by David D. Horowitz.
Public transportation in and around Seattle, where I live, is punctual, thoughtfully routed, and reasonably priced. I can usually reach—via bus, train, or ferry—a specific destination when I want to go there. And so can most Puget Sound area residents and visitors who depend on public transportation.
One place, though, remains difficult for most people to reach: another person’s perspective. To get there one must be able to empathetically listen, patiently comment and exchange, humbly acknowledge error, and respect a person’s distinctness. No Route 71 or 586 or 28 will reach those places. No printed schedule or online update will explain why someone might misunderstand a conservative or liberal friend. No commuter benefit card, in a second and with a beep, will pay for the honesty necessary to admit one spoke rashly or rudely.
One might have to pay, though, with a few lost friendships. For, indeed, we live in times of much harsh judgment: Corporate sell out! Dumb Dem! Traitor! Weakling! RINO! DINO!
I’m not particularly inclined these days to change my fundamental political perspective. However, as a young man thirty-five and forty years ago I went through hyper-liberal, centrist, hard right, center-right, and center-left periods. And I was no ingratiator. I was passionately partisan, sure I was right and that enemies were wrong.
Well, through many convolutions and learning experiences, I discovered why I was changing my mind: life is complex. Unintended consequences, unexpected results of experiments and predictions, surprising difficulty answering questions, people taking offense when I thought I was complimenting or helping them…. I learned the hard way to restrain my demonizing certitude—and listen more attentively and empathize more fully. Evaluate, yes, but with an eye towards acknowledging the need to refine, note a nuance, seek more evidence, consider opponents’ views. And I became a better, more mature person by these means.
I disdained invitations to live in the prestigious but rigidly exclusive neighborhoods: North Stereotype, South Stereotype, Heights of Arrogance, Fenced-Off Field, Must-Stay-on-a-Leash Dogma Park. My freedom and integrity are essential; boats and houses and prestige are not.
I recall my days in Seattle’s (public) Lincoln High School. In twelfth grade I would get a daily lesson in point/counterpoint. My trigonometry teacher, Mr. Paul Lorentz, was a staunch conservative: a friendly fellow who looked askance at liberalism. My social studies teacher, for whom I was doing an independent study project, was Mr. Max Starcevich, a former University of Washington football All-American at offensive guard. He was kind and, politically, quite liberal. Often during the 1972-1973 school year, Mr. Lorentz would opine on the delusions of George McGovern, welfare state corruption, and disrespectful, undisciplined youth. An hour later in a different classroom Mr. Starcevich would criticize Richard Nixon, the Vietnam War, and conservative harshness and hypocrisy. Frequently one would inadvertently answer the other in ways that taught me to think more deeply, to dare to ask questions that might compel me to shift my position and loyalties. By daily contrasting these teachers’ differences I began to seriously respect complexity and patience. For here were two good, intelligent people—who disagreed, sometimes sharply. By extension, I sensed I would not find an all-knowing mage leading me to prophetic truth. Rather, there would be intelligent people disagreeing (those few lucky times I found that much), mixed in with much superficiality and deceit. I needed to think critically, cultivate empathy, and persuade people I did not equate disagreement with disloyalty. I sometimes in later years forgot these lessons, but I’ve repeatedly rediscovered their importance.
Now, I don’t want to use caution about complexity to evade the responsibilities of decisive assertion. But I’ve trusted people I should never have trusted. I’ve yelled hostile certainties at “enemies” only to agree with them years later. So, I’ve also learned to mistrust appearances, easy answers, and immediate judgment. And this way I can best reach the land of understanding out by that dusky rose-peach horizon.