Freedom of Speech for Thee, and for Me

You never know who you’ll sit next to on an airplane.

It had been over 10 years since I boarded a plane. It was the second time in my life I had the great fortune of traveling in first class, all thanks to our generous son, who sat next to his dad on the other side of the aisle from my window seat. My plan had been to dive into my book, but after exchanging a few pleasantries with the gentleman next to me, we launched into a captivating, nonstop conversation that made three hours fly by.

At face value, we had little in common. He’s the CEO of a national corporation that provides professional services to large nonprofit organizations — and you know what I do. But as it turned out, we shared many similarities, such as families who emigrated to North America after fleeing northern European countries that fell behind Stalin’s Iron Curtain, the spoils of joining the Allied nations to defeat Hitler’s Germany.

Unlike my family, his is Jewish. Neither of our families spoke English, but learned quickly and worked hard to get established in the U.S. My grandmother worked as a tailor, and my grandfather worked part-time while finishing college and later seminary to become a Methodist minister. Despite being married with three young boys, his mother insisted on finishing college, becoming a librarian, and eventually an honored national archivist. Both families thrived at last in the 1950s.

The conversation cautiously veered into politics, but while we discovered our views differed, we easily agreed that the loss of civility was an unacceptable result of endless toxic campaigning driving communities apart. Freedom of speech, as well as freedom of the press (his wife was a journalist for over 30 years), were also areas where we found complete agreement.

We discovered that we both feel guided by a moral compass to do the right thing, with or without practicing any religion, or having none at all.

He raised his children in the Jewish faith, not because he was particularly devout but rather to instill values that religion can deliver. I grew up attending church with my grandparents despite the fact that my parents rarely did. Freedom of worship is vital to the autonomy of any secular civilized nation.

We agreed that a nation based on the rule of law is essential to democracy to advance a common truth. Honor, integrity, and decorum provide the basis of reconciliation, if not the beginning of defining common goals.

Neither of us cast our presidential vote for the same person or party. It didn’t matter. We still found remarkable common ground. By the end of our flight, he told me he travels frequently and typically puts on his headphones to tune out the world and whoever is seated by his side. But something made him feel more open to conversation. We both found the experience a delightful reaffirmation of the power in thoughtful practice of civility, which includes listening above all. Instead of talking politics and making enemies, we spoke of our real lives and found real human beings in one another — not evil monsters or useful idiots. We exchanged contact information and hugged before parting.

When I heard about a protest in Key Center April 19, I grabbed my press badge and camera to go see for myself.

I counted just over 100 people. Many stood while some others were seated, holding signs with various messages, and many were waving flags. The bulk of protesters lined the sidewalk from the corner at Olson Drive NW down to Sunnycrest Nursery, with a smaller group of a dozen or so standing on the opposite side of the highway near the stoplight. One gentleman wrapped himself in a big, beautiful vintage American flag he treasured.

A grandmother held a sign: “I need to be able to tell my grandchildren I did not stay silent.” A flag-waving veteran held another: “Love America, Not Dictators.” A grandfather was seated on a walker with his sign, “No Kings except B.B.” A woman carried her sign,“Grow a Spine Congress, Defend Our Constitution.” There was “Liberty and Justice for All.” “Tyranny is at our Door.” “When Injustice Becomes Law Resistance is Our Duty.” A cancer survivor, who refused to stay home, carried a large handmade sign: “Democracy, Not Dictatorship.”

All the while, travelers drove by slowly, honking, smiling, and waving. Others respectfully looked straight ahead and paid no attention. One man who drove his work truck made three passes, each time revving his engine and filling the intersection with smoky exhaust. I saw several men driving hot muscle cars who revved their engines loud enough to make some protesters jump.

People were respectful, and many appreciated seeing that they weren’t alone but determined to gather in protest.

We all have a right to free speech and to assemble, at least for now. But it’s not signs and slogans that move hearts and minds. Continuing to talk and listen can work miracles.