For any number of reasons, raising 6-year-old twins can be a challenge. To say the least. One of the challenges is teaching them the right set of words to use in different situations, particularly when tempers are flaring and emotions are running high. As any parent knows, modeling the right behavior and using those words yourself in your everyday life is even more difficult. “Do as I say, not as I do” never, ever works. Like many schools, our kids’ school uses a concept by Dovetail Learning called the Toolbox, what they call “12 human capacities that reside within all of us” with the goal of teaching “a set of skills and practices that help students access their own inner resilience at any time, in any context.”1 The idea is that everyone—children, teachers, parents, and staff—can use a common language to create a learning environment (and eventually a world) that is nonviolent and positive. A lofty goal indeed.
What strikes me the most, I think, is the simplicity of the concept—by necessity, of course because it’s being taught to Kindergarteners. I think the 12 toolbox concepts are noncontroversial: the Listening Tool; the Personal Space Tool; the Apology Tool. All are logical things that we do day in and day out. Others, though, feel more distant to us grownups. When did we forget about the Breathing Tool (“I calm myself and check-in”)? How did we lose sight of the importance of the Empathy Tool (“I care for others. I care for myself”) and the Patience Tool (“I am strong enough to wait”)? Upon reflection, these are rudimentary practices to which we adults are terrible at adhering and many people need to be retaught. From the ground up. And because we’re so bad at these things, many people simply avoid people, situations, and political conversations that are vitally important to our future because these concepts are becoming more rare.
We are instructed everywhere—news articles, blog posts, podcasts, books, YouTube videos—to avoid talking about politics: at work, with friends and family, at school. We’re just not supposed to do it. Politics and religion are simply off the table: these topics are too contentious, too personal, too emotional. People are volatile and you just never know what will happen when you broach such sensitive aspects of our lives. On a blog post called “6 Topics to Avoid Discussing at Work,” Dawn Rosenberg McKay writes, “While you may feel very strongly about your party or the candidate you support, or you may have an intensely unfavorable opinion of the opposition, do not try to win your coworkers over to your side. It will be a futile effort that will merely cause hard feelings between you and them.”2
In 1907, Henry Adams wrote an autobiography called The Education of Henry Adams about coming to terms with the changes that came about at the turn of the 20th century. It would go on to win a Pulitzer Prize. In the first chapter, he wrote, “Politics, as a practice, whatever its professions, has always been the systematic organization of hatreds.”3 Was that really true then? Is it true still? Are we really at a place in our country where we are unable to contain ourselves from saying patently offensive things to each other? It’s true that we’re really good at alienating others but are we at the point where we do it reflexively and can’t stop ourselves? In some situations and with some people, yes, I suppose it is true. We all know a person (or more likely people) who seems to be simply incapable of speaking about politics in any way other than hyperbole, relying on misinformation and inflammatory stereotypes to gaslight any conversation that drifts into politics. You may be that person yourself. (If you are, it’s time to knock it off.)
In a 2016 article in the Atlantic, Jonathan Rauch describes what he calls Chaos Syndrome in American politics. Chaos Syndrome is the breakdown of a political system and its ability to sustain self-governance and organizations, stemming from weakening political institutions that can no longer restrain pure self-interest in their political actors. As a result, politicians, activists, and voters have more incentive to be renegades, bucking norms and boundaries. As Rauch writes, “Chaos becomes the new normal—both in campaigns and in the government itself.”4 While the 45th president and his administration are a perfect indicator of this idea, he didn’t start the trend; the underpinnings of political unrest have been present for at least a decade or more. The results are prolific and widespread: that disorder has led some among us to throw up our hands and say gee, I guess it’s all meaningless and nothing matters any more when it comes to American politics.
Social and political psychology research provides clear and convincing reasons why we collectively like to feel like we are “winning” and the ways that identity can insulate us from facing uncomfortable facts and situations. As I’ll discuss more in chapter 6, we have an in-built tendency to prefer and to privilege those we perceive to be like us or those who are members of our social groups (in-group members); conversely, we tend to discount or discriminate against those who we perceive are different or who are not members of our social groups (out-group members). The problem is well documented, well researched, and, for the most part, well understood. That we as social beings like to “win” is not in dispute. It can be incredibly satisfying to disparage people with whom I disagree politically—and I know I’m not the only one who feels that way. It’s just that it doesn’t accomplish anything other than encouraging more division and more name-calling.
The rest of the chapter is devoted to ways things go off the rails in terms of the three key aspects of communication identified in chapter 2: the message content, the conversational tone, and the scene. Too often, we often neglect these basic elements and if we initially approach politics in the wrong ways, we set ourselves up for failure right from the start. First up: message content and our desire to win.
The most obvious element of political discussions is what we say, and wow, are there a lot of ways for things to get off track. One of the most common missteps is making political discussions competitions: I want to win so you can lose. Elections are inherently competitions, and of course, there are winners and there are losers. Political conversations, on the other hand, need not have such clear delineations. Political science academic research questions whether the mass public is becoming more polarized, though it is a well-established conclusion that elected officials definitely are. We could have a long (and rather boring, if I’m honest) discussion about it but I’d rather not.
A 2017 New York Times article suggests that the larger problem among the mass public is that Democrats and Republicans have an increasingly hostile opinion of each other.5 The article cites survey results using what are known as feeling thermometers, 100-point scales ranging from cold to warm, that ask respondents how they feel toward certain polities or groups of people. What they find is that over time, Americans are giving more negative evaluations to people in the other political party (see Figure 3.1). As recently as the 1980s, people reported feelings around the 45- to 50-point mark, meaning they felt neither warm nor cold toward people who identify with the other party.
Around 2008, however, the average rating for out-party members was hovering near 30, even worse than Democrats’ perennial arch rival “big business” and worse than how Republicans rated their typical bogeymen and women, “people on welfare.” In 2016, the number dropped even further, accompanied by a new problem: the most frequent response to the question was zero, the coldest possible response option. To summarize: we have, at best, a distaste of “others.” At worst, we have a visceral hatred for those with whom we disagree. Research by political scientist Lilliana Mason underscores this point really well. Intense partisan splits reflect what Mason calls identity-based democracy: elections and policy battles are now waged between two highly sorted “megaparties.” Her work focuses on the growing social gulf between Democrats and Republicans along social identities of race, religion, and other sociocultural groupings.6
Figure 3.1 Inter-Party Thermometer Ratings
Source: Badger, Emily, and Niraj Chokshi. 2017. “How We Became Bitter Political Enemies.” New York Times, retrieved from https://www.nytimes.com/2017/06/15/upshot/how-we-became-bitter-political-enemies.html. Reprinted thanks to permission from the American National Election Studies.
The Pew Research Center conducts a variety of surveys to investigate attitudes about a multitude of important topics in American culture and life. Their 2016 American Trends Panel includes a battery of questions about what members of the two major parties thought of each other, teasing out additional insight above and beyond “warm or cold” responses of a thermometer rating. Among their findings: 70% of Democrats reported that they thought Republicans are more closed-minded than other Americans; other observations include Republicans being more dishonest (42%), more immoral (35%), and less intelligent (33%) than other American groups. On the other hand, 52% of Republicans report that Democrats are more closed-minded than other Americans; significant portions also describe Democrats as more immoral (47%), lazier (46%), and more dishonest (45%) than other American groups (Pew 2016).7
Another 2016 Pew study asked questions about favorability and likeability of political parties, finding that in 2016, 58% of Republicans reported having a “very unfavorable impression” of Democrats, the most severely negative option, up from 46% in 2014 and 32% in 2008. Similarly, 55% of Democrats reported “very unfavorable” impressions of Republicans in 2016, up from 43% in 2014 and 37% in 2008. Perhaps even more alarming, a 2014 poll shows an increase in the percentage of Republicans and Democrats reporting that the other party threatens the nation’s well-being. 45% of Republicans in 2016 believed that Democratic policies are so misguided they are a threat to our country’s future, up from 37% in 2014. Democrats were similarly predisposed, with 41% saying the same in 2014, up from 31% in 2014. Sounds pretty depressing, doesn’t it?
It’s easy to let all this vitriol, distrust, and skepticism of our partisan opponents slip into what we say. When we choose to conceptualize people who think differently than we do as opponents or enemies, the words we choose and the ways we frame issues reflect that choice. One of the drivers of what we say in political conversations is the concept of winning; when we prioritize winning over all else, we don’t always choose the right words. The idea is borne out in many different ways in academic research, one of which is framing theory. Framing is a process by which people orient their thinking (i.e., conceptualize) toward an issue or object. Framing theory suggests the words that are used can have a substantial impact on the effects of messaging across a wide variety of issue areas. Framing effects occur when differences in the presentation of an issue or event changes one’s opinion. For example, one study showed that when a hate group rally is described in terms of “free speech,” 85% of survey respondents supported allowing the rally. That number dropped to 45% when the rally is discussed in terms of the potential for violence.8 Another study shows that support for government spending on welfare drops significantly when it is framed as “assistance to the poor” versus “welfare.”9
Framing can also be intentional, for mobilization and persuasion purposes.10 Groups attempting to persuade or to advocate for a particular policy position often choose their frames carefully to dictate the terms and boundaries of a policy debate. For example, framing same-sex marriage in terms of equality drives opposition down as does the use of an equality frame (versus a morality frame).11 Over the past decades, researchers have increasingly attempted to understand the psychological processes underlying the effects of framing12 and the gist is this: words matter. Recall that the very first step down the road to meaningful attitude change is the willingness to listen and to process what’s being said. Part of an effective conversation strategy is choosing the right words to facilitate that process and the next few chapters will identify ways to be more thoughtful about your language and to craft a discussion that maximizes the likelihood of it being productive.
Closely related to what we say, of course, is how we way it. Being condescending, shaming others, and name-calling those with whom we disagree triggers emotions that are not conducive to open-mindedness. After all, when is the last time someone called you an idiot and you went on to seriously consider what they said next? There are a few instances where shame can be beneficial but more often than not in politics, shame isn’t our friend: shaming someone for not agreeing with you not only closes off discussion but also potentially (irreparably) damages your credibility as a speaker in the future. We have to be careful to elicit the right emotions when talking about politics if we want to have any likelihood of a meaningful dialogue.
As mentioned in chapter 1, attitudes toward LGBT people and rights have changed dramatically—and uncharacteristically—in a relatively short period of time. One possible element of these changes could be shifts in message strategy by mainstream advocacy organizations. Earlier campaigns focused on rational, abstract legal rights—for example, the “No on 8” campaign against Proposition 8 in California—and historically, there has been a stronger emphasis on rational, rights-oriented frames rather than emotional appeals.13 More recently, however, campaigns have found success making more explicit attempts to target the right emotions; for example, focusing on marriage equality being about love rather than rights. GLAAD (previously known as the Gay & Lesbian Alliance Against Defamation) targeted Southerners via their “Southern Stories” campaign, featuring same-sex couples sharing emotional, candid stories about their love and commitment to each other. Communication from Freedom to Marry highlighted phrases such as “love is love” and “all love is equal,” while the Human Rights Campaign’s 2013 campaign was called “Love Conquers Hate.” In one video recorded as part of their messaging, writer and director John Ridley, who won the 2012 Oscar for Best Adapted Screenplay for 12 Years a Slave, says, “Gays and lesbians love just as hard, and care just as much as everybody else. And isn’t that what marriage is all about?” The video then displays the core argument of the campaign: “Marriage is love, family, commitment.”14
As I will discuss more in the chapter on emotion, transgender people are commonly viewed as disgusting in the minds of those opposed to their identity and/or rights. Psychological research suggests that there is a connection between disgust and increased homophobia and transphobia.15 Disgust often leads people to avoid others and to feel degraded or debased themselves.16 In contrast, moral elevation, an emotion elicited by witnessing acts of moral beauty like charity, generosity, or gratitude, leads to feelings of being uplifted, inspired, open to others, and more motivated to engage in prosocial behavior.17 Inducing these feelings of positive affect has been shown to improve flexibility in the integration of new information into decision-making and to expand the pool of potential thoughts.18 By inducing uplifting thoughts and images in people that appeal to positive emotions and values (i.e., moral elevation), the negative implications of disgust can be lessened and support can be increased.
While the content of persuasive appeals is certainly important, it’s also the tone and the emotions elicited in these campaigns that mark a turning point in the fight for LGBT rights: the decision to frame marriage equality in terms of family, commitment, and love rather than rational, rights-based messaging. Some argue that the key to political success is to tug at voters’ emotions, not to rely on rational arguments or issue positions.19 Others note that emotional appeals fall into pathos, the second of the three means of persuasion identified by Aristotle20:
An appeal to pathos causes an audience not just to respond emotionally but to identify with the writer’s point of view—to feel what the writer feels. . . . Pathos thus refers to both the emotional and the imaginative impact of the message on an audience, the power with which the writer’s message moves the audience to decision or action. (p. 82)
This strategy, of course, isn’t new to American politics: emotional appeals dominate presidential television advertisements, for example, and have been a fixture of political campaigns more generally for decades.21 We will focus on emotions and empathy in more detail later but I mention it to introduce a common emotion that can shut down political discussions entirely: shame.
In the early 1960s psychologist Silvan Tomkins, pioneer of affect theory, suggested that shame is one of nine genetically predetermined “affects”—biological components of emotion—that are innate and appear without experience-based learning. Shame does not have to be taught to us— it’s in our genes. He wrote:
Shame is both an interruption and a further impediment to communication, which is itself communicated. When one hangs one’s head or drops one’s eyelids or averts one’s gaze, one has communicated one’s shame and both the face and the self unwittingly become more visible, to the self and others.22
There are instances when shame is beneficial: for example, for children who are exploring the world and who are unable to understand the dangers of curiosity, shame can interrupt the strong urge to engage and explore, imposing caution and restraint. Affect theory, as written by Tomkins, suggests that shame acts as a brake or circuit breaker for positive affects like curiosity, joy, or excitement. However, psychologists suggest the way shame is applied is important. While some shaming is gentle and constructive (e.g., saying “no” is a mild form of shame that interrupts positive affect), other forms are toxic and severe, stopping the positive affect in its tracks rather than merely interrupting it. There are times that shame can be used for beneficial purposes (think advertisements against driving drunk and smoking, for example) but often in political discussions, shame is more on the severe side, shutting down constructive thought and damaging speaker credibility.
Many people feel embarrassed or self-conscious if they use outdated or incorrect terms or don’t fully understand certain concepts, particularly surrounding hot-button contemporary political debates. This social stigma can lead to avoidance of discussing political topics because of feelings of shame; also, sometimes we shame those with less information as being ignorant, further exacerbating the conversational divide. One of my academic research topics is transgender people and rights and it’s a very common area of misinformation and fear. For example, using correct terms and proper pronouns is a common area of concern for people who are well-meaning and earnest in understanding transgender people but may be unfamiliar with the right way to discuss these kinds of topics. As a cisgender person—someone whose gender identity aligns with the sex they were assigned at birth—I find friends and family feel comfortable coming to me with questions. What is the difference between a transsexual and a transgender person? Why was it not okay to refer to Caitlin Jenner as Bruce before she transitioned? Why don’t all transgender people want to have gender confirmation surgery? These questions are borne out of an authentic curiosity and most often out of a genuine desire to understand something that people don’t often encounter in everyday life.
There are several ways I could respond to these kinds of questions. On the one hand, I could respond with shame. “What an ignorant thing to say. You really should read more about gender identity and be more up-to-date with how it is expressed. These are simple, basic questions that everyone should know how to answer.” And the likely response if I said those things? The other person is probably going to be defensive, snapping back at how rude and inconsiderate I am and how they are not, in fact, ignorant. The discussion ends, nothing is learned or gained, and they will likely never broach these topics again. On the other hand, if I take the opportunity to answer questions honestly and without judgment, without shaming the other person for what I perceive to be an incomplete or incorrect worldview, they will hopefully learn a thing or two and be more open to a transgender person or a discussion about transgender rights the next time it comes up in conversation.
While you need not condone someone’s lack of political knowledge or sophistication, you can find ways to educate, to inspire, and to motivate rather than to shame. Most of the time, taking an offensive tone in a way that shames others for divergent beliefs benefits no one: not the speaker or their credibility and certainly not a person trying to learn and to understand. Of course, if someone isn’t open to hearing the information you’re presenting to them, this may not matter anyway; however, if nothing else, if you’re interacting with a genuinely engaged person, shame presents an opportunity lost for a meaningful interaction that might have a positive benefit down the road.
The third and final aspect of political discussion to consider is the setting, making sure you choose the most appropriate time and place that maximizes the potential for meaningful interchanges and dialogue. A few years ago, I was at every parent’s favorite location: the pediatric dentist’s office. With my then-5-year-old twins, no less. I was darting between the two rooms where they were having their cleanings and regular checkups, chuckling at the cheesy anecdotes and motivational tools to get little kids to brush and to floss. One hygienist, wearing a thin gold chain with a prominent cross on the end, was talking to my son about a few spots he was routinely missing during his nightly brushings, adding, “Make sure your mommy and daddy check your teeth every night when you’re done brushing!” Without missing a beat, my son responded, “I don’t have a mommy. I have a Daddy and a Pop.” The hygienist froze and looked at me with wide, terrified eyes, stammering, “Oh no, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I . . . I . . . .”
From there, the conversation could have gone a few different ways. I could have gone down the indignant, confrontational path. “How DARE you push your Christian, heteronormative, cisnormative vision of how the world should be on me and my children! Think before you speak!” I angrily grab my kids, towing them out of the office in a huff, pledging to find a more inclusive dentist’s office while audibly commenting about the bigotry and closed-mindedness to those in the waiting room. That’s certainly one way to respond. That’s not what I did, though.
Instead, I realized this wasn’t the right place to take a strong, incensed stand. This person made an assumption about my family but she obviously meant no harm to me, my kids, or my community. She didn’t use inflammatory language, she immediately realized her misstep, and she apologized for it. I told her there was no need for an apology and I used the same language I ask our kids to use: every family is different. My son nodded knowingly and the hygienist exhaled and her body noticeably relaxed.
Crisis averted—because, well, there was no crisis. It was an opportunity to model the behavior that I hope others would choose when I made an assumption or used language that wasn’t ideal. This just wasn’t the right scene to make a scene. Sure, I could have mounted an online campaign and petition advocating for the firing of the hygienist and the boycott of the dentist’s office. Picketed outside, gotten the local chapter of the ACLU involved, and contacted local media for attention. I could have reported the incident to the American Dental Association or some other dental regulatory agency, whatever that might be. But for what purpose?
This is a bit of a dramatic example, I admit, but when it comes to discussing politics with those who have different views, we need to be thoughtful about place and choose the right time and the right setting. As much as I don’t like the idiom, we have to pick our battles wisely and often the very first misstep when engaging in a political conversation is that it’s simply the wrong place to do it. Another common error that I have made many times is mixing politics with alcohol. Whether it’s in a bar or sitting in a living room with friends and family having a glass (or bottle) of wine, unless you are absolutely, unflinchingly, 100% certain that everyone in the room agrees on every single political and policy issue,23 don’t bring up politics. As we drink more, we start to think people agree with us more than they do, to become more certain that what we’re saying is right, and to feel more confident that we’re insanely charming and funny. We also are more likely to make a scene, even if we wouldn’t ordinarily, because our inhibitions are down and we are more likely to let our emotions get the better of us. Minor disagreements can escalate very quickly.
My suggestion if a conversation (or more likely argument) breaks out when you’re in an inopportune place: don’t engage in a substantive way and just listen. Sometimes things come flying out of your mouth when you’re inebriated, things you regret the next day the moment the alarm clock goes off. Hang back, enjoy the scenery, smile and nod, and do everything you can to stay out of the fray. If you can do that, you may learn a lot about people based on what they say when their inhibitions are lowered—and on top of that, you won’t be the person saying something they’ll wish they hadn’t. Literally nothing good comes from a drunken political conversation. Nothing. Really what I’m saying is just don’t do it: alcohol and politics shouldn’t mix. There is very little potential upside and a lot of potential downside.
Sometimes it’s difficult to know what to do instead. So what should you do to choose the right setting? How can you signal that you are willing to listen to someone who might otherwise be timid or unsure about broaching politics in discussion? While I will discuss strategies in far more detail in the coming chapters, here are a few basic things to keep in mind in terms of the optimal setting for political discussion.
First, do it in person. It’s important to engage with people face-to-face rather than online. And if at all possible, do it one-on-one. Generally, we don’t engage well with others about contentious things when there is an audience of people watching. Just sitting in proximity with someone you previously thought was so different from you and having a conversation with them matters: you begin to see the human elements to them simply by being in this kind of setting. There is tremendous value in sitting down with someone, looking them in the eye, and genuinely signaling interest in learning about them and what they think, even if you think it’s ridiculous, short-sighted, or ignorant. Also, as a minor aside, choose a setting that isn’t completely silent but one that isn’t incredibly loud either. Too much silence makes people uncomfortable and self-conscious; too much noise makes it hard to hear and to keep a clear head to consider what’s being discussed.
Next, introduce vulnerability into the conversation. Mention what you dislike about your own position and/or admit there are some things you don’t fully understand or that you admit you aren’t fully on board with yet. You can also ask the other person to talk about what they dislike about their position, things they haven’t fully thought through yet, or any reservations they have about their own side. You can admit what assumptions you are making about the other side and acknowledge you are trying to move beyond those tropes or stereotypes. Try to paraphrase back what someone said to you to ensure you really understand what the other person thinks. If you get it right, people will feel like they were really heard and will be more likely to soften their guard and be more open to hearing your perspective as well.
Finally—and this combines all three elements, message, tone, and setting—have a coping plan if things don’t go the way you’d like. Even the very best communicators in the world still fail to get the outcome they want from time-to-time. Not only do you need such a plan to deal with the feelings you’ll have if you couldn’t reach the point in the conversation that you wanted but you will also need to find a way to finish the conversation in a way where both of you feel comfortable trying again sometime. You can send signals that you are willing and able to keep having these difficult conversations in the future, for your sake and for the sake of the other person. “Wow, can we please tone it down and keep talking without me responding to that comment?” Thinking through ways to diffuse a possibly insulting and inflammatory response before it happens can be a powerful tool in relationship building.
Yesterday, my son learned about the Garbage Can Tool in the Toolbox, along with its mantra “I let the little things go.” It’s not an easy one for a 6-year-old but the more I thought about it, it’s not easy for a 39-year-old either. The nuances of self-management and good communication skills are a challenge for any age. I wouldn’t admit it to most people but I find myself reading the Toolbox and thinking of ways to do these things in my hectic, more complicated adult world, not only to model them for my kids but also because, frankly, I need to do some work myself. The Using Our Words Tool (“I use the ‘right’ words in the ‘right’ way”) is a great goal for people young and old. The Please and Thank You Tool (“I treat others with kindness and appreciation”) is lost by many along the journey to adulthood. And my goodness, the Apology and Forgiveness Tool (“I admit my mistakes and work to forgive yours”) gets harder and harder as you get older. At some point, we have let the subtle kindness and respect of interpersonal communication that we learned as kids turn into something much darker and nastier.
Ample attention is being paid to the corrosive nature of the cacophony of hatred, bigotry, exaggeration, and fear being spread. Many of us understand the sources and causes of all of this extraneous noise and I will leave that discussion to others. This book is about the rest of us. It’s about disagreement in everyday life; conversations, practical solutions, real on-the-ground things to try to engage with others in a meaningful way. Stop thinking and saying that we can’t talk about politics because we are just too polarized. On the contrary, I think we should talk about it more often, in more places, to more people. Not everyone will be persuaded; attitude change will never, ever be instantaneous and easy; and more often than not, things won’t change. Maximizing the likelihood of change through informal political discussions—done the right way, particularly with people with whom we disagree—is literally the only things that will help. We just need to do these things better. Next up: concrete ways to do just that, focusing on the impact of information and how to use it most effectively.