1장
When Disagreement Becomes a Skill Worth Mastering
In a world increasingly divided by political and ideological fault lines, John Inazu's "Learning to Disagree" arrives as a timely field guide for navigating our differences. Drawing from his experiences as a law professor, Inazu takes readers through a year of classroom discussions, faculty meetings, and everyday encounters that illuminate how we might hold convictions with both confidence and humility. The book has garnered praise from diverse voices across the political spectrum, with New York Times columnist David Brooks calling it "essential reading for our polarized times." What makes this work particularly compelling is Inazu's ability to "complexify" issues we tend to oversimplify, challenging readers to think more deeply about their own assumptions. As a Japanese-American whose grandparents were interned during WWII, Inazu brings a unique perspective to questions of justice, empathy, and forgiveness-making this not just another book about civility, but a deeply personal exploration of how we might flourish amid our deepest differences.
2장
The Empathy Challenge in a Digital World
Social media has fundamentally altered how we engage with different perspectives. Sitting on my screened porch one August morning, I find myself absorbed in a heated online debate about abortion between constitutional law colleagues instead of noticing the goldfinches flitting through nearby trees. This moment captures our collective dilemma: we're increasingly trapped in digital exchanges that strip away human complexity and condition us toward animosity rather than understanding.
The challenge of empathy extends beyond our screens into classrooms, workplaces, and daily interactions. As a law professor, I've witnessed how teaching empathy alongside technical skills becomes essential for developing good lawyers. The best attorneys understand their adversaries rather than dismissing them-a skill equally valuable in everyday life.
The classroom becomes a laboratory for practicing empathy across differences. With first-year students, I emphasize that legal permission doesn't equal wisdom. Both conservative and liberal students can become "First Amendment heroes" who push speech boundaries without considering impact. The real challenge lies in balancing honest expression with civic grace.
In daily interactions, we often swing between being too flippant with our words and overly cautious about language norms. The pronoun debate illustrates this tension-sometimes using proper names or neutral titles like "Professor" can sidestep controversy without compromising beliefs or causing offense. These small choices build a kinder world.
Law school's diverse environment provides unique opportunities for empathy development. Veterans like Patricia Smith bring perspectives shaped by military service that put academic pressures in context. My colleague Brenda teaches about bias through personal stories rather than abstract training. True empathy attaches to people, not categories-as I realized when recognizing my own stereotyping of veteran students.
The digital age makes empathy harder to cultivate as we engage in two-dimensional interactions that obscure human complexity. Yet empathy remains a skill we can practice: assuming good intentions, listening before responding, and recognizing that understanding someone's perspective doesn't require agreeing with their conclusions. These practices open doors to deeper understanding across our deepest differences.
3장
Fairness: A Moving Target in a Complex World
The question of fairness permeates our legal system and daily interactions. In Criminal Law class, I guide students through critical distinctions between homicide (a person killing another person) and criminal killing. Manuel helps illustrate that not all homicides are crimes-justified self-defense, lawful war killings, and some police actions are homicides but not criminal. This distinction highlights the difference between facts (a homicide occurred) and judgments (whether it was criminal).
We explore further complexities in criminal homicide classifications. Murder differs from manslaughter, with intent typically determining culpability. But the Russian poker case complicates this framework-though Steve didn't intend to kill his friend when pulling the trigger in this deadly game, some states punish this reckless behavior as murder rather than manslaughter. This sparks debate about cultural assumptions embedded in legal concepts of fairness.
Additional cases challenge our notions of fairness-Jennifer Axelberg who drove drunk to escape her violent husband, and Charlie's story about his sister killed by a drunk Marine for whom Charlie surprisingly advocated leniency. These examples reveal how context, motive, and circumstance complicate our judgments about culpability and appropriate punishment.
My own experience in traffic court further illustrates arbitrary justice. Despite my nervousness, both my case and another man's were quickly dismissed by the prosecutor. This privilege contrasts sharply with my black colleague's experience with campus police, where he felt compelled to immediately comply with an officer's directive while I was ready to challenge authority. These personal encounters reveal how fairness in our justice system remains elusive and uneven.
Faculty meetings provide their own microcosm of fairness disputes, from competition for "The Seat" to more consequential debates about free speech policies following a Muslim student's removal of commemorative 9/11 flags. In discussing how to handle this situation, my colleague Brenda suggests focusing solely on procedural fairness since our institution lacks a clear concept of "justice." We can establish rules of engagement everyone must follow, but without specifying what our school actually believes, we can't determine what's truly fair beyond procedure.
Perhaps the most important lesson about fairness is recognizing that our judgments are inevitably shaped by our experiences, values, and social position. Fairness isn't an objective standard but a contested concept requiring ongoing dialogue and willingness to consider perspectives beyond our own.
4장
When Compromise Becomes Impossible
Some conflicts present genuine zero-sum scenarios where compromise proves impossible. Faculty meetings about hiring reveal this reality-with limited positions, not everyone's preferences can be satisfied. Each faculty member advocates for their specialty while I jokingly suggest hiring more half-Japanese First Amendment scholars like myself, a quip that falls flat in the tense atmosphere.
In Criminal Law class, I introduce self-defense as another realm where compromise proves impossible. Cases are binary: either the killer acted reasonably in self-defense or committed murder. But "reasonableness" depends on legal standards, as demonstrated by George Zimmerman's acquittal in Trayvon Martin's killing under Florida's "stand your ground" law.
The Judy Norman case presents an even more challenging scenario. After enduring twenty years of horrific abuse from her husband J.T., Judy shot him while he slept. Despite the absence of imminent threat required for legal self-defense, my student Joe Villario asserts he would have "pulled the trigger" in her position. The case ended with a manslaughter conviction later commuted by the governor-an outcome that sidesteps the zero-sum nature of the legal question.
Everyday life presents similar irreconcilable conflicts. On a crowded flight, I'm seated next to a woman with a yelping dog. As someone with severe allergies requiring regular shots, this highlights another zero-sum conflict: pet owners' desires versus allergy sufferers' health. Similar zero-sum conflicts arise with peanut allergies and the perennial airplane battle over seat reclining rights-situations where competing legitimate interests cannot be simultaneously satisfied.
These examples illustrate a broader reality-our lives are filled with clashing values not prone to compromise. Often, the law decides these clashes for us, creating outcomes some celebrate and others lament. In Criminal Law class, I emphasize that law resolves irreconcilable differences through its power to use violence. Most students don't initially grasp that legal authority ultimately rests on coercive force. Whether you're a prosecutor or a corporate lawyer, the law's interpretations have consequences backed by the threat of violence.
When facing zero-sum conflicts where compromise isn't possible, I advise my students not to abandon the system when they find themselves on the losing side. Instead, use these moments to deepen understanding of what's at stake, recommit to working toward different solutions, and continue efforts to persuade others of your position. The impossibility of compromise doesn't mean the end of conversation-it means we need better, more empathetic conversation.
5장
Navigating Difficult Conversations Across Divides
By November, my students have enough experience to explore more sensitive topics, including our three-day unit on sexual assault-the most difficult sequence I teach. I approach this unit knowing some students likely have personal experiences with sexual assault. Despite the challenges, these legal and policy questions are important, especially since law schools once glossed over sexual assault when society paid little attention to such crimes.
Early in my career, after introducing this sensitive topic, a male student responded: "She was dressed provocatively. I think she wanted it." The comment prompted gasps and one student walking out. In those crucial seconds before losing control of the class, I had to carefully navigate between harshly rebuking the student and implicitly validating his comment by ignoring it.
I responded by firmly establishing the facts: this was clearly a violent rape with no consent issues. These classroom moments illustrate teaching's challenges-we're covering emotionally complex ideas with diverse students experiencing this discussion for the first time. This is why I worry about condemning people for insensitive comments, as conversations about sensitive topics inevitably touch nerves.
Most of us have similar opportunities with coworkers and neighbors. When uncomfortable conversations arise, express discomfort but take advantage of familiarity to learn more rather than assuming the worst. Building relationships before tackling divisive topics helps establish trust. With close friends, you can risk difficult conversations because you've built reserves of trust through shared experiences.
I once ignored my own advice with my father, resulting in us not speaking for a long time. Years later, after his lung cancer diagnosis, we reconnected during what would be one of his final Thanksgivings. Despite his pain, he was happier than I'd ever seen him, showing gratitude and joy rather than retreating to play solitaire as in previous years. Those final months taught me that sometimes you must start talking again, even about difficult things, and that you can speak more gracefully when you realize how few opportunities remain.
Context matters tremendously in difficult conversations. At church, I overhear Jack Cunningham, a wealthy retired banker, complaining about "liberals destroying our heritage" and mentioning critical race theory. Though I studied critical race theory in graduate school and find it useful for questioning cultural baselines, I recognize its limitations when it becomes the only lens rather than a critique. I consider engaging Jack but decide against it, realizing I've created a false dichotomy between classroom conversations and real-life ones.
Despite these challenges, most people can have difficult conversations in the right context. Timing and relationship are crucial-we can discuss divisive topics more productively when we've established mutual respect and when both parties are ready to engage thoughtfully rather than defensively.
6장
Seeing People, Not Problems
I navigate the bureaucratic maze of the county records office to resolve a property dispute. After struggling with confusing parking, ambiguous lines, and being redirected multiple times, I finally meet Ms. J., who surprises me with her exceptional service and genuine care. "My job is to help you do your job," she explains, going above and beyond to provide clear documents. Her kindness makes me wonder how many people take out their frustrations on helpful public servants like her.
This experience connects to an assignment I give my law students: spending thirty minutes observing criminal court proceedings. The purposely vague instructions force them to navigate unfamiliar systems, mirroring what their future clients will face. Their reflections reveal profound insights about accessibility barriers, the casual indifference of court professionals, and the human stakes behind legal proceedings.
December also brings the dreaded task of grading eighty law exams. At The Mad Hatter coffee shop, I reflect on how most students fall into "The Middle"-good but not exceptional-and how difficult that is for high-achievers. I remember my own law school experience in "The Bottom" of Civil Procedure class and my professor's dismissive response, which teaches me to treat my own students with humanity.
A fight with my wife Caroline reminds me how easily even loved ones become problems rather than people. I recall my spectacular failure during our billable hours days when I asked, "Do you realize how much money this argument just cost us?" The lesson is clear: people aren't interruptions or inefficiencies. Like Ms. J., we must see the humanity in everyone we encounter.
This perspective shift-from viewing others as obstacles or problems to seeing them as complex human beings-transforms our interactions. When we recognize the person behind the counter, across the classroom, or on the other side of a political divide as someone with hopes, fears, and dignity equal to our own, we create space for genuine connection even amid disagreement.
7장
Faith in Something: Between Certainty and Doubt
January begins a new semester with my Law and Religion class, where students confront competing faith claims in legal contexts. I start with Judith Kuch's case, an ordained minister in the Neo-American Church who faced prosecution for using LSD and marijuana as "sacraments." Judge Gesell rejected her religious freedom defense, noting the church's absurd elements like leaders called "boo hoos" and songs like "Puff, the Magic Dragon." Yet this case reveals how all religious traditions contain elements that seem strange to outsiders.
In a faculty workshop, I witness academics dismissing Christians intellectually, with only Aquinas and "a guy at Yale" deemed exceptions. This highlights how we all encounter cross-cultural experiences when our beliefs are misunderstood or demeaned. Everyone has faith in something, and everyone doubts.
When teaching about religion and patriotism, I show Lee Greenwood's "God Bless the USA" video, which combines religious imagery with American nationalism. This raises questions about whether America is a "Christian nation" or whether patriotism itself has become a form of worship. I suggest neither narrative works.
The Jehovah's Witnesses faced persecution for refusing the Pledge of Allegiance before eventually winning their Supreme Court case. Their alternative pledge acknowledged allegiance to God first, then respect for the flag and obedience to laws consistent with God's law. This makes me reflect on my own military and legal oaths to defend the Constitution-what if my faith commitments conflict with a document that once upheld slavery and other injustices? I no longer swear oaths or pledge allegiance, though I stand respectfully as a veteran.
The month concludes with our school's celebration of MLK Day-our "high holy day" with all its rituals. I'm troubled by how we sanitize King, avoiding his Christian faith at school while church folks emphasize only his most Jesus-like quotes. After these celebrations, we receive devastating news about third-year student Stacy Terrill's suicide. At her memorial service, I confront the uncomfortable reality that sometimes there are no answers, leaving us to choose between faith and despair.
Most of us choose faith in something-God, science, others, or ourselves-living between certainty and uncertainty, united in our shared human vulnerability. This recognition that we all place our trust in something beyond complete verification can help us approach others' beliefs with greater humility and curiosity, even when they differ fundamentally from our own.
8장
The Elusive Search for Neutrality
February finds me teaching free exercise analysis in Law and Religion, using the case of Swann v. Pack about snake handling in Tennessee. Pastor Liston Pack's church practiced handling snakes and drinking strychnine based on Mark 16:17-18, resulting in two deaths and legal charges. When I ask students about the government's interest in preventing consensual snake handling among adults, they struggle to identify a neutral principle. The risk of death is much lower than 100%, and we permit many dangerous recreational activities like football and parachuting. Our objections seem based on finding it weird or uncivilized-revealing that limits on religious freedom often rest on value judgments rather than neutrality.
The elusiveness of neutrality becomes even clearer when discussing education. In Wisconsin v. Yoder, the Amish sought exemption from compulsory high school attendance to teach their children the Amish way of life. The Supreme Court acknowledged the importance of basic education while considering the Amish's religious claims. Chief Justice Burger's opinion romanticizes the Amish as exemplifying "Jefferson's ideal of the 'sturdy yeoman'" and admiring their "idiosyncratic separateness." But I believe private groups should have autonomy not because they're Amish, but because civil society groups should generally be free to operate according to their own norms-a position that is itself not neutral.
This leads to examining religious influence in public school curricula, particularly Texas's outsized influence on textbook content nationwide. Conservative Christians have strategically influenced the Texas State Board of Education, prompting classroom discussions about whether any classroom or textbook can truly be neutral. Even in teaching, I set nonneutral limits on acceptable arguments while acknowledging that recognizing the lack of neutrality doesn't mean abandoning the search for truth.
The question isn't whether we achieve neutrality but whether we pursue knowledge while allowing reasonable dissent-which depends more on persuasion than pronouncement. This applies to everything from news coverage to legal judgments to everyday disagreements, where recognizing our nonneutral positions should lead us to engage others with nuance rather than strident certainty.
9장
Beyond Right and Wrong: Distinguishing Disagreement from Evil
The Supreme Court's opinion in Reynolds equated Mormon polygamy with human sacrifice and widow burning-a rhetorical move suggesting Mormons weren't just wrong but evil. Scott points out the vast difference between human sacrifice and polygamy, though this distinction wasn't as clear in the nineteenth century.
The government's persecution of Mormons culminated in revoking the Mormon Church's charter, dissolving their legal status, and seizing their assets-the greatest act of religious persecution in U.S. history. The church eventually changed their doctrine and regained their property after forced surrender. Today, most Americans still consider polygamy morally wrong, but Utah has reduced bigamy from a felony to an infraction-suggesting people view it as wrong but no longer evil.
This distinction between wrong and evil extends to modern debates like gay marriage and religious freedom. The Masterpiece Cakeshop case revealed a lack of empathy on both sides, with Justice Kennedy offering platitudes rather than clear constitutional doctrine. The 2022 Respect for Marriage Act represents a compromise recognizing both same-sex marriage and religious freedom-suggesting neither position should be considered evil.
During a class discussion on ceremonial prayer, an active shooter alert interrupts, prompting me to share my 9/11 Pentagon experience-a reminder of genuine evil in a world where we too easily apply that label to those with differing beliefs.
Later, I meet with Joseph Villario, a Navy veteran struggling academically and socially in law school. Despite his military background, Joe finds himself at "The Bottom" academically for the first time in his life. As a conservative white military man, he feels isolated when voicing opinions that differ from the majority. After one incident where he defended police ending a violent protest, a classmate accused him of white supremacy.
His story reminds me that in our diverse country, we all hold beliefs others find objectionable, and we should presume most people can be wrong without being evil. This distinction matters tremendously for civic discourse-when we label those with whom we disagree as evil rather than merely wrong, we close off possibilities for understanding, growth, and eventual reconciliation.
10장
The Challenging Path of Forgiveness
The COVID-19 pandemic revealed deep divisions in our society's understanding of harm and appropriate responses. While some states exempted only essential services like hospitals, others included businesses like casinos and liquor stores while restricting religious gatherings. The constitutionality of these orders varied depending on local conditions, transmission rates, and timing.
I admitted my own pandemic posture sometimes resembled my driving attitude-everyone faster seemed reckless, everyone slower seemed overly cautious. No one got everything right early in the pandemic, yet many quickly justified their missteps while demanding repentance from others.
When I wrote suggesting reconciliation requires both forgiveness and repentance, the responses were unforgiving from both sides-those angry at protective measures and those who felt they weren't protective enough. This unwillingness to forgive reflects both pain and rage, but also suggests forgiveness itself has become offensive to many.
At Manzanar War Relocation Center, I walked where my Japanese American grandparents and family were imprisoned during WWII. Despite this injustice, when President Reagan formally apologized in 1988, my grandmother forgave. Her example, like the Amish after Nickel Mines or the families after Mother Emanuel AME Church, shows how forgiveness can reveal humanity's best even amid its worst.
Forgiveness doesn't mean forgetting or excusing wrongdoing. Rather, it means choosing not to let another's actions define our future or determine our response. It's a path forward that acknowledges harm while refusing to be consumed by it-a challenging but ultimately liberating practice that creates space for healing and renewed relationship.
11장
Finding Common Ground in Ordinary Moments
May brings relief as classes end and I can return to golf in pleasant weather. Though my performance hardly matches the effort I've invested since childhood, I still enjoy playing occasional rounds with my colleague Gary. Our golf outings exemplify how true friendship balances both shallow and deep interactions-I'm not close with people who stay perpetually shallow, nor with those who only engage deeply. Real friends can challenge each other intellectually but also simply enjoy small talk or activities together.
I arrange a social experiment by inviting Jack Cunningham to join Gary and me at the public golf course. The front nine goes smoothly with Gary slightly ahead and Jack trailing by ten strokes. After a break, Gary unexpectedly hooks two balls out of bounds, prompting Jack to make a political joke: "Guess you are more to the left than you thought, eh, Gary?" When Gary snaps back, I defuse the tension with my own joke about Jack being "so far to the right he has trouble seeing anyone else."
The day transforms when Jack, using an absurdly expensive club, accidentally hits his first hole-in-one on the sixteenth hole. We celebrate wildly together, creating a shared experience none will forget. After drinks and recounting the story multiple times, I reflect that these ordinary moments matter in sustaining existing friendships and embracing new ones. Whether through golf, cycling, gaming, or music, finding activities that create ordinary interactions is essential to building genuine friendship.
These shared experiences create bonds that transcend political and ideological differences. When we engage in activities that bring joy and connection, we're reminded of our common humanity-that we're more than our opinions or positions on divisive issues. These ordinary moments of shared delight become the foundation for relationships that can withstand the strain of disagreement because they're built on something deeper than agreement.
12장
Stepping Back to See More Clearly
Two weeks after graduation, I'm relaxing at Ocean Isle Beach with my family. This coastal town offers a comfortable escape with our rental house, reliable restaurants, and the soothing sounds of ocean waves. The best part of this annual vacation is going completely offline-no devices, emails, or social media.
During this digital detox, I discover two important truths. First, life continues perfectly well without my constant attention; the world doesn't need me as urgently as I imagine. Instead of speed-reading Supreme Court opinions for journalist comments, I spend quality time with Hana and Sam. Second, my email inbox follows a decay curve-the fewer messages I answer, the fewer arrive. After a few days offline, most people find alternative solutions to their questions.
Several days into our technology fast, I realize we've missed all news from beyond our immediate surroundings. Our world has temporarily shrunk to just the few beach houses visible from our rental, creating a peaceful bubble of simplified existence.
This beach experience has an artificial quality that can't be sustained long-term. My job as a law professor requires staying informed about current events. The beach also strips away social roles; we're just people without titles or positions, though subtle differences remain visible in the American flag and pickup trucks at one house versus the Prius-driving couple down the street.
In this simplified world, I think more about those immediately around me-primarily Caroline and our kids. Daily decisions become wonderfully inconsequential: walk on the beach or play a board game? Most importantly, I realize I'm not angry at any of these strangers. After observing their ordinary lives from our balcony, I tend to assume the best about them rather than the worst.
As we pack up to return home, I'm grateful for the break but recognize real life isn't the beach. It's full of nuance, complexity, conflict and disagreement. Yet this time away reminds me that a little familiarity-and a little empathy-can still go a long way. Sometimes stepping back from the constant noise of disagreement allows us to return with renewed perspective and the emotional resources needed to engage differences with both conviction and grace.
