Two warring factions

Two households, both alike in dignity,
In fair Verona, where we lay our scene,
From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,
Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.

What if you knew of two groups of people--you have friends in both, and you know that deep down, these are worthy people, with deep concerns for others' welfare. They are hard-working people, caring, and kind. Each one has real concerns that worry them, that have hit them hard. In fact, both of them have a great deal in common. The only difference is, they generally come from different backgrounds and different regions, have different experiences in life. That's all, really.

If only they could see it.

Instead, these groups of people are determined not to communicate. They are determined to despise and look down on the other, whatever they may say on the surface. Every word is taken the wrong way, every virtue seen as a vice, or at the very least, suspect. "You can't talk to THEM," is the refrain on both sides. And you know that for as long as this non-communication goes on, each side holds their very real hurts to them like nails in their own sides, refusing to see that there are nails in the flesh of the other side, too. Or if they do, those nails can't be as deep and wounding as the ones they have.

What do you do?

I don't know. I really don't. These days, I have a persistent pressure under my breastbone, the pressure to weep. I don't know how long it has gone on for now...years, I believe. Most of the time, I can manage to look away, to look at my family, the people I love, the simple joys I have in everyday life and work, and I can smile and be happy. But when I look to the outside world, at my liberal friends and my conservative friends, and past that to the national stage on which the clashes of right and left are played, that's when I feel the deepest despair. No amount of explanation on either side is heard. No forgiveness is available, no tolerance or understanding is attempted, or if attempted, is done with extreme prejudice and resistance and subsurface contempt to the point of being useless. There is only the enemy, and that is whoever does not think like us. Our hearts are stone.

Where be these enemies? Capulet! Montague!
See, what a scourge is laid upon your hate,
That heaven finds means to kill your joys with love!
And I, for winking at your discords too,
Have lost a brace of kinsmen: all are punish'd.