Latest / The Quiet Between with Juliette Pasquet / Before We Choose a Side
Transcript
- BEFORE WE CHOOSE A SIDE Hi, everyone. Let me start by saying this right away. This episode is not a case against social media. There’s no denying that more and more of our social interactions now take place on social media. These platforms have also become one of the main places where we encounter and respond to the news, even when the reporting itself comes from established news outlets. And I often find myself reading the comments. What affects me most is not only what people say, but how they speak to one another. When we talk about social media, we often focus on the divide between the online world and the so-called real one. But I wonder if that is really the divide we should be focusing on right now. I’m Juliette, and this is The Quiet Between. What interests me is the contrast between digital immediacy and the slower rhythm of human relationships. Between the brutality of words typed in an instant and the nuance of a face-to-face exchange. And the screen adds another layer to it. It creates distance, depersonalizing the exchange and making us less aware of the person receiving our words. So what is it about this combination of speed and distance that makes it easier for us to speak to one another with such brutality? I think digital immediacy encourages us to react before we’ve made room for someone else’s story. The recent events in France have made one question impossible for me to ignore: what does the way we respond to one another reveal about our capacity for empathy? And I want to say this plainly: I am heartbroken by what I have seen on the news and on social media. Like many of you, I’ve seen images and videos of the city hall in Limoges in flames. I’ve seen business owners standing before the remains of what they had spent years building. And I’ve seen people exercising their right to protest being met with force that left some seriously injured. Each image carries a different story, and every one of them is difficult to look at. France is known as the land of the Enlightenment, but I think that image sits very uneasily with the country’s social, political, and economic reality today. Now, I do not want to add another political analysis or tell you which side to take, especially when these events are already being used for political gain ahead of the presidential election. What I want to talk about is what I’ve observed, both on TV and on social media, which is the polarization of the debate, as though we must either be completely against or completely in favor of something. And this has been particularly striking in conversations about the violence that has shaken the country. If I can understand the root causes of violence, does it mean I am encouraging it? If I feel for people who have been physically assaulted, am I taking a side? If I believe in the “you break it, you pay for it” principle, am I sweeping the erosion of French public services under the rug? I’ve witnessed many interactions between citizens of the same country who simply could not seem to see eye to eye. Some say there’s no revolution without violence, that violence is people’s last resort when they want to be heard or seen. Others argue that the protesters’ voices are rendered invisible by that same violence. And let me be super clear here. I condemn all forms of violence. And showing empathy for someone does not mean that I approve of their actions. Those two things can be true at the same time. And yet, when I read some of the comments people use to address one another, I am horrified by the words they choose. The brutality of it all. The problem is not that we disagree. It is how we disagree. Somewhere along the way, we seem to have lost sight of what individual freedom means. I grew up hearing that my freedom ends where someone else’s begins, and that democracy is sustained and strengthened through debate, which also means through disagreement. So can we still make room for someone else’s story, even when we do not want to hear it, even when it makes us uncomfortable, even when it challenges everything we believe? And I think this goes beyond the way we behave online. I truly believe that, as a society, we’re suffering from an empathy deficit. Not because we’ve stopped caring altogether, but because we’ve forgotten that empathy is not only something we possess; it’s something we must practice. When we repeatedly react before we listen, judge before we understand, and choose a side before making room for someone else’s story, empathy becomes less available to us precisely when we need it most. But what does it mean to practice empathy even when we disagree? Empathy asks us to try to see a situation from someone else’s position. Again, that does not mean agreeing with them. It does not mean excusing what they’ve done or abandoning our own convictions. What I love about empathy is that it asks us to stay curious long enough to understand the experience behind a position and, by extension, the person who holds it, rather than rushing to judgment. Let me take an example from my middle school years in France to show what practicing empathy can look like in public debate. We had a mandatory class called civic education. It was designed to help us become informed and responsible citizens, and sometimes we had to debate a social issue. The catch was that we were randomly assigned a side, whether we agreed with it or not, and then had to defend it in front of our classmates. And of course, we all wanted to win. Let’s just say it made me squirm a little, but it also made me realize that what felt obvious from where I stood could look very different depending on where another student stood. We did not have to agree with the position. We had to understand it well enough to argue from it. That exercise gave us a way to practice perspective-taking. But empathy is not learned through argument. Instead, we develop it through physical presence. Face-to-face interactions give us access to an entire layer of communication that does not rely on words. For example, we can hear someone hesitate, see a posture shift ever so slightly, or notice the moment someone’s voice begins to break. And, you know, physical presence teaches us not only to pick up on those signals, but also to respond to them, perhaps by moving closer, resting a hand on someone’s shoulder, or simply staying beside them. Who has never felt their own tears welling up while watching someone else cry? And yet, more and more of our interactions are mediated by screens. And look, I love a well-chosen GIF as much as anyone, but there’s only so much an emoji or a GIF can convey, right? Of course, it can signal an emotion, but it cannot recreate the experience of witnessing that emotion unfold in front of us. And then there’s listening itself. Bear with me a second here, because active listening may sound simple, but it’s really not. Active listening means giving someone our full attention and making a conscious, deliberate effort to understand what they’re experiencing. But perhaps the hardest part is resisting the urge to interrupt or to start preparing our response before they finish speaking. And we all do it, consciously or unconsciously. So trust me, it’s easier said than done. You know, I’m always amazed by how early we can begin practicing these things: civic responsibility, perspective-taking, active listening, and empathy. It reminds me of something I’ve observed in my children’s classrooms. Here, in elementary school, children are often invited to share something about themselves, and each child, at one point or another, gets the floor. But the others are usually bursting to chime in. They cannot wait to talk about what they did over the weekend or during the summer, or what they brought from home. So the teachers ask them to use a simple “me too” hand signal. When the children recognize a shared feeling or experience, they can make the sign without interrupting the person speaking. They get to participate while allowing the speaker to keep the floor. This small gesture helps them practice impulse control, respect someone else’s turn, and recognize connections between their own experiences and those of others. Through something as simple as a hand signal, active listening becomes an opportunity to practice empathy. So, guys, if there’s one thing I’d like you to take away from this, it is that empathy is still available to all of us. We’re all capable of stepping, however briefly, into someone else’s shoes. Not by giving up who we are or where we come from, but by making room for where the other person is coming from. Empathy does not ask us to sanitize the debate or pretend that our differences do not matter, because they do. It asks us to hold the tension between our own experience and someone else’s, and to listen long enough for the person on the other side to remain human to us. And perhaps that is where altruism begins: not in agreement, but in refusing to let disagreement erase our capacity to care. So today, I want to make that same “me too” hand signal to anyone who’s suffering. Not to suggest that our experiences are the same, but simply to say, “I see you.” Thank you for listening. I’ll talk to you soon.