Recentering the Overton Window
Currents
In Texas, right-wing lawmakers are removing LGBT-themed books deemed “pornographic” from school libraries (they know it when they see it), banning such works as Jonathan Evison’s Lawn Boy (2018) and Toni Morrison’s classic The Bluest Eye (1970). On Tik-Tok, meanwhile, left-wing activists have burned J. K. Rowling novels as penance for her heretical thoughts on sex and sexuality. The ACLU’s Chase Strangio has called for Abigail Shrier’s book on trans to be banned, and elite universities across the Anglophone world are seeking to “decolonize” their syllabi, excluding works by thinkers not sufficiently “diverse”. In Florida, a new Republican-led law, kicked off by the sex panic sweeping the right half of society, allows the public to challenge any literature used in school they object to, making it dramatically easier to ban books. In response, atheist activists are now leveraging the law in an attempt to ban the Bible — a perfect illustration of what a slippery slope this is. All of a sudden, perhaps for the first time since the Cold War, book burning has become a bipartisan issue. How did we get here? How did such a fringe position become a point of bilateral agreement?
In June of 2003, shortly after takeoff, an ultralight aircraft crashed near Caro, Michigan. The pilot was a newlywed man in his early forties named Joseph P. Overton. While Overton did not survive, his name lives on in the world of politics. In his tragically short time as vice-chair of a Michigan think tank, Overton helped pundits, politicians, and everyday people wrap their heads around the ever-moving goalposts of political conversation.
The Overton window is a concept referring to the range — or “window” — of ideas that society finds acceptable. Ideas backed by popular opinion — such as sending every child to school — sit comfortably within the window: to hold them is socially salutary. Notions of a more unorthodox variety, however — such as beating left-handedness out of students — sit at the very edge: to hold them is socially noxious. The model, then, sketches out an easy strategy. To master the social seas, steer clear of the ideological fringes; follow the north star of common consensus for smooth sailing.
As nature abhors a vacuum, humans abhor a manual. Rules are made to be broken. Immanuel Kant famously wrote, “Out of the crooked timber of humanity, no straight thing was ever made.” We are the perennial bent cog in the machine, prone to complicating even the most basic of models. Indeed, not so long ago, ideas on childhood education had very different Overtonian coordinates — which raises the question: Who moves the window? Which forces push the levers of social acceptability? The answer depends on the system of government in a given society. In authoritarian regimes, the parameters of public discourse are set by the dictatorial powers that be.
Think what would be considered politically correct in Nazi Germany or the Soviet Union. In fact, as Angelo M. Codevilla has documented, the very notion of political correctness was an invention of 1930s Stalinism. In liberal democracies, conversely, the Overton window is determined by the public (by and large). For the elected officials of such countries — who live and die by the sword of the majority — the window is narrow.
Thus, with an eye on the polls and an ear for consultants, aspiring and incumbent politicians alike tend to shoot down the middle — giving rise to the sentiment that “The parties are all the same.” What this is, however, is a nod to the power of the People with a capital “P”. It is a power that more than just officeholders ought to be wary of. This Sword of Damocles hangs over all of our heads — sometimes close enough to nick. It carves what we say and how we think — and each of us has a hand on the hilt. Just as politicians lose elections and celebrities lose sponsorships; everyday people can lose friends, status, and even jobs.
A certain portion of responsibility, then, rests upon each of our shoulders. The window is not automated (at least not yet). Consciously or otherwise, we are continuously redrawing the map and patrolling the boundaries. We, the common folk, have a hold of the Leviathan’s leash. As history is tired of illustrating, however, the line between democratic deliberation and mob rule is easily blurred. The wisdom of crowds can quickly take an oxymoronic turn — with a heavy emphasis on the moron. Whether in the hands of an autocrat or a mob, tyranny is tyranny. And although some of us fell asleep at the switch in the first half of the twentieth century — twice — the machine has run quite smoothly over the past fifty years or so.
From the ashes of the Second World War, a newfound vigilance arose. The edges were marshalled with sharper eyes and a renewed vigour. The window, which had been slammed shut by ideologues, was reopened by the forces of consensus, coalition, and common sense. A balance was restored. Like schoolgirls with a grip on one another’s ponytails, the extremes became partners in their own inefficacy. If the political right strayed too far, the weighty centre leant leftward. If the political left made a move, a rightward shift ensued. The wings were clipped; the window was stable.
But idle hands are dangerous things, as any parent can attest. Monotony and mayhem are but a stone’s throw apart. Living in a world more peaceful than our ancestors’ wildest dreams, we are no less hungry to find enemies. Thus, even with an impressive collection of twentieth-century villains lying vanquished in the rear-view mirror, our amygdalas continue to whirr. So starved, we have resorted to moral cannibalism. On the political right, one can be pro-life, pro-border, and pro-trade, but dare to suggest environmental regulation — commie! On the political left, one can be pro-choice, pro-immigration, and pro-welfare, but dare to even question speech codes — fascist! We have become monochrome in our thinking. There is no grey today. And so, a great silence (or rather a great silencing) has descended over the commons. Fewer feel free to even voice their conscience; let alone follow it. Socially, the risks have come to outweigh any possible reward. It has become safer to blend in than to stand out.
And the fringes, twisting quietude into a faux-consensus, have seized upon the silence. Ideology has become an industry — a duopoly — whereby each pole fuels the fires of the other. It is an economy in which fool’s anger is real gold. And with an algorithmic cold-bloodedness, the media has fanned the flames. The very same inhuman corporatism that brought us “If it bleeds, it leads” is hemorrhaging into society at large. Stock in partisanship and outrage is soaring. Honesty, humility, and objectivity — once strong social currencies — have taken a bath. Once more, the centre is hollowing. What was a window is becoming an hourglass.
Playing it down the middle, however, is not always the answer. There are arguments to be won and lost on both sides of the aisle. But as the place with the most interactivity, a robust middle is precious for apolitical reasons. It is the connective tissue that holds society together. Human flourishing is not zero-sum. Like marriage, it is not a game to be won. So, for the kids’ sake, we ought to at least try to get along. It can be a messy process. We are imperfect creatures. We should not, therefore, let the perfect be the enemy of the good. The problems of our time are the products of our minds. And so will be the solutions. The onus, then, is upon us to do as Joseph P. Overton did; that is, do some actual thinking — preferably without crashing the plane.
