Loss of respect in the US political process

Wednesday 18 February 2026

In the long tradition of American statecraft, respect was never merely a matter of etiquette — it was an instrument of power. It was the invisible architecture that allowed adversaries to speak without endorsing one another, and allies to disagree without rupture. In recent years, however, a marked erosion of respect has come to characterise politics in the United States — both internally, amongst rival factions, and externally, in the language sometimes used about foreign states and peoples. The consequences are not aesthetic but structural. When respect collapses, diplomacy becomes costlier, compromise becomes suspect and politics becomes a theatre of permanent hostility.

The American republic was born in contention. The debates between Alexander Hamilton and Thomas Jefferson were fierce; the rancour preceding the American Civil War was existential. Yet even in those moments of fracture there remained a shared grammar of political life — a presumption that one’s opponent was still a participant in a common constitutional project. The late twentieth century preserved much of that grammar. Presidents of opposing parties spoke of one another as misguided, not illegitimate. Legislative bargaining, although often bruising, assumed that tomorrow’s adversary might be tomorrow’s partner.

Today that grammar is fraying. Political rhetoric in Washington has become increasingly personal and performative. Opponents are described not simply as wrong but as evil, corrupt or traitorous. Social media — once hailed as a democratising force — has amplified outrage and rewarded insult. The architecture of televised politics, particularly on partisan cable networks, incentivises confrontation over deliberation. Members of Congress exchange barbs in hearings designed less to elicit information than to produce viral clips. The result is a degradation of the presumption of good faith.

This internal corrosion has external echoes. Some American politicians now speak of foreign leaders or entire populations in language once reserved for wartime propaganda. States are caricatured; cultures are reduced to stereotypes. Such rhetoric may generate domestic applause, but it narrows the space for diplomatic manoeuvre. When a nation’s representatives disparage another country publicly, even casually, they complicate the work of diplomats who must later negotiate with that same government. Words harden into positions; positions calcify into policy.

Respect in diplomacy does not require agreement. The Cold War offers an instructive contrast. Presidents such as Ronald Reagan spoke in moral terms about the Soviet system, yet he maintained formal courtesies towards Mikhail Gorbachev and engaged in sustained dialogue. Even at moments of high tension, channels remained open because the adversary was acknowledged as a rational actor with whom negotiation was possible. By contrast contemporary political discourse sometimes strips opponents and even formal allies — domestic or foreign — of rationality altogether. If the other side is irrational or inherently malign, negotiation becomes appeasement and compromise becomes betrayal.

The financial metaphor is apt. When respect diminishes, the transaction costs of politics rise. Lawmakers become reluctant to co-sponsor legislation across party lines, fearing primary challenges or social media backlash. International partners demand additional assurances, wary that commitments may be reversed with the next electoral cycle. Diplomatic initiatives require more time, more signalling and more concessions to overcome mistrust that careless language has sown. Markets, too, respond to instability in political tone; uncertainty commands a premium.

There is also a cultural cost. The United States long presented herself as a steward of a liberal order grounded in rules and mutual recognition. Respect for allies — even when interests diverged — was part of that posture. When American politicians mock or belittle allied governments, the symbolism resonates beyond the immediate exchange. It suggests a retreat from the patient habits of alliance management. Smaller states, observing such rhetoric, hedge their bets. They diversify partnerships. They question guarantees once taken for granted.

None of this is to idealise the past. American politics has always harboured demagogues and moments of incivility. Nor is respect synonymous with timidity; robust criticism is indispensable in a democracy. The issue is not the presence of disagreement but the disappearance of restraint — the fading of the idea that language should preserve the possibility of future cooperation.

The United States remains a constitutional republic with resilient institutions. Her courts continue to adjudicate disputes; her civil servants continue to administer programmes; her armed forces remain under civilian control. Yet institutions alone cannot sustain a diplomatic culture. They require a shared understanding that one’s opponent is not an existential enemy but a fellow participant in governance. Without that understanding, politics becomes a succession of zero-sum encounters, each side intent on humiliation rather than persuasion.

Restoring respect will not be achieved through exhortation alone. It will require incentives that reward cross-party collaboration rather than ideological purity. Electoral reforms in some states, including open primaries and ranked-choice voting, have been proposed as mechanisms to temper polarisation. Within Congress, a revival of regular order — committee work, bipartisan caucuses, and the quiet labour of amendment — might reduce the dominance of performative confrontation. In foreign policy, a renewed commitment to professional diplomacy, insulated from the oscillations of partisan rhetoric, could begin to repair frayed relationships.

Ultimately the question is one of political culture. Diplomacy — whether domestic or international — rests upon a paradox. One must disagree profoundly while recognising the other’s dignity. That recognition is not sentimental; it is pragmatic. It keeps doors ajar. It reduces the cost of future engagement. When respect is relinquished, every negotiation must begin by rebuilding the basic premise that conversation is worthwhile.

For a nation whose global influence has long depended upon coalition-building and persuasion, the erosion of respect is not a trivial matter of tone. It is a strategic liability. The values of diplomacy — patience, courtesy, measured speech — are not antiquated relics. They are instruments through which complex societies manage difference without descending into permanent conflict. To abandon them is to make politics not only harsher but more expensive, and compromise not only rarer but suspect. In an era already marked by geopolitical strain, the United States can ill afford such self-inflicted costs.