It’s not Debate, It’s Theater
- Sangwoo Cho
- 16 minutes ago
- 4 min read
“To do a debate would be great. But that’s like saying pro-wrestling is a show about athletic competition.”
On October 15, 2004, comedian Jon Stewart made a fateful appearance on CNN’s nightly political debate program, Crossfire. What was intended to be a promotional appearance for Stewart’s recently published book quickly derailed into an exchange of passive-aggressive insults that departed from the show’s usual format. Stewart had a few choice words for the hosts, especially then-CNN host Tucker Carlson, criticizing the dishonesty involved in framing their bouts as debates. He refused to be Carlson’s “monkey,” labeled Crossfire “partisan hackery,” and aired his grievances about the show’s content and its impact on political discourse.
More than 20 years later, the relationship between the media and political discourse is vastly different. Figures such as Hasan Piker and the late Charlie Kirk represent a new age of political commentary, one that operates outside legacy media and conventional political messaging. As distrust of legacy media grows among Americans, audiences are increasingly turning to independent online political commentary. Many of those who provide this content are full-fledged influencers who build personalized brands to expand their audiences and, in turn, amplify their messaging.
Online political content arguably gained its first major wave of relevance in the 2010s with the rise of conservative “debate bros” such as Ben Shapiro and Steven Crowder. They aggressively promoted clips of verbal encounters with disgruntled college students to establish legitimacy. Kirk followed suit, bringing Turning Point USA to college campuses to debate students on selected topics. Clips of these debates circulated heavily online, almost always portraying Kirk as a reasonable, level-headed debater shutting down overzealous and radical college students. Although these clips lacked the nationally televised, mainstream appeal of programs such as Crossfire, the internet proved to be the perfect environment for reaching younger audiences who were increasingly moving toward more individualized and immediate forms of content.
Today, such online success is rewarded with substantial followings and political opportunities. The late Charlie Kirk frequented the White House for private discussions with President Trump. His organization, Turning Point USA, has remained relevant since his assassination, establishing Kirk as a political martyr around whom the MAGA movement can rally. Far-right provocateur Nick Fuentes has gained notoriety, as well as a loyal following known as the “Groypers,” for his extremist views. His interview with the now-independent Tucker Carlson sent waves through the MAGA movement. Carlson, long past his Crossfire days, has arguably grown in political influence. Once a representative figure of mainstream political media, he has adapted to the current ecosystem and has been credited with deepening Republican divisions over the party’s post-Trump future.
The theme of this progression is performance dressed as discourse, not cable television versus social media. Stewart’s critique was not limited to Crossfire. It was a statement about political commentary as a whole. His concern was with a format that disguised provocation as good-faith discussion, and CNN eventually addressed that concern. Newly appointed president Jonathan Klein announced the program’s cancellation the following year and openly sympathized with Stewart’s criticism. It was a definitive win for those who wanted more substance in political discourse, but was canceling one program enough to turn the tide? Had Jon Stewart conquered the “spin alley” he bemoaned on national television?
Unfortunately, the answer is no. The following 20 years reshaped political commentary into a different game, but the flaws have remained largely the same. The new media landscape is driven by engagement, which measures how users react to content through likes, shares, comments, and watch time. Higher engagement produces more exposure through algorithms. In other words, platforms reward exactly the kind of outrage that political content often evokes. In a system that incentivizes the same dishonesty on Crossfire that frustrated Stewart, accuracy, nuance, and substance must take a back seat to whatever carries the strongest emotional impact.
Beyond expanding circulation, algorithms also personalize content for users. By tracking engagement, algorithms gradually optimize recommendations to reinforce users’ preferences. If randomly suggested clips of Fuentes’s most outrageous statements are the gateway, a personalized feed filled with his content and that of politically adjacent creators is the destination. Before users are even aware of it, they become part of larger communities organized by algorithms. Some may become loyal fans of the creators as individuals, not merely supporters of their beliefs. Political content that clashes with users’ preferences is naturally deprioritized, resulting in a collection of algorithmic and parasocial echo chambers that often deepen political divisions.
More than two decades after Crossfire’s downfall, Stewart’s main point of contention with Carlson has aged remarkably well. In April 2026, Carlson publicly apologized for misleading his viewers through his support of President Trump, effectively validating Stewart’s concerns about Carlson’s influence. What neither man could have predicted was just how streamlined the format would become.
The spirit of Crossfire lives on through today’s carefully personalized, outrage-fueled media ecosystem, a system too sprawling for any number of nationally televised outbursts to dismantle.
