People over-value secret information, according to a series of studies reported in the New York Times reported earlier this year. Information designed as “classified” is treated as highly valuable precisely because it is secret.
When two groups in an experiment read the same government report—which was labeled “classified” for one group and “public” for the other—the results were stark: “people who thought the information was secret deemed it more useful, important and accurate than did those who thought it was public.” In other words, they applied a heuristic or psychological shortcut—in this case, the “secrecy heuristic.” Study participants were also more impressed by decisions based on secret information as opposed to freely available information.
Reports on these studies prompted some thoughts about listening, jurors, and the secrecy heuristic. Jurors are instructed to listen very carefully to what happens during trial. How, then, do jurors’ minds respond when attorneys object to evidence? The entire purpose of an objection is to prevent the jury from hearing something! (Or seeing it.) Within the flow of events in the courtroom, an objection stops everything.
At this point, the secrecy heuristic could come into play in several ways. If the objections are conducted in open court, the objection process emphatically flags for the jurors that there is something that one of the attorneys doesn’t want them to see or hear. They may be able to listen to the very evidence they will then be instructed to disregard, if it is ruled inadmissible.
If the objections are conducted in a bench conference, the same effect may apply. The theatrics of the courtroom could emphasize the secrecy if the attorneys approach the bench and speak in hushed voices about the “secret” evidence. A bench conference could trigger a double secrecy heuristic: the secrecy of the evidence itself, and the secrecy of the bench conference that they observe but cannot hear. (Or the jurors may just tune out, regarding the conference as hyper-technical legal maneuverings.)
Legal scholars such as Jeffrey Rachlinski of Cornell have written at length about heuristics within the legal context. For example, jurors do not appear to disregard information even if a judge asks them to disregard it. If one party asks for a certain amount in damages but the judge instructs the jury not to consider the amount, that amount still serves as an “anchor.” The anchor exerts influence regardless of the instruction to disregard it, pulling the award toward the anchor for groups exposed to it. Groups with no anchor return very different damage awards. Professor Rachlinski has also written with Judge Andrew Wistrich and Chris Guthrie of Vanderbilt about whether judges can ignore inadmissible evidence that they hear; the answer appears to be “no.”
Under the concept of the secrecy heuristic, it seems possible that judges and jurors who hear inadmissible information and are instructed to disregard it may not only *not* disregard it but actually give it more weight. Jurors who know something is being kept from them may assign more weight to the gap in their knowledge. (If the word “insurance” arises at trial and then is hushed over by an objection, jurors might spend time in deliberations discussing whether to reduce a plaintiff’s award based on the likelihood of coverage. The role of insurance might seem even more important because they are not supposed to hear about it.)
The scholarship does not use the term “secrecy heuristic” in describing this effect but bears it out in different words: In the article on judges and limiting instructions, Wistrich, Guthrie, and Rachlinski cite practical advice from Keeton’s Trial Tactics and Methods: asking the judge to instruct the jury to disregard evidence “calls to the jury’s attention the relevance of the evidence to the very issue on which you are seeking to avoid their considering it.” They also cite a 2001 article, Jury Decision Making: 45 Years of Empirical Research on Deliberating Groups, which found that limiting instructions are “associated with a paradoxical increase in the targeted behavior.”
The secrecy heuristic would help to explain the psychology of this paradox. When you instruct someone to listen carefully, but then to disregard certain information, the whole process is likely to reinforce their memory of that information and their assessment of just how important and valuable it really is.
Many thanks to Jeff Rachlinski of Cornell, and Julie Seaman and Paul Zwier of Emory for feedback on an earlier version of this post. For more background on cognitive heuristics and listening, here is an earlier series from Listen Like a Lawyer exploring cognitive biases and listening in the legal context.
The holiday season brings many opportunities for lawyers and legal professionals to reconnect with old friends and make new ones at holiday parties, school events, and other social gatherings. Law students may also have networking opportunities at bar events and family gatherings. Making the most of these opportunities requires good conversational skills–which require good listening skills. […]
Little books about little writing are everywhere these days. The one that I can’t put down right now is Verlyn Klinkenborg’s Several short sentences about writing. This book takes on the dogmata of writing instruction in both its substance (outlining is overrated–gasp!) and its style (poetic prose or prose-like poetry; whatever it is, it’s more fun to read than a standard “how to write better” manual).
Although Several short sentences about writing is not tailored for lawyers, a high percentage of its criticisms and advice apply to legal writing:
Sentences that are trying too hard to sound like what an expert would write? Yes, we’ve definitely got those.
Sentences with unintentional repetition and other unpleasing rhythms? Yes, got those too.
Sentences that are overly long with no good reason to be that way? Check.
The book has a particularly interesting section on the role of listening in improving one’s writing. “Read your work out loud” is not revolutionary advice, but my sense is that few people actually do it. Maybe that’s because it takes time and needs to be done right. Klinkenborg digs into why it works and how to do it:
Try reading your work aloud.
The ear is much smarter than they eye,
If only because it’s also slower
And because the eye can’t see rhythm or hear unwanted repetition.
Klinkenborg raises and dismisses a couple of reasons writers may passively resist this practice. They may do it wrong, reading like a robot and therefore revealing very little about the prose. Or they may expect too much, thinking it will erase their own knowledge as writer so they can commune directly with the reader. That is just not possible, and Klinkenborg argues for more of a middle position:
But how should you read aloud?
There’s self-awareness even in this,
A tendency to overdramatize or become self-conscious,
To read as though the words weren’t yours,
Mechanically, without listening,
As though you were somehow hiding from their sound
Or merely fulfilling a rote obligation.
Try reading the words on the page as though they were meant to be spoken plainly
To a listener who is both you and not you–
An imaginary listener seated not too far away.
That way your attention isn’t only on the words you’re reading.
it’s on the transmission of those words.
As you read aloud, catch the rhythm of the sentences without overemphasizing it.
Read so the listener can hear the shape of the syntax,
You be the listener, not another person.
You’ll be stopping often.
This idea of stopping is integral to his major theme about writing: notice things. You don’t need training in grammatical or rhetorical jargon just to notice something is or isn’t working in your sentences. Something “sounds funny.” You’ll feel a “subtle disturbance,” a “faint stirring[].” And when this happens, stop. And fix the problem.
There is a longer-term benefit to reading your work out loud as well, the book points out. Consistently reading your work out loud will “help you discern the underlying texture of your prose.” The act of reading out loud demonstrates the reader’s understanding, or lack thereof: “[h]ow well you read aloud reveals how well you understand the syntax of a sentence.” And understanding the syntax of the sentence is a key toward being able to manage the shape of future sentences you will write and edit.
Klinkenborg’s prose/poetry will be uncomfortable, at least at first, for many lawyers used to our judicial opinions and IRACs, our demand letters and our contracts. But his overall approach to writing couldn’t be more on-point to what we do:
Know what each sentence says,
What it doesn’t say,
And what it implies.
To be able to do these three things, writers need to start by just noticing what the writing is doing. Listening to the sound of your own writing is one way to notice.
Lawyers, law students, and legal professionals: have you ever read your work out loud? Why did you get started and how do you do it? Some readers may have tried this practice but stopped. Does Klinkenborg’s approach persuade you to try again? Please share your comments, experiences, and advice on reading your work out loud as a writing and editing practice.
Effective listening captures information that can’t be gotten any other way. A previous post talked about the rich information found in spoken “discourse markers” that help structure and annotate speech content. Another rich source of information is nonverbal cues. Lawyers who want to glean the most information from their communication encounters should be attuned to what a speaker’s nonverbal cues are saying.
Daniel Goleman, author of Emotional Intelligence, writes in his new book, Focus, about nonverbal cues as an element of attention:
“[A] steady stream of nonverbal exchanges rushes to and from everyone we interact with, whether in a routine hello or a tense negotiation, transmitting messages received every bit as powerfully as whatever we might be saying. Perhaps more powerfully.”
As far as the breadth of information provided, Higdon cites the following (admittedly broad) definition of nonverbal cues:
“communication by means other than words.”
This communication comes via body movements, characteristics of the voice, proximity and spacing, movement, pauses and other temporal features, and “surrounding furnishings and objects that may add to one’s identity.”
Actors work on their nonverbal communication and thus can be a good starting point for brushing up on this aspect of communication:
To see an exaggerated but charming example of nonverbal communication, follow Roger Ailes’ advice in You Are the Message: watch a tape of Angela Lansbury—with the sound turned off.
For a funny and all-too-familiar example of annoying nonverbal behavior, watch this smartphone advertisement about a date night gone awry: “Date Night.”
For lawyers, heeding nonverbal cues can enhance client communications. Heeding these cues can also provide a deeper strategic understanding for negotiations and disputes. When communication in person with clients, nonverbal cues send important signals:
Do you have the client’s attention?
Does the client understand your content?
Does the client like and trust you?
What are the client’s “pain points” with the process you are describing?
Does the client have the power or confidence to make an independent decision?
Is the client interested in continuing the conversation, or does the client want the conversation to end?
In addition to being highly informative, nonverbal communication is generally believed to be authentic—that is, “more spontaneous, harder to fake, and less likely to be manipulated,” compared to explicit verbal statements, as Higdon points out. This belief is reflected in U.S. civil procedure’s prohibition on credibility determinations at the summary judgment stage: the judge or jury at trial can see, hear, and evaluate all of the nonverbal cues that aren’t present on paper at the summary judgment stage.
So what can a lawyer do to better listen to nonverbal cues? Lawyers could benefit from watching tape of great, or even just average, lawyers in action, and focusing on these main criteria:
body language;
“paralanguage” (sounds other than language); and
appearance.
The goal of this exercise would be to focus very closely on the cues that usually seem peripheral when we think we’re listening just to content. Exercising our focus on these cues can enhance our attention to them during day-to-day interactions. Attending to the unique information in these cues can help lawyers have better conversations with clients and better understand the dynamics of in-person interactions.
Please share your experiences and advice on observing and interpreting nonverbal communication in law practice.
Thanks to all who have supported Listen Like a Lawyer since its launch in August. Please keep it up with the e-mails, comments, suggestions, and networking connections. I am so grateful for your support. Have a wonderful holiday!
Spontaneous speech doesn’t fit together like Legos. Because speech reflects a sometimes messy thought process in real time, spoken transition words and phrases—what the linguists call “discourse markers”—serve a crucial purpose in conversation.
Jeneem/Flickr
Discourse markers can be as empty as “I mean,” as overused as “clearly,” or as specific as “at the end of the day.” (I had thought “at the end of the day” was just a legal/business buzzword. Apparently it formally qualifies as a discourse marker as well.)
There are different kinds of discourse markers, including those the speaker provides to structure what he or she is saying, and those the listener provides in participating in the conversation. Saying “um-hmm” to keep the conversation going is one example. This post focuses on listening to the speaker’s own discourse markers because they are tempting to disregard.
Lawyers may think that they can listen most efficiently by disregarding most discourse markers and focusing on the “real” content they are hearing. I confess to having tried this in many past conversations. But disregarding discourse markers is actually a really bad idea. They are an important source of information about the speaker’s attitude toward the conversation itself. They can:
highlight important events in a narrative;
help listeners follow a speaker’s train of thought;
help listeners recover from a “repair”; or
show the relationship between two statements.
This list is quoted from a linguistics article by Fox Tree and Schrock, Oh What a Difference an Oh Makes, found in this PDF. The article reports on language experiments with a fascinating conclusion: listeners better understood speech content when it included a discourse marker as simple and seemingly insignificant as the word “oh.” When listeners heard the same speech content without the “oh” or with just a pause where the “oh” would be, they didn’t understand the content as well.
For listeners, recognizing and showing responsiveness to a speaker’s discourse markers can build trust and move the conversation forward. Misinterpreting or entirely missing a significant marker can set the conversation back and make the speaker think less of the listener.
Many markers focus on the content of the conversation:
Signaling an important idea, such as “The key point is . . .“
Highlighting an objection, such as “Here’s the thing . . .”
Marking an attempt to end the conversation, such as “So the takeaway from all of this is . . .”
Some discourse markers seem more personal than others, and may serve as a sign of submission or authority:
Using the listener’s name, as in “Casey, . .” or “Your honor, . . .”
Phrasing the message directly and personally to the listener, such as “What I need you to understand is . . .”
And some discourse markers involve repackaging part of the conversation to relate it to a new piece of content:
Rephrasing an idea and moving into a new idea as another item in a list, such as “In addition to the time and energy it will take to litigate this issue, there are also hard costs to consider.”
Rephrasing a concern and subordinating it to a larger concern, such as “And although the timeline is challenging, it’s going to be very difficult to justify waiting any longer.”
Discourse markers are a universal trait of language in both speech and writing. Jill Ramsfield and Christopher Rideout have written about discourse markers unique to legal writing such as “whether” for introducing a traditional Question Presented. In spoken legal discourse, perhaps “your honor” in addressing a court is the most ingrained discourse marker? One of my favorite law school professors, a frequent advocate before the United States Supreme Court, described using “your honor” as a filler when she was brainstorming what to say next. Readers: please chime in with further thoughts on uniquely legal discourse markers.
What really matters for lawyers is to recognize the importance of discourse markers. Maybe a more memorable word for the practical lawyer is “signals”: discourse markers can send a *signal* about what a speaker thinks. They could signal what a client thinks is really important or when a judge is ready to move to a new argument.
Noticing these signals can increase lawyers’ effectiveness as listeners because by doing so, they will better understand the speaker’s content in the abstract as well as the structure of the content and the speaker’s attitude toward the content.
P.S. This post started as a tirade against the conversation stopper “yes, but,” which is a type of discourse marker provided by a listener in taking over the conversation. Here’s a quick summary of how “yes, but” works as an effective conversational technique: it doesn’t.
Legal interviews are infrequently recorded and rarely studied. The few empirical studies of actual legal interviews have been primarily critical of the lawyers for being too controlling, eager to impose a solution on the clients, and uninterested in the message the clients want to convey. This article presents a case study of something heretofore unavailable – an experienced, expert attorney conducting a successful initial interview with an actual client. This article uses ethnographic conversation analysis to describe the interview in terms of question form, interruptions, control of the floor, and expressions of empathy. It relies upon the insights from prior empirical studies and shows why this is an excellent interview – the client not only is heard, but feels understood, rather than “judged,” by his lawyer.
Earlier today I participated in a very difficult conference call. I was listening on a handheld cordless phone. On the receiving end, a cellphone set to speaker was on the table surrounded by seven people.
These folks—who made every conscious effort to include me—also conducted the meeting in the grand tradition of meetings, often mumbling, interrupting, and talking over one another. I could only hear about half of what was said. This frustrating inability to hear and follow the conversation was a reminder of what people with hearing loss face on a daily basis.
Thermostinept/Flickr
If you are a legal professional dealing with hearing loss and if you would like to be interviewed or share advice with Listen Like a Lawyer’s readers, please comment below or e-mail me at jromig@emory.edu. The hope is that this conversation can help affected legal professionals to recognize and address hearing loss, and help others understand more about this issue in the legal workplace as well.
Thanks to the International Listening Association, I learned of this video from HuffPost Live. It’s a quick, fun, informative look at problems with listening and ideas for improving. The panelists offer suggestions for managing your own thought process when you feel like you’re about to “check out.” The panelists also delve into different types of listening and the consequences of good and bad listening. I recommend the video for its informative and sometimes funny take on listening problems and solutions. (There is a really funny movie clip about halfway through.)
Please feel free to comment on how the ideas in this video apply to lawyers and legal professionals. I think the critique of listeners who merely “problem-find” is deeply important for lawyers.
Listening to clients seems like mostly an affirmative duty, if only an implied one. But in writing about lawyers’ duty *not* to listen to represented parties, I began to wonder about the limits of a lawyer’s duty to listen to clients as well:
Can a lawyer ever choose not to hear what the client has to say?
Can a lawyer be present with a client and let the client talk out loud, but choose not to really listen to or process what the client is saying?
Can the lawyer listen to what the client is saying but choose not to act on it? Does the lawyer ever have a duty not to act on what the client says?
L. Whittaker/Flickr
The main area where a lawyer might have the ethical discretion not to listen to a client, is in dealing with clients who have diminished capacity. Model Rule of Professional Conduct 1.14 sets out a lawyer’s obligations and options in representing clients with diminished capacity:
(a) When a client’s capacity to make adequately considered decisions in connection with a representation is diminished, whether because of minority, mental impairment or for some other reason, the lawyer shall, as far as reasonably possible, maintain a normal client-lawyer relationship with the client.
(b) When the lawyer reasonably believes that the client has diminished capacity, is at risk of substantial physical, financial or other harm unless action is taken and cannot adequately act in the client’s own interest, the lawyer may take reasonably necessary protective action, including consulting with individuals or entities that have the ability to take action to protect the client and, in appropriate cases, seeking the appointment of a guardian ad litem, conservator or guardian.
(c) Information relating to the representation of a client with diminished capacity is protected by Rule 1.6. When taking protective action pursuant to paragraph (b), the lawyer is impliedly authorized under Rule 1.6(a) to reveal information about the client, but only to the extent reasonably necessary to protect the client’s interests.
As the language shows, the rule has several guiding principles:
preserving a lawyer-client relationship that is as close as possible to a relationship not involving diminished capacity
allowing the lawyer to seek help from third parties when necessary
Echoing and developing Rule 1.14(a)’s requirement of a normal client-lawyer relationship, comment 2 specifically focuses maintaining communications:
The fact that a client suffers a disability does not diminish the lawyer’s obligation to treat the client with attention and respect. Even if the person has a legal representative, the lawyer should as far as possible accord the represented person the status of client, particularly in maintaining communication.
The rule is thus quite clear that the lawyer has the same ethical duty to listen to the client as applies to clients without diminished capacity. The question then becomes how to carry out this duty for a client with diminished capacity.
Choosing not to hear
For example, what if a client has sporadically compromised mental states—times when the lawyer can barely follow, much less understand, what the client is saying? Can the lawyer treat the client with attention and respect while also effectively choosing not to hear what the client has to say?
Good lawyers recognize and accommodate these peaks and valleys in clients’ abilities to communicate.
“Many times, a client may have diminished capacity, but still be pretty lucid at certain times during the day,” notes attorney Adrienne Ashby of the Georgia Senior Legal Hotline, a project of Atlanta Legal Aid and other Georgia agencies.
Comment 6 to Model Rule 1.14 explicitly instructs lawyers to take into account their clients’ “variability of state of mind” as well as their known long-term goals:
In determining the extent of the client’s diminished capacity, the lawyer should consider and balance such factors as: the client’s ability to articulate reasoning leading to a decision, variability of state of mind and ability to appreciate consequences of a decision; the substantive fairness of a decision; and the consistency of a decision with the known long-term commitments and values of the client. In appropriate circumstances, the lawyer may seek guidance from an appropriate diagnostician.
Thus, once it becomes clear a client is in a temporarily compromised state of mind, a lawyer could indeed choose neither to hear nor listen to a client. Ashby suggests that “[a]n attorney would do well to try to communicate with the client during the lucid times, so as to try to ensure that what she hears from the client is something that she can act upon.”
Choosing not to listen to contradictory statements
A different hazard may arise when the client seems lucid yet makes contradictory statements in the same conversation. Under Rule 1.14, the lawyer cannot substitute his or her own judgment about the client’s best interests. But can the lawyer selectively listen, giving greater weight to the portions of the conversation that the lawyer believes to be more in the client’s own best interests?
Better for the client and less risky for the lawyer would be to seek clarification using listening techniques such as the active-listening response of rephrasing what you have heard:
“Mr. Jones, you said earlier that you would like to put your daughter’s name on your retirement account so that she can use the money for the grandchildren. But then you stated that you wish to disown your daughter and remove her from all your accounts entirely. It is not possible to do both of these things. Which would you like to do?”
Using active listening in this way permits the lawyer to pinpoint areas of uncertainty and also to counsel the client on proceeding.
Listening to third parties
Clients who may have diminished capacity may have family, friends, or others assisting them with their legal affairs. From her work on the Georgia Senior Legal Hotline, attorney Adrienne Ashby describes a common scenario: “The client contacts me to discuss a legal issue, and there is a family member in the background ‘coaching’ them or filling in what the client leaves out. It becomes really hard not to listen to this family member and to only listen to the client. It is even harder when the client repeats what the person says.”
On the one hand, family members and close friends know the client and often do have the client’s best interests in mind; they may be the only voice that can fully speak about the client’s values. Thus listening to these voices can be indispensable.
But on the other hand, the voice of the client should remain paramount. Conflicts of interest abound in these situations, Herr writes, “especially where institutionalization, control of financial resources, or other life-determining choices are at issue.”
Comment 3 to Model Rule 1.14 acknowledges this exact situation and allows friends and family to assist. Yet the client’s interests and the client’s decisions must remain paramount:
The client may wish to have family members or other persons participate in discussions with the lawyer. When necessary to assist in the representation, the presence of such persons generally does not affect the applicability of the attorney-client evidentiary privilege. Nevertheless, the lawyer must keep the client’s interests foremost and, except for protective action authorized under paragraph (b), must to look to the client, and not family members, to make decisions on the client’s behalf.
Disregarding what the client has said
What if the client makes a clear, lucid statement that appears to run totally against the client’s interest? The lawyer must evaluate both the client’s ability to communicate as well as the client’s decision-making ability, under comment 5 to Model Rule 1.14:
If a lawyer reasonably believes that a client is at risk of substantial physical, financial or other harm unless action is taken, and that a normal client-lawyer relationship cannot be maintained as provided in paragraph (a) because the client lacks sufficient capacity to communicate or to make adequately considered decisions in connection with the representation, then paragraph (b) permits the lawyer to take protective measures deemed necessary.
The lawyer has a menu of options under Model Rule 1.14(b), although none of them is easy. Comment 5 provides an overview:
Such measures could include: consulting with family members, using a reconsideration period to permit clarification or improvement of circumstances, using voluntary surrogate decisionmaking tools such as durable powers of attorney or consulting with support groups, professional services, adult-protective agencies or other individuals or entities that have the ability to protect the client.
The option to use a “reconsideration period to permit clarification or improvement of circumstances” suggests that the lawyer may indeed choose not to act upon what the client has said he or she wants to do—at least for a while.
Conclusion
These situations are too sensitive for a rigid rule about what a lawyer must listen to or disregard. Rule 1.14(a) says the lawyer “shall” maintain a normal client-lawyer relationship to the extent possible. Rule 1.14(b) gives the lawyer the option to take steps when the client is at risk. Rule 1.14(c) clarifies that the lawyer must maintain client confidences except when necessary to protect the client’s interest under Rule 1.14(b). There are no neat solutions and a lot of judgment involved. Listening with discernment is a crucial part of that judgment.
I hope this post will open up an opportunity for lawyers to discuss their listening challenges—and possible solutions—in representing clients with diminished capacity. Thank you.
On this Halloween—or any average workday—you may encounter some ghoulish listening practices.
While you may not be able to trick bad listeners out of their ghastly habits, you can always treat your own conversation partners by giving them your focus and empathy.
The Smartphone Vampire
Blackberry may be losing market share, but the proliferation of listeners who bail from conversations to look at their smartphones will outlast us all. The descendants of the original “crackberry addicts” are like eternal vampires sucking the blood of meaningful connection out of their conversations.
The Robot Programmed to Listen Actively
Active listening is an important technique that can become robotic if taken too far:
Client: I’d like to get an update on my case.
Lawyer: You’d like to get an update on your case. Yes, let’s do that because it’s very important to keep you updated on your case.
Client: Right, how’s it going?
Lawyer: You want to know how’s it going. It is going very well. In terms of the “how,” we are preparing a motion to exclude evidence. In terms of the “it,” we haven’t talked settlement with the other side yet, but with your permission can do so this week. And in terms of “going,” discovery has closed and the trial date will be set in the next month or so. How’s it going for you?
As Michael Nichols writes in The Lost Art of Listening, active listening fails when it’s a self-conscious technique:
There’s nothing wrong with active listening. Acknowledging what people say is part of the essence of good listening. The problem is that when listening is reduced to a laundry list of how-tos, some people make more of an effort to show that they’re listening than to actually listen.
The Listening Mask
Some people look like listeners. They act like listeners. They are skillfully camouflaged as genuinely engaged in the act of listening. But these outward indications of listening turn out to be part of a convincing listening costume. Bernard Ferrari, in his book Power Listening: Mastering the Most Critical Business Skill of All, calls them “Pretenders”:
You’d walk out his office feeling like a million bucks, won over completely by his knowing, empathetic smile. It might take a while, but eventually you’d realize he hadn’t acted on anything you said, even though he had given every indication he was processing what you had to say and was in agreement.
What lies beneath? Are they not paying attention, not understanding, or not motivated to listen? The listening mask makes it hard to know.
The Hostile Tape Recorder
As with the Listening Mask, no outward clues tip you off that your conversation partner may actually be a Hostile Tape Recorder. Talking and listening proceed as usual. But this person’s brain is not only a brain; it is also an audio recorder. You say something to this listener and there is an imperceptible “click” as your words are recorded.
Like a suspense film that shocks and thrills by bringing back the supposedly deceased victim from the first scene to deliver the climactic blow, the Hostile Tape Recorder can shock and dismay with the capacity to bring back exact words, in quotes, from the dead. Usually in nasty e-mails.
So on this Halloween, beware this parade of horribles. Feel free to share your own stories of the most hideous listener you’ve encountered in the comments below. Leave out the identifying details, but please share your horror stories of listening. And Happy Halloween.
This article was inspired by Bernard Ferrari’s Power Listening. Ferrari describes several archetypes of poor listening. As indicated above, one is the “Pretender.” There is the “Opinionator” who “listen[s] to others really only to determine whether or not [their] ideas conform to what the Opinionator already knows to be true.” And there is the “Perseverator” who “appear[s] to be engaged in productive dialogue” while actually “editing on the fly, fine-tuning what he is saying through constant reiteration.” Ferrari pigeonholes some other problem listeners; his book also offers a lot of good C-suite-type advice for effective listening. I recommend Power Listening and will explore it in more depth at a later (non-Halloween) date.
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