I'd been having discussions with this guy—someone from the public high school I attended long ago—who sought me out on Facebook about a decade back and pursued conversation with me on social media. Then he began to dislike me when he figured out I was a person with a progressive ideology (as opposed to that cute little girl he once knew).
He mostly left me alone after he figured that out, but then after the January 6 insurrection he started looking in on me again. Folks, I watched that thing as it happened, in real time; we had the TV news on in the middle of the day because we wanted to see the certification. We saw the speeches, including Trump's, and then we saw the insurrection begin to unfold, saw and heard the shock of the television newspeople who were also there to watch the certification. So, yes, I know what I saw. I saw the T-shirts, the MAGA hats. Live and in color.
Ten days after January 6th, I posted this simple quote on FB:
"The free school is the promoter of that intelligence which is to preserve us as a nation. If we are to have another contest in the near future of our national existence, I predict that the dividing line will not be Mason's and Dixon's, but between patriotism and intelligence on one side, and superstition, ambition, and ignorance on the other."
—President Ulysses S. Grant, Speech to the Society of the Army of Tennessee, Des Moines, Iowa, 29 September 1875
That's all. It was just, you know, a think piece. But my old friend reappeared and he had something to say. I'll confess it took me by surprise:
Him: There will be patriotism and intelligence on both sides. The dividing line will be demeaning and censoring others because you don't want to address their concerns.
Me: Whose concerns are not being addressed, exactly? When "concerns" (if that's what you're saying the people who stormed the Capitol had—"unaddressed concerns") arise because a group of people have been fed lies by their lawfully chosen leader(s), whose job is it to address those concerns?
Him: I'm not interested in this anymore. I will remain a flat-earther. You remain you. You know your side, I listen to both sides.1 You don't. I am a dumb white supremacist. You are a brilliant leader who has no use for another opinion. Censorship is the way to go in our world. Let us all worship your lords. But I will not hate any longer. Be well. I think your approach is wrong.
Me: My approach? My approach is to seek out the facts. I have, for the last several years, listened to "both" sides. But when one side screams that the election was rigged or that the virus is a hoax, I question the veracity of that when public experts disagree. I have many, many friends who are conservatives (I live in a red state; I work in a conservative industry), who have voted republican in previous elections, and I actually read many conservative thought leaders (now more than ever). I have never called you names, I have never accused you of hating, I have never censored you—and frankly I find it insulting when you use verbiage like you did above.
Him: You called me a flat-earther and have said republicans are racist. I have the same approach as you and you find extremes. You screamed for years about Trump's first election.2 But our conversation was no longer useful when you first called bullshit years ago. You are probably a good person. And it was meant to be insulting. I shouldn't resort to that but did. Be well.
"Be well" is his kiss-off phrase; he'd like to say "fuck off," but wants to be above the fray. (sigh) I've explained over and over that in discussions like this, by "Republicans," I mean public Republicans, i.e., elected office-holders. It's a fine distinction, but that's who I'm judging. I do remember (but can no longer locate) the flat-earther conversation. He brought up the phrase (as he did here, trying to be, I think, self-deprecatory and maybe clever), I was intrigued and then found and linked an article about flat-earthers and when he pushed back, I showed him how similar his comments were. Perhaps I shouldn't have.
I stewed about it. And a week later (17 January 2021), one of those conservative thought leaders I follow—David French, who at that moment was a senior editor at The Dispatch, and a columnist for Time (and also a lawyer), although he is currently a columnist for the New York Times—wrote in an article for his regular column in The Dispatch:
Have you noticed how much of the GOP, the party of white Evangelicals, is often positively obsessed with grievance, how it marinates in anger at the insults of the "elite" or the "ruling class"?
We experience this reality constantly. It sometimes appears as if the bulk of the conservative media economy is built around finding and highlighting leftist insults, leftist disrespect, and leftist contempt. And yes, it exists, but there is a difference between highlighting a problem and marinating in grievance over the rejection of the left.
French is speaking here on the role of shame/honor culture in the roots of Christian rage … though having just been chastised for my research and thoughts, I would posit that it applies to Trump supporters, full stop.
And it struck me, then: That's what it is! My friend finds himself in a group of people (who tend to identify as Christian; my friend, in fact, got his BS at a Christian college) who are in the minority in their support of a man who is not respected by people like me. My friend sees Americans as either–or: either Republicans/conservatives or Democrats/liberals. He is the former. (As far as I'm concerned, there's a difference between being a conservative and being a Trump supporter; I've explained this to him too. I've also explained the difference between anger and hatred, since he has often accused me of the latter.) Bottom line, though, he cannot make me budge, he cannot make me agree with his point, so instead … he nurtures his grievance.3
• • •
I've written about this before, here and here, back in 2017, and again referencing the Christian world here. Let me tell you how much my work world has changed, since I came out publicly as a progressive: I get a lot less of it. The largest of the Christian publishers (I once worked for them) no longer allows their in-house folks to hire freelance editors like me—they have to go through an aggregator, although they can request specific folks. I recently learned I was requested, and learned which aggregator it was going through, and—surprise, surprise—never got an inquiry from that person, because she is ultra-conservative. Unprofessional? I think so.
The publishing industry is changing, too—getting younger, in-house folks who don't know me—and between the two, my workload has lessened. I should be happy—more time to work on my personal projects, including genealogy—but I do, actually, enjoy my work.
NOTES:
1 He is absolutely wrong about this both sides business. I follow (and talk about) several conservatives. He does not follow any progressives except me.
2 No, no. I screamed about my dislike of the Electoral College, which is horribly outdated. People vote, not land. All citizens can vote. Cartographer Kenneth Field makes maps for every US election, showing one dot (blue or red) for literally each vote. Here's 2016. Here's 2020. Now you tell me who's getting the raw deal.
3 My friend finds himself in a group of people who are on the outside, who are supporting a man who is ridiculed by people like me, a person he "liked" and thought himself equal to, now that he's an adult. I have been unfailingly polite to him, and answered his rhetorical questions over and over. But he cannot make me agree with him. Because I am a facts person, and though he thinks/says he is a facts person … he is not. He has sent me articles from the Epoch Times, for example, and Breitbart, ffs. (He's not the only one. I have another post I'm working on.) Bottom line, there's a difference between being a conservative and being a Trump supporter, and I respect that. But my friend sees my contempt—my disrespect—for Trump supporters, and he is one of those.
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