Tag Archives: communication

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Questioning Questionable Sources

We can’t navigate through the informational tsunami that flows over us everyday if we don’t make critical assessments about the reliability of sources. 

Since the ancient Greek philosophers, the study of communication has concerned itself with the credibility of sources.  Aristotle especially insisted on the importance of  only putting faith in people with “good character,” high “ethos,” and personal “virtue.”  All were considered critical measures in determining the worth of an individual’s contributions to public discourse. The later Roman rhetorician Quintilian famously described the perfect advocate as a “good person speaking well.”

The idea of rigorous assessment of the potential veracity of a source is critical, not just in legal proceedings, where the stakes are obviously high, but in all walks of life.  Making decisions or forming attitudes based on someone else’s word is a survival skill. But in our over-communicated society, qualifying a source of information as “probably” reliable now boils down to little more than liking the source.

Americans seem to lack even the basic skills to make basic estimations of motives that might reveal glaringly obvious biases.  I’ve recently heard from individuals who were much too generous in accepting conclusions from questionable advocates, for example:  accepting British Petroleum as a decent source for learning about the explosion and oil spill of the Deepwater Horizon in 2010, accepting the word of a National Hockey League doctor on “overblown” stories of head trauma among players, accepting Wal-Mart as a source of reliable “information” on the treatment of their employees. All are examples of misplaced faith in an organization’s ability to tell the truth, even when their own financial interests should make us cautious about accepting their claims.

Consider another example with a different twist.  The National Football League has estimated that one in three of their players will have significant cognitive problems due to the bone crushing nature of their work.  On first glance, one may assume that the NFL would have an interest in minimizing player head injuries.  And if they did, their credibility ought to be called into question.  But an astounding projection of one in three players for limitations of “mental function” actually makes their estimate quite credible. That’s a lot of players. They would not have confirmed that rate unless it was probably true. This admission should raise some red flags with anyone connected with the sport.

This general laxity about applying reasonable standards of credibility to the assessment of sources comes at a time when more advertisers seek to embed their marketing campaigns as “sponsored content” on websites. For the advertiser, the idea is to take a soft focus view of a brand within a form that looks like straight journalistic content.  So the Washington Post website runs an article entitled “Five Chefs Talk Cheese” sponsored by the “Innovation Center for U.S. Dairy.”  To the Post’s credit, they label the content as “sponsored.”  But that tag is easy to miss.  Desperation to keep news businesses profitable can easily erode the firewall that protects honest journalism from paid flacking.  And so we can drift from hard editorial content to “click bait” that looks like news, hardly conscious of whose interests are being served. This risky ignorance of sources is borne out in recent research.  Online distractions can short-circuit critical thinking.

The critical point here that is that we cannot navigate through the informational tsunami that flows over us everyday if we don’t make critical assessments about the reliability of sources.  Doing anything less is the equivalent of mistaking a desert mirage for a true oasis.

 

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The Necessity of Acknowledgement

Source: SHED-5-restaurant, Melbourne, Australia
Source: SHED-5-restaurant, Melbourne, Australia

The averted gaze preserves our isolation until an expectation of reciprocity forces us out. 

The Important Person has just turned the corner at the far end of the hall. She’s with an associate, walking in my direction. In another few seconds we will pass each other in the middle of this long narrow hall. Will the Important Person notice me? Will her glances to her associate give way to a glance in my direction?  In the Important Person’s world do I even exist?

The essential ritual of acknowledging another is a cornerstone of our sociality. “Communication” can mean transferring the most complex of ideas or feelings.  But stripped to its essential core, it usually includes simple gestures that confirm another person’s existence: their basic worth. This basic process of affirmation can be in real time, or communicated electronically. As with the example of the pending encounter with the Important Person, its most interesting to observe in the flesh. The body language is so clear.  We are in constant search of facial cues from others that we matter to them, that we have status, that we are an agent of potential value.

This ritual has its cultural rules that vary somewhat from society to society. In American life most of the work of affirming or denying recognition is done with the eyes, where looking in the direction of another is the signature act of recognition. The establishment of this plane of mutual eye contact is essential. Saying something to another simply doesn’t work very well if we can’t catch that person’s gaze.

Imagine another common but more complex scene. With another person I am eating dinner in a crowded New York restaurant. Its layout is a typical arrangement: a continuous banquette along one wall faces a series of small individual tables, as in the photo above. Spaces between the tables amount to little more than a few inches. In this series of “table for two” arrangements I am in the chair and my partner is seated on the banquette against the wall.

Here’s the challenge. This arrangement poses a problem for waitstaff. The server’s mandate for good service means she can’t fully engage people on my side without establishing a plane of direct eye contact.  But she will need to perform the physically uncomfortable task of specifically addressing us by leaning in to our sides so her face can be seen. As a customer I can make the task easier by turning my head in her direction, or next to impossible if I don’t. And I’m impressed, because doing this wrenching twist of the body to show deference must leave a server with at least a sore neck.

In a crowded place like Manhattan direct eye contact on the street provides the opportunity for more “communication” than most people want. It’s too much work and perhaps risky to try to acknowledge everyone whose personal space you invade, like those facing each other on a subway. In such circumstances we do look at people and their faces, but this gaze is usually stolen: timed to be more or less unseen by the other. This kind of stolen glance preserves our isolation until we are again among people where there is an expectation of reciprocity.

We sometimes seem to prefer the electronic facsimile of another person over the one we know directly in front of us. The result can be its own small wound of rejection.

Source: Cindy Chew, S.F. Examiner
                Source: Cindy Chew, S.F. Examiner

If you are in an environment that might be broadly considered a community—for example, an office, a college campus, a faith community, a school—the averted gaze in another’s presence is increasingly common and usually off-putting. With those we know we expect an offer of acknowledgement through eye contact. This is the source of  the anxiety in the first example of encountering the Important Person. But communities must now also contend with competition for an individual’s attention from many sources, one of which is what I call “screen thrall:” the increasingly ubiquitous habit of community members to looking away from approaching others, shifting attention down to their cell-phones. It’s endemic in most settings, even when individuals are known to each other. My impression is that, for some people, it has turned into an automatic response: the equivalent of Bill Murray trying to avoid Groundhog Day’s insurance-selling Ned.

A practical and ironic effect of using a mobile device is that it now works as a tool not just for connection, but also isolation.  The stance characterized by screen thrall says “I’m not available.” It’s another case where we sometimes seem to prefer the electronic facsimile of another person over the one we know directly in front of us. The result can be its own small wound of rejection.

Comments:  woodward@tcnj.edu