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By Trygve Olson
Thanksgiving is the American holiday. The Fourth of July may be America’s holiday — all fireworks, flags, and founding documents — but Thanksgiving is quieter, older, and more revealing. It’s about how we gather, what we share, and who we become around the table.
I didn’t fully understand that until I was living overseas. When you’re an American abroad, holidays change. I remember once smuggling a frozen turkey over the border from Poland into Lithuania just to make sure we could have Thanksgiving dinner. It wasn’t about the bird — it was about the ritual. The act of making a meal for people you care about, of saying out loud what you’re thankful for, even when everything around you feels foreign.
That’s the power of Thanksgiving. It’s not just about history or harvest — it’s about presence. And in a time like this, presence is political.
Every Thanksgiving, we gather around a table with people we love — and too often, some who we can barely speak to about how we see our country and world. The food is familiar, the football predictable, and the political tension almost unbearable. You know the script: Someone brings up the border. Or Trump, Biden or the the latest taking points they heard on Fox News or MSNBC. Next thing you know, you’re explaining the Constitution while someone else is quoting Facebook.
But here’s the truth: Democracy begins at the table. Not the one in D.C., but the one in your kitchen. The one with the gravy boat and the quiet resentment.
If we want to save our democracy, we’ve got to start by saving the relationships that sustain it.
This year, I’m not trying to win an argument. I’m trying to coach a better conversation.
Play the Game You’re In, Not the One You Wish You Were In
Most Thanksgiving fights aren’t about policy. They’re about fear, identity, and belonging. Nobody’s changing their mind over stuffing. They’re protecting their story—how they see themselves, their country, and their place in it.
That’s the game you’re in. Not the debate club. Not the think tank.
You don’t need to win. You need to connect.
Five Coaching Strategies for a Less Awful, Maybe Even Redemptive, Thanksgiving
1. Ask Questions, Don’t Make Points
Don’t lead with what you believe. Lead with what you want to understand.
“What’s been hard for you lately?” opens more doors than “Let me tell you why you’re wrong about immigration.”
People want to feel seen. Give them that
2. Speak in Values, Not Just Views
Most people don’t wake up thinking about tax policy or foreign aid. They think about their family, their town, their faith.
“Sounds like safety really matters to you.”
That phrase lands differently than any op-ed ever could. Values are the bridge. Use them.
3. Find Shared Ground Before You Dig Trenches
“We both want this country to work. We just see different threats.”
Start there. Make that the common denominator before you venture into division.
4. Know When to Pivot
When the heat rises, don’t escalate. Pivot. Redirect.
“Let’s come back to this after pie. Or maybe after the Packers game.”
Civility isn’t cowardice. It’s strategy.
5. You Only Get One Chance to Get It Right With People
You don’t have to lose a brother to win an argument. You don’t have to torch a relationship to defend democracy.
Politics matters. But people come first.
Reach for the Dissonance, Not the Dispute
The most powerful conversations don’t call someone out. They call someone back to who they already believe they are.
People don’t see themselves as extremists — even when they vote like it. They love their immigrant neighbors but vote for deportation candidates. They get their healthcare through the ACA but rage against “Obamacare.” They live in generosity but vote in grievance.
That’s not hypocrisy. That’s cognitive dissonance. And it’s your opening.
You will never shame someone into different beliefs. They can only look back at the beliefs they held with shame.
So give them something to return to.
“You’ve always been someone who shows up for people. That’s why I don’t quite understand the support for someone who mocks veterans or demonizes immigrants.”
“Help me understand — how do you square what you just said about kindness with what he said about women?”
(Pause. Let it breathe.)
The goal isn’t conversion or persuasion. It’s contradiction. It’s the moment they walk away wondering, “Wait, why do I believe that?”
I’ve had family tell me they support candidates who would imprison the very people I spent years training overseas—activists, journalists, women standing up to autocrats. They say they believe in freedom. But then cheer for those who want to ban books.
I don’t come in hot anymore. I just say:
“You’ve always stood up for people who speak the truth, even when it’s hard. That matters. And it’s part of why I’m struggling to understand the support for someone who punishes truth-tellers and rewards those who lie to hold power.”
Let the silence work.
Know When to Walk Away
You are not required to attend every argument you’re invited to. Especially when the table is set with cranberry sauce and conservative media rage bait or progressive self-righteousness.
Not every fight needs to happen.
Not every comment needs a reply.
Sometimes, preserving your relationship is the persuasion strategy. As I wrote in my Seven Rules for Dealing with Autocrats:
“Don’t hand the autocrats battering rams with which to beat you.”
Don’t hand your cousin one, either.
Democracy Begins at the Table
If we can’t talk to our own families, we’re already losing.
Democracy is win-win. Autocracy is zero-sum. So is Thanksgiving, if you let it be.
This year, try something different. Ask more questions. Name the dissonance. Plant a contradiction. And walk away with your dignity—and your relationships—intact.
The table is where the work starts. Not where it ends.
And then, zoom out.
Because no matter the state of our politics, no matter the noise or heartbreak or disinformation—there is still always something to be thankful for. That’s not naive optimism. That’s something I learned living overseas, in rooms where people had far less freedom than we do. And it’s something I learned from my daughter Vilte—whose life never got to be lived, but whose name means Hope.
Hope is not the absence of pain. It’s the insistence on gratitude in the face of it. And that’s what I’m holding onto this Thanksgiving.
May we all find our version of that.
Happy Thanksgiving.
And good luck.
BONUS SUGGESTIONS
Here are some suggestions based on the years of research we have been doing of things you might ask or do when such conversations start:
Start with this:
“Can I ask a real question about [Insert topic], not to argue, but to understand where you’re coming from?”
Try this one question with someone you disagree with:
“Has anything about this year made you think differently about what you believe?”
Try this one coaching move:
Listen for where their lived experience doesn’t match their political views — and ask why that is.
Try this one value bridge:
“It sounds like what you really care about is security and I do, too. What do you think real security looks like for everyone?”
Try this one boundary:
“Let’s pause this and just be family for the rest of the night.”
Pick one. Use it. And remember — you’re not trying to win Thanksgiving. You’re trying to keep the people who matter in your life at the table.
Trygve Olson is a strategist, pro-democracy fighter and a founding Lincoln Project advisor. He writes the Searching for Hope [ [link removed] ] Substack. Read the original column here [ [link removed] ].

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