Why we're all of one party

The ideal is the voters swing from party to party in a contest of ideas. The current reality is that birds of a political feather flock together.

BRANDEN CAMP/AP
A CAMPAIGN WORKER AT A NOV. 30 RALLY IN MACON, GA.

Politics occurs throughout the animal kingdom (vegetable, too, I suspect, but tracking that is as exciting as watching grass grow). Over the years, I’ve cohosted cats, dogs, parakeets, guinea pigs, chickens, and goldfish. If you live with one critter at a time, you develop a special relationship. My mom was fond of a chameleon named Speedy that loved to hang out under the cuff of her sweater. If you have two or more critters, though, you quickly learn that you’re not as important to them as they are to each other.

Our four parakeets, for instance, choose and change sides all day, chattering all the while like TV pundits. Dogs often have harsh words before reaching a political accommodation so that they can dine and doze in peace. A few years ago, our chicken coop was ruled by the “Party of the Joanies” – a pair of buff Orpingtons that were virtually identical though completely unrelated. They teamed up because, as near as we could tell, they thought looking alike was reason enough to distinguish them from the rest of the chickens.

While the Joanies might have had novel ideas about coop governance and tax policy, their biggest reason for allying was to perpetuate rule by Joanies. They held office for four years. Changing circumstances (hawks, winters) saw them out and led to today’s “Party of the Specs.” These are black-and-white Wyandottes, also of random provenance, that teamed up because, as near as we can figure, they thought looking alike was reason enough to distinguish them from the assorted Rhode Island Reds and Araucanas.

Those heterogeneous hens have never put together a successful coalition to challenge rule by the similarly feathered. And here the metaphor stops (and thank you for not wondering when it would). Much of politics seems to be about sorting like with like, asserting that your party knows best, and disapproving of rivals – Athenians versus Spartans, Tories versus Whigs, Democrats versus Republicans. We’re right; you’re wrong.

The ideal of democratic politics is that voters swing from one party to another after carefully considering the ideas and individuals who seek to govern. The reality – at least the current reality – is that voters sort themselves into like-minded teams. Never mind that large numbers of people describe themselves as independents. There are actually very few real “swing” voters out there (as Peter Grier and a team of Monitor correspondents show in this Monitor cover story). Most people know what they like and, just as important, what they don’t like.

 
The more diverse a culture becomes, however, the more likely it is that people will look at the ideas that connect them rather than choose sides based on identity or color or culture. Humans (perhaps other species as well) can think in complex ways, can transcend the old birds-of-a-feather logic. Sure, we team up at times. We assert our values, which might mean disapproving of others’. But we’re all members of the same political party: the Grand Old Human one.

You've read  of  free articles. Subscribe to continue.

Dear Reader,

About a year ago, I happened upon this statement about the Monitor in the Harvard Business Review – under the charming heading of “do things that don’t interest you”:

“Many things that end up” being meaningful, writes social scientist Joseph Grenny, “have come from conference workshops, articles, or online videos that began as a chore and ended with an insight. My work in Kenya, for example, was heavily influenced by a Christian Science Monitor article I had forced myself to read 10 years earlier. Sometimes, we call things ‘boring’ simply because they lie outside the box we are currently in.”

If you were to come up with a punchline to a joke about the Monitor, that would probably be it. We’re seen as being global, fair, insightful, and perhaps a bit too earnest. We’re the bran muffin of journalism.

But you know what? We change lives. And I’m going to argue that we change lives precisely because we force open that too-small box that most human beings think they live in.

The Monitor is a peculiar little publication that’s hard for the world to figure out. We’re run by a church, but we’re not only for church members and we’re not about converting people. We’re known as being fair even as the world becomes as polarized as at any time since the newspaper’s founding in 1908.

We have a mission beyond circulation, we want to bridge divides. We’re about kicking down the door of thought everywhere and saying, “You are bigger and more capable than you realize. And we can prove it.”

If you’re looking for bran muffin journalism, you can subscribe to the Monitor for $15. You’ll get the Monitor Weekly magazine, the Monitor Daily email, and unlimited access to CSMonitor.com.