In certain group chats in American politics, Nazism is en vogue. One such instance occurred with a chat affiliated with the Young Republicans group, some of whom worked for elected officials. Another involved Paul Ingrassia, the White House liaison to the Department of Homeland Security nominated for a Senate-confirmed position in the White House Office of Special Counsel.

“I love Hitler,” one of the Young Republicans texted.

“I do have a Nazi streak in me from time to time, I will admit it,” Ingrassia texted.

I was considering this last week while sitting in on Prof. Jeff Rice’s first-year seminar, “Universities, Free Speech, Academic Freedom and Protest.” He kindly allowed me to ask the students about possible consequences for the group chat members.

The freshmen gave thoughtful, nuanced answers, reflecting the complicated nature of regulations on speech.

Yet the potential methods to handle these situations are missing something. Even if the texters lose their jobs, that doesn’t extinguish their latent hate. It simply relegates it to their consciousness, which cannot be monitored.

The only true, long-term solution would be to prevent hatred itself. Learning, specifically through reading, is one way to do this.

Recently, I’ve been insecure about my place as a humanities student. I published a column in April about the losses in scientific research after the Trump administration froze $790 million in federal grants to Northwestern. Soon after, NU launched a website called “Research Impact.” Notable subheadings include: “Engineering Human Health,” “Healthier Brains” and “Advancing Cancer Treatment.”

If the value of a university derives from its scientific output, then my degree is worthless. I don’t know where the science labs are. I mostly sit around, reading and occasionally writing — living lavishly.

After mulling it over, I think I’ve discovered part of the value of a humanities degree. Though the benefits of reading — and therefore thinking — cannot be measured in the same way as, say, a cancer drug, they are still vital for American society.

Unlike other countries, Americans don’t share a common ancestry. We don’t have an official religion. Until March, we didn’t have an official language. This means that finding what we have in common will take effort. Therefore, the act of intentionally developing empathy is patriotic.

This is where the humanities step in. Studies have shown that reading fiction is strongly correlated to higher levels of emotional intelligence, including empathy. I see reading, then, as a civic virtue similar to voting or peaceful protesting.

While this has always been true, the current division and lack of empathy in our politics seem alarming (though nothing American history hasn’t seen before). Last weekend, for example, Trump posted an AI-generated video of himself dumping excrement on No Kings protestors from a fighter jet.

As Chris Hayes details in “The Sirens’ Call,” modern politics involves exploitation and commodification of Americans’ attention spans. As such, some politicians use “reactionary gestures — the obnoxious, the insulting, the offensive, the outrageous, the troll, the threat.” Indeed, stirring anger is lazy and easy — it’s one of the basic emotions.

Empathy, on the other hand, is complex. It requires nurturing and a story. Notably, this story cannot be developed by a short-form video, least of all AI-slop. It requires attention. So, we should immerse ourselves in stories.

Fiction is the reason I tend to give people the benefit of the doubt. I root for protagonists, even terrible ones, like Raskolnikov in “Crime and Punishment.” Fiction allows us to believe in others the way that we believe in ourselves.

Nonfiction, too, is instructive. My politics have been principally shaped by the texts I’ve read independently. For example, my outlook on rural America was shaped by “Heartland” by Sarah Smarsh, the opioid crisis by Patrick Radden Keefe’s “Empire of Pain” and the cruelty of Israel’s activities in the West Bank by “A Day in the Life of Abed Salama” by Nathan Thrall.

You can watch videos or read short articles on any of these subjects. But in my experience, only a long-form experience can make you feel. And by feeling, we become more compassionate citizens.

Though this phenomenon gives my American studies degree merit, this effort doesn’t require a formal education. It just requires a library card.

The share of Americans who read daily for pleasure has declined by more than 40% over the last 20 years, and 64% of Americans think the country is too politically divided to solve its problems. Maybe, page by page, we can decrease polarization.

It is because I’m a reader that I don’t hate the Young Republicans or Ingrassia, even though they might hate someone like me. For the sake of the nation, I think we all have to give each other the benefit of the doubt. (If I can try to understand Raskolnikov, I can try to understand them, too.)

Instead, I’d recommend a nonfiction book about the Holocaust and then a novel that centers the Jewish American experience. The texters clearly don’t know enough about us. They see us as an opposition group, rather than individuals with meaningful feelings and lives. Fortunately, it’s very easy to learn otherwise. All you have to do is crack open a book.

Talia Winiarsky is a Weinberg senior and author of “Talia’s Take.” She can be contacted at [email protected]. If you would like to respond publicly to this op-ed, send a Letter to the Editor to [email protected]. The views expressed in this piece do not necessarily reflect the views of all staff members of The Daily Northwestern.

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