We’ve always believed in the power of people — their stories, their insights, and their ability to move communities to action. So when artificial intelligence entered the conversation, we saw it not as a replacement for human creativity, but as a tool to strengthen it.

Yes, we use AI. But we use it thoughtfully.

AI helps us work smarter — handling repetitive or time-consuming tasks so that our energy stays focused where it matters most: strategy, storytelling, and human connection. When the machines take care of the rote work, our team can spend more time in the community, listening, learning, and shaping campaigns that reflect real lives and experiences.

That’s how our clients benefit. Efficiency increases. Budgets go further. And the work — the deeply human work — gets even better.

Of course, we also take great care to use AI responsibly. Our team works within a private, secure workspace to ensure client materials never enter the public cloud. And no AI-generated content ever goes unchecked. Every fact, phrase, and footnote is reviewed by our strategists, writers, and designers to make sure it’s accurate, ethical, and aligned with your goals.

At its best, AI amplifies what people can do. But it can’t replace what makes SE2, SE2 — our empathy, our critical thinking, our purpose, and our commitment to community.

Technology may evolve, but our values remain the same: listen first, think deeply, and create change for good.

Last week’s killing of conservative political commentator and activist Charlie Kirk is a tragedy – for his loved ones, of course, and for anyone who believes in the principle of being able to express their opinions without fear or retribution.

It was another in a string of attacks on political leaders in recent years but hopefully is a turning point for a country that surely now sees that something inside us is broken.

We can’t look at political leaders, pundits, or influencers to solve this problem. It’s something only we can fix – one relationship, interaction, and conversation at a time.

Seeing the humanity in others and approaching conversations with tolerance and a commitment to working together is what a bold new effort here in Colorado is all about. Belonging Colorado is focused on bringing Coloradans together across lines of difference – regardless of their race, political affiliation, income, or where we are from – to foster a greater sense of belonging in our state. Across Colorado, people are stepping up to lead locally based efforts to bridge differences and create belonging in their communities.

This unique, innovative statewide approach includes support for community-based organizations that are bringing people together to connect around shared interests and address shared challenges; funding for entrepreneurs to pioneer new ways to increase connection and belonging; and training and support for community-led leadership networks that are working to spread strategies for bridging differences. The initiative is made possible by a special fund at The Denver Foundation and supported with the expertise of the Greater Good Science Center, Colorado Health Institute (CHI), and Startup Colorado.

The Belonging Colorado project is based on research conducted by CHI that found that only about half of Coloradans feel a strong sense of belonging in their local community. According to the 2024 Colorado Belonging Barometer:

“While a majority of Coloradans reported belonging, there was a significant percentage who felt uncertain, at best, about whether they belonged in the state, community, workplace, and in their child’s school. Socioeconomic factors, such as education level and income, as well as people’s feelings about belonging, loneliness, and political ideology, are most often associated with whether someone feels they belong.”

The effects and benefits of belonging range from individual to community wide.

“An emerging body of research,” the CHI report says, “indicates that belonging is associated with better physical and mental health, greater workforce retention, increased trust in one’s neighbors and in local government, more openness to diversity and less fear of demographic change, and greater satisfaction with U.S. democracy.”

Bridging our inevitable differences involves seeing the humanity of people whose backgrounds or views differ from our own and better understanding them. It does not ignore the differences that make us unique, nor does it mean agreeing on everything – or tolerating hate, bigotry, or incitement to violence. It is about valuing one another, extending mutual respect, and working towards shared goals and a future we can co-create.

Regardless of whether you shared Kirk’s opinions, no person deserves to be dehumanized or killed because of their views, background, or beliefs. Belonging means being valued and accepted for who you are, without the need to act in ways that erase your identity or what you believe.

When people are given a seat at the table and treated as valued participants in shaping their future, they feel heard, connected, and supported – which benefits everyone. Belonging ensures that progress for one person strengthens the whole community.

Colorado is not immune to many of the political and social dynamics that divide people. But, by focusing on ensuring all voices are welcome at the table to talk about our issues, we can walk out of this darkness together and create a brighter future in a state where everyone can thrive.

“Gays are not welcome here,” said the man through the window of the blacked-out Tesla.

My sheepish response, “Oh, really?” But in my defense, it’s not something you expect to hear while walking your dog with your husband of 21 years in the City Park neighborhood of Denver. After all, Denver is a fairly progressive, major city. And it had been years since the last time I had someone so brazenly verbally harass me in public. Had I expected it, I might have had a more thoughtful response that made him think twice about believing he could be so cavalier with his bigotry.

“Gays are not welcome here.” It kept ringing in my head all night.

If you haven’t been on the receiving end of hate speech, it’s difficult to imagine the violation you feel. It’s scary because you think, if someone can so easily say such awful things to a stranger, what might they be willing to do to you physically as a demonstration of their intolerance for who you are?

I think I have a somewhat interesting perspective on the issue of growing intolerance.

As a white, cisgender man who can “pass”, I can blend in. I see and experience the privilege that white, cisgender men have. But at the same time, I can also understand what it feels like to live as a minority. Certainly not in the same ways and to the same degree that many people experience it. But at least a little.

I have also been around long enough to have gained the perspective that time brings.

Back when my husband and I first met, it wasn’t ok to be gay. We faced nearly daily harassment. However, as time passed, things improved for us. I can now see that 20 years of progress are being lost.

Not just for the LGBTQ+ community, but for immigrants, women, people of color, people with disabilities, religious minorities, and anyone whose existence challenges the rigid boundaries of those who define belonging through fear.

It feels like we’re slipping backward into something darker—something we thought we’d outgrown as a country. And maybe that’s what unsettles me most. Not the words themselves, but the realization that this kind of hate can exist comfortably in daylight again, met too often with silence.

We tell ourselves it’s isolated. We scroll past the stories. We say, “That’s terrible,” and move on with our day. But silence is not neutrality. It’s permission. When we don’t speak up, when we look away, we make space for hate to take root and grow bolder.

This isn’t about politics. It’s about people, our neighbors, our friends, our families, being told they don’t belong. We all have a stake in the kind of community we choose to build.

So, if you’ve found yourself sitting on the fence, wondering whether it’s really that bad, I invite you to look closer. Listen to what’s being said in your neighborhood, your workplace, your statehouse. Pay attention to who’s being targeted and who’s staying quiet.

And if you know me — if you consider me a good neighbor, a friend, a colleague — I ask you to think about what it would feel like to watch someone stand by while I was told I don’t belong. Then extend that thought to the people you don’t know, the ones being targeted, dismissed, or dehumanized in ways that might feel distant from your own life.

Today, it’s, “Gays are not welcome here.” Tomorrow, it will be someone else. As Pastor Martin Niemöller warned:

“First they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out—because I was not a socialist. Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out—because I was not a trade unionist. Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out—because I was not a Jew. Then they came for me—and there was no one left to speak for me.”

Because being complacent is being complicit. And right now, what’s needed most isn’t outrage. It’s courage. The courage to see clearly, to speak up, and to stand beside those who are being pushed to the margins.

Progress doesn’t sustain itself. People do.