Editorial: The Politics of Outrage - How Exploited Fury Wins Elections but Tears Communities Apart

Manufactured anger has become the most powerful weapon in American politics, but its emotional toll on communities is leaving scars that no ballot box can heal

Natalie C. Frank, Ph.D September 11, 2025

Emma Noelke/People's Dispatch [CC BY-SA 4.0]

There’s something that most politicians won’t ever say out loud: anger is what wins elections. Forget about reason, empathy, or even solid policy. It's all about anger. It’s like this manufactured rage has become the lifeblood of our political scene, pumping energy into campaigns and flooding our screens with outrage that often feels genuine but is usually crafted on purpose. And let’s be honest, it works because outrage is like a drug. It sharpens our sense of identity, quiets our doubts, and clearly divides “us” from “them.” But while it might bring short-term gains at the polls, it’s slowly tearing apart the fragile threads of our democracy.

Outrage politics isn't brand new, but over the last ten years or so, it’s been weaponized in a way that’s alarming. Media folks and political strategists have figured out that anger spreads far faster than facts ever could. It drives clicks, brings in donations, and fills rallies with passionate supporters. Social media doesn’t reward thoughtful discussions or kindness; it rewards whatever gets shared the most. And nothing spreads quite like fury. A single, context-less soundbite can go further than a hundred pages of detailed policy discussions. We’re not just hashing out solutions anymore; we’re arguing over exaggerated caricatures designed to elicit strong emotions.

The most frightening part of all this is that it doesn’t just poison the national dialogue. It seeps into our everyday lives. This manufactured outrage has turned school board meetings into battlegrounds and transformed places like places of worship and libraries into stages for political drama.

People don’t just have differing opinions anymore. They distrust, they despise, and they disconnect from one another. A parent questioning a curriculum? Suddenly, they’re “the enemy.” A neighbor with a different political sign? They’re a traitor. Democracy relies on our ability to coexist despite our differences, but outrage politics twists that idea, making coexistence feel like betrayal.

The psychological toll of all this anger is crushing. Outrage politics isn't just reshaping how we vote. It’s changing how we live our lives. Science shows us that anger isn’t just a fleeting emotion. It leaves a mark, flooding our bodies with stress hormones that narrow our focus and harden our views.

Communities drowning in anger become places stuck in a cycle of stress. Anxiety goes up, trust goes down, and people stop engaging in their communities altogether. What’s the point of having a volunteer board if half the town thinks the other half is out to get them? Outrage makes it easier to manipulate the masses, but it makes it much harder to bring them together.

Real anger tied to genuine injustice has always sparked change, from abolition to civil rights, from women's suffrage to the 19th Amendment. But this manufactured anger we are seeing today? It doesn’t seek resolution; it demands a never-ending cycle of outrage. When one issue fades, another takes its place. If there’s no clear enemy, one gets created. One year it’s about bathroom policies, the next it’s about what kids are reading in school, and then it’s whatever can be turned into the next “existential threat.” This outrage machine can’t run without constant fuel, and communities are left gasping in the smoke.

What’s even sneakier is how personal this anger feels, even when it’s been planted. People will passionately insist that their outrage is entirely their own, that they woke up fuming as soon as they thought about threat A, B or C. They don’t notice the invisible hands feeding them carefully crafted stories, clipped videos, and out-of-context quotes designed to provoke. The illusion of authenticity makes this manufactured outrage feel more powerful than any propaganda ever could. It doesn’t feel like brainwashing. It feels like absolute conviction.

The fallout is massive. We’re witnessing friendships fall apart, marriages strain, and entire generations fracture under the weight of this political rage. Communities that once came together for Friday night football games or church potlucks are now places filled with suspicion. The joy of belonging has been replaced by a pervasive fear of betrayal. Meanwhile, politicians grin from their podiums, fueling another round of outrage, while towns and families are left to pick up the pieces of relationships damaged by anger that never truly belonged to them.

The big question is, will outrage ever go away? Nope, it’s here to stay. Anger is a part of politics, just like ambition. But can we take that outrage and use it for something bigger than just a campaign slogan or a fundraising email? Can we channel that energy towards shared challenges that lead to real change? Anger about failing schools, crumbling roads, disappearing jobs, or a healthcare system that ruins families could unite us instead of dividing us and every community would reap the benefits.

But that takes courage. It takes courage from leaders to tell voters that not every headline is a disaster, that not every neighbor is out to get them, and that compromising isn’t a sign of weakness.

And as for us, we have to find the guts to push back against that rush of anger, to pick dialogue over fights, and to be aware when our emotions are being manipulated. In a

nutshell, we need to prioritize our communities over the quick thrill of being outraged.

The politics of outrage is like low-hanging fruit. It’s easy to grab onto. It doesn’t require any deep understanding of policies or a lot of patience or empathy. It’s quick, it hits you right in the stomach, and it spreads like wildfire. But building real community? That’s tough work. Governing? Even tougher. If we continue to opting for that easy anger instead of putting in the effort to cooperate, we might end up with a democracy that’s too fragile to withstand its own rage.

And the stakes? Well, they couldn’t be higher. Sure, manufactured outrage can score some political wins, but it won’t fix our infrastructure, keep our hospitals running, or heal the quiet rifts in our neighborhoods and families. Trust is what’s needed for that, and trust can’t grow in a place filled with suspicion. If we want our democracy to last, we’ve got to learn how to starve that outrage machine and cultivate something much rarer, the stubborn belief that our neighbors and cities matter more than our anger.

This approach might not get the spotlight at rallies or go viral on social media. But at the end of the day, it’s the only way to make sure that when all the shouting dies down, we still have something of America left standing.