You Must be New Here!

A How-to Guide to Cutting off Fascists.

March 29, 2025

So you have realized that your friends or family–maybe your sister, parents, your beloved coworkers or people you became friends with at a conference–are Nazis.

Oh, did I say Nazi? I mean, they’re tolerant of Nazis. Of fascist policies, created by fascist people. They’re okay with mass deportations–as long as it’s “criminals”: with anti-trans laws “to protect women!”: with removing protections for people in the LGBTQ+ community “to protect children!”: with banning certain words and programs that promote and protect those words and the associated ideals: okay with abortion bans and ICE raids of Quaker meetings: they’re okay with destroying the Department of Education and the CDC and the Smithsonian and national parks and the endless list of agencies and departments and programs the current administration disagrees with. All of this is fine with them.

They’re not doing those things themselves, mind you, but they don’t see a problem with it. They’re tolerant of all of those things, which are being perpetrated by people who are blatantly white supremacist, whose stated goal is to protect white people, increase white birth rates, to eliminate non-white people who “don’t belong here.”
Those are the stated goals of white supremacists. You know, the Nazis.

And people who tolerate Nazis have a name too: they’re called Nazis.

So you’re here because you’ve realized these people in your life are Nazis.

They probably don’t realize it yet, don’t want to hang that label on themselves, but it can’t be ignored. Sure, they can try to deny it, but if you could get a straight answer out of them–one that doesn’t start with “Well, Joe Biden and Barack HUSSEIN Obama did _________,” it would be plain as day. Nazis.

So you’re here. Hi. Welcome. I’ve been waiting for you to show up!

I’ve been lonely as hell over here, an introvert in a sea of outspoken activists and joiners, with only my words and the occasional appropriate donation to contribute to the cause. I’ve been wondering when I would start seeing familiar faces, when the thoughtful, compassionate friends I’ve made along the way would start speaking up. And sure enough, one by one, here they are. An old Girl Scout leader friend–a stalwart Christian who helped me through some difficult moments parenting my teenage daughter–is now publicly reminding her fellow Christians about their duty to care for fellow humans. A fellow music teacher whose kindness radiates from him like blinding sunlight has now publicly lost patience with ignorance and cruelty. A writer friend, always reaching out a hand to others in the community, but until recently, quiet about global or even national affairs. Now their page is heavy with spreading awareness about the horrors we’re experiencing. They’re all here.

And I expect there is a learning curve for managing the grief of losing so many people so fast. You can see light bulbs going on, visceral shocks to their systems, regrettable tumblers clicking into place, and dismay. Under the outrage is so much disappointment. “How could they? How could they turn their backs on the love they once showed to me? To the community? How could they forget everything we have all been taught–to love our neighbor as ourselves, that the rising tide lifts all boats, that we’re stronger together? What happened?”

There are many explanations for what happened, and I suspect there are different reasons for different families and localities and communities. In my family, it was pervasive and relentless “othering,” an intrinsic feeling of intellectual superiority that spoke “I know more than anybody else, nobody can tell me anything” silently and out loud.

But I’m not here to answer the question of “what happened” for everyone. What I’m here for is advice on how to move forward without these beloved people in your life. Because this–THIS is something with which I have unfortunately deep experience.

Starting when I was 20 and my parents left me to fend for myself as an unmarried pregnant student and stretching into the last 10 years when my husband’s family revealed themselves to be rancid, spineless turnips, I have practiced the art of shedding friends and family members whose morals not only misalign with mine, but in some cases, exert effort to counteract my best interests. They don’t just disagree with me, but actively work to undo what I have done, or thwart efforts I have made in my own life.

And that’s what we’re talking about here, too. We are in a national moment where there are active efforts to damage people–our communities, our beloveds, our chosen ways of life.

Let’s talk brass tacks, shall we? How do you go about forging ahead without these people you trusted and revered? Who once held you in confidence and affection, who were your companions and buddies?

First. Let yourself grieve. This is not a finite step, and will show up in waves, when you least expect it. Write the words, if that helps you, or listen to the music or watch the movies that articulate that you and these people are no longer connected. That you are moving on. And cry. Mourn the loss of those people in your life.

Next, find others who are also mourning. Talk about what it’s like to lose people. I have found such comfort in other people whose parents disowned them, or whose in-laws are such controlling, manipulative, cruelty dealers that we can commiserate about how awful it was to be associated with them. Find new connections. This part takes work, and if you’re like me, it feels completely unnatural. But it’s time to be vulnerable and admit that you have outgrown your family and friends, and that you want a deeper, more wholesome and just circle around you.

And now–close the door behind you. This one’s hard, because there’s a tendency to think “oh, maybe they’ll miss me” or “if I could just tell them how they hurt me, they’d change” or “there is still a chance–they’re family!” But leaving open the normal channels of communication–Facebook, Instagram, text, even the dreaded phone calls is a signal that everything is okay, that your relationship is continuing as always, you’re just being a little quiet. All of these avenues need to be shut down. Unfriend, unfollow, block, shut those doors. Do not have reminders of what used to be showing up on your screens.

And you’re here because you’ve drawn a line–or you’re ready to. I know how hard it is to pull the plug and admit it’s over, to watch the death of a lifetime of family. It is *brutal.* But it’s necessary. First, for your mental health. Letting questions linger, doubting yourself, vacillating over “Should I? Shouldn’t I?” is a slow and painful way to end a relationship.

And more importantly, at this moment in history, decisions like these are no longer just personal. They’re not just between you and an individual who shares your love of baseball or crocheting. This is a defining moment in time, an instance where standing by your convictions means standing by the side of someone who’s suffering, letting them know they’re not alone, and keeping bullies–those Nazis, all of them–at bay.

Ending associations with people who would tell the police you’re hiding refugees in your attic is the very least we can do. There’s a whole lot more, but it’s a helluva place to start.

Life will seem weird for a while without those people in it. Off balance. Your points of reference will be missing, but with time and the cultivation of new connections, your world will grow again. It won’t be long before you look around and see smiling, welcoming faces of people willing to sacrifice for the good of humanity, for something beyond themselves. That’s what you’re doing, you know. You’re making a sacrifice–casting off the comfort of familiarity so that you can join a wall of protection around the vulnerable, around the truth, around the effort to bend the arc of history toward justice.

Because it takes effort, it takes all of us throwing our weight together in one direction, toward freedom for everyone, not just those who can afford to pay for it. And while individually, we may not have the power to bend that arc or provide shelter or lift people who’ve been stepped on by these cruel and senseless changes, together we are strong. Together, we can knit our defenses into a shield that can block at least some of the incoming barrage. We won’t be able to fend off everything, but we’ll do more as a unit than any of us will alone.

Walking away from an old form of relationships is painful. But the safety and liberation of those most vulnerable, our most precious and loved, and collective work toward protecting the rights of all people to speak and live and love as they will require a tectonic shift. We cannot continue to pretend that those who refuse to see the humanity in others should be accepted in our society. The paradox of tolerance suggests that “in order to promote tolerance and actually protect groups who just want acceptance, we sometimes have to be intolerant of intolerant beliefs.” (Curious Alexander, 2025). As disappointing as it is, sometimes our families and circles of friends include intolerant people, and it’s time to let them go.

But you won’t be alone. There are lots of waiting for you on the other side.

Curious Alexander. (2025, January 31). The Paradox of Tolerance Explained: Why Popper’s Idea Still Sparks Debate in 2025. Curious Alexander. https://www.curiousalexander.com/the-paradox-of-tolerance/