Sport and the Quest for Unity: How the Logic of Consensus Undermines Democratic Culture

Political Unity and the Limits of Consensus

I begin with a temporary departure from the context of sport in order to establish a theoretical foundation that challenges the logic of consensus. Given the partisanship and polarization of contemporary politics (Mason, 2018), it might be tempting to assume the quest for unity is a recent endeavor. It is, however, a persistent historical problem. Grant (2014) describes political unity as

the main contributor to the longevity of political rule; a way to counteract political and social decay; a method of instituting shared purposes and goals; and a solution to situations where people hold not only different but even intractable political views. (p. 575)

Hanson (1995) further makes the case that we must “construe liberal democracy as a rhetorical tradition” (p. 22). Yet as sympathetic as Hanson, as a political scientist, is to rhetoric, he nevertheless defaults to a common framework for understanding rhetoric’s utility. As he declares, “The chief rhetorical principle of liberal democracy is of course the commitment to consensual decision-making” (Hanson, 1995, p. 51). Hanson’s “of course” thinking reflects a romantic vision of a harmonious liberal democracy in which citizens minimize conflict in deference to a greater shared sense of purpose. This is not unique to the United States but manifests itself more acutely given national mythologies of American exceptionalism and the American Dream. The idea that the United States has been uniquely chosen to lead the world to freedom and democracy (Zarefsky, 2014) has long provided a foundation for Americans to believe themselves to be unified in a shared purpose. As Beasley (2004) explains, this orientation depends on what she terms the “shared belief hypothesis, the notion that Americans are Americans because they share certain ways of thinking, even if there has been debate about exactly what these ways of thinking are” (p. 46).

In the absence of intellectual precision, Americans are prone to idealistic notions of being “united” as a “people.” Academics are also susceptible to such romanticism. In her excellent diagnosis of the increasing polarization and partisan sorting among American citizens, Mason (2018) still turns to a consensus-based ideal, what she calls “superordinate goals” that can unite people across sharp political divisions. As she cautiously suggests, “A modern political example of this can be seen in the aftermath of the terrorist attacks of September 11. For a short time afterward, Democrats and Republicans came together, at least in their approval of the president, George W. Bush” (Mason, 2018, p. 134). This is hardly a model for democratic engagement, for it relies on the abstract notion of unity for its own sake without taking account of the causes of political division or their variable forms of legitimacy.

The virtue assigned to unity in public discourse finds an analog in the academic turn to deliberation. Beginning in earnest in the 1990s, rhetorical studies and political theory found common ground in deliberative approaches to democracy. These approaches hail multiple influences but often cohere around Jürgen Habermas as a common point of reference. Key concepts in this tradition focus on “communicative rationality,” democratic legitimacy, and procedural norms of democratic decision-making (Gutman & Thompson, 1996; Habermas, 1989). Habermas (1999), in particular, has been taken to task for constructing an idealized version of the “public sphere” in which citizens can gather and allow “the forceless force of the better argument” (p. 332) to carry the day. Critical theorists have countered that “the very emphasis on rational-critical debate implies an incapacity to deal fairly with ‘identity politics’ and concerns for difference” (Calhoun, 1993, p. 3). Moreover, despite its purported investment in communicative norms, deliberative democracy is resistant to the contingencies and nuances of human communication and dismissive of legitimate forms of difference (Childers, 2008).

From the perspective of communication broadly, and rhetoric specifically, we can find more consonance in political theories of agonism. Agonistic democracy also is invested in political discourse and its role in democratic processes. However, it breaks from deliberative theory over what Mouffe (2000) refers to as a “mistaken emphasis on consensus” (p. 8). Rather than strive for deliberative consensus, “Agonistic democracy emphasizes the constitutive, and potentially constructive, nature of democratic contestation” (Lowndes & Paxton, 2018, p. 693). A rhetorically inflected sense of contestation not only allows for the inclusion of voices otherwise marginalized by deliberative norms, it also values disagreement and dissent and views them as essential to democratic health (Ivie, 2002).

Dissent has a complicated history in the United States, as national mythology romanticizes moments such as the American Revolution and abstract notions such as “freedom of speech,” yet often condemns acts of resistance that occur in the present, especially during times of crisis (Ivie, 2007). The drive for unity at such times both heightens citizens’ fear of expressing dissenting views (Crowley, 2006) and exaggerates the degree to which Americans believe themselves to share common points of view. Thus, as Phillips (1996) contends, “the resistance of diverse communities is rendered only in the language of some commonality, rather than in the languages of diversity” (p. 242). Acts of dissent—including taking a knee during performances of the national anthem—are met with scorn when they cannot achieve a perceived balance between advocating for change and preserving shared values. For citizens who identify with a marginalized group, achieving this balance is especially difficult.

There is much more to be said about how to theorize dissent, but my purpose here is to establish how political norms in the United States suppress dissent and romanticize unity. A more democratic vision need not eliminate all notions of unity, but it does require an accommodation to the pluralism that defines the nation. Agonistic theorists allow for this by thinking of unity in contingent terms. As Mouffe (2000) explains, “Politics aims at the creation of unity in a context of conflict and diversity; it is always concerned with the creation of an ‘us’ by the determination of a ‘them’” (p. 101). However, this cannot be understood as the elimination of “them” generally or “conflict” specifically. She adds, “an ‘agonistic’ democracy requires accepting that conflict and division are inherent to politics and that there is no place where reconciliation could be definitively achieved as the full articulation of the unity of ‘the people’” (Mouffe, 2000, pp. 15–16). This acceptance of conflict demands a corresponding acceptance of difference, what Connolly (2002) refers to as “agonistic respect” or “a relation of connection across difference” (p. xxvii).

Sport, Rhetoric, and Agonism

Sport represents a compelling site for exploring the tensions between unity and conflict. In many popular representations, sport is celebrated as a vehicle to bring people together. For example, in one of his most quoted passages, Nelson Mandela declared, “Sport has the power to change the world. It has the power to inspire. It has the power to unite people in a way that little else does” (quoted in Longman, 2013, ¶ 3). Mandela’s words speak to sport’s international reach, something perhaps best represented by the Olympic Games. Thomas Bach (2017), President of the International Olympic Committee, recently remarked, “The power of the Olympic Games is their universality and global appeal.…In our fragile world that is drifting apart, the Olympic Games have the power to unite humanity in all its diversity” (¶ 9). Although Bach was responding to contemporary political divisions, his words are representative of the Olympic philosophy since its advent in the late 19th Century.

Sport also is commonly viewed as a communal site for positive identification during domestic political conflict. For example, when Republicans and Democrats fought bitterly over President Bill Clinton’s infidelity and possible impeachment in 1998, some found a “sweet antidote” (Isaccson, 1998, p. 6) in the baseball home run race between Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa. More recently, after the Chicago Cubs won Major League Baseball’s World Series in 2016, their first championship in 108 years, President Barack Obama welcomed the team to the White House. Speaking just days before the end of his presidency, he noted (2017),

And it is worth remembering—because sometimes people wonder, well why are you spending time on sports, there’s other stuff going on—that throughout our history, sports has had this power to bring us together, even when the country is divided. (¶ 27)

Beyond political crises, moments of sporting triumph often become metaphors of resilience and renewal in the aftermath of tragedy. In the wake of historic flooding caused by Hurricane Harvey in 2017, the Houston Astros carried the mantra “Houston Strong” to a World Series title. In an article reviewing the short documentary, Houston Strong, Justice (2017) summarizes, “One theme runs through the documentary amid the clips of damage interspersed with the beauty of baseball: We are in this together” (¶ 23). The notion that winning games can inspire and sustain community rebirth after a natural disaster has been similarly attributed to the NFL’s New Orleans Saints after Hurricane Katrina devastated much of the U.S. Gulf Coast in 2005 (Thompson, 2015) and the University of Alabama’s football team after a deadly tornado struck Tuscaloosa in 2011 (Anderson, 2014).

As moments such as these suggest, there are legitimate reasons to acknowledge sport’s capacity for generating and sustaining community (O’Rourke, 2003; Trujillo & Krizek, 1994; Zagacki & Grano, 2005). I am not dismissive of this. However, the idealism that sport can fashion an imagined community presents at least two concerns. First, it risks exaggerating the good done for a suffering community by any given team or league. In the case of the Saints after Katrina, Serazio (2010) cautions, “NFL football, carrying the mantle of New Orleans’ psychic recovery, gets to claim to be about something far more than ‘just’ diversionary sports entertainment. It self-appoints as a symbolic instrument of healing and unity” (p. 159). Taken too seriously, this attitude measures a community’s civic health more by the status of its local sports teams than the integrity of its infrastructure, shared services, or public safety.

Second, the celebration of athletic success often comes at the expense of legitimate community divisions and political conflicts. In their study of the Saints and the reopening of the Louisiana Superdome, Grano and Zagacki (2011) complicate the standard narrative of renewal. “While these experiences of unity around attendance and participation at games constitute a legitimately important function of sport,” they write, “they also tend to gloss over or suppress structural inequities sitting just beneath the celebration, waiting to emerge through the next crisis” (p. 219). Similarly, writing about the Vegas Golden Knights’ response to a 2017 mass shooting, Burroughs et al. (2019) praise the National Hockey League (NHL) franchise for galvanizing the community through its sustained efforts. However, although the team featured numerous ceremonies of mourning and memorialization, they did so in ways that neglected issues inescapably associated with the tragedy. As they describe,

Absent from these gestures and remembrances are any proclamations about the causes of gun violence, support for initiatives to end gun violence, or acknowledgment of the complex emotional and psychological responses to pain and suffering beyond the stoic boast of strength and resolve. (Burroughs et al., 2019, p. 13)

This shared endeavor constitutes a community, but not necessarily unity. Returning to Grant (2014):

I contend that a common identity is precisely what we do not want. The etymology of the term identity is consistent; it means sameness or oneness, and thus evokes the visions of excessively restricted modes of belonging that we ought to reject.…The term common, by contrast, has all the potential. It developed from the word commune, which prior to 1300 meant belonging to all, and finds its earliest origin in the Latin commūnis, with its provocative meaning: sharing burdens. (p. 585)

Rivalry is a term relevant, obviously, to sport. Rivalries in sport energize the community and are valued, at least in part, because they are sustainable. The very best rivalries in sports—Duke versus North Carolina in college basketball, Roger Federer versus Rafael Nadal in tennis, FC Barcelona versus Real Madrid in association football—depend on being able to play again another day. The value in this metaphor lies in the contingent nature of sport—glory may be claimed by a contest’s victor, but subsequent contests offer the promise of a reversal of fortune. Regardless of the outcome, however, each contest reaffirms the community’s shared purpose and the recognition that rival sides depend on one another to sustain their excellence.

I do not want to be overly romantic about all rivalries, as there are obvious concerns with the concept. Rivalries heighten in-group identification and might do so at the expense of out-groups (Smith & Schwarz, 2003), they may foster community resentments, especially among citizens of different nations (Whigham, 2014), media coverage of rivalries can rely on harmful stereotypes (Spencer, 2003), and television coverage of rivalry games may induce positive attitudes toward violence (Raney & Kinnally, 2009). Indeed, the violence implied by sport and its common associations with war (Herbeck, 2004; Jansen & Sabo, 1994) suggest that we can carry the metaphor only so far. What is required, then, is a contingent, provisional sense of rivalry, one in which we declare our allegiances while maintaining respect for our opponents. What each of the concerns noted above share in common is an absolute sense of rivalry, one in which identities are essentialized as “us” and them. Such absolutism has long been characteristic of political culture in the United States but especially so following 9/11.

United We Stand? Sport After 9/11 and Under Trump

Earlier, I noted Mason’s reference to American citizens’ broad approval of President Bush in the immediate aftermath of 9/11 and the early stages of the “war on terror.” What this version of unity misses is how much it relied on a delimited interpretation of patriotism and citizenship, punishing those who dared not to show unity the proper way. Unity, thus constituted, was based on an abstract image of being properly “American” and not on any tangible value or policy. Instead, citizenship was constituted through symbolic expressions of patriotism and consumption (Dickinson, 2005). As Ivie (2005) summarizes, “The primary burdens of citizenship in this war against terrorism were to wave the flag and exercise the courage to consume” (p. 128). With such a powerful emphasis on mass consumption, entertainment, and acquiescent patriotism, sport became an especially prominent site for the promotion of unity.

Scholars in communication, cultural studies, and sociology have done much to address the use of sport in constituting a sense of unity following 9/11 (Brown, 2004; Butterworth, 2014; Silk, 2012). Meanwhile, popular commentary has celebrated the romantic vision of sport as a vehicle for allowing people come together, an ideal that appears consistent with Mason’s (2018) notion of the superordinate goal. Many agreed that, in spite of the losses suffered by the tragedy, the nation had gained something when it citizens turned toward, instead of against, each other. Few symbols dramatize this notion as well as the exhibit, “Comeback Season: Sports after 9/11,” which debuted at the National September 11 Memorial & Museum in 2018. As the museum’s website notes, “The exhibition explores how sports and athletes helped to unite the country, console a grieving nation and gave us a reason to cheer again following the 2001 attacks” (¶ 1). Much like the significance granted to sport after a natural disaster, here the generally accepted narrative has been that sport allowed the nation to move forward after 9/11. As Wetzel (2011) writes, “Sports simply offered the biggest possible vision of patriotism, offered that collective celebration of America, the chance to be part of a huge show that we were still here, that we still mattered, that we could still roar” (¶ 19). Meanwhile, the standard disposition after 9/11 was to be deferential, both to the “troops” and to the policy makers in the government.

In subsequent years, as Americans were implored routinely to “never forget,” sport rituals echoed this logic. Serazio (2019) suggests that the failures—or, at least, minimal successes—of the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq has meant that “sports spectacle has been enlisted in the decade since [9/11] to airbrush the narrative” (p. 260). Thus, as the war on terror has faded from the public lexicon, the militarism of sport in the United States has only intensified (Butterworth, 2017). The cozy relationship between sport and the military relies on “ephemeral moments of spectacular patriotism” (Butterworth, 2014, p. 220) grounded in calls to “support the troops” (Stahl, 2009) and an elision of discussion and debate about policy.

Alongside this creeping militarism was the concomitant bolstering of White nationalism, especially through leagues such as the NFL and the National Association for Stock Car Auto Racing (NASCAR) (Kusz, 2007a; Newman & Giardina, 2008), as well as other arenas such as lifestyle/extreme sports (Kusz, 2007b). To disrupt sport’s push for unity would link athletes to a legacy of resistance arguably best understood through racial politics. Bryant (2018) makes this argument explicitly in The Heritage, detailing both the history of racial activism in sport and the many ways that African American athletes are compromised by the logics of capitalism and labor. This argument is also central to Khan’s forthcoming book, The Renaissance of the Activist Athlete, which traces the rhetorical lineage of athlete activism to contextualize the persuasive capacities of contemporary protest.

Space prevents an extended discussion of race and activism in U.S. sport, but it is worth noting that African American athletes have inspired many of the most significant moments of resistance in sport history. This history must account for rebellious men such as Jack Johnson as well as more “accommodating” figures such as Jesse Owens. It also must acknowledge the barriers broken by Jackie Robinson and Curt Flood, and the provocative acts of defiance from Muhammad Ali, and John Carlos, and Tommie Smith. Along with others, including Arthur Ashe, Jim Brown, Bill Russell, and many more, these athletes challenged the nation’s injustices and cast doubt on its purported unity. For many of them, being “political” earned them public scorn and professional struggles.

Perhaps most representative are Carlos and Smith, whose 1968 medal stand protest at the Mexico City Olympics led to their dismissal from the Olympic Village and vitriolic comments from many fellow citizens and members of the media back home. In response to their raised fists, a young Brent Musberger wrote,

One gets a little tired of having the United States run down by athletes who are enjoying themselves at the expense of their country. Protesting and working constructively against racism in the United States is one thing, but airing one’s dirty clothing before the entire world during a fun-and-games tournament was no more than a juvenile gesture by a couple of athletes who should have known better. (quoted in Hartmann, 2003, p. 11)

Musberger’s critique would have been effective, in part because normative assumptions about citizenship in the United States default to an imagined White subject. As Mills (1997) explains, American citizenship operates with a “racial contract” in which Whiteness is not only taken for granted but is seen as apolitical. As a consequence, challenges to norms from people who are not White are commonly framed as explicitly political and perceived to threaten democratic stability. These unspoken assumptions are amplified in sport, where a persistent faith in meritocracy clouds structural inequalities that inhibit athletes of color. The myth of meritocracy is coupled with the overrepresentation of African American athletes in sports such as American football and basketball, therefore creating the perception that either racism in sport is irrelevant or that wealthy athletes of color are spoiled or even ungrateful. In Carrington’s words, “A danger is that the perceived level playing field of sport can serve an ideological function by leading people to assume that Western societies in particular have achieved a meritocracy that transcends the structural correlates of a racialized social order” (quoted in Eitzen, 2016, p. 141). From this perspective, sport offers a symbolic unity that is placed in jeopardy when African American athletes such as Ali or Carlos and Smith challenge the social and political norms that otherwise go unspoken.

Colin Kaepernick hailed this legacy of racial activism and exposed how fragile the notion of unity can be. For Kaepernick and the other athletes who have chosen to take a knee, the flag is as much about the nation’s democratic shortcomings as it is about its triumphs. As he put it at the time,

I am not going to stand up to show pride in a flag for a country that oppresses Black people and people of color. To me, this is bigger than football and it would be selfish on my part to look the other way. There are bodies in the street and people getting paid leave and getting away with murder. (quoted in Wyche, 2017, ¶ 3)

In spite of Kaepernick’s explicit comments that he was motivated by particular political injustices, much of the conversation focused on the propriety of his protest. Once again, notions of propriety were subsumed by the privilege granted to the presumed universal identity represented by White men (Bryant, 2018).

Given the assumption that White men are the keepers of proper citizenship and, therefore, the protectors of unity, much of the criticism of Kaepernick accused him of politicizing the sport and creating conflict and division. Such accusations centered on his alleged rejection of the most valued constituency honored by the flag and anthem: the U.S. military. This, of course, brings the discourse full circle, back to the articulations of sport, the military, and unity. It also brings us back to reconsider the nature of the anthem ritual and the divisions inherent in both it and the flag. As Marvin and Ingle (1999) declare, “In American civil religion, the flag is the ritual instrument of group cohesion” (p. 2), adding that, “In sports the flag reminds us we’re Americans” (p. 207). Implied here is the logic of consensus being used as a rhetorical weapon, constituting us and them in antagonistic terms in order to assure unity. This logic has been institutionalized over the decades, from the ritual performances of the national anthem since the 1940s to the more recent adoption of “God Bless America” (Briley, 2017). However, as I have suggested already, the unity symbolized by this ritual is inherently fragile, for it is threatened by the nation’s inability to fulfill its fundamental promises to all of its citizens. Moments of challenge, then, not only disrupt the sanctity of the performance itself, they also spotlight the nation’s collective democratic failures. In other words, the presence of the anthem and flag in the U.S. sporting context is predicated on the inherent lack of unity that defines U.S. democratic culture. Perhaps because the notion of unity is so precarious, reactions to Kaepernick questioned his patriotism and accused him of being disrespectful.

Truthfully, the furor over Kaepernick appeared to have run its course by the start of the 2017 preseason. Of course, that is when President Trump offered his inflammatory remarks: “Wouldn’t you love to see one of these N.F.L. owners, when somebody disrespects our flag, to say, ‘Get that son of a bitch off the field right now, out, he’s fired” (quoted in Belson & Davis, 2017, ¶ 4). Trump’s comments reignited the controversy and, initially, placed the NFL in an even more anxious position. Up to that point, the league had largely failed in its handling of the issue and, in the president, NFL leadership found a suitable rhetorical foil. In response to Trump’s antagonism, Commissioner Roger Goodell set the tone for the league as a whole, drawing on the various themes of unity I have outlined in this essay:

The NFL and our players are at our best when we help create a sense of unity in our country and our culture. There is no better example than the amazing response from our clubs and players to the terrible natural disasters we’ve experienced over the last month. Divisive comments like these demonstrate an unfortunate lack of respect for the NFL, our great game and all of our players, and a failure to understand the overwhelming force for good our clubs and players represent in our communities. (quoted in Zak, 2017, ¶ 2)

Owners and other team officials followed suit and defaulted back to abstract notions of unity: “We are at our very best when we are working together, building unity and including everyone’s voice in a constructive dialogue,” Arthur Blank of the Atlanta Falcons; “We must not let misguided, uninformed and divisive comments from the president or anyone else deter us from our efforts to unify,” Dee and Jimmy Haslam of the Cleveland Browns; “Sports in America have the unique ability to bring people from all walks of life and from different points of view together to work toward or root for a common goal, and the Indianapolis Colts are proud to be a part of that tradition in our home city and state,” Jim Irsay of the Indianapolis Colts; “Sports have long been a unifying force—especially in challenging times—and hatred and division have no place in our game,” Clark Hunt of the Kansas City Chiefs; “The NFL and its players, more than anything, have been a force for good. What our country needs right now is a message of unity, civility and mutual respect,” Dean Spanos of the Los Angeles Chargers; “We at the Philadelphia Eagles firmly believe that in this difficult time of division and conflict, it is more important than ever for football to be a great unifier,” Jeffrey Lurie of the Philadelphia Eagles; and “I completely agree with Commissioner Goodell that we are better off as a nation when we are unified and pulling together,” Amy Adams Strunk of the Tennessee Titans (Zak, 2017, ¶ 3–25).

Some of the league’s most visible stars also echoed Commissioner Goodell. Green Bay quarterback Aaron Rodgers posted an image of himself kneeling with three teammates, two of whom are African American, to Instagram with a series of hashtags: “#unity #brotherhood #family #dedication #love” (Dougherty, 2017, ¶ 2). New England quarterback Tom Brady also posted to Instagram with a photo of himself with a teammate and a list of his own: “Strength. Passion. Love. Brotherhood. Unity. Commitment. Dedication. Determination. Respect. Loyalty. Work” (Dougherty, 2017, ¶ 9). Neither Rodgers nor Brady acknowledged the origin of the protests in their posts, though Rodgers had done so weeks earlier in an interview for ESPN The Magazine (Kimes, 2017). Meanwhile, Anquan Boldin, Malcolm Jenkins, and Marcus Gilbert were among the African American players who featured the word “unite” or unity in their social media posts (Dougherty, 2017). That some of the athletes who were active in the protests chose to echo this theme shows how rhetorically powerful it was. Not all of the players who posted to social media were unified, however. In one of the few statements to call out the purpose of taking a knee in the first place, the Seattle Seahawks appropriated unity and collectively announced,

As a team, we have decided we will not participate in the national anthem. We will not stand for the injustice that has plagued people of color in this country. Out of love for our country and in honor of the sacrifices made on our behalf, we unite to oppose those that would deny our most basic freedoms. (Vrentas, 2017, ¶ 12)

Beyond statements from those in the NFL, there are two particularly illustrative examples from sports media that further demonstrate the logic of consensus that underlies such declarations of unity. The first is the October 2, 2017, issue of Sports Illustrated, featuring a cover headline, “A Nation Divided, Sports United.” While the accompanying article acknowledged the importance of activism, the tone-deaf cover featured an imagined rendering of figures such as LeBron James, Stephen Curry, and Roger Goodell arm in arm, while inexcusably omitting Kaepernick altogether. In the article, “Athletes are not Going to ‘Stick to Sports’ and That’s an Admirable American Thing,” Charles Pierce made no claim to the unity announced by the cover, and the magazine made no effort to speculate about the issues or concerns about which the featured individuals might be united.

The second example comes from the NFL itself, which aired a 1-min commercial on Sunday Night Football in the wake of Trump’s remarks (it originally had aired during the Super Bowl earlier in the year but clearly took on new meaning). Narrated by actor Forest Whitaker, “Inside these Lines” tells us, “Inside these lines, we don’t have to come from the same place to help each other reach the same destination. Inside these lines, we may have our differences, but recognize there’s more that unites us.” As an NFL spokesperson stated, “We think this is the single best response to demonstrate what we are about. It stands in stark contrast to someone who practices the politics of division” (Stetler, 2017). Although that line may have been directed at President Trump, it could also have been read as a commentary on Kaepernick’s protest.

In the midst of these declarations of unity, there were prominent voices of opposition in sports media. Several columnists pointed out the hypocrisy of trumpeting unity without taking seriously the sources of division (Steinberg, 2017; Willingham, 2017; Zirin, 2017), and some on-air personalities such as Shannon Sharpe called out NFL owners who only showed solidarity because they did not like being bullied by the president (Fang, 2017). Yet even in some cases where media figures were critical of Trump, the pull of unity was magnetic. For example, in defense of freedom of speech and the players’ right to protest, the NFL Network’s Rich Eisen insisted,

That is what the democracy is about, an American experience that is better for all, governing for all.…And today hopefully will turn out to be a day of unity in the National Football League and through the sports world. (quoted in Traina, ¶ 2)

Ultimately, in spite of some eloquent dissent, most of the commentary in sports media either actively promoted or passively accepted the league’s frame. Too often, this collective discourse invoked ideals about American diversity but denied the actual pluralism that defines democratic culture. Perhaps most importantly, it attempted to make unity an end in and of itself, thereby foreclosing ongoing contestation. In other words, if citizens are unified, what is it that they are unified about?

Recentering Contestation

Although I would advocate the dissociation of sport from nationalism and militarism, such a move is not presently realistic. The intersection can, however, be muted to a degree and any discussion about the propriety of protest in the sporting context must spotlight the conditions of politics that are always already present. In other words, Colin Kaepernick was neither politicizing the NFL nor creating division; rather, the politics already embedded within the league and ritualized through the anthem constituted the symbolic terrain to which Kaepernick responded. It is imperative that observers of sport—from fans to journalists to academics—call out the political divisions constituted in and through sport but that are masked by the symbolic illusions of unity. As I noted above, there were sports media members who objected to the NFL’s cynicism and attempted to redirect the public’s attention to police violence and racial inequality. Nevertheless, the league moved on quickly after one symbolic weekend in September 2017, one likely “remembered as an unprecedented display of unity in the NFL, between white and black players, between conference rivals, in all corners of the country, in defense of their rights as American citizens” (Vrentas, 2017, ¶ 14). The display may have been unprecedented, but it hardly amounted to any defense of meaningful citizenship.

More provocatively, we would do well to accept that Americans are not, in terms either real or imagined, a united public. In spite of the nation’s powerful mythologies of “shared values” (Beasley, 2004) and American exceptionalism, the quest to fashion a unified whole out of a population of such diversity is bound to fail if it is rooted in the universalist terms favored by the tradition of liberal democracy. To the extent that we can think of unity as contingent and provisional, we may be better suited to navigate political conflict. More than a call to rebuild the foundations of American political theory, such a shift of attitude mandates that we see demands for unity as implied threats to social justice. As innocuous and virtuous as it may seem to desire a nation whose citizens can rally together in common cause, this desire imperils the lives of others—in this case, African American men—for whom justice and equity remain out of reach.

A transformation of this kind requires a larger shift in our democratic culture, away from using sport as a metaphor for political spectatorship and toward a robust engagement with discussion and debate. Being better equipped as citizens, generally, would allow for more inclusive and respectful engagements with those athletes who are politically aware and active. Moreover, if sport spectatorship is a weak democratic metaphor, then sport rivalry may provide a stronger one. Sport privileges ongoing contestation, a value that serves agonistic democracy well. By acknowledging the unavoidability of conflict, we can better navigate the contingencies of democratic life and be willing to think of decision making as a process instead of a product. This returns us to the idea of competition as an invitation to collaborate, “to strive” together.

Grant (2014) reminds us that we are called to do “the political work of articulating common burdens and a shared fate. This, I believe, must be a significant part of how we address political unity and its exclusions today” (p. 586). A model of such work might be found in the rhetoric of President Barack Obama, articulated during a pivotal moment in his campaign in 2008. As Terrill (2009) explains, the future presidential nominee was able to navigate concerns about race that were prompted by his association with the controversial Reverend Jeremiah Wright. Obama invoked W. E. B. DuBois’s notion of “double consciousness” to invent a rhetorical posture between unity and duality. As Terrill explains:

We must be able to imagine others as comparable to ourselves so that we might accept their points of view as justifiable and legitimate; we must be able to appreciate the past without becoming paralyzed by it; we must be able to see ourselves as a union without becoming essentially unified, to see that we might share a common stake without sharing common experiences. In short, if we are to achieve a more perfect union, we must become able to divide ourselves. (Terrill, 2009, p. 38)