What Your Friends Think

There it is, under his name—a rant about refugees in the specific language of contempt they’ve apparently been marinating in. Posted like a status update about the weather, or what he had for lunch.

The strange part is how unsurprised you are. These thoughts have always existed somewhere. You probably caught hints years ago—a comment at dinner, a joke that went a little too hard. But there’s a difference between suspecting someone thinks something and having them spell it out in a public post. It’s harder to pretend you didn’t see it.

Some people try to engage. They paste statistics, they ask questions, they appeal to basic decency. It rarely works. The person didn’t develop their hatred through a lack of information. They developed it because it felt good—simplifying a complicated world into the safe and the dangerous, turning themselves from complicit into virtuous, under siege. That’s not an argument you win with facts.

I used to think understanding changed things. Thought if people just knew what it was actually like for the people they hated, they’d feel differently. Some do, maybe. Most don’t. And then you’re left knowing what someone you used to know really thinks, and there’s no unfinding that.