The country has sorted itself ideologically into the two

“The country has sorted itself ideologically into the two political parties, and those partisan attachments have hardened in recent years. It will take an extraordinary event and act of leadership to break this partisan divide. I thought 9/11 might provide such an opportunity, but it was not seized.” – Thomas E. Mann

In these sober and piercing words, Thomas E. Mann, one of America’s most insightful political scholars, speaks not merely of politics, but of the fracturing of the human spirit that underlies all division. His lament is not the complaint of a cynic, but the sorrow of a sage who has watched a once-great dialogue between citizens turn into a war of tribes. He tells us that ideology, which once served as a tool for progress and balance, has become a prison of identity—where loyalty to party outweighs loyalty to truth, and where cooperation, that highest virtue of democracy, has been replaced by suspicion and rage.

The meaning of this quote runs deeper than the political moment it describes. Mann’s insight touches upon an ancient truth: that the strength of a nation lies not in uniformity, but in unity amid difference. When people cease to listen across divides—when they harden their hearts into camps of “us” and “them”—the soul of a republic begins to decay. The great philosopher Aristotle once said that a city is destroyed not when its walls fall, but when its citizens cease to see one another as partners in a common enterprise. Mann’s words echo this wisdom in the modern age, reminding us that the most perilous enemy of democracy is not foreign invasion, but partisan entrenchment.

The origin of Mann’s reflection lies in his lifelong study of American governance. For decades, he observed the gradual sorting of the nation’s two major political parties—once broad coalitions of diverse views—into rigid ideological camps. Where once there was room for debate within each party, there now stood walls of purity tests and dogma. He witnessed how partisan media, gerrymandering, and the echo chambers of the digital age amplified resentment, turning politics from a contest of ideas into a contest of identities. His reference to September 11, 2001, was not casual; it was deeply symbolic. In the immediate aftermath of that tragedy, there was a rare and luminous moment when the American people stood united—rich and poor, liberal and conservative, all bound by shared grief and shared resolve. Mann believed that this was the moment when true leadership could have risen to heal the rift, to forge a renewed sense of common purpose. But, as he mournfully observes, that opportunity was lost.

History offers parallels that magnify his warning. After the American Civil War, President Abraham Lincoln sought to rebuild a shattered nation “with malice toward none, with charity for all.” His vision was not of punishment, but reconciliation—a leadership that sought to bind up the nation’s wounds. But his assassination extinguished that light, and the years that followed saw division fester once more. Likewise, after 9/11, there was a fleeting possibility that unity might return, that political and cultural walls might crumble before a shared mission to protect and uplift. Yet instead of solidarity, the years that followed deepened division, as fear and ideology hardened hearts. Mann’s lament is not about a single missed moment, but about a pattern that repeats whenever leadership fails to rise to the moral height of its times.

The essence of his statement is that unity cannot be born from catastrophe alone; it must be cultivated by vision. Tragedy can awaken empathy, but it cannot sustain it without guidance. What Mann calls for—what every free nation requires—is an extraordinary act of leadership, one that transcends the shallow victories of politics to summon the deeper virtues of citizenship. Such leadership does not seek applause; it seeks healing. It does not speak only to its own followers; it dares to speak to the hearts of all. It is the kind of leadership that calls a nation not to conformity, but to communion.

But this wisdom is not reserved for presidents or politicians. Each citizen, too, is called to the same courage—to refuse the ease of hatred, to question the comfort of belonging only to one side, to see in disagreement not an enemy but a mirror reflecting another facet of truth. Mann’s words are a reminder that the partisan divide is not only a political wound, but a moral one, and that it can only be healed by the daily acts of listening, respect, and grace performed by ordinary people. Democracy, like love, cannot survive without empathy.

And so, the lesson of Thomas Mann’s lament is both warning and hope. Beware the walls of ideology that imprison the mind; they grow not from power, but from fear. Do not wait for tragedy to remind you of your shared humanity. Instead, seek unity now—in your home, your workplace, your community. Speak not only to those who agree with you, but to those who do not, and do so with patience and humility. For as history has shown, nations fall when they forget that disagreement is not weakness, but the beating heart of liberty.

Thus, let us heed this teaching as the ancients would a prophecy: that the future of any republic depends not on the fierceness of its debates, but on the gentleness of its understanding. Let every leader, and every citizen, strive for that extraordinary act of leadership which is not conquest over opponents, but communion among people. For only when the hard walls of partisanship are softened by the warmth of shared purpose will a nation truly stand united—not in fear or tragedy, but in wisdom and peace.