America doesn’t need another debate stage — we need more dinner tables. In a country wired for outrage and filtered by algorithms, we’ve forgotten the ancient act of simply sitting down and breaking bread with someone who sees the world differently.

For the past decade, I’ve hosted hundreds of dinners that bring strangers together not to argue, but to listen, to share and to find common ground. These aren’t just feel-good meals — they’re micro-revolutions of empathy. In times such as these, as headlines shout and tempers flare, maybe the most radical thing we can do for democracy is invite someone to dinner.

We are living in the loneliest, most divided version of America in modern history. According to the Pew Research Center, 72% of Republicans and 63% of Democrats say people in the other party are “immoral.” Nearly eight in 10 Americans believe the country is more divided than ever.

The 2025 World Happiness Report revealed something even more startling: the psychological gap between people who regularly share meals and those who eat alone is as wide as the gap between employed and unemployed populations. That’s not a wellness stat. That’s a social warning.

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We’re not just disconnected politically — we’re disconnected personally. Fewer of us have close friends who think differently. Social media has created echo chambers. News algorithms deliver dopamine, not dialogue. And the myth that “more conversation” equals more understanding? That only works if the setting is safe — and intimate.

Behavioral psychologist Robert Cialdini has long shown that proximity breeds liking — the more physically near we are to others, the more positively we feel about them.

You can’t demonize someone when they just passed you the bread. That’s the thing about dinner tables, the oldest social technology we have — they melt the armor. One moment you’re eyeing someone with suspicion, the next, you’re laughing about your grandmother’s lasagna. Editor’s picks

Since 2015, I’ve hosted dinners with thousands of people across all walks of life — CEOs, nurses, artists, veterans, Republicans, Democrats and the apolitical. At each dinner, there’s one rule: no small talk.

Instead, we ask a single question — “If you could give credit or thanks to one person in your life that you don’t give enough credit or thanks to, who would that be?”

And that’s when it happens.

I’ve seen a Trump supporter and a Biden volunteer tear up at the same table as they talk about their mothers. I’ve watched a Wall Street banker and a formerly incarcerated artist bond over the shared feeling of being underestimated.

In one case, a participant — a political fundraiser from Atlanta — told me after a dinner, “I didn’t change my mind tonight. But I did change my heart.”

I’ve seen it again and again: when people sit face to face and speak from the heart, the walls come down. Real empathy takes root. That’s the power of ritualized connection — it softens the soil. It prepares the ground for real dialogue later.

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And when we do gather, how we show up matters just as much as that we show up. Author and workplace civility expert Shola Richards offers a three-question compass I often return to when hosting dinners or navigating difficult conversations: Is it kind? Is it true? Is it necessary? These questions serve as a powerful filter for how we lead, speak and listen — especially when stakes are high and emotions are raw. Related Content

I have a BIG Idea: Civic Ritual, Not Civic Rage

Imagine if elected officials were required — not requested — to host three dinners a year with constituents from both sides of the aisle. Not to talk policy, but to talk about the people behind the policies. Their families. Their fears. Their lives.

Imagine if high schools taught civic empathy not with textbooks, but with shared meals across differences. What if HR departments ran gratitude dinners instead of off-sites with stale PowerPoints?

Civic and Social health isn’t built in Washington or in the boardroom. It’s built in kitchens, dining rooms and community halls. And the return on investment isn’t just emotional — it’s structural.

In a recent essay introduced by Zach Rausch and Jonathan Haidt, authors Sam Pressler and Pete Davis revisit the work of Robert Putnam — who, in Bowling Alone, chronicled the decline of civic life since the 1960s. When Putnam sat down recently with Rausch at a coffee shop near Harvard, the conversation wasn’t about decay — it was about renewal.

They argue that we’re in the early stages of another American awakening — a wave of civic imagination born from our current technological disruption and social fragmentation. From neighborhood dinner parties, to reading parties, to journaling classes, to morning dance parties, to mass meditations, micro-grants for community gatherings, to new forms of participatory media, we’re witnessing what Davis and Pressler call “greenshoots” of communal life re-emerging.

And it tracks with history. The 1880s gave us the Rotary Club, the Girl Scouts and the playground movement. The 1960s gave us counterculture, civil rights and the back-to-the-land revival. Every time America loses its way in the glare of new technology, it seems a quiet return to proximity, presence and participation begins to rise.

This, perhaps, is our generation’s work.

Not to wait for a national awakening — but to live into it. What’s happening at our dinner tables isn’t isolated. It’s part of a quiet surge of civic re-humanizing. Not partisan. Not performative. Just real people, reclaiming the ancient wisdom of looking one another in the eye and saying, “You matter. I see you. Pass the bread.”

Please. Don’t wait for Washington to heal us. Start with your own table. Invite someone unexpected. Cook the meal, or order takeout. Sit down and ask a question that matters. Not to win. Not to convert. But to connect.

Dinner tables won’t just save democracy — they’ll save business, too. In a world where polarization kills collaboration and burnout kills belonging, the leaders who create spaces of real connection will build the most resilient teams, the most loyal customers and the most human brands. Because the boardroom doesn’t need another strategy deck — it needs the kind of trust that only begins when someone puts down their phone, picks up their fork and listens. Trending Stories Rick Derringer, Guitar Journeyman Behind ‘Rock and Roll, Hoochie Koo,’ Dead at 77 Republican Crumbles When Pressed About Tax Bill at Heated Town Hall Kevin Costner Sued by Stunt Performer Over Allegedly Unscripted ‘Horizon 2’ Rape Scene Gloria Estefan Celebrates Latin Music Legacy With ‘Conga’ Performance at 2025 AMAs

The temperature of the nation starts with the temperature of the room you’re in.

Share your table. Pass the pasta. Change the temperature. Save democracy.