Politics, at its functional best, is the management of disagreement. People want different things, believe different things, have different values and different interests. A political system is supposed to be the mechanism through which that disagreement gets processed into something manageable, not resolution, exactly, but coexistence. A way of sharing a society without any one group imposing itself entirely on everyone else.
This requires a specific set of conditions. It requires that people be able to tolerate the existence of positions they find wrong. It requires that winning an argument be seen as more useful than humiliating the person who made it. It requires that the process of change be slow enough to be legitimate. And it requires that the opposing side be seen as misguided rather than evil, because you can compromise with the misguided, but you can't compromise with evil.
Social media is systematically attacking every one of these conditions.
The engagement economy
The algorithms that drive social media platforms are not malicious. They are optimised. What they have discovered, through billions of data points, is that the content that generates the most sustained engagement is content that produces moral outrage. Not information, not insight, not even entertainment, outrage. The specific emotion that makes you feel part of a community under threat, and that community's enemies are both powerful and monstrous.
This is not a natural description of political reality in a functioning democracy. It is a distortion of it. But platforms that deliver this distortion keep users scrolling, and platforms that don't grow much more slowly. The incentive structure selects, relentlessly, for the most polarising version of every story.
What this does to political discourse
Politicians are not immune to this. Politicians who perform certainty, who give their base the emotional satisfaction of contempt for the other side, who treat every issue as a simple morality play with heroes and villains, these politicians perform better on social media than politicians who are careful, nuanced, or willing to acknowledge complexity. The medium selects the message, and the message is increasingly unsuitable for the business of actually governing.
The problem compounds because the two sides of any political divide are now, to a significant degree, consuming different information universes. Not different interpretations of the same facts but genuinely different facts, or rather, one side consuming mostly facts and the other consuming mostly performative outrage, with no reliable way to tell from inside which is which.
The counterargument
The optimistic case is that social media democratises political participation, that it gives voice to movements and communities that previously had no access to public discourse. There is truth in this. Genuinely important movements have found their legs online. Issues that would have been suppressed by elite media gatekeepers have forced their way into public consciousness.
But this benefit seems to be diminishing relative to the costs. The opening up of political speech has also opened up a firehose of misinformation, conspiracy, and coordinated manipulation. The trade is not obviously worth it.
Whether anything can be done
The most honest answer is that we don't know. Platform design can shift incentives, but platforms face competitive pressure to maximise engagement regardless. Regulation can constrain the worst behaviour but is slow and often poorly targeted. Media literacy helps but cannot keep pace with the speed of misinformation.
What we can say is that a communication environment that systematically rewards the most extreme positions and punishes nuance is not compatible with the kind of politics that produces liveable societies. Whether that means social media is breaking politics, or whether it is merely revealing how fragile it always was, that's a distinction worth making, even if it doesn't change the outcome.
Disagree? Say so.
Genuine pushback is welcome. Personal abuse is not.
