How Rhetoric Splits a Single Process Int

My Thoughts: One Problem, Two Slogans

How Rhetoric Splits a Single Process Into Two “Sides”

Sunday: Take-a-Risk Sunday.

This is the day I talk about more controversial things in the way I actually think about them.

I’m also working on becoming the curmudgeonly old man down the street who tells kids to stop throwing things into his yard. Or at least get off the grass. There’s a certain freedom in being a curmudgeon.

Here’s the problem: I’m confused about how to continue my quest toward curmudgeonhood without turning into the exact thing I’m critiquing.

Because there’s a strange magic trick happening in modern public life:

Take one complicated problem.

Split it into two emotionally satisfying slogans.

Then act shocked that people can’t solve it.

We used to call this “politics.” You remember politics—the art of arriving at a solution that nobody loves, but everyone can live with.

In these situations, it’s mostly rhetoric replacing process.

The Small Claim

Most “left vs. right” fights aren’t disagreements about reality.

They’re disagreements about which part of a single process you’re allowed to talk about.

I want to say that again:
They’re disagreements about which part of the problem you’re not allowed to talk about.

Turn it into a binary.
Pick the sexiest half.
Make the other half sound immoral, boring, or “beside the point.”
Then fight forever.

The Bigger Claim

When rhetoric splits a system into opposing moral tribes, the system becomes unmanageable.

Not because the problem is impossible—
but because process gets chopped in half.

And now for the “take a risk” portion.

Exhibit A: Migration

Listen to the two loudest moral summaries:

“We want legal, organized migration.”
“We want humane support for migrants.”

These are treated like opposites.

Really?

They aren’t.

They’re two requirements of the same functional system.

A working migration system must include both:

1) Structure

What cannot be wished away

Constraints

Borders exist.
Law exists.
Capacity is finite.
Resources have limits.
Identity and security systems are real constraints.
And yes: stop making criminals rich by exploiting people seeking a better life.

Restraints

(Restraint = internal constraint by choice—how we keep our response from turning into what we fear.)

Empathy, kindness, care, benevolence.
Keep a sense of humor while solving hard problems.
Remember we’re one tribe, even in 50 states.
Improve the economy and widen opportunity so “migration pressure” doesn’t become the only escape route.

Ignoring structure doesn’t create compassion.

It creates chaos.

2) Process

How the system changes over time (without pretending it’s simple)

Clear pathways and criteria
Timelines that match capacity
Predictable enforcement
Legal entry that actually works
Feedback loops that correct failure without panicking
Catching, evaluating, and removing those who don’t meet guidelines—cleanly, consistently, and without theatrical cruelty

Ignoring process doesn’t create freedom.
It creates black markets.

3) Agency with Leverage

Restraint is the internal limit we choose so we don’t become what we fear.

I see a lot of “becoming what we fear” being accepted as the price of doing the right thing. That trade-off is usually presented as maturity.

It isn’t. It’s usually panic with a mission statement.

Here’s what restraint looks like at the system level:

Restraint in enforcement = proportionality, due process, no cruelty as a tool
Restraint in advocacy = realism, trade-offs admitted, no magical thinking
Restraint in leadership = no emergency rhetoric as a permanent operating system

Without restraint, every side becomes coercive “for the greater good.”

The Real Split Isn’t Left vs. Right

We talk about Left and Right as if we know what those words mean.

Let’s take the cartoon extremes.

On the Left: the French Revolution sliding into the Robespierre phase. Nice fellow, right?

On the Right: the fellow whose name became shorthand for villainy—the one that starts with an H. From now on: the H-word.

Now here’s the honest question:

Between R-name and the H-word, which one are you going to choose?

It’s a fake choice—because the label is not the mechanism.

So here’s the mechanism:

It’s Agency vs. Coercion

When people feel unsafe, they beg for coercion.
When people feel unheard, they justify coercion.
When people feel morally certain, coercion starts to feel like virtue.

Virtue. Such an interesting word.

“Virtue” can become the right to do anything to support my side.

Whatever I do is okay, as long as my heart is pure and just…

Oh wait. I need to stop there.

I see the trap.

When I let my emotions choose the tool, I end up using tools I don’t actually believe in.

Agency means:

People retain meaningful choices
The system admits trade-offs
Accountability doesn’t require humiliation
Enforcement doesn’t require hatred

Coercion means:

Force substitutes for legitimacy
Rhetoric substitutes for process
Moral certainty substitutes for feedback

And here’s the punchline:

Rhetoric makes coercion feel like care.

It’s “compassion” with a hammer.

A big hammer.

A sledgehammer.

This isn’t about bad actors. It’s about good systems quietly optimizing for the wrong outcome.

Why This Keeps Happening

Because “one-process thinking” is boring.

It requires:

Trade-offs
Sequencing
Mixed outcomes
Partial wins
Leftover problems
Dissatisfaction with results (the adult tax)

But slogans offer:

Purity
Belonging
Anger
Certainty
A villain

So we do what humans always do:

We pick the story that feels good…

and then wonder why nothing works.

And then we blame the other side.

A Simpler Map (Without Party Labels)

If I had to draw this as a diagram, I’d stop using left/right entirely.

I’d use a 3D box with three axes:

Agency ↔ Coercion (how power treats choice)
Distributed ↔ Centralized power (where decisions live)
Process transparency ↔ Rhetorical load (how much story is doing the work)

Then I’d plot countries—or states—as points.

Belief systems would be overlays, not the map itself.

Because beliefs drift.

Structures behave.

The Jester’s Version

Here’s the modern ritual:

Break a system in half.
Argue about which half is “the whole.”
Reward the loudest version.
Repeat forever.

No secret meetings required.

No master plan.

Just incentives doing what incentives do.

If you want a concrete example, here’s a harmless one.

There once was a pretty good football player who was also a salesman. He played college ball in Oklahoma and later landed with the Seattle Seahawks. Fans thought they’d won the lottery.

He was playing hurt. Probably should’ve taken time to heal.

Before a big game with Denver, he started taunting the opposing players—especially their quarterback. Loud, repetitive, theatrical rhetoric. He gave the guy a nickname based on a very large animal with a long face. Yes, that one.

It worked.

The crowd got riled.

The conflict escalated.

Someone printed a popular shirt: “No More Bozos.” It had the football players face on it.

Circle and slash. Everywhere.

Then people found out who printed and sold the shirts.

The same hurt football player.

No conspiracy.

No villain.

Just a simple lesson:

Rhetoric doesn’t have to solve a problem to be successful.

It only has to keep attention.

And once attention is rewarded, the system quietly stops asking whether anyone is getting the answer they came for.

Back to the unglamorous solution still sitting there:

Run the full process.

Structure + process + restraint.

Minimize rhetoric.

What I’m Not Claiming

I’m not claiming migration is easy.

I’m claiming the debate is artificially stupid.

And the stupidity isn’t accidental.

Rhetoric doesn’t want solutions.

Rhetoric wants sides.

The Closing Line

A civilization doesn’t collapse because it has hard problems.

It collapses when it loses the ability to keep problems whole—

and the ability to talk about how to fix a broken process.

The Grammar

My Thoughts

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