 | Sam and I have been together for 25 years, and for the first few election cycles we voted together. We were the dreaded swing voters, the ones that everybody makes fun of for not knowing their own minds, but are actually the ones to decide who wins. Then, somewhere between Iraq and Obama, we parted ways. Just like the rest of the country. |
Sam went with his family, friends, and interpretation of religion, and I went with mine. We had thought they were the same, but they weren’t. For the first couple of elections after our parting, I just listened to what Sam said and quietly disagreed. He won all the arguments because he is a more forceful speaker, because I didn’t understand what he was talking about since we watched different news channels, and because I kept falling asleep (he’s a night owl, I’m not.)
The best analogy I’ve heard about our country’s lack of unity is that half of us have been watching Game of Thrones and the other half have been watching Monty Python and the Holy Grail, and when we came upon a castle we all had vastly different ideas of what we should do. That’s where Sam and I were.
And it wasn’t a funny, sit-com kind of disunity, like All in the Family where Archie and Meathead argue about current events. It wasn’t Family Ties, with hippie parents and a conservative kid. If Alex P. Keaton had idolized Trump instead of Reagan, that would have been a whole different show.
Our disunity didn’t have commercial breaks or resolution within thirty minutes. It just went on and on.
During the past intense, passionate, grueling campaign year, our differences kept getting between us. To make matters worse, we didn’t even know what those differences were. Things got defensive and touchy around our house, so we stopped talking about politics. Current events went out the window, too. The only safe TV channel was HGTV.
I realized that, unless we wanted to keep dropping subjects out of our repertoire, I’d need to engage with Sam in the conversation. Drawing on my years of judging our kids’ high school debate tournaments, I began collecting evidence. That meant listening to Sam’s news channel instead of just my own. With a firm grip on my emergency chocolate, I jumped in.
We began to discuss things. This led to some arguments, but little meeting of the minds. We tossed talking points around. Tempers flared. Nobody was converted to the other’s side, nobody even felt any empathy. We were just better equipped to fight for our separate sides.
We went on a date a couple of weeks ago, and as we left the apartment words were said which made me want to call off the date and go home. Still, I didn’t want to take the argument back home to flesh out in front of Kid 3. We took the argument, punctuated by the long silences which are necessary for me to come up with coherent sentences, on the road. We whispered on public transportation. We stared out the window at the restaurant’s beautiful view, side by side, seething. The argument was not about our favorite candidates, it was about the hurt that comes from disagreeing so intensely with someone you love, and not being able to have even one piece of common political ground. It was about the fear of the argument growing bigger than the discussion at hand. It was about using religion as evidence. Fear of another argument had preempted all our communication. We saw how far off course we had gotten, but felt helpless to do anything about it.
Still, somewhere in that restaurant, we turned a corner. We realized that we had been missing out on the things we actually still had in common, the things we could still agree on. We tried to think of things we didn’t differ on. One of us tentatively offered that the Republicans’ lack of willingness to cooperate with anything Obama proposed was a major hindrance to progress and goodwill and was dangerously prideful. The other agreed, and left it at that. The other one volunteered that Obamacare has a few problems, which the other agreed to without glee, and we discussed ways that we could look to successful socialized medicine programs in other countries as examples. We discussed past politicians we still both admire. We discussed abortion, because while we both want to save lives, we disagree on how that should come about. We discussed Brexit, and whether or not comparisons can be drawn to this election season in the United States. We did not draw any conclusions, but it felt really good to agree on something. Anything.
Since then, we have called a truce. We follow the unspoken rules that came out of that evening. Find something to agree on. Don’t use unnecessary, exaggerated adjectives to describe your opponent’s candidate. Admit that your candidate is flawed. If you want the other person to read or watch something that you find particularly compelling, mention it politely, email them a link and wait for them to bring it up. And be kind, because it’s easier to discuss your favorite candidate’s drawbacks if you know the other person isn’t going to say, “Aha!” It’s easier to find things you agree on if you say what’s really on your heart instead of what the talking head on TV said. Because what’s in your heart is more nuanced than what’s on TV.
We both still hold the same views as before, but feel a little more sympathy toward each other. We have put too much into this family to let something like politics blow it up. After the election, one of us will be happy and one will be sad. One will toast the happy future, and one will pray for understanding. Then we’ll have four years to see if either party can come up with a candidate we can agree on.
The bad news for America is that after November 8 some Americans will be happy and thank God for his favor, some will be sad and wonder why God has abandoned us, and some will put their heads back in the sand and hope it blows over soon. It won’t. The election will not be the end. The election will just be a landmark along the path. The transition of power might be rough. There will still be angry, hurt, abused, downtrodden, neglected, rejected, violated people who did not get their issues heard, and they will still be as angry and hopeless as they were before the election. Maybe more, because hope deferred makes the heart sick. Ugly things have been said in this campaign, on both sides, that will not go away on November 9.
In my house, I have had to learn how to live with someone on the polar opposite end of American politics. I wish I could put my candidate’s sign in the yard and revel in the other candidate’s latest shenanigans with my like-minded friends and wonder what on earth people are thinking, but it’s too close to home for any of that. Sam is my husband, friend, lover, father of my children, partner in crime. I’ve been with him half my life. He’s not somebody on the news halfway across the country, saying things I can roll my eyes at. I can’t unfriend him. I can’t change the channel. I have to respect what he thinks and says because I respect him. Even though we disagree, he has not crossed the line into deal-breaking. And neither have your political polar opposites.
Our house will probably never be purple. It will probably always be red and blue. Just like this country.
I’m in a donkey-elephant relationship. So are you.
I wish that America could do what we did and go out to dinner and talk about our stuff. I wish we could have a big glass of nice wine and remember when we agreed on things, and use those commonalities as a point of contact now. I wish we could hug it out and agree to disagree, instead of gloating.
On November 9, be kind. You might not be married to the other team, but you’ve still got to live with them.
The best analogy I’ve heard about our country’s lack of unity is that half of us have been watching Game of Thrones and the other half have been watching Monty Python and the Holy Grail, and when we came upon a castle we all had vastly different ideas of what we should do. That’s where Sam and I were.
And it wasn’t a funny, sit-com kind of disunity, like All in the Family where Archie and Meathead argue about current events. It wasn’t Family Ties, with hippie parents and a conservative kid. If Alex P. Keaton had idolized Trump instead of Reagan, that would have been a whole different show.
Our disunity didn’t have commercial breaks or resolution within thirty minutes. It just went on and on.
During the past intense, passionate, grueling campaign year, our differences kept getting between us. To make matters worse, we didn’t even know what those differences were. Things got defensive and touchy around our house, so we stopped talking about politics. Current events went out the window, too. The only safe TV channel was HGTV.
I realized that, unless we wanted to keep dropping subjects out of our repertoire, I’d need to engage with Sam in the conversation. Drawing on my years of judging our kids’ high school debate tournaments, I began collecting evidence. That meant listening to Sam’s news channel instead of just my own. With a firm grip on my emergency chocolate, I jumped in.
We began to discuss things. This led to some arguments, but little meeting of the minds. We tossed talking points around. Tempers flared. Nobody was converted to the other’s side, nobody even felt any empathy. We were just better equipped to fight for our separate sides.
We went on a date a couple of weeks ago, and as we left the apartment words were said which made me want to call off the date and go home. Still, I didn’t want to take the argument back home to flesh out in front of Kid 3. We took the argument, punctuated by the long silences which are necessary for me to come up with coherent sentences, on the road. We whispered on public transportation. We stared out the window at the restaurant’s beautiful view, side by side, seething. The argument was not about our favorite candidates, it was about the hurt that comes from disagreeing so intensely with someone you love, and not being able to have even one piece of common political ground. It was about the fear of the argument growing bigger than the discussion at hand. It was about using religion as evidence. Fear of another argument had preempted all our communication. We saw how far off course we had gotten, but felt helpless to do anything about it.
Still, somewhere in that restaurant, we turned a corner. We realized that we had been missing out on the things we actually still had in common, the things we could still agree on. We tried to think of things we didn’t differ on. One of us tentatively offered that the Republicans’ lack of willingness to cooperate with anything Obama proposed was a major hindrance to progress and goodwill and was dangerously prideful. The other agreed, and left it at that. The other one volunteered that Obamacare has a few problems, which the other agreed to without glee, and we discussed ways that we could look to successful socialized medicine programs in other countries as examples. We discussed past politicians we still both admire. We discussed abortion, because while we both want to save lives, we disagree on how that should come about. We discussed Brexit, and whether or not comparisons can be drawn to this election season in the United States. We did not draw any conclusions, but it felt really good to agree on something. Anything.
Since then, we have called a truce. We follow the unspoken rules that came out of that evening. Find something to agree on. Don’t use unnecessary, exaggerated adjectives to describe your opponent’s candidate. Admit that your candidate is flawed. If you want the other person to read or watch something that you find particularly compelling, mention it politely, email them a link and wait for them to bring it up. And be kind, because it’s easier to discuss your favorite candidate’s drawbacks if you know the other person isn’t going to say, “Aha!” It’s easier to find things you agree on if you say what’s really on your heart instead of what the talking head on TV said. Because what’s in your heart is more nuanced than what’s on TV.
We both still hold the same views as before, but feel a little more sympathy toward each other. We have put too much into this family to let something like politics blow it up. After the election, one of us will be happy and one will be sad. One will toast the happy future, and one will pray for understanding. Then we’ll have four years to see if either party can come up with a candidate we can agree on.
The bad news for America is that after November 8 some Americans will be happy and thank God for his favor, some will be sad and wonder why God has abandoned us, and some will put their heads back in the sand and hope it blows over soon. It won’t. The election will not be the end. The election will just be a landmark along the path. The transition of power might be rough. There will still be angry, hurt, abused, downtrodden, neglected, rejected, violated people who did not get their issues heard, and they will still be as angry and hopeless as they were before the election. Maybe more, because hope deferred makes the heart sick. Ugly things have been said in this campaign, on both sides, that will not go away on November 9.
In my house, I have had to learn how to live with someone on the polar opposite end of American politics. I wish I could put my candidate’s sign in the yard and revel in the other candidate’s latest shenanigans with my like-minded friends and wonder what on earth people are thinking, but it’s too close to home for any of that. Sam is my husband, friend, lover, father of my children, partner in crime. I’ve been with him half my life. He’s not somebody on the news halfway across the country, saying things I can roll my eyes at. I can’t unfriend him. I can’t change the channel. I have to respect what he thinks and says because I respect him. Even though we disagree, he has not crossed the line into deal-breaking. And neither have your political polar opposites.
Our house will probably never be purple. It will probably always be red and blue. Just like this country.
I’m in a donkey-elephant relationship. So are you.
I wish that America could do what we did and go out to dinner and talk about our stuff. I wish we could have a big glass of nice wine and remember when we agreed on things, and use those commonalities as a point of contact now. I wish we could hug it out and agree to disagree, instead of gloating.
On November 9, be kind. You might not be married to the other team, but you’ve still got to live with them.
(Not So) Strange Bedfellows
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