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Every four years, I am struck by the same question: Is it really possible to have friends across the political aisle? Especially now, the answer seems to be a resounding no. Just last year, 79 percent of Americans expressed a negative sentiment towards politics, associating our system with words like “divisive” and “polarized.”

Even so, I choose to believe that cross-partisan friendships are still possible. Don’t get me wrong: I have no fantasies of elephants and donkeys joining hands and skipping off into the sunset. Rather, I envision a world in which people do not define each other by their political affiliations.

In fact, I think these kinds of relationships are even essential, particularly with this past year’s turmoil still lingering in the air.

Now, I am not suggesting that people actively seek out friends with different politics. This approach reduces friendships to a means to an end; this end being the merits of civil discourse and disagreement, needles to burst our nation’s ever-growing epistemic bubbles and echo chambers.

Instead of embarking on this epic side quest, we should commit to basic principles of compassion and tolerance whenever wading into political waters. This tolerance must be one in which we surrender to differences.

Whether it be in the lecture hall or at the dinner table, we all owe each other baseline respect. This respect need not stem from a sense of reverence, but rather a mutual belief in one another’s dignity — an acknowledgement of someone else’s humanity that goes beyond mere recognition of their existence. It is a proactive embrace of one’s peer and the unique perspectives they have to offer, rather than an immediate distrust of their differences. This seemingly radical obligation to care often goes unspoken, but becomes doubly important when engaging with members of our campus community.

Intuitively, these stakes become greater through the proximity to the person, like how love for family can be boundless. These stakes too appear on our campus. I certainly am not joined at the hip with all of my peers or even my class, but we are nonetheless connected by the same commitments to learning and leadership, pushing the envelope, and driving vital change.

Recognizing that we are united — even with our most dissimilar peer — by these common goals, we must not forget these stakes of care when making the step from classmates to friends.

I will not pretend that politics are completely separable from our personal lives. On this note, it would be irresponsible for me not to acknowledge that our political affiliations occasionally deny parts of others — parts integral to one’s dignity and being.

Members of the LGBTQ+ community may understandably not want to befriend someone who supports “don’t say gay” bills. In situations like these, our efforts of upholding another’s dignity must be especially reciprocal. Just as I take it upon myself to enter conversations with a level of conscientiousness of one’s dignity, I expect them to do the same. I will not promise that we will all carry out this proposition with perfect success. I can, however, encourage others not to shy away from friendships with those with whom we disagree, in order to leave the door open for crucial dialogue.

And it is with this tolerant, empathetic approach that we can conserve our stakes of care for one another. Across my section table, I do not first see the die-hard conservative, but a peer who too did not fully grasp the homework from the night before. On my walk to class, I see not the politically correct liberal, but a fellow Barker Cafe-goer.

It is through this conscientious tolerance of sorts that we may refrain from having our views dictate the inner workings of our relationships. Unless we allow them to, the tit-for-tats we see on our screens do not reflect our interpersonal relationships, even with our political opponents.

Stakes of care are not born from the ether. They are built — and have the greatest potential to be secured in times of contention. It is only through a collective commitment to preserving the dignity of others that we open the door for meaningful conversation.

Lauren A. Kirkpatrick, a Crimson Diversity and Inclusion Chair and Editorial editor, is a Philosophy concentrator in Mather House