A friend of mine who is, like me, considering entering the Catholic Church recently expressed one of the reasons he demurs. He has talked with some local Catholic folks, both laymen and priests I believe, in his area and found what he describes as a lack of concern for (again, what he describes as) a troubling prevalence of non-Christian ideologies (Christian nationalism, antisemitism, anti-liberalism, etc.). My Catholic experience — my experience with Catholics — is nowhere near wide enough to confirm or deny this. But after my chat with a conservative Catholic acquaintance on Friday, I did get a taste of it.
I had heard a week or two ago that this person got into a heated debate with another acquaintance, one who several of her closer friends describe as “very liberal.” Now, I call myself liberal all the time, by I almost always mean something very close to classical liberalism. The ground people tend to occupy when they call themselves liberal (and yes, people use that term to describe themselves in real life all the time), that is not ground I consider stable, comfortable — or, frankly, even friendly much of the time. Sure, I’m classically liberal(ish), but as I like to say to some lifelong Republican folks back home, to both happily and bitterly annoy the shit out them, I am also one of the last conservatives in almost any room I find myself in.
So when I ended up in the quicksand of political discussion and current affairs with this conservative Catholic of about my age, I expected I might find some overlap.
She was having none of it. And the conversation that unfolded, to the very awkward silence of four other people in the room whose politics I know nothing about, was one of the sadder experiences in recent memory.
It started with a common enough line I’ve heard my whole life: “I don’t know how anyone could ever vote for a Democrat. Ever.” To which I said, “I certainly share the sentiment, but it’s definitely not that simple when your other option is a lying con artist who, to pick just one issue, is currently mass murdering civilians in the Caribbean.” Things quickly and systemically unraveled from there.
“I don’t think Trump lies at all.”
“I think if they work for a drug cartel, then they deserve it. They should be killed.”
“I don’t care if they haven’t proven anything, I trust them that they’re killing criminals.”
“If you do anything for a drug cartel, if you’re transporting drugs at all, then I think you’re a murderer and rapists and you deserve to die.”
These are only highlights, and they are not even slight exaggerations. And no matter how many times I tried to find common ground, she balked. No friends left or center I suppose.
And I would not even bother writing this down now at all if I did not have a much better, saner, sadder, lamenting and truthful voice to insert than my own:
The year begins with war.
Our bombs fall day and night,
Hour after hour, by death
Abroad appeasing wrath,
Folly, and greed at home.
Upon our giddy tower
We’d oversway the world.
Our hate comes down to kill
Those whom we do not see,
For we have given up
Our sight to those in power
And to machines, and now
Are blind to all the world.
This is a nation where
No lovely thing can last.
We trample, gouge, and blast;
The People leave the land;
The land flows to the sea.
Fine men and Women die,
The fine old houses fall,
The fine old trees come down:
Highway and shopping mall
Still guarantee the right
And liberty to be
A peaceful murderer,
A murderous worshipper,
A slender glutton, Forgiving
No enemy, forgiven
By none, we live the death
Of liberty, become
What we have feared to be.
—Wendell Berry, 1991