I try to stay away from political arguments in general, because they get me too aggravated to do useful things, like writing or cooking. Right now, with the entire political spectrum of my country locked into DOOM AND GLOOM mode, it’s particularly aggravating.
So, instead, here’s a couple of stanzas from G. K. Chesterton’s Ballad of the White Horse. Full poem linked in the title, if you are not familiar with it. If you are familiar with it, and sympathetic to what it’s trying to say, no explanation of the quote below is necessary. If you aren’t sympathetic to it, no explanation is possible.
"I tell you naught for your comfort, Yea, naught for your desire, Save that the sky grows darker yet And the sea rises higher. "Night shall be thrice night over you, And heaven an iron cope. Do you have joy without a cause, Yea, faith without a hope?"