Philippa Kaur

In the United States, a “demoncrat” is an occasional slur among conservatives for a Democratic Party politician or voter, implying that the party is, well, demonic.

While demoncrat is not quite popular usage, the concept, it turns out, is widespread. A recent poll by the Public Religion Research Institute indicates that 18 per cent of Americans believe that the “government, media and financial worlds in the U.S. are controlled by a group of Satan-worshipping pedophiles who run a global child sex-trafficking operation.”

Similar numbers believe “a storm is coming soon” and that “true American patriots may have to resort to violence in order to save our country.”

As with the original 2016 Pizzagate conspiracy — in which Democratic officials, including Hillary Clinton, were accused of involvement in child sex-trafficking — and the larger QAnon conspiracy movement, the enemies are Democratic Party politicians or voters. How did we get here?

Apocalyptic perspectives

Conservative propaganda organs such as Fox News, One America News Network and Newsmax circulate these fantasies to their viewers, but I would like to suggest they do not originate there. Their beginnings may have more to do with apocalypse, an important element of Christian theology that is dominant among conservative white Christians, especially evangelicals.

Apocalypse is cluster of ideas that characterizes two books in the Bible: Daniel and Revelation. The context for both books were similar theological crises: How was it that God’s people — Jews or followers of Jesus — could suffer so under a hostile empire?

The Book of Daniel was written in the context of oppression. In the 160s BCE, Seleucid emperor Antiochus IV forbade Jews from circumcising their boys. The sacred Jerusalem temple may have been violated with a statue of Zeus. A military parade turned into a planned massacre, with Jews murdered or sold into slavery.

The Christian right draw from apocalyptic narratives of good versus evil.
(Shutterstock)

While it’s not as clear what kinds of persecutions early followers of Jesus faced in the Roman Empire, the Book of Revelation also addressed questions of why God allowed his followers to face misery and destruction. In the apocalyptic theology they articulated, Daniel and Revelation hit upon some new answers to the problem of suffering.

God, it was thought, had cosmic enemies whose servants control the human empires that persecuted God’s people. God would intervene soon in a cosmic battle to restore his kingdom, bringing reward or punishment in an afterlife.

Apocalypse repopulated the cosmos with divine beings, including the invisible powers that sponsored their political opponents. What marks apocalyptic theology is this extreme moral dualism, in which one’s political opponents are the enemies of God, controlled by demonic forces.

While apocalyptic theology has always been part of Christianity, it was rejuvenated in the 19th century and became dominant in white evangelicalism. It informs the world view of conservative white Christians, many of whom regard their political opponents in the Democratic Party as demonically controlled — even worshippers of Satan.

Democracy “left behind”

Democracy and apocalypse are incompatible. The Left Behind series, by Christian fundamentalist authors Tim LaHaye and Jerry Jenkins, is a fictionalization of the apocalyptic events portrayed in the Book of Revelation.

In the novels, the charismatic Antichrist is elected as the secretary general of the United Nations where he imposes a one-world religion, takes away Christians’ religious freedoms and violently persecutes believers. Conspiring behind the scenes with international financiers — and aided by hypnosis — he rises to power through democratic elections that he manipulates.

Elections, in other words, do not confer legitimacy. The authors, as well as the series’ Christian characters and readers, understand the larger supernatural forces conspiring behind elections: The demonic manipulates the democratic. And aside from demons, apocalypse breaks democracy’s norms because extreme moral dualism delegitimizes one’s opponents.

British director Vic Armstrong directs the 2014 production of Left Behind, starring Nicolas Cage.

In a new research article, I argue that Left Behind illuminates why conservative white Christians have come to imagine themselves as persecuted: they have been compelled in recent decades to share political and cultural power with other groups. With 80 million copies of the series sold, Left Behind both reflects and influences readers in its mode of apocalyptic politics, where political opponents are portrayed as the servants of Satan who must be resisted, sometimes violently.

Read more:
Evangelical leaders like Billy Graham and Jerry Falwell Sr. have long talked of conspiracies against God’s chosen – those ideas are finding resonance today

Disinformation researcher Abbie Richards categorizes different conspiracy theories.
(Abbie Richards), CC BY

Abbie Richards, an American disinformation researcher, recently ranked contemporary conspiracy theories. It is no accident that some of the conspiracy theories most detached from reality and most dangerous have Satanic or religious components in which the world is ruled by a “supernaturally powerful group.” Such conspiracies are descendants of — or close cousins to — apocalypse.

But even in the absence of belief in demons, apocalyptic politics marks the conspiracy theories behind the “Big Lie” that the 2020 election was stolen from President Trump. And conspiracy theories invite counter conspiracies.

Read more:
One year after the January 6 Capitol attack, the US is still dealing with the fallout from Trump’s ‘Big Lie’

Rolling Stone recently reported new allegations in the investigation of the Jan. 6 insurrection that “Stop the Steal” rally organizers were planning with members of Congress and White House officials.

Chief of Staff Mark Meadows developed a PowerPoint to share plans to manipulate America’s creaky electoral machinery to overturn the democratic will of the voters and to swear in the defeated Donald Trump for a second term.

In apocalyptic politics, all uses of power by the good side are considered fair. It contends that the demoncrats, illegitimate even if elected, must be prevented from seizing power from God’s chosen people in his favoured nation. More

One year ago, some witnesses to the assault on the Capitol building in Washington, D.C., referenced zombies when describing the mayhem as the mob of Donald Trump supporters broke into the building and people sought safety.

“It was like something out of a zombie movie,” recalled a photographer who was at the scene, speaking of seeing hordes of rioters. Similarly, Rep. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez said it “almost felt like a zombie movie” as she described hiding and seeking shelter.

In the 20 years that zombie apocalypse narratives have grown and reached critical mass in popular media, such comparisons at an insurrection at the seat of American democracy — where five people died and scores more were injured and traumatized — are disturbing, but unsurprising.

More significant, however, is that zombie apocalyptic and post-apocalyptic narratives have become popular during the same economic and cultural currents that gave rise to Trump’s Make America Great Again (MAGA) movement and his presidency.

Rioters loyal to Donald Trump climb the west wall of the the U.S. Capitol in Washington, D.C., on Jan. 6, 2021.
(AP Photo/Jose Luis Magana)

Glut of post-apocalyptic narratives

Depictions of the end of civilization on Earth, especially after the advent of nuclear weapons, have often focused on the spectacle of disaster, as discussed by writer Susan Sontag in her classic 1965 essay “The Imagination of Disaster.”

In many post-apocalyptic narratives that have become prevalent in the past two decades, like Cormac McCarthy’s novel The Road or the television series The Walking Dead, the actual disaster itself is less significant than life in the aftermath.

Literature scholar Connor Pitetti notes this diversification of the apocalyptic imagination in his essay “The Uses of the End of the World: Apocalypse and Postapocalypse as Narrative Modes.” He writes that in the 21st century, narratives about the bomb have been joined by those pertaining to more diverse “eschatological powers” — forces bound in some transcendent and otherworldly way with end times and the final history of humankind.

Actors portraying zombies in ‘The Walking Dead’ rehearse at Universal Studios Hollywood in Los Angeles, in June 2016.
(AP Photo/Jae C. Hong)

Cultural critic Laurie Penny writes that “more post-apocalyptic entertainment has come out in the beginning of this century than in the entirety of the last one.”

Broken civilization?

But why should this be the case? Some scholars of history, literature and culture suggest that if people come to believe civilization as we know it is irreparably broken, the prospect of its end may become an appealing fantasy.

One factor may be the desire for alternatives in a world where contemporary consumer capitalism is often presumed to be inevitable, rather than a human choice, as noted by the late historian Tony Judt in his book Ill Fares the Land.

It becomes easier, says literary critic Fredric Jameson, “to imagine the thoroughgoing deterioration of the Earth and of nature than the breakdown of capitalism” — or even
“to imagine the end of the world than the end of capitalism,”
in the words of cultural critic Mark Fisher.

Economic insecurity, inequality at play

Writing about the dangers posed by Trumpism, interdisciplinary political scientist Thomas Homer-Dixon notes the key factors giving rise to it “include stagnating middle-class incomes, chronic economic insecurity and rising inequality.” Additionally, he writes, while “returns to labour have stagnated and returns to capital have soared,”
right-wing ideologues inflamed white fears that whites are being “replaced.”

Trump’s principally white constituency views the increasing diversification of the American populace as a threat.

Smoke fills the walkway outside the Senate chamber as rioters are confronted by U.S. Capitol Police officers inside the Capitol in Washington, D.C., on Jan. 6, 2021.
(AP Photo/Manuel Balce Ceneta)

During his campaign, Trump — elected amid this populist, nativist backlash — vowed to be a wrecking ball laying waste to the edifices of the Washington, D.C., establishment. The sentiment was similarly voiced by his former senior strategist Steve Bannon, who in 2017 characterized Trump as a “blunt instrument” with which to “deconstruct the administrative state.”

This appetite for destruction wasn’t Trump’s creation; rather, Trump has given voice and license to the forces of reaction and backlash.

Reaction, backlash

A sense of perverse pleasure in imagining the end of democratic law and order was evident in the Capitol assault a year ago, especially in the often absurd and mythically styled costuming of some of the insurgents. It ranged from sinister white supremacist, extremist paramilitary garb to the familiar 1776 getup of Tea Partiers, but also vaguely frontiersman-like furs and pelts, and of course the pseudo-tribal cosplay of Jacob Chansley, the notorious QAnon shaman.

As news footage from the day shows, bizarre outfits did not mitigate the rage and violence that marked the attempted coup. Nor do they detract from the dangers posed by the MAGA movement.

Commentators have noted how the extremist ideologies of Trump supporters are entwined with a revival of religious impulses. These are often focused on stark contrasts between goodness and evil and the possession of secret knowledge that fuels conspiracy theories and “end times” apocalyptic speculation.

Read more:
QAnon and the storm of the U.S. Capitol: The offline effect of online conspiracy theories

Seeking authenticity in ashes

Penny argues that the proliferation of apocalyptic narratives exist “somewhere between wish fulfilment and trauma rehearsal.”

An example of this can be seen in discussion groups and message boards enthusing over the prospect of a zombie apocalypse.

A common refrain, widely merchandized on decals, T-shirts, mugs and beyond, has become: “The hardest part of the zombie apocalypse will be pretending I’m not excited.”

Such statements reveal a sort of hopeful nihilism: a sensibility that seeks, gleefully, to demolish and destroy in the vague assumption that life in the ashes will be better, truer and more authentic.

In a zombie apocalypse, this may be seen in characters who come into their own as hyper-competent bad asses when resisting zombies (a trope notably parodied in the British zombie comedy Shaun of the Dead), but also characters who face zombie enemies against whom violence is not merely sanctioned but morally imperative.

The Capitol dome is seen beyond a perimeter security fence at sunrise in Washington, D.C., in March 2021.
(AP Photo/Carolyn Kaster)

Zombie warnings

So have the zombies been trying to warn us about Trumpism this whole time?

The question is not nearly as glib as it seems. Cultural preoccupations, such as the disaster films Sontag wrote about in 1965, almost invariably provide a window into societal anxieties and fears on one hand, and wishes and desires on the other. Unfortunately, such insights often only reveal themselves with the benefit of hindsight.

Sontag’s writing articulated the pervasive fear imbued by the Cold War’s threat of nuclear war. At the same time, however, they expressed faith that societal institutions — government, the military, science — would prevail.

Sadly, our obsession with post-apocalyptic scenarios is largely borne of the loss of such faith. More

One year ago, some witnesses to the assault on the Capitol building in Washington, D.C., referenced zombies when describing the mayhem as the mob of Donald Trump supporters broke into the building and people sought safety.

“It was like something out of a zombie movie,” recalled a photographer who was at the scene, speaking of seeing hordes of rioters. Similarly, Rep. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez said it “almost felt like a zombie movie” as she described hiding and seeking shelter.

In the 20 years that zombie apocalypse narratives have grown and reached critical mass in popular media, such comparisons at an insurrection at the seat of American democracy — where five people died and scores more were injured and traumatized — are disturbing, but unsurprising.

More significant, however, is that zombie apocalyptic and post-apocalyptic narratives have become popular during the same economic and cultural currents that gave rise to Trump’s Make America Great Again (MAGA) movement and his presidency.

Rioters loyal to Donald Trump climb the west wall of the the U.S. Capitol in Washington, D.C., on Jan. 6, 2021.
(AP Photo/Jose Luis Magana)

Glut of post-apocalyptic narratives

Depictions of the end of civilization on Earth, especially after the advent of nuclear weapons, have often focused on the spectacle of disaster, as discussed by writer Susan Sontag in her classic 1965 essay “The Imagination of Disaster.”

In many post-apocalyptic narratives that have become prevalent in the past two decades, like Cormac McCarthy’s novel The Road or the television series The Walking Dead, the actual disaster itself is less significant than life in the aftermath.

Literature scholar Connor Pitetti notes this diversification of the apocalyptic imagination in his essay “The Uses of the End of the World: Apocalypse and Postapocalypse as Narrative Modes.” He writes that in the 21st century, narratives about the bomb have been joined by those pertaining to more diverse “eschatological powers” — forces bound in some transcendent and otherworldly way with end times and the final history of humankind.

Actors portraying zombies in ‘The Walking Dead’ rehearse at Universal Studios Hollywood in Los Angeles, in June 2016.
(AP Photo/Jae C. Hong)

Cultural critic Laurie Penny writes that “more post-apocalyptic entertainment has come out in the beginning of this century than in the entirety of the last one.”

Broken civilization?

But why should this be the case? Some scholars of history, literature and culture suggest that if people come to believe civilization as we know it is irreparably broken, the prospect of its end may become an appealing fantasy.

One factor may be the desire for alternatives in a world where contemporary consumer capitalism is often presumed to be inevitable, rather than a human choice, as noted by the late historian Tony Judt in his book Ill Fares the Land.

It becomes easier, says literary critic Fredric Jameson, “to imagine the thoroughgoing deterioration of the Earth and of nature than the breakdown of capitalism” — or even
“to imagine the end of the world than the end of capitalism,”
in the words of cultural critic Mark Fisher.

Economic insecurity, inequality at play

Writing about the dangers posed by Trumpism, interdisciplinary political scientist Thomas Homer-Dixon notes the key factors giving rise to it “include stagnating middle-class incomes, chronic economic insecurity and rising inequality.” Additionally, he writes, while “returns to labour have stagnated and returns to capital have soared,”
right-wing ideologues inflamed white fears that whites are being “replaced.”

Trump’s principally white constituency views the increasing diversification of the American populace as a threat.

Smoke fills the walkway outside the Senate chamber as rioters are confronted by U.S. Capitol Police officers inside the Capitol in Washington, D.C., on Jan. 6, 2021.
(AP Photo/Manuel Balce Ceneta)

During his campaign, Trump — elected amid this populist, nativist backlash — vowed to be a wrecking ball laying waste to the edifices of the Washington, D.C., establishment. The sentiment was similarly voiced by his former senior strategist Steve Bannon, who in 2017 characterized Trump as a “blunt instrument” with which to “deconstruct the administrative state.”

This appetite for destruction wasn’t Trump’s creation; rather, Trump has given voice and license to the forces of reaction and backlash.

Reaction, backlash

A sense of perverse pleasure in imagining the end of democratic law and order was evident in the Capitol assault a year ago, especially in the often absurd and mythically styled costuming of some of the insurgents. It ranged from sinister white supremacist, extremist paramilitary garb to the familiar 1776 getup of Tea Partiers, but also vaguely frontiersman-like furs and pelts, and of course the pseudo-tribal cosplay of Jacob Chansley, the notorious QAnon shaman.

As news footage from the day shows, bizarre outfits did not mitigate the rage and violence that marked the attempted coup. Nor do they detract from the dangers posed by the MAGA movement.

Commentators have noted how the extremist ideologies of Trump supporters are entwined with a revival of religious impulses. These are often focused on stark contrasts between goodness and evil and the possession of secret knowledge that fuels conspiracy theories and “end times” apocalyptic speculation.

Read more:
QAnon and the storm of the U.S. Capitol: The offline effect of online conspiracy theories

Seeking authenticity in ashes

Penny argues that the proliferation of apocalyptic narratives exist “somewhere between wish fulfilment and trauma rehearsal.”

An example of this can be seen in discussion groups and message boards enthusing over the prospect of a zombie apocalypse.

A common refrain, widely merchandized on decals, T-shirts, mugs and beyond, has become: “The hardest part of the zombie apocalypse will be pretending I’m not excited.”

Such statements reveal a sort of hopeful nihilism: a sensibility that seeks, gleefully, to demolish and destroy in the vague assumption that life in the ashes will be better, truer and more authentic.

In a zombie apocalypse, this may be seen in characters who come into their own as hyper-competent bad asses when resisting zombies (a trope notably parodied in the British zombie comedy Shaun of the Dead), but also characters who face zombie enemies against whom violence is not merely sanctioned but morally imperative.

The Capitol dome is seen beyond a perimeter security fence at sunrise in Washington, D.C., in March 2021.
(AP Photo/Carolyn Kaster)

Zombie warnings

So have the zombies been trying to warn us about Trumpism this whole time?

The question is not nearly as glib as it seems. Cultural preoccupations, such as the disaster films Sontag wrote about in 1965, almost invariably provide a window into societal anxieties and fears on one hand, and wishes and desires on the other. Unfortunately, such insights often only reveal themselves with the benefit of hindsight.

Sontag’s writing articulated the pervasive fear imbued by the Cold War’s threat of nuclear war. At the same time, however, they expressed faith that societal institutions — government, the military, science — would prevail.

Sadly, our obsession with post-apocalyptic scenarios is largely borne of the loss of such faith. More

The year 2021 will be remembered for an unprecedented event in U.S. history: the January 6 assault on the Capitol by supporters of President Donald Trump in an attempt to prevent the certification of the 2020 election results.

This was not an attack on a building, but on Congress itself. Its members were in session and had to stop their vote, hide under their seats and the building was urgently evacuated in a state of panic.

Five people died during the riot and its immediate aftermath, and hundreds have subsequently been charged with federal crimes. Since July, the events of January 6 have been under investigation by a bipartisan House Select Committee in charge of investigating “one of the darkest days of our democracy”.

The “Big Lie” and its consequences

While the Capitol has been the scene of much violence in the past, it has never been attacked on this scale by US citizens emboldened by a president attempting to overturn a legal and legitimate election. Beyond the question of whether this amounted to an attempted coup, this violent assault was certainly the dramatic culmination of a long process of undermining America’s democratic institutions.

In the preceding weeks, a small circle of Republican lawmakers from the ultra-right Freedom Caucus that includes former Tea Party members, worked with the president and the White House through chief of staff Mark Meadows to try to overturn the results of the 2020 election.

They pressured local elected officials, lobbied the Department of Justice, and flooded the courts with appeals that always lost. Yet even today, Donald Trump and his allies continue to promote the “Big Lie” that the election was stolen from them, amplifying false allegations and conspiracy theories, with the help of media allies like Fox News and the One America News Network.

A rioter holds a bust of Donald Trump after storming the Capitol building on January 6, 2021.
Roberto Schmidt/AFP

In the aftermath of January 6, it might have hoped that such an appalling event would unite the country, and that elected officials on all sides would put aside their divisions in the face of such an assault on democracy.

Yet just hours after the riots ended, as Congress reconvened on Capitol Hill, the vast majority of Republican representatives and several senators objected to the certification of the vote.

And even though Republican leaders – Kevin McCarthy in the House and Mitch McConnell in the Senate – spoke of the moral responsibility of Donald Trump in the attack on the Capitol, they refused to support the impeachment of the former president and opposed bipartisan commissions to investigate the events.

In the end, only ten Republicans voted to impeach Trump over the events of January 6, and seven voted to convict.

The role of right-wing media

The reason for this reluctance to hold the former president accountable may be that a large majority of Republican voters seems to have bought into the big lie, a belief now shared by some 65 million Americans that has persisted for more than a year.

An astonishing 9% even think that the use of violence is justified. That is potentially 23 million Americans.

These polls also show a correlation between willingness to believe in the most far-fetched theories and news sources such as Fox News and the far-right media.

Outflanked on its right by the small but rising extremist channels Newsmax and the One America News Network, Fox News personalities like Tucker Carlson and their congressional darlings (Paul Gosar, Louie Gohmert and Matt Gaetz) quickly promoted revisionist narratives: the events of January 6 were mostly a peaceful exercise of free speech, and the violence was committed by the radical left or undercover FBI agents who infiltrated the crowd, or, alternatively, it was justified by the desperation of patriots fighting for the survival of the republic and democracy.

Trump, for his part, still gives a clear alternate version of the events of January 6: “The insurrection took place on November 3, Election Day. January 6 was the Protest!” he wrote in a statement released by his fundraising group in October.

Red states and midterms

The reality is that massive national electoral fraud is nearly impossible precisely because elections are the responsibility of the states, which means the real issues are at the local level.

Those issues include gerrymandering, which on its own could give Republicans a majority in the house in the 2022 midterm elections. In the senate, where the Republicans are already over-represented compared to their real electoral weight, ten races will determine the next majority. In the end, there is the real possibility of a Congress being ruled by a minority.

Beyond the issues of congressional control, these midterm elections will be important for new laws enacted at the state level under the guise of “election integrity.”

Currently, 19 red states (where Republicans control both the legislature and the governorship) have passed laws making voting more difficult. In other key states, laws have been or are being passed that many fear would allow legislatures to disregard the results of an election.

All this increases the possibility of a constitutional crisis that would end up in front of the heavily politicised Supreme Court.

Project Trump in 2022

The other major issue in 2022 will be the Republican primaries. Donald Trump has signalled his intent to primary any Republicans who dared to criticise him. This includes those who voted for his impeachment or conviction, including Alaska’s Lisa Murkowski and Wyoming’s Liz Cheney. The latter is also participating in the congressional committee investigating the January 6 uprising.

Liz Cheney has provoked Trump’s ire by voting to impeach and participating in the investigation into the events of January 6.
Olivier Douliery/AFP

Conventional wisdom says that Trump will only run in 2024 if he is sure he can win, which seems more likely as the deck is stacked in his favour. His power could be undermined if his candidates lose out in the primaries, especially after he lost his bid to oust McConnell. He also faces numerous legal challenges, though the GOP has agreed to pay some of his legal fees.

His recent rallies have been poorly attended, and according to a recent poll, 44% of Republicans want him to run for president in 2024.

He may also be outpaced by his own movement as he was recently booed for promoting vaccination.

The point of no return?

In the end, the main question may be about whether the events of January 6 and their consequences are a sign that the country has reached a critical level of polarisation from which there is no return, even in the face of a common enemy like a pandemic.

The congressional investigation should not have much of an impact: 77% of Republicans do not believe it will be fair and reasonable, and fewer and fewer think it is important for law enforcement to prosecute the rioters.

The real battle will play out in the ballot box. What types of Republicans will win in 2022? Can traditional conservative Republicans like Liz Cheney win back the party? Even if Trump were to disappear, there is the possibility that Trumpism sill outlive him.

Many scholars and journalists have sounded the alarm about the threats to American democracy, including the threat of a simmering coup d’état, further political violence, and even civil war.

But there are other risks, including that of low electoral turn-out, which could lead to a less spectacular but more likely slow death of democratic institutions amid the generalised indifference of a population more concerned with immediate cultural, identity or economic issues than the fate of democracy. More

For the first time, the United States has been classified as a “backsliding democracy” in a global assessment of democratic societies by the International Institute for Democracy and Electoral Assistance, an intergovernmental research group.

One key reason the report cites is the continuing popularity among Republicans of false allegations of widespread voter fraud in the 2020 presidential election.

But according to the organization’s secretary general, perhaps the “most concerning” aspect of American democracy is “runaway polarization.” One year after the Jan. 6 Capitol riot, Americans’ perceptions about even the well-documented events of that day are divided along partisan lines.

Polarization looms large in many diagnoses of America’s current political struggles. Some researchers warn of an approaching “tipping point” of irreversible polarization. Suggested remedies are available from across the partisan spectrum.

There are two types of polarization, as I discuss in my book “Sustaining Democracy.” One isn’t inherently dangerous; the other can be. And together, they can be extremely destructive of democratic societies.

Two kinds

Political polarization is the ideological distance between opposed parties. If the differences are large, it can produce logjams, standoffs and inflexibility in Congress and state and local governments. Though it can be frustrating, political polarization is not necessarily dysfunctional. It even can be beneficial, offering true choices for voters and policymakers alike. Deep-seated disagreement can be healthy for democracy, after all. The clash of opinions can help us find the truth. The clamor of ideological differences among political parties provides citizens with shortcuts for making political choices.

Belief polarization, also called group polarization, is different. Interaction with like-minded others transforms people into more extreme versions of themselves. These more extreme selves are also overly confident and therefore more prepared to engage in risky behavior.

Belief polarization also leads people to embrace more intensely negative feelings toward people with different views. As they shift toward extremism, they come to define themselves and others primarily in terms of partisanship. Eventually, politics expands beyond policy ideas and into entire lifestyles.

But that’s not all. As I explain in my book, as society sorts into “liberal” and “conservative” lifestyles, people grow more invested in policing the borders between “us” and “them.” And as people’s alliances focus on hostility toward those who disagree, they become more conformist and intolerant of differences among allies.

People grow less able to navigate disagreement, eventually developing into citizens who believe that democracy is possible only when everyone agrees with them. That is a profoundly antidemocratic stance.

Even when demonstrators are part of the same group, as the photographer reports these two are, they can have differing views.
John Tlumacki/The Boston Globe via Getty Images

The polarization loop

Belief polarization is toxic for citizens’ relations with one another. But the large-scale political dysfunction lies in how political and belief polarization work together in a mutually reinforcing loop. When the citizenry is divided into two clans that are fixated on animus against the other, politicians have incentives to amplify hostility toward their partisan opponents.

And because the citizenry is divided over lifestyle choices rather than policy ideas, officeholders are released from the usual electoral pressure to advance a legislative platform. They can gain reelection simply based on their antagonism.

As politicians escalate their rifts, citizens are cued to entrench partisan segregation. This produces additional belief polarization, which in turn rewards political intransigence. All the while, constructive political processes get submerged in the merely symbolic and tribal, while people’s capacities for responsible democratic citizenship erode.

Managing polarization

Remedies for polarization tend to focus on how it poisons citizens’ relations. Surely President Joe Biden was correct to stress in his inaugural address that Americans need to “lower the temperature” and to “see each other not as adversaries, but as neighbors.”

Still, democracy presupposes political disagreement. As James Madison observed, the U.S. needs democracy precisely because self-governing citizens inevitably will disagree about politics. The response to polarization cannot involve calls for unanimity or abandoning partisan rivalries. A democracy without political divides is no democracy at all.

The task is to render people’s political differences more civil, to reestablish the ability to respectfully disagree. But this cannot be accomplished simply by conducting political discussions differently. Research indicates that once people are polarized, exposure even to civil expressions of the other side’s viewpoint creates more polarization.

This is a case of the crucial difference between prevention and cure. It’s not enough to pretend polarization hasn’t happened, or to behave as if it’s a minor concern. In the current situation, even sincere attempts to respectfully engage with the other side often backfire.

Yet Americans remain democratic citizens, partners in the shared project of self-government who cannot simply ignore one another.

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Polarization is a problem that cannot be solved, but only managed. It does make relations toxic among political opponents, but it also hurts relations among allies. It escalates conformity within coalitions, shrinking people’s concepts of what levels of disagreement are tolerable in like-minded groups.

It may be, then, that managing polarization could involve working to counteract conformity by engaging in respectful disagreements with people we see as allies. By taking steps to remember that politics always involves disputation, even among those who vote for the same candidates and affiliate with the same party, Americans may begin to rediscover the ability to respectfully disagree with opponents. More