“We are at a profound moment in our history,” Regina told them from the podium. Because of the excessive heat, they’d moved the outdoor event into the dining hall, and Regina had to raise her voice above the noise of the air-conditioning. Janine thought the crowd looked a little thin; she did not see Manfred yet, or any of the teachers. There were empty seats on either side of Beth and Janine. “It’s a time of political and cultural upheaval as well as a time of revolutionized communication,” Regina went on. “You can leave this lecture tonight, go back to your room, and share your writing with someone on the other side of the world. That has never been possible before. Think about it! You have a chance to directly influence people with your beliefs and your values.”

Janine looked sidelong at Beth and smiled encouragingly; though Beth was not a writer, she was a communicator, an influencer. Behind Regina, on a large portable whiteboard, someone had written POLITICS, vertically, in large block letters. Janine rustled through her bag and brought out her notebook, dutifully copying the word neatly down the left margin.

“People have a short attention span,” Regina said, writing out the word in a perfect cursive hand. “That is a proven fact. But what are they inundated with, from all sides? Politics. On television, on the radio, around the dinner table. At church! It has invaded our lives. Would you do this for me? Turn to your neighbors and tell them about your three most recent engagements with the world of politics. Make a list for me.”

“What did I miss?” said Manfred, taking the seat on the other side of Beth. He leaned forward to squeeze Janine’s shoulder.

“Manfred!” Janine exclaimed. “This is my daughter, Beth.”

Beth pointed at Janine’s empty page. “Dad and Fox News, put that down. We’re writing a list of the ways we’ve experienced politics recently.”

“Ah,” said Manfred, and Janine wondered if the reference to the cable channel shocked him. “I got pulled over on the way here.”

“How about your poem?” said Beth.

“My poem isn’t political,” Janine said. “Manfred, were you speeding?”

“It was on Talking to Tad,” Beth insisted, taking her mother’s pen and notebook and writing it down. “Getting pulled over isn’t political. Not if you’re white.”

Manfred gave her an appraising look.

“Okay,” Regina said. “I’m hearing some excellent and fascinating contributions. Some of it is about our own campus, the way we have been pulled into the political dialogue. How many of you were concerned to see that there were protesters on your campus?”

Janine raised her hand and looked around to see all of the other hands in the room up, too—even Regina’s.