Our family dog Simon, a normally calm and sweet Labrador Retriever, is the world’s worst fishing companion. I found this out one day when I thought it would be fun to take him with me as I fished for schoolies off the local bay beach jetty. In my mind’s eye, Simon would sit there serenely, looking up at me adoringly with his deep brown eyes, and perhaps let out an excited but mild yip in admiration when I hauled in a fish. A scene that Norman Rockwell might paint for the cover of Field & Stream. Instead, Simon barked, loudly and incessantly, from the moment we arrived on the jetty. As I tried to cast, he jumped up on me, lunging at the barbed lure on the end of my line. Watching the lure hit the water, he scrambled down the rocky embankment in an effort to retrieve it. Then he barked some more. After 30 minutes of this I gave up, ended my fishing, and brought our dog home. It’s not just my fishing that gets him riled up. The minute he sees someone on the beach with a pole he takes off like a shot and runs up to them, barking and lunging, as I sprint after him, grab him by the color and slip on his leash, calling out apologies over my shoulder as I haul him away. I am disappointed that Simon is not the fishing friend I dreamed of, but there’s plenty of ways that we still find companionship: we go on long walks in the woods and on the beach (with a wary eye open for anglers), we hang out on the deck and keep guard over the chickens, we snuggle together on the couch in front of the fireplace when it’s cold. There’s a whole lot we can do together, we just can’t go fishing.
Politics, specifically progressive activist politics, makes up a large part of my life. Not only as an activity, but in terms of identity: it’s who I am, through and through. There’s nothing I like more than hanging out with my friends, drinking a few beers, assessing the current state of the world, complaining about how crazy the Republicans have become and how lame the Democrats have always been, talking strategy and tactics, and imagining what we would do if we ran things. These friends are also my comrades. Although they are quite diverse in terms of where they live and what they do, their ethnicity and sexuality, they all share my political views and my activist practice. I also have friends and acquaintances who do not. A lot of them are friends from High School who I’ve remained close to. Some are neighbors, others are regulars from the dog-run or a fishing spot, one is a barber I’ve been going to see for the past 20 years. With these friends, I don’t talk politics, especially not now in these highly partisan times. I call them out if they say something racist or sexist, or repeat some stupid “fact” they’ve pulled off a conspiracy site, but most of the time I steer the conversation to things we do share: a backyard fence, memories, kids and dogs, the weather, and whether the fish are biting. Perhaps this avoidance is cowardice on my part, but it allows me to enjoy these folks as friends. It seems like a paradox, but having friends who I can not talk to about my progressive activism also makes me a better progressive activist. Activism is not about hanging out with people who already agree with you, it’s about understanding and reaching out to those who don’t.