It all starts with a text: “Can’t wait to see everyone for Thanksgiving! Let’s be civil this year!” You remember last year, when someone “accidentally” sent your MAGA cap down the disposal. You know the text was not intended for your cousin who livestreams her dietary needs (“I guess no one remembers—again—I’m vegan.”) The text was aimed squarely at you, the family’s only conservative.
Every November families across America who haven’t spoken to each other since last Thanksgiving gather everyone under one roof. You may think this is about cranberries and gravy, but really it’s about not talking politics while everyone wants to, as if a political ceasefire and a political battlefield decided to have a baby. The other 364 days a year the country is divided. Today, it is grandma’s table that is divided, the one with ailing Grandpa Joe who only gets about half the jokes on The Daily Show anymore and Aunt Lisa, who brought the Jello salad in an NPR tote bag.
It is going to be a long day, because Thanksgiving isn’t just a meal; it is a ritual of arriving after noon, watching the Detroit Lions lose on TV, and snacking before a 17-course feast consisting of at least two dishes no one touches (green beans and that Jello salad). This is not going to be like the time you first heard Dark Side of the Moon. Think of it like gas station sushi, something to be endured, not enjoyed.
But this year is different in one important way. This year we won. No more Biden in the White House, no more Hillary, no more serial impeachments and Russiagate to get your cousin with the nose ring to predict Trump will be out of office in a few weeks. Nope, this is our turn, our guy in the Oval Office. The key here for you is the pivot, the deflection, being the bigger man.
You already won the next three years’ worth of Thanksgivings, so why bother with explaining China policy to some bored undergrad relative who also doesn’t want to be there? It’s not like you’re going to end up in anyone’s will after all this anyway. At least you won’t be alone: Surveys show two out of five Americans bite their tongues on Thanksgiving, though it’s unclear if they mean holding back or if they actually look forward to the pain. More than half of Americans say talking about politics with people they disagree with is stressful and frustrating. So to help, here are some tips.
The trick to disarming liberal relatives isn’t to argue more effectively about ICE; it’s to arrive bearing gut-busting amounts of carbohydrates. Nothing disarms a political privateer faster than a pie, even if you had to buy it at Whole Foods and everyone can see you replated it. You could quote Ron Paul all day and your aunt will still frown, but show up with a good dessert and suddenly you’re “such a sweet boy.” Save the snark like “voting for Trump doesn’t mean I eat puppies, dammit” for much, much later. New Year’s, maybe.
When the conversation turns to politics, because, see, your other cousin read this article in the Atlantic, it is time for the strategic nod. Don’t worry when she is staring directly at you and muttering “and that is how democracy dies until we get a woman president”; just nod, like “I heard you and I am chewing. A lot of chewing.” This is your Marvel move: engaged, even thoughtful, and open-minded. You chew. You think of Rush lyrics from 2112. You imagine what you’d reply on X. Think judo, not boxing. Keep in mind this hack works better with some gnarly leg meat in your mouth than with a forkful of mashed potatoes, so eat strategically. Remember, your cousin probably thinks she is saving democracy between bites.
Don’t show the table anything from your phone. No one has ever changed their political mind because of a social media post, and they certainly won’t do it over stuffing. Also, don’t forward anything that proves a point. Of course you are right. Just smile.
Bring along the nonpartisan version of Uno. The red and blue cards become orange and purple, and there’s a veto card that skips the turn of a politically chatty player and makes him change the subject.
Remember the dog doesn’t care about politics. The dog loves you unconditionally because it cares not for tax policy or SNAP benefits as long as it gets a bowl of horrid dry crumbly Costco dog food once in a while. Even if he’s not your childhood pet, sneak him bits of turkey breast under the table and it’ll be cool later when you need him, as dogs agree with everyone who drops food. When things get too intense, simply spring up and announce, “Looks like the dog needs a walk,” and retreat. You’ll return far less concerned about the discussion, which has shifted to Kamala–Buttgieg chances in 2028. No dog? Step outside for that important work Zoom you just remembered. “No, grandpa, I can’t believe what’s happening in this country, a work call on Thanksgiving, what has this world come to?”
Try “coping ahead.” Before arriving for Thanksgiving, visualize a bingo-style card of things you might hear that would otherwise provoke you, stuff like “Democracy is literally on the line,” or “Fox isn’t a real news station,” or “how could anyone have voted for someone convicted of 34 felonies,” or anything to do with Orange Man (center square). Just be glad words like “mansplaining” and “whataboutism” seem to have run their course. Each time something said does hit on your card, enjoy a small sip of eggnog, or something from that bottle of gross sherry that’s been on the table since the Carter administration.
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Timing is everything. As the table dissolves over coffee into competing monologues stolen from Colbert, slip away and collect your jacket. If someone tries to rope you into “one more thing about January 6,” feign a sudden fascination with helping wash the dishes. Usually the serious political relatives are still at the table while the others move into the kitchen, relieved another Thanksgiving has ended without a call to 911. Your exit line should be light as the door bumps you on the way out, something like “next year, let’s all agree to just fight over football.”
Scientists say sharing a meal releases oxytocin, the bonding hormone that promotes forgiveness. You will put that to the test this Thanksgiving; that’s better than pretending you have the flu and skipping out. Because remember, our democracy, like Thanksgiving, survives not because we agree, but because we keep showing up to talk to each other.
Go Lions!
