We’re Not Red or Blue — We’re Human

Sometimes words pour straight from the heart because silence just feels wrong. I’ve been carrying this ache for weeks—watching friends, neighbors, and families struggle through what feels less like a “shutdown” and more like a “shakedown.”

I’m not writing this as a partisan or a pundit. I’m writing as an American who’s scared for where we’re headed—and who still believes we can turn things around if we just remember who we are.

Everywhere I go—the grocery store, the post office, the bank—people are angry, frightened, or just plain exhausted. My banker said something to me recently that stopped me in my tracks:

“The best compromises are the ones where everyone’s a little unhappy.”

She’s right. You can’t always get what you want—and maybe that’s the point. Compromise isn’t about winning. It’s about keeping this country from losing.

Right now, people are hurting. Families are missing paychecks. Businesses are struggling. Children are wondering why the adults in charge can’t seem to act like adults. That should break every heart in Washington.

And I’ll say this plainly—it doesn’t matter what party you belong to or what letter is beside your name. What’s happening is unsustainable, and it’s time for every leader, in every seat of power, to remember who they work for.

But here’s the bigger truth: we, as a nation, have got to stop beating each other up just because we disagree. Somewhere along the way, we started treating difference as danger. When did “I disagree with you” start to mean “you’re my enemy”?

There are over eight billion people on this planet. Three hundred and forty million of them live right here in America. Of course we’re not all going to agree. We never have. We never will. But we can choose to disagree without despising one another. We can choose to respect without surrendering our beliefs. And we can love this country—fiercely—even when we don’t love everything about it.

Maybe we need to remember what still binds us—shared meals and music, the arts and the games that bring us together, the kindness of strangers, and the pride of rebuilding when life knocks us down. Those moments don’t belong to one party or another—they belong to all of us. They remind us that, for all our flaws, there’s still so much worth saving.

We’re not red or blue. We’re human. We’re Americans. And we’ve got to find a way to love one another—warts and all—or this country’s going to collapse under the weight of its own hatred.

We can’t keep holding each other hostage over ideology. We’ve got to learn again how to listen, how to compromise, and how to care. Because the truth is simple: if we can’t stand together, then we’ll surely fall together.

And maybe—just maybe—we all need to look in the mirror. Every one of us. We point fingers at Washington, but how many of us feed the same bitterness online or at the dinner table? How many of us refuse to hear someone out because we’ve already decided what they’ll say? Change doesn’t start in Congress; it starts in our own conversations, in our tone, in the way we treat the neighbor whose yard sign makes us roll our eyes. If we want better leaders, we’ve got to start by being better citizens.

This isn’t about politics anymore. It’s about humanity, decency, and the future of the nation we all call home. The time for shouting has passed. The time for compassion has come. Let’s remember who we are—one people, under one flag, still capable of building something better together.

Thanks for listening, friends. Let’s keep choosing kindness, even when it’s hard. ✨

© 2025 Lowvee Cole. All rights reserved.

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