Tag: Debate

On Activism, Caging, Empathy, and Impact

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In this time, I often hear from people practicing activism and advocacy that the exhaustion is overwhelming, that the pressure to educate is debilitating, and that the pain and despair is unbearable most days.
I am one of these people. I am one who, like many others in similar positions, feels everything so deeply that I can hardly breathe most days, who spends my days engaging in dialogue with people who will never open their eyes to reality or care to meaningfully digest history, politics, or the realities of our world.
I am tired.
In this time, I also see some who are choosing to sit in their radio silence, marinating in their complicity and conscious/willful ignorance, claiming that activism is an empty practice, a hollow feat, a meaningless endeavor that never inspires or commands real change. In the minimal words they do find, they demean and minimize the efforts of those who are adamant about not only critically thinking about systems, human nature, politics, history, and change, but seeing it through as well.
These are cages.
From the beginning, we are told that our realities, histories, communities, and truths are worthy of erasure, are easily ignorable and negated, and that our experiences are only significant in relation to the power structures and forces that dominate our existence. I have found myself feeling limitless amounts of sadness and hopelessness during this time, sitting in the heavy reality that this is the world we must live in. But it’s that very same anger, frustration, despair, and heartbreak that make the deep feelers, activists, and allies of the world the type of people that will question and challenge the very systems that harm them most, the ones who blaze trails, who catalyze change, and who make this world a brighter, safer, and more inclusive  place.
This world and this society will always tell us that we cannot make a difference. The system is built on the silencing and deeming of the oppressed/the Other as “crazy,” “loud,” “angry,” or “much.” But we are navigating through everything that we have no choice but to deeply feel because it is so close to us, and we are channelling our “muchness” into the kind of work, dialogue, activism, and philanthropy that is both needful and world-improving. We will be the ones to feel our way through leading what needs to be led, challenging what needs to be challenged, and shaking the earth under the structures and systems that have forever tried to inhibit the power and impact of our voices and our lives.
Nothing is simpler or more convenient than creating and perpetuating a system by and for one, while the many are silenced into thinking they are helpless, aimless, powerless, and worthless. But the power abandons the empowered when we realize that its continued suppression of our voices and our experiences, its dismissal and ignorance of our potential and value, and its unjust, marginalizing treatment of the oppressed is wholly dependent on our acceptance of such a premise. The continued drowning out, co-opting, and silencing of our own voices depends on our willingness to accept such false truths. The power (undergirded by ignorance, racism, bigotry, white supremacy, misogyny, and endless oppressive forces) is contingent upon our ability to believe in its falsehood. The system and the world want nothing more than to make us feel like we cannot make a difference, that our voices will not be heard, or that change, progress, and dismantling of inherently unjust systems could never be seen.
History proves otherwise.
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Should we decide that it is no longer enough to feel it all and be told to sit with it and be grateful, should we decide that we are to rise and to fight, the foundation of such injustice and misplaced power will have already been lost. A system that is so deeply and fully broken cannot have the strength and unwavering support in its roots that will be necessary to continue on. A system that was never built for us cannot betray us, but we are empowered and informed enough to turn our back on it, for we were intentionally excluded from every notion and ideation of “equality,” “justice,” and “equity” this country has ever popularized. We are not required to listen to the songs of the oppressors, to tame our voices, experiences, and activism so as to not make the ignorant uncomfortable, or to thank the system for having not killed us yet.
In this nation and in this time, it is increasingly important that we push on, that we continue doing the necessary work and creating the change we wish to see, that we advocate and educate, exhausting as it may be. And while our bravery may be less brave as it it compulsive in order to free our minds and make space for all that we are, our voices are meaningful. This work is meaningful, and change is meaningful.
There is nothing more imperative than activism and empathy now and always, and THIS is what will continue to have lasting impact.
Extending Activism Beyond Our Own Circles
At this point, there is nothing that weighs on my mind and my heart more than the questions of how to reach people, how to extend beyond the circle I have (proudly) chosen to surround me, and how to surpass the social media feeds and the people who consistently appear on and support my platforms. Though I am more proud than ever of those whom I call friends and of what continues to be shared amongst and within them on my feeds, I’m not naive enough to think that this is the way everyone’s phones or computers look right now. And while it’s equally inspiring and esteeming to see and hear people in your circle who directly participate, advocate, and show understanding, there is no doubt that these are not the people we need to reach. We can share, post, talk, and reinforce historical and political truths to one another until the end of time. But at some point, we’re just singing to the choir. The people who have made the effort to become informed, who have spoken, who have made deliberate, conscious, and intentional choices and actions, and who have listened to BIPOC and our experiences during this time already get it. They already know. They have shown this everyday. Our activism must now go beyond.
The question is: How do we reach those who need to hear it most? Those who so violently turn their heads away from the truth, reality, brutality, contexts, and political and historical facts that they continue to willfully ignore and even deny the existence of? Those who choose not to care, choose not to see, choose not to listen/hear, and choose not to learn?
Is the comfort of living such false truths and perpetuating incorrect narratives and histories that worthy of protection? Is that “Americanism?”
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Although this is still one of the heaviest and most daunting questions for me to consider and I’ve yet to come up with a clear, concise way to tackle this and to most effectively reach beyond, here are some tips and methods that I’ve found to be the most integral when communicating with people who appear to be uninformed, non-empathetic, or wholly apathetic to the Black Lives Matter movement and the Black experience:
  1. Continue to share Black stories. The consistent uplifting of Black voices and perspectives has been one of the most inspiring and necessary outcomes of the movement that I’ve seen on every media platform. Black voices have been silenced, repressed, and ignored for 401 years too long, so including as many Black perspectives, opinions, experiences, etc. when in dialogue with someone who may be majorly unaware is absolutely essential. Do not allow the continued ignorance of the Black experience to be a shield or an excuse for the conscious refusal of many to learn and evolve, particularly when resources and content is more available than ever. The world has learned enough whitewashed history and has heard endless white voices— it’s time for the Black community to be seen.
  2. Try to give people practical, methodical steps that they can choose (or choose not to) take. Ignorance and apathy are both poisons that threaten the Black Lives Matter movement and prevent the sharing of proper information, the opportunity for meaningful dialogue, and the necessary dismantling of the inherently unjust systems on which this nation was built. I’ve found that being as clear as possible in my wording and through even offering examples, circumstances, or any kind of experiential perspective on relevant topics is most likely to be impactful to those who do not understand, fail to hear, and cannot begin to think of living outside of themselves.
  3. Recommend insightful resources for people to self-educate, for it is not the job of the oppressed to teach about oppression. Learning, listening, and engaging is of utmost importance right now— encourage it in every way you can. Simply providing book, podcast, speech, or tv/movie recommendations that engage productively and meaningfully with race, racism, power structures, and systemic injustice is a good start, and incorporating an artistic lens or layer to complex topics is rarely a harmful thing.
  4. Speak as confidently and as often as you can, and be comfortable with making people uncomfortable. There is no space for fear, hesitation, or trepidation in this movement and in this time. BIPOC are being killed everyday, and our lives are consistently endangered. It is no longer the responsibility of the oppressed and silenced to enable the continued misconstruing and perpetuation of wrongful information, harmful ideas, or hateful ideologies (even those that have been societally accepted/permitted). While it is not our job to educate, I feel a moral obligation to say something, to step in when incorrect facts or falsified information is documented or shared, and when people outside of the movement work to demonize and villainize the intentions and purpose behind it.

“The master’s tools will never dismantle the master’s house.”

-Audre Lorde

 

Keep fighting. This is only the beginning.

Thoughts on Allyship + How to Get Involved

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As difficult as it may be for non-black people to understand their place and role in the Black Lives Matter movement or The Racial Contract in general, allyship is supremely important. The act and pursuit of being an ally has come to the forefront of conversations in the context of BLM, and this discourse can be a source/tool for growth, learning, and transformation for us all. It must be understood that the black community has been fighting this fight since the very beginning, and the weight of racial injustices, discrimination, and marginalization are truly inescapable. The attempt of this community to convince the world that “black lives matter” has been and continues to be the lived experience that defines and explains the inequalities and inequities perpetuated by American society and culture. The burden of these undeniable injustices has forever fallen on the shoulders of the most oppressed; for this reason, allyship is EXTREMELY important. It can no longer be the work of the most disempowered to challenge the systemic injustice and abuses of power that have forever tainted this nation. We are all responsible for the infringed liberty and life experienced by the most marginalized, and turning a cheek can no longer be an option.

To be an ally is to be more than a non-racist— it is to be an anti-racist. It is not enough to be apathetic towards the black family in your neighborhood, believing that a lack of intense of external hatred equates to the support and uplift being an ally assumes. It is not enough to post a black square and claim solidarity on a social media platform for the sake of joining a trend or fulfilling a boost of the ego, and it is not enough to only be aware of overt racism or the manifestation of blatant white supremacist ideals. To be an ally is to be opening to listening, learning, reading, speaking, and participating (though not leading) in a movement that is needful, good, and just, though may not be particularly relevant to your life or the struggles you experience. It is fighting the fight alongside those who need it most, recognizing that a community may be in need of the tools or power you possess. Allyship is defined by the willingness to engage and actively work to dismantle the inherently oppressive systems and institutions that harm people of color, as well as the openness to lending a hand in solidarity without the expectation that your voice or experience will be the most needed or important to hear. It is the uplift, encouragement, solidarity, compassion, and sometimes protection that privilege may often grant allies in aiding the oppressed progress towards justice and equality. Allyship may be empathy, grief, outrage, accountability, authenticity, and courageous activism & protest. But allyship may also begin with a mere willingness to sit and feel yourself through the potential discomfort of these conversations and realities, an effort to hold oneself and others accountable, or an attempt to create change and introduce new perspectives in your own circle or within your home.

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Allyship is not performative.

Allyship is not virtue-signaling.

Allyship is not self-centering.

Allyship is not white fragility.

Allyship is not a denial of privilege or power.

Allyship is not short-term of temporary.

Allyship is not an undermining of black voices or perspectives.

Allyship is not relying on a hashtag to suffice for one’s participation in the cause.

Allyship is not related to social capital.

Allyship is not exclusionary or selective.

 

 

Allyship is advocacy.

Allyship is privilege utilized non-selfishly.

Allyship is solidarity paired with conscious action.

Allyship is going beyond the surface.

Allyship is understanding your position, privilege, and power.

Allyship is recognizing your own capacities within the movement.

Allyship is continually checking in on your black friends, family, and colleagues.

Allyship is being unafraid to be wrong, to speak imperfectly, or to act imprecisely.

Allyship is facing the fire, even when you’re unsure of what the sparks will create.

Allyship is understanding that it is not the job of the black community to teach or educate you about racism or their oppression/mistreatment/trauma.

Allyship is learning.

Allyship evolving.

Allyship is activism.

Allyship is essential.

 

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Five Ways to Be an Ally and Activist

  1. Engage in meaningful conversations. Don’t shy away from difficult discourse or the complex historical and emotional ties to experiences involving race. Care enough to show up, speak up, and involve yourself in every way possible, and attempt to learn how to do the important and necessary work as much as you can.
  2. Listen. Remain open-minded and kind whilst engaging with or attempting to educate others, and understand that your work and position as an ally may not necessitate or imply that your voice is the most important in the room— we are asking you to stand and fight WITH us, not save us.
  3. Be willing to hear the voices and validate the experiences of everyone around you, even if their opinion differs from yours. Often, it is those we most disagree with (or who seem to misunderstand or be non-empathetic) that we most need to reach. Refrain from shutting down, unfollowing, blocking, or closing yourself off to people, and try your best to keep the lines of communication open, especially when there is knowledge to be shared and lessons to be learned.
  4. Research. Understanding history, political and social context, and how theories of race and The Racial Contract have shaped each of our experiences is essential, and now is the perfect time to invest ourselves into learning more about systemic injustice, oppression, marginalized communities, and what it means to be black in America.
  5. Uplift the voices we, as individuals and as a society, most need to hear. There is much to be learned from the black community during this time, as well as black activists and educators that have and continue to inspire and catalyze change in the form of progress. Hear the voices of black men and women, acknowledge the truth of queer black people and the work & success they have courageously seen, the trails they have blazed, and the power of communal movement.

 

In order for allyship and activism to be benevolent and progressive, education and empathy must coexist. We must all continually learn from one another, listen and speak as often as possible, and continue to push for transformation in our own circles, in the greater society, and within ourselves. No one can know the perfectly right things to say, when to say them, or even who to say them to, but a clear and genuine attempt at continued growth is both virtuous and absolutely imperative. When I can no longer find the words, I look to the sources that have built and shaped us— the authors, educators, and activists who have paved the way, who write and speak with passion and purpose, and who inspire me everyday with their hearts and minds. In addition to this list of potential practical steps allies can make during this time, I have also provided a compiled list of books, podcasts, tv/movies, and organizations surrounding race, systemic injustice, the black experience, America’s foundational history, etc., that I highly recommend looking into and learning from. They all have a great deal to offer us, and willful engagement and conscious curiosity is the first of many steps in the right direction. 

 

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Essential Books for Reading

  • The Souls of Black Folk, W.E.B. DuBois
  • The Fire Next Time, James Baldwin
  • Citizen, Claudia Rankine
  • How to be an Anti-Racist, Ibram X. Kendi
  • White Rage, Carol Anderson
  • The New Jim Crow, Michelle Alexander
  • Between the World and Me, Ta-Nehisi Coates
  • White Fragility, Robin DiAngelo
  • Women, Race, and Class, Angela Davis
  • The Racial Contract, Charles. W. Mills

 

Powerful Podcasts for Listening

  • 1619 (The New York Times)
  • Code Switch (NPR)
  • About Race
  • Intersectionality Matters! (AAPF/Kimberlé Crenshaw)
  • Pod for the Cause
  • The Diversity Gap (Dr. Beverly Tatum)
  • Pod for the People
  • Yo, is this Racist? (Andrew Ti, Tawny Newsome)

 

TV/Movies to Watch

  • 13th (Netflix)
  • When They See Us (Netflix)
  • If Beale Street Could Talk (Hulu)
  • Dear White People (Netflix)
  • Crime + Punishment (Hulu)
  • I Am Not Your Negro (Amazon Prime)
  • The Hate U Give (Hulu)
  • Just Mercy (Free On Demand)
  • Moonlight (Netflix)
  • The Birth of a Nation (Amazon Prime)
  • 12 Years a Slave (Amazon Prime)
  • Roots (Hulu)
  • Malcolm X (Netflix)

 

Places to Donate/Important Organizations to Know

  • Color of Change
  • Unicorn Riot
  • Black Trans Travel Fund
  • My Block, My Hood, My City
  • Black Women’s Blueprint
  • The Loveland Foundation
  • ACLU
  • Know Your Rights Camp
  • Innocence Project
  • The Bail Project
  • National Lawyer’s Guild
  • Emergency Release Fund
  • Femme Empowerment Project

Black Lives Matter

kgooden15

I came home last night to my find my sister picking up some of our old softball bats to bring back to her apartment “just in case.” That is, just in case she happens to get attacked on the street at any point. I looked at her, saw the immense, unwavering fear in her eyes, and felt my heart breaking into a million pieces, the same way it has many times in my life.

This is being black in America.

Following the murder of George Floyd on May 25, the world has truly been a terrifying place. The international outcry from the black community and the increasing worldwide recognition and opposition to police brutality has been unlike anything we’ve seen perhaps since the murder of Trayvon Martin or Sandra Bland, and the whirlwind of activism, protests, riots, and looting has culminated in and for this time. In this moment. THIS is the Civil Rights Movement of our generation. What are we going to do with it?

As these weeks continue to pass, I’m constantly hearing people comment on police brutality and specifically on George Floyd’s killing claiming that “this one’s different. This murder was the one to do it.” And while it may be true that Floyd’s murder was perhaps one of the most tragic, violent, and despicable crimes many of us have seen in the modern-day media, let us not ignore the fact that the killing of black people just like George Floyd is not a new phenomenon. The key that must be identified through his death is in the very essence of it— it was SEEN. The entire murder was caught on tape, and the entire world heard George Floyd’s final words, his desperate calling out to his mother, his telling the officer that he was innocent, that he didn’t commit any crimes, and that he couldn’t breathe. The warranted outrage and surge of activism, influence, and protest did not occur because Floyd’s death was somehow different than all of the other countless, senseless murders of black men in this country that have been committed at the hands of police. Rather, it happened and will continue to happen because these injustices continue to be caught on tape, thus incentivizing the world to hold the empowered accountable. Perhaps Floyd’s death will serve as the straw that broke the camel’s back for many. But for others, the camel’s back has always been broken. His murder by the four officers in Minnesota was not an anomaly. It was not an isolated event. The complete and utter brutality of Floyd’s death that continues to be shared and consumed so widely does its job in forcing the awareness and realities of the irresponsible, inhumane, and indefensible police brutality that continues to take people’s lives, destroy communities of color, and pose the greatest danger and threat to black people. At the same time, the mindless consumption of such videos and killings of black bodies may also increase the desensitization or even sensationalization that often occurs with media coverage surrounding the loss of black lives. My greatest hope is that this kind of numbness towards the taking of innocent black lives ends with George Floyd. May we not forget about the countless other murders we have also witnessed and watched happen on our phones, heard through the radio channels, or have even watched on live television. Additionally, may we never forget the ones we didn’t— the countless deaths and killings the media or people didn’t document for the world to see that have forever taken place, for this has ALWAYS infected our nation. Those that didn’t make the news, those that have been swept under the rug or hidden away for the sake of the assailant’s and accomplices’ protection. May we not forget the thousands of other black men and women who have been shot down by police, who have been brutally murdered on the streets, or whose homes have been broken into during the night where they would be shot with 8 bullets while asleep in their own beds. Rest in Peace, Breonna Taylor. Say all of their names.

What I also hope for this moment and for the people who have begun to awaken themselves to the absolute brutality at the hands of the police is that this fight is not just about police brutality. It is about so much more than the killing of innocent black people by men in uniform, hiding behind their identities as “protectors” of this country and its people. It’s about race and racism (overt and covert) as a whole, it’s about the systems and institutions so deeply engrained in the foundation of this country that perpetuate enslavement, discrimination, dehumanization and marginalization, it’s about the anti-black and pro-white rhetoric and behaviors adopted by many in this country, it’s about the systemic injustices that make simply existing an inherent challenge for people living in a black body, and it’s about the historical, cultural, and societal perpetuation of white supremacy and the pure ignorance of the immense privilege and power that grants them. It’s about this nation and the poisonous, unjust ideologies, systems, and institutions that undergird its consistent inability to create or promote equality, equity, or justice. It’s about the arrival of the first slaves on this soil in Jamestown in 1619, it’s about the centuries of slavery that followed, and it’s about the continued silencing and disenfranchisement of black people following the “abolition” of slavery in 1865. It’s about Jim Crow, it’s about literacy tests, grandfather clauses, and poll taxes, it’s about the infamous Plessy v. Ferguson case of 1896, and it’s about segregation. It’s about the assassination of transformative, needful black leaders and activists since the beginning of time, it’s about the appropriation of black culture and the lack of any kind of awareness or rightful appreciation that typically accompanies it, it’s about non-black people using the “n-word” and having no clue or care what that entails or implies for the black community. It’s about white people revering the Confederate flag and statues of people like Robert E. Lee, it’s about misusing and misconstruing the origin of the word “ghetto,” it’s about the co-opting of black movements throughout history, and it’s about the microaggressions and forms of racism that society has chosen to both accept and protect for years upon years. Racism is a pandemic in itself.

401 years later. Here we are.

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This fight is everything, and it is about everyone.

In my lifetime, my black father has been the one who allowed me to see what living in a black body meant for people like us. But my white mother was the one who taught me how to be an activist. I watched my father be consistently discriminated against in the world and in his workforce, and I watched my mom take active, conscious steps with him everyday to combat and challenge those systems and the people who create and bolster/eternalize them, in spite of how similar to her they looked. I saw the deep sadness in my father’s eyes whenever people questioned his relation to us, his children who happened to have skin a few shades lighter than his own. I heard the conversations in our home, the discussions and often difficult discoveries that the oppressive, coercive, and unjust systems were internalized even by people we call family and friends. I felt the anxiety and the fear whilst walking in public or even around a grocery store, for there is no guarantee of security or safety when you look like my father. And simultaneously, I saw the fire in my mother’s eyes every time she chose to speak up, to defend the goodness and virtue my father possesses and that is in constant danger of being overlooked merely because of the color of his skin. I heard my mother’s thoughtful, empathetic, and passionate words, never failing to challenge the institution and the unequal valuing systems that continue to empower whites and disempower people of color. I felt her anger, her frustration and confusion, and her fear for my father and her children’s lives as we went off to work and school (respectively) each day. I understood why, when I was in the third grade and wanted to complete my hero report on J.K. Rowling, my mother urged me to instead check out books and biographies about Ruby Bridges and complete the project about her wonderful life as a young advocate and barrier-breaker in the world of school integration at just the age of 6. I knew that her voice was the strongest I knew, and I knew that she often served as the protector, for she understood her great privilege and never went a day succumbing to the luxury of silence that whiteness offered her. To be silent, unmoving, and absent in times of injustice is an immense privilege, and I’m so lucky to have had a mother (and now wonderful friends) who refused to reap this benefit for the sake of her husband and children, and for the world.

My mother taught me how to speak. She taught me how to fight, and she taught me what it means to be brave and courageous. She also taught me, as she exemplified everyday, that seeking justice and participating in advocacy often means being willing to disagree with people in your own home or to stray from the bubble in which you are raised, engaging in the most difficult of conversations, and daring to defy what has been so deeply engrained and sown in the soil by which we have always been surrounded. She taught me that these things start in our own circles, that accountability and willingness to fight or even engage in discourse is a virtue in itself, and that shying away from the most important of conversations such as justice and equity was not to be modeled or accepted. So, in light of her fire and light, I urge you to be active. Call out people who don’t seem to understand that racism goes beyond white people overtly saying “I hate black people.” Racism and the racist, white supremacist ideological groundings and behaviors are deeply-rooted in this nation and in people. Check your non-black friends who like to say the “n word” and joke about fried chicken, refuse to stand for even the seemingly harmless comments that many others allow to pass through, and protest anybody and anything that attempt to immortalize the institutional injustice that composes the entire history of America. Demand justice for George Floyd, for Breonna Taylor, for Ahmaud Arbery, and the thousands and thousands of other innocent black lives that have been taken. Call your local governors, state senators, and even federal government representatives. Go out and protest. Post the black square on Instagram for assumed solidarity, and follow it up with extraordinary action and allyship that make the post meaningful. And if you find yourself wishing that things could “just go back to normal,” or that you can resume posting what you ate for lunch today on your Facebook feed, please check your privilege. To have the mental capacity to think of anything beyond racial injustice right now is truly a luxury.

To turn a blind eye is to side with the oppressor. To exist in a black body in this world is a predetermined threat— the systemic supremacy and abuse at the hands of whites in power makes it so. Failure to acknowledge, to feel, to defend, to become angry, and to speak is merely a perpetuation of the injustice defining what this country has enabled. This is heavy, and it feels personal because it IS. It is about ALL of us. We are ALL complicit. We are ALL responsible. And we must ALL become aware of our privileges and fight for those who have not and cannot ever reap the benefits that come with the immense privilege of power and whiteness. Deny the normalization of abuse, halt the numbness to racism and microaggressions, and demolish the structures that harm and kill people of color. This is our America. This is murder. As a white-passing biracial woman whose black father was also in law enforcement, I’m truly at a loss for words. Every single day, I have to think of the horror surrounding the possibility that it could have been my father, my uncles, my friends, my cousins, or any person of color whose life is inherently undervalued and less meaningful according to the state and the abysmal sources of power that poison any potential for freedom. My complicity and my privilege need to be examined, as do the world’s. It can no longer be the work of the most oppressed to challenge the systemic injustice and abuses of power that have forever tainted this country. We are all responsible for the infringed liberty and life experienced by the most marginalized, and turning a cheek is no longer an option. Face the fire, even if you’re scared. Speak up, even if you don’t know what to say. Say the wrong things, make the mistakes, and challenge people and the system everyday. There is a grace that comes with learning what to say and what not to say, what to do and what not to do. For so long many have been taught to not talk about race. To be colorblind was to be on the side of equality, and to not take note of the vast differences in color and experience across the nation, individuals, and communities was a signal of moral superiority. The time was never right to be silent. The world needs you to speak. There is no more space for fear. Be an ally. Be an activist. Do not succumb to the silence that surrounds you; it will not protect you. Whatever you do, act. Enough is ENOUGH.

In spite of how proud of, inspired by, and grateful I have been for my circle and their ability to take a stand and bravely challenge the system and those who created it these past weeks, my heart remains extremely heavy in this time. It is impossible for me to look past the hatred and injustices overwhelming the world and this country, the complete lack of willingness to fight by many— for the black community, for justice, for equality and equity— and the silence of the masses. The despair, frustration, and anxiety runs deep, and I am often horrified at the state of this nation and the direction it continues to be headed. This life and this time is full of fear, and I feel it everyday. I feel it for all those who have skin a few beautiful shades darker than my own, who will continue to be marginalized, wrongly prosecuted, illegally and wrongly attacked and imprisoned, or viewed as a “thug.” I feel it for women of color, who will continue to feel unsafe and devalued in this society and by this administration. I feel it for young people of color, the ones who will be forced to deal with the fallout of these tragic and terrifying times brought on by the most privileged and irresponsible, and who will (unfairly) be largely responsible for educating generations past and people who simply cannot be reached. And most of all, I feel it for anyone living in a black body, who cannot afford the privilege or the luxury of staying silent, for the weight and severity of racism and evil surround them everyday. The most oppressed and powerless continue to be burdened with the weight of dismantling and challenging their oppressors and the system that was never meant to serve them, and this cannot remain true any longer. We carry this weight everyday. We live it through. Our lives are not a hashtag, we are not a trend. Posting and claiming solidarity does not suffice. Speak and ACT for those who need it most. Read. Listen. Donate. Educate. Sign the petitions. Make the calls. Advocate. Understand and empathize. We cannot do this on our own. Fear, discomfort, or uncertainty are no longer excuses for complacency and conscious complicity. Fight against it everyday. Resist.

Black lives matter, and they always have. Even despite what our history and the “leaders” of this nation tell us.

I will be publishing more posts that I hope will inform and assist in some way or another within the next few days, including what BLM means and entails, ways that non-black people can be allies, book/podcast/tv recommendations, things we can all be doing and learning, and how we can continue to support and bolster the movements and campaigns that are so needful in this time. But for now, the link provided below is a great resource to start with getting involved and better understanding/participating in what our world is seeing today:

 

https://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co/

Political Community vs. The Soul

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Alright, everyone. We’re taking a break from the emotional, nostalgic wave I’ve been riding lately and are getting back to some philosophical roots in this post! The state of our nation and the direction of the political world is constantly on my mind, but especially as of late. One of the political questions I’ve been pondering since the start of my undergraduate career is the role of political community and how virtuosity and viciousness tie into both political engagement and the lack thereof. In other words, I’ve taken great interest in human nature, matters of the soul, whether or not politics is inherently engaging and virtue-bearing, and whether political “retirement” or refusal to involve oneself in matters of the state is emblematic of some form of vice. My graduate school coursework will likely have some semblance of these questions and theories, so this essay I wrote last year has been at the forefront of my mind in recent weeks. Here are some notes on political community and the human soul:

In Politics, it is undeniable that Aristotle proceeds to make a multitude of claims about the nature of the state, how it relates to the notion of a community, and the role and responsibility that he believes human beings to have to participate in such a community. He emphatically discusses at length how important and necessary communities are, and ultimately works to argue that human existence and engagement in political community and is absolutely essential in trying to achieve eudaimonia, or the ultimate good/happiness. In the very opening of Book I of Politics, he claims that “it is clear that all communities aim at some good, and that the community that is most authoritative of all and embraces all the others does so particularly, and aims at the most authoritative good of all. This is what is called the city or the political community” (Aristotle 1).

Through his immediate articulation of the notion of community and what he understands it to be working towards, it is clear that Aristotle holds the political community to a high (if not the highest) regard, even equating it to the city itself. His emphasis and transparent declaration that the political community is the highest and all-encompassing community allows him to set the stage for what will be discusses in his subsequent books in Politics, and ultimately leads him to stating that “the city belongs among the things that exist by nature, and […] man is by nature a political animal” (Aristotle 4). This premise is what most undergirds Aristotle’s argument throughout the text and bodes well in concisely summarizing what he wishes to proclaim about the function of the political community and the agents within it– that the community is absolutely needful, the source of human engagement, and the only means by which a human being may obtain eudaimonia. In short, Aristotle’s theory of virtue and eudaimonia is completely dependent and contingent on human beings’ potential and actualization of participating in a political community, and he deems it completely imperative for people to do so. He even goes as far as to say that human beings are their most human (that is, we best express our humanity and highest capacities) when we engage politics and claims that we simply cannot exist without the community in general. He claims that “the individual when separated from [the city]is not self-sufficient” and that “one who is incapable of sharing or who is in need of nothing through being self-sufficient is no part of a city, and so is either a beast or a god” (Aristotle 5). This, by and large, is the argument that most grounds what Aristotle works to lift up throughout the text, and is the principle that will be challenged throughout this paper. Aristotle says that political engagement and the participation in a community of this sort is unquestionably necessary in order to pursue justice, virtue, and eudaimonia, and he does not believe it to be possible or probable for people to exist outside of the community successfully. However, I think it possible that Aristotle, in so enthusiastically defining the political community and describing its essentiality in relation to human beings, perhaps undermines several other elements that have major force in the lives of people, and even misses some that may even be more important. That is, Aristotle fails to recognize the complexity and difficulties that may arise between individuals and their community, and he undermines the possibility of an unjust political community in and of itself. Should he believe the political community to be the ultimate driving force in the pursuit of justice and eudaimonia, yet the political system itself is unjust and detrimental for the individual, I find it very difficult to agree with Aristotle in saying that it is necessary for human life and happiness. If the political community and the practice of engaging with it is, in some way, damaging to an individual or their soul, then Aristotle’s argument appears to be somewhat self-defeating. In short, he fails to consider the potential for an unjust and injurious political community, as we witness in Sophocles’s Philoctetes, thus causing him to overlook circumstances and states in which engaging with the political community would not only be disadvantageous for an individual, but also pain-inducing and harmful to their life and soul.

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One of the ancient works that I have found to be in direct conflict with the overall premise and argument articulated in Aristotle’s Politics is Philoctetes, a tragic play by Sophocles. The play tells the story of Philoctetes, a notable archer and warrior in ancient Athens, who was bitten on the foot by a snake and abandoned by his own men on the island of Lemnos, left with nothing but his wound to rot (and his bow and arrow). Throughout the play, Philoctetes is further schemed when Neoptolemus and Odysseus, after being told by a well-regarded prophet that Philoctetes and his bow and arrow are necessary to bring down Troy, attempt to rob him of his bow and deceive him in doing so. The Athenian men go to Lemnos with the intention of persuading Philoctetes to rejoin their army and fight the war with them, but many complications and questions arise when Philoctetes (rightly so) does not wish to rejoin Athens. Philoctetes, in this sense, has been completely disengaged from his political community and the life in Athens following the desertion he faced after being left on Lemnos by men he trusted, and does not feel an obligation nor a desire to re-engage with the community that had abused and wronged him. The clear deception that Odysseus and Neoptolemus exercise right from the start indicate that their motives are not derived from an innocent and virtuous place, for they only wish to trick Philoctetes enough to succeed in escorting him back to Athens with them. As Odysseus speaks to Neoptolemus and directs him in what to say to Philoctetes, the malice is evident: “You must maneuver the mind of Philoctetes and deceive him with beguiling words. […] Say they implored you to leave home and join them as the only man who could bring down Troy […] Say what you will, as bad as can be, the worst things imaginable” (Sophocles 6). Odysseus’s attempt to persuade Neoptolemus to act in such a deceptive and scheming manner is both disappointing and unjust in itself, for it illustrates the malfeasance and degrading effects the corruption of the youth may have in the formation and actualization of people’s character. Following the orders given by Odysseus, we see the character and demeanor of Neoptolemus change from a man of high integrity and one who “would rather do right and fail than do wrong to win,” to one who, in attempting to follow orders from those who are hierarchically more powerful and respectable, abandons his sense of virtue and goodness for the sake of honor and victory. This initial change in Neoptolemus’s character after being inveigled by Odysseus is the first instance in which it becomes clear that the Greek political community is perhaps mal-intended and unjust in itself, thus raising question as to whether the community has the capacity to be considered something essential in achieving eudaimonia, justice, or virtue. That is, if both the political community and the actors who engage in the community do not act according to justice, it would be difficult to sustain Aristotle’s claim that the community is the mode by which justice can be attained. Assuming that the Athenian political community that is reflected throughout the play is one in which the men deceive one another for the sake of achieving glory or honor, lose their integrity in order to prove their loyalty to those with power, and treat the misfortunes and pains of others (as in the case of Philoctetes) as negligible and unworthy of consideration, I would hardly say that this type of environment is one aimed at the good, justice, or any facets of the sort that Aristotle is so certain of being true of the political community. The way in which the Athenian community is presented in Philoctetes challenges Aristotle’s notion and role of the political community that he describes in Politics and poses the question of whether or not communities have the capacity to cause more harm than good and be more detrimental for the individual and his/her soul. In the case of Philoctetes, his forced re-entry into the political system is something that is questionable– there is reason to doubt if his being forced to engage with the system, people, and community that had previously caused him immeasurable amounts of agony and grief was necessary for him to continue on. Furthermore, I find it unlikely that his reintroduction into the community was something that would enable him to be “happier” than he was in existing outside of it. For this reason, I find Philoctetes and his life to be an unmistakable counterexample to Aristotle’s notion of community and its capacities.

In some ways, the Aristotelian view of political community is both understandable and agreeable, for it is difficult to imagine a world where communities of this sort don’t exist, and even harder to imagine individuals who are so detached from the community as a whole and are completely uninvolved in every aspect. In this sense, the community can be deemed necessary merely because it exists. However, that in no way means that the community manifests all of the assets Aristotle believes it to in his articulation. It is possible, and clear in Philoctetes’s circumstance, that the community is neither just nor good, thus rendering it somewhat improbable to conclude that it is capable of promoting the pursuit of eudaimonia and virtue. For Philoctetes, the mistreatment, abandonment, and pain (both physically and psychologically) he endured at the hands of the political community which betrayed him is irreparable. The damage and harm the political community caused him was not without cost, and the attempt of Odysseus and Neoptolemus to deceive him further only illuminates the inherent conflict between political community and the proper orderliness of the soul more. If Aristotle is correct in his notion that Philoctetes could only flourish, achieve the ultimate good, or display his humanity if he were to re-enter the environment that had destroyed him in the past, his circumstance is extremely problematic, for it asks an awful lot of Philoctetes. Not only is he expected to put aside all that has been done to him and the pain he has been forced to deal with, but he is also expected to assist those who had wronged him in their pursuit of glory and honor, something that Philoctetes undoubtedly would not desire to do. The re-engagement with his political community that Philoctetes ultimately concedes to is not a choice that came without consequence (if it can be considered a choice at all). Philoctetes, in describing what he had been through and the position he later found himself in, stated, “Evil creatures are never destroyed; some unseen power carefully protects them and takes perverse pleasure in diverting criminals and wrongdoers away from Hades, while the just and the good are sent straight there” (Sophocles 23).

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It is clear that, after all that had been done to him, Philoctetes had lost faith in the rightful outcomes of justice in accordance to man’s character, and he did not take lightly the wrongdoings that had been committed against him. Still, when Neoptolemus and Odysseus arrive on Lemnos trying to persuade him to come back to Athens, rejoin their army, and reintegrate back into the political community so that they may win the way, Philoctetes does so. It only takes the arrival of Heracles at the very end of the play to change the course of Philoctetes’ thoughts. The deus ex-machina ending of Philoctetes involves Heracles descending from the heavens and directing Philoctetes to go with the men to Troy so as to “be cured of [his] vicious wound” and be known as the army’s champion (Sophocles 69). Heracles proclaims that his suffering “will be repaid with a life of glory,” and that the Athenian civilization will forever hold him in high regard,” something that clearly is of high value to the people of Athens (Sophocles 69). The order of the god takes immediate hold within Philoctetes, and he immediately agrees to sail back to Athens, but the dissatisfaction and malcontent that accompanies this ending should not go unnoticed or unexamined. By the end of the play, it is evident that Odysseus had only selfish and conniving intentions for wanting Philoctetes to rejoin the Athenian army. He had not only succeeded in persuading Neoptolemus to abandon his sense of morality and integrity in going along with his deceitful motives, but he also achieved what he wanted to accomplish all along when Philoctetes agreed to return to Athens and fight the war. The mere injustice of the course of these events throughout the play is what makes Aristotle’s conceptualization of the political community as a mechanism through which happiness and justice is achieved a hard pill to swallow, and a description that doesn’t quite fit Philoctetes’ situation. It seems as if asking Philoctetes to simply let go of all that was done to him and wash away his pain is a wearying and unreasonable task, yet he is still asked to do so, and concedes upon being asked. The encouragement of those around him, Odysseus, Neoptolemus and Heracles alike, to return to Athens by their side whilst dismissing from mind all of the turmoil and pain he had endured is not only a sign of manipulation, but a reflection of an unjust political community. Philoctetes’s re-entrance into the Athenian community was one in which he did not receive the just treatment or recognition he deserved, nor did Odysseus and Neoptolemus reprimanded in any way for what they had done. In this way, the wicked were never punished (or even considered wicked except by Philoctetes himself), and the good individual with the virtuous soul was forced to reconcile his burdens and pains so as to rejoin the political community that had created his misery in the first place.

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The tragedy of Philoctetes lies in the fact that political life itself is in conflict with the pursuit of justice and virtue, and there is no inconsequential and just way to go about it, for human beings ourselves are incapable of escaping the injustices that accompany political engagement (illustrated for the need of Heracles to descend and “solve” the worldly problem).  Philoctetes must return to Greece with those who betrayed him, while simultaneously receiving an opportunity to be healed. The paradoxical ending reflects the tragedy that participating in a political community may be inevitable and unworthy of choice but is perhaps not always the best option for the nature of the soul. In the end, we are left with a meaningless solution provided by a god– one that offers no insight as to how to begin solving the lasting and inevitably tragic conflicts that come with political and social life. The harmony has been lost, and there is no seeing a possibility of coexistence between political community/engagement and the pursuit of justice and virtue, thus challenging Aristotle’s claim that political community is where eudaimonia is said to be found and where the source of justice lies.

With Philoctetes in mind, it is clear that political community can be harmful and have detrimental effects on the individual, which leads me to believe that perhaps political engagement is not what allows for the highest good. In fact, it is something that can produce permanent and ruinous impacts on people and their lives. In this way, I disagree with Aristotle, for I find it more agreeable to say that political community is somewhat inevitable (simply because it exists), but not necessarily essential for human life or the pursuit of eudaimonia or justice. The likelihood that political communities, like that of Athens in Philoctetes, will be unjust and reflect a world in which the wicked proceed to be honored, moral compromises are made and result in the loss of integrity, and the blameless suffer is not a community that I call just, nor is it one in which I can imagine human beings flourishing. That is to say, political engagement comes at a very high cost, one that is often irreparable and unfair. And to me, the inherent conflict between the need to engage in political community and the pursuit of justice, a well-ordered soul, and human flourishing is enough for me to defy Aristotle’s elevation of political community as the means to achieve the highest good. Political community is, in itself, a tragic element of human life; we are forced to live with one another despite everything, but that doesn’t deem the community necessary for happiness. For if the community is unjust and inequitable, as it is in Philoctetes, the position of the individuals and their souls is at stake, something that should never be taken lightly. Aristotle fails to acknowledge the possibility of such conflicts that may arise, as Philoctetes’s circumstance so perfectly demonstrated, and through Sophocles’s play, it becomes clear how complex and tragic political life really is, despite all of the potentials Aristotle believes it to have.

Works Cited

Aristotle, Politics. Edited by C. D. C. Reeve. Hackett Publishing Company, Inc., 2017.

Sophocles. Philoctetes. Edited by Seth L. Schein, Cambridge University Press, 2013.