When any of us get up the courage to approach someone who might disagree with us—maybe they voted differently for President than we did—our expectations are often paradoxical.
On the one hand, we expect the worst: they’ll argue, they’ll get angry, they won’t listen and they won’t change.
On the other hand, we have a very strong wish that, once we start talking and share some facts, they will be moved by what we say and change right away.
But what if these expectations say more about us than the other person?
To show you what I mean, here are three suburban, conservative Republican voters I met in 2018. One was unchangeable. One changed fast. And the third one was maybe—just maybe—beginning to change slowly.
These three voters give a sense of the wide variety of conservative Republicans you might meet if you want to talk with people who voted for Trump at least once.
* * *
On June 15, 2018, I was canvassing in classic, conservative, middle-to-upper-middle-class suburban southern California, in an area that went heavily for Trump. With me was Betsy, an organizer visiting from a Midwestern swing state that that had gone for Trump in 2016.
At our first door, Betsy and I met Flora, a woman in her late 70s. She was an enthusiastic Republican “through and through,” she told us: only voted Republican and single-issue, anti-abortion. She was civil, then cheerful once she realized Betsy and I were listening to her.
Normally when deep canvassing, we tell a story about somebody we love, and then invite each voter to do the same. But after I told a story about my Dad, Flora said no thanks—no story from her. We wrapped up in five minutes start-to-finish. Betsy and I left and sat on a nearby curb, so I could ask Betsy what she took away from the conversation.
That’s when Flora came out of her house and headed straight for us. She sat beside us on the curb, and said, "OK, I will tell you a story." And she did. We talked for another five minutes, more relaxed than before. Then Flora went home, and Betsy and I debriefed this new part of the conversation.
Just as we stood up to go to the next house, Flora came out again to find me and Betsy. Without preamble, she said, "There's something else I want to tell you. I have a son, and he's gay." Now, I am a gay guy but nothing about gay had come up earlier. I realized, wow, Flora has figured out that I’m gay.
So I came out to her: “Small world, Flora, I’m gay, too.” I told her a story about my boyfriend Lyle. He and I met in our 60’s, at a gathering of 100 open-hearted gay men camping in the woods. At that age, neither of us expected to find love again. Then, improbably, we did.
And then Flora told us a detailed story about her son, who she loves very much. She visits him in Los Angeles—wishes she got there more often, because she loves going dancing. As she described what that meant, I realized Flora and her son went dancing at gay clubs. This conversation ran another five or ten minutes. Then, Flora went home.
This time, I think all three of us realized that something had changed. It wasn’t just that Flora had a gay son. It’s that she told us about him. My hunch is that Flora has rarely—maybe never—told this story to anyone. We gave a probably-closeted parent a safe way to come out. You may wonder, how common is it that an easy-to-read gay guy canvasses a closeted parent? But almost all of us have something to come out about, something about our life that we’re worried people might judge.
That’s why deep canvassing works: people are not used to someone else listening without judgement. When that opportunity arises, they take it: they talk with candor and feeling; they self-censor less; and, as a result, they often see a new connection between their life and their vote. That’s why there is a world of difference between a) Flora having a gay son, and b) Flora talking aloud about loving her gay son. When Flora spoke about it, she could think about it. Conversely, if something in your life feels unspeakable, it is often unthinkable.
As Flora talked, she—and we—got a much fuller picture of who she is, how she treats other people, and how she wants to treat other people. What Flora, Betsy and I discovered this time was that the three of us are more similar on these matters than any of us might have guessed.
So I was no longer surprised when—as Betsy and I decided to split up so Betsy could have conversations on her own—Flora came back to us one more time. This time she brought gifts. She had a plant for Betsy and a spatula for me. A spatula? She explained that she'd been giving away housewares she doesn’t need any more; people took the dishes, but nobody had taken three spatulas that were nice and very usable. She offered me one. I gratefully accepted it and still have it.
Probably a lot of people over the course of my life have recognized me as gay. But they didn't all give me a spatula and tell me a story about a gay person they love. No question, Flora was unusual.
Yet two aspects of this conversation are almost universal. First, once voters realize that we are seriously listening to them, they increasingly want to talk—not small talk, but big talk.
Second, the conversation wasn’t hard. If you are thinking you could never talk with a Trump voter, consider Flora. She’s not the MAGA cartoon stereotype. Flora’s a person.
No question, the conversation had limits. I can’t tell you that I know how to persuade Flora to vote for a Democrat. I do not.
But if we face another anti-LGBT ballot measure, she might vote with us. She might be willing to call an anti-gay legislator to ask them to change their mind. And if my Mom was still alive and I was canvassing this neighborhood again, I would ask her to go with me to meet Flora. I would tell a story about why I love my Mom; and maybe my Mom would talk not only about what it was like for her to realize she loved her gay sons, but also how she decided, after years of voting Republican, to start voting for some Democrats.
All I know for sure is something in our four-part conversation affected Flora, and she wanted Betsy and me to know it. Sometimes, change is slow and this is how it starts.
* * *
Yet, sometimes change happens fast.
On April 14, 2018, with a reporter by my side, I was deep canvassing voters in one of the most conservative, Republican, overwhelmingly white communities in Orange County, CA. We were looking for 2016 Trump voters who now had conflicting feelings about him.
When Linda answered the door, she was comfortable talking with us. She didn’t mind that a reporter was taking notes. She told us she had voted for Trump; I came out as a Clinton voter. When I asked her on a zero-to-ten scale whether she wanted checks and balances on Trump to emerge from the midterm congressional elections, she was equivocal. Then, as we shared personal stories, she told me that, now in her 70’s, she no longer felt safe walking her dog at night. A couple of months earlier, she got a knock on her front door after dark. She looked out the peephole and saw a man wearing a serape that masked his face. She felt sure he was Mexican. She didn’t open the door, and he left without incident. But the experience shook her up.
As she was telling me this, her partner, Jim, came home. Also in his 70’s, he listened for a minute, then took over the conversation. He told me he was behind Trump 100%. He was suspicious of me at first; but as we talked, he became comfortable, then laughed at the novelty of meeting a Clinton voter. Jim then went inside.
Linda and I continued to talk, about aging, vulnerability. She felt the world had become more uncertain, even as she acknowledged that her neighborhood was prosperous and largely safe.
Just then, Jim returned. In the warmest possible way, like one friend talking in confidence to another, he spoke for almost five uninterrupted minutes. He said that race was the big reason why he supported Trump, using the n-word three times to underscore his point. The reporter with me was so stunned he dropped his notes. I focused on Jim as he talked, but also occasionally glanced at Linda. She was paying close attention, but her face was inscrutable.
When Jim finally stopped, everyone was quiet. Then I asked the same question I had posed to Linda at the beginning of the conversation: “Jim, on a scale of zero to ten, where zero is you want Trump fully in charge, ten is you want some checks and balances on him, and in the middle you have mixed feelings, where would you put yourself?” He confidently pointed to the zero on my script.
Then, I turned to Linda and asked her the same question. Silently, she looked at me—then at Jim—finally, back to me. Then, her voice just above a whisper, she said: “I want some checks and balances.”
Jim looked astonished as we wrapped up the conversation.
When midterm elections arrived in November 2018, I don’t know if Linda voted for the Democrat for Congress. I never got to speak with her a second time.
But something happened for Linda that day. When I treated her and Jim with respect, I helped create the moment when Jim was frank about his animus. And as Linda heard him use the n-word repeatedly with me, in front of her, I think she realized: that wasn’t her. That’s not who she wants to be and not how she wants to vote.
* * *
There are extremist Trump supporters like Jim, very happy with the former President and encouraged by the way he foments race-based prejudice. Even though I connected with Jim, I did not feel I had a chance to change his mind. Too much needed changing. For me, he was unpersuadable.
So what did I do? After a while, I stopped trying to persuade him. My advice to you is: if you offer radical respect to someone, and you connect, and you discover you are talking with someone unpersuadable—and if your goal is changing minds and winning votes—it’s a good idea to move on to the next person.
Because the next person might be a conservative Republican like Linda. In 2016, she voted for Trump, no regrets. Now in 2018, she voiced heightened nervousness even from her uneventful encounter with someone she perceived as Latino. Yet the same racism that animated Jim did not please Linda. I realized Linda was conflicted, possibly persuadable.
There is good reason to believe that Republicans like Linda make up at least 10%—and as much as 25%—of the 74 million people who voted for Trump in 2020. But there is nothing automatic about their changing their minds on their own. Some of them live in a bubble: their friends and sources of news insulate them from thinking about their conflicting feelings. If we help these conflicted conservatives reflect, 10-25% could decide they want to vote differently. We might discover that, as we peel away even a small number of conservatives, we have made Trump and similar extremists unelectable.
Maybe just as surprising: talking with conflicted conservatives has affected me. I used to think that I could judge them quickly and accurately. But that is a serious over-estimation of my mind-reading ability.
The truth is, I wouldn’t have been able to predict from the voter list or even a micro-targeting list whether I stood a better chance with Flora, Linda, or Jim. They would have all looked equally inauspicious. It’s only when I initiated the conversations and listened that I learned, one by one, who was persuadable, and who we could win over.
Jim, I loved canvassing with you and your congregation! As well as just having fun talking and thinking with you and the great folks you introduced me to. Dave
Very good! You have given some really good insight into this! Never give up!