I always travel home on holidays. No matter the challenge, whether it’s an overbooked train, a transcontinental road trip during a winter blizzard, a carpool with strangers from college, or a crowded airport with an angry TSA officer, I always find a way. .
I am making this journey because as a child, fall gatherings were always a source of great joy. The house I grew up in was lucky. The biggest struggle of the holiday was finding enough chairs for all of our beloved guests and sliding out the nifty extension table to fill it with food. We played games, watched soccer, took long naps, and woke up to the miracle of more food.
For myself and others, these rituals continue, but the holidays have evolved into an increasingly tense time. In a cultural moment marked by deep and seemingly irreconcilable divisions, even the Thanksgiving table cannot escape the contagion of conspiracy theories and extremist rhetoric. Add to that a controversial presidential election, and every house on this block is filled with the first mention of “illegals,” Israel’s war on Palestine, or “that felon” currently in office. It turns into a bomb ready to explode in an instant.
When I look around at my colleagues, fewer and fewer of them are going home for the holidays. There are various reasons for this. Some people cannot afford to take time off from work, while others cannot afford prohibitively expensive airline tickets. Due to global devastation such as war, climate change and pandemics, some people have no home to return to.
But for many, the decision not to return home is coupled with a deliberate effort to maintain their mental health and avoid re-entering dangerous spaces. Our country’s social rifts and cultural polarization are no doubt familiar to anyone who has tried to strike up a conversation with a neighbor or spent more than five seconds on social media. But when these phenomena affect family holidays, a unique and intimate pain arises. When relatives start mentioning QAnon conspiracies or put up MAGA signs in their yards, a sense of betrayal is created. Places that were once safe havens for us become places of ideas, policies, and beliefs that degrade, alienate, and antagonize us.
Even though I’m facing some of the above in my own life, I’m still planning on traveling to northeastern Wisconsin for vacation this fall. I don’t expect this gathering to be perfect. This liminal space between the election and the inauguration is sure to spark debate and discussion. But over the past 10 years of going home each year, I’ve found some helpful paths to navigating holiday gatherings.
1. I don’t treat conversations as arguments to win.
There is a temptation to interpret all political talk as an invitation to battle. While some comments shouldn’t be ignored, especially racist and dehumanizing comments, it’s helpful to distinguish between political conversations and political debates. No audience is moved by the conversation. There are winners and losers in arguments. In a conversation, you can respond to provocative statements with questions. Arguments must be answered with counterarguments.
I often find that conversation is much more effective than discussion in uncovering empty attitudes and unsubstantiated arguments. Conspiracy theories and political extremism are great tools for shouting matches, but they crumble under the pressure of good questions. We’ve seen this happen over the past few months as politicians sidestep questions about accepting the election results and whether the United States is actively participating in the genocide of Palestinians. On the debate stage, it is common to ignore or distort questions in order to “win” the argument within the allotted time. But at the kitchen table, there is no timer or moderator to move on to the next topic.
2. Before attending these meetings, I also take the time to clarify my first principles.
We all have that “old guy” who makes wild claims during a meal just to get a reaction. This is a debate tactic similar to a boxer throwing a haymaker right after the start of a match. The goal is not necessarily to land a punch, but to see how your opponent reacts. A person with good thinking skills, like an experienced boxer, should anticipate this punch.
First principles are the fundamental beliefs and ideas that ground and direct our words and actions. These are unwavering promises that we keep even through fire and storm. The fighter’s quick feet allow him to avoid danger without losing his balance. Naming our first principles allows us to identify absurd claims for what they really are: stupidity.
For example, when a relative blames “illegal activity” for everything from rising car insurance prices to limiting the banana supply at the local store, identifying my first principles helps me understand this. How you approach your claims will change. Aware that this is a shock tactic, I’m going to ask a question rather than argue about the flimsiness of their argument. “Do you really believe that’s true?”
3. One of my first principles as a Christian is love.
The more our politics rely on racist tropes, slurs, and extremist conspiracies, the more the practice of love stands as an act of radical defiance. It may seem very easy not to hate others, but it is actually very difficult. It is satisfying to respond to hate with hate, violence with violence, and stereotype with stereotype, but a firm belief in love is what testifies to Christ. This is not a passive, idle reaction. Love can be loud and intense. You can rebuke evil words. It can speak truth against falsehood. But love at its core roots these actions in a desire to see good in others—true and lasting good.
Love as a first principle underpins our commitment to the mutual welfare of ourselves and our neighbors. This will radically change the way we engage in political conversations and debates. We don’t argue with our families to make them feel bad or to belittle ourselves. The goal is not to cause feelings of shame or lower a person’s self-esteem. Instead of holding out a closed fist, we can reach out with an open hand and invite people to a better way to participate in and move through this cultural moment.
Acting on these principles does not erase the harms and abuses perpetuated by the American empire. Nor does it preclude outright support for the complicity of our kin and for policies and politicians that actively engage in the dehumanization and marginalization of others, especially minority and vulnerable communities. Engaging in the conversation and being rooted in the virtues of love does not give a free pass to those who strive (and vote) toward these ends.
But in the best cases, sharing the same table as friends and relatives means that people with whom we vehemently disagree have their own fears, vulnerabilities, and concerns for the future of our country. It can be an incredibly human reminder. This table represents a common need: food. We come together not as each other, but as a community that wants to enjoy food together. Rather than hating political parties, we come together in gratitude for each other. We break bread and hold hands. We raise our glasses in a toast and sing hymns. When I return home for the holidays, I intend to hold on to this hopeful vision and come to the table with humility, kindness, a desire to engage, and a commitment to love.
This table represents a common need: food. We come together not as each other, but as a community that wants to enjoy food together. Rather than hating political parties, we come together in gratitude for each other. We break bread and hold hands. We raise our glasses in a toast and sing hymns.
