Addressing the group

My college experience was not the traditional post-secondary education situation because I did things out of the default order.  I graduated high school and went directly into the workforce.  I eventually found a job I really liked and decided to make a career of it.  After a couple years, I needed a bachelor’s degree to advance any further.  So I took one class each term at the community college, fitting them around my full-time workday.  After two years I did the math.

If I carried on like that, it would take me a full decade to earn my four-year degree.  And that was assuming all the courses I needed were offered on evenings or weekends.  Not a reliable assumption.  I needed a new plan.  Fortunately, I was not the only working stiff in my position and I found the Adult Degree Program at Warner Pacific University.

My cohort met one long evening a week for in-person instruction and completed most of our work outside class on our own time.  It was described to me as an “accelerated learning” model, and it sure felt like learning at warp speed.  Every weekend and most evenings were dedicated to school work.  I wasn’t bothered by the break-neck pace because I had set my sights on the end goal, which was pretty much how I did everything at that time in my life.

The particular structure of the accelerated learning program also meant we received our first assignment for the next course ahead of time and it was due the first night of class.  The first night of one particular course is especially memorable for me.  Not because of the subject matter or the instruction style or my fellow learners, but because of what I discovered about myself (and the world).

On that evening the instructor began in the usual manner, welcoming us to the course and sharing what they hoped for us to gain over the next few weeks.  After the customary greeting and orientation, he launched right in to the homework.  Before he handed our essays back, he said, he wanted to talk about the overall quality.  It was disappointing and needed some significant improvement.

I was suddenly on high alert, my heart pounding and my senses sharp.

As a self-identified over-achiever for my entire academic life, the quality of my work was a reflection of my value as a human being.  A mediocre assignment wasn’t just a project done poorly, it was a major personal failing.  So I sat motionless and listened with rapt attention as the instructor shared his overall impression of the general class performance.  He offered guidance for improvement and invited anyone who wanted to try again to resubmit an edited essay for an improved grade.

Then he handed back our graded essays.

He got to me last and asked to speak to me in the hall.  My heart began to sink as I followed the teacher into the hall.  He handed my essay to me and told me it was excellent.  I looked down and saw a red 100% written across the top.  My melancholy turned to confusion and I looked up.  He explained that my paper was the only one he read that did not need serious improvement and asked that I not share that detail with the rest of the class.

Although I was completely perplexed, something dawned on me quite clearly: none of that opening speech was actually addressed to me.  And yet I had listened as if my life depended on it.  Because in my mind it did.  When someone (especially someone with authority) addressed the group, that meant they were speaking to me.  I am part of the group and so of course they were talking specifically and directly to me.

But that isn't always true.

And just as I was listening intently to information not meant for me, so many members of a group are undoubtedly not listening when the information is actually directed at them.  Some number of years after that evening in college, I sat in a meeting at work and observed this very phenomenon.

It was an ordinary team meeting, and we had a guest presenter from the unit that handled cases of a particular type after we closed them from our group.  Among other things, they were sharing “most common errors” that caused their group to return cases to us for correction and re-closure.  I was listening and taking notes.  I was also assuming they were talking to me.

When their segment was finished, we thanked the visitor for their thorough and informative presentation and they left.  The conference room door had barely shut when one coworker complained that “our team would never do any of those most common errors.”  They surmised the presentation must have been a generic one meant for the territory at large and not customized for our group specifically.  This colleague announced they were going to ignore all that information because it obviously did not apply to them.

I happen to know this coworker made many of those most common errors because I reviewed their closed cases during my many stints as acting manager.  And yet there they sat deliberately and publicly not listening to information provided to the group - even though it was fully applicable to them - specifically because it was addressed to the whole group.

I’m sure they are not the only human who does this because this seems like a fairly common sentiment.  So what are we saying to various groups?  And which members of those groups need to hear it?  Do those members know they should be paying attention?  And are we also somehow giving the message directly to them?

It’s fine to make a broad announcement to the room at large, in fact it can be really important to do that to signal to humans with less social power in a community that issues affecting them are being addressed.  But if we only ever share with the whole class then the people who really need to hear the message might never bother to listen.

We need to do a better job following-up with individuals in our communities to confirm they know we are talking to them.  To make sure they know we are asking them to do some work along with the rest of us.  We cannot hope to make societal changes if all we do is make broad-sweeping pronouncements and just hope everyone takes the hint.

I think this is part of my responsibility as a community member to use whatever privilege and advantage I have to advocate for the rights of people who are unheard, unseen, or unacknowledged.  To borrow a phrase from New York City's Metropolitan Transportation Authority: when I see something, I need to say something.  And sometimes what I need to say is “hey, we are talking to you.”

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Information and Inspiration

• Warner Pacific University: Adult Degree Program
• Psychology Today: 8 Ways to Talk to Difficult People
• New York Times: How to Be an Active Bystander When You See Casual Racism
• LifeHacker: Interrupt a Toddler's Tantrum With This Script
• The Washington Post: How ‘if you see something, say something’ became our national motto
• MTA: If you see something, say something