We live in a society in which civil discourse and political decision-making capacity are deteriorating quickly and uncomfortably. We experience this erosion in obvious ways through hyper-partisan politics, toxic media and social media, and even day-to-day interactions with colleagues, friends, and family. Civic Health Project aims to reduce polarization and foster healthier discourse and decision-making across citizenry, politics and media.
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“Acquaint Walks” – a small group walks designed to get communities walking and talking together.
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We Walk Past Each Other Every Day. I Co-Founded a Nonprofit To Change That.
Nov 04, 2026
Roberto arrives five minutes early at Heritage Park. A small group has already gathered in the shade by the entrance. He recognizes four of the six faces; a few months ago he didn't know any of them. They talk about autumn plans and neighborhood history until one o'clock, when everyone opens the same app to see who they've been paired with. Roberto's screen says: “Your Walking Partner: Ken.” Then the group sets off down the path above Lake Washington.
Roberto learned about Acquaint Walks months earlier while exploring job and volunteer opportunities on Linkedin. The post said, “Take a Walk with Us: Join us in Testing a Nonprofit App for Organizing Local Walks!”
Roberto later shared, “An active life is my priority, and it’s a great way to get to know other people.” Throughout the summer of 2026, Roberto joined over a dozen “Acquaint Walks” – small group walks designed to get communities walking and talking together. He kept showing up, despite what turned out to be a difficult summer: A leak forced Roberto and his wife to leave their home. He flew to Mexico to attend his mother’s funeral. He became an empty-nester when his second son left for college. All the while, he kept searching for the right job opportunity.
The walks didn't solve any of these challenges. However, on the walks, an opportunity to share and face our challenges together emerged. As a new parent, it was great for me to learn about Roberto’s parenting journey and for him a time of reflection. Most of us experience fewer of those moments to connect with the community than we used to.
Disconnection as a societal problem is receiving increasing attention. Some leading voices describe it as a shortage of places to meet or things to do together. Yet opportunities to connect are everywhere. Take walking for example. Per the CDC, nearly six out of ten Americans walk for leisure. Yet we walk past each other without interacting. What’s missing isn’t just proximity. It doesn’t feel like a good use of time to try to connect with the person next to us.
Acquaint Walks is our effort to fill that gap. The invitation isn't "come make a friend." It's "come help build a neighborhood where people know each other" — which is why we call everyone who shows up a volunteer. We get a lot of questions about how this is volunteerism and the short answer is that, just as our physical environment needs care, so do our communities and each of us can help. The walk isn't just for you. It's for the community around you.
Acquaint Walks are structured to eliminate barriers to connection. Volunteers are paired at random into groups of two or three, and everyone follows the "anyone commitment": walk and talk with whoever you get paired with, regardless of age, culture, personality, or any of the filters we might apply when sizing up a potential friend. Friendships do happen. They just aren't the stated purpose. Instead, we try to focus on the value of showing up – something we can control – rather than outcomes that can’t be forced.
Organizing anything can be a barrier to it happening in the first place. Having an app helps with the logistics — finding walks, keeping groups small enough to avoid disruption, and pairing people once everyone arrives. Then we put our phones away.
Several dozen volunteers joined Acquaint Walks across King County, Washington this summer to test the program and helped get the app approved in the Apple and Google Play stores. People joined the walks without anyone needing to host or organize them. And more than two-thirds of volunteers who joined one walk returned for another. Coming from many different backgrounds, they all had one thing in common: they already walked regularly. They took something they were already doing and used it as a way to build community.
The walks themselves tend to be filled with surprises and interesting stories. On his walk with Ken, Roberto discovered that they had spent years working in the same building but never met each other until now.
Many of us have some version of this: people we've been near for years and never spoken to. Asked to imagine striking up a conversation with a stranger on their morning commute, riders in Epley and Schroeder's study expected the worst: an awkward ride with a seatmate who'd rather be left alone. Riders actually assigned to do it reported the opposite — a more pleasant trip than those who kept to themselves.
Although my work revolves around trying to create better ways to build community, I find it challenging to connect with new people. As a regular walker myself, I had always been content to either walk with my husband Alex (Acquaint’s other Co-founder), or alone with my headphones. I’ve spent years passing neighbors on the sidewalk every day, not knowing their names. Working with Acquaint was previously all virtual – we’ve run a program since 2021 called “Global Conversations” that connects people from across 110+ countries for 1:1 audio conversations.
Katherine Mahon is Co-Founder and CEO at Acquaint.
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Skepticism Isn't Cynicism. The Diet Wars Show the Difference.
Nov 04, 2026
This year, Americans got two opposite sets of instructions for the same dinner plate. Many of us responded the way we now respond to almost everything: we picked a team.
In January, the Department of Health and Human Services released new federal dietary guidelines built around red meat and full-fat dairy. Less than three months later, the American Heart Association issued guidance pointing close to the opposite way: build meals around plants and plant protein, choose unsaturated fats over saturated ones, and cut back on red meat and full-fat dairy.
Two credentialed bodies, opposite advice. The obvious question is which one to believe. The more common answer, from left and right alike, is neither. That answer feels like skepticism. It is something else, and the difference matters well beyond nutrition.
A disclosure first. I direct clinical research at the Physicians Committee for Responsible Medicine, a nonprofit that advocates plant-based nutrition. In January, we petitioned HHS to withdraw the guidelines, arguing that many of the outside scientists who shaped them had financial ties to the beef, dairy, and pork industries. I am not neutral, and you should weigh my argument with that in mind.
But the funding question, important as it is, does not settle the scientific one.
Two questions, not one
Whether an institution’s process was compromised and whether its conclusion is correct are separate questions. Financial disclosures answer the first. Primary data answer the second. A conflicted panel can still cite findings that hold up. An independent one can still get things wrong.
Treating who paid as the answer to what is true is the most common mistake thoughtful people make when two authorities collide. I hear it from readers who distrust the AHA as an establishment body and from readers who distrust anything connected to HHS Secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr. Both instincts are understandable. Both skip the step that would actually settle the question. And because each side skips it in mirror image, the dispute stops being about food and becomes one more marker of political identity.
A three-step test
There is a better approach, and the order matters.
First, narrow the claim. The statement that red meat is bad cannot be tested. It has no comparison, no dose, no outcome, and no time frame, which is exactly why it travels so well in press releases and on social media. Research asks something smaller. A 2024 analysis of 31 cohort studies, for example, linked each daily 50-gram serving of processed meat, about two slices of ham, to roughly 15% higher risk of Type 2 diabetes. That is a claim you can check.
Second, check the narrow claim against the primary studies. Not against either institution’s summary, and not against the commentator or podcaster vouching for one side. This is the step almost everyone skips, because deciding in advance whom to trust is far easier.
Third, notice what actually changed. Run this test on the guidelines dispute and the narrow findings mostly agree, even though the institutions do not. Diets built around vegetables, legumes, whole grains, and minimally processed foods have been consistently linked to lower rates of heart disease, Type 2 diabetes, and early death for well over a decade. What changed this year was not the data. It was which parts of it were emphasized, and with how much confidence.
That is a fact about influence and access. It is not proof that nutrition science is unknowable.
How to tell them apart
Apply the test to a few disputes and two postures that look alike from the outside come apart. A skeptic runs the test and is willing to land somewhere unexpected. A cynic reaches the same verdict every time: nothing can be trusted.
Cynicism passes for rigor because it is triggered by the same event that should prompt a real update, an authority visibly serving someone other than the public. But it lacks the one property that makes rigor worth anything, a willingness to be proven wrong. The simplest way to tell the two apart is to ask what would change the person’s mind. A cynic usually has no answer. A skeptic does: a well-powered trial, a replication, a finding that holds up after adjusting for the factors they already suspected.
None of this argues for trusting institutions by default. Industry funding measurably shapes which questions get asked and which conclusions get drawn. That is the basis of my organization’s complaint about the January guidelines, and it rests on specific evidence: a particular disclosure, a particular financial tie, a particular recommendation, checked against the record. A documented problem with specific relationships is not a license to stop checking claims about food and health altogether. That is a far bigger claim than the evidence supports, and one no evidence could ever correct.
A habit worth more than a side
Federal agencies and professional societies will keep issuing advice that conflicts. That is what happens when contested science runs through politics, industry money, and genuine scientific disagreement at once, and no election in either direction will end it.
That makes the habit more important than any single verdict. Self-government depends on citizens who can hold an institution accountable without writing off the possibility of knowing anything. Reflexive trust hands that job to whoever holds power. Reflexive dismissal abandons it. Checking the claim keeps it with us.
The next time two authorities collide, picking a side will feel like the sophisticated response, and withholding judgment will feel naive. It is the reverse. Running the test is slower and less satisfying, and it does not come with a team. But it is the only response that keeps the pressure where it belongs: on whoever is writing the guidance.
Hana Kahleova, MD, PhD, is a physician board-certified in internal medicine, endocrinology, and lifestyle medicine, and director of clinical research at the Physicians Committee for Responsible Medicine, a nonprofit that advocates plant-based nutrition and petitioned HHS to withdraw its January 2026 dietary guidelines.
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The Future of Our Democracy Is Being Built Close to Home. Will America Pay Attention?
Nov 03, 2026
Today, voters in Lexington, Kentucky will decide whether ordinary residents should have a permanent role in reviewing the rules of their local government. If approved, an assembly made up of residents selected by lottery would review the city charter at least every eight years, giving everyday people a recurring opportunity to examine how Lexington is governed.
It's a significant proposal, and one that could put our Kentucky city at the forefront of democracy reform in the United States.
But, to me, how our community got here is just as interesting as the proposal itself, and it might mean a lot for how our country approaches democracy reform more broadly.
In 2017, we launched CivicLex as an experiment in helping residents better understand the complicated civic issues that shape Lexington. In the years since, our work has grown to include a local newsroom, youth civic education programs in every county high school, and programs that help neighbors connect with one another. We've also spent years working alongside local government to rethink the public's role in major decisions, from making public meetings more accessible to reimagining how boards and commissions operate.
A few years ago, several members of Lexington's Urban County Council approached us about leading a review of Lexington's Urban County Charter - essentially, our local constitution. That document dates back to the merger of Lexington and Fayette County in 1974, itself a democratic innovation for the time, and hadn’t been reviewed since 1998.
We weren't sure we wanted to take on the first review in more than two decades.
City charters are complicated. Most people don't spend much time thinking about the rules that govern their local government, so traditional public engagement approaches aren’t particularly well-suited to the task. And because any changes would ultimately need to go before voters, we needed a process that people could understand and trust.
Around this same time, through our engagement with national and international networks, we started learning about citizens' assemblies. Their representative yet randomized selection process offered an alternative to the typical "blue-ribbon" task force. Their extended, deliberative nature gave residents time to learn about complicated issues, hear competing perspectives, and work toward recommendations together.
The more we learned, the more we thought an assembly might be the right tool for Lexington.
So, we decided to do it.
But we also made another decision that would shape the project: rather than bringing in an outside organization to run the Assembly, we wanted to see whether we could organize it ourselves.
We spent three years raising money, planning the process, and engaging our community about what parts of the charter should be reviewed. We organized and funded the project independently of local government, working with Lexington residents as advisors and asking Council to commit to receiving and meaningfully responding to the recommendations.
In March of this year, we brought together 30 Lexington residents selected through a representative lottery. We mailed invitations to 10,000 randomly selected addresses and, from those who applied, used a lottery system to choose a group that closely reflected our community across political registration, race, age, education, income, and more. Over seven sessions, this group spent more than 30 hours learning about local government, hearing testimony, deliberating, and developing recommendations about our city charter.
The Assembly ultimately advanced three proposed reforms supported by supermajorities of more than 84%: increasing Councilmember compensation to the average annual wage in Lexington, creating publicly viewable Councilmember accountability standards, and reviewing the charter at least every eight years through a recurring citizens' assembly.
All three of those recommendations were advanced by Council to voters as ballot amendments in this November's election.
If adopted, one of those amendments would make assemblies a permanent part of our city charter, creating a recurring opportunity for residents to review the rules of our local government.
One of the reasons we were able to pull this off was that we’d already spent nearly a decade working alongside residents and local government in Lexington. While we couldn't have organized the Assembly without the research and resources of national and international organizations in the assembly space, even more fundamental to our success were the relationships, experience, and understanding that we’d already built in our community.
Place-based work can’t be easily reproduced or scaled. It depends on mutual trust and accountability that is built over years by showing up for your community over and over and listening to their needs. And, of course, our work didn't end when the Assembly did. We'll run into participants at the grocery store. We'll be working with Council long after November. And we'll remain accountable to our neighbors in a way that's difficult to replicate from somewhere else.
I think this type of proximity is important for us to think about as we consider how to renew civic life in America. We spend a lot of time asking how to bring promising innovations like citizens' assemblies and participatory budgeting to more places. All important work. But I wonder if we're missing another, more fundamental question: how do we help communities develop the relationships, resources, and institutions to decide for themselves what they need?
Lexington's Assembly didn't start with someone looking for a place to organize a citizens' assembly — it started with trying to solve a problem in our community, and we found a process that made sense for it. In another community, with different needs and relationships, the right response might look entirely different.
If we're going to strengthen our country's culture of self-government, embracing the complexity of place-based response to challenges is essential to making sure we get it right. No one-size-fits-all solution, no silver bullet. What works in one community may not work in another, and we can't simply reproduce a process and expect the same results. But, we can invest in the people and institutions in place that allow communities to find their own ways forward.
Kentucky may not be the first place people look for the future of American democracy. But from the merger of Lexington and Fayette County in 1974 to the proposal now before our voters, our community has a history of taking its own future into its hands.
On November 3, Lexington voters will decide whether to make assemblies a recurring part of that history. I hope the country pays attention to that vote. But I hope we pay even more attention to the conditions that made it possible, and what it might mean for other communities looking to shape their own future.
Richard Young is the Founder & Executive Director, CivicLex. and is a Visiting Fellow, SNF Agora Institute at Johns Hopkins University.
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person holding white and red box
Photo by Janine Robinson on Unsplash
Too Tired to Vote? The Hidden Question Hanging Over the 2026 Midterms
Nov 03, 2026
The 2026 midterm elections are finally here, and campaigns are still consumed with a familiar question: Who will voters support? While this may seem obvious, another question may matter just as much: Will they vote at all?
Americans are hardly indifferent about the economy. A July Pew Research Center survey found that economic issues were, by a wide margin, what registered voters most wanted congressional candidates to discuss. Twenty-nine percent spontaneously identified an economic issue, with affordability and the cost of living leading the list.
The concerns are easy to understand. Only 24 percent of Americans rated national economic conditions as excellent or good. Sixty-nine percent said they were very concerned about health care costs, 66 percent about food and consumer goods, 64 percent about housing, and 56 percent about gasoline. These numbers tell us what people worry about, but they do not tell us what those people will do on Election Day. That is where voter fatigue enters the conversation.
People tend to assume that an unhappy voter is a motivated voter. Sometimes that is true, and economic frustration can drive people to the polls to demand change, reward one party or punish another. But frustration can also run in the other direction.
A voter who has heard campaign promises election after election, watched partisan battles consume Washington and still struggles to pay the mortgage or grocery bill may not become more politically engaged. That voter may simply tune out. And tuning out is different from not caring.
Someone can care intensely about the price of eggs, an electric bill, or the cost of a prescription while caring very little about another campaign commercial. A parent trying to stretch a paycheck does not necessarily have the time or energy to follow every congressional debate. Political exhaustion can coexist with very real concern about the direction of the country.
That creates a challenge for anyone trying to understand the midterms. Polls measure preferences, but elections measure participation. A survey can tell us that a registered voter prefers a Democrat or Republican. It cannot guarantee that the voter will actually cast a ballot. That distinction matters most in midterm elections, where turnout historically falls below presidential-election levels.
Signs already suggest enthusiasm may matter in 2026. A May Ipsos analysis found differences between Democratic-leaning and Republican-leaning voters in both certainty about voting and the importance they attached to this year's midterms. Those measurements can change before November, but they underscore a larger point: Having someone's support and getting that person to vote are not the same thing.
Perhaps campaigns should listen more carefully to what disengaged voters are saying—or, just as importantly, what they have stopped saying. Voter fatigue should not automatically be dismissed as apathy. It may instead warn that some citizens no longer believe the political conversation speaks to the problems occupying their everyday lives. If that is true, it should concern both parties.
Democracy ultimately depends on participation, including by people who are less than enthusiastic about their choices. Voting does not require believing that a candidate is perfect or that government has fulfilled every promise. It provides citizens an opportunity to register their judgment about who represents them and the direction they want their communities and country to take.
Much will be said about polls, candidates, parties, and congressional control. But perhaps the most revealing question will be much simpler. Not: Who did you vote for? But: Did you vote?
Deborah A. Wilson is a Georgetown University Law Center graduate, a practicing Northern Virginia attorney, and author of the speculative novel The Seam: Secrets Beneath the North Pole.
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