Fellow Posts

Grace Zagoria (DCI Fellow ’27)

Walking out of American Politics last semester, two friends and I got into a debate: Can you be friends with someone across the aisle? Let’s call these friends Alice and Corinna. The conversation started when I mentioned a friend of mine—we’ll call her Gabriela. “Wait,” Corinna said. “Isn’t she a Trump supporter?” I paused, caught off guard. I knew for a fact that Gabriela wasn’t, but I also didn’t see why that should determine the validity of our friendship.

“No, she’s not,” I said.  “But her friends are,” they insisted. “Helena and Nicole? Aren’t they in YAF?” “Yeah, they are,” I admitted. “But what does that matter?” Alice shook her head. “I just don’t think I’d want to be friends with someone who voted for Trump.” Corinna added, “Yeah, I couldn’t be close with someone who doesn’t believe in my right to exist. I mean, don’t they think all gay people are going to burn in hell?” And just like that, the debate took off.

Fast forward to the next weekend. It was a gorgeous, 70-degree North Carolina spring day, and Davidson’s best and brightest gathered among weathered picnic tables just outside Summit Coffee Outpost—“Nummit,” by Davidson slang—to enjoy the light and the Fleetwood Mac blasting from the Kappa Sigma porch. I imagine that when people look back fondly on their college years, they picture moments like these.

I was sitting at a table with Alice, Corinna, and a few other friends, discussing our plans for the fall semester. Alice would be off to Madrid, Corinna to Sydney, and I’d be off to Buenos Aires. In an instant, Gabriela appeared in the corner of my eye, her blonde curls flickering in the sun. She waved me over to her table, where she sat with Helena and Nicole. I headed over.

The four of us chatted about our weekends, and Helena invited me to a party she was hosting later that evening. Our conversation covered the usual topics college students discuss when they don’t know each other very well—our majors, our summer plans, our goals for the future. Helena, I asked, what are you planning on doing after graduation in May? “I’m moving to D.C.,” she replied promptly.

“Oh, awesome!” I responded, relieved that I didn’t have to ask any follow-up questions about what she’d be doing there or who she was working for. I already knew the answer, but I didn’t want to confirm it then and there. Best to keep it simple, I figured. Our conversation moved on to what we did over spring break. I breathed a sigh of relief.

Here’s the big question for me, though. Am I being hypocritical by avoiding political topics with that group of friends? If I’ve preached to Corinna and Alice that you can be friends with people across the aisle, why am I actively avoiding the subject with Gabriela and company?

Today, American society is more polarized than ever. Surveys have shown that Americans’ animosity toward the opposing political party is higher than it has been in decades, geographic political segregation has increased over the past 10 years,^[1] and 4 in 10 Americans would be upset if their child married someone from the opposite political party.^[2] It should come as no surprise that nearly 80% of Americans now have “just a few” or no friends at all across the aisle, according to research by Pew.^[3] For the remaining 20%, or for the few Americans who do have friends with opposing political viewpoints, what is the line between friendship and ideological differences? Should there be a line at all?

My perspective is that such friendships are crucial in helping repair a social fabric that has been worn down and torn up by complex political questions. On a very basic level, I believe we should treat everyone around us with kindness and compassion, regardless of how different we are—whether those differences are political or not. If you consider all your friends, I’m sure you don’t agree with them on every issue under the sun, but that does not mean you cannot engage with them, or that you shouldn’t discuss your conflicting opinions. While political issues can be incredibly divisive, I would argue that you can have civil discussions with friends despite contrasting views. By that logic, my avoidance tactic with Gabriela, Helena, and Nicole was a cop-out.

That said, I do think there is a significant difference between forcing friendships with those who have contrasting ideological backgrounds and letting relationships form naturally. In other words, friendships should begin organically, and only then should political complications be approached with earnestness, understanding, and a desire to learn. From my standpoint, cutting people off without giving them a chance to make an impression on you or explain their point of view is an injustice—to them and to you. There is more to a person than just their political beliefs, and, in any case, I would reason that the best way to win an argument is to understand the other side.

Opinions expressed on the DCI Blog are solely those of the author and do not necessarily represent the official views or positions of the Deliberative Citizenship Initiative.

---

^[1] https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2021/04/30/opinion/politics/bubble-politics.html

^[2] https://www.npr.org/2022/08/13/1117232857/americans-have-increasingly-negative-views-of-those-in-the-other-political-party

^[3] https://www.npr.org/2020/10/27/928209548/dude-i-m-done-when-politics-tears-families-and-friendships-apart

By Luna Noguchi ’25 (DCI Fellow)

When I heard discussions about DCI’s new Ginkgo Tree Project, I became immediately interested in the kinds of discussions it would spark. In spring of 2024, Davidson received and planted eight ginkgo trees, trees that were descendants of those that survived the atomic bombing of Hiroshima by the US military. The seeds were donated by Green Legacy Hiroshima and were meant to spread a message of peace and the inhumanity of nuclear war. After the planting of the trees, some students and alumni of Chinese and Korean descent believed that focus on the trees’ direct relationship to the tragedy in Hiroshima failed to capture the historical context of Imperial Japan’s invasions of East Asian countries throughout World War II.

The DCI was then invited to implement a deliberative process that would develop interpretative signage materials designed to provide more context about the trees that had been planted. I was part of a working group (Keya Zhou ‘25, Flo Moser ‘26, Casey Scheiner ‘28, Lily Ogawa ‘28, and Graham Bullock) that organized a deliberative forum for this purpose and then collated the ideas generated into interpretive materials to be put on signage in front of the trees.

While working on the project, I felt myself being stretched by the challenge of designing an event with enough scope of historical information and objectivity to make every viewpoint feel valued. Initially, my knowledge of WWII in East Asia was limited to Japan’s perspective. I have strong family ties to Japan and have both American and Japanese citizenship. I grew up hearing about the horrors of the tragedy and remember feeling changed when I visited the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum in Hiroshima, Japan. I was appalled by the level of destruction and inhumanity capable of nuclear weaponry. This spring, I jumped into working on this project so I could expand my understanding of the war’s impact and reshape my perspective while making a tangible impact on campus.

However, writing about a history for the purpose of deliberation required a special attention to the power of language. The experience taught me that when writing about contentious topics for deliberation, one should be attentive to the gravity of the subject while also remaining neutral with regards to particular perspectives about it. Writing about a historical topic as complex as World War II in the Asia Pacific region demanded a comprehensive and nuanced review of the conflict’s events. I quickly realized how easily historical narratives can be shaped by the perspectives we are taught in school or by personal connections to the nations involved. For example, choosing merely between active or passive voice can influence whether a text is interpreted as blaming Japan or remembering victims.

Furthermore, the biggest challenge of the project was navigating the implications of certain word choices. While researching and writing the deliberation guide, I had to actively check whether my words assigned blame or victimhood to certain actors or drew misleading connections between events. For example, we wrote sections on Imperial Japan’s impact on countries in East Asia, such as China, Korea, and Southeast Asia. We discussed how to emphasize that Japan was the perpetrator of violence without assigning blame or judgment.

Because of the strong emotions associated with the victims’ experiences, we had to make sure each event that involved victims in the war was emphasized to the same degree. We had to strike a balance between calling for countries’ accountability while memorializing the victims of the war. The experience taught me about the kind of language that can spark respectful dialogue on sensitive topics, and as a senior who just graduated, I look forward to bringing these lessons with me into my career after Davidson.

Opinions expressed on the DCI Blog are solely those of the author and do not necessarily represent the official views or positions of the Deliberative Citizenship Initiative.

By Jane McNeill ’28 (DCI Fellow)

On Davidson College’s 2,000 student campus, it’s not unusual to run into people you know, especially on routine walks to class. Whether it’s individuals leaving their class that ended before yours or others heading to the same building where you’re headed, these brief moments of interaction are common. In these encounters, you’re likely to exchange a quick, “Hi,” or “How are you?,” as you walk opposing directions. These brief interactions offer a sense of acknowledgement, weaving individuals into the fast-paced and busy rhythm of campus life. Despite their brevity, these moments contribute to a larger sense of belonging for all members of the community.

However, as communal as these exchanges may be, they often remain surface level. Responses like, “Good, how are you?” offer little more than a passing glimpse into one another’s lives. While the exchanges are genuine, the context doesn’t typically lend itself to deeper reflection or conversation. A “How are you?” on campus rarely sparks a meaningful discussion–it serves more to maintain connectivity than to foster substantive dialogue or deliberation.

Yet, the apparent insignificance of these interactions doesn’t diminish their value. These brief conversations can serve as entry points to more thoughtful, deliberative exchanges. They establish rapport and trust, crafting an environment where deeper interactions can develop, these seemingly trivial exchanges can lay the groundwork for dialogue that fosters greater understanding, empathy, and more thoughtful deliberation. It was this thinking that inspired the idea for my Spring Deliberation Project.

As I began exploring possible topics, I was drawn to a project from a previous fellow–“Five Minute ‘Bite-Sized’ Conversations”–which seemed to align with transforming casual exchanges into informal deliberations. I found my peer fellows Izzy Cevallos, Ben Files, and Liam Mann shared a similar interest in how these short conversations could evolve into more intentional dialogues.

We were also inspired by fellows at the Kenan Institute for Ethics at Duke University who hosted informal “couching” sessions with a mobile living room that pop-up around campus. Similarly, Davidson’s Deliberative Citizenship Initiative (DCI) has hosted Commons Conversations and DCI Outposts, which aim to create approachable, informal spaces for deliberation. These efforts share a common goal: to make deliberation more accessible and casual, encouraging greater engagement with the process. Their informal conversations act as stepping stones to more in-depth deliberation. For busy students, committing to a two-hour DCI deliberation three times a semester can feel overwhelming. But smaller, more casual conversations are easier to engage with and can spark meaning conversations and reflection.

For our pop-up deliberations, we designed a variety of questions that range from philosophical to political, as well as more lighthearted topics. Questions like “What’s one thing you think everyone should try at least once in their life?” or “Are we defined more by our actions or our intentions?” or “Is there a political issue you’ve completely changed your mind on?” allow participants to explore various levels of depth. The goal was to encourage responses based on reasoning, prompting people to think about why they hold certain beliefs. This format also provided us with the opportunity to ask follow-up questions based on what participants share, allowing the conversation to develop more organically.

Through these pop-up deliberations, we made deliberation not only more approachable and accessible but also more fun. By creating an environment where participants feel comfortable engaging in informal but thought-provoking discussions, we hope we were able to foster deeper connections and spark curiosity about the larger deliberative process.

By Ben Files ’25 (DCI Fellow)

Time of day is a fleeting thing in the digital age. Whether it be on social media, or even in person, the end goal of political discussions increasingly seems to be finding ways to one up or outsmart the person you disagree with, rather than trying to understand their perspective and find middle ground.

This trend manifests itself well in the rise of pop-up debates or tables, pioneered by internet stars Steven Crowder and Charlie Kirk. In theory, these pop-up debates are brilliant: they are framed as spaces for anyone to come and discuss any political topic with someone, including Crowder and Kirk themselves, who are incredibly knowledgeable on most political subjects. While these pop-up debates do produce some productive, thoughtful, deliberation, Crowder and Kirk are incentivized to share on social media the exact opposite.

In practice, the most famous clips from Crowder or Kirk are when they “punk” people whose views differ from them. In turn, this incentivizes hosts such as Crowder and Kirk to seek out less real deliberation, and more opportunity to defeat the person who takes the stand to talk to them. In some instances, these hosts will make a point of not answering certain questions to ensure that their position remains superior. This process is only beneficial for the hosts and their staff.

The brave participants who take the stand at these pop-ups often do not have a healthy deliberation. This result can discourage many participants from engaging in similarly framed events, which may indeed involve meaningful discourse across party lines. Further, the viewers gain little from these clips – sure, they may pick up some new talking points, but overall they learn that the point of political discussions is to win, because winning is fun.

But, deliberation isn’t about winning. For my deliberation project with the DCI, in which I collaborated with DCI Fellows Liam Mann and Jane McNeill, I wanted to implement on campus a pop-up deliberation table similar to those created by Crowder and Kirk. Crucially, though, I wanted to ensure that all participants felt comfortable being, in a way, vulnerable around complete strangers, able to talk about their political opinions without fear of being “punked.”

To do so, I decided to take an approach that was the opposite of the common practice of Crowder and Kirk. Instead of asking hard hitting follow-up questions, I would reply to participants’ responses with a simple “why?” This simple follow up is not rudely interrogative and does not attempt to steer the conversation off-course or throw off a participant’s train of thought. Rather, it is almost like an alley-oop, a way to extract more information in a non-hostile and respectful manner.

The use of “why?” was surprisingly effective in our conversations. Our pop-up discussion table featured 27 questions covering a wide range of topics, from politics to philosophy to pop culture. These questions were printed on note cards and folded, allowing participants to choose a question at random. Then, participants would answer the question on the card they had selected, and if their original answer was not sufficient, we would ask the famous “why” question.

Following conversations with approximately 35 participants, I have drawn two key takeaways regarding thoughtful deliberation and the use of a “why?” question. The first, broader trend I noticed was that participants were far more apprehensive and concise when answering political questions. Often, we needed to follow up with a “why?” question here, to better understand participants’ views on term limits or abortions, for example.

Second, I noticed that any apprehension around answering was compounded when participants approached us in groups, whether it be friends or other students. Again, the use of “why?” helped here, as participants were encouraged to explain their position more, which in turn (I think) put them more at ease. Across the board, our “why?” question gave participants the time and place to explain why they believe the things they do, an opportunity that is often not afforded to people in political discussions.

A simple “why?” is crucial for improving deliberation and political discourse because, quite simply, it gives people the time of day. When people feel comfortable expressing how they truly feel, real personal and societal growth is possible. It may not get the most internet clicks, but true understanding of our political differences is crucial to creating a better tomorrow.