It Is Exhausting

I work in politics, and even I am exhausted by it.

Turn on the television, and there is a political ad. Turn on the radio, and there is another. Open your phone, and someone is asking for money. Check the mailbox, and a small forest has been sacrificed to explain why one candidate is a saint and the other is apparently responsible for everything wrong with civilization. Drive down the road, and every intersection looks like a political sign breeding ground. Somewhere in between, your phone buzzes with another unsolicited text from someone who desperately needs your $15 before midnight.

The deadline is always midnight. The emergency is always unprecedented. Somehow, they always have time to text you again tomorrow…and the next day… and the next day.

There is something exhausting about being treated as a voter, donor, target audience, or potential outrage machine during practically every waking hour. Sometimes, I would just like to watch a football game without being informed that the fate of the republic depends on what happens during the next commercial break. If that is true, what a sad state of affairs.

Political Exhaustion Is Somebody’s Business

Of course, all that noise is also somebody’s business.

Consultants get paid to develop the strategy. Firms get paid to produce and place the ads. Television and radio stations sell the airtime. Digital platforms sell access to your attention. Mail vendors print and distribute the next stack of glossy accusations. Fundraising operations turn the latest emergency into another appeal.

An exhausted voter and a satisfied vendor can be the result of the very same campaign.

That does not mean everyone involved is dishonest or that campaigns should communicate for free. Candidates need to reach voters, and people deserve to be paid for their work. I have worked on campaigns. I understand that.

Still, we ought to recognize the incentives. More fundraising can support more advertising, more mail, more consulting, and even more fundraising. Some compensation arrangements reward the volume of activity, whether or not that activity gives voters anything useful.

The people buying and selling your attention have reasons to keep the machinery running. Your desire for a quiet evening does not appear on the invoice.

Candidates face their own pressure to keep spending. Nobody wants to lose and then explain that they left an opponent’s attacks unanswered. Everyone keeps buying, everyone keeps broadcasting, and the rest of us get another commercial break full of reasons to fear our neighbors.

We Keep Buying the Political Drama

There is also an uncomfortable truth here: They would not keep selling this stuff if we did not keep buying it.

We click the outrageous headline, share the nastiest ad, and reward the politician who delivers the most satisfying insult. We complain about the spectacle, then refresh the feed to see what happens next. A detailed policy explanation struggles for attention while a clip of someone “DESTROYING” someone else becomes the day’s main event.

At some point, it starts to resemble political masochism. We keep consuming the very thing we say is making us miserable. There is a little sadism mixed in, too, when watching the “other side” get humiliated becomes its own reward.

We feed off the manufactured drama and discontent, especially when it confirms what we already believe about people we already dislike. Another person’s worst moment becomes our afternoon entertainment. Sharing it gives us a chance to demonstrate that we are on the right team.

The consultants and platforms have plenty of incentive to manufacture more of it. We supply an audience willing to consume it, circulate it, and sometimes finance the next installment. Our outrage becomes evidence that the strategy is working.

I include myself in that criticism. Working in politics does not make me immune to a satisfying takedown or the temptation to share something before considering whether it contributes anything useful.

Being tired of the circus does not mean much if I keep buying a ticket.

The Cost of Constant Campaign Noise

I care deeply about public policy. I believe elections matter. I want people to understand what their government is doing and hold elected officials accountable.

That takes attention, and attention is finite. Every manufactured emergency competes with the work of actually understanding an issue. After the twentieth ominous voice warns that everything you love is in danger, it becomes tempting to mute the whole conversation.

That is a lousy outcome for anyone who wants an informed electorate. People can become so worn down by the effort to influence them that they stop listening, including when something deserves their attention.

Meanwhile, ordinary life continues. People have jobs to do, children to raise, bills to pay, and relatives to care for. Being a responsible citizen should leave room for those responsibilities, too. Nobody should feel obligated to spend dinner monitoring the latest online feud to prove that they care about the country.

What makes the barrage especially frustrating is how little of it helps anyone make a decision. We get dramatic music, grainy photographs, selective quotations, and promises broad enough to mean almost anything. Getting a straight answer about spending, taxes, government power, or a candidate’s actual record can take considerably more effort.

There are real disagreements worth having, consequential decisions to make, and legitimate reasons to criticize elected officials. Constantly presenting every dispute as an existential emergency makes it harder to distinguish those moments from the daily sales pitch.

Better Politics Requires a Better Audience

I would welcome fewer messages that assume I am terrified and more that assume I am capable of thinking.

Tell me what you intend to do. Explain the tradeoffs. Defend your record. Give me a reason to trust you, and then give me a little space to consider it.

We also have responsibilities as the audience. If we want substantive arguments, honest disagreement, and candidates who explain their plans, we have to give those things our attention. We cannot keep rewarding the cheapest provocation and act surprised when someone produces another one.

That might mean reading the explanation before sharing the insult, asking a follow-up question instead of applauding a rehearsed attack, or letting an online argument pass without volunteering for another shift.

I will keep paying attention. I will keep doing the work. I will also keep blocking unsolicited political texts with the enthusiasm of someone who has finally found a small government program he can personally shut down.

You can care about your country and still want a quiet evening. I suspect a whole lot of us could use one.