On Friday night, I sang a set of my tunes with the St. Louis Symphony at Powell Hall. They are among the finest orchestras with which I’ve ever had the pleasure to make music, and I very much hope we’ll work together again before too long. But the impulse for this post doesn’t have much to do with music. While introducing a pair of songs from Book of Travelers that evening, I said something to the effect of this:
As counterintuitive as it may seem to make an assertion like this in a time of profound polarization, I continue to believe that we have more in common than we have that divides us. It may sound like a saccharine sentiment better suited for a Hallmark greeting card, but I think it’s true. And I also believe that if you read American history, you understand that those in power have, for centuries, been sowing the seeds of division in order to preserve their power, while convincing us that our neighbors are our enemies.
To my surprise, this elicited a round of applause from the audience. As I lay in bed that night, trying to will myself to sleep for a few hours before a 4:30am wake-up call ahead of a six am flight home, I tried to reconcile the audience’s affirmation of what I’d said with the endless stream of news stories and op-eds lamenting the sorry state of public trust, of tribalism, of mutual contempt in our country.
That sense of cognitive dissonance springs, at least in part, from the distorting effects of social media. As Chris Bail, the head of the Polarization Lab at Duke University, has argued, it isn’t necessarily that social media drives polarization so much as it is that social media attracts the most extreme voices on either end of the political spectrum; folks in the middle are turned off by the extreme rhetoric and tune out. Meanwhile, legacy media outlets, both print and television, have a way of talking out of both sides of their mouthes, on the one hand arguing that “Twitter isn’t real life,” while on the other hand reporting on, and amplifying, its trends. (I wrote about this phenomenon in an earlier post.) And that’s why it was such a lovely surprise, in that hall in St. Louis last week, to be reminded that many Americans long for our social fabric to be mended, just as a majority of Americans believe in a much stronger social safety net than the one we currently have.
In the interest of banishing any whiff of both-sides-ism, let me state plainly that the playing field of American politics, as far as the agenda of elected officials is concerned, is deeply asymmetrical. One party is trying to expand the basic human and political rights of all Americans; the other is working aggressively to do the opposite, with the goal of achieving minority rule. In many ways, they’ve already been successful in doing so.
What’s difficult for many of us, I think, is to distinguish between the cynicism and downright evil that underpins the strategies of politicians like, say, the current Governor of Florida, and the beliefs and voting behavior of those who, inundated with fear-mongering, buy what he and others are selling. It is tempting for some to write off as morally repugnant/irredeemable those who fall for the con, but to do so is to play precisely into the hands of those who fear solidarity among average Americans. It is also, I think, an ethical failure.
Among the great discoveries of my year offline were the writings of Bayard Rustin, Martin Luther King, Jr.’s right-hand man, and one of the primary architects, along with A. Philip Randolph, of the 1963 March on Washington. What I find endlessly inspiring about Rustin’s accounts of his experiences during the 1960s was his abiding commitment to an ethic of Christian love, even in the face of those who would deny him his basic humanity.
By contrast, it seems to me that in our time, we have been trained to derive social, moral, and political capital from cutting people out of our lives. But this, again, has the effect—particularly when it comes to coalition-building—of further entrenching the political status quo, that is to say, a kleptocracy in which poverty and obscene wealth are acceptable norms, and in which the ultra-rich have effectively purchased Congress. For the more we telegraph our contempt for those duped by Murdoch & Co., the less likely they are to see a place for themselves in our tent. And it begs the question: what is the endgame, politically and morally, of such a strategy?
My advice, for what it’s worth, is this: vote in the upcoming midterm elections for candidates who seek to expand universal human and political rights. And, at the same time, don’t fall into the trap of dehumanizing those who are seduced by the culture wars. Focus your venom on those who propagate divisive, hate-fueled messages, while working tirelessly to see yourself in your neighbor, and your neighbor in yourself. If all of us commit to doing so, we can build the kinds of electoral majorities necessary to bring greater justice to our communities and to our nation as a whole.
Grateful to all of you as always,
Gabriel
Just a thought. But it seems to me that the issue isn't political "extremes" (and, while we know all about far-right extremism, there really isn't much of a "far-Left" equivalent, is there? ) rather I think that-besides the bots and troll farms- it is the anonymity allows bullies and nasties free rein to do their thing without fear of exposure. Back in the pre-internet world, those were the secret pinchers in schools, the ones who started malicious rumors and wrote slander on bathroom walls- never confronting anyone in a way that could lead to consequences for themselves, but enjoying the trouble they caused. I think that social media was just a delicious gift for those folks- a bigger audience and even less chance of being discovered. At least, so it seems to me.
This is incredibly optimistic and I am ready for it! Thank you for your encouraging wisdom.