Why I won’t discuss Donald Trump with his supporters

The 2024 Presidential Election is sure to be a primary subject of discussion this year, but the polarization he fosters limits the efficacy of personal conversations with his ardent supporters.

Inspired by Patrisse Cullors’ An Abolitionist’s Handbook, our church’s adult Sunday school was devoted to the topic of courageous conversations. Those are the conversations that we may need to have, but don’t want to have. We discussed the examples Cullors provides, and described our own.

It can also take courage not to talk, in certain circumstances. I can report to you that I made it through the holidays without any intense political debate, and for me, that’s an accomplishment. I can easily get baited into heated conversation, and am proud to have avoided it this year. While my holiday conversations weren’t devoid of politics, I vowedl not to address the glaring differences that I have with some of my relatives. Nearly all of them are Donald Trump supporters.

At this juncture, Donald Trump is viewed as favorable by about 43 percent of Americans (with 52 percent of Americans finding him unfavorable). He is not very popular, but much of the support he enjoys is largely stationary. A 40 percent popularity rating is not extremely high, but it is stable and has really not decreased since the insurrection of January 6th, 2021. Of interest, of course, is the fact that many Christian Trump-supporters see him as a savior and a liberator. Regarding voters who are unfazed—and even thrilled—by Trump’s conduct and rhetoric, I have come to the conclusion that addressing them is a high-investment, low-return activity.

It is easy for me to get excited about topics that mean a lot to me. The immorality of Donald Trump is just one of many. But my passion about them is often met with an equally passionate opposition. There’s no possibility that a conversation, even with a loved one, will change my mind about Trump’s unfitness for office, nor will it change their minds. So I listen to the opposing view. I learn as much as I can, while saying little. I don’t hide my opinions, generally, as evidenced by the fact that I am writing about them now, but within the context of interpersonal dialogue, it often costs me much more to engage in a discussion than it does to stay silent. Finally, I do think there is a high probability that I will be aggravated and say something I regret, or harm myself in the process.

The reality is that the news sources that Trump supporters trust in and believe far outweigh the influence I could possibly have. I don’t think even a loving relationship can overcome our polarization. It may be disheartening, given that the stakes could not be higher at this moment in history, but the point is that it’s a feature of our times. Politicians sometimes manufacture urgency to ensure our support. They intend to develop unwavering support. Trump even bragged about it in 2016, infamously, when he said that even if he shot someone, he wouldn’t lose any voters.

As I watched Joe Biden’s speech on the three-year anniversary of the January 6 insurrection, warning of the threat to democracy that Trump poses, it raised a number of questions for me. The media covered it, largely, as part of a horse race, and not with its true existential weight. As it stands, Republicans and Democrats see the events of January 6 very differently, and that doesn’t seem to be changing. So I think it’s important for us to name the threat that fascism poses, even if we convince no one.

I admire President Biden for making such a forceful, emotional, and powerful presentation. My favorable view of him grew, as a result. It even gave me hope that some political conversations can be useful. Between the 43 percent of people that view Trump favorable and the 52 percent that don’t, there is about five percent that are evidently undecided. In all likelihood, it is those five percent who will determine the results of the election this November. It is with those undecided voters that I want to invest most of my energy.

While I don’t meet many ambivalent voters in my walk of life, I do meet many progressives who disapprove of Joe Biden’s record and could choose not to vote at all in this fall’s election. It is with those people that I want to have a conversation about Trump’s threat to democracy and how something as simple as voting in November (especially in swing states like Pennsylvania) could make the difference between the country we have known, flawed as it is, and a dictatorship.

But as far as engaging with partisan Trump supporters, I’ve decided to not to. Trump is so self-evidently awful that if you are convinced to support him, there’s nothing even the most patient and empathetic conversation can do. That doesn’t mean that Trump supporters can’t change their minds—I believe they can—but that work involves culturally and structurally changes that individual conversations can’t engender. As tantalizing as it is to passionately argue my own perspective on politics, I have come to believe that my energy is better spent elsewhere because the differences between Trump supporters and opponents are, perhaps by design, too insurmountable.

My discipline to not engage doesn’t end with Trump, it also touches a myriad of other issues as well, including ones about the climate change, human sexuality, and race. There is a certain frame where such conversations can be productive, but I think I should save my breath and resist the temptation to address my direct opponents and rivals. Coming to that place is hard because my politics is personal. I wish my personal experience had more of an impact on my closest people, but coming to terms with the fact that it doesn’t isn’t a reflection on me, but the reality of things in American political discourse. There are places where my energy could be used effectively, but the recalcitrance of Trump supporters reflects the incorrigibility of their leader, and that’s enough for me to keep my mouth shut when it comes to addressing them.