
CHARLOTTE and Nick met in history class in their first year at university. He would go on to be president of the College Republicans, she the head of the College Democrats. They knew they looked an unlikely pairing.
鈥淚 disagree with a whole lot of what Nick says, and he would say the same about me,鈥 says Charlotte. 鈥淏ut there鈥檚 a lot more similarities than people realise. When you get to know us as a couple, you see it鈥檚 normal.鈥
Six years later, the two are still together. That鈥檚 a feat, in a country where politics and marriage don鈥檛 tend to mix 鈥 just 10 per cent are between a Republican and a Democrat. In one survey, a third of Democrats and nearly half of Republicans said they would be unhappy if someone in their family chose to marry someone from the opposing party (Public Opinion Quarterly, ).
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The US has never been afraid to disagree. Founding father Alexander Hamilton extolled a system that encouraged 鈥渄ifferences of opinion, and the jarring of parties鈥. But in the 2016 presidential election, political opponents aren鈥檛 merely people you disagree with; they are 鈥渄eplorables鈥 or 鈥渃rooked鈥.
It鈥檚 part of a trend. In 2014, a of 10,000 adults in the US uncovered a growing divide between liberals and conservatives. Compared with two decades ago, twice as many people were sticking consistently to one side, and more people said they believed the other party鈥檚 policies threatened the nation鈥檚 well-being, and took a dim view of their voters鈥 personalities (see chart). Around half said the other party made them feel afraid.
鈥淲e have been separating ourselves into like-minded groups in almost every aspect of our lives鈥
So the US finds itself in desperate need of something akin to couples鈥 counselling. But does such treatment exist for a nation? A few do hold out hope that, given time, rifts can be healed 鈥 by starting to teach Americans how to talk to one another again.
鈥淚f this election cycle isn鈥檛 enough to make us realise that we need to make a turn, it鈥檚 hard to know what would be,鈥 says Liz Joyner, executive director of . Her organisation started as an effort to try to keep the peace in a fight over a power plant in Tallahasee, Florida. Through community events, they sought ways to build empathy with others. The key, she says, is to break people out of their ideological bubbles and make individual connections.
Growing apart
That鈥檚 hard, because people in the US are increasingly sorting themselves into partisan groups. Liberals tend to be college-educated and prefer to live in cities, while conservatives favour the suburbs. The country鈥檚 ethnic make-up has evolved, making white people a minority in some counties 鈥 something Donald Trump has exploited for political gain. Online media has splintered in such a way that many people live comfortably inside ideological filter bubbles, rarely scrolling across a viewpoint that challenges their own. The upshot is that people of different political orientations are growing further apart.
鈥淲e have been separating ourselves into like-minded groups in almost every aspect of our lives,鈥 says Joyner. Relationships with people of opposite views were once common, but now there are fewer chances for them to sprout organically.
For evidence of the widening rift, look no further than the presidential race. The two major-party candidates could hardly be less alike: a wonkish female career politician and a brash male real estate mogul. Yet Hillary Clinton and Donald Trump share one thing: they are both parties鈥 most disliked candidates in recent history (see graph).
And the rift probably won鈥檛 end once polling does on 8 November. The US has experienced painful ideological divisions throughout its existence: over slavery, civil rights, the Vietnam war and more. But this time it鈥檚 different, says at Vanderbilt University in Tennessee. 鈥淭he thing that makes this period so unique is that our differences are organised by our party identification,鈥 he says. 鈥淲e鈥檝e never been more divided by party than we are now.鈥
Thankfully, there is a way forward. Studies suggest that when people live with others who share their opinions, their decisions tend to become more extreme, and they tend to become more hostile to outside groups. But reminding people of basic, shared human qualities may help bridge the gap. One experiment reduced participants鈥 anti-Arab prejudices by making them look at pictures of diverse families doing everyday things, and asking them to consider their own childhood memories versus foreigners鈥 experiences (Journal of Experimental Social Psychology, ).
In another study, white and Hispanic students signed up for several weeks of 鈥渇riendship meetings鈥 with a stranger from the opposite background. Afterwards, students who had previously scored highly for implicit prejudice showed lower levels of the stress hormone cortisol, and were more likely to report seeking contact with people of different ethnic backgrounds in their free time (Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, ).
鈥淭he thing that makes this period so unique is that our differences are organised by our party affiliation鈥
Organisations like The Village Square are built on the 鈥渃ontact hypothesis鈥, the idea that positive interpersonal contact between disagreeing groups is vital to reducing prejudice. A similar body, American Public Square, now operates in Kansas City, Missouri. Its dinners feature live fact-checking of attendees鈥 claims by staff from a university library, and people are given 鈥渃ivility bells鈥 to ring if they think the conversation is turning too hostile. It鈥檚 slow going, but 鈥渢he process is the product鈥, says founder Allan Katz, who also co-founded The Village Square. 鈥淵ou鈥檙e hoping to raise the consciousness of a community, which also puts pressure on your elected officials and law-makers to behave civilly.鈥
In Cambridge, Massachusetts, Jessica Weaver and colleagues at a group called Essential Partners quietly held meetings between pro-choice and anti-abortion community representatives for several years, following shootings at a local abortion clinic. Borrowing from the strategies of family therapists, a major part of their process is to prepare people for this dialogue.
Facilitators interview those involved beforehand, to get a better grasp of their perspectives and goals, and the potential pitfalls to avoid. During the meetings, they try to make participants reflect more carefully on what they say: by scheduling pauses to encourage people to listen and collect their thoughts, for example, or by encouraging questions centred on their feelings and experiences, rather than on their positions. Suggested questions, for example, include 鈥淲hat life experiences may have shaped your current views about abortion?鈥 and 鈥淗ave you ever felt stereotyped by those who hold different views on this issue?鈥
Since then, the group has applied the same methods to conversations about gun control in Butte, Montana; immigration in New Hampshire; and religion in Nigeria. Representatives are next headed to North Carolina, where they鈥檒l moderate meetings between the Black Lives Matter movement and the police.
鈥淚s it frustrating? Yes. Is it hard? Of course,鈥 says Weaver. 鈥淏ut I think those conversations across the table are ultimately what gives us a sense of what鈥檚 possible at a larger scale.鈥
The hope is that such methods will hit home, from large communities down to individuals. 鈥淚f one side thinks more and the other side listens more, then you鈥檇 be in a much better place than you are,鈥 says Nick. 鈥淧olitics is not the hard part of the relationship.鈥
Born this way
There is evidence that genetics may play a role in determining which party we side with. If our political orientations are shaped not just by life experience but also by biology, then they are all the harder to change, says at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln.
Hibbing has found that conservatives are more 鈥渢hreat-sensitive鈥: threatening images or sounds elicit a stronger physiological response from them than from liberals. This year鈥檚 US presidential election mirrors that innate difference, he says. Many of the issues 鈥 such as whether to build a massive wall to deter migrants entering from Mexico 鈥 play directly off those sensitivities.
But intransigence and conflict aren鈥檛 inevitable, provided we accept our opponents for who they are. 鈥淚n the past, when there鈥檚 been recognition that a particular trait does have this basis in biology or deep psychology, tolerance has increased a little bit,鈥 says Hibbing. Such recognition helped left-handedness and homosexuality become accepted, he argues.
Hibbing is now exploring what it might mean if people could see opposing political views in the same way: not as a sign of moral bankruptcy, but as an inborn way of perceiving the world.
This article appeared in print under the headline 鈥淗ealing the nation鈥

