Self-expression is a privilege and an urgent human need — a foundational value in American society that was enshrined in the First Amendment and is cherished by people from all walks of life.
As a society, we depend on the freedom to speak our minds. And we enjoy more opportunities to exercise that freedom than any generation that came before us.
But to truly achieve self-expression, at least one person must pay attention to the humanity that is being expressed.
In a country where people love to express themselves, an unsettling question has emerged: Is anyone really listening?
Hear Us Out
Listening is not a value that we have done a good job of protecting or promoting in the United States. Hearing each other out in good faith wasn't codified in the Constitution. "Paying attention" doesn't have a celebrity spokesperson or a foundation. These are civic obligations that are eroding in society day by day.
Whether that erosion is due to our political climate, the demands of modern life, or the chokehold that technology exerts on our attention is up for debate. Certainly, the way we talk about art is part of the problem. In America, we tend to focus on the value of art as a mode of self-expression. What did the artist intend? What is their message?
We put less emphasis on the artist's silent, but equal, partner in creation: the audience.
""A person who stands up to tell stories is not acting alone. You are co-creating an experience. You can't dismiss or underplay the contribution of the listeners."
— Elizabeth Ellis, Storyteller
Making Meaning Together
Storytellers are one exception to that rule, in that the best ones recognize that they never work alone. This is partly a matter of form; by definition, the act of sharing a story requires at least two people.
"A person who stands up to tell stories is not acting alone," says storyteller Elizabeth Ellis. "You are co-creating an experience. You can't dismiss or underplay the contribution of the listeners. Every one of them is making a choice to co-create the story with you as you're telling it."
Storytellers aren't talking heads and their audiences aren't passive receivers of information. A transaction takes place. Or sometimes, a transformation.
Conversations follow the same principles of reciprocity and meaning making. Robert B. Jones, who is a storyteller and pastor, recalls the learning curve of leading a church. "The Black charismatic church might be different from the high white church, where, you know, if you don't hear snoring, you're okay," he says. "But a young Black preacher in front of some little old ladies, if you're not getting them excited about the sermon, you start to hear something kind of like this. Like moaning a hymn."
In front of mostly white audiences, Jones has encountered other barriers to listening. "How often is it that you talk about a sensitive subject and the first reaction is, 'Oh god! We've got to deal with this again? You're attacking my daddy! Why don't you just get over it?'" he says. "All of those attitudes are in the room, and you've got to get past them if you're going to have any kind of real communication."
How many times, in our own individual ways, have we made bored church lady drone sounds or sat cross-armed in front of someone we instinctively disliked? And how many times have we focused on what we're going to say next in a conversation instead of paying attention to what the other person is saying? Try decentering the need for self-expression and recentering the obligation to listen.