Why the Round Table Matters

What It Means to Sit Down Together

Have you ever walked into an interview and, within moments, realised that even if you were offered the job, you wouldn't accept it? Maybe they seated you at a distance from the decision-makers or placed a long, intimidating table between you and them, making it almost impossible to present your materials or engage without straining your voice. To turn it around: Think of a situation where you felt immediately welcome, even before the conversation started. Imagine walking into a room, and the host, without hesitation, pulls out a chair for you right at the centre of the table, perhaps next to them. There’s no formality, no power play. You’re not sitting at the edge, feeling like an outsider. Instead, you're invited into the conversation, recognised as an equal, a person whose presence is valued and whose voice matters.

Photo by yann maignan on Unsplash

This scenario isn’t just about the physical positioning—it’s that huge difference between being someone who should prove his position or point and active participant in the dialogue. Whether it’s in a professional setting, a family dinner, or even a community meeting, the act of inviting someone to sit at the table with you in a space where their contributions are heard and appreciated speaks volumes.

When you’re treated as an equal, your thoughts feel important, your voice isn’t just tolerated but genuinely welcomed. The conversation becomes a shared exchange rather than a transaction. The table isn't just a place for food or formalities—it’s a place where connections are made, ideas are nurtured, and respect is given, not demanded.

In a world that seems to demand clear divisions—between right and wrong, “Are you with us or against us?”, success and failure—the idea of space without corners can feel like a call for conversation where no one is in the corner, where everyone has a seat, and where every voice, no matter how imperfect, is valued.

The round table, with its equal and symmetrical structure, stands as a metaphor for equality and inclusivity. In ancient philosophy, the idea of dialogue as a tool for understanding and peace can be traced back to thinkers like Socrates, who engaged in conversations to reach a greater truth, rather than to win an argument. As Socrates said, “I am not an Athenian or a Greek, but a citizen of the world,” which reflects the notion of removing boundaries that confine dialogue to certain groups.

In more modern discussions, thinkers like Jürgen Habermas have championed the public sphere—a space where free and open dialogue leads to consensus and understanding. Habermas writes that communication in an ideal setting must be “unrestricted and free from coercion,” much like the concept of a round table, where individuals can discuss without fear of domination or exclusion. The absence of corners, in this context, becomes the very tool that fosters genuine dialogue—where people can come together not to defend entrenched positions but to meet in the middle, to understand and reconsider their views.

But how do we invite others into this space? How do we create an atmosphere where everyone feels safe enough to speak, where no one is relegated to the margins? The practice of invitation—inviting someone to sit at the table, inviting someone into a conversation—is an act of openness that goes beyond the political or ideological. It is a gesture of vulnerability, an acknowledgement that no one has the answer and that collective wisdom comes from everyone’s contributions.

The act of inviting someone to the table, especially someone with whom we disagree, is inherently difficult. It requires humility and the recognition that dialogue is not about winning or being right, but about sharing, learning, and growing together. This is true not only in political discourse but in personal relationships, where the absence of corners—metaphorically speaking—allows people to be heard and seen for who they are, without judgment.

Easier said than done! To be open to dialogue means to be open to change—something that is often uncomfortable. It’s easy to stay in the comfort of one’s beliefs, echo chambers, or silos, but this limits growth. As Lech Wałęsa, one of the key figures in Poland’s own Round Table negotiations, once said, “You have to be able to compromise, or you end up with nothing.” This insight, grounded in real political negotiations, underscores the truth that openness to others requires letting go of the belief that one's own perspective is absolute.

The practical implications of this are vast. Whether in personal or political spheres, the openness of the round table is about being willing to listen—not only to understand but also to be transformed by the conversation. It involves acknowledging that people are often more than the labels or positions they hold. For example, in the case of the Round Table talks in Poland, even as Wałęsa and other opposition leaders were negotiating with the Communist government, there was an acknowledgment of the human side of these negotiations. Wałęsa’s translator, Bogdan Lis, for example, wasn’t just a conduit for language but also for the emotional energy behind the words—a critical bridge that ensured that the rawness of Wałęsa’s ideas reached a broader audience.

As one historian, Andrzej Garlicki, remarked, the Round Table was seen as necessary, but not everyone agreed on its terms. It was an act of diplomacy, but also of survival—survival of a regime willing to make concessions in order to avoid a total collapse. The roundness of the table was, perhaps, the only thing that could contain the clashing ideas, each side trying to take its place at the table without fully letting go of its grip on power​.

The Round Table talks weren’t glamorous. There were no speeches that stirred the soul or dramatic moments of unity. It was slow, frustrating, full of arguments and compromise. It was, in a way, a letdown—the revolution that didn’t look like a revolution. But that’s why it worked.

The Round Table was described in one of the recent books as “a fragile agreement made by imperfect people in an imperfect world.” That’s what makes it so compelling, so human. It wasn’t about heroes and villains; it was about real people trying to find a way out of a mess they could no longer ignore. Wałęsa, with all his flaws, was the one who stood up and said, “Let’s talk.”

We live in an age of extreme polarisation, where entrenched ideologies and emotional investments often overshadow the possibility of meaningful exchange. Yet, the Round Table reminds us that dialogue requires an openness that goes beyond just agreeing to disagree. It demands a willingness to be vulnerable, to let go of old divisions, and to risk uncomfortable, sometimes painful, conversations.

So, the next time you’re at odds with someone—whether it’s a colleague, a friend, or a family member—consider what it would mean to create a space without corners. This doesn’t mean avoiding hard truths or shying away from conflict; rather, it means approaching the conversation with a mindset of listening and understanding, not just defending your position. It’s a call to be vulnerable and to trust that through dialogue, we might find solutions or, at the very least, a better understanding of one another.

The idea of the Round Table is not just a relic of history. It is an invitation to something deeper, something more universal: the possibility of connection. Whether in the highest offices of government or at a kitchen table with loved ones, the round table asks us to take a seat together, to put aside our differences for a moment, and to engage in the kind of conversation that might change us, even if just a little.

“People were sitting together, talking and telling stories face-to-face again, instead of staring at a cell phone screens while texting or chatting with someone else hundreds of miles away while ignoring the ones they were with.”— Mike Foster