Abortion was nearly the perfect wedge issue. Politically, it worked because it hijacked our psychology. Frame it around cute babies — not women, not healthcare, not bodily autonomy — and you get instant, gut-level empathy. The facts didn’t matter. Late-term abortions, for example, account for less than 1% of all procedures. Most occur under tragic, complex circumstances. But just say “baby,” and the fight ignites.
That’s the power of a wedge issue: it doesn’t have to be accurate. It just has to feel real enough to divide us.
The phrase “partial-birth abortion” was crafted to do exactly that. It’s not a medical term. It was invented by anti-choice strategists to provoke a visceral reaction and frame the debate on their terms. And for years, it worked.
Now we’re watching the same political mechanics unfold again — this time, in the debate over transgender athletes in youth sports.
Once again, it’s framed as a binary: You either support fairness in girls’ sports, or you support inclusion for trans kids. No complexity allowed. No middle ground. No way to avoid someone getting hurt.
In reality, trans athletes are not flooding school sports. Far from it. A 2022 study from UCLA estimated about 1.4% of U.S. youth ages 13–17 identify as transgender — a small part of the population. Of those, only a fraction participate in school athletics. In Utah, for instance, when the state passed a law banning trans girls from competing in girls’ sports, only four trans student athletes were even known statewide. Just one was a trans girl participating in K–12 girls’ sports.
That didn’t stop lawmakers from pushing the ban anyway.
It’s not about numbers. It’s about narrative. And this one plays incredibly well for those looking to mobilize a particular kind of outrage.
Because a good wedge issue doesn’t solve a problem — it creates one. It forces people to “pick a side” based on emotion, not evidence. And it leaves those most directly affected — in this case, transgender youth — caught in the crossfire of a political battle that was never really about them in the first place.
Lance Wallnau, a prominent Christian nationalist, described this very tactic. Speaking at a 2023 conference for the religious right “Her Voice” movement, Wallnau said, “Everyone is not going to become a Christian to fight transgenderism, but everyone will fight transgenderism if we frame it as an attack against your children.”
Later that year, a secret training video revealed by ProPublica and Documented showed Wallnau explicitly outlining how the “wedge issue about transgenderism” could help secure swing states, including Colorado.
It’s a clear playbook: weaponize a social issue, frame it as an existential threat, and turn it into a political rallying cry.
To be very clear, acknowledging that this is a manufactured wedge issue doesn’t trivialize the real harm it causes. It is despicable that simply existing — being who you are — is being weaponized to win elections. It’s dehumanizing. It’s dangerous. And it’s part of the playbook.
It’s the same reason women’s rights were sacrificed over the past few decades — not because most Americans wanted to criminalize abortion, but because abortion could be turned into a powerful political tool. A way to activate voters. A way to take control.
That same strategy is now being turned against trans people. And it’s working. Since 2020, more than 25 states have passed laws restricting or banning transgender youth from playing on sports teams that match their gender identity. Most of these bills weren’t written by local educators or athletic officials. They were pushed by national advocacy groups that specialize in turning culture war panic into votes.
Never mind that both the NCAA and the International Olympic Committee have had frameworks for trans athlete participation for over a decade. The NCAA adopted hormone-based guidelines in 2011. The IOC has had evolving policies since 2003. These aren’t perfect systems — but they exist, and they reflect an ongoing effort to balance inclusion with fairness. This isn’t uncharted territory.
Meanwhile, schools face real, urgent challenges: chronic underfunding, severe teacher shortages, outdated materials, violations of special education law, and a growing teen mental health crisis. Between 2020 and 2022, more than 300,000 U.S. teachers left the profession. Nearly half of high school students report persistent feelings of sadness or hopelessness.
But the goal here isn’t education. A student athlete facing supposed unfairness at a hypothetical state track meet — that triggers an emotional response. It’s visceral. It sticks. Meanwhile, kids struggling with special education needs? They don’t deliver swing states. This fight was chosen for its optics, not its necessity.
So, the next time this issue comes up — at your school board meeting, in your group chat, on the ballot — ask: Are we responding to a real crisis, or are we being handed one?
Because the people who benefit from these fights? It’s not students. It’s not parents. It’s not educators.
It’s the political operatives who manufacture the outrage, and profit from the division.
And by the way — it’s a school board election year.
If you don’t see the pattern by now… I don’t know what to tell you.
Rob Rogers is an Agile leader and data strategist who writes at the intersection of education, civic tech, and politics. He explores how systems shape the way we learn, lead, and govern.
