Populists rarely win because they make better arguments. They often ride on the way their opponents react. Attacking populists only makes them stronger, not because of what is said, but because of the emotion it evokes. The decisive factor here is not the power of persuasion, but the effect of inner resistance, or ‘reactance’ as they call it in psychology.
Psychologist Jack Brehm described this effect as a sort of internal defiance. When someone feels they are being talked down to or forced to adopt a position, they push back — even if they didn’t disagree in the first place. This resistance is not a rational counter-argument, but an emotional defence reflex.
This phenomenon is particularly pronounced when people feel that their freedoms are under threat. And this is precisely what many populist movements play on. They present themselves not only as a political alternative, but as a safe space, offering protection from being patronised. The more that someone feels they are being judged or curbed, the more they will push back. Substance matters less and less, and the need to stand up for oneself takes over.
A question of communication
This dynamic is evident not only in politics, but also in consumerism. In the US, right-wing influencers called for a boycott of Bud Light after the brand collaborated with Dylan Mulvaney, a transgender woman. When Bud Light distanced itself from the campaign, the mood shifted. Progressives turned away, while conservatives started reaching for a can again. Buying Bud Light became a way to take a stand — against the backlash and in support of a particular lifestyle.
Food manufacturer Goya had a similar experience after its CEO spoke out in favour of Donald Trump. While liberals boycotted the brand, conservatives called on sympathisers to buy Goya’s products. This was not a question of beans or spices, but about identity, differentiation and belonging.
Consumerism becomes political, not because of the product, but because of the message it conveys.
In Germany, the debate surrounding the Building Energy Act met with widespread opposition, not because of its objectives, but because of how it was communicated. Many people did not feel part of a change, but a target of government intervention. The law became a symbol of perceived disenfranchisement. This goes to show how products, individuals and legislation can become proxies for broader societal conflicts. What we put in our shopping basket sends a message: ‘we will not be told what to do’.
Generally speaking, any criticism that is morally charged, as seen on social media, often misses the mark. It doesn’t create consensus; it generates pushback. Consumerism becomes political, not because of the product, but because of the message it conveys.
What we are seeing in consumerism equally applies to politics. Speaking out against populists only makes them shout louder. Mocking them only makes them appear more credible. Political impact is created less by substance and more by capitalising on people feeling excluded.
Internal resistance arises when people feel they are being talked about, rather than talked to. This pattern can be observed in many countries, where populist movements are gaining ground in parts of society that feel excluded or devalued. Digital platforms are only reinforcing this trend because they promote polarisation, not dialogue.
If you want to get through to people, you need to make them feel they belong. What matters is the tone, the relationship and who feels spoken to.
In Brazil, Bolsonaro was elected because he pushed so many boundaries. His gaffes were seen as signs of his authenticity and his fight against a ‘domineering’ elite. Being mocked by the establishment served only to legitimise him.
This is exactly where the idea of belonging comes into play. Not as a weak alternative to conflict, but as a strategic response to it. People don’t usually change their minds because they’re convinced by facts, but because they feel connected. Those who feel seen remain open. Those who feel marginalised shut themselves off.
In his book Vor-Herrschaft, communications scientist Jan Niklas Kocks describes how political communication today is no longer only driven by debate, but by resonance. Sociologist and political scientist Hartmut Rosa also stresses that connections are not forged through substance, but through the feeling of being involved. What’s crucial is not what is technically correct, but what underlies the connection. If you want to get through to people, you need to make them feel they belong. What matters is the tone, the relationship and who feels spoken to.
Closing gaps
This instinctive defiance also plays out in corporate communication. Attempts to persuade people with clear instructions often achieve the exact opposite. Successful communication is based on making people feel included. In business, this is understood as the concept of involving people in decisions that affect them. In politics, that is part and parcel of democracy. Both examples demonstrate that belonging creates trust — and trust is the foundation for change.
There are two more examples that show how belonging creates trust: in north-eastern Germany, state minister Patrick Dahlemann made a conscious effort to engage directly with people who had long felt marginalised and left behind. Instead of making grandiose statements, he built trust by having conversations with people in person.
In the Polish election campaign in 2023, Donald Tusk organised ‘March of a Million Hearts’ rallies, not aimed at confrontation, but at being present, resonating with people who felt ignored by the government and the liberal elite. This open, emotional connection played a pivotal role in his election victory.
There are three principles that help to avoid internal resistance and promote connection instead:
Firstly, take time to understand before speaking. Effective communication begins with listening. In politics, that means approaching others with genuine curiosity, not with parroted slogans. That is what lays the foundation for trust.
Secondly, being present is more important than being loud. Successful brands rely on being accessible and recognisable. But in political communications, what matters most is being there. Presence is built through genuine encounters.
Thirdly, tone makes all the difference. Morally loaded language can soon come across as preachy. People who feel like they are being talked down to will shut off. The instinct to push back is often a protective mechanism. Good communication needs to open doors.
Communication creates belonging when it allows room for identification.
To communicate effectively in politics, you have to learn to speak and listen differently. Major campaigns often have less impact than everyday encounters. Visiting a local sports club is worth more than a hundred social media posts that don’t create dialogue. Presence is created on the ground. But communication also requires a relationship, not just presence.
Instinctive defiance is not a fringe phenomenon. It doesn’t just affect those with extreme views, but also people who are in two minds or hold differing opinions. During the pandemic, for instance, those who asked critical questions or diverged on migration issues were sometimes slapped too quickly with a label. Even terms like ‘old white men’ can provoke resistance, especially when people feel reduced to a stereotype. Attitudes like these only serve to widen the gap. The solution to this is creating belonging. Communicating with nuance and leaving space for different perspectives fosters trust instead of resistance.
Communication creates belonging when it allows room for identification. People need to be able to find themselves in statements. When communication dictates what may or may not be expressed, it doesn’t create trust. It provokes resistance. And internal resistance arises when people feel there is no place for their perspective.
When voices are excluded, dissent emerges, not out of defiance, but from a need to be part of the conversation.
People feel an urge to push back when they feel their opinion doesn’t count. Italian philosopher Antonio Gramsci wrote that cohesion is not created through force, but through the feeling of being included. French philosopher Michel Foucault showed that it is not only about what is said, but also about who is heard. When voices are excluded, dissent emerges, not out of defiance, but from a need to be part of the conversation.
Some discussions, such as those on gender equality or climate policy, can give the impression that there is little room for questioning. If you don’t use the right words, you will soon feel left out. But it is precisely in these situations that communication stands at a crossroads: it can either foster trust or deepen division. What is needed is a language that does not shut the door but invites you inside.
This is not a call to embrace populists with open arms. It simply means we need to understand how they work in order to challenge them effectively. Openly, but not submissively. Clearly, but not instructively. Democracy is not decided in interviews, but in relationships. Those whose voices are heard will stick around; those who feel excluded will go elsewhere. Communication can either unite or divide. The crucial question is: which path will we take?
