CHAPTERS on A Cab Ride, a Trump Supporter, and a Conversation I Wish I’d Had
A lesson in empathy, awkward chats, and bridging divides
The aftermath of the US election felt like the emotional equivalent of turbulence during a long-haul flight—jarring, disorientating, and impossible to escape. If, like me, you woke up to the news with a sense of despair, you might know what I mean. In my case, I was literally getting off a stormy 8 hour flight from Chicago to London after volunteering with the Democrats. On about 2 hours sleep I turned my phone off airplane mode and received a flurry of messages and notifications about the Trump victory. Listening to Michelle Obama begging men to take women’s lives seriously made me want to cry, the AI gangster D.O.G.E pic of Elon Musk made me want to vomit and worrying about the looming threats to the planet made me want to tear my hair out.
I jumped into a black cab on the way home from the airport and before the door had even closed, the driver, brimming with excitement, exclaimed, “We’ll get Farage back next!” I wasn’t ready to be confronted by a Trump supporter. This unsolicited comment hit like a second gut punch.
“I sincerely hope you’re wrong,” I said, shutting the conversation down as powerfully as I’d slammed the car door.
Unperturbed, he continued. “Whatever you think of Trump, you have to respect him.”
“No, I don’t. That man is a disaster for humanity,” I said, the exhaustion and raw emotion of the past few days spilling over.
He paused, then offered a diplomatic, “We’ll have to agree to disagree.” Shifting gears, he asked, “Is that a northern accent I hear?”
By the time we arrived at my house, the conversation had found common ground in safer, neutral topics—London’s foggy weather, the traffic, my new winter coat—but I couldn’t shake my initial frustration. I was surprised when he got out to help me with my bag, sure that he could sense my disdain, and when he genuinely wished me a good day, something stirred. It wasn’t anger anymore, I almost felt something closer to regret. But, why?
For the past 48 hours I have refrained from reading the news. I’ve muted instagram videos, skipped past headlines and turned off the radio. I’ve buried my head in the sand. Well, actually, in the countryside. James and I had booked an escape to the Cotswolds which coincided well with the need for a break from reality. Walking through muddy fields I convinced myself to disengage. ‘This is what they want.’ I thought to myself, precariously climbing over a stile, ‘a load of woke lefty liberals losing sleep at night. I’m not giving this circus the airtime anymore. It’s all too depressing and what good am I doing losing sleep over it?’ But this resolve felt hollow.
James often reminds me that I’m a ‘super feeler.’ It’s not a clinical conclusion. I don’t think the term is even used in a professional, psychological remit but, as armchair experts, it’s a label we’ve playfully adopted for my tendency to absorb the weight of the world. At a moment like this it feels like a curse. My despair has taken me back to those pandemic days, when we all used to tune in for Boris’ daily updates on UK deaths. The term ‘next slide please’ gives me PTSD. Eventually, I just couldn’t watch it any more. I had to retreat into the immediate surroundings of my small part of the world and focus on just getting through the day one cup of tea at a time.
Yet, retreat doesn’t sit well with me either. With historical parallels to the 1930s being tossed around, I’ve felt taunted by the question: What would I have done back then? Would I have stood up, resisted, fought for what’s right? I like to think I would have. Don’t we all? But right now, I’m not that guy. I just want to ignore it all. To put on my pyjamas, overfill cute bowls with snacks, light a scented candle and do nothing. Does that make me selfish, weak, ignorant? Maybe. Don’t answer that.
Reflecting on the conversation with the cab driver, I’ve come to see my reaction in a different light and why I’ve felt it weighing on my conscience. If I could go back, I would have done it differently. No, I don’t mean ordering an Uber Comfort and selecting ‘No Conversation’, although that is what I was thinking at the time. I mean, I wish I’d leaned in to the discomfort and asked him questions, not out of ridicule but out of genuine curiosity.
It’s not a natural instinct to try to connect with someone who’s political view makes your blood boil. Nowadays it’s not even very often we are confronted by someone from ‘the opposition.’ Our world has become increasingly polarised along divided lines, between generations, city people versus rural communities and our social media algorithms only serve to confine us to our chosen echo chambers. We’re trained to block, avoid or to argue with those who disagree. But that’s the problem. We are growing further apart, more entrenched in our biased beliefs and therefore we are less able to effect any change.
What I’ve since realised is this. Most people—regardless of political allegiance—want the same things. To feel heard. To feel understood. To feel valued. That cab driver, chose to get out of his warm car and help with my heavy bag. It was a small gesture, but it mattered. No matter how frustrating his opinion was to me, we were stuck in the car together and we had found a way to connect. It reminded me that meaningful change doesn’t come from shouting at strangers nor from retreating into silence. It comes from listening and having difficult conversations with empathy and an open mind.
I am under no illusion that talking to this man would have changed his mind but, I wish I’d been willing to try. I felt regret for not choosing connection over conflict, conversation over confrontation. Hearing people out shouldn’t feel like condoning harmful ideas or abandoning our principles. It’s about recognising the human in others and finding small ways to bridge the divides that are tearing us apart. This, really, is the only chance we stand of shifting the needle. Otherwise, we are left shouting into the void, becoming more divided and being blindsided by inevitable election results.
Ultimately we all just want to live a happy, fulfilled life with a warm drink in our hands and a cosy pair of socks on our feet, whichever side of the fence we sit. But blissful ignorance is a fleeting comfort. It doesn’t shield us from the consequences of a divided world, or offer any hope of building a better future. It is only through talking to each other, offering small acts of kindness and being willing to listen to uncomfortable views that we can try to change things, one unlikely connection at a time. Even if that is in the back of a London cab, on a foggy November morning and even if we still, simply, agree to disagree.