You know the song. You didn’t ask for it, but now it’s in your head anyway: “Why can’t we be friends… why can’t we be friends…”
It’s simple. Repetitive. Almost childlike. And maybe that’s exactly the point.
Source: Wikipedia
If you need a reminder… or you’re simply too young to remember this song from more than 50 years ago, I’ve included a YouTube link below with the lyrics to help put you in the mood.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sH0Qda32IKM
Back in 1975, when War released it, the country was coming out of Vietnam and Watergate—hardly a kumbaya moment in American history. And yet, somehow, the question felt worth asking. Fast forward fifty years… and it still does. Maybe even more.
Because if we’re being honest, we’ve gotten pretty good at disagreeing in this country. And pretty terrible at everything that’s supposed to come after that.
There was a time… not all that long ago—when political opponents didn’t treat each other like enemies.
Take Ronald Reagan and Jimmy Carter.
You could not have designed two more different presidents if you tried. Different parties. Different philosophies. Different visions for the country.
And yet, when Reagan spoke at the dedication of Carter’s presidential library, there was no edge. No snark. No attempt to relitigate old battles. There was respect. There was warmth. There was even a little humor. And it was all right there in Reagan’s remarks at Carter’s library dedication, as you’ll see in the YouTube link below.
Source: Wikipedia
President Reagan didn’t just show up… he showed respect.
“Today, our very differences attest to the greatness of our nation. For I can think of no other country on Earth where two political leaders could disagree so widely yet come together in mutual respect. To paraphrase Mr. Jefferson: We are all Democrats, we are all Republicans, because we are all Americans.”
This wasn’t an act. It was a reminder… that disagreement didn’t require disdain. That you could believe someone was wrong… deeply wrong, even, and still believe they were a good person trying to do the right thing. That idea feels almost quaint now.
Today, we don’t just argue over policy—we question motives, intelligence, even basic decency. We’ve moved from “I disagree with you” to “I don’t understand how a person like you exists.”
And that shift has consequences. You see it not just in cable news or social media, but in outcomes—or more accurately, the lack of them.
Government shutdowns are a perfect example. They’re often framed as acts of principle. A way to force change when compromise fails.
But history tells a different story.
Again and again, shutdowns rack up real economic damage—billions of dollars lost, paychecks missed, small businesses squeezed—without delivering the policy wins they’re supposed to achieve. The shutdown last fall cost the economy roughly $11 billion—much of it gone for good.
And what did it accomplish? Not much. Perhaps a promise to talk more later. That’s not a strategy. And it’s not a victory.
That’s theater… expensive theater. And the American voters are the ones paying for it—in the lost services our tax dollars were meant to fund. And in the additional stress and anxiety we experience, as travelers recently did with TSA lines stretching from minutes into hours.
It’s hard not to connect the dots. When the goal shifts from solving problems to defeating the other side, outcomes start to matter less than optics. Gridlock becomes a feature, not a bug. Suddenly, asking “why can’t we be friends?” doesn’t sound naïve… it sounds practical. Because when people can’t even stand each other, they can’t govern together.
What makes this even more striking is that the ability to disagree without personal animosity isn’t some ancient relic. It existed within our lifetime—and not just in politics, but in institutions that shape how we interpret the law itself.
Consider Supreme Court Justices Ruth Bader Ginsburg and Antonin Scalia.
Ideological opposites. Frequently on different sides of the most consequential decisions of their era. Their written opinions could be blistering.
But their personal relationship told a different story. They traveled together. Spent holidays together. Went to the opera together. Scalia once joked they agreed on the opera more than the Constitution… which might be the most honest summary of their relationship you’ll ever hear.
And somehow, that didn’t weaken their convictions—it strengthened the institution they served.
Source: YouTube
Because it proved something we seem to have forgotten: respect and rigor aren’t mutually exclusive. You can challenge someone’s ideas without dehumanizing them. You can debate fiercely without making it personal.
That distinction has gotten lost somewhere along the way.
Maybe it’s the incentives… outrage travels faster than nuance. Maybe it’s the environment—algorithms reward conflict, not cooperation. Or maybe it’s just easier to sort the world into teams and keep score.
Whatever the reason, the result is the same.
More noise. Less progress. More division. Fewer solutions.
And a growing sense that we’re arguing past each other rather than with each other.
Which brings us back to that song. War didn’t offer a policy framework. There was no white paper. No ten-step plan.
Just a question… repeated over and over again—simple enough to be dismissed and persistent enough to stick:
Why can’t we be friends?
It doesn’t solve the debt ceiling. It won’t balance the budget. But it does force a moment of reflection. Not about what we believe… but about how we behave.
Because maybe the problem isn’t that we disagree. Disagreement is part of the deal. Maybe the problem is that we’ve forgotten how to do it without turning everything into a zero-sum contest of winners and losers.
Reagan and Carter didn’t agree on much. Ginsburg and Scalia didn’t either.
But they understood something that feels increasingly rare today. The person across from you isn’t the enemy. They’re the other half of the conversation. And without that conversation, nothing works—not the system, not the economy, not even the basic idea of governing.
Why can't we be friends?
Why can't we be friends?
So maybe the question isn’t as outdated as it sounds. Maybe it’s exactly the one we should be asking. Not because it’s easy…but because right now, it feels just hard enough to matter.
Maybe the problem isn’t that we disagree. Maybe it’s that we’ve forgotten how not to. And if a 50-year-old song can still ask the question… maybe it’s worth trying to answer it—as we continue “Moving Life Forward.”
© 2026 Jesse Hurst
Senior Wealth Manager
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