Three Ps have infiltrated political and public debate in the last few years: populism, polarisation and post-truth. Especially concerning is the stark political polarisation that has made contentious issues the subject of toxic debates, pushing common ground further away.
Amid this tumult, I’d like to propose introducing a fourth P: poetry. Poetry might seem very distant from politics, yet I believe its potential is vast. Poetry can spark empathy, transporting readers into the experiences of others, and offers the nuanced human perspective often missing in polarised public debates.
To understand poetry’s transformative power, consider its potential to shift the Overton window – a term used to describe the range of concepts, ideas and policies and ideas deemed acceptable in public discourse.
Over time, this window can evolve, turning once-radical ideas into mainstream beliefs. For example, consider how the notion of civil rights evolved from a radical idea to a widely embraced principle. Poetry, with its capacity to evoke empathy, can play a pivotal role in this shift. Right now, this can be explored through two high-profile crises: climate change and refugees.
Climate: making an abstract threat feel real
The climate emergency can often feel distant and abstract, overshadowed by immediate concerns. But how can poetry make this existential threat feel real and urgent?
Consider Craig Santos Perez’s poignant poem Rings of Fire. These lines capture its essence:
We host our daughter’s first birthday party
during the hottest April in history.
Outside, my dad grills meat over charcoal;
inside, my mom steams rice and roasts
vegetables. They’ve traveled from California,
where drought carves trees into tinder — “Paradise
is burning.” When our daughter’s first fever spiked,
the doctor said, “It’s a sign she’s fighting infection.”
Bloodshed surges with global temperatures,
which know no borders.
In this intimate portrayal of a birthday celebration, Perez illustrates the subtle effects of the climate crisis. The act of grilling meat takes on profound symbolism, reminding us of the intertwined nature of personal joys and global concerns.
Kathy Jetñil-Kijiner’s Dear Matafele Peinam is a heartfelt letter to her daughter, promising to fight against climate change. The following lines capture both the gravity of the impending disaster and the resilient spirit of those determined to combat it:
We are
families biking, recycling, reusing
engineers dreaming, designing, building
artists painting, dancing, writing
and we are spreading the word
and there are thousands out on the street
marching with signs
hand in hand
chanting for change NOW
and they’re marching for you, baby
they’re marching for us
This verse brings the impacts of climate change up close and personal, transforming theoretical predictions into palpable urgency. Poetry has the power to shift the Overton window by triggering a gut-level sense that things have to change.
Refugee crisis: from demons to humans
Globally, xenophobic rhetoric dehumanises refugees, reducing them to threats and invaders, manipulating fear rather than fostering understanding of displaced people’s harrowing journeys and pain. How might poetry counter such harmful narratives?
Warsan Shire’s Home places an evocative lens onto the visceral struggles faced by refugees. Her haunting words confront the reader with the stark realities that drive individuals to flee their homes:
no one leaves home unless
home is the mouth of a shark
you only run for the border
when you see the whole city running as well
Instead of portraying refugees as ‘other’, Shire’s poem allows us to walk, even if briefly, in their shoes, painting a heartbreaking portrait of the desperation, fear and risk that underpins these journeys.
Similarly, Carolyn Forché’s The Boatman opens up the intricate mosaic of emotions and experiences of refugees:
We are thirty-one souls all, he said, on the gray-sick of sea
in a cold rubber boat, rising and falling in our filth.
By morning this didn’t matter, no land was in sight,
all were soaked to the bone, living and dead.
We could still float, we said, from war to war.
What lay behind us but ruins of stone piled on ruins of stone?
Such deeply humanising poems pierce the fearmongering and reveal refugees as fellow beings seeking safety and an end to suffering. Poetry expands the Overton window by framing the choice before us as one of compassion versus cruelty, rather than ‘us versus them’.
The poetic perspective
In this age of populism, polarisation and post-truth, we need clarity and unity more than ever. Amid the divisions, poetry can serve as a bridge, not just offering an escape, but providing insights that encourage us to see the world from perspectives other than our own.
While poetry has often been regarded as elitist and opaque, it can be a powerful means of reimagining complex issues when it uses authentic language and relatable scenarios. Poets like Craig Santos Perez and Carolyn Forché exemplify this approach, addressing global issues in ways that resonate with diverse audiences. Similarly, fostering community poetry initiatives, such as spoken word events and writing workshops can create spaces for people to share their perspectives and experiences.
Critics might argue that poetry can’t match the impact of populist slogans and fear-driven media. However, focusing solely on these limitations overlooks poetry’s quiet power. Programmes like the Climate Change Poetry project and Refugee Poetry Project amplify the voices of those directly affected. By platforming diverse voices, poetry can serve as a potent tool for fostering empathy and understanding in a world grappling with complex global challenges.
While one poem might not change deep-seated beliefs, the collective impact of humanising stories can soften hardened boundaries, sowing seeds of greater compassion in the future.
Sam Illingworth is Associate Professor: Learning and Teaching at Edinburgh Napier University.
Poetry and Pedagogy in Higher Education By Sam Illingworth and Kirsten Jack is available here for £45.00 on the Bristol University Press website.
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