I clumsily settled into an aisle seat on my flight back from Austin, Texas to Chapel Hill last week, next to a middle-aged man and his daughter. He leaned over and asked where I was headed, and the daughter sent me a kind smile. The seats around me were filled with silence; our voices boomed around the back of the plane.
I glanced to my right as a woman I had exchanged pleasantries with sat down. The gleam of the extra-large type on her cell phone screen jumped out; I hadn’t known that they blew up the fonts that large and I considered for a split second how helpful that must be. I absent-mindedly caught sight of what she texted: an obscene description of a presidential candidate’s supporters.
Back to my neighbor. We discussed our shared connections in the Texas Hill Country, his family’s visit to North Carolina and my college major. When he learned that I studied political science with a focus on international relations, he beamed and noted: “Man, that’s just wonderful.” Though I provided no details on my beliefs or interests, he began to pepper the discussion with references to what he believed were our concrete, shared beliefs about particular policies and candidates. He knew little about me other than our shared hometown and my willingness to talk, but he seemed to like me. Accordingly, he projected his own beliefs about specific political issues onto me — a blank canvas.
When we finished talking, I pulled out the book I chose for the flight: George Orwell’s 1984. I reflected on my interaction, hoping that my neighbors couldn’t guess my racing thoughts. The blunt irony of my book choice bordered on cheesy.
Now, though, I wonder how many times I have done the same as my seat-mate. How often do I recognize someone I even vaguely like, and assume that they side with me on a given issue? How much less do I expect — or hope — that people I deeply admire disagree with me?
I’d say this goes quite a bit further than stereotyping around politics; this impulse comes from a more personal place. It stems from a desire to create a sphere of acceptability — of civility, of Americanness, of rightness. It craves the comfort of knowing that those we admire have processed the world the same way we have.
Since the election, many have emphasized the need to connect with fellow citizens that they may never have met before. People talk about “flyover country” in eerily reverent tones and urge people across the political to get out of their “bubbles.” But I wonder how much our bubbles are imagined. How much do we paint a picture of ideological solidarity and unity within our own community that stems more from our imagination than reality?
This Martin Luther King Jr. weekend, myriad politicians have claimed solidarity with MLK’s legacy, even as many water down his contributions, methods and beliefs. I’d argue that this stems from a similar impulse to curate a sphere of what’s acceptable. This is to ensure that no one admirable holds beliefs deeply contrary to your own.
During the coming administration, we can, at the least, expect a time of upheaval and uncertainty in institutions. I anticipate that there will be plenty of time to spill ink over the future of NATO, the precariousness of the press and the influence of Russia. We will have chances enough to reflect on how to rebuild faith in our institutions.
