Let’s experiment with depersonalizing politics, for democracy’s sake

When I was growing up in California in the mid-1980s and ’90s, during every election my parents joked that there was no point in voting because they would just cancel each other out. They voted anyway. It didn’t seem weird to me that they had opposing politics until I was in college. At least that’s when I swore I would never date anyone with “those” politics. Perhaps my boomer parents were of the last generation to avoid discussing politics, religion or money in public. It was rude. Now it’s almost rude not to proclaim your politics and declare your allegiances, depending on your circles. 

I felt that especially during the 2024 election. Now that the lawn signs have (mostly) retreated and the dust from the election has (somewhat) settled, we have an opportunity to rethink how we want to engage with politics over the next four years. That can mean how to take action, how to advocate, how to resist, how to persuade, how to organize. But perhaps just as importantly, that can mean how to not do, how to disengage, how to unplug, how to restore. How to let the personal be personal again — for our own sake and for democracy. Wyoming may be primed to do this reimagining. 

It’s tempting to think that more political talk would lead to better politics. If people talk more about politics, aren’t they more informed, engaged, intelligent citizens? Doesn’t this make for a stronger democracy? Not necessarily. Especially in the internet age when, as we all know by now, we’re getting our information from very different sources, many of which operate with different sets of “facts.” I worry that a healthy, thriving democracy in which people intelligently rule themselves cannot work in this environment. 

But at the same time, what if another contributor to our polarization and division is an over-commitment to politics, or a misguided assumption that the best way to “save” democracy is to talk about our political beliefs ad nauseam and at the expense of our relationships with others? Just as the first Trump presidency saw a wave of people “unfriending” or ending relationships with people who voted differently, we’re seeing new manifestations of this impulse once again. I understand the urge to do something, to take a stand. But any action is not necessarily better than no action at all, especially if it serves to divide people and threaten social cohesion. The point of politics is to serve human communities and relationships — not the other way around. If we are allowing our differences to destroy our connections then we have lost the plot and purpose of this experiment in self-rule. 

To be clear, I am not arguing for anyone to drop or hide their identity for the sake of superficial social cohesion. I’m not advocating for everyone to “just get along” and ignore real differences and problems. And if you want to talk politics with your uncle over the holidays, there are lots of great resources to help you do that without killing each other. I am saying that you don’t have to talk about politics. You are not an apathetic or irresponsible citizen if you choose to ask your uncle about who’s most likely to go to the Super Bowl instead of why he vilifies immigrants.

Living in mostly blue bubbles my entire life — San Francisco, DC, Portland — it was easy to isolate myself from people who thought differently. And when I talked about my Christian Republican mother and Democratic scientist father, I was often met with gaping mouths and disbelief. While it’s challenging in Wyoming to be in the minority and feel unrepresented in state politics, I appreciate that it’s easier to meet and get to know people who don’t think like me. And the people who do share similar politics also know people, usually their own beloved family members, who don’t. No one here is shocked when I talk about my parents. I like to think this is a strength of Wyoming — or could be if we let it.

A lot has changed since my parents were growing up, for the better. But this is one thing I wonder if the boomers got right: a sense of civic friendship — a shared purpose as citizens — that prioritized people and local communities, not national politics. My parents debated politics with one another at home, but they knew when to stop and enjoy life in other ways — through a shared love of music and reading and their children — together.