The Political Violence in Pineapple on Pizza

Helen Mirren once said:

“Before you argue with someone, ask yourself — is that person even able to grasp a different perspective? Because if not, there’s no point. Not every argument is worth your energy.”

Last week, Michael McRay introduced me to the Scale of Sectarian Danger (Joseph Liechty & Cecelia Clegg, Moving Beyond Sectarianism). It named a truth I’ve lived: how fast “we disagree” can slide into “you’re not human.

Want to see how fast things heat up? Let's take their scale for a spin throwing some pineapple on pizza...

1. We are different. (You like pineapple, I don’t.)
2. We are right. (Obviously, pineapple does not belong on pizza.)
3. You are wrong. (Anyone who orders it is a pizza heretic.)
4. You’re a knockoff. (You don’t even deserve real pizza.)
5. You’re not who you say you are. (“Not really” Italian if you eat that.)
6. We are what you say you are. (We’re the REAL foodies, not you.)
7. What you’re doing is evil. (Putting fruit on pizza is a culinary crime.)
8. You forfeit ordinary rights. (Ban pineapple-eaters from pizza night.)
9. You’re less than human. (Pineapple-eaters are monsters.)
10. You are evil. — (Anyone choosing pineapple is corrupt and actively plotting against all that is good in the world.)
11. You are demonic. — (Pineapple on pizza is more than poisoned fruit. It is the devil’s topping made human.)

It’s silly with pizza. But swap pineapple for politics, religion, gender, or race — and the absurd gets deadly. This is where we need to trade escalation for curiosity. Here are some questions to help us run a quick self-check.

• If my future self were here watching my words and actions, would she fist-bump me or side-eye me?
• Am I letting pain be pain or recruiting pain as my publicist?
• Does this escalate light or pour gasoline on the demon-button?
• Am I naming a behavior or labeling a whole human?
• Am I treating them as a villain or as a character with a messy backstory?
• What’s a more generous interpretation I could try?

In the days since the assassination of a conservative commentator, I’ve watched the whole scale play out: grief, rage, defensiveness, even celebration. People are raw. And when pain runs that deep, the slide is greased.

And there are receipts:

• 63% of physicians reported burnout in 2022 with dehumanization named as a root cause. (Medscape).
• 1 in 5 Americans believes political violence is justified “at least sometimes.” (University of Chicago CPOST).
• 25% of LGBTQ+ youth attempted suicide in 2022 (Trevor Project).
• Hate crimes hit a 20-year high in 2022 (FBI).
• 42% of Americans have no close friends across the political divide (Pew).
• 60+ anti-LGBTQ+ bills passed in 2023 (Human Rights Campaign).
• 40% of Americans expect civil war in their lifetime (YouGov/Economist).

That’s not pineapple pizza. That’s people’s lives.

I’ve lost relationships to this slide. I’ve seen legislation strip rights in real time. I’ve felt the grief and rage of it.

This framework doesn’t tell you how to feel. It gives us language for the current we’re in — so we can see it, name it, and maybe stop mid-flow.

Helen Mirren was right: not every argument deserves your energy. But every one of us has to recognize the progression. Because once you see it, you can’t unsee it.

That’s the danger. That’s the hope. We can choose to hold our pain without erasing someone else’s humanity.

Because in the end, this isn’t about pineapple pizza. It’s about people. And people are worth more than the arguments that slice us apart.