Can we have relationships across political divides without pretending politics don’t matter?

If you want to make my stomach churn, all you have to say to me is, “Can we agree not to talk about politics?” or “Let’s just agree to disagree!”

Don’t get me wrong. I get why people say this. Nobody wants to have a screaming match at the dinner table, especially if you’re seeing people you love but don’t often get to see, like family members who live thousands of miles away or childhood friends who rarely visit your hometown at the same time you do. And it can feel pointless to talk about something when you don’t think there’s any hope that the person you’re talking to will change their mind. They might have no interest in changing their mind at all.

However, politics isn’t just about opinions. It’s about power. The power to determine who has enough food to eat, clean water to drink, clean air to breathe, a home to live in, access to healthcare and schools and libraries, a job with dignity and the ability to retire when working becomes difficult. Increasingly, I think politics is a choice between realizing that we are all interconnected and that you can’t guarantee safety and dignity for some at the expense of others, or pretending that safety and dignity can be bought. Of course I disagree with the latter view. Evidence of its incongruence is all around us. Think of the wildfires ravaging parts of Los Angeles, including ultra-wealthy neighborhoods, or the floods that have threatened even the fanciest New York City zip codes.

Truly, we are all in it together.

For that reason, I think talking with each other is worthwhile. I believe it’s possible –– and really, really necessary –– to have conversations about politics that are not just pointless arguments or relationship-enders.

What has helped me have better conversations with people with differing political views is to listen (it can be really hard, but I try to listen to other people like I hope they might listen to me) and to ask questions about their opinions and how they came to those conclusions. I also ask questions based on what I’ve observed, and most importantly, when I share my views, I do it in a way that is personal. I use lots of “I” statements about what I’ve experienced or share the stories of people I love. Watching movies and TV shows together can also be helpful because media can help us see other perspectives and develop empathy.

Whenever possible, I try to talk in person, but it can also work to talk on the phone. Texting is OK sometimes, but posting on social media almost never works for me.

There’s really good advice about how to have these kinds of conversations from Celeste Headlee, who wrote a book and did a TED Talk about this very topic.

Here’s a podcast that talks about this in the context of the 2024 election: https://deepcast.fm/episode/friendship-across-the-political-divide

And here’s a blog post that describes and links to her TED Talk: https://ideas.ted.com/how-to-talk-about-politics-constructively/

light green construction paper that reads "Ballot Party Friday 6–8 PM in the courtyard to celebrate the end of the week and prep for Tuesday's election"
One way I try to foster political dialogue is to host ballot parties with my neighbors. Here’s a homemade sign I made to advertise a ballot party in our apartment building’s courtyard a few years ago.

I don’t always get it right, but I hope that over time, I get better at having conversations like these. Our lives and our future are too important not to try.

Can we have relationships across political divides without pretending politics don’t matter?

Immigrant Solidarity

Photo from an Immigrant Rights Protest in Madison, WI, 2017 (the back of my jacket says “Ya Basta,” which means “Enough!”)

Recently I listened to a news story about immigration on This American Life. It examined the vast resources that are being sent to help Ukrainian asylum-seekers who are being welcomed into the United States with open arms. Meanwhile, just a short distance away, people seeking asylum from Mexico, Haiti, and countries in Central America wait for years in squalid, dangerous conditions. They struggle even to have their asylum claims heard and live under the threat of gun violence and kidnapping, with no support from the U.S. or Mexican governments.  

I’ve lived my life on both sides of the U.S.–Mexico border, and I study immigration, so this contrast was not new to me. My whole life I’ve seen how immigrants are treated differently based on the color of their skin and their country of origin.

But this news story was a necessary reminder of why I do the work I do. It reified my commitment to change the systems that value some lives more than others. Most importantly, it reminded me to take actions that help people who are trapped in these systems now, even as I work for structural changes that will make things better in the future.

That’s why I joined the Immigrant Solidarity Committee. We’re a small group of volunteers focused on supporting people who are often ignored by other immigrant-serving organizations, like LGBTQ+, Central American, and Caribbean migrants.

We’re committed to helping individuals from these groups get through the asylum process with dignity and safety.

This year, our fundraiser is focused on raising money to pay for rent and legal fees for the guests we support as they transition from ICE detention to fuller and freer lives in the United States. We cannot do this work without your support, and all of the money raised will go directly to help migrants.

I’m donating, and I hope you will, too!

Love,
Kristy

Immigrant Solidarity

Ten Lessons in Ten Years

ponytail + cotton blouse + comfy jeans = my favorite WFH outfit, Spring/Summer 2020

1) Life is happier when you love people as they are instead of trying to change them (that goes for everyone: friends, family, yourself).

2) You only fail when you try, and all your worst failures eventually become your best anecdotes, so really everything is a win-win.

3) Migration is a human right, and 100 years from now, people will be horrified that we ever thought otherwise, so we should work for open borders now.

4) If you compare yourself to people who have more, you’ll feel like you don’t have enough. If you compare yourself to people who have less, you’ll realize how much you have, and you can use that awareness to motivate you to give more and work harder to reduce inequalities.

5) Food tastes better when we share it (even if all we can do is drop it off at a neighbor’s door).

6) Dogs, sunrises, flowers, toilets that flush, elevators, buses, cats, music, funny tweets, tiktoks, homemade signs, chamoy, babies, abuelit@s, strangers doing nice things for each other, choirs, cookies, lipstick that matches the dress and the shoes! Everything is incredible if you really think about it. You just have to stop to think about it.

7) You’re the protagonist of your own life, so do the things that matter to you and don’t worry about what other people think (they’re mostly busy starring in their own lives!).

8) I don’t think anyone ever regrets saying please, thank you, I love you.

9) Ask for what you really want, and never expect anyone to read your mind.

10) Vote, join a union, work together, help take care of the people around you! Independence is a dangerous myth. Interdependence is powerful (and it’s the only choice we have, anyway).

(I wrote this last year as I reflected on the decade that was coming to a close, and re-reading it has helped me take comfort and make better decisions this year, so I decided to post it here. Also, wow, number 10! I thought I knew about interdependence, but this year has shown us how connected we really are. Our lives are in each other’s hands. I try to remember this every day, and I think it’s helped me keep things in perspective.)

Ten Lessons in Ten Years

We won this election together

Front page of NYT.com, 7 November 2020

If you started out knocking on doors in Iowa and ended up helping people in your pajamas from the living room… 

If you put a Biden/Harris sign in your front yard even though you were afraid your neighbors would destroy it… 

If it hurt to vote for Biden because you were hoping to elect a more progressive candidate, but you voted in solidarity with the people who are most vulnerable under the Trump regime… 

If you got over your phone anxiety to call voters in a faraway land called Wisconsin…

If you learned to use Zoom, OpenVPB, or ThruTalk to phonebank…

If you volunteered to get out the vote even though our current system won’t even let you vote yourself…

If you started a Facebook community to empower people to organize within their communities, using their skills and their own platforms… 

If you moved to Wisconsin to help organize a ragtag band of volunteers (including a couple who was kind of fanatical about composting) and kept organizing even when the pandemic made everything so, so, so much harder…

If you trusted me to translate election information and help lead phonebanks in Spanish… 

If you dedicated your time to organizing Latinx voters (who are largely overlooked and increasingly targets of disinformation and suppression campaigns)…

 If you learned to say “register to vote,” “absentee ballot,” and “early voting” en español…

If you phoned a friend, texted an ex, or otherwise reached out to voters in swing states… 

If you shared your most personal stories to remind people about what was at stake in this election…

If you found the courage to talk politics with your co-workers, your grandma, or your aunt… 

If you spent your time talking to people who have every reason to distrust the electoral system and convinced them to vote and keep fighting for justice… 

If you called me, texted me, talked to me, listened to me, brought me Mexican candy, sent me care packages, and otherwise kept me going when I felt like I couldn’t…

If you volunteered to be a poll worker or an election observer (or supported other people so they could volunteer)…

If you led countless Zoom calls with confused volunteers and comforted us when we worried this election would be impossible to win… 

If you remembered all the times Trump called us animals, criminals, and rapists and refused to let him get away with it again…

If you voted and organized with hope even when it was hard to feel hopeful…

This message is for you. I love and admire you. I am infinitely grateful for your work. If I asked you to volunteer, I will almost certainly ask you to volunteer again to keep fighting for justice and human rights…

But today I feel more hopeful about those fights than I have in a long, long time. And it’s all thanks to you!

We won this election together.

We won this election together.

Jolin Polasek draws a sign in chalk on a street in Harlem after former vice president and Democratic presidential candidate Joe Biden was announced as the winner over Pres. Donald Trump to become the 46th president of the United States, Saturday, Nov. 7, 2020, in New York. (AP Photo/Mark Lennihan). Caption text and photo c/o Yahoo News.
We won this election together

We can’t shop our way to a better world (I give really weird gifts)

Growing up I learned three cardinal rules about stuff.

1. Have all the best, newest, fanciest things you can buy.

2. If something breaks, buy a new one.

3. Show your love with presents––as many as you can afford to buy, as often as you can afford to give.

These were pretty standard cultural norms, but over my lifetime, they’ve started to evolve. As climate change worsens, we are all increasingly aware of our impact and lots of “environmentally-friendly” products have appeared on the market.

Now, instead of styrofoam plates, you can buy compostable plates. Instead of flimsy plastic bags, you can carry your groceries in a reusable tote bag from your favorite store. You can buy clothes made of organic cotton.

And none of these are bad things, per se, but if consumption is a driver of waste (sending old things to landfills) and pollution (because of the energy required to make and ship all these products), then consuming different stuff doesn’t fully address the problem.

The three R’s are meant to be followed in order:

REDUCE: buy/use less of everything

REUSE: treat nothing as disposable

RECYCLE: after we can no longer reuse something for anything else, then––and only then––should we recycle

For me, it’s also crucial to consider where and how things are made because I don’t want my organic cotton t-shirt to cost someone’s life (and, as we’ve seen, that’s not an exaggeration).

Instead of the rules I grew up following, I’m trying to form new values. These are the questions I now ask myself:

1. Where was it made, and who made it? Usually, the answer is this: 

sweatshop factory
2. Can I buy it used?

3. If I can’t buy it used, is there an ethical alternative?

It’s not a perfect system. I still end up buying lots of stuff that comes from sweatshops, but it does help me buy less.

Another thing that has helped is thinking of myself not as a consumer but as a steward of everything I own. It’s my job to care for it, fix it, and ensure that it doesn’t end up in a landfill if there’s any way to avoid it.

Take, for example, my iPhone. I know that the story of its production is unspeakable injustice: from children forced to mine rare minerals to factory workers exploited in China, how many people suffered just so I could have this tiny supercomputer in my hands?

I feel terrible admitting this, but even though I know all of these things are wrong, I still love having this phone.

Until there is a recycled, fair-trade, ethical smartphone, I don’t want to do without it. So I do the next best thing. I keep it in a heavy-duty case to prevent it from breaking. I work hard to ensure it never gets wet. Once the screen broke and I paid to have it repaired, even though it would have been cheaper to replace the phone altogether. I could get easily get a newer “better” one, but I won’t until this one stops working or is completely obsolete.

Because I treat my possessions as a responsibility, I can usually talk myself out of buying something on a whim.

It’s much harder to resist buying gifts. I worry that the people I love won’t know I love them. Will they think I am stingy if their gift comes from a thrift store? Often the next best ethical alternative is too expensive for me to afford, and my gifts end up looking puny.

For example, once my mom gave my niece Victoria a pink tent in the shape of a castle that was big enough for her to play in. I gave her a feminist children’s book.

Guess which one she liked more.

The castle tent goes against everything I believe––aside from the problems with its production, it reinforces messages about femininity that I disagree with. I want Victoria to grow up knowing that she is intelligent, brave, compassionate, and that the least important thing to be is a pretty princess.

Still, l  wish I had given her something that made her as happy as that castle did.

I want to give meaningful gifts that don’t go against my convictions but do make the people I love feel happy, and I worry that it will take years for me to strike that balance because it is the opposite of what I know how to do. (Will it be too late to fix my reputation as a hopeless gift-giver? Will I even have friends and family by the time I figure it out?!) I guess I just have to hope that people really believe it’s the thought that counts. Because if there’s one thing I can say about my weird gifts, it’s that they come with an awful lot of thought.

We can’t shop our way to a better world (I give really weird gifts)

What I Want To Say

In my life I have seen women shamed for choosing to have an abortion, and I have seen women shamed for getting pregnant or having babies when they “weren’t supposed to.”

I have seen women shamed for having more babies than they can “afford” (as though a baby is a commodity!). I have seen women shamed for being “selfish” and choosing not to have children.

I have seen women shamed for working instead of “staying home with the kids.” I have seen women shamed for demanding that their unpaid labor is valued and compensated by the men who benefit from it.

It is obvious to me that our choices are always under attack.

I refuse to join the chorus.

What I want to say to the women in my life is this: I love you, and I trust you to make the best choices for yourself.

I know you can’t get pregnant by yourself, and I hope all your sexual experiences are happy, safe, and wanted.

I support your right to become a parent. I support your right not to.

I support your right to raise your children in a safe environment with access to food, water, shelter, and all the other things that all humans deserve. I support your right to live a happy life with family, community, and fulfillment even if you never have children.

Your life matters to me.

No matter what choices you make regarding your reproduction, I will never judge or vilify you.

I support you.

What I Want To Say

Jena + Morgan


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On Saturday one of Devin’s very best friends got married. His name is Morgan, and he married Jena, who is as fun-loving and adventurous as he is. Their wedding reflected this in every way.

It was the kind of wedding where the couple planted a tree to symbolize their marriage, and the bride wasn’t afraid to shovel dirt in her white dress.

It was the kind of wedding where the groom’s dad composed an original song for the couple.

It was the kind of wedding where the bride’s mom gave a toast describing the couple as people who are more likely to climb Machu Picchu than go to an amusement park.

It was the kind of wedding where the couple didn’t bother getting a wedding cake because they knew their friends would bring dessert, and one of their friends casually brought a beautiful wedding cake decorated with flowers. Other friends brought a cake topper decorated to look like Jena and Morgan.

It was the kind of wedding where some people got tears in their eyes and everyone else sobbed.

It was the kind of wedding where everyone danced as long as they possibly could.

It was the kind of wedding where the festivities concluded the next day with brunch…and a gigantic homemade slip-and-slide.

Devin comes from an incredible community where everyone rolls up their sleeves and works together to make things happen, where some people grow flowers for weddings while others haul rocks, mow trails, put up tents, and bake enough bread to feed hundreds of guests just because they love the couple.

Thank you, Morgan and Jena, for bringing everyone together to celebrate the next phase of your life together. I’m so grateful I got to be there.

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P.S. A few people at the wedding told me that they read my blog, and I want to tell them something. I really didn’t think being in love with Devin could get any better. And then I met all of you! All week I kept wondering, “How am I possibly cool enough to know these people?” and then remembering, “Oh yeah…Devin!” Thanks for making me feel welcome. I can hardly be described as a woodsy “back-to-the-lander,” but you make me feel like I belong just fine.

 

 

Jena + Morgan

On saying I love you

I consider myself an activist, so this is really embarrassing to admit.

For the past couple of years, I’ve had a recurring wish: I wish I didn’t care. I wish I could shop without thinking about where all that alluring stuff comes from (sweatshops) and where it ends up (landfills). I wish I could ‘take a joke’. I wish I could go to the hip new bar down the street without thinking about gentrification. I wish I could get caught up in mainstream fads like Twilight without thinking about what they teach young people.

I’m just one person with very limited power facing huge systems that perpetuate and protect the status quo. What difference can I make?

Often my beliefs don’t even impact my choices, only how I feel about those choices.

I’ve said to Devin (many times) ‘I wish I didn’t care. I’d be so much happier if I could just shrug and say “Not my problem”’.

I’ve escaped into daydreams of maxing out my credit card, traveling with no thought of my carbon footprint, and never again interrupting a fun conversation with a timid ‘But what about…?’

Only as much as I’ve secretly longed for those things, I’ve never succeeded in turing off that part of myself—the It’s Not Fair alarm.

For the most part, I get it. I’m lucky to have a choice in my activism, and I’m just doing what my conscience demands (and being accountable to myself when I don’t live up to my values).

What hurts is the doubt. Does any of it make a difference? It’s all wasted energy. What is the point?

A couple of weeks ago, at the XL Dissent protest, I wasn’t plagued by those questions. Devin and I joined over a thousand young people to demand that President Obama not approve a dirty oil project that climate scientists have called Game Over in the fight against climate change.

whitehouseflag

My favorite sign read ‘IS THIS WHAT’S BEST FOR SASHA AND MALIA?’ I really hope the president sees that one.

We marched from Georgetown to the White House. When we got there, Ben Thompson, along with a few other remarkable activists, spoke. He talked about how activism should be an act of love.

It makes no sense not to love everyone if you’re standing up for everyone. That’s just logical, but I’d never heard it put that way.

After the speeches, we walked to the White House. There, 398 people—most of them college students—committed an act of civil disobedience. The majority tied themselves to the White House gate while others created a symbolic oil spill complete with models of the animals that die in those 100% preventable disasters.

Soon the police, some on horseback, some on foot, erected a barricade between the protesters willing to get arrested and the rest of us.

When you are arrested, every glove, scarf, piece of gum, and dollar bill in your possession has to be catalogued. The more you have the longer it takes for everyone to be processed—and the longer it takes for everyone to be released.   When the protesters tied themselves to the fence at noon, it was sunny and relatively warm, but as the day progressed, the temperature dropped, clouds covered the sky, and fat drops of rain began to fall.

Most of the protesters were underdressed, and we watched them shiver helplessly while their coats waited in piles by our feet.

The police glared at the crowd while other cops processed people at a snail’s pace (I learned that this is a discouragement tactic, so people won’t be willing to get arrested again).

We were yelling our normal protest chants about the pipeline when someone started yelling ‘I love you! I love you!’ Soon hundreds of people were yelling ‘I love you’ across a police barricade. We were yelling it to the people tied up to the gate, and they were yelling it back. Some were even saying it to the cops themselves. The cops couldn’t help looking a little less fierce.

Then, someone brought out a guitar and someone else, a harmonica. Two kids had empty trash bins that they turned into drums, and we began to sing. I sang hoping that our voices could provide some sort of comfort against the cold and the pain of standing for so many hours.

I felt an overwhelming sense of solidarity signing ‘This Land Is Your Land’. And no cop could keep from grinning when everyone, on either side of the barricade, erupted into the ‘Na nana nanana nanana’ verse of ‘Hey Jude’.

It took over seven hours for all the protesters to be arrested.

The next day, running to the subway after five hours of sleep, I reflected on the protest. I’d been so cold; my feet hurt; I couldn’t feel my nose. Despite that, it was one of the most joyful experiences of my life.

I finally realized I do know the point of my activism.

I want to stop the powers that be from perpetuating the horrible systems we’re trapped in, but even if I never make any sort of difference, even if I never get to live in a society that values people over profit, lives in harmony with the land, and never again wages war, my efforts will have been worthwhile. They will have made a difference in my life.

Change is the goal, but it is not the reason. I am an activist because it makes me happy.

On saying I love you

Ten of my favorite wedding pictures

Fun fact: our wedding was captured by two dear friends. Devin has known James practically his whole life, and I met Marissa the last time I wore a white dress in a church, my First Communion! They both had to travel far to attend and then got to work as soon as they landed. It is so cool to see the wedding through their eyes and know that the photos were taken with love.

We are really lucky to have family and friends who all chipped in and made the wedding beautiful and fun. Thanks, everyone! We love you!

1ceremony by marissa 2running out the church by marissa 3dinner by marissa 4tiny dancer by marissa 5james in action 6marissa in action 7morgan 8dev and grandma 9shoe game

10the wedding party

Ten of my favorite wedding pictures