I have a modest proposal in our age of ever-deepening polarization.   My proposal is based on the idea of breaking bread with strangers, like the Pilgrims did with the Wampanoag tribe at Plymouth Colony. In the spirt of the First Thanksgiving, dwell on this for a minute. When Covid finally goes away, two coalitions (maybe  three hundred folks each), are formed, each composed of volunteers who think of  themselves as open-minded.  One coalition is made up  entirely of Progressives, while the second is entirely Conservatives. The two sides agree on a three monthlong period to get to know each other as human beings, not stereotypes—and in a very specific way.  Basic   organizational skills are required, as are cooking skills.  The Progressives invite small groups of Conservatives into their homes for dinner and the Conservatives invite Progressives into their homes for a hot meal. One glass of wine only. Politics cannot be discussed, if at all, until dessert in served.


 Over the years,i have seen more conflicts and disputes dissipate or even go away over delicious food and the accompanying hospitality.  Simple, yes.  Corny, not really.  Difficult to pull off?  Only if no one is serious about healing political wounds that are bleeding our democracy dry.    

​How has America gotten into such trouble in every way conceivable?  We ignore our astounding national debt, urban violence, race relations, women’s reproductive rights, free speech, gun rights, income inequality…the polarization is endless.  What I’m trying to fathom is our general reluctance or inability to handle these complex problem. I have a clue:  American exceptionalism. I find it one of the  most dangerously misleading phrases in our culture   Yes, our country does some things extremely well, better than the rest of the world, and Americans can be incredibly kind and generous.  But our exceptionalism has become a broad brush  for championing the good while ignoring the bad, a shield to hide behind when our country is  criticized for its narcissism, indifference and ignorance.  We rationalize that critical problems like climate change can’t be easily solved so why make the effort? "The technology will show up when it’s needed. My life is busy enough,” a friend of mine says.   


 We wallow in our exceptionalism, but we don’t back it up by tackling the tough stuff that requires sacrifice and stamina. Many of us don’t like “hard.” We definite “living in the moment” as something wonderful and In many ways the goal is admirable.  Yet when I think about slogans with honest roots,  I prefer “living for the future.”  In the meantime, we are the world’s biggest back slappers. We love to congratulate ourselves, give out participant trophies, and exult in our pursuit of happiness.   Like a lost tribe of dreamers, the path marked “most difficult” has little interest for us.  I propose we observe a moratorium on the phrase “American exceptionalism.”  If we’re going to embark on a positive future for all, how about “American wisdom.” 

The earlier book, The Beginners Guide to Winning an Election, about a no-holds-barred high school political campaign, began to strike me as having more plot and characterization potential than I could have foreseen three years ago. The ability of a cunning virus to devastate cities and their economies is matched by its power to create terror, depression, and anxiety about the unknown. Meanwhile, America’s age-old struggles over racial justice, income equality, women’s rights, and affordable education, to name a few, rage on. The will to find legislative compromises has given way to stalemates, distrust, and deviousness.  In addition, politics has taken on the aura and importance of religion.

My new novel, Cliffhanger, probes deeper into two, starkly different candidates in an Indiana high school election.  The year is 2030. The idealism and candor of novice politician Brit is no match for her experienced, charismatic opponent, Matthew, or his shoot-from-the-hip campaign manager, Nathan.  
 
There are good reasons never to bet against Matthew in any election, though few in the thousand-strong student body are aware of his and Nathan’s secrets for winning.
 
A revered and eccentric history teacher at the school has another take on the election. Without saying it out loud,  for fear of ridicule, Mr. Wilson believes  one of the two candidates  could be  pivotal in helping save civilization in the 21st Century.  A 16th-century mystic and prophet, Nostradamus, predicted that  in the year 2048 an elected government would deliberately create enough paranoia and anxiety  to chip away at everyone’s sanity.  
 
Years after  their high school graduation, Matthew and Brit separately come  to the same conclusion.  As they watch their school and home town collapse in unexpected ways, they form a team for protection.  A romance blossoms,  only to  erode from their clashing wills, but it revives when the two have to face a common enemy:  An annoying kid from high school has become a leader of a new political order with chilling intentions. 

​In the sequel, Apostles In Black (to be published fall 2021), lessons first learned in high school politics become a map to Mathew’s and Brit’s survival.
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​The police-caused death of George Floyd in Minneapolis last week may be the galvanizing point for real change this November.  I hope so.  Racism is on the ballot.   Like COVID-19, racism too is a virus, an invisible pathogen passed down from generation to generation.  It can hibernate from time to time, but in four centuries, it has never been dormant for long.  Please help kill this virus by voting.  Please study the history of the candidates. Please turn out the noise and listen to your mind and heart.  My novel, Once Upon a Lie, publlshed a few years ago,  was my small contribution to insights into  American  racism of the Eighties and Nineties.  I learned so much in writing it:   The kernel of the virus is always the same.  If you don’t have discussions with those who don’t agree with you what that kernel is—don’t give up. Keep talking, keep protesting without  violence. Having the courage to substitute dialog for polarization may save our democracy."

With only a few days before the much-anticipated midterms, my wife and I attended a small fundraiser for a 29-year-old Latina running for a seat on the Santa Maria City Council.  Gloria Soto is a political novice who, if she wins,  hopes to give voice to approximately 70 percent of the population of a city sixty-five miles north of Santa Barbara, home to Vandenberg Air Force Base and lots of productive farms reliant on inexpensive labor.  Most of the  approximately 73,000 Hispanics in Gloria’s city perch on the lower rungs of the economic ladder.  The city faces a significant deficit, underperforming public schools, lack of a plan for raising revenues, an inadequate social safety net, and a predominantly while, older city council. 
 
Gloria wants to challenge all that.  She describes herself as a fighter with a dream, and as I listened to her speak, I thought of the heroine of my novel, The Beginner’s Guide to Winning an Election.  My story takes places in Indiana in 2025, where politics is hostile and combative even in high schools, and my heroine, like Gloria, is a fledgling at what feels too often like a blood sport.  The two young women—one fictional, one real—merge in my mind.  They both run grass roots campaigns that combine instinct, courage ,and new ideas with  a refusal to be dissuaded  by those who tell them to quit, or wait their turn, or focus on some other future besides politics.   
 
   As a writer and, like so many others, a voyeur of American politics, I think it’s the youth that have the best chance of saving our struggling democracy.  In assessing any candidate, I frown on the tyranny of ideology and agendas, and celebrate those who embrace  common sense and pragmatic solutions.  I want to see candidates who reject excuses for apathy at the polls, and view public service as the highest calling that a democracy can offer. Getting elected can be more difficult than going to med school or becoming a particle physicist.  Maybe that’s why so many people young people shy from politics, but those who want  to climb the mountain, and aren’t afraid of challenging the status quo, they deserve my support.

​In 2017, I began wondering how the new political norms in Washington would filter down to a  public high school election, say, in 2025.  I made middle-of-the-night notes.  Then I put those notes into  pages.  Then I made the pages into a novel.  Then I rewrote the story a half dozen times… until I began to see how it could all come true.