When Families Become Us-And-Them Debating Societies

On the drive back home from dinner with family members I hadn't seen in a long time, my 18-year-old nephew suddenly piped up. “Why don't we realise that we are family and try to keep the conversations centred around each other's lives? X's son is getting married in a few months and we didn't ask a single question about that,” he said. “Instead, we treated each other as debating rivals.” 

While much has been written about the great divide in family conversations, I must confess I had never thought of it quite this way. That we have downgraded our families to a giant network of us-and-them debating societies, killing the intimacy of everyday family conversations.

The evening had started off warmly enough with stories about a hospital one of the hosts ran; how she kept track of what her eight grandchildren were doing; discussions around a plant often referred to as ‘insulin' and other gardening experiments; how the pesto slapped between two thinly sliced, grilled squares of paneer was a must-copy appetiser. 

Until someone turned to the husband and I and said: “Both of you are journalists. Tell us what's happening in the country.” Yes, okay, the conversation didn't deteriorate into a slanging match. No doors were slammed. No insults were hurled. No faces turned red. Evidence was presented, numbers weighed and headlines contested. Both sides concurred on one or two points. 

In retrospect, the evening unfolded in stages that would have pleased any accomplished debater: welcome the audience, present the issue, highlight key points, sequence the arguments. The only difference? Nobody conceded. No one was convinced of the other's viewpoint. There were no winners. Both sides retreated into their respective world views at the end of the debate. The differences remained firmly unresolved.

I don't know about the hosts, but when we left, we were exhausted. The joy evoked by the traditional food, lovingly prepared for those of us who have access to these delicacies only infrequently, was lost in the discussion that followed. 

Days later we were invited to another family's inner circle to celebrate a baptism. It was a Sunday afternoon. Everyone was dressed formally. Glittering sequinned dresses lit up the venue. There was prayer, music, laughter, an open bar and fat slices of freshly fried Surmai. Thanks were said to family members; we marched in twos and raised a toast to the couple and their sleeping infant, who had been baptised on the auspicious day of Easter. There was a rotating cake and zero political debates. The family's joy was contagious—we left feeling happy.

Later that evening, a conversation with my well-read Uber driver from Ayodhya in Uttar Pradesh made me realise that some of us have found an extraordinary way of surviving these divided times. He had learned to judge his audience and could debate both ‘sides' of the issue. When I asked him about his ‘real' beliefs, he replied: “I only want peace.”

Much has been written about talking to relatives across the political chasm. One New York Times article suggested dialogue instead of debate and “listening to understand instead of listening to respond”. But after years of experimenting with these strategies, one knows that the divide isn't going to be bridged over the dinner table or on the family WhatsApp group. You will have to work harder if you want to bridge the fault lines.

After reading writers such as Thenmozhi Soundararajan, I'm starting to believe that exiting WhatsApp groups and cutting off family and friends isn't a workable solution. In her book The Trauma of Caste, Soundararajan shares some worksheets that Equality Labs, the organisation she founded, uses in its popular ‘Unlearning Caste Supremacy' workshop. 

Whether it's casteism, racism or religious bigotry, the questions you ask yourself to exit these thought prisons are pretty much the same. The Equality Labs workshop—adapted from Ruth King's book Mindful of Race: Transforming Racism From The Inside Out—requires you to write down your ‘caste origin' story. 

The book lists these questions. What views did your ancestors, elders and parents have about caste? How did it define their jobs and professions? How did those views impact your life? In what ways are your views different or same? This is only the start of a series of questions that require you to think deeply.

One worksheet urges you to remember not just what you were taught about caste but also what you never learned about it. It also asks you to go beyond family and examine the stories of caste that you learned from places of worship, community institutions, schools and workplaces. It requires you to write down what message you might have wanted from these places to better understand caste and how you might participate in a compassionate movement towards caste abolition.

Another worksheet, inspired by Anneliese Singh's The Racial Healing Handbook, asks you to list your specific commitments to caste abolition. A third worksheet urges you to list a caste injustice you know about, to write ideas on how to solve it, to share this list with your friends and family.

So the next time you're at a family dinner, consider if you're gaining anything by diving into a debate with your nearest ‘opponent'. Maybe expend that energy trying to find a more inclusive path to change. 

Priya Ramani is a Bengaluru-based journalist and is on the editorial board of Article-14.com.

The views expressed here are those of the author, and do not necessarily represent the views of BQ Prime or its editorial team.