Political polarization in the twenty-first century has sparked contention that rhetoric has become about personal belittling and adolescent sniping. Many will agree that the fiascos of the 2024 presidential debates were quite egregious, yet few can reach a consensus on exactly why they’ve become so awful. Are the political candidates simply worse people? When did everything become so crazy?
When questioning exactly why politics have become so personal, it’s important to remember two things. Firstly, politicians are politicians. Assuming incompetence over deliberate smudging of the truth is giving them too much credit. Secondly, the environment of the world is changing, and the conditions for debates are different than they were sixty—or six—years ago.
Responsible citizens should ask themselves these questions. Should I be concerned? Should I be surprised? While almost everyone would say yes to the first question, I would like to argue that the answer to the second is no.
Within the last twenty years, developments in communications technology have absolutely shredded the political playbook used over the last three centuries. Politics was a facet of American lives beforehand, but with phones and computers, it has become a fixation. For instance, in 1960, an American who voted for John F. Kennedy would have only seen his rhetoric in newspapers, on a few sparse televised appearances, and if they were lucky, at an in-person rally. By contrast, an American who voted for Donald Trump in 2020 could have personally heard from him an average of 33 times per day on Twitter in the first half of 2020. They would have seen countless news interviews, podcasts, advertisements, emails, posts, radio broadcasts, and maybe even an in-person event as well. To make a long story short, Americans in the modern day are swamped with rhetoric and information. They are given thousands of statistics from a variety of conflicting sources and told not to believe the opposing side. In other words, all news becomes old news.
Even when social media isn’t selectively feeding content to match the reader’s views—which is highly improbable—there are almost too many reasonable arguments to pick from. 50% of Gen Z voters agree that a barrier to information is an issue for voter motivation, especially in the most information-saturated era in all of history.
Which brings us to the point: debates aren’t meant to be open-forum discussions; they’re opportunities for candidates to make an impression. A memorable quip is worth a million good arguments in the political sphere. Say what you want about Trump’s remarks, but you cannot deny they are quotable, and, more importantly, evocative. He’ll use anything short of coming to blows for a second of attention.
Emotion is something that statistics cannot conjure. While one side laughs, the other clings to claims for all they are worth. Either way, attention has been grabbed. Attention breeds curiosity, ridicule, or vitriol—and all of them win votes. Sometimes bad press really is good press; just look at how JD Vance has embraced the narrative of Haitians eating pets while the left is astonished. This increasing focus on click-worthy headlines is only a simple escalation of already existing practices. What is worrying, however, is where the rhetorical arms race may be leading us. We’ve seen it before. In 1856, Massachusetts senator Charles Sumner had his arguments countered by South Carolina representative Preston Brooks; not rhetorically, but by literally marching onto the Senate floor and beating him unconscious with a cane. Students of United States history will know why. Tensions over the division of the nation had never been higher; both men became martyrs in their respective states, and the Civil War started five years later.
Escalations in rhetoric are anticipated, as are personal attacks. American politics has always been a game of superiority. Without drastic changes, it’s feasible that such escalations are doomed to follow the same cycle of violence.
