(Reader’s Note: My deepest sympathies for Charlie Kirk and his family.)
We’ve all seen it happen. A disagreement starts small, but before long, both sides are swinging a broad brush. Suddenly, it’s not about a single issue anymore—it’s about “people like you” versus “people like us.” And just like that, the chance for real conversation slips through our fingers.
When we paint each other in broad strokes, it’s rarely about logic. It’s about fear. Fear that listening will cost us power. Fear that admitting nuance will make us look weak. It’s about anger, wounded pride, and the deep ache of not being understood. Those emotions harden into assumptions, and those assumptions turn into walls.
The broad brush feels safe because it flattens complexity. It tells us: I don’t have to face the messy details of who you are—I can just stick you in a box and be done with it. But that safety is an illusion. What it really does is erase the humanity in the other person. The quirks, the context, the quiet truths that don’t fit a label—all of it gets lost under a coat of paint.
And here’s the cost: when we blur out the details, we erase the only space where common ground can grow. Agreement isn’t born out of caricature. It comes from seeing enough of each other’s real story to recognize something familiar—fear, longing, love, loss—that softens our stance.
If we keep painting with the broad brush, we may win the fight for simplicity. But we’ll lose the fight for connection. And without connection, no amount of argument will ever build the bridge we need.
So the challenge is this: put the broad brush down. Pick up a smaller one. Take the time to see the lines, the shades, the details that make the picture human again. That’s where common ground waits—not in the strokes we fling in anger, but in the details we dare to notice.
Thanks for being you,
Brian