My husband and I countered all of Sam’s off-kilter theories with data and introduced him to people whose views might outweigh ours. We also took him to movies, signed him up for rock climbing, bribed him to play with his baby cousins, and insisted he continue to join us at the dinner table. We flat-out begged him to go on hikes, bike rides, and even trips to the grocery store with us-anything to extract him from the echo chamber. Most of the time, we lost.

So when Sam asked-not just once but over and over-to go to the Mother of All Rallies, I eventually relented. After the catastrophe in Charlottesville, I certainly wasn’t going to let him go alone. Anyway, it was a chance to spend the day together. It had been ages since we’d done that.

For the next ten minutes or so, the reporters filmed the Nazi

The morning of the rally, Sam and I arrived at the Washington Monument around 8:30-more than an hour early because Sam has always been anxious about getting to places on time. We sat on a marble bench and people-watched as rally-goers gradually filled in the plaza. When a black-clad protester with a black bandanna tied under his eyes slinked past, Sam whispered, Look, it’s Antifa!-as if he’d spotted a rare species in the wild. He hurried over to ask if the man would talk for a minute, but the Antifa guy spit out a gruff no and turned away.

All of a sudden, a dozen or so reporters and camera operators noticed a man marching around with a huge Nazi flag that trailed behind him, aloft, like a cape. They started running-actually running-after him. The guy with the Nazi flag kept walking but slowed his pace polski only lads to let them catch up, then turned around to face the cameras at exactly the moment they were upon him. The choreography was as precise as a ballet.

When they finally turned away from each other, each side seemed happy, shaking hands, nodding enthusiastically, and smiling their thanks. Continua la lettura →