When I dream, I can see a great debate. An exchange of ideas; heated discussions that help us shape our thinking; shape the reality and create new norms for us to love by.
As a writer and a communicator, I have a need to present thoughts.
Not just my own (God knows, mine may not be the best ones), but those I disagree with. Because everyone has a right to be heard and no idea can be considered wrong in his own merit.
Both my Twitter page and LinkedIn profile include a poorly drawn statement “Keep the conversation going.” Was I a talented designer, I’d draw it as the most beautiful banner ever created in our digital world. Alas, my tools are the words. Words that are still our best tool to combat stuff.
No, “combat” is a wrong word. If 2016 has shown us anything, it’s that debate should not be combat or a fight. It should be a gracious dance where you try your best to work together with your partner without knowing which way you’re turning, without caring that your thoughts alone prevail.
I want to discuss ideas online, in schools and debate halls. Or in a pub, 3AM in the morning. Like Hamilton in Lin Manuel Miranda’s musical, sheering my ideas drunkenly to the world and beliving one can change opinions.
There is a lot of fear and uncertainty going around.
Americans worry about Trump, Europeans about Brexit.
In this situation, it’s easy to go to your safe-place and say “people are stupid.” Or “we won, let’s show them” and this is the end. I don’t want to do that.
Few days ago, I said to my liberal intellectual partner (with whom I have a similar world view) that I am not used to living in a world where my core beliefs are a minority. I said, that it’s scary. And it is.
But I think I won’t be scared. I’ll be out there, talking. Writing. Thinking.
All ideas we don’t share are scary; many of them sound absurd to me on a first glance. Maybe there is a point in them. I don’t know. Maybe. And I’ll find out.
I dream about a great debate. And when I wake up in the morning, I think we have hope.