Positioning against polarization: Twelve lessons from Lear.
Growing up, TV was my window to a wider world. It’s not that my own needed escaping. I was just fascinated by the twists others’ lives took. From a single mother waiting tables at a diner in Phoenix to a junk dealer arguing with his adult son in Watts, I heard different dialects and toured circumstances far removed from the TV room of my middle-class home in Spartanburg, South Carolina.
I soaked in every profession that played out on my family’s RCA console: reporter, ambulance driver, detective, medical examiner, bootlegger, bandleader, innkeeper, psychologist, copywriter, attorney, dry cleaner and stuntman. My love of stepping in and out of others’ shoes, along with the commercials that interrupted it all, is what drew me to a career in advertising.
The happiest day of my childhood was when I came home to a new cable box on top of the TV. My parents weren’t there. I don’t understand how the cable magicians plied their craft, but there was a remote on our coffee table and, more importantly, a sticker on the back of it listing the multitude of channels we now got. It was everything to me, with a side of MTV astronauts planting a flag on the moon.
A Few of Lear’s Greatest Hits
- All in the Family
- Sanford and Son
- Maude
- Good Times
- One Day at a Time
- The Jeffersons
- Diff’rent Strokes
- The Facts of Life
- 227
I’ve been especially nostalgic for the characters that kept me company since learning of Norman Lear's death in December. Even if you’re not familiar with Lear’s name, you probably know his work. He wrote and produced more than 100 television shows in the 1970s and 1980s. If you can hum a theme song from the era, it’s likely one of Lear’s — cue The Jeffersons’ “Movin’ on Up” or All in the Family’s “Those Were the Days.”
But Lear’s work isn’t just entertainment, it’s also a masterclass in behavioral science. Though he didn’t invent situation comedy, he reshaped the genre by depicting genuine conflict, introducing conversations about race and addressing complex social issues like poverty, homelessness, unintended pregnancy and sexual assault.
As an eleven-year-old, I was slow to recognize an agenda. But Lear, who at one point produced nine primetime programs simultaneously, clearly had one. And the nuanced way he executed it, helped reshape American culture by changing social norms. What was then groundbreaking, taboo, or uncomfortable, is now mainstream.
I think there’s a lot to be learned here for anyone trying to affect change in any area of American life. So I’m going to take a deep breath and crawl out on a Lear-like limb to share perspectives you may find pretty uncomfortable. I can’t promise to do it with the humor and subtlety of the master. But I can reassure you that by the end of this episode, we can still be friends, regardless of what you choose to accept or reject.
Oh, and one more disclaimer before we begin. Let me be the first to cop to my own blind spot here. Behavioral economists would call it retrospective bias — a tendency to remember the past more favorably than it was. A good childhood will do that to you, and I’d be a fool not to acknowledge the privileged vantage point that puts these considerations in my line of sight.
But adult me is frustrated. I’m sickened by endless politicization. By ideology paralyzing progress. By false binaries. We’ve fallen into two camps of extreme stances, and there seems scant admission of any grey area. Our leaders are either FOR or AGAINST everything under the sun, not to mention the sun itself. Climate change, immigration, assisting the unhoused, abortion, public education, vaccines, equity for the disabled, gun reform — all seem to have become “wedge issues.” And serious problems should never be more valuable as electoral indicators than opportunities to help those in dire need of it.
The hard truth is that our toughest issues can’t be red or blue. From state agencies to social enterprises to nonprofits, we all need the support of our lawmakers. And for us to be effective, we need the good-faith consideration of conservatives, progressives and the few elected officials who remain somewhere in the middle. So here are 12 ways behavioral science principles can help bring us together to achieve more impact, courtesy of my favorite medium, the sitcom.
1 |
Stop trying to convert people. |
You can’t win. So don’t try. I’ve seen no one in the two centuries we straddle successfully convince zealots of any stripe to change their mind about much of anything. Debating to “win” is futile. Yet, I continue to see and hear arguments, rationales and deliberations from causes I support. Stop it.
In this, we have so much to learn from Lear. His content never preached or pandered. It transported, and that was much more powerful. No matter what your home was like, he invited you into others that weren’t familiar. The contrast of my small-town Southern stare into a north-side Chicago family’s rhythms was exactly the point. It was never intended to be comfortable. That discomfort is the raspy realization of awareness. Let’s embrace that.
Lear never tried to overtly persuade you.
There was no dash for the quick win. That’s where the rest of us fall short. We yearn for a clear victory because we’re convinced that our cause is just. There should be logical converts. We subscribe to a factual debate that renders a staunch conclusion. If only.
Jonah Berger’s book, The Catalyst demonstrates just how much deeper we dig our holes with these tactics. The hypothesis was if people were forcefully exposed to views contrary to their own, they would empathize and widen their outlook. So if liberals watched enough Fox News, they’d embrace, or at least come to understand, opposing opinions. When conservatives were resounded with so-called “woke” ideology, they’d adopt a more nuanced outlook.
Nice idea, but the outcome was the opposite. When the respondents were exposed to hardline media that contradicted their views, their objections and resolve only grew more rigid. It turns out that our innate beliefs are stubborn and steadfast bullies.
The antidote is entertainment.
Understanding takes time, and familiarity begins with storytelling. Early episodes of classics like Good Times didn’t brim with controversy. They let the viewer get to know the cast. Stereotypes become multi-dimensional with time and character development. Given a breath, the indignant becomes the endeared. It’s magic.
So let’s stop trying for the quick win. I know that we want an about-face convert, but those are rare because they must admit they were wrong. And the sad fact of modern politics is that you can never be wrong. My friends, let’s stop chasing that unicorn.
But let’s own up to the fact that we’re in the business of softening minds. Eventually, those softened minds become believers. And believers see the value in what we do, the return on investment and the lasting social benefit of our causes.
2 |
Find common ground. |
Social justice sitcoms broadened our perspective. They widened our world view just enough to make a few more circumstances plausible.
We need to do the same. Let’s humanize our issues. Tell stories. The people you are trying to help may not look, think, or worship the same way your elected officials do, but that doesn’t mean they have to be strangers.
I’ve been to too many legislative testimonies. I’ve been made a cynic by the same lineup of martyrs with entirely predictable messages. It’s natural that those speaking want to stay on message and sell a self-valid point of view based on their experiences. But consider the appeal of that testimony beginning with what they have in common with the panel.
“Long before advocating on one side or the other of this issue, I was just a parent trying to raise good kids,” is a far more compelling introduction than the gut punch a personal (often tragic) tale imbues. Getting someone to listen is so much more powerful than debating from the jump. Start with a story. Never argue. Let the characters and the plot win over detractors.
Getting someone to listen is so much more powerful than debating from the jump.
3 |
Make dissent a conversation starter. |
The most controversial stance of Lear’s long career occurred in a two-part episode of Maude where the star character debated whether to have an abortion. That she was a 47-year-old grandmother grappling with her own health and morals but also her husband’s wishes didn’t make the content any lighter. Advertisers dropped the show, the network threatened not to film the second episode and the late pastor Jerry Falwell called Lear “the number one enemy of America.” Looking back, it’s interesting that the episodes aired just two months prior to the Supreme Court’s ruling on Roe v. Wade.
What’s still important today is that the show created dialogue. There were respectful stands. Lear wouldn’t relent on the premise that a pregnant woman Maude’s age might weigh the choice of getting an abortion. Adamant about addressing the issue, he refused requests to end the episodes with a miscarriage. But he also acknowledged opposing opinions by including the portrayal of a mother who had contentedly made the opposite choice.
What a welcome break from today’s bifurcated news networks yelling absolutes to their respective tribes. Some mature dialogue is overdue. And it might just be up to you to write the script.
4 |
Be open to criticism. |
Comedy offered Lear a gentle route to the exploration of racial prejudice. Laughter made it palpable. Shows like Sanford and Son and Good Times introduced black issues into white homes. Yet Lear was criticized for his programs’ focus on low-income black families. His response became his longest-running success — the upwardly mobile George and Louise of The Jeffersons.
Racism was both the throughline and the comedic foil of a cast that included an interracial couple. By listening to his critics, Lear created nine seasons that invited stereotypes into our living rooms only to dismantle them laugh by laugh. The black/white, rich/poor, new money/old money contrasts fueled jokes that revealed the falsehoods embedded in those tropes. And it would have never happened without Lear embracing his critics.
5 |
Ask for less. |
We want it all, and we’re justified by our righteousness. Situation comedies do the opposite, trading off conundrums we have in common. They demonstrate that those in Park Avenue parlors and public housing stairwells wrestle with some of the same adversaries.
Problems that are universal don’t ask anything from the viewer. There’s no “therefore.” No pitch or ask. Just an understanding that we’re all facing some of the same demons. The writers trust us to figure it out.
Let me offend a few of you now. We’re overconfident. Sanctimonious. Dare I say self-righteous? We’re so convinced that we know the best route that we lose people along the way. Let’s learn how to walk with people instead of trying to drag them to a predetermined destination. Aunt Esther may have beaten Fred Sanford over the head with her bible, but that voracity never yielded a revelation. Let’s allow exposure and time to work for us.
Lear never lost faith in his audience. Let me vow right now to do the same. People are good. Even those who make you crazy. Show them goodness and you’re far more likely to get it back.
Learn how to walk with people instead of trying to drag them to a predetermined destination.
6 |
Never correct. |
All in the Family’s plotline included racism, antisemitism, rape, women’s liberation, homosexuality, the Vietnam War, menopause and impotence. Throughout it all, the ironically sympathetic Archie Bunker was a counterpoint to 1970s liberalism. Because of him, we could experience both the desire to resist change and that desire’s injustice and futility.
There was a smile to letting Archie fall into his own offensive traps. Logic and reasoning, often heralded by the son-in-law he brandished “Meathead,” were dead on arrival. Archie’s foibles were so legendary they were dubbed Archie-isms: “It’s a well-known fact that capital punishment is a detergent to crime.”
Archie-isms were funny because they came when he doubled down on his own inaccuracies. The resoluteness of his conviction is a colorful demonstration of confirmation bias, where being presented with an opposing viewpoint only increases our resolve, even when our beliefs are incorrect. It’s important to note that the greater the distance between the truth and one’s contrasting belief, the more adamant confirmation bias becomes.
No one wants to be corrected. You’ll make more progress if you can keep your rivals talking. If you can cajole the conversation long enough, you may discover an inroad that aligns with your detractor’s beliefs. “I understand you are pro-life; do you believe that makes emergency contraception more important?”
7 |
Embrace reruns. |
As I think back on the discussions I’ve had with cause leaders over the last twelve months, a consistent theme has been misinformation. It’s escalating, and most of us blame social media.
Social media is indeed the accelerant, but the illusory truth effect lights the fuse on falsehood. The more often we are exposed to a message, the more we believe it to be true. The effect is persistent even when said falsehood is implausible. What we see and hear repeatedly becomes truth. “Truth Social” is a poetically apt moniker.
Lear and his screenwriting contemporaries were prolific in their day, but their impact has been magnified like compound interest over the past 50 years of syndication. What was, in fact, an anomaly — the wealthy white businessman living on Park Avenue adopting two black siblings from Harlem — becomes commonplace with that kind of repetition.
Causes need to embrace the truth created by refrain. For most, this requires greater message consistency. I understand the need for causes to evolve. Best practices and interventions change. New treatments are introduced. And, as I just elaborated, public opinion advances. But your organization’s central plot needs to remain its bedrock.
8 |
Give them something to lose. |
Loss-aversion 101: What we’re willing to part with is very different and far stickier than what we’re willing to buy. Ask any real estate agent. The longer we hold onto our home, the more we believe it’s worth.
So don’t always petition. All our politicians hear are requests, and you’re probably not helping yourself by constantly voicing yet another one. Embrace the value your work creates, then leverage it. Show them what’s lost if you’re gone.
9 |
Don't be afraid of conflict. |
We all say we fight for the cause, but how often is it with a hand tied behind our back? So many of us are empaths by nature, so we can be naturally afraid to offend. But this can lead to such dogmatic political correctness and sensitivity in our messaging that it winds up lacking any punch whatsoever. Would your organization’s story make for good TV?
The social justice comedies of the 1970s weren’t just a barrel of laughs. The Evans family faced eviction. Gloria Stivic miscarried. Maude had the abortion. The Facts of Life took on rape, drug abuse and cancer. Their success stems from a certain level of fearlessness. Plus a formula (protagonist versus antagonist) that’s as old as time.
But too much cause marketing gives the organization a heroic lead role and casts the issue as villain. So let me encourage you to think fearlessly AND differently. What if the antagonist was apathy? Or the status quo? What dramatic new possibilities emerge if you recast the sparring partners?
10 |
Let little wins add up. |
What the sitcoms got right was proximity. They didn’t place steep orders. No one was expected to immediately abandon their principles. They did the opposite by being so relatable.
This was part of the conflict. Archie loved Nixon while son-in-law Mike was his ultraliberal counterweight. Most viewers fell somewhere in the middle. That middle ground offered adjacency to issues which, over time, turned into acceptance. The viewer against the Vietnam War could see the other side. The prejudiced viewer could scoff at interracial marriage, all the while growing more accepting and eventually fond of the minority characters. Sure, some would never change their mind, but so many more began to soften their position.
What if you were more upfront with your local leaders? I remember how effective I thought one of my clients was when they began talking with lawmakers like this: “No one wants a homeless shelter in their neighborhood. But no one wants to see people sleep on the sidewalk next to their house either.” It’s a brilliant rush to objection, that, followed by a little air, opens skeptics up to hearing what you have to say next. Even if it’s next time.
11 |
Thank yourself. |
One of my mentors said no one likes a nonprofit martyr. He was dead on. But why are we so determined to play that role? Do our causes have to defeat us to make us feel like we battled valiantly? It’s a new year, let’s begin by giving ourselves a break.
Not one of Lear’s characters was submissive. No one, not even the underdogs, was walked on, marginalized, or defeated. His archetypes were just that. They weren’t fighters. They were ground-standers, secure in themselves, resolute in their beliefs.
Conversely, so many nonprofits and state agencies have been relegated to a scarcity mentality. Scrape by. Do more with less. Some aspects of this are beyond your control. But the hat-in-hand mindset that discounts the importance of your work can’t be. Refuse to adopt it. Whatever your cause, know that it merits a voice, adequate resources and the sovereignty to deploy them in the ways that are most effective, not most optically pleasing.
My good friend, a foundation CEO, once told his staff: “Nonprofit is a tax classification, not a mindset.” Let’s give ourselves a justified pat on the back and a kick in the pants.
12 |
Never stop. |
There’s hateful crossfire out there, and it’s accessible by a single tap on your phone. So, let me acknowledge that every phone in the series I’ve discussed had a cord. And concede that Lear’s Nixon-era debates seem like softball compared with today’s vitriol. But we all know giving up or dwelling on the steepness of the climb isn’t an option. Instead, let’s pause for one avocado-appliance minute to steel our resolve. Mix me a 7-and-7. I’m going to take a few more beats to ignore the bad and dance in the glow of “blue TV screen light.” If Norman produced it, it was mercifully trivial and beautifully profound all at once. And if that’s not akin to the times we now face, I’m not sure what is.
Cue your favorite theme song,
Kevin
