Michael: Most people think patriotism and nationalism are the biggest forces shaping world events. But what if the real power lies in something much more primal? Kevin: Oh boy, here we go. Primal forces. Are we talking about aliens or the lizard people who secretly run the government? Michael: (Laughs) Close, but more academic. A force that explains why pro-capitalist policies can backfire spectacularly, and why a reality TV star who body-slammed Vince McMahon at WrestleMania could become president. It's called political tribalism. Kevin: Okay, now you have my attention. Body-slams and failed foreign policy. That's a weird combination. What's the connection? Michael: And that's the central, explosive idea in Amy Chua's book, Political Tribes: Group Instinct and the Fate of Nations. Kevin: Amy Chua... the Yale Law professor, right? I think most people know her as the 'Tiger Mom,' which is a whole other can of worms. But her actual academic work is on some heavy-hitting stuff like ethnic conflict and globalization. Michael: Exactly. And this book, which got a ton of buzz and some really polarizing reviews when it came out, is her attempt to connect the dots between America's foreign policy blunders and the political chaos we're seeing at home. She argues they stem from the exact same blind spot. Kevin: A blind spot? What kind of blind spot could possibly link the Vietnam War to the 2016 election? That feels like a stretch. Michael: It’s what she calls "group blindness." The inability of the United States, as a nation, to see the world as it truly is: a world dominated not by ideologies like capitalism or communism, but by deep, ancient, and powerful tribal loyalties. Kevin: Okay, 'group blindness'... that sounds a bit academic. What does it actually mean? Give me a story.

Michael: Let's go to Vietnam in the 1960s. The U.S. saw the conflict in very simple terms: a Cold War proxy battle. It was our guys, the capitalists in South Vietnam, versus their guys, the communists in the North. We thought if we just poured in enough money, military aid, and free-market principles, we'd win the hearts and minds of the people. Kevin: Right, the classic domino theory playbook. Stop the spread of communism at all costs. That was the logic for decades. Michael: It was the logic. And it was catastrophically wrong. Because we were completely blind to the most important tribe in the country. Not the communists, but the ethnic Chinese, known as the Hoa. Kevin: The ethnic Chinese? I've never heard them mentioned in any Vietnam War movie. Michael: And that's exactly Chua's point! The Hoa made up just 1% of Vietnam's population, but they were a classic "market-dominant minority." They controlled a staggering 70 to 80 percent of the country's commercial wealth. They owned the banks, the factories, the import-export businesses, the rice mills. To the average Vietnamese person, who had a thousand-year history of being oppressed by China, these people were not fellow countrymen; they were a resented, foreign elite. Kevin: Whoa. So while the US is thinking about Marx and Lenin, the average Vietnamese farmer is thinking about the guy who owns the local mill and speaks with a different accent. Michael: Precisely. So now, picture this: the U.S. comes in with its pro-capitalist, free-market policies. Who benefits from that? Every single time, it was the Hoa. We'd fund a new business, and a Chinese family would run it. We'd open up trade, and the Hoa, with their existing networks, would get richer. To the Vietnamese majority, American-style capitalism didn't look like freedom; it looked like we were siding with their historical oppressors. Kevin: Hold on. So you're saying a major factor in America losing the war was... ethnic resentment against a tiny group of business owners? That seems almost too simple. Michael: It wasn't the only factor, of course, but it was a massive, overlooked one. We were pouring gasoline on a tribal fire we didn't even know existed. Ho Chi Minh, the leader of North Vietnam, famously said, "I prefer to sniff French shit for five years than eat Chinese shit for the rest of my life." That's how deep the animosity ran. We thought we were fighting for freedom and democracy, but on the ground, we were seen as bankrolling a despised ethnic minority. Kevin: That's incredible. It's like a successful CEO who assumes every startup should run exactly like their billion-dollar company, and then is shocked when they all fail because they ignore the actual culture of each small team. Michael: That's a perfect analogy. And we made the same mistake again and again. In Iraq, we were aware of the Sunni-Shia divide, but we fundamentally believed that democracy and free markets would magically overcome those ancient loyalties. President Bush said "freedom and democracy will always and everywhere have greater appeal than the slogans of hatred." Kevin: And the result? Michael: The result was that the moment we introduced democracy, people didn't vote as Iraqis. They voted as Sunnis or Shias. It didn't unite them; it hardened the battle lines. We toppled Saddam, disbanded the Sunni-led army, and created a power vacuum that was immediately filled by sectarian militias. We were so blinded by our own national story—that people of all backgrounds can unite under one flag—that we couldn't fathom a world where that wasn't the default. We couldn't see the tribes. Kevin: It’s a tragic irony. America’s unique strength as a "super-group," as Chua calls it, becomes its greatest weakness abroad. We project our own reality onto everyone else. Michael: Exactly. And for decades, Americans thought this was a problem that only happened 'over there.' But Chua's terrifying argument, and the real core of the book, is that this same dynamic is now exploding right here at home.

Kevin: Okay, so how does this translate to the U.S.? We don't have market-dominant minorities or ancient sectarian divides in the same way. Or do we? Michael: We do, but they look different. Chua argues that growing inequality has created a massive tribal chasm between the haves and the have-nots. And it's not just about money; it's about culture, values, and identity. The perfect example she uses is the contrast between Occupy Wall Street and the Prosperity Gospel. Kevin: Two movements that couldn't seem more different. Occupy was all about fighting the 1%, and the Prosperity Gospel is about... well, becoming the 1% with God's help. Michael: Right. On the surface, Occupy was a movement for the poor and working class. But who were the protesters? Overwhelmingly, they were young, white, highly educated, and relatively affluent. They were protesting on behalf of the poor. And the poor, by and large, wanted nothing to do with it. Kevin: Why not? If someone's fighting for your interests, why would you reject them? Michael: Chua includes this absolutely devastating quote from a student from rural South Carolina. He said, "When elites protest on behalf of us poor people... it seems they are turning us... into the next 'meme.' We don't like being used as a prop for someone else's self-validation." Kevin: Wow. That's a gut punch. It's not about policy; it's about dignity. He's saying, 'You're not one of us. This is your tribe's ritual, not mine.' Michael: Exactly. Meanwhile, what movement is wildly popular among poor and working-class Americans, especially minorities? The Prosperity Gospel. The belief that God wants you to be rich. To coastal elites, this sounds absurd, even predatory. But to someone feeling hopeless, it offers a powerful sense of agency and a dignified path to success. It's a tribe that says, "You can win," not "You are a victim." Kevin: That completely reframes the political landscape. It suggests that a huge portion of the electorate is motivated by cultural and tribal belonging, not by the economic policies that pundits obsess over. Michael: And that brings us to the ultimate example: Donald Trump and the WWE. Chua points out that for years, elites have mocked professional wrestling. It's seen as low-brow, fake, and ridiculous. But they miss the point entirely. Kevin: What's the point they're missing? Michael: WWE isn't about athletic competition. It's a morality play. It's about good versus evil, heroes versus villains, and the crowd participating in the story. It has its own code of honor, its own symbols, and a deep-seated resentment of authority figures who try to rig the game. Trump, a WWE Hall of Famer, understood this language perfectly. Kevin: I can see that. His rallies had the feel of a wrestling event. The call-and-response, the clear villain—the "swamp" or the "fake news media"—and him as the heroic brawler fighting for the people. Michael: Precisely. He wasn't debating policy points. He was playing a character his tribe recognized and loved: the brash, anti-establishment champion who breaks all the rules to win for them. As one of his donors famously said, "don't take him literally, take him symbolically." Kevin: Right, so while one side was fact-checking his statements, the other was cheering because he was fighting their fight. They weren't even in the same arena. They were in different tribes, playing by different rules. Michael: And this is the chasm. On one side, you have the tribe of the Left, which, as Chua points out, has become increasingly focused on identity, oppression, and a language of academic critique that can feel exclusionary. On the other, you have the tribe of the Right, which is reacting with its own form of identity politics, centered on a feeling that their America is under attack. Kevin: And both sides feel like they are the victims. Both feel threatened. Michael: Yes. Every group in America—white, black, Latino, Asian, rich, poor, liberal, conservative—feels attacked, misunderstood, and discriminated against. It's become a zero-sum battle, not just for resources, but for the very soul of the country. Who gets to define what America is? That's the tribal war we're in now.

Kevin: So where does this leave us? It feels pretty hopeless. Are we just doomed to be torn apart by our tribes? Michael: It's a grim picture, and Chua doesn't offer any easy answers. In fact, some critics have pointed out that while her diagnosis is brilliant, her prescription is a bit vague. But her core argument is that the only way out is to first stop being blind. Kevin: To see the tribes for what they are. Michael: Exactly. To stop pretending we're all the same, or that we should be. The goal isn't to erase our group identities. That's impossible; it's a primal human instinct. The challenge is to build a "super-group" identity—a national identity—that is strong enough and flexible enough to hold all the smaller tribes together without threatening them. Kevin: So, not a melting pot where everyone becomes the same, but more like... a container that's strong enough to hold a bunch of different, vibrant, and sometimes conflicting things. Michael: That's a great way to put it. It means acknowledging the legitimate fears and grievances that are driving people on all sides. It means understanding that for many working-class whites, the "browning of America" feels like a genuine threat to their identity and status. And it means understanding that for many minorities, the system still feels rigged and dangerous. You can't build a shared identity by telling one group their fears are illegitimate. Kevin: That requires a level of empathy that seems to be in very short supply right now. Michael: It does. But Chua ends on a note of cautious hope. She points to examples like the integration of the U.S. military, where putting people from different tribes in a situation where they depended on each other for survival broke down prejudices at lightning speed. Face-to-face contact, shared goals, and seeing the humanity in your adversary—that's the only way. Kevin: So it has to happen at a human level, not just a political one. Michael: Yes. And she leaves us with a really challenging question: Can we create a shared American story that resonates with everyone, from a laid-off factory worker in Ohio to a tech billionaire in Silicon Valley, without demanding that either one give up who they are? Kevin: That's a powerful thought to end on. What does that shared story even look like today? It feels like we have a thousand different stories all shouting over each other. We'd love to hear what you think. Drop us a comment on our socials. Michael: This is Aibrary, signing off.