Why Do I Write? (Part 2: Healing Our Toxic Polarization)

What's behind my obsession with reducing toxic polarization? I've seen where it can lead.

I was in Kenya during their last national election, in 2022. And it was scary.

We were warned to stop taking motorcycles around the city because violence could break out at any moment. We were only supposed to leave our homes in a secure vehicle. This warning proved prescient: a fight erupted on a major street and prompted police to fire bullets into the air. We were told that there would probably be riots after the election. Indeed, we were told to stock up on supplies because said riots might get so bad that grocery stores would be forced to close. And there were riots. Someone died a few blocks from my wife's apartment.

I started doing research, and found out that this was far from Kenya's worst election cycle. In 2007, the losing party claimed electoral manipulation (a claim with which international observers agreed). Raila Odinga, the losing candidate, encouraged his followers to protest in the streets. The protests turned violent. 1,500 people died. Many were shot by police. The situation became bad enough that the International Criminal Court vowed to step in and punish those responsible if Kenyan officials were not willing to clean their own house. 

Especially with that context in mind, the 2022 election cycle in Kenya scared me. I don't mean that I was scared for my life. My fear went deeper than that. In Kenya's war-torn politics, I saw a glimpse of our own future in America playing out. I had been writing about politics in America—including depolarization—for a few years, and I remembered some of what I had seen and written about. Too often, Democrats and Republicans seemed to be at each others' throats. Political assassination attempts were on the rise. In 2016, Trump had led his supporters in chants of "lock her up!" Nor did Democrats seem all that interested in taking the high road: Steve Israel, former chairman of the Democratic Congressional Campaign Committee, advised Democrats that when Republicans go low, “you hit them on the head with a two-by-four.” As I wrote in 2018, "We Are Trapped In An Escalating Spiral of Incivility."

In 2020, Trump broke from 200 years of tradition by claiming that the presidential election had been stolen from him. Whether you saw Trump as a would-be dictator trying to cling to power or saw Democrats as so determined to oust their political opposition that they would defy the will of the people, there was no doubt that our politics was getting worse. 

Kenya's election shook me. I had long seen what was happening in the US, but now I saw where it might lead. Perhaps not in 2024, or in 2028. But like Kenya, we were walking a dark road; and if we had not yet walked as far as Kenya had, still I was starting to see how dangerous it would be to take another step. The specter of political violence was on that road; and if it was distant yet, still it loomed large in my mind.

There was something else that shook me about Kenya's elections. It was perhaps not as gut-wrenching as the prospect of political violence; but for all that, it scarred my soul a little bit.

Whenever I asked my Kenyan friends why they were voting for X or Y candidate, I heard the same answer: "I think he'll do good things for me." "I'm voting for X because of what he said he'll do for me." I was struck by the zero-sum nature of this argument. My friends weren't voting for the good of the country or for a compelling national vision. Instead they were giving their vote to whoever promised them the most in return.

I think politics at its best can be about uniting the country in a shared vision. About helping us to come together in a spirit of unity, to lift each other up and to create a better world together than any of us could make if we were working alone. In my Kenyan friends' remarks, I saw something different; and, it seemed to me, baser: a bare-knuckle brawl over scarce resources. An attitude*** of "I'll get mine, and I'm not going to worry about you or yours."

It struck me as very sad. And, again, I could see echoes of my Kenyan friends in US politics. How many of us truly vote for a compelling national vision, instead of for the politician who promises to put more money in our wallets?

When I came back to the United States, I brought my fears for our nation's politics with me. And, new fears were added. As I reintegrated into American life, I started to hear heartbreaking stories of how politics had already torn people apart.

One of my close friends is a Trump supporter, and she insists that someone tried to run her over when they saw her carrying a pro-Trump poster. Another friend was almost fired for accidentally misgendering someone. When it happened again, she quit the company she had worked at for years; because the vitriol from coworkers who assumed that her mistake made her a monster was too much to bear. I got to know families who had been torn apart over political division. One of my close friends will barely speak to either his parents or his in-laws, because both sets of parents took a more conservative approach to the pandemic than he did.

The problem is widespread. A 2021 survey found that 20 percent of liberals (and 10 percent of conservatives) have ended a friendship over politics. 

But the brokenness in how we treat our fellow Americans across the aisle is not just being driven by liberals. Because of the nature of my work, I mostly hear the kinds of stories I described above from conservatives. I'm not woke, and so a lot of folks feel comfortable coming to me with stories of their abuse and bullying at the hands of the woke. But my research suggests that vitriol and bullying can come just as often from the right as from the left. A 2022 Pew survey shows that Republicans are more likely than Democrats to say that their opponents are "lazy," "immoral," and "dishonest." I've certainly known my share of conservatives who say they wouldn't be friends with someone who didn't see the world the way they do.

I started to realize what a toll our political discourse was taking on our great nation. It wasn't just making us more afraid and more angry. It was tearing family and friendships apart at the seams.

I realized I had to do something. Even if I couldn't fix the problem alone, I had to contribute. I joined Braver Angels, a national nonprofit focused on knitting our great country back together by helping Democrats and Republicans to have healthier conversations. I started writing about the dangers of toxic polarization and the imperative we all have to depolarize. I stressed wherever I could that depolarization didn't mean agreeing, or sweeping our differences under the rug; but rather, seeing the humanity and decency in folks on the other side. 

I hoped (and continue to hope) that this work can make change in one of two ways.

First, if enough of us speak up, I firmly believe that we can change the course of our nation. We can avoid the future I saw in Kenya. This is one of the reasons that I love Braver Angels. It's not just an organization; it's a movement that brings together hundreds of organizations with a common cause. It brings together coastal elites and self-styled deplorables, Democrats and Republicans, working-class folks and professional commentators. And it is making real (albeit sometimes small) improvements in our national discourse.

Second, one of the wonderful things about advocating for depolarization is that we don't have to convince 51% of the electorate before we can make an impact. If I can convince one person to pick up the phone and make amends with their estranged parents or siblings, that can change their life. It can change the lives of their parents or siblings too. Depolarization work is like coaching or therapy: even if you only reach one person, the beautiful fact is that you've reached one person. Ultimately, that's why I write.

If you're interested in turning down the temperature on our national discourse, I highly recommend checking out Braver Angels and getting involved.

***this attitude was not reflected in the rest of my Kenyan friends' lives; my experience of Kenyans as a whole is one of profound generosity and compassion. It seemed to be purely a political phenomenon.

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