Aug. 29, 2012. Twitter has exploded with the talk of vaginas. I scan an article that materializes on the screen. A full-color photograph presents middle-aged women in oversized vagina costumes protesting outside of the Republican National Convention. In an accompanying video, a twenty-something woman — a member of an abortion rights advocacy group — rattles off a speech on how she wants to “make some waves.” Extreme. Inflammatory. “Trashy,” I mutter, closing the tab.

In an ensuing discussion with a friend, I think back to Oct. 3, 2011, when I stood quivering on the Diag, every muscle of my body taut with anticipation, fingers clasped around a brochure that read, “Is Abortion Genocide?” Behind me, a massive display bared full-size images of abortions next to graphic photographs of past genocides.

In a dramatic effort to shake 40,000 students out of their apathy, I had initiated the display’s arrival on campus and was now prepared for the onslaught. Making waves.

What kind of woman dresses up as a vagina at a political convention? The same kind of woman who brings an eight-foot tall picture of a dismembered fetus to the Diag and talks about genocide. However polarized our messages, those of us with opinions on abortion tend to raise hue and cry in the same rhythmic fashion.

I am no stranger to activism. As last year’s president of Students for Life, I have often branded myself as the resident pro-lifer in campus discussions and activities.

In March 2011, I attended a Planned Parenthood protest on the Diag in response to the House of Representative’s defunding of the organization. About 150 pro-choicers from the area gathered in pink t-shirts, sporting pink stickers and carrying pink signs, all of which said, “I Stand With Planned Parenthood,” inviting a host of speakers to claim a podium on the center of campus and praise the organization.

I perched on one of the cement benches behind the podium, clutching a black sign that declared, “Women Do Regret Abortion.” When the advocates formed a line in front of me, I hopped down, stepping through the spaces until I stood before them. Shooting me venomous looks, they rearranged themselves around me.

We spent the entire duration of the event playing sign wars: I hoisted my black sign high in the air, they attempted to cover it up with their pink ones.

Following the speeches, the protest marched to Liberty Plaza. I clutched the same sign, a piece of duct tape plastered over my mouth as a symbol of solidarity with voiceless abortion victims. Several of the sign-holders approached me, eyes narrowed. “If you joined our side, then you’d have a voice,” one girl sang out. I gazed back at her, my face stone.

Next to her, a guy finished his slew of f-bombs with the biting remark, “You have no right to talk about women’s rights.” This comment raised my eyebrows. “That’s right,” he sneered.

This battle of philosophical opposites has defined my Michigan experience.

But this August, I attended LeaderShape, a University-sponsored camp that strives to implement change and community action. Late into the week, we labored over our “visions,” hypothetical newspaper headlines of what our worlds would look like in an ideal situation. “Zero Abortions Over Past Year” mine proudly declared. I braced myself for another outcry. When we finished, the facilitators hung up our posters, and we strolled around the room in silence, reading the descriptions and posting feedback on sticky notes.

The experience surprised me, partly because of the affable nature of the sticky note comments, but primarily because the vision-reading opened the door to further dialogue about abortion. Far more common ground existed than I had realized, leading one facilitator to encourage me to “get out of my wheelhouse and look for allies.”

So I did. I returned to campus eager to collaborate with the Ginsberg Center to give resources to women struggling with pregnancy. I found my inbox stacked with questions about abortion from peers across the political spectrum. Discussions back on campus slowly began to shift my approach to activism.

Perhaps because the activist in me is weathered, I am growing impatient for the day that University students can sit around a table and engage in discourse about difficult issues without retreating to political jargon. I don’t condemn the Diag activism I have witnessed or initiated, but my hunger for dialogue warrants an appeal for both parties to seek common ground and move forward.

Maybe instead of greeting the Diag walker with, “Let me tell you about abortion,” it begins with, “Tell me what you think about abortion,” imaginary duct tape sealing our lips so we can listen.