“You’re a filthy MAGAt!”
Her voice was easily heard above the rumble of my city’s life. I’m familiar with this double entendre and derogatory label leveled at a perceived conservative, often by a more liberal individual. I hadn’t observed what caused the outburst, but I watched him absorb the dehumanizing insult and wondered about its impact. How would this moment reinforce stereotypes and widen divides, not only for the two individuals involved but also for those who witnessed the altercation and heard the accusation?
When conflict erupts, whether in our families, neighborhoods, or nation, it often has a common root: dehumanization. We reduce one another to labels, caricatures, and categories. “They’re just another progressive.” “He’s one of those evangelicals.” “She’s part of the problem.” The moment we flatten a person’s identity into an ideology or stereotype, we sever the sacred thread that binds us together in our shared humanity. When we dehumanize (or are dehumanized), we tend to flee the perceived threat of difference in search of solace in sameness.
On a recent episode of the Mending Divides podcast, peacebuilder John Paul Lederach named this with stunning clarity. He said,
“The drive of deep and toxic polarization is that you create safety by getting away from it. The metaphor we find in a lot of explanations of conflict is one of separation—of moving away, of finding ways to turn our face away from conflict rather than toward it. The long journey toward rehumanization is the ability to turn toward, engage the hard things, and then stay with it.”
This, friends, may be the invitation of our moment: to resist the drift toward separation and instead lean into the hard and holy work of rehumanization.
This is not a blanket endorsement of staying in proximity to harm. There are times when safety must take priority. If the conflict you face includes active abuse, violence, or the threat of real harm, the most courageous and faithful move may be to walk away, to establish boundaries, and to seek refuge. Walking away from danger is not a failure of peace; it can be the beginning of it.
And yet, for many of us, the “other side” poses not physical harm, but emotional, ideological, or relational discomfort. That’s the kind of conflict Lederach is naming. It’s costly, vulnerable, and often misunderstood. Yet it’s precisely this turning, this refusal to walk away from one another, that has historically carved out the narrow way toward peace.
When we turn toward conflict with curiosity instead of contempt, we begin to see the person across from us not as a demonized threat to be avoided but as a fellow human being to be engaged.
Rehumanization, then, isn’t about agreement; it’s about presence. It’s about lingering long enough to discover the story behind someone’s position and the pain beneath their anger. It’s less about resolving issues and more about restoring dignity. For it’s only when dignity is intact that we can tend to the issues, conflicts, or injustices that divide us.
So, what’s one practical step we can take? Practice presence. Before you speak, debate, or correct, just show up and stay. Sit across from someone who thinks differently than you. Ask, “Can you help me understand what shaped this conviction in you?” And then listen, not to counter, but to comprehend. Your goal isn’t to win an argument; it’s to honor a human.
What would it look like if more of us chose that posture this week? What if our tables became places of sacred rehumanization, where fear is displaced by empathy, and polarization is softened by shared story?
Remember, the path toward peace is not formed through distance but through nearness, discomfort, and the kind of patient presence that says, “Though I disagree, I see you. I will not turn away. I will stay with this.”
This is the long road of rehumanization. It’s not easy. But it may be the only road that leads us home to one another.
Editor’s Note: This piece was previously shared on the Global Immersion blog, July 23, 2025.
