Same words, different voice: why the same message may hit differently

Take a moment to read this passage. “Italy and Europe need immigration. Labour shortages and demographic decline mean that entire sectors of our economies already depend on migrants. Immigration is therefore not something that can simply be denied or ignored, but a structural necessity.” Immigration is framed as a necessity and a contribution, something embedded in the functioning of contemporary economies. Many readers would probably nod along. Now add one detail: these remarks were made in July 2023 by Giorgia Meloni, an Italian political leader widely associated with restrictive positions on immigration.

For some readers, this is where the reading experience might change. The argument itself does not disappear, but it no longer feels self-evident. Attention moves away from the content and towards the person behind it. Why this framing? What is the intention?

This moment of hesitation has little to do with migration itself, and much more to do with how political messages are processed in everyday life. We rarely encounter words in isolation. Instead, we encounter speakers. Their political identity, public reputation, past positions, and perceived intentions quietly shape how we listen – often before we are even aware of it.

When messages change meaning

This paradox sat at the center of an experiment I ran in Italy. The study took place online and involved 521 participants from across the country. The survey was short – it took only a few minutes to complete – and asked people to do something very simple: read brief, generally positive statements about migration and say how much they agreed or disagreed.

What participants did not know was that they were being randomly exposed to different versions of the same message. Some read the statements on their own, with no indication of who had said them. Others read the exact same words, but with one extra piece of information added: the identity of the original messengers – Roberto Vannacci and Vittorio Feltri, well-known Italian right-wing figures with a public record of anti-immigration rhetoric.

Then I compared the reactions.

When right-leaning participants could see who the messenger was, they tended to agree with the statements slightly more than those who had read the sentences without any source. But the more surprising reaction came from left-leaning participants. When they read the statements on their own, many of them were broadly in agreement. But when the very same words were linked to Vannacci or Feltri, agreement dropped. The words hadn’t changed, but they suddenly felt different.

Why who speaks gets in the way

This reaction is not irrational.

When a message comes from an unexpected or distrusted source, it can create a small but powerful sense of discomfort. Agreeing with the message suddenly feels harder, not because the words are unclear, but because accepting them would clash with what we already believe, or with who we believe ourselves to be. This is what psychologists describe as cognitive dissonance: the tension we feel when new information does not sit comfortably with our existing views. One simple way to reduce that tension is to distance ourselves from the message itself. Faced with a constant flow of information, we rely on shortcuts to make sense of what we read. When a statement aligns with our expectations, we tend to accept it quickly. When it comes from a source we distrust, we start asking different questions: Why are they saying this now? What is the intention behind it? This dynamic – known as motivated reasoning – shapes not only whether we agree with a message, but how we interpret it.

Crucially, political opinions are rarely just opinions. They are tied to identity. According to social identity theory, people derive part of their sense of self from the groups they belong to. Messages tend to feel safer and more legitimate when they come from familiar voices, and more intrusive or suspect when they come from unfamiliar or opposing ones. In these cases, rejecting a message is not simply about disagreement with its content, but about protecting symbolic boundaries between “us” and “them”.

These dynamics matter even more in a context like contemporary Europe, where migration has long ceased to be just a policy issue. It has become one of the most politicized and polarizing topics in public debate. Positions on migration often work as signals of political identity – ways of saying who we are, who we tend to side with politically. In such an environment, migration messages are rarely heard as neutral arguments. They travel through a landscape already shaped by mistrust, expectations, and strong emotional attachments. And the identity of the speaker inevitably becomes part of the message itself.

Rethinking how migration is communicated

Much of the research on migration attitudes has focused on changing minds by adding facts, correcting misconceptions, or telling different stories. These strategies are useful. But they tend to rest on a shared assumption: that messages are received more or less in the same way, regardless of who is delivering them. The experiment invites us to look at this differently. There is rarely a message that works for everyone, everywhere. The same sentence can reassure some readers and irritate others, depending on who is speaking and who is listening.

This becomes particularly clear in the Mediterranean context. Here, migration debates are not only polarized, but also deeply personalized. Discussions about migration are repeatedly channelled through recognizable figures – politicians, journalists, public personalities –whose names already carry strong meanings. Over time, these figures do not simply comment on migration; they come to embody it, turning migration into a space of symbolic positioning and electoral mobilization.

What this suggests is not that arguments or evidence suddenly stop mattering. Rather, they rarely operate on their own. In highly charged debates like these, people often assess who is speaking before engaging with what is being said. Messages are more likely to be considered when the speaker is perceived credible – trusted as informed and reliable; relatable – feeling socially close to the audience and recognizable as “one of us”; and to have authority – legitimate and entitled to speak on the issue. When these conditions are missing, even carefully phrased and reasonable messages can be met with distance or suspicion.

Seen this way, the challenge of changing migration narratives is not just about finding the “right” argument. It is also a problem of fit: between messages, messengers, and audiences. Messages are more likely to resonate when they are delivered by messengers who feel credible, socially recognizable, and legitimate to the audience they address. When this alignment is missing, communication often falls flat – not because the arguments are wrong, but because the voice carrying them does not feel right. Once you notice this dynamic, it becomes hard to unsee. You start recognizing it in political speeches, media debates, and social media posts – and sometimes in the way you read them.

The words do not change. But they suddenly feel different. And that, quietly, is where influence may begin, or end.