My life has been enriched at every stage by the opportunities I’ve had to
question. I have been invited into people’s lives and adventures, taken on
fascinating journeys because I’ve had license to ask more. Different places and
different audiences have afforded distinct opportunities.
For years, I hosted CNN’s Sunday morning talk show. Each week, I
questioned prominent people and dove into the issues, triumphs,
setbacks, and
controversies that had made headlines. I questioned the Israeli prime minister in
the midst of crisis. I spoke with the CIA director as he walked me around the
agency to show a slice of how they tracked the world. I asked medical experts
about the latest global health crisis. It was the hard news, the front page of cable
news, driven by questions that explained the story.
At The George Washington University, I started the
Conversation Series, a
more informal discussion with public figures in front of a live audience. My
questions there revolved around the guests’ accomplishments, their views of
public life and their explanations for the positions they took. With my next-
generation crowd in mind, I asked how my guests
got started and what they
recommended to young people who wanted to make their mark. I came to think
of these interviews as conversations with the future.
On NPR, I had the pleasure occasionally to host the Diane Rehm Show.
Diane captained her very smart show for more than thirty-five years. Her story is
richly ironic. Growing up in Washington DC in an Arab household, Diane was
not allowed to question her parents or much else in her life. Such behavior was
considered disrespectful. Yet she became one of the great interviewers,
demonstrating that radio is a magical and intimate medium. Sitting in for Diane,
I had a chance to interview a fabulous range of people, from bestselling authors
like Jane Goodall and Nicholas Kristof, to experts too obscure for cable TV but
ideally suited to insightful conversation on public radio.
The questions here
embraced complexity.
I will always be grateful to the people over the years who answered my
questions, humoring my ignorance, feeding my curiosity, allowing me to hold
them to account. They were my tour guides through ideas, history, and great
human events that I never would have experienced otherwise. They told
compelling stories as they went. I could ask anything, go anywhere.
But for all my experience asking and listening, I didn’t appreciate how much
more there was to learn about the discipline of inquiry until I tackled this book.
The people who talked to me patiently explained how they worked, how they
framed
their questions, and what they listened for. Each one of them showed me
how asking more, in a more disciplined way, could lead to tangible results and
deeper understanding. They, too, used their questions to invest in the future.
Simone, my student whose experience encouraged me to launch this project,
learned her family secret because she had an assignment to ask. She realized a
deeper relationship with her father as a result.
Barry Spodak put his troubled human puzzles together by taking time to
slowly build bridges. His work helped the people trying to keep us safe.
Jim Davis built his business by asking for team players, listening for “we”
not “I.” His company, New Balance, is global but still makes shoes in America.
Rick Leach enlisted people to take on the daunting challenge of feeding the
world by asking them to share a vision: Hunger is a solvable problem.
Tony Fauci, who
knew his quest would never end, pushed the bounds of
science to take on disease. His questions drove research that saved lives.
Ed Bernero and Gavin Newsom used questions to push people into an
imagined reality where they could think differently and imagine a different
world.
Terry Gross and Betty Pristera asked people to reveal the essence of
themselves. They walked in other people’s shoes and discovered new places as a
result.
Anderson Cooper and Jorge Ramos demanded explanation. They confronted
their adversaries with the most challenging questions so that everyone could see
and judge.
Chris Schroeder’s recipe for dinnertime conversation and brilliant
entertaining questions forged new ideas and friendships.
General Colin Powell started with an “estimate of the situation” and used
strategic questioning to determine whether the situation was worthy of the
investment. He saw that strategic questions must challenge conventional wisdom
and groupthink.
Nurse practitioner Teresa Gardner and roofer
Al Darby became experts in
asking, “What’s wrong?” They knew they couldn’t fix a problem if they couldn’t
identify its source.
Rabbi Gary Fink answered a question with a question, prompting a
conversation that would provide comfort and meaning at life’s most challenging
time.
Profane and Profound
Although the roadmap to inquiry I’ve drawn can help us navigate with a more
deliberate eye, there are always alternate routes—scenic drives that take us to
unexpected destinations. Questions that spring from pure curiosity can turn into
gold. Unplanned detours can lead to serendipity, as I also found during the
interviews for this book. One such conversation left me speechless, and I will
end by sharing it with you.
As I was talking with Dr. Anthony Fauci at the National
Institutes of Health
about scientific inquiry and how it could be useful to nonscientists, something
was gnawing at me. In his discussion about research in the early days of AIDS,
Fauci spoke about the work, about the research and the discoveries, about
patients and process. His observations were fascinating, and not without feeling.
But he sounded, well, like a scientist—captivated by his research and his
breakthroughs and setbacks. Yet Fauci had a perspective almost no one could
imagine and I wondered: What was it like for him in those days, caught in the
middle of the
colliding worlds of medicine, culture, and politics, to see such
human suffering? I recalled the headlines from the time, which revealed
ignorance, fear and bigotry. I interrupted our science discussion to ask:
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