Carol Tavris of The Wall Street Journal writes a review of “Talking to Strangers” which calls Malcolm Gladwell “lazy” for not acknowledging that Jerry Sandusky is likely innocent.
-------------------
‘Talking to Strangers’ Review: Fool Me Once, Shame on Me
Why are we so often wrong in interpreting others’ behavior? Why do interactions between men and women on college campuses—or police officers and civilians on city streets—sometimes go tragically awry?
By Carol Tavris
Sept. 13, 2019 11:08 am ET
‘Talking to Strangers’ is a great title, but it doesn’t describe the book Malcolm Gladwell has written. Judging from a mini-survey I conducted, most people expect this work to be about the strangers we encounter in our daily lives—the fellow commuter on the subway, the nice woman at the deli checkout, the uncivil moron who gives you the finger when you tell him his headlights are off.
Mr. Gladwell’s “strangers” are mostly people we don’t talk to but rather talk about—people who make news for one terrible reason or another. They include Amanda Knox, convicted of murdering her roommate in Italy and ultimately exonerated; Sandra Bland, the African-American woman whose encounter with a police officer quickly spun out of control, leading to her arrest and eventual suicide in prison; Brock Turner, convicted of sexual assault against an intoxicated fellow student; even Neville Chamberlain and Lord Halifax, who, meeting Hitler in the 1930s, felt confident he had no intentions of starting a world war. Sometimes Mr. Gladwell’s “strangers” aren’t strangers at all, but people that some of us might have known, worked with, or admired— Bernie Madoff, Larry Nassar—only to be devastated on learning that they were not at all what we thought them to be.
Talking to Strangers
By Malcolm Gladwell
Little, Brown, 386 pages, $30
What could possibly unite all these stories, with Sylvia Plath, Cuban spies and al Qaeda terrorist Khalid Sheikh Mohammed thrown in for good measure? Mr. Gladwell’s answer is that, although we don’t have the full story about these people, we are prepared to jump to conclusions, criticizing, moralizing, condemning and misunderstanding as we go. We think we would have known Hitler was a genocidal lunatic. We think we can detect liars, terrorists, sexual abusers and con men. But be careful about what you think you think, Mr. Gladwell cautions, especially when you are thinking about a stranger’s story that makes you feel angry and self-righteous, because you’re often wrong.
Mr. Gladwell, the author of five previous best sellers (including “The Tipping Point,” “Blink,” and “Outliers”) and the host of the “Revisionist History” podcast, has an established M.O.: find an event or situation that piques his curiosity; uncover some charming, relevant research that applies to it; and come up with an unexpected take on what happened. Sometimes this approach works; sometimes it doesn’t. “Talking to Strangers” contains such a varied assortment of stories and studies that it’s often hard to find the chocolate in the trail mix.
Mr. Gladwell is well known as an enjoyable raconteur but a somewhat lazy researcher, and both of those qualities are on display in this book. Consider his starting question: How is it that we so often are wrong in interpreting a stranger’s behavior? Why were so many fooled by Bernie Madoff, and why couldn’t the CIA, throughout the 1980s, identify Cuban spies in its midst?
The answer he chooses, with his unerring eye for the pithy phrase, is based on psychologist Timothy R. Levine ’s theory that we have a “default to truth.” That is, our “operating assumption is that the people we are dealing with are honest.” (This well-established idea is neither new nor original with Mr. Levine.) This bias, Mr. Gladwell hastens to add, makes society possible: We trust that others in our tribe are honest, won’t cheat us and will do what they need to do to keep social life humming along. If we had the opposite bias, making us constantly skeptical and mistrustful, we would lapse into paranoia and chaos.
So far, so good, but he ignores the richer question that social scientists would ask: Under what conditions do we default to truth, and when don’t we? We don’t when we are dealing with salespeople whom we assume to be lying or deceptive. We don’t when we are dealing with members of an unfamiliar group—another tribe, in evolutionary terms—whom we don’t know or trust. And we don’t when we are interrogating anyone, whether a criminal suspect or a spouse, who we already believe is guilty, in which case anything that person does confirms our belief that he or she is lying.
We default to truth, in short, but only when we are dealing with people whom we already believe to be truthful.
In Mr. Gladwell’s accounts of two infamous cases of sexual abuse, Jerry Sandusky and Larry Nassar, Mr. Gladwell reassures parents and others who knew these men that they should not beat themselves up for “defaulting to truth” and, at first, denying charges against them. When we are forced to choose between two alternatives, he says, one of which is likely (he’s our friend/coach/doctor, therefore innocent) and the other impossible to imagine (he’s a pedophile), just about all of us will choose the former. Absolutely true, but here is where the crucial exception matters: We default to truth—except when an accused man has been branded as guilty, in which case it becomes impossible to imagine his innocence. Then the mob takes over.
Given our nation’s tumultuous history with twin problems—failing to identify and punish sexual predators, and generating a moral panic that has sent innocent people to prison—Mr. Gladwell could have given us both sides of defaulting to truth. Having cited Mark Pendergrast’s exhaustive and shocking story of the Sandusky case, “The Most Hated Man in America,” and journalist John Ziegler ’s equally compelling case for Sandusky’s innocence, he was familiar with the argument that Sandusky’s conviction rested almost entirely on claims of repressed-and-recovered memories of blurry events that happened years earlier; indeed he quotes from transcripts showing how witnesses changed their minds over time and with repeated questioning. Yet Mr. Gladwell ultimately dismisses this evidence, telling readers they can find out more about Sandusky skeptics in the endnotes, and saying in a footnote: “The idea that traumatic memories are repressed and can be retrieved only under the direction of therapy is—to say the least—controversial.” This is inexcusably lazy thinking. That idea is not controversial among memory scientists: It is flat-out wrong.
Mr. Gladwell calls upon other findings in social psychology to explain why we aren’t good at accurately reading other people, showing that we are often too quick to explain other people’s behavior in terms of personality traits rather than their situations and culture. For example, we mistakenly believe “that people’s behavior and demeanor—the way they represent themselves on the outside—provides an authentic and reliable window into the way they feel on the inside.” But if, like Amanda Knox, they don’t grieve or show remorse the way we think they should, we assume they are incapable of sorrow or guilt (and, in her case, we think that she was guilty).
Mr. Gladwell is determinedly apolitical in avoiding explanations of complex social interactions based on sexism (as in Brock Turner’s case) or racism (in Sandra Bland’s case). Thus, he says, we misattribute the problem of sexual assault on college campuses to men not respecting women or to them being misogynists and rapists, rather than seeing it as a failure to agree on rules of consent—a failure washed down by massive amounts of alcohol. Anyone who says this in public runs into a buzz saw of protest that they are blaming the victim, but Mr. Gladwell wants us to focus on what happens to brains on booze and what happens when most college students don’t even agree on what consent for “more sexual activity” is. How can anyone “talk to strangers,” he wonders, let alone consent to have sex with them, if both parties are blind drunk or blacked out?
Like all good storytellers, Mr. Gladwell frames his book with a mystery: What happened in the 2015 exchange between Texas police officer Brian Encinia and motorist Sandra Bland that sent it off the rails? How did she end up in prison for failing to use her turn signal? Racism, he says, was not the primary reason. Mr. Encinia was following the “Kansas City” policing manual that requires officers to stop cars for minor infractions as a way of looking for signs of more serious crimes, so he was already on the lookout for fidgety or irritable drivers behaving nervously. She, an African-American, may already have been disposed to be angry at white police officers, so she responded to his requests—such as to extinguish her cigarette—with anger. Unfortunately for both of them, he was applying the police manual’s rules mindlessly, in a low-crime area, with no guidance about how to talk to unfamiliar black strangers like Sandra Bland. She was acting on her expectations mindlessly, with no guidance about how to talk to unfamiliar white strangers like the police.
This is the kind of illuminating reinterpretation of a familiar narrative that Mr. Gladwell does so well, but to give us the whole story, he would have had to tell us about the many black motorists who did try to “talk to” and placate an officer—and were nonetheless shot to death. As usual, in this story and many of the others in “Talking to Strangers,” he leaves out what doesn’t fit.
—Ms. Tavris is a social psychologist. Her latest book, with Avrum Bluming, is “Estrogen Matters.”
https://www.wsj.com/articles/talking-to-strangers-review-fool-me-once-shame-on-me-11568387290