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Every single morning when I open my email inbox, I'm greeted by political campaign fundraising emails from congressional candidates alerting me to the fact that our basic human rights are once again on the ballot (read: up for auction) this year. I'm reminded of the catastrophic consequences of electing people who care more about lining their own pockets than they care about the health and safety of their constituents. I'm told that if I don't rush a $5 donation right here and right now, we'll surely be doomed come Election Day. I'm warned that if the "other" party wins, our children, our planet, and our livelihood will plunge into an unprecedented state of complete and total devastation. I'm instructed to head to the polls and "vote harder" than I did last election cycle because that is the only clear solution to all of the challenges we're facing, right?
It's commonplace for us to live in a perpetual state of stress, anxiety, fear, and doubt about our future, but that's not okay. It's no surprise when politicians weaponize systemic and institutional comings against us to manipulate us into pulling out our wallets and funding their aspirations, but that's not okay. It's just another normal day when we open our email or news app and our minds and bodies are flooded with messages intended to evoke terror and panic, but that's not okay.
As someone who explores the intersections of trauma, policy, and health both academically and vocationally, I can confidently say that the root cause of our diffuse dysfunction in America isn't the result of any of the widely held beliefs like inadequate funding, bad parenting, or inevitable bureaucracy. The root cause is easily identified as the pervasive and ubiquitous trauma that stems from American politics.
American politics is traumatizing, and it's only getting worse.
Over the past two years, I've seen a staggering number of studies published in peer-reviewed literature exploring the associations between political trauma and health, the connections between intergenerational trauma and the political underpinnings of racism, and the biological differences in people who hold oppressive and hateful political beliefs versus those who don't. Alongside this, we've seen a surge of conversation and attention given to our country's mental health, especially the mental health of those responsible for supporting society's most critical systems and infrastructure.
None of this is new. Perhaps it's novel or clever for researchers and scientists to explore what political trauma looks like using modern technology, but there is absolutely nothing new about the reality of systems of power and influence being traumatogenic, or a source of trauma. There is absolutely nothing groundbreaking about adversity, chronic stress, insecurity, inequity, and injustice resulting in traumatic stress and disease. The scientific and medical community has known this for decades, and Indigenous and Native American cultures have known it since the beginning of their time. Community organizers and activists, especially those in the Black, Hispanic, and LGBTQ+ communities, have been calling for restorative measures for a very long time. This is particularly true for many communities outside of the United States, too, who face war, apartheid, institutional violence, oppression, and systemic trauma in different ways.
One of the consequences of trauma that is not commonly discussed is a phenomenon called a sense of a foreshortened future. In essence, this is when our perception of what is possible is impaired to such an extent that we believe we're irreparably damaged. It becomes difficult to trust ourselves and others, making it hard for us to form new connections within ourselves, other people, and new ideas. This is commonly experienced by people who have experienced physical abuse, torture, war, and violence. To a certain degree, this seems quite common in America as it relates to how we view the potential of our politics.
While campaigning during the 2020 election cycle, POTUS candidate Marianne Williamson vocally acknowledged the potential for American politics to reinvent itself as a conduit for recovery, healing, and reparation. Williamson described this as "a politics of love"—the antithesis to the current politics of trauma. In return, she was bombarded with accusations of being unqualified for office and was haphazardly labeled by Americans as a fringe and bizarre contender to serve, simply because she had a vision that didn't involve what we're so accustomed: endless trauma and drama.
Although Williamson's vision for how American politics can morph from a largely pathogenic (disease-causing) entity into a salutogenic (promoting healing) entity was lofty, it's exactly what we need. It's true to a certain extent that we can't expect the same systems that caused destruction to repair the damage they have done. It's not ideal by any means, but perhaps a reengineering and reimagining of American politics could be one way we begin to unravel this complex knot we've tied ourselves up into. Could such a perspective shift allow us to start healing from the collective trauma we have experienced as a nation?
Bessel van der Kolk, a psychiatrist and renowned author of The New York Times bestselling book on trauma, The Body Keeps the Score, said, "I wish I could separate trauma from politics, but as long as we continue to live in denial and treat only trauma while ignoring its origins, we are bound to fail," and this couldn't be more true.
By all means, go to the polls. Vote with your conscience. Support the candidates you feel are deserving of your support. This is a necessary and important component of democracy. And at the same time, question where your beliefs came from that motivate your decision to vote for and support the people you do. Explore how your life experiences have shaped what you believe about our country and its people. Consider how the systems that influence each and every one of us are impacting our minds, bodies, and spirits. Assess whether more of the same is truly inevitable, or if something else might be possible.
Tim Frie is a mental health and health equity activist, educator, social entrepreneur, and advocate for inclusive and trauma-informed care and public policy.
The views expressed in this article are the writer's own.
