Strong opinions not held lightly
The most important goal of a local elected official is to be a buffalo mover not a water carrier.
When I worked for ESPN, one of my coworkers nicknamed me The Closer, an affectation he used to describe how I was frequently invited on sales calls and meetings to help close the deal with advertisers. While I loved the frequent travel to cool often out-of-the-way places, what I enjoyed most was singling out clients’ biggest objections to signing a deal.
A conversation that took place during a trip to Costa Rica:
“I’m here for only one reason: Yes, we want your brand as a part of ESPN’s Saturday morning programming block, but most importantly we want a long-term relationship that’s mutually beneficial. I’m here to personally guarantee that we will deliver on your vision for the debut of your new product. I’ll be in every meeting and will make sure every deliverable meets each of your goals, with alignment across sales, marketing, advertising, and editorial—on the web and in print.”
We always got the client
Self-induced misery
In politics, my goal, when there is disagreement, is to seek common ground by focusing on what we can all agree on often—that our shared community is a special place, one we are proud to call home. No matter how large the disagreement, this icebreaker has a near-flawless rate of success. From there, I typically listen to their side of the issue before asking questions, then sharing my points of view.
There is typically no solution to be had. I’m there to listen. Frequently, I’m met with a common refrain:
“Your side doesn’t want to hear what we have to say.”
Nope, nope, nope, I say. I don’t have a side. I represent the entirety of the city, not just the people who voted for me. I’m conservative, yes, but I’m also not a blind party loyalist. There are crazies on both sides. I want no part of either of them. I want to build a bigger tent, not kick people I largely agree with out of the tent, which is currently a problem at all levels in politics today.
“The goal of the conservative movement is not to make the Republican party as right wing as possible. The goal of the conservative movement…is to move the center of gravity rightward in our politics.
“And instead, we have this pendulum kind of process, where…the conservative movement…moves the institutions it has control over way, way, way far from the center to the right, leaving the center open, allowing Democrats to take the center, which has the net result of moving the center of gravity leftward. There’s a real argument for the conservative movement to behave more like the NRA in the 1990s—give money to both Democrats and Republicans. Move the Democratic Party to the right, which moves the center of gravity of American politics more. …
“[Instead], we make it easy for them [to discount the party]. When Lauren Boebert is talking about how if only Jesus Christ had an AK-47 or an M16 rifle, things would’ve worked out so much better for him. What do you expect New York liberals to respond—how are they gonna respond to that? Other than, look at these freaking idiots.”
The middle is, indeed, wide open because both sides have retreated to the extremes, which means politics is almost entirely performative and nothing gets done. This helps explain why I believe strongly in having conversations, no matter how difficult, but this, too, can be problematic.
My greatest asset as a politician is also my greatest weakness as a politician. I don’t see the other side as the enemy. I’ve uttered those words more than two dozen times over the last five years, and in every case it was in response to a line of questioning like the one below from a recent meeting.
”You know [so and so] doesn’t like you. Why do you even give her the time of day? She’ll never support anything you do, and she certainly talks about you behind your back.”
My goal isn’t to be liked, I say. My goal is to move the buffalo.
Moving the buffalo
The analogy I’ve coined to characterize these conversations is that of a man attempting to pull a 2,000 pound cape buffalo via a rope around the latter’s neck. It’s not happening unless the man can show the animal that it’s in his best interest to do so. All it takes is one step forward. I’ve found that folks who agree to meet or talk via phone are often most willing to take that first step. (Read The Six C’s of Effective Local Political Discourse.) Otherwise it’s akin to Atreyu trying to pull Artax from the Swamp of Sadness in the Never Ending Story.
For example, in 2020, after the death of George Floyd, I awakened to find a Facebook message regarding planned protests in Southlake that weekend. The person sending the message was very well-known and had on numerous occasions expressed sincere disdain for me. After more than a year of refusing to speak to me, she was now insisting on a call, which we had later that morning.
“I know you don’t like me, I know you don’t like my politics, and you likely won’t agree with what I have to say,” I said immediately. “But we agree on a few things, chief among them we both sought out Southlake as the place to raise our kids.”
After a few awkward moments, we had a civil discussion that only minutes earlier would’ve seemed possible. One of my favorite writers and thinkers, Adam M. Grant, an organizational psychologist at the University of Pennsylvania, has shared the idea of arguing like you’re right but listening like you’re wrong. That is, it’s perfectly reasonable to feel strongly about your ideas and beliefs, but don’t do so at the expense of becoming blind to evidence of the contrary.
I’ve used this line of thinking numerous times when I find myself in potentially disagreeable interactions.
My hero dropped some important points
In 2019 I was fortunate enough to hear neurosurgeon and former United States Secretary of Housing and Urban Development Ben Carson give a speech in support of Beth Van Duyne’s candidacy for U.S representative for Texas’ 24th congressional district.
“Talk to your neighbors,” he said. “You’ll often find that people have opinions that are not fully formed, and they might be open to change.”
I found this out firsthand in the summer of 2020, when I was asked about my support for the city’s SRO program, which a small group of students were calling out to be disbanded.
“I would never support the abolishing of the program,” I wrote.
I received a Facebook DM from a member of the community requesting that we talk. He felt that my use of “never” was too strong, making me appear obstinate. We hopped on a call later that week. I made clear my objections to the program being discontinued, pointing out four reasons why I support the program and the vulnerability its demise would present to our 11 schools.
“I didn’t know any of that,” he said. “I see why you wrote what you did. It makes sense now.”
The buffalo took a step that day.