Own What You Don’t Know
I recently read the book Fist Stick Knife Gun by Geoffrey Canada, who has received national acclaim as President and CEO of the Harlem Children’s Zone and founder of the Promise Academy charter school. In his book, Canada describes his experience as a young African-American growing up in the Bronx in the 1950s and 60s. After getting through barely one chapter of the book, I felt as if someone had slapped me in the face. What’s more, I felt as if I’d needed it.
Like many people, I watch the news and read articles online, and, without realizing it, fool myself into believing I know a lot more about an issue than I really do. I may understand certain economic and social factors that contribute to inner-city poverty and violence, but I don’t actually know anything about what it’s like to live through it. Moreover, the handful of facts I do understand don’t translate into a comprehensive knowledge of the issue and what we, as Americans, can do about it.
As I reflected on my ignorance, I quickly acknowledged that it isn’t confined to the issue of inner-city violence. When politicians come on television and say things I disagree with, I often dismiss them outright. When I read editorials or blogs by people with fundamentally different values, I often roll my eyes and shake my head. This is a common behavior, and I think, in part, it stems from two things: first, people don’t like to feel out of control, so we convince ourselves that we understand all we need to know about important issues such as economics, foreign policy, and civil rights. Second, people hate to be wrong, so when we’re challenged—especially on subjects we don’t really know enough about—we fall back on shouts, eye rolls, and sarcastic dismissals.
If we, as a society, are ever going to succeed in solving our greatest problems, we need to accept—and admit—that we don’t know nearly as much as we think we do. If we can do that, it will be easier for us to listen, easier for us to compromise, and easier for us to risk being wrong.
