True Patriotism Isn’t Tribal — It’s Sitting at the Table

Brett Montague & Dr. Graham Bodie

From left: Brett Montague and Graham D. Bodie

Arguably the most freedom-ringing document in history, the Declaration of Independence concludes with a pledge of mutual obligation: “we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes and our sacred Honor.” As we reflect on America at 250, one idea keeps returning to us: true patriotism is not tribal. Real independence requires working together despite, and sometimes because of, our differences.

On July 4, 1776, the Continental Congress formally approved the Declaration, launching a unified break from Britain that 56 delegates would sign over the following months. That public show of resolve included men such as Robert Morris of Pennsylvania and Samuel Adams of Massachusetts, who had not seen eye to eye during the long debate over independence and reconciliation.

Importantly, their disagreements did not disappear. Their commitment to a shared future simply became strong enough to hold those differences.

That pattern runs throughout the American story. At our best, we have found ways to work through deep disagreement in pursuit of something larger than faction, personality, or party. At our worst, we have allowed division to harden into paralysis, resentment, and contempt.

Present-day America offers its own opportunities to make that choice. By nearly every measure, we are deeply polarized. Ask what is wrong with the country, and many people will answer with the name of a party, movement, or political leader before mentioning affordability, crumbling infrastructure, public health, or declining trust. Our confidence in one another and in the institutions that might help solve shared problems has fallen sharply. Meanwhile, media systems often reward the most polarizing version of a story because outrage travels farther and faster than cooperation.

As a result, the social fabric of the nation can feel beyond repair. Yet as fireworks rise this Independence Day, America’s 250th anniversary should call us not to despair, but to recover the difficult solidarity that made collective action possible in the first place. Recovering that spirit does not require pretending our divisions are unimportant. It requires looking honestly at what happens when people stay at the table and what happens when they do not.

Consider the 2021 Infrastructure Investment and Jobs Act. After months of negotiation, 19 Republican senators, including Mississippi’s Roger Wicker, joined Democrats to pass legislation investing in roads, bridges, ports, water systems, and broadband. Thirteen House Republicans also supported the final measure, while several Democrats opposed it. The coalition was imperfect, politically awkward, and recognizably democratic.

Infrastructure can sometimes create these rare openings for cooperation because roads, ports, water systems, and broadband do not remain neatly inside partisan boundaries. In Mississippi, a repaired road does not ask how its driver voted. Cleaner water, more reliable broadband, and stronger schools do not belong to one party. These are public goods, made possible when people with different interests and convictions remain at the table long enough to reach an imperfect agreement.

The cost to the public good when we fail to do so is also real. When negotiations collapse, when compromise is treated as betrayal, or when political actors fear electability more than inaction, communities wait. Problems linger. Costs rise, including the cost of further loss of faith in institutions that already feel distant or unresponsive.

To be sure, not every bipartisan bill is wise, and not all compromise is virtuous. Some disagreements must remain sharp. But democratic progress often emerges from coalitions in which no one gets everything they want. That doesn’t mean we make all the concessions, but punishment for making those concessions or treating every achievement as the property of one political tribe makes the next agreement harder before negotiations even begin.

The lesson is also not simply that we should expect politicians to resist partisanship by force of will. Ordinary citizens help create the climate in which leaders either can or cannot compromise. Reclaiming government of, by, and for the people begins by learning how to remain in conversation across differences, and it extends to how we carry those conversations into real, meaningful, citizen-led change.

In alignment with America’s 250th anniversary, the #ListenFirst Coalition is inviting communities across the country to use film as an entry point into bridge-building and dialogue. National in scale but local in practice, the festival shares stories of ordinary people choosing curiosity over contempt, dialogue over demonization, and empathy over apathy.

On July 16, Mississippians will have two opportunities to participate, with screenings in Hattiesburg and Tupelo. Each event will pair a film with facilitated conversation designed to help audience members reflect, connect with neighbors of different backgrounds, and practice the habits required for constructive disagreement.

The festival illustrates that stories shape how we see one another. They can deepen suspicion, or they can widen our moral imagination. They can persuade us that our neighbors are enemies, or remind us that people with different experiences and convictions can still solve problems together. It is an invitation to create enough trust, curiosity, and mutual obligation for disagreement to become useful again. The deeper hope is that Mississippians leave more willing to listen across difference, more prepared to work with people they do not fully agree with, and more confident that collective problem-solving is still possible.

While it begins by announcing separation from Britain, the Declaration ends with a pledge of interdependence. And that may be its more demanding lesson for America at 250. Independence does not mean building a future alone. It means choosing freely to build one together.