True Story: I kissed a fascist

Note: It took me a while to decide if I was actually going to post this on the internet. My curiosity got the best of me. How does it change the way we interact with attractive strangers in bars and clubs if their politics could turn out to be this twisted? Is their a moral dilemma here or am I over-thinking it? I'd love to read your opinion in the comments.

My last weekend in Valpo, I met this Chilean student from the armada academy (like West Point, he explained) and we spent most of the night together: dancing, flirting, kissing, pretty much what you'd expect. Early in the night, my friend, Samantha, having heard that most armada men are a bit on the conservative side asked him what he thought of Pinochet and Chile's military regime, but he declined to answer and we continued on our way.

Later, though, we got to talking and he told me that he actually held Pinochet in pretty high regard. He calmly explained that his father was a police officer during the military quo and members of his class at the academy were killed by radical leftists. I can't imagine what his father must have participated in, let alone seen, but I assume it was pretty horrific.

When I asked about the widespread torture, he couldn't find much of an answer. When I pushed further about the forceful takeover of a democratically-elected leader, he said Chile is different from the U.S. because their constitution changes often anyway and they don't have the same sort of attachment to it as Americans.

I was a little baffled. I knew that Pinochet apologists existed but it was different to have one in front of me who I had been getting to know pretty well. It felt like I was harboring a fugitive. Last summer, I kissed a boy who happened to be a Republican and it wasn't exactly my proudest moment. There were other mitigating factors (I was newly single and the Republican was very much not), but our political differences definitely played a part. To kiss someone who is anti-democracy and doesn't value human rights is crossing the line a bit more clearly.

I know that the whole point of meeting random strangers in clubs is that they are, well, strangers, but even so, it doesn't sit well with me. After all, isn't the personal political? Doesn't it matter, then, what type of person we decide to involve ourselves with sexually and romantically?

The armada guy sweetly called me the next afternoon to see if I got home okay and was by all other measures a nice guy, a good dancer and well, really attractive. That being said, I won't be seeing him again. After visiting torture sites and meeting victims, I just don't think I could. Calling him a fascist might be a little strong and I'm sure his point of view isn't all that uncommon. Still, though, knowing everything I know and appreciating everything I don't, I just can't.