Fellow Posts

Casey Scheiner ’28 (DCI Fellow)

For one of the first times in American history, the hallowed practice of deliberation is under attack. For years, conservatives have clung to the First Amendment as its source of authority to oppose a homogeneous liberal narrative from emerging on college campuses, companies, and the government. However, today, enjoying majorities in both houses of Congress, control of the Oval Office, and a sympathetic majority in the Supreme Court, Republicans have gone after one of the fundamental rights defining our country for over two centuries: free speech.

Free speech is a bedrock of all of the deliberations hosted by the Deliberative Citizenship Initiative. At the DCI’s Forums and D Teams, deliberators have a space they can enter where they can share their views without fear of retribution. In fact, understanding diverse perspectives is a key part of the mission of this organization. Tragically, in its first months in office, the current administration has not practiced such a reverence for the heterogeneity of viewpoints that have previously defined American politics.

The Trump administration has wasted no time decimating our right to deliberate. Its primary tool? The immigration system. While the (attempted) deportation of Columbia graduate student Mahmoud Khalil, a pro-Palestine activist, has drawn the most media attention, one does not have to publicly espouse politically sacrilegious viewpoints themself to draw consequences from ICE. Badar Khan Suri, a Georgetown researcher, was detained in pursuit of deportation for the crime of marriage to a pro-Palestine activist. While DCI participants could freely deliberate on their views of Israel-Palestine campus protests and espouse any viewpoint, American permanent residents like Khalil and Suri could be deported for their position (even if indirectly caused by marriage) on the same issue.

However, Middle Eastern politics aren’t the only area of the world fraught with political landmines if one dares to challenge the administration’s orthodoxy. After immigration officials searched a French scientist’s devices upon his arrival in Houston for a research conference and discovered messages criticizing President Trump’s cuts to scientific research, they forbid his entry to the country, citing a fear of terrorism. While the Trump administration alleges that this action pertained to other information found on the phone, the French government maintains the grounds for his removal revolved around his dissident speech. Indeed, the bar for reprehensible conduct is even lower than highly public deliberation expressing heterodox views—just deliberating with friends and disagreeing with US policy, as this scientist did, is now grounds for expulsion from the country.

Even the world of TV and culture is not exempt from such an onslaught. In July, CBS cancelled The Late Show with Stephen Colbert days after its eponymous host criticized CBS owner Paramount for its settlement with the Trump administration as it sought executive approval for a merger. In September, Disney suspended Jimmy Kimmel, another late night television host, following criticisms of his characterization of Charlie Kirk’s murderer and concerns that his planned remarks would further inflame the situation. The suspension came shortly after Federal Communications Chairman Brendan Carr, a Trump appointee, threatened punitive action against Disney if they did not take disciplinary action against Kimmel. When our most high-profile late-night talk show hosts cannot speak freely without facing retribution at the behest of the federal government, ordinary citizens doubt their ability to deliberate without fear.

Regardless of one’s position on the war in Gaza, US funding of science, or Paramount’s merger, this renunciation of deliberation as a core element of American political culture should be disturbing to everyone. An attack on free expression is an attack on the foundation of authentic deliberation. Be it pineapple on pizza or the ethics of abortion, everyone has an opinion that does not conform with the majority view. In a world without pluralist tolerance, the saying “Show me the man and I’ll show you the crime” often attributed to Soviet secret police chief Lavrentiy Beria manifests itself. Seeing as few political outlooks align perfectly with that of the “approved” government stance, most worldviews will at some point fall in the crosshairs of a retributive administration. Without free deliberation, we all are left with two unappealing options: stay silent on any dissenting viewpoints or face potentially life-changing punitive consequences.

Worse yet, these assaults on free speech betray the logic preached by conservatives for years. Though conservatives have (often correctly) lamented the prevalence of “cancel culture” on the left, the Trump administration now seeks to cancel those who do not submit to its orthodoxy. Though conservatives have successfully campaigned for the end of racial affirmative action in college admissions, the Trump administration now pressures universities to functionally practice affirmative action for conservative professors. Though conservatives have previously decried Democratic administrations’ weaponization of the IRS against dissident groups, the Trump administration has influenced the IRS to audit high-profile critics and review Harvard’s tax-exempt status. As many Republicans recognized during the years when they were in the minority, freedom of speech is largely a mechanism to protect those out of power. But now that the shoe is on the other foot, Trump does not appear keen on respecting his foes’ liberties.

So, how do we resist the end of American deliberation? The answer is not that different from the Trump administration’s strategy of “flooding the zone.” One political dissident will go to prison; one million will cause a revolution. This “revolutionary” action is nothing disturbing or foreign to Americans—not violence or even disobedience, but simple conversation. As notable law firms and universities capitulate to financial incentives to be silent, individuals must express their constitutional right to free expression.

Daring to say one disagrees with the government is a tradition of American culture preceding any of us. Today is not the day to abandon that brand of criticism—whether you concur with 1% or 99% of this administration’s agenda. Be it on a social media account with one million followers, a DCI forum with a dozen companions, or a text chain with a friend, our comfort with dissent defines our position as the leader of the free world. Fear of retribution for such unassuming critiques only transpires under an authoritarian political climate that Americans should only be reading about in world history textbooks.

To avoid that reality becoming a defining chapter of our own history, it is time to assertively claim our right to deliberate. It doesn’t matter whether or not you echo the views of the government, your university, or any other important institution, so long as you do deliberate. Go respectively disagree with your uncle at the Thanksgiving dinner table. Go to a town hall and tell your representative how you feel about the government. Go explain your perspective and listen to the perspective of those who feel differently about a particular policy. Go celebrate and claim your constitutionally enshrined ability to deliberate.

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.

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.

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^[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.