“If you listen to the lived experiences of someone who may not look like you with an open mind and heart, I promise you’ll learn something useful. You might even make a new friend in the process.”
– Shola Richards, author of “Civil Unity”
I was at a demonstration (in Dublin, California) against ICE’s plans to use a decommissioned federal prison as a detention center when a couple of pick-ups flying Trump banners pulled over a half block away. Two guys got out, one had a dog, and that seemed like invitation enough to go shake hands and ask, “What am I missing standing there across the street? What brought you two out here today?”
This was the kind of open-ended conversation starter I teach, but it only works if you are genuinely curious and focused on how they might change your mind, not the other way around.
One guy answers that he’s visited the southern border, which I haven’t, so I ask questions about what he’d seen and heard; his lived experience. I listen hard for details so I can ask him to tell me more (like when he uses a word for a half-wall that I don’t know) and things we can agree on, like the need for a better system of legal immigration.
This is the next step – asking questions and acknowledging answers, getting some respect flowing, until it’s time to advocate for an idea of your own.
All is going well until I realize, mid-sentence, that I’m about to use a question mark to disguise a sanctimonious lecture. Bad move. Luckily, I catch myself. “Let me say this straight out, but I don’t think you’re going to agree with me…” It turns out even my mistake pays off because they do agree with part of what I’m saying and even insist that there are plenty of other things we can agree on.
As the conversation flows, I look for moments to deepen the connection, like when one of them mentions he’s a veteran, I say my father fought in WWII and the guy with the dog thanks me for my dad’s service. But WWII gets me talking about Musk’s nazi salute, which they say was misunderstood, which makes me go off: “I’m Jewish! We know nazi salutes when we see them. Musk is a smart guy – he knew what he was doing.”
I wait for everything to go south but instead one of them looks a little sheepish and says, “Tell you the truth, I don’t like Musk. He’s really smart, which makes him really stupid.” This seems like a good time to agree, shake hands and say good-bye.
A half-hour later I meet the guy with the dog again on the far side of the demonstration. We chat for a few minutes until a woman comes out of the crowd yelling that he is a nazi. She is livid, and I’m in a jam: do I stand up for my friend and act like the person I think I am, and or do I play it safe?
“He’s not a nazi. He’s not who you think he is.”
“He voted for a nazi!!”
“Yes, he did vote differently than you or I did. But he’s not a nazi.”
The woman was now fully focused on me, screaming something about her family and nazis. I use my dad again to connect as Jews. It works. The hatred drains out of her body and her face softens. I thank her, shake hands with my friend, and walk away.
For the rest of the demonstration, whenever I hear people talking about “those Trumpers,” I say, “I had a good conversation with them.” Everyone looks shocked at the thought of talking with “them,” but as I describe my new friends, their faces relax.
The minds I changed that day were the ones that already thought like me. Listening and connecting was a good first step with the guys whose beliefs were far from my own, although not as far as I had thought.
I’d love to hear how you’ve managed to bridge great divides, political and otherwise.
