Growing up in Sammamish, Washington — a suburban bubble 25 miles outside of Seattle — and then moving to the vibrant and liberal college town of Ann Arbor, Michigan, my political sphere has been firmly blue. Like many of my Sammamish and Ann Arbor peers, I exist in an echo chamber, which for the most part leaves me feeling inspired and motivated for political change.
Naturally we tend to gravitate towards those with a similar upbringing, and, especially in 2020, political views represent a large part of our identity. Therefore, in some ways our gathered audience is unintentional; it’s a byproduct of our environment and the beliefs we were raised with. My peers and myself grow increasingly more vocal about our intention to vote, who we vote for, and our newfound desire to learn and stay informed about the political turmoil in our country.
As I spent the first night watching results come in, I pondered an important question: how is this race so close, and what can we do about it?
For a college student like myself in my own bubble, the answer seems evident. My social media feed overflows with quotes and stories of the laughably unprofessional moments from Trump’s presidency, his questionable behavior, and his dangerous rhetoric that undoubtedly riles up extremists in our country. After a tumultuous four years, and a pandemic wreaking havoc on daily life as we know it, it was so easy for me to assume that everyone in the country wanted change. Much like many Americans, I am guilty of having tunnel vision. I live in a sphere where I reflect on how politics affect my life directly, oftentimes disregarding that half of the country lives a completely opposite life with vastly different ideologies and perspectives.
With a president who denounces the science, specifically regarding a very threatening pandemic, a part of me was so sure that the country wanted change and would effectively vote for it. Yet as I watch the projected results come in, I suddenly catch myself with the reminder that Donald Trump is just a politician. That statement isn’t meant to trivialize how dangerous his rhetoric is and remove blame from him as a leader, but rather point out that someone openly representing hate still gains massive support, almost effortlessly.
After all, what does it mean for a national election to be clearly split, almost in half? Politics would not exist without dissent. Disagreement causes the need for government in the first place. As utopian as it would be for millions of people to form a majority and unite in favor of one individual, it’s not practical.
While in 2020 this divide feels palpable, it isn’t the first time our country took a fifty-fifty approach. Even sixty years ago in 1960, neither Senator John F Kennedy nor Richard Nixon could claim a majority of the vote, with 49.7% to 49.5% percent of votes respectively.
How did we get so divided? Or, reflecting on 1960, why have we stayed that way? I believe the idea of a political identity is vital in understanding this complex thought. In the age of social media, there’s a dangerous sentiment that exists on both sides, and that’s the lack of understanding for why your opposing political party operates the way they do. Democrats and Republicans alike often cling so tightly to their side of politics, as if rooting for an infallible sports team. Specific policies are often lost in the hazy mess of a two-party system. As an American citizen, you have two options, and you can pick only one. While it’s true that you’re never forced to vote as a straight ticket, for the presidential ticket – which most all Americans view as the most important race – you must pick a singular person and therefore a singular party.
Can hundreds of complicated policies and ideas be represented by one party, let alone one individual? This idea leads me to believe that many Americans end up picking a side without truly believing wholeheartedly in their choice. As both parties grow more extreme, reconciliation feels further away. At the same time, disassociating from those who think differently from us means choosing to no longer coexist with fifty percent of the country.
The dangerous difference in America is the grave extent to which the dissent burgeons. Political elections are not, in fact, sports games, where the winners rejoice and losers lament but life still manages to roll on as normal. Elections determine the quality of life of our denizens — from their reproductive rights, their healthcare, their experience in a global pandemic, to the taxes they pay. Politics determine if someone can marry who they love, if a woman can choose what happens with her body, if automatic assault weapons can be purchased by your neighbor.
The fact of the matter is that half of our country feels differently from the other half, and neither side truly can empathize or reach a middle ground. It’s deeply unsettling that no matter the outcome of our election, nearly fifty percent of Americans will be angry and unsatisfied. In an ideal world, the president serves to represent our country as a non-partisan figure, but our two-party political landscape makes this feel impossible.
I remain optimistic about one specific sector of thought: I believe Americans agree on more topics than what the media paints, and that our opposite groups of thought carry striking similarities. While I admit it’s naïve to trivialize difference in thoughts, the system of having two choices creates vast toxicity. The idea that hundreds of complicated policies can be watered down into a two-way choice only pushes us to pick an extreme and stick with it. Parties deeply poison policies and politics, and it’s alarmingly clear in 2020. It leads those on both sides to associate with ideas and people they don’t agree with, all due to an underlying enormous pressure to maintain a political identity and find meaning through a political figure. All of 2020, media on both sides beseeched its viewers to participate in democracy, with one simple call to action: “Vote.” For many Americans, voting for a system you don’t believe in, for a party you don’t fully support, for policies you don’t understand, is not a solution.
A stark reality I’ve come to terms with this week is that as American citizens, we live in our own bubbles. We can watch the news and attempt to empathize with those in different situations with us. We can think about the opposite political party and try to dissect why they feel so differently than we do. But at the end of the day, each of our own lived experiences shape the way we view politics. It’s begun to feel as though I’ll never fully be able to understand the perspective of a Trump supporter, much as they will never understand mine. I fear that we’re veering towards a notion that disassociating from those who dissent with you is a solution, when in fact, it only furthers the already deep divide.
I felt a sense of empowerment voting for Joe Biden and Kamala Harris in my first ever presidential election. I also acknowledge that there’s a copious amount of work to be done to reconcile two extreme groups of thought in this country. What will it take for us to pop our bubbles?