In September 2016, the Claremont Institute published “The Flight 93 Election,” in which a pseudonymous writer (later revealed to be conservative essayist Michael Anton) made the case for Donald Trump. Anton described the 2016 election as a charge-the-cockpit-or-die scenario: Trump’s election was necessary to save conservatism and America; Hillary’s ascendance would have spelled the end of both. 

“You may die anyway,” Anton cautioned. “You–or the leader of your party–may make it into the cockpit and not know how to fly or land the plane. There are no guarantees. Except one: If you don’t try, death is certain.”

Anton’s essay came to define Trumpism. That Trump’s presidency ended with a mob sacking the Capitol, storming Nancy Pelosi’s office just as Anton had encouraged conservatives to metaphorically charge the cockpit of the American republic, was merely icing on the cake. Anton never claimed Trump knew how to fly the plane, nor did he pin his hopes on what a Trump administration could accomplish. His essay was about the enemy–Democrats–and the all-or-nothing choice Americans faced in the fall of 2016.

But this sort of Manichaeism is not exclusively a product of the Trump era. It represents much of what politics has become: a zero-sum slog in which nuance and thoughtfulness are banished in the name of passionate intensity. If Flight 93ism defines Trumpism, it defines modern American politics more broadly, too.

Let me pause. You might think I’m headed down a well-worn path: Politics shouldn’t be so all-or-nothing, left or right. There’s room for moderation; centrists are welcome! 

Not quite, actually. I’m all for centrism, but I think I have something different to add. I think Americans should embrace the idea of “baskets of policies,” in which people assemble their preferences on key issues without the obligation that those individual preferences align with any across-the-board leftist or rightist, Democrat or Republican, ideals.

The idea isn’t mine. It comes from Hyrum and Verlan Lewis’ book The Myth of Left and Right, in which the Lewis brothers argue that the political left and right don’t really represent two distinct philosophies. Instead, people on each end of the spectrum adopt the random assortments of beliefs their parties hold at the moment.

In this way, Democrats and Republicans resemble traditional sports fans more than philosophically-driven political consumers: they arbitrarily attach themselves to some bucket of policy preferences simply because their party demands it, just as some fans cheer for a group of players simply because of the jerseys they’re wearing. Tribal loyalty, not philosophical mores or some enduring ideological disposition, is what holds together the many disparate positions a Democrat or Republican embraces today.

Consider some of the policy preferences in the traditional Republican basket. What underlying philosophy connects opposition to abortion rights and support for gun rights? It’s not a preference for small government. It’s not a desire for free-market ideals.

Another example: what is the unitary force binding Bernie Sanders’ political positions? He prefers a smaller national security apparatus, more government spending, less government interference in women’s bodily autonomy, and government-run healthcare. I’m not quibbling with these positions, I just can’t identify the singular belief system that links them.

One more: a standard Democrat today, assuming she subscribed to the Democratic basket, favors more immigration, higher taxes on wealthy people, Ukraine aid, and climate action. There’s little to unify those positions. Not radicalness, not an unconstrained view of government, not progressivism, not a rejection of laissez-faire economics. You might say the unifier is social justice, but then we’re just inventing stories to tie together our disparate views–and anyone can do that. Astrologists, in fact, do it quite often.

I love the baskets concept, because there’s no need for the rigidity that boxes people into clean Democrat or Republican labels. Instead, I can subscribe to my own basket of preferences: for instance, I might favor abortion rights (left-leaning), oppose onerous business regulations (right-leaning), support more open borders (left-leaning), and think an abundance of charter schools would be a good thing (right-leaning). 

That exemplar basket wouldn’t place me within either party today, but I could use it to decide whether to vote for Biden or Trump. To decide, I might rate issues by personal importance then allocate points to each side depending on where my weighted preferences lie. I wouldn’t change any of my individual preferences because the candidate I end up with supports a basket different from mine–that much is expected. Instead, I would choose the candidate whose basket best aligns with mine in the areas most important to me.

The upshot is that this is a different (perhaps better) way to view politics, stripped of its all-or-nothing nature and instead approached in a granular, thoughtful way. Our labels–Democrat and Republican–are mostly tribal remnants, as the Lewis brothers argue, so why not ignore them as we think through issues? 

The NBA is way ahead of politics in this realm. Young basketball fans today are more likely than ever to root for players, not teams. In the analogue, they choose individual policy preferences over one-size-fits-all party prescriptions. If you’re a kid growing up in Portland, why root for the Trail Blazers when you can instead follow a select batch of players, say, Steph Curry, Zion Williamson, Kyrie Irving, and Jayson Tatum? That seems more fun than cheering every night for a basket containing Deandre Ayton, Anfernee Simons, Jerami Grant, and Scoot Henderson.

A few factors have driven the player-over-teams mindset in the NBA.

First, technology. Older NBA fans watched their hometown teams on cable; modern fans, especially younger ones, are more likely to follow individual player highlights on social media like TikTok or Twitter and streaming services like YouTubeTV and Hulu. The new generation doesn’t need to slog through full games, nor must they religiously follow a single team. Instead, they can pay close attention to what their favorite players are doing with on-demand highlights on their phones.

Second, mobility. Players change teams much more often in the NBA than in other leagues. Some of basketball’s most-discussed storylines of the past two decades have been free-agency decisions and trades, from Kevin Durant’s joining the Warriors in 2016 to LeBron James spurning the Cavs for South Beach in 2010. For every Steph and Giannis–both of whom appear ready to spend their entire careers with one franchise–there are dozens like Durant, LeBron, Chris Paul, James Harden, and Russell Westbrook, who switch cities every few years, bringing loyal NBA followings with them.

The upshot is that the NBA can lead the way for politics. Just as it’s no longer necessary to follow one team all the time, it’s not necessary to place all of one’s eggs in the basket of a single political party–because those parties do not represent any singular philosophy. 

In fact, justifying our treatment of politics like we justify our traditional treatment of sports (modern NBA fans’ behavior notwithstanding) would be absurd. In politics, we delude ourselves into thinking that we are supporting one party because we agree with it on issues across the board, due to some philosophy that unites the party’s positions. The analogue would be to claim that I cheer for the Chicago Bears because of some desired trait among all the individual players on the Bears. But of course that trait doesn’t exist: what unites the 53 players on Chicago’s roster is not some characteristic like speed, race, height, or tackling ability, but instead the jersey they wear. It’s about tribe. This is fine in football–but is it really what we want for our politics?

Still, aligning with clean party baskets has benefits. It satisfies our tribal desires, for one, but more importantly it provides a vehicle for our political process–in other words, there must be a way for disparate groups of people to form governing coalitions. If parties didn’t exist–if every individual followed only her own basket–our political system would break down.

But all of that is after the fact. The point is that straight-line Democrat or Republican baskets, given their randomness, add little in the way of fulfilling our actual political desires on an individual issue basis. Parties can come in later as lubricants for campaigning and lawmaking, but first people should understand that there is no mandate that Democrats and Republicans adhere to given sets of positions, just as there is no requirement that NBA fans follow a set of players who happen to wear one jersey. Those basketball fans have realized this and adjusted accordingly. Followers of political parties should, too.