As a college student, I used to think that I could not talk openly about American politics with my peers. Polling indicates that many others on campus feel the same way. Discussing my political beliefs often felt either too divisive or too exhausting. Even when free speech rights are guaranteed to some extent, the idea of publicly expressing opinions can be intimidating due to the harsh scrutiny it can attract. A simple cost-benefit analysis suggested that it was not worth it to engage with my peers about politics.
I learned, however, that it is still possible to have productive conversations about politics when I joined a reading group on Alexis de Tocqueville’s Democracy in America. The group of students around the seminar table each came from different majors, backgrounds, and viewpoints to read and discuss this timeless book — and it helped me realize that, despite our political divisions, Americans can still come together in conversation about politics.
Before this experience, I did not think we could talk about what it means to be Americans anymore. Divisive conversations about the deeply conflicting visions for America among different people have been loud for all of the political coming-of-age years of my generation, Gen Z. Meanwhile, conversations about what we share—history, rights, freedom—and the principles of the American Founding that might help us move forward have been quiet.
However, I was then invited by a professor at my university to participate in a reading group supported by the Jack Miller Center, and I accepted. Each week, we gathered around a table in a small seminar-style classroom, passing pastries around, to read Alexis de Tocqueville’s Democracy in America.
As I reflect on it in retrospect, what stands out to me is the diversity among the group of people who sat around this table. And while there was racial and ethnic diversity, these are not the primary types of diversity that stand out to me. There was another kind of diversity: viewpoint diversity, which has become increasingly prevalent on college campuses.
I recall, at the time, feeling a sense of shock at who was in the room. I lean conservative in my political views, and I was not surprised to see other people whom I suspected or knew to also be conservative-leaning. It would seem to follow, after all, that there is something inherently conservative about taking time to conserve the study of the past. I was surprised, however, to see people in the room that I suspected or knew to be liberal-leaning.
Among this group, one of my peers was elected as a delegate to the 2024 Democratic National Convention. Across the table from her was someone else who went on to work for the Family Research Council, a right-of-center think tank committed to “advancing faith, family, and freedom.” Most of us had divergent views, but we were not divided. Even as interpretations and opinions on Democracy in America varied, we were united in the pursuit of understanding and wisdom. This reading group demonstrated to me that the study of primary sources, which teaches us about the American identity and fosters conversation, is not a practice that pigeonholes us into a single viewpoint or partisan camp. It is a practice that can transcend the superficial divisions of our political life and invite us to consider the first principles of being Americans.
I have some wonderful memories from throughout my life that are centered around bonfires. Conversations with friends, celebrations, and moments when someone got out a guitar and broke out into song all come to mind. While the bonfire was beautiful and served a practical purpose in its own right, the most valuable feature of the bonfire was its ability to bring people together around it, in conversation with each other. This is what reading Tocqueville’s Democracy in America did for me and my peers in this campus reading group. It gave us something to gather around and prompted discussions we would not have otherwise had.
While strikingly relevant, Tocqueville’s Democracy in America—like any good primary source document—is not so entrenched in our present-day issues to prevent us from zooming out and thinking about greater things. By discussing this book together, we explored what America is supposed to be, what it is, and what we might prefer it to be.
Culture has taught Gen Z to be politically active and fight for a better society. Yet, no one ever taught us how to actually do those things productively. I do not believe that my generation wants to be divided or always fighting to prove our vision for America is the better one. I think that we have just lacked a framework through which we can enter into productive conversations about ideas. Gathering to read and discuss a primary source gave us this framework.
It seems more apparent than ever that we are deeply divided as a country. If this bothers you, I encourage you to learn from my experience and consider reading a primary source from the American founding or American history with fellow Americans—those who share your views and those who do not. This practice might just be our path forward.
Lillie Inman is a senior at Samford University and a communications intern for the Jack Miller Center.
