People have told me a few times that they can’t imagine me being angry or crying. It’s true that I’m quite emotionally stable; you’ll not catch me getting agitated or upset just because someone said something mean about me or I had a bad day.

But trust me, I get wound up when someone attacks or misunderstands my values and beliefs. It feels so personal, so vulnerable.

When I was fourteen, I had to give a short speech on a topic of my choice as part of an English class. I chose prison reform. I got a great grade, but my friend mocked me, saying the idea that all prisoners should be let loose was ridiculous. I remember feeling so angry I was speechless — had she even listened to my speech? How could she interpret what I’d said so unfairly?

It didn’t even cross my mind to ask her why she believed that.

This is the problem we have with political discussions. Our beliefs form a key part of our identity and we feel entitled to be listened to by others. When people don’t listen, we feel angry and upset.

Like I did. Like I still do. I’ve tried to convince myself that politics isn’t worth getting involved in; that it’s a low-consciousness pursuit, and I’d be better off investing my energy elsewhere.

The truth is that I hate the conflict, and it’s emotionally easier to stay neutral. But it’s dangerous to stop talking and listening.

The day I befriended my antithesis

I reached my peak level of moral righteousness aged eighteen. When I started college, I held the typical beliefs of a middle-class teenager in 2015. I was far-left, an atheist, and passionate about social justice (I identified as a libertarian socialist).

I couldn’t wrap my head around why anyone might hold beliefs on the other side of the political spectrum, and when they did, it maddened me.

Then I ended up striking an unexpected friendship with my new flatmate: an orthodox Catholic girl. She was conservative in every sense of the word: anti-abortion; against sex before marriage, and very right-wing.

I listened to her. And I realized that, although we disagreed on the fundamentals, we had more in common than I’d expected.

That year I also met a Republican for the first time. I’m from the UK, and our politics are a lot further left than US politics; I’ve yet to meet a British person who admits to believing in the privatization of healthcare, and guns aren’t much of a thing here.

But for the first time in my life, here was someone who was pro-gun. And he just sat there calmly and pleasantly explained his beliefs whilst a group of teenagers ganged up on him.

These experiences helped me develop an interest in right-wing ideologies. I stopped preaching and started listening.

Withdrawing from politics

You’d think opening my mind and listening more would make it easier for me to have political discussions without getting angry and upset.

The opposite was true. I was no longer just angry in a morally righteous, self-entitled way because I wanted others to listen to my tirades. Now I was also angry because I could see the delusions of my peers clearer than ever.

Shortly after I met my Catholic friend and the Republican, two important events happened: the election of Trump and the Brexit referendum outcome.

My anti-Brexit peers started to say that people who were uneducated or older (who disproportionately Brexiteers) shouldn’t be able to vote. Middle-class hatred and snobbery towards the ‘ignorant’ working class increased, and so did hatred towards the ‘self-serving’ upper class.

And me? I wasn’t sure what I believed anymore, but everyone else had made their mind up long ago and stopped listening.

So I withdrew from politics altogether for a couple of years. I thought I could just remain neutral and focus on my personal development instead — it’s nice to imagine that we can solve all the world’s problems from within and the world will develop exactly at the pace it needs to develop.

But it’s time for me to get real.

If I’m angry, it’s because I care. I can’t keep ignoring a problem I care about just because that makes my life easier and more comfortable. What would that make me?

It’s time to start discussing

I’m not claiming that all beliefs are equal. I don’t think somebody who grew up believing something their parents told them has as much right to their opinion as somebody who has dedicated their lifetime to a policy issue. That would be ridiculous.

But the informed people are generally the best at listening and understanding nuance; it’s the ill-informed groups who scream and hurl insults.

It’s okay to disagree with a belief if you hear somebody out, but most people don’t even get to that point. After hearing a statement like “I don’t believe in abortion” they instantly decide the speaker is wrong and line up their strawman argument. Like I did when I met my Catholic friend for the first time.

But if there’s one thing worse than a person who refuses to listen, it’s a person who refuses to engage; and I’ve been that person for the last couple of years. I think it’s time I got used to some uncomfortable conversations.