Sports, politics and the time I stopped voting

Growing up, my community was yearly caught up in the drama of a great contest between good and evil, where either brave combatants (or cowardly mercenaries, depending upon your perspective) met to determine whether justice or injustice would prevail.

I’m talking about the Michigan-Ohio State football game, of course. I’m exaggerating the picture, yet it is interesting how our affinity for particular sports teams has the power to form us into tribes, and how from these tribal groupings emerge the familiar dynamics of polarized, tribal thinking (and feeling).

I remember attending one of these annual matchups at Michigan Stadium as a kid. I was part of the Ohio State tribe, and on this particular Saturday, my team was being beaten. Badly, as I recall.

The Michigan fans surrounding me in the stands seemed to grow more corrupt, more degenerate, as the game progressed. I noticed how prideful they seemed, in contrast to the generous humility of Ohio State fans. I noted their unruliness next to the proper stadium decorum of my side. And so on.

Somehow “that other team” and those who supported it weren’t just the other side of a good-natured sporting contest but were tinged with a moral inferiority, the only way to explain how they could support what was obviously the lesser team. Likewise, those of us rooting for the right team had our intelligence and moral rectitude to thank for our correct allegiances.

All this is very silly, but it shows us how readily we as humans slip into this posture: Those on my side are smart and virtuous, while those on the other are dumb and corrupt. We are especially prone to this when it comes to issues that matter to us, like politics and religion. Being myself a human being, I am not exempt from this tendency.

Around a decade ago, I began a pastoral role in a church whose congregation was quite diverse politically. There were ardent Democrats, earnest Republicans, and everything in between. As politics became particularly heated with the 2016 election looming, I began to notice the familiar dynamics operating in my own heart. It was like being at the Michigan-Ohio State football game all over again. Subtly, and against my will, I felt my attitude shifting toward those who saw things differently than I.

I was distressed by this. My desire was to be able to love and even like everyone in the congregation for whom I was supposed to be caring. I realized politics was an obstacle to that.

So I made the very conscious decision of detachment toward the whole thing. I decided not to worry about what was happening in the election or get caught up in the illusion that somehow the whole future of the world and the fate of everything good turned upon its outcome. I had more important things to worry about.

Interestingly, the Michigan fans, so to speak, became human again and I was able to feel a genuine sympathy for and understanding of those on both sides during that divided time. The truth is that I strongly dislike politics and its diabolical, almost magical, ability to turn our hearts against each other and transform disagreements over important questions into moral struggles of the elect against the damned, with ourselves always part of the former group. I would rather leave it well alone and stay in a place of detachment.

Yet ideas matter, as do the policies that give them concrete expression. We have a responsibility to engage. The way we see others as we do so, however, is crucial. It isn’t the case that our side (whichever it is) has a monopoly on wisdom and virtue. We’re all in the common human camp of sinners in need of grace and of limited intellects who often get it wrong.

Remembering this keeps us from having too low a view of our opponents that would dehumanize them and regard them as no longer worthy of decent treatment. And it keeps us from having too high a view of ourselves, which leaves no room for growth and change. This charity toward others and humility of self are necessary conditions for a functioning political community instead of a war of tribe against tribe.

— John Milliken is filling in for his father, Charles. John writes on Substack at Joyful Resistance.

This article originally appeared on The Daily Telegram: John Milliken: Sports, politics and the time I stopped voting