Why I’m wary of getting into political conversations with Christians online – and how I’m voting tomorrow.

Three posts – three responses:

Number 1…

After the 2015 election, I wrote a Facebook post sharing my dismay that the Conservatives won with a 12-seat majority. I was outspoken on austerity and believed this represented a painful result for the country’s poorest. I was careful to avoid slander or rudeness but didn’t hide my trepidation.

About ten minutes later I received a furious private message suggesting I should quit my job and shouldn’t be trusted to ever again speak to young people about my views. Because there were Christians within the Conservative party, this person told me I had no right at all to speak against them and should be ashamed of myself for doing so.

Number 2…

In 2016, I posted a link to a piece of research on what age brackets voted in the EU referendum saying it made an ‘interesting read’. I received three angry comments from Christians that I was subjecting democracy.

Number 3…

Fast forward two years. In April 2018 I watched the debate around Syrian airstrikes. During the debate I interacted on Twitter maybe six times. I don’t believe I was rude or offensive, and at least half of those posts were just links to research sites rather than commentary. However, some posts did firmly state that I was against the airstrikes.

I forgot that my Twitter account linked to Facebook, so my tweets were being reposted out of context into a very different arena. An old friend from Bible College sent me a strong message challenging my attitude towards the Conservative Government and suggesting a casual reader may believe I cared more about this than Jesus.

This was a better and fairer response than the others, but it still seemed strange. I did ask what particularly from the posts gave that impression but didn’t receive a response.

Over-reactions?

I am always very careful to avoid posting sensationalised sources, reductionist memes, or slanderous attacks. I try to keep my language balanced and nuanced, but I still try to share an opinion. I believe that my posts were measured, well-meaning, and honest interactions with politics online – met with unreasonable, knee-jerk responses.

Sometimes it’s really obvious that a response has come from a thirty-second trip around Google or Wikipedia, other times it just feels overly aggressive and unnecessary.

Frankly, I’ve had far more aggressive responses to my worldview from Christians who don’t agree with my politics, than I have ever had from non-Christians who don’t agree with my faith – and I work full time as an evangelist!

These responses are some of the reasons I rarely, if ever, post about politics online. It saves a lot of energy just staying silent.

Why am I posting now?

I believe this is, by a long margin, the most important election I have ever voted in. It is oozing in bile-soaked rhetoric, covered by steaming heaps of misinformation, and saturated in soundbite-tested, downright lies.

However…

The last nine years has seen a 2400% rise in food bank usage, a 1000% rise in homelessness, and a 300% increase in tuition fees.

35% of the country’s children live in poverty, 750 youth centres have closed, a 300% increase in tuition fees and a 70% increase in teen suicide.

There are 36,000 less teachers, 25,000 less police officers, 10,000 less firefighters, 10,000 less medical professionals, and half of councils are facing bankruptcy.

80% of self-employed people live under the poverty line, 40% of working households have no savings, and 60% of households can only survive 2 months without a wage.

Are you freaking kidding me?

How we vote tomorrow will have a demonstrable effect on the future of so many people. It’s really hard to stay silent.

Minority beliefs

Christians have minority beliefs – that’s the nature of the beast and we all get it.

Speaking of minority beliefs politically, I am a lifelong Labour supporter. I became a member when I was about 16 during studying politics at A-Level. I also went to two party conferences in Blackpool at the time.

I’m also ‘relatively’ socialist – at least in a very broad sense. I believe that the distribution of wealth is largely unfair, and that resources are not likely to trickle down from innately selfish people. I think that capitalism has a long history of inefficiently creating a surplus of goods which are then wasted, and a long rap sheet of economic disasters. I believe there is enough wealth in the world to pay off global debt and give every man, woman and child a home, transport, and access to both education and healthcare. I also believe that it’s possible to work enough to live well, support others, and still enjoy social time to learn, relax, and worship.

I think the Bible largely speaks in these terms. I believe we’re told to look after the poorest amongst us, to spend our finances on helping everyone flourish, and to lead with a servant-hearted, compassionate approach to society. Money (especially the short-sighted accumulation of it) is largely seen as a destructive evil. In contrast, we’re told to give cheerfully and secretly.

There is still a mandate to work hard and fairly for our living and not be idle – but you can’t draw a straight line from that to market capitalism.

This has never gone down well with my Christian brothers and sisters. Granted, I did used to work in Britain’s safest Conservative seat, and right now I’m living in another Conservative seat (at the moment). I also first went to Bible College with mostly middle-class men, who were largely conservative in their worldviews.

The Death of Critical Thinking

Those who know me well know that I like to think of myself as a ‘lay epistemologist’. I love thinking about thinking. I’m a huge believer in abstract thought, clashing objective reasoning, cultural thought models, finding tracks through nuance, and exploring the vast landscapes of ‘grey areas.’

This is one of the reasons that I think I’m quite good at my job. Teenagers will consider faith with people who genuinely set up ways of exploring faith without attached dogmatisms. This doesn’t mean that I don’t hold strong views and robust opinions. I do. But I intentionally try to explore other points of view while holding mine in tension. For those of you who know apologetic theory – this was the initial foundation to presuppositionism.

The problem is that political discourse discourages critical engagement. Online conversation only really gives room for the polarised, the sensationalised, the extreme, and the entrenched. When I open my mouth to explore nuance, I’m usually packaged, branded, organised and then dismissed.

Here’s an example:

I believe the 2016 referendum needed to be rerun – because: 1. It was too close to change a significant status quo whereas previous precedent would have required a 2/3^rds majority; 2. Crimes were committed, and rules were broken which influenced the result; 3. Economic positions are much clearer now; 4. It didn’t allow for damage to the Union through devolved results; 5. There was no worked out plan for what ‘leave’ would look like; 6. The leave deals campaigned on ideas that we now know are not available to us; 7. Nearly four years have elapsed and lots has changed in that time; 8. Polls tell us there is a shift in opinion; 9. The 2017 election was to find a mandate to negotiate, which didn’t happen; 10. The people who would be effected by this this most (or at least the longest) had the smallest voice – many of whom can now vote; 11. The negotiations have been handled incredibly badly which has really embarrassed the UK on the international stage.

These are reasons that you may not agree with – but they are considered by experts and should be thought about critically. However, the only response I’ve ever had to rerunning the referendum is ‘that’s anti-democratic’ or ‘you don’t’ respect the choice of the people’ or ‘but you lost, move on!’

Democracy demands conversation, and the reason we have elections at least twice a decade is to give people the option to converse on and focus their thinking. Add to this the incredible lack of understanding of how referendums actually work in an electoral democracy, and things really start to get silly.

So, what am I doing tomorrow?

I will be voting Labour. The media narrative surrounding Jeremy Corbyn is unprecedented. There have been so many properly researched reports by independent groups showing the incredible amount of malicious bias against him. Do you believe the narrative? Trace the threads, look at the competing views of the sources, and make an informed choice.

I don’t believe he’s ‘a friend of terrorists’ – that is glib reduction of his activist history in the pursual of peace. I don’t believe he’s anti-Semitic – he has taken serious action against those in his party to tackle racism and has a long history of doing so (although granted, there is still work to be done across all parties on this heinous and wicked issue). I don’t believe he’s going to bankrupt the country – his proposals are considered at the highest level by many world-leading economists and are still tame compared to many other countries in Europe looking at investment models.

However, I do believe his optimism is a little shallow. It looks like there will be a broader tax increase for more than just the top 5% – although that should be less than the increases of the last nine years. I don’t think the savings he’s projecting for the working classes will largely come into effect for another 15 or so years at best, and aren’t balanced against unpredictable inflation. I also think some of his approaches to international policy can be a little naive.

However again, he’s always worked hard for peace, he believes in a fairer distribution of wealth, and he’s got a statesman approach to dialogue. Honestly, I trust him, and believe he believes in what he says. More locally, my constituency candidate for Labour is also fabulous – so I’m happy all round.

I’ll be awake all-night Thursday. I’m praying, I’m hoping, I’m talking, I’m trying to believe – and of course I’m voting. What about you?

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