As published in The Information
I keep waiting for someone to stand up.
A Democrat who says: "You know what? Some of the woke stuff went too far. We lost people who should be with us because we couldn't admit that." A Republican who says: "I voted for the policies, but I can't defend the lies anymore. The man is unfit, and pretending otherwise is costing us our souls."
Someone—anyone—who breaks ranks. Who values truth over team. Who goes first. I'm 83 years old. I've been waiting a long time.
A Confession
I'll be honest with you. I started writing this as an attack piece. I had my villains lined up. I was going to name names, catalog sins, deliver righteous judgment on all the people I think are ruining this country.
A friend read it and said: "There's nothing new here. You're just insulting people who disagree with you."
He was right. And he's still my friend. We're having coffee tomorrow.
That exchange taught me something. The killer message I was looking for—the one that would finally break through, finally make a difference, finally wake people up—doesn't exist. Not as an argument. Not as an attack. Not as a clever framework that exposes the other side's hypocrisy.
The only thing that might actually work is something much harder: Going first.
The Problem With Waiting
Everyone is waiting for a hero. Democrats are waiting for a Republican with integrity to stand up and say "enough." Republicans are waiting for a Democrat to admit their side has gone off the rails too. Independents are waiting for anyone to be honest. We're all waiting for someone else to go first.
And while we wait, the poison spreads. Social media algorithms feed us outrage because outrage drives engagement. Politicians lie because lying works. Families fracture because we've stopped being able to talk to people who see things differently.
I have intelligent friends—people I've known for decades—who support Trump. They focus on "policy, not personality." They see things in the economy or on the border that matter to them, and they've made their peace with the rest.
I have other friends who think anyone who voted Republican is complicit in the destruction of democracy. They've written off half the country as irredeemable. Both groups are waiting for the other to come to their senses. Neither is willing to go first.
What Going First Looks Like
Let me try.
I lean left. I've voted for more Democrats than Republicans. And here's what I'll admit:
The left lost working-class voters because we stopped listening to them. We lectured. We condescended. We treated legitimate concerns about immigration, crime, and economic anxiety as proof of bigotry. We deserved to lose those voters, and we still don't fully understand why they left.
Some progressive policies went too far, too fast, without enough concern for the people who'd bear the costs. When someone in Ohio loses their job to a trade deal negotiated by people who've never been to Ohio, "learn to code" isn't an answer. It's an insult.
Obama lied about keeping your doctor. Clinton lied under oath. Biden stayed too long. We excused all of it because they were our guys. That's my side's dirt. I'm not proud of it. But I can't ask anyone else to be honest if I'm not willing to be honest first.
Now it's your turn.
The Invitation
If you're a Republican, what can you admit about your side? Not the stuff Democrats accuse you of—the stuff you know in your gut is true. The lies you've excused. The behavior you'd never accept from your kids. The moments when "policy, not personality" felt like a cop-out even to you.
If you're a Democrat, what can you admit about yours? The times we were smug instead of persuasive. The moments we cared more about being right than being effective. The people we wrote off who deserved better.
I'm not asking you to switch sides. I'm not asking you to abandon your values or pretend both parties are equally bad.
I'm asking you to go first.
To say something honest about your own team before you attack the other one. To model the behavior you're waiting to see from someone else. Because here's what I've learned at 83: the hero isn't coming. There's no JFK waiting in the wings, no Reagan who'll reunite us, no Obama who'll transcend the division. The cavalry isn't on its way. The only heroes are ordinary people who decide to go first.
What If It Doesn't Work?
I don't know if any of this makes a difference. I've written articles. I've built a company trying to combat misinformation. I've had hard conversations with friends who see the world differently. Some days it feels like shouting into a hurricane.
My friends—most of them my age—tell me we won't live to see this cleaned up. They might be right. These things take generations. But I have a great-grandchild. That child will inherit whatever world we leave behind. And when they ask what I did during these years, I want to say something better than "I waited for someone else to fix it."
I want to say I went first.
Even if it didn't work. Even if nobody followed. Even if the only thing I accomplished was staying honest in a dishonest time. That's not nothing. That's not nothing at all.
The Ask
Here's what I'm asking. Not demanding. Not lecturing. Asking. The next time you're about to attack the other side—and they probably deserve it—pause. Ask yourself: Have I been honest about my own side first? Have I earned the right to criticize by admitting my own team's failures?
If you're about to share something that makes the other side look bad, ask: Would I share this if it were about my side? Or would I demand more context, more nuance, more benefit of the doubt?
If you're about to write off a friend or family member because of how they voted, ask: Is this the person I know? The whole person? Or am I reducing them to their worst political opinion?
None of this is easy. All of it feels like unilateral disarmament when the other side seems to have no standards at all. But the alternative is what we have now: mutual destruction in slow motion. Two tribes, neither capable of self-correction, neither willing to go first.
Someone has to break the cycle.
Why not you?
Tomorrow Morning
Tomorrow I'm having coffee with the friend who told me my first draft was garbage. He votes differently than I do. He sees the world differently than I do. He called me out when I was being self-righteous, and I'm grateful for it. That relationship matters more to me than winning an argument.
Somewhere in that friendship is the answer to what ails us. Not agreement—we'll never agree on everything. But the willingness to stay in the room. To keep talking. To see each other as more than our political opinions.
I don't know how to fix the country. I don't know how to defeat the algorithms and the outrage merchants and the politicians who profit from our division.
But I know how to show up for coffee tomorrow.
I know how to go first.
And I know that if enough of us do—enough ordinary people, having enough honest conversations, refusing to let politics destroy the relationships that hold us together—something might shift. Not overnight. Not in my lifetime, maybe.
But the hero we're waiting for? The one who finally stands up and changes everything?
That's you. That's me. That's all of us, deciding to go first. No one else is coming. We're the ones we've been waiting for.