Several other Kossacks have presented various personal stories of arguments, disagreements, and other differences of opinion on matters political and cultural with those they love, like, or unfortunately have to share space with. With that in mind I thought I would weigh in since I have a rather unique perspective.
Please bear with me as this requires a somewhat lengthy explanation. I became a full-blown liberal at age 16 primarily due to the Vietnam War, the Civil Rights Movement, and cultural changes of the time (1967-1968), most notably the movement against sexual repression and consequently increased freedom for women, abolition of fixed gender roles, and acknowledging the humanity of our LGBTQIA Brothers and Sisters, eventually.
My (nuclear) family was nominally Republican at a time when Texas was a Democratic state, hence somewhat iconoclastic as well. We were also racist in our views of various ethnic groups as a whole although we had good relationships with African-American and Hispanic household help, Hispanic co-workers of my father, and later neighbors who were Hispanic and Asian-American. By and large we did not condone violence or segregation by law, either.
From age 2 to 10 we lived in a small town (population 6,000) seventy miles east of San Antonio where my father’s family was from. I was told my paternal great-grandfather had been at one time the Mayor though I must admit I’ve never verified that. We were never wealthy but my father had a business on the town square. What household help we had was necessarily part-time but I did have a semi-close relationship with an elderly African-American babysitter/maid not unlike that of the aspiring writer in the novel and movie The Help.
At age 10 we moved to San Antonio as my father had taken a civil service position with the Air Force there. A new home, modest, really, was built although we almost did not get it because we barely qualified for the mortgage. The Northwest side of San Antonio was at that time lily-white. My high school class was all white except for about ten Tejanos, or South Texas Mexican-Americans who by and large kept to themselves. In the class after us, there was one African-American football player and a girl who was half-South Asian and a Unitarian – she would not stand for the Pledge of Allegiance or national anthem and people called her a “communiss.” She later, I found out by the miracle of the internet, became a pediatrician in South Florida, confirming my impression that the brightest women medical students get steered to that specialty.
My extended family was a more complicated picture. Despite the impression that early in the 20th Century divorce was all but unheard of among respectable people I came to learn early that my maternal grandmother, my paternal grandfather, and one great-grandmother had all been divorced and remarried, and the females in that trio were both Roman Catholic. This led me to learn that when people look down upon another for various prejudices it was easy to find family members of mine who were looked down on themselves by people who imagined they were better than them. This certainly played a part in my developing some egalitarian sensibilities.
In the 1960 election the elder relatives were all New Dealers and for Kennedy. My parents were for Nixon because they admired his striving and chutzpah as opposed to Kennedy’s patrician upbringing. But in 1968, my grandfather said he voted for Nixon over Humphrey because Humphrey was “for the… [Insert derogatory term used for African-Americans].” Later, I learned my step-grandmother, his third wife, had cried when she learned her high school, some forty-odd years after she had graduated, had elected an African-American homecoming queen.
The story of how I learned of that may get to the meat of what I’m trying to say here. At the time I was a Navy veteran attending junior college while living with my parents. My parents had by then made peace with us having different views on politics, religion, and society. They had, as residents of a major city, also grown quite a bit in the area of overcoming their racism, but my small town relatives had not.
I recall that my Dad and I had business in the town where my grandfather now operated the shop on the square which my father had two decades before. He and my Step-grandmother lived upstairs. At the time we dropped in on my grandfather she was not present in the shop but was upstairs. Just right now thinking, I actually don’t really remember if my Dad told me privately to not say anything about that to her, or if he just shot me a look. Either way I got the message. Even though I was by then an adult, I understood and abided by his instruction.
Now many who know me know well that I am a firm voice against racism and all the other isms, and some may be confused as to why I caved.
This was less than ten years after the passage of the 1964 Civil Rights Act. I recall my grandfather’s manner when he told what she was crying about. Despite his and our racism, he did not describe the situation out of anger or entitlement. He was an intelligent man and certainly could see how the country was changing. He was not happy though because the one he loved most was not happy. The way he told us about it, it seemed wistful, almost surreal. He spoke calmly and mostly unemotionally about it.
The high school in this small town was integrated in 1970. My Step-grandmother was from a neighboring town which certainly must’ve integrated about the same time. That year mark may confuse some readers. The ruling on Brown v. Board of Education which required school integration had been made in 1954. The ruling also specified that the integration was to occur “with all deliberate speed.” Various rural areas interpreted that to mean at a snail’s pace. Once integration occurred, it was common for there to be racial divisiveness over selection of Homecoming Queen. A frequent tactic among those who favored that such an honored position be reserved for whites was to nominate two African-American candidates to split the Black vote. Eventually though the African-Americans caught on and forced the symbolic issue.
Part of this was that the position was an honor to Southern female purity so of course electing a minority was unheard of. This is why, when these things occurred, that having an African-American homecoming queen was an important breakthrough.
Now, was there racism in her grief over the change in her old high school? Of course. Very often our negative emotions are fueled by our irrational beliefs, and racism is certainly one. Was it justified? Of course not. But, it was still there. I recall she later came down from the upstairs apartment but we didn’t talk about it.
Much as I was steaming about it at the time, in retrospect I believe not discussing it was best. You can conquer people but you can’t force them to like being conquered.
Over the years I’ve had similar encounters and either acted in a way for to preserve the domestic peace, or not. Most of my high school classmates were Republicans. Then I married into a family in which many of them are the types who would consider my grandpa a damned liberal because he treated his African-American and Hispanic customers with respect. My wife’s high school was in what is or was called a “Sundown Town.” If you don’t know what that is, look it up. It was an all-white town except for household help or delivery persons and the like, and after dusk the expectation was that no African-American was welcome in the town and there were implied consequences for those who violated that norm.
The writer Kurt Vonnegut Jr. addressed the phenomenon of “Sundown Towns” in his native Indiana in his novel Breakfast of Champions. In the town in the book there had been a sign at the outskirts of the city limits which said “[racial slur], don’t let the sun go down on you here!” Most Sundown Towns didn’t have such a sign but people knew. Blacks were warned away from such hamlets and told each other that it was “Klan country – stay away!”
I am sure our more academically inclined colleagues can offer something here about the myths of the purity of Southern white womanhood, accusations of rape of white women by African-American men, and the taboos of interracial sexual relations with the appropriate citing of the sociological phenomena at play here. I know, because I’ve lived it.
It was in 1998 when James Byrd, an African-American, was dragged to death roped to a pick-up truck in Jasper, Texas, by white supremacists. It so happened that shortly after that our family lived in that region, called “Deep East Texas” or “The Piney Woods,” and where race is concerned there hasn’t been that much progress and most whites are okay with that. We heard a lot of things, mostly unverifiable, but one whisper stream was that the reason Byrd was killed so brutally was because he had expressed interest in hooking up with a white woman. I believe his family has vehemently denied that. Who can say? My impression is Byrd just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and was targeted at random and it was just his own bad luck. If it hadn’t have been him who was victimized it would have been another African-American. The point is, whether true or not, many believed the story about Byrd and the white woman because….aw, hell, for the same reason people believe the President is a Muslim, a Kenyan, and atheist, a communiss, or some combination of all of those.
That said, he’s some rules of thumb I’ve developed for our discussions with those we love, like, or simply have to bear (coworkers, mostly) of different views.
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I make no secret of where I stand.I festoon my vehicles with bumper stickers and encourage all others to do the same.I do enjoy passing people with Republican or right-wing stickers, though.Most who know me from my work, my church, my lodge, etc. have seen these.I write letters to the editor to the local paper.Again, if you can write here, you can sure write there.
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We go to political and social change advocacy events.We don’t keep it a secret.People who know us know we are Democrats and liberal.People who know you should, too.Don’t tell me you “just caaaaaaan’t” put a Hillary or Bernie sticker on your car because you live in Fritters, Alabama.You have to stand for something or you’ll fall for anything.If you are disinvited to Becky’s shower because of it, so what?That shows you who’s not your friend.
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In this sense, if you live in Red America (I do) you are in a sense an Ambassador for liberalism.What do diplomats do?They are polite.They are respectful.They seek common ground.Be like a diplomat.
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Be informed.Read Daily Kos.Read other news sources.Better yet, occasionally read some right-wing stuff.I particularly enjoy World Net Daily and Barbwire for the utter insanity.I read National Review for the contrast, the classism, and the uptight moralism of ignorant privileged prigs like George Will and the personification of cluelessness, Ross Douthat.
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In a gathering where just about everybody but you is non-liberal, you may be introduced with a “He likes Obama!”If so, say it loud and proud, “That’s right!”Among males perhaps the big anti-liberal motivator is “he’s a-gonna take our guns away!”If presented with that, say something like, “Damn, the brother sure needs to get crackin’ on that what with seven months left in his term, huh?”
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Keep your facts handy.Be informed, like I said.Things like this:of about 150 terrorist attacks in 2015 in the U.S., exactly three were by Muslims.Keep notes of stuff like that.It’s gold.
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Treat others respectfully, even if they don’t do that to you.Respect wins arguments and it wins election.In 1990, Clayton Williams was the Republican nominee for Governor in Texas.He was in many ways a Trump-like or Perot-like character, and he was actually expected to win.He was ahead of Ann Richards in the polls.Then he refused to shake her hand.That refusal is exactly why the damn fool lost.
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Do not go out of your way to seek conflict, but document it.That’s why I’ve found my bumperstickers such an excellent tool.Anybody who will tell you a bumpersticker is going to get you killed like being Black got Byrd killed insults his memory.It’s like there’s a reason the Argentine flag flies outside the embassy, just like the Estonian, the British, and the Indonesian.Fly the flag but be a diplomat.But stand up for what you believe.
I’m sure there’s more but that’s enough for now. As Taylor, the Astronaut played by Charlton Heston in the original Planet of the Apes said to Lucius, the rebellious nephew of the chimpanzee scientist Cornelius, “Keep ‘em flyin’ – those flags of discontent!” {Note: this piece is not sponsored by the bumpersticker industry, but I’d take their money if it was offered. ]