In Favor of Fatalism

Posted on April 7, 2015 by Sarah Shugars

You know, fatalism gets kind of a bum rap. As if a crushing sense of the deep futility of life is the worst thing that could happen in the world.

Yesterday, my colleague Peter Levine rightly expressed concern at the fatalism inspired by Paul Krugman, Cass Sunstein, and others when it comes to transforming our civil society. In a letter to the New York Review of Books, Levine joined Harry Boyte and Albert Dzur in writing:

Sunstein, like Habermas and many others, sees major institutions as largely fixed and unchangeable, not subject to democratizing change. This assumption generates fatalism, which has shrunk our imaginations about decision-making, politics, and democracy itself.

While I’d be inclined to agree that we shouldn’t consider institutions as fixed and unchangeable, I’m not convinced that an unmovable task should signal the end of the work. As I’ve written before, even if the cause is hopeless, sometimes it is still worth fighting for.

But perhaps more importantly, believing in the people’s ability to generate change doesn’t dissolve the possibility of fatalism.

Imagining institutions as malleable and subject to the will of the people, for example, doesn’t imply that change will always be good.

For his part, James C. Scott argues that “so many well-intended schemes to improve the human condition have gone so tragically awry.”

Scott warned of an authoritarian state that is “willing and able to use the full weight of its coercive power to bring these high-modernist designs into being.”

But this warning could be easily extended to the general will of the people. Perhaps the technocratic approach of a few experts imposing their vision is a project doomed to fail – but that doesn’t mean that the will of the people is destined to succeed.

For after all, what is the “will of the people”?

As Walter Lippmann has noted, there is no such thing. There is merely the illusion of “society as a body, with a mind, a soul and a purpose, not as a collection of men, women and children whose minds, souls and purposes are variously related.”

And surely, people can be wrong.

Even if we were to overcome the challenges of factions, overcome the disparate opinions and experiences that shape us, even if we united diverse peoples in collaboration and dialogue, worked collectively to solve our problems – even then we would be prone to imperfection.

This, then, is the real fatalistic danger – What if people can change institutions, but the institutions they build will always be fundamentally flawed?

It’s like when “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” seemed like a good idea. At the time it seemed progressive, welcoming even. It was a positive change, yet still deeply flawed.

But again, this fatalism doesn’t have to lead to paralysis.

In many ways, the intrinsically imperfect institution is the backbone of Roberto Unger’s thesis. Far from running short on ideas for change, Unger takes ideas to extremes.

He has no patience for what he calls “reformist tinkering,” preferring instead radical change, “smashing contexts.”

In Unger’s view it is exactly that reformist tinkering which leads to fatalism. “Only proposals that are hardly worth fighting for – reformist tinkering – seem practicable,” he writes.

Unmoved by these modest, mediocre plans, people feel resigned to accept the status quo, rather than thinking more radically about what might change.

But Unger confronts this fatalism in a surprising way: seemingly accepting the inevitability of failed human ventures, Unger recommends creating a whole branch of the government tasked with reforming and radicalizing any institution which has become too static.

He envisions a world where institutions are constantly being torn down and rebuilt to repair the mistakes of the past and meet the needs of the day.

What could go wrong? You can almost hear Scott say in response.

In defending his originalist view of the Constitution, Supreme Court Justice Antonin Scalia argues that interpreting the Constitution based off today’s morals “only works if you assume societies only get better. That they never rot.”

Justice Scalia may not be my model of justice, but he does have a point.

It would be almost foolish to assume we’ll never be imperfect. Unger goes too far.

But where does that leave us? In a world of broken institutions where change is a herculean task and where that change may not be the ideal solution we might hope for, it’s easy to how fatalism might be inspired.

But I still find myself thinking – fatalism isn’t so bad.

Regardless of the changes, regardless of the outcomes, as individual citizens we’re still left with three fundamental choices: Exit, Voice, and Loyalty.

Why choose to exercise voice?

Because really…what the hell else is there?

Perhaps it’s better that we go into it knowing that change is hard; accepting that human capacity to create perfect systems is limited.

We must constantly challenge ourselves and our works. Are we pushing for change hard enough? Are we expecting too much of our solutions?

After all It’s not a static world we’re fighting for, but one we can continually co-create together.

Privilege and Social Change

Posted on April 6, 2015 by Sarah Shugars

I’ve been reading Doug McAdam’s seminal book Freedom Summer. I’m a little less than halfway through it, but already it’s been a compelling read.

McAdam had initially set out to study the network of activists engaged in the major struggles of the 60s. He knew anecdotally that many of the white leaders known for organizing against the war or for women’s liberation had their roots in the civil rights movement, but the Standford sociologist wanted to understand this connection more systematically.

He had hoped to find a list of the white Northerners who had traveled to Mississippi in 1964 to register black voters for the Freedom Summer project. From this list, he would be able to identify which participants went on to lead other social movements and explore what had compelled this further action.

But he didn’t find a list of participants.

He found something better.

At the Martin Luther King, Jr. Center in Atlanta, while sifting through miscellaneous materials on the Summer Project, McAdam stumbled across something remarkable: “there, nicely organized and cataloged, were the original five page applications filled out by the volunteers in advance of the summer.”

That trove included applications of those who were rejected, those who were accepted but who never-showed up, and applications of those who ultimately spent their summer in Mississippi.

He spent the next six years comparing at the characteristics of the volunteers and no-shows, exploring the experience of the summer, and examining the impact of that summer experience.

I haven’t gotten to the longitudinal part of his work yet, but I’ve been very struck by his description of the volunteers going into the summer.

The Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee (SNCC), the primary organizer of the summer made some intentional choices about recruitment. They reached out heavily to students at ivy-league and prestigious universities. They looked for volunteers who could pay their own way and support themselves for the summer.

The sensibilities of the time may have been shifting, but the attitudes of the volunteers were distinctive. As McAdam writes:

Academically, they numbered among “the best and the brightest” of their generation, both in the levels of education they had obtained and the prestige of the colleges and universities they were attending. Reflecting on their privileged class backgrounds as much as the prevailing mood of the era, the volunteers held to an enormously idealistic and optimistic view of the world. More importantly, perhaps, they shared a sense of efficacy about their own actions. The arrogance of youth and the privileges of class combined with the mood of the era to give the volunteers an inflated sense of their own specialness and generational potency.

I was struck by how much this description fits the often stereotypical view of Millennials. They are optimists who think change is possible. They are self-important and think they are special.

In the Freedom Summer volunteers, these elements combined for a remarkable effect: young people who thoroughly believed they were special enough to undo centuries of racism.

And perhaps the remarkable thing is that they were not wrong.

Well, not entirely wrong. There is plenty more work to do, plenty of racism still thriving in this country, but while we still have far to go – I think the Freedom Summer volunteers did accomplish something.

We could argue about just how much affect they had, but on the whole, I would say, they bend the moral arc of the universe towards justice.

Perhaps today’s young people could be just as remarkable.

But there’s something deeply unsettling and ironic about the impact of Freedom Summer.

The SNCC leaders knew it all along:

Nobody cared when they fished black bodies out of the river. But when America’s white sons and daughters were at risk, America paid attention.

The summer served to gain some ground in the civil rights movement, but it also served to reinforce the deep, systemic injustices of our country.

A summer of action from naïve whites affected more change than decades of black leadership.

The summer proved what SNCC leaders knew all too well: blacks in Mississippi really were powerless and these young, elite Northerners had good cause to be confident in their own efficacy.

Yes, it was black leaders who planned, designed and implemented Freedom Summer. It was black leaders who taught organizing and trained volunteers in effecting change. It was black leaders who put themselves most at risk.

But ultimately, it was the whiteness of the young volunteers that made the biggest impact.

I can’t imagine the dilemma the SNCC leaders were in. They knew what they were getting into going into the summer – they had some great debates about whether recruiting white northerners was the best strategy. But ultimately, they decided, attracting the privileged youth of white America was the best move they could make.

And those young people brought plenty of paternalism with them. As McAdam describes, “for their part, a good many of the volunteers brought a kind of “missionary” attitude to the project that only aggravated existing tensions. Hints of paternalism and insensitivity show up with great frequency in the volunteer’s letters and journals.”

Perhaps this could not be avoided. The volunteers were shaped by a racialized America as well.

In another comment that rings true of today McAdam says the volunteers “were not to much color-blind as supremely desirous of appearing color-blind.”

With the 50th anniversary of Freedom Summer taking place last year, there’s been lots of talk – do we need another Freedom Summer?

Clearly, we need to do something. Black men and women are killed every day. Many live lives markedly different from their white peers. The racism and injustice that’s been rampant in this country is at the fore of our national consciousness, and for the first time in a long while it feels like something could change for the better.

And we should all fight for that change.

But invoking Freedom Summer we should be mindful.

Is the civil rights movement of today one where young, privileged, white people will continue to take their place as the face of a moment? Where those heirs to to power will deign to use their power for good – rather than disrupt those systems of power altogether?

It’s too early to say.

One of the most exciting things about Black Lives Matter has been the emergence of young, black leaders. It’s not their job to fight alone, but it is their place to lead.

For those of us in white America, the legacy of Freedom Summer should be an important reminder: change can happen, but for change to last – for systemic change to occur – it is not enough for us to use our privileged to shape our world. We must check our privilege and support the impressive black leaders among us.

They are the true face of change.

A Taste of Spring

Posted on April 3, 2015 by Sarah Shugars

Little shoots of green – crocuses or tulips, perhaps – push up through the thawing ground.

The birds go mad. Tweeting, chirping, singing, calling. They haven’t seen so much food in months.

The streets run clear with the water of melted snow banks.

There is trash everywhere.

The roads and walkways bleed dust and stone from the deep gashes winter left behind.

It might snow this weekend.

But today it is warm. Today that taste of change is in the air – the deep breath of spring before the lazy days of summer.

I saw someone grilling outside.

As if anything is possible.

The wet spot on my patio is the last vestige of a man-size snow pile. It is gone now, leaving only happy moss behind.

The world wakes up. Finding new life and energy. As if anything is possible.

It is spring.

The Politics of Public Restrooms

Posted on April 2, 2015 by Sarah Shugars

There’s something deeply political about public restrooms.

First, as the name implies, these spaces are public. Private, perhaps, once inside, the public restroom is inherently part of the public sphere.

Truly, they are shared spaces.

At some point I will post a treatise praising co-created wall art in public restrooms – commonly referred to as graffiti – but today I’d actually like to take the conversation in a different direction.

As my mother recently informed me, the first public women’s restroom in Britain were opened in 1909 as part of the revolutionary Selfridges department store in London.

To get a sense of that in time, let’s back up to get a broader history of public restrooms in Western culture.

As it turns out, the bodily functions which inspire restrooms have been an element of human nature for quite some time. The Romans, who pioneered architectural innovations such as aqueducts and roads, are often credited with the public restroom as well – a feature that could be found in many Roman baths.

But the modern public toilet revolution really began in the early 19th century. Paris had public restrooms as early as 1820. London installed it’s first flushing public toilet in 1852.

That’s right – London had public toilets by 1852, but the first restroom allowing women wasn’t opened until 1909.

As my mother put it, “Before that, if a woman had to use the restroom – she would just go home.”

I’m not sure that’s entirely accurately – that is, I’m not sure how much women were wandering around town before then. Also, in 1852 I imagine it would be challenging for a woman to go to the bathroom by themselves – due to the layers and complexity of a Victorian woman’s clothing.

By 1909 women’s fashion was changing, public attitudes towards women were changing, and a young entrepreneur named Harry Gordon Selfridge introduced a new department store concept. One that included “entertainment, restaurants and services. Customers were invited to spend the day inside at their leisure and buy at their pleasure.”

And those shopping women clearly needed somewhere to pee.

Fast forward another 100 years and we finally have gender parity in restroom availability.

But not really.

We have men’s rooms and we have women’s rooms.

And anyone who doesn’t identify with one of those categories – or who identifies with a category other than what strangers judge them to be – has a serious problem.

For example, a proposed bill in Florida would prevent transgender Floridians from using the restroom of their choice.

And the brilliant hashtag #IJustNeedToPee details the struggles people in the trans community face every day as they are shunned from public restrooms.

Like the women of 1850, if the need to use the restroom – they just have to go home, I suppose.

So public restrooms say a lot about us as a culture – how we define gender, how we expect identified genders to act. Not to mention how we feel about race and cross-cultural interaction.

It seems like such a small thing, so simple, so innocuous – but nothing says you’re not welcome to stay like the lack of a restroom you are welcomed to use.

So lets make public restrooms truly accessible to all members of the public – of all genders, gender identities, and physical abilities.

Let’s have the public in public restroom truly mean its for everyone – not just some segment of the population deemed worthy for such a throne.