When did labeling people become a substitute for actually listening to—and understanding—one another?

I hear the word “fascist” used regularly today to describe Donald Trump, conservatives, and sometimes people who simply support policies someone on the left strongly opposes.

I also hear people on the right casually call Democrats “communists” or “socialists.”

And the vocabulary of political insults goes much further.

“Racist.” “Bible thumper.” “Woke.” “Bigot.” “Nazi.” “Marxist.” “Snowflake.” “Deplorable.”

There are plenty more, and I’m not going to address them all here.

Some of these words describe very real beliefs and behaviors when used accurately. But they’re also frequently used to label, diminish or dismiss another human being without engaging with who that person actually is.

I want to focus on two labels with particularly consequential historical meaning: fascism and communism.

These aren’t clever political insults. They describe political systems associated with some of the darkest chapters in human history.

Hitler’s Nazi regime murdered millions, destroyed democratic institutions, eliminated political opposition and plunged Europe into catastrophe.

Mao’s communist regime produced political repression, persecution, catastrophic famine and tens of millions of deaths.

Different ideologies. Different histories.

But they demonstrate a common danger:

When a political movement becomes convinced that its cause is so righteous that individual liberty, political opposition and institutional restraints become expendable, terrible things can follow.

Being conservative doesn’t make someone a fascist.

Supporting a social safety net doesn’t make someone a communist.

Supporting stronger immigration enforcement doesn’t make someone a fascist.

Supporting Medicare or Social Security doesn’t make someone a socialist revolutionary.

And disagreeing with someone certainly doesn’t make them an enemy.

What do most of us actually want?

This is what gets lost in all the noise.

We have far more in common than our political arguments suggest.

We want our families to be safe.

We want our children and grandchildren to have opportunities.

We want good schools and access to good healthcare.

We want decent jobs and the ability to afford a home.

We want safe communities.

We want to be treated fairly.

We want choices.

We want to decide where we live, what work we pursue, what we believe, how we worship—or whether we worship at all—what we say, whom we associate with and how we raise our families.

We want liberty.

And we want a government that actually works.

We need government to do the things we collectively ask it to do—protect the country, enforce the rule of law, provide essential infrastructure and services, protect individual rights, help those genuinely in need and create conditions in which people and businesses can prosper.

But there’s another part of responsible government that both parties too often avoid:

We shouldn’t provide today’s benefits by simply sending the bill to our children and grandchildren.

A family eventually has to live within its means.

A business eventually has to live within its means.

And over time, a government does too.

That doesn’t mean government can never borrow. There are wars, recessions, emergencies and long-term investments where borrowing can be appropriate.

But permanently spending more than we’re willing to pay for isn’t a sustainable governing philosophy.

Fiscal responsibility is also a form of stewardship.

So is caring for our infrastructure.

So is protecting our natural resources.

So is maintaining strong institutions.

So is preserving opportunity.

We inherited an extraordinary country from generations before us.

Our responsibility isn’t simply to enjoy what they built.

It’s to leave it better than we found it.

A stronger economy.

Sounder finances.

Better infrastructure.

Healthy communities.

Strong institutions.

Protected liberties.

More opportunity.

And a country our children and grandchildren are proud—and able—to inherit.

That shouldn’t be a Republican principle or a Democratic principle.

It should be an American principle.

But liberty doesn’t mean the absence of rules.

A free society requires balance.

My freedom cannot include taking away yours.

The freedom to protest doesn’t include the right to seize a city block, deprive other citizens of access to their homes or businesses, or establish an autonomous zone where basic laws and human rights no longer apply.

The freedom to form a community—even a voluntary commune—doesn’t include the freedom to abuse, coerce or deny the fundamental rights of people living within it.

And the same principle applies to government.

Government needs enough authority to protect individual rights, maintain public order and enforce the rule of law—but not so much unchecked power that government itself becomes the threat to liberty.

That’s the balance:

Liberty without anarchy.

Government without authoritarianism.

Individual choice with responsibility.

Compassion with sustainability.

Public order with respect for individual rights.

Prosperity today without mortgaging tomorrow.

That’s ordered liberty and responsible stewardship.

And I suspect far more Americans—left, right and center—believe in those basic principles than our political rhetoric would have us think.

Whether we vote Republican, Democrat or independent, most of us want America to succeed.

We disagree—sometimes profoundly—about how to get there.

That’s an important distinction.

Judge people by more than their words.

Labels aren’t enough.

Promises aren’t enough.

Even political platforms aren’t enough.

Watch what people actually do. Watch how they act. Look for authenticity.

Do their actions match their words?

How do they treat people who disagree with them?

Do they apply the same standards to their own side that they apply to the other side?

Do they admit when they’re wrong?

Do they listen?

Do they tell the truth when the truth is inconvenient?

Do they defend principles consistently—or only when those principles benefit their side?

Instead of immediately asking:

“Is this person a fascist?”

or

“Is this person a communist?”

Ask better questions:

What do they actually believe?

What have they actually proposed?

What have they actually done?

How do they actually behave?

Do their actions match their words?

That’s a much better test of authenticity than a political label.

Unfortunately, our role models aren’t particularly good.

Politicians discovered long ago that provocative rhetoric can motivate voters.

Political operatives discovered that outrage can raise money.

Much of modern media discovered that conflict, fear and anger can attract viewers, clicks, shares and ratings.

And social-media platforms learned that outrage can keep us scrolling.

The incentives aren’t necessarily aligned with bringing Americans together.

A politician may benefit from convincing us that the other side isn’t merely wrong—but dangerous.

A media personality may benefit when we’re angry enough to keep watching.

A political operative may benefit when we’re frightened enough to donate.

But ordinary Americans don’t necessarily benefit from any of it.

There are still excellent journalists doing serious, fact-based reporting. But traditional journalism now sits alongside opinion journalism, partisan commentary, podcasts, influencers, advocacy organizations and entertainment programming—often appearing on the very same screen.

For ordinary citizens, distinguishing reporting from commentary, facts from interpretation, and information from persuasion has become increasingly difficult.

So whom do we trust?

Increasingly, we can construct our own information worlds that constantly reassure us:

We’re right. They’re wrong. And they’re the problem.

That’s not healthy for a democracy.

Maybe the answer begins with us.

We aren’t going to eliminate political rhetoric.

We aren’t going to eliminate partisan media.

We aren’t going to eliminate social media.

And we’re certainly not going to eliminate disagreement.

So perhaps it’s time for all of us to relearn something much more fundamental: conversational intelligence.

How to listen without immediately preparing our rebuttal.

How to ask a question before making an accusation.

How to distinguish disagreement from disrespect.

How to challenge an idea without attacking the person expressing it.

How to recognize our own biases.

How to seek facts that might challenge what we already believe.

How to say:

“Why do you believe that?”

“I hadn’t thought about it that way.”

And occasionally:

“I was wrong.”

We can disagree passionately while still recognizing the humanity—and often the good intentions—of someone on the other side.

That’s not weakness.

That’s what citizenship in a free and diverse democracy requires.

Politicians may continue using rhetoric to win elections.

Media personalities may continue using rhetoric to win ratings.

Political operatives may continue using rhetoric to motivate their bases.

But we don’t have to imitate them.

We can listen.

We can question.

We can verify.

We can think for ourselves.

And then we can talk to each other.

Less labeling.

More listening.

Watch the actions.

Look for authenticity.

Protect choice.

Defend liberty.

Respect the rule of law.

Demand a government that works.

Live within our means.

Think about the next generation.

Find the common ground.

Relearn how to talk to one another.

Because ultimately America isn’t Washington.

It isn’t Fox News, MSNBC, CNN, talk radio, podcasts or social media.

America is us.

More than 300 million people trying to share one country while sometimes seeing that country very differently.

We inherited something extraordinary.

Our job is to leave it better than we found it.

Our disagreements aren’t going away.

But neither is everything we have in common.

Maybe the health of our democracy depends less on eliminating disagreement and more on relearning how to disagree intelligently, respectfully and authentically.

That’s conversational intelligence.

And we could use a lot more of it.

Better Conversations → Stronger Relationships → Better Outcomes.

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