Why we need to disagree
A few days after Christmas in 1978, United Airlines Flight 173 ran into trouble on its descent into Portland, Oregon. The landing gear should have descended smoothly and an indicator light blinked on to indicate all was secure. Instead, there was a loud bang and no light.
While the crew tried to figure out whether the landing gear was in position or not, the plane circled and circled. The engineer mentioned that fuel was running low, but didn’t manage to muster enough forcefulness to convey the urgency to the captain, who was focused on the landing gear. Finally, when the first officer said “we’re going to lose an engine, buddy”, the captain asked, “why?”
The plane crashed shortly afterwards. Ten people died. The lesson: sometimes we can’t bring ourselves to speak up, even when lives are at stake.
It might seem strange, in this politically divided age, to call for people to speak out if they see things differently. But our current political discourse doesn’t quite qualify. (Abuse is not an argument, as any Monty Python fan knows.)
Useful dissent means serious engagement with people who see the world differently — or, perhaps, the courage to puncture the consensus of one’s own tribe. It is far more common to see people seeking out like-minded groups, while politicians are happy to deliver hellfire sermons to their own choirs.
That is a shame. Within a cohesive group, the mere demonstration that disagreement is possible can have liberating effects. Charlan Nemeth, a psychologist at the University of California, Berkeley, studies dissent. (Her recent book is titled, No!: The Power of Disagreement in a World that Wants to Get Along – or in the US, In Defense of Troublemakers; at least we can reliably expect transatlantic disagreement over titles.) When she arrived at the university she found her office a little too austere, and decided to put down a rug.
“These offices are all the same for a reason,” remonstrated a colleague. She kept the rug anyway — and before long, her colleagues started putting rugs in their offices, too. Apparently, few people had liked the austere offices but nobody was willing to admit that. It took Prof Nemeth’s low-level troublemaking to shatter the illusion of consensus.
Prof Nemeth has studied disagreement during brainstorming sessions. One rule of brainstorming is not to criticise the ideas of others. When she and colleagues ran their sessions, they found that groups produced more ideas if the “do not criticise” rule was reversed, encouraging participants to “debate and even criticise each other’s ideas”.
Dissent can free us to place rugs in our offices, or express our individuality in more important ways. It can also stimulate our ideas and creativity. And — as the case of Flight 173 suggests — if we hesitate forcefully to disrupt a group conversation, that can deny others a vital piece of information.
Matthew Syed, in his book Rebel Ideas (this one also has a different title in the US; there’s something in the air…) draws the same conclusion from a disastrous attempt on Everest in 1996. Mr Syed argues that junior members of the expedition had useful pieces of information about the weather and their equipment but tended to stay silent, deferring to the team leaders.
A similar dynamic is at play in lower-stakes environments. One study, conducted by Garold Stasser and William Titus, asked undergraduates to discuss hypothetical candidates for a student society president.
The researchers gave each participant a different fact sheet; some facts were given to everyone in the discussion, but others were disclosed to only one person. People rarely spoke up about their private information, and the conversation revolved — redundantly — around what the whole group knew already rather than trying to find out what wasn’t widely known. There was an opportunity for everyone to learn from everybody else, but it proved more comfortable to focus on knowledge that they all had in common.
The truth is that disagreement is hard. We find it unpleasant to be disagreed with, and it can be painful to be a dissenter. Prof Nemeth notes that when she hired actors to play the role of dissenters in experiments studying group dynamics, the actors found it distressing to be on the receiving end of hostility. Some even asked for “combat pay”.
Even in gentler settings, we underestimate the benefit of friction. One study of problem solving (conducted by Katherine Phillips, Katie Liljenquist and Margaret Neale) simply contrasted small groups of friends with those of three friends plus a stranger. The groups with an outsider did much better at solving the problems, even though the strangers had no special expertise: their mere presence raised everyone’s game.
Nevertheless, the groups of friends enjoyed themselves more and had more confidence in their answers — confidence that was, of course, badly misplaced.
We rarely appreciate it when someone is speaking out rather than fitting in. But whether it is as trivial as a rug, or as vital as a fuel gauge in a circling aircraft, we need people who see things that we don’t. We need them to speak up. And we also need to listen when they do.
Written for and first published in the Financial Times on 31 January 2020.