2025 is coming to a close, and now, more than ever before, I feel the pull to go inward and reflect on where we are, where we have come from and where we are heading. “We” means ‘me’ and it also means the collective human ‘we’. Even Scrooge saw the light and drew some important lessons on how to take stock (albeit the hard way!) of his life and began to let gratitude, joy and generosity guide him.

Quechee Lakes creator, John Davidson, always envisioned a
snowy scene with horse-drawn wagons.

Despite the prevailing messages in the airwaves highlighting our apparent irreconcilable, conflicting differences, essentially all humans want the same things. Thus the reason ‘words of wisdom’ and clichés exist – because they often ring universally true for every human. So, please view the cliché sprinkles and (mixed) metaphors as words of wisdom meant to connect us – the cherry on top, so to speak!

Personally, like many people around the world, I sense the darkness that seems to hang over almost all corners of the globe. It’s easy to get caught up in the negativity, the name-calling, the shouting matches, the violence we witness multiple times a day on mainstream media. What’s much harder, but much healthier, is to just stop the rain from falling on you. Put up your umbrella, close your windows, batten down the hatches. Shield yourself from the pelting negativity that wears down your joie de vivre. As individuals, we have the power to focus on what’s good and what’s working, and to clear away the clouds so the sun may shine brightly on all of the good that happens everywhere, every day.

Mrs. Fogg’s answer in 1973 Quechee Times.

This is my “why” for Greater Good Media, and the reason I make sure that each of my papers publishes stories that uplift and inspire. The mission is to focus on all that’s good at the local level and then let the laws of physics take it from there. Pretty soon, the positive energy created through the good-news stories will emanate out generating a ripple effect that grows exponentially. Or, like the butterfly effect, by highlighting one small flutter of community kindness here, positive change may be felt in much bigger ways in a distant land.

We can be the change we want to see. And, in this season of slowing down, gathering together and taking stock, we absolutely can tune out the noise, shift our priorities and give peace a chance.

Awe

It’s time to witness and immerse yourself in moments of pure “awe.” One of the best ways to do this is to actually stop and smell the roses or marvel at what’s right in front of you. In those moments, all is calm and all is truly bright.

When you see a sunset as awe-inspiring and beautiful as this one pictured here (as seen from a window in a Ridge condo), you cannot help but stare in silence at the miracle that is before you. A deep sense of gratitude envelops your being – you’re grateful for the privilege of living in this beautiful part of the world… in this community. You’re grateful for the people in your life who may be sharing this moment of beauty with you. You are grateful for being alive on this extraordinary planet during this incredible time in human history.

Jennifer Lorin (MacMillen) was the snowfl ake in the Christmas production at the Quechee Grammar School in 1974 (now the UV Waldorf School).

Gratitude

Santa visits Quechee

Which brings me to gratitude. Last night, I watched a documentary called Gratitude Revealed by filmmaker Louie Schwartzberg (who also produced Fantastic Fungi). Essentially, the film “reveals how practicing gratitude can help us reconnect with ourselves, the Earth, and one another in a world where disconnection often prevails. It reminds us that happiness is a choice we can nurture.” (Gaia TV)

As you gather together for Thanksgiving and Christmas, or any other holiday and tradition you celebrate throughout the year, remind yourself that happiness is a choice. Now a cliché clarion call, allowing yourself to feel truly grateful for what you have in this moment, even in times of darkness, you will feel your flicker of light and hope emerge and, if you continue to fan the flame of gratitude moment by moment, you will become the light that brings people back to safety…back home. And what can invoke a greater feeling of personal happiness and contentment than to be a beacon of light for others!

Working Together and Sharing for the Common Good

And it’s true: these times feel like we are on a rickety wooden ship in the middle of the ocean with an ominous, powerful storm a-brewing. Dark clouds, high winds, nothing stable to hold onto; uncertain future. But, the good news is, when we have all hands on deck and we pull together and balance our weight, we can right the ship and be ready to recalibrate our course when the storm passes. And the storm always passes.

Joy

Dalai Lama, Doug Abrams, and Archbishop Desmond Tutu

What is joy? It can easily be mistaken for the fun times we have or the thrill of experiencing or receiving something new. But, in fact, those are just dopamine hits. Joy is that feeling in your chest when your heart is open and fear is at bay and you can be vulnerable and feel safe at the same time. It’s in these moments when generosity can flow through us. And, in order to have joy yourself, you must bring joy to others. Or so says His Holiness the Dalai Lama and the late Archbishop Desmond Tutu.

One of the best books I’ve ever listened to is called the Book of Joy wherein journalist and author Doug Abrams reveals what joy really looks like in his conversations with these two Nobel Prize winners about how they cultivated joy even in the face of extreme adversity. If you need some help reclaiming joy this holiday season, listen to this book and be prepared for your heart to fill up and overflow!

Peace

The ultimate cliché is revealed by the fact that practically every pageant queen ever asked says that their one greatest wish is for “peace on Earth.” Why is that? Because who doesn’t want peace on Earth? It’s time to bring that back and make it everyone’s greatest wish. It’s time to make Peace On Earth our top priority. It’s time to shine the light on all the good. It’s time to call out and celebrate every act of kindness. It’s time to catch our kids doing what’s “right” (and just). It’s time to be the change we want to see in the world.

Left: Dewey & Maisie, the author’s daughters, 1999. Center: Jen & Andy (right), 1968. Right: Andy Lorin had a degenerative disease that would never allow him to drive, so Santa gave him a go-cart. There wasn’t a dry eye as we witnessed his pure elation when seeing the surprise “under the tree.”

So, as we head into this season of stillness and chaos, joy and stress, love and madness… all of it, stop to reflect and smell the roses (and pine needles)…

Let’s find magic in gathering together again. Let’s feel awe in this season of stillness. Let’s be grateful for being alive. Let’s feel joy as we witness innocence and pure delight in the faces of our collective children, and let’s then radiate that joy out to the world. Let there be peace on Earth. And let it begin with me.

In 1995 I went to the ER with a kidney stone.  When asked about my family medical history, I was truly at a loss for words.  I had no idea about my biological family.  My little sister, Kate, and I were adopted by the Schmidts when I was six.  Their biology was not my biology.  I knew I had to go looking for the Sullivans.

Mark Sullivan and his wife Nancy Curtis on Quechee Highland #8

I had started school, kindergarten, as Mark Sullivan.  Kate and I had lived with several different families in foster care, but I had vague memories of a young boy, a brother perhaps, and I making cinnamon toast, and making a mess in the process.  I knew I was born in Batavia, NY on October 20, 1955, and – through a background check for a military security clearance – I’d been told that our mother died young, our father was unable to care for us, and we were put up for adoption.  End of story.

Adoption records in New York state are sealed, and it takes an Act of God to unseal them.  I knew that birth announcements were printed in daily newspapers.  Through my college classes, including media law, I also knew the government could not erase what had been printed in the newspaper.  Many libraries keep archives of newspapers, so I called the Richmond Library in Batavia New York and asked if they kept copies of old newspapers.  The answer was yes!  I asked the librarian if she could send me copies of my birth announcement and my sister’s birth announcement.  She agreed, and a few days later I nervously opened the envelope that arrived from the Library.

Kate, Carol, and Mark 1960

The announcement said that I was the son of Patricia Ronan Sullivan and John Joseph Sullivan.  Clues! There are probably hundreds of thousands of John Joseph Sullivans in the world, but there are far fewer Ronans.  My then-fiancé, now wife, Nancy Curtis, a budding internet researcher got online (dial-up at that time) and searched for Ronans in Batavia.  She came up with one, Bernard.  Number in hand, I nervously called Bernard Ronan.

“Mr. Ronan,” I said, “my name is Mark Schmidt, I am calling from Tampa, Florida, and I’m not selling anything.  I was born in Batavia and was later adopted.  I have just learned that my mother’s name was Patricia Ronan Sullivan.  Does that name mean anything to you?”  He replied, “No, I’m sorry, it doesn’t.  But I’m not from here.  Let me get you the number of Thomas Ronan who is a Batavia native.”  I thanked him, he wished me luck, and I was on to the next call. “May I speak with Thomas Ronan?”  I asked.  “Junior or Senior?” the voice responded.  “Senior, I suppose.”  “This is Thomas Senior.”  I went through my dialogue.  “Does this name mean anything to you?”  There was a pause.  He said, “Yes, Pat was my sister, and we’ve been looking for you for twenty-five years.”  I had found them!!  He continued, “Your brother, Jim, is going to go out of his mind.”  I had a brother!  Three telephone calls and I had found my family!  Though, only half of it, so far.

Thomas explained that Jim was an over-the-road truck driver and would not be at home, but his then fiancé, now wife, Karen, would get the message to him.  Phone call number four, message left on an answering machine.  “My name is Mark Schmidt and if you’re wondering why you should call me back, I’m your brother.”

I was on the phone with a client when Jim called back.  Nancy answered and chatted with him.  He shared that he’d gotten a message to call home, which was unusual.  Karen would only reach out while he was driving if it was an emergency.  He pulled off the road and called home.  Karen said, “Your brother called.”  Jim responded, “what does Donnie want now??” thinking it was his troubled younger brother.  Karen replied, “Not Donnie.  Mark.”  There was silence.  Jim, who is never at a loss for words, was speechless.  “Mark?” he croaked.  “Where is he?  Do you have a number?”

Jim, Jack, and Mark in 1996

“My heart is beating so hard I think it’s going to jump out of my chest,” Jim told Nancy.  She explained to Jim the recent circumstances, trip to the ER, call to the librarian, birth notice, Bernard Ronan, and the conversation with Uncle Tom.  When I got off my call, I took Jim’s call, for the next hour and one-half.  Two days later, Jim, driving the cab of a semi-rig, showed up at our home for a long-awaited reunion.

Nancy asked Jim about “cinnamon toast.”  He burst out laughing.  “We made such a mess, and got into so much trouble!”  “But,” he added, “it was worth it!”

I always wondered who I looked like.  Now I had an idea.  Jim was taller, we both had the same blue eyes. (I have more hair, and am more handsome.)  While I had more “formal” education, Jim is no slouch in the intellect department.  He’d enlisted in the Marines after high school, studied engineering, and wanted to become a doctor so he could “fix” his mother.

Jim stayed overnight, and had arranged to pick up a trailer in the area (long-haul trucker-speak for driving a truck full of whatever from Point-A to Point-B.)   His visit was the tip of the iceberg.  In addition to Jim, I had two half-sisters and a half-brother, whose father was not John Sullivan.  So, my mother had not died when I was young.  Instead, on the day that Children and Family Services took Kate and I, Jim was over at Grandfather Ronan’s house, and the younger children were with their biological father, otherwise they, too, would have gone into foster care.

I asked Jim about our father, John Sullivan. He shared that he had been taught to hate him.  Our mother, Pat, said he was a terrible person and didn’t care about his children, and he’d abandoned them.  We were soon to learn the truth of it all.

Mark and Jim in 1995

Jim knew that John Sullivan, called Jack by friends and family, had been born in Manhattanville, NY and had a twin brother.  Nancy scoured databases, sent out hundreds of emails to Sullivans in New York, but no leads surfaced.  I read online about a couple who helped adoptees find their families.  She was an adoptee, and he was a private detective.  I reached out to them with the information I had available, and a few hours later received a call.  They had found Jack, retired from the telephone company, and living in Diana, Texas, a small East Texas town, with the closest airport in Shreveport, Louisiana.

I was back on the telephone, with the same dialogue, Mark Schmidt, Tampa, FL, not selling anything… only this time I said, “I am your son.”  “My prayers have been answered,” Jack responded.  “I have liver cancer, and was supposed to be dead by now.  I have been praying to find you and Jim, and your sister, Kate.”

A few days later, I landed at the Shreveport Airport, and in the waiting room I saw myself staring back at me, albeit older and jaundiced from liver failure, but me, same eyes, height, hair, bone structure.  Now I knew who I looked like.  And the flood gates opened…

Sullivans!!  Who knew how many there would be?  Uncles, an aunt, a hoard of cousins, all with the same eyes, and dry sense of humor.  Warm and welcoming, as if we’d spent our lives together.  Jack had a twin brother, Tim, [who was] retired from the NYPD as a motorcycle cop.  He and his wife, a nurse, had six children, biological and adopted, who were all in law enforcement and healthcare.  All in the New York City area.

Jack in 1996

Then there were the “Texas Sullivans.”  Jack had been married several times, currently to number three, and had four children from those relationships, two biological and two adopted.  I needed a genealogical chart! The Christmas card list just increased by about fifty.

Jim arrived in Texas for Father’s Day weekend. I stayed home because Jim had history with Jack that needed to be discussed between the two of them.  When Jim inquired about why Jack abandoned them, Jack was hesitant to share his version of the story.  “Your mother isn’t here to defend herself, so I’m not comfortable talking about it,” Jack told Jim.  “But I never forgot you. I sent presents at Christmas, and cards for your birthdays.”  Jim was surprised, as he’d never received any of them.  Jim was finally successful in persuading Jack to tell his version of the story.

Jack had come home one evening from work and found his belongings on the porch.  Pat had met someone “more interesting” and that was Jack’s invitation to go away.  He went to see her father for some guidance, but was told, “She’s made her decision.  You need to leave.”  So, he left, and they divorced.  But he’d never forgotten his children, Jim and Mark, and Kate, whom he acknowledged as his, even though she was dark-eyed and looked nothing like the rest of the Sullivans.

Sadly, Jack died two months later.  Jim and I were both there for the service. We’d had the opportunity to put the missing pieces of our lives together, and were grateful for the time we’d had with our father, even though it was brief.  I now had a biological family!  And my own family medical history as a bonus!

Mark Sullivan and Nancy Curtis are Florida residents who spend Hurricane Season (May-November) in Quechee.  They enjoy travel, Quechee Lakes’ two challenging golf courses, and Mark appreciates a “good cigar and a friendly round of poker.”

Publisher’s Note: “Wisdom Stories” is an ongoing column featuring the life, times, and wisdom of Theron Boyd, a Quechee old timer in the 1970s, as told by an unlikely best friend, Chris Clark, a teenager at the time. If you have any ‘Theron’ stories you would like to contribute, contact the Quechee Times at editor@quecheetimes.com.

Theron Boyd

Fifty years ago, our great nation was preparing to celebrate its Bicentennial. The air was filled with excitement – news of the Tall Ships touring the East Coast and mooring in Newport for the Fourth of July, parades marching through the streets, fireworks lighting up the summer sky. After years of protest and division over forced busing in Boston and the unpopular war in Vietnam, I remember feeling a renewed sense of patriotism, an awakening of unity after long discord.

My mother had remarried and moved to Rhode Island. She urged me to leave Quechee and come visit to see the Tall Ships, promising it was a once-in-a-lifetime event. She was right, of course, but I decided to stay in Vermont.

At sixteen, I was tapped into the Vermont life and drew from it like a sugar maker draws sap from a maple – an endless flow of inspiration running through the flues of my young imagination.

In the three years I had known Theron, I had grown to love his way of breaking into song – an Indian maiden named Red Wing, The Ballad of Barbara Fritchie waving her flag at General Stonewall Jackson, or his powerful recitation of The Gettysburg Address. If you closed your eyes, you could almost believe Abraham Lincoln himself was speaking from the back of a train.

I found many old poetry books in the abandoned buildings of Quechee. I fell in love with reading poems and hearing them read aloud, and soon I was encouraged to write my own.

I remember sitting in a booth at my dad’s restaurant, The Food Caboose, at the Gorge. Hugh Laughlin, from Scotland By The Yard, was there and asked what I was working on. I told him I was trying to write a poem about Theron Boyd. “What do you see?” he asked. “Circles,” I said. “Where?” he asked. “Around the old man’s eyes.” He smiled. “Keep going.”

My high school English teacher, Bob Velleca, read my poem and, without telling me, submitted it to a national poetry contest for the Bicentennial. I had no idea until it was announced that Circles had won.

The poem was published in Young America Sings, a national anthology, and placed into the time capsule inside the Washington Monument in 1976.

Theron was deeply touched that our poem had been recognized. He encouraged me to keep reciting Circles and to continue writing the Vermont poems and songs that flowed from those early days.

Now, fifty years later, I’m still writing – and it’s comforting to know that a small piece of Quechee history, and of Theron Boyd himself, rests sealed in time, beneath the stone of the Washington Monument.

Circles

Circles around an old man’s eyes,
That meet at a line
When he squints in the sun,
Are circles of knowledge
And a time gone by.
He whittled the cheese with a rusty old knife,
Told tales of an early life,
Enticed my imagination with the words he spoke
of how the fields were plowed with an ox and yoke.
Circles round an old man’s eyes,
That meet at a line
When he squints in the sun
Are circles of knowledge
And a time gone by.
I sat, he talked and reminisced,
Felt cheated of those days I had missed.
Circles around an old man’s eyes…
~ Chris Clark , Quechee, Vermont, 1976

Throughout American history, students have sought to shape the decisions affecting their future. From the young women who organized for suffrage in the early 1900s to the students who filled the streets during the Civil Rights Movement, their determination has left a lasting mark on democracy. Today, that legacy continues in Vermont through the Vermont State Youth Council (VSYC), which gives students a formal role in shaping state policy and a direct seat at the table with Governor Phil Scott and the Legislature.

Ezra and Senator Peter Welch

Youth voice in government got its start during the Great Depression, when First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt launched the American Youth Congress (AYC). By bringing young people into the national conversation for the first time, the AYC united thousands of young Americans to advocate for their rights, presenting their “Declaration of the Rights of American Youth” to Congress.

Although national institutions like the AYC faded after the 1940s, the idea that young people had a stake in public life continued to grow. In the late 1950s, the Electric Cooperative Youth Tour began sending high school students to Washington, D.C. to learn about government firsthand. In the 1960s, students pushed government to be more responsive to youth, with groups like Students for a Democratic Society.

The modern wave of youth councils began in 2002, when Maine established the first Legislative Youth Advisory Council with statutory authority. It was a groundbreaking model: students meeting with lawmakers, submitting recommendations, and even drafting policy. Other states soon followed suit, including Wisconsin, New Mexico, and New Hampshire. Vermont joined this movement in 2022, when lawmakers passed Act 109, creating the Vermont State Youth Council.

Ezra and Representative Becca Balint

The VSYC is a diverse group of 28 students, at least one from each county, who advise the Governor and General Assembly annually on issues affecting young Vermonters. Members serve on subcommittees ranging from Education and Equity to Climate Change, Mental Health, and Youth Voice. Their work includes everything from surveys and public hearings to presenting recommendations directly to legislators.

“The State Youth Council is all about creating a more inclusive democracy in Vermont by providing youth an opportunity to directly participate in policymaking,” said Brianne Smith, Youth Engagement Coordinator at Vermont Afterschool, a nonprofit dedicated to strengthening afterschool programs, building partnerships, and facilitating the Council’s engagement with the Governor and Legislature.

Among the students appointed this year is Ezra Tane, a Quechee resident and freshman at Hartford High School, who will represent Windsor County for the next three years. Ezra has already stepped into leadership roles through the Hartford Community Coalition, and earlier this year he traveled to Washington, D.C. to attend the National CADCA Forum, where he spoke with Vermont’s congressional delegation, Senators Bernie Sanders and Peter Welch, and Representative Becca Balint, about issues facing youth.

Ezra and Senator Bernie Sanders

“I’m excited to be on the Youth Council because it’s a chance to affect a lot of the youth in Vermont in a positive way,” said Ezra. As a member of the Education Committee, Ezra added, “One thing I hope to achieve is to get a Student Assistance Provider in every single middle and high school in Vermont.”

In many ways, Ezra’s hopes echo the same determination that has driven youth movements for generations, turning everyday experiences into proposals for change. Vermont’s State Youth Council continues that legacy, channeling the interests of today’s students into meaningful influence on state policy.

For the next generation of Vermonters, the message is clear: youth have always left their mark on democracy, and their voices today can chart the path for the state and nation they will one day inherit.

Abenaki Garden

On August 30, 2025, the Abenaki Three Sisters Garden, on what was once the Quechee Polo Field, had its first open house. This was in part made possible by the Hartford 250th Commemoration Committee and was the first in a series of events that will occur through July 4, 2027. Earl Hatley, visionary and hands-on “in the dirt” manager of the garden, was pleased to report that over one hundred people attended the event, including Hartford select board members, Quechee Lakes Landowners (QLLA) Board representatives, and social justice and environmental groups.

As an enrolled member of Vermont’s Missisquoi band of Abenaki people, Earl wanted more than words to honor the indigenous people of Vermont’s history. Having agricultural expertise in his own “roots,” Earl envisioned the Abenaki Garden. The garden is truly a labor of love. Earl noted that this year woodchucks were munching away and he had to replant several times.

Earl has plans for spring plantings and will expand the garden another twenty feet with pawpaws, plums, and ground nuts. These trees will be surrounded by guild plants. Plant guilds work in a symbiotic relationship with the trees, forming a cooperative ecosystem. Such plants may be pollinators, nitrogen fixers, ground covers, or dynamic accumulators that have deep roots that bring minerals to the soil.

“The more we can grow, the more we can help the need [in the community],” says Earl, who considers the garden a response to food insecurity. The garden is also an educational resource for the surrounding community to learn about Abenaki culture.

In addition, the Abenaki Garden works cooperatively with the Upper Valley Seed Savers (uppervalleyseedsavers.pbworks.com). This is a group of gardeners and farmers working to create a local collection of seeds that would support a year-round food supply. The Upper Valley Seed Savers mission, as stated on their website, is “to save seed of open pollinated vegetables and herb varieties that have regional history, exceptional flavor, good storage capabilities, particular beauty, or are in danger of becoming unavailable commercially, and that contribute to a locally-grown, year-round food supply.”

Certainly the mission of the Upper Valley Seed Savers aligns with the goals of the Abenaki Garden and its volunteers. Presently there are over one hundred volunteers on the Abenaki Garden mailing list. Usually twenty to forty people come to help out on workdays at the garden. The reward for the work is a party and potluck at the end of the day!

Donations and volunteers are always welcome. At the website, AbenakiGarden.org, there is a procedure for joining the list server. There is also a short video that highlights the work of the Abenaki Garden.

Courageous Conversation

Gardens may keep us grounded, as we explore the headier realms of courageous conversations: Beyond the Politics of Contempt: Practical Steps to Build Positive Relationships in Divided Times is a new book by Doug Teschner, Beth Malow, and Becky Robinson. I asked Beth, a QLLA resident, what prompted her to co-write this book. Beth has been an advocate for open dialogue at least since 2017, when she joined Braver Angels, a national non-profit whose goal is to bring Americans together across the partisan divide. Beth and Doug met at a Braver Angels conference in 2023. In response to the question, “Why are you here?” Beth wrote, “I want to engage with like minded people who love this country and want to bridge divides.” Doug wrote, “I am worried that my grandchildren will not experience the benefits of this country that I love.”

However, one attendee’s comment really shook Doug: “I am here because if we don’t change how our politics is done, we’ll see ourselves in another civil war. Except this time it won’t look like Gettysburg – it’ll look like Rwanda.” Having led a U.S. agency for development in Rwanda, Doug knew all too well how scarred that nation was in the aftermath of the Hutu genocide against the Tutsis. Doug notes, “Neighbors killed neighbors, even people they knew well, just because they were in a different tribe. The killers were emboldened by leaders who exploited difference and fear. I remember feeling grateful we didn’t have political tribalism in the United States.” Doug also worked in Guinea during the Ebola epidemic in West Africa. He believed then that Americans, like many Guineans, would trust their public health system if a national emergency came. Instead, Doug finds that today Americans are aligned with “political tribes” and that the Covid pandemic “severely tested our ability to communicate with each other.”

From their varied experiences, the authors seek to enable respectful dialogue among people so that no matter the views expressed, everyone may feel heard, respected, and treated with dignity. This is not the same as taking a stand with leaders who need to be held accountable, Beth said. Beth goes on to say, “We want our book to be provocative – get people thinking.”

Beth, a neurologist, enjoys talking with people, coming away from conversations “feeling a palpable sense of hope, almost joy.” In her dialogues, she begins by trying to understand the other person’s viewpoint, to hearing them out. She is being authentically and empathically curious! (Curiosity may have killed the cat, but it has the opposite effect on our brains! According to researchers, our brains get rewarded for being curious. Dopamine, the brain’s reward chemical floods your system, provoking feelings of happiness!)

The authors align with journalist Mónica Guzmán who writes that persuasion “cannot work from shame. It cannot work from attack. It can only work from genuine, often vulnerable, conversations.” (See her book, I Never Thought of it That Way: How to Have Fearlessly Curious Conversations in Dangerously Divided Times.)

Meeting others with openness and respect is not easy and is hard work, yet the rewards can be transformative.

One such change occurred with Derek Black, godson of Ku Klux Klan grand wizard David Duke. The authors describe how after his white nationalist views became known on his New College of Florida campus, a group of Jewish students invited him to weekly shabbat dinners. He accepted, and returned regularly. Eventually he publicly denounced his views. The Jewish students welcoming him to socialize and eat with them rather than denouncing him with vitriol made all the difference. Manifesting kindness can be difficult but the outcome can be priceless.

Not in the book, but here is another story of transformation by engagement: that of Daryl Davis’s encounters with KKK members. Davis is a Black R&B musician and activist who has confronted racism with conversation and music.

Having studied as much as he could about the KKK, Daryl Davis was able to talk to Klan members over time. In an NPR interview in August, 2017, Daryl said that he could begin “to chip away at their ideology because when two enemies are talking, they’re not fighting. It’s when talking ceases that the ground becomes fertile for violence.” As he would build among commonalities, e.g., music, relationships would form. “As you build trust relationships, you’re forming a friendship. And that’s what would happen. I didn’t convert anybody. They saw the light and converted themselves.”

Not only is non-violent communication a possibility, it is already a reality. Marshall Rosenberg developed Nonviolent Communication (NVC) in the 1960s-’70s. a psychologist, he wanted to reduce conflict and increase empathy in everyday interactions. NVC has been used in many settings – from peace projects, businesses, education, and parenting to mediation, and so on.

A common underpinning of all these modes of communication seems to be an openness and curiosity to hear the other’s viewpoint, and to be a respectful and empathic listener, with the trust that, in the end, we can all be heard – compassionately; and hopefully – find common ground for the common good.

Further Reading:

abenakigarden.org
beyondthepoliticsofcontempt.com
daryldavis.com