One planet, one pulse: Lessons in healthy human dialogue from Doha Debates

During high school, most students are usually exposed to some form of debate. And whether it’s Oxford, Lincoln-Douglas or Parliamentary-style debate, it always ends with clear “winners” and “losers.”

That rigid win/lose structure—reinforced by the sweetness of victory or the bitterness of defeat—teaches us some very decisive lessons. It teaches us to listen in order to find weaknesses in our opponent’s arguments, not to understand them or their worldview. Basically, we’re taught to listen only so we can respond, and to respond only so we can win.

I was one of those students. I spent four years of my life as a high school student engaging in Parliamentary- and Oxford-style debates. Then, as a delegate on one of the largest Model United Nations (MUN) committees at Georgetown University in Qatar, I was named “Best Delegate” four times in succession, out of more than 600 other delegates who had travelled to Doha from all over the world. I learned how to lead and form coalitions, how to negotiate and compromise, how to whip votes and pass resolutions, how to research and investigate, how to find gaps in the arguments of others and how to strengthen my own.

Any college-bound student, no matter their major, will likely find themselves in need of some of these skills at some point during their academic journey. I know I did. But they won’t teach you about conversing with people in the real world. 

If someone disagrees with you in an academic debate, you just have to prove them wrong, win, and move on. If someone disagrees with you on an MUN committee, you just have to prove them wrong, pass your resolution without them, and move on. But if someone disagrees with you in your workplace or another real-life context, you need to change your approach. You need to listen to them, understand them, and—whether you agree with them or not—you need to maintain a productive relationship. And to do all this, you must keep in mind that there are common goals greater than you, greater than them, and greater than any one individual person.

But how? How do we become more open-minded, more empathetic, more effective communicators if we’re taught not to listen and learn, but to argue and win? 

During my time in the Doha Debates Ambassador Program, I learned some key lessons that helped me undo the deep-rooted conceptions I’d held ever since my earliest encounters with debate.

Lesson 1: Stay curious, not critical

Unfortunately, many of us have developed a sports-like mentality when it comes to debating challenging issues: We always support our own team, even when we know they aren’t playing well or when they break the rules. To combat this mindset in the ambassador program, we practiced staying curious and discovering the reasons behind a person’s beliefs, rather than focusing on the beliefs themselves. 

As a medical student and researcher, an example I often use is patients who refuse to vaccinate their children, despite overwhelming scientific evidence that such a practice endangers both the well-being of the child and the community. Many physicians might scold such parents, telling them, “Your beliefs are wrong and dangerous.” But what does this achieve? Does it guide reluctant parents to adopt healthier vaccination practices, or does it simply push them further away? 

What if the doctor instead began by being genuinely curious about the reasons behind the parents’ beliefs? What if they said, “I understand that your priority as a parent is to protect your child and help them grow, which shows how deeply you care. As a doctor, I want to help you make the best decisions for your child’s health. Can you tell me more about your concerns so we can discuss them together?” How might a parent react to this approach?

Lesson 2: Personal stories are powerful

Nearly all human beings, regardless of nationality or religion or race, face the same struggles, share the same dreams, bleed the same blood and cry the same tears. We all struggle against pain, hunger and thirst, and we all dream of safety, serenity, happiness and love. 

Despite this, many dedicate their entire lives to sowing hatred among us. They divide our one human species into as many meaningless subgroups as possible, convince people to remain divided and profit off of that division.

To help us foster connection instead of further disunity, our mentors asked each of us to reflect on our own personal stories and tell our peers how those experiences shaped us into who we are today. Truly, few things are more powerful than a personal story. It can remove barriers between races and nationalities and unite people around shared goals. It can soften the most hateful hearts and make personal change feel voluntary and desired and rewarding, rather than forced and uncomfortable.

Lesson 3: Everything is connected

During another session, we discussed the art and science of systems thinking, which empowers us to look at the interconnectedness of complex problems so that we can make positive change in the world. This was particularly new to me. We weren’t asked to come up with a solution to a complicated issue on the spot; instead, we were encouraged to take a step back, create a list of stakeholders involved in the issue, and then start brainstorming solutions, considering how each one might affect each stakeholder. Then and only then could we determine which of our proposed solutions provided the most benefit for the most people, while simultaneously doing the least harm.

We quickly realized that all things are related and interconnected: Decisions about the economy directly affect the environment, which directly affects people’s working conditions, which directly affects a region’s stability. Everything affects everything else—oftentimes in ways we don’t see, either because we don’t step back and look at the larger picture, or because we come up with solutions to issues that we haven’t fully analyzed first. 

This was one of my favorite sessions, particularly because I was able to relate the concept of systems thinking to the butterfly effect, an insight I shared with my colleagues: In chaos theory, the butterfly effect suggests that in a large, interconnected system, the smallest of changes can be the most consequential. For example: Could the flapping of a butterfly’s wings in Brazil trigger a series of events that leads to a tornado in Texas? Could removing one grain of sand from a beach alter the course of history forever?

After that session, I spent the rest of the evening reading through my old debate speeches, wondering what I’d discover if I revisited them with this newfound knowledge and outlook on the world. Not only did I realize how many stakeholders we often overlooked, but I began to see that the most complex problems can sometimes have the most simple, straightforward solutions—especially if you look at the big picture before scrutinizing the fine details.

During my time in the Doha Debates Ambassador Program, one of the most important things I learned—and will take with me into the real world—is to focus on the human side of every debate. A patient who refuses treatment isn’t an argument to be won, they’re a person waiting to be understood. The story behind their decisions and convictions began long before they reached your clinic’s door. You just need to be open and curious enough to find out what that story is.

One of the first things you learn in medical school is how to take a pulse: You find the radial artery on the wrist, go quiet and count. It doesn’t work until you stop talking and listen. That’s what the ambassador program taught me: to listen in a world that can’t stop talking.