A real conversation, shared as an emotional and rhetorical study. Compiled and articulated with the aid of AI tools — lived experience, real conversation, and human judgment remain at the core.
“I asked in good faith. I got fear, evasion, and then silence. And that silence? That was the answer.”
This is a real exchange between myself and a family member, a few weeks after the U.S. election in November 2024. I asked a question I had been afraid to ask — not to start a fight, but to stop walking on eggshells. What followed was a case study in deflection, historical fear, and silence as emotional refusal.
I’m sharing this not to shame anyone, but as a way to think through how conversations fall apart — and how we can protect ourselves when they do.
🗣️ The Conversation (Authentic and lightly formatted)
Me:
"Honestly I'm just worried about the election and I can't hold it in anymore.
I gotta ask — otherwise I feel like I’ll be walking on eggshells forever.
I'm not putting anyone on blast and I don’t want to make assumptions.
I just want to know: Did you vote for him? If you did… why?
If you didn’t, then that’s cool. I just really need to know. 🙁
I hope you understand."
Her:
"Of course, I understand. I didn’t vote for her because she’s a socialist and she wanted to take away so many things in our country.
She was going to have more socialists in the cabinet — it was very frightening to me.
I know you weren’t even born yet — I wasn’t even born yet — but during WWII, so many people in the Communist party destroyed people who didn’t believe in them.
I don’t want that to happen again in the United States.
Well, when you have a minute, think of what you would want to do if you were in Congress and they were voting to destroy people in our country because of their heritage.
Social has opinion. [sic]
Take care of yourself. 💕"
Me:
"Again, I just want to have a conversation in good faith.
I understand your fear of socialism and communism.
What I don’t understand is why you voted for a man who has lied over 30,000 times.
He is the one who said the Constitution should be torn up because of non-existent fraud."
Her:
"There was no other option."
Me:
"Are you serious? So a liar and RAPIST is better?"
Her:
"No, no no that’s not what I meant. When Trump was president the first time he did a lot of good things for people. He had a big mouth and he had stuff that was dumb, but he did get a lot of things done and helped a lot of folks.
Also the fact that Biden had opened up our gates and there’s like 10 million people from other countries all over the world that our government is giving free everything. We’ve got people — I’m sure you know some of them — who are struggling. Don’t have a place to live, don’t have a job, and that’s not fair to me.
We help people and we do what we can but there’s just a lot of political rubbish going on."
🔥 A Necessary Interlude: Disdain and Selfishness
There is a moment in every difficult conversation where the mask slips — where someone reveals not a carefully reasoned perspective, but the raw shape of their values.
This was that moment:
“That’s not fair to me.”
Said in the same breath as dismissing entire populations of displaced people. Said while brushing aside known corruption, sexual violence, and open constitutional sabotage. Said while ignoring people who already live here and are struggling too.
This is not concern. This is comfort masquerading as morality. This is selfishness wrapped in anecdote. It is a refusal to imagine justice beyond the borders of personal convenience.
And yes — it filled me with disdain. Deep, hot, quiet rage. Not because I expect perfection, but because I expect basic compassion.
And I want to be honest — I got upset. I got personal. But it wasn’t petty or cruel. It was righteous fury at the sight of injustice, the kind that makes your hands shake and your voice rise, because something deep in you knows better must be possible.
It was especially galling that she invoked WWII as her moral justification — a war she admits she wasn’t even alive for. She used it not as history, but as myth — a handed-down fear, invoked selectively, as if inherited trauma grants permission to ignore present harm.
And the audacity to invoke Congress "destroying people based on their heritage" while people like Kilmar García are being disappeared into camps in El Salvador, right now — that's not just hypocrisy. That’s moral abandonment dressed in the language of victimhood. She warns of ghosts while ignoring the cages.
She feared the ghosts of WWII more than the living casualties of today.
Now we continue.
Me:
"Again...a liar and a rapist is okay as long as he does 'good things' for the economy?
Yeah it will be very not fair when he guts Social security and medicaid/care that you rely on. :("
Again considering this all took place in November 2024, before any policies being enacted is a Cassandrian Tragedy.
And the irony of it all? She’s diabetic.
She voted for the man who made her insulin more expensive on his first day in office — because he 'helped a lot of folks.' What does it say when someone is so committed to a figurehead that they will vote against their own life-sustaining medication? That’s not just tragic. That’s manufactured loyalty — sold in slogans, paid for in blood sugar spikes.
Proposed cuts to Social Security Administration services, affecting access for millions. (NPR)
Budget proposals targeting Medicare and Medicaid with massive spending reductions. (Wikipedia)
Insulin prices were protected under Biden’s cap—but Trump moved to undo that pricing relief, making life-saving medication harder to afford again. (AJMC)
This wasn’t speculation. It was pattern recognition. The cruelty wasn’t hidden — it was marketed.
It was at this point we took a breather for lunch and came back.

Me:
"Do you even believe that he was rightfully convicted of lying about paying off a porn star to not reveal that he cheated on his wife and found civilly liable for raping and defaming E. Jean Carroll? 34 Felonies total."
Her:
"I’m I don’t really know I don’t watch the TV that much and I don’t get in all that."
— that’s the sound of someone refusing the weight of reality because it’s inconvenient to carry.
It’s not a lack of access.
It’s a lack of will.
Me:
"Is that an excuse?
I mean, we knew about this for years"
Her:
"I know we disagree on this issue and that's ok. I’ve seen a lot of politicians come and go in my lifetime. My family is the most important thing to me. I love you so very much."
🧠 Emotional Analysis: What This Really Means
This closing message is cloaked in love — but it’s a strategic emotional pivot. Here’s what’s going on beneath the surface:
1. “I know we disagree on this issue and that’s ok.” ➡️ This reduces a deep moral concern to a casual disagreement, as if this were about personal preference and not real-world harm.
2. “I’ve seen a lot of politicians come and go.” ➡️ A classic deflection. It implies that all political actors are the same — interchangeable, forgettable. It denies the specific, documented harms at the center of the conversation.
3. “My family is the most important thing to me.” ➡️ Emotional redirection. This changes the subject from accountability to loyalty, attempting to silence critique with sentiment.
4. “I love you.” ➡️ Love is real — but in this context, it’s also being used as a shield against difficult truth. As if saying "I love you" erases the conversation that came before.
This isn’t resolution. It’s retreat disguised as peace.
Me:
"I am having this conversation because I love you. I am worried about you. This is beyond politics. This is morals. You voted for a rapist and tried to hide behind the excuse of 'well I didn’t know.'
But you 'knew enough' about Harris to call her a socialist — which, sorry, she isn’t."
🔍 Rhetorical Analysis: Why This Response Worked
I led with love, cutting off any accusation that I was just trying to fight.
I named the stakes — this wasn't political squabbling. This was about ethics, harm, and human consequences.
I called out hypocrisy without descending into mockery. I pointed out that she had enough information to repeat propaganda about Harris, but not enough to recognize criminal abuse and harm from the man she voted for.
This is how I held someone accountable without losing myself.
I deserved an answer.
I got silence.
There was no reply after that.
I blocked her.
Not as punishment — as protection.
🔎 Final Analysis: The Last Exchange
Her final pivot — claiming disinterest and wrapping it in affection — is the rhetorical equivalent of setting a fire and then walking away because "it’s too hot to handle." Her refusal to engage with basic, well-known facts, followed by a retreat into familial love, was not neutral — it was a last line of emotional defense.
What’s most painful is that this wasn’t just evasion — it was abandonment of responsibility under the banner of “peace.” She claimed to love me, but not enough to take accountability for empowering harm. That kind of love asks you to shrink yourself for the sake of keeping the peace. And that’s not peace. That’s erasure.
🧱 Final Reflection: On the Whole Conversation
As a disabled veteran reliant on VA healthcare and disability payments, I'm appalled that she voted for someone who openly disrespects veterans and whose policies endanger the very systems that sustain me. His proposed budget slashes the services I depend on for survival.
It’s deeply ironic, given her family’s extensive history of service: her husband was both a police officer and an Army code puncher, her father served in the Navy during World War II, her cousin was a tail gunner in the Pacific, her daughter joined the Army, and two sons-in-law served in the Army and Navy. Even my cousin, her grandson, was in the Army. Despite all of that history, my own service in the Air Force seemed to carry no weight in our conversation either.
She once displayed a star banner on her door frame, proudly showing how many family members were actively serving. At its peak, the banner held three stars—one for me, one for my cousin, and one for my uncle, who all served at the same time and, for a while, even in the same place.

In many military families, the blue star banner carries profound emotional weight. It stands as a symbol of pride in service and recognition of the sacrifices that come with it. By displaying that banner, she visibly honored the contributions of those who wore the uniform. Despite my service, it seemed irrelevant for her to wisely vote on policies affecting me. She also spit in the face of Gold Star families who still display the flag.
If the unthinkable occurs and a service member dies in action, the blue star is replaced by a gold one. This shift from blue to gold serves as a deeply poignant reminder of the ultimate sacrifice. A Gold Star banner marks a family that has lost a loved one in military service, symbolizing immeasurable loss and enduring honor.
We were lucky to escape that.
And yet, her vote supported a man who mocked POWs, labeled veterans as “suckers” and “losers,” and actively sought to undermine the programs that sustain people like me. This selective reverence—showing respect for past sacrifices while ignoring present needs—is not patriotism. It’s performance.
This wasn’t a debate. It wasn’t just a difference of opinion. This was a moral line drawn in the sand — and she stepped over it with a shrug.
I came in clear-headed, full of care. I brought facts. I brought patience. I brought love.
I asked for accountability. I asked her to look. To see. To reconsider.
And when she wouldn’t — when she refused to even acknowledge what I was saying — I realized I had to protect myself. Not because I didn’t care anymore, but because I was the only one in the conversation who still did.
She didn’t fail because she didn’t know better. She failed because she chose not to know at all.
And I walked away not out of anger, but out of clarity. Because sometimes, love means telling the truth. And sometimes, telling the truth means walking out of the room when no one else will listen.
I didn’t create this to perform pain. I created it to document the emotional toll of silence, deflection, and moral cowardice — even when it comes from someone you love.
If you’ve ever walked away from someone not because you didn’t love them, but because they refused to see you — this is for you.

📄 Credits & Intentions
This piece is a real conversation. The dialogue is real. The stakes are personal. The emotion is lived.
25% of this document is direct, authentic conversation between myself and a family member. Nothing altered except formatting for clarity.
40% includes my own commentary, lived experience, and moral reflection.
35% was generated with the assistance of AI: emotional analysis, structural refinement, and factual citations. The story, the fire, and the moral clarity are mine. The AI simply helped me refine my voice and present the truth more sharply.
“Boundaries are not walls. They’re closed doors with your name written on them — a sign that says: ‘I’m still here. Just not for everyone."
https://www.deviantart.com/willinvadesearth/journal/The-Silence-After-the-Question-1186934515