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The most important thing I learned about how to have conversations across the political divide
The usual sense of unease and slight dread settled into my gut as we descended through the clouds toward Columbia Regional Airport. We were about to land in Little Dixie, a region in Missouri populated by Southerners who’d migrated West from Virginia, Kentucky, and Tennessee before the Civil War, bringing enslaved people with them. I imagined seeing men draped with bandoliers of bullets and semi-automatic weapons looped over their shoulder walking the mean streets of smalltown America. I assumed I’d be the only person with an Asian face in a sea of whiteness, so I armed myself against racist remarks and slights. My armor primarily consisted of a well-practiced gaze into the distance that hopefully signaled indifference and a little scorn.
On the short connecting flight from Chicago to Columbia, a tall older white man who was boarding the small plane at the same time joked about us having to sit in the last row in front of the bathroom. I did what I usually do in these situations, which was to chatter in an extra jovial manner to prove that I was just like him, that I was so proficient in English that I could banter easily and even one up him with my superior verbal skills. When we landed, he wished me a good stay as we shuffled off the plane, down the metal stairs, and onto the windy tarmac of the tiny airport.
What I found when I walked around Columbia that afternoon were pride flags in store windows and a small protest for abortion rights downtown at the corner of 9th and Broadway. I’d landed in a university town located in one of Missouri’s three blue counties.
Still, I was on high alert. I vaguely recalled an incident in which white students had scattered cotton balls outside a black student center. I don’t think it was unreasonable for me to expect to see people openly carrying guns in Missouri. The Show-Me State appears to be one of the most permissive states in the union when it comes to gun laws. I don’t think it was unreasonable for me to be surprised to see an abortion rights rally in the first state to outlaw abortion within minutes of the Supreme Court overturning Roe v. Wade. I never saw another Asian face.
I’d been invited to Missouri to give a presentation on how to have conversations across the political divide at a media literacy conference hosted by the University’s premier journalism school. My detailed presentation outline contained way more information than could be squeezed into a one hour session. I cited multiple studies and research by behavioral and social psychologists, political scientists, and sociologists. I referred to guidelines written by mediators, facilitators, marriage counselors, and conflict resolution experts. I drew from my experience of having organized hundreds of conversations premised on building empathy and humanization. However, as the low grade anxieties about what I would encounter in Little Dixie began to creep over me, I wondered if I was even qualified to speak on this topic at all. Despite all the research and all the experience, I still had difficulty overcoming my own fears, prejudices, and preconceived notions. The emotional impulses that define our humanity have a way of overriding all reason and rationality.
The most frequently asked question I hear when I give talks about how to have cross-political conversations is, what is the most important thing you learned about the other side? I think a better question to ask is, what did I learn about myself? That’s what I asked myself (again!) as I worked my way through the jitters. After dinner that first night in Columbia, I rewrote the beginning of my presentation to suggest spending time in honest self-examination before attempting to talk to someone who doesn’t share your worldview. If we want to repair the social fabric of our country, we need to start with ourselves. As Grace Lee Boggs said, “Transform yourself to transform the world.”
You can start by asking yourself these questions:
- What is my motivation? If the answer is to persuade someone of your viewpoint, then do not proceed with the conversation. A vast amount of research has shown that inundating someone with a barrage of “facts” will not change their minds and may make them cling to their viewpoint with more tenacity.
- Would I change my mind if I were presented with information that contradicted what I believe? If the answer is no, then do not proceed with the conversation. Behavioral psychologist Adam Grant has found that 57% rejected their own argument when they thought it was someone else’s.
- Have I considered multiple and diverse sources of information? If the answer is no, then do not proceed with the conversation.
- Have I asked myself how I came to hold my beliefs? Have I thought critically about the things I believe? If the answer is no, then do not proceed with the conversation.
If you can’t hold back from the conversation, then above all else, assume best intentions.
On my last morning in Columbia before heading to the airport, I searched for a place where I could eat biscuits and gravy, one of my favorite Southern breakfasts. As I walked down 8th Street, I noticed a sign in a window touting Greitens for Senate. He was the disgraced former governor now running for Senate who recently posted a bizarre campaign ad in which he carried a shotgun in search of RINOs (Republicans in name only).
I was laughing at the sign and shaking my head when a man standing on the sidewalk with a huge grin called out, I know you! It was the man from the airplane. He asked me a bunch of questions about myself in a delightful southern drawl and we chewed the fat for a few minutes. I learned he was a basketball recruiter for Mizzou. Soon a very tall young black man emerged from the hotel with his family. The recruiter hugged the recruit and his mom and clapped dad on the back, then introduced me to them. I waved goodbye, they hoped I’d come back to Missouri some day and spend more time. I said, I’d like that.
