A few weeks ago, I came across research claiming to rank transit systems by state and by levels of safety. I usually enjoy studies like this, but something felt off. The rankings were based on state population rather than transit ridership, a strange choice, since state population doesn’t necessarily correlate with how much people use public transit. Ridership, on the other hand, gives a much clearer picture of the scale and risk profile of a transit system.
Since ridership data is easily accessible to anyone looking at safety statistics, I can only assume that the authors either overlooked it or chose to ignore it—carelessly or intentionally skewing the results.
The study came from a law firm in Atlanta, Georgia, Foy and Associates.
Media outlets across the country picked up the story, including the New York Post and MyNorthwest (KIRO). Both articles followed the same formula: cite the study’s rankings, then list specific examples of dangerous incidents on buses and trains to reinforce the findings.
The problem? The “study” itself wasn’t publicly available. Neither article linked to the original report, nor did they provide detailed citations, just vague references to federal data. When I visited the law firm’s website, I couldn’t find the report there either.
I emailed the reporter at MyNorthwest but haven’t heard back.
The media coverage did include a “Top 10” list of the most dangerous states for transit safety, along with some supporting numbers. So I worked with what I had.
When I re-ranked the data using ridership instead of state population, the results changed significantly. This is the source of the data I used to come up with by-state ridership (see what I did there?)
For example, New York (touted as the most hazardous in the media coverage) drops from first to ninth when you account for ridership. Texas and Arizona each jump five spots, moving from the bottom half to the top half of the rankings. And that’s just using the limited data that was made public. Without knowing the original source data or methodology, we can’t even say if states outside the top 10 might belong in it under a more reasonable metric. So even Washington’s stable placement “in the top 10” is suspect.
So what do I make of all this?
I think it’s a troubling example of using data to support a predetermined narrative: that public transit is unsafe. I understand why an Atlanta-based law firm would produce content like this. It’s a form of content marketing that positions them as experts, especially if you’re considering a lawsuit over a transit-related injury.
But even media outlets with a specific editorial angle should be more responsible. Passing along research without showing the notes (and failing to ask basic questions about methodology) isn’t just lazy journalism. It’s misleading, and it undermines public understanding of real transit safety issues.
I’ve been wary about how media stories frame school cell phone bans. Most of the coverage I’ve read reinforces my central concern: while these bans are often justified on the grounds of protecting teen mental health, their actual impact (and likely their real purpose) is about classroom management. That’s a fine goal. Staying on task matters. But it’s not the same thing as improving mental health, and we should be honest about the difference.
Remaining focused in class is not equivalent to feeling mentally well. It’s not surprising that schools (and the stories told about them) struggle to distinguish between the two. There is a difference between keeping your head down and working and being happy and engaged.
Student reactions to the new policy were predictable and negative at first. Some even tore up the paper the new rules were printed on. But soon, according to school staff, they settled down and “got more work done.” That phrase sums up the underlying reality: this was always about productivity.
Yes, productivity can be a result of happiness and well-being, but it’s not the same thing. And it shouldn’t be used as a stand-in for them.
Stories like this frame phone bans as moral imperatives, as though they are a necessary defense against the social decay brought on by tech. But this narrative misrepresents the science, oversimplifies the problem, and conveniently lets institutions—and adults—off the hook. I support reasonable restrictions on phone use in class, but we should say it’s about focus and discipline, not vague media-fueled panic about “kids these days.”
Too often, these stories stay squarely inside the classroom walls. They don’t acknowledge broader cultural contradictions or adult complicity. I’m not here to question the policy, ban phones if it helps. I’m questioning the framing. Kids aren’t dumb. They know when they’re being lied to.
Instead of pretending a ban alone solves deeper issues, it tells the story of a district doing something different. Through its “Engage IRL” campaign, the district expanded extracurriculars, added field trips, and brought in community support to fund staff who help connect students to meaningful activities. It’s not the phone ban that improves student engagement, it’s the presence of something better to engage with.
This should not be a surprising result: when students have real opportunities to connect with each other and with life-affirming activities, they feel better.
Bans alone don’t work. Engagement does.
The story also notes a major study from England that found no link between a student’s mental health or even problematic phone use and their school’s phone policy. The lead researcher put it clearly: “We need to do more than just ban phones in schools.”
Exactly. Bans may help with classroom behavior, but they aren’t magic. If we want schools to be healthier environments, we need to focus on meaning, connection, and community. That’s what makes a difference.
This is a broad, sweeping essay on what I took away from being a local government communicator focusing on elections in 2024. I wrote most of this in early January, just after I had come out of a long multi-week break after the election season. I spent about an hour sitting down and typing down everything that I felt about the state of media, our society, and what we should be able to do about it.
It is now the last couple of days of March, and like any productivity-focused jerk, I’m looking back at my emotional response to the new year and thinking that I’m still right. Not so bent out of shape about it, but I’m pretty happy with my progress so far in 2025.
School Cell Phone Bans
The recent discussion on phone bans in schools was explained, in part, by referencing Jonathan Haidt’s book on social media and mental health. However, the primary justification for this ban is not student mental health. It makes more sense to me, the Occam’s Razor of this debate, that this is about classroom management. That’s perfectly valid, but we should be honest about our reasoning. No serious workplace would allow employees to scroll through their phones during meetings. However, workplaces don’t frame this as a mental health issue; it’s about staying on task and being present. Schools should take the same approach: set boundaries without overstating the role of social media in mental health.
Furthermore, Haidt’s book is not the definitive source it’s made out to be. A recent review in Nature (https://www.nature.com/articles/d41586-024-00902-2) highlights significant gaps in Haidt’s claims that social media is “rewiring” children’s brains. Most evidence linking social media to mental health challenges is weak or correlative at best. In fact, research suggests that preexisting mental health challenges often drive increased social media use, not the other way around. Oversimplifying the issue by blaming social media risks distracting us from addressing more significant factors like access to guns, economic hardship, and social isolation.
The ironic part of using Haidt’s work as the backing for school phone bans is that it follows the same pattern
In like-minded groups, we share information more freely without checking facts, which increases misinformation in filter bubbles. Social media platforms, driven by profit, make it easy to spread misinformation because they’re essentially like-minded group machines. Closed Facebook groups are the classic example of this phenomena.
The disinformation outbreak about arson behind the 2020 Pacific Northwest wildlife season was a classic example of this and how it works. Local emergency responders and law enforcement could not get on top or even track how the rumors spread because of the private nature of the groups.
They thought they had a chance with that race. They found a conclusion they liked and decided that the poll’s result was based on a good process. This is the end result of many years of the impact of social media and actual disinformation campaigns on political thinking. Social media allowed us to strengthen our silos so only information we agree with tends to get through
So, we start with the result we want and then find the data. We wanted the same people who were behind violence associated with the 2020 protests to be behind the wildfires plaguing rural Pacific Northwest communities. We wanted Tiffany Smiley to beat Patty Murray. So we looked for that data and stovepiped it to our own community, and that became our reality.
This is also what happened with phone bans in schools. Teachers wanted a tool to help with classroom behavior but found a book where a phone ban could be wrapped in with the idea that phones are causing a historic decline in teen mental health.
The science isn’t there, we started with the decision we wanted to make and went to look for faulty information that would back it up.
In fact, kids with phones report higher well-being, more time with friends, more exercise, better self-esteem, and are less likely to feel life is meaningless or be cyberbullied. They also seek help when needed.
But this isn’t to say we know social media is bad for us. So we take one of the biggest impacts of social media, that it easily creates storms of disinformation. When we know what actually exists, we can go find things that social media can’t actually be blamed for.
If Social Media is bad, we need to use our institutions to abstain or at least start building something different
This brings me to a broader concern. I am a government communicator for work. I spend time earning money posting content to the various platforms that are being blamed for declines in teen mental health. Also, rightly, for the increase in polarization and groupthink in politics. So, what really upsets me is the hypocrisy of how social media is treated in these discussions.
Schools condemn platforms like Facebook for their role in declining mental health, yet these same platforms are a cornerstone of how schools communicate with the community. If social media is truly as harmful as some claim, why do we rely on it so heavily to share important updates and connect with our communities?
We need to take a hard look at our collective relationship with algorithm-driven social media. The issue isn’t just about kids; it’s about all of us, parents, educators, local governments, and community leaders. Social media platforms, designed to maximize engagement by amplifying divisive rhetoric, have eroded our ability to have meaningful conversations and find solutions. Worse, and more important, these platforms are built on top of digital ad monopolies that have decimated local journalism, a critical tool for understanding our own communities.
So, let’s not let ourselves off the hook. While it’s easy to focus on students’ use of social media, adults are equally responsible for questioning how these platforms shape our interactions and decisions. By blaming kids or technology for challenges like classroom distractions, we risk ignoring the systemic and cultural shifts that have made these platforms so influential in the first place.
A phone ban framed around classroom management is reasonable, but it must be accompanied by broader accountability for how we, as a community, engage with social media. Schools should lead by example, finding ways to reduce their reliance on algorithmic platforms while fostering open, constructive dialogue about the role these tools play in all of our lives.
Schools, food, what is good for us
Food began to change in the 1970s. We went from eating what we chose, generally, to being marketted to. Not just in advertising campaigns but in the actual food we ate. Food companies began changing their product to change what they were selling us based on our psychological needs. Since the 1970s, the food industry has shifted toward more processed and sugar-laden products, impacting the nutritional quality of school meals. Food became irresistible and we became obese.
Schools spend a lot of time thinking about food and (some) think about healthy foods. In response to the change in the food system, the USDA’s 2024 Final Rule updates school meal nutrition standards to better align with the Dietary Guidelines for Americans, introducing the first-ever added sugar limits and further reducing sodium levels. These changes, phased in from 2025-2028, aim to improve children’s health by limiting high-sugar items like cereals and flavored milk while maintaining whole grain requirements.
As the food system changed, we can look even further out and see how the information systems have changed. In less than 100 years, we went from primarily print information systems to commercial radio, then broadcast television, and then cable television in the 1980s.
Now the last print generation is dying out and we’re now much more likely to get information through an algorithmic platform than we are from a print newspaper. This will have devastating impacts on the information we’re receiving and how we’re being manipulated.
Schools and our other local institutions can play a role in reversing this trend. Instead of focusing on punitive student-based, we should take a close look at how our communications plans work and if they end up propping up the systems that we also claim are hurting children.
I am pushing for non-algorithmic and local hosted social media on the Fedverse in my own organization, and I am well aware of the institutional slowness that takes place. Friction does not absolve us from doing the right thing.
Local governments should think about hosting their own social media to avoid issues with corporate control and algorithms. Self-hosting would also help with verification, security, and better communication with the public. Unlike mainstream platforms, Mastodon doesn’t have a system to verify accounts, making it hard to tell real government accounts from fake ones. A self-hosted platform, like social.olympiawaschools.gov, would ensure that government accounts are verified, stopping the spread of false information and building trust. It would also let governments add extra security to protect against data breaches or manipulation. With a dedicated space for government presence, citizens would know where to go for reliable, accurate information, making communication more transparent and accountable.
What is really at the root of it is the money, of course
One of the things I remember about the early days of the social media platforms was the proliferation of experts who were advising newspapers and other organizations that predated 2007 how to succeed in the new communities growing, especially in Facebook. What they didn’t notice, and what became exceedingly dangerous, was what was going on underneath the table. As content marketers taught editors about the newsfeed and how to goose engagement, Google and Facebook were creating unbeatable money machines by capturing the new generation of ad buyers.
You can make all the arguments you want about what the news industry should have done better. More paywalls, better digital, not staying with print for so long. But the ad tech oligarchs are the real reason your city council is not getting covered.
But thankfully, the federal government is on the case. The United States v. Google is a federal antitrust case in which the U.S. Department of Justice (DOJ), along with several states, accuses Google of unlawfully maintaining a monopoly in the adtech market. The lawsuit targets Google’s alleged anticompetitive practices, including exclusive agreements and acquisitions like DoubleClick, Invite Media, and AdMeld, which the DOJ argues have harmed competition and inflated costs for advertisers and consumers. The trial commenced on September 9, 2024, and concluded on September 27, with closing arguments on November 25, 2024. Potential remedies under consideration include requiring Google to divest certain adtech assets or restructure its business operations to restore competition in the market.
In the long term? Regulating algorithms like cigarettes and destroying the adtech monopolies?
What won’t work is link taxes.
And this is sad for me to have to make this point. During the second hearing on a bill that I link to above (SB 5400), which would get us in Washington State very close to what we need in terms of a public media fund, was some implications of a link tax.
Jeff Jarvis does a great job arguing that link taxes are fundamentally flawed, as they violate copyright principles by charging for fair use of links, the backbone of the open web. He highlights their unintended consequences: Platforms like Meta have already retaliated by removing news links entirely (as in Canada), disproportionately benefiting hedge fund-owned conglomerates while excluding small, diverse publishers. Jarvis asserts that links help publishers by driving traffic, and instead of punitive taxes, solutions should focus on direct support and innovation to sustain journalism equitably.
Facebook didn’t need widespread legislation to deemphasize news, they just did it a couple of years ago: https://www.cnbc.com/2024/01/22/metas-retreat-from-news-accelerated-in-2023-leaving-media-scrambling.html
If at any point, Facebook and Google every “stole” content from newspapers, that relationship is over now. They don’t need the news to exist to be able to capture our eyeballs. Anyone that has spent any time at all on the most time-sucking algorithmic feeds knows content on local city council races isn’t rising to the top. What they stole was the advertising revenue. And no right minded ad buy would go anywhere else than the place where they are guaranteed their ads will perform well.
This brings us back to the top and the moral outrage about what social media and phones are doing to our kids. Obviously, the platforms have control. They have shaped our society, changed our politics and destroyed the news. To paraphrase Cory Doctorow, this (and other battles over tech) is what all our other battles are based on.
The discussion above about link taxes and the open web isn’t an argumentative silo. It is based on my broader thesis, that what we are trying to do is defend the open web. One of the reasons that kids with phones have better mental health is the access those phones give them to agency, their friends and information that builds them as people. If you’re cut off from the things that give you freedom, you’re less happy. This is the promise of the open web.
The newspaper companies fighting for a link tax only want to create a system where both their legacy money-making machines and social media platforms survive. It isn’t about digital first, community-based forums or anything new. Link taxes are about defending the entrenched status quo.
For the last 50 years, newspaper publishers have been creating local monopolies through federal antitrust exemptions and straight-up anti-competitive behavior.
Today’s newspaper owners aren’t even largely the newspaper owners who killed off their local competition decades ago. These guys are even worse. The hedge funds are picking the bones of wannabe local newspaper oligarchs are much more likely to want to use anti-competitive tactics to sustain their business models.
Summary: Reflections on Media, Social Platforms, and Institutional Responsibility
As a local government communicator navigating the 2024 election cycle, I’ve witnessed firsthand how media ecosystems shape public discourse, often for the worse. The debate over school cellphone bans exemplifies this: while framed as a mental health issue, the real driver is classroom management. We cherry-pick data to fit preconceived narratives, whether about phones in schools or social media’s role in society.
The real battle isn’t just about kids’ screen time; it’s about defending the open web and dismantling the monopolies that control attention and information.
To fix this, we must confront systemic failures.
The stakes are existential. Just as schools updated meal standards to combat predatory food marketing, institutions must rethink their reliance on algorithmic platforms. Hosting independent, community-driven social media could restore trust and transparency. But change demands courage: we must stop scapegoating technology and address the root issue (corporate control over our attention economies). The open web’s promise of agency, connection, and access is worth fighting for, not just for students, but for democracy itself.
Blaming phones or platforms is easy; rebuilding equitable systems is hard. It’s time institutions lead by example.
Or what celebrating St. Patrick’s Day as an ethnic holiday should teach us.
Thomas Hayden’s “Irish on the Inside” explores what was lost when Irish Americans transitioned into whiteness. A deep connection to a unique form of Catholicism, with echoes of pre-Christian traditions, was severed, along with ties to the land and folkways.
The main thesis of “Irish on the Inside” is that Irish identity in America has been shaped by historical struggles against oppression. This heritage should inspire solidarity with the marginalized rather than assimilation into whiteness.
Our cultural identity should not be reduced to singing Irish drinking songs once a year and wearing green. In fact, the real color of Ireland and St. Patrick is blue. Ironically, it was a Protestant uprising in 1798 that cemented green at the center of Irish identity.
The conventional way of celebrating St. Patrick’s Day distances Irish Americans from their immigrant and radical past and instead encourages assimilation into mainstream American whiteness, at the expense of solidarity with marginalized groups.
The 1798 Rebellion and Its Aftermath:
The United Irishmen was an organization that included both Catholics and Protestants. Founded in 1791 by primarily Protestant radicals in Belfast, it was inspired by the American and French Revolutions. Their goal was to unite Irish people of all religious backgrounds, Catholics, Presbyterians, and some Anglicans under the shared cause of Irish independence and democratic reform.
At the time, Ireland was ruled by the English Anglican protestant Ascendancy, which oppressed both Catholics and dissenting Presbyterians who had migrated from Scotland. While the movement initially sought moderate reform, British repression and the failure of peaceful efforts pushed it toward armed rebellion in 1798. The rebellion failed.
After the 1798 rebellion, the relationship between the Protestant Ascendancy (who controlled Ireland politically and economically) and the Presbyterians (who had been a major part of the rebellion, particularly in Ulster) shifted significantly.
Following the rebellion, the British government and the Ascendancy sought to neutralize Presbyterian dissent. While Presbyterians had historically faced discrimination under the Penal Laws (though not as harsh as Catholics), the government began offering them political and economic incentives, including administrative positions and greater religious toleration. Over time, many Presbyterians moved away from their earlier radicalism and aligned more with the British state. They were co-opted away from radicalism.
The failure of the rebellion also intensified sectarian divisions. The British government, recognizing the potential danger of Catholic-Presbyterian unity, worked to foster Protestant solidarity by emphasizing differences between Presbyterians and Catholics. The growing influence of the Orange Order, a Protestant fraternal organization that became a vehicle for anti-Catholic sentiment, played a key role in driving a wedge between the two groups.
By the mid-19th century, many Presbyterians in Ulster had shifted from being radical republicans to strong supporters of the Union with Britain. This shift laid the foundation for later divisions in Irish politics, where Presbyterians in the north became key supporters of Unionism, while Irish Catholics largely supported nationalist and independence movements.
Don’t let Irish Americans become Ulster Presbyterians:
The journey of Irish Americans into whiteness and the journey of Ulster Presbyterians into Unionism after the 1798 rebellion share striking parallels. Both groups began as outsiders, oppressed by dominant power structures, only to later be co-opted into those same systems in exchange for privileges that distanced them from their former allies.
Over time, Irish Americans have assimilated into whiteness, losing much of our radical and immigrant past in the process. This shift was not inevitable but was encouraged by economic incentives, political opportunities, and social pressures that rewarded distancing from other oppressed communities.
Both transitions(the Irish American journey into whiteness and the Presbyterian journey into Unionism) illustrate how systems of power co-opt resistance movements.
They offer privileges in exchange for allegiance, reshaping identities in ways that reinforce existing hierarchies. This historical pattern should challenge Irish Americans today to reconsider what it means to celebrate our heritage. We should reconnect with the radical roots of our history and seek solidarity.
Recognizing these historical parallels allows us to see that identity is not static. It is shaped by political choices, economic pressures, and historical narratives. The challenge for Irish Americans is to reject the complacency of assimilation and rediscover the deeper meaning of our heritage, one rooted in justice, resistance, and solidarity.
Every election season, there’s a familiar refrain: Why don’t young people vote? Despite urgent appeals about protecting their future from older generations, turnout among voters under 40 remains stubbornly low. Even here in Washington State, where voting couldn’t be easier (ballots are mailed to every registered voter, drop boxes are everywhere, and pre-registration is available for 16- and 17-year-olds) young voters still lag far behind their older counterparts.
After years working in government, journalism, and civic life—and now running communications for a county elections office—I’ve started to wonder if we’re missing the deeper reasons why this gap persists. Recent research on brain development and voting suggests we may be looking in the wrong places for solutions.
The book “Making Young Voters” highlights a key finding: the strongest predictor of whether a young person votes isn’t just knowledge about government—it’s their level of non-cognitive skills. These are traits like grit, self-regulation, and follow-through. Unlike raw intelligence or civic knowledge, non-cognitive skills help us keep commitments, meet deadlines, and manage complex tasks like researching issues and returning a ballot on time.
And here’s the thing: non-cognitive skills don’t peak at 18. They build steadily through our twenties and thirties, leveling off around 40—the same age when voting rates hit their stride. We often talk about voting as a habit, and it is. But habit formation depends on the very life skills: organization, time management, persistence—that our brains are still developing well into adulthood.
This raises uncomfortable questions for those of us in government and civic life: Is our system of voting unintentionally designed to reward people whose brains are already wired for follow-through—while sidelining those still developing those capacities? If the act of voting requires juggling deadlines, forms, and research, maybe it’s no surprise participation skews older.
This insight also challenges some well-meaning solutions. Take civic education. The common idea is that if we just teach young people more about government, they’ll show up to vote. But if voting behavior depends less on what you know and more on how you function in your daily life, maybe we’d do better investing in social and emotional learning—skills like self-regulation and planning—alongside civics.
It also reframes how we talk about political generations. When we say people “get more conservative as they age,” we’re often misreading the data. It’s not that individuals drift rightward. It’s that many non-voters from younger, more politically mixed groups eventually start voting later in life—when their non-cognitive skills have caught up. The 18-year-olds who didn’t vote in 2004 but start voting at 38 may not share the same views as the 18-year-olds who did. Generational shifts aren’t just ideological—they’re structural, tied to who’s participating at each stage of life.
So what do we do with this knowledge? Some countries sidestep these challenges by making participation mandatory, like Brazil and Greece, where young voters actually outnumber older ones. But barring a seismic shift like that in the U.S., we might explore other tools.
Deliberative processes like citizen assemblies, participatory budgeting, and local town halls offer alternative ways for people to engage in government that rely less on individual follow-through and more on collective experience.
Citizen assemblies, in particular, gather a representative group of everyday people—selected through a lottery process, to study an issue, hear from experts, deliberate together, and recommend solutions. These assemblies are structured to support participation from people of all ages and backgrounds, regardless of their experience or comfort with traditional political processes. Participants are paid for their time, provided with child care and meals, and guided by facilitators who help ensure everyone’s voice is heard.
Rather than asking individuals to navigate complex ballots on their own, citizen assemblies create shared spaces where people can slow down, learn together, and produce thoughtful, democratic outcomes.
We could even require assemblies to reflect the distribution of voting age population if their suggestions are to move forward. If the goal is to really hear every voice in the community, voting as an activity feels stacked. Things like citizen assemblies feel like natural solutions to an inherent problem.
TDS, Reductio ad Absurdum, and the real Identify Fusion
In the polarized landscape of American politics, rhetorical techniques like “Trump Derangement Syndrome” (TDS) and the phrase “Orange Man Bad” have become go-to tools for conservative commentators and politicians to deflect criticism of Donald Trump. These phrases are often deployed to dismiss progressive critiques of the former president, reducing complex arguments to emotional outbursts or childish complaints.
But what makes these techniques so effective, and why do they resonate with certain audiences? More importantly, how do they obscure the deeper dynamics of political allegiance and identity?
The pattern is familiar: a Democratic politician or progressive critic voices opposition to Trump through a lawsuit, policy critique, or public statement. In response, a conservative commentator or politician dismisses the critique by labeling it as “Trump Derangement Syndrome” or sarcastically remarking, “Orange Man Bad, huh?”
This rhetorical move serves two primary logical fallacies:
Straw Man Fallacy: By reducing nuanced criticisms of Trump to a simplistic, emotional reaction, the critic’s argument is distorted into something easier to attack. Instead of engaging with the substance of the critique, the response caricatures it as irrational or baseless. For example, concerns about Trump’s policies, rhetoric, or actions are dismissed as personal animosity rather than principled opposition.
Reductio ad Absurdum: This technique takes an argument to its extreme to highlight its supposed absurdity. By framing criticisms of Trump as childish or overly simplistic (e.g., “Orange Man Bad”), the responder mocks the critic, implying that their position lacks depth or reason. This can be particularly effective in rallying Trump’s base, who may view such critiques as evidence of liberal hysteria or bias.
State Representative Jim Walsh, chair of the Washington State GOP, provides a clear example of this technique in action. In a heavily Democratic state like Washington, where Trump is broadly unpopular, Walsh often frames Democratic actions against Trump as purely emotional rather than principled or politically strategic. By doing so, he sidesteps the substance of the critiques and instead portrays Democrats as driven by irrational dislike for Trump. This allows him to appeal to his base while dismissing the concerns of the majority of voters in his state.
While “Trump Derangement Syndrome” and “Orange Man Bad” are used to paint progressives as emotionally unhinged, the reality is that the most intense emotional attachments to Trump are often found on the conservative side. Think of the houses adorned with massive Trump flags, the pickup truck convoys, or the boat flotillas celebrating the president. These displays are not just political statements, they are expressions of identity and loyalty.
This phenomenon is supported by research. A 2025 study published by Cambridge University Press, titled “The Power of Trump’s Big Lie: Identity Fusion, Internalizing Misinformation, and Support for Trump” by Philip Moniz and William B. Swann, delves into the psychological mechanisms behind Trump’s enduring appeal.
The study followed a cohort of Trump supporters over three years, examining how identity fusion—a deep sense of oneness with a leader or group—led to the internalization of misinformation, particularly Trump’s false claims of electoral fraud (the “Big Lie”). The researchers found that individuals who felt a strong identity fusion with Trump were more likely to dismiss his criminal charges and support his policy priorities, even in the face of contradictory evidence.
This research underscores a critical point: the emotional and psychological attachment to Trump among his supporters is a powerful force that shapes their perception of reality. By contrast, the “Trump Derangement Syndrome” narrative flips the script, portraying progressives as the ones driven by emotion rather than reason.
The effectiveness of “Trump Derangement Syndrome” and “Orange Man Bad” lies in their ability to reframe the conversation. Instead of engaging with substantive critiques, these phrases shift focus to the critic’s motives, painting them as irrational or biased. This not only disarms the critique but also reinforces the loyalty of Trump’s base, who see themselves as rational defenders of a misunderstood leader.
Moreover, these techniques exploit the broader cultural divide in American politics. Reducing progressive critiques to emotional outbursts, they reinforce the “us vs. them” mentality that fuels polarization. This makes meaningful dialogue harder, as each side becomes more entrenched in its own narrative.
“Trump Derangement Syndrome” and “Orange Man Bad” are more than just catchy phrases, they’re rhetorical tools designed to deflect criticism and reinforce partisan loyalty. By reducing complex arguments to simplistic caricatures, these techniques allow conservatives to avoid engaging with the substance of progressive critiques. At the same time, they obscure the deeper emotional and psychological attachment that many Trump supporters feel toward the former president.
Understanding these dynamics is crucial for navigating the current political landscape. Rather than falling into the trap of oversimplification, both sides would benefit from engaging with the substance of each other’s arguments. Only then can we move beyond the divisive rhetoric and toward a more constructive dialogue.
The recent discussion on phone bans in schools was explained, in part, by referencing Jonathan Haidt’s book on social media and mental health. However, the primary justification for this ban is not student mental health — it’s classroom management. And that’s perfectly valid, but we should be honest about our reasoning. No serious workplace would allow employees to scroll through their phones during meetings. But workplaces don’t frame this as a mental health issue; it’s about staying on task. Schools should take the same approach: set boundaries without overstating the role of social media in mental health.
Furthermore, Haidt’s book is not the definitive source it’s made out to be. A recent review in Nature (https://www.nature.com/articles/d41586-024-00902-2) highlights significant gaps in Haidt’s claims that social media is “rewiring” children’s brains. Most evidence linking social media to mental health challenges is weak or correlative at best. In fact, research suggests that preexisting mental health challenges often drive increased social media use, not the other way around. Oversimplifying the issue by blaming social media risks distracting us from addressing more significant factors like access to guns, economic hardship, and social isolation.
This brings me to a broader concern: the hypocrisy of how social media is treated in these discussions. Schools often condemn platforms like Facebook for their role in declining mental health, yet these same platforms are a cornerstone of how schools communicate with the community. If social media is truly as harmful as some claim, why do we rely on it so heavily to share important updates and connect with our communities?
We need to take a hard look at our collective relationship with algorithm-driven social media. The issue isn’t just about kids; it’s about all of us — parents, educators, local governments, and community leaders. Social media platforms, designed to maximize engagement by amplifying divisive rhetoric, have eroded our ability to have meaningful conversations and find solutions. Worse, these ad-driven networks have decimated local journalism, a critical tool for understanding our own communities.
Let’s not let ourselves off the hook. While it’s easy to focus on students’ use of social media, adults are equally responsible for questioning how these platforms shape our interactions and decisions. By blaming kids or technology for challenges like classroom distractions, we risk ignoring the systemic and cultural shifts that have made these platforms so influential in the first place.
I urge the board to approach this issue with clarity and consistency. A phone ban framed around classroom management is reasonable, but it must be accompanied by broader accountability for how we, as a community, engage with social media. Schools should lead by example, finding ways to reduce their reliance on algorithmic platforms while fostering open, constructive dialogue about the role these tools play in all of our lives.
The further we get from the places where we have influence in our daily lives — the people we can truly reach as individuals because they know us — the more we focus on electoral politics.
We think a lot about our friends we see regularly but don’t think about our local regular politics. We see this most in our voter participation in local elections, which is always lower than in Presidential elections.
We spend far more time thinking about who the President is or will be than about who our mayor is, especially if we live in a suburban, mid-sized town with little regional news coverage. Ironically, local government is the level that has the most impact on our daily lives, and where we, as engaged individuals, can have the greatest influence.
This is the insidious effect that television — especially cable television — has had on our politics. There was a time when our understanding of politics came primarily from our local newspaper. These papers covered national news, but it often arrived days later, gathered from wire reports or other newspapers.
The advent of national radio networks in the 20th century brought national news alongside local coverage. Then came national television networks, followed by cable TV, which introduced the modern attention economy.
For a moment, the internet seemed poised to re-localize the news. But the rise of algorithm-driven content silos instead democratized the ethos of cable television. This shift created a “bottom-up, top-down” content factory, perfected by election deniers but emblematic of the broader economy of outrage and rumor.
The people we see and interact with daily are the ones who truly listen to us and value what we say. These local, social networks offer the most opportunity for meaningful influence and positive impact. Yet, we spend more energy worrying about the opinions of people who will never meet us.