The Thing That Only Liberals Do

A short little story about assumptions

Jean-François Millet, A Shepherdess and Her Flock, 1864

My husband and I are moving to the United States.

I am American, Jordan is Canadian. We have spent the entirety of our relationship (almost 6 years now) living in Canada.

There is an energetic woman with grey hair at our door.

I will call her Marjorie.

Marjorie has come to buy our air fryer and some Christmas decorations, items we are selling as we get ready to move out.

I have met her before. Three years ago when we were moving into this home, we were selling the last owner’s items and she had bought things then, too—pillows and bedding.

We had text exchanges where she told me all about her sewing projects and sent me photos. It was lovely.

“Hi! You were here before,” I say, as Jordan and I hand her spools of Christmas lights. Her daughter, who looks about my age, comes up behind her and we hand over the air fryer.

“Yes,” she says, smiling. “When you were moving in.”

“And now we are moving out,” I say with a laugh.

“Are you staying on island?” she asks—a common question from people who live here, on this little island off the coast of British Columbia.

“No, we are moving to the States,” I say. “I’m American and grew up on the East coast, so we’re moving there.”

For most people this is enough. We have been selling lots of items; I have had this conversation dozens of times over the last few weeks—with strangers, friends, family.

People say, what state? And they smile and talk about when they have been to America, or lived there, or something like that.

But occasionally—around ten times by now, would be my estimate—the interaction goes differently.

And when it does, it always looks like some version of this one.

Marjorie hands me two twenty-dollar bills, a bright childlike green, the way Canadian money is.

She is a few inches taller than me, her eyes widen, sparkling.

“Oh! You couldn’t have waited another 4 years?”

She is laughing, like we are both in on this joke.

It is always said in this way. There is no option that I might have a different opinion. No chance that, even though the majority of Americans voted for Trump, that I could be one of those voters in real life, interacting with them.

I know it because back in 2016 when I was them, I laughed along with these comments, eager to prove that I was not like those people.

I was one of the good ones; we were in the sane, reasonable club together. The assumption felt obvious: we were way more correct than those people, and so, if we were friendly with each other, we must have the same obviously correct opinions as one another.

Another version of this sentence people say lately is, “It’s… quite the time to be moving to the States!”

Still said in this tone, with a laugh—you couldn’t possibly be choosing it, right? You couldn’t want to go there. You probably have to go, how unfortunate and sad for you.

This sweet young woman with blonde curly hair in front of me could not possibly be one of those racist sexist homophobic transphobic rape-apologist poor uneducated crazy dumb idiots who I think about all the time but never could be actually speaking to.

Marjorie is still standing in front of me and I am still holding her cash.

I respond to this comment how I always do.

“Oh!” I say, feigning confusion, surprise. “I am really excited, actually!”

Her expression is still cheerful, we are still buddies, I could not possibly have understood what she meant.

“For.. Trump?” she asks.

“Yeah, I am really excited for it!” I say, all happy, pretending to not understand why she could possibly think any differently.

“Oh,” she says. I watch her brain try to compute the moment, she backs away. “Ok then,” she nods. Her daughter does not say a word, they are walking down the steps with all my Christmas things.

“Enjoy!” I say before shutting the door.

After the election I received so many emails from people who are afraid to speak. People who are afraid to share what they truly think, because if their closest friends knew, they would no longer have friends.

So I consider it my responsibility, as someone who will speak, to break the worldview of every person who brings this up in conversation.

“A pattern interrupt,” as my husband refers to it. Pleasantly, kindly—why would you think that I think that?

Because it’s bizarre the way these statements are said. In no other part of life do people do this with such certainty.

This strong assumption that only liberals seem to have: Everyone around me must think like me, because my way is the only right way to think.

The idea that this change in political climate could be part of the reason for us to decide to move there is mind-bending, brain-exploding.

Not once has any person assumed the opposite and said it out loud.

If they do think it, I imagine they are the people who keep it to themselves, under the (correct) assumption that not everybody shares their beliefs.

And instead of saying “cool! Go Trump!” they are one of the people who simply say what a person should say in that interaction:

“How exciting, I hope it goes well for you.”