We’ve all heard the story about the frog in a pot of water. Drop a frog in boiling water, and it will jump out. Drop a frog in tepid water that slowly boils, and it won’t realize the danger until it’s too late. When it comes to civil discourse in America, it seems we’re the frog waking up to the fact that the water has become uncomfortably warm.

I started as a councilwoman just as the COVID-19 pandemic began. My political life existed on Zoom, Teams, and Webex virtual meetings; I longed for us to be together in person. Yet, as we’ve reconvened for in-person meetings, public comment, and testimonies, I’ve found myself wondering more than once how the Golden Rule got so tarnished. People yell, pound the podium, and sling accusations—all the pent-up frustration and hurt from the last few years pouring out every Monday night at City Hall. Tune in to see for yourself.

Don’t misunderstand me. It is a privilege to hear from my fellow citizens, and I appreciate their engagement. Nevertheless, I can’t help but feel that, in their anger, people forget that elected leaders are also human, and when comments veer toward personal attacks, it actually hurts. It happens to all of us, but as a woman of color, I’ve been on the receiving end of particularly intense incivility, including smear campaigns labeling me as anti-police.

Civility has two distinct meanings, making a shared definition of civil discourse important to pin down. The first kind of civility is about being polite and courteous. The second kind of civility has a deeper meaning. It refers to behaving cooperatively because we understand democratic societies only work when we work together. The latter civility is about being a good citizen.

One thing both definitions of civility share is the need for mutual respect, meaning everyone involved agrees that everyone else deserves respect as a baseline. This is one limitation of civil discourse: It only works if we’re all practicing it, and we aren’t.

In fact, Americans from all political persuasions say they avoid discussing politics for this very reason, afraid the conversation will lead to incivility. This is unsustainable, especially when any one of the difficult issues we face as a nation easily falls into the “politics” category—poverty, abortion, gun control, racism. We cannot prioritize the first kind of civility, which calls for everyone to “be polite or be quiet,” if it prevents us from participating in the second kind of civility. Good citizenship requires us to speak up.

Given the current temperature of civil discourse, it’s safe to say many necessary voices are being left out. When I talk to people about entering public service, they demur or decline outright. “I want to protect my family,” they tell me. For our city and country’s future, I find this response deeply troubling.

Yet, one look at the erosion of civil discourse in national politics makes their concern understandable. Politicians vilifying their colleagues across the aisle, rampant misinformation, and doxing—revealing public figures’ personal information—on social media, and salacious click-bait headlines all feed the outrage machine, tossing civility out the window in favor of “owning” the other side.

That national rhetoric has real consequences, ones that trickle down to the local level and affect our everyday lives. 

Recall, for instance, in June when 31 men were found inside a U-Haul truck heading to Coeur d’Alene’s Pride event carrying shields and other gear to start a riot. They were all members of the Patriot Front, a reported hate group. They heard about the event on a far-right social media account with over 1 million followers. Instances like this show us how toxic words translate into dangerous actions.

Nevertheless, those of us who believe civil discourse is necessary, both in life and in politics, are in the vast majority, and the future is ours to shape. To create the kind of discourse that starts with mutual respect and allows us all to participate in the conversation, we must agree to make two important changes.

First, we must be brave and reject fearmongering. Fear is potent. It keeps us in our echo chambers. It keeps us locked in an “us vs. them” mindset. It keeps us angry. But more than any of that, fear keeps us from talking to one another and recognizing how much we have in common.

Second, we must love one another. We are not enemies. We are neighbors who, despite our differences, are striving toward mutual goals: prosperity, safety, freedom, and happiness. We must have love for one another that is tough enough to face our problems as a community and search for real solutions.

The move away from fear and toward love requires connection, another thing sorely missing for Americans, many of whom say they are chronically lonely. With this in mind, I encourage you to talk to your neighbors. Tell them your story, your hopes, and your fears. Listen to the stories they tell you, knowing how hungry people are to be heard and understood. 

Civil discourse starts with mutual respect, and mutual respect comes from us recognizing ourselves in others. Anyone can break down the barriers that keep us from more civil discourse, and we all have to try.

In terms of the future of civil discourse in local politics, I remain optimistic. The consensus of my colleagues is that we and the people we serve are exhausted by the political gridlock that incivility has created. The water is too close to boiling. It’s time to extinguish the flame.

Practicing civility, both being courteous and being a good citizen, reminds me of my immense responsibility to put people first. My commitment remains to my community, not to party politics. And it is for my community that I stay at the negotiating table, fighting respectfully for policies that will improve lives.

Civil discourse is possible when love outweighs fear—remember that, and I love you, all of you.

Betsy Wilkerson is a Spokane City Council member.