Narrator: Imagine a man calling a national radio show, furious about the negative effects of immigration on his life. The host asks him for a specific example. The man claims the schools are full, the hospitals are overwhelmed. The host asks, "But how has it affected you, personally?" The caller pauses, struggling. He admits his kids are grown and he hasn't been to a hospital in years. Pushed for a single, concrete example of how his own life has been made worse, he finally declares that he can’t get to the tills at his local shop because of all the immigrants.

This isn't a comedy sketch; it's a real conversation that reveals a startling truth about our modern world: many of our most passionately held beliefs crumble under the gentlest of questions. In his book, How To Be Right: ... in a world gone wrong, journalist and radio host James O’Brien dissects these moments, offering a masterclass in how to dismantle faulty arguments not with aggression, but with curiosity. He argues that the key to navigating a world saturated with misinformation isn't to shout louder, but to ask smarter.

Narrator: At the heart of O’Brien’s method is a simple but profound observation: people are rarely asked to explain the reasoning behind their opinions. They are accustomed to stating beliefs as facts, but when prompted to show their work, the entire structure often collapses. O'Brien demonstrates that asking "why?" is a more effective tool than making a counter-claim.

He recounts a call with a man named John from Hounslow, who complained he couldn't say what he really thought about immigration without being called a racist. O'Brien gave him a platform to speak freely. After a moment, John stated that Hounslow was full of Pakistanis and they all smelled. O'Brien didn't condemn him; he simply asked, "What do they smell of?" John replied, "Curry." O'Brien’s next question was disarmingly simple: "Do you like curry?" John hesitated before admitting that he did. In that moment, the argument evaporated. The issue was never the smell of curry; that was just a flimsy justification for a deeper, unexamined prejudice. By asking simple, non-confrontational questions, O'Brien revealed that John's conviction was built on nothing, forcing him, and the audience, to confront the prejudice hiding in plain sight.

Narrator: The Brexit debate, O'Brien argues, was a perfect storm of emotional sloganeering triumphing over factual analysis. For years, he challenged Leave supporters to name a single EU law they were excited to be rid of. The results were consistently revealing.

One caller, a plumber named Andy, voted for Brexit to "control our own laws." When O'Brien asked him to name just one law he looked forward to seeing gone, Andy was stumped. After a long, awkward silence, he mumbled something about "the shape of your bananas," a long-debunked myth. When it became clear he couldn't name a single law, the conversation inevitably pivoted to his real concern: immigration. This pattern repeated itself endlessly. The powerful, emotive slogan "Take Back Control" was rarely connected to any specific, tangible policy. It was a vessel for a host of other anxieties, primarily about national identity and immigration, which were far harder to articulate and defend rationally.

Narrator: The phrase "political correctness gone mad" has become a powerful weapon for shutting down debate and resisting social progress. O'Brien shows how this outrage is often fueled by complete fabrications, which are amplified by a compliant media.

The classic example is the "Winterval" controversy. A caller named Andrew insisted that Christmas had been cancelled and renamed "Winterval" to avoid offending minorities. O'Brien calmly deconstructed the myth. In 1997, Birmingham City Council created a marketing campaign called "Winterval" to promote a whole season of events, including Diwali, New Year's Eve, and, most prominently, Christmas. The council building had a giant "Merry Christmas" banner, there were Christmas trees in the squares, and the Lord Mayor sent out Christmas cards. The story was a complete distortion, yet it became an enduring symbol of "political correctness gone mad." O'Brien argues that this term is a get-out-of-jail-free card for critical thinking, allowing people to be furiously offended by things that never actually happened.

Narrator: O'Brien exposes the cynical hypocrisy of powerful media outlets that blame societal problems on immigrants while engaging in the very practices they condemn. He points to his time working at the Daily Express, a newspaper that relentlessly pushed the narrative that immigration was driving down wages for British workers.

This narrative was particularly cynical given the reality inside the newspaper's own offices. The proprietor, Richard Desmond, oversaw a period from 2008 to 2017 where his journalists received a pay rise of exactly zero. While the company reported pre-tax profits of over £300 million in a single year, the people writing the stories about immigrants suppressing wages were experiencing a decade-long pay freeze imposed by their own billionaire boss. A similar story unfolded at the Daily Mail, which campaigned against low wages caused by immigration while paying its own cleaners less than the recommended London Living Wage until a trade union forced them to change. This reveals a core tactic: demonize a vulnerable group to distract from the actions of the powerful.

Narrator: A growing and dangerous divide, O'Brien argues, is the one between generations. Many older people, having benefited from a more stable economy, struggle to comprehend the financial realities facing the young. Their own life experience becomes a barrier to understanding.

He tells the story of a caller named Doris, who bought her first house in 1966 for £3,500. Her husband earned £950 a year, meaning the house cost about 3.7 times his annual salary. She couldn't understand why young people today complained, insisting they just needed to work harder and stop buying coffee. O'Brien gently pointed out that the average house now costs more than eight times the average salary, not to mention the burden of student debt that Doris's generation never faced. Despite the clear data, Doris remained unconvinced. Her personal experience was so powerful that it blinded her to the fundamentally different economic world millennials inhabit. This disconnect, O'Brien warns, is creating a society where the young are losing faith in a system that no longer seems to work for them.

Narrator: O'Brien concludes with a sharp critique of his own industry, arguing that the media has become complicit in the spread of misinformation through the flawed concept of "false equivalence." In an attempt to appear balanced, news outlets often present two opposing sides of an issue as equally valid, even when one is based on overwhelming evidence and the other on blatant lies.

He points to the historical coverage of climate change, where the scientific consensus was often "balanced" by a lone denier, creating a deeply misleading impression of the debate. This same failure was repeated with Brexit, where expert economic warnings were pitted against the unsubstantiated promises of politicians. O'Brien argues that the job of journalism is not to simply provide a platform for all views, but to hold power to account, to challenge lies, and to separate fact from fiction. When the media presents a demonstrable truth and a blatant lie as two competing "opinions," it fails its most basic duty to the public.

Narrator: The single most important takeaway from How To Be Right is that genuine communication in a polarized world requires a fundamental shift in approach. The goal should not be to win the argument, but to understand it. By persistently and calmly asking "why," we can expose the fragile foundations of prejudice and misinformation, not just for our opponent, but often for ourselves.

James O'Brien's work challenges us to become more than just passive consumers of information. It's a call to become active, curious participants in our own conversations, to have the courage to question not only the views of others, but also the certainty with which we hold our own. The ultimate question the book leaves us with is not how we can prove we are right, but how we can create a world where finding the truth matters more than winning.