King Charles III and Earl Spencer have made headlines over the latter’s account of a telephone conversation in the days after the death of Diana, Princess of Wales.
In his new book, Charles Spencer alleges that the then Prince Charles made a deeply hurtful remark during a heated discussion about Diana’s funeral arrangements. Buckingham Palace has challenged his recollection, pointing to the effect that intense grief can have on memory.
The public will inevitably take sides over whose version is “true”. Yet this need not be an argument about dishonesty. It may instead offer a lesson in how communication and memory actually work.
In my experience, most communication failures — whether in the bedroom or the boardroom — are not caused by lying. They stem from the mistaken belief that what was said and what was heard are the same thing.
How often does a married couple leave the same conversation with completely different memories of it, while both remain utterly convinced they are right? This is the stuff that keeps many relationship therapists in business.
Memory is not a recording
We tend to imagine memory as a faithful record of events. It is not. Memory is reconstructive rather than reproductive.
We also make the mistake of thinking that communication is simply the transfer of facts. In reality, it is the transfer of meaning — and every one of us filters meaning. We reconstruct events from fragments of what happened, combining them with our beliefs, emotions, assumptions, life experiences and present-day understanding.
Emotion plays a powerful role in that process and is likely to be highly relevant to any recollection of the days after Diana’s death. When emotions run high, certain moments can become exceptionally vivid while others barely register. Our feelings influence both what we notice at the time and what we later remember.
We are also inclined to remember how an exchange made us feel. That emotional certainty can give us enormous confidence in our recollection years later, even when the precise words have become less reliable.
There can therefore be a significant gap between what one person believes they said, what another believes they heard and what either remembers afterwards.
In this royal dispute, the most memorable part of the alleged exchange may have been different for each person. One may remember particular words; another may remember the intended meaning or the emotion surrounding them. Earl Spencer has publicly stood by his account, while the Palace has questioned it. That does not, by itself, tell us exactly what was said in a private conversation nearly three decades ago.
Did the message land?
In everyday life, we devote enormous effort to choosing our words and remarkably little to checking whether they landed as intended.
It is one of the most common causes of workplace conflict. A manager knows with certainty what she intended to say, but she cannot know with the same certainty what the other person heard — unless she asks. Why don’t more bosses ask?
Consider a performance appraisal. How often do we remember the one piece of constructive criticism and forget the 10 positive comments that surrounded it? Emotion has a habit of climbing into the driving seat. Two people can leave the room remembering different conversations, and often do.
This is why good communication requires more than speaking clearly. It requires curiosity. “What did you hear me say?” may be one of the most useful — and underused — questions in any relationship or workplace.
The stories memory tells
Memory also changes over time. Diana died 29 years ago. Since then, recollections of those extraordinary days may have been subtly reshaped not only by how those involved felt at the time, but by everything that has happened since.
Psychologists also talk about self-serving bias: our tendency to interpret, and sometimes remember, events in ways that support how we see ourselves and the world. Identity matters. So does the story we have told ourselves — and others — over many years.
It turns out that recalling events is a complicated business. Ask my husband. We disagree about whether it was his idea or mine to move to Monaco. We can both vividly recall the conversation we had on an aeroplane 12 years ago. The trouble is that we remember it differently. Each of us is entirely convinced that he was the one who suggested it.
We tend to assume memory is like a photograph. Psychologists often suggest it is closer to a painting: the scene may be recognisable, but each of us adds our own colours.
Returning to the royal row, it is entirely possible for people to be sincere about how they remember an exchange while disagreeing profoundly about its words, meaning and tone. None of us was on that telephone call, and sincerity is not the same as perfect recall.
The rest of us might draw a more useful lesson than simply choosing a side. Say what you mean. Check what was heard. And when conflict arises years later, leave room for the possibility that certainty is not proof.
When it comes to communication, conflict and memory, the late Queen seems to have nailed it. It seems recollections really do vary.
This article first appeared in Monaco Life.
