On an early morning in September 2024, I walked into my first class at the Humphrey School of Public Affairs. Nervous, but eager to belong in this new community as an international student, I introduced myself to the student next to me. After some small talk that was not restricted to the weather, he paused and said, “You came to the U.S. at a very interesting time.” When I asked why, he replied, “This is the most consequential election in America of our time.”
At the time, I didn’t fully understand what he meant. Yet, as the events of October and November unfolded, political debates, campaign rallies, disagreements exchanged among classmates and strangers alike, I began to see how “interesting” was almost not descriptive enough. It signaled tension related to identity, and the feeling that something larger was at stake beneath the surface.
This is precisely the kind of emotional, identity-rooted environment that Amanda Ripley examines in High Conflict. The book explains why conflict today so often feels heavy, and why disagreements that could be constructive instead become deeply personal, divisive, and paralyzing.
Ripley distinguished between ordinary conflict, which is normal and healthy in a democratic society, and high conflict, which is destructive, self-reinforcing, and nearly impossible to escape once entered. High Conflict is not about the issue itself. It is about identity, dignity and the need to feel respected and understood. When people feel these needs are threatened, facts lose their power and debate becomes a matter of defending one’s sense of self.
One of the most powerful contributions of this book is its explanation of the “understory,” the unseen emotional and psychological layers beneath every conflict. Often, public policy discussions appear to revolve around concrete questions such as the allocation of resources or institutional priorities. Yet beneath these debates are fears of loss, concerns about belonging, and the desire for recognition. Ripley argues that until we address these deeper layers, no amount of policy analysis will resolve the disagreement.
The book also discusses how the tendency to simplify the world into opposing sides contributes to escalation. Political rhetoric, media, social platforms and algorithms often frame issues as binaries, reducing complexity to two camps, “us” and “them”. This makes it easier to identify allies and opponents, but it also removes nuance and discourages curiosity. Once people see themselves as part of “a side,” compromise can feel like disloyalty. Ripley’s work suggests that avoiding high conflict requires reintroducing complexity and opening space for multiple truths to coexist.
Another valuable insight is the importance of slowing down and creating space in moments of tension. Conflict often escalates quickly because people respond reactively, guided by emotion rather than reflection. Ripley shows that even small pauses can shift the dynamic. Taking time to gather information, reflect on assumptions, or step back from triggering environments can interrupt patterns that might otherwise spiral into hostility. This is not avoidance. It is a strategy to circumvent unproductive conflict.
For Humphrey students, this book is especially relevant. As future policymakers and advocates, we should understand that our decisions will inevitably collide with competing interests, entrenched power, and political resistance. Pretending otherwise only weakens our ability to lead effectively. This book offers a wake-up call for all of us who aspire to lead: if we cannot recognize the emotional and psychological currents beneath conflict, we risk contributing to polarization rather than resolving it.
Additionally, we should understand that policy is often taught as a field of analysis, data, and institutional structure. But in practice, policy is implemented and debated by people with emotions, identities and lived experience. Thus, technical expertise alone does not shape outcomes. The abilities to navigate disagreement, maintain dialogue and understand what is truly at stake beneath the surface is essential.
Moreover, High Conflict encourages future policy makers to remain curious, to resist oversimplification and to recognize the humanity in those we disagree with. It suggests that the work of public affairs is not only designing solutions but also cultivating the conditions for constructive engagement. The book does not ask us to avoid conflict. It asks us to approach conflict with patience, respect, and awareness of the deeper human dimensions that shape political life.
My classmate was right. I arrived in the U.S. at a moment when public discourse often feels polarized, urgent, and emotionally exhausting. Yet that does not have to mean that division is inevitable or irreversible. As Ripley suggests, this moment can instead be an invitation to slow down, listen with the intent to understand, and work toward solutions that acknowledge both the visible arguments and the deeper, invisible layers beneath them. Her work reminds us that we are living in a time when learning how to navigate conflict is not simply useful. But it is essential.
Thank you to Professor Tricia Olsen for introducing High Conflict in PA 5885: Human Rights Policy, which inspired this reflection.
Note: The views expressed in this publication are those of the student authors and do not necessarily reflect the policies or positions of the Humphrey Public Affairs Review (HPAR) or the Humphrey School of Public Affairs.
Ripley, A. (2021). High conflict: Why we get trapped and how we get out. https://www.amazon.com/High-Conflict-Why-Get-Trapped/dp/1982128569