When We Organize
By Jonathon Reise, PfADC Communications Director and advocate for human-centered civic technology at B-59 Studio.
There's a concept in psychology — coined by Sigmund Freud, of all people — called the narcissism of small differences. Don't let the word "narcissism" put you off; this isn't about getting the perfect selfie. It's actually about something much more relatable, and arguably more dangerous. The idea is surprisingly simple: the closer two groups are to each other, the more intensely they tend to fight over the minor distinctions that remain between them. Neighbors bicker more bitterly than strangers. Siblings can wound each other in ways that acquaintances never could.
Sound familiar?
If you've spent any time in left-of-center political circles over the past decade, you've probably felt it. The Bernie-or-bust tensions of 2016. The bitter primary battles of 2020, where candidates who agreed on 80% of the issues spent most of their time sharpening attacks on each other's remaining 20%. The debates over purity, electability, compromise, and incrementalism that have fractured coalitions, drained energy, and — let's be honest — cost us elections we should have won.
We do this because we care. That's actually the painful irony. The narcissism of small differences doesn't afflict people who are indifferent. It afflicts people who are deeply invested — people for whom the details matter. And when you care deeply, a disagreement about tactics can feel like a disagreement about values. A difference in strategy can feel like a betrayal.
But here's what we need to hold onto. It isn't.
Someone who believes Medicare for All is the only moral path forward and someone who believes a strong public option is the achievable step toward that goal are not enemies. They are two people trying to get sick Americans covered. A voter who thinks the coalition needs to inspire higher turnout and one who thinks it needs to win over swing districts are not on opposite teams. They both want people who share their values in office making decisions instead of those who don't.
The difference between us and our political opponents is not small. It is vast. It spans questions about whether democracy itself should be defended, whether climate change is real and urgent, whether women control their own bodies, whether all Americans deserve equal protection under the law. These are not minor quibbles. They are foundational.
And yet, time and again, we have allowed the distances between us to feel larger than the distance between us and those who hold the levers of power and are pulling them in directions we fundamentally oppose. We have let the perfect become the enemy of the good, and the good become the enemy of the coalition.
The 2022 midterms gave us a glimpse of what's possible when that changes. Our side largely held together, organized relentlessly around concrete stakes — abortion rights, Social Security, democracy itself — and outperformed nearly every forecast. The lesson wasn't that disagreement disappeared. It's that we chose, in that moment, to hold the bigger picture in focus.
That choice is available to us at every meeting, every primary, every conversation about strategy and candidates and compromise. We can disagree, and we should. Debate within a coalition is healthy. It sharpens ideas and builds stronger platforms. But disagreement doesn't require contempt. Critique doesn't require disloyalty. Choosing a different lane doesn't mean you're not in the same race.
So here's the call: the next time you feel the heat rising over a difference that, in the grand scheme, is a matter of degree rather than direction — pause. Ask whether the energy you're about to spend tearing down an ally might be better aimed at the work that actually needs doing. Knock a door. Make a call. Show up for someone whose approach isn't identical to yours, because their goals are.
The narcissism of small differences is a trap. But we know it's there. That means we can choose to step around it.
And we should. Because when we organize?
We win.