Cocktail Party Politics

“How ‘bout that debate last night? Pretty crazy, huh?”

Last week, the Las Vegas debate outperformed both the Grammys and the Golden Globes, becoming the most-watched Democratic primary debate ever. But I doubt that nearly 20 million people tuned in because they thought listening to Elizabeth Warren explain her universal child care plan would be more intellectually stimulating than an Ariana Grande performance. People got exactly what they came to see: some damn good entertainment.

Take a look at the headlines after the debate: “Elizabeth Warren came out swinging, and Mike Bloomberg was left battered” and “Elizabeth Warren Roasts Mike Bloomberg in Rowdy Las Vegas Debate.” Clearly the Las Vegas setting was apt for the show; if you change the names in the articles it might sound like a recap of Conor McGregor vs. Floyd Mayweather. Now, many of these articles seem to be using sports language facetiously, but it's not an unreasonable way to describe the debate. NBC, the airing network, clearly wanted to evoke a sporting event; many of the questions were designed to conjure heated one-on-one matchups. Even the debate’s introduction looked like something they would air before Sunday Night Football.

The way many of us follow politics mirrors the way we follow sports. It's entertaining, even a little fun — cracking jokes about the opposition, laughing with your fellow supporters, diving into the details and statistics.

There’s an emptiness to much of our political culture — a hobby masquerading as civic engagement. Opinion pieces, cable news, podcasts, debates, what is the point? It’s easy to have a bad relationship with politics. With so much information available, we can arm ourselves with an encyclopedia of useless political knowledge that is almost never applied to anything meaningful. As Tufts political science professor Eitan Hersh said, “What they're actually doing is not participating themselves in any active way. They're really just following the news.”

Political knowledge can often be nothing more than cocktail party fodder — a way to signal your sophistication and intellect. Dinner table punditry might make you look good; after all, knowing the demographic makeup of Ohio is sure to turn a few heads. But if impressing our friends is the culmination of our efforts, then we end up looking a bit silly.

Many people do, however, go beyond the cocktail party and act in the real world, but not because they can predict how Ohio will vote. They might not know the details of how Joe Biden and Pete Buttigieg differ on gun control, but they fought for a park in their town. They might not know who represents Florida’s fifth congressional district, but they volunteer at the homeless shelter. We need to do more to commend these people for the impact they have.

But I’m not talking about these people; I’m talking about the large portion that are hyper-invested and at the same time do so little. There’s a subset of people — well-educated, probably liberal — whose knowledge goes far beyond being well informed into the unnecessary (you will find many right here on this campus).

Now, I could have written this piece as a call to action. We certainly need more civic activity in local and state politics, and it would surely help the country depolarize, but I’m not convinced that being politically attentive necessarily makes one more likely to act. Reading about politics on the internet is a lot easier than going out and accomplishing something tangible, so we cannot assume that the political junkie is one step away from civic action.

I’m not asking people to jump into local politics. Instead, I propose that some of us dial back the obsession with politics — to really reconsider the urge to consume so much politics.

In 2018 the New York Times published “The Man Who Knew Too Little,” an article about Erik Hagerman, who in the aftermath of the 2016 election, “swore that he would avoid learning about anything that happened to America after Nov. 8, 2016,” and secluded himself in the woods to restore the land. He was met with strong criticism as people considered his vow to be another perk of rich white male privilege — he didn’t have to pay attention because he wasn’t under threat. However, Vox co-founder Ezra Klein notes, “Were those of us sending angry missives into the ether really doing more than this guy who was restoring land to gift back to his neighbors?”

Now, I’m not advocating for sticking our heads in the sand. People obviously play a crucial role in representative democracy; if everyone acted like Hagerman, the government could run amok. In fact, I would still argue that far too many people in this country are under-informed and under-engaged. A poll showed that almost 40 percent of Americans asked could not even name one right protected by the First Amendment.

But we must keep in mind that political hobbyism is not civic virtue. Our country needs a well-informed electorate, but it’s a representative democracy; we don’t all need to roleplay as senators with an important vote in the morning.

Daniel L. Aklog ’21, a Crimson Associate Editorial Editor, is a Social Studies concentrator in Leverett House.