I remember going through my Facebook friends list in 2016 and removing everyone I knew who voted for the candidate the media said was a Nazi. Their reasons for their vote didn’t matter: they supported Hitler 2.0, and therefore they were a threat to my very existence.
Most people in that cut were acquaintances I hadn’t seen or talked to since high school graduation. Others were friends I’d had since elementary school; people I still caught up with over coffee when I made my annual Thanksgiving trip to Cleveland.
It was those friendships that did give me a bit of pause before clicking the “remove friend” option. But I had principles — no Nazis — and that meant making sacrifices.
I clicked that button. Years of memories, deleted in a matter of seconds.
Now, nearly a decade later, I’m wondering whether I did the right thing.
***
It started with a blog post. I don’t remember who wrote it, but all my close high school friends were sharing it. It was titled “To vote for Hillary is to put your soul in peril” (or something like that) and it enraged me. Not because I was such a Hillary fan, but because that left only one alternative: the Hitler guy.
The blog writer, and everyone who shared his words, was basically saying that you had to vote for New Hitler to have any hope of salvation (because Hillary Clinton is pro-choice).
A subtle Nazi endorsement with a threat of eternal damnation made the decision to cut ties very easy.
I didn’t have the emotional bandwidth to contact some of these people, the very ones who guided me to the Christian faith, and hash out our differences.
On one hand, some may wonder why that burden should have fallen on me. Weren’t they being intolerant and closed-minded? Weren’t they showing themselves to be Nazi sympathizers??
On the other hand, the established friendship we had probably did merit a conversation, at least, before casting them out of my life. Or maybe explaining to them why such a reductionist blog post oversimplified an issue that was anything but simple. At least, it wasn’t simple for me: I was morally opposed to abortion, but also supported many Democrat social policies, like affordable healthcare, that enabled women to choose life. Shouldn’t that count for something?
Didn’t God possess enough nuance to determine my salvation by more than a checkmark on a ballot?
I never got the courage to ask.
***
It’s worth noting that, while no Holocaust took place in the United States between 2016 and 2020, my ethnic background and family history is such that I believed one could happen at any time. Even more alarming, the Anne Frank house staff drew comparisons between Donald Trump and The Führer. So it’s completely unsurprising that I reacted the way I did.
But how much media manipulation to sell a particular candidate also played a role in widening existing divisions? This is something I could see more clearly during Trump’s second campaign, like when Democrats peddled the unfounded fear that doctors have no choice but to let miscarrying women die after the overturning of Roe (even though miscarriage is specifically outlined as an exception in the red state of Texas).
If the media will fudge or omit details about women whose tragic deaths were supposedly from anti-abortion laws, what else is it lying to me about?
Perhaps not everyone who voted differently than me did so with the hope that every minority American would be sent to the gas chambers?
***
The state of political discourse has only deteriorated further since 2016. It’s also worth noting that, back then, I was neck-deep in deconstruction and aligned myself with political and spiritual progressives. Suffice it to say my politics and theology have changed since, and I’ve swung to the other end of the pendulum.
The progressive friends I made in that era cast me off when I became Anglican, because it’s a tradition that upholds the biblical sexual ethic. I lost my Patreon supporters after publishing a post about my pro-life views.
To many of them, now I’m the Nazi (never mind that I’m still of Jewish origin, but I digress).
That was painful, but full of irony. They were doing to me what I’d done to others. Perhaps I deserved it.
***
After much prayer and contemplation, I started reaching out to some of those blog-sharing friends again. Many of them have married and had babies I’ve never met. We’ll likely never be close again. Too much time has passed, and that alone cannot undo what’s been done.
I understand a little bit better now (although I can’t say I fully agree) what made them choose the man people still call a Nazi. It wasn’t that they loved his character (they didn’t), but rather they supported the platform policies. They weren’t out to “punish” anyone with their vote.
There’s a great deal to unpack in that reasoning, but it’s better than the more insidious alternative the media wanted me to believe (and still does).
The truth is that human beings are frustratingly nuanced, complex creatures. We will enrich others about as often as we will offend them. Our attempts to please everyone will just piss off the whole world.
So once again I find myself asking: surely not everyone who voted differently than me is a Nazi?
***
Is there a way to preserve friendships stretching back decades, despite deep political division?
Is it always better to let some friendships grow cold, but still keep the door open, because love demands the possibility of reconciliation?
I’ve asked myself those questions for nearly ten years. I am no closer to an answer now than I was then.
Photo by Anastasia R. on Unsplash
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