The Useful Discomfort of Public Engagement

Public engagement is often described in terms of process: the questions asked, the feedback collected, the themes identified, the report prepared.

But anyone who has spent time in a room with real people, real concerns and real trade-offs knows the most important moments rarely happen because the agenda says they should. They happen when someone challenges the question. When the room gets uncomfortable. When one person says the thing everyone else needs to hear.

This reflection is about those moments: the messy, revealing and deeply human parts of engagement, where the conversation gets harder (and usually more useful).

Some topics arrive wearing steel-toed boots

Municipal taxes and spending are not exactly light conversation starters.

People come into these discussions with opinions. Strong ones. Often fair ones. Tax bills are real. Cost of living pressures are real. Skepticism about government spending is real. So, when a conversation turns to community amenities, services and infrastructure, it usually does not take long before someone asks: “That all sounds nice, but who is paying for it?”

Fair question.

I was reminded of this recently while supporting a facilitated public engagement conversation with a group that leaned fiscally conservative. The sentiment in the room was clear: amenities are nice to have, but not if they require new investment. People were thoughtful, direct and cautious. They were not interested in a blank cheque approach to community improvement, and honestly, that is not an unreasonable place to start.

Then a young man in a wheelchair spoke up.

He had been listening as others talked about taxes, spending and whether new investment was really needed. Then he said something along the lines of, “But this is not an accessible town.”

And just like that, the room changed.

The pin-drop moments

There are moments in facilitation where no one needs to say, “Let’s pause and reflect on that.” The pause arrives all on its own.

This was one of them.

Suddenly, the conversation was not simply about whether amenities are nice to have. It was about who gets to move through a community safely, comfortably and with dignity. It was about what “investment” means when the status quo works better for some people than others.

His comment did not:

• Make the tax conversation disappear
• Magically resolve the budget pressures
• Turn a complex municipal issue into a tidy little lesson with a bow on top

But it did make the conversation more honest. And that is often the best we can ask of public engagement.

One of the most useful things a facilitator can ask in a room like that is also one of the simplest: “Is there another perspective on this in the room?”

That question creates an opening. It gives someone permission to say, “Actually, I experience this differently.” And sometimes, that perspective changes the whole shape of the conversation.

When participants hate your questions

Of course, not every useful moment in engagement arrives with courage, clarity and a respectful hush.

Sometimes it arrives with someone telling you your questions are insulting!

In the same broader engagement process, one participant pushed back hard on the questions we were asking. They felt the questions created binary positions and forced people into choices that did not feel fair. Then a few others joined in, and suddenly we had ourselves a small but enthusiastic “these questions are terrible” caucus.

Every facilitator has a choice in that moment. You can defend the exercise, explain the methodology and slowly feel the room slipping out of your hands. Or you can get curious.

So that is what we did.

• “Tell me more. Why does this feel insulting to you?”
• “What would make it a better question?”

Those are not throwaway questions. They are the work. Because when people react strongly to a question, it is worth understanding why. Sometimes the wording really is off. Sometimes the framing needs adjusting. Sometimes the question is missing an important nuance.

And sometimes, the question is irritating because it is doing exactly what it was designed to do: putting people in the tension.

The wicked questions

There is a facilitation concept called “Wicked Questions,” which is really just a polished way of saying: let’s stop pretending the hard part is not hard.

Wicked questions surface tensions that cannot be solved with a simple either/or answer. They ask people to sit with two truths at the same time, which is deeply annoying and often necessary.

• How do we keep taxes affordable and invest in the things people rely on?
• How do we respect fiscal restraint and address accessibility gaps that affect people’s daily lives?
• How do we listen to strong community voices while making sure quieter or less represented voices are not lost?
•  How do elected officials, administration and a new Mayor with their own perspective navigate the same issue when each may be carrying different expectations, pressures and responsibilities?

None of these questions have a clean answer. If they did, someone would have laminated it by now and we could all go home early.

Instead, they require people to stay with the complexity a little longer than feels comfortable. That is not always popular. People like clarity. They like options. They like knowing whether they are for or against something.

Wicked questions interfere with that by asking, “What if the real answer lives in the messy middle?”

Rude, frankly. But useful.

Complex rooms need more credit

I do not think we give enough credit to how difficult these conversations are to navigate.

From the outside, engagement can look straightforward. Invite people. Ask questions. Capture feedback. Write the report. Ideally include a few photos of sticky notes so everyone knows democracy happened.

But inside the room, there are layers. There are residents worried about affordability. There are people navigating accessibility barriers. There are Council members hearing from different constituencies. There is administration trying to work within budgets, policies, service levels and legal realities. There may be a new Mayor bringing a different lens or mandate. There are past frustrations, current pressures and future expectations all showing up at the same time.

That is not a simple room. It is a living, breathing, occasionally grumpy ecosystem of perspectives (cue plug to Henry Mintzberg’s book, Rebalancing Society).

The facilitator’s job is not to make that complexity disappear. It is to help people see it clearly enough to have a better conversation.

That takes skill. It takes patience. It takes a willingness to be challenged without becoming defensive. And, ideally, it takes a sense of humour, because sometimes your beautifully crafted question becomes the villain of the evening.

Through, not around

Good engagement is not about asking questions everyone likes. If that were the goal, we would serve snacks, ask people if they support happiness and call it a night.

The work is more complicated than that.

It is about asking questions that help people think. It is about creating enough trust for disagreement to be useful. It is about noticing when a room is leaning too far into one perspective and inviting another one in. It is about helping communities resist the pull of simplistic solutions, especially when the real issues are layered, emotional and politically charged.

And sometimes, it is about sitting in the wicked question long enough for people to stop looking for the nearest exit and start seeing the issue more fully.

There is no easy way around that kind of work.

There is only through.

Messy, imperfect, occasionally uncomfortable and, on a good day, a little bit illuminating.

Which is usually where public engagement is at its best.

Photo by KATRIN  BOLOVTSOVA