Remainer vs Brexiter
Lindsay Gordon, 32
Community nurse, Gravesend
My partner Pete said to me other day: “Babe, you’re remoaning again.” I replied: “For God’s sake babe! Are you finished ruining the economy yet?” Pete and I met online several months after the Brexit vote. It was January 2017 and we didn’t talk much about politics at first. When I came round for dinner for the first time I asked how he voted in the referendum. He said leave, I said remain. It felt a little awkward. But I know plenty of leavers who are decent people. I don’t automatically assume they’re racists or anything. In fact, I was worried he’d stereotype me: lefty, liberal, snowflake. I’m even a vegan. I’ve debated with people online and have been called all sorts of things. But he didn’t label me. We’re all sorts of opposite: He’s a neat-freak and organised, I’m messy, laid back and silly. He keeps me grounded and I get him out of his shell.
And yes, I’d revoke Article 50 without another referendum while Pete quite fancies a no-deal Brexit, but that’s not what we talk about when we’re at the gym or making dinner. In the last week the mess has just got worse – we both agree on that.
Despite the stories which say the country is divided, our relationship has just got stronger. I’d always wanted to watch Parliament in action, so Pete got us tickets to watch questions being asked in the House of Commons. We’re going on a European cruise later this year. I’ve got an Irish passport now so I keep telling him he’ll be stuck at the border while I – with my EU passport – breeze through customs. It makes him laugh!
Pete Ketcher, 36
Civil servant, Gravesend
When we met online, I did the usual bit of research, which is basically a few minutes of Facebook stalking. I noticed Lindsay was very pro-remain, a real Labour supporter. I thought there might be some conflict – perhaps my eyes rolled slightly. I wouldn’t say I’m heavily into politics, but I’m certainly a centre-right Tory voter who believes in Brexit.
My view on Brexit remains unchanged since the referendum. The way the EU has treated us has been pretty bad. To my mind a clean break would be the golden nugget. I’m sure Lindsay would have something to say about that.
When we met, I’d recently been through some health issues. I’d had surgery on my brain and operations on my eyes, so politics wasn’t really on the top of my agenda. But it didn’t take long for us to realise our views are quite different. From day one it has always been her who brings up politics. I just let her say her piece.
I tend to keep shtum when I go round for lunch to her family. I imagine a big thought bubble protruding from my head that reads: “REALLY?” and I just smile and nod. It’s not worth the hassle. If there’s ever a fight, it’ll be over something far more important: I’m a Tottenham fan, Lindsay is diehard Crystal Palace. We even went to see our two clubs play at Wembley. Spurs won that game and she went uncharacteristically quiet.
Ours is a relationship between two people; politics is irrelevant. You’re there for the person and everything about them. Politics is one small cog in a massive wheel of interests. I think I’m better off under a Tory government out of Europe, Lindsay thinks the opposite. But that pales into insignificance, as we’ve fallen for each other. We’re a living embodiment that Brexit needn’t be all-consuming or spell the end of everything.
Spain vs Catalonia
Roberta Gerhard, 27
Junior Editor, Penguin Random House, Barcelona
We’ve been arguing about politics for the past two years. My partner Marc voted for Catalonia’s independence in the 2016 referendum and I voted against it. But it’s about more than the referendum. Marc thinks the only way to change things is to break the system. I’m about going into the system and changing it from the inside. He’s more revolutionary. He has so much enthusiasm, not just for politics but everything. I’m far more rational. He thinks I’m more inclined to the right than the left.
We met at a work Christmas party two years ago. We were in a warehouse and we kissed behind these portable toilets, like teenagers hiding from their parents. We quickly fell in love and everything’s been so natural. We have a similar sense of humour and laugh all the time. Our backgrounds are different. He’s 100% Barcelonian and has a strong Catalan identity. His parents were involved in the movement against Franco. He went to a state school and university. I grew up in Mexico and went to a private French school.
To me, the independence movement is too driven by feelings. Our priority should be a stronger European Union and not nationalism. In the days leading up to the referendum, Marc and I disagreed a lot. When we’re in the middle of a discussion we can get angry and go into the personal and unconsciously want to hurt each other. He calls me a fascist, I call him names back. I’m generally calm and easygoing, but I don’t react well to that.
One day, after a huge disagreement, we decided we couldn’t continue to argue like that. We were meant to go for dinner together, but I went out with my friends and he went out with his. Now when we get to a certain point, there’s a look we give each other and we know it’s time to stop. Most importantly, though, we respect what each other thinks.
Marc Viñas, 41
Sales executive, Penguin Random House, Barcelona
When I first met Roberta, I fell in love with her intelligence and sense of humour. She’s liberal but with very cold rational views about how society works. In the early days of our relationship I tried to sound more neutral in my political opinions, but it wasn’t long before we discussed our views openly.
The only time we really argue is about politics. Our first disagreement was over the role of the Social Democratic Party. I voted for them once years ago and was strongly disappointed. I think they’ve forgotten their working-class roots and are now maybe even on the right. Roberta continues to vote for them and sees them as a party of the left.
The biggest difference between mine and Roberta’s beliefs is the animosity she feels towards the independence movement. Of course, independence is a political view you can agree with or not, but when she starts discussing the issue with such hatred, I don’t understand her reasons for that. When she becomes so negative, it pushes me even more into independence than I already am.
What’s happening in our home with our relationship is representative of what’s going on in Catalonia. People have strong opinions, but it’s not a warring situation. I value Roberta’s intelligence above agreeing on everything. Coping with disagreement is part of having a strong relationship.
Democrat vs Republican
Ann Ladenberger, 58
Fundraiser, Georgia
My husband Ron and I met in Largo, Florida in 1996. I was 34 and fundraising for a cultural centre; he was 46 and the manager of the city’s central park. He was nice and sincere, and charmingly naive. He was a Democrat, too, and that implied to me a whole value system in line with my own. We got married in 2001.
Politics wasn’t an issue until a couple of years into our marriage. It’s hard for me to pinpoint when things changed because we were both going through difficult times, but I started to notice he was watching a lot of Fox News. Out of nowhere, he became interested in the Second Amendment. Then I noticed he was donating to organisations that were trying to tear down Hillary Clinton. We’d get this direct mail to our house that said all kinds of crazy things about her.
When Obama was elected we didn’t fight, but he had clearly become a Republican and we couldn’t talk about politics any more. Things were tense, but they didn’t consume our relationship. That changed when Trump won. I cried for two days and took it very personally. I honestly felt betrayed by Ron’s vote. We avoid talking about politics now. Unfortunately, that means sometimes we avoid talking and that’s not good for a marriage. It’s hard to remain quiet when Trump is creating crises all the time.
The other day, while I was talking about Trump’s plans to expand our missile defences, Ron accused me of hiding his clean socks. I was like: “Yes, there’s a big conspiracy to hide your socks, dude.” We both laughed.
I do love my husband. He’s a good man and it breaks my heart that he persists in supporting Trump. Some people might say: “Well, you don’t have kids, just leave.” But I took a vow to love and support Ron, he’s my family.
Ron Kasting, 70
Horticulturist and Vietnam vet, Georgia
Donald Trump getting elected made mine and Ann’s relationship much more challenging. She’ll say to me: “You love Trump,” but I don’t love anybody in politics. I voted for him, but there are schmucks on both sides. She thinks he’s working for the Russians and all these things that the Democrats are generating. It is so outrageous. He’s just an old man trying to help the country change.
I met Ann when I was reeling from a divorce and had lost my beloved nursery business. She was kind and fun to be around. She was a hardcore Democrat, doing all the knocking on doors. But I didn’t care about her politics. I don’t judge people by that. I just liked her for who she was.
I was born and raised a Republican. My parents had a farm in Indiana, but they shovelled all the money out of the door on gambling and booze. At some point in my adult life, I said I wanted to do the opposite to everything my father had done and, in the late-80s, I decided to try the Democratic Party. I liked them because they focused on people and helping them. So when I met Ann, we were both Democrats.
But around 2003 I started seeing the party drift to the left. They were talking about expanding the federal government and social programmes. Yes, there’s a need for safeguards in a civil nation, but I know personally that welfare is not good. I tried to show Ann what I was seeing, but she didn’t want to hear. She’d get irritated and I understand that. She has a right to feel however she wants.
When Obama came in I didn’t have a screaming fit, but Ann has been in emotional turmoil since Trump was elected. I don’t bring politics up now. Ever. But she feels the need to. I mean, I’m the only one she’s got, really. But I worry about her. All this anger is hard on the body and mind. She won’t allow me to watch Fox News any more – we got rid of our cable. I get my news on my computer from the Fox website and I like the Microsoft newsfeed, too. I spend a lot of time in my little greenhouse.
Things have become better over the past six months, but I’ve told her I don’t want to be with someone who, when I land on my deathbed, can’t stand me.
I’d really like it if we could forget the damn politics. I know you can’t change people and I’m not trying to. I know Annie is what she is and I love her.
Protestant vs Catholic
Shirley McBrien, 57
Retired psychiatric nurse, Glengormley
I don’t think I even knew a Catholic, growing up in our little village, Bushmills, on the Northern Irish coast. My father was a loyal Orangeman, and it was bred into you that Catholics weren’t to be trusted; that they were IRA nationalists and violent. As a Protestant you consider yourself against the Troubles, and although I saw little of the bloodshed of Belfast in my youth, the prospect of it was ever-present.
In early 1980 I left home to begin my nurse training, and six months later Michael arrived. He asked me on a date. He took me out to the pictures with a box of chocolates and then a drink down the pub. Nothing happened, but we stayed friends. We both went on to have other partners before we finally got together in our 40s. I had separated from mine; Michael lost his to cancer. We were both lonely and started going out for meals, getting on like a house on fire. We didn’t know whether to cross the line from friendship to relationship. Then he proposed to me… We’ve been married for 15 years now.
The wedding itself presented a problem. I wanted to get married in the Protestant church I grew up in, but Michael’s Catholicism meant a lot to him, too. We decided to ask my minister if a Catholic priest could join in marrying us. Fortunately, he said it was no problem. For a priest to be in our church was unheard of. My mum whispered to me I’d be talked about for marrying a Catholic, but I didn’t care. Our Catholic and Protestant families celebrated together. There was a lot of applause in our church that day.
Michael McBrien, 55
Retired psychiatric nurse, Glengormley
Despite being a family of Catholic nationalists, I was born in a very loyalist part of east Belfast. Then we moved to Falls Road in the west, a very Republican area. There were tanks on the road. Gun battles would break out while we played football on the street.
My father fell foul of some local Republican types – they did our windows in and threw green paint over the car more than once. That was because he served anyone in the shop we ran, no matter their religious beliefs, creed or political position. I was a little younger, but friends of my older brothers were approached by what were called “active” Republicans engaged in the violence. But we were brought up to be peacekeeping, to be tolerant. That has helped no end with myself and Shirley.
That said, the first night I took her out she ended up disappearing with a friend of mine. He lived on the same floor as me in the grounds of the hospital we all worked in. I could smell her perfume as I walked past his door. She did apologise the next day, to her credit, and it marked the start of a friendship that would one day see us fall in love.
I know my mother and others in the family might have preferred me to marry a Catholic, but she was fair-minded enough to know it was my decision. I grew up knowing that women come first, so Shirley is the boss. I think that’s how we avoid any trouble. Nobody said anything or objected to our faces, although I’m sure there were some with reservations, but we were lucky.
There are signs things are starting to harden up here again. There was a report the other week that a couple living in a protestant area were told to get out of their house because their names sounded Catholic. If tensions increase, hopefully other people can take lessons from our relationship. In all our years of marriage my views have never wavered. I believe very much in a united Ireland, but mine are peaceful politics. I think a lot about what my father used to tell me: there’s no flag or cause worth an ounce of blood, and neither the flags nor the cause puts bread or potatoes on your table.
