1 week Ago
It was only after I bought a book about the motivations of Trump voters that I realized I was doing what members of less powerful groups tend do: I was trying to understand the behavior of more powerful groups. Indeed, my “side” had lost the presidency and the Senate, had not regained control of the House and constituted only a minority of the Supreme Court. This was a new experience for me.
While I have certainly not been on the winning side of all (or even most) previous elections, the Republican sweep of all government branches coupled with the hateful rhetoric of the campaign left me feeling more profoundly disempowered and ill-equipped to understand the “other side” than in previous election cycles. In fact, I knew I was starting from a deficit with regard to the latter. Too much of my “understanding” of Trump voters was based on an embarrassing collection of stereotypes and jokes.
These, I knew, would impede rather than enhance any chance I had to understand what was behind the voting choices that, to me, looked both self-destructive and outright mean. At the same time, I also realized that the ability to understand Trump voters was no longer only an issue of academic interest or a gesture of goodwill. As a member of the “out” group, I realized it was in my best interests to understand those in the “in” group.
The research showing that members of less powerful groups come to be more familiar with the characteristics and behaviors of members of more powerful ones than vice versa was now making personal sense. I had homework to do. As I started my new book, “Strangers in their Own Land” by Arlie Russell Hochschild, a well-respected sociologist, I prepared myself for stories of lost manufacturing jobs, opioid-related tragedies and fears of “the other.
” What I found, however, was a meditation on empathy. Before delving into the content, the complaints that formed the basis for the book’s title, the author addressed how she — a member of the “elite” — had managed to collect reliable data from individuals who would be expected to consider her to be an untrustworthy outsider. The key, of course, was her ability to empathize across differences.
As a psychologist, it made sense to start my quest to understand Trump voters from a position of empathy. Any hope of a viable dialogue seemed to rest on establishing an emotional connection rather than an agreement on substantive questions. This should not have been difficult.
After all, the ability to empathize with individuals with vastly different opinions, backgrounds and personal narratives is a requirement in my daily professional life. Indeed, I usually have no trouble seeing and relating to the wounded individual underneath the surface. Yet, this ability seemed to be failing me when it came to Trump voters.
Why? This question was, not surprisingly, painful to answer. Beyond the usual significant policy differences were the more concrete and terrifying threats to me, my friends and my family. What’s more, the “reasoning” behind these threats was simply incoherent to me.
For example, immigrants tend to be more law-abiding than native-born Americans, immigrants perform absolutely essential labor that many Americans shun and immigrants are certainly not eating our pets. The notion that critical race theory or transgender acceptance represents a threat to our children is simply absurd: the former is an interpretive framework used by law students, attorneys, scholars, and students in higher education, and the latter is not based on anything that should count as “evidence.” I was offended by the apparent absence of either logical thinking or reliable data from efforts to support these outrageous and potentially dangerous assertions.
This combination of personal threat and implicit challenge to the vast majority of accepted standards of reason and proof seemed to be blocking my ability to empathize. At that point in my post-election recovery, I was actually devaluing the very experiences with which I would have empathized had I met these people in my office: their feelings. Ironically, the election itself may have created the common ground on which my empathy could grow.
As the shock wears off, and I tentatively peer out of my bubble, I find I’m now a bit better able to empathize with the fear, anger and resentment reported by Trump voters. I am also better able to appreciate how feelings of being unwelcome, threatened and, at times, terrified, can shake up one’s usual way of thinking and behaving. My empathy was coming from a real-time identification with Trump voters’ experience of being strangers in their own country.
There’s a big difference between being targeted while “your” group is in power and being targeted when it’s not. I don’t know that I would have been able to appreciate this difference if this election had not changed my status. As we search for ways to move forward, those on both “sides” might want to consider what our post-election feelings and thoughts can teach us about how we got here in the first place and about how we can get out.
Elyse Morgan is a member of the Camera’s Community Editorial Board..
