From Robert Graboyes:
If you and I have lunch together, I would be DELIGHTED to discuss history, science, art, music, architecture, economics, aviation, archaeology, travel, pets, cinema, television, numismatics, literature, sports, ethics, food, genetics, fashion, gardening, weather, family, transportation, agriculture, dreams, computing, language, exercise, dance, or philosophy. The likelihood is vanishingly small, however, that I want to spoil a good plate of sushi, falafel, or vindaloo by hearing your thoughts on Donald Trump, Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, Zohran Mamdani, Nancy Pelosi, J.D. Vance, Marjorie Taylor Greene, Bernie Sanders, etc., etc. etc. …
When I discuss politics, it is usually done in writing (email or blog comments) …
In contrast, verbal, real-time conversations on politics in 2025 largely consist of angry, puerile TikTok-worthy hot takes, statements of the obvious, well-trodden complaints, mindless partisanship, and ad hominem attacks on all who disagree with the spittle-laced observer. The same is true of micro-form writing, such as text messages or social media posts. It is a story of friendships shattered over hasty, hyper-emotional, pointless political haranguing.
I haven’t had too much of that. But I’m not on social media, and I almost never talk politics in person – much like Graboyes. The people who would shun me have mostly done that already, and as for the rest they’re not inclined to push it.
More:
My least favorite lunchtime political statements, by the way, are the brief, hazy, passive-aggressive, in-and-out, plausibly deniable political eructations. “My kids are doing great, though I worry about their futures, given … what … is … going … on … in … the …country.” Such constructions halt the flow of meaningful conversation, forcing me to stop thinking about your kids and start thinking about your political obsession. But if I say that, you can deny that you said anything political—even though we both know you did. I’d prefer that you just say, “Trump is a fascist,” or “Mamdani is a Jihadist Communist.” Then I can say, “I really don’t want to talk about politics. Have you seen the landscape exhibit from the National Gallery’s Corcoran Collection?”
On that point, I differ.
I suppose for some people that would indeed be a passive-aggressive way to start a political discussion while remaining able to deny that they started one. But I think it often is actually something quite different. It can be a way for a person to say something unifying rather than politically partisan, especially if the person knows that the listener is on the other side politically. The idea behind the statement could be, and sometimes is, that each side feels the country is facing a crisis or several crises, and maybe the sides just differ on how to solve it and whether the current administration is tackling it correctly or not. On occasion I’ve said to friends of mine on the left something like: “One thing we probably agree on is that these are difficult times and a lot of people are worried and upset” – or something of that nature – in order to convey both a reluctance to discuss politics itself and a way to say “we share the fact of being worried.”
Is it effective when I say this? Sometimes – especially when I say it to friends who already know my politics and they know I don’t like to discuss politics in person. I sometimes say it to people I barely know but am talking with in a social situation, when I want to deflect a political conversation by issuing a statement I think is non-controversial and general rather than specific.
Your mileage may differ.