How Do We Practice Politics the Right Way?

Trying to find a way forward in a politically divided and distrustful country

After a long summer hiatus, American Storylines is back. I’ve finished a draft manuscript of my book, Uncoupled, and will continue editing and refining it throughout the fall. For those who are interested, the book is scheduled for release in fall 2026. I’ll provide regular updates as things progress.

---

It’s been a dispiriting few weeks, which I hope will spark much-needed reflection. I tend not to opine much here, but I wanted to share a few thoughts about the Charlie Kirk assassination, the aftermath, and how we got here.

The murder of Charlie Kirk is, first and foremost, a tragedy. Whatever objections people had to Kirk’s views—and I certainly had some—he demonstrated a willingness to engage with his political adversaries. He remained staunchly committed to the principle of free expression. On the day he was murdered, Kirk was wearing a t-shirt with the word “Freedom” printed on it. He was a strong advocate for free speech. He believed Americans should be allowed to say “outrageous things” and dismissed the concept of hate speech. He believed that “hate speech does not exist legally in America. There’s ugly speech. There’s gross speech. There’s evil speech. And all of it is protected by the First Amendment.” Kirk’s supreme confidence in his message and persuasive abilities meant that he was unafraid to engage in political argument on virtually any subject. The New York Times‘ Ezra Klein went so far as to say that Kirk was doing politics the right way, writing, “A taste for disagreement is a virtue in a democracy.”

That’s true — to an extent.

Disagreement is a necessary condition for a healthy democracy, but it is hardly sufficient. Our ability to express discordant or disagreeable views is a cornerstone of a vibrant political culture. But arguing about politics should never be the goal; rather, it is a means to an end. It’s an opportunity to refine our thinking, to better understand the reasoning of those who hold opposing views, and, most of all, to find places of common purpose or shared values. Without working towards some common end point, these public displays are simply political performance art. In this way, Kirk’s brand of performative politics was not a productive model of civil discourse, even if it was a successful one.

How did we get here?

Over two decades ago, before social media dominated the political landscape, political scientist Theda Skocpol found that local forms of associational life were being replaced by national advocacy organizations. The churches, union halls, and social clubs that once structured and mediated our civic and political conversations were replaced by single-issue advocacy groups, such as NARAL and the NRA. These groups had varying motives and encouraged a different form of political engagement. In a keynote address titled “Voice and Inequality: The Transformation of American Civic Democracy,” Skocpol spoke about her unease about what these changes augured for political discussion: “Single-issue advocacy groups have an interest in creating anger and controversy and fear, and convincing people something bad has happened. That’s how they get people to write checks, so naturally, they are giving loud voices to the extremes, and drowning out the average, common-sense middle in many of these discussions.” Although arguably more effective, these organizations encouraged a more tribal approach to political engagement, dividing people into supporters and opponents of a cause.

In the decades that followed, the Internet further fueled a breakdown of civil discourse. Social media platforms are particularly known to promote extreme political views. Our online personas are frequently more political and less nuanced than our offline selves. Online, we more readily signal our political allegiances, seek opportunities to vent frustration, and argue. One result is that we come to see people we disagree with as political caricatures representing little more than an objectionable opinion. Often, we end up arguing with professional political provocateurs.

The reality is that most Americans are not defined by their political views. In a survey we conducted a few years ago, political identity was far less important to people’s sense of self than other personal characteristics, such as their gender, sexual orientation, or religious affiliation. Only 27 percent of Americans said their political views were a very important or one of the most important aspects of their identity. Yet we have come to despise our political opponents based on a facet of their identity that is not all that important to them.

The age of social media has not only created a culture where contentious and mean-spirited disagreement generates engagement, but these platforms also encourage opinion-sharing. We are accustomed to providing immediate feedback, especially when something displeases us. That is every American’s right. However, we now have an overabundance of opportunities to share our grievances or express agitation. Not every feeling or thought deserves public expression—and there are times when remaining silent is a virtue. In the age of oversharing, suggesting that we communicate less is countercultural. We’ve made the act of personal––often combative––expression an unassailable virtue. It’s more important for me to share every fleeting feeling rather than consider how that expression stands to degrade the quality of public discourse and undermine common understanding.

A survey we conducted this year found that 54 percent of Gen Z adults said it was more important to say what they think on a given topic even if it made people uncomfortable. Only thirty-nine percent of Baby Boomers agreed, while nearly six in ten (59 percent) among them said it was better to keep their views to themselves. I am not suggesting that people should stay silent on issues that are important to them, but rather that the right to speak does not require the constant exercise of it.

Too often, the goal is to prove that your opponent’s views are based on faulty logic, a morally compromised worldview, or simply ignorance. We’ve become inured to this type of political engagement because compromise and conciliation seem either out of reach or undesirable. Polls have found that Americans are losing faith in our ability to find common ground with our political opponents. Pew found that, in just over a year, the percentage of Americans who said Democrats and Republicans can find common ground on key policy issues has plummeted. On issues like abortion, gun control, immigration, and foreign policy, fewer Americans believe that it’s possible to find consensus. Yet the public still wants its elected leaders to seek compromise.

The problem with an ethic that prioritizes winning above all else is that it raises the political stakes and reduces complicated issues to binary outcomes. If you’re not winning, you’re losing. Much of Kirk’s public persona and popularity was built on making his political adversaries uncomfortable. At a time when colleges have been more focused on shielding young people from controversial ideas, Kirk’s forthright style of communicating felt refreshing to many students, especially young men. But Kirk was also purposefully provocative, and at times willfully offensive—such as when he argued that the 1964 Civil Rights Act was wrong or when he chided Taylor Swift, the most successful musician of her generation, by saying that she should submit to her soon-to-be husband, Travis Kelce.

We don’t come to consensus by arguing better or more often. It requires a purpose. Political exchange should be predicated on the desire to build something, even if that is simply a better understanding of why people believe what they do.