Welcome back to another episode of Diplomacy
and Discourse. Today, I want to speak with you
about two words that are so often repeated, but
rarely practiced with any real depth. Diplomacy
and Discourse. These are not just political terms
reserved for heads of states and ambassadors
in faraway capitals. They are survival tools
for societies, for communities, and for individuals
who must learn to live with differences. And
at this moment, as we reflect on the passing
of conservative activist Charlie Kirk, it becomes
painfully clear that these tools are eroding
right when we need them the most. No one should
die because of their opinions. No one should
be reduced to a headline on social media or a
cause for celebration by those who disagree with
them. There are things that I do agree with Charlie
Kirk, and there are things that I don't see eye
to eye with. In fact, I disagree with many things,"
he said. But disagreement is not a crime, and
difference is not an offense punishable by death,
violence, or celebration when tragedy comes.
He was a man who voiced his convictions. And
in a democracy worth its name, we need people
willing to voice their convictions. even if half
the country rolls their eyes at them. That is
part of the deal. That is part of freedom. But
look around, and it's hard to avoid the sense
that freedom of thought is being replaced with
tribalism, partisanship, and vitriol. We live
under a dual -party system in America that is
meant to simplify governance, but has instead
compressed the full spectrum of human complexity
down to two shallow buckets, left and right,
Republican or Democrat, conservative or progressive.
But no single person's identity, beliefs, or
conscience fits neatly into those two boxes.
And yet, we are forced to act as if they do.
The result? is a society where vast portions
of the population view each other not only as
political opponents, but as existential threats.
Our geography is divided. Many neighborhoods
are politically homogeneous, entire states lean
decisively one way or the other, and fewer people
encounter genuine opposition in their daily lives.
Religion, rather than standing as a bridge between
people of different politics, is too often harnessed
as a fault line. Race, gender, sexuality, and
language, all of them become battle fronts instead
of enriching features of a diverse society. In
this two -bucket world, our information becomes
sorted by allegiance. The news you watch. The
podcasts you hear. The social feeds you scroll
on is often curated by invisible algorithms that
prioritize outrage because outrage keeps you
engaged. Over time, this doesn't simply give
you a perspective. It encloses you in a reality.
You and your neighbor can live on the same street,
share the same weather, pay the same taxes, and
yet inhabit fundamentally different worlds of
facts. And once facts diverge, Persuasion becomes
nearly impossible. Discussion devolves into accusation,
and accusation escalates into contempt. The mechanics
of our politics deepen this sorting. Gerrymandered
districts reduce competitive elections, rewarding
the loudest and most ideological voices in primaries
while punishing compromise. Media personalities
and influencers discover that controversy converts
attention into currency, and nuance is a poor
business model. Even well -meaning leaders begin
to speak in absolutes because absolutes win the
day online. What gets lost is the quiet work
of bridge building, the kind of unglamorous conversations
that produce trust, which is the true infrastructure
When we speak about the risk of division, what
we are really talking about is the potential
for conflict not just on social media, but in
the streets. Civil wars are not born in a single
day. They grow year after year in the soil of
mistrust, anger, humiliation, and a refusal to
engage with differences. And as you can see,
the signs are all around us if you look closely.
The contempt in people's voices when they describe
the other side. The way friendships dissolve
online. The way families fracture at the dinner
table during election years. We have become addicted
to the idea that one half of the country is the
villain and the other half the savior. And we
forget that villains and saviors rarely exist
in the real world. What exists are human beings,
complicated, flawed, sometimes wise, sometimes
foolish. Human beings who need one another more
than they want to admit. History offers warnings
as well as remedies. Societies that drift into
internal conflict share familiar patterns. factional
media ecosystems, leaders who profit from division,
a shrinking middle that grows exhausted and silent,
and a normalization of political intimidation
as a tool. But history also shows that de -escalation
is possible through cross -cutting institutions,
shared projects that transcend party, and rituals
of civic life that remind people they belong
to something larger than a faction. Town halls.
Community service. Joint problem -solving around
local issues. These are not mere niceties. They
are inoculations against violence. Another lesson
is that pressure needs release valves. If grievances
have nowhere to go but the internet, they ferment.
Productive discourse gives those grievances form
and direction. When people can speak and be heard,
truly heard, the temperature drops. This is why
rules of fair debate, the presence of trusted
moderators, and the practice of steelmanning
the opposing view are not academic exercises.
They are techniques for keeping pluralism intact
under strain. They transform confrontation into
conversation. Finally, we have to recognize the
role of what some call conflict entrepreneurs,
actors who benefit from keeping us angry. Their
incentives are not alignment, but adrenaline.
The antidote is building alternative incentives
into our civic and media life. rewarding leaders
who build coalitions, elevating outlets that
verify rather than inflame, and personally choosing
to share content that illuminates more than it
incites. Each microchoice pushes culture either
toward the brink or back from it. Overlay this
division with something else. The silent epidemic
of mental strain. Anxiety, depression, loneliness,
addiction. These are not isolated problems. They
are everywhere, and they touch every demographic.
Some of this is fueled by the digital lives we
live, scrolling through endless feeds of outrage,
curated to make us angry or afraid. Some of it
flows from economic insecurity, the feeling that
jobs, wages, and futures are slipping further
out of reach. And some of it comes from the weakening
of the institutions that used to provide community,
like churches, clubs, civic organizations, extended
families. In that empty space, politics has taken
root. When you don't know where else to find
meaning, identity, and solidarity, politics start
to do the work religion or family once did. The
problem is that politics, by its very nature,
is about competition and conflict. And when fragile
minds and lonely hearts go looking for refuge
in competition and conflict, despair deepens.
Anger sharpens and division grows. We are also
living through a profound crisis of attention.
The average day is carved into a thousand alerts,
each demanding a response, each fragmenting our
focus. Neuroscience tells us that constant context
switching floods the brain with stress hormones,
leaving us jumpy irritable, and less capable
of sustained thought. The very state in which
propaganda thrives. Couple that with social comparisons
that make us feel inadequate, and you have a
recipe for chronic dissatisfaction. In that condition,
the simplest narratives, blame them, hate them,
feel like relief. Complexity begins to feel like
a threat. There are practical countermeasures.
Individuals can adopt digital Sabbaths, curate
feeds that include credible voices from across
the spectrum, and replace doom -scrolling with
deliberate reading and real conversation. Communities
can expand access to mental health resources,
create third spaces where people gather without
a partisan purpose, and teach media literacy
that emphasizes verification over virality. None
of this eliminates conflict, but it increases
our capacity to handle it without breaking. This
is where the decline of diplomacy and discourse
becomes so dangerous. Diplomacy is not just the
language of foreign ministers negotiating over
treaties. It is the language of neighbors who
learn to coexist. This is the art of saying,
I don't agree with you, but I will live alongside
you anyway. It is the commitment to relationships
in spite of disagreements. And discourse is more
than debate. It is the refusal to walk away from
the conversation. The insistence that dialogue
must continue even when agreement seems impossible.
Discourse is slow. It is hard. And it is messy.
But democracy collapses without it. Because democracy
is not built on victory. It is built on exchange.
It rests on the understanding that the shared
table is more important than the argument happening
at it. And here is the painful irony. We need
voices like Charlie Kirk. Not because we must
agree with everything he said. Far from it. But
because without voices from the right, the left
cannot see its blind spots. Without liberal voices,
conservatives cannot measure their own extremes.
In the friction between perspectives, society
finds balance. It is not harmony, but tension
that keeps things together. Imagine a tent with
only one pole. It collapses. but stretch it between
poles pulling in opposite directions, and suddenly
the structure stands tall. That is what discourse
provides. A framework held in tension, strong
because of its disagreements, not in spite of
them. We should also be honest that engaging
across divides is emotionally taxing. It asks
us to accept this comfort, as the cost of citizenship.
A useful practice is to begin with shared values
rather than contested policies. Safety, dignity,
opportunity, fairness. If we can agree on the
destination, we can debate the route with less
suspicion. Another practice is charitable interpretation.
Assuming the best version of an opponent's intent,
unless proven otherwise. It's not naive. It is
strategic. Trust is the cheapest form of social
glue. There are encouraging models to borrow
from. Cross -partisan citizen assemblies, community
mediation programs, and campus forums that require
participants to articulate their opponent's view
to their opponent's satisfaction before offering
a rebuttal. These structures slow the conversation
down so understanding can form before judgment
hardens. They do not erase differences, but they
make disagreement safer and therefore more sustainable.
On a personal level, we can diversify our media
diets the way a good doctor diversifies nutrition.
Avoid all sugar outrage. Add sources that challenge
you, and verify before you share. We can invite
someone we disagree with to coffee and sat ground
rules. Question first, no interruptions, summarize
before responding. And we can model a tone that
refuses mockery, even when it would be easy.
Because mockery is the gateway drug to dehumanization.
That is why celebrating the death of someone
with whom we disagreed is not only unkind, it
is destructive. It teaches us to think of political
adversaries not as fellow citizens, but as enemies
unworthy of human dignity. And once you start
down that path, it is not long before words become
weapons and weapons spill real blood. The silencing
of voices through tragedy or the celebration
of that silencing, is the opposite of discourse.
It is the opposite of democracy. So where are
we left? We are left with a choice. We can continue
to reduce ourselves to characters, turning every
election into an existential death match, every
disagreement into a war of annihilation, or we
can do something far harder. We can insist on
practicing daily diplomacy. We can choose to
pause before dehumanizing someone online. We
can allow ourselves to hear voices we dislike
without celebrating their misfortune. We can
choose to protect the shared table, even when
the conversation at that table drives us mad.
Because the alternative is the collapse of conversation
altogether. and when words no longer bind us,
violence often takes their place. The death of
Charlie Kirk is a moment not for gloating, but
for reflection. To reflect on who we are becoming
and how far we have strayed from the promise
of democracy. It is an opportunity to recommit
ourselves not to agreement, but to dialogue.
Not to uniformity, but to coexistence. Because
the health of a democracy has never been measured
by the sameness of its voices, but by its ability
to hold together voices profoundly different.
That is the work of discourse. That is the work
of democracy. And it is the work we cannot abandon.
Thank you for sharing this time with me today
on the Diplomacy in Discourse podcast. Until
next time, let's commit to keeping diplomacy
alive, keeping discourse alive, and most of all,
keeping our humanity alive. Rest in peace, Charlie
Kirk.