Winnning or Silencing?

by John Corvino 
   
  It wasn’t the first time an audience defied expectations. This time it was in 
Rhinelander, Wisconsin. I was there with Glenn Stanton, my “debate buddy” from 
Focus on the Family, to discuss same-sex marriage. The only thing we knew about 
Rhinelander before arriving was that its number one cause of death is bar-room 
brawls—or so we had been told by several Wisconsinites, who warned us of the 
small town’s “redneck” reputation.

“Bar-room brawls?” Glenn joked. “I suppose that has heterosexuality written all 
over it.”

“Oh, we gays have them too,” I responded. “We just call them ‘hissy-fits.’”

Unlike most of our university debates, the Rhinelander event was advertised 
primarily to local residents, rather than students, and when we arrived we 
noticed lots of gray hair in the audience. An older crowd in a redneck 
town—Glenn’s territory. I braced myself.

Then the Q&A began, and one audience member after another attacked Glenn. I 
kept waiting for a critical question directed at me. Nothing.

After about an hour of Glenn’s getting grilled while I fielded softballs, I 
turned to him and announced, “Well, Glenn, this has been exactly the right-wing 
audience we expected in rural Wisconsin!” The audience howled with laughter.

“Are you sure they didn’t bus you guys in from Madison?” Glenn quipped back. I 
could tell that he was weary and that he appreciated the lighthearted moment.

The following week we debated again in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, and the same 
thing happened. I found myself wanting to stand up and shout, “This is the deep 
South, people. You’re supposed to be on HIS SIDE!”

It’s not that I’m complaining. I do these debates to convince people. Not to 
convince Glenn (although I’d like to think my time with him has had a positive 
effect). And not to convince ideologues, who have made up their minds and won’t 
budge no matter what. I do them to convince the fence sitters—folks who show up 
curious about the issue, eager to listen, willing to engage arguments. So when 
people agree with me, I should be happy, and I am.

But…

But there are plenty of people who don’t agree with me. One merely has to look 
at voting patterns to realize this. Last November, Wisconsin voters passed an 
anti-gay marriage amendment 59-41%—and much of that majority came from more 
liberal towns than Rhinelander. Even college students are far from unanimous in 
supporting marriage equality. Which means that opponents are either not showing 
up, or not speaking up, at our debate events. Either way, I miss the 
opportunity to engage them.

Such engagement would have two potential benefits. First, it might help 
convince the opponents themselves—even if slowly and gradually. Second, it 
might help convince the fence-sitters who are watching, since they would 
receive “the clearer perception and livelier impression of truth, produced by 
its collision with error” (in the words of the great liberal theorist John 
Stuart Mill). The more we confront the opposition head-on, the more obvious 
their fallacies become. That’s why I’m willing to travel the country with 
someone from Focus on the Family addressing the same bad arguments over and 
over again.

It was the hope for such engagement that led me to interrupt the Q&A in Baton 
Rouge to plead for some audience opposition. “Any critical questions for me? 
Please?” I asked no fewer than three times. It felt like announcing “last call” 
at the bar: “Last call…last call for traditionalists…” Finally, a woman took me 
up on my challenge—sort of:

“I’m a religious conservative,” she began gently. “And I appreciate your 
kindness to Glenn and to us. But I haven’t spoken up because I feel a lot of 
hostility from the audience. I think more of us would show up and speak up if 
we didn’t feel like we would automatically be shouted down.” She didn’t offer 
any question—just that observation.

I was both impressed and surprised—impressed by her courage in speaking against 
the (immediate) tide, and surprised that she found the audience hostile. I 
could recall no anger or viciousness from the various questioners. But since 
they were on my side, perhaps I simply failed to notice.

Her remarks spotlighted an important distinction: it’s one thing to silence 
your opponents; it’s quite another to convince them. And sometimes—perhaps 
often—silencing is done at the expense of convincing.

The social pressure that makes certain views “taboo” has its uses. But 
political reality indicates that it’s not yet time to halt the conversation 
over same-sex marriage—certainly not in Rhinelander or Baton Rouge. Strange as 
it sounds, we may sometimes need to work at making people more comfortable—not 
less—in voicing their opposition to us. 


  ©365Gay.com 2007 

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