Understanding how to disagree with one another is rarely more pressing than at this time of year as family members of all political persuasions prepare to gather around the dinner table for Christmas. Barack Obama’s intervention into the “defund the police” argument last week offers guidance in this testing pursuit.
As Black Lives Matter protests gathered serious momentum over the summer, the slogan “defund the police” became ubiquitous among American leftists and radicals. Obama cautioned against the use of the term. The idea behind it, he says, may well be “to reform the criminal-justice system so that it’s not biased and treats everybody fairly.” But the message fails to capture that nuance; and it leaves the majority of voters (who believe in the need for a well-funded policing system) feeling alienated.
“You lost a big audience the minute you say it”, he said, making it “a lot less likely that you’re actually going to get the changes you want done.”
The intervention was timely – not simply to facilitate conviviality over the holidays. But because as countless divisive topics are swirling around the public consciousness, the need to think about how we hold conversations with whom we disagree is as pressing as ever.
The question is one of ideological polarisation. “Defund the police”, says pollster James Johnson, does not point to a coherent policy for most people; rather it acts as a means to indicate which political doctrine you adhere to. Deploying the slogan, then, railroads any chance at winning over the non-converted; instead encouraging people to retreat into binarised “ideological bunkers”.
In 2015 sociologist Rob Willer and psychologist Matthew Feinberg posited that to avoid entrenching these binary positions, it is most productive to frame our arguments in a way that is consistent with our opponent’s values, as opposed to our own.
To this effect they found that liberals, for example, were more convinced by arguments in favour of military spending that emphasised the military’s function in overcoming injustices like “income inequality” or “racial discrimination”, than they were by conservative arguments about “American patriotism and global dominance”. Meanwhile, social conservatives were more compelled by arguments for same-sex marriage when presented with the message that “same-sex couples are proud and patriotic Americans” than they were by messages that emphasised perceived liberal values such as equality.
Common ground
Arguing effectively, however, is not all about finding common ground and puzzling through shared values. It is also about the language we use to describe those who we disagree with. In March 2019 James O’Brien – broadcaster and darling of the Brexit remain movement – tweeted: “Can we all agree that it’s time to rename Remain & Leave? I suggest Right & Wrong.”
It must have felt good. In one fell swoop O’Brien cast himself and his supporters as eminently rational beings; the remain movement as not just on the right side of history but on the side of epistemology and logic; and Leavers as foolish, incapable of grasping the simple reality before their eyes. It was about as unhelpful an intervention conceivable.
There are lessons here as we look forward to the biggest political and linguistic challenge facing the West right now as governments begin to grapple with the task of convincing widespread take-up of the Covid-19 vaccine
This type of language from the radical remain camp rests on the cavalier assumption that those who disagree with them are not only stupid, but deserve to have that pointed out to them. If we have learned anything from the 2019 election – James Johnson points out – it is that casting our opponents in that light leads them to turn their backs even further; doubling down in the so-called ideological bunker; your cause lost on them forever.
The increasingly radicalised remainer base failed to win the argument thanks both to their inflexible policy position, and the rhetoric intended to prove leave voters to be foolish and malign. This “with us or against us attitude” is no more evident than in their project to halt and reverse Brexit rather than to think about compromise; and how Brexit might be done in a sensible, damage-mitigating way.
There are few among us who are not guilty of resorting to charged rhetoric, lambasting our opponents as cruel or ignorant. But if we care about our capacity to actually effect political change, then we know the medium of discussion must be a moderate one and must be one that appeals to the other party’s value system and sensibilities.
Linguistic challenge
There are lessons here as we look forward to the biggest political and linguistic challenge facing the West right now as governments begin to grapple with the task of convincing widespread take-up of the Covid-19 vaccine.
Conspiratorial anti-vaxxers are probably a lost cause. But there is a constituency of people who are merely hesitant or nervous about the process. In the very least it is profoundly practical, at times when there is so much at stake, to heed the lessons of moderation: treating those with whom we disagree with civility and tolerance and understanding that we do not win arguments with self satisfied gestures to superior intelligence.
In speaking about “defund the police” Obama summed it up neatly: “The key is deciding, do you want to actually get something done, or do you want to feel good among the people you already agree with?”
So long as we binarise the world into good (on our side) and bad (not on our side) and so long as we refuse to understand people on their own terms political chasms emerge and the ability to change anything fast dissipates. When it comes to arguing, moderation is the most radical mode.