This comment was first published on Friday, October 25, 2024, in Berlingske.

In our little pond, we have constructed a convenient narrative about those on the other side of the Atlantic who have voted or intend to vote for Trump, writes Özlem Cekic.

When the then Democratic presidential candidate Hillary Clinton gave a campaign speech on September 9, 2016, she called her opponent Donald Trump's core supporters a "basket of deplorables." Loosely translated, this means "a bunch of sad losers."

That's what Trump's voters were to Clinton. That comment makes it clear that citizens on the other side of the political spectrum are not worth spending time on.

There was certainly some legitimate political criticism somewhere in Clinton's tirade against Trump, but the moment she turned her sights on American voters, she undermined her own criticism and—worst of all—dug the already deep trench even deeper.

It has been some time since those condescending comments were made in 2016. And although we are unlikely to hear Kamala Harris make a similar remark, I believe that Clinton's comments reflected a problem within the Democratic Party that has yet to be resolved.

To me, Clinton's comments about Trump voters exposed the Democrats' inability to understand the challenges faced by the working class. Historically, the Democrats have been the ones who secured basic social, political, and economic rights for workers and the underclass.

Democratic presidential candidate Kamala Harris recently appeared for an interview on Fox News, which is known to be a Trump-friendly channel. When asked why she refers to Republican voters as stupid, she immediately dismissed the claim as false. This is, after all, an improvement on Clinton's remarks in 2016.

But we cannot ignore the fact that, even though neither Harris nor the Democrats directly say that Trump's voters are stupid or pathetic, an image of Trump's voters as extremists has been created not only in the US but also in the rest of the world.

This image was understandably reinforced by the storming of Congress on January 6, 2021. But this is a minority of the 74 million people who voted for Trump in 2020, and we must assume that not all of them are extremists. That would be a far-fetched claim, wouldn't it?

I am, of course, aware that it is very difficult to ask this question in Denmark, and that I have probably already offended some readers.

In a new poll by the Verian Institute, 88 percent of Danes say they would vote for Democratic presidential candidate Kamala Harris if they could vote in the US presidential election on November 5. Only five percent would vote for Trump.

I am not claiming that I am different. On the contrary. I would also vote for Harris if I could. But I still believe that because such a large majority of Danes support Harris, there is a real risk that we overlook our own bias and prejudices about Trump's voters.

Trump would be a disastrous choice for democracy, the US, and the world. I believe this partly because I disagree with him politically. But I also don't believe that he possesses the stature and human qualities needed to lead the free world.

However, this does not mean we need to make Trump voters into worse people. Since the 2016 election, we have built up a narrative in our little pond about those on the other side of the Atlantic who have voted or intend to vote for Trump.

It has been a convenient narrative because it has allowed us to quickly dismiss the radically different choice of president without actually considering why people voted the way they did. The result is a narrative that is caricatured, stigmatizing, and extremely prejudiced.

Inequality is rampant in the United States. The richest one percent of the population—popularly known as "the top one percent"—owns a full 30 percent of the country's wealth. Meanwhile, the lower and middle classes struggle to make ends meet and often have to take on multiple jobs.

I may well wonder why Trump's voters would put their cross next to the name of a man who is himself part of the upper class. But it is also part of the narrative that massive immigration is pushing wages down, creating A and B teams in the workplace, and challenging American values in the border states.

I am writing this column from West Virginia, where I am beginning my dialogue coffee tour of the United States. Here, I will travel around and learn more about Americans' attitudes and the divisions that have taken root in American society.

Perhaps I can learn more about Trump's voters, and perhaps I can even learn more about my own prejudices and blind spots.

I meet her on the street. I'm supposed to go to Trump's campaign office in Charleston, West Virginia, but the door is locked. Suddenly, the door opens, and I ask her if she knows how I can get in. Yes, she does. She works for the campaign herself. "Come back in an hour and a half," she says. Then there will be more of us.

But she is alone when I knock again. She almost apologizes that the others haven't arrived yet. She is a little surprised that I want to talk to her about . It is clear that she does not think she is important.

But she is. Shelby has spent every waking hour of the last two years bringing Trump to power. She proudly recounts that it took four years to wrest power from the Democrats in the state, who had held a firm grip on office for 88 years. Now, not only do the Republicans have a majority, but the state also secured Trump the most votes of any state in the last US election.

Shelby also works for Trump in her spare time. She has succeeded, for example, in convincing her elderly father, who has voted Democrat all his life, to put his X on the Republicans.

"It's difficult with my sister. She has seen and worked in the world," she says. For several years, her sister has been actively working to stop human trafficking in Tanzania. "She is much more woke," she says, without batting an eyelid.

I ask her whether the division has also created rifts in her family. I tell her about my father and me. He votes for Erdogan, and for several years this has divided us.

"No. I can talk to anyone because, ultimately, we are all citizens of the United States. Social media is different. Then people call me a bigot," she says. Her face is expressionless again. "What is it?" I ask her.

She doesn't know how to explain it, but she goes to the computer and starts reading: a person who is stubbornly or unreasonably attached to a belief, opinion, or faction, especially one who is prejudiced against a person or people because of their membership in a particular group. A racist," she concludes.

"But now we've started to be able to X (formerly Twitter) because Elon Musk has made sure that we can express our opinions without being blocked," she says.

Shelby is friendly. She is welcoming and quiet, without any grand gestures. I wonder what she writes on social media, I think to myself.

She is concerned about high gasoline prices, the endless wars around the world, and liberal abortion laws. Shelby never had children of her own, but she loves her nieces so much that everything she does is focused on creating a better world for them.

When I ask her if I can take a picture of her in her office, she starts tidying up a bit, but quickly gives up. "I should tidy up this office one day," she says with a shy smile.

She invited me to Chris Tempel Church on Sunday.

As I walk away from Shelby, I can't help but think that, on the one hand, she confirms all my preconceptions about Republicans. Christian, anti-abortion, blind Trump supporter.

But on the other hand, she is also everything I did not expect. Loving, attentive, non-judgmental, genuinely concerned about the way the world is developing.

I accept the invitation to the church, and it will not be a farewell but a see you again.

Where should we move when Trump wins? I had a dialogue coffee with Danish-Americans in Pennsylvania.

They are deeply concerned that Trump will win, but they also fear the violence that will follow if he loses.

They have all considered moving to another country if Trump wins. It could be Mexico to be close to their children, Spain, or another European country. Denmark is not an option for them due to its strict immigration rules.

“Here we are immigrants, but in our own country we are not even welcome.” We sometimes forget how unfair our immigration rules are.

They have friends who are also immigrants whose safety they fear for if Trump loses.

Their friends have started transferring money abroad in case they need to relocate.

I am shocked by how uncertain they feel about the future. I ask them where this uncertainty comes from. They tell me that there have always been two parties in the US, and both parties have had extremes. But the middle ground has always been able to talk to each other. That is no longer the case. Dialogue has been replaced by anger, suspicion, and fighting over facts.

They are particularly concerned about fake news. Many people believe in conspiracy theories. Established media outlets have lost credibility. Everyone has become an expert on social media, where they spread fake news.

For example, they talk about how some Republicans believe that Democrats are responsible for hurricanes. How can you argue against such grotesque claims, one of them asks.

I become completely absorbed by their frustration, and finally I pull myself together and ask if they themselves could build bridges to some of their Republican friends/colleagues.

The answer comes promptly from one of them: "This is not the time for bridges." But if not now, then when? I ask. We talk at length about personal responsibility for dialogue, what echo chambers do to prejudice and polarization.

There is complete silence. "I will never discuss politics with my Republican friends again. Otherwise, the last remaining connection will also disappear," says one of them.

When I leave there, I feel so sad about how serious the polarization in the US is.

I can't help thinking about my conversation with Professor Kenneth Gergen earlier this week, who said that it's not enough to bring people together. Dialogue must be supported and structured. We need help to build communities of shared values before we talk about what divides us.

Many thanks to my dear Danish-Americans for taking the time to educate me. I sincerely hope that the sun will shine on you and the country you live in.

How could highly educated people in Pennsylvania end up fighting at a simple information meeting about coronavirus? Kenneth J. Gergen shakes his head as he recounts the episode he witnessed.

“It is not enough to bring people together. Dialogue must be supported and structured. Relationships must be built systematically,” he says.

It's not just anyone I have a lunch meeting with in Pennsylvania.

Kenneth J. Gergen is a professor of psychology at Swarthmore College in Pennsylvania, USA, founder of the Taos Institute, adjunct professor at Tilburg University, and honorary professor at the University of Buenos Aires. He has received countless honors, and his books have been translated into many languages, including Danish.

He has facilitated dialogue meetings between political opponents and has special knowledge of how to facilitate these meetings so that participants can build relationships with each other.

As I sit in his extremely beautiful home, which is filled with art, I absorb every single word he says.

Without a framework, most dialogues will end in a dead end, he says. That is why adults are fighting at the coronavirus meeting.

He has read quite a bit about me and my work, so I think he knows that I have been on Dancing with the Stars, as he starts comparing dialogical tools with dance (no, he didn't know that).

There are countless ways to move, he says. Together, we name the different dances: Tango could be an emotional dialogue. Samba could be one where humor is at the center. Partner dancing could be a debate, for example. The point is that there is no one way to dance. That is why dialogue also requires many different tools.

The second thing is that we often have a weak relationship with those we disagree with, he says. Therefore, before talking about what divides us, it is crucial to focus on what unites us: our values. What matters to me and to you. In this way, we learn something about the other person, which helps to break down prejudices and ultimately allows us to live together despite our differences, he says.

His experience is that, in general, one should not talk about principles. Because it kills dialogue and is extremely difficult to argue against.

But when you have built up a strong enough relationship over time, you can also take up any difficult topic and talk about it without demonizing each other.

BUT, says the professor, with deep seriousness. Trump makes politics personal and attacks people personally. This means that relationships break down. It is dangerous for a democracy when population groups are turned into enemies. He has never before seen the US so polarized.

Leaders must not divide, and citizens must be helped and supported in the dialogue.

I am so honored that Kenneth has taken the time to meet with me. As I say goodbye to him after a wonderful lunch and incredibly enriching conversation, he tells me that he has spoken with his friends in Denmark, and they said that what I was doing with Brobyggerne was really good.

I try to control myself, but I can hardly contain my excitement at receiving praise from Kenneth J. Gergen himself!

Trump calls us either animals or says we eat people's pets. He says we poison Americans' blood, come from prisons and mental institutions. Emotions were running high when I met these people last night in the important swing state of Pennsylvania.

Three of them were representatives from Latin American organizations. One of them worked with climate change. Two of them raised millions, which were used to help families who were socially, economically, and health-wise challenged in life.

What they all had in common was that they feared Trump would win the election. Not because they had a general problem with Republicans. They had family members, friends, and colleagues who voted for the party, with whom they no longer discussed politics. They had a problem with Trump. All his lies. Suspicion. Threats. They were deeply frustrated.

They feared what everyday life would be like for immigrants if Trump won. They said that immigrants were already being arbitrarily arrested and deported. But Latin Americans in particular felt alienated and treated with hostility. They were completely honest about the challenges that immigration also presented. Several of them had suggestions for immigration reform, where those living in the country would be given more rights, while the door would be closed to those outside the US borders.

It is always a very special experience to meet other minorities around the world. We share a common language because of the painful experiences we each have with racism, hatred, discrimination, and stigmatization.

A shared baggage of experiences.

But I came from Denmark. We spent a long time comparing the two countries. I proudly told them that we were one of the least corrupt countries with a high level of trust in the authorities. The best place in the world to be a mother. We were the ones with high taxes, but a safety net and welfare for citizens. But just like in the US—perhaps not to the same extent—we also had challenges with dialogue with those we disagreed with.

I told them about dialogue coffee and how they themselves could build bridges to Trump's voters, whom they had spent the entire evening criticizing.

Do you demonize yourselves, I finally asked, when I sensed that we had built up trust after dinner. (That's why my slogan is: where there is food, there is peace).

I was very curious to see how they would react to my very direct manner. Yes, they replied. We also have prejudices. And we also judge. We also write them off for conversation. We don't want dialogue with them either, because they attack us all the time. Maybe they think the same about you, I said. There was silence.

I told them about my own journey from ditch digger to bridge builder. And when the evening ended, several of them said that perhaps they should invite some of their Republican friends to a dialogue coffee.

Today, I met with a bridge builder in the US. She didn't want her face in the picture. It was a very powerful experience.

She works with women's rights, but not directly with the issue of abortion. She faces fierce opposition. Even her father threw a chair at her in the middle of a discussion.

Families are divided, she tells us when we meet at a café. She is gorgeous. Insanely sharp rhetorically and incredibly committed. She has a long education and runs a large company with her father.

She devotes all her waking hours to issues such as women's rights, childcare, maternity leave regulations, and equal access to education. Her eyes well up when I ask her how much volunteer work she does alongside her job. "My children think I work all the time," she says.

She does not want to call herself an activist because she believes the word is tainted.

She calls herself a bridge builder, as she works with both Republicans and Democrats. In fact, she has helped candidates from both parties. As long as they are willing to speak up for women's rights, she will stand right behind them.

However, she never talks about pro-life or pro-choice, as it is called in the US. She believes that these words demonise and divide Americans. She wants to bring people together. In her experience, this has become an almost impossible task since 2015.

People who believe a lie don't really believe anything, she says, and in one breath contradicts a series of public lies about women.

"But I'll keep going!" she says with such strength in her voice that I don't doubt her for a second. But the reality is, as I also tell her, that human rights and civil liberties are being restricted in pretty much every country in the world.

It will take decades just in the US to rectify this, she concludes.

I meet many people on my travels, but rarely do people introduce themselves as bridge builders. Her experiences are familiar to me, as she recounts how many people actively oppose dialogue on both sides of the political spectrum.

I commend her for her courage. "But I can't be the face of all the work I do, because the price would be too high. I promised my family that," she says without elaborating.

Suddenly, we are sitting there—in the middle of a book café, in the world's most free country, and we fall silent—together.

Help spread the positive news.

I meet her on the street. I am supposed to go to Trump's campaign office in Charleston, West Virginia, but the door is locked. Suddenly, the door opens, and I ask her if she knows how I can get in. Yes, she does. She works for the campaign herself. "Come back in half an hour," she says. Then there will be more of us.

But she is alone when I knock again. She almost apologizes that the others haven't arrived yet. She is a little surprised that I want to talk to her about . It is clear that she does not think she is important.

But she is. Shelby has spent every waking hour of the last two years bringing Trump to power. She proudly recounts that it took four years to wrest power from the Democrats in the state, who had held a firm grip on office for 88 years. Now, not only do the Republicans have a majority, but the state also secured Trump the most votes of any state in the last US election.

Shelby also works for Trump in her spare time. She has succeeded, for example, in convincing her elderly father, who has voted Democrat all his life, to put his X on the Republicans.

"It's difficult with my sister. She has seen and worked in the world," she says. For several years, her sister has been actively working to stop human trafficking in Tanzania. "She is much more woke," she says, without batting an eyelid.

I ask her whether the division has also created rifts in her family. I tell her about my father and me. He votes for Erdogan, and for several years this has divided us.

"No. I can talk to anyone because, ultimately, we are all citizens of the United States. Social media is different. Then people call me a bigot," she says. Her face is expressionless again. "What is it?" I ask her.

She doesn't know how to explain it, but she goes to the computer and starts reading: a person who is stubbornly or unreasonably attached to a belief, opinion, or faction, especially one who is prejudiced against a person or people because of their membership in a particular group. A racist," she concludes.

"But now we've started to be able to X (formerly Twitter) because Elon Musk has made sure that we can express our opinions without being blocked," she says.

Shelby is friendly. She is welcoming and quiet, without any grand gestures. I wonder what she writes on social media, I think to myself.

She is concerned about high gasoline prices, the endless wars around the world, and liberal abortion laws. Shelby never had children of her own, but she loves her nieces so much that everything she does is focused on creating a better world for them.

When I ask her if I can take a picture of her in her office, she starts tidying up a bit, but quickly gives up. "I should tidy up this office one day," she says with a shy smile.

She invited me to Chris Tempel Church on Sunday.

As I walk away from Shelby, I can't help but think that, on the one hand, she confirms all my preconceptions about Republicans. Christian, anti-abortion, blind Trump supporter.

But on the other hand, she is also everything I did not expect. Loving, attentive, non-judgmental, genuinely concerned about the way the world is developing.

I accept the invitation to the church, and it will not be a farewell but a see you again.

(I am in the US with dialogue coffee, and over the next two weeks I will be meeting with my preconceptions, organizations, passionate individuals, and experts to learn more about why the world's most important country is so divided. Or is it?)

Be honest! Do you also think that Trump's 74 million voters are extremists, stupid, or, as Hillary Clinton put it in 2016, a "basket of deplorables"? Loosely translated, this means "a bunch of sad losers."

I am, of course, aware that it is very difficult to ask this question in Denmark, and that I have probably already offended some of my followers.

But because 88% of us Danes will vote for Harris, there is also a real risk that we will overlook our own bias and our prejudices about Trump's voters.

I sincerely believe that Trump would be a disastrous choice for democracy, the US, and the world. Partly because I disagree with him politically. But I also don't believe that he has the stature and human qualities needed to lead the free world.

However, we do not need to make all 74 million of Trump's voters into worse people because a few of them are extreme. Since the 2016 election, we have built up a narrative in our little pond about those on the other side of the Atlantic who have voted or intend to vote for Trump.

It has been a convenient narrative because it has allowed us to quickly dismiss the radically different choice of president without actually considering why people voted the way they did. The result is a narrative that is caricatured, stigmatizing, and extremely prejudiced.

I have traveled to the United States with dialogue coffee to meet with Trump voters, among others. My trip began in beautiful West Virginia, where Trump received the most votes last time. So it is genuine Trump country.

My column from West Virginia, which I wrote for Berlingske, can be read here: https://www.berlingske.dk/…/ozlem-cekic-er-taget-til…