Michael: Here’s a puzzle for you, Kevin. Louisiana is the second poorest state in the US, ranks 49th in health, and has some of the worst industrial pollution in the nation. So, who do they vote for? Kevin: Okay, I'm guessing... politicians promising massive environmental cleanup and a huge boost to social programs? Michael: The exact opposite. They vote for politicians who promise to cut taxes on polluters and slash environmental protection. Kevin: That makes absolutely no sense. It's like a patient with a lung infection voting to fire their doctor and defund the hospital. There has to be something else going on. Michael: There is. And this whole puzzle is the subject of our deep dive today, based on the book Strangers in Their Own Land: Anger and Mourning on the American Right by Arlie Russell Hochschild. Kevin: And Hochschild is the perfect person to tackle this. She’s a renowned sociologist from UC Berkeley, but she didn't just analyze data from an office. She spent five years living in southwest Louisiana, trying to understand the people behind the votes. Michael: Exactly. The book was a National Book Award finalist and became this kind of 'Rosetta stone' for understanding the emotional currents that led to the 2016 election. It’s less about politics and more about feelings. And to solve this puzzle, Hochschild says the first thing you have to do is climb something she calls the 'empathy wall'.

Kevin: An 'empathy wall.' I like that phrase. It’s that feeling you get when you look at someone on the other side of a political issue and you just think, 'I cannot fathom how you arrived at that conclusion.' Michael: Precisely. It’s an obstacle to deep understanding of another person, one that can make us feel indifferent or even hostile to their point of view. And Hochschild’s journey into Louisiana was an attempt to scale that wall. She wanted to understand the world as they see it, feel it, and live it. Kevin: So where does she start? How do you even begin to understand people who seem to be actively voting against their own well-being? Michael: She starts with one of the most powerful stories in the book, a man named Mike Schaff. Mike is a pipeline worker, a devout Catholic, a kind, sixty-four-year-old man who is a fierce Tea Party loyalist. He believes the government is too big, too greedy, and too incompetent. Kevin: Okay, a classic conservative profile. So what's the catch? Michael: The catch is that Mike Schaff is also an environmental refugee. In 2012, a salt cavern deep underground, operated by the Texas Brine company, collapsed. It created a massive sinkhole right in the middle of his community of Bayou Corne. Kevin: A sinkhole? Like, the ground just opened up? Michael: The ground opened up and swallowed 37 acres of cypress forest. It unleashed so much methane gas that the water in the bayou started bubbling like a witch's cauldron. The area was hit with constant mini-earthquakes. The air became toxic. All 350 residents, including Mike and his wife, were forced to evacuate. His dream retirement home, the life he had built, was destroyed by corporate negligence and a stunning lack of government oversight. Kevin: Hold on. His house is literally sinking into the ground because of a lightly regulated company, and his solution is... even less regulation? I don't get it. My brain is short-circuiting. Michael: And that, right there, is the empathy wall. We're hitting it. We're trying to understand his position using our own logic, our own set of facts. We see a victim of corporate malfeasance who should be demanding the government step in and crush that company. Kevin: Right! He should be the EPA's biggest fan! Michael: But that's not how he sees it. For him, and for many others Hochschild spoke to, the problem isn't a specific company. The problem is the system. And the biggest villain in that system, in his mind, is the federal government. Kevin: So it's not that he's illogical, it's that he's operating on a different logic we can't see yet. A logic that makes the government a bigger threat than the company that destroyed his home. Michael: Exactly. And to see that logic, Hochschild had to uncover what she calls their 'deep story.' This is the key that unlocks the whole book.

Kevin: A 'deep story.' What does that mean? Is it like their life story? Michael: Not exactly. A deep story isn't about facts. It’s a 'feels-as-if' story. It’s the narrative that tells you how the world feels. It’s about emotions, identity, and your place in the world. And the deep story for the people she met goes something like this. Kevin: Okay, I'm ready. Lay it on me. Michael: Imagine you're standing in a long line, a pilgrimage, heading up a hill. At the top of that hill is the American Dream. You're in the middle of the line. You're a white, Christian, hardworking American. You don't have a college degree, but you're patient. You've followed all the rules, you've waited your turn. You believe in fairness. Kevin: I'm with you. It's the classic image of American aspiration. Michael: But the line has stopped moving. For years, you haven't progressed. You feel stuck. And then, you see something that makes your blood boil. You see people cutting in front of you. Kevin: Line-cutters. The worst kind of people. Michael: Exactly. And who are these line-cutters? In the deep story, it’s Black people, pushed forward by affirmative action. It's women, who have left the home and are now competing for your jobs. It's immigrants and refugees, flooding across the border. It's even... the brown pelican, an endangered bird that gets environmental protection while your industry is struggling. Kevin: Wow. So it's not just one group, it's this feeling that everyone is getting a special pass while you're stuck playing by the old rules. Michael: And here's the most painful part of the deep story. You look up to the top of the hill, to the federal government, the very institution that's supposed to be the fair keeper of the line. And what is it doing? It's helping them! President Obama, in their eyes, is the supervisor of this grand betrayal. He's waving the line-cutters forward. He's their president, not yours. Kevin: Wow. Okay, now I see it. From that perspective, the government isn't a protector; it's a traitor. It's siding with the line-cutters against you. The EPA isn't a shield against pollution; it's just another tool the government uses to help the line-cutters—in this case, the pelicans—at your expense. Michael: Now you're over the empathy wall. The deep story reframes everything. The problem isn't economic self-interest; it's a profound sense of betrayal and a loss of honor. You feel like a stranger in your own land. Kevin: And that feeling of being a stranger, of being disrespected and left behind, is more powerful than the fact that your drinking water is polluted. It's about identity, not policy. Michael: Precisely. And this deep story isn't just a fantasy. It's rooted in real economic anxieties. As Hochschild points out, for generations born after 1950, the promise of upward mobility has stalled. Jobs have been offshored, industries have been automated. They are working harder and falling behind. The deep story gives them a villain for that feeling: a federal government that has forgotten them. Kevin: But what happens when that ideology, that deep story, smacks into a devastating reality? What about the people who can't just ignore the pollution because it's literally killing them and their families? What about people like the Arenos?

Michael: That's where the story gets truly heartbreaking. Harold and Annette Areno are a Cajun couple who have lived on Bayou d'Inde their whole lives. Harold remembers when the cypress trees were so tall and thick that the sun barely hit the marsh. They were self-sufficient—they fished from the bayou, they hunted, they lived off the land. Kevin: It sounds idyllic. Michael: It was. But then the petrochemical plants moved in. Over the years, the bayou died. Harold describes it as a 'tree graveyard.' The majestic cypress trees are now just gray, skeletal trunks. The fish are gone or contaminated. He told Hochschild, "I haven’t heard a bullfrog in this bayou for years." Kevin: That's just tragic. They've lost their entire world. Michael: They have. And it's not just the environment. It's their health. Harold and Annette have both had cancer. So have many of their siblings, their neighbors. They live in the heart of "Cancer Alley." They are, in every sense of the word, victims of industrial pollution. Kevin: So they must be furious, right? Leading protests, demanding government action? Michael: They are angry, but their anger is complicated. They did join a lawsuit against the companies, but after 18 years, it was dismissed for 'lack of evidence.' They feel abandoned. But their primary identity isn't as victims. It's as hardworking, resilient, faithful people. Their honor is tied to endurance. Kevin: So, admitting they're victims of a system they politically support would be a kind of surrender? Michael: In a way, yes. Their deep story is still powerful. They distrust the government, which they feel has never done anything for them. They value their community, their church, and their family. They see the plants, for all their poison, as providing jobs for their neighbors. It's a terrible trade-off, but it's one they feel they have to make. They feel like, as Harold says, "refugees in their own home." Kevin: Refugees in their own home. That's the title of the book right there. They're alienated from the land, from the government, from the culture. It's a profound sense of loss. Michael: It is. And it's that sense of loss, of mourning for a country they feel they no longer recognize, that fuels their political anger. They aren't voting for a politician; they're voting for a feeling—a feeling of being seen, of being honored, of no longer being a stranger.

Kevin: So when you put it all together, this 'Great Paradox' isn't a paradox at all. It's perfectly logical if you understand the deep story. Michael: Exactly. The Great Paradox isn't a failure of logic; it's a triumph of emotion. For the people in this book, the federal government isn't a safety net; it's the source of their cultural and economic injury. They feel their honor is at stake, and they'd rather trust a polluting company that offers jobs—a chance to stay in that symbolic line—than a government they feel is actively pushing them to the back. Kevin: They're making a choice based on emotional self-interest, not economic or physical self-interest. Feeling respected is more important than having clean air. Michael: When you feel like a stranger in your own country, yes. The promise of restoring your honor, of putting you back at the front of the line, is incredibly powerful. It's a promise that transcends policy debates about pollution levels or tax codes. Kevin: It makes you wonder what our own 'deep stories' are, the ones that feel true to us even when the facts seem to contradict them. What are the 'empathy walls' in our own lives, that prevent us from understanding people we disagree with? Michael: That's the question Hochschild leaves us with. It's a powerful one. And it's not about agreeing with the other side, but about understanding the emotional truth they're living in. We'd love to hear your thoughts on this. Find us on our socials and share what 'empathy walls' you see in the world around you. Kevin: It’s a challenge for all of us. This is Aibrary, signing off.