The smaller the group, the more intense the politics. Actually, that’s not true. Politics are intense no matter what the size of the group, but they can be bitter as hell in something the size of, say, a church vestry.

For instance, I once belonged to a small Episcopal chapel where the founders had been the White Irish Anglicans who first settled there, and where the neighborhood had gradually shifted Black. The handful of vestry members were, for the most part, united in their determination to keep the neighborhood out, and to prevent progress of any sort. That vestry was so conservative that, rather than call a woman priest, they called an amused, kind gay man who lived in the vicarage with his life partner. A man was better than a woman, even if the man was gay. And they couldn’t afford a fancy-pants straight priest. The congregation on Sundays was tiny, you see; it was made up of the vestry, the organist, and me.

I went to the church because it was nearby, and because the vicar was nice. I had a bit of a crush on him, probably because he felt safe.

My mother, unfortunately for this little church, had been called to the priesthood, and as part of the process she approached my vicar about being an intern. He, being progressive as hell despite his calling, accepted her. She promptly started putting together a Summer Vacation Bible School for kids from the neighborhood. I enrolled my tiny blond white preschooler and have some marvelous blurry black-and-white photos of my kid providing a spectral contrast to all the other children, and of my mother leaning busily over the kids providing instruction. I may eventually forgive my mother for horning in on my crazy little church. (She has been dead for seventeen years now.)

The bitter conflicts happen in work meetings, of course. They’re de rigueur at work. I was a department chair at my job for a while, which meant I had to attend Senior Admin meetings, and I don’t think I have ever felt as furious or wounded as I did after those things.

That workplace also used to form “informal work groups” in order to comply with certification requirements. We were assigned to those group for purposes of representation. Those meetings were also horrible, and involved a lot of work. Our conclusions were acknowledged gratefully and then roundly ignored, once the certification process was over.

I’m only mentioning all this because recently, a group I belong to was having a bitter debate about something, and I stayed home from the business meeting so I wouldn’t have to pitch in.

Already, however, four different people have insisted on filling me in on the meeting, and the group tabled a couple of agenda items for the next business meeting explicitly so I can provide input. There is no escape.

I attended a regular meeting of the group today, and yet another friend approached me and went into detail. I listened gravely, fundamentally agreeing with her, and when she finished, I said, “I don’t care.”

She was taken aback for a moment, and then she said with humor, “But I was going to enlist you on my side, convince you to agree with me, and form a voting bloc for the next business meeting,” and I grinned and agreed. It was marvelous. I was very impressed with her.

I have lived too long. I cannot bring any fresh sense of injustice and urgency to these things any more. It may be a defect in my character, or it may be that I’m just tired.

However, I discovered I have that at least one friend has a good sense of humor about herself, so there’s that.