Listening to the Listeners

Could you knock on the door of someone that you disagree with and have an open, connecting conversation? In 2024, canvassers across five states set out with this very question in mind. This wasn’t your typical political canvassing. Instead, it was a new form of canvassing called long-bridge canvassing– a method designed not to persuade, but to connect. Black, working-class canvassers knocked on the doors of affluent, white voters; urban canvassers knocked on the doors of rural residents; and progressive canvassers knocked on the doors of conservative counterparts. 

I spent six months researching this pilot as part of my master’s thesis. What I found informed not just my research, but my own life, and what it means to listen across divides. The canvassers weren’t just building bridges with strangers; they were confronting fear, mistrust, and their own biases. In this blog post, I want to share the four major challenges– and opportunities– that have stayed with me. 

Challenge #1: Building Trust in Distrustful Communities

The first hurdle canvassers faced was simple: getting people to open the door, literally and figuratively. In communities marked by suspicion, institutional neglect, or broken promises, residents often assumed that anyone knocking wanted something from them. One canvasser explained how people would often greet them with skepticism: “Yeah, right. Everyone wants something from me. What do you want from me?” 

The difficulty to even “get in the door” aligns with national trends: Americans are becoming increasingly distrustful of institutions, the government, and one another. This broader cultural landscape makes the possibility of vulnerable, open conversation feel impossible.

But it’s not.

Throughout my research, it was clear how trust could be built through small, almost mundane moments. Across teams, canvassers opened conversations by asking residents what they like about their community. In Nevada, the canvassing team went to a local cowboy-gear store, bought hats, and posted flyers with photos of themselves around town. The gestures weren’t gimmicks– they were signals: We see you, we respect you, and we want to connect.

Something as ordinary as everyday conversation can create a shift that allows both people, despite their differences, to become part of a “we.” This realization reminds me to start with connection first, and then broach heavier topics. By creating a shared atmosphere, while still acknowledging difference and disagreement, we create the potential for belonging. 

Challenge #2: Navigating Safety, Surveillance, and Policing

For all of the warmth that came with moments of connection, canvassing also carried real risks. One canvassing team was stopped by police seven times in six days. Canvassers across teams discovered photos of them had been taken on doorbell cameras and posted to neighborhood Facebook groups. And a canvasser even went to the ER after being bitten by a dog.

These interactions deeply affected the emotional experience of the canvassers. For many canvassers– especially those who were immigrants or DACA recipients– police interactions weren’t just interruptions, but created cultures of fear and apprehension. One canvassing team, due to persistent interactions with the police, ended up applying for “work cards” from the local police department, even though the Supreme Court has ruled that canvassers don’t need permits. Though the police were in the wrong, canvassers complied– frustrated, but focused on finishing the work. The tension between practicality and principles was heavy, leaving behind a bitter taste for many.

My research made clear how unevenly freedom of movement is distributed. Some canvassers could knock on doors without a second thought, while others risked exposure to surveillance and safety threats. Committing to bridging doesn’t just apply to each individual conversation, but also requires reckoning with broader systems of discrimination. Canvassing teams, by staying firm on their purpose (‘What are we here to do?’) could stomach the institutional hurdles they faced to get on with the work.

As a white woman, I had to confront how much structural immunity my presence grants me. What’s my excuse, then, in moments when I chose to disconnect, rather than to bridge? The courage of these canvassers, despite working through fear, surveillance, and discrimination, cut through my excuses and grounded me back in the ‘why’ of bridging.

Challenge #3: The Weight of the Work

Beyond the emotional toll surveillance and police encounters can have, the conversations themselves were emotionally challenging. Long-bridge canvassers had to control their emotions to maintain openness and nonjudgement, all while engaging in emotionally demanding conversations. Canvassers heard stories of grief and economic hardship, as well as  xenophobic and racist views– some directed at their own communities.

Canvassers also commented on the internal reflection that long-bridge canvassing provoked, requiring them to confront their own biases or unexamined fears. These conversations stretched their sense of what was possible, revealing unexpected common ground. As I heard these stories, I reflected on my own life, and which groups I hold as “other(s)”. I imagined showing up at the doors of people who I am afraid of, or even hold contempt for, and having the courage and humility to offer them a conversation rooted in curiosity rather than judgement. One canvasser with whom I spoke, spoke directly to these thoughts, telling me “‘if you believe in the work, at some point, you just have to ‘do it afraid.’”

Through my research, the labor of listening was consistently present– and as with any form of labor, rest and care were essential. Canvassing teams leaned on camaraderie and supportive leaders to process difficult emotions, creating bonds that made the work sustainable. These networks of care were not just helpful, but crucial to bridging work.

Challenge #4: Practicing Long-Bridge Principles

For many canvassers, the goal of connecting, rather than persuading, felt refreshing. One put it simply: “I didn’t feel like a salesman.” Training emphasized this mindset with mottos like “Stay Curious, George.” But the real test came when canvassers faced bigoted or misinformed views. Some struggled not to correct or redirect, as in one team’s attempt to shift anti-immigrant sentiment toward blaming the government. While understandable, these moments showed how hard it can be to hold space without rebuttal. Practicing likely scenarios in advance could help canvassers stay grounded when the “long-bridge” approach isn’t clear.

What makes this work powerful is its focus on connection, not agreement– a shift I also wrestled with. How can listening, without pushing my worldview, help create the world I want to see? Research suggests it can: persuasion often backfires, while deep, nonjudgmental listening fosters openness, humility, and even reduces prejudice. In this way, long-bridge canvassing offers a path from discord to real engagement.

This Is How We Move Forward

The individuals with whom I spoke for this thesis were passionate, community-driven, and had optimistic views of the nation’s future. They courageously went into neighborhoods where they knew they might not be wanted, to pilot a form of canvassing for the first time. They encountered police, loose dogs, bigoted opinions, and emotionally heavy stories of gun violence, economic hardship, and loss. And yet, every canvasser told me they would do it again. They saw long-bridge canvassing as one response to growing national mistrust and hostility –as a way to build a bigger ‘we’– and their faith in the work reminded me of why I was drawn to bridging in the first place.

My research made one thing abundantly clear: to build a world where we all belong, we must be willing to listen to one another. It is the positive connections formed through listening that lay the foundation for trust, collaboration, and progress. Taking these lessons from my research has transformed my own relationships. During a disagreement, I feel less concerned with having the perfect rebuttal or the right set of facts. Instead, I focus on creating the space for reflection and vulnerability– trusting that this, in itself, is enough to begin creating the world I want to live in.

--