When the Message Comes Attached to a Rock

I am reading Hopes and Fears, by Robert Evans and Michael Thompson, a book meant to enlighten school leaders and teachers about some of the challenges we face in education. One concept really stayed with me.

The authors talk about the “5 percenters”—the small percentage of parents who create the greatest difficulties for schools. Within this group, the most interesting to me are the “Intimidators.”

They use a powerful image: someone has a message for you, but instead of simply delivering it, they attach it to a rock and throw it through your window.

There may be something in the message worth hearing.

But there is still a rock attached to it. And there is still a shattered window.

I keep thinking about how much this applies to what we are seeing today.

There is real Palestinian suffering, and there are complexities that should be acknowledged. But for me, that cannot be separated from October 7, from Hamas and other armed groups operating within Gaza, or from the 251 people taken hostage.

What has been particularly difficult for me is watching the language of humanity and compassion become so selective. Where was that same urgency for the captives? Why did acknowledging the suffering of one population so often seem to require forgetting what had been done to another?

I don’t pretend that every Palestinian bears responsibility for Hamas or October 7. But neither am I comfortable with a narrative that presents an entire population simply as passive victims while removing Hamas, the hostages and the events that produced this war from the picture.

And, actually, that is not even the central subject I want to write about.

What concerns me more is what has happened to us—the people watching all of this.

Why has this particular conflict so completely inundated our media and public discourse while other horrific conflicts receive a fraction of the attention? Who benefits from keeping people emotionally activated around particular issues? Why has disagreement so often become intimidation? Why has criticism of Israel sometimes spilled into hostility toward Jews? Why are speakers shouted down rather than challenged?

And why have so many people become so certain that there is nothing left to discuss?

This brings me back to Hopes and Fears.

Read the message.

But don’t ignore the rock.

I thought about this again watching delegates walk out of the United Nations as Benjamin Netanyahu began speaking. You can completely disagree with Netanyahu’s policies. That isn’t the point.

Let him speak.

Listening is not agreeing.

At another UN gathering taking place the same week, Javier Milei spoke again about Argentina’s claim to the Malvinas. As an Argentine, that issue obviously resonates deeply with me—and in this case, I believe Milei is right. Argentina’s claim is rooted in history, geography and sovereignty. The United Nations itself recognizes an unresolved sovereignty dispute between Argentina and the United Kingdom and has repeatedly called for negotiations toward a peaceful solution.

But there is another reason I bring up Milei. He is willing to say what he believes even when it is unpopular or makes people uncomfortable.

That doesn’t mean every leader—or every one of us—is automatically right simply because we speak with conviction. It means we should still be able to make an argument, defend it, hear the opposing argument and think critically about both.

We are losing that ability.

Today, particularly for young people, practically every opinion can immediately receive a like, a heart, a hate comment or public condemnation. We are almost pre-programming people to ask, “What am I supposed to think?” rather than, “What do I actually think?”

And that is dangerous.

When I was younger, I watched The Wave, a film that tried to grapple with the haunting question of how ordinary people could participate in the horrors of Nazi Germany.

What stayed with me was not simply a lesson about Germany. It was a lesson about human nature.

Human beings want to belong. We respond to approval. We are influenced by the group. And once belonging becomes more important than questioning, independent thought becomes very difficult.

The circumstances today are different.

But human nature isn’t.

The causes change. The slogans change. The technology changes. The people we are told to admire or despise change.

Human nature does not.

And human beings remain vulnerable to fear, anger, belonging and moral certainty—particularly when those emotions are being amplified by governments, political movements, activists, media organizations or algorithms that may have an interest in making us feel a certain way.

That doesn’t mean every cause is manufactured or every emotion is illegitimate.

It means that the stronger the emotion, perhaps the more carefully we need to think.

Maybe what we need is a moral check.

When something makes us furious, frightened or absolutely certain that we are right, perhaps that is precisely when we should ask ourselves more questions.

Am I hearing facts, or am I hearing something repeated so many times that it has begun to feel like fact?

Can I hear an opposing argument without feeling threatened by it?

Can I acknowledge someone’s suffering without automatically accepting the entire political narrative being built around that suffering?

Can I disagree without needing to silence?

And perhaps most importantly:

Who benefits from making me feel this way?

That brings me one final time back to Hopes and Fears.

Evans and Thompson make the point that with the most intimidating “5 percenters,” endlessly trying to make someone see the light may accomplish very little. Sometimes what is needed is a boundary: you may have a grievance, but you may not behave this way.

Maybe society needs to relearn that distinction.

Disagreement is not violence.

Listening is not agreement.

Intimidation is not an argument.

Silencing someone does not prove that you are right.

And throwing a rock through a window does not make the message attached to it more persuasive.

Before joining the chant, sharing the post, condemning the person or walking out of the room, perhaps we need to stop for one moral check:

Am I still thinking for myself—or have I simply learned what I am supposed to think?

Food for thought.