Why I Don’t Talk About Politics

Madison:         He’s very attractive in the north. New Yorkers like his chances.

Jefferson:        He’s not very forthcoming on any particular stances.

Madison:         Ask him a question, it glances off; he obfuscates; he dances.

Jefferson:        And they say I’m a Francophile; at least they know I know where France is!

Hamilton (2015)

I don’t talk about politics.

 

And yet that’s precisely what I’m about to do. Buckle up.

Well, I don’t usually talk about politics. If I’ve ever admitted to you which box I drew my cross in at a national vote, then either that’s a serious expression of trust in you on my part, or you caught me by surprise by asking directly and I simply wasn’t prepared to lie. If I can get away with it, I tend to keep my mouth shut on the matter.

And the remarkable thing is, I very often can keep my mouth shut on the matter with very little effort at all; I don’t talk about politics because I just don’t have to. A lot of people I talk to do this thing where they just sort of assume you agree with them about political issues. All you have to do is chuckle vaguely and make noncomittal statements until the conversation moves on, and you can leave them convinced that you’re on the same page as them without ever actually affirming anything to that effect. I’ll admit it’s not a terribly principled thing to do, but it saves one a good deal of hassle.

I don’t talk about politics because, believe it or not, I actually hate debates. I don’t enjoy arguing with people. I like reason and the pursuit of truth, but at my own pace, a pace where I can engage with each argument properly and test its soundness all the way down to the bottom; I don’t like heated back-and-forth-ing. Continually having to defend your position is stressful and exhausting and I tend to avoid things that are stressful and exhausting if I can. Call me a wimp – there’s no doubt I deserve it on more counts than this – but I’m just not a fan of vehement verbal disagreements with people.

Especially, I should add, people I like and enjoy hanging out with and hold respect for. I don’t talk about politics because I suspect a great many of those people would be pretty contemptful of what I had to say about it. I see the kind of thing they post on Facebook. People I consider friends accuse those who hold opinions I hold of ignorance, stupidity, bigotry, hatred, moral bankruptcy. Someone reposts content that concludes its address to a group to which I belong with, Seriously. Fuck you,¹ and I think, is this meant for me? Is this the true fervour with which you, friend, despise me? Or would despise me, rather, if you were ever to ask me how I voted?

And I fear it isn’t just my peers who would so despise me. I don’t talk about politics because I suspect that to make my political views known would be to do damage to my own career prospects. I have ambitions to go into academia; according to a poll by the Times Higher Education supplement, nearly ninety per cent of staff in higher education voted to Remain in the 2016 referendum.² Which means either that there are hardly any Leave voters in the academy, or that the Leave voters in the academy don’t feel able to declare themselves as such. Either way, academia’s already a competitive field; if there’s so little room in it for Brexiteers, for me to make myself known as one can surely only harm my prospects. I know as well that others have been explicitly warned to this effect.

So yes, there you have it, I voted for Brexit. And I usually don’t talk about politics because it just doesn’t feel as if I’m allowed to. For instance, I enjoy a good BBC panel show, but until earlier this year when I watched an episode of Mock the Week with Geoff Norcott in it, I had never once seen a panellist on any of them express anything resembling a pro-Brexit view.³ And even on that occasion, the studio audience were less than appreciative of some of Mr Norcott’s more explicitly pro-Leave jokes.⁴ I remember my parents once commenting that you never see anybody say anything right-wing on these sorts of programmes – and I remember, distinctly, thinking, well, of course not. That’s not how it works. The lack of diversity of political opinion was so absolute that it hadn’t even occurred to me to question it; it hadn’t even occurred to me that me and millions of others who hold similar views to me might have just as much right to see those views represented in entertainment programming as our opponents have.

I hasten to add that ‘pro-Brexit’ and ‘right-wing’ are not at all the same thing – there are lots of left-wing Leavers and right-wing Remainers out there – but what they do, crucially, have in common is that they both sit outside the realms of What Decent People Are Permitted To Think. I don’t talk about politics because the mainstream media tells me that people who express the views I hold in the public square are extremists. Fruitcakes and closet racists, or whatever the expression was. And sometimes, yeah, people who sit on my side of the debate come out with some pretty embarrassing stuff. But equally, so do people on the other side of it. And the thing is, if common-or-garden Brexiteers like me all keep doing like I do, keeping our mouths shut, allowing people to maintain their false assumptions about our views, behaving as if it really is wrong and shameful to think what we think, then how on earth do we imagine we’ll ever convince anyone else that it isn’t wrong and shameful, let alone that we might actually have a point?

On one occasion when I admitted my political leanings to a surprised but extremely kind and courteous Remainer friend, she suggested that I ought to write an article for the university newspaper – to inject some sensible Anne-ness into the Brexit debate, I think was roughly how she put it. The implication was, a lot of people have simply never seen anyone make a sensible case in favour of leaving the European Union. I mean, small wonder, if it’s as rare as it is even to see a pro-Brexit comedian on a current-affairs panel show. But if the current circumstances – with Brexit having rolled over into its third delay and a general election coming next month – won’t prompt me to stop being such a bloody coward and actually stand up for what I believe in by attempting to make a sensible case of this sort, then I’m not sure what will. So that’s what I’m planning on doing next post.

While we’re on the matter of what I believe in, though, there’s one more reason why I don’t talk about politics: because I worry that telling people my political views might get in the way of telling them the gospel. I worry that I might cast myself as tainted: that people might go, well, if Anne thinks all that crazy stuff about politics, then I’m not sure why I should listen to her about anything else. And at the end of the day, my political views are just that, my views, not God’s truth; it’s possible for the Christian to take any number of political standpoints without compromising his or her commitment to the gospel. I’m completely willing to come across as hopelessly daft or even detestable for the sake of the gospel, because it is the power of God for salvation and is worth everything I have, but with politics, the stakes are just not that high. The extent to which I would like more people to think Brexit is a good idea is completely negligible next to the extent to which I would like more people to confess Jesus as Lord.

But let’s be real here, however much of a mess I might make of things, all these matters are entirely under God’s control. He will gather his sheep; he will sanctify his Church; he will lead me through the remainder of my days exactly as they are written in his book; he will purpose every political event, good or bad, for our good and his glory; and one day he will overthrow every human power or authority, every political entity, and establish the everlasting kingdom of the Lord Jesus Christ, the rock that breaks the statue to pieces and grows to fill the whole earth.⁵ The reason I’m not a fraction as invested in talking about politics as I am in talking about Jesus, is the same reason I can talk about politics without being afraid of what other people might think of me as a result: because the Lord is the authority above all authorities, and he will have his way.

Footnotes

¹ Sorry. But you don’t properly feel the force of the thing unless you see the word fully spelled out.

² See for yourself: https://www.timeshighereducation.com/news/european-union-referendum-nine-out-of-ten-university-staff-back-remain.

³ Some kind human has uploaded the episode in question to YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C_CGb_kgZqQ.

⁴ Skip the video in the last link forward twenty-six minutes to see what I mean. If you’re familiar with Mock the Week, you’ll know that the studio audience never normally reacts like that to anything the panellists say.

⁵ I’m alluding to Daniel 2, in case you didn’t know: https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=daniel+2&version=ESVUK. I absolutely love the book of Daniel: the stories are super fun, it’s really interesting from a historical point of view (there’s still a Classicist in me somewhere), and it’s literally all about how to live distinctively as a servant of the LORD when you’re stranded in a society that doesn’t recognise him. Beat that for relevant.