor. Having a healthy level of doubt about predicted effects is a life skill. Recall Elon Musk brandishing his chain saw in the Oval Office, or hoisting his arm in some sort of Fascist salute, or demonstrating  the toughness of his truck’s windows as one breaks.  All were surely not what the unpopular Musk intended.

Consider some additional cases, mostly true:

  • You show up to give an invited presentation to a group and (a) there is no screen for the PowerPoints you counted on, (b) there is nowhere to plug in your video projector, (c) there is no podium for your notes and (d) and a crew of ten men and machines are busy re-paving the parking lot next door.  Under these circumstances, how effective do you think will can be?
  • Your advertising agency has prepared a gay-friendly ad campaign that tested well and is now running in three national media outlets. Everyone on the creative team basks in their certain rewards of their progressive messages. But a respected leader in the LGBT community condemns the ads for “promoting old stereotypes.”  Condemnation of the ads is getting more attention than the ads themselves.
  • At a business lunch with a potential client you innocently praise the good service you once got from a large national retailer, only to be chided for supporting a chain whose owners are “political reactionaries.”
  • You meet a new set of Michigan in-laws for the first time, not realizing that for this family of General Motors employees, your new Ford visible to all in their front driveway might just as well be a load of manure.
  • You are Bridget Jones at a literary party in the midst of introducing the work of a hack you brazenly oversell as the author of “the greatest book of our time.”  This happens just as you catch  looks of dismay from the faces of Jeffrey Archer and Salman Rushdie, just a few feet away.

When it comes to communication, it is reasonable to worry about things going wrong. You will probably be pleasantly surprised, but it pays to be a little bit of a pessimist.

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Kennedy’s Misrepresentations of Autism

A person “on the spectrum” would hardly recognize Kennedy’s characterization of it.

In a press conference earlier this month Robert F. Kennedy Jr. had more bad advice to offer on the nature and causes of autism, or what used to be known as Asperger’s Syndrome. The Health and Human Services Secretary mischaracterized autism as a “preventable disease” and unfairly stigmatized those who are on the spectrum.  Not only do these neurodivergent people supposedly suffering with a dire condition, but “many” were once “fully functional,” but later “regressed” because of some sort of “environmental exposure.” These false claims were bad enough, but then he launched into a whole cluster of slights:

“These are kids who will never pay taxes. They’ll never hold a job. They’ll never play baseball. They’ll never write a poem. They’ll never go out on a date,” Kennedy said. “Many of them will never use a toilet unassisted. And we have to recognize we are doing this to our children, and we need to put an end to it.”

Oh, and autism supposedly “destroys families.”

The Trump administration playbook always seems to trivialize the complex, reaching too far for single and simple solutions. We currently have junk economics draining away American credibility. It is as much a disgrace for a health official in this country to pedal junk science. A person labeled with the slippery and still bewildering indicators of autism would hardly recognize Kennedy’s characterization of it. His suggestion that he will soon set us all straight is disingenuous, given years of substantial research that has already been done.

As the name suggests, Autism Spectrum Disorder comes in a vast array of behavioral and social responses deemed “unusual,” “obsessive,” or socially isolating. It is a highly variable condition that shows itself in different forms of thinking and relating to others. There are often mild manifestations of it that require nothing more than the understanding of others. Severe instances of speech or cognitive disruption may require more help. In addition, repetitive behaviors and picking up social cues can be a challenge. And noise or the operations of some machines may be bothersome. Even so, there are people on the spectrum who own businesses, hold advanced degrees, marry, and do advanced research. To be sure, at its onset at age 2 or 3 autism can create challenges to a caregiver. Children especially struggle to find the kinds of social skills and connections that are rewarding. But with age, most learn to cope with the consequences of this condition reasonably well, and would be offended by Kennedy’s disablism.

Kennedy is into the weeds from the start

Naming autism as a “disease” is misleading, and—like other forms of behavior that have been medicalized—takes many people out of the game. It suggests that individuals cannot be agents of their own adaptation. Many folks on the autism scale are doing fine as they are. And some familiar features of autism, such as giving extensive attention to one thing, or seeing obscure patterns or relationships, can be useful capacities that those of us who are hopelessly distracted may never acquire. It is a common idea among autism researchers that Sherlock Holmes would probably have been considered on the spectrum, and perhaps Albert Einstein as well. Well-known animal researcher and author Temple Grandin notes that she still cannot “read” others well, but her awareness of this challenge has helped her adapt and thrive.

Differences Versus Deficits 

Most of all, broad generalizations are risky. While some neuroscientists see what they consider to be unusual patterns of brain activity in autistic people, the causes and symptoms are not always accepted as representing a distinct condition to be treated. There are no definitive indications that “deletions” of genetic material causes autism. And evidence in favor of possible environmental causes is suspect. This murky etiology along with the wide spectrum of behavioral effects of autism has led some to question whether milder forms are really separate conditions at all; they may simply be  manifestations of natural neurodiversity. In this view, what is called autism may point to natural differences, but not necessarily deficits.

Then, too, I believe that our modern other-directed communication has been “normed” into American life, especially among families who believe they understand the social intricacies of “getting ahead.”  We often assume the worst for children left to the kinds of unstructured and solitary play that was the norm in previous centuries. This may be one reason that autism’s isolation and social awkwardness are relatively new disorders. Eccentricities that were once “understood”—sometimes with compassion, and at other times with institutional isolation—are now subject to intense study, and sometimes premature interventions. It’s easy to sympathize with Liane Willey, who notes in her book, Pretending to be Normal, “I do not wish for a cure to Asperger’s Syndrome. What I wish for, is for a cure for the common ill that pervades too many lives; the ill that makes people compare themselves to a normal that is measured in terms of perfect and absolute standards.”

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Portions adapted from the writer’s, The Rhetorical Personality (2010).