Are you living in a filter-bubble? Of course you are. Whether you receive most of your information from Facebook, Instagram, Bluesky, Truth Social or X, you are getting filtered content.
The almighty algorithm learns how you think, what you like, what triggers you and what catches your interest. The almighty algorithm feeds you what you want.
After a while, you stop seeing posts from people who disagree with you. Everybody you encounter on your site of choice appears to be thinking along the same general lines.
Alan Bean
There are exceptions, of course. In the last few months, I have seen a lot of conservative groups popping up in my Facebook feed. (Yes, I use Facebook. I’m old, OK). Since I was aware of the filter-bubble phenomenon, this struck me as strange. But it didn’t take long to figure out what was happening. On those rare occasions that a MAGA viewpoint slipped into my feed, I couldn’t restrain the urge to comment. Since the algorithm only keeps track of posts I respond to, it was tricked into thinking I liked this stuff.
Terrence K. Williams, one of several hundred MAGA influencers, started popping up in my feed. Williams is a Black comedian adorned in MAGA-themed attire. As a side-hustle, he sells Cousin T’s Buttermilk Pancake Mix or, if you prefer, King Trump Pancake and Waffle Mix (your first order is 15% off if you provide your email address).
A profound fear of change
White folks in the MAGA movement feel intimidated, judged and threatened by a rapidly changing America. Almost every major social development of the past 75 years makes them uneasy: The movements for civil rights, gay rights, trans rights, indigenous rights and women’s rights; the rising tide of secularity; the steady growth of the nonwhite population, and the increasing visibility of non-Christian religions. And then the scientists tell them the fossil fuels undergirding consumer capitalism are killing the planet.
If you grew up hearing the United States of America is the greatest nation on the face of the earth because it is rooted in evangelical Christian piety, the facts taught in secular universities are experienced as a slap in the face. These new ideas feel like mockery, even blasphemy.
“White folks in the MAGA movement feel intimidated, judged and threatened by a rapidly changing America.”
As a consequence, there is a burgeoning market for ex-Muslims who converted to evangelical Christianity; feminists who transitioned into “trad wives”; people who claim to have been healed of same-sex attraction, and faux historians like David Barton who assure you everything you learned in school (and Sunday school) is the pure, unadulterated truth.
The appeal of Black conservatives
White conservatives insist America is not a racist nation. Sure, we may have been a tiny bit racist a very, very long time ago, but chattel slavery wasn’t nearly as bad as the liberals claim, and Jim Crow segregation was a whole lot better than the world created by affirmative action. So, when Black people like Clarence Thomas, Thomas Sowell, Tim Scott or Candace Owens endorse conservative opinions, white conservatives feel the bracing breeze of vindication.
Enter Terrence K. Williams, a young Black entrepreneur who loves being photographed with Donald J. Trump. His social media posts generally consist of an unflattering photograph of a “liberal” accompanied by a brief quote.
I generally agree with the comments coming from prominent Democrats like Michelle Obama and Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez and well-known entertainers like Bruce Springsteen and Taylor Swift. But Williams also quotes anonymous “liberals” who want to see the president drawn and quartered or Black radicals who think all white people should be strung up tomorrow.
Williams can post a dozen times a day because he leaves the commentary to his followers.
This is hardly a novel approach. Social media influencers can garner thousands of clicks simply by quoting the opposition. You see this on liberal groups as well. I am far too short to excel at volleyball, but I made the team because I was good at setting the ball for my taller teammates.
Influencers set; the audience spikes the ball.
Doom-scrolling an alternative reality
I decided to “follow” Williams for an entire month. Soon, every other post in my feed bore his distinctive imprint. I had entered an alternative reality dominated by people who rarely encounter the center-left world presented by MSNOW, NPR or The New York Times. The jokes that work so well for Jimmy Kimmel, Stephen Colbert or the cast of Saturday Night Live would elicit only groans of protest from Terrence K. Williams fans.
The people who follow Terrence K. Williams are over the moon for “the greatest president in the history of the United States.” In their eyes, Trump is an honest man of action who “tells it like it is.”
Although they adore the macho swagger of “Secretary of War” Pete Hegseth, they rarely mention lesser lights like Stephen Miller, JD Vance or Marco Rubio.
Their loathing for liberal icons like Barack and Michelle Obama, Joe Biden, AOC, Ilhan Omar, Jasmine Crockett, Zohran Mamdani and Kamala Harris is boundless.
They are convinced global warming is a hoax because scientists once predicted a new ice age.
In deference to Trump, they prefer Vladimir Putin’s Russia to Volodymyr Zelensky’s Ukraine.
They are big fans of Trump’s crackdown on illegal immigration who believe Renée Good and Alex Pretti got what they deserved.
They have nothing but contempt for the Black Lives Matter movement and say George Floyd died because he was high on illegal drugs.
In their eyes, same-sex attraction and gender dysphoria are perverse lifestyle choices inspired by liberals who want to destroy America.
They champion Christianity and denigrate Islam.
They love right-wing icons like Candace Owens, Tucker Carlson, Marjorie Taylor Greene and Nick Fuentes until they jump off the Trump train, at which point love turns to bitter hatred. They love Elon Musk when he is on the Trump team and despise him when he’s not.
When Cole Allen attempted to force his way past security at the White House Correspondents’ Dinner, they were convinced he was a stooge paid by the Democrats.
When Williams posts sentimental prayers asking God to bless and protect the president, his readers respond with their own prayers. When Williams posts a profanity-laden screed against liberals and Democrats, his readers answer in kind. There is a liturgical, call-and-response rhythm at work.
Not everyone agrees with Terrence K. Williams, of course, but ridiculing the occasional dissenter is part of the fun.
The illusion of consensus
I realize none of this will surprise you. We all have brushed up against these sentiments from time to time. But it isn’t that hard to avoid. If I were to unfollow Terrence K. Williams, block all the people who post conservative material on my feed, if I were to confine myself to the safe world of NPR, MSNOW, and The New York Times, and if I continue to laugh along with Kimmel and Colbert, I might imagine all sensible Americans share my center-left opinions.
Which is why the folks who follow Williams decry mainstream media as anti-American and anti-Christian. It’s why they seek out alternative sources of political commentary, comedy and religious piety. They know liberal America regards them as rubes and ignoramuses, and they resent it. Deeply and profoundly.
When we lock ourselves inside a liberal filter-bubble where everyone has the good sense to agree with us, it’s natural to characterize our ideological opposites as a small puddle of ignorance and bigotry that will soon evaporate.
“An America free of liberal poison doesn’t just seem desirable, it appears to be possible, maybe even inevitable.”
Unfortunately, when MAGA folk flip on the television or scroll through their favorite social media site, they too are wrapped in a comfortable blanket of consensus. An America free of liberal poison doesn’t just seem desirable, it appears to be possible, maybe even inevitable.
The illusion of victory
The people who design our social media algorithms have no political agenda beyond the maximization of profit. That’s why they have designed a market-driven world shaped by the illusion of consensus.
American religion operates on much the same principle. If I don’t agree with the moral and political implications of your preaching, I will go to a church more in line with my thinking. Successful preachers are attuned to the precise message their slice of the marketplace wants to hear, and they provide precisely that.
And what most white American Christians want to hear is the kind of stuff Terrence K. Williams is dishing out. It is hardly surprising that market-driven politics and market-driven religion are virtually indistinguishable.
Barack Obama ascended to the White House by assuring us, “There is not a liberal America and a conservative America — there is the United States of America.”
“Donald Trump succeeded by teaching conservative America to hate liberal America.”
Donald Trump succeeded by teaching conservative America to hate liberal America.
Both approaches were rewarded with some electoral success, but neither is fitted for the long run. A month of MAGA immersion reminded me that, yes, there is a liberal America and a conservative America, and the animosity these two Americas feel for each other deepens with each passing year.
But neither side of the great American culture war can vanquish the other. The recent defections of leading conservative influencers like Candace Owen, Tucker Carlson and Nick Fuentes suggest the MAGA coalition is cracking, as coalitions will do over time. Most Americans, being essentially apolitical, are an unruly mix of liberal and conservative impulses. Trump’s “mass-deportation now” slogan helped him win an election, but what sounded good in theory proved to be unpopular in practice.
The culture war persists because it’s good for business. If Mark Zuckerberg can get me fixated on Heather Cox Richardson while the guy next door is plugged into Terrence K. Williams, he will sleep well.
So long as Red America and Blue America keep scrolling, clicking and buying, the content is immaterial.
A hard commandment
The month of April featured a dustup between President Trump and Pope Leo XIV. For Terrence K. Williams’ Catholic followers, this was a no-brainer. Their allegiance to Trump far outstripped their loyalty to the pope. Many wondered why the church elected “another woke pope.”
“No one takes Jesus straight; there is always a filter.”
But Pope Leo isn’t constrained by Liberal America or Conservative America; he is speaking as a representative of the traditional doctrine and social teaching of the Catholic Church. The love of Christ, filtered through a Catholic lens, constrains him. No one takes Jesus straight; there is always a filter.
Donald Trump appeals to religion because it works with his base. For Pope Leo, Jesus Christ is the word of God incarnate. Jesus teaches us to love our enemies, and Leo strives to obey that command. For a man like Trump, enemy-love is a contradiction in terms.
As a religious icon, Jesus is sometimes good for business. As the incarnate word, Jesus makes business inconvenient, impractical, even impossible.
But, as the Good Book says, “The grass withers, the flower fades, but the word of our God shall stand forever.” In all likelihood, Trump’s MAGA movement will die with him. Liberal America and Conservative America eventually will become historical artifacts. But the word of our God will stand forever.
We all have enemies. Some of them live right next door or down the street. We can block them (that’s easy), or we can love them (that’s hard).
The folks who follow Terrence K. Williams are not evil. They fear change. They fear being governed by snooty elites. They love the America they were introduced to as school children. They feel weak and vulnerable and will follow anyone who promises to defend their interests. So long as Donald J. Trump shares their view of the world, they will forgive his rash remarks on Truth Social and his spats with foreign leaders. That’s just Trump being Trump.
Even if we disagree with virtually every word these people say, we can love them anyway. The commandment to love our enemies doesn’t market well, and it certainly won’t make anyone rich; but when has a marketable message ever saved us from ourselves?
Alan Bean leads the nonprofit Friends of Justice and lives in Fort Worth, Texas, where he attends Broadway Baptist Church.