Tyler’s Take on Civil Discourse: Diagnosing the Problem
“I think you’re wrong…”
What usually comes after that statement?
A period?
An exclamation point?
A bulleted list of reasons why the other person is incorrect?
Maybe a clever one-liner designed to leave your opponent embarrassed and defeated?
“But I’m listening” probably isn’t the response that comes to mind.
In their book I Think You’re Wrong (But I’m Listening), authors and Pantsuit Politics hosts Sarah Stewart Holland and Beth A. Silvers argue that one of America’s deepest problems isn’t simply political disagreement.
It’s that we’ve stopped listening.
Not hearing. Listening.
We still hear opposing opinions. We just filter them out. We gravitate toward voices that reinforce what we already believe and increasingly avoid people who might challenge us.
Politics is where this tendency is most obvious.
Many of us grew up hearing that it wasn’t polite to discuss politics. Maybe your mom stopped you from asking Grandpa about his thoughts on the President. Maybe conversations among adults became whispers whenever politics entered the room.
Political conversations never disappeared.
As Holland and Silvers observe, we simply “stopped talking about politics with people who disagree with us.” (2)
Now, when those conversations do happen, “we’re ready for battle, not dialogue.” (3)
The Problem with Team Thinking
Holland and Silvers suggest that part of the problem comes from the way we think about competition.
Sports train us to see the world in simple terms: two teams, one winner, one loser.
Clear. Clean. Binary.
Yes, every coach can point to lessons learned, missed opportunities, or bright spots in defeat. But by the end of the game, the scoreboard tells the story that people remember.
That mindset easily spills into politics.
As the authors write, it leads us to believe that “every situation has two options and we have to choose from one of those two.” (79)
Every issue becomes a choice between two teams.
Pick a side.
Defend it.
Attack the other.
But real life rarely works that way.
Someone can strongly support the Second Amendment while also supporting universal background checks or restrictions on certain weapons.
Someone can support abortion rights while also encouraging adoption as a life-giving alternative.
Those aren’t contradictions. They’re examples of people wrestling with complicated issues.
Life is nuanced.
Our politics should be, too.
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Instead, we’ve allowed political identity to become more important than virtues like kindness, humility, curiosity, and loving our neighbor.
What Would Progress Look Like?
Next week I’ll share several practical ideas Holland and Silvers offer for improving our conversations. But before we get there, imagine what progress could look like.
Imagine caring more about someone because they are a fellow human being than because of the letter next to their name on a voter registration card.
Imagine having close friends who disagree with you — and feeling safe enough to talk honestly about those disagreements.
Imagine campaign ads that persuade instead of vilify.
Imagine responding to disagreement by saying, “Tell me more.”
Or start with something even simpler.
Imagine we “at least stop assuming that someone is against everything we believe in based on a single tweet” or social media post. (10)
One of my favorite observations in the book is this:
“Whenever we make one thing the central cause of a problem or the single solution to that problem, the stakes are always too high to allow honest conversation or vulnerable reflection.” (73)
Think about how often we do exactly that.
What’s wrong with America?
Government.
Taxes.
Capitalism.
Socialism.
The media.
Artificial intelligence.
Fill in the blank with your team’s favorite answer.
Whenever we reduce complex problems to a single cause or insist there is only one solution, meaningful conversation becomes almost impossible. If one answer explains everything, then anyone who disagrees must be part of the problem rather than someone with something worth contributing.
Real progress requires something different.
It requires enough humility to admit that our own perspective may be incomplete and enough curiosity to believe someone else’s perspective might contain a piece of the truth.
Holland and Silvers remind us that “politics should not eclipse the rest of our lives.” (85)
That’s worth remembering.
Our neighbors are more than their politics.
Our friendships are more valuable than winning an argument.
Our communities are stronger when disagreement doesn’t require division.
The loudest voices in our culture profit from outrage. Social media platforms reward certainty. Cable news thrives on conflict. But we don’t have to organize our own lives around those incentives.
As the authors write, “What creates clicks online or sells ads during prime time doesn’t have to drive the conversations in our living rooms.” (15)
Why should we let it?
Perhaps the healthiest response to “I think you’re wrong” isn’t agreement.
It’s curiosity.
It’s asking another question.
It’s listening long enough to discover that people are usually more complicated — and more interesting — than the labels we’ve assigned them.
Maybe that’s where healthier politics begins.
