Politics and Wavering Friendships

John Estrada
Jul 21, 2017 · 3 min read

If you were to look at me, without knowing one another, you’d easily guess I was Hispanic. Where I was born is up to you to guess, but I can tell you I was born in the states. Good ol’ Los Angeles, California (Dodgers all the way). Now imagine a friend of 4–5 years that has a tendency to bring up politics into every conversation; she’s also an American, but not Hispanic. Imagine you two had a budding romance, once upon a time. You never followed through with it, but it’s constantly brought up in conversation.

Now, let’s say this friend invites you to lunch to discuss the latest episode of Game of Thrones. You’re excited because those damned book will never be published, so the show is all you have to complete that particular story. But, as soon as you step into the car, the conversation turns to real world politics. You bite your tongue because this topic always lead to an argument. But you keep getting bashed. Within a few blocks, you’d prefer a grisly Game-of-Thrones-caliber death rather than continue the conversation. But it doesn’t stop, so you slip up. You disagree with something your friend is saying and you make the mistake of voicing your opinion. Then she drops the bomb.

“Then get the fuck out [of the country]!”

The last 4–5 years get flipped. Your entire friendship is brought into question. That occasional will-they-won’t-they romantic tension withers into a half-forgotten dream.

She continues her rant, without missing a beat, but you sit in the passenger seat; confused and wishing you’d stayed in the office and had a brown-bagged lunch instead. But you can’t. You’re almost at the restaurant and she’s driving, completely unaware that a half-decade long bond died a quarter-mile behind you. You’re in for the long haul. You have to stomach this new stranger for the next hour with nothing to hide behind but an overpriced meal.

This was my Wednesday. July 20th, 2017.

The only person I’ve met in the last six years that could possibly help me get over my cancerous infatuation with Tiny Dancer insisted I leave the country we were both born in, just because I disagreed with an opinion.

Truth be told, I wasn’t sure what to do. We ended up arguing about something over lunch and bid our adieus in anger. I’ve lost count how often that happens. I made a decision that evening. We weren’t healthy for one another. In fact, we were toxic. The last year had been filled with politically-fueled arguments between us that led to months of silence. I have enough going on (stay tuned, if you care to learn) that I don’t need any extra negativity. I deleted her number, removed her on some social media sites, and sent one last message explaining my forthcoming absence. The gist, “We may speak again, but let’s allow time to pass first.”

In the last month, I’ve seen two new confederate flags in my neighborhood. Those surprised me, but they weren’t a concern. I see the name TRUMP painted across the side of a trailer home on the highway and I keep on driving by. I see Trump/Pence bumper stickers all over town, but I don’t judge the driver for anything other than how they drive. But when my former friend finally let her thoughts shine through, it hit me. I always expected to hear those words, the way things are going in the States, but I imagined it’d be from a gang raising pitchforks to light a cross in my yard while I frantically wave my social security card, proof of citizenship, and whatever forms of ID I have within reach. I never thought I’d first hear it from someone so close to me, and on our way to a nice — if over-hyped — lunch together.

Where do we go from here?

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