The People You’d Call At 2 A.M.
The problem with political debate —
doesn’t matter which side you’re on —
is that it almost always ends with some version of:
“You’re wrong because you disagree with me.”
Even the “statistical” types.
They’ll drop graphs and links and regression models like holy scripture,
but only the ones that confirm their point.
They’re not here to convince.
They’re here to win.
And the “feeling” folks?
Same thing.
Emotional logic is still logic, but it’s often wielded like a blade.
If it makes them feel bad, it must be wrong.
If it doesn’t validate their pain, it’s violence.
And so, we never meet each other.
We never even try.
We don’t ask why someone believes what they believe.
We don’t pause long enough to imagine what their life looks like —
what their town smells like,
what their parents told them when they were seven,
what they lost in the last recession,
what they saw on the worst day of their life.
We just unfriend.
Unfollow.
Mute.
Curate.
We build ideological echo chambers
and call it mental health.
We claim “boundaries”
when really we just want to be around people who clap when we speak.
But when life hits you in the fucking chest —
when your kid’s in the hospital,
when your mom dies,
when your car breaks down three counties away from anyone you know —
you’re not going to want the person who retweeted your stance on gun control.
You’re going to want the person who shows up.
I’d rather have a political opponent throw their arms around me
than an ally who won’t answer a text.
I’d rather have a fundamentalist Christian take me out for dinner
than a fellow atheist tell me to “reach out if I need anything”
and never follow through.
And I’d rather have an enemy next door I can sit with,
than someone who thinks exactly like I do half a world away
but can’t be bothered to show up when it counts.
Because being kind is better than being nice.
And being a person is better than having a voice.
We’ve replaced loyalty with likeness.
Trust with alignment.
Community with content.
And it’s killing something in us.
Slowly. Quietly. Efficiently.
Because being right feels good.
But being held —
that feels like survival.
