Politics: War by other means

Discussing politics in the United States is dangerous enough. Exchanges are often peppered with the equivalents of conversation landmines like:

“Yes, but what about the rights of the fetus?” or
“Everything will be better once Obama is elected” or
“I always say: ‘give unto Caesar.’”

You’re either dealing with:

a one-issue-voter,
the man Obama brought back from the dead or
a Jehovah’s Witness.

I don't actually know which one of these is worst.


Mine dodging depends on early detection of the warning signs, look for:

pieces of debris or blood stains (not exactly the ‘red badge of courage’)
a clammy color with residues of dirt (dead giveaway),
or showing up at your door with a Bible (why is never a pizza?).

It’s difficult, but there are at least techniques, methods of quick extraction, and those sporadic moments of intelligent insights that make the effort of engagement worthwhile. Ironically clarity usually comes at 3 am, with your new best friends, half-a-wine-bottle-in, day of exams; however you prove too radical for your obtuse Physics professor who does not appreciate the slightly slurred perspective on the inevitable tragedy of the two-party system (“They respond with an equal but opposite reaction!”)

I had to go abroad to discover my appreciation for red-blooded-blue-collared-white-America political discourse, because being reasonable about politics in the UK has thus far been mission impossible.

People hear the American accent and they immediately assume that you want to play devil’s advocate to their good-guy appeals to stop the Iraq war (two words: cheap gas), torturing prisoners at Guantanamo Bay (everyone needs a hobby), and eating all those hamburgers (I can taste the cow’s soul). They wonder out loud if everyone you know is obese, afraid of gay marriage, and the proud owner of an SUV with a Jesus-fish label. When will they realize that those particular groups of individuals don’t own passports? They’re smart enough to know that Europe is too thin, gay, and secular to warrant a visit.

All of a sudden complete moderates find themselves getting defensive and despite my best attempts at self-control, I assume a thick-skinned fourth-of-July patriotism. Being American is like having a little brother that is, admittedly, an occasional screw-up, but one that nevertheless only the immediate family should have the right to abuse.