Have something interesting to say about civic education? Reach out to Nick D’Amuro or James Byrnes.

Nick D’Amuro: ndamuro@gvobces.org

James Byrnes: James_Byrnes@boces.monroe.edu

Building Bridges, Not Barriers: Civic Virtue in Divisive Times

by Nick D’Amuro Genesee Valley BOCES Instructional Coordinator

A shortened version of this article was also published in The Fulcrum

“The human mind is a story processor, not a logic processor.” – Jonathan Haidt

This quote challenged me when I first encountered it as a history major and political science minor at SUNY Geneseo. I read it in Jonathan Haidt’s The Righteous Mind, a work that profoundly shaped my understanding of politics and human thought.

What I’m about to share with you won’t contain a mountain of data or empirical evidence. There’s a time for that, but I fear it would only reinforce your existing assumptions about my views. So, for the sake of clarity, I’ll be fully transparent: I’m a concerned father and educator who wants our system of government to endure long after I’m gone. I also abhor the reality that any nation is only a few crucial moments away from political violence.

Instead of citing study after study or crafting a purely academic argument, I’d rather tell you a story—a meandering one, blending history, personal reflection, faith, and above all, a hope for a healthier approach to political advocacy and citizenship.

Rather than entrenching ourselves in partisan warfare, we must rediscover the civic virtue that guided our nation’s most pivotal leaders. Political bridging—engaging meaningfully with those who disagree with us—is not just idealistic; it is essential for the survival of our democratic republic. 

The Shifts That Shape Us

I grew up Republican, believing in small government restrained by the Constitution, weary of unchecked government power. I evolved into something of a libertarian. I still hold some of these views, though they’ve been tempered by pragmatism—something I credit to studying history and, more importantly, becoming a father.

Let’s be honest: we all regret certain things we once believed in our younger years. Today, I care far more about building bridges (more on that later) than rigidly adhering to the dogma of small government. That said, I still believe in limiting executive power and respecting the principles established in the Constitutional Convention of 1787. That document was far from perfect, but the civic virtues of that generation—imperfect as they were—are nearly absent in both major political parties today.

Learning from the Past

There are concrete examples of civic virtue we should reflect on.

George Washington, at multiple points, could have consolidated power behind himself.  At the close of the revolution with a military force behind him, he chose to return to his home.  In fact, he quelled military angst towards congress during the Newburgh Affair.  History has shown us that beloved leaders with an army can seize power with little resistance, but this never came to pass. 

He could have ruled by executive decree with little resistance, likely benefiting the young nation in the short term. But he didn’t. He resisted power, refused to exceed constitutional authority, and voluntarily stepped away from office. He could have been president for life, but he chose otherwise, hoping to instill in the nation a commitment to the Constitution, not to any party or politician.

We have not heeded his example.

Yet Washington was no saint. He owned slaves and understood the contradictions between slavery and the Declaration of Independence. We must always acknowledge the flaws of those we admire—it makes them more complete figures to learn from. Besides resisting the temptations of absolutism, Washington embodied a critical civic virtue we too often overlook: the value of differing opinions and the opportunity they provide for a democratic republic. He sought out critique, built his cabinet to include opposing views, and recognized his own limitations. He understood that dialogue, even when messy, was essential to governance.

Does that sound like our leaders today? More importantly, does that sound like us?

Do we seek affirmation and comfort, or dissent and dialogue? Would the nation really be better off if just one set of ideals were at the helm? Or are we better off having a bridge—one we can cross, engage with other ideas, and return from, perhaps even changed?

Douglass, Lincoln, and the Power of Perspective

Decades later, Frederick Douglass underwent a profound shift in his interpretation of the Constitution. Like many abolitionists of the Garrisonian camp, he initially viewed it as a pro-slavery document. But upon deeper examination, and in his relentless pursuit of abolition, he came to see the Constitution as a tool that could be used to end slavery once and for all. He grounded his arguments in the civic virtues of the founding generation, challenging the nation to fulfill its promises.

Abraham Lincoln, upon taking office in 1860 as the first Republican president, wrestled with the same contradictions. Through extensive research and reflection, he concluded that the founders saw slavery as an evil to be eradicated in time. He believed that, if faced with the question in Lincoln’s day, the founders would have sought to eliminate it—or, at the very least, halt its expansion, as they did in the Northwest Land Ordinance of 1787.

But Lincoln, like Washington before him, did not shy away from opposing voices. He placed his critics—including those who doubted his willingness to fight slavery—inside his own cabinet. He met with Douglass, who harshly critiqued him, and they engaged in meaningful dialogue. Douglass continued to press Lincoln’s administration, and in the end, slavery died with the ratification of the 13th Amendment in 1865.

This is the story I find hope in.

Real, virtuous, and yes, deeply flawed Americans who disagreed with their political opponents but still sought out differing perspectives. Who built consensus when they could. Who resisted the urge to wield power unilaterally, even when they believed it could bring about good.

They examined evidence, reconsidered their views, and demonstrated intellectual humility—something we have not seen in ourselves or our leaders for a long time.

When others crossed a bridge to engage with them, men like Washington, Douglass, and Lincoln were often already on their way to meet them. They may have even sent the invitation themselves.

The Danger of Political Contempt

The one data point I will cite is from Lethal Partisanship (Kalmoe & Mason, 2019). In their study, respondents were asked:

“Do you ever think, ‘We’d be better off as a country if large numbers of the opposing party in the public today just died’?”

Some 20% of Democrats (about 12.6 million voters) and 16% of Republicans (around 7.9 million voters) answered affirmatively.

Let that sink in.

We often say, our differences make us stronger, but do we really believe that anymore? Or have we reduced our political discourse to a zero-sum game—where winning means everything and governance means nothing?

Do the ends justify the means? If you like a policy, does it matter how it’s enacted? Should it?

Maybe I’m a dinosaur, but to me, it does.

Be Tough on Your Friends?

My political priorities center on adherence to the Constitution—not out of blind worship, but because it provides a framework for governance that has endured. I also care about fiscal responsibility, not in service of dismantling government but to ensure we steward taxpayer dollars wisely.

Right now, the party that claims more adherence to the Constitution, has a president in Donald Trump who very well might break a record for executive orders by the time his term is finished. The Republican Party I grew up in cautioned against the expansion of the executive, and now we applaud it. 

To my friends on the right: Does corruption and waste mean we abandon checks and balances? Do we govern by executive order, even when our party controls the Senate and the House of Representatives? 

Since the New Deal Era, followed by the Cold War, the power of the executive has grown by the decade. It has yet to decrease in power and scope. We who profess to admire the Constitution would do well to remember these first one hundred days the moment a Democrat steps back into the Oval Office. 

That brings me back to this idea of civic virtue: do we stand up to those in our own party, or does the fear of the political other blind us to the uncomfortable realities that exist within our own spheres? 

To my friends on the left: Have the Democrats, since 2016, truly told a story that resonates with Middle America? Or has it been just not Trump? If you lump all conservatives into one monolith, does that serve progress or division?

The fingers can point across the political spectrum, or we can take a long look in the mirror at ourselves first. 

I’m not asking you to change your mind. I’m asking you to consider the how of politics, not just the what.

Faith & “How” vs. “What”

My friend and colleague Kent Lenci who authored Learning to Depolarize suggested I pick up The After Party: Toward Better Christian Politics by Curtis Chang and Nancy French. Kent knew I was someone of faith, and that the book would resonate with me. I couldn’t put it down.

Chang and French brilliantly laid out this concept of the how of politics versus the what. The what involves policy and ideals, but the how focuses on the manner in which we govern, and how we treat our political opponents. If you’ve read this far, you can see why I was drawn to it. Chang and French didn’t stop there though, they challenged me to view politics through the lens of the Gospel to build more bridges across divides. 

For the most part I largely kept my Christian faith separate from politics, but that hasn’t been the case lately. I haven’t so much merged my faith into the political what– I value the separation of church and state because all should be able to practice their faith without fear. Where I have let my faith influence me more- is how politics should be done.

Here, I take my cues from the Gospel which took place in an extremely polarizing time. Christ modeled how to engage with those who disagreed: with grace, love, and compassion.  In a time of political division, Christ spent his days focused on the how before the what. Have we modeled this behavior? Have we elected leaders who tried to live out this how? Or have we collectively decided that politics is an exception to the Gospel?

The Bridge

Will we again embrace the civic virtue that says those different from us might have valuable ideas? That listening does not mean agreeing? That the other side is still made up of people, not enemies?

Or will we continue treating politics like a college football rivalry—where power is passed back and forth with no regard for the institutions that sustain us?

I want to offer you a short definition of political bridging from an organization called Listen First Project that I work with: Bridging (v.)bridging brings together people and perspectives that are disconnected or divided to cultivate understanding, trust, and productive disagreement that can lead to collaborative problem solving, and a way forward together.

Today I try to ignore the pulls I feel to climb back into the fray of political whats and even refuse to call myself part of a political group. Instead, I try to combat polarization by working with educators to have their classrooms become a space of civic virtue and bridging. After ten years as a social studies teacher, I took a position as an Instructional Coordinator with Genesee Valley BOCES in order to reach more classrooms and advocate for this type of work. 

This past year we took action and started a learning organization called the Civi Coalition that serves over sixty educators in New York State. It grew out of our Civi Awards (think Emmy’s but for civics) which recognized great civic knowledge and work of our students in the region. You can learn more about both at civiawards.us, but I also encourage you to check out the Listen First Project and learn more about bridging divides in your own spaces. 

Like I said, a meandering story. Bridging is not easy, nor is it for everyone. It can be hard to engage with those we feel do not value us. Go at your own pace, or for now not at all. 

However, if we are to heal as a nation, it will take active citizens—citizens who reach out to neighbors or even strangers with different perspectives and ask thoughtful questions in good faith. It requires voters who demand that candidates focus on how they will govern, rather than simply making promises to different groups of Americans. Each of us must be willing to shift our mindset, even slightly, and step outside our comfort zones to make a meaningful difference in our political world.

Even something as simple as engaging with a media outlet that challenges your views is a step forward. One step at a time, we can bridge divides—even if only to better understand the other side.

Paths to Understanding: Stories of Political and Personal Beliefs

Jimmy Byrnes Monroe 1 BOCES Coordinator

This series invites members of the Civi Coalition to share their personal stories of how they arrived at their political beliefs and worldviews. By listening to one another’s experiences, we aim to foster empathy, build community, and deepen our appreciation for differing perspectives. These stories provide context to beliefs and encourage open dialogue, reflection, and thoughtful questions. Together, we seek to bridge divides by focusing on shared humanity and the unique journeys that shape our values.

Some my fondest memories of childhood involve my Uncle Pat.  He was our Guy.  Uncle Pat lived in Rochester, when the rest of my aunts, uncles and grandparents lived in the suburbs (or country) outside of Pittsburgh and Philadelphia. So, family events, baseball games, hikes, dinners out, and car trips to see family involved my Uncle Pat.  We stayed at his apartment for sleepovers, and he was always there for birthdays, Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners, and took the best seat (the one in the way back on the passenger side so he could stretch his legs by the sliding doors) in the back of minivan on car trips to Pittsburgh to see our grandparents.

My uncle, for as long as I knew him, was never married.  He did have a friend, DeAnna, who he shared an apartment with for a while and she was awesome, but they were never a couple.  Finally, DeAnna moved away and got married when I was still young, maybe 10 or so, and my uncle firmly stated that he was so happy for her every time she came up.  I remember him arriving later than planned sometimes because he was tied up with friends or having to leave early to catch up with friends.  But he had his own life, and he always made it to the event and was always so present while he was with us.

In the late 1990s I was heading into middle school and gearing up for high school by the fall of 2001.  I remember, in that time, saying and being around friends saying “that’s so gay” as an insult.  As in whatever you were doing, saying or thinking was just awful, terrible or stupid.  Back then, the effort to move away from using language in derogatory ways was just beginning, or least that is how I remember it.  I was never in trouble for saying something was “gay” and neither were the other kids in my classes.  Our growth when it comes to using language more appropriately has been wonderful and I hope our society continues to grow in that regard.

One year around Christmastime when I was around 14ish years old, my uncle brought a friend with him to our house, Grant.  I didn’t think too much about it.  Grant was from Australia and was working at the Rochester Planetarium.  He probably didn’t have family in Rochester and my uncle invited him to hang out with us for the holidays.  But something was different.  My uncle and Grant, his friend, were holding hands on the couch.  That was not something I had seen before and I asked my dad, who is my uncle’s older brother, about it.  Maybe my mom and dad knew, they probably did, because when I asked about my Uncle Pat and Grant holding hands, my dad told me, without hesitation, that my Uncle Pat was gay.

I remember processing that, and working through it, in a way, but ultimately, my Uncle Pat was my guy.  I was absolutely unaffected.  I don’t know how easy or difficult it was for other members of my family.  Some members of my family, including my parents, were/are deep into their faith, which may have had some influence, I really don’t know. If it existed, to their credit, it didn’t exist around me and my siblings.

I remember starting to change the language I used to describe things I didn’t like while I was with my friends or teammates.  I remember telling others to “pick another word” or similar phrases.  I remember not having too many close friends because of me trying to correct other people’s poor language choices.  Mostly because I didn’t want to be around people who constantly used language that offended me.

I started to pay attention to the Gay Marriage issue in the United States.  I never gave it much thought until my uncle brought Grant over for Christmas, but now I cared.  I loved my uncle and wanted him to be happy.  Why could he not be married to the person he loved?  I quickly realized that that Democrat Party was more aligned with Gay Marriage (but not much more).  Ok, done, even though my folks voted Republican, I knew that I wanted to be on the side that favored my uncle and his ability to live his life.  Later, around 2001, my uncle and Grant declared they were moving to Australia together.  I wondered if the laws were different there.  They weren’t; Australia was having similar debates in their parliament as the United States was in their congress. 

It all just seemed so silly to me (and still does) that one person’s religious beliefs should have any influence on how I, or anyone else, lives their life.  So, this quickly went from being about me supporting my uncle to supporting his community and then other marginalized communities.  Everyone should be free to live their best life, their truth, without influence from others (unless they are doing the worst things, of course).  And that really is my worldview and why I identify my politics as liberal democrat.  I want everyone, the LGBTQ+ community, the immigrant communities, the sick, the poor, the middle class, the farmers, and so on, to be able to live their best life, be who they are, without negative impacts from their government or communities. 

As Fred Rogers said, “We’re all on a journey, and if we can be sensitive to our neighbors, that, to me, is the greatest challenge, as well as the greatest pleasure.”

Learning to Listen in the Classroom: A Journey in Bridging Political Divides

November 15th 2024

This article was also published in The Fulcrum

By Nick D’Amuro: Genesee Valley BOCES Instructional Coordinator & Civi Coalition

In an age where political divides have become personal, the story of my relationship with a colleague shows that listening and respect are powerful tools in healing divides. Shawna, a longtime colleague and friend, and I come from different sides of the political aisle—I’m a moderate Republican with libertarian leanings, and she’s a liberal Democrat. Despite the polarized climate, our collaboration flourished through our commitment to understanding each other.

When I began teaching social studies in Orleans County, NY, I made a point of keeping my views out of classroom discussions. Students, however, have a knack for picking up on things, and they quickly guessed Shawna’s and my political leanings. Nevertheless, I never confirmed these suspicions, and I made a strong effort to present all viewpoints fairly. Whenever students asked directly, I always responded by sharing multiple perspectives, rather than focusing on my own. Even though students may have sensed my leanings, I wanted to ensure that every opinion was valued and that I wasn’t seen as pushing my views on them.

Early on, Shawna and I recognized our differing perspectives and, rather than avoiding them, we made a habit of talking through political topics. We didn’t dive right into these dialogues, though. We first took the time to get to know each other as people—a crucial step that I believe none of us should skip when approaching challenging conversations. The respect and camaraderie we developed laid a strong foundation, and from there, we instituted a “check yourself” protocol, a system that created space for us to process any news story or event that could provoke strong reactions. This approach brought us closer and deepened our understanding. It also provided a model that would later benefit our students.

Shawna, in particular, inspired me through her intellectual humility—a quality that is increasingly rare today. She often admitted that her own views, and even her party, might not have all the answers, and that perhaps there was wisdom to be found in the other side. This openness, reminiscent of the work of Jonathan Haidt, challenged my assumptions and helped me reflect on my own views more critically. I, too, recognized that none of us have a monopoly on truth, and this mutual humility became a cornerstone of our friendship.

This relationship proved invaluable several years into my career when I decided to run for town council in a neighboring town. My political affiliation was no longer just guessed—it was public. This shift made it more challenging to maintain neutrality in the eyes of students. Yet, because Shawna and I had modeled respectful disagreement and open-minded dialogue, the students could see, in real time, that we were friends and that political differences didn’t need to divide us. They observed the way we discussed difficult topics, maintaining respect and listening to understand rather than to respond. Shawna’s approach—and our visible friendship—made it easier to navigate these new dynamics, creating a classroom environment where students felt safe to explore diverse viewpoints.

The impact of this approach became especially evident in the classroom. Our district’s students largely reflected the surrounding conservative community, and many came into discussions ready to defend or reject ideas rather than explore them. Shawna and I modeled “check yourself” conversations, showing our students that civil discourse across political lines was possible and beneficial. Seeing their teachers—a Democrat and a Republican—engage openly in these ways planted the seeds for more meaningful discussions.

The urgency of this work is clear. Research has shown that dehumanization in politics isn’t a distant threat; it’s here. A 2019 study found that 15-20% of Americans believed the country would be better off if “large numbers” of people from the opposing political party were to die (Kalmoe & Mason, 2019). The gravity of this finding can’t be overstated. In just a few years, polarization may have only deepened, making it critical that we focus on how we engage in politics, not only what we debate. History shows us that dehumanization paves the way for violence, and no society is immune.

Reflecting on Shawna’s humility and her commitment to understanding others reminds me that empathy and openness can bridge even the widest divides. If we hope to heal as a nation, we must prioritize this way of engaging—one that begins with listening, respect, and a willingness to learn. These values can create an environment where political differences don’t have to lead to resentment or hate.

In these divisive times, I urge readers to reach out to someone with a different view, to listen without judgment, and to engage in conversations that reveal our shared humanity. By adopting practices like the “check yourself” protocol, we can change the culture of politics, moving it away from dehumanization and toward understanding. No matter our differences, we are neighbors and fellow citizens first.

References:

Kalmoe, N. P., & Mason, L. (2019). Lethal Mass Partisanship: Prevalence, Correlates, & Electoral Contingencies. National Capital Area Political Science Association.