Letters From Meghan

Dear Reader,

It wasn’t my intention for politics to be my first post, but the stars have so aligned that it is the most appropriate topic for me to speak on at this time. I’m sure you, much like I, have been feeling the anxiety building as we came upon Election Day. Even now we’re still holding our breaths as the votes are being counted. The air is thick with tension, emotions are high, and the future has never felt more violently uncertain. You don’t need me to tell you there is a lot at stake right now. Many politicians (on both sides) have tapped into the fears of our democracy eroding before our very eyes. They’re not wrong, but I  I never thought we’d be in this position. I’m not going to talk about certain policies or candidates or politicians in this post. I’m going to speak on behalf of my experience with politics and how it affects my interpersonal relationships. Specifically with my father.

My father is a registered Republican. He always has been my whole life. I am registered Democrat. I’ve been so since the first time I was able to cast a vote 15 years ago. At this point many of you have probably cast your judgements on the kind of morals and values we each hold. Labels can be useful tools to identify ourselves, however they do not consider the nuances between and within individuals under that label. In my personal journey through navigating my relationship with my father, I’ve recognized that it’s difficult to separate the individual from the party because the political is personal.

It’s easy to cast judgement when you feel that you are on the moral high ground. As a progressive, it baffles me that anyone would want to deny others, and even themselves, the opportunity to prosper. On a simplistic level, one side would like to add to the quality of life of its citizens, and the other would like to reduce it. It seems a simple answer in my opinion. But I want to be open to the opinions of others, to understand their motivations and their perspective. I don’t want to be blinded by my own ideology to the point where I shut down discussion and paint the other as the villain for a difference of opinion. I could be missing out on what we do have in common if I only focus on the differences. It should be said that a desire for small government and fiscal conservatism is not the same as stripping individuals of autonomy and human rights. That’s a difference in morality, not opinion.

Which brings me to my dilemma. I want to understand and reconcile my father’s political beliefs with the man whose humanity I’ve witnessed my whole life. I have always had a rocky relationship with my father outside of politics, but as I’ve gotten older, I can recognize he’s just a very flawed human just as I am.  I don’t want to go into details here, I’ll save that for another post, but I do want to highlight the ways in which he showed up for me, especially when it comes to fulfilling my civic duty to vote.

In 2008, I was a senior in high school, getting ready to graduate and make a new start at university. It was also the year of a presidential election, and the first election I was eligible to vote. The state I grew up in allows those under the age of 18 to vote in the caucus if you’ll be of voting age by the election. I first needed to register as a voter. Then I needed to cast my vote at the caucus. I had no idea how any of this process worked, but my father, the Republican did, and he showed me how.

I remember he took me to my first caucus. It was being held in the gymnasium at my former middle school. I was completely lost, and a bit overwhelmed, but he led me in and got me in touch with the organizers and waited for me to cast my vote. There were a few jabs aimed at the disorganization of “the Democrats” and the lack of a proper American flag to salute to, but the value I took away from that experience was his belief in the democratic process and right for everyone to vote. I didn’t see it for what it as the gift it was at first. His support of my right to vote. His encouragement for me to participate even if our political ideologies were in contrast to each other.

Jumping forward eight years to the 2016 election, there was a lot more tension and resentment floating between me and my father. Rather, I had a lot more contempt and incredulity aimed towards him and his stubbornness to vote for his party, even though the candidate did not embody any of his own values. I had argued my side and given him my perspective over months, outlining every way Donald Trump is a failure to American values. He was willing and patient to listen but would always counter my points; not to antagonize, but to make me think. I got frustrated, often, but I could see how my debates would get stronger, more refined and coherent when I had to defend my arguments. I remember telling him leading up to election night that he couldn’t possibly be considering voting for Donald Trump. His response was, “Then tell me who to vote for.” I told him that I wouldn’t. It was his choice, even if it made me resent him for putting the desecrated ideals of his party over people’s humanity. Over my humanity. I think what I was really trying to say in those conversations was, “Do you see the potential harm that come from electing a man like that?”

From what I understand from listening to my father talk about his political beliefs and his beliefs in the Republican party, he sees them as a group of country club wasps who fight for their own economic interests and would like the federal government to stay out of their business. He says that the very loud voice of the MAGA extremists hold the Republican party hostage, and he resents being lumped into a group of insurrectionists and election deniers. And I want to say, “Yeah! Those are your people!” I want to say that’s the lot you keep by being affiliated with that party. But I don’t think that’s fair because I know it’s not wholly true. I don’t think we can reduce someone to just their political party. Especially when the political parties are so fractured within themselves. (I could introduce a segway into the necessity of dismantling the two-party system, but that can be for another time.)

What I’m trying to say is my relationship with my father is not solely defined by his political beliefs, but it makes me question how he sees me as a person. When one side is fighting to retain my rights and freedoms while the other is doing everything in their power to erode them, it’s difficult to not make the assumption that he believes what they do.

My father is well-educated and empathetic, got his COVID vaccine and believes in fair elections, but I think he’s a bit too naïve about the extremes his party is willing to go to in order to have control of the government. He still believes that the true conservatives are going to reign the party back in, but he’s failing to realize that very few of these politicians are willing to put their re-elections on the line to denounce the lunacy unfolding. I don’t think he understands that their agenda is detrimental to any semblance of a democracy.

I try to be level-headed and open-minded when discussing politics with him. I think part of the reason is due to my desire to seem mature, to be seen as an equal and not as a child, but when my rights as a human being and my livelihood to survive in this country are threatened it’s difficult to not get emotional. The political is personal. I hit a breaking point, a few weeks ago while visiting my aunt in Nova Scotia. I was invited to tag along while he did some landscaping work for her and neighbors in the area. He’s a hard, honest worker, very amiable and well regarded for his work. He was the star of the week, drawing passersby in the sleepy neighborhood where nothing really happens. One the last day of our trip, we decided to make it a tourist day and go sight-seeing, hitting all the popular attractions and even take a walking tour in the afternoon.

At breakfast, we settled into the small diner overlooking the harbor and ordered our food. Towards the end of breakfast, the topic of politics came up once again. At this point I was exhausted and defensive and at a loss on how to defuse the situation. I don’t even remember what exactly we were talking about, but I’d heard enough. I asked if we could stop talking about politics. I was emotional, tears in my eyes and voice verging on breaking but I needed them to understand. I needed them to see me, a real present human being whose life could be radically changed for the worse. Looking back, I was really asking them to stop thinking about these policies as theoretical and to look at me. Don’t you see me? I’m here. I’m right here.

I looked to my aunt, who has been able to build a remarkable career in finance and build her wealth beyond what I could imagine. And I looked at my father with the social privilege of being a white man in America. I told them that for me it’s not a debate on the theoretical of what could happen. I desperately wanted them to understand that for me, a minimum-wage earning millennial lesbian, it was a devastating reality that would affect me directly. I do not have the financial or the social privilege to survive a Republican government.

They respected my request, but I felt embarrassed. I felt vulnerable and unsupported and like I had proven a point that progressives, women, millennials are overly reactive and dramatic. But I’m proud for speaking my truth. I’m proud that I took a stance and perhaps reminded them that these policies effect very real people, and people that hopefully they love and respect.

So now I’ve been grappling with the reality that there can be two truths that exist at the same time. That my father is a Republican who votes for candidates that would love to see me suffer, and that he is my father who loves and respects me. Duality exists, but the human brain struggles to hold them at the same time. I wrestle with seeing my father as the loving supportive human being he is when he tells me he doesn’t consider my best interests when voting. I question if he really does see me as an actualized, full human being like he sees himself, or if he’s ok with my rights being taken away so long as my heart keeps beating to enjoy the sentimentality of having a child. It’s a harsh assumption to make, but when your humanity is put into question and directly challenged it’s not unforgivable.

I don’t want anger and resentment to take up my mental and emotional energy. I want to hold onto the memories of my father fostering the importance of my civic duty to vote. I want to remember when he was overcome with emotion when he said he was proud of me when I graduated from university. But I also want freedom of choice and the pursuit of happiness that has been promised me. I want to reconcile the divide created by the extreme political ideologies that have consumed this nation. I want to heal; I want all of us to heal. But I don’t want to forgive and forget. I don’t know how to do this. I don’t expect I’ll have an answer any time soon. But I think I can start with reminding myself that the world isn’t black and white. There is much more gray in the middle, which we seem to have abandoned in retreat to our safe spaces. Us versus them. Good versus bad.

From both sides there’s been a drive to fear monger. It’s the unfortunate landscape that has been sculpted by the last six years. I despise the way our politics have been shaped, but to survive a new environment we need to adapt. So I’m asking myself: How can we better adapt to this polarized society? How can we see the nuance in the humanity of our family members and neighbors? I’m not asking you to invest in relationships that cannot be reconciled, but can we take a step back and see the complex, fully human person standing beside us? Can I offer the same curtesy to my father?

I don’t what comes next. I oscillate between righteous anger and empathy as I try to hold the coexisting truths of our relationship. For anyone reading this struggling with the same dilemma, I offer my sympathy and I stand with you as you try to navigate the complexity of human relationships. My advice to you and myself is: do not back down from your truth, do not brush aside injustice, but hold space for repair, for compromise and understanding. Life is as difficult in its complexities as it is beautiful. Do not lose faith in democracy. Do not lose faith in humanity. We’re more alike than we are different if we’re willing to meet each other halfway.

MK