For many of us, since we started having political opinions, they’ve hardly wavered.
In an era where we view political perspectives as direct representations of our morals and intelligence, why would we be willing to agree with those whom we consider “less than” us? Of course, this is an extremely shallow way of thinking. But when the strongest forms of propaganda are the ones that tell us to fight the enemy, it is no surprise that the majority of both parties see their counterparts in this close-minded way.
Several Americans believe we are facing levels of political polarization likely not seen since the Civil War. However, instead of doing anything to bridge this gap, this “great divide” keeps widening. Why is that? There are a couple of key contributing factors to consider.
Identity Politics
Politics are increasingly becoming more and more associated with our identities: our beliefs now feel like extensions of who we are as humans. As a result of this association, having your stance questioned feels like having your character questioned.
While politicians on both the left and right have used identity politics effectively, these parties have taken differing positions. The left’s appeal to identity often emerges as calls for recognition and inclusion, acknowledging the lived experiences of marginalized groups and demanding visibility within power structures. On the right, identity is invoked as a defense of tradition and national stability, attempting to preserve what many feel is under threat. Both sides claim the moral high ground, framing their struggles as fights for justice.
Beyond this, we also have a tendency to generalize all members of a political party as fitting a particular archetype that we have created in our heads. Thus, you may consider your conservative neighbor as right-leaning as Donald Trump and your liberal classmate as left-leaning as Bernie Sanders. These misperceptions allow us to essentially dehumanize those we disagree with by considering their political affiliations to be stronger than who they are as people, making it easier to dismiss them than engage with them.
Once we make up our mind about someone, we stop listening to what they’re actually saying. However, the truth is that the political positions we all hold are much more nuanced—everyone identifying with the same label might not necessarily always ideologically agree. Political identities exist on spectrums, shaped by local issues, personal experiences, and individual priorities.
The issue is that when politics become inseparable from identity, constructive conversations are nearly impossible. Forcing yourself to listen to someone who disagrees isn’t just difficult and uncomfortable, it can feel like conceding part of your own integrity. Naturally, the instinct is to withdraw or respond defensively instead of genuinely considering another point of view. Over time, this instinct becomes a habit, and that habit becomes a lifestyle. The result is an environment where listening is seen as weak, moderation as indecision, and compromise as surrender.
Echo Chambers
In such a culture, disagreement too often feels hostile and personal, and the space for genuine dialogue continues to shrink. This space has narrowed even further in the digital age, where social media and traditional media alike thrive on fostering division.
Take social media—platforms that were initially built to connect us now operate on algorithms designed to keep us in our comfort zone. Like many I know, I get my primary source of news from social media. I can follow all the highly-factual, unbiased pages I can find, but at the end of the day, my algorithm knows me best. The politics I see at 2 a.m. when I’m scrolling through reels is never going to be from journalists and news outlets—I am shown videos from individuals offering emotional commentary often framed as truth because Instagram knows I prefer real faces and voices to plain text headlines.
This design isn’t accidental: algorithms are built to maximize engagement, and content that affects your feelings tends to hold attention in ways straightforward reporting cannot. The more emotionally charged the content, the more likely it is to circulate, creating echo chambers built on feelings over facts. People then tend to rarely encounter information that contradicts their worldview, and when they do, it is often through sensationalized or adversarial coverage that reinforces distrust.
Traditional media, though structured differently, has followed a similar trajectory. In such a competitive attention economy, major news outlets have learned that polarization drives engagement just as effectively as it does online. Even two decades ago, political conversations among those who disagreed tended to remain civil, grounded in shared facts and a willingness to listen. Now, from cable networks to digital publications, media intentionally segments audiences by ideology, tailoring their language and framing to fit partisan expectations. Nuance, which was once a marker of good journalism, has become a modern liability. Today’s political media thrives on conflict, rewarding confrontation over clarity and fostering an environment that entrenches partisanship and distorts public understanding of opposing perspectives.
Whether it be from an algorithmic feed or a morning broadcast, we are encouraged to consume and judge without pausing to question and understand. The incentives that once supported informed discourse now favor immediacy and outrage. Ultimately, we listen less not because we are incapable of doing so, but because our information systems have taught us that it no longer matters.
Emotion in Politics
At the core of our reluctance to meaningfully engage with others lies something deeply emotional. In modern America, politics are becoming less and less reliant upon critical thinking and logic and more upon anger and fear.
Political messaging increasingly appeals to how we feel rather than what we think, creating a climate where reaction becomes the default mode of participation. Campaigns, advocacy groups, and media organizations all recognize that heightened emotion mobilizes faster than rational argument. Politicians who spark fear or anger are much more likely to dominate the news than ones who offer detailed policy proposals. The most significant messages are often the ones that spread the furthest and elicit the strongest emotions, regardless of its accuracy or nuance.
Our emotional responses are also intensified by the way we experience political events in real time. Social media platforms encourage instantaneous feedback and the rise of rapid-fire debates designed to provoke rather than constructively discuss ideas end up reducing political engagement to a cycle of dismissive commentary and impulse-driven judgement. Major events are thus met not with analysis, but with either immediate praise or condemnation. These emotional bursts ultimately shape political narratives before the facts can catch up. As a result, political conversations stem from feelings instead of understanding.
When we allow politics to become primarily emotional, we lose out on critical conversations with those around us. Strong emotions narrow our focus and make it much more difficult to consider alternative perspectives or weigh evidence impartially. Over time, this develops into a political culture where individuals are less willing to hear each other out because their own emotional investments in the issues feel too great to risk. In a system that rewards reaction over reflection, the capacity to listen to one another becomes increasingly rare.
What Can We Do About It?
Addressing this decline in civic listening requires us to first recognize how deeply ingrained these dynamics have become. The forces shaping our political behavior and ideals are not easily undoable, but they are adaptable. Prone as we all are to fall into the trap of remaining self-righteous, we must challenge ourselves to encounter and absorb information that contradicts our worldviews. These actions may seem modest, but they help reintroduce habits that our current information landscape has eroded. Structuring conversations in ways that value clarity and good-faith engagement over speed and spectacle promotes an environment where disagreement can occur without outright hostility. People are still capable of listening and being listened to—we must just remember to reinstate listening as an intentional practice rather than a passive expectation.
Shloka Bhattacharyya is a member of the class of 2028 and can be reached at sbhattachary@wesleyan.edu.
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