Political debates became a Thanksgiving tradition after the election of President-elect Donald Trump in 2016, though they were practiced before then — during the Civil War, the 1960s and almost every election year. It requires that all adults come to the dinner table teeming with fierce political convictions, so that everybody is screaming before the stuffing is out of the oven. Plenty of people detest this custom, citing hurled plates and severed relationships as evidence of its harm.  

I, for one, love political debates. They are my favorite part of Thanksgiving; if they were removed, I would stop showing up. Why do I cherish this tradition so much? Because it promotes civil discourse? Full-grown adults have been known to leap across the table. Because it yields valuable political insight? Facebook is the most cited source.   

Because it helps Americans understand each other? It only further assures them of the other side’s stupidity. Because it reminds us that some things are bigger than politics? Given the number of mid-meal departures, it seems to teach us that nothing is bigger than politics. Maybe because these difficult arguments are good for our country? Perhaps nothing is worse for our country.  

I love political debate because, when observed with a light heart, it makes for a wonderful show. Thanksgiving dinners used to be a great bore. I shudder when I think of the monotony of pre-Trump meals. “How has work been?” someone would ask. “Good,” another would reply.   

“This turkey is great,” someone would say every few minutes. If politics were discussed, it was the boring kind — recent fluctuations of oil prices or the latest round of tax cuts proposed by House Minority Leader Mitch McConnell — that those of us under the age of 50 instinctively tuned out. 

But what a lively spectacle we have now! You do not need any knowledge of politics to follow — or even to join — the political debates of today. They begin seriously, but quickly things degenerate into a cacophony of name-calling — “fascist,” “radical leftist, “far-right extremist,” “communist,” “Trumper,” “brainwashed sheep” or whatever epithet seems appropriate.  

Hands were thrown into the air; fists were slammed onto tables. It can be hard to keep up with the pace at which personal insults are hurled around the table, or with the number of voices constantly talking — or rather, shouting — over one another.   

The key, though, is to remain a detached spectator. To enjoy the political debate, you must observe it as passively as a movie or a play. Let yourself get sucked into the fray, and you will leave the table with a red face and a clenched fist.   

It is also foolish to try to diffuse the debate. In the first few years of this era, there was always someone who would try to rein in the argument. “Guys!” he would shout, “Can we not get into politics?” Nobody, of course, ever listened to him. Most of these archangels have given up by now, and recognized that if the debate cannot be controlled, it can at least be enjoyed.  

The only time it is appropriate to intervene is when the debate appears to be dying down, either because, improbably, the opposing factions have found common ground, or simply because everybody is exhausted from yelling so much. At these moments, I recommend making a controversial statement that is certain to infuriate many people at the table.  

However, once the mayhem is restored, it is important to withdraw again into pure observance. You simply must sit back in your chair and enjoy the greatest form of entertainment since Roman battles in the Colosseum.