In her latest book (2024), Judith Butler argues that engaging with anti-gender individuals is challenging because their beliefs are not grounded in rational thought, literature, theories, or evidence-based arguments. She questions how one can debate with people who reject the very methods of reasoning and evidence that form the basis of intellectual discourse. Butler tells an encounter with an angry protester who told her, "I pray for god to forgive you." When Butler asked the woman if she had read any of her books, the protester replied, "No, I haven't, and I won't." Butler suggests that logical, evidence-backed arguments do not sway anti-gender people. In fact, they actively shield themselves from logic, fearing it as a potential slippery slope.
With Trump supporters, we usually see a refusal to engage with reason or acknowledge valid arguments about Trump’s felonies, losses, or other issues. They repeatedly assert their unconditional support, clearly protecting themselves from any evidence that might challenge their beliefs.
The thing is, this is not unique to Trump supporters or anti-gender groups. Across the political spectrum, similar behaviours can be easily spotted. Avoiding logic, using satire to respond to criticism or supporting a political party or leader unconditionally, regardless of the mistakes they knowingly make. This pattern of blind allegiance and the avoidance of logical discourse is evident among various factions, where loyalty often trumps reason, and satire becomes a tool to deflect meaningful debate. This highlights a deeper challenge within contemporary political and social settings, where ideological commitment frequently overrides the willingness to engage with evidence and reason, regardless of one’s place on the political spectrum.
Butler argues that anxiety is a key driver behind this behaviour. While she primarily focuses on gender issues as an important element in global political debates, including the U.S. election. This deep-seated anxiety is prevalent across the political spectrum. Many, not all, supporters of Kamala Harris, for instance, were prepared to vote for Joe Biden, despite concerns about his age and perceived cognitive abilities, simply because they feared the possibility of another Trump victory. Their vote for Biden was less about enthusiasm for his policies and more about anxiety over Trump’s racism, hate for the media, promotion of misinformation, and his behaviour toward women, among other issues. While there are always party loyalists who will vote for the Democratic candidate under any circumstances, anxiety plays a substantial role in shaping the votes that were initially intended for Biden and are now shifting to Harris.
Trump supporters, perhaps even more so, exemplify this anxiety-driven behaviour. They harbour fears about a range of issues, including gender, policies, and equality. They perceive themselves and their children as being under attack, not by guns, which they strongly defend as a constitutional right, but by ideas and theories being introduced in schools. They don't want their children exposed to concepts like critical race theory or gender studies. They resist allowing their kids to watch shows featuring performers in drag, genuinely believing that such influences are more dangerous than guns or even a potential school shooter. While they understand the tangible threat of violence, they reject the idea of engaging in discussions about gender or race, seeing these as existential threats to the way of life they are determined to preserve.
The thing about anxiety is that it’s deeply personal, it arises when you feel something is threatening you or the people you care about. If you’re a queer person, it’s understandable to be anxious about fascists or racists gaining power, because you know they could, and very likely will, target you. For you, it’s personal. For Trump supporters, it’s personal too. They believe you’re coming after their way of life, their family, their home, the values they’ve built their lives around. They see others as a force trying to bulldoze everything they hold dear. They’re anxious, and they fear that if they listen to you, they might become "infected" by your ideas and theories. Moreover, you’re advocating for a broader, more inclusive concept, one that goes beyond just gay and lesbian rights to embrace a wider understanding of gender, climate change, and the rights of disabled and marginalized people. As you use this intersectional lens to expand your narrative, the person who fears your ideas feels their anxiety turning into a panic attack.
The fear of what children learn in schools isn't limited to Trump supporters; we've also seen the Muslim community in the U.K. protesting against their children being taught about same-sex marriage or sex education. Stanley Cohen described this as a "Moral Panic," arguing that such fears often lead to measures of control. In these situations, fear and anxiety take the wheel, driving the actions and political stances of both groups and individuals.
Communities, particularly gays, have often overcome homophobia not through debate alone, but through the power of their existence and relentless struggle. However, this approach may not always be effective, especially for other marginalized groups, who are currently facing increasing hostility and violence even in liberal democracies. What concerns me most is the way anxiety now dominates the discourse, while rationality seems to be slipping away.
References:
Butler, J., 2024. Who's afraid of gender?. Knopf Canada.
Cohen, S., 2011. Folk devils and moral panics. Routledge.
Mason, L., 2018. Uncivil agreement: How politics became our identity. University of Chicago Press.
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