Jon Allsop writes about a new show on C-SPAN that seeks to model civil dialogue and bipartisan coöperation in an age of inflamed debate.
Such exchanges are foundational to the premise of “Ceasefire,” which has pitched itself as a “rare moment of unity” in a divided nation, and has described its “one goal” as helping warring politicians to find “common ground.
” Since it launched, in October, viewers have heard about the Democrat Jared Moskowitz playing Santa Claus at the Republican Tim Burchett’s Christmas party, and the closeness of the wives of Senators James Lankford and Chris Coons; at the end of each episode, Burns highlights an instance of bipartisan comity, such as members of a “civility caucus” in the Minnesota state legislature singing together. Sam Feist, a veteran of CNN who took over C-SPAN last year, told NPR,“I am one of those people who believe that Americans actually agree on more than they disagree. I mean, we had Newt Gingrich and Bill Clinton in the nineties reach a balanced budget for the first time in a generation.” Indeed, Feist has said that the idea for “Ceasefire” grew out of his work at CNN in that era, when he was a producer on something like the show’s opposite: “Crossfire,” a program that paired ideologically opposed hosts and guests, and gave them license to go for the jugular. According to Feist, Michael Kinsley, one of the liberal hosts on “Crossfire,” suggested, after leaving the show in the mid-nineties, that Feist should put together a more harmonious alternative. He’s carried the idea with him ever since. Feist has stopped short of describing the new show as his “penance” for “Crossfire,” pointing out that C-SPAN—a network that broadcasts congressional proceedings and similarly wonkish programming as a public service, to an audience that is evenly balanced politically and boasts a high number of self-described moderates—has a different mission than CNN and the other corporate giants of cable news. Regardless, in today’s fractured media environment, the ability of any cable news show to set the terms of the national political debate is limited. The medium is in decline. The internet is ascendant, and anarchic. And yet the models of exchange represented by “Crossfire” and “Ceasefire”—the vision of debate as a blood sport, in the first case, and as an avenue toward consensus, in the latter—are at the heart of a question that is much bigger and more enduring than one TV show, or even one medium: What does it mean for people to do politics with one another in public? That question now feels especially fraught, amid growing censorship and worrying political violence. I’ve been a media critic for most of the Trump era, and, throughout that time, have grappled with two concerns that are not necessarily contradictory but do often feel in tension with each other. The first is that institutions dedicated to the pursuit of truth are giving a platform to toxic figures who spread blatant lies. The second is that mainstream U.S. political culture dismisses fire-breathing radicals on both sides as fundamentally illegitimate—especially notable to me given the overt rudeness of discourse in my native Britain—and promotes civility and triangulated compromise as good outcomes in themselves. It now seems clear that attempts to contain toxicity have failed utterly. Insisting that people be nice to one another in such a climate is often well intentioned. But, in my view, it is a utopian expectation, and perhaps a dangerous one, which actors with no interest at all in civility might even co-opt as yet another means of quieting dissent. In other words, watching “Ceasefire,” I found myself wishing that C-SPAN had remade “Crossfire” instead. Over the years, the format changed—including via the addition of a live audience—as did the cast. In 2004, the Democratic strategist Paul Begala and a fresh-faced, bow-tie-wearing journalist named Tucker Carlson were at the desk on what would turn out to be the night that “Crossfire” died, at the hand, of all people, of the comedian Jon Stewart. Stewart had criticized the show before—according to one of his producers, he had a “real bee in his bonnet” about it—but Begala and Carlson nonetheless seemed taken aback when he came into the studio, sat across from them, and dismissed them as “partisan, erm, what do you call it, hacks,” who were “hurting America” by staging theatrical fights that undermined substantive discussion. Carlson defended “Crossfire” as an effort to hold politicians’ feet to the fire, and accused Stewart of soft-soaping John Kerry, then the Democratic Presidential nominee, in a recent interview on his Comedy Central show. “You’re on CNN!” Stewart yelled back. “The show that leads into me is puppets making crank phone calls! What is wrong with you?” Carlson concluded that Stewart was “more fun” on his show, and told him so. Stewart retorted that Carlson was “as big a dick” on his show as he was on any. Stewart’s diatribe—the comedic edge of which could not mask its furious sincerity—hit a nerve. A writer for the Times likened him to Howard Beale, the “mad as hell” newsman from “Network,” and argued that he had channelled viewers’ frustrations with “gladiator-style infotainment” designed to “rile” rather than inform. The Washington Post referred to Carlson and his fellow-hosts as “Yapping Pests.” The Post also suggested that Stewart’s appearance had been a boon to “Crossfire” in terms of elevating its relevance. But a few months later CNN’s president cancelled the program, telling the press that he had agreed “wholeheartedly” with Stewart’s critique and signalling that he would shift the network’s output from “head-butting debate shows” toward “roll-up-your-sleeves storytelling.” A top CNN journalist told the Post that “Crossfire” had come to be seen as the TV equivalent of “people asking each other if they still beat their wife.” More recently, the format has met something of a reappraisal. In 2015, Begala reflected that, with hindsight, America could have used more noisy dissent in the buildup to the war in Iraq. Outsiders to the show have also defended it, or, at least, expressed bafflement at its punching-bag status; Ian Crouch, for instance, wrote, in this magazine, that Stewart’s takedown had come to seem “less nuanced and insightful,” and was ignorant of the reality that “true debate requires passion and theatrics as much as intellect.” By 2023, Politico’s Michael Schaffer was calling for the show’s comeback, arguing that, in a world of siloed echo chambers, the relative absence of content involving an exchange of views “might even be, um, hurting America.” “Crossfire” has not come back. But the underlying idea does seem to be enjoying a resurgence. Since last year, “NewsNight,” Abby Phillip’s prime-time CNN show—which, as one media reporter put it, is often “more ‘Crossfire’ than ‘Crossfire’ ever was”—has pitted brawlers from both sides against one another, with results that are occasionally riveting , occasionally appalling , and usually somewhere in between. Either way, people seem to be watching it. On social media, too, angry-debate formats are very much in the Zeitgeist—an outgrowth, to no small extent, of the cocksure “Debate me!” culture of right-wing bros who rose to online prominence during Trump’s first term. Charlie Kirk perfected that form by touring college campuses, where he sparred with “woke” adversaries; this past summer, a liberal streamer known as Destiny snuck into a gathering of Kirk’s group, Turning Point USA, and debated a manosphere influencer in what one attendee likened to “a cockfight.” Last year, a company called Jubilee Media launched “Surrounded,” a web show on which some flavor of provocateur is, well, surrounded by intellectual adversaries, who take turns arguing back until they are voted out by their peers. Here, too, the results can be hard to watch: when Hasan, who was born in the U.K. but is a U.S. citizen, appeared, one of his interlocutors said that he should be deported; another proudly self-identified as a fascist. But, again, people are watching. Hasan and others have said that they did “Surrounded” at the urging of their kids. If this is a moment of heightened disputatiousness, both Phillip’s show and “Surrounded” have nonetheless been condemned, in distinctly Stewartian fashion, for handing a platform to dishonest partisan hacks more interested in wrestling than in enlightenment. Following Hasan’s appearance on “Surrounded,” Brady Brickner-Wood wrote, in this magazine, that the show serves up “brain-eroding slop” that “offers little more to the viewer than lobotomization.” Another critique is that such content doesn’t represent the “real” country, much of which sits in some imagined moderate center, or even the work of politics, which is friendlier in the smoke-filled rooms where decisions actually get made than it is in public. “Ceasefire” is premised on shining a light into those rooms, and on modelling respectful dialogue aimed at reaching consensus on big problems. These are noble goals. But what politicians say publicly shapes the world at least as much as behind-the-scenes chummery does. And any bipartisan ceasefire must take effect at a set of political coördinates that are not value-neutral. As I see it, shows like “Ceasefire” risk conflating civility with unity, or at least blur the boundaries between these two very different concepts. Disagreement doesn’t require rancor, and there are shows out there that are civil without seeking compromise; Ezra Klein’s Times podcast, on which he patiently unspools ideas with articulate opponents of his liberal world view, is one example. This type of exchange can fulfill what I consider to be the primary function of debate, which is not to represent some majority viewpoint but to stretch and stress-test ideas, including ones perceived as outlandish. As Crouch observed, though, that process is often passionate—especially when the stakes are so high. A debate soon emerged as to whether debate was really what Kirk had been doing. Many observers portrayed him, in the words of Katherine Kelaidis in Salon, as “a modern-day Socrates, wandering the agora of America’s universities seeking to find truth by means of rhetorical contest”; Klein wrote in the Times that Kirk had been “practicing politics in exactly the right way,” and was one of his era’s “most effective practitioners of persuasion.” This characterization, especially as posited by Klein, drew howls of outrage from many commentators on the left, who argued that Kirk wasn’t interested in changing anyone’s mind, and instead practiced a form of performance art in which he would lure less experienced debaters into rhetorical traps that he could then post online under domineering titles such as “Charlie Kirk SHUTS DOWN 3 Arrogant College Students 👀🔥”—all while dehumanizing various marginalized communities and sowing hate. Kirk’s style was “to civil discourse what porn is to sex,” Kelaidis wrote. “An intentionally titillating, vaguely degrading, commodified reproduction of something that is normally good, or at least neutral.” While I prefer the “Crossfire” model to the “Ceasefire” model, that is not to give it carte blanche. Debates, however sharp, must take place within subjective lines. After Girdusky’s vile comments to Hasan on Phillip’s CNN show, he was gone by the end of the next ad break, then barred from the network altogether. Hasan, an outstanding debater, once told me that he wouldn’t appear alongside politicians who deny basic reality; following his appearance on “Surrounded,” he said that he wouldn’t have done it if he’d known that he’d be debating fascists, whose ideology, ultimately, is incompatible with the democratic principles that underpin any form of debate. Even the far right has its boundaries; recently, a furious intra-MAGA row exploded over Carlson’s decision to interview Nick Fuentes, an open antisemite. Some of the critics took issue less with Carlson hosting Fuentes than with his failure to tear him a new one. But at least one right-winger apparently found Fuentes to be undebatable: Kirk, who banned him from T.P.U.S.A. events. Although political violence is not as new to America as some commentators might have it, this is clearly a time for particular vigilance against calls for it, or endorsements thereof. But loud, blunt argument is not in itself threatening; indeed, to concede otherwise is to buy the logic of the chilling—not to mention deeply hypocritical—right-wing urge to censor fair, if biting, criticism of Kirk’s views after his murder. In the wake of such horrors, turning the temperature down is instinctively more appealing than keeping it high. But what if heated debate doesn’t lead to further violence? What if it’s a pressure valve that helps prevent it? At the very least, when Jubilee, for instance, pits a self-admitted fascist against Hasan, that reflects a preëxisting current in wider society more than it creates one. And though the most appalling moments from such shows tend to go the most viral, the shows themselves are not uniformly reprehensible. I’ve watched several episodes of “Surrounded”—featuring not only Kirk and Hasan but the left-wing Cenk Uygur and right-wing Candace Owens—and been impressed by the rigor with which their positions have been examined, certainly compared with the oversimplified fare that typically gets served on cable news. The Hasan episode may have been scary at times, but it at least exposed the extent of the radicalism on the modern right, as Hasan at one point acknowledged. In an age decried for its low attention spans, such debates are also notable for their length: an hour or more, in full. Of course, I hear you cry, the problem is precisely that the vilest clips are the ones that do go viral—a few droplets of poison extracted from a well are still, after all, poison. This is true. But the novel issue here is the ability of a handful of unaccountable social-media behemoths to determine which debates—and which parts of debates—we pay attention to. Debate itself has always had a capacity for coarseness, and to elevate contentious interlocutors ; since time immemorial, people have argued not to change others’ minds, or their own, but to win. In this moment, left-wingers increasingly seem to have realized that the answer to modern trolls surfing debate formats to virality isn’t dissociation and containment but to get in the ring and fight back. In the context of rising authoritarianism and censorship, there is something urgent, even noble, in defending your ideas without apology. The media companies, old and new, whose job it is to convene debates often don’t think in such ideological terms—even if their speech, too, is under threat right now. “Ceasefire,” for its part, is just one such show among many; in a marketplace of ideas, there should, indeed, be room for it. But, watching its first episodes, I wanted its guests to put their paeans to friendship aside and more rigorously challenge one another. The “Crossfire” format can be more or less edifying, but “Ceasefire” does feel limited by its coöperative premise. In this scary, divided moment, the appeal of that premise is understandable. But I’m not sure that friendly bipartisanship is what’s most at threat right now. And I worry that focussing on it whitewashes what really is. Later in the conversation, Stewart sounded a somewhat different note. Remnick asked him about appearing on Joe Rogan’s podcast, which, he pointed out, has given oxygen to some “Nazi-curious” people. “It’s not acceptable to just say, ‘Well, I don’t like what he does,’ ” Stewart said. Opponents of such figures have to “beat them at their own game,” rather than complain that a noxious figure has a platform. “There’s no one in this world right now that isn’t platformed,” he said. Stewart also recalled that he once chose to interview Donald Rumsfeld, who had served as George W. Bush’s Defense Secretary, despite viscerally opposing Rumsfeld’s role in the Iraq War. Stewart challenged Rumsfeld, but the conversation was generally cordial, and Stewart came to regret not pushing harder. “I lost more sleep over that interview than he did over the entire fucking war,” Stewart told Remnick. Afterward, Rumsfeld wrote him a note saying that the exchange was “fun,” and that the pair could have been friends when they were younger, Stewart added. “Do you have any idea how that still hurts?” ♦
United States Latest News, United States Headlines
Similar News:You can also read news stories similar to this one that we have collected from other news sources.
‘Wicked’ Director Jon M. Chu on ‘What Makes Art Beautiful’ in the AI EraIn this episode of “Uncanny Valley,” we bring you our conversation with Jon M. Chu from WIRED’s Big Interview event, fresh on the heels of directing “Wicked: For Good.”
Read more »
Türkiye pushes for phase two of Gaza ceasefire as violations mount: FM FidanAnkara warns violations are mounting and urges rapid progress on a stabilisation framework, while offering to help secure Gaza and prevent the war from spreading.
Read more »
Witkoff to host new Gaza talks as Israel-Hamas ceasefire appears stalledPresident Donald Trump’s key peace envoy will host new Gaza talks with Arab and Muslim officials on Friday in Miami, a State Department official tells the AP. The meeting comes as the tenuous Israel-Hamas ceasefire appears to be in flux. Steve Witkoff, is Trump’s key delegate for handling peace negotiations.
Read more »
Netanyahu discusses possible renewal of Gaza aggression amid ceasefire talksIsraeli media say ministers discussed alternative scenarios, including renewed military attacks, amid uncertainty over the US position.
Read more »
Gaza Ceasefire Threatened by Disagreements Over International Force and Hamas DisarmamentThe fragile ceasefire in Gaza is under threat due to disagreements over the role of an international stabilization force, the disarmament of Hamas, and the withdrawal of Israeli troops. The recent death of a child, allegedly by Israeli forces, highlights the continued violence and fragility of the truce.
Read more »
Witkoff to host new Gaza talks as Israel-Hamas ceasefire appears stalledPresident Donald Trump’s key peace envoy will host new Gaza talks with Arab and Muslim officials on Friday in Miami, a State Department official tells the AP.
Read more »