Hundreds of mostly Baby Boomer and Millennial-age people, including many military veterans, gathered along the busy street in front of Olympia’s capital building on April 5, waving signs and heartily calling out to passing vehicles. Appreciative honks were met with happy roars. A sunny and warm day helped the Hands Off rally radiate with a passionate but relaxed and friendly vibe. A vast collage of signs, most homemade and many humorous, denounced the Trump administration’s actions and demanded protections on a wide range of issues.

We were enjoying our wander through the swelling crowd, when I noticed, parked in the middle of it all, a pickup with what appeared to be a large Trump flag. Two middle aged guys sat in lawn chairs next to the truck. As we approached, one of them eyed my “Love is an act of resistance” sign and asked which side I was on. I glanced at the sign and back to him before saying with a grin, “I guess that could mean either one, eh?” He nodded with a bemused shrug.

We moved on, but I remained curious. Eventually we circled back to find the man sitting alone, seemingly unnoticed by the throngs passing by. He welcomed me with a gesture to his now empty second chair. My family was waiting for me, so I chose to stand as the man and I conversed for perhaps five minutes. He answered my questions calmly and clearly. He listened to me and seemingly respected me. Our conversation ended when another protester plopped into the empty chair ready to talk. I thanked the Trump supporter, and we shook hands.

That man had shown up early to get his prominent parking spot. He brought his flag and an extra chair. Sitting serenely among some 5000 people from the other “side,” he was there to simply invite conversations. No snark, no “owning the libs,” no arguing, no resolution.

Why? Why would he have gone to all that trouble?

The man has prompted me to reassess my political engagement. I’m not ready to attend a Trump rally alone with a couple of chairs. But I do want to connect, as he did, across the divide that separate Americans. I want to meet and honor the humanity of people with whom I disagree. I can’t force such conversations to happen. But I can be intentionally open to serendipitous opportunities and invitations. I can show up and speak up. Next time, I hope I’ll sit and stay longer.

Tom Craighead is a retired Episcopal priest and hospice chaplain, and a Vashon resident.