Concession speech
The absence of a dignified public message by America’s outgoing Deceiver in Chief is no surprise. We expected him to deny the legitimacy of the election’s outcome.
And it was impossible to imagine him saying anything humble, or truthful, or self-aware.
Over the past couple of weeks, media outlets have recounted the history of concession speeches. Words have made a difference in the orderly transfer of power. A message of unity has the power to heal.
All that has me thinking. About the concessions we express in our day-to-day lives. About the hurt we avert when we admit that we’ve been wrong. About the peace we can bring when we sincerely concede a point.
In Buddhist teachings, “right speech” is presented as four abstentions—abstaining from lying, abstaining from divisive speech, abstaining from abusive speech, and abstaining from idle chatter.
But I prefer to think of right speech in terms of four concessions: Here they are:
Offer compliments. We have fewer physical encounters these days, but the willingness to give digital compliments is effective. This story in the Atlantic suggests that a “digital high five”—even when anonymous—can be empowering. What if we all use Facebook to tell our friends how much we love their artwork, or their hair color, or the flowers they grew in their garden?
Show gratitude. Neuroscientists say our brain benefits when we express gratitude, even privately, by writing our thoughts in a journal. According to my math, there’s a double benefit when we express that gratitude to another human. Two people get to feel good.
GIve encouragement. “We are here to help each other get through this thing, whatever it is.” That line appeared in Kurt Vonnegut’s 2005 memoir A Man Without a Country, and it sure is apropos now. As Covid spikes, we need to encourage each other. Even if just to put on decent clothes above the waist.
Be willing to concede. A sincere concession goes a long way. By definition, to concede is to admit, acknowledge, accept, recognize or confess. We should use our words to admit when we’re wrong. When our cause is lost. Or when we’ve acted feeble.
This Thanksgiving will be weird.
We won’t be playing board games in person, or doing dishes together. Or rolling around on the floor with children. But we will be able to talk.
As we indulge over Zoom—in turkey, or salmon, or bowls of Cap’n Crunch—let’s also indulge in right speech.
Let’s be thankful. Let’s not overstay our welcome. And let’s concede with conviction.
The right thing isn’t hard to do.
