Earlier this week, I spoke at the University of Chicago’s Institute of Politics alongside David Brooks in a dialogue moderated by Zeenat Rahman. We focused on the intersection of my book Learning to Disagree and David’s recent book, How to Know a Person. One of the key themes that stood out to me was the connection between empathy and belonging. And in light of recent events, I’d like to connect these ideas to the activity of protest.
In the News
Last May, the Surgeon General released an advisory “calling attention to the public health crisis of loneliness, isolation, and lack of connection in our country.” Among other stark indicators, the advisory noted that “lacking connection can increase the risk for premature death to levels comparable to smoking daily.”
The “loneliness epidemic” has received ongoing attention in recent months, with a report last month urging local policymakers to “support the creation of spaces where people can come together to share experiences of art, music, the outdoors, history, sports, culture and religion—the things that make us human.”
These observations are intuitive to many of us who have experienced both loneliness and isolation on the one hand, and acceptance and belonging on the other. Perhaps less intuitive is the possibility that strengthening our own group ties is an important prerequisite to reaching out across differences. In other words, a sense of belonging may be a first step toward empathy.
In My Head
The connection between empathy and belonging runs throughout David’s arguments in How to Know a Person. I was particularly struck by this passage about political tribes:
People join partisan tribes, but they are not in fact meeting together, serving one another, befriending one another. Politics doesn’t make you a better person, it’s about outer agitation, not inner formation. Politics doesn’t humanize. If you attempt to assuage your sadness, loneliness, or anomie through politics, it will do nothing more than land you in a world marked by a sadistic striving for domination. You may try to escape a world of isolation and moral meaninglessness, only to find yourself in the pulverizing destructiveness of the culture wars.
David’s words were on my mind this past Saturday as I walked over to campus to watch part of the protest at Washington University. I thought of them again on Monday, as David and I spent some time observing the early stages of the protest unfolding on the University of Chicago’s campus.
I have many thoughts about the recent campus protests, including those I have observed and others I have read about. I hope to explore some of my reflections in later posts. Today, I want to ask a more limited question: whether these protests can create a meaningful sense of belonging that decreases loneliness and increases empathy.
On the one hand, it seems intuitive that long hours “in the trenches” can strengthen bonds between like-minded people. This is certainly true in some contexts like labor unionism. When it comes to the current protests, expressing discontent, resisting authority, and, in some cases, confronting law enforcement can also create a sense of solidarity. But I’m left wondering whether protesters are developing communal bonds that will increase their sense of belonging or merely participating in a momentary shared experience.
My hunch is that many of these protests will fade away, particularly as the academic year draws to a close. If that happens, my sense is that many of the participants will be left with little sense of ongoing belonging. I could be wrong—perhaps these protests will have greater staying power and lead to more lasting relationships and social change. But if they do not, then whatever their motives or political salience, they will more likely have fed into tribalism than strengthened communal bonds. (To be clear, I’m not suggesting that the purpose of participating in a protest is or should be pursuing a sense of belonging; I’m merely predicting that these protests are unlikely to lead to that outcome.)
In the World
Linda Lumsden’s Rampant Women: Suffragists and the Right of Assembly explores assembly and protest throughout the movement for women’s suffrage. It was one of the most significant books I encountered about the historical context of assembly as I researched my first book, Liberty’s Refuge: The Forgotten Freedom of Assembly. As Lumsden shows, the public assemblies of the women’s suffrage movement often built upon personal relationships cultivated through a wide range of activities including banner meetings, balls, swimming races, potato sack races, baby shows, meals, pageants, and teatimes. Of course, the movement also included and depended upon more traditional forms of protest, including parades whose press coverage ensured “suffrage become a nationwide issue.” But as I suggested in Liberty’s Refuge, Lumsden’s account shows that “the core of assembly in the women’s movement came through local networking and personal connections” and “capitalized on an expanded conception of public political life.” In this way, the sense of belonging created both empathy and connectedness that helped sustain the movement.
One More Thing
I am excited to share that I will be giving this year’s commencement address at Greenville University on Saturday, May 11th.
Thinking back to the late '60s, when the protests on campus were about Vietnam, I can definitely recall the thrill of righteousness as we marched and protested, the disdain for the nexus of evil in the military-industrial complex. Then I got a summer job with a company that epitomized that military-industrial complex and discovered to my astonishment that these were regular people...not the evil villains I had pictured.
So now as I watch (from a distance) the current protests, my hope, my prayer, is that this generation too will have experiences that challenge their isolation, their separation from different experiences and perspectives, so as to develop that empathy that you and David have written about so well.
Looking forward to your further reflections!
I've participated in several protests, decrying unnecessary police violence in our community. We certainly wanted change, but many of us knew the outcome was largely out of our hands. Instead we came together in a common lament against the injustice embedded in our system of policing / criminal justice system. (Wendell Berry's commentary on Hayden Carruth's poem focused on protesting Vietnam in "What are People For", p. 58 - reflects on this dimension of protesting, one that was deeply personal for Berry himself.) Overall, protests are not monolithic. Some people will gravitate towards a posture of self righteousness - I certainly have at times - but many others will come with a deep sorrow over the destruction of their neighbors. As with a funeral, shared lament (paired intentional care for one's community) is not how I would prefer to experience belonging, but it's surprisingly possible.