Decompiling Oppression #148
Sam McVeety
There's a delightful conceit (among many others) in Vajra Chandrasekera's The Saint of Bright Doors, where the protagonist, having rejected his initial calling as the savior of his people, does something wholly mundane: he joins a support group. This is not just any support group, though. Assembled from the "almost chosen" of a variety of cultural traditions, all its members are reckoning with what it means to be suddenly living a different life than the one that you thought you were preparing for. Not only that, but a life where your agency is markedly more contingent.
I was reminded of this group when reading through Andrea Pitzer's essay (referenced by Josh Marshall's complementary notes on losing well) on the identity crisis that many progressives are facing at the moment. In it, she offers the frame "bright kid syndrome", where people become accustomed to being able to think their way through even the most challenging problems and offer elegant, compelling solutions. (Hamilton even has a song about the allure -- and hubris -- of this mindset!) Our present moment presents a conundrum, then: actions and policies that defy logic, that defy a prompt resolution, no matter how clever its design.
This kind of scrambling was widespread in election postmortems, many of which start with the conclusion that a Harris victory should have been possible, and attempted to work backwards from there. "Backwards" is indeed the watchword here, because this kind of thinking can go well beyond healthy (and necessary) introspection, and lead to reactive shifts in position. Then and now, "just asking questions" about the possibility of abandoning trans folks is a popular pastime as part of this hand-wringing (despite hard evidence that the left actually doesn't talk about trans issues nearly as much as the right).
An alternative approach, animated in Pitzer's writing by Ta-Nehisi Coates, is to instead foreground deeply held values and a felt sense of history. Values keep us rooted in who we are, to ourselves and each other. History teaches us that, yes, sometimes things get bad, but also, that people are a singularly powerful force for change. This wisdom allows us to endure difficult times, not because of some noble notion of suffering, but because we find shelter in staying true to ourselves.
To be clear, there's a productive tension here. It is vital to strive for change, to stay curious, to look for ideas that just might transform the world, and, we cannot turn the assumed existence of those ideas into our own shackles. (Not for nothing is Chandrasekera's protagonist named "Fetter".) This is where we get into danger: in presupposing that there must be a solution, because there has always been one before. Rather, we should seek to visibilize this tension, noticing it in ourselves and others. In this acknowledgement, we create the necessary space to examine whether we are being driven by the need for a solution, by our values, or holding them together at once.
This tension is one that feels deeply personal for me. I grew up as a bright kid, and there are plenty of factors (the disproportionate economic value of tech jobs chief among them) that reinforce this feeling even today. And while yes, I like to think that I come up with some good ideas, I've also learned how important it is to recognize when there's not a solution awaiting, one that I'm destined to find.
This is a journey that has profoundly changed how I move through the world. Holding this tension has meant that I strive not just to be right, but to be in right relationship with the people around me. Sometimes (oftentimes, even!) a community group has a problem that needs to be solved by something other than technology, despite that being the closest tool at hand. Sometimes a campaign doesn't need more analysis of its messaging, but rather to have people go out and actually knock on doors and talk to people. (Sometimes that's not enough; sometimes nothing is enough, and that's really hard.)
The essence of Pitzer's argument is that sometimes, there are no clever options, and if you assume there must be clever options, you start imagining bad options as clever ones. That is to say: the solution becomes primary, and values become disposable. What happens instead, when we let go of the need to be bright, and roll up our sleeves towards the hard work of changing the world? None of us are chosen; all of us are.
Here are this week's invitations:
Personal: When in your life have you been almost-chosen? How have you grown from that place?
Communal: How can we help each other hold the tension of longing for resolution and ease, while staying true to our values?
Solidarity: Find an independent media outlet that resonates with you, and pay for a subscription.
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