The importance of knowing what you're talking about

At the University, and in Western culture at large, it is very common to take a very myopic viewpoint of international affairs. I believe it is important to correct this viewpoint, especially at Princeton, because the people who are learning to look at the world in this limited way are the same people who will soon be leading it. We can start by knowing when to step back and stop talking.

One example of the sort of narrow vision that I am talking about occurred in a class I took last year, a class that I, for the most part, greatly enjoyed. The focus of the course was primarily on Western philosophies. However, there was one incident in which my preceptor, a former professor, attempted to reach outside of that narrow focus and, in doing so, greatly offended me.

First, some background information is necessary. I am Sudanese; my parents are from the northern part of the now-divided country. Because of this, I know a few things about Sudanese politics. In class one day, my preceptor was talking about dictatorships versus anarchies. To illustrate what he meant, he gave Sudan as an example of anarchy. He was wrong.

First of all, he was discussing the dichotomy of dictatorships and anarchies. In that dichotomy, Sudan’s government, headed by the unstable Omar al-Bashir, can only be characterized as a dictatorship. That is to say, he was not just slightly mistaken; he was, in fact, completely wrong.

I do not believe that everyone must necessarily have a strong understanding of the way every government in the world works. That is likely impossible. What I took issue with was the way in which he and others did not find his lack of knowledge to be enough reason to stop talking. It is a sort of arrogance that often comes out in matters of foreign affairs; despite knowing nothing about the topic, people feel confident giving strong opinions and even stating incorrect “facts.” He could have easily avoided the entire situation simply by making no comment on a country about which he clearly knows little. The problem is, when even a former professor and preceptor doesn’t take the time to distinguish between African nations, it creates an atmosphere where that sort of distinction is not valued.

This sort of error, small though it may seem, is actually very harmful because it is part of a larger culture in which people do not feel the need to differentiate between foreign countries. This can have catastrophic consequences in matters of foreign policy. For example, this summer, a Washington Post/ABC poll, found that 65 percent of Americans were in favor of launching airstrikes in Syria. But a January 2013 Pew Research Center poll found that 50 percent of Americans could not correctly identify a shaded country on a map as Syria. This is the sort of carelessness about grave matters that occurs when we pretend we know more than we actually do. It represents this sort of false knowledge, this action without understanding that was demonstrated on a way smaller scale, by my preceptor when he confidently made assumptions about Sudan and its government.

We, as Princetonians, need to make a concentrated effort to sometimes say, in class or even in casual conversation, “I don’t know enough to comment.” This has the potential to have enormous implications for things like precept. Obviously, in class, there is certain information that students are responsible for knowing. However, when the discussion veers away from that and connections and extrapolations are being drawn, people need to be comfortable clearly stating where their knowledge ends. There is no shame in simply not knowing everything. Additionally, we stand to learn so much more when we take the time to sit out of a conversation about which we know little and simply listen. At Princeton, there are students and professors who are experts in certain topics or have experienced very diverse viewpoints. Imagine how much we could learn if we spent less time pretending to be experts and more time asking each other questions. Imagine how much more meaningful precept could become if we cut out the fluffy postulating and limited ourselves to topics about which we are knowledgeable. I, for one, would certainly be interested in the conversations that would arise if we did. The positive effects would spread out past precept, too, so that even regular conversations could have more value.

Some of us will go on to work in governments, and most of us will go on to vote for leaders who will be speaking about foreign policy, and in order to make the most of those opportunities, we need to admit what we don’t know.