I’m somewhat active in a local veteran’s organization, which hosted a Thanksgiving potluck. The food was fantastic, and the people are fun to talk to—normally. There is a healthy range of political views, but there’s a couple of Trump fanatics. I made a promise to myself if I go this year, it will be to enjoy the food and friends and not get pulled into any political debate. I’m off the clock.
This year, I took advice from Bill Maher, and let it go. I don’t always agree with him, but his commentary this past week was really on point.
So I said nothing. I set a pretty high bar. If someone wants to try to tell me that Sandy Hook didn’t happen, they’ll get a piece of my mind. But if someone wants to tell me that Trump is 7’, 200 lbs and totally ripped, I’ll just smile and eat my food. (Ironically, this meal occurred before Trump released a ridiculous photo with his head superimposed on Rocky Balboa. His campaign literally tried to argue that it was real.)
The dinner was great. Everyone was trying to one-up the other in their dishes. We swapped stories and discussed our jobs. To their credit, the Trumpers in attendance weren’t the ones to bring up politics.
It was one of my idiot friends.
He is a local artist, and probably the most apolitical person you could meet. For whatever reason, he brought up autism—and the fact that he heard on the radio that Trump signed a bill authorizing over a billion dollars in spending. This was out of the blue, and I said nothing. Actually, this was true. Trump did do that, and he was hailed by conservative media as a hero. It’s just that it was an extension of the primary autism law that was set to expire on the last day of the month, he had indicated that he wouldn’t sign it, and Trump waited until the last possible minute. Yet fair is fair—he did do it.
I didn’t say anything about any of this, nor that Trump loves to mock disabled people, nor did I bring up the fact that Trump, who traffics in bizarre conspiracy theories, is a notorious anti-vaxxer. By the by, telling people not to get vaccinated is damn near criminal, and it is scientifically impossible for a vaccine to give you autism.
But since the conversation was focused on a rare thing that Trump did that was a good thing, I just let it go.
“I never thought to add Jalapeño-cheddar to cornbread. This is amazing!” I tried. No dice.
My friend gave the opening the Trumpers wanted. One guy replied that Trump is indeed magnanimous because—breaking news—he doesn’t take a presidential salary. Did you know that? Gee, that’s great. No mind that Trump has spent the equivalent of 287 years of presidential salary on golf trips. $115 million could help a lot of people in this nation, but I digress. Is this really something I wanted to argue over? No.
I ignored him. “OMG, Sandee, your olive oil mashed potatoes are to die for!”
“I second that!”
OK. Back on track.
But, no.
Another Trumper, who wore an NRA cap, took it a little too far when he started going on a tear about Trump. Apparently, we finally have a Commander-in-Chief who respects the military. He got those transgendered people out of there. Yeah, what a stand-up guy for our military. This would be the same Trump who was fined $2 million dollars for diverting money from a veteran’s fundraiser to his personal campaign.
I should point out that Mr. NRA cap is not even a veteran—his wife is, and she brought him as her guest. I love people who have gun fetishes but never bothered to serve.
OK, I admit, I was going to break my rule and make one snide remark about Trump mocking war widows, POWs, and Gold Star families. Yet before I could, someone else at the table had had enough. This lady is a huge Mattis fan and met him on a few occasions. Because of that, she really, really hates Trump. She turned to Mr. NRA cap and very subtly brought up that she disagreed with his analysis:
“F*** that. That draft-dodging coward sucks up to our enemies and Russia. He doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing. All he knows how to do is put Mexican children in cages.”
Awkward silence.
Someone made a dad joke, we laughed, and we left politics for awhile. Everyone was anxious to move on. Mr. NRA cap sat there and stewed. After a few minutes of conversation, he interrupted to drop this nugget.
So you say you care about the children? What about Planned Parenthood? You fine with killing babies?
Oh, sweet mother of… what the heck was that?
I spoke up.
“Dude, you seriously want to have the abortion debate right now? We are eating, I don’t think anyone at this table is going to solve abortion tonight.”
“She brought it up.”
“No, YOU did.”
Then he got mad:
“Do YOU even have an answer for that? Yeah, didn’t think so!”
Me. Drops fork.
“OK, son.”
Don’t do this, Sem. Don’t take out that genie. I know exactly what to say because I just wrote about this a few weeks ago, but this is one debate I didn’t want to start. Not abortion. Not for Thanksgiving.
Yet since you called me out, I’ll finish this.
“You say you have a problem with abortion, but it’s apparently just fine when it’s one of Trump’s mistresses. It’s like sexual assault—it’s fine as long as HE does it.”
Eyes got wide, I’m in too deep now. Might as well continue...
“I’m not opposed to women getting an abortion, and you know who else isn’t? Any Republican politician. They always want it available for them. Rich people want an abortion. Do you know that Alabama law that bans abortion in all cases, including rape and incest? They carved out an exception for fertility clinics that rich women use. They destroy thousands of fertilized eggs every day, but how can that be okay if a fertilized egg is sacrosanct? How is that OK?
It’s not really about fetuses. It’s about controlling access to who can get abortions. And if it’s your belief that you can force these other women to bear children, fine. All I ask is you not be an ass about taking away the child’s healthcare and SNAP benefits.”
I went back to eating.
Again, I had just written an essay on this, so this was at the forefront of my head. Another person at the table picked up the fact that no one is trying to kill babies, and that the Planned Parenthood debate is complex and that he was pushing a phony narrative. Mr. NRA cap responded—by mumbling and leaving. Then someone changed the subject.
Honestly, I can’t say it was my words that caused him to leave. His wife was giving him the death eye all night as if he had promised her he would behave and didn’t. In fact, I can’t even say I won that little debate, because I didn’t. He did. He got under my skin and got me to out my ideological beliefs when I just wanted to hang out and overeat. I figured one of my friends, who never discuss politics but I know to be conservative, wouldn’t speak to me the rest of the night. She did, and we talked about everything else, and ended the night on a high note.
Here’s the thing. My exchange was probably the most heated of the night. Yet even then, we didn’t attack each other personally. There were other political discussions that night on a range of issues, from military spending to healthcare and guns. All ended cordially and respectfully. If someone disagreed, the other would ask to explain, clarify, and shoot down narratives the other was telling. We moved on. If I’m being honest, the Trumpers got a few licks in as well. (When someone asked how Trump supporters were not a cult, the guy responded that 63 million people is a heck of a big cult.)
The problem here isn’t that we shouldn’t discuss politics, it’s that we absolutely should—but learn how to do it respectfully. Engaging does force you to defend your positions and forces the other to evaluate theirs. I’m sure Mr. NRA cap felt he had a solid argument because our side is characterized as baby murderers, and assumed that’s how I’d frame the debate. When I didn’t, he wasn’t able to respond. One of the best things I recommend doing is to read or watch how the other side frames the issues.
I don’t get conservatives, and I never will. They don’t get me either. This doesn’t mean they are all racist, sexist irredeemable deplorable. Politics can be like religion in that it’s ingrained at a young age, and people filter everything through their narratives and characterizations. It’s why things are so hard to change. Yet that doesn’t mean I can’t try to plant a seed. It’s all we can do.
At the very least, you’ll learn that if you argue with me, you had better bring your A-game and not your easily breakable, strawman FOX talking points.
But when it’s over, if you’re not mad, I’ll still have dessert with you.
Even if it’s Paleo Pumpkin Pie. (Really, Sarah?)