This piece is published by the SF Standard under the title Opinion: How I got students to talk about hard things on a divided Stanford University campus here

“I love Korean people,” Akshay*, who was obviously not Korean, started. Oh no, I thought. Bracing for a bad take — and eager to prevent him, but more importantly myself by association, from getting canceled — I changed the topic of conversation urgently. This was at Beagle Cafe (Stanford Daily, Stanford Magazine, site), a conversation project between strangers on Stanford’s campus. Held weekly in groups of 5–6, it brings together students from across departments for an unstructured conversation with no premeditated goals, except one — no small talk.

Random talk

Why would some of the country’s busiest students participate in a drifting discussion like this? — I initially wondered, as I launched the project. But having hosted well over 50 conversations, I’ve learned that not having a fixed topic is the point: it creates space for people to talk about what matters to them, and for others to listen to something they might not have thought much about. Further, I’ve observed that as they converse about nothing in particular, groups organically find themes that matter to everyone. On some weeks, it’s a discussion of loneliness on campus; other weeks, a discourse on how to better regulate the internet. On others, it’s incredibly personal — stories of losing a parent, learning you were adopted, or leaving religious faith. This is a far cry from the kind of Stanford campus discourse (Washington Post, WSJ, NYT) that makes national headlines. It is less sensational and — as instances of violent protest, rising anti-Semitism, and rising Islamophobia show — far more important.

Caffeination, not cancelation: going beyond 140 characters over coffee

Every Beagle Cafe conversation has no defined end time, and the typical conversation lasts two hours or more. In that time, the two most common questions I end up asking are: why, and how did that make you feel? Getting to the why of things takes longer than the eight words we are able to squeeze onto a protest banner. It takes time that we don’t often give to people or voices that don’t immediately appeal to us, especially in the era of endless scrolling, where all it takes to hear a perspective we agree with is a single swipe to the next TikTok.

I learned this lesson firsthand in that group conversation with Akshay. Akshay, from India, had just moved to America and had not yet become rooted in the politesse of American conversations, especially around race — but he bore no racialized intent, as I only learned later, when I mustered the courage to eventually ask him why he felt that way. He talked about having lived in South Korea for a few years. Just 0.6% of the roughly 5% of foreigners in South Korea are Indian, which made his vantage point extraordinarily unique. He talked passionately about his time there and narrated a story about asking for directions near a subway station during rush hour — and how, instead of simply pointing him somewhere, a stranger actually took the time to walk him to the place he was looking for, missing their train in the process.

Had I encountered just the first 140 characters of his opening line online instead, I’d simply have blocked him and moved on with my day. Instead, I was touched by his story, which stemmed from the uniqueness of his life’s experiences.

Seek discourse, not debate

What has also helped Beagle Cafe thrive is that it’s a place for discourse, not debate. No good-faith conversation can begin with an invalidation of another’s experiences. Too often in public forums, disagreements reduce into debates, and debates into cherry-picked data. But what if we could recognize that our disagreements could just be the product of different life experiences?

In a conversation last Spring, Garcia* talked about why Moroccan immigrants had been bad for Spain, her country of origin. This wasn’t a popular opinion in a room where most people themselves identified as immigrants in America. Instead of trying to convince her of the economic benefits, we leaned in — why do you feel that way? She talked about personal experiences of safety as a woman, and the rising rates of sexual assault (NYT) there. She further contrasted her recent experiences in Spain with those in other Muslim-majority countries she had lived in. She articulated how she felt there was a difference between skilled immigration and mass migration, and how treating those topics identically had had negative consequences on Spain — a country with a significant social safety net that some have claimed migrants exploit.

You may not agree with her conclusions, and that’s perfectly okay. But derision of her experiences isn’t a discussion. Rather than defining success as discrediting the held beliefs of another, what if we defined it as an opportunity to share the unique life experiences that inform those disagreements in the first place? Indeed, research shows (GCF Global, APA) that we tend to form beliefs we emotionally identify with, and then seek out evidence to back them up.

Put names to faces, not hate toward certain races

It’s not just about giving people time and space — it’s also about seeing participants as fellow humans that makes a huge difference. This past weekend at Stanford, an Arab student was targeted and physically attacked in an event being investigated as a hate crime. This is not an isolated incident — hate crimes have been reported by both Jewish students and those of Arab origin. Hate, you see, thrives in anonymity.

To counter this impulse, I host every conversation in the intimacy of my 400-square-foot campus studio. Guests, who’ve never met each other before, start with short introductions — putting faces to the names on the calendar invites they receive, which include the details of how to find my home. Meeting five strangers for the first time within my apartment is a deliberate choice. Other meeting places, including those on campus, have a way of making conversations banal — or worse, of encouraging us to speak in ways that might appeal to those overhearing us. Time and again, I hear guests share opinions that are at odds with “the party line”: conservatives who believe in climate change, or liberals who don’t support the war in Ukraine. In an age where we’re somehow lonelier than ever, we also feel an immense pressure to affirm our affiliations to anonymous crowds online — or to hate on other anonymous people we simply don’t know.

One of my favorite stories from Beagle Cafe is how Reza, an Iranian graduate student, courted and married his Saudi Arabian wife. Until very recently, the two nations had no ties at all, and had leaders who wished to see the other completely wiped out (Le Figaro). This hostility made it impossible for their families to meet, and their wedding — like a diplomatic deal — was brokered in Turkey and sealed in Canada.

It’s a conversation, not rocket science

If none of this sounds novel to you, that’s precisely the point. It doesn’t take rocket science (which many of my guests are actually getting PhDs in) to realize that being able to talk openly and sincerely to one another — without getting harmed, canceled, or ostracized — is a foundational social contract of liberal democracies. This is true twice over in academic institutions, which actually tend to be more diverse than other spaces, and where we learn how to think. My hope in writing here is that this becomes a blueprint for places of higher learning across free societies. This is my third year organizing Beagle Cafe, over which I’ve hosted well over 200 students from every academic background, from nations around the world and every major faith. It has been the great privilege of my time at Stanford — and indeed, my greatest education here.

* Names changed to protect privacy.