Latest / The Good Fight: People Fighting for Justice & Change / Healing Divides One Meal at a Time: How Service Bridges the Political Gap | The Good Fight
Transcript
- I used to think the only way to fix a broken world was to shout louder than the other side. Then I realized that while we were yelling, our neighbors were just hungry. Let’s be honest for a second. We are exhausted. I know you are too. You open your phone and it feels like you’re walking into a room where everyone is screaming about who is right and who is wrong, who deserves what, and who is to blame for everything that’s going sideways in this country. It’s loud. It’s exhausting. And frankly, it’s not working. For years, I thought my job as an activist was to win the argument. I thought if I could just find the perfect statistic, or say the thing that made them feel seen but also corrected, then maybe—just maybe—they would change their mind. But here is the truth I learned after twenty years in nonprofit leadership: people rarely change their minds because they lost a debate. They change their minds when they realize they have more in common with you than they did with their own anger. That’s the hard part. Letting go of the need to be right so you can be connected. So, how do we actually build bridges? Not the paper-mache kind that falls apart in the rain, but real, sturdy connections that can hold weight? The answer isn’t in a town hall meeting. It’s not in a comment section. It’s in service. Specifically, it’s in service that requires physical presence and shared effort. When you are picking up trash from a creek bed, you aren’t arguing about climate policy. You are both holding a bag. You are both bending over. You are both looking at the same piece of plastic. When you are sorting cans at a food pantry, you aren’t debating tax codes. You are counting boxes. You are moving product. You are solving a immediate, tangible problem together. In these moments, politics doesn’t disappear, but it takes a back seat to humanity. And that space—that quiet, muddy, sweaty space—is where trust is built. It’s where you start to see the person behind the label. You see that he cares about his kids’ safety as much as you care about yours. You see that she is tired, too. And that realization is powerful. It changes the narrative from 'them versus us' to 'us versus the problem.' I want to take you back a few years. I was running a large organization, and we had great intentions. We wrote grants, we held galas, we sent letters to policymakers. We felt good about ourselves because we were doing the 'right' thing. But we were disconnected from the actual texture of need. I burned out because I was managing spreadsheets instead of people. I pivoted to grassroots organizing because I needed to get my hands dirty. And what I found on the ground was something my board meetings never showed me. I met a man named David. David is conservative. He votes differently than I do. He thinks my life’s work is misguided. But one Saturday, we were both stacking chairs at a community center for a free breakfast event. There were no cameras. No social media posts. Just us, lifting heavy metal chairs, sweating through our shirts. At one point, David stopped and said, 'Judy, I don’t agree with half the things you say, but I respect how hard you work.' That was it. That was the breakthrough. He didn’t become a progressive. I didn’t become a libertarian. But we became allies in that moment because we were sharing a burden. Service strips away the performance. It forces you to be present. And when you are present with someone, it is very hard to dehumanize them. Now, let’s get practical. Because I know what you might be thinking. 'Judy, I don’t have time for this. I’m overwhelmed. My own life is a mess.' I hear you. I am there with you. But service doesn’t have to be a full-time commitment to count. It doesn’t have to be heroic. It just has to be consistent. Start small. Find one local issue that is non-partisan. A park cleanup. A literacy program. A shelter for animals. Look for organizations that welcome anyone with two hands and a willing heart. And here is the key: show up repeatedly. Go once, and you’re a tourist. Go ten times, and you’re a neighbor. Consistency builds familiarity. Familiarity breeds empathy. Empathy builds bridges. You don’t need to convince anyone of anything. You just need to be there. To listen. To help. To share the silence. It sounds simple. Maybe even naive. But I promise you, it is the most radical act you can perform in a polarized world. It is a refusal to accept the lie that we are enemies. It is a daily practice of choosing connection over comfort. When you are serving alongside someone who sees the world differently than you, your instinct will be to correct them. To explain why they are wrong. Stop. Just stop. Put that aside. Your goal in those moments is not to educate. Your goal is to understand. Ask questions. Not interrogation-style questions, but genuine ones. 'What made you choose this path?' 'What are you afraid of?' 'What does a good life look like to you?' Listen to the answers without planning your rebuttal. This is difficult. I won’t lie to you. It hurts to hear things you disagree with. But if you can sit with that discomfort, if you can stay in the room when your ego wants to leave, you will learn more about your fellow citizens than any news cycle ever will. You will discover that beneath the political veneer, we are all terrified of being left behind. We all want dignity. We all want our children to be safe. These are universal desires. When you connect on that level, the politics becomes secondary. It becomes background noise. And suddenly, you have a friend who challenges you, yes, but who also cares about you. That is worth more than being right. We talk a lot about 'community care' as a feeling. Like it’s a warm hug or a nice sentiment. But true community care is a discipline. It is a muscle. It requires strength. It requires showing up when you don’t feel like it. It requires trusting that your neighbor will show up too. Building bridges across political divides is exactly that kind of disciplined love. It is not easy. It is messy. Sometimes you will fail. You will say the wrong thing. You will misinterpret someone’s intent. You will walk away angry. That’s okay. Apologize. Try again. Keep showing up. Because every time you choose service over snark, every time you choose collaboration over confrontation, you are weaving a stronger fabric. You are creating a network of support that can withstand the storms of polarization. And in the end, that is what matters. Not who wins the election, but whether we can still live together in peace. Whether we can still feed each other, clean each other’s streets, and celebrate each other’s joys. That is the good fight. And it is fought not with words, but with actions.