We don’t like disagreement with strangers, let alone friends. 

In his classic study on conformity, Solomon Asch (1951) watched as one in three participants went along with a majority group who were incorrectly judging line lengths in a very obvious and easy task. (Have a look here). 

Why did they agree with the group? Because even though those participants knew the groups’ assessments were wrong, they didn’t want to disagree for fear of being ridiculed or viewed as ‘peculiar’. 

Now, discussing politics is clearly a bit different to judging the length of a line. But arguably, when the meaningfulness of a relationship and the meaningfulness of a conversation topic are increased in parallel, the implications for disagreement can feel very similar to Asch’s paradigm.

I only have one friend who votes Conservative. And even that one is a cheat – it’s an inherited friendship from our parents who have been great friends for years. We don’t talk politics, although we know (or assume we know) where each other stands on Brexit, the current government and what it should prioritise. Without consciously deciding to, we avoid what we predict would be stark disagreement and probable discomfort from acknowledging ideological differences between us. 

But while disagreement might be likely, the concurrent discomfort shouldn’t be inevitable.

I’ve written previously about the need for challenging ourselves with political opposition, specifically as it is part and parcel of a functioning democracy; we must read from an array of newspapers, we must question views we’ve inherited from our parents etc., in order to ensure the integrity of our votes. But (and probably due to my own reluctance to follow through), I’ve not yet been brave enough to consider the need for open, cross-partisan friendship, specifically for the role it has to play in our (and Britain’s) social health. 

The reality is that we have never before felt so politically divided than we do now. Despite Global Future Foundation’s report showing that we are less ideologically divided than we believe ourselves to be, a YouGov study from 2021 found that over one in five Brits have ‘hardly any’ or ‘no’ friends with differing political views. 

And this is palpable. It is sometimes said that in this country, those on the Right believe that those on the Left are simply wrong, whereas the Left believe that those on the Right are evil. Considering this, you can understand that while it is easy to be friends with someone we believe is wrong (for example, I think the high proportion of my friends who don’t like musicals are ‘wrong’), it seems an impossible ask to befriend people we see as morally lacking.

But whether challenging this or accepting it is the answer, we probably just should. While there are undoubtedly countless forces playing into the increase in loneliness in Britain, surely our inability to connect across the political divide or healthily disagree with one another is one of them. 

‘Affective polarisation’ describes how people segregate themselves socially, distrusting and disliking people from the opposing side, regardless of whether they agree or disagree on component policies. It is part of this problem in which our views have become so inextricably linked to who we are and who our people are, that we have drawn clear lines between those who are in our ‘community’ and those who are not, and effectively cut our potential social worlds and resources in half. 

As a result, encountering or empathising with a differing view now presents a certain threat to our wellbeing (often felt physically through our racing hearts) by potentially invalidating our membership to the community that would otherwise look after us. With political messaging and social media statuses that constantly and derogatorily generalise the other side, it can feel as if you are simply ‘in’ or ‘out’. But given the complexity of the world and the issues we face, isn’t it entirely irrational to think that everyone’s views on important issues can slot cleanly into one of two binary perspectives? 

Of course it is. But on we go, often failing to be completely honest with ourselves and the people around us about the ideological grey areas, out of the same fear of rejection that Asch’s participants felt. It’s a double-edged sword as we try to ensure the survival of our existing social support by rejecting ‘the other’, whilst simultaneously invalidating those prized connections by not honestly expressing ourselves or asking the burning, curiosity-driven questions.

What’s more, the lack of practice we have with political disagreement undoubtedly makes us more vulnerable to damaging the politically-aligned relationships we do have as well, as we are ill-equipped to manage disagreement of any kind. 

But there is a world in which we could learn to connect with people from the opposite side of the political spectrum and engage in healthy disagreement. This need not be a dystopian reality. In fact, 91% of British people from all political persuasions want to disagree well, fight this tribalism and come together. The question is ‘how?’

I recently heard Professor Paul Dolan speak about his upcoming book on ‘Beliefism’, in which he described that our tendency to discriminate against someone or their general beliefs based on at least one different opinion they may have to us, reduces social cohesion and our wellbeing (which would otherwise be improved by more well-informed, decision-making). 

Using his EMBRACE checklist (shown below), Dolan challenges us to reduce beliefism, rather than change beliefs. 

Environment – We need to acknowledge situational factors of beliefs

Mistakes – We need to be allowed to make mistakes, and to learn from them

Bonding – We need to remember that we are similar in so many ways

Reason – We need better evidence and more coherent narratives

Affect – We need to improve our emotional reactions to people and opinions

Collection – We need diversity of people and perspectives in functioning democracies

Exposure – We need to spend more time with people with different experiences to us

As someone who already loves a friend on the other side of the political spectrum, I can start my training in friendly political disagreement from an easier place than others. I can already draw on my knowledge that my friend will always think the best of me, despite my views being different to hers, and I am already well placed to understand how our different views are the result of our very different upbringings, social influences and contexts. 

Positive disagreement with strangers or potential friends will require more bravery; But, as long as we can practise humility and help each other in feeling socially safe to ‘stray’ (i.e. indulge in understanding other perspectives), the pay off for Britain and our own health would be immense.