The Conflict Algorithm, Chapter 1
Hi there! I’m excited to share my efforts from last year’s National Novel Writing Month. I participated in solidarity with accomplished writers who led write-ins with groups in their prisons. I’ve decided to release a chapter once a week and see what people think. Thanks for checking it out!
Leo sat down on the F train headed to Manhattan. His coffee, perfect, was too hot to sip straight, and heated his palms. Three kids, decked out in red accessories sprawled over four seats. As the train car filled, and that one hostage seat became more valuable, Leo felt an internal pressure to say something, to engage, to ask the kids why antisocial behavior felt so safe. He also felt fear. He saw with dreadful clarity the divergent paths of conversation, an astounding many of which were likely to end in violence. He stared passively at the New York Subway nothing and took a sip.
Leo had met Sara at the coffee shop a year ago. She was nice to him and gently flirtatious, riding the edge of good customer service and ready-for-action. Her fingers would graze his when handing him the change. She always looked him in the eyes. He always overtipped. This limited relationship was something he respected and appreciated.
On a September Wednesday morning, true to his routine, he walked in the coffee shop, feeling the usual lift at seeing Sara’s face. She was serving a customer at the counter. The customer was a thirtysomething white guy in a suit. He was wearing Ray Ban shades and the suit looked banker or lawyerish. He was pointing at his receipt and talking in tight tones.
“So you don’t see this,” the man said with utter condescension, “right here where a one dollar bagel got charged as two-fifteen.”
“Sir…” Sara began.
“You’re telling me you don’t see it right there?”
Leo started to fidget. He was standing an appropriate man-distance from the guy in the suit, but he scuffed his feet as he stepped a little closer behind the guy. He realized he was frowning. He fixed his face.
“Hey, sorry to interrupt, but is there anything I can do…I’d be happy to…”
The man turned and looked at Leo, all eye darts and indignation. And there it was, burning its way through Leo’s slight frame, the fear, the doom, the embarrassment.
The model is not a simple one. The Newtonian laws of motion, action-reaction, billiard balls on a perfectly smooth table…that model won’t cut it when predicting human behavior. We’re talking about chaos theory, game theory, paradox and incomplete information. The best you can do is look at patterns: strange attractors in the world of outcomes that hold the shape of knowledge like a wisened guru’s closed eyelids.
It takes a lot of practice to learn the rhythm of violence, and we celebrate those who have internalized a working model. They are boxers and politicians and managers and CEOs and DAs.
“Excuse me, I’d appreciate it if you stayed out of this,” the man said.
Leo took a quick breath, “I would, but I’m running late and I’m sure it’s a simple misunderstanding. What do you want, your money back? Or do you want to be right?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I just think no one deserves to be spoken to the way you’re speaking to her.”
“Oh, I get it, I’m making your girlfriend feel bad cause she can’t do her job right.”
“This is the moment where I take the bait and our conversation escalates. I actually do like and respect her, though we haven’t discussed it. I also feel saddened by this interaction. Instead of arguing, I’d like to imagine you and I building something as brothers than creating conflict out of nothing.”
“Whatever.” The man walked past Leo, but did not touch him.
“The usual?” Sara asked. She looked unfazed.
“Yes… I’m sorry about…”
“Don’t worry about it, it was really sweet. I can take care of myself, though, you know?”
“Oh…of course, yes. I know. I’m sorry.”
“Man, you are so serious!”
“I’m sorry.” The pent up adrenaline made it hard for him to talk.
She went and got him a blueberry muffin and made his coffee. “On the house,” she said.
“Where’s my receipt?” Leo said.
Sara looked at him for a long moment. “That’s not funny.”
“I’m trying not to be serious,” he said, deadpan as ever.
They locked eyes for another moment, then both of them burst out laughing. He put a large cash tip in the jar as he turned to leave.
“See you tomorrow,” Sara said.
The lab was much more like a low budget corporate office than a science-y setup. Large screens, drab cubicle dividers, white boards and fluorescent lights. Leo was one of four researchers who sat in the far corner of the low ceilinged basement room in the university. He was usually the first to arrive.
Beth would be next, then Jarrett and Mike.
This Wednesday was big. Like really big. Leo had to present the work to the main funders of the project. They’d decide whether the grant would be renewed and essentially he was presenting to keep his job. He mused about the timeless and recurring pattern of performance-based conflict challenges — The game of life, challenges that demanded coordination and cooperation.
For this presentation, he had to be sure the venue was prepped with the software and the hardware. He was showcasing the work of his team of four and the myriad research subjects. Public speaking certainly wasn’t Leo’s thing, but he’d practiced in front of his team. He sat down at his desk and started to get the first of many emails out.
He suffered through a cold sip of his large coffee and instantly thought about Sara. Is it still the morning rush? How many people does she interact with every day? Does she get crushes on them? Does she have her favorites? Does she like short nerdy guys with unkempt hair?
A tickle hit his throat and he sat up as he coughed. A half ounce drop spilled from the tilted cup onto his white shirt.
“Unraveling conversation has taken 20 years of artificial intelligence development and we’re still not there yet. One lesson it has taught us is the pattern-based nature of communication,” Leo said as he stood next to the projection screen in the small conference room. There was a slight onion smell lingering in the room he felt inappropriately self-conscious about.
“These patterns — a few of them you can see here — permeate everyday speech.” The screen showed greetings and appointments and pop culture discussions with decision trees. “So what would you say about poetry? Is it a different system entirely from everyday speech?”
Leo took a deep breath (now it smelled like onions and farts). “One thing we have learned about conflict is there is a huge language component, meaning that even in physically violent situations, there is a verbal element or communication element present in 98% of cases.”
“So in our study we treated all responses as communication markers, including walking or running away. If the data sets were more complete, we would include eye contact and fidgeting.”
“Using the chaos based linguistic model we’ve created, we can see the shape of conflict outcomes and which pathways are likely to lead there.”
“The ramifications of this software are huge. By mapping the shape of the possibilities of conflict, it may be possible to avoid it, while simultaneously enhancing open cooperation and healthy debate.”
“Let’s try it out.”
Of the many models for communication-based conflict resolution, very few take into account toxic or antisocial behaviors. Leo had seen countless examples of epic fails of theoretically bulletproof recipes.
The researchers in game theory had modeled variations of the prisoners’ dilemma, which in its essence is an information and communication problem. Two people are arrested and interrogated separately. If neither of them cooperate with the cops by telling on the other, then they both go free. If one tells and the other doesn’t then one goes to jail.
The researchers wanted to know the optimal approach. Would it make sense to tell some of the time, all the time, or never?
It turns out, at least according to the simulation, that a good faith tit for tat seems to provide the best outcome in the long run. In some sense, every time we interact with another person we are playing a variation of this game.
So the toxic person has adopted one of several strategies that make it really tough to model. One, they can feign agreement until it really pays off to betray the other. It’s sort of like a long con. Two, a really cynical, antisocial approach is to never trust the other and always try to screw them over.
This cynicism nullifies attempts at building good will. It can be imagined as something like arguing with an entrenched person from an opposing political party. They are probably wearing the hats. They will probably be engaging in tortured logic, use of conspiracy theories, even childish defense tactics, and irrational justifications of morally reprehensible behaviors.
There seem to be very few approaches that can guarantee a win in that kind argument or ensure abusive behaviors or violence don’t result from even a trivial encounter.
This goes the same for loved ones and intimate relationships. Often, the attacks are verbal and subtle, or omitted altogether and expressed with body language or the silent treatment. How do you win in those circumstances? Under these conditions many a long-term partner has decided to either give up or raise the stakes.
“So what if you could train yourself to improve your ability to achieve positive outcomes ranging from compromise to full agreement on your viewpoint?
“What if you were equipped to see the pattern in real-time and short-circuit it?”
The celebration was quite subdued. Leo was actually surprised they all agreed to go out for drinks after the presentation. Usually everyone is eager to do their public transportation dispersal from Manhattan. But there they were. It was a pretty crappy midtown bar, lots of screens and a million beers on tap amid a general vibe of obnoxious entitlement. “Did it smell like onions in there, or was it just me?” Leo asked.
“What are you trying to say…I stink?” Jarett asked.
“Uhhhh,” Leo sensed the tension in the group. No one thought Jarett smelled particularly good.
“I didn’t really mind the onion smell, but the old man fart smell was just too much,” Beth added.
“It’s not literary unless you’ve made a fart joke,” Mike said. Everyone looked at him.
“Okay, Tolstoy.”
“No, Mark Twain.”
“Who?”
“What!?”
“Okey, he sounds like Tolstoy and looks like Twain.”
“Floats like a butterfly…”
“Stings like a bee…”
“I am the greatest.”
“Mike has to pee.” Jarrett wrapped up, smiling at his own wit.
Amid the laughter, Mike responded, “You know what, my observant friend, you are right,” and promptly slid away from their sticky waist-height drink table.
Leo watched him squeeze by a group of guys at the bar.
It was noted early on in the research that one-on-one interpersonal conflict is drastically complicated by group dynamics.
“Another? Anyone?” Jarrett asked.
Leo lifted his mostly full beer as a no.
Beth said, “a dark and stormy, please.” She took a long sip of her drink. Leo glanced around the bar.
“So, Leo! Big hero. Mr. Conflict Resolution.”
He couldn’t help but blush when he felt uncomfortable. “I was proud of our team.”
“Oh yeah, I bet you were.”
“I’m not sure I understand your tone.”
“I’m busting your balls, Leo, jeez, get a sense of humor.”
Leo felt uncomfortable and a little bit angry, also fairly aware that his colleagues might be jealous of his prominence in today’s meeting. “Beth, you know this was a joke, right? I mean, we’ve barely scratched the surface. It’s a parlor trick — one step above smoke and mirrors.”
“Well you sure enjoyed being David Blain.”
Leo shut up, looked deeply at the empty bottom of his glass, took a deep breath and looked back at Beth and smiled slowly.
“Don’t you fucking dare look at me with compassion you fucking prick.”
“I hear you, Beth.”
“Go ahead. One more word.” Beth stepped close to Leo. He could smell her drink-breath, sweet and cloying. His eyes were just about level with hers. She held her fist under his chin.
His calves and lower back burned with the effort to hold his feet planted without taking a step back. He forced calmness into his face, but he could feel every part of her that was in contact with him, namely her boobs on his glass-holding arm.
“One. More.” She breathed into his face.
He felt like if he stepped back he’d be conceding territory he’d never regain. He also couldn’t move his arm without rubbing on her. He began to feel self-conscious about what either J or Mike would say if they saw Beth up in his face like this. How would they know it wasn’t him up in her face? The whole thought chain made him feel panicky and less inclined to back up even a little bit.
“I. Feel.” Leo managed to wrangle out.
Beth smiled. She was so close her mouth was out of focus.
“I feel uncomfortable.” Leo said. Raw honesty. There. Take that.
Beth stepped back and in one smooth motion slapped him.
His glass fell out his hand and he stumbled into a nearby guy. The sound of the slap had already turned many heads even with the din. Leo was stuck trying to make sense of being forcefully shoved by at least two strangers he’d bumped. When the body moves in a direction it never intended the brain has to do a whole formal inquiry, and that takes time.
During the inquiry he was shoved about two more times. The crowd around him rigidified like a sphincter and he became a particularly compacted piece of shit.
He got his feet under him and faced outstretched hands as Jarett and Mike reappeared.
“I slapped him,” Beth said.
“What? What happened?” Jarett asked.
Leo forced a smile, struggling to think of a way to smooth things over. He could still feel the sting.
“Are you okay, Beth?” Mike reached for Beth’s arms.
“It’s okay,” Leo said, “I’m sorry…it’s been a long day.” He looked at them, still smiling a little nonsensically, “we’ll probably get the funding, so that’s good.”
“What the fuck are you talking about? What did you do to Beth?”
“Look, I’m not sure what happened.” Leo was trying so hard to placate everyone. There were plenty of the sphincter crowd paying attention to the discussion.
One of them offered loudly, “I saw what happened. He tried to kiss her!”
“That is not true!” Leo screamed. “Mind your…”
“Beth?” Mike began.
She buried her face in Mike’s chest, appearing to sob.
Leo put his open hands up, “Hey…this is all just a…,” and was stunned by a headlock. The bouncer dragged Leo the fifteen feet to the door. The sphincter parted and Leo was ejected from the bar.
