Polarisation, social fray, erosion of trust – the bogeys of the hour. But how polarised are we really? Is there anything exceptional about the current moment or is division part of the human condition? If we do indeed live within a discourse and politics which rushes to extremes, what can we do about it? To answer these questions, Verity Firth (UNSW Vice-President of Societal Impact, Equity and Engagement), Osher Günsberg (broadcaster and journalist) and Michelle Lim (Director of the Asian Australian Professionals Collective) joined moderator Jonty Claypole (CEO, Red Room Poetry) last Thursday evening (14 May) for a discussion that was both light-hearted and serious, sharing experiences and practical insights from the worlds of media, politics, business – and of course, ethics education.

In her opening remarks to close to 100 guests, Primary Ethics COO Laura Ramos noted that the springboard for the discussion was a recent podcast episode in which Osher spoke about a sense of powerlessness in the face of an increasingly polarised public discourse. However, Jonty’s first question to the panel was are we really more polarised? Has polarisation actually worsened or does it just feel that way?

Osher responded: “Yes, we have become polarised, but not as much as we think. The data shows that when it comes to people who watch the news a lot, they expect the other side to be no less than three times as extreme as they actually are.”

The panel traced this perception gap to the architecture of social media – platforms algorithmically engineered to maximise engagement through outrage and conflict, at enormous commercial scale.

Verity brought her university experience to bear, describing institutions caught between competing accusations: too radical for one side of politics, too establishment for the other. Her argument was that universities, just like Primary Ethics in schools, serve a crucial function: holding deliberate, structured space for the kind of evidence-based, open-minded reasoning and exposure to diverse viewpoints that broader society is struggling to sustain.

The dangers of dehumanisation

One of the sharpest moments of the evening came when the panel moved from the fact of polarisation to its character. All speakers emphasised the dangers that loss of empathy and seeing other people as opponents rather than as human beings. Osher made the point that it’s not that we disagree more, it’s that digital life has made it easier to dehumanise:

Michelle extended this, arguing that the antidote is not simply better manners, but the deliberate cultivation of what she called an ethical muscle: the capacity for critical thinking, respectful challenge and media literacy. These are skills, she stressed, not instincts. They require practice and they can be taught.

Social cohesion and its discontents

Jonty raised a provocation about something that gives him a “visceral reaction” – is social cohesion actually a useful goal?  Michelle responded that this term matters less than the interrogation of what we mean by it. Cohesion that smooths over difference is not cohesion; it is quiet erasure. Genuine social cohesion is built through the hard work of shared values, genuine encounter across difference and the courage to disagree well.

Respectful disagreement: a live demonstration

Perhaps the most instructive exchange of the evening came when the panel discussed social norms and workplace manners. When both Verity and Osher suggested that a recovery of basic courtesy might be part of the answer, Michelle offered a considered response: “I’m not disagreeing – but the cost of speaking up, of being polite, is very different for different people. For me, as a woman of colour, what’s perceived as respectful will be very different from the experience of a white man. We need to think about the invisible cost and the level of psychological safety that is not the same for everyone.”

What followed was a genuine, good-faith exchange in which all three panellists held their positions with care and curiosity. A live demonstration of what Primary Ethics teaches in classrooms every week. The panel did not resolve the tension. They sat with it, built on each other’s thinking and modelled what civil disagreement looks like when practised with skill.

How it all began

As the minister who signed ethics education into law in 2010, Verity Firth offered the room an origin story that was part history lesson, part comedy and entirely illuminating. In her words, “That’s the way the deal was done. And look at us 15 years later.”

Primary Ethics emerged from a grassroots parents’ movement frustrated that children who did not attend scripture were, under the existing Education Act, legally prohibited from learning during that hour. The battle to change the law required amending the Education Act, debating theology with the Archbishop of Sydney and navigating the compromise that still defines Primary Ethics today. Because the churches insisted the government could not fund ethics instruction if it did not fund scripture, Primary Ethics has operated from the beginning as a philanthropically funded organisation.

What this means today

Osher came to Primary Ethics not as a policy question but as a parent. As a new ethics teacher, his perspective on what he sees in the classroom gave the room a clear sense of what is at stake: “We come out curious. We come out with an open mind. We do not come out polarised. What Primary Ethics does is help these young kids figure out the frameworks for critiquing ideas and, above all, just being okay with uncertainty.”

Reasons for optimism?

Jonty closed the discussion by asking each panellist for a single reason for optimism.

Michelle: “Rooms like this make me optimistic, because we’re talking about tricky problems.

Verity: “I’m still really optimistic about humanity. Building relationships and a sense of collective agency, the belief that we have control over the future of our world, is what has allowed societies to shape themselves across time.”

Osher: “My stepdaughter left her phone on the kitchen counter one day. She’d figured out by herself that she didn’t feel good after an hour of TikTok, but she did feel good when she sat and re-read a book she loved. The option to connect – with nature, with other people, with yourself – is always there.”