Our writers crash the party that is America’s political system.

Politics: Across the Spectrum

I’m a liberal. That’s why my alias is True Blue, after all.

My best friend, Red Rover, is a conservative. In other words: heresy. Today’s political climate has painted Americans on opposite ends of the political spectrum as something we should never, ever be seen as: enemies. Yes, our political and religious ideologies are different. Our ideas on how to make our country stronger, smarter and more competitive locally and globally are different. Our views on taxation, welfare programs, spending and immigration couldn’t be further apart. He is my red-blooded opponent, and I am his bleeding-heart competitor.

And I couldn’t find a better person to call my best friend.

When I was asked to write this article, I was saddened at the thought that Americans have divided themselves so thoroughly that, somehow, two people voting different tickets inferred that a solid, loving, long-lasting relationship could never work. Because what we have together is exactly what Americans, and, indeed, the world, needs so much more of.

True Blue: Three Rules for Making a Politically Divided Friendship Work

A few years ago, there was an incident at the U.S.-Mexico border. A unit of the Border Patrol tear-gassed a group of migrants, including children, seeking asylum in the U.S. After hearing such an upsetting headline on my commute, I did what I always do. I went straight to my friend, who is also my co-worker, to talk about it.

I’ll admit, in these situations, I come in hot—ready for a vigorous discussion. I thought this was an indefensible action and another point for Team Democrats. For a lot of people, an argument like this is the kind of TNT that could blast a hole right through a friendship. But, I’m here to tell you, it should bring you closer. And here are the three rules to make that happen.

 And I can’t stress this enough. You have to listen to your friend and their opposing view. If you’re willing to hear them out, they will hear you out, too. In the case of the migrants, I told my friend what happened was inhumane. And guess what? He agreed. But he also brought up a point that I wouldn’t have thought of otherwise: What is our Border Patrol supposed to do in this situation? A large group of unknown people are trying to illegally enter our country. Should we protect our border or not? We both agreed that we should. Then, we talked about something else: Why this event even happened in the first place. Listening to each other eventually led us down a path toward solving the problem. How can we make sure our borders are protected, while also quickly identifying refugees who need asylum?

Equally important as listening is the willingness to change your mind. I often think this trait is viewed by some as a weakness. But it absolutely is not. It’s a profound strength. I see it as the cornerstone of learning and creativity. My friend and I are both willing to budge on an issue if an argument is good enough or if we independently come across new information or a new angle. Yes, I’m absolutely going to poke and prod his arguments to death. I’m going to ask a ton of questions. I’m going to play devil’s advocate even if we agree on the same thing. And I’m absolutely going to change my mind if there’s a better argument or policy decision to be made. I know he’ll do the same. I believe this process does something else, too. The willingness to change your mind and consider the weaknesses of your opinions and philosophy will strengthen your beliefs.

So, let’s apply this process to the case of the migrants. Did either of us change our minds on the issue? I don’t think so. The action by the border agents was too aggressive, as many innocent bystanders were tear gassed. The people who were rightfully frustrated shouldn’t have rushed the border. And the policy decisions made by the Trump administration to substantially slow down processing migrants at the border has been ineffective and has led to despicable things. There was no right or wrong side of this particular event. It was horrible that any of it happened in the first place.

My last chunk of insight for what makes our type of relationship work is that you both have to agree on the basic facts, events and information you’re discussing. There’s no way my friend and I could have a decent conversation if one of us believes Breitbart has journalistic integrity and the other believes every Facebook post they see. Yes, some news organizations have a bias. Some have blatant agendas and ulterior motives. So how do my friend and I navigate this world? By looking at multiple sources and fact-checking each other on the spot. We look to see how Fox News, CNN and NPR report the same story. What does Fox leave out that CNN doesn’t? What did AP gloss over that NPR highlighted? Facebook articles and tweets don’t count. Ever. We’ll look at 

So back to the migrant example. When I came into the office to talk about it, I only had one source: the NPR story I heard on my commute. When I brought it up to my friend, the first thing he did was turn to his computer and look it up. I did the same. He went to CNN. I went to Fox. Then, we talked about it more. He fact-checked me when I brought up recent border policy decisions. I fact-checked his ass right back. By the end of our discussion, we both walked away more informed and well-rounded. We also ended the discussion without feeling angry at each other. In fact, I don’t think I have ever been mad at him for talking politics. Probably because I know he wants the same things I do: a better country, a better future for our kids and a better global presence. Our core values are the same. We just have different ideas on how to bring them to life.

Conservatives and liberals need each other. It’s a good thing that we see each other as opponents, not enemies. We’re trying to do what’s best for all of us. Sure, there are people who just want their side to win no matter the costs. And that is the biggest problem we’re facing as a country. So, I challenge you, the reader, to debate the opposition and debate them with respect. Who knows, you might just make a lifelong friend.

Red Rover: Americans Need to Be More Personally Responsible

By my memory, November 26, 2018, was a mundane Monday. My best friend arrived at work, plopped down in the seat next to me and spilled his horror at the latest juicy political shortcoming of today’s America. This time, Trump’s Border Patrol tear-gassed a group of migrants that had tried to cross the border. Men, women and children too!

Now’s probably a good time for a contextual interlude.

I’m a red-blooded conservative. I’ll spare you the manifesto, but I believe in a pull yourself up by the bootstraps version of the American Dream, one where anyone can become anything if they work hard and are smart enough. I believe the government should exist in as minimal a role as possible. But one of those roles should include, ya know, making sure people at least show a passport when they cross the border into America.

My best friend in many ways is diametrically opposite me on the political spectrum. I’m not up on the lingo, but I’d describe him as an ultra-progressive: the Bernie Sanders-loving kind. His version of the American Dream includes a step stool for those that need it, courtesy of the federal government.

For most, apparently, differences like this would preclude any lasting relationship. But as I said before, he is indeed my best friend. I don’t think pairings like us often exist in the wild. Not “in this climate.” It’s a shame.

Red Rover: Disagreeing Is an Integral Part of Our Great Friendship

So, on November 26, 2018, like most days, we talk current events. This time, it involved tear-gassing children. My best friend was pretty disappointed. And this was just one of a string of failings on the global stage that makes America look more and more like, I don’t know, Nazi Germany or something. I mean, these are just migrants, how can we do this to people? Where’s the empathy in this situation?

Of course, I bring a little different viewpoint. These specific migrants bum-rushed the border, knocked over a fence and were attempting to run across it. Realistically, what action could America have taken that would have both stopped the rush and also come across as more humane? I can sense some judgment coming: but no, I don’t want America to have to tear gas anyone. And of course, it’s a shame. But again, what other intervention would improve this situation?

This conversation is probably at a breaking point for a lot of people. Rage at the world channeled into rage at the other person and their beliefs. But this 

 normal for us. In fact, conversations like this galvanize us. We enjoy it. Because if you really are best friends, should any topic be off-limits?

Red Rover: Try to Change the Minds of Those Around You

Here’s how we work: We actually enjoy the discourse. If I’m honest with myself, I think arguing is fun, at least when it skews towards debate. My friend is very smart. I think I’m kinda smart too. He’s informed. He’s a worthy opponent.

We play a game of sorts. It’s not officially named, but if it were it would be called “Change My Mind.” The moniker hints at a key aspect of the game; we’re both actually willing to budge. Without this personality trait, what’s the point? There’s a saying I like: “You’re like arguing with a fence post, digging it up and arguing with the hole.” Don’t be the post, or the post hole and this game may work for you.

In the case of the tear gas, I could argue that I won the debate. I’m sure I argued that we have to keep our border secure. If these migrants could walk in uninhibited, what’s stopping anyone else? It’s not like I’d expect to be able to waltz into Canada. I probably argued that the migrants should have gone through the proper channels, waited in line and filled out the paperwork necessary to enter the country legally. After all, I do believe that’s how it should work.

But I don’t exactly remember the case I brought forth.

I do remember that after some time we were able to find common ground. This isn’t unusual for us, it’s how most of these debates seem to end. I believe our agreement was this: It sucks that this had to happen at all. I mean, what led a group of migrants to rush the border? I don’t think this is a political statement; it sounds like desperation. Yes, they should have entered legally, but maybe that process is so difficult or time consuming that they for some reason thought their best option was to literally charge a chain link fence to get in.

And I do believe this is a place worth “getting into.” I think my friend would agree. So, go find yourself a Democrat for a chat. They’re not so bad.

Two pals explain why America needs a friendship like theirs, now more than ever.

We’re Best Friends, Co-Workers and on the Opposite Sides of the Political Spectrum

In 1992, I was a ten-year-old fifth-grader living outside of Cooperstown in rural, upstate New York, son of Boston Democrats, and I’d grown up during the Reagan and H.W. Bush era. I could see them filled with the kind of muted hopefulness I’d come to learn is a hallmark of many citizens' relationships with politics. I remember my mom pinning a Jesse Jackson button to my jean jacket in 1988, though I had no real understanding of who he was or what it meant.

By ‘92, though, I thought I was finally starting to get it. My parents had had their hearts set on local politician Paul Tsongas for the presidential nomination, and I remember watching the primaries and their results the same way I did the Braves, who I followed as a way to set myself apart from my friends who were fans of the Yankees and Mets. I experienced joy with them as Tsongas won the second and third primaries, then watched as their excitement collapsed into crestfallen disappointment as he fell out of the race. Eventually, I saw them come around to Bill Clinton, who they told me would be a good president, despite some of the things we’d seen in the news. The third guy, Ross Perot, was probably better than Bush, but not that different either, they said.

On Election Day that November, my teacher held a mock election in class during social studies to show students what participatory democracy looked like. I don’t remember us students conversing about politics much before then, but I do recall concretely what transpired that day. After results were tallied, it was 13 for Bush, 11 for Ross Perot and two votes for Clinton—myself and Ismael, one of only a few black kids in our school.

I couldn’t believe the results when the right choice was so obvious to me. My parents told me that Bush was a bad president and that Bill Clinton would be a better one. How was that not clear to others? And why so many votes for Ross Perot? My parents said he was an outsider with “no chance,” and that no one gets elected who isn’t a Democrat or Republican.

How Party Affiliation Becomes Indoctrination

I felt a weird mix of pride and shame as I revealed my vote to the class and they started to belittle and bully me over it. I don’t remember exactly what they said, but probably nothing more than, “My dad said people who vote for Bill Clinton are idiots,” or, just as likely, “You’re gay!” I was smart and thoughtful but also just ten, so I won’t pretend to have had much depth to my thought process—except that it hit me like a freight train that none of us had real opinions of our own.

We were simply doing whatever our parents did, aping and echoing, and probably even realizing it.

By the time of the 2000 election, I was 18, a college freshman and an aspiring adult. The ‘90s had seemed good enough, but eight years of Bill Clinton, with his constant scandals, his lying and his support for the Defense of Marriage Act, had already started to jade me on politics. When I could finally vote, I didn’t want W. to win, but the idea of voting for Al “Lockbox” Gore—a joyless Clinton supplicant with zero personality, married to a woman who drove a campaign to censor American art culture in the ‘80s and ‘90s—didn’t excite me either.

Enter Ralph Nader, another third party candidate, and seemingly one with integrity and personality. I studied how much of an impact Ross Perot had had on the 1992 race, how his appearance swung the election and how he carved out a profile that was truly neither that of a Democrat or a Republic. I was also a college student at a liberal arts college, surrounded by other excited young liberals. It was easy to get caught up in the spirit. I registered to vote but didn’t register for a party because I wasn’t even sure I’d vote for the Democratic candidate.

The Two-Party System Is the Opposite of Free Choice

When Election Day rolled around in November, I remember the excitement of getting into the actual ballot box. I also remember that I knew few of the other names on the surprisingly low-tech paper ballot, except for Hillary Clinton’s Senate run. It occurred to me, in that early internet era, that most other citizens probably knew little about the candidates except the biggest tickets, and that most people would simply vote down a party line.

I started ticking Democrat boxes, I saw that one of the New York state senate Republicans was a guy my family knew and said was decent, James Seward. I decided to vote for him. (Although it’s not a vote that I’ll defend in hindsight).

I decided that day that I wasn’t ever going to decide my votes based on party affiliation alone.

As I aged, matured and thought more about it, I came to see that political parties are antithetical to choice and free will, and I just couldn’t be a part of one, even though I generally voted Democrat. Aligning oneself with a party is the best way to increase your own biases and blind yourself from truths you might not otherwise see. Not to mention the fact that the world changes, and political parties do too: Democrats were once the party of Southern racists and Republicans were once the party of Lincoln. Why would I want a badge saying I supported something that has a shifting meaning?

If We Don’t Want Another Trump, We Need to Move Beyond Political Parties

Right after college, in 2005, I was dating a woman from Pennsylvania whose parents were Republicans. They delighted in telling me how their best friends, who were liberals, had registered as Republicans so they could cast a primary ballot for Arlen Specter, a Republican candidate who seemed to them the lesser of two evils in a state where only a Republican would get elected. I remember thinking, "Okay, that’s logical, but also…depressing.” I couldn’t get behind it.

I have always, since a young age, felt that having one's own system of beliefs was important to feeling good about yourself—probably the result of being a child of two transplanted New Englanders in rural, pre-internet America. I saw how people around me who I got along with otherwise would suddenly seem like aliens, impossible to communicate with, when we'd come across an opposing "encoded belief." I vowed to seek more common ground and understanding, and from there I just continued a belief set that led me down a path where political independence seemed like the only possible choice—the only way to feel free.

I voted for Nader again in 2004 (I’m okay with that one), and then Obama twice (with glee, the first time at least) before eventually casting for Hillary in 2016. That was the first time I’d voted for a presidential candidate I didn’t feel great about, and the first time I felt really conflicted about missing out on the Democratic primary. But in the end, Donald Trump is not a political candidate—he is a craven, narcissistic man with no real beliefs. The last four years have been an obvious product of that fact and the country has been torn apart by us-against-them-ism.

The world needs leaders, but it also needs citizens—thoughtful, engaged people with convictions who don’t accept everything at face value and aren’t afraid to make hard decisions by going against the grain. The next time we go to the ballot booth, let’s actually make America great again.

An outline of the author's myriad reasons for upending the Democrat vs. Republican cycle.

The Two-Party System Must Die: Why I’m Fiercely Independent

In the late 2000s, I traveled to the Federal Courthouse in New York City. It’s an ugly building, a tall, metallic expanse on a featureless square. Like all federal buildings after 9/11, you enter through metal detectors where jaded security folks rifle through your bag. But even their dour faces could not break my bubble of joy.

My parents wanted to watch the momentous occasion. Still Green Card holders, they were shuffled off to a viewing room while myself and about 100 other new Americans filed into a wood-paneled room. The judge, a woman with a classic Brooklyn accent, spoke solemnly about how this was her favorite part of her duty—swearing in new citizens. She read aloud each country represented in the room that day and asked each person to stand when their country was called.

It was a long list. New York, after all, has the highest concentration of different ethnicities, cultures and languages in America. As she called out 90 nations, from Algeria to Zaire, a person or two stood for each, honoring their roots while accepting a new path. I stood up when she called the Netherlands and locked eyes with another Dutch person standing several rows away. I did not anticipate how emotional I would be about this rite of passage with my fellow travelers, who went through countless hardships to land here. In each name was an unfathomable journey.

Being an Outsider Taught Me Everything I Know About American Culture

My own journey was not an arduous one. My father got a professorship and moved from the Netherlands to a small Midwestern town with his wife, three-year-old daughter and two dogs in tow. I grew up with Dutch and tidbits of Indonesian from my mother, the colonial past of my birth country seeping into my life through food, language and traditions.

I wore my Dutch roots with pride. When the children at school threw out the retort, “It’s a free country,” I wondered about my own country, which seemed even freer.

After all, everyone in this little town went to one church, and when I told one boy my family didn’t go to church, he told me God would break my legs. That didn’t happen in the Netherlands, where no one really talked about God, and my family rarely went to church. When the American national anthem played and everyone stood, I thought of my passport and my parents, and stayed seated. No one said a thing. I was just the foreign kid who didn’t quite know her way.

In college, I visited my mother’s country, Indonesia. It was under the rule of a technocratic dictatorship that filled the pockets of the wealthy at the expense of the poor. Indonesia was on good terms with many Western nations—after all, it had lumber, gold and cheap labor. But the media was a farce, political activists were silenced, and there was a perpetual sense of ennui over the rampant corruption, from street cops all the way up to the presidency.

In 1998, Indonesia’s streets exploded with anger and the aging dictator Suharto was deposed from power. I watched from afar, in awe of the revolution happening in my lifetime. Inspired by the removal of a dictator, I cued in on nearby Burma, where a postcolonial military junta kept Aung San Suu Kyi, the non-violent activist and spokeswoman for the resistance, under house arrest.

I volunteered to fell that dictatorship by advocating for economic sanctions from countries and corporations. In the process, I studied the machinations of power—the shameless hypocrisy and cruelty, hellbent only on maintaining power. To quell dissent, the Burmese junta closed all universities, forcing two generations of Burmese to lose access to a college education. And yet the Burmese people learned, studying smuggled magazines, reading by candlelight, tuning in to VOA broadcasts from neighboring Thailand. When Aung San Suu Kyi came to power, I rejoiced, only to mourn as she succumbed to divisive politics and ultimately the ethnic cleansing of Muslim Rohingyas.

America Is Exceptional but Not as Exceptional as It Thinks

I decided to get my citizenship when Obama won the 2008 primary.

He was the first politician I’d ever seen who spoke a language I understood, one of global citizenship and religious tolerance, and painted a picture of an America where a person who’d been raised with different languages, in different countries and with different values could feel right at home. I wanted to cast my first vote for him—not just the first Black president, but the first multicultural President. He was the first President who looked like me: young and brown. Since that first vote, I cast votes in every primary, state and local election I could. I spent Election Day getting out the vote, volunteering in whatever was the closest contested county. I even loved jury duty, and am continually baffled by the way Americans resort to tricks to get out of it.

And yet the concept of American exceptionalism always struck me as false. I came from nations that are also exceptional. The Netherlands is frank, honest, beautifully designed and comfortable. Indonesia has a majestic mix of beliefs that, at the best of times, are not only about tolerance but symbiosis, the language a mix of Arabic, Sanskrit and Malay—a testament to a culture that is adaptable and ebulliently welcoming.

Each country had also witnessed the rise of dictatorial powers and rapacious authoritarianism. My parents were children during World War II. My mother witnessed the tail end of Dutch colonial power, the mad sweep of Japan’s harsh rule and the exciting turbulence of independence. My father watched the Germans not only take over the nation, but also his family’s land, strategically located on the Netherlands’ northern coast. To me, history never felt like an inevitable march of progress, as outlined in my American textbooks, but an infinite loop of dark times and triumph, with times of peace and stability being the pauses between the music.

So, you could say, I was always waiting for the other shoe to drop.

I Wasn’t Surprised That Trump Won—I’m Surprised That America Let Him Take Power

In 2015, I was visiting the Netherlands and found myself one evening with nothing to do. I checked what was playing at the local theater and noticed 

, a comedy that took Germany by storm. Its premise is that Hitler never died, but somehow time-traveled to the present day. At first, the Germans laugh: “Who is this clown, dressed as Hitler, trying so desperately to get our attention?” As that attention starts to come his way, many Germans are outraged: “Who is this clown, raising the specter of the worst of our history?” But some Germans are intrigued. He cuts through the clutter of politeness and says it like it is! He’s saying the things they think, without apology. In the film, Hitler gains traction, gets an agent and finds himself back on the political stage, steamrolling through the status quo. The film ends on the eve of him being elected to rule a large democracy.

As the Trump campaign gained steam in 2016, I spoke of this film to everyone who would listen. Most of my friends were smugly confident that Clinton had it in the bag. Look at the poll numbers, they said, and quoted the latest Nate Silver data.

But I worried. I knew the data didn’t tell the whole story. When I did a September road trip through farm country in California, the ranches had billboard-sized Trump/Pence signs in their fields. I remembered the boy who told me God would break my legs, and the suppressed violence of middle America. I thought of the loops of history, how times of peace were temporary respites in a turbulent world. I thought of 

, and of a nightmare I had one night where red-hatted zombies slowly pulled my friends and me down into a stadium and torched it.

When the election results came in, I was one of the few people I knew who wasn’t surprised.

What did surprise me was the attempt at maintaining protocol. To me, the dictatorial tendencies of Trump were clear from the start. He lied. He was a hypocrite. He had a rabid fan base and acolytes who only wanted a taste of power. Why would Obama, who had experienced so much more of the world, politely hand power over to someone whose intentions were so clear? Why did Clinton acquiesce without a fight for the vote count? Why did we not use this moment to upend the primacy of the electoral college over the popular vote?

I was mystified as the country I believed in for at least a few years so easily handed itself over to a maniac. I thought of my friends in Indonesia, who took to the streets to fight for the system they desired, and the students in Burma who dreamt under the thumb of a dictatorship, reading five-year-old 

 magazines in the night. It made me wonder why America, with so much pride in its democracy, could so willingly hand itself over to someone hellbent on destroying it.

What I Learned From My Heritage Prepared Me to Fight for Democracy in America

My first protest after Trump’s inauguration was the 2017 Women’s March in Washington, D.C., an almost instantaneous organization of our anger. I wore all black, painted tears on my face and sported a sign that said “R.I.P. DEMOCRACY.” I meant it. It felt like the end of an American project built on hope, equality and progress.

A prominent publication asked to take a photo of me, but the photographer didn’t want the message from my sign in it. Instead, she asked me to hold a “Love Trumps Hate” sign instead, a positive message that felt, to me, out of reach. I wondered if I was being too extreme.

As America got pummeled with Trump’s executive orders of cruelty and intentional chaos, 

—the range of behavior considered acceptable in our society—was stretched further and further to the right. “Fascism” became a household word again, revived from the dregs of the Second World War. The whiplash of who was in and who was out at the White House trivialized serious roles meant to advise executive power, until it was all sycophants competing to maintain a favored status. The media was vilified, and the least political topics became lightning rods for partisan debate: public health, the Postal Service, pizza. The death of Black and brown people at the hands of police and the deportation of immigrants became specters of cruelty without remorse.

Now we’re careening towards another historic election.

We have a president threatening a coup if he’s voted out of office as he, whack-a-mole, abuses democracy and public safety. The apparent stability and progress that Americans have invested in is teetering, and a global, historical view shows us that the moment of greatness we had could continue its freefall towards dictatorship

But I’m not a total pessimist. Trump has tried to dismantle institutions, pack federal seats with right-wing activists and demoralize the public, but the tendency towards progress that is part of the American mindset buoys me. America is a country that’s all about defying gravity. I can only hope that this November, America will prove me wrong.

A Dutch immigrant says that America must fight for its democracy now or else.