Writers who don’t fit neatly into ideological boxes are often dismissed as deceptive or unserious. I’ll admit that part of my own resistance to staying within ideological lanes is selfish: I’m a contrarian who hates being confined by conventions. But I also harbor a deep conviction that truth defies partisan or ideological categories. While formal ideologies, parties, and factions can work to accomplish certain goals for the common good, none of these entities has a monopoly on truth. So when I write, rather than plainly critiquing or endorsing specific positions, I often encourage readers to think more critically about a given issue—to be led by a desire to find the truth, regardless of whether it’s convenient for their “side” or ideological persuasion.
Of course, many people see the world—events, individuals, right and wrong—through a moral framework that makes sense to them but often differs from others. One way to get people to step outside their frame and see the world from another’s perspective is to engage in what is known as “code-switching”: using the moral framing of the audience to whom one is speaking to increase the likelihood that they will be receptive to what a speaker has to say.
I was first drawn to this idea in a college course on bioethics, where I read a feminist case against abortion by Sydney Callahan. I was enthralled by the essay—not so much because I agreed with it but because I had never seen someone make an anti-abortion argument using terms that were typically associated with the pro-abortion faction. And though they didn’t totally buy Callahan’s argument, many of my pro-abortion classmates found themselves agreeing with several of her arguments, admitting that they had never considered the case against abortion from that point of view.
That experience of watching a piece of writing open people’s minds to bridging ideological divides encouraged me to look for more examples of code-switching, and there are many just on the abortion issue. For example, Destiny Herndon-De La Rosa and Charles Camosy (the professor of that class) similarly use feminist, left-coded language to frame their anti-abortion arguments. Or consider abortion rights groups in Kansas, who used right-coded language about freedom and limited government to frame their opposition to a ballot measure that would have further restricted abortion access in the state.
There are other prominent examples, too, like Sohrab Ahmari’s pro-labor case for restricting immigration, Andrew Sullivan’s traditionalist argument in favor of legalizing gay marriage, or Christopher Lasch’s left-wing case for the traditional family model.
Using the moral frame of one’s interlocutor is likely to be more productive than using arguments designed to appeal primarily to one’s own side. To be clear, code-switching is not an effort to “trick” others into adopting a position. Rather, it’s a tool for better understanding how others see the world and finding the best way to connect with them across disagreements. Ideally, this process will help people acquire genuine respect for their opponents. And if they can do that, it makes it easier to connect and likelier that others will engage with an open mind.
The pervasiveness of ideological polarization in America has made it imperative that we find new ways to talk to people across the political and cultural divides. Rather than shutting down opposing voices, we must determine how people with different agendas can complement one another and also find opportunities to be in conversation and—when possible—collaboration. Neither “side” is going anywhere anytime soon, so the nation’s ability to learn how to do these things is paramount.
Code-switching is one tool that might help America break free of the trappings of this polarization. The process of learning how to code-switch can help move people outside of their ideological silos to see the world in a different—perhaps even clearer—light. Such “clarification of thought,” to quote the co-founder of the Catholic Worker movement Peter Maurin, serves to bring people together to discuss contentious ideas. Even if they do not see eye to eye, they may at least come to see and appreciate each other’s positions better. This approach allows reason to take precedence over political expedience and tribal loyalties—it dissuades us from only ever preaching to the choir.
In my own attempts to engage with people of diverse ideological persuasions, I’ve borrowed the “lens shifting” technique from Dr. Mark Yarhouse. A clinical psychologist who specializes in working with trans and gender-dysphoric youth, Yarhouse has found that when engaging in controversial discussions like those involving gender and religion, it is more effective to focus on different “lenses” or frameworks rather than a paradigm that dwells on specific “positions.”
For example, Yarhouse recognizes that there are various ways one can frame the fact that there is a minority of folks who do not feel that they fit into the gender binary: a sign of moral error, a biological or psychological disability, or a unique occurrence worth celebrating. Yarhouse, a traditional Christian, finds that although he feels most comfortable with one of these lenses, this doesn’t preclude his affirming the merit of people who see the issue through the other ones. Thus, conversations about such controversial topics might be more productive when we are focused less on arguing for or against a position. Instead, we might all be better served by learning how and when to “turn the volume” up or down on the various lenses through which we express our views.
Take the thorny issue of immigration. If a liberal were talking to a group of friends who lean right, they might find it useful to turn down the volume on the lens that recognizes the inherent dignity of all human beings—something that likely resonates more with other liberals—and turn up the volume on, say, a pro-patriotism lens: “Immigrants are actually some of the most patriotic, America-loving people around.” By contrast, if a conservative were to engage with a group of left-wingers on the same issue, it might be most effective to start out by concurring with them that the issue of human rights is indeed important and then—as rapport is built—slowly turn up the volume on the lens that recognizes the ways that lax policy toward illegal immigration enables bosses to take advantage of workers and drives down wages.
Maintaining the tension between these lenses rather than collapsing it is easier said than done. Learning to hold on to them loosely—to turn the volume up and down based on the audience with which one is conversing—is a difficult feat, but one worth aspiring to learn. Working to develop this skill over time has allowed me to engage with a diverse array of people and to avoid seeking refuge in echo chambers.
Some may argue that it’s not worth trying to see the world from another person’s perspective or engaging with them in good-faith conversations when it comes to certain issues where the stakes are high. For example, what’s the point in doing this with someone who supports Nazism or chattel slavery? To be sure, code-switching may not be the perfect tool to use in every situation. Direct rebukes of some ideas may be more prudent in some cases. Additionally, others might view code-switching not as an attempt at consensus-building or dialogue but as masking the true intention of manipulating one’s opponents into adopting one’s own position.
Still, when employed well, code-switching can offer all Americans a tool for better understanding one another and depolarizing our often toxic conversations about important subjects. It can even encourage us to examine our own views and consider where we might be wrong and our opponents correct. Justin E. Giboney, the founder of (&)Campaign, challenges people to identify at least five weaknesses within their own ideology and five strengths in those of the opposing faction. When we lack nuance and charity for others and deny their valid points, we risk further entrenching our opponents in the belief that they’re right and we’re wrong, impeding the chance to make progress and lower the temperature.
Furthermore, ordinary people are much more vulnerable to corruption and violence at the hands of those in power when divided amongst ourselves than when we function as a collective. “Divide and conquer,” as they say.
Thus, to get things done and help heal our increasingly polarized society, we need to learn how to be versatile—to communicate our ideas in a way that people who disagree with us will understand and be more inclined to consider. In pursuit of that, we’d all do well to give code-switching a try.
Stephen G. Adubato is a writer and professor of philosophy based in New York. He is also the curator of the Cracks in Postmodernity blog, podcast, and magazine. Follow him on X @stephengadubato.
As a fellow contrarian, I like to know why a person, and especially groups of people -- the larger the better -- think the way they do. So I often posit a contrary response, one maybe contrary to my own point of view, just to engage in civil discourse and extract from them a deeper understanding of how they reached their conclusions.
Where I have been convinced by their response, or at least moved in their direction, it is usually because it is fact-based, and has been fact-checked. Who doesn't appreciate hearing and thus learning something new?
Where I have not been so moved to change my mind or position is where it is fact-free, built upon erroneously cited or misconstrued "fact."
People can also have very powerful, even life-changing, personal experiences that can't help but change their views. One can understand, even sympatize with that, but It does not necessarily change or even alter larger truths, except for them.
What I learned very early in life is that it’s nearly impossible to change minds on a controversial issue unless you understand their side of the discussion as well as they do. It’s often disarming to them that you can actually speak and understand their language, and that then seems to invariably open them up to be more willing to actually listen to and discuss counter arguments. Assuming, of course, that the discussion is based on true curiosity from both parties and mutual respect in the first place, versus the typical discourse you find online.