What do you do with people, huh? Sometimes they’re just
plain hard to deal with. Maybe even people that you actually like. Like,
perhaps in these days of political upheaval and lots to chat about, your
friends and family reveal that they’re kind of bigoted and racist and you don’t
know what to say. You like them plenty in other ways. So it’s maybe best to
keep schtum. Adhere to the old adage of keeping religion, politics, and sex
away from the dinner table.
Communicating properly with others requires a kind of unspoken contract: we’ll be somewhat open; we’ll be honest; we won’t play daft games to try and score points; we won’t get hysterical and irrational, overly aggressive or violent.
If the contract’s not adhered to, we have a choice: get involved in something maybe unpleasant, or walk away, avoid those people, or at least avoid those topics.
Obviously, because I’m saying all this, that implies that I see myself as a rational person. And by that, I guess I mean that I listen, I try to be open to what the other person is saying, put myself in their shoes as much as I can, not be nasty even when I think they’re totally barking (understanding that doesn’t do anyone any good), and seek that which is mutually beneficial, the point of harmony and understanding, a place where agreements rather than antagonisms can be found.
Also obviously, I may be wrong in all that: if I see others as irrational, unwieldy, and generally lacking in communication skills, it only stands to reason that others may feel the same in me. I mean, they won’t feel themselves to be irrational, just as I don’t. But we can’t both be right.
Still, if I assume I am right in this – how else is one to exist in the world? – then the real question is, how does one proceed? I’ve dealt with plenty of people who seemed incapable of rational conversation – particularly when in the middle of refereeing a football match – and the conclusion I’ve come to is it’s simply best not to engage, tempting though it is, and straightforward though it appears. It’s a lesson learned repeatedly, and often painfully, and a lesson I will no doubt have many chances to learn again, and will also no doubt fail many times too.
But that’s not what I’m thinking about now. What about those who do appear capable of rational conversation? Those who say the right things. Those who appear to be listening, and hearing, and singing from the same hymn sheet. And those who it later transpires, quite clearly aren’t.
Let’s say I know a man. Let’s say he’s really nice in lots of ways, and we seem to get on well – and yet, over and over, when the conversation’s finished, I discover the way he might have related it to others is full of blatant fabrications. Let’s say he also lies about other aspects of my life. Let’s say he tells others close to me things that aren’t true, that are hurtful, and that come so out of leftfield as to be baffling, puzzling, almost amusing in their preposterousness, and generally ludicrously easily disproved to boot.
Why would someone be like that? Why would someone be like that over and over again? What could they possibly find so threatening that they felt such a need to lie?
Now let’s take it a step further: let’s say this person works with vulnerable people. And let’s say that being honest is not only integral to their work, but forms the basis of it.
Can the most dishonest and manipulative person I know be trusted in this position? Can a self-confessed “pathological liar” help others to be more honest with themselves and others? Does the end justify the means? And where, exactly, do I fit in with all this?
It’s a tricky one: when the whole Jimmy Savile thing came out, there were no shortage of people claiming, “oh, everyone knew that about him” – but where were they in the preceding decades, when they could have saved others from grievous and irreparable harm? Why didn’t they step forward while he was still alive? Why do so many of us let all different kinds of abuse slide?
It’s scary, I guess, and messy too: whistle blowers rarely come away unscathed. You roll with the socio and psychopaths of this world, you get covered in dirt. Icky stuff, difficult to remove. I can understand the temptation to try to let it go, to forget, to move on.
Still, that’s not quite where it’s at for me: for truly exposing one man’s dishonesty would also embroil and hurt people I care about, as well as possibly jeopardise their finances, and that’s what holds me back when push comes to shove, for better or for worse. It’s not their fault they’re inextricably linked with such a person. I don’t see why they should suffer.
It’s a rock and a hard place, and I guess I choose the rock.
Well, that’s okay: I quite likes rocks – and in some ways, prefer them to people too. ;-)
It’s also a curiosity: in 99.9% of my interactions I find little stress, little unpleasantness, little unease – so to have this one person in my life not only so seemingly incapable of telling the truth, but also apparently hellbent on spreading disinformation when honesty would quite happily suffice is baffling in the extreme. I just don’t come across it very often, and I certainly don’t understand it.
But then, maybe it’s a good thing that I don’t – though perhaps I should try:
Q. Why would someone be compulsively dishonest, even when it would be easier not to be?
A. I guess because they have some fairly complex deep-seated mental and emotional issues that are way beyond my level of understanding to comprehend or unravel or deal with.
Q. And why would somebody so seemingly charismatic, likeable, and good in so many other ways exhibit so many episodes of manipulation and falsehood?
A. Probably something an expert in pathological behaviour could elaborate on: history has given us enough examples of severely twisted individuals who were well-liked, entertaining, and capable of completely heinous activity to show us that popularity isn’t everything.
Q. And what am I to do about all this?
A. Probably nothing. I mean, the wrongdoings aren’t particularly harmful – they’re certainly not on a Jimmy Savile-type level – and, like I say, because people I like and love would be adversely affected, I don’t feel I can anyway. I guess it’s just a case of avoiding them. Managing my own emotions around this as best I can. And waiting till they die.
I dunno. I don’t understand why this causes me so much stress. Maybe I’ve just been lucky in my life thus far and therefore never learned to deal with the nasty shock of being gossiped and lied about. Maybe it’s the discomfort of not knowing exactly how to proceed. Or maybe it’s my inherent Britishness and sense of ‘justice’ and ‘fairness’ rising its confused hackles and bristling at the inconvenience of an internal battle between politeness, doing what’s right, not wishing to make a scene, and the frustration of an enemy who refuses to play by the rules, even when the rules make perfect sense for everybody.
It’s all very strange. But I feel better for typing it out, and resolved.
Communicating properly with others requires a kind of unspoken contract: we’ll be somewhat open; we’ll be honest; we won’t play daft games to try and score points; we won’t get hysterical and irrational, overly aggressive or violent.
If the contract’s not adhered to, we have a choice: get involved in something maybe unpleasant, or walk away, avoid those people, or at least avoid those topics.
Obviously, because I’m saying all this, that implies that I see myself as a rational person. And by that, I guess I mean that I listen, I try to be open to what the other person is saying, put myself in their shoes as much as I can, not be nasty even when I think they’re totally barking (understanding that doesn’t do anyone any good), and seek that which is mutually beneficial, the point of harmony and understanding, a place where agreements rather than antagonisms can be found.
Also obviously, I may be wrong in all that: if I see others as irrational, unwieldy, and generally lacking in communication skills, it only stands to reason that others may feel the same in me. I mean, they won’t feel themselves to be irrational, just as I don’t. But we can’t both be right.
Still, if I assume I am right in this – how else is one to exist in the world? – then the real question is, how does one proceed? I’ve dealt with plenty of people who seemed incapable of rational conversation – particularly when in the middle of refereeing a football match – and the conclusion I’ve come to is it’s simply best not to engage, tempting though it is, and straightforward though it appears. It’s a lesson learned repeatedly, and often painfully, and a lesson I will no doubt have many chances to learn again, and will also no doubt fail many times too.
But that’s not what I’m thinking about now. What about those who do appear capable of rational conversation? Those who say the right things. Those who appear to be listening, and hearing, and singing from the same hymn sheet. And those who it later transpires, quite clearly aren’t.
Let’s say I know a man. Let’s say he’s really nice in lots of ways, and we seem to get on well – and yet, over and over, when the conversation’s finished, I discover the way he might have related it to others is full of blatant fabrications. Let’s say he also lies about other aspects of my life. Let’s say he tells others close to me things that aren’t true, that are hurtful, and that come so out of leftfield as to be baffling, puzzling, almost amusing in their preposterousness, and generally ludicrously easily disproved to boot.
Why would someone be like that? Why would someone be like that over and over again? What could they possibly find so threatening that they felt such a need to lie?
Now let’s take it a step further: let’s say this person works with vulnerable people. And let’s say that being honest is not only integral to their work, but forms the basis of it.
Can the most dishonest and manipulative person I know be trusted in this position? Can a self-confessed “pathological liar” help others to be more honest with themselves and others? Does the end justify the means? And where, exactly, do I fit in with all this?
It’s a tricky one: when the whole Jimmy Savile thing came out, there were no shortage of people claiming, “oh, everyone knew that about him” – but where were they in the preceding decades, when they could have saved others from grievous and irreparable harm? Why didn’t they step forward while he was still alive? Why do so many of us let all different kinds of abuse slide?
It’s scary, I guess, and messy too: whistle blowers rarely come away unscathed. You roll with the socio and psychopaths of this world, you get covered in dirt. Icky stuff, difficult to remove. I can understand the temptation to try to let it go, to forget, to move on.
Still, that’s not quite where it’s at for me: for truly exposing one man’s dishonesty would also embroil and hurt people I care about, as well as possibly jeopardise their finances, and that’s what holds me back when push comes to shove, for better or for worse. It’s not their fault they’re inextricably linked with such a person. I don’t see why they should suffer.
It’s a rock and a hard place, and I guess I choose the rock.
Well, that’s okay: I quite likes rocks – and in some ways, prefer them to people too. ;-)
It’s also a curiosity: in 99.9% of my interactions I find little stress, little unpleasantness, little unease – so to have this one person in my life not only so seemingly incapable of telling the truth, but also apparently hellbent on spreading disinformation when honesty would quite happily suffice is baffling in the extreme. I just don’t come across it very often, and I certainly don’t understand it.
But then, maybe it’s a good thing that I don’t – though perhaps I should try:
Q. Why would someone be compulsively dishonest, even when it would be easier not to be?
A. I guess because they have some fairly complex deep-seated mental and emotional issues that are way beyond my level of understanding to comprehend or unravel or deal with.
Q. And why would somebody so seemingly charismatic, likeable, and good in so many other ways exhibit so many episodes of manipulation and falsehood?
A. Probably something an expert in pathological behaviour could elaborate on: history has given us enough examples of severely twisted individuals who were well-liked, entertaining, and capable of completely heinous activity to show us that popularity isn’t everything.
Q. And what am I to do about all this?
A. Probably nothing. I mean, the wrongdoings aren’t particularly harmful – they’re certainly not on a Jimmy Savile-type level – and, like I say, because people I like and love would be adversely affected, I don’t feel I can anyway. I guess it’s just a case of avoiding them. Managing my own emotions around this as best I can. And waiting till they die.
I dunno. I don’t understand why this causes me so much stress. Maybe I’ve just been lucky in my life thus far and therefore never learned to deal with the nasty shock of being gossiped and lied about. Maybe it’s the discomfort of not knowing exactly how to proceed. Or maybe it’s my inherent Britishness and sense of ‘justice’ and ‘fairness’ rising its confused hackles and bristling at the inconvenience of an internal battle between politeness, doing what’s right, not wishing to make a scene, and the frustration of an enemy who refuses to play by the rules, even when the rules make perfect sense for everybody.
It’s all very strange. But I feel better for typing it out, and resolved.
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