It's not easy to admit you don't know something. We fear ridicule, being exposed. Maybe we'll give the impression that we're frauds, that we will lose all credibility if we admit that we don't know the answer.
That's what happens when we ask questions. Asking questions is one of the most visible ways to demonstrate our ignorance. We're holding up a flashing neon sign that reads "Look at me! I don't know!" That's something that many of us are reluctant to do. We feel that it's better to continue in ignorance, because the silence might imply that we understand it all.
To me, that's a recipe for even more misunderstanding.
Obviously this plays out in academics. Students who don't ask questions risk falling even further behind and becoming even more confused. But the fear exists that if they ask a question, they will be exposed to ridicule. We have to do a better job letting kids ask questions, and cracking down on those who try to shame someone for admitting a lack of understanding.
In society, the risks are greater. The lack of questioning (and expecting real answers) leads to impunity from public officials, it leads to an us-versus-them mentality, and it leads to terrible assumptions about others.
I make a point of asking questions. I ask students to tell meabout their hobbies. I ask colleagues to tell me about their philosophies, and when the attacks in Paris happened last week, I asked my Muslim student to explain the controversy.
He explained the sacrilege in creating images of the Prophet, and how that was the basis for the upset and offense felt by practicing Muslims. He and I discussed extremism and how he perceives people's attitudes changing when attacks like this happen. Then he told me about the beauty he finds in Islam, and the messages of hope or peace and how he wishes more people saw that. He also told me about his frustration that a minority of the world's 1.4 billion Muslims have the spotlight and how what they choose to do with it affects someone trying to get his high school diploma in Canada.
I could have left it alone. I didn't have to ask that question. I could have stayed quiet and wondered whether he thought was happened in Paris was an acceptable response to the controversy, whether he thought the magazine was justified in their choices to publish the cartoons, or whether I had to be careful about what I said in case he had an extreme reaction to my words or actions.
But I have a history of asking questions. When I taught Mi'kmaq Studies, I asked as many natives as I could for perspectives on growing up with prejudice, or as a survivor of Residential Schools. I asked what having an Indian Status card really meant for paing taxes or going to university. When I taught a Jehovah's Witness, I asked him why they aren't allowed to get blood transfusions, or why birthdays aren't celebrated with gifts. I have learned a lot from asking questions. I rarely find someone who isn't eager to answer, and I feel so much more confortable in the world once I've had the discussion.
I know it can be hard to ask questions, especially with an open heart and an open mind. I know that society seems to revere people with answers. But how can people claim to have the answers have never asked the questions?