This is an article from the May 2025 Civitas Examiner (Volume 2, No. 2) and was written by one of our students, Apurva G. The opinions expressed herein do not reflect those of Civitas other than respect for the value of open dialogue. To read more Civitas Examiner stories or to submit your own, click here.
In today’s society, we are polarized. You probably haven’t heard of that before, right? And yet, no matter how often it’s repeated, the truth really doesn’t change: people are drawing lines in the sand over political beliefs and culture wars. People who may have been your friend in middle school—or at least an acquaintance—might now be someone you don’t even acknowledge in the hallway because they once wore a MAGA hat. You may have stopped talking to your cousin from rural Arkansas for the same reason.
According to a Harris Poll from November 2024, 42% of adults believe politics is the leading cause of family estrangement. So instead, we stick with people who think like us, and that can lead us down an echo chamber where the only voice we ever hear is our own.
And I can’t really comment on whether this phenomenon is harmful. In my mind, there are two competing truths.
One is where cutting people off for having a different opinion cannot possibly be right.
Listening and acknowledging different opinions is how a person morphs and grows their own ideology and empathy. In today’s day and age where the “epidemic of loneliness” seems to haunt our generation, fueled in large part by social media and its role in heightening polarization, is it really alright to cut off friends and family over politics?
But then, there is another truth: how can we be friends with people who fundamentally oppose what we believe to be basic rights and dignities?
When political divides extend to questions of women’s autonomy, LGBTQ+ rights, minority protections, environmental preservation, and systemic inequality, how can any of us be friends with our peers across the aisle? Is being friends with someone across the aisle subtly showing your approval, or at least not disapproval, of their ideas and beliefs which you so strongly dissent from? Is remaining friends with someone who disagrees an act of tolerance—or silent complicity?
If you’re hoping that I have an answer for you, sorry—I don’t.
All I have is an anecdote that hasn’t really been resolved yet.
Recently, a friend of mine told me that our mutual friend voted for Donald Trump in the last election. I was stunned. We all used to joke around in math class and complain about our econ scores together.
He was a kind, funny, warm person. It didn’t match the image of a Trump supporter I had built in my mind: a white supremacist, Christian nationalist, anti-trans, hate-filled person. That wasn’t him.
And yet, after finding out, things changed. It became harder to make eye contact. The jokes didn’t come as easily. He later told us he regretted his vote, especially after the economic and political chaos of the past three months, but, somehow, that didn’t feel like enough.
I’m still friends with him—for what that’s worth.
But there’s a voice in the back of my head that keeps whispering:
“How can you still like him?”
