I’m a non-confrontational person. It takes a lot to make me lose it such that I’d actually pipe up and lodge a complaint. Normally, I end up deeming most battles unworthy of my time. So it was hardly surprising that I’ve gone most of my life without having any serious friendship fights. And then I tripped the wire.
What started as an innocuous conversation about books quickly spiraled. We were both at fault. My friend, I felt, was needlessly playing devil’s advocate because she wanted to make a point. Context: I was talking about how my book club was trying to prioritize more BIPOC classics because almost everyone we’d read up to that point had been Western and male. The question that ensued: Did Western-passing authors from less powerful parts of the globe—AKA not continental Europe—count as underrepresented?
I didn’t want to engage further. Finally, I used a tactic I’ve often employed on family members when I know things are about to get heated. I said that I didn’t want to talk about it anymore, irritated that we’d even gone on this long. But after I said, “Let’s stop talking about this,” her demeanor changed. My words, it seemed, had inadvertently given her the impression that I thought she was stupid, even though that was far from the case.
