He has stopped voting. He believes it doesn’t matter. In his early 40s, he’s witnessed unjust wars, economic crashes, and incessant political strife. To him, the government isn’t broken; it’s rigged. As we talked over dinner, his views unfolded.
He thinks Trump won the 2020 election. He’s sure the government is corrupt. He leans libertarian and trusts very few institutions.
While listening, two thoughts caught my attention: “He’s been brainwashed,” and “What about me?”
It’s easy to label him. He’s consumed propaganda and found a home in an alt-right echo chamber. He often seeks out voices that feed his belief that the government is bad. Stories of stolen elections fit perfectly into his view that elites will do anything to stay in power.
Yet, I can’t ignore the bigger picture: media companies profit from outrage. Political players stir up fear. Disinformation keeps many of us angry and drained, stealing our hope for a better future. Instead of joining the outrage, I find myself asking: What kind of system creates this despair? Who benefits from his hopelessness?
As I reflect on our conversation, it’s clear: I, too, am shaped by systems and stories.
Different Views, Same Chaos
His media habits lean independent, anti-establishment, and suspicious of the government. I seek out analysis that focuses on democracy and societal health. I am drawn to understanding how we got to this point, hoping to find a way forward.
But my perspective has its biases. He is ready to see the state as the issue, while I focus on the feedback loops that erode trust.
We both look at the same chaos but draw different conclusions. This is the trap of labeling someone as “brainwashed.” It implies there are just two sides: the fooled and the enlightened—and we like to view ourselves as the latter.
In reality, neither of us has all the facts. Our views are influenced by our experiences, media consumption, and societal pressures. Each of us sees through a limited lens.
His Perspective on Government
He has never witnessed a time when the government felt competent. He has watched distant leaders make promises while struggling to improve his life. When he claims that “they’re all corrupt,” it’s not just words—it’s a reflection of his reality. If he thinks the system is rigged, why vote?
Listening Below the Surface
Focusing solely on his claims might tempt me to reach for statistics or legal rulings. But listening deeply reveals his exhaustion from financial strain, caregiving stress, fear of failing his family, and a belief that those in power don’t care.
These feelings can’t be resolved by simply citing facts. I’ve at times said things like, “That’s not true” or “I see it differently,” especially regarding the 2020 election. But I didn’t want our talk to spiral into an unproductive debate. I should have asked questions like:
- When did the government stop being for you?
- What would a trustworthy government look like?
- What would it take to restore your hope in society?
Such questions could keep us engaged in the vital conversation our nation needs to have.
Recognizing My Own Biases
I like to think my analytical approach keeps me grounded, separate from the chaos. I undergo the same struggle against outrage and polarization as everyone else. I’m often tempted to feel above it all, believing I have a clearer view of the underlying issues.
But I, too, make choices about whose analyses I trust. I lean toward narratives that confirm my beliefs. I also live in a world where like-minded individuals reassure me that we are the rational ones.
If I ignore these biases, labeling someone as “brainwashed” becomes a convenient moral cudgel instead of recognizing our shared vulnerabilities. Here’s a more honest framing:
- We are all open to persuasion.
- We all have limitations.
- We’re all navigating murky information waters.
The real question isn’t whether we’re brainwashed. It’s whether we can objectively question our own biases and assumptions as much as we do others.
Finding Common Ground
None of this means I abandon my beliefs. I don’t think the 2020 election was stolen or that government isn’t needed. I still see authoritarianism and a lack of pluralism as critical risks.
But I’m trying a new approach:
- I can stand firm without cutting him off.
- I can disagree without seeing him as an enemy.
- I can acknowledge harm while remembering he is more than the worst things he’s believed.
For him, not voting may mean self-respect in a rigged game. For me, voting is essential to keep systems open to change.
We’re both navigating a fractured world in our ways.
Bridging the Divide
Perhaps the real divide isn’t between the “brainwashed” and the “enlightened.” Instead, it may lie between those who challenge only others’ narratives and those willing to scrutinize their own stories.
Although my friend and I see different challenges ahead, we share a common goal: processing a complex and often manipulative world with our limited understanding.
The path to healing our nation is not about dismissing each other as lost causes. It might begin with smaller, more difficult steps:
- Admitting we don’t have all the information.
- Understanding that we’re all influenced by unseen forces.
- Recognizing how systems guide us to certain beliefs.
- Choosing to stay connected with loved ones, even when their views clash with our own.
These choices won’t fix our democracy overnight, but they might open a door—just wide enough for understanding, compassion, and progress to slip through.
For a deeper dive into the challenges we face in communication and understanding, consider exploring reports from organizations like the Pew Research Center on political polarization. Understanding these trends can help us navigate our conversations more effectively.
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health disparities, maha commission, policy critique, children's health
