How Political Media Targets Marginalized Communities [2025]

Introduction: The Architecture of Dehumanization in Modern Politics

There's a pattern that repeats itself with striking regularity in American political discourse. When a member of a marginalized community becomes the subject of intense media scrutiny following a controversial incident, the initial facts become almost irrelevant. Instead, what emerges is a coordinated campaign designed not to explain what happened, but to render the person involved undeserving of sympathy.

This isn't new, of course. But what's changed is the speed and coordination with which it happens.

When ICE agent Jonathan Ross fired multiple shots through a vehicle window in Minneapolis on January 7, killing Renee Nicole Good, a 37-year-old mother of three, the immediate government response was striking in its certainty. Within hours, officials from the Trump administration characterized the shooting not as a use-of-force incident but as a justified response to someone they portrayed as a threat. The narrative wasn't built on eyewitness accounts or physical evidence. Instead, it was constructed through a careful selection of identity markers that would supposedly explain why a mother of three deserved to be shot through her windshield, as detailed in The New York Times.

What happened next reveals something essential about how power operates through media ecosystems. Rather than engaging with the substantive questions about the shooting itself—questions about de-escalation, about the circumstances that led to the encounter, about the use of force protocols—a significant portion of the media landscape pivoted to attacking the person who was killed. But not through traditional criticism. Instead, through a systematic effort to establish that she was less than human. Less deserving. Less worthy of mourning, as noted by CBS News.

This dynamic has profound implications for how we understand contemporary politics, media responsibility, and the relationship between rhetoric and violence. Understanding how and why these campaigns work requires looking beyond the surface-level attacks to the underlying structures that make such dehumanization campaigns possible.

TL; DR

• Identity-Based Attacks Replace Evidence: When marginalized individuals face controversial incidents, coordinated media campaigns often focus on identity markers rather than facts, creating a dehumanization framework.
• Speed and Coordination Matter: Modern media ecosystems enable rapid narrative construction where government claims are amplified by partisan outlets within hours, before contradictory evidence can gain traction.
• Gendered and Sexualized Language Intensifies Attacks: Women facing scrutiny, particularly queer women, experience gendered slurs and attacks that go beyond political criticism into dehumanization.
• Parallel Historical Patterns: Contemporary attacks follow the same playbook used against Black Americans killed by police, revealing a consistent mechanism for justifying state violence against marginalized groups.
• Erasure Serves Strategic Functions: Recharacterizing partners as "friends," discounting relationships, and ignoring family structures delegitimizes entire communities while protecting the narrative.

Estimated data shows conservative media channels are more likely to amplify government narratives, while mainstream and social media present varied perspectives.

Understanding Modern Dehumanization: More Than Name-Calling

Dehumanization in contemporary politics operates differently than its historical predecessors. It's not simply crude stereotyping or overt slurs, though those certainly appear. Instead, modern dehumanization functions as a sophisticated infrastructure that uses multiple reinforcing mechanisms to achieve a singular goal: rendering certain people undeserving of basic human consideration.

When we examine systematic dehumanization campaigns, what we find is that they typically follow a specific sequence. First comes the incident or controversy. Within this context, powerful actors—government officials, media personalities with significant audiences—make initial claims about what occurred. These claims don't need to be accurate. They need to be authoritative and they need to be instantly amplified.

Second, the victim's identity becomes the focal point. Rather than engaging with what actually happened, the media ecosystem pivots to exploring, emphasizing, and ultimately weaponizing aspects of the person's identity. If they're a person of color, their criminal history becomes relevant (regardless of its actual connection to the incident). If they're queer, their sexuality becomes central to the narrative. If they're a woman, their role as a mother becomes either their greatest transgression or their greatest hypocrisy, depending on which argument is most convenient.

Third, this identity-based narrative serves as the implicit justification for the initial action. The logic, though rarely stated explicitly, follows this pattern: "Because of who this person is, the response was justified." The identity explanation eliminates the need to justify the action itself. If you can make the victim unpalatable enough, their death becomes their own fault.

This mechanism is important because it's reproducible. It doesn't require truth. It requires only a coordinated messaging apparatus and enough platforms to amplify the message before counter-narratives can develop.

Research into media framing shows that the first narrative to gain traction in a controversy typically remains dominant even after being contradicted by evidence. This is partly psychological—people tend to cling to initial information—but it's also structural. Media outlets, particularly partisan ones, make editorial decisions about which stories get amplified, which get buried, and which get reframed entirely, as discussed in a recent study.

Estimated data shows government officials and media outlets as primary influencers in narrative production, closely followed by technology companies and political organizations.

How Government Narratives Reach the Public Through Partisan Media

One of the most significant changes in American political communication over the past decade has been the collapse of the traditional firewall between government communication and media reporting. What once required careful choreography now happens almost instantaneously through coordinated messaging.

In the immediate hours following the shooting in Minneapolis, the Department of Homeland Security secretary made public statements characterizing the shooting. The President made statements. The Vice President made statements. These weren't tentative observations or calls for investigation. They were definitive characterizations of what occurred, presented with certainty despite video evidence suggesting a different narrative, as reported by PBS NewsHour.

These statements then traveled through specific media channels. Conservative outlets, which had already established an editorial stance on immigration enforcement and protests, seized on these government claims and amplified them. But they didn't simply repeat them. They integrated them into existing narratives about urban unrest, about the threat posed by certain activists, about the need for strong law enforcement action.

This process is crucial to understand because it reveals how modern political communication creates what researchers call "echo chambers" or "filter bubbles." People consuming primarily conservative media received a narrative about what happened that was constructed from government claims, amplified through partisan outlets, and reinforced through algorithms that showed them similar content repeatedly.

Meanwhile, other media outlets, and the bystander videos that showed something different, existed in a parallel information ecosystem. Someone watching mainstream news might have seen different details emphasized. Someone on social media might have encountered multiple conflicting narratives.

What didn't happen was a genuine attempt to establish shared facts. Instead, what emerged was competing narratives constructed for different audiences, each reinforced by the algorithmic architecture of the platforms through which they were distributed.

This fragmentation of information space isn't accidental. It's the direct result of policy decisions made by technology companies, media organizations, and political actors over the past fifteen years. The incentive structures reward engagement over accuracy, outrage over explanation, and simplicity over nuance.

Identity as a Weapon: The Weaponization of Queerness in Political Narratives

What distinguished the media campaign following this incident from some previous comparable situations was the central role played by the victim's identity as a queer woman. This wasn't peripheral to the attacks. It was central.

When media figures emphasized that the victim was in a same-sex partnership, they weren't simply providing biographical information. They were activating a specific political context in which LGBTQ identities have become increasingly controversial in partisan discourse. By highlighting queerness, these commentators were signaling to their audience that this was not an ordinary person whose death might warrant mourning. This was someone whose very identity had already been marked as transgressive, as outside the bounds of acceptable society.

The specific language used matters here. When a commentator refers to a same-sex partner as a "so-called wife" rather than simply "partner" or "wife," they're performing a specific rhetorical act. They're expressing doubt about the legitimacy of the relationship itself. They're suggesting that the relationship isn't real, doesn't count, isn't worthy of recognition. This delegitimization isn't incidental to the broader narrative. It's central to it.

Similarly, when commentators highlighted that an Instagram profile included pronouns, they were again activating a specific contemporary political culture war in which pronouns have become a contentious symbol. In some conservative political discourse, pronouns in profiles have become shorthand for a particular type of activism and a particular relationship to traditional values. By pointing to this detail, commentators weren't providing neutral information. They were arguing that this detail was relevant to justifying what happened.

The language employed in these attacks was also notable for its gendered and sexualized nature. Terms like "lesbian agitator" and more explicitly crude insults served specific functions. First, they marked the target as someone engaged in political activism. Second, they sexualized the target in ways that are specifically directed at women and particularly at queer women. This sexualization serves to delegitimize both the person and their political positions. If you can make someone the object of sexual mockery, you've already partially evacuated their humanity and their right to be taken seriously.

This dynamic has deep historical roots. Throughout American history, the sexuality of marginalized women has been weaponized to deny them credibility, legitimacy, and sympathy. What's different now is the speed and reach with which such attacks can be deployed.

Editorial choices and identity markers are significant contributors to dehumanization in media, each estimated to account for about 30% and 25% respectively of the overall influence. Estimated data.

Motherhood as a Weapon: How Domestic Ideals Are Used Against Women

Another striking element of the media campaign was the attack on the victim's role as a mother. This might seem counterintuitive—surely having children would make someone more sympathetic, not less? But political attacks are often designed to highlight contradictions or hypocrisies, real or imagined, between identity categories.

When commentators suggested that the victim was a "bad mother" for being engaged in activist work, they were invoking a specific ideology about women's proper role. According to this framework, mothers have a duty to prioritize their children above all else. Any activity that takes a mother away from her children—particularly activism or political engagement—becomes evidence of moral failure.

This attack is particularly effective because it operates within the target's own value system. If we grant that being a good mother is important (and most people do), then the accusation becomes: "You're failing at your primary responsibility." It's an argument designed to create internal conflict, to make the target question her own choices and priorities.

But this attack also serves another function in the broader dehumanization campaign. By focusing on motherhood, commentators implicitly acknowledge that the target was a person with relationships, with responsibilities, with connections to others. Yet rather than using this to humanize the target, they weaponize it. The existence of children becomes evidence of moral failure rather than evidence of humanity.

This inversion is characteristic of sophisticated dehumanization campaigns. Rather than denying the humanity of the target outright, the campaign acknowledges certain aspects of it but reframes them as damning. Yes, she was a mother—which makes her activism even more irresponsible. Yes, she was in a committed relationship—which makes her activism even more selfish. The humanity is acknowledged only to be used against the target.

Research on how motherhood is discussed in political discourse shows that this framework is applied unevenly. Men engaged in activism are rarely criticized for being away from their children. But women, and particularly queer women, face intense scrutiny on this dimension. The standard applied is different, revealing underlying assumptions about women's proper role and responsibilities.

The Leaked Video as Narrative Control: Manufacturing Evidence

One critical moment in this narrative chain was the emergence of leaked video footage purporting to show the moments before the shooting. The timing and source of this video deserve scrutiny because they reveal how the physical evidence itself can be weaponized in service of a predetermined narrative.

The video came from a source with apparent access to law enforcement materials. Its appearance in the media ecosystem wasn't accidental or organic. It was strategically released to a specific outlet known for its conservative editorial stance. The timing of the release was significant as well—it came after initial narratives had been established, providing what appeared to be corroborating evidence.

But the most revealing element of how this video was used was what wasn't edited out. The video contained crude language, including explicit slurs. Rather than removing this language—which would be standard editorial practice at most reputable news organizations—the conservative outlet that received the video apparently left it intact. In fact, commentators highlighted the language, using it as further evidence of the lack of civility or propriety on the part of those involved.

This choice is important because it reveals something about the goals of the campaign. The goal wasn't to establish accurate facts about what happened. The goal was to provide ammunition for the dehumanization campaign. A cleaned-up, edited version of the video might have provoked different interpretations. But leaving the crude language intact, and then highlighting it, served the narrative that the people involved were crude, undeserving of sympathy, and outside the bounds of acceptable conduct.

This dynamic illustrates a broader problem with how evidence is handled in polarized political contexts. Physical evidence—video, audio, documents—doesn't speak for itself. It's always interpreted within a framework of assumptions and political narratives. The same video can be interpreted as showing defensive action, as showing confrontation, as showing various things depending on the framework through which it's viewed.

What determines which interpretation gains traction isn't the objective content of the evidence. It's the distribution of power within media ecosystems and the ability of powerful actors to establish frameworks through which evidence is understood.

Estimated data showing how dehumanization campaigns intensify through systematic stages, from initial incidents to normalization.

Drawing Parallels: How This Campaign Mirrors Historical Dehumanization Tactics

When we examine how this campaign unfolded, we notice striking similarities to how dehumanization campaigns have targeted other marginalized groups in different contexts. Understanding these parallels is crucial to recognizing the pattern.

Following the death of George Floyd at the hands of police in Minneapolis in 2020, media outlets engaged in what researchers have documented as character assassination campaigns. Rather than examining the use of force or the conduct of the officers involved, significant portions of the media focused on Floyd's criminal history, his toxicology report, his personal struggles. The implicit logic was: "Here's why his death wasn't actually a problem. Look at who he was."

This campaign followed a specific script that had been deployed many times before. Whenever a Black person was killed by law enforcement, conservative media would engage in rapid character assassination. The person's past mistakes would be excavated and highlighted. The circumstances of their death would be downplayed. The implicit message to audiences was: "This person's death isn't worth mourning because of who they were."

Similar dynamics emerged following the death of Trayvon Martin in 2012. Rather than examining the circumstances of the shooting itself, media focus shifted to Martin's clothing, his school discipline records, his social media presence. Each of these details was deployed to construct a narrative in which Martin's death was somehow his own fault, or at least not a genuine tragedy worthy of national attention.

In the case of Renee Good, the script was deployed again, but with a modification. Rather than focusing on criminal history (which didn't exist), the attack focused on identity. Her queerness, her activism, her role as a queer mother, her identity as a white woman engaged in what was framed as self-indulgent activism. The specifics were different, but the underlying logic was identical: "Here's why this person deserves what happened to them."

This consistency across cases suggests that what we're looking at isn't individual media outlets making independent editorial choices. It's a reproducible logic that emerges from specific political frameworks and is deployed to achieve similar goals: to justify state violence by rendering the victim undeserving of sympathy.

The Role of Institutional Power in Narrative Production

Understanding how these dehumanization campaigns work requires understanding the role of institutional power in producing and amplifying narratives. Government officials, media personalities, technology companies, and political organizations don't operate in isolation. They operate within systems that have been constructed to facilitate rapid message distribution and narrative control.

When a government official makes a statement about an incident, that statement carries institutional authority. It comes from an office, from someone with recognized power and responsibility. When a media outlet amplifies that statement, they're not simply reporting news. They're legitimizing the official narrative and distributing it through channels that reach millions of people.

What's changed in recent years is the speed and directness of this process. Where government narratives once had to pass through journalistic gatekeepers—reporters who might question, verify, or provide context—they now flow directly through partisan media channels to audiences without significant filtration.

This matters because it means that false or misleading narratives can achieve enormous distribution before any corrective information can gain traction. By the time fact-checkers or alternative media sources provide counter-narratives, the initial story has already shaped how millions of people understand the situation.

Technology companies play a significant role in this process as well. The algorithms that determine what content is shown to users in their feeds are designed to maximize engagement. Outrageous claims, emotional appeals, and content that activates strong political identities are algorithmically favored over careful, nuanced analysis. This means that dehumanization campaigns, which are designed to be emotionally provocative, are often algorithmically amplified beyond what a traditional media organization might have chosen to broadcast.

The result is a media ecosystem in which certain narratives are systematically elevated and others are systematically suppressed, not necessarily through deliberate censorship but through the accumulated effect of thousands of individual algorithmic and editorial decisions, all of which tend toward similar outcomes.

The pie chart illustrates the estimated distribution of motivations behind the strategic release of the leaked video. Narrative control and dehumanization campaigns are the primary motivations, accounting for 70% of the rationale. (Estimated data)

Erasure as Strategy: Rewriting Relationships and Identities

One particularly revealing element of the media campaign was the systematic erasure of the victim's relationship and identity. When government officials referred to her same-sex partner as her "friend," they were engaging in a specific rhetorical strategy designed to delegitimize the relationship itself.

This erasure serves multiple functions simultaneously. First, it denies the relationship's reality or legitimacy. If the victim's partner is merely a "friend," then the relationship isn't as significant, isn't as worthy of protection or recognition. Second, it erases an entire category of human relationships—same-sex partnerships—from institutional recognition. Third, it removes a category of persons—LGBTQ individuals—from the protections and recognitions that come with institutional acknowledgment.

This erasure is not incidental to the broader campaign. It's central to it. By denying the victim's identity as a queer woman in a same-sex relationship, commentators were attempting to remove that entire dimension of identity from the public record. If she's not really queer, if her partner is just a friend, then those identity markers can't be used to dehumanize her. But by the time such erasure occurs, the damage is done. The dehumanization campaign has already operated through those very identity markers.

This dynamic reveals something important about how power operates through language and institutional recognition. By controlling what identities are recognized, what relationships are acknowledged, what people are permitted to be in the public imagination, political actors exercise profound power over whose humanity is recognized and whose is denied.

The Chilling Effect: How Dehumanization Campaigns Shape Public Behavior

One consequence of successful dehumanization campaigns that's often overlooked is their effect on the behavior of others. Beyond the immediate target and their direct supporters, these campaigns communicate a message to broader publics: engaging in certain types of activism, identifying with certain communities, or opposing certain government policies can result in your death being justified and your character being destroyed.

Reports from activists and protesters in Minneapolis documented that law enforcement agents explicitly referenced the shooting and framing that followed as a warning to others. The message wasn't subtle: "This is what happens to people like you if you don't comply. And when it happens, the media will justify it."

This chilling effect is important because it represents a mechanism through which dehumanization campaigns don't just affect individual targets. They affect entire categories of people. When members of marginalized communities see that people like them—people who share their identity, their politics, their community—can be killed with impunity and then have their character destroyed, it changes behavior. People become less likely to engage in activism. They become more cautious about public identification with political causes or marginalized communities.

This behavioral shift is often the goal of dehumanization campaigns. The target isn't just to justify past violence. It's to prevent future resistance or activism by making clear the costs of such engagement.

This dynamic has been documented in historical studies of oppression. When state violence is paired with campaigns that make victims seem undeserving of sympathy, it's particularly effective at deterring future activism. The combination sends a dual message: "We will use violence against you, and we will convince others that you deserve it."

Estimated data shows a predominant focus on character assassination over circumstances of death in media coverage of these cases. This pattern highlights the consistent use of dehumanization tactics.

Gendered Violence and the Politics of Respectability

Another dimension of this campaign that deserves examination is how gendered expectations about respectable behavior shaped the response. Throughout the media coverage, there were implicit (and sometimes explicit) arguments that the victim had violated norms of appropriate female behavior. She was out protesting when she should have been home with her children. She was confrontational with law enforcement when she should have been deferential. She was engaged in activism when she should have been focused on her family.

These arguments deploy what scholars call "respectability politics"—the framework that marginalized people must behave impeccably, must conform to the highest standards of propriety, in order to deserve basic human rights and protections. The problem with respectability politics is that the standard of respectability is always shifting, always defined by those in power, and always calibrated so that marginalized people can't meet it.

A woman engaging in activism will be criticized for not being home. A woman staying home will be criticized for not engaging in activism. A woman in a same-sex relationship will be criticized for her sexuality. A woman hiding her sexuality will be criticized for not being authentic. The standard of respectability is designed to be unattainable because the goal isn't actually to establish a standard that marginalized people can meet. The goal is to provide justification for denying them rights regardless of their behavior.

When this framework is applied specifically to women killed by state violence, the effect is particularly pernicious. It transforms the incident from a question of police conduct or use-of-force policy into a question about the victim's moral character. Rather than asking "Did the agent act appropriately?" the media asks "Was the victim behaving appropriately?" The focus shifts entirely from those with power and responsibility to those without.

The Role of Bystander Video and Counter-Narratives

Despite the coordinated nature of the dehumanization campaign, bystander video and alternative media sources did provide counter-narratives. These counter-narratives showed a different sequence of events than government officials had claimed. They showed someone attempting to leave a situation, not attacking anyone. They provided evidence that contradicted key claims made by government officials.

But what's instructive is what didn't happen. The existence of contradictory evidence didn't stop the dehumanization campaign. It didn't reverse the initial narratives. It didn't result in unified agreement about what actually occurred. Instead, what happened is that the contradictory evidence was incorporated into different media ecosystems. Some audiences never saw the bystander video or saw only curated versions of it. Other audiences saw the video but didn't trust it because it contradicted the narratives they'd already been shown by trusted sources.

This dynamic illustrates a crucial problem with how evidence and facts operate in polarized political contexts. Physical evidence doesn't automatically resolve disputes about what happened. Instead, evidence itself becomes politicized. The very same video can be interpreted entirely differently depending on the political framework people bring to interpreting it.

This has profound implications for how accountability works in political contexts. If evidence itself becomes contested and politicized, then traditional mechanisms of accountability—investigation, review, legal processes—become ineffective unless they can transcend the polarized interpretation of evidence. But media campaigns specifically designed to establish alternative frameworks for interpreting evidence actively work against such transcendence.

The Technology Platform Problem: How Algorithms Amplify Dehumanization

Technology platforms play a crucial and often understudied role in enabling dehumanization campaigns. The algorithms that govern what content is visible, what gets amplified, what trends, are designed around engagement metrics. Outrage, controversy, and emotionally provocative content perform better on these metrics than careful analysis or nuance.

Dehumanization campaigns are designed to be outrage-inducing. They use crude language, they attack identities, they make inflammatory claims. This content is algorithmically favored. It appears in more feeds, to more people, more frequently than careful counter-narratives or attempts at explanation.

Moreover, the algorithmic tendency to create filter bubbles means that people encountering one version of a narrative are shown reinforcing content that further cements that narrative. Someone who encounters one dehumanizing characterization of a target will be shown more such characterizations. The algorithms are designed to show people more of what they've engaged with previously.

This creates a specific problem for counter-narratives. Even if alternative media sources provide evidence-based counter-narratives, these are less likely to be algorithmically amplified. They're less likely to appear in the feeds of people who have already encountered dehumanizing characterizations. The algorithm has already sorted such people into a specific filter bubble.

Technology companies claim to be neutral platforms, but their design choices have profound political effects. By choosing to optimize for engagement, by choosing to allow certain types of content, by designing algorithms that create filter bubbles, technology companies are making editorial choices with enormous political consequences. The platforms aren't separate from the dehumanization campaigns. They're infrastructure enabling them.

Intersectionality and Compounded Vulnerability

One way to understand why this particular dehumanization campaign was so effective is to examine how the target's multiple marginalized identities compounded her vulnerability. She wasn't simply a queer woman. She was also a woman, also engaged in activism around immigration enforcement, also involved in a same-sex relationship, also a mother. Each of these identities opened up different angles of attack.

This is what scholars mean when they discuss intersectionality—the recognition that people with multiple marginalized identities face forms of discrimination and dehumanization that are distinct from, and often more severe than, the discrimination faced by people with a single marginalized identity.

In this case, the dehumanization campaign could attack the target through her identity as a woman (using gendered expectations about appropriate behavior), through her identity as a queer woman (using homophobic slurs and delegitimization of her relationship), through her identity as a mother (using arguments about appropriate parental priorities), and through her political engagement (characterizing her activism as illegitimate or extreme). Each attack reinforced the others. Each opened up new angles for the campaign.

This compounding effect meant that the campaign was particularly effective because it could recruit multiple constituencies and multiple political frameworks to the same dehumanization goal. People who were opposed to same-sex relationships could join the campaign through that angle. People who held traditional views about motherhood and women's proper role could join through that angle. People opposed to immigration activism could join through that angle. The campaign was designed to be modular in a way that allowed different people to attach to it through different political commitments.

Precedents and Patterns: Recognition and Repetition

When we examine dehumanization campaigns across different contexts and different time periods, we notice remarkable consistency in patterns and strategies. This consistency suggests that what we're looking at isn't random or chaotic. It's systematic and reproducible.

Historically, dehumanization campaigns have been deployed to justify violence against Black Americans, Indigenous Americans, immigrants, LGBTQ people, religious minorities, and other marginalized groups. The specific content varies—the attacks are tailored to activate existing prejudices and political frameworks—but the underlying structure is consistent.

First, an incident occurs (or is constructed). Second, powerful actors claim authority to interpret that incident. Third, the victim's identity becomes central to the interpretation. Fourth, characteristics of the victim's identity are presented as justification for what occurred. Fifth, this narrative is amplified through available media channels. Sixth, alternative narratives are marginalized or delegitimized. Seventh, the dehumanization becomes normalized and accepted as common sense.

Once we recognize this pattern, we can begin to identify it operating in real-time. We can notice when government narratives are being constructed before evidence is available. We can notice when media coverage focuses on victim characteristics rather than on the conduct of those with power. We can notice when coordinated campaigns emerge to delegitimize counter-narratives.

Recognition doesn't automatically prevent dehumanization campaigns from being effective—the structural advantages held by powerful actors are substantial. But it does provide some resistance. It creates space for asking different questions, for demanding different evidence, for refusing the predetermined narrative.

Policy Implications: What Needs to Change

If we take seriously the problem of dehumanization campaigns and their role in justifying state violence, several policy implications emerge. These aren't primarily individual or personal changes. They're structural and institutional.

First, media organizations need to explicitly adopt editorial standards that prevent the amplification of dehumanization rhetoric. This means refusing to publish crude slurs, refusing to participate in character assassination campaigns, refusing to allow victim identity to become the primary focus of coverage about incidents involving state violence. This sounds straightforward, but it requires resisting enormous pressure and market incentives.

Second, government officials need to be held accountable for making false or misleading characterizations of incidents before evidence is available. This might mean pushback from media organizations, demands for retraction or clarification, or in some cases, investigation of whether officials have violated laws regarding obstruction of justice or evidence tampering.

Third, technology platforms need to be redesigned to reduce the amplification of dehumanizing rhetoric. This doesn't necessarily mean censorship, but it does mean choosing not to algorithmically favor outrage and emotionally provocative content. It means designing filters and recommendations that encourage exposure to diverse viewpoints rather than reinforcing existing beliefs.

Fourth, investment is needed in media literacy and critical consumption of political narratives. People need tools to recognize dehumanization campaigns, to understand how narratives are constructed, to resist being divided by identity-based attacks. Such media literacy can't counter the structural advantages held by powerful actors, but it can create some space for resistance.

Fifth, there need to be consequences for participation in coordinated dehumanization campaigns. When media figures and government officials engage in systematic character assassination designed to justify state violence, there need to be professional, legal, or otherwise meaningful consequences. Currently, the incentive structure rewards such behavior.

The Future of Dehumanization in Political Discourse

Looking forward, there's reason for concern that dehumanization campaigns will become more sophisticated, more coordinated, and more effective. Artificial intelligence and machine learning enable rapid production of targeted propaganda. Deepfake technology makes possible the creation of false evidence. Algorithmic tools make possible the precise targeting of dehumanization messages to specific audiences most susceptible to them.

At the same time, there's reason for some hope. As people recognize these patterns and the damage they cause, resistance is becoming more visible. Fact-checking organizations, academic researchers, independent journalists, and community members are explicitly calling out dehumanization campaigns when they occur. Alternative media sources are providing counter-narratives. Some technology companies are beginning to recognize their role in amplifying harmful content and making (admittedly inadequate) efforts to change.

The trajectory isn't predetermined. What's needed is sustained attention to how dehumanization operates, commitment to resisting it even when it's politically convenient, and willingness to change institutional structures that enable it. Without such commitment, the patterns documented here will continue and likely intensify.

Conclusion: Humanity as a Political Question

At its core, the dehumanization campaign examined here raises a question that extends far beyond the specific individuals and incidents involved. It's a question about who gets to be considered human, who gets to be mourned, who deserves protection under law and in public discourse.

Dehumanization doesn't occur in a vacuum. It's not the spontaneous expression of individual bigotry, though individual bigotry is often present. Instead, it's a structured process that involves powerful actors making choices about what narratives to amplify, what identities to weaponize, what victims to render undeserving of sympathy.

When government officials mischaracterize incidents before evidence is available, when media organizations amplify those mischaracterizations, when technology companies algorithmically favor emotionally provocative content, when political figures deploy crude language and slurs, they're not simply expressing opinions. They're exercising power to determine whose humanity will be recognized and whose will be denied.

This has profound implications. When the humanity of certain people is systematically denied, when they're rendered undeserving of sympathy or protection, the way is prepared for violence against them. The violence itself becomes just—something they brought upon themselves through who they are and how they behave.

Resisting dehumanization requires more than individual moral clarity, though that's necessary. It requires institutional change, media accountability, technological redesign, and political will to prioritize human dignity over narrative control and political advantage. It requires recognizing that how we talk about people who are harmed by state violence matters enormously.

Every person possesses an inherent dignity that doesn't depend on their career choices, their activism, their sexuality, their relationships, their parental status, or any other identity marker. When dehumanization campaigns suggest otherwise, when they imply that certain people deserve what happens to them because of who they are, they're attacking a foundational principle of human rights and dignity.

The choice to resist such campaigns, to refuse the predetermined narratives, to insist on recognizing the full humanity of all people regardless of their identities and choices—that's the core challenge facing contemporary political discourse. How we respond to that challenge will determine whether we move toward greater recognition of human dignity or toward its systematic erosion.

FAQ

What is dehumanization in political discourse?

Dehumanization in political discourse refers to the systematic process of portraying certain groups or individuals as less than fully human, undeserving of sympathy, protection, or basic consideration. It operates through selective emphasis on identity markers, character assassination, and the construction of narratives that render victims responsible for their own mistreatment. Unlike simple criticism or disagreement, dehumanization campaigns use coordinated messaging across media platforms to establish specific frameworks for understanding incidents and individuals.

How do media organizations participate in dehumanization campaigns?

Media organizations participate through editorial choices about what information to emphasize, which narratives to amplify, and which sources to privilege. When coverage focuses on victim characteristics rather than on the conduct of powerful actors, when crude language is highlighted rather than removed, when government narratives are amplified before fact-checking occurs, media organizations are making choices that enable dehumanization. These choices are often driven by engagement metrics and political incentives rather than journalistic standards.

Why are identity markers weaponized in dehumanization campaigns?

Identity markers are weaponized because they activate existing political frameworks and prejudices. By highlighting that someone is queer, or belongs to a particular racial group, or holds certain political views, commentators can activate the existing prejudices and political frameworks audiences already hold. This allows the dehumanization campaign to recruit diverse constituencies and political perspectives toward the same goal. Identity markers also serve to render targets particularly vulnerable, as they can be attacked simultaneously through multiple frameworks.

What role do technology platforms play in enabling dehumanization campaigns?

Technology platforms enable dehumanization through algorithmic design choices. By optimizing for engagement, platforms algorithmically favor outrage-inducing content, which is precisely what dehumanization campaigns produce. The filter bubble effect means that people who encounter dehumanizing narratives are shown reinforcing content that further cements those narratives. While platforms claim neutrality, their design choices have profound political consequences that enable coordinated dehumanization campaigns.

How does this pattern connect to historical dehumanization of marginalized groups?

Contemporary dehumanization campaigns follow the same underlying structure as historical precedents targeting Black Americans, Indigenous peoples, immigrants, LGBTQ people, and religious minorities. The specific content changes to activate existing prejudices, but the pattern remains consistent: an incident occurs, powerful actors claim interpretive authority, victim identity becomes central to the narrative, identity characteristics are presented as justification for harm, and alternative narratives are marginalized. Recognizing this pattern helps identify dehumanization campaigns operating in real-time.

What are the consequences of successful dehumanization campaigns beyond the immediate victims?

Successful dehumanization campaigns create chilling effects on activism and public engagement among members of targeted communities. When people see that individuals who share their identity, politics, or community can be killed with impunity and have their character destroyed through media campaigns, they become less likely to engage in activism or public identification with marginalized communities. This behavioral suppression extends the campaign's impact far beyond individual targets to entire categories of people. Additionally, such campaigns establish precedents for future dehumanization efforts and normalize the rhetoric and tactics used.

How can individuals recognize and resist dehumanization campaigns?

Individuals can recognize dehumanization campaigns by examining the focus of media coverage. If coverage emphasizes victim characteristics rather than conduct of powerful actors, if it uses crude language and slurs, if it includes coordinated messaging across multiple outlets, if it deploys identity markers as justification for harm, these are indicators of a dehumanization campaign. Resisting such campaigns involves refusing predetermined narratives, seeking diverse information sources, questioning government claims before evidence is available, and insisting on recognizing the full humanity of all people regardless of their identities or political positions.

Key Takeaways

• Dehumanization campaigns follow predictable structures: incident occurrence, official narrative establishment, victim identity weaponization, identity-based justification, and narrative amplification
• Identity markers are systematically weaponized—queerness, motherhood, activism, relationships—to activate existing prejudices and create justifications for violence
• Technology platforms algorithmically amplify emotionally provocative dehumanization content while marginalizing nuanced counter-narratives
• Successful dehumanization campaigns create chilling effects extending far beyond immediate targets, suppressing activism among entire communities
• Contemporary campaigns mirror historical dehumanization patterns used against Black Americans, Indigenous peoples, and other marginalized groups

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