I admit to unabashedly loving social media.
I love seeing photos of my friends’ children, reading goofy jokes, and even applauding braggy posts about accomplishments. I envy weight-loss pictures, send virtual hugs in times of loss, commiserate with parenting struggles, and try to entertain my friends with anecdotes from the classroom or pictures of oddities I encounter. I rail against poverty and injustice, ponder the implications of the border and grouse about the length of the line to cross it. I prop friends up and let them prop me up. I revel in my virtual community, knowing it is far larger than any physical community I could build. Until election season.
From March to November, I scroll through social media accounts, reading my friends’ vociferous defenses of their candidates of choice. I feel warmly toward those who agree with me, and resist the urge to judge harshly those who don’t. I struggle to understand how people I consider friends can look at the country and even the world from such a different angle. My eyebrows raise involuntarily as I gasp, “You’re voting for whom?”
Some days, my finger hovers over the “unfriend” button before settling on the “unfollow” button.
I’ve written my share of political posts, especially when I was new to social media. I was absolute in my certainty that all my misguided friends needed were a clear explanation of why I’m right, and a few anecdotes from my circle of friends and family to prove my point. I let myself be baited into arguments and matched insults with name-calling of my own. It was as obvious to me that anyone who disagreed with me was a racist, homophobic bigot who hated the poor as it was to others that I am an economically ignorant idealist who has no idea how the real world works, and a traitor to American ideals as well.
It was a puzzle to me why people wrote heartfelt posts about their commitment to a candidate. Did anyone honestly think a Facebook or Twitter post would convince their foes? And how dare anyone belittle the candidate I supported? Even as I scoffed at online campaigning, I was sure my eloquent posts would somehow change people’s minds.
I spent an entire day trying to explain to online friends why “libtard” is an offensive term, feeling my blood pressure rise with each interaction until I had to step away from the keyboard. I had to remind myself that I was not engaging with anonymous online trolls, but rather people whom I generally love and respect.
I stomped through my days in real-life anger over virtual interactions. How could friends question my intelligence in political arguments and simultaneously ask me for advice on other topics? I unfriended people, and watched people unfriend me.
This election cycle has been exceptionally divisive. All three presidential candidates left standing have been called evil, ignorant, and hell-bent on destroying our country. They have all been touted as the only possible solution to restore us to economic equilibrium, keep us out of war or defend us against our enemies, and deliver liberty or justice for all. Campaign rallies have erupted in violence, and protesters on either side have been blamed.
I scroll and read and wince. My heart breaks both for the people who agree with me and for the people who disagree. How have we become so angry? Why do political disagreements disintegrate so quickly into personal attacks? Is the gulf that separates us too large to bridge?
This election season, I decided to step back. Some days this means staying off of social media altogether or avoiding people with whom I disagree. As hard as it is, I force myself to ignore being called out. Some days, I have to bite my typing finger until it bleeds, so as not to take the bait. I know that we on opposing sides will not convince each other, no matter how stridently we argue. Instead we will disparage each other to the point of damaging friendships. In January, when the new president takes office, we will still be licking wounds instead of building community.
Despite my strong opinions about the presidential campaign, I wrestle to value relationships over politics. This will require more self-restraint than I am accustomed to, but after November, after January’s inauguration of our new president, after 2020 or 2024 when we as a nation go through comparable political spasms, hopefully we will emerge with our dignity intact and our friendships unbroken.
In the meantime, I look forward to seeing my friends’ vacation photos, reading their tales of grief and triumph, and even watching occasional cat videos. I’ll use them to weave a tenuous bridge across political differences, and hope my community is still together on the other side.
