IN the wake of our November election, a friend from overseas professed amazement at how polarized Americans have become. "The culture wars have made your people so contentious," he marveled. "The problem with Americans is that you're forever disagreeing."

Alas, I had to disagree. The problem with Americans, I told him, is that we don't disagree enough. I mean meaningfully disagree. Sure, we reds and blues regularly probe the outer limits of discord, locked in mutual contempt for one another's views on what it means to venerate life, how governments best protect their constituents, the definition of Christianity, and on and on.

But we typically do so from across a cultural divide as wide as right is from left, and as deep as the roots of the issues themselves. From across that divide we seethe, commiserating with our confreres and lobbing the occasional word grenade from a safe distance. We surround ourselves with the likeminded, then go mute or apoplectic at those rare, inevitable events — holiday dinners come to mind — which bring us into uncomfortable proximity with The Other.

Disagreement in America, I told my foreign friend, has become a spectator sport, which we boo and huzzah on TV pundit shows and op-ed pages. Or a scrimmage, where we pretend at engagement by rehearsing our rhetoric among our own teammates.

But meaningful civil disagreement — the kind that fosters understanding, opens minds, locates common ground, undergirds democracy — requires meaningful personal engagement across the divide. And that's what most of us work hard to avoid. Doubt it? When's the last time you sat down and civilly discussed abortion rights with a proponent of the opposing view? If you're like many people, you don't even know any proponents of the opposing view.

"It's incredibly hard work," says Bob Perkins, a Seattle carpenter who believes that the country would prosper if more of us took it on. To that end, he has launched the Purple Bracelet Project (www.letsswapstories.org ), which involves rubber bracelets, emblazoned with the words "Let's Swap Stories," in the hue that results when red and blue get together.

"The bracelet would be worn by people who want to demonstrate a willingness to share their stories with others, especially with people whose political ideas they disagree with," Perkins explains. "That's the whole idea. Not conversion, but conversation. Dialogue, not diatribe. Friendly, honest and direct debate, rooted in respect and the ability to listen."

This promotion of civil discourse may sound echoes of movements like Let's Talk America, the project of progressive and conservative leaders to ignite respectful dialogue across the ideological divide; and Conversation Cafes, the Seattle-born campaign to foster community through discussion.

But Perkins' project skews differently. "Those groups encourage folks to talk about what they believe. The 'Let's Swap Stories' campaign asks folks to share why they believe it," Perkins explains. "For me, that emphasis on one's personal story and how it shapes what one believes is a critical part of fostering understanding."

To illustrate, Perkins relates a story he heard about a young John Kerry supporter asking his dad why he voted for President Bush. Turns out the father felt that the incumbent stood a better chance of protecting them should a terrorist target the nuclear power plant near his home.

"The son realized that even though he didn't agree with his dad, his dad had a story that made his vote reasonable, at least to him," Perkins says. "The dad's explanation taught the son that people who voted the other way weren't crazy; they were just coming to their decision from a different story."

Stories, as every successful teacher and artist and parent and cleric and political leader knows, increase our comprehension of the teller's beliefs. In so doing, they build community, as the public-policy scholar Robert Putnam found when researching his book "Better Together." In that book, which profiles 12 cases of community projects, Putnam reported that one tool emerged as the most reliably successful strategy for bringing diverse elements into common cause: Storytelling.

"People telling their stories builds bridges of understanding in a way that nothing else seems to," says Perkins. To the assertion that he's just subversively trying to nudge folks toward his own progressive politics, Perkins — a former religious conservative with friends and family still in that camp — just smiles and shakes his head. "The goal isn't to get everyone to agree — I wouldn't want everyone to agree. America needs the vitality of differing viewpoints."

"America needs us to spend less time trying to convince each other," Perkins says, "and more time working to understand each other."

Imagine the meaningful disagreements that might result.

Kathryn Robinson is a Seattle writer.