An Open Letter to Anyone Tired of Picking Sides

There’s something I need to say. Not for debate, not for applause—just because it’s the truth as I see it, and maybe it’s the truth as you feel it too, even if you haven’t found the words yet.

I’ve lived long enough to see the world change in ways both remarkable and disturbing. I’ve seen technologies rise, walls fall, economies expand, borders blur, and voices grow louder. But perhaps the most heartbreaking change I’ve witnessed isn’t technological, economic or political—it’s human. We’ve lost something rare. Something sacred.

We’ve lost the ability to disagree with grace.

I remember a time—not some fantasy, but a real moment in living memory, a benefit of having lived a long life—when liberals and conservatives, Democrats and Republicans, could sit in the same room, challenge each other’s views, and still walk away as friends, real friends. I remember when political debate didn't require ideological purity. When we could laugh at how ridiculous the world was becoming without someone accusing us of being traitors to this or that “cause” or ideology.

We accepted differences for what they were—differences—not battle cries that created strained relationships and stress. Not reasons to hate.

But now? We're forced to pick sides in everything. And I don't just mean left vs right. I mean everything.

Ukraine or Russia.

Palestine or Israel.

Religious or spiritual.

Awake or asleep.

Pro this, anti that.

You’re either for us or against us.

And I’m done with it.

I’ve been told that if I say it's tragic that Russian soldiers are dying in Ukraine, I must be defending the aggressor. No—I’m recognizing that human beings are dying, many of them young men with no choice in the matter, just like the Ukrainians defending their homes. You can mourn that without justifying the invasion.

I’ve been told that if I express heartbreak over the suffering of Palestinian civilians, I must be antisemitic. But I also mourn the innocent Israelis who’ve lived through terror and trauma. I’m not anti-Jew. I’m not anti-Arab. I’m not anti-Ukranian. I’m not anti-Russian. I’m anti-killing. Anti-suffering. Anti-blind hatred.

We’re all being boxed into ideological corners for simply expressing human compassion.

And when did compassion become so threatening?

I can support LGBTQ+ rights and still disagree how far and how fast we’ve demanded society reshape its language and traditions, i.e. pronouns. That’s not hate—it’s critical thought. I can acknowledge biological differences between men and women without being transphobic. I can love a country and still criticize its government. I can support peace without choosing a side.

But the world keeps insisting I must declare loyalty. It keeps asking: Whose team are you on?

And my answer is: I’m on the side of people. Of pain. Of peace.

I’m on the side of nuance. Of conversation. Of dignity.

I’m on the side of the young man in Gaza who lost his family.

I’m on the side of the Israeli mother whose child didn’t come home.

I’m on the side of the Ukrainian grandmother sleeping underground.

I’m on the side of the Russian teenager who never wanted to fight.

I’m not trying to win an argument. I’m trying to bring us back to the table.

Because what we’ve lost is not just political civility—it’s emotional integrity. The ability to feel grief for someone outside your group. To see pain in someone the world tells you is “your enemy.” To recognize that the world is not divided between good and evil, but humans and humans, each doing their best in systems that are falling apart.

Even our conversations about politics have become grotesque performances. On the right, people cling to victimhood while holding immense power. On the left, people often refuse to question their own narratives for fear of exile from their tribe.

And caught in the middle are people like me—and maybe like you—tired of pretending that compassion has a side.

I remember when people could challenge each other without condemnation. When someone could say, “That’s a crazy idea,” and the reply would be laughter, not exile. When intellect and emotion could coexist, and the goal wasn’t to win, but to understand.

I miss that. And I want it back.

I don’t believe this division is permanent. I believe we’re in a kind of global fever—an emotional, ideological fever that has to burn through before the healing and the next step of our human evolution can begin.

But we can accelerate the healing and evolution if we stop playing the game.

Stop demanding sides.

Stop defining people by single statements.

Stop confusing critique with hatred.

Stop calling empathy “traitorous.”

Because we know when something is wrong. We’re intelligent enough to see suffering and call it out. We don’t need to be told who’s worthy of our grief and who isn’t.

If you’ve been labeled “woke” for caring—or “anti-woke” for asking questions—maybe it’s time to walk away from those labels altogether.

There is no side to stand on when people are being killed, traumatized or forgotten. There is only the choice to either stay human… or not.

And I choose to stay human.

So if you're tired too—tired of being told you have to pick a camp just to express basic human decency—this letter is for you.

You're not alone.

We’re not enemies.

We’re just inappropriately fearful of each other, we're exhausted people who still believe in something better. Something deeper. Something shared.

Let’s stop drawing lines. Let’s start drawing circles.

We can disagree without disconnecting. We can question without condemning. We can feel without being forced to declare allegiance.

Let’s remember what compassion feels like.

Let’s make that our side.

But before I end this letter, there’s one more thing I need to say—about loyalty.

We’ve turned loyalty into a trap. What should be a virtue has become a leash.

Loyalty, as it’s demanded now, is not about standing by what’s right—it’s about standing by your side, no matter what. It’s a rationalization to stop thinking, to stop asking questions, to stop growing. Once you declare loyalty to a party, a country, a movement, or a belief system, you’re expected to never challenge it, never deviate, never admit it might be wrong—even when it clearly is.

That kind of loyalty kills choice.

It kills nuance.

It kills truth.

Because suddenly, every decision has to pass through the filter of: Will this make me look disloyal? Will I be exiled from my group if I say this out loud?

And just like that, loyalty becomes fear.

So I’m done with loyalty too. I’m not loyal to a side. I’m loyal to integrity, to humanity, to conscious thought. I want to live in a world where changing your mind isn’t seen as weakness—it’s seen as wisdom.

Chris