This past weekend involved a Sunday of firsts for me. It was my first time inside the Harbor Theater, my first time attending a Braver Angels debate (or really any debate at all), and my first time watching a group of neighbors take the stage not to win an argument, but to try to understand one another.
Having written about the theater previously, I was eager to get a good look inside. Owner Matthew Unzeitig spent much time and effort restoring it, calling the process “a big experiment,” an effort to learn what the community wanted and what the building needed. Volunteers have kept the doors open, and Unzeitig has kept the lights on with the hope that the theater will become a true community center.
That day, that idea felt real. The crowd was modest, but the purpose was clear. People had come to talk, to listen, and to see what it meant to share a space for civic conversation.
The debate was hosted by Braver Angels, a national organization focused on depolarization and structured dialogue. Their approach is different from what most people imagine when they hear the word debate. It is not competitive, it is not about scoring points, and it is not about defeating an opponent. It is about speaking honestly, listening fully, and engaging respectfully.
The chair for the afternoon was Katya Gordon, who began by explaining the culture of a Braver Angels debate.
“It’s not competitive,” she said. “We’re not going to have a winner or a loser. We are really collectively seeking the truth.”
She told the room that speakers should “say only what we really believe,” and that it was acceptable to be uncertain or to change one’s mind. She read through the organization’s values, which emphasize dignity, respect, blind‑spot awareness, and the search for common ground. It was a reminder that the goal was not persuasion. The goal was understanding.
Gordon also explained the rules. Speakers address the chair, not one another. Questions must be directed to her, and she relays them to the speaker. Applause is replaced by light tapping on the tables or small waves of the hand.
It is a system designed to slow people down, to keep them from reacting emotionally, and to make space for genuine listening. She held up a small tool from her husband’s workbench and said it would serve as the gavel. The room laughed lightly, and, when Gordon pounded it against the stage floor, the debate began.
The resolution up for debate that day was “copper nickel mining has a place in northern Minnesota.”
The first speaker was a Braver Angels co‑chair from Ely who also served on the city council. She spoke in favor of mining, describing her long connection to the North Woods and her belief that modern mining technology can protect water while supporting local economies.
“I want clean water,” she said. “And I believe the mining technology today can be done without concerns.”
She talked about wanting to see her city grow, schools full, and businesses prosper. When asked why she felt time was of the essence, she answered, “My lifetime. I’m 78 years old. And I’ve waited a long time.”
Questions came quickly. One person asked Gordon to inquire about the disadvantages of waiting. Another asked whether there were examples of long‑term success in similar mines. The speaker referenced the Eagle Mine in Michigan, saying, “Everything there is 100 percent clean.” She spoke about legislators who had toured the site and returned convinced that the operation was safe.
When asked where the product from the Eagle Mine was processed, she admitted she did not know the specifics and deferred to another participant who might. Her willingness to say “I can’t tell you specific” fit the tone of the afternoon. People were not pretending to know more than they did.
The next speaker spoke against copper nickel mining. She described her deep family history in mining and her respect for the industry, but said she was “passionately against the idea of experimenting” with copper nickel extraction.
“Whenever I hear someone say it’s 100 percent, it’s a red flag for me,” she said.
She talked about pits left unfilled, promises not kept, and the lack of accountability she had witnessed over generations. She spoke about the value of clean water, the uniqueness of the region’s watersheds, and the importance of protecting basic needs.
“These are God given gifts to us,” she said. “It is our earth to take care of and not to be taken for granted.”
She described paddling the Boundary Waters as a Girl Scout and learning to kayak with a well‑known photographer. Her connection to the land was personal and long‑standing.
When asked why mining should not simply be done here under close supervision, she said, “We need to keep a very close eye on this,” but argued that even in a perfect scenario, tariffs and processing arrangements would make profitability unlikely. She also noted that waste products would still need to be managed.
“It is not a natural organic process,” she said and spoke of the global supply chain, saying that materials would be sent to China for processing and then returned, which she believed would undermine economic benefits.
She also expressed concern about the Senate voting without what she felt was adequate public input.
Another speaker offered a technical perspective, drawing on decades of attending geology conferences and conversations with state geologists. He described the copper nickel reserves near Birch Lake as among the largest in the world. He acknowledged concerns about sulfide minerals and referenced Sudbury, Ontario, where mining once created a moonscape but has since been cleaned up. He explained that sulfur in the ore is chemically bound to copper and nickel, and that the refining process removes it.
When asked what happens to the sulfur, he said it would go to the refining site and that limestone added to tailings could bind sulfur into gypsum.
“As I understand it,” he added, offering his knowledge without overstating certainty. He talked about the Eagle Mine’s need to treat rainwater because of mercury standards, and he mentioned that the mine had a fence around it to control access.
One speaker described himself as “on the fence.” He said he was not conflicted about protecting the Boundary Waters, calling it “a very special place,” but he struggled with the question of where minerals should come from if not here.
“If we don’t do something to advance the green revolution,” he said, “in 50 years the Boundary Waters is going to be unrecognizable.”
He talked about climate change, electrification, and the need for critical minerals. He also raised ethical concerns about mining in countries where labor conditions are dangerous and exploitative. He suggested that community monitoring, like what he had read about at the Eagle Mine, might help build trust.
“We don’t have another 20 years to figure this out,” he said. “We need to get this figured out a lot sooner.”
He described paddling a thousand miles in the Boundary Waters and said he felt a deep connection to the place. His comments reflected a tension many people feel, wanting to protect the environment while also wanting to address climate change with urgency.
Another speaker offered a different angle entirely. He talked about the decline of jobs in Ely and the idea of a three-legged stool economy. He suggested a fourth leg: wilderness based treatment programs for teenagers and young adults, something he had worked in for nearly 30 years.
“These are good paying jobs,” he said. “Jobs that help people help themselves.”
He saw northern Minnesota as a rich environment for healing and believed that expanding treatment programs could strengthen communities without relying on mining. His perspective widened the conversation, reminding the room that economic development does not have to follow a single path.
Throughout my time at the event, I noticed how the structure itself changed the room. Because speakers addressed the chair, not one another, there was no direct confrontation. Because questions had to be phrased as questions, not statements, people had to think carefully about what they wanted to know. Because applause was replaced by tapping, there were no loud reactions.
The whole event moved at a slower pace, and that pace made space for reflection. It also made space for people who might not normally speak. Some participants prefaced their comments by saying they were nervous or unsure, but they spoke anyway. The room made that possible.
I also noticed how the debate revealed the complexity of the issue. Mining is not a simple question in northern Minnesota. It touches on jobs, identity, history, water, climate, ethics, and the future of the region. People brought their own experiences to the stage. Some had lived near mines their whole lives. Some had paddled the Boundary Waters for decades. Some had studied geology. Some had worked with teenagers in the wilderness. Some had watched their towns shrink. Some had watched the climate change.
The debate did not resolve these tensions. Nor did it create a consensus. But it did produce understanding, and that felt like its own kind of progress.
As the debate wound down, I kept thinking about Matthew Unzeitig’s vision for the Harbor Theater. He wanted a place with a stage, a screen, and a sound system that could host more than movies. He wanted a community center.
The debate showed that the Harbor Theater is becoming exactly what its owner hoped it could be. A place where the community gathers, listens, and learns. It’s a place where people come not just to watch a film, but to speak, to question, and to understand. It’s a place where civic life can take root.
On Sunday, the theater became a place for conversation. And for me, someone who hadn’t planned on enjoying a debate, it was a Sunday of firsts that likely won’t be my lasts. I look forward to coming back for a movie, and I won’t dismiss the idea of covering another debate if my editor asks next time.
