Daniel Cucher

This is what I believe and I'd like to convince you to think the same. Mind you, my ideas are based entirely on ignorance and prejudice. Nevertheless, I think you'll find that accepting what I have to say is both emotionally and intellectually satisfying, if not depressive, pessimistic and hypocritical.

Rewind.

I was lying on my back gazing up at the black desert sky when a bright flash of light burst forth from a star and rocketed me into a parallel reality. It was here that an angelic voice dictated to me this column on the Krutch cactus garden controversy. The following is infallible and, thus, this holy document should be treated with utmost respect.

No.

My parents talk extensively about politics, society and religion. When I visit them in Phoenix, I write down everything they say so I can share it with you, the reader. This is what my Dad thinks about Bush's education proposal. You should only be so wise.

This time for sure ·

Let's have a debate. It has to be over something we feel passionately about - a topic that makes our blood boil.

After promising to throw no punches, you and I sit down to talk face to face about the topic. Our discussion commences calmly but the tension quickly builds.

The room feels hot and our hearts begin to beat rapidly. I probably start tearing the cuticle away from my nails, and you do whatever nervous activity helps you channel energy. Most crack their knuckles or fidget with pens. There are no pens in the room, just to increase the pressure and give me a slight psychological advantage.

You make a point and I listen as my brain actively searches for a refutation.

When your lips stop moving, I make my point, convinced that I've just ended our debate in victory. But you make a rebuttal and I think that what you've just said is absurd. I might raise an eyebrow or smirk. Offended, you compound your notion with another and force me present some evidence to the contrary.

I probably give you a statistic. This is where it gets nasty because you have some statistics of your own, and we can't both be right. I demand your source and you offer it up like a slaughtered lamb. Ha! I scoff. Everyone knows that's the most demoniacally biased publication in the country!

Not at all, you say. "Satan's Opinion Weekly" is often applauded for its unbiased, moderate commentary. You question my source.

I found my numbers on the Internet. You begin to roll your eyes, but I catch you mid-roll. You're looking at the ceiling when I add: It was a government site. Official statistics. Beat that with your dark lord of independent third party research.

Suddenly you attack my character. You tell me I'm being na•ve and idealistic. I retaliate by informing you that you've been brainwashed and lack perspective. We exchange insults for a few minutes and, when our spleens are sufficiently expended, we get back on topic.

We call it a draw on the statistics but both secretly feel our stances bolstered. You confidently make one of your more abstract points and I jump down your throat for being irrational. Seeking resolution, we trace the logical steps back and find that we function on different planes of logic.

Minutes pass in silence as we contemplate how to conduct a debate spanning two non-parallel universes.

You suggest that we bring in a mediator and I agree, under the condition that he first enumerate his biases lest they affect his ability to be impartial. When he arrives, we all shake hands and he proceeds to list all of his dispositions.

He rambles on for hours without any end in sight. Twice you stop him to ask how he couldn't like a certain kind of fish and why he thinks punk is dead. I stop him once to find out why he married a tough girl if he prefers the more feminine type. He replies that he can't be held to perfect consistency, which gives us pause.

He swivels around in his chair and spits out a remaining few biases. We dismiss him when he finishes, forgetting our reason for calling on him in the first place. Left alone in the room, you and I find that we've lost our desire to argue.

Instead, we agree that our preconceived notions completely inhibit objectivity. Our ears are clogged with our own ideas, yet we still engage in dialogue hoping to convince others of our correctness. We forget our prime responsibility to our own ideas: to listen.

To listen, and to not cling so tightly to what we think we know.

The most gratifying arguments prove us wrong.