Category: English

Source: The Conversation – USA (2) – By Patrick Tutka, Clinical Associate Professor of Health and Kinesiology, Purdue University

Curious Kids is a series for children of all ages. If you have a question you’d like an expert to answer, send it to CuriousKidsUS@theconversation.com.

Why is the object of golf to play the least amount of golf? – Bryleigh, age 12, Chandler, Arizona

In most sports, the team or player with the highest score wins, and fans celebrate super-high-scoring games. In golf, it’s the opposite – the lowest score is the champion. And since golf scores are the number of strokes each player needs to get around the course, the object is to do it with as few strokes as possible.

I study sport management, which includes training people to manage golf courses, help run associations that set the rules, and create scoring for golf. When I play golf, I find that it’s a great mental test. If I score poorly on one hole, how do I play the next hole? Will I let frustration cause me to play poorly and score high again, or can I recover?

Skilled players are able to manage each shot, finding the best place to hit the ball so that they leverage the strengths of their game and work with conditions (weather, wind) at the hole they are playing. This allows them to limit the score they get on the hole.

In golf every shot is a stroke, and you play each hole only once. There are no do-overs or second chances, so each move is extremely important for scoring. That’s different from a game like basketball, where you may get a rebound or a second chance to make a particular shot.

Par for the course

Each hole on a golf course is assigned a par score, which is the number of shots the designer believes it will take to play that hole. Almost all golf courses are made up of par 3, par 4 and par 5 shots.

On a par 3, a person is expected to take three shots to put the ball in the hole. That usually begins with a tee shot from the starting point of the hole and then two shots around or on the green area where the hole is cut. Par 4s expect two shots, covering more ground, before they get to the green area; par 5s expect three shots.

Par is designed for each hole and then added up for the course. Most golf courses have 18 holes and a par between 70 and 72.

There also are par 3 courses, where every hole is a par 3, so they can be spaced more closely and players don’t have to hit long drives. And there are short courses with fewer than 18 holes and total pars as low as 27, usually set on smaller properties.

Golfers want their score to be at par, or even lower, for each course. A decent golfer would probably shoot around 90 on an 18-hole, par 72 course. Coming in close to par lets people play together and compete against each other. Imagine that they were all trying to use as many shots as possible: They would never finish a hole, let alone a full round of the course.

Each score is given a name in comparison to par for a given hole. A score two strokes under par is called an eagle, and a score of one under par is called a birdie. When players go over par, it’s a bogey for one stroke over, a double bogey for two strokes over, and so on. There also are less-known terms, such as a snowman, which is shooting an 8 on a hole.

Every shot matters

Other sports that reward the lowest scores or the fewest attempts include darts and pool. For example, in 8-ball or 9-ball pool, the winner is the first person who sinks all of their colors and either the 8 or 9 ball into pockets with the fewest shots. Similarly, both swimming and track and field are won with low scores, although these are based on competitors’ times, not strokes or shots.

Golf requires great concentration and a good understanding of how your shot may move in the air. Players also need strategies for getting around objects in front of them on the course, such as trees, ponds and sand traps, which are also known as bunkers.

Good golfers are able to control relatively closely where their ball lands. But one of my favorite statistics is that the very best professional golfers land their ball within 10 feet of the hole just 1 in 4 times when they hit from 100 yards away.

A sense of humor helps. Baseball great Hank Aaron once said, “It took me 17 years to get 3,000 hits in baseball. It took one afternoon on the golf course.”

Hello, curious kids! Do you have a question you’d like an expert to answer? Ask an adult to send your question to CuriousKidsUS@theconversation.com. Please tell us your name, age and the city where you live.

And since curiosity has no age limit – adults, let us know what you’re wondering, too. We won’t be able to answer every question, but we will do our best.

Patrick Tutka does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organization that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. Why is the object of golf to play as little golf as possible? – https://theconversation.com/why-is-the-object-of-golf-to-play-as-little-golf-as-possible-256170

Source: The Conversation – USA (3) – By Megan Donelson, Lecturer in Health Rhetorics, University of Dayton

The Make America Healthy Again movement has generated a lot of discussion about public health. But the language MAHA proponents use to describe health and disease has also raised concerns among the disability and chronic illness communities.

I’m a researcher studying the rhetoric of health and medicine – and, specifically, the rhetoric of risk. This means I analyze the language used by public officials, institutions, health care providers and other groups in discussing health risks to decode the underlying beliefs and assumptions that can affect both policy and public sentiment about health issues.

As a scholar of rhetoric and the mother of an autistic child, in the language of MAHA I hear a disregard for the humanity of people with disabilities and a shift from supporting them to blaming them for their needs.

Such language goes all the way up to the MAHA movement’s highest-level leader, Health and Human Services Secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr. It is clearly evident in the report on children’s health published in May 2025 by the MAHA Commission, which was established by President Donald Trump and is led by Kennedy, as well as in the MAHA Commission’s follow-up draft recommendations, leaked on Aug. 15, 2025.

Like many people, I worry that the MAHA Commission’s rhetoric may signal a coming shift in how the federal government views the needs of people with disabilities – and its responsibilities for meeting them.

Personal choice in health

One key concept for understanding the MAHA movement’s rhetoric, introduced by a prominent sociologist named Ulrich Beck, is what sociologists now call individualization of risk. Beck argued that modern societies and governments frame almost all health risks as being about personal choice and responsibility. That approach obscures how policies made by large institutions – such as governments, for example – constrain the choices that people are able to make.

In other words, governments and other institutions tend to focus on the choices that individuals make to intentionally deflect from their own responsibility for the other risk factors. The consequence, in many cases, is that the institution is off the hook for any responsibility for negative outcomes.

Beck, writing in 1986, pointed to nuclear plants in the Soviet Union as an example. People who lived near them reported health issues that they suspected were caused by radiation. But the government denied the existence of any evidence linking their woes to radiation exposure, implying that lifestyle choices were to blame. Some scholars have identified a similar dynamic in the U.S. today, where the government emphasizes personal responsibility while downplaying the effects of public policy on health outcomes.

A shift in responsibility

Such a shift in responsibility is evident in how MAHA proponents, including Kennedy, discuss chronic illness and disabilities – in particular, autism.

In its May 2025 report on children’s health, the MAHA Commission describes the administration’s views on chronic diseases in children. The report notes that the increased prevalence in “obesity, diabetes, neurodevelopmental disorders, cancer, mental health, autoimmune disorders and allergies” are “preventable trends.” It also frames the “major drivers” of these trends as “the food children are eating, the chemicals they are exposed to, the medications they are taking, and various changes to their lifestyle and behavior, particularly those related to physical activity, sleep and the use of technology.”

Notably, it makes no mention of systemic problems, such as limited access to nutritious food, poor air quality and lack of access to health care, despite strong evidence for the enormous contributions these factors make to children’s health. And regarding neurodevelopmental disorders such as autism, it makes no mention of genetics, even though decades of research has found that genetics accounts for most of the risk of developing autism.

There’s nothing inherently wrong with studying the environmental factors that might contribute to autism or other neurodevelopmental disorders. In fact, many researchers believe that autism is caused by complex interactions between genes and environmental factors. But here’s where Beck’s concept of individualization becomes revealing: While the government is clearly not responsible for the genetic causes of chronic diseases, this narrow focus on lifestyle and environmental factors implies that autism can be prevented if these factors are altered or eliminated.

While this may sound like great news, there are a couple of problems. First, it’s simply not true. Second, the Trump administration and Kennedy have canceled tens of millions of dollars in research funding for autism – including on environmental causes – replacing it with an initiative with an unclear review process. This is an unusual move if the goal is to identify and mitigate environmental risk factors And finally, the government could use this claim to justify removing federally funded support systems that are essential for the well-being of autistic people and their families – and instead focus all its efforts on eliminating processed foods, toxins and vaccines.

People with autism and their families are already carrying a tremendous financial burden, even with the current sources of available support. Cuts to Medicaid and other funding could transfer the responsibility for therapies and other needs to individual families, leaving many of them to struggle with paying their medical bills. But it could also threaten the existence of an entire network of health care providers that people with disabilities rely on.

Even more worrisome is the implication that autism is a kind of damage caused by the environment rather than one of many normal variations in human neurological diversity – framing people with autism as a problem that society must solve.

How language encodes value judgments

Such logic sets off alarm bells for anyone familiar with the history of eugenics, a movement that began with the idea of improving America by making its people healthier and quickly evolved to make judgments about who is and is not fit to participate in society.

Kennedy has espoused this view of autism throughout his career, even recently claiming that people with autism “will never pay taxes. They’ll never hold a job. They’ll never play baseball. They’ll never write a poem.”

Even if organic foods and a toxin-free household were the answer to reducing the prevalence of autism, the leaked MAHA Commission strategy report steers clear of recommending government regulation in industries such as food and agriculture, which would be needed to make these options affordable and widely available.

Instead, MAHA’s supposed interventions would remain lifestyle choices – and expensive ones, at that – left for individual families to make for themselves.

Just asking questions

Kennedy and other MAHA proponents also employ another powerful rhetorical tactic: raising questions about topics that have already reached a scientific consensus. This tactic frames such questions as pursuits of truth, but their purpose is actually to create doubt. This tactic, too, is evident in the MAHA Commission’s reports.

This practice of “just asking questions” while ignoring already established answers is widely referred to as “sealioning.” The tactic, named for a notorious sea lion in an online comic called Wondermark, is considered a form of harassment. Like much of the rhetoric of the anti-vaccine movement, it
serves to undermine public trust in science and medicine. This is partly due to a widespread misunderstanding of scientific research – for example, understanding that scientific disagreement does not necessarily indicate that science as a process is flawed.

MAHA rhetoric thus continues a troubling trend in the anti-vaccine movement of calling all of science and Western medicine into question in order to further a specific agenda, regardless of the risks to public health.

The MAHA Commission’s goals are almost universally appealing – healthier food, healthier kids and a healthier environment for all Americans. But analyzing what is implied, minimized or left out entirely can illuminate a much more complex political and social agenda.

Megan Donelson does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organization that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. How federal officials talk about health is shifting in troubling ways – and that change makes me worried for my autistic child – https://theconversation.com/how-federal-officials-talk-about-health-is-shifting-in-troubling-ways-and-that-change-makes-me-worried-for-my-autistic-child-259874

Source: The Conversation – USA (3) – By Walter S. DeKeseredy, Professor of Sociology, West Virginia University

I have been teaching a course on rural criminology since 2014, and most of my students are surprised by the information on violence against women presented to them.

Due to the lack of media attention to rural areas, my students come to class with the impression that all countrysides and small towns are safer than urban and suburban locales. In reality, rates of violent crime are often higher in many rural communities, and at times there’s even more silence around it.

Nearly 50 years of research shows that male violence against women knows no geographical or demographic boundaries. It occurs among all socioeconomic groups and in almost all communities, regardless of their size and location. Yet, crime in rural and remote places is reported to the police at lower rates than in urban areas.

Most criminology scholars do not study violence of any type in rural communities, which partly contributes to the widespread belief that rural women are safer than their urban and suburban counterparts. Media reporting also overlooks brutal forms of violence perpetrated by men in intimate relationships with women.

Hidden in plain sight

Janet, from rural southeast Ohio, whom I interviewed along with sociologist Martin Schwartz in 2003, like some other women in this region we talked to, was beaten by her husband after going through brutal degradation:

“He wanted sex … or with his buddies or made me have sex with a friend of his. … He tied me up so I could watch him have sex with a 13-year-old girl. And then he ended up going to prison for it.”

Janet is by no means an outlier. I analyzed aggregate 1992 to 2005 National Crime Victimization Survey data along with criminologists Callie M. Rennison and Molly Dragiewicz. This data conclusively shows that rural women across the U.S. report physical and sexual violence at higher rates than those in more densely populated areas.

Research also shows that rural women in the U.S. are more likely to be killed by their current or former male partners compared to their urban and suburban counterparts. A study looking at data from 2005 to 2017 across 16 states, for example, found that female homicide rates are higher in rural places.

Another rural Ohio woman told Schwartz and me about the violence she suffered in her relationship: “He’d come home and pull a double barrel and cock both barrels and said he was going to kill me. And it was like, wait a minute here, you know, it was two o’clock in the morning.”

Why are rural women at higher risk?

Research conducted since 1988 has identified several reasons for rural women being at higher risk of violence compared to those living in urban and suburban places. These include geographic and social isolation, widespread acceptance of violence against women, and community norms prohibiting women from seeking social support. What makes it even worse is the absence of effective social support services and the higher rates of gun ownership.

Many social workers, for example, must travel vast distances to reach rural battered women, often at their own expense. What is more, rural abusers “feed off” their female partners’ isolation.

As a woman Schwartz and I interviewed from Meigs County, Ohio, told us, “I didn’t have a car. I wasn’t allowed to go anywhere.” Her husband, however, who had “plenty of cars,” disabled them to stop her from seeking freedom and independence. “He taught me a lot about cars and I knew what parts I need. And there would be no spare. So, I couldn’t leave.”

In rural sections of Ohio and other states, as my research uncovered, there is common acceptance of abuse of women. In many rural areas, community norms often prohibit survivors from publicly talking about their experiences and from seeking help.

As one Appalachian woman put it: “I don’t sit around and share. I keep it to myself. Um, I, I believe that’s part of my mental illness. But I’m not one to sit around and talk about what’s happened.”

Jackie, another rural Ohio woman Schwartz and I interviewed, said that numerous women in her community suffer in silence: “It’s like we see, but we don’t. It’s like three monkeys: don’t see, don’t hear, don’t speak.”

Other women told similar stories of the unwillingness of people in their community to help them.

Gun ownership is a strong correlate of intimate partner violence in rural parts of the U.S.: In rural areas, 46% of adults own guns compared to 19% in urban places. Moreover, firearms are used in 54% of all rural domestic homicides.

What Neil Websdale, director of Arizona State University’s Family Violence Center, stated nearly 30 years ago still holds:

“Rural culture, with its acceptance of firearms for hunting and self-protection, may include a code among certain men that accepts the casual use of firearms to intimidate wives and intimate partners. In urban areas, it is more difficult for abusers to discharge their weapons and go undetected. People in the country are more familiar with the sound of gunshots and often attribute the sound to legitimate uses such as hunting.”

Gun ownership can create safety concerns for social workers, many of whom work alone.

Pathways to prevention

One, albeit highly controversial, prevention strategy is banning the possession, purchase, sale and transfer of handguns, which are the weapons men use the most to kill women regardless of where they live. That would greatly reduce the rate of male-to-female homicide in rural places, as it would in more densely populated areas.

For example, it is estimated that 38% fewer women are shot to death by intimate male partners in states where background checks are required for all handgun owners.

Similarly, the federal Violence Against Women Act includes provisions that, when an order of protection – also referred to as a restraining order – is granted, it leads to the person being restrained losing any gun permits or permission to keep guns at home.

This, in turn, leads to a reduction in intimate femicide. A number of states have gone further than the federal law, extending gun possession bans to people under temporary – not just permanent – restraining orders. Such bans have further reduced intimate partner homicide, by a best estimate of 14%.

Libraries as safe spaces

Rural libraries have proven to be a vital resource in the struggle to end interpersonal forms of abuse of women. They are more accessible in many U.S. rural communities than are shelters, public transportation and other services.

Rural librarians can direct survivors to legal assistance and domestic violence service websites, help find books and pamphlets that are useful for survivors, and provide programming for survivors’ children if survivors need time to think about their options.

The librarian could also help survivors travel from the library to the nearest shelter and work with the police to provide transportation assistance. Moreover, the librarian could help connect survivors with shelter workers via telephone and arrange for the arrival of survivors and their children at a shelter.

We are starting to see attorneys offering survivors legal advice in rural public libraries and providing libraries with information kiosks that include materials on legal issues related to the abuse of women.

A word of caution, though, is necessary. Libraries and other places that offer services to abused rural women require architectural changes that preclude people from hearing survivors talk about their violent experiences.

The chances that people might overhear survivors talking is much greater in smaller communities and hence more likely to jeopardize the safety of survivors and their children.

A multipronged strategy is always necessary. For example, some experts in the field call for setting up women’s police stations and safe houses in rural areas. They also recommend getting rural men to participate in anti-violence and anti-sexist community-based activities, such as holding town hall meetings to raise awareness about violence against women.

All too often, people think of ending violence as an event simple enough to fit on a bumper sticker or the side of a coffee mug. Just leave, and then it will be over.

Unfortunately, for a large number of women and children, particularly in rural areas, leaving and ending up in a safe place is a complex, ongoing process, and for some women and children it is one that never ends.

Walter S. DeKeseredy receives funding from West Virginia University..

– ref. Rural women are at a higher risk of violence − and less likely to get help – https://theconversation.com/rural-women-are-at-a-higher-risk-of-violence-and-less-likely-to-get-help-258976

Source: The Conversation – USA (3) – By Timothy Gabrielli, Gudorf Chair in Catholic Intellectual Traditions, University of Dayton

The 1953 Alfred Hitchcock film “I Confess,” based on an earlier play, features a priest suspected of murder. He’s innocent, and has even heard the murderer’s confession – but cannot clear his own name.

The Catholic sacrament of reconciliation, also known as penance or confession, has been a compelling set piece for fiction writers over the ages, from medieval novels to contemporary films. One reason the practice has intrigued both authors and audiences is the dramatic potential of the “seal of the confessional” – that is, the requirement that priests not disclose any identifying information about what they have heard during confession.

Recently, this sacrament has garnered nonfictional attention. Washington state passed a law on reporting child abuse, which was scheduled to go into effect in July 2025. In some circumstances, the law requires clergy to report abuse or neglect, even if it is revealed during confession. On July 18, however, a federal judge put the law on hold, amid a lawsuit alleging the measure would violate First Amendment rights to religious freedom.

But what is the sacrament of reconciliation, and how has the practice developed in the Catholic Church?

‘I have sinned’

Today, the most common form of confession takes place between a penitent and the “minister of the sacrament” – a priest or bishop. There may be a screen between the two, or they may sit across from one another without anonymity.

At the beginning of the rite, the minister greets the penitent “with kindness,” offers a prayer and sometimes reads from the Bible.

The penitent then confesses the sins they believe they have committed since their last visit. In Catholic teaching, a sin is defined as a failure in loving God and others properly.

Christians believe that sin distances humans from God, but that Jesus’ life, death and resurrection repaired that wounded relationship. The confessor – the ordained clergy hearing the confession – reminds the penitent that through the sacrament, they participate in this central mystery of faith.

Following the confession, the priest or bishop proposes an act of penance: a prayer or action by which the penitent might grow in holiness and make amends. Afterward, the penitent offers a prayer of contrition, asking for God’s mercy. The confessor then absolves the penitent in the name of God before exclaiming, “The Lord has forgiven your sins,” and dismissing the penitent to “Go in peace.”

History of the sacrament

Confession is a form of repentance: turning away from wrongdoing and heeding the call of God, a theme long emphasized in the Jewish and Christian traditions. While still an important emphasis today for Jews and Christians, practices around repentance vary.

In the Catholic tradition, baptism – the first sacrament a person receives – washes away sin and brings the baptized into the church. As Jesus’ apostle Peter says in the New Testament, “Repent and be baptized every one of you in the name of Jesus Christ so that your sins may be forgiven, and you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit.”

Gradually, the church developed communal practices for reconciliation after baptism. Typically, penitents would remain outside church gatherings, demonstrating their repentance by prostrating themselves, and then publicly confess. Though the historical record is complex, communal penance usually could be undertaken only once.

In an important variation, medieval soldiers returning from war regularly spent an extended period of penance in monasteries – a recognition of Catholicism’s teaching that any war is inherently sinful.

During the Middle Ages, the practice of individual confession developed in what is now Ireland. The rite introduced private confession to a priest, who ritually represents both Christ and the wider church. Eventually, this rite became repeatable.

Individual confession was codified into church law at the Fourth Lateran Council, a meeting of bishops in 1215. The council also emphasized the sanctity of the seal of confession – that is, clergy’s requirement not to “betray” a penitent by revealing something confessed to them during the sacrament of reconciliation.

This absolute confidentiality helps give penitents the confidence to approach confession forthrightly, without holding back. The automatic consequence for a confessor who breaks the seal of confession is excommunication – that is, banned, at least temporarily, from the sacraments of the church. In some cases, the offender can be removed from the clergy.

Public and private

Two elements of confession are emphasized throughout Christian history, sometimes in a kind of back-and-forth: interior attitude of repentance, and outward expression of that repentance. Catholicism teaches that speaking aloud one’s sins makes them concrete in a way that private prayer cannot – and makes the forgiveness concrete, as well. As Pope John Paul II wrote, confession “forces sin out of the secret of the heart and thus out of the area of pure individuality, emphasizing its social character as well.”

In the standard form of the Catholic sacrament today, the communal element is reduced but not lost, since the confessor stands in for the presence of Christ and for the presence of the wider Christian community. Other penitential acts bring the communal aspect more to the fore. Indeed, at every Catholic Mass, participants offer a general confession of sins without specifying particular actions. They ask for each other’s prayers, and pray for God’s forgiveness.

The sacrament of reconciliation, however, remains a practice in which Catholics can be specific and concrete about what they understand to be serious sins. Dorothy Day, an American peace and labor activist who is under consideration for sainthood, famously reflected that “confession is hard. … You do not want to make too much of your constant imperfections and venial sins, but you want to drag them out to the light of day as the first step in getting rid of them.”

At its best, the sacrament of reconciliation aims to support this practice and bring about God’s abundant grace upon the penitent.

Timothy Gabrielli does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organization that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. From public confession to private penance: How Catholic confession has evolved over centuries – https://theconversation.com/from-public-confession-to-private-penance-how-catholic-confession-has-evolved-over-centuries-262187

Source: The Conversation – USA (3) – By Sarah Pessin, Professor of Philosophy, University of Denver

More than 70% of voters in Colorado’s Douglas County, conservative and progressive alike, voted “no” on home rule in June 2025. The ballot measure would have granted the county increased control over certain local matters such as building zoning, parking rules and sewer maintenance.

Historically Republican, but home to a growing population of vocal Democrats, the county is a microcosm of American political divides – from book ban debates to COVID mask controversies. Does this divided county’s bipartisan rejection of home rule mean that Coloradans have cracked the polarization problem?

Alas, not really.

It turns out both sides recoiled at the expensive and rushed nature of the election. It was hardly the heartwarming tale of opponents warming up to each other, which is often the civic solution good humans on both sides seem to be wishing for.

You can sense that longing in a public radio headline announcing the “liberal urban gardener breaking bread with a conservative military-family matriarch.” Or in Sarah Silverman’s “I Love You, America,” a TV series in which the comedian set out to high-five her way across a divided country. You see it in The Village Square, a nonprofit civic organization that describes itself as a “nervy bunch of liberals and conservatives” who promise bipartisan dialogue with disagreement but also “a good time.”

But what if this particular kind of trying sets the bar too high – or, at least, too comfy and cozy?

As a philosopher who studies meaning-making, ethics and politics across traditions, I’d like to suggest that Coloradans don’t need to hug it out or high-five their way forward. Rather, they can look to a variety of ethical traditions for insights about protecting each other even when they hate each other’s views and values.

On becoming fussy princesses

For starters, in American democracy some tensions are a feature, not a bug. While most would insist racism and sexism need to go, some disconnects – such as religious differences – are going to stay. So dreaming of full-on harmony with neighbors kind of misses the point.

Furthermore, as I’ve argued elsewhere, the unity dream can put well-meaning neighbors at risk of becoming the civic equivalents of the princess and the pea. from the Hans Christian Andersen fairy tale. Just like a royal so pure that even piles of plush mattresses can’t prevent her being awakened by the lumpiness of a single pea, constantly seeking common ground can dispose people to become sameness-seekers who are increasingly allergic to difference.

And this can make everyone’s stomachs churn even more furiously at all of their not-just-like-them neighbors.

The legacy of Hard Hope

When it comes to better civics, embracing each other is not the only alternative to erasing each other. I’ve been developing a different remedy for rancor in American civic life.

It’s based on my decades of studying philosophy and gravitating always to each text’s most precarious and vulnerable insights on human authenticity and ethical response.

I call it “Hard Hope.”

Hard Hope takes its inspiration from the theological and ethical politics of a wide array of thinkers from many different backgrounds.

In a Christmas sermon in 1958, Martin Luther King Jr. reflected on the biblical injunction to “love thy enemy.” Referring to God, he notes: “It’s significant that he does not say, ‘Like your enemy.’ Like is a sentimental something, an affectionate something. There are a lot of people that I find it difficult to like.”

It’s an arresting insight that takes a moment to sink in: He’s saying that real neighborly love has little to do with heart emojis.

Similarly, Emmanuel Levinas, a Jewish philosopher, emphasizes being called upon to serve others not in light of shared ground but in light of their being “the absolutely other which I can not contain.” Levinas was inspired by Exodus 33:20 which says no human can see God’s face. He describes the utter otherness of the neighbor as an unknowable face to which people are nonetheless ethically beholden. People are beholden to others inasmuch as they are other, Levinas argues. Not inasmuch as people feel connected.

And in like spirit, the queer Chicana feminist Gloria Anzaldúa calls for a “spiritual activism” in which justice requires not only interrupting inequity, but also building with opponents. For such radical connection with others, Anzaldúa draws on the Nahuatl term for in between, “nepantla,” and issues a call to “nepantleras” – people who are able to navigate ambiguous thresholds within split perspectives.

“Honoring people’s otherness, las nepantleras advocate a ‘nos/otras’ position — an alliance between ‘us’ and ‘others.’ In nos/otras, the ‘us’ is divided in two, the slash in the middle representing the bridge – the best mutuality we can hope for at the moment,” she writes.

Hard Hope is a call to look out not only for neighbors we like but for neighbors we like least. That’s even as people take to voting booths to reject their opponents’ worst oversteps, and even as they work within and across communities to elevate justice and secure better futures for all. It’s not a call to change a group’s politics, though at times it can mean tempering them. And it always means distinguishing the call to engage politics from the call to engage people – even as it expects everyone to do both.

Hard Hope asks people to take a break from the bubblegum optimism of believing everyone is just moments away from seeing eye to eye and bursting into compassion, friendship and harmony across divides. Instead, Hard Hope invites people to take up the unusual mood of feeling a sense of debt to their neighbors without liking them. It’s a call to dig deep, beyond a sense of “shared humanity” to an even deeper sense of an “unshared otherness” that calls people into service to others.

It’s a radical form of hope that’s more about indebted coexistence than enthusiastic camaraderie.

And not a single loaf of bread needs baking or breaking in the process.

Sarah Pessin does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organization that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. Forget the warm fuzzies of finding common ground – to beat polarization, try changing your expectations – https://theconversation.com/forget-the-warm-fuzzies-of-finding-common-ground-to-beat-polarization-try-changing-your-expectations-260890