I am a former summoning worker and my family supports Trump. Here’s how I find hope | Christian Smith

sInce Six months ago, my father still called my mother almost every day at the funeral. We live in the world geographically and ideologically, but despite my in Europe and her in the United States, despite our religious and political differences, we still manage to continue speaking. After all, she is my mom.

Losing a job this year, dad and continuing to feel like my country is not easy. I’m for USAID And believe that the United States has the ability to help solve global problems while helping others in need, but the current administration has ended the work, calling it a waste. My father passed away after those two days and when our family gathered to mourn, we received news that my mother’s cancer had recovered and spread to her bones. Such news is devastating, but the doctor gives hope. Although there is no cure, there is a pill that can stop spreading, sometimes for many years.

Even sadness cannot bridge our differences, though. At our family gathering, my mother faced my questions about the USAID, claiming that the agency funded terrorists and made gender changes to children. This disinformation about our actual health and development plans has taken root and is spreading.

I know I am not alone, in a family divided by politics. In our case, my mother and most extended families accepted a form Christianity This is closely intertwined with conservative politics. Some people bring the Bible version of the Patriot with the American flag, while others send their children to school in T-shirts with rifle silhouettes.

Our information environment accelerates these divisions. Last month, my mother forwarded an article that people who criticize Israel would not be out of casualties, but were uncomfortable with accepting that God was always standing by Israel. I tried to show her the people whom she taught me the principles – love each other and care about suffering – but she saw suffering as “God keeps His promise.” I was angry that one sister had to break it down and the two sisters remained silent about it.

The conflict about principles is our greatest relationship. We’ve learned the boundaries, so when I talk to my mom it’s usually about her treatment, the weather, the day’s plan, family memory and family history. Like her medical care, our relationship needs to be aware of potential outbreaks.

Obviously, I’m still meeting our differences, but she’s my mom and I love her. I kept calling and she kept answering. Our relationship is improving. The calls were originally intended to keep her company, but they also worked for me because I had better knowledge of the love that constituted ours. The dialogue also feels symbolic of something bigger.

If I try to find common ground with my mom, how do I expect others to bridge a similar gap? The basic functions of our human body politics are threatened, and I suspect, like the mother’s condition, there is no cure except for daily nursing disciplines and listening to the heart.

It is gratifying to stay in our like-minded communities where our perspectives are not challenged, we cannot speak, or listen to others better. It’s easy to fire those who disagree, rather than seeking the seeds of peace, common ground. My mother raised me to be curious about the world, caring about people outside our family, seeking truth even when we are uncomfortable, and it is a lesson learned from the same faith tradition that seems to divide us now.

I don’t pretend our phone calls are always easy or successful, but I’m learning patience. I learned that maintaining this relationship requires me to show up consistently and avoid stepping on landmines, but to master key principles (such as love and peace) and listen even if I crave challenges. Through our consistency, we are finding moments of true connection.

Like any creature, democracy can get sick. Terrible symptoms are everywhere: people’s polarization and sources of information, and the heart’s impact on complexity. Of course, we need proper treatment to escape the current gilded age (making money from politics, taxing, supporting independent media, etc.), but getting there will require the same commitment to her with the mother’s doctor. Pay attention regularly. Long-term thinking. The stubborn belief is that what we try to keep is worth the effort.

My mom’s medications helped slow her cancer and gave us more time together. I don’t know how much time we have, because her illness or our country is with me: both require us to show up every day to resist the urge to give up and seek success through small consistency.

Our conversation continues, one call. In a self-disassembled world, perhaps persistence is its own form of hope.