The beauty of hardheaded community conversation

Sometimes, disagreement is the only real proof of life.

In our cozy little town of Branson, from the school band to Christ in Christmas, from the Chamber of Commerce to city hall, and beyond, the Ole Seagull has spent years writing columns. Very few of his columns enjoy the quiet blessing of unanimous agreement. Frankly, that is exactly how it should be. If everyone nodded along in perfect, silent harmony, it would only mean one of two things, either nobody is reading, or worse, nobody cares.

Disagreement is not a sign of division; rather, it is a sign of interest, of investment and of a community that refuses to fall asleep at the wheel. It shows that people read these words, realize they are strictly the opinion of one tired old man, and come away with opinions of their own. When they do that, the Ole Seagull is doing his job.

That is the primary purpose of this corner of the newspaper—to provide an “interactive forum” where the issues that shape our daily lives can be dragged out into the light. This interaction need not be polite, and it certainly does not happen in a vacuum. It happens through “letters to the editor,” direct conversations over morning coffee, emails and sometimes hand-painted signs on the side of the road. Any interaction between community members and the issues that affect them is, in the end, a beautiful thing.

There is a strict, old-fashioned rule of fairness that governs this column, one that was set in stone during its very first days. The Ole Seagull is forbidden from using a “letter to the editor” to shoot back at a reader who has written in to criticize him. If he wishes to respond, he must do so right here, in the open, in this column.

To the newspaper’s immense credit, they have never refused to publish a letter that was critical of the Ole Seagull. This policy is born of good sense and a deep respect for the “public square.” It keeps the conversation a two-way street—a genuine, interactive dialogue rather than a one-person lecture from a bully pulpit.

It is a strange thing about Branson, though—everyone seems to feel an overwhelming pressure to join a “team.” In our local politics, being a “team player,” or being “on board,” or going along “with the program” is treated as the ultimate virtue.

It is a game of social compliance, a quiet agreement to look the other way, and it is a game that this tired old bird, even with all his warts and failings, can never play. If in his heart he believes something is a certain way, it is not in his nature to go contrary to that belief. That does not mean his belief is always right, or that he always does what is right, but it means he tries.

“But couldn’t your belief be wrong?” Absolutely. That is precisely why he strives to lay out the basis for his opinions, giving readers the facts as he understands them, the background and the specific references so that they can judge for themselves and put things in perspective.

Once an opinion is printed on these pages, it becomes a permanent matter of public record. The Ole Seagull, and to a painful extent, his family, must live with those words forever.

In the final analysis, the conclusion itself is not what actually matters. What matters is the basis—the underlying logic, the evidence and reasoning—leading to that conclusion in the first place. If a man says, “You cannot make anything foolproof,” you have no way of knowing if he is a cynic or a genius. But if you ask him “why” and he replies, “Because fools are so ingenious,” then, one way or the other, you have something to evaluate.

We do not need more “team players” who nod along to keep the peace. We need more folks willing to speak their minds, show up and listen to the other side without walking away in anger. Let’s keep talking, listening, arguing and interacting. It may get loud, and it may get messy—but a noisy community is a living community, and that is a beautiful thing.