Learn to listen: that is the most important lesson of my political life. I’ve talked a lot in my life, especially during my years in the Senate: speeches, statements, press conferences, debates, committee hearings, marking up bills, conference committee deliberations, Senate Democratic caucuses over which I presided. I can’t possibly estimate the number of words, but surely it must be in the millions. And in all that time, as all those words flowed out of my mouth, the only certainty I have is that I learned little while I was talking. Learning has come from listening, from reading, from observing, from doing. The product of my learning has, hopefully, helped others to learn and has improved some lives. But it was not my talking that did it. Rather it was what I learned when I was not talking.
Although these thoughts crystallized while I was in the Senate, and especially in my last six years, most were based on earlier events, including Muskie’s words on the Air Line Road. And, as I’d noticed early in life, most people like to talk about themselves. That’s one reason why I’ve never had a problem striking up a conversation with a stranger. Simple questions usually get them talking: Where are you from? Where are you heading? The answers then permit more personal questions: Where did you grow up? What do you do? Invariably some word, phrase, or fact in the answers opens up lines of follow-up questions, and in a short time I’ve learned something about another person’s life that distinguishes him or her from everyone else I’ve met.
I also observed early in life that it is common in social conversations for people not to listen carefully to what others say. Rather it is often the case that a person speaks and then thinks about his or her next statement rather than intently listen to what others are saying; that is especially true of public figures who meet, usually briefly, large numbers of people. By the time you get to shake a person’s hand, your eyes and mind often are already on the next person in line. Too many persons in positions of authority become accustomed to deference, develop excessive self-confidence, and are incapable of showing respect to others, especially those with whom they disagree. These attitudes demean the position and lessen the person’s ability to perform his or her duties. I’ve been fortunate to receive many kind compliments in my life, none more so than “Thank you for listening to me.” The simple gesture of maintaining eye contact and concentrating on what another person is saying is not only a source of information and learning. It also is a sign of respect.
This approach served me well in the Senate and the Northern Ireland peace process. I was not an especially good listener when I entered the Senate. By definition the job requires a lot of talking, and for my first eight years as a senator I worked hard to live up to the definition. Becoming Senate majority leader called for more talking, not less, and in the early years I achieved that. But one crucial difference led me to change. As a senator most of my advocacy was public: in the campaigns for election, in public speeches, during debate in the Senate, in televised interviews and press conferences. There were, of course, some occasions that called for private advocacy. But after I became majority leader the balance shifted. While still plentiful the public appearances declined in significance in relation to my most important objectives. The real advocacy, the real work, increasingly was in small groups or frequently one-on-one.
There was not a single moment or event when I suddenly grasped the value of good listening. It was rather a gradual process of awakening to the startling reality that in my dealings with other senators my persuasiveness grew the less I talked. It was a combination of factors: as I listened more and better, I gained insight into the views and needs of the senator with whom I was engaged. That enabled me to be more precise in my arguments, which in turn enhanced my ability to persuade and, in a beneficial ripple effect, improved my standing when the next round of advocacy began, as it inevitably does for the Senate majority leader.
It’s a simple concept, in other circumstances called learning on the job. I did a lot of it as majority leader, as one evolution led to another. So it was that learning to listen led me to become more patient and more effective. However, most good things come with a cost. While I gained much from learning to listen, I also lost a lot of time because much of what I listened to was not worth the effort. Stated another way, it was important and helpful to become a good listener, but that in turn required me to become more patient. To get to the wheat you have to endure a lot of chaff.