Choices in Approaching Conflict Principles and Practice of Dispute Resolution 2Nd Edition Full Chapter

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APPROACHING CONFLICT:
PRINCIPLES AND PRACTICE OF
DISPUTE RESOLUTION, 2ND EDITION
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05/27/2020 - tp-ab17d056-a03e-11ea-80a8-024 (temp temp) - Choices in Approaching Conflict:
Principles and Practice of Dispute Resolution, 2nd Edition
iv Brief Contents
PART IV Professional Applications
Chapter 10 Community Mediation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 145

Chapter 11 Workplace Mediation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 155
Chapter 12 Restorative Justice . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 163
Chapter 13 Mediation Across Disciplines . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 171
Chapter 14 Professional Practice and Ethical Considerations . . . . . 185
Glossary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 201
Index . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 207
Credits . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 211
© 2019 Emond Montgomery Publications. All Rights Reserved

Contents
Brief Contents . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . iii 3 Conflict Analysis: Types and Sources

Preface . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ix of Conflict and the Potentials for
New to the Second Edition . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ix Escalation and Intervention . . . . . . . . . . 25
Acknowledgments . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . x Zero-Sum Thinking . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 26
About the Authors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xi Types of Conflict . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 26
The Five Kinds of Conflict . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 27
Interventions for the Five Kinds of Conflict . . . . . . . . 27
PART I The Growth of Conflict . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 29
RECONSIDERING CONFLICT 1. Light to Heavy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 29
2. Small to Large . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 30
1 What Is Conflict? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3 3. Injuring the Other . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 31
4. Few to Many . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 31
Defining Conflict . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4
5. Demonization . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 31
The Origins of Conflict . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4
Finding Underlying Interests . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 32
Conflict and Meaning . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7
Key Terms . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 34
Individual Reality . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 34
Changing Minds . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9
Questions and Exercises . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 34
Exception . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9
Incremental Change . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10
Change by Pendulum Swing . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10 PART II
Paradigm Shift . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10
Key Terms . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 11 PROCESSES FOR ADDRESSING
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 11 CONFLICT
4 What Is Negotiation? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 37
2 Choices in Responding to Conflict . . 13 Responses to Conflict . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 38
Reassessing Conflict . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 14 The Need for Negotiation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 39
The Four Responses to Conflict . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 15 Defining Negotiation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 39
Contending and Cooperative Problem Solving . . . . . . . 16 Positional or Distributive Bargaining Theories . . . . . . . . 40
The Choice to Contend . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 16 How Positional Bargaining Works . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 41
The Choice to Cooperate . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 19 The Rationale for Positional Bargaining . . . . . . . . . . . 42
Key Terms . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 23 The Disadvantages of Positional Bargaining . . . . . . 42
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 23 Collaborative or Cooperative Negotiating Theories . . . 42

How Collaborative Problem Solving Works . . . . . . . . 42

vi Contents
Principled Negotiation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 43 An Exit from the Theories . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 67

1. Separating People from the Problem . . . . . . . . . . 43 Mediation in Five Steps . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 68
2. Getting the Parties to Focus on Interests, Not Preparing . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 68
Positions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 44
The Pre-Mediation Stage . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 68
3. Inventing Options . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 44
Introducing . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 70
4. Ensuring the Use of Objective Criteria . . . . . . . . . 44
At the Table . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 70
Preparing to Negotiate . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 44
Framing the Issues . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 72
Preliminary Steps . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 45
Determining Interests . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 73
1. Define and Prioritize All Your Interests . . . . . . . . . 45
Positions and Interests . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 73
2. Set Objective Measurable Criteria, Based
on Reliable Information . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 45 The Mediator’s Role in Determining Interests . . . . . 74
3. Establish a Bargaining Range . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 46 Crafting Solutions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 76
Set Four Key Points . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 47 Key Terms . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 77
1. Target Point . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 47 References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 77
2. Resistance Point . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 47 Questions and Exercises . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 77
3. BATNA or WATNA . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 47
4. Opening Bid . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 48
6 Arbitration . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 79
Assessing the Other Party and Your Own Assets . . . . . . 49 Arbitration: An Alternative to Negotiation
Contacting the Other Party . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 49 and Mediation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 80
Foreseeing the Pattern of Negotiation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 49 Understanding Arbitration . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 80
Patterns of Negotiation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 50 The Process of Arbitration . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 82
The Aggressive Mode . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 50 Pre-Hearing Stage . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 83
The Collaborative Mode . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 51 The Hearing Stage . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 83
Key Terms . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 54 Post Hearing . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 84
Med-Arb: A Hybrid Process . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 84
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 54
A Glimpse at Some Types of Arbitration . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 85
International Trade Disputes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 85
CAMVAP . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 85
5 Mediation: Definition, Philosophy, Arbitration in the Education Setting . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 86
and Boundaries . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 57 Key Terms . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 88
Introduction to Mediation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 58
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 88
Defining Mediation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 58
The Backgrounds of Rights-Based Thinking . . . . . . . 60
Why Contend? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 60
What Is Wrong with Rights-Based Thinking? . . . . . . 61 PART III
Rethinking a Rights-Based Approach to Conflict . . . . . 61
SKILL SETS AND KNOWLEDGE SETS
The Role of Mediation in Cooperative
Problem Solving . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 62 FOR CONDUCTING NEGOTIATIONS
The Social Purpose of Mediation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 62 AND MEDIATIONS
Cautions: Culture, Gender, and Power as Factors
in Mediation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 63 7 Microskills, Storytelling,
Culture . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 63 and Creativity in Conflict
Gender . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 63
Resolution . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 93
Power . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 64
What Are Microskills? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 94
The Different Theories of Mediation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 64
Active Listening . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 94
The Facilitative Theory . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 65
Use Effective Body Language . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 94
The Evaluative Theory . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 65
Give Full Attention . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 95
The Transformative Theory . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 66
Don’t Interrupt . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 95
The Narrative Theory . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 66
Give Positive Feedback . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 95

Contents vii
Be Alert to the Unspoken . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 96 The Mediator’s Need for Self-Awareness . . . . . . . . . . . . . 123

Active Listening as a Mediator . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 96 Understanding Personal Conflict Style . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 124
Communication Skills . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 97 Understanding Negotiation Style . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 124
Paraphrasing . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 97 Understanding Mediation Style . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 125
Summarizing . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 97
Assessing Personality Type . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 125
Reflecting . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 98
Reframing . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 98 Emotional Intelligence . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 125
“I” Messages . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 99 Reflective Mediation Practice . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 126
Clear Language . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 100 Key Terms . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 127
Communicating as a Mediator . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 100 References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 127
Observation Skills: Being Aware of Non-Verbal Questions and Exercises . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 127
Communication . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 101
Observing as a Mediator . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 102
9 Culture, Gender, and Power as
Questioning Skills . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 102
Factors in Mediation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 129
Storytelling in Mediation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 104
Cultural Differences . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 130
Our Stories . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 105 Diversity Statistics . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 130
Stories and Gender Roles . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 105 Defining Cultural Competency . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 131
Conflict as Story . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 105 Conflict in Collective Cultures . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 132
Stories and Self-Definition . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 105 Conflict in Individualistic Cultures . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 132
Stories and Conflict . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 106 Intercultural Conflict and Mediation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 132
Stories in Conflict Resolution . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 107 Mediating Intercultural Conflict . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 133
The Hero’s Journey . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 107 Controlling the Physical Space . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 133
The Heroic Journey of Conflict Resolution . . . . . . . . 108 Regulating the Language . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 133
Narrative Mediation: Resolving Conflict Through Transcending Subjective Culture . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 134
Storytelling . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 109 Cultural Awareness and Conflict
The Stages of Narrative Mediation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 110 Resolution . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 135
Narrative Mediation: Summary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 112
The Gender Factor . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 136
Generating Solutions: Creativity in Mediation . . . . . . . . 112 Shifting Views on Gender . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 136
Brainstorming . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 113 Gender in Mediation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 136
The “Six Thinking Hats” in Mediation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 114 Power in Mediation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 137
White Hat: Information . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 114 What Is Power? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 137
Red Hat: Emotion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 115 Power Plays and How to Deal with Them . . . . . . . . . . 138
Black Hat: Critiquing . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 115 Power Imbalances . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 138
Yellow Hat: Optimism . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 115
Manifestations of Power in the
Green Hat: Creativity . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 115 Mediation Process . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 139
Blue Hat: Process . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 115 Real and Pretended Power . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 139
Key Terms . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 116 Other Kinds of Power . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 139
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 116 Summary: Culture, Gender, and Power . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 140
Questions and Exercises . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 117 Key Terms . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 141
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 141
8 Frame of Reference and Self-Image: Questions and Exercises . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 141
The Origins of Cultural
and Self-Awareness . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 119
Frame of Reference or Subjective Culture . . . . . . . . . . . . 120
PART IV
The Concept of Frame of Reference: Benefits . . . . . . 121 PROFESSIONAL APPLICATIONS
Self-Image . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 121
Self-Image and Cultural Identity . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 121
Moving Away from Ethnocentrism . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 122
10 Community Mediation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 145
Mediation in Communities . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 146
Ethnocentrism and the Mediator . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 123

viii Contents
Backgrounds . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 146 Policing . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 174

Forms of Community Mediation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 146 Social Work . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 176
Defining Community . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 148 Psychology . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 177
Types of Communities . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 148 Key Terms . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 182
Religious Organizations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 148 References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 182
Neighbourhoods . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 148
Community Mediation Service Providers . . . . . . . . . 150
Other Communities . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 150
Preparing for a Community Mediation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 151
14 Professional Practice and Ethical
1. Community Expectations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 151 Considerations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 185
2. Assessing the Community’s Goals . . . . . . . . . . . . . 151 Qualifications for Mediators . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 186
3. Assessing the Type of Conflict Involved . . . . . . . . 151 Self-Regulation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 186
4. Assessing the Stakeholders . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 152 Codes of Conduct for Mediators . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 187
5. Determining Methods and Stages . . . . . . . . . . . . . 152 Codes of Conduct: Typical Contents . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 187
Key Terms . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 153 Objectives . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 188
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 153 Definitions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 188
The Principle of Self-Determination . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 188
Impartiality . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 188
Conflict of Interest . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 188
11 Workplace Mediation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 155 Confidentiality . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 189
Business Organizations as Communities . . . . . . . . . . . . . 156 Quality of the Process . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 189
Typical Workplace Disputes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 156 Advertising . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 189
The Five Kinds of Conflict . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 157 Fees . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 190
Organizational Structure, Power, and Mediation . . . . . . 158 Agreement to Mediate . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 190
Traditional Approaches to Conflict Termination or Suspension of Mediation . . . . . . . . . . 190
in Organizations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 158 Other Conduct Obligations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 190
Organizational Culture and Mediation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 159 Other Legal Duties and Responsibilities . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 190
Conflict Management Systems . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 160 Dealing with Abuse . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 191
Key Terms . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 161 Careers in Mediation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 192
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 161 Types of Disputes Requiring Mediators . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 193
Questions and Exercises . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 161 Professional Associations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 194
ADRIC . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 194
The Ontario Association for Family
12 Restorative Justice . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 163
Mediation (OAFM) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 195
Alternative Dispute Resolution
Professional Insurance for Mediators . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 195
and Criminal Justice . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 164
Mediators’ Fees . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 196
What Is Restorative Justice? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 164
Origins of Restorative Justice . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 165 The Agreement to Mediate . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 197
Victim – Offender Reconciliation Programs . . . . . . . . 165 The Agreement to Mediate: Core Elements . . . . . . . 197
Sentencing Circles . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 166 Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 197
Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 168 Key Terms . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 198
Key Terms . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 169 References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 198
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 169 Questions and Exercises . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 198
Glossary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 201
13 Mediation Across Disciplines . . . . . . . . 171

Index . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 207
Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 172
Education . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 172 Credits . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 211

Preface
We are pleased to present this second edition of Choices in Approaching Conflict. The
purpose of this textbook remains threefold. First, it is to challenge the widely accepted
view that conflict is a negative force that should be avoided or suppressed at all costs.
In place of this view, we promote the idea that conflict is a universal experience aris-
ing partly from our need, as people, to fashion new, shared meaning in fulfilling our
aspirations. We look closely at conflict—its causes, its functioning, its phases, and its
various types—because to intervene successfully in conflict situations, you must be
able to identify the kind of conflict you are facing and understand its causes.
Second, this textbook seeks to point out that how we approach conflict is crucial
to whether and how it is resolved. Our choice of approach is often a consequence of
our social and cultural conditioning—to some extent, it is not a “choice” at all. Many
of us automatically take an adversarial approach to conflict. When parties respond
to conflict in this way—that is, aggressively and competitively—their positions be-
come entrenched and their disputes escalate, causing stalemate, frustration, or even
violence. A primary aim of this textbook is to make people aware that there is a deep
difference between contending for results and cooperating in the crafting of results.
Third, this textbook has a practical purpose. To support our analyses of conflict
and the processes surrounding it, we offer students questions for discussion as well as
role-playing exercises that will equip them with the skills they need to intervene suc-
cessfully in conflict situations. Our hope is that through practice of this kind, users
of this text will learn to address conflict in a positive way and to move themselves
and others to a mutual understanding of the underlying interests and needs of the
parties to a given conflict. This knowledge will help them produce, for themselves or
for others, win – win results for all concerned.
New to the Second Edition

The revised text has been expanded to include a new chapter on arbitration, its def-
inition, and its implications and a new chapter on the multidisciplinary applications
of the problem-solving skills outlined, including education, policing, social work,
and psychology.
The second edition has also been reorganized into four sections encompassing
common themes. These four sections contain a total of 14 chapters, aligning with
the number of weeks in a standard college or university term.
• Part I fully defines conflict, its inception, causes, escalation, and analysis.
• Part II describes the major processes involved in meeting and dealing with
conflict.
ix

x Preface
• Part III provides instruction on the skills and underlying knowledge neces-
sary for promoting solutions to disputes.
• Part IV relates to applications of the dispute-resolving formulae set out in the
book. It goes into actual areas of practice and the requirements necessary to
employ these skills in a variety of personal and professional settings.
Acknowledgments
The authors wish to recognize the contributions of our families, who have supported
us throughout our many long hours of researching and writing. We would also like
to recognize our editing team: Mike Thompson, Sandy Matos, Geoff Graves, Holly
Dickinson, Natalie Berchem, and especially Paul Emond for taking on our book for
publication back in 2009. We also thank Carrie-Lynn Barkley, Algonquin Careers
Academy; Shelagh Campbell, University of Regina; Amy Maycock, Fleming College;
Suzanne McGirl, Northern College; and Deborah Pressman, George Brown College, for
their review of the first edition. Their feedback and advice were invaluable—without it,
this second edition would not be a reality.

About the Authors
Charles Ewert obtained his BA from Carleton University. He then studied law and
earned his LLB from Queen’s University in Kingston. Upon being called to the
bar, he was invited to serve for a year as a clerk to the justices of the then High
Court, the trial division of the Supreme Court of Ontario. He practised law in both
St. Thomas and Newcastle, Ontario, before gaining a position as a professor in
the legal administration program at Durham College in Oshawa. There, he taught
courses in tort law, criminal law, contracts, and civil procedure, as well as general
introductory courses to the law.
Having appeared in major court cases at trial and on appeal, he had a lasting
concern about the costs, in monetary and human terms, of the adversarial processes
underlying litigation. He entered the LLM program in mediation at York University
and, upon graduation, was able to create and deliver courses in mediation at Durham
College and University of Ontario Institute of Technology (UOIT), also in Oshawa.
Those courses served as inspiration for his involvement in the writing of this text.
Gordon Barnard holds a Bachelor of Arts degree with a major in psychology from
Concordia University in Montreal and is a retired professor of Human Resources
Management. After working in the private sector at such organizations as Bell and
Honda, he joined the faculty of the School of Business, IT and Management at
Durham College in 1989.
For a number of years, Gordon was a member of the union – management Work-
load Monitoring Group at Durham, tasked with dealing with faculty members’ issues
regarding workload, as outlined in the college’s and union’s collective agreement,
prior to the possible submission of a grievance. The focus of the group was to nego-
tiate a solution that would prove acceptable to both college management and faculty.
Gordon co-developed and co-taught professional development courses in dispute
resolution at Durham College that led to the creation of this text.
He retired in 2016.
Jennifer Laffier is a senior lecturer at UOIT. In 2014, she was appointed senior
trainer with Mental Health First Aid Canada, a sub-division of the Mental Health
Commission of Canada. She works with various organizations considering imple-
mentation of mental health first aid, including school boards, police services, and
mental health agencies.
Michael L. Maynard is a mediator, arbitrator, and facilitator with ADR Chambers.

He is also an investigator with the ADR Chambers Banking and Municipal Ombuds
Offices and with the ADR Chambers Integrity Commissioner for municipalities.
xi

xii About the Authors
As a neutral, Michael has mediated more than 2,000 disputes. His areas of exper-
tise include administrative, civil, code of conduct/disciplinary, contract, insurance
(including personal injury and Statutory Accident Benefits matters), landlord/tenant,
public complaint, and workplace disputes. Michael has also facilitated a variety of
meetings, workshops, summits, and conferences, including co-chairing a healthcare
summit for an Ontario MPP, co-facilitating a three-day Northern Ontario economic
development conference, and leading a number of public town-hall meetings.
Michael has a background in political and public policy matters and has consulted
on organizational framework and ADR systems design. He has been an ADR in-
structor and course developer at Durham College and was a co-founder of Durham
College and UOIT’s campus mediation service.

PART I
Reconsidering
Conflict
For centuries, scholars, philosophers, and wise men have sought to formulate
the basis for a utopia on Earth. “Peace on Earth, goodwill toward men” has
become a common mantra, hope, and prayer.
Nonetheless, our world remains a complicated and stressful place filled with
conflict. We experience conflict at all levels—within our families, neighbour-
hoods, municipalities, and countries in the world at large. Moreover, in this
complicated world, we often experience conflict within our own psyches.
Many of us have been taught from our youth on that conflict is a negative
thing to be avoided, suppressed, and put down for the sake of the appearance
of peace. How have our parents, siblings, bosses, co-workers, chosen spiritual
leaders, friends, and enemies taught us to look at and respond to conflict and
disputes in general? Is conflict, in your view, a negative thing that should be
suppressed at all costs and ignored wherever possible? Or do you see it as a
natural and unavoidable consequence of our living in a competitively ordered
universe? Can we see it in a more positive light, offering an opportunity for
mutual acknowledgment and the growth of common understanding between
parties who need not remain adamant rivals?
Clearly, conflict is not going away, nor is it going to change the way it
appears in the world, so we must change the way we see it.
The purpose of the first three chapters in this text is to encourage you to
review, re-evaluate, and redefine your views of what conflict is and the ways
you respond to and deal with it.


What Is Conflict?
1
LEARNING OUTCOMES
Defining Conflict. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4 After completing this chapter, you will be able to:
The Origins of Conflict. . . . . . . . . . . . 4 ■■ Define and understand the term conflict.

Conflict and Meaning . . . . . . . . . . . . 7 ■■ Understand the underlying causes of conflict.
Individual Reality. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8 ■■ Consider how cultural influences, such as values,

beliefs, and principles, produce interests and
Changing Minds. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9 aspirations that, in turn, cause conflicts.
Exception . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9
Incremental Change. . . . . . . . . . . . . 10 ■■ Challenge the prevailing view that conflict is
something negative that ought to be suppressed.
Change by Pendulum Swing. . . . . 10
Paradigm Shift. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10 ■■ Promote a new perspective from which contending
expectations, interests, and aspirations are seen in a
Key Terms. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 11 positive light as catalysts for change.
References. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 11 ■■ Apply the new understanding of conflict in class
Questions and Exercises. . . . . . . . . . 11 discussions and role-playing exercises.

4 PART I RECONSIDERING CONFLICT
Defining Conflict
The focus of this first chapter is conflict and the disputes that arise from it. What is
conflict? Where does conflict come from? What choices do we have when it comes
to responding to conflict?
conflict Despite our best efforts, conflict seems to be an ever-present part of our human
a state that exists when experience. Whether in the form of family breakdown, road rage, or terrorist activ-
one party’s aspirations ity, conflict is always occurring in our world. In our everyday lives, we constantly
are incompatible with experience the tensions that give rise to it.
those of another party Utopian dreamers imagine a day when the world will be at peace and when
conflict will be banished from our experience. But the reality is that conflict is a
dynamic and necessary part of human life. Sometimes we need it to clear our col-
lective thinking, overcome oppression, and promote change. Without it, life would
probably be more boring and static than we would like. Yet with it, given the human
capacity for destructive behaviour, our individual selves and our entire world can
seem constantly in danger. That threat produces tension and stress.
So if we can’t get rid of conflict, how do we come to understand and manage a
dispute in more constructive ways?
First, we can accept the following as a basic truth: All people occupy the same
Earth, but each of us inhabits a separate perceptual reality. How individuals, families,
countries, and cultures make meaning in their lives varies radically. No matter what
value, principle, or belief we select as sacred, we must accept that others will see
things differently. Even a belief in the sacredness of life is not universal, as kamikaze
pilots have shown. Kamikaze pilots came from the heritage of the Japanese samurai,
who would readily offer up their lives because they believed that to die samurai adds
meaning to life (Yamamato, 2002). To them, the concept of dying with honour had a
higher value than living a life without it.
The Origins of Conflict

The fact that people have different values, beliefs, norms, and goals does not in itself
make conflict inevitable. In Social Conflict, Rubin, Pruitt, and Kim (2004) point out
that conflict occurs only when our underlying interests shape themselves into aspir-
ations that are incompatible with others’ aspirations. In other words, conflict arises
aspirations from incompatibility of aspirations. De Bono (2004) points out that different belief
the particular hopes and systems do not lead to conflict until someone decides that his or her belief system is
desires that arise from superior to someone else’s and that the other system should not exist.
our underlying interests The same principle holds for cultural customs surrounding modes of dress, wor-
ship, eating, and social interaction: Conflicts occur only when one group becomes
aggressively exclusive of another. A second point should be made here about the
origins of conflict. Even when two parties have seemingly incompatible religious
dispute or cultural beliefs and therefore a great potential for conflict, no dispute actually
what occurs when the par- exists between them until one sees the other’s system as opposed to their own, is able
ties in conflict (a) recognize to name this opposition as an injury, and is able to identify the other party as the
they are opposed to offender and claim some sort of redress.
each other, (b) view each Without the acts of naming, blaming, and claiming, the conflict may exist but never
other’s opposition as an become an actual dispute. These actions turn an uncomfortable but possibly short-
injury, and (c) lay claim to lived conflict into a dispute requiring some form of intervention or resolution. In other
some form of redress words, the existence of underlying friction in a situation only leads to an actual dispute
when one party seeks to make their aspirations predominate over another party’s.

CHAPTER 1 What Is Conflict? 5
Ellis and Anderson (2005) suggest that most conflicts are characterized by the
perceived presence of two or more of the following instigators of hostile feelings:
1. Different or opposing values or ideals (for example, democracy, security,

and women’s rights).
2. Divergent interests (tangible things—land, water, and money).
3. Different or opposing cognitions (for example, understanding of history,
interpretation of statements, and perceptions of actions).
4. Identifying threats (for example, challenges to a person’s sense of self as an
individual; a group member who feels entitled to respect).
Admittedly, in our current world, most of the international conflicts that seem
to exist involve an imbalance of, or limited access to, needed resources. Countries
often fight over water, land, energy, and food, as well as other wealth-producing re-
sources. But international, interracial, and sectarian disputes are often imbued with
the other elements stated above. History has forged in different cultures different
understandings of acceptable sexuality, the role of women, and the right to education
and advancement, among many other things.
Claiming the right to ownership or possession of land can be the source of great
conflict. Divergent claims can arise from different interpretations of what makes land
sacred. Contrasting views of historical information can give rise to different under-
standings of what entitles parties to claim the land and its fruits. If we look at the
Arab–Israeli conflict, there are numerous claims in regard to actual possession and
sovereignty over areas of land, but there is also an incredibly rich history, differently
interpreted, involving the core identities of the participants: Christians, Jews, and
Muslims. This may be said to be true of Indigenous land claims in Canada, where the
very meaning of land and its sacredness varies from culture to culture.
The determination of acceptable sexual practices also varies widely from country
to country and culture to culture. Countries with harsh climates and high infant
mortality rates often vested in men the right to marry more than one woman to

6 PART I RECONSIDERING CONFLICT
maintain population and workforce. Some regions with limited food supplies, such
as Tibet, often allowed polyandry—a practice in which a woman could marry more
than one man—to maintain a lower or manageable birth rate. Some Indigenous
societies in the Pacific were highly tolerant of homosexual relationships, whereas so-
cieties steeped in the Western religions have tended to be highly judgmental of such
inclinations. In Canada, the ongoing movement toward accepting and supporting the
LGBTQ+ community is shifting the population’s understanding from judgment to
acceptance of diversity. This shift in understanding has resulted in a true paradigm
shift in the acceptability of individual choices. However, existing traditional attitudes
die hard, and many judgments will remain based on historical and religious inter-
pretations. Thus, as the underlying values and beliefs of societies shift and change,
conflicts can resolve, but they can also expand, flare up, or commence anew.
We are living in times of change and acceptance in regard to the role of women
in society. Saudi Arabia, for example, in 2018, lifted a decades-old ban on women
driving. Closer to home, the #MeToo movement has, for example, rewritten and re-
moved the power that used to exist around the director’s casting couch. One rock star,
after being accused of sexual misconduct in 2018, said that his sexual encounters
were all consensual and his exploits were all just an acceptable part of rock culture
(“Hedley Allegations,” 2018). Rock culture, it seems, is also evolving. However, in
some countries, there are still cultural norms that strongly dictate that women must
wear culturally appropriate clothing and that their roles in public be strictly limited.
IN THE NEWS
IDLE NO MORE
In February 2018, Prime Minister Justin Trudeau announced that the federal govern-
ment will create new legislation that is intended to make necessary changes to the
way in which Canada deals with Indigenous peoples. This comes in the wake of a
highly controversial acquittal in Saskatchewan of a white man who had shot and killed
22-year-old Colten Boushie, a member of the Red Pheasant First Nation. The intended
legislative changes include how to deal with systemic racism in both broader Canadian
society and the criminal justice system. They will also overhaul the process by which
land claims and treaty rights are managed.
Some Indigenous people have responded to this announcement with hope, some
with skepticism, and others with resistance. The latter group includes activists and
others who support the Idle No More movement, a grassroots movement that has
stated explicitly that it is opposed to, as it is framed by Coulthard in Red Skin, White
Masks (2014), the “colonial politics of recognition.” The term refers to the attempt by
so-called settler states to gloss over past and present injustices to Indigenous peoples
by recognizing certain rights within a liberal pluralistic democracy. Those in the Idle No
More movement see this approach as a threat to Indigenous self-government while
also keeping the door open to land grabs by the state, largely for the purposes of
accessing mineral and oil and gas resources.
A fundamental values conflict can be seen here in terms of how “land” is viewed. Is
it for the extractable resources that lie underneath it, or is it for the nourishment and
well-being of those who live on it?
Source: Coulthard (2014).

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no related content on Scribd:
sometimes became ‘liquorish’ at the table, and on one occasion made rather
free with another man’s wife to the husband’s indignation until mollified
with the assurance of his spouse that she ‘did not like him at all.’ Even so,
thought the irate husband, Hamilton ‘appears very trifling in his
conversation with ladies.’[508] And ‘trifling’ indeed must have been much of
the talk.
Thus it was at a dinner at Clymer’s, a leading member of the House.
Present, Otis, the Binghams, the Willings—the top cream of the aristocracy.
Aha, cried the vivacious sister of Mrs. Bingham, referring to the host’s
newly acquired stomacher, and mentioning the touching case of the Duke of
York, recently married to the Duchess of Württemberg who was compelled
to cut a semi-circle out of his table to give access to his plate. Mrs. Bingham
coyly expressed sympathy for the Duchess. (Bursts of laughter and
applause.) But Clymer, not to be outdone, turned to his married sister with
the comment that he would ‘soon be able to retort this excellent jest on her.’
(Renewed laughter and more applause.) It was an hilarious occasion, the
applause ‘would have done credit to a national convention’ and ‘Miss Abby
and Miss Ann did not disguise their delight nor their bosoms.’[509] On now
to a dinner at Harrison’s, who married a sister of Mrs. Bingham, where one
of the guests, ‘after rallying Sophia ... upon her unfruitfulness,’ led to a
‘natural but not very flattering transition’ which ‘introduced Mrs. Champlin
and her want of prolific qualities as a seasoning for the Canvas Backs.’[510]
But let us hurry on to a third dinner, with Hamilton, his vivacious sisters-in-
law, Mrs. Church and Miss Schuyler. A lively company! Mrs. Church, ‘the
mirror of affectation,’ who is ‘more amusing than offensive’ because so
affable and free from ceremony; and, still more lively, Miss Schuyler ‘a
young wild flirt from Albany, full of glee and apparently desirous of
matrimony.’ Mrs. Church drops her shoe bow, Miss Schuyler picks it up and
fastens it in Hamilton’s button-hole with the remark, ‘I have made you a
knight.’ ‘But what order?’ asks Mrs. Church, ‘he can’t be a knight of the
garter in this country.’ ‘True, sister, but he would be if you would let him.’
Wine, women and song—such the spirit in some of the great houses in
moments of abandon. But it would be unfair to leave the impression these
incidents would convey. There were brilliant men of vast achievement, and
women of extraordinary charm and cleverness moving behind these
curtained windows. Let us meet them in the mansion of Mrs. Bingham—the
uncrowned queen of the Federalist group—the woman without a peer.
IV
None of the three capitals of the country have produced another social
leader of the cleverness, audacity, and regality of Mrs. William Bingham.
During the eight years of the domination of the Federalists, of whom her
husband was one of the leaders, there was no public character of the first
order who did not come under the influence of her fascination. By birth,
environment, nature, and training she was fitted to play a conspicuous part in
the social life of any capital in the world. The daughter of Willing, the
partner of Robert Morris, she was the favored of fortune. Some years before
her birth, her father, inspired by sentimental motives, built the mansion on
Third Street in which she was born, and patterned it after the ancestral home
in Bristol, England. There, surrounded by all the advantages of wealth, her
beauty unfolded through a happy childhood. The pomp and pride of great
possessions did not imbue her with a passion for republics or democracy.
She was destined to play a part in a rather flamboyant aristocracy, and was
as carefully perfected in the arts and graces of her sex as any princess
destined to a throne. In the midst of the Revolution, in her sixteenth year, she
married William Bingham who combined the advantages of wealth, social
position, and a capacity for political leadership.
She was only twenty, when, accompanied by her husband, she went
abroad to captivate court circles with her vivacity, charm, and beauty. At
Versailles, the gallants, accustomed to the ways and wiles of the most
accomplished women of fashion, were entranced. At The Hague, where she
lingered awhile, the members of the diplomatic corps fluttered about the
teasing charmer like moths about the flame. In the court circles of England
she suffered nothing in comparison with the best it could offer, and the
generous Abigail Adams, thrilling to the triumph of the young American,
found her brilliancy enough to dim the ineffectual fires of Georgiana,
Duchess of Devonshire. Five years of familiarity with the leaders in the
world of European fashion and politics prepared her to preside with stunning
success over the most famous political drawing-room of the American
capital.
It was after their return from Europe that Mrs. Bingham moved into the
imposing mansion on Third Street built on the ample grounds of her
childhood home. All the arts of the architect, landscape gardener, and
interior decorator had been drawn upon to make a fit setting for the mistress.
The garden, with its flowers and rare shrubbery, its lemon, orange, and citron
trees, its aloes and exotics, was shut off from the view of the curious, only
mighty oaks and the Lombardy poplars visible above the wall—‘a
magnificent house and gardens in the best English style.’[511] The
furnishings were in keeping with the promise of the exterior. ‘The chairs in
the drawing-room were from Seddon’s in London of the newest taste, the
back in the form of a lyre, with festoons, of yellow and crimson silk,’
according to the description of an English tourist. ‘The curtains of the room
a festoon of the same. The carpet, one of Moore’s most expensive patterns.
The room papered in the French taste, after the style of the Vatican in
Rome.’[512] The halls, hung with pictures selected with fine discrimination
in Italy, gave a promise not disappointed in the elegance of the drawing-
rooms, the library, the ballroom, card-rooms, and observatory.[513] To some
this extravagant display of luxury was depressing, and Brissot de Warville,
who was to return to Paris to die on the guillotine as a leader of the ill-fated
party of the Gironde, held the
MRS. WILLIAM BINGHAM
mistress of the mansion responsible for the aristocratic spirit of the town. It
was a pity, he thought, that a man so sensible and amiable as Bingham
should have permitted a vain wife to lead him to ‘a pomp which ought
forever have been a stranger to Philadelphia.’ And all this display ‘to draw
around him the gaudy prigs and parasites of Europe,’ and lead ‘to the
reproach of his fellow citizens and the ridicule of strangers.’[514] But if the
French republican was shocked, even so robust a democrat as Maclay was so
little offended that he was able to write after dining at the mansion that
‘there is a propriety, a neatness, a cleanliness that adds to the splendor of his
costly furniture and elegant apartments.’[515]
And ‘the dazzling Mrs. Bingham,’ as the conservative Abigail described
her,[516] what of her? The elegance and beauty which has come down to us
on canvas prepares us for the glowing descriptions of contemporaries. Hers
was the type of patrician beauty that shimmered. She was above the medium
height and well-formed, and in her carriage there was sprightliness, dignity,
elegance, and distinction. Sparkling with wit, bubbling with vivacity, she had
the knack of convincing the most hopeless yokel introduced into her
drawing-room by the exigencies of politics that she found his personality
peculiarly appealing. Daring at the card-table, graceful in the dance, witty in
conversation even though sometimes too adept with the naughty devices of a
Congreve dialogue, inordinately fond of all the dissipations prescribed by
fashion, tactful in the selection and placing of her guests at table, she richly
earned the scepter she waved so authoritatively over society.[517] What
though she did sometimes stain her pretty lips with wicked oaths, she swore
as daintily as the Duchess of Devonshire, and if she did seem to relish
anecdotes a bit too spicy for a puritanic atmosphere, she craved not the
privilege of breathing such air.[518]
Hers the consuming ambition to be the great lady and to introduce into
American society the ideas and ideals of Paris and London. Did Jefferson
gently chide her for her admiration of French women? Well—was she not
justified? Did they not ‘possess the happy art of making us pleased with
ourselves?’ In their conversation could they not ‘please both the fop and the
philosopher?’ And despite their seeming frivolity, did not these ‘women of
France interfere with the politics of the country, and often give a decided
turn to the fate of empires?’ In this letter to the man she admired and liked,
while loathing his politics, we have the nearest insight into the soul of the
woman.[519]
But these graver ambitions were not revealed to many who observed her
mode of life, her constant round of dissipations, her putting aside the
responsibilities of a mother, leaving her daughters to their French
governesses until the tragic elopement of Marie with a dissipated nobleman,
and the apprehension of the pair after their marriage at the home of a
milliner in the early morning. Hers were not the prim notions of the average
American of her time. It was Otis, not she, who was shocked to find Marie
so thinly dressed in mid-winter that he was ‘regaled at the sight of her whole
legs for five minutes together,’ and wondered ‘to what height the fashion
would be carried.’[520] Swearing, relating risqué stories, indulging in
dissipations night after night, shaming her motherhood by her affected
indifference or neglect, the fact remains that the breath of scandal never
touched her until the final scene when in her early thirties they bore her on a
stretcher from the home of her triumphs in the vain hope of prolonging her
life in the soft air of the Bermudas.
And so to her dinners, dances, parties, the clever men of the Federalist
Party flocked, with only a sprinkling of Jeffersonians, for, though Jefferson
himself could always count on a gracious reception from the hostess, he was
not comfortable among the other guests. Always the best was to be had there
—and the newest. Did she not introduce the foreign custom of having
servants announce the arriving guests, to the discomfiture of Monroe?
‘Senator Monroe,’ called the flunky.
‘Coming,’ cried the Senator.
‘Senator Monroe’—echoed a flunky down the hall.
‘Coming as soon as I can get my greatcoat off,’ promised the Senator.
But we may be sure that no expression of amusement on the face of the
beaming Mrs. Bingham added to his embarrassment.
‘A very pretty dinner, Madame,’ said the intolerable Judge Chase, after
looking over the proffered repast, ‘but there is not a thing on your table that I
can eat.’
An expression of surprise or resentment on the hostess’s face? Not at all.
What would the Judge relish? Roast beef? Very well—and a servant received
his orders and soon hurried back with beef and potatoes to be gluttonously
devoured and washed down with a couple of bottles of stout ale instead of
French wines.
‘There, Madame,’ said the Judge, made comfortable, ‘I have made a
sensible and excellent dinner, but no thanks to your French cook.’
And he never knew from the lady’s pleased expression that she thought
him an insufferable bore.
Such the woman whose home was to be to the Hamiltonians what
Madame Roland’s was to the Girondists, and Lady Holland’s to the English
Whigs. Now let us peep into the drawing-room and observe the men and
women who bowed to her social scepter.
In deference to Mrs. Bingham we shall permit the servant to announce

these visitors as they arrive.
‘Mr. and Mrs. Robert Morris.’
No doubt about their importance, for he was as intimate with Washington
as she with Mrs. Washington, and such was her intimacy that she was
frequently referred to as ‘the second lady in the land.’ It was she who
accompanied Mrs. Washington from Philadelphia to New York after the
inauguration, and during the spring and autumn the two might frequently be
seen under the trees at ‘The Hills,’ the Morris farm near the city, enjoying
the view of the river and such pastoral pictures as were offered by the
imported sheep and cattle grazing on the rolling hills. Of Mrs. Morris it was
said that ‘so impressive is her air and demeanor that those who saw her once
seldom forgot her.’[521] She had dignity, tact, and elegance, and, like Mrs.
Washington, no respect for ‘the filthy democrats.’ She was a thorough
aristocrat. Her husband, banker, merchant, Senator, was of imposing height,
his merry blue eyes, clear complexion, and strong features denoting
something of his significance; and he had the social graces that captivate and
hold. His wealth alone would have made him a commanding figure in the
society of the time and place. Some generations were to settle on his grave
before he was to appear as the martyr who had sacrificed a fortune to liberty,
for there was a different understanding in his day.[522] A natural aristocrat,
ultra-conservative because of his business connections and great
possessions, if he was tolerant of the experiment in republicanism, he took
no pains to conceal his contempt of democracy—in Senate or drawing-room.
‘Mrs. Walter Stewart.’
Another of the intimate circle of the Washingtons who dwelt in a fine
house next door to the Morrises, she was one of the most brilliant and
fascinating women with whom Mrs. Bingham liked to surround herself. A
long way she had traveled from her girlhood home as the daughter of Blair
McClenachan, the ardent democrat who was to help burn Jay’s Treaty,
welcome Genêt, and to follow Jefferson, for she was the wife of the rich
General Stewart, and had been seduced by the glitter of the aristocracy. Like
Mrs. Bingham, she had had her fling with the nobility in London, Paris,
Berlin, and Rome, and had returned to open her house for some of the most
elaborate entertaining of her time. In striking beauty, conversational charm,
and a caressing manner, she rivaled Mrs. Bingham at her best. About her
dinner table the leaders of the Federalist Party were frequently found.[523]
‘Mrs. Samuel Powell.’
An interesting lady, ‘who looks turned fifty,’[524] enters to be greeted by
the hostess as ‘Aunt.’ A courteous, kindly woman, almost motherly in her
manner, she talks with the fluency and ease to be expected of the mistress of
the famous house on ‘Society Hill.’[525] No one of Mrs. Bingham’s guests
who has not promenaded on summer evenings in the Powell gardens, the
walks lined with statuary.[526]
‘General and Mrs. Knox.’
An impressive figure, the Secretary of War, his height carrying the two
hundred and eighty pounds not ungracefully, his regular Grecian nose, florid
complexion, bright, penetrating eyes giving an attractive cast to his
countenance. They who know him best suspect that he enjoys too well the
pleasures of the table, but love him for a kindliness that temper cannot sour,
a sincerity and generosity that know no bounds, a gayety that his dignity
cannot suppress—a fine sentimental figure with a Revolutionary
background. What though he had been a bookseller before he eloped with a
lady of quality, he was too keenly appreciative of the advantages of
aristocracy to have much patience with the queer notions of Tom Jefferson,
whom he liked. He rubbed his shins when Hamilton stumbled over a chair.
And Mrs. Knox—she must have been a dashing belle in her romantic
youth, for despite her enormous weight, she was still handsome with her
black eyes and blooming cheeks.[527] Passing her girlhood in the Loyalist
atmosphere of an aristocratic home, she had never become reconciled to the
impertinence of the people, and even during the war her adoring Henry had
been moved to warn her against sneering openly at the manners and speech
of the people of Connecticut. ‘The want of refinement which you seem to
speak of is, or will be, the salvation of America,’ he wrote.[528] But hers was
the more masterful nature and his democracy was to capitulate to her
aristocracy in the end.[529] But—whither goes the lady from the drawing-
room so quickly? Ah—of course, it is to the card-room, for was it not the
gossip that ‘the follies of a gambling wife are passed on to the debits of her
husband?’[530] In the morning, no doubt, she will run in on Mrs. Washington
at the Morris house, for they are very close.
‘Mr. and Mrs. Alexander Hamilton.’
What a romantic picture he makes in the finery that sets him off so well—
brilliant eyes sparkling, eloquent lips smiling, a courtly figure bending over
the hostess’s hand. Only a moment for the lightest kind of banter with the
ladies, and he is off to the Pemberton mansion to work far into the night.
Mrs. Hamilton will linger a little longer, an appealing type of woman, her
delicate face set off by ‘fine eyes which are very dark’ and ‘hold the life and
energy of the restrained countenance.’[531] Hamilton had found her in the
Schuyler homestead at Albany, ‘a brunette with the most good-natured, dark
lovely eyes,’[532] gentle, retiring, but in the home circle full of gayety and
courage. Weeks and months sometimes found her missing from the social
circle, for with her, in those days, life was just one baby after another.
‘Mr. and Mrs. Oliver Wolcott, and Miss Wolcott.’
A pleasing personality was that of the handsome protégé of Hamilton,
breathing the spirit of jollity, given to badinage, capable, too, of serious
conversation on books and plays. He loses himself in the lively throng, but
his infectious laughter is as revealing of his presence as the bell of Bossy in
the woods. But we are more interested in his companions. Mrs. Wolcott was
all loveliness and sweetness, grace and dignity, and such was the appeal of
her conversation that one statesman thought her ‘a divine woman’; another,
‘the magnificent Mrs. Wolcott’; and the brusque Senator Tracy of her State,
on being assured by a condescending diplomat that she would shine at any
court, snorted that she even shone at Litchfield.[533] Even so the eyes of the
younger men are upon Mary Ann Wolcott, sister of the Federalist leader, a
pearl of her sex, combining an extraordinary physical beauty with opulent
charms, and a conversational brilliance unsurpassed by any woman of the
social circle. Very soon she would marry the clever, cynical Chauncey
Goodrich and take her place in official society in her own right. The
Wolcotts, we may be sure, read Paine’s ‘Rights of Man’ with amazement and
disgust.
‘Mr. and Mrs. Theodore Sedgwick.’
A magnificent type of physical manhood, the face of one accustomed to
command and sneer down opposition; a woman of elegance and refinement,
typical of the best New England could offer in a matron.
‘Pierce Butler.’
A handsome widower this man, maintaining an elegant establishment in
Philadelphia, who affected to be a democrat, and carefully selected his
associates from among the aristocracy, a South Carolinian with a certain
reverence for wealth.
‘Mrs. William Jackson.’
An equally charming but less beautiful sister of the hostess, now wife of
one of Washington’s secretaries, a favorite at the Morris mansion, and with
no time for thinking on the grievances of the yokels and mechanics—an
American prototype of the merry ladies of Versailles before the storm broke.
Among the foreign faces we miss the tall figure of Talleyrand whose
Philadelphia immoralities shocked the French Minister, and whose affairs
with a lady of color[534] excluded him from the Bingham drawing-room. But
there is Viscount de Noailles who had proposed the abolition of feudal rights
in the early days of the French Revolution; and Count Tilley, the dissipated
roué planning an elopement with his hostess’s daughter with the connivance
of her French governess; and Brissot de Warville, enlightened political
idealist of France soon to fall beneath the knife of Robespierre. There, too,
the Duc de La Rochefoucauld-Liancourt who was redolent of courts, and the
Baring brothers of London, bankers, soon to marry the Bingham girls.
A veritable Vanity Fair, many clever, some brilliant, most skeptical of
republics, idolatrous of money and distinctions, and few capable of
discriminating between anarchy and democracy. Such was the social
atmosphere of the capital when the fight to determine whether this should be
a democratic or aristocratic republic was made.
VI
We have an English-drawn picture of an evening at the British Legation
with many American guests gathered about the blazing fire. The Consul is
‘descanting on various subjects, public and private, as well as public and
private characters, sometimes with unbecoming levity, sometimes with
sarcasm even more unbecoming.’ An English guest was afraid that such talk
‘could hardly fail to be offensive to ... many of the guests and to the good
taste of all.’ But could this English gentleman have listened in on the
conversations at Mrs. Bingham’s, Mrs. Morris’s, or Mrs. Stewart’s, he might
have concluded that these reflections on certain public characters were
altogether pleasing to the principal figures in the society of the capital.[535]
And could he have returned a little later to find society chuckling over the
display in the windows of a newspaper office of the pictures of George III,
Lord North, and General Howe, he might have decided that there was a
pronouncedly pro-English party in America. Had he driven about the
environs, among the hills, and along the banks of the rivers, he would have
seen country houses of the aristocracy—Lansdowne, the seat of the
Binghams; Bush Hill, where the Adamses lived at first; Woodford, and other
country places to suggest similar seats in his own land. And had he been
meandering in the neighborhood of Horsehead’s or Chew’s Landing, seven
or nine miles out, he might have been startled at the familiar English picture
of gentlemen in bright coats, the pack in full cry after the fox.[536] And
having made these observations he could have found some extenuation in
the conversation in the British Minister’s house.
The snobbery of class consciousness entered into even the Dancing
Assembly which held forth at frequent intervals at O’Eller’s, in a ballroom
sixty feet square, with a handsome music gallery at one end, and the walls
papered after the French style.[537] The suppers at these dances were mostly
liquid,[538] and, since it is on record that on hot summer days ladies and
gentlemen could count on a cool iced punch with pineapple juice to heighten
the color, it may be assumed that the Assembly suppers were a success.[539]
The fact that the young ladies sometimes took two pair of slippers, lest they
dance one out, hints of all-night revels.[540] And the expulsion from
membership of a young woman who had dared marry a jeweler tells its own
tale.[541] At the theater, which was usually crowded,[542] the aristocrats and
democrats met without mingling, for the different prices put every one in his
or her place, and if wine and porter were sold between acts to the people in
the pit ‘precisely as if they were in a tavern,’[543] the aristocracy paid eight
dollars for a box,[544] and an attaché, in full dress of black, hair powdered
and adjusted in the formal fashion, and bearing silver candlesticks and wax
candles, would meet Washington at the entrance and conduct him with much
gravity to the presidential box, festooned with red drapery, and bearing the
United States coat of arms.[545] ‘The managers have been very polite to me
and my family,’ wrote Mrs. Adams. ‘The actors came and informed us that a
box is prepared for us. The Vice-President thanked them for their civility,
and told them he would attend whenever the President did.’[546] On these
occasions, when the highest dignitaries of the State attended, a stranger,
dropped from the clouds, would have scarcely thought himself in a republic.
At the theater he would have found a military guard, with an armed soldier
at each stage door, with four or five others in the gallery, and these assisted
by the high constables of the city and police officers.[547] There was no
danger threatening but the occasion offered the opportunity for pompous
display so tempting to the society of the city.
At first the statesmen had to content themselves with the old Southwark
Theater, which was dreary enough architecturally, lighted with oil lamps
without glasses, and with frequent pillars obstructing the view.[548] But the
best plays were presented, by good if not brilliant players, and the
aristocracy flirted and frolicked indifferent to the resentful glances of the
poorer classes in less favored seats. It reached the climax of its career just as
the new theater was about to open with the then celebrated tragic actress,
Mrs. Melmoth—and soon afterward, the new Chestnut Street Theater
opened its doors and raised its curtain. The opening was an event—the
public entranced. Two or three rows of boxes, a gallery with Corinthian
columns highly gilded and with a crimson ribbon from capital to base.
Above the boxes, crimson drapery—panels of rose color—seats for two
thousand. ‘As large as Covent Garden,’ wrote Wansey, ‘and to judge by the
dress and appearance of the company around me, and the actors and scenery,
I should have thought I had still been in England.’[549] And such a company!
There was Fennell, noted in Paris for his extravagance, socially ambitious,
and handsome, too, with his six feet of stature, and ever-ready blush, about
whom flocked the literary youth of the town. Ladies—the finest trembled to
his howls of tragedy and simpered to his comedy. There, too, was Harwood,
who had married the granddaughter of Ben Franklin—a perfect gentleman;
and Mrs. Oldmixon, the spouse of Sir John, the ‘beau of Bath,’ who divided
honors in his day with Nash and Brummel; and Mrs. Whitlock, whom her
admirers insisted did not shine merely by the reflected glory of her sister,
Mrs. Siddons.
Quite as appealing to both aristocrat and democrat was the Circus at
Twelfth and Market Streets, established in 1792 by John Ricketts whose
credentials to society were in his erstwhile connection with the Blackfriars
Bridge Circus of London. Washington and Martha occasionally witnessed
the performances, quite soberly we may be sure, and the ‘court party’ thus
got its cue if any were needed. The proprietor riding two horses at full
gallop, Signor Spinacuta dancing daringly on a tight rope, a clown tickling
the risibilities of the crowd and mingling Mrs. Bingham’s laughter with that
of Mrs. Jones, her washwoman, women on horseback doing stunts, and a
trained horse that could leap over other horses without balking—such were
the merry nights under the dripping candles.[550]
Then there was Bowen’s Wax Works and museum of curiosities and
paintings and the museum of Mr. Peale—and under the same roof with the
latter the reading-room of the Philosophical Society, where Jefferson was to
find a sanctuary in the days when he was to be anathema in the fashionable
drawing-rooms.
Frivolity, extravagance, exaggerated imitation of Old-World dissipations,
could scarcely have been suited to Jefferson’s taste; but when he wished for
society of another sort he could always run in on Rittenhouse to discuss
science, or on Dr. Rush who mixed politics with powders, or, better still, he
could drive out to ‘Stenton,’ the beautiful country house of Dr. James Logan
and his cultured wife, approached by its glorious avenue of hemlocks. There
he could sit under the trees on the lawn or walk in the old-fashioned gardens
or browse in the fine library. There before the huge fireplace in the lofty
wainscoted rooms he could sit with the Doctor and discuss the aristocratic
tendencies of the times—and this he frequently did. Despite his democracy,
Jefferson lived like an aristocrat. He had found a place in the country near
the city where the house was ‘entirely embosomed in high plane trees with
good grass below,’ and there, on warm summer days, he was wont to
‘breakfast, dine, write, read, and entertain company’ under the trees. Even in
its luxury, his was the home of the philosopher. It was under these plane
trees that he worked out much of the strategy of his political battles.[551]
Such was the social background for the struggle of Hamilton and Jefferson
—with little in it to strengthen or encourage the latter in his fight.
CHAPTER VII
JEFFERSON MOBILIZES
W HEN Jefferson assumed the task of organizing the opposition to the

policies of the Federalists all the forces most susceptible to
organization and intelligent direction were arrayed upon the other side.
The commercial interests, constituting Hamilton’s shock troops, had their
organizations in all the larger towns and in a crisis could be speedily
mobilized in the smaller. The various Chambers of Commerce were
Federalist clubs that could be summoned to action on a day’s notice. The
financial interests, always in close formation when not sleeping on their
arms, could be ordered to the front overnight. The live-wire speculators
whose fortunes had sprung up magically were on their toes to do battle for
the system that had enriched them, and eager to do the bidding of the
magician who had waved the wand. The greater part of the intellectuals,
lawyers, doctors, professors, preachers, were enthusiastic champions of
Hamiltonian policies—and because of their prestige these were powerful
factors in the moulding of opinion. And, most serious of all, from Jefferson’s
point of view, the major portion of the press was either militantly
Hamiltonian or indifferently democratic. In the drawing-rooms were heard
the sentiments of the Chambers of Commerce—in glorification of
materialism.
The rich, the powerful, and their retainers among the men of the
professions, were bound to the Federalist by a common interest in property
and a common fear of the masses. Since the policies of Hamilton were
frankly in the interests of the commercial classes, their supporters were
found largely in cities and towns of the commercial North—within easy
reach. A word from the chief to his leaders in the capital—Ames and Cabot
of Massachusetts; King, Schuyler, and Lawrence of New York; Wolcott and
Ellsworth of Connecticut; Morris, Bingham, and Fitzsimmons of
Pennsylvania; Dayton of New Jersey; McHenry of Maryland;
FISHER AMES ROBERT GOODLOE HARPER
GEORGE CABOT GOUVERNEUR MORRIS
Smith and Harper of South Carolina—a word from these to the

commercial leaders in their States, and from these a word to those under
obligations to them—the small merchants operating on credit—and the
coffee-houses buzzed, the Chambers of Commerce acted, editors plied their
pens, preachers thundered from pulpits, and even at the social functions they
danced and flirted in the war paint of the party.
As Jefferson surveyed the field, he observed that his great antagonist’s
organization was but a consolidation of organizations previously existent—
and these imposing in their representation of wealth, intellect, and social
prestige. Hamilton could snap his fingers, and the merchants came; could lift
his hand, and the officers of the Cincinnati were in the saddle; could wave
his wand, and Fenno, Russell, and other potent editors would instantly do his
bidding, and the preachers of New England scarcely waited for the sign to
pass the devil by to damn democracy.
But Jefferson had his eye on other forces, numerically stronger, if less
imposing. The farmers, comprising ninety per cent of the Nation, were
resentful of policies that pampered the merchant and left them out in the
cold. The private soldiers of the Revolution, less respected then than when
Webster made his Bunker Hill address, were embittered because their
securities had gone for a song while speculators had waxed wealthy on the
sacrifice. The more robust republicans were shocked at the aristocratic
affectations of their rulers and the tone of the Federalist press. The excise
law was hated in the remote sections, and unpopular with the masses
everywhere. The doctrine of implied powers had alarmed the friends of State
sovereignty. There was an undercurrent of feeling, which Jefferson, with ear
marvelously keen for rumblings, caught, that laws were passed for the few at
the expense of the many. And it was being bruited abroad that in high
quarters there was a disposition to cultivate England to the neglect of France.
Everywhere through the South and West there was a bitter resentment of
government by and for the East.
Including all, and more important than any single one, there was a fervent
spirit of democracy running through the land, while the Federalist leaders
were openly denouncing the democrats. ‘Looking simply at the field of
American history,’ says Professor Anson D. Morse, ‘it would be just to
enumerate among the causes of the Democratic Party all influences which
from the beginning of the colonial period carried forward at a really
marvelous rate the democratization of the American character.’[552] The
country was really democratic before there was a party of democracy.
Jefferson knew it; Hamilton never suspected it, or, suspecting, determined to
override the sentiment. Therein lies the original cause of the ultimate
triumph of Jefferson, and the evidence that the Federalist Party was
foredoomed to ultimate failure.
But how to reach, galvanize, vitalize, organize this great widely scattered
mass of unimportant, inarticulate individuals—that was the problem that
confronted Jefferson. Ninety-five per cent of the people lived in the country
or in villages. Communication was difficult. There were for them no
Chambers of Commerce, no coffee-houses, no Faneuil Halls. Thousands had
no idea what was going on outside the boundaries of their isolated farms and
villages. If the masses in the cities were in sympathy with democracy—and
they were—comparatively few of these were permitted to vote. Under the
John Jay Constitution of New York, as late as 1790, only 1303 of the 13,330
male residents of voting age in New York City were allowed to vote with the
property qualification deliberately designed for their disfranchisement.[553]
In Vermont alone, of the New England States, no property qualification
attached to the suffrage, albeit in New Hampshire any male paying tax,
however small, was qualified. In Massachusetts, Rhode Island, and
Connecticut great numbers were excluded by their poverty. Thus, in the
beginning, the thousands of hewers of wood and drawers of water in the
towns and cities of the North were lost to all practical purposes. But all of
the common folk were not disfranchised, and they who had the vote were
splendid material for a militant organization. They had a genius for practical
politics when under the orders of a drill master, and were not too fastidious
for the grime and sweat of the polling-places. One of these was worth a
dozen dandies from Mrs. Bingham’s circle on election day.[554] There was
abundant material for a party—if it could be assembled and coordinated.
II
As Jefferson’s mild eye surveyed the field, he found in almost every State
local parties, some long in existence, fighting for popular rights as they
understood them; but their fights had been waged on local issues. The party
he was to create was to fight in precisely the same cause—on the national
field. Here, then, was something already at hand. Why not consolidate these
local parties into one great national organization, and broaden the issue to
include the problems of both State and Nation? The local leaders? Why not
make them field marshals in command of the Massachusetts division, the
North Carolina division, Pennsylvania and Maryland divisions?
The philosopher-politician took up his pen, for he had learned in the
organization of the Revolution what could be done through correspondence.
Out under the plane trees he was to sit at his table writing—to Sam Adams,
to Rutledge, to John Taylor, to Willie Jones. Under his roof and at his table
conferences with Madison, Monroe, Giles, Bloodworth, became
commonplace. ‘Oh, I should note that Mr. Jefferson, with more than Parisian
politeness, waited on me at my chamber this morning,’ wrote Maclay. ‘He
talked politics, mostly the French difference and the whale fishery.’[555] A
very cautious approach, we may be sure, for the master politician and
psychologist thoroughly understood the little vanities, prejudices, and
weaknesses of that singularly suspicious democrat. Quite different would
have been a conversation with Gallatin or Monroe. Taking an inventory of
prospective lieutenants in the States, and comparing the material with that
against him, he could not but have realized his disadvantage. Brilliant men
are prone to flutter about the rich and powerful, and nothing succeeds like
success with the strong. No chance for him to ride to war surrounded by
such scintillating company as that which encircled Hamilton—but here and
there was a man who shimmered in the sun.
In Massachusetts, home of Ames, Cabot, and Sedgwick, Jefferson could
count on two men who surpassed any of this famous group in service in the
making of the Republic, but, strange as it may seem in perspective, old Sam
Adams and John Hancock were not in good standing with the staid business
men of Boston. Their republicanism was too robust, their devotion to the
principles of the Declaration too uncompromising for the materialists, who
appeared, for the most part, on the battle-field after the fight was won, to
claim the fruits of the victory. Sam Adams had lost his race for Congress to
Fisher Ames who had dallied with his books when the ragged Continentals
were struggling in the field. When the clever politicians of the Essex Junto
exchanged letters, these erstwhile Revolutionary heroes of the dark days
were seldom mentioned with respect; but they had their following in the
streets and among those who had shared in the perils they had faced. Upon
these two Jefferson could rely.
But there were others, more active and militant in the Boston of those
days in the building of the party of democracy. Foremost in the fight, and
most annoying to the ruling oligarchy, was the brilliant Dr. Charles Jarvis,
who was a powerful orator[556] whose social status, on a par with that of
Otis, raised him above the condescension or contempt of the moneyed
aristocracy, and whose ability was beyond the reach of disparagement.[557]
Through many years of leadership in the legislature he ‘had made the rights
of man his pole star.’[558] No one did so much to organize and vitalize the
masses, for he could pass from the legislative hall to the public platform
without any diminution of power. As in the former he could match the best
in argument, on the latter no one knew better how to direct the storm.
‘Jarvis’s electioneering influence in this town is very great,’ wrote John
Quincy Adams to his father.[559]
As a file leader, organizer, agitator, he had powerful support in the robust,
rough-hewn rope-maker, Ben Austin, who wrestled under the rules of catch-
as-catch-can, mingled with the element that Ames and Cabot considered
vulgar, and under the signature of ‘Honestus’ dealt telling blows in letters
that the mechanic could understand. ‘Rabid essays,’ they were—judged by
the standard of the élite.[560] Sam Adams, John Hancock, Austin, and Jarvis
—these were the Jeffersonian leaders in the Old Bay State. Less aggressive,
but often valuable, was James Sullivan, orator, leader of the Bar, letter-writer
and pamphleteer, whose vigorous mind, powers of application, and
indomitable courage were to render yeoman service.
In the other New England States the democrats were less fortunate. In
Connecticut, ruled with an iron hand by an oligarchy of preachers,
professors, and reactionary politicians, the prospects were dark enough, but
even there the Jeffersonians found a leader capable of coping with the best
of the opposition in the hard-hitting, resourceful Abraham Bishop, who was
a veritable scandal and stench to the gentlemen of the cloth and of the
counting-room. Nowhere in America was such an amazing combination of
Church and State. Election days were celebrated with religious services, and
the sermons were party harangues, described by the irreverent Bishop as
consisting of ‘a little of governor, a little of Congress, much of politics, and a
very little of religion—a strange compote, like a carrot pie, having so little

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PART IV Professional Applications

Chapter 10 Community Mediation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 145

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Brief Contents . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . iii 3 Conflict Analysis: Types and Sources

References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 23 Collaborative or Cooperative Negotiating Theories . . . 42

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Principled Negotiation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 43 An Exit from the Theories . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 67

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Be Alert to the Unspoken . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 96 The Mediator’s Need for Self-Awareness . . . . . . . . . . . . . 123

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Backgrounds . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 146 Policing . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 174

13 Mediation Across Disciplines . . . . . . . . 171

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New to the Second Edition

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© 2019 Emond Montgomery Publications. All Rights Reserved

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Michael L. Maynard is a mediator, arbitrator, and facilitator with ADR Chambers.

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05/27/2020 - tp-ab17d056-a03e-11ea-80a8-024 (temp temp) - Choices in Approaching Conflict:

The Origins of Conflict. . . . . . . . . . . . 4 ■■ Define and understand the term conflict.

Individual Reality. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8 ■■ Consider how cultural influences, such as values,

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The Origins of Conflict

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1. Different or opposing values or ideals (for example, democracy, security,

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In deference to Mrs. Bingham we shall permit the servant to announce

W HEN Jefferson assumed the task of organizing the opposition to the

Smith and Harper of South Carolina—a word from these to the

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Chapter 10 Community Mediation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 145