When the political divide hits close to home

My husband voted for Donald Trump. Twice. 

I am far from being the only American living in a politically divided family. For every person who recoils in horror when I reveal my marital status, at least two or more nod in sympathy.

And often, they have the same story that I do — of watching someone they love changing under the influence of events and partisan news media. 

My husband is not the same man I met 35 years ago. That man was more conservative than I, but he was not a proponent of authoritarianism. He was stubborn, but not rigid in his beliefs.

I wonder what he would have thought if his mom — a lifelong employee of the Social Security Administration — had received that Fork in the Road email.

As he parrots Fox News on DEI, I think about photos of him laughing with his Black crewmates in the Air Force, and his delight in an invitation to a fellow grad student’s Diwali celebration. As he denies climate change and scoffs at renewable energy, I remember editing the paper he wrote on geothermal and passive solar housing. 

Where did that man go? Is he still somewhere inside, or have I lost him forever?

I tell people that we don’t talk politics, but the truth is that I don’t talk politics. He manages to insert politics into the most innocuous discussion, and for the most part I hold up my hand. “Stop,” I say. “I don’t want to hear it.”

I’m not a good impromptu debater; I need time to marshal my thoughts and back up my positions. So when I do engage, I wind up frustrated and angry, which means that the discussion generally ends in tears because that’s how my body processes those strong emotions.

“You can’t change him,” I remind myself as I wipe my face and blow my nose. 

Other than politics, we have so much in common. We both love reading (especially science fiction), genealogy, history, bull terriers (lord, how he loves our dog!), travel. We’re planning our fourth trip to Ireland, where we ooh and aah over the scenery on our way to the next prehistoric site, and linger in pubs to chat with the locals and tap our feet to live music.

I know many people who have distanced themselves from family and friends who are ardent Trump supporters. But I don’t know anyone who has dissolved their marriage over it. It’s one thing to silence folks on social media or limit contact to holidays. It’s another to uproot half a lifetime or more.

If my husband was doing more than voting and running his mouth in the kitchen, maybe I’d be less conflicted. But he doesn’t, so I am.

Deep down, I guess, I believe that if we can weather political storms by focusing on what we share, maybe our country can, too. And I hope, desperately, that if push comes to shove, he will show that he is the same man I fell in love with all those years ago.