Embrace Ambivalence: A Step Towards a More Engaged, Less Polarised Political Culture

When we were at school, I did well at Maths and Science and my older brother did well at English and History. This influenced how I thought of myself, and my brother. I was good at being logical and thinking linearly, and he was creative and thought laterally – I did a science degree and he did an arts one. As children this division helped us to compete less and focus on being good at different things, but I maintained this way of thinking about myself well into adulthood. Now, since my brother is a lawyer and spends his time developing well-reasoned arguments, and I spend much of my spare time on creative pursuits like dancing, writing, and improvising, it feels like time to reconsider. The truth is, obviously, that logic and creativity are not traits we divided between us, getting one each, but that we both combine both of them in ways that help us to develop skills like arguing, solving maths problems, and dancing to swing jazz. I think, though, that this pattern of understanding ourselves as being on one end of a linear spectrum relative to someone else, is quite common. Perhaps this is particularly true of siblings, who are so instrumental to one another’s development, but it also happens with life partners, parents, friends, and colleagues.

Relationship psychologist, Ester Perel, calls this process splitting the ambivalence. She says, “splitting of the ambivalence makes each person take up half of the equation, polarise against the other, and it becomes an either/or when in fact, both people experience both needs inside of them.” Another clear experience I’ve had of this is in dating relationships, when I’ve wanted a balance of adventure, exploration, and safety, but gotten stuck being a killjoy. In a relationship where my partner kept trying to push the boundaries, I ended up being the one who always said “no” to things. I also wanted adventure, but I was worried that if I voiced that or said yes, the relationship would get out of balance and feel unsafe, because my partner wouldn’t take responsibility for being cautious.

The word ambivalence comes from two Latin roots: ambi, meaning two or on two sides, and valentia, meaning strength or power. It describes a state of having conflicted opinions or emotions about something, being pulled in different directions, internally. We can feel ambivalent about relationships, about life decisions, jobs, politics, or any number of other things. Sometimes feeling ambivalent makes it difficult to make decisions or take strong actions. It feels safer to hide our ambivalence, to become defensive and pretend we have no doubts about a decision, especially when we’re being questioned by people around us. At other times we try to simplify or resolve our ambivalence by polarising with someone, like I did with my brother. It feels easier and more actionable to be on one side of a spectrum and not to attend to the doubts. These strategies don’t necessarily help us to feel less conflicted, they just prevent us from expressing ambivalence, and sometimes make it difficult to find the middle ground with someone who has a different opinion or more doubts than we do.

It feels to me like there is seldom space to be ambivalent in public – with religious teachings that value faith without doubts, political causes that want unquestioning support, and a social media culture with limited interest in nuance. The danger of hiding or splitting our ambivalence, however, is that of increasing polarisation. This is not only true in our personal relationships, which Ester Perel talks about, but in our public ones as well.

The public conversation about the Israel/Palestine conflict feels to me like a difficult space to bring questions or show ambivalence. My feeds are filled with either graphic videos of the atrocities of Israel’s military campaign in Gaza, or those pointing out antisemitic hate speech and saying that Jewish people are unsafe. It feels like there are few safe spaces to have much needed conversations about fear, intergenerational trauma, and historical claims to land.

“We are right and you are wrong”, say conflict scholars Joseph Liechty and Cecelia Clegg based on their work on the violent Troubles in Northern Ireland, can be a starting point for excluding people. This can be a step towards demonising those who are excluded and justifying violence against them. What this illustrates is that expressing unambivalent beliefs or opinions is often a way of showing we belong to a group. This can be based on many things, including religion, nationality, and even sports team. For every in-group with one set of beliefs, there is a corresponding group that is excluded. Liechty and Clegg are pointing out that holding tightly to one view on a polarised spectrum can be a dangerous starting point.

This is not to say that we should be ambivalent about everything. We need passion and conviction to sustain our work for justice. What I am suggesting, though, is that rather than hiding or fighting ambivalence, in ourselves and in others, we should acknowledge and embrace it. Acknowledging our own ambivalence can be a starting point for engaging more deeply with the issues we feel ambivalent about, and for finding middle ground and starting conversations across perspectives. The conversations I’ve had about Israel and Palestine that have started with questions and doubts and acknowledging what we don’t understand have changed my mind far more than those which start with someone’s position or opinion. The hard work of engaging across differences is easier if we come willing to hold our own uncertainty and ambivalence, rather than only expressing unequivocal opinions.

Feeling ambivalent can also help us to work out what is important to us. As South Africa faces elections and the possibility of political change I wonder if we can find hooks in our ambivalence to keep us engaged. I certainly feel ambivalent about the most likely outcomes of this election – the ongoing rule of the ANC, or the ability of political parties to form productive coalitions. One temptation is to slide into apathy and give up on the possibility of a positive outcome. But if I dig more deeply into my ambivalence, I can work out what is important to me, what appeals to me and disturbs me about the possibilities of South African party politics. I want a government that functions well and efficiently uses its resources to serve all who live here. I also want a government that has a coherent and progressive vision for transformation. Perhaps there’s no way to achieve both of these through this election, but having the clarity of what’s important to me provides a much better grounding for my everyday politics than support for a political party could. There are some things South Africa does well that I hope we can sustain, and others that I feel strongly that we need to do better, and I’m willing to work towards those.

By holding this ambivalence, we give ourselves space to support and comply with our municipalities and national government sometimes, and to vocally challenge them and work for change at other times. We allow ourselves to be curious, to learn from others’ perspectives before forming or voicing opinions. We create opportunities to start hard conversations that are open to difference. In short, embracing our own ambivalence offers a small entry into creating a more engaged and less polarised political culture, even if it’s just in that one relationship where we’ve only ever been able to disagree.