In politics today, outrage has become our most devalued social currency. Like a nation printing money without restraint, our political system has made so many withdrawals from the bank of moral indignation that inflation has rendered each new expression nearly worthless. 

Consequently, we now face a system that rewards those who inflame rather than inform, who divide rather than unite. I've previously lamented how our current political system does not reward leaders who work with people of opposing points of view to solve problems. Rather, our system rewards those who instigate conflict and exploit the fear and anger of the constituent groups that support them.

The media's relationship with outrage resembles a moth drawn to a flame — instinctual, predictable and potentially self-destructive. This dynamic helps explain why the concept of "fake news" has resonated across the political spectrum. It's not just about factual inaccuracies; it's about a media ecosystem that reacts to provocative statements and actions in such predictable ways that it can be manipulated into generating reactions every news cycle, burying substantive issues beneath waves of performative indignation.

President Donald Trump has mastered this manipulation, saying and doing so many provocative things that media outlets can’t restrain themselves because they feel a moral and professional obligation to report his every word and action because they appear to violate previously established norms. 

Several events from the past several months illustrate this dynamic perfectly. The Trump-Elon Musk feud recently exploded into a public social media war, with Trump threatening to cut Musk's government contracts and Musk responding by claiming Trump would have lost the election without his support and even agreeing with calls for Trump's impeachment. Media outlets provided wall-to-wall coverage. Similarly, Trump's comparison of the Ukraine-Russia war to "two young children fighting like crazy" who should sometimes be allowed to "fight for a while" generated nearly identical coverage across dozens of outlets. 

Another revealing example was the Gulf of America controversy, where Trump's executive order renaming the Gulf of Mexico led to The Associated Press being banned from White House events for refusing to use the new name, prompting a lawsuit and extensive media coverage about press freedom while the internet responded with a flood of memes.

What's particularly telling is that despite Trump receiving 92 percent negative coverage from major networks in his first 100 days — compared to 59 percent positive coverage President Joe Biden received four years ago — the networks devoted 1,716 minutes to Trump coverage versus only 726 minutes to Biden during the same period. 

Each provocative statement generates predictable cycles of outrage, analysis and counter-analysis that dominate news cycles while substantive policy debates about health care, infrastructure or economic policy receive comparatively little attention. The media, trapped in this reactive pattern, inadvertently becomes a participant in the very spectacle it seeks to impartially cover.

This constant cycle of provocation and reaction has contributed to what social scientists call outrage fatigue — a numbing of our collective capacity to be genuinely moved by transgressions that truly deserve our attention. When everything is framed as outrageous, nothing seems truly outrageous anymore. The danger is not just in any single political figure's rhetoric, but in how this approach to politics has been normalized.

What we're witnessing isn't mere happenstance but rather the product of deliberate systems with financial incentives. Media scholar Jeffrey Berry and sociologist Sarah Sobieraj documented how outrage discourse became a standard feature across cable news, talk radio and political blogs, with their research finding outrage incidents in 100 percent of cable news analysis programs, nearly 90 percent of radio shows and about 80 percent of political blogs.

This outrage discourse isn't just a reflection of genuine public sentiment but a business strategy. As former CBS CEO Les Moonves infamously said about Trump's 2016 candidacy: "It may not be good for America, but it's damn good for CBS." The economics are undeniable — controversial, attention-grabbing content helps draw audiences in a cluttered media landscape, and emotional outrage is particularly effective at driving engagement metrics.

Perhaps most concerningly, this environment has contributed to what David Brooks has called grand canyons separating different sectors of American society. In urban areas, as Brooks noted, "Trump's outrage du jour is on everybody's lips," while in rural America, such controversies can feel distant and irrelevant to daily life. These parallel information ecosystems have created fundamentally different understandings of our shared reality.

The constant stream of outrage has not merely drowned out substantive policy discussions, it has fundamentally transformed how we engage with policy itself. It appears we have reached a disturbing point where many Americans no longer distinguish between actual governance and provocative performance. Policy positions are now judged not by their potential effectiveness or alignment with public needs, but by how effectively they trigger opponents or signal tribal loyalty. 

This conflation represents a degradation of civic discourse. When a provocative social media post becomes indistinguishable from a policy proposal in the public mind, we lose our capacity to evaluate the actual ideas that will shape our collective future. The result is a political ecosystem where the most outrageous statement is mistaken for the most significant one, and where complex policy proposals only gain traction if they can be repackaged as weapons in culture war battles.

This outrage industry has transformed citizens into consumers of political entertainment rather than participants in democratic governance. Media personalities across the political spectrum — from Alex Jones' conspiracy-fueled InfoWars empire and Tucker Carlson's carefully calibrated provocations, to Glenn Beck's apocalyptic rhetoric and Rachel Maddow's Trump-focused resistance messaging — have built lucrative careers by perfecting the art of performative anger, crafting their personas around being provocateurs rather than problem-solvers.  

Politicians increasingly emulate this model. Consider Rep. Marjorie Taylor Greene's (R-GA) conspiracy theories about Jewish space lasers and weather control, Rep. Lauren Boebert's (R-CO) inflammatory "Jihad Squad" comments and theater controversies, Trump's relentless social media posting —  2,262 times in just 132 days of his second presidency — and Rep. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez's (D-NY) "Tax the Rich" Met Gala dress.

The research shows clear patterns of how controversy drives fundraising success. Greene raised $3.2 million in the first quarter of 2021 while Boebert faced criticism for sending pro-gun fundraising emails mere hours after the Boulder, Colorado, supermarket shooting that killed 10 people. This demonstrates how politicians seem to time provocative messaging to maximize donor response during news cycles.

In Nevada, this dynamic plays out in stark relief. When Washoe County commissioners debate housing policy or the Legislature considers education reforms, these substantive discussions struggle to compete with whatever controversy dominated X that morning. The result is a state where voters in Reno might know more about a Trump-Musk feud than their own city’s budget crisis.

The outrage industry thrives on a paradoxical dynamic. Even as we become exhausted by constant indignation, we remain addicted to its emotional intensity. Studies have shown that expressions of moral outrage trigger dopamine release patterns similar to other addictive behaviors. The business model depends on maintaining this cycle of addiction while constantly escalating the intensity to overcome growing tolerance.

Perhaps most concerning is how the outrage industry has transformed our collective understanding of what constitutes meaningful political participation. For many Americans, sharing expressions of outrage online or watching preferred commentators demolish political opponents has replaced more substantive forms of civic engagement such as community organizing, policy advocacy or even voting itself. When politics becomes primarily about emotional catharsis rather than collective problem-solving, we lose the foundational purpose of democratic governance.

The truth is that outrage is easy; wisdom is hard. Outrage can be manipulated; wisdom sees through the smoke and mirrors to address real issues thoughtfully. Democracy requires that citizens be able to deliberate together about common problems, which becomes nearly impossible when we're trapped in cycles of reaction and counterreaction.

Breaking out of this pattern requires a fundamental shift in how we approach political discourse and civic engagement. We must resist the temptation to be pulled into performance of outrage, even when provoked. We need to prioritize substance over spectacle. We should focus on solutions rather than endlessly rehearsing grievances. 

I am not suggesting abandoning moral principles or failing to call out genuine threats to our shared values. And, I am not advocating for finding a mushy middle ground between competing ideologies. 

Rather, I am arguing that we should approach our political differences with dignity rather than with performative indignation and approach politics with wisdom rather than reaction, with an unwavering commitment to building rather than destroying. Further, we must recognize that our shared future depends on finding ways to work through differences rather than weaponizing them.

What would this look like in practice? Choose to read the full policy proposal before sharing the inflammatory headline. Ask "What problem is this actually trying to solve?" before asking "How can I use this against my opponents?" Support candidates who can articulate specific solutions, not just grievances. Reward media outlets that explain rather than inflame by subscribing to substantive coverage rather than just clicking on outrage bait. 

Our capacity for meaningful outrage hasn't disappeared; it's simply been dulled by overuse. By approaching politics with wisdom rather than reaction, we might find ways to address the real challenges facing our country and the communities where we live, work and raise our families.

Jason D. Guinasso is an attorney with Greenman Goldberg Raby & Martinez in Reno and Las Vegas. Licensed in Nevada and California, he is a litigator and trial attorney. He also teaches business law at UNR and is a graduate student in the MALTS program at Regent College in Vancouver, British Columbia. The opinions expressed in this op-ed are those of the author in his personal capacity and do not necessarily reflect the views of his law firm, its clients or any other organization with which the author may be affiliated.

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