A few days ago we took our kids to a nearby beach and a man, out walking his two dogs, stopped to watch our youngest play in the sand. We said hello, exchanged a few pleasantries and then, seemingly out of the blue, he started telling us how he hated Muslims. All Muslims.
I almost did not know what to say, momentarily shocked into silence that someone could be so openly and blatently bigoted. My husband, however, took up the challenge. “Oh really?” he responded politely. His courteous reply appeared to be taken for agreement and for the next few minutes we were treated to a barrage of hate filled words: the Koran advocates murdering all non believers and all we had to do was to read it to discover that; Jews are just as evil as Muslims; his friends will not go to London because a Muslim is now the Mayor; President Obama is solely to blame for the debacle in the Middle East; and so on, on and on. My (Jewish) husband replied to each point courteously, yet firmly met each point with his own, different understanding, mentioning in passing that his scholarly research takes him regularly to Indonesia, which has the largest population of Muslims in the world. And at this point I managed to find my tongue. “Yes” I said, nodding emphatically “and I guess that’s why we feel very differently from you because we have been treated so hospitably and with such kindness by so many Muslims”.
The man looked at us both as we talked, absorbing the fact that we were not going to agree. I thought I could see the realization in his eyes that he had mistakenly started a conversation with idiot liberals. We continued to offer him information that challenged his viewpoint, but it was evident we were making no inroads. Neither was he. He was the embodiment of everything I detested. Were it not for my husband, we wouldn’t be talking.
“Well, I guess you support Donald Trump” I said a few minutes later, after he had pegged us for Democrats. “but you know, he was a Democrat not so long ago” I added, still determined to undermine his white/black version of the world. “Well, so was I!” the man responded. ”You were a Democrat?” I replied, trying to suppress the incredulity in my voice as he managed to undermine my own preconceived view of him. “Yup” he said “Until Ted Kennedy and Tip O’Neal tried to stop Jimmy Carter having a second term. Carter was the greatest President we’ve had. He’s wonderful. Those guys broke the Party.”
I looked at him carefully, wondering how someone who clearly loves Jimmy Carter could simultaneously hate all Muslims. But the fact is, I also love Jimmy Carter. And then we all started smiling as we spoke together about our shared belief that Carter represents the very best of America. A few minutes later we parted amicably. Nobody’s mind had yet been changed politically outwardly but something fundamental had shifted inwardly: through our common regard for Jimmy Carter we were able to see each other as fully human and hear what each other had to say. And perhaps, just perhaps, that gentleman will privately question himself about his visceral hatred of all Muslims.
The exchange reminded me of an interview in which George Mitchell, then the Special US Envoy to Northern Ireland, talked about the process of brokering a peace settlement there. When intransigence threatened to derail the talks completely, Mitchell pulled out some pictures of his grandkids and passed them around. Soon, everyone was seeing each other in a new light: as people, with familes they loved, instead of as ‘terrorists’ and ‘oppressors’. They were able to talk and renew the effort to make peace.
Ironic it took a Trump supporter, the last person I would have thought had something to teach me, to remind me that we have to find common ground for change to be a cooperative possibility. And, of course, my amazing husband.