What about September 12th?

Brett Freeman

I was surprised by how emotional I became on the 25th anniversary of 9/11.

Like so many Americans, I have my own memories of that day. I cannot pretend that my experience compares with what so many families in our communities endured, or what they continue to carry.

But a quarter-century later, the grief felt closer than I expected.

At first, I wondered whether I had missed the moment to write about it. Our Sept. 10 issue would have been the obvious place for these reflections.

Then I realized that what I wanted to write about was what came afterward.

My parents were living in New Jersey when the attacks happened. A day or two later, my mother got into a minor fender bender.

She and the other driver got out of their cars. They were total strangers.

They wound up hugging each other and crying. The woman had lost a friend in the attacks, and my mother felt compelled to comfort her.

An encounter that ordinarily might have produced frustration or an argument instead became a moment of shared grief. Whatever had happened to their cars seemed small beside the loss this woman was carrying and what had happened to their country.

At the time, I was living in Washington, D.C., teaching fourth grade through Teach for America. As one of the few white people in my school, I was conscious of being in a community whose experiences were different from my own. I sometimes felt like an outsider, still finding my place and earning people’s trust.

One girl in my class had a grandmother who worked at the Pentagon. I remember the uncertainty that day, not knowing whether her grandmother had survived the attack. My own brother worked in lower Manhattan, though I wasn’t sure exactly where. With cellphone networks overwhelmed, I, too, spent part of that day waiting to learn whether someone I loved was safe.

That fear was something we shared. In the days that followed, I remember feeling a deeper connection with the people around me. Whatever differences we brought into the building, we were Americans, trying to make sense of something horrifying together.

I remember everyday life feeling different, too. Drivers seemed more patient. There seemed to be less honking, more courtesy in line, more willingness to give someone a little grace.

Those are my observations, filtered through 25 years of memory. But I remember the feeling clearly.

And I remember President George W. Bush embracing Senate Democratic leader Tom Daschle after addressing Congress on Sept. 20, 2001. A Republican president and a Democratic leader, hugging before the country. That image stayed with me.

I know that period was not perfect, and that not every American experienced the same acceptance. The unity also did not last. As the years unfolded, particularly with the war in Iraq, our divisions grew bitter again.

Still, I miss the instinct to see a fellow American before seeing an opponent.

Today, I worry about how readily we retreat into circles where our opinions are affirmed and our opponents are caricatured. This spring, I had a difficult conversation with a colleague about an issue I care about deeply. We saw it in almost completely opposite ways.

What allowed me to move forward was recognizing something about the person across from me: This was someone coming to the issue with a good heart. I think that person recognized the same in me.

We did not resolve our disagreement. And that’s OK. As deeply as I care about the issue, our relationship encompasses much more than that disagreement. I could hold firmly to my convictions while recognizing the good in someone who sees things differently.

That disagreement feels particularly relevant as we enter what I call political silly season.

As publisher of Halston Media, editing the opinion section is one of my current responsibilities. Long before I worked in newspapers, the opinion section was the first place I turned. I loved the arguments, the competing perspectives and the opportunity to encounter an idea I had not considered.

I still do. And I believe those pages help set the tone for a newspaper’s relationship with its community.

As we head toward October and Election Day, I want our pages to offer arguments worth reading.

For example, too often people label opponents “MAGA” as though the label itself were an argument.

What position, exactly, are we criticizing?

Take a look at the war in Iran. Tucker Carlson has argued that Trump abandoned the “America First” principles that helped get him elected. Their split is over both the war and what the movement itself should stand for.

Meanwhile, many Democrats also oppose the war. Does their alignment with Tucker Carlson make them MAGA? Do Democrats who support the war now become MAGA because they are aligned with Trump? The answer to both questions is of course no. This is just one small example (there are many more) of why labeling someone “MAGA” and treating it as an indictment is lazy. Tell readers which position you object to — and why. Guilt by association is a poor substitute for an argument.

The same standard should apply to debates about Medicaid.

Congressman Mike Lawler has defended work requirements and eligibility changes as a way to protect the program for vulnerable people. His critics argue that those changes will cause people who need coverage to lose it.

Let’s debate those questions.

Saying Lawler's policy will harm people is an argument that can be examined. Saying Lawler wants to harm people makes an unfounded claim about motives.

I want the same seriousness in discussions about ICE vs. sanctuary policies and other hot button topics.

We owe readers that seriousness.

We can ask hard questions about a policy without assuming its supporters welcome its worst possible consequences. We can recognize an intention to do good while arguing forcefully that a policy does harm.

So here is my challenge to our columnists and letter writers — and to myself:

Assume the best in your opponent. Explain the strongest reasonable argument for that person’s position, in terms that person would recognize. Then explain why yours is better.

Bring facts. Identify trade-offs. Tell readers what your approach would accomplish and why.

You do not have to meet in the middle. You do not have to surrender a deeply held belief. But you should be willing to understand the argument you are asking readers to reject.

I keep returning to my mother and that stranger beside their cars.

My mother knew nothing about this woman’s politics. She knew that she had lost a friend and was hurting. That was enough to reach out and hold her.

Twenty-five years later, we still know how to pause and remember those we lost.

I hope we can also remember how we treated one another afterward.

It should not take another tragedy to offer each other that much humanity.