Evolution Beyond the Binary: An interview with Paul Browde

What follows is a conversation that was as personal as it was universal. Paul’s reflections wove together his own memories of growing up in apartheid South Africa, insights into the collective trauma of the pandemic, and the urgent need to move beyond binary thinking. His words stayed with me, offering not only a lens for understanding our divided world but also a vision for how we might heal.

Lauren: “We are conducting this conversation a week after Trump won the US election. I am sensing a newfound fear in the US and beyond. How are you processing his win?"

Paul: “Even hearing those words feels like a punch in the stomach. I don’t think it has fully landed for me yet. I spent months before the election hoping for a different outcome, telling myself that maybe things would turn out differently. When they didn’t, something inside me recoiled. I had to stop watching the news. It was just too much.”

Lauren: “Say more about what you mean by ‘too much’?”

Paul: “It isn’t just about politics. It is something much deeper - something that feels physical. His win triggered memories I didn’t even know were still alive in me. You and I grew up in apartheid South Africa, in a world where fear was woven into the fabric of everyday life. And now, I feel that same fear resurfacing, as though my body remembers what it was like.”

Lauren: “Are there specific memories that you carry in your body?”

Paul: “In apartheid South Africa, there was a constant sense of danger, even if you were part of the privileged class, as our families were. The danger surrounded us. Our caregivers—women who lived in our home, who raised us—were at risk of being arrested at any time. They needed to always carry their passbooks, proof of permission to live and work in certain areas. If they didn’t have their papers in order, the police could come for them. And they did. I remember one night hearing shouting from the street outside our house, followed by screams from my nanny. She had been outside the gate of the house and didn’t have her passbook with her, and they were trying to throw her into a police van. That sound stayed with me. It wasn’t just fear—it was helplessness. My mother ran out with an umbrella, and my brother grabbed the policeman by the scruff of his neck. They were crazy to do that, and while it worked that night, on many other occasions, people were arrested, and we had to go to the police station to bail them out. “Reflecting on those moment teaches me how deeply connected we were to those who were most vulnerable. It wasn’t just about them—it was about all of us. You can’t feel safe when people who live around you are not. It’s not possible.”

Lauren: “How do those memories connect to what you feel now?”

Paul: “It’s the same sense of vulnerability. The same fear that people I care about could be taken away, that speaking the truth could make you a target. The news that the incoming government plans to set up camps to hold migrants awaiting deportation resonates so strongly with those memories. Today, I feel that fear for undocumented migrants, for trans people, for anyone being vilified. The echoes of apartheid are loud in my body. It’s as if history is repeating itself—it’s the same energy.

As a young doctor, I worked at Baragwanath hospital in Soweto. At that time, abortion was illegal in South Africa. Every day, we had to deal with the aftermath of backstreet abortions. It was traumatic for us as young doctors and way more traumatic for the women. This is another piece of the news that is activating old body memories.

Lauren: “What strikes me about what you’re saying is how much it sounds like the beginning of mourning – that time when one feels overwhelmed in the body but you can’t yet process the pain of the loss. Do you think that’s what many people are experiencing?”

Paul: “Absolutely. For so many, this moment feels like a loss - not just of an election, but of a vision of what America is supposed to be. A client of mine said recently, ‘I don’t know where home is anymore.’ She still lives in the same house, but she feels untethered, like the country she believed in isn’t the same. That’s the kind of mourning I’m seeing - not for a person, but for an idea.”

Lauren: “And yet, for many others, this moment is one of celebration – jubilation even. It is this sharp division in the US and indeed around the world that is also so discomforting.”

Paul: “Yes, and that’s what makes it so disorienting. Right next to people mourning are others celebrating. They feel seen, heard, validated for the first time in a long time. They see Trump as a symbol of change, someone who has rejected the establishment and promised to restore what they feel has been taken from them. Their narrative is powerful. They think I’m the one who doesn’t understand.

It’s this mutual sense of being misunderstood that keeps us so divided. It’s also compounded by the fact that we’ve been through a period of massive, unacknowledged grief. The pandemic killed over a million Americans, and we’ve never collectively mourned that loss. Instead, people’s anger and pain have been directed outward. ‘The government didn’t do enough.’ ‘The government forced us to wear masks.’ There’s been no real stopping to say, ‘Look at what we’ve lost.’”

Lauren: “How does that unresolved grief affect us now?”

Paul: “It creates a layer of resentment and frustration that colors everything. People feel unseen and unheard. Life has been harder - groceries are expensive, wages haven’t kept up – and there’s no space for people to process the impact of it all. That’s why a figure like Trump is so appealing. He says, ‘I feel your pain. I’m going to fix it.’ It’s a story that gives people a sense of hope, even if it’s not rooted in reality”.

Moving beyond the Binary

Lauren: “Why do you think people hold so tightly to polarized stories – or to use psychoanalytic terminology, why are people so quick to ‘split’ the world into all-good and all-bad?

Paul: “Because binaries feel safe. Right or wrong, male or female, us or them—these categories simplify the world. They give us a sense of control in the face of chaos. We’re in a moment where those binaries are breaking down in some areas of life, and that’s profoundly unsettling for many people.”

Lauren: “Does that partly explain the resistance to trans and non-binary people?” Paul: “Yes. They embody complexity. In their very being, they challenge the idea that everything must fit neatly into definable categories. And for people who rely on those categories to make sense of the world, that’s terrifying. But trans and non-binary people also hold something incredibly powerful. They show us what’s possible when we let go of rigid definitions. They embody ambiguity and complexity in a way that’s deeply courageous. If we could learn to embrace what they represent, it could open the door to a whole new way of understanding ourselves.”

Lauren: “Have you seen this play out in your work?”

Paul: “Yes. I recently led a workshop that included a trans man who was born intersex. Doctors surgically assigned him female at birth, but that wasn’t who he was. He grew up in profound pain, but now he’s found a remarkable sense of self. Just being with him was transformative. He didn’t have to say anything—his presence forced me to confront my own discomfort with nonbinary. I literally watched my mind trying to categorize him. He was a living reminder that life doesn’t fit neatly into categories, and that’s okay.”

Lauren: “And we are witnessing this us and them mentality play out in the context of Israel and Gaza?”

Paul: “Being Jewish means carrying the weight of a long and complex history. For many of us, there’s a collective memory of persecution and survival that shapes how we see the world. That history doesn’t just live in our minds - it’s in our bodies, our epigenetics. It’s an ever-present reminder of both resilience and vulnerability.

For Jewish people, there’s the trauma of the Holocaust, of being exiled, of always wondering if safety is temporary. That creates a deep need for security and self-preservation, which is part of the story many Jewish people tell about Israel - a story of survival, of having a homeland after centuries of being without one. But that story often comes into conflict with another narrative: the Palestinian story of displacement, oppression, and the fight for their own homeland. Both stories are valid, and that’s what makes it so hard.”

Lauren: “Do you think it’s possible to hold both stories at the same time? Do you think it’s realistic to ask people to live in a state of vulnerability and hold onto ambivalence rather than certainty?”

Paul: “I think it must be. The alternative is this endless cycle of polarization, where each side sees the other as an existential threat. But holding both stories is incredibly difficult. It requires stepping outside your own pain and fear, which can feel impossible when those feelings are so raw.”

Lauren: “This connects to what you were saying earlier about trans and non-binary people?”

Paul: “Absolutely. Both trans and non-binary people, the deep divisions in this country as well as the conflict between Israel and Gaza, are reflections of the same struggle: Can we move beyond either/or? Can we hold the complexity of both/and? It’s about learning to live in the tension of multiple truths.

Trans and non-binary people are leading us into a profound shift. They are living embodiments of complexity, and that makes them pioneers. But it also makes them targets. Similarly, the Israel-Gaza conflict forces us to grapple with layered truths that don’t fit neatly into a binary framework.

Lauren: Thank you, Paul. As we end our conversation, I find myself reflecting on the profound challenge you have posed: to hold space for complexity, to let go of the binaries that divide us, and to find new ways of telling our stories. It will be interesting to see if and how a Trump residency will move American towards repair instead of despair.