My brother Keegan shrugged when I asked if he’s a Trump supporter.
I began interviewing my brother about politics during the Thanksgiving weekend, for one, because I was interested in deflating the myth that having a civil conversation with relatives who supported a different presidential candidate than you was an impossibility, a risky feat akin to dismantling a bomb. “We are all afraid—of trends beyond our control, of neighbors and loved ones who suddenly seem grotesquely alien,” opined a Slate columnist in a post called “The Post-Trump Thanksgiving.” “Yet we are still bound by ties of blood, friendship, and commitment. Soon, many of us will dine together at the Thanksgiving table. What do we do now?”
“Who you vote for doesn’t determine the person you are,” Keegan told me. “A lot of it is just what they show on TV. Obviously they’re going to show the worst of the Trump people and what they say or do.”
What would it take for Keegan to vote for the first time in his life? A higher minimum wage, he said.
