Why Political Friction Isn’t a Failure

I don’t talk about politics much—not because I lack opinions, but because the conversations often feel exhausting rather than useful. Too often, the goal isn’t understanding; it’s winning. I tend to watch rather than engage—not because I don’t care, but because some people hold such strong, unwavering positions that conversation feels less like dialogue and more like endurance.

That’s why I respect people who are willing to engage with those they disagree with. Not agreement—conversation. It’s also why I respect figures like Charlie Kirk—not because I share his views, but because he’s willing to talk with people who don’t.

Years ago, I read that Abraham Lincoln intentionally surrounded himself with people who disagreed with him. Not despite their differences, but because of them. That idea stuck with me.

When I step back from the noise, I don’t see villains and heroes. I see two very human instincts colliding.

Some people look at the world and say, I like how things are. They value tradition, identity, and the systems that shaped them. Change feels risky because it threatens something meaningful. This instinct shows up as patriotism, order, and a desire to protect what came before.

Others look around and say, things could be better. They’re less attached to the past and more focused on what might improve through change. They push for reform because they believe progress requires movement.

We tend to label these instincts “conservative” and “liberal,” but at their core, they’re really about protection versus change.

That tension is where politics lives.

One side says, I’m proud of where we are.The other says, we should aim higher.

Both are right.

History shows that change matters. Ending slavery, women gaining the right to vote, civil rights, clean water protections—none of these came from preserving the status quo. At the same time, change without grounding risks losing what holds a society together.

What often surprises me is how these instincts show up outside politics, too. I didn’t realize how strongly I cared about certain things until they changed. When The Little Mermaid was recast, I had a gut reaction: that’s not Ariel. Not out of malice, not out of fear—but out of protectiveness. I wasn’t asking for something new. I was defending something that felt meaningful. That instinct—the desire to preserve what matters—is deeply human.

And so is the instinct to push forward.

That’s why conversation matters. Sometimes you hear an idea and think, that’s not crazy. Other times, you react strongly and learn something about yourself you didn’t know was there. Both moments are useful. Ideas aren’t dangerous. Conversations aren’t dangerous. Avoiding them is.

Reducing people to “evil conservatives” or “evil liberals” misses the point. It shuts down the very friction that keeps a democracy healthy.

Lincoln understood this. Progress without restraint becomes reckless. Tradition without reflection becomes stagnant. A functioning society needs both forces in tension—not silenced, not caricatured, but engaged.

And that’s why I bring this up. We don’t need more “liberals are evil” or “conservatives are evil” conversations. In the end, most of us are trying to protect what we care about—just in different ways. If we spent more time recognizing that, we might find the conversations less exhausting—and a lot more useful.