I have never felt so alienated from this country. I am disappointed in the result of the election—no surprise there, at least for regular readers—but my estrangement comes not from the outcome as from the process. For at least two decades, but building to a crescendo over the past few years and erupting during the campaign, American society has steadily intensified its cultural obsession with demonizing binaries. This is not merely our ridiculous infatuation with blame; we have been a blaming culture for eons. Today, however, the culture is built on blame+. Blame plus ostracism, blame plus exclusion, blame plus demonization.
The most familiar example of this is our toxic red/blue partisanship—what political scientists call political sectarianism—with its three distinctive elements:
othering—the tendency to view opposing partisans as essentially different or alien to oneself; aversion—the tendency to dislike and distrust opposing partisans; and moralization—the tendency to view opposing partisans as iniquitous. … [W]hen all three converge, political losses can feel like existential threats that must be averted—whatever the cost.
But this way of seeing the world is not confined to politics. On the contrary, for many people, it is their default way of responding to the misdeeds of another. When B does something that A abhors—it doesn’t really matter what—A’s reflexive reaction is to cast B out using the same three steps of sectarianism: othering, aversion, and moralization.
It is a measure of how deeply we have sunk into this bog that some people can only express an opinion by participating in this ritualized idiocy. They apparently cannot articulate an idea—let alone defend it—except by attacking those who disagree with it. And frankly, it’s not hard to see why they feel this way. Just listen to how politicians and pundits talk. Or better still, ask yourself when was the last time you heard a politician talk about an important issue (remember the issues?) without demonizing their partisan opposites. I’ll wait.
Or take a look at any major newspaper, left or right. On some days, once you exclude every article that engages in the journalism of othering, you’re left with little more than the cooking pages. And that’s just the legacy print media. Most television “news” is far worse, and much of social media is a demonizing cesspool. Othering, aversion, and moralization have become the cultural coin of the realm. It makes society uncaring, uncurious, and unforgiving.
So, I have decided I just won’t participate in it. It is my tiny act of resistance. I will not engage in othering and don’t want to truck with those who do. I have been circling toward this position for some time. I long ago distilled my personal moral philosophy to eight words: There is no them, there is only us. My thoughts on the forgiving society are guided by the wisdom of Evelyn Waugh, who said, “to understand all is to forgive all,” and my writing encourages us to withhold judgment of another’s sin—no matter how grave—until we first make the effort to understand what brought them to this point. And I frequently tell my students that while I don’t care what they think, I care deeply how they think and want more than anything for them to become thinkers. So, this last step was no great leap.
While my refusal to spend today’s coin is probably an assurance of cultural irrelevance, it is not a vow of public silence. Quite the opposite. I hold very strong opinions on a number of hot-button issues and express them all the damn time, in my writing and my litigation. I believe the post-9/11 detention regime was morally and legally wrong, and am very proud to have been one of the “left-wing lawyers” who, according to future Secretary of Defense Pete Hegseth, “mucked up” the prison at Guantanamo. I was lead counsel in Rasul v. Bush (2004), the case that opened the prison to hundreds of lawyers and therefore did the most mucking. In a few weeks, I will make yet another trip to the base to see my client, Abu Zubaydah, the Forever Prisoner who was the first person tortured in a CIA black site, the only person subjected to all of the so-called “enhanced” interrogation techniques, and the person for whom I was back in the Supreme Court in 2022, this time over the meaning of “state secrets.”
I believe—and the accumulated lessons of psychology and history confirm—that all of us are capable of monstrous things, which means that none of us are monsters. I have represented people on death row for more than three decades and am opposed to capital punishment in all circumstances. I believe no prison sentence should be longer than 25 years, and that many tens of thousands of people now languishing in prison should be released. I believe that public safety is a community project, and that while good policing can play an important part in this project, it is only a small part, and should only operate to the degree authorized by neighborhood residents. And ultimately, because I aspire to a world where no one lives in a cage, I am an abolitionist, and feel a moral obligation to work toward the world I want to see.
Yet I recognize that these and many of the other views I hold (did anyone say free, universal basic health coverage?) are subject to reasonable disagreement. Many people believe, for instance, that the death penalty is a just punishment. Though they may not express their support in precisely these terms, they think that humans distinguish themselves from other animals by their ability to reflect on their own existence, which gives them the power of reason and makes them responsible for their freely chosen acts. And if a person chooses to take a life, they can be said to have also chosen to forfeit their own.
I respect this view. It has a long pedigree and aligns with deep, morally grounded ideas about retribution. I disagree with it vigorously, but I do not think a person who holds to it is a cretin or a moron. And I would hope that when I meet a person who supports the death penalty—as my father did—we can discuss it intelligently. We might debate, for example, whether for most criminal defendants the capacity to reason is more imagined than real; whether, even if it exists, the capacity to reason implies that the state should have the awesome power to take a life, as opposed to merely deprive a person of liberty; whether the state loses that power if it cannot administer it fairly, free from the distorting influence of race, ethnicity, and class; and whether, regardless of the power to reason, the death penalty is the most effective and efficient way to produce public safety.
These are important debates, but if they cannot take place without ad hominem, then you can leave me out. Likewise, if you cannot defend Guantanamo without attacking me and my co-counsel, then we have nothing to say to each other. But this goes both ways. I criticize Guantanamo, but if my criticism were nothing but a personal attack on its architects, then no one should listen to me. I support abolition, but if my support were nothing but a personal attack on all who “back the blue,” then it does not deserve to be taken seriously. I have ideas. You have ideas. Let’s talk. It’s as simple and as challenging as that.
This brings me back to the election. I am part of what passes for the left in this country. But if my progressive colleagues cannot articulate a position except by attacking Republicans, then we have nothing to say to each other. As importantly, if we cannot articulate how progressive policies will materially help the lives of working people, then we have nothing to say to the country. And if we can articulate that, we should, without larding our remarks with frightening harangues or condescending lectures.
I have no illusion that my solitary choice will slow even for a second America’s Titanic obsession with fury-backed finger-pointing. It is how nearly everyone in the public square talks, and the algorithms that increasingly control our screens, and therefore our lives, help drive us to discord. No one cares that a random person opts out of the game. Equally, I do not even pretend that my choice will spare me from the sort of spiteful vitriol that passes for public discourse nowadays. In fact, I expect this essay will rouse some people to fire off an email accusing me of some unpardonable and unprintable evil. (Here, I’ll make it easy for you: jm347@cornell.edu.)
Oh well. Let’s talk.
