Jonathan Haidt

I remember waking up with a bloody face. As I entered junior high, my family had moved to a town that had a racist streak. On the first day of school I made a remark identifying myself as believing in civil rights. The statement’s consequences arrived several months later when I was beaten unconscious by a fellow white student. At that time, I had never had a black friend, but the madness imposed on African Americans stormed into my world with the physical intimacy of violence. What do we know,…