Latest news with #LeeDrutman
Vox
12-08-2025
- Politics
- Vox
Stop romanticizing the 1990s. The data shows today is better.
is a senior editorial director at Vox overseeing the climate teams and the Unexplainable and The Gray Area podcasts. He is also the editor of Vox's Future Perfect section and writes the Good News newsletter. He worked at Time magazine for 15 years as a foreign correspondent in Asia, a climate writer, and an international editor, and he wrote a book on existential risk. Let me introduce you to four of the most dangerous words in politics: 'the good old days.' Humans have a demonstrated tendency to remember the past as better than it actually was. It's called 'nostalgia bias,' and it can lead to us unfairly comparing the conditions of the present to some better imagined past. Memory, as the political scientist Lee Drutman wrote in a smart piece last year, is like a record store: It stocks both the hits and stinkers of the present, but only the hits of the past. 'The old days were full of stinkers, too,' he wrote. 'It's just nobody replays the stinkers.' Nostalgia bias has become a bigger and bigger part of our politics, thanks in part to President Donald Trump's largely successful ability to leverage a collective longing for a supposedly better past. (After all, it's called 'Make America Great Again,' not 'Make America Great.') But it's hardly the domain of one party: A 2023 survey from Pew found that nearly six in 10 respondents said that life in the US 50 years ago was better for people like them than it is today. Fifty years ago was the 1970s, and it doesn't take too much historical research to see how that decade doesn't match up to our happy memories. (One word: disco.) But what about a more recent, seemingly actually better decade? One that's suddenly surfing a wave of pop-culture nostalgia? A decade like…the 1990s? Related The surprising reason fewer people are dying from extreme weather One 2024 survey from CivicScience found that the 1990s were the single decade respondents felt most nostalgic for (while the most recent decade, the 2010s, finished dead last). Nor, to my surprise, is this just the product of aging Gen X-ers pining for their flannel-clad youth — another survey found that over a third of Gen Z-ers were nostalgic for the 1990s, despite the fact most of them had not yet been born then, while 61 percent of millennials felt the same way. But look closely, and you'll realize that our memories of the 1990s are fatally blurred by nostalgia. Here are four reasons why the 1990s weren't as good as the present day. 1) A far more violent country I've written before about how Americans have this stubborn habit of believing the crime is getting worse even when it's actually getting better. But holy cow, was America violent and murderous in the 1990s! 2) A much poorer world At the start of the 1990s, nearly 40 percent of the entire world was in a state of extreme poverty, living on $2.15 or less a day. What that meant in reality was that for almost half the world, life was lived on the edge of grinding subsistence, much as it had been for centuries, with seemingly little chance for change. In China, for instance, some two-thirds of the population was in extreme poverty. The idea that the world's largest nation would ever become rich would have been laughable. Today, as I've written before, that picture has utterly changed. Just 8.5 percent of the world's now much larger population lives in extreme poverty, which translates to over a billion people escaping near-total destitution. While you might want to go back in time to the 1990s, I can almost guarantee that none of them would. But it's not just the world. The 1990s may be remembered by some as one long economic boom in the US, but real GDP produced per person has increased by 40 percent since the end of the '90s, while real median income has increased by nearly 15 percent. Nostalgia doesn't take into account compound growth. 3) A nearly unchecked HIV pandemic There are countless ways in which health statistics globally have improved since the 1990s — the child mortality rate alone has fallen by 61 percent since 1990 — but the most striking one to me is HIV. At the dawn of the 1990s the HIV epidemic looked unbeatable: The US lost 31,196 people to AIDS in 1990, and by 1995 it was the leading killer of Americans aged 25-44. Global AIDS deaths were racing toward the 2-million-a-year mark, and even when the first truly effective multi-drug cocktail debuted in 1996, it reached only a tiny share of patients globally. Today the picture has flipped. About 30.7 million people — 77 percent of everyone with HIV — receive treatment, and global AIDS deaths have fallen to around 630,000. In 2022 there were fewer than 20,000 AIDS deaths in the US, and many cities are realistically aiming to zero out cases and deaths in the near future. There's even real hope for an effective vaccine. 4) A less tolerant, less educated population Though it might not seem like it in our highly polarized present moment, a number of important social attitudes have flipped since the Clinton years. When Gallup first asked in 1996, just 27 percent of Americans backed legal same-sex marriage; support now sits at 71 percent, and it has been legal throughout the country since 2015. In 1991, fewer than half of adults approved of Black-white marriages, yet by 2021 that share had rocketed to 94 percent. Together these shifts mark a dramatic expansion of everyday acceptance for LGBTQ people, interracial families, and other forms of diversity. As decades go, the 1990s did have a lot going for them, though as someone who was in their late teens and early 20s during much of them — precisely the ages we're most nostalgic for — you can't take my word for it. And our current moment has no shortage of problems, including some that 30 years ago we would have considered dead and buried. But don't let your inaccurate memories of the past distort your ability to see how far we've come. A version of this story originally appeared in the Good News newsletter. Sign up here!
Yahoo
22-02-2025
- Politics
- Yahoo
Opinion - Can we lower toxic polarization while still opposing Trump?
I work full-time on reducing toxic political polarization, an effort that is often misunderstood. Many assume the goal is to make Americans 'calm down' or 'meet in the middle' — to ignore their political passions. That's why some Democrats and Republicans see such work as 'helping the bad guys.' I have received messages about Trump's recent bull-in-a-china-shop activity saying things like, 'I want to reduce political toxicity, too, but we're on the road to autocracy. The bridge-building can wait.' This reflects a common misunderstanding: that depolarization is at odds with activism. But one can do both — and I'd argue aiming to do both actually makes one's activism more persuasive and less likely to create pushback. Some people also see this work as overly idealistic and 'kumbaya.' I get why. People trying to reduce polarization often emphasize that we do have much more in common than we think. While that is true, it can also make people think we're naïve. But conflict resolution principles can exist alongside passion, frustration — even immense fear and anger. If such ideas were not of value during the course of a conflict, they'd be worthless. Working on this problem is about helping Americans see that we are caught in a self-reinforcing cycle of contempt and provocation, what political scientist Lee Drutman calls the 'doom loop.' When people see that, they will also see they can pursue their goals while trying to avoid contributing to the toxicity that's tearing us apart. Others sometimes assume that I'm pro-Trump, or maybe that I lack strong feelings about him. No — I am highly critical of Trump because I believe he amplifies us-versus-them hostility. Even some gung-ho Trump supporters I've talked to see his personality as being like 'gasoline on the fire' of our divides. I agree with that, and I think it's a very bad thing, no matter his political beliefs. But I also see many sources of division around us. I often write about the ways liberals have contributed to toxicity. Our divides are self-reinforcing: contempt leads to contempt; righteous certainty provokes more of the same. Both sides focus on the worst of the other, fueling the belief that 'they started it' and therefore it's not our responsibility to lower the temperature. I think a lot of anti-Trump approaches have backfired. When liberals unfairly demean Trump supporters, or interpret Trump's statements in the worst possible light, they deepen conservatives' feeling of being under siege and push them further into warlike thinking. This works both ways. Aggressive, insulting rhetoric by Republicans can make liberals feel more defensive. For example, saying that Democratic stances on immigration stem only from a desire to win votes is insulting, and will strike many as a malicious smear. Such insults create pushback — and can even shift people's stances in the opposite direction. This is the core problem of polarization. We escalate, thinking we're fighting back effectively, but we're actually reinforcing the cycle. That's why we must distinguish between people's beliefs and their approach to conflict. My main objection to Trump isn't his beliefs, but how he engages. Imagine a version of Trump who held the same beliefs but who avoided contempt and tried to de-escalate tensions. That version of Trump would not have, for example, insisted that he won the 2020 election. When we separate what someone believes from how they engage, we can criticize them in more nuanced and persuasive ways, allowing people to say, 'I agree with your views but I disagree with your approach.' This clarity helps us focus on what matters and makes it easier to reduce support for us-versus-them approaches. One simple thing we can all do is avoid righteous, hateful judgments about the entire 'other side.' Since Trump's election, many anti-Trump voices have said insulting, alienating things about half of the country. People opposed to Trump must recognize how unhelpful that is — just more of the same dynamics that helped elect Trump in the first (and second) place. A lot of voting in America is more about what we're afraid of than what we like about our own group. And there are many defensible reasons for disliking Democrats' approaches. Anti-Trumpers should seek to understand the grievances and concerns that led to his victories — and keep those in mind as they pursue their goals. Dismissing Trump voters as immoral and irredeemable isn't right, and will only push them further away. I would say the same to Republicans: ignoring or mocking all Democratic concerns will likely result in driving people away — and may cost you elections. Those opposed to Trump should learn from the many experts who write about how working against opponents in more persuasive and less polarizing ways: people like Daniel Stid, Rachel Kleinfeld, Yascha Mounk and Erica Etelson, to name a few. We should also be cautious about 'catastrophizing.' When we speak as if the sky has already fallen, we help create an arms-race mentality. I've heard some people act as if it's a certainty that Republicans will refuse to ever relinquish power in future elections. Framing that as inevitable makes it easy for Republicans to believe such concerns are only an excuse for aggressive countermeasures (as was the case for some perceptions of attempts to remove Trump from the ballot). We should keep in mind that, in conflict, it can be hard to distinguish between defense and offense. All of us will fight for the things that we feel moved to fight for. But we can perhaps try to think of doing it in a way that doesn't fan the flames of division, that seeks to persuade at least some of our opponents. Even as some Americans see Trump as a uniquely dangerous leader, we should also keep in mind the deeper roots of how we got here — the decades-long build-up of contempt and polarized thinking — and work against that as well. Zach Elwood is the author of 'How Contempt Destroys Democracy,' a book aimed at helping liberal Americans understand our toxic divides and learn better ways to approach disagreement. He hosts the psychology podcast People Who Read People. Copyright 2025 Nexstar Media, Inc. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed.
The Hill
22-02-2025
- Politics
- The Hill
Can we lower toxic polarization while still opposing Trump?
I work full-time on reducing toxic political polarization, an effort that is often misunderstood. Many assume the goal is to make Americans 'calm down' or 'meet in the middle' — to ignore their political passions. That's why some Democrats and Republicans see such work as 'helping the bad guys.' I have received messages about Trump's recent bull-in-a-china-shop activity saying things like, 'I want to reduce political toxicity, too, but we're on the road to autocracy. The bridge-building can wait.' This reflects a common misunderstanding: that depolarization is at odds with activism. But one can do both — and I'd argue aiming to do both actually makes one's activism more persuasive and less likely to create pushback. Some people also see this work as overly idealistic and ' kumbaya.' I get why. People trying to reduce polarization often emphasize that we do have much more in common than we think. While that is true, it can also make people think we're naïve. But conflict resolution principles can exist alongside passion, frustration — even immense fear and anger. If such ideas were not of value during the course of a conflict, they'd be worthless. Working on this problem is about helping Americans see that we are caught in a self-reinforcing cycle of contempt and provocation, what political scientist Lee Drutman calls the ' doom loop.' When people see that, they will also see they can pursue their goals while trying to avoid contributing to the toxicity that's tearing us apart. Others sometimes assume that I'm pro-Trump, or maybe that I lack strong feelings about him. No — I am highly critical of Trump because I believe he amplifies us-versus-them hostility. Even some gung-ho Trump supporters I've talked to see his personality as being like 'gasoline on the fire' of our divides. I agree with that, and I think it's a very bad thing, no matter his political beliefs. But I also see many sources of division around us. I often write about the ways liberals have contributed to toxicity. Our divides are self-reinforcing: contempt leads to contempt; righteous certainty provokes more of the same. Both sides focus on the worst of the other, fueling the belief that ' they started it ' and therefore it's not our responsibility to lower the temperature. I think a lot of anti-Trump approaches have backfired. When liberals unfairly demean Trump supporters, or interpret Trump's statements in the worst possible light, they deepen conservatives' feeling of being under siege and push them further into warlike thinking. This works both ways. Aggressive, insulting rhetoric by Republicans can make liberals feel more defensive. For example, saying that Democratic stances on immigration stem only from a desire to win votes is insulting, and will strike many as a malicious smear. Such insults create pushback — and can even shift people's stances in the opposite direction. This is the core problem of polarization. We escalate, thinking we're fighting back effectively, but we're actually reinforcing the cycle. That's why we must distinguish between people's beliefs and their approach to conflict. My main objection to Trump isn't his beliefs, but how he engages. Imagine a version of Trump who held the same beliefs but who avoided contempt and tried to de-escalate tensions. That version of Trump would not have, for example, insisted that he won the 2020 election. When we separate what someone believes from how they engage, we can criticize them in more nuanced and persuasive ways, allowing people to say, 'I agree with your views but I disagree with your approach.' This clarity helps us focus on what matters and makes it easier to reduce support for us-versus-them approaches. One simple thing we can all do is avoid righteous, hateful judgments about the entire 'other side.' Since Trump's election, many anti-Trump voices have said insulting, alienating things about half of the country. People opposed to Trump must recognize how unhelpful that is — just more of the same dynamics that helped elect Trump in the first (and second) place. A lot of voting in America is more about what we're afraid of than what we like about our own group. And there are many defensible reasons for disliking Democrats' approaches. Anti-Trumpers should seek to understand the grievances and concerns that led to his victories — and keep those in mind as they pursue their goals. Dismissing Trump voters as immoral and irredeemable isn't right, and will only push them further away. I would say the same to Republicans: ignoring or mocking all Democratic concerns will likely result in driving people away — and may cost you elections. Those opposed to Trump should learn from the many experts who write about how working against opponents in more persuasive and less polarizing ways: people like Daniel Stid, Rachel Kleinfeld, Yascha Mounk and Erica Etelson, to name a few. We should also be cautious about 'catastrophizing.' When we speak as if the sky has already fallen, we help create an arms-race mentality. I've heard some people act as if it's a certainty that Republicans will refuse to ever relinquish power in future elections. Framing that as inevitable makes it easy for Republicans to believe such concerns are only an excuse for aggressive countermeasures (as was the case for some perceptions of attempts to remove Trump from the ballot). We should keep in mind that, in conflict, it can be hard to distinguish between defense and offense. All of us will fight for the things that we feel moved to fight for. But we can perhaps try to think of doing it in a way that doesn't fan the flames of division, that seeks to persuade at least some of our opponents. Even as some Americans see Trump as a uniquely dangerous leader, we should also keep in mind the deeper roots of how we got here — the decades-long build-up of contempt and polarized thinking — and work against that as well. Zach Elwood is the author of ' How Contempt Destroys Democracy,' a book aimed at helping liberal Americans understand our toxic divides and learn better ways to approach disagreement. He hosts the psychology podcast People Who Read People.
