Healing Through Conversation: A Journey of Civil Dialogue in Phoenix

This article is part of Creating Space for Conversations resource page.

by Pastor Sarah Stadler

In 2015, Grace Lutheran Church in downtown Phoenix hosted its first-ever civil dialogue.  I believe the impetus was the shooting of the Emanuel Nine at Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church in Charleston, South Carolina.

Following the paradigm for civil dialogue created by the Institute for Civil Dialogue, a group from the congregation gathered in Hope Hall to discuss a statement that was something like: Black bodies matter less than white bodies. Those who participate in civil dialogue discuss an intentionally provocative statement crafted by the facilitator, and a group of 5 people take chairs that correspond to their position on the statement: Agree, Somewhat Agree, Neutral/Undecided, Somewhat Disagree, Disagree.

That day, the people of goodwill who filled the chairs agreed on the value of bodies, all bodies, regardless of skin color. That day, they agreed on the tragedy of the Emmanuel Nine. But those who agreed that black bodies matter less described how, in the systems of our society, black bodies matter less. People with black bodies have access to fewer resources systemically and endure prejudice personally.  Those who disagreed with the statement that black bodies matter less than white bodies cried out that, of course, nobody matters less than anyone else!  In our nation, our founding documents declare that all people are created equal.

While those who sat in the 5 chairs disagreed on the analysis of the socio-political situation, they all genuinely cared about people: the people in the room, people different than them, the Emanuel Nine and their families and friends.  

What we learned about one another that day was something that we learned over and over again as we hosted more civil dialogues: we agree more than we disagree.  Even when we discussed intentionally provocative statements, nearly every time, someone sitting in one of the chairs would remark to another: "Oh, that's a good point. I hadn't thought of that."  

After that initial civil dialogue on a Sunday after church, we began regularly facilitating civil dialogues during our GLOW (Grace Lutheran On Wednesdays) program. Our first civil dialogue at GLOW was on the topic of private prisons, and most GLOW participants were people experiencing homelessness, among them an unusually high percentage of people who had spent time in prison.

The dialogue proceeded as normal until we got to the part of the evening when the facilitator opened up the conversation to the audience. After debating the ethics of allowing profit to be made on the imprisonment of our citizens, a gentleman who went by the name Santa Claus commented: "I've been in private prisons, and I've been in public prisons. Private prisons are nicer."

His words stopped all of us campaigning for the end of private prisons in our tracks. I, for one, had never considered how life in a private prison might compare to life in a public prison. Even though my views on the criminal justice system have not changed, in terms of simple kindness and respect for those imprisoned, those who build and manage public prisons could learn from the companies that build and manage private prisons with their, apparent, focus on caring for the "customer."  

Beyond the opportunity to listen deeply and to learn from one another, civil dialogue also gives opportunity for people to speak. At GLOW, we shifted the civil dialogue paradigm to make it more effective for our context. Instead of the facilitator choosing the topic and writing the statement, we chose it together as a community. 

Thus, nearly every dialogue we had at GLOW or the summer heat respite program on a monthly basis for two years was about the police. For folks experiencing homelessness, the police are an ever-present--and usually negative--part of their lives, and people needed to speak.

People needed to be heard. People needed space to make a point. Civil dialogue does not resolve problems.  Except for the problems caused by having no venue for sharing. When we have been hurt by a system, we need a place to discuss the hurt. We need a place where we will be respected and not interrupted. We need a place where what we say matters. Still, civil dialogue is not a "safe" space; people say what they believe, even if it's profane, insulting, or hurtful. 

But the boundaries of civil dialogue, the paradigm itself enforced by the facilitator, create a welcome space for participants to speak and listen, to learn and perhaps even to change.

After two years of monthly civil dialogue, the Grace community laid down the pain of the police and moved on. Except to describe personal interaction with the criminal justice system, after that, I rarely heard people speak of the police. It was like speaking and listening exhausted the hurt. Maybe civil dialogue really does solve problems--the problems of a heart waiting to be seen and heard.