Dr. Hossam Abdel Ghaffar writes: Three hundred windows showing that the correct procedure does not defend itself

In the science of hearing, we know that every ear has a threshold. Below this threshold, sound exists but is not heard. The wave remains standing, moving in the air, carrying its full and complete meaning, then it bounces off a membrane that did not move for it. There is no defect in the sound, nor necessarily any damage to the ear. Between them is a distance that has not been crossed, and a limit that has not been reached.

Then we learn something even more subtle: that sound may cross the threshold and reach its destination, yet not acquire meaning. Hearing is a physical act occurring in the ear, while perception is another act occurring in the brain, and between them lies a long path that may be interrupted midway. From this arose an ancient distinction in our language between hearing and listening. The first is that the sound reaches you, the second is that you receive the intention behind it.

Institutions have ears like people do, and they have thresholds, and they have that path that may be cut off between the words reaching them and them understanding why they were said.

When everything is right

Imagine an institution that did everything that needed to be done, reviewed its documents page by page, matched its data with its records, extended its deadlines in response to requests for extensions, and submitted its decision to a machine that knows no names and shows no favoritism. It documented every step with its date and time. Then it came up with a result that no one could challenge in any of its procedures.

Then imagine that people did not believe her.

Herein lies the question that concerns me, not because anyone made a mistake, but because no one made a mistake, yet the matter still fell apart. This is the most complex situation and the one most worthy of reflection. A mistake has a known remedy: it is apologized for and corrected. But when the work is upright while trust is shaky, that is a matter of a different order, and it cannot be remedied by further uprightness.
The correct course of action does not defend itself. It is inherently silent. It does not speak, explain, or bear witness to itself. We have long believed that truth is sufficient in itself, and that what is right imposes itself on minds as soon as it occurs. But this is not the case. What is right needs someone to interpret it, just as a wave needs someone to transform it into meaning.

The statement is half the justice

Al-Jahiz defined eloquence as everything that reveals the meaning to you, and it is a wonderful definition, because it does not make eloquence an embellishment added to the meaning after its completion, but rather makes it the revealer without which the meaning remains veiled, that is, present and absent at the same time.

Judges recognized this early on. It is not enough for a judge to rule justly; he must also provide the reasoning behind his ruling. This reasoning does not cast doubt on his justice, but rather constitutes its very essence. For justice that is not explained is perceived as injustice, and in this matter, mere conjecture carries the weight of certainty.

Therefore, I say—and I weigh my words carefully—that transparency is not a moral virtue added to administrative work after it has been perfected. It is a condition for its validity. Like reasoning in judgment. And like sound in hearing: a wave that does not reach the threshold is of no value, even if it is a sound wave in itself.

Three hundred windows

I will give an example that means a lot to me, and I think it summarizes all of this.
A person is given three hundred windows to choose from. Three hundred, not three or thirty. Then the door is opened, and many of them only open one window. One out of three hundred. Then they go out and do not find what they wanted.

What is the explanation for that?

The first explanation, which is the easiest and most common, is that they fell short. This explanation has some merit, but it only scratches the surface of the matter.

The second explanation, which is the one I favor, is that the room was dark. Someone who cannot see beyond the window would have no reason to open it.

Choice is not practiced in a vacuum. It is the offspring of knowledge. If knowledge is absent, choice becomes mere speculation about the unseen, and speculation about the unseen is not called choice, even if it takes the form of it.

This is the paradox we must learn: that a wide range of choices alone does not create freedom. Freedom needs two things: an open door and light to see beyond it. If you provide the door but deny the light, you offer the image of freedom but deny its true essence. Then you wonder why people didn't go out.

Hence, I consider this a necessary principle: whoever monopolizes information bears the responsibility for the consequences of others' ignorance of it. A knowledge imbalance between two parties is not a neutral matter; it shifts the entire burden onto the knowledgeable party, because they alone could have prevented the poor choice, and they did not.

To hear and to listen remains the most subtle thing in the matter.

The institution that processes the complaints it receives hears. The one that asks why these complaints were received listens. The difference between them is the difference between the ear and the brain: the former records the sound, and the latter extracts the meaning.

Because hearing is easy and listening is difficult, most institutions are content with the former and believe they have done the latter. They say, "I received only so many complaints." This is true. But the number of complaints is a measure of what reached the threshold, not what actually happened. And how many pains have gone unheard, unable to find a way to address them, and their silence is not acceptance, but rather an inability to cope.

What I fear for the administration is not that it will make a mistake. Mistakes are possible, calculated, and have a remedy. What I fear is that it will be right but not explain it, so it will be accused of having bad intentions when it is innocent, and then it will be preoccupied with defending its innocence instead of thinking about what needs to be improved, so it will lose twice: it will lose trust, and it will lose the time that should have been used to fix things.

Our Lord has said in His Holy Book: «And consult with them in the matter.» Consultation, in its essence, is an acknowledgment that sound judgment may come from outside the body that produced the decision, and that those affected by it may know aspects of the outcome that those who made the decision do not. It is not a concession by the authority figure, but rather a broadening of their perspective.

In that light is cheaper than argument

I conclude with what I see as a practical summary, not an abstract reflection.

The cheapest thing any administration possesses is information. It does not cost a budget, does not require legislation, and does not wait for a financial cycle, yet withholding it is the most expensive thing you pay, because its price is paid in trust, and trust cannot be bought with a budget or restored with a decision.

An institution that speaks out may be questioned, while one that remains silent is accused. Between discussion and accusation lies the entire distance between an administration that evolves and one that entrenches itself.

Let us then say what needs to be said clearly: it is not enough to open three hundred windows. We must light up the room.