Last week, I wrote a passionate post after Charlie Kirk’s death.
Some people were moved. Others thought I was naive. But almost everyone asked the same question: How? How do we actually fix this broken country?
Should we abolish social media? I wish — but it’s too big, too powerful, and here to stay.
Should we fake unity and pretend we don’t have convictions? Never. That’s not honest, and it’s not helpful.
So then how? How do we actually fix this?
The answer, strangely enough, lies in a 1988 baseball movie: Bull Durham. About halfway through, Susan Sarandon’s character pushes two men to reveal what they believe. Tim Robbins fumbles. But Kevin Costner doesn’t blink. He delivers a monologue that isn’t flirting at all — it’s a declaration of existence:
“I believe in the soul... the small of a woman's back, the hanging curveball, high fiber, good scotch, that the novels of Susan Sontag are self-indulgent, overrated crap. I believe Lee Harvey Oswald acted alone. I believe there ought to be a constitutional amendment outlawing Astroturf and the designated hitter. I believe in the sweet spot… opening your presents Christmas morning rather than Christmas Eve, and I believe in long, slow, deep, soft, wet kisses that last three days.”
(Full disclosure: I edited the quote slightly. My mom reads this Substack.)
It’s absurd, it’s funny, it’s oddly profound — and in that moment, Kevin Costner (Crash Davis) is transcendent. Why? Because we know exactly who he is.
This is the part that matters: Crash Davis doesn’t define himself by what he’s against. He defines himself by what he’s for. That’s what makes it stick.
So, how do we fix America (or wherever you’re from)? Start by spending more time listening to people who tell you what they’re for — not what they’re against.
Because here’s the thing: saying what you hate is cheap. It costs nothing. Anyone can do it, and the internet will even reward you for it — outrage gets clicks, contempt gets followers. But saying what you’re for? That’s costly. It requires imagination.
History proves this. The most powerful leaders framed their vision in “for” language:
Abraham Lincoln, Gettysburg Address (1863): “That government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.”
Martin Luther King Jr., I Have a Dream (1963): “I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.”
Jesus, Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 5:9): “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.”
Now compare that to the leaders who poisoned nations by defining themselves against enemies:
Adolf Hitler, Mein Kampf (1925): “The Jew is and remains the world’s enemy.”
Joseph McCarthy, Wheeling Speech (1950): “I have here in my hand a list of 205… known Communists that nevertheless are still working and shaping the policy of the State Department.”
Pol Pot, Khmer Rouge speeches (1970s): “What is infected must be cut out… what is rotten must be removed.”
The contrast is striking. For-language builds. Against-language destroys.
So how do we fix America? Spend your time following leaders, influencers, and accounts that spend most of their energy saying what they’re for.
Yes, you can and should call out evil. Every great leader has — Jesus, Lincoln, King, and countless others all named hypocrisy when they saw it. But the heart of their message wasn’t what they opposed. It was what they stood for.
If there’s a single first step toward healing our country, it’s this: listen for the voices pointing to a better world and showing us how to get there.
Maybe that won’t fix everything. Maybe I’m overpromising. But it’s a start — and it’s the only kind of start that’s ever worked.
And this is where I think of Theodore Roosevelt’s most quoted line, the one that’s been photocopied and taped onto locker doors and commencement programs for more than a century: “It is not the critic who counts.”
That line is shorthand for something we all know but rarely practice: cynicism is easy, but building is hard. Snark gets the laugh, but it doesn’t move the ball forward. The critic can tell you what’s broken, but only the person in the arena can try to make something whole.
If we want to fix America, we need fewer critics and more builders. Fewer voices dedicated to what they hate, and more voices brave enough to say what they believe in — even if it sounds a little absurd, even if it risks mockery, even if it feels like Crash Davis talking about curveballs and Christmas presents.
Because in the end, that’s how you know someone’s worth following: not by what they’re against, but by what they’re willing to stand for.
So, what do I belive?
I believe every menu should serve breakfast after 11 AM, that the Star Wars prequels were a mistake, that true crime podcasts reveal more about communities than about killers, that daughters change fathers more than fathers change daughters, that midlife isn’t a crisis but a chance to finally be honest about who we are, that box office numbers tell us nothing about the movie, that church should feel more like a living room than a boardroom, and that America is still worth fighting for — not against each other, but for each other.
I like this. Any national/political project, or even personal project, should be defined as what it is rather than what it is not or contrary to. The dictionary does not define words by listing antonyms.
That was the logic behind this, highlighting the "for" that is the counterpart of "against" in immigration. https://drmonzo.substack.com/p/becoming-the-american-you-are