I’ve hammered the nail of polarization until my right thumb is powder, but one thing I failed to mention: it’s a lie that we don’t enjoy polarization. Some minuses just can’t become pluses. Come on—if we all hated polarization so much, it wouldn’t exist at all. We wouldn’t have tennis or Ping-Pong. Can we agree on that? The fact is, polarization is super fun. We love antagonism as a spectator sport, and we even like participating in it. Almost every single reality talent show has that as its principal engine. Whether it’s talent judges, or the contestants themselves, we gravitate toward the commotion of an angry, flashy personality (or a cantankerous smirking ape like me).
I compare it to a sport, because for a lot of people it is a sport. It’s a game, one you can play for fun, or for money. I do it for a living, as you know. I had no idea I would end up playing pro-polarization, but I’m not going lie: I think I impart good times and some wisdom while I do it. It beats mowing lawns or tarring roofs—two things I was very bad at. But I can argue like nobody’s business. And really, it’s none of your business.
However, unlike other professional sports, polarization can be played year-round, 24/7, with only breaks for the bed, the bath, and beyond. And that’s been the issue with this recent, most harrowing era of polarization. It’s essentially nonstop—tripling the volume of back-and-forth. How did this happen? I’ve alluded to it before, but it’s a combination of factors:
Donald Trump.
Donald Trump.
Donald Trump.
Not really.
But really.
NO, yes.
No! YES!
Screw you!
See, he even makes me argue with myself over his impact of polarization! But here’s how it really came about. In the pre-Trump era, public political warfare was essentially a one-way street. Sure, Republicans and Democrats tangled in debates and smeared each other in ads—but in terms of bare-knuckled brawling, the Democrats ran that alley like seasoned tattooed sailors covered in cinnamon and oregano (a little daydream I sometimes indulge in). But today, Trump’s aggressiveness and inability to find any high road (why should he when they don’t, either, he’ll ask—and he’s got a point) means all the fights you were never really aware of happening are now taking place right in front of you. Yep, Mom and Dad are now quarreling loudly in public, right in the housewares aisles of Costco. And we’re learning so much about everything that we never knew before! I mean, these public fights Trump has engaged in always leave me with something I didn’t really go deep on before—whether it’s stuff about China, or NAFTA, or the donor class, or the nepotistic benefits of political power. But the crap sure gets loud, and it’s exhausting and it never ends.
To that complaint, I say to my liberal friends, now you know how we felt when we went to college, or watched the Oscars, or turned on network news. You did this to us on a regular basis, so give us a break here.
We’ve always felt like the odd person out, the one getting harangued. But now that one-way street has gone two-way. And it may not have improved relationships (that would take a three-way), but it corrected for something, like improving the flow of ideas. I do realize that the correction might be an overcorrection—but I’m struggling now to see how to fix that.
First, try to see how different the past would be if you simply replaced any American political leader with Trump. The Left branded George W. Bush a war criminal, based on the Iraq incursion. How would Trump have dealt with that, if he were the target? Would he ignore it? Probably not. My guess is (and this is hard to do because I’m imagining Trump defending a war he was against, so my eyes are twitching a bit) he would call his critics “sick,” and “in bed with terrorists,” and “people who don’t care if radical extremist Islamists come to your city and bomb the crap out your schools” IDIOTS!
That’s what I think he would have said, and that war criminal label would have been muted.
But maybe you don’t remember that the smear “war criminal” is used on just about all Republicans once they reach power. For their adversaries, it’s the logical extension of “hawk,” the same way people like me used to make the logical extension of “liberal” into “commie scum.” (Note: many still do exercise this habit, but I try to cut mine down to only three times a week—I’m really evolving!) But Reagan was painted as Hitler; John McCain was a neocon warmonger; Mitt Romney got off easier because he was no threat, so they painted him a scissor-wielding bully who abused a dog. All of these smears worked to an extent (not so much on Reagan—there was no Twitter yet—and besides, he loved horses), but I doubt they would have made much of a dent on Trump. Because he punches back when he sees your punch coming. And really, he can’t help himself, can he? It’s why he got elected, so it’s part of that package—and complaining about it, still… seems like relitigating an old divorce. Instead of scratching at old wounds, why not learn from the damn experience? There’s a lot there.
But consider that even in times of war—when planes were coming back with coffins draped in flags—the polarization never reached this pitch. Was it because either the Republicans were bad at fighting back, or couldn’t be bothered? Who knows (we do), but now it’s different. It’s loud, crazy, and mean, and very, very public. So, how do you proceed? What if it bothers you? Or your spouse? Or your friends who love you, but hate Trump. Or what if you hate Trump and your friends don’t?
I’m going to say this while knocking on wood (so I’m typing this with one hand right now): the first sentence of the earlier paragraph mentioned a stark fact: we had thousands of war dead, and calmer discourse. Now we have (again, knock on wood) no thousands of war dead, and insane discourse. Wouldn’t you call that a pretty fair trade? A trade that you would take in a millisecond?
What does that tell you? Maybe that the discourse is just that; the rhetoric that floods our airwaves and streets is not directly related to outcomes that cause physical suffering and grief. I do understand—completely—how exhausting and tiresome and anxiety-rife the Trump era is, but maybe it’s because we can afford to be.
Does any of this make sense to you?
It should. Could it be that in peacetime, violent discourse can be endured, and even enjoyed because it’s untethered to real, measurable suffering? Politics is now filling space, but it’s in a new form. It’s American Idol all the time, and the loud, hilarious obnoxious judge is president, and none of us can stop thinking or talking about it. But the thing is, that antagonizing judge is pretty stingy with blood and treasure. He’s not interested in spending our money abroad protecting people who should be protecting themselves, nor is he willing to send our kids to their deaths for the same damn thing. So there’s that.
It’s worth bringing up when anyone (including yourself) mentions the sheer emotional cost of having an anomalous president like Trump: that I’ll take a few sleepless hours in exchange for fewer bombs blowing up Americans.
Let’s return to the original premise: there’s no break to this intense conflict—it’s a nonstop debate. There are only sixteen games in an NFL season, followed by playoffs and an off-season. And with baseball, spring training was initially designed to get flabby drunks back in shape for opening day after months of disrepair and debauch. With politics we don’t need spring training—we need the opposite—the wind-down. We need what the Mets do every October.
I wrote a song about this with John Rich. It was called “Shut up about politics.” It went to number one on the country charts, and for a few days was the highest-selling single in America. It made a lot of money—not for me, but for my second-favorite charity. Its popularity tells me that we could all use a break: we’ve been playing this game year-round.
A lot of it is fun, but we gotta dial it back. Initially it was great to “own the libs” every day, but sooner or later you’re just owning yourself, because you’re just being obnoxious for effect. In effect, you’re emulating the worst aspects of your adversaries. It’s great to fight back, but it’s also great to keep the powder dry and pick your battles. (I say this, knowing that Trump picks every battle.) But if you treat this like a sport, then you need to introduce an off-season, a bye, a break—that forty-eight-hour span that allows your broken muscle tissue to rebuild. There are ways to do this, and they’re painfully obvious, but we ignore them, because we’re always in the middle of the game. And also, if you decide to take a break, that doesn’t mean the other side does, too. If anything, they’ll see your hibernation as an opportunity. You see the problem?
I’m not going to say, “Just go outside.” I’m not going to say, “Read a book.” Because you already are. But if you enjoy a good fight, taking a breather will make you that much better a fighter and breather. (My advice: Thrash metal.)
But what if others don’t wish to take a break? What if they just can’t stop? Then you need to learn how to direct traffic. Me? It’s unavoidable that politics comes up because my job is 89.5 percent politics (I subtracted the stories we do on animals and fast food—which are often the same). But polarizing discussions can’t be polarizing if only one pole shows up. And sometimes just a buttoned-up response to any hyper inquisitor is enough to make that angry pole seem very, very alone. The challenge, of course, is that Trump has replaced the weather as the topic for small talk just about anywhere. He is his own storm front, a number one content provider that beats every hurricane without even being winded. Every day, there’s a 100 percent chance of Trump. My goal is always to turn any potentially negative-sounding conversation into a plus—and the best way is with one word: “So?”
I learned that from my dear pal the late Andrew Breitbart. He used it on me when I brought up a concern about Donald Trump claiming that he wanted to host the debates (I think this was back in 2011). I had posed the question on my show Red Eye, expecting the usual dismissal of Trump that one heard daily from the media class. Not from AB. He just said, “So?” Which required me to actually follow through with my reasons for Trump not hosting the debates—and I had none. I wasn’t expecting the “so.”
But Andrew was ahead of the game on Trump. This is what he said in 2011 when it was noted that Trump was no conservative: “But this is a message to those candidates who are languishing at 2 percent and 3 percent within the Republican Party who are brand names in Washington, but the rest of the country don’t know… celebrity is everything in this country. And if these guys don’t learn how to play the media the way that Barack Obama played the media last election cycle and the way that Donald Trump is playing the election cycle, we’re going to probably get a celebrity candidate.” Okay, How amazing is that quote?
As this book barrels toward a close, it’s fitting to bring up Trump, who seems to be everywhere at once. An analogy I often use: the clichéd horror movie in which the full cabin of victims frantically come up with idiotic solutions to protect against the impending maniac (Jason, Freddie Krueger, Meryl Streep). That’s what happens when a group of Never Trumpers get together.
It’s why I didn’t write a book about Trump. Everyone and their mother’s personal trainer is doing one. And every one of those books becomes outdated as it hits the shelves, because Trump moves faster than the publishing world (which isn’t hard). Plus the books are all the same, and can be split into two factions, or prisons, if you will. There are the anti-Trump books that focus all their intensity on what we already know is backstabbing gossip, his volatile personality, his abrasiveness, his “I don’t give a fuckery.” The other faction heralds a golden-haired god who changed politics forever.
My question: Why can’t it be both? Because it is, really. I mean, couldn’t Trump be the most obnoxious leader in modern history who drives some people mad, but also an actual and very necessary political phenomenon who’s doing seriously great things?
Damn—I swore this book wasn’t gonna be about Trump, but here I am writing about Trump! It’s amazing how when you’re running out of words, all you need to do is think of Trump, and that battery gets charged.
“When you spend your lunch with me, you’re gonna end up more like me.”
—Scott Adams, November 23, 2019
It sounds like a threat, and it is.
Adams said that in one of his Periscopes—which took place on one Saturday morning, and it may be the most powerful thing anyone has ever said about anything.
The highly successful, prolific cartoonist and unorthodox thinker was responding to some troll giving him shit for appearing to engage with someone considered by the media as “problematic.” This is the new game in cancel culture: if we can tie you to someone who’s a creep, then we can label you a creep, too—and ruin your life.
Understandably, this gruesome little trick pissed off Adams, as it pisses off everyone, including me. I still get tweets from losers who are always trying to implicate me by connection to other people. “In 2008 you had Clarence McGoogey on Red Eye and are you aware he’s now running a horse brothel in Tampa!” If you happen to take a selfie with someone who later does something horrible, then you’re 90 percent as guilty as that person.
Recently, Pitchfork, a music website, pursued veteran singer Thelma Houston for having the audacity to perform a duet on Morrissey’s new album. Why? Because his beliefs have taken a hard right turn (despite his also being a hard-core vegan and animal rights activist). Rather than applaud the return of a great singer, and a novel collaboration—they chose to see this laudably creative adventure through their pathetic political eyes.
If you follow Adams’s Periscopes, you know he rejects anyone telling him who he can be seen with, or who he can talk to.
And his quote above is all you need to say when anyone accuses you of hanging out with unsavory types, or people they deem “problematic.” It’s also the beginning of a philosophy one should adopt to counter the cancel culture.
Adams’s theory is simple, and powerful.
If you sit down with someone who’s a jerk, it’s not like he’s going to turn you into a jerk. If anything he will walk away from your meeting less of a jerk—simply by being around you.
It is hoped that whoever meets with you—no matter how despicable their beliefs are—will have you rub off on them, not the reverse.
Sorry, Scott, but there is something a little Christlike about it—Jesus did hang with the malcontents with the purpose of reforming them, even if it tarred his reputation.
There’s something very brave about it—for it entails risk.
It’s a selfless act to meet with, say, a racist, because no doubt you will be reviled for sitting with the reviled. But should you? What if, instead of urging public shaming and alienation, we saluted those like Adams (or Joe Rogan or Dave Rubin) who are willing to talk to anyone, as a method to shake someone of their hate?
Obviously, none of us are responsible for converting assholes, bigots, and abusers. In fact, it’s probably a good thing to avoid them. But the idea that somehow crossing paths infects you, rather than the reverse, goes against the whole point of progress.
Progress is about moving forward, no? And shedding bad ideas, for better ones.
Breaking bread with the bad may be the only way to get the bad to see the light.
But what if I hate a person? The very worst thing I do: I think about it. I think about it a lot. Probably because hate is a good, rich feeling that allows you to deposit so much emotion into one parking space. It’s exercise for your angst.
But on its heels comes a gross self-loathing—because you realize that this feeling is taking too much space in your head, and you’re better than that. So you mentally kick yourself for thinking too much about this piece of trash, the person I hate, that piece of trash who wronged you. But still, you gotta stop thinking about it. But you don’t.
Over time the hate fades, slowly. When it finally floats away, you will feel a weight has been lifted. Not because you think of this person in a better light, but because you don’t think of them at all.
There are ways to reduce the hate. One of them is forgiveness—nothing new on that horizon. We can find it trite, but I think we all felt “something” when we saw that much-televised court scene in 2019 when a young man, Brandt Jean, forgave a female police officer for entering his brother’s home and shooting his brother, Botham, dead. I realized if that guy could forgive the murderer of his brother, then surely I can forgive some douche bag who trashed me to my boss.
I also think about the opposite case: the people I have hurt. Did they forgive me?
Yes, I have pissed off people, and hopefully they’ve forgiven me. Perhaps because they realize that most harm in life is unintentional. That cop didn’t intend to kill that man’s brother: it was an accident. Most of our screwups are just that. Accidents. Hers was, however, the worst kind. And yet she was forgiven.
I’ve upset people in my life, unintentionally. And it took a lot for a few of these people to see that. I’ve forgiven people, and people have forgiven me. But the healthiest people I know don’t ever think of these conflicts after the dust settles. How do you do that?
For me it’s imagining the steps they took that brought them to doing the thing that hurt me.
Above all, was it intentional? If it wasn’t, no matter how large the infraction is, it sucked but you almost always have to accept the apology. Even if that man ran over your dog, or that lady burned your house down—their stupidity, their drunkenness, their carelessness—it’s repugnant. Deeply regrettable. But they probably know that. If they don’t then they’re sick. If they can’t understand the ramifications of their actions, then the sooner you get away the better. Remember, the thing that killed Judas wasn’t guilt. It was being sure he could never be forgiven.
My guess is that most people aren’t aware how they hurt people, and the few that do are psychopaths. So it’s pretty clear: forgive the first group if they ask for it, and run screaming from the second group. And try never to think of them again. In other words, forgive them by forgetting them. That’s a plus.