I was on a crowded commuter train recently when a man started yelling: “Everyone cram in here! Get in like sardines!” Being yelled at in such close quarters was uncomfortable, especially since the unspoken rule on transit is to keep your head down and say nothing. People were getting agitated. “Keep going! Look around and crowd in! Are you in, Pops? We’re not leaving without you!” he shouted. I glanced over at “Pops,” who nodded, the doors closed, and we were off.
A few months ago, I might have fumed at this guy for daring to raise his voice on a train, or I might have slipped into my accommodating mindset and blamed myself for taking up too much space. Instead, I thought about the way he was directing the crowd, yelling and all, and asked myself: “What’s right about that?”
I had just returned from a five-day course, Beloved Community Bootcamp: A Training for Bridge Builders, taught by two extraordinary Zen Buddhist facilitators, Lisa Gibson and Gabe Wilson. As a Director and practitioner at Just Outcomes, I’m no stranger to conflict or tensions. Yet one of the biggest insights I took from the course was noticing my ongoing tendency, even after two decades, to want to bypass the discomfort of strong emotions.
When someone insists, “No, my way!”, I’ve often been tempted to call for a break, say “thanks for sharing,” or acknowledge the feeling and move on. Now I’m seeing the opportunity that exists inside that dissent. This is often where the real material is. It is not a moment to smooth things over, but to lean in: “Say more about what’s bothering you.”
If I want to be a bridge builder in these polarized times, I’m realizing that surfacing feelings, frustrations, pain, and insistence is essential. Burying them does the opposite of what we hope for. Those bumps contain something “right” that we need to pay attention to. They are clues to what may be standing in the way of the bridge we are trying to build.
To be clear, this is not an invitation to tolerate abusive or violent behaviour. That deserves a firm boundary. But many of the opinions or behaviours we recoil from in public life are not violent. They are uncomfortable, triggering, or, in our view, misguided. It is easy to dismiss people as misinformed, abrasive, or (depending on the corner of the political spectrum) too “woke.” We end up standing on opposite sides of a riverbank, feeling self-righteous, with no bridge in sight.
What if, in those moments of discomfort or judgment, we paused to ask: “What’s right about that?” Is the person fighting for something I could imagine caring deeply about? If the honest answer is “no, that’s dangerous,” then bridge building is not the right approach. But if the answer is closer to “I can imagine caring that much too,” then maybe there is a conversation to be had.
As facilitators, we can help people imagine what it is like to be the other: what they may be afraid of, what they are trying to protect, and what they care about. When that happens, the temperature drops and both sides often start listening. But this only comes after what feels “wrong” is surfaced, named, and explored with genuine curiosity rather than righteousness. And it never comes from a quick “let’s move on.”
That guy on the commuter train was not trying to start a fight. After my initial recoil, I could see what was “right” about his behaviour: he was looking out for Pops.
We get endless opportunities to cultivate this mindset. And once it becomes second nature, as it is for my Zen Buddhist facilitators, building bridges becomes much easier.