Commentary
The other day I was arguing with my husband. It was not a serious argument, just one of those ordinary disagreements that married couples fall into after years of children, businesses, responsibilities, and exhaustion. As we went back and forth, another couple who lives on our ranch listened for a moment and then offered an observation.
“You two need a common enemy.”
Everyone laughed, but the comment landed differently than it might have a few years ago.
The idea itself is not new. Nations unite during war. Families pull together during crisis. Communities rally after disasters. When something outside of us demands our attention, we stop focusing on every little thing that separates us.
Lately, I have been wondering if the opposite is also true. What happens when we are constantly encouraged to focus on our differences?
Yesterday I called one of my oldest friends to wish her a happy birthday. We have been friends for more than twenty-five years. She was a bridesmaid at my first wedding. I babysat her children when they were young, and when she suffered a stroke, I sat by her hospital bed. We have shared enough life together that I know her heart, and I believe she knows mine.
Yet sometime after I moved from California to Texas, a distance crept into our friendship.
Not a dramatic falling out. Not a screaming argument. Just a coldness.
I do not blame her. I know many people feel the political stakes are incredibly high. Still, I find it fascinating that decades of lived experience can suddenly compete with assumptions about a person’s politics.
Somewhere along the way, many of us began believing that a vote reveals more about a person than years of friendship.
We do this constantly. We decide who someone is based on who they voted for, where they live, whether they identify as Christian, what they think about a conflict overseas, or even what area code shows up on their phone. My California 818 phone number still gives some Texans pause. Living in Texas gives some of my California friends pause.
A handful of facts become a complete story.
The strange thing is that while some of my ideas have changed over the last decade, I am not actually a different person.
If I sat beside your hospital bed when I was a Democrat, I would still sit beside your hospital bed as a conservative. If I babysat your children then, I would babysit them now. If I lent you money then, I would lend it to you now. The fundamentals of who I am have very little to do with which box I checked on election day.
Yet people often assume otherwise.
I have had people ask whether I still care about humanity. Others have asked how I could become so hateful. The truth is, I do not believe I say hateful things at all. What I often say are things people disagree with.
Somewhere we have been conditioned to believe that disagreement and hatred are the same thing.
Perhaps the most shocking example came from my own family. A cousin once asked if my husband was abusing me and that was why my views had become more conservative. The question stunned me, not because it was offensive, but because it revealed something deeper. The assumption was that no thoughtful, independent woman could possibly arrive at a different conclusion unless she had been harmed.
That is how powerful tribal thinking becomes. It stops us from being curious. It stops us from asking questions. It stops us from believing that intelligent, caring people can look at the same facts and reach different conclusions.
And it is not just politics.
I see it in religion. I saw it during COVID. I see it in conversations about race, gender, education, food, health, and almost every issue that dominates public discourse. Everything seems to push us toward teams. Pick a side. Choose a tribe. Defend your team at all costs.
The pressure is so strong that even agreeing with someone on a single point can feel dangerous. If a person from the “other side” says something true, many people feel compelled to reject it simply because of who said it. We have become conditioned to see disagreement as betrayal.
Whether intentional or not, division has become one of the most powerful forces shaping modern life. Social media rewards outrage. News organizations profit from conflict. Political campaigns raise money through fear. The loudest voices are often the most extreme because moderation does not generate attention.
Meanwhile, ordinary people are left fighting with neighbors, coworkers, friends, spouses, and family members. We spend so much time choosing sides that we rarely stop to ask whether the fight itself is distracting us from something more important.
A distracted population is easier to manipulate than a vigilant one. A divided population is less capable of solving problems together. A population that sees enemies everywhere eventually forgets how to recognize allies.
That does not mean differences do not matter. They do. Ideas matter. Policies matter. Beliefs matter. Truth matters. But there is a difference between disagreeing with someone and dehumanizing them.
Some people have been convinced that anyone who voted for the red team must be racist, homophobic, or hateful. Others have been convinced that anyone who voted for the blue team wants to destroy the family, eliminate personal responsibility, and create chaos.
The reality is usually far less dramatic.
Most people are voting according to their worldview. They are looking at the same world through different lenses and reaching different conclusions. Most are not villains. Most are simply human beings trying to make sense of a complicated world.
In fact, I have come to believe it is important to have friends who disagree with you. Many of the conclusions I have reached in my own life have been strengthened because they faced resistance. If an idea cannot survive scrutiny, it is probably not a very good idea. If a belief collapses the moment someone challenges it, perhaps it was never as solid as we imagined.
Disagreement can sharpen us. It can reveal blind spots. It can force us to think more deeply. But only if we are willing to stay in relationship with the people who disagree.
The fracture lines do not stop at red and blue. We have watched divisions emerge inside the Republican Party. We watched them emerge inside the Democratic Party during COVID. Every tribe eventually fractures into smaller tribes because division is never satisfied.
Maybe that is why we need to remember something bigger.
There is one race: the human race.
There are billions of people made in the image of God, each carrying strengths, weaknesses, blind spots, and gifts. Maybe we need to get better at seeing God’s image in one another before we see party affiliation, religion, zip code, race, or ideology.
Unity does not require agreement. It requires remembering each other’s humanity.
And perhaps that ranch conversation pointed toward something important. Maybe we do need a common enemy. Not our neighbors. Not our friends. Not the people sitting across the Thanksgiving table.
Maybe the common enemy is the endless pressure to divide ourselves into smaller and smaller tribes. Maybe the enemy is the temptation to turn disagreement into hatred. Maybe the enemy is the distraction that keeps us fighting one another while forgetting what matters most.
The people we love are worth more than that.
