Article
Comment
General Election 24
Politics
5 min read

What happens when you lose an election?

Spare a thought (and prayer) for the defeated.

Ross leads CARE, a Christian social policy charity.

A mayor reads an election result as a despondent candidate looks on.
Penny Mordaunt loses in Portsmouth.
BBC News.

Friday morning, 6 May 2005 I awoke wondering whether the past few months had been a bad dream, and contemplating what my future might hold. It was the day after the general election. ‘My’ party had won, but my result, while respectable, was a distant second place. So, in the wake of this election, I know what the vast majority of the 4,379 candidates who ran are feeling, which is why I would encourage us all to spare a thought and prayer for them. 

Few people apart from close family and friends and the most ardent party activists will give much attention to the candidates who lost. Perhaps a few prominent politicians will be interviewed alongside pictures of the ex-cabinet member who lost their seat to a fresh-faced young candidate. But in general, life moves swiftly on, and those who lost will be quickly forgotten about. 

It's understandable. We want to know what a new Government will do – who will be the leading figures shaping our lives over the next few years. If we do think about those who lost it will be in the context of the next competition – party leadership. Will there be a change in party leaders? Which ‘faction’ will come to dominate their party, and so on. This is an important consideration. 

There will be hundreds if not thousands of candidates who will need to be reminded that their identity and worth is not in politics, being a candidate, or seeking the approval of local voters. 

Of the 3,729 candidates not elected to sit in Parliament for the next five years many will face a similar mixture of emotions as I did on that morning in 2005. There may be regret and anger. I know for a long time I wondered whether there were things I could have done differently. Things I did not say or do that could have made a difference. “If we had planned to do this… if we could have avoided that…, should I have…” will be questions on the lips of many on Friday morning. 

Personally, I also felt that there were things said and done against me that were deeply unfair, so I was also angry that the unjust had seemed to prevail. I could identify with the  ancientthe ancient writer of the Psalms poetry who cried “why do the wicked prosper?” Politics is unfair and cruel. That is the reality. Too often it is not a meritocracy. Candidates lose, not because they are less able but because voters preferred another party or leader. 

In these days following the election, I suspect there will be hundreds if not thousands of candidates who will need to be reminded that their identity and worth is not in politics, being a candidate, or seeking the approval of local voters. For me, I was immensely grateful for close friends and teachers who reminded me that my identity was in Jesus Christ. I was part of a holy nation, a royal priesthood and God’s special possession. God knows how those former candidates and MPs without that security will cope, which is why they need our prayers. 

Being a candidate is hugely costly. Some do it for fun, others might be motivated by spite, but the great majority run because they want to serve others. 

I also needed to learn what it meant to forgive. I felt that untrue claims and accusations had been made against me during the campaign, and tactics deployed that were designed to intimidate and mislead. I did feel that the result was unfair, and I was angry that my opponent and his team would stoop very low to win, But I also needed to learn how to forgive. To this day I believe I ran an honourable campaign, giving more respect than I received; and I would like to think I would have made a good MP. I believed God called me to run but I do not feel he let me down. That does not mean he still needed to teach me how to forgive my opponent. That is an ongoing process I am learning over time.   

There will be many like me who will need to learn forgiveness in the weeks, months and years after the election. Like me, they may need to learn how to forgive opponents that hurt or wronged them, or learn how to forgive themselves, the electorate, or even God for not giving them their hearts desire.

And I'll pray that those who were defeated in this election will still have sense of calling to public service, despite their loss, if this is right for them. Being a candidate is hugely costly. Some do it for fun, others might be motivated by spite, but the great majority run because they want to serve others. We need to remember this in an age where people are increasingly cynical about politics and politicians. 

I lived in the constituency I was running in for over four months before the election. The Monday after polling day I was back at the desk I had not seen for months. It took several months for me to slowly work out that God could still have a calling for me into the public square and that his plan was good. 

There is evidence that in the current environment, good people are staying out of politics and public life because of the cost and the emotional toll it has on the individual and their family. I know firsthand some of what that means. But if good people are deterred, they leave a vacuum that will be filled by others of less capability and virtuous character. That would be a tragedy for our national life.  

So, in the days after the election, I will intentionally remember how I felt nineteen years ago and send a card or text message to those who I know have lost, thanking them for their service and reminding them that God may still be calling them into public life and service, just in a different way. And I will pray for them, as I also pray for the new government, and the peace and prosperity of the UK in the next five years. 

Column
Comment
Football
Identity
Sport
5 min read

Football’s rainbow row shows up symbolism’s flaws

The vagueness that gives symbols power reduces the chance for nuanced conversation.
A football boot with rainbow laces
Premier League.

In 2013, the LGBTQ+ charity Stonewall partnered with the Premier League to launch the Rainbow Laces campaign. For certain matches, Premier League footballers are encouraged to wear rainbow colour laces and armbands when captain. 

The stated aim of the campaign is to ensure “everyone feels welcome” at football matches. All the league’s clubs have committed to the campaign, although the wearing of laces and armbands is optional for players.  

Recently, Ipswich Town’s captain Sam Morsy decided to wear a standard captain’s armband, rather than the rainbow-coloured version. The club later released a statement saying he made this decision due to his religious beliefs, which the club respected. Morsy again declined to wear the rainbow-coloured armband for Ipswich’s match against Crystal Palace a few days later. 

Speaking of Crystal Palace, their captain – Marc Guehi – did wear the armband, but wrote “I [heart] Jesus” on it. While the FA did not punish Guehi or Palace, they did write to them to remind them that religious messaging of any kind was not permitted on kits. Subsequently, during Tuesday’s match against Ipswich, Guehi changed the message to “Jesus [heart] you.” 

It says something about society’s view of Christianity that people saw Guehi’s “I [heart] Jesus” message and took it as an anti-LGBTQ+ message. The Church is doing something wrong if people can so easily equate loving Jesus with hating LGBTQ+ people.  

Of course, it is undeniable that many people have been – and continue to be – discriminated against and persecuted because of their sexual orientation or gender identity in acts of violence and abuse underwritten by religious beliefs. 

However, being ‘religious’ is not a straightforward predictor of someone’s views of sexual orientation. Many people who self-identity as Christian, Muslim, Jewish, or as members of any number of other faiths, would describe themselves as inclusive and affirming of people of all sexual orientations and gender identities. 

So, why are we talking about what colour armband grown men are wearing – or not wearing – when playing football?  

The issue emerges because of the use of these armbands as symbols. Symbols are inherently empty of content; they only mean something when individuals or groups assign meanings to those symbols.  

This is how the meaning ascribed to symbols changes over time, as they are used in different ways and received by different social groups. For centuries, the swastika was a wholly positive religious symbol in a variety of traditions across Hinduism, Buddhism, and Jainism, often carrying connotations of prosperity and good fortune. 

You would be hard pressed to find someone who ascribes this meaning to the swastika from the 1930s onwards.  

Symbols are powerful, but they are so precisely because they are devoid of intrinsic meaning. Humans are unsurpassed in their ability to fall out with one another. By centring campaigns and movements around symbols, people who would ordinarily be at each other’s throats are more easily able to stand alongside one another, ‘filling’ the symbol with whatever meaning sits most comfortably with them.  They are meaningless banners under which odd bedfellows might bury the hatchet in service of greater aims.  

But symbols can be a double-edged sword. Their lack of concrete meaning also allows different people to find competing meanings in the same symbol. Part of the reason for the dispute over the wearing of rainbow armbands, then, is due to different groups ascribing different meanings to the same symbol.  

For some footballers, being encouraged to wear rainbow armbands might be received as being encouraged to wear a symbol encoded with meanings that undermine their entire system of religious belief.  

And, for these people, religious belief is not an optional extra; it is their most fundamental identity and it is the framework within their entire existence and experience is rationalised and given meaning. To undermine a framework like this is no trivial matter.  

But for people who identity as LGBTQ+, seeing their team’s captain wearing a rainbow armband might ‘mean’ something as simple as: “If you identify as LGBTQ+, you are welcome here at this football match, and we want you to feel safe here.”  

It’s not hard to see how a refusal to wear an armband might be received as a slap in the face for people who ascribe that meaning to the armband; it’s tantamount to a refusal to acknowledge their existence. While it unfortunately does need repeating, the mere existence of LGBTQ+ people is not a threat to religious belief.  

The malleability of the symbol means that both individuals – and by extension, the groups to which they belong – are left feeling as though there is no space for them in football. Or, at the very least, that they have to compromise on being who they are if they are to be afforded a place within the football community.  

The desire for beige corporate gestures designed to be cheap, easy and unoffensive wins often reduces the scope for conversation and dialogue. 

And this is the problem with trying to navigate complex issues such as societal inequality through tokenistic gestures and symbols: the same power that enables symbols to unite people can also divide people. The same vagueness that makes symbols so powerful also minimises the possibility for genuine and nuanced conversation. 

This is not to say we should do away with such gestures altogether. The comedian Matt Lucas took to X to recount something of his experiences as an Arsenal fan. Twice this season – just this season – Lucas has been abused at football matches because of his sexuality. 

I’ve never been abused at a football match because of my sexuality, gender, race, ethnicity, or, for that matter, my religious beliefs. I don’t think it’s up to me to decide what does and does not make LGBTQ+ supporters feel welcome and safe at the match. If symbols such as rainbow armbands make these supporters feel safer at football matches – and again, it’s not up to me to decide if they do or they don’t – then I can only imagine that is an unqualified positive.  

That being said, if football is going to have meaningful and fruitful conversations about questions of faith, religion, and sexuality, then I think it’s clear that tokenistic use of symbols is simply not equipped for that. Like so much contemporary public discourse, the desire for beige corporate gestures designed to be cheap, easy and unoffensive wins often reduces the scope for conversation and dialogue.  

Symbols lie at the heart of human experience. The fallout from the actions of Sam Morsy and Marc Guehi demonstrates the significance of symbols to human life, but also of the importance of understanding the meaning of our cultural symbols, both as we understand them, and as they are understood by others.  

Too often we focus on what symbols mean to us, at the expense of what they might mean to others. When we assume that symbols carry a shared, fixed meaning for all, we deny ourselves the opportunity to listen and learn from the ways in which we experience our shared cultural symbols.  

And if there is one thing we really could do with more of, it is listening. 

Support Seen & Unseen

"If you were able to support us on Seen & Unseen with a regular gift of £5 or £10 a week, that would be a great encouragement for us and enable us to continue to produce the content we offer."

Graham Tomlin, Editor-in-Chief