Introducing Dear Partisan
A probably futile attempt to shine light into information silos.
I haven’t always called myself a centrist. A Texan raised in a conservative Christian home, I knew growing up which political party represented my values and faith. And as I developed an interest in politics in the early 2000s, I came to love conservative talk radio. Rush Limbaugh was my favorite, though I listened to others, and once even attended a live episode of Sean Hannity’s radio show. I’d like to say that in those days these voices weren’t as extreme as they are now, and there’s probably some truth to that. But I wonder if I was a teen today, would I be repelled by what I heard from them? I hope so, but the fact of the matter is that while the positions and rhetoric of today’s Republican party would hardly be recognizable to most party leaders back then, the conservative media that I consumed in the early 2000s was both a sign and an instigator of what would follow.
The game-changer, though, was social media. While that hyper-partisan media ecosystem was already becoming influential, algorithmic recommendations boosted its reach and encouraged it to move in ever more extreme directions. Platforms such as Facebook, with business models that thrive on engagement, have learned that echo chambers are engaging, addictive and good business. A steady stream of stories that confirm our biases and reinforce the rightness of our beliefs is like junk food: addictive and easy to process. But if not part of a balanced diet, also dangerous.
It's a cliché, but the saying “the truth is somewhere in the middle,” while not always accurate, is to me a healthy posture when dealing with complex and weighty issues. It reflects an appreciation for different perspectives and a humble approach to the search for truth. It makes intuitive sense that the more ideas and opinions that are considered when coming to a conclusion, the better that conclusion will be. One side will propose an approach, and the other will expose flaws and offer alternatives. Then a third will criticize both without offering much practical advice but have a point (this is usually the Libertarian). When it works, this “iron sharpening iron” approach can result in a compromise that is better than any individual could have devised on their own because it incorporates more information and viewpoints.
In business, this is how functional teams work together to build great things. Sometimes there’s a brilliant visionary at the helm, but if they’re not listening to their team or customers and being open and adaptable to new ideas, their inevitable blind spots will lead to failure. This is also how representative democracies are supposed to work. By electing leaders who represent the many perspectives of a large and diverse nation and making them work together to pass laws that please a majority, we should in theory expect similar common sense and compromise. But this is not how things have worked in America for as long as I can remember, thanks in large part to the aforementioned echo chambers.
Echo chambers function by shutting down and expelling contrary views in order to keep the participants comfortable and confident in their rightness. We can find ourselves in echo chambers as a result of active choices we make, such as the choice of news homepage we set in our browser, the channels we watch or podcasts we listen to, or through the passive consumption of content selected by a recommendation engine trained on our preferences. The effect is the same – we aren’t exposed to opposing viewpoints. The result is a weaker grasp of the truth and an unwillingness to compromise. This is the danger of partisan media coupled with platforms built to reinforce our priors – we start to think our perspective is the only reasonable one.
I now consume a lot of news and opinion from a range of perspectives, and often when I find myself getting too worked up about an issue, I will read something new that softens my position somewhat. This doesn’t mean I necessarily abandon that prior conviction, but I usually find that my certainty had overlooked some information because I hadn’t been listening to a wide enough range of viewpoints. This experience can be uncomfortable. It means something I had believed just five minutes ago was wrong, or at least, not as right as I thought. But once you get past that initial discomfort, the realization that people you disagree with can be thoughtful and well-intentioned is quite liberating. Being willing to change your mind may seem like weakness, but it’s a sign of intellectual humility, and ultimately strengthens your confidence in what you do believe because it has been tested and refined.
This shift in my information diet didn’t happen overnight. When I entered College in the mid-2000s, I no longer had much opportunity to listen to conservative talk radio. I began to hear and appreciate other perspectives and became quite interested in libertarianism. This was at the same time that the Ron Paul “revolution” was underway, and I initially found his brand of libertarian Republicanism fresh and compelling. Yet the performative obstructionism of the Tea Party he inspired and its subsequent shift toward culture war topics left me disillusioned. By the 2010s I was unimpressed by both Republicans and Democrats and voted Libertarian mostly in protest.
Despite this disillusionment with American politics, I still had a hunger for news and analysis of current events. I was frustrated by the shallow clickbait that free online news had become and decided I was willing to pay for a higher quality source. I wanted one that represented a relatively nonpartisan viewpoint that respected my libertarian leanings, and which offered both depth and breadth in its coverage that made it worth paying for. I landed on The Economist, and this was a turning point for me. Compared to what I’d consumed previously, The Economist was a breath of fresh air. For one, it covered in depth countries I’d normally only hear about if there was some major tragedy or war. It also exposed me to calm and rational arguments that challenged my views on issues such as abortion and gay marriage, and promoted a pragmatic, incrementalist approach coupled to a firm commitment to classical liberalism, Democracy and market economics. On this, too, it offered a nuanced view – regulation was often called for but could lead to unintended consequences that needed to be considered carefully. In short, The Economist taught me to appreciate the complexity and uncertainty inherent to so many topics.
Not long after this, Donald Trump launched his presidential bid. During that primary season, I supported John Kasich. I wasn’t yet ready to consider voting for Democrats, and Kasich represented my newfound appreciation for moderation, compromise, and respect for differing viewpoints. Although few shared my appreciation for him during that campaign, I wear it as a point of pride that I cast my primary vote for one of the few Republicans who remained steadfast in their opposition to Trump even when it became politically suicidal. I ultimately voted for Gary Johnson in 2016 on the belief that Trump was going to lose and a vote for Clinton in Texas wouldn’t matter, but by 2018 the extremism of the Republican party meant I’d go on to support Pete Buttigieg and then vote for Joe Biden.
I still love The Economist (the Audio Edition is a great way to consume it) but have expanded my stable to include a lot of domestic opinion and analysis that includes right-leaning (Reason, The Dispatch), centrist (The Bulwark, The Atlantic), and left-leaning (Washington Post, New York Times) sources, as well as many thoughtful writers on Substack (you can see them on my profile). My main criteria are that writers argue in good faith and display intellectual humility, a willingness to criticize members of their own tribe, and an appreciation for the perspectives of people they disagree with.
Having made this political journey from stalwart Republican to centrist independent, and appreciating the perspectives of the many progressive colleagues I work with in tech, I feel I can empathize with and respect arguments on both sides of most issues. Something that I often find missing, even from centrist publications, is an attempt to speak to partisans on either side in a way that respects their views. I don’t know how to break through the information silos that make it seem that so many of us are living on different planets, but I’ve been encouraged by the ability of diverse, thoughtful perspectives to thrive on Substack. My goal with mine is to share information and arguments on a variety of topics in a way that readers of both political persuasions find fair, and which is underrepresented by partisan media. I do not expect to persuade readers to abandon their beliefs but hope to inspire an appreciation for and openness to differing views.