Thomas Jahn, Handelsblatt
New York Four youths with white wigs, rococo jackets and candlesticks step into the hall. They are followed by the 20 dance couples, all in their mid-twenties. A conférencier reads out their names. The lady makes a curtsey, the flowing, white dress opens up. At the same time, the gentleman, no less solemnly dressed in a black coat and white vest, bows white gloves, a flower on the lapels.
Seven additional leaders from across civic life, education, public service, media, and social innovation have agreed to join a growing group of Americans standing publicly behind a simple but increasingly urgent idea: our country can navigate deep differences without sacrificing either conviction or respect.
Growing up in the eighties, his family moved all around the Midwest as his parents chased down steady, blue-collar work: factory jobs, construction, truck driving, whatever could pay the bills. “We were always poor,” Wilk said. And whether they were in Iowa, South Dakota, Colorado, or Minnesota, he often found himself on the outs. “It didn’t matter which side of the tracks we were on,” he said. “It was always the wrong side of the tracks.”
A native of Boulder, Colorado, Mia didn’t know many Trump supporters—and she was nervous to engage with them. “I was like, ‘Don’t they hate women? Don’t they hate black people?’” she said. “That was my initial belief because that’s what I had heard about people who voted for Trump.” But she quickly realized she was wrong. During the first Braver Lens session, Mia was able to connect with conservatives in the group and recognize their points of commonality. “When we met, they showed their pictures, and explained their life stories, and I was able to see where our values overlap,” she said.
